#counting my bug bites: eight on one leg and three or four on the other

[loverboybrightsideghost]

LEG ITCHY ☹️

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Unmasked

Spider-Man is forced to fight the Sinister Six while he’s sick, which leads to his enemies making unexpected discoveries about their arch nemesis.

Chapter 3

Ow. 

That was the first coherent thought that registered in Peter’s brain. 

Pain. He was in pain. A lot of it.

It started with the sunlight shining directly in his eyes through the ceiling-high windows. Then there was the sharp ache in his left leg. Then a sting in his shoulder. A cramp in his stomach. A throb in his skull.

And then, everywhere.

Peter was hurting all over. And yet, it was dull, distant, hazy hurt, like he was a ghost floating above his body after it had been run over by a dump truck.

Ugh…

His eyes scrunched into angry lines before fluttering open. His vision was fuzzy, unfocused, and no amount of blinking seemed to fix it. His brain felt like it had been replaced by three tons of bricks.

What…where…

He was…inside someplace. It was bright—way too bright. The ceiling overhead was tall and white. He was lying on a couch that felt like it had never been sat on before.

Am I…dead…?

His muscles were stiff as stone. He feared for a moment he was paralyzed, until he felt his fingers twitch, followed by his toes. It hurt—a lot—but hurt was better than numbness.

Okay. Not paralyzed. Hopefully not dead.

“Mmmgh,” he moaned. Slowly, he slid his hands back and pushed off the couch, lifting himself into a sitting position. “Oh, god…”

His skin was hot and sticky. Every bone, organ, and cell ached. He still felt sick, but now with about seventy extra ailments piled on top of that, which meant he was probably still alive. 

Probably.

But how?

The last he remembered, he was getting his ass handed to him by the Sinister Six. For as long as he’d operated as the masked vigilante Spider-Man, he’d never gotten thrashed that badly. How did he get away? Did someone rescue him? Had the Avengers swooped in and saved his dumb, in-over-his-head ass right after he’d blacked out? But how could they have gotten there in time?

And where the hell was he?

Now that he was no longer lying down, the room had started listing a little. Peter reached up to rub his temple and felt something crinkly stuck to his head. He grabbed hold of it and started peeling it off his skin, wincing from the pain. Once he’d torn it free, Peter held the unknown object in front of his eyes. It was a large, bloody bandage. 

Huh.

Peter’s eyes dropped to his lap. A thin blanket was draped over his body. When he lifted it away, he cringed.

His torso was a gruesome patchwork of Frankenstein-style stitches and bandages. He counted three sets of sutures on his upper body alone, plus four other cuts and scrapes held together with butterfly tape. His entire chest looked like one gigantic bruise. Plus, the burns—some from scraping across coarse concrete, others from actual fire. Every small movement sent waves of pain rippling across his body.

Yeesh, he thought, poking gingerly at the bandages on his shoulder. Well, someone friendly had to patch me up. But who?

Peter let the blanket slip from his fingers. Grimacing, he swung his legs off the couch and carefully placed his feet on the floor. Sweat slipped off his brow and dripped onto his knee.

“Okay,” he breathed. Peter inhaled sharply, then threw his weight forward, standing upright for an instant. Then he collapsed, gasping. Dizzying agony blossomed in his left leg and thumped like a second heartbeat.

“Shit,” he hissed through his teeth. He glanced back and saw his shin had been fashioned with a makeshift splint: two metal rods and ass-load of packing tape.

Right. Broken leg. The sound of the bone cracking in half reignited in his memories, sending a shudder down his spine.

Peter used the sofa to pull himself off the ground. This time, he placed all his weight on his right foot, using his left only for balance. His body ached and trembled with the effort it took to stand, but he managed to stay on his feet.

Ouch. Ugh. Okay. Yeah. That’s a start. The fuzz in his vision was starting to dissipate, but the fog in his brain clung like fungus. It felt like he’d been inhaling a bunch of that laughing gas stuff his dentist had given him back in the 6th grade when he had to get a tooth pulled. His head was heavy and light at the same time.

The room was a lounge area with stiff furniture and minimal decor. A wilted fern sat in the corner alongside a weird, tall block with a piece of metal sticking out of the top that Peter assumed was some form of modern art. The walls were entirely bare except for a small landscape painting that looked like it belonged in a motel bathroom. There were two other chairs across from the couch, a coffee table, a gray rug, and that was basically it. 

Beside the fern, a pair of double doors stood wide and closed. When Peter strained his sensitive ears, muffled voices could be heard conversing in the other room. Curiosity plucked at his chest.

“Um…hello?” he called, voice raspy. He approached the doors, hopping more than walking, gritting his teeth as his injuries burned and throbbed, heat radiating feverishly off his skin. By the time he transversed the room, he was out of breath, lightheaded. He leaned against the wall for a minute and cycled slow gulps of oxygen through his lungs.

Once he’d somewhat recovered, Peter limped in front of the large doors. The voices were louder now, but not loud enough to be recognizable. They sounded mostly male. Peter took a deep breath, reached out his arm, and cracked the door open just a hair to peek inside.

It was a kitchen—that was the first thing he saw. A man stood at the island with his back to the doors. Across from him was a round dining table with a bowl of fruit in the middle.

“How is he?” the man asked, biting into an apple. His voice was definitely familiar.

“Still hasn’t woken up, right?” another responded.

Maybe this is another one of Clint’s safe houses, Peter thought. Or an Avengers’ base I’ve never been to before. Or a secret sitting room in some tragically decorated S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Or—

Seconds before Peter opened his mouth to say hello again, the man eating the apple turned around. When Peter saw his face, his heart jumped out of his chest and splattered at his feet.

“I don’t know,” Herman Shultz said over a mouthful of fruit. “Has he?”

The oxygen around Peter vanished in an instant. It’s Shocker! The guy who broke my leg! W-what the hell? What is he doing here?

“Not from what I’ve heard,” the second voice continued. Another man entered his narrow line of vision, this one lit up like a neon sign, and Peter’s throat seized.

“You’re not being very helpful, Maxwell.”

“I told you not to call me that! I’m Electro!”

Shocker held up his hands. “Right, right, sorry. Electro, then. You’re not being helpful.”

What the shit, what the shit, what the actual, living shi—

“Don’t ask me about these things. Ask the doc.” He lifted his head and grinned. “Look—here he comes now.”

Clank, clank, clank. Heavy, metallic footsteps rang in Peter’s ears and shook the floor beneath him. Horror and disbelief flooded his veins as the eight-limbed scientist stepped in front of him, hardly three feet away, pushing a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

“Ask me about what?” Doctor Octopus said.

Peter leapt back from the door, clamping both hands over his mouth. 

Oh…my god. It’s them.

“I just wanted to know how he was doing.”

They’re here. They found me. They came to finish the job.

Half of the super villains that had just wrecked his shit were standing in the neighboring room. Hell, maybe all of them were. They’d probably taken whoever had helped him hostage, or perhaps the poor soul was already dead. He wouldn’t stand a chance like this. He didn’t have his suit, his webs, nothing. He’d tried his best to fight them when he was just sick with the stomach bug, and look how well that had turned out for him. If they attacked him now, one solid hit was all it would take to knock him out. Or, if he was being fully honest, kill him.

Peter’s eyes darted frantically around the room. I have to get out of here! He hobbled toward the wall of windows and placed his hands against the glass. It was at least four inches thick; probably bulletproof. But it was his only option. With a shivery grunt, Peter hoisted himself off the floor and crawled toward the ceiling, every step piercing him with flashes of pain.

Okay. Launch off the ceiling, kick through the glass, make a run for it. In his loopy, concussed mind, the plan sounded foolproof. The voices of his enemies were growing louder; Doc Oc’s footsteps were approaching rapidly. It was now or never.

Hanging off the upside-down surface, balancing on his good foot, heart racing, head dizzy and faint, Peter threw himself at the window. He hit the glass with a loud thunk, bouncing off like a bug on a windshield, then crashed on top of the weird modern art piece, shattering the mahogany box into wood chips.

Peter lay sprawled in a heap in the wake of his failure, groaning and dazed. As he forced himself upright, gripping his head in his hand, the doors behind him burst open.

“What the hell?” Doc Oc exclaimed, alarm caked across his expression. When his gaze landed on the young superhero floundering in the splintered remains of his college art project, stunned and disheveled but now awake and wide-eyed, his muscles relaxed slightly. “Spider-Man?”

“Holy shit, he’s awake,” Electro said.

“And he destroyed your favorite sculpture,” Shocker added.

Peter’s eyes dashed between the three men, wild and afraid. He’d been unmasked by his absolute worst enemies—but that seemed the least of his troubles. I’m toast, he thought. Tiny pieces of wood clung to his hair, face, and back. Seeing him conscious for the first time sent a spark of relief through Doc Oc, though he hadn’t expected him to wake up for at least another day; the combination of pain meds he’d given him was pretty strong. When Octavius moved an inch closer to him, Peter scrambled to his feet and backed away, tripping over himself in the process and heavily favoring his right leg.

“Spider-Man—” he began, trying to keep his voice level. Spider-Man picked up a chunk of the destroyed box and chucked it at him.

“S-stay back!” he shouted. His voice was shrill and cracked at the end of the demand. Damn, Otto thought. The evidence of Spider-Man’s youthfulness was clear as day to him now—how had none of them noticed it before? Perhaps they had simply chosen not to notice.

Doc Oc dodged the projectile with ease. “Spider-Man, listen to me—”

Peter made a break for it, gunning for the opposite side of the room. He’d hardly made it two uncoordinated strides before three more figures emerged from a door behind the couch, blocking his escape path: Scorpion, Sandman, and Rhino. He skidded to a stop with a gasp.

“Whoa,” Rhino exclaimed, towering over the half-naked hero. “Would you look at that. Tiny spider is alive.”

Shit! Peter screamed internally. He whipped his gaze in every direction and realized he was surrounded.

“He needs to stop moving,” Otto said, knowing there was no way to accomplish that with words. He raised his tentacles above his head, the pincers snapping hungrily. “Grab him.”

Rhino made the first move, reaching out with his meaty hands to snag the kid by the arm. But Spider-Man ducked and rolled out of the way, moving surprisingly fast despite all of his injuries, though it was obvious the exertion was hurting him. Scorpion and Sandman tried next, lunging for his legs, but Peter hopped right over them and flipped backwards, wincing and staggering once his feet hit the floor and banging into the window.

“You’re going to reopen your wounds,” Octavius warned him. He thrust two tentacles at his torso, but Spider-Man flinched out of their grasp. Otto launched the other two arms at him, and Peter skirted between them, springing on to the wall. The exhaustion and terror in his face were evident. Otto felt bad for scaring him so much, but this was for his own good.

“Spider-Man—please,” he groused. His mechanical arms grabbed and snapped at the air, barely missing the slippery little hero every time. “Just—stay—still!”

Peter wasn’t listening to a word he said. All he knew was that he couldn’t let himself be caught. Every inch of him was screaming in agony. When the tentacles pounced on him all at once, Spider-Man shrunk small and dove underneath them, somersaulting past Doc Oc’s legs and popping up behind him. Peter bolted blindly for the double doors, only to ram straight into Rhino’s giant leg and fall flat on his ass. Three metal prongs clamped around his midsection before he could regather himself, pinning him to the floor.

“Agh!” Peter yelped, tugging uselessly at the claw’s strong teeth. “Let me go!”

Otto lifted Spider-Man off the ground. He continued to strain and squirm, kicking his legs and grappling with the mechanical pincers gripping his waist. The rest of the Sinister Six gathered around the frightened hero, forming a circle with him in the middle. He looked so small against the looming backdrop of super villains. His young face beamed with all the emotions his mask typically concealed—most prominently, fear.

“Spider-Man,” Octavius repeated, holding his hands out tentatively. “Calm down.”

“I’ll pass, thanks!” Peter quipped, betrayed by the tremble in his voice.

“Okay, it’s definitely him,” Electro groaned amusedly.

“I know you’re scared,” Doc Oc continued. “And you have every right to be. But if you don’t stop moving, you’re going to injure yourself further.”

“And if I don’t keep moving, you’re going to injure me further!” He thrashed and twisted valiantly, but it was evident he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. His movements were slowing down, his attempts to escape growing more and more pathetic. Otto waited for him to burn himself out, crossing his arms against his chest. It didn’t take long.

“Are you quite done now?”

Peter hung his head, breathless and shivery, gripping the prongs around his torso less to try to escape and more to hold himself upright. Perhaps his impromptu acrobatics display hadn’t been his smartest idea. All that leaping and flipping and bouncing around had sapped the last whispers of energy from his bones.

“Ugh…room’s…s-spinning,” he murmured. Otto took that as a “yes.” He held Spider-Man closer and frowned at a red spot on his ribs. 

“And now look what you’ve done, you idiot. You’ve torn your stitches. I tried to warn you. Half an hour’s worth of sewing, down the drain because of your recklessness.”

“What are you…what…what’s…?” Spider-Man slurred. He was suddenly seeing double of everything. He dropped his gaze to his midriff and watched two blurry lines of blood slip down his side.

“I sutured you up, and you ruined it,” Octavius explained. Peter slowly lifted his head and wrinkled his brow.

“You…” he said, blinking repeatedly. “What?”

“Told you we gave him brain damage,” Rhino whispered. Peter looked at him over his shoulder, then swept his gaze around the circle, making eye contact with every member of the Sinister Six. They saw him. After all this time, his face was finally exposed to his enemies. No disguise, no secret identity, no mask. He felt so naked without it. Not having a shirt or pants on didn’t help either. Strangely, their expressions lacked their typical thirst for spider blood. It dawned on him that over a minute had passed, and none of them had tried to kill him. And so far, they still weren’t trying.

“I’m…confusion,” he stammered. “What—what’s happening right now?”

It was somewhat amusing to see Spider-Man so delirious and out of his element. Doctor Octopus lowered him to the ground but didn’t let go of his torso. Peter was almost glad he didn’t; he doubted he could stand on his own right now.

“I tended to your wounds while you were unconscious,” Octavius said. “It’s not a perfect patch job, but I did the best I could.”

Peter shook his head slowly, his big, brown Bambi eyes wide and puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“I also gave you some pain killers, which might be making your head a bit fuzzy.”

“But…why?” he scoffed. “You did this to me. You’re the ones who…beat me up. You love beating me up. You—you hate me. You want me dead. You’ve tried to make me dead a million times.” Peter jolted suddenly, a cramp shooting through his broken leg. If he was on painkillers, they were doing a pretty piss-poor job. Everything hurt and was too confusing to comprehend. He closed his eyes and dropped his face into his hands, moaning. “Oh god…I’ve gotta be trapped in some crazy fever dream right now. Or maybe…I’m dead. Am I dead? None of this makes any sense…”

“You’re not dead, Peter,” Otto said, stifling a chuckle.

A shudder rippled through the teenager. He lowered his hands, revealing the colorless face behind them.

“How…how do you know my…?”

Shit, Doc Oc thought. It was a careless slip of the tongue. He had meant to keep his knowledge of Spider-Man’s alter ego a secret so as to not frighten him further, but it looked like the cat was out of the bag.

Peter’s gaze shifted anxiously between the six super villains again. Fresh fear clouded over his glassy eyes, and he went back to squirming against Octavius’ hold.

“Now what are you trying to do?” Otto asked, exasperated.

“G-get the hell out of here,” Peter answered. He yanked at the claw around his torso, grunting with effort. “I know what this is. This is—one of those—hrgg—P-Princess Bride situations, isn’t it?”

The team of villains exchanged bemused glances with each other. “What are you talking about?”

“You know—mmneh—when the bad guys—c-catch Wesley, then heal him—just so the life-sucky torture machine thing is—m-more torturous? That’s what this is, right?” His face was flushing red, and more of his sutures were starting to leach blood.

Scorpion threw up his hands. “What’s the brat trying to say?”

“I think he’s saying we only doctored his wounds so that when we kill him, it’ll be all the more slow and painful,” Electro clarified with a shrug. “Which honestly sounds pretty in character for most of us.”

“See? This guy gets it.” Peter pushed at the prongs with all his might. Even as a half-dead, half-conscious mess, the kid couldn’t stop himself from being a smartass.

“I’m just impressed he made a reference to a movie that came out before he was a concept,” Rhino said. “You know, instead of, like, Finding Nemo?”

Otto could see the strain Spider-Man was putting himself through in his pitiful attempts to escape, so he decided to see what would happen if he succeeded. When Spider-Man shoved at his metal pincers again, he let them snap open. Surprise flashed across Peter’s face as he dropped to the ground and wobbled on his feet, followed by weary triumph.

“Ha! See? T-told you I would…I could…”

He faltered and swayed, staggering backwards. Sandman enlarged his hand and caught him before he could hit the floor. Peter sat limply in his palm, breathing heavy, frail and febrile and injured and exhausted. He looked down at the sand-hand that had stopped him from falling, then back up at the surrounding circle of villains, fear and confusion stinging in the corners of his eyes.

“W-why aren’t you...trying to kill me?”

The room dipped into nervous silence. Spider-Man’s gaze continued to jump between them, searching for answers.

“Why did you treat the wounds you gave me?” he continued weakly. With every word that passed his lips, the shake in his voice increased. “W-what do you want from me? Are you trying to…turn me to the dark side or something?”

Shocker stroked his chin. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea…”

“No,” Sandman answered pointedly, shooting Shocker a sideways glare.

“Then what?” Peter snapped. “What’s going on? Why am I here? Why aren’t I dead yet?” Spider-Man dragged himself back to his feet, grimacing harshly. “T-tell me what you’re planning to do with me, or I’ll—I’ll…”

His scowl dropped suddenly, replaced by a look of panic. His eyes went wide and his jaw clenched.

“Or you’ll what?” Scorpion asked in a mocking tone.

When Peter didn’t answer him, Octavius took a step closer. “Spider-Man? What’s wrong?”

Gradually, the terror in his face gave way to dread. Peter sucked in a gasp and cupped his hand over his mouth.

 “I think…I’m gonna puke.”

Otto blinked. “Oh,” he said. That was not the response he was expecting, but it didn’t look like the kid was joking. He lurched forward, stifling a gag, making everyone exclaim and leap back. His pale face hinted a sickly shade of green.

“Oh,” Octavius repeated, animated by a new sense of urgency. He glanced around frantically until he spotted the fern in the corner of the room. He seized it with one of his tentacles, dumped the plant and the soil onto the floor, then slid the empty pot in front of Spider-Man. “Uh, here.”

Peter moaned in defeat before doubling over the pot and retching violently. The Sinister Six turned away in disgust, fighting to keep their own lunches down. There was hardly anything inside him to upchuck in the first place, but his body continued to dry heave for another half-minute. Once the bout passed, Peter was left wheezing and trembling with his head held low. His throat burned and tears were slipping from his eyes faster than he could wipe them away.

“Forgot about the stomach flu,” Electro said, sticking out his tongue. “Blech.”

Peter wanted to ask how the hell they knew he had a stomach bug, among many other things, but he was too fatigued to form words.

Octavius turned back to him squeamishly. The poor kid looked so small, hurt, and sick. It amazed him how quickly his hate for Spider-Man had transformed into a tentative fondness. He felt the need to comfort him somehow, the way adults were supposed to comfort young ones when they weren’t feeling well. But he had no idea how.

Instead, he grabbed a roll of paper towels and a cup of water from the kitchen and placed them both by his side. “Here,” he said awkwardly.

Peter eyed the items and whimpered softly. With miserable, lethargic movements, Peter washed out his mouth and wiped his face, every breath aching in his chest. Shame and fever radiated off him in waves. When he was finished, he just sat there, panting and shivery. Too weak to move.

“I think you ought to lay back down, Spidey,” Sandman said, plucking the hero off the floor between two massive fingers. He returned him to the couch with delicate care, guiding his head to the pillow and draping the blanket over his body.

“No…” Peter mumbled languidly, trying to sit up. When he closed his eyes, he couldn’t get them to open again. “Just…tell me…why…”

Something cold and wet pressed against his forehead, gently pushing him back down. Octavius had grabbed a hand towel from the kitchen and soaked it in ice water. The cool touch against his skin was soothing and unexpectedly soporific. Slowly, his muscles went lax. His tumultuous thoughts faded into sleepy nothingness.

“We will,” Otto lied. “But for now, rest.”

It was almost endearing how quickly Spider-Man drifted back to sleep. Octavius left the towel on his forehead and watched as his breathing eased to a steady rhythm.

“Damn,” Shocker sighed. “Poor kid.”

“We really beat him senseless,” Rhino said.

Electro stood over the slumbering hero with his hands on his hips, tilting his head to the side. “Is it just me, or is Spider-Man, like…kind of adorable?”

Scorpion snorted. “Adorable?”

“You know! In that, like, puppy-dog, dumb little kid kind of way. I mean, look at him! Does no one else think so?”

Sandman shrugged, fighting back a smile. “I mean, maybe. Sorta.” His expression gradually hardened, and he looked at Doc Oc. “So…is what you said before true? Is he really, like, an orphan?”

Otto lowered his gaze. “Not exactly. His parents died when he was a toddler, and he was adopted by his aunt and uncle, who became like parents to him. But then his uncle was killed last year, so now it’s just him and his aunt. He hasn’t had a particularly easy life.”

“And we certainly haven’t helped on that front,” Rhino added.

“It’s insane to me that at his age, this is what he chose to do with his powers. If I’d gotten his abilities when I was fifteen and gone through all that loss, I’d have been robbing every store on 5th Avenue.”

Shocker smirked. “I hate to say it, but...he’s kind of a good kid. Even if he is an obnoxious little dumbass.”

Amidst the conversation, Octavius’ face remained stoic, unreadable. He waited a while before clearing his throat. “I…wanted to let you all know. I, um, spoke to Tombstone this morning.”

All eyes turned to him, alarmed.

“He saw footage of us capturing Spider-Man on the news,” he explained. “He’s offering us two million each in exchange for the kid.”

Rhino’s jaw dropped. “Two million dollars? For each of us?”

“Holy shit,” Sandman breathed.

“What the hell?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“And he just wants the kid?” Shocker exclaimed. "That’s it?”

Otto nodded slowly. “Alive, but yes. That’s all he wants.” He swallowed and looked at the floor. “He’s given us until the end of the week to accept his offer.”

Excitement and dismay swept across everyone’s expressions. Each person waited for someone to speak up, for someone else to say no, we can’t. But it was just too tempting a proposition to dismiss out of hand. They could finally be free to do what they wanted. Free to live as they pleased, villainous or otherwise. Free to punish this city the way it had punished them, if they so choose. Turning over the kid was all it would take. One quick transaction. Hand over their nemesis, their sworn enemy, and it was done. They’d be rich.

“What the hell does he plan to do with him?” Sandman whispered uneasily.

“We don’t have to decide right now,” Doc Oc clarified. “I just wanted to make you aware of the opportunity. We can discuss it more later.”

An air of tentative relief settled over the room. Electro puffed out his cheeks and crossed his arms against his chest.

“In that case, what are we going to tell him when he wakes up again? That we want to sell him to some psychopath so we can all be millionaires? That we think he’s cute and want to keep him as a pet?”

Doctor Octopus shook his head. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said. He turned back to his team. “I’ll keep monitoring him and re-treat the wounds he opened. I think it’s best we always have a pair of eyes on him to prevent another incident involving the destruction of my art pieces.”

The rest of the Sinister Six agreed, scattering throughout the complex, the proposition weighing heavily on all of their minds. Otto put on some classical music and began mopping the fresh blood off Peter’s torso.

[wendimydarling]

The Soldier’s Wife (Chapter Seven)

Title: The Soldier’s Wife

Summary: Syverson and his wife navigate the ups and downs, the highs and lows, and the blessings and pitfalls of marriage.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC

Word Count: 2049

Warnings: Implied sex.

Chapters: Flashback | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

A/N: Hey guys, looky here! I finally got another chapter written, and once I was inspired, it only took me an hour. Lucky you!! I hope this makes up for last chapter. Also, the sound of a baby’s heartbeat is one of my all time favorite sounds. Listen to it here. Enjoy!

Song Inspiration: “New Life” by Thomas Bergersen (HIGHLY recommend listening while reading!)

Tag list is open, please let me know if you’re interested!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I can’t do it, Sy, I can’t!!”

“Shhhh, babygirl, you’re almost there.”

“AAAAAHHHH!!!!!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“There she is!”

Mabel smiled softly as Syverson jogged over to her, kissing her on the cheek. His green tee hugged his body well, a large, triangular sweat stain already formed over his chest. That was one of the things Mabel loved most about him; unlike the other Captains who generally just watched and barked orders, Syverson was always out there with his men, training them, showing them that he’d be there to help get them through it. Like he had for her this last year. 

They headed toward the canteen for their traditional weekly lunch, but Mabel wasn’t very hungry. When Syverson indicated that she should order first, she just said “I’ll stick with water”. He eyed her suspiciously but didn’t argue, just ordered himself enough food to feed three grown men. His arms piled high, they found an empty table in the corner of the mess hall. Syverson set everything down and pulled Mabel’s chair out for her. 

“Ever the gentleman,” she teased quietly as she sat down. Syverson squeezed her shoulders and dropped another kiss on her cheek, choosing to sit next to her rather than across the table. He tucked into his burger at once, half of it disappearing into his large mouth in one bite. Mabel sipped her water, spinning the cap on the table absent-mindedly. Syverson eyed her again, setting the burger down and wiping his mouth.

“Ya alright, Mabel?”

“Yeah, why?”

Syverson pointed at her drink with his nose.

“Ya never “stick with water”, ya always end up drinkin’ half o’ my sweet tea.”

“Jus’ not in the mood fer it today, I reckon.”

Syverson cocked an eyebrow at his wife, not even remotely convinced. Mabel shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

“Alright, what ain’t ya tellin’ me, Bug.”

“What makes ya thing I ain’t tellin’ ya somethin’?”

“Mabel Jean Syverson,” his tone was serious, “What ain’t ya tellin’ me.”

“Whaddaya think I ain’t tellin ya, Sy?” Mabel challenged him, staring him down. Syverson leaned forward, grasping her hand in his for a kiss.

“I think ya ain’t tellin’ me yer pregnant again.”

“Well, ya’d be right, then.”

Tears pricked Mabel’s eyes at the admission, but Syverson didn’t seem to notice. His face lit up and he smiled widely, brushing her knuckles with his lips. 

“See? I told ya we’d--”

“No. No Sy, I can’t get attached. Not this time.” 

Mabel swallowed thickly, the tears spilling over as pressure mounted in her chest. Syverson scooted his chair back and pulled her onto his lap, smoothing her hair back as he crooned little nothing-words in her ear. Mabel shook, clutching her arms around his neck tightly.

“All I feel is fear, Hunter. Fear that we’re gonna lose this one too.”

“We ain’t gonna lose this one, Mabel.”

“Ya can’t promise that.”

“I can.”

“No, ya can’t.”

The conversation seemed eerily familiar. Syverson tugged Mabel’s hair slightly so that she’d look at him, and he swept the tears from her cheeks as he comforted her.

“Look, when I promised ya that ya wouldn’t lose me, did I keep that promise?”

“Well yeah, but--”

“Then I can keep this promise too. We ain’t gonna lose this one, Bug.”

Syverson chucked her gently under the chin, pulling her in for a soft kiss and pressing his forehead to hers.

“Now come on, celebrate with me; we’re havin’ a baby!”

“Maybe.”

“Okay, a maybe baby.”

Mabel couldn’t help but laugh through her tears as she kissed him. God, she loved this man. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sy?”

“I’m right here, Bug.”

Mabel clung to her husband, bending over as another contraction wracked her body.

“I didn’t get anything ready, I didn’t think we’d make it this far. There’s nothing prepared!”

Syverson chuckled, supporting his wife as she bore through the pain.

“Did ya really think I’d let this child come into the world without the stuff we need? It’s all ready to go, Ma’s gettin’ it set up for us while we’re here.”

Mabel looked up at him, grateful relief on her face.

“Really?”

“It’s all taken care of, Bug. Ya just focus on what ya need to do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel sat nervously in the exam room. They’d made it to twenty weeks, and Syverson was anxious to find out the sex of the baby. He was so excited, but Mabel couldn’t bring herself to find any joy. Every week brought them closer and closer to twenty-eight weeks, and the fear coiled tightly in her chest as the impending timeline loomed menacingly over her. She refused to buy anything, convincing herself they wouldn’t be able to use it.

The tech came in and Mabel laid down obediently, holding Syverson’s hand as he watched the machine. Mabel purposefully looked away. Syverson noticed and placed a hand on her cheek, drawing his head near hers so that he could speak softly.

“Even if it’s the end, Bug, these are the only pictures we’d get,” he admonished her, stroking her skin with his thumb. “Might be best if ya take a look.”

Mabel stared into his eyes, her lips pressed into a line as she tried not to cry. He was right, of course. She turned to look at the black screen, lit up with the white outline of the child growing within her womb. Mabel’s heart caught and her throat constricted as the tech smoothed the wand over her belly, air only returning to her lungs once she heard the familiar ‘wao wao wao wao’ of her baby’s heartbeat rushing through the monitor. It was still alive. She squeezed Syverson’s hand tightly, and laid her head back on her arm, choosing to watch her husband instead of the screen.

He’d missed this appointment last time; he’d been sent somewhere for three weeks and they’d been unable to reschedule. Mabel watched the lines of Syverson’s face as he stared intently at the image of his child. She noted the way his eyes lit up, the creases around them deepening as he smiled. He chuckled when the baby kicked and he could see it on the screen, and love took over his face as he watched the baby suck its thumb. He’s my joy, Mabel determined. She would enjoy this for him.

“Oh, look here… it’s a boy!”

Mabel snapped her head to look at the screen as Syverson hollered in excitement. Sure enough, the outline was unmistakable. He was Syverson’s, alright. Mabel couldn’t help the relief she felt; another girl would have been too much for her to handle. But she still wanted her girl. The tears came unbidden, and the tech cleaned her off and left them, giving them some privacy. Syverson climbed onto the table and cradled Mabel in his arms.

“I miss her too, Bug. She’da been such a great big sis.”

Sobs wracked Mabel’s body as she grieved once more for the baby she would never hold. Their son kicked her softly, as if to say ‘don’t cry, Mama, I’m here’, and Mabel placed a hand over the spot, smiling through her tears as she held him. 

“Don’t you worry, little man. There’s plenty of love in my heart to go around.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright Mabel, ya ready?”

Mabel shook her head at the woman between her legs, sweat dripping down her brow, her chest heaving. 

“I can’t… I can’t do this, I can’t.” 

“Yes, ya can,” came a whisper in her ear. Mabel leaned her head back against Syverson’s chest, listening to him coach her through this. His caressing touch was everywhere; hands glided over her thighs, fingers brushed her sweat soaked hair out of her face, a well-placed fist pushed against the spot on her back that was causing her excruciating pain. His deep voice resonated through her mind, low and soothing.

“You are my Mabel. You’ve conquered everythin’ that’s been thrown yer way, includin’ death. So now, yer gonna conquer life, and yer gonna bring our son into this world. Ya ready?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What’re we gon’ name him, Bug?”

Mabel sighed and rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to have this conversation again; boy names were harder. 

“Every time we have this argument, Sy, ya end up sleepin’ on the couch cause yer mad at me.”

“Yeah I git that, Mabel, but we’re four weeks away. He needs a name.”

“Scooter.”

“Scooter Syverson. I actually like that.”

“No, Sy, I was kiddin’!”

Syverson jumped on the bed, straddling Mabel’s legs and lifting her shirt to kiss her belly repeatedly. She squealed as he purposefully brushed his beard all over her taut skin, fighting to free herself from her husband’s grasp.

“Whaddaya think, Scooter?” Syverson said to the baby, pinning Mabel’s hands and blowing a raspberry underneath her belly. Mabel shrieked and the baby kicked right where Syverson’s lips had pressed against it. Syverson grinned, looking at Mabel with his eyes wide. 

“Looks like Scooter here likes it,” he said seriously, taking a deep breath.

“No, Hunter nooo!!” Mabel cried as Syverson blew another raspberry, laughing as his mouth vibrated against her skin. The baby kicked again and Syverson chuckled with glee, loving the ability to bond with his child. He blew raspberry after raspberry on Mabel’s belly until she finally got a hand free and smacked his head. She pulled him up by his hair to meet her lips, and Syverson kissed her attentively, smoothing his hand over her stomach and relishing in the feel of his son’s movements.

“He still needs a name,” he mumbled against his wife’s lips. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him in deeper, tasting the rich flavor of his tongue. 

“I just figured he’d be a junior,” she moaned as Syverson’s fingertips dipped beneath the band of her sleep shorts. He stopped a moment and looked at Mabel fondly.

“Ya mean it?”

“Yeah I do.”

“I’d really like that.”

Syverson picked up the pace, hooking his fingers into Mabel’s core and kissing her neck in earnest.

“I’m still gonna call him Scooter though.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“AAAAAHHHHH!!!!”

“One more push and you can rest, come on Mabel! You can do it!”

Another contraction swept through Mabel and she cried out. Syverson’s grip was firm under her knees, his chin tucked into her shoulder and a constant stream of comforting words and gentle encouragement poured into her ear. Mabel bent her head low and pushed, agonizing screams tumbling from her lips as her body was ripped open. She could see her son’s head in the mirror behind the doctor; they were close, they were so close. Just one more push. 

Mabel braced herself and pushed with all her might, reaching down instinctively to catch her baby as he was expelled from her womb. Loud commotion filled the room as suddenly everyone was cheering. A loud wail sung out from the babe on Mabel’s chest and she and Syverson laughed with him, sobs constricting their chuckles. Mabel’s laughter turned to tears as she stared at her child, thinking of the baby buried beneath the Live Oak tree. Her brother looked just like her. 

“You did it, Mama,” Syverson whispered in her ear, and Mabel turned to look up at him, kissing him softly.

“I wish he could have met Einsley.” she sniffed, drinking in the sight of her newborn son. Syverson brushed the back of his finger over the smattering of dark curls on the baby’s head, wrapping his other arm around his wife.

“I do too, babygirl. I do too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel heard a low, murmuring voice as her eyelids fluttered awake. She turned in the hospital bed and saw Syverson near the window, cradling their newborn son over his shoulder as he hummed his favorite tune. He heard Mabel stir and turned, gazing at her softly.

“I need to nurse,” she said quietly, reaching for the baby. Syverson brought him over and laid him in her arms, sliding next to them to cuddle on the bed. He watched as Mabel took out her breast and their son greedily latched on, drawing life-sustaining nourishment from her body. Syverson kissed Mabel gently on the forehead as he stroked her hair.

“Ya done good, Mama,” he whispered. Mabel smiled gently at him, and together they watched as the new piece of their souls entwined himself into their shared heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fan Club: @littlefreya​ @sciapod​ @thiccgeralt​ @fucking-hell-cavill​ @brexrif​ @peakygroupie​ @viking-raider​ @constip8merm8​ @daniig95​ @elinalfrida​ @hell1129-blog​ @oddsnendsfanfics​ @agniavateira​ @dearlybelovedluke​ @sofiebstar​ @wanderinglunarnights​ @magdelen69​ @vania-marie​ @mary-ann84​ @onceiwasanun​ @iloveyouyen​ @lestersglitterglue​ @yoursecretsmutblog​ @funnygirlthatgab​ @wondersofdreaming​ @wildwavehc @valkavill​ @kevia1000 @trippedmetaldetector​ @lifeofrileyp​ @captaingothgirl1996​ @sasusakubae​ @princess-of-riviaa​ @vivodinson​ @paradisecitychild​

(@wildwavehc and @kevia1000 - I tried to tag you but it’s not working; you’ve gotta turn tagging capabilities on on your end!!)

[henry-cavill-baby]

To Study (Insects) │ 1

Pairing: Clark Kent (MoS) x Original Female Character

Warnings: None 

Word Count: 3k~

Summary: Connie and Clark, two peas in a pod. She didn’t know if it was his soft blue eyes or his Mother’s sweet blueberry pie that had caught her eye, but boy howdy, was she caught. 

A/N: Nothing! Enjoy!

The best thing about living in Kansas was that nothing ever happened.

There was a mile wide sprawl of corn that was breathtaking to few; it had started out as nothing much but rows upon rows of dirt that now bore sprawls of golden richness that could truly blind any tourist with its beauty.  Most of it was picked and sold—Kansas was full of rural farmers and farmers markets, but some just stayed for show.

And the Farmers Market typically consisted of stay-at-home mothers trying to sell their overpriced sugary sweet lemon bars to any sucker who would pay seven dollars for four measly pieces.

Most of the teens at the local high school got rides home from their parents, but Connie Mayfield knew that you couldn’t pay her Father, Walter, to pick his daughter up from school. If he did, then he’d no doubt miss a rerun of Baywatch, and that simply couldn’t happen.

A tune that rivaled the airiness of a flute flew from the 14 year olds mouth on her long walk home. Connie Mayfield whistled a nonchalant melody as her uneven pace took her closer to home. 

The young girl had a lot on her mind; there was a test on Friday that was covering another form of division that looked to confusing to follow, and Alice’s birthday party was on Saturday and getting a gift for the little girl who had everything was harder than it seemed. The years of gifts consisting of dolls and bright hairbrushes were long over. Maybe she’d like a new bracelet or a set of earrings.

An irregular rock bumped against the tip of her shoe and she grinned, lobbing it off into the cornfield, a little thud echoing through the golden maze. 

It was tempting—the idea of taking the not so short shortcut through the tall stalks, if just to feel a little more free for just a moment, but the sounds of distress just up ahead had her little sneakers speeding up. She turned to the bend and grew furious at the sight of three boys throwing around her friend.

“Hey!” she bellowed, running closer before screeching to a halt in front of the teen holding up her friend by the lip of his shirt, “Leave him alone!”

Isaiah Matthews grinned with his fist still clutching the younger boy's shirt, “Oooo, is this your girlfriend, Kent?”

Clark Kent sneered up at the taller boy, fists clenching in rage. 

“Leave her alone,” he grit out, watching Isaiah sneer with confidence.

“I didn’t take you for a pussy, Kent, but I guess I was wrong.” He dropped Clark with a grin and sauntered to the near growling girl. 

“Connie, right? My dad says you Mayfield’s are trailer trash, and I can see where he gets that from.”

His eyes gave her a visible up-and-down, “No wonder only a freak would like you.” 

The words had barely left his mouth before Clark launched himself onto the back of the bully, pummeling him to the ground with hateful eyes. The two other lackeys ran, but Connie went and pulled Clark back before he did something he’d regret. The two of them fell away from the older boy, watching him with guarded eyes.

Isaiah spat at ground near their feet, “Fucking freaks.”

Connie waited until he was out of sight, turning to Clark and frowning at his disheveled appearance. “You know, I’m not always gonna be here to save you, Clark.”

He wiped away the sheen of dirt and sweat covering his upper lip, refusing to meet her eyes. “I didn’t need your help. I could’ve handled it.”

“Oh yeah, you totally had it under control,” she mocked with pursed lips.

He frowned at her sarcasm and picked up his dirtied school bag, looking down the path home. It was a quick walk to the farm, and mom had probably already started dinner, which is why it made no sense when he turned and muttered, “Can I walk you home?”

Her eyes went wide at his question, upper teeth nibbling on her pink lip, shrugging, “Sure, if you want.”

They both nodded and started a slow walk to the Mayfield’s. Connie’s fingers twitched at her side while different conversation starters nearly passed through her lips every few seconds. The urge to ask why he never fought back, why he let people call him a freak raced through her mind, but only silence hung between them. It was almost annoying that he never stood up for himself.

There was something mysterious about Clark that intrigued her 14-year-old brain; no one had ever let him live down that time he’d locked himself in a closet (and torched the doorknob till it was bright red). 

He was just the guy who kept to himself most of the time.  

And still she kept on eye on him the entire time, watching his own twitching fingers pick at the loose lining of his jeans, lip biting in a matter similar to her own, brows furrowing in thought, though they always did that. He looked cute when he was deep in thought.

Cute? I think Clark is… cute?

A deep redness flooded her cheeks and her lips pursed into a thin line, trying not to visibly speed away from the other boy, but Clark noticed everything. There was something keen about the way his mind worked; almost predatorial. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, the cute furrow in his brow deep as she faced him while willing away the redness of her juvenile cheeks. 

She nodded but didn’t meet his blue eyes. They were like oceans—I’d swim in Clark’s eyes if he’d ask—and her stomach always fluttered when he looked at her.

She expected them to fall back into silence, now halfway to the Mayfield farm, but Clark piped up, “Are you excited for the field trip tomorrow?”

A flutter of excitement rang through her veins, but she held back and simply nodded. “It’ll be a nice change from sitting inside all day.” Clark nodded along with her running words, “I heard the museum has a section on insects and their habitats, and I hope they have a butterfly display. Or—or maybe a real entomologist will be there.”

Now bugs- those were cool. Anything from crickets to butterflies to beetles, each one more interesting than the last…except arachnids. You could keep those eight-legged freaks as far away as humanly possibly.

Clark slowed their pace but kept his distance, “Is that what you wanna be when you grow up?”

She grinned and tried to slow the internal monologue of bug talk.

“I think when I grow up, I’ll leave this place behind and follow my dreams.” She said.

“And I guess those dreams do include insects of all types. They really do get a bad reputation sometimes. I think they’re just as delicate and interesting as humans.”

“Really?” Clark wrinkled in his nose, “My dad sprays the fields for bugs in the summer.” She hit his shoulder as he let out a snort, “I think I’ve squashed a few flies for mom too.”

She shook her head and couldn’t see Clark staring at her golden locks as they shined in the sun. “You’re the worst, Kent.”

The both chuckled and came to a halt in front of the Mayfield farm. It was more run down than the other houses in the area and the roof could’ve been mistaken for caving in, and she knew it looked worse on the inside. The moldy green color of the roof had seen better days, and the porch could barely hold the old rocking chair that her dad liked to sit on in the mornings. Clark would never know how the inside looked even worse.

“Do you know what you wanna be when you grow up?” She asked with a soft smile, taking no offense as Clark tried, once again, not to meet her eyes. The swoop of his brown hair was nearing the tops of his eyes, but she knew he wasn’t inclined to cut it. He didn’t buzz his hair like the other boys.

“I…” He paused, foot kicking the uneven dirt under his shoes. He bit his lip lower lip and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, met her honey eyes.

“Yes?”

He took a deep breath and lightly shrugged, “Sometimes, I feel like I don’t know who I am. I think I wanna figure that out first, ya know?”

No, she didn’t know but asking Clark to explain how he felt could feel like pulling teeth. Golden honey stared into the aquamarine sea, two sets of young lips wet and wanting, and Connie picked at her pants, nails bending with surprising force.

The door to the Mayfield hold slammed with a grotesque force, and the two teens jumped away from one another as Walter Mayfield grunted his way to them, to Clark.

“’Thought I told you to stay away from my daughter, Kent!” Walter bellowed, nearing the fourteen-year-old clear-eyed boy who showed no sign of backing down with his head held high and chest jutted out. 

“I don’t want you lookin’ at her, touchin’ her—“

Connie finally yelled, “Dad!” and stood between him and Clark, protecting her friend from the unjustified anger of her dad. She felt Clark’s fingers grip the back of her shirt and tug her closer, just as Walter stood over them with beady eyes and steam shooting from his ears.

“Get in the house, Connie.” Her dad growled, never looking away from Clark.

But she shook her head and pushed against her dad’s chest, ignoring Clark’s fingers still gripping the back of her shirt. “We weren’t doing anything, go back inside, please.”

A startled yelp left her throat as her dad’s strong fist lurched her forward by the front of her shirt, throwing her to the ground and out of Clark’s grip. The air left her lungs and the dirt felt dry under her fingertips, watching as Clark seemed to vibrate in place, glaring deadly at Walter.

“If I ever see you ‘round here again, Kent.” He spat, “I’ll make you wish you were never born. Are we clear?”

The threat hung between the adult and young teen, and Clark tightly nodded and stalked off down the dirt path, not once looking back at Connie, never seeing the tears in her eyes.

Walter stared down at his daughter with a sneer, “Get inside. I won’t say it again.”

The dried dirt caked under her nails as she scrambled to stand and bolt inside, not taking note of the woman asleep on the couch that she’d never seen before, or the beer bottles covering the kitchen counters. The stairs creaked as she fled upstairs and shut her bedroom door, clicking the latch in place. A heaviness sat in her chest as her backpack thumped to the floor.

Beaded tears fell down her thick cheeks and light cries sounded through the room.

“—I want that boy away from my son!” the mother of Peter Ross screeched from the Principal's office. “Am I the only one who understands the situation? That boy lifted a bus from a lake. A bus! What kind of monster are we allowing to walk with our children?”

The meek father of Alice pepped up, “But—But he did save them, right?”

“It doesn’t matter, Martin. I don’t feel safe with him here, and neither should any of you.”

Martha Kent hung her head and left the Principal's office, ignoring the calls from the desperate parents. There was nothing else she needed to hear from them, especially insults about her son. The door shut with a click, and her heels clipped the floor with each step.

She did her best to smile at Clark, but he’d always seen right through that. He sat up straight and looked her in the eyes, his soft voice rivaling his posture, “How did it go?”

She knew Clark had heard every word already and that lying would only make him defensive. “About as well as you’d expect, honey.” She patted his shoulder and ushered him to stand, “C’mon, let’s go home.”

The car ride was silent aside from the tapping of Clark’s blunt nails on the fabric of his jeans, and the shaking of his leg. He was such a nervous boy—her Clark—and it pained her heart to see him to try to hide how this whole thing was tearing him up inside. They normally played the radio, Clark usually flipped stations and rarely settled on just one, but silence was all they heard.

Jonathon Kent watched his wife pull up, and frowned as Clark bolted from the passenger seat and fled into the backyard. He stepped outside just as Martha shut off the car and gingerly stepped out, walking into her husband’s arms with a deep sigh. Exhaustion ran deep in her veins, and Jonathon wished he could take it away.

“That bad, huh?” He muttered into her brown locks, feeling her nod into his chest.

“Talk to him.” She begged, trying to keep the tears at bay, “I think…I think it’s time he…” They both turned to face the barn with heavy hearts, knowing this would be for the best.

Jonathon nodded and released Martha, shooting a thin-lipped smile her way as he made his way to the backyard. His heart thumped as he eyed his son, whose legs were hanging off the back of his pickup, shoulders hunched in his blue hoodie. As he got closer, he could hear the sniffles from his son.

“Clark.” His son turned and wiped away the wetness on his cheeks. “I just want to know what happened. I’m not mad, I promise.”

Jonathon sat next to his son and watched his boys lip quiver. His words came out with a thin veil of pain, “I wasn’t thinking, Dad.” A hiccup escaped his throat. “She was so scared… I just couldn’t let her die."

The water was rising too fast—it was cold and soaked the kids instantly— and Clark watched as Connie grew frantic in her efforts to open the window enough to crawl out, or maybe she was trying her best to keep the water from flooding the already half submerged bus. Cries and screams rang through the drowning bus, and Clark swam, trying his best to make it to Connie

“Connie!” He yelled, reaching forward to snag her shirt and pull her away from the stream of flowing water.

“Oh god, Clark! We’re gonna die!”  Her screams were shrill and almost hurt his ears, but the smell of her fear mixed with the smell of tears and piss coming off the other students had him looking for a way out.  

But the water was nearing the top of the bus, and all he could hear was her cries.

“Son, I thought we talked about this.” He started, patting his own thigh, “We have to keep what you can do a secret.”

“They were all going to drown, how could I have done nothing? They didn’t deserve to die.”

“Clark, I just—“ Jonathon paused, watching the sunshine across the cornfield that spanned miles upon miles. It was an array of reds that shined upon the old graying barn. 

“I just want to protect you, son. And sometimes, when people see something they don’t understand, they get scared and lash out. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you.”

And finally, Clark asked the question that Jonathon had known would always come.

“Why am I like this, dad? Why am I so different from everyone else?”

Memories of finding their son, raising him to be the young man who sat at his side—through all the times he’d been different than the other kids, and knowing all of the hardships that were yet to come. It was almost enough to make him cry.

Almost.

Jonathon stood up from the truck and stood in front of his son, placing both hands on his small shoulders. “I’m going to show you something, son, and it may make things make a bit more sense. But no matter what—“ He pressed his palm to his sons chest and smiled,

“You are my son.”

Part 2

[stardustkenobi]

Everybody Talks

Poe Dameron x Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: Hi all! This is my first ever post on this blog, critiques are always welcomed. Thank you for reading!

Eight days.

It had been eight days since the group of bright eyed and bushy tailed new recruits had arrived at the vast green home of the Resistance headquarters.

It had been eight days since you walked into the conference room allocated for you, an up and coming strategist, to conduct general on boarding before directing each individual to their various teams.

Eight days since you had glanced up from your data pad and met a head of unruly curls, a pair of brown eyes, and stubble three seats away from you at the long table, turning your life upside down.

Four months into the campaign against the First Order resulting in little to no sleep for the group of budding freedom fighters had done a number on everybody, including you. The only thing pushing you to keep going was the fact that enlistment numbers were rising.

However, the past week had presented you with different motivation.

Poe Dameron was a pilot and a damn good one at that. Fresh and confident from Yavin 4 with flight training from the moment he could walk, he was certainly quite the catch for the growing flight crew on the base.

Quite the catch, you thought to yourself as he stared you down throughout your presentation as if he was hanging on your every word. Tongue darting out over his lips, which he proceeded to bite in thought.

He hadn’t said one word to you, none of the recruits really ever did during onboarding sessions, and you were already hooked. Sure, you had everything you needed to know about him at your finger tips. But you wanted to know him. What did his voice sound like when he was talking about things other than aerial tricks and taking out First Order troops? Was he scared? What kept him up until all hours of the night?

Eight days of catching his eye at least once each time you entered into the mess hall. Brushing past him in the hallways as he chattered along happily with two of the older pilots that you had enlisted with. Skimming over reports in strategy meetings with your superior officers that held his name and information on his progress in training.

But not a single second to introduce yourself as more than just an upstart lieutenant there to lecture him on the importance of making sure his uniform was kept in impeccable condition and reading briefs twice over before setting out on a mission. And try as you might to get over the little fantasy you had built in your head of bumping into him in the halls and falling in love with him the moment your eyes locked because this was war and these things don’t happen outside of fairytales and more recruits would come and there would be other Poe Damerons, you couldn’t.

So here you are, eight days later with your legs tucked beneath you as you spent your day off on one of the grassy hills that covered the entrance to one of the hangers on the base. The sun warmed your face as you sat quietly sketching whatever caught your eye- X-Wings practicing different formations in the sky above, astromech droids rushing around the tarmac, trees in the distance.

“Must be nice to get your head out of the strategy room for once, huh?” A voice called from above you after you had become completely engrossed in sketching out the horizon line.

Your notebook slammed shut as you turned immediately, catching a blurred glimpse of two figures standing on the top of the hill covering the hanger. “You’re not supposed to be up there, cadet.” You called up, catching a glimpse of the uniform of one of the new recruits. The person standing with them was one of the mechanics you knew very well.

“I know.” The voice called again as its owner started to make their way down the side of the hill rather than following the mechanic down the hidden hatch that led into the hanger. “We were repairing one of the antennas for data reception up there- heard the view was stunning, asked around to see if any of the mechanics needed a hand getting their tools up.”

Your eyes widened as the unruly mop of curls finally came into focus- Poe Dameron was soon standing above you, watching you curiously as you scrambled to stand up. “What’re you up to?”

“It’s none of your concern.” You said as you brushed grass off of your pants. Being presented with the opportunity to finally introduce yourself informally did you no favors- you were tongue tied and immediately retreated into what was familiar and safe, speaking to him as his superior officer.

Poe took you in, hands on his hips as he chose his next words carefully. “I’d call you Lieutenant when I apologize for disturbing you, but I don’t see a uniform or anything denoting your rank for that matter.”

Your mouth opened to protest, then clamped it shut immediately. You stared him down, searching for anything to say at all in the silence that ensued.

“You never told us your first name.” He continued, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been trying to figure it out for the past eight days.”

“You’ve been counting, cadet?” You raised an eyebrow, heart racing as your posture relaxed a little bit. Your hands found their way into your pockets as well, desperately trying to hide the shock and excitement coursing through your veins at the fact that he had been counting the days since your first encounter as well and the fact that he wanted to know your name.

He rolled his eyes, nodding a bit. “Yeah. I have.” He chuckled, his gaze intense as he paused for a moment. “You don’t have to call me that- it’s just Poe.”

You studied him for a moment, drinking in his features for what felt like the first time. His eyes were light and full of spunk, matching the tone of his voice and the way he carried himself. He was handsome and he absolutely knew it, but it didn’t put you off. There wasn’t an ounce of arrogance radiating from his body- if anything, he seemed humble. Sincere. “Why’s that?” You finally asked, tilting your head ever so slightly.

He chuckled quietly, his nose scrunching up in a way that made your heart work just a little harder against your chest. “I heard you were from Yavin, too, one of my buddies told me. I wanted to put a name to the face that people are whispering about back home. You know- they say ‘did you hear about the girl from the outskirts of the Lost City of the Jedi? Defied her mother’s wishes, stopped training to be a pilot in the New Republic’s army, ran away’. They don’t ever say your name- they either don’t know it or don’t want to tip off any First Order bugs.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. “People are talking?”

He nodded slowly, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on your shoulder. “You’re kind of a big deal.” He said softly. “Resistance sympathizers are still under ground for… Obvious reasons. But when I did catch news of anything having to do with this cause, this mysterious girl from an abandoned village on Yavin always came up. How inspiring it is that she up and left, despite what her family wanted. Gave up everything, no questions asked.” He paused for a moment at your blank expression. “It has to be you, right? Who else could it be?”

Your chest swelled with the pride that you had consistently pushed down for your entire life, especially since joining the cause. It was bigger than you or any one individual’s actions and you typically scoffed at any type of praise that wasn’t for the group as a whole. However, coming from the man in front of you? That was something you could listen to for hours on end.

“You have no way of knowing that was me.” You finally said, swallowing the feeling bubbling up in your chest. “A lot of people from Yavin are starting to join up, for all you know your daring freedom fighting crush could be long gone. And I highly doubt you didn’t ask for my name before you enlisted if you hadn’t overheard it at least once. People aren’t that cautious in protecting the precious possessions of others, especially a name. Not when it comes to gossip, that is.”

“Well even if you aren’t her,” He started, eyes soft as he hesitated for a moment, then reached his hand forward to touch your arm, “I still want your name. Want to know you even just a little bit.”

His touch was feather light, but it didn’t stop your breath from shaking as you exhaled, catching his eyes once more. “Why don’t you find me at dinner tonight, cadet, and we’ll discuss it more.” You finally whispered, doing everything in your power to keep your knees from buckling.

He nodded with a wry smile, backing up. “I’ll see you later then, Lieutenant.” He said, looking a little victorious as he trudged back up the hill.

You bit your lip, nerves holding on tight before you stood on your toes slightly, calling out to him. “Hey, Poe?”

His head snapped back as he paused in his tracks, not turning to face you completely. “Yeah, Lieutenant?”

With a sharp exhale, your face fell into a smirk. “Her name is Y/N, and she’s a strategist living on D’Qar.” You called as you stepped forward a few feet. “She debriefs all new recruits, has her eyes on being a General some day, and is a hell of a pilot when Leia Organa lets her out of the war room for a breather.”

Poe’s face softened as a smile broke over his face. He gave you a simple nod- a token of gratitude for your divulging of that information. “I’ll see you in the mess hall tonight, Y/N.”

[thanks--for--listening]

Hood and Zip Ties

who among us hasn’t rewatched person of interest three years after it ended and rekindled an old obsession? here’s the first of probably a few fics bc man am i sick of school and obsessed with this show. also on AO3

~~

If Root took one more bite of that apple, Shaw was gonna kill her, mission be damned. 

It had been ten minutes. They’d been at the drop site for Ten. Minutes. And they had another nine hours and fifty before the machine could send them in blind to wherever it was they were going next, details of which Root either couldn’t or refused to disclose. 

“Do you have to eat that so loudly?” She groaned as Root took another bite. The other woman just looked over at her, wearing a smirk that drove Shaw mad. 

“Is it bothering you?” She asked, somehow mocking her and flirting with her at the same time. 

“What are we even supposed to do for ten hours? Your machine couldn’t have set us up with a tv? Or some vodka?”

“If you want entertainment,” Root stood up from the table and walked over to Shaw, “I’m sure I could think of something.” She tried to wink, and Shaw laughed as she closed both eyes. Guess a supercomputer could only teach you so much. 

“Nice try,” Shaw said, “but you should know that lines like that don’t really work on me.”

“I was merely suggesting we play a game.”

Shaw stared at her blankly. “A game?”

Root sat down on the floor, crossed her legs like a kindergartener. She nodded toward Shaw, then sighed when she didn’t sit down. “You and I both have a unique ability to lie and determine when others are lying. I say we put that skill set to the test.”

“And how would we do that?”

“Easy. We switch off telling each other something about ourselves. Other person has to guess if it’s the truth or a lie.”

Shaw stared at her. Normally, she’d laugh at the thought of spending her time playing dumb mind games with Root, but it wasn’t looking like she had many other options. Plus, she thought as she sat down, she could get something out of this. Leverage, for later. 

“Shall we begin?” Root said with a devilish smile, and Shaw held up a hand. 

“How do I know you don’t have your computer girlfriend telling you stuff about me?”

“Scout’s honor?” Shaw gave her a look, and Root sighed, taking her headphones out and placing her phone on the ground in front of her. “And, for the record? She’s not my girlfriend. Or a computer.”

“Whatever. Who’s going first?”

Root sat for a minute, wearing a smirk on her face and fire in her eyes. “I lost my virginity in a phone booth.”

“Oh, we’re starting there, are we?” Shaw said, before shaking her head. “Lie.”

Root shrugged. “It wasn’t my first time, but it was much more exciting.”

Shaw had a feeling Root expected her to ask about her real first time, to prove that she was interested. Instead, Shaw said “I have eight bugs split between Harold, John, and Bear.”

“Truth.” Shaw nodded. “How many of them are on Bear?”

“Four,” She said with a smile. “He’s the most important one. Can’t take any chances.”

Root looked at her, and she couldn’t quite decipher what feelings lay underneath that expression, so she did what she did best: she ignored it. “You’re up.”

They went back and forth a few rounds, each of them getting tricked once or twice, before Root said, “How about we up the stakes a little bit?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she drawled, “let’s add a little bit of excitement to this friendly competition.”

“And how do you suggest we do that? I don’t know about you, but I didn’t really get a chance to grab my wallet while you were kidnapping me and driving me all over town.”

“Who said anything about money?” She gave her that grin again, the one that was starting to set off her instincts, although which instincts was yet to be determined. “For every one we get wrong,” Root continued, “we have to take off a piece of clothing. Last one dressed wins.”

“Did you learn how to flirt from a fourteen year old boy?” Shaw asked, but the competitive fire in her was already burning, and she had never been one to turn down a challenge. “Fine. Whatever. It’s your turn.”

“I got my first kill when I was fifteen.”

“Lie,” Shaw said. She wasn’t surprised when Root shook her head. Part of her had known, and she wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t listened to her gut. Wishful thinking, maybe. She reached down and took off her socks, making a face at Root as she did. 

“Didn’t have much of a choice, but at least it showed me something else I was good at.” Root had a far-off expression on her face, and showed no sign of elaborating any further, so Shaw didn’t press. Even though she wanted to, a thought that surprised her.

“My mother still calls me every Sunday,” Shaw kept the game going, or tried to, anyway. Root looked at her in either awe or confusion or both, and Shaw felt an ounce of satisfaction that her distraction had worked, had pulled Root from whatever memory she’d started to spiral into.

“Lie.” 

This time it was Shaw who shook her head. “It’s a number that doesn’t belong to me, hasn’t in a while. Not sure if she knows that.”

“What does she know?” Root asked as she took her shirt off, and Shaw had to force her eyes from lingering on her exposed torso. 

“About this? Nothing. The official story is that I never existed, and the unofficial story is that I’m dead, but I don’t think she believes that. I think it’s why she keeps calling — to let me know she’s still waiting.”

“Are you ever going to call her back?”

Shaw hesitated. She hadn’t told anyone about her mom, hadn’t expected to tell Root tonight, but something about the way she looked at her, about what and where they were, made her feel...calm. Maybe it was the way Root was sitting: cross legged on the floor, God disregarded for the sake of integrity in a game that didn’t matter. Maybe it was because of how vulnerable she looked, her shirt crumpled on the ground behind her, sympathetic curiosity in her eyes. Whatever the reason, when she asked her question, Shaw answered. 

“Didn’t think I would ever get a chance, not before I got this job. But now...I don’t know. It might hurt her more, to see what I’ve become, then to leave her wondering if I did die out there, alone, with no record that I even existed.”

“Sounds like you still care about her.”

“It’s your turn, Root.” 

“Fine.” Root looked at her, didn’t let her look away as she said “I’ve only ever cared about one person in my life. Not counting Her, of course.”

Shaw hesitated. She knew the answer — she just wasn’t sure she believed it. 

“True.”

Root nodded, and Shaw could see there was sadness in her eyes, but she didn’t know what to do with it. “What was her name?” She asked, taking a shot in the dark that Root’s silence was an invitation to ask questions, to do what she’d done. It seemed as if the rules of their game were shifting, and Shaw wasn’t sure she knew how to play anymore.

“How do you know it was a girl?” Shaw raised her eyebrow, and Root laughed, just a little. She found that it didn’t annoy her as much as everything else Root did. “Her name was Hannah,” she continued, “I was thirteen and in love with her.”

“I’m sure that went over well in Nowhere, Texas.” This time it was Root who raised an eyebrow at her. “What? You’re not the only one who’s done their research.”

“I didn’t stay long enough to find out,” she said, “and Hannah never found out, either.”

“I know,” Shaw said. When Root looked at her, she elaborated. “I read the boys’ file on you. I know what happened. I only asked because I thought you wanted me to.” Shaw shook her head. “She didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Root asked. “Sorry?” What should have been a rude and insulting question, even for someone like her, was altered by the genuity in her voice. It compelled her to answer, instead of ignore it. 

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I think so. I don’t think a kid should ever die, and just because I don’t care for people doesn’t mean I don’t know that it hurts when you do.”

“You don’t care for people? Ever?”

“I don’t know,” she said, and a handful of faces flashed in front of her eyes. She‘d deflected the question once already, before Root could even ask it, but for reasons unknown to her, she didn’t this time. She wondered if her conversation with Gen had any influence on her sudden desire to keep talking. “I think I cared for my parents. Pretty sure I cared about Cole. There was a girl when I was a kid — annoying thing who wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t get it at the time, but I think I cared about her, too. In my own way.”

“Do you care about Harold and John?”

“I guess,” Shaw answered. “It’s complicated. I don’t want anything to happen to them, but I’d survive if something did. Not sure if that counts as caring.”

“Do you care about the kid? The one you saved a few days ago? Gen?”

“Maybe. I like her — she’s got good instincts, even if she doesn’t know quite what to do with them yet. And she means well — she’d fit in with Harold’s group of saviors if she were ten years older. But is that caring about her? If something happened to her, it would be upsetting, mostly because she’s so young. At least Harold and John have lived a life, you know?”

“Do you care about me?” Her tone didn’t change, but Shaw could feel a shift. She suspected Root had only asked the other questions to get to this one, had set the whole game up so that Shaw wouldn’t lie to her. Not that she would have anyway, but at least now she knew Root could call her out on it if she tried. So she told her the truth. 

“I don’t know. Maybe if you stop kidnapping me to go on secret missions, I’d be able to find out.”

“You’re saying you don’t like our missions?”

“I didn’t say that,” she kept surprising herself with the words that came out of her mouth, and the fact that they were true. “If we could do without the taser next time, though, that might smooth things over.”

“I thought you liked that kind of thing,” Root said, and Shaw usually couldn’t stand the shameless flirting, but she found she didn’t want to stop it. Not tonight, at least. Not yet. 

“Taser is a bit overkill. Not enough pleasure involved. Those zip ties on the other hand...I could think of a handful of ways we could put those to good use.”

“We?”

Shaw just shrugged. “Unless you want to keep playing our game instead.”

“That’s up to you, Sameen. It’s your turn.”

Shaw felt the familiar heat deep in her gut and smirked. One night didn’t mean anything, anyway. “I’ve never thought about this before,” she said, and she had her shirt off before Root could even finish saying the word “Lie.”

Shaw waited a minute, let Root look her over, before whispering, “Your turn.”

Root pushed her phone to the side, reached for the extra zip ties that had fallen off the table behind her, leaned in closer until there was just enough space between them for her to look Shaw in the eye as she said, “I have no idea what’s about to happen.”

Shaw eliminated the distance between them, and spoke as their mouths collided. “Lie.” 

[moondustis]

heaven all around me (m)

pairing: mark lee + reader genre: smut word count: 5,1k summary: when you’re eight mark lee pushes you inside a lake. at nineteen you fall a little in love with him. (church camp!au) warnings: loss of virginity a/n: this is somewhat the sequel to innocence, you don’t have to read it to understand this one but it would be nice since there are a few mentions of what happened in the other story.

living in a small town meant a lot of things. it meant that there was no such a thing as keeping a secret because everyone knew everything about anyone that dared to breath. it meant everyone was raised inside a church and couldn’t miss the sunday mass for anything in this world. it also meant that every year, since you were seven, when the july heat finally came, you’d have to pack your things and spend four days away at the middle of nowhere at church camp. because apparently jesus wanted you to or whatever, it was a nightmare. summer was an awful season to be out and about like this and having to share a room with 20 other girls just made it all worst.

you hated the silly group dynamics and that every morning you would have to wake up early to help get the breakfast ready. but what you hated the most was that this year the only person that you cared about in this hell of a city wouldn’t be there. jung jaehyun had not only left you one year ago with the pieces of your broken heart in his hand, but he also left you alone to endure church camp all by yourself.

all the dramatics aside, it really sucked that you wouldn’t have his company during the four days there were about to follow, but thankfully, at 19, you would not only be attending the camp for your last time but you would only be there to monitor the children while staying in a cabin by yourself.

it couldn’t be that bad.

✱

(day one)

once upon a time, when you were just an innocent girl, at the sweet age of eight, you met mark lee. you probably had seen him before at church or at camp, but no interaction had been as memorable as this one.

mark, slightly taller than you even then, pushes your small body inside the lake. it was an accident of course but your eight year old mind couldn’t process that. so you scream and cry, trying your best to remember how exactly to swim even if the lake is not that deep, until jaehyun jumps in and saves you. always the good guy.

after you’re not almost drowning you proceed to call mark every bad word you know, which are not many since you have been raised inside a church. but still, he looks hurt when you call him ugly and mean.

you’re not upset about that anymore, of course. it’s been years and even if you haven’t really had a conversation with mark since then, you don’t hold any grudges. but still, as you walk inside what was supposed to be your private cabin and see him standing there, that’s the first thing that pops in your mind.

“oh, hello.” it’s what he says when he notices you. his baggage is up on one of the two single beds in the room, clothes folded neatly inside of it. on the bedside a bottle of water, earphones and a burt’s bees lip balm. he looks as surprised as you are.

“uhm, hi.” you say, pushing your own luggage inside and plopping down on the other bed. the cabin is small but cozy enough, there’s a fan in the ceiling that you’ll probably be thankful for very soon. “i thought i would be at the cabin by myself.”

“yeah, they said there weren’t enough cabins this year for that.” he scratches the back of his head like he feels awkward. “i actually thought i would be sharing it with another dude”

you raise one eyebrow at him. “do you have a problem sharing it with a girl?”

he lets out a nervous laugh. “what? no, of course not. it’s just that well, you know, it’s church camp.” he says and you can’t help but laugh for real.

there’s a pause where he eyes you for an uncomfortable moment and in a blink he’s looking away. you can already feel a drop of sweat going down your neck from the heat. you hate summer. “i’m mark, by the way.”

you scoff at that. “come on, you don’t have to introduce yourself. i know who you are, you dumped me in a lake remember?”

the look of terror in his face is comical and you can’t help but let out a laugh. everything about mark so far has screamed shy boy, even if you know he can be quite the opposite around his friends. “oh my god? you remember that?” he asks, voice sounding funny.

“of course, pretty hard to forget the first time someone pushed me in a lake.” you indulge him, moving to open your backpack and place your own things at the bedside table. “only time actually.”

“look i’m so sorry, i swear it was accident.” it’s cute how he starts babbling like you would actually still be upset about the whole thing. you turn to throw a smile his away.

“relax, mark. i know. i didn’t mean it when i called you mean.” he looks almost relieved.

“what about me being ugly?” it’s weird how your heart warms up a bit at the fact he remembers exactly what you said back then. you stare a bit at the bedside table before replying. your orange water bottle and carmex lip balm standing next to his own things.

“maybe i didn’t mean that too.” you tease, looking at him again with a smirk on your face that he returns with a laugh.

he has finished setting his things up, now sitting on his bed like you were moments ago. you finally take in how he looks, jeans and a t-shirt that has the drake praying hands on the right. his face still resembles his eight year old self but he definitely has grown into a handsome man, round eyes and all.

“still, it was pretty low of you to say that back then.” his words get you out of your mini daze.

you finish up your things too, not bothering to do much because you know everything will be a mess in a couple of hours. “i’ll admit i was pretty savage at eight.” you reply back and enjoy the sound of the laugh he lets out. you’re glad it’s not weird with him, it would be awful to share a room for four days with someone you didn’t really get along with.

it’s silence for a couple minutes after that, only the sound of people moving around outside. you notice he avoids your eyes a bit but it’s not at all uncomfortable.

you break the silence by asking if he knew what you two would have to do for the rest of the day and you don’t even mind when he proceeds to tell there will be a fire pit and marshmallows at night.

✱

(day two)

one thing you can say for sure is that summer is the worst of all seasons. you think about that as you wake up with a layer of sweat covering your body. your leg starts itching, probably because of a bug bite and you groan trying to scratch it with your left foot. you have no success.

last night fire pit had been fun, the kids behaved and you probably ate more s’mores than you should, your tummy hurting a little bit after. the bug bites you got from it though, not so funny.

you remember mark playing that church song on his acoustic guitar and a silly smile finds its way to your lips. you never really noticed mark much before, but yesterday as you spent more time with him you couldn’t help but get acquainted with some of his habits.

the way his nose scrunches sometimes, how he does his best to guide and help when a kid comes asking for help, how he hums pop songs when he’s bored. you pay attention when he jokes around his friends and can’t help but laugh at how silly he is. he insisted that you sat with all of them during meals since jaehyun was well, your only friend and now you didn’t have anyone to sit with.

at night you notice how he applies the burt’s bees chapstick like his life depends on it, and after you question it he explains that his lips get chapped during summer.

you find it cute how he prays before sleeping and when he mutters good night you say it back while your stomach goes a little wild with butterflies. and too many s’mores.

you get up from the bed quietly, doing your best not to wake him up and try not to curse out loud when you can’t pick short shorts and a tank top for your daily outfit because it just wouldn’t be appropriate for the ambient.

you meet up with mark and his friends for breakfast an hour late, wearing adequate length shorts and a snoopy blue t-shirt that is a little too big for you. your monitor bottom stuck on it.

“do you already know what college you’re going to, ______?” renjun asks, cereal still in his mouth and you find it a little gross. you’re sitting on a table with him and three of mark friends that you’re familiar with, but not friends with. until now that is.

“oh, i think i’ll be going to snu.” you say, rolling around the spoon on your own bowl of cereal.

“mark is going there too!” jeno, another one of mark friends, says excitedly just as mark arrives at the table with a tray of food in his hands.

“i’m going where?” he asks, sitting right next to you and you can’t help but feel like a silly teenager when your heart flutters at how your knees touch.

“to snu! _____ is going there too.” jeno replies and mark’s eyes widen as he looks at you.

“well, i’m not really su-“ you start saying but mark cuts you off by saying a little too cheerful.

“that’s so cool!” he exclaims, grinning around the food he is putting in his mouth.

you nod, smiling back at him.

the rest of the day goes by smoothly, you lead a group of sweet girls on the track and they don’t give you much trouble beside one that falls down and starts crying. you manage to calm her down pretty fast though, and soon she’s moving around like nothing happened.

during the afternoon you and mark watch as the kids have fun at the lake. you and him stay by the border, legs swirling around the water as you talk about things that don’t really matter but still make you feel nice. he tells you about the songs he likes and promises to make you a playlist when he has access to spotify again. you both exclaim in join as you find out about your mutual enjoyment of bittersweet foods and you tell him he definitely needs to try the dark chocolate ice cream at the place just across church. he tells you you’ll have to take him there someday and you agree.

you spend more time talking to mark than watching the kids and when he asks if you want to just say fuck it and swim too you say yes. the water is slightly cold and your t-shirt clings to your skin in an unpleasant way but you have fun as mark chases you to try and splash water on your face.

when the night comes you realize you have talked to mark so much that you feel like you have been friends for ages. it feels so comfortable and familiar that when you both lay down to sleep you’re still chatting, only stopping when he realizes it’s midnight and you’ll both wake up early tomorrow.

you dream of the sun and of his smile.

✱

(day three)

if someone asked mark what could go wrong at church camp a few years ago he would say that probably not much. maybe there could be a problem with the children or the lake but besides that everything stayed peaceful like it should be.

but right now, as he wakes up to your sleeping body on the bed next to him, he thinks that there are a number of things that could go wrong. you sleeping is not the problem here, of course not, it has been three days now since you’ve been sharing a room and he’s more than used to your little snores. the problem is the way your blanket had moved a lot during the night because you couldn’t keep still. the problem is how the single t-shirt you wear to sleep has ridden up quite a bit and the first thing his eyes are met with when he gets up is your ass, clad in baby pink panties.

it’s a lot, it really is. he’s sure he’s about to get a whiplash or something like that because for one he has never seen a girl wearing less than a short skirt outside the porn he sometimes watches. two, he shouldn’t be staring at you like this, wishing he could touch and wondering how soft it would feel. three, he definitely shouldn’t rush to the bathroom to jerk off in the shower while thoughts of you underneath him fill his mind. on church camp of all places.

still, he strokes his dick as images of you doing filthy things fill his mind in an intoxicating way. he wonders what jaehyun made you do to him, wonders if you gave him head.

wonders if he gave you head and as the thoughts of his head between your legs hit him he comes with a quiet moan.

he feels guilty as he watches his come mix with the water and fall down the drain. he thinks about how he is going to confess to the priest about doing this, thinks that there’s no way he can do it.

he goes back to the cabin to find you already awake, shorts on this time as you down what he thinks is your birth control pills. your hands bring your orange water bottle to your lips and he can feel his cheeks heat.

“why did you wake up so early, dude?” you ask, after swallowing down the water. if you notice the way he’s acting you don’t mention.

he sits down on his bed, grabbing his phone so he can distract himself with something, anything. a puppy shows up in his instagram feed, he thinks you’d like it. damn. “don’t know. it was too hot to sleep

maybe.” he says, looking up from his phone.

you have your back to him, rummaging through your luggage for clothes to wear for the day. he stares at your ass, the shorts you’re wearing not doing much for you, while you say something he doesn’t quite catch.

you try your best not to laugh when you turn around and he fails very miserably at trying to look away quickly. “i’m off for a shower. do you want to meet up at the cafeteria for breakfast after?” you ask.

“sure.” is his reply as he watches you nod and then leave the room. when the door closes behind you he lets out a groan against his pillow.

✱

(day four)

people ask you about jaehyun all the time. they ask if you have heard of him (yes, you have), if he’s enjoying college (yes, he is), if you miss him (yes, you do). they ask about him so much that it’s not a surprise when marks does it too.

“are you still friends with jaehyun?” he asks knees nudging yours. you’re both sitting on his bed, backs pressed against his wall and fan making your hair wave a little.

“yes.” you say without hesitation “i don’t think we will ever stop being friends, i’ve known him for my entire life.”

mark hums and you know he understands. he mentioned a boy named donghyuck and how they have been for friends for so long that they can always tell what the other is thinking sometimes. “do you talk often?” he asks.

“sometimes.” it’s true, you used to text a lot more but after the last time you thought he was avoiding it. he had texted you at two am, probably drunk for a party and talking about how much he missed you. you had given in, saying the things he wanted to hear and even after he apologized the morning after a lump still formed on your throat when you thought about it. you missed him, there was no denying that.

mark seems to notice the sudden change in your mood because he doesn’t press on the subject anymore.

“what about you and yeri?” you decide to ask to break the silence. yeri was the girl mark dated for about 3 months, she was cute and petite and everyone including found that they made a cute pair together.

you find the awkward laugh he lets out cute. “uhm, we don’t talk anymore.” he says, picking at his nails. “we were never really friends to begin with.”

“oh.” is you smart reply and then you’re saying something that is probably slightly dumb and offensive. “i was pretty shocked when i find out you two were dating, i can’t really imagine cute little yeri having sex.”

you laugh as he blushes and starts shaking his head. “no, oh my god.” he stutters, avoiding your eyes. “we never did anything more than kiss, she...i...well, we both wanted to wait.”

you realize then that it was a silly thing to say, not every relationship had to revolve around sex. you apologize and he just shakes his head saying it’s okay. “uhm... what about you?” he asks, risking a look your way. “and jaehyun.”

you shift a little on the bed. “we did.” you say lowly. “it’s kind of stupid really. see, i thought we were getting married so there was no point in waiting.”

his mouth forms a little o and he nods, his eyes are a little glazed you notice and there’s a want in the back of your head that wants to kiss him.

“i don’t really care about that anymore.” he mutters, his legs move and you feel it touch yours. “waiting i mean. i still respect what it means, of course, but i’m not like living by it anymore.”

you nod, eyes staring at him until he looks back at you. it feels like a lot of time passes and it’s just silence and the sound of the fan. you are suddenly hyper aware of the fact he has pretty lashes and that his cheeks are slightly pink. you notice the few acne scars and the fairest trace of an stubble on his chin. he looks handsome and his eyes are staring at your lips.

you move in first, lips touching his with care and at first he stays still. a second passes and he’s kissing you back, hand moving to your neck as he moves closer to you. he’s a good kisser for someone who’s probably not very experienced, you ponder that you probably aren’t either since the only person you’ve ever kissed was jaehyun.

he tastes like the burt's bees chapstick when you lick his lips to deepen the kiss. he whines at the way your tongue moves against his, quick to follow and your hands go to his shoulders. you kiss for what feels like hours until you start to get uncomfortable by the position and move to place yourself on his lap, lips not leaving his.

in a very quick second you sit down on his lap, maybe a bit too roughly and you feel his hard on press against you. it shouldn’t be a surprise, you’re a little affected yourself even more when moans against your mouth because of the small friction.

you stare at him, his lips swollen and pupils blown out. there’s a blush definitely painting his cheeks now. “sorry.” he whispers, avoiding your eyes.

“it’s okay.” you say voice soft and you take a moment to think about it, think if you should say what you want to. “mark, look at me please.”

you run a finger through his hair and his eyes finally meet yours. his hands stay at your hips while you move to press a peck on his lips and then another. “please, don’t think you are obligated to accept this.” you start, biting the lips in the process. “but would you like to fuck me?”

his eyes widen before his mouth is forming an o. “yes, please.” is what you say and you feel you your inside tingle at it.

“do... do you want me to?” he asks and you’re nodding enthusiastically in a second.

“i really want you to.” and then you’re kissing him again. it’s still slow and gentle but messy in a way the you like. your hands find their way underneath his t-shirt and you bask in the way he’s so sensitive about everything you do. just the brush of your finger against his nipple has him whining against your tongue.

you grab the hem of his t-shirt, signaling for him to help you remove it and he does. when he finally throws it across the room you start pressing kisses all over him, on his neck, his chest. his hard on presses against the inside of your thigh and you feel yourself clench at the thought of having him inside of you.

you remove your top as well, leaving your bralette on for the time being. when you look at mark he’s staring right at you, the look in his eyes so sinful that you are sure you’re going to hell. it’s sin how good you’re feeling and it’s a sin that you’re about to take his virginity here of all places on earth.

“don’t you want to touch me, mark?” you ask, and he blinks at you.

✱

mark feels on heaven. he feels warm all over, so hard in his pants that he’s afraid that tiniest action from you will make him come. he watches as you remove your top, eyes almost black from lust.

he can feel your eyes on his face but he can’t look at way from the way your lacy bra looks against your breasts. they’re not doing a very good job at covering because he can see your erect nipples peeking through it. he wonders what it feels like.

there’s a necklace on the valley between your breasts, a cross to be more specific, and it raises a little with every breath you take. it looks sinful.

he blinks when you ask if he wants to touch. he does, so desperately that in a second his hand is moving against your boob, feeling how soft it is against his palm. you moan when he teases your nipple and he swears no other sound is ever going to top this.

you look beautiful, breathtaking, even more so when you reach for your back to remove the bra completely. you’re left with your chest bare against him, moaning again when he can’t help but buckle his hips up against you. your hands go to his shoulders for leverage, your lips meeting his again and it feels like bliss.

he lets his hands wander on your chest and it seems to please you if the way you start rolling your hips slowly is any indication. it’s so good that he can’t focus on anything besides it, can’t even keep kissing you, mouth falling open just as his eyes. “fuck.” he mutters as an electrifying wave of arousal runs through his body and he grips your hips tighter, urging your movements on.

“feeling good?” your voice is dripping honey, whispered right at his ear and he feels like he could come right now. just let it go but he doesn’t want it to end, wants to feel you around him.

“yeah.” his voice is raspy and when you smile at him he swears he falls a little in love “really want to fuck you.”

you move up from the bed, his eyes watch as you take off your shorts and panties in one swift motion. his mind feels dizzy and he swears he’s about to have a whiplash at the sight of you naked in front of him. for him. “you have to prepare me a little before we can do it because it has been a while.” you say as you climb up his lap again, he notices there’s a blush on your cheeks probably shy from being naked around him. “can you do that?”

he nods, moving to kiss you again. “how?” he has an idea, has seen how they do it on porn but he doesn’t want to do anything you don’t like so he waits for your guidance.

you take his hand in yours, the size difference making his heart do something weird, and guide it to your bare pussy. you press two of his fingers on top of what he assumes is your clitoris, and with yours on top you start drawing little circles on it. your eyes flutter close. “just like this.” you sound a little breathless. “then you can put your finger inside me.”

he nods again, moving his fingers like you guided him when you move your hands away to grip at his shoulders again. after a while he moves his finger down, feeling around until he finds your entrance. you’re really wet is the first thing his mind registers, so wet that when he presses his finger inside of you it slides in easily. it’s warm and spongy and he wonders how the hell he’s going to fit inside of you when he barely manage to accommodate his second finger when he presses it in.

you put on a show of whining and moaning, head pressed against his neck as you try to ride his fingers. it’s a sight to see, a sight he’ll probably never forget. he can picture himself in 5 years still jerking off to this, the way your breasts felt against his chest and how you moved up and down his fingers, making them wet.

he takes a deep breath when you say you’re ready. takes another one as you help him get rid of his shorts and boxers. another as you eye the way his dick stands against his stomach, eyes hungry. he takes the last deep breath when you move on top of him again, calming his worries about a condom by saying it’s okay, you’re clean and on the pill and all he can do it let his eyes fall close as you sink down on him slowly.

he tries to keep his eyes open, wants to see this moment so he can remember it too but it’s too much. to warm and too tight and he has to grip your hips tight to prevent himself from buckling his hips up and sliding all the way inside of you in one go.

you sigh when you finally bottom up and he opens his eyes, immediately staring at his cock buried inside your cunt and when you clench around him, probably just to tease, he has to count to ten so he doesn’t come right there. “oh my fucking god.” he breathes.

“you feel so good, mark.” you don’t sound like one of the porn stars he watches. it’s much better and he wants to stay like this forever, feeling you warm and flush against him. wants to taste your lips on his forever.

“you too.” he replies, hissing when you suddenly start moving. “i feel like i’m gonna come at any moment.”

you laugh a little at that, moving a little faster. “i’m pretty close too.” he can see the way your cross necklace jumps at little with your breasts and the way you’re bouncing up and it’s a little too much for him. he lets self control aside as he starts moving with you, hips bucking up upwards in quick motions and he thinks he’s doing the right thing by the way you moan his name.

he comes suddenly, not because of anything in particular, just a stroke that felt too good and he’s filling you up, trying to press as deep as he can. his visions going black for a little and he can only make the outlines of you rubbing your clit in fast motions before you’re coming too, clenching around him and making him shiver from oversensitivity.

your body falls putty against him and neither of you make any signs to move.

✱

you feel exhausted as you let yourself fall into mark’s arms. his breath is a little ragged like yours and he keeps his eyes shut close, and head on the wall as he runs his hands mindlessly through your back.

“we should move and get cleaned.” you say as quietly as possible. as if anything louder than that would disturb the moment. it’s hot and clammy in mark’s lap but warm and nice at the same time, the room smells so much like sex and like him that it makes everything more real.

you move from his lap with a sigh and plop down on his bed with your head following on his pillow. he gets up to look for something, clothes maybe and you close your eyes and hold back the want to cry. you have no idea why you are getting so emotional, maybe because this is the first time you had sex after the breakup, maybe because this is the first time you kissed someone after jaehyun.

as you feel the mixture of your cum and mark’s running down your thighs you realize it’s because it felt right to do it with mark and now you have to let go of the thought you were holding so tightly to, the thought that jaehyun was the only one that would ever make you feel like this. that you were meant to be.

mark comes back, a baby wipe in his hand and he offers it to you. you blink away the tears that were trying to form and start cleaning yourself. “are you okay?” he asks, throwing on boxers and a t-shirt.

“yeah.” you reply, throwing the baby wipe away and putting on the t-shirt he offers you. it smells like him and it feels right against your skin. “i think i got the sheets dirty.”

he shrugs, saying it’s okay since you’re leaving tomorrow morning anyway. when he lays down on the bed next to you it dips and you let him throw his hands around your waist, bringing you closer to his chest.

when you close your eyes you remember when you thought for a brief moment in the past that jaehyun was your soulmate. now your mind laughs at the thought because how would jaehyun be your soulmate if mark is making you feel the same way he did.

you let yourself fall asleep. tomorrow is a new a day.

[seenashwrite]

Some Dean

Word Count: 4K Category: One-shot, On-The-Hunt, Humor, Creature Feature, Behind-the-scenes Canon-Compliant, Teamwork, Friendship… and, to hell with it: Fluff Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, Cas Warnings: None Anti-Warning: There’s no images or links to anything creeptastic below the cut, those of you with squicks/phobias need not worry, I’m not that big of an a-hole Author’s Note(s): *This is a re-post minus tags & links in an effort to get it to show in searches*; if you’ve no knowledge of the children’s story “Charlotte’s Web”, this may not be for you; more post-story Overall Summary: Sometimes good things come in small, albeit eight-legged, packages.

Dean had always liked spiders.

Well, “like” may’ve been overstating; Dean had always held an appreciation for spiders. They weren’t nasty like rats or sneaky like snakes, with spiders you knew where you stood: in his experience, anything supernatural aside, you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone. Plus, they were badass - spiders packed a lot of intimidation into a small package, could be killing machines when they wanted to be, and mostly he appreciated that they were efficient and effective when it came to dealing with the annoying bugs that occasionally popped up. He did live in a basement, after all; the world’s tiniest were not deterred by any amount of warding or weaponry.

So when he’d notice small, barely-there wisps of webs in far corners or between the bottom of a bookshelf and the wall, stretching from the carved wood to the sticky bricks, he’d leave the homemade traps be for a week or two if they were empty, and sure enough, they’d have captured some crawlers next time he made a run-through with the vacuum. It was an amicable relationship - Dean never saw the spiders, just their handiwork, and the webs seldom popped up in the same space twice. Plus, they seemed to know the kitchen was a no-fly… spider… zone, so all was well.

And then came Charlotte.

Charlotte - as Dean had eventually started calling the garden spider, much to Sam’s dismay - did not have any regard for the out-of-sight, you-don’t-get-the-boot arrangement, nor did she have any regard for giving Dean his space. The day they met, he’d sauntered into the garage, popped the Impala’s trunk, tossed in a bag and a shotgun, yelled at Sam to hurry up, then went to reach for the driver’s side handle, caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and froze. And he wasn’t the only one.

The web was thick at the edges and delicate in the middle, stretching from the side mirror to the handle, upon which Charlotte perched, her crafting put on hold. She wasn’t terribly small, but not remotely large; she would’ve easily fit on the pad of his thumb. And she was clearly of the brave - or stupid, perhaps - sort, because she didn’t immediately scurry off. She took in the sight of the giant creature before her - technically, there was eight of him, what with her four pairs of eyes and all - and she opted to see what would happen.

What happened was that Dean turned, grabbed a shop rag, and began cursing under his breath as he whipped the web into nothingness; by the time he stopped, Charlotte had skittered to places unknown.

Dean tossed the rag away, gave the handle a good eyeballing before he grabbed it, opening the door and saying in a low voice through grit teeth, “Not. The. Car.”

“What not the car?” asked Sam, bounding up the garage steps.

“Nothing,” Dean replied.

This nothing continued for six weeks.

Charlotte was a determined artist, it seemed, not to mention a fast one. She spun webs of all sizes and shapes, covering the license plate in quilt-panel squares, weaving long, ropy trails around and between the wipers, and at one point obscured the back window in a lacy pattern that Castiel noted looked like a fine guipure. She liked to travel, too, as more than once the brothers would exit a given roadside motel room to find Charlotte had been busy during the night, Sam’s personal favorite being when she’d decorated a hubcap in a complex Fibonacci design, though he’d never have let on to Dean.

On the initial occasions following such a discovery, if Dean happened to spot her, he would scold her with a sharp “NO!”, walk in her direction briskly, and she’d retreat, slipping into the trunk or under the hood, but it wasn’t long before she’d stay put, even edge closer, cutting the distance between them, eventually so bold as to crawl onto the roof of the Impala, watching as he dismantled her webs.

“Really?” he asked one morning after the latest wipe-down, bending slightly so they were eye-to-eyes.

She calmly extended one leg to the side, held it out til he got the hint, turning his head, following what he’d presumed was a point, and sure enough, he’d missed some cottony puffs that were still stuck on a tail light.

Looking back at her, he said - begrudgingly -  "Thanks.“

Dean had dealt with stranger things.

"One day I’m expecting to come out and see ‘terrific’ in a web,” Sam commented during a return trip from the latest hunt.

“What?” Dean asked.

“You know - the kid’s book. Charlotte’s Web. You read it to me when we were little. About the farm, and saving Wilbur the would-be bacon?”

“Charlotte’s anti-bacon?”

“No, I don’t think— it was— it— she was just pro-pig.”

It was after this conversation that Dean took to calling their frequent tag-a-long Charlotte. To be specific, it was after he’d brought a BLT with him into the garage while working on the car, and she’d happily investigated a bit of bacon that had escaped his plate. A point to the pro-bacon column, he thought.

Dean informed her that he was fine with her hanging around, he was even fine with her fancy webwork, but she needed to cool it when it came to the car, explaining with lots of gesturing to make sure the message got across, just in case. He’d looked it up. Spiders did not have ears.

He’d also looked up things on spider life spans, and arachnid health in general. Sam found him in the library one evening doing just that, frowning at his laptop screen as he scanned. Castiel was nearby, returning some books to their places on the shelves.

“What is he doing?” Sam asked in a hushed voice, and Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but Dean spoke, diverting their attention.

“Did Charlotte look pale to you earlier?”

Now Sam frowned. “Dean… what?”

“I mean, she’s light brown, but she looked a little yellow earlier,” Dean explained, scrolling further down a page, but then closing the window with a huff and turning in his seat to face Sam. “Can’t find anything.” A pause; a thought. “Hey, I should put out a devil’s trap drawing for her, maybe a new pattern’ll perk her up.”

Sam was, in a word, startled. “Do you think of her as a pet?”

“Why do you care?”

“Oh, I dunno - because a spider is stalking us, and you’ve named it, and you talk to it, and—-”

“What, you got a thing about spiders to go with your thing about clowns, even though your imaginary friend was a clown?” Another pause. “Come to think of it, that explains a lot.”

“Sully’s not a clown, and no, I do not have arachnophobia, what I do have is a worry that - if it is a female - it may lay a bunch of eggs, then we’ll have an infestation. Is that what you want? Bunch of spider babies in your Baby?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “She’s not gonna do that.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Did she pinky swear?”

“Would you like me to have a look at her?” asked Castiel, and the concern in his voice was less for Charlotte and more for Dean, and less in the sympathetic way and more in the tiptoeing around someone who’s slipped into psychosis way.

Sam crossed his arms. “Taking it outside hasn’t worked, neither has trying to leave it wherever we’ve been hunting - this is getting ridiculous, will you just kill it, already?!”

Dean stood, walked over to him, defiant. “We not been doing enough killing for you lately?”

“It’s just a spider, Dean!”

“I know that! Maybe I just don’t wanna be scraping moist spider guts off my boot.”

“Does this spider communicate with you?” Castiel asked, the concern still floating under his words.

He was ignored.

“It’s not your pet, it’s a tiny insect - you don’t even know if it could be poisonous!” Sam exclaimed.

“Not an insect, genius, and Charlotte would never bite us—-”

“What is wrong with you?!”

“Have either of you considered the possibility that this is no ordinary spider?” Castiel suggested.

“Gee, thanks, Cas - no, hadn’t noticed that this is weird,” Dean shot back with a look.

“So you get that this is weird?” Sam checked.

“Our life is weird, what’s some more? And at least this is fun weird, is that so bad?” Dean replied, and the touch of melancholy in his voice caused both Sam and Castiel to stay quiet for a few moments.

The silence was broken by the ring of Dean’s phone - a case awaited them.

And, of course, Charlotte.

Dean looked up from the map as Sam came back into their motel room, six pack in one hand, phone in the other, kicking the door shut as he spoke.

“Jane called. She says a container ship from the UK was bringing in illegal cargo, for some rich people who wanted exotic animals for canned hunts—”

“Douche move.”

“—and apparently when they went to unload, the crates were all busted up. The hold was covered with what was left of the bodies of the animals. All except for one. Three guesses.”

“Big bad bacon?”

“Yup. And she thinks we’re looking at… ah….” Sam trailed off and chuckled.

“Yeah?”

“A cryptid. It’s called The Beast of Dean, a.k.a. the Moose Pig.”

“Why do I think that somewhere, somehow, whatever’s left of Crowley just got a chub.”

They were in a rural area of Virginia, not too far from Portsmouth, and had been for a week, tracking what sounded like a rabid boar, but there was enough of a bump-in-the-night bend to the word on the street that they’d been confident it fell in their wheelhouse. Now that they had confirmation, after a night of research and weapon prep, they were ready to knock out the most recent mission and get back home. The Dean-Moose was large, and it was anything but subtle. The hunt should be an easy one, wouldn’t take long, nothing to it.

Well. One thing. One sort-of big thing. Even though it was also a small thing. Sam’s pro-pig storybook spider and their companion, they’d come to find, had more in common than just a name.

.

STOP

.

There, stretched across the Impala’s grill the next morning, was an undeniable message, and given Dean’s jaw-dropped state, it prompted Sam to speak on his behalf.

“Um, Charlotte? Listen, I don’t know if you… you seem nice, and… really smart, but… look, this thing isn’t like that pig in the book.”

“Because she’s read the book,” Dean said sarcastically, breaking out of his stupor and stomping over to the car, sharp eyes looking for the sassy spider; no joy. “Hey, guess what?” he said loudly. “I’m gonna drive so fast that by the time I do stop, your web’s gonna get shredded, how do you like that? I told you my car was OFF LIMITS!”

With one last glare at the web, Dean got into the car, and Sam followed suit. They put on the radio and chatted about anything but spiders and pigs for the better part of an hour as they bumped along the winding back roads. And after parking at the edge of the woods where the most recent sighting of the beastly hog had occurred, they opened the trunk to find another message, one that unfurled neatly, springing open as the lid of the weapons compartment lifted.

.

REALLY! STOP, STUPID.

.

Punctuation, and all.

“You know…” Dean began, but trailed off with a shake of his head, snatching up the shotgun and pocketing a handful of the shells with the special filling he and Sam had cooked up the night prior.

Sam removed the freshly-etched-with-symbols machete. Dean slammed the trunk shut. Charlotte did not emerge.

As they walked deeper and deeper into the woods, Sam spoke in a quiet voice.

“When we get back, I’m calling Cas. This is out of control, Dean. The spider’s obviously somebody - or something - dicking around with us. Maybe that’s been the plan, keeping us from killing this thing.”

Dean didn’t look at him, rather kept scanning their surroundings as he responded. “Maybe. She… it… came around before that ship got here. But, yeah. Maybe something’s up.”

Sam reflexively sighed in relief, and at that moment Dean stopped, extended his arm to stop Sam’s progress, as well.

“Shhh. Listen.”

The growl was only audible for a moment before the foliage began to stir.

The hunt, it turned out, did not last long. The defeated brothers wearily tossed their dented weapons into the backseat and practically fell into the front. Dean immediately turned off the radio - the chanting of Duran Duran’s “Wild Boys” had come screaming through the speakers.

“It does kinda sound like they’re saying 'wild boars’,” Sam noted.

“Shut up.”

After they’d returned to the motel and showered, cleaned up their scratches and cuts, swapped torn clothing for intact, Sam went back to researching, while Dean went out to the Impala, damp washcloths in hand, and opened the trunk. It was barely even six o'clock, and there was still enough sunlight that he could see every trace of the webbing was gone. But he wanted to check that his little - former - friend hadn’t done anything else.

She had.

Sitting in the driver’s set, Dean’s eye was drawn to the thin, nearly opaque message across the radio, anchored by the knobs and an ejected tape.

.

BAD JOB

.

Dean swiped it away without a word, uttering a small groan and clutching his bruised ribs as he climbed out. He took a few steps, but then pivoted. He opened the door again and leaned in, voice tense as he spoke.

“Tell you what, how’s about I bring you some toothpicks and you join in tomorrow, help us out, get in a few stabs? Be useful, show us how it’s done?”

Dean fell asleep wondering if he’d completely lost his mind.

.

THIS IS DUMB .

Sam ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes - he’d been out the door first, so the newest message, covering the entirety of the hood, immediately made him brace himself for what was coming next.

But, surprisingly, Dean kept his temper in check; he merely set down his bag, returned to the room for a towel, and briskly wiped down the hood.

“Ready?” he asked Sam, forcing a smile that was likely more unsettling than intended.

Sam kept quiet, answering with a thumbs-up.

Their Everything’s Fine! charade was short-lived.

As with the prior morning, Charlotte had chosen to reinforce her message, wrapping the steering wheel so thickly it was barely visible, and her stance on their mission came through loud and clear.

.

THIS IS ACTUALLY DUMB .

Sam thought the choice of having the final “dumb” in bold italic for emphasis was a nice touch. And he noted the copious amount of webbing wound around the gear shift with raised eyebrows. And he gulped when he spotted more strands of said webbing emerging from the ignition. He cut his eyes over to Dean and, upon seeing his expression, took a step back.

This time, Charlotte did not hide. She’d positioned herself on the dashboard, right near the puffed-up wheel, standing with what could be described as quite the petulant posture. And much like the day the spider and the hunter had met, Dean froze.

Charlotte held her ground.

Dean’s nostrils flared.

Charlotte crossed her front legs as if they were arms.

Dean’s jaw clenched.

Charlotte tapped a back leg, as if to say Well get on with it.

Dean was still unmoved, and so Sam said, “You know, when you freeze like that, it’s really not as intimidating as you might—-”

“CHARLOTTE!” Dean bellowed.

She turned and sashayed to the glove box, crawling inside without the first indication she felt in any danger whatsoever.

Thankfully, the motel was just shy of a mile from from a modest gas station-diner combo. Sam talked Dean into a breakfast - with extra bacon, a thumb of the nose to both the beast and its defender. After they easily convinced the owner to loan them his truck, explaining their car’s fuel gauge was apparently broken, buying a can of gas for show, they promised they’d have it returned to him by morning.

As they drove back to grab their gear, Dean asked, “You hear from Cas?”

Sam nodded. “Reception’s crap, though - I can only hear parts of his voicemail. He found something about Charlotte, at least, I think. But he didn’t sound upset, like she was dangerous.”

“Let’s just roast the pig and get the hell outta here.”

“I’m sorry she’s not… you know, fun-weird anymore,” Sam said.

Dean lowered his foot, gunning the engine. “Yeah, well. Story of my life,” he muttered.

The truck was returned way before morning, this encounter with their newest foe having gone as well as the first. Then they found that Charlotte had removed all the web from the Impala, though the door to the motel room held some snark:

.

NICE HEAD

.

Dean barely glanced at it - possibly a little hard to do with the near swollen-shut, a breath away from blackened eye - and didn’t even bother to clean it off. There was no message from Charlotte the next morning. Dean did bother to wonder if she was gone.

The sound of the tree cracking sent both of them diving behind a small knoll, gasping for breath, cringing as it crashed down just where they’d been not seconds earlier.

“I’m empty,” Dean said, returning his gun to his waistband. “You?”

“About ten minutes ago,” Sam answered.

The beast’s growls now turned into a piercing scream, a most furious howl, angry it couldn’t find them. They heard it turning up earth with its tusks, sending rocks flying, then ramming its head into yet another tree, the trunk buckling under the strain. Dean had managed to send a bullet into its snout, likely preventing it from sniffing them out, if the occasional gurgling snorts were any indication. Sam had earned himself a minor goring to his calf, but otherwise they were intact.

“Think you can run?” Dean asked, gesturing to the bandanna-wrapped wound.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I think so. That the plan? Just make a run for it?”

“You got any better ideas?”

“On three?”

“One… two…. three!”

They dodged trees, though the beast didn’t bother, taking out the smaller ones along the way, picking up speed with every moment that passed, while the brothers were losing speed at the same time.

Dean noticed a large branch in their path up ahead and started to veer off from Sam, pointing to it and yelling, “Keep going! I’ll try to knock Porky out!”

“No!” Sam yelled back, grimacing each time his leg made contact with the ground. “It’ll kill—- HUUUURMMPPHH!”

Sam went down, Dean not far behind, something tripping both of them, causing them to fall with such force that whatever air they had left in their lungs got knocked out. Disoriented, they raised their heads only to immediately duck them, covering up with their arms, as the beast was still plowing ahead. Its hooves hit the ground in between them, tossing dirt everywhere, its speed too far gone for it to stop on a dime. They expected to soon hear it reversing course, so Sam opened his eyes, trying to spot a place to hide, Dean doing the same, trying to spot the branch.

Instead, the sound of the most meek squeal one could imagine reached their ears, prompting Dean and Sam to turn their gazes directly ahead.

They were at the bottom of a small incline, and they watched as the boar’s head rolled their way, their heads slowly turning as they observed it leisurely passing by. It came to a sudden stop against something near their feet. They shared a look, moving in sync onto their knees.

“Uh, Dean?” Sam said.

Dean looked up from inspecting the severed head to find Sam with his hand extended, pushing under something that Dean couldn’t make out, but a shift in position and a tilt of his head allowed him to see the bright moonlight glint off the surprisingly thick, iridescent rope running across Sam’s fingers.

Another look, another in sync movement as they stood, then tentatively walked forward til they reached the body. This time, Dean spotted it right away when he crouched, the finely-wound strands that were stretched between two trees, at just the perfect height to relieve a squatty hog monster of its head. He flicked it with a finger, as one would a string on a guitar, and it was just as taut.

“She clotheslined it,” Sam said, awestruck. “She tripped us so we wouldn’t… That could’ve clipped us at the knees. She… she…”

Dean looked up at Sam, and a slow smile spread across his face. "She’s awesome!”

Sam shifted his weight off of his bad leg, and grinned. “Think she’s any good with stitches?”

How Charlotte managed to spin their salvation in such little time, they’d never know, and they also had no idea how she beat them back to the car, but the evidence was there, across the driver’s side window. .

SOME PIG .

They laughed, Dean saying, “You ain’t lying.”

But before he could say anything else, Charlotte crawled out from under the handle. She scurried up her web, and as they watched, she whipped the “P” into a “D”; the “I” went “E” in a few short passes; the “G” was partially dismantled, then spun into an “A”; and in mere seconds, there appeared an “N”. .

SOME DEAN .

After a quick hop from its tip, a slide to the outside of one of the long connecting end pieces, and a drop of a new line of silk, their eyes followed her as she leapt, letting the momentum swing her clean up onto the roof. And then - Sam would swear to it, many times over the coming years - she curtsied.

“Thanks,” Dean said softly. “You, too.” With that, he opened the back door, gestured for her to climb inside.

Which, she did.

“Yes… yes… that’s very kind of you.”

Dean, Sam, and Castiel were standing outside the bunker, the former waiting patiently - and occasionally impatiently - as the latter had a conversation with Charlotte.

Castiel looked to them. “She says she likes my tie. The material meets her standards.”

Dean’s expression was completely flat, causing Sam to snicker.

“There any reason you didn’t tell us you could’ve been talking to her this whole time?” Dean demanded.

Castiel shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

It turned out that Castiel’s message had been to inform them that Charlotte was indeed a most special spider, more so than what they’d already divined. She was an emissary, an information-gatherer, a spy of sorts, though not a nefarious one. And because she herself was quite the accomplished hunter, she chose to spend time with other hunters whenever her journeys brought her to them.

And now, it was time for Charlotte to start her next journey.

Castiel was nodding his head as Charlotte, who was on his collar, near his ear, told him one last thing. “She’d like you to know that Sam was correct - she does need to prepare to lay her eggs, though she would not have done so in the car,” Castiel related.

Dean shot Sam a smug look.

“And she says she’ll name them Dean.”

Dean blinked. “All of them?”

“Yes.”

“How many we talking?”

A pause as Charlotte answered, and Castiel replied, “Anywhere from fifty to sixty.”

“That’s… a lot,” Dean said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“Not really,” Sam commented.

Another look from Dean - actually, he cycled through several.

“Fine. So maybe I did some research, too,” Sam admitted.

“It’s time for her to go,” Castiel announced. “She says she’s enjoyed your company immensely. And she apologizes for the web you’ve yet to find. It seems she was in a cranky mood that evening.”

“That’s okay. Tell her it’s okay,” Dean said, walking closer. “Tell her that, um… it’s been great knowing her. Don’t be a stranger. All that.”

Castiel smiled. “She knows.” He raised his hand to his shoulder, and Charlotte climbed onto it. “I’m going to give her a boost,” he explained, and then to Charlotte he said, “Please do give Mr. Anansi the Winchester brothers’ warmest regards.”

They watched as Charlotte prepped a silk balloon, and after a gentle wave of Castiel’s hand, off she flew.  

“It would be… cheesy of me to comment it is angelic, their flight, wouldn’t it?” Castiel asked.

“Yes,” Dean and Sam answered in unison.

They began to walk back inside.

“What was that at the end? About Anansi?” asked Sam.

“Networking,” Castiel replied.

“I wouldn’t worry about us ever having to tangle with him,” Dean said. “I mean, not with Charlotte on our side. She’ll talk us up. She’s a talker.”

“Plus, there’ll be all the Deans,” Sam added.

“Yup. Exactly. We are cool with the spider kingdom,” said Dean, and with great confidence.

Dean was incorrect on this point, as he and Sam would later learn, during a case involving a young lady by the name of Muffet.

But that’s another story.

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘

Author’s Note #2 - The Jane mentioned is a character from my story Supernatural: Revelation, which you can find linked on the master post -or- just go straight to AO3, same author name SeeNashWrite 😁

Author’s Note #3 -  This also included a prompt which had languished in drafts - albeit with the note “Anansi” from the get-go, thankyouverymuch! - which was from the cringeworthy submissions:

You can find all the #Nash300 Follower Celebration Master List of Madness stories (wherein I asked followers to send me prompts consisting of three words to make me cringe) via the Master Post.

Author’s Note #4: The beast of Dean mentioned is actually a thing, give it a google! And so is Anansi, check that out, too. If you don’t get the Muffet reference, well, I can’t help you with that. 😉

[written-rebellion]

Perfect Distractions

A/N: Weelcommee back to your 2 post a week schedule! In case you missed my little note last week, since we’re back into what’s expected to be an excruciatingly long Droughtlander, I’ve got you covered with twice the amount of disgustingly adorable fluff with your two favourite PD!nerds LOL

And what better way to ring in the new/old posting schedule with some celebratory smut? (i.e.: verra nsfw down below). Enjoy!!

Jamie gets inspired by a song, Claire’s stuck between a rock and a Jamie-place, and as always, the facts of this fanfic are contrived specifically to make fluffy university/modern-day au scenarios. Please let me know what you think!

Part One: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] | Part Two: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Three: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Four: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Five: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Six: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Seven: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eight: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Nine: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Ten: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eleven: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Twelve: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [ Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Thirteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Fourteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] Part Fifteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Sixteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Seventeen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eighteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Nineteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Twenty: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Twenty-One: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Twenty-Two: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

Part Twenty-Two: Here, There and Everywhere | Chapter 4

“Our dear Mrs. Bug sends her regards once again,” Jamie said with a laugh as he came in with this week’s spoils.

“Bless that woman,” Claire said, coming from the kitchen to greet Jamie in the front hall. She bit her lip, eyeing the hefty bag of treats swinging from his wrist.

“And how was the…” she trailed off, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“She wrote ye a wee list of tips for the next attempt, and a new recipe to try. It’s in the bag too,” he said, crossing the hall towards her and depositing said bag by the key table on the way.

“God bless Mrs. Bu—mmph!”

In the seconds it took for him to make it to her, Jamie had his arms wound around her waist, bending his head and kissing her deeply. Stunned for only a moment, she pressed herself into him with a soft hum as her hand slid up his chest.

She could almost taste his urgency, in no way an unfamiliar nor unwelcome feeling, but just slightly curious in its catalyst. Her chuckle broke them apart, but Jamie’s arms didn’t let her go very far.

“What on earth have you been up to, then?” she said, idly running her fingers through the shorter hair at his nape.

“Mrs. Bug—” She raised an eyebrow and he laughed, kissing her nose. “—was playing Beatles songs in her parlour. I heard one and thought of ye.”

“If you—mmm—say Eleanor Rigby, I will step right out of your arms this instant.”

They were so close, she could feel the laugh trembling in his stomach. His eyes though, were that dark, deep blue that rippled gooseflesh down her arm, every part of her body seeming to rise to meet his.

She took barely a breath before he buried his nose into the crook of her neck, gently scraping his stubble against her smooth skin.

“It reminded me,” he went on, unbothered, “that we’ve somewhat set aside our to-do list in the midst of this domestic bubble we’ve made, aye?”

His nipping at her neck was more than a little distracting so it took her a moment to register what he’d said, and another yet to catch her breath.

“What—hmm—what to-do list is that, love?”

He dragged his lips back up her skin, wasting no time in delving his tongue in to look for hers.

“The one we started right here on the floor.”

Quite involuntarily, her cheeks flushed red at the recollection that seemed to start from below her navel and set her blood to a boil.

“Oh aye?” she said, teasing.

“Aye.”

“What song could dear Mrs. Bug have been playing to get you—mmh!”

He canted his hips against hers and she could feel the length of him pressed into her thigh.

Jamie Fraser, she had found, could not – even by the farthest stretch of imagination – carry anything remotely close to a tune. On the rarest of occasions, songs came out as deep, tone-deaf chanting that, while still endearing, had no business being called music.

That being said, there was something in the current rumble of his voice, the edge of his accent, and the way he punctuated each word with torturous kisses down her neck and into her chest as he slowly unbuttoned her shirt.

“I want her everywhere, and if she’s beside me I know I’d need never care.”

Claire was wriggling madly in his arms as he trailed pure heat across the expanse of her skin. What had she been doing before this? Setting out tonight’s take-out, surely.

“But to love her is to need her everywhere.”

Her thoughts grasped for hazy straws, then fizzled out completely as he pushed her bra aside and caught her nipple between his teeth.

“Wait, wait—” she gasped.

She yanked at the short curls behind his head, dragging him back to face her.

She answered before he could ask.

“We’ve already done it here.”

He smirked.

“Aye, we have… We could always—”

“Nope,” she said quickly at the sight if his insinuating eyebrow. “I already told you, we are not having sex in Uncle Lamb’s study.”

He sighed, but otherwise looked unperturbed.

“I’ll have ye bent over a desk sometime, lass,” he murmured and she rolled her eyes at him.

They must of looked positively insane: her locked in his arms, in varying states of undress and general dishevelment as they very civilly discussed where they might decide to ravish each other in their own goddamn home.

“Have we done all the bedrooms?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Twice.”

“Hmph, perhaps we’ve finished the list after all.” He shrugged, all the more unbothered like a dog who knew quite well that a meal was inevitable. “Shall we go for round 3 then, Sassenach?”

She ran through her mental layout of the estate, conjuring up the strangest mix of childhood memories and those of slightly more adult fare.

Then it came to her and in seconds, she made a half-hearted attempt at buttoning her shirt (rendered useless by Jamie’s kisses getting in the way) and headed to the far east corner of the second floor.

“There’s this—ahh!—S-side staircase to the attic,” she said by means of explanation, even as Jamie took every opportunity to press her into walls and assault her neck with small bites and kisses. “I was terrified of it as a child so I d-didn’t think to—mmm—mention—Jamie!”

He’d made a quick undoing of her shirt once again, pushing her against the door leading to said side staircase and blindly fumbling for the handle.

“Aye, ye can give me the backstory during dinner, mo graidgh,” he rasped out over Claire’s shuddering laugh at him.

He regarded her, his intent clear and present as the door clicked open and he pressed her up against the adjacent wall, hiking her skirt up as he wrapped her leg around his hip.

Claire groaned, feeling how hard he was through his jeans. Their eyes met for an instant just long enough for that familiar electric spark to arc between them and then, no words were necessary.

It was a tight fit, the swell of Jamie’s chest leaving just barely enough space for Claire to grind against him. Even so, he wedged his hand between them to run a finger over her panties, humming in approval before he unzipped his fly and slide home.

“Jesus God,” Jamie moaned, “I’ve been thinking about ye all day, mo chridhe. About this.” He pushed especially deep into her and Claire’s head flew back, thudding dully against the stone wall.

Claire squirmed, well and truly caught between the cool stone and the scalding fire pulsing between them. The scrape of the wall reminded her of the alleyway in the town by Lallybroch. Almost a whole year ago, yet the sheer power and need in Jamie – in both of them – hadn’t changed.

Her gasps and sighs were quickly veering into whimpers and sobs with each thrust, until Jamie bent to lift her other knee up and press her completely into both him and the wall. Her long moan bounced against the walls and they both stilled for a moment, listening to it echo up the staircase and into the attic.

“That’s new,” she muttered, knowing – or rather, feeling – that Jamie agreed, if the hardening cock between her legs was any indication.

And if it wasn’t, Jamie’s eager redoubled attempts to fill the corridor with their shared moans and screams certainly were.

She clenched her thighs around his hips, pushing her back against the wall to meet him thrust for thrust as he buried his face into her neck.

“Come, mo nighean donn,” he murmured into her skin, sinking his teeth into her collarbone as his hips sped up on the precipice of his own release. “Let me hear ye.”

And she did, loud and unhinged as it made its bouncing ascent up the staircase, much like how Claire’s soul felt as Jamie groaned and spilled into her.

Light as air and thoroughly rapturous.

“This…” Jamie began breathlessly after some time, his heaving chest trapping hers against the wall and making it all the more difficult to catch her breath. “This may be my new favourite place.”

Claire stifled her giggles into his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck as she counted the seconds before his strength gave out.

It was 5.

In an attempt to keep her from hitting the ground, Jamie twisted and fell through the open door onto his back. They met nose-to-nose, and Claire smiled hesitantly at him, wholly disregarding the fact that she was straddling him and that he was very much still inside her.

He looked up at her, deep blue no longer dark with intent, but swirling and fathomless, and utterly star-struck.

With eyes as honest as those, Claire knew she didn’t need words. After all, for all where love is, the speaking is unnecessary.

His hand rose to tuck her hair behind her ear, cupping the swell of her cheek before pulling her down to his lips.

Meanwhile, the take-out in the kitchen got very cold.

[End of Part 22]

Read Part 23

[extundo1-blog]

Catching Magic

Some people learned everything they ever needed to know about life in Kindergarten class. Somehow between finger paints and dyslexia it took me a bit longer. Everything I needed to know about life, and a lot more, I learned, catching lightning bugs.

Like most kids I was fascinated each summer when at dusk every evening for weeks, tiny bugs with lights on them would mysteriously emerge from the cooler areas of our yard and linger just long enough that a five-year old’s clumsy hand could grab one right out of the air. I could only manage two or three as once grounded on my hand, the critters became ants and walked quickly to the highest point on my knuckles or extended fingers only to take off like a jet on an aircraft carrier being catapulted back into the air where it could flash its light where God intended, anywhere free from my hand.

Like millions before me I tried to keep them and bring them into my room in a jar on the nightstand. Not just any jar but one equipped with small holes in the lid and some grass at the bottom. (Not being one to worry after removing a living organism from its natural environment only to incarcerate it into what would become its death chamber by morning albeit ventilated and adorned with grass from which it emerged.) A few moments of amazement before I dozed off to sleep were more important to me than any disruption in the global ecosystem of which I was yet unaware. Every morning the experiment turned out the same way each time, the collected bugs that consumed my attention the previous night were all dead, mixed in the grass that had already withered.

This went on but I never got tired of catching lightning bugs as a kid. Today sometimes when the sun is getting low I look about my backyard in the areas shaded when the sun is shining I look around to see if I can catch a glimpse of the first bug to flash a light. This is complicated because there are imposters like flies, moths, love bugs and a whole cadre of bugs that emerge at dusk to forage for food and mate during the relative safety of the night. Sometimes I even see the lightning bugs as they take to flight from a blade of grass, their launching pad. I will never look at grass quite the same way again the next time I mow the lawn. How many preferred launching pads have I destroyed just so I could have a neat lawn? How many of the creator’s bugs with lights have I destroyed without even knowing it? Oh, the losss, Oh the humanity. Wait a minute these are just bugs, yes, but these are bugs everyone likes. Lightning bugs always seem to fascinate everyone. Imagine a bug that no one complains about, must be God’s idea of a joke. Turns out it’s a good one.

When I was eight years old our family met a person, who was a broker who collected lightning bugs for cancer research and paid money for people to collect them. The broker never told us just how they used the lighting bugs for research. Did they have a secret way to keep them alive in a jar so kids with cancer could keep them for pets? Did they use them for night lights for cancer patients in foreign countries who did not have electricity? Did they try to decode the flashing of the bug as a secret language from another planet so advanced that they could send their bugs to us with a message how to cure everyone with cancer? Or did they just study them and wonder why lightning bugs never got cancer? For whatever reason these important questions never came up.

Our family was of very modest means at this time and with six kids there simply was very little money for anything besides the basics which we always had, just not much more. We began collecting lighting bugs each night and after upgrading our overnight storage system from a jar to a fine mesh bag in the refrigerator we had a commodity to sell to the broker each morning. We got paid a whopping 40 cents per hundred live bugs we delivered to the broker.

The first few nights we barely caught a couple hundred bugs. But still the more we produced the more money we made. The same applies to successful business as I would latter find out. Produce more of what people want, in our case the broker, and you get more income. Simple, cool.

Early on we had a lot of bugs that would die before we could deliver them the next morning to the broker. It was disappointing to lose so many bugs after playing so hard, I mean working so hard, collecting them. We did not know why some of the bugs were dying so we began to ask questions and experiment. We were failing so what harm could it do to try something different. Similar to life, some of the most successful people became so after a lot of failure. We tried moving the bugs to different parts of the refrigerator. Turns out they liked it near the bottom perhaps because the humidity was higher there. We had already learned that if you put the bugs in the refrigerator they would “go to sleep” which they appeared to be when you first took them out. In reality, they were going into hypothermic shock which caused them to fold up their wings and pull in their six little legs close to their tiny bodies so they could keep warm. This made them easy to count which was next to impossible when they were crawling around and trying to get to a high spot to take flight. If you took too long to count, the anesthetic coma-like state began to wear off and they would start to twitch and move their legs without crawling. We came to know that you could only take the amount of bugs you could count in about three to four minutes otherwise we had a swarm of them get loose in the house which happened on more than one occasion. Oddly they could survive in the house for up to three days but not a night in a jar.

We began to learn a lot about the bugs. Quirky things like they did just fine if when in the asleep mode you could simply pour them onto the kitchen table (yes, the same one we took our meals on) and count them by flicking them to one side with the back edge of a dinner knife. Once counted, usually in groups of 100, we could then sweep the pile we just flicked together and brush them into a large net. It was possible to have up to about 1,000 of what might be described as brown rice pellets in one of these collection nets. Then back into the fridge for more “sleeping”. Next we experimented with netting materials. Being one to not go out and buy store bought nets we made our own. It turns out the only net you could buy was one made for catching larger bugs, primarily butterflies. Butterfly nets worked modestly at best. Some had holes in their mesh so large a lot of lightning bugs could just wiggle through and get out.

Our family became loathe, to throw away anything that might be of value someday (think hoarders) and we just happened to have some old curtain sheers that formerly adorned our living room. These sheers had three important features that made them ideal for our bugs: very fine mesh, lightweight, and you could see through them. We grabbed some metal coat hangers and formed them into a circle, and then Mom dragged out her sewing machine. After making a quick pattern, we draped one side around the wire loop and sewed it in place, then added another side and sewed both pieces together to complete the net. We cut the handle off an old broom with a saw, and with some masking tape (duct tape had not made its universal application at this point in world history) we had our net. Our total out of pocket expense to make up a net for each person in the family was $0. Everything was scrap except the masking tape which we happened to have on hand already.

Equipped with our custom nets of matching color (since the net part was cut from the same light green set of curtain sheers), at the end of each day just after dinner but before dusk our entire family (six kids, two parents and a Dalmatian named Dots) went to the back yard and began catching lighting bugs. Our yard was a great producer of bugs but there were much better spots all over our neighborhood. One was a large clump of trees that stayed cool on the hottest summer day. It was fantastic, many of us went there every night. It was my personal favorite spot for harvesting. My siblings had their favorite spots as well. It was quite the family affair as each night we got our nets and went bug catching. At least one of my siblings lost interest early on. Under normal circumstances this was fun; however, in our case we were supplementing our family income to buy an occasional ice cream so to one of us this was just another chore. She was often AWOL when the call for bug duty went out.

Well it didn’t take long until other kids in the neighborhood noticed our pre-nocturnal Mecca experience and followed along to watch what we were doing. All of them were curious, and many of them would catch the bugs with their hands and bring them to one of us who had a net. We had to stop sometimes and show the youngest ones how to catch them gently so as not to injure the bugs. Even kids as young as three can be trained to be gentle and pay attention when they have something valuable to hold onto.

The broker continued to buy the bugs each morning after an evening of us playing capture the bug. Except we were not playing. The first payoff was $5.00, enough for the whole family to go out and have some ice cream on the town. We were so flush with cash each could have whatever flavor they desired. Mine was orange sherbet, still a favorite of mine today. I can’t have a bite without being reminded of my childhood experience with, of all things, bugs. As for the Sister who was mysteriously absent for bug duty she was first in line at the ice cream parlor. We decided to cut her some slack. It later turned out to have been a mistake but she was our Sister.

Our broker set us up on an incentive plan. After we delivered more live bugs we would earn an increasing scale up until we caught a million bugs. Once we got to a million bugs we would get $1.00 per hundred. When I was a kid I always heard, adults speak optimistically about making a million. Well when I first heard about the bug bonus plan I knew we were also going to be making a million, bugs that is. The bonus was really a sliding scale that paid more per hundred bugs as you added to the cumulative total bugs delivered over a given summer. We weren’t just in business we were in big business.

Some of the neighbor kids wanted to catch bugs for money too so we told them about the sliding scale and how they could start at $0.40 per hundred and after they delivered a million bugs they could make $1.00 per hundred. The first night a handful of kids showed up with all kinds of containers full of live bugs. Some kids had butterfly nets which allowed bugs to get out in our kitchen while they were in line; others had large coffee cans and grass of course. Something kids just know, catch a critter in a container and put in some grass if you want it to live. I suppose that’s why years later when I went to Middle East I never saw any lightning bugs in the desert, not as much grass.

We would immediately rescue the bugs in jars with grass, give them a quick chill in the freezer but just enough to knock them out so we could count and pay off on the spot. The freezer was another experiment as it would take about 10 minutes or so in the Frigidaire® to get them to sleep. For a five year, old who just caught 12 bugs, ten minutes in line is an eternity just to get a nickel. In this case that five-year-old was our customer and we had to innovate in order to take care of him and the others in line too. Older kids could easily catch one to 300-400 a night. Some kids wanted cash each night while others let their account build. Accounting was simple, a spiral bound notebook with each kid’s name at the top of a new page. The bank was an ancient bank deposit bag, the kind that was made from plastic coated fabric and zipper along one side. Ours said Southern Savings Bank and Loan, a respected, local bank at the time. It was the same bank that gave kids a little mechanical piggy bank that included a numeric display on it. You got one for free if your parents opened a special account for you for college or some other forever long term goal. The counter would correctly tabulate the total that was inserted and was updated with the addition of each coin. After my account got up to $13.74, I realized only the bank had the key. Great, I thought, a bank with my own money in it that does not pay interest and which I can never withdraw.

I had seen an old movie about the Great Houdini and later read up on how he could pick a lock while upside down dangling over a roaring river while the rope that was holding him was set on fire. My little mechanical bank would soon be open and I would be getting that model airplane in the window at Thornberry’s. After struggling with a safety pin which I had painstakingly modified to be the same as the one Houdini used to escape certain death if the fire had done its work, I finally found my new bank robbing tool, the five-pound hammer. A few good licks and off popped the door behind which my

treasure was laid. As for the bank, well let’s just say its first robbery was also its last. I’m not sure why I robbed my bank at the time. I mean we were rolling in dough from bug money, probably $50 at this point but for some strange reason I had to get my hands on my own money once more. So, it was I had my own money and the family shared in the bug money.

Judging from the sorry state of the bug collection and bug holding containers that showed up every night and with so many bugs getting out of said containers only to spread all through the house, it was obvious the kids needed nets like ours. So, we set up and started producing them and renting them to kids each night. This turned out to be good for the kids because our nets were superior to what they were using. This boost in efficiency meant they could collect more bugs and not as many would escape when waiting in line each night when they came to sell them to us.

Our early nets were simple V-shaped cones which made an easy path for the lightning bugs to crawl up. If they made it to the rim formed by the coat hanger it was CONTACT and off they go, free again. With this early design, you had to gently stir your hand and part of your forearm around the inside to keep driving the relentlessly crawling bugs back to the bottom until you got home.

At the same time, I came up with an idea for a new net design. After catching bugs while walking home I found it was easier to pinch the bottom of the net just above a thick wad of bugs and only slightly that it kept the bugs from climbing up the wall and having to skim them off by continually running your hand along the inside of the net. The bugs were as smart at this as they were about flashing their light. Left unhampered the top most bugs could march right up the side of the shear curtain material and fly away in as little as 8 seconds but with the pinch hardly one could get back.

So back to the drawing board. I made a new template from the old pattern, and a new design with a slight necking about eight inches from the bottom was born. Also, we went to a slightly deeper net which allowed you to shake the bugs off the side wall and they would simply accumulate in the bottom. These two design improvements made for the ultimate net. The bulb region at the bottom worked much like a lobster or crab trap. Once the bugs entered it was just too tough for them to get out, especially as more bugs were added.

The masking tape worked great because it was easily broken to allow you to separate the coat hanger hoop and net with the bugs in it so you could put the entire assembly, bugs and all, right, into the fridge for the sleep treatment. For our family, this worked great since our bug count was group count and we could get to our customers, the other kids, right away and get them paid which kept them happy. We upgraded our nets to new ones and put the old nets into the rental fleet.

Well, business was getting better all the time but loose bugs in the house were a problem. They tended to spread freely to every room. Worse yet they continued doing what lightning bugs do, flash. And by flash, I mean all night long. If you had six or more in your room it was about as easy to fall asleep as it is when there is a lightning storm in the area except there are no noisy thunderbolts. Besides I am convinced it is not the noise of a storm that keeps you up, but it is the lightning. We had a rule in our house. It was forbidden to kill a lighting bug. If you wanted to get rid of it your sole option was to catch it alive and either release it outside which would expose your summer skin to mosquitoes, or put in the refrigerator which was risky because there is always a subset of super powered lightning bugs that no matter how cold the refrigerator was could stay awake and fly out if the door was opened before morning. So, you either stayed in bed and pinched your eyes closed hard enough to shut out the random flashing or you ended up scratching the mosquito bite you got by opening the door to release the offending bug. Either way you simply could not win.

If we were walking in the neighborhood and we saw someone had tossed a worn mop, broom, rake or anything with a good handle on it we grabbed it out of the trash, took it home and used a saw to cut the good stick part off for additional nets.

One day I noticed someone was throwing a large antenna away that had become damaged in a storm. This was an era before cable TV so if you wanted a good TV reception you needed a good antenna. Most antennas have gone the way of the Slide Rule, another technology dinosaur of the past.

Antennas then preferred aluminum tubing for engineering reasons as well as cost and weight. A good antenna was made up of a large number of aluminum tubes arranged in complex 3D geometric configurations to satisfy what I would later come to know as

Maxwell’s Equations in engineering school but, at the time I saw free resources I could use to build something. The best antennas were loaded with aluminum tubes of all sizes and lengths. Apparently, before Mother Nature had her way with this antenna it had been a great one. It had tons of aluminum tubes from short to very long. I went home and came back with a hacksaw to make short work of this trash.

It turned out that the small diameter aluminum tubes were the best. They were much lighter than their wooden counterparts and they were very agile giving their user near super powers for catching even the fastest bug in the neighborhood on any given night. It had an added benefit too. Since it was hollow it eliminated the need to use masking tape which was expensive. All you had to do was to shove what had formerly been the hook part of the coat hanger into the hollow tube and it would remain there. If it was a bit lose all you had to do was bend the wire a bit to make it fit snug.

While most broom and mop handles are uniform in length at about 5 feet resulting in two 30 inch handles, with the aluminum tubes from the antenna we could make the handle any length we wanted. Mine was almost six feet allowing me an extended reach. With its light weight and long handle, I could catch 500 to 800 bugs a night in about 20-35 minutes.

It was not uncommon for the mother of one of the six year olds who were renting a net from us and catching bugs to call us on the phone angrily demanding to know just who gave her young son a dollar and wanting to know just what he did over at the Johns’. She would go on to say that her son told a wild story about kids catching lighting bugs for money and had somehow earned some money. Already knowing something of the reputation of the Johns’ over at 2903 she was prepared to hear just about anything. Except the truth that her son had been collecting bugs for hire by us for two weeks and had opted to get paid when his account reached one dollar. It was at this point the phone went silent while she reconfirmed the story with her son, saying good night quickly and hanging up. The next evening the mom came by with her son and asked if we had a net for her to rent too.

And, so it went all summer long, the day would grow to an end and kids with parents in tow would line up to rent nets, spreading out across the neighborhood like ripples on a pond when a rock is tossed into it. Ripples spreading from our house, each evening it transformed into the epicenter of our new neighborhood. This was a big time lightning bug enterprise for sure.

Before long, we were hitting each milestone total since our total was the cumulative of everyone’s effort not just our own; one thousand, five thousand, ten thousand. The count was building so fast it wasn’t long before we were making 45 cents per hundred, then 50, 55 and 60. At the same time most of our customers, the kids in the neighborhood and sometime a parent who would donate their count to their kids, were getting 40 cents. We all dreamed of what it would be like getting to the ultimate goal of 1 million bugs and splurging on a membership at a fancy swim club. If we got there it would represent about $7,000, which at the time was well above the average annual income of most families in our middle class, baby boomer neighborhood. It was certainly a lot of money.

By the end of June, the weather warmed quickly and the damp moist areas that the bugs preferred began to dry out and so did their numbers. As the days grew longer the period for dusk, that time between when the sun first sets and it gets dark, gets shorter and edges into bedtime for little ones. So, the perfect storm for bug catching peaks in June, and what a glorious month it was each year for our family, we just didn’t always know it like we do now. It was our way to spend family time, repeated like clockwork, driven by the sun and our proximity to cool and damp areas throughout Kentucky in June. A quick dinner with an urgency to clear the kitchen table and make room in the fridge to handle the products we would buy from kids we all knew.

Some of my siblings shared a more active participation in this project while others chose less. For each of us today it is a memory of something we did as a kid. We were too young to know that most others did no such thing. To us it was normal. The net was my first invention and renting nets, my first business.

Many years later we had a party for mom, the same mom that taught me to sew and drove bugs to the broker. I don’t recall her age at the time of the party but she had more than a few grand-children, some in their teens. It was all the typical praise for someone who raised six kids, mostly by herself. My brother had prepared a slideshow with music that stirred all and took everyone back. A very special time for mom, for sure. Lots of people had been invited, family, friends and neighbors alike. Many said kind things about mom and recalled funny stories. If you had been lucky enough to be recruited by us to catch bugs you know what I mean. It was very nice.

Then toward the end, a childhood neighbor with kids of her own got up to speak. She had been a best friend of one of my sisters all through high school. As she spoke many listened casually while others chatted in small groups as she went on for a bit. She then changed the topic. Years ago, she had been one of the children who got all caught up in the craze of catching lighting bugs. I had totally forgotten about the bugs but, she had not.

However, she did not speak about her memory of catching bugs but how she had shared this story with her own children and how it captured their attention and how they were amazed that when their very mother was a child she had gotten caught up in something wonderful and fun. Something that is so different, cool even and it was their very mom who lived it. The room was quiet with every one newly amazed that these two moms before them had been part of a reality that turned out to be a children’s fantasy. What could be cooler?

My own two children were there too and they were very surprised by, not that the story had such a powerful impact on a childhood neighbor’s daughter, but that they were teenagers and while they had heard dozens of family stories repeated so many times they became walking family history experts, somehow this story had missed them and they had not heard of our lighting bug saga until that night. Somehow, I had totally forgotten the story until then. Later that night I filled my kids in on the rest of story before some of my siblings “added” their personal touch which, no surprise, is often a surprise to the rest of us. My kids held the kind of rapt amazement kids have when they are listening to something important to them. I was glad that I could recall it, most of it anyway. As it turned out, my first invention was not in any of the fields I would later work spanning 44 years and growing, was from the span I largely forgotten about, a better method and device to catch lightning bugs. That it took a child’s response to remind me makes me wonder, what else children realize that we as adults never see and no longer can? Children love magic. They recognize it instantly and think it’s perfectly normal. They can find it anytime anywhere and in any circumstance. By way of example, I recently gave a gift to my grandnephew on his first birthday. I used a very fancy box that I had repurposed so he could play not with the gift inside but the box itself. This box had been engineered much like products that Apple sells. The box sends a powerful message that what is inside is very special. Some of the adults in attendance wanted to “help” my grandnephew open the box to get to the prize.

As adults, we enjoy magic too, but often it’s just too hard for us to see. On the rare occasion, we do, some are quick to doubt it. For adults to see magic and experience new things or the magic of our youth, sometimes we need a child to teach us. It is up to us to see if we are still able to see what is obvious to the child.

[clevernewdimension]

Unearthly Delights Part Fifteen

Preview, One, Two (M), Three, Four (M), Five, Six (M), Seven (M), Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven(M), Twelve (M) , Thirteen (M), Fourteen (M), Fifteen, Sixteen (Coming soon!)

Genre: Drama, Smut, Action, Romance, Supernatural Creatures and Monsters AU

Pairing: JunmyeonxCharacter

Word Count: 5.9K

AN: Spoiler for this part, the Seelie Queen? Hyuna. Because fuck yes I had to. She’s the queen of my life so it’s perfect. Also added Kyungil from HISTORY because I miss them and he’d make an amazing bodyguard #justsayin’

It’s said that no one enters the realm of fae without the king or queen knowing about it. I always rolled my eyes and said a rather loud ‘bullshit’ to that. People often liked to be dramatic and act like some supernatural beings were more powerful than they are. Though, two steps in and we were instantly surrounded. They pulled us in and into the clearing, getting a better look at us. Fae of all types, eyes glittering with magic. High fae, those who protect the Seelie Queen. Their power practically radiating off of them. The only time I’ve ever felt a power like that was when Sehun held the archangel blade for the first time. Their eyes carefully trained on us, waiting for a single movement they didn’t like. Glitter falling from them, eyes lined with different colors of liner, some covered, some naked, some a bit of both. All wearing armour made of things from nature. The other fae, the ones who are not warriors are dressed in vibrant colors, very sheer in some places and covered others. Pieces of the sheer cloth tied to their arms and legs so that, when they danced and twirled, it was like a cycle of pure colors. Eyes and hair of all different colors, a sea of rainbows. Yixing stood, looking towards the forest as he take a deep breath.

I suppose that, sometimes, rumors are true. She knew we were there instantly.

I can’t imagine how difficult it has to be to come back for him, though. He hasn’t been here in so long. Longer than I’ve been alive, for sure. In some ways I can see the traces this place left on him. His smile, his laugh, the way he moves gracefully and dances. Like every movement was perfectly planned all the way down to the beating of his heart. The sadness in his eyes was hard not to notice, after all.

A rock comes out of nowhere, hitting Yixing’s arm. The fae I’ve come to know doesn’t even flinch. He glances to the left, seeing a male fae, shirt off and covered with glitter and body paint. His orange eyes lined with yellow as he glares. “Traitor,” He says, practically spitting the words out.

Yixing says nothing in order to defend himself, and I bite my lip, looking on.

A few moments later, branches of the trees shifted ad a woman steps forward. Her feet were bare, a gold anklet around one of her feet. Her dress is golden, sheer. Completely see through and leaving nothing to the imagination. Glimmering tattoos shimmer all over her body, magic infused. Her hair is loose, a crown that was a mixture of flowers, antlers and a few golden chains holding a few raw gemstones dangling from it. Her eyes were completely gold shimmering with glitter. Her hair white with streaks of color and red painted on her lips.

Yixing bows, getting on his knees. He doesn’t dare to look up, bowing deeply and fully, looking directly at the dirt. Something about this, seeing someone as amazing as Yixing act this way just made me mad. Who cares if she’s a queen, honestly.

She smiles sadly, “My little warrior… It’s been so long…” She glances up at me and Sehun. She raises a brow, before returning her gaze to Yixing. She takes a few more steps, until she was before him. “Stand, my darling,” She says, her voice was soft, soothing in a way. At least she wasn’t being mean to him.

Yixing stands, before looking at her face. His eyes full of pain and sadness, the likes of which I’ve never seen. “I’m here for Kim Junmyeon. I’m the only one who knows how to get here, so I had to…”

“You’ve suffered for so long,” She says, with a sigh, “Most others suffer, but try to come back. You never did, until now. Why?”

“I wish to speak with you in private. Myself and my companions, along with your guards,” Yixing says, looking back at us. “I know they do not trust me. I do not blame them. It will ease them if they can be near you. I know that feeling first hand.”

“Until you threw it away,” A male warrior says, scowling as he glares at Yixing. The eyes seem like they’re going to pop out from the rage.

I glare at the man back, Sehun putting a hand on my shoulder. I look at him, and he shakes his head to me. He puts his mouth near my ear, “You need to calm down, Ava,” He mutters softly, before pulling away.

Yixing ignored the man’s words with ease, “We would like some help and are willing to help you as well.” I’ve heard people talk about how strong he is mentally, but this is insane. If someone attacked me, I’d swing back, but he’s taking this without even a blow to his pride. At least, he’s making it seem that way.

She looks at Sehun and I, her head tilting a little. Her eyes were fairly big, giving her a young, child-like look. Her ears pointed, like Yixing’s. She stares, and it almost felt like she was looking through me, like I was nothing but a bit of dust. He raises her hand, motioning for us to follow. The one thing I’ll give her is that she moves with such grace it was honestly beautiful. It was like gravity was nothing to her, that she could move however she wanted.

The soldiers around us turn, a group of seven. A woman with her head shaved looked at us, “Weapons. Hand them over.”

“Only if you do,” I say, looking at her with a cold stare. I could feel my eyes glow dimly at the challenge.

The woman frowns, glaring at us and lets it go. We follow, going into the forest. The leaves were wonderful as I see some creatures around, looking like human. Sehun glances, muttering “Nymphs.” I nod, looking forward. They looked like they were made of water, leaves, flower petals and tree bark, looking on shyly at us. I waved, the one that looked like flower petals waved back.

We get to the middle of the forest. The trees seemingly shift out of her way, it felt. The moon directly lighting this spot even though it was covered by clouds before. The trees were the same color, but like they are glowing and more alive around her.  A small fire, the blames crackling blue, giving the place more light. A large wolf sitting up, looking and letting out a growl. The women pets it’s head, “Shhh, Moonbeam. Surely you remember Yixing.”

She sits down, vines growing and making a seat for her. Flowers blooming from the seat as she takes off her crown, setting it on Moonbeam’s head. Moonbeam stops growling, but still remains on alert. She turns, walking up to Yixing as her guards form a circle around the clearing. She reaches out, slapping his face. The sound so loud I jumped. I move, Sehun holding me back. “You know I have to do something,” She mutters, “Because I can’t let people think I’m weak.”

“I know,” He says, looking in her eyes. I could tell that he instantly forgave her.

“You want our help because the clan Venture is getting help from the Unseelie king,” she says, her face losing her fondness, going back to her seat. Her eyes glance at Sehun and I, “What you you have to offer me for our help?”

“Help against the Unseelie King,” Yixing says, “He’s gaining power. You’re losing it. You’re going to need help if they have the Ventures.”

She winces at his words, frowning deeply. “Never blunt, are you,” She asks, looking up. “Being in the city has made you impatient. You think we’re so weak we need you? Your help? The help of a traitor?”

I roll my eyes, which drew her gaze. She stared at me for a while, sizing me up. I just stood there. I had nothing to prove to her. I don’t know her. I don’t care for her. I don’t respect her.

“What do you know, little vampire,” She asks. Her eyes lock into mine, trying to intimidate me. She crosses her arms, looking down at me, “You’re so ignorant of everything.”

“What I know is that the head of the Ventures is my father,” I say, crossing my arms, “He’s not one to make an agreement with anyone unless he knows they will win their fights.” I shrug, “Besides, didn’t one of the courts side with him? Seems like no one but your own court is afraid of you. If you were as strong as you’re pretending to be, he would have went to you instead.”

Her eyes glow red, as she stands. The trees shifting as she does, the feeling of vines crawling up my legs. I just kept her stare, not backing down. “You insult me, child.”

“When someone says something that fucking stupid, they deserve to be insulted,” I say.  I smirk, crossing my arms, “What is it you want from us? We’re offering a solution to your problem, since you clearly can’t do it on your own.”

“Your Sire is much more polite than you are. I could crush you right now if I wanted, you know that, don’t you, weak child?” She says, glaring. She turns to look at Yixing, “Unless you have something that can actually help me, Yixing, I suggest you leave,” She mutters, glaring.

“I have archangel blood,” Sehun says calmly, before Yixing could say anything.

I could see her eyes snap open to him. She moves, walking quickly, looking at him. Her eyes a bit wide before she realizes, putting on the mask of being calm once more. “Prove it,” She says.

He takes a few steps back, looking at the guards, “I’m going to grab a weapon. It will activate. Then I’ll deactivate and put it back. Nothing more.”

Yixing nods, happy that Sehun was cautious enough to do this. Probably happy it wasn’t me who had to get a weapon.

Sehun moves his coat, showing the blade at his side. The bug eyed looks she was giving meant that she knew what it was. As did all her guards. Sehun quickly picks it up, the loud glass noises once again. He holds the blade, the stained glass shimmering. The Seelie Queen was awestruck, watching with her eyes wide. I wince, the light even brighter than before, making me turn away.

“What do you want,” She asks as Sehun puts the blade back, seeing it return to normal. Apparently she didn’t care to keep up her appearance of not needing our help anymore.

“I know how important this is. Not from Yixing, either,” Sehun says, lying about not hearing it from Yixing. “You can lock the Unseelie King away with my blood. So these are MY demands. If you are all not met up to my satisfaction, you get nothing,” He says, looking her in the eye. “All Junmyeon wants is help with the Ventures and the Winter court that is going to help him. That’s my first demand, that you help us in killing them. Second, I want you to restore Yixing’s High Fae strength back. I know he can never come back and live here again, but I want him to have their strength. They’ve gotten more daring and having him back to his full strength would be very helpful.”

The guard scoffs, “He’s disgraced us! He doesn-”

“Silence,” The queen says, her voice billowing. Echoing in the trees around us, ominously. The guard goes still, quite once more. His eyes still glaring at Sehun. Someone is clearly unhappy.

“Third,” Sehun says, looking up, “You have a charm of protector archangels. I know you have one, there is no use in pretending you don’t. I want it. In order to made this blade as strong as it can be, I need it. That’s all. We go after the Ventures and the people who work with them, you restore Yixing’s power, and you give me the charm.”

She looks at Sehun, as he stood there, unflinching. Their eyes locked in a continuing stare. She nods, offering her hand, “We’ll make a pact, then.”

“You can’t be serious,” One of the guards says. His hair pushed back from his face, showing everyone how stunning he is. Black hair, his eyes glowing with magic, glittering and blue. He wore armor made of river stones, molden to him like a glove. He was tall, strong. Most fae are very lithe, but he was build. Arms strong and eyes looking at us, his distaste of us evadent.

She looks at him, shaking her head. “Kyungil, please… you know as well as I we can not beat him if we do not take this deal. Our pride is not worth losing everyone, is it?”

He looks down, shaking his head. “I hope you know what you are doing, queen Hyuna,” He says, before  moving back into his role of protector. His eyes meet Yixing’s, and I get the feeling they must have know each other. Perhaps they were even close before what happened to Yixing.

“This is magical, if either of us breaks our side, a shadow of death will hunt you.” She says, looking at us. “This way, you’re assured we will keep our side. Fae pacts are seal with a kiss,” She says, looking at them. He glances at us all, her eyes watching carefully.

Yixing looks at all of us, “She’s going to have to kiss us all, because we’re all a part of this. We’re here as representatives, after all.”

“That’s… well, not the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say, watching as she walks over to Yixing, she takes hi face in her hands, pressing their lips together.

For some reason I expected it to be just a peck, but this was… different. I could see magic swirling around them as she pulls away. “Your power is now restored.”

The mixture of emotions that were on Yixing’s face was almost heart wrenching. The pain, thinking he doesn’t deserve it, but the happiness of having it back. Yixing nods, a sad smile on his face. “Thank you, your grace.”

She moves to Sehun, lips pressed into his. I could see Sehun’s eyes open wide, a bit of a blush cross his face, surprised at the passion of it. When she pulls away, Sehun just bites his lip, looking away. She laughs, “I didn’t expect you to be so embarrassed.”

He rolls his eyes, looking away as she just smiles. Her eyes meet mine, moving closer. Her hands holding my face, smirking before she presses her lips to mine. Her tongue licks at my lips, and I open them. I shiver, feeling something tingle around me. I could sense the magic softly crawling around me. Her tongue played with mine, before she starts to pull away. I softly bite her lip with a smirk before letting it go.

“I was hoping you would have been an awful kisser,” She says, “To match your shit personality.”

“That’s so sweet of you to say,” I say with a grin, the smug feeling setting in.

Sehun just crosses his arms, “She’s about two minutes away from being Junmyeon’s girlfriend.”

“It’s a shame. He’s such a handsome gentleman. To learn that he has awful taste is underwhelming,” She says, before moving away. I watch as she hold a hand out, vines moving and, becoming a hand, giving her a small gem like charm. Sehun takes it, getting the archangel blade, without activating it. In the small place where the metal was open, creating a cage, he places the charm. It floats, spinning slowly. It was red, shining bright as he activates the blade. He smiles, focusing on his the blade.

It shines bright, so much so that I had to cover my eyes. I wince away, before looking back. The blade changed, turning into a bow. Sehun pulls the string back, the wound of glass shifting, being pressed against each other. An arrow made of pure holy fire appearing instantly.

“That’s what it does,” she says, looking at it, “No wonder you want it. All we knew was that it was from Heaven.”

He lets the bow back, the starting no longer pulled back as the arrow fades. He focuses again, the blade going back to the standard, boring metal.

Yixing looks at me, his eyes glancing at me. He sighs, moving and placing a hand on my shoulder, I could feel the tingle and magic fading. He looks at the Queen, “A servant charm? Really?”

“It was worth a shot,” she says, smirking. “I wanted to make her more pleasant to be around. Purely for all of you. You know I love to play fun little games, after all.” She looks at Sehun, “Blood.”

“Get a vile,” He says, looking up at her.

It was quickly, as from the ground, what looked like a hollowed out crystal was placed in her hand from the vines. She take off the top, holding it out to Sehun.

Sehun shifts, growing fangs in his mouth, cutting into his wrist. The blood oozes, as he holds it over the vial, letting it drip. I bite my lip, the smell of goodness and sunlight filling my senses. I clench my fists, before Sehun filled the vial, his tongue licking his wrist as he shifted back into a vampire, healing himself.

He hand it to her, “Good luck. Tell us when you’re about to lock him away so we’ll know when a good time to attack is.”

“It’s been a pleasure,” She says, looking at the blood with a smile. She glances at me, “Mostly.”

“I mean, you’re not that great yourself,” I say, only to have the guards glaring at me.

“I would offer you all to stay, but,” She mutters, looking at Yixing, “As long as your business is done, you must leave.”

Yixing nods, “I understand.”

“I wish things could have been different, Yixing,” She says sadly as Yixing takes one of my hands along with one of Sehun’s.

He glances at her, and for the first time since we’ve been here, I see tears in his eyes. He looked a bit choked up, nodding, “I… you asked. Why I haven’t tried to return. It’s because I blame myself for what happened. For the attack on you.”

With that, I blinked, and we’re at Taemin’s place. We left before she could probably even process what he said. This time the teleporting was instant, no dizzying feeling or anything like that. I look, feeling Yixing let go of my hand as he just leans against the bar, head in his hands. Sehun walked over, putting an arm on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into it.

I went to the kitchen, getting a glass and filling it with some whiskey. I pass it to Yixing, who took it and drank it all in one go. I frown. Usually he was the type to sip one drink all night, maybe two if it’s a special occasion. This is… worrisome.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “I just… seeing them treat you like that just pissed me off.”

“I deserve it,” He mutters, “But that doesn’t make the pain any less, though.”

Sehun pats his back, “You’d think after, what… over a century they could forgive you a little.”

Yixing laughs, “A century is nothing to a fae. That is barely a blink in our life spans. What I did happened practically yesterday to them.” He looks at Sehun, “I can’t believe you bargained for my power back. Do you know how stupid that is?”

“A High Fae is almost as strong as someone with archangel blood,” Sehun says, taking the bottle from me and pouring more in the glass that was Yixings before taking a large gulp. “I don’t want any of us to die. Anything we can do to swing the odds in our favor is worth it.” He smiles sadly, “Besides, it’s a bit selfish, too. I don’t want to be back in that cell again…”

“And you won’t be,” I say, nodding.

The door opens, revealing Taemin walking in, Minseok behind him. The incubus sauntering in, the confidence surrounding him was so thich is was almost a choking hazard. While he was the loud and proud time, Minseok was the quiet confident kind of person. There was something in his eyes that just made you want to learn more. The way he can captivate someone without having to say anything. “So,” The incubus says, “How did it go, my little bunch of misfit toys?”

“I call being the cute elephant,” I say, holding my hand up. This earned a weird look from Sehun. “Like… from that movie? It’s a Christmas one? Stop motion animation?”

He just stares at me, like I have a second head. Which wouldn’t surprise me if it could happen since we were just in the Fey… realm?

“You old fucks know literally nothing I swear,” I mumble, crossing my arms with a pout.

“Very well,” Sehun says, rolling his eyes at me. “Got everything I wanted. Granted someone’s temper was about to cost us.”

I stick my tongue out at him, “Listen, they were being fucking awful to Yixing. He’s a friend and I’m a ride or die kind of friend. You all know this.”

Minseok smiles, looking on as he just means on the counter in the kitchen next to me. His presence next to me just made me feel calmer. Safer. He looks at me, and as everyone else was talking, quietly says, “I would have been the same way. Yixing is too good for them.”

“At least someone has some sense,” I reply back, elbowing him softly.

Yixing looks over at me, a small smile on his face. His eyes, usually a deep green now  a bit more… iridescent. The power flowing through him able to be seen in his eyes if you look close enough.  He just silently nods me a small thank you, before looking at Minseok. “How was everything on your end,” He asks.

Minseok sighs, “Well, the Ventures are successfully blocked from gaining weapons from any place that work with Junmyeon. Problem is there is one that doesn’t care. So they’re still getting weapons, albeit very slowly.” He looks at Sehun, “You getting the charm for that blade helps a lot. Now we know that nothing will stand in our way. You’ll just have to be careful not to hit someone you don’t mean.”

“I’m not a child, I can aim and fight,” Sehun says, pouting.

I smile, listening to everyone bicker for a few hours. It’s nice, having a few moments to just be calm.

It’s been a few days. A few days of being back to the grind. Working, drinking blood, and sleeping. Rinse and repeat. Trying to get prepared for this upcoming storm all the while. However, there is one thing that is happening that I notice. It was ambiguous. Maybe it was because of work. Sure, a day or two, perhaps that’s the case. Now? After a week and a half? It’s official. Junmyeon is avoiding me.

And it’s pissing me off.

It was noticeable, too. People have been sort of careful with me lately. Handling me with kid gloves, it seems. I was heaving, my chest rising and falling as Chanyeol was doing the same next to me. He look over, trying to catch his breath. The early morning light coming into the window, making him glow more after our passionate fucking. He laughs, “Something on your mind, Ava?”

He noticed. Of course he’d notice. Everyone noticed. I shrug, “What? Why?”

“You were practically trying to claw out my spine,” He says, laughing with a smile. His hair a tangled mess, getting long enough me could wear it in a ponytail soon. “Some pent up aggression does no one any good.”

I glance over at him, seeing his big goofy smile. I roll my eyes, “I like you better when you’re not talking.”

“Probably because the only time I’m not talking is when I’m eating you out,” He says as a joke, turning over and lying on his chest, face still pointed at me. I look at his back, seeing deep red lines all over. Perhaps I did claw him a bit more than usual. His words a bit muffled, “So, what is on your mind?”

“It’s stupid,” I mutter, turning away from him. If my face wasn’t already pink from our activities, it would get a deep shade of pink.

I feel and arm reach out, pulling me towards him with ease. His body warmer than mine. Mine was on the colder side now, apparently. Not too much so, Minseok had explained. “It’s not stupid if it’s making you upset,” He mutters, gentle and calm.

He has a way of making you feel safe. And not just physically, but emotionally. He’s a happy person and it’s infectious. Chanyeol is kind and caring. Whoever ends up with him is going to be lucky to have someone like him. I’d never tell him that, of course.

I bite my lips, looking at the wall like I was trying to burn a hole through it. So I nod, getting ready to talk. It’s one of the few ways I let him know I trust him, since I never outright say it. My speaking my feelings. “Junmyeon is avoiding me,” I mutter, pouting a bit.

Chanyeol sighs, “I’ve noticed.” No judgement. No telling me not to worry. Just help. That’s Chanyeol for you.

“Do you know why,” I ask, before turning back around to face him.

He looks me in the eyes. That playful gleam was gone, replaced with a more serious look. “It’s no shock that the man who lost everyone he cared about is afraid of losing the new precious people in his life. I think he’s being distant so no one will try to harm you in order to get to him.”

“That’s fucking dumb as hell,” I mutter, making Chanyeol laugh.

“Well, you could try talking to him,” He says, “Instead of laying here with me. Go see him. Sehun guilted him into actually going home for once. Something tells me he’s in his tank as we speak.”

“Why should I, if he doesn’t want to be around me then why should I try,” I ask. “He’s treating me like some random person. Never talking to me, or listening. It’ annoying as shit. I mean, who would ignore me, I’m a goddamned delight.”

“He’s scared,” Chanyeol mutters. “Fear does bad things to people. He’ll pull away and ruin a relationship before he lets someone get hurt because they’re close to him. Not matter how much it hurts him.”

“Stop talking sense,” I reply, only for him to laugh loudly I sit up, moving into the bathroom of what is officially my room in Minseok’s house.

“I think I’m going to nap here whole you go talk to him,” He says with a grin, “You wore me out.”

I roll my eyes at him with a small smile before getting in. A quick shower and a change of clothes later, I look out, seeing Chanyeol asleep, small snores coming from him as I quickly get on socks and boots. I open the door, moving and quickly getting to the front.

The choice of rides were phenomenal, but, personally, I liked Minseok’s motorcycle the best. He knew this, getting a helmet for me so I could use it. It looked fairly old, all black and chrome. I hop on, getting the key and putting it in the ignition.

The drive was fine, getting to the gate, I look at the intercom.

“Hello, Miss Avelyna,” Alice says, “Password?”

“Uh… guardian,” I say, before the gates open. I smile, before driving up and into the garage. Some cars sit there, but not at many as Minseok’s garage has. I move through the house, smiling at I get my way to the tank.

I look, seeing myself back at entrance B3 as I take a deep breath. I look at the deep depths, shivering. Memories of that pool coming to my mind. It’s not like I can drown anymore, but it’s still scary. “Tell him I’m at entrance B3, but I’m going to save him a heart attack and not jump in this time.”

A few moments later, I see Junmyeon pop his head from under the water. He pushes his hair out his face, looking at me, before pulling himself up and onto the walkway beside me, tail off the edge but not touching the water.

“I would offer to join you but,” I mutter, looking out into the water. Looking at it made my skin crawl. I don’t even take baths anymore, it freaks me out that much.

“I know,” He says, nodding. Of course he knew. He understood me sometimes without my having to say it. Which is good, because I don’t exactly what to admit to being scared.

I look at his tail, seeing it glittering in the light. I reach over, touching it. It was smoother than I expected, the scales looking like tiny sapphires. It was wet, slick with the salt water of this part of the tank. I could feel each individual scale, though they linked together into a tough hide. Like natural chain armor.

He flicks the water at the end of it at me, with a small smile, “What are you doing here, Avelyna?”

“You’re ignoring me,” I mutter, wiping the water off my face and arm. “I was going to throw myself in like last time but I chickened out. I just can’t seem to do it this time since I almost…”

“You almost drowned,” He mutters, sitting up.

“Well, I almost drowned twice,” I point out, watching him frown a little. “But the first time I knew it would be fine. I mean, I didn’t know about a goddamn shark, but the whole lungs and water thing, I was convinced I was good. It didn’t feel like it,” I mutter quietly, “I… I didn’t really feel like I was actually in danger that time. The time after… I was helpless. There was no safety net there. Just me, the cold water and a weight.” I glance at him, “But that’s not what I’m here for. Please, stop ignoring me. Chanyeol told me to tend to push people way so people won’t use them against you.”

He lets out a small chuckle, “Of course he’d say it.” He’s still looking to the side, away from me.

I put my hand on his cheek, pulling it so that he was forced to look at me. His eyes meet mine, “Junmyeon… you have to stop this hot and cold game. Don’t push me away. I know you're busy but I just don’t want to be ignored.” I smile, “I’m not the kind of person who needs like, to talk everyday or a goodnight message or that bullshit. I’m pretty sure that, as long as I know you’re literally too busy, I would be understanding to not even see you for a month. But you’re not too busy. You’re ignoring me. You have time to see me, or to even acknowledge my existence, but you don’t. I understand that it’s busy and hectic and stressful but goddamn, I don’t want you to flat out ignore me.”

He looks me in the eyes, never leaving mine. He nods, “Alright.”

“Besides,” I say, “It won’t help now. They already know how involved we are with one another.”

“I just don’t want to see someone I care about get killed again,” He says sadly. The flickering of complicated emotions in his eyes was enough to understand why he would think it was a good idea. The pain held there, for less than a second, was almost too much.

“Then I suppose we better win, then,” I say with a smile. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” I mutter as I lean forward, pressing my lips to his in a soft kiss. I smile, pulling away, “It would be a shame if we didn’t get to explore what we have further, after all.”

On of his hands moves to my neck, holding me as he presses his lips to mine again. The other laces with my fingers, holding my hand as he leans over me, body pressed to mine. I could feel the water seeping into my clothes, but I didn’t care. My other hand moving to his back, holding him against me. The kiss was deep, as he was slowly pouring everything he had into it. Lips pressed, tongue playing with mine as I could feel him smile into the kiss. The water from his hair dripping onto me, making me shiver from how cold it was. His teeth softly biting my bottom lips as he pulled away, before moving downward, lips softly kissing and nibbling on my neck. I gasped, my hand squeezing his tighter. I hear him laugh.

“I forgot how strong you are now,” He muttered into my ear.

“Shame really,” I mumble, my hand trailing over his chest, looking into his eyes with a smile. “Means that so much awesome kinky sex is forever out the window for me. Goodbye being handcuffed.”

The chuckle against my skin made me smile. “If you think there are not magical solutions, you’re mistaken,” He mutters, kissing my neck softly.

“Oh really,” I ask, running my hands on his smooth skin.

“Fae can be freaky when it comes to sex,” Junmyeon murmurs against my lips now. “Pretty sure they have their own version of the Kama Sutra, but with all the things you can do with magic.”

“That isn’t shocking,” I say, “Perhaps when you finally stop wanting to go at a glacier’s pace, we can look into all those possibilities.” I say, turning his face towards mine. I smash our lips together with a small groan, the possibilities endless in my head now.

Before we could get into the kiss, Junmyeon jumps. He’s eyes open wide, before pulling away and looking into the water. He laughs, “Hello, Sylvas.”

I lean up, seeing the shark just barely under water. Grey and white, sharp teeth and beady eyes. Scars along its body, deep and ragged.

Junmyeon laughs, “No, she isn’t jumping in this time.”

I wave at the shark, “Um...Hi.”

A few second later and Junmyeon coughs, shaking his head. “No it’s not… it’s different!” A pause as his face gets red, “That’s not how it works for people!”

I grin, before moving and standing up, “You go and get changed. We’re getting dinner and I’m choosing. See you later, badass shark.”

“I’ll meet you by the door,” Junmyeon says, before slipping back into the water. I see him swim in front of the shark, his hands moving as he was speaking with it. He smiles, holding into it, giving it a hug with a big grin.

I smile. He’s a dork. A huge dork but I genuinely care for him. My clothes were a little damp down, and I was sure I smelled like salt water but overall, I think the talk went really well.

[fanficwriter013]

The Tower

The Tower: An Avengers Fanfic

Chapter 1

Chapters:  one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen / fourteen / fifteen / sixteen / seventeen / eighteen / nineteen / twenty / twenty-one / twenty-two / twenty-three / twenty-four / twenty-five / twenty-six / twenty-seven / twenty-eight

Tower Masterlist

Word Count: 2330

Warnings: Smut (F/F, fingering slight dom/sub)

Synopsis: How does someone with no superpowers, no real discernible talents and a whole lot of baggage end up being the girlfriend to all the Avengers?  Well, I’m glad you asked.  It all started with a blur and an abrupt crash. Here is the initial meeting, and the events that follow.

Author’s Note: Bug Kate @emilyevanston about the gorgeous Header, she made it. This story is NOT a Nat X Reader. It’s an Avengers X OC piece, which means a poly relationship. There will be many different combinations of pairings within this story.

How does someone with no superpowers, no real discernible talents and a whole lot of baggage end up being the girlfriend to all the Avengers?  Well, I’m glad you asked.  It all started with a blur and an abrupt crash.

As usual, I was late.  That happened a lot.  I tend to get caught up in my head while I’m working in the lab or the library.  Which is a problem because as part of my post doctoral position I had to teach an Intro to Biology class six times a week.  I was dashing down the steps of the library, across the lawn and just smashed headlong into another person.

All I really noticed as I picked myself back up, helped her to her feet and apologized profusely was she was small, dressed in black and had dark red hair.  She didn’t really even say anything to me, just ‘don’t worry about it’ and I took off again.

It was as I stood panting in the lecture theatre, getting the slideshow started for the lecture I realized how close I came to death that day.  The woman I had flattened was the Black Widow.

Nothing notable happened over the next few weeks.  I worked in the lab going through blood samples and went through the results of my tests in the library trying to get some papers written so I might actually get some more publications out.  I wrote lectures and delivered them to my classes of 300 odd students.  I set assignments and exams.

Then one day I was giving my lecture and I scanned the crowd and there was that red hair sitting right up the back.  It took a moment to register and when I looked back it was gone again.  I wrote it off as not having enough caffeine that morning.

A month later, I was having lunch in a coffee shop not far from where I lived.  I had one of my notebooks open and I was focussed pretty intently on it.  I didn’t notice when she sat down opposite me.

“Hi.”  She said and I looked up at her and nearly jumped out of my skin.  She was dressed casually today.  A light grey t-shirt over jeans.  Her hair loose and falling in waves down her back.

“Oh my god.  I am so sorry.  It was an accident.  I swear.”  I babbled.  Feeling fairly certain she’d tracked me down to exact her revenge upon me.

She smirked at me.  It was an expression that made her look adorable and sexy and deadly all at once.  In that exact moment, I developed an all consuming crush on Natasha Romanoff of the Avengers.

“I’m not here because of that.  Or maybe I am a little.”  She said, reaching over the table and touching the back of my hand.  “I think you're cute.”

I think for a second my brain short circuited.  I’m not sure if she noticed or not.  What I said back was.  “Oh, okay.”   You know, like that was just a normal thing to be told by Black Widow.

“My name’s Natasha, you’re Elise right?”  She said, with a small shake of her head like she’d realized how huge of a dork I am and actually found it a little charming.

I squeaked.  An actual squeak sound bubbled up from my chest and escaped out of my mouth.  Right in front of Black Widow.  “Yes.  How did you know?”

“I’ve been watching you.  Needed to be sure before I asked you out.”  She answered.

The memory of the red hair at the back of the lecture hall returned.  “You were in my class.”

“That’s right.”  She answered.

“You wanted to ask me out?  Like on a date?”  I asked.

“Mm hmm… It would need to be low key though.  I get a lot of looks these days.”  She said, nodding her head backward.  I glanced around the coffee shop and noticed a lot of people looking over in our direction.  Some trying to be subtle about it.  Others who just had their phones out and were taking photos.

“I could make you dinner if you like.”  I suggested, not ever realizing that a) she hadn’t asked me out yet.  And b) I hadn’t accepted the offer.

It made Natasha laugh though. The sound made my stomach flip.  “Are you asking me out instead?”

I nodded.  “Yes.  Would you like to come to my place for dinner?  Maybe on Friday?”

“I’d love to.”  Natasha agreed.  “I need you to know something though.  I’m not monogamous.”

I chewed on my lip processing what she just told me.  “So like, you just want a one-time thing?”  It seemed strange that she would have gone to so much effort tailing me for a one night stand.  But I figured that the life of an ex-assassin, super spy, founding member of the Avengers was probably more complicated than I would ever be able to wrap my head around.

Natasha gave a subtle shake of her head.  “Not at all.  I wouldn't call myself the girlfriend type exactly but a few other people would beg to differ.”  She said.  “I'm polyamorous.  There are a few people I see.  Kind of a group that are all together.  But I’ll also go out of the group too.  Usually, I don’t date outside the group though.  Just hook up.”

I furrowed my brow a little, looked down at myself and back up at her and scratched my head.  “And you’re making an exception for me?”

“Maybe.  We’ll see.”  She answered rather cryptically.

That was the start of my relationship with Natasha Romanoff.  She took it quite slow, to be honest.  We did low key like she wanted.  Mostly she just came by my apartment and I’d cook or we’d order in take out.  It felt more like I just had this new badass friend for a while.  She bitched about work.  She talked about the other Avengers.  She listened to me geek out about science and rolled her eyes every time I made a stupid pun.  But nothing physically happened for weeks.  We touched no more than a couple of close friends might.  Just hugs and a little innocent hand holding.  Sometimes she sent me text messages that contained a picture of a cute animal and just ‘Clint made me do it’.

I really liked her though.  I wanted more, but I was fine if this was all she was willing to give.  Natasha had an air about her.  You could adore her and worship the ground she walked on and if all she ever did was glance down in your direction from time to time it was enough.

It was a month before things changed and when they did it happened all at once.  We didn’t have a first kiss and then a make out session and then feeling each other up.  We went from 0 to 100 in 3 seconds flat.  With Natasha, I would expect nothing less.

She came around to my apartment after getting home from a mission.  She’d never come directly to me before after one.  She has other people she sees.  Ones she’s known longer.  Ones she is more physical with.

She had a bottle of vodka in a paper bag and just collapsed on my couch.  “I am exhausted.”  She sighed.

I went and grabbed some shot glasses and put them on the table.  She filled each of them and we took a shot.  “You want me to make you something to go with that?  Or I could order in?”

Natasha shook her head and leaned down to unfasten her boots.  “In a bit maybe.  I just wanted to hear how my girl’s doing?”

“I’m fine, Nat.  Nothing much new to tell.  Exams are soon.  So I’ve been writing that.”  I replied, watching Natasha.  She started to rub her thighs with her fists.  “I’m your girl?”

Natasha looked up at me and smiled.  “One of only two.  Well, maybe three if you count Maria, but she’s worse than me when it comes to being labeled.”

All I could think was ‘but we have never had sex, how am I your girl?’  Then I wondered if maybe Natasha was asexual and wasn’t aware that friendship was a thing.  Or there was something I was missing here.  What I said was; “Can I help you with that?”

Natasha put her legs up into my lap and I positioned myself between them. I lifted one leg onto my shoulder and started to knead her thigh.  She let out a low graphic moan.  “That feels really good.”

“I’m good with my hands.”  I joked, looking down into her green eyes.

I kept rubbing her legs, my hand moving higher, ever closer to her cunt.  I stopped before I touched her there and looked at her.  “I really like you, Natasha,”  I said quietly as my hands sat dangerously close to her sex.

Natasha sat up and wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me down on top of her and crashing her lips into mine.  We kissed hungrily and passionately, biting and sucking at each other.  She rolled me over and I fell onto the ground making an involuntary ‘oof’ sound as she landed on top of me.

“I think we should take this to bed.”  She said, looking down at me.  Her pupils were blown out with lust.

I nodded my head and she helped me up and pushed me against the wall.  I’m actually five inches taller than Nat, but she still dominated me.  I was wearing a dress that day.  It was a light blue sundress with white polka dots.  Natasha tore it off me so fast one of the straps snapped.   She was wearing her catsuit.  It was only something I saw her in once before.  I think she must have just taken off her weaponry and come straight to me.  I hurriedly unzipped it and pushed it down.

When we were both just in our panties, Natasha spun me and walked me back towards the bed.  We kissed the entire distance and even as we crawled up onto the mattress.  She slipped a hand into my panties and started running her fingers up and down my folds.  I went to do the same to her and she grabbed my hand and pinned it over my head.  “No, mishka.  I want to watch you.”  She scolded.  “I want you to hold onto the headboard and not move your hands until I say so.  You can do that can't you?”

“Yes, Natalia,”  I said quietly, moving my hands to the headboard and bracing them there.  I'd never called her that before.  I always just called her Nat or Tasha or just some random pet name that popped in my head.  But the way she was telling me what to do flicked some switch over in me and I just wanted to be good for her.  I knew Natalia was the more formal version of her name and I wanted her to know that she was the boss and I would be good.

A half smile played over her lips and she ran her tongue over them.  “Moyà khoróshaya.  So good for me.”  She purred, and she brought her lips to mine.  Her fingers teased at the entrance to my cunt before moving back up and circling over my clit.

She slowly fingered me as her mouth trailed over my neck and chest.  Sometimes her lips just ghosted over my skin making me break out in goosebumps.  Sometimes she sucked dark red marks on my skin.  When she reached my breasts I was dripping for her.  My body trembled and my cunt ached for relief.  She pushed two fingers inside of me and I gasped, tensing up under her.  I was just starting to relax again when she bit down on my nipple.

“Fuck, Natalia!”  I cried out as my back curved off the mattress and my hands gripped the headboard tightly.

“That’s it, myshonok.  Let it happen.”  Natasha cooed.

I relaxed back down and she started stroking her fingers hard over my g-spot.  She sucked my nipple into her mouth and pressed her teeth on it sending a jolt through me.  She then switched to the other nipple.  I couldn’t focus.  My hands opened and closed on the headboard and I started to writhe under her.  My legs tried to close so I could escape my impending orgasm.

“Oh no, plokháya dévochka.  You be good for me now.  You don’t want to find out what I do to bad girls.”  Natasha scolded, forcing my legs open for her.

Part of me really wanted to find out what she did to bad girls.  Not this time though.  This time I was going to be good for her.  I let out a slow breath, giving in to her.  “I’m sorry, Natalia.”  I whimpered.

She brought her head back up and looked down into my blue eyes with her green.  “That’s my girl.”  She purred, grinding her knuckles into my g-spot.  “When you come, I want you to say my name.”

I nodded, completely unable to form words at this point.  My whole body was just on the edge.  My legs trembled and my toes curled.  I kept my eyes locked with Natasha’s though.  “Oh fuck… fuck… oh god…”  I chanted.  She sped up her thumb on my clit and her fingers pressed hard down on my g-spot and dragged over it.  It was like a dam burst inside of me.  I came hard, arching right back.  “Natalia!”  I screamed.

She kept stroking me through it and when I finally settled she pulled her hand away and licked her fingers.  “You look very beautiful when you come, mishka.”  She purred.  “Now, if you feel so inclined, you may return the favor.”

I licked my lips and wrapped my arms around her neck.  “I definitely feel so inclined.”

[carolina-bleus]

June 25, 2017 (Day 365)

Rick looked at his watch. “Hey, babe? You need any help? You’ve been up there a while,” he called from the base of the stairs.

When he got no response, Rick hurried up the steps and into the lake house’s master bedroom. Michonne was sitting in the window seat with her head down between her legs breathing deeply. Rick rushed over to his wife.

“Babe?! Babe?! Are you okay? Do we need to go to the hospital?”

Michonne took another deep inhale and then slowly sat up. “I’m fine. I just felt dizzy all of a sudden.”

Rick squatted down in front of his wife. His face was etched with concern. “Why didn’t you lie down on the bed and put your feet up? The doctor told us that’s the best thing to do.”

“Honestly, the bed seemed a million miles away in that moment and I didn’t want to risk falling down.”

“Well, I understand that. But, call me next time so I can help. Do you think you can stand now?”

“Yeah. I’m better now.”

Rick stood and helped Michonne slowly ease from the window seat. Looking at his wife closely, he eventually felt confident that she was indeed okay. He let out a breath.

“If that happens again, we are getting one of those Life Alert bracelets.”

Michonne scoffed. “I’m not elderly, Rick. I’m pregnant.”

“I wasn’t talking about one for you. I was talking about me. I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest when I found you just now.”

Michonne caressed Rick’s face. “Aww, sweetie, I’m really okay. The doctor told us dizzy spells are normal for pregnant women early in a pregnancy. They should taper off soon.”

“I’m not concerned about other pregnant women. My only concern is you and little Lima Bean.”

“Lima Bean?” Michonne asked in confusion. “Rick, I’m eleven weeks pregnant. The baby is the size of a lime not a lima bean.”

“I know that, babe. But I thought Lima Bean was a cute nickname for this week. Besides, the only other lime one I could think of was Lime-a-rita...and that just didn’t seem appropriate.”

“Well, I did know a girl named Tequila when I was younger.”

“Seriously?”

Michonne nodded. “Yep. Sweet girl.”

“Regardless, I think the name of the week is Lima Bean.”

“This is your thing, so Lima Bean it is,” Michonne conceded.

Almost immediately after they’d found out at the end of last month that Michonne was pregnant, Rick started researching everything he could about pregnancy. When he discovered a chart that compared the week to week fetus size to a similar sized fruit/vegetable, Rick made it his mission to come up with a related nickname to call the baby. He didn’t want to call their child “the baby” all the time. Thus far, Michonne’s favorites had been “Sweet Pea” from week six (when they found out about their pregnancy), Halle Rasp-Berry from week eight, and Prunehilda from last week.  

“Lima Bean is the most gender-neutral name you’ve come up with other than Sweet Pea.”

“Well, I actually wanted to call her Lima Beana Ballerina, but I thought you might throw something at me.”

Michonne chuckled. “Rick, you don’t know whether we’re having a girl. We’ll have to wait a couple of months to find out.”

“I stick to what I said in college. We are going to have a daughter first. I can feel it,” Rick said confidently.

The young couple had gone through a pregnancy scare following spring break during their junior year of college. Even before they knew whether or not Michonne was pregnant, Rick was calling the possible baby a “she.”

“Well, since you are so connected to our child, will you please tell Lima Bean to help a fellow sista out and let her mama enjoy this evening without any dizzy spells or bouts of gas? That’s all I’m asking.”

“I’ll ask, but I’m not sure she’ll listen. She already gave me an unexpected gift when your breasts got larger. Lima Bean might feel as if she’s already done enough for her daddy,” Rick joked.

Michonne side-eyed her husband before continuing. “Well, little Lima Bean owes his or her mama because between these breasts and the dizziness, I didn’t think I’d make it out of this bedroom tonight. My stomach is just starting to pooch out some, but my breasts have decided to show up and show out. It was hard to find a dress that doesn’t highlight them too much. I don’t want our friends asking questions yet.”

Although, the pregnancy was progressing normally and their baby was healthy and strong, Michonne and Rick still wanted to wait until she was in her second trimester to tell their friends and extended family. Their parents were a different story, however. They were going to find out tonight.

Michonne walked over to her vanity and checked her makeup before turning back to Rick. “You have everything all set for our parents?”

“Yeah, the gifts are waiting downstairs.”

“They are going to be so surprised.” Michonne walked into the hallway ahead of Rick. “Who do you think is going to cry the most?”

“That’s easy...my mama and your daddy.” Rick held out a hand to Michonne.

Michonne laughed as she entwined her fingers with Rick and carefully walked down the stairs.

“I still don’t know why you all didn’t let us throw you an anniversary party. It’s your first wedding anniversary,” Rick’s mother lamented.

Rick and Michonne had plans to meet their friends for dinner in the city but they were currently at the home of Michonne’s parents. They wanted to reveal the pregnancy in private.

“We know that, Mama, but we did the big parties with our engagement and our wedding. We just wanted to keep this kind of lowkey and have a moment with y’all before going out with our friends.” Rick glanced at Michonne.

“Rick and I called y’all here tonight because we wanted you all to know how much we appreciate all that you’ve done for us. You have been and continue to be an incredible support for us and our relationship. We literally wouldn’t be here without you. So, we got you something that we think you’ll love.”

Mr. Richardson spoke up. “You two have thanked us repeatedly. We know how appreciative you are, so you really didn’t have to get us gifts. But since you already paid for them...hand them over.”

Rick handed the boxes to their parents. “Actually, Michonne and I made this gift.”

“Oh, you working those hands again, Ricky boy?” Mr. Grimes asked.

It took everything in Rick not to look at Michonne and laugh. “Something like that, Daddy.”

“My Ricky has always been very good with his hands. His grandfather on his daddy’s side taught him all about whittlin’. He can work a piece of wood like nobody’s business,” Mrs. Grimes crowed.

Michonne bit her lip and turned her head to hold the laughter in.

Mrs. Richardson spoke up. “Well, Michonne was always great with the arts and sports...especially tennis. Most people have a specialty when it comes to tennis strokes but her instructors always said Michonne was an expert at all of the strokes.”

Rick choked on laughter to the point that Michonne had to pat him on the back. When he had himself under control, Rick interrupted their parents’ back and forth.

“Y’all don’t have to convince us of each other’s talents. We’re very much aware of what the other can do.” That got him a pinch from his wife. “Now, if y’all could please open up your gifts, we’d appreciate it. And they are all the same so open then all at once if you will.”

The parents all took a seat and on the count of three, they opened their gifts. Then delightful chaos ensued.

“OH MY WORD!”

“Is this for real?!”

“Well, I’ll be!”

“My baby is having a baby!”

Rick and Michonne captured the reactions on video before they were forced to put down their phones and accept the numerous hugs. While all of their parents shed tears of joy, Rick was right that his mother and Michonne’s father went through the most tissues.

“I just can’t believe it! You two are having a baby! I’m going to be a grandmother! I’m just so happy,” Mrs. Richardson felt the tears coming again so she sat down heavily and started fanning herself.

Mrs. Grimes smiled lovingly at the reveal gift. It was a mini slate blackboard that had Lima Bean’s most recent sonogram in the center and the words “Grandma & Grandpa I Cannot Wait To Meet You” across the top and “Baby Grimes, January 2018” along the sides.

“This announcement is adorable! It’s the absolute best I’ve ever seen. Peggy’s daughter, the fast one that chased Rick all throughout school, announced her pregnancy a few months back. Peggy thought the cheap little onesies her daughter and son-in-law scrawled all over was the most unique thing ever done in creation...even though everybody and their mama has done that to death.” Mrs. Grimes held up the blackboard. “This right here is something she’s never seen before. Her eyes are gonna bug out when I show this off at Bible study on Wednesday.” 

Peggy from Bible study was something of an arch nemesis of Suzanne Grimes.  

“Now, Mama, you are going to have to hold off on rubbing this in Miss Peggy’s face. Michonne and I are just telling y’all for right now.”

Michonne nodded. “Yeah. We know everything is going to be fine with the baby, but we wanted to wait until we were in our second trimester to tell everyone else.”

“How far along are you now, baby girl?” Mr. Richardson wanted to know.

“I just started my eleventh week on Friday. We just want to wait a few more weeks until I am firmly in my fourth month to make a formal announcement.”

The parents all looked at each other. Waiting four weeks was going to be hard but they understood and respected their children’s wishes.

“We’ll wait,” Mr. Grimes said. “Suzy Q might suffer permanent damage to her lips biting them to hold the secret in, but we’ll do it for y’all and our grandbaby.”

“We sure will,” Mrs. Richardson agreed.

“Great!” Rick smiled.  “Now, we have to go practice what we preach and try to keep this from the group.”

“You’re not telling them either? You all are so close.” Mr. Richardson stated.

Rick and Michonne shared a look. “Yeah, they are family to us and we really do want to tell them. I guess we’ll play it by ear, Rick?” Michonne’s voice went up in question.

“I think so.” Rick turned back to their parents. “We’re gonna go now, but congratulations Grandmas and Grandpas.”

Sheila Richardson gasped when a sudden thought came to her. “Oh, Suzanne, we have to decide what the babies are going to call us. What do your grandbabies call you now?”

“I’ve always had my heart set on my grandkids calling me PopPop,” Benjamin Richardson explained.

Michonne and Rick watched as their parents huddled together in discussion, completely ignoring them.

“Well, I guess our work here is done. You ready to hit the road, Mama?”

“Lead the way, Daddy.”

Their friends were already seated by the time Rick and Michonne made it to the restaurant.

“Happy Anniversary!” their friends yelled.

“It’s about damn time y’all got here. Unless you stopped to scratch an itch, there ain’t no damn excuse for being late to your own anniversary dinner.”

“Hello to you, too, Shane,” Rick said dryly.

“Sorry we’re late. We stopped by to see our parents on the way here,” Michonne apologized.

Andrea eyed her boyfriend. “Ignore, Shane. You know he acts like an ass when he gets hungry.”

Daryl grunted. “Damn, man. You must have a tapeworm cause you act the ass all the damn time.”

“Sasha, you better get your man before I throw some soapy water on his dirty ass. I know that’s his kryptonite.”

“Could y’all not? This is Rick and Michonne’s night.” Sasha eyed Daryl and Shane with annoyance. “Besides, I thought y’all were friends again.”

“We are friends. This is just how we do it. It’s all love.” Shane explained. Daryl nodded in agreement.

“I just can’t with y’all,” Sasha sighed.

“Anyway, I’m glad you guys are here!” Maggie stood up to hug Michonne and Rick. Glenn and the others followed suit.

“Michonne, you look amazing tonight! Are you letting your hair grow out again?” Sasha asked.

“Uh, yeah. I figured I’d do it while I was home for the summer for my internship.”

“How is that going?” Maggie asked. “You still leaving the other interns in the dust?”

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

“She is,” Rick interjected. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a job offer from the firm early into her final year at Harvard. I just know they want to snap my wife up before other firms can get to her.”

Michonne smiled prettily at her husband’s praise. “Rick, you are biased.”

“I’m also right. I heard the way they were talking to you and about you at that mixer we went to last week. You are the star of this intern class, babe.”

“Well, how is your fellowship going at UGA, Rick?” Glenn asked. “Is it nice being back at our old stomping grounds?”

“It’s been great on both counts. It’s nice seeing so many familiar faces. Hopefully, they like the work I’m doing and it will give me an in when I apply for a faculty position there.”

“You have more than an in, babe. They are already talking like it’s a done deal. It’s just a matter of us graduating and coming back home. The skills and knowledge you are bringing to them from BU is a boon for their program.”

Now it was Rick’s turn to be embarrassed at his wife’s praise. He gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“You two are so cute!” Maggie gushed. “How does it feel being married for a whole year?”

Michonne let out a sigh of contentment. “It’s been pretty amazing. You would think things wouldn’t feel so different since we were already living together, but our commitment and love just feels deeper now. I know marriage isn’t for everyone but it’s exactly right for us.”

“I couldn’t have said it any better myself. I agree with my wife one hundred percent.”

“That’s cool and all, but when are y’all gonna start poppin’ out some babies?” Shane asked. “I know your mama has to be droppin’ hints by now about wantin’ grandbabies, Rick. I think if she had her way, y’all would have gotten knocked up at the reception.”

“Hey, that’s my mama,” Rick protested.

Shane continued unbothered. “And, if the truth be known, I’m ready to have a nephew to teach the ways of the world. When are y’all gonna make it happen?”

Most everyone at the table looked horrified at the thought of Shane teaching an infant anything. But Rick and Michonne were horrified and nervous that their secret was going to come out.

Rick scratched up and down one side of his face with the back of his hand. “The, uh, babies will come when they, uh, come. Uh, we aren’t, uh, trying to rush anything. We are just going to let nature, umm, take its course.” Rick broke eye contact with Shane and looked at Michonne who had an odd smile on her face.

Shane squinted his eyes and rubbed his head while looking at his friends. Andrea also eyed the married couple suspiciously.

“I call bullshit, man,” Shane said with a shake of his head. “All that hemming and hawing. You were always a shit liar. What’s really going on?” 

Andrea looked back and forth between Rick and Michonne before she noticed something different about Michonne. Andrea’s eyes stretched as she exclaimed, “YOU’RE PREGNANT!”

All of their friends immediately turned to Rick and Michonne sitting at the head of the table. The couple shared a look. They carried on a private conversation with just their eyes before Michonne nodded at Rick. He then addressed their friends.

“Yes, we’re having a baby.”

Cheers broke out immediately at their table.

“I knew something was up,” Andrea stated smugly. “Michonne, you came in looking all dewy fresh like you’d just gotten a facial. And Rick had an even goofier look on his face than usual.”

“Watch it,” Michonne warned.

Like her boyfriend had earlier, Andrea continued unfazed. “I figured Shane was right and you guys had stopped along the side of the road to help each other rub one ou—“

“Andrea!” a shocked Michonne interrupted.

“Sorry. Living with Shane has had an effect,” Andrea stated morosely.

Shane preened. “You’re welcome, baby.”

“That wasn’t a compliment, Shane.” Andrea focused on Michonne again. “Anyway, so you are all glowy, then Sasha mentioned your hair growing out, and your nails are longer than I’ve ever seen them. But your boobs are the giveaway. They are...well...huge.”

“Yeah, I noticed that, too,” Shane added. “But I didn’t want to say anything cause I didn’t want Rick to punch me.”

“It’s not his punch you’d have to worry about,” Michonne stated sharply.

“So you guys are having a baby. That’s great news, right?” Glenn asked.

Rick nodded. “It’s wonderful news. I mean, this wasn’t planned but we couldn’t be happier.”

“Were you guys gonna tell us or wait until the kid was in kindergarten?” Daryl asked with hurt in his voice.

“We were going to tell you but we didn’t even tell our parents until tonight. We were trying to wait until Michonne was further along,” Rick explained.

Being the only one with medical experience, second-year med student Sasha nodded in understanding. “That makes sense. Most couples wait until they are out of the danger zone so to speak. How far along are you, Michonne?”

“I’m in the beginning of my eleventh week.”

“Eleven weeks, huh?” Shane’s eyes rolled skyward as he quickly counted backwards. He shot the couple a smirk when he finished. “Y’all were visiting home eleven weeks ago if I remember correctly. The ole lake house worked its magic again.” Shane knew from Rick that all of Harold and Suzanne Grimes’ sons, including Rick, were conceived in the lake house.

Glenn looked at Shane in amazement. “I thought you hated math? That literally took you seconds to figure out.”

“That’s not math, man. That’s life skills. When you get around as much as I used to, you learn how to figure out those dates of conception real quick.”

Andrea just rolled her eyes.

Shane was correct. Twelve weeks ago, on a gray and rainy Saturday in early April, Michonne was feeling especially homesick after missing Glenn and Maggie’s engagement party. After the engaged couple called and asked their friends to be their Best Man and Matron of Honor, Rick and Michonne decided to take a quick trip home the following weekend. By their best guess, the married couple figured they got pregnant on their first night of the trip. They’d joked since finding out they were pregnant that instead of flowers, an April shower had brought them a baby.

“How are you guys going to handle going to grad school and having a baby?” Andrea asked, giving voice to one of Rick and Michonne’s main concerns.

Rick shrugged. “We’ll figure it out somehow. We really don’t have much of a choice. It would be easier if we were closer to home and everyone but we aren’t.”

“Why don’t y’all ask Mama Grimes?” Shane looked at Michonne and chuckled. “Well, I guess you’re Mama Grimes now, too, huh? Why don’t y’all ask the other Mama Grimes to stay with you for a while after the baby’s born? I’m sure she’d jump at the chance.”

Michonne looked at Rick. “That would actually be amazing to have Mama Suzanne with us. She’s the only grandparent whose schedule would allow her to stay with us in Boston after the baby is born. But do you think it might be a lot to ask of her?”

“Well, she stayed with Harold Jr. and Amanda right after they had their first baby and she still talks about that. We’d need to discuss it with Mama and all of our parents first, but I actually think she would love it.” 

“Damn right she would,” Shane agreed. “That’s what family is for...to help you when you need it most.” Shane clapped his hands. “Now, let’s get the food comin’ and the liquor flowin’ for everyone except Mama Michonne here. We got to celebrate Rick and Michonne bein’ married for a year and the fact that Rick ain’t shootin’ blanks!”

“Shane!” Andrea hissed.

“What?” he laughed.

Rick and Michonne were finally back at the lake house after a long evening spent celebrating with their friends. Lima Bean had cooperated for the evening and let Michonne enjoy her time out without incident. But the tiredness that comes with pregnancy was finally catching up to Michonne. She could barely keep her eyes open. She was currently relaxed against Rick in bed. He had his arms around her and was stroking her newly formed, tiny baby bump.

“I’m glad it’s all out there with our friends. I just know I would have slipped up if I had to keep the secret much longer.”

“That’s because you have loose lips, babe,” Michonne murmured sleepily.

“Hey!” Rick exclaimed with offense. “I was able to keep my impending marriage proposal a secret from you for a year.”

“And I will be forever,” Michonne let out a huge yawn, “impressed by that. But you weren’t even going to make it to the Fourth of July without telling our friends, let alone a whole month. Oh, remind me to call Noah in London tomorrow to let him know. It doesn’t make much sense now to wait until he comes back next week from his summer abroad. ” Michonne yawed again. “Excuse me for yawning so much, babe. I guess our baby is trying to tell me to hush and go to sleep.”

“Lima Bean would never be rude to her mama like that. She was a good girl all evening.”

“You are committed to this daughter business, aren’t you?”

“I sure am,” Rick laughed. He dropped a quick kiss on his wife’s forehead. “Did you enjoy our first anniversary?”

Michonne nodded against Rick’s chest. “I did.”

“And you are absolutely okay with us not exchanging gifts?”

“Rick, what did we say?”

“That our baby is the biggest and best anniversary gift we could ever give each other.”

“Exactly.” Michonne placed her hands atop Rick’s. “Nothing could be a better gift than this.”

Rick sighed. “Thank you.”

Michonne looked up at her husband. “For what?”

“For being my wife, my lover, my best friend, my biggest cheerleader, my constant listening ear, and, now, the mother of my child. Thank you for being my soul mate and the love of this life and the next.”

Michonne was emotional from the moment Rick began speaking, but the tears really flowed with the last sentence. Rick spoke those exact words to her when he proposed.

Michonne sniffled. “Rick, you are wreaking havoc on my hormones right now,” she said through tears and laughter.

She gathered herself and smiled up at her husband. “Thank you for being my husband, my lover, and my best friend. Thank you for already being the best father our baby could hope ever hope for. Thank you for being both my biggest motivator and my biggest motivation. Thank you for being my present, my future, and my home. Thank you for being everything I never knew I needed.”

Rick wiped at his own tears and chuckled. “Since I made you cry with that line from our proposal, you are getting me back with lines from your vows? Not fair.  I don’t even have the benefit of pregnancy hormones.”

“You can have some of mine if you want. You can have the nausea and dizzy spells, too, if you like.”

“I would take them all and then some in heartbeat if I could.”

Michonne gave Rick a soft smile. “I know you actually would do it, too. You are one of a kind, Richard Sullivan Grimes.” Michonne leaned up to give her husband a kiss.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Michonne Colette Grimes.” Rick smiled when Michonne yawned once again. “Get some sleep, babe. You and Lima Bean both need your rest.”

Michonne didn’t protest as she settled back down onto Rick’s chest and closed her eyes. Right before she drifted off to sleep she uttered, “Happy Anniversary, Husband.”

“Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Grimes.”

 @richonnefics

Monday 6-27-16 Tuesday 8-23-16 Wednesday 10-28-16 Thursday 12-22-16

Friday 2-10-17 Saturday 4-1-17

[tripstations]

Interrail trips: readers’ travel tips and tales | Travel

Winning tip: Slow and social, Italy

Italy’s length makes it a great country to use an Interrail card. You can travel overnight to save on hotel bills and make the most of your time in cities – leave Milan at midnight, wake up in Naples at 7am! Some Italian regional trains are great fun, too. They go everywhere and you will have farmers, housewives and students for company, more than willing to share wine, lunch and lives. Once, on a train from Bologna to Florence, six of us in a shared compartment sorted out a woman’s relationship dilemma: whether to move in with her boyfriend in Florence or do a love commute from Bologna every other day. Nicoletta

Splitting up in Madrid

Atocha Station, Madrid. Photograph: Luis Castaneda/Getty Images

Beware of trains that split! Heading for Seville, I travelled across the Spanish plains on a rickety old service – very scenic and romantic. At Madrid, it stopped for a long time and the destination boards weren’t clear. Leaving my rucksack in one compartment, I went into the next carriage to find an English speaker. “The guys back there tell me we’re going to Seville,” I said to my new American friend. “There is no ‘back there’,” she replied. “We’re on the train to Lisbon!” It took 36 hours to be reunited with my bag, sadly without the camera. Neil

Every week we ask our readers for recommendations from their travels. A selection of tips will be featured online and may appear in print, and the best entry each week (as chosen by Tom Hall of Lonely Planet) wins a £200 voucher from hotels.com. To enter the latest competition visit the readers’ tips homepage

Bled bugs bite

Lake Bled, Slovenia. Photograph: AlbertoLoyo/Getty Images

On the way from Vienna to Lake Bled, normally a six-hour trip, our train was cancelled midway and we were forced to find an alternative route. Eventually, at 4am, eight hours after we had planned to, we wearily arrived at Bled to find our hostel wasn’t open yet. Exhausted, my friend and I decided to sleep by the lake for a few hours until it opened. An hour later, I woke up to my friend shouting in agony. He had been using an ants’ nest as a pillow. Dominic

Travel days and local fares

River Neretva and city of Mostar. Photograph: Lassi Kurkijarvi/Getty Images

If you are travelling on a flexi pass, consider whether it is worth using one of the travel days for every train journey, or whether paying cash and saving a travel day works out cheaper – particularly in eastern Europe, where fares are lower. For instance, Sarajevo-Mostar (wonderfully scenic) costs about £6 each-way, which is significantly less than a travel day is worth. Alex

Creating in Croatia

Sunrise in Split. Photograph: xbrchx/Getty Images

If your Interrailing priority is returning home armed with some killer anecdotes, the sleeper train between Zagreb and Split is a must. Expect three-tier bunks dangling by a rope, a paper sheet in lieu of bedding, and limited bathroom facilities. The journey is likely to be enlivened by beer-wielding backpackers who are keen to make the most of the eight-hour journey, so entertainment isn’t in short supply. What’s more, waking up to daybreak on the Croatian coastline makes up for lack of sleep. Bunks need to be reserved for a small fee on top of the Interrail pass. Susie

Night trains save time and money, Kraków-Budapest

Main market square of Krakow from under the arches of the Cloth Hall. Photograph: martin-dm/Getty Images

When possible, take a night train. They are comfortable and you save a whole extra day to visit a city, and they also count as one day on your ticket. Night trains usually incur only a small extra cost, cheaper than an extra hotel/hostel night. One leg of my trip saw me in Kraków, where I visited the beautiful old town and took a morning trip from the central station to visit Auschwitz. Back at Kraków I took an overnight train to Budapest (costing about £6-7 if you pay local price) and, voilà, was in a new city and on the next leg of my Interrail trip. Peter Sala

’Appy days exploring Europe

Cologne Cathedral and train station. Photograph: Sergey Borisov/Alamy

As novice Interrailers, we weren’t brave enough to just wave our passes and see where fate took us. The awesome Rail Planner app allowed us to be virtually adventurous. OK, we’re at Lille station on 9 September at 9am … where shall we go? Vienna? Twelve hours and four changes. Too long, too many changes. There’s a train to Cologne in 10 minutes … sounds good – it’s got a cathedral, hasn’t it? Three weeks of doing that: best holiday ever. Bev

Ferry good deal indeed

Blue Star ferries in Piraeus. Photograph: David Levene/The Guardian

Interrail passes are not limited to trains – if you want a bit of variety, or ever get fed up with long rail trips, the card offers big discounts on ferries all over the continent. In Greece there are big savings on inter-island Blue Star ferries. And in Scandinavia you can cross the Baltic for half price from Germany to Finland on Finnlines vessels, which are top quality, with five-star facilities such as free, clean showers, cinema and swimming pools – really cool after an uncomfortable overnight train trip. Nigel Cox

Children travel free

Interrail is a good option for family holiday – children under 12 travel for free. Photograph: Alexander Sorokopud/Getty Images

Don’t assume Interrail is only for the young and footloose. With children under 12 travelling free, they’re great for family holidays. We did two with our daughter before she turned 12. Travelling from Exeter to London for the Eurostar, with UK travel included on the ticket they’d practically paid for themselves by the time we got to St Pancras. With that many trains involved, things aren’t always going to go perfectly, but the beauty of Interrail is its flexibility. Be warned, though, that France, Spain and Italy can be less accommodating by requiring compulsory reservations for some trains. Jon A

Border buffers, Italy/Slovenia

Gorizia railway station. Photograph: John Keates/Alamy

When I went Interrailing around northern Italy, I was really keen to end the trip by going over the border to Slovenia, but the Italian and Slovenian train networks aren’t connected. So I got a train to border town Gorizia then hopped on the local bus to Nova Gorica, which is the Slovenian side of the city (or you can walk it in about 30 minutes). I then got the train to Lake Bled through the Julian Alps – it was only about €6 for a single ticket if you want to save your day use, and the views were fantastic. It’s then very easy from Bled to get trains to Austria, or to Ljubljana. Rachel

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