#I still have enough of the sample inhaler to last me another few days but I'm so fucking mad

[batboybisexualism]

absolutely love that my pharmacy, instead of giving me the daily inhaler I need to not have constant asthma attacks, gave me another round of the emergency steroids I took last week to help me heal from the week and a half I went without my daily inhaler and that are really dangerous to take more than once, all while giving me no update on whether or not I'll be able to get said daily inhaler that my doctor is fighting my insurance about

[dystopianhellscape]

Let Me In, Prologue

I have been reading so much ST fanfic that I wanted to write my own. It's just a quick intro to something that could be turned into a series with enough interest. I've never written before so I hope you like the sample! If I get good feedback, I'll keep it going. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think. I'd be happy to start a tag list!

Warnings ⚠️: Tobacco use and maybe light cursing. Not a whole lot.

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"And I get to do it all over again tomorrow..." you grumbled quietly to yourself as you slammed the gate down and pushed your key into the lock. The Starcourt Mall was super crowded and overwhelming during the day but on the nights you worked the closing shift at Scoops Ahoy, you actually enjoyed the silence that fell down the now dark and empty walk ways. The only noises that lingered were the carousel music from the mechanical horse in the distance and the sigh escaping your lips, signaling the end of another exhausting work day. It was nice to be alone though. You roll your eyes as you head toward the mall exit, not looking forward to the shift you had to work tomorrow. But you immediately felt guilty for complaining. You had picked up tomorrow night's shift for Steve, as he had done for you a couple of times before. He had to beg you though. You shake your head and let out a breathy chuckle remembering how excited he was to finally score a date with....what was her name again? Tracy? Lisa? Brandi? You lost track after a while and so did Robin, sparing him a few tallies on the "You Suck" board. You noticed Steve "The Hair" Harrington was feeling a little down lately about having issues in the dating department. It had been like this since his breakup with the Wheeler girl. You figured he deserved to have the night off. Maybe it would make him more productive during your next shift together if the date went well.

The cool air brushed your cheeks, bare arms and legs as you walked out the door. It made you shiver a bit. You groaned to yourself as you shifted to dig through your bag. After a moment of ruffling through, you managed to grab your pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Steve and Robin were always quick to remind you about how gross and unhealthy smoking was but you had your reasons for choosing not to quit. You didn't want to. At least not right now. The Scoops uniform was doing absolutely no favors in shielding you from the chilly breeze. Even when the nights had been warmer, you hated that damn polyester skirt and hideous striped top. But at least THEN it was somewhat weather-appropriate. Remembering the silly looking hat still on your head, you snatched it off quickly and shoved it in your bag with a deep sigh. 'I NEED to find a new job' followed up by 'who the hell wants ice cream when it's still cold out anyway?' You pulled a cigarette out of the pack and brought it to your lips, inhaling as you lit up the end. "Ugh. Finally." As you exhaled, you leaned back against the brick wall outside the exit with a thud. Your head followed as you leaned it gently against the wall shortly after. Closing your eyes, savoring the moment. The quiet. The nicotine. The emptiness of the lot. You let it all swallow you for a brief moment before a heavier breeze blew through, nipping at your exposed skin again. Without opening your eyes, you silently cursed yourself for not bringing a jacket with you to work. You took another long drag off your cigarette. As ready as you were to leave, you weren't ready to go home. You knew what to expect. An empty driveway. Only darkness welcoming you home through the windows. And a cold bed that always seemed inviting until your eyes finally lost the fight to stay open. The nightmares clouding your unconscious mind as you drifted off. Exhale.

After a few moments, you savored the last puff from the cigarette before tossing it to the ground and extinguishing it with the toe of your sneaker. The wind picked up a tiny bit as you started your walk home but you hardly noticed the chill now. Your mind was too preoccupied trying to shake the memories of last night's nightmare. It was always the same. The blood red sky. The huge....branches? No...more like vines? covering the ground, occasionally twisting up your ankles before you could shake free of them with a bit of a struggle. The thought of how scared you were in your dream sends a shiver down your spine colder than the chill present in the air now. A familiar voice rips you from your disturbing thoughts.

"Hey, Y/L/N! You look lost!" You glance over to the car slowly driving along next to you, a smile crossing your lips at the sight of your co-workers and the familiar BMW. "I wish," you shoot back in response to Robin. You watch as Steve stops the car and leans over her to speak his piece through the open window. "Glad we caught you before you got too far! You uh....got plans tonight?" He shot you one of his infamous flashy smiles and you and Robin both picked up on the flirtatious tone. You raised your eyebrows with a short laugh as you watched Robin palm his face, gently pushing him back into the driver's seat by his head. She rolled her eyes. "Easy, dingus. It's almost like you forgot about your date tomorrow with Missy -" "MINDY" he corrected quickly, cutting her off. "MINDY. WHATEVER." Steve threw his hands up with an exasperated sigh as Robin looked back over to you with a smirk on her face. "What he meant to say was 'get in the car and come watch some movies with us'." She held up two movie cases decorated with the Family Video logo and shook them side to side slowly as though she was trying to persuade you without using words. After a brief moment, you answered by walking toward the car, Robin letting out a celebratory "yesssss!" and Steve's smile reappearing on his face as he watched you climb into the back seat. He made sure the door was completely shut before taking off toward his place. You giggled at their excitement. "These movies better be good, Buckley! And there better be snacks!" You listened to your favorite two knuckleheads bicker over which snacks were a necessity as you silently thanked them. They were saving you from the loneliness you would have endured at home without even knowing.

[janghoefett]

Telephone Line (Jango Fett x F!Reader)

Jango needs to provide an, ahem, sample of sorts for the Kaminoan cloners and needs your help via holovid. Please check warnings.

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ Pairing: F/M Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Established relationship with set boundaries, yearning, breeding kink (ish), mutual masturbation, use of toy, instructions, dirty talk, praise kink!! jango is in a soft mood

and perhaps you can consider this as part of the hotline bling universe, apparently i can only write booty call themed fics for jango

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Metal tools. An examination table. Bright lights. A stiff metal chair in the corner.

Did the Kaminoans really expect Jango to produce a semen sample in a place like this? Well, it’s not like he hadn’t been able to get off in worse conditions, the bounty hunter thinks to himself... and he certainly had been paid to do worse things than jerking off.

Although he had the room to himself, laying on the examination table under the lights would make him feel as if he were on display, like some sort of specimen. He could stand; he does it enough in the fresher. But, no. He’d rather sit and try to get comfortable. So, with the empty cup in his hand, Jango takes a seat in the metal chair. 

He’s absolutely flaccid, there’s a chill in the air, and there is not even a morsel of humanity in sight to inspire the aid of his imagination. Jango unhooks his codpiece and frees his cock, spitting on his hand before giving himself a few tentative strokes.

Jango closes his eyes and sighs. Naturally, his mind wanders to you. 

Stars, he missed you while he was away... he wished you could stay with him on Kamino full time. The last night you had spent together had been replaying in his mind over the last few days. You just felt so good and you were just so beautiful that Jango could still imagine you if he closed his eyes... yes, he could see you now. He could hear your soft moans. He could feel your soft skin. He could smell the fragrance on your skin. 

Jango starts to grow hard at just the mere thought. He wonders what you’re doing, what you’re wearing... he wonders if you were still thinking about that last time the way he was. 

Well, he could wonder about you all day long... or he could, you know, call you.

Jango pulls out his comm and sets it in front of him, his thick fingers punching in a few commands. He does some math and realizes it was late on Coruscant, though he figured you were still awake, and he prays to the maker that you would pick up.

“Jango,” you answer happily, pleased to see the flickering blue image of your Mandalorian. You’re sitting in your bed wearing nothing but a warm sweater over your underwear. Perhaps Jango would be in for a treat tonight, you think to yourself.

“Ner sarad,” he smiles. “Miss me?”

“Of course,” you smile, already feeling your cheeks growing warm. Stars, the things just the sight of this man did to you....

“Listen, I...” Jango starts. “I need to give the Kaminoans another sample. And I’m thinking about you.”

Oh. 

“You’re thinking about me?” you repeat with that wicked smirk.

“Course I am. Thinking about last time.”

“I’ve been thinking about last time too. Stars, Jango...” you sigh. You shift in your seat remembering just how good it was. “Tell me what you need. I’m all yours.”

“Can I see you, pretty girl?” he rasps, his voice turning husky.

You hum lowly in approval, pulling your sweater up over your head as Jango readjusts the range of his comm, revealing his cock to you. You lay back on the bed to give Jango a full view, left only in the racy bra and underwear he had bought you when he went to Naboo.

“Mesh’la, always so perfect,” Jango groans. His grip grows tighter and he tugs. “Spread your legs for me. Let me see that pretty cunt.”

You slip the underwear off past your ankles and spread your legs, inhaling raggedly at the way you were exposing yourself to the rugged Mandalorian. Your hand comes between your legs to spread your folds, rubbing yourself gently. 

“Fuck, Jango, I wish you were here...” you sigh.

“I know, angel. Soon.”

The low vibrations of Jango’s voice send a chill up your spine. You both stroke yourselves languidly, your eyes fixed on the images of each other. The sight of Jango’s fist around his cock is enough to get you wet fast.

“Don’t have much time...” Jango rasps. “I know you have that little toy in your dresser. Use it for me.”

You reach over and pull out the toy with excitement, a plain dildo that came in handy while Jango was away, and grab the bottle of lube next to it. Jango watches you prepare with hungry eyes as he pumps himself. You bite your lip as you watch Jango grip his cock, lining up the toy and slipping it in slowly, gasping at the intrusion.

“Feel good?” he asks, squeezing his cock and trying to recreate the pressure of your warm, wet heat.

“Yeah,” you whine. You move the toy in and out tentatively, breathing heavily. “Wish I could feel you... stars, you look huge.”

Jango chuckles. “It’s all for you, girl,” he groans, watching your cunt flutter around the stiff cock. “Can you move for me? Want to see how you fuck yourself while I’m away.”

You throw your head back upon hearing his words, starting to work yourself slowly. Jango’s hand begins to pump in time with your movements. Your hips buck as you imagine the way Jango was on top of you last, moving the toy faster.

You watch the bounty hunter as he pleasures himself to just the sight of you, and the thought of it alone is enough to push you closer to the edge. The ache between your legs is indescribable, straddling the line between pleasure and pain, as you chase your release. 

Jango’s grunts are audible, nearing quiet growls. “Fuck,” he curses upon seeing your wrist stutter when your legs shake.

“Jango...” you whimper.

“That’s it,” he growls. “You’re close, don’t stop.”

Your hands continue to pleasure yourself just right, your mouth falling agape as you find that spot. Jango pumps himself faster. “Shit, I-” he grunts.

“The cup. The cup, Jango,” you pant. You come with a small cry, stilling your motions.

Jango’s large hand swipes the cup from the table and he angles his cock downwards, reaching his peak with a gruff groan as he empties himself into the container.

The sight of Jango Fett, fully armored and groaning as his cock weeps pearly white tears is one that would you remember for a long, long time. You bite your lip and take the toy out, groaning at the empty feeling.

“So when are you going to fill me up like that?” you sigh contentedly in your state of ecstasy. “I want to make those warriors we talked about.”

“When are you going to leave Coruscant and finally come live with me, cyare?” Jango counters, his voice soft and wrought with desire.

Your heart flutters upon hearing Jango repeat his request, but you don’t have an answer for him. Kamino was the last place you wanted to be, under the constant observation of those long-necked scientists. You knew Jango couldn’t live just anywhere, and while what you had with the famous hunter was special, it was almost impossible.

“Jango...” you sigh.

“I know,” he says, bowing his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Jango tucks himself away as you wrap a blanket around yourself to fight the chill of the night air.

“Stars, girl, you were so good for me,” he remarks, reattaching his codpiece. “I have to go turn this in.”

“Will I get to see you soon?” you ask.

“You have my word,” Jango smiles. “Now sleep tight for me, cyare. You’ll see me sooner than you think.”

[alvhiedeir]

Little Red Elf

Thor X Reader

3174 words

This is longer than intended and quite different than requested and I have no excuse than my lack of discipline but I hope this is good enough

You are seriously thinking about investing on a security camera.

No, it wasn't that you were worried about being robbed. It's was being, 'gifted'.

In an almost daily basis, different items would make it's way to your doorstep. Black roots, hyacinth, hellebores, poppies and other herbs that would usually not grow around the area. It was nice, that was the first thought you had. You were no Circe, the great witch of Aiaia, but such ingredients could and did help greatly with your draughts. So as much as this occurrence should startle you, you brushed it off as the doing of one of your friends working for Lord Osanyin who would usually send you samples of anything new. You figured business was just doing better than usual for her to give you this much.

Two weeks, it continued on. When you rise for the day, there would be a neatly placed bundle of herbs or plant on your front steps. Always perfectly centered. And for two weeks, you accepted each and everything in such giddiness.

That is until you until today.

"I haven't been given you anything, (y/n)," She turned away from the selves she was organizing and continued, "it's been pretty busy lately for the last month with the arrival of new supply from Asia."

Her answer gave you a sudden feeling of uneasiness.

"Then who," your voice trailed, dragging the weariness and alert in the air. Your friend was quick to catch the shift of your mood.

"But think about it," she placed the bottle she was holding and walked towards you, "those herbs are rare and what are the chances of a random miscreant obtaining it?"

It eased your nerves a bit to hear her words.

"Or maybe, you finally have an admirer even if your always holed up in your home!"

She laughed at the jesting glare you sent.

"Like you're any better, cat lady."

"Hey! Having four cats does not count as being a cat lady!"

"Sure, whatever you say."

You shared a laugh, the tension thinning out. After saying a few words, she went back to the counter to pack the herbs that you bought, the reason why you were there in the first place.

"You bought quite a lot. What is it for anyway?"

"Loki wanted some draughts to "bring entertainment around this damn boring halls", his words not mine."

She laughed, commenting how it sounded just like him. She handed you the carefully packed products, with a small purple ribbon tied on the basket as she always did for you.

Just as you're about to leave she called out.

"If you're still disturb about the whole mysterious gifts, why don't you try staying up to see who it is?" You thanked her for her suggestion and concern and with a wave, headed back home.

To say the least, her suggestion was not very successful.

After you went home, you got started on the ordered draughts and by the time the moon greeted the sky, your eyes were already heavy. Being stubborn, you stayed sitting in your kitchen, chair facing the window to see if anyone or anything would past by.

The minutes were slow and before you knew it, the sun has reclaimed its place. And there was yet another gift. A freshly uprooted crab apple tree that barely passes as an adult. How in the world did they get this one?

Another week fast approached and the gifts arrived just as fast. Cornel bark, elecampane, silver fir, the list goes on. Each night, you attempt to desperately stay awake to catch but a glimpse would always end up with you succumbing to sleep. It didn't matter if it was for hours or a mere minute, by the moment your eyelids flutter open, it was already there. Perfectly centered as always, in an almost mocking way.

"You missed us again", you could hear the ridicule from it.

As days flutter, the gifts and your frustrations would only intensify. One time it was antlers from a dear Australia. The other day it was the tusk of a bore. Yesterday it was the blood of steed. The last one made you panic a bit, but thankfully in came only in a small vial. It eased your nerves, albeit slightly that the animal was minimally harmed.

You tried sleeping in the morning so that so that you could roam at night. But when you rise from your chair for a drink or to go the toilet, the sneaky bastard have already placed another gift. You went as far as sitting on your doorstep for the whole night, but even that didn't help. The gift was on your window.

You were at your wits end with this "Persistent Santa" shenanigans (it was your friend who called them that. It was that or creepy-pile-of-dung-that-had-to-much-time). Whoever they were, they are good.

You sighed tiredly again, the dark bags proving Your fruitless efforts.

"Wow, you look miserable!" You silently snapped at the voice, too sleepy to argue but to proud to ignore it. His laugh was laugh, always happy to see others demise.

"Just give me the money, Loki." You impatiently thrust the basket full of draughts to him, eager to leave and maybe sleep for a few days.

"Aren't you greedy." The more he teases you, the more punching him right in the face became an increasingly good option. As if reading your voice, he raised his hands in mock surrender.

" I would pay you, but," he dragged his voice as floated closer to you, "I dont have my money right now. And the old man is calling me so can you wait a few minutes for me?" He smiled, oh-so-mockingly sweet at you.

A tomato would have been jealous of the tint of your check. The itching call for violence is now an unignorable howler. But before you can give in, the god of mischief is already pushing you into one of the rooms, claiming your silence as agreement. In a blink, you were in a well decorated room. The walls were cream in color and golden leaves decorated the corners. Threre were shelves of book against one side of the wall and-

"Wait a minute." Snapping out of your trance, you shouted, voice filled with vile, "Loki!"

But sadly, it came too late and the door have already been shut and only his feint mocking voice telling "enjoy!" Was heard from the other side.

You could sighed, pity for your own predicament. Moving towards one of the shelves with a colorful string of curse words following, you might sa well entertain yourself with something. The books were more old, and probably cost more than your soul. Each one was placed neat and organized, neither a speck or spot of dust could be seen. But one particular book caught your eye.

With a gentle finger, you traced the gold imprints on its spine.

Herbs, Medicine and Witchcraft

Unlike everything else, this one book was placed different. It was pulled slightly forward, as if recently placed back but someone else other than the organizer. When you pull it out, you also noticed the small, almost miniscule dirt on its cover. But other than that, it was nothing special.

"I didn't think they'll have this kind of book."

You sat down and flipped on a random page. It was filled with information about different plants that can be used for both medicine and, surprisingly witchcraft. It included their typical use, characteristics, side effects and their locations. And it was very specific too.

"I wonder if I can borrow this."

Page upon page was flipped, despite the fascination dwelling in you, drowsiness became unbearable. It was just so quiet and peaceful here. Maybe a few minutes won't hurt, right?

"Loki will be there for a while anyway. Might as well." Your reasoning seemed to make sense with your tired eyes and you rest your head. Not even bothered by the fact that you used the book as your pillow.

It'll just be few minutes anyway.

It wasn't a few minutes.

Slowly, your eyelids fluttered as consciousness begin to come back. You sighed contently, that nap certainly helped with your mood. You buried your nose deeper into the soft cloth you leaned on and inhaled. It smelled like fresh lilacs and the sun.

Wait, cloth?

You lifted your head and saw, indeed there was a neatly folded cloth on the place of the book. It was pale apricot, almost faded white and now that you are looking properly, it was a short robe?

"I starting to think you were not going to wake up."

Do you know the sound of a startled walrus with a respiratory disease? Imagine that, but worse. That how you sounded as you whipped your head in surprise to the voice. Right beside you was the god of thunder himself, Thor. The difference in size between him and the chair he was resting on was almost comical. You would have laughed if it wasn't for the fact you want to live a longer.

"He-hello Thor-sama." Damnit, what did you stutter?

He casted his eyes sideways to acknowledge your greeting, glacing right back into reading afterwards.

Looking yourself, it was then you noticed the book he was reading was the one you were previously sleeping on.

"It didn't seem like you were using it," his voice was monotone as for usual, "aside as a pillow, that is."

Ahh, the sheer pleasure of being swallowed by the ground right now would be nice.

"Ah! That- I! Yes..." You simply stared at your lap instead, fist clenched tightly on top. Better to stay quiet that to embarrass yourself further.

Thor was in between being an acquaintance and  a work friend. Neither of you talked much, aside from greetings and small talk but was more than used to his presence with the number of times you had to deliver things to Loki, enough so that you don't have to tremble everytime you meet.

But sitting this close, in a close space, alone, this was definitely the first time.

And it'll be the last if you're not careful.

The silence was suffocating, for you at least. You have almost jumped in your sit when he flipped a page in the book.

A minute passed and you are so closed to jumping out of the window. The room was too quiet. Making small talk won't be bad at times like this right?

"It's a nice book."

Wow. If you could, you would have hit yourself in the back of your head. Great thinking, really.

He merely nodded and the silence dragged once again.

"There's a lot of useful information in it."

Stop, just stop. Please stop digging your own grave.

"That's why it's a shame to be drooled on."

"I do not drool!"

In the distant, the sound of funeral bells rang clear in your head. The life you lived was good. Your friend will remember what flower you wanted to be placed on your coffin, and she can have your house, maybe even your-

Before you could complete your will, you heard a smallest of chuckle from the other god.

Huh?

You stared at Thor and sure enough, there's the tiniest arch in his lips. His eyes remains on the pages but - shit - has he always been this pretty?

Between the brief greetings and quick glances, it was hard to appreciate his beauty. Though mostly blank, his face was clear and smooth. Not a single blemish as one might expect from a god who knew battlefield as his home. He was no Aphrodite nor comparable to Paris, but he himself held a beauty of his own. You couldn't quite decide on if it was the light from the window or it was simply him that was glowing?

His neck flexed in the smallest notion as he read. The muscles of his shoulders were relaxed against the table.

Heavens. Those muscles.

You blushed on your thoughts. You tear your eyes away from his physique, the wooden table suddenly very interesting.

"It is rare to see you without Mjolnir, Thor-sama."

"I don't bring him when I read."

"Him?" The question lingered on your head. Was Thor one of 'those' people?

"Do you read often?"

"No."

"Are you interested in herbal medicine?"

"No."

"Is that so?" Your answer was awkward just as the air around you. But to the very least, the tension have eased out knowing that he didn't  obliterate you so far.

"Um, Thor-sama?"

Curse you and your need to fill in the silence.

"May I ask why you are reading a book about witchcraft? You do not seem the type to be interested in it." Realizing what you said was potentially insulting, you quickly apologized, eyes wide as you tried to explain. "Not that you don't look like it! What I mean is, um, - that." You stumbled over your own words with nervousness but he simply kept his eyes in the book, barely even glancing at you.

"... give you." His voice made you stop with your gibberish. Catching only the tail-end of his words, you looked at him questioningly. Only then did you realize that it has almost been a minute since he flipped a page, almost as if your question startled him as well.

"Ma-may you repeat that?"

There was a short pause before his answer came.

"So that I know what to give you."

Furrowed brows and confused eyes marked your features.

"So that I know what to give you."

His words repeated in your head, like an stubborn echo inside a cavern.

"I know what to give you."

"Give you."

"Give."

Oh shit.

"You're the Persistent Santa?!" The chair you previously sat on collided with the floor with a loud "thud". Hands planted heavily against the table, you casted accusing eyes to him.

Before any other words were uttered, your senses made its way back to your head like a harsh slap of water. You just yelled at the strongest Norse god. You might as well have dug your own hole and painted your tombstone.

But all fear and confusion left you as you stare at the fore mentioned god. He was not glancing down anymore but instead his eyes found its place opposite of your direction. And if one would look close, really intently stared, the faintest of red could be seen blooming in his cheeks.

"He-he's blushing."

Thor is blushing.

"You shouldn't be shouting here." His voice did not have the same air of threat and authority it usually holds. If your ears were right, it almost sounded like he was embarrassed.

Silently picking up the fallen chair, you sat down with your eyes burning holes the robe infront of you. Which you have almost forgotten was there.

Thinking back to the times you interacted with him, one word would usually come to mind. Quiet. He would acknowledge your presence or sometimes even greet you during the times you bump into one another but has never to made a conversation. Compared to Loki, you have always figured that maybe he was just more refined.

It wasn't until you heard his tale from your friend that you have gathered a sort of fear towards him. You knew how gods are, how vile and wrathful they are. And a god of his caliber could wipe you with a single flicker of his finger.

You would now bow and act more politely to him. Going as far as trying to avoid any contact with him.

But now sitting a mere foot apart, you felt no threat. No danger. And only then did you realize that you have never really felt any danger to begin with. When he speaks, he did not have the murderous aura that they claim to choke anyone.  He had never given you any reason to fear him, it was only you who decided to believed other's opinion.

"I'm sorry."

As if a trigger, his head turned to you upon hearing your timid voice but you dare not look at his eyes.

"You don't-"

"Not just for yelling."

Where did you get the courage to cut him off? You do not know. But, still with the false bravery, you continued.

"I mean, I have been very rude to you for a long time,"

"You have never been mean to me and I only returned the gesture by fearing you without any basis of."

With every fiber of yours screaming otherwise, you turned to look at him in the eye.

"I'm really sorry."

The longer you look into those golden eyes the more the heat on your neck spreads to your cheeks.

Guess his hair isn't the only thing red now.

"It's nothing," surprisingly it was Thor who turned away first. This time though, you eyes remained on him with a small smile. Youu have been missing out on so many things. But now, you have the eternity to catch up. And you're sure as hell you will.

"Thor-sama."

"Just Thor."

You laughed a bit, a sound that you did not notice brought a smile on his own lips.

"Why did you give me those gift anyway."

He turned his head to the other direction, but your keen eyes could see his tainted red ears.

"Loki said gifts were a good way to get close to someone." You grinned.

"I should have known better than listen to him."

His words dragged a loud laugh from you. The thought of him asking Loki, of all people for an advice was something you thought you'll never hear. And the small pout in his voice upon the next statement both brought you giddiness and butterflies.

Your hands instinctively covered your mouth, but still the sounds slipped through. And if you would have opened your eyes that moment, you would have seen the adoration in Thor's as he watches you.

Yes, it was embarrassing to ask his cousin for advice and finding those herbs was a hard task. But if seeing you like this, with lips arch into the most beautiful smile he have seen filled with happiness he once thought he couldn't bring you, then he would do it a thousand more.

Bonus:

Outside the closed doors, Loki grinned at himself. Trying to get you two was a pain with how standoffish Thor was by this was the most entertainment he had for a long time.

"What the hell are you doing?" It was one of Odin's crow that screeched from beging, as they watch the god smiling, and by experience it never means well.

"Oh nothing," he sing-songed. He floated pass his uncle but never before saying,

"Hope you're ready for grandkids!"

"Huh?"

But they did not receive an answer, only a chorus of laughter from the god of mischief as he drift away.

If you don't know who's Circe is, she's a witch in the Greek mythology that turned sailors into pigs. Odysseus met her during his travel home from the Trojan war. She turned his men into pig too. And it's a book of Madeline Miller too! You should really read her books.

This was requested by @tenshi-san and I apologize that I might have strayed too far from your prompt. I really hope I did your husbando some justice. He was so hard to write because that only thing I can see him as is bored😂. But I hope you still like it!

[monsoonblooms12]

Bittersweet (Ethan Ramsey x f!MC)

Summary: OH Book 1 Chapter 4 written from Dolores Hudson's POV

A/N: I really wanted to do this because Dolores is such an amazing person and this chapter is one of my favourites in the entire OH series. This picks up from the office fire and ends at Dolores's death.

A/N 2: The flashback portions are indented

If you enjoyed the story, please like it, leave a comment or reblog. Your feedback keeps me going🤍

Characters: Dolores Hudson, Ethan Ramsey, f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Pooja Sharma (f!MC)

Word Count: around 2.8 K

Rating: General

Category: Fluff then Angst

Disclaimer: PB owns most of the characters and some of the dialogues. I only own my MC.

Triggers: Complications in pregnancy, Few Curse Words, Character Death

Prompts: @choicesaprilchallenge2021 Day 23: Classic/Classical

Other Works

Clickety-clack!

Dolores's fingers danced on the keyboards in a swift motion as she strived to complete this last email and get home and have a sleep that she missed yesterday due to late-night cravings.

Around her, a chaos of whispers spread as her colleagues engaged in mindless chitter-chatter of the last hour before the end of the office day.

A few nudges of Hey, Dolores! and its variants reached her, but she steered past them, focusing completely on her work.

Just one more line anndd,

Done!

She hit the send and the ping of the 'sent' notification calmed her overworked nerves.

Come on, Lil tadpole, let's file these papers, get ice cream and go home.

She fondly rubbed her belly. 26 weeks in and yet the fact that she was going to become Mamma Froggy was overwhelming and exciting.

She got the prints and in a hurry, nearly got a paper cut.

Careful there! She cajoled herself and started filing those messy sheets of her hard work of the day.

She was almost done just as-

Waaahhh!

The blazing sound, very much like a siren's, reached all of them, leading to the eruption of panicked commotion between all of them.

They had been run through the fire drill so many times that they didn't need to be told that it was a fire alarm.

Dolores left all her possessions, carrying only her bag with the stuffed froggy she had bought for her baby and tried to run.

But being pregnant doesn't make it very easy. Even more, if there was a fucking fire at the place.

People went haywire. Very few cared about the fact that she was carrying a baby, and they should have the minimum decency to help. Most would selfishly try to save themselves, not giving a damn about anyone.

Dolores tried to pave a way for reaching the elevator. It was nearly impossible for her to get down the stairwell in time to save herself from the hazardous situation. She could see that most of the people had already evacuated.

Why was the fire department not here yet?

The fire was ablaze, surroundings hot, and amidst all, Dolores walked slowly, worried only about her little tadpole and not herself.

She pressed the buttons of the elevator. Waited. But nothing budged.

Fuck it!

Smoke engulfed her and she felt suffocated. All through the light-headedness, she could faintly hear, the siren of the ambulance. She hoped someone would save her from this fiery hell.

But there was no one to help her. No one around. The building burnt and if she did not think of something quickly, she would burn with it as well.

Not viewing any other options, she screamed with as much strength she could garner. Once, Twice, Thrice.

The next actions happened quicker than the blink of an eye. She saw a handsome EMT rush towards her. Even though she was already in a blazing environment, she couldn't stop the he's hot reflex of her brain cells. He came to her and reassured her that he would be able to save her and her baby, picked her up, and slowly, yet swiftly, got out of there.

Just like a superhero.

She thought of telling this story of Super-Man coming to save him and his Mama to her baby and the thought made her giggle.

Her head was light, and she felt choked, but her mind would keep going to the little angel of her womb, worrying only for him.

The last she remembers was reaching the ambulance and coughing vigorously. She couldn't breathe normally. She tried and failed miserably. A slow sensation of blacking out and after that, everything blank.

After who knows how long, Dolores feels the glare of white lights around her giving her eyes a painful competition to open up. She squints, tiredness spreading through her body. From office work or the life-threatening experience? She does not know.

She slowly, very slowly, tries to sit up, her hand on her belly, tenderly stroking it, as if to let the child know that his Mamma would not let any harm come to him. Nurses check in on her, one of them replacing the oxygen mask with a nose tube, and she felt a bit more relaxed.

As she was taking in the surroundings, she realized,

Edenbrook!

Coming back here after so many years brought back many memories. The first time she came here. Oh, how panicked she was! She was getting jitters but that calm and brilliant doctor took care of her, not only inside the hospital but also outside it.

Dr Ethan Ramsey.

He still worked here, he had told her in his last email. I need to meet him! She thought.

When was the last time they had met? In that coffee shop last year, right? It had been long.

She traced the name she had thought for her tadpole over and over again on her belly as if to make him memorize it before coming here to her, and looked around.

There was a minimum difference between the room she had been kept in the first time and the one in which she was now, but the time gap made her feel everything was new.

All of a sudden the door swayed, letting in a young doctor and,

Ethan!

She was genuinely excited about seeing him. Of all the possibilities, she hadn't really considered the fact that he would be coming to treat her. He has important cases to take care of than petty smoke inhalation, right?

A frown appears on his forehead. "What did you get yourself into this time, Dolores?"

His stern tone is the tough layer of a walnut, which hid his soft corner, the concerned heart. She smiled at the realization.

She quickly filled him in with all the details. The fire. The hot superman. The baby. Everything.

She finds the young doctor's surprise about Ethan having friends amusing. The look of surprise she had on her face was priceless.

But when the doctor asked her,

"Was Dr Ramsey always so mean?" she guards her mouth using her hand, "And so handsome?"

It was Dolores's turn to be shocked. She knew just how much Ethan hated interns. He used to whine about how stupid they were all the time to her, online & offline. And here was this intern, having enough courage to ask her such a question in front of him.

Impressive!

"This man's definitely got grouchier than before, but even then he had an edge"

"And as for handsome, I think he has aged like a fine wine" Dolores winked and Ethan fumbled for words.

When he got his tone back, it was strict.

No matter what anyone else thought, Dolores knew the real Ethan. The one without his rough and tough exterior and mean demeanour.

And that Ethan, if he ever came out, would make everyone fall in love with him.

As the doctors mumbled between themselves, she looked around, searching for something.

Umm Hmm. She couldn't see it.

"Excuse me Doctor Sharma" Both of them turned to look at her. "I remember having my bad when the hunk brought me out. Did they bring it here?" She asks, anxiety on its borderline, ready to burst out.

She needed it. Very Much.

Dr Sharma looks around for a bit, carefully conscious eyes trained to spot abnormalities. Her eyes, soon enough, fall on the side table of the bed and she picks the purse up and hands it over to Dolores.

Another frantic search follows. She turns all the contents up and down, her happy demeanour replaced with a visible frown.

It's not here, she says, evidently panicked.

A sadness spreads on her face.

"I must have dropped it in the office" She is on the verge of crying.

Dr Sharma places a kind hand on her shoulder. What Happened? Her questioning eyes wordlessly ask.

Dolores sighs, "It probably sounds stupid but I saw this adorable little frog on my lunch break and had to get it for my little tadpole."

"My parents are gone and the father's not in the picture." She adoringly places a hand on her swollen belly, "I just want everything to be perfect for him."

Dr Sharma gives her shoulder a gentle push of reassurance, and adds, "It's not stupid Dolores, absolutely not. I feel like you're going to be a great mom."

Her words make Dolores smile despite the upsetting circumstances, "Thank You. I- I just wished I hadn't lost it."

She stays lost in the thoughts and daydreams of her little tadpole playing with his first gift, growing ever more upset with every passing second.

"I and Dr Ramsey will find it for you!" Dr Sharma's excited tone jolts her out of her thoughts.

She is surprised first and slowly a smile appears, "Really Ethan? You would do that for me?"

He hesitates.

"Erm- Yes, sure." He fumbles.

"Dr Sharma, let's get this urine sample to the lab first. I will meet you in the lot in ten minutes."

Relieved and Happy, Dolores exclaims, "I am 26 weeks pregnant, Ethan. Not gonna take 10 minutes to make me pee!"

And in 15 minutes, they take her urine sample away and bid adieu with a promise of bringing her token of love for her tadpole back.

She was extremely grateful for Dr Sharma. She doubted if Ethan had given in the first time if it had not been her taking initiative.

Wait a Minute.

Ethan Ramsey listened to an intern? That too, in the first time itself? The observation blew her mind.

She recounted the time he had called her to his home to give a dinner treat. Lovely memories of a different face of the man came to her mind like the waves reaching the shore, one after the other.

"Mmm... Ethan, this is delicious!" Dolores found herself falling deeply in love with this masterpiece of Georgian stuffed chicken.

"Thank You, but it wouldn't have got done without your help" Ethan was never the type to take credit. Boast, Huh? What's that?

That's what she liked the most about him. A fine, handsome man, talented without bounds, a successful doctor having shitloads of money and a chef. He was a complete package and yet seemed to be subtly unaware of it.

They chatted about everything from opera to music to their first meet. It was a jolly time.

That is, until, the conversation landed on romance.

"So, seeing anyone?"

"No, not currently." He blushes a bit.

"Imagine" Dolores leans back on her chair, stretching her legs, "if, I said if, you fell in love with," she pauses to look at his curious face, "an intern?"

"Impossible."

It came even before she had finished the word. Dolores was amused.

"Just imagine!"

"I don't want to waste time imagining something as implausible as that. Can we talk about something else please?"

And here he was today, listening to an intern, a different demeanour than usual. Not that it was love, yet, but there was something.

Was he impressed by her?

He talked differently, listened patiently to the young doctor. That Ethan Ramsey who would not stand with an intern for 5 minutes, listened to one?

Anyone who knew him would laugh off the fact and say it was a joke.

Dolores made sure that if it happens, the falling in love with an intern, she will not let Ethan see the end of it. Teasing him to annoyance, yes that's what she would do.

She turned on some soft classical music on her phone, spreading an instant calm and dozed off for a while...

She gets up with a start on the sound of the door opening. She rubs her eyes to get a better view of the people in front of her.

It was Ethan and Dr Sharma!

She looked at them and yes! there it was, her tadpole's froggy.

She was overjoyed.

"You got it!" Dolores breaks into a grin as the sterilized frog is given to her.

"Happy now?" Ethan asks, the faintest glimmer of happiness in his eyes.

"Yes, very, very, much! Thank you so much, Ethan."

She pulls Dr Sharma into a small hug, "You too Dr Sharma, thank you!"

"Of course, Dolores." The young woman's beautiful face gleams at her, "and you can call me Pooja."

After few minutes of chit chat, Pooja leaves to get Dolores's reports.

"Switch on the TV Ethan, it's boring to sit here and do nothing."

"You know you can do better things than watching stupid TV shows?"

"I am doing it because I want to. The least who can do is help me." She shrugs.

"Fine, fine."

After going on a roundabout tour of the various broadcasted shows, they settled to watch a comedy.

Soon Ethan's stoicism got lost in the wilds and he started laughing along with her.

All the while Dolores held the Froggy affectionately to her tummy, to her little tadpole, as if to show it to him and ask if he likes it.

Amidst all the laughs, the medical reports are completely forgotten until there's a soft knock on the door and Ethan looks at someone from the corner of his eye and go out to meet them.

Still, she remains blissfully unaware of her health conditions and basks in the moments of delight she gets alone with her tadpole.

Her eyes remain glued to the TV screen until the doctors come in and from the morbid faces they wore, she knew that the reports were anything but good.

She switches off the TV.

"What is it? Ethan?"

Pooja steps forward, "I want you not to worry, Dolores."

She feels a mild panic attack bursting inside her, "T-That's what people say when there is something to be worried about. Is my tadpole okay?"

Pooja sighs, "Have you heard of preeclampsia? It's a disease affecting one out of ten pregnant women. In most cases, it is manageable, if monitored properly. But in your case-"

She pauses. And Dolores knows that whatever's coming will not be hopeful.

"It's serious."

Dolores quickly asks, "How serious?"

Not too much. Not too much. Please, god, not too much. She crosses her fingers.

"The blood flow to the placenta is slowing. It could deprive your baby of vital nutrients and oxygen."

With his morbid mask matching his melancholy tone, Ethan says, "Your baby is at risk."

Shit.

"B-But I can still feel the baby kicking!" She urges them to come and feel for themselves.

"Dolores it just means the delivery needs to be done early."

"Impossible." Dolores remarks with a deadly determination. "It's too soon."

"Babies delivered at 26 weeks have a good chance of survival." Dr Sharma tries to convince her.

"A-A chance?"

She is not going to play a game of chances with her beloved tadpole, her little jewel.

They keep convincing her.

"Yes he'll have to spend some time in the N.I.C.U and there are chances of post-birth complications-"

"And some don't make it at all. Is my baby is in danger now?" She asks with a motherly force.

"No, not immediately. But-" Ethan is on his tracks to convince her again.

"Then my little tadpole is staying put."

"Dolores—"

"No, Ethan! Just...give me some time! As long as you can give me. Please" It is a request from her heart, and she is on the verge of tears.

"I give you tonight. To come back to your senses."

When they leave, Dolores cries, caressing her belly, her little tadpole in there. She cannot take a risk with his goddamn life, never ever.

Tears roll down her cheeks and she holds the stuffed frog even tighter to herself, praying to god for his magical abilities and to save her baby.

Please.

She fell asleep while crying. When she wakes up, she finds a few unknown nurses and doctors standing there.

She tries to speak but cannot form words. Her head feels light, just like it did in the office building. She could not sense anything, swallowing was trouble.

She makes random sounds and the people come rushing to her, just as her body breaks into violent convulsions.

"We need to take her to the surgery, QUICK!"

They call for a code blue and everything that happens following that is a haze to her.

They are rushing her to the surgery. Her body shakes vigorously, and she can feel that she doesn't have much time left.

She holds the doctor's hand who was rushing her to the O.R.

"N-nam-me him-m E-Ethan."

And with that, she slowly spirals down the realm of unconsciousness, the last thought to ever strike her mind was,

Little tadpole, mamma loves you. You will be okay. Mamma will always be there with you, for you.

And with that her breath leaves her body, the last tear dropping on the O.R. bed.

As Ethan Hudson sees the light of his new life, Dolores passes away into the darkness.

I love you little tadpole.

PS: Thank you so much for reading and I hope you have a great day ahead! Love, Manamee🤍.

Tags (Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!): @bbrandy2002 @whimsicallywayward15 @ohramsey @natureblooms24 @nervoussaladsludgeopera @trrfanaddict @hopelessromanticmonie @ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey @lovablegranny @bellcat2010 @gkittylove99 @kingliam2019 @starrystarrytrouble @3riche @chetachisblog @zoehanji @withbeautyandrage @drariellevalentine @mvalentine @aestheticartsx @angela8754 @schnitzelbutterfingers @ao719 @choicesstan1 @neotericthemis @nikki-2406 @anotherbeingsworld @maurine07 @sophxwithers @twinkleallnight @choicesaddict5 @gardeningourmet @mysticaurathings @jessiembruno @stygianflood @aleynareads @mercury84choices @udishaman @jamespotterthefirst

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[caught-in-the-filter]

Smutty CS notion: sweet duckling Princess Emma stumbles on Dark Hook and is too intrigued for her own good...there are some things she just won’t tell Queen Snow 😉

Chasing a Shadow (Chasing a High) - Chapter 1

A/N:Thank you so much for the prompt @karlyfr13s! There is never enough Dark Hook Duckling. 😏 I hope you like it! 😘❤️ Huge thank you to @veryverynotgoodwrites for beta-ing and being awesome. ❤️ And thank you to everyone on the CSMM Discord for all your support! ❤️

Rated: E; Words (Ch1): 3856; AO3 tumblr.: Ch1, Ch2

——

Emma knew how to handle herself. As the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, who’d since become the ruling queen and king, she’d been well-trained in several ways by which to defend herself and protect the citizens of their kingdom. She could use a bow and arrow, was very skilled with a sword, and knew how to travel amongst others undetected. Whenever she’d asked to venture into the town, her parents were usually agreeable to it.

They didn’t know, however, about the dark figure in whom she’d taken an interest on her last few visits. Curiosity bubbled inside her while she watched him from afar as he swiftly moved through the crowd, the hood of his cloak concealing his face as he rounded a corner and vanished from her sight.

It became a little game she played with herself—finding him, trying to catch a glimpse of the man beneath the shadows, almost copying his swagger as she followed him. She wanted to know where he disappeared to every day as the sun set.

Her desire for answers made her bolder than she’d ever been, determination fueling her next moves.

Emma tracked the mysterious figure to a seedy street a few towns over, sparsely lined with lamps which mostly remained unlit as the day gave way to nightfall, and she found herself squinting in the darkness as she lost sight of the man again.

“A bit far from home, aren’t we, lass?”

Emma jumped at the sound of the sultry voice and turned to face its source. Her eyes widened as she got a good look at the cloaked man for the first time. Dark wisps of hair covered his forehead, and matching scruff decorated his chin, with equally dark kohl setting off his deep blue eyes and making them look that much more wild. An intriguing scar had long since healed on his cheek, and despite it, she couldn’t explain the sudden ache she felt as she scanned his features. He was rather attractive, she had to admit, save for the threat of the sharp metal hook whose tip he held at her throat as he backed her to a wall, the sudden contact of cold stone taking her by surprise. (In all honesty, though, that intrigued her too, the moonlight dancing across its surface as it sent a chill of some sort coursing through her.)

“What is it, love?” he sneered. “Are you here to make a deal or to try to kill me?” He glanced down at her scabbard and loosened it with his hand, shoving it to the ground with a clatter. “Either way, you’re in so far over your head.”

“Please,” Emma croaked, her throat suddenly dry, though from what she wasn’t quite sure. It wasn’t exactly fear, she knew that much. “Neither. I just—”

“Ahh,” he gave her a devilish grin, “or perhaps you’re after something else entirely.” His hand snuck beneath her bodice and seared her skin as he slid it up her side. “Does the thought of the big, bad Dark One turn you on?” He leaned the curve of his hook against the wall over her shoulder and hovered his face just above where it had been, inhaling sharply along her neck and humming against the shell of her ear, making her legs tremble beneath her as they suddenly grew weak. “Ohh, you don’t know what you’ve just gotten yourself into, then,” he growled, “Princess.”

The Dark One?!

“W-wait—” she pleaded because she knew she should. Panted, really. He already had her breathless as his mouth explored what little skin was left exposed by her modest outfit, while his hand found her laces and worked to reveal more of it to him. “I didn’t know….” She’d heard stories of the Dark One that had made her blood run cold, and she knew the danger he presented.

But the man in front of her didn’t quite fit the description that had been passed along in fairy tales, and all she felt now was heat, pooling low in her belly and blossoming on her cheeks and curling her toes.

“You know who I am?” she questioned, not that her identity was exactly a secret, but she thought she’d done well to evade his observation, though she guessed her current circumstances proved otherwise.

“Aye. Why do you think I led you all this way?” he asked, rucking up her skirts as his fingers brushed the back of her knee, encouraging her to lock her leg behind him as he lifted it and caressed her thigh. “I couldn’t very well take you in the middle of your own town for everyone you know to witness.” His eyebrow raised as he added cheekily, “Unless, of course, you’d like that too.”

“I wouldn’t,” she replied quickly, unamused by his soft chuckle.

“But you’d like me to take you here?” he teased, not waiting for an answer. She gasped into his mouth as he slanted it against hers, his tongue inviting itself between her lips and she found it not unwelcome as it drew forth a moan from deep within her in tandem with his thigh as he nudged her legs further apart and nestled it between them. Without a second thought, she rocked her hips, seeking a friction she didn’t know she needed until each pass both soothed and spurred the throbbing she felt in her core.

“Tell me what you desire, Princess,” he coaxed, breath hot over her lips. “I know you’ve been following me for some time. Tell me what you’ve come to crave, and I shall make it happen.”

“And what would I owe in return?” Emma knew any interaction with the Dark One would have unintended consequences.

“For you, love, I’d make an exception. Consider it my patronage to the crown,” he said with a flourishing bow while keeping his thigh pressed between hers. The timbre of his voice dropped much lower as he pressed his forehead to hers and purred, “With or without magic, you’ll come with no price, I assure you.”

Emma knew it was a bad idea, tried to convince herself to push him away, but her hands and hormones betrayed her mind as she pulled him closer, one hand anchored in his hair while the other splayed against his back and travelled lower to grip his ass with a confident playfulness neither of them had expected. She felt the hard bulge rubbing her thigh through his trousers as she continued to ride his leg and cursed without realizing what she was saying.

“My, what a crude vocabulary for a princess,” the Dark One commented, slowly sliding his hand toward the apex of her thighs. “Beneath the yards of intricate fabric, you’re still just a needy little wench, aren’t you?” He sent a jolt along her spine as his fingers passed through her folds and eased between them, working her more gently than his reputation would’ve led her to expect. “You put on airs of piety, in your castle with your guard and your formal address, but your slickness reveals the truth of your primal desire.” He pressed them deeper inside her, adding another and curling them towards himself, and she arched into his touch with a whimper and another string of curses when he continued to repeat the motion. “That’s it, darling. Fuck yourself with my hand. Show me just how desperate you are for me.”

Emma furrowed her brow at his words, unsure of when he’d stilled his hand and let her take over the pace. Her rhythm faltered, and she canted her hips in protest as he removed his hand from her core, only to watch in stunned amazement as he licked her arousal from his fingers one by one, his talented tongue determined to catch every drop.

“Your taste is exquisite, Princess,” he said. “It’s no wonder you stay locked away at most times. If they only knew what they were missing, you’d never be without a caller begging for even the smallest sample of your irresistible sweetness.”

Emma stuttered over unintelligible syllables, biting back words she hadn’t expected to want to say, a vulgar question nagging to be spoken that she wouldn’t dare to voice.

“Yes, love?” The Dark One pressed his chest flush against her, staring into her eyes, his mouth a hair’s breadth away from hers.

“I, umm—” Emma hesitated. The Dark One simply smiled, waiting.

“You’re a bit of an open book, Princess,” he said. “I can read your thoughts, but to get what you want, I need you to say it.”

Not one to back down from a challenge, Emma worked up the courage to ask, “Would—would you like to taste it directly?”

He raised his eyebrow and hummed his assent, his voice a low rumble in his chest as he prodded, “Is that what you would like, love?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then tell me.”

“I want your mouth on me, Dark One,” she pleaded. “I want to feel your tongue inside me.”

“Mmmm, with pleasure,” he growled as he sank to his knees in front of her and ducked beneath her skirts.

The sinful cry that left her lips echoed down the empty street as he made contact with her wet and aching flesh, and Emma was sure someone would hear it and the equally loud moans that followed. Her legs wanted to cave beneath her, instinctively pulling together and pressing tightly around his cheeks as he devoured her, the brush of his scruff burning her skin in the best way. He chuckled without pausing his ministrations and held her thighs apart with the palm of his hand warming one and the flat of his hook cooling the other. She squirmed at the conflicting temperatures, or more likely at the way he licked and sucked in the space between them.

“Still with me, Princess?” he mumbled into her core, muffled by the layers of fabric cinched at her waist that shrouded him. Bracing herself with her arms against the wall, her fingertips dug into the gaps between the stones as he scraped his teeth against her clit and nipped at her sensitive flesh, his tongue plunging inside her as he drank in her arousal.

“Mmhmm,” she sighed unconvincingly, rolling her hips as she chased her high. A building tension overwhelmed her as the Dark One nosed at the swollen bundle of nerves while his tongue relentlessly found a spot that his fingers had only teased. “Oh gods,” she panted, her knuckles turning white as she heavily relied on the wall to keep her upright, losing the support of his hand and hook as they met his mouth in the middle to bring her to the edge.

“You flatter me,” he muttered, the joke lost on her as her head spun dizzily and fell back against the stone, her eyes fluttering closed while her hips bucked into his encouraging grunts as she came hard on his tongue.

The Dark One did well to catch as much of it as he could, opening his mouth beneath her as he thrust his fingers inside her with purpose and let her release pour into it, licking along her folds and sucking on her clit until she at last relaxed into the wall behind her. He lifted her skirts and stood before her once more, looking absolutely wrecked and feral, his chin glistening with her wetness below swollen lips, his hair mussed from static and sweat, his pupils blown wide with a greater hunger they’d yet to sate.

“I so wanted to make you wait for it,” he growled, chest heaving, “to make you wait for your release until I had you on my cock, but you were just too tempting, my dear. I had to taste all of you.”

Emma’s hands reached up to attempt to tame the haphazard locks atop his head but only served to add to the chaos as she clenched fistfuls of it instead when his lips collided with her own. She melted at the heady taste of herself on him and welcomed his full perusal of her mouth. The Dark One moaned eagerly as his tongue teased hers as it had her core, and Emma boldly took his bottom lip between her teeth as she pulled back for just a moment before she rose on her toes to meet him again.

“That’s it, Princess,” he said as they breathed together. “Take what you want.” He nosed along her jaw, nipping at the path until he bit her earlobe. His hook caught on her neckline and he tugged it down, down until he freed her breasts. The cool night air rushed across her newly exposed skin, teasing her nipples until he harshly palmed one breast and thumbed at the stiffening peak as he asked, “What do you want?”

“I want—” she could barely breathe, let alone think enough to speak. But then, she really didn’t need to think at all, only feel, to feel something more and then keep feeling it until she crashed all over again. “I want your cock, Dark One. Give me your cock.”

“Good girl,” he purred into her ear as he unlaced his trousers and lifted her skirts in the crook of his hook. His hand departed from her breast only long enough to align himself with her entrance and press inside with one steady roll of his hips as his teeth sank into her shoulder.

Emma cried out at the pleasurable pain of his bite and the stretch of his cock, clutching at his back for any sort of hold, finding purchase in the material of his cloak.

The Dark One’s fingers returned to their task of kneading her flesh as his tongue worked to soothe the purpling spot onto which his mouth had latched, and he began to move inside her with deep thrusts that left her almost empty before filling her completely each time.

“Gods, you’re so fucking tight, Princess,” he praised. “Tight and wet and fucking perfect. All for me.”

The small, encouraging sounds she made with every slide echoed the muted slap of his balls against her wet skin, the Dark One’s hungry moans finding their own sort of syncopated rhythm as he kissed along her collarbone and licked at the hollow of her throat before meeting her mouth again.

“Oh, how I’d love to taste every inch of you,” the Dark One groaned against her lips, “to watch your body quiver as I run my tongue all over your skin.” He dipped his head to trail his breath down her chest and suck at her nipple before releasing it with a soft pop. “But alas, we’ve not the time nor is it the place, and there’s a much more pressing matter for us both.”

Emma felt that tension building inside herself again as he devoured her mouth once more, massaged her breasts relentlessly, and slammed into her aching core. His words affected her more than she thought they could, and she writhed against the wall as she moved with him in an effort to bring them both to completion. She could tell he felt it too as the cords in his neck tensed and the force of his hips increased.

“Where do you want it, love?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper this time as the words caught in his throat.

“Ins—inside me,” she choked between whimpers. “I want to feel it inside me, Dark One. Please come inside me.”

“Fuck, Princess, you are a naughty minx.” His thrusts grew rougher, more frantic as he began to lose the last of his resolve. “As you wish, my darling.”

While she thought he was already as impossibly deep as he could go, the Dark One adjusted his angle so that his legs would give him a stronger foundation as he pistoned his hips with abandon. The change sent her reeling, and she struggled to hold on as the corners of her vision blurred from his merciless snaps.

“Are you with me, Princess?” He breathed.

“Mmhmm,” Emma answered as before, though she knew it wasn’t quite true. Her mind travelled to the edge of another blissful plane, and her body was kept from physically falling only by his pinning hers to the wall.

“No, I mean, are you with me, love?” the Dark One clarified. “I’m so fucking close, sweetheart. Are you with me?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good.” His hand slid its way up to her throat, taking a loose but firm hold. This time Emma did feel just a touch of fear, wondering how far the darkness would go to get him where he wanted to be, but it soon turned to further desire as the Dark One only tightened his grip enough to make her gasp as she relaxed in a mildly lightheaded haze. “Come for me, Princess. Come right on my cock as I fill you with my seed, you naughty thing.”

It did something to her, the way he continually mixed formalities with such vulgarity in equally sultry tones and with an eloquence that made her wonder for a brief moment why there would be any other way to speak when his speech alone could make her feel so good.

Emma’s legs began to quake beneath her when he passed the curve of his hook over her clit in deliberate circles and reminded her that she didn’t have to rely on just his voice to find her release, for which she was most grateful.

The Dark One stifled their moans of pleasure with a passionate kiss, plunging his tongue as deep as his cock as his hips stuttered and stilled and he spilled himself inside her. Their chests heaved as they rested their foreheads together and panted over each other’s lips, attempting to catch their breaths and waiting for their limbs to feel solidified again before daring to move.

“That was wonderful, darling. And I’ll be expecting some… other reciprocation with this pretty little mouth of yours next time,” the Dark One smirked. With a snap of his fingers, he righted himself, leaving her already missing the feel of his cock as his trousers laced themselves.

“Next time? I thought you said I’d come at no price,” she teased, wrapping her fingers around his hook and running them back and forth along the curve.

“That I did. And I didn’t lie, you’ve nothing to repay me.” He took the time to manually fix her bodice, every brush of his fingers lighting little fires across her skin, his effort with the ties as hot as the rest of their prior interactions. “But you withheld the truth from me of just how good of a fuck you are, Princess. You can’t honestly say this was a one-time thing.”

Emma hummed and placed her other hand on his chest as she challenged, “And what if I do?”

“Then I’d hope you’d kindly get on your knees for me right now, and I would assure you that whatever ungodly hour you arrive home will have been worth it.”

Emma’s gaze flicked from his eyes to his mouth and back as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“As tempting as that sounds,” she said with a smile, genuinely interested in finding out how he tastes and curious to see just how weak she could make the all-powerful Dark One in the process. But she knew she shouldn’t have gone this far to begin with, and fearing the consequences of further pursuit of whatever this was with him, she responded, “I need to get back before my extended absence is noticed, unless you want to deal with the army of guards my parents would send after you if they somehow found out you’ve ‘ruined’ me.”

“‘Ruined’ you?” His eyebrow raised as he scoffed, “Oh love, your innocence was clearly gone long before tonight. We both know you knew what you were after when you followed me here, and you certainly knew what you were doing when you got it.” His voice became darker, almost threatening when he added, “And I can handle the guards.”

“We might know that, but they sure as hell don’t, and I intend to keep it that way.” Emma sighed. “And I know you can handle them, that’s what I’m afraid of. It’s not for your sake but for theirs.” That earned a sarcastically begrudging eye roll from him.

Emma ducked and slipped away from him, picking up her scabbard as she did, and he spun on his heel as he watched her slowly step backward, beyond his reach.

“Goodbye, Dark One,” she said.

“I’m not unwilling to fight for what I want. Don’t think I’m letting you go this easily.”

“I would despair if you did.” Emma took another backward step before turning and taking off in the direction of her castle.

“Goodbye, Princess,” the Dark One called after her, or thought he called, his voice softer than he’d realized or intended as he watched her leave and got lost in the thought of his release still inside her.

It was all Emma could think about too, knowing it was driving him just as mad and grinning to herself at the fact that she could get to him. She could feel the way it dripped down her thighs as she moved. She could feel the way it dried sticky on her skin as she allowed it to remain there longer than she probably should have.

And she could feel it later as she further explored herself when she finally reunited with her bed and imagined what else he might do to her if given the chance, and what she could do to him, the scent of his pleasure mixing with that of her own arousal as they blended on her desperate fingers, which would have to suffice until she could find him again. She bit back moans and struggled to refrain from calling out his infamous moniker as her head fell back with the fresh memory of his mouth on her neck and the promise that she would feel it everywhere else.

Oh yes. Yes.

Yes, she would absolutely have to see him again, somewhere that would allow them a bit more freedom, the potential danger of granting that to him only adding to the thrill of it all.

Recalling his request, she brought her wet fingers to her lips and tested herself to see what she could handle, learning how much could fit and how deeply and for how long before she’d need a break. Just the hint of him on them encouraged her to try more, deeper, longer, as her other hand matched the pace inside her core and her thumb flicked at her clit.

She’d find an excuse for why she’d need to clean her own sheets tomorrow.

As Emma at last relaxed into the mattress, she drifted into dreams of what might be in store for the two of them. There are some things she would never tell her parents, and fucking the Dark One again and again would just have to be one of them.

——

Tag list ❤️: @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @qualitycoffeethings @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @xsajx @wefoundloveunderthelight @zaharadessert

[qqueenofhades]

Are you still taking prompts? We are thirsty and were hoping for “bite me” in a fivan vampire au. Pretty please? What’s that you say? That’s not on the list you shared? Um, oops? I said we are thirsty! 🤤

Ahaha, okay, I think this is going to do it for the prompts for now. I want to get back to working on PEL, and I have (mostly) given the people what they want. But before you hasten to my inbox to request more of this (which I know the Very Hungry Lot of you will do, and I love you so much for it): do know that this is indeed related to a larger project and this is just the first bit of it.

What is that project? Shh. I am not telling you just yet. It's a secret.

Belgrade, Kingdom of Serbia

June 1896

The summer evening is warm and purple, lit atmospherically by both the older gaslamps and the newfangled electric lights (there is a Serb in New York, a man by the name of Tesla, whose great scientific inventions and experiments with alternating current may soon illuminate the entire world), and the well-dressed crowd flows toward the café in a tide of rustling satin, silk, and velvet, ladies in evening dress and men in top hats and monocles. The establishment is the Golden Cross, in Terazije, a bustling neighborhood just south of Stari Grad, and the attraction is an exhibition of the marvelous moving pictures of the Lumière brothers – the first such show in the Balkans, and indeed outside of Paris, after they were first premiered in great triumph six months ago. Or at least, so it is for most of the attendees tonight. Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky has a different task.

He stands apart from the milling throngs, well dressed in a high-collared coat and silken cravat, dark hair parted ruler-straight and face freshly shaven, a old golden watch tucked in his breast pocket and his shoes polished to a perfect sheen. While the people hurry past almost close enough to jostle him, they have a peculiar difficulty in registering that he is there. They sense something, yes – a cold breath on the back of the neck, a prey animal’s inborn reflex to warily search the shadows – but it never quite clicks. They continue on their way without being troubled in their own sense of reality, or ever realizing who – what – is standing there with them. It is just one of the odd, disjointed experiences that Fedyor has had to come to terms with, in the twenty-two years since he became a vampire.

By habit, he checks the horizon. These summer days are late and long, and Fedyor is still young enough that he can’t tolerate more than a few minutes of sunlight. It has taken years to be able to go out by day at all, half-thinking he had dreamed the waking world, become wholly one with the shadows and the night. When he emerged in the last gasps of afternoon, when he felt the golden warmth on his face for the first time in almost two decades, he wept. It still causes him vestigial pain, but not as much. Not so much that it cannot be borne.

He pulls the slip of paper out of his pocket and checks the name again. Then he puts it back and slips smoothly into the crowd. At the threshold, he feels that faint, telltale twinge, the knowledge of entering another creature’s territory without being explicitly bidden to do so. The Golden Cross belongs to the vampire king of Belgrade, who is rumored to be five hundred years old and a veteran of the Battle of Kosovo in 1389 (which, so far as Fedyor can tell, the Serbs have never gotten over losing to the Turks) and Fedyor is not interested in pissing him off. But therefore it is, by Conclave law, a place where all vampires in the city can freely congregate, so long as they haven’t committed some terrible crime. It also means that Fedyor may find the man he is looking for in here, and not have to cross into enemy turf.

A rich reek of wine and brandy, of hand-cranked ice cream in cut-glass bowls, of ladies’ perfume and men’s cologne, of sweat and starch and thrumming hot blood, rises into Fedyor’s nose as he inhales, as his senses have been honed a hundred times more acutely than what he was previously used to. He searches the crowded room, on high alert for another supernatural. Nothing, at least not thus far. But it is a delicate and fiddly bit of bloodsucker diplomacy for which he is here tonight, having to do with the rumor that a local group of creatures have formed a shadowy secret society called Црна рука, the Black Hand, with the aim of expressly interfering in human politics. This, of course, is strictly against the rules, and they need to be reminded of that fact. Fedyor would very much prefer not to fight an anarchist rebel vampire in the middle of a café crowded with oblivious humans, but the thought crosses his mind that this is an excellent soft target. The eyes of the entire city, the Balkans, the international art community, are fixed on this place tonight. If something went wrong – if the Golden Cross and all the souls within it were blown to smithereens –

Fedyor orders a drink at the bar – he has been promised that one day he will again also be able to eat human food if he craves the taste, but it will not nourish him – and sits down near the back, keeping a sharp eye out. Andre Carr, the Frenchman who has traveled from Lyon as the Lumière brothers’ representative, is setting up the unwieldy projector and barking at his assistants to be careful with the fragile, bulky spools of film, his mustache bristling in agitation. Fedyor gauges the mood of the crowd, the din of their heartbeats, their eager interest, their whispered gossip. Still no other supernaturals that he can sense, but that doesn’t mean that they’re not here. The vampire king and his underlings will have plenty of ways to conceal themselves from a relative child like Fedyor. As will the Black Hand.

He leans back in his chair and samples the whisky. Not bad, he thinks, though it’s been a long time since he drank human libations. It’s nice to be out among regular people, but he always has to keep strict watch on the part of himself that yearns to feed, that wants them to run, to fear, to fall. Fedyor has been a vampire long enough to control the hunger, to drink mostly from animals and space out his feeds on humans, to ask them for their consent or pay them for their trouble, but it’s still a struggle. He understands the urge that drives vampires to sequester themselves, to only live among their own kind, to keep drones and other willing human servants to feed from, so that you are not put to the trouble of chasing down a stranger and politely asking to bite them in the neck every fortnight or so, don’t get mixed up as to whether the mortals are your dinner company or just your dinner. It is a deuced bloody bother of a business. Fedyor always feels like an idiot whenever he tries.

Carr and his minions sort out their difficulties, and eventually the lights go down, provoking another eager murmur. Fedyor is not immune to the lure of whatever they are about to see, and he could have done much worse for a new home. He arrived here six years ago from his hometown in Russia, once his lack of aging became too difficult to conceal from his friends and family. Belle epoque Belgrade is a cosmopolitan, cultured world of stately opera houses and marble palaces, grand balls and gaslights, synagogues and streetcars, mosques and museums, bohemians and bordellos and broad balconies, telegraph wires and trolley cars and twisting lanes, churches and coffee shops in the Viennese style, with white-aproned waiters and colored mosaics and demitasse cups of Italian espresso. It is an ancient city, placed in a lethally strategic location at the confluence of two rivers, fought over in almost a hundred wars and razed almost forty times (and doubtless there are still more unmakings yet to come). Fedyor has found a place among the vampire community here, enough that he is trusted to deal with the Black Hand, despite his immortal youth. As to how that will go, well…

He watches the film with half an eye, impressed by the moving pictures just like his human counterparts, and then he feels it. The coldness on the back of his neck, the chirp of a sixth sense, the unshakeable awareness that he is being observed by a fellow bloodsucker. Though that term is considered somewhat dated and passé these days, mildly offensive. Vampires are eager as humans to participate in the scientific and industrial revolution, to concoct more enlightened regulations for themselves, to create an academic literature for their origins. There is talk among the sophisticated supernatural set of organizing an Academy for Preternatural Science, to hire vampire scholars, to establish a university. It’s a nice thought, if somewhat too ambitious (or so Fedyor thinks) for a race of beings that has only just decided that solving every problem with blood feuds to the death might not be the best idea. He wonders if one of those unreconstructed barbarians is behind him now.

Slowly, smoothly, so as to demonstrate that he is perfectly aware of being hunted, Fedyor turns around, and catches sight of the newcomer across the way. He is handsome – but then again, most vampires are, as it’s one of the benefits of the transformation. This one, however, is possessed of a roguish, rough-hewn attractiveness that seems genuine, still close to the face he wore as a mortal man, and not the eerie, glossy, imperturbable beauty that Fedyor sometimes finds so off-putting about his compatriots. This vampire is also wearing good clothes, and his overcoat is dark red, embroidered with curling black patterns. He looks at Fedyor, their eyes meet, and he nods once, half an inch. Game on.

Fedyor does his best to sit still until the lights come up, and the crowd claps rapturously and disperses to fetch more drinks and gush about the performance. Then he gets up and drifts toward a velvet curtain, slipping unobtrusively behind it. Back here, it is dark, dusty, and smells of candlewax and grease paint, the remnants of another performance, a conjurer’s closet. He steadies himself, turns around, and –

“Good evening,” the voice says, cold and curt. “I believe you were waiting to speak to me.”

“Yes.” Fedyor does his best to smile and appear charming and in command of the situation. “My name is Fedyor Kaminsky, and I am a representative of the Conclave. They have sent me here tonight in hopes of locating Ivan Sakharov, of the Black Hand. Is that you?”

The other vampire regards him flatly. His eyes are brown, as is his hair, which is cropped military-short and kept as sharp as his face. When he folds his arms, his muscles bulge, even through the sleeves of the well-tailored coat. “And if I was?”

“Then,” Fedyor says, “I am authorized by that same Conclave to deliver a warning to you and your associates that your current activities fall outside the bounds of the common supernatural law, and if you persist in pursuing them, there will be consequences.”

The other – well, he hasn’t denied it, so this must indeed be Ivan Sakharov – looks back at him with an utterly unimpressed expression. “Oh, so the Conclave found a new stooge to do their bidding? You’re a bit younger and fresher than the usual corpses those desiccated old tightwads usually send out after us, I’ll give you that. How long have you been in Belgrade?”

“How long have you?” Fedyor is almost sure he recognizes Ivan’s accent; they’re speaking Serbo-Croatian, but in both cases with a familiar cadence. “You’re Russian, aren’t you?”

That catches the other vampire by surprise. He hisses, baring a pair of white and very sharp fangs, and his eyes go briefly black. “You think so?”

“Yes,” Fedyor says. “But older than me, I think. Possibly quite a bit, though by how much, I can’t be sure. If we were to – ” he switches languages smoothly, in midsentence – “continue this conversation in Russian, would that be more to your liking?”

Ivan Sakharov eyes him icily. He must know that if he speaks their native tongue, he risks giving away his age by the style of his grammar, or perhaps his place of birth, and that is dangerous information for an unknown quantity to hold over you. There is a whiff of the emperor’s court around him, or perhaps the empress – does he hail from Catherine the Great’s day, Fedyor wonders, or earlier? There’s a long, crackling pause. Then Ivan says in brittle, too-correct English, “Or perhaps we should converse like this?”

Fedyor inclines his head, accepting that he has – for now – been outmaneuvered. They still haven’t taken their eyes off each other, standing close together in the dim velvet-draped shadows, near enough that if they were human, they would feel the other’s heat. There’s nothing but the faint wintry chill of unliving flesh, though a certain hunger rises unbidden in Fedyor’s stomach nonetheless. Then he says, “This does not have to be difficult. Cease your lawlessness and tell your friends to do the same.”

Ivan takes another step, close enough that their noses almost brush. “The Conclave has no power over me, Fedyor Kaminsky.”

“Do you want to test that?” Fedyor breathes, struggling to keep his focus at the other vampire’s threatening-but-thrilling nearness, the way his blood is singing under his skin in an entirely different way than he expected or frankly, that he wants. Just because Ivan Sakharov is annoyingly attractive (and also Russian) does not mean that he is not a dangerous, war-mongering, secret-cabal-plotting megalomaniac, and Fedyor does not need that sort of nonsense in his life. “If you did, I would, of course, be authorized to place you under arrest.”

Ivan looks at him goadingly. “I would like to see you try.”

Oh, so he is indeed one of those immortals (read: the kind who really need to experience mortality just to be kicked very hard in the balls). Fedyor struggles to contain his irritation. If he shows that this handsome bastard has gotten to him, this will only get worse. “If you promise to desist,” he says, “the Conclave will drop this matter and consider it closed. You and the rest of the Black Hand will not be subject to further investigation. That, or – ”

“How do I know that you are even from the Conclave? That you are who you say?”

“Why would I lie about it?”

Ivan shrugs. “I want proof.”

Fedyor grits his fangs. “What do you expect? A badge?”

“No. But I will accept your blood.”

That catches Fedyor off guard. Not that it should, necessarily. Since vampires can sense the thoughts and feelings of the creature that they’re feeding on, it’s a quick and time-tested way to prove that there is no funny business going on (or at least, no business that is funny beyond the usual). The obvious difficulty, however, is that it requires a possibly unfriendly rival to bite your neck or at the very least, your wrist, and one can understand why there would be a natural hesitation to yield one’s neck (Fedyor happens to be rather fond of his) to the clutches of the likes of Ivan Sakharov. But if he says no, he looks like he is weak or that he has something to hide, that he doesn’t trust Ivan or regard him as an equal, and the already-febrile situation with the Black Hand will only get worse. As bluffs go, Fedyor could call this one. But it would be very risky, and if it blows up in his face…

“Very well,” Fedyor says, chillingly correct. He pulls aside the collar of his evening coat and tilts his head, exposing the side of his throat. “Test me all you like.”

Ivan looks at him with something that makes that thing in Fedyor’s stomach rise up again, hot as an ember left burning in a brazier even when all the other lights go out. He hasn’t been warmed like this, not even by the sun, ever since he was turned in 1874 by a vampire named Dmitri Karamazov. He does his utmost to force it down. If Ivan bites him and senses that –

There’s a final pause, soft as tissue paper, fine as crystal. Then Ivan steps forward, looking almost impressed, as if he expected Fedyor to find some reason to back out. He flexes his jaw, bringing out those two impressively white and sharp fangs again, and reaches out, gripping Fedyor’s waist with his big hands and drawing him somewhat closer than is strictly necessary. Then he whispers, “As you wish, Conclave whore,” and bites.

He’s not entirely gentle about it, not that vampires usually are and not that Fedyor wasn’t expecting it. But all at once, as Ivan sucks at him, his mouth pressed hungrily to Fedyor’s neck, wet and raw and savage, Fedyor goes weak in the knees. He’s been fed on before, tested before, and this is different from any of those. He utters a mewling noise of need that he is shocked and deeply outraged to hear from himself, pressing still closer, knocking Ivan a few steps backward into the wall. His hands come up, seeking purchase on the other’s broad shoulders, a smoky curl of desire rising through him like rich incense. “Mmm,” he mutters. “Mmmgh. Yes. Like that. Yes.”

Ivan doesn’t answer for obvious reasons, since his mouth is otherwise occupied, but Fedyor can feel the little frisson of pleasure that travels through him at those words. That takes him aback. Not that he should rush to generalize, since most vampires are fairly flexible in their intimate preferences (you don’t live that long without wanting to sample everything that is on offer, carnally speaking) but for some reason, he just assumed that this tough, frightening, hard-as-nails secret anarchist supernatural idiot wouldn’t be inclined to gentlemen. Not that Fedyor is necessarily objecting. This feels far better than it has any right to do, considering that it started out as a naked challenge to his veracity. Agh, fuck, he should not think about naked. That makes the arousal burn even more hungrily, as he arches his back and presses himself wantonly against Ivan and knows that he’s hard as a rock and that this utter menace can definitely feel it. Ivan is in no hurry to pull away. He drinks for a few more seconds, past when there can be any reasonable doubt that Fedyor is telling the truth, and then slowly, deliberately breaks contact, fangs still half in Fedyor’s throat, as he withdraws with luxurious leisure. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and growls, “Ah.”

“Yes, ah,” Fedyor says, trying not to stammer, as pulses of hot and cold rush through him from head to toe. “Are you satisfied?”

Ivan gives him a wicked smile, drops of Fedyor’s blood still glistening heart-scarlet on his lips. “Maybe.”

God almighty, kill me now. Difficult, of course, when one is – strictly speaking – already deceased. (And now deceased in a different way, which makes it two kinds of dead at once, which makes Fedyor a prodigy.) He wants to ask if Ivan will perform the customary service of licking the bite wounds closed, but he’s also afraid that he may physically incinerate if Ivan does so, and since fire is rather famously one of the only things that can harm vampires, it is better not to take the risk. Instead, Fedyor pulls out his handkerchief and dabs at his throat, with as much casualness as he can muster. “Well,” he says. “You’ve had my word, Ivan Sakharov. Will you give me yours that you will bring your illegal organization to an end and return to the rule of Conclave law?”

Ivan looks him up and down, eyes lingering on the too-tight fit of Fedyor’s pinstriped trousers. Then he leans in, so close that Fedyor truly does think they’re about to kiss and momentarily blacks out, and whispers against the shell of his ear, “Absolutely not.”

And with that, and no more than a rush of air, he is gone.

[delimeful]

not always what they seem

finished g/t space au commission for @legendsgates ! it was super fun to work on, i hope everyone enjoys!

warnings: dehumanization, treating people like animals, abduction, miscommunication, remus being remus, deceit, misguided but good intentioned light sides

-

“Hey, kid, wake up.” 

Virgil groaned, shifting to his side. It was still dark, why was someone bothering him? 

“There you go. It’s a great day outside, open your eyes already.” 

Wait. He lived alone. Who was talking to him?

Visions of chatty burglars or insane door to door salesmen breaking and entering flashed before his eyes, and he jerked upright with a gasp, eyes flying open. 

Darkness. He couldn’t see a thing. “What?” 

Virgil nearly poked himself in the eye in his haste to check his face for a blindfold. He should be able to see plenty; there was an annoying streetlamp just under his apartment window. Had he spontaneously gone blind? Had he been kidnapped? Was he in a trunk, slowly suffocating to death? 

“Hey, calm down. Everything’s going to be fine, don’t pass out on us now.” 

A burst of unhinged, echoing laughter nearly cut off the end of the sentence, and chills ran down Virgil’s spine. “Oh god. Look, I take terrible care of my body, you don’t want my organs, I promise.”

There was an aggrieved sigh nearby. Virgil hesitantly reached his hands out to feel the space around him. It didn’t feel like a car trunk. He was sitting up just fine. 

“I don’t think we’re being trafficked, but if we were, you’d be pleading your case to the wrong guy. I’m in the same situation as you.” A dull knocking accompanied the words. “Unfortunately.”

Virgil carefully turned his body to face the direction of the voice, squinting in case he could make out any sign of an attack. “...Right, sure. Care to fill me in on what-- what exactly that situation is?” 

The stranger only seemed sardonically amused at the bite in his voice. “We’re trapped in a room. There’s glass walls dividing the room into sections. There’s a little bit of light coming in through the roof, your eyes will adjust soon. That’s all I’ve got. Remember anything from before you woke up?” 

 Virgil shoved down the rising panic, rising to a tentative crouch with his arms outstretched for balance. He’d been… What had he been doing? “I… I don’t know.”  

Another sigh. “Yes, I assumed so.” The outline of a silhouette seemed to be coming into focus. Unless Virgil was just imagining things. “Thank you so much for being helpful.”   

He bristled at the tone, but before he could respond, another giggling laugh reverberated around them. 

“Don’t fret so much, figments,” a new, somewhat nasally voice said cheerily. “I’m sure your terrible and inevitably gory deaths will only hurt for as long as the dream lasts.” 

Virgil took a long, shaky inhale. “What the fuck.” 

“‘The fuck’ is Remus, the third occupant in our room. As far as I can tell, he believes this is all a hallucination brought on by sleep paralysis. Best to just ignore him,” the first stranger advised dryly. 

“I’m still ignoring you back,” ‘Remus’ returned in a singsong. Virgil almost couldn’t blame him. He’d really rather wake up and realize this was all a dream, too. 

He wasn’t going to bet on it, though. He stumbled forwards, feeling the walls for a door, a switch, anything. 

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” the unnamed stranger scorned. “I’ve already checked everything that could be checked. Nothing’s going to happen--” 

His voice was cut off by three quick, consecutive beeps from somewhere above their heads. Virgil turned his head this way and that, searching for an intercom or mechanical device nearby. “What’s that?” 

Neither stranger answered, and Virgil realized that this was something new just as one side of the room began to slide upwards like a garage door. He raised a hand as bright light poured into the room, backing up as far as he could. In the corner of his vision, another person was doing much the same.

Something large moved outside the room, its shadow falling on them and making it a little less difficult to see. 

Unfortunately, what he was seeing was impossibly horrifying enough to be real.

A huge figure, like a giant from a children’s fairytale, was visible from the torso up. It was wearing something close to a full body hazmat suit, its inhuman face visible behind a pane of red-tinted glass. Piercing red eyes were placed just slightly too far apart, and a shiny black shell covered the bottom of its face like a curved medical mask.

It leaned closer, and Virgil recoiled harshly enough to slam his back into the corner of the room. The eyes settled on him for a moment, before flicking over to the other occupants. Adrenaline surged through him, but there was nowhere to channel it. He couldn’t flee, and there was no way he could fight. He was helpless.

In the section next to Virgil, a short man dressed in formal wear stood carefully still. He was meeting eyes with the monster, his expression neutral and still. Where Virgil had felt like a deer in the headlights, this man acted more like a snake assessing prey. The only sign that he was unsettled was the white knuckled fists at his sides.

The monster made an unsettling sound, like a hum interspersed with clicks, and then turned its attention to the only human still laying on the ground, presumably Remus. A few rigid plates along its forehead twitched downward, and it chittered at Remus. 

Virgil caught what looked like mandibles protruding from under its face plate, and felt lightheaded. 

“Remus, I suggest you look alive,” the snakelike man muttered, attention still locked on the huge creature. Remus didn’t respond, though whether it was because of the monster or because he was still ignoring them was anyone’s guess.

A moment later, the monster reached up with a limb, the suit glove doing nothing to conceal the creature’s spindly, clawed fingers, arranged like an osprey’s talons. It tapped the glass between them, and Virgil was abruptly reminded of a child at an aquarium. The ‘room’ they were captive in was a mere box to this being. An enclosure.

Remus finally sat up, stretching lanky arms as though it was a normal morning. He cocked his head at the monster, squinting. “What are you looking at, you big bitch?” 

Virgil inhaled sharply through his teeth, but the monster didn’t react beyond its forehead plates shifting back up, and before long, it was looking down at a strange grey cube, flicking talons along its surface like it was a touchscreen. 

In his section, Remus had unfolded to his ridiculous full height, and was ambling up to the wall separating them. He smiled, something about it vaguely unhinged. “Hmm, hallucinations aren’t supposed to be this expansive! It’s almost like we’re actually here, captured by giant monsters that are probably going to stick us in a blender for a morning smoothie!” 

The snakelike man rubbed his temples, still holding onto his composure. He didn’t dignify the gory statement with a response, but Virgil was more than happy to. 

“Hey, it was Remus, right?” Virgil asked, and he saw the man nodding enthusiastically in the corner of his vision. “Please shut the hell up.” 

“Never been very good at that!” 

—-

Roman glanced up from the data sheet, watching as the new specimens wandered about and made little noises at each other. He couldn’t help but hum a bit at the sight; the little animals were so charming. 

“Roman!” a familiar voice trilled, and he turned to the lab’s entrance, clicking in greeting at the sight of his partners. Though he’d been uncertain about working with beings from other quadrants at first, they’d managed to overcome most of their original hurdles and now worked smoothly together. There was nobody he’d rather have as his research team, even with the disapproving twitch in Logan’s ears. 

“Dear friends,” he returned, gesturing widely and making all the specimens freeze up again. “I swear I haven’t opened a single sect, only gazed upon our newest finds. You’re going to love them Patton, they have the strangest little noises.” 

The Nilh wasted no time in scampering forwards, just barely prevented from bumping the enclosure by Logan’s tail tugging him back slightly. “Oh, they’ve already started communicating with each other? What about body language, did you have the vidfeed on?”

“Yes, and of course,” Roman gestured with a pointed flourish, “I have also followed procedures and had the cam on since I entered the lab, treasured nerds.”

Logan’s hand flicked in an exasperated gesture, but his ears were no longer angled down, so Roman counted it as a win. Patton tugged the Glanrim closer by the tail, using his multitude of hands to push him into his spot. “Look, Lo! I think this one is threat displaying at me! They’re all acting so differently, it’s going to be so exciting to figure out what sort of sounds they use!” 

Despite his professional demeanor, Logan’s eyes all widened with excitement as he bent slightly to inspect their samples. “There’s quite a variety in patterns and sizes as well,” he observed, voice low and resonant. The little creatures all seemed to stiffen at it. “I would almost believe them different species entirely if not for the similar body structure.” 

“They’ve even got little primitive outfits, see?” Roman pointed towards the calm one in the middle, eyeing the seams. “There must be a bonding purpose for it, like how some mammalian animals will use pigment-dyes for enhancing appearance to attract mates. The real question is, how did they all end up looking so different? Which one is closest to the traits that make one desirable?” 

“I don’t see any reason we can’t find out!” Patton responded brightly. “We’ve got three samples, one for each of us, so what say we each get started on recording all the information we can!”

“We only have three specimens, so it’s important that we don’t push too far with any of them. This is only preliminary work,” Logan cautioned. “That said, I agree. The sooner we begin, the better.” 

“I’ll take the yellow one!” Roman immediately chimed in, his wings vibrating slightly inside his suit. 

—

“There’s three of us, and three of them, so of course they’re going to eat us.” Remus remained blithely oblivious to Virgil’s glower. “It’s lucky there’s not one more, otherwise we’d have to rock-paper-scissors on who gets torn in half.” 

Of course, this was the moment that the monsters stopped their odd, chitter-click-buzz noises to turn back to the container, and the first monster, the red one, began to fiddle with the side of the glass. Virgil started to breathe heavily as there was mechanical clicking around them, and then the ground under their feet shifted slightly. 

Without another second of suspense, Red reached under the box and slid the middle section out like a book from a shelf. The man in formalwear went with it, stumbling slightly and pressing against the glass for balance. 

“Oh hey, you got the freaky insect one,” Remus said, waving cheerily. “Hope your death is really cool and gory! Try not to make it cooler or gorier than mine though!” 

“Very helpful,” the man hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes slightly panicked. Virgil stumbled forwards to the front of his section as though he could reach the other human through the glass, terror chilling him. It was a pointless gesture, but as he was carried out of sight, the man offered him a nod anyways. 

Remus seemed to be unfortunately correct about them being split up, since next the one with the six arms and rocky skin pried the tall man’s section out and left with it as well. That left Virgil with the last one, a monster whose face was covered in neat fur and long whiskers. It looked at him with way too many eerie slitted pupils, and Virgil couldn’t help but compare it to a predatory big cat. Maybe several predatory big cats.

Its gaze was nothing compared to its size, of course, and Virgil couldn’t help but drop to a crouch, curling in on himself as gloved hands curled around the glass box he was stuck in and lifted it with ease.  

The floor of the box was transparent, and he stared at the dizzying drop to the floor the whole transferring process. When there was finally solid ground beneath him again, he looked up and found that his box had been placed on a sterile, shining counter. 

Before he could get much of a read on his surroundings, a shadow darkened the floor around him, and he barely got to flinch before cool fingers were descending on him, lifting him from the box. 

The hold was firm and clinical; his arms pinned to his sides, and a finger under his chin to prevent biting. The pressure on his throat was just slightly too much, and Virgil let out a choked cough, struggling to breathe through his panic. 

Thankfully, it only lasted for a moment. In the next, he was released, and his hands and knees met a solid surface. He scrambled to his feet, glancing around. 

The bad news was that he was out of the relative safety of the glass box. The worse news was that he appeared to be in a warped version of a hedge maze, walls and corners twisting around him. The worst news was that the monster was still present, and now it was manipulating some kind of square device. 

A heartbeat later, the walls around him started to buzz ominously, making the hair on the back of his neck rise up as he pictured every Saw movie he’d ever seen. 

“Fuuuuck this,” he muttered, shifting to his feet and starting down the nearest path. He alternated between making sure he didn’t get too close to the walls and making sure the monster hadn’t moved or otherwise acted suspiciously. The creature was watching him unerringly every time he looked up, and having all those eyes on him didn’t help his increasing unease at all.

As he turned a corner, he was faced with something new, and automatically ducked away in case it was going to start shooting at him. The small orb continued to sit in the middle of the path innocently, at just the right height to take out someone’s achilles heel. 

Virgil shuddered and turned around, backtracking to the last fork in the path. He wasn’t messing with monster traps, no fucking way. 

Above him, the monster seemed to sigh slightly.

—-

“... just too timid,” Logan was saying when Patton re-entered the main area of the lab. “The specimen didn’t engage in a single puzzle during our session, not even one.” 

“What a puzzling situation!” Patton chimed in, carefully slotting his own specimen unit back into the container. Inside, the little creature continued to make a bizarre assortment of calls, not even in Patton’s direction. 

Logan exhaled shortly. “Am I to assume that your insistence on wordplay means that you had greater successes than us?”

“Well, you could go with that, but you know what they say about assuming!” he replied, tucking a pair of arms behind his back as he wandered over to the others. “The little guy seemed pretty aggressive, so I tried to see if there were any specific threat calls I could make out, but… it almost never repeated. Either they have very complex body language that I’m missing or my little friend is a few sticks short of a tree!”

The other two looked disheartened, and the linguist glanced over at Roman. “You two didn’t have any luck, either?” 

“No. My specimen barely participated in the trials I set up, and so I haven’t discerned what level of intelligence we are working with yet,” Logan gritted out, ears flat.

Patton tilted his head slightly. “Not even the treat ball? Most sentient life forms have no trouble with that one.” 

“No, no interaction at all. It may be worth looking for more compelling bait…” 

Roman cut in, antennae flicking in displeasure. “Anyways, mine was uncooperative too! I was trying to get a few samples of their outer shells to see what the fabric is constructed of, but it was so resistant after just one layer that I started getting worried that maybe removing any more would actually harm it.” 

“Good. Better not to risk damaging them.” Logan turned to the units, nose twitching as he thought. “There are other non-invasive tests we can try, but results might shift if we try different samples for different tests.” 

Roman click-buzzed in complaint. “That could take forever, though! We’re supposed to be coming up with significant research, not trading specimens around!” 

“Maybe, instead, we could observe all of them at the same time,” Patton suggested, getting both of his teammates’ attention. “After all, isn’t controlled engagement with multiple specimens one of the tests?”

Roman and Logan exchanged a look, before the latter inclined his chin, slowly. “It’s worth an attempt, at least. Just watch carefully for any signs of aggression. They can’t harm us, but they could certainly harm each other.”

---

By the time the monsters finally decided to put them all in a penned-in space with each other, Virgil was almost too exhausted to be worried. Almost.

He shuffled away from where the three bizarre creatures were looming over them, but carefully remained out of grabbing distance from the other two humans. He wasn’t stupid; he barely knew these people.

“Aliens,” Remus greeted them, holding his hands up in an exaggerated pose. “I’ve totally cracked it.” 

“You’ve totally cracked,” Virgil shot back, but most of his attention was on the well-dressed man. Or, formerly well-dressed, since now he appeared to have had all top layers except his undershirt removed. “Hey, what happened?” 

“Oh, is it not obvious?” the man hissed, arms crossed tightly. “I’ve been robbed. Clearly, this must all have been an elaborate mugging for my blazer and button up.”

Remus cackled. “Yeah right! That suit is cheap as hell!”

The man rolled his eyes, and Virgil couldn’t help but notice the way he was shaking. It didn’t seem like a fear shake, not with this man’s demeanor. “Okay, but are you okay? You seem, uh, cold.” 

“Of course I’m not cold. Why ever would a half-dressed, anemic man in a glass box be cold?” the man snapped. One of the aliens moved slightly, and their gazes all flickered up for a moment. 

Once it became clear no grabbing was happening, Virgil sighed lowly, pulling at his zipper and shifting the sleeves of his hoodie off. “You’re kind of a bitch, huh?” 

The man snapped his head around, opening his mouth to deliver a scathing retort, but Virgil interrupted him by tossing the hoodie at his face. “Excuse m-- oof!”

“Don’t spill anything on it,” Virgil muttered, ignoring the man’s perplexed stare. “You can pay me back with your name.” 

“... It’s Dee.”

---

“Did you see that?” Patton bounced on his toes, tugging at Roman’s talons. “It gave away it’s covering!” 

“Astonishing,” Roman replied, not tearing his eyes away. “Is it a social hierarchy thing? Did you see any familiar dominance displays?” 

“I… didn’t, actually,” Patton replied, face scrunching in perplexion. “Maybe this one is less attached?” 

“No.” They both turned to Logan, whose eyes had gone wide. “It was an act of assistance. The yellow specimen was shaking, likely from temperature exposure due to losing some of it’s covering. It was… kindness.” 

“Woah, what?” Roman clicked, antennae perking up. “But that would mean--” 

“Look!” 

At Patton’s cry, they all watched as the other specimen seemed to attack, almost jumping forwards to intervene. At the last moment, Patton’s arms pulled them back. “No, wait!” 

Though the small, gangly creature had flopped onto the shorter one, the action seemed to elicit no pained cry or battle screech, only mild grumbles as the two readjusted in their impromptu pile. The one that had given away its covering made a face before carefully folding into a sitting position as well, a seat that kept it between the aliens and the other specimens. 

“These specimens were all pulled from different locations,” Logan half-stated, half-asked. Roman nodded, eyes wide. “They can’t be nestmates. What in the galaxy is this?”

“They’re sapient,” Patton blurted, a hand pressed to his mouth. “The sounds, they’re too complex because they’re not calls, they’re words. Language.”

“Language? But, the planet was said to only contain primitive lifeforms!” Roman protested, wings flaring up in agitation. “You’re telling me… Oh man.” 

“The heat sharing, the communication, even the extreme caution shown in unfamiliar circumstances,” Logan spoke slowly, as though warming up to the idea. “It… does seem to be a potential explanation.”

They all looked back to the tiny bipeds, now seeing their every action in a new light. 

“Well, there’s only one way to be sure,” Patton said, lifting up a hand and waving it slowly in a generic friendly gesture. “We’ll just have to figure it out for ourselves, using our own judgement.” 

After a long moment, one of the specimens-- no, aliens-- waved back. 

[what-the--curtains]

Not a Piece of Art

Part 1/4 - A Grudge Like No Other

(Javier Peña x f!reader)

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Summary: You’re tasked with an impossible mission and an even more impossible partner to complete it with.

Authors note: I have never not once seen narcos all I know if based on other fics I’ve read so pls be kind but let me know if anything’s wildly out of character! Also I’m aware forensics wasn’t a solid discipline (especially DNA fingerprinting) but we’re gonna pretend it is. Lemme know if you’d like to be tagged (or untagged) 😊

Tw: Mentions of fake parental death, swearing, mentions of sex

Word count: 4.1k

Tagged list: @agingerindenial @diogodxlot

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The morning sun radiates down on your shoulders as you lock the door to your apartment complex behind you. Despite the early hour it was already far too hot, but at least the humidity wouldn’t kick in until the afternoon. You’d been working in Colombia for a few months now, but the heat wasn’t something you’d ever get used to. You weren’t complaining, most days you preferred it to the frigid temperatures that painted your childhood. The frost bitten noses, wool socks and thick snow falls coating tree branches seemed all but a distant memory now. You’d settled on Columbia after your long time best friend Connie convinced you to take the universities offer. She had recently made the move down south and was eager to have you there with her.

She’d told you about the job and honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if she had marched down to the university herself and dropped off your resume. She’d flown up to Brown and helped you pack up your life and then unpack it after your arrival to the terraced apartment Connie had picked out for you both to live in. It was a decent size and the balcony was south facing which gave you all day access to the sun. When you weren't working you spent your time out there soaking up the sun and watering the small garden you had been tending to since your arrival. Your days were primarily spent at the university working out the finer details of the forensics lab you were hired to set up. Your PhD in forensic anthropology has left you with various laboratory based skills, including DNA analysis, making you a coveted asset to the campus. Whilst in school you had also completed an art certificate which came in handy when facial reconstructions were needed.

After everything was in place you began running samples, processing unidentified remains by working on dental ID’s and facial reconstructions, as well as testing for drug residue. Despite being run by the University your job wasn’t as research based as you would have hoped with your work often falling under the DEA’s jurisdiction. You weren't involved in their day to day protocols. You mainly just ran the tests, or identified bodies recovered from the crime scene only conversing with them when it was absolutely necessary. Police work wasn’t in your wheelhouse, and it wasn’t a profession you supported or believed in.

Many faces passed through your workspace all demanding your utmost attention claiming their projects to be the most important. One frequent flyer through the lab was Steve Murphy, who Connie had met down in Miami a few years back. His relationship to your friend was the only reason you had bothered to make an effort with him. A friendship was established between the two of you faster than you had expected, due in part to his easy southern charm, but mainly because he and Connie evidently had feelings for eachother. You always found it easier to get along with men who weren't trying to get into your pants which was, unfortunately, a frequent occurrence in the male dominated discipline you worked in. There was only one flaw you could attribute to Steve, his work wife, the other half of the DEAs “dynamic duo”, agent Javier Peña. You’d never been formally introduced to the man, but his reputation preceded him. His was a face that also made frequent appearances in your lab but you'd never spoken more than three words to each other which was, probably for the best. You had what some might deem a confrontational personality and from what you understood Peña was, to put it nicely, an asshole.

He always came in sporting a more casual look and sunglasses which he kept on despite being indoors, a habit that drove you up the wall. He’d tap the file on the glass to get your attention always making you walk the five extra steps to get to him. You didn’t bother to look up when he passed the beige folders to you just grabbed the file from his hands and added it to the pile on your desk. He’d started attaching yellow sticky notes with “put a rush on” scrawled across them in impatient handwriting, as if his case was more important than the remains you were currently working on identifying. Not talking was a strategic move on your part, you’d heard he was quite the charmer when he needed something done, and you weren't going to let him get away with that. You ran this lab, not Javier Peña. Was your dismissal of him warranted? Maybe not, but your gut instinct was usually right and the rumour mill had painted Peña in a very specific manner. You weren't about to let yet another hot headed alpha male who took “too much male energy” to an entirely new level into your life.

Unfortunately, your knack for avoiding him became nearly impossible when you were called out to work on a crime scene. Despite your refusal to work in the field, the remains couldn’t be moved so you had to go to them. The site was just far enough away that a daily commute would have been tedious so you, along with the dynamic duo and your forensic team were booked into a nearby hotel. You weren't sure what you'd done in your past life to piss off the gods but somehow you’d ended up sandwiched between Steve and Peña. Steve wasn’t the issue, apart from the TV which you’d hear blare spanish dubbed reruns of Miami Vice between 4 and 8 PM, he was a quiet, considerate neighbour. Peña, on the other hand, was neither considerate or quiet particularly during the late hours of the night while you were trying to sleep. Sharing a wall with the agent proved to be an issue, so much so that by the third day just looking at him filled you with such intense rage that you'd given yourself lockjaw.

Every night without fail you laid awake as the exaggerated, bordering on ridiculous, moans coming from whoever he'd enticed into bed that night reverberated through your shared wall. You'd tried it all, earplugs, pillows so forcefully wrapped around your head you were essentially smothering yourself, but the sounds still permeated through the plaster and into your head. On the fourth night when you heard the talking start you knew what you had to do. You furiously wriggle free from your sheets and make your way out into the hallway. You walk one door over and inhale deeply before aggressively pounding your fist on the door.

“Hey” you say, through gritted teeth.

“Hey?” a slightly disheveled Steve murmurs eyes squirting into the hallway’s bright lights as his arms cross clumsily over his bare chest.

“Look I hate to ask but can I sleep on your couch, the walls are thin and...”

“And Peña has a thing for loud women '' he finishes for you, shoulders relaxing as he opens the door up for you “surprised you lasted this long, come in i'll grab you some pillows”

“Thanks for letting me sleep here, I think I may have killed him in the field tomorrow if I didn't get at least an hour of sleep. Also this isn’t some tactic to get you to bed so you can stop trying to cover your modesty” You say wiping your eyes, as Steve drops his arms to his side laughing.

“I know, believe me, besides i'm sure you're aware I’m only interested in one person.” So he did have a thing for Connie.

“You should go for it, I think she'd say yes” you offer, even in your sleep deprived state you were still a pretty solid wingwoman.

“You think?” His eyes light up, further cementing your belief that Steve, despite being friends with Peña, was a good guy.

“Thanks” you murmur as he hands you some pillows and a light sheet. It's not long before the AC’s quiet hum draws you into a deep sleep.

The alarm blaring out from Steve’s room pulls you from your dreaming state, groaning as you squeeze a pillow over your head. Why was it that you always felt worse after getting a good night's sleep? You briefly doze off again only waking as the smell of burnt toast convinces your brain that either a fire has started, or you were having a stroke.

“Tryna burn this place down?” you mumble, relaxing back into the couch cushions as you watch Steve scrape the burnt bits off into the garbage before buttering it and taking a bite.

“You think you got enough sleep to not kill my partner this morning?” he asks between mouthfuls.

“No, but I did get enough to realize if I killed him in the field there'd be witnesses” you remark pouring coffee into a cracked mug. “Thank you for letting me sleep here “

“Anytime, though Javi should be the one thanking me considering I basically saved his life. Lucky were leaving today or I’d have to put him into protective custody.”

“And I'll never have to hear him ever again” you say suddenly feeling a bit better. You were glad for Steve being so accommodating to your needs, especially considering he didn't really know you that well. “Well I should go get ready for the day ahead what it's supposed to be out?”

“A balmy 40” Steve offers, as he washes your cup up in the sink.

“Wow I should have packed my snow pants when I moved down here.” you dead pan, the delivery causing Steve to snort as you exit the room. As you exit, Javier opens his door kissing the woman he’d spent the night with one last time watching as she strides off down the hallway. You don’t see him, but he sees you. Specifically, he sees you leaving his partner's room, and in nothing more than an oversized t-shirt, he raised his eyebrows. Good for Steve from what he’d heard half the department had been trying to get your attention to no avail. Your head was always buried in paperwork and your ears were always donning headphones blocking out small talk, maybe he should take a page from your book. He didn’t say anything to Steve in the field, but he did watch you interact with one another. Paying specific attention to how you'd made Steve laugh while photographing the murder weapon. Javi watched as you meticulously gathered up a few finger bones that he'd overheard you saying would be used for DNA fingerprinting. He'd tried to talk to you a few times this trip, but the second he'd stepped in your direction he noticed your jaw clench and your body tense up, not wanting to upset you he decided it was best to back off. After getting what you need you packed up your things and headed back home, with no intentions of ever having to interact with Peña for more than 5 minutes ever again.

Several months later

Your lab was now contracted out full time by the DEA which meant you still got to do research but you didn’t have to teach any teenagers which was quite frankly a dream. Unfortunately, the contract meant you'd now be spending time in two male-dominated fields. The boys club offered little that would qualify as genuine friendship. Turns out the ones brave enough to approach you were only nice to you because they wanted to sleep with you. Something you’d found out after overhearing a less than true story about you from one of the guy’s you’d hooked up with. After that you’d stopped sleeping where you work and started looking elsewhere. Your few short lived romances were mainly found in dive bars only going home with people that had been thoroughly vetted (and vaguely threatened) by yourself, Connie and Steve. Who was now a relatively permanent fixture in your life after finally asking Connie out, and you really didn’t mind it. He was good to Connie and he never minded being excluded when you needed a girls' night without him. You also assumed the decrease in misogynistic talk amongst the agents was Steves doing, you made a mental note to thank him later, as you took another swig of the beer you’d been nursing for the past hour.

Steve was still inseparable from Peña and where he went Javi was sure to follow. Your inability to not become enraged by him meant you often found yourself leaving the room as soon as he showed up, subsequently cutting your Connie time in half. Devastating both you and her.

“You know he’s not really as insufferable as he acts” Connie states, Javi was due to show up any minute which meant it was just about time for you to leave.

“ You're not gonna sell me on this” you say, chewing on a stale nacho chip from food you’d ordered hours ago.

“Seriously, he's almost nice sometimes” your pointed look tells her to drop it. Connie was nothing if not resilient and you were constantly amazed by her. You don’t know how she worked as a nurse. You had a hard enough time with the dead, how she also dealt with the living as well was beyond you. She was a quantifiable saint which was probably why she saw the good in Peña.

“Remind me to never make you mad” Steve says.

“No one holds a grudge quite like her” Connie exclaims

“Awe you say the sweetest things about me” you retort after finishing the last of your beer.

“Alright well I’ve got an early morning shift so we should be heading out, tell Javi I say hi” Connie says kissing Steve before the two of you exit the bar.

“Are you really going to keep up this affront against Javi?” Connie asks, interlinking your arms together as you exit the bar.

“Yes, now please and can we stop talking about Peña even thinking about him gets me riled up”

“I thought you said you hated him” she teases causing you to roll your eyes.

“Please don't make me gag” you say pulling a face that causes you both to break into a giggle fit.

“What up her ass? Seriously, am I infectious or something?” Javi asks, slumping down across from Steve who's filling out paperwork at his desk.

“Well considering your history, probability is pretty high” Steve quips back earning him a thwack to the head with a folder you’d dropped on Peña’s desk earlier that morning.

“You know her, what's her deal, why does she hate me?”

“Everyone hates you Javi, it’s a fundamental part of your personality” Steve laughs.

Javier usually wasn’t one to concern himself with how others perceived him, but his work frequently overligned with yours and he figured his life would be made infinitely easier if he could get into your good books. Sure, at first his intrigue in getting to know you was purely physical. He knew looks aren't everything, but for what he wanted, they played a fundamental part. He wasn’t the only person to have noticed you the day you showed up, all eyes were on you as you walked through the DEA embassy for the first time. Your arrival had sparked a competitive energy amongst the men with the agents often vying over who got the honour of dropping off case files to you. A few were apparently even so lucky to have actually spent the night, at least that's what he’d overheard some agents proclaiming loudly, making him doubt their validity.

He’d cracked down on what some would call “locker room talk” when he thought you and Steve were sleeping together, after seeing you leave his room early that one morning. Though if Steve had been spending nights with you he’d never brought it up to Javi, and after he started dating Connie there never seemed a right time to ask about you, so he let it go. He’d gotten more proactive with stopping it once you’d been hired on full time. He’d upped his guard when he’d caught one trying to cop a feel of your ass the day you had been called in on your day off. You’d come in wearing a skirt shorter than what would be considered workplace appropriate gaining you more attention than usual. He noticed the guys hand drop down low, but any contact was stopped when Javi smashed the guys arm back into the wall behind him. In most cases a move like that would have earned him a swift punch to the face but a simple raise of his eyebrows was enough to get the pervert to sit back down.

Despite the scene playing out a few feet from you, you never noticed carrying on about your day as if nothing had happened, headphones on, paperwork in your arms and various scrawlings across your hand, reminders of meetings he knew you'd be late to anyways. He assumes your chronic lateness was a tactic to spend as little time around him as possible. Your hatred for him was palpable, he wondered if it was as obvious to everyone else as it was to him. He'd noticed how you would stand in meetings when the only seat available was next to him. It was starting to get to his ego. He wanted to know what he possibly could have done to be treated like the scum of the earth by you. He’d heard from Connie that you didn’t like cops, but you got on fine with Steve. Your lives continued on with minimal interaction until the day you were called into the head of the DEA’s office.

“Office now!” your boss shouts from the door. Fuck. What have you done now?

“Hey you need something?” you ask, lips parted and forehead wrinkled, feeling like a child who’d just been called to the principal's office. Your head snaps to the left when you feel eyes boring into you, eyes belonging to Peña. He shifts around in the chair to escape your violent gaze. You turn to Steve who's gazing up at the ceiling.

“I have the dental results here for the missing persons from the case last week, it’s a match, I know it's late but...”

“It's not that,” he gestures his hand to the chair beside Peña and you sit, placing the documents down on the table. Javi cranes his neck slightly, eyes darting over the various statistics strewn across the page surprised you were able to piece it all together.

“You have an art degree right?”

“I have an art certificate” you correct

“and you paint”

“A bit”

“She was featured in local galleries back in the States” Steve pipes up.

“ Good, we need you to go undercover” you snort before laughing aloud. Your amusement quickly fades when you realize no one else was laughing with you.

“Wait you're serious? You want me... to go undercover? I'm not an agent, I can’t use a gun, I don’t think I've even held one before” you say, tearing through all the excuses you could think of.

“You can shoot a bow and arrow,” Steve pipes up.

“Ya very different instrument Steve, also does Connie tell you everything about me” he shrugs his shoulders.

“You won’t need a gun anyways, you'll have a trained agent with you at all times.” Your boss reassures.

“No. No way! Im sorry but this… this is beyond the scope of my work and my skill set” you assert, not budging.

“You’ve been to crime scenes before, you’ve been in dangerous scenarios, excavated mass graves, we need you you’re the only one who can help with this”

“Why? You have multiple agents out there who would kill to go undercover, why me?” you push

“ Your background, and relative anonymity. There's been an increase in art dealing amongst the sicarios.”

“So what? Maybe they just really like art.” you offer

“Does anyone really like art” Peña pipes up

“ Yes, the whole world actually” you shoot back, successfully shutting him up.

“We think they're using convincing fakes to smuggle drugs without suspicion” Steve offered, helping to clear up the situation.

“Okay... then hire an art expert to go in and see if the paintings are real”

“We need you to test for residue on the paintings, and to recreate one in time for the next move”

“Okay im good, but I am not good enough to recreate a painting worth thousands of dollars.”

“From what I’ve seen you are,” Steve says further cementing your fate.

“What if I say no?” you ask, exhaling deeply.

“Then you're fired” Javier pipes up, once again causing your head to turn to him.

“And who, pray tell, made you judge, jury and executioner” you spit “last time I check Javier Peña wasn’t the one signing my paychecks”

“No, but I am, and you will do this” Your boss's backing of Peñas statement makes the smirk on his face even more aggravating.

“Fine, but just know I will be personally mentioning you all in my will so everyone knows exactly who got me killed, and I'm gonna want a raise, more vacation time and a new piece of lab equipment if I make it out alive. ”

“Fine” you smile feeling slightly vindicated.

“So what's my story? Who am I to have a million dollar painting in my possession?” you ask, as your boss pulls up a document on his computer.

“You’ll go by Melanie Alverez nee Smith, you were born in London England to parents Maria and Calvin who passed in a car accident four weeks after your nineteenth birthday”

“Shit” you mutter, thinking about your own parents who were very much alive.

“You dropped out of Oxford where you were undertaking a degree in chemistry and moved to New York where you began painting. You were a struggling artist for the first two years but received funding to attend Julliard. After graduation your first major piece was accepted by a local gallery and put up for auction. It sold for 10,000$. The buyer wanted to meet you after seeing your photo. He’d sent thousands of flowers to your gallery before showing up and asking you on a date.

“Must be nice” you murmur

“After a whirlwind romance you eloped and moved down to Columbia where you continue to work as an artist.”

“Alright easy enough, short live romance is a good call that can be used to explain why we don’t know certain information about each other.”

“You'll be staying here” A huge spanish style house appears on the screen. Its prestige was only overshadowed by the mansion looming over it from across the private beach. Must be the target's house, you think.

“It was built by the target, he lives there with his fourth wife. He’s rich, sources claims from drug smuggling, they think he may even have direct links to Escobar

“Like, as in Pablo?” you ask, eyes widening.

“Apparently he’s his art dealer. We need you to go in and see what he knows, if it's not enough then test the paintings in their homes”

“And if they trace?”

“You'll give them the fake implemented with a tracking device so we can target its route.”

“Okay well I'd say easy enough but the threat of being murdered isn’t lost on me. Who's my husband anyways? Obviously he’s rich but did he tragically fall down the stairs and die, did I kill him?” you ask, smiling as Steve laughs.

“What?” you say looking up

“What...” you say as Steve refuses to meet your eyes as he chokes on his laugh.

“Well you haven’t killed him yet but I give it a week.” He responds.

“Who's my husband” you ask, again suddenly afraid and very aware that there were two men in this room, and one was currently laughing at you.

“Your lucky day sweetheart.” Your head turns comically slow to face Javi, the effect only causes Steve to snicker more.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” you whisper.

“This mission is anything, but a joke.” your boss interjects “If we can trace the arts movement it brings us one step closer to catching Escobar. I don’t know why there's animosity between you two and frankly I do not care. You two must work together. If you are to succeed you have to be believable. Study up on each others aliases the target hasn’t made it this far without being killed by being stupid. We’ve tried to get to him before with no success, he will be on high alert. You two will have to convince him, and his wife, that you’re sincere.”

[snelbz]

The Ranch {19}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @snelbz​ x @tacmc​

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

Nesta stood in the paint department and looked at the wall of samples in front of her. She wanted something light, but something that stood out, too. She didn’t want anything like her father had chosen back in the nineties and-.

She shook her head, trying to free her head of the deja vu that washed over her and chuckling quietly. She had been here before, had done this before. Things were just...a little different this time.

As if she wanted to remind her mother of this fact, Nesta felt a sharp pain against her ribs and she inhaled sharply through her teeth. Beau looked up at her, brown eyes wide. He hadn’t left her side since the beginning of her third trimester and Nesta had learned to love the constant, comforting presence.

“Your sister is using my ribs as a punching bag,” she told him, regardless of the fact that he couldn’t understand her. He opened his mouth in what Nesta swore was a smile and his tongue hung to the side.

He always smiled when they talked about the baby.

Nesta was floored as she realized how different her life had become in twelve months. A year ago, she’d been deciding whether or not she should give up everything she’d ever wanted, to move home and run her father’s crumbling dream of a bed and breakfast. Now she was about to have a baby, her perfect, little girl, and she was going to marry the man of her dreams, the man who gave her the gift she never thought possible.

“Nesta?”

She froze, recalling how someone had called her name the last time she’d been here, who it had been when she turned. But it wasn’t Tomas, just Azriel standing in his old, torn jeans and black hoodie. Out of all of them, it was Azriel who looked the least the part of a rancher, but he sure as hell knew what he was doing.

“Cass said you were running into town, but this was the last place I thought I’d see you,” Azriel said, when Nesta said nothing. 

Nesta, collecting her thoughts, gestured to the wall of paint samples. “Nursery color.”

“Ah,” Azriel said, huffing a laugh as he stopped next to her and looked at the wall. Beau brushed up against his leg, and he gave the pup a loving scratch behind the ears. “What about purple?”

Nesta frowned, looking at the endless samples of purple. She had gone over the lavender hues ten times already. “Too predictable. Pink, too. I’ve ruled them both out.”

Azriel chuckled. “Fair enough. Cass wants to paint it green.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. She had to admit that she had her eye on a neutral olive color, but it didn’t seem right, it wasn't special enough.  “So I’ve been told. I told him no, though.”

It was true. In fact, the night before they’d had a heated debate over what color the nursery would be. It ended in them making love on the nursery’s carpet, but that was irrelevant. 

“How about blue?” Azriel suggested, picking up a few different swatches. “There are a ton of different shades of blue, surely there’s one you two can agree on.”

It was her favorite color, but it limited her decorating choices. Both the camouflage and rodeo nursery ideas were nixed last night as well, and Cassian was still pouting about it.

“I’ve been leaning towards a softer yellow or orange.” She lifted a buttery yellow card from its slot. It was too bright, too rich. She added it to the stack, knowing it may look different away from the fluorescent lights. “Like the sunrise. First light.”

Azriel was nodding. “Why don’t you ask Feyre to paint the sunrise?”

Nesta was going to blame her stupidity on pregnancy brain as her eyes went wide and she said, “I hadn’t even thought of that. She’d love that.”

Azriel just smiled, softly. “Feyre would be honored, if you asked her.”

Nesta nodded, slowly, then picked out a couple different shades of yellows and oranges. “Since you’re here, please take me to get some tacos. I’ll buy. Might even bring some home to Cass, if he’s been good this morning.” Azriel’s grin widened as they began walking toward the exit. “A little cranky, I must say, but I think that’s just because he’s hungover.”

Nesta snorted. After their fight over paints, he’d indulged himself - one beer too many, perhaps. “It doesn’t take much to be hungover when you wake up at five a.m.”

“True,” Azriel agreed. “I could do tacos, though.”

“Good,” Nesta said, putting the paint swatches into her purse as she and Azriel walked out onto the sidewalk, Beau close behind. 

It wasn’t until they were down the street at a taco vendor’s food truck that Nesta asked, “So, when the hell are you going to ask my sister to marry you?”

The bite he’d been in the process of taking nearly came back out. Nesta didn’t even flinch. She’d spent so much time throwing up in the past eight months that partially chewed food didn’t even phase her. She blinked and waited for him to collect himself before he took a drink of the Corona in his hand.

“You just go straight for the balls, don’t you?” He laughed.

She raised her eyebrows. “Have you met my fiancé?”

“Fair enough,” he laughed, but he sighed. “You want the honest truth?”

Nesta suddenly realized she wasn’t sure. She was meddling and the only person who hated meddling more than she did was Elain. But she nodded.

Az took a deep breath and said, “I’ve had the ring for almost six months.”

“What?” Nesta’s eyes must have nearly bulged out of her head, because Az backed up a step. “And why exactly haven’t you proposed?”

His smile was soft but proud, as he said, “I don’t want to take this time from you, or from Cassian. You’re having a baby. Like, Nesta, you’re growing a literal human inside of yourself.” He chuckled and smiled fondly. “Did you know that even when we were in high school all Cass wanted from life was to rope and have a family. You’re giving him one of those things and I can’t ever thank you for making my brother so happy. And I don’t want to take that spotlight from y’all. I want you to have your moment, so that when the time comes, Elain can have hers.”

Nesta hated Azriel for making her cry over her taco, and yet, tears were sliding down her cheeks as she set her taco back down onto her plate and observed him. Eventually, she cleared her throat and said, “Elain is a lucky woman.”

Azriel just shook his head as he took another bite. “That woman deserves the world. If anyone’s lucky, it’s me.”

Nesta found herself completely overwhelmed. A year ago, she hadn’t believed love existed, but now? Her and Cassian, Elain and Azriel, Feyre and Rhysand...this type of love was rare, Nesta was sure of it, but somehow they all ended up in a fairytale romance. Her sisters were happy, she was happy...it was perfect. 

“Don’t tell your sister that I made you cry,” Azriel went on, shoving the last of his taco into his mouth. “She’ll kick my ass. She’s scary when she wants to be.”

She shook her head, dabbing at her eyes with a scratchy napkin. “She’ll understand when you knock her up. I cried yesterday during a Christmas commercial.” Azriel waited, knowing that was somewhat common. “A commercial for cattle feed.”

He nodded. “I believe you. Doesn’t change the fact that your sister will punch me in the dick if she finds out I was the cause of your tears.”

They both laughed and Nesta smiled. “Thank you for making her so happy.”

Az gave her that full smile that so many rarely saw. “It’s my pleasure.”

Nesta finished her tacos and ordered some for Cassian for the road. “Word of advice,” she said, getting into her car. Beau already patiently sat in the passenger seat. “Don’t ask her on a holiday. Girls don’t want to share their special day.”

Azriel’s eyebrows raised. “I...hadn’t thought of that.”

Nesta chuckled. “You were going to propose on New Years, weren’t you?”

He nodded once. “Yes, I was.”

She laughed, full and bright, and said, “How about this? You tell me when it’s time, I’ll plan a family dinner and voila, you’ve got yourself a fiancée.”

“Really?” Azriel asked, stopping in front of the driver’s side of the truck’s door.

“Of course,” Nesta said, crossing her arms, the bag of Cassian’s food hanging on her arm. 

“Thank you,” he said, and she knew by the look in his eyes that he meant it.

Although they were going to the same place, they said their goodbyes and Nesta drove home, slowly. By the time she made it back home to the ranch with her paint swatches, Cassian was mowing the lawn. He was shirtless, of course, and was chugging a bottle of water as he rode the lawn mower across the grass. As Nesta pulled into the driveway, he was waving and putting it in park. 

He was covered in sweat, but Nesta still didn’t stop him as he pressed his lips to the side of her head. “The grass was long.”

Nesta nodded. She had wanted to ask him to mow, considering she was too pregnant to do so, but hadn’t wanted to interrupt his daily plans. “I brought you tacos.” 

“Mmm, that’s exactly why I’m marrying you,” he said, pulling her onto his sweaty lap and opening the box in her hands.

She squirmed out of his arms, as best as she could at eight and a half months pregnant and said, “I’m going to go hang the swatches on the wall, come see when you’re done?”

He nodded, shoving an entire taco in his mouth.

She chuckled, but shivered as a brisk wind blew by. “Cass, I know the sun is straight on you, but it’s forty-five degrees out. Don’t you think you should put a shirt on?”

He finished chewing and said, “How else will I keep my tan year round?”

She shook her head and said, “I’ll be inside, call me if you need me. I love you.”

He smiled at her, those hazel eyes sparkling from the joy he felt inside. “I love you too, darlin’.”

She turned and started up the porch steps and heard, “Hey.”

Nesta looked back at him and he asked, the sparkle replaced by his usual mischievous glint, “You got any green swatches in there?”

Nesta rolled her eyes as Azriel pulled the truck in next to her little car. “No.”

She continued up into the house, laughing when she heard Az ask why the hell he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She pulled the swatches out of her purse, including the couple of greens she’d snagged on their way out, along with her phone and she and Beau made their way up to her old room.

The room that she grew up in was the same room her daughter would too.

As she was taping swatches to the room, in various lighting, she called Feyre, putting her phone on speaker.

“Hello?” her sister answered a second later.

“Hey,” Nesta said, looking around the room. “I have a favor to ask.” “Ask away,” Feyre said.

Nesta admired the swatches she had chosen before clearing her throat. “Would you mind...helping me paint the baby’s nursery?”

There was a slight pause, then Feyre’s quiet voice came through, “Of course.”

“I was thinking the sunrise,” Nesta continued, trying not to cry for the tenth time that day. “Bright, cheery, calming.”

“I can do that,” Feyre breathed. “I can come by this weekend?”

“Perfect,” Nesta agreed. There was a few seconds of silence before Nesta said, “Thank you.”

“Anything for my niece,” Feyre said, then added, “And anything for you. And that idiot fiancé of yours.”

Nesta peeked out the window where Cassian was still mowing without his shirt on. He always acted like it was spring, even in the winter. Although their town stayed pretty mild, winter-wise, there was still a little chill in the air. “Idiot he is, but he’s my idiot.”

Feyre chuckled. “Still on for dinner tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Nesta promised. “I’ll see you then.”

They said their goodbyes before Nesta was left alone, in the silence, observing the room around her. Five minutes of planning in her head passed before heavy boots padded up the stairs and Cassian appeared, now wearing a hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. “Can I help with anything?”

She was admiring the colors in the direct sunlight. “You can tell me which of these you like best.”

“Hmm.” He came up behind her, pressing his big hands against her belly. Even as round as she was, even at over eight months pregnant, his hands still covered most of it. But then they slid upwards until he was cupping a breast in each hand. He made a show of weighing them and squeezing them gently, and said, “I don’t know, I think I’m pretty partial to the left one.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing, and pushed away from him, walking towards the wall. “I meant color, baby.”

“Oh, well that’s easy,” he snorted, coming in closer as well.

It turned out that it was, in fact, not easy.

After forty-five minutes of arguing and an almost silent quickie with the door open to make up, they had narrowed it down to New Spring Chick and Frosted Tropical Apricot.

They would let Feyre make the final decision in the morning.

“Don’t you have to get back out there?” Nesta asked.

Cassian shook his head. “For now, Az has it covered, it’s been an easy day. I was thinking you and I could go out to dinner, though.”

Nesta lifted a brow. “Dinner?”

Cassian nodded, then gestured to her belly. “We only have so much more time before baby comes. We should have a date night while we can.”

Nesta watched him for a moment before saying, “Okay, fine. But does this mean I have to get dressed up?”

Cassian grinned. “You could wear fucking sweatpants for all I care, but I’m taking you out.”

She wouldn’t wear sweatpants, but she also didn’t plan on wearing another real pair of pants until after this baby was out of her.

Cassian pressed a soft kiss to her stomach, which he did every chance he took, and left to go take a much needed shower. Nesta got ready, slipping on a pair of comfy black leggings and a baggy sweatshirt. Cass ended up dressing nearly identically, except he did wear sweatpants.

They hopped in the “play truck” and right before they left, Cassian said, “Shit, I’ll be right back.”

Nesta sat straight up, hands forming a protective cage around her stomach. “What? Is everything okay?”

He jogged into the house and came back out a minute later, backpack tossed over his shoulder. Climbing back into the truck, he tossed it in the backseat and put it in reverse.

“What is that?” she asked. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“This,” Cass replied, putting his free hand in Nesta’s and rubbing soothing circles into the back of her hand, “is our emergency bag. It’s got everything we’ll need in it in case you go into labor. Clothes, insurance paperwork, phone chargers, snacks.” He began a smooth back and forth motion. “Diapers, binkies, onesies, little socks and blankets, and everything else our precious girl is going to need.”

She blinked, and hated that tears were, once again, rolling down her cheeks. “You have truly thought of everything, haven’t you?”

Cassian shrugged. “You’re literally growing my child inside of you. As your baby daddy, it’s my job to take as much stress off of you as possible.”

Nesta leaned over the center console and pressed her lips to his cheek. “Thank you.”

He grinned, fully satisfied with himself, as he pulled onto the road and headed into town. They drove to a little Italian restaurant because Nesta had mentioned she could use a plate full of breadsticks. Cassian ordered it to go, though, and hopped back into the truck before driving a mile down the road to the old high school. He parked in the parking lot before hopping out and putting down the truck bed.

“Come on, babe,” he called, already taking the boxes of pasta out of the bag. When Nesta came around, he helped her onto the back of the truck before joining her there, his thigh brushing hers.

She ate her alfredo happily, indeed chowing down on an insane number of breadsticks that Cassian swore he didn’t count.

He was rubbing her feet when she asked, voice quiet, “Are you scared?”

He looked at her, at how she was staring off toward the football field, pretending not to notice him staring at her. “Am I scared of doing something stupid? Yes. Am I scared it’s going to be a lot more than we’re expecting? Yes. Am I scared we’re going to get in over our heads? Yes. Am I scared that there’s about to be a miniature version of you running around? Hell yes.” He turned her face toward his, forcing her to look at him. “But am I scared to be a father? No. Am I scared to meet our daughter? No. Am I scared to do this with you? Absolutely not.”

She whispered, “Quit making me cry.”

But he shook his head, softly. “I love you, Nesta. And yeah, I am scared, but I can’t wait. This little girl already has me wrapped around her finger and she’s not even here yet.”

A tear slid down her cheek that he quickly reached up and brushed away. “Are you scared?”

Nesta took a moment to think about it, but then she sighed. “Yes, and no. It’s complicated.”

Cassian chuckled, in full understanding.

“I’m scared because I don’t know what to expect,” she said, after a minute. “I’m not sure how to handle the not knowing.”

“That’s why we have each other, sweetheart,” he kissed the top of her head. “Come on, let’s get home. I have a shitload of furniture to build tonight.”

The egregiously overpriced infant's bedroom suit that Nesta had seen online had been delivered that afternoon. Cassian couldn’t understand how Nesta could justify spending as much as some people spent on a vehicle on furniture that was just going to get covered in shit and baby barf.

Not to mention that it had been shipped from overseas.

They packed up their trash and got back in the truck, heading for home.

“While I carry all of the boxes upstairs, why don’t you take a nice bath, baby?” He asked. “And then when you’re done, you can read me instructions that I won’t listen to while I figure out how to put it all together.”

Nesta shook her head, unable to stop herself from chuckling. “At least you’re honest.” 

He took her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles. “I am that.”

Nesta had to admit that the thought of a bath sounded incredible, though, so she didn’t argue. Once they got home, Nesta was making her way, slowly, up the porch, inside, and up the stairs while Cassian got to work on gathering the boxed nursery furniture. They had a changing table, a bookshelf, a dresser, and a crib, all of which Nesta had bought from a small French boutique that had always caught her eye in Paris. When Cassian asked why they couldn’t just go into town and buy something that was already assembled, Nesta’s answer was simple: she was getting what she wanted, and she wanted the modern, white, sleek furniture she’d on her walk to work every day.

Cassian didn’t argue. 

While she was soaking in the tub, she could hear Cass moving around in the other room. She’d hear a thump as a box was dropped or something would start dragging across the floor. At one point, she heard a loud bang followed by Son of a bitch!

Nesta laughed quietly to herself and smoothed a hand over her belly, which stuck out of the water by a considerable amount. “Daddy’s getting your room put together, sweet girl, and then we’re ready for you to get here whenever you are.”

She leaned her head back against the cool, porcelain tub, sighing happy. Life had become so crazy lately, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be stressed about it.

Her phone vibrated on the small table by her head and when she leaned up to glance at it, her hand slipped on the slick surface. The table knocked against the tub and Nesta gasped as her phone fell into the water.

“Shit,” she breathed, grabbing it out and tossing it onto a nearby towel. She decided that was the end of her bath and got out drying herself off and getting dressed.

She tried to power her phone back on, knowing she shouldn’t but hoping it hadn’t been in the water long enough to do any damage. The logo popped up in the middle of the screen then it went black and began to make a whirring noise.

“Damn it.” She sighed and made her way downstairs, throwing it in a bag of rice to see if it could be salvaged. Otherwise, it looked like she’d be going into town the next day for a new phone.

Cassian was padding down the stairs a moment later, his brows furrowed. He took one look at Nesta and froze, then looked down at her phone in the bag of rice. “Your phone take a bath, too?”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe.” With a deep sigh, she leaned back against the counter. “I’m pissed.”

“Me too,” Cassian mumbled, throwing open the fridge and grabbing two beers. “I’ve decided that I hate France. Or at least French furniture. Fuck France and their fancy furniture.”

Nesta snorted and came up behind him, attempting to wrap her arms around his waist, but over her giant bump, she hardly managed to reach around his sides.

Cassian's body shook with silent laughter as he turned to face her. “Bump in the way?” He asked, before setting one of his beer cans on the top of it, which only made Nesta roll her eyes.

“It’s not a table,” she laughed. 

“Seems pretty convenient to me,” he shrugged, popping open a can and chugging it down. He brushed his hand over her bump, and just when he touched, baby girl kicked wildly from inside, which only made Nesta groan. 

“That either means that she loves me, or that she’s telling me to fuck off,” Cassian said, which made Nesta laugh. After he kissed her forehead, then the bump with the wild, little Nazari inside, he said, “Alright, baby mama, come upstairs and watch me struggle.”

She smirked and headed for the stairs as he tossed the empty can in the trash, opened the second and grabbed a third to take upstairs. “I already do that on the daily. What’s so different about building furniture?”

She heard him mimic her words in a mocking tone and she laughed as she topped the stairs and made her way into the nursery.

It looked like a styrofoam factory exploded. There were pieces everywhere and screws littering the little catch-all tray he pulled from his tool box. She sighed, realizing it was going to be a long night.

But when she looked out the window, into the starry, cloudless night, and screamed Cassian’s name, she forgot all about furniture and messy packing materials. She forgot all about her phone lying useless on the kitchen counter. She even, for a moment, forgot her own name.

Because the stables were catching on fire.

Cassian was instantly behind her, his eyes wide as he swore violently. “Stay here,” he ordered, and then he was gone, pulling out his phone on the way out the nursery door. 

Nesta could only stare in horror as Cassian's dark figure, only outlined by the light of the moon, sprinted down the path that led to the stables.

It was quickly going up in flames, all consuming, raging flames. Nesta didn’t understand how it could have happened.

Only moments ago, she had been down in the kitchen and the stables were fine.

Then, the thought that had her heart stopping entered her mind. It hadn’t been an accident, couldn’t have been an accident, but that didn’t make any sense. 

A slow panic crept into the pit of her stomach, she was breathing heavier, her heart beating wildly as she sobbed, holding onto her bump, the only thing that allowed her to keep her sanity.

Nesta remembered that Az had told her he’d put the horses in the pasture this morning, since it wasn’t supposed to rain, and she was thankful to whatever god whispered in his ear and told him to do so.

She needed to call someone, needed to get the fire department here. Needed to call her sisters, to call Az. Without thinking, she turned and ran from the room, carefully making her way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Her phone wasn’t on the counter where she’d left it and she frantically looked around the kitchen. 

She plunged into near darkness as the lights went out and a frightened scream burst from Nesta, followed by a sob.

She needed Cassian.

She screamed his name, her voice full of shaking terror as she reached around, trying to find something to hold onto. Eventually, her hands found the edge of the counter and she told herself to breath, in and out. Stress wasn’t good for the baby, panic wasn’t good for the baby.

But she couldn’t help it, and as if the infant in her womb knew that something horrible was happening, she kicked wildly.

Nesta felt the need to puke but she couldn’t move, not in the darkness, not as far from the city as they were. Even as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she couldn’t see through the endless tears.

She tried one more time to scream Cassian’s name, but her voice came out broken, terrified, and it was no use, he was too far away.

She thought she heard a door open and close across the house and she froze. Her voice cracked as she called, “Cass?”

There was no answer.

Something was wrong, something was very, very wrong. She held onto the counter as she quickly ran for the back door - only to find that it was jammed shut, a two-by-four under the doorknob preventing it from opening.

She began to hyperventilate as she realized that this, all of this, was deliberate. The fire still blazed outside, and Nesta heard a creak from the old, wood flooring in the other room. Her blood chilled as she realized that she wasn’t alone in the house.

She ran for the front door, finding it stuck shut as well. “Please, please, please!” She sobbed, pulling on the door as hard as she could. There were unmistakably footsteps from the dining room and she cried, “Please, I’m pregnant, please.”

She hurried back to the kitchen as quietly as she could and silently opened a drawer, pulling out a large knife. She held it out, blindly as she took shuddering breaths.

Then he appeared, in the doorway, wearing a dark hoodie, the hood pulled up. He was tall, his shoulders broad, but slim.

She knew who it was.

She would be foolish to convince herself it wasn’t him. He hadn’t gotten what he wanted from her, had stalked her for months without saying a word. He didn’t come any closer.

Nesta did not lower her knife.

She tried to convince herself to look unafraid, to sound calm, but she couldn’t help the tears that continued to stream down her face.

Inside of her womb, the infant became utterly still.

Nesta swallowed and lifted her chin. “Leave,” she ordered, the demand echoing in the silence. “Or I will kill you, and I will not hesitate.”

Even as she said the words, she wasn’t convinced they were true.

Cassian couldn’t breathe. There was smoke in his eyes, it was unbearably hot, and he couldn’t stop coughing, but then he was out in the fresh night air, his back hitting the soft grass.

He knew that Az had led the horses out before he left today, had watched him take them out one by one, but he had to make sure. He had to verify that there wasn’t one down somewhere.

He found nothing, not a horse or person inside.

Except the overwhelming smell of gasoline.

This fire wasn’t natural, it was intentional. This fire was set.

He’d called Azriel before his feet had hit the landing of the stairs telling him what was happening and asking him to call the fire department. He didn’t know what else to do. It’s not like he could turn on the garden hose and put it out. With as much accelerant was used, it would burn all night.

He knew exactly who it was, he didn’t try to delude himself into anything else.

A truck door slammed and Feyre and Rhys were running toward him.

“What happened?” He asked, helping him stand. Cassian saw that his arm was covered in soot. “I have no idea. We were building baby furniture and the barn was fine, came down to the kitchen so I could grab a beer, and when Nes got back upstairs it was in a blaze.” He coughed, but continued, “Smells like a damn Mapco in there, there was so much gasoline dumped.”

“Gasoline?” Feyre asked, covering her mouth in horror.

Cassian nodded. “Tomas did this.”

Rhysand stilled as Feyre’s face paled.

“I have to go to Nesta,” she breathed, backing away from the fire, even though she wasn’t close to it. She glanced back at the dark. “Is she down at the cabin?”

Cassian’s face fell as he glanced up at the big house, then, he was sprinting.

If Tomas had done this, which Cassian was sure he did, he would still be close. He ran without stopping, without a breath, until he was up the back porch. The door was wide open, a piece of wood sitting off to the side.

Cassian was inside of the kitchen before he screamed, “Nesta?!”

There was no reply in the dark house, no movement or creak or whisper. He frantically flicked the light switch, nothing happening.

“What’s going on?” Feyre called, catching up and coming up the stairs.

Cassian opened his mouth to reply, but there was a banging from the front of the house. “Nesta?!”

He was running through the dark house immediately, finding Azriel and Elain on the other side of the front door. It was jammed closed as well. “Move!”

They did as he said and he put all of his weight into the motion as he tried to shove the door open. On the second try, it gave way.

Elain was already crying when she and Az ran in. He said, “Fire department is on the way.”

Cassian was about to say something when Rhysand’s shaking voice called out from the kitchen. “Cass… come here.”

The sound of his voice chilled Cassian’s blood. He hurried back, could see from the glow that either Feyre or Rhys was using their phone’s flashlight function.

He stumbled into the kitchen, nearly tripping over himself and ran to the other side of the island.

He froze.

One of the kitchen knives was missing from its spot in the open drawer, but it laid on the floor, just a few feet away.

There was so much blood.

She was gone. He took her. By taking her, he took them both.

Cassian heaved over the kitchen sink, everything within his stomach emptying out. He knew he was crying, but he didn’t care. He knew he was sobbing, but no one tried to comfort him. Knew no one was sure how.

Nesta was gone. His baby girl was gone. Tomas had taken them. They were gone, the only hunch of where they had gone written on the kitchen floor: a long kitchen knife and a puddle of blood. 

Cassian was ready to set the world on fire.

“I have to find her,” he breathed, he cried, as his face fell into his hands next to the kitchen sink. “I will find her.”

“Cass-.”

“No,” Cassian interrupted Rhysand before he could even say a word. “He’s out there, and he has my fucking fiancée and child!” 

But Rhysand only shook his head. “I know. I’m coming, too.”

“Me too,” Azriel agreed, then looked to Elain, who nodded.

“We'll take care of things around here,” Elain promised. “Go to the police. Now.” 

Cassian was already near the front door, just as a fire truck pulled onto the grounds. 

“I’ll go talk to them,” Feyre said, and kissed Rhysand quickly on the cheek before hurrying out the back door, Elain close behind. 

Cassian was looking around the house as he walked, even though he’d already searched the entirety of it. Rhysand and Azriel were on his heels as they exited through the front door.

Rhysand’s truck had the most room, and they knew letting Cassian drive wasn’t the smartest. The first logical place to go was the Carlson ranch, only to find it deserted. Cassian looked at the window, where he’d hurled the brick back at him.

“Where would they go?” Azriel asked, kicking something aside as they searched through his workshop.

Rhysand’s phone rang and he answered it. A quick conversation took place, and Feyre said the police needed to talk to Cassian.

They loaded back up into the truck and went back to the ranch. The police were there, along with the fire department and an ambulance, and the second Cassian’s feet hit the ground, questions were being asked.

“What happened?”

Cassian replayed the situation, from the second Nesta had noticed the fire blazing up until the point he realized they were missing. 

“You have to find her,” he told the police, after he told his story. “She’s thirty-eight weeks pregnant, nearly ready to go into labor, you have to fucking find her.”

“We will do everything we ca-.”

“Find her!” he yelled, grabbing the cop he’d been talking to by the shoulders. No one reacted, everyone stayed calm, even the cop that was being grabbed.

The young cop simply took a deep breath before saying, “We will look for her, adamantly, starting now.”

Cassian released his shoulders and nodded, and said in a quiet voice. “Thank you, just… I have to get them back.”

He looked over to where the stables once stood. Now it was a smoldering pile of wood and cinders, all that time put in, all those memories. Gone up in a blaze.

They told Cassian he couldn’t stay in their house that night, that they’d be combing through it for any evidence.

He asked a passing officer, “Will you please, please tell me if that’s her blood?”

The dark red hair, the amber eyes. He was a Vanserra, no doubt.

He nodded. “As soon as we know something, we’ll let you know.”

They let Cassian go in, accompanied by Elain, to get what he would need for the next few days. 

Elain did most of the packing, although she cried the whole time. Cassian couldn’t stay focused though, couldn’t concentrate on anything other than her.

All he could think about was Nesta and their baby, where they were, what he was doing to them.

But per the cops request, Cassian went home with Azriel and Elain to wait for further word.

But he didn’t sleep, didn’t rest.

And he wouldn’t until he found them.

Nesta, and his baby girl. 

[coeurdastronaute]

The Story, Ch. 4

Previously on The Story

The sun finally disappeared for the first time in weeks. Defiantly it tried to shine through the thin layer of clouds that blew in from the northeast, burning them off, or at least doing its best. The air had a stiff breeze to it, pushing around the oppressive humidity, as if it could help, when really it just smeared it into the wound. 

Dani stood in the kitchen and sipped a glass of water in the quiet that seemed to come after lunch had dispersed. Off to their own devices, the children could be heard occasionally, playing or arguing or running with heavy feet down the halls. 

For just a moment, Dani allowed herself one instant to look out at the clouds and wonder if this was some kind of religion, the unrelenting hope and belief in the inevitable, the near satisfaction of it actually happening, the eager waiting, the small sample of euphoria, the fulfilment of a promise. There was a mild intoxication in the lust of it, the build up. 

Longingly, Dani leaned against the lip of the sink and followed the heaviness of the clouds as they moved along, teasing and taunting, plump with rain for another city or ocean or country. 

From across the way, she watched the gardener emerge from behind the old, ivy-laced wall, and for some reason she sunk a little deeper into her relaxed pose. She took a larger gulp from her glass. 

The well-worn overalls hung on one strap, the leg on one side rolled up a little bit, while the shirt beneath had been cut up to accommodate the season, the holes for the arm dipping low enough to expose ribs, and high enough to show that line of deltoid. All too suddenly, Jamie dropped her supplies she’d been carrying and began digging through them. 

It did nothing to wake Dani from the dream she’d been having, nor did it do anything to untangle itself from the sudden fervor the au pair suddenly had for rain. Instead, the fanaticism for the passing clouds was applied to the streak of sweat down Jamie’s arm, cutting through the dirt there and dripping off at a pointed elbow. 

She wasn’t tall, she wasn’t large or imposing, but Jamie had a sense of space and she took it up with her confidence. Dani liked to watch her move because she moved with purpose. The cut in her arm, in her bicep, it existed for a reason. The litheness, the wallowness of her bones and curves, they were a result of bending and reaching and stretching, of molding and making and living. 

Somewhat aware of the unabashed lurking, Dani looked around the kitchen, straining for noises or footsteps or anyone, really, to catch her in the act. That was how she knew it wasn’t right, though she wasn’t sure how. 

There was a moment that Dani leaned forward, a little closer to the window, clutched her glass a little tighter in her hands. She watched as Jamie began reaching up toward the top of the wall, tying back some of the vines.  

Similar to the buzzing, vibrating, humming feeling she remembered from the pond, that twisting and warmth deep in her stomach, the lightness and tightness, all at once in her chest, Dani felt it all again gradually descend upon her. She did everything to avoid looking at Jamie at the lake, and she thought she had, but still, she remembered the shape of her belly button and the notch of her spine, the dip in her shoulders and the mold of her knees. 

Now, too, Dani found herself remembering it all in flashes that made it difficult to breathe, in a way that made her thirst for rain. 

A crash from upstairs pulled the au pair from her indoctrination quickly. She nearly jumped out of her skin at the noise before going off in search of whatever maybe the children could have caused this time. 

XXXXXXXXXX

With an upward glance, the gardener wiped the sweat on her chest and her forehead as the afternoon waned toward evening despite the consistent heat that sizzled. All was quiet around, the children in the house or on the other side of the grounds, the bugs sick of humming and buzzing for the day, taking off early to find some rest. 

Prepared to wrap up for the day, Jamie surveyed the work of the day, the trellis repair and the trimming back of overzealous summer buds. It was hard but honest work and she enjoyed that moment of accomplishment. 

Once more, she looked around to assure herself that not tiny eyes would catch her in the act, or worse yet, that Hannah wouldn’t catch her again, and she dug a cigarette out of the pack in her pocket. With a little less motivation that her previous day, Jamie gathered her tools and wondered how to stick around without sticking around, or rather, how to say good night to the au pair. 

For the past few days, Jamie had been nearly floating on the memories of the pond swim that kept them up and talking until nearly sunrise. She dissected every moment of her time with Dani, hoping to figure something out, but never could come to any concrete answers. The au pair was far too elusive and perhaps unwilling to give enough to jump to any conclusions. But all the same, the gardener enjoyed spending time with her, and she couldn’t remember the last time she simply enjoyed existing. It was too hard to talk to most people; she tripped over her word and thoughts and ended up quietly listening and not listening. 

Now, she knew what Dani’s favorite smell was. 

But there was really no reason for anything else for her inside the house other than to say her goodnight and be on her way. Still, she mulled and smoked, circling her tools before looking back towards the front door. 

Like a streak, the newly familiar blonde appeared, zipping through the door, and around the corner, disappeared in an instant, too fast on her own feet for any good. But there was more power and speed to this movement than before, and Jamie rubbed out her cigarette before grabbing her tools and deciding on taking the long way back around. 

The shape of the au pair appeared on the other side of a planter, half hunkered, back expanding quickly as she tried to find a way to breathe. Jamie slowed her walk so as not to fully interrupt something like that. It felt like waking a sleep walker, and she’d always been inclined to believe in the magic of it. Dani’s shoulders shook slightly as she tried to straighten her spine. She curled up slightly before forcing herself back up again. As harrowing as it was, Jamie cleared her throat and jostled the bucket in her hand, making the au pair jump slightly at the intrusion. It was a clumsy way to wake someone, but she didn’t know of another. The gasping breaths seized immediately, but the face didn’t turn to look at her.

The gravel crunched beneath the bucket as she placed it and her tools on the ground, a peace offering, an armistice line. 

“So, uh,” the gardener squinted toward the sun and shoved her hands in her back pocket. “What did the little monsters do?” 

“No, it’s… um--” 

“I know it’s frowned upon, to wallop a child, but I’m not one to rely on my reputation. A bit more tarnish couldn’t hurt it.” 

Dani didn’t move, just kept looking straight away, unwilling to do anything but hold her breath. Defeated, Jamie kicked at the gravel slightly, swinging her leg and puffing out her cheeks as she searched for something in the deepest parts of her brain to earn a sound or look from the au pair. 

“Plants are much easier. I find it’s not as taboo to murder a gaggle of heliotropes for not behaving. My discipline is harsh, I bet. But if you need some child rearing advice, I’m around.”

As much as she hadn’t meant to, Dani laughed, a relieved, genuine chuckle at the absurdity of the gardener, and Jamie inhaled it too quickly. 

“There we are,” she smiled to herself, victorious as all. “It’s not so bad. You’re hardly the first. I’ve cried… goodness, daily. Hourly, even, since working here. Helps to keep the evergreens so effervescent. If you’ve ever marvelled at my lustrous plentitude, I promise it’s from my own deep, deep well of inconsolable tears.” 

The au pair finally turned, much of her body still hidden behind the planter, but her eyes, the red-rimmed and puffy eyes glittered in the haze of the summer. Jamie swallowed slightly at the site and offered a smaller smile. Dani smiled at her, somewhere between relieved and burdened, unable to decide which was worse. 

“You’re doing great,” Jamie offered quickly, her feet betraying her and taking a step forward, naturally drawn to fix the problem. “You’re doing great.” 

“Thank you,” Dani nodded before looking away to wipe her eyes. 

“Alright,” she took a deep breath before picking up her tools. “Chin up, Poppins.” 

The best she had, the girl effectively returned to something short of sad, Jamie decided it was time for the quickest escape imaginable, and though she controlled her steps, she refused to turn around. 

XXXXXXXXX

The garden on the eastern side of the house was a continual work in progress. The gardener spent a portion of nearly every part of her day working on the roses and bushes, tenderly turning the area into a perfect oasis of blooming buds. It was her favorite part of the entire manor and grounds, it was her oasis. The tall brick wall was flanked by even taller pines, casting heavy branches like a ceiling over the edges. 

To say that there was an absolute explosion when the garden was massacred, would have been an outright lie. It was apocalyptic. The nanny wasn’t sure she’d ever seen someone who was simultaneously full of loss and wrath, but Jamie stood there, shaking, vibrating with a kind of rage that surpassed any kind of mortal feelings. At first, Dani was certain it was going to be quiet, that Jamie was swallowing it completely. But it wasn’t quiet. She marched across the garden, fist full of decapitated roses, petals in her wake, and began yelling. 

It took ten minutes before she tired herself out and Dani was able to calm her down. It took a few more hours for her to round up the culprits. 

“How are they doing?” Dani called as she helped direct the clean up efforts across the garden. 

“Looks alright to me,” Jamie nodded. “Don’t forget the mulch.” 

“Got it,” she smiled, helping Flora pick a few things. 

Even though she wanted to be mad, Jamie struggled with the fact that Dani looked very cute with a scuff of dirt across her forehead. She didn’t enjoy that her anger was so quickly quelled by a pretty girl. That didn’t seem fair. She should be able to hold onto all of that rage for a little while longer, in her own opinion, not lose it because a girl smiled at her. 

“She’s really putting them through their paces,” Hannah observed over the rim of her glass. “They should be playing.” 

“Have to learn about consequences,” Jamie shrugged. “A little hard labor is good for a growing kid.” 

“She’s tough on them. But maybe you’re right. They can be a little bit of a handful from time to time.” 

“You should know better than anyone. You clean up after them all day. Owen cooks for them. I make sure they don’t get lost in the woods. They need a little bit of structure.” 

“They’re working hard. I just want them to play,” Hannah sighed and swirled her drink around against the heat.

Jamie put her foot up on the edge of the chair and dug in her shirt pocket to pull out the pack of cigarettes. She let her eyes slowly drift back to the nanny who stood, hands on her hips as she looked down at the pile of debris the kids accumulated. She gave some orders, directing them around the yard. 

“What did I miss?” Owen asked as he took a seat between the two women. “How are the delinquents doing?” 

“They’re doing well,” Hannah smiled. 

“Hannah wants them to frolick and return to the glens, unfettered by their impetuous choices, free to roam the world causing chaos.”

Owen gave the housekeeper a look who just shrugged, not bothering to admit that it was almost the truth. 

“I don’t think that’s much of an option with the warden overseeing their parole.” 

Jamie chuckled and drifted back to the au pair. She didn’t catch Dani’s eyes, nor did she even earn a passing thought. But they were friends, she would venture. They were people who occasionally chatted in the evening, and they were people who had coffee every morning together in the green house, even if it tasted terrible. She drank it all anyway dutifully if it meant ten uninterrupted minutes with the au pair, though she’d never admit it. 

“What’s that?” she murmured, snuffing out the cigarette butt and looking over as Owen topped off her drink, missing half of their conversation already. 

“What do you think of the American?” 

“She’s wonderful with the kids. I think she’s doing a splendid job.” 

“Bit private isn’t she?” 

“You must have talked with her a bit more,” Hannah pressed. “I’ve seen you two skulking about, lingering in hallways, giggling.” 

“You make us sound like school girls, Hannah. Shame on you gossiping and such.” 

“Curious about the other person who lives in the same building is all. What do you think of her?” 

Jamie looked once more, this time meeting Dani’s quick glance and gulping slightly. They held the look for longer than expected, and Jamie remembered the feeling of cold water and Dani’s smile as she held her nose and jumped into the pond. She remembered the smell of their skin in the back of her truck as they dried off in stiff old blankets and stared at the stars, the grass and the water leaving the earth behind on their joints. 

“A touch too pretty to be a nanny, I reckon.”

“Owen?” 

“Oh, I um, I don’t know that I’ve thought of her, erhm, that way,” he cleared his throat and eagerly drank from his glass as Jamie turned it around to him. 

“You’ve seemed to have made your mind up about her,” Hannah decided, reading Jamie’s face and the little bit of pink in her cheeks. “And you never do that.” 

“Jury’s still out. I give her another month before she’s running for the hills from those little brats and this bloody place.” 

“I don’t know. I think she’s taken to it.” 

“Can’t count on someone like her to stick.” 

“Why’s that?” the housekeeper prodded, noticing another quick glance between the gardener and the au pair. 

“She’s too good,” Jamie explained, neither sad, neither conflicted, neither happy at the news, but merely presenting a fact. “Too alive to wallow away at Bly Manor.” 

“It’s not like that’s what we’re doing,” Owen scoffed. “We’re young and hot.” 

“Speak for yourself, darling.” 

Jamie didn’t argue, but looked down at the slow drip of condensation on her glass and felt the sinking deja vu feeling that haunted her from time to time. They were all running from something, hiding behind the walls of the manor, only they didn’t see it that way. Jamie wasn’t running anymore, but she’d been defeated and relegated to such, she thought. Dani wasn’t there yet. 

“She is full of life,” Hannah nodded, almost quietly. “It’s oddly contagious, if that’s the right word for it.” 

“Something like that,” Jamie agreed, wiping away the moisture on her cup on the edge of her pants before taking another sip. 

“Is your brother still coming next week? You should invite Dani with us to the show,” Owen decided for her. 

“No way she’d want to go to some backwoods hoot and holler that my mangy brother is doing,” Jamie scoffed this time, shaking her head at the notion. 

“I think it’s high time she saw some Bly culture up close and personal.” 

“She does need to get out, love. You know how tiring it is to live here non-stop,” Hannah agreed. “Invite her. Take the pretty girl dancing.” 

“I didn’t mean pretty like-- I was just observing--” the gardener stopped trying to find the word because it wasn’t coming and Hannah had given her the look that said it was hopeless. “I’m sure she doesn’t want to come.” 

“We’ll see about that.” 

“Dani! Dani!” Owen began to call out, waving his hand until Jamie made him stop, prepared to threaten him within an inch of his own life. 

“I’ll ask her tomorrow,” Jamie promised, hissing the words. “I’ve got to go,” she stood up abruptly. “And see about the… there was that squeaky hinge in the pantry.” 

Before Dani could make it over, the gardener was off, retreating and not looking back over her shoulder once at the scene. Hannah just smiled at Owen and wiggled her eyebrows. 

“I told you. That’s five quid.” 

“She never said she liked her,” he taunted back. 

“You must not be fluent in Jamie, but if you were, you’d know that ‘squeaky hinges’ was code for ‘help, the pretty blonde American is coming over and I don’t know how to be a human and speak with her because she’s so pretty’,” Hannah explained. 

“I’ll pay up if she invites her,” he retorted. “And not a moment sooner. I have my doubts about this flirting you allegedly have seen.” 

“You’re blind, love.” 

“Just blinded by you.” 

“Oh, shush,” the housekeeper fluttered away the comment with a wave of her hand though she smiled to herself. “Jamie is smitten, and you know I’m right.” 

“But is Dani?”

“The five quid question, isn’t it?” 

“Mmmm,” they both hummed together as they watched the gardener disappear completely into the house. 

NEXT

[thestraggletag]

Three Appointments and a Wedding

AN: Hi, @magicalgiven it is I, your Secret Santa! If I’m not mistaken we are both Argentinians in which case commiserate with me over the fucking hot weather we’ve been having. Because it fucking sucks. It was a pleasure to be your Santa, and I’m sorry this fic didn’t get smutty. I tried to add as much spice at the end as I could. It was challenging but fun because the accidental engagement prompt has been done a lot in the fandom so it was nice to try and put my spin on things. I hope you like it!

Prompt: Accidental engagement and consequences.

Summary: Mr Gold would do anything to help his only son plan his wedding, even if it is getting mistaked for the groom over and over as his crush gets mistaken for the bride. Over and over.

Rating: PG-13

He reminded himself that Bae had been clear about his distaste for a big wedding, and Emma as well. As far as they both were concerned they were better off with a simple civil ceremony and a honeymoon in Florida. But Emma’s parents insisted that their only child, their little princess, marry in style, so something grander was decided upon. He had to admit he hadn’t put up much of a fight. He did not have a lot in common with the Nolans- no matter how much David insisted on treating him like best mates whenever they met- but he did agree with them on the wedding. Bae was his only son and he wished to make a fuss about his wedding as well.

So he couldn’t really say no when Bae called to ask him to please take his place at a catering appointment in Portland. He had been summoned to a surprised meeting with a client that was a rather big to-do at his job. He did something related to web design that he couldn’t for the life of him understand, but it allowed him to work from home most of the time and stay in Storybrooke, so he was glad to be of assistance if he needed it.

He arrived at the catering business with a bit of time to spare, introducing himself and letting the person checking the appointment know he was waiting for someone. Not Miss Swan, because apparently she also had urgent business that could not be delayed- she did work in law enforcement, so there was a small chance she wasn’t lying to get out of “boring wedding stuff” as she kept calling it right in front of her mother and likely to annoy her. He had been told she would send Miss Lucas as a replacement, since she knew her way around a menu. He did not look forward to it, though perhaps he could amuse himself with trying to figure out how to raise the subject of the diner’s rent being due next week over talk of canapes. 

“Mr Gold, you got here before me!”

He turned around, a part of him recognising instantly that charming Australian lilt. He looked slightly down to find Miss Belle French, the town’s librarian as of three years. She was dressed, as always, rather charmingly, and looked less out of place in the city than in their small town. 

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long. The original plan was for Ruby to fill in for Emma, but Granny’s arthritis started acting up so she had to stay and help at the diner. Oh, please don’t tell Granny I told you that or she’ll never forgive me.”

He recalled she was an old friend of Miss Swan’s, from before she came back to Storybrooke, back when she was living in New York as a bit of a rebellion against her parents, doing bounty hunting work of all things. They had been roommates while Miss French went to NYU for her master’s in Library Science and worked at an antique bookstore. He knew only because he knew the bookstore and thought it smart to hold onto that piece of information. Book restoration and re-binding wasn’t his specialty, so it was nice to know of someone he could consult with if the need ever arose.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Miss French. I will even abstain of using the information against Granny the next time she tries to overcharge me for coffee. I hope you understand what a sacrifice that is.”

She laughed and he tried to pretend he didn’t feel overly smug about it, turning instead to open the door for her.

“Oh, Mr Gold, I see your fianceé is here! Lovely to meet the future Mrs Gold.”

He fumbled, his brain too caught up in what had just been said to register the small step on his way. He righted himself just as Miss French stammered a surprised denial.

“Oh, right, I apologise for assuming you would change your name after marriage, Miss Swan. Please, follow me.”

The man, a strongly-accented Frenchman, if his ears did not deceive him, swept past them and deeper into the shop, forcing them both to follow. The back was a rather nice dining area, small but with lots of windows to let in natural light. It was right next to the kitchen, but it still felt private and quiet. They were ushered into a table already prepared for them and served a sample of entrées along with a card detailing the ingredients of each one.

“Well, I suppose it’s an obvious mistake to make, and it would be unkind to correct him, he’d be mortified. I hope you don’t mind playing the would-be groom for a day, Mr Gold. At least we get some nice food out of it.”

“It’ll make a nice change from Granny’s overpriced lasagna.”

She slapped him gently on the arm, trying to conceal her smile, and he was surprised at how nice the gesture felt. Not many people touched him, and less with that sort of uncomplicated ease. He was glad that Miss French felt comfortable around him.

“So, what type of food does Miss Swan enjoy?”

“You should really begin calling her Emma, you know. And me Belle, none of that Miss French nonsense. This is not some nineteenth century pretend engagement, you know. I hope we can consider ourselves a modern pretend couple.” Miss French- Belle- smiled at him over the rim of her water glass before taking a sip. “As for Emma, she likes bar food. If it was up to her we’d serve peanuts and fries for entrées and burgers as the main course. I understand her parents talked her out of it, so perhaps nothing very fancy, but tasteful at the same time.”

He had given up on the day that morning, thinking it would be spent trying to make awkward conversation with a confrontational Miss Lucas, glaring daggers at him from across a rather small table because he dared charge rent for the property her grandmother rented from him. Instead he found himself discussing food and wine with someone he was infinitely more fond of and could not even muster enough grumpiness later in the evening to snark at Bae when he called later at night to thank him for subbing for him.

“It’ll be the last time, pops, I swear.”

.

The week after the catering appointment Bae called him in a panic to beg him to go for him to the florist appointment, also in Portland. He swallowed a few choice words learned in his youth in Glasgow, closed his shop and drove to the address Bae texted him. He was somewhat less surprised than before to find Miss French there, sitting on a bench outside the shop and reading a book. Something niggled at the back of his head but when he greeted her and they got to explain their presence he realised it made a bit more sense. Miss Swan’s job was a bit emergency-heavy and Miss French was the daughter of a florist, so it made sense to send her as a replacement.

She knew her stuff, as he could tell almost as soon as they set foot into the shop, to the delight of the old, red-haired florist that handled their appointment. The librarian engaged her in a rather interesting discussion on the meaning of flowers and the importance of harmonious scents, something he had never considered before. They spent a rather lovely hour touring the greenhouse and browsing through the catalogues, with Miss French- “Honestly, Arran, it’s Belle, you agreed!”- making a game out of it, picking something and having him guess whether it was a choice for Miss Swan’s wedding or a reflection of personal taste. He learned from it that Belle liked blue as much as her outfits had already implied and that she loved hydrangeas, thought them elegant but soft.

“Too soft for Emma. She likes bold colours and is not fond of traditional flowers, so I was thinking perhaps something with bougainvilleas? They have such lovely deep pink colour, almost red. What do you think?”

It was a bit intoxicating, the smell of the flowers, the heat of the shop and Belle French talking about flowers with a passion that stirred something in him that had nothing to do with centerpieces or boutonnieres. It wasn’t until they were out of it, inhaling the crisp evening Portland air, that he realised the florist had mistaken them for the engaged couple as well, and neither of them had made any effort to correct her. Well, that would’ve been rude, he reasoned. No need to put the old woman in the spot.

.

The morning of the cake-tasting appointment he had woken up with the knowledge that he was likely to get a “surprise” call from Bae begging him to “fill in” for him at the cake shop, and he could not even bring himself to feel angry about it. The wedding was, after all, a rather rushed affair, seeing as to how it was not what either the bride or groom had planned for, so allowances had to be made for the couple. That or they both were trying to punish their parents for pushing on them a grander event than the one they had wanted in the first place.

On his way out of town he passed by the library, insisting he would drive Miss French who was, surprisingly, filling in for Miss Swan again. She didn’t seem to mind yet another disruption into her schedule.

“I love Storybrooke, but I don’t mind admitting that it’s nice to go out to a big city every now and then.”

The bakery that would make the cake- one of the few that would accommodate the short notice of the order placement- was located in Bangor, which seemed to merge big-city vibes with small-town charm. The bakery itself was lovely, with a white and beige storefront and a myriad of colourful treats on display. It smelled strongly of vanilla and chocolate inside, and there was a dreamy, romantic sort of quality to the decoration. They were ushered into a warm, cosy room where they spent the next hour and a half tasting different cakes, one better than the next.

“Emma is a bit chocolate obsessed, so I’m leaning towards the chocolate champagne one. It was delicious.”

He tried not to replay in his mind the way she had moaned at the first taste of that one, eyes closing in absolute bliss.

“I still can’t believe that little urchin had me fill in for him again, so I’m not even considering his tastes. My vote is for the strawberry shortcake.”

Belle frowned, idly liking some frosting from her fork. His left hand tightened around the napkin on his lap.

“Isn’t Bae allergic to strawberries?”

“Exactly.”

The librarian laughed, which he was rather surprised by. Very few shared his rather dark sense of humour, most found the content and his delivery of it rather off-putting. He tried not to preen at the idea. 

“Might want to hold on in killing him until after the wedding. After all, we have invested quite a few hours into the preparation already. Feels more like our wedding, in a way.”

He choked on a rather lovely piece of red velvet cheesecake, fumbling for his glass of water to try and wash it down. He realised the danger he was in, all of a sudden, perhaps too late. His crush had been safe when he had not had much of a chance to interact with the librarian and get to know her. But spending entire days with her had changed things, giving his feelings depth that he did not entirely appreciate. His instinct of self-preservation was urging him to do something. Say something mean or cutting, or close himself off. Perhaps invent some business emergency and leave, letting Belle figure out on her own how to get back to town. If she was cross with him, if she hated him, if she decided to keep his distance, he would be safe.

But, surprisingly, he found that he was rather tired of feeling safe, and of pushing people away.

.

“You know, we didn’t do half-bad in the end, all things considered.”

He turned around, tearing his eyes away from his son and his new wife trying to waltz. He was sure someone was filming it, anyway, and he’d get to tease Bae about it later. Belle looked absolutely stunning in a Halston dress, an architectural number in navy blue with a champagne-coloured lining that peeped from the folds of the skirts and a bit of a train in the back, the hem landing above the knee at the front and below it at the back. It was a far cry from what most women were wearing, in particular the friends of the mother of the bride, but it was exactly what he had expected from her: bold, flirty, and the slightest bit of out place in a small town, without really seeming to realise. Her lips were a lovely deep, dark red and smiling wide. At him, of all people.

“Yes. The flowers do look splendid, Miss French. You have quite an eye for it.”

She hooked her arm through his, looking admonishingly up at him.

“It’s Belle. Unless you’ve decided I cannot call you Arran anymore.”

If he were stronger, he would politely insist on calling her Miss French, thus gently reestablishing their more formal dynamic. It would be safer, certainly. But he found himself unable to muster the energy for it. It was a happy day, and he was ecstatic as the father of the groom should be. Seemed like the occasion to do what he wanted and not necessarily what he thought was best. Indulge a bit.

“Belle, then. I rather like how you pronounce my name, seems a shame to make you stop.”

Her eyes widened, and so did her smile. He tried to remember how many glasses of champagne he had drunk, but could not recall. He had indulged there too, but that was only because he had been sitting next to David Nolan for dinner and he had kept trying to talk to him about sports. He had made the mistake of trying to discuss the UEFA Super Cup, but that had only led to ten minutes of David Nolan referring to football as soccer and displaying no understanding of the rules of the game.

“So, how’s the proud father? Was it all you hoped it would be?”

He looked around. The venue was lovely, a manor outside Storybrooke that was used exclusively for events like weddings and such, with extensive gardens and lovely, broad balconies. The Nolans had secured the place, seemed they knew the owner and had been able to pull some strings. It was decorated a bit like an enchanted forest, in shades of silver, gold and bold touches of bright pink and dark blue.

“Well, Bae remembered his lines and didn’t step on Miss Swan’s train at any point so the wedding has exceeded my wildest expectations.”

He glanced again towards his son, dancing something a bit more lively with Emma and looking infinitely more at ease doing so. They truly suited each other, and he was glad of that. Glad that Bae would know, hopefully, nothing but love in his family he meant to build for himself.

“It’s a lovely song. Would you care to dance?”

A tricky question, since the answer was both a resounding no and a desperate yes, but he merely pointed towards his cane as a way out. It seemed he was not the only one emboldened by drink, however, if Belle’s flashing eyes and red cheeks were anything to go by.

“Oh, come on, just some gentle swaying. We could go outside, if you don’t wish others to see. It’s a bit stuffy in here anyway.”

There was no way for him to deny her, nor did he wish to anymore. He let her lead him out, into one of the terrace-like balconies attached to the ballroom, and wrapped her arms around his neck, prompting his own to wrap around her waist. They soon fell into a slow, easy rhythm, lazy and yet strangely exhilarating. He felt loose and tightly-wound at the same time, and could not decide whether he liked the feeling or not.

“It really is a lovely wedding, by the way.”

“Yes, I think we did rather well, all things considered. Certainly more than what Bae deserved, taking into account how little he worked for it.”

She tugged on his hair, he assumed as a way to chastise him. It had rather the opposite result, sending a jolt of fizzy pleasure up and down his spine.

“You rather enjoyed it, admit it. And I did too. In a way it’s sad that the wedding has happened and our outings are at an end.”

She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, teeth worrying her lower lip the slightest bit. He got the feeling that there was something he was not seeing or sensing, some signal he was not quite deciphering. But it was getting rather difficult to think, with the champagne in his veins, and the feel of Belle in his arms and the way she smelt like orange blossom. 

“You look lovely, by the way.” He realised he hadn’t told her, and it seemed like a major oversight. “Stunning, really. Gorgeous. Too good to be wasting your time out on the balcony with me.”

What the fuck was wrong with him? When had he lost complete control of his bleeding mouth?

“Don’t say that. I like spending time with you. A lot.” She bit her lip again and he wondered if his blood pressure could take it. “Actually, I was hoping we could spend more time together, if you wished it.”

There was no mistaking the flirty turn of her lips, or the coyness dancing in her eyes, even to an expert in self-denial such as him. He tried to form words to reply to her, something along the lines of “Yes, please” or “Is it tomorrow night too soon?” but his vocal cords were suddenly useless, and in a sudden panic that she would interpret his stupid silence for a rejection of her advances he leaned down, pressing his lips against hers. He felt her stiffen in his arms for a second, saw her eyes widen in surprise, but the next moment she was pressing back against him, tipping her head back to better capture his mouth with her own. She took absolute control with a quiet, fierce determination that he found incredibly erotic. He was happy to reciprocate, to tighten his arm around her waist and open his mouth to her, his left hand tightening around the handle of his cane with something that felt like petulant frustration at not being able to simply drop the damned thing hold her properly, perhaps delve a hand into her hair, feel if it was as soft as it always looked. 

She seemed to read his mind, for she maneuvered them clumsily towards the rather tall balustrade. He eagerly leaned against it before dropping his cane in the nick of time to catch the librarian’s leg, which sought to wrap itself around his waist. Her obvious, undisguised want was disarming, making him forget himself in a way he had never allowed himself to-

“Papa, what the fuck?”

“Belle!”

Both him and Belle startled, with her regretfully taking a few steps away from him, leaving him to notice the chill in the air. When he glanced at the entrance of the balcony he saw his son and Miss Swan, looking radiant in her Vera Wang dress and also, bizarrely, quite smug.

“Hey, Bae, didn’t see you there.”

His accent barely made the words intelligible, but there was no helping that. He always lost control of his brogue when he was nervous.

“Clearly!” Bae sounded shrill, more child than man. Reminded him of the infamous temper-tantrums the lad had thrown once upon a time. “How could you? At my own wedding?!”

Fuck, he was right. He had been caught fucking making-out and almost doing God-knew-what just a few bloody steps away from his son’s wedding reception. What was the matter with him?

“I mean, why couldn’t you wait? I had almost won the bet!”

What?

“You only had to last until after the wedding! I was so close, pops! And you were doing so well!”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very sad. Now remember, Bae, you promised at least two dances with Regina’s sister. At least she’s unlikely to hit on you at your own wedding, so there’s that.”

Emma smiled up at her new husband, kissed his cheek, turned him around and directed him back towards the ballroom with a not-so-gentle smack in the ass. She smiled, gave Belle a thumbs up and an “atta girl” and walked out of the balcony, closing the French doors behind her.

“What the fuck was that?”

[justlightlysedated]

something that i was writing for a sex pollen kink prompt, that i just never finished:

Alex doesn't put two and two together at first because he wasn't an alien. He was supposed to be safe.

He remembers how the red powder had triggered his allergies and had made him sneeze like five times in a row before it had even settled on top of him.

Both Liz and Michael had frozen comically in the middle of the lab, an open jar in both of their hands, with the rest of the red powder that they had managed to get from the Redburn Facility to run some tests on.

They hadn't really figured out how it affected the aliens since Liz had had it under lock and key and wanted to run tests on samples of Max's blood before she let Michael use himself as a guinea pig.

Thankfully, Michael hadn't inhaled any of the powder, and had used his recent power boost to gather the tiny dust particles out of the air and dragged them back inside of the jar while Liz had apologized to Alex a million times while carefully herding him over to the decontamination shower.

Alex had left the lab without the file that Liz had told him she had for him and wearing Michael's extra pair of clothes since his own had to be thrown away.

He doesn't exactly realize that anything is wrong when he's back home and pulling Michael's shirt over his head to get into his own clothes and catches Michael's scent in the fabric, because of course, the shirt wasn't freshly laundered and probably the least dirty shirt that Michael had found when Liz had told him to keep extra clothes at the lab.

He presses the shirt across his face and inhales deeply, making a low noise as he feels the hairs at the back of his neck raise, and shiver run down his spine and heat ignite low in his stomach.

Alex gasps and finds himself stumbling to the edge of his bed. He drops back, and has one hand down his pants, Michael's pants before he's even aware of it, the other hand keeping Michael's shirt pressed to his face.

Alex jerks off fast and rough feeling a desperation crawling up the back of his spine and comes faster than he has since he was still a teenager.

He drags Michael's shirt off his face and uses it to clean his hand up before he looks up at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath and wonders what the fuck just happened.

He thinks that what he really needs to get laid if Michael's scent is enough to set him off like that.

The last thing he needs is to ruin their brand new tentative friendship with this.

-

Alex spends the next week and a half getting more and more frustrated. He snaps at everyone and everything and very nearly dislocates Kyle’s shoulder when all he had done was tap him on the shoulder.

He feels like he’s going crazy. He’s turned on all of the time, and has jerked off more than he ever has in his entire life, but casual touches from anyone make his skin crawl. 

He can’t stop thinking about Michael which isn’t an uncommon problem, but Alex has better self control than this, and he’s lost count of the times he’s had to turn around and go be somewhere Michael wasn’t because his mere presence was enough to make Alex start salivating.

He thinks that there is something seriously wrong with him, but it’s not something that he can go to Kyle for.

What he needs is to get laid, and he makes plans to do just that, and then Liz calls him because someone broke into her lab and he cancels his date to help her. He makes plans again two days later, and Maria calls him to tell him that she needs his help with Mimi’s new doctor. He makes plans, again and this time Kyle calls him to tell him that he found something that they should check out.

For the next two weeks, Alex can’t catch a break, and he just becomes irritated by everyone and everything and feels like a giant exposed nerve, and can’t even look at Michael directly when they are in a room together, and absolutely refuses to work with him alone, something that Michael notices and tries to talk to him about, but all Alex can think about when he does is that Michael’s lips would look much better wrapped around his cock and has to vacate the premises.

He thinks that maybe their friendship isn’t going to survive this either way, and decides that he’s going to once again make plans and just ignore his phone if it rings.

And it works, sort of.

He makes it all the way into his date's house, whose name he doesn't even remember, nor cares about when he's sitting on their lap, mouth otherwise occupied.

He's pulling his shirt over his head when his phone vibrates in his pocket, and Alex jumps a little, and shakes his head.

"Let me just turn this off," he says, and the guy whose lap he's on, just grins and slides his hands up Alex's thighs.

Alex both wants to push into the touch and shy away from it, and he's not exactly sure why.

He just ignores that and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

It stops ringing, and he goes to turn it off, when it starts to ring again, and Michael's name flashes across the screen.

Alex thinks for one second about not answering the phone, and if it was anyone else he wouldn't, but Michael barely ever uses his phone, so it must be important.

The phone stops ringing, but Alex already knows he's not getting laid tonight.

"I have to go," he says, and gets off the guy's lap, grabbing his shirt to slip it back over his head.

He ignores the arguments to stay, and the inevitable insults that follow and just lets the door slam shut behind him.

He takes a deep breath and pulls his phone out of his pocket as it starts to ring again.

"I'm in my car, where are you?" He asks walking towards his jeep.

"The junkyard," Michael says sounding surprised and not at all like he was in trouble.

Alex just hangs his phone up and gets into his car.

He makes the drive to the junkyard in record time and finds Michael sitting down in one of the lawn chairs, feet propped up on the empty fire grate, a beer in his hands.

Alex ignores all of that and gets out of his car.

"What's the emergency?" He asks coming to a stop by Michael's chair.

Michael looks up at him, and there is a sheepish expression on his face.

"There really isn't one," he says slowly, smiling like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Alex blinks at him in silence for a few seconds, trying not to fly off the handle, but he literally feels at the very end of his rope.

"You called me three times in a row, until I answered my phone," Alex starts slowly, and Michael just smiles at him.

Alex gets the overwhelming urge to slide into his lap and knock the smile off his face with his mouth.

"You never use your phone," he grits out, and Michael just shrugs and lifts his beer to his mouth.

"You've been avoiding me," Michael says and goes to take a sip of his beer, tilting his head back, and exposing his neck, and Alex feels his stomach clench and his mouth water and he can barely stop himself from moving forward.

He grabs the beer bottle and tosses it to the side.

"I was in the middle of something, Guerin," he says as Michael looks at him in offense.

Michael's face changes at that, and he gives Alex a deliberate once over, from what is sure to be messy hair to his shirt stretched and wrinkly from pulling it off and tossing it aside, his belt still undone since he had forgotten all about it.

Alex flushes a little, but it's more from having Michael's gaze on him than it is about the obvious fact that he'd been about to get laid.

"I can see that," he says, eyes reaching back up to Alex's face. He licks across his bottom lip and shrugs a little again. "You didn't have to drop everything to come here."

Alex makes a low enraged noise and takes a step towards Michael and then whirls around decisively, taking several steps away from him before pacing agitatedly for a few seconds, trying to keep himself in check, and then he turns and Michael is right in front of him.

"Listen," he starts, but Alex shakes his head.

"No," he snaps, and takes a menacing step forward and then another, making Michael take a startled step back. "You listen. It's been months since the last time I've had sex, months of your alien bullshit drama ruining my dates, months of your regular drunk bullshit ruining my hookups. And usually, I don't really give a shit, but it's been weeks of feeling like I'm literally going to go crazy if I don't get fucked, only for you to call me here for what? For what?"

Michael stops moving back like he hit a wall, but Alex keeps moving forward, until they're way too close.

Michael looks a little stupefied, and Alex feels like he needs to yell some more.

He inhales deeply, and all of the anger seeps out of him all at once, leaving him feeling woozy.

He stumbles a little into Michael, and feels a molten heat sink from the back of his neck down his spine and pool low in his belly.

"I just wanted to hang out," Michael says, and his voice sounds so low and hot in Alex's ears. "Maybe drink some beers and then go to the Pony to play some pool. I figured we could start there and work our way up."

"Start?" Alex questions in an offhand fashion the majority of his attention caught by the way that Michael's pulse is jumping in his throat.

Michael probably answers, but Alex doesn't hear him as he leans forward, wrapping his fingers in the collar of Michael's jacket and sticks his face into his neck, nose brushing against the curiously cool skin.

Michael jumps a little, hands coming up to Alex's shoulders, and Alex inhales sharply, startled at the way the touch sinks into him immediately making him want Michael's hands actually on his skin.

Michael's scent fills his head, and everything seems to go slow and foggy, and he feels something a little sharp and desperate, hungering for Michael, and he licks against the skin of his neck before he can stop himself.

"Alex," Michael says, voice trembling, and Alex snaps out of it, pushing himself away from Michael and the Airstream where he had inadvertently trapped Michael.

His body feels tingly and hot, but his head feels a little bit clearer.

"I have to go," he says, and turns and leaves before Michael can say anything to try to convince him to stay.

-

"I think I'm dying," Alex says as he walks into Kyle's office at the hospital without knocking.

Kyle looks up from where he'd been looking at his computer screen, and his glasses slip down a little, and Alex feels an irritating throb of arousal and closes the door to Kyle's office.

"What's up?" Kyle asks as Alex sits down across from him.

Alex opens his mouth, but he can't seem to come up with a way to say that he's been hard for practically the last two days and needs medical help without sounding like a lecher. 

Alex had left Michael's that day and had gone straight back to the guy that he had left, and for the first couple of minutes after sex, Alex had felt like maybe everything was going to be okay, and then the desperate, hungry feeling had started up again in the pit of his stomach.

Alex left while the guy was in the shower, since he still didn't know his name, and he really didn't want a repeat performance.

That had been just barely a week ago, and Alex has already gone through all the openly queer and not so openly queer guys living in Roswell and within easy driving distance of Roswell, and while the number wasn't exactly high, it was still more people than Alex has slept with in the last ten years combined.

He'd woken up yesterday morning hard and aching and riding the edges of what was definitely a wet dream featuring Michael wearing nothing but that cowboy hat of his, and has spent basically the last thirty six hours frantically jerking off to no avail.

There is something wrong with him, and Alex is stubborn, but he can admit that he needs help.

Kyle touches his arm to get his attention and Alex flinches back, startled and feeling the touch like sandpaper against his skin.

Kyle frowns and reaches for his face, and Alex tries not to whimper low in his throat as Kyle presses hands to his forehead, and tips his face up to examine his eyes. Alex wants to lean into the touch, but also it feels abrasive and wrong in a way he can't explain. 

"Jesus, Alex," he says in a low worried voice and stands up straight to pull a thermometer out of his pocket, along with the box of sterile plastic covers for it. "You're burning up."

He puts the thermometer in Alex's mouth and walks around to his computer, typing something fast before he comes back just as the thermometer starts beeping like crazy.

His eyebrows shoot up when he reads the display, and he looks at Alex seriously.

"You weren't kidding," he states, and Alex just swallows hard.

"Can you help?

Kyle smiles gently, a smile that says everything is going to be okay, his doctor smile, "I'll do everything that I can."

He leads Alex into an exam room, and tells him to change into the hospital gown.

"It's protocol," he says as Alex stares at the gown with a reluctant expression.

"There is nothing about what's happening to me that is protocol," Alex protests.

Kyle just gives him a look. "Do you want my help or not?"

Alex inhales deeply.

"Okay, there is something that I have to tell you before I change," he says grabbing the gown, and crushing the fabric in one hand.

Kyle just looks at him expectantly, but Alex can't find himself able to open his mouth to make the words come out.

Kyle loses patience after five minutes of silence, "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

Alex gives him a look.

Kyle just gives him a matching one back.

"Trust me okay? I've seen some things and it can't be worse that pulling out an action figure from some poor bastard's assh-"

"I've had an erection for almost a full forty-eight hours," Alex blurts out interrupting Kyle.

Kyle's gaze flickers down to the front of Alex's pants, but Alex had made sure to wear too small underwear when he had decided to come here.

"Okay," Kyle says slowly. "Just change and I'll run some tests okay?"

Alex just nods his head once and goes into the small bathroom to change.

He comes out to an empty room, but he knows Kyle wouldn't just leave him alone.

So he sits down on the examination table and waits.

The gown feels more restrictive and itchy than the clothes that he was wearing, and he doesn't have the willpower to question why wearing Michael's clothes doesn't make him feel like he needs to get naked.

Kyle walks in when he's contemplating just getting rid of the gown, and he has a chart in his hands.

"Okay," he says, looking at Alex and then quickly away. "There are a few questions I need to ask before we start."

Alex just nods his head.

"Have you taken any drugs?"

"Just the ones for my anxiety," Alex says shaking his head.

Kyle nods and marks it down on the chart.

"Any, performance enhancers?" He asks, and looks pointedly at him.

Alex shakes his head, "No."

Kyle sighs. "You can tell me if you took Viagra or-"

"I know," Alex snaps, glaring at him a little. "I haven't taken anything."

Kyle still doesn't look like he believes him. "I've been hearing rumours about you over the last week or so, and in order to keep that up, you'd have to have gotten help. You're not exactly a teenager no matter how fit you are-"

"Trust me,  Kyle," he says firmly. "I haven't taken anything."

Kyle still doesn't look like he believes him, but he moves on to the other questions, before taking enough blood from Alex that he feels like he'll need a transfusion, and then leaves, telling Alex to hang tight.

Alex doesn't exactly feel tired, but he still leans back on top of the table and closes his eyes, trying to relax.

He inhales deeply and holds the breath for a few seconds, exhaling slowly and doing it all over again for a few minutes.

He feels a low simmering in the pit of his stomach and it's kind of hard to think about anything but the way his cock feels heavy and swollen between his legs, and how the fabric of the hospital gown feels scratchy and uncomfortable against his skin.

He clenches his hands on top of his stomach and just keeps breathing, counting the breaths to keep his mind occupied.

Kyle comes back into the room when Alex gets to number one hundred and fifty-two.

"Alright," he says, startling Alex bad enough that he almost falls off the examination table.

"I expedited your blood results and you're clear of all known toxins and substances but your anxiety medication, some traces of alcohol and an unknown pathogen with a similar molecular structure to the yellow pollen that dampens our alien friends super powers."

He keeps talking, but Alex stops listening vividly remembering getting covered in that red powder weeks ago and how if he thinks about it, that's when all of this started.

"Fuck," he says and lets himself fall backwards on the examination table, not really caring that the move exposes him.

He feels a sheet covering him and then Kyle is sitting down on the only chair in the room.

"So, I'm guessing I was right in calling Liz for help?"

Alex just covers his face in his hands and tries not to cry.

"I hate aliens," he says heartfelt.

He can feel Kyle nodding his head in sympathy, "Me too."

-

Liz brings over all of the information that she has on the powder, which isn't much. She looks like she's about to tell Alex that she's sorry again, but instead asks him for a sample of the cells in his cheek.

Alex would like to protest that he's not an alien, but obeys, and doesn't complain when she asks for hair samples and a skin samples.

He watches them working, and falls into a daze, fascinated by the way that Liz's hair swishes as she moves around and how the white coat stretches across Kyle's shoulders.

He feels the way his entire focus shifts to Kyle and tells them both to get out before he embarrasses himself even more.

Jerking off doesn't really fix the problem, but it takes the edge off.

He locks himself in the small bathroom and jerks off, one fist stuffed in his mouth to muffle the noises.

It hurts a little, but he manages to calm himself down enough that he doesn't think he'll jump Kyle, and leaves the bathroom after washing his hands.

Kyle and Liz are talking in low whispers inside of the room, and they stop and turn to Alex when he walks out.

He ignores them and drops down on the chair instead of sitting on the examination table and exhales roughly.

Liz is smart enough to tell Kyle to stay away, and leans back against the table.

"I need you to tell me everything that's happened since you inhaled the red powder," she says gently.

Alex exhales and just leans his head back and looks up at the ceiling and then tells her everything, enough that when he glances at her, she's pink cheeked and trying not to avoid his gaze.

"Okay," she says loudly when Alex starts in on the last two days. "Obviously it's triggered some kind of biological response in you. What we have to do is figure out how to reverse it." 

She walks over to the table where they had set up all the information she had brought with her, and Kyle smiles sheepishly at him while moving closer to check his temperature again.

Alex lets him, feeling a little bit like a trapped wild feral animal that needs to be treated with care.

Kyle's frown is deep and troubled when he looks at it and then back at Alex, and then he's moving towards Liz and showing her the reading.

She makes a low noise, like an epiphany just hit her, and then she's running out of the room.

Alex sits up and looks at Kyle who gives him a confused look like he also doesn't know what Liz figured out.

She's back before they can think too long about it, with a small file folder and she looks up triumphantly at them both.

"I think I got it," she says and walks over to Alex. "I didn't put it together before because it's a liquid that they're talking about. But the scientist's at the Redburn Facility nicknamed the compound, Pon Farr."

Alex groans in despair and lets his head fall back against the back of the chair, because of course they did.

"What does a Star Wars term have to do with anything?" Kyle asks, and Alex can feel the judgement in Liz's silent stare, so he doesn't bother to open his eyes back up.

"The point is that the compound is like an aphrodisiac on steroids mixed with whatever alien equivalent of Viagra with a shelf life of forty two weeks."

"Okay," Kyle says slowly. "So how do we fix it?"

Liz stays silent for a moment. 

"With sex," she answers. "But-"

"I've had sex," Alex answers, voice despairing a little bit. "A lot of it."

He can feel Liz's gaze back on him, but he doesn't look over at her.

"Maybe you need to-"

Alex sits up at that and gives her a look. "Trust me, there is no stone I left unturned. There has to be something else."

Liz purses her mouth and looks back down at the file in her hands, skimming through the rest of it.

"The only thing mentioned here about sex not working at first is if the subject was already fixated on someone before the compound was administered," she looks up at him as she speaks and raises an eyebrow. "Are you fixated on anyone?"

Alex barely has time to think, let alone say anything else when the door to the exam room opens up and Michael is walking inside.

"Hey, Lizzie, I've been looking for you everywhere," he says as he walks into the room. "I thought we were working in the lab today, not playing doctor with Valen-"

He stops speaking when he spots Alex, and Alex takes one looks at him, and feels every single cell in his body urge him forward.

He drops his face to his knees, and whimpers pitifully.

"What's going on?" Michael demands, and Alex is sure that they answer him, but he can't hear anything over the rush in his ears.

He clenches his hands to fists, and bites down hard on his bottom lip.

His skin feels like it's on too tight, and he feels too hot, and just knowing that Michael is close enough to touch is making him feel breathless, and there is a shudder running down the length of his spine, and his cock throbs painfully between his legs. 

He bites down on a moan.

He feels someone crouch down right by his chair, and he hopes that it’s either Kyle or Liz, but from the way his skin feels like it’s tingling, he just knows that it’s Michael.

“Hey,” Michael says from way too close.

Alex just shuts his eyes tighter.

“Maybe we should-” Kyle starts, but Liz shushes him as Michael speaks again.

“Alex,” he says and Alex shivers, biting down harder on his lip. “Look at me.”

Alex exhales shakily, and turns his face towards Michael’s voice, opening his eyes.

Michael is staring at him with a worried look in his eyes, as he reaches for him and sets one hand on Alex's cheek. The touch sinks through him, icy cool with relief, and something seems to unfurl in the pit of his stomach, a sensation that makes his whole body tingle as he pushes into the touch.

"Jesus, Alex," he says and kneels on the floor, lifting his other hand to cradle Alex's face. "You're burning up."

Alex sighs, blinking dazedly at Michael.

“Why didn’t you tell me that something was wrong?”

Alex feels a spark of anger, and he grabs on to it and uses it to pull away from Michael and lever himself to his feet and move a couple of feet away.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t realize that there was something wrong, and even if I did know, why would I tell you?”

“Maybe we should-” Kyle starts again, this time quieter, seemingly only talking to Liz, but Alex loses track of them the moment that Michael gets to his feet. 

He looks at Alex tilting his head at him, his gaze searching, and then he just nods his head to himself and raises an eyebrow at Alex.

“But you could share it with the entire gay population of Roswell,” Michael starts and Alex just rolls his eyes and turns around, setting his hands down the examination table and taking a deep breath.

“I’m not talking about that with you,” Alex says, and very nearly jumps when the door to the examination room closes with a slam.

“Why not? You’re obviously comfortable talking to Valenti about it. Is it because you want to fuck him too?”

“Fuck you,” Alex breathes, and shuts his eyes tight.

“That’s what I’m getting from all of this,” Michael says. 

Alex feels him moving closer, and he inhales sharply, holding the breath in so long he starts to get dizzy.

“That you were avoiding me because of this.”

Alex feels his hands hovering over his shoulders and he can’t help the way that he shivers, hard, and how the air gets punched out of his lungs.

"And this whole time I thought that you were trying to tell me that things between us were really and truly over," he continues.

"That's not-" Alex starts turning around to face him which is a mistake because Michael cages him against the examination table, and looks at him intently.

"When all along the person that you actually want is me," he says, and Alex doesn't deny it.

He just swallows hard and tries not to feel like he's vibrating out of his skin. Michael is way too close, and Alex feels like his head is stuffed full of cotton.

"I'm right here," Michael says, pushing in closer. "You can have me."

Alex is shaking his head and blinking rapidly, trying to clear his thoughts, "We can't."

Michael pulls back a little, giving him a searching look. "Why not?" He demands. "If this is the only way to save your life-"

"That's why," Alex says, and lifts his hands to push Michael back, tangling his fingers in the collar of his jacket. "Because that's why you're doing this. I get that you care about me, and that we're friends now, but I want so much more than that. And it won't be fair to either of us-"

"I've been trying to tell you this for weeks now, but this friend thing isn't working out for me," Michael says, interrupting Alex and making him freeze, air catching painfully in the back of his throat.

"It started failing epically around the time that I saw you wearing my clothes," he admits.

"Oh," Alex says breathless.

"I couldn't stop thinking about it," he continues, leaning in closer again, eyes on Alex's mouth, making Alex feel completely dizzy. "I barely made it to my truck before I had to jerk off."

Alex whimpers low in his throat, fingers going tighter on Michael's jacket.

"I called you that day so that we could go on a date," he says.

"Oh," Alex says again.

"Yeah," Michael says nodding. "I want to be more than just friends. Don't you want to be with me?"

"More than anything," Alex says, unable to help himself.

Michael swallows hard and stares at him even more intently.

"And do you still love me?"

"More than anything," Alex says, pulling him in closer.

"And I love you too," Michael says and Alex practically melts against the examination table.

Michael pushes in closer, pinning him in place. 

"You want me, darlin?'" He asks, voice pitched low and seductive. Not that he needs to try when Alex feels like he's going to fall apart at the seams if Michael doesn't touch him right now.

"More than anything," Alex says feeling a little desperate.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Touch me," Alex says, voice trembling as he pulls him in closer.

Michael pushes in all of the way, pressing their chests together and leaning down to press his forehead on Alex’s shoulder, fingers just barely brushing where the hospital gown has ridden all the way up his thighs.

"Here?" Michael asks as he slides his hands beneath the hem, fingers pressed lightly against Alex's skin, like he's afraid to touch him, but Alex feels the touch like it’s already too much.

Alex gasps shuddering, and Michael exhales softly and presses his hands fully on Alex’s skin, sliding his hands up higher, and Alex jerks, hands scrambling to rest on Michael's shoulders, fingers digging in.

Michael just lifts his head from Alex's shoulder and looks at him, a sort of wondering look on his face.

"You're so sensitive," he says, sliding his hands up higher and Alex just whines low in his throat, fingers spasming on Michael's shoulders.

"You're practically gagging for it and I haven't even done anything yet," he says moving his hands even higher to cup his hips, thumbs resting in the divot. "Has it been like this the whole time?"

Alex is shaking his head before Michael even finishes the question, "No, nothing like this." 

He swallows and shuts his eyes tight trying to think of a way to explain, but it's hard when his thoughts are all foggy and concentrated on one thing.

"I didn't really let anyone touch me more than what was necessary," he admits in a low voice. "It felt wrong somehow."

Michael squeezes his hips and Alex pushes into the touch.

"With you," he says on a gasp. "It's like I've been in pain this whole time and when you touch me, it disappears like it never existed."

Alex opens his eyes, and Michael is just staring at him, eyes a little wide, lips parted, as though Alex shocked him a little with his words.

As Alex stares at him, he swallows hard and then licks his lips, moving his hands out from beneath the hospital gown and Alex makes a low protesting sound, but Michael just wraps his fingers around Alex's jaw and pulls him in sharply, mouths crashing together hard enough to hurt, but Alex doesn't care.

The kiss explodes through Alex like a supernova, sending waves of sensation through him, unlike anything he's ever felt before, even with Michael.

Alex scrambles for him, feeling out of control, like a livewire, hands dragging into Michael's hair and down to his back, wrapping his arms around him to pull him closer, hooking one leg around Michael's hip and trying to get even closer.

Michael pushes him back a little, hands sliding down to Alex's waist, and before Alex can complain, he's lifting him up and pushing him right on top of the examination  table before he leans in close and kisses him again.

Alex wraps his arms around his neck and hooks his knees on either side of Michael's hips, licking into his mouth. Michael pushes in closer, hands moving to Alex's back as Alex arches against him, bucking his hips.

Michael slides his hands up and Alex hates the fact that he can’t feel his hands on his skin because of the ridiculous and unnecessary hospital gown.

He pulls back from Michael, who makes a mournful sound and then tugs until the hospital gown unravels, almost by itself, and then he’s dragging it off and tossing it aside.

Michael opens his mouth, probably to speak, but Alex doesn’t really give him a chance to.

He digs his hands into the back of Michael’s neck and drags him back into a deep kiss, licking into his mouth and wrapping his legs around Michael's hips to get him even closer, hooking his left ankle over the prosthetic to keep himself in place.

Michael drops his hands down on either side of Alex’s hips and pushes into the kiss, practically lying Alex back down on the table as he kisses him harder and faster.

Michael grinds their hips together, Alex's hard cock trapped between his stomach and the rough fabric of Michael's shirt.

Alex gasps, separating their mouths on a loud moan and bucking his hips into Michael.

"Fuck," Michael groans, and wraps his arms around Alex's hips, hands pressing low on his back and encouraging him to move.

Alex doesn't last long, and Michael muffles his too loud moans with his mouth, kissing him deeply, and taking his breath away.

Alex feels the orgasm crash through him like a powerful wave, sweeping him under.

For the first time since he woke up two days ago, he feels the relief of actually having an orgasm and he almost cries.

Michael pulls away from him gently, separating their mouths with a slick, wet sound and Alex can feel him staring.

His eyes blink open and he looks at Michael.

"Better?" Michael asks in a thick voice that hits Alex somewhere in his navel, and he gasps a little feeling that desperate, hungry feeling sweeping through him once again, somehow a little more intense. 

He makes a low noise, and Michael raises an eyebrow.

"I don't think a little frottage is going to fix the problem," he says, slowly, and Michael just nods his head slowly.

"Okay, we're going to have to leave the hospital for that," he starts, something teasing in his eyes. "I don't think they have anything in this room I can gag you with."

Alex rolls his eyes a little, and pushes Michael back, making a face at the mess.

Michael just rolls his eyes back and takes a few steps backwards, before he tugs his jacket and the plaid shirt he'd been wearing unbuttoned and then pulls the white t-shirt over his head and throws it at Alex.

Alex uses the shirt to clean himself and then turns the shirt inside out and slides it on. He looks to Michael to ask him to get him his pants which were in the bathroom, when he sees the look on Michael’s face and is moving before he can stop himself.

He backs Michael into the bathroom door, and tilts his chin up and slides their mouths together, hands moving restlessly across the bare skin of Michael’s shoulders and down his arms.

Michael wraps one arm around his waist and pushes one hand through his hair, digging fingers against his scalp as he kisses him back with just as much desperation as Alex feels.

Alex slides his hands into Michael’s hair and wraps his fingers around the strands tugging tighty, and licking into Michael’s mouth when he gasps. Michael slides one hand down to Alex's ass, pulling him in closer.

--Alex sucks Michael off

--Michael drags him up to his feet and says they need to go.

Alex is right behind Michael so that when he stops short in the hall, Alex bumps into him.

He doesn't move back, instead, molds himself against Michael's back and sticks his face into the side of his neck, inhaling deeply as he wraps one arm around his hips, fingers playing with his belt loops.

"Where do you think you're going?" He vaguely hears Kyle asking.

"I'm taking him home," Michael says like it's obvious.

"He's got a fever that means he should be dead," Kyle says. "He's not leaving until we figure out exactly how to cure him."

"Well then good news," Michael says sounding sarcastic. "I know exactly how to cure him."

Kyle is silent for a second, and Alex hums a little before he pushes his face deeper into Michael's neck, and opens his mouth to bite down against the skin.

Michael jumps a little, making a low sound.

"How do you know it'll work with you?" Kyle asks, and then grunts in pain as though someone, Liz, punched him on the shoulder.

"Fine," Kyle says like he's conceding and doesn't like it. "Just because sex will fix the problem doesn't mean that I'm letting you leave with him. Your cock isn't a magical cure. He's gonna need to be rehydrated and his vitals need to be monitored."

Alex wonders if he puts his hand down Michael's pants if Kyle would let them leave faster.

"Okay," Michael says, as Alex starts to move his hand to the front of his pants. "If you can find me a soundproof room in the next five minutes, we'll stay."

Alex makes a low protesting noise at the fact that he has to wait five minutes.

"Why soundproof?" Kyle asks.

"Alex is loud under normal circumstances," Michael says.

Alex bites him again.

"After today I don't ever want to hear anything about Alex's sex life," Kyle says to someone and Alex takes the opportunity to stick his hand down Michael's pants.

He hears someone walking away muttering in spanish, and then Liz's voice, way too perky for the situation.

-

Alex doesn't notice that there is someone waiting for Michael at the Airstream until Michael pulls away from him, voice going a little high as he says hi.

Alex, who had been detached from the hickey he’d been working on Michael’s neck, takes another second to see Maria sitting down in one of the lawnchairs, raising an eyebrow in their direction, a slightly surprised look on her face.

“Sorry for interrupting,” she starts and looks at Michael and then hurriedly away in a way that makes Alex frown.

He knows that their relationship, while not problem free, had been good for both of them, only the secrets and Maria’s initial reluctance to be in a relationship with an alien, that had ended things between them.

Alex had never really been a jealous person, and he’d come to terms a long time ago with the reasons why both Maria and Michael had done what they did, but there was something in the way that her gaze trailed back to Michael, and how she smiled a little and moved closer as she continued to speak, that struck a malignant chord inside of him.

Alex thinks that his instincts are all fucked up because of whatever is happening to him, but he follows them anyway and steps in between Michael and Maria, making her stop her mid sentence in telling Michael about something that broke in the bar with a frown.

Alex barely spares her a glance, before he just drops to his knees in front of Michael and starts to unbuckle his pants.

Michael’s hands immediately stop him, and he groans in disappointment, but it doesn’t stop him from leaning forward and licking a stripe right above where the waistband of his jeans is pressing into his skin.

He doesn’t hear Maria leaving, but Michael moves his hands to either side of Alex’s head and drags his hands into his hair and tugs him back to his feet.

Alex follows the motion, pressing in close to him when he’s back on solid ground, and Michael just looks at him seriously for a long second.

“You did that on purpose, didn't you?” he says, but he doesn’t look like he actually minds it so Alex doesn’t dignify that with a response.

He leans in even closer and brushes their noses together as he does.

“Are you going to keep asking questions or are you going to fuck me?”

--they barely make it up the tiny steps in the Airstream and fuck hard and fast against the counter

--montage of fucking nonstop for the next day or so sloppy blowjobs in the shower, thigh fucking against the counter in the  bathroom, alex waking him up by riding his cock, michael eating him out, etc, etc

--Alex wakes up to Michael talking to Isobel on the phone

--last one alex fucks michael nice and slow, even though michael isn't hard cause he can't get it up, but he wants it, begging alex to never stop, almost asleep as he does, alex comes, and they both pass out

“Jesus Christ,” Alex groans when he wakes up, feeling like his soul is aching. “I am never going into that lab ever again.”

[triptychexe]

TITLE: Start SUMMARY: The start of Teo and Kim Taehui’s love story. WORD COUNT: 3.5k GENRE: fluff! PAIRING: Teo x Kim Taehui  WARNINGS: none! other than it being poorly edited. A/N: Please find Kim Taehui and the other Neostar Entertainment artists mentioned at @neostar-entertainment! Thank you David for proof reading + editing and making this collaboration so fun :(( !! 

“Ugh, mine tastes weird.” Taehui made a face, recoiling himself at the taste of his coffee. He offered the straw to Teo, who sat next to him stiffly. Teo just gave a short shake of his head. He wasn’t sure if he could stomach anything right now. 

Taehui gave the other man a questioning look. Teo rarely declined Taehui’s coffee offers. “Injung, what’s up?”  Injung gave a little huff. If you told him a month ago that he’d be on a first-name basis with one of his favorite singers, Teo would have laughed in your face. Now he was sitting in Taehui’s home, watching as the artists of Neostar Entertainment conversed among themselves while they waited for Taehui to present his album. 

Injung was used to having his work be put in the hot seat, but he didn’t know what kind of reactions the artists of Neostar would have. Would they be blunt about their opinions? Sugar coat their reactions? Sit with a poker face? 

“I just... Don’t know what to expect. That’s all.” Injung said, rolling up the cuffs of his button down shirt anxiously. Taehui hummed in understanding.  “Don’t worry too much. The kids are all softies.” The CEO grinned fondly. “And I think the album will be a pleasant surprise for them.” 

Injung gave a short chuckle, remembering the day that Hak Bonghwa called him to his office for a 'pleasant surprise' that ended up changing his life. 

Teo can still remember how hard his hands shook, causing his coffee to teeter over the lip of the cup as he sat across from his boss. Hak Bonghwa was reasonable for the most part, but Teo never really knew when it came to the older man. To Injung, a pleasant surprise would be getting an Edible Arrangement. To Bonghwa, a pleasant surprise could be military enlistment with a friend of his choosing.

"I have some exciting news." Hak Bonghwa had said, a proud smile on his face. "You've been requested." 

Injung arched his eyebrow at the vague explanation. 

"Requested for what? A birthday party? A wedding?" Teo wondered.

Hak Bonghwa chuckled. "Not quite." He crossed one of his legs over the other in a dignified way. "Kim Taehui from Neostar Entertainment is looking for new writers on his upcoming album... He requested you to be one of them." 

Injung's brain melted. Kim Taehui, one of his favorite musical artists, wanted him to write for his album? Kim Taehui knew who he was? The concept was mind boggling. Teo placed his coffee cup down before he dropped it in shock. 

"Wait, hold on... Let me get this straight." Injung licked his lower lip and stretched his hands out in front of him, ready to animate his thoughts. "Kim Taehui contacted you? Did you respond?" 

"Oh, yes, right away." Hak Bonghwa nodded importantly. "I told him you'd be delighted. You're scheduled for a meeting tomorrow at one at Neostar Entertainment's building." 

"You-" Injung thought he was going to pass out from all the information he was being given. "You said yes? Before asking me?"

Hak Bonghwa frowned, giving Injung a pointed look. "This is good for you, Injung. You need to start thinking of your future. You're too talented to not pursue lyric writing after you retire. Being credited for songs other than your own makes you look more professional."

Injung opened his mouth to argue that he wasn't sure if his abilities were good enough for Kim Taehui, but Hak Bonghwa cut him off.

"Just be ready for tomorrow. I'd bring sample writing if I was you, just to give an example of what you can do. And wear blue. Blue is your color." Hak Bonghwa smiled. 

Teo drummed his fingers on the outside of the bag sitting on his lap. The Neostar Entertainment building was really nice and clean, with it’s sleek white walls and high ceilings. The receptionist at the front desk seemed pleased to meet him too. She even shook his hand. Injung wasn't sure if Seongja, the elderly woman who worked as HBH's receptionist, ever shook anyone's hand. This place was so different from HBH Entertainment, and maybe that’s why Teo was so nervous. He felt out of place already, like he wasn’t supposed to be in here, despite the visitors badge pinned to his blue sweater. 

"Park Injung?" A smooth voice bounced off the sleek walls. Teo sat upright, his brain kicking into high gear as he realized who addressed him. 

Standing tall in a crisp suit was Kim Taehui. A kind smile painted on the man's face as he extended his hand. Teo's brain was a few seconds behind, trying to comprehend his current reality. 

Teo rose hastily to bow, accidentally knocking his bag over in the process. Hundreds of papers flew out from folders, scattering across the pristine lobby floor. Teo’s cheeks burned in mortification. So much for making a good impression. 

"I'm sorry!" Injung apologized quickly, scurrying to pick up his work. He shook his head at the floor, forcing out a mirthless chuckle. "I brought samples of writing for you to look at..."

Teo looked up from his mess to see, in horror, that Taehui was reading one of his notes carefully. A small smile curled up on the CEO's lips as his eyes scanned further and further down the page. 

Taehui held up the paper with a smile. "If this is just a sample, I might have to raise your pay." The CEO chuckled before angling his head towards the elevators. "Let's get started, shall we?" 

Injung thought his hand was going to fall off. For the past four hours, he's been slaving over this one song for Taehui. He dropped his pen and took a wary glance at the clock on his desk. It was nearing four in the morning. Thank God Triptych was on hiatus, otherwise he'd have to get up in three hours for practice, and this piece wasn't even finished. 

If it was a Triptych song, he would have gone to bed hours ago. If it wasn't completed, he knew he could rely on other members the next morning to help him work out the kinks. But for this song, he wanted it to be absolutely perfect. 

At one in the morning, Teo had convinced himself that he was working this hard because it was for another person, and he wanted to create something that would satisfy them.

At three in the morning, Teo reasoned that it was because he was writing for Kim Taehui, and that's why it was justifiable to skip on a few hours of sleep. 

Now, at four, Teo realized just why he was breaking his back over Taehui.

He wanted recognition. Kim Taehui was someone Teo looked up to, and after spending the day with him that afternoon, Injung only developed a deeper idolization of the CEO. Everything Taehui did was admirable. From the way he casually interacted with his artists to the way he put so much work into running a business that was true to his values. Taehui was caring, funny, and ambitious. Teo wasn't sure he'd ever met someone so lovely in his life. And that's why he wanted Taehui to approve of him. He wanted the seal of approval from someone lovely.

With the thought of Taehui in mind, Teo finished the song at around six in the morning. Once he placed the pen down for the last time, exhaustion fell over him. He was crawling into bed just as he heard Van's alarm go off from next door. Even with Van's clunking around, Teo had no problem drifting off into a deep sleep.

It felt like only moments had passed when Teo was being shaken awake. Teo blinked the sleep out of his eyes to see Van leaning over him. 

"Injung, it's noon." Van said feverently.

"So?" Injung asked in a groggy groan, his brain still fuzzy from his sleep.

"You have a meeting at Neostar in thirty." Van reminded him. 

Teo's body felt like it had been dunked in cold water. He sat up quickly, instantly reaching for his phone. Sure enough, it was 12:02 pm. He already should have left for Neostar Entertainment. He was going to be late.

Teo flung himself out of bed, pulling on a sweater over the clothes he wore and slept in the night before. He was moving so fast that Van only had time to stuff a granola bar in his back pocket before he flew out the door.

He arrived at Neostar at 12:40pm, ten minutes late. Teo was panting heavily when Taehui opened his office door. Taehui looked Teo up and down in concern.

"Everything okay, Injung?" 

"Just..." Teo took a deep inhale, trying to steady out his own breathing. "Just got here... Sorry... Running... Running late." 

Taehui nodded in understanding. He gestured with his hands for Teo to relax. "No worries," The CEO stepped aside. "Come in." 

Injung sat at one of the couches in the office, placing his overstuffed folders and notes on the coffee table for Taehui to see. Now that he caught his breath, excitement for Taehui's reaction was setting in. He couldn't wait for the older man to read what he had come up with last night. 

"I worked on this all night!" Injung exclaimed, opening one of the folders to show a finished lyric write up. He shook his head in amazement at himself as he organized his papers. “Injung,” Taehui furrowed his eyebrows at the statement.   “Okay, maybe not all night. But I must have worked like, nearly eight hours on these." Injung shrugged, pulling out some of his lyrics excitedly. “I think you'll like them though.” 

"Injung," Taehui said softly, sitting across from the idol. Teo looked up, a smile still on his face, anticipating any praise that might come out of Taehui’s mouth next.

"You can't do this anymore, okay?" Taehui said seriously. "I appreciate the hard work, but losing sleep over some songs..." 

"Well, I don't mind." Injung shook his head, trying to change the course that this conversation had taken. He didn’t mean to raise any concern. "It only took so long because I was having trouble with the beats.” 

"Yeah but... We have other lyricists on the team who could have filled in the blanks for you." Taehui reminded him gently. Teo's expression faltered, embarrassment falling over him. How could he forget that Taehui had a whole team of writers backing him? Teo got so caught up in the excitement of this project that he forgot that it wasn't just something exclusively for Taehui and him to work on. 

"Oh. Right." Teo blushed. "Yeah, that's... that's what writers do, right?" 

"Right." Taehui affirmed. He looked at all the papers in front of him, running his fingertips over the handwritten lyrics. "How about you leave these here and go back home? Get some sleep." 

Injung's heart dropped like he'd been insulted. He had been looking forward to coming to Neostar since he left yesterday. He couldn't just turn around and leave now. Plus, Taehui’s presence was magnetic. He wanted to spend just a little bit more time with him. 

"I want to stay." Injung said stubbornly. 

"That's really not necessary." Taehui shook his head. 

"After all I've done, I don't want to just be turned away." Injung stood his ground. "How do I know you won't just throw my papers out once I leave?" 

Taehui furrowed his eyebrows at the younger idol, a crease forming between them. "I'd never do that." 

Teo leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "These songs are my babies. At least let me stay to see you record the demos." 

Taehui lost the argument. The two of them claimed a recording booth and got to work. Teo's energy only lasted through the demo recording. Once Taehui and he started working on the composition of the song, the vocalist finally hit the wall. 

Injung's eyes started to involuntarily get heavier and heavier. He rubbed his eyes impatiently as a loud yawn forced itself from his chest. Injung tried to cover it up by angling his head downward towards the desk, pretending to focus on the notes he had written down during the recording.

"Hey," Taehui dipped his head to catch Injung's eyes. "Are you tired?" 

"No." 

"Don't lie to me," Taehui smirked. "Your eyes are bloodshot." 

"Yeah, well..." Teo's argument faded as he rubbed at one of his eyes irritably. 

"Go sleep on the couch." Taehui suggested, nodding his head towards the couch pressed against the wall behind them.

Injung arched his eyebrows at Taehui. "I don't need a nap." 

"God, you're stubborn." Taehui shook his head, a small smile on his face. He turned his attention back to his production software. "Fine. I guess I'll just have to ask you to leave the building, then." 

"You can't do that." Injung spluttered.

"Oh, yes I can." Taehui chortled. "I own this building. I can kick whoever I want out.” 

"So, what? My options are take a nap on the couch that all your artists have sat on or be sent home?" Teo asked, his eyebrow arched in disbelief. 

"The choice is yours." Taehui shrugged, his back still to Teo as he focused on clipping audio and layering his demo track.

Teo shook his head in amazement. He pushed his chair back and made his way to the couch, flopping down on the leather cushions. 

"That's what I thought." Taehui teased, finally turning around in his seat to look at Teo. Something in Teo's chest bubbled, a smile forming on Injung's face.

"Shush." He responded, turning away from the CEO to face the back cushions. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in his chest whenever he heard Taehui hum along to the melody of their song. 

Teo was brought back to the present when Taehui suddenly stood from his seat on the couch. He clapped his hands together, getting the attention of his artists. Silence fell over the group of idols, all attention on Taehui. 

“I think it’s time we start the first listen of my newest album-”  A polite applause broke out among the artists with a few wolf whistles. Teo laughed and clapped along, including himself in the praise for the CEO. Taehui smiled appreciatively before continuing. 

“This album has been my most exciting project. I am so honored to have worked along side some of the best producers,” Taehui gestured to the group of older colleagues by the minibar, who raised their glasses in appreciation.  “Composers,” Taehui continued, gesturing to another group of people towards the back of the room, who gave a polite wave.  “And writers.” Taehui focused his attention on Teo. Injung felt his heart do flips as Taehui gave him the biggest smile before giving a subtle wink. 

“Without them, this album wouldn’t be anything worth sharing with you all. Now, please enjoy.” Taehui gave a short and polite bow before pulling a sleek remote out of his pocket. Through the speakers situated around the room, the first chords of the title track sang out. The artists all gathered in clumps, enjoying their food and talking in low tones so they could give the album a close listen.

“Hey,” A voice whispered. Teo looked over his shoulder. Yeonjin of Empyrean Moon had his arms placed on the back of the sofa Teo was sitting on, a huge smile stretched across his face. A hand extended to Teo.  “I’m Yeonjin. Nice to meet you.” Yeonjin said boldly, shaking the elder’s hand excitedly. “Big fan of your work.”

“Oh, thank you.” Teo accepted the compliment, a smile tugging at his lips. “I have a question for you.” Yeonjin asked, glancing quickly over his shoulder. Next to the fondue fountain was a group of boys, all looking over with a mixture of anxiety and amusement. Teo recognized them as the rest of Empyrean Moon. The singer could feel his nerves rising. What was Yeonjin about to ask him, exactly? 

“What’s between you and our CEO? Are you guys like, a thing?” Yeonjin asked with a head tilt. The question sounded so innocent and genuine, but Teo couldn’t help but feel defensive.  “What?” He asked. “No. The CEO and I are just good colleagues.” 

“Hm.” Yeonjin seemed unimpressed by the response. The younger’s eyes flickered up. Teo followed his gaze to see Taehui, sipping on golden champagne while making small talk with a guest. Taehui’s eyes fluttered over to where Teo and Yeonjin were, a small smirk quirking on his lips before giving Teo a second wink. Then his gaze returned to the guest he was supposed to be talking to, but even Teo could tell that Taehui was feigning interest. 

“Imagine getting two winks in one night.” Yeonjin said, almost wistfully. “Must feel nice being the center of Kim Taehui’s attention.”  Teo furrowed his eyebrows at the younger boy, not understanding. “Don’t make things up. There’s nothing going on between me and Taehui. We’re strictly business partners.”

Yeonjin looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he shook his head. “Okay. Fine. Sorry for making you uncomfortable.” He looked over his shoulder at his friends, who were now dipping various snacks into the fondue machine with childlike interest. 

“Do you think you’ll be doing more business with Neostar in the future?” Yeonjin asked, his expression looking almost pleading. 

“Maybe. You’ll have to ask your CEO for that.” Injung said, bringing his cup to his lips. 

“I will. You’re really gifted and cool. I don’t want Taehui hogging all your talent.” Yeonjin said sweetly. “Plus, I’ve gotten used to seeing you in the Neostar cafeteria. I’ll miss you if you’re gone for too long.” 

Teo wasn’t sure how to respond to that sentimental confession, but thankfully he didn’t have to. Haeju, a member of Honey Moon, was waving her hands to get people’s attention over the music.

“I put the jello shots out, if anyone wants some!” She whisper-yelled. A swarm of Neostar artists flooded to the dining room, including the Empyrean members. 

“Gotta go.” Yeonjin said hurriedly. “Nice talking to you, Mr. Teo. I’ll see you!” 

Teo watched as he meshed in with the crowd, eventually disappearing from sight. 

The party ended on a slightly rowdier note than Teo was expecting for a first listen party. After the last song played, Taehui gave one last speech to his now-drunken artists, thanking Teo once again. Then the artists started filtering out in groups. Before long, it was only Teo and Taehui left over. 

Teo made himself useful and helped clean up the mess, despite Taehui insisting that he shouldn’t. The apartment turned into a party zone, every surface of the place littered with plastic cups of half-empty drinks. It didn’t feel right leaving Taehui to clean up the mess on the night of his own listening party. 

The two worked in silence, picking up discarded trays and plates and bringing them to the kitchen. Teo wanted to say something, but his conversation with Yeonjin was still replaying in his head, hours later. What made Yeonjin, and the rest of Empyrean Moon, think that Teo was the center of Taehui’s attention? Was there something there that Teo hadn’t noticed? His reevaluation of everything Taehui has said to him over the past month fueled his silent cleaning, taking his confusion out on the dirty hors d'oeuvres plate with a sponge. 

“I think this was a success,” Taehui said with a chuckle, entering the kitchen and sliding next to Teo by the sink. “Everyone seemed to like our album.”  Teo gave Taehui a small smile. “I think you mean your album.”  “Right.” Taehui let out a small laugh, reaching for his own sponge.

The two worked in silence for a moment. Teo bit his lip before sharing the moment that defined his night.

“Yeonjin said he wants me to do more business with Neostar.” Teo shared, giving Taehui a sideways glance. When Taehui’s eyes met his, he looked back down to his soapy hands in embarrassment. “He said he’d miss seeing me in the Neostar cafeteria.” 

Taehui chuckled, turning the faucet on to clean off his plate. “That’s a very Yeonjin thing to say.” He said fondly. “But I’d miss you too.” 

Teo looked back up at Taehui, this time not breaking eye contact. Taehui hesitated before continuing.

“I know that the album is finished now,” Taehui said. “And that means I’ll probably be seeing less and less of you from now on, but I want to keep in touch.” 

Injung felt a smile tug at his lips, his stomach doing excited somersaults. “I do too.”

“Wanna get some coffee next week?” Taehui asked.

Teo narrowed his eyes playfully. “This sounds like a date.”  “It can be, if you want it to?” Taehui said, sounding a little nervous.

Teo felt his heart stutter. It wasn’t until Taehui said it out loud that Teo finally realized exactly what he wanted from Taehui. It wasn’t recognition, it wasn’t approval. It was him. He just wanted Kim Taehui and all the loveliness he had.

“Yeah. I want it to be.” Injung confirmed.

“Great.” Taehui smiled more confidently, nodding his head. “A date it is.” 

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 8

<- Chapter 7 | Chapter 9 ->

Summary: Snapshots of life with a fussy brat over the three-year time jump. Including: a few holiday specials. 

3,949 words

With the lease up on your apartment, Frederick invited you to move in with him. It seemed like the next logical step in your relationship, especially considering how frequently you slept there anyway—though he had to justify the choice by saying he “could not stand seeing you live in squalor.” The house was certainly big enough for two people (or several less-wealthy families).

It was nice living with him, because you lived very different lives. Rather than finding it stifling to be trapped in the same house, it was freeing that you could spend so much of the day apart—or weeks, as it often was, traveling for cases or book promotion tours—and yet always be connected by the home you would return to at the end of it all.

You were planets of the solar system orbiting the same sun. 

The stability of that was comforting. So much had changed—Will Graham left and cut ties with the FBI, Hannibal Lecter was imprisoned at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane where Alana Bloom now held Chilton’s old job, and you were considering following Will’s lead and pursuing new career options. It made you glad to have someone familiar to keep you company, and always be there when you needed him. 

For all the good, living with Frederick Chilton was not always easy. He was a shameless snob who did not believe in laundry chairs, and panicked when his state-of-the-art kitchen was filled with sugary cereals with cartoon characters on the box. There were many clashes of egos early on, some of which never fully disappeared. Now that his star was rising, he insisted you dress a certain way when you were to be seen in public together—particularly at any sort of publicity event or psychiatric conference, but anywhere really that he might be recognized. He was yours, and that meant you reflected upon him. He updated your entire wardrobe like you were starring in an episode of Queer Eye, and had your hair professionally styled.

You couldn’t even be annoyed at the controlling implications of it—you were never great at dressing professionally, and it was exciting to see yourself looking so sharp in the mirror. You could surrender that to him. He enjoyed sophisticated things, like the opera and restaurants where celebrities eat, and now you didn’t feel so out of place when you joined him.

“You actually look quite elegant,” he nodded in surprised approval at your new attire.

You stuck out your tongue.

“Do not tempt me with that,” he said with a feline wiggle of his shoulders. “We have engagements to get to, and I do not want to re-do my face.” He wrapped the hand not gripping a cane around your hip and kissed you, coaxing your naughty tongue into his mouth with a lustful growl.

Any time he was too fussy and judgmental to the point of being unkind, you were quite practiced at flicking him back down to earth. He rarely apologized, of course, but would look up and purse his lips in thought before admitting, “You may be right.”

He was a sassy bitch, but you knew that. It’s why you loved him.

You loved him.

You did. It was strange to realize how much you loved someone you used to hate, whose traits you would normally find incompatible with your own. He was a miserable little rich boy with a self-satisfied sneer, a flare for drama, and perpetually questionable ethics, yet you would do anything to keep him safe. You wanted to stay by his side forever.

And there was something to be said about his difficult personality when you were not on the receiving end of it. 

Being on his side was fun—his hand at your back as he verbally destroyed someone with a catty insinuation that left their eyes glowering with indignation. That used to be me, you thought. Now you were up on his throne with him, and the view was much better.

You wanted to stay through all the medications, physical therapy, and regular hospital visits to tweak his prosthetics and make sure his remaining organs were all still functioning properly. You wanted to stay even as you questioned how much of your affection for him was pity in disguise, as he had suggested the first time you slept with him in a fit of explosive passion—that you liked wounded birds.

If it was pity, and being pity meant you would have to leave, then you resolved to stuff your fingers in your ears and ignore it. No psychoanalysis would make you give him up. You wanted to keep orbiting the sun together.

  *****

Calliope music paraded through the air with aggressively cheerful pneumatic whistles that grabbed your eardrums and pulled them screaming into the 1920s. Shrieks, laughter, bells, and shouts rushed by.

Frederick Chilton stuck close beside you and mistrustfully held a greasy paper plate like it was a venomous snake.

It seemed only fair that in return for dressing up, you made him dress down and do normal-person things, like go to the county fair and eat deliciously greasy fried foods. It was like a cultural exchange program.

“Every moment I am not writing my next book is another moment the world goes without a groundbreaking revelation on the human psyche,” he had snipped when you first suggested the outing. He barely looked up from his computer, where he sat typing in a suave leather office chair.

“Oh come on, you owe me,” you persisted. “I am sick and tired of fancy museums and fancy restaurants and fancy psychiatric conventions. Next time we’re in a hotel, there should be Star Trek costumes involved!” He straightened like you’d shoved a rod up his spine, and you chuckled inwardly at his petty aversion to being seen at that type of convention. “Come on, it’s just the fair,” you rubbed his shoulders and he groaned with annoyance. “Nobody important will be there. You’ll be totally incognito. Be a commoner with me.”

“I suppose it is the least I can do,” he caved in at last, leaning his head back to rest on your chest, glancing up at you through his eyebrows. “Since it is so important to you, I shall partake of your proletariat festivities.”

“Don’t say proletariat when we’re at the fair, you bougie dork.”

He wore a plain black t-shirt, and his hair wasn’t quite as primly styled as usual, letting a few strands fly free. The less he stood out from the crowd, the less likely a professional acquaintance or fan would recognize him.

Even living with Chilton, it was rare to see him dressed so casually, and you had expected it to be disconcerting. Instead, you found yourself drooling. He was sexy in a suit, but so was everybody with the correct fit. The unstructured t-shirt hugged his broad chest and revealed those alarmingly muscular arms that were usually a secret hidden under sleeves.

It was odd seeing your private Chilton—reserved for nights and mornings—out in the world, and a reminder of how lucky you were.

He managed to look dapper even with powdered sugar on his shirt.

“Funnel cake?” he cringed, as if the word itself was in poor taste. “Are we certain this is food?”

“You are ridiculously hoity-toity.”

“I do enjoy the finer things in life,” he boasted in a smooth, self-congratulatory hum.

You were about to sass him when you realized his admiring eyes were fixed on you, and he wore an expectant smirk on his lips. Your scowl cracked open into a tender laugh, and you linked your arm with his, giving him a playful hip bump.

His eyes widened at you in mock horror. “You would attack a man with a cane?” He awaited your answer with that same peevish smirk, but you didn’t have anything clever on your tongue, so you pulled him into a kiss instead. He melted against your lips, having gotten what he wanted.

Frederick refused to go on any rides, citing safety concerns and his delicate viscera, but you perused a hundred breeds of chickens, pet the World’s Tallest Clydesdale, watched pigs racing, browsed local artwork, and sampled craft beers which he had to admit were pretty good. You paid far too much money to shoot water guns at a spinning target faster than other carnival-goers so you could win an oversize plush of a corgi, which turned out to be filled with disappointing foam stuffing.

After finally placing a piece of sugary fried dough in his mouth, his eyes closed, and when they opened again, he declared it “not terrible.” Then inhaled it and spent the rest of the fair surreptitiously looking for another funnel cake stand.

When you got home, he confessed, with his most stern and dignified demeanor, that he may have, perhaps had fun, juvenile as it was. Then he quietly suggested that he would make an excellent Spock.

  *****

“I am never going to be perfect enough for you, am I?” you cried after another petty argument over another petty thing like stacking the cups in the cupboard in precisely the correct order. “How do you live with me? It must drive you crazy.”

Months of feeling inadequate bubbled to the surface all at once. Everything he did was so controlled, so exact, you really did wonder why he would ever be with someone like you.

“No,” he frowned, and as he gently took your shoulders his heart was crumbling in his eyes. There was a sorry on the tip of his tongue, but this was not the lottery-winning occasion he would say the word itself. He didn’t need to. He would say it in other ways.

His warm lips pressed your forehead as he rubbed loving circles on your arms with his thumbs. “Do you know who was perfect? Hannibal. I would rather live with a hot mess than a cold-blooded monster. One of us should be warm, anyway,” he gave a self-deprecating smile. “I must do better to remember the beauty of imperfection, because you are perfect to me.”

  *****

The front door opened well after the sun had disappeared and the stars had begun to come out. Frederick came home drained and exhausted from being on his feet all day trying to dominate professional rivals who were all, in turn, out to get him.

Conferences were invigorating, an exciting place to strut one’s superiority, make connections, and scope out the competition… until they were not, and they became whichever circle of Hell it is that makes one have to continually defend oneself to people for whom one will never be good enough.

You looked up from the book you were reading. You didn’t get up from the couch cushion’s gravitational embrace, but smiled with stars in your eyes, and called, “Frederick!”

Home.

He crawled onto the couch next to you, and laid his head in your lap. You set the book aside and ran your fingers through his hair, listening to the sweet, sleepy noises of pleasure the action evoked. Fantasies of this moment had kept him alive all day. You caressed his neck and the prickly stubble along the side of his jaw, and he turned his face into your palm and kissed it. He adored the way you touched him with your gentle, caring hands. Yawning, you reclined into the deep, plush cushions, and he shifted so you were both laying next to each other, content in each other’s embrace. He cuddled into your chest, face buried in your shirt.

“You smell like tacos.”

It was unclear how peevishly he intended the observation, so you simply replied, “I made tacos for dinner.”

“The cheap American kind that are nothing but ground beef, shredded cheese, and an insult to Mexican culture,” he said, voice muffled by the fabric.

“Mm-hmm,” you said.

“They are not real food.”

“Do you want some?”

“God, yes.”

  *****

With physical therapy, Chilton was finally able to walk comfortably without assistance again.

Technically, he had been able to for a long time. The cane was a crutch—in the figurative, not the literal, sense. In the literal sense it was very much not a crutch, or even a cane. At best, it was an expensive, silver-topped walking stick. He clung to it like a security blanket, or as a prop to garner pity, or simply because it was a dramatic accessory. The threat of physical therapy simply convinced him to let go of the pretense.

Like the spiral staircases of his home, some things about Dr. Chilton were fussy and theatrical for no reason.

It was almost a shame, you thought. That thing was the epitome of his dapper style (he might as well put on tap shoes, a top hat, and put on the Ritz with Fred Astaire), and it brought to mind such kinky images.

It was not one of those lightweight BDSM canes, and therefore was far too heavy to do any spanking with, assuming you wanted to be able to sit down any time in the next month. However, you recalled with some excitement his tapping it on the inside of your heels to get you to spread your legs open, using the pommel to gently tip your chin up to him, or running it slowly along the inside of your thighs.

You would miss that cane.

You still argued sometimes—but not as often. You were accustomed to his haughtiness and felt less need to try and change it, and he knew you well enough to relax when the two of you were alone. He took your advice that life was not a competition... but only when it came to you, not to his career and public reputation.

He was still obsessed with proving his superiority to the world. Still obsessed with seeing Hannibal Lecter grow old and feeble inside a cell. Those edges were so integrally a part of him you could never smooth them out.

  *****

You were good for his book tour.

Though he never raised his voice or threw insults around, Chilton still had the journalist sitting in your living room on edge. She gripped the recording device harder, nails turning white. Flanked by imposing towers of leather-bound books, he stared her down like a shark, bragging about his psychiatric achievements and describing grizzly details of the Lecter case with a heartless detachment—he smirked when the more graphic parts made her squeamish.

Dr. Chilton was (contrary to his own opinion) not the best mind in the psychiatric field, but there was one thing he was the preeminent expert in, and that was leaving people with the impression that he was a callous douchebag who thought he was better than everyone else. Which was more or less accurate.

When you entered the room, his whole demeanor softened.

“Hey honey,” you poked your head in with a plate of cookies. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had that interview today. Should I come back later?”

“Nonsense, darling, come in.”

The haughty stare he’d been giving the journalist broke and turned to a warm gaze and a kind smile as he crossed the room to escort you in, his hand on the small of your back. You sat down on the sofa next to him, and set the plate of good-will-bribery cookies down on the coffee table between you and the journalist. She politely refused, at least until the recording was over, but instantly seemed more relaxed, loosing her death-vice on the recorder. You quietly leaned your head on Frederick’s shoulder and discreetly clasped his hand on the cushion between you through the rest of the interview, which he spent blushing and unable to maintain the coldness of his stare.

You brought out a side of him few were able to see. Whenever you made an appearance during his book promotions, the article published was always just a bit more favorable.

  *****

“Gotta go!” you called across the house, slinging a pack over your shoulders. Dawn was barely cresting the purple sky, and Frederick was barely awake. He didn’t even have his prosthetic maxilla in yet; he was only up to say goodbye. “I’m going to be in the field for ten hours straight today!” You thought about that for a moment, and groaned with anticipated exhaustion. 

“You have water?” 

“Yes, mom.”

“You cannot blame me for worrying,” he smiled with some pride at his gallant adventurer. You were wild in ways he would never understand, and it terrified as much as thrilled him. He smoothed a few wrinkles out of your shirt—a rugged garment for outdoor wear—and said you looked presentable enough for what you were doing. You kissed him, and wished him luck with the book signing he was attending that day. 

He wandered into the kitchen to search for breakfast, when an idea occurred to him.

“Take some of my meal-replacement bars,” he offered, opening the pantry. He had the organic superfood detox variety that he was able to digest. 

“I already did, thanks!”

He sighed with annoyance. “I noticed. It looks like an animal went through the packaging.”

“You love me,” you grinned cheekily in the doorway.

He prowled up to you, eyes narrow, trapping you against the door. He growled. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing you and sucking a small bruise just under your collar. Yeah, he loved you. You purred, arching your back so you were pressed more firmly against him, and breathed in his scent. If only you didn’t have to leave.

“Come home safe.”

  *****

Halloween was your favorite holiday. Perhaps it was gauche for one involved in investigating real murders, and real dead people, but then, that might have been what made it so appealing—on Halloween, all the blood was corn syrup, the skeletons danced to 80’s rock, and the serial killers wore their identities on their sleeves and carried plastic weapons. It had been your favorite holiday as a kid, and it still was.

“No.”

“Please?” you begged, drawing out the E. “It would be so awesome!”

“No.”

“But—”

“I am a bestselling author. An esteemed expert in my field. I will not be subjected to such an undignified, childish display.”

“But you would have the best costume and nobody would know!”

He wasn’t sure how you talked him into it. It must have those adorable pleading eyes he could never resist, or the enticing appeal to his ego that it would be an extraordinary costume, certain to leave everyone guessing how the effect was done. Somehow, he was walking into a Halloween party as a zombie. Without his contact lens or prosthetic jaw.

He frowned. It was humiliating.

You were dressed as an apocalypse survivor with an infected bite, and were hamming it up, telling the other guests you were fine, totally fine, with a shaky panic-edged voice and a tremor in your limbs. You had done an impressive job on the makeup, too, giving your complexion a sallow haze and reddened eyes. The bite itself was a gory masterpiece constructed from latex and tissue paper, with dark veins spider-webbing up your arm.

He didn’t have to ham it up. He only needed to walk in the room and Shrek and Fiona, Pennywise the clown, and a sexy velociraptor all gasped in horror at his face. How was that meant to make him feel?

“So cool!” someone said before he could turn on his heel and walk out of there. Words like, “There isn’t a contest, is there? I should have put in more effort,” and “did you hire a movie SFX artist? No fair,” started to get tossed around—including toward costume elements that you had designed and had nothing to do with his natural grotesqueness. Then they offered him a drink and moved on to the next impressive costumes and regular party chatter.

You were right. Nobody knew it was real, and while it stung to be stared at and called grisly—you would later apologize profusely for being too gung-ho and not thinking through what would happen—he had never imaged being able to have a normal conversation in public with his real face exposed. There was something daringly vulnerable about it. He had never imagined not being ashamed, but at least in this niche context, his old injury made him the leading man of the evening.

By the end of the night he got so into it, he was chasing you around snarling for your brains, and getting a kick out of scaring trick-or-treaters.

  *****

He took you to Paris for Valentine’s day. Last time it was Italy, and you strangely suspected he was touring the shadow of Hannibal Lecter as much as he was trying to impress you. You had suspected, that is, until you asked, and he rather bluntly admitted to it. He hadn’t expected you not to notice by the time you got to Florence, although Venice had been purely about romance (he loved all those touristy gondola rides that he swore he hated and were just for your benefit).

Now that he finally had the chance to lavish his considerable means upon someone, he was throwing himself heart and soul into the holiday, and would not stop until he had spoiled you senseless. When he was single and accustomed to spending the day alone, he used to loathe February 14th—Valentine’s had seemed a cruel joke directed specifically at him. He couldn’t even spitefully ignore it by staying late at work, because the more perceptive inmates always took notice.

“You do not know hell,” he told you, “until a man convicted of raping his mother’s severed head taunts you about your lack of sex life.”

This year, he treated you to everything Paris had to offer: the Louvre, Notre Dame, an opera at Palais Garnier, a morning stroll through the gardens of Versailles, delicious bakeries, cafes, chocolate, and macrons. You insisted upon seeing the Catacombs, of course.

When you went to the Eiffel Tower and he showed up with roses and dinner reservations for sunset in its refined first-floor restaurant, your gut clenched. You were terrified he was going to propose. Of course he would make a grand gesture! You carefully inspected every champagne glass for hidden engagement rings, but found only bubbles. After dinner, when you ascended to the top of the tower to watch Paris light up at night, you knew that was when the proposal was coming.

But it didn’t. And you found yourself disappointed.

You had never talked about it, so there was no reason to assume it was something he wanted. It seemed far too soon to you, too, until it was snatched away and you realized that after three years together, you still couldn’t imagine wanting a life without him in it.

Arriving home at last, you breathed a sigh of relief into the still air. Paris was exciting and rich with history, but you were glad to be home in the peaceful familiarity of that snobbishly oversized house with its ridiculously spiraling staircases and its somewhat-less-fastidiously-pristine rooms, which now accommodated both of your things. All of the picture frames that once held impersonal stock photos displayed real snapshots of your lives together.

You weren’t even going to shower. You were so tired, you just wanted to rip all your clothes off and drop into bed. Frederick pulled his tie off. Hair frumpy from the long plane and taxi rides, his fingers worked to undo the top buttons of his shirt as he lumbered to the bath. He stopped at the door and turned back. You were taking a sip of water before leaving the cup on your nightstand.

“Marry me?” he said.

[eulalia-heart]

My Trip to the ER

In October, I had to go to the ER because I was having trouble breathing and had a low oxygen saturation level. I wanted to share this story with all of you because I feel you will understand in a way that those in my real life do not.

 The Days Before:

It all started because I caught a cold or some other respiratory illness that the doctors never quite identified. On Thursday, I started to develop a cough. On Friday I woke up slightly sick and coughing but went to work anyway. My task that day was watering, like it is every Friday, which is a cumbersome task on a good day due to the number of plants and their sporadic locations across multiple gardens. Watering them involved dragging heavy, leaky hoses across long distances and loading and unloading an off-road utility vehicle with gallons of water which I than had to carry to trees planted far away from the paths. It is impossible to do this without getting wet, which was fine in the summer, but this was a cold and windy autumn day.

After doing this for only an hour I started to feel winded and weak. I could feel and hear my lungs wheezing. It felt like my lungs could no longer fully expand. I went to my locker and grabbed my albuterol inhaler and quickly administered it, which made me cough hard. I could feel my lungs be able to expand more and my wheezing subside but did not completely diminish. My heart rate increased slightly from the medicine. I continued working. As the day went on, I could feel myself getting weaker. Whenever I would lift heavy jugs of water, I would get winded and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, but it did not feel normal. My heartbeats felt frantic, fast, and forceful. Like my heart was trying to compensate for my lungs failing. About every half hour I would start to wheeze again and be forced to use my inhaler. Each time I used my inhaler it felt less effective, it could no longer stop me from wheezing or open my lungs any further. I continued until I finished watering, which took four hours.

At this point I felt weak, was wheezing, dizzy, soaking wet, shivering from the cold and had slight tremors from all of the albuterol I have been inhaling. I decide to just go home instead of taking lunch. My body was feeling just too weak to continue working. I grabbed some soup to eat on the way home, it did not make me feel any better. I took a shower and it helps warm me up but it did nothing to open up my lungs. I used my inhaler again and fell asleep on my couch.

Saturday morning, I woke up still sick and weak. I don’t think I really did anything at all the entire day but cough, wheeze and just try to breathe. I remember trying to play video games, but I couldn’t. For some reason, my controller felt astonishingly heavy and my arms felt really weak and shaky. Even watching videos seemed impossibly hard, I couldn’t focus, my mind was too foggy. At this point I really should have called the doctor or gone to the ER. But for some reason I didn’t even think to do that. I don’t think I really thought of anything at all. Just thinking was too tiring. I laid there all day just getting weaker. I was coughing and wheezing but since I was laying down, I never really thought to use my inhaler other than a few times in the morning.

By Saturday evening, I realized I couldn’t breathe at all when I laid down. It was as if when I laid down my lungs closed, and I would just be left gasping and coughing. No matter how many times I used my inhaler I was unable to breathe laying down. I was coughing constantly. With every breath I took I was wheezing loudly, it felt like my lungs were almost rattling when I breathed.

At this point even though my breathing was significantly worse than it was earlier I was much more alert. I could feel my heart beating fast with adrenaline, trying to keep me alert and compensate for my lungs. I felt scared and was mad at myself for not calling the doctor in the morning. There was no way I was going to be able to just go to sleep. I certainly wasn’t going to be able to wait until Monday morning to go to the doctors. I decided that if I just propped myself up with pillows and kept my inhaler in my hand, I would be okay. It eventually got to the point that I was using my inhaler every half hour again. But this time I needed it just to breathe at all. Once the medicine would start to wear off, I was gasping for air. I started to have immense trouble walking. I could feel my heart beating fast to compensate for my lungs. My head was throbbing with pain. I had several close calls where I had drifted to sleep and woke up gasping and coughing, needing to use my inhaler immediately. I decided I just needed to make it through the night and that in the morning I would go to Urgent Care.

Sunday morning eventually arrived, and I don’t think I have ever been so happy to see daybreak. I got dressed and went to Urgent Care. When I got there and told the nurse about how my night had gone, she yelled at me for coming to Urgent Care and not to the ER. I don’t remember what my vitals were, at the time I didn’t know how to read the oxygen levels on a pulse oximeter, so the number didn’t really mean anything to me. I do remember she seemed very concerned and was surprised I was able to even walk into the Urgent Care. I was taken to the back and they did an x-ray of my chest. They said my lungs were clear and I didn’t have pneumonia. They gave me an oral steroid and a nebulizer treatment which made me feel a bit better. But my oxygen level did not improve in any meaningful way and she told me to go to the ER immediately. I ended up having some difficulty getting to the ER but eventually got there two hours later

In the ER:

Once I got to the ER the nurse at the front took my vitals and admitted me. She asked me if I needed a wheelchair and I declined. The walk from the entrance to a bed felt excruciatingly long. I started to feel dizzy again and my heart pounded in my chest. When I made it to the bed, I crawled into it exhausted. They gave me a hospital gown and asked me to change into it which I did. A doctor came in and asked me how I was feeling and if she could have a listen to my lungs. She placed her stethoscope on my back which was exposed by my hospital gown and told me to take deep breaths. I tried to breath as deeply as I could. While breathing I could feel and hear myself wheeze loudly. She listened to multiple locations on my back while I took deep breaths and then moved the stethoscope to the front of my chest above my left breast. I could feel my heart beating forcefully against her stethoscope, I think her listening made my heartbeat even faster. She told me I was wheezing and that she was going to give me a blood test and more lung treatments.

A nurse came in and put an IV into my arm and took a blood sample. She also hooked me up to the EKG next to my bed, gently sliding her hand under my gown and placing the pads on my chest. She placed a meter on my left pointer finger to monitor my oxygen levels and turned on the machine. I was memorized watching it, my heart appeared steady but fast. Later another nurse came in and gave me steroids directly into my IV. She also gave me a nebulizer treatment through a respiratory face mask which she helped attach to my face. I took deep breaths letting the medicine fill my lungs for about ten minutes. I could feel my lungs open up more, I could expand my lungs further before wheezing. As my lungs began to relax my heart rate began to increase rapidly. I could feel it pound against my chest and shake my entire body.

The doctor decided to give me another nebulizer treatment because my oxygen saturation level had improved but was still low. I took deep relaxing breaths filling my lungs with the medicine. With each breath I could feel my heart beating faster and more forcefully. It was an unusual experience to be taking deep breaths, trying to relax my frantic heart but for my heart to just beat even more furiously.  I felt slightly betrayed by my own heart, it would not slow down no matter how hard I tried to calm it. The medicine also gave me pronounced tremors throughout my entire body but especially in my hands. It was like I was shivering even though I was not cold.  

The nebulizer treatment got my oxygen saturation level up to 80 and my heart rate to over 200 bpm. I remember these numbers because they stayed constant for three hours.

For hours I could feel and think about nothing but my heart. I could feel the blood moving throughout my entire body with immense force. It was like I could now feel the pulse in every capillary in my hand and every organ in my body. The pulse was extremely strong in my eyes, I could feel the blood moving through them and shake from the force. At one point it was so bad that when I could feel the blood rushing through my eyeball, my sight would go white and I could see nothing. I now realize my blood pressure must have been extremely high for it to be affecting my eyes in that way.  

My entire body was literally rocking with every beat of my heart, when I would sit cross-legged on the bed, I could feel my torse moving back and forth from the force of it pumping.  I could see my left breast bouncing up and down with my heartbeat. I desperately wanted someone to place there hand firmly on my chest so they could feel my heart pounding. I wanted someone else to acknowledge how hard my heart was working, someone to appreciate it. No one did. Occasionally a nurse would come in look at my EKG and take note.

About an hour after the last one they gave me another nebulizer treatment. This treatment did nothing to help my oxygen saturation level, it remained at 80. I kept getting mixed messages on whether 80 was a good number or not depending on what nurse I asked. After doing some research I now know your oxygen saturation level should be around 100 (mine is normally 98). Anything below 90 is considered low. However, I think 80 was good enough for me to no longer be in the ER.

After the ER:

I ended up being admitted to the hospital for observation for two nights. I continued to be given nebulizer treatments and steroids through my IV but at a lower level than in the ER. When I was discharged, I was still wheezing but only from my left lung. And my tremors had become significant. I could no longer drink out of a glass of water without my hands shaking so much that I spilled it everywhere. I could still feel the blood rushing through my body but not as strongly. My voice was hoarse, and I couldn’t talk for long periods of time. After a week of rest and slowly coming off the medicine I recovered.

TLDR:

The drugs made my heart wild. If you can’t breathe please go to the hospital.