#as much as I love my mr s leather hood I like the half hood style so much more from a sensory pov

[fullmoonwhiskey]

Guess who pulled out their half-hood for the first time in forever? Awoooooooooo! 🐺😁

ok2rb

cis het men and minors dni

[redhoodandfangs]

Chapter 1:  The Hood

Red. My skin and clothes were stained red. As I sprinted, copper colored hair and blood drenched cloak streaming behind me, I suddenly understood why the Novians often whispered when I’d stalk down the streets in search of a strong drink and someone to be my… companion for the night, sometimes two. “Le Fantôme Rouge,” they’d whisper sometimes in awe, other times in disgust, “the Red Phantom.” I didn’t particularly love the title. I always thought it made me come across as some sort of soul-eater that frequents the nightmares of young Novians; but now running with furious speed and a grim expression, I could see how the name was fitting.

The castle’s corridor was long enough that I was becoming disoriented with my own reflection racing beside me. Mirrors of all different shapes and sizes littered the walls of the Hall of Truths. I scanned to my left looking for a blue twinkle. There! I turned left sharply heading face first into the sapphire rimmed mirror straight into my own reflection. My momentum too great to slow, I rammed into the mirror’s frame my shoulder cushioning the impact as the rest of my body passed through.

When I was younger, King Illian Marais often told stories about some of the mirrors in the hall being magical. They had been just stories to everyone else in the castle, myths for common folk to fantasize about, but I would often stay up all night secretly studying them trying to figure out which ones did indeed have magical properties. The mirror I ran through now happened to be a portal of sorts. It led out through a mirror just outside my chambers on the other side of the castle. A very convenient trick when evading the Elite- the king's twelve personal guards… well, eleven now. I could totally understand why they would be pissed. Not only did I kill one of them and knock out two others, they found me in a rather compromising position drenched in the King’s blood.

Still moving too quickly to stop myself, I ended up slamming into the wall opposite the mirror I had exited causing my teeth to sing. With a groan of both pain and annoyance, I caught myself before I could fall to the ground like a complete fool and stumbled to the door next to the mirror.

Turning the door handle, I frowned when my bloodied fingers almost slipped off, but I managed to open the door and slip inside after glancing down the short hall in case of any immediate threats.

My room was situated at the very end of the hall in a more isolated part of the castle. I had requested my chambers be moved a few years ago. I didn’t like when courtiers passed outside my doors frequently and while I did attend court and knew them all well, I preferred to keep my relationships with them professional and physical.

Now, the room’s location would likely be my saving grace. I locked my door and took a deep breath. Shit. I was in so much shit. I knew I was innocent, but the way the guards found me holding King Illian with his blood splattered on my face, yeah I was royally fucked.

The King’s voice rang in my ears as death had ransacked his body “Find your grandmother. Tell her- tell her she was right: I was a fool. Take this. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t let anyone stop you, not even my son. You- you must leave... now.” I reached up, hand clasping the small metallic pendant of the necklace King Illian had given me. I didn’t have time to study it before the three Elite guards had run into the room, so I had slipped it around my neck to worry about later. While I wanted to study it now, I knew it wouldn’t be long before the Elite came to my room and saw the blood on the wall and door handle outside.

I wanted to scream and mourn the King’s death. Afterall, he was like a father to me. In fact, he was the only sort of father figure I ever had and now he was dead. The king was dead. Fuck. 

Many thoughts passed my mind as I pressed my back to the door panting: what am I going to do? Bash will have to ascend the throne. What am I going to do? There was so much blood. What am I going to do? The king is dead. What am I going to do? The king! 

With the king’s last words sounding a lot like desperate orders, I already knew where I was going, but once I left, I knew there would be hell to pay upon my return. Possibly even death itself will greet me; running from a crime scene covered in blood is a little more than suspicious. Not to mention leaving Touland and abandoning my duties is a likely death sentence on its own.

To grandmother’s house I go! Great. The last time I saw her, we parted on bad terms to say the least. She was not my favorite person. Although, I had never met anyone who liked my grandmother. Perfect. To grandmother’s house I go.

I raced to the bathing chamber. Once I left the castle, I couldn’t possibly wander the streets covered in blood, so I  would have to risk cleaning here. I tore off my clothes, grabbed a towel, wet it under the faucet of the tub, and quickly smeared as much excess blood off that I could. By the time I was done, nausea had rendered my mouth dry. I wanted to puke. Not because there had been blood on me and frankly it was still on me, but because it was the king’s blood. It was utterly and completely wrong. He was dead and I was running away. Even if I was running on his orders, it felt dishonorable to flee, to leave his body half desecrated on the chilled marble floor.

I had to get him out of my head for the time being. I could cry later, so I tripped on the corner of the Novian rug in the center of my room and approached my dresser. I practically jumped into my underthings. I grabbed a pair of brown leather leggings, a soft white shirt, and an extra set of under garments. Everything else I needed was already packed in my satchel. Opening the door to my closet, I heard the warning bells chime letting every guard know that there was an intruder in the castle. I wonder who that was supposed to be? I couldn’t help the snort that passed my lips at my own predicament. Soon they would be locking the gates, but that would be no problem for me. I knew more than a dozen ways in and out of the castle grounds. I just needed my supplies and I’d be on my merry way.

My hand patted the ground of the dark corner of my closet frantically until my fingers gripped the long handle of my bag. I crawled out and shoved my extra clothes inside it. Sitting on my ass, I pushed my satchel away and shoved my feet into the boots lying precariously close to the fireplace. I had one more thing left to do before I went off on my little adventure in nothing but my white underthings and boots.

I knew I couldn’t leave without any sort of explanation for Bash. Bash and I didn’t always get along, but his father just died. I felt dirty enough just leaving. The least I could do was tell him what I could, even if he wouldn’t believe what I had to say. I rummaged through my desk and after finding an inkpot and an envelope from an old thank you note- likely thanking me for giving them a good first fuck- I wrote my very short note in the red ink:

Bash-

I didn’t kill your father. He ordered me to leave. Be back soon.

With Love and Finesse,

S

I didn’t actually know when I’d be back, but I knew I would return. I had to. Touland was my home and Nova was my kingdom. My blood oaths bind my loyalties to Nova and its people. Even if a new king would soon be crowned, I felt as though King Illian’s dying words were perhaps the most pivotal words he had ever ordered. I needed to go on this silly little quest even if it meant I was found guilty and executed for abandoning Nova. I felt it in my gut and I always listened to my gut.

Multiple pairs of footsteps sounded from outside my door. They were still distant enough to tell me the guards hadn’t entered the hall, but they were closing in quickly.

I grabbed my satchel off the floor and started for the window. Swinging open the window, I scanned the ground below. There were only two guards standing in defense positions as if the alarm bells themselves were going to attack them. 

I rolled my eyes then grinned. I also asked to be moved to this room because the new guards were always stationed here. It was an overlooked area of the castle and no guard ever wanted to be stationed there, so the new guards were left to take the shifts. This meant two things for me. One, I could admire the beautiful male forms of the younger guards instead of the wrinkles and gray hairs of the middle aged guards. And two, the guards here were inexperienced. I would easily be able to slip past them undetected. Not that I couldn’t fight them, but it would be better to leave without any more dead bodies in my wake and I couldn’t risk anyone knowing where I had escaped from.

I ran my hands on the smooth stone ledge just outside as footsteps neared the door to my room. I had a matter of seconds before they found me in there practically naked, not that I minded. I pushed myself up and stood with ease and grace on the ledge and inched to my left pressing my bare back to the cool stone. With my right foot, I kicked the window closed just as the sounds of wood splintering reached me. 

Did they just break down my door? I had left it unlocked so they wouldn’t destroy a perfectly good door. Oh my gods. Imbeciles.

 I had a tendency to break my doors, usually on accident. Mr. Farik, the carpenter, had come to expect me every few months and always had a new door saved just for me. My sixteenth door had been my favorite, but this one had been a close second. 

With a frown, I looked down past my feet. I was five stories up and if a normal person jumped from this height they would splatter on impact like the eggs the street jugglers in Touland purposefully dropped on the shoes of noblemen that gave only a single copper for the show. Lucky me, I wasn’t a normal person. I jumped before anyone inside or outside could spot me, and rolled on the ground coming to a crouch behind a bush near the two guards. 

Ouch. I may be able to jump five stories, but damn the landing was still very unpleasant.

The guards were still looking down the path to the right. They hadn’t heard me land behind them over the bell chimes. 

Keeping to the shrubbery, I wove in and out of leaves and branches scraping my exposed limbs and stomach. A rose bush, drying as winter approached, proved problematic when a thorn cut the sensitive flesh of the swell of my breast. “Yowie!” I hissed more annoyed than anything. Now there would be a distinct blood stain on my pearly white undergarments. 

After strategically navigating some more rose thorns from bushes that had been massed in the corner outside the castle, I reached the walls surrounding the castle. Scaling it would be no big deal, but scaling it without being spotted would be much more difficult. I would have to be quick. Looking up the five story tall wall, I groaned exasperated.

The gods were definitely laughing at me. I had just jumped down five stories, and now I had to climb it back up only to jump down again. What a horrible joke.

I saw a shaded area to my left and decided it would be the best place to climb. I crawled past one more rose bush scraping my back. 

My gaze dragged up the wall. If I scaled the wall as I was dressed now, my fiery hair and white undergarments gleaming in the midday sun would blatantly give me away. I might as well scream for the guards to come get me. Instead, I reached into my bag pulling out a thick brown cloth. It was well known across Novia. So much so that my family members were named after it: hoods. I hardly ever wore my hooded brown cloak. It was heavy mostly in reputation. I preferred to keep it stored away in my bag in case I needed it for a mission. Now seemed like the best time to dawn it.

I carefully wrapped the clock around my shoulders. The fabric scratched at my neck as I fastened the buttons at my throat and threw the hood over my head. Immediately, I felt a charge of energy thrum through my veins and goosebumps pebbled my skin in response. 

The hood could make me stronger and faster when worn, another reason I didn’t like to wear it. I wanted to train without it so I would never be reliant on it when it truly counts. 

Without wasting any more time I began to climb. The magical properties of the cloak quickened my ascension and even if the wall was a dark grey color, the brown of the cloak in the shadows was a much better alternative than the attire beneath it-- or more accurately lack of attire.

I didn’t dare look over my shoulder and at the two guards. As dimwitted as they seemed, I was still rational enough to fear that they might spot me, so I focused on getting over the wall as quickly as I could.

With the cloak, I had scaled the wall in less than a minute, which was much faster than it would normally take for me to climb to that height. Sitting at the top of the wall, I swung my legs over to the other side where my escape was visible. 

I had little supplies, but I knew where I had to go. Even if my grandmother will be less than happy to see me, I had to see her for the King’s sake. And so, after only a moment of hesitation, I jumped for the second time in the last five minutes  from an unreasonable height and landed in the cover of the woods.

[eirian-houpe]

Disparate Pathways - Chapter 5

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Maurice | Moe French, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Spinster(s) (Once Upon a Time: Think Lovely Thoughts), Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Black Fairy (Once Upon a Time), Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Colette (Once Upon a Time), Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Widow Lucas | Granny, Dove (Once Upon a Time), Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena

Additional Tags: Abusive Parents, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Violence, Gun Violence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, UST, First Time, Drama & Romance, Kidnapping, Extortion

Summary: Gold has a past, a past that he has rejected, but it seems one that will not let him go.  Belle, daughter of Governor Maurice French has been kidnapped, along with her mother, and just as the authorities raid the organization that is holding her hostage, decides to make her own bid for freedom, unknowingly derailing an undercover sting, and Agent Milnor has not choice but to take her into 'protective custody,' but is he all that he seems?  As the threads of the story grow more tangled and the threat to Belle, and to Gold, her appointed protector, grow ever more real, a growing, mutual attraction makes everything far more desperate and far too personal for Gold to ignore what he knows to be the truth.

Read on AO3

[Chapter 1]  [Chapter 2]  [Chapter 3]  [Chapter 4]

Chapter 5 - Takedown

It was entirely too quiet and it made Jefferson nervous. He’d tried to find out from some of the others what was going on upstairs, but no one had been willing to share.  All he knew was that they’d taken both the women up to the top floor of the house. He figured that didn’t bode well.

It certainly didn’t make his life any easier. If Rab was true to his word then some time today, the joint might of the police and the FBI’s HRT, and probably, just to add icing to the shit cake, a whole squadron of SWAT, was going to descend on the house like the wrath of God.

He checked his phone, just to make sure that it was on, with plenty of power remaining, and that he had a signal. The last thing he needed was to miss the heads up that his handler had promised to send him.

“Hey, Jared.” He started slightly when one of the other guys, Ace - a shortened version of his full name -  called out Jefferson’s undercover persona. “Expecting a call from your boyfriend?”

He gave the man a sour smile, recognizing that he was being mocked and shot back in return, “Least I have one,” and made a rapid up and down motion with his fisted right hand before pointing at the guy who’d called him out.

Predictably the ‘hard man’ took immediate offense, and started toward Jefferson, his eyes full of the intention to hurt. He stood his ground. He was taller than the other man by a few inches, even though the guy was heavier set, forcing the other man to look up as soon as they came toe to toe.

“Was there something?” Jefferson asked sarcastically, then lowering his voice to a dangerous growl added, “Because unless there is… Horace… then get the fuck out of my face.”

“Tough words, pretty boy,” Ace snarled, “but do you got the balls to back em up?”

Faster than the man evidently anticipated, Jefferson grabbed his hand and pulled the pudgy fingers against the front of his jeans, trusting in the shock tactics to keep himself from harm.

“What do you think, Ace?” he asked, leaning down until he was nose to nose with the other man.  “Care to take it for a spin?”

The man backpedaled, pulling away so fast that he almost fell over his own feet in his haste to put some space between himself and Jefferson, snatching his hand away and out of Jefferson’s grasp.

“You stay away from me, you fucking freak!” Ace squeaked.

“Methinks the man protesteth too much,” Jefferson teased. “After all, you were the one that came at me first.”

“Can it, you two!” Jefferson half turned at the sound of the other voice, a tall, leather-clad man with a scruffy beard and a missing hand came out into the hallway from one of the downstairs rooms. “Jared, you’re wanted upstairs. Ace, get in here… quit baiting the bloody man!”

Glad for a reprieve, even if it did come from Jones, an unwelcome bastard at the best of times, Jefferson headed for the stairs and started to climb, on the way up thinking to himself that ‘upstairs’ was a fairly vague description of who needed him, given that there were two floors to the house in addition to the first floor. Not to mention the basement, which technically meant the house was a four storey house and— what the ever loving fuck are you thinking, Jefferson.  Head in the game, man! He cut off his own racing mind; a sure sign of stress.

He made the first landing and began methodically making his way around, room by room, opening each one and checking inside, not just for the girl and her mother, but also for an alternative way out, should his chosen route become inaccessible. He couldn’t explain why, but there was a large part of him that had a really bad feeling around the way the day was going.

Crossing a room, he found a window that looked out onto a low balcony, and looking up he saw what looked like similar from above. It would do in a pinch, but it was risky.  One slip and he’d be looking at a shattered ankle; broken leg… he decided he just better make sure that he could get out by the method of his first choice.

“Oy! Jared,” Jones’ voice sounded from behind him, irritated. “I told you upstairs.”

“This is upstairs,” Jefferson snarked back. “And you weren’t actually that specific, you—” Movement in the corner of his eye made him forget what he had been saying. Someone’s sights? Careless, but then, no… he hadn’t had a message yet. Jones evidently picked up on it and came from the doorway to stand beside him.

“What do you see?” Jones asked.

Jefferson shook his head, about to say nothing - perhaps it had been his imagination after all - when a patch of shadow moved close by the rear wall of the yard, unnatural, not like the clouds passing across the moon. His heart began to pound in his chest. They were coming.

“Bloody hell!” Jones snarled urgently, evidently having come to a similar conclusion. “The law!” He grabbed Jefferson’s arm and practically swung him away from the window and gave him a push towards the door. “Go. Upstairs… warn the others.”

“What about you?” Jefferson asked as Jones turned back to peer into the darkness of the garden.

Jones shook his head. “I’ll go downstairs. We’ll be ready for them,” he said. “What are you waiting for? Go!”

Jefferson made it look as though he was rushing to follow the man’s instructions, once outside the door he slipped to his right, the opposite side from the stairs, and flattened himself against the wall to wait for Jones to come out. He looked around quickly to make sure there was no one else on the landing, relieved to still be alone on the second floor, and he wondered what the hell was keeping everyone either downstairs or up on the top floor, though not for long as he heard Jones’ heavy tread approaching the door.

Like comedy, timing was everything. If he moved too soon, he would alert Jones to his presence. Too late and the man would be out of reach. He hated moments like that; held his breath and pulled the gun he carried out of its holster and waited. One… Two…

Things rarely went according to plan. Jones must have sensed him, because just as he would have moved, stepped behind the man and coshed him over the head with the grip of his gun, Jones turned his head.

“Jared, what the—”

Jefferson tried anyway, lunging for the other man, only to meet Jones’ up-raised forearm and with an audible crunch, instead of the back of is head, and almost as if on instinct, Jones turned and swung the sharp hook he had in place of his missing hand toward Jefferson’s head.

Not fast enough thought, and Jefferson ducked under the weapon, at the same time turning to drive the point of Jones’ hook into the wooden door frame as he pushed the mans wrist against the wood. He tried to follow quickly, to bring his gun up again and wrap Jones into unconsciousness as he’d intended before while he was still stuck with his back to him, but Jones anticipated him again, and used the fact of his hook being trapped to twist his wrist, and pull his arm free of the latch that held the hook in place.

Jefferson ran at the man, wrapped his arms around Jones’ waist and drove his shoulder into the soft spot above his hip, attempting to hook the weight-bearing leg with one of his own, but Jones read him again, and let himself fall backward, heaving with both arms and legs, until Jefferson felt himself flying through the air, mercifully along the landing. He landed heavily, and his gun went skittering along the polished wooden floor.

He didn’t have time to worry about it; didn’t want Jones to get a chance to to reattach his hook, or worse, pull his own gun, which was precisely what Jones was attempting to do as he clambered to his feet, turning toward him gun in hand, so before Jones could aim the weapon, he kicked out blindly, by luck connecting with the man’s shoulder before he could fully straighten up. He knocked him off balance again to slip back down to the floor on hands and feet and the insecurely held weapon went flying. Jefferson didn’t wait to see any other effects of his timely intervention, he just pulled himself to his feet at the same time as Jones, Still winded from the heavy landing and fighting for a decent breath was scrabbling at the floor in an attempt to get to his feet.

Jones was really pissing him off, and was still getting up again, and Jefferson scrambled over, uttering a breathless, “Let me give you a hand there… mate,” mocking an expression of which Jones was overly fond, and speared his fingers into the man’s hair at the crown of his head, and twisting, tugging him upward, while at the same time grabbing a hold of his sleeve. Then before Jones could properly realize his intent, or fully regain his balance, Jefferson launched him toward the banister rail, without letting go, bringing Jones’ head down hard against the solid oak wood at the top, not once, but twice, before tossing him backwards, to land in a crumpled heap beside the wall.

It hadn’t been the quiet disposal he’d intended, and he was certain their scramble would have attracted some attention.  He didn’t wait to find out, simply moved as fast as he could, while still trying to catch his breath, toward the staircase leading to the upper floor.

He took the stairs two at a time, and half way up, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He snatched it out, and glanced at the screen, suddenly bursting into entirely humorless, and slightly hysterical laughter. The notification read: “We are Breaching NOW!”

[odderancyart]

This took a little too long but better late than never? For @kyuko-chan. You just said you wanted machines so I did my best? Probably failed but it was my best

Here’s a 1950′s AU, with very varying historical accuracy because damn I don’t know anything about history after WWII, especially not American history

Throwing the hood of the car shut, Razz grinned up at her boyfriend. She wiped her oil-stained hands off on her grey mechanic’s overalls, blowing a strand of blonde hair that had escaped her bun out of her face. Red leaned against the wall of the garage, looking very handsome in his jeans and leather jacket and with his messy black hair. Not to talk of his deep brown eyes, so dark they were almost black. They were enchanting. As the hood closed with a thump, he raised an eyebrow.

“You done, sweetheart?”

“Yep. Mr Simmons’ car is as good as new.” She laughed quietly, glancing at the clock. 4 PM. Just in time, then. “He’s going to be so mad that dad put me on fixing it.” She patted the dark-blue Ford. A beautiful thing, it was a shame its owners were as bigoted as, well, most everyone. The most everyone who’d call her a whore for wearing jeans to school, just like she did every day.

With a loud snort, Red pushed himself off the wall, coming up to her. She tipped her face upwards so he easily could kiss her. His lips were soft against hers.

He grinned as he stepped back just a bit, but not enough for their bodies not to be pressed against each other. Apparently, he didn’t care that he got oil all over his fancy jacket – and why would he? The Taneja-family were rich as hell.

“He’s gonna be furious,” he murmured, brushing the loose lock out of her face. The look on his face was positively gleeful. “It’ll be great. I’ve seen the way they look at us, and I doubt it’s only because of our amazing sense of style.”

Of course not. Obviously, Mr and Mrs Simmons didn’t approve of interracial relationships. With Red being Indian-American and her being white, plus the fact that neither of them gave a damn about traditions, people like the Simmons hated them. Sniggering, Razz pecked his lips, sliding a hand under his shirt. His belly was soft, chubby, but she could sense the muscles beneath.

“Oh, I’m sure they disapprove of our behaviour too. But all the town does, so what else is new?”

His soft laughter was infectious, and she could only join in, eventually pulling her hands back so she could grab a tissue from the bench nearby to wipe her hands off. Without looking, she threw the ball of paper into the nearby trashcan.

Her dad peeked out from behind the corner, raising an eyebrow at Red moving his shirt back in place. But he didn’t comment, he never did, for which Razz was grateful. “Are you done? Mr Simmons is here.”

“Just a minute ago.” She fished up the car keys from her pocket, grinning at him. “Shall I take it out?”

With a nod, he disappeared again.

“I’ll walk out front then,” Red said with a grin. “Can’t miss the show.”

Agreeing, Razz slid into the leather seat and started the car as he disappeared. Technically, she wasn’t old enough to drive for another year, but this was her dad’s land and even the Police knew not to interfere with the way he ran his business lest they wanted to get banned from the only garage in the town. The motor purred like a happy cat as she steered it out to the parking lot, and it was like music to her ears.

Anticipation made her jumpy as she parked it outside of the old building that was now her family’s garage. It was connected to their house, which laid on its right side: small and white, with a tiny garden. Not much, but enough for a family of three. As she re-entered the garage, Mr Simmons, in his grey suit, was just paying her dad at the counter while glaring suspiciously at Red, who lounged in the old couch by the wall, grinning back at him.

A meter behind Mr Simmons stood his daughter. Blue. Razz raised an eyebrow. She’d never seen the girl outside of school before. Blue smiled somewhat nervously at her as she saw her looking, and Razz winked back. She was certainly pretty, with her black hair in a tight bun where a single curl had escaped, and with her ice-blue eyes which stood out as an immense contrast to her incredibly dark skin. Her lips were painted a pale pink, matching her pink and blue dress.

Spinning the car-keys around her finger, she stepped past Blue and up to the counter, where she dropped them. “Your car is ready to go.”

Mr Simmons stared at her in disbelief before glaring at her dad. “I said I didn’t want a girl touching my car.”

Her dad just shrugged, a smirk quirking his mouth. “If you don’t like how I run my business, you’re welcome to go somewhere else.” One and a half hour to the next garage. “I did give you my best mechanic, Mr Simmons. Like you asked.”

As expected, Mr Simmons didn’t say anything about that. Once he’d finished paying, he turned his back to her dad without not even sparing her a glance. “Let’s go, Blue,” he ordered as he passed by his daughter.

Blue startled, and Razz grinned as she realized she’d been staring at her the whole time. She raised an eyebrow, and Blue blushed, giving her a quick wave and hurrying after her father. Well. That was a bit odd, but she wasn’t complaining. She’d never complain about the attention of a pretty girl.

“Well, that was fun,” Red said, coming over to throw an arm around her shoulders. He chuckled, kissing the top of her head. “You free now?” He looked at her dad. “Can I steal yer daughter off work, sir?”

Her dad didn’t do much more than glance at Red as he looked through the book of bookings. “Let me know if you stay overnight,” was all he said.

Razz nodded, leaning into her boyfriend’s chest. “Will do.” She glanced up at Red. “Has Mrs Taneja decided I’m an unfit match for you yet?”

“Nah. Maa has grown fond of ya, even if you refuse to act like a civilized woman.” He kissed her hair as they made their way over to the entrance to the house. She definitely needed a shower before she could go anywhere – and get changed. “Which is exactly why I love you.”

They closed the door to the garage behind them. Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she sneaked her arm around his waist before sliding her hand down to his butt, squeezing.

Red just chuckled, the hand on her hip tightening. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

[thatlesbiannudistcult-stories]

Finding Goddess (Chapter 14)

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT!

Carol was dead. There was no getting around it. There would be no talking her way out of this one. She would get reported. She would lose her job. She would go to jail. She would get registered as a sex offender, no one would ever hire her again, her daughters would be taken away, and they would never want to see her. And all because of...because of...because of that damn lesbian nudist cult messing with her mind!

Should never have listened to Henrietta, should never have gone to that Temple, should never have fallen for that sexy bitch, Celeste, should have just stayed home, and clothed, and...

"HELLOOOOOO?" said the irritated (and irritating) Elaine. "Are you going all narcoleptic on me?"

"Huh? Wha?" stammered Carol as she shook herself out of her head. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"Ugh, seriously?" growled Elaine like she had just been asked the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean you, like, just stopped talking and started staring into space like a space case."

Carol could only look at the younger woman in utter bewilderment. Are you kidding me? I'm sitting here completely naked, and she's yelling at me for blanking out? Don't tell me she doesn't actually notice...

"You're doing it again!" shouted Elaine, who couldn't help but turn her head away with a sneer of disgust. "Ugh, just my luck, here they are, a multimillion dollar company, and the only thing they can afford to give me is a senile old lady."

"S-senile?" said Carol, partially in confusion and partially in indignation. She was getting half a mind to bend this overgrown brat over her knee and smack her bottom good for that remark. That urge was only stopped by the other half of her mind wanting to ask aloud why Elaine didn't seem to care that Carol didn't have any clothes on.

Maybe she's known some old people who became so forgetful, they forgot to dress themselves? Has that ever been a thing? And if it is...IS SHE COMPARING ME TO THEM?

The urge to smack Elaine grew stronger in Carol's mind.

"Are you going to tell me why you're not publishing my book yet or not?" whined the blonde as she practically stomped her butt on the chair opposite Carol. "I don't have all day to deal with your old woman problems."

"Uh...right. Right," Carol growled, clenching her teeth, her fists, and her buttocks tight to keep herself from standing up and walloping the girl. But she still couldn't help but be baffled. Did Elaine really not care about her nudity? Was she just that self-absorbed that she...

Looking at the impatient little priss on the other side of the desk, Carol finally put two and two together; she was sitting in front of a pretty big monitor. So big that all she could see of her company's client from her current position was her head and neck. Is that it? Could the monitor be blocking my nudity?

"So what's the deal?" Elaine said with a petulant huff. "Why aren't you publishing my book? I bet you didn't give Dad half the trouble you're giving me."

Yes, that had to be it. The monitor was definitely blocking Carol's nudity from sight. She was sitting just a couple feet away from a girl half her age naked as the day she was born, and said girl didn't suspect a thing! Carol would have laughed if she wasn't trembling so much out of fearful irritation and irritated fear.

Still, it meant she wasn't nearly as dead as she thought she was. She was close, teetering on the edge, ready to slip and fall any minute...but she was still standing. There was still a chance to get through this. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

"I can't...I can't say precisely how much so-called 'trouble' Mr. Cassidy was given when he first, when he first approached Trilo...Trilo Publishing," said Carol through gritted teeth. "I wasn't...I wasn't working here at the time. But I assure...I assure you, every author has to go through our rigorous editing process in order to...in order to ensure our high standards of, high standards of...quality."

Damn it, now Carol wanted to smack herself. She was trying to stay cool, trying to maintain a professional front, but speaking in the right tone, at the right pace, at the right volume, without stuttering in her current state was...impossible. She was naked. Bare ass naked and the world was doing its absolute damnedest to remind her of that fact every waking second. Cool air was caressing every inch of her naked skin, the fabric of her discarded clothing was digging into the bare soles of her feet, and her butt cheeks were flattening into the plush faux leather of her chair. And if she made one wrong move, fidgeted an inch too high, revealed one bare shoulder, it was over!

"But I've done plenty of editing!" said Elaine. "I removed lots of pages from the book just like you told me to."

Carol took a deep breath as she gathered her thoughts, tried to keep her mind on her job and not on her nudity. It didn't help; she could feel a very slight but still very telltale jiggle in her breasts as her chest inflated. "You didn't...you didn't remove enough," she said. "There is still...there is still a lot of...unnecessary content in your manuscript that adds nothing to the story and only pads out its...pads out its length. And there are lots of sections...lots of sections...that I specifically told you to get rid of, but which are still present in the text!"

She resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably in her chair, leaving herself to stew just as uncomfortably in her upright position. Damn it, this was hell, but she had to keep it up. She had to remain stern, no matter how naked she felt, literally and figuratively.

"But everything in my book is important!" said Elaine. "I wouldn't have written them in if they weren't!"

Air seeped out between Carol's teeth in a low hiss. She really wanted to sit up straight just to adopt a more commanding stance, as well as give her butt a little breathing room on the faux leather. But she couldn't. "How is...how listing every little grocery the protagonist is putting away on page 34 important for the story?" she seethed. "How is describing every little pen stroke she makes in her diary on page 86 important for the story? How is the ten-page, ten-page conversation she has with the hippo on daffodils important? And if all the events of chapters 12 to 18 are a dream, why did we...why did we need to have them in the first place? And the part with the camels in the clown car...what, what WAS that about? I still don't know, and I read that section 50 Goddess-damned...50 God-damned times!”

"You obviously haven't been reading it very thoroughly then," huffed Elaine. "The heroine, Ellen Cassandra, is bored with the humdrum of her life..."

Oh Goddess, here we go again with another one of her ARTISTE speeches. Carol kept her hands planted firmly on her desk to keep herself from face-palming.

"Every item of nourishment she picks up and puts away," Elaine continued, "represents another boring drone in her life. The milk is the time in her limited lifespan being squeezed out of her like from the teats of a cow by the demands of her job, her classes, her parents, and her obligations. The juice is the phony face she is forced to wear for the benefit of the world that can't handle her beautiful and unique identity! The bananas represent her entrapment in a male-dominated world..."

"You don't put bananas in the fridge," Carol groaned. Goddess, it was unbearable sitting nakedly in this seat listening to this drivel. She needed to move, stand up, stretch her legs out, slap Elaine, masturbate. But she couldn't do any of those things in her current state.

But...she couldn't sit still either.

To hell with it, she silently grumbled, finally taking a moment to lift one of her legs up. She winced as she felt her skin peel off the leather-like material in her chair like a stubborn band-aid, and after making sure her chatty tormenter hadn't noticed anything amiss, she crossed it over her other leg. It seemed to do the trick; changing her position did help alleviate her stiffness somewhat. It also gave her some level of modesty, or at least, she hoped it did. This was how women typically sat to keep peeping toms from seeing their unmentionables after all.

"In this, I let the reader experience the boredom Ellen feels, and instill in them the same thrill of adventure that she seeks!" said Elaine, who sounded like she was winding down on her spiel. "It is my way of instilling a sense of empathy between the reader and the heroine in a way no author has ever done before! Now look me in the eye and tell me that isn't genius?"

"You're not...you're not going to make anyone empathize with your protagonist with this," Carol almost said 'shit' but caught herself before her teeth so much as clamped together. "You're just going to bore them and make them put the book down. Have you even read this thing yourself?"

"I don't need to," said Elaine. "I wrote it! That means I understand it more intimately than everybody else!"

Carol could feel her every muscle clench with repressed rage, including those in her hands, her arms, her back, and even her buttocks. It was a sensation a woman could only feel in her natural state. "No, it just means...ohhhhh!"

Crap, she slid her legs too sensually against one another. Her thighs got tickled, and a faint tingle slithered up from her crotch to her spine. She just...she just turned herself on. Damn her getting aroused by her own nakedness!

"M-moving on," gasped Carol as she reached for her coffee, only to flinch in slight pain when her fingers wrapped around the mug. Even after all this time, it was still too hot to drink. "You...you do a really bad job at making the protagonist's l-love and at-attraction to the male lead feel ge-genuine...ahhhhh!"

Another tingle. Another full-bodied shiver. Shit, crossing her legs was a terrible idea. She forgot how sensitive her thighs could get, and with her clit starting to peer out from its hood, she was practically masturbating doing this!

"What do you mean?" said Elaine, who didn't appear the least bit affected by Carol's outburst. "I described allllllll the ways she loved him! All the physical parts, all the parts of his mind! I said everything a girl would ever possibly think to love a guy. Every little word and syllable. I spent, like, three whole days writing them down! So don't think for a moment that I rushed that part because I didn't!"

"That's...exactly the problem," said Carol between her breaths as she fought against her own body to stay in control. "You...over-thought it. Girls...in love...don't think. Love isn't...love isn't...a lot of excessive thoughts or...words. It's...it's...ugghhh!"

She finally found the wherewithal to uncross her legs, sliding one thigh off the other quick and abruptly, like how she learned to take off a bandage, hoping it would be swift and painless. It wasn't. It sent another jolt up her body, tickling her clit so hotly it nearly caused her to jump in the air. Had Carol not taken a firm hold of her desk, she likely would have jumped and shown her client her great, heaving bosoms with their hard and erect nipples standing at attention.

Stay calm, Carol. Stay calm, stay calm, for the love of the Goddess, stay calm!

"It's what?" growled Elaine impatiently.

Carol's loins were still tingling, her inner muscles were still clenching, demanding to be stroked, petted, licked, sucked, stimulated in any way. The urge to drive her fingers into her moistening sex was growing stronger, but Carol held firm, tightening the already vice-like grip she was maintaining on her desk.

"It...love is...it's feeling. Sssssensation," Carol breathed. "Desire. Reluctance. Warmth. Heat. F-feeeeeaaaarrrrrr. It's not...it's not something you just...make a whole bunch of metaphors for...not in...not in my...experience. Uh...huuuhhhhh..."

It was getting harder to concentrate. She was tingling hot down there, her hips seemed to have gained a will of their own as they thrust themselves back and forth in her chair, and her pussy was dripping like a leaky faucet all over the faux leather. And despite all her attempts to keep her mind on the job, she couldn't stop herself from thinking sexy thoughts. Like being naked in public. Having sex with her best friend, Henrietta. Giving Katy more of that 'motherly affection' she enjoyed so much. Letting Celeste ravish her in the grotto.

Seeing Zenriah with her own eyes and making love to the Goddess Herself.

"Mmmmmmm!" she murmured, digging her nails that much deeper into her desk, leaving deep welts in the polished mahogany surface.

"Uh...are you okay?" said Elaine, who for the first time was starting to look visibly worried. It lasted for only a few seconds. "Damn it, are you even listening to me?" she barked, pounding a frustrated fist on the desk. Everything on it rattled, the monitor, the keyboard, the mouse, and the still too hot cup of coffee.

"Y-yes!" gasped Carol as the sudden tremor shook her awake. "I'm fine. I'm perfectly...perfectly...fine!"

"I should hope so," said Elaine. "Because it doesn't look like you're all there. Ugh, I can barely understand a thing you're saying."

The younger girl slumped back in her seat with that same air of melodramatic annoyance she always projected. "I'm never going to get published at this rate. How can I write what you want me to if I can't even understand what you're saying?"

Even in her uncomfortable horniness, Carol couldn't help but blink. Did her ears deceive her? Did Elaine actually say she wanted some real feedback in her own bratty, backhanded way? Carol didn't want to get too excited, but in her current state, she'd take any kind of relief she could get.

"Well, it's...hard to explain...what it's like to be in love," she said, deciding to at least act like she was understanding. Maybe if she acted kindly to Elaine, rather than critical, her words would get through to her. She could only hope. "I can't say that it's the same for...everyone. And maybe I'm being too harsh when I say that everything in your manuscript on the subject of love and attraction is wrong. I don't think it's...I don't think it's that unusual to maybe think a few offbeat things that don't make a whole lick of sense when you're love-struck."

She paused to catch her breath, and readjust her position in her chair as minutely as she could to not betray her nudity to her client. She also waited a moment for Elaine to give her a response, but when all she got was an inquisitive eyebrow from the blonde, Carol decided that was her cue to continue.

"But...the thing is...you go...overboard with it. With all the...overwrought and poem-like descriptions. It's all a bit...excessive. And boring. You say that you write everything a girl in love would possibly think, but that's just it...no girl is ever going to think all those ridiculous things. There just isn't...time for that. And then there's the sentence structure, the repetition, the grammar mistakes, the..."

"But...but they all just seem so important!" whined the younger girl. "And...and I have no choice but to use them all because..." She trailed off.

"Because?" Carol asked, bracing herself. It looked like her strategy was working. Elaine was being unprofessional as always, but instead of voicing her thoughts out loud with that usual haughty tone of indignation, she was instead talking as if she had doubt. Not in others, but herself. Okay, that was just a nice way to say she was whining, but still, progress was progress.

"Because...because they're the best I can think of! I can't imagine any other way to describe Ellen's feelings!" cried Elaine, and she pounded the desk again with another frustrated punch. "Damn it!"

Carol was about to tell the girl (loudly) to stop banging on her desk, when she felt something very wet and something very hot splash all over her stomach, her thighs, and into the very sensitive area in her groin. It took her only a second to realize why; that last vibration tipped her mug off the edge of her desk and caused her coffee to spill all over her! With a startled cry, the naked woman bolted up to her feet in a vain attempt to escape the deluge that already claimed her. Her chair rolled backwards, her toes dug into the fabrics of her discarded clothes on the floor, her breasts bounced tantalizingly in the air, and...

Carol stared at Elaine. Elaine stared back at her. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was agape as she took in the sight before her. At Carol's pale skin. At the brown liquid dripping off of it. At the dark patch of hair between her legs. At her large boobs. At her fully erect nipples. At her every...little...inch...of completely...naked...nakedness!

Carol could only stand where she stood, as still as a statue. She couldn't say anything to explain herself. She couldn't drop down to the floor to hide herself. She couldn't even cry out from the sizzling, burning pain she was supposed to be feeling from the hot coffee dribbling off her flesh. A part of her couldn't help but be stunned by the fact that she honestly couldn't feel any pain actually. But the other part of Carol was quick to remind her of something far more important than the pain she was not feeling.

I'm dead. For real this time.

Wordlessly, Elaine stood up, rounded the desk, and approached Carol. Her expression was uncharacteristically mute, her mood completely unreadable. She stopped barely a foot away from the older woman and just stared at her. She looked Carol up. She looked Carol down. She took in every detail of the older woman's anatomy. Carol dared not meet her gaze, averting her eyes every time they passed over own. Nor did she dare to move. Like frightened prey caught in the shadow of a hungry predator, she stood still as death, the only movement on her coming from the drops of hot coffee dribbling down her skin.

She finally twitched when Elaine's hands, without warning, took hold of her waist. Now, they were slow and gentle, but to Carol's hypersensitive mind, they might as well have horse-whipped her. Elaine ran them down her form, tracing the naked woman's widening hips and firm buttocks. Carol bit her lip to keep herself from moaning as her cheeks were lightly tickled, though she couldn't suppress the quiver she felt shaking throughout her delectable orbs. It shamed her to admit it, but Elaine had some pretty graceful fingers.

Seemingly satisfied with her butt, Elaine slid her hands upward, gliding her fingers silkily over the bare flesh on Carol's sides before stopping right above her breasts. They jiggled slightly as the nude woman abruptly caught her breath in her throat, partially out of fear and anticipation over what would happen next, and partially out of arousal. She was still so horny from sitting in the nude in her own workplace for so long, and getting touched by this young, bratty, irritating, immature hotty with the brilliant golden locks and baby blue eyes and the C-cup boobs hidden neatly under her business jacket was just...

"Hah!" Carol cried out again when Elaine suddenly grabbed hold of her breasts. She kneaded the great spheres of flesh in her hands, squished and squeezed them between her fingers like putty, pressed them together, pulled them apart, watched how they rose and fell in her grasp, traced circles around the rosy red areolas that surrounded the hardened nubs.

What is she, AH, doing to me? thought Carol as she let out another pleasurable cry. She's, AH, touching me. Feeling me up. OH! Massaging, groping, fondling me. AH! Oh Goddess, it feels so...

"That's it!" Elaine shouted with sudden excitement. "This is the kind of sensation a woman in love feels! I think...I think I can now find the words to properly describe my protagonist's feelings! Looks like you were of some use after all, old lady!"

Old...lady? Carol was hornier than ever now and fighting every urge to cram her hands into her pussy, but even in that haze, she still felt a tinge of annoyance at her client. I'll show you, uhhhh...what this old lady can—

She didn't have enough time to finish that thought. For Elaine suddenly seized her head and planted a big, grateful kiss on her lips! "I'll get started right away," she proclaimed as she hurried out the door. "My book will be ready for publishing the next time you see me! I guarantee it!" And just like that, she was out the door.

For a moment, Carol could only stare blankly ahead of her. What the hell just happened? She exposed herself to Elaine, let herself get felt up, and Elaine was...happy about that? That didn't...how did...why was...

"I don't understand anything at all!" she wailed, throwing her hands up in the air before letting gravity take hold. Her chair bounced fitfully as her body collapsed into it, giving her breasts another healthy bounce before settling into serene stillness. Nothing was making sense anymore! When had she taken off her clothes? Why did she? What had Elaine found so fascinating about her naked body? Why did—she looked down at her thighs, which were still damp from the coffee spill and getting sticky as it dried up—WHY DIDN'T THE COFFEE HURT HER? It had cooled off, yes, but it was still blistering when it hit her. She knew it had been, she felt the heat, but it...it didn't bother her. Not one bit. Hell, it didn't look like it burned any inch of her skin at all!

"Something's...happening to me," she whispered feeling her heart pound against her chest. "Something...uhhhhh...ohhhhhh...ahhhh...AHHHHH!"

Her thoughts were interrupted by the tingling in her loins that was coming back in full force. In the growing wetness, heat, and throbbing in her inner being that was demanding her attention, that she could no longer ignore and no longer had any reason to.

"Goddess," she uttered as her right hand slithered over her sex and upon her swollen clit. "Oh G-hooooooddeeeessssssssss!"

She rubbed her little bud of love, ran it in circles in the palm of her hand, let a familiar and very distinctive wet, schlicking sound ring out of her. "I'm cumming! Goddess, I'm cumming now! I'm cumming! I'M CUMMING!"

Carol would cum many more times before she finally saw fit to leave the Writer's Room.

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

Wonderful Tonight

Dean Winchester x Reader

Song: Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton

A/N: Part 6 in the “Hunting for Home” Series. Now that Dean has his girl back home, they have started to unlock the mystery of their new friend and her foreboding prophecy, Dean's methods begin to get under her skin.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Canon Divergence

Words: 6408

Each chapter includes a song and dialogue prompt when requested.

Everything Tags: @his-paradox @aquivercactus @sorenmarie87 @lefthologramdeer @rockyhorrorpictureshowstyle @grace-for-sale @redm81 @becs-bunker

SPN Tags: @soythedemonqueen @kazosa @lucifer-in-leather @perseusandmedusa @tiquismiquis @docharleythegeekqueen

Part 1: The Halloween Party  (For @kazosa’s half-evil-writing-challenge)

Part 2: Over the Hills and Far Away

Part 3: Hooked on a Feeling

Part 4: Ain’t No Sunshine

Part 5: I’m Gonna Crawl

“Um, you wanna say that again little brother?” Dean said, slipping into his DeNiro face as he pulled a swig from his bottle and fixed his gaze on Sam. “What’s that now?”

“Well, according to our new friend Iris, you know, the Prophet, she claims that you two will be the parents of a very special child.”

Nearly choking on the food you’d just eaten, you quickly grabbed at your napkin and brought it to your mouth.

“Parents?” you snorted, swallowing the last bite of food. “Me? Him?”

For a moment, you could only look between their three faces in shocked silence as they all stared back at you. When you busted out in laughter, it was their turn to be shocked until you were able to get yourself under control again and wiped the tears that formed at the corners of your eyes from cackling so hard.

“Parents… now that’s friggin’ hilarious!” you tried to catch your breath, but when you noticed Dean still gawking at you, it was a little easier to regain control.

 “What? I could be a parent,” he snaked, highly offended by your reaction.

“Oh darlin’, of that I have no doubt… but c’mon be realistic… us? As parents? That’s a bit far-fetched don’t ya think? I can see it now… ‘oh hey, babe, can you grab some diapers on your way back from killing that Werewolf?” you were teasing, but also trying to make a point.

He considered it for a moment, a slight nod of his head to cement his agreement.

“I saw it though,” Iris spoke up timidly, looking between you and Dean. “I did, I saw it. I clearly saw you,” she motioned to you with her chin, “holding a child in your arms. The infant had bright green eyes and looked just like him.” This time, a nod to Dean.

“She claims it was a—”

“Sam, I swear, if you say the word Prophecy, so help me…” Dean warned, and Sam bit his lip to stifle a grin.

“But it was…” Iris said and was a little taken back by the expression Dean passed her.

“Regardless of what it was,” you interjected, giving Dean a silent warning in the process, “she clearly saw, something about us. However, I don’t think this is really the time or place to get into specifics.”

“She’s right,” Sam spoke up and turned to Iris. “But, you remember it all clearly… the words, the visions. Could you write it all down?”

“Of course. Those words, they’re burned into my memory.”

“Great. Would you be willing to help us figure this out before going back to Chicago?”

“Sure, Sam. Anything I can do to help. I owe you one for getting me away from Crowley.”

“Ok, great. Let’s finish this and get the hell out of here then. It’s a long drive home and we have a lot of stuff to try and figure out.”

Leaving the rest of the details for the very long car ride back to the bunker, you all finished your meals and paid the tab.

Walking down the streets of New Orleans, Sam led the way towards the Impala, chatting with Iris while you and Dean hung back a few steps.

“You really sure you’re alright?” he asked.

“Yes, Dean. I promise you, I’m fine. Especially now that I’ve eaten.”

“Good, but I mean what Iris said. About the whole kid thing. I mean, you’re right. It’s ridiculous. No way we could have…” He motioned vaguely at your stomach and you couldn’t help roll your eyes at him.

“Look, no offense, but do you really think I am going to leave protection in the hands of the man? I’m on the pill, Dean. No babies are getting made in this factory unless I specifically put in an order for one, alright?”

Sighing with relief, he nodded and draped his arm around your shoulders. “That’s good to know.”

Turning the corner, Dean’s Impala sat waiting for your return, and you’d never been so happy to see her as you were in that moment, but it made you remember your own special set of wheels.

“Hey, where’s my car?” you asked, suddenly nervous at the thought if it still being at Harley’s old place.

“Don’t worry. She’s safe and sound and back home in the garage. We found it at Harley’s and Sam brought her back.”

“Sam—” you started, but he immediately held up his hands in defense.

“I swear, not a scratch. I didn’t screw with the radio and the tank is topped off,” he said, flashing his patented sweet-Sam grin, and you knew he meant it. “Seriously though, the two of you are like the same person.”

“My woman just has the same respect and appreciation for a fine piece of machinery like I do. Her ride—”

“Her name is Blanche,” you said with a raised brow and serious scowl.

Dean laughed but quickly reigned it in when he saw you were being serious. “You named your car after a Golden Girl?”

“At least it’s a real name. You just objectify this beautiful girl here by calling her Baby. You should be ashamed.”

“Well,” Dean continued ignoring your last comment. “Blanche there is pretty, but not nearly as fine as you Baby,” Dean wistfully looked at the Impala and ran one lone finger along her hood as he went towards the driver’s side.

“Oh, please,” you mumbled, feeling the slightest bit jealous of a car.

“Uh, guys… it’s just a—” Iris started to speak, but quickly stopped when she saw Sam’s look of warning.

“I wouldn’t go there,” he said only loud enough for her to hear. He sighed and looked over at you while opening the rear passenger’s side for Iris, then looked to you. “Shotgun?”

“You’re cute,” you replied with a huff and got in the front passenger seat.

Shaking his head in frustration and mumbling under his breath, Sam went around to the other side and took the seat beside Iris.

Slipping into the front seat next to Dean, he paused before starting the ignition and looked at you.

“Blanche, really?” he asked, his nose wrinkled in confusion. “Really?”

“What? She’s old, sexy as hell and still gets her motor revved hard,” your expression challenged him to disagree. After a moment, he nodded in reluctant agreement before starting the Impala and pointing her in the direction of home.

   Arriving back at the bunker later the following evening, you descended the stairs and realized that Iris was still standing up at the top looking down into the cavernous space.

“Holy cow,” she gasped in amazement. “I’ve never seen anything like this!”

“Cool, right?” you asked as you tossed one of the bags on the table in the War Room. “Why don’t you come on down and I’ll give you the fifty-cent tour and show you where you can stay.”

“She can stay in your old room,” Dean said, coming up from behind you.

“Old room? Am I getting evicted?”

“No, I just figured you could stay with me,” he mumbled quietly, a boyish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. An expression of his that you found incredibly hard to resist.

You nodded and turned back to Iris. “Come on, I’ll show you where you can get cleaned up.”

Once she was settled into your room, you moved your essentials into Dean’s room and immediately took a shower. Scrubbing off the last few days of dirt and grime felt euphoric as the hot water cascaded down your back. You thought back to the night at the bar, and Dean telling you that he loved you. Letting that sink in, a myriad of feelings washed over you, including happiness and fear over the new found love you had for Dean, right along with that, was the fear of Iris’ prophetic words. Pushing them aside for now, all you really wanted to concentrate on, was Dean.

Turning off the water and toweling off, you slipped the fresh tank top and boy shorts on and wrapped the plush bathrobe around your shoulders. Once your feet were firmly tucked into your Ninja Turtle slippers, you walked down the hallway back to Dean’s room and found him lying on the bed with music playing quietly; his eyes were closed, and his arms tucked beneath his head. Again, struck by how things had changed since you first met him at that Halloween party months before, you stood there and just watched him for a moment.

Sensing he wasn’t alone, Dean opened his eyes and saw you standing in the doorway. Propping himself up on his elbows, he smiled sweetly; his eyes never leaving you as you closed the door and sat next to him on the bed, the only thought in your mind was wanting to kiss him.

“Something still bothers me about Iris,” he said before you could even attempt to try.

“What’s that?”

“If she’s a prophet, why no Archangel? Where’s her protector, hmm?”

“That’s a really good question,” you replied quietly, shifting on the bed to get closer to him.

“Seriously though, if Crowley could grab her like that without any angel intervention… who’s to say she’s really a prophet, right? I mean, this is Crowley we’re talking about, maybe—”

“Dean!”

He stopped suddenly, giving you a curious look.

“Will you please, please stop talking about Iris and Crowley. I don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight.”

Your tone had enough mix of sweetness and authority to make him pay attention, his expression giving way to that impish grin you loved so much. Before he could protest, you straddled his lap and pinned him back to the bed.

“Now, Mr. Winchester. Please kiss me and show me that you actually missed me while I was shacked up with the King of Hell,” you wiggled your eyebrows playfully, but his face still turned sour.

“Yeah… no. I can’t, not with that visual,” Dean groaned and sat up on the bed, causing you to sit back on his legs, your face scrunching in disappointment.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I am, actually.”

Dean lightly rubbed his hands on the upper parts of your arms while he tried to find the words he’d been mustering up the courage to say.

“I want you. Trust me,” he exhaled a nervous laugh, allowing his eyes a quick trip up and down your body before returning to meet your gaze. “But, uh, maybe we shouldn’t. You know… with all that Iris said—”

“Dean Winchester, are you fucking kidding me? First of all, we don’t even know if she is a prophet for sure. Secondly, I told you, I protect myself against unwanted body snatchers. No one is growing in this womb without me getting a security deposit. Follow me?”

“You mentioned that.”

“Ok, so what’s the problem?”

A sickening thought lingered, that maybe he had changed his mind… Maybe he had changed his mind somewhere between New Orleans and the bunker. Was it all too much? Living the life of a hunter is hard enough, throw in relationships and the idea of parenthood, and it could be overwhelming.

“The problem is until I know what she is, and that you are not in any danger, I’d honestly rather just be cautious.”

“Dean Winchester wants to be cautious? Well, damn. That tells me that either you really aren’t him or you really are that worried.”

His hand touched your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek lightly, guiding your gaze back to meet his. “I’m that worried.”

“Ok. I get it. This can wait.”

You slid off Dean’s lap, your bottom lip pouted out far enough to be sure he would notice.

“You can be a real brat, you know that?”

“I do. You can’t mind too much. I mean you did say that you lov—”

“Yeah, I remember,” he paused, a twitch of a smile on his lips. “I remember what I said.”

“Did you mean that?” you asked as you laid back on the pillow. It was thick with his scent, which reignited the simmering heat between your thighs.

“I did. I don’t know when it happened exactly, but I realized it when we figured out you were missing. I got this feeling… sort of how my stomach feels after Sam force feeds me vegetables; but worse.”

Shifting on the bed, Dean hovered over you slightly and brushed a hair from your cheek. “We’ve all lost a lot of people. Family, friends… They’re all really hard loses. But to lose you; it might be the thing that does me in.”

Putting your need for him aside, you nodded slightly and watched as his face softened with gratitude.

“You won’t lose me, ok? I’m far too stubborn and good at my job. But, because I love you, we’ll do it your way.”

“I hope so.”

“What? That I am too stubborn or too good at my job?”

“That you love me.”

You sat up on the bed, so you were eye level with Dean. “I do, I love you, Dean. All joking aside, I will go along with however you want to handle this. I trust you with my life.”

For the next two weeks, you, Dean, Sam and Iris hashed out her origin with her gift, how she ended up with Crowley and everything in between. They salted her, touched her with silver, dowsed her with holy water, and nothing. She never flinched, never reacted to any of the usual tests. Castiel wasn’t answering Dean’s calls. He hadn’t since he disappeared on Dean and Sam in New Orleans.

You could see Dean’s apprehension growing with each day that passed. Not getting answers was getting frustrating, and with that, he was getting unbearable. He not only outright refused to take on anything else until he got answers, but he also refused to touch you and it was beginning to grow old. You and Sam both saw how on edge he was becoming, constantly pacing, flipping angrily through lore books and calling on Cas aggressively.

Iris was getting exhausted as well. She was missing home, and though she’d reached out to her family, she was beginning to worry they were going to come looking for her if she didn’t go back soon.

Towards the end of the second week of reading lore and supernatural examinations, you were sitting at the table in the library, across from Dean and Sam. A rush of cool air rushed past your face and there was the feeling of a presence over your shoulder.

“Holy crap, Cas!” Dean exclaimed and jumped up from his seat. “Where the Hell have you been?!”

“Hell, actually.”

Cas looked worn as he fell into the chair beside you. “I was looking for this.” From the interior of his coat, he pulled out a fragment of the demon tablet.

“Cas, you freakin’ genius. If she can read this, then she’s a prophet, right?” Dean took the fragment and held it carefully, turning it in his hand as if making sure it was really what Cas said it was.

“Prophet? Well, with Kevin’s replacement now missing, I supposed the next prophet is—”

“Me. I am her,” Iris spoke up from the entryway between the library and hallway. “Crowley told me I am the prophet.”

Castiel turned, and upon seeing Iris slowly rose from his seat and made his way to her.

“You’re Iris?”

“Yes,” she looked past him nervously to you, and you nodded to let her know it was ok.

“He’s on our team, Iris. This is Castiel. He’s an angel.”

Castiel looked at her curiously. The longer he stared, the more she began to fidget.

“Um, guys, he’s starting to creep me out, angel or not,” Iris backed up a few steps until she bumped into the table.

“Iris Petrakis,” Cas said plainly; not a question but a statement.

“Y—yes.”

Castiel turned to Dean and gave him a solemn nod. “She’s a prophet. She’s much further down the list, but she is, indeed, a prophet.”

“Then where was her archangel when Crowley snatched her, hmm? Where were the ominous thunder and blinding light?” Dean asked, his brows raised, arms thrown wide.

“I’m not sure. Heaven isn’t exactly in perfect working order, Dean. I will look into it and try to figure out what happened. I’ll be back as soon as I know something.”

In a flash, Castiel was in the wind again. Iris pulled out a seat and slowly sat down, her eyes unable to move from the place Castiel had taken off from.

“That was an angel? Not even cose to what I imagined,” she sounded a million miles away, but gradually brought her gaze towards you. “Nothing like what I imagined at all.”

“Yeah, you don’t know the half of it lady,” Dean grumbled before handing the tablet fragment to Sam. “So, what now? We just wait for Cas to maybe bring us back some answers?”

“Dean, I think you just need to relax. I mean, yes, what Iris said, its profound. But without any more information, you’re just going to drive yourself crazy.”

Sam grabbed the fragment off the table and walked around to Iris. Sitting down in front of her, he cautiously handed it out to her and she took it reluctantly.

“Sam, you really think she’s going to get answers from that thing?” Dean asked and looked at you. “You’ve been awfully quiet. Wanna chime in here?”

“Honestly, I got nothing. In fact,” you stood up and pushed the chair back under the table. “I need a break.”

“A break? Seriously? You realize the situation we have here, right? Do you remember what she said?”

“Yes, I do. Of course, I do,” you could feel your frustration with Dean reaching a boiling point, and you didn’t want to fight, but he was overreacting in a way you’d never seen, “But, babe, you’ve gone over the edge. They’re just words. You’ve passed up several potential cases to try and stay here to figure this out. Iris wants to go home. I need to get out. Poor Sam probably would like to sleep!”

Dean was taken aback by the growing volume of your voice. “Sweetheart…”

“Dean, don’t,” you warned him, “I said I would do this your way, and I have. But, this is getting absurd. Look at her, she’s beat. Your poor brother has been going nonstop looking through lore and books and notes from other prophets… there’s nothing. Nothing, anywhere, in any book. It’s time to let it go!”

“Y/N—”

“No, I’m done. You wanna stay here and obsessively search for answers before you ever touch me again. Go for it. I’ll be at the bar.”

    The haziness of the atmosphere smacked you in the face as you strolled in. The need for a stiff drink pushed you towards the bar and through the sea of drunk patrons; but not without a few random butt grabs along the way.

If they only knew how much heat I was packing… you thought as the last creep gave you a hard, pinching goose on your ass.

Rolling your eyes and ignoring the advance, you finally made it to the bar and ordered two shots of whiskey and a beer. Eyeing you sharply, the bartender filled the order and you slammed back both whiskeys within seconds of receiving them. Throwing down some cash on the bar, you grabbed your beer and made your way back through the people towards the single open pool table in the back of the room.

Setting your beer down on the small table, you grabbed the rack for the billiard balls and began arranging them properly for a game of 9-Ball. Without looking around you sauntered back towards the end of the table and leaned down to line up the break.

As you bent over the rails, a deep voice spoke up from behind you.

“Need some help with that sugar?”

A tall man with shaggy blonde hair and a goatee stood leering at you while sipping on his beer. Rolling your eyes, you turned back to the table and took your shot; the balls bouncing across the velvet greens.

The man oohed as your break shot the 9-ball right into the far corner pocket.

“Nice shot little lady. You got pretty lucky on that one,” he said as he moved closer to your side, both hands leaning on the wood of the table.

Giving him side eye, you sighed and moved to re-rack the balls. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Picking up one of the hookers at the bar, perhaps?”

“Nah, I saw you come in before. Tried to get your attention at the bar but you breezed right past me before I could.”

“Are you the one that grabbed my ass?”

“He did what now?” Dean spoke up from beyond the table. His arms fell to his sides; hands clenching in and out of fists. “What did this guy do to you?”

“Nothing,” you said with a shrug. “Nothing I can’t handle myself.”

Leaning against the pole, Dean crossed his arms over his chest and gave the guy a warning smile.

Mr. Goatee snorted a laugh and turned to face Dean. Looking down at him, he shook his head as if he was annoyed by a fly. “Look, pal, this really doesn’t concern you—”

In one swift movement that happened in a blur, Dean had the guy face down on the pool table with one arm twisted behind his back. He was pushing his weight into him, causing Mr. Goatee to wince and whine.

“What the hell, man!”

“I want to know what it was you did to my girl here. Because if it was anything other than politely moving out of her way and saying ‘s’cuse me ma’am’ then you and me are gonna have a problem.”

“I—I—”

“Dean!” you shouted, shaking your head and motioning for him to let go.

He relented, and the guy stumbled back from the table, rubbing at his arm. “You’re crazy!”

“You have no idea, my man…”

Shaking his head, and throwing you a cursory glance, the goateed interloper quickly vacated leaving his beer behind. Dean moved it out of the way with a furrowed brow and sat at the little bar table.

“What are you doing here, Dean?”

Bending down you grabbed the rack again and fixed the nine balls into the diamond formation, setting in on felt with care.

“You’re really good at that,” he said, watching you with a dreamy look on his face as if he hadn’t heard your question.

“I know… what are you doing here? Get tired of poking and prodding Iris?”

“I deserve that,” Dean said, dramatically hanging his head and holding his hands up in front of him.

“So, answer.”

“I’m here because you are right. You were one hundred percent right… everything you said back at the bunker.”

Slowing walking around the table, over-pronouncing the swing in your hips, while chalking your cue, you watched him thoughtfully; trying to search for sarcasm hidden behind his words.

“Do you really mean that?”

“I do. After you left, Sam set me straight. Iris too. Prophet or not, she’s a smart kid.”

One of the waitresses came sauntering through, giving Dean and a sly smile and a once over before stopping to ask for his drink order.

“A few shots of whiskey and throw a couple bottles of beer on there too. Thanks, sweetheart.”

When he didn’t give her any more than a cursory glance with the order, she turned to leave with a roll of her eyes. As she walked away, the current song on the jukebox faded out, and the familiar beginning to “Wonderful Tonight” began to play.

Dean got up from the table and sifted through the available cues in the holder. Humming along with the music, he went about choosing one, then stood at the top of the table and positioned himself to break.

  “It's late in the evening; she's wondering what clothes to wear She puts on her make-up and brushes her long blonde hair And then she asks me, Do I look all right? And I say, "Yes, you look wonderful tonight”

  “Hey now, Winchester. This is my table. You wanna play here, you’re gonna follow my rules.”

Amused, he stood up straight and leaned on the cue. “What kind of rules we talkin’?”

Laying the rack under the table, you turned towards him and waited until you were close enough that he could hear you over the jukebox playing in the corner.

“First rule, I break; always. The second rule, if I can get the nine in within the first three shots, you owe me a back rub and breakfast in bed.”

Dean snickered and stifled it when he saw your expression. “Fair enough. What else?”

“That’s it. Now move aside please so I can get this done.”

Sweeping his arm across the front of the table, he stepped back for you. Bending over, you made sure to push your ass further up into the air than necessary. You knew he’d be watching and you wanted him to remember what he was missing.

A swift shove of your stick shot the white cue ball at the nine solid balls at the other end of the table. The eight, five and one instantly sunk into various pockets, and you were left with a fairly easy shot on the nine but tried to deduce how to do it involving the two ball.

Finally finding your angle, you walked passed Dean and bent over the side. Purposely exaggerating your hips again for his benefit. Bending down over the table again, this time he was in the perfect line of sight to see the swell of your breasts wanting to spill from beneath your shirt. 

“Nine in the corner pocket,” you called and took your shot. The two-ball barreled down the line of the bumper and knocked the nine, dumping it into the pocket without hesitation.

“I like my eggs scrambled, please. Also, I plan on sleeping in tomorrow, so you don’t have to have it ready till at least eleven.”

“Fair enough, but I want a rematch,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I feel hustled.”

“Alright, two out of three then, yeah?”

Dean nodded and just as he was about to rerack the set, the waitress came back with the drinks.

You both picked up one of the shots and lightly touched the rims before tossing them back.

  “I feel wonderful because I see The love light in your eyes And the wonder of it all Is that you just don't realize how much I love you”

  Dean’s face reacted to the initial burn of the whiskey, and you couldn’t help but smile as he shook it off. “I got a new rule though. If I win… you have to forgive me for being an ass.”

“I forgive you for that every day, Dean.”

His knowing expression made you laugh, and you instantly softened towards him.

“Maybe… but this time you are a hundred percent right. I went a little crazy.”

“A little?”

“More than a little,” he relented and picked his cue back up. “But... if I win this, you have to let me make it up to you.”

“Deal.”

“Go ahead, break,” he leaned back against the table, pool cue in one hand, beer now in the other.

You could feel his eyes burning a hole through your back and slide down to your ass. His presence was suddenly overwhelming, and this time when you pulled back to hit the cue, you missed and scratched on it.

Dean’s laugh was both intoxicating and irritating at the same time. Biting your lip, you turned to him and shook your head in disgust.

“That’s not fair… you can’t count that,” you said and took a step back towards the table as he approached you.

“I do, actually. It was a scratch, so I win.”

Leaning the cue against the rails, he pushed you back against the billiard table and placed a hand on either side.

  “It's time to go home now and I've got an aching head So I give her the car keys and she helps me to bed And then I tell her, as I turn out the light I say, "My darling, you were wonderful tonight Oh my darling, you were wonderful tonight”

  “Let’s get out of here, hm? I can think of a few better ways to prove to you how sorry I am.”

His eyes threw off the devilish sparks that drove you crazy, and you knew that you couldn’t say no; even if you felt you should. He’d been so cold and distant lately, and it was all because of a bunch of words from a stranger. His fear of, whatever, was enough for him to not kiss you or touch you for days. You wanted to be angry but knowing Dean and his reasons for acting that way, you crumbled easily.

“Let’s go.”

  Within in minutes you were in the parking lot. His fingers rested on the small of your back and guiding you towards the Impala. You stopped, grabbed his hand and instead pulled him towards Blanche who was discreetly parked in the back corner of the lot.

The moment you were within arms reach of the car, Dean grabbed you by your ass and lifted you up against her. His mouth found yours; hungrily clamping down on your lips and separating them with his tongue.

Grabbing the back of his head, you pushed him harder against you; desperate to feel his skin on yours. He slid you over enough to get the rear passenger door open and then pushed you down onto the bench seat.

Slamming the door behind him, he hovered over you as you tore the blue Henley over his head and into the front seat. Burying your head into his chest, you nipped kisses on his flesh, relishing in the euphoric warmth of him.

“Y/N,” he sighed, his eyes hovering closed at your touch. When he opened them, they were no longer the impish green you were used too, but nearly black and blown back with lust. “I want you, now.”

He didn’t speak again. Dean pawed at the clasp of your jeans, taking your boots off with them and tossing them aside. You worked on unbuttoning your shirt, allowing your breasts to spill out of the bra that could barely contain them at this angle.

Dean buried his face between your tits, licking and sucking at them as his erection swelled hard in his jeans against your thigh. You were desperate to feel him. You did your best to unbutton his jeans, finally getting the zipper and pulling them down enough to release his throbbing dick, already slick with precum against your own flesh.

His mouth moved up to your neck, as his hand moved down between your legs. Dean moaned into your mouth as his hand found how ready for him you already were. His teeth bared down on your neck, as his fingers teased your clit.

“Wait,” he growled and sat up, making you whine in disappointment. “I got some apologizing to do.”

Dean slid you up, so your back was leaning against the door. He freed himself completely from his jeans and took a moment to take you in.

“God damn, I really was an idiot,” he whispered as he bit his bottom lip. “A real, first-grade idiot.”

“So, say you're sorry Winchester…” you purred, reaching out and running a hand through his hair. “Prove how sorry you are.”

Dean bent down and kissed your stomach below your navel and didn’t stop until he reached the swell of your sex. A grappling moan escaped your lips as his tongue plunged deeply into your folds; no teasing, no hesitation.

Gripping his hair tightly in your hand, your hips bucked instantly as he wrapped his arms around you to try and hold you still. Dean swirled his tongue around inside you, not leaving one inch untouched. His teeth grazed against your clit one too many times, triggering your walls to flutter quickly and your climax to spill your thighs.

“Fuck!!” you screamed and pushed his face deeper into your folds, something he accepted happily.

Once he had finished taking in as much of you as he could, he sat up, grinning like a fool. “Forgive me?”

“Not quite yet,” you sat up, pushing him off you and making him sit on the bench.

Dean pulled you down on his lap, his erection perfectly aligned and ready to take you on. You leaned your forehead against his and hovered over him, teasing the tip of his dick with the warmth of your pussy; a guttural noise rose from his chest with each slight movement you made against him.

“Say you’re sorry and that you won’t go for days without touching me again…”

“Baby, I am so sorry… trust me. A day won’t go by from now on where I don’t.”

You slowly lowered yourself on top of him. Dean’s eyes rolled back with his head as he filled you completely. Another low growl barreled from his mouth, as his hands gripped your hips tightly; so tight you knew there would be marks tomorrow.

He rocked you gently at first, relishing in how he felt while inside you. Dean lowered his head and took one of your nipples into his mouth, sending an electric shock racing down your spine and causing you to move faster against him.

Whether it was the days with no physical contact or the few shots of whiskey, neither you or Dean was going to last long in this state.

“Unf… fuck… Y/N…” Dean moaned, his hands nearly painful on your sides.

You placed your lips beside his ear, allowing the tip of your tongue to tease his lobe, as you spoke to him in a low, breathy whisper. “Cum for me baby… show me how much you missed me.”

It was enough to break him. Dean slammed you down on his lap one last time as his release coated you, inside and out; his mouth and teeth assaulting your breasts as he did. Rocking more slowly, you continued moving your hips on him, until you felt his entire body shudder, then go limp.

Dean lifted his head to you, the same goofy smile on his lips like before. You left a soft kiss on his cheek before climbing off of him and reaching into the front seat for your shirt.

“Whoa, whoa… who said it was time to get dressed. I think I have more apologies to make,” he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you back into him.

“And, you can, back home. Back seat sex is fantastic, but there is a shower at the bunker big enough for two, plus a nice warm bed that we can get reacquainted with. Let’s take this apology tour back there, shall we?”

“Good God, yes,” Dean said and scrambled for his clothes.

Within minutes you were both dressed again and exiting the rear of the Chevelle.

“Meet you back home?” he asked, his expression soft and dreamy as he looked at you.

“Race you there,” you teased and went to hop into the car. Dean grabbed your arm and pulled you into him before you could.

“Y/N… I know I’m not easy to be with sometimes. I tend to get wrapped up in cases, and… whatever. I snore, I drink too much, I drive too fast... But I want you to know, besides my brother, you are the most important person in my life, and I love you.”

His voice broke a little, and you knew how deeply he meant it. 

“I love you too, Dean. And, yes, you may do all those things, but they are only a few of the things that I also love about you. I don’t care that you drink or drive fast. Or that you let a case monopolize your attention. I don’t even have to be your top priority. I just ask that you trust me, and don’t shut me out.”

“Never again.”

“Good, now, let’s get home. I’m dying for a shower and a snack. Then maybe some dinner.

“A snack and dinner?” he asked, his look of confusion was both endearing and sexy.

“You’re the snack Dean, geez.”

“Ohhh,” he realized, and flashed an embarrassed smile. With a big grin on his face, he turned towards the Impala. “First one home gets the unlumpy side of the bed!”

Shaking your head as he ran off, you jumped into the driver’s side and revved Blanche’s engine. Hearing her purr, and still reveling in the afterglow of being with Dean, you didn’t even care that he would beat you home or that you’d have the lumpy side of the mattress. Because you knew that once you were both there, there would be no sleeping that night.

   It was half-past eleven when you finally rolled out of bed the next day. Going down the hallway to the bathroom, you were still half asleep when you caught your reflection staring back at you from the mirror. Hungover from the whiskey and the sexual revolution you had started with Dean, you continued to stare at yourself as a nagging feeling was itching at the back of your brain.

There was something you had to do; maybe something you had forgotten… no matter how much you searched your brain, you couldn’t remember what it was. A soft knock at the door brought your attention back and without thinking, you answered it.

“Come in, I’m decent.”

Iris slowly pushed the door open and recoiled slightly when she saw you. “You alright?”

“Long night,” you answered simply. “What’s up?”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, circular case with a green cover. “I found these last night, you must have left these in the bedroom. I thought you might need them.”

A piercing bolt of panic ran down your spine and you suddenly realized what you had forgotten. Swallowing hard, you reached one shaky hand out to take the container and snapped it open. There were more than several days’ worth of birth control pills you’d forgotten to take since getting back from New Orleans. A montage of flashbacks to the night before and the number of times you and Dean had sex, unprotected, caused an instant bout of nausea to rise in your gut.

You looked up at Iris, your eyes wide and full of fear.

“Um, Iris… can you run through that prophecy one more time?”

She looked at you curiously, then to the container in your hand. The realization dawned on her and her whole body audibly sighed.

“Oh shit,” she said and shrugged. “I guess where fate has a will, she’ll find a way.”

[romanticoldme]

This is my bughead Secret Santa for @birdlovesafish. I’m sorry it’s so late - Happy New Year!!

It’s my first ever long(ish) fic so please forgive any errors of spelling, grammar, repetition, wordiness etc. I really hope you enjoy it though – it was fun to write!!

Set at the end of S2E09 Chapter 22 ‘Silent Night Deadly Night’ (except Betty doesn’t burn all her Black Hood memorabilia)

NB I didn’t start out to write a sexy times fic but the words just kept coming (so to speak…)

Late in the afternoon on Christmas Day Betty opens her present from Jughead and feels like her heart nearly stops. When it resumes its normal rhythm it’s beating slightly faster. ‘Surely’, she thinks ‘if he loves me this much it can’t be over’. Pushing the thought to the back of her mind Betty picks up her phone to text Jughead a thank you message but then realises that it just doesn’t feel right to say it via text. ‘I’ll talk to him tomorrow’ she decides then noticing the time gets up to pull on a few more layers.

Betty heads downstairs to grab her coat. Hal and Alice are sitting quietly in the living room talking about how disappointed they are that Polly didn’t come home for Christmas. “Mom, Dad I’m off to do my shift at Pop’s soup kitchen” she calls as she walks out the door. “Call us if you need a ride home” replies Hal, but she’s already gone.

The car park at Pop’s has been taken over by two big marquees each lined with long tables and chairs, and a few strategically placed gas heaters. The tables are decorated simply with holly, and candles in glass jars. Everything is gearing up for the dinner sitting at the soup kitchen, which started with breakfast this morning and has been running most of the day. Kevin and Josie were singing carols earlier and now the church choir has taken their place.

“Hey Pop, where would you like me to start”? Betty asks as she dons her apron.

“Hi Betty, thanks so much for coming down tonight, you’re always such a help here” replied Pop warmly. “I think if you can start getting the plates and cutlery ready, the servers will be out with the hot dishes soon and then we can start feeding these people here.”

Everything is stacked in big boxes behind one of the serving tables so Betty’s first job is to make stacks of plates on the table next to the food warmers, ready for the servers (of which she is one). Even though everyone calls it ‘Pop’s soup kitchen’ today the menu consists of roast meat and vegetables and Christmas pudding. The smell coming from the kitchen is mouth-watering. Betty turns around to comment to Midge (who is helping with the cutlery) about the delicious aromas and comes face to face with Jughead holding a huge tray covered in foil. “Oh!” she exclaims “Umm hi” and glances down to the plates in her hand. “Hey Betty” says Jug quietly eyes meeting hers for the briefest moment. “I didn’t realise you would be here too, I hope you don’t mind. I came to help Pop” he explains. “Oh no of course not Jug, it’s great you’re here too”.  “Is there room for this tray in there?” asks Jughead as he nods towards the food warmer. “Yes, yes of course, here let me get out of your way, I’m so sorry” Betty says awkwardly, moving aside. “Betts, it’s fine” smiles Jughead in an effort to relieve some of the tension, both of them aware there is so much going unsaid between them.  

Before they know it there is an army of people carrying more trays of food all trying to get to the serving area and Betty and Jughead are pushed aside for the moment while everything is set up. “Betty” says Jughead softly touching her arm “after this is all over, can we talk, just for a minute?” “Sure, Jug” replies Betty ducking her head and with a half-smile on her face.

The next 2 hours for Betty pass in a whirlwind of dishing up copious amounts of food, smiling and laughing, giving best wishes to those she meets, and occasionally glancing up to see Jughead as he runs back and forth from the kitchen, refreshing drinks and delivering bread to all the tables.

As the last of the dishes are cleared away to the kitchen by the clean-up team, Betty lets out a large sigh and wipes her brow. “As much as I love this I’m glad our part is done” says Midge as she dons her jacket smiling at Betty. “I agree, Midge” replies Betty returning her smile “see you back at school next week” she says as she waves goodbye.

Betty turns to reach for her coat only to find two hands holding it out for her ready to put her arms in. “Oh Juggie, thank  you” Betty says warmly, slipping her arms in. She turns towards Jughead as she buttons her coat and then tucks her hands under her arms. Now that she’s not busy and the heaters are off her hands have quickly become cold. “Don’t you have your gloves Betts?” asks Jughead frowning, then hands her his leather motorcycle gloves “here, take these, they might be a little large but they’ll help”. “Thank you” Betty replies softly, smiling. “Do you need a ride home now” asks Jughead hopefully, but Betty shakes her head and says “No, I’d rather walk – walk with me?” raising her eyebrow to him. Jughead smiles back at Betty and they turn and fall into step beside each other, Jughead kicking lumps of snow as he walks.

They walk in silence for a few minutes then “Betty-“ “Jughead-“ they both say simultaneously then look at each other and laugh softly. “You go first” says Jug smiling. Betty takes a deep breath before beginning “Thank you for my present Juggie” she says softly “it’s perfect, you know me so well, and I’ll cherish it. Did you read it first?” “Betty” he admonishes gently “of course I did, and I can see why you love her writing so much, I’m glad you like it”. “I love it, Jug…” she replies leaving the rest of her reply hanging. “Speaking of gifts” says Jughead wryly “I think perhaps you went a little overboard with mine! A vintage Underwood Betts? I’m not sure I’m worthy of that”. “Juggie! Of course you are, you know you are” Betty states giving him her ‘look’ and squeezing his arm. Jughead stops walking, “Betty…” “Yes Jug” she replies turning to face him, they stand there in silence until Betty says “What?” she repeats it in an echo of the moment before their very first kiss, knowing he will understand the significance, and with one eyebrow raised gives him an encouraging smile. “I’m so sorry Betty, for everything. For not talking to you enough once I started at Southside, for not telling you what was happening with the Serpents, for not confiding in you when things were going bad and mostly for pushing you away. I’m not sure I know who I am anymore and I don’t know how to fix everything that’s gone wrong, not just with us but with my dad too”. “Jug, you’re not the only one who has been struggling with all this. I didn’t confide in you either, I let the physical distance between us become emotional distance. I’ve made bad decisions too – Serpent dance anyone? And I pushed you away first. So please, don’t blame yourself for everything that’s gone wrong with us”.

Jughead stepped forward placing one hand on her shoulder and holding the other near her face “Betty, I don’t want to be without you anymore” stated Jughead his voice breaking on the last word “Is there - will you - can you forgive me?” “Juggie” whispered Betty grabbing the hand near her face and placing it on her mouth and kissing it. “There’s nothing to forgive – or only if you forgive me too, and promise me that we’ll keep talking to each other” her eyes welling with unshed tears.

Suddenly both of Jughead’s hands are on Betty’s  face and he’s kissing her like he’s a drowning man and she is his oxygen. The tears that were welling have run down Betty’s face and they can taste them in the kiss and then Jughead is kissing them away from her cheeks and her eyes, before returning to her mouth and parting her lips so his tongue can delve inside. This kiss almost feels like a first kiss and yet it’s so much more because they’re putting all of their feelings of loss and love into it at the same time, it’s like coming home.

They stop for breath their eyes closed, their lips barely apart, breathing each other’s air. “Juggie” Betty whispers her lips ghosting over his “Stay with me” it’s barely a question and Jughead simply replies “Yes”.

They walk back to Betty’s with their arms wrapped around each other, it’s slow and it’s freezing cold but they don’t care or notice. The only light on at the house is the one outside the front door so they both enter and make their way quietly up the stairs.

Once inside Betty’s room with the door shut (and locked) there’s a moment of awkwardness which they both laugh off – this isn’t the first time they’ve shared a bed after all – but something feels different tonight. “I’ll change in the bathroom” Betty offers and grabs fresh pjs from the drawer on the way in. While Betty changes, Jughead strips down to boxers and his S t-shirt and climbs into her bed. When she comes back out he has the covers in his hand and is holding them open for her, Betty can’t help the smile that crosses her face as she runs and dives under the covers, snuggling up to Jughead’s side while he tucks the blankets behind her.

They lay that way for a while, Betty curled up against him, Jughead’s arm under her and the other stroking down her arm and side. They start talking quietly and tell each other things that they both think they should have earlier. “Penny Peabody helped get my dad out of jail”, “Polly left town to go stay on the farm”, “My dad’s in deep with bad business and he won’t let me help”, “I don’t think Mr Svenson was the Black Hood”, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about joining the Serpents”, “I’m sorry about the dance”…

“Betty”

“Yes Jug”

“I love you”

“I love you too Juggie”

Betty pushes herself up onto her elbow and looks into Jughead’s eyes.  “I love you” she says again leaning in to kiss him. Jughead puts his hand in her hair and pulls her into him kissing her back, his lips devouring hers. Their tongues run along each other’s lips then invade their mouths and suddenly the intent behind theirs kisses changes and they can’t get enough of each other. Their kissing becomes frenzied, like they’re running out of time and Betty’s breath hitches in her throat. Jughead pulls back slightly and asks “Are you ok?” “I’m ok Jug, I just – I’m not sure where this is going and I –“, “Do you want to stop” interrupts Jughead “Because we can”. “No, no I don’t, I don’t want to stop Jug, I just need it to be slower I think”. “We can do slow baby, slow is good” he reassures her.

When he calls her ‘baby’ Betty melts back into his arms and they resume kissing, deeply and passionately. Jughead’s hand moves down to her waist then up under her t-shirt, skimming her side and coming to rest next to her breast, his thumb reaching around to stroke the lower edge. Betty’s breath stutters and she pushes forward into his hand. Jughead groans into her mouth as his hand fully encloses her breast squeezing gently. He runs his fingertips over her nipple with a featherlight touch which sends shivers running through Betty’s whole body igniting the fire deep in her belly. “Oh” she breathes in to his mouth as he continues his attention to her nipple. Slowly he pushes her shirt up under her arms and moves his kisses from her mouth to her cheek, they trail down her neck until he reaches her collarbone which he nibbles lightly with his teeth before kissing it and then lowering his mouth even further to her breast. He kisses across the top of one, planting one kiss in between, then on to the other. Betty lifts her body again and breathes “please” and then his mouth is on her nipple, he sucks it gently then runs his tongue over it, while his hand still works over her other breast. He takes turns with them, suck, lick, blow and Betty responds with a shiver her whole body writhing under him.

“Off, please” she gasps grabbing his shirt and pulling, Jughead lifts enough for her to pull it over his head and then he’s sliding his hands up her arms to remove hers too. As good as his mouth felt on her breasts, the feeling of his skin, the slightly rough hairs on his chest rubbing over her sensitised nipples, is intoxicating. Betty wraps her arms behind his neck and pulls him back down to her mouth, drinking him in.

With Jughead lying almost over her Betty can feel his leg between hers and she instinctively raises her hips slightly pushing the sensitised flesh between her legs up against his thigh. Jughead feels her heat and pushes himself back against her at which point Betty becomes aware of his erection against her thigh. They continue their subtle hip movements as they kiss, all the while the pressure building inside them both.

Feeling bolder than ever Betty reaches her hand down and lightly rubs over the front of Jughead’s boxers. He breathes in sharply and then groans into her mouth. Emboldened by his response she strokes again lightly wrapping her hand around his impressive length. “Oh God Betty” he moans “that feels amazing”. Pleased that she seems to be doing it right Betty continues to move her hand in long strokes still on the outside of his shorts.

Kissing Betty lightly on her lips Jughead looks down as he slides his hand from her breast down over her hip bone to the thin fabric of her pj shorts. He rests his hand at the junction of her thighs then slowly moves his whole hand down between her legs, exerting firm yet gentle pressure. Betty’s hand stops it ministrations on his erection as new sensations take over her senses. “Oh” she breathes as Jughead’s hand passes back and forth over her.  Without realising it Betty’s thighs relax and her legs slowly fall open allowing his hand to access more of her throbbing flesh. The next time Jughead brings his hand back up he continues to the waistband of her shorts and after seeking permission with a raised eyebrow and getting a nod and a soft kiss in reply he dips below the edge of her shorts to slide his fingers through the incredibly soft, moist flesh below. The intimacy of the contact and the sheer force of sensations new to them both is enough to take their collective breath away. He continues to stroke ever so slowly, increasing the pressure as he nears both the sensitive bud at the top of her sex as well as the silky entrance below. Betty’s breathing has become uneven as she gives off small whimpers and moans at the sensations he’s inducing. Feeling incredibly courageous (and lucky) Jughead finally dips his middle finger into her moist interior and gasps at how hot she is inside. Betty groans “Oh God yes” into his mouth as he kisses her. He holds his hand in place and strokes his finger in and out of her noticing her gasps when he touches the rough patch of skin on her upper wall. Jughead pushes his tongue into Betty’s mouth at the same time he pushes his finger into her in a slow and steady rhythm that drives her crazy with need.

Betty realises that she has stopped stroking Jughead and feeling slightly guilty she reaches into the front of his boxers to run her fingers up his bare length. He’s so hard and yet the skin is soft like velvet. She wraps her fingers around him and at feeling of her hand running up and over his sensitised head Jughead gasps “Jesus Christ” into Betty’s mouth. Now it’s her turn to stroke him until he can’t think anymore. They both whisper “Oh baby” and “That feels so good” into each other’s ears as they learn the secrets of each other’s bodies. Betty feels the moisture at Jughead’s tip and uses it to make her hand slide more easily along his length. Jughead feels Betty’s walls quivering around his finger and slips a second one inside, using his thumb to stimulate her clit, feeling her get even wetter under his hand. Betty moans underneath him “Juggie, I think I’m close, really close.” “It’s ok baby you can let go” murmurs Jughead as he strokes deeper inside her and moves his thumb even faster over the bundle of nerves. Within moments he feels her clench around him, body shaking as she cries softly into his ear. “Are you ok baby?” he whispers kissing her hair, her ear, her cheek and finally her lips. “Never better” Betty jokes with a shaky smile and tears in her eyes. Betty nods towards the bedside table “In the top drawer, there are condoms, if you want…?” “Oh baby I want” replies Jughead reaching over to grab a foil packet and rip it open with his teeth. He places the condom over his tip and Betty helps to roll it down his shaft, squeezing him firmly as she goes. Even though Betty feels quite wet after her orgasm Jughead is concerned about her first time so he reaches for the lube that’s sitting in the drawer and while he’s rubbing some onto her says “Baby please tell me to stop if it’s too much, I don’t want to hurt you”, “Juggie, you won’t hurt me, you couldn’t. I love you and I want this too much to stop you now”.  Positioning himself above her Jughead slips his fingers inside to stroke and relax her before withdrawing them and replacing them with his tip. He gently pushes forwards feeling little resistance but it’s definitely a tight fit. Betty breathes deeply and tries to relax as much as she can, tilting her hips to get the best angle for his entry. It feels like a mild burning/stinging until he’s fully immersed in her then the base of his shaft, which is the widest part, really puts pressure on her and she gasps “Wait”. “Are you sure you’re ok Betts” Jughead asks worriedly. “I’m fine, I’m perfect, just don’t go too deep yet”. Jughead nods, closes his eyes and pulls back before thrusting in gently again, this time Betty rock her hips to meet him and after a couple more tentative movements they start to establish a gentle rhythm. Nothing has ever felt like this before for either of them and they are in no rush to finish quickly. Betty has never felt so full before like every part of her inside is being touched at the same time. Jughead has never felt the heat of being inside someone before and he feels like he’s going to self-combust. Together their pace begins to quicken and though Betty feels amazing she’s knows she not going to come again, so she focusses on gripping him tightly and drawing him in with every thrust. Jughead can feel the pressure building and though he doesn’t want to lose control he can’t help feeling like he just wants to push as far inside Betty as he can go. He can feel her drawing him in with her hips and her muscles and he feels himself easing into her slightly deeper with each thrust. He looks down to where they are joined and it is the sight of him buried inside her that tips him over the edge as he comes in a rush of sensation shuddering and shaking above her as he cries her name.

They lay together kissing and smiling and whispering to each other with him still inside her. He doesn’t want to leave her body and she won’t let him anyway, hooking her legs around his to hold him. Eventually Jughead starts to soften and slips out, he passes her a tissue, disposes of the condom and then quickly takes his place back by her side. They wrap their arms around each other, legs tangled, feeling utterly smug.

“Welcome home Juggie” murmurs Betty as they drift off to sleep.

Wherever you are is home Betts” replies Jughead resting his mouth against her temple.

“I know” she whispers back smiling.

fin

[iphoenixrising]

Look, Distractions? That is my JAM okay? So if you ever feel like it. I would KILL for your opinion on Fracture!Tim meeting Detective Comics!Tim. Like would he get mad the bats have up that quick considering they're dynamic? Or would he just save the info for later in his world (fight with Jay/Dick and dammit it counts as evidence that THIS might not work.) just Timmy. Because honestly it could go a lot of ways. Babe, you rock! 😘😘

There you are, babe. Ah, I’m such a bad writer and I’m sorry. I remembered this thing vaguely and um…wrote a thing. (I forget about Asks so much and I’m so sorry to anyone that I’ve missed). So, said thing that I wrote was kind of complex and I’m stupidly proud of it okay because I was seriously not cool with the current incarnation of Tim Drake wearing the original Robin suit from the 90′s repurposed with the RR. Like, I’m so pissed off about that. SERIOUSLY >.

**

He literally gets the first sip at wonderful,blessed caffeine—before the glowy circle of light just appears in his damnkitchen, illuminating a gentle red that looks totally ominous and terrifying.

His mug falls to the linoleum with a crash andspilled heaven.

Welp, there goes that ‘Uncle of the Year’mug. Dammit. Layla worked so hard on it.

“Dick! Jay! Got a little sitch in here.”He yells, frozen to the spot where the circle has him penned in at the counter,eyes wide with what the fuck is this now?

In all his time as a doctor to, you know,vigilantes and superheroes, he’s never seen anything like this. If he’slearned anything in that time, it’s curiosity might take an appendage. Watchyour ass around things that might smell of alien tech or evil bad guys (thatjewel was from some guy name Booster. Just really?).

He must have sounded as desperate as herealistically feels because bare feet are pounding down the hallway ofhis penthouse just as the circle flares crimson and starts to suck him in.

He knows he yells something back at hisvigilante boyfriends because he does get a warped sound of them calling for himjust as he gets sucked inside.

**

The pain in his head is real when hefinally comes to with a groan.

The hard cement floor isn’t doing him anyfavors.

Like, at all.

But memory kicks in and Dr. Drake is pushinghimself up on weak arms, hair in his face, looking around with wide,calculating eyes before he realizes—

He isn’t alone.

The doctor is up on his feet, blinking, turningon one bare heel to take in the other four bodies lying haphazardly in heaps onthe grungy floor around him, all in various states of look at those birdies.

He has approximately ten seconds to take in theclothes, tech, and other miscellaneous gear, but gets it in five. At this pointin the game, he’s very familiar with things like utility belts, armored tunics,and the like, so he knows what he’s looking at. The question is reallywhether or not he’s in with heroes or terrible bad guys, and those answerswon’t be forthcoming until they’re all out of la la land.

Which could be enough time to steal shitfrom their utility belts to use against them or get them all the fuckout of here.

It’s 50/50 really.

But his legs are already moving him across thecold floor because assessment takes precedent over neat potentially fatalgadgets, taking a knee beside the first one that has a full cowl. Since he hassome experience with cowls, he knows the right place to wiggle hisfingers in to get a bead on the his pulse (until the doctor knows forsure, bad guy or good guy, no trying to get into the suits probably riddledwith security traps unless it’s go time, but the utility belt doesn’tshock the ever-loving fuck out of him, so he already has a plan).Breathing looks good, no signs of medical distress, no tears in the suit, nobloodstains. The harness is pretty cool, but that insignia? What the hell is thatsupposed to be?

Whatever. This potential bad guy checks out, soon to the next one.

The second has on a domino with the whiteoutsdown and an odd-looking cape, like panels or something? Yeah, okay, whatever.This guy gets to be Mr. Terrible Style. He gets the same careful check— andoddly enough has the same insignia on his utility belt but a completelydifferent kind of harness (so maybe they’re a group, like the JL or the Titans?Or the Legion of Evil…? Shit, he is not up to playing Pet Doctor to agroup of baddies. Again. It didn’t end well last time—you know, for the badguys).

Okay then. Take a breath, Doc. Plenty of time tounravel the fuckery later.

The third has a similar red and black thinggoing on, same damn insignia, but he has an additional wicked cowl-like,almost helmet thing that is shaped more like a bird’s face and head with a beakthan questionable unconscious guy number one (his cowl is just straight-up unimpressive.C’mon bad guys need to have better imagination than that). The lenses,he notices are red rather than the usual white, so well there’s that.The suit, however, doesn’t have the armored tunic covering a bodysuit, but isjust modified with light armor instead. It reminds him of Jason’s Red Hood bodysuit, the armor in the potentially fatal places. Good call.

The last body breathing is completely outof the pattern (one of these things is not like the others… damn you,Sesame Street, well-played). He’s got some standard black, pocketedpants and heavy boots, like ninja suit-ish or something. The plain rope iscoiled over his hip from a pocketed belt that doesn’t look as advanced as theothers. He doesn’t have any insignia Tim can plainly see. He’s also not wearinggauntlets and only half-fingered leather gloves, so checking his wrist for hispulse is easier than the cowls. (Bandaged fingers, not bleeding badly enough tobe a problem, but he clocks the deets for later).

“Ooowwfuck,” comes from over his shoulderwhile he’s trying to feel out the black suit in a non-pervy way and see ifthere might be, you know, blood or something because it is seriously dimin this little dungeon-y vacay spot, and Tim spins abruptly, eyes dartingaround for something to use as a weapon or maybe to duck behind so he caneavesdrop to figure out what the fuck he’s dealing with.

The cowled man sits up, rubbing the back of hishead, the whiteouts going around the closed-off room—

And lands right on the frozen doctor.

“I’m unarmed, don’t kick my ass,” he puts upboth palms in that just a civilian, don’t kill me pose. “If you’re hurt,I’m a doctor, and maybe if you know how I got here and why, thatwould be just super helpful at this juncture in the glowy circlekidnapping plot. Though I am seriously not the person you’re lookingfor. I have a sweet fire escape, but no nifty suit. Sorry ‘bout it.” He defdoes not mention the part where letting him go would be in theguy’s best interest since his wonderful significant others can get a little testyif he’s in things like, well, immediate fucking peril. He likes thebaddies to be surprised when Nightwing and the Red Hood bust down theirdoor.

The guy’s mouth drops open a little and just a blinkbefore awake good/bad dude is literally right in front of him.

If he hadn’t seen Dick and Jay move whenthey’re in the masks, he would have been totally more fanboy-ing it upthan he is right now.

“Holy shit, you’re fast!” Tim eyes theperson that could probably snap his spine with, like, a pinky or in some othercrazily specific way. “Seriously, this is a mistake. I’m a damn good surgeon,but like, dungeons?, I got nothing.”

The cowled vigilante, still feeling fractured asfuck with the waking up in who knows where, chuffs a laughbecause what the shit did he get into this time? (Well, lookingat himself, it’s going to be ‘What is multiversing for $1000, Alex.’) Hejust has no room on his already full plate for things like, randomportals showing up to take him right off the back of Jay’s Ducati from behind(which, come to think of it, is actually a nice little relief withwhatever is going on with those two and the almost, sort-of, couldhave been maybe trying to-to kiss him…or something?) when there’s somecrime fighting going down. Terrorists and meta-inducing tech are keeping himnice and busy fuck-you very much.

But this other him that is a little shorter,eyes going unconsciously to his utility belt like he’s making a plan isprobably going to need some deets before he’s in a fight-for-his-lifeessentially against, you know, himself. One hand goes to the cowl,pressing what he needs to deactivate the security—

And pulls it off.

That leave Dr. Tim looking right into his own face.

“What. The. Fuck?!” He scrabblesback, almost tripping over his own feet and the unconscious guy on the groundwhen this guy that is basically him, moves so fast again,and grabs his arm to keep him from falling.

“Hey. Hi there. Tim, right? Yeah, me too.Welcome to the multiverse. Really, it’s scientifically fucked up, but a good lessonfor the kids on what not to do with space/time.”

The doctor sputters, “multi-what now?!Wh— I— This is…this isn’t…this isn’t possible.”

The cowled version of him chuckles a little,grinning while rubbing the back of his head, “first time multiversing? It’scool, you’ll get used to it. Things to remember: dick bag aliens suck in allrealities, Luthor is totally a tool no matter where you go, and don’t fuck withthe Red Hood just in case he’s still a little pissed about the wholeRobin thing. That? Was not the best lesson.”

Now his brain is a puddle of mush, thanks…him.“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m a…you’re a vigilante, too? Like-like Nightwingand the Red Hood and-and Batman?”

And the doctor swallows hard because—

(He was Robin).

This vigilante version of him completely stops.Just. Creepy complete stillness.

“Uh, hello? You with me, uh…Tim?”

The second groan is followed by, “it’s okay,give him a minute. He’s probably not used to a world where we’re notpart of the Bat-clan.” The one with the weird cape is sitting up lookingaround. “Well, it could still be a post-Apocalyptic world, but it’s anyones’guess at this juncture.”

The voice is completely his yet again andDr. Drake’s eyes go to the other two still out.

“You too?” He asks, mindblown, “another…”his hands waffle back and forth, “another Tim Drake? I mean, all of youare Tim Drake?”

“Seems that way,” the other stands up, stretcheshis back and goes to the impressive computer on his wrist. Sooo, half-robotsare totally a possibility maybe? Ives is going to shit kittens.“I was already kind of in a multiverse where some alien assholes took over theplanet. We just had a massively awesome war and sent them packing, so I reallydidn’t expect to end up anywhere else but my original universe. This is kindof…strange. I checked the coordinates on the portal three times justto make sure.”

“H-how is this…possible, I mean, the physicsdon’t even support something like this! The-the doppelganger effect and-and!”

Dominoed Tim just waves the doctor into silence,“like I said, I was already in a multiverse, and two Tims can exist in the samespace. Well, obviously more than two, but it is what it is.” He goesback to the computer on his wrist, trying to get his head in this gameafter what he’d just left behind (that version of Dick holding him up, tellinghim he’ always have a place there if he ever wanted to come back.That version of him welcoming him with open fucking arms if he did wantto stay; a world where he would never have to go for a weapon againstJason Todd, and fuck, fuck…Dami was his brother.)

De-cowled Tim gives the doctor his attentionafter subtly moving to check the other two still breathing but out cold, “thinkof it like this: every major decision you make could go a few different ways.For each option, a separate reality breaks off. These what-ifs create athing called the multiverse, multiple universes with sometimes subtle,sometimes catastrophic differences.” He gestures to the dominoed Tim who givesa little wave.

The doctor blinks hard, his hands curl intofists by his sides, “so there’s a reality out there somewhere…there’s areality where I let Nightwing bleed to death on my fire escape or called anambulance and got his ident compromised, or a reality where—”

“Whoa,” dominoed Tim looks up from his wristcomputer and raises the whiteouts, “bled to death on your fire escape?”

“That’s…that’s how I kind of met him in themask. Anyway—”

“So you’re not—?”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” he shrugs, whichis only slightly untrue. “I’m not,” and he waves a hand at the two ofthem, “this. What you are. I went to Med School instead of Crime FightingAcademy or whatever.”

De-cowled Tim laughs out loud, shaking his head.“I was Robin first, five and a half years. The new name is Red Robin, and I’mwith the Titans more than in Gotham—” but he pauses with it because, welp,that’s not really as true as it used to be, is it?

Domino Tim shrugs, goes back to his wristcomputer, but his shoulders are tight, “same mostly. Robin, whole lot of crimefighting, Red Robin, and I’m exclusively with the Titans. I only go back toGotham if the call goes out, and even then, I fight like fuck and goback home. This ah, alien multiverse thing just happened to…come upunexpectedly.”

De-cowled Tim gasps in a breath, “whoa, do youmean the—”

“Insurgents,” domino Tim replies softly,carefully.

“Wow. The Mind Trap is such a pain in thedick.”

“Tell me about it. Gotta love when it’s Hood andthe current Robin inside because those two.”

“Oh fuck, dude are you even okay rightnow? How long ago was—?” De-cowled Tim grips the other vigilante version by theforearm, bending just slightly over him while the doctor watches, wonders whatthese aliens, these Insurgents are to them and why they’re so dangerous.

“Fine,” the domino replies, but his voice is…off.“As soon as we figure out how the hell we got here, I’ll be even better.”

“Okay,” the cowled Tim starts slowly, seeingmaybe more than he should, but he respects his other self trying to keephis shit together when he’s very, very obviously not fine. Nowisn’t the time for it, instead it’s time to get their fractured thoughtstogether and figure out all the main points, “All right Doc, tell us what youwere doing and what happened to bring you here.”

Still checking on the two other unconsciousvigilantes, he does just that, mentions calling for his boyfriends before the“portal” (and this? Is his life right now) sucked him in.

De-cowled Tim has a small grin on his face whilehe surveys the cell they’re in, and domino Tim’s frown gets painful while he’strying to get some kind of results on his computer.

“There’s a few things we can work with, but I’vegot no obvious feeds here. We need to wait until the others come to before wemake a move.”

“Good plan.”

“Agreed. I don’t have anything I would need toassess them any further. I don’t see any signs of distress yet, so we’re goodso far.”

Both vigilantes start digging in their utilitybelts, but the doctor holds up a hand, “the supplies aren’t the problem. X-ray,CAT scans, those type of things would be stellar. But, I’m allout at the moment because smart bad guys are a pain in the ass.”

“True story,” the two Tims echo.

“All right, so from the readings just before Ihitched a ride here, it looks like a disruption in space/time—” the domino Timtaps on his computer.

“Like a shockwave,” the other Tim supplies.

“—could have crossed two paths, but fourof them? That’s—”

“Statistically impossible,” the third one withthe sweet helmet-cowl is up, bracing himself on his hands. Dr. Drake catchessomething off immediately, the way his head tilts to the side.

“Exactly,” the other two say in tandem again,seriously shaking him up.

“Someone probably planned this,” de-cowled Timlooks at them, “we’re here for a reason.”

“As much as I’d like to stay and figure out why,I have a really important meeting to attend tomorrow,” the helmeted Tim gets tohis feet, his body a strange kind of taunt.

In his peripheral, he sees the other two Timsfigure it out, too.

Dr. Drake crosses his arms over his chest, “theroom we’re in is concrete or stone, floors and 100-foot or so ceilings. There’sa transparent door to your right, approximately twenty feet, no discernable wayout.”

The red lenses swing to him but stray just overhis shoulder. The blind crime fighter smirks at him, “did you say you’re nota vigilante?”

He huffs out since well, he’s the onlyone apparently, “I’m a surgeon. I just…have other hobbies. Like dating crimefighters, and playing Pet Doctor for superhero groups. You just…you aren’tlooking at me.”

The other two Tims nod in agreement.

“You were balancing like the King Snake when youstood up,” de-cowled Tim adds almost gently.

Domino Tim folds his arms over his chest, “thefingertips on your gloves are…modified. You can probably read braille throughthem, can’t you?”

The fourth grins wider and laughs a littlebecause, well, trust someone like himself to get the tech. “I made aspecial pad to help me hack again, too. It’s good stuff.”

“Like you really need it?” The de-cowledone grins.

“Always have a plan.”

The three vigilantes share a half-assed laugh asthe fourth Tim removes the specially made cowl.

“Fuck,” domino Tim blinks, “I think I canhazard a guess.”

“We’re all probably aware the Wanderer is an asshat.” And he already knows what they’re looking at, the milky haze overhis unfocused eyes. The radar net gives him good intel, outlines andimpressions, not depth or detail. For that, he moves closer to the gathering,listening for the sounds of air rushing or gears grinding, anything to givethem an out while placing the smallest differences in each figure. The doctorone smells like sandalwood and antiseptic. The one to his right with a bareface sounds oddly…calm. The contentment is in his voice. The one already inanother multiverse did come from a war, the scent of the fight, the heatof pain not on his skin makes his voice get tight at moments (well, asthe one that lost his sight trying to get B back from time—he totally getsthat type of pain because one of them…maybe even two of them couldrealistically stand to be anywhere near Dick).

And him? He’s just the guy that’s going to findtheir way out of here so they can all get a little bit of why the utter fuck?

“He took out your eyes instead of your spleen,”domino Tim observes, swallowing down the situation he just left, the twofrom that world where he could have stayed and helped rebuild—

Not the time for regrets, asshole. Let’s justfocus on the here and now.

“I would have been better with the spleen, butit’s fine at this point.” And the de-cowled vigilante exchanges an eye slidewith the dominoed one because it’s very obvious the guy is bullshittingthem (but well, who else would catch it other than the dudes that lie toBatman?) “Luckily for me, Tam is the most bitchin’ PA ever.”

“She keeps everyone’s shit together.”

“She multitasks like a boss.”

“Glad she rocks us in most universes. Stellar.So, how about we figure out how to get the hell out of here so she doesn’teviscerate us? I, for one, am not on that train.”

“Uh,” Dr, Drake blinks, feeling like he’swatching tennis or something, Wanderer? Losing a spleen or sight? Whothe fuck is Tam? But the other three converge in a circle to start making plans,the de-cowled Tim pulling him along in by his bicep.

Domino Tim gestures to his half-destroyed wristcomputer, “the only readings I’m getting are nil and none. I can’t place whereor when we are in the time stream. I’ve got readings on the physicallayout, but…that’s it.”

Since his tech is obviously boss enoughto get him through another multiverse, the others realize it might just be astep closer to oh shit time.

“That doesn’t sound any kind of promising,” thelast one of them is finally up and on his feet, holding his abdomen gingerly,“I, for one, am not a fan of the decor. Too medieval for my taste.”

The other three tense immediately, subtle slidesof gloves in belts, the move for a bo, the shift of feet, and sway of hip for arighteous roundhouse to the face.

De-cowled Tim groans a little, “shit, I knewI was going to go villain in at least one reality—”

“That costume isn’t going to make good guysquake in their boots, dude—”

“You’re not instilling confidence here. Iexpected better style from a bad guy,” the sightless vigilante sighs.

“Whoa, villain?” The dark suited Timthrows up both hands, “how fucking insulting. I am not a bad guy,I’m a solo vigilante fuck you very much”

Three of the five Tim’s eyes are huge.

“Wait, so you didn’t start out with the Bats?”De-cowled Tim is blinking because, well yeah, he could totally see aworld where he decided to be bad ass on his own.

Dark Tim’s eyes swing over, whiteouts raised, “Iwas a Bat at one time,” but his his voice is clipped, tight.

“Did…did you take on something other than RedRobin when Dick—” Domino Tim takes an anxious step forward because yes,that? So many possibilities. (And what would his team of loveableassholes care if he…if he changed his ident, too? The Bats, hisworld’s Dick, Jason, B, and Dami wouldn’t give two fucks anyway).

The dark Tim glances away, his expression goingcompletely neutral, “it’s…a long story. I was that name for about a minute,just long enough to peg B down and bring him back from random time fuckery.Gave it up right after.”

De-cowled Tim straightens a little, “were youRed Robin when you took out Ra’s and saved Wayne Enterprises?”

The dark Tim blinks and shakes his shaggy head,“I—I didn’t become CEO, not of Wayne Enterprises. I brought B back right afterI took the League down. He was able to prove himself legally alive and save WEon his own. He sure as fuck didn’t need my help to do it.”

“That sucks,” blind Tim is already turned towardthe creaks and groans of their prison, trying to get a peg on what couldpossibly be outside. “I’m not a fan of it, but Dick wasn’t taking up the CEOreign, so—” he give it a there you have it flourish.

The awful tension in dark Tim’s spine tells a hellof a lot more than he probably means to,“Dick and I… I’ll leave it alone. Thedetails don’t matter, but needless to say it’s fine. I know where myplace is, where it’s always been.”

“Please don’t tell me Hood laid it out for youwith sharp, pointy things?” Domino Tim bites out, his upper body tensewith pain of his injuries and old burdens.

Dark Tim’s teeth flash white in a dangerous grin,“up-close-and-personal right after I found Bruce. He wanted to congratulateme on how smart it was to get out before they dumped me in the garbage, whichis probably true anyway.”

The doctor’s eyes are wide, his stomach churningwith the bitter, angry acceptance right there for him to see. The fact two ofthe Tims reach for a the thin, nearly imperceptible scar at their throats giveshim enough detail to see where things for them went. His fist tightens when hecatches the moves, hastily aborted before it could be obvious.

“I’m sorry,” he interjects quietly, making theother four turn to him, “I’m sorry you don’t have what I do. Those two…aregood to me. Better than good. Granted, I patch them up on a regular. Titans andJL too. Sometimes the Outlaws, but when—when it was the Joker…they came forme. They didn’t stop trying to find me, so…yeah, I’m sorry you don’t havethat.”

Dark Tim straightens, tries to be neutral, “ifthey’ve got your back, then good on you, Doc. I’m better being out of the Batsactually. It’s probably something I should have done when Dad died, given upthe R, let Damian the fuck have it.” He shakes his head a little.

“My life…is better now’,” Dr. Drakeadmits before any of the others can give into their own curiosity, “Before itwas…it was fine. I worked, and took care of Steph and Layla, I gamedwith Ives, and did the hardcore things on my time off. It was…it was a good lifeand I made it for myself. But when I found Dick laying out on my fire escape,dying, I…nothing would ever be the same. I don’t think I could go back to before,not now that I have them,” he shrugs. “It’s the best relationship I’ve everhad.”  And it’s true enough that he can’t imagine a world where he’s nottotally in love with Dick or Jay, and watching the others get anxious or angryat the mention of his name (except for the cowled one, so maybe hope?) makeshis chest tight.

The dark Tim takes a few steps closer, tilts hischin so the doctor doesn’t have to look up, “I hope,” the unnamed vigilante beginshoarsely, “I hope they love you like you deserve for the rest of yourlife, and never turn you the fuck out.”

The doctor sucks in a breath, his chest aching.

“I hope Dick…realizes what he’s got.”And the this time hovers above him, around him because even though he’stried to move on, tried to keep putting one foot in front of the other,tried to keep one step ahead of the pain, the betrayal, the loss likeit’s his fucking spleen, it kills him that in some other world, he getsto have it…and keep it.

De-cowled Tim crosses his arms and glances atthe doctor, “Dick… some of us may have a sore spot with Dick. He ah, he tookthe Robin mantle in a slightly douchey way. There was…a lot of reasons behindit, but still.”

The dark Tim laughs, a very unfunnyha-ha. “Sore spot,” he literally fucked me before he took my cape,“sounds…about right.” It sends a chill through the doctor, makes the blindone’s jaw tighten enough that a muscle jumps, makes the de-cowled one…blush?

“My multiverse one is better than the one frommy universe,” the domino Tim shrugs, but it hitches as does his voice when hetries to be light, to be funny, “but they thought their Tim wasseriously dead, so…There’s that.”

And the weak interruption breaks up the TimDrake pow-wow: “Sss’okay. Mine…mine does too,”

The voice echoes off the walls, makes thevigilantes strike really impressive, dangerous-looking poses before they alljust vanish, and the doctor’s mouth drops open because holy shit.

Holy shit.

There’s worlds out there where he…He was Robin.(And the point hits home when he sees the version in familiar red, gold,and green, when he realizes this is what the rest of them might havelooked like at one time–that all of them wore the R). And he’s verycarefully, very methodically not going to think about all the old painand injuries— lack of spleen and eye sight—that are obviously marringeach of the Tims he’s met in some way

Mentally, while the others gather around thetransparent door keeping them in the cell, the doctor reboots because fanboyingover himself is just totally pathetic.

He makes his way to the transparent caging themin, the light dim and just enough to make out another cell across from themwith someone chained up with some impressive looking manacles inside.

“Whoa,” two of the four Robins manage when theysee the last Tim restrained and out of their reach. He looks beaten andbattered, bloody and…young.

“He’s still Robin apparently,” domino Tim muses,bends his knees and leaps up to hang from the top of the door, looking for away to get them out.

The youngest spits a mouthful of blood, “neverRobin. R-Red Robin.”

The vigilantes all look at him and theexpressions aren’t…positive.

De-cowled Tim’s jaw goes tight, a musclejumping, “you don’t say? Too bad, I have a lot of good memories beating theshit out of the Rogue Gallery. They’re not fans of the R either.”

“Got to love how they fucked up my suit.”Dark Tim nudges the blind Tim, whispers a few deets about the younger versionof them across the prison space. “A few details are off, but it’s the red tunicand green tights, black boots, with two shuriken R’s over the heart.”

“That’s pretty fucking insulting,” theblind vigilante, folds his arms and lowers the radar array back over his face,hits the system to check if his gear can find some inconsistencies.

Domino Tim just sneers, “right? ‘Never Robin’ myass. I bled for that fucking cape, for that name, man.That is just some bullshit B pulled on you isn’t it? Oh, I can’t have anotherRobin after Jason fucking died, so have another—”

“M-my call,” the youngest coughs out, his eyesbloodshot behind the domino. “Didn’t wanna be in those boots.”

“Fuck that,” all of the vigilantes echoas they climb, jump, move, and try to figure a way to get to the next one.

“It’s okay, I was never Robin either,” Dr. Drakethrows in, also looking for a way to get through the door, “but just keeptalking, okay? We’re going to get to you soon.”

“Oz is going to come back,” the youngest of themsays quietly, “and when he does, we all going to die.”

**

He catches it without the help of the radararray, his enhanced senses painfully alert with the bloody Red Robin in theprison cell across from theirs in need of medical attention (and isn’t it justa bonus that one of them really is a doctor? Not a vigilante, butbetter than a villain any day). But the barely-there sigh nabs his attentionjust as he’s climbing up the far wall to try looking for some hidden catchbecause, well, no vents dammit.

“Got it,” he deadpans, shoving the end of hisgrapple in the ceiling and letting out just a little line. He jumps it getenough momentum for both feet to hit. The others are gathering below him whenhe gives it a second go, feeling whatever material used to patch over the oldline start to give. One more hit and he breaks through for the blessed feel ofopenness.

“Don’t you love it when a plan comes together?”Domino Tim follows up after, leaning down to offer a hand to the doctor.

“Please tell me you don’t just make witty banterback-and-forth while you fight crime?” He takes the offered hand, slightlyamazed at how this version is seriously back-bending like a boss.

“Are you kidding?” De-cowled Tim grins upat them while the doctor scrambles for some kind of footing since, you know,he’s rocking pjs and shit. “It’s really the most effective weapon in myarsenal.”  

“Aside from bombs and multiple types of fightingstyles,” dark Tim fills in, standing slightly back, the lenses in his dominostill up.

“That too, but the banter takes real thought.”

“Bombs are more fun.”

De-cowled Tim jumps up into the vent, “I thinkyou’re my favorite. We should make bombs together if this whole situation pansout for us.”

Dark Tim might chuff a laugh as he follows.

Once the dominoed Tim lowers him down to theblind one waiting to get him to ground level, the doctor is taking off to othercell, looking over the battered younger version of him (them) with acritical eye.

“You’ve got some bad contusions,” he notes,“want to tell us about this Oz guy and what the hell happened to you?”

“Oz…isn’t a fan of my come-backs.” The youngerRed Robin replies, the one that might actually belong here.

Wherever here is.

Blind Tim pulls the cover off the door’s controlpanel and flips out the hack-pad. As observed, the tips of his gloves arethinner than the rest by a mile, allowing him to feel the movement ofthe pad as it spits out code.

De-cowled Tim kneels by the doctor, flipping outsome impressive-looking tool that looks very similar to his bat-a-thing in hisvigilante-only doctor’s bag.

“Okay, I have plenty of pocket-space in thesepj’s,” his eyes don’t leave the hurt vigilante manacled down, already plottingwhere to start once they get inside. He flaps a hand at the others around himworking on the door. “Give me stuff in case we get separated. Like things thatwill explode without killing me preferably.”

“Almost,” blind Tim is working with the radararray focused on the youngest of them. “There’s a bypass to trigger an alarm.”

“Of course there is,” the others grumble.

Domino Tim, leaner than the rest, is standing onDark Tim’s shoulders while the two of them re-direct the security systemsembedded in the door frames where most people probably wouldn’t clockthem.

Dark Tim reaches in a pocket of his belt, andshoves a handful of pellets at the doctor, “keep them all separated ifyou can, but you can tell these because they have one indent for your thumb.”

“What do they do?”

“Smoke. If you get pinned down, put your thumbin the indent, press, and throw it on the ground. Got it?”

“Yup.”

Domino Tim pulls something out of a compartmentof his harness, “here. This is a grapple. Point it at a wall or somethingmostly stable, thumb here, press and hold on. It’ll kick back at youwhen it fires, but it’ll fix in where you point it. Aim high. This button willreel you in so whatever you do, don’t let it go.”

“Thanks. Get-the-fuck-away tech is really niceto have.”

“Security protocol deactivated,” blind Timinforms and holds up slim, cylindrical thing. It looks like one of Nightwing’sescrima sticks, only shorter. He works the coding with his other hand. “This isa collapsible bo. Even if you don’t really know how to use one like the rest ofus probably do, I have faith you’ll be a natural.”

The doctor takes it as the door gives a fewboops and starts to slide up.

“Jackpot,” two of the Tims deadpan.

Domino Tim hops off Dark Tim’s shoulders, buteven though, you know, vigilantes, the doctor is the first one throughthe door.

The others are cautious while he’s kneeling bythe obviously aching vigilante tied down with only his suit and a very distinctlack of weapons, gauntlets, and gloves.

“It’s mostly bumps and bruises,” the teenagerinforms the doctor, “getting out of the chains would be just stellar.”

“What,” the doctor chuffs back, looking aroundfor approximately two seconds before he snags a whirlybird out of De-cowledTim’s belt and starts to cut through the impressive if not torn armor, “need towork on your sweet dance moves, Tim? I think the party can waituntil we make sure you’re not going to pass out, right?”

The hurt vigilante snickers, winces, andsnickers again.

De-cowled Tim is already working on manaclenumber one while domino Tim is working on manacle number two. Blind Tim isskimming the room for any camera, vents, scary secret passageways, something elsethat could be thwarted by some meddling kids.

“Okay, this is going to hurt,” the doctor warnsin advance, lifting the vigilante’s leg, “but the good part about it isreally,” he jerks fast and efficient with sure hands, earning a muffled cryfrom the youngest, “is that I can do it fast. Sorry about that, Tim.”

“S–S’okay, thanks. That already feels less likeass.”

“No sign of your gear,” blind Tim crosses hisarms in frustration, red lenses swinging over to their general location.

Dark Tim gives a wave, “I’m going to check theother cell. We might have another prisoner to worry about.”

The hurt Red Robin grunts, “he’s got otherheroes stuck throughout the building. N-Not sure how many. Only said it wasinterrupting his plan.”

“You were getting too close so he nabbed you,”de-cowled Tim puts the thing back over his eyes while handing the doctorsupplies from his belt.

“Mmhm, think he…think he’s trying to–” a longsigh out and the vigilante slumps against the manacles.

“Shit!” blind Tim takes a knee on the otherside, “hey, c’mon. You have to wake up. Tell us what you know about his plan.”

“He’s out. Concussion, contusions. No seriousbleeders or broken bones. Whoever kept him here wanted him alive.” The doctorhates working without gloves, but douses the wounds with the antiseptic wipes,“he won’t die from these.”

“That doesn’t make the sitch any better,”de-cowled Tim pulls the cowl back over his face to secure it since they’remobile now and bad guys have a terrible tendency to fuck with important peoplewhen the ident is compromised. You know, previous experience and shit.

“No, but at least we can move him, and startchecking out the territory.” Blind Tim is already pulling the youngest up,maneuvering the limp Red Robin over a shoulder. He’s very carefully notbeing completely pissed off about the suit. Nope. Nothing to see here.

Meanwhile, Dark Tim takes approximately twoseconds to look at the shadowy figure laying full out in the other cell in thiscreepy little hallway. His heart slams painfully, and a gasp torn from him,eyes wide behind the domino.

He’s already working on the door, fast andefficient, pulling up the old knowledge, the old experience he hasn’t used in monthsof being on his own, of just taking to the streets instead of taking down thebig, bad evils of the world. (He’d wanted something simple, something toremind him where his roots were, something he could do without being a Bat).

But at the moment, there’s nothing moreimportant than kicking it up a fucking notch. He triggers the door toopen once security is deactivated, almost vibrating with energy.

“C’mon, c’mon,” is a fervent prayer under hisbreath because please, please be alive.

“Whoa! Dude, did you hit the jackpot or what?”

But he doesn’t even pay attention to the otherscoming out of prison cell #2 or pause once the door is high enough for him toduck under.

“Shit,” cowled Tim growls, “he’s got somethinggood,” and follows while the doctor and blind Tim get their younger counterpartthe fuck out of that cell.

What he finds makes him pause in the doorway, agasp caught in his throat.

Dark Tim is cradling Kon-El’s face between hispalms, talking gently to the woozy-looking clone.

“Kryptonite. That douche bag has to havekryptonite in here somewhere to keep him down,” domino Tim joins the hunt,letting the nameless one of them do his thing.

“Superboy!?” The doctor, however, takes a knee,takes in the sluggishly moving eyes, takes in the manacles and bodysuit, theslight green tint to the clone’s veins.

“He’s bordering on Kryptonite poisoning. We needto get him out and fast,” the doctor takes the clone’s face from dark Tim andtilts him closer to the light, watches the pupils react sluggishly.

Dark Tim is all aboard that train, thismission now seemingly priority one.

“M’ seeing double,” the clone (who doesn’t know whythe other guy called him Kon or Conner, why this one called him…Superboy? Hedoesn’t know those names, doesn’t know why the hold on his face is gentle,easy. Nothing has been gentle since he was brought here.) “Who…who areyou?”

Dark Tim gets the first unlocked with his jaw tight,“in my world…I’m your best friend. Me and Bart. You…you’re importantto me there.”

The clone blinks up at him owlishly.

“You hit a bad fight in my world,” the doctorfills in, unabashedly pulling at the suit to make sure he’s not missingsomething else. “The Titans called me to help unscramble your DNA when somekind of magic made you human. We totally played Mario Kart for hours,dude.”

“Y-Your world?”

“Long explanation. We’ll give you the deets onceyou’re away from the bad green glowy rock.”

“It’s under the floorboards,” cowled Tim isright there when the second manacle unlocks, helping to pull the weak clone tohis feet. “Hopefully, he’ll start to get his strength back once we get him farenough away.”

“W-who…?” His eyes are inexplicably drawn todark Tim, blue eyes taking in the vigilante that is on his other side, alreadypulling the clone’s arm around his shoulders and walking him to the door.

“Tim,” the dark one fills in softly. “I’m TimDrake. We…we all are in one way or another. We’re all from different worldsand in each of them, you are important to us, okay? Can we go with that fornow?”

The clone blinks at the whiteouts while heshuffles forward, already feeling better with each step away from the meteorembedded in the center of the room. “You’re…one of the good guys. Thanks fornot leaving me here.” His hand firms on dark Tim’s shoulder, and he quirks asmall smile at the vigilante.

“Leave you here? No way in hell, Kon,ah… Your name is Kon-El in my world, or Conner, but–”

“I’ll go with it. S’ better than Project 13.”

Blind Tim resets the door to close and lock whenthey’re out, adjusting the unconscious version of them over his shoulder.

“Since we’re, you know, trying to figure out whothe fuck is behind this, why not tell us what you know, Kon?” But blind Timalready has some theories going, his mind working at why his radar array isgoing haywire with configurations.

The corridor is full of shadows, each of theTim’s narrowed-eyed, trying to keep to the dimness.

“…his called himself Dr. Oz,” even though theclone is feeling better, he keeps his arm over dark Tim’s shoulder, doesn’tpull out of the hold on his wrist. “He said he had to make sure time was‘appropriately in his order’ for the plan to work. He broke into CADMUS, brokeme out of the generation tube. He…he said I had a purpose. I don’t–Idon’t know…”

“That’s good deets, man,” dark Tim tightens thearm around Kon’s (he could get use to that as a name) waist, “he broke you outof the lab. He needs someone with super strength and senses. Someone close toinvulnerable.”

“He’s fucking with space/time,” dominoed Timfurthers the theory. “That’s probably how we all got here instead ofthat Tim’s real world,” he hitches a thumb at the Tim laying over blind Tim’sshoulder. “My readings are still off the charts, so it seems like we’re–”

“Outside of time.” Cowled Tim finishes softly.

Blind Tim pauses when the body over his shouldershudders, “it’s…I remember trying to–to solve a case. The missing heroesand…” the youngest leans up, braces himself when blind Tim bends his knees toput him on his feet, braces him with an arm.

“There’s something working in this universe,”blind Tim makes a shooing motion, gets the rest of them walking, “my radararray is also giving screwy readings, like it can’t connect a consistenttimeline. Like there’s…some spans missing.”

Domino Tim nods in agreement as they take aturn, pacing carefully.

“Can you re-configure your radar to hone in on acontrol room or something?” Dark Tim glances over his shoulder. “If wecan find out where his bad guy head office is, we can–”

“I,” Kon hesitates slightly, “I have, um, X-rayvision? Like the real Superman. I mean, I can try–”

Doctor Tim’s gaze snaps over to the clone, “you do?That is so sweet, man. How about you take a look at this guy for me first,okay?” He hitches a thumb to the hurt vigilante, “just to ease my conscienceabout him not having broken anything?”

“Oh.” The clone unconsciously squeezes darkTim’s shoulder before he lets go and turns. “Hi. I’m…um. Hi. Are youalso…Tim?”

The youngest vigilante gives a half-grin andstraightens up to stick out a hand, “when I’m not in the mask, yeah. Yeah, I am,but when I’ve got this kick ass suit on, you can call me Red, okay?”

The clone blinks at him and then down to hishand. He tilts his head like a puppy, not sure what to do.

“Like this, man. Just a way to greet people forthe first time,” and this world’s Tim pulls up the clone’s hand, grips it, andshakes. He grins wider when the clone grins back.

“It’s nice to meet you,Kon. I’m Red Robin, and it looks like we’re going to have to save our universewith the help of some friends.” The youngest, beaten and bruised, but grinninglike mad with blood on his teeth, glances around at the other hims andback to the clone. “You with us, man? Because believe me, the fight? Isgoing to be totally fucking sweet, and you are definitely going to want in.”

[cinanamon]

Don’t Leave Me - Chapter 1

Taehyung x Reader x Jungkook

Genre: Angst and Fluff 

Word Count: 3.1K

Song Feel: Wait by NF ft. Nyx & Kakah

Warning(s): N/A (for this chapter)

Description: College Au! Your best friend, Taehyung, has secretly loved you for years, but a new love interest named Jungkook makes himself apparent in your life. 

Note: This is my first story on Tumblr. There will be lots of angst- especially on Tae’s side, just a fair warning. I’m sorry for any mistakes if you find any! I hope you enjoy!

   You laughed melodically as you raced Taehyung down the steps, playfully pushing him to the side as you passed.

      “Hey!” He cried, but his pout was replaced with a triumphant smirk when he reached the car first. He stuck out his tongue at you as he made his way to the driver’s seat. “Do you have the keys?”

      You sighed but tossed the keys over the hood of the car, Taehyung easily catching them and unlocking the vehicle. He opened his door and chuckled at your sour expression when you settled in beside him.

      “Come on,” He patted your arm and gave you a meaningful look. “you get to drive it most of the time since I usually let you win. Let me drive this beauty every once in awhile!”

      “Let me win?” You scoffed and crossed your arms. “Excuse you, but I beat you fair and square! And it’s my car, anyways.”

      Taehyung smiled and rolled his eyes as he revved up the engine. “I have longer legs than you; believe me, I could outrun you in seconds flat.” At your indignant look, he grinned and continued. “Also, I didn’t get a car because you got one that I could drive instead.”

      You leaned back in your seat as Taehyung put the car in drive. “That doesn’t mean you have the right to use my car whenever you want! And you just waste your money; just admit you didn’t have the money for one.”

      Taehyung shrugged and made a left. “Fair point, but I’d rather not.” At that you laughed, and the two of you fell into comfortable silence.

      Being best friends with Taehyung for a multitude of years was honestly the best thing that ever happened to you. You never would have thought the confidently eccentric individual you met in high school would become so important to you. You didn’t think you’ve ever trusted or enjoyed someone’s presence as much as you did Taehyung’s. Your friendship with him had never wavered and was always comfortable- it felt so natural.

      So of course it was only natural that you went to the same college together. The both of you made sure it would work out and were always seen around campus together; where one was, the other was close behind. You had no problem with it; you had other friends, but the only person you really needed was Taehyung.

      “We’re here,” Taehyung said when he parked at the main building’s parking lot. He checked his watch, his other hand poised on the door handle. “with… six minutes to spare.”

      You shook your head in amusement as you both exited the car and made your way down the sidewalk. You repositioned your bookbag over your shoulder as you fell into step beside your best friend.

      “So after class I’ll take you to work and then when you get off, do you want to head to the movies or something?” Taehyung asked you, turning his upper body to face you questioningly.

      You raised a brow. “Don’t you have a lot of homework?”  

      He ran his hand through his light brown hair disinterestedly, the action causing the sun to pick up the gold streaks just right. “A couple essays, yeah. I doubt Mrs. Choi will assign another script, but if she does, I’ll just blow it off like the others.” He focused his stare on you again and tilted his head. “You in, or no?”

      You pursed your lips. “I want to, but I have a painting due soon, and I’m still not finished…” Taehyung gave you a pointed look and you sighed in defeat, but a small smile pulled at the corners of your lips. “Fine, I’ll hang out with you, you loser. But I just want to watch a  movie at your place.”

      He nodded, satisfied. “That can be arranged.”

      “Great. Now I’m going to get to class because you wasted five minutes of my time.”

      Taehyung placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “How rude. And to think I gave you a ride.”

      You snorted and shook your head, turning on your heel. “In my car, don’t forget. See you after class, Tae!”

      “Bye, (Y/n)!” He called after you as you hurried to the art building. You ran up the two flights of stairs and skidded in front of your classroom door. You peeked in the glass a second before opening the door.

      Right as you did so, the late bell went off. Mr. Han looked at you over the rim of his glasses in warning before returning to writing his lesson plan on the board. You flashed an apologetic smile and made your way to the second raised row of seats. You sat down and got out your class materials; a pen, a couple pencils and erasers, and your huge notebook.

      Once you opened your notebook to the next clean page, Mr. Han began to speak. You zeroed in on his words and clicked your pen, positioning it over your paper and beginning to write.

      By the time class ended, you had ink all over your hand and your notebook had a few more pages of notes and sketches. You put away all your belongings and skipped down the steps. As you stepped outside, you inhaled the fresh air and spotted Taehyung already parked in front of your art hall. You smiled and made your way over towards him, sliding into the passenger seat with ease.

      Taehyung lowered the radio and looked over at you, taking in your colorful hand and quick, messy bun. “I take it class went well?”

      You nodded and slipped your bag down by your feet. “Yeah, he went over surrealism again and had us sketch out a few ideas. He was aiming to give us an essay on Salvador Dali, but class ended before he got on the last subject, so he didn’t assign it today.”

      Taehyung nodded and checked the rear-view mirror as he pulled out of his parking spot. “Well that’s good. I forget you actually like class.”

      You smiled lightly. “I’m sorry you don’t like to learn,” You flicked his forehead, causing him to playfully glare at you before looking at the road again. “But speaking of which, how was Drama? You like that class and it’s the only one you had today.”

      He paused at a red light and leaned back in his chair, angling his head towards you. “Good news is that she didn’t assign anything else, but it’s still pretty cool. We’ve been working on the props for the big end of the semester production.”

      You hummed in acknowledgement and placed your chin on your hand. “Oh yeah, I can’t wait to see that. Has she done auditions yet?”

      He shook his head. “Not yet. She’s still going over what the play’s about and trying to prepare us for the acting involved for the auditions.”

      “Well that’s nice,” you offered, facing the front window again. “By the way, the light’s green.”

      Taehyung immediately snapped up and placed his hands on the wheel, his foot pressing on the gas and causing the car to accelerate a little more than necessary. You chucked under your breath but relaxed back on the leather of your chair.

      It wasn’t long before Taehyung pulled up by your workplace. You turned around in your seat and grabbed the bag behind your seat. You opened your door and looked back at your best friend. “Thanks, Tae. I’ll see you at Eight.” He waved as you closed the door and made your way into the restaurant.

      You bypassed the customers seated and your fellow workers getting ready for the dinner rush hour. You stepped into the back room and went to the female lockers. You pulled off your T-shirt and threw on your red collared blouse that was assigned for work. You left on your jeans and redid your bun before heading back out into the main room restaurant.

      You walked behind the hostess stand and plastered on a fake smile, mentally preparing yourself for the next three hours. You waited for some people to come in, so they could sit at your section, and you could begin working. It took a couple minutes before a group of four college girls walked in.

      “Hi,” You chirped. “how many?”

      The front girl shot a quick smile. “Four, please.”

      “Right this way,” you said, grabbing the required number of menus and silverware bundles. You briskly strode to an empty booth and set down the supplies, stepping back to let them in before standing in front of their table. You pulled a little notepad from your belt.

      “I’m (Y/n), and I’ll be your server for today. What would you like to drink?” You asked, drawing out your pen and bouncing it on your paper.

      “Two waters and a sprite, please.” The first girl responded, the girls on either side of her nodding in agreement.

      You wrote it down and turned to the last one. “And for you?”

      “Dr. Pepper. Thanks.” You nodded and twirled on your heel to head to the kitchens. You made your way to the beverage machine and began making the requested drinks.

      “(Y/n)!” You jumped slightly and almost spilled the drink, yanking your hand back to save it. You whipped your head around and visibly relaxed when you saw Jimin’s sheepish smile.

      Jimin also went to the same college as you and Taehyung. He was one of your close friends since high school, and he’d known Taehyung since they were kids. You didn’t know that the three of you went to the same college until you turned up to work and saw Jimin already working there.

      “Hey, Minnie! How are you?” You smiled genuinely at him and continued pouring the beverages.

      He dropped off the stack of plates by the sink and leaned against the counter. “Nothing much, really. School; dance practice. What about you?”

      You laughed lightly and started to place the cups on a platter. “Art class; hanging out with Tae. Not much at all, just like you.”

      He nodded and pushed away from the counter when he saw you pick up your tray. “Well I’ll let you get back to work. I better as well.” He chuckled and waved before setting off into the busy restaurant. You sighed to yourself before making your way back into the chattering of the customers.

      Two and half hours and a few rude customers later, you were ready to snap. You had made yourself inconspicuous behind the hostess stand and were hoping to wait out your shift there, but, just your luck, your co-worker had to sit someone when another person walked through the door.

      You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and tried to seem nice. When you opened your eyes, you almost choked on your words. This customer was attractive.

      He had tousled dark hair that framed his gleaming eyes. His skin glowed and his face structure was somewhere in between soft and sharp, making him that much more handsome. You glanced down and noted how his white T-shirt and tight jeans accentuated his lean body as well.

      You knew your best friend was attractive too -very much so- but this guy could practically match Taehyung on that level. You had to force your mind to function when you noticed the customer looking at you expectantly, slight hesitation in his eyes.

      “Uh, just one?” You managed, subconsciously grabbing for a menu.

      The male nodded but his eyebrow arched a bit. You drew your gaze away and nodded for him to follow you. Since it was busy, how it usually was at this time of day, the only open seats for a solo person were at the bar. You tried to situate the menu a bit farther away from the men drinking, knowing that they would cause a commotion.

      “Sorry for the shortage of seats,” You turned to the man apologetically, still trying to avoid his eyes. “Hopefully this is okay.”

      He nodded and moved to the stool. “It’s fine.” You mentally sighed at his voice’s nice lilt.

      “Well, then I’m (Y/n), and I’ll be your waitress for tonight. What would you like to start off with?” You made the mistake to glance up at him.

      All hesitation was gone now, and he was looking at you with a sparkling curiosity. “I’ll take a Coke, please.”

      You vaguely felt yourself nodding and your hand moving across the paper as you told him you’d be right back. You scurried away and you shook your head to clear it. As you poured his drink in the back corner, you could feel his gaze on you, following your movements. You shivered and tried to focus on your task.

      When you made your way back to him, you placed the drink before him, and he reached for it even before you pulled away your hand, causing them to graze. You recoiled quickly in surprise and forced yourself to look at his shaped eyebrows as to not get distracted by anything else. You were working; him being attractive couldn’t mess with that.

      “So, have you decided what you’d like to order?” You asked, mentally trying to decide if he colored his brows or if they were naturally that dark and full.

      He nodded and folded his menu. “The chicken sub. Thanks.”

      You hummed. “It’ll be right out.” You were about to walk away before he spoke up again.

      “I’m Jungkook, by the way.” You turned your head first before your body followed suit.

      “Oh? Nice to meet you.” You smiled, somewhat awkwardly. “Have you been here before?”

      “Uh, no,” he shifted in his seat and you saw that shyness from earlier come back for a second. “I just transferred here.”

      Your eyes widened mildly in surprised interest. “School’s been in for a couple months. Why just now?”

      Jungkook straightened a little, some confidence surging back to him. “I got a special sports scholarship, but I was dealing with some family matters so I had to finish those before I could come here.”

      You nodded and leaned against the bar. “I wish you luck with catching up; studying is Hell. What sport are you doing?”

      “Track,” He replied instantly. He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled. “I’ve been told I run rather fast.”

      You were stunned momentarily at his smile. His two front teeth made him look like a bunny, and you melted at the sight. Jungkook saw your reaction and chuckled lightly, cocking his head to the side teasingly.

      You snapped out of it and rolled your eyes, softly laughing with him hoping to ease down your blush.

      “What about you?” He inquired, his sole attention on you.

      You furrowed your brows. “What about me?”

      “What do you do? What are you at school for?” He explained. At this point, both of you forgot he was there for food, and you were supposed to be taking back his order.

      You shrugged and looked down. “Art.”

      His interest peaked again. “Oh, I imagine you’re great. You seem like the type to draw well.”

      You shook your head with a little chuckle. Was he flirting with you or was that an actual thought? “I’d say I’m okay at it.”

      He scoffed. “If you’re able to go to college for it as your major, I’m sure you’re good.”

      “Well, uh, thanks.” You brushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear and held up your notepad. “I’ll get this to the kitchen now.”

      Jungkook’s eyes widened. “Uh, right. Yeah, sorry for holding you up.”

      You giggled and smiled at him. “You’re fine. I enjoyed talking to you.” You moved away from him then and didn’t see his surprised yet pleased expression.

      When you returned with his food, the conversation was quick but more comfortable than if it was just a regular customer. The smiles you directed at him weren’t the fake ones you usually wore during during work hours, and you didn’t try to rush through the billing process.

      When he handed you the required amount of cash, he stopped you from leaving. “So maybe we could see each other again?”

      You opened your mouth a bit in surprise. Was he actually interested in getting to know you? You nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

      You could tell he wasn’t expecting that response. The confidence he built up with you throughout the night dwindled a bit. Realizing that, you offered a light smirk, causing him to peep up at you hopefully.

      “I’m not saying I don’t want to see you again, right? Relax, Jungkook.”

      His eyebrows shot up in shock. He definitely wasn’t expecting you to say that. “W-well, I guess I’m trying to say-”

      “Oh, I almost forgot your receipt!” You piped up, interrupting him and peeling off the bottom half off of his bill. He, flustered, took the bill and tried to find a way to continue speaking before you left. “I’ve got to go, though; my shift ended a bit ago. Nice meeting you, Jungkook!” You scurried into the back before Jungkook got the chance to call for you.

      You let out a deep breath, changed your shirt, and grabbed your bag before heading out the back door. Taehyung was there already in your car, and you felt yourself instantly calm down and grin. You moved over and sat beside him, shutting the door behind you. You stretched and sighed as Taehyung raised a brow at you playfully.

      “Rough shift?” he asked, his deep voice causing your nerves to untense that bit more. “You were in there a while longer after your shift ended.”

      “You could say that.” You yawned and changed the topic. “What movie are we watching?”

      He shrugged and adjusted the headlights. “Not sure; you want to watch an anime or something instead?”

      You nodded. “Sounds good. It doesn’t really matter to me, though. I just want to hang with you.”

      Taehyung laughed and glanced at you, his eyes twinkling. “I could say the same thing.”

      Back in the restaurant, Jungkook sighed and slouched in his chair. He was hoping to ask you on a date or for your number, but he didn’t get the words out in time. Or was he reading your signals wrong? Were you not interested? You walked out pretty fast. But he was so sure…

      Jungkook sighed again and leaned back, running a hand through his hair. He brought the receipt up to his face and checked over the writing before stopping. His eyes were fixated on a cute doodle of a bunny and a few flowers in the corner. Jungkook felt his mouth twitch into a small, giddy grin.

      Maybe you were interested after all.

[literatureforthesakeofliterature]

Addiction To Darkness  -FOX

A thundering storm approaches amidst the night sky. The dark clouds conceal the few twinkling stars in the sky as if to silence them, and the streets of Chicago never seemed so desolate. In a third story apartment a well-dressed man lights another cigarette as he leans back in his armchair listening to the cries of the raindrops attacking his window. A single ray of light penetrated the window to highlight one of his saddened blue eyes. The nameplate on his mahogany office desk read “Oliver Wood” in thin dark lettering. Not once in his life had he felt this much contempt. All evidence pointed to him leading a happy life with his late wife Rose until, someday long after today, they’d die old together in each other’s arms. To him, he was the victim of a tragic betrayal and would never understand why something like this would happen. He had always loved Rose. He was always faithful and saw no flaws in her. He gave her everything she ever wanted and more, and still she rests in a morgue with undeviating track marks in both arms. He constantly wondered how he never noticed before. Lately, he had been invested in the novel he’d been writing, but the scars suggest that she’d be using for well over a year. Something about this didn’t feel right. Wood always had a slight anger problem but he kept it controlled, and certainly never inflicted any injuries on Rose. He was always a peaceful man who always thought that diplomacy should come before violence. Now he sits in the darkness ignoring every sympathetic phone call and every piece of mail that now clutters his countertop. Putting out the cigarette after taking one final drag, Wood rises from this throne and moves across the modernly designed apartment to the bedroom to mend his tired eyes. He hadn’t had a single full nights rest in a week since the day it happened. Tonight was no exception. The nightmares continue to curse him as he replays the scene in which he walked in on his wife lying face down on the floor with a needle still in her arm. The thought of the last conversation he and Rose had raced through his clouded mind. They had an argument about his whereabouts the night before. She claimed he would always disappear for hours at a time and not tell her. The most recent incident left Wood with a large and painful bruise on his left arm. The thought grew and grew as he continued to type. The last thing he said to his wife before he slammed the door and left the apartment that night was “I can’t do this anymore.”  As he lay in his bed staring at the ceiling, he begged for the answers. Why is she gone? Why didn’t she tell him that she had a problem? Why was he so addicted to the pain? Who did this to her?  

The next morning he sat at his typewriter, sleepless, hoping to release some of his emotions onto the blank page. With all of the curtains in the apartment drawn and no lights on, with the exception of one ill-light candle, it appeared to still be night. With every word he typed the more rage recycled through his system as if the words were injecting anger into him. A pounding in his head fought him with every letter he typed. He typed three or four letters then ripped the paper out of the machine and put a naked one in its place. He continued this process until one by one the ruined papers overflowed the garbage basket. Typing the final line of a perfectly written page, he pressed the wrong key and he plunged his fist into the desk and cleared off his desk with one strong wave-like swing. The fury was boiling inside of him as he stood up and began pacing, lighting a new Lucky Strike. The thoughts of his wife danced through his head and the sudden urge to react came over him. The taunting thought of his wife lying on the apartment floor and wondering who was responsible for her death. He knew his wife, and he knew that she was meticulous about everything she did. If Rose truly was an addict, there was no doubt in his mind that her death was not without complications. A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He ignored it. “She didn’t do this to herself.” He thought. “She couldn’t have.” He continued. The knock on the door continued, but he ignored it for a third time. “This was not her fault. Why didn’t she tell him? He could have helped!” Now the rage had taken over his mind and the knock on the door triggered a sudden desire to rip open the door, grab whoever it was, and beat them until they left. He half-ran to the door, undid the two locks and pulled the handle as hard he could, ready to silence the incessant knocking. “I have a package here for a Mr. Wood.” A small, bearded delivery man stood in front of Wood. Still furious, he ripped the package away from the delivery man, signed the paper, and then slammed the door as he reentered his dark apartment. Casting the brown package aside, he punched the brick wall that lined his apartment. A pain struck his knuckles and warm blood dripped down his hands. The pain seemed to mask the anger for the time being. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and walked toward is bathroom and entered the shower, thinking about how he could relieve himself of his thoughts.  

A man slowly pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. The room was dark and he pulled on his leather gloves as he lit a cigarette. He stood at 6’1” and wore a black pullover hooded sweatshirt and black, glossy shoes. The shadows of the room seemed to encase the figure that stood within them. It was as if he was nonexistent. The outline of a small handgun pressed against the back of his sweatshirt. Grabbing a small backpack from the bed, the man slung it over both shoulders and left the third floor apartment locking the door behind him, walking only in the shadows that the night sky provided.  

Waking up abruptly to the sound of a tea kettle whistling, Wood sat up in his bed sweating excessively. He had no recollection of falling asleep or of putting the kettle on. What happened last night? Moving quickly to the kitchen he turned off the stove and moved the boiling water to another burner. He cursed aloud, rubbing his head. This happened often. Wood would frequently wake up in a coffee shop and not know how he got there, or once he even woke up in the fetal position in his bathtub crying. He never told Rose about this, of course. What wife would want to know that her husband was going crazy? Or so he thought. He poured himself a cup of tea and lit a cigarette. He knew he had to work on his story, but how could he? Every attempt he made was interrupted by a pounding in his head. He made his way over to the bookshelf to find some inspiration. The last book he read was suggested by Rose which was a ridiculous story about a man who let his life be controlled by his dreams. He had only just finished it when he realized he had wasted his time. Now he decided to choose something from his own collection that he inherited from his father. Growing up in wealth, wood never spent much time in the colossal library that his father spent most of his time in. He found it foolish to read when all the information one could need was right in front of them. As time went on, Wood began to read more and more and slowly developed a habit of writing his own stories. He chose a leather-bound book and sat in his armchair hoping to find some motivation to continue his own novel. After reading the preface about a man who was the last man earth, Wood dozed back off to sleep, a burning cigarette still resting between two fingers.

The man in the hooded sweatshirt made a sharp right down a dark alley off of 93rd street. A figure stood at the opposite side of the alley as the man in the hooded sweatshirt halted and took final drag off his cigarette. The figure began walked towards the man but he didn’t move. As the moonlight shined into the alley, the figure was given an identity. She was a beautiful woman in her early 30’s with dark, short hair. “I need it now.” Her shaky voice rang. The man stayed within the shadows as he withdrew a small black box from his sweatshirt pocket and opened it. “A full gram as you requested.” His deep raspy voice growled. A full box of a powdered substance was exposed. As she reached to grab it he closed the box and pulled it away. “My payment.” He said. She pulled out two folded hundred dollar bills from her pocket and handed them to the man. “This is the last time.” The woman said. A thin smile crept on the man’s lips as he dropped a business card reading “Mr. Stone”. “Yes. It is Rose.” He replied. The woman picked it up and looked up to where the man was standing. The ominous Mr. Stone had already turned the corner and walked in the darkness down 93rd street.  

Hours seemed to pass for Oliver Wood while he sat in his dark apartment and typed. Candles both used and new littered his apartment floor. If you didn’t know better, one would think he didn’t have electricity. But he thrived in the darkness. Wood was going throw his first writing spree since Rose had died. The thought was constantly playing through his head. After typing a few full pages of his novel, he moved to the kitchen for a new cup of tea. He suddenly remembered the night he found rose. He left the apartment in a rage and—where did he go? The only things he remembered were him leaving the fight and coming home to find her dead. Where did the time go?  The thought sent a numbing sensation to his body and he collapsed in a kitchen chair. All of these hours of his life just disappear. Slowly, he got up from the chair and made his way into the bedroom. He lit several candles and began searching the room hoping to find some clue, something that might shed some light on Roses death. He lit a cigarette as he pulled every drawer out from their resting places within the dresser. He tore apart the entirety of the walk in closet that they had regularly used. He found nothing. In his frustration, Wood picked up a lamp and threw it across the room and then grabbed the mattress that lay dormant on his bed and flipped it over. The moving of the mattress revealed a small tear at the bottom of the mattress. Curiously, he walked over and put his hand inside and navigated the mattress until his hand bumped into something. Withdrawing his find, he examined the small black book that rested in his hand. A small leather journal with a black elastic strap was the first mysterious thing he’d found. Bewildered, he dropped his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it to extinguish its glow. He moved to the kitchen where he cleared off the dark brown table and sat down. He opened the book and found a small name printed in smooth cursive letters, “Mr. Stone”. His heart raced as one, intoxicating question wrestled through his mind: Who was Mr. Stone?  

Walking conspicuously out of a dark alleyway, the woman with short dark hair was of the few inhabitants of the Chicago streets. Irritation was transparent on her twisted face as she made her way to her 3rd story apartment. As she turned the door handle to her apartment she was decidedly upset with herself. “Why wouldn’t Oliver just tell me he was cheating?” she thought. A woman with a medical degree only had so much time to spend at home. She blamed herself for Oliver’s loneliness. She pulled off her coat and threw it on the ground as she moved to the windows which she ripped open exposing the nights wind and dark clouds in the sky and lit a couple of candles to dimly light the room. She pulled open a drawer next to the bookcase, grabbing a spoon and a lighter to begin her night of painful desolation.  

Mr. Stone walked down 93rd street and walked into a small convenience store and demanded a pack of Lucky Strikes throwing a few small bills onto the counter. He snatched the pack from the cashier and walked out, opening the fresh pack. A pounding in his head, Mr. Stone felt the world tilt and spin like the carnival rides he rode as a kid. How long ago was that? Who was this man who lived in the shadows? Even he didn’t have any answers. The mysterious lifestyle and his strict refusal to show his face made it impossible to decipher his history. He continued down the street tripping over everything in his way. The disorientation caused him to fall to the wet sidewalk. The shadow of the building just barely covered his face as he lay on the cold concrete, vertigo wrapping his mind.  

Rose felt the effects of the intoxicant immediately. She slowly withdrew the needle from her arm. She could feel the drug flow through her bloodstream. She felt every movement in her body amplified a hundred times. She felt like she had no control, and she liked it that way. She did a good job of hiding the track marks on her right arm from Oliver for the past two years. The feeling was exhilarating. She convinced herself that she wasn’t addicted. It was just her way of releasing herself, but she was lying. A few hours pass and she put a clean needle in and injected the substance and the minute she put pressure on the plunger, she felt different. Suddenly, she felt frozen and a dominant pain overwhelmed her body. Reaching for the phone on the table, she loses control of her limbs. She had done this so many times before and this had never happened. It wasn’t the dose. What had she injected into her body? Bad batch? Poison? Suddenly, she remembered Mr. Stones final words to her after she insisted it was the last time that she’d use, he said “Yes. It is, Rose”. What had she done? Dripping with sweat, she couldn’t move. She felt pain, but couldn’t signal for help or remove herself from the grip of the chair. Petrified, she knew what was coming next. As she braced for the end, she forced her mouth open, mouthing the words “I’m sorry”. The apartment remained silent as her body hit the floor with a half-filled syringe still inserted in her right forearm. A gust of wind tore through the window extinguishing the candles in the living room leaving the apartment in total darkness.  

Wood stood in his apartment staring out into the night sky. The thought of Rose was unbearable now. He tipped the bottle of whiskey into a large glass and emptied it quickly. He felt sadness, resentment, and pain. But he felt so much anger. He didn’t know why or who to be mad at, but with every minute passing, Wood was getting closer and closer to snapping. The bruise on his right arm suddenly began throbbing with pain. He walked over to the small journal that belonged to a Mr. Stone that he found. He flipped through the pages finding nothing of value. It was mostly just a diary that spoke about his meetings with clients. It suddenly made sense to Wood. Mr. Stone was Roses dealer. But was it also an affair? Was she part of his operation? Cursing aloud, he screamed and threw his glass of whiskey at the wall. The shards of glass littered the hardwood floor. The black book fell to the ground opening itself to two pages. Wood picked the small collection of notes from the ground and examined the pages. Various notes riddled the left page. Most of it wasn’t legible so he moved to the right. The right page had one phrase scribbled onto it. It read: “I don’t know who I was or who I am. I fear I’m not alone. My body isn’t my own; my name is not Mr. Stone”.

The man in the black sweatshirt was snapped awake suddenly by the honking of a horn from 93rd street. He stood up quickly with a sharp pain in his arm. He walked towards his apartment building and stopped when he stood in front of the large full size windows that neighbored the door to the building. He stared for a long time at his reflection. He had no recollection of who he was or why he was there. He pulled off the dark hood of his sweatshirt to reveal an attractive faced man with skin as white as the moon. Fear flooded his face as a sudden recognition overcame him. The man in the reflection appeared familiar to him. He dug into his pocket to retrieve the keys to his building which he withdrew and turned the lock to the building. He rushed up to the third story apartment and pushed open the apartment door. Everything was the same. An ashtray filled with cigarette butts sat on the table next to an almost empty bottle of whiskey. His head began to spin as he realized everything all at once. He reached for his wallet in his back pocket and revealed his driver’s license with the name “Oliver Wood” typed on the plastic card. Mr. Stone stood in revelation only now realizing one fact that had haunted his persona, his marriage, and his life. He was Oliver Wood. He was the masked man who lurked in the shadows. He was the one who led a married life while dealing secretly at night. He was the one who murdered Rose Wood. Images flooded his mind as he remembered every moment as both Oliver Wood and Mr. Stone. He remembered passing out on 93rd street. He remembered the bruise that it left and the fight that it had caused. He remembered mixing a deadly chemical called Ricin into the heroin that he later gave to Rose. He remembered coming home to find her dead body on the ground of their apartment. Everything became clear. His head still spinning, Wood walked out the open door of the apartment and tripped down the stairs leading to the Chicago streets. He dizzily made his way to the busy street and pulled open the building door. As everything spun, he walked forward and he felt as if he were in a trance. Wood walked straight aimlessly and in a total confusion, crossing 93rd street. The sounds of the city took over his brain. Everything was moving so fast. And as he walked across the city street a local bus flew down the street and Oliver Wood was struck by the power of the vehicle. Everything was over. Mr. Stone, Oliver Wood, and Rose were all gone. The apartment on the third floor of 93rd street now sat empty, the combination of guilt, addiction, shame, and darkness were now the occupants. The night, for once, was peaceful. The moon rose as it did every night before and every night after, but the darkness remained. All was quiet. All was still.  

[a-smilethat-explodes]

Chapter 7 The Repulsive Red Rooster

I pulled open the door and walked into Red Rooster. I looked around at the burgundy and navy worn carpet, the crappy vinyl red booths, the rickety wooden tables and chairs, and sighed. How anyone felt the urge to eat in this dump escaped me… though it seemed we never failed to draw a large crowd, especially on Saturday nights. That's where the three birthdays from last time usually came in.

"That's how I usually survey this place too," a short blond girl with her hair pulled back in a ponytail said as she walked over to me, tray in hand.

I wiped off the look of faint disgust off my face. "Hey Taylor." I said with a weary smile.

"You're tired," she assessed quickly after giving me a quick once over. "When are you never tired?" she asked dryly. She, on the other hand, looked fairly perky and awake.

"Never." I replied with another weary smile as I hung up my jacket. "You haven't experienced the weariness of the world yet," I teased her dramatically and then added, "You aren't even out of high school yet."

"Almost," she corrected me. "It shouldn't be that bad tonight," she pulled out her dish rag then added, "It's only a Monday," as she cleaned off one of the tables. "Maria told me to tell you when you came in that after you clock in, you need to check the salt and pepper shakers. She's outside arguing with the delivery man about something," she shrugged absent mindedly.

"Okay, thanks." I put on my apron with a grimace and then walked over to the bar first.

"Hey Erik," the bartender Abby smiled at me. She bartends as one of her many jobs to pay for the private college she attends.

"Hey." I smiled back, picking up the first salt shaker. You're going to be appalled but let me just say that Abby's incredibly hot (give me a break, I'm a 19 and I'm a guy, so it's not like I turn off my hormones at the sight of a pretty girl). She's got dark brown hair that's always curling in beautiful ringlets around her face and a gorgeous smile.

The only turn off about her was that she dresses like a prostitute. Her um… assets were on full display tonight in her black corset top. She had on casual jeans underneath and I caught sight of Converse when she was cleaning some glasses at the sink but we all know that guys wouldn't be looking at the jeans and Converse. I've seen many a half drunken man get thrown out of the restaurant for making advances on Abby. Luckily for her, not only did we have security, she also had a line ready when guys hit on her.

"So how are things with Patrick?" I asked as I filled up a salt shaker (her line would be that she has a boyfriend).

"They're good," she smiled back but then her smile fell a little. "Though I'm kinda trippin…"

Nice Guy alert. Go ahead, Erik, ask for her business. Do what you do best (apparently). "Why?" I prodded.

"Well our six month anniversary is coming up and he keeps going on and on about how good the gift he bought me is," she bit her lip worriedly. "And I don't have anything for him. Well actually, I have something but… it's not that great. I don't have a lot of money, it's been really tight because of school," she looked up apprehensively at me.

"Did it come from the heart?" I asked (shut up, I know! She's a girl!).

She looked away and busied herself with wiping the counter as she mumbled back slowly, "Yeah… just something small I made him…"

"What is it?" I prodded gently (I've learned to be very gentle after many a girl has come to me with their problems).

"I painted a picture frame and framed a photo of us," she mumbled.

"I'm sure he'll love it." I reassured her kindly. It's what I do best.

"Would your girlfriend give you something like that?" she asked me hopefully.

I smirked before saying dryly, "I'm currently between girls. But trust me on this one; Abby… he'll love it. If he doesn't, and bitches about how lame it is, he's an asshole, and not worth your time."

She looked at me for a moment and then melted, gazing at me with huge eyes. "Yeah… yeah, you're right," she smiled a trembling smile at me.

"It'll be fine." I patted her hand on the counter and then turned to see a customer walk in. "Hi sir, welcome to Red Rooster." I said automatically with a polite smile.

"Just here for the bar," he said gruffly in reply. He had the stereotypical biker thing going on… black leather vest, jeans, full black leather chaps. I smiled until I passed him and then sighed.

"Nice work with Abby." Taylor said when I walked into the kitchen.

I shrugged modestly. "She needed some cheering up." I downplayed it, really embarrassed at my apparent "mad skillz" at cheering up the women.

"You should have been a therapist," she shook her head.

"Probably… I rarely ask, they usually just come to me." I replied with a sigh. "Unless they're visibly upset and then I ask them what happened."

She shook her head. "One day you're going to make some girl very happy," she said, turning on the cash register.

"Yeah." I agreed, walking back out into the restaurant. I watched as security hauled Mr. Leather Chaps man out the door. Abby watched, unconcerned. When she saw me looking at her, I raised an eyebrow. "He came on to me," she shrugged nonchalantly. Of course he did.

Later that night, I poured more water for a table and then walked over to the next. "Hi, welcome to Red Rooster, my name is Erik, I'll be serving you." I smiled broadly. Man this job sucked. "Can I get some drinks for you?" I asked, looking around the table at the family of six.

All the kids ordered Coke, even the six year old, which her mother promptly changed to water. They began arguing back and forth about the soda and I stood there, smiling politely like a fool. "Mommmm…" all the kids began to whine, undoubtedly hungry and thirsty.

"That's it! Waters for the four of them!" she told me, pointing to the kids. They all broke into groans. "Water for me too," she told me and then went back to arguing with the kids about why they needed to drink water instead of "highly carbonated, unhealthy sodas." She should talk to Jake; he had a six pack of Pepsi a day habit. His mother had been trying to get him off it since he had moved out since technically she was financing this habit.

"Water for me too," their father said wearily then began to referee between his wife and kids.

"Coming right up." I said to no one in particular and walked back over to the kitchen. "Six waters." I told Taylor as she finished with the cash drawer, and then started filling them up, setting them down on the trays. She came over and helped me. "It's not that bad tonight." I said.

"That's because we haven't done your favorite thing," she teased in reply.

"Don't-" I began as she drew breath.

"Happy, happy, birthday, from all of us to you!" she sang.

"STOP!" I complained. "I can't put into words how much I hate that song." I glared down at her with loathing.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a birthday in the house!" I heard another server shout.

"Hahaha!" Taylor cackled. "Speaking of!"

"No!" I whimpered.

"Luke here is 10! Big double digits!" the server, Sarah, was stalling until we all got over to the table to sing. Damn her. I followed Taylor over to the table, smile pasted on. "So from all of us at Red Rooster, we'd like to siiiiiiiing…" she looked around and then started clapping as she sang, "Happy, happy birthday, from all of us to you!"

I clapped along diligently. "Happy, happy birthday, may all your dreams come true!" and then came the worst part of the song: "HEY!" we all threw a fist into the air. Everyone clapped politely.

"I hate that damn song!" I said through my smile as Taylor and I headed back to the kitchen.

"I know!" Taylor laughed in reply as I picked up the tray of waters. I glared at her before walking over to my table with a smile.

I finally got a dinner break around 8:00 that night and went outside with a sigh to get some air. I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my black hooded sweatshirt and looked up at the sky. After savoring a few minutes alone, I began to walk across the parking lot as I pulled out my cell phone. One missed call… Cassie. I listened to her brief voicemail and then called her back. "What's up?" I asked after she had picked up.

"Nothing," she replied, sounding bored. "What are you doing?"

"Walking over to Target to get some food." I replied.

"I'll come over and see you," she announced.

"Bored much?" I teased.

"Very much so," she replied flatly. "Cool if I come?"

"Sure." I shrugged. Fine with me to have company during dinner.

"I'll see you in five minutes," she replied then hung up.

I sat inside Target, patiently waiting for my pizza to be ready. "Hey." Cassie sat down across from me with a smile.

"Hey Cass." I replied as she pulled out a magazine… CosmoGirl! "Now THAT is informative reading." I commented dryly.

"I need to brush up on my horoscope and Freaky Deaky stories," she sniffed in reply, flipping to the first page. I laughed. "How was work tonight?" she asked with a smile, putting her magazine down.

"All right." I grunted back. "I had to sing the song." I added flatly.

Her face changed to a look of sympathy. "Awww…" she cooed.

"It sucked." I grumbled in reply.

"I know how much you love that song," she smirked.

"Shut up." I shot back as my order number was called. "Hang on." I got up, walked over, and picked up my food. I sat down across from her and opened my box. I dug in hungrily.

"Hungry?" she asked dryly.

"Mmm." I grunted yes back, mouth full of pizza. My eyes watered at how hot it was.

"Hot?" she began to laugh.

"Very much so." I agreed. She laughed. "What are you doing tonight?" I asked.

"Homework," she scowled in reply.

"Want to come over? Watch a movie or something?" I asked.

Her expression changed to play-angry, complete with a pout like a four year old. "You know what, Erik, you always use me!" she accused me. "You just want me there so I can kick the guys off XBox!"

I thoughtfully waited the appropriate second for her statement to sink in and then shrugged as I answered, "True."

She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Fine, I'll come over."

"Not like you have anything better to do." I stated as I grabbed my drink then gave her a winning smile as I said charmingly, "I knew you would."

She rolled her eyes, rolled up her magazine, and smacked me in the head.

I just laughed.

[kartiavelino]

Before stardom, Boyd Holbrook was ‘just a hillbilly from Kentucky’

You’ll be able to by no means fairly predict the influence of a likelihood encounter. Simply ask Boyd Holbrook, new hero of “The Predator” — the most recent installment of that blockbuster extraterrestrial franchise. Holbrook says he could have by no means left the coal-mining city of Prestonsburg, Ky., for the Hollywood limelight if he hadn’t ran into actor Michael Shannon at a division retailer in Lexington. “I was working on the retailer when Michael Shannon got here in,” Holbrook recollects. “I acknowledged him from ‘Vanilla Sky’ and I requested him, ‘How do you do what you do?’ He instructed me to get into theater. “It was very serendipitous,” Holbrook, 37, says of the comfortable accidents which have formed his profession — and introduced him to an ethereal wine bar on the waterfront of Greenpoint, Brooklyn, to talk with Alexa. “I’m simply a hillbilly from Jap Kentucky.” Or a lanky fashion-model-turned-action-hunk, who’s quickly changing into a fixture of main releases, from the 2014 psychological thriller “Gone Lady” to final yr’s hard-hitting X-Males movie “Logan.” On the small display screen, the actor has loved arguably much more success, starring as DEA agent Stephen Murphy on Netflix’s hit sequence “Narcos.” He additionally simply wrapped filming on his subsequent Netflix undertaking, “Within the Shadow of the Moon” — a gut-punching, mind-bending homicide thriller instructed in nine-year chapters. (We’ll see him age within the thriller with the assistance of “The Form of Water’s” gifted make-up crew.) Extra importantly, Holbrook says, he and his spouse — Danish actress and mannequin Tatiana Pajkovic — are new dad and mom to their 8-month-old son, Day (named for “daylight — as a result of he’s shiny”). “I’ve a lovely spouse and a lovely child boy, who’s the middle of my life,” he says. The household lives in a transformed pole barn on 10 acres in Bovina, NY, but in addition retains an condo in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. “Fatherhood is the best alternative I’ve ever had in my life.” Leather-based jacket, $3,400 at Dior Males, 17 E. 57th St.; T-shirt, $65 at Cotton Citizen.Richard Ascroft As for his personal childhood, he says he was a discontented, quiet and uncultured child with a heavy Appalachian drawl. He “spent each waking hour” at his great-grandmother’s home whereas his father labored in a mine. After her demise, Holbrook dreamed of escaping his blip of a city alongside Route 23, aka “The Nation Music Freeway.” When it turned clear that a basketball scholarship wasn’t his ticket out (“Seems I wasn’t superb,” Holbrook laughs), he latched onto one other lengthy shot: slam poetry. Impressed by a scene within the 1998 unbiased movie “Slam,” Holbrook started to jot down his personal verse and to assume severely about efficiency. “Being from Jap Kentucky, you’ve obtained Loretta Lynn and Dwight Yoakam and a lot of well-known country-music individuals,” he says. “However I was into Def Jam. There was one thing in regards to the ‘burst’ [of slam poetry] that I discovered simply so goddamn horny, thrilling and clever.” After his encounter with Shannon, Holbrook stop his job on the division retailer and obtained a part-time gig constructing units at a native theater firm by means of his sister (who’s now a social employee). He wasn’t lengthy on the job earlier than one other bit of virtually unbelievable luck got here his manner. “Anyone stated, ‘Hey, let me take your image. I’m going to submit you to be a mannequin,’ Holbrook recollects of his inconceivable encounter with a scout. “To be sq., I didn’t even know what ‘mannequin’ meant. I had no thought. I was like, ‘No matter.’ A month or two later, I was nearly 21 and had a free flight to New York. My cousin lived in Hoboken and I lived on her sofa for a month. I had $1,100 and I made that final eight months by working at a espresso store in Union Sq..” However quickly Holbrook was posing for the style business’s high designers, together with Gucci, Jean Paul Gaultier, Hugo Boss, Calvin Klein and Marc Jacobs. “I was string-bean skinny and ravenous,” he says. “However I was the speak of the city.” Though he had solely left the state of Kentucky about thrice earlier than transferring to New York, he was instantly flying all over the world for shoots and spending prolonged durations of time in Paris. “It’s a very bizarre business,” he says, including that at this time he shuns designer seems to be for a uniform model, paired together with his assortment of seven customized hats and the 1973 Rolex he had delivered to Alexa’s cowl shoot. “I might relate to the stereotypical Jap European lady coming from nothing. Now you might be in a huge metropolis, being profitable and also you don’t need to return to your former way of life. However for those who don’t educate your self by the point you might be 30, you aren’t going to have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. I noticed it [coming].” As soon as once more, Holbrook says he had an virtually miraculous break. 5 to attend movie faculty at NYU and examine the Meisner approach with Brooklyn-based guru Terry Knickerbocker (his performing coach to at the present time), Holbrook despatched a script he’d written to indie administrators Larry Clark and Gus Van Sant. Clark toyed with directing the function (it was by no means made), whereas Van Sant provided him a function in his movie “Milk.” “It was a ‘The place’s Waldo?’ half,” Holbrook says. “I was a glorified background character. However I gave my first line to Sean Penn. I obtained to chop my enamel with the most effective of the most effective.” With perseverance and coaching, the roles saved coming. As soon as restricted by his Southern accent, two years of dialect classes have given him the vary to leap from Center American to a very satisfactory Australian accent (additionally because of some teaching from his buddy Sia). And after working with a Navy SEAL-turned-stuntman, Holbrook went from lean vogue mannequin to main man. “We have been up at 4 a.m., operating on the seaside in Santa Monica, swimming in ice-cold water,” Holbrook says of coaching for his “Predator” character, Quinn McKenna, a mercenary soldier. “I was getting used to s – – t that you simply aren’t meant for use to. I don’t assume I ever handed any of the challenges, however I can’t think about exhibiting up on set and making an attempt to wing it. That may be a catastrophe.” Nonetheless, Holbrook says that he has no real interest in being typecast as an Motion Jackson. “Christian Bale stated one thing that makes a lot of sense: ‘Play one thing overseas,’” Holbrook says. “It’s an escape. I don’t need to be myself. I don’t know why. That’s a deep philosophical query.” He hopes to make use of his high-paying roles in mainstream movies to fund tasks which have actual which means in a world getting ready to environmental catastrophe. The star is actively producing and performing in his personal movies, together with an ecological thriller for Fox titled “The Thirst,” a Nellie Bly biopic and the HBO drama “O.G.,” which was filmed on location in a maximum-security jail. “My job makes use of me,” he says. “It exhausts me. It’s very taxing. So I’m going to make use of it. I’m not going to make a silly horror movie that doesn’t have any social significance. I’m going to make stuff that’s difficult and progresses a collective consciousness. That’s what’s up.” It’s clear Holbrook’s seemingly uncanny success isn’t nearly luck or stars aligning. “I feel you might want to take duty in life,” he says. “At first you simply need to get the basics proper and have this lucid drug excessive by means of performing. Then you definately develop out of that and you might want to take management.” Mr P. sweater $295 at Mr Porter. Richard Ascroft “Chase” hooded sweatshirt, $108 at Carhartt Wip. Richard Ascroft Leather-based jacket, $3,400 at Dior Males, 17 E. 57th St.; T-shirt, $65 at Cotton Citizen; Fendi pants, $690 at Bergdorf Goodman, 754 Fifth Ave.; Adidas Originals “Famous person” sneakers, $80 at Adidas. Richard Ascroft Off-White jacket, $1,000 at Bergdorf Goodman, 754 Fifth Ave.; T-shirt, value upon request at Berluti, 677 Madison Ave.; Ben Taverniti Unravel Challenge denims, $690, comparable types at Barneys; Sneakers, $930 at Dior Males; 1858 Computerized Chronograph watch, $4,300 at Montblanc, 600 Madison Ave.; Socks, $18 at London Sock Firm. Robert Ascroft Leather-based jacket, $3,400 at Dior Males, 17 E. 57th St.; T-shirt, $65 at Cotton Citizen. Richard Ascroft 6 View Slideshow Vogue Editor: Serena French; Stylist: Anahita Moussavian; Groomer: Benjamin Thigpen at Assertion Artists Share this: https://nypost.com/2018/09/18/before-stardom-boyd-holbrook-was-just-a-hillbilly-from-kentucky/ The post Before stardom, Boyd Holbrook was ‘just a hillbilly from Kentucky’ appeared first on My style by Kartia. https://www.kartiavelino.com/2018/09/before-stardom-boyd-holbrook-was-just-a-hillbilly-from-kentucky.html

[romanticoldme]

This is my bughead Secret Santa for @birdlovesafish. I’m sorry it’s so late - Happy New Year!! 

It’s my first ever long(ish) fic so please forgive any errors of spelling, grammar, repetition, wordiness etc. I really hope you enjoy it though – it was fun to write!!

Set at the end of S2E09 Chapter 22 ‘Silent Night Deadly Night’ (except Betty doesn’t burn all her Black Hood memorabilia)

NB I didn’t start out to write a sexy times fic but the words just kept coming (so to speak…)

Late in the afternoon on Christmas Day Betty opens her present from Jughead and feels like her heart nearly stops. When it resumes its normal rhythm it’s beating slightly faster. ‘Surely’, she thinks ‘if he loves me this much it can’t be over’. Pushing the thought to the back of her mind Betty picks up her phone to text Jughead a thank you message but then realises that it just doesn’t feel right to say it via text. ‘I’ll talk to him tomorrow’ she decides then noticing the time gets up to pull on a few more layers.

Betty heads downstairs to grab her coat. Hal and Alice are sitting quietly in the living room talking about how disappointed they are that Polly didn’t come home for Christmas. “Mom, Dad I’m off to do my shift at Pop’s soup kitchen” she calls as she walks out the door. “Call us if you need a ride home” replies Hal, but she’s already gone.

The car park at Pop’s has been taken over by two big marquees each lined with long tables and chairs, and a few strategically placed gas heaters. The tables are decorated simply with holly, and candles in glass jars. Everything is gearing up for the dinner sitting at the soup kitchen, which started with breakfast this morning and has been running most of the day. Kevin and Josie were singing carols earlier and now the church choir has taken their place.

“Hey Pop, where would you like me to start”? Betty asks as she dons her apron.

“Hi Betty, thanks so much for coming down tonight, you’re always such a help here” replied Pop warmly. “I think if you can start getting the plates and cutlery ready, the servers will be out with the hot dishes soon and then we can start feeding these people here.”

Everything is stacked in big boxes behind one of the serving tables so Betty’s first job is to make stacks of plates on the table next to the food warmers, ready for the servers (of which she is one). Even though everyone calls it ‘Pop’s soup kitchen’ today the menu consists of roast meat and vegetables and Christmas pudding. The smell coming from the kitchen is mouth-watering. Betty turns around to comment to Midge (who is helping with the cutlery) about the delicious aromas and comes face to face with Jughead holding a huge tray covered in foil. “Oh!” she exclaims “Umm hi” and glances down to the plates in her hand. “Hey Betty” says Jug quietly eyes meeting hers for the briefest moment. “I didn’t realise you would be here too, I hope you don’t mind. I came to help Pop” he explains. “Oh no of course not Jug, it’s great you’re here too”.  “Is there room for this tray in there?” asks Jughead as he nods towards the food warmer. “Yes, yes of course, here let me get out of your way, I’m so sorry” Betty says awkwardly, moving aside. “Betts, it’s fine” smiles Jughead in an effort to relieve some of the tension, both of them aware there is so much going unsaid between them.  

Before they know it there is an army of people carrying more trays of food all trying to get to the serving area and Betty and Jughead are pushed aside for the moment while everything is set up. “Betty” says Jughead softly touching her arm “after this is all over, can we talk, just for a minute?” “Sure, Jug” replies Betty ducking her head and with a half-smile on her face.

The next 2 hours for Betty pass in a whirlwind of dishing up copious amounts of food, smiling and laughing, giving best wishes to those she meets, and occasionally glancing up to see Jughead as he runs back and forth from the kitchen, refreshing drinks and delivering bread to all the tables.

As the last of the dishes are cleared away to the kitchen by the clean-up team, Betty lets out a large sigh and wipes her brow. “As much as I love this I’m glad our part is done” says Midge as she dons her jacket smiling at Betty. “I agree, Midge” replies Betty returning her smile “see you back at school next week” she says as she waves goodbye.

Betty turns to reach for her coat only to find two hands holding it out for her ready to put her arms in. “Oh Juggie, thank  you” Betty says warmly, slipping her arms in. She turns towards Jughead as she buttons her coat and then tucks her hands under her arms. Now that she’s not busy and the heaters are off her hands have quickly become cold. “Don’t you have your gloves Betts?” asks Jughead frowning, then hands her his leather motorcycle gloves “here, take these, they might be a little large but they’ll help”. “Thank you” Betty replies softly, smiling. “Do you need a ride home now” asks Jughead hopefully, but Betty shakes her head and says “No, I’d rather walk – walk with me?” raising her eyebrow to him. Jughead smiles back at Betty and they turn and fall into step beside each other, Jughead kicking lumps of snow as he walks.

They walk in silence for a few minutes then “Betty-“ “Jughead-“ they both say simultaneously then look at each other and laugh softly. “You go first” says Jug smiling. Betty takes a deep breath before beginning “Thank you for my present Juggie” she says softly “it’s perfect, you know me so well, and I’ll cherish it. Did you read it first?” “Betty” he admonishes gently “of course I did, and I can see why you love her writing so much, I’m glad you like it”. “I love it, Jug…” she replies leaving the rest of her reply hanging. “Speaking of gifts” says Jughead wryly “I think perhaps you went a little overboard with mine! A vintage Underwood Betts? I’m not sure I’m worthy of that”. “Juggie! Of course you are, you know you are” Betty states giving him her ‘look’ and squeezing his arm. Jughead stops walking, “Betty…” “Yes Jug” she replies turning to face him, they stand there in silence until Betty says “What?” she repeats it in an echo of the moment before their very first kiss, knowing he will understand the significance, and with one eyebrow raised gives him an encouraging smile. “I’m so sorry Betty, for everything. For not talking to you enough once I started at Southside, for not telling you what was happening with the Serpents, for not confiding in you when things were going bad and mostly for pushing you away. I’m not sure I know who I am anymore and I don’t know how to fix everything that’s gone wrong, not just with us but with my dad too”. “Jug, you’re not the only one who has been struggling with all this. I didn’t confide in you either, I let the physical distance between us become emotional distance. I’ve made bad decisions too – Serpent dance anyone? And I pushed you away first. So please, don’t blame yourself for everything that’s gone wrong with us”.

Jughead stepped forward placing one hand on her shoulder and holding the other near her face “Betty, I don’t want to be without you anymore” stated Jughead his voice breaking on the last word “Is there - will you - can you forgive me?” “Juggie” whispered Betty grabbing the hand near her face and placing it on her mouth and kissing it. “There’s nothing to forgive – or only if you forgive me too, and promise me that we’ll keep talking to each other” her eyes welling with unshed tears.

Suddenly both of Jughead’s hands are on Betty’s  face and he’s kissing her like he’s a drowning man and she is his oxygen. The tears that were welling have run down Betty’s face and they can taste them in the kiss and then Jughead is kissing them away from her cheeks and her eyes, before returning to her mouth and parting her lips so his tongue can delve inside. This kiss almost feels like a first kiss and yet it’s so much more because they’re putting all of their feelings of loss and love into it at the same time, it’s like coming home.

They stop for breath their eyes closed, their lips barely apart, breathing each other’s air. “Juggie” Betty whispers her lips ghosting over his “Stay with me” it’s barely a question and Jughead simply replies “Yes”.

They walk back to Betty’s with their arms wrapped around each other, it’s slow and it’s freezing cold but they don’t care or notice. The only light on at the house is the one outside the front door so they both enter and make their way quietly up the stairs.

Once inside Betty’s room with the door shut (and locked) there’s a moment of awkwardness which they both laugh off – this isn’t the first time they’ve shared a bed after all – but something feels different tonight. “I’ll change in the bathroom” Betty offers and grabs fresh pjs from the drawer on the way in. While Betty changes, Jughead strips down to boxers and his S t-shirt and climbs into her bed. When she comes back out he has the covers in his hand and is holding them open for her, Betty can’t help the smile that crosses her face as she runs and dives under the covers, snuggling up to Jughead’s side while he tucks the blankets behind her.

They lay that way for a while, Betty curled up against him, Jughead’s arm under her and the other stroking down her arm and side. They start talking quietly and tell each other things that they both think they should have earlier. “Penny Peabody helped get my dad out of jail”, “Polly left town to go stay on the farm”, “My dad’s in deep with bad business and he won’t let me help”, “I don’t think Mr Svenson was the Black Hood”, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about joining the Serpents”, “I’m sorry about the dance”…

“Betty”

“Yes Jug”

“I love you”

“I love you too Juggie”

Betty pushes herself up onto her elbow and looks into Jughead’s eyes.  “I love you” she says again leaning in to kiss him. Jughead puts his hand in her hair and pulls her into him kissing her back, his lips devouring hers. Their tongues run along each other’s lips then invade their mouths and suddenly the intent behind theirs kisses changes and they can’t get enough of each other. Their kissing becomes frenzied, like they’re running out of time and Betty’s breath hitches in her throat. Jughead pulls back slightly and asks “Are you ok?” “I’m ok Jug, I just – I’m not sure where this is going and I –“, “Do you want to stop” interrupts Jughead “Because we can”. “No, no I don’t, I don’t want to stop Jug, I just need it to be slower I think”. “We can do slow baby, slow is good” he reassures her.

When he calls her ‘baby’ Betty melts back into his arms and they resume kissing, deeply and passionately. Jughead’s hand moves down to her waist then up under her t-shirt, skimming her side and coming to rest next to her breast, his thumb reaching around to stroke the lower edge. Betty’s breath stutters and she pushes forward into his hand. Jughead groans into her mouth as his hand fully encloses her breast squeezing gently. He runs his fingertips over her nipple with a featherlight touch which sends shivers running through Betty’s whole body igniting the fire deep in her belly. “Oh” she breathes in to his mouth as he continues his attention to her nipple. Slowly he pushes her shirt up under her arms and moves his kisses from her mouth to her cheek, they trail down her neck until he reaches her collarbone which he nibbles lightly with his teeth before kissing it and then lowering his mouth even further to her breast. His kisses across the top of one, planting one kiss in between then on to the other. Betty lifts her body again and breathes “please” and then his mouth is on her nipple, he sucks it gently then runs his tongue over it, while his hand still works over her other breast. He takes turns with them, suck, lick, blow and Betty responds with a shiver her whole body writhing under him.

“Off, please” she gasps grabbing his shirt and pulling, Jughead lifts enough for her to pull it over his head and then he’s sliding his hands up her arms to remove hers too. As good as his mouth felt on her breasts, the feeling of his skin, the slightly rough hairs on his chest rubbing over her sensitised nipples, is intoxicating. Betty wraps her arms behind his neck and pulls him back down to her mouth, drinking him in.

With Jughead lying almost over her Betty can feel his leg between hers and she instinctively raises her hips slightly pushing the sensitised flesh between her legs up against his thigh. Jughead feels her heat and pushes himself back against her at which point Betty becomes aware of his erection against her thigh. They continue their subtle hip movements as they kiss, all the while the pressure building inside them both.

Feeling bolder than ever Betty reaches her hand down and lightly rubs over the front of Jughead’s boxers. He breathes in sharply and then groans into her mouth. Emboldened by his response she strokes again lightly wrapping her hand around his impressive length. “Oh God Betty” he moans against her mouth “that feels amazing”. Pleased that she seems to be doing it right Betty continues to move her hand in long strokes still on the outside of his shorts.

Kissing Betty lightly on her lips Jughead looks down as he slides his hand from her breast down over her hip bone to the thin fabric of her pj shorts. He rests his hand at the junction of her thighs then slowly moves his whole hand down between her legs, exerting firm yet gentle pressure. Betty’s hand stops it ministrations on his erection as new sensations take over her senses. “Oh” she breathes as Jughead’s hand passes back and forth over her.  Without realising it Betty’s thighs relax and her legs slowly fall open allowing his hand to access more of her throbbing flesh. The next time Jughead brings his hand back up he continues to the waistband of her shorts and after seeking permission with a raised eyebrow and getting a nod and a soft kiss in reply he dips below the edge of her shorts to slide his fingers through the incredibly soft, moist flesh below. The intimacy of the contact and the sheer force of sensations new to them both is enough to take their collective breath away. He continues to stroke ever so slowly, increasing the pressure as he nears both the sensitive bud at the top of her sex as well as the silky entrance below. Betty’s breathing has become uneven as she gives off small whimpers and moans at the sensations he’s inducing. Feeling incredibly courageous (and lucky) Jughead finally dips his middle finger into her moist interior and gasps at how hot she is inside. Betty groans “Oh God yes” into his mouth as he kisses her. He holds his hand in place and strokes his finger in and out of her noticing her gasps when he touches the rough patch of skin on her upper wall. Jughead pushes his tongue into Betty’s mouth at the same time he pushes his finger into her in a slow and steady rhythm that drives her crazy with need.

Betty realises that she has stopped stroking Jughead and feeling slightly guilty she reaches into the front of his boxers to run her fingers up his bare length. He’s so hard and yet the skin is soft like velvet. She wraps her fingers around him and at feeling of her hand running up and over his sensitised head Jughead gasps “Jesus Christ” into Betty’s mouth. Now it’s her turn to stroke him until he can’t think anymore. They both whisper “Oh baby” and “That feels so good” into each other’s ears as they learn the secrets of each other’s bodies. Betty feels the moisture at Jughead’s tip and uses it to make her hand slide more easily along his length. Jughead feels Betty’s walls quivering around his finger and slips a second one inside, using his thumb to stimulate her clit, feeling her get even wetter under his hand. Betty moans underneath him “Juggie, I think I’m close, really close.” “It’s ok baby you can let go” murmurs Jughead as he strokes deeper inside her and moves his thumb even faster over the bundle of nerves. Within moments he feels her clench around him, body shaking as she cries softly into his ear. “Are you ok baby” he whispers kissing her hair, her ear, her cheek and finally her lips. “Never better.” Betty jokes with a shaky smile and tears in her eyes. Betty nods towards the bedside table “In the top drawer, there are condoms, if you want…?” “Oh baby I want” replies Jughead reaching over to grab a foil packet and rip it open with his teeth. He places the condom over his tip and Betty helps to roll it down his shaft, squeezing him firmly as she goes. Even though Betty feels quite wet after her orgasm Jughead is concerned about her first time so he reaches for the lube that’s sitting in the drawer and while he’s rubbing some onto her says “Baby please tell me to stop if it’s too much, I don’t want to hurt you”, “Juggie, you won’t hurt me, you couldn’t. I love you and I want this too much to stop you now”.  Positioning himself above her Jughead slips his fingers inside to stroke and relax her before withdrawing them and replacing them with his tip. He gently pushes forwards feeling little resistance but it’s definitely a tight fit. Betty breathes deeply and tries to relax as much as she can, tilting her hips to get the best angle for his entry. It feels like a mild burning/stinging until he’s fully immersed in her then the base of his shaft, which is the widest part, really puts pressure on her and she gasps “Wait”. “Are you sure you’re ok Betts” Jughead asks worriedly. “I’m fine, I’m perfect, just don’t go too deep yet”. Jughead nods, closes his eyes and pulls back before thrusting in gently again, this time Betty rock her hips to meet him and after a couple more tentative movements they start to establish a gentle rhythm. Nothing has ever felt like this before for either of them and they are in no rush to finish quickly. Betty has never felt so full before like every part of her inside is being touched at the same time. Jughead has never felt the heat of being inside someone before and he feels like he’s going to self-combust. Together their pace begins to quicken and though Betty feels amazing she’s knows she not going to come again, so she focusses on gripping him tightly and drawing him in with every thrust. Jughead can feel the pressure building and though he doesn’t want to lose control he can’t help feeling like he just wants to push as far inside Betty as he can go. He can feel her drawing him in with her hips and her muscles and he feels himself easing into her slightly deeper with each thrust. He looks down to where they are joined and it is the sight of him buried inside her that tips him over the edge as he comes in a rush of sensation shuddering and shaking above her as he cries her name.

They lay together kissing and smiling and whispering to each other with him still inside her. He doesn’t want to leave her body and she won’t let him anyway, hooking her legs around his to hold him. Eventually Jughead starts to soften and slips out, he passes her a tissue, disposes of the condom and then quickly takes his place back by her side. They wrap their arms around each other, legs tangled, feeling utterly smug.

“Welcome home Juggie” murmurs Betty as they drift off to sleep.

Wherever you are is home Betts” replies Jughead resting his mouth against her temple.

“I know” she whispers back smiling.

fin

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