#even the ladies at the front desk were stupidly nice!!! what the fuck!!!!

[houseofwolvess]

i love planned parenthood sm. i genuinely don't know what id do without it now

[i-need-air]

Oh-- I really really -really- liked your wolf hybrid Bakugou and-- if you don't mind, can you do one on Kirishima? Just the general headcanons, if this is too bothersome then you can ignore this once again- thank you

Just general headcanons you say? Okay, I had this written 2k words in before I got this ask and now it's at... ehem, let me take a deep breath for this;

Word count: 3.5k 💀 [of HCs 💀💀💀]

Why do I keep doing this to myself aksdjkd I love Kiri so much, my god! Thanks for the ask!! 💗

[ Masterlist ]

Hybrid!AU Kirishima Eijirou HCs

× i mentioned him as a dog hybrid and we're sticking with it because it just feels right, yano? anyway!

× you found out about how the new hybrid shelter in your city helped bust a fighting ring

× which was horrifying to think about

× one of your friends explained the process to you and you were definitely interested in helping someone out

× shelters were still underfunded and didn't provide much to help the hybrids adapt to society

× so you found yourself in front of the shelter without a plan

× just a dream and a spare couch that could thankfully convert into a bed

× before you could chicken out you stormed through the doors like a mad person, catching the attention of the guards and the front desk man

× it surprised you how disinterested they were though; were they seriously the people that dismantled a whole illegal fighting ring?

× they called a sweet old lady to accompany you

× when you explained your situation her eyes sparkled, looking you up and down and nodding her head

× she took you through some hallways, showing you around the precinct, questioning you about what type of hybrid you'd want

× to which you honestly didn't know how to respond, like anyone you could help????

× it kinda pissed you off how she spoke about the hybrids like they were pets, suggesting you'd get a kitty or a bunny, since [her words] they were low maintenance

× is this really a good shelter?

× you looked around, finding prison like cells left and right, some with people that looked at you curiously, some covering from your glance

× they were locked in...

× some growling could be heard far away but the woman shook her head at you, disapproving gaze turned to the side as she took you further into the building

× another room, this time cells were bigger, a few occupied, yet covered from you, indiferent and uninterested

× a man was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands in his hair

× "Kirishima, boy, get up to greet someone"

× his red eyes snapped up, whatever he was thinking about slowly forgotten

× he blinked curiously as you hugged your frame, feeling uncomfortable, even ashamed to be there

× but a sweet smile took over his features

× "Hey! I'm Kirishima Eijirou!"

× it's really all it took for you to grow fond of him; he got up and came closer to the entrance of the cell and introduced himself in such easy-going manner you forgot about everything and anything

× he calmed you with his presence, even if it was very disheveled, with old ripped clothes and hair messy, painted red with obvious dark roots showing

× he had a black fluffy tail waving slowly behind him too

× you introduce yourself with his encouragement and mumbled how you wanted to help someone out today

× he just smiled at you, taking you in

× let me tell you something about dog hybrids: they can sense emotions and intentions so Kiri would be a very good judge of character and he really, genuinely took a liking on you

× the problem is how the fuck do you say out loud that you wanted to help him out

× because you sure as hell weren't going to say you'd adopt him; he's not a child? we're talking about a grown ass man here? literally looked like 6'4ft/1.95m?????

× it was so shameful, your gut turned as you cursed society and he sensed it, expression changing, falling a little as he saw you look very out of place

× "Hey, hey, everything's gonna be fine!" he said

× he told YOU that

× instead of YOU telling HIM those words;;; you almost burst into ugly crying, forgetting about everything else, your minuscule problems or shame or whatever and just nodded at him

× "Would you like to come home with me, Kirishima?" you said, ignoring the happy clapping the old lady was doing, watching carefully how his expression, clear as water, switched from easy-going and reassuring to shocked then hopeful

× "I'd like that" he breathed out "—a lot."

× as you went out the lady was telling him it was a shame they separated his group of friends, something about being sent to different shelters, how he had to be a good boy, to behave, yada-yada and seriously;;; he was taking it so lightheartedly, as if he was so used to this behavior or even was thankful for it?

× it was starting to get annoying, specially when they gave you a collar for him, like no fucking thanks, but you'd take care of it later

× since it was very random and unplanned, you were making mental gymnastics to figure out what to get and what to do first, like clothes, food—

× journey home was pleasant as he walked close to you, asking you questions about yourself with a gentle smile on his features

× meanwhile people got out of both your ways because he was intimidating and big and large but his smile screamed sunshine

× all while he never really mentioned anything about himself

× you made a point to ask him if he was hungry, to grab a quick bite at any restaurant you could get at then go buy some clothes and necessities

× you were so casual and this guy was so shocked

× i swear, looks at you blinking stupidly then ✨beams✨

× spoiler alert; big boy was hungry

× it didn't matter honestly, just seeing him eat without a worry [even if everyone at the restaurant was wary of him but got a stink eye from you] was a relief

× since you answered his questions about you, you decided to ask some about him; you were going to be roomies soon so might as well get to know each other

× shocked again

× stops mid-bite when you ask him something and stares wide-eyed

× doesn't answer but you can see he wants to and you're confused??

× "did I—... did I say something wrong?" you'd press, scared you'd spook him away or something

× he just gulps down and looks ashamed

× casually tells you they've been told at the shelter owners don't care about them

× 🙃 say what now bby?

× he kinda starts apologizing because he understands why you wouldn't wanna know and you put your hand on his; kinda mutes him for a second

× "Kirishima, we're gonna live together and hopefully be friends in the process, right? I'd like to know about you, as much as you're willing to tell me"

× [ falls in love right then and there ]

× he's met humans before, many actually—

× even in the short weeks he's been at the shelter he's seen people come and go and none talked to him like you did

× stares with stars in his eyes and chuckles awkwardly, blush on his face

× "You're really nice, [Y/N]" he said before eagerly answering your questions; course, it leaves you confused lmfao but you brush past it

× okay! shopping next, long story short it was very hard to find hybrid clothes for his size so you pick to change human clothes and adjust them for him

× as you again mention this stuff casually he's just awestruck

× when you got home, bags in hand, you were explaining to him how you really didn't have much; you were working to get a promotion soon but for now you had a couch that could open up into a very comfy bed, which he assured you it was enough

× you were lowkey unsure if he fit it because like i mentioned, big boi is big

× he does! so that's a relief but you started considering giving him your bed; you mostly fell asleep on the couch anyway and to be fair, it was really comfortable and you mention it as he looks around

× his head snaps at you, wide eyed, yet does not talk

× so you ramble bc that's something fun to do! "I mean I went to the shelter without a plan and uh, I want you to feel as comfortable as possible and maybe the bed is a better fit and—"

× Kirishima Eijirou sees: 💕💞💕💞💕💞💕

× has never been treated like this, like he's an... equal... something he'll take months to share with you, but we're getting ahead of ourselves

× the thing is this boy will fall pretty hard pretty fast, but will definitely take time to make a move

× bc he is respectful

× so he thanks you for the offer and tells you it's probably the best place he slept in all his life

× can your heart stop breaking for him? i mean it's a good couch but it's no luxury hotel bed???

× [ we need to pause, OP made herself sad ]

× ok, so he's really helpful around the house, and he knows how to cook!

× takes no time to talk about his friends, special his best friend that cooked for everyone at the fighting ring and forced them all to help and that's how he was pretty decent at cooking himself

× wasn't the best though, but followed instructions like a boss

× he lives for your compliments

× literally his tail wiggles with no shame

× seriously;; tell him he did a good job even at the dumbest thing and—

× puffs chest

× wiggle-wiggle

× "Thanks!"

× 🥺💕💞 make him stop, he's so cute

× did i mention he has like floppy black ears? Omg his earsssssssssshnnngggggggggg

× because they move whenever he walks and they're mesmerizing

× and one day that you're observing them for science [not because your heart was like 💘pom-pom💘] you noticed his roots

× remember when your heart broke for him? hah, have some more because as you asked him, he started telling you that he was pushed into dying his hair red for the spectacle, diversity and what-not

× reassured you he grew to love it now, being part of who he is

× also gets a little bit shy when adding he wouldn't want to change the color in hopes of finding his friends someday and for him to be easily recognizable

× you bought him hair dye that same day

× WHICH! apart from gaining extra 🥺💕💞 from him, it created a nice routine between you two!!

× you offered to dye his hair and it was such a great time; he made you laugh, conversation going just as easy whenever you talked, you got to know each other a little bit more and—

× heh

× at the end, after applying all the red hair dye, you massaged his scalp gently

× guess who melts in your hands? yes, giant ass dog-man melts into a puddle under your hands and it's the cutest fucking thing you've ever seen

× I'm serious, he sighs and leans into your gloved hands with zero [0] shame, eyes closed and peaceful expression on his features apart from a small smile

× you tease him and he laughs it off, but promise him you'd give him head scratches when he was finished with the dye, washed off and hair dry

× and you better deliver

× "Don't think I forgot!" he'd say as he'd hop on his make-shift bed in the living room by your side, tail moving from side to side

× as you start playing with his locks, he falls into your lap and starts snoring

× move an inch and he opens his eyes to look at you confused

× puppy eyes questioning you if you're leaving 🥺

× yep, you fall asleep together

× you point out to yourself that those puppy eyes will be the death of you

× he's a touchy guy, okay? since he's been touchy with you from the very start you never questioned it, even read on the internet that many hybrids descended from house pets need physical affection, like hugs, pats, scratches, all the bag, so it wasn't a big deal for you

× except it was a big deal because he's been around for a month and you're already catching feelings and that's bad because you did not bring him there to fall for him but to help him start a new life and—

× oh my god, what if he thought you were one of those people from the horror stories about hybrid adoption that only wanted them for one thing—

× no, no, no, nO, NO.

× anxiety was getting to you as the guilt of catching feelings for him, plus the fact that he was financially dependant on you for the time which would've made it even worse if he found out, PLUS he comes from such a rough life, he definitely needs a break and doesn't need his first human friend in forever to be a piece of;;;

× Kiri catches on this really constant and increasing feeling of anxiety; he starts to send you worried glances but doesn't know how to proceed

× in such a soft voice he asks if you're okay, if something is on your mind

× and since you weren't sharing anything but acted as if everything was alright even when he felt you lied, Kiri started to get worried too

× why were you anxious? why weren't you talking to him about it?

× oh, god, was he a burden? because he felt like one;;; did you want him out? he felt like an extra weight for you and wanted to do something about it but maybe you got sick of him? he felt unmanly...

× the fact that he knew he cared about you as more than just a friend made him even more anxious and it didn't help that whenever he touched you he heard your breath hitch or your heart beating louder; he got his hopes up then down because

× you smelled like people; people he didn't know, people he wanted to know because he needed to know why did you smell like them? were they a treat? were they potential partners? he really did not want to ask bc Kirishima felt like it wasn't his place to know

× as tension grew in the house you decided to gift him a new phone, ready to give him some news that reached your ears

× it seems Kiri himself liked to do sports and mainly jog to keep himself active and he's started to pass by the local dog-park to play with the dogs

× imagine your surprise when a few neighbors asked you if he'd be willing to train their dogs bc he's been teaching them stuff like once a week and the dogs listened

× big time dog whisperer; he says "Sit" to one dog and all dogs in the neighborhood sit too, you get me?

× so you said it would be nice for him to have his own money; not like you didn't help him without care, but you saw his face every time you bought something for him and really felt like he needed some real independence

× he's in ✨awe✨ because you came up with clients already that were very eager for dog training sessions, which he loved??? and suggested hours, wages??????

× and you gave him this new phone to help him with it if he's interested too?

× "Well, the normal price on the internet around the area is—"

× "[Y/N]."

× "Hmm?"

× "You're really amazing, you know that, right?" he'd have his lips curled into a sweet smile

× which makes your heart go crazy and this man notices how you get flustered

× loves it

× get ready for compliments; a lot of compliments just expecting your sweet flustered reactions

× he's slow at realizing your feelings for him because he beats himself down and seems himself as less of a man but tests the waters nonetheless and a d o r e s every time you struggle to thank him for said compliments and don't know how to continue functioning

× catches on and gets his hopes up

× and so you do

× listen, this is hilarious because you're both dumb idiots and want to be respectful towards the other meanwhile he hugs you tighter and for a little bit too long, loving how you melt into him, kisses you on the cheek and sees you get all flustered, looks at you like you're the only one to ever matter until you stop talking, turning everything into a giant mess of silence until you both grin at each other???? I'm getting second-hand embarrassment, just kiss???????

× and it happened with an accidental kiss

× you greeted him as he walked through the door, excited to tell him about your promotion, rambling about the take-out you ordered while he smiled at you

× and it started to be usual for you to greet him with a kiss on the cheek, right? just what normal roomies do, you know [mhmm~]

× he's taking his shoes off and knows the kiss is coming, but just before you press it on his cheek you whisper/squeal "I got the promotion!" to which he turns his head in surprise at you making your lips press together by accident [mhhhmmmmm~~~]

× cue both of you apologizing, looking like a mess

× he's blushing

× you both loved it

× why are you standing so close to each other?

× why did he lick his lips in daze while staring at yours?

× which one of you was leaning in for another kiss?

× it didn't really matter because he's kissing you slowly, taking you into his arms like you were made of porcelain

× glues his body to yours and breathes you in, lips locked, neither believing it was real

× lifts you up in his arms with no difficulty and smiles, both inches separated from another; "Congratulations..." his breath would fan over your face;;;;

× yeah, okay, he takes no time to confess, resulting in a mess of manly words skdjekldj you guys talked that whole night while cuddling and stealing kisses, you on his lap

× [ his nose brushing your neck; he loves your scent omg ]

× it becomes official pretty much instantly and then all your worries wash away

× all the anxiety, all the stress and overthinking, they've all been sorted out in one night and trust me, afterwards this man is pure honesty and loyalty

× he won't hesitate to talk to you about anything and will be such a patient sweetheart with you, listening to every word you say without judgment

× loves cheesy stuff? as in the most cliché stuff seen in movies? that's his shit right there; whenever you two see each other after some time apart [sometimes 5 minutes apart] he'd pick you in his arms and spin you around, then expect you to kiss him

× if you don't, i will skfjdkfk step aside 👀

× skin contact; please, touch him

× if you're not he sends you those famous puppy eyes and we all know they're killer

× sighs, happy to hold you tight against him, engulfing you into his big frame; yeah, you're where you belong, in his arms.

× everyone in the neighborhood loves him; it's ridiculous, seriously, because you find out he helped around all the time when you were at work and gained everyone's love

× makes an instagram account to teach people how to train their dog and becomes an internet sensation, a small celebrity

× also bc he's hot and sometimes posts working out pics

× skdksjs imagine this: makes dinner for both of you, lits up some candles, goes all in, then fucking posts it on ig saying "waiting for my baby to come home #surprise" forgetting you can see it lmfao

× you see the story on your way home and 🥺💞 "ye i love his oblivious ass"

× soft gasps when you tell him after dinner

× has the audacity to be surprised, like babe????

× Kaminari finds him through social media and this baby cries in relief for a good half an hour

× both team up to find all the gang

× guess who talks praises about you all the time? mhm, this guy right here is proud to have you

× and Denki has to deal with it;

× anywho! want to break him for good? tell him you love him for the first time

× GETS. SO. EXCITED. AND. EMOTIONAL.

× but forgets how to speak

× finds his words to say it back after staring at you entranced, grinning like an idiot, taking you in his arms and giving you a bone crushing hug while shaking in place

× he's never felt this loved and adores every second of it

× you're like a drug and he's deep gone, man

× tells you he loves you every single day

[kittenyoung]

Organisation. - Jongho smut

Request:  Can I request something about Mafia!Jongho?

Warning: Mafia boss, guns, gun kink (sucking on the barrel), blood mentioned, blowjob, choking, a lot of dirty talk and degrading.

You had been picked up by the mafia when you were abandoned by everyone else in your life. Wandering the streets looking for somewhere to go. 

You didn’t know what you were getting into when you were approached by a taller man, but he was too sweet to say no to, he offered to take you in and told you that you would be looked after by his group and his boss. 

You didn’t know that said group was part of the mafia. One of the most popular gangs in the entire city to be exact.

The man who picked you up went by the name of Yu. You later discovered his name was actually Yunho. While he looked cute and sweet to you, he was one of the most dangerous men in the entire city after his boss. 

You had never met the boss before, you just knew of his name. 

His name was Jongho. Everyone in the city, probably country, was scared of him. Many not knowing what he looked like, just knowing of the crimes he was involved in and the power that he held. 

It was a mission day when you were called to see him. They had just gotten back from a very big mission and all of the boys were stressed. Fear rushing through your body. You had never been face to face with him before. The only thing you ever saw of Jongho was the moments where he stepped into the car with the rest of the boys.. though he was a lot smaller that you couldn’t see him from behind the rest of them. 

Walking into his room with shaky legs you could finally see the man in front of you. Seated in a large chair in front of his desk. His walls were filled with every gun you could possibly think of. 

With the movement of his fingers he beckoned you closer to him. 

When you stopped in front of his desk he sat back in his chair. Taking a moment to look you up and down.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed, but we’ve all had a stressful day and you’re the only lady here. Did you notice that?” 

“Yes sir.” 

He bit his lip as you spoke to him. 

“You can of course say no, but I was wondering if you could help me? Take into consideration I’m the one who allowed you to stay with me and my team.”

He was attractive. He was sitting back in his all black suit, blood still splattered on the collar of his shirt, you felt like you should be disgusted, instead you felt yourself start to tingle at the powerful man in front of you.

Your mind blanked as you ran off in your thoughts, forgetting he was speaking to you. 

You were snapped back to reality by the snap of his fingers. 

“I’m going to take that as a yes. I can already tell what your silly brain is thinking, you shouldn’t waste any time now.” 

He pushed himself further away from his desk as his chair rolled back.

He didn’t even need to tell you what to do as you ran to sit in front of him. Fumbling with his belt and struggling to pull his dress pants off him.

You could hear the tsk of his tongue from above you as you felt cold metal underneath your chin, pushing your head upwards. 

Right underneath your chin was a slick black gun, the one he carried with him daily. Your adrenaline was pumping as it finally settled in your mind that this man could do anything he wanted with you. 

He slowly brought the gun away from your chin, sliding it closer to your mouth. 

He used his own hand to pull down his dress pants as he slipped the barrel of the gun into your mouth. Groaning as your lips wrapped around it, slowly moving your head back and fourth. You couldn’t say no to him and you actually enjoyed the feeling of the cold metal in your mouth. You enjoyed the threat that it carried. 

You loved the idea that this man could end you, if he really wanted to, but he wouldn’t. Otherwise he would lose his entire gang... and he actually liked you. 

He liked the obedient ones. He wanted someone he could control and get into the mind of. He hadn’t dated in a long time due to his job, he couldn’t get weak, but you were almost part of his gang now. He had you under his wing, that’s okay right?

He was brought back from his thoughts when he heard your gagging from below him. He had accidentally pushed his gun a little too far, but he could see in your eyes that you enjoyed every second of it. 

The gun was quickly disregarded as he couldn’t wait any longer to actually be in your mouth. He pulled himself out of the tight boxers that he had stupidly decided to wear this morning. 

When he heard the small gasp you let out he felt smug. His cock stood proudly. He was average length but he was thick. Probably the thickest you had ever seen. You couldn’t believe you had to fit that in your mouth. 

You licked the precum off his tip slowly and hummed in delight. He was unbelievably sweet with a tang of saltiness. You couldn’t wait to actually taste his cum. 

Without warning you wrapped your lips around his tip, swirling your tongue around the slit, bracing yourself before taking more of him into your mouth, it ached but it felt good. The groans that you were earning made you feel good.

The corners of your mouth stung from the stretch but you kept giving more to him, opening up your throat as he wrapped his fingers in your hair and pushed you down on him. You were gagging and drooling around him, almost struggling to breathe.

“If you need to stop just pinch me.” 

You hoped you wouldn’t have to. You just wanted to give your all to this man. 

You took breaths through your nose as he slowly thrust into your mouth, pushing all the way to your throat, causing you to gag on him each time. 

You moved your tongue so it was dragging along the side with his veins with every movement. 

“I knew you wanted this. From the moment you looked at me. You thought I couldn’t tell? I could tell you wanted me from the second you walked in here.”

As he gave a harsh unexpected tug to your scalp you accidentally grazed your cock with his teeth, fearing you had done something wrong but instead he let out a loud moan that echoed through the entire room. You took a mental note that if you ever did this again you would need to use a little more teeth.

He held your mouth at the base of his cock, choking you on it and indulging in your gagging and tears. You used this to your advantage and swallowed around his cock. His grip on your hair getting tighter each time your throat tightened around him. 

“You love sucking my cock huh? You’re taking it like a good little whore. It feels so fucking good in your throat.” 

All you could do was hum lightly and nod. Looking up at him with innocent eyes.

“You want my cum? You wanna be a good girl and take my cum?” 

Your nails gripped into his thighs as he spoke and you nodded at him frantically as you couldn’t speak with the object filling your mouth.

Small whimpers were leaving your mouth as you anticipated his cum. 

He was using your mouth as a fleshlight as his thrusts got faster. 

His hips finally came to a stop as he twitched in your throat, shooting his cum down your throat, pulling away to allow some droplets to fall on your cheeks. 

You could hear the dark chuckle he let out as he took in the sight of you. 

Body shaking, makeup ruined and running down your face as he had painted you with his cum.

“Swallow all of it.” 

It was a warning and you wouldn’t disobey, you didn’t even want to.

You wanted all of it. You swallowed every drop you had in your mouth and brought your fingers to your cheeks, scooping up all that you could with your fingers and bringing them to your mouth. Sucking his cum off your fingers. You could see his cock twitching at the sight.

“Little one. I could go again if that’s what you want. I could even fuck your brains out if you ask nicely.” 

You think you’ll be visiting the mafia boss a little more often now. 

[writtenmemxries]

You’re the bee’s knees.

Some fluff to heal our souls after that Variety interview that killed us all. :)

Also... what if I created a tag list? Would anyone want to be added? 

[Destiel; set in 15x14; 1.6k words]

“This is stupid,” Dean muttered to himself as he looked at one of the big tables in the bunker, on which Mrs. Butters had displayed dozens of coloured sheets of paper, glitter, glue, and many other decorative things that he found simply disgusting.

“This is fucking stupid.”

Mrs. Butters gave him a fiery look.

Dean rolled his eyes and raised his hands in surrender. “Right. Sorry. Language.”

He sighed, glancing back at the table that looked like a kindergarten child’s desk. “I’m not gonna do this.”

“Why not?” Jack asked. He had already sat down and was now fiddling with the coloured sheets, looking for a yellow one, his favourite colour.

Dean snorted. “Because it’s stupid.”

Jack frowned at him. “Why?”

“Because-” Dean began. He sighed again, shaking his head. “Whatever. It just is.”

He walked resolutely towards the corridor, determined not to take part in that absurd creative activity. It was embarrassing enough that Sam had accepted to do it with a smile. He wasn’t going to be duped by their son’s smile and puppy dog eyes. No way.

“Dean,” Mrs. Butters called. He stopped and turned to look at her. No, she wouldn’t have convinced him either.

“What’s the matter? Valentine’s Day is an important feast day and as such it deserves to be celebrated! After all, love is what keeps us alive, isn’t it?”

Dean snorted a laugh. “No offense Mrs. Butters, but my brother and I- guns are what keeps us alive.”

Mrs. Butters looked at him in shock, an expression of deep sorrow on the round, plump face of the lovely lady who, up until then, had cared for them with such love. Love.

Dean hesitated. He looked at Jack again, then at Sam, who gave him an encouraging smile. Love.

He looked around with undisguised unease. He crossed his arms and sighed, shifting his weight from side to side, then walked over to the table.

“All right. Whatever.”

Jack’s face lit up as he stared at him with those big, loving eyes of his. Love.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Jack asked confused after a bit, looking at the yellow paper in his hands.

Sam smiled. “You make a card.”

“A card,” Jack repeated, frowning.

“Yes Jack, a card. A Valentine Day’s card. Just, it’s a little different from the usual Valentine’s Day.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“How is it different?” Jack asked.

Okay, enough.

“God, kid, you wanted to celebrate Valentine’s Day in the first place,” Dean exclaimed, holding a blue card in his hands. “Do you even know what it is?”

Jack looked at him vaguely offended. “Yes. It is the celebration of love.”

Ah, right. Love. Again.

“Yeah Jack, but, you see, it’s usually a couple’s thing. They exchange gifts, they go out to dinner,” Sam said, casting a not-exactly-loving look at his brother. “They give each other cards,” he continued with a smile.

Dean rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day. God, it never seemed to end.

“Yeah, middle school kids exchange cards,” he muttered sarcastically to himself, but Sam seemed to hear him.

“Dean, can you at least act like you’re having fun? For Jack?” he whispered.

“Look, Sam, this is bullshit and you know it. We’re not primary school kids making silly cards with glue and glitter and drawings. What should we do, write some cheesy pick-up lines?” Dean said annoyed.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Well... Yes?”

“Alright. And who are you gonna give it to, Eileen?”

Sam blushed. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe I won’t. It’s just for fun. Jack wanted to do this.”

Dean’s gaze softened.

“Does it have to be romantic love? Can’t I make a Valentine’s Day card for you?” Jack interrupted them.

“You do you, kid. But then you’ll give it to Samantha, not me,” Dean replied grinning.

Jack nodded enthusiastically and got to work, fiddling with the glitter, while Sam neatly folded his red card and Mrs. Butters looked at them with a satisfied smile.

Dean turned his attention to the paper in front of him. Blue. Damn, he really was an idiot, what was he even doing?

He glanced nervously at Sam, who was trying to figure out how to open the tube of silver glitter. He bit his lip and hesitantly grabbed a white, blank piece of paper and coloured pencils.

It’s such a stupid thing, he thought. But he said nothing. Instead, he set about drawing a bee. Or at least, something that should have looked like a bee. He hadn’t had much time to practice drawing as a child, y’know, but in the end he could say he was partially satisfied with the result. He glued the smiling bee onto the blue card, tongue between teeth as he worked with extreme precision.

It was stupid, but he wanted it to be perfect. Cas deserved a perfect card, right? Not that he intended to give it to him or that he was thinking about him while drawing, of course. Obviously.

With a big silver felt-tip pen, Dean wrote “You’re the bee’s knees” on the card. He looked at the final result with a faint smile. How stupid. He was stupid. Stupidly in love.

“Bees, huh?” Sam said with a smirk.

“Shut up,” Dean silenced him. “It’s just a stupid card. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Sam said smiling. “I wouldn’t throw it away if I were you, though, Someone might like it, y’know.”

Dean looked at him with wide eyes. He opened his mouth to argue, but no sound came out. He felt his cheeks heat up and turn red as the thoughts in his head whirled.

No way he was going to give that card to Cas. No way Sam was thinking about that. No way Sam knew.

“I think I’m done!” Jack exclaimed enthusiastically, showing them his drawing.

“This is Castiel,” he explained, pointing to a figure in what looked like a messy trenchcoat. “This is you, Sam,” and he pointed to a tall, long-haired, smiley man that made Sam laugh heartily. “And this is Dean.”

Dean looked at the drawing. “Why am I standing so close to Cas? Wait, are those- dude, did you draw me freakin’ bow-legged?”

Jack looked at him confused. “You always stand so close to Castiel.”

“Okay, I call this a night. Let’s go to bed, Jack,” Sam said, grabbing him gently by the shoulders.

Jack looked at them in confusion. Dean could feel his ears heat up, his heart was thumping uncomfortably in his chest.

“It is a very nice card, my dear,” Mrs. Butter said softly, pointing to the blue card Dean still had in his hands.

With his face on fire, Dean muttered a quick “Thank you” and went to his room. He couldn’t sleep much, however. He kept tossing and turning in bed, thinking of blue eyes and chapped lips, tan trenchcoats and blue ties.

In the dim light, he glanced at the card on the nightstand. 

Stupid bullshit, Dean thought as he stood up. He took the card and, as quietly as possible, he walked to the angel’s room.

When Castiel returned to the bunker three days later - three incredibly busy days later - he was surprised to find a note on his bedside table.

Intrigued, he gently touched the bee that beamed at him on the paper. He ran a finger over the silver writing. “You’re the bee’s knees.” He frowned. Bee’s knees?

His gaze fell to the lower right corner, where he noticed Dean’s name, messily scribbled. He folded the card and slipped it into his pocket.

He headed for the kitchen, where he found Dean leaning against the counter, drinking a beer.

“I found your card,” Castiel said.

Dean didn’t speak. He took another sip of his beer and clenched his jaw.

“I do not understand.”

Dean laughed bitterly. He shouldn’t have given him that stupid piece of paper.

“What’s so hard to understand?”

“Why are you comparing me to bees’ knees?” Castiel asked, squinting.

Dean stared at him in disbelief. “Dude. You can’t be serious.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side, confused.

“It’s an expression, Cas. It means you’re great, you’re the best,” Dean sighed.

“Oh.”

They were quiet for a while, embarrassment growing in that uncomfortable silence. Dean was about to leave when Castiel spoke again.

“Why?”

Dean closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The wood nymph- we made some Valentine’s Day cards. I mean, Jack wanted to, y’know, so...” he trailed off. He didn’t dare look Castiel in the eye.

“And you made one for me.”

Dean sighed. “Look, dude, it’s not a big deal, okay, it’s just-” 

“I thought Valentine’s Day was supposed to be the celebration of romance,” Castiel noted, interrupting him.

“Yes Cas. It is.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh,” Castiel said for the second time that night.

Dean shook his head and got another beer. Okay, maybe he needed something stronger to forget about that stupid card. He went for the bottle of whiskey when Castiel spoke.

“Bee my Valentine then.”

Dean whirled around, looking at him with wide eyes. Castiel stood there, the ghost of a smile on his face.

“What?”

“Bee my Valentine,” he repeated.

Dean swallowed. “Are you- are you using a bee pick-up line on me, dude?”

“Perhaps,” Castiel said with a smirk.

Dean laughed. He approached the angel.

“What are we doing, Cas?” he whispered, inches away from his face.

“I believe humans call it flirting, Dean,” Castiel said. His eyes fell to Dean’s lips, which curved into a smile.

“Yeah,” he whispered, grabbing Castiel by the waist. “Fuck that.”

A little uncertain, he brought his lips to Castiel’s, brushing them gently. Castiel sighed content against his lips, bringing his hands to cup Dean’s cheeks in a desperate effort to pull him closer.

They kissed and kissed and kissed.

Tenderly, softly, gently.

And their hearts buzzed like bees for those kisses that tasted sweet like honey.

[biussworld]

Help

Here’s my first fic submission for the @bnhabookclub​ writers’ event! Click here if you’d like to apply for the server!

Also, just a quick lil’ message. This was a fic I whipped up after being stagnant for quite a while so everything’s pretty rusty and shit tbh but!!! I still kinda like it, because I do tend to gravitate towards light-hearted domestic stuff especially with my blasty Lord Baku.

I was inspired by a Bakugou cosplay vid on Tiktok but I couldn’t find the video anymore so,,, there’s that?

Lastly, huuuuge thanks to @lady-bakuhoe​ for beta reading! 

Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki x GN!Reader

Genre: Uh, fluff. Sort of crack-ish. 

Warnings: Slight cursing

Word Count: 919

Prompt #9 “Your lips are really warm” from the provisional license exam event.

"DAMN IT!"

Bakugou's loud voice hollered down the hallways of the supposedly quiet 1-A dorm, reaching even the lowest floor despite him being ways above. You and your classmates hanging out in the common area shared glances, silently nominating who's going up there to check on the class' resident gremlin. All eyes fell on Kirishima, the poor boy was just sipping on his juice carton as he raised both hands in the air in protest. Everyone let him off with a nod, which means...

It's gotta be you.

"No. No, I'm not going." You haphazardly dropped your plate onto the coffee table, shooting Iida an apologetic glance before walking off to the direction of your room.

"But you're the only one who could tame him, aside from Kirishima. And he's already said no, so... You really should do it!" Mina's cheery voice rang in your ears, her harsh grip on your arm making you wince in discomfort as she pulls you towards the elevator. You stare her down as she punches Bakugou’s floor number in, squinting hard when she waves teasingly as the elevator doors shut.

You sigh, loudly. Despite being dubbed the second-best Bakugou Tamer™️ in the class, you honestly have no idea how and why it even works on him. You've had your fair share of obnoxious younger relatives whom your aunts and uncles handed over to you during family reunions, so you did to him what you did to them. The first time was a gamble, but the moment Bakugou gave you a half-assed apology for being stupidly aggressive as fuck, that was when your class proudly designated you as his secret caretaker. Much to your resolve.

You knock on his door and call out to him, to which he screams back at you. "Just open the door, asshole."

It takes him a minute until he welcomes you in, and you stand in front of him as he sits on the edge of his bed. There was a short moment of silence before he finally speaks up, "I couldn't take a fucking shower because of this stupid band on my wrist." He lifts his left hand up to show you, and there it is. The villain of the night, the mastermind of all evil. The disheveled entry wristband from the hero convention he and Kirishima went to earlier today is clinging onto his wrist tight, despite being tinkered upon for minutes, you suppose.

"Why didn't you just-"

"Cut it off? No shit. Yeah, it's wrapped too tight and I'm sc- I don't want to cut my skin open, dumbass."

"You were going to say you were scared."

"No, I wasn't! Why are you here anyway?" He straightens up and shoves his palms threateningly towards your face, a signature move he pulls whenever he feels embarrassed. How cute.

"They sent me because we heard you scream. Let me help. Where are your scissors?" You waste no time questioning the agitated blonde and rummage through the stationery containers on his study desk for a pair of scissors but there was no avail. Somewhere in between your rather frantic search you heard him mumble under his breath, causing you to turn and look at him. "What was that?"

"I don't have scissors... I blew the last one to bits because it didn't cut properly." He explains, eyes looking at anywhere but you. You brought your fist over to your mouth to suppress a laugh. Does the mighty Lord Explosion Murder get triggered by blunt scissors? Cute.

You offer your hand out to him and he raises his eyebrows at you, so you bring it back to yourself and cross your arms over your chest. "I'm not helping you with that attitude."

"I didn't ask for it."

"But you need it, don't you?"

He pauses, eyes squinted and pissed and feisty directed towards your gorgeous shit-eating grin. He hates this. Hates you, and how you don't even need to do anything to have him on your feet simping for you. But you don't need to know that. Especially because he hates how he just admitted that in his head.

But he does need this wristband off his wrist, and he does want to look less like a fool.

"I need your help."

"Say it nicely~"

"Fuck- please."

The shit-eating grin on your face just got wider and he swears he felt the pits of his stomach fill with butterflies boiling hate. But he offers you his hand anyway, and you take it, and when you tell him you're gonna rip the wristband off his wrist it doesn't register in his head. Only when he's feeling your plump lips press against the skin on his forearm does he realize what had happened and just how painstakingly quick that was.

You lift your face and crumple the wristband in your hand while gently massaging his wrist with another. "See, that wasn't so bad, right?" You say to him, discarding the crumpled paper. He stares at you for a while, and you do too. You weren't sure if it's the poor lighting in his room or if you're seeing things, but there's a minute hint of red tinting the tips of his ears.

The silence and the staring is becoming awfully awkward and creepy, so you point to the door and motion walking to let him know that you're leaving. And as soon as you turn around, he speaks in the softest, most endearing way he's ever spoken.

"Your lips are really warm."

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Switch Shenanigans

Adrien loved Paris in the evening. On a clear night, once the sun had set and inky blackness splashed across the horizon, the city was awash with pinpricks of light like a midnight reflection of the sky. From above, he could feel as though he were soaring through a galaxy. As he sped across rooftops and chimneys, there were murmurs of voices from below, people walking hand-in-hand through chilly streets, blinking advertisements and muffled music playing from shops and parties alike. A timeless tranquility, just him and the stars and the breath in his lungs and the wind in his hair.

Which was why he did more night patrols than was strictly necessary. After all, he had a makeup team to hide any bags under his eyes before photo shoots. It was so easy to shed the responsibilities and constrictions of being Adrien Agreste and sneak out of his window, defying gravity and his father’s expectations in one fell swoop.

Tonight Adrien, or rather Chat Noir, found himself drifting further from his side of Paris and more towards the business district. He hopped leasurely between rooftops. Oh, there was that coffee place that always smelt heavenly. It was still open – would the people of Paris be too shocked to see their friendly neighborhood superhero dropping in for a drink? It would probably cause less of a stir than Adrien Agreste. At least people were used to seeing Chat Noir around.

Chat Noir’s ears pricked up as an angry cry sounded – muffled, as if by a pillow. He spun around, trying to pin where it had come from. A nearby house? His heart pounded.

Another muffled shout, and this time he could see it’s source, a cracked-open skylight in a familiar balcony. He knew that balcony, he knew that bakery! And the girl who lived there, who was shouting, who was in trouble-

Chat Noir vaulted over the gap between buildings and skidded across the balcony. The skylight was ajar and only yielded darkness. He wrenched it open all the way and dropped down into the dim light below. He landed in a wary crouch.

“Marinette, are you-”

Her bedroom painted itself in green hues through his night-sensitive eyes. The cluttered desk, two mannequins draped in half-finished garments leaning against a closet, the mess of photos pinned to her wall, the disarrayed bed with his classmate in question growling into a pillow. An abandoned screen – a Nintendo Switch – lay next to her.

“Um.”

Marinette looked up blearily. “Chat Noir? What are you doing here?”

Ah. Now he was in the middle of his friend’s bedroom, still crouching in a stupid battle stance, to her nothing more than a weird stranger in a skin-tight leather body suit.

Chat Noir straightened hurriedly and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to pass off a laugh. It came out rather strained. “Hi, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I heard some shouting, I was just checking in to see if everything’s okay.”

Marinette groaned and dropped her pillow on her lap. “Yeah, everything’s okay.”

Chat Noir stepped forward, unable to temper his curiosity. “Is that Breath of the Wild?”

Marinette blinked at him. She was still wearing her day clothes, though disarrayed, her pigtails crooked. How long had she been up? Then again, Chat Noir didn’t actually know what the time was, so he wasn’t in the position to judge.

“Yeah.” Marinette said finally. She yawned and picked up the Switch again. “It’s this stupid shrine. I’ve been trying forever but the major test of strength always gets me.”

“I didn’t know you played.” Chat Noir said, quite stupidly, because Marinette shot him a funny look.

“Why would you?”

Abort, abort! “No reason.” He lied. Marinette rolled her eyes.

“A friend of mine really likes it, so I decided to give it a shot. It’s fun. Except for these shrines.” She sent the Switch a withering look.

Chat Noir snorted. Alya and Nino didn’t play, so she must be talking about him. A friend. Even after hearing it so many times, the words send a happy warmth through him.

“You seem to be in luck, because a seasoned player has arrived at your doorstep!” He gestured dramatically. “Erm. Window? Skylight?”

Marinette sent him an unimpressed look as he floundered. She was bold when she was sleep deprived, because she had never been this snarky to Adrien. It was a good look on her – he wished his shy friend could feel comfortable enough to banter with him, like she did with friendly neighborhood superheroes who dropped into her room in the middle of the night.

“You know how to beat these bitches?” She said finally, instead of kicking him out. Chat Noir took that as an invitation to stay. He grinned and dropped down next to her.

“There’s a trick to it. Do you have the ancient armour set? No? That’s okay, it just makes it easier, your champion’s tunic will work too. Oh nice, you have some ancient weapons. Okay, so the guardian has a couple moves it can do, and here’s what you do to counter them.”

Under Chat Noir’s watchful eye, Marinette defeated her first Major guardian on the third try. She hissed in victory as collapsed in a smoking pile in front of her avatar.

“Take that you fucking piece of junk.”

Chat Noir laughed and stood, brushing chip crumbs off his suit (Marinette had offered them, was he supposed to refuse a free snack?) “I should probably head off. As fun as this is, it’s rather rude for a stray to drop into a young lady’s room unannounced. Plus, I have patrol to do. Hawkmoth doesn’t take a day off so apparently neither do I.”

“Wait!” Marinette scrambled off her bed to catch him before he reached the skylight. “Before you go – do you know how to do this flower shrine?”

Ahh. That one. He paused. “I used Revali’s Gale for that one.”

“Revali’s what?” Marinette echoed.

“Have you gotten to the Rito village?”

“You mean the one on the giant spire? I’ve passed it. It’s got the big bird Divine Beast, right?”

“Yeah.” Chat Noir glanced up through the condensation-beaded glass. The sky was pitch black, he had hours until he absolutely had to be back home. And really, how common were midnight akumas? “I suppose I could stay for a bit longer.”

“Yes.” Marinette jumped back on her bed with a bounce. “Okay, so where am I going again?”

“Well, first up you’ve gotta get to the Rito village.”

Adrien was muddled and yawning all through the next day. Marinette was too, from what he saw – she stumbled into class late and nodded off a few times, prompting Alya to elbow her awake. She did gather herself at lunch though, in order to excitedly tell Adrien how she’d started playing Breath of the Wild and how much progress she had made.

Her eyes really shone when she was excited. It kind of reminded him of a certain red-clad partner.

Marinette and Ladybug would be great friends!

[msjr0119]

Belated WIP/Six sentence Sunday (it’s Sunday in the Uk 🇬🇧)

Thanks for the tag on Wednesday @loveellamae

I’ve been very quiet recently due to personal issues, but I’ve tried catching up with all my series, so are posting the bits that I’ve done below. Thank you to everyone who has asked how I’m doing - love you all 💕

Tags:

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*****

Cordonian Wags (can’t believe I haven’t posted since December 😱)

The Apples do not need anymore drama within the club- it looks as though Walker is arguing with his manager.

It’s such a shame that such a good match has come to this- I wonder what the argument is about? Walker has played well, but I’ve seen that he hasn’t been on the ball- get it?

Good pun- yes, even though he’s scored a hat trick his eyes have been scrutinising elsewhere around the stadium.

“Get back on the pitch, Walker!” Bertrand snapped towards Drake, he hated being stern towards him as he was his brother in law- but for some reason he was jeopardising the game.

“No!”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me Bertrand. Riley’s not well.... I saw her run off...she needs me.”

“She’s just been sick. This match is important... is she pregnant?”

“No! And Riley is more important to me than a stupid match....”

“Tell me what’s up with her, then we can determine what is more important!” She’s got cancer you fucking moron.

“Just take me off, I’ve done enough in this match....” Bertrand grabbed Drake by the collar- his grip was tight, not knowing what had got into him- he witnessed the team walk over attempting to calm the situation down.

“Get the fuck off of me Bertrand! I quit!”

******

One Temptation

Drake pressed the button in the elevator, taking him up to the highest floor. Walking towards the desk, the receptionist looked Drake up and down- wondering who he was and what his intentions were.

“I’m here to see Mr Rhys. Before you ask, no- I haven’t got an appointment.”

“Name?”

“Just tell him his worse nightmare is paying him a visit..” Panic was written across the woman’s face, leaning closer towards her desk- her hand hovered over the security button. “Just tell him, it’s Drake.”

Hello Mr Rhys, you have a visitor. His name is Drake.

Hanging up, she explained that Liam would be with them momentarily. Sitting down on the leather chair, Drake was unsure how Liam would react to seeing him- would he throw him out? Would he play mind games?

“Drake. It’s nice to see you.” Not. “Follow me into my office.” Drake followed his instructions, as the two men walked into the room. Liam poured them both a drink, however Drake politely rejected. Not knowing if Liam could have potentially added poison to it as revenge.

“What can I do for you? I never thought I’d see the day that you’d pay me a visit voluntarily.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to be here. I despise you. Have you seen or heard from Riley?”

“No. Why would I hear from her? She wanted to send me to prison for raping her.” Hearing that word, Drake grit his teeth- knowing that Liam was still in denial with his past actions.

“Well you did do that. Listen, you probably know her better than any of us. We need your help. She ran away, she left me in Texas.” Liam laughed in Drakes face, just picturing Riley riding off into the sunset wearing a cowboy hat.

“What did you do?” He asked Drake, assuming he was the reasoning behind her disappearance- from past experience he should know how her mind ticked. She did the same when he hurt her.

“I did nothing, my mom and aunt Leona spoke to her. Then she went cold towards me, and was gone. Do you know anywhere that she could have gone?” Liam now knew the reasoning behind her departure- he was the reason why. Instead of acting like a dick, he felt empathy towards everyone who was looking for her- guilt for his past actions.

“Bianca, this is Liam Rhys- a friend of Drakes.” Bianca recognised the name immediately- clearing her throat, she provided a fake posh accent.

“Hello, Sir. How may I help?”

“Has Drake arrived in Texas yet? His flatmate was just wondering but he’s broken his phone.”

“No, not yet. I assume he should be here shortly. I’ll get him to ring you once he arrives.”

“Okay, thank you Mrs Walker. I hope the prostitute he is in a relationship with doesn’t ruin your families reputation. Have a good day.”

******

Hold my girl

Freya stormed out of the ballroom, not knowing why. Both her and Drake had confessed their feelings towards each other in New York, they had both agreed to a long distance relationship. So, to see him so close to the mystery woman was like a stab to the heart.

What am I even doing here? She muttered to herself.

“Freya!” Ignoring him, she ran off to her room- not looking back as she wiped her tears. Liam has suggested going to speak to her instead along with Maxwell for moral support, whilst drake took the time to ‘chill out’ before he put his foot in his mouth again.

“Blossom?” Maxwell said softly, as the two men waited for her to answer the door. “Lady Freya, we just want to make sure that you are okay?”

Opening the door, the two of them had sorrow in their eyes- both pulling her towards them for a group hug.

“I’m sorry. Liam, stop calling me lady please. I’m not in your court anymore. I’m just an American nurse now. Not a suitor, or a Duchess, or a Cordonian.”

“Frey, you are a Cordonian even if not officially- you’re a Beaumont, always will be. That woman...”

“Don’t Max... I don’t want to hear it. I thought we had something good- was all the words he said to me a lie? Did he use me for sex? I don’t know what to think. It was Drake who suggested the long distance thing- insisting it would work because he loves me. Maybe he should have just stayed as a jerk!” The two men knew that Drake wouldn’t hurt her, Maxwell soon had a smile appear on his face- a mischievous look, that look made Liam’s mind work overtime, wondering what the lord was thinking.

“Freya, grab some things and meet me in my room. Slumber party time, Beaumont’s only- sorry, Liam. No invite for you.”

“I’m busy anyway, no need for an apology. Goodnight Freya, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Kissing her on the cheek, Maxwell mimicked the king’s actions before following him out of the room.

A couple of hours had passed, and there was no sign of Freya. Maxwell just assumed that she had fallen asleep- walking out of his room towards hers, he noticed her door was slightly ajar.

“Frey?” Scrutinising the room, his heart sunk as realisation hit him like a ton of bricks.

She’s gone.

*****

Return to New York

Liam shouted for the guard to allow his visitors into his study- turning to face them he was shocked as to why the familiar person was here, and not with Riley.

“Daniel. It’s nice to see you again.” Is he here visiting? Like on a vacation? These questions were soon knocked out of mind as he heard the tiny patter of footsteps enter the room. Libby? Lydia? Lily? Fuck what’s her name again? What’s she doing here?

“I wish I could say the same, your Majesty. I’m sorry to disturb you. Do you know where Riley is? I can’t seem to get in touch with her.”

“I’m not sure of her exact location, but I have an inkling of where that might be. I don’t mean to sound rude, but why is she here? Shouldn’t she be with her father?” Daniel sighed, not knowing how to explain the reason for the impromptu visit. Asking the guard to escort the young girl out- he didn’t want to upset her anymore than she was already.

“Lissy, she lost her father. When Riley ditched him at the wedding- he became drunk, he got into his car.... he had a crash, and didn’t survive. He was upset, humiliated that Riley couldn’t talk to him herself. Lissy has no one, she’s going to go into care if Riley....”

“If Riley what?” Liam interrupted, he had an inkling about what Daniel was going to say- but really hoped that he was incorrect.

*****

We Belong

My dearest Evie, I’m so sorry for all the pain I caused you. I always loved you, I was stupid to let a diamond like you go- all for the sake of nothing. I had hoped in time that you’d forgive me, I killed the man who tried to rape you- the man who you would cry in your sleep about. Stupidly I believed once you knew my true identity that we could get back together. I was part of a troupe, going against the crown- Bianca and Anton had reasons. I didn’t. I was just in it for the money- the money that I would have used to shower you with gifts, to pay for your dream wedding that we imagined. I didn’t mean to stab you, Bianca pushed you into me- id never hurt you again. I still don’t know if you survived or not, no one will inform me. I was an idiot. I can’t live without you knowing that it was always you- if you survived, I hope you find true happiness. Happiness that you deserve. Liam is in danger, Anton goes by a fake name known as Justin. He is Riley’s press secretary. I need you to tell someone, to protect my old friend and his family. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done. But now I’ve told you this, I have no choice but to end my life. Toby xo

*****

The Greatest Show

“Ri?” Amber questioned, assuming she was hallucinating- seeing her friend stood in front of her. Liam held onto Riley’s waist, looking adorably towards her.

“Surprise!” Riley shouted enthusiastically, waving her hands in the air.

“I’m confused, what the hell are you doing here? Why are you so close together? Liam have you forgotten about Olivia?”

“I’ve no got amnesia, Amber. Olivia has been in a relationship with Leo, behind my back. I’m no angel, as I fell in love with Riley whilst I was supposed to be courting Liv.” Amber was trying to allow this information to sink in, trying to figure out what exactly was going to occur due to the burden being her friend.

“Well I’m happy to see you Ri, lets hope you don’t get stabbed...” Riley’s eyes widened, but Liam laughed knowing exactly what she was referring to- or who.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow? I’ve got one tall, dark, handsome commoner waiting for me...” Making her way out of the room, she quickly turned to the two of them. “Oh Ri, thanks for bringing Jackson- I’ve missed him so much, and he’s missed his Mom like you said on the note.” Before Riley could react, Amber had shot out of the door. But I didn’t bring Jackson.

Exiting the room, Amber couldn’t wait to get back to Drake- mainly to explain the new court gossip to him. Feeling arms go around her waist, she smiled- turning around, that smile soon disappeared in a flash.

“Thought you’d escape me, did you?

*****

Hold on (follow up)

“Brooks....” Feeling like this was a waste of time, Drake decided that the best option was to walk away, as she wasn’t responding. Jackson placed a hand onto his father’s shoulder, suggesting that Drake should leave. Listening to his son’s advise, he left in a swift motion- frustrated that he couldn’t persuade her to come out of her hovel and just talk.

“Aunt Ri?” Jackson said softly as he knocked on the door. Riley knew she was being stubborn whenever a visitor would knock on the door- but for some reason she could never ignore her children, or her friends children.

“Jackson.” Smiling at his auntie, he pulled her in for a hug. “What can I do for you?”

“Have a walk? Or just a little talk with me? We all miss you, and want to help you through it. Dad just wants to grieve with you. You could help each other?”

“You’re only twenty one Jackson, you should be out with your friends- enjoying life. Don’t take a minute for granted. Loving each day as if it’s your last.” Listening to her words, he knew what she was referring to. His heart sunk, the usual poised Queen stood in front of him absolutely broken. “I miss him so much Jackson, and I miss your mom too. Each day that goes by, doesn’t get any easier. I need to be strong for Ayah, Louis and Ellie but truth be told- they are so much stronger than I am.”

[imagine-loki]

Giftless

TITLE: Giftless CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 25/50

AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: 

Imagine that you are Stark’s niece and you secretly share a strong relationship with Loki since he entered the crew. One day you get hurt so bad during a mission that you are about to die.  Loki knows a spell that will save you and share his immortality with you but you and he will be linked forever sharing thoughts, pain, emotions…

RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS:  Also on AO3 click here

Prom tickets went on sale a couple weeks before the dance, which would be held at the end of May. “You’re still coming with you to the prom, right?” you asked Loki the morning they went on sale. 

“Of course, darling, though you will have to enlighten me on the traditions of the…prom,” he stumbled over the unfamiliar word.  You could tell that he wanted to call it a ball instead.  You forgot that you hadn’t called it the prom earlier.

“The prom is a big dance, a ball, at the end of the school year. Everyone dresses up in super fancy dresses and tuxedos. Generally you and your date go out to a fancy meal beforehand and the dance lasts until midnight,” you explained to him, hoping you were being clear.  It was hard to tell what he knew and what he didn’t of Midgardian culture.  However, you knew for a fact that he knew about balls, they had them on Asgard. 

“You promised to wear the dress I made you to the ball,” he reminded you, smirking as if he were getting away with something.  He wasn’t.  You were just glad you didn’t have to go dress shopping.  

“And you promised to go with me. I just wanted to make sure that was still the case before I bought the tickets,” you explained. 

Loki glowered, bristling with temper and indignation. “I should be the one to purchase the tickets,” he grumbled at you indignantly.  He looked like a grumpy cat and you couldn’t help laughing at him. 

“You can’t,” you told him gently, knowing he didn’t understand the concept. “I have to do it since I’m the student there and you aren’t,” you reminded him. He still looked unhappy, but seemed to understand finally that there were rules.  The rules were in place to protect the students.  

Loki was still coming with you to school every day. You usually walked there, unless the weather was bad. It was a pleasant start to the day and the walk wasn’t that far. “Oh, shit! I forgot to ask you for a favor from the school,” you told him before you got to the school that day.

“What language from a lady!” he chided, sounding more like Cap than your boyfriend. 

“Loki, this is important,” you replied sternly.  There wasn’t time for jokes.  You really had fucked up in forgetting to ask for Loki’s help.  

“What favor would the school like?” Loki asked, more seriously, sensing your mood from your tone.

“They wanted you to get you to dress in a uniform today and pretend to be a student. They have a tour group coming through, which is annoying when I’m a stop on the tour,” you grumbled over that, hating that the school used your presence to try to recruit others.  “They don’t want the parents to see that I have a guard, or they might think the school in unsafe. So they want you to pretend to be a student for the day,” you explained.  Loki raised his eyebrow, wondering why you hadn’t told him already. “I’m sorry! They called last night and asked me, but you were on patrol so I forgot to ask when you got back,” you apologized quickly.

He sighed and looked put-upon.  For once you couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.  “Very well,” he replied. The green glow of his magic passed over him and he was wearing one of the school uniforms and had seemed to de-age a couple of years so he could pass for a high schooler. You reached up to straighten his tie. “This outfit is ridiculous,” he grumbled.

“At least you have pants,” you reminded him, grumbling at the stupid short skirt. He laughed and took your hand. You looked up at him confused.  You hid that you were dating while he was on guard duty.  

“If I am pretending to be a student, I should at least get to be your boyfriend today.” He had a point. They couldn’t say anything if he was doing them a favor. 

By the end of the first tour, you were trying not to glare.  They had come to bother you and try to ask you questions about Tony.  In the middle of class. You may not have given a shit about school, but you did care about your grades and hated that idiot tour groups were putting said grades in jeopardy. 

“I should’ve skipped school today,” you grumbled at Loki. Every single tour group was the same and you felt like you were followed around by them all day.  Asking stupid question.  At least you got to buy your prom tickets at lunch, so that was out of the way.  

You also got to spend all day with Loki, so that was a plus.  

You managed to survive that day without drawing a dagger on any of the helpless humans, which you were extremely proud of.  You were extremely impressed with yourself on that front. 

You and Loki worked out extra hard during combat training that afternoon. You needed to blow off steam.  Desperately.

*

Prom fever hit the school as the night of the dance drew closer. You caught Loki eavesdropping on other couples’ plans so he could get ideas for that night.  He didn’t know Midgardian traditions besides movies and those couldn’t be trusted.

Whatever he did was going to be magical.  You knew it in your heart.

The day before the dance, one of the girls in your English class came up to you. She had been talking to you more since you worked on a project together and had to present it in front of the class. You carried the presentation and so she got an A on it too. At least she’d been nice about it and had done some work on it.  

She handed you an envelope when she approached. “I know it’s hokey, but I’m having a birthday party next week. I’d really like it if you came,” she told you warmly. You smiled up at her. You had gotten more open with your classmates lately, some of Loki’s influence wearing off you supposed.  Though Loki wasn’t the most open, you had to set a good impression for him.

“Really? You want me to come?” you asked, wondering if this was a thing where she had to invite the whole class or something. You never got invited to birthday parties.  Unless they were inviting you to get Tony to show up. 

“Of course! You’re me friend. Oh, don’t bring any gifts, we’re not doing anything silly like that. It’s just pizza and movies and stupid card games. Thanks for the book recommendation, by the way, I’m hooked on the series now,” she waved and went to her desk before class started. You grinned down at the invitation like an idiot, so happy to actually get an invitation to a party. It never happened, not since your parents died and you got outed as some kind of weird, powerless celebrity. They were scared of your superhero guardians and thought you was weird because you was a bookworm. They were finally starting to come around. You tucked the invitation away in your bag carefully, still grinning.

“You’re pleased,” Loki whispered in your ear through magic. It was worded as a statement, but he was questioning why you were so pleased. 

/This is the first legitimate party invitation I’ve gotten since my parents died/ you told him. /I thought all the kids here hated me or only wanted me around to get to Uncle Tony. I was wrong/

“I’m glad you’re happy,” was his only reply.  He did sound pleased that you were happy.

You knew you had the easiest preparation of all of the girls for the prom the next day. Loki did your hair, clothes, and makeup with magic, so you could relax until the very last moment. He wore a full tuxedo and it was fitted and tailored perfectly. Your long black and green ballgown fit equally well. Your hair was in an up-do and you even had a tiara.

Your first surprise of the night was the limo that came to pick you up. “You got us a limo?!?!?” you exclaimed excitedly. You had fallen into prom fever just like the rest of the school. Loki smiled at the excitement on your face.

“And I am glad I did. It was worth it just for your expression,” he told you warmly. The driver held the door open for you and Loki helped you in. He took you to the fanciest restaurant in town for dinner. It was stupidly expensive, you were sure, but it was the most delicious mean you could ever remember eating. 

The students looked at you in shock and awe when you arrived. You knew you looked fantastic, but didn’t think you looked that awesome.  But you and Loki were both celebrities and it was harder to forget when you weren’t in uniform. Though everyone was dressed well, it was the prom after all. 

You had to teach Loki how to do the electric slide that night. It was hilarious getting him to try to learn.

It was one of the best nights of your life and you knew when you kissed him during the last dance at midnight that you would remember it forever.

[fuuwas]

could I get a bakugo fluff scenario please? maybe where he asks you out on your first date and what his date plan is?? thank you and good luck with new blog!

aww thank you sweetie! love writing flustered Bakugo, so tysm for this lovely prompt!

note: Margaret is a biweekly Japanese shōjo manga magazine published by Shueisha, primarily for girls from 11 to 15 years old, although some stories are read by adult women. (cit. Wikipedia)

Loitering in a conbini after school like some sort of otaku was not Katsuki’s idea of a good time. Standing in front of the magazine rack, the latest issue of Margaret in his hands, his face scrunched into a terrible scowl, the pages crinkling helplessly under his angry fingers. He looked so livid that a bubble of empty space had formed around him, the other costumers scurrying away as their survival instincts kicked into gear. The poor, baby-faced cashier cowered behind the counter, inwardly begging the scary U.A. student not to buy anything so they wouldn’t have to interact, his hands shaking violently as he handed an old lady her change.

“This is BULLSHIT!” Bakugo’s roar made the entire store jump. He slammed the magazine back in its place so hard the magazine rack creaked and swayed, “How the fuck am I supposed to do any of this mushy shit?! Die, Margaret!”.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and stormed out of the store, that had been a colossal waste of fucking time. Time he could have spent studying or training. Except lately he couldn’t focus on anything because you were on his mind 24/7. 

The panels of the manga chapter he’d been reading for the past ten minutes flashed before his eyes. The male lead was a pretentious dickhead with a stupidly long chin who would spout the cheesiest crap; every time he moved, sparkles would shoot out of his hair and flowers would bloom in the background. Did girls really like that shit? Katsuki couldn’t stomach it. The thought of getting down on one knee and calling you ‘princess’ flustered him gave him hives, but he had no other research material. He’d sooner die than ask his mother, or hell, Kirishima and Kaminari for love advice. 

He had considered just confessing to you after class and getting it over with, but for some reason, rushing things with you didn’t sit well with him. Bakugo wanted it to mean something. He wanted you to feel good about him, about yourself and the two of you together. 

‘I must be fucking sick.’ He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, his heart picking up the pace as he thought about making you smile. 

—

The following day Bakugo was still agitated. Why couldn’t this abhorrent feeling in his heart just fuck off somewhere? He stared at you from across the classroom, head nestled in his arms as he sat sprawled lazily over his desk. Whatever, he just had to do it. He lost sleep thinking about your stupid, pretty self, but at least he now had the perfect plan to sweep you off your feet. You would be so amazed by how romantic he could be, that you would accept his feelings as soon as he was done confessing them. He didn’t need no damn shoujo manga to tell him how it’s done.

Waiting for lunch had never been so nerve-wracking. Bakugo did his best to focus during class, but a nervous, acrid sensation in his stomach kept him from relaxing in his chair. The day wasn’t even half way done and he was already sweating bullets.

Once the morning classes were over, he waited until he was the only one left in the room. He knew Kirishima would be looking for him if he stayed back for too long, and he had absolutely no intention to appease his friend’s useless curiosity had he started to suspect anything, so he had to act quickly.

He casually opened the notebook you had left on your desk, catching a glimpse of your girly handwriting and your colorful notes, and slipped a piece of paper inside it. 

You would come back from the cafeteria almost half an hour later with your female classmates in tow, noticing Bakugo’s message after settling in your seat. It was folded more or less neatly, but the paper was all wrinkled (he’d actually considered crumpling it into a ball and throwing it at your head), as if he’d been gripping it so tight he almost ripped it, and was that writing on the back of it? 

Curiosity compelled you to open it right away. Your eyes moved to the single sentence in the middle of the paper, your fingers tracing the letters to find that he had been almost stabbing it with his pen. The thought of the grumpy boy you liked sitting down to nervously write something like this for you filled your heart with sweetness.

‘Go out with me this Sunday’

Was this his way of asking you out…? It wasn’t even a question…You looked towards Bakugo’s desk only to find him stubbornly staring at the blackboard, as if he wanted to fight it.

‘Is this a date?’ You wondered, turning the note around to read the back of it. ‘Ah…seriously, this boy…’ You couldn’t keep your giggles in check, your hand flying towards your lips in a demure gesture as you tried to quiet your laughter.

On the back of the paper, in the messiest handwriting you had ever seen, were the words ‘IT IS A DATE’, written just as if he was screaming them in your face. 

—

He couldn’t get a wink of sleep. Bakugo yawned and leaned back against the brick wall of the dormitory. He was waiting for you near the entrance, knowing full well that keeping your date a secret from the others was a battle lost from the start.

Every now and then, one of his classmates would exit the dorm, throwing Katsuki either a confused look or a knowing grin as they passed him. Most of them had been wise enough not to say anything, but he ended up having to chase Ashido Mina down the street after she yelled a ‘GOOD LUCK! BAKUGO!’ at the top of her lungs, shouting a million profanities as the girl cackled.

He was a little early, but all the nervous pacing in his room was driving him insane. He needed to be outside, get some air, clear his head. And yet not even the morning chill could keep him from thinking about you.

“Katsuki-kun.” His heart fell to his stomach at the sound of your voice, his body stiffening in response. He looked towards the entrance, towards you, and for a moment all of his troubles seemed to disappear into thin air.

He had seen you in casual clothes before, you lived in the same building after all. He’d seen you in your school uniform, in your training clothes and in your hero costume, and he’s always found himself thinking that shit, you were pretty. But there was something about seeing you just a little more dolled up than usual, wearing the clothes you picked to go out with him, your lips shining with the pink of your lip gloss, that left Bakugo incapable of looking away.

Earth to Bakugo. What is one enamored boy to do in this kind of situation? He swallowed the lump in his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. One compliment, come on, you can do it.

“You look…” He started, looking away from you with an uneasy scowl on his handsome features. Beautiful, you were fucking beautiful, but no matter how hard he tried to say it, his pride kept him from being completely honest.

“…Nice, now let’s go.” He opened his palm towards you, turning his head away once again to hide the light flush that colored his cheeks. You hesitated for a second and he finally looked at you, the blush spreading to his ears as he shouted, “It’s a date, idiot! I don’t give a rat’s ass who sees, of course we’re fucking holding hands!”.

—

The day hadn’t even really started yet and Bakugo already felt as if he was in some strange time paradox that had him struggling through the nine circles of Hell over and over again. Or maybe this was actually Heaven, because you were so fucking close to him, he could have kissed your face if he just leaned down.

The subway was crowded, of course it was. But while that’s not usually that big of a deal when one is alone, it turns out that by having your date pressed against you, their chest on yours and their face red from the sheer intimacy of the position and inches away from your lips, the menial task of riding on public transportation turns into a torture for the saints.

‘Fuck’s sake…’ Bakugo wanted to sigh, but inhaling would mean having your scent fill every one of his senses, so he gave up on even that, standing stiff as a robot with his back pressed against the cold side of the carriage, and you pressed against the rest of him.

“I’m so sorry about this…” He heard you mumble as you meekly tried to unglue yourself from him. Your efforts took you nowhere, for the second you managed to create one inch of space between your body and Katsuki’s, you were immediately pushed back into him.

“Ain’t your fault.” His low voice grumbled through his chest and against you, making your stomach flutter. He smelled like caramel and he was so warm, you had to keep yourself from cradling his toned body into your embrace. He took care of that for you when he wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “Any of these creeps touch you, you let me know. Got it?”.

It took you a moment to realize what he was doing. Enveloping you in a cozy hug, his arms were resting casually on your lower back, not because he was trying to cop a feel, but because he wanted to cover your legs with the sleeves of his jacket. He obviously didn’t mind having you so close to him, but he wasn’t going to let anyone else lay a finger on you, not on his watch.

—

“You kind of look like a shark!” Your teasing comment had earned you a sound cheek-pinching.

Walking hand in hand with you, Bakugo thought that maybe aquariums were not so boring after all. He wasn’t really interested in this kind of place, he liked watching all the colorful fish when he was a child, but he wasn’t sure this would have made for a very exciting date spot.

Still, Katsuki was an observant boy and he knew what you liked. If the beautiful smile on your face was anything to go by, you were enjoying spending time with him just as much as he was with you. There was one more thing he wanted to do while the two of you were at the aquarium though, so he ordered you to wait in front of the dolphins’ tank and quickly made his way towards the souvenir shop.

He came back to find you still with a grin on your face, the azure glow of the tanks making your eyes shine like gems in the sea, and his pulse started racing again. Fuck, how could you make him feel so inevitably in love every time he looked at you?

You jumped a little when you felt something soft land on your head. You looked up through plushy tendrils to see Bakugo standing next to you, looking at the dolphins with a relaxed expression on his face.

“You like jellyfishes, don’t you?” He said, slowly bringing his carmine eyes back to you, a small smirk curving his lips, “Fuckin’ weirdo.”

To say you liked jellyfishes was the understatement of the century. Your hand slowly lifted the object from your head, your heart racing with anticipation and your eyes twinkling like stars.

“Oh, Katsuki!” You turned towards him and beamed, the jellyfish plush squished in your loving arms, not noticing the way he almost chocked on his saliva after hearing you say his first name without honorifics. “Thank you thank you thank you!” You jumped up and down, barely resisting the urge to grab his face and smooch his cute, filthy mouth.

“Yeah, yeah…” Katsuki grumbled. Maybe the way you got excited over jellyfishes wasn’t exactly normal, but fuck if it wasn’t cute. The way you looked at him made him feel like lava, like you adored all of him, and the poor boy suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself.

His face burning, his palms sweating, he grabbed your head and turned it back towards the tanks, “Stop looking at me! Look at the fish, dammit!”.

—

For someone so rough around the edges, Katsuki had treated you with the utmost care for the entire day. Opening doors for you, being considerate of your needs, and forcing you to sit down and rest when it looked like you were getting tired, all without really thinking about it. Taking care of you came naturally to him, as if he considered the both of you to be a single unit.

He held your hand for the entire day. His palm was clammy but you found it adorable, the way he got so worked up over you made you feel cherished, especially when you managed to fluster him so much that smoke started coming out of his hands.

Now he was standing in front of you, the date was over, you two were back where you started at the Heights Alliance, but you weren’t ready for this day to end.

“Thank you for today, I had so much fun.” You smiled up at him and Katsuki preened, completely pleased with himself. Take that, stupid fucking Margaret.

“Yeah, I bet this was the best fucking date you’ve ever been on.”

“Well…” You hummed, bringing a finger to your chin and tilting your head, pretending to think about it, “I guess I could rank it in my top three…?”

Your devious joke was met with a loud and incensed “HUH?!” as Bakugo’s infamous anger flared back to life. He looked so offended! You just couldn’t help but laugh at the funny expression on his face.

The pretty chimes of your laughter were cut off as he covered your lips with his warm ones, his bony hands cupping your face, effectively shutting you up.

You could see the sun setting behind his back, coloring the sky a stunning, blinding shade of orange that still could not warm you quite like Katsuki did.

“…You’re supposed to close your eyes.” He whined lazily against your mouth, cracking his ruby eyes open to shoot you an annoyed look. You chuckled and wrapped your arms around his neck, sweetly silencing his complaints with your lips again and again.

Katsuki was truly your precious treasure.

[jennycalendar]

coping

read it on ao3

Jenny, after Eyghon.

funny story: this fic was stitched together from four different things i wrote about jenny’s reaction to eyghon. i spent most of tonight weaving them together, because god. i want to talk more about how much that lady had to deal with, and how so little of it was ever really resolved.

warnings for uhhhhh. definitely some post-traumatic stress, flashbacks, and all the not-very-pretty stuff that comes with getting your mind hacked.

I’m doing pretty good, actually. Stayed out of mortal danger for three whole weeks...Still having trouble sleeping, though.

(2x10, Ted)

Jenny didn’t dream about Eyghon, at first. That first night, she stumbled home, lay down in bed, and dreamed about Angel’s hands on her throat, fingers digging into her skin, eyes narrowed with an almost detached determination. She dreamed about the moment she’d felt the demon jump to him, right when her vision was blacking out, only this time Angel’s grip tightened and he smiled and he laughed and her body kept her locked in his grip, refusing to move when she told it to.

She woke up gasping, and somewhere along the line those gasps transitioned into panicked, terrible sobs, ones that had her curling inward and into the blankets. She hadn’t cried like this since she was—five, maybe, and it had been the night after her family had decided she was old enough to hear about Angelus.

Janna would never have been possessed by a demon. Janna held a thousand and one family blessings in her pocket, never went out at night, knew enough not to put herself, stupidly, in the line of fire. Janna had always been afraid of the things in the dark, and Jenny had painted broadly and beautifully over that fear. Jenny Calendar was a half-formed idea; maybe this was why Eyghon had found it so easy to take up space in her body. She had picked newer, better adjectives to describe this mysterious Jenny Calendar—charismatic, sarcastic, smart, cool, brave—and she hadn’t built much else up underneath it.

Jenny stopped crying after five minutes; she’d never been all that big on tears. It was about three in the morning, if she had to hazard a guess. But she was wide awake, now, much more so than she should have been after a full-on demonic possession, and she didn’t really feel like going back to sleep.

Awkwardly, she sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes, and exhaled, a hoarse sound that made her throat sting. She raised a hand to her throat, then jerked it away; the touch, however controlled, had brought her first to Angelus and then to Rupert.

She didn’t at all want to think about Rupert in this moment. He felt like—like a responsibility, all of a sudden, not a distraction. She’d seen him as someone to have fun with, go on a few dates with, blow off some steam, and all of a sudden—god. All of a sudden, thinking about him was terrifying. She kept on coming back to that feeling she’d gotten when she’d been on the floor of that costume shop, the way it had felt with his hand on her face. He’s going to take care of this, she remembered thinking. He’s got this.

She kept on coming back to how he’d pulled her tightly against him, burying his face in her hair with a muffled sob, and how she’d just felt so, so safe, for the first time since showing up in Sunnydale. No, longer than that, because she honestly couldn’t remember a time someone had made her feel—

She’d wanted him to be a fling, one that burned out within a few weeks. She hadn’t wanted him to be someone gentle and ever so kind, someone who stroked her hair and told her she’d be all right like he—like he gave a damn whether she lived or died.

Her uncle had sent her into the Hellmouth with pursed lips, as though he was already expecting her to fail. He hadn’t written her unless it was to reprimand her for a late report. And then there was Rupert, a gentleman of the first degree, the kind of guy who gave a lady his coat and carried her books and did all that stuff that most guys only did to get into someone’s pants. He was kind to her like he expected her to tell him off for it.

Rupert, the perfect gentleman, who had willingly taken Eyghon into his body. For fun. It terrified her, thinking she might not know him. It terrified her, thinking that her feelings for him might be feelings for some guy she’d made up.

It terrified her that she had feelings for him, no matter who he was. She didn’t do the whole feelings thing. She liked dating around, having fun, meeting new people and amicably splitting when the relationship fizzled out. She’d thought that that was what had been happening with Rupert, and with any other person, she’d have ended the relationship as soon as she’d gotten her body back.

The phone rang. Two in the goddamn morning and the phone was ringing? Jenny sniffled, drawing her arm across her face, and pulled herself awkwardly up out of bed. She hadn’t bothered to change out of her clothing, and she felt rumpled and graceless as she took a hesitant step towards the door.

Her body felt heavy, weighted. Even through the throbbing headache, Eyghon’s presence had made everything seem light and effortless. Sipping scotch on Rupert’s couch, touching his face and kissing him—it had been easy and free, even with the threat of some previously unnamed monster hanging over the both of them. She could understand why, under controlled circumstances, a possession from a demon like that would seem alluring and incredible to idiot kids looking for a new way to get high.

Jenny took two clumsy steps, then leaned, hard, against the desk. It had been easier with Rupert there. He’d walked her to her door, helped her to her bed, never letting go of her until he was sure she was situated. Thinking about it, now, he must have known how hard it would be for her in the morning.

He’d offered to stay. She couldn’t remember what she had said, but she did remember the ashamed, guilty look that had flashed across his face. She wasn’t surprised when she left her bedroom, the phone still ringing, and saw that her living room was empty. Honestly, she was kind of glad. She didn’t want him to see her like this.

The phone rang one more time, and then stopped. Jenny took a last, stumbling step, then half-collapsed onto the couch, taking the phone off the hook and setting it, faceup, on the table. She shifted a bit to get comfortable, raising her arm slowly and deliberately, flexing her fingers in front of her face.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “Me. Only me.”

After Eyghon, Jenny felt—she didn’t feel comfortable describing the way she felt, outside of metaphors, and she hated those. She had always been someone who preferred the more technical aspects of a situation, less so the intangible and uncomfortably emotional, and saying that it felt like her soul was too small for her body—it sounded silly. It sounded like something Rupert might have said, which made her hate it all the more.

But the metaphor stood: she felt smaller, within herself, as though Eyghon had thrown out big parts of her to set up shop. She felt like there was room enough for something else to step in again, move her like she was a puppet, hurt the people she had grown to care so much about. She wanted to check out a handful of books on trauma, but she didn’t have time to visit the public library, and dropping by the school library to brave Rupert’s puppy-dog eyes was out of the question.

There’s not enough of me for you, she wanted to tell him. There’s not enough of me for me, even. But she hadn’t figured out how to explain this outside the abstract, and so she didn’t. What she did do was teach, distantly, and not quite with her usual energy. She attended meetings, and sat with a few of the other young, bright-eyed new teachers (their number had been dwindling all the more as the year progressed), and attempted to enjoy the newfound luxury of being a normal girl.

The thing was, though, it didn’t erase how suddenly heavy her limbs felt in the morning.

She dreamed about Rupert underneath her, his lips slack, only this time he couldn’t pull her off and she kissed his mouth and his neck and his throat until he was begging her, Jenny, stop, stop, it’s not right, Jenny. Her dreams were of Rupert lying on his back in the middle of a deserted costume shop, debris all around them. He was unshaven and he was looking at her like she was a monster.

Jenny woke up with a bitten-off scream and burst into tears. The look on his face wouldn’t leave her mind.

Over the course of the next three weeks, Jenny dreamed about blood in her mouth and magic in her veins, and she always woke up thrashing against the blankets. More frightening than the nightmares was being this vulnerable, even if no one was there to witness it. She’d been raised in a family where any vulnerability would be exploited. The instinct to hide any sign of weakness had never really gone away.

She made herself a cup of coffee and drank it, watching the sun rise. Nothing seemed any safer in the sunlight, but it was still nice to know the vampires wouldn’t be able to get her.

Other things could, though. Things in her mind. The thought just made Jenny feel worn and resigned. If something wanted to worm its way into her mind, there wouldn’t really be any way of stopping it.

“Rituals,” she said distantly. “Protective wards.”

But Eyghon had been stronger than any charm that magic-deficient Janna could ever have cast. She smiled a little bitterly at that. Here was Jenny, convinced that everything was under control—and here was Janna, faced with the harsh fucking reality of a violently magical world.

Later, talking to Rupert in her empty classroom, she made the three weeks sound better than they were. Three weeks without mortal danger—but she’d still been sleeping so much easier when Buffy the Vampire Slayer always saved the day. Jenny had been strung up by a vampire, sure, but she’d been mostly unconscious for that, and she’d woken up to see Rupert sprawled on the floor and Buffy in the middle of destroying all the vampires that could have hurt them. No nightmares had come of that—only dreams, soft and shy, of Rupert’s lips on hers.

Said a lot about Jenny’s self-preservation instincts, to be honest. But she didn’t really feel like getting into that.

The three weeks had been a dull haze. There had been no supernatural incidents to distract her from the nightmares, because Rupert had stuck to his promise and given her the space she had said she needed. What she really needed was for him to hold her like he had in the library, telling her it would all be all right, promising her, but he had looked at her like a kicked puppy every time he saw her. It was clear he was in no condition to comfort her when all he wanted was to be forgiven.

You fucking idiot, she wanted to shout at him. I forgave you the second you touched my face on the floor of that costume shop. But saying something like that would mean that this relationship had become something so much more than what it was supposed to be. Jenny wasn’t ready to admit to that.

In the hospital, after the horrible chain of events that led to him with a bolt in his back and her trying, in vain, to breathe, a drugged-up Rupert Giles raised his hand to Jenny Calendar’s face, tucking her hair behind her ear. She flinched, mostly because she hadn’t ever been touched that gently, and not with so much history behind the gesture. “I’m sorry, Jenny,” he said, his words sleepy and thick from the painkillers.

Jenny rested her forehead against his and didn’t know what to say.

“You’ll be okay?” she asked him in front of his apartment.

“As much as always,” he said wryly. He looked worn, and ashamed. “And you?”

Jenny stepped up so that they were toe-to-toe. She kissed him so she wouldn’t have to answer.

Now that she was looking for it, she felt the hum of Rupert’s magic as he moved against her. Even in the middle of some absolutely excellent makeup sex, she couldn’t help but notice these things. Jenny had never had any magical gift, but she’d always been able to pick up on the magic around her—a talent that her family had dismissed as useless until they needed someone to watch Angelus.

Jenny herself was pretty used to being second-guessed. It was why she had turned herself into someone who would never again be afraid of the dark. It was a little frightening to know that Rupert had reinvented himself in such a similar way. The man she loved, with this kind of magic in him, could have been someone terrifying, and yet he chose to be gentle. It made her ache for him.

“Jenny,” Rupert rasped against her throat. He was heavy against her, pressing her into the pillows, all but pinning her down. She didn’t know how he’d known she needed that, but was grateful. The last memory of them this close had been her pushing him roughly into his chair, straddling his lap and grinding against him. But that hadn’t been her, now, had it? That hadn’t been—

Jenny gasped, clutching Rupert’s shoulders. Immediately, he stilled—damn the man and his Watcher awareness—and pulled away from her as she shook. Not enough to not be touching her, but enough so that she had a little more space to breathe. It still felt like too much distance. “No, no, please—Rupert—” she whispered, chest tight.

“What do you need, love?” Rupert asked softly.

“I need you to hold me down,” said Jenny. “Until I can’t hurt you.”

She meant it. She had seen the lingering bruises around Rupert’s collar, remembered smashing his face into a table, remembered her entire being screaming no no no at the horrible, cutting words coming out of her mouth. The look on the face of the man she loved. If he held her, if he held her down, she would never be able to do that to him. To anyone.

“Jenny,” said Rupert. As she hid her face in his neck, he took her into his arms, holding tight. “I promise you. I will never let such a thing happen to you again.”

(A Watcher’s promises were always empty ones.)

Jenny was humiliated. She had come to her senses in Xander’s basement, packed in there with what felt like Sunnydale’s entire female population, her throat hoarse from screaming romantic overtures in Xander’s general direction. Most of the women seemed generally confused, but Jenny was smart enough to figure out what had happened pretty fast. Not exactly the how, or the why, but the what was enough to send her spiraling, and she had pushed through the crowd of dazed women, forcing herself out the door and down the street and hurrying in the direction of her car.

Halfway there, she stopped; she was shaking so hard she could no longer continue to walk. She raised her hand to her face, then scratched a sharp line across her cheek, hard enough to draw blood. It stung, but it was her who had done it, not some other thing living inside her mind. Not some spell. Not some demon.

“Me,” she whispered. “Only me.”

[ohnojustimagine]

Naughty But Nice

Drew Gulak/Reader Smutty fluff; 1080 words

Drew in his elf costume on Raw tonight inspired me. Set in the same universe as Lover, Not A Fighter but I don’t really think you need to read that first.

Happy holidays, everyone!

***

It’s the evening of Christmas Day, and you’re hanging out backstage at Raw, and, you think, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. “Wouldn’t you prefer to spend time with your family?” Drew had asked you, carefully, his forehead slightly wrinkled, the way it always got when he was worried about you.

“No,” you’d replied, shortly, and then shrugged. “Wrestling is my family.”

“Okay.” Drew had nodded, not questioning you further, which you appreciated. He’s patient with you, always, perhaps more patient than you deserve, but you’re grateful to him for it, even if you don’t show it as much as you should.

You’re wandering round catering when your phone buzzes with a text, and when you check, it’s from Drew. I have a Christmas surprise for you, it says, and there’s some directions to a spot somewhere nearby. Just down the hallway, it would seem? You read the message over several times, suspicious, because you don’t really like surprises.

But you follow the instructions, because Drew is Drew, and you know he won’t let up if he’s got something planned. Maybe, you muse, as you walk along, the surprise is his dick. Maybe with, like, a bow on it, just to be festive. That’s the kind of surprise you would enjoy.

But when you open the door to the room you’ve been sent to, there’s no dick, or, at least, none on display right now. Instead, there’s Drew. Dressed as an elf. With a hat, and a furry-collared green velvet jacket and a too-tight wide black belt and a pair of yellow pants that are kind of alarmingly saggy in the crotch area. “Surprise!” Drew says. “Merry Christmas.”

You stare, and you want to hate it, you do. You try to hate it, but Drew’s so stupidly, annoyingly earnest, so ridiculously fucking adorable that even your bitter Scrooge-like heart has to melt the tiniest bit at the sight of him.

“How do I look?” he asks you.

You smile. “You look cute.”

“Cute,” he says, obviously pleased with himself. “Cute is good for an elf, right?”

“It is.”

“And…” He presents his fists with a flourish, and you read the letters printed on the tape. NAUGHTY on the right, NICE on the left.

“So,” you say, still smiling, playing along, “which one do I get? Naughty or nice?”

“Hmm,” Drew muses, hand on his chin, making a show of considering. “I don’t know. You’re not always so nice.”

And that stings, just a little, even though you know it’s true. “I try,” you say.

“You do,” Drew says, more gently, but then he gives you a sly look. “And you’re definitely a very, very naughty girl.”

“I am?” you ask, feigning innocence, as if you couldn’t possibly understand what he means by that.

“Oh yes,” Drew states firmly. “A very bad girl.”

And you don’t know what comes over you, because this isn’t your style, not at all, but it’s Christmas, and for once instead of being alone you’re with someone who cares about you, in a place that makes you happy, and you’re feeling reckless, so. “Please, Mr. Elf,” you say, biting your bottom lip and batting your eyelashes, “please don’t tell Santa I’ve been bad.”

For a moment, Drew stares at you in what seems to be utter shock, but then a slow, delighted smile spreads over his face, and a second later, he frowns exaggeratedly. “I’m sorry, young lady,” he says in a gruff voice. “But as an elf, it’s my duty to report all bad behavior to Santa.”

“But I don’t want to be on the naughty list.” You sigh helplessly, then gaze up at Drew, wide-eyed. “Is there anything I can do to convince you that I’m really a good girl?”

“Well,” Drew says, “maybe you could be a good girl and help me with this.” He takes hold of your hand, tugging on it, placing it on the front of his pants, and you gasp.

“I never knew elves were so big,” you say, all naïve wonder, stroking over the hardening length of him.

“I’m a special kind of elf.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, and you can hear him breathing, and fuck but you want him right now.

And there’s no longer any playfulness in your tone, your voice low as you look him in the eye and say, “Show me how to be a good girl, Drew.”

You see him swallow, hesitating, but then he moves, practically launching himself at you as he grabs you roughly, lifting you off your feet. You wrap your legs around his waist, kissing him furiously, hands all over him, carelessly knocking off his hat, messing up his hair. He carries you across the room, putting you down on the edge of a desk, and you push up your skirt, feverishly dragging off your panties and throwing them aside as Drew shoves down the front of his ugly elf-pants.

He grips himself, thrusting into you, and you cling to him, desperate, as he fucks you. You moan; too loud, you know, but you can’t stop yourself. “Shhh,” he says, sharp and commanding, his hand over your mouth, and you lick his palm, biting down.

It’s almost unbearably intense, and Drew speeds up, hips driving into you like he won’t ever stop, and you want it to last forever, going higher and higher. But you’re not in control, and this is something more powerful than either of you can contain, coming as one, orgasm like electricity between you, shared and simultaneous.

It takes a few minutes to recover, and you kiss each other as you come down, slow and affectionate. You feel like you might float away on a cloud of bliss when Drew murmurs, “I love you,” and suddenly you freeze.

“Oh,” he says, hurriedly, “sorry, I just…” He stops. “Sorry,” he repeats.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, though you don’t know how you’re supposed to react. Not with this vaguely panicked, uneasy feeling, you’re pretty sure.

But Drew’s still holding you, and he kisses you again. “You don’t have to say anything.” He looks at you. “I know you’re not ready, I get that.”

“I don’t deserve you,” you whisper, feeling ashamed.

“You deserve everything,” he says, quietly.

You rest your head on his shoulder, sighing, wanting to believe him, and the moment is broken when the fluff on his elf collar makes you sneeze. “Damn it,” you say, but he only laughs.

“Come on,” he tells you, taking your hand and helping you up, and maybe, you think, Christmas isn’t so bad.

[enterprisetrampstamp]

what you want

for @sleepymccoy. congrats on the degree!

also posted on ao3

Len drags his feet, letting his tour guide- an enthusiastic young woman whose pips indicate she’s soon to graduate- pull ahead of him. She’s so caught up in her well-rehearsed speech that she doesn’t seem to notice his absence, plowing through the crowded Academy sidewalks with the confidence of seniority as the other cadets part around her.

He should probably feel bad about ditching her; she seems like a perfectly nice girl. Likely to go far in Starfleet, if the obvious respect her peers have for her is any indication.

Len should feel bad, but he doesn’t. As soon as kids start slipping between them, taking advantage of the empty sidewalk she leaves in her wake, he turns smartly on his heel and peels away.

Damned ridiculous, being led around as if he’s never been here before. Just because he graduated from med school and then joined the ‘fleet doesn’t mean he’s never set foot on the fucking campus. Jim did cajole him over to this side of the country a good handful of times before they fully drifted apart, in those godawful years after the mission ended.

Len shoves his hands in his pockets, hiking his shoulders up to his ears with a huff. “Godawful”, he has no idea where that came from. He didn’t have to deal with alien lifeforms committing murder or stealing bodies or impersonating Chicago mobsters, he wasn’t treating dumbass officers who had no idea how to take care of themselves- just normal, civilian dumbasses- and, of course--he got to see Joanna on a regular basis.

Retirement was- is- a retreat.

The only reason he’s even still in San Francisco, over a month after the successful resolution of the V’ger incident, is that Starfleet won’t let him leave. Conscripted service his fucking--

“Conscripted service my fucking ass,” he announces loudly, and of the cadets nearby, only the youngest look over at him with surprise. The others, like college students everywhere, have long since been inured to the weird shit that comes out of people’s mouths on campus.

Len cranes his neck, shading his eyes form the sun as he tries to read the stupidly intricate script of the letters on the stupidly tall facade of the nearest building. He figures his tour guide must have noticed by now that she lost him, and he draws quite a bit of attention, being dressed in civvies and also forty-odd years older than the cadets on either side of him; he needs to get off the street.

It’s either an astronomy building, he decides, or they slapped Sally Ride’s name on something random.

With a furtive glance back the way he came, Len takes the steps two at a time as he tugs off his scarf. The blast of heat is unpleasant when he presses through the heavy, wooden doors--what is it about lecture halls that prevents them from setting their thermostats at anything in between glacial and tropical?

Makes him feel a little nostalgic, actually.

Len grins, rubbing his hands together. Maybe he can find an interesting lecture to sit in on, before the security officer assigned to his case- an exasperated young man named Harvey- tracks him down again. Or maybe--

“Spock,” he blurts, and for a second he thinks he’s just mistakenly shouted at some other Vulcan.

Then the pointy-eared bastard turns, one eyebrow raised, and the cadet he’s speaking to steps neatly to his side, her gaze flicking over Len with a spark of curiosity.

“Dr. McCoy.” Spock inclines his head in greeting as Len drifts closer, his hands folding neatly behind his back.

“Have you taken on a lecture series?” Len asks, and he doesn’t even bother to hide his interest. He’d heard Spock was being offered a captaincy, now that he was re-committed to Starfleet, but neither Nyota nor Jim had breathed a word about this.

Spock ignores him, his dark gaze taking in Len’s civilian clothes with a hint of a frown at the corners of his lips. “Have you not accepted the renewal of your commission?” he asks, voice sharp; the cadet raises an eyebrow as she glances at him sidelong. “Admiral Kirk had implied--”

Len guffaws. “Jim’s still riding the high from having his silver lady back for those few short days. He hasn’t figured out yet that it’s not going to be like old times just because he pulled some strings and got me drafted for one mission. He’s still on desk duty, and I--” He rubs his eyebrow and sighs, his mirth fading as swiftly as it had come. “I still have a life back in Georgia.”

Spock tilts his head. “Yet you have remained in San Francisco.”

Len glances at the still-present cadet- she’s looking back and forth between the two of them with surprisingly visible interest- and offers Spock an uncomfortable shrug. “The admiralty’s pulling out all the stops,” he drawls. “They’re trying to sweeten the deal until I stop saying no, and in the mean time, they’re using every regulation they can to keep me in town.”

Spock nods as if this doesn’t surprise him. “It was a severe oversight to have allowed you to leave Starfleet without protest in the first place,” he states gravely.

Len rocks back on his heels, blinking, but his surprise quickly diffuses into a soft thrum of pleasure. He lets his grin spread across his face and reaches out to brush his fingertips over Spock’s sleeve. “Missed you, too,” he teases.

Before Spock can respond, the door behind them opens and brings with it a blast of sound from the street beyond. Len can hear- faintly, still a good distance off- someone asking, “Have you seen an older guy, kind of an asshole, dressed in civvies--”

Len claps Spock on the shoulder. “Good talk,” he declares, and hurries past them down the hall. He calls back, “Pass my love on to Harv for me, won’t you?”

The last thing he hears, before he’s rounded a corner into a gaggle of bright-eyed first-year cadets, is Spock’s shadow addressing him in Vulcan, her words indecipherable but her tone curious, perhaps even downright fascinated.

Len grins to himself as he re-wraps his scarf. Now, if he were the back exit onto the next street over, where would he be?

       Nyota heaves a dramatic sigh and presses her shoulder against his, and when he lolls his head to look at her- good food, great alcohol, and better company leaving him feeling too pleasantly sluggish to properly lift it from the back of the patio bench- her gaze is fixed on the San Francisco skyline where it spreads out in front of them, glittering in the night.

“I feel like I don’t even know what I want any more,” she tells him. Her voice is softly plaintive, and he straightens just enough to drape his arm across her shoulders, letting his cheek come to rest against the top of her head.

“You want your own command; you always have.” Len rubs her arm with one hand, a sardonic little grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “God only knows why.”

She huffs, and it’s not quite a laugh. Still, he knows his bad joke managed to cheer her up a little, and there’s a smug sort of satisfaction nestled in his chest as he takes another sip of his mint julep.

“It always seemed so far out of reach,” she admits. “Like a pipe dream.”

“And now that it’s almost in front of you, you’re not sure what to do with it.”

Nyota laughs; it’s a sad, anxious little sound. Her fingertips are tracing patterns in the condensation on her bottle of beer. “That obvious?”

“That normal,” he counters, nudging her knee with his. “It happens to all of us, darlin’. Just don’t let your doubts take over and keep you from what you want.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, and Len doesn’t bother trying to guess what she’s thinking. Nyota, out of all of them, has always had the easiest time of expressing herself; if he gives her enough time, he’s sure she’ll find the right words.

And she does.

“What if it turns out it’s not what I want at all?” she whispers. She shrinks in on herself, just a bit--ashamed to be having these doubts, or maybe worried he’ll simply dismiss them without a second thought.

She’s a strong woman, Nyota Uhura, and she’s never wanted anyone’s approval of her decisions--but this late at night, in the company of a friend and under the influence of alcohol, even the strongest need reassurance.

Len holds her tighter and turns his glass to study its contents moodily, giving a self-deprecating snort. “Well, I guess you would fulfill your obligations and then move on to what’s next,” he tells her, his voice as quiet as hers. “And whatever you decide it is you actually want, you’ll go and get it, and dazzle us all in the process.”

Nyota huffs, rolling her eyes, and Len smiles even as he tells her softly, “But you can’t know whether or not you really want a command until you try for one.”

She slumps into his side, the tension leaving her all at once. “How’d you get that miserly reputation of yours, Lenny?” she teases. She reaches over to knock her bottle against his glass, a teasing grin playing at the corners of her lips. “You’re just one big softie at heart.”

Len grunts, informing her drily, “Judicious application of hyposprays. Damned near managed to drive even Jim off, way back when.”

Nyota extricates herself from under his arm, shifting in her seat so she can studying the line of his profile, and he can feel himself start to tense under that piercing gaze. “Speaking of Jim,” she begins.

Len winces. “Nyota...”

She ignores the warning in his tone. “What is it you want these days, Dr. McCoy? Because this purgatory you’ve let yourself be trapped in--”

“Let myself--”

She scoffs. “I know you, Len. If you wanted to be back in Georgia already, you wouldn’t have let a bunch of bullshit regs that don’t even really apply to you keep you here. You’d have told Starfleet to shove it and been on the first shuttle back to Meridian, or wherever the hell it is you’re from.”

Len pulls his arm off of the back of the bench, propping his elbows on his knees as he leans forward, staring moodily into his glass once more. “Meridian’s in Mississippi,” he mutters.

“Not the point,” she tells him kindly, rubbing him comfortingly between his shoulder blades. “All your hemming and hawing has finally started to make even Jim nervous, you know. He’s putting up a good front for the rest of the admiralty, but he’s worried you really are going to turn down your commission.”

“Can’t let things go on like this forever, can I?” Len asks, sighing, and tosses back the rest of his drink in one go. He turns the glass over and sets it on the balcony railing before settling back into his seat, chewing on his lip.

She lets him sit in silence for a good five minutes, and then she heaves another sigh. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she orders.

“Spock’s teaching,” he blurts, then blinks. “My god, you’ve already mastered that authoritative voice, haven’t you?”

“I’m doubting whether or not I want a command, not whether or not I’d be good at it,” Nyota teases, and the light scrape of her nails at the back of his neck is comforting as she smiles at him, her dark eyes soft.

“Spock’s teaching?” she asks, leadingly, when he remains quiet for a long moment.

Len drums his fingers on his thighs, shaking his head. “That’s not why... I’ve only known that for a few days. Jim was more focused on waxing poetic about the captaincy they were offering him, and you and I’ve been...” he gestures vaguely.

“Not talking about Starfleet because up until now, I hadn’t managed to get you drunk enough to agree to do so,” Nyota fills in, her voice thick with amusement.

Len barks a laugh. “Jesus. Yeah, alright, I’ve been avoidin’ this conversation.”

“Because you don’t want to let them renew your commission, but you haven’t been willing to break Jim’s heart?” she suggests, though she doesn’t sound like she believes it.

“Because...” Len blows out a breath. “Because I went after what I thought I wanted, and it turned out I was wrong.”

He doesn’t look at her as he steals her beer. It tastes like piss; he genuinely has no idea why she drinks the stuff, but his julep’s gone and he really needs some more alcohol in his system.

“Are you talking about Georgia?” she asks him, and he rubs his hand over his face without answering. She sits back, muttering something in Swahili that he’s sure is something along the lines of “Jesus fuck.”

He stands abruptly, scowling out at the glittering streets of San Francisco. “I never wanted to be on that mission in the first place,” he says fiercely, curling his arms around himself as if he can shield his heart from his own words. “And maybe I enjoyed myself once we were out there, but there was a part of me that was always thinking of the moment I’d get to go home again. I resigned my commission the minute we touched down, stubbornly happy as a clam, and I stayed that way right up until the moment I realized I was walking around dreaming about the day I’d be back on a starship the same way I used to dream about Georgia.”

“Oh, Len,” Nyota says, softly.

He throws his arms wide, a desperate sort of smile on his face. “I have a life, Ny! I have a steady, pleasant job, I have friends, I get to visit Jojo at college every couple Saturdays- more often, if I’m willin’ to play nice with Joss and go same day she does--”

“But you’re not happy.”

He buries his face in his hands. “I’m not happy,” he admits, voice muffled. “And meanwhile Spock is out here shaping the minds of impressionable young officers, with all his ‘logic this’ and ‘Surak that’.”

Nyota, bless her, ignores his bullshit in order to cut straight to the heart of the matter. “You’d be a great professor, Len.”

He huffs, setting one hand on his hip as he takes another swig of her beer, and shoots her a dirty look. “We were talkin’ about you,” he accuses, and she smiles up at him serenely. Somehow, she must’ve left the balcony and grabbed herself another beer without him even noticing.

She sips from the bottle delicately, raising her eyebrows at him. “Sounds like you’ve known what you want for a while now; you just haven’t been willing to admit it.”

Len rubs the bridge of his nose, rocking up onto his toes and then back down. “I’ll talk to Jim in the morning,” he says resignedly. “And you--” he prods a finger at her, narrowing her eyes. “You’re talking to him, too. You know he’ll do whatever he can to get you in the right position to take over a ship sometime in the next five years.”

Nyota salutes him lazily with her beer, a sly twinkle in her eye. “Yessir, Commander McCoy, sir.”

“Jesus.” Len balks. “They’re not going to try and fucking promote me, are they?”

The answering sound of her laughter curls up into the night, bright and loud, and maybe signing his life away to Starfleet is worth it just for that.

      Len wipes his hands on his uniform pants before he knocks, willing himself to be a little less nervous. It’s just Spock for God’s sakes! He’s known the man- Vulcan- for well over a decade now, and they’ve certainly had worse things to say to each other over the years than “Surprise! We’re coworkers again!”

He raps sharply three times, before he can lose his nerve again, and then another two for good measure. Sometimes Spock gets so caught up in something fascinating that he doesn’t even hear--

The door swooshes open. He must not’ve been working, then.

“Doctor,” Spock greets, folding his hands inside his dark blue robes, and Len rocks up onto the balls of his feet and back down, at a loss for words.

“Wanted you to be the first to know,” he finally announces, after the moment drags on just slightly too long. He steps back, making quick work of the buttons of his coat, and then spreads it wide, an obvious invitation for Spock to study his attire. The beige jumpsuit doesn’t feel like home the same way his medical blues used to, but--

He’ll get used to it.

Spock raises an eyebrow. “You have not yet informed Admiral Kirk?”

Len huffs, prodding him in the chest as he shoves past into Spock’s apartment. “Fine; yes, I had to tell Jim, so you’re second. Third, actually, since Nyota’s the one who finally managed to talk me into it, and if you start counting every yeoman with a PADD for me to sign--” He swings to a stop in the middle of the room and sets his hands on his hips, glaring back at Spock. “But you’re the first person I’m choosing to tell, just for the sake of the telling.”

There’s a glitter of amusement in Spock’s eyes as he moves away from the door, letting it finally slide shut. “I am honored.”

“You’re humoring me,” Len accuses. He tilts his chin up, turning on his heel to survey Spock’s living room. “But I’ll allow it,” he adds, a wisp of fondness in his voice as nostalgia rolls over him like a wave.

Late in the five year mission, sometimes he’d show up too early to walk to breakfast together and wait in the main room while Spock finished getting ready. Other times, they’d spend late nights on his Starfleet-issue couch working on reports, debating about any subject under the sun, or simply existing in one another’s presence.

He must have seen Spock’s quarters a hundred times, by the end--and for all that he’s never set foot in this building before today, he’s been in this room before.

The furniture is different and the floorspace greater, leaving the overall effect much more subtle and open, but the general layout, the wall hangings, the books on the shelves, the lyre in the corner--they’re all the same.

“You really haven’t changed a bit,” he murmurs with a small shake of his head.

“I must disagree, Doctor.” Spock counters promptly, moving to join Len in the center of the room. “We are each a sum of our experiences; from moment to moment we are redefined in subtle ways. Our years spent apart have necessarily wrought changes--”

“Spock,” Len interrupts, shoving his hands in his pockets as he smiles up at him. “Trust me; in all the ways that matter, you’re the same person you’ve always been.”

Spock tilts his head. There’s something soft in the lines around his eyes, something that makes Len’s heart constrict in his chest.

“Recent events have been highly effective at revealing my motivations in undertaking the rite of Kolinahr,” he says quietly, apropos of nothing. “I was concerned by the connection I had made to my human side throughout the years of our mission, and I sought to distance myself from it once more. I failed, Doctor; as such, I have finally put to rest my hesitance to embrace the person I became under the influence of your and Jim’s friendship.”

Len swallows hard. “Then you’re saying I’m right,” he says weakly.

“I am saying--”

Spock’s fingers are cool as they curl around the back of Len’s neck, cradling his skull in one large hand.

“--I was wrong,” he murmurs.

Len forgoes the doorbell in favor of knocking, three sharp raps and then two more. Sometimes Spock gets so caught up in his work, or his meditation, that he doesn’t notice someone’s at the door. Len finds it a little endearing, almost despite himself.

It takes over a minute for Spock to summon him, but Len just hooks his fingers in his belt and whistles as he waits. They’re on their way back to Earth--pending a lack of emergencies in the next two weeks, the Enterprise has, for all intents and purposes, completed her mission.

They’re a nice prospect, those quiet two weeks.

Afterwards, he’s going back to Georgia- permanently, so long as he can weather Jim’s puppy dog eyes and come out with his convictions intact- but he hopes... well. Maybe he’ll have some visitors once in a while.

“Spock,” he greets, grinning, when the Vulcan finally appears. He pushes past him into his quarters, almost bouncing with excitement. “Look, I’ve been trying to figure out a good way to say this for almost a week now, and--”

“Doctor.” Spock has not moved from the doorway. “May I inquire as to the nature of your visit?”

Len crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. “Kind of what I was attempting to get at just now.”

“This is a personal matter,” Spock surmises.

“Sure, of course it is. Spock, I--”

“Doctor, I am in the process of completing the last of the crew evaluations; can this wait?”

Len scratches the back of his head, a rueful tilt to his lips. ”Not really,” he admits. “I may lose my nerve, and we just don’t have that much time left.”

With something that isn’t a sigh, because Vulcans do not sigh, Spock finally joins Len in the middle of the room. “I am listening,” he says. He sounds resigned.

Ignoring the flare of anxiety in his gut, Len plods forward. “Look, Spock, I just wanted you to know that I’ve...” he stares up at those dark eyes and swallows hard. “I’ve come to appreciate your friendship. I may be resigning the ‘fleet, but whenever you’re on Earth, there’s a guest room with your name on it.”

“Doctor--”

“Wait, that’s--” Len holds up his hand. “That’s the chicken shit version, all right? There’s more to it, just give me a moment.” He closes his eyes, sucking in a deep breath, and then releases it all at once. Talking’s probably easier if he’s not watching Spock watch him; he keeps his eyes shut tight.

“Spock, I... I care about you very deeply. I’d like--that is, I understand that this is practically the worst time I could have brought this up, but I’m worried we’ll never get another chance if I don’t. I just--”

He makes a noise of frustration, opening his eyes, and simply yanks Spock down by his uniform shirt to plant one on him. That Spock- with his Vulcan strength- allows himself to be manhandled is promising; that he doesn’t reciprocate the kiss is less so.

Len releases him and steps back, feeling more than a bit foolish. “If you’re interested,” he finishes awkwardly, unable to meet Spock’s eyes.

“I do not believe this to be... wise, Doctor,” Spock says, with a voice that is uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Right.” Len nods, straightening out his med blues. He’s pretty sure his face is about to spontaneously combust. “Well, that guest room’s up for grabs regardless. I’ll... see you around.”

And then he- for lack of a better word- runs.

He barely sees Spock outside of a professional capacity for the remainder of the mission; it’s Nyota who tells him, sounding frustrated and forlorn, about Spock’s decision to undergo Kolinahr.

Len presses up onto his toes as Spock leans down, meeting him in the middle. Spock is warm against him, tall and strong, and his hands are hesitant as they drift over Len’s back, so lightly as to be almost unnoticeable through the thick canvas of his coat. Len’s arms, of their own accord, curl tightly about Spock’s neck, and he clings tightly as he pours himself into the kiss.

When they draw apart, breathing heavily, Len prods Spock firmly in the chest with one finger. “This is not why I came back to Starfleet,” he says, a note of warning in his voice.

Spock’s eyes glitter with amusement. “I am aware, Doctor.”

“I’m just saying, you don’t need to go getting a big head.”

“My cranium is of an average size for a Vulcan of my height and weight.”

Len practically growls, biting back the smile that wants to spread giddily across his face. “You know damn well what I mean, Mr. Spock; so help me God if you decided to get a sense of humor after all these years--”

“Leonard.”

His jaw snaps shut as he stares up at Spock with wide eyes, and the Vulcan has the gall to look pleased with himself as he brings his hands to Len’s shoulders, encouraging his coat to slip from his arms to pool at their feet.

“I am gratified you have chosen to remain with Starfleet,” Spock tells him lightly. “Regardless of your motivations for doing so.”

Len smiles, reaching up to trace the curve of one pointed ear. “I finally figured out what I wanted,” he admits. “Take me to bed, Mr. Spock?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

[darkmatterxafricanempires]

so

There’s this older dude in my life, never met him he’s more of a mentor-figure. Was introduced to him through an uncle, he’s like a family-friend uncle (black ppl you may be familiar, random adults introduced in your life from childhood and beyond and they’re your play uncles and aunties more so out of respect versus a familial obligation). 

Anyways, he’s a nice guy, we only chat through what’s app, he’s a professor at a university. I’ve been kind of lost on what I want to do for a career (had a plan, saw plan through, did not like end game...twas public relations, and it just wasn’t my jam). 

I talked to him on the phone first, he suggested public administration, lots of transferable skills and fulfilling job opportunities. I check out some programs, and do some research and I’m like cool, I think I’d like this. Mentor-uncle helps me with my application, revising, editing and making suggestions. I apply to the program and I get in. 

FF about a year later, (present-day ish) the program is near the end and I’m still unclear on what to do professionally. I know what I don’t want to do, but my exact vision is unclear (it’s not that it’s unclear, it’s just unconventional, and I’m still conceptualizing how to execute it). 

Mentor-uncle doesn’t live in close by, he’s about 5hr drive and 1hr plane ride away. He’s visiting where I live for a board meeting. My mother suggests I meet up with him to discuss more career aspirations, I’m like “nah.” He’s done a lot to help me, but I feel like he doesn’t have much to offer me now. 

He reaches out to me directly and lets me know he’s going to be in town, I already knew this of course, but I felt obligated (guilt induced by being child of immigrant parents, whatever) so I offer to pick him up from the airport, grab a bite to eat, and drop him off at his hotel. 

Kinda going above and beyond, I know, but he really helped me w/ my shitty application, and I’m 92% I would not have been admitted to my program without his help. So it’s my own way of saying thanks, and balancing the playing field, and repaying this debt to him I’ve created in my head. 

So everything’s set, I’m gonna be his uber driver for a lil bit. Signals get slightly crossed, he’s arriving at an airport that a lot further out of my way but closer to his hotel. I’m running a bit behind (leaving from school which is north-er, his airport is downtown a lot more south), so to avoid missing his check-in time he calls a cab, and takes that to his hotel. Annoying (bc I arrive the airport 5mins after he leaves) but understandable bc he wants to secure his room.

He asks me meet to him at his hotel instead, we can grab dinner and part ways from there, cool. Meet him at his hotel, for the first time in person. All is well, he’s nice in-person. He grabs his stuff we ask the ppl at the front desk for a suggestion, bing bang boom. We end up at this cute 24-hour cafe restaurant. Dinner is relatively nice, he’s a middle-aged, well-educated african man, a little self-involved and pompous but not obnoxiously so.

Not to toot my own horn, but I have a great sense of humour, a lot would say I’m funny in fact. And I can be a little bit of flirt, but more in a compliment you on a random aspect of your life kind of charming way, like some pg-13 flirting maybe G, not the AA and/or rated-X kind. Unless I’m trying to go that route yaaaaaa dig 👀👀. 

Anyways, dinner was IMO quite platonic, plus mentor-uncle has a wife and a kid back in the motherland, so there are no romantic or sexually driven thoughts or feelings running through my head at alllllllllll (plus I’m maaaad gay, so nah).

Red flag #1 

I think (there may have been others, but I’m not sure). I’ve parked my car right across from his hotel, in a green p (toronto slang for a paid parking garage, not really slang bc that’s what they’re called). We walk past this green p and continue onwards to his hotel (retrospect: should’ve taken that moment to just say bye, go to my car, and dip home) 

We’re walking into his hotel, my internal dialogue is on overdrive (I’ve done my good deed for the night, there’s really nowhere else I see this evening going). We get back to him room, I go sit down in one of the 2 chairs by the tv and he lays down in his bed. (red flag #1.5) 

Red flag #2 

he says, “why don’t you come and lay down with me and we can talk here.” I’m like, “Nooooo.” Pretty insistently, because, no. He keeps probing, saying it’s a king-size bed there’s plenty of room for the two of us to just lay down and talk. I’m still very strong in my no’s and I say I’m fine where I am. 

So admittedly I should’ve taken this opportunity for to make a swift exit, clearly he thinks this evening can end with us in bed, and there’s no way I’m letting that happen. So there’s bit of a silence and I’m thinking of all the ways I can leave abruptly without being extremely rude (and I hate it so much, that I’m concerned with being rude, when he’s being the penultimate rude boy inviting me to his bed to “talk.”

Red-flag #2.5-3 

He gets out of his king-sized to sit in the chair next to mine, by the TV. He doesn’t read too much in to my rebuttals, instead shows me the agenda for his board meeting the next morning, *yawn*. He’s wondering what’s on TV, it’s late-ish, we’re watching Stephen Colbert with Anna Wintour and some next guy looking at ancient catholic artifacts, in relation to the met gala. 

Whatever, it ends we’re now watching James Corden. He’s got Zlattan on as a guest, some really famous arrogant european soccer player. So I’m just plotting my polite exit strategy in my head, and after some fortune teller segment, I’m like “So I’m going to leave now.” He’s all like “it’s sooo late, you don’t have to leave. Just the spend the night, I’ve got this king-size bed...there’s plenty of room” etc. And again, I’m like “Nooooo that’s fine, I’m going leave.”

He’s really pushy on me spending the night, I’m equally pushy saying no that’s fine. He goes on to say, “So you’re really going to leave me here all alone, all by myself.” Some super manipulative bullshit like that, and I’m like “Yes, yes I am going to do exactly that.” The vibes were never threatening or violent, just persistent, creepy and overbearing. So he accepts my answer and was like, “Can I least get a hug since you’re leaving me.” And I know sooo many women, probably even some men even have dealt with this reverse-psychology mindfuckery. And again, I should’ve declined but I felt bad, strangely guilty even though I had no real reason to be. 

I obliged gave him a hug, I was super tense. And it was pretty short, then as we’re exiting the room, he asks for a real hug, I again stupidly oblige, still super tense and it’s this horribly long uncomfortable hug where he proceeds to feel up my back and sides. And I’m just horrified, feeling so frozen and gross, but perfectly able to end this one-sided grope session. I can see our reflection behind him in a mirror, and I look disgusted with him and myself for continuing this for no good reason. 

He pulls back, looks me in the eye and leans for a gross closed mouth uncle kiss, I tense up, and deer in headlights just allow this unwanted kiss to happen, my mouth scrunched up in utter disgust. He pulls a back again and repeats, and again I just allow this to happen. “Whyyyyyyyyyyy!!???!?” I’m screaming at myself in my mind. Finally this awkward ass embrace ends, I feel even more disgusted, again with myself for non-verbally consenting to this shit through my inaction. And with him, at thinking this was okay at any point in time ever. 

He gives me a smile, I know I’ve got some kind of grimace-y forced smile on my face, and I’m super expressive especially in my facial reactions so theres no way I look okay/content/happy.

So he walks me to my car at the green p, and insists that we need to see each other again before leaves. I, still being the well-mannered, respectful, “gracious” young lady, say “probably not, but we’ll see” bc we’re both busy the next day, and he flies out the following morning. In my mind screaming at myself, why are you still keeping up appearances with this fucking piece of shit garbage face man.

We say our goodbyes, I speed off and that’s it for our encounter. I’m driving home, sad AF, just really really really disappointed in myself for letting it even get that far. So i’m just casually crying and driving home and that’s the end of that tale. 

I just felt so stupid, and gross, and just like I got played. And I’m just so upset with him for even trying that bullshit on me. Our exchanges have been the utmost of platonic, and for him to suggest or assume anything otherwise is just so predatory and gross. 

I suppose I’m really thankful because this whole situation could have sooooooooooo much worse, like a lot worse if he was a violent man. But strangely (and fucked-upedly), if he was more aggressive I would have felt so much more justified in acting more brash, maybe being more of a bitch, and really actually standing my ground wholeheartedly. 

I dunno this happened just last evening, like just over 24hrs ago (May 10th), so I’m still processing but I do feel a lot better about the whole situation, but still uber gross. 

This is a super long post, so 3 cheers if you made it through. 🙃

I journaled about it too the night of and that kind of helped. And I debriefed with my dad the following morning. He was surprisingly supportive and very understanding. I love my dad, but he’s the same guy who believes men should have multiple wives bc what’s a husband to do for sex after wife #1 has a baby...

But he made me feel better when he told me he hates when ppl especially men do things like this, and take advantage of women/the situation. With everything going on with the #metoomovement you’d think men in positions of power would be more cautious, he even stated this.. Although, he did ask me if I gave any signs or signals to encourage his behaviour (and I ran through the entire situation myself in my head, several times, thinking the same. Did I give off any vibes or behaviour to promote this? And I truly didn’t. Besides being friendly, naaaah. Which is still no excuse for him at all).  

My dad said I should confront him, and tell him how he made me feel. I just wanted to block him and pretend like he never existed. I found a happy medium and told him via what’s app, that he made me feel extremely uncomfortable and said that it was in no way my intention to lead him on if I had. He tried calling me back immediately after a few times, but I wasn’t ready to talk, so I ignored the calls. 

I tried calling him back several hours later (roughly 11ish hours later) bc 1) I’m kinda petty AF and wanted him to stew in his feelings like I had for hours 2) bc I did deserve an apology and maybe just some perspective on WTF he was thinking and where or what was he acting from.

He didn’t pick up and I’m high-key super grateful he didn’t, bc although I’m not horrible at it. But confrontation isn’t my strong suit. 

TL;DR: mentor figure betrays trust through unwanted sexual advancements and suggestions

[c-rankin93]

She’s no you ch. 17 part 1

I worked out how to post yay!! But I have to do it in parts so here’s the first part.

Like always it’s unedited

@lily-pop-2 @luly310 @eveerez @lurkernolonger @mmfdfanfic @hey1tskat1e @milllott @i-dream-of-emus @milymargot @arathewallflower @mallyallyandra @tinakegg @l88cym

Third persons pov:

Days turned into nights, and those nights had not yet turned into weeks, but it felt like eternity. It felt surreal for Finn to feel the heat of the women he loved again. He had missed the comfort of Rae's body with her luscious curves and silky skin. Olivia never once felt right, either too warm or to cold. Of course his baby momma was just right.

Finn chuckled to himself momentarily as he enjoyed the scenic view of Manhattan's elite within his sight. He knew from the moment he met Rae his life was going to become a whole lot better. Even socialising in college became more entertaining, Rae had always mixed well with his fraternity brothers, she was just a breath of fresh air.

Archie stepped into Finns open office just in time to catch him straightening out his collar. The atmosphere was thick between the brothers, like a knowing about what was about to unfold.

"You ready?" Archie asked swiftly, his faćade playing the part of a perfect business man. Finn nodded and quickly collected his thoughts before picking up the file from his desk.

Today was the day he promised Rae would come. His plan was formulated and discreetly passed on to those who needed it. He didn't think it would succeed so quickly and he was pleasantly surprised.

Archie followed Finn through office space and towards the elevator. The ride down to the floor below was silent; both choosing to stand on opposite corners. The ting of the bell indicated they had reached their destination, but before Finn could step through the doors Archie grabbed his arm. Concern foreshadowed his face but his eyes told a different story, a warning of what was to come.

"Remember Finn we are at work. I have cleared the floor, but I do not need security dragging that man's broken body out the building" he said sternly in a brotherly-like fashion. "If her brothers can keep it together so can you. I know how much you want to crush that man's face, but hit him where he hurts - His ever growing ego. Other then that brother, I hope you fuck that peice of shit up."

Finn smiled and clapped a hand on the back of Archie's neck, pulling him forward and rested their heads together for a moment. A moment of gratitude and love. Finn pulled back, nodding and understanding Archie's words. Finn didn't even think twice before replying. He was brutally honest and the words, they had already found the tip of his tongue.

"I can't make any promises."

Not even leaving room for an argument Finn left a gaping Archie at the elevator and marched towards the main board room. The sound proof glass wall ran the entire length of the back wall, the room itself being the size of a small apartment. It was where his company meetings where held, and socilaizors organised within work. It usually comfortable sat 50 or so people, but today only a few people gathered.

Finn pushed open the glass door to silence. Roberto was the first to look at Finn, anger edged into his features but a light sparked in his eye. He was a wicked man at times, but a trustworthy partner to have.

Positioning himself between his father and Roberto, Finn ordered the papers he needed then handed them to his left and right. An ordinary practice Finn used to calm himself. He hadn't looked across the table yet. He didn't dare to, not until he was completely calm.

Archie scurried in seconds later, frazzled no more he joined Julian and Mark who chose to remain standing, other then join the table. The three of them hesitantly watched Finn move waiting for a sign things were about to sail south.

John Davis, his wife Merabelle and their lawyer Mr. Tom Hinton watched on silently at the man who had summon them. Internally John smirked, the thoughts of his conquest with the beautiful Rae Nelson flashed in his mind. Even with the merge Finn was planning on taking with him; or so the whispers told him, all he could think of was how soft her skin was. He was a sick, skillfully witted man climbing to the top. But as they say you should never believe Chinese whispers.

"Mr. Davis" Finn spoke without a hint of emotion. This surprised John, making him clear his throat and smile.

"Mr. Nelson, this is my wife Merabelle as you know and my lawyer Mr. Hinton. My Secretary told me you wanted to speak with me about an important matter?" 'Yeah, whilst I was fucking her in the restroom.' John thought.

Finn acknowledged the two other occupants sitting next to the vile man. His body couldn't help but momentarily grow stiff as he listened to John talk. Never in his life had he wanted to kill a person, but right now it was pretty plausible that he was going to go down for capital murder.

"My name is Roberto Earl and I will be representing Mr. Nelson, I'm sure you know Mr. Nelson Snr" he gestured to the older man next to Finn. "And these are my brothers Julian and Mark, standing with Finn's brother Archie."

Recognition ignited in the eyes of the opposing party, for one it seemed strange to have such a family affair at a meeting without other outside listeners, and two Roberto was a very well known lawyer in the city of New York. They had never heard him venturing into business endevers though, it was family court where be succeeded the most.

"Very well. Shall we get to the point?" Finn question. John nodded signalling for Finn to continue speaking.

"Before I get started John i just want to point out how lucky you truly are today" John looked to his wife and grinned a smug grin, the though of money does that to a man. "But you know what they say, luck only takes you so far.."

Merabelle stiffened, John mouth gaped slightly and Mr. Hinton looked between the two. They didn't understand as to what Mr. Nelson was rambling on about, but if they went by the murderous glint in the man's eye they would have to say it was not good.

Finns hands slammed down on the table, causing both his dad and Roberto to grab a shoulder to make sure he wouldn't lunge at the pathetic excuse for a man.

"You fucked with the wrong family John! And you defiantly fucked around with the wrong women, who aren't your wife." Finn looked towards Merabelle, he felt sorry for the aging women who he knew was a nice lady. She was actually friends with his step-mother, and Finn knew for a fact that she had no idea what exactly her husband did behind her back. He was going to make sure she was going to get out of this unscathed.

"Who-who who-"

"Who, who, who? What are you John, a fucking owl? You didn't think that what you did would get back to me? Are you really that pathetic? YOU SEXUALLY ASSULTED MY FUCKING WIFE!" Finn roared just as the tears leaked from Merabelle's eyes.

"You cornered her, sexually assulted her, then got your little slut on the side to take photos of it!" Finn clicked his finger and Archie pulled the photos from the file in his hand. He threw them on the table, they slid across the polished wood until they were stopped by John's hand. A not too subtle sob escaped the women next to him as he glared at the evidence.

"What exactly is going on?" Mr. Hinton questioned to nobody in particular.

"Your client both molested and assisted to help blackmail my clients wife-"

"Yeah and my fucking sister you piece of shit!"

"Mark enough!" Roberto warned turning to face his brothers. Julian grabbed hold of marks arm and dragged him further away from the table, where whispered words were passed between them.

"In accordance with the contract that Mr. Nelson signed when he invested in your clients company, it states that all financial support given to Mr. John Davis can be subtracted at any given time. This was the loophole given when my client chose to invest in such a small comany."

Roberto passed Mr. Hinton the paperwork necessary for the lawyer to look over. With wary eyes he looked towards John and Merabelle, Roberto was correct. Though the clause was small and in the fine print, never the less it was still there.

"Let him!" John spoke suddenly, scoffing at the paperwork in front of him. "He only invested 30% of my company, I've made more then enough in the last year to cover his share!"

"Id like to remind you John that I wasn't the only person to invest in your company when you started out" Finn all but chuckled.

"In fact several other business men and women put their hard earn cash into your business, but it seems to be they have found a better alternative. My company have offered them investment deals that they would be a fool to turn down" Finn watched in delight as John paled in front of him, the sudden gulp of saliva that seemed to be lodged in the man's throat brought a hint of joy to Finn.

"You can't do that!"

"All is fair in the game of business John. You fucked with the wrong person and now I'm going watch you burn" Finn smirked.

"Finn" Archie interrupted when his phone beeped. "Its done. I've sent the details through to Mr. Hinton."

Tom grabbed his phone off the table and also paled. Everything was working out perfectly.

"You uh- you..."

"Spit it out already Tom! I'm not paying you for nothing!" John spat.

"Seems your not paying me at all Mr. Davis. You have no money to do so!" Mr. Hinton said annoyed. He had been putting up with the attitude of this man for the last few years, and he had finally had enough. "You stupidly put all your funds into your company. House, credit cards, even your assets. Your officially bankrupt."

"If that is all Mr. Nelson, I bid you farewell." Tom rose from his seat collecting his things and headed for the door without even sparing a glance at his former client.

Merabelle sat weeping hysterically. Finn felt a pang of guilt for the poor women caught in the middle. It was time to shed a little light on the situation.

"Merabelle. You have always been a great friend to my mother. And what kind of man would I be if I left you high and dry. Your husband may be a bastard but that doesn't mean you need to be punished for his mistakes. This morning I purchased the deed to your house from the bank, and i am willing to sign it over to you. All you have to do is sign a contract. The locks are currently in the process of getting changed and a spare key will be within my grasp in the next few hours. You don't have much time to give me an answer but is it really worth the risk staying with this vile man!" Roberto slid over a file. Merabelle's nibble fingers gripped tightly on it and she leaned slightly away from her husband.

"There's only one catch. Your husband is not to be invited onto the property and if he does he will be arrested, you will void the contract and have to move out immediately. I'm doing you a favour here Mrs. Davis, your a kind women and you don't deserve to be treated the way you do by your husband. No person deserves to be cheated on constantly." Merabelle nodded in understanding.

[to-star-lake]

untitled 01 [ pt. 4]

pairing | osh x reader summary | nothing happened the way you planned it to. count | 3.7k rating | none

You woke to the deafening sound of the buzzer system in your building. 

“Uuuugh shut the fuck up please!” you groaned, reaching for a pillow and covering your head with it, burrowing your face into the mattress. The buzzer continued ringing, then stopping, then a series of rapid buzzes, then one long continuous buzz. 

I need to find a new apartment. You thought as you sat up in your bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, your head ringing, feeling the hangover from the night before. 

In the months you’ve lived in this new apartment, Don, the nice security guy at the front desk was tasked with testing the alarm system every other week. This drove you and the other five residents in your building crazy. 

“The building’s too old ma’am,” you had heard Don explain to the nice old lady named Mrs. Lee who lived on the floor below you with her husband as you were fetching your mail one afternoon. “We have to constantly test the alarm system to make sure it’s still functional. What if there’s a fire?”

“But why so early in the morning?” she asked, her voice crackling.

“Ma’am it’s not my call, I’m sorry.”

You lived on the top floor of the building. The building itself had once been a fire station, but the neighborhood it’s in had recently been cleared out, with new high rises being erected all around. Your building was deemed a historical landmark, and therefore none of the builders touched it, until one company decided to convert it into residences. And since the building was old, your rent was quite cheap for how large your apartment is. 

Your apartment was one single open room that occupied the entire top floor of the building. It had very high ceilings and large, industrial windows on three sides of the room. A set of stairs led up to a balcony on the left hand wall, which had been the platform where the office of the fire chief once resided, but now the walls had been torn down, and the platform now acted as your makeshift bedroom. 

You had very little furniture - your bed on the balcony, and on the open floor plan below, a large sofa in the middle of the room, bookshelves lining one exposed concrete wall opposite the large, open kitchen. And your guitars and a piano next to a desk by the windows at the end of the room. 

You spent so much time at work in your studio you didn’t bother furnishing your home. You had no decorations, no paintings, no photos, no knick knacks. You were very utilitarian about your home. All you really needed was your bed because all you really came home to do was sleep. 

Right now you were becoming increasingly more and more irate with the buzzing. You dragged your naked body out of bed, the morning sunlight streaming in from the windows of your apartment warmed the room as you felt the cold, hard concrete floor beneath your feet. You pulled the flannel sheet off your bed, wrapped it around yourself and walked down the stairs to the main floor of your apartment, eyes still half closed, sleep lingering in them. 

You walked toward your front door, and pushed the small grey button next to the intercom buzzer on the wall next to the door. 

“Donnie,” you heard your raspy morning voice say. “Please stop the buzzing, I got in late last night and today’s my day off can I please just have a few more hours of sleep before you start the alarm testing again?” 

“You’re still SLEEPING?!” you heard a familiar voice yell back at you through the intercom. 

The voice jolted you awake. Your heart began pounding. Shit. 

Memories of the night before came flashing back to you. You had been to his apartment. You had been with him. And he had driven you back here. And he said he would come back. The entire night played like a blur of film through your mind. You weren’t convinced it was all real. You slept so deeply you thought it very well could’ve been a dream. 

Yet here he was. Back outside your apartment like he said he would be. You were shocked beyond words. 

“Y/N!” the intercom buzzed and the voice yelled again. “I said be ready by 10! It’s 10:15!” 

You clicked the other grey button next to the voice com, and the little LED screen lit up with the security feed. You saw his face pressed way too close to the tiny camera on top of the intercom outside, his perfect features warped hilariously by the fish eye lens of the camera. 

“Dude..” you said into the intercom, leaning your head into the door to rest as it was still ringing from the buzzing, which did not help your raging headache. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Ummm it’s not dude it’s Sehun. You know, Se-hoooooooon,” he enunciated into the com. You heard a small laugh escape your lips as you looked at his stupidly warped face in the security feed. 

He held up a paper bag to the camera and you heard his voice in the background say, “I have breakfast. And it’s getting cold. Cus it’s freaking cold out here! Can you buzz me in? What kind of hospitality is this? It’s winter! There’s snow! I could die out here you know! Do you want that on your conscience?!”

You rolled your eyes at his exaggeration. 

You stood there, lingering with your finger on the com for a moment, your internal debate running. “Hold on a sec,” you finally said. 

You turned and walked towards your closet, a small room that had been a storage space next to your bathroom. Looking around you pulled down the first thing you saw hanging from the shelf. You slipped the black Off/White sweatshirt over your head before sliding your legs through a pair of joggers and walked back towards the door. 

You dialed your security code into the keypad and hit the com again. The buzzer rang and you heard the heavy steel from the door of your building unlock and watched as he opened it. “It’s floor six,” you said into the com. 

A loud knock came at your door, and you walked over to open it. And there he was, standing before you - hair done perfectly, parted slightly to the right, slicked back slightly, a single black strand falling over his forehead. He was in a different coat this time, and peaking out from underneath it you could see a powder blue button up shirt, nicely pressed, and he was wearing a pair of black slacks, and the edges of his black leather shoes were coated in a layer of melting snow. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were a light pink from the stinging cold wind outside. 

You moved out of the way of the door, and opened it wider to make room for him to walk through. In one hand he held a tray of two large coffee cups, and in the other a large brown paper bag, and almost falling out from under his arm, a bouquet of white and light pink peonies. You quickly grabbed the bouquet from his arm before it fell, and motioned over towards the kitchen, and he scratched his shoes against the doormat outside, kicking off the snow before walking in. 

He set the coffee and the bag of food down on the countertop of your kitchen island and glanced around the open space of your apartment. You placed the flowers down next to the sink. These were your favorites, you thought. 

“Wow,” he commented, sliding his jacket off his shoulders. You took his coat and tossed it over to your couch. It landed haphazardly on the edge of the couch, almost not making it all the way on. He laughed when he saw a noticeably worried expression on your face as you bit your teeth down into your lower lip, hoping you didn’t just drop his coat that probably cost a few thousand dollars on the concrete floor. 

“This is very....you,” he said, his gaze now meeting yours as you stood across the kitchen island from him. 

He walked around the counters, moving towards your bookshelves. He doesn’t fit in here, you thought to yourself. But you were lying. It wasn’t that he didn’t fit in here. He fit in here perfectly. He fit in here too perfectly. 

You watched his tall form moving through the open space of your apartment. His demeanor calm and poised, so certain of his movements, as though he had been here many times before. 

He stopped in front of one of the shelves, putting his hands in his pockets as he observed the seemingly disorganized volumes of books packed tightly on the racks. 

“What is this?” he said suddenly. “There’s absolutely no organization here!”

You rolled your eyes at his judgement. “What are you talking about,” you groaned, making your way over to the couch, facing the shelves and sat down on the edge.

He turned to you, a frustrated expression on his face. “How can you have Kafka next to Shirley Jackson, next to Orwell, next to Kerouac?” He complained. “These aren’t even all the Kafka’s and Orwell’s and Kerouac’s you own! You have multiple books from these authors and yet none of them are next to each other, how do you find anything in this mess?” His head looking back and forth between the shelves of books lined up against the wall, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Ugh, can you lower your voice please?” you said, your thumb and index finger rubbing your temples as your headache still hadn’t receded. “There is organization, Sehun,” you explained, your voice still hoarse and not fully awake. “The books I cherish the most and read the most often start over at the top on the left-most shelf. And they go from there. On the furthest right shelf are my new books which I haven’t had time to start yet.” 

He looked at you for a moment, considering your words. Then a gentle smile formed in his eyes and his lips as he turned and looked at the shelf again. He pulled the first novel from the top shelf. According to the way you’ve organized it, it was your favorite book. Its cover was tattered and worn, the title barely legible. Its pages a faded yellow, crinkles and rips on the edges of the pages, a sign of how many times you’d read this book, how many places you’d traveled with it, how many pages you’ve folded the corners of to remind yourself to read and re-read. He smiled as he observed all of this before sliding the book back to its spot on the shelf. 

You watched him, feelings of both admiration and indignation formed within you as you liked and loathed that he’s getting to know you, even though it felt as if he already knew everything about you.

“You need coffee,” he said turning and walking back to the kitchen. You remained on the couch, forearms and elbows on your knees, holding your face in your hands, head still ringing. 

“Here take these,” you heard Sehun say as he sat down on the floor in front of you, not even flinching at the fact that he just sat down on your dusty, concrete floors in his very expansive black pants. He took your hand and placed two pills of ibuprofen in them, then handed you one of the cups of coffee. You could smell the scent of caramel and hazelnut through the lid, and it made you realize how much you needed coffee. 

You swallowed the pills, and took a sip of the coffee. It wasn’t hot, as he had them outside in the cold for a while, but it was still warm. You looked up at him, eyes more awake now, and he smiled at you. He looks like a child, you thought, having seen that innocent smile of his a few times too many now. 

“Thanks,” you said, your voice less raspy now. “This is pretty good coffee,” you commented, taking a few more sips. 

“I know,” he grinned. You scoffed at his confidence, continuing to drink from the cup. Much to your dismay, it was actually very good. 

“Alright, finish drinking that, and I’ll go warm up the bagels. You do have a toaster right?” He lifted an eyebrow at you questioningly. 

“No, but I have an oven,” you answered. 

“I’m surprised you even have that,” he sighed, standing up. 

“It came with the apartment,” you said flatly. 

“Ha,” he chuckled. “Go take a shower and get changed. I’ll heat up the food. We’ll have to eat quickly. We’ve got a full itinerary for today. And we’re already running behind. I told you to get up by 10, why don’t you listen to me.” He grumbled, walking over to the kitchen. 

You sighed as you took a few more gulps of coffee. Then you stood up and walked back towards the kitchen, setting your almost empty cup down on the counter. 

“What are you doing, go! Go, get showered!” he waved with one arm at nowhere, clearly having no idea where the shower is in your apartment, the other holding a half of a bagel he’d just taken out of the paper bag. 

You walked over to his side of the counter, took the bagel from his hand and set it down on the table. “Look this is all really nice, ok, but you don’t have to do this,” you started. You looked up at his face. A confused expression formed in his eyes as he did that thing with his eyebrows again. “I told you how I felt last night. I hope you’ll take that seriously. I meant it when I said I don’t-” 

You were cut off by his hands around your face, his lips landing on yours, pulling you into a deep kiss. When he finally let you go, he smiled and said “I did hear you. I just don’t believe you.” You could feel your brows crinkle in anger and annoyance as he said this. 

Doesn’t believe you? What the hell does he mean he doesn’t believe you? Who does he think he is? What right does he have to talk to you like this? 

He noticed you wince from his words, backing away from him slightly, but he grabbed your shoulders and kept you close. “Give me break ok? Give me a chance. It’ll be fun! I have a ton of activities planned for today, you’ll see,” he beamed. 

You blinked at him. “Like what,” you asked, your tone still flat. 

His smile grew. “Go shower! And be quick about it! The quicker you shower, the quicker we eat, and the quicker you’ll find out what we’re doing today.” 

Fine. One day. Just one day, you thought to yourself. 

You heard the beeping sound of Sehun adjusting the oven gauge as you turned the shower on. A stream of hot water rained down on you, steam rising in the air. 

It’s just one day. 

Getting out of the shower, you tossed your hair a few times with a towel and wrapped it around your body as you turned through the door that connected your closet to the bathroom. 

Opening your dresser drawer, you pulled out a black lace bralette and a matching pair of underwear. Then grabbed a loose white shirt from the shelf, and a pair of blue vintage Levi’s. 

Walking back into the kitchen, you smelled coffee and something very sweet. Your stomach growled and you realized how hungry you were. Towel still hanging from your neck, you patted your hair a few more times, trying to dry it. “I’m starving,” you said. 

He smiled at you, his cheeks pushing up on his face, making little wrinkles form on the corners of his eyes. “Here, try this,” he pushed a plate over to you. On it was a bagel and some sort of cream cheese on it. It smelled amazing. Taking a bite, your eyes grew wide. “Holy shit, this is really good!”

He grinned, “it’s a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese,” he said. 

You started scarfing down the bagel. He had brewed fresh coffee with your coffee maker and as he poured you a cup and turned to hand it to you, he burst into laughter. 

“What?” you asked, annoyed. He walked around the counter over to you, and held his hand up to your face, wiping a smear of cream cheese from the side of your lips before bringing his fingers up to his mouth and licking it off. 

“I can’t believe you already ate half that bagel. Did you inhale it? Is that how we eat now?” he teased. 

You rolled your eyes at him and continued scarfing down the other half of the bagel. “So where are we going,” you asked as he unwrapped the bouquet of flowers from its plastic cover. He took out a pitcher from one of the cabinets that was meant for iced tea, filled it a third of the way with water, and dropped the flowers in. 

You were going to protest that that was not meant to be used as a vase when you remembered you don’t even use it as a pitcher. It just came as part of the set of kitchenware that your manager bought for you the first time she came to visit and told you you lived like a peasant. 

“Are you done eating?” Sehun asked, walking over to you. He grabbed your waist and held you close. 

“Yes,” you gulped. 

“Good, alright then let’s get going!” He clapped like a child, strutting over to the couch to grab his coat. You walked over to grab your jacket which was hanging off a hook on the wall by your front door. 

The day passed by like a blur. He wasn’t kidding when he said he made a full itinerary. The first place he took you was a local bookstore. A very large and very famous one in fact. It housed thousands of volumes of books, various editions of each famous novel, and in the back there was an exclusive section which held prized first editions on display in glass cabinets. 

Next, he brought you to a branch of the Smithsonian museum on the other side of town. The museum was very big, and it felt like the two of you were walking through an endless maze of history, art, and archeology. But you didn’t mind it at all as you admired the oil paintings, the historical recreations, the room of precious gems and stones, the magnificent, towering bones of dinosaurs in the archeology room. 

Leaving the museum, the two of you walked along the river. He bought coffees, which you sipped to stay warm, and ate little tea sandwiches that he picked up from the cafe as well. It was already late afternoon and you watched a deep orange sun slowly dipping below the clouds in the distance. 

It was getting dark when you walked up to the last location for the night. It was a game arcade. Sehun challenged you to table hockey, basketball, DDR, beating you at every single game except the racing games. “Wow, you’re really good at this,” he commented as he saw his lagging score when the Fast and Furious themed racing game ended. 

You sat down at a table and he went up to the counter to buy food. You offered him your card and he took it, but as you watched him order items off the menu, you saw that he handed his own card to the cashier. Walking back, he set the plates of food down in front of you and handed you back your card. “Thanks!” he laughed. You took your card back, rolling your eyes as he continued to laugh, overly amused with himself and the little trick he just played on you. 

He asked you endless questions about yourself as you ate. “Do you have any siblings? Pets? What’s your favorite color? What’s your favorite movie? Do you listen to my music? What’s your favorite song by us? What’s your favorite place in the world? Where do you want to travel? What’s your favorite stage to perform on?” You rolled your eyes at most of his inane questions, answering him as vaguely as you could, not wanting to reveal too many details about yourself. 

As the two of you walked towards the exit, a small vending machine amongst a pack of many caught your attention. You bent down and looked at the sticker display on the front. This particular vending machine was selling keychains with yours and your bandmates’ faces on them. This caught you by surprise that any of your merchandise was available out there somewhere. 

Sehun smiled as he noticed this too. He took out a coin from his wallet, and turning the knob on the little machine, you heard the clank of a keychain falling into the compartment. He reached in and took it out. It was one with your face on it. You smiled at him, thinking he’d gotten it for you. You felt a sense of pride as you saw your own face on a keychain that could be purchased by your fans available at the local arcade. 

You were about to thank him when he opened the clasp on the end of the keychain and looped it onto his own keys. You stared at him, your eyes wide and annoyed watching his grin that couldn’t possibly grow any wider. “It’s cute!” he commented, walking off nonchalantly. You scoffed and followed. 

The two of you walked back towards where he’d parked his car along the river. You stopped for a moment, leaning over the railing by the sidewalk, looking past the river at the city skyline. Sehun walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, leaning down and kissing the exposed skin of your neck. You felt goosebumps rising on your arms at the feeling of his lips on your skin. 

“This was nice, right?” he whispered, breathing in, his warm breath on your skin, his fingers sprawling out around your hips under your coat, holding you close. 

You felt your heartbeat quicken. 

“Sehun...” you began in a soft voice.

“Yes?” he responded, his arms clasping tighter around you. 

“Will you take me home?” 

pt. 5 is out as well!

[elfnerdherder]

Ill Intentions: Chapter 2

You can read Chapter 2 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 2: A Sordid Sort of Muse

           He really, really shouldn’t have picked it.

           In between the concern about the prostitutes being targeted and the police refusing to see it as more than normal criminal-on-criminal violence and the wonder at how a killer walked free due to the abuse of evidence, he put the enticing blurb in, although he refused to put the name on the end.

I adored your analysis of the Minnesota Shrike. How quickly you boxed him into a corner and revealed his hand! Surely the ladies on campus will sleep better knowing to avoid anyone that looks remotely like them with a father in tow. That, or perhaps you’ve inspired them all to dye their hair a poignant shade of blonde until the next killer comes along.

I wonder if your clever little mind would be able to catch someone like me, however; would you be interested in playing a game, Mr. Graham? I’ve grown bored as of late, and the city is not much to entertain these days.

           He thought it’d give a bit of a teaser to the readers, something that would give them enough to ask for clarification. He wanted interest, not panic. He also liked the exciting way that it made a small zing of pleasure curl down his spine. He hadn’t been excited about many things for a long, long time. His world since graduating from GWU left much to be desired, no matter how much he enjoyed writing. When he presented it to Charlie, the man grinned around his cigarette and nodded.

           “I like it.”

           He liked it, Beverly liked it, and when Will saw the ratings for his newly released column, ‘Will Intentions’, his eyebrows almost hit his hairline. Other people liked it, too.

           He grabbed one off of a newspaper stand, just because. A stupidly sentimental souvenir to celebrate his moving from wedding announcements, baby’s breath, and a back page with a 5.5 font.

Thank you for the congratulations, anon, although I’m not so much in the way of catching rather than analyzing. In reality, from the safety of a swivel chair I think anyone could try their hand at playing the sleuth, at observing unbiased evidence and coming to some sort of conclusion.

As to the mention of your game, I’m very poor at playing games; you can ask several of my associates who find me a bore at work functions, even the celebratory kind. If you give me something to analyze, though, I think I could be of service.

           He cut the column because of sentimental reasons that made him itch, and he pinned it to the corkboard alongside the letter with the gold star. Staring at it, a cup of water in hand, he supposed that he should be terrified at the prospect of the how of the star –he wasn’t. In truth, he hadn’t been afraid of much for a long, long time.

            His watch beeped much later in the day; time to eat lunch. He wondered, as he ate a hotdog of questionable origin, if he could find a program for the smart watch to remind him to feel things like fear in the face of a potential serial killer at large, egged on by his ability to accidentally lead the FBI to a cannibalistic father of one.

           There wasn’t any such program to remind him to feel things like that, but as it chimed to show him e-mails coming in with more letters from eager readers, he stupidly hoped the ‘Chesapeake Ripper’ would be one of them.

-

           “Will Intentions is a hit,” Freddie informed him at the water cooler.

           It wasn’t so much of a compliment as it was an observation. Will hit the small notification on the smart watch to assure it that he was drinking water. “I’m relieved.”

           “Did you think it wouldn’t be?” She flipped hair over her shoulder, a wild array of curls in so many hues he wondered just how an artist would describe it. How would a writer describe it? Scarlet, auburn, sunset russet? Ringlets, curls, waves, oceans of red surrounding a pinched, surly expression?

           “Sometimes the hype dies down after one intriguing iota of information.”

           “It helps that the next front page was me covering the Hobbs story,” she assured him.

           “A good read,” he admitted. It hurt in a pinching sort of way to say that, seeing as how Freddie Lounds was shit. He had to play nice, though. He was page three, and she was top-half news. Beverly called it office politics. He called it asinine.

           “I thought it’d be good, since they take their questions to you after they eat out of my palm,” she said, and she tossed her cup in the trash as they walked away. Will stopped at his desk, and she found her way to a cubicle right beside Charlie’s office. It was bigger, more spacious. If Will Intentions continued to impress, would he one day have a space like that? Maybe his watch could also remind him to care about that, too.

-

Dear Will,

            Loved the analysis on the Minnesota Shrike. My boyfriend’s been acting weird –is he a killer? He lies a lot, he’s gone for hours, won’t clean the house…

           Oh, god.

Dear Will,

            Why do you think a person with intrusive thoughts would kill? Is it a temporary delusion, or are some people just born wanting to kill people?

           Maybe.

Dear Will,

           Do you not wish for people to know who I am, therefore you refer to me as anon? Quaint.

           Bingo.

           I don’t mind as much as I should; in reality all of my work is only noticed by the name assigned to me by the press rather than my real name. Chesapeake Ripper. After the cleverness of the Minnesota Shrike’s name, I find myself mildly offended that I wasn’t given the same twist of words. What would you call me, I wonder?

           As for analysis, is that not the best sort of game? I give you clues, you try to find where the bodies are. Easy as pie, I’m told. If you’re quick enough, maybe you could save a few in the process.

           I read your wedding announcements and compared them to your analysis of Garrett Jacob Hobbs; truly you were put into a bad place, writing things about the way the vines curled over the trellis or the flowers braided into the hair of a blushing bride. It was lackluster, and you weren’t quite fulfilled in your work. No wonder you were almost fired.

           Your analysis though, that is where you truly shined. I could feel your intimate thoughts through the paper, the concern for those girls, the knowing that made you caution them. Something cryptic, something that made readers want more. You’d been drowning in chiffon and petticoats for so long, but you thrived on the idea of death. Are serial killers your muse, Will Graham? If so, I think you’re going to enjoy what’s next. I’ll give you a little warm-up.

           This thing all things devour:

           Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;

           Gnaws iron, bites steel;

           Grinds hard stones to meal;

           Slays kings, ruins town,

           And beats high mountains down.

                                                                                                           You have 3 days

                                                                                                           -Avid Fan

             “Fuck,” Will muttered, reading it. He was quite good at riddles, if he did say so himself. This though, with the threat of a life, he grabbed the letter –plain white copier paper with a fountain pen, if he wasn’t mistaken –and he marched to Charlie’s office, knocking with his fist rather than his knuckles. It smarted, made a rough, heavy thudding noise against the particle board.

           “I’m up to my ass in phone calls; what,” he demanded irritably. Will hesitated by the door, glanced to Freddie sitting in a chair with legs daintily crossed, then back to his boss.

           “You liked the anon wanting to play games, right?” he asked.

           “Yeah?” Charlie gave him a look that said quite clearly, you’d better not have fucking knocked on my door for that sort of validation.

           “He replied.”

           Will passed him the letter, and after Charlie read it, he passed it to Freddie. There was a curt exchanging of looks with varied expressions, from grim to confused, followed by a silence that felt oddly stretched.

           “I think we need to go to the police about this,” he said slowly.

           “It’s just a crazy,” Freddie said. She didn’t sound so convinced.

           “If so, it’s a good rendition of crazy. What kind of riddle is that?” Charlie leaned back in his chair, lit a cigarette. Will’s fingers twitched with the urge to pat down his jacket for his own.

           “It’s from The Hobbit,” he said. After glances of mild amusement, he added, “We read it in high school.”

           “So what’s the answer?” Freddie asked, lips curling into a Cheshire grin.

           “Time.” A beat. “I think he’s saying where I’ll find the body…if I’m fast, maybe they’ll be alive.”

           “You think this is a real killer, kid?” Charlie asked skeptically.

           “I think it sounds serious enough to give it some attention. We should…maybe call the police.”

           “The police will take it and get in our hair,” Freddie protested. “If it’s true, we won’t get the first scoop since they’ll take it out from under us!”

           “Someone could be in danger,” said Will.

           “You don’t sound so scared, though,” Charlie replied.

           “No police,” Freddie urged. She sat forward, pinning Charlie with a look that said she had a marvelous idea. “Charlie, we’ve got this. Hobbs is dead, we need a good top half for next week, right? We send Will out, he maybe saves the day, we get front page news: Will Intentions saves the life of X by figuring out the riddle of a killer.”

           “Then the police come in and ask how we knew about a potential murder and said nothing,” Will pointed out.

           “We don’t know if it’s real until we look into it,” Freddie retorted. “That’s called investigative journalism, Willy.”

           Will hated being called Willy. His watch beeped to tell him he hadn’t taken many steps that day.

           Charlie considered the two of them, cigarette spewing smoke that floated just over his head like a dank, murderous fog. He rolled it around his lips, thought, then nodded, leaning forward. “Here’s what we’ll do: Will, look into it. You’ve got three days, then we see what happens. If you save the day, we have front page news, too. You don’t, we go to the cops, still get front page news since we found the body first.”

           Will wasn’t so sure that was an ethically sound idea, but work was work. He thought of the taunt, the question about murder being his muse.

           “If you can’t, I’ll do it for you?” Freddie offered.

           “I’ll do it,” he replied, nearly bowling over her question. Fuck if he’d let Freddie Lounds steal from him.

           He looked up popular clocks in DC, focusing on the answer being time. The first was a clock at the naval base, but that was a no-go. Even if the person was there, he’d never be allowed in to look at it. The next was a new clock being built just across town, but with the construction Will wasn’t convinced that a serial killer would be able to get a body in there without being seen.

            By day three, he was just nervous enough to ask Beverly to hunt with him, google maps for places of interest his tool as they hiked all over DC. His watch beeped to congratulate him on the amount of steps he’d taken. A record-breaking step count, it said.

           “Did you check Georgetown?” Beverly asked.

           “What?” Will looked up from his phone. “Georgetown?”

           “They have that huge clock tower on campus,” she said. “The Healy Hall Clock Tower whose hands keep getting stolen; I did an article on it once.”

           He took an Uber since he didn’t feel like going back across town on foot, no matter what his watch said about steps.

           “What do you think you’re going to find?” she asked, following him on campus. Early fall played with the leaves overhead, threatening to dump them every which way. Between classes, gaits varying from harried to lax and meandering, students roamed the sidewalks and streets, their voices loud and coalescing. It reminded Will of his days at GWU, when everything seemed to feel so exciting, like he was on the edge of something great.

           Then he graduated and got to see just how monotonously boring life could really be.

           “I don’t know,” he admitted. “A prank, probably? It’s gotta be a prank.”

           He didn’t think it was, though. There was something about the detached, mocking tone that made him just nervous enough to care.

           “I could see Freddie doing it as some roundabout way of welcoming you off of back page,” Beverly said with a laugh. She skirted a biker whose speed was just fast enough to be dangerous and caught up with him. “I mean, they mentioned you almost getting fired. That’s some personal stuff.”

           “…Yeah,” Will grunted. When they reached the tower, he looked up at the clock face with its dark stone and golden bronze etching, his stance shifting from foot to foot as he considered it. “I think it’d be inside.”

           “How are you getting in there?” she asked. “They’re pretty strict since the hands keep getting stolen.”

           “Investigative journalism,” he muttered savagely.

           It wasn’t too difficult to get in there. When they climbed enough stairs and went through enough maintenance rooms, the door to the actual back of the clock face was unlocked. That in itself, for a clock face whose hands kept getting stolen, was enough to make Will a little nervous. His hands tingled as he opened the door and walked in, the room cool and dark. He blinked the shadows from his eyes, Beverly close behind him, and he used his phone to make a flashlight, looking around for some kind of switch.

           “Got it,” Beverly said, turning a light on.

           As his eyes adjusted, he stared up at the manmade chrysalis hanging overhead with a body inside, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he most certainly dropped his phone in shock.

           “Got it,” he repeated weakly.

           Thankfully, Beverly managed to snap a photo.

-

           The victim was Hannah Oberly, who’d been put into a diabetic coma and was on a rather fast track to death if Will hadn’t found her in time. As she lay dazed in her hospital bed, she admitted to Will, then to police officers that she honestly couldn’t remember what happened to her. One moment she was watching TV, the next she was waking up as Will administered the insulin that sat just at the bottom of her chrysalis, teasing in its closeness but inability to save her without the aid of another. She’d faded in and out of consciousness after, while he held her and waited for paramedics to rush her to the hospital. Her skin felt clammy, like the flesh of uncooked chicken left out on the counter for too long. He’d held it tight, marveling at the feel against his fingertips.

           How had he known the insulin would save her rather than kill her, police asked? Fuck if Will knew. He had a hunch.

           They took his prints in case his hunch was something more than just a hunch. His fingers still tingled from the feeling of her skin as she hovered between life and death.

           In the hospital hallway he paced, but it was with guilt that he realized it wasn’t fear for her life. Hannah Oberly was safe, and police were investigating. No, no, he was almost –almost –ashamed to admit that his pacing was from adrenaline, from a short burst of excitement that lingered long after paramedics whisked her away to administer intravenous fluids and balance the glucose in her system.

           He’d saved someone. The Chesapeake Ripper gave him a riddle, a timeline, and he’d saved someone.

           He supposed that said a lot about him, that he felt such eagerness in the face of someone else’s potential demise. Psychopathic tendencies? No, no, he very much felt her fear, palpable and thick on his tongue like he’d dragged it through butter. He felt bad for her. He couldn’t imagine himself doing that to someone, drugging them and wrapping them up in a grotesque display of paper mache in order to lead someone through DC on a manhunt to save their life.

           And yet, he could. He could very much imagine it.

           He comforted himself with the reality that that said far more about his mind than it did him. Will Graham was unique in a way that he didn’t much like sharing with anyone –their frailties, failings, and realities falling into the cracks of his mind and nestling in, making his thoughts worse off in the aftermath. He could imagine wrapping her tenderly into a pupa of his own making, much the same way he could imagine the tentative grasp on reality he’d have if he came to under the administration of a stranger dosing him with life-saving medicine.

           He called Freddie because he promised to keep her updated. Due to his position as her savior, Hannah was persuaded to share a few words with an eager Freddie Lounds before police came back into the room and kicked the two of them out.

-

           Charlie didn’t let him post the entire letter due to the nature of far too much information about his personal life and his work, but they did post the bits that would entice readers:

Analysis; is that not the best sort of game? I give you clues, you try to find where the bodies are. Easy as pie, I’m told. If you’re quick enough, maybe you could save a few lives in the process. I think you’re going to enjoy what’s next. I’ll give you a little warm-up.

This thing all things devour:

Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;

Gnaws iron, bites steel;

Grinds hard stones to meal;

Slays kings, ruins town,

And beats high mountains down.

You have 3 days -Avid Fan

           With Hannah Oberly safe and relatively sound in a hospital, Will was more than happy to post a reply.

Avid Fan,

The Hobbit? Hannah Oberly was found in the Healy Hall Clock Tower, time both her keeper and her enemy. I found the diabetic coma to be somewhat tasteless, but readers will be happy to know that she’s alive, well, and safe.

The police are investigating you, but I’m sure that’s exactly what you wanted. There’s something about the way you signed avid that tells me you’re aspiring for the sort of attention that will bring infamy, at the very least. The questions other readers send will be on how best to protect themselves against someone like you, and I look forward to giving my insight to keep the public safe.

           A little ham-handed and snarky, but Will thought utmost honest was best.

           The Chesapeake Ripper didn’t like him for his flowery descriptions of trellises, after all.

Dear Will, Why do you think a person with intrusive thoughts would kill? Is it a temporary delusion, or are some people just born wanting to kill people? -Cindy

           He thought that question was fitting to follow-up the Chesapeake Ripper’s.

Cindy,

To say that someone is born wanting to kill people would be to say that an infant with no life experience is born unlike anyone else. To be sure, children are victims of their upbringing, just as infants can be born addicted to meth, caffeine, or nicotine due to the foolishness of the one carrying them to term. What you refer to is something different, though, something that represents the way a person looks at the world.

Some people are born without empathy, without the ability to care for another person on a level that creates connections and healthy relationships. Does that make them criminal? No. It is not how they see the world that makes them criminal, but what they do in the face of such thoughts. That’s different from delusion –anyone can suffer delusions. Anyone can suffer from intrusive thoughts.

Most people suffering delusions on a psychotic scale generally only commit violence in moments of extreme duress, when they think it is the only option. On a psychopathic scale, it is a methodical act, a necessity to complete a fantasy that they have lived in their heads. That tends to stem not from some singular, one moment, but from repeated moments of abuse, neglect, or trauma. It grows, escalates. Serial killers are not called such because they only kill once and create their fantasy. They are called that because they have the impulse to recreate the fantasy over, and over, and over again, escalating it to relive the rush of emotion from that first intimate act.

Do I think some people are born ‘just wanting to kill people’? Not in the least. It is a learned thing, an environmental thing. I was born with an aversion to carrots, but I don’t kill carrot farmers.

           They made the font .3 smaller so that they could keep the carrot farmer crack. Will wondered what the Chesapeake Ripper would think about that.