#drew this instead of working on my research paper. i am SO fucked

[doctahchang]

THIS is who they are being mean to (keep entertaining the idea that she gets shot and becomes severely injured at the end of hope and fear => gets scarred => then they hit the void and she isolates herself not only because of the guilt for stranding voyager in delta quadrant but also being partially responsible for arturis's species assimilated by the borg ^-^)

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

[airplanned]

All the Trashy Novels Part 25

Part 1...Part 24

It smut.

***

Link waited outside the dining room as the princess had a private lunch with her father.  "He's just going to chide me for my lack of spiritual progress," she'd said, waving a dismissive hand.  "But who knows, maybe he'll be pleased at how well we're getting along."  She'd flashed him a grin that made his stomach drop.  "How terrible could it be?"

Link wasn't sure if she'd been trying to convince him or herself.

When she walked out of the room forty-five minutes later, her back was ram-rod straight and her jaw clenched just as tight.  Her eyes were wide and her face was pale, and she walked straight past him as if in a silent, secret panic.  It had apparently gone very badly.

He followed her all the way out to the gardens, where she let her stiff posture drop in favor of freaking the fuck out.  Her fingers dug into her hair as she paced.  "He took it.  He took it.  What am I going to do?  He took it."

"What did he take?"

"The slate!  He says I'm wasting my time with it, and then he took it!"

He frowned.  Slowly, he said, "The Sheikah said that they were close to building a new--"

"No. No.  You don't understand."

"I understand it will make your research har--"

"I took another picture."

He froze.  "You what?"

Her hands pressed tight over her mouth as she stared at him with begging eyes.  She looked like she might cry from frustration and embarrassment. 

Oh no.

Link's mind raced.  "He doesn't know how to work the slate," he assured.

"Right.  Right.  Yes."  

"He probably wouldn't even try to use it."

"Of course."

They stared at each other.

"I'm going to go get it," he said, and turned on his heel.  He shouted over his shoulder, "Stay out of trouble."

He had a few options.  First, he could sneak in and steal it.  The problem with that was that getting caught would be disastrous, and even if he wasn't caught, the king would immediately suspect the princess, and in a way, he would be right.  Secondly, he could ask for it.  Of course, there was no reason at all that Link should have the Sheikah slate.  He wasn't a researcher. 

He needed a researcher.  

He headed straight for the guest rooms where the Sheikah were staying.  Purah glared at him when she opened the door.

"I thought you got the hint that I'm mad at you."

Link ignored her.  "The king confiscated the Sheikah Slate.  If you asked him to give it to you for your research, he'll give it to you to get it out of the castle.  Then you can sneak it back to Her Highness."

Purah was already grabbing her jacket, shouldering into it as she walked and straightening it at the shoulders.  "Is he in his study?"

Link didn't know.

They headed for his study.  Link made himself scare in the library stacks and waited as Purah was allowed to speak to the king.  She was gone for ten minutes.  When she reappeared, she walked straight past him and he hurried to follow her.

"For the Goddess' sake, tell her to keep this hidden," she snapped, passing it back over her shoulder.  Link had to rush forward to grab it.

"Don't talk to me any more this trip," she called.

Link stopped and took a deep breath.  Then he changed direction toward the princess' study.

She was pacing, one hand on her hip, a fingernail in her mouth, and she hurried to him when she saw him.  He held out the slate, and she sagged as she took it, closing her eyes as if offering a prayer of thanks.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"He thinks Purah has it.  You need to keep it hidden."

She nodded and sunk into her chair.

He shifted some papers and dropped onto the bench.  He gave her a minute before asking, "You took another picture?"

She frowned at him, then narrowed her eyes.  "Maybe."

"Was it better than the last one?"

Her nostrils flared, and she crossed the space between them and plopped down on the bench beside him.  She flipped through the slate and then thrust it into his hands.

It was a bit like being slapped.  He didn't know what to focus on.  The way her robe slipped down her shoulder.  The way that exposed a thin, off-center slice of skin from her shoulder to her chest wrappings, then down her belly to her panties, and down her thigh to where she stood on her knees on her bed.  He was distracted by the small bit of lace panties, by the small divot just above along the side of her abdomen.  He would lick both of those.  He would take her robe by its draping sleeves and hold them tight at the small of her back, pulling it off her shoulders, holding back her hands.  He was distracted by how she held her hair out of the way to show off her neck.  He was distracted by how she bit into the flesh of her lip, holding a blue hair tie in her mouth as if she were about to use it.  It looked like one of his hair ties.  The though made his mouth dry.  Then his vision drew back down to her body.

He crossed his leg to rest his ankle on his knee.

"Well?" she mocked.  "Better than the last one?"

He should really hand it back.  Just...just stop looking at it and give it back.

Instead he pulled his eyes from the slate to give her a look.  "Are you goading me?"

"What if I am?"

"What if it worked?"

She lifted an eyebrow in challenge.

He pressed a hand to the front of his pants, the relief nearly as strong as the pull to continue.  But he stared at her and narrowed his eyes.

For a split second, she showed surprise, but then her eyes narrowed dangerously, and then she was on him, throwing a leg over his lap and shoving him back and sideways on the bench until she was in the same pose as the picture, giving him a far hungrier look than she'd given her own image.  He gripped tight to her thigh and rubbed the butt of his hand harder against his cock, the heat building in his stomach as the heat grew in her cheeks, his breath coming faster as her chest heaved.  Then she was yanking at his shirt, and he was sitting up to help and somehow they tossed the Master Sword aside and got his shirt out of the way, and then she was tugging at his pants, and he was lifting his hips, and she was yanking them down enough for his cock to spring loose, and she was shoving him back, her hands running over his chest, and he groaned as he was finally able to take himself in hand and pump.  Her eyes on him were both embarrassing and hot as fuck, especially the way she bit her lip and moaned.  Especially when one of her hands started dragging up her body.  Her sides, her breast, her throat, absently, as if she were too distracted to notice, as if she were too turned on to care.  It ratcheted him higher, tighter, closer.  Then her furious eyes darted up to his in challenge, and it ended him.  His release came in two ropey bursts that seemed to drag up from so deep it might have been from the souls of heroes past.

He blinked stars from his eyes and panted.  As he came back into his body, back into his senses, he came back to the most bitter tasting embarrassment.

The princess' eyes were wide, as she stared down at him, and Link wanted nothing more than for lightning to strike him dead.  She stood as if he'd burned her, and he moved to tuck his cock away, but then she was back, pushing him back down and wiping his abs ineffectively with one of the rags she used to clean guardian parts.

"I've got it," he panted.  "Don't get messy."

She let him, and when he was done he looked up to stare at her.  

She pressed two fingers to the fading mark on his shoulder.  Then she handed him his shirt.

"Better than the last picture," he said.

She hummed.  "I think there's room for improvement."

***

Part 26

[monsterstewwrites]

More Honey cuz I’ve gone insane

My Sheep hybrid AU Honey, from Miggiisdumb’s bnha hybrid farm au has been taking of my brain recently, so I wrote another thing for her. This time we actually see some of the smut she and farmer Shoto get up to.

I have no idea how farms work so a lot of this is guesswork and googling, also I am not a very good writer. But honestly, writing smut and sex gets me motivated anyway so here we go.

Shino belongs to one-spicy-spider and you should shower her with love.

Donovan stared into her eyes and ran his hands over her clothed breasts, her nipples hardening from the attention. The way his thumbs kneaded into the hardened buds sent shivers through her soft skin.

“Can you feel me through your dress?” He asked her, pressing himself fully against her and grinding his hips into her crotch. “The flimsy fabric you typically wear makes you practically naked, which I often love. But you're not actually nude, which can make things frustrating, as you can feel.”

Indeed, Alyssa could feel his manhood through the thin fabric of the white dress she wore, it throbbed through his own trousers and sent her into a flush.

“Do you want me?” He whispered into her ear, his hot breath making her wetter.

With a heavy swallow she nodded, and Donovan grinned and reached for the straps of her dress and pulled it apart with a hard ripping sound.

Her hands instinctively tried to cover herself, but he used one hand to grab her wrists and pinned them above her head. She could feel his long fingers twist down her skin and tightening around her joints, locking her into that position.

The now tattered dress fell to the floor as he snaked his massive hand down between her legs and pressed his entire palm against her dripping pussy and tapped lightly against her folds. She groaned at the gentle touch, hoping for him to pressing rougher.

“Do you want it rougher?” He said to her. “Do you want my fingers to treat you mean?”

“Please!” Alyssa cried. “Take me, open me and use me as you please!”

Donovan pushed his fingers inside her and kissed into her neck, teeth grazing her skin and his tongue working around her neck and squeezing, not to strangle her, but to feel her heartbeat against one of his most sensitive appendages.

She loved the way that his long fingers reached inside her in ways no one else could, and she groaned out in pleasure as he felt around inside her.

“Take me with your cock,” she moaned out. “Fill my cunt with your barbs and never let me go.”

“Sheepy, earth to sheepy!”

Honey snapped the book closed, her face aflame and legs squirming slightly as she pressed the book against her chest. She looked up at the sight of Doctor Keigo looking down at her with a smirk on his face.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked.

She winced and stuffed her smut back into the little pocket of her wool.

When she went over to Doctor Keigo's office for her checkup he had said it was okay for her to take the book she had been reading, and he once said as log as it kept her from being too nervous she could keep doing so.

They both forgot how much of a distraction her reading habits could be.

“I'm glad to know you're enjoying my gift,” the vet said to her as she turned back to him. “One person's trash really is another person's treasure and all that, still it'd be nice if you paid a pinch attention during your checkup.”

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“No worries Sheepy,” he said. “Some people get sucked into it more than others. Now let me check your vitals to you can head back to the barn and finish that bodice ripper.”

He took out his stethoscope and began checking her heartbeat.

“It's a bit fast,” he muttered. “Though I have a good guess why that is.”

Honey stuck her tongue out at him, proof that she was getting more used to him and could be comfortable around with without fear.

“I know you first got into them for research,” he said idly. “You wanna get more ideas for how to better seduce the lads around here, most likely Shoto because you're more of a nightingale than a sheep most days.”

Honey pouted, he had insisted that before but she didn't think so. She didn't like him because he saved her or anything, she liked him because when she was scared and alone he was kind to her and made her feel like this new place was home.

That was completely different.

“I'm not a sexy cow,” she said. “I can't just make him suck my boobs the way he does with the cows, I wanna be able to walk all sexy and make him hard just as our eyes meet.”

Her fancy description and wistful tone made Keigo throw her a look, she really had been diving into those books a lot hadn't she?

“You really don't need at that faff to seduce someone, you know,” he said. “Men aren't complicated, and it's not like you've never screwed him before.”

“Well, yeah,” Honey admitted as she turned around and leaned over as far as she could without falling. “But I can barely ask for normal sex, what about that fancy sex I keep reading about and wanna try? The one where the princess was taken on the ship and tied to the mast, and the Octopus King saved her from the pirates and pleasured her while pulling the boat she was still tied to to his kingdom is still one of my favorites.”

Keigo paused in his checking of her spine.

“Was that was that one was about?” He muttered.

Honey ignored him and straightened herself back up, a few of her spinal joints popping as she stretched slightly.

“Is it so bad to wanna feel like a pretty damsel being rescued by her strong prince sometimes?” She asked, voice growing shy by her admission.

Keigo wrote something down on his clipboard with an amused sigh.

“Honestly considering what usually goes down around here that's probably pretty tame,” he admitted. “Stick your tongue out for me.”

She complied with each of his instructions and made a 'blah' to show him her tongue, checkups were kinda boring of she were being honest. Luckily only a few more things needed to be checked up on anyway, and he soon was able to finish things up with her.

“Alright Sheepy,” He said. “Everything looks to be in order her, you need me to escort you back to your pen?”

“No thank you,” Honey said. “I'm fine, goodbye doctor.”

“Next time I'll being you a series,” he said as she slipped out the door. “You're one of my most manageable patients, so I have to reward that somehow.”

He threw her a little wink and laughed at her flustered reaction, slamming the door behind her.

Doctor Keigo doing that always spurred her into a run, sprinting back to her pen where she could finish her book in relative peace.

The barn was usually pretty empty around this time of day, most of the other animals being milked or sheared or fucked.

Sometimes they fucked in the barn itself, but the hay had yet to be replaced and most of the hybrids preferred clean hay to roll around in.

Honey arrived at the barn hoping to find a bit of quiet, curl up under her blanket and read and get a few more ideas to become more confidant in herself. Sometimes she got so absorbed in her novels that she didn't even notice that sex was happening in the pen right next to her.

She didn't expect what she saw when she entered the barn made for the sheep to get to her pen.

“What?”

Amber eyes flashed at her as a stranger stared at her in silence.

A raccoon hybrid was rooting around in Honey's little pen and had strewn her novels all over the place, nearly all of them in tatters. Ripped out pages littered the floor and the cover of 'A midsummer night's cream' was sticking out of the raccoon's mouth as well as a few strings of the she's blanket.

Honey wasn't a violent hybrid by nature, in fact she was probably the least physically assertive (or any kind of assertive) hybrid in the the entire farm.

But when she saw what this stranger had done to her belongings and sleeping space something inside her snapped.

“NO!” She screamed, running towards the offending trespasser with her little hands in fists as she bounded over the fencing to get to her. “Get away! Those are mine!”

She tried to throw a punch at the raccoon, but was caught off guard by the little pest swiftly spinning around and swinging a knife wildly at Honey, slicing into her arm. A manic laugh erupted from her feral throat at her own actions.

But unluckily for the raccoon, Honey was loud when she was both scared and hurt.

She screamed as loud as she could, praying that someone could hear her, and she grabbed the raccoon by the roots of her scraggly blonde hair to make sure she couldn't escape. Another attempt to swing the knife resulted in Honey using her other hand to grip the grimy raccoon wrist in exchange for the blade nicking her skin.

“Geh!” The raccoon let out a harsh grunt as Honey pulled the sloppy hair. “Gedoffa me you stupid farmie brat!”

She pulled her arm away from Homey's losing her knife in the process, and swiped out at Honey's body, and the sheep was thankful for the level of wool she had accumulated because the claws protected her flesh from being sliced into.

Instead they tangled up into the wool itself which was less than ideal.

The pair of them ended up tussling amongst the scattered papers, with the raccoon trying to pry free from Honey and Honey herself trying to keep her in place despite the pain of her wool getting snagged.

Blood from her knife wounds trickled down her arm as the sheep hybrid tightened her grip on the raccoon's scraggly hair, one of the twin buns coming loose as she held fast.

It hurt really bad and she was scared out of her mind but she was too angry to let go.

The raccoon girl hissed as her claws managed to get free from the wool, tearing a chunk of it out in the process. She dug her hands into the arm that was grabbing at her hair and cause the sheep to let go.

“That's it!” The pest shrieked. “I'll teach you to mess with my rummaging!”

She drew her clawed fingers back and swiped at Honey's face, the sheep closed her eyes and braced for impact.

A sudden clang interrupted the pain and she felt herself get pulled away.

She blinked in confusion before realizing that she was in Shoto's arms, one hand wrapped protectively around her while the other held held a large empty bucket.

The raccoon was doubled over, clutching her head.

“Shoto!” Honey breathed.

“Damn you!” The raccoon cried out. “Don't interfere you asshole!”

Shoto looked like he was going to swing his bucket again, but something stopped him. A rush of air from above as something else literally flew into the barn and landed atop the fencing of the pen.

The barn owl hybrid Shino stared down at the scene with fury in her eyes.

The raccoon stared back.

“Well shit.”

Shino let out a screech, spreading her wings to their fullest and causing the raccoon to let out a shriek and turned around to run, but Shino was faster. The owl hybrid was on her in a second, pinning down her prey with her mighty talons.

The raccoon could only kick and scream as she was held fast.

Honey stared in awe at the sight of how easily Shino had apprehended that horrible raccoon, and made a mental note to thank her in some way once everything was set back to normal.

Glancing at the tatters of her books below, she wondered if she could make a flower crown out of the papers for her. She'd look super pretty with one, not that she didn't look pretty already.

At the barn doors many cows gathered to try and take a peek at what had happened, the heifers who could see the mess whispering to the cows in back and sending the whispers of gossip throughout them.

A few of the cows could see that Honey was bleeding, and that only got them more abuzz with interest. Shoto ignored them in favor of putting his bucket down and checking up on the little sheep in his arms.

“Thank you,” Shoto said to Shino. “I was afraid I'd have to hold it off myself.”

“No problem, I'm just sad I didn't catch her earlier. Hey! Quit kicking,” Shino snapped as other farmers and hybrids arrived at the barn to see what the fuss was about. “Don't make me rip that nasty head of yours off.”

While Shino was threatening, Iida barged in, pushing past the gossipy cows and taking a look at the situation in all it's chaos. When his eyes fell on the raccoon hybrid beneath Shino he actually recoiled at the sight of her.

“What on earth is she doing in here?” He asked. “How did she get in?”

“Maybe we can get the details out of her later,” Shoto told him. “Right now we should take care of Honey.”

He looked over her and took stock of the injuries she had sustained in her scuffle. All of a sudden the gravity of what had just happened hit her like a ton of bricks, the pain of her wounds coming to her now that the adrenaline was wearing off. She threw herself deeper into Shoto's chest and let out a tired sob.

“I'll take care of her,” he said to Iida. “You take care of that thing.”

“Bring her here Todoroki,” A voice said, silencing the gossiping cows. Doctor Keigo walking inside with a medical kit at his side and Izuku trailing behind.

Shino's feathers puffed up in irritation at the sight of Keigo, but given the situation she didn't move from her grip atop the intruder as he stood just outside the pen.

Keigo kept his distance and gave a nod to Izuku, who approached with a long pole with a looped steel cable.

Izuku quickly looped the snare around the raccoon's neck, only giving Shino the okay to let her up once he was sure it was secure.

“Keep one talon on her,” Keigo advised. “Take her to my office and don't take your eyes off her for a second. I have a friend who can make sure she isn't diseased and take her back to wherever she came from.”

It was clear that the great owl Hybrid wasn't keen on going to his office, but since he seemed to be staying behind to take a look at her little sheep friend.

Only slightly reluctantly, Shino and Izuku led the raccoon, who had begun laughing like a lunatic for some reason, and the onlooking cows hooted jeers and jabs at her.

“Now now!” Iida shouted at the crowd of hybrids looking on. “Nothing to see here everyone, go back about your day, unless you would like to help clean this mess up!”

That made them scatter, most back to their milking or fucking.

“I'll cover you for today,” Iida said to Shoto. “You make sure she's alright, I know she likes you best so it'll be quickest if it's in your hands.”

The way his face pinked a little bit told Shoto all he needed to know about where his mind was at as he walked outside where the remainder of the cows were waiting for him.

Not that either of them were complaining.

Setting her down, Shoto took Honey's sliced up arms and winced at the sight of them. He hated the sight of anyone on this farm hurt, and reaching for the medical supplies that Keigo placed nearby he carefully got about disinfecting her injuries.

She winced at the disinfectant rubbing into her wounds but remained still so Shoto could do his job. Once he was done he pressed his hand to her cheek, which she leaned into and kissed his palm.

Nearby, Keigo was examining the knife that had been used to stab at Honey.

“Looks like she swiped this from somewhere on the farm,” he said. “That means it's not likely to have any diseases on it, so that's a bit of good news here. I'll take a blood sample just in case, but I don't think you have anything to worry about, especially since you've been given shots to prevent this sort of thing.”

“That's good,” Shoto said as he bandaged up her injuries. “You've been really brave so far, can you hold still so he can do that?”

She nodded, but leaned into Shoto's chest anyway as Keigo pulled out a hypodermic needle and drew closer. No one liked needles on the farm, but she knew better than to kick up a fuss about it after everything and let him draw a bit of blood.

Once he had taken his sample he stood up so he could head out to get it checked out.

“I'll leave it to you two then,” he said. “You kids play nice.”

Shoto ignored him, and the joke flew over Honey's head as she looked at the mess made of her pen. He laughed as the barn doors closed behind him and left them alone.

Honey sighed sadly as she bent down to pick up the destroyed books that were scattered around her pen, the sadness of losing them creeping back to her.

“I can't believe that horrible thing destroyed all my books,” she said sadly. “I loved them all and now they're ruined. I might be able to figure out how to make the scraps into something pretty, but it's sad that I won't be able to read them anymore.”

“'Tonio gazed into Angelica's eyes and gave her full rump a squeeze, causing a grunt to erupt from her throat. He wanted to make that sound fill his mind forever, and he had just in instrument to do so.'” Shoto read from one of the papers, his eyebrows raising with each word. “This is some intense stuff, you know.”

Honey flushed and tried to grab at the papers, but he snatched it out of her reach with a teasing grin.

“Were you hoping to get some ideas?” He asked.

She was about to deny it, but she realized that the look in his eye was a chance that he was giving her. Honey swallowed and said the first thing she could think of.

“So what if I was?”

That was all he needed to hear.

Shoto pressed a kiss to her forehead, then another above her eye, and her nose, and finally to her soft lips.

She hummed into his kiss, feeling everything around them melt away. Her mouth opened instinctively and allowed him to push his tongue against hers as he gently guided her backwards until her back hit the pile of hay in the corner.

His hands ran across her soft body, fondling her chest as he kissed her and traveling lower and lower. One hand hooked under one leg and hitched it up to allow better access to the lovely pussy that was aching for him.

She moaned into his mouth as he fingered at her delicate clit, rubbing small circles into it with her thumb as his fingers probed her sloppy little hole.

Honey's hands gripped around his neck and pulled him closer to her, as close as they could possibly manage. He took the chance to nip at her neck, at that spot he knew drove her crazy as his fingers pumped in and out of her and curled his fingers just so, making tremors shake her body as she spilled over his hand.

“You,” she panted. “You were like my knight in shining bucket.”

That made him laugh against her neck, his teeth scraping against her skin and savoring the feel of her pulse beneath his tongue.

He wanted to make sure she was completely ready for him, loosening her walls so there wouldn't be any pain. She's already gone through enough after all.

After another few moments, he pulled his fingers out of her and reached for the fly of his pants.

“I'm you're knight eh?” He muttered as he fumbled with the zipper. “In that case...”

The sounds she made had made him achingly hard, and he could tell she had been thinking about his erection for a long time as he freed it from it's confines. She looked hungry for it, as much as he was for her.

“Allow me to claim my reward from the lovely maiden then.”

Honey felt like Princess Stella from one of her favorite novels, and she bit her lip in anticipation as her legs spread more, as much as she could manage.

Shoto ran a hand along her thigh, gentle and loving.

“Well then, are you ready for me?” he whispered into her ear. “Ready for your knight to take you?”

“Please,” she moaned. “Oh please fuck me, I can't wait anymore.”

Shoto gripped her legs and spread them as wide as she could comfortably manage and pressed his length into her aching pussy with a groan, the wetness from his earlier treatment allowing him to slide in until he was balls deep.

They both let out guttural moans that were practically in harmony.

“You alright?” He asked, not moving an inch until he was sure she was good about it.

She was stuffed so full of him that all she could do was nod, allowing him to pull away from her and slam back inside against her cervix, making her head fall back with her tongue lolling out of her mouth as he fucked into her until she could barely think straight.

“Oh god,” she moaned, bouncing against his relentless pounding. “Oh yes, please yes! More, please.”

The panting she made and the bounce of her breasts against his pounding only spurred him on further, and he repositioned her legs further until they were pushed up against her ears. It felt like heaven for both of them as fucked deeper into her.

Honey was on cloud nine, only able to think of the sensation of the man above her rearranging her insides. She reached a trembling hand down to where the pair of them were connected so she could continue at her clit. The sight was too delicious and Shoto felt the pressure building up inside him reach a peak, but he did everything in his power to hold off as he mercilessly pounded away.

The two of them filled the air of the barn with their gasps and moans until Honey began to feel her orgasm reach a boil.

“Please,” she panted. “Cum, I wan' cum. Come inside me, please!”

Her begging was enough to push him further towards the edge, and she felt the tension inside her was wound tighter and tighter as he hammered into her even harder.

It was impossible to tell how long they went on for, until a wave of bliss crashed over her with a loud cry. Her back arched sinfully and her walls clamped around his length and triggered an orgasm of his own.

He pressed against her as he emptied his load inside her, filling her up with his cum.

Bliss.

The pair of them panted against each other, their high winding down but they didn't dare move or the feeling would dissipate quicker.

Shoto pressed a kiss to Honey's neck after a moment.

“Good girl,” he panted.

Carefully he pulled out, watching as a few dribbled of his seed spilled from her. She looked up at him with a smile and longing in her eyes.

“Shall we clean up now?” He asked.

“Let's wait just another moment,” Honey said. “This feels too nice.”

He smiled, Iida had told him to take care of her after all. This was all part of the job and who was he to go against his orders?

And she was so soft and perfect to snuggle up with.

It wasn't until an hour later that they were able to get themselves to clean up the pen, saving the paper so Honey could make a lovely crown of paper flowers for her other hero.

She was sad to see her lovely stories go, but considering the fallout she could deem the acceptable losses.

Besides, between doctor Keigo and other farmers hearing what had happened, she soon had more than enough donations to replace it with.

[chemicalvelocity]

Happy Friday! I need therapy

So I wrote a fic for Fingers in my mouth Friday! Hope Y'all enjoy it.

AO3 Link

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No warnings apply

Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel

Word Count: 3545

Read Below the Cut:

Dean's not a creep. He's not, he swears. It's just that he's... noticing things now that he's not on high alert for monsters anymore.

He remembers the first evidence of Castiel he'd ever seen, an angry burn scar of a handprint. He thought it was a demon's for christ's sake. He hadn't paid mind at the time to the fact that it took up his entire deltoid.

Now, however, he was absently tracing its outline after a shower, staring more through the mirror than at it while recalling the events of breakfast. Jack had playfully started the comparing hand sizes game that seems to entertain kids so much.

Dean hadn't even put any thought into it until it turned into everyone else doing it to humor him; which culminated in Dean foolishly slapping his palm to Cas's and then realizing just how much smaller his hand was.

Naturally, he'd joked it off and found his way out of the conversation, acting like it wasn't a bruise to his ego. He had thousand-yard stared his way through a shower, and now, here he was.

He carefully fitted his hand over the scar tissue on his shoulder, and yep, there it was, a literal physical reminder of Cas's massive hands. He got over himself as quickly as he could and threw on his clothes before going to the garage to wash Baby.

*

That turned out to be a bad idea, as many of Dean's ideas do. Cas was sat in a lawn chair with the tunnel doors cracked, rolling a joint. Dean had pointedly ignored him, turning to rinse the car until Cas spoke up.

"Would you like some?" He asked, looking over at Dean with a twist of his slender fingers as his tongue darted out to wet the rolling paper's adhesive. Dean swallowed.

"Y'know that shit's bad for you, right?" Dean grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it. He opened a drawer to pull out sponges and brushes, tossing them into nearby buckets and setting them  down near Baby's rear fender

"I think you know that's not true." Castiel hummed, placing the fresh joint between his lips, bringing the flame of his zippo to the end, and inhaling deeply.

"Whatever, Stoney baloney... Don't you usually smoke out on the roof, anyway?" Dean asked, filling up the first bucket with hot water and suds, the second with only cold water.

"It's raining," Cas replied, voice husky from the strain of holding in a hit. "Frankly, the Bunker is well ventilated enough that I could smoke in the library... where we still keep ashtrays on the table, but I figured I'd come in here to keep it away from Jack." He mused, blowing his lungful of smoke out the door.

"Right... Gotta say Cas, I'm sure second-hand smoke doesn't affect 20-year-old Nephilim toddlers." Dean chuckled, saturating the sponge in the first bucket and slung the soap across the Impala's roof, leaning up to scrub away the dust and bugs that come from hauling her back and forth across the Midwest.

"No, but I don't want to influence him, he's very impressionable, you know." Cas flicked the collecting ash into a labelless beer bottle that sat discarded in his chair's cupholder.

"I wonder where he could've gotten that from. Claire came to visit for one weekend and all of a sudden you're Bob Marley!" Dean teased, and Cas narrowed his eyes at him.

"I am not a musician, nor a Rastafarian, Dean. Claire simply pointed out that I think too much, and that cannabis is known to help." He drew in a deep hit and outstretched his arm to Dean, the cigarette balanced between two fingers. Smoke twirled lazily into the air around him.

Dean made a show of rolling his eyes before coming over to pluck the smoke from Cas's possession. Cas watched him appraisingly as he took a drag, then another, and Dean almost choked when Cas's lips parted for the stream of smoke to travel neatly into his nostrils.

Okay, so Claire taught him how to french inhale. Dean idly wondered if he knew what ghosting was, before passing it back and returning to his task, pretending like his lungs didn't burn from the comparative lack of practice.

*

Dean hit the wall hard, his breath punched out of him with a grunt. He scrambled to his knees and whipped his head around to see Sam in a similar position nearby. Cas was still standing though now surrounded by three, very pissed-off demons, one of which had Dean's angel blade. Dean attempted to gather himself and help out, but his vision went sideways and he steadied himself against a table, opting to call out the angel's name, stupidly.

Cas had slashed the leg of the demon to his right and grappled the one to his left. As the first one went down, his palm met its forehead and smote it out of its meatsuit. The middle one charged him, but he spun the demon in his grip, shielding himself by launching his captive forward onto the blade, then seizing the neck of the remainder, holding him in place firmly. He turned to the bewildered hunters casually.

"Did you need him for anything else?" Dean bit down on his tongue in a failed attempt to reintroduce moisture to his mouth.

"N-No, Cas I think we're good, knock yourself out..." he rasped as Castiel tightened his grip on the demon's throat, and light burned out from under its skin. Sam and Dean had picked themselves up off the floor by now and made their way to the middle of the room.

"Good work, buddy," Dean panted as Cas piled up the bodies at his feet, and wiped blood away on his jeans. "Guess you hardly need us."

"Of course I do, You made an excellent distraction." Cas smiled and while Dean was sure it was a genuine statement, definitely felt the hit to his pride. Maybe he was just getting too old for this shit. Sam snorted at something and walked out. Dean didn't know what, but he didn't want to hit him any less for it.

*

"Hey, Cas, I have a bit of a concussion from the hunt the other night. Can you work a little magic?" Sam rubbed at his eyes, setting his laptop aside. Dean raised his eyebrows from his seat, taking a sip of beer. He wouldn't have asked Cas to expend any healing energy on himself, but Cas didn't protest. Instead, he hardly looked up from his book and snapped his fingers. Sam visibly relaxed. Dean did not.

"Thanks, man, I appreciate it. I'm gonna go grab some grub, probably just pick up a pizza and some beers or something." Sam held his hand out for the impala keys. Dean tossed them to him with half a mind.

When Sam was gone, he was still staring at Cas in confusion.

"Can I help you with something too, Dean?" He quirked an eyebrow over his book. Dean cleared his throat and shook his head.

"Nope, no, I'm okay, just a few scrapes. Can't have you wasting your mojo on that... I was just wondering why you didn't, uh, y'know," He tapped two fingers to his forehead and Cas's eyes turned up in a half-smile.

"I don't need to do that to heal."

"Oh... okay." He'd already asked a weird question, probably best not to pry into why Cas always touched him to heal.  He tipped back the rest of his beer and fumbled around for an excuse of some sort to break the silence, but Cas stood first.

"I'm going to go find Jack. Let me know when Sam's back with dinner." He passed Dean with a  warm squeeze to his shoulder. Dean watched him go, then realized just how long it's been since he's been laid. Too fucking long, apparently.

*

Yeah, no. Way too long. Dean's half-convinced Cas is fucking with him, too. His suspicion stemmed from Cas's sudden love of eating every meal with them and requesting things like wings or fries.

"Morning sunshine, Sam and Jack already left to go check out a case. I made pan...cakes..." Dean's sentence fell flat when his eyes met Cas entering in a half-buttoned-up shirt. His long fingers slipped buttons into place as he yawned his greeting and trudged his way to the coffee maker.

Dean was a little concerned that he noticed Cas's hands before he noticed the toned and tanned chest underneath the shirt. He ran a hand down his face and moved to pour more coffee. Cas passed over the pot and turned to the stack of pancakes, tossing two onto a plate and proceeding to destroy them with fruit and whipped cream.

"When was the last time we cleaned our firearms?" Cas asked, swirling his finger through the toppings of his breakfast before popping it in his mouth. Dean set his mug down, a little too hard. Cas gave him a look.

"Are you fucking with me?" Dean tried not to sound petulant, but he can't catch a single break.  Cas bit his lower lip, and then cleared his throat.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Was his response, innocent and hid behind a sip of coffee. Dean pursed his lips.

"You- you don't?" Dean was momentarily taken aback. Was he so unbelievably tense that he'd imagined the whole problem?-

"No, Dean, you've been staring at my hands all week, I have no idea what you're talking about." he deadpanned.

Dean's face burned. He didn't think he was being obvious about it or anything. Cas was observant, though.

"At first I thought you were just insecure about your hand size, but surely you'd have gotten over that in a day. Then I did some research and decided to... Encourage you." He continued casually as if Dean wasn't praying for the earth to swallow him whole.

"I uh, appreciate that, Cas... Um, what conclusions exactly did you draw?" Dean squeaked out because frankly he still wasn't sure what was going on here.

"You may have a sexual preference for hands, which makes sense, given your previous statements regarding slapping." Cas hummed into his coffee and, yeah okay Dean needed to end this conversation before he melted from shame.

"Okay, right, got it, I'll stop staring." He managed, grabbing his mug and turning to leave before Cas grabbed his arm. He glanced down at the sudden warmth around his wrist, then up to meet Cas's cobalt gaze.

"I never told you to stop," Cas said calmly, loosening his grip to slip his fingers into Dean's hand and pull him closer. "Dean, I researched it." His expression was earnest, and Dean shuddered involuntarily.

"Listen, man, It's not like, a thing... It's just, well, you have nice hands, and you kinda marked me... with your very large hand." Dean still wanted to disappear, but Cas didn't seem too bothered.

"I wanted to tell you, I touch you when I heal because I like the excuse to," Cas murmured, raising his other hand to cup Dean's jaw. Dean's breath hitched. "I enjoy the warmth. Everything else is always so cold." Cas whispered, running his thumb lightly across Dean's bottom lip. Dean couldn't stop the noise he made as it caught on his nail.

Cas's pupils grew wide, and he curiously pushed his thumb deeper. Dean closed his lips over it and sucked gently, noting the faint taste of the strawberries Cas had put on his pancakes. Dean pulled back before he embarrassed himself any further.

"Uh," Dean's brain replied dumbly. "Can I kiss you?" His dick helped with that one.

"I just put my thumb in your mouth and you feel the need to ask-" Cas's snark was cut short by Dean pressing him up against the counter and slotting their lips together. Cas gripped the front of Dean's shirt and kissed him back like a man dying of thirst. This is why Dean's thought process is filled with question marks when Cas puts a hand firmly on his chest and pulls back to speak.

"I don't think the kitchen is the best place for this." He rumbled into their shared space. Dean perked back up when he realized the proposition.

"Did you wanna finish your breakfast first? I can't guarantee we'll be back in here any time soon." Dean wiggled his eyebrows at the angel.

"That's very thoughtful of you, Dean," Cas smiled. "I'd love to. While I do I think you probably want to go get ready." Cas wiped the look off Dean's face when he reeled him back in for another kiss.

"O-oh, yeah, okay. Meet you in my room in ten." And then he was speedwalking out of the kitchen.

*

Dean turned off the shower after a very thorough cleaning and wrapped his towel around his waist, hurrying back down the hallway to his room. Cas was sitting on the bed patiently.

"Hello, Dean." He smiled, reaching up to tug off his tie. Dean's throat went dry again.

"Hi," Dean was clutching his towel like a lifeline. Cas observed him fondly as he unbuttoned his shirt. "Did you want me to put something on? Or..."

Cas just chuckled and beckoned him closer. Dean stood between his legs and his heart dropped out of his ass when Cas took his hands and pulled gently, signaling for Dean to kneel. He lowered himself slowly to his knees and looked up at Cas, expectant, and not at all freaking out on the inside. Cas leaned in to kiss him again. That, he could work with.

"I want you to put your hands on my knees, and you can't move them unless I say so, is that alright?" Castiel spoke when they parted.

Oh.

Apparently, hand kink isn't the only thing Cas researched. Dean felt the command go straight to his dick. He nodded hastily, but Cas said nothing, only waited, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yes, Cas." He breathed, and Cas grinned and shrugged off his shirt, tossing it into Dean's desk chair.

"Good. Get comfortable." Dean sat back on his heels and placed his hands on top of Cas's thighs. Cas placed both of his hands on Dean's shoulders, rubbing small circles in the muscle before he slid them upwards to massage the back of Dean's neck. When Dean was staring up at him with hooded eyes and humming his appreciation, Castiel's patience grew thin.

Cas held the back of Dean's neck steady, tracing the fingers of his right hand down Dean's temple and across his lips. This time, Dean didn't have any reservations about darting his tongue out to meet them. Cas inhaled deeply through his nose and pushed his index and middle fingers into Dean's mouth.

Dean sighed and let himself go, he lapped at Cas's fingers like he was starving. He held Cas's heated gaze and felt his dick wake back up, twitching underneath his towel.

"So good, you're such a good boy for me, Dean." Cas praised. Dean thought he might pass out. The feeling of Cas inside him, even if it was just his fingers sliding along his tongue was heady. He looked down and took notice of the increasing tightness of Cas's pants. Cas slid his fingers out and leaned back on his elbows. Dean panted, his fingers gripping Cas's thighs with the effort of keeping still.

"Would you like something else, Dean?" Cas smirked down at him. "All you have to do is ask." Dean screwed his eyes shut and swallowed his pride.

"I want," He let out a shuddering breath as Cas ran a hand through his hair. "I want to suck you off."

"You can move your hands now." Cas hummed and leaned his head back. Dean practically sprung forward, ignoring the ache in his calves as he latched his mouth onto one of the angel's nipples. His hands made quick work of Cas's belt and fly, tugging firmly at his pockets to get them off. When Cas's flushed erection came free, Dean leaned forward to mouth at the head and cup his balls.

Cas wove a hand into Dean's hair and pulled. Dean moaned around the cock in his mouth, drawing a deep groan from Cas in response. Dean drank in the sound and relaxed his jaw to swallow him down further, bobbing his head rapidly.

"Dean." Cas sounded wrecked, and Dean's head snapped up to attention.

"Yeah?"  He asked, breath heaving as he leaned up to his eye level.

"May I-"

"Anything, Angel, seriously." He pressed his lips to the heated flesh under Cas's jaw, sucking hard and nipping gently.

"I want to fuck you." Cas gasped, leaning into Dean's mouth. Dean nodded and climbed to his feet to get the lube from his nightstand. Cas sat up and wrenched Dean's towel away. His eyes roved Dean's body appreciatively before pulling him down on the bed. "Lie down on your front, please." He purred, and Dean was on his elbows in an instant, handing back the lubrication.

Cas caressed the contours of Dean's back reverently, before gingerly parting Dean's cheeks and licking a broad stripe across his hole. Dean felt his whole body twitch.

"Fuck, C-Cas..." Dean whined out, completely sideswiped by Cas's impromptu rimjob. He helplessly thrust his hips back against Cas's grip. Castiel reeled back a single hand and gave Dean's ass a hard smack. Dean dropped his face into his pillow with a keen from the back of his throat.

"Sit still, Dean. Let me take care of you." He growled, mouthing kisses from the base of Dean's spine to the cleft of his ass again. He laved his tongue in tantalizing circles, fucking it in and out nimbly and drawing a chorus of breathy sounds from the hunter.

"Please, Sweetheart... I need you... Need you inside me, c'mon." Dean whimpered, writhing under the sensation of Cas's hot breath and slick tongue. Cas finally gave in and sat up, reclaiming the bottle of lube to squeeze a sizeable portion directly onto Dean's entrance. Dean shivered from the sudden cold, only to cry out again when Cas's strong index finger slid in with very little resistance.

Cas continued to pepper Dean's shaking shoulders with wet kisses as he thrust his finger in, curling it hard against Dean's prostate and savoring the faint sound of Dean nearly wailing into his pillow. He slid in a second finger and scissored them back and forth to make way for a third. At this point, Dean had lifted his head and turned towards Cas with pleading eyes. Cas leaned forward and kissed him deeply.

"You're doing so well, Dean... Are you ready?" Cas mumbled into Dean's mouth.

"Yeah, Christ... Yes, Cas, please." Dean managed to get his knees under himself and Cas slicked himself up, working the head of his cock into Dean's fluttering hole. He clutched at Dean's hips and slowly rocked himself in deeper. "Fuck!" Dean yelped, trying to meet Cas's thrusts to no avail.

"Relax, my love." Cas moaned, rolling his hips into Dean, captivated by the catch of skin around him. "Do you want to move?" He asked, and released his iron hold on Dean's waist with a chuckle when Dean nodded eagerly. Dean thrust back against Cas with abandon. A surprised gasp was drawn from both of them as Cas sped up his thrusts to match. Dean was going to come if Cas didn't slow down, so he gathered his thoughts enough to speak up.

"Cas, wait. Can I flip?" He panted, and Cas's onslaught came to a stop.

"Of course, Dean." He pulled out carefully and leaned away for Dean to position himself on his back. Castiel admired the flush that spread down Dean's neck and covered most of his chest. He leaned forward to suck dark hickeys into Dean's collarbone to contrast. Dean reached down to guide Cas back inside, sighing amorously when he was seated again.

Cas rocked in and out once more with renewed enthusiasm. He snapped his hips forward, causing Dean to arch up off the bed with a shout. Stars burst behind his eyelids as Cas lifted Dean's legs to wrap around his waist and repeated contact his prostate shot sparks through his bloodstream.

"Ah-fuck, Cas, Baby... I'm gonna come. Are you almost there?" Dean gasped and reached up to pull Cas down for a vehement kiss when he grunted his confirmation. Dean felt the heat of his release coil deep in his gut and rocked up into Cas with a fervor, moaning heavily into Cas's mouth with each collision of their hips.

Then the tension in Dean's core snapped, and he was coming without so much as a moment's attention to his dick, clinging to Cas's shoulders with a fucked out whine. Cas kept going and Dean's synapses felt like they were being deep-fried as Castiel's stuttering hips drove him in deeply one, two then a final time as he emptied himself into Dean with a low groan. He then pulled out slowly and rolled off a now depleted Dean to spoon him.

"I think I'm in love with you." Dean wheezed, and Castiel grinned into his hair.

"I'm glad I could help you come to that epiphany. I love you too, Dean."

[iatethepomegranate]

Just a fic about Caleb buying a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, and coping with that kind of change and newfound stability (and becoming Professor Widogast). Angst and fluff are at war in this fic.

Chapter Summary: Caleb was loved, in so many different ways, by so many people. The Nein were a whirlwind of chaos and dick jokes, but they were his. And Essek... even when Essek did not use the words "I love you", every word he said and every touch he offered was proof enough. In other words, the Mighty Nein crash at Caleb and Beauyasha's place and shower them with affection.

Notes: Chapter title is from Five by Sleeping at Last. Here's some fluff. Caleb is still Caleb, but everyone loves him and wants him to be happy. Hug your sad wizard friend/research partner/it's complicated.

****

Chapter 2: But something gets lost from a safe distance and now I can't put my mind to rest

There was enough furniture in the house to sleep for the night. After an enormous grocery shop that made gratuitous use of Yasha’s muscles, Beau’s superhuman balance, and Caleb’s telekinesis, the three of them collapsed on the couch.

Beau piled her feet onto Caleb’s lap, resting her head on Yasha’s. “Hey, Caleb?”

“Ja?”

“You good now?”

“I think so.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nein.” Caleb had zero interest in talking about how much he had cried on their kitchen table earlier. He wasn’t ready to process it.

“Cool. Good talk.”

Yasha smiled down at Beauregard, fondly but with an edge to it. “Shh.” She put her finger on Beau’s lips. “Let us just… be quiet for a while.”

Caleb tipped his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. He drifted close to sleep, but Essek’s voice filled his mind.

“Caleb. How was the house? I am in a safe place. I will visit when you have a safe landing spot. Talk soon, love.”

Caleb couldn’t help burst into a grin. “Hallo, Essek. We bought it. Veth gave me the money. Go to the Grove when ready. I will come get you. Ich liebe dich.”

“Gross,” said Beauregard. “You know I can understand you now, right?”

Caleb pinched her ankle. “I remember.”

“Beau,” sighed Yasha.

“I’m kidding. I’m happy you’ve worked things out with him.” She shifted, digging her heel into his thigh. “Look, I don’t give a fuck about your sex life--”

“Good.”

“--but you know you can tell me shit, right? It was just the two of you for weeks, and now it’s… not. Are you okay with that?”

Caleb sighed; he already missed Essek dearly, but he always knew it would be like this. “Ja. We talked about it a lot. We want to be together as much as we can, but we are practical people, ja? I will bring him around soon, for a few days at least. Rexxentrum is not safe for him.”

“Well, good thing you have your own space. I don’t wanna hear that shit.”

Caleb rolled his eyes at her. “We are more likely to stay up late talking.” Sex with Essek was more of a (great) side benefit than a core element of their relationship A relationship they had never bothered to define. It was what it needed to be in the moment.

“That’s even worse, Caleb.”

“How the fuck is that worse?”

Beauregard shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s fuckin’ romantic as shit.”

“Ja, I am sure that you, the woman who makes out with her girlfriend in front of all our friends, is disgusted by romance.”

Beauregard grumbled incoherently at him.

****

Caleb was soon preoccupied with ferrying the Mighty Nein to the new house. He first collected Veth, Fjord and Jester from Yussa’s tower. Kingsley had wanted to explore Nicodranas for a while, without Fjord and Jester’s supervision. They had tentatively allowed it, not that they could’ve stopped Kingsley even if they had wanted to.

“Omigosh it’s so pretty !” Jester screeched upon seeing the house. “The windows are kinda boring, though. Can I paint them?”

Caleb was not in the habit of refusing Jester anything. “I suppose. Ask Beau and Yasha.”

“Which door is theirs?”

“The right. It should be unlocked.”

Jester tore ahead and disappeared inside. Fjord hooked his thumbs into his belt loops, gazing up at the exterior.

“It’s bigger than I expected,” he said.

“Ja, the previous occupant is a professor at Soltryce Academy. She lives alone, and it was too much space for her.”

“You’re okay with that?” asked Veth.

“Ja, she was very nice. She lives on Astrid’s estate now.”

“Trent’s old place?” asked Fjord.

“Ja.”

He whistled softly. “That must be weird.”

Caleb didn’t want to talk about it. “The professor gave us a good deal. I am meeting her for coffee tomorrow to talk about Evocation.” He looked down at Veth. “Thank you for the money.”

“I just wish I could’ve given you more, Cay.”

“It was plenty, Veth.” Caleb led them inside and picked Veth up so he could give her the hug he had wanted for days.

******

Next, Caleb teleported to the Blooming Grove. The grass had grown back where it had once been burned, and the house had been repaired. The tangled residuum trees had held strong, keeping the corruption of the Savalirwood at bay. It was quiet, save for the distant clattering of dishes coming from the house.

Caduceus appeared in the doorway before Caleb had taken more than a few steps. “Oh, excellent. Essek’s in the garden. Go get him. I’ll be out in a moment.”

Caduceus didn’t specify where in the garden, but Caleb assumed he was giving him the satisfaction of figuring it out for himself. Caleb walked further into the grove, occasionally stopping to cradle a blossom or sniff a particularly sweet scent.

He spotted Essek’s broad-brimmed hat first. On loan from the Clays. Caleb approached quietly, watching Essek hover over the bed of a herb garden, wearing the rose gloves Jester had made him while he carefully pulled weeds with a look of utmost concentration. The kind of look that made Caleb remember how attractive it was to watch him work.

As Caleb drew closer, Essek froze. Looked up. Relaxed as his face broke into a smile.

“I am sorry I startled you,” Caleb said, closing the distance.

Essek floated away from the herbs and opened his arms, accepting Caleb into them. “It’s all right. You know I’m a little… jumpy these days.”

Caleb kissed his neck; Essek was taller than him when he floated, and only when he floated. “Are you sure you want to visit Rexxentrum?”

“No one will expect to find me there. It will be fine for a few days.” He kissed Caleb’s forehead, and then lifted Caleb’s chin to kiss his mouth. “I wanted to see your new house. And you.”

Caleb dropped his head to Essek’s shoulder, breathing him in. This was the only peaceful moment they would have all day. Essek tucked Caleb’s head under his chin and gave him a squeeze.

“Caleb, are you all right?”

Caleb laughed softly, remembering the first time Essek had asked him in the heat of battle. “I don’t know. This is a lot.”

Essek kept squeezing; they had both discovered one rough night in Aeor that Caleb found this kind of careful pressure extremely comforting. “I understand. This is a huge change for you. Are you overwhelmed?”

“Ja, very.”

“I hope having me there will help, for what little time I can give.”

“You are already helping, Essek. Danke.”

Essek kissed the top of his head. He had slowly begun to initiate more physical contact, and their time together alone in Aeor had accelerated the process. It let Caleb pull back a bit and let himself accept Essek’s affection once in a while instead of constantly being the one to initiate. It was good. They were good.

Fuck , Caleb had missed him.

****

After saying his hellos and goodbyes to the Clays, Caleb palmed a small stone Yasha had dug from the garden bed behind the house and teleported himself, Caduceus and a disguised Essek. They landed in Caleb’s currently sparse sitting area, as planned.

“This is my side of the house. We are working on the furniture situation.” Caleb took them on a quick tour of the house, and was pleased to find Essek equally excited by the possibilities of the study as he had been.

They then used the door on the middle floor to cross into the other side and down the stairs into the crowded sitting area. Yasha was sitting on the rug, stitching a thick floral fabric to make curtains while Jester “helped” by painting tiny dicks on it. Beau and Fjord were sitting on the couch, watching with a mix of amusement and concern. Veth had probably been with them, but launched herself at Caleb for a hug as soon as he had appeared.

She had more or less glued herself to him since she had arrived, evidently sensing his lack of equilibrium. He was grateful she was there to ground him. For a long time, she and Frumpkin had been all that held together the tattered shreds of his mental health.

Caduceus slipped into the kitchen, but was the least sneaky man alive when he wasn’t trying to prank his siblings. He had a parcel in his hands, brought from the Grove. Caleb followed him.

Caduceus carefully stripped off the brown paper packaging to reveal a small wooden crate, from which he lifted a tea set complete with a kettle. He filled the kettle with water and set it over the fireplace, directing Caleb to light it. Caduceus pulled out a few small boxes of tea and cooking herbs from the Grove, arranging them in cabinets.

“I’ll bring another set next time I visit,” Caduceus promised. “Until then, you are required to spend time with the ladies. No locking yourself in the study and forgetting to eat.”

Essek chuckled from the doorway, knowing full-well Caleb would do exactly that. Repeatedly.

“We’ll go shopping together tomorrow,” Caduceus continued. “There are some things you three need for a good, complete kitchen and I don’t trust you to remember any of them, even with your memory.”

“Thank you, Caduceus.” Caleb was getting emotional again. “I, uh, am having coffee with an Evocation professor tomorrow morning, but we can go after that.”

Caduceus smiled at him. Soft, knowing. “I look forward to it.”

****

The Nein had apparently agreed without Caleb’s knowledge that they would stay on Beau and Yasha’s side for the night to give Caleb and Essek some privacy.

Caleb had ultimately decided to use the larger bedroom (the rest of the Nein may have insisted he treat himself). He was glad for it now that he had Essek in his bed. They were too tired for sex, and not really in the mood, but cuddling is a lot more comfortable when you’re not afraid of falling out of bed.

Essek had arranged things so he was lying on his back with Caleb curled around him. Caleb rested his head on Essek’s chest, listening to the gentle drumming of his heart, while Essek drew lazy patterns on his back with a finger. Spell symbols, mainly. Some Caleb recognised, and some he didn’t.

“This is a good location,” Essek said quietly. “Beauregard showed me a map of the city. It is central, but not too close to anything that would upset you more than the city in general already does.”

“Rexxentrum doesn’t upset me,” Caleb mumbled, halfway to sleep already. He tended to sleep better with trusted company these days.

“Beauregard told me what you said the first time you stepped foot here in years,” Essek said softly.

I don’t know if I can do this. “That was some time ago. It’s… easier now.”

“That does not mean it is easy.”

Caleb sighed deeply, closing his eyes. “Okay. It’s not. But that’s not… the last time I had a house was the Xhorhouse, and we all knew that was never permanent. The only home I’ve ever had that was supposed to be long-term… I burned it. The shitty hospital room they kept me in for eleven year was a roof over my head, one I barely remember, and that was… not a home. I was homeless for a long time. I have slept in the woods, in the streets, under bridges, where I could find even the tiniest bit of shelter. Now I own a house .”

“Caleb, I told you in the Grove this is a huge change for you.” Essek’s voice was soft but firm, as it often was when he thought Caleb was being needlessly stubborn or foolish. “You have been through so much , and now you are doing normal things like buying a house and putting down roots. And you have many painful memories here. I believe you will be okay, but you do not have to be. Not before you’re ready.”

Caleb felt foolish for letting this get to him so much. The last few days had been full of nothing but good things. But he was exhausted nonetheless, and eternally a hair’s breadth away from tears. Even in his worst moments, he had never been fragile in this way,  like he was a bucket of water with a hole in it that would leak at the slightest provocation.

Essek pressed his palm down between Caleb’s shoulder blades, forcing him to exhale. “Caleb. Be gentle with yourself. Give yourself time.”

Caleb chucked a little, despite his mod. “That is your specialty.”

“And I have taught you well.”

“The best teacher I ever had,” Caleb said quietly.

“You deserved better. Let yourself have better now, in your own time.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know. Stop pushing it. You know better than anyone it doesn’t work that way.” Essek’s hand slid into Caleb’s hair, cradling the base of his skull. “You of all people deserve patience and kindness, most of all from yourself. I will remind you of this.”

“Thank you.” Caleb pushed himself up on his elbows, finding Essek’s features in the dark. “You know, this is probably the safest I have been in close to twenty years.”

Essek reached up, tucking a strand of Caleb’s hand behind his ear. “Good. You deserve it. Even if I never have a moment’s peace for the rest of my life, all I want is for you to have all the safety and kindness you could ever need.”

“I would give it up in a heartbeat if I could help you.”

“I would never ask that of you,” Essek said warmly, but with a firm edge. “There are a great many things we have already given up. That one is not an option. Of all the people I have known in my 120 years, you deserve a lifetime of peace the most. Even if you will get bored eventually.”

Caleb slid a hand over Essek’s cheek, rubbing the soft skin with his thumb. “Remember when we thought we would never be the kind of people who would make big declarations of love at each other?” Because even if Essek wasn’t explicitly saying I love you , the words he did say were dripping with diamonds of unadulterated affection.

Essek huffed a soft laugh. “Most things between us do not need to be said. This does.”

“Thank you, Essek. I love you too.” Caleb rested his head over Essek’s heart once again, and let the gentle rhythm lull him to sleep.

[katsukikitten]

camera?

ANON BB I SUMMON YOU. It's not really BNHA related but the sharp teeth and red eyes were inspired by Kiri. Let me know if it spooped ya!

I'm never without my camera, the sleek black box and shiny lens dangle from my neck like rare gems. 

Why you may ask? 

 Well as an artist and photographer I'm honestly afraid of missing the perfect shot. You know the one that can take hundreds of tries to get and yet it can be taken by pure chance. By pure luck. Although I hardly have much of that.

And to be honest I've viewed the world through a lens more so than I have my own eyes, at least ever since my grandfather gave me my first Polaroid camera. The vintage kind too, he had found the old thing hidden away in his closet. The exact same one he used to document my childhood with. 

So I used it to document my teenage years, grainy pictures of the moon and my friends in the middle of fields with an inky black sky. Their bodies illuminated more so by the bright flash than the quarter moon. Of parties I shouldn't have been at, of boyfriends and girlfriends I regret having. Still my walls were filled with memories like a picture diary and there were too many to take with me to college or to my new apartment but I always had my favorite with me, tucked into my camera bag that acted more as a purse. 

It was taken with older film, the type you had to develop in a black room and it was one of those lucky shots I was telling you about earlier. I had just received this particular camera for my birthday a week prior, something my aunt found while thrifting. To my delight it worked and beautifully at that. I had spent countless hours researching on how to get an "overexposed" shot, leaving the lens open to take in  just enough light that something in the dark could develop but not so much the film was obliterated. 

And it was the harvest moon that provided the lighting for my shot. Hanging low and wide on the horizon, a golden orb painting the field in silvery shadows. The trees a lovely contrast with their charcoal grey silhouettes as the field seemed to glow with an otherworldly worldly haze as the fog rolled in through the wheat.

There was an affinity to it, something that drew you in and yet caused your heart to pound in your chest. 

It would be years later that I would find out that the dark figure tucked into the tree line was not one of my friends wandering into the shot. 

But all in all my favorite picture won me a contest when I was 16 and it's the reason my parents took my passion more seriously. My parents and my grandfather pitched in to buy me my first digital camera from then on I, impossibly, documented things even more. Put myself in odd places for the best possible photo. Opportunities arrived in coffee shops, libraries and parks. Of people doing mundane tasks and yet all I saw was beauty in the way that they moved. In how the light from the sun could transfer deep brown eyes to molten honey or how an overhead light could cast menacing shadows across even the sweetest person's face. How it could keep the essence of nature so pure, of a wild deer just barely there in the fog, while a predator peers from the tree line. 

Not to mention the things film can capture, burn into paper to be forever kept, that the human mind so easily forgets. Trying so hard to remember that thing you promised yourself you'd never forget that the image comes out harsh, grainy, overexposed. 

So it shouldn't be a surprise that an overheard rumor has me standing in the cold in the middle of nowhere waiting for a wild wolf to be seen. 

A stupid idea I know but honestly I wanted the shot. Needed that photo of two golden moon eyes suspended in the darkness glaring at me from the brush. Or hell even its silhouette craned towards the sky in a never ending howl. And not for my portfolio or resume either. I just wanted it for me.  Besides the field the wolf was last spotted in was more like a second home than anything else. This was where I took my favorite photo after all.  

My phone buzzes from my pocket but I ignore it. Probably the group chat roasting me for looking for an "obvious Halloween hoax" and that I should be shit faced with them instead. I just want to see this damn wolf. 

Hours pass as I take photos here and there. I have one camera doing a time lapse of the night sky, as I do every Halloween while I flip through the images of my other. They all seem the same, missing that something, that feeling that makes the image awe inspiring. So I delete the majority of them until my camera freezes a little. Most likely due to the cold and its age. In my impatience I press the next button three times and once the camera begins to react again it flips through three photos much too quickly. 

It is only in my going back does the movement catch my eye. Something recedes, a dark something. I go back three photos and slowly watch the blurb that moves as I progress right. 

It isn't until twenty photos in does ice rush through my veins as my feet burn with instinct to move. To run.  

A black figure in the outline of man seems to be getting closer in every picture. 

Closer to me. But I didn't see him in the lens, I always see everything in the lens. 

My heart jumps into my throat. 

The last time stamp on the picture was only five minutes ago. 

Even if it were some random ass man why couldn't I see him now? According to the picture he was about fifty feet from me and yet my eyes saw nothing. 

Nothing but hazy whips floating about, moths fluttering towards their celestial deity and surely no God damn wolf. 

A...a smudge it had to be a smudge. To calm my nerves I wipe at the lens and tell myself to take another photo. I bring the view finder to my eye, closing them both as I take in a sharp breath. I hold it before opening my one eye. I peer into the small box and am relieved to see nothing. 

I should have stopped there, I know I should have stopped there. 

But I didn't, I don't.

The inky blank man is ever closer. There is a strange feeling that comes with staring at this broad shouldered man, his face obscured by the dim lighting and the casting of the shadows. 

An odd affinity. 

Ripping through my camera bag I find it, the old photo creased from age and slightly discolored from overexposure. It is then that you see the figure, clear as day standing at the fringes of the field, just barely in the forest. 

My breathing becomes hitched as I stare dumbfounded at the photo. That wasn't any of my friends standing there in that photo. It was….it was whatever was approaching me now. 

The hair stands up on the nape of my neck as my skin breaks out into goose flesh, I turn violently back around to face where a man should stand. 

I take another photo, somehow I thought it couldn't get any worse than what it was. 

But it did. 

He was close enough now that his features could be made out. The color of his eyes burn into my retinas, the iris are red, deep blood red. And his teeth, fuck, his teeth. Each tooth filed to a point that gleams in the moonlight as his lips stretch far too wide. I can almost feel them sinking into the tender flesh of my throat.

I let out an audible whimper as I stare at the photo, I cannot stop myself as I take another and another. 

Each of his hauntingly handsome features become clearer and clearer as comes towards the camera. His wolfish grin growing wider with each step, his eyes half mast as lust keeps his gaze fixated on me. 

One more photo, one more fucking photo and he will be right on top of me. But there was no one, nothing. Not through the viewfinder, not with my own two eyes, only in the small LCD screen in my hands. 

From what the screen says he should be within arms reach.

Honestly this, this is the real moment I should have stopped, should have listened to my racing mind and aching heart to quit while I was ahead. 

But there is always that hunger to get the perfect shot.

With shaking hands, I lift the camera, looking through the viewfinder. Irrational tears burn in my eyes and slip down my half frozen cheeks in liquid fear. A sob racks through my body, my finger hesitant to snap the final photo. 

The Earth slows on its axis as I watch through the little box, the shutter slowly falls across the lens, and his figure becomes seen in those quick milliseconds.

It should disappear as quickly as it came but it doesn't. 

"I've been waiting for you, doll." I feel his breath fan across my face, it smells oddly like cinnamon.

His velvet voice petrifies me as his large and clawed hand grabs onto my camera. He crushes it with ease, as if it were merely an empty soda can. 

"NO!" I scream, loud and drawn out as he grabs for me. His claws rip at my shirt as I fall onto my ass. Trying my damnedest to kick him anywhere but especially where it should hurt. 

But he acts annoyed as if I were a gnat to be swatted away. 

I try crawling away but he grabs onto my ankle, desperately I kick at his hand. Tears, rage and fear burning through my body as my gut fills the brim with butterflies. 

My mouth runs dry from screaming as I finally kick away his iron grip, swinging my arms in an attempt to flip over so I can right myself to go into a full sprint. He steps onto the small of my back, a sickening snap echoes around us. Amplified by the silence, I can feel the weight of his gaze, the smile that hangs from his lips. Pain blooms from by back all the way into the base of my skull, still I try to flail from beneath his boot. 

The struggle knocks over my tripod causing my camera to fall over. I hold the dead stare of the lens as I faintly see the horror painted on my face. The realization that this will be the last anyone will ever see of me. 

To confirm my fears he sinks his claws deep into my calves causing me to cry out. 

He begins to drag me towards the woods at an ungodly speed. I pull at weeds, branches, dirt, anything, as the camera documents what is possibly my final

moments. 

After a while I can only hope that I'm far enough away that the camera cannot see my bloody nails ripping away from my fingers in a pitiful attempt to save myself. 

It only took a matter of seconds to be swallowed whole by the pitch black forest. I don't remember what happened after that or at least I try to forget.

A week passes before a dog finally sniffs out my location. The officer looks solemn, his mouth set into a harsh line as his eyes bore holes into my items. It tells him all he needs to know. He hears a branch snap in the woods nearby, his dog whimpers, pulling his eyes to the tree line for a moment. When he sees nothing he places on gloves to sort through my items. I didn't bring much with me, just my usual that I always, always had on my person.

My camera bag, my other that was camera lying dead on its side and my prized possession. 

My favorite photo. The officer stares down at it, the fog blanketing the field, the moon washing the landscape in dim, eerie light. He squints at the image, it seems familiar. He thinks he recalls seeing it in the paper once years ago, except something seems off, although he can't quite place his finger on it. 

But I can. 

Instead of seeing one figure standing on the fringe of the trees, he sees two. 

[eloquent--asshole]

My Date With the President’s Son Volume 2

a/n: So I just want to say WOW y’all have been so patient waiting for this. I was not expecting to get so many messages for a part 2 and I really appreciate everyone who has read or sent an ask! And I’ve been sitting on it for the last couple weeks because I wanted it to be well.. in my eyes, perfect. I hope you all enjoy :)

If you’ve missed it you can read Volume 1 here

I don’t remember how long I stood in that hallway in the White House. I don’t remember when I let my tears start falling. I don’t remember when Niall came around the corner and enveloped me in a hug. I don’t even remember what I saw on the drive home when my vision was blurred with tears.

What I remembered is how Harry’s normally olive eyes turned black. How his voice shook me like I was experiencing an earthquake. I remember how tight my chest felt hearing how upset he was. And I remember my breath leaving my body as I heard his bedroom door slam shut.

What once was Niall’s hard and cold attitude toward me turned warm and gentle when he dropped me off. “We’ll figure it out, okay? He just needs some time to calm down. I’ll talk to him” I recall him whispering, giving me one last hug before I got out of his car.

***

Sunday came and went as I laid in my bed, not daring to check my phone for any potential messages from Thompson.

“Hey, Y/N.” I glanced over my blankets to see Derek, Summer’s boyfriend, standing in my doorway. I moved my gaze back to the wall, barely acknowledging his presence.

I hadn’t told Summer or Ashlie about what had happened. All I said was that whatever Harry and I had was over. I heard Derek sigh before coming to take a seat next to me on my bed.

“How are you?” his voice was tender, like it scared him thinking I may throw a punch. I like Derek. He’s always been kind. When he and Summer started dating in college, he fit right in with our tight-knit group. He always knew what to say to Ashlie or me when one of his fraternity brothers would piss us off and helped us pass our chemistry exams.

“I’m okay,” I sighed, pushing the blankets from my chest. “I’ve been better.”

“Summer and Ashlie are worried about you, you know.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and quirked a grin, “Said they haven’t seen you like this since Professor Neuman wouldn’t let you take that final you missed.”

I cracked a smile with him. Of course that’s what they would compare this to. “Okay, Professor Neuman knew how badly I needed to pass that class.” I looked down at my hands sitting on my lap, “Besides, she was a bitch.” I mumbled.

He let out a cackle, “Yeah, that she was, kid. That she was.” I noticed Derek fiddling with his thumbs, avoiding eye contact with me. “Look, Y/N, I’m by no means a love expert. But whatever happened, and whatever will happen, I know that you’re tough and you can handle it. You work for the fucking FBI, dude. You need to remember who you are.”

“Derek, that’s the problem right now. I don’t know who I am. I took a mission thinking it would be a breeze because my boss and team had my back. And it blew up in my face when I couldn’t keep my personal life separate.” I paused so I could sit up against my headboard. “Am I really the girl that can’t keep up with the guys because I’m emotional? Niall has been working with Harry since President Styles got into office. How can I – “ My eyebrows scrunched, and I shook my head, trying to find the words. “I don’t want my personal and work life to be so tangled.”

Derek kept his gaze steady on me while taking in the information I just unleashed. “Okay… So untangle it.” My eyes flicked to meet his.

“What?”

“You heard me. Untangle it. Separate those again and come back to it.” With that, he got up and headed for the door. “Also, do you want some pizza? One’s being delivered in about 5.” I could only nod in response, still taking in his advice.

***

Thompson called me later that Sunday night. Should I even answer? “Hello?” I greeted Mr. Thompson.

“Hey, kid.” His voice was eerily quiet. “Niall called me.” Oh, great. Niall told Thompson everything. “He told me Harry found out… About the mission.” I felt the confusion cover my face, my mouth went dry, and a clammy feeling started on my palms.

“Oh, Mr. Thompson I – ”

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” Thompson interrupted, “While I’m working on damage control this week, you’ll still be working. But I’m going to stick you on desk duty for the time being.” He grumbled. What? Not fired? “We’ll discuss your employment next week after we’re finished with damage control.” There it is.

When Thompson hung up, I lay my phone back on the nightstand. I had a few notifications from Ashlie and Summer asking if I wanted to talk, which I ignored. I should go for a run or to the gym. Something, Y/N. Something.

***

Walking into work was terrifying on Monday. Eyes followed me around the office as I went to my desk. I settled in and turned on my monitor.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” I looked up to see Thompson standing next to my desk.

“Mr. Thompson,” I welcomed him.

“Miss. Y/L/N, we’re moving you for the week.” What? “We’ll be sticking you in an office. Just for your peace of mind.” I nodded my head and picked up my bag to follow him down the hall.

We stepped into a compact room near the back of the office. The office filled with filing cabinets and papers askew from other workers. Thompson gave me a curt nod and excused himself to go back to work.

Sighing, I set my bag on the desk. The wavering lights were dim, almost dim enough to hurt my eyes. I turned on the monitor and logged into the database. Desk duty is probably the worst thing to do. All you do is research. Although, researching criminals sometimes got interesting.

I researched some of our most wanted suspects, finding where they were living, what they were doing, anything I could find. I came across a file that particularly caught my interest. Greg Patterson – Attempted assassination. Why haven’t I heard of this? Maybe it’s from a long time ago.

As I dug deeper into the file, I noticed that he had a connection to Harry, and to the government. Greg was a congressman’s son. Unfortunately for me the file didn’t have much in it except some basic information and a picture.

Last known location: New Orleans, Louisiana – December 2018.

Wanted for: Attempted assassination.

Reward: $1,000,000

I started looking at Harry’s social media connections, checking Facebook friends, Twitter followers, Instagram followers, everything.

Harry had posted nothing in the last week. Harry’s always on social media. I would know.

I scrolled through Harry’s Twitter followers, a username catching my eye. G_Pattsy. I clicked on the profile and was met with a picture of a single emerald eye; I looked back at the computer to compare the colors. Greg’s pictured shows that he has brown eyes, not green. I looked harder at the picture. Wait. That’s Harry’s eye.

I scrolled to the most recent update. It was a picture of the Washington Monument saying So good to be home😈.

Not good, Y/N, not good.

I printed the documents I had up and grabbed them, immediately going to Thompson’s office. The door was slightly cracked.

“Mr. Horan,” I heard Thompson’s gruff voice, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” I peeked into the room to see Niall standing in front of Thompson’s desk and Thompson facing the windows overlooking the 695.

“Sir,” Niall’s voice shook, “I haven’t seen him in two days. I don’t know where he could be.”

Haven’t seen who? Harry?

“Then you better fucking find him. You better get the entire TEAM sweeping this city to track him down!” Thompson roared. His voice ringing through my ears, and I’m sure Niall’s.

“Yes, sir.” I scurried from the doorway and hid behind a file cabinet. I watched Niall exit Thompson’s office and rush out of the building. My thoughts whirled to Harry. Where is he? I should call him…

I waited a minute before deciding to interrupt Thompson with this information I just found on Greg Patterson.

“Come in,” Thompson demanded after my soft knock. His face lightened only a bit when I entered the room. “Miss. Y/L/N, what do you need?” His voice is dismissive. He’s not happy with you. What had been Thompson’s relaxed demeanor from our time on the mission was replaced by his original hard exterior.

“Mr. Thompson,” I started, walking over to the empty chairs and taking a seat, “I was doing some research and I think there may be a potential threat to the Presidential family.” Thompson’s brows drew together, taking on a frustrated expression.

“What are you talking about, Y/L/N.” Thompson’s voice was so low, I almost couldn’t hear it over the soft hum of the air conditioning.

“Does the name Greg Patterson sound familiar?” Thompson glanced at the papers in my hand and reached for them. He started flipping through the few papers I brought with me before meeting my gaze.

“What did you find?” He interrogated.

“I believe he’s back in D.C,” I informed him, thinking of the picture printed on the page with the screenshot of his Twitter update.

“Damn it.” Thompson reached for the phone on his desk and began dialing numbers. “You’re dismissed, Miss. Y/L/N.” I hesitated to get up from the chair. I found this information. I want to help. “Miss. Y/L/N,” Thompson stopped me, “Have you been in contact with Mr. Styles as of late?” I shook my head. He nodded and motioned for me to leave. “Get me Joe.” I heard him bark into the phone as I shut the door.

***

If it was two weeks ago, I’d be seeing Harry after work. This week, after work, I would go home and sulk in bed.

On Thursday night, I finally decided I should do something instead of sulking about how I failed. How I failed the director of the FBI because I couldn’t keep it together. How I failed Harry because of my lies. But most importantly, how I failed myself by putting my job above my feelings and letting it interfere with my personal life.

I got up and grabbed my leggings with the pistol holster in the back. I slipped the one I kept in my drawer into its holder. They trained us to carry a gun at all times. Whether it’s in my purse, my boot, or my waistband. I always had it. Harry never knew you had a gun on you.

I looked over to the hoodie laying over my chair. It’s Harry’s. I wonder if he wants his clothes back. A few times when he was over, he brought an extra shirt, hoodie, sweatpants, because “I think you’d look fantastic in my clothes.” Well, he wasn’t wrong. I grabbed the hoodie and tossed it to the pile of his things lying in the corner of my room.

I went to my closet and pulled out a long sleeve NASA t-shirt to slip over my head. Why didn’t I just become an astronaut?

“Hi, you!” Summer welcomed me happily when I walked into the kitchen area. She turned to face me, and I caught Ashlie’s eyes from her position on the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, I’m going to go for a run. I’ll be back,” I stated, opening the front door and shutting it behind me. I could just make out Summer and Ashlie having a conversation through the door, but I couldn’t tell what they were saying.

I let my feet carry me closer to the downtown area, my music blaring in my ears. I ran past an alley and saw a man limp against the brick wall. He was being cornered by 3 others in black jackets, hats, and I could just make out sunglasses covering their eyes from one that was slightly turned to the side. I came to a stop just past the alley and took my headphones out. I noticed I was stood next to an entry of a bar. I listened to see if I needed to intervene.

“Come on, Styles. We know you’ve got something on you. What is it?” The voice was muffled from facing the other direction, but it was hard, callous, and aggressive. Harry? I reached around my back and grabbed my gun, peeking around the corner of the building into the alley. I looked at the ground to see if there were rocks that would shuffle as I stepped forward.

How stupid are they? Not one of them is facing the street to see if anyone is coming by. My eyes wandered around them, not seeing any guns or knives.

“I don’t have anything, I swear.” Harry pleaded. His face was cast at the ground. He was clutching his shoulder. “Greg, I swear.” Greg? Greg Patterson? Oh, God. Help me.

I took a few more steps, so I was standing about 6 feet away and raised my gun, pointed at the man talking.

“Step away from the boy,” I muttered. Harry’s head snapped in my direction. His eyes looked thankful to see someone standing there but grew withdrawn when he saw it was me. Greg slowly turned to face me. A lopsided grin taking over his features.

He twisted his torso to face Harry again, “Hey, isn’t this that girl you were seeing for a bit? Turned out to be a narc?” He took a stride towards me, “What’re you gonna do about it baby girl?” he belittled, lifting his shirt to let the light glimmer off a knife sticking in his waistband.

“Unless you want me to shoot you, I suggest you get out of here,” I said, my voice turning hostile.

“You wouldn’t dare.” He taunted, taking another step toward me.

“Oh, yeah?” I quickly pointed my gun at the ground a foot in front of him and shot. The fire rang in my ears, “Do you seriously want to test me?”

The two other men grabbed him by the arms and started dragging him out of the alley passed me. “You will regret doing that, bitch!” I heard him yell. They started running when I aimed at the wall and released another bullet. I glanced at Harry, who was still slack against the brick wall.

“Harry,” I rushed to his side. “Are you okay?” I gripped his arm and went to put it around my shoulders.

“You didn’t have to do that,” He griped, pulling himself out of my grasp.

“Oh yeah, and let them kill you? No way.” I laughed sarcastically. Harry started walking towards the street, rubbing his shoulder.

“They weren’t going to kill me,” He brushed off.

“Harry, that guy had a knife,”

“A little nick is nothing compared to what I’ve been through recently.” He paused. Ouch. “What are you even doing here? What, did Thompson send you here or something?” His tone was demanding,

“What? No. I’m just out.”

“Sure you just happen to be passing a bar I used to frequent. And just so happen to make an appearance when I catch a bit of trouble?” His interrogation sent a chill down my spine. He turned on his heel to look at me, inches from my face. “I didn’t need you to defend me.”

“Harry, what are you even doing here? Without security? Your entire team has been looking for you for four days! And I was just trying to help…” I whispered, my eyes falling to the ground.

“I don’t need your help, okay?” His voice rattled my eardrums. I took an involuntary step back. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. His eyes were glowering, fixed on mine. “I think you’ve done enough ‘help’ in my life. And I certainly do not need your permission, or Niall’s, to leave my own fucking house.” He spat, turning toward the street again.

“Say what you want, okay?” I said, my voice shaky, tears brimming my eyes. “But I care about you, Harry. I wanted to tell you! I have cared about you the entire time. You were and are getting back to being an absolute mess, Harry. Okay, maybe I was used as a prop by the FBI, but –“

“See that’s just it, Y/N,” Harry turned to face me again. His eyes soft, glistening with a few tears. “They used you as a prop. You used me to advance yourself. I thought,” He paused and ran a hand through his long locks, looking at the ink shaded sky. “I thought you were feeling the same thing I was.”

“I was!” I shout, not caring if any passer-byes could hear me. “I was feeling the same thing you were! I wanted to tell you everything! I –“ I took a deep breath to compose myself and looked into his darkened eyes – “I was scared.” I admitted, my voice lowering to a mumble. My eyes flashed around the alley, not daring to meet his gaze.

“Scared of what?” He questioned, furrowing his brows. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “Of Thompson?”

“No.”

“No?” He affirmed, confused. “Then what were you so afraid of?”

“Well, yes. Thompson. But I was afraid of you…” My voice trailed; my eyes fixed on the pavement between us.

“Me?” He brought his palm to his chest “You were scared of me?!” His tone deepened. “What did you think? That I’d have you fired or something?”

That was something I hadn’t thought of. Can Harry have me fired? Did he have that much say in the FBI staff?

“I was scared,” I played with the hem of my shirt, “It scared me to think that you’d wonder if everything I told you was a lie. And I was scared you’d be done with me, and that you’d just…” I briefly met his expressionless gaze before settling it back on the ground, “Just walk away without getting a chance to know me. The real me.”

“Well,” Harry stiffened. “I’m sure we’re both glad we don’t have to worry about that anymore.” My gaze snapped to his. “I know exactly who you are, you’re nothing but a con artist who got exactly what you wanted.” He turned his back to me and walked out to the street.

“This is not what I wanted!” I called, he stopped in his tracks, “At the end of the day, I wanted you to know the Y/N that is compassionate and strong. I wanted you to know the Y/N that started falling for the kind, caring and utterly incredible man that you are.” Without a response, he kept moving. I waited for him to round the corner before following. I watched as his back disappeared into the boisterous bar.

I stood on the sidewalk for a couple of minutes before deciding he wasn’t coming out. I turned on my heel to continue my jog home.

***

My heart began racing like never before every time I thought about going into work on Monday morning. Meeting with Thompson. The looks I would get from my colleagues as I packed up my desk. The only contact I’ve had with Thompson since Tuesday was him texting me to tell me about our meeting on Monday morning.

Friday and Saturday brought me to the gym. Employees of the FBI had exclusive access to a gym on the north side of the city. I stepped on the treadmill and began my jog, upping the intensity every couple minutes. Beads of sweat formed on the back of my neck. I wiped them away, staring out the window at the trees across the field. My feet began to pound harder as I thought back to Thursday night and my actual run-in with Harry.

How could he be so hardheaded to think that someone sent me there?

I looked down at the moving treadmill under me. A pair of feet caught my eye, climbing onto the treadmill next to me. I turned my head to see Niall standing there. I scrunched my eyebrows at him as he motioned for me to take out my headphones.

“Hey…” I said as I pulled them out and pressed the pause button. The treadmill came to a stop, and I faced Niall.

“Hey, Y/N.” He greeted, a hint of a smile on his face. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” I panted, trying to catch my breath. “And you?”

“I’m alright.” The silence took over as both our eyes wandered around the empty room. “I’ve been wanting to get ahold of you.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Harry’s been to the office a few times, since that night.” He started, my eyes widening. That’s why Thompson moved me. So we wouldn’t see each other. “I don’t know what’s going on but – “ There’s something he’s not saying.

“Are you still working with Harry?” The question slipped from my lips before I could fully process the question I wanted to ask.

Niall harshly blinked, taken aback by what I asked. “Oh – “ he mumbled, lowering his eyes to the space between us. “Yeah. Harry was pretty upset with me, but I think he’s doing better.” I figured.

“Well, that’s good.”

“Y/N, Harry’s just really hurt. You know, by everybody. Not just you.” Niall’s sympathetic tone seeped into my mind. “And, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, Niall?” I asked, picking up my water bottle to take a sip. “It’s my fault, not yours. I should’ve known better than to let my emotions get in the way of this.” I finished after gulping my water down.

“No, it’s my fault too. I should’ve seen it.” He concluded, his eyes staring out the window at the trees. He glanced at my face before continuing, “I should’ve seen the way you two were looking at each other. I should’ve seen how real it was for both of you.”

Why was Harry at the office so often? Was more than just my job at risk now?

Niall stepped off the treadmill and headed for the front door. I watched him as he exited the building, my legs not allowing me to follow and ask more questions.

***

Do you ever try so hard to forget something, but then it keeps popping in your memory even more? That’s how I feel with my conversations with Harry and Niall. What is Niall not telling me? What does he know that I don’t? And how can Harry forgive Niall and not me?

Derek broke my thoughts when he walked through our front door, 3 friends in tow. “Hey, Y/N. How was your day?” He asked, heading towards the kitchen.

“It was – “ I glanced at his friends and felt anxiety consume my heart. I can’t place the feeling, but it certainly wasn’t a pleasant one. “fine.”

Derek nodded, filling a glass from the cabinet with water. “Oh, Y/N. These are some friends, Mike, Tyler, and Greg,” Derek said, taking in my blank expression, and pointing to each man standing in my kitchen.

I couldn’t place the faces, but I felt like I’ve met them. “Hi,” I said, giving a slight wave. “Um – Have we met before?” I asked, gesturing between me and the men I learned to be Tyler, Greg, and Mike.

Greg looked at his friends then back at me, “I – I don’t think so?” A smirk took over his features with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe in a past life.” Flashes of a knife went through my brain. Greg. G_Pattsy.

“Anyway, where’s Summer? She said she’d be home,” Derek spoke, obliviously breaking up the tension slowly building around him.

“She’s in the shower,” I said getting up from the couch. “I have to run an errand.” I grabbed my purse from the counter, side-eying the men standing there once more.

“Problem, sweetheart?” A chill ran down my spine from his menacing tone. “Don’t worry, I know the effect I have on people.” Oh, we’re going to have a problem.

“Don’t ever for a second think you’d have the privilege,” I uttered over my shoulder, slamming the door on my way out. I pulled out my phone and dialed the only number I could think of. “Hey, can you meet me?”

I hung up and made my way to the nearest bar. It was only 8 pm, so it wasn’t that packed. “Hey, you,” Louis said wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “What can I do for ya?”

“Do you want something to drink first?” I laughed, motioning to the liquor sitting behind the counter.

“Oh, yeah.” Louis waved the bartender over and taking a seat on the chair next to me. “Bumbu, rocks, please.” The bartender made his drink and placed it in front of him. Louis took a sip before turning in his chair to face me completely. “So.”

“You’ve known Harry for a long time, right?” I asked, running my fingers around my glass, avoiding his eyes.

“Yeah, since I was about 3, I think.” He said, gazing off into the distance. “I heard about what happened. That it didn’t work out, and I’m sorry. You two seemed good for each other.” Louis confessed, placing a hand on my shoulder. How though? How did we seem good for each other?

“It’s okay.”

“Anyway, yeah. A long time.” He spoke, bringing his hands back to his lap. “Why?”

“Can you tell me about his friendship with Greg Patterson?” I asked, lifting my eyes to meet his.

“Greg? Patterson?” He questioned as I nodded. “Well, there’s not much to tell. Harry and Greg were friends through high school. After that, Greg kind of fell off the grid. Got into a… a more dangerous crowd. Harry didn’t say much about what happened.”

“But what did he say then?” I pressed. Louis looked at me with a frown, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Uh – “ He ran his hand across his jaw, leaving it there for a second. “I know they got into a tremendous fight. Greg landed in the hospital, Harry walked away with a few scrapes and a broken nose.” Louis lowered his hand, clasping the glass in front of him. “Something about drugs.”

“Was Harry selling?” I asked nonchalantly. I flipped my hair over my shoulder and tucked some strands behind my ear. I took a glance at the door, eyeing the couple walking in. “Or buying?”

“No, no. Harry never got into that.” Louis waved off, shaking his head. “But he knew people that were. Greg wanted in. He didn’t believe Harry wasn’t in on the deals.”

“Have you seen him recently?”

“Who, Harry? Not since the benefit.” Louis glanced at my blank expression. “Oh, Greg? I never knew him. Just of him.” Louis knocked his fist on his chin gently, deep in thought. “You know, I think I heard from someone that he was back in the D.C. area though.”

I thought about Louis’ last comment almost the entire way home. I thought about how the man that is wanted for attempted assassination has gone this long without being found. More importantly, I thought about how that same man had been standing in my kitchen not even two hours ago and every possible way that Derek knew that man and brought him to my house. Does he know?

I pulled up to my building and shifted my car into park, taking notes of the blacked-out SUV sitting a couple of spaces away. I eyed it, warily. Many people drive blacked-out SUVs, not just Harry. I had to remind myself. I slowly got out of my car and walked towards the door, eager to know if Derek was still inside.

I couldn’t see if anyone was in the SUV, but I prayed the Thompson didn’t have it out for me now.

“Derek?” I called as soon as the door latched. “Are you here?”

“In here,” I heard him call from Summer’s room. I made my way, checking my phone for anything from Thompson. “What’s up?” he greeted when I entered the room.

They were sprawled across the floor, Boy Meets World playing softly on the TV. “Can I talk to you about something?” I asked, taking a seat on the floor next to them. He sat up and stared at me expectantly. “How’d you meet those guys from earlier?” Derek’s mouth slightly parted, confused. “Like did you meet them recently? Or have you known them for a while?”

Derek’s eyebrows scrunched together, “Do you know them?”

“No, but I was just wondering.” I shook my head, trying to laugh it off.

“Did Greg say something to you? I’ll kick his ass.” Derek slammed his palms on the ground like he was ready to track him down. “I swear if he fucking said something, I’ll-“

“Derek, no” I laughed, “I think I’ve seen him around or something.”

He raised his hand to scratch the back of his neck, “Okay, good. I met them in NOLA, actually.” I raised my eyebrows. That’s right. Derek went to New Orleans like two years ago. “They were cool, got us into all the good clubs down there,” he looked at Summer who was nodding her head in agreement. “Told him to hit me up if he was ever in DC. Guess he decided to take me up on the offer.”

“I think I may need your help.”

***

The next day, I was once again sat in the conference room. It was around 9:00 pm and my breath was hitching every other second. I’m nervous about how everything will go. Thoughts swirled my mind. How will Niall react? What are we going to do? I can’t believe I looped Derek into this. This is insane.

“All right,” Thompson started, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. My gaze shifted around to each person in the room. Niall, Joe, Thompson, Derek, and a few others from secret security I didn’t quite recognize. “Derek, first and foremost, thank you for joining us and helping us.” Derek nodded nonchalantly. “Here’s the plan.” I started spacing out. I knew I wouldn’t be a part of it. No matter how much I wanted to be. I’d be in the van, with Joe, Thompson and the others. Of course, Niall got to make the arrest. He’d be with them, watching from afar.

What felt like an eternity passed before Thompson’s voice rang in my ears again. “Understood?” His voice was loud, angry, stern. Everything you would expect from the Director of the FBI. Everyone started getting up to pack the van and move. “Y/N,” Thompson stared at me. He motioned for me to wait while everyone else filed out of the room. “You don’t have to come.”

“Sir?”

“If it will be too much. Just let me know.” He said gently.

“Mr. Thompson,” I said, my voice hinting irritation, “This is my job. I love my job. And I want so badly to see that sucker put away. I’m not letting what happened interfere with this. At the end of the day, it’s my duty to protect and serve.”

He gave me a curt nod and gestured for me to exit, quickly following suit. We made our way to the vans and got in. Niall and Derek got into their respective cars to meet up with the suspect and the bait. Everyone had their gear on, ready to intervene if need be. Everyone except me. “It’ll be for the best. He won’t be thrown off.”

When the van started moving, all the men started chatting about work life, home life, “Did you hear about Linda in the office today?”, and everything going on in the White House. Thompson’s voice kept me sane. This isn’t a crazy dream I had thought up. This is real life. I kept my mouth shut through it all. Everyone knows what happened. Niall probably told everyone at the White House what happened. Don’t dig yourself a deeper hole.

We pulled up to the dingy bar that somehow became remarkable after one encounter. Niall pulled up behind us and got out of his car. He came up to Thompson’s window to get his earpiece and mic before heading off into the bar. The static on the radio in the back of the van let us know the mics were on. The voices and music started flowing through within seconds.

“Hey,” Niall’s voice came through. “Thought I might find you here.” His voice was hard to hear with all the background noise, but I distinctly heard a chair screeching across the floor. Niall’s sitting down.

“What are you doing here?” Harry’s words slurred, he sounded far away. How much had he had to drink already? Suddenly I didn’t know how to breathe. Oh, how I missed the sweet voice that I no longer had the privilege of hearing.

“Just came to check on you. I know you’re still upset.” His voice was sympathetic. For once, I was grateful it wasn’t for me.

There was a lengthy pause. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Harry’s voice sounded beaten. He sounded rough. And though I couldn’t see him, I knew his eyebrows had a crease between them. “I mean, how could she do something like that? How could you do something like that?” Okay, going right in then.

“Harry,” Niall stuttered, “We were just trying to do what’s best. Look, I’m not here as your guard tonight. I’m here as your friend. If you want to get fucked up and party, I’m here. If you want to get fucked up and talk, I’m here.”

About 30 seconds had passed before I stopped holding my breath. “I just, I could really see something with her.” He has to be careful. Niall’s lack of response confirmed my thoughts. He knew that we were all listening. “Anyway, thanks for letting me do this, Niall. Thanks for being here. It’s been a rough week.” I could basically see the smile on his face, dimples making a full appearance.

“Hey,” Niall’s voice broke. “I know you’re hurting. But you’re not alone, okay? She’s hurting too.” A smile crept onto my face. Thanks, Niall. I didn’t dare look at Thompson, scared he would see the brokenness and weakness hidden in my eyes. I kept my face straight, fading the smile to be more serious for the situation, and for the sake of being within a foot of my boss.

“So you like this bar, huh?” A voice from another speaker broke through, much clearer than the last. A gruff voice I recognized from my kitchen. Someone remind me why I thought this would be a marvelous idea.

“Yeah, been coming here for a short while with my girl,” Derek’s voice was smooth, he had always been a talented actor. Hiding me and Ashlie in his room and straight-up lying to his brothers saying he hadn’t seen us. Pretending to be someone else’s boyfriend so a creep at the bar would back off. Sometimes I’m still amazed and the stuff he can pull off.

“Awesome.”

A couple of minutes passed as Derek and Greg made their way to the bar, we were outside of. Their voices on the speaker grew cluttered, voices from all around them being picked up. Joe turned down all the speakers, so the van wasn’t being bombarded. Soon after, Derek, Greg, and his two friends arrived and entered. Now it was only a matter of time.

The unfortunate part of tonight was, our eyes were Niall. We don’t have any cameras in the bar, or on our people. All we had to go off of were conversations. Greg and Harry were completely in the dark. But we needed them together to make the arrest. What if Harry gets hurt? You’re at fault for that. My eyes widened at the thought. But if you had said nothing, Greg might’ve tracked Harry down and the outcome would’ve been so much worse. My conscience was trying to rationalize everything happening, but I couldn’t keep up.

“Y/N, I want you to go inside.” I looked over to Thompson to see his serious face.

“What?”

“You heard me,” He reached into the center console pulling out an earpiece and a body camera. “Here, put these on. And go.” I took the pieces with shaky hands. I strapped the camera onto my torso and stuck the piece in my ear.

“Ted,” Joe leaned through the seats from the back, ‘Are you sure about this?”

Thompson looked at Joe with enough blaze in his eyes to put hell to shame. “Yes, she’s discreet enough to not be seen.”

My body was on autopilot walking into the bar. I looked around. Derek had strategically placed himself and Greg at the bar near the bathroom. Niall had taken Harry to the opposite side of the bar. Niall looked in my direction with wide eyes. I hurried to the corner, narrowly avoiding Harry’s eyes as he turned around. I could still hear everything from Niall and Derek’s mics. I was the eyes of the men in the van.

“Hey, I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” I could just make out Harry’s voice above the music and other people talking. I pulled my hood up and looked at the table, catching his feet walking passed. I angled the camera to follow him, hopefully.

I saw Greg take a glance over his shoulder at the passing body. “I gotta take a piss.” Spotted. Greg had spotted Harry. Greg got up from his stool and followed behind Harry.

“Derek, go wait about 6 feet from the bathroom, let us know what happens but don’t do anything. We don’t want you getting hurt. Horan make your way outside to the east alley. That’s the only other door to the bar. Y/N, stay there.”

“Got it” “Moving” Derek and Niall’s voices filtered through the noise. Niall made his way out the front door. My mind went to the alley. The same alley where Harry looked defeated. The same alley we fought because of my job. The same alley he could’ve been killed if I hadn’t been there.

“They’re moving, heading towards a side door,” Derek stated, making me forget anything I was thinking. I felt the color drain from my face. I saw Greg and Harry walking down the hallway.

The door burst open. The last thing being seen was Harry being shoved to the ground as it slammed shut. I felt my heart break at the scene. I couldn’t hear what was being said. Niall was too far away,

“Move!” Thompson screamed; my eardrum felt like it was about to bust. I heard a gunshot go off. Muffled voices and commotion coming through my earpiece.

I got up, grabbed Derek by the forearm, and rushed out the front, knocking a few people out of the way. People on the block were ducking for cover or scrambling into the nearest open shop.

By the time we got to the corner of the building, Greg was being put into handcuffs. Niall helped Harry up and placed his hands on his shoulder. “You okay?” Harry nodded, blank-faced.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned my head to look at Thompson. “Good job, kid.” It was short, but it made me feel secure. I did something right. “Come on,” Thompson ushered me back to the van. Derek walked towards Niall, Harry, and the other men.

I walked towards the van and clutched the door handle. I turned my face towards the alley. My heartbeat sped up as I locked eyes with familiar olive ones. I sighed and pulled open the door, climbing in.

Looking back to the alley, Niall, Harry, and Derek were walking toward the street. Niall gave a thumbs up in our direction. “Horan, you can take Harry home, or to another bar. I will sweep the area before we leave.” As Thompson continued talking my eyes glazed over, thinking about how crazy tonight had been. Derek helped save Harry’s life. Niall helped save Harry’s life. I saved Harry’s life. Who knows what would’ve happened if Greg found him out and about by himself?

I watched as the three boys disappeared down the road. Who knows where to? Harry was glancing back every few seconds. Almost as if to convince himself he saw me. And Derek, well, he had just made friends with my coworker and Harry. The men in suits walked Greg across the street towards the van behind us. “The boys are going to take Greg in that van. Do you want me to take you home?”

“Ted,” Joe spoke from the back, “I’ll take her.” My eyes shifted between Thompson, and Joe. Thompson pursed his lips, giving Joe a nod. “Come on, kid,” Joe said as he pats my shoulder. I took the body cam and earpiece off and handed them to Thompson.

“I’ll see you Monday,” Thompson spoke slowly as I opened the van door. I nodded at him before shutting the door. What happens to my job now?

“You need a drink,” Joe commented and motioned towards a bar across the street. I didn’t say a word as we began walking towards the entrance of the bar.

We sat at a table near the back, waiting for our drinks. “So,” Joe started. “How are you?” How am I? Really?

“I’m okay,” And it was true. I was okay. I had my breath back, the boy I had fallen for was safe, the guy who was wanted for trying to kill said boy was being put away, and I’d be okay if I had to transfer or be fired if it meant I could leave everything that had happened in the past.

“Y/N, I’m not your boss. You can talk to me. Person to person.” Joe smiled, putting a comforting hand atop mine on the table.

“Honestly?” I asked. Joe nodded, giving me the go-ahead. “I’m so exhausted and disappointed.”

“Disappointed? With what?” He asked, grasping his drink after the waitress sat it down. Joe thanked her before turning his attention back to me.

“I’m so disappointed in myself,” I stated.

“Why? You’ve done brilliant work. I would know. We’ve been watching you since you got hired.”

I let the confused expression on my face speak for itself. Completely ignoring his second statement I questioned him, “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Know about what I did.” It was Joe’s turn to be confused. “How I completely messed up my mission by putting my feelings above my job. How I couldn’t keep it together. How I let myself, Harry and the FBI down. How – “

“Woah Woah Woah, Y/N. Slow down.” Joe laughed. “What are you talking about? You didn’t let anyone down.” He paused, glancing at the glasses between us, “Look. I’ve worked with the Styles’ for over 5 years. Sometimes we have to do dreadful things in order to get good results. When that happens, we often forget all the wonderful things we did. You did a good job, Y/N. Don’t sell yourself short. And don’t let anyone else either.”

“But what about Harry?”

“Harry? Honey, that kid's crazy about you. He’d be crazy to let you go.” I took a sip of the rum and coke I had ordered. I had grown to like them after having tasted it on Harry’s lips at the benefit. “After seeing you two gallivanting around at the benefit, we all knew.”

“Knew what?” I asked, taking another look around the room. Young couples all around. Being handsy under the table, whispering into each other’s ears, grabbing each other’s hands to pull the other towards the door.

“We all knew that something real would happen.” I let my gaze settle on Joe again. “You were scared, and that’s why you ran and caused some trouble. Stop running. He might surprise you.” Joe dropped the subject after that and refused to answer any of my cut-off questions. He brought our attention back to work and regular life. We finished our drinks and walked outside. The cool air felt nice on my warm skin.

He pulled out his car keys and unlocked the Mercedes sitting in front of us. “When Ted called me about this, I knew I was going to pull you aside.” He shrugged off my unasked question. I pulled open the door and slid in. The drive was short and quiet. The only sound being the soft playing radio tuned to the Queen station on SiriusXM. “I’ll see you soon, kid.” Joe winked when he pulled up to my building. I gave him a tight-lipped smile and got out, taking a deep breath before walking up to my apartment.

I pulled out my keys and turned to the stairwell when I heard footsteps coming behind me. “There you are,” I twisted to see Derek walking up the steps. “Been waiting for you to get back. That was crazy, right?” I laughed as I unlocked the door.

“Wild.”

***

It was exactly 8 O’clock on Monday when I looked at the clock on the wall. The atmosphere of the conference room brought me back to the first time I had an interview with Thompson. His demeanor was tough, cold, and stern. My nerves reminded me even more of that day. My legs bounced under the table, my palms were sweating, and my eyes couldn’t settle on a single object for too long. I was completely prepared to possibly turn in my badge, gun, and ID.

When Thompson entered the room, his intimidating nature followed. He closed the door and sat across from me at the table, setting some papers down between us.

“Miss. Y/L/N,” Thompson started, taking a second to clear his throat. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mr. Thompson,” I greeted him, exhaling a shaky breath.

“How are you?” I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion. How am I? That’s how you want to start my termination?

“I’m – I’m nervous,” I confessed.

“Nervous?” he casually asked. “Why are you nervous?” Thompson started shuffling the papers he had laid on the table. I glanced at them, trying to figure out if they were the agreements I signed when I first started.

“I – “ I pointed to myself, “Am I getting fired?”

Thompson snickered at my question. “Fired? Why would we fire you?”

“I thought – “ I paused, blinking harshly. Am I being punked? “since Har – Mr. Styles found out. I thought I would be fired.”

“Y/N, Mr. Styles has made it very clear we would be stupid to fire you.”

“What?” The question fell from my lips. I was taken aback. Why would Harry tell them not to fire me?

“When Niall called to tell us he let it slip last week, we called in Mr. Styles to talk about it and explain why we did it.” Thompson started, “We talked about suspending your employment for 6 months or transferring you out of D.C. He was pretty adamant about it. But Mr. Styles came in yesterday, unannounced I might add, to tell us if we suspended you or transferred you, well. We’d be out of our minds. In better terms.”

I fell back into my chair. So I’m not fired? Thompson answered my question before I could ask, “We’d be stupid to let you go. Especially after Saturday night.” My eyes flicked to his. “Y/N, one thing I noticed when we first met was how much you reminded me... of me. You are strong, ambitious, willing to do whatever it takes. Those are qualities we need in this job.”

“So, I’m not fired?”

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head. “But we’ll be putting you on desk duty for the next two weeks. For disobeying orders of the mission.” Damn it.

I nodded my head, accepting my two-week punishment. “Thank you, Mr. Thompson.”

“Don’t thank me.” He said, waving me off. “Thank Mr. Styles.” He dismissed me and I picked up my bag, ready to head for the door. “And Miss. Y/L/N,” Thompson said, stopping me. “Don’t mess it up.”

I left the conference room confused. Why would Harry save my job?

I took a seat at my desk and pulled up the database. Researching was tough, but even more so when my mind kept wandering to Harry. Why’d he do it? Why would he come in here to tell them not to fire me? Maybe because you saved his life. Who knows what Niall or Derek told him? The questions filled my mind for the rest of the day. So much so, I could barely get any work done.

***

I left the office after a few of hours of researching some wanted suspects. I found myself strolling the streets, coming to a halt as I passed the café where Harry and I first met. I wandered inside and ordered a grande iced vanilla soy latte. A drink I genuinely came to enjoy from my times with Harry. When my order came up, I took a glance around the café to pick a place to sit. My eyes landed on a familiar stranger facing the window.

Stop running, Y/N.

I took a seat next to him at the bar, sitting my coffee down, and facing the man. I propped my head on my hand, with my elbow resting on the bar top. “Is this seat taken?” I asked him.

He cracked a smile at me, turning his face to me. “How’d you find me this time?” Harry probed.

“Oh, I didn’t,” I laughed. “I just came here for some coffee. I had a fantastic first ‘date’ here.” I said putting air quotes around the word date. A comfortable silence fell over us. “Why’d you do it?”

“Why’d I do what?” he asked, grabbing his cup to take a sip of his coffee.

“Why’d you save my job?” I asked, dropping my hand, so it hung over the edge of the bar.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you were pissed at me,” I stated raising my eyebrows.

“Yeah, I was.” He confirmed. “But also, after last Thursday – and Saturday for that matter – I started thinking. And I realized that everyone, at some point, is going to hurt you. Even the people who truly care about you and want what’s best for you. We can’t control that. What we can control, though, is how we react to that, and we get to determine if the person who hurt us is worth it.”

“What’d you come up with?”

“I came up with some people are. The people that make you look at yourself and want to be a better person.”

I stared at him for a few seconds, before taking a deep breath. “Harry I – “

“I don’t want you to tell me you’re sorry, Y/N. You’ve already said it.”

“What do you want me to say then?”

“I want you to tell me what you want.” I scrunched my face at his request. “Thursday night you told me this isn’t what you wanted. So tell me what you want.”

“I want us to start over. I want you to know my actual life.”

Harry stuck his hand out to me, “Hi, I’m Harry. And you are?”

I looked at his hand before taking it in my own, “I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Hi Y/N, I’m the President’s son. What do you do for a living?” He let go of my hand and placed it around his cup.

“I work for the FBI,” I smirked.

“Oh, that’s nice. I’ve heard outstanding things about their work. An agent saved me.”

“Saved you?” I giggled.

“In a way, she saved me from myself, really. I was a proper mess.” He broke into a grin and laughed.

“Oh, really?” I laughed with him.

“She kind of made me realize that I was, yeah.” He looked down at his thighs before his jade eyes met mine. “Do you want to go for a walk?” I nodded as he started to get up. He held the door open for me. We walked out and he interlocked our fingers, rubbing circles into the back of my hand.

We started down the street. I pulled his hand as I stopped on the sidewalk. “Hey, Harry?” I bit my lip and looked at my feet. “Are you sober right now?”

“Yeah?” His eyes held the confusion that laced his voice. I reached for his face and pulled his lips to mine. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into him. He pulled away briefly, “At least we don’t have to worry about them,” He mumbled, nodding his head toward the blacked-out SUV sitting across the street. I giggled as he pulled me back for another kiss.

Maybe, just maybe, we could be real.

[monstersandmaw]

Embers - Dragon Shifter Romance story, Part Four (sfw)

It’s Friday, so here's Chapter Four! Again, it's longer than I'd intended, but that's ok, right?

Last week we got to see a bit more of our prickly new horned friend and he mentioned that he might have a job for us... 

One, Two, Three

“A job?” you asked, tilting your head with interest. His quick, golden eyes tracked the movement and the harsh line of his pale mouth softened a little more.

“Yes. My department at the University is holding…” he broke off and sighed. He took off his round glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m almost embarrassed to admit to you what the event is. It’s so… cliché…”

As your own mouth twisted into an amused grin at his obvious awkwardness, Mikaeïl looked up at you and rolled his eyes.

“I don’t even know what your department is,” you said. “I don’t know what you do at the University; you could be manager of the stationary supplies for all I know…”

He bristled visibly at that, and then caught himself before he could allow his pride to get the better of him. “I am a research professor in the Department of Criminology. I specialise in forensic anthropology, especially in cases which involve magic and, or, necromancy.”

Your eyes went wide. “Holy crap,” you breathed. “I barely even know what those even words mean…” You cleared your throat and ventured, “So… like… you study dead people and what happened to them?”

He shrugged and left the conservatory to go and rescue your brewing tea before it stewed and went bitter. Over his shoulder as he walked away, red hair swinging down his back, he said, “In a nutshell. I can tell you more about it if you’re really interested.”

“I’m always interested in stuff I know nothing about,” you admitted somewhat eagerly. “I’m the cat whose curiosity will get the better of me one day, I’m sure…”

In response, you heard a low, warm, rumbling chuckle from the other side of the kitchen. There was something about it that spoke of an altogether bigger creature than Mikaeïl was, and though you had your suspicions about him, you weren’t entirely sure what he was precisely. He hadn’t been exactly forthcoming when you’d had a go at guessing earlier, shutting your ‘tiefling’ line of questioning down immediately.

A few minutes later, he returned with a china mug of tea and gracefully set it on the table beside the sofa in the conservatory, but he didn’t take a seat beside you. He remained standing with his arms hugged defensively across his slim chest, hands cupping his sharp elbows. The white shirt and black waistcoat and trousers made him look harsh and almost unfriendly, but his eyes were gentle enough.

“Well,” he said, “The department is hosting a charity event in a few months, and we’re looking for someone to design some posters for it.”

“What’s the event?” you asked. “You’re going to have to tell me eventually if you want me to work up some sketches for you…”

“It’s a murder mystery evening,” he said flatly.

“People actually do those?” you asked. “And what’s wrong with -”

“It’s the criminology department,” he said slowly, somewhat patronisingly. “It’s…” he shuddered.

Instead of elaborating, he rolled his eyes again and crossed to the glass door of the conservatory, keeping his back to you as he stared out at the lawns of the gardens beyond.

“They do a charity event - usually for rich benefactors it has to be said - every year. This year they decided to host a murder mystery event set in a 1920s jazz club…” When you didn’t immediately respond, he glanced over his shoulder at you and your amused and intrigued expression must have caught him off guard because he added, “You actually think that sounds like fun, don’t you?”

You shrugged, a bit embarrassed for being enthusiastic about it when he clearly thought it was ridiculous. “You want me to come up with some sketches? I don’t have all that long before Celia finishes her lesson, but I could rough out at least a few ideas now, if you wanted.”

“What would you charge?” he asked. “I shouldn’t ask you to go ahead before I’ve cleared it with the administrative staff of the department…”

You waved your hand. “I’ll doodle a few ideas now anyway,” you said. “I’d like to.”

He fixed you with an odd look that might have hidden a good amount of bafflement at your offer, but he nodded. “If you’d like to, then I’d be most grateful.”

You grinned and sipped your tea. “Oh, that’s delicious,” you murmured, eyeing the steaming cup for a moment.

“I’m glad.”

So, while he fell still, gazing silently out at the gardens with a thousand-mile stare on his sharply-beautiful face, you roughed out a few ideas that involved variations on a knocked over martini glass and a few splotches of blood.

It was only when the patter of small boots across the kitchen floor, closely followed by the clop of hooves, drew your attention off the page that you realised how lost you’d become in the sketches. The only thing which had halfway drawn your attention away from the soft strokes of pencil on paper had been the delicious tea.

Celia flapped her dusky brown wings in excitement and you saw that she had her flute in one hand and a sheet of music in the other. “Look!” she half-screeched, wings flapping. Her whirlwind entry of excitement and enthusiasm made Mikaeïl jump which, in turn, made Frankie chuckle. “Listen! I learned a tune!”

“Already?” you asked, abandoning the sketch pad on the sofa beside you and turning your attention completely onto her. “You going to play it for me?”

She nodded and thrust the page at you so you could hold it up for her. Frankie gave you a thumbs up over her shoulder and she brought the flute to her lips and began to play. It was… pretty ropey, but then again she’d only been learning for an hour in total. She played ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ in a breathy, squeaky, faltering melody, and when she was done, she grinned at you in triumph.

“That’s amazing!” you said, and you meant it. “You’ve learned to read those notes and play them in that short time?”

She nodded. “It’s actually not that hard,” she said a little pompously.

“Well then, I take it you like your new teacher? You can tell your papa too when we get home.”

Her nod this time was vehement. “Frankie’s so cool,” she said and you grinned up at Frankie, whose cheeks had flushed an attractive pink.

The ovine satyr ran a hand through his woolly white blond curls and grinned. “She’s a natural, I’ve got to say,” he smiled.

“Looks like we’ll be coming back,” you said, turning to look at Mikaeïl. Your words died when you saw that he had stooped to pick up your sketch book and was holding it in his slender fingers as if it were some kind of holy relic, staring at your drawings. “Something wrong?” you asked.

He didn’t respond, and Frankie trotted over to him and dug him in the ribs. Mikaeïl’s lips peeled back into a tiny snarl, but Frankie just ignored him and looked at the page of the sketchbook and whistled. “Bloody -” he broke off, remembering that there was a child present, and finished with, “I mean… Holy smokes! You’re one talented artist!”

You kept your eyes on Mikaeïl and asked, “You like it?”

He swallowed thickly, his throat working visibly. When he met your eyes, his own were glassy and almost teary, which struck you as odd. “Yes,” he croaked, his voice rough and raw. “Very much. I’d like to hire you for this, if you want to do it.”

There was something going on beneath the surface here, you were sure of it, but you nodded slowly and agreed. “Talk to your department and let me know what the budget is. I’m not normally that expensive when I do freelance stuff anyway. Assuming the University will handle the printing costs…”

“I’d cover the difference myself anyway,” he murmured.

You shot another look at Frankie and he shrugged mutely, as nonplussed about the depth of Mikaeïl’s reaction as you were. Celia stood there, seeming a bit deflated now that the attention had moved away from her after her debut performance, so you cleared your throat and stood, finishing the last mouthful of tea and taking it over to the sink in the kitchen.

When you returned, Mikaeïl seemed to have recovered, and his usual frosty exterior had returned. “Your art style is perfect for this,” he said, handing you back your sketchbook. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Right,” you said, feeling distinctly off-balance from his strange reaction.

At a reprimanding glare from Frankie, Mikaeïl’s shoulders dropped a little and he chuckled. “May I assume you’ll be coming back next week with Celia?”

“Please?” Celia interrupted, her attention drawn by the mention of her name. “Can we?”

“You’ll have to tell your papa what you learned,” you smiled, “But I think he’ll be happy enough to let you continue your lessons with Frankie if you’re enjoying them.”

“Yes!” she hissed, pumping her fist and spreading her wings broad for a moment before tucking them in.

You had to smile, and it even drew a smirk from Mikaeïl. “Well,” you said, “I look forward to hearing from you then,” you said. “You’ve got my number after all…”

“That I have,” he said, and to your surprise, he walked past you and pulled a ragged paper napkin out of a kitchen drawer.

He held it between his finger and thumb with surprising gentleness, as though it were a lady’s favour and he a knight at a tournament, worried about smudging it. The thought immediately seemed preposterous to you and you snorted with laughter, hoping a second later that he didn’t take it the wrong way.

“Until next week,” he said, his baritone clipped and stiff, showing you out of the kitchen and escorting you to the front doors of his grand mansion.

As you and Celia headed back to your battered old car, you heard Mikaeïl give a soft ‘oof’ and a second later caught Frankie’s hissed, “You’re a fucking idiot, Kae, you know that?”

“Yes,” he said wearily. “I have been told as much once or twice in my lifetime,” came his rather melancholic response before you had closed the door and were concentrating on making sure Celia’s seatbelt was done up.

When you looked up to wave goodbye, you found that the front door had been closed and the house had fallen silent once again.

Part Five

—

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[eltanin-malfoy]

Chapter 2: The Moment

Table Of Contents

pairing: draco/fem-y/n

word count:  2.6k

warning(s): swearing

a/n: pls read the note at the end for imp. info

taglist: @acciodracoo @drawlfoy @war-sword @lilyreachelcassidy @socontagiousimagines @andreasworlsboring101 @morsmordre-crucio @1teen1dream @strwbrykiwi

Y/N went home that night knowing much too much more than she was comfortable with. She hadn’t stood in that office for much longer, instead soon being sent out to sort out her affairs. All she knew was something, something incredibly limited in supply and absolutely secret had been taken. A fucking time turner, of all things. She’d stared at Robards with shock as he’d even said that very word, wondering if this was some stupid joke. The last time she’d even heard of one of those was when she’d been forced to read The Great Tragedies of the Second Wizarding War for her Modern Wizarding Conflicts class at Auror Training. The entire stock of Time-Turners, which had been located in the Time Room in the Ministry of Magic, were rendered useless during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries in 1996. While they weren’t "destroyed" per se, due to the way one of them fell when their counter was knocked over, the entire stock was trapped in an endless loop of falling over, un-falling, and then re-falling, in an endless cycle for all eternity, and were thus unable to be used. So, how the actual fuck did someone manage to steal one of them? And why would they think Draco Malfoy was capable of doing so?

She was barely out of his office, staring at the paper in her hands while those very thoughts swirled around her head when the very person she was just not looking forward to meeting at any point in the near future. Draco Malfoy. 

She saw him in the distance, clutching and staring down at his own sheet of paper in frustration. She gulped and acted instinctively, stretching the paper as wide as she could over the front of her face and briskly walking as fas0t as she could without attracting his attention. She stiffened up considerably and leaned forward, trying to make herself look smaller than she actually was. She stared down at the floor, watching Draco’s expensively shoed feet clicking down the floor. Black leather dress shoes with the laces done up nice and tight. Fancy.

But then his footsteps slowed and he came to a stop a couple dozen steps in front of her, him tilting on his feet for a second as the bottom of the left leg of his trousers rolled up the slightest bit. God, he had some skinny ankles.

“Y/N?”

Oh, fuck. 

She froze for a second, holding it up the paper before slowly bringing it down and folding it again. She brought her gaze up and met his own, piercing and pale. She realised how very suspicious she must have been looking and she gulped. And then, she realised how very extremely awkward this situation was. Wake up with no memory of what happened the night before in someone’s bed, then be rude to them, then get partnered with them in some top secret mission, and lastly, blatantly avoid them. Her cheeks felt hot.

“Yes?” Her voice was shakier than she’d hoped it would be.

“... What’s this about?”

“I-I… it’s for another mission.”

“Yeah, it says that on the note. But… what mission, exactly?”

“... It’s a secret.”

“Not for us… come on. I know you must have just been to Robard’s. What did he tell you?”

“He told me that- there’s um… been a robbery.”

“So we’ve been pulled together to investigate some petty theft?”

“No… it’s more like, official.”

“What?”

“Something’s been stolen from the Ministry.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I… we aren’t supposed to know yet. He didn’t tell me what it was.”

She pressed her lips together tightly and shrugged. He stared down at her, clearly not convinced. He tilted his narrow face to the side and raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh, really?”

“Y-yes.”

He squinted over at her suspiciously, then sighed. He brought his hands into his pockets and shook his head before just pausing.

“You can tell me, you know. We’re supposed to start working together as is, I really don’t see why you can’t tell me what he told you.”

“It’s… he told me to keep it a secret for now.”

“But I’m your partner. We’re supposed to-”

“I think you should go ask Robards yourself, okay? I don’t know if he wants me to tell you.”

“Y/N.” His nostrils flared the slightest bit. “Did you request this?”

“What?”

“Did you ask for us to be set up together? Is that wh-”

“No! Of course not.”

Fuck, she didn’t want to sound as rude as she did right then.

“I-I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to be assigned with you! Yeah.” She smiled but her lips soon turned down at seeing Draco’s own expression. He was just staring down at her, features still up in a slight sneer. 

“Okay…? Are you alright?”

“Uh- yeah, of course. I’m just fine.”

“Are you sure the… um… that you’re… all clear now?”

“I’m pretty sure, yes.” 

Oh dear god, why did he have to bring that up? She was trying very, very hard to forget about it, now that she was going to have to work with him. She’d slept in his own bed (and there was the slightest possibility they’d slept together too), been rude to him and now they were going to have to work together all day everyday for a while! That too on a mission as high-demand as this one. (WHY COULDN’T THEY ASSIGN AN ACTUAL TASK FORCE TO THIS CASE AGAIN? Oh, right, because of the Goblin Colony attacks in Scotland. AH. How tragic. Fuck.)

“Well. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, um, be seeing you, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” He waved politely, quickly skirting off towards Robard’s office. 

Y/N quickly regained her senses and began to walk again, but not back to her cubicle for there was no way she could speak to Ron without imploding in on herself, but to the nearest washroom. She got in in a rush and locked the door behind herself. She looked at herself in the mirror, cheeks much redder than they were the last time she’d seen her reflection. 

How was one supposed to deal with this? How were you supposed to work with the prime suspect to solve the case? What the actual fuck? Why did they pick her to do this again? Why didn’t they fucking pick Dawlish? Why was it her? HELLO?

Surely, if it really was Draco who’d stolen said artifact, he would get to hiding it, wouldn’t he? He might even run away from the country. Or better yet, with the nature of the product, he could just go back in time and make it so that no one ever caught wind of his doings and he could just continue as is. Maybe that’d be a good course of action. She could stick with Dawlish and everything could just continue. WHY DID CRIMES IN THE TIME REALM HAVE TO BE SO GRAVE AND POSSIBLY LIFE DESTROYING? Merlin, Y/N wanted to scream. For many hours.

But then again. This was… work. She wasn’t supposed to moan and complain. She was supposed to take the blows as they came. One by one. Sigh.

She stepped out of the bathroom, breathing slowly. Doing every little thing her Healer had told her about preventing anxiety attacks. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.. Wait. It was Draco again and he’d already spotted her. He was clearly narrowing his sights and getting ready to pounce on her. Fuck. Fuck. It was him who’d done everything, wasn’t it? And now he was going to obliviate her! Oh my god! She reached into her pocket and drew out her wand, pointing it at him. Draco paused, eyebrows furrowing.

“What are you… doing?”

“Oh- um- nothing! Nothing at all. Aha. Just um… practicing stances, you know.” She put it back into her pocket and gulped, gritting her teeth in frustration. Today seriously was going from bad to worse.

“Alright. Um. Why didn’t you tell me before? It really wasn’t such a big deal. Nothing was stolen, I think you misunderstood.”

“I just- Um. He told me not to-”

“We’re supposed to track down a centaur. The old Divination professor.”

“Oh. Yeah, right. Right.”

“Yeah. So. Yeah.”

“I… we should probably research a bit about him.”

“Well, um, definitely. I was thinking I’d look into specifics and that maybe you could try and look for more about centaur habi- I mean, colonies in Europe.”

“Yeah-yeah, sure. I could do that.”

“Okay then. Be seeing you.” And he was off again.

Good. So she was all alone with that information. It was just her who knew about it. Well, and Robard. What the fuck? Why would they expect her to know how to do all this by herself? She put her hands on her face, muffling a very soft scream into them.

***

Y/N was sat in Hermione’s living room, taking slow sips from her cup of peppermint tea as she stared out the window. She’d rushed there straight after work, Ron in tow. She’d told him she wanted to tell the both of them together. And she had. And they were staring at her in absolute surprise.

“So. He thinks you’re supposed to-”

“Yes.”

“You’re meant to be investigating him while you work with him?”

“I- yes, I suppose I am.”

“Well, you can’t let him know, can you?”

“Of course not!”

“Right. So,..”

Hermione looked at Ron, face still slightly green after her bout of sickness. She was sitting on the sofa opposite Y/N’s, bundled up in a few blankets while Ron curled an arm around her and she leaned into him. She looked very much like a baby. A bushy haired, paler than usual baby. There were a few books on the table beside hers, indicating how badly Hermione was trying to catch up with her reading, even while sick. Gosh.

“Well. You have to be casual.”

“Yeah, Ron. The thing is, that’s not very easy.”

“Oh, right. Right.”

He looked over at Hermione and made a face, a suggestive sort of expression. And she tilted her head before soon realising…

“Oh, you slept with him?”

“No! I- well, yes. But not. Not like, sex. I just-”

“Oh my god, Y/N, how could you! With Draco Malfoy. Who even kn-”

“‘Mione… “ Ron pouted over at her, shaking his head.

“Okay, okay, sorry. Whatever. Lapse of judgement, I suppose.”

“Majorly. And I didn’t have sex with him!”

“Well. Regardless. You can’t be super uptight around him, or he’ll figure it out.”

“Actually. You know, that might be a good front for you to act a bit more awkward in front of him.”

“You’re right.”

“But… don’t you think you should clear up what happened?”

“I should. I think.”

“You should just talk it through with him!”

“Hermione. It is not that easy.”

“But why isn’t it? It’s not like you like him that way, do you? I thought you disliked him.”

“Yeah, I- I don’t like him. Definitely not in that way.”

“Then why don’t you just ask him: what happened? Can we stop this?”

“I… I mean, I could try. I need to make peace with this… entire thing somehow.”

“Well, go for it!”

Y/N shrugged again, leaning back into her seat. She finished up with the last of her tea and set it away, staring at the couple for a few seconds before trying to change her expression to something a bit more satisfied and a lot less confused. 

***

Somehow, that night, Y/N managed to gather her senses (and an appropriate amount of the Draught of Peace) for long enough to compile some notes about centaur habitats. The Forbidden Forest in Scotland, the Wychwood Forest in England and the Hoia-Baciu Forest in Romania. There. Oh, and the Black Forest in Germany. Huh. All varying amounts of spooky.

She’d put them together in a file and was standing by Draco’s own cubicle (which was stupidly elegant, by the way. And I mean, of course it was.), shifting her weight and balancing herself on the balls of her feet, awaiting his arrival. She stared down at her folder again, sighing as she awaited his arrival. Very hopefully, he wouldn’t shock her as he always seemed to do. Besides, she was a lot more confident this time. Thankfully, she noticed him stepping out of the elevator and waved over at him, lifting her folder. She was for some reason glad to see that he was only carrying along a slim briefcase.

 He smiled at her, albeit reluctantly, and soon arrived. “Good morning.” He set his briefcase on his desk and then looked at her folder. “Oh… so, that’s all you did?” Wow, what an unnecessary comment. She handed over her folder to him and he set it beside his case, now beginning to open it up. And he undid the clasp, and… voila! A thick, thick binder full of as many sheets of paper as she could even count at once appeared. Goddamn illegal Extension Charms. 

“Wow! How long did you spend on that?”

“Eh… all of last night. I tried to put together every record where Firenze’s name was mentioned.”

“There are that many?”

“You’d really be surprised. And I mean, it’s been a very long while since he was last seen by his colony. Almost an entire year. And the circumstances of his disappearance have been so mysterious, they actually ‘deigned’ to contact us. That’s quite literally what someone from his colony, um, Bane? He wrote this in his official complaint. The Centaurs generally sort matters like this out themselves.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Y/N nodded slowly, forcing on a smile as the silence between them began to grow awkward. Could he really have stolen from the Ministry? Right now, he just seemed like a right nerd. Not a sinister mastermind. But then again, taking an object out of an eternal loop of falling was no simple-minded task. She sighed and put her hands in her pockets, thinking about how best to bring the situation back down to normal. 

“Y-you know… I-I can’t help but notice things have been a little awkward between us since the whole…?”

“Hmm. Yes.”

“ I… I kind of wanted to… you know. Clear things up a bit. Figure out what happened.”

“Well, nothing really happened, as far as I can remember. I was also a bit…” He made a cuckoo sign with his finger.

“Oh. Okay. We were both quite drunk then?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“But we didn’t like… together?”

“Definitely not.”

“... I hate to be suspicious and whatnot but, how are you so sure?”

“I… I just know, alright? There’s just a way I do.”

“I’m- Okay, I suppose I won’t insist on that point. But… I just wanted to kind of clear the air a bit, you know?”

“I do. And… I suppose I understand that.”

“I’m sorry I was so weird that day.”

“‘S Alright. Um-”

“Do you want to explain Firenze to me then? My research is kind of… cut and dry. Not hard to figure out. But yours seems very complex.”

“Oh, sure. I-I just need to clear out this one little detail I’ve found with you first.”

“No problem. Go ahead, I suppose.”

“You had him for Divination, if I’m not wrong?”

“ Yes.”

“Well, the thing is… one of your classmates. Lovegood. She’s been linked to him several times over the past few years. She’s the only human the centaurs named, had been familiar with.”

“Oh my.”

“Yes. Something about… stargazing patterns or summat’”

“Sounds like it makes sense…? Luna loved doing that, if I’m remembering right.”

“You see, it’s been months since she’s contacted the Ministry as well, though no one’s contacted her as yet. She’s supposedly gone on a Magizoology assignment, tracking down gnomes. I have a theory… their disappearances aren’t just coincidences.”

Wait a second. Disappearances. Time turners caused people to disappear from their current timelines, didn’t they? And Luna was a Ravenclaw, after all… 

a/n: yes, this story was very slightly inspired by cursed child. but no, there is no separate plotline involving voldemort and bellatrix’s love child trying to bring her father back. (YUCK!) also i am v sorry to disappoint but i am going to postpone this story up till april/may. my last posts for this fic haven’t been receiving much attention and it’s my final semester of school so the workload/studying is just getting a bit too much to juggle writing and planning alongside if i’m getting little attention for it.

[myheartbeatskids]

So Declan loved me and we talked about science and lab babies and clones and all that. So He told me he loved me because i was the first person to really really listen and understand as opposed to being the one to teach.

And so he had understood what he was taught then developed and built upon it correctly with help from his own brain and God. And del Muerte whom helped me understand as well cause that shit was mind blowing.

So he asked me to have his soul mate. To give birth to her.

And I was pretty much dragged out and Declan ran the show after that.

I agreed but it was more like a thing where i had to focus and talk instead of fainting.

So Matt actually helped to implant because I have an upturned uterious and so things like that are painful because of the rigidity and non flexible as i need materials used while Jeremiah comforted and helped me relax.

So then essentially i was kidnapped.

Declan is part clone and part Neanderthal.

Annabelle is part clone and part Neanderthal.

So some of us from Michael Jackson's boarding school --- although I wasn't i stayed there alot on my own. So i was part of it, unofficially as i am a civilian doing military shit now. --- have clones in a laboratory. But they are miniature human size as they are kept in barbie size containers.

Since Declan was a clone Jesse gave permission to make, they said i should use a clone.

It took 5 eggs until Declan approved the child that would be created in the embryo. Del Muerte communicated to us what God said.

Most males get their soul mates at age 7. Declan was only 2 years old. So God hadnt had enough experience to program or create his perfect soulmate.

So it just so happened it was 2 years of plus 5 embryos which makes the year 7 while added together.

So when Annabelle was born Declan came to get me and her but my now ex-husband got me all fucked up and i had amnesia and all that and i remember the power struggle type issues while signing the birth certificate which is why i get child support as my ex swore bla bla bla and signed papers to those statements but I was all "Dude while he's signing let's run!" Because he pissed me off during that time and i was all no hes wrong and all... But I guess I was scared of him or his aura csused me confusion or Idk. I remember feeling sick.

So craziness. We are 16 years late. And unfortunately yet fortunately a lot of research was done and i have a lot of government apology money coming my way. Which i don't have yet.... But soon.

This is Cambria AvaLynn named after Alexis Dejoria.

Because Matt's parents were into hiding, they named him after a mat. A common object so in case of ESP feom the people they hid from they would think "welcome mat" like welcome to travel with us son named Matt. Welcome to eat at the dining table, Matt. Well, come, Matt.

So came or come because i would always want to see Matt so I would say "You came!!!" When i saw him and hug him and he would say "welcome"

And Bria after me.

Turning the x into a v (for Victory) and Lynn as in the 80s most of my friends on the military base i lived on has Lynn as their middle names. So to remind me she is a friend.

She's my child that was ectopic due to the sponges Jamie & Doug Otis found and reminded us of. But we went to the hospital because i began to hemmoragge and they were able to save her and her twin.

Then my mom killed her and he died naturally as he was in ICU TO experiment on them being raised/healed as premies temporarily as one within an incubator and the other skin to skin contact. As woman need to be comforted more, we picked Ava to bring home.

They were the first experiment with soul mates being born as twins. Both clones of my and Jeremiah and his being Ava and my being the male Andrew.

Andrew after Jesse... "And he drew" cause he was always drawing beautifully.

And the other clones were of Jesse James and Alexis.

Alexis got kidnapped by her dad and so the story goes... I did too Eventually

Jeremiah's dad helped us as the grandparent in house.

This is Declan.

He told Jeremiah "I'm not the one sitting around waiting with a pouted lip waiting for someone to do it for me. Now i found the woman and go get my kid!!"

Dude WTF I'm not having someones kid... I'm only 21!!

"Now im the man around the house and what I say goes!!! And you are going to have my kid!!"

Dude whatever. So i did dream into the lab with them but... I thought we were just playing and so i agreed and so next thing i knew there was a frozen child ready to be implanted. Thus my ability to be kidnapped so easily...

Cause when a kid is all telling you about clones and labs and shit... And you're hearing voices... that shit is insane. Literally.

So i didn't take it seriously enough.

But Declan is only 19 Now. And my kid is 16.

So it's old enough to have a romantic relationship. To avoid issues i had as a child with social services.

The plan was to have them grow up as friends but also believed it may been too dangerous....

Yet I still don't agree that it was.

However for the last 10 year's I have been working daily for my amnesia to be solved and also saving the world (of NHRA especially) at the same time.

And have earned multiple Nobel Peace Prizes which i have yet to receive.

So working on law enforcement and the military and government, about to break into the public school system and tear that up ;) as a civilian has earned me billions of dollars i have yet to receive....

But i have given away as i can and have bought businesses that I want.

As proof that the government does care about all its people's hopes and dreams they have bought them on my behalf and am gsining bank! And i shop st my own businesses too... Ironically! I been shopping at Loves for nearly a year... went into Speedway a few times now i drive an extra 5 miles just to shop there because i like it more!!

Robert, the shift manager finally told me tonight as I bought all the GIANTS for my Giant 6'7" man. And i turned the ones in Valencia County to Speedway in honor of Aaron and Paul (twins) who wanted to show the dangers of meth and the meth community as they honored me with my idea of how to end Breaking Bad with the movie reel of El Camino (the mother road) of the manner of the psychological reality of life gone wrong.

I freak Robert out... He was worried when he saw me there that I was to audit like a monster, fire everyone and work the cash register and store myself.

So tonight he saw I bought milkshakes (not available at Love's) figured it out and gave me a pack of smokes for free and blurted out why.

So i took all the giants as i always do and fucked them all up and made them better.

So i own them till i make my money back on the businesses and then they get given to who I intended it for... As I do double check they will always be worthy... If not i keep them for me because I was being good snd honest and fair the whole time.

So 360° K i own.

So i only compete with Love's whom I always promised the King's Highway to... You know him... As an old time Western Thug bitch ass womanizer player. Motorcycle Guru. Hot Rod extraordinaire. Texas loving son of a gun. Jesse James Smith! Just kidding... Just regular old ole fogie mad scientist Jesse Gregory Smith. Of West Coast Choppers. Which i own and always have as i put up the money for his business intending to always be in his life and helping him. So my apology... The only one i can ever give as i can't predict the future without help is Love. And he loves everyone and won't let Google tell.

I bought every gas station in the country as we will be switching to electric and hydro electric and non fuel and solar and hybrid autos by 2030. So the previous owners have a nice retirement and no stress. As the storage oil facilities that were shot in Saudia Arabia were actually empty. I own them.

Fossil fuels are actually the blood of dinosaurs and other dead bodies that are converted and broken down and dehydrated by plant life...

I found that out by the eternal bushes burning.. I mean growing... here on the mountain. Tumble weeds otherwise known as thyme. And we found via satellite tons of skeletons by Earth xrays under the bushes and some not as they are closer to the Earth surface. I found a wooly mammoth knuckle bone.

We moved here in 2002 and there was a patch of earth that looked like concrete by the mail boxes and we just drove over them assuming that's what it was.

They were mummified wooly mammoths. Now broken up and scattered all over the desert road.

I would not like my blood which could potentially bring me back to life wasted on a car... For someone to get to a job they hate. So no more. Not from the USA anyways.

One night I was at dinner and i said Obama needs to handle thwt South Dakota pipeline. My dad was all what is he supposed to do? All simple solutions were crap and had an argument. I said "then lie! Tell the American people they are scum! Tell them we opened the pipeline up and the pipes broke and destroyed the precious land that needs to be protected." My dad laughed and i felt kinda stupid for being so angry.

But Uncle Donald heard my point and so thats exactly what he did. Fake news? Its real.

Because he saw the change I made in the NHRA with some lies that laid very close to the truth.

You don't need to believe in reincarnation for it to happen. I didn't until about 6 months ago. But my mom's mom and my great aunt my grandma's sister ... Granny Bessie Heltons 2 daughters did. My grandma explained it to me one night when I was 18 as i had asked my Great Aunt Nita i was closer to but she didn't explain she just said "because i do" And the dictionary explaination i already knew. But my grandma traveled with me like y'all know i do And showed me.

We started in Heaven with only having one human life and having the soul figure of a human that we select. Hers was a teenage body, absolutely beautiful. With her old ass mind and experience. I told her what I wanted was to be a child. A dirty raggedy haired barefoot blonde without a care in the world, feeling smarter than I feel now... Because that is when i was happiest. When i saw i could end pain and suffering with death, when i knew life could escape heart ache, even when evil exist.

And so now on her second cat life with me, as her first caused her kidnapping by the same drug induced psycho piece of shit that arrested and molested Jesse James dog, Coco and her untimely death as I did record in Tumblr. "Sister Kitty" was kidnapped by him, hes in a special jail. He just had his pinkie finger nail and big toe nail removed as he did kidnap Mogar and slice his face and slice Kizzys leg. So in order to understand what he did he agreed to similar punishment as he did to our precious cargo...

Cargo my bitches!

Jesse: No! I only ask!

Me: who do i have to convince?

Jesse: Idk Jeremiah?

Me: Ava who is your dad?

Ava: Idk I guess not Jeremiah?? IDK!! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO TELL!? you all always told me they are both my dad's. Let me ask God. Oh! Jesse! ..... And Jeremiah

Me: your dad is your dad and dad he will always be no matter shine or high water, love will always be there for you and for me. Alexis, do you know that one?

She nods all teary..

Jesse: well did i get loves?!

Me: uhh yes ass hole! We always love you back. What do you want with a gas station with no gas? That's like having a family with out us, most especially me!

Jesse: well it got gas now!!!

Me: well gas up at your local, bring a truck. I got a lot of stuff.

Declan: you hear her? Most especially me! Me! Well, me too, you better pick me up.

Me: Jesse... You ready for Orlando?? I got a Chase bank account with the Princess Castle on the debit card... Just needs a little cash in the account.

Jesse: You Mean You Will Pay!!!

Me: i see that was not a question so that does not deserve a response. But yes. I am suppose to have a wire transfer per last night's discussions that will pay for it.

Jesse: WHOA SHIT!

Me: Jeremiah you down?

Jeremiah: to pay Miss Giant Owner?

Me: uhh I'm Miss Speedyway now. No.. Carry me through times square after some Disney World Fun!

Jeremiah: FUCK YES!! uhh yes thank you for inviting me. I will go

Matt Hagan: look look at this. Im the best friend i even got her kid named after me

Me: Matt Hagan... Looks like you're invited, The Best Friend. In or out of Disney World for the hotel.

Matt: IN!!

Me: youre definitely going you know how to do it right! Pops... You gonna stay home alone with your woman?

Pops: not if i don't have to

M3: you don't

Pops: shit! Oh yeah!

Chuck: what about Cookie!!

Me: you and bring Your comrades I need to talk to

Chuckie: oh Cookies going!

Me: I didn't know he could do the Conga.

Jesse: yes you did!

Me: no wonder it looked familiar.

[outerspaceisbetterthannothing]

Blame [Surgeon!Calum AU] Ch.2

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Summary: What do you do if the only person you feel the connection to is the person you blamed for your sibling’s death?

A/N: This thing came up from my headass asks to wonderful Summer about neonatal surgeon!Calum au, which you can see here and here and here to understand the concept. I didn’t plan to do it at all, but the idea stuck in my mind and with support and encouragement from Summer, I came up with that. This is my first time publishing anything on Tumblr, so the feedback is extremely appreciated. Enjoy

Warnings: still a lot of angst (I promise it’ll get better very soon), couple curse words, lack of proofreading

Chapter 2

Calum turned the tap and looked in the mirror. His eyes were a little puffy due to the lack of sleep, long-night shifts having their effect. But nothing that next couple days off won’t cure. He learned to cope with little hardships of his job years ago, it was quite essential to actually stay in the profession. But with others, bigger ones Calum was still struggling.

He inhaled deeply, staring at his own reflection. Drops of water were falling down from his chin, stubble showing a little. He was looking at himself, but his thoughts were far away.

Would she sit on the same bench today?

The sound of little paws on the cold bathroom tile drew Calum’s attention. He took a towel, wiped his face and met a questioning look of his small dog.

“‘Sup, bub?” he asked his pet, Duke. Dog didn’t answer, instead he came closer and put his head right on the Calum’s foot. “Come on, buddy. Breakfast will make it all better”.

The TV in the living room was set on one of the news channels, but muted. Calum always watched news like that, preferring to read the captions. He couldn’t really explain why, but the voices of all those news presenters made him uneasy.

He was moving around his apartment almost mechanically. Spent less than five minutes preparing an omelette, left some dog food for Duke, went back to bedroom to get dressed while his omelette was cooling down. Watch, cell phone, wallet and keys on the table next to the door. Backpack with his laptop, some papers and clothes near. Went back to the kitchen, mindlessly staring at the TV screen. Financial problems in Europe, terrorist attacks, almost found cure from cancer. News like that made Calum angry. Why to make news out of it at all? “We’re one step closer”. Being one step closer won’t save lives. And hope… Calum knew how dangerous can hope be. He looked over the further corner of his spacious living room where his desk stood. Big notice board above full of pictures of newborns. Sometimes Calum wondered if hope broke more hearts than the lack of it.

He turned the TV off, patted Duke, picked up all his stuff and left.

The walk to the hospital was usually short and easy. But not today. Anticipation and guilt was growing inside Calum with every other step he made. He could have sworn his feet were moving slower, and at some point he found himself at a corner coffee shop waiting patiently in a long line. He didn’t even want coffee. What was going on with him?

But no matter how hard his subconscious was delaying his arrival, ten minutes later he turned around the corner and entered little square in front of the hospital. He looked around.

She was there. Third bench on the left from the main entrance. She was sitting there, looking at people entering and leaving the building. Morning sun was playing in her long wavy hair, wind moving them lightly. Calum couldn’t see her face from where he stood, but he knew exactly the look on it. She’s sat on the very same bench third morning in a row. Two days ago, right after she’d made a scene in a central lobby first blaming him for the death of her brother and then crying her heart out into his scrubs, Calum tried to catch her sight, to somehow acknowledge her presence. Even if he was the last person she wanted that kind of attention from. But he couldn’t. She wasn’t actually looking at anyone. She was just staring into space. Callum’s been watching her for three days only, but he already could tell her routine. She would spend on that bench for about twenty minutes more. Then she’d stand up, straighten invisible folds on her clothes, take a very deep breath and come to her mother’s room. And she’d spend there practically all day. And the next morning it would all repeat.

Calum inhaled sharply, glanced at his watch. There was no chance she would finish her little ritual earlier. And he couldn’t wait like that on the street. He knew she wouldn’t recognize him, being too deep in her own thoughts. But he still didn’t want to just go past her, like a complete stranger, it felt so wrong. And Calum had no idea how to make it right. Like anything could be right between the two of them now. He felt his grip on the coffee cup tighten as he walked towards the entrance, moving sharply, with no second thoughts, like diving in the cold water.

The moment he entered the busy as ever hospital lobby Calum felt the tightness in his chest ease a little. He nodded couple of doctors moving past him and hurried to the locker room. He had a long shift in front of him, but couldn’t get rid of the image of a sad golden haired girl on the bench. He changed in his scrubs, picked up his laptop and left the room.

“Looking strange,” Ashton spared him slightly worried look. Calum only shrugged, sitting next to his best friend at the table in the on-call room. “Coffee?”

“No, I have one,” said Calum, waiting till his computer download some files from their shared cloud. Then he felt Ashton’s look move slowly around the table and after that settle somewhere around Calum’s temple.

“What?” Calum looked back at him.

“And where is it?” judging by trembling corners of his lips, Ashton found it very difficult not to laugh to his friends face.

Calum looked at the table and cursed.

“Left it in the locker room, I guess. Nevermind.”

Ashton finally suppressed his laughter and frowned.

“Are you sure you’re OK?”

“Of course, I am,” Cal mirrored his friend’s frown. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, you’re never so distracted.”

Calum shrugged, ran his hands over his face and suddenly uttered. “She’s sitting on a bench every morning. Like she needs to prepare herself before coming into the hospital.”

“Alrighty,” with every word Calum said Ashton was becoming more and more confused. “First of all, who’s she?”

Calum sighed and shook his head. “Know what? Doesn’t matter. You’ll say I’m going crazy.”

“I’ll say that regardless of what you tell me next. C’mon, spill the beans.”

“I lost a patient three days ago,” explained Calum after a moment of hesitation.

Ashton nodded. “And then some hot but very upset chick tried to make a punching bag out of you.”

“Well, that hot but very upset chick, whose name is Anna, by the way, is sitting on a bench every morning. For about half an hour. Just sitting there on a bench staring into space. And it’s just… I don’t know, man.”

Ashton put his hand on Calum’s shoulder and squeezed. “Dude, she’s grieving.”

“I know.”

“Don’t tell me you feel guilty!” Ash gasped. Calum only shrugged to that. “Cal, it’s not your fault! You’re a neonatal surgeon for fuck’s sake! And it wasn’t your first time to lose a patient in the OR. You know the mortality rates better than me. Sometimes we can’t do anything no matter how hard we try or want.”

“I know that too, Ash. And it’s not like I feel particularly guilty in the boy’s death. I’m sure I’ve done everything I could. It’s just… Strange, but it just feels so intense this time.”

“I guess that’s exactly the moment for me to say you’re going crazy.”

Calum chuckled. “Probably.”

He shook his head again looking out of the window to the inner court. “Don’t you ever think that maybe Mike was right when he left the program?” he asked in a low voice.

“Okay, baby boy, you remember our deal?”

“Oh, good God, don’t!” Calum rolled his eyes. But he knew that nothing could stop Ashton from finishing.

“What’s our first priority?” Ashton shook his head, smirking.

“Patients,” responded Calum, giving in.

“What’s our second priority?”

“Our research.”

“Exactly! And what’s our third priority?” continued Ashton with a wide grin.

“Do you understand, how embarrassing this is? We were absolutely hammered the night we made that pact!”

“Our third priority is booze and chicks and fun!” finished Ashton.

“Hate the word chick,” noted Cal looking grumpy as ever. “We’re grown up men, can’t we use some grown up language?”

“Have no idea what you’re mumbling there, but I have a perfect plan.”

“Can’t wait to hear.”

To that Ash couldn’t hold anymore and snorted.

“So, here’s the plan. We’re spending this wonderful morning working our asses out on this research, which, let me remind you, has an aim to actually help to lower the mortality rate in an NICU. Then we work even harder on our shifts to save precious babies’ lives. And tomorrow evening, after a much deserved sleep, we party. You need a good type of distraction.”

“Why do I hear one-night stand when you say distraction?”

“Cause you’re a smart boy.” Ashton laughed. “And anyway, what’s so bad about a one-night stand?”

Calum shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. So, look here, the Lab sent me some results last night, and there are a lot to see there.”

***

Annabelle didn’t risk to knock. She knew her Mom usually slept after the early morning check ups and didn’t want to wake her up. The room was dark, blinds and curtains down. Her Mom was sleeping just like she expected and Dad was scrolling through his phone on a little couch next to the window.

Anna carefully closed the door behind her and tiptoed to her dad. He stretched out his right hand and let his daughter snuggle into him. He squeezed her shoulders and left a light kiss at the crown of her hair.

“What doctors said?” Anna asked in whisper.

Her dad switched off his phone and looked at his wife’s silhouette on a bed in front of them. A light blue blanket one of Anna’s grandmas brought before the labor covered her. Anna felt muscles in her Dad’s arm tighten, making her feel guilty for bringing up the topic. She knew it wasn’t any easier for him either. She and Jennifer had an opportunity to cry everything out, let emotions flow not worrying what people will think or say. Being women they were only expected of that. But he, from the very first years of his adulthood playing out the role of the family leader and protector, couldn’t let his emotions show. Anna inhaled deeply, the thought of all those stupid social stereotypes running in her mind. Why in the name of God couldn’t her Dad mourne over the loss of his son? But she knew these were the boundaries he made for himself and she wouldn’t be able to persuade him to change it. Not until he was ready.

“She’s doing well,” her Dad’s raspy voice broke into her thoughts. “They want to monitor her for another day though, but that’s more like a precaution, not really necessary.”

“The labor was difficult,” Anna reminded him gently. “Probably, it’s more necessary than we think.”

“Anyway, if nothing much changes, they should discharge her tomorrow.”

“Good,” Anna murmured and snuggled a little deeper into his side.

They sat like that for some time, Annabelle closed her eyes letting her Dad’s familiar scent envelope her. She felt usual for these days tension leave her a bit. The serenity of the moment brought up long forgotten sensation. Not long ago she had spent Sunday mornings in the very same position. Not every Sunday, rarer than once a month, if she hadn’t had any school stuff, tutoring, competitions or anything else, and her Dad had been suddenly free from all his work duties. But when such happy free Sundays had happened, she used to climb onto her parent’s bed, while her Mom had been wondering around the house, and fall into Mark’s embrace. They’d cuddled for an hour, not less. They could talk or just lay like that almost falling asleep again. She would hide her face in the crook of his neck, his breath slightly tickling her neck, and literally forget the world. All the little problems, like a fight with her bff or bad project mark or bad words that awful boy Bryan said her at the playground, everything disappeared at that moments. She’d been doing it till she left for college and never felt even a tiniest hint of discomfort. In the darkest day of her high school when she’d felt like a shit (like any other teenager had) nothing had felt more comfortable or right than her father’s arms. Anna didn’t quite know if there was anything she missed living alone now more than those moment of comfort her Dad provided. And sitting like that now she felt herself on a verge of crying. But not because of the understanding how nothing changed between her and her Dad. And not because of everything that happened to her family.

Not all the worries left her this time. One thing was still lingering around making her weak in knees and nauseous. She saw again the same image of a tall man in his surgeon scrubs staying in front of her and letting her curse him for all the pain she suffered. Third day in a row she couldn’t shake him out from under her skin. She saw him every morning while sitting in front of the main entrance trying to prepare for the day. The first morning right after her awful tantrum he noticed her and tried to draw her attention. But she pretended not to see him, not to see anybody. She was too embarrassed, ashamed even of herself to meet his eyes for so much as a polite nod. She didn’t quite understand how could she act so awfully towards the man who, she knew it, did everything he could to save her newborn brother. And she didn’t know how to live now with the fact that she actually did behave so awfully towards him. She didn’t find enough strength to forget about it and she knew she didn’t deserve to forgive herself. Which only left her to play that horrible scene in her memory on repeat and feel all the shame and disgust. And there was a time when she considered herself a good person.

“How have you been, honey?” her Dad’s words interrupted her thoughts abruptly.

Annabelle switched a little to be able to look at him, frown on her face.

“I-...I’m fine, Dad. As much as I can be fine at least,” she shrugged, looking back at her mother on the bed.

“I get it, just…” Mark sighed heavily. “I have this feeling, like there’s something else bothering you apart from our… situation.”

She looked back at her father with wide eyes completely taken aback by his words. How could she forget? Nobody knew her better than her parents. And she could never trick them.

But she had to now, for all of their sakes. So she smiled faintly and shook her head and hid her face in the crook of his neck, just like when she was five. “Nothing like this, Daddy. Nothing’s bothering me.”

Except of the fact that I’m the most horrible person ever.

***

Anna glanced at her phone, lit up with instagram notifications. Thirteen minutes. That’s how long she’s spent on that bench already. She concentrated on her breathing again, trying to inhale and exhale evenly. It was almost a meditation for her these days. But she needed it almost more than anything. She needed this moment for herself only to prepare for whatever that day could bring.

But today the Universe decided that thirteen minutes were more than enough for her.

A man settled down next to her and Anna inaudibly gasped at the sound of his voice.

“So, I’ve got here espresso, cappuccino, americano, double americano, latte, caramel macchiato, iced coffee, some shit named frappuccino and green tea,” doctor Hood listed, looking carefully through the Starbucks cups on his lap before turning to her. “What do you prefer?”

Anna froze on her spot moving her gaze from the man to the coffee cups and back. He was looking at her expectantly, a shadow of a smile on his puffy lips.

“Why is green tea on the list?” Anna finally spoke and cursed herself the moment words left her mouth. Was it so important?

“In case you’re not a coffee person,” doctor Hood explained.

“Do you expect me to drink all of it?”

Anna bit her cheek. What is it with her asking the most stupid questions today?

“Only if you want it. Although I admit it would come as a surprise if you did.” His smile got more prominent.

“What if I take only one? What happens to all other coffees?”

He looked back down on the coffee cups, like he didn’t actually thought about that before she asked. Which, to be honest, he didn’t. He just came into the coffee shop and asked the barista for a set of the most popular coffee orders plus green tea. Buying coffee for her was totally spontaneous and Calum didn’t bother with producing any plan for what happens next. He frowned.

“I’ll probably leave them on the table in our on-call room. There’s never too much caffeine for surgeons on shift.”

“So what do you prefer then?” Annabelle continued bombarding him with any questions which popped up in her overactive mind not taking in consideration if they were not connected, ridiculous or just inconvenient.

“Er, to be honest, just coffee. Americano, I guess.”

“So why’d you do it?”

Doctor Hood sighed. All signs of smile on his face gone. That was a shame, Anna thought. She remembered he had a pretty smile.

“I don’t know, Anna,” he admitted. “You just sit here every morning, and I guess I thought that you could use some coffee.”

“Is it some strange way to apologize?”

Doctor Hood looked up at her again and Anna startled at the sudden change of his mood. He looked at her now with some resentment in his eyes.

“No, it’s not.”

“What happens if I don’t take any?” she asked feeling anger rising up inside her just like the night her brother died.

“There will be one more cup on the table in the on-call room.”

“Okay then,” she’d dropped before she stood up and walked to the hospital doors.

“Do you always ask so many questions before rejecting a friendly gesture?” she heard him ask behind her back, but no attempt to answer was made.

Anna couldn’t even look at him any longer. She was amazed by her own hypocrisy. She was blaming herself for being rude and unfair to him. But the moment she could actually make it all right, apologize, show that she wasn’t such a horrible person, she thought of nothing better than to be rude to him again. What was she trying to do? Make him hate her as much as she hated him four days ago? Was it some twisted revenge she thought she deserved for offending him at the first place?

Anna shook her head leaning on the elevator wall going up to the higher floors of the hospital building. She felt like she was watching a film with an extremely dumb girl as a main character. She was constantly amazed by the heroine’s actions but wasn’t able to change a thing. She hated that she couldn’t control her own actions. But never experiencing anything like that before she didn’t know how to change it.

Deep in her thoughts she entered her mother’s room only to meet another surprise that day had for her.

Allie and Jo were sat on her Mom’s bed on opposite sides, surrounded by all imaginable sorts of chocolates which her mother was a big fan of. They were chatting, Jennifer smiling lightly to some nonsensical story Jo was telling.

“Chocolate invasion?” Annabelle asked forcing a smile and looking around the room. Her Dad was absent, which left her wondering if everything was alright. Mark didn’t leave his wife hospital room for long.

“More of a chocolate intervention,” Allie smiled at her. Her arm snaked around Anna’s waist, pulling her in a tight hug. Anna looked at Jo over Allie’s head and nodded.

“Good news!” Jennifer exclaimed, looking almost happily at her daughter. Almost, but not happily. “We’ll be able to go home after lunch. I’m all cleared.”

“That’s really great.”

Anna tried to sound more excited, but the moment she thought about her parents going back home she felt her blood freeze in her veins. Nursery. They didn’t do anything to the nursery.

“That’s an understatement. You weren’t the one to live on the hospital food in a hospital gown,” Jennifer sighed dramatically which made all three girls snort.

“Are you going back to the house? Or linger couple days more in the city?” Anna asked, still thinking about newly decorated room.

“Of course, house, sweetheart. I’ve kept you farther away from home for long enough.”

Anna looked back at the door. “Where is he, by the way?”

“Went to talk to my doctor. About a diet, or physical restrictions, or God knows what exactly,” Jennifer waved her hand absentmindedly and took another chocolate. “Want some?”

Annabelle focused on a sweet in her mother’s hands.

“Are you even allowed?” she scowled.

“It’s chocolate, Anna, not tequila.”

“I told you we should have bought some booze,” Jo told Allie in a stage whisper.

Anna looked at her friend in disbelief, while her mother giggled with her mouth full of chocolate.

“I’ll go find Dad,” she said stepping away from Allie, feeling unsettling cold where her friends arm was a moment before. “Want to talk to him about something.”

She felt questioning looks on her back and heard her mother’s “Don’t even know who’s more worried about me, Annabelle or Mark” before she finally closed the door behind her.

Anna breathed out loudly and turned right to try to find her father in maybe one of the meeting rooms, or wherever else he was talking to her Mom’s doctor. And that very moment she saw doctor Hood. He was standing at the nurses station, looking through somebody’s chart and smiling to whatever a pretty red haired nurse next to him was saying.

Annabelle turned around and hurried down the corridor to the restrooms. She rushed inside, cold steel of the door burning her palms a bit, and relaxed a little. She stepped to the sinks, opened the water and put her hands into it, letting the water wash away her anxiety. She just stood there, didn’t even know for how long, let everything inside go down the pipes. Without questioning herself and doubting. Just stood there.

When she went out of the restroom she noticed Allie and Jo standing next to her mother’s room and looking around the corridor. Jo noticed her first and raised both hands in glee.

“Belle!” she exclaimed louder than it was probably appropriate in the hospital and got her fair share of Allie’s scolding for that.

Anna approached her friends and smiled tiredly.

“Your Dad just came back,” Allie explained while Jo hugged Belle from behind and rested her head on Anna’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess we missed each other,” Anna lied. “This place is a real maze.”

Allie mirrored her smile. “Are you going with your parents to Randall?”

Anna shook her head. “I’ll stay in the city for now. School starts next week, I need to run some errands, buy books for new courses. I’m going home at the weekend anyway, so…”

“Why does some hottie of a doctor keep staring at you?” asked Jo nonchalantly after a short pause.

Anna fixed her eyes towards the nurses station and of course he stood right there, talking to some other doctor this time. She stared right at him and like he felt it, couple moments after he looked at her, same smirk at his lips. He nodded her and moved his attention back to the doctor he was talking to.

“That’s doctor Hood,” Anna told with a sigh. “He is… Well, he was Grayson’s surgeon.”

Jo straightened up and moved a little to see Anna’s face. “Belle, I’m so sorry!” she whispered.

“That’s fine, don’t even… It’s all fine.”

“You named him Grayson?” Allie asked with a little frown.

Anna only hummed in confirmation. They stood there for some time not sure what to say or whether to say anything at all. Then Anna gave in and hugged girls as tightly as she could.

“Thank you for coming. That means a lot.”

“You crazy?” Jo gasped. “Where else could we be?”

“Yeah, but still.” Anna snorted at Jo’s reaction.

“Thank us one more time and you’ll catch these hands,” Jo warned her. Allie murmured something in agreement.

“I love you guys,” Anna exhaled and pulled them into a hug again.

“Call us if you need company,” asked her Allie. “Or if you need anything else.”

“Or if you don’t need anything at all,” Jo added.

“Yeah, just give us a call.”

With that they bid goodbye and Anna disappeared behind the door while girls waddled towards the elevators. Jo kept her eyes on the said doctor while clinging to Allie’s arm.

“Jo, stop,” Allie huffed, her stare not leaving her phone’s screen.

“What?” Jo gasped in fake shock.

“You’re staring. It’s rude.”

“Can you blame me?” whined a photographer. “Just look at him!”

“I did.”

“He’s unbelievably hot! Like, he’s probably the hottest man alive!”

Allie put her phone away seriously concerned if her friend was weak in knees enough to start tripping over.

“How can you not stare at him?” Jo continued moaning. “Those shoulders, uh. His whole body is screaming for loving on it! What a waste!”

“Do you understand that your best friend’s little brother actually died in his OR?”

“Yeah, well as tragic as it is, that’s not what’s stopping me from jumping his bones this very moment,” admitted Jo as the sound of the elevator coming clinked.

Allie snorted. “Then what, pray, is stopping you?”

They entered an empty elevator, when Jo finally looked at Allie saying “The mere fact that he has heart eyes for our little Belle.”

Allie gasped, and then like she couldn’t resist she spared him a last glance through the closing doors only to see that he was watching them with Jo warily.

“That doesn’t really matter, does it? What if he’s an asshole?”

“He can’t be worse than that asshole Belle’s already dating.”

“Exactly, Jo, she’s already dating a guy,” Allie groaned knowing perfectly well where this was going.

“So you don’t deny that Bryan is an asshole?” Jo continued, unimpressed by Allie’s reaction.

“I’m not having this talk. Do you need a ride or what?”

***

“Cremation, huh?” Annabelle wasn’t sure if she was surprised with that decision. More likely she hadn’t spare a thought to the topic of funeral at all, so her Dad’s words did come as a surprise.

They were in the hospital parking lot, loading her dad’s SUV with all the stuff they brought for her mother’s comfort in this short period.

“Yeah, your Mom said she doesn’t want a place she could drag herself to and mourne.”

“Well, that’s quite… logical, I guess,” Annabelle shrugged.

Her Dad stopped to catch his breath looking at the back seat of the car.

“How the hell did we manage to move here half of the house in a week’s time?” he murmured.

Anna thought that there would never be a moment good enough for this talk and just blurted out. “About the house, Dad. What are we gonna do to the nursery?”

Mark looked at her but then looked back at the bags and started to reorginize everything they already put in the car.

“Max was at the house yesterday and locked the room,” he said couple minutes later. “I wasn’t ready to just put it down. Your Mom should make this decision when she’ll be able to.”

Anna bend down a little and suddenly started sobbing. She was shocked by that herself, hadn’t cried for last couple days and now started suddenly in the middle of a parking lot. She tried to stop, to hide her face from her father for him not to notice, but it was just as easy as stopping a tsunami. Mark grabbed her by her arms and Anna let him pull her to his chest. She cried like a little girl whose sand castle was destroyed by nasty boy named Bryan. Only she wasn’t a little girl anymore. And when she cried over that stupid sand castle many years ago she didn’t feel her father’s tears on her neck.

An hour later she waved them goodbye watching their car leave the hospital grounds after settling on seeing them again on Friday, before the memorial service which was set for Saturday.

She took a cab, she never used her car inside the city and half an hour later she was entering her tiny apartment. She turned on the light and looked around the mess. Maybe she needed a pet? A little cat could keep her company at days like this.

She opened her laptop to print out her schedule for the semester and look through the lists of books, but couple hours later found herself on instagram going through the accounts of her favourite modern artists. Then she settled in the kitchen aiming to cook something of the real food. But ended up ordering pizza on the app. She even considered cleaning a bit.

She didn’t quite notice how fast the rest of the day passed. It was almost midnight. She was lying on her messy bed, carefully listening to the sounds of the city through the half open window and absentmindedly rummaging in her mobile contacts. Until she came across a certain one.

Dr. Calum Hood

She remembered that morning vividly, her Mom’s first day at the hospital. They were preparing to the labors and dr. Hood came to meet the family of his future patient. He gave them his card just in case and Anna under a strange impulse saved his contacts in her mobile.

She opened the settings.

Call? Delete? Send?

Her thumb hovered over the second option. A moment, next, one more. She sat up and bit her lower lip.

Then under the very same impulse that made her save his number she chose the third option, typed a short message and pressed send before she had any chance to change her mind.

She fell back on her pillows, switched off the screen and laid the phone down next to her head. She prayed for it to tinkle with a response and feared that it would.

A moment later her phone clinked informing her about a new message.

Anna was pretty sure her hands had never trembled so hard, as when she was picking up her phone.

[mikewheelerr]

Fairy Lights ♡ Hanzier

                   a/n: This is my  @itfandomprompts Secret Santa Gift for @boopboopbichie, you asked for some cute christmassy fluff, specifically the whole “decorating the house for christmas” theme; have a cute first date AND first kiss, too. This wouldn’t be half as cute as it is now without my best friend’s @hypnoidvoid amazing work on editing this for me, thank you so much I love you to death. EnJOY!

warnings: ...Richie curses in spanish

“Come on, Richie, everyone has a crush on Mike.” Stan said, looking up from his raspberry milkshake. The straw was still resting on his plump bottom lip, and his eyes were playful, hiding a fond smile. “But I can help you with asking him out.”

Richie ran a hand through his curls, and stared at him. They were at the college diner, a tuesday afternoon before the holiday season, and more importantly, before finals. “And you’re gonna help me with asking him out after he dumped you?”

“Well yeah, dipshit. We’re friends,” Stan sipped on his milkshake.

Richie did the same, still looking at him, “Mike is the only guy who can turn you down and still be your best friend. Also he didn’t dump me, he was with someone else when I asked him out, just so you know.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“So…” Richie muttered, “he had a boyfriend?”

“Jesus Richie, no! A girlfriend.” Richie’s eyes widened at that, almost choking and spilling out his banana milkshake. He widened his eyes at Stan, the latter curly haired man holding back a laugh, his dimples deeply creviced within his cheeks.

“Stan the traitor man! Does he still have a girlfriend?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to see for yourself,” Stan said, analyzing one of the books he had on the table. Richie’s messy handwriting was around all of the texts and images among various messily drawn penises all over the pages.

“You wound me.”

“I don’t know why I let you write on my books, honestly. You haven’t stopped drawing dicks since third grade-‘’

“I counted on you. Un corazón a menos.”

“Richie, what?” Stan looked up, smiling at him.

“My heart’s in shreds, Stanley. Or something like that. Thinking of finally asking the hot cashier out was what kept me going during these finals all this time,” Richie huffed, leaning his chin on his hand, glasses askew on his face.

“Now I gotta make some field research, since UCLA’s most unreliable jew who’s also my best friend since I was a kid, didn’t want to fill me in on the fact that he might not even like the forbidden fruit!” Richie said, not even losing his breath after talking so much in such a short amount of time. Stan checked for any signs that indicated Richie actually had to breathe, and there were none. Impressive.

“Christ, so dramatic. Forbidden fruit? Richie,” Stan laughed. Richie looked up at him with a huff before smiling and retrieving a second paper straw from his fanny pack, and sipping more of his milkshake.

“How many straws do you even have. I’m pretty sure you’ve been using this red one for three days. It’s all… shrunken.”

“Recycling is the key, Stanny.” Richie tapped the purple fannypack across his chest. The accessory carried straws, pens, Richie’s ID, his phone and countless packs of gum and mints and the trash he produced with them during the week: it demanded a decluttering at the end of every day, however. Richie only actually did it when Stan dragged him in front of a dumpster outside random classrooms around campus.

“Richie on a more serious note, I don't think he still has a girlfriend. From what I’ve gathered, he’s a pretty open guy. Stick to the plan and ask him out on Christmas. It’s gonna be fine. Mike’s a nice guy,” Stan assured him, holding Richie’s gaze.

They kept on studying, Stan rewriting Richie’s messy notes and Richie tapping on the diner’s table every so often. It no longer bothered Stan how fidgety Richie was. As the time passed by, he learned to separate the obnoxious sounds Richie would start to make after about five minutes of silence. He didn’t mind it one bit, he knew Richie couldn’t control it. If anything, it was fun to watch other people get bothered about it. It made them leave after some time and that left the whole place for him and Richie.

Richie woke up the next day to the sound of slamming on his door. Initially, he considered pretending he wasn’t there, which wouldn’t be a surprise. When Stan had told him he would spend the night at Bill’s dorm, it was almost too hard to believe.

“No way!”

“Yes. It’s our third date.”

“You’re sleeping over at his place? Staniel… Woo Hoo!”

“Yes. I am,” Stan chanted, neatly packing a change of clothes. He eyed Richie, “Mike will probably be there, you know. I could try and get you in his good graces before you ask him out.”

Richie hugged Stan as he cried out, “Stan the Man!”

“I will not be there for Mike, though. I’ll be there for Bill. If he still thinks I’m not gay I will, respectfully, throw a fit,” Stan huffed, packing one of the books he shared with Richie into his bag.

“He still didn’t get the hint?” Richie laughed.

“Well after today if he needs any further indication that I’m gay, I think all the dicks you draw on my books will be good enough,” Stan admitted.

“Richie!” Stan said behind the door and Richie opened one of his eyes. Did he forget his keys?

“Finals have been canceled!”

That made him open the other eye, surging up on his bed.

“What?!”

“Open the door-“

“WHAT?”

“Yeah! Open the door, dude!”

He heard Bill. Bill was there too?  

Richie jostled out of his bed, the blinding light inside the room making him reach in front of him with his hands, using his muscle memory to feel his way towards the door. He opened it with a creak, and Stan and Bill stepped inside to shut the door behind them. They looked at Richie amusedly.

“You forgot your keys?” Richie mumbled at Stan.

“I went straight here and left my bag at Bill’s, we already passed this semester. Our teachers came down with chickenpox.”

“Wahh?” Richie blindly blinked.

“Yeah. One of Mr. Hill’s children passed it on to all of them,” Bill expressed with a snide smile on his face.

“We t-thought substitute teachers would do it, but turns out none of our teachers…. I talked to some of the teachers, including Stan’s chemistry teacher, cause he- has fi-finals and you too,”  and Richie noticed the blush creeping up Bill’s cheeks as he mentioned his talk with Stan’s teacher. He shot a look at Stan, who was already looking at him with a proud look on his face, “L-Like as soon as I heard it, they said they didn’t even have the exams ready. And I have no idea if they’ll decide to do something else when we get back, but we got lucky for now at least. The grades you have now will be your final grades.”

“Oh?” Richie chirped, looking at Stan to continue, “Wait..”

“There’s probably a new rule or something. They really talked about not applying the exams at all.”

“What!?”

“Yes. We already got 75% of our grade. A+ for me, A- for you.”

“But wait, what happened exactly?” Richie asked in a haze of his own waking trance from sleep. Stan figured Richie didn’t hear anything except that finals were canceled.

“They said Mr. Hill’s son, or I think it probably was Mr. Hill himself, had the chickenpox while he was here. Our teachers and Bill’s came down with it. I don’t know about all of the teachers but ours at least canceled exams.”

“Christ,” Richie mused. Bill perked one of his eyebrows up at that, noticing how Stan’s saying showed off to Richie. Stan sometimes would draw dicks around the ones Richie drew, so Bill could only imagine they were… learning from each other. Richie looked at Bill for the first time, truly noticing that they was actually in his dorm. Bill had a backpack strung across his shoulders.

“Well good morning to you man,” and Richie looked at Stan and winked, “You’re going home today?”

“No, but good morning Rich,” Bill said, following Stan and sitting on his own bed. They sat very close together, and the smile on Stan’s face warmed Richie’s heart. He smiled.

“Yeah Stan and I are going back to Derry, you can come too and stay with us! But, Mike— he’s still there.” Bill gave Richie a sympathetic look.

“Oh my god,” Richie squeaked, peering at Stan.

“Now is the time, Rich,” Stan said. He looked at Bill and he quickly retrieved his keys from his pockets and gave them to Stan.

“Here: one, five, three. Red opens the door, and if Mike isn't there, will you get my bag?”

“Okay okay okay,” and Richie grabbed the keys and scurried out of his dorm, going on a messy and strange strut to where he could only imagine the 153th dorm was located at. He found it pretty quickly too, to his surprise. The knock on the door came out as a bit of a slam.

The door opened, and Richie’s eyes widened comically as he saw Mike Hanlon standing there.

“Good morning,” Mike smiled. “How’s it going, Richie?”

“Hi,” Richie said. He stared at Mike, biting at his inner bottom lip. So Mike remembered him?

“Oh, sorry. Were you looking for your friend, Stan? He left a while ago with Bill. It’s just me.”

“No it’s you. It’s you I’m looking for,” Richie rushed out. “Fuck, this sounds creepy. But Stan told me you might be heading out since finals are- might be canceled for you, so I came here now.”

“Oh! Do you want to come in?” Mike stepped back, opening the door further. Richie gave him a nervous smile before entering his dorm and turning back to him, delving his hands into in his pant pockets. Except there were…. no pockets? He looked down only to see his pajama pants printed with cartoon ducks. Oh.

Mike was already looking at him and he let out a grin. “Those are great PJ’s.”

Richie laughed, “Thanks my dude.” He was already there in his ridiculously ugly pajamas instead of minimally presentable clothing like Mike was wearing, so he might as well just deal with it. They were, after all, his favorites.

“They’re my favorite. It says Trashmouth on the back. See?” Richie turned, craning his head to the side and looking back at Mike as best as he could.

It was a cute thing to do, Mike thought.

“I see it, it’s uh… it’s awesome. I have a few pairs of duck pajamas too,” Mike said jokingly. “So… everything okay?” His tone was slightly serious now, but still warm.

“Yeah… Everything is fine,” Richie said, looking up at Mike, “Iwaswondering if…. a date…. with me…. you, yeah maybe you, go… Jesus,” Richie garbled.

“I—”

“Sorry. I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me sometime, man,” Richie said, with a nervous laugh. He analyzed his feet, but then he looked up.

This was Mike.

“I’ve been thinking about asking you out after finals, it really motivated me to study and carry on with it, and I’ve been noticing you all year so….  figured I should give it a try,” Richie further explained. Mike’s eyes were as warm as ever, yet, he still seemed a little shocked. Maybe.

He continued, “But it’s cool. I’m already really fucking crazy to ask you out, respectfully. I’m doing this out of the blue and I don’t even really know if you’re gay, I thought Stan knew, but I just found out he doesn’t and he just said you’re kind, and yeah you are, but I’m still sorry, like it can be a no homo thing. No homo. Only-if-you-want homo thing. Or not. A thing, uh, I don’t know Mike I’m so sorry dude I promise I’m not this creepy I’m just ramblin-” Richie inhaled, the blush on his cheeks making his whole face warm. His fingers were slightly trembling and he forgot how all this had felt this year. It kinda sucked.

“You’re not creepy, Richie,” Mike chuckled. Richie couldn’t fully understand it, but even he would notice the difference of mood. Out of all the smiles, the Mike Hanlon smile was the brightest.

“Yes, I’ll go on a homo date with you. I have a crush on you too, dude.”

“Oh? Okay okay, really?” Richie perked up at that, staring at Mike.

“Yes, I’ve had my eye on you since you had green hair,” Mike laughed, and Richie started to cackle.

“Oh my  God, Mike, wowowowow,” he laughed, eyes bright at Mike. Richie Tozier may have been  the strangest, yet cutest guy Mike had ever met.

“Why did you wait until finals were over?” Mike asked.

“Why didn’t you ask me out when I had green hair?” Richie countered.

“I guess fair is fair,” Mike said. “And that was way before my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend,” Richie’s face fell.

“Yeah. Oh, well, we’re not dating anymore,” Mike assured him. The butterflies creeping up in their bellies was the best feeling they both had in a long time.

“Yet,” Mike corrected. Richie perked up one of his eyebrows at that, and smirked.

“Misión cumplida. Éxito. Aí carajo,” Richie cheered. “So um… When can we go on our date?”

“I’m going to Derry soon with Stan and Bill, are you going there too?”

“Nah, my parents are in Boston for the holidays. I’ll go there for Christmas and New Years,” Richie said, frowning.

“Okay… Well if you don’t mind seeing a place you’re more than acquainted with... do you like decorating for Christmas?” Mike asked. The way Richie’s eyes brightened at that could only be accurately interpreted by the unevenness of his contact lenses; the film on his left eye suddenly popped out of his iris, falling down on Mike’s flooring with a small, lewd pop.

“Oh!” Mike laughed as Richie stared down at the floor. There was no way he would find it without his glasses, or one contacted eyeball. Mike walked over to him and easily picked up his contact lens from the floor, “I was wondering how you were seeing me.”

“Now I’m seeing you barely at all,” Richie said with a somewhat shy smile as he opened his hand for Mike to drop the contact lens on it. “I was only wearing one.”

“Brave!”

“Unprepared,” Richie looked up at the blur that was Mike now. “When can I come?”

“Today, if you want. I still gotta take my last exam in a few hours but I already have the decorations here.”

“It’s a date!” Richie smiled. “See you at…”

“Seven?”

“Neato, see you at seven,” Richie said and added, “Oh, is Stan’s bag here? You know, vintage, brown, boring?”

Mike walked to the corner of the room and retrieved Stan’s bag from the wardrobe, “Here it is.”

“Thank you. See ya,” Richie said and felt his way to the door. Once Mike closed the door, his excited ‘WOOOOO’ was heard by the whole building, but he did not care at all, and neither did Mike.

It was precisely 6:30 when Richie arrived at Mike’s door: glasses, damp hair, a pair of black jeans, vans, and bomber jacket. He didn’t even have to knock for Mike to open the door. Mike quickly revealed himself, wearing grey casual pants and  a plain white shirt under a warm dark sweater. The giddy smiles they shared when they first saw each other stayed for the whole night.

“Hello Richie.”

“Hewwo,” Richie said walking in.

“Woah!” He halted his feet, turning back to Mike, “...a Christmas tree?!”

There it was, right in the middle of the small room. It barely fit the room, standing tall and proud and green. “Oh my God. How did you fit this in here without getting caught?” Richie asked, grinning and caressing the tree, “Holy shit, is this tree real?”

“Got it after my final exam,” Mike proudly explained, standing beside Richie and smiling at him. “I got an A, and even with the A I still got caught.”

Richie turned to him and raised his eyebrows, “You did?”

“Yeah, I talked them out of snitching by giving them some chocolate pudding. It wasn’t hard.”

“When you say ‘them’ you mean…”

“The monitor and Mrs. Spinoza,” Mike said, laughing as Richie began to cackle.

“Amazing.”

“Shall we begin?” Mike asked and Richie nodded, rubbing his hands on the front of his jeans. His palms hadn’t stopped sweating since he left Mike’s dorm earlier, and he didn’t feel like it would ever stop. And, strangely, he didn’t want it to.

There were two big boxes sitting in the corner of the room and they opened them together. They were filled with fairy lights, ribbons of assorted colors, stringed candy, candles, sparkled garlands, colorful ball ornaments, and, “Pom Poms?” Richie asked, cradling three red pom poms in his hands.

“Time for you to discover one of Richie Tozier’s many hidden talents, chap,” and he started juggling them, gleaming at Mike with a prideful grin.

“They’re really fancy— you can juggle?” Mike asked, perplexed as Richie kept going.

“Uh huh,” Richie said, “they get my hands tired though, I’m only doing it to impress ya.”

“Well, I’m impressed. Good job.”

“All according to plan,” Richie smiled, stopping his movements.

He went to the second box after Mike opened it, and it was full of more ball ornaments and a star topping. Only these were… “Rainbow ornaments?” Richie asked, excited. It was time for Mike’s cheeks to get warm.

“Yeah. Hope it’s subtle enough,” he said, fake-shuffling through the box. Richie was staring at his profile at that, a dumbstruck smile on his face. The Christmas lights were hung first, and Richie was eager to flip them on to illuminate the tree.

“It’s magic, Mikey,” Richie sweetly smiled, his eyes beacons of blue light.

They talked about school, family back in Derry, and about their friends. Conversation flowed perfectly between them, and at some point none of them hesitated to talk about how they felt. Their giddy smiles grew exponentially, there was no embarrassment in saying how much both of them dreamt of something like this, and with each other above all other things.

It was the perfect Christmas, early as it came.

By the end of the night, the Christmas tree was perfectly (their kind of perfect) decorated with rainbow colors, ribbons, pom poms, and lights spurted out where the room solely sparkled with the fairy lights.

Under those lights, they shared their first kiss.

Mike could still taste the warmed chocolate pudding on Richie’s lips. Richie could feel the candle wax he accidentally splashed across Mike’s face earlier when he reached up to touch his own lips to Mike’s soft ones.

It was perfect.

Their families were too far apart for them to actually spend Christmas together, but they had certain friends in common that would do anything they had to, to make that happen.

And above all, they had each other.

[angstymarshmallow]

21. Autumn Leaves (Zig x MC)

[A little note: I’m still working my way through some September prompts, because I am VERY bad at finishing stuff on time. Thank you @hellomynameisdeviblaire for your request :’), I still have another one from you that’s sitting here but]

[Words Counted: 1902]

[Summary: A long day of thinking and research during fall quarter makes Dia (MC) doubt her own capabilities as a writer until Zig’s steadfast support provides her the comfort she needs].

The cool autumn wind brought the rapid approach and the quiet reminder of winter nearly everywhere she looked. From the safety of her windows, she often watched the trees as their leaves gradually became a dull brown before they begun their slow descent back into the earth and much like the rest of Hartfeld – Dia turned her summer shorts and tanks in for fall jackets and combat boots. She stuck to keeping indoors more than out, as the colder it grew the more reluctant she became to venture outside. Eventually, Zig was the only one trying to make grocery runs whenever they were out of food and only dragged her out of the house when he implored she was “cooped up for far too long”.

Spending most of her time in doors have Dia a lot more time to think. She spent a considerable amount of time on average thinking about her friends; how they managed to somehow still fit into each other’s lives despite heading in different directions. She thought about Zig – how different her life would have been if they had never met, if he hadn’t become such an important part of her life and her innermost circle. And lastly as she fiddled with the keystrokes of her laptop, her thoughts travelled to her thesis, where they lingered the most recently – this was her last hitch until graduation. It was only too bad she had no idea where it would take her.

Absently Dia ran her fingers through her cat’s fur, and felt the little creature’s head nuzzle into her side. She sighed. She still hadn’t the faintest idea on what her focal point should be – only small increments of ideas came to mind; and they never seemed to go anywhere. She shook her head and gave another frustrated sigh before leaning back inside the couch. Her eyes went to the ceiling as she mulled over her years here. Her years at Harfeld. 

Could the answer be easier than she thought it was?

She heard keys jingling at the door as well as Argo’s sudden barking before his tiny legs made a beeline for it. “Argo!” She snapped, sitting upright inside her couch.

KitKat made a soft noise at suddenly being roused awake. The grey and white cat abandoned Dia’s side seconds before she got to her feet.

The door closed behind Zig and he struggled to take his shoes off with one hand while resting the large grocery bags to his chest.  He was lost inside his own thoughts until Argo started running happy circles around him.

“Woah,” he nearly stumbled into the small puppy, but stumbled back at the last second. “Careful boy.”

“Argo.” Dia let the warning in her voice settle before the puppy’s eyes shifted to her. His tail stopped wagging. She crossed the room, holding a finger up to her lips in a shushing motion. “Spot, now.” She pointed across the room with the flicker of her wrist.

Argo whimpered but followed her request, his ears downcast until he reached the pet bed in the corner of the room.

“I really hate it when we have to do that.” Zig sighed.

“But that’s the only way he’ll learn.” Dia reminded him, shooting the puppy a small but stoic glare.

Argo seemed to pout at her as he settled his chin to the floor.

“That does not work on me, Argo.”

“She’s right. I’m the sweet parent.” Zig mused, he shifted a little and one of the grocery bags tittered forward until it fell from his arms. “Shit!”

Dia scrambled at the last second, half-jumping to catch it. “Got it.” It landed with a light thud. “Need a little hand?” She smirked, as she straightened herself upright. Placing one hand on her hip,, Zig tried to shift the weight of the rest of the bags again.

“Yes please.” He didn’t hesitate to administer the rest of the other half of paper bags the second she stretched her hands wide. “You have no idea how hard it was to get these all out of the car at once.”

“I can imagine.” She frowned thinly. ““You bought a lot more this time.” She juggled the weight in her hands before turning for the kitchen.

“We needed a lot.” He countered.

Together, they begun packing the groceries away.

“You say that now,” she snorted. “But don’t blame me when half of it ends up in the garbage. Sometimes I think you forget we’re only two people.”

“I won’t forget,” he replied mildly as he shoved a bag of flour into their cupboards. “Besides who knows the next time Kaitlyn’s band will crash by here? Or when we’ll see Abbie and Tyler? And anyway, I think we deserve to splurge every now and then, especially considering the deadline for our fall projects right around the corner.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” She ducked underneath him to get to the fridge. Yanking it open, she placed their new bags of milk inside.

“Still not much luck on your thesis?”

“Zero luck.” She bent forward to deposit the frozen meats at the bottom of the refrigerator. “Shit out of luck at this point really.” She grumbled.

“Hey.” She could feel his hand on her waist before he pulled her to him. “You’ll get through this.” He said softly, waiting for her to meet his stare.

“How?” She demanded. She stared up at him, her frustration growing from the frown creasing her brows. “How can you say that?”

“Because I know you.” His smile was soft, encouraging as he cupped her cheek. “I know how smart and fierce you are when you know what you want.”

“And knowing is half the battle, right?” She scowled a little, lips making a little frown until his fingers slid to trace tiny patterns across it.

“Exactly.”

She nipped his finger.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” although she didn’t look nearly as apologetic as she seemed to sound. The corner of her lips lifted before quickly falling again. “I’m just…in a bit of a rut right now.” She shrugged. She knew how important expressing herself was to him and although some of it still felt uncomfortable, it meant a lot to her knowing he always made it a point to ask. “I guess everything I write just…feels terrible. The words aren’t coming when they should half the time. And the other half the time - nothing seems to make sense…” She sighed, glancing away.

“Aww, babe.” He drew her into a reassuring hug, dropping a kiss to her forehead. “That’s perfectly normal.”

“Is it?” Her words were muffled against his chest. Angling her chin, she frowned faintly up at him. “I thought I was getting the hang of it, but this…this wall I’ve hit. It makes me want to say - fuck it. I don’t really need an education, right?”

“Well, don’t say fuck it.” He knew better than to think she was kidding. He believed at least apart of still thought none of this was worth it. He could understand. Half the time while he was studying on his own – tests after tests, projects after projects – he felt exactly the same. “You’ve come all this way babe. We’re in our last year, pretty soon we’ll be done.”

“I know, I know.” She admitted. “It doesn’t feel that way right now. You don’t know how long I was staring at the screen before you came in. Hell, maybe this is really some kind of sign.”

“You don’t believe in signs.” He pointed out thinly, earning himself a withering look from her.

“I’m just saying, maybe I’m not so cut out for this anymore.”

“Hey.” She tried to look away but he wouldn’t let her. Instead, he kept a finger tucked under her chin and waited for those crystal blues to gaze right back at him. “Babe, you’re one of the smartest people I know.”

She snorted.

“No really,” he insisted. “You are.”

“I’m still in brainstorm mode.” She argued, not quite meeting his expression. “I keep thinking about all the stuff we’ve been through to get here, all the stuff I’ve been through since freshman year.”

“Yeah? Let that help to be your guide. Things happen for a reason and who doesn’t spend awhile picking a topic?” He shrugged. “That’s normal. You’ve got the time and I won’t let you doubt how brilliant you are just because of a little setback.”

She didn’t answer him.

“Even if I have to stay up with you on nights where you need someone to bounce ideas off of – I will.”

“That would be a lot of sleepless nights.” She pointed out. “Especially at the rate I’m going.”

He chuckled lightly. “Hey, you’re my girl.” He grinned and watched the corner of her lips quirk into a small smile. He found it always did when he called her that – no matter how many times he said it. “And every second of missed sleep is worth it for you.”

Her cheeks heated at the sudden intensity behind his words. His eyes bore into hers with enough determination that it made her stomach flutter. God, it didn’t make sense – but somehow Zig knew how to stop her from spiralling – he seemed to recognize her triggers even before she could. Especially lately.

He really was the love of her life.

When she didn’t answer, Zig dipped his head low enough to watch her eyes widen a fraction. “No matter what, I’ll always be here for you. Right here, whatever you need.” He murmured, “even if that means blowing off some steam inside, even if it means being buried under blankets together or wandering around the block for hours – whatever you need.” He placed a soft kiss on her lips, felt her smile through his kiss. “Because that’s what it means to love someone – and in case you haven’t noticed, I love you.”

He drew her closer to him. “I love you enough to put dinner on hold on this cold autumn evening long enough for us to cuddle and watch something. Trust me, I’m never wrong about these things.”

“I love you too.” She replied with a laugh, and the sound brought with it some of tension out of the room. Looping her arms around his neck, she smirked up at him with eyes glittering in amusement. “Well when you put it that way, how’s a girl supposed to say no?”

“That’s the thing. She doesn’t - not my girl anyway.” He kissed her again, nipping on her bottom lip playfully. “My girl is always ready for anything.”

She slid her hands inside his hair, tugging gently until he sucked in his breath. “I’ll give you an even better idea.” She whispered against his lips, her cool breath sending a shiver down his spine. “Fuck the show, fuck me instead.”

“Best idea I’ve heard all week.” Grinning, Zig scooped her inside his arms. Taken by surprise, Dia yelped in surprise before burrowing her smile inside his neck.  She closed her eyes, filling her inside with the quiet warmth of his solid body against her as slid her hands around his shoulders. Her grip tightened as they half-stumbled towards the bedroom.

They made a wide berth around their tiny companions, before closing the door shut behind them. They made quick work of their clothes - their want for each other quickly turning into a need to be closer as patience was soon replaced by their heady desire, suddenly desperate to be skin against skin.

Dia could only hope for more nights like this in autumn – where their quaint little home was filled with laughter and the soft whispers of adoration pouring from his tongue; shutting out the quiet coldness of fall as they tumble into bed together while the presence of winter lurked around the corner. 

-

Tags:  @mrswalkerwrites, @everythingchoices,  @asprankle, @enmchoices, @nerdpossible , @craftytacotrashdream, @mysteli, @simplyaiden-blog, @shirinalshabra, @innerpostmentality

[melancholyandphilosophy-blog]

A little bit about Me

It’s 1:21am on a Monday morning and I can’t sleep. That’s nothing new. Sleep is one of many things I’ve fought with over my lifetime, along with depression, anxiety, eating disorders, sexual assault, losing and finding myself over and over again. Don’t get me wrong, we all have our battles. I don’t think I have it any worse or any better than anybody else, but I do think I may have analyzed and understood its depths a little better. All my life I’ve asked “why?”, and just when I think I’ve solved one problem, another one arises. I never stop questioning. It’s a blessing and a curse.

To be honest, I think it’s mostly a curse. Trying to understand in a world that is under no obligation to be understood. Trying to make sense of chaos. I am grateful, though, that I see things the way that I do. You’ll begin to understand why.

I think I’m fairly special. I think we should all think that of ourselves; if we don’t, who will? I’m learning the true meaning of speaking things into existence and along with that, the value of patience. We underestimate the power of our minds. We’re raised to ignore a lot of the signs and signals our bodies and the universe give us. We’re smarter than we think we are. I hope times change and we relearn the importance of communicating with our inner self, and working from the inside outward. Filling our cup before we try to pour water for someone else, and replenishing our own supply when we’ve run dry.

A little bit about Me.

I want to tell you the good things as well as the bad but I have to be honest, I don’t have very many happy memories from about age 12 to 19. I had a wonderful childhood with my two older sisters, my younger brother, and my best friend who lived next door. All of the laughs and love we shared have lumped into one heartwarming, longing memory of mine.

Most of my memories are sad. I read something once a long time ago that explained how humans retain the strongest memories when they felt the most emotion (hence, why I still vividly remember walking out of the school bathroom on the first day of grade nine with toilet paper stuck to my shoe because I was SO embarrassed, I haven’t let myself live it down). I have felt a lot of intense sadness, confusion, apathy, and anger in my lifetime. I’m not so depressed anymore because I’ve come to know myself very well through all of the ups and downs, but we’ll get there.

The first time I cut myself was in grade five. I took my mom’s sewing scissors to my wrist. I knew they were sharp enough because one of my sisters had accidentally cut herself with them years before. I don’t recall feeling particularly sad until after I drew blood; I think initially I was just curious.

My curiosity (and borderline fascination) with pain and death stuck with me from a very young age. When I would hear of deaths in the news I would wait until my parents had gone to bed to get online and read about it. I watched horrors and thrillers and crime shows. I wondered what would come after life and I concluded that it must be eternal blackness. I didn’t believe in God or an afterlife because life was too painful and cruel to think that there was some greater good purpose behind it all.

The night before my grade eight graduation I got my first period. Everything went downhill quickly after that. I’m specifically mentioning the beginning of puberty because I think it’s connected to my fall into depression, and it’s something I’ll probably blog about later. Scientists neglected to research women’s health until recent years with our progression towards equality. I think puberty effects young women’s emotional health much more than we give credit for. Even still, at 21 years of age, I tussle with suicidal thoughts for one week out of every month. Without proper sex education and open discussion about mental illness, our daughters are in danger. The dawn of puberty was a very dark time for me.

I remember the very first time my laugh felt hollow. I was in class with my best friend, we were joking around the way we always did and we laughed until tears but something didn’t feel right inside of me. I didn’t feel happy, I didn’t experience any joy. I felt empty. I started relating to dark music and depression blogs on Tumblr where I’d find posts that seemed to describe the way I felt better than I could. Posts such as someone taking off a smiling mask to reveal their “true self”, a face of agonizing despair. I began to draw as an outlet for my overwhelming emotions. That and basketball were the only things keeping me sane.

When I was in grade nine, articles surfaced about someone my age from another province who took her own life. It stuck with me ever since. I read every article there was to read, and following that I researched the most effective ways to kill oneself. Shortly thereafter, I tried to drown myself.

When suicide didn’t work, I tried to take control over something easier to grasp. I stopped eating. I consciously ate a granola bar every third day. I collapsed on the basketball court due to malnutrition and was taken to a dietician. I saw her a few times and convinced everyone that I was cured. Now, I was eating to feed my families concerns, just to run away and spit/puke up much of my food.

I hated myself. I hated what I saw in the mirror. I sat up until 4 and 5 in the morning every night staring at the wall, inaudibly sobbing, cutting my inner thighs just to feel something. Eventually, I stopped crying at all. I stopped feeling altogether. I was perpetually numb, I was angry and confused and waiting for it all to end. One thought ran through my brain all day, every. single. day. “I'd rather be dead.”

I got caught up in a dead-end relationship throughout high school. My friends and family would ask me what I was doing and I would dismiss their concern because I really thought I was in love. Looking back now, I don’t recognize the girl I was in that relationship and at that time in my life. I endured a series of unfortunate events that all convinced me that I was worthless, nothing more than a piece of meat for a man’s pleasure. I was used, abused, manipulated.

I’ve always been afraid to write or talk about these things in fear of hurting the people who hurt me. That’s really fucked up, actually, that after all the pain they’ve caused me I will still worry about their wellbeing more than my own. With that said, my suffering doesn’t dissipate the love I had for these people. I have a soft and forgiving heart, but it is beaten and bruised and it’s ready to be free. Sexual abuse has haunted me for 8 years now. It has affected me in many ways that, when I find the bravery, I will discuss later in order to shed light on just how harmful it is to its victims. It’s not always a drunken encounter; in fact, quite often sexual assault occurs within relationships. Looking the first person you ever loved in the eyes and choking out the words “you’re raping me” for them to carry on until you black out will inevitably change a person.

I didn’t allow myself time to think about what had happened to me. I didn’t process my pain, I refused to accept what had happened. Instead, I fell in love again, this time intensely. This was a love I’d never known; one of respect, admiration, passion, lust, and everything else wonderful. When this was abruptly stripped from me, I mourned the loss of both of my relationships at once. I felt so small and so alone. I stopped eating, attending school, sleeping, socializing. I hooked up with strangers to feel like for a moment, someone wanted me. I was lost, and that was nobody’s fault but my own because I constantly relied on other people to provide me happiness that I couldn’t find within. I tried to kill myself twice more.

I am lucky to be alive. Lucky and so thankful. I don’t want to detail my suicide attempts because the people who are likely to resonate the most with this post are the people who, similarly to my past self, will make a mental note of those details for future reference. I am absolutely not here to tell you how to hurt yourself; I’m here for the exact opposite. I’m here to tell you why I thank God everyday that it never worked for me. I’m here to tell you that you are not alone, and to help you interpret feelings you might not understand yet. I’m here to tell you how everything hurts until one day it doesn’t anymore, and suddenly you realize you’ve been living a more fulfilling life than you’ve ever known without even recognizing your own strength. I proudly remind myself of how strong I am. I’ve survived years of fighting with myself mentally and physically. I’ve made it to 21 years old when I didn’t think I’d even see 16, and moreover, i’ve learned to count my blessings and appreciate the sick, twisted, strikingly beautiful life I’ve been given.

So that’s a little bit about me. That’s the short story of why I’ve become who I’ve become -- a hopeful young lady with endless potential, a deep understanding of pain and a burning desire to help others feel less alone. Throughout everything I’ve been through I looked for answers to wherein lies some fleeting desire to keep living, and I’ve finally found it. Maybe i’m just venting out all the things I’ve been afraid to say aloud. Maybe this is just free therapy for me. Hopefully at least one person will relate and find comfort in knowing they are not alone in their struggles.

My posts won’t be this dark in the future. Besides, looking back gets you nowhere. We’re looking forward with optimism. This is my story of love and loss, disconsolation and vitality, confusion and clarity. This is my story of recovery.

[scary-pixie]

THE WOODBINE MALL MINI COMICON & SUNGLASSES QUEST

                                  I needed to get out of the house for the afternoon because the horrors of online dating were sending me into a spiral of crazy. So I joined Drew B.S. Reynard aka B.S. Pegasus for a little outing (in Klingon gear, no less) at the Woodbine Mall for their Free Comic Book Day event.

              Traffic was a piece of piss. The windstorm the day before had knocked out several of the traffic lights along Highway 9 and the top end of Jane. I had no intention of writing anything about the con at that point, but seeing as we had a bit of extra time (yay for detours), I went for it, realizing soon after my decision that I had not brought one god damn piece of paper with me. Thank you, B.S., for providing me with a notepad you received from a real estate company.               We discussed the local wrestling show that would be taking place at the event, supposedly featuring some Mexican Lucha wrestlers as well. Important note: Drew notified me that there will be a much larger wrestling show taking place on the first weekend of June. It’s shaping up to be a fairly busy month already: the Pretty Heroes convention will be a bit later on the weekend of June 16th. I expect to be in attendance at Pretty Heroes at least, possibly at both events. We shall see.               I lost my phone at that point and panicked. Oh fuck! There it was in my lap. Yay!               We passed by a few interesting looking restaurants on the road: the most notable of these were “Burrito Boys” and what I believe was “Shiitake House”, though I can no longer find this on Google Maps so it was likely something else. It was actually Cinco de Mayo, so the thought of some delicious lunch time burritos was appealing (however, I ended up going for spicy fish and spicy noodles at an Asian place instead. Protip: Do not mix spice with spice unless you want to leave to buy a $1 piece of Pita bread instead of suffering). As well, a confession: I had seen several Cinco de Mayo related posts on Facebook that day, though I admit I am not really knowledgeable on what the actual holiday is about. I was told that it is generally not celebrated in Mexico, however. I have no idea if this is correct or not. More research is needed.               Our conversations eventually led us to the dubious topic of Cultural Appropriation. I have strong feelings on this subject, being the offspring of immigrants who absolutely loved it when Canadian-born people showed an interest in our culture. I won’t go into too much detail here, but basically my thoughts on the issue can be summed up as “if it’s not deliberately making fun of another culture, profiting off a specific artist’s work and not giving them royalties/credit, or wearing something with deep religious significance…I don’t see a problem”. The recent rage over a teenage white girl wearing a Chinese-style prom dress...I cannot, for the life of me, understand why her fashion choice is offensive. In any case, on to other topics before I start getting digital vegetables thrown at me.               Shortly before we arrived, a delightful song by Tom Petty was featured on the radio, titled “Into the Great Wide Open”. This musical number set a nice mood for the rest of our drive. As suggested by the song lyrics, I asked Drew whether or not he was a rebel without a clue. He answered that he is not too rebellious, and occasionally has a clue. I, on the other hand, do not. MALL ARRIVAL                                   The little convention itself was about what I expected: A small area, with about 8 or so vendors and a wrestling ring. There was an absolutely delightful little dog show nearby, however, featuring a variety of poodles in costumes doing tricks! Tee hee! JOY! As members of KAG, Drew and I spent a little bit of time handing out Very Important Chocolates (Reese Cups) to the small humans at the event, before we headed out for lunch and then split up to shop.                I asked Drew what he thought of the event once we met up again. To quote:                “It was typical local wrestling. Not that it was bad, the guys were quite reasonably well-trained. But you can only expect so much on that kind of budget”.                I admit that I missed the majority of the wrestling since I had a mission to acquire sun-blocking spectacles. And unfortunately, it appeared that the Mexican wrestlers advertised on the facebook banner were not present (unless they were due to appear at the 5:00 pm show, which we could not stick around for). As far as my shopping went, I managed to find a pair of giant shiny sunglasses that miraculously fit over my regular glasses, and a neato green hat that looks just a tiny bit like a Cuban dictator’s hat. I tried on a few other caps, including some nice straw hats and one of those bucket hats that my stepdad calls a “pisspot hat”, but they were somewhat disappointing.                What did we think of the rest of the con? In Drew’s words: “It was what I expected. A handful of vendors”. It was a nice little show overall as a Free Comic Book Day event, and I wouldn’t mind attending again next year. The mall itself felt a little run-down compared to the last time I was there (I believe this was about 10 years ago, when horseracing and slot machines were a bigger part of my life…and just steps away!). I was disappointed at the fact that there were no book or DVD stores, however. The food court had a nice selection though, and the place was alright for boywatching. I made eye contact with an attractive young janitor not once, but TWICE. So exciting!                Traffic on the way home was once again a wad of shit. That was alright. I knew I’d just be trolling the stupid dating sites as soon as I got home (which is exactly what I did, before I went outside to read….a much more productive use of time!). It was a nice little day out at the con. Sometimes it is not the greatest thing to be at home and stuck inside my own head for too long.

@orangejeff @benicioqueen yay some new writing finally!