#I’ll report deep thoughts later tonight I need to research

[flyingkiki]

We played dangerously (1/?)

Because we need more stories that show us just how much of a dirty boi Timbo is. The more smtty #TimRae the better. So excited for this story and delve heavily into their drama and dirty deeds. Strap yourselves in, bbs. it's a steamy one.

The history between them ran deep and long, mostly unspoken, messy, and painfully raw. Years later, here they are - older and carrying just a little bit more baggage than necessary. Tim and Raven reflect on their dangerous history and sift through the extra baggage they acquired.

~~~~

“You’re quitting?”

Raven frowned and crossed her arms defensively. She steeled herself as Red Robin stared at her, a look of total disbelief on his face as he processed what she just told him. She ignored how a heavy feeling settled low in her stomach.

“I’m taking a sabbatical,” she said levelly.

“For an undefined period of time,” continued Tim, his voice strained as he drew his eyebrows together trying to process what he just heard five minutes ago. “That sounds like quitting to me,”

She pressed her lips together as she tried to ignore the harsh press of Tim’s emotions against her. She watched him stare at her from across the briefing room, the sound of their computer working on data broke the heavy silence between them. “It’s my life, of course it’s indefinite,”

Tim blinked and followed her stance, crossing his arms as he studied her intently. “I’m not trying to take control of your life, Raven,” he bristled.

Raven tilted her head in challenge. For whatever reason she felt annoyance crawl under her skin. “It sounds like you are,”

“I’m not,” Tim pressed, sighing loudly. With a huff he pulled off his mask and threw it on the briefing table. Raven watched it slide on the flat surface before looking back up at Tim’s confused blue eyes. “Look, I don’t want to fight. You can do whatever you want, Raven. You’re right, it’s your life. I’m sorry if I sounded controlling,”

Raven hummed in acknowledgement. She knew he meant well. She knew Tim well enough that he wanted to understand the situation at hand. She shifted under his gaze and ignored how her stomach gnawed painfully. “When are you leaving?” Tim asked, his tone softer as he slid into the seat across from her. Raven watched him grab his mask and fiddle with it absently. The atmosphere shifted and her stomach churned painfully.

“In two weeks,” Raven replied and sat down in front of him. She watched Tim press his lips together and frown at the news. “I got into a special program. School starts early in August,”

Tim swallowed and threw her a torn look. “I’m glad you’re going off to university,” he began. He paused to inhale as he tried to think. “And this is not something you could do, like part-time online or something?”

Raven frowned at the way he tried to find ways to make her stay. “No,” she said. “Our work is a tight schedule as it is,”

Tim nodded in agreement. He gave a halfhearted smile. “At least I tried,”

Her stomach lurched without her consent and she ignored the jumble of emotions in the room. Her decision was final. This conversation made the move incredibly real. Pain settled low in her stomach. She needed to pack and get things going. “I want a life outside of the Titans, Tim,” she said. “Most of you have lives outside of the Tower. Gar does his stupid acting. Jaime has his family and volunteer work. You run WE, Tim. You all get to do something outside of our uniform. I just want something as close to normal as I can get, whatever that is for Rachel Roth, even if it’s just for a while.”

Tim sighed. The tension was palpable as Tim frowned. His brows furrowed and he nodded. “Yeah, I respect that, Rae,” he said, voice low. Running his hand through his hair, Tim leaned back into his chair with a huff. “Yeah, okay. Yeah,” he breathed and looked deep in thought. She felt the faint press of his carefully controlled emotions. “We’ll make some preparations for your transition and make sure that everything is in order. I’ll let the Justice League know,”

There was a beat of silence between them. Raven was surprised how methodological the conversation was. Then again, was she really expecting an argument for her to stay? There was an inexplicable pin-like pain in her chest she could not shake off. Wasn’t this what she wanted? Sighing softly, she assumed their conversation was done and stood up. Tim probably had to file a report to the JL. She had to pack up and get going with her life – they all did. Raven swallowed a thought.

“Well, thanks,” she said and turned to leave the room. She heard Tim stand up.

“Hey,” Tim called, voice slightly strained. Raven paused and turned back around, eyeing him curiously. Tim swallowed and his brows pressed together and there was a cautious look on his face. “This is not about –”

“No,” Raven cut him off sharply. “It’s not.”

Tim sighed and his shoulders lowered slightly. He caught her blue eyes and Raven watched an expression she cannot quite place cross his face. He offered her a tentative smile and nodded, his brows still furrowed and still looking torn. “Okay,” he breathed. “Yeah, good.” He paused before continuing. “We’ll tell the team after dinner tonight.”

Raven nodded. Her stomach felt heavy, she had enough of this conversation. It was done. “I’m going to start packing up stuff,” she said and made her way towards the door.

“Everyone’s going to miss you, Raven,” Tim said as she opened the door.

She paused at the door, hand resting at the metal doorframe. Her finger tapped the frame thoughtfully as a few stray thoughts ran through her mind, before turning to look over her shoulder, catching Tim’s piercing blue eyes. She sent him a tight smile and buried whatever errant emotions tickled her heart. “Yeah, I’ll miss everyone too. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

She did not come back anytime soon.

~~

Tim forgot when he was last in the Gotham Public Library – perhaps back when he was still in high school, 11 years ago? He wasn’t all too sure. His high school memories were blurry, given how his vigilante life was far more exciting than high school calculus.

But he was sure that the Gotham Public Library did not look this modern or dazzling since he last stepped into it when he was 15. The large library atrium was cleared out from its usual chairs and tables and instead filled with cocktail tables, round tables with sparkling black and gold table settings, buffet tables lined the walls, upbeat jazz music and heavy conversations filled the usual quiet halls, and every single one of the Gotham’s elite was dressed to the nines.

It was a charity dinner with plates going for the thousands. There was a silent auction too, some collectors’ books were up for grabs. The library was launching a new exhibit with some new codex they found out of Gotham. Wayne Foundation was funding most of the research and restoration work that went with it, and tonight’s event was supposed to help cover costs for the library’s expansion projects.

He idly listened to some politicians talk to Bruce and his siblings, Damian and Cass. Jason had moseyed off somewhere (likely browsing through the bookshelves or bidding on some of the collectibles in the silent auction) – lucky for the asshole. Tim wasn’t really paying attention. There was a lot going on, Tim barely kept up if he was being honest. A business merger was keeping his mind preoccupied, he was flying out to Japan tomorrow morning, and tonight’s dinner was the last place he honestly wanted to be at – but press as CEO of WE was important, Bruce liked to constantly remind him.

“So I was saying to him, ‘Johnny, son, if you don’t pull your pants up, that’s gonna be a lawsuit waiting to happen,’,” said the old man, assistant city treasurer – or whatever – to their small group. The old man heartily laughed, wheezing into his champagne glass. Bruce looked like he just swallowed bad caviar and cleared his throat while Damian and Cass made no effort to hide their bewildered faces. Tim sighed.

“Well, it does sound like a lawsuit waiting to happen, Mr. Peters,” Tim absently fiddled with his scotch glass and wondered if he should get anything stronger to get him through the night.

The man made a wounded sound and said something before slinking off. Bruce and Tim shared an exasperated look. Damian clicked his tongue, absently tapping his glass of orange juice. “This party is terrible, father,” he sniffed and icily scanned the crowd. “May we leave early?”

Bruce eyed his teenage son blandly. “We came here together, we leave together,” he said.

“Tt,” Damian frowned and took a sip from his orange juice.

Tim glanced at Damian, mildly feeling sorry for the 16-year-old gremlin. He remembered how he felt over these galas when he was younger. Internally grimacing at the galas when he first became CEO back when he was 17, Tim hid his displeasure behind his scotch glass while taking a sip.

They milled around more, talking to investors and guests from Gotham’s elite and academe. Tim smiled politely and held conversations where necessary, idly wondering when the night would be over. The crowd soon gathered in the middle of the atrium at the soft chime of a bell, signaling the start of another round of speeches from the library. Tim and his siblings slowly followed Bruce and the rest of the crowd towards the atrium. Tim caught Damian and Cass sharing bored glances.

“We’d like to thank everyone for being with us tonight,” said the Gotham Public Library Head Librarian, a well-dressed elderly man. The man went on with library expansion updates and the latest figures on tonight funds that were raised. Tim barely listed as he checked his phone for his flight details Tam sent him earlier. Ignoring the polite applause that filled the room, Tim continued to discreetly scroll through his itinerary.

“Tonight we’re also delighted to announce the opening of our exhibit, the Life Codex: Ancient Celebrations of Life. The library is honored to house this latest discovery and carry out the research, restoration, and preservation work of these recent discoveries,” the librarian droned on about ancient documents and the restoration work involved. Tim felt Cass nudge him and he blinked, looking up from his briefer. He stared at her quizzically.

“Attention,” she whispered. Tim offered her a sheepish look and pocketed his phone. They both turned their attention back to the stage. He caught sight of Jason’s large built shuffle in next to them, looking utterly bored. Since Jason was ‘legally alive’ again, they had roped him into attending a few events once in a while – much to the older man’s displeasure.

Mr. Tompkins, the Head Librarian, went on to discuss the project details that had gone underway since last month. Documents from Africa had been flown in and the research team had been working on restoring paper and decoding the codex. Tim barely listened as the elderly man droned on and silently wondered if he could still catch some sleep before his flight in the morning. His phone vibrated and he pointedly ignored Cass' look as he pulled out his phone to check an update from Tam.

"Doctor Collins, Dean of Gotham University's history and anthropology department is leading this project and she has built an excellent team for this project. Doctor Collins?" The head librarian welcomed an elderly woman with salt and pepper hair up on stage. Tim drowned out the speech as Dr. Collins started talking about the project, briefly looking at his phone and going through the project document for tomorrow's meeting with the Japanese tech firm. Tim wondered if he could at least get some good sushi while in Tokyo. Perhaps he could ask Tam to squeeze that into his schedule, they could --

"Hey, isn't that…" Jason paused and squinted at the stage. "Huh."

"Tim, look,"

Tim closed his phone and glanced at Cass curiously before turning his attention to the stage. Tim stopped short at what he saw.

Dressed in a flowing halter gown with a modest v-neck and a teasingly stylish slit up her right leg, a strikingly familiar woman walked up on the small platform offering the crowd a tentative smile and a modest wave. Tim watched the small woman carefully shuffle across the platform as a few more members of the research team were introduced. He blinked and stared at the violet-black haired woman and felt his throat tighten.

As if sensing his stare, dark blue eyes caught his light blue ones from across the hall. They zeroed in on him, easily catching him in a sea of hundreds.

There was an inexplicable tightness that seized his chest briefly, as Tim stared back at the woman, watching transfixed as emotions flickered across her face before quickly slipping back into a small pleasant smile and keeping her gaze briefly at him before turning to her colleagues and chuckling at something they were whispering to each other on stage. Tim watched and stared at her, schooling the surprise on his face, and just drinking in every familiar slopes and planes of her face because it had been what? Five? Six? Years since he last saw her.

"That's -"

"Rachel," Tim cut off Cass, blinking away his brief surprise and instead stared intently at his (former?) teammate.

"Rachel Roth leads our research team. Is there anything you'd like to say, dear?" Dr. Collins asked, turning to the group on stage. Rachel looked surprised before shaking her head and waving her hand in decline. "Ms. Roth does excellent work in ancient runes and languages, and restoration work. It's a pleasure to have her on the team. She's a guest lecturer at Gotham U, so if you're lucky, you best sign up for her special lecture series on ancient runes."

Tim watched as Rachel blushed at the praise, ducking her head briefly before chuckling at something a blonde haired woman next to her said. The group on stage shared a laugh and Tim watched curiously at the familiar sight of Raven smiling. There were few more pleasantries on stage before the group had their photo taken

“If we could invite Mr. Bruce Wayne, Mr. Lucius Fox, and Mr. Tim Wayne, to come up on stage for a quick photo with the rest of the team? After which we can proceed with our evening, and hopefully get your support in our library’s expansion work,” the head librarian called.

Tim blinked as Cass nudged him and pulled him out of his thoughts. Clearing his throat, he handed Cass his drink and quickly walked up the stage, following Bruce and Lucius up the small steps. Pulling on his practiced Tim Wayne-CEO-of-WE-smile, he dutifully shook hands with Dr. Collins and the head librarian. He briefly caught Raven’s stare as he moved across the stage to shake hands with people on the stage. Their gaze briefly met and her lips quirked into a small smile before quickly turning away and shuffling to the end of the line and out of reach for any other contact without attracting too much attention on them. Photos were taken swiftly and before Tim knew it everyone was ushered off the stage and he was wrapped up in a rather lengthy conversation on library work and the ongoing renovation projects.

Tim discreetly tried to look over his shoulder, barely catching a glimpse of the familiar slope of Raven’s shoulder disappearing into the crowd.

“Bruce Wayne,” Dr. Collins walked up to them just as the head librarian excused himself. The elderly woman beamed and quickly shook Bruce’s hand.

“Julia, it’s nice to see you again,” Bruce smiled warmly. “You know my son, Tim,”

Tim smiled and shook her hand. “Dr. Collins, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, easily pulling himself out of his thoughts of trying to find Raven in the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” The elderly woman beamed and regarded both men in front of her.

Tim chuckled. “Just Tim, please,”

“I worked with you parents, Jack and Janet, many years ago on a few of their archaeological digs, back in their early years. I met you when you were a little boy once or twice. I must say I am impressed at what a successful grown man you've become, Tim,” praised Dr. Collins. The elderly woman hummed and smiled. “CEO of Wayne Enterprises,”

Tim chuckled, pulling on his best boardroom smile. “Thank you,”

“Also, this makes me realize that time certainly flies when the young boy you last saw in diapers has become the CEO of the world’s most successful conglomerate,” Dr. Collins chuckled, beaming up at Bruce with a mischievous smile. “That does make me feel old,”

Bruce chuckled as Tim politely made a face and their small group fell into an easy conversation. “The last eight years with Tim as CEO have been the best years for the company,”

Tim grinned playfully over his scotch. “Careful, is that praise I hear?”

The small group fell into an easy conversation discussing work and the research project. Tim quickly gathered that Dr. Collins was an old family friend of the Waynes, particularly of Bruce’s parents. He kept rapt attention to the conversation, nodding and chiming in where necessary, while occasionally glancing around the room for even a hint of purple or black.

Feeling distracted by tonight’s discovery of Raven, Tim was ready to excuse himself from the conversation and pretend to make a phone call. That seemed to be the best way to try to look around and catch Raven.

“There you are,” Dr. Collins glanced over Bruce’s shoulder and beamed. She beckoned for whoever was behind Bruce to come closer.

“I was looking for you,”

Despite the years that passed, Tim recognized the familiar voice in a heartbeat. He watched as Raven appeared from behind Bruce. He schooled his face, trying to fight away any signs of recognition and familiarity towards the black haired woman. Tim watched in a mix of curiosity and internal surprise as Raven smiled softly at their group and confidently walked up to them. From the slopes of her shoulder, the elegant movements of her hands, to her black-violet hair, deep stormy blue eyes, and that achingly familiar errant dusting of a few freckles just around the hollows of her neck, Raven looked exactly like how he remembered her. Tim blinked and absently tapped his scotch glass as he stared openly at her, a sight he had not seen in years.

“Rachel, please meet Bruce Wayne and his son, Tim. As you know Wayne Enterprises provides extensive funding for our work,” Dr. Collins said, waiving at both men in front of them.

“Mr. Wayne,” Raven began, moving her champagne glass into her left hand and went to shake Bruce’s hand. A smile appeared on her face as she and Bruce exchanged pleasantries. There was no air of familiarity between them, despite the schooled smiles that stretched across both of their lips. Tim knew that practiced look from all the undercover missions he had seen, been with, her. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for all your support,”

Raven turned to Tim and he watched as her smile immediately curled up just a tiny bit more in that familiar teasing way he had not seen in the last six years. There was that achingly familiar twinkle in her eyes he often saw back in the day, reserved for rare occasions, and Tim found himself smiling back at Raven and eagerly drinking in her familiar presence. “Mr. Wayne,” she said to him, a small quiver in her voice that no one but him seemed to pick up. She reached out and shook his hand.

Tim gave her hand a brief squeeze and he was pleased to see how the corner of her lips curled into a familiar amused smile he remembered. “Just Tim,”

Raven hummed and nodded, pulling her hand back. “Thank you again for supporting the research and restoration project,”

“What were you busy with before joining this project?” Bruce asked curiously. There were little updates from Raven throughout the years as she left the team for university and eventually work. While in the early years of her sabbatical Tim kept some updates on her, these eventually became less up to date as Raven eventually seemed to do her own thing.

“I was in Iceland,” Raven supplied and explained that she worked on an ancient runes translation project with the local university for six months.

Tim felt a distant memory tickle the back of his mind and he ignored the tight feeling that accompanied those distinct memories. He ignored the whisps of memories that teased his mind. Dark blue eyes briefly caught his stare and he watched that familiar curl in the corner of Raven’s lips appear. Tim smiled in return. “Iceland is a beautiful country,” he commented.

Raven stared at him, dark blue eyes intense as he remembered them. “It is,”

“We’re glad that Rachel has joined our project. She’s a fine addition to our team,” commented Dr. Collins. The elderly woman smiled teasingly. “And we’re definitely hoping she’ll considering staying in Gotham after the project ends,”

Raven rolled her eyes in amusement. “We’re just two weeks into the project. We have a long way to go,”

Tim looked at her curiously. How could he have missed her entering Gotham?. “You’ve been here for two weeks?”

Raven looked at him as if catching the slight jump in his emotions at this little discovery. “Three actually, if you count my moving in week,” she shrugged in amusement.

Three weeks. Tim stored that information for later, for a later conversation, and ignored how it settled uncomfortably in his stomach. He instead smiled at her and titled his head curiously. “I hope the transfer into Gotham wasn’t too difficult,”

Raven made a face. “It’s been interesting,” she said and Tim easily caught her familiar teasing lilt in her voice.

“Let us know if you need any assistance getting you settled, I’m sure we can send over someone to help you with your apartment,” Bruce offered, smiling charmingly at Raven.

Raven waved him off. “It’s just a few more boxes, nothing really major,”

Tim watched as a young woman tentatively approached them and offered the group an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said to the group and quickly turned to Raven. With a quick tilt of her head towards the right, she made a face. “The University Press wants to talk to you,”

Raven made a face. “Oh, Why?”

“Just stuff about the project and the lecture,” supplied the young woman. She offered Raven a wry smile and made a face. “Also one of them asked if you were single,”

Raven rolled her eyes before smiling tightly at Bruce and Tim. “I’m sorry, if you’d excuse me. It was really nice to meet you. Thank you again for all your support. I hope you’ll visit the library again and we could show you around our work,” she said. Quickly turning to Dr. Collins, she nodded politely. “I’ll see you later, Julia,”

Smiling at Bruce and Tim, she tilted her head and there was an amused glint in her eyes as she stared at them. “Gentlemen,” she then turned on her heels, casually drank the rest of her champagne with just a little bit more purpose and seemingly bracing herself for what was about to happen next. Standing a little taller and squaring her shoulders, Raven followed the young assistant towards the press. “So, what did you tell them?” she asked, amusement lacing her voice.

As the conversation between Dr. Collins and Bruce resumed, Tim took a long sip of his scotch and stared at Raven’s retreating form. A million thoughts ran through his mind and he silently wondered just how fast he could get through his business trip in Tokyo. Sushi would have to wait for another time.

[bakerstreethound]

Night at the Museum

Relationship: Leonard McCoy x reader

Warnings: 18+ Smut, swearing and smut. 

Summary: After a late night working on your birthday, Leonard surprises you with a visit to the office and damn how can you not refuse an office visit from your favorite Doctor? 

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound​

Word Count: 1,536

A/N: Just another Leonard McCoy fic nothing to see here as I indulge @pandaqueen7799​ with an AU of her grumpy Star Fleet Doctor because it’s her Birthday & HE LOVES HER. This has been months in the making & thanks for surviving all the teasers, Queen haha. I hope you have a lovely birthday XOXO. I only write Leonard McCoy for her you guys, just a disclaimer. Now let’s PARTY! *gif isn’t mine* 

====================================

You groaned, the ticking clock your only company as you typed up your report on the computer. You are determined to finish most of the report you'd begun in your previous months for the Museum. So, six hours later, with a few glasses of tea in your system, you'd managed to complete most of it. Alas, you were nowhere close to where you wanted to be.

At least it’s something and not total rubbish, yet.

You reached towards your once silent phone, now buzzing, hesitating for a moment. Sure, you were at a good place with it, but something inside you told you to continue.

You’ve been at it for six hours and a little break won’t hurt. Hell, you should stop altogether for the evening.

You relented, opening up your messages, 3 of which were from your best friend. You remembered she would pick you up this evening, but you forgot to give her a time.

Don’t worry about it, I’ll Uber it tonight. I’ll be fine, you replied to the text, pulling off your glasses for a moment to rub your weary eyes.

A knock at the door caused your shoulders to jump, causing you to drop your phone on the desk. You grumbled, typing on your computer once more, not bothering to see who had knocked on the door.

The last thing you expected to see in the doorway when you looked up, though, was your husband wearing his blue scrubs adorned with mini grumpy cats.

“Where’s…” he cut off your question with a kiss, pulling you flush up against him.

“Don’t worry about her, I may or may not have cast a bribe so I could pick you up.”

You raised a brow, unable to stop the grin forming on your face.

“What? This place isn’t that far away from the hospital.” He retorted, sighing in slight frustration before brushing his lips across your own.

“But…”

He scowled for a moment before grumbling. “It’s beside the point. Look, I’ve got you here with me now, and after a hellish day at work with people out of their corn-fed minds, well this is perfect.”

“Awe Leo,” you grinned, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, inhaling his scent so familiar, welcoming you home.

“What do you say,” he glanced down at your white button-up shirt, “we get your tie, and then we leave this place. I’m sure you need a change of scenery.”

“Of course I do, Dr. McCoy.” Without warning, you pressed against him, causing him to fumble and fall into one of the chairs in front of your desk with an oomph. You cast him a look while you opened your drawer, drawing out the tie you’d tossed off in frustration earlier in the day from a particular irking section of research.

“What do you say, Leo?” You strutted towards him confidently, daring to unbutton a couple of the buttons on your shirt before straddling his waist. “You want to be good for me?”

“My...sugar,” he looked up at you in the dimly lit room, but you could see how wide his pupils were already.

You nipped at his neck. “You can do better than that, Leo.”

“I need you...please.”

You reached down to tug at his scrub pants, pleasantly surprised to be greeted with his already straining length.

“Well, Doctor, perhaps I could help you,” you smirked, delighted in the disheveled mess your husband had become, mingled with exhaustion from his shift, paired by his overwhelming apparent desire for you.

You didn’t wait for his reply, bringing his lips to yours in a surging kiss, his chest heaving as you pressed against him, feeling his body react to yours. Noticing you falter, he pulled you back against him, claiming you in another kiss, trailing his tongue down to your neck, daring to suck a mark, eliciting a moan from you.

“Missed you so much, sugar.” he managed to say in between more heated kisses and cloth stripping. Stressed as he was he wanted nothing more to see you laid bare from him, not caring how much of a mess you were or you both made. “As much as I would love to drag this out, darlin’” he swallowed deeply, managing to look up at the clock on the wall. “I need you now and don’t- can’t wait any longer.” 

He held you close to him, grip tightening around your waist as his sparkling hazel eyes grew wide, taking on the look of desire that only you could draw from them. Understanding flickered across your own as you reached out to him, easing him out of your chair, happy to be in his embrace one more.

He brought you closer, closing his eyes as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “You know you mean more to me than anything in the world, sugar.”

“Fuck me, Doctor McCoy, before I lose my damn mind, already. Keep my mind off the edge.”

Pressing a chaste kiss to your neck he gave a knowing smirk. “With pleasure.”

Before you could think about anything else he pulled you up into his arms and your legs immediately wrapped around his waist before he brought you over to the tall glass window wall spanning over a small hidden corner of your office.

You’d always wanted to be taken at this window which bequeathed a pretty spectacular view of the city with all its late-night lights twinkling in the distance.

“How-?” Your question became blocked off by a rather heated kiss on your lips, all gentleness and pretenses replaced with nothing but passion and desperation. All the stress from the evening and the love he felt for you poured into a single kiss, but this one was enough to send the familiar jolt of desire and desperation into your core.

“Leo,” his name was all you could think of, and the way he felt pressed against you, the cold glass a relief to the burning inside you. Even as he removed your clothes, tossing them haphazardly on your desk and you flinging his scrubs on the floor without a care, you thought of nothing but him and the way he felt as he brought his fingers down to your core, daring to stroke a line up your slit teasing your clit in the way he knew how that made you shatter for him.

“That’s right, let all of them know you’re mine.” He reached down to stroke himself with his free hand that wasn’t working your clit before sucking a mark on your neck.

You moaned in relief as he pressed against your folds filling you and relieving the ache, making you gasp and moan as he moved in you with a long languid pace, picking it up in desperation, wanting to bring you both to your release. You wrapped your arms around his neck, desperate to be close to him as his once languid pace picked up, becoming more demanding and heated as he continued working you and your clit. You responded in kind, arching into him as his mouth trailed from your lips to your breast, promptly latching on to a nipple, circling it with his tongue. You urged him on, following each of his thrusts in stride, nipping and sucking on his lower lip, wanting more of him.

“Yes sugar, that’s right,” he muttered praises in your ear, each one adding more kindling to the already erupting fire in your core. You almost came then and there when his thumb teasingly brushed up against your clit once more, sending shockwaves through you.

You let out a moan. “D-damn it, Leo.”

“All for me,” he nipped your lip, proceeding to murmur even more praises into your ear, his hot breath fogging the glass.

Whimpering, your hand caressed your breast, desperate for more.

“Leo…” you moaned as you brushed your thumb against your clit, lost once more to throes of pleasure while he continued his long thrusts, hitting you deep.

His lips parted, and he kissed you again, allowing you to entwine your tongues in a battle for dominance

You obliged, lost to the moment of passion play, almost gasping as you felt the familiar patterns of your climax ensuing. You knew he was close too, sweat clung to his brow, his breathing heavier and husky. The instant his eyes locked with yours, your body lost itself once more, absorbing the waves of pleasure and you moaned as you felt his release.

Lips parted from gasping, you bring him in for a kiss, aching for him and his touch once more.

He pulled you up, helping you straighten out your trousers. “So, what do you say we get something to eat? I suspect we could both use some food."

“Sounds good to me, Doctor. We have to prepare for round two,” you winked, kissing him on the cheek as you began to dress. He followed suit, smirking as you put on your tie following it with your blazer.

He wrapped his arm around your waist, already put together as best as he could. “Something tells me sugar that we need to do this more often.”

“You have no fucking idea, Leo.”

******

@bakerstreethound​ @disneymarina​ @groovygirlie​ @pandaqueen7799​ @viper-official​ @lilythemadqueen​ @sherlockfanficwriting​ @starks-hero​

[themonotonysyndrome]

Guilt Eater

Part 4 of the ‘Successors of the Future’ is here! And yes, I will do my absolute best to squeeze in as much Blazblue reference in this series until I can’t! (I mean, that’s how I got the plot bunny for this series anyway~)

We’re moving the spotlights today to Malleus and Ace and a special guest! I thought it’ll be an interesting shift of perspective and change. Don’t worry, we’ll get right back to the kids in the next oneshot. 

As always, big thank you to @tri3tri for letting us expand her Second Wive AU. Hope you guys enjoy this oneshot. 

-

Time tend to leave its mark differently on each species. 

For creatures who only grew stronger with time while their bodies remain near immortal, the passing of time means nothing to the Fair Folks. Time is likened to the ocean; ancient yet full of wonders. 

For Malleus, however, time has not been kind to him. Not since his dear heart and children vanishes. 

Ever since then, there is an unspoken rule among the residents of the Castle of Thorns: the Queen’s family wing is forbidden to everyone but the King.

Even Lilia nod his head to the rule; even he has been walking on eggshells around their King. 

And the years had transformed the Queen’s domain into a catacomb. The rumpled beds, the toys littered in Princess Sherrie’s bedroom, the Queen’s favourite book on her study table - everything is left untouched with layered of dust and cobwebs covering every inch of the surfaces. 

Every evening, the King would stalk the empty halls and bedrooms like a ghost; constantly yearning to feel the memories that embedded on the walls. Once he did his duties as the King and beget the male heir that the court had been pushing, Malleus has been living in regret ever since. 

He should have known that his beautiful wife would attempt to escape during the night of his second wedding. He should have tightened the security not on his concubine, but to the Queen and their Princesses. He should have assured Renata and Sherrie that only their mother holds his heart and that Bellatrix is just a means to an end. 

He should have told them that he loves them. 

Regret and guilt are terrible poisons. It festered under your skin and twist your heart painfully. They plague your mind with ‘what if’s’ and ‘should have’s’ and Malleus have been carrying them ever since that night. 

Tonight, he lost hours inside Renata’s bedroom, just staring at her favourite doll that he bought for her. He still remembers how her eyes lit up and how sweet her smile was when he presented the doll to her; how she was so happy that she clings on him and the doll that day. Deeply amused, he humoured her and carried her in her arms the whole day. Malleus even brought her to his court session, regardless how it broke propriety. 

His every waking moments now drift to MC and their daughters. Where are they? Why couldn’t he find them no matter how many soldiers he dispatched across Twisted Wonderland, no matter how far his magic blanket the lands? Are his daughters healthy, happy? What are they currently doing now? Are they safe? Have they forgotten about him - 

The mirror on the vanity table shattered. Malleus releases the doll in his grip and struggle to calm himself down; his body curl inwards and his breaths erratic. The thought of his wife and children far away and happy from him nearly drove him crazy if it weren’t for Lilia’s quick and careful words of consolation.

“They can’t hide forever, Malleus. Don’t ever give up, you hear me? And once we’ll find them, we’ll make sure her little escape routines are put to a stop. Permanently.”  

Lilia’s words are enough to ground him. For now. 

Malleus failed to assured his wife and daughters his love towards them, failed to show just how deep his convictions towards them are. The moment he finds any threads of their whereabouts, he’ll make sure to rectify that. 

And as the night made way for morning, Malleus forces himself to leave his daughter’s abandoned bedroom to prepare for another long, monotonous day. The only reason why he hasn’t delegate his duties to Lilia was because of his grandmother. His grandmother had come to visit on the eve of his second wedding and stayed when a frantic Silver announced MC and their children’s disappearance. If it weren’t for her, Malleus would’ve burned away his suit and transform into a dragon to search for them. While Lilia organise a search team with Silver and Sebek, his grandmother made sure he understood his duties as King once more. 

That was the first and last time he slept with Bellatrix before his thoughts and desire are consumed with the need to find his family. At that point, neither Lilia nor his grandmother could’ve stop him. 

The castle staffs and guards know to scattered when they see him step out of the Queen’s wing. The moment they heard the door creaked open, the room is empty. 

All but for one individual. 

“Good morning, Father!” 

Malleus stop his track. He tilts his head towards his heir, expressionless. Victor refused to be deterred by his Father’s gloomy aura yet he’s smart enough to carefully approach him. 

The king is stoic on the best days, frightening on his worst. 

“Will you be joining us for breakfast later? I heard from Grandfather Lilia that the kitchen staffs are planning to cook your favourites.” 

“I’ll be taking my meals in my office as usual.” Malleus reply and starts to walk away. 

Victor’s smile drop a little but he pressed on, jogging behind his father. In a rare burst of courage, the Prince grab Malleus’ hand. Surprisingly, Malleus stops walking. He stares at his hand before narrowing his eyes at Victor. 

“W-Would Father like a report of my recent academic progress? My tutors said that I’ve been doing well in my magic classes! O-Oh! I’ve also been diligently keeping up with my etiquette lessons.” Victor stutters out after he immediately let go of his Father’s hand. Feeling like he just committed a grave crime. 

“No need. Your tutors have been sending letters of your progress, daily.” 

“Oh... then would Father be willing to... to train me - ”

“I’m busy. Ask Lilia or any of your tutors.” And with that, Malleus refused to linger any longer, leaving Victor in the empty room. 

Crestfallen, Victor watch his Father go. Knowing that if he bothers him even more, it will just upset him and another storm would loom over the castle for the next few days. His expression immediately morph into a combination of anger and sadness as he stomps away before the staffs could return, not wanting them to see him vulnerable. 

As usual, Victor desperately hopes that one day his Father would finally acknowledge him as a son, not as his Prince. 

-

Time tend to leave its mark differently on each species.

For creatures with a set of years as flimsy as a lit candle’s flame, humans are creatures who bear the passing of time with a passionate vigor. Time is likened to fireworks; beautiful, bright but only for a short moment. 

For Ace, however, time is a constant remainder that he had failed his best friend. Being vulnerable in Night Raven College is a sure way to be taken advantage off and Ace is never known as anything but his brutal honestly, mischievous streaks and habits of getting himself (and others) into trouble. 

But when the headmaster announced that he couldn’t find MC anywhere the day after their senior’s graduation, was the moment that he, Deuce and Grim completely lose their composure. Deuce was too shocked to say anything while Ace couldn’t stop screaming alongside Grim. 

She couldn’t have just vanish! People don’t work like that! 

And even if she finally somehow found a way back to her world, she wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye! 

Ace hated himself as that moment. If only he texted them the night before. Why didn’t he? They usually send stupid texts to one another! If only he kept a closer eye on them. If only she kept Grim close to her. 

For once, the headmaster drop all pretence. For once, his guilt laden answer and heavy sags of his shoulders are genuine. 

MC is gone and he has no idea how or why. But the three of them refused to gave up just like that. Ever since that day, they would do their best to figure out or research about MC’s fate. Jack and Epel, after finding out what happened, did their best to help out too. But days passed without any leads and with heavy hearts, they accepted that their friend is lost to them. 

That was not a good day. 

After Ace and Epel managed to pull Deuce and Jack away from one another (Deuce had completely lost it when the wolf boy reluctantly admit that maybe it was best to stop their research), strangely enough, it was Sebek who finally interjects. 

They need to accept that MC is gone. Even if they could never gain the closure that they desperately want, it’ll be no good to carry this sort of horrible guilt with them forever. With a long sigh, Sebek told them to find peace with it, even if it’s hard. 

Easier said than done. Even now that he’s already an adult and have a son, Ace still couldn’t help but wonder what happened to his friend. He hopes that wherever she is, MC is safe and happy. Anything other than that Ace couldn’t bear to think. 

Ace takes out his phone and checks the calendar app. The anniversary of MC’s disappearance is coming. Usually, Ace would cook MC’s favourite food in honour of her memory and over the years, he has gotten pretty good at it. Good enough that it also becomes his son’s favourite dish. 

Just as Ace was about to put down his phone and get ready to go out for lunch with his older brother, it suddenly rings.  

The name on his phone surprises him. His son rarely calls him ever since he got accepted to Night Raven College. Something about wanting some independence from his old man that Ace retaliates by ruffling his hair because of his boy’s cheekiness. 

Ace press the accept button with a grin, knowing that this is going to be good. “What’s up, kiddo? Finally admit that you miss your old man?” 

He expects a scoff, maybe a reluctant admittance, hell even his son’s rare bout of innocent honesty. What Ace didn’t expect however, is hearing his son’s frightened shriek.

“Dad! You knew a MC/S before right!? Please tell me you know what to do when she went batshit insane!” 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down! What are you talking about? I can barely hear you!” 

Ace impatiently wait while pressing the phone close to his ear as he hear his son rapidly talking to someone, shouting apologies and heavy breaths as if he’s currently running. 

“Oh Sweet Seven, ok, I think we managed to hide from her.” His son panted. “Yeah, so, I might have, uh accidentally threw my food tray all over this girl and she immediately went supernova. We barely managed to dodge her fireballs!” 

Suddenly, Ace felt his heart drop. “Girl? What girl? Night Raven College is an all-boys’ school.” He heard himself reply. Absentmindedly, his mind brought up the memories of his Entrance Ceremony, years ago. Of a girl that looked so lost in her robes as she stood in front of the Mirror of Darkness. 

“Renata MC/S. She’s the only girl that ended up a student here. I remembered that you had a friend with that surname so I thought she might be related.” 

At that moment, Ace choose to believe it. It’s way too coincidental for it not be. A girl that shares his lost best friend’s surname who also just happend to be the only girl to be accepted in Night Raven College? 

But what Ace doesn’t understand is his son’s comment about the girl throwing fireballs. MC doesn’t have magic. So what’s going on? 

“Hmm, I usually gave her some space before I apologised to her. And a little bribery never failed too.” Ace advised, recalling how MC reluctantly accepts the candy that he offered after he upsets her. 

“That’s not a bad idea, Dad! Will report back the result if I’m not scorched to death.” Ace’s son dryly answer. Some rustling noises and hush whispers can be heard through the phone before his kid ended the call. 

Ace is already calling Deuce’s number. He needs to know about this. 

-

I hope I managed to did Malleus and Ace justice in writing them! I’ll get better with writing the rest of the boys once their children are introduce. Because Renata needed friends/allies against Malleus after all~ 

Speaking of Victor, I was really nervous when I was writing him. Here, he’s not all haughty because deep down, all he want is some praises and love from a Father who only see him as something to appease his court. Not a son. Hope I managed to portray that properly! 

(Also, the name of Ace’s son and two others will be reveal in the next oneshot)

[samdeancass]

SuperWolf

Requested by: @kikikittykis

Pairing: Scott x reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Characters: Y/N, Dean, Sam, Scott, Stiles, Derek

Description: Supernatural/Teen wolf Crossover!

"So, there have been multiple reports of murders going on in a town called Beacon Hills in central California. I think we should check it out."

Dean was sitting across from Sam, legs crossed over each other on the table and nursing a whiskey. "Murders, OK. But what makes this our sort of thing. Murders happen in small towns all the time."

Sam leaned in closer to the laptop screen and read through the article again. "It says that there were claw marks left on some of the bodies. Others were left completely mangled. I'd say that would definitely make this our sort of thing."

Dean sat upright in his chair and placed his whiskey on the table. "I don't know, Sammy. Sound just like a normal animal attack to me. I don't want to go all the way to Cali just to find out that animals have been munching on people. It just doesn't seem worth it to me."

Sam closed the laptop lid abruptly and got up from the table. "We've travelled further on less, Dean. I've got a feeling about this one. Go and get Y/N. We're leaving in 10." Sam walked away from the table and towards his room, leaving Dean sitting at the table. "Why am I always the one to get her? He knows that she hates leaving before having something to eat. She's gonna bite my fucking head off." Dean stood up from the table and made his way to your room, giving three quiet taps on the door.

You were sat upright on your bed, pillows supporting your back. Your stomach was beginning to rumble and you were about to get food when the knocks sounded at your door. "Come in!". The green eyed hunter entered your room with a sheepish look on his face. "Y/N/N, Sam's found us a case. Multiple mangled bodies in Cali. We're leaving in 10."

You groaned in response and slammed your book down on your bed. "Come on, seriously! How does this always happen when I'm going to get something to eat?! Fine, I'll be ready in 5." Dean quickly closed his door and made his way to his room, muttering under his breath how he's gonna get Sam back.

The journey to California was long and tiring. Sam and Dean were constantly bickering with each other which made you want to pull your hair out. You stopped at a few gas stations and filled the hungry void in your stomach which improved your mood a little. You all checked into a motel and began to research what the culprit could be.

"It seems like all of the murders are happening around the high school. We need somebody to go undercover and try to find out some information." Sam was sat at the table, huddled over a map. Dean looked at you as Sam finished his sentence, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Nope. No way. No fucking way, guys. I'm not going back to school. You've got no chance." You shook your head violently, completely refusing. "I had a terrible time at school. Why don't you guys do it?"

Sam and Dean smiled at each other. "Oh yeah, ok. I'm sure two fully grown men would be allowed to attend a high school, Y/N. C'mon, it'll only be until we've found what the hell this son of a bitch is and then we'll be gone." Sam flashed you his puppy dog eyes which immediately melted you.

"Fine!" You crossed your arms over your chest and sulked a little. "Sam, you really need to stop using those eyes, it's not very fair." He walked over to you and engulfed you into a bear hug, which immediately lifted your mood. "You know you love me." "Yeah, whatever. Let's get me registered so I can get this over and done with."

Scott and Stiles were walking down the hallway, whispering between themselves. "And what are you two girls whispering about?" They both stopped short when they seen Derek standing 2 feet in front of them, arms crossed and a smug smile plastered onto his face.

"What makes you think that we're acting like girls? Just because we whisper a lot and keep secrets doesn't mean we're acting - yep we're acting like girls." A red blush rose on Stiles' cheeks as he turned away from Derek, clearly embarrassed.

"What are you doing here, Derek? I thought you were staying away from us?" Scott gave Derek a questioning glare before delving into the depths of his locker to find his school books. "I need your help, Scott. Another body has been found and it looks like it was a wolf kill. We need to try and find whoever is doing this and stop them before we attract unwanted attention."

Scott turned around and opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. Derek tried to get his attention but failed so he decided to see what, or who, Scott was looking at.

Far across in the corner of the hallway, you were stuffing your useless school books in to your locker whilst talking on the phone to Dean. "This is absolutely pointless, I'm not going to find anything here, Dean." "How do you know that? You haven't even tried yet." You could practically hear the eye roll in his voice and huffed in response. "I swear, if this ends up wasting my time, Winchester, I'm gonna beat your ass."

You heard muffled laughter from the other side of the phone and hung up, internally screaming. You turned around and began to walk up the hallway to your 'class' when you felt two pairs of eyes on you. You turned around to confront these people but stopped dead in your tracks, a slight blush creeping onto your face.

"She's noticed you, McCall. Go and say something! We can talk about our wolf problem later." Scott growled a little when Derek pushed him towards you, eyes flashing red in his direction. Derek held his hands up and pulled Stiles away by his ear to stop him from eavesdropping. "Hey! Why does he always get the girls?!"

Scott shuffled forward slowly towards you, anxiety wrecking his body. He hadn't felt like this about a girl since Allison, and with what happened to her, he was a little hesitant to even think about dating another girl. You let out a breath to calm your nerves as he walked towards you.

Scott shuffled the remaining distance between you two and glanced up at you shyly. A blush rose up on your cheeks under Scott's stare. You cleared your throat quietly and began to speak.

"Hey, I'm Y/N L/N. I'm new here." You held out your hand and Scott took it, shaking it. "I'm Scott McCall, lovely to meet you. Maybe, if you wanted, I could show you around the town? There's a diner in town that sells the best milkshakes." You thought for a second before nodding your head. "That would be great, thank you." Scott led you out of the school entrance and made your way towards the diner.

"What the hell is she doing in there? She's supposed to be undercover, not going on dates!" Dean was sitting behind the wheel of the Impala, nostrils flaring in anger.

Dean and Sam had followed you to the restaurant so they could make sure you were safe.

"Is it the fact that she's not investigating or that she's with a boy?" Sam looked at his brother accusingly, knowing what the answer was.

Dean opened his mouth to say something but soon closed it when he seen you and Scott leaving the restaurant. You spotted the jet black 67 chevy in the parking lot and rolled your eyes inwardly. You turned to Scott and pressed a kiss to his cheek before saying goodbye and making your way towards the car. Both of the brothers braced themselves when you said into the backseat.

"What are you two doing here? I was investigating." You sat in the back with your arms crossed over your chest in frustration. You heard Dean take a deep breath before turning around to confront you.

"Yeah, it sure looked like investigating. What was that kiss you gave him? Looks to me like you were on a date! That's not what we're here to do!" Sam could tell Dean's anger was getting the better of him so he decided to step in.

"I think what Dean's trying to say is, don't get distracted. This job is very important and we don't want to get side tracked." Sam gave you a small smile before placing a hand on Dean's shoulder in an attempt to calm him down.

You nodded in understanding. "I know that, but I really was investigating. I was seeing if Scott knew anything about the attacks that was going on, but he didn't."

You were lucky that the brothers didn't have any telekinetic abilities to read minds because at this point they knew that you were lying. Sure, you were investigating but Scott had told you something very important and you didn't want the Winchesters to know because you knew how they would react.

"Scott? Is that his name? Kinda young for you don't ya think?" You gave Dean a slap to the back of the head. "So what? It's not like you've been able to hit on anything older than you." Sam sniggered at your reply whilst you sat back smugly.

Dean cleared his throat before getting to the root of why they were in Beacon Hills. "Well, I know you didn't find out anything about this wolf, but me and Sammy did. We're going to head out tonight to catch this son if a bitch so we should be home by morning."

Your eyes went wide. You hadn't expected them to narrow down their search so quickly. You couldn't let them hunt down this wolf, at any cost. "And what exactly did you find out? Surely its not trustworthy?"

At the other side of the parking lot, Scott was standing next to his motorbike, listening in to your conversation. Anger grew in his body. "She's a hunter?! Why didn't she tell me?"

His eyes turned red before getting on his bike and riding away before he could hear the rest of the conversation.

Sam and Dean looked at each other and began to laugh. "Whats with all the questions, Y/N? You usually don't need anything trustworthy to hunt down monsters?!"

You shrugged in response. "I don't know, I guess its just a little too quick for my liking. Can we maybe sit on this for a little whilst we delve into the situation some more?" The brothers shook their head in confusion before turning back to the front of the car. "Alright, just one night though. Then we're definitely going to hunt it down."

You and the brothers parted ways for the night and checked into your own rooms. Immediately, you threw your bags down on the floor and pulled out your phone, dialling Scott's number.

The dialling tone rang for a few seconds before Scott picked up. "What?" Your face contorted in confusion at Scott's aggressive manner. "Woah, what's the matter with you?"

You could hear Scott's breathing becoming more heavy on the other side of the line. "Why didn't you tell me you were a hunter and you were hunting one if my kind?!"

Dread filled your whole body as you sat down on the bed in an attempt to stabilise yourself. "You weren't supposed to find out about that. I wanted to tell you, but I wanted to protect you. Other hunters aren't like me, they don't sympathise like I do."

Scott's breathing began to slow down a little as he processed the new information. "You should have told me, I would have understood. But please, leave this situation to us, we've got this handled. It'll be sorted by the end of the night."

You and Scott carried on the conversation for a few more minutes before hanging up. You lay back on the bed and fell into a deep sleep.

Loud bangs on the door awoke you the next morning. You groaned at few loudness and swore inwardly at the people who dared wake you. You opened the door and found the Winchesters smiling widely at you.

"What do you want? Don't you know its rude to wake up a woman?" You walked slowly back into your room before flouncing back down on the bed.

"Good morning to you to". Dean walked in and grumbled slightly under his breath before you narrowing your eyes at him in response. "Turns out, it was just a wolf that was killing people. The cops found it this morning."

You sat up straight and stared at Sam. "Really?" Sam nodded in response as Dean took a seat at the table. "I told you it was a waste if time travelling down here, that it was just a normal animal attack. But did you listen to me? Nooooo."

Sam shook his head at Dean's childish actions. "Me and Dean have already checked out. We'll be waiting for you in the car when you're ready."

You gathered your belongings together after getting dressed and headed out to the Impala, handing in your keys at the desk after.

"Guys, can we please make a stop at the high school first. I need to say goodbye to Scott." Dean rolled his eyes in the mirror and began to place his foot down harder on the accelerator.

You had texted Scott to tell him you were on your way. He was waiting outside the school when the Impala pulled up. You got out of the car and walked towards him.

"Thank you for stalling them, Y/N. We managed to catch the wolf before they did anymore damage. I'm so sorry I was angry at you, I should be used to things like that by now."

You placed a warm hand on Scott's face which he leaned in to. "You don't have to say sorry. You had a right to be worried, given what you are. So thank you for catching whoever it was before those two got their hands on it."

Scott laughed in response. "So I guess this is goodbye then?" You nodded. "For now, yes. But I'll be back to visit my favourite werewolf."

Scott blushed at this before crashing his lips on yours in a passionate goodbye. After a few seconds, you both parted away from each other. He kissed your hands before you walked away.

"I'll text and call you, OK?" Scott nodded before waving goodbye and heading back into the school.

You slid into the backseat of the car when the brothers turned to face you, smug smiles on their faces.

"Looks like somebody's found someone she likes."

"Just drive you idiot."

You smiled to yourself and began counting down the days you'll be back in Beacon Hills.

[redqueen-hypothesis]

heartsick ➳ lucien (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x lucien xu (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 1706

➳ GENRE: fluff, soft angst

➳ SYNOPSIS: lucien hasn’t been home for a week and you miss him.

It feels like forever since you’ve last seen him.

You consider whether the behavior you’ve adopted has started to toe the line between concerned and downright stalkerish as you find yourself outside your neighbor's door for the third time this week, nervously pacing about the hallway. Then, gathering up your courage, you raise your hand to the door and knock three times.

No reply.

“Is he out again?” You mutter to yourself, confused. This is an entire week he hasn’t been back to his apartment (unless he’s been slinking back and forth the building like a cat burglar in the middle of the night), and you’re honestly starting to get worried about him.

You’ve given up staying awake at night trying to figure if he’s just returning in the ungodly hours of twilight when you’re awake, reminiscing the one time you had tried to play detective with the man and ended up with an upturned sleep cycle for three nights after.

Your handsome neighbor, resident neuro-scientist, the tender helping hand that is always extended to you... you wonder if Lucien is doing okay.

Of course, he had told you that he would be very busy with a new breakthrough in a research project he’d been invested in for a long time, and that he would probably stay over at his research center to focus on his work, but still, it had been a week. Apart from the occasional call and text, you haven’t seen hide nor hair of him... and you’re worried.

Has he been sleeping enough? Has he been eating well? Has he been taking care of himself? Knowing the silly scientist, he probably hasn’t in the least, you think fondly.

With a sigh, you pull your hand away from the door, with no little measure of reluctance. Well, as much as you worry and miss him, you still can’t bring yourself to disturb his work at the research center - surely, he must be buried under a mountain of tasks already, and you have no wish to burden him with your concern.

Looking down at the still warm taiyaki in their paper bags (you had bought them on a whim on your way back from work, hoping that tonight you might finally run into him), you resign yourself to finishing them all on your own and turn around, intending to head back to your own apartment when you bump into someone hard.

With a yelp, you lose your balance, arms flailing and your mind going blank for a second. In that one second, however, a strong but gentle grip wraps around your wrist, pulling you against a firm chest and your nose is immediately flooded by the scent of warm, clean fabric softener.

Gasping in surprise, your face remains pressed against the person who’d caught you, hands steadying you by the arms. Then you feel it, a warm chuckle that you feel vibrating against your cheek, reminiscent of a cat’s purr, and you look up into tender violet eyes with a playfully teasing edge to them.

“Lucien!”

“That’s my name,” he says, unrelentingly holding you close, infallible smile still positioned perfectly in place. He doesn’t look like he has any intentions to move any time soon, completely comfortable right where he is. “And what might you be doing outside my door at this time of the night? Surely you didn’t lose the way to your own unit?”

You stutter, still trying to gather the scattered pieces of your mind that seem to be evading you at the sight of that familiar, gentle smile you’ve missed so much. Act dumb, you find your mind howling at you, and words tumble from your mouth before you can so much as run them past a mental filter.

“I was... feeling unwell! I wanted to see if you were home to give me any advice, that’s all!”

Not that dumb... your rational thought sobs in despair. Lucien’s eyes widen imperceptibly, before they curve beautifully in a smile, like a pair of crescent moons. “Feeling unwell?” He repeats, a distinctively sly note in his voice. One of his hands reaches up to press against your forehead, and you instantly feel heat rushing to your cheeks at the warm touch of his skin on yours. “You do seem like you might be running a hint of a temperature.”

This is all your fault, you want to scream, but end up nodding mutely, unable to say anything without outright exposing your own lie. At your response, Lucien’s smile deepens, and he pulls you closer into his embrace. “Since I don’t have a thermometer, this will have to do.”

Before you can react, Lucien leans down, and then all you see are his eyelashes fluttering along his cheeks, the weight of his forehead pressing against yours, so close, too close!

He barely has time to hum, “hmm, you do feel a little warm-” before you’re springing backwards, mind screaming in several different languages and wondering why you haven’t spontaneously combusted into flames and fireworks yet.

“Professor Lucien!” is all your traitorous mouth allows you to utter in protest, but Lucien’s amused chuckle has you going weak at the knees, warmth blooming in your chest. Stepping forward, as if unwilling to let you wander too far from him, the professor angles your head up with his fingers to look deep into your eyes, smile easy and clearly enjoying himself.

“Your cheeks are flushed. Your pupils are dilated.” He murmurs, the soft lilt of a butterfly’s wings, warm breath ghosting over your ear. “Any more symptoms you have to report to me before I diagnose you, my dear?”

Your head is spinning at his proximity and you feel far too warm on what’s supposed to be a chilly night, but you still manage to croak out something. “Well... it hurts here.” You point at your chest, right over where your heart thumps a ragged beat against your rib cage, your stomach seemingly filled with a million butterflies. “It’s been hurting for a while now.”

At that, Lucien’s eyes widen ever so slightly with a hint of concern, the smile on his face slipping into something more akin to worry. “Your chest? Where does it hurt? How long has it been hurting? Does it fluctuate?”

“Well...” You roll the word on your tongue for a moment, pondering this question thoughtfully. “More specifically, my heart is the one that hurts. It’s like a throbbing ache that keeps lingering and I can’t get rid of it, and it only started about last week. As for fluctuations...” you look back into his gentle gaze, “it's stopped for now.”

Lucien takes a moment to process what you’ve just said before an impossibly tender look comes over his face, as if he sees the entirety of everything precious to him lying in your eyes. With a soft, amused huff, he raises a hand to the back of your head, tucking you against his chest more securely, folding you so tight in his arms you feel like he won’t ever let go.

“Silly girl...” He murmurs into your hair, so gentle and familiar that it nearly brings tears to your eyes. “You don’t need to worry about me, really...”

“That’s not up to you. I missed you.” You finally say the three words you’ve been repeating non stop for the last few lonely days to yourself. The second they leave your lips, it’s as if a suffocating weight has been lifted off your chest. “I missed you so much, Lucien.”

“I made you worry, didn’t I?” There’s a trace of fond self deprecation in his voice as he strokes your hair gently. You nod vigorously, unable to say a word, afraid that your voice might crack. Why are you getting so choked up? “Did you have those nightmares again?”

You nod again, weaker this time. So many times has the same dream repeated itself again and again that it lingers in your mind like an illness that refuses to be cured, poison ivy rooted in your heart. “You were walking down a long, dark hallway, an endless one. I kept chasing after you, but you kept walking even though I called your name so many times, and in the end I lost sight of you. There were times...” you swallow the painful lump that seems to have formed in your throat, watching Lucien’s gentle eyes fixated on you and you alone, “that I knocked on your door, only to get no reply and I thought... that you might never come back.”

Lucien gently swipes away the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes with the pad of his thumb, gaze soft. “Crybaby. Why didn’t you call me? I would have listened, no matter how late or how silly the dream.”

You sniff, rubbing at your own eyes. “I didn’t want to bother you when you were so busy.” When had the tears started to fall? “I wanted you to concentrate on your work so you’d come back to me faster.”

“Silly girl.” He repeats again, bopping you on the nose so affectionately you could cry all over again. “Call me when you want to. Come see me when you want to. You can do whatever you want. Ask me anything, and I’ll give it to you.”

You nod again, wiping the tears from your eyes. The man in front of you, so gentle and tender, would never leave you behind. A warmth, so deep that it nearly burns and consumes you like a white hot flame nestles in your chest, inexorably light. “I want to... eat taiyaki together with you.”

Lucien beams at your request and takes the bag from your hands. “We can do that.”

A few minutes later, your head is resting on Lucien’s shoulder and your feet tucked under a soft woolen blanket as the two of you watch the screening of yet another classic movie, him blowing on your piping hot taiyaki before he feeds you bite sized pieces. And as you fall asleep like that, to the sound of his heartbeat and the tender security of his arms around you, you smile, in the certainty that all those nightmares can’t be anything more than dreams.

[litwitlady]

Send Me Home (1/?)

Read on AO3.

‘The Braves are down to their last at bat, Jeff. And it’s Michael Guerin in the on-deck circle. What’s Ramon’s strategy here? Does he try to jam him up inside or keep firing fastballs and hope Guerin can’t catch up?’

It’s September in Atlanta and the Braves are playing the Marlins. Every game counts as both teams vy for a spot in October baseball. Michael Guerin is a lead candidate for MVP, and he’s always a threat in the bottom of the ninth with two outs and the bases loaded. The sellout crowd roars as his walk-up music begins to play.

I was born to the desert And to the desert I’ll return Sun-soaked and leathered Tattered and tethered Send me home, send me home, send me home

‘Ramon’s got that curveball, Chip. I’m not sure Guerin’s ever met a fastball he couldn’t hit. Especially in the bottom of the ninth. So, I think Ramon starts with the curveball even if that’s exactly what Guerin’s expecting.’

Michael steps into the batter’s box and takes a couple of quick practice swings, eyes wide and watching Ramon’s every move. He squares his hips and lowers his hands on the bat just a touch. It’s an adjustment he’s been working on for the past month or so with great success. Ramon lets loose his first pitch. As expected, it’s a nasty curveball and a pitch Michael has struck out on more than once during his twelve year career. But this time he’s prepared and anticipates perfectly where the bottom of the curve will land. He shoots a laser to shallow right field, and it drops in for a walk-off single. The dugout empties and everyone tackles him as he crosses home plate, one game closer to October.

--------

Later that night, Michael sits on the tailgate of his Chevy, beer in hand and staring up at the stars like so many nights before. Several of the guys had harassed him about going out to celebrate, but he’s not in the mood. He’s never in the mood these days. The winning still feels good and the possibility of the MVP is a dream. But for a long time now, he’s felt like there’s something missing in his life. Something essential, something elusive, something just out of his reach.

The truth is that he’s lonely. It’s a truth he can admit to himself when he’s alone underneath the cosmos watching the stars blink down at him against the wide expanse of space.

There have been relationships along the way. Women he’s dated earnestly. Once upon a time, maybe even a couple he could have loved. When he was younger, there had also been a few men. But none recently. The deeply rooted homophobia of baseball to blame. Mostly anyway. It’s strange now - everyone knows he’s bisexual, a simple Google search is all it takes. But he’s fairly certain baseball collectively decided to ignore his sexuality altogether after he got called up to the majors all those years ago.

He wants to believe he’s not afraid to be seen with men. He tells himself it’s just simpler this way, less complicated. Fewer awkward questions and the focus remaining on his athletic abilities rather than his sex life. Besides, only two major league players have ever come out and they both only did so after they’d retired. He supposes maybe he counts as the third. It’s not the stuff of fairytales, and Michael had learned that lesson during his brief stint in Double-A ball.

That feels like a lifetime ago.

Alex Manes’ new album drifts through the truck’s windows. His low, throaty voice practically purring into Michael’s ears. He’s been a big fan of Alex and his music for several years now. They’re both from New Mexico and the way he sings about the desert rings true enough to Michael that listening to one of his songs sends him right back home. Despite their many issues, he misses his brother and sister so badly sometimes he can barely breathe. Alex’s music reminds him of all the things and all the people he’s left behind - for better or worse. A couple of years ago, he’d had the opportunity to see Alex perform live but he’d turned it down. He still can’t explain why.

The night stretches out before him. Beer and music lulling him into a peaceful sleep until a bright light flashes in his face and startles him awake. He sits up and raises his hands peacefully. ‘Hey, Ernie.’

‘Oh, Mr. Guerin. I didn’t recognize you. What are you still doing here? It’s past midnight.’ He clicks the flashlight off and clips it back onto his belt. ‘Congrats on the walk-off!’

Michael shrugs. ‘Thanks. Didn’t want to go home just yet. Like watching the stars at night. But I haven’t seen you in a while. The grandkids still running circles around you?’

‘You know it! Caleb just turned five and is a holy terror. Michelle is eight going on eighteen. I can barely get a word in edgewise between the two of them.’ His eyes shine even in the darkness, crinkling at the edges.

Michael’s heart aches at Ernie’s easy, simple joy, but he manages a genuine smile thanks to the night’s shadows softening the edges of his jaw. ‘That sounds nice.’ He hops off his tailgate. ‘I’ll get out of your hair. Got an early game anyway. Need to get some sleep.’

‘Well, now, don’t let me chase you off. I don’t mind the company. It gets a little spooky at night. You can always come knock on my door if you ever need anything.’ Ernie opens the Chevy’s door for Michael and shuts it behind him. ‘All these other guys with their flashy sports cars and you in this old rust bucket. You’re a weird one, Mr. Guerin. But I like that about you.’

Michael runs his hands around the cracked steering wheel. ‘Most days this truck is about the closest thing to home I’ve got. There’s still desert dirt in the bed and an engine I rebuilt myself. What the fuck would I do with a Ferrari?’

They both laugh and Michael waves and honks his horn as he pulls out of the player’s lot. The streets are mostly empty, cars keeping to the well-lit interstate at night. He decides to stay on surface roads and take the long way home, radio softly playing old country songs. His thoughts drift to tomorrow’s game and the rookie pitcher the Marlins are starting. His own rookie year had been tough, and he makes a mental note to speak to the kid at some point during the game, ask him how he’s doing and if he’s being treated well.

The streetlights along Peachtree illuminate his path through Brookhaven. He crosses into Atlanta city limits and enters Buckhead just as ‘Lay Me Down’ by Loretta Lynn and Willie Nelson starts to play through his speakers. And all too soon, he turns down his street and opens the cedar gate at the end of his driveway, parking his truck and sitting in the darkness until the song comes to an end.

Climbing out of his truck, he unlocks the front door with his telekinesis, slipping inside quietly and deactivating his alarm system. He’d bought the house in foreclosure, spending most of his money on remodeling the mid-century ranch. It’s not extravagant, but it’s the most expensive thing he owns. He’d even let Isobel fly out to decorate the place within a very strict budget, and he’d had to admit she’d done a great job - one side of his front door Atlanta, the other side New Mexico.

But even so, it has never felt like home.

The first few nights he’d spent in the house had been rough. It was too quiet and too soft and too much. More than once he’d grabbed his ancient, worn sleeping bag and crawled into the bed of his truck. Sleeping hard on the uncomfortable. ribbed metal but beneath the stars he loved so much. The morning dew waking him with the sun each morning.

These days he manages to sleep in bed at night, but only because he’d installed two skylights overhead so that the stars would always be his. And only his. He rarely brings anyone home anymore, preferring their house to his. But when he does, he takes them to a guest bedroom. None of them ever seem to mind how empty the space is or how devoid of personality. Four blank walls and a lone bed filling the room. Why would they? It’s not Michael the foster kid from the desert they’re sleeping with. It’s Michael Guerin the multi-millionaire first baseman with the single-season home run record and the aw-shucks, good boy smile.

Tonight he doesn’t bother turning on any lights. He just pads through the kitchen to grab an apple and a bottle of water, undresses and climbs into bed. He takes a large bite of the granny smith and pulls out his phone, calling Isobel.

‘Congrats on the walk-off!’ He can hear another game in the background. Isobel had never watched a baseball game in her life - including any of his - until the day he’d gotten drafted right out of high school. But now she watches all of them. Or as many of them as possible. Her scouting reports are better than anything stamped official and readily available in the team clubhouse.

‘Thanks. Didn’t really see the ball that well tonight, though. Is Max there?’ It’s stupid to ask when he already knows the answer.

‘Out with Liz. They’ve been inseparable ever since she moved back to Roswell. It’s gross and I miss you.’ The sound on her tv goes silent and he knows she’s settling in for a long conversation. ‘Tell me about tomorrow. Any surprises?’

‘No. New kid on the mound just called up. Got a mean slider. Torres has some pain in his wrist so he’ll be benched.’ Michael finishes his apple in two large bites and guzzles his water, listening to Isobel pound away at her keyboard already deep in research mode. ‘Might get me moved up to the number two slot.’

They spend fifteen minutes strategizing. It’s what they do most nights. Isobel critiquing the numbers based on intuition and her own database of knowledge concerning the human psyche, while he runs statistical analyses and probabilities in his head faster than humanly possible. Michael suggests more than once that she’d make a great scout and that maybe when he retires they can go into business together. He’s told her this a million times, but she only laughs him off and reminds him that she already has a job.

‘A worthless job that doesn’t pay you what you deserve.’ He reaches for the tv remote on his nightstand but can’t find it. Not that it matters. He switches the television on with his mind and nods his head through the channels, stopping on an old western and muting the volume.

‘Philanthropy is not worthless, Michael!’ She sighs loudly to punctuate her exasperation. ‘And my salary is not the point - the point is helping people. Besides, I have all of Noah’s money and can negotiate more pay any time I choose.’

That he believes. ‘How’d your date go last night?’ Asking Isobel about her date absolutely means she’ll push him to share something just as personal. But it was her first official date with a woman and he genuinely wants to know how it went. No matter the price he’ll pay.

‘Really, really, really well.’ He can hear the grin in her voice and it makes him smile. ‘She’s a cardiologist and very good with her hands. Valenti makes a pretty superb matchmaker. Maybe I’ll ship him your way because you could certainly use the help.’

Michael rolls his eyes and fakes a groan. ‘You can keep Valenti. Don’t you think it’s weird to have your ex setting you up on dates? Do you really think he’s the best judge of character?’

‘Kyle knows me better than most. He was my first relationship after Noah and he put up with a lot. I trust him implicitly with my heart and yours. Plus, I was the one who broke up with him.’

‘My heart is fine, thanks.’ He lies smoothly and knows exactly how she’s going to respond.

‘I can’t stand the thought of you all the way across the country in that foreign place with no one to go home to at night.’

He snorts. ‘It’s called Georgia, Iz. And I’m not home enough for a relationship to work right now.’

‘Half the guys on your team - on any team! - are married. So that’s a pisspoor excuse. You keep pushing everyone away. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I know you, Michael. As soon as you start to feel something, the doors slam shut and you become another stereotypical lonewolf cowboy.’ Her voice is loud now, vehement and self-righteous. They’ve reenacted this scene so many times it feels very paint by number at this point. ‘I hardly ever hear a smile in your voice anymore.’

She’s right and she knows it. He used to love dating, meeting new people. First kisses and first fucks. Last kisses and farewell fucks. He lived for those moments and now he hardly ever looks anyone in the eye. ‘We have this conversation at least once a month. And nothing has changed. It’s too hard right now, Iz. I’m too known to ever really be known. Not the way I would want to be. Not in any way that I would trust.’

There’s no use arguing so they move on to easier topics. Max and LIz’s ongoing romance, details of Isobel’s date, Maria’s remodel of the Pony thanks to a very generous anonymous donation. Every word out of her mouth squeezes his heart a little bit tighter until it’s too much and he says goodnight.

Flipping onto his side, he reaches his arm out to the other side of the bed, running his hand over the cold, unwrinkled sheet. His eyes land on the empty pillow no head ever touches and tries to imagine a face looking back at him. A face that might smile suggestively or quietly murmur goodnight. But he’s unable to conjure anything beyond a blank, shapeless outline. It makes him feel pathetic so he yanks the pillow underneath his own head and forces his eyes shut, trying in vain to quiet his mind. Despite his best efforts, sleep takes its sweet time finding him.

The next morning he’s exhausted but gets to the field early. He’d woken up to a cryptic message from Isobel. There’s a surprise waiting for you after the game! Stick around this time, Michael. Don’t make me get on a plane. He’s sure that can’t mean anything good, but he attempts to put it out of his mind for now.

The ballpark is already bustling with activity. Michael heads into the clubhouse to change. He stops and asks Stan, their hitting coach, for some extra work before the rest of the team arrives. He’s worried about how he’s been shifting his wrists recently and wants someone else’s opinion. The adjustments he’d made last night seem to be working, but he’s worried about straining a muscle or tweaking the wrong tendon. Two of his teammates are already on the IL with wrist pain. He doesn’t want to be next, especially with the postseason race and his run at MVP on the line.

Michael finds Danny Marks asleep in one of the clubhouse’s leather chairs. He swats him on the head on the way to his locker, laughing at Danny’s loud yelp. ‘Fuck, man, you’re always asleep. How did you manage to stay awake on the mound long enough to put together two Cy Young seasons?’

‘Talent, Guerin. Talent. You should try it sometime. Maybe then you’ll win MVP.’ Danny yawns and stretches his arms over his head. Michael glares at him. ‘Don’t worry. You’re still the favorite. Our very own diamond darling. No one else is getting their own personal concert any time soon.’

‘What?’ He sits on the chair at his locker, blinking at Danny in confusion. ‘Personal concert?’ Isobel’s strange text message flashes through his head again while he inwardly groans.

‘Oh, yeah.’ Danny grins and crosses his ankles on the table in front of him, brashly enjoying the way Michael squirms. ‘Alex Manes is traveling down from Nashville just for you - baseball’s most beloved first baseman.’ He throws a toy football at Michael’s head, chuckling when it bounces off his curls. ‘He’s not bad looking, you know.’

‘Stop.’ Danny is Michael’s best friend on the team and the only one he feels comfortable enough to have this conversation with. ‘Whose idea was this? Did Isobel do something? Or was this you?’

Michael doesn’t want this. Not at all. And he can’t exactly explain why. Music is personal to him - profoundly personal. Always has been since he was nothing but an unloved kid trapped in various violent foster homes. It was music that had kept him warm at night and music that had loved him best. The only escape available to him during most of his darkest hours.

Over the years, there have been many artists he’s considered favorites. Most of them old country crooners or folk song heroes. Much like Alex Manes. But with Alex, it’s something more. Something he has a hard time vocalizing. They are both from New Mexico. Both spent a chunk of their formative years in Roswell. Michael has read or watched multiple interviews with Alex where he’s alluded heavily to an abusive father. His lyrics certainly do the same. Lots of kids grow up that way - Michael knows he’s not alone in that particular fate - but the way Alex puts that pain to music settles something inside his chest that has never been settled before.

So the thought of meeting Alex worries Michael. They say don’t meet your heroes for a reason. In his head, Alex represents a sense of safety, a sense of home. What happens when they meet and that’s taken from him? Because maybe Alex is a liar. Or maybe he’s a dick. Either possibility is very real. He’s also a vet, and Michael hates, hates, hates the military. And he doesn’t want to hate Alex. Doesn’t want to lose his music. Cannot emotionally afford to lose his music if he’s being honest.

‘Isobel apparently knows someone who knows someone who knows someone. I just didn’t try and stop her. Or Lena.’ Danny’s wife is Isobel’s favorite human. It’s the worst thing that’s happened to Michael since meeting Danny. The two of them have done nothing but make his life one unasked for surprise after another. ‘Besides, even if you hate it, the team could really use some fun before heading into the postseason. Some good old-fashioned team bonding, my friend. And this time, you don’t get to run away. The guys need to see their captain smile every once in a while.’

Michael sighs and changes into his warmups. Danny’s phone rings and he grins one last time at Michael before disappearing for some privacy. Michael decides to push Alex Manes to the back of his mind and concentrate on the game ahead of him. Stan is waiting, anyway. So he’ll focus on his wrists for now and worry about everything else later. The one thing he does do, however, is pull out his phone and send Isobel a very pointed text.

You should have gotten my permission first.

Isobel’s text response is nothing but the angel halo emoji. Michael wishes his telekinesis was strong enough to travel across state lines because he’d like to throw her phone into the wall. Since that option is not available to him, he sends Max a text instead.

Your sister is a menace.

He pockets his phone, not bothering to wait on an answer. Max tends to be too busy these days. Not that that’s anything new really. Unless your name is Liz Ortecho or Isobel Evans, he doesn’t have much time for you.

The morning stretches by as gametime approaches. Batting practice goes well and Michael works with Stan on keeping his wrists from turning too much when he swings. His teammates have all found out about the concert by the time the first pitch is thrown and none of them will let him forget it. Each time his walk-up music begins to play, Danny leads a small group of particularly bad vocalists in a sing-a-long. All of them belting out the lyrics at the top of their lungs. Michael tries to keep the stupid grin off his face and almost suceeds.

He won’t admit it, but he actually begins to get excited. Doesn’t even mind when Max only ends up responding with a snarky text.

Try living less than five miles from her.

He’d give anything to live five miles from Isobel. Michael loves his teammates. He really does. Atlanta has one of the best team dynamics in baseball. Maybe the best. They support each other, love one another, and when they say family, they mean it. Team dinners and family outings are normal even during the off season. Michael doesn’t avoid spending time with them because he dislikes anyone - although there have been various tiffs in the past but nothing long lasting. He avoids them because he loves them enough to let his mouth loosen too much, all his secrets threatening to tumble out with no regard for his safety or the safety of his siblings.

He knows this because it has happened on more than one occasion. Years ago during his rookie years when living hard and drinker harder were his nightly norm. On any given night you’d find him at the bar, four fingers deep into a bottle of bourbon, mouthing off about moving things with his mind. It wasn’t the booze talking; it was his loneliness. The throbbing homesick ache in his chest that only Max and Isobel could smooth away. Once he knew his teammates were shitfaced, he’d let some little comment slip about his abilities. Half of them never paid any attention to the things he said and the other half merely laughed at him.

He’d told Isobel one night about the things he said and she’d yelled at him solidly for an hour. The next day he’d gotten a nasty phone call from Max and has kept his mouth shut ever since that conversation.

Keeping their secret is important. Michael understands that, but the lying exhausts him. He loves Danny and hates that the most important part of himself Danny and Lena can never know. He loves his other teammates, and he doesn’t want to hide this huge part of himself from them forever. The lying has always made him feel unclean - distant and deceptive. Back in Roswell, it had been easier. He hadn’t had many friends and the people closest to him shared the same secret. But now, the people he sees every single day aren’t allowed to know the real him. It breaks his heart in a way he could never have anticipated, making him feel truly alien.

Michael and Isobel had jumped through enormous hoops to keep his DNA secret from team doctors and drug testers. It’s the only reason he’d ever agreed to her mind influence.

A major league baseball player cannot have telekinetic superpowers, alien or not. The cheating accusations would be immediate and relentless - his career over and his name shamed forever. Regardless of the fact that he would never dream of cheating to advance his career. Besides, he’s self-aware enough - or perhaps cocky enough - to understand that his level of talent doesn’t require any telekinetic assistance. Michael Guerin is just that fucking good.

During his last at bat in the eighth inning, Alex Manes’ face flashes on the digital scoreboard high above centerfield advertising the aftergame concert. Michael concentrates on keeping his wrists tight and imagines that Alex is somewhere in the stadium watching him. He swings at the first pitch - a fastball left too high over the plate - and knows he’s gotten every piece of it by the cracking sound his bat makes. He starts a slow run to first base and watches the ball sail over the leftfield wall. With his signature two claps, he rounds first and enjoys the cheering crowd chanting his name. Stepping on the bag at home plate, his eyes glance back up at the scoreboard, but Alex’s face has disappeared. And suddenly his nerves have returned tenfold at the realization that soon he’ll be face to face with a man he has no idea how to talk to - what to say or even if he’ll get a chance to say anything at all.

Despite the cheers and happy butt slaps from his teammates, the pit in Michael’s stomach stretches wide. In the clubhouse, he checks his phone again and one last final message from Isobel lights up his screen.

He wants to meet you first.

[aggresivelyfriendly]

‘Tis the Damn Season- Chapter 2

Winter Wonderland

Hello loveys! Here is chapter two, a new year, a new world, a new Harry video! Thank you to @dirtystyles for fixing my tenses, which I promptly messed up by revising and adding. All remaining mistakes are mine.

Happy reading- reblogs are love!

Emma was annoyed before she even caught her flight, but she loved airports, so she got lost in watching the peculiar things people did in the there to sublimate what was probably just anxiety. She'd once watched a boys' trip, maybe a bachelor party, get on a plane and begin toasting at 5:30 am. The groom had almost bought the whole plane a round, but one of his mates had stopped him. She assumed this wasn't his first beer of the day, but maybe it was the last of the night before?

People acted different in airports.

That had been her first flight to Holland. When she went to her interview at Wageningen University and Research Center. She really needed to impress, she'd pressed her outfit more than she had ironed anything since she'd been taught to do it. This was her dream school and the climate research they did was groundbreaking and she wanted to be part of it so much that she was willing to do whatever it took. Beyond the heavy course load she could expect during the regular school years, the top students got amazing summer work or internships. She'd promised herself she would not be going home for breaks for some time. Honestly she was just fine with that. There wasn't much left for her in Holmes Chapel.

There wasn't much in Holmes Chapel at all.

She'd wanted to move from the little village the minute they'd moved there when she was eleven. Sure it was cute, picturesque and maybe something out of a Jane Austen novel, but Emma did not read much Pride and Prejudice. Though she definitely had seen Mr. Darcy come out of the pond. Honestly, she was more of a nonfiction girl, and she like investigative reporting. She'd missed London pretty much immediately and begged to go back for months. It was a time in her life she would have called the absolute worst, until it became the foundation for the best years. Emma made really good, motivated friends. Big dreams were common in little Holmes Chapel, so Emma fit right in. It may have never felt like home exactly, but she made a home of those friends.

Gemma was one of them. She had done her share of Austen reading. Reading in general, and she had the sweetest family. Her little brother Harry was so nice to their mum, though he loved nothing more than bugging Gemma. Like all little brothers. She'd heard at least, Emma was an only child.

All her parents' hopes and dreams rested right on her shoulders.

But theirs weren't nearly so weighty as her own. Even then she knew she was going to save the planet, or at the very least reduce the number of climate refugees.

Now, after two summers in Reykjavik, she was more into sustainable energy and zero waste production, but she was still trying to change the climate game.

She would really rather be going back to Iceland now. A friend had invited her to see the Northern Lights. They were most active in the winter and she'd only caught glimpses of them during her summer internships. It may have been the experience of a lifetime.

But her mother had laid on a major guilt trip. Emma hadn't been back to little Holmes Chapel in two years. She'd come home that first Christmas because she was tired, overwhelmed, still adjusting to her school schedule, and a little homesick. Her mother told her so. She'd even skipped the Twist's Christmas party, which was the shindig of the season. She'd slept right through it, and only seen Gemma at the pub later. She hadn't been up for company, but Gemma was family.

This year? After a year's absence, she'd be going. And she'd receive the hometown-hero-returns treatment. Though she was sure her reception at the airport would consist of her mum with a single sign. When she did make it to the pub, she might see a few friendly faces besides Gemma. Last time? Since she'd missed the party, she didn't have anything to contribute to the discussion. She'd just listened to everybody else rehash it. Normally, that would be fine, but she already felt removed, and had always felt a bit like a screw among nails in Holmes Chapel, so she was determined to go to the party this year. She had all kinds of plans, how many hours she'd socialize, rest, and read.

The flight was easy at least, and the train up to Manc doubly so. She liked to sleep on trains, something about the rocking, and she resumed her old habit of sleeping wrapped around her backpack.

"Welcome home, love!" Her mother shouted and Emma actually got a little misty, just like her Mum. Maybe she should try to get home more than once a year, but there's just so much she wants to accomplish. She even had a list. All the things she wanted to do before she turned thirty. It's been revised of course, she'd not unrealistic. Once the list is complete, she can have a life outside her ambitions, like a real boyfriend.

There's not much time for anything but hook-ups for the next ten years., and Emma was ok with that.

Up til now. She might need another pass at her bullet points, or to at least read her goals again when she got to the Twist's new brick beauty of a house. Harry had bought his mum a new home, one not watched as closely by his obsessive fans. They hadn't found this one yet.

Emma could see why they followed him around so, and why some people risked it all for a certain face. His face, his very famous, gorgeous face.

It was so weird that Harry wasn't just Gemma's little brother who grew up cute anymore. His music wasn't really her style, though some of the songs were catchy and Emma did like his latest album. She caught herself humming about life stories long after she heard it, and she seemed to hear his latest single playing in lots of shops and restaurants, even in Holland.

At the party, she also found herself in the same room as Harry more often than she can find an excuse for. Her eyes also seemed to find him a lot, she knew because of how many times she had to whip her head away quickly. As a tactic, that didn't work because he was always either already looking at her,or he immediately turned like he knews where she was. Maybe her gaze had weight, or she was as subtle as an axe.

When he smirked at her the tenth time their eyes lit upon each other, she choked on her wine.

What the fuck?

She'd finally got herself calmed from that little encounter. Mostly because she left the room to find a loo. The water she splashed on her face was cold and woke her up. "What are you doing, girl?" Emma asked her reflection but found that she couldn't help but smile at herself, and bite her lip. The flush on her cheeks was lovely; she could blame the wine, everyones favorite excuse.

An hour later she was pleasantly tipsy, the kind of buzz you could maintain and still wake up the next day not regretting, and she'd gone to the kitchen to grab another glass to nurse her merry state. "Be right back. We need another round!" She was calling back to Gemma when she bumped into a tall lanky body. She caught his hips with one hand and found them with just enough give to grip. "Oof!" She exclaimed before looking up to see how much damage her wine had done. Good thing she drank white, there was a growing spot ok his sweater. Wait a second! Then she coasted her head up the lovely lilac sweater toward his face. "That's my sweater." She said first off, bopping his chin.

"Um, no, mine now." Oh, his voice was adorably thick with drink too. "You give it to Gem or something?"

What was he talking about? Her eyes stayed with his and she was kinda trapped in his greens when she realized he meant the sweater. She had, right. "I'm yeah, years ago. Was my favorite and we shared it a lot. I decided she should have it before I moved. And I guess she decided you should have it when you moved. Though I expect your life change was a little different than mine. Yours was like overnight and mine a life long plan, and oh my god, Emma stop talking." She would have kept rambling except, well, he kissed her, right on the mouth and held his overfilled lips to her own. No, overfilled wasn't true. They were full, but not crazy big, they just were so plump at the edges. God, when had she thought about Harry's lips so much.

Right now, as much as she could think of anything, it was Harry's lips. She'd relaxed into his rhythm and was following his lead when her free hand took on a mind of its own and coasted from his hips up his back and into his hair. He groaned a little before he disengaged and then chuckled.

"Well," he said as the offending hand went to her mouth. Maybe she did need to stop drinking. That was bold, unlike her, and strange. But wait! What just happened? Why did he kiss her?.

"Huh?"

"I think that beat my last mistletoe kiss and I'd convinced myself that was impossible!" He was giving her a knowing look, like a wink in his smile. Did he kiss somebody else tonight? She looked up at him and tried not to be annoyed, or feel jealous, or focus on the shape of his mouth, still a little wet from her kiss. Was he just hanging out by the mistletoe like a weirdo? Seemed odd for a bloke people were lining up to meet, let alone kiss.

"Why'd you do that?" She found her voice to ask. It was rusty, like she hadn't just been laughing and talking for hours with people she'd forgotten how much she enjoyed.

"You bumped into me under the mistletoe. I assumed you wanted me to." Well, she did while he was kissing her, but now he was being a bit of an ass.

"Um, you were just in the way..."

"Well, I'll have to find myself in your path as often as possible then." Ok, that was cute, a bit cocky, like the smirk on his face. Then his face flushed and his dimples were so deep and she decided that shift, from smirky pop star to hometown mumma's boy was the best quick change she had ever seen. "Ah, see, that got you to smile!" He bopped her nose and she knew her own dimple pressed in even further.

"Nah, you're a little shit, but I like your smile. Especially when you blush." The color he turned then made her laugh out loud. She felt drunk when she realized how long they'd been staring at each other grinning. She was counting her drinks a second later when he caught her off guard again.

"Where'd you just go?"

"Wha'?" Oh boy, she'd dropped her t, she was really home now.

"We were having a moment." He motioned between their faces. "Then you went in your head. Lost your attention, didn't like it at all."

Then he caught her hand, their fingers entwined together like their lips moments before. It was hot in there. Emma shook her head and glanced around, but she didn't untangle them. She looked at her boots and felt shy. But Emma wasn't shy, Harry used to be shy, though now he was bolder than her, apparently.

"Listen," he started and she looked up to his eyes again. When had they gotten so attractive? What had gone on with him in the last couple years? Other than the international superstardom she supposed, but he'd grown into himself, like expanded his skin and presence. He was cute, but all she could think was that the end of puberty was rarely so damn kind. His fingers even seemed attractive, long and slim and she was imagining him playing piano, but then the instrument was her body, and damn, she was in her head again. She could feel that her eyes widened comically. She knew her pupils were blown. When was the last time she'd gotten laid? Apparently too long if holding hands had her imagining unspeakable things and holding in moans.

He smirked then, she guessed he knew where she went then. "Listen," he leaned in close and she nodded, their noses brushed. He exhaled and her lips tingled. "Where are you staying?"

"Huh?" She wasn't sure what she'd expected him to say, but that wasn't it.

He giggled, and it was cute enough that Emma felt a splash of awareness hit her face. She looked around to see if anybody saw them flirting if she could disengage her gaze. "Are you at your parents?"

"Oh, um yeah?"

"Are you sure?" He laughed then and the brush of his thumb across the back of her hand was warmer than the mulled wine in her belly.

"No, I'm sure, just not sure why you are asking." She nudged him and realized a bit too late that her nipples touched him first, she was only half sorry this top meant no bra when she felt the friction.

It was his eyes' turn to widen. "Um," he exhaled and she missed his eyes when he quickly glanced down her dress like there might be a cookie there and then up quickly like he remembered he wasn't supposed to have any sweets. "Ok, um," he said after he visibly took hold of himself, "I was just hoping you had a room above the pub or something."

She knew her face called him idiot better than her mouth could.

He rolled his eyes, "I know, it was a shot in the dark!"

"Did you expect me to slide you my room key if I did?" Emma flashed her eyebrows like she wasn't imagining him finger fucking her with his piano hands a moment ago. "Isn't that your move?" She teased, kind of. She imagined he knew his way around hotel rooms, and women in them.

"Heeeey," he was being cute but the corners of his eyes dropped a moment and the green dulled. "It's not like that."

Emma scoffed.

"Well, I mean," his other hand found hers and now if anyone was watching them they were getting a show. "If it was like that, I wouldn't say no, but just want to hear about Holland, seems so amazing, and where you are in the summers..."

She could see him racking his brain.

"Iceland." They said together. And then giggled together too.

"You been keeping tabs on me?" She leaned forward and enjoyed the brush of him on her again. He shivered.

"Yeah, always admired you." He looked at her through his lashes. "I'd like to hear more reasons you're the most impressive person I've ever met."

"But I don't have a place." She reminded him.

"If I got one?"

"What?" She thought she knew what he was asking, but she wanted a minute to think about her answer, to quiet the resounding YES that echoed in her body and her mind. Because he might have said it wasn't like that, but they were chest to chest and had been holding hands since they kissed moments ago.

He looks down chagrined at his pigeon toes, before his gaze lit on their hands, then her face. "If I got a room at the Vicarage? Would you come with me? Really! We can really just talk." He assured and then the cocky boy who found his stride in hotel room assignations showed out, "if you want." Those dimples were deadly.

"Can it be the Boar's Head?" She knew she'd showed her cards, by asking for a room the town over.

He nodded and grinned like he'd just hit the hotpicks. "It can be the Boar's Head." He nodded like a dashboard bobble head. "I have to make nice here a bit longer, but I'll call now, and put your name on, so you can go when you're ready."

They'd been standing close for just a few more seconds when Gemma said- "Harry! Get off. God you are such a flirt!" But she was in her cups too, so they laughed it off.

The next hour, Emma stayed near Gem, but her eyes tracked Harry. Once, he came by and stole a sip of Gem's cocktail off her and Emma was glad her friend's ire distracted her, because Emma was watching him giggle like a fiend and the contraction of his throat. When their eyes met, she knew hers made a promise. One she wanted to keep.

So now she was alone in a couple of quaint rooms a town over, waiting to have sex with Gemma's little brother, Harry Styles.

She was torn, half of her wanted to open the bottle she'd swiped from the alcohol table at the party. The other half wanted to call an Uber and go back to her parents' house, where she should have stopped and grabbed some clothes so she wouldn't have to do the walk of shame.

But getting clothes would have meant forethought; she will deny that, especially to herself.

Emma had just opened the uber app and cursed their rural area when she heard a key in the lock.

Like a gun at the races.

They were never going to just talk. She'd just dropped her phone on the couch before Harry laid the first kiss on her.

The first kiss she planned to really remember, that is. Their mistletoe kiss had caught her off guard enough that she could only remember the feelings, not the details.

Yet, she was here, kissing him in a rented room after sneaking out of his mum's Christmas Eve party, on the strength of those feelings.

The kiss started strong and sweet, just like she takes her tea. He didn't taste like tea, he tasted like wine, Merlot maybe, but it could have been any red. And his tongue had this delicious slither to couple with its intoxicating flavor. She was in for a penny when she rode over here, but now there was no way she was going anywhere but to bed with him, no matter how pound foolish. He was nipping at her bottom lip and mouthing at her jaw before he sucked an almost mark into her collarbone and love bites onto the sides of her neck. He was just about to hit a particular sweet spot while working off her clothes, his hands were at her zipper. The cheeky boy, and she felt like they should at least hit pause even if stop was off the table.

"Harry," she moaned, or breathed, it was a sound she'd never made before.

"Hmmm?" He asked without stopping any of his forward momentum.

"I thought we were gonna talk." That one was like a laugh, there was a trill in her voice certainly.

"We'll talk afterwards." He said it like a statement, but looked to her for confirmation. At her nod, her skirt dropped and his hands were all over her bare ass above the stockings she'd worn to feel sexy but hadn't expected anyone to see. She normally would have worn tights. Thick ones, certainly, in Amsterdam. It would have been smarter here too. It was at least as cold. She'd been feeling that mix of confidence and self consciousness one gets when seeing people from your past when you think you've leveled up. She wanted to feel her best, look her best. Sexy, even if no one was interested. She's thankful, both for his interest and her unintended preparation. When he caught the sides of her knickers while her shirt and bra were as untouched as his clothes, she figured she needed to get with it. She'd been clutching his shoulders and his gorgeous hair instead of doing anything of use to their current pursuit.

Emma pulled at his shirt until it came over his messed up disheveled hair and laughed at the hodge podge of black ink haphazardly spread over his torso and one arm. "What's this then?" She said between licks of his tongue.

"After, we talk after!" He'd gotten her shirt unwrapped. She liked that detail of the shirt too, a sexy secret, like her matching bra. He pulled back to stare and was distracted long enough for her to give him another look over. He does look sexy in his decorated skin.

"What do they mean?" She liked things to make sense, her world was ordered, scientific.

Harry shrugged. "Lots of different things. Or nothing. Now can we please go to bed and we can discuss my stupid tattoos after I've had you."

"Oh fuck,'' was all she could say to that. He smirked and hoisted her up his hips to carry her through the open frame to the bedroom. He pulled her knickers free as soon as she was done bouncing.

She'd just about caught her breath when she saw him go for the button of his jeans. She lost it again when his thick bulge became visible and he pushed his tight jeans forcibly down his thighs. "Damn!" She looked at him with a glint.

He mounted the bed and spread her open, kissed her right knee over her stocking, which he seemed intent in keeping on, and looked pointedly at her center. She was swollen, his eye contact with the evidence didn't help. "Damn!" He echoed and she would have laughed but Harry, Gemma's sexy little brother, was kissing up her right thigh, with just a few licks and nips to her hip creases and so damn close to where she wanted him before he was testing the fuck out of her by kissing and licking and loving her left thigh. Ignoring her desperate need.

"Fuck, Harry. Please." She'd got the bedspread balled in her hands and she would normally have removed that before considering getting into the bed but she was also usually in pajamas and alone.

The filthy things he was saying were way worse than whatever could have been on the bedspread. Though she enjoyed them a great deal more, and it made her happy to have taken off everything already.

Harry had finally gotten to the main course. Only After her begging got loud enough to be heard by the room next door and the innkeeper, she won't make eye contact with anyone tomorrow. Maybe not even Harry, if he stayed. Emma had his full attention now, she could learn about all the things his mouth could do. The wet flat of his tongue caressed her like she was a bit of deliciousness and sunk down to find her creamy center.

"Fuck!" She yelped when he sealed his mouth over her for a tight suck and rub until she was rolling and writhing and fighting against the arms banded around her thighs. He laid one across her belly to hold her down.

"Do you like that?" He kept going because her answer was obviously yes. When the arm not restraining her passion made its piano fingered way between her thighs to do the thing she'd imagined earlier, sliding in tightly where she was wet and wanting, she clenched down on his three fingers and said his name.

He slid up her body and reached for the condom, but Emma had gotten her head back around to stop him before he got it on. She hated the taste of rubbers, and she'd like to know his flavor first. "Wait." She leaned forward between his legs and stroked him base to tip. He really was well favored, and not just from the neck up. She pressed his length to his stomach and licked the seam from his balls around and up to his head before she got a mouthful of him. Now he was her dessert. She didn't even think to try the pies and things at the party, she had been so preoccupied with the taste she'd had of him. It was but an appetizer for this. He leaked on her tongue and she moaned and hummed.

"Jesus! Emma! Stop, I'm gonna!" He pushed her back. And she was a little mad he'd taken away her sweetie. "Enough. I'd like to get inside you."

That was a suggestion she could take. So, she lay back and thought of anything but England while he stroked his skinned cock and spat over the tip. God. The way his stomach flexed caused an aftershock to recapture her. "Harry?" His name a plea. His knees hit the bed and her heels pressed him toward her, toward them.

"God, I've never seen you like this!" She'd have to ask him what he meant by that, later. Then he nodded, using his thumb to press his cock head inside the tight ring of muscle at the top of her entrance. Except he was a little low.

"Uhh!" She glanced down and grabbed him to redirect. "Wrong one." She tried not to laugh.

"Sorry, might be a touch too eager." He confessed: She's now laughing, openly. "Hey! It may have went right in, as wet as you are?"

Now she'd be indignant if he wasn't so ridiculous. "Are you really complaining about how wet my pussy is?"

"No, no, that would make me an idiot right?" He asked and found the right spot to start pushing in.

This was always her favorite part, and since this was her favorite fuck already, she knew the pop when he got the lip of his head in would be enough to begin her tip over the edge.

She moaned even before he caught the exact right angle to square her desire and she clutched his back and lifted her bottom to chase his withdrawal. "It would, god, you're perfect, an idiot."

"Oh God, Em!" She liked that. And the kisses to her mouth and chin and neck. Messy and wet and out of control. He'd gone from deliberate and self possessed to a man overcome as he rolled his hips up and into her and against that delicious place inside.

"Harry, don't stop. I'm close." Her head fell back when he slowed down just enough to draw out her orgasm, bring it to the surface and ride it home. He stroked her through and then brought his hands under her ass to lift her pelvis up to his driving thrusts, more deliberate and direct than the ones he used to get her off. She watched his face scrunch, and then open, his jaw down and his eyes closed until he smiled and licked his lips.

It's that face she decided she wanted to see as much as she could.

And she did, it was made better when he bit his lip and laughed. "Am I a perfect idiot then?"

She was blissed out and couldn't stop herself saying, "no you're an idiot with a perfect cock!" He was just pulling out of her then, and she was so embarrassed when he stood up to tie off the condom and preened.

"Am I now?"

She was the idiot. "I'll Pay you to forget I said that!" Emma wants to scurry to the bathroom and get out of here. She's already feeling shame, may as well get the walk over with.

"I don't need any money." He's laughing now. Shes scooting to the restroom when he catches her hands and holds her close. "Where are you going. You owe me, you're gonna pay me in conversation."

Wait, he still wants to talk, even after they've done what they came to do. "Ok." Shes still a little embarrassed and pulling away.

"No, no, stay and talk, come back to bed and tell me about my perfect co—" she's clamping her hand over his mouth.

"Only if you shut up, and I have to have a wee first."

"After!" He begged. "I wanna hear about school and everything. What exactly you're doing to save the world."

"I'll tell you, I have to go after, prevents uti's and such." She hated being clinical, well right now.

"It does?" He asked and she nodded. "That's good to know."

She wants to be embarrassed, but his ease when she comes back from washing up, the way he is still naked and opens his arms to her, helping her find the right spot on top of him where they are both comfortable, it makes her less self conscious, about her little factoid, her nudity, or that she's essentially slept with him right off.

She sighs and is about to ask about the giant butterfly, moth, when he speaks. "Tell me about Holland, about school." His voice is like molasses, and her words come out as slow.

"It lovely, and school is so hard, some times I might as well move onto campus, live in the library-"

"You don't live on campus?" She shakes her head. "Do you ride your bike into town?"

"Yes, I do."

"Oh, you must send me a picture of you on your bike. In a dress." He wants to text.

"Then I want updates on any stupid tattoos you get!" She counters.

"You think my tattoos are stupid?" He pouts, and she's captivated by that face.

"Very." She kissed both sparrows beaks. "But their also sexy."

He likes that, his dimples say so. Then he asks about Iceland and they talk for an hour or more before she's over him, swallowing his moans. They have another go in the morning before leaving, he's hard to convince that she'll be fine with an Uber. If he drives her, it'll blow their cover.

She wound up in his suv anyway.

For the next week they snuck out to warm up the backseat of his Range Rover, her mother's kitchen counter, his childhood bedroom, and then the inn again the night before she left. Just for a few hours, she'd told her mum she was going to the pub to say goodbye to mates.

Their goodbye meant his face remained her go-to for the next year whenever she was alone in her room, at night, missing him.

"Can I have you again, next year? For Christmas?" He'd asked.

Who could say no to that?

She faced those plans unafraid, the ones they made, for the whole next year.

[shining-red-diamond]

Part VIII

Words: 1.3k

Pairing: Hendery x Brittany (OC)

Genre: Fluff, angst, suggestive

Rating: PG-15

Warnings: implied smut, mentions of marking and bleeding, mentions of possible pregnancy

“I think the pink suits him,” YangYang commented as he finished the roof on the last tower of his sandcastle.

“Does it?” Hendery asked, his fingers playing with a couple strands of hair.

“You look like strawberry ice cream,” Brittany complimented.

The couple had decided to visit the sirens a few days later, and they hoped to get some answers in terms of Hendery’s maternal side. His hair had started to fade a little, the roots now displaying their natural jet black color.

“Hair color varies among merfolk when they’ve been intimate for the first time,” Kun explained. “However, males typically have green or blue hair. Sometimes purple, depending on their DNA; but pink hair?”

Brittany’s smile became a worried frown. “Is it a bad sign?” she asked, not knowing if Hendery was ill or dying.

“No,” Kun chuckled. “It’s just nobody has seen a merman have pink hair before after intimacy. I’m sure it’s happened before, but there’s no record of it.”

“Well,” Brittany shrugged as she looked back at Hendery, “he is different.”

Ten thought for a moment. He and Kun were the brains of the sirens, so they knew their history of other creatures well. They had to know which creature would match part of Hendery’s DNA.

“It could be that his mother was not a mermaid,” Ten suggested.

“Hendery is aware,” the merman nodded.

“I mean, I think I have a few ideas of who your mother’s species is.”

“Which are?” Brittany asked.

“Well,” Ten scratched his head, “either his mom was an actual shark, or a shark-like creature.”

Brittany hoped it was the latter, otherwise, Hendery might be acting like an animal.

“How about this,” she suggested, “you guys can ask around, and we’ll take to Internet research to figure things out. That way, we can narrow down beings and pinpoint Hendery’s bloodline.”

“Deal,” Ten agreed. “Meet you two back here in a week?”

“Done.”

The sirens waved the couple goodbye before diving off to start their mission, the sandcastle left to be eventually washed away as the day went on.

Once the couple had returned home and dried off, Brittany got her laptop and began some heavy Googling. Now that Hendery was able to write, he could jot down everything they could find. For about an hour, Brittany typed in numerous keywords into the search bar, and millions of articles would pop up. They were able to narrow down to more shark creatures, but they still couldn’t quite pinpoint what they were looking for. The only two that seemed to match was a creature known in Native Hawaiian mythology and a species known as the Karcharo.

“That’s not something you see in mythology books,” Brittany commented.

“Hendery has never heard of them, either,” he shook his head in confusion.

“All it says here is that they look like mermaids but have sharklike characteristics. Sharp teeth, gills, a couple fins, dark eyes, things like that.”

“Are they gentle?”

Brittany shrugged. “Doesn’t say.”

“Maybe the sirens will know.”

Closing her laptop, she set it on the coffee table and snuggled up to Hendery. His arm wrapped around her shoulder, and his fingers traced the area where her future mark would be.

“At least we have something to go off of when we report to them next week,” Brittany sighed. “A few pieces of the puzzle are still missing, but we have sort of a basis.”

Hendery nodded in agreement. He couldn’t stop staring at her, and he couldn’t hardly pay attention to what she was saying. Her beauty distracted him, but it was a good distraction.

“Hendery has something for Brittany,” he remembered.

“What is it?” she asked as she lifted her head to look at him.

Her lover’s hand fished around his shorts pocket and pulled out a small, brown sack. He got on the floor to kneel in front of her. Pulling the string, the bag opened and he dumped something gold into his palm. The most beautiful pearl ring Brittany had ever seen was shined in the early evening sun that peaked into the large glass windows.

“Hendery,” she whispered as she felt joyful tears begin to pool in her eyes. “It’s gorgeous. Where did you get it?”

“Hendery found it in some coral when he went swimming a few days ago,” he explained. “He got Kun to make it into a ring for Brittany.”

He took her left hand into his and gazed into her ocean blue eyes.

“Hendery has loved Brittany since she first moved here,” he confessed. “He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get the chance to talk to her, but he’s happy he did. Being a merman, he wasn’t sure if he would be loved by a human, but Brittany saw through it. He has been blessed with getting to know and love Brittany Carter ever since they met on her back patio. Hendery wants to spend the rest of his life with her.”

Brittany was speechless as she struggled to stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. EIther was asking her to marry him, or he was just wanting to give her a special present.

“While merfolk don’t exactly have weddings,” Hendery continued, “would Brittany still be with Hendery for the rest of their lives as mates?”

It wasn’t exactly a marriage proposal, but Brittany wouldn’t want it any other way. She nodded as the water works rushed down her cheeks. Hendery was on the verge of tears himself as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

The two shared a loving hug and kiss before he whispered against her lips a soft, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered back.

When they released from each other, they pressed their foreheads together. Hendery was over the moon that the woman he loved agreed to be his mate. My mate, he thought.

“I still have to mark you,” he remembered out loud.

“Now?” Brittany asked with a sigh.

“Not immediately now, but it needs to be done in order for it to be official.”

Brittany thought for a moment. Her thumbs twiddled with each other, and she chewed on her lower lip. She was scared of how painful the ritual could be. The pleasure of them making love in the process would serve as a sort of distraction, but even that didn’t calm her nerves.

“Will it hurt?” she asked, her eyes staring at her hands in her lap. It was a stupid question she knew the answer to, but she couldn’t help it.

“In the moment,” Hendery nodded.

“Will I bleed?”

“A bit, but I’ll lick the wound to cauterize it.”

“You’re a merman, not a dog,” Brittany chuckled as she looked back up at him.

Hendery giggled as well. “Hendery promises it’ll help.”

“Okay,” Brittany smiled. “Can we do it tonight? I can make our room a more romantic setup.”

“Whatever Brittany would like.”

After one last kiss, she stood from the couch and began to make her way to the bedroom as Hendery went to go feed and play with Louis for a while. However, his lover stopped in her tracks.

“Hendery,” she called to him from the base of the stairs. “Will I get pregnant afterwards?”

Brittany wasn’t asking him in the sense of wanting a baby per sé, but more out of mere curiosity. She had wanted a family when she had found the right person, however, she wasn’t sure if she was ready. She and Hendery had discussed pregnancy before, but it was only that one time when she gave him the anatomy lesson. Hendery was scared for his soon-to-be mate’s health and had no knowledge of any fatherly ways to raise a child. He wasn’t opposed to having a baby of his own, but he didn’t quite feel ready himself. However, he was going to accept whatever fate had decided what the outcome was going to be.

He took a deep breath and answered, “It’s possible.”

-

Tagging: @fantasywayv​ @dearyongs​ @ethereal-eirene​ @lilhwahwa​

[logan-is-noggin]

Stone Cold

summary: Virgil and Logan are in a relationship, Virgil falls hard, Logan falls for another.

word count: 1269

warnings: unrequited love, heartbreak, mention of suicide

Song: Stone cold by Demi Lovato 

Virgil Hale wasn't always the way people see him today wearing dark clothes, emo makeup, and a sometimes hostile attitude., he was a normal boy. He was happy with his relationship with Logan Mitchell. He'd like to think of him as his boyfriend, though Logan never liked to put labels on anything. In fact, Logan always tried and convince Virgil that he didn't have feelings at all. So their relationship was strictly physical.At first, Virgil was all on board with the heated make-out sessions after school or staying up past midnight talking about everything and anything. But Virgil slowly began to change his view of Logan. He admired the little things that no one would care to notice, how he would mutter to himself while working out a particularly tough equation, or biting his lower lip as he read. Little things that Virgil loved.And so Virgil fell.But it wasn't a graceful fall, where the landing is soft into a pile of petals of acceptance. It was like falling into a deep hole he didn't know if it would end.He loved Logan, Logan claimed he didn't love. Of course, Logan liked Virgil. He sought out his company before. Requesting to spend the evening with him when he could easily have spent them alone.So Virgil wanted to come up with a plan to express how he felt. Of course, he wouldn't just blurt it out randomly for fear of scaring him away completely.

Prom. It was a month away but the cheerleaders were already selling tickets in the cafeteria. He bought two. Maybe if he asked Logan it would hint at the fact that he wanted more than a physical relationship.Two weeks later, Virgil sat at a table at lunch, anxious for Logan to arrive so he could ask him to prom.He gripped the two tickets in his pocket as he spotted Logan approach, but oddly, he didn't have food with him, just a bottle of water. " aren't you going to eat with me?" Virgil asked." I'm sorry, my lab partner has asked me to assist him in researching a subject for a history report, but I wanted to come to tell you something first." He sat down. Virgil started to worry." I've been dating Patton for three weeks now. I know we've had our relationship for a while but something inside me just feels very strongly for him.He asked me to be his prom date and I've accepted.” Virgil was very still as to not give Logan any reaction

“Several couples are renting a limousine to attend prom too. You're more than welcome to join us if you're interested." He said as he stood. Along with Virgil's heart, he crumpled up the tickets." I'm not much of a dancing guy. I didn't think you'd be either."Logan nodded " well, people change. I just wanted to make sure you'll be okay." Virgil swallowed the lump forming in his throat " no I'll be fine. You two have fun, say hi to Patton for me" he said looking away. " I shall. Goodbye Virgil."Then he left.Virgil ended up getting refunds for his extra ticket, it being too expensive to just throw away. The younger student at the table took pity on his story.//////

The night of prom though, Virgil wore a purple dress shirt with jeans and a black-tie loosely tied around his neck. He arrived early and waited at a table in the corner so he wouldn't be easily noticed. He put his earbuds in and pressed shuffle not really listening to the songs.He watched as he saw Logan arrive with a group of students. He always wore a tie and a black button-down shirt. But tonight he wore a navy blue blazer over the ensemble. Standing next to him constantly must have been Patton. He never was officially introduced but from how upbeat and happy he seemed, maybe it was for the best. Virgil didn't realize he was glaring as he and Logan danced to the first slow song. Patton's head leaning on Logan's shoulder as they swayed back in forth among the sea of dancers. Virgil knew Logan hated dancing. He knew if they were here together, he probably would have given an excuse for why he couldn't or wouldn't dance with Virgil. Not that Virgil would have wanted to. A new song clicked on his phone and he stood up and quickly left the room, having seen enough of his ex's happiness

Stone cold, stone cold,

You see me standing but I'm dying on the floor.

Stone cold, stone cold. 

Maybe if I don't cry I won't feel anymore

Virgil searched the halls, the lights mostly turned off the further he walked from the gym. He found an open classroom, took a piece of paper and a pen and started to write." Logan. I felt the need to tell you the truth. Lately, I had fallen for you. I wanted to tell you but, you claim to not have feelings. But then you go and dump me for Patton out of nowhere. That gave me a lot of feelings. Hurt, anger, confusion. I decided not to waste anymore time on sad.Long story short, don't bother trying to talk to me if you see me."

God knows I try to feel happy for you,

 know that I am.

 Even if I don't understand.

I wish I could mean this, so here's my goodbye.

I'm happy for you

- Virgil"

He folded it three times, more out of the building frustration and found Logan's locker, he pushed it through the slots.He left through the closest side door and got to his car and drove away

If happiness hurts,

 if happiness hurts- I'm happy for you

Monday morning, Logan set his backpack on the ground as he dialed his locker combination and opened the door. A small piece of paper flipped out onto his shoe. Logan kept his locker immaculately clean, so he figured someone else must have pushed it through. He opened the paper and smoothed it out before reading. By every line, Logan got more and more concerned. He thrusted his bag into his locker and shut it, forgetting to retrieve the books for his morning classes and raced to homeroom, which he and Virgil had together. But as the bell rang and morning announcements played over the speakers, Virgil didn't show.He had second period with Patton- science. He explained the dilemma and Patton comforted his boyfriend as best he could.Virgil wasn't in fourth period either. Their only other class together. By lunch time Logan was considering going to the principal to see if he could go check on him, when an unfamiliar kid walked by and sat at the table Virgil always ate at. Logan stood and appraised his outfit- ripped black jeans, a faded purple shirt and a black checkered hoodie. He also seemed to be wearing eye-shadow under his eyes. Could that be?He approached the table " Virgil? Is that you?"Without bothering to look away from his food he replied " Logan,"Relief flooded his body and new tears began to fall. " I was so worried about you. When I read the note I thought something awful had happened" Virgil rolled his eyes before finally meeting Logan's. " no, I did not kill myself just because we broke up and I also said in the letter for you not to talk about it." "But Virgil, you could have said something, we could have talked about it." "Nope, but you were right. Feelings are worthless Logan. From now on, I'm stone cold."

[alleiradayne]

Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story…

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE

Long is our list of ghost stories laid to rest. But when the dark rider returns thirty years after his exorcism at the hands of the Winchesters, Sam, Dean, and I are faced with the possibility that we’ve been wrong about one thing.

Some urban legends never die.

Part II - Tales From the Crypt

Summary: In Sleepy Hollow, New York, Sam, Dean, and the reader begin their investigation. Warnings/Tags: A dead body, talk of bodily harm, language, alcohol consumption, and some flirting. Characters/Pairings: First Person Female!Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Word Count: 3,103

“We were able to identify most of the bodies, but a few are still John or Jane Does.”

The coroner led us around a table where a cadaver lay covered by a thick white sheet. She continued talking as she drew the sheet to the corpse’s waist, but I heard little and less of what she said. I barely stifled a yawn before sipping from my thermos. Coffee scalded my tongue but I’d rather deal with that than pass out on my own two feet at four o'clock in the afternoon.

Sam and Dean had insisted on driving through the night. Every time I had managed to fall asleep in the Impala, I had woken up sore and aching ten minutes later. So instead of risking another chiropractor bill, I had researched what I could of The Headless Horseman. Unfortunately, I had learned next to nothing besides boring variations on the same bullshit story from the urban legend.

Another yawn scattered my thoughts, and my vision finally focused on the exposed body before me. Headless as expected, no surprise there. Lacerations crisscrossed all over the torso and what remained of the neck, also expected. But something about those lacerations piqued my interest and so I leaned closer.

Thin black crusting outlined every cut, no matter how deep or superficial. The coroner and Dean were chatting amicably when I prodded Sam in the rib. He regarded me with a raised brow as I pointed at the lashes and said, “Look.”

Sam bowed in beside me, and the scent of his freshly washed hair filled my nose. So close, I eased into his warmth and leaned closer. “That,” I muttered as I pointed. “Aren’t those burns?”

He eyed me with a suspicious sideways glance before his smile spread across his lips, and he nodded. “Good catch, Y/N,” he started. “But the lashes alone are confusing. Since when does the Headles—”

“We’ll get back to you if we learn anything else,” Dean said loud enough to drown out Sam. “Thank you for your time, miss.”

Sam and I followed Dean’s lead and thanked the coroner for her time as well. She thanked us in return—flashing a warmer than casual smile at Dean, who blushed—and covered the cadaver as we headed for the door.

In the hallway, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “Christ, she’s too smart.”

“What, did she reject you before you even asked?” Sam jested.

Dean tossed a tentative glance my way. “Nah, I got her number. But after that, she started asking about the decapitations and the lashes looking strange…” He trailed off as we stepped out into the cool fall breeze and pale October sun. “I don’t think she knows more, but I’ll have to be on my toes later.”

“And by later you mean after we finish this hunt, right?” I asked across Sam.

At the car, Dean popped the driver’s door open, then said, “She asked me out tonight.”

As they slid into the front seat, I eased into the back. “And you said what?”

He shot me a dark glare in the rearview mirror. “I asked her for a rain check until this weekend.”

Wow. “Okay, I’m impressed,” I replied.

“I’m… not surprised,” Sam replied. “Considering what’s going on.”

The Impala roared to life as Dean twisted the key in the ignition. When he pulled away from the curb, I leaned over the backrest and asked, “What is going on?”

Sam shot a nervous look at Dean before he took a deep breath. “Can we solve the case first?”

When he turned to look at me, I glared back. Earnest. Honest, even. But I wasn’t about to let my feelings for him cloud my judgment. “No. I need to know what we’re up against and...” I paused, my attention snared by the houses we passed. Every yard displayed a scene from the urban legend that had put Sleepy Hollow on the map. Various iterations on The Headless Horseman stood in every yard, myriad pumpkins and overly detailed horses impressively crafted. But each and every rider had a jack-o-lantern for a head or held one aloft. Not a single display had armed him with a whip or a cannonball. “Seriously, those lashes were burned into that victim. Since when does he wield a whip? And what kind of whip can do that?”

“One made from the spinal bones of human corpses,” Dean strained under his breath.

I blinked several times before I responded. “Excuse me?”

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Dean started. The Impala followed his command as it lumbered over the driveway into a diner’s parking lot. “We’re gonna eat dinner here. But we can’t talk about work. Once we’re in there, we’re FBI agents, and on-going investigations are off-limits. Got it?”

Better than nothing. “Once we get back to the motel?”

Dean pulled into a spot and slid the shifter into park. “We’ll tell you everything.”

Everything. So foreboding. As if all of their skeletons had been buried in an urban legend. Both of them turned over the backrest when I remained quiet too long. Weighed and measured, their expectant glares demanded an answer.

So I agreed.

“Deal.”

“I haven’t had a pot roast sandwich like that in ages.”

Dean covered his mouth with his fist as he held back a deep belch. “The pecan pie was damn near the best I’ve ever had.”

“And that hot cider!” I added. “That was definitely homemade.”

“Uh, you’re damn right it was homemade. Everything there was homemade,” Dean replied. “Well, except for maybe Sam’s salad.” He turned to Sam and his face fell. “Sammy?”

I followed Dean’s concerned glare and found Sam near the motel room door, eyes glazed over and staring into the middle distance. I knew that look. I’d felt it before, and I’d seen it on both of them too many times over the years. The severity of the situation sank in then, and reality returned in a rush. Forgotten was the pot roast, the pecan pie, and the hot cider. Abandoned was the lighthearted banter, and our carefree dinner.

Death stalked us in the shadows, no longer a friendly face.

“I think we should sit down,” Sam suggested as he crossed the room. When he slumped onto the bed, he said, “This story gets dark in a hurry.”

I shed my suit jacket and boots at the small table under the singular hanging lamp. “I get the feeling something pretty awful happened,” I said as I crossed the room and sat beside him.

Dean withdrew a bottle of scotch from his duffel bag. “Normally I’d save this for after we waste this asshole, but,” he paused as he popped the cork free of the bottle. “I have some doubts that’ll ever come to pass.” He pulled three short plastic cups from his bag then and poured two-finger pours into each. He handed a cup to Sam, who passed it on to me, and handed another to Sam before seating himself at the table with the third. A sip and a hum preceded his thoughts. “You got that picture handy, Y/N?”

I dug through my backpack at my feet and withdrew the article. “Right here. I saw The Headle—”

“Yeah,” Dean interjected. “He’s back there, in the field. Anything else jump out at you?”

Confused, my brow knotted as I focused on the article once more. “I mean, there’s this family standing in front of what is clearly the Sleepy Hollow museum. I recognized the building when we got into town,” I said. Another yawn reminded me I had not slept more than a couple of hours over the last twenty-four. "But I don't see anything else. No aberrations, no distortion, no orbs… other than Tits McGee up in the field there, I got nothing."

Sam pointed to the father. "Look a little closer here. You might recognize someone."

Recognize? The picture was thirty years old. Hell, I'd have been a kid back then. Probably just shy of seven years old.

Seven.

My focus snapped to the caption.

Thomas (7).

Something instinctual snapped my attention to Sam, and I saw it then. My jaw dropped as recognition crept along my spine. Boyish charm had grown ruggedly handsome, but the fear behind his wide stare had remained the same. I returned to the photograph, focusing on the older brother, and the truth settled in the pit of my stomach. A suave sense of confidence radiated from John (11). And he was the spitting image of his father, Richard Phillips (36).

He still is.

The image blurred as tears burned my eyes. I looked up to find Dean glassy-eyed and well into his cup. The start of so many thoughts stuttered on my clumsy tongue. How had I missed it back at the Bunker? Of course John Winchester would give an alias to a reporter. When I returned to the photograph one last time, I stared at their father, and the tears rolled down my cheeks.

"Every few months, John grew out his beard," Dean started. "He had this laser-like focus on hunting down the thing that killed Mary, and a time or two every year, he'd get a wild hair up his ass so bad, he'd forget to shave."

"That year," Sam said as he pointed to the photograph, "the wild hair was Sleepy Hollow. He was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that we would learn something important here."

Dean finished his pour of scotch and refreshed his glass. "He found nothing except for a bunch of busted pumpkins and a vengeful spirit."

I wiped at my eyes with the cuff of my shirtsleeve. When I turned to Sam, I asked, "How did he exorcise it?"

He shifted closer on the bed as he looked at the photograph. "We don't know. I was too young yet."

Dean grunted as he sat up in his seat and stood, caught his balance, then shuffled across the room to sit on the opposite bed. "Dad had just started filling me in on what he was doing about a year before we came here. But he did his best to ease me into it. Sam had hardly a clue until that day," he said as he pointed at the photograph.

"What happened?" I asked as I turned back to Sam.

A deep breath allowed him space to stall, but that same fear in his eyes returned. "I saw something." His stare glazed as it drifted off into the middle distance once more. "Bodies. Headless bodies," he stuttered. "A headless rider on a dark horse." He continued through a stream of consciousness, as though he were somewhere else. Sometime else. "Cannonballs and a whip of human spinal bones engulfed in flames."

My heart railed against my ribs as if to escape. Numb with dread, my fingers and toes burned, and fresh tears blurred my vision. "You were so young. That must have been terrifying."

He nodded and sipped from his drink. "At the time, yeah. I had nightmares for months. Over the years, I must have forgotten about it or blocked it out. But then you found this case. However you ended up with that article, it was no coincidence."

I looked to Dean then, and he clarified. "Something wanted us to come back. I think. To actually finish the job Dad didn't."

Something about that statement sparked a thought I had not yet considered. "How do you know this isn't something leftover from Chuck?"

A thoughtful look twisted his face. "We took care of Chuck and his mess. It's definitely a hunch but, I'd wager this isn't related. No, I think Dad just got this one wrong. He thought he did the job and we skipped town. But he screwed up and now The Headless Hessian is back again."

Hessian.

"What did you just call him?" I asked.

Dean regarded Sam, and they shared an equally confused look. "The Headless Hessian."

"I thought Hessians were German soldiers that fought for the Brits in the Revolution," I said.

When Sam nodded in agreement, he said, "You would be correct. And that was the original story until more retellings of the urban legend were printed."

Retellings. Talk about wild hairs. I dove for my backpack then and tore out my tablet. As it booted, I said, "I tried doing some research on The Headless Horseman on our way out here, but all I found was bullshit about the urban legend. Pumpkins and horses and heads and Ichabod Crane and crap like that. Nothing about cannonballs and whips made out of human spinal columns."

Sam propped one leg up on the bed as he turned to face me. "Regardless of what I saw as a kid, that story sounds familiar, too. I know the Hessian angle but I know I've also heard a version with a whip and a cannonball."

"Those," I started, then paused to type furiously, "I never knew. I always thought the myth was Ichabod Crane. But yesterday when I was searching for information, I think I found a website that mentioned a Hessian soldier as a part of the myth." Once I had found what I searched for, I turned the tablet to face them. "I thought it was a mistake. I know way too much about American history and its bullshit colonialism, so I wrote it off as a discrepancy. But when Dean referred to him as the Headless Hessian, it clicked."

The image on the tablet flipped through several iterations of a headless rider. The first carried a jack-o-lantern high over his head, then a headless horse with a headless rider appeared on the screen. Next, a rider carrying his own head, followed by a headless rider brandishing a sword. Then another hefting a muzzleloader, and finally a headless rider wielding a vicious whip made out of bone.

"Wait, which legend is that one?" Sam asked as he pointed.

The image of a man carrying his head under his arm while astride a horse froze on the page. "According to the website, that appears to be the dulachan. Irish folklore. The whip is a part of that legend, too."

"But our guy doesn't have his dome on him at all," Dean clarified.

"Exactly," I said, "Which was why I basically wrote this website off. Came to the same conclusion."

Sam pointed to the screen as the image changed to a giant man astride his horse brandishing his own head high above his shoulders. "That's the Gawain myth. Gawain beheaded the Green Knight."

Excitement flooded my senses as I exclaimed, "Yes! The Green Knight returns to challenge Gawain to a duel every year." The image changed again to that of a headless rider and horse. "And that's the Scottish story of the would-be chieftain, Ewen, who was decapitated at the battle at Glen Cainnir."

"And the headless man on a carriage?" Dean asked as the image changed once more.

"The Coiste Bodhar. Sometimes referred to as the gan ceann," I explained. “Damn, this website has everything…”

"But what does it all mean?" Sam asked.

I opened my mouth to reply but found I had nothing to say. A sudden silence filled the tiny motel room, all the wind sucked from our sails. It had to mean something. So many stories with their variations. Then again, they all shared a singular consistency.

“Maybe they’re all correct,” Dean mumbled.

Confusion scattered my rambling thoughts, and my focus snapped to Dean. “What are you saying?”

“Every story has the same headless dude in it, right?” he asked, echoing my idea. “Even the Hessian myth isn’t the original story. Irish, Scottish, English. They all have their own versions that are way older than the American story.”

“But a lot of Americans are the Irish, Scots, and English,” Sam added.

“Son of a bitch, we are English. I bet our forefathers fought in the Revolution,” Dean concluded and Sam agreed with a confident nod.

With the pattern weaving before my mind’s eye, I found a thread, a singular frayed end, and tugged on it. “So it’s not surprising at all that the stories are so similar. Immigrants made up the Headless Hessian based on their own urban legends from the motherland.”

“Exactly!” Dean declared.

Elation filled me for a brief moment before Sam ruined it again. “But then what is it?! A fae? A spirit? A curse? It could be anything with that theory!”

“You’re a real party pooper, you know that?” I said as I flopped back on the bed. “We were so close to something, I know it!”

Dean stood in a rush, then quickly returned to the bed. “Okay, that’s enough of the hooch,” he said as he crushed his empty cup and tossed it into the bin. “Let’s pick something and go after it. We’re never going to figure out what it actually is in a reasonable amount of time.”

“That’s a terrible plan!” Sam barked. “We’ll waste more time just trying random shit.”

Both of them fell quiet at that. My brain, on the other hand, was anything but. We had everything to handle a fairy, a vengeful spirit, even a curse. But how? How could we blindly choose? I agreed with Dean; we needed to do something and fast. And yet, Sam had a very valid point. I gritted my teeth against the frustration that supplanted my hope. What kind of spirit manifested once a year to kill a bunch of people? How, if all the stories are true, could we put down a fae-curse-spirit?

Then it dawned on me.

I bolted upright on the bed and blurted, “It’s all three.”

“What?”

Between Sam and Dean’s incredulous faces, I forced myself to grasp the last shred of confidence before it fled. “It’s all three. A spirit cursed by the fae.”

They regarded one another again, then turned away, silently considering my theory. Even I struggled to believe it. But then Dean snapped his fingers and said, “If it’s ultimately just a cursed spirit, all we need to do is roast his bones.” He pointed at the tablet as he jumped to his feet, steady as a rock. “The Headless Hessian was buried in an unmarked grave of the Old Dutch Church!”

I turned to Sam then, tense as a drawn bowstring. When his crooked, knowing grin spread across his lips, my stomach jumped into my throat. I hadn’t seen that smile in what felt like a century. And when he spoke, my heart nearly burst with relief.

“Looks like we’re doing some digging tonight.”

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE AWESOME. IF YOU WANT IN ON THE TAGS, SEND ME AN ASK OR A DM!

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

[imagining-supernatural]

The Work Call

Part 18 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary:  You call your boss to get some work to do in your free time and do a little flirting ;)

Word Count: 2,258

With Sebastian off in Georgia for a week, you felt like a teenager whose parents just left her home for alone for the first time. Suddenly, you could break all of the rules. Not that your rule-breaking was something that would get you in too much trouble…

Since the press seemed to have gotten it through their heads that you were off limits, you finally had your privacy and space back again. As a result, you were taking advantage of the last few weeks of autumn before the snow came. After your hospital appointments, you walked down the street to a cute little café and sat in one of the over-sized, plush chairs for a bit. You’d either bring a book or your laptop.

On Wednesday, the café cat apparently decided you were okay and hopped up into your lap, purring loudly as you read. You’d snapped a quick selfie and sent it off to Sebastian.

Me: [image attached] Don’t be surprised if you come home this weekend and I’ve catnapped ol’ Misty here

Sebastian: What if I’m allergic to cats?

Me: Sucks to be you, I guess

Me: The apartment’s lonely without you

You stared at the last text you’d sent, suddenly overthinking it. Sure, you were married. And, sure, you were wearing his ring now. But you two hadn’t really discussed what that meant, exactly. So was that last text too strong? Too forward?

Hell, you didn’t even know what you’d meant by it.

Sebastian: Don’t know how I feel about being able to be replaced by a cat

Sebastian: Maybe I need to up my game

Up his game?

Shit, it had been so long since you’d flirted with anyone. So long since you’d even considered a relationship. After your hellish life growing up, you’d put all of your focus into school. You were determined to set yourself up for a better life than the one you were born into. Then you graduated and worked hard to secure your place at your job. School only taught you so much, and you needed to be able to apply what you learned to real life.

Once you felt secure in your professional life and you were finally ready to start exploring a relationship, you found out you had cancer.

So to say you were woefully underprepared for this situation would be the understatement of the year.

Me: Luckily for you, I like Jenny’s coffee so much that I don’t want her to hate me for stealing her cat

Sebastian: You still thought a cat would replace me

Sebastian: That hurts, sweetheart

Sweetheart. In writing. 

Me: I’ll find some way to make you feel better this weekend

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

Why did you never read over your texts before you sent them?

At least you hadn’t put a winky face emoji. Now that would have been a disaster.

Not that you didn’t want your relationship with Sebastian to keep going. You did. But there was a lot more pressure riding on this than there was back in high school when you went to the prom with Brad Trayton, or in college when you slept with the guy from your Chemistry 101 lab three times before having to break it off with him because he always smelled like bacon.

This was Sebastian Fucking Stan. And you were married to the guy. And you were in a literal life or death situation. If things went badly with him, that would make the rest of your cancer treatment very awkward, to say the least.

Sebastian: I’m sure you will…

Sebastian: I gotta go to a script reading rn. Skype tonight?

Me: Of course

You’d been Skyping with Seb at least twice a day since he left on Sunday night. It was almost like he never left, in that regard.

But with him gone, you found that you had a lot of free time on your hands. With your body starting to get used to the cancer treatment, you also had a bit more energy and nowhere to put that energy to good use.

So you called your old boss back home, dialing his direct extension to avoid getting his assistant. The press might have backed off, but thanks to the updates from Jasmin, people who knew you were still reeling over your marriage.

“Plathway.”

“Hey, Brendon, it’s Y/N.”

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, and you could just imagine him leaning back in his chair. Brendon Plathway was your mentor and had grown into a close friend. Of everyone in your life, you would say he was the closest thing to a good father figure you had. “How are you doing? I’ve seen your name on Facebook a few times.”

“I’m doing pretty good, all things considered. I’m in a clinical study in New York and the doctors are optimistic that it’ll work. They’re hoping I’ll get the tumor out sometime in February.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Brendon said. “And that husband of yours… he treating you well?”

“It’s not… it’s not quite like that. But yeah. He’s great.” It was a pretty decent segue into the reason for your call. “He’s actually out of town, shooting for a TV show. So I have a bit of time on my hands and was hoping—”

“Y/N Y/L/N?”

The unfamiliar voice interrupted you before you could finish. You looked up to see a guy about your age with a newsboy bag, notebook, and tape recorder.

A fucking journalist.

“I thought it was you. You mind if I ask you a few questions?” He didn’t say it like a question, nor did he give you time to respond before he sat on a stool beside you and set up shop on the small table. “If I could write an article on you, it would just—”

“I’m actually on a phone call right now.”

“Oh, I won’t take too long. I just can’t pass up this opportunity. You’re quite the enigma. No one’s gotten your side of the story.”

“And neither will you. I’m not going to answer any questions.”

He completely ignored you, flicked on the recorder, and put his pen to paper. “People have been saying that you planned your rendezvous with Sebastian Stan in Vegas. What do you say to that?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I have no comment for you.”

“I thought you’d appreciate the chance to get your story out there. There are some nasty rumors spreading—”

You cut him off before he could continue. “I know my story and the people I care about know my story. I will not be answering any questions for you today.”

“Do you feel no guilt for being the reason Sebastian Stan’s reputation has taken a massive hit?”

“I’m going to give you one more chance to leave me the fuck alone before I call the cops.” He opened his mouth, but you spoke over him, voice lowering to a red-hot hiss. “And if you write a single word of this conversation or make any sort of insinuations that I said anything at all, I will slap you and whatever blog or magazine you work for with a libel lawsuit. Don’t even think about trying to manipulate your recording because you’re not the only one who has been recording this conversation. The phone call you interrupted was with my boss and it’s company policy to record all incoming and outgoing phone calls. He’s a witness that I repeatedly rejected your attempt to start an interview and anything else you say can be construed as harassment. Have I made myself clear?”

He stared at you, wide eyed. Guess he hadn’t expected a cancer patient to be so blunt. Nevertheless, he gathered his things and stood. Just before walking away, he muttered, “You didn’t have to be such a bitch about it.”

Once he was gone, you groaned. “Sorry about that, Bren.”

“Is that something you have to deal with often? That’s horrible.”

“No. Not since I got sick because stupid reporters were sticking their germy microphones in my face and Seb threatened them with lawyers.”

Brendon hmphed. “Well, you sounded like you had that speech prepared. Sounded like you’d said it a few times.”

“Before he left, Seb made sure I knew how to threaten any reporters like that. Luckily this was the first time I’ve had to remember what he told me.” The reporter had shaken you, and it took a few deep breaths before you felt calm enough to continue with your conversation. “Anyway, back to my original reason for calling… Are there are projects I could jump on long distance? I’ll probably only be able to put in about ten to fifteen good hours of work a week, but it’d be nice to have something to do other than wait for new episodes of my shows to come on Hulu.”

“Let me poke around the office a bit. I know there’s a big one coming up next week. Rachel’s heading that one. You’ve worked with her before right? She’d probably appreciate your input. Trent is in the middle of one for a pharmaceutical company, but he’s not feeling too sure about it. I’ll see if he wants you to try and hack the system and find holes.”

“Anything. I’ve worked with both of them before and I think we work well together. I did quite a few initial proposals before I left for Vegas and I enjoyed those more than most people do.”

He promised he’d send any projects your way that he could. After a few more minutes of catching up, you ended the call and headed outside to wait for Sean in the chilly fall air.

“How was the reading?” you asked later that night. “Any juicy plot lines?”

“Not that I can tell you,” Seb replied. The phone in his hand shifted as he settled further into the hotel bed that Marvel was putting him up in. “But it was good. We’ll start shooting tomorrow.”

“Excited to lube up your arm?”

He laughed, head falling back against the headboard. “I take it you finally did some research on me?”

“A little. The hospital was running behind today, so I was there a bit longer than I planned and I fell down the YouTube abyss of interviews. Anthony seems like a fun guy to work with.”

Sebastian grinned. “He is. Speaking of work, did you call your boss?”

“Yeah.” The reminder of the phone call – or rather of the interruption – made your roll your eyes.

“Didn’t go well?”

“No, no. It did.” You knew your news was not going to go over well with Seb, so you took a minute to get settled into the bed. It had been a long day and laying down felt good. You turned your laptop on its side so your face would still be the right way on Seb’s phone. “Brendon’s gonna check around work and find some projects and work to throw my way. That’s all good.”

“Then what is it?”

With a deep sigh, you began. “While I was on the phone with him, some hipster reporter dude interrupted.”

“Son of a—”

“It took a minute to get it through his thick skull that I was not going to give him a story but he finally left. It just kinda took a bit out of me.”

“God, Y/N. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it’s not,” you agreed softly. “But you prepared me. I handled it. Then Sean made me eat dinner with him and his wife. She’s an amazing cook. Sometime when you’re home, they want to have both of us over. And when this is all over, we definitely need to think of a hell of a way to thank him for everything. He’s done so much more than a driver gets paid to.”

The two of you brainstormed for a bit about how to repay Sean for his kindness and friendship. Then your conversation moved on to different subjects, bouncing around for a bit until you yawned for the third time in five minutes.

“You seem more tired than usual. You doing okay?”

“I’m fine. I mean, I haven’t been sleeping well, but that’s your fault.”

“My fault?” he asked.

“Yeah. You made me sleep next to you for two weeks then you just up and leave me alone. It’s rude, Mr. Stan.”

Something in your words sparked something in his eyes that filled you with… excitement?

“Well, Mrs. Stan…” His words were accompanied by a wink that stopped your heart. Forget your brain tumor. Sebastian was going to be the source of your death. “You only have two more nights before I’m home for the weekend.”

Flirting? Were you flirting?

“Two nights with you and five nights without you is just not a fraction I like.”

My god, you were flirting.

“If you can convince Marvel to move their studios to New York, I’m all game. Until then, we’ll have to make the best of those two nights.”

“Make the best of them, hmm?”

“Yeah,” he said in a low voice. “Mackie’s commentary on The Voice isn’t as good as yours. I’ve been waiting to watch the new episodes until I’m with you.”

The unexpected twist made you laugh out loud. It didn’t escape your attention how his eyes crinkled at the sound, affection flooding his expression. “The Voice on Friday and Dancing With The Stars on Saturday?”

“I’ll pen it in my calendar, sweetheart.”

“Ooo. I’m pen-worthy. That’s so much better than pencil-worthy.”

“You’re white-out-worthy, baby. I’d white-out plans I have with someone else to pen in plans with you.”

Fucking hell. Baby was a new one.

If he’d put on half this much charm on you in Vegas when you were drunk, it was no wonder you’d married him.

“Then I guess I need to go erase the pencil plans I had for Saturday evening and make room for you. Maybe even buy a special pen just for you.”

“Maybe wait for tomorrow? You’ve had a long day. Seems like you need a good night’s rest.”

“You too, hun.” The pet name felt foreign on your tongue, but it somehow felt… right? “Shooting starts tomorrow. You need to be ready to keep up with Mackie’s energy.”

“He wants to meet’cha, you know. Apparently I haven’t shut up about you.’

“Gimme a few more weeks to get used to this treatment and maybe I can spend more than three seconds around him without needing a nap,” you joked. “Unless he only has that energy when there’s a camera on him…?”

Seb laughed. “That is him all the damn time.”

“Then I better let you go for the night. You’ve spent the last few weeks shlumping around with me. Gotta get your rest to keep up with him tomorrow.”

“And you gotta get your rest so you can hand out candy tomorrow.”

“I’m excited for that, actually. Trick or Treating really slowed down back in Utah lately. I think last year I got, like, maybe three groups of kids?”

“You’ll get your fill this year. A lot of the kids in the apartment complex go to every door. Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you getting sick.”

It took twenty more minutes before you were finally able to say your goodbyes and hang up. You stared at your phone for a moment before placing it on the side table beside Sebastian’s bed and turning off the light.  

Houston, we've got some flirting!!! Also can we just take a minute to appreciate how amazing Sean is? But things seem to be looking up!

CHAPTER 19: THE LONG DAY

[op-peccatori]

to know him (is to love him) | MLQC Victor (M)

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor/Reader

Rating: 18+/Explicit/NSFW

Word Count: 2900

Summary: It was something that had only come up in the occasional daydream, a delicious reversal of your roles. You couldn’t have ever imagined that it was something he’d been thinking of too.

A/N: NO, I don’t know where this came from either. it came to me in a seductive whisper at 3 AM I feel the need to let you know this isn’t something I’ve tried personally and it’s really more of an exercise in writing so, if you read it, hope you enjoy. and maybe laugh a little. 

I need to stop exposing myself like this. (warnings/tags under the cut)

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, language, soft dom!MC, anal (male receiving), pegging, oral sex, slightly ooc Victor? idk I think the guy would loosen up with something else up his ass, i’ll...edit this later

With a slight tilt of your head, you observe the still figure on the bed.

Silken strands of ebony hang over eyes that stare back at you intensely, belying the relaxed state of his body. Victor lounges on his stomach, the same position you’d left him in while you went to finish your report; you saunter over to the foot of the bed, admiring the muscular legs spread in a v-position. 

Your attention is immediately recaptured by the cherry on top, the icing on the cake, the beautiful jewel nestled between thick asscheeks littered with marks–some lipstick stains, some sucked lovingly into his skin. The deep blush spreading from his cheeks to his ears down to his chest is adorable, the way his hips press into the bed at your reappearance incredibly tempting. 

“Look at you,” you murmur appreciatively, pulling your hair back in a tight ponytail. You have vivid memories of the first time you had ventured into the backdoor territory, your tongue circling his puckered hole; the memory of the way Victor’s strong thighs had trembled and his fingers had tightened in your hair never fails to make your mouth water. “You doing alright, babe?” 

You climb onto the bed, sitting on folded knees between his spread legs, your fingers working their way up his legs with a gentle massage. 

“Mm, I’m fine,” he mumbles, his words casual but his tone containing the slightest hitch as your hands come to rest on his ass, squeezing the supple flesh gently. He grinds down into the mattress, desperate for the friction. “Are you done with your report?”

“Yes, all done. We can finally focus on you,” you coo, running a finger over the jewelled head before patting his thigh. “I’m going to need you on your back, you think you could do that for me?” 

“Yeah, give me a sec.” Victor moves carefully, shifting his weight to his elbows and knees as he turns onto his back, keeping his knees folded and feet flat on the bed; he leaves enough space between his legs for you to crawl forward, rubbing his inner thighs soothingly, your eyes focusing on his stuff member before drifting up his body.

“Are you comfortable?” 

“Yes,” he hesitates, studying your fond little smile as you continue to watch him. He scoffs lightly. “Are you going to sit there all night?”

“If you want me to,” you tease lightly, and he glares before curling a hand around yours, tugging you forward until you manoeuvre your limbs around his and straddle his stomach, keeping your weight on your knees. Victor looks gorgeous like this, sprawled on his back with the soft dim lighting in the room and the moonlight painting his pale skin, his hair adorably tousled. 

“You look beautiful, baby,” you whisper as his questing fingers slip beneath the hem of your short silk robe, brushing over soft skin to cup a breast, rolling a nipple between nimble fingers. He doesn’t say a word but the slight curl of his lips says it all. 

You can’t help the way you smile in response to his, eyes half-lidded as you lean in, brushing your lips against his, light as the first fragile snowflake to reach the ground. 

His lips part and you dive in, mouth settling firmly over his as your tongue slips in to brush against his. Your fingers brush his bangs away from his face and his fingers dig into your breast. He moans when your lips close around his tongue, sucking lightly, his hips bucking involuntarily beneath you. 

You pull away panting, watching his face twist with disapproval, full brows knitting together. His legs straighten out a bit and he tries to push you back, and you don’t have to look back to know how strained and flushed his erection is, the needy demand in his eyes and touch tipping you off.  

“Y/n,” he mutters, eyelashes fluttering as your lips trace a hot path along his neck, his head tilting to the side automatically. “Y/n...”

“Yes?” You pull back to look at him questioningly, as if you don’t know what he needs, what he’s been waiting for all day. 

He scowls you at you. You squint at him as if not understanding what he’s trying to say. “Fuck, y/n, I’m going to–“ 

“Tell me what you want,” you murmur pleasantly, cutting him off as you lean in, the tips of your noses nearly brushing. His bottom lip quivers, you feel his warm breath on your lips, but no words come out and you decide to help him out. “Do you want me to suck your cock? Is that it, baby?” 

Victor, glare wavering just the slightest bit, gives a small nod and you smile faintly–before your fingers come up to rest on his throat. He freezes, mostly in surprise, but you don’t increase the pressure, just digging in your nails lightly. 

“Say it.” The words are clipped, contrasting with your benign expression. His throat bobs under your touch as he swallows. You can almost see him weigh his options, the way he considers just flipping you over and fucking you senseless; but you’ve talked about this, and he knows you won’t mind but neither of you likes derailing from the agenda. 

“I need you–I need your mouth, your hands, anything. Please suck my dick.” He would never beg, but you’re nonetheless quite delighted with the beseeching note in his voice. 

“Anything for you,” you croon, planting a quick kiss on his cheek as he huffs before shuffling back and onto his thighs, reaching for his neglected cock. It brushes your thigh as you move, and it’s surprisingly difficult to steer yourself away from the thought of just-

Okay. No. Bad y/n.

You start with slow pumps, ducking your head to bring your mouth to it, giving soft kitten licks around the tip, the slightly salty taste of his wetness a familiar one. His breathing stutters as his hands grabbing fistfuls of the bedspread, keeping himself still as you work him diligently. 

It’s nice that he’s being so obedient, but would that remain so in the face of obstacles? You should test him, right? Victor loves his tests, after all. 

You take in as much of his length into your mouth as you can, continuing the motions of your hand as your tongue undulates along it. You take in his soft groan before letting him slip out of your mouth. And then, just as he raises his head to look at you, a protest on the tip of his tongue, you dip the tip of your tongue into the wet slit at the head of his cock–just the slightest bit, and thrilled shivers erupt all over your skin as he slams his head back into the pillow, a helplessly loud groan almost resembling a growl erupting from his mouth.

How lovely.

“Fuck, y/n, please–“ 

At that, you take him in your mouth once more, working it in tandem with your hand as you increase your pace with one goal in mind. Just when you know he’s close, his thighs tensing and his hips beginning to snap into your mouth, your fingers sneak down to fondle his balls carefully. 

Victor comes with a loud curse, a helpless groan of your name; warm, thick liquid fills your mouth and you swallow as much as you can, allowing the rest to dribble down your chin and over your fingers and his skin. You swallow forcefully as you lock eyes with him, savouring the flash of desire in his eyes. 

Victor’s breathing evens out slowly as you clean him up, his limbs relaxed and unmoving, and you start to wonder if he’s dozed off until you look up and catch him watching you. 

Going by the look on his face alone, sleeping seems to be the last thing on his mind. 

“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” You reach for his hand, bringing it up to brush your lips over his knuckles, relishing in his slightly flustered expression. 

You have to wonder why Victor’s so surprised. You did, after all, learn from the best.

He takes a moment to think about it, eyes darting to the harness resting harmlessly on a chair in the corner of the room. “Yes, I’m sure.” 

“Not too tired?” 

“No.” 

You study him for another moment before nodding. “I’ll get us ready, then. Safe word?”

“Dummy.” 

You share a smile at that, chuckling softly as you climb off the bed and reach for the strappy gear. Silently thanking YouTube as you clip it on, feeling like you’re about to raid a tomb, you reach for the chosen dildo and pivot, only to freeze in place. 

Victor seems to have taken it upon himself to get into one of the positions you’d researched, staying on his back and pulling his knees up until they’re closer to his chest, and the visual goes straight to your groin; you swear that you feel your cunt tremble from this sight alone, of this powerful man spread on his back for you, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s saying something. 

“Y/n?” he repeats, looking annoyed when you jump and look at him, before it shifts into something more self-conscious. “I think this should work.”

“Y-yeah...” You amble back over to the bed in a slight daze, grabbing the lube off the side table, sliding onto the bed deftly. Your mouth trembles and dries up: Victor, with his knees up, plugged for nearly an hour now, ready for you to fuck him.

“...Is everything okay?” he peers at you curiously, flushing slightly when you run your fingers over the backs of his thighs. His, now mostly flaccid, cock rests on his stomach, and you decide it to leave it alone for now. 

“Just wondering how I got so lucky,” you admit easily, a sly smile forming on your lips when he scoffs, but the pleased tilt of his mouth gives him away. “Did I mention you’re gorgeous?” 

“Yes, you did.” He averts his eyes but you don’t miss his slight smirk, prompting your own as you reach for the plug. His expression falters as you twist it in place, a soft sound leaving his throat. 

“I’m gonna pull this out now, okay?” 

“Mm.” He shifts as you pull the toy out, pouring the cool lube over your fingers; you circle the flexing hole, eyes darting between your hand and his face. A long finger slides in, followed by a second, and his eyelids flutter as you slide them in and out, marvelling at the way his walls clamp down on them.

“Feels okay?” 

“Yeah,” his mouth parts silently as you angle your wrist, brushing over where you’ve, in the past few weeks, come to know his prostate is. “Ah-feels good.”  You’re glad his eyes are closed; he misses your pleased grin. 

“Y/n,” he opens his eyes, waiting until you look away from the lovely sight of your fingers entering him and meet them, giving you a firm nod. “I’m ready.” 

You can’t help but remember saying those exact words to him, more than a year ago, the night you had sex with him for the first time. The way he grins lets you know he’s remembering the same thing, and you shake your head lightly as you pull your fingers out. 

Well, then, you should aim to be just as good as he was. A lofty goal, but you’ve been in a relationship with arguably the most enterprising man in the city for over a year–and you’re no stranger to ambition.

Once you’re sure the dildo is dripping with enough lube, you shuffle forward, guiding the tip to his entrance. You’re oddly nervous, even though you’ve spent weeks prepping for this, but Victor’s gaze is clear of any worry; his eyes, luminous and fervent, meet yours steadily. You reach for his hand, the one resting beside him, and lace your fingers through his tightly. 

You push the head of the toy through, a part of you wishing you could actually feel it, and stop there. 

“Keep going.” 

“Victor-“ 

“Keep going, y/n,” he gasps, “please.” 

You start moving at once, at his breathless demand, much to your chagrin–old habits do die hard. He groans deeply, chest heaving, hand squeezing yours. You still once you bottom out, your breath stuck in your chest as you watch him squirm, his jaw clenching as he adjusts.

“Okay?” you whisper, your walls squeezing almost despondently around nothing as you watch his cock get stiffer, as he opens eyes glazed over with arousal.

“Yeah,” Victor pushes his hips up lightly, “I’m good. Are you?” 

You try not to laugh, because he’s so sweet even when he’s the one with a five-inch dildo up his ass. “Perfect.” 

“Then move,” he commands, and you bite back a yes sir as you slide out halfway, before sliding back in. “Oh, fuck.” 

“Good?” 

“I love you,” he groans, and this time you do giggle as you start thrusting slowly. “Babygirl, ah, keep going.” 

It feels surreal to be on the receiving end of these words, to be the one fucking him, but you enjoy it immensely, even though the movement feels a bit strange. Perhaps you should’ve listened to Victor and opted for one of those dual dildos. But you’d wanted the first time to be about him, to focus on his pleasure and not let your own be a distraction. Your pace is steady, nearly a grind and he rocks his hips into yours. 

“Harder. I’m not made of glass-“ His choked gasp as you cut him off with a hard snap of your hips sends satisfaction rushing through your veins. No wonder he does it so often, you would love to see that again. 

It takes a few tries to angle it right, to have the toy brushing his prostate, but you’re rewarded by him writhing beneath you, your name falling from his lips in a curse and a prayer in turns. His cock, flushed and erect, bounces enticingly as you drill into him. You hope you’re not rushing when you reach for it, giving it a few quick pumps and Victor cracks. You let go of his cock in slight fear as he shouts, but his other hand finds yours and guides it back to his straining erection. 

“Please, fuck–I’m so close, baby, so close–“ he pants, his hips lifting to meet yours as you pick up your faltering pace. There’s a strange sort of desperation welling in you, a need to see him come, and your hand wraps around his cock firmly as you lift your interlocked hands to place them on his folded knee, his other leg having fallen to the side. 

With his lips parted, deep groans rumbling from his chest, stormy eyes shut tight–Victor looks ethereal as he comes, like a wild god falling apart beneath you. His seed spills over his chest, and he’s shaking, his hand lax in your grip, and you take a moment to breathe before sliding out as gently as you can. 

He hisses as you do so, looking up at you tiredly as you help him turn to his side, unclipping the harness hurriedly as you move over to his side, wiping impatiently at the sweat dripping down your cheeks. 

Your lips brush his temple as you stroke his damp hair gently, drawing a tiny hum from his throat as he presses his face into your stomach. Unsure if you should wake him up if he’s dozed off, you’re relieved when he stirs, tilting his head up and smiling as you kiss him softly. 

“Okay?” 

“Mm.” He moves as if to scoot closer, before pausing and staring down at his chest. 

“Right, here–“ 

Reaching for a small towel and handing him a glass of water as you clean him up, admittedly hovering as he takes small sips; you’re gifted with an eye-roll from him. 

“Calm down.” 

“How does a bath sound?” you ask instead. He considers you for a moment, taking in your nervous expression and wringing hands. He stretches, muscles rippling beneath his skin–and winces. You take that as a yes, scrambling off the bed.

“Only if you join me,” he calls after you as you run to the bathroom. He looks surprised when, after turning the water on, you run to the door of the bedroom. “What are you doing?” 

“Getting you a snack!” you answer over your shoulder, hurrying to the kitchen and grabbing the prepped bowl of fruit. You’re back at his side in record time, place the bowl on the bed as he lounges on his side, head propped up on a palm. 

“I’m fine, y/n,” he sighs, accepting the strawberry with a long-suffering look. 

“I know, but-”

“But nothing,” he pops another slice into his mouth. You settle behind him and he leans back into your arms, something sly in the curve of his smile. You pepper every inch of skin you can reach with soft kisses, resisting the urge to hold him tighter. “Although I could get used to this.”

Your mind flashes back to his face when you first slid into him, the way he’d moaned shamelessly as you thrust into him, the way he fell to pieces when he came. And then you take in the way he’s sunk into your embrace, nibbling contentedly on the snack he ‘didn’t need.’ 

“Yeah. Me too.”

[visionsofus]

im loving your wanda + vision's mixtape series! my song request is "I Know Places" by Taylor Swift! the song works perfectly with those two during the times between civil war and infinity war :)

Anon I'm sure you expected something quite different with this song... but here is what I wrote :) I hope you still enjoy even though its angsty! 

Track #13: I know places by Taylor Swift 

| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |

Synopsis: Wanda and Vision try to spend a peaceful evening out for dinner in Paris when they are suddenly attacked. To keep each other safe they split up, forced to make the harrowing journey to the next safe house separately. Vision is faced with Wanda's mortality.

Warnings: Angst/ mild whump, blood, guns, reference to a gunshot wound, I mostly skip writing the gore because no

All Wanda had wanted was a peaceful evening. She should have known it wasn’t to be. You didn’t get peace when you were a fugitive.

But they were in Paris, it was their first time in the city of love, and it was impossible to resist the opportunity to spend an evening together at a Parisian restaurant, overlooking the River Seine. They’d put the necessary research in, knew how private the restaurant was and chose the night it was said to be quietest – a Tuesday evening. They were so caught up in being in love with each other and in the hope of having a normal evening, like a normal couple. One of the first lessons Nat had taught Wanda was how easy it was to hide in a crowd, a lesson she shouldn’t have forgotten so quickly. But after two years of hiding on and off with Vision in different cities Wanda had come to associate privacy with safety.

Of course, they was no way they could have predicted that their server would be attending university for international relations and was not only knowledgeable in the Accords, but had aspirations of reaching the United Nations. It was the wrong time and the wrong place, but it always had been for them. Time was never on their side.

The first sign that something was wrong came before they’d even sat down. The restaurant was quieter than they’d anticipated, with only two other couples occupying the interior of the restaurant.

Wanda tried to wait patiently for their nervous waiter to return and shivered slightly at the breeze coming off the river below. They’d chosen the balcony in the hopes that it would put them further out of view of anyone else in the restaurant, but she hadn’t anticipated the cold. In response to her shiver Vision slid closer along the bench, wrapping an arm around her waist and she gratefully pressed herself to his warm side.

“She’s taking too long with the menus,” Wanda murmured quietly reaching out to fiddle restlessly with the napkin in front of her.

“You worry too much,” Vision said pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We took proper precautions.” But he too sounded worried and Wanda was beginning to second guess their whole decision to spend an evening out.

To their relief the young woman returned a moment later with two menus clasped in her grip. They began the motions of ordering food and Wanda started to hope that everything was going well.

She was mid conversation with Vision about their plans for the duration of their trip when she heard a series of car doors slamming down on the side street below them. Vision too went quiet, listening carefully. He rose, walking to the edge of the balcony and peered over, his eyesight far superior to Wanda’s human eyes. At that exact moment their server returned, two drinks in her hands and Wanda couldn’t help it. She reached out into the woman’s head, just enough to see what had happened in the time since they’d arrived. What she saw made her jerk back, fear alight in her heart as she launched herself up from the table and the server scurried back inside.

“Vis,” Wanda said stepping towards him, “we need to run.”

He didn’t get the chance to reply as a series of bullets ricocheted off his chest. Of course, his Vibranium form was impervious to such amateur tactics but Wanda still felt her chest constrict in fear. Her powers rose to the surface immediately and she encased them protectively behind her magic, shielding them from whoever was shooting.

“Perhaps this was a bad idea,” Vision said scanning the area and Wanda could almost hear his thoughts as he ran through possible escape routes. “They’ll have circled the building by now, we’ll have to get out via the roof.”

“Up it is,” Wanda muttered and launched herself towards the roof with her powers, Vision close on her heels.

“How did they find us?” Vision asked as they ran along the roof shingling, or rather she ran, and he flew.

“The server recognised us immediately and reported to the local police,” Wanda called, stumbling a little on the next rooftop as she launched herself across the space between two buildings.

Vision was at her side, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. “We have to get out of the city.”

‘Pyramus Protocol?” Wanda asked, hating using the name of the plan that was their last possible resort.

“I’m afraid so,” Vision replied, and they stopped atop a flat rooftop, far enough away that they surely must have bought some time.  

Wanda sighed, pulling herself to him and hugging him tightly. “It’ll be ok,” she murmured a promise to herself and to the night air around them.

“I’ll see you in two days,” Vision said drawing back just enough to kiss her tenderly.

“Don’t get caught,” Wanda murmured trying to keep her eyes closed a little longer as his thumb brushed along her cheek.

“Stay safe.” His voice was a whisper and when she opened her eyes he had disappeared.

Wanda cursed their frivolity even as she ran over rooftops, launching herself across spaces no regular human would have been able to in the direction of their rented apartment. Pyramus had been a requirement when they decided to keep seeing each other, despite their divided teammates, the havoc wreaked on a German airport and most significantly, the very legal international treaty that now divided them. Anytime they started feeling guilty about the danger they were putting each other in, the Pyramus Protocol was there to fall back on.

They’d designed the plan at the demand of Nat and Steve on one side and Tony on the other. Wanda knew it was the main reason their friends didn’t have more problems with these secret meetings. Vision hadn’t been able to resist naming their escape plan after Pyramus and Thisbe, the star-crossed lovers of Greek mythology whose tragedy had inspired Romeo and Juliet. Wanda didn’t mind, as long as they hadn’t cursed their relationship to end the same way.

Thanks to the Pyramus Protocol they had a safehouse in mind, deep in the mountains in the south of France. In every country they visited, there needed to be an alternate safe house if things went to shit, or it became too dangerous to leave the country. Such as right now. With Wanda’s cover blown the authorities would be keeping keen eyes on borders and airspaces, so the only option was to venture further into the country.

Part of the Pyramus protocol was to split up in the event that only one of their covers was blown and as Vision purposely hadn’t let his human form go public in the US, it was safer for them to be apart. Wanda could only hope that the authorities were only out for her. The secret of his appearance was all that was protecting him from becoming a fugitive like her if she got caught and it was this assurance that silenced Wanda’s guilt enough to keep seeing him.

Wanda was so lost in her head that she almost flew straight past their apartment, managing to slow down just in time to drop onto the small balcony facing the street. She laid a hand to the glass, using her magic to turn the handle from the inside and stepping quietly into the apartment. Vision didn’t often bring anything with him, but Wanda kept all her belongings on hand and couldn’t afford to leave everything behind, lest they find some evidence that could be traced back to her teammates.

The bag was always semi-packed, always sitting at the foot of the bed and within magic’s reach if she had to run, or worse, destroy the evidence.They’d gotten lucky so far. Until tonight.

Wanda knew something was wrong as soon as she stepped into the apartment. A floorboard creaked to her right and she threw her hands over her head as something whistled past her ear, narrowly missing her neck. A tranquiliser.

Wanda jumped into action, grabbing the duffle bag with her magic and launching herself back to the doors, smashing through the glass and up onto the rooftop once more. She heard the shouts of her pursuers and waited until the four men made it out onto the balcony, swearing in French and looking around. When one finally looked up, Wanda reached out to their minds, hating it even as she did. She managed to subdue three of them but the fourth persisted and Wanda fought between keeping the three under and trying to wrangle the last man into submission. All it took was the distraction of sirens nearby and her control waned enough for the fourth man to draw his gun and take several, carefully aimed shots at her. Wanda swore and launched herself back, throwing her power up as she did. But she was not quick enough, and one of the bullets found her shoulder, sending pain ricocheting through her left arm. She fell to her knees on the rooftop huffing in pain, tears burning at her eyes. She’d been faced with guns often during her time with the Avengers but never had a bullet actually hit her. She vaguely recalled that you weren’t supposed to leave it in, but worried about not having anything to staunch the blood flow if she tried to pull it out. If she passed out from blood loss now, she’d never escape.  

Instead, she pulled off her winter coat, removing its woollen belt and using that as a temporary bandage, her blood warm against her fingers as she tried to breathe through the pain. To hide the bloody stains on her top she took a jumper from her duffle bag and tugged it over her head with great difficulty. She heard grunting and a hand reached over the side of the rooftop, sending her scuttling to the shadows as she tried to gather her wits once more. Shouting could be heard below, and Wanda knew this was her last chance to lose her pursuers.

The station was only 20 minutes away by foot, but Wanda made slow progress, sticking to rooftops as often as she could, always on alert for how near the sirens were. She launched herself from rooftop to rooftop with one hand, her other arm too painful to move.

Once she was sure she hadn’t been followed she purchased two north bound tickets using a traceable credit card under her name, and for her real ticket used cash, messing with the ticket officer’s mind to ensure he only recalled her buying the first two. She’d paid extra for a private cabin with a bed for the overnight train ride that was due to have her arriving late afternoon at the Pyrenees mountains.

At the platform Wanda reached into the conductor’s mind as he waited at the door, erasing any memory he had of her boarding the train even as he checked her ticket. She made it to her cabin without further event, shutting the door firmly behind her and pulling the blinds down. She lowered herself carefully to the cramped bed set against one wall, breathing properly for the first time in an hour. She groaned quietly as the pain in her shoulder hit her fully and her adrenaline abruptly ran dry. It took all her strength to stretch out on the uncomfortable bed as the train started to rock, leaving the city. With the knowledge that she had gotten away she closed her eyes and let sleep overtake her.

Vision was waiting in a café, a French newspaper propped up in front of him and a steaming coffee in his hand, though he hadn’t drunk any. He was doing his best to act normal even as he listened to a couple near him chattering in French about the international fugitive spotted in Paris the night before. It was all over the various news channels, but so far, no mention of him had appeared. Better yet, the authorities seemed to have no leads on where Wanda had disappeared to.

Vision gasped as his forehead sparked with pain, exactly from where the mind stone usually was when he was in his normal form. He put his hand to his head and rubbed nervously. It was throbbing sharply, and he gritted his teeth as he tried not to draw any attention to himself. Then it was as though the stone was trying to speak to him, images flooded his mind – Wanda lying unconscious on what seemed to be a train, someone opening the door, the cry of sirens as police cars pulled into the train station. It all happened so quickly that Vision thought he might have been imaging things. The stone throbbed persistently, and he knew he could not ignore the warning. He needed to get to the train station immediately.  

Now that he was further south, it had grown colder and though Vision didn’t feel the discomfort of the temperature drop, he was glad to be wearing the thick woollen coat, flipping the collar up and pressing his chin down. He disappeared into the street, just another person avoiding the harsh wind blowing down the main street.  

The station was relatively busy as the train pulled in just on time and Vision found himself darting around people, making his way towards the front of the train where the priority seating was. The row of empty compartments appeared just as they had in his head, and there was the final compartment, its blinds still pulled tightly down.

He glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder and tried the door handle. Once inside he could have sworn his artificial heart stopped for a few moments. He dropped to his knees next to the bed and the woman lying in it. He was eye level with Wanda’s pallid, unconscious face and her eyes flickered weakly beneath eyelids.

“Wanda,” he said voice raw with pain. He reached out to her shoulders hoping he could wake her up. That was when he felt the blood, his hand coming away a dark red as he looked at her shoulder in horror. “You’re alright, you’re alright,” he whispered to himself more than anything as he picked her up carefully, hating how limp she was in his arms.

Throwing caution to the wind he phased right through the side of the train, moving so quickly he only hoped that no one on the platform happened to see him heading straight for the outskirts of town where the safe house was waiting for him. He didn’t care if he was spotted now, it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t help her.

The house was as basic as possible, an empty cabin in a small mountainous town. The last place Vision hoped the authorities would come looking. But it was hard to be concerned about that with the alarming situation presented before him. Wanda was hurt and there was no way he could risk taking her to a doctor or trying to get her to Steve or Natasha. But Vision had always assured her that he would be there no matter what, now was the time to see that promise through.

While the cabin might have been lacking in interior design and scarce of furniture, it was equipped with an extensive first aid kit beneath the kitchen sink which Vision quickly located. He had laid Wanda out on the couch and was startled to see her slowly coming to as he returned.

She tried to sit up, gasping as she looked around frantically at the unfamiliar surroundings. “Vis?” She cried her voice full of desperation.

He appeared at her side instantaneously and she pressed a bloodstained hand to his cheek her lip quivering as she looked him up and down, as though assuring herself that he were real. Despite his concern for her jostling her injury he leant into her as she rested her head on his chest, sitting so that she could hug him with her good arm, and he could hold her.

“It’s okay,” he said kissing her cheek even as tears began to roll down, “you’re going to be okay.”

“I was so scared they’d get you,” Wanda said through her crying and Vision’s heart clenched and he held her tighter.

“It’s okay,” he whispered over and over, giving her the time she needed to calm down.

Her breaths were still coming out in hiccups even after ten minutes of holding her, but Vision couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Now came the difficult part. He pulled back gently, cupping her cheek and she relented to lying back down, wincing as her weight was put into her back and her shoulder.

He prepared the first aid kit, the tweezers to remove the bullet that was still lodged in her shoulder and the needle to stitch the wound back up. Her power must have stopped some of the impact because the bullet thankfully hadn’t gone in too deep. He’d already profiled the area and made sure it wasn’t pressing on any arteries. It would be a painful, if quick procedure.

“Wait,” Wanda said hoarsely when he looked at her for confirmation to begin. “Can I hide in your head?”

“Of course, darling,” Vision said presenting his forehead to her and relishing the feeling of her warm palm on his cheek, and more distantly, the warmer feeling of a consciousness alongside his.

He looked at Wanda for the go ahead and she nodded slowly, closing her glowing eyes as she retreated out of her own mind and into his.

The mental distance helped Wanda as Vision started cleaning her wound up. The pain was a distant foe and though she winced as he withdrew the bullet it was infinitely better wrapped up in the comfort of his mind. He let her filter through the memories of the previous evening, and she was glad to see his escape had been relatively uneventful, he’d travelled west first and then south to the mountain range. Wanda hadn’t gotten a very good look at the space so far, hadn’t taken in anything beyond the simple fact that he was by her side and that she felt safe for the first time in 24 hours. But she looked now, reliving through his eyes as he made his round of the house. It was simple but cosy and reminded Wanda of the time a year ago when they had stayed in the Swiss mountains for a week. They’d spent their time going on long, secluded walks on mountain trails or sitting wrapped up together in front of the fire. It was a week spent taking each other in, catching up on the separate lives they’d been living in the month spent apart, and relishing in the closeness they could have when it was just the two of them. This cabin certainly wasn’t as lush, but Wanda was grateful to feel the warmth behind those memories even as her body cried out with pain in the physical world.

Wanda drew back to herself as the pain began to lessen, the stinging on the surface of her skin sufficiently numbed and the bloodstained belt and bullet discarded.

The rest of the evening was quiet, though neither were able to settled down after such a close call. Vision moved Wanda to the bedroom where she might be more comfortable, and she tried her best to relax as the pain medication slowly kicked in. He helped her eat something, though her appetite was non-existent. Then he waited for her to sleep, her head resting on his arm as they lay together. He ran his hands through her hair, gently teasing tangles apart and doing his best to clean the dried blood away from her neck.  

He left bed once to double check the locks, ensuring that the motion sensor alarms were set for the outside of the remote property, ready to warn them if they were found. But Vision had been monitoring the news all afternoon and the press seemed to believe the trail of the international fugitive had gone cold, much to his relief. He distantly noted that Tony had tried to contact him twice in the last few hours and he silenced the notification, it was a problem for tomorrow.

He heard creaking coming from the bedroom and dashed back in alarm. But it was just Wanda doing her best to stand up against the wooziness from the pain medication and exhaustion.

She reached for him wordlessly, her eyes threatening to spill the tears gathered there and Vision was at her side instantly, cupping her head to his shoulder and slipping a hand under her knees so that he might return her to bed.

“It’s alright,” he whispered as she twisted her fists into his sweater shakily.

“Don’t let me go tonight please,” Wanda whispered as he tried to make her comfortable even as she gritted her teeth past pain, getting as close to him as she possibly could. “You’re the only thing holding me together right now.”

Vision wiped her tears away and kissed her softly. “I’m not going anywhere; I’ll always be here.”

“What if they find us?”

“They won’t,” Vision whispered though he couldn’t possibly say for certain, “and if they do, I won’t let them take you.”

“I’ll never let them take you,” Wanda whispered looking into his eyes as she promised. “Anything but you.”

“It will never come to that,” Vision said with such conviction that tears began spilling down her cheeks again.

They remained intertwined the entire night, Wanda curled into his side, her back to the outside world, her head resting on his shoulder.  Some part of Vision managed to rest, taking solace in the fact they were together and for now, safe. But there was a part of him agonising over what had happened, the part of him that remained conscious over-analysing every creak and crack of the old cabin as winds swirled through the forest outside. The same part of him that desperately dreamt of an alternative, a life where they didn’t have to run and hide anymore. He clung to that hope as they clung to each other throughout the night. Though Wanda had told him he was the only thing holding her together, Vision knew he’d be in pieces if they were ever separated by something more final.

[rhub4rb]

Of Birds and Bugs

Prologue

-_-_-_-

It was all Jagged’s fault, really.

Though did that mean Marinette should thank him?

It had been a normal day. It was after school, and Marinette was spending this rare piece of spare time working, trying to find the perfect destination for a surprise class trip that she was helping Mme. Bustier to arrange.

It was more difficult than Marinette had expected it to be. The budget was tighter than Marinette had hoped, and there was only so few places that would keep all of her classmates interested. Marinette knew that she didn’t necessarily have to try and make the trip good for everyone, but she also knew that Lila would turn it on her and say that Marinette made the trip bad on purpose.

So, Marinette had spent a couple of days brainstorming ideas and possibilities, both nationally and internationally. Different destinations, hotels, events and the like, but they would either be discarded for not being in the budget, or because it would probably not be enjoyed by the class.

Even if her classmates didn’t like her anymore, Marinette was still class president for a reason, and that was for the fact that she was efficient.

Marinette had even spent all night just researching one location, only to trash the idea when dawn broke, realizing that, while the idea was good as a concept, would probably not have been interesting enough for her classmates.

Then, when also counting in the fact that the trip was supposed to be at least somewhat educational as well…

It was safe to say, Marinette was starting to get desperate.

Her biggest fear though, would be to have it all planned and ready to book, just to be thrown to the side because Lila couldn’t come because of whatever stupid lie she would come up with, forcing Marinette to scrap the idea because; If poor Lila couldn’t come, then Marinette wouldn’t mind finding something else, right?

Marinette let out a tired sigh, Tikki patting her on the knee in silent comfort.

The moment of quiet, however, was broken by the ringing of a phone, the ringtone one that made Marinette jump up from her seat to pick up the call, running around her room to find her phone somewhere in the room.

“Penny!” Marinette exclaimed, slightly breathless from her searching, greeted once she answered the call.

“Hello Marinette,” there was clear amusement in the voice of Penny Rolling on the other line. “Jagged was wondering if you could drop by the hotel, there’s something he wants to discuss with you.”

“Now?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” Penny sounded apologetic, and Marinette was quick to reassure.

“Of course not! I uh- I’ll hurry.”

“I’ll send a car over to pick you up. Take your sketchbook with you.” Penny added, and Marinette was already running around her rom, getting ready.

“Sure thing! See you soon Penny.”

A little break never hurt anyone.

 -

Break might have been a generous word for what she was about to do.

The moment Marinette stepped into the hotel room, she was swept up in Jagged Stone’s arms, twirled around for a while before finally being put down, a little dizzy.

“Mari! You are just the rocking girl I need right now.” Jagged exclaimed. “There’s going to be this super rocking charity gala meant to support young creative souls like yours here in Paris next week, and I want you to design my suit for it.”

It took a second for Marinette to understand what Jagged had said, her eyes widening once realization hit her.

“R-really? Are you sure?”

Marinette had designed a couple of things for Jagged over the last few years, all the way from album covers and posters to performance outfits.

This time was different though, because if Marinette was right about what gala he was talking about, then there was a chance that he would be asked about who designed his suit, which meant that he would be stating on international television that Marinette had designed it for him.

Sure, Marinette had been mentioned in a few magazines from time to time, but this was on a whole other level.

“Of course, I’m sure! No one gets my rocking style like you do Mari.” Jagged said. “Which brings me to the next topic.”

Jagged propped his booted feet up on the coffee table, his arms crossed behind his head.

“I’m allowed to invite one or two people to come with me to the event, and I was wondering if you would like to go with me and Penny.”

“I-I- that would be amazing!” Marinette yelled out in excitement. “I would love to!”

“Awesome! Penny is gonna contact your teacher about getting you free from school a little earlier so you can focus on this, alright?”

Marinette just nodded hurriedly, getting out her sketchbook and started asking questions, if there was anything in particular that he wanted.

“I just want the suit to be me, you know? None of that fancy crap, I want it to be Rock n’ Roll!”

Marinette had to pause for a moment to try and figure out which route to go with for the design. Despite Jagged being adamant that the suit could not be fancy, he was still going to attend a high-end gala.

An idea suddenly struck, and Marinette started sketching furiously, until she had a rough sketch of an idea she liked, showing it to Jagged.

Jagged’s eyes lit up, and with a few pointers here and there, Marinette was able to come up with a design that she was happy with.

“We’ll pay for whatever fabrics you need; you just focus on making that rocking suit for me, and of course a lovely dress for you.”

 -

After that, the next couple of days were a bit of a blur for Marinette.

Between school, trying to make that trip a reality, and finishing Jagged’s and her own clothes for the gala, Marinette had been so busy that she hardly even paid Lila any mind.

She didn’t even realize that Lila planned a party to be thrown the exact same day as the gala took place, or that she wasn’t even invited, her focus was solely on finishing Jagged’s suit on time.

Still, when the gala finally came, Marinette was not prepared for the amount of paparazzi that would be present outside of the gala.

Because of the amount of celebrities that would be present, no one outside of those invited were allowed in, making the place outside cramped as reporters tried to get a look at the various important people who would be present.

Penny, noticing Marinette’s discomfort by the number of reporters, tried to calm her down a bit.

“It’s going to be fine Marinette, both you and Jagged look wonderful tonight.”

“Yeah, my little Rockstar! You have nothing to be worried about.” Jagged tried to reassure.

“It’s not that. It’s just-“ Marinette thought about her classmates, about how Lila would lie and manipulate the situation, about the accusations of why she didn’t tell them about it. “Do you think I could get in another way?”

Marinette focused in her lap, not seeing the concerned glance that the two adults shared.

“Of course, I’ll go with you.” Penny said, and once Jagged Stone got out of the car and was flocked by various paparazzi, all of which held back by bodyguards. Penny instructed the chauffer to drive a little further ahead, where she and Marinette got out, and went in through another door.

Jagged was asked a wave of questions, from his latest album, to his next tour and, of course, who designed his suit for the evening.

The pants were a deep purple, with studs going along the hem and up his legs. The jacket was made of leather, but designed like a normal suit jacket, studs covering the lapels. His button up shirt was made of black, see-through lace, and he wore black lace gloves to go with, these not being fingerless like his usual ones. Marinette had said they looked more sophisticated.

The button up shirt wasn’t buttoned all the way up, and his boots were a little high, the heels being covered in a purple metal.

“This rocking outfit was designed by my favorite creative soul here in Paris, a girl named Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

As the paparazzi asked more questions and Jagged slowly, but finally, made his way inside, another rich person came to walk the carpet to get in, and got swamped by all of the paparazzi.

 -

Penny and Marinette spent the time talking to one another while waiting for Jagged to get inside, a few people throwing curious glances at Marinette as they didn’t recognize her.

Penny was concerned, however. She had noticed over the week how Marinette avoided certain topics or would divert a conversation once it went to talk about her classmates.

Penny knew that Jagged had noticed it too, and if they were the reason Marinette was worried about walking down the carpet with Jagged, then they had to do something about it.

“So…” Penny started. “How is it going with school?”

“It’s going well, my grades are doing pretty good despite my occasional absences but-“ Penny cut Marinette off.

“I meant your classmates. How is it going with your classmates?” She tried.

Marinette looked down.

She had guessed that it was going to be brought up eventually, she had just hoped that it would have been later. She sighed.

“It’s… kind of complicated-“ Marinette was cut off once again, but this time by an excited Jagged Stone who just got inside.

Marinette, seeing this as an opportunity to avoid the most likely awkward conversation that was about to happen between Penny and her, looked up at Jagged with a smile as he slung his arm over her shoulder.

“You are going to be so busy from now on Marinette, I’ve already had so many people come up to me and ask for your contact information. Be prepared for an onslaught of emails in the future.”

And just like that, the conversation about classmates was forgotten in favor of mingling with the rich and famous. Marinette was introduced to a series of people, her email was shared, and for once, she seemed to smile just a little brighter than before.

Marinette was at the refreshment table when Jagged walked up to her, with a tall, muscular looking businessman.

“Mari! I’ve gotta introduce you to this rocking fellow. This is Bruce Wayne, one of the few good rich folks you’ll meet.”

Bruce seemed slightly startled by that description but smiled none the less to Marinette.

“It’s nice to meet you miss…”

“Oh! Uh- Marinette! Marinette Dupain-Cheng, sir.” Marinette hurried.

“Mari here is my favorite little designer. We’ve been working together since she was 14.” Jagged said proudly. “When I got invited to this fancy gala thing, I knew only Marinette could make me something to absolutely rock tonight.”

Bruce’s eyes widened in surprise, and he looked Jagged over, assessing the overall design and quality.

“You made this? The quality looks incredible.” He looked at her. “And I’m going to guess you made your jumpsuit as well?”

Marinette stammered, before quickly nodding her head.

While working on Jagged’s suit, Marinette had to make her own outfit as well.

She was originally going to just make a dress, but then she flipped through her sketchbook and found the design for the jumpsuit, and immediately started working on that.

The jumpsuit itself was deep red, accentuating her long legs, and with the kitty heels she was wearing, made her look slightly taller. It was sleeveless, and the top had sharp edges, making a small angular dip at her chest. Marinette had wanted to give a nod towards Jagged with her design, seeing as it was because of him that she could even be there, so she added a floor length (foe) leather skirt, cut down at the front to reveal her legs, and lined with a deep red on the inside.

“I was just glad that Jagged wanted me to design this for him.” Marinette said meekly, tugging at her braided side-ponytail.

“No need to be so humble, Mari! Of course, I wanted you to do this!” Jagged looked at Bruce, eyes wide and full of stars, almost like a proud parent. “Mari is such a talented girl, and she won’t even brag about it! But, that’s why I’m here.”

Jagged proceeded to tell Bruce about Marinette’s long list of accomplishments, from the various contests she had won, to all the things she had designed for him and Clara Nightingale, to how she had been class president for the last three years.

Marinette was slowly curling in on herself, her shoulders rising, her head sinking, trying to disappear from that very moment.

Bruce, seeming to take pity on the girl, decided to cut in on Jagged’s ramble about his talented “niece”.

“What sort of duties do you have as class president?” Bruce asked.

Marinette, straightening after finally being addressed, pondered the question for a moment.

“I’m often mediator in conflicts that pop up in the class and I arrange a couple of class trips.” She said. “I’m trying to figure out a longer trip away from the school, but the budget is pretty limited, so it’s hard to find something that goes under all of the requirements, not to mention interesting enough to for the rest of class.” Marinette frowned, thinking about all of the places she had considered, but ultimately not going with.

“I’m hoping to have found something by the end of the month but…” Marinette shrugged.

Bruce nodded in understanding, a plan already forming in his mind.

 -_-_-_-

I hope that was good! I plan on posting this every other week, with MJM being posted the other weeks

@ozmav I hope you enjoyed this long prologue

[justthehiddleswrites]

The Reluctants | Chapter 2 | The Reluctant Tenant

Pairing: Adam (OLLA) x OFC (Charlie Bock)

Summary:  Charlie can’t believe her luck when she lands an apartment all to herself in Quincy, Massachusetts in a decaying triple decker. But life gets more complicated when someone moves into the basement. Specifically her landlord, Adam, who also happens to be a vampire. As life collapses around Charlie, these two forge an uneasy and unlikely relationship. But is their relationship as doomed as the building they live in?

This Chapter:   Charlie discovered the true identity of the man living in the basement through unusual means.

Warnings: Violence, Smut, Frottage, Dry Humping, Teasing, Coming In Pants, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex. Couch Sex. Kidnapping. Stalking. Non-Graphic Violence, Character Death

-

Charlie bounded out of bed that morning a half an hour before her alarm was set to go off. She hurried to the kitchen and slapped the coffee maker before popping a cinnamon raisin bagel in the toaster.

“Call on me, Call on me…” Charlie sang into her knife as she waited for the bagel to pop up ready to slather it with a generous amount of cookie butter. That ridiculous Eric Prydz song had wormed its way into her brain last night during her research. Now she couldn’t stop singing it. Or thrusting her hips.

As the coffee dripped and her bagel breakfast toasted, Charlie headed to the second bedroom. Or the room of requirement, as she called. She meant it to be her home office but instead stored all the bits and pieces of her life that had yet to find a place in her apartment. Charlie sighed and took a deep breath, twisting the brass knob and pushing the door inward. It stopped short about a third of the way. She slithered her way into the room to discover her collection of hockey sticks tumbled over, blocking the path of the door.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” she cursed mostly at herself as she righted the tub that housed the sticks. She surveyed the room, gingerly stepping around stacks of books and old stuffed animals crammed into banker boxes.

“I should sell all this on eBay.” she muttered while moving back issues of Real Simple and Martha Stewart Living Magazine.

Her Christmas present from her mother every year. Even though she never read them and would sooner read Guns and Ammo over that drivel. And Charlie never owned a gun. Just another way for her mother to comment on her inadequacies as a woman and a daughter.

“There you are.” She unearthed a pair of Bose stereo speakers. “Come here, my beauties.” She lifted them from their hiding spot, cradling them under her arm.

It took about an hour and two cups of coffee for Charlie to find the optimal spot to set up and then hook the speaker up to her phone. She laid the speakers face down against the floor at where she expected for Mr. Shelley’s living area. She adjusted the volume and clicked open the playlist she prepared last night.

“Let’s smoke you out, Mr. Shelley.” She pressed play on her phone.

Oh baby, baby

Oh baby, baby

Oh baby, baby, how was I supposed to know

That something wasn’t right here?

The speakers vibrated the floorboards, causing decades of dust and debris to sift up from between the cracks. Charlie’s nose scrunched up in disgust.

“Oh man, I walk barefoot in here.”

Her head snapped to the door as Britney continued to sing, expecting a knock at the door. But as Britney faded out and *NSYNC’s Bye Bye Bye, there was no knock. Not even when the Macarena clicked on. Charlie resisted the urge to stomp on the floor or yell. Anything for a sign of life. She shrugged her shoulders and headed to the kitchen to grab her dustpan and broom. The least she could do was clean the floors.

By the time the sun set that day, Charlie knew all the words of the entire Christina Aguilera catalog and all her books were organized by color and then alphabetized by title.

KNOCK!

She yelped and jumped in place when a solid knock hit her front door.

“About fucking time.” She picked herself off the floor where her record collection laid strewn about mid-collation and answered the door.

She had never seen such a beautiful face look so pissed off. Mr. Shelley’s striking features marred by what she could only describe as malice and murder.

“You look like Syd Barrett got caught in a lawnmower.” Charlie commented without thinking. Her thoughts often dropped onto her tongue like gumballs when she was nervous, and Mr. Shelley made her very nervous.

“Can you turn that fucking shit down?” He growled, his lips a tight line. “I haven’t fucking slept all day.”

Charlie smirked. “I just have a few questions…” He rolled his eyes and turned to head back to the basement. “I hope you like Disney!” She called out. He snapped around and leaned against the doorjamb.

“I’ll report you for noise violations.” He smiled back.

“Actually… Quincy city ordinances indicate that between the hours of 9 a.m. and 5 p.m. on weekends and holidays the decibel level shall not exceed 75dBA and then 65dBA after 5 p.m. That is slightly louder than a conversation and since you and I are conversing with ease. I think I am in the clear. Perhaps you should have soundproofed the basement before you moved in.” Charlie smirked.

“What are you, some kind of lawyer Ms…?” Mr. Shelley rubbed his temple, failing to will away the headache this conversation was creating.

“Bock. Charlie Bock.” She extended her hand. “Yes I am. I work at Legal Aid, Downtown. What do you do? Besides, own this home.”

He ignored her question. “Listen Ms. Bach.”

“Bock.” she corrected.

“That’s what I said, Bach.”

“No, Bock.” She clicked her tongue on the last syllable. “Hard ‘k’. Common mistake.”

“Fucking zombies.” he muttered.

Charlie pushed forward, ignoring the zombie remark, but cataloging it in her mind for later. She was wearing him down. “Listen, I just have some questions, agree to talk to me and the music stops. Plain and simple.”

“No.” he drawled, turning on the well-worn heel of his boots.

“Please?” she begged. He responded by shooting her the bird.

“Rude.” Charlie thought out loud as she shut the door. “Fine, you want to play, let’s play.”

-

Adam groaned as the music continued for most of the night after his run-in with Ms. Bock. As promised she switched from the 90s teenybopper trash to Disney and show tunes. He wasn’t sure what was worse, show tunes or the prospect of stepping into the sunlight and burning up. A tan sounded excellent right now.

Adam curled the pillow around his head to muffle the sounds of Julie Andrews gleefully singing for people to rot their teeth by ingesting sugar on its own rather in something sensible like tea. It didn’t work.

Matters were not helped by the fact he was hungry. He needed to drink, but he couldn’t with the infernal racket going on upstairs. Charlie Bock, the name sounded like someone ripped it from the pages of a noir detective pulp novel. Charlie Bock, private eye. More like Charlie Bock, bloody fucking annoying girl.

And why was she wanting to talk to him? He pondered pulling the pillow off his face and sat up on the edge of the bed. He never understood the zombies’ need to socialize with neighbors. Proximity did not equate familiarity. As Julie faded out and some song sung by a girl reporting that the “cold never bothered her, anyway” came on, Adam resigned himself to the uncomfortable task before him.

-

Charlie was ready to settle in for another night of reruns when another knock rang out from the door. She shuffled to find a robe to throw over her pajamas, flinging clothes around the room. Another knock and then the doorbell. Repeatedly.

“Is he fucking leaning on it?” Charlie groused as she padded to the door without a robe.

“I’m here.” she spat out, swinging the door wide. He leaned against the side of the house. If possible, his hair was even more mussed than before. The corners of her mouth twitched in satisfaction. “Ready to admit defeat?”

Adam rolled his eyes, arms crossed in front of his chest. His eyes narrowed towards her, piercing through her green eyes. His gaze dropped for a moment and he caught his tongue darting out of his mouth while staring at his bosom heaving. Her quickened breath gave away her fear. It hung in the air like stale perfume. Fuck, he was hungry.

Charlie shuffled her feet and tugged at the low scoop neckline of her top, doing little in the way of covering her assets. Her discomfort almost brought the slightest smile to Adam’s face. Almost.

“Tomorrow 8 p.m. Your place. Two questions.” He turned to leave.

“Ten questions.” Charlie countered.

“Three.”

“Eight. Ever heard Baby Shark?” She poised her finger over the phone screen.

“Six. Final offer.” He leaned towards her. Charlie acutely aware of his height in this moment.

“Fine.”

“Fine.” he snarled heading back down the porch steps and to the basement entrance.

“Can I at least get your real name?”

He disappeared around the corner. “Adam. That’s one!” he shouted into the night air.

Charlie shut the door. “Adam.” She had trouble falling asleep that night.

-

That night’s activities exhausted Adam, so he slept through the commotion of Charlie straightening up the apartment. Had he woken up, he would have been welcomed to the sounds of her doing two loads of dishes and rearranging both her kitchen and living room furniture.

“Oh fuuuuccck…” Charlie cursed as she yanked the armchair into yet another seating arrangement. She realized she cared what Adam thought of her home. A lot. “No… no… no… SHIT!” Charlie flopped in the armchair in disgust. At herself. For falling for her landlord.

“I don’t even like musicians.” she lied to herself, conveniently forgetting Mark, Tyler, and that guy from college who insisted on calling himself “Mick” after Mick Jagger even though his real name was Simon.

Charlie pushed the thoughts away when she grabbed her coat, keys and purse, heading out to pick up some drinks and snacks for later tonight.

-

Adam overslept the date, no appointment, with Charlie. He hadn’t needed to be anywhere at an appointed time in a century at least. So he didn’t set an alarm. Not that he had an alarm. Although looking back, Adam was certain he could have fashioned a suitable alarm clock from the bits and bobs of machinery in the cramped basement given the proper time and motivation.

But now time was at a premium. He needed to feed before heading upstairs. A mistake yesterday. Staring at Charlie in that ridiculous low cut top sent his body into a tailspin. If the conversation had gone on much more, she would have likely seen one of his fangs, threatening to make an appearance. He hated how his body couldn’t tell the difference between hunger of the flesh and hunger for blood, causing him problems more times than he cared to remember.

In his haste and quick movements, Adam tripped on the upturned corner of an ancient Turkish rug, the canister fell from his hands. With the cap already loosened on the canister, the blood formed a dark puddle on the ornate geometric pattern. He’d never get that stain out.

“Shit. Fuck!” A nearly full canister of the good shit, O-negative wasted. And to top it off, his supplier was indisposed for some time. He would have to figure out a way to make due with his remaining stash.

He grabbed an old towel from the unused bathroom and sopped up the mess as best he could. Adam gathered the now bloody towel along with other debris from the living area, cramming it into a paper bag as he exited the basement to toss all of it into the communal garbage cans leaning against the decaying siding. He didn’t notice the bloody towel fallen at his threshold when he stepped over it to get cleaned up, his mind on other things.

-

At fifteen past eight, Charlie stomped her foot and rose from the sunken futon.

“This is bullshit!” She marched out the front door. Charlie was already formulating her rant in her mind when she pounded on Adam’s door. She glanced down to find a towel stained red. Blood red. She picked it up and sniffed. Metallic.

Adam opened the door as he adjusted the collar on a charcoal gray silk button down. Their eyes locked. His an unnatural blue, Charlie’s a deep emerald green. And then Adam saw what was in her hand.

“Where d’you find that?”

“At your door. I KNEW IT!” she did a little dance in place, pulling the towel close to her. “You’re the fucking Mob or something! Oh, shit. I need to call the cops! You murdered someone!”

Charlie twirled in place like a top. She realized she was pressing the towel against her chest and threw it in the air in disgust. Adam with his supernatural speed grabbed the towel mid-air. Charlie stopped in her tracks, mouth agape.

“How did yo—” Her words cut short as Adam jerked her into the basement by her wrist.

The door slammed behind her and Adam released her wrist, walking away, huffing. This was not how tonight was supposed to go. He was supposed to answer some questions to appease her curiosity and then go on living their separate lives. And now Charlie stood in his home, his sanctum, smelling all kinds of… FUCK! he still hadn’t eaten.

“Listen, if you are planning to kill me, there are people who will—”

“No there aren’t.” An edge to his voice.

“I beg your pardon?” Charlie blinked before trailing after him. “I happen to have lots of…” Her voice trailed off. “Wow…”

Every square inch of the walls was covered in instruments hanging from hooks. Acoustic and electric guitars of all shapes and kinds. Several violins and a viola. Plus other stringed instruments she didn’t recognize. There was an upright bass in the corner behind a drum set. And a makeshift recording station in another corner.

“How in the hell? Who or what are you?” Charlie breathed the stale air of the basement as she continued to turn, taking everything in. How the hell did he even get all this down here without her knowing?, she thought. Her face pinched into a scowl. She stopped spinning and planted her feet facing Adam. “I’m waiting for answers.”

She placed a hand on one hip while the other one jutted out in a snap, causing her breasts to bounce. God, he needed a drink!

“It’s better I show you.” He left the room at a brisk walk. Charlie stepped to get a closer look at all the instruments. “Don’t touch anything!” He called out just as Charlie reached out to smooth her fingertips over the polished wood.

Like a child in a museum, she folded her hands behind her back. She walked the perimeter of the room, getting close but not touching. She could spy a fine layer of dust and dirt on tops of some, some looked freshly cleaned. Charlie winced when she recognized her stunt was the likely cause of the dust.

“I said no touching.” His lips pulled tight across his teeth.

Charlie waved her hands from behind her back. “You can’t touch with your eyes.”

“You can if you try hard enough.”

He placed a small crystal glass next to a tall metallic canister akin to a thermos. “Sit.” He barked like Charlie was a dog in desperate need of obedience training. In Adam’s mind, it wasn’t far from the truth. His mind wandered to all the ways in which he could break her. Make her whimper. His fangs made their presence known. He poured a small amount of the blood into the goblet and downed it. He had company. His fangs tinged pink as he fell back onto the wine red velveteen couch and for a moment he forgot everything except bliss.

After several moments, Charlie cleared her throat. Adam popped open one eye to find her sitting there, hands folding in her lap, making herself as small as she could.

“So…” she started, Adam popped open his other eye. “… you’re a vampire.”

He didn’t respond, instead rolling his eyes. He waited for reality to sink in and Charlie to go screaming into the night. Adam sighed and huffed, contemplating the fact he would need to move again. Packing up the recording equipment would be a bitch.

“Zombies. Shit.” Adam muttered under his breath.

“You’ve used that term before. Like…” She held her arms and moaned. “Brains… zombies?” It surprised him she was still here, her hands once again neatly folded in her lap. Like at church.

Adam huffed again. “That is about how humans act these days.”

Charlie crossed her arms and leaned back. “That’s an awfully pejorative term.”

“That’s the entire point.” His words sharp.

“Shouldn’t you use a nicer term for a being which you need to survive?” Her green eyes blinked, and Charlie remained unmoved.

“Shouldn’t you be running out of here in terror or disgust?” Adam snapped back.

Her nose scrunched up, and she shifted to face him. It was adorable. Adam hated adorable. And cute. And fluffy. The change in angle allowed Adam a view down Charlie’s sweater. A dark violet sweater with a deep v. All the blood he drank moved to a different part of his body. He stood to disguise his condition from Charlie.

“Are you saying that because I should be afraid of you or because you expect me to be afraid of you?” Her brows knitted together, marring her face.

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes, or else I wouldn’t have said it that way.” Her gaze followed him about the room. His torso twisted as though he was recoiling or hiding from her. “Communication is not your strong suit, is it?”

“I prefer to communicate by means other than words.” His long pale finger plucked a violin string. He didn’t elaborate on his comment.

“You haven’t answered my question.” She prodded.

“You’re awfully persistent for a zombie.” She winced at the word and Adam twinged for a moment with guilt.

“I’m a lawyer that is literally part of the job description.” She stood and smoothed down the sweater which Adam was now actively averting gaze from hoping to ward off the already painful erection or making a mess in his jeans. “Let’s try another tactic. I’ll answer your question first. No, I’m not running in fear or disgust. You are what you are and there is no changing that. And you have shown nothing but… well, I wouldn’t say kindness or respect…” She rambled, Adam shot daggers. “… but the fact is you have never tried to physically harm me. So you are okay in my book. For now.” There go those nerves again. Gumballs left and right.

She stuck out her hand, trembling. Despite her bold words, inside she was a puddle. Adam raked his eyes over her, searching for any sign of malice or guile only to find none. He took her hand and shook it. It surprised Charlie to find his skin warm.

“Thank you. Now if you excuse me, I have a precious amount of time left until sunrise.” He gestured towards the door.

“Apologies!!” Charlie startled.

She rushed to the front door, with him close behind. Too close. Adam collided with her as she turned for a final farewell, their chests colliding. She reached and steadying herself against him, her fingers burned as they skimmed across his chest exposed by his unbuttoned shirt. And Adam’s erection which had subsided came raging back. Adam shuffled back to keep it from pressing against Charlie.

“I also want to say sorry for the mess I made on your instruments. I didn’t know. And I want to invite you to use the interior stairs to the kitchen whenever you need to.”

Adam smirked, his confidence and swagger returning, or that could just be his cock talking. “Haven’t you seen the movies? It’s an awfully dangerous thing to invite a vampire into your home.” His eyes heavy, charm in full force.

“I have, but how else can I get to fix my bathtub?” She continued, unfazed. “It’s been leaking for a week.” Adam’s mouth fell open and Charlie disappeared from view.

Once she rounded the corner, Charlie took the stairs two at a time, her heart racing as she shut the heavy wooden front door. She ached in a place she shouldn’t ache when talking to her landlord. Her undead, brooding musician, hot as hell, vampire landlord.

“Fuck.” Charlie cursed, walking away.

Adam stood rooted, staring at his door, his body regaining control of itself. Did that go well? He wasn’t sure.

“Shit.” Adam walked away as that fucking violet sweater haunted his mind for the rest of the evening and in his dreams.

[the-badass-journal-keeper]

Softly and Sincerely

Barry felt it first. During a particularly challenging year, Lup caught him crying, and she softly and sincerely consoled him. And just for a moment, the professional wall between them came down, and something shone through.

Barry has always dealt with feeling "off" or "bad" for "no good reason" on his own. Lup reminds him that he's not as alone as he thinks he needs to be.

The link to read on Ao3 will be in the reblog!

-

"Oh, h-hey!"

It had been cold and hard most of their time on this plane. There weren't many civilizations on the planet, and the few they encountered were distrustful of outsiders. It had taken most of the year, but they found the Light and didn't have to fight anyone for possession of it. The whole planet had been stuck in winter since they got there and finding food had been difficult. But at last, spring had arrived.

Nothing was particularly wrong that day. Nothing was particularly wrong at all. They were still running from the Hunger. They still didn't know how to stop it. They had the Light this cycle. There was more food, more sun. Magnus and Merle had died a few months back, but the rest of the crew was relatively healthy.

So why did it feel like there was a jagged hole carved in Barry's chest? His breathing was difficult. His heart ached with each beat. The pain crept up his neck and clouded his mind, making the world outside himself a bit harder to perceive, a bit harder to deal with. But it was nothing he couldn't handle. There wasn't anything wrong with him, physically. So he needed to just... stop feeling like this.

"There's nothing wrong. Did you need something?"

Why couldn't he stop feeling like this?

The ache had crept up on him as the day wore on. He felt weighed down. He couldn't act like it, though. He didn't want anyone asking what was wrong. Because nothing was wrong. He sat through dinner, only half tasting the warm, easy soup and only listening to the conversation enough that his face showed the right reactions at the right times. 'Appear engaged without needing to devote too much of your brain to the conversation.' It was something he had perfected long ago. If he did it right, no one noticed he hadn't said a word the whole time. And he usually did it right.

"Well," Lup said, and Barry could feel the air shift. He was about to be pulled into whatever it was she was talking about, somehow. "Bluejeans here would know about that. He's a nerd. Possibly King Nerd."

"You don't need to worry about me. Heh. I'm- I'm good."

He smiled and laughed with them.

When dinner ended, Barry helped clear the table and wash the dishes. He was present. Seen. But he didn’t have to engage with anyone. If he did it right, no one would notice when he slipped off later. Be seen for a while, then retreat- that was the best way he had found to avoid being accused of "not being part of the team" or "disappearing as soon as possible" or any other such phrase. Phrases that meant he was doing something wrong when he would shut himself in his lab or bedroom with whatever distraction he found for himself. Hiding until the feeling that his skin was vibrating and his bones were turning to stone and his eyes were too weak to focus and his ears were too sharp to filter out irrelevant noise- Until all that faded. 

It was a lot of work, avoiding appearing cold or standoffish. But not as much work as dealing with people who had decided that he was those things. Not as much work as having to explain himself every time he wanted to be alone, or didn't talk enough, or was "just acting weird". Not as much work as trying to explain how he felt when he felt like this. Or why he felt like this.

"Bluejeans." The Captain waited at the entrance to the kitchen for Barry's attention.

"Yeah?" He was elbow deep in washing dishes for Lucretia to dry, but they were almost done. He hoped whatever Davenport wanted wouldn't keep him long.

"How far along is your analysis of the elemental planar distances and their possible effect on the seasons here? I know I asked you to get it to me by next weekend, but-"

But you need the report early, Barry completed in his head. "Oh. I need to copy over everything I have with some unit changes. Is- can it wait until tomorrow morning? Or do you need it tonight?"

Davenport's eyebrows rose for just a moment before a smile crossed his face. "I was about to offer you another week to complete it. I know those measurements aren't easy to get accurately, and that you're basically inventing the math behind everything." He nodded. "Good work, Bluejeans. Don't rush to get the final copy to me, but I'm excited to see what you found."

"Ah, no- not a big deal, Captain. Uh. But, thanks?"

Davenport left and Barry finished the dishes, thinking about how he should have used the right units in his calculations in the first place. It only made sense to use units that required fewer conversions along the way, no matter how much less common those units were than the ones he used in the first place.

He was so tired.

"Please just- I'm fine. I'm fine."

Why did he have to feel like this?

Somehow, somehow, he had finally escaped to his lab. He had to use one of his higher level tactics and claim to have a vague malady, like a headache, that no one could challenge to get out of hanging out with the others in the lounge. Actually, in this case, he did have a headache along with everything else. Regardless, he was in his lab, and he was alone. He reminded himself that he couldn't use those types of excuses too often, or he would face suspicion. Or concern (arguably worse than suspicion).

Some amount of time later, Barry realized he had zoned out. He should have started working on something. He should have used that time for research, or brainstorming, or going over his old notes. His notebook was right in front of him on the lab bench. Why didn't he open it when he sat down? He hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lab’s lights.

"Please..."

His mind had answers for that question. It had answers for why he felt the way he did right then, why he hadn't managed to just get over it already. Then, it had answers for him about so many other things.

He would never research fast enough or well enough to find the knowledge needed to defeat the Hunger. There was no spell he could craft or create or wield that would make a difference. The multiverse was depending on him, and he wasn't going to be enough.

He would never design an experiment that would give them an advantage. No science he could pull out of his brain would make their ship faster or the Light easier to find or the Hunger slower. He would never grasp the inner workings of the laws and mechanisms of the universe well enough to explain or deconstruct the Hunger.

And, his mind supplied, that meant that no one on the ship was safe. No one on any plane they visited was safe. Getting out of this situation was on the head science and engineering guy. He was here to protect the team from all problems short of those physical dangers their security officer handled. Barry himself was the reason no one was okay. So how could he expect to feel okay, knowing that everyone-

The click of the door snapped Barry out of his mind and back to reality. Someone was in the lab and- shit he could feel his eyes had already been welling with tears. He could not cry in front of a crewmember. He couldn't let himself cry in front of anyone.

"’Sup, Barold?" Lup stepped in and closed the door. She didn’t bother with the lights, either, using dark vision to locate the book of ancient curses she had been studying lately.

He stared hard at the ceiling and took a breath to try and steady himself enough to look calm, normal, not like he has been seconds away from crying. He turned to face the door. "Oh, h-hey!" He gripped the edge of the lab table to hide the trembling in his hands.

She squinted at him and came around the table to stand in front of him. "You okay? You seem kind of off. Something go wrong with your nerd math?"

He shrugged. He really didn’t want to deal with ‘Why are you acting so weird?’ type questions right now. The weight of the emptiness in his chest was growing. "There's nothing wrong. Did you need something?"

"You really don't look..." She placed the back of her hand on his forehead, then moved it to the side of his face. He pulled a few inches away, just enough to signal a clear 'please stop.'

"You don't need to worry about me. Heh. I'm- I'm good." Liar, his mind said. You're drowning here. You're letting everyone down. If you're good with that, then there's something even worse wrong with you.

"I'mmmmm not really much of a worrier." She crossed her arms and looked him in the eye for a moment, almost daring him to look away.

He did look away. He had to. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep the panic out of his eyes. He didn’t want pity, he didn’t want judgement, he didn’t want to have to find a way to talk her out of feeling responsible to do anything about his own messed up thoughts and feelings and… and just all of him.

"Please just- I'm fine. I'm fine."

"Barry..."

The concern on her face. The half step she took closer to him. The hand she put on his upper arm. They hurt.

Before he could even take a breath, he was caving into that chasm in his chest, tears filling his eyes too quickly. He needed- He needed to get away. He needed her to leave. He needed not to cry in front of his coworker.

"Please..." He managed that one rough word, his head down, a hand sliding under his glasses and covering his eyes. He tensed to hold his feelings at bay just a few seconds longer. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't escape. He couldn’t breathe.

In a tone of voice he had only ever heard her use with Taako, she said, “C’mere.”

Her arms wrapped around him. He returned the hug on autopilot.

"It's okay to have bad days, Barry."

Those whispered words were enough for him to start breathing again.

"You don't have to pretend you’re okay when you’re not. Not with me. And I'll bet you none of the others would want that, either."

He squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his forehead to her shoulder.

"You don't have to hide like this."

He was fighting, still fighting to steady his breathing, to control the shaking in his arms, to hold onto the ache in his throat and head and eyes because the second he stopped fighting-

"We all love you."

He didn't know why those words cleared away all the tension and need for control and fear of judgement within him.

He didn't know why he was feeling those things in the first place.

But for the first time in years- longer than he'd been on The Starblaster, that was for sure-

Barry opened up, just the smallest bit, the part of himself that ached and screamed and couldn't let him rest.

And he let someone else see. He let someone else in. He gave in and cried.

Lup’s kind words continued as if his tears and trembling and quiet wimpers were no big deal. One of her hands rubbed his shoulder the whole time. What felt like hours, but was probably minutes later, when Barry was capable of feeling anything other than the anxious, grieving, homesick, terrified, exhausted feelings flowing out with his tears, he found his breathing syncing with the slow brush of her hand.

A moment fell over the lab where the only sounds were their breathing and the hum of the Bond Engine, the two of them still holding on to each other.

"How are you doing?" she whispered.

Barry released her and straightened himself on the lab stool. He took a moment to run his robe sleeve over his face and look for his glasses. (He didn’t remember when his glasses had come off, but he knew Lup must have done it, because they sat neatly facing him with the arms folded up, instead of unfolded and probably upside down a bit too close to the edge of the table, the way he usually put them down.)

“I’m uh…” He felt… numb. Light. Not “better” necessarily, the chasm in his chest was still there. But the rough edges had been smoothed, and maybe it was a few inches shallower. “I’m okay, now.” He took the box of tissues Lup held out to him, pulling a few to clean his face properly. “For real now, though. Not just, uh-”

“Not just lying to get rid of me?” She leaned against the table and plucked a tissue from the box to dab at the shoulder of her robe.

He winced, both from being called out, and at seeing what his facial secretions had done. “Oh, geez, sorry about-”

“Nope!” She cut him off. “It’s all good. Just part of what happens, y’know?”

He hummed in response. “Yeah, I guess so.” He cleaned his glasses and put them back on. They made him aware of just how puffy his face felt.

“So…” Lup tapped her fingers against the counter. “What now? Do you wanna talk about it? Do you want me to act like the last few minutes never happened? I can make hot chocolate. I know a recipe that doesn’t use milk but still tastes good. Or, I know we don’t have multiverse-champion-cuddler Magnus, but I could probably initiate a pretty decent cuddle pile with everyone.”

What did he want?

“I think, uh.” He really just wanted to read until he fell asleep. “Not that those don’t sound pretty good- like, I’m definitely gonna take you up on that hot chocolate the next time we end up somewhere cold- but I think I’m just gonna hit the hay.”

“Yeah, I get that. Cha’girl usually drinks enough water to get rid of the post-crying headache and then… Well, then I usually make Taako talk to me until I’m asleep.” She headed to the door.

“Water, right,” he muttered to himself, rubbing at the ache behind his forehead.

“Hey, Barry?” she said. He looked up. “We’re not here alone, you know?”

He nodded, smiling a bit. “I think I’m getting that, yeah.”

“I meant what I said. It’s okay to have bad days. And it’s okay to need people.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t.

She turned and walked out the door, giving him a quick wave without looking back, raising the hand holding her book over her head. “Keep your chin up, nerd.”

He marveled that he was laughing after the day he’d had. The lab door swung shut behind Lup.

That was the first time Lup called him a nerd without it feeling like a barb.

In fact, maybe this time, he even liked it.

Something changed that day. Many somethings, perhaps. But to Barry, that would always be the moment he knew.

He would love her forever.

It was an inevitability.