#he VERY conspicuously pulled up beside me and then i got into my car and smiled at him and drove away

[crimeronan]

the other wild thing about this is that the one time i got the cops called on me for doordashing at night, it was in a different bougie neighborhood in the metro area, and the police response time was so fucking fast they were literally there before i'd even walked back to my car. after dropping the food off.

the average police response time to a high-priority call requiring immediate intervention in portland is.... 21 minutes.

they managed to find my ass in less than 3.

this whole manhunt thing is like. the dumbest possible scaled-up version of that.

[helloalycia]

my patient’s neighbour [six] // wanda maximoff

summary: after spending some more time with Wanda against your will, you begin to realise how she feels for you.

warning/s: none.

author's note: hope you like angst! because you got it 👀 also there’s only one more part left after this so be prepared!

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part seven | masterlist | wattpad

"You look like you're on a warpath."

I stopped speed walking around the place when Natasha appeared out of nowhere, stepping in front of me. She seemed entertained, before she realised I was probably actually on a warpath.

"Hey, what happened?" she asked, amusement replaced with concern in seconds.

"Wanda happened," was all I said, before walking around her and storming up to the Sokovian in question.

When she spotted me, she opened her mouth to say something, but I didn't give her chance to as I grabbed her wrist and began to drag her away.

"Sorry, if you'll excuse me," Wanda got out to the guests she was chatting with, before I yanked her away. She began to complain as I did, asking, "What are you doing? I was in the middle of a conversation!"

I ignored her and proceeded to drag her away, certain that steam would be coming from my ears if this was a cartoon. Finding a private place to talk, I let go of her hand and spun around with a glare.

"Your thoughts are very loud right now," she said playfully, clearly not reading the situation.

"Then you know that I'm imagining several different ways to murder you," I got out between gritted teeth.

She scrunched her nose. "They all end in you going to prison."

Something about that obnoxious smile she wore and the way her hazel eyes watched me with anticipation was making me angrier by the second.

"How can you do that?!" I asked with exasperation.

She quirked a brow. "And what is 'that' exactly?"

I locked my jaw. "You ruined my date! You kept getting into my head all day, you were rude to Elise, and you're just– you're oozing with jealousy when you're the one who broke up with me!"

She scrunched her nose for the second time, and whereas I would have once found that endearing, I know found it greatly frustrating.

"Oozing? Really? Who says that?"

I closed my hands into fists, trying not to get baited by her purposeful obliviousness. But she was already under my skin, and ever since she broke up with me, the anger had been bubbling away, ready to come out.

"You're such a bitch, Wanda!" I shouted at her without hesitation. "You don't care that you just ruined my chance at moving on! Six months has passed since you broke up with me – you don't get to be jealous! I had to learn to be without you because you gave up on us and that's on you! So, you don't get to be here and make me feel bad for having a chance at a date because you can't make up your mind about us. It's not fair!"

My shoulders relaxed as I got my thoughts out, the anger still present but not as heavy on my back. She was infuriating as I watched her. Barely fazed by my words, a small smile played on her lips. She did nothing to acknowledge my mini speech, instead waiting for me to say something else.

"Seriously?!" I squeaked, my voice rising with annoyance. "Nothing?!"

As if pulled from a daydream, she straightened up and seemed confused. "Huh?"

I groaned loudly, eyebrows raised with disbelief. "For God's sake, Wanda!" Running out of patience, I shook my head and glared harshly. "I want you to stay away from me. You don't get to be in my life like this. And just in case you don't understand what I'm saying, here's something you will. Otvali (fuck off)!"

Not bothering to wait for a response, I stomped past her and didn't look back. As I was walking away, a tear slipped from my eye and I whipped it away without question. She didn't get to do this to me, not again. It wasn't fair.

— 

Despite practically yelling in Wanda's face to stay away from me, she didn't take the hint. Instead, I proceeded to see her two more times in places I least expected it. To be fair, I don't think she did it on purpose. But she could have easily walked the other way and pretended not to see me. Instead, she thought it would be best to piss me off further.

The first time was when I was at a park with a new patient I was caring for. He was wheelchair-bound, so I pushed him around as we spoke to pass the time. We eventually stopped at a newspaper stand since he wanted to buy a few magazines, and that's when I conveniently got bumped into by the Sokovian witch.

"Y/N, hey!" she exclaimed when I turned to see who was there. She had a wide smile on her face, eyes shining bright under the sun. Admittedly, it took my breath away for a second, as I didn't expect it in the slightest. But then I remembered who it was and tried to ignore the way my heart rate sped up.

"Hello," I mumbled, before looking back to the newspaper stand with hopes she'd go away.

"And who is this beautiful young woman, Y/N?" my patient, Dayton, asked as he noticed her beside me.

I pursed my lips, trying to figure out the best response without earning more questions from Dayton, but Wanda decided to answer instead.

"We were girlfriends," she told Dayton with a grin, eyes glancing to me.

"Key word being were," I added quickly, shooting her a look, before looking to Dayton. "It's not a big deal."

"It may not be to you, but it's good to see you, moya lyubov' (my love)," she said softly, grin fading into a genuine smile.

"Don't call me that," I snapped, hating the way her words had such an effect on me. Her stupid accent and her stupid smile and her stupid pretty eyes. Hated it all.

"Ooh, what does that mean?" Dayton asked, looking up between us.

"Nothing, Dayton," I told him calmly, before nodding to the stand. "Just buy your magazines whilst I talk to Wanda."

He shrugged and did as I said, leaving me a moment to stand back and look to Wanda disapprovingly.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, lowering my voice so I wouldn't make a scene. Nothing was accidental with her.

"Just enjoying a walk through the park," she answered with a shrug.

I rolled my eyes. "Well, enjoy your walk."

As I made an attempt to leave, she stepped in front of me suddenly.

"Wait, can we talk?" she asked, losing any sense of mischief.

"No," I deadpanned. "Now, can I leave?"

She frowned, eyes pleading. "Please?"

"I said no."

She sighed, glancing around with irritation. Her eyes settled on the flower stand beside the newspaper stand and I didn't have chance to question what she was thinking before her eyes began to glow red. Raising her hand conspicuously, red wisps of energy appeared and she levitated a single flower from one of the many bouquets, hovering it before me.

"For you," she said, and I ripped it out of the air, frantically looking around in case anyone saw.

"Very clever," I said sarcastically, before looking at the flower and shaking my head. "Stealing isn't cool, by the way."

I dropped the flower on the ground and walked away, my foot stepping on it as I did. She needed to get a damn hint.

—

The second time Wanda reappeared in my life was when Anna invited me to Sasha's home for a visit. I'd been once before, a few weeks after she'd moved in with her granddaughter's family, but not since then. This time, she'd invited me over again to catch up and I assumed it would just be me and her family; Oh, how wrong I was.

Sasha and her family were pretty wealthy, their house sitting on the outskirts of New York and on its own private land. She was a lawyer, hence the wealth, and her home was absolutely stunning with its high ceilings, floor to ceiling windows and three floor structure. Even as I parked out front for the second time in my life, I was blown away.

As I got out of my car and locked it, I noticed another car parking out front – a taxi, dropping someone off. Curious, I waited to see who it was. My eyes narrowed when I noticed a familiar face exiting the taxi and paying the driver. When the taxi drove off, Wanda saw me and began to smile with amusement, joining me at the front door.

"The stalking is getting creepy you know," I told her when she stood by my side.

I knocked on the door using the giant knocker and waited patiently for someone to answer.

"I'd love to take the credit for this," Wanda answered, and I could see her smug smile in my peripheral, "but I was invited by Anna."

I swallowed hard, resisting the urge to roll my eyes, both at Wanda's presence and Anna's secrecy. "Of course she did..."

The door opened to reveal none other than Anna Pivec herself, balancing on her cane and grinning at the sight of Wanda and I.

"Devushki (girls), you made it!" she exclaimed with delight, before stepping to the side. "Please, come on in!"

We both entered her home and watched as she closed the door before giving us both a big hug without warning.

"Oh, okay," I mumbled, but wrapped an arm around her gently. "It's good to see you, too, Anna."

Anna laughed wholeheartedly before pulling away. "I'm sorry. I just missed you both is all. It's so good to have you here, together again. Just like old times."

I forced a small smile, knowing what she meant but also feeling a pang in my heart because it wasn't completely like old times, not really. Naturally, my eyes fell to Wanda who was already looking my way, a similar expression on her face. I wondered if she was thinking the same.

"C'mon, I'll bring you to the kitchen where everybody else is," Anna said, already leading the way. "They're excited to have you over again."

"You didn't mention Wanda would be here, too," I noted as she led us through the main hall.

"Oh, didn't I?" she replied, feigning confusion. "I must have forgotten."

"Hmm." I pursed my lips, ignoring the obnoxious smile that returned to Wanda's lips as we followed Anna.

She led us to the kitchen where Sasha and her husband were preparing some food for the supposed barbecue we'd be having. I'd met her husband the last time I visited, so it was easy to get reacquainted with them both as we met them again.

After a brief catch up, Wanda and I offered to help with the food, but Sasha insisted we take a break and hang out with the twins – her kids – whilst they cooked it up outside. So, I soon found myself heading to the living room with Wanda as Anna went to fetch the twins from their bedrooms upstairs.

I wasn't exactly keen on being left alone with Wanda, so I decided not to say anything and simply keep to myself as we waited for Anna's return. Killing time, I wandered around the living room and looked at the family photos hung on the wall. It was the same as last time, except now there were a few new additions, clearly from Anna, which made me smile without thinking.

They were of Wanda, Anna and I, back when I used to care for her and we'd hang out at her apartment. Some were in the apartment itself whilst others were from places we'd visited together on different occasions. I recognised a handful of them from when Wanda and I were just friends and a few more from when we were a couple. It was clear in the photos which were which, as Wanda was holding my waist and grinning from ear to ear, myself doing the same. For a split second, I almost forgot she'd broken my heart.

"Wow, we looked really cute together, didn't we?" her stupid Sokovian accent sounded by my ear, and I lost my smile when I felt Wanda's presence stood a little too close to me.

She was looking over my shoulder at the photos on the wall and I tried not to get frustrated, but she made it impossible.

"Yeah, we were," I agreed, noticing the surprise on her face at my words, but then I continued, "until you dumped me because you were too scared to stay in a relationship."

Her smile faded at my words and I left her standing there, instead going to the couch to wait there. I wasn't sure why Anna had kept those photographs of us, but I wished she hadn't. 

After what felt like forever, Anna finally returned with her two great-grandkids in tow. Alex and Marina, both seven-years-old, grinned adorably at Wanda and I, betraying their missing teeth.

"Well, look who it is," Wanda said with a bright smile, bending over and putting her hands on her knees. "My favourite set of twins."

Despite how annoying she was, I couldn't help but smile at the way she treated kids. She was always so good with them generally, way better than I was.

"G.G. said we could play Mario Kart," Marina said behind a nervous smile, looking between us. "Can we?"

G.G. was what they called Anna – short for 'great-grandmother'. I found it cute that they accepted her into the family so easily, like no time had been missed.

"I think we can," I said with a warm smile. "But I can't promise we'll take it easy on you."

Alex fist-pumped with excitement before running to the TV to set up his Nintendo Switch. Marina, the calmer of the two, motioned for Wanda and I to take a seat on the couch with her. Anna joined us, taking her place on the recliner, and watched with amusement.

Wanda and I had never actually visited them together, so it was refreshing to see how excited they got around her. Clearly she'd made an impression last time.

"For you," Alex said politely, holding out a controller to me.

"Why thank you," I said, accepting it. "So polite."

He seemed embarrassed as he did the same with Wanda, who hadn't stopped smiling since they came in. After handing his sister a controller, he joined us on the couch, forcing everyone to move up a little and making Wanda press closer to me at the end of the seat. I gave her a knowing look to which she smiled innocently, making me roll my eyes.

"You not gonna have a go, Anna?" Wanda teased Anna as Alex began to set up the game.

"The moving cars makes my head spin," the older Sokovian woman admitted. "You guys enjoy though."

Soon enough, the first game commenced and I was surprised at how competitive I was being, adamant on at least beating Wanda if not the twins. They, of course, spent all their time playing this, so Marina won Wanda and I easily. Wanda came in fourth, I came in third and Alex came in second.

"You just got lucky," Wanda said with a shrug, glancing at me.

"If you say so," I played along, a ghost of a smile on my lips.

"I'm being Toad this time!" Marina exclaimed as Alex set up the next round.

"I'll be Princess Peach," Wanda decided nonchalantly.

"She won't help you win," I said without thinking.

"We'll see, milashka (cutie)," she responded with a playful smile.

I nudged her in the arm, signalling for her to not call me that, but she only smiled wider as she looked back to the screen.

We had a few more rounds, Wanda winning none of them and Marina winning all of them, when Alex began to complain.

"It's not fair, you have to be cheating!" he said to his sister.

"I'm just better," Marina stated casually, making me laugh.

Alex rolled his eyes before looking to Wanda. "Did you used to play this with Pietro? Did he cheat, too?"

I raised my eyebrows with surprise at the mention of Wanda's dead twin brother. I didn't think she'd tell the twins of him, but then I realised that it was only fitting to mention her twin brother to a set of twins that probably reminded her of herself.

Wanda smiled gently. "We didn't have these games as kids, Alex. But when Piet and I played other things, yes, he did cheat." 

Alex sighed, glancing at his sister with distaste before looking to me. "Did you used to play this when you were younger, Y/N?"

"Kind of... I mean, I don't have any brothers or sisters, so I used to play at my cousin's house whenever I visited," I explained. "And it wasn't a Switch. We had something called a Super Nintendo."

"Woah, you're old," Alex muttered with disbelief.

"Alex!" Anna scolded, making me laugh.

"It's okay, he's technically right," I said with a shrug.

"Milaya (sweetie), if you're old, then I'm ancient," Anna said disapprovingly.

"Right, sorry," I said, trying to stifle my smile.

We played another round and as Wanda and I were closing in on the finish line, my joystick began to veer left despite me aiming it to the right. I looked down in time to see red wisps of energy pushing it the other way.

"Yes! I won you," Wanda sang with pride, looking to me as her eyes faded from red to its hazel colour.

"You cheated," I said, eyebrows raised. "I just saw you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she played dumb.

"Wanda," I said, giving her a knowing look. "You sure it was Pietro who used to cheat when you were kids?"

She grinned. "Very sure."

I studied her closely, entertained smile tugging at my lips. "I'm just gonna pretend I let you beat me since you won't admit it."

She shrugged, nudging me in the side gently. "Suit yourself."

"You're supposed to let your wife win anyway," Alex said naively, and I almost choked on my own spit when he did.

"What?" I spluttered out, losing my smile.

Wanda was doing her absolute best not to laugh as her eyes glanced towards me, noticing my shocked expression.  

"Your wife – Wanda?" Alex said like it was obvious. "Our dad says he lets our mum win stuff all the time. It's what you do when you're married."

"I– we–" I paused, clearing my throat and suddenly feeling very warm. "We're not married, Alex."

Alex furrowed his brows with confusion. "But G.G. said that you weren't together."

"But that doesn't mean we're married," I said slowly, hoping my face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Medovyy (honey), they're not together anymore, you're right," Anna started to correct him, though she looked like she was seconds away from laughing herself, "but I never said they were married."

Alex didn't seem to understand still. He pointed to Wanda's hands. "But she's wearing a ring."

Everyone looked down to Wanda's hands which were adorned by several rings on many of her fingers, though none were on her ring finger, so I didn't get what Alex was thinking.

"I always wear rings," Wanda told him with amusement.

"But–"

"That's her right hand, idiot," Marina said to her brother with a scoff.

"No, it's her left," he said knowingly, before raising his left hand in the air and pointing to her right hand opposite him.

Marina rolled her eyes, already fed up with her twin's antics. She stood beside him and motioned to his hands as she explained, "That's your left. It's her right. Like a reflection. It's not a wedding ring."

It took a few seconds for Alex to understand, but when he did, he began to get flustered.

"Oh," was all he said, before returning to his seat. "My bad."

Anna laughed at her great-grandson's embarrassment as I began to flush with a similar embarrassment in my seat. Meanwhile, Wanda was biting her lip to contain her own laughter, eyes teasing me as they glanced at me with amusement.

Today was definitely not going to plan.

—

After gaming with the kids for a little while longer, we were all eventually called into the garden to have lunch together. Sasha and her husband had barbecued a variety of chicken, meat and vegetables for us to eat which was delicious. It gave us the chance to hear everything Anna had been up to with her family and for her to catch up with what's going on in Wanda and I's lives.

Anna seemed a lot happier, the happiest I'd ever seen her, when she was with family. I was glad that she was fitting in and that it brought her closer to her late-husband and daughter. This was all she'd ever wanted and she'd finally gotten it. Despite tricking Wanda and I into coming, I was kind of glad to be there because even if I wouldn't admit it at the time, it was just like old times.

After having dessert and conversing for longer than we realised over some tea and coffee, Wanda and I decided it was best we leave.

"Remember to come by anytime," Anna said to us both by the front door. "You don't even have to call!"

I smiled, nodding. "Thank you, Anna. It was great to see you again. I had a lot of fun today."

"Me, too," Wanda agreed. "It's really good to see you so happy."

Anna sighed contently. "Spasibo (thank you). Both of you." Pausing with thought, her eyes flickered between us both. "I do hope that you resolve things soon. For both of your benefit."

Chewing on my lip, I chose not to say anything. Wanda seemed to feel the same, opting to stay quiet, making Anna breath out halfheartedly.

"Right, well... are you both okay getting home?" she asked, changing the subject.

After reassuring her that we were, we gave her a giant hug before bidding her a goodbye. Once the door closed, I awkwardly glanced at Wanda before heading to my car.

"Hey, is it stupid if I ask for a ride?" Wanda's voice said from behind me.

I looked over my shoulder and saw her following after me, half walking and half running to fall into step with me. I refrained from rolling my eyes as I continued walking to my car.

"Didn't you get a taxi?" was all I said.

"Yeah, but my place is on the way to yours," she answered like it was nothing, finally catching up to me and grinning by my side when we reached my car. "And you're free, so..."

I narrowed my eyes impatiently.

"I won't do or say anything to piss you off," she added, putting out her pinky. "Promise."

As frustrating as she was, I wasn't a bitch, and we'd actually kind of gotten along today. With a dramatic sigh, I stepped to the side and motioned for her to get in the car. She wiggled her pinky, but when realising I wouldn't interlink mine, she lowered it.

A genuine smile fell on her lips as she nodded. "Thank you."

I simply returned the nod before getting into the driver's seat as she did with the passenger's seat. I put Wanda's address in the sat nav before setting off, trying not to overthink the silence that filled the car. Obviously, that was impossible, so I gripped the steering wheel tighter and glanced at Wanda.

"You can put the radio on if you want," I said uncomfortably, shifting around in my seat.

She tensed her jaw, looking (oddly enough) as uncomfortable as I felt, which was strange since she was content annoying me earlier. With a nod, she turned the radio on and some random pop music played quietly in the background, easing my nerves but not making anything more tolerable. It took about ten minutes for me to adjust to the silence when I finally got comfortable, focusing on driving and getting to Wanda's flat quickly.

Without warning, Wanda began to speak in Russian, but it was way too fast and incomprehensible so I had no idea what she was saying.

"Wanda, slow down, what are you talking about?" I asked, trying to cut her off, but she continued to ramble right over me, making me roll my eyes. "Wanda, I don't understand you!"

When I looked to her between driving, she seemed extremely passionate and stern about whatever she was saying. I wished I understood because whatever it was seemed to be eating away at her. I tried to ask her to slow down, speak English, do something to help me out, but she was stuck in tunnel vision, speaking quickly and with sadness.

After what felt like forever but was probably only a minute, she stopped talking and took a deep breath. I furrowed my eyebrows judgementally, eyeing her with confusion.

"The hell was that?!" I asked with surprise.

She didn't reply, making me curse under my breath. At the next red traffic light, I looked to her properly, noticing the distracted stare she directed my way.

"Wanda, what was that?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

She pressed her lips together, hazel eyes swirling with a mixture of emotions that I couldn't make out. I thought she'd answer me, but she still stayed silent.

"Seriously, Wanda, what?"

The traffic light began to go orange and I sighed with annoyance, figuring she'd lost her marbles. But then she finally spoke, my attention half on her and half on the road.

"Ya skuchayu po tebe (I miss you)," she said softly, without mischief or annoyance or anger or anything. Just sincerity.

She looked away after that, eyes drifting to her shoes, probably thinking I didn't understand. But I did and I knew it shouldn't have affected me as much as it did, but I felt my heart ache in my chest as I put my foot on the gas to make the green light.

When I finally reached her apartment building, I waited for her to say something, but she looked as lost in her thoughts than I did whilst driving.

"Wanda," I called quietly, getting her attention.

She blinked, realising we were at her place. Clearing her throat, she barely looked my way as she mumbled, "Thanks for the ride."

As she opened the car door and got out, beginning to walk to her building, I rolled down the passenger's window and called her name. She stopped, looking over to me with a raised brow.

My mouth felt dry as I said, "I know what 'I miss you' is in Russian." Her eyes widened, embarrassed that she'd been caught, and I continued, "You don't get to miss me."

It was harsh, but it was the truth. And I didn't wait to hear her come up with a response as I rolled my window up and set off again. She couldn't act like that when it was her fault we broke up. It wasn't fair on either of us.

[mypoisonedvine]

okay but here me out: you're a prostitute hired by laurie bc she found out that andy is cheating on her and needs proof for a divorce. when you see him, the payment is merely a bonus

wait i love this but i wanna modify it slighty: you’re a private investigator hired by laurie to seduce andy to prove he’s cheating!

this got so nasty so fast omg watch out for really dominating andy, with lots of dirty talk and a little bit of manipulation if you wanna read into it

“you don’t have to go through with it, obviously,” she explained, “you just need to get him to admit he’s done it before, and he’ll do it again.  on tape, with this.”

she set the audio recorder down in front of you, and you smiled sympathetically.

“don’t worry, ma’am, this isn’t my first time with a case like this.  I have my own equipment that’s less conspicuous and more reliable.  I could even catch him on film if you wanted.”

“you can do that?”

“yep, I have cameras that look like pens, buttons, rings, earrings, glasses...”

“well, video footage would be even better,” she explained, excited yet somber.  “I mean, it would make a better case in the divorce.  it would kill me to have to watch it, though...” she trailed off, scratching the back of her neck.

“is there any doubt in your mind he’s cheating on you?”

“only because I don’t want to believe it.  but it’s become to obvious to ignore,” she shook her head.

“I understand.  it’s hard to stomach that the people we care about most would hurt us like that.  but sadly it is all too common.  let’s just say that as a private investigator, this is a huge portion of what I do... and I get very steady work.  you’re not alone, laurie.”

“thank you,” she smiled weakly. “can you do it tonight?  I want this over with.”

“um, as long as it’s pretty late, I have other tasks this evening.”

“oh, late shouldn’t be a problem, he’s out until 4 or 5 in the morning these days.  this is the address of his work--” she set a piece of paper in front of you-- “just follow him to whatever bar he goes to from there and you shouldn’t have a problem.”

she’d shown you a photo, so you knew what to expect.  you had to come straight from your last assignment following somebody else around the city, so you weren’t dressed for the occasion at all.  to follow someone, you needed to dress plain and forgettable; to seduce someone, especially someone like andy barber, you needed to be extremely memorable.

you brought a change of clothes in your car, which you hastily slipped into in your back seat-- it required some acrobats to put tights on in the back of a small car like yours, but you managed to get through.

not just tights, but lingerie and garters.  sky high heels, a skintight dress that made you feel like your whole body was on display.  a motorcycle jacket and dark lipstick to give the whole look some edge.  basically, you’d tried to look as different from his wife as possible.  married men who were fucking around on the side always wanted something different, something fresh.  you knew how to do that.

plus, the jacket had the hidden camera attached to the lapel, nearly invisible among the snaps and buttons.

the echo of your heels on the concrete floor of the bar made every head turn.  it was quiet, and apparently a pretty slow night with only a few men scattered here and there-- the only other woman was the waitress.

andy was sitting at the bar, nursing a beer, and he gave you a quick glance before doing a double take.  you tried not to smile visibly. gotcha.

you sauntered up to the bar, leaning forward and making sure to arch your back just so, showing off your ass. “vodka cranberry?” you requested, smiling when the bartender nodded and started pouring grey goose into a glass.

you took a seat decently far away from andy, “adjusting” your jacket to turn the camera on.  you wanted to make sure you caught him coming up to you, starting the conversation, flirting first.  he looked over at you a few times but never said anything, making you start to get a little impatient, before finally the bartender arrived with a second drink.

“from the gentleman at the end of the bar,” he explained as he handed it to you.

“oh!” you smiled, “that’s so sweet!  you can tell him to come say hi if he wants.”

and it was just a few minutes before andy got up and leaned against the bar beside you, looking down at you with dark, half-lidded eyes.

“thanks for the drink,” you grinned coyly, letting your gaze drift a bit.  he was really good looking, honestly, and he looked all kinds of right in that suit, too.  if it weren’t a job, this might be the kind of guy you would actually flirt with of your own accord.  then again, you knew better than to go for a guy who had a tan line on his ring finger-- you hoped the camera was able to see that he’d taken his wedding band off.

“I’m here almost every night and I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m from out of town,” you explained.

“business or pleasure?” he asked with a little smirk.

“I guess we’ll find out,” you winked.

it didn’t take much more flirting and a few more rounds of drinks for him to ask if you wanted to ‘get outta here,’ and with a giggle and a nod you let him guide you to his car with a hand on the small of your back. 

of course, you thought he was going to drive the both of you somewhere.  you didn’t expect him to push you up against it and kiss you roughly.

it was so sudden, and you knew you should stop him, but you somehow couldnt bring yourself to push him back, not when the way he was breathing heavily against you made your head spin, not when you could feel his beard and it was so hot for no good reason at all, not when his thick hands were grabbing you at your waist just tight enough to make you breathless.

“get in the back,” he instructed when he pulled back, making you blink up at him in shock.  you knew you had enough, you knew you should make an excuse and leave, get this footage uploaded from your mini cam and onto your laptop so you could get laurie what she needed...

but instead you found yourself biting your lip and nodding, letting him open the door for you and hopping in before he climbed on top of you, shutting and locking the door.

“we can go back to my place,” you offered as he started to suck on your neck, pulling you closer.  

“cant wait that long,” he mumbled quickly before helping you push your jacket off.

and you could tell that the way he tossed it onto the floor made the camera perfectly angled to see what he was doing to you.  maybe it was the perfect evidence for laurie’s case.  maybe it was about to tape you in your most intimate state with no way for you to stop it.

certainly there was no way you could stop when he manhandled you onto your hands and knees, pushing your dress up to find your black lace panties, and the garters holding up your tights.

“fuck, look at you... that’s why you came out tonight, then?  to get fucked?”

you nodded a little, gasping when he slapped your ass.

“little whore.”

you didn’t think you’d like being talked to like that, but it made your pussy throb beneath the lingerie that barely covered it.

just when you thought he was going to give it some attention, he flipped you around again and pulled you into his lap. 

“get on the floor, on your knees, and suck my cock.”

how was he so comfortable telling you what to do?  better yet, why were you doing it?

you slipped down, barely finding enough room with your massive heels in the way, and started to palm at his cock through his suit trousers, moaning absent-mindedly when you felt the thick, hard, hot length hidden beneath.   your mouth was already watering.

you started on his belt, looking up at him occasionally to find him watching you with a cold, unyielding stare.  when you reached inside his boxers and pulled it out, he smiled at your little gasp.

“bigger than you expected?” he taunted.  you were speechless, only able to nod in response before he put a hand on your hair-- not exactly forcing you forward, but definitely encouraging you to go ahead and put it in your mouth.

“fuuuck,” he groaned with you licked the head and finally closed your lips around it, suckling gently as your eyes fluttered shut.  “no no,” he correctly instantly, “look up at me with those pretty eyes, sweetheart.  take it deeper.”

you moaned around him but obeyed, using your hand to stroke the portion you couldn’t fit in your mouth (which was more than half).  you started to back away when you choked a little, but he pushed you back down and moaned a little louder, “I like it when you gag,” he explained gruffly, smiling when you looked up at him again, your eyes watering this time.  “god, you look so good like this.”

he pulled you off by your hair while you took in a gasping breath, gripping his cock at the base and slapping you lightly on the face with it a few times.  when you put your chin by his balls, the head hit you on the forehead... it made your gut burn as you tried to imagine how that would possibly fit in you without breaking something important.

when he pulled you back onto him, bucking up into your throat as you choked and gasped for air, you felt need tingling up your spine from seeing him like this.  he was completely in control and yet looked totally wrecked as he fucked your face.  it made you so wet you couldn't stand it.

just when you thought he might come, he stopped suddenly and lifted you up onto his lap, pulling your dress down to admire your completely impractical bra.

he grinned when he saw your nipples were already hard, reaching up to tweak them gently until your hips rocked on top of him of their own accord.

“you like having your tits played with, sweetheart?”

“I like when you do it,” you blurted out.

“sweet young thing like you, you’ve probably never even been with somebody who knows what they’re doing.”

it’s not like you hadn’t had some adept partners in the past, but none of them were like this. nobody had ever made you this desperate.

“please fuck me, andy,” you whimpered.

“not yet,” he growled, ripping your bra and tossing it aside.

“that was expens--” you started to protest, but it fell into a moan as he latched his lips onto an exposed nipple, sucking and licking eagerly.

“f-fuck!” you stammered, gripping his jacket tightly as you tried to stop yourself from humping his leg out of desperation

but he wanted you to-- he grabbed your hips and pulled you down, guiding you to rub yourself on his thigh.

“go ahead, pretty girl, show me how bad you want it.”

you were pretty confident that even through your panties, you were going to leave a stain on his trousers. 

you could even feel his cock on the inside of your thigh, hot and still slick with your spit, so hard you wondered why he wouldn't just put it in you already.

“please please please, need it so bad,” you whined, “I'm so wet for you, baby, I'm so fucking ready....”

“I know,” he whispered, pulling you closer to put his lips right beside your ear.  “I know, baby, I can feel it.  I can smell it.  you smell so fuckin sweet...”

you whimpered and your head fell back, pleasure shooting up through your body in jolts as you rubbed your swollen clit on his thick thigh.

“want me to fuck you?  I’ll fuck you, babydoll.  hard and rough just how you need it.”

“yes,” you sobbed.

“I’ll give it to you so good you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow, won’t be able to sit right cause I tore that pretty little pussy up.”

you gasped but you wanted it, god you wanted it so fucking bad you couldn’t even remember that this was supposed to be a job, not a hook-up.  but you didn’t care.  

“please baby, I’ll do anything just fuck me, please--” you cried, cut off by him grabbing you and pushing you onto your knees again, slapping your ass one more time before pulling your panties aside.

“god, you’re soaked,” he chuckled condescendingly. “you’re so sensitive, honey.  I bet you’ll go crazy if I touch you here,” he proposed, rubbing his thumb over your clit and making you jolt forward from the intensity of it.  

he leaned down to wrap his body over yours, holding you close with one arm around your neck as he whispered in your ear, turning your face slightly with a hand on your jaw.

“look into the camera while I put it in you, baby...”

you weren’t sure if it was realizing you’d been caught, or the feeling of him pushing into you that made your eyes water, but a tear fell down your cheek as he buried himself into you with a groan.  it was just the right type of pain; with how wet you were, even a cock as massive as his slid into you easily.  but it felt like you’d never been stretched so wide and you didn’t even know what to do with yourself as he pulled back and slammed into you.

“I never told you my name,” he reminded you, “but you knew it anyways.  and with what I do for a living, I can smell a p.i. from a mile away.  you’re not as slick as you think, sweetheart-- well, proverbially slick... cause literally, this pussy is so fucking wet for me.” 

you could only gasp and sigh as he pumped into you faster and deeper, reaching parts of you that had never been touched before, let alone ravaged like this.  you could feel his smile against your ear as he started to fuck you faster, his free hand palming at your breasts before reaching back to hold your hips steady.

“god, you’re so fucking tight... anybody ever fucked you this good, honey?  anybody ever taken you like the needy little slut you are?”

he bit down on your ear and you realized he wanted an answer.

“n-no,” you replied, “never.  nobody’s ever fucked me like this, andy.”

“anybody ever fucked you on camera before?”

you swallowed dryly. “no.”

“was it all an act, then?  all part of the job?  I don’t buy it.  I think this is who you really are, a desperate little slut who needs to be stuffed full of cock by somebody who can give you everything you need.”

his filthy monologue fell on deaf ears as you tried with all your might to look away from the camera on your jacket, knowing that you had totally blown your case as well as presumably destroying your reputation.  fucking a married man is one thing, fucking a married man whose wife is your client who hired to prove he was cheating?  maybe you could spin it as doing your job a little too well?

“I can tell you’re close, sweetheart, go ahead and come for me.  I wanna feel this pretty pussy squeeze me, milk my fuckin cock when you come.”

mainly you were just trying not to get too loud, afraid that the car wouldn’t be enough to muffle your noises in case somebody walked through the mostly empty parking lot.

“andy!” you yelped when you reached your peak, not really meaning to but it came out anyways, he chuckled a little, the sound morphing into a growl as you clenched down around him with each wave of pleasure washing over you.

“fuck, don’t fuckin stop, this pussy feels so good I think I’m gonna come inside...”

you were too out of it to protest; you would’ve gone limp and fallen down onto your chest if he hadn’t held you up, his cock flexing against your overstimulated walls as he painted your insides with his come.

he grinned as he stilled his movements, catching his breath for a moment before sitting up and pulling out, slipping your panties back on to keep his come inside for a bit longer.

it was all a blur as he helped you half-redress before he all but shoved you out of the car, stuffing his cock back into his pants before getting into the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

“tell my wife I said ‘hi’,” he winked at you as he drove off, leaving you with wobbly legs balancing on your heels while his come leaking down your thighs.

[cjsinkythoughts]

A Familiar Face

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Word Count: 950

Warnings: One Swear Word, Sam being a smooth motherfucker, (make that Two Swear Words), a brief mention of Endgame victims, including implied talk of Steve, implied sexy times

A/N: I’ve never written Sam x Reader before, but I wanted to try given that I love Sam with my whole heart and the fact that their making his roots from the South like Mackie gives my soul an extreme dose of serotonin. I also had this thought they other day while talking to a friend about how Bucky has the term of endearment “doll” that is known through the fandom, but Sam doesn’t really have one and a common term of endearment (that I’ve read, at least) in Louisiana is “cher”, which is a French word that they use because the whole creole/French-Cajun thing they have. So! Cher is my new term of endearment for Samuel T. Wilson! 

Anywho, this story was written with HBC’s Lucky in Love Day 22 prompt, Recognition, in mind. Please excuse any mistakes as it’s not beta’d and enjoy!

Day 14 - Influence, Day 18 - Occasion, Day 19 - Odds (all Bucky x Reader)

cjsinkythoughts’ Masterlist

There’s almost nothing he loves more than Louisiana. He loves the people, the history, the culture. The breeze from the water, the sound of the active docks, the people moving around as they do their job. This. This is home. And boy, has he missed home. 

“Sarah!”

He turns at the sound of the familiar voice, his breath leaving his body at the sight that meets his eyes.

And boy…has he missed that.

He recognizes her instantly, from the top of that pretty little head to the ends of her toes. She’s changed, obviously. It’s been quite a few years since they’ve seen each other. But she still has those beautiful eyes and that breathtaking smile.

She’s laughing at something his sister said, placing the box she brought down on the table besides them. His nephews run up to hug her and she quickly squeezes them back, giving them affectionate noogies.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” He ambles up to the women, a smirk on his lips as he raises an eyebrow.

She turns to him, setting her hands on her hips and cocking her head. “Samuel Thomas Wilson.”

Her full name falls from his lips, mocking the way she just said his. “It’s been a while, cher.”

“That happens when you go off to join the Air Force and become an Avenger.” She teases, before turning to Sarah. “Can I get four pounds of trout fillet? Dinner party at my folk’s place tonight.”

“Of course! It’s gonna be $9.16.” Sarah tells her, eyeing Sam. “Let me go grab it for you.”

“Thank you, love.”

Sarah smiles, shooting her a wink. “Only the best for my best friend.”

When she’s gone, Sam leans on the wooden column, his lips pulling up. “How’ve you been, baby girl? A pretty little thing only deserves the best life can offer.”

Sam’s grin widens as she ducks her head, a little chuckle escaping her, before looking up again. “Not bad, Wilson. Not bad at all. Except for the whole dying thing. How about you? I hear life’s been pretty hectic.”

Sam shrugs, his smile slipping from his lips. “Yeah, well, it’s to be expected with everything that went down, ya know?”

She frowns and he wishes she didn’t. He already misses her smile. “I’m sorry. It must’ve been rough losing them. Him. He was a hero.”

“He was more than that. He was a good man.” Sam sighs, before shaking his head, not wanting to dampen the spirit of talking to her again. “It’s nice to come home and take a breather. Relax. Hopefully do some familiar things while I’m back if you catch what I’m throwin’ atcha.”

She giggles at his wink, shaking her head. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

“God, I hope so.” He’ll never get tired of seeing her crumble at his words. “What’re you doing now, baby girl?”

“I’m an RN.”

He can’t stop the proud grin from over taking his features. “Congrats! Finally got that license, then?”

She smiles back and nods vigorously. “Yup! It was a lot of work, but I got there.”

“I told you you would, cher.”

“You’ve always been my number one supporter, Sammy.” 

He winks. “And I always will, Y/N.” He meant it. He could remember all the tears and frustrations he witnessed during study sessions throughout high school and college. He knew it’d pay off. She’s smart and determined and he suddenly finds himself falling for her once again.

She hums, clearing her throat, before sweeping her eyes down his figure, her lips pursed. “You look good.”

He almost scoffs at the change in topic; she was never very good at talking about herself and her accomplishments. “Says you. Don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so stunning.”

An amused eyebrow quirks up as she bites her lip. “I don’t remember you being such a charmer.”

His cocky smile is back and he’s leaning in close to her. “I’ve matured a lot since we last saw each other, ya know.”

“Oh?” She looks over her shoulder. He follows her gaze and snickers a bit when his eyes land on his little sister. “Still immature enough to hit on your sister’s best friend, I see.”

“Hey now,” he defends quickly, taking a step towards her. “I recall someone coming onto their best friend’s older brother first.”

She laughs and it’s music to his ears. He really missed that laugh. He really missed that smile. “To be young and carefree again.”

He rolls his eyes at that, nodding dramatically. “Oh yeah. Sure. Carefree. As if sneaking around is carefree.”

“You say that as if no one knew you two were doing each other.” Sam huffs as his sister returns with Y/N’s box, now with the four pounds of trout fillet. “Seriously? Every time he came home you two would disappear. 

“We weren’t that conspicuous.”

“Bull. Shit.” Sarah snorted, handing Y/N the box. “Here you are, honey.”

“Thanks.” She replies, and Sam smirks at the suddenly shy tone. Sarah gives him a pointed look as she digs through her wallet, pulling out a ten. “Keep the change. I’ve gotta go. It was good seeing you again, Sammy.”

“You too, cher.” He watches her as she makes her way across the docks, giving the boys one last hug, before clambering in her car, placing the box on the passenger seat. He can’t keep his eyes off her, even as she’s driving away.

“Wow.” Sarah scoffs, crossing her arms and popping her hip. “It’s been over a decade and you two are still head over heels. I’m kinda surprised you recognized her.”

Sam blinks, his lips pulling up. “How could I not?”

[guiltgoreglory]

Heat Waves (Chapter 2: An Ego Check)

(Very) Brief Summary: Reader is a government contractor joining the team in Benghazi.  (Eventual Tanto x Reader) (2626 words)

Chapter 1

Tagging: @abitofpablo​ @kimburgss​ @ceyruh

You watched as the dust clouds trailed behind the buggy. The rest of the trip you all sat in silence, taking in the events that had just occurred. When you saw the base from a distance you decided it was safe to holster your weapons. You wiped the sweat of your palms on your thighs as you willed your heart to slow down, and so it did. The second you felt back at equilibrium, Rone took a quick turn into the base. To no surprise, it was the most conspicuous looking place you could have imagined. You expected better from the CIA. Several armed American guards stood at the gate which was surrounded by obvious cameras. You rolled your eyes knowing that if anyone wanted to target us, it wouldn’t be hard. One guy even wore a New York Yankee’s cap. It’s like they didn’t even try.

“Check the new rides. Gaddafi had a going-out-of-business sale on armored vehicles…” Rone gestured towards the Mercedes amongst several other high-end vehicles. He whistled. Leave it to Rone to keep the tone light. “Max-leveled armored, man. We got a great deal… We stole ‘em.” Rone stared down Jack with the biggest smirk plastered on his face. He seemed extremely proud of himself for that one. You watched as a similar smile tugged at the corners of Jack’s lips. You behaved similarly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a shitty joke. 

You gathered your things as the car came to a stop. Rone hopped out, throwing the keys to another man wearing a vest, “Sat unattended at the airport.” His stride paused as he watched someone from afar. You followed his gaze until you saw the Chief. This was definitely going to be something, you didn’t know what, but you could feel the subordination getting ready to bubble out of Rone. “Hey, Chief,” Rone called, nonchalantly, almost mockingly. The Chief looked like any middle-aged man who worked in business. Blue blazer, khaki pants, glasses, the whole shebang. His posture screamed superiority complex, you knew from the get-go you wouldn’t get along, not like it mattered anyway.

“I don’t want to hear it, Tyrone.” He called back, shuffling his way back into the building. Rone strutted towards him, duffel in hand. 

“No, no, I understand.” He turned his head for a moment, keeping out of the way of a car

driving past. “I see what you’re going for here,” he called, on the verge of yelling, “Secret spy base with fortified walls, gate cameras,” He fumbled to get his id badge in hand. “and blue-eyed Westerners! walking in and out of this place all day long.” He did a lovely spin for emphasis, pointing towards all the obvious Americans walking around the base. You followed close behind, knowing you were going to need to speak with him as soon as Tyrone was done tearing into him. “But if you want to avoid..” His words were cut off by the Chief slamming the squeaky metal door in your face. His voice dropped a decibel and he spoke, mostly to himself, “That’s so rude”. He placed his phone into the tray mounted on the wall beside the door, before scanning in his card to gain entry. “Can’t believe he just did that to me.” Your heart started to pick up once again. Nothing made you more frustrated than a cocky man being too good to have a goddamn conversation.

The door let out a loud buzz before Rone pushed open the entrance. “Chief, if you want to avoid an international incident,” He continued to track in the Chief’s footsteps, “you send me my guys when I ask for them.” Many of the agents sitting at their computers peeked up to watch the drama unfold. Some took a look at you, the new face, before returning to watch the catfight.

Finally, the man turned to look at Tyrone, squinting in disapproval like a man reprimanding his toddler. “Local faces need to resolve local conflicts, Tyrone.” Aka, your life means little to nothing to me; the incident was just a wrinkle in my daily schedule. He flipped mindlessly through papers within a manilla folder. Wow he’s so important look how busy he is. “We’re guests in this country.” You and Jack came to stand a few feet behind Rone, trying to stay close without poking the bear. 

“We’re unwanted guests, Bob.” Rone rebutted. He’s not wrong. 

“We’re spies, you’re security guards.. Your job is to keep us out of trouble, not get into it yourselves.” God, he’s pretentious. Rone flipped through some files pinned onto a pillar, looking through some photos of notable people of the region. 

“Well help me do my job and give me my guys.” He didn’t bother giving the Chief the privilege of his eye-line as he continued to search through the photos. You heard a buzz, and quickly turned to see the other members of the squad you were now a part of. Perfect timing. You made eye contact with one of them, Chris Paronto. Based on your prior research everybody called him Tanto, the mischievous one. Just then the Chief said some absolute bullshit.

“Here’s what you guys are good at: working out, eating five hot meals a day. What you’re not so good at is doing what you’re told.” God, he was so fucking proud of himself. Look at you little man, showing off your power in front of your team. You let a little of your annoyance slip out. 

“Ironic considering without us, everyone’s a sitting duck.” You whispered softly. The men all turned their heads towards you. Well, I guess now is as good a time as ever to get this over with. 

“Excuse me? And who are you? Some ex-army nobody who can’t let go of the glory of war?” 

Alright, time to rip off the bandaid. You stood a little taller, stepping closer to the Chief, just beside Rone. “Honestly... I’m someone out of your security clearance.” You said assertively. Jack shared a hesitant look with Rone.

“Bullshit.” He turned away from you, readying to remove himself from the conversation. 

“Alright, I think it’s best if we get a phone call over with now.” You dropped your duffel onto the tile, squatting down beside it. The armed men gripped their guns just a little bit tighter. The Chief stood, watching you confused. You unzipped the bag, reaching in to wrap your hands around a satellite phone. You zipped it back up but left it on the ground for now.

“I don’t have time for this.” The Chief began to walk towards his office as you stood, clicking a number on speed-dial. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The director doesn’t like waiting.” You held the phone to your head, keeping a straight face. That definitely made him pause. He turned back towards you, squinting his little face up. 

“Director of what?” He sighed. 

“Director of the Central Intelligence Agency.” You responded casually as if you were telling him the forecast for the next week. You waited as the phone continued to ring. 

Everyone stood in silence except for one guy. Tanto leaned over to whisper in Boon’s ear. “Who the fuck is she?”

Finally, a voice came over the line. “Y/N.”

“Good morning, Sir. We have arrived at the location.” Everyone had their eyes on you, curiosity getting the best of them.

“Any incidents?”

“One en route to base. Resolved without violence. I’ll have a report to you within the hour.”

“Great.” He took a deep breath and you could hear him adjust in his chair. “I take it you’d like me to speak with Bob.”

“That would be appreciated, Sir.”

“Alright hand me over.” You took steady, calculated steps towards the Chief, holding the phone out for him to take. He gently took it from your hand. His eyes bore holes into the crevices of the tiled floor.

“Hello..” The Chief said tentatively. You stepped back, giving him some room. You crossed your arms across your chest, shrugging in Rone’s direction. You could tell he was living for this. “Yes, Sir…. I understand, Sir. Of course…. Goodbye.” He stood like a dog with his tail between his legs. He stepped back towards you, holding out the phone. You took it gladly with a polite smile. Pressing the phone back to your ear you concluded with a quick farewell before going back to put your phone into the duffel. As you squatted beside it, you looked up towards the Chief. 

“Are we good?” You said. You no longer wanted to squabble and your tone reflected as such. 

“Yes.” He said curtly, returning to his office. The second the door closed, the chatter of the room returned back to normal. You turned back to the men of the team looking at Rone expectantly. 

“Alrighty then.” Rone turned to walk towards their lounge and the guys began to follow. Tanto sucked in his lips, trying to stifle a chuckle. The burly man next to him, Boon, jabbed him in the side before moving towards the room. You waited for Jack, giving him a genuine, small smile before trailing behind. 

“Well, that was fun.” Mark Geist, also known by the team as “Oz”, stated monotonously, walking into the room as he disassembled his rifle. 

“He gets his jollies pushing around alphas because he can.” John Tiegen. Called “Tig”. He’s the brains. The first one to be stationed here. You stood in the corner watching as he placed his things into his cubby. 

“We had this commander back in ranger school, he was a real cockbag…” Creative insult. Tanto began to remove his vest as he narrated on. You figured you’d be here for a minute so you pulled the straps of your cello case off of your shoulders placing it onto the floor, along with your duffel. Now that you were within the compound you took off the hijab, throwing it on top of the luggage. You flipped your head forward shaking out the matted hair before you pulled it into a bun. It was a mess but it did the job.

“So on our last night, me and a buddy, we stole his beret.” He placed his vest down on the table before plopping down onto the worn couch. “Whole barracks chubbed it.”

“Chubbed it?” Boon replied, his tone made you think he really didn’t want to know, whipping out his knife to fidget with.

“Yeah, rubbed our dicks on it.” Tanto replied, the widest smile crossing his face. He looked like the Cheshire cat as he reached for the gaming controller. You coughed, stifling your laugh before your face turned quizzical. He turned back towards you, noticing your reaction before giving you a quick up and down and returning to his game. You sauntered over to Jack to join in the awkwardness of being new. You tuned into Tig as he was beginning to talk work to Rone. He leaned forward over a desk that Rone was sitting at. 

“Leader was a former Gitmo detainee.” They scanned the rugged laptop, you presumed that they were looking for who you’d tangoed with this morning.

“Yeah, those guys usually don’t hold a grudge.” Rone said in his usual sarcastic tone. 

“Hey guys,” Oz’s voice pulled you from your concentration as you turned to face him with a friendly smile. “Mark Geist, Oz.”

“Pleasure.” Jack went to shake his hand and you followed suit.

“Ah guys I’m sorry.” Rone spun on his office chair to face the rest of the crew. “Everybody, this is Jack Silva. It’s our third contract together so he knows the drill. We met training SEALs at Coronado.”

Tanto turned back for a second. “How do you get them to balance that beach ball on their nose?” A few chuckles could be heard from the guys.

“It’s tough.” Jack’s shoulders relaxed slightly, letting himself become more comfortable around his new team. 

“And this” He gestured his hand towards you. “is Y/N. She’s uhh..” He paused for a split second, trying to find the right word to describe you. “black-ops and apparently has the government at her fingertips so she’ll probably be of use.” You smirked, nodding your head towards the guys. Rone rose from his spot, spreading his arms across the room. “So we got three ex-Marines here and one ex-Army retard who likes to rub his dick on things.” Tanto stood proudly facing you two. 

“Kris Paronto. Call me Tanto.” You both shook his hand. You found Tanto’s demeanor amusing, and much to your dismay, his confidence was undeniably attractive. Despite the tall crowd, he still somehow towered above them. You shared eye contact for a brief moment before turning towards Tig. Although he felt easy to get along with, you hoped his casual demeanor didn’t affect his work. In your experience, the joker usually got people killed. Despite this, what you had researched, he seemed to be doing alright so far. 

“Hey. I’m Tig.” He waved towards you two.

“Tig’s been here the longest, so he’ll get you up to speed on the area,” Rone said, stabbing a red pin into a map. Looking in more detail you noticed it was the location of your incident. “This is Boon. Scout Sniper, Zen Master, Holder of Tanto’s leash.” He pointed to the man sitting in the sturdy armchair. 

He looked up from his lap. “Welcome to Club Med.”

“It hasn’t rained since June. It’s not gonna rain again until September.” He walked right up to you two strolling past slowly. “You two will be double-bunked. Not me, because I’m in charge. Gym sucks,” damn “food’s actually good.” Lose, win. 

Tig walked to the center of the room, a few feet from the three of you. “Base Chief is kinda a tool, but who knows, maybe now that you’re here he’ll be moderately tolerable.” 

You shrugged. “No promises but if he gets too snippy I’ll whip out the phone again.” 

“Maybe he just needs a new hat” Jack quipped. Tanto looked up from the TV to point appreciatively at Jack. 

“Don’t encourage him,” Rone said as if talking about his puppy.

“Come on. He’s just a guy with a job to do.”Oz said. Based on the dynamic he was the dad of the group. Honest, serious, tough-love type of guy. Makes sense given he’s the sniper.  “He’s playing his string out, but if you talk to him, Bob did some shit back in the day.” You’d heard it a million times, some badass joins the CIA works his way up until he’s practically just a desk jockey with a power problem. Didn’t gain him any sympathy from you.

“Alright, Jack, Y/N, this is the whiteboard that’s gonna run your life for the next sixty days.” You looked over the various points of the board as Jack made his way towards the couch. Given the limited space you preferred standing just behind, leaning your hip against the back. “I want you to check it every hour cause last-minute moves pop up every minute, such as... where shotgunning it in three hours.” Everyone in the room except you, Jack, and Rone let out an audible groan of annoyance. Tanto slapped his controller onto his lap, looking up to the ceiling. Before concentrating back on the game, he looked at you. You took this opportunity to raise an eyebrow in his direction given his childlike reaction to the news. He responded with a strong but blank stare. You rolled your eyes slightly, breaking eye contact to pay attention to Rone. You were used to being dispatched on the drop of the hat, acclimating to the schedule here probably wouldn’t be too much of a pain.

“Three hours. I’ll let you know when I’m briefed.”

[jackson--t]

The silver tooth

This is a very small 'spinn off' from my story 'hasta mañana' on AO3. Where Heahmund has fun dragging the handcuffed Ivar in a restaurant and Ivar tells Heahmund the story about his silver tooth. Happened some hours after the arrest. Might post this on AO3 aswell.

Words: ~ 2200.

Pairing: Ivar x Heahmund.

Ivar stared at Heahmund, the corners of his mouth pulled down slightly. Heahmund could see that the boy had briefly let his bright eyes slide down to the handcuffs that Heahmund had tightened under the table to keep at least one of the Mexican brat's hands fixed; it was only when the bright eyes turned sullenly and extremely angrily on Heahmund's face again that Heahmund raised his eyebrows.

"This is humiliating." Ivar snarled, but Heahmund only snorted.

"How is it more humiliating than being chained in a car, huh?" Heahmund replied; he waved to a waitress who nodded slightly at him while Ivar clicked his tongue lightly.

"Is this some American way of taking your prisoners out to dinner? What kind of shit is that?" the boy hissed venomously.

Heahmund smiled broadly. "We've been driving across the desert for several hours, and the turf where your Mexican ass belongs is just a little far away. And since you scum can't be left alone in the car - later someone will think you're a whimpering dog that has to be freed because I would have left the air conditioning off - you'll just have to eat with me. I think I'm even nice. They wouldn't even let something like you knock on the glass door."

Ivar bit his lower lip so hard that the skin turned slightly white where his incisors sank in lightly. Anger, Heahmund could see it exactly, and he loved it. They had had a long trip since Heahmund had arrested the drug lord's son - but as it was in the foothills of the Mexican desert, the nearest police station was not just around the corner.

Heahmund had known that people had reacted terribly shocked to his and Ivar's arrival - but he couldn't see himself sitting in a car with that bastard for 24 hours without eating or drinking anything. Especially since the tormentor put his damn feet down on his dashboard every two hours, the crappy white sneakers that Heahmund already hated on principle. The fact that they hurled racist expletives at each other every 20 minutes added to it. Until Heahmund had discovered this dinky little diner on the outskirts of a small desert town and had decided to make Ivar look really stupid for his own amusement and encouragement.

He knew that people knew who Ivar was. They knew rumors, like ghosts, spoken in whispers behind street corners. And even though Heahmund, as an annoyed cop, smelled treachery behind every Mexican face, he had still decided to make this stage out of sheer amusement. And he loved Ivar's hate-distorted face, the rapidly creeping blush on his cheeks as people kept staring at him. Almost like a lion in the zoo.

"I'm not hungry." Ivar growled; his lip had by now released, but his eyes were still narrowed in anger.

"Then don't eat. I honestly don't give a shit if you have something in your stomach. You're half a shirt anyway.", Heahmund replied amusedly, ordering something to drink and eat. Fortunately, the waitress spoke English; he would never have had the nerve to ask that damn bastard for a translation. And even though the waitress turned to Ivar with slightly red cheeks and asked him in a shaky voice in Spanish what he wanted to eat, Ivar didn't look away from Heahmund's face; hate, so much hate. Heahmund's limbs were tingling. The tension between them had increased since the car ride.

"Sólo agua. Eso es todo.", Ivar muttered hoarsely; the waitress nodded and disappeared. Heahmund watched her go, interrupted only by the slight snort that came between him and Ivar. The boy jutted his chin slightly.

"Do you seriously think women like her go for cops?" he said; Heahmund raised his eyebrows. He'd had a hard time getting used to Ivar's hard Spanish accent, even if it did sound exciting in some way. Like everything else in this country. But Ivar was something very special. Something very special bad that Heahmund had been working towards for years. Capturing the son of the Ragnar Lothbrok, the ghost of Mexico, was a brilliant job. He just had to drive this little bastard safely to the precinct, that was all.

"All women like cops."

"They don't."

"They sure do."

"Tss, as if! Especially on you foreigner. Women don't like traitors."

"Women don't like criminals."

Ivar leaned back slightly in the seat; his bright eyes slid over Heahmund's face, then he gave a light snort of laughter.

"Besides, I don't think you’re into women," Ivar said, and Heahmund fixed the stare of his eyes on him. The young Mexican raised his eyebrows slightly, and Heahmund snorted.

"What did you just say?"

"I said you don't like women. You're looking at me like-" Ivar interrupted; the waitress brought the drinks. And just as she was about to set the glass of water down in front of Ivar, Heahmund lightly bumped the tray with a movement, and the glass of water fell. The waitress apologized, while Ivar pressed the back of his head against the padded bench and stared angrily at Heahmund.

"Oops. My mistake. Well, the good water for the poor boy!  Get another glass, will you?" Heahmund said with a smile, and the waitress nodded after removing the grossest dirt. Ivar's eyes literally glowed as Heahmund looked at him again.

"You're an asshole."

"And you’re scum. A chilled drink like that does a world of good," Heahmund retorted; he took a big gulp from his glass of cool iced tea and tried his best to cover a wide grin in his mouth as he saw Ivar's eyes narrow.

"I hope someone shoots you soon," he said.

"You can wish for that when you're in jail, Goldy."

"Why you fucking cop call me Goldy?"

"Because of your skin."

Ivar's mouth dropped open, then shut again; his eyes swept once down Heahmund's body, and he nodded deprecatingly at the cop.

"Racist."

"With you and your family gladly."

"Oh, that was clear. I swear you're going to regret this," Ivar growled. He didn't move away when the waitress placed a new glass of water in front of him while Heahmund got a plate of food. Heahmund immediately started eating, and he noticed after a while that Ivar was looking slightly out the window. The boy did everything but look in Heahmund's direction, and chewed lightly on his lower lip.

Heahmund knew he was hungry. Since the arrest, which had been half a day ago, the boy had eaten nothing and drunk very little. The water glass was half empty, and there was a reflection of the slowly setting sun in the slightly milky glass. Heahmund stared at the glass for a while, then back at the food. He left a little left over, and after a while pushed the plate over to Ivar. "If you want, eat. You Mexicans don't throw anything away and make tacos out of everything."

Ivar's eyes rolled upward, and he snorted deeply. "Can we maybe do without your standard cop jokes about us for a change, huh? A little more civility? One could almost think you're a cop from the gutter.", Ivar snorted, and before Heahmund could take the plate away from him again, he pulled it over to him with his free hand. It wasn't much - but it was already too much by Heahmund's standard. This little rat didn't even deserve the water that was next to the plate.

Ivar ate hastily. And only when Heahmund paid the waitress and unchained Ivar from the bar under the table again, the bright eyes briefly turned to Heahmund, who took the extremely unruly boy hard by the handcuffs and led him away. It did not escape his notice that a deep shade of red was traveling down Ivar's cheeks, up to his cheekbones. He gripped tighter, even as he heard Ivar's slight snort accurately.

Heahmund chained the boy to the open window of the car door, with one arm, and with a soft exhale took a cigarette from his bulletproof vest a few feet away. It took him a while to find his lighter among the guns, pepper spray and other things, but then he lit the cigarette and took a big drag from it. Only after a while did he feel Ivar's burning gaze on him; he turned his eyes to the boy and nodded. Ivar had leaned back against the car door, his arm contorted so that he could stand reasonably well, before nodding to Heahmund as well.

"Can I bum one?" he asked, and Heahmund laughed lightly.

"Aren't you still too young for that? And more importantly, why should I?"

Ivar rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh; his bright eyes pointed at Heahmund's bulletproof vest. "Come on, I can't take another eight hours in that car with your fucking aftershave up my nose. Please."

"If you keep your sneakers off my dashboard, then yeah," Heahmund snorted; he fumbled again for the cigarettes and raised his eyebrows in annoyance.

"Sure."

He lit Ivar's cigarette. Because of the fact that they were a little closer due to the restricted movement, Heahmund could see the fine scar that stood out on Ivar's caramel-colored skin on his cheek; he also smelled it again, that damn sweet smell of copal and lavender. He wrinkled his nose slightly; something silvery flashed at him as Ivar took the first, deep drag from the cigarette and expelled it gleefully into the lukewarm air.

He had seen that silver tooth the first time he had arrested Ivar. With the roar the boy had put on, it had been hard to miss; besides, it was the tooth next to his first four incisors, quite conspicuous. Heahmund took another drag from the cigarette, then nodded over to Ivar, who eyed him the same way. The setting sun bathed everything in a warm light, which reflected perfectly like melted honey on Ivar's face.

"The tooth, that silver one." Heahmund said; he leaned against the car beside the boy, emitting a puff of smoke.

Ivar raised his eyebrows. "What about it?"

"Is that fashion? Or is that some...Mexican bullshit you guys like to do. Like your fucking tattoos."

Ivar snorted. "You have one on the back of your neck yourself, I've seen it. And no, it's not bullshit, fucking asshole." The boy shifted his position slightly; Heahmund knew that the handcuffs were actually a much tighter fit, because they left marks on Ivar's relatively thin wrist.

 "What is it then?"

Ivar was silent for a moment; he fixed his gaze on the setting sun, and again expelled a light haze of smoke.

"It's a gift. I was traveling in Mexico City once, must have been two years ago. A girl almost got hit by a truck she hadn't seen, and her parents were standing too far away. When I pulled her aside, I hit my head on a hard stone wall. My tooth fell out."

"Must have been a baby tooth." Heahmund said as two pairs of narrowed eyes locked onto him; Heahmund laughed lightly. "It's fine, sorry."

"Anyway," Ivar continued; "anyway, the little girl's parents were so grateful to me that they offered to correct it. The father was a dentist. It's white gold, it was worth more than the damn practice. He said actually he had wanted to save that silver tooth for a specific occasion in his own life. But he said his daughter's life was absolutely worth it. And I've had that tooth ever since. It always reminds me of what happened there."

Heahmund exhaled. For a moment, he didn't know what to say - which was extremely rare in his life. He had arrested Ivar to get to his father with him. He wanted to bust the whole family, this whole cartel - but he hadn't expected anything like this. And he wondered for a moment if he should even believe Ivar, because after all he was part of this corrupt and violent family. This merry-go-round of violence and drug dealing, of murders and illegal activities.

But when Heahmund turned his gaze to Ivar, who was still staring towards the sun, the back of his neck prickled slightly. He saw exactly the slight bulge under Ivar's skin at the mouth, the tender bulge, a clear indication that the boy was just running his tongue over the said silver tooth, obviously thinking back to that experience. So, scum could also do good.

Bright eyes locked on Heahmund, and the two looked at each other for a moment. The rays of the sun made Ivar's eyes seem almost silver, and Heahmund's throat went terribly dry for a moment. Pure silver, beautiful, wild silver. Forbidden silver.

"Once I see your dirty sneakers on the dashboard, I'll kick them out the window myself," he said darkly, and Ivar clicked his tongue.

"You would miss me, asshole."

"Tss. No more than you miss rats after they bite you."

"Charming, cop."

"Shut up, dirty little bastard, and you keep your mouth shut on the ride. I don't want to hear a word."

Ivar snorted slightly, and as Heahmund released his handcuffs from the door and almost roughly shoved the boy into the car, their eyes met again.

"Not a word, bastard."

"Pendejo, you fucking gringos are all the same."

That damn accent. Heahmund almost had to bite his fist as he walked to his side of the car to stop the tingling and fire in his veins. After all, he could never and would never allow someone like Ivar to get too close to him.

@youbloodymadgenius (ehm was it really everything written? 😂🙈)

[reiven2017]

Happy birthday to you.

His son was a professional killer, Robin, the grandson of a bloodthirsty psychopath, and an insufferable child. Damian could have been expected to do anything and more, but when he approached Nim, his expression more somber than before, and quickly asked what seemed like a simple question, Bruce fell into a stupor.

Bruce was busy working in his office, completely focused on the documents and didn't even hear the door to his office open. He glanced briefly over the top of his glasses before returning to his work. "I'm listening, Damian. "it's been a few minutes. Damian wasn't happy about the idea of asking Bruce for help, but he wasn't going to listen to Dick's taunts, and Alfred, with his stiffly English manner, wasn't the right person to turn to with this question, so he didn't have many options. Wayne finally asked.

Bruce stopped writing, raised his head, and looked at his son with a strange expression on his face.

"Did he hear correctly?»

-" Damian?" - "What? I didn't think I asked anything so weird. " The boy said irritably, frowning and watching intently. "No, I said. Of course not. Just...why would you do that? " He could see his son pondering the answer for a moment, unsure whether to trust Bruce. - "You need to. "Damian's voice was cold, and there was an impenetrable mask on his face, and the man realized that he would not get a more detailed answer from him. — "So, what do you usually get for your birthday? "The boy repeated the question more impatiently. Despite his cold tone and stony expression, the slightest bit of nervousness in his demeanor was conspicuous. "Usually?" Bruce looked thoughtful. —" It depends on who exactly you are giving to, a woman or a man, and what else this person loves or is interested in. Probably the most common gifts are books or some useful things." Bruce continued to watch his son, finding his behavior strange, to say the least. Damian was still a rather obnoxious and sullen child, he had no friends and it didn't seem to bother him much, but his son never did anything for nothing, so there was something to worry about. He could see the gears turning in Damian's head as he pondered Bruce's words. It was several minutes before he seemed satisfied with the answer, and with a curt nod to his father, Damian left.

A week had passed since that incomprehensible conversation between him and Damian, and Bruce was still wondering why his son needed this information. Just as he was beginning to forget about it, the man standing in the doorway caught Damian doing something very strange. Sitting in his room, surrounded by a variety of new, apparently just bought things, from the TV to the candy, the boy stared intently at the wrapping paper in front of him. His gaze, pinned to the object in his hands, did not bode well for this colored piece of paper, and over his angry mutterings, Bruce heard a couple of words. —" It shouldn't be any harder than holding a gun." the man heard his son repeat it a couple of times, as if to convince himself of this, but the crumpled pieces of paper, scattered and viciously crumpled, said otherwise. Bruce could see how Damian was annoyed by this activity, but despite this, the boy continued to try to wrap something that looked like a box more or less neatly. Alfred stopped beside the man, carrying a tray. "Master Damian has been doing this since this morning. I am absolutely sure that I heard a couple of obscene expressions in Arabic and saw a spot of glue on the carpet, but despite this, he makes a success. This box looks neater than the last one." "The last one?" Bruce asked. "Yes, sir. If my memory serves me correctly, this is the 8th box in his hands in the past five hours. The first two were painful to look at. "The butler spoke in a monotone, but then his lips stretched into a small smile. —" I'm surprised Master Damian is so diligent and patient." "Me, too. Patience is not the best side of his character. Do you know who this is for, Alfred?" "No, sir. Master Damian didn't tell me who we owed this debacle to, but I think we'll find out soon enough. Bruce heard a crash in the room and turned away from the other man to look at his son. Damian struggled furiously with the tape, his eyes burning madly, and Bruce wasn't entirely sure that he wouldn't tear down the mansion by the end of the day.

November 15. An unremarkable day for everyone else except Damian. A whole week of effort, his frayed nerves, and his unequal battle with scotch had been all for this day. He got up, a few hours early for school, and in less than a minute, his nervousness had reached its limit. Thinking about it, he squeezed out almost the entire tube of toothpaste, then spilled coffee on his pajamas, forgot to walk Titus, and the most terrible thing for him almost lost the object of his efforts. Gift. Beautifully packaged, with purple bows at the top. He ignored the questioning looks from his father and Alfred as he stalked back to the car, clutching the gift in his right hand and the flowers in his left. Amazing white roses from the main garden of Gotham City. Don't go into the details of how he got them. Damian continued to ignore the strange smiles of the butler and Bruce, mentally rolling his eyes and realizing that this was not all they had to do.

When the stone mass of Gotham Academy finally came into view, Damian was already nervous. Not that it was so difficult for Damian Wayne to walk up and hold out his hand with a gift, saying a few words, but now he was as worried as ever. It was the first time he'd ever given her anything.< i> Yes, it was the first time when he gives something. . He just didn't know what to expect or what to be prepared for. Maybe she wouldn't like the gift. Or she doesn't like gifts. Or something else, and that was all he was thinking about right now. But the moment X has arrived. Alfred dropped him off at the main entrance, smiling calmly at him and wishing him a good day. Damian stumbled out of the car, almost tripping over his own feet, and frowned grimly. As if it's his shoes that are to blame for his being such a mumbler. His gaze swept the landing in front of the main entrance, and Damian stiffened as his eyes caught the girl. Rachel found Damian's gaze as well as his, and smiled at him warmly, waving her hand vigorously. The boy sighed softly, mentally urging himself to calm down, and in one superhuman quick step, he was at her side. Raven stared in surprise. Damian, without taking his eyes off the floor, in some uncoordinated movement, handed her the flowers, literally thrusting them at her, and quickly began to repeat them. - "Happy birthday, Rachel Michaella Roth! I bought you a present and I'm going to give it to you and I really said it." he pulled out the gift with the same quick movement, placing it in the girl's hands, without looking up from his shoes in embarrassment. It was a few agonizing seconds before he caught a movement from Rachel, and then the warm touch of her lips on his cheek. Damian blinked dumbfounded, pinned to the spot only by touching the tips of his finger to the cheek where the girl had kissed him.

[victoria-daydreams]

Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter One: The Queen of Hearts

AN: At first, I was going to delete this story because it wasn’t gaining any traction, which was disappointing, but as the days passed the notes started coming in I decided to keep it posted. Thank you to everyone that’s read this fic so far.

Trigger Warnings: subtle racism

Word Count: 4.6k

Chapter Two: Division X

The car journey was slow and tedious, it had only been three hours since the three of us had set off. I was dozing off in the back seat cocooned in my tan wool coat as my head used the window as a pillow, listening to Charles and Erik talk softly amongst themselves, they must have thought I was fully asleep.

"Why recruit an empath?" Erik asked curiously. "Why not recruit someone with a more destructive power?"

"You forget Claudia is also telekinetic," Charles answered. "I mean did you see her? When she lifted that knife, her eyes, it was as if they were glowing. It was beautiful to look at!" Charles exclaimed, and I could envision a brilliant smile on his face.

"You find her attractive, don't you?" Erik asked, almost amused. "I'm sure Agent MacTaggert will understand," Erik continued, still in a teasing tone.

Charles chuckled delightfully, "I'm not going to comment on that," Charles stated, clearing his throat and changing the topic. "But do not discount her empathy as not a destructive gift, that particular ability can enhance her mind and body to be nearly superhuman if she wished it to do so, along with projecting her emotions to other people. Empathy can be extremely dangerous,"

"Do you think she has used it in a dangerous way?" Erik questioned. Erik's question hung in the air for a while. "Charles?" he prompted.

"There is danger within her," Charles answered softly.

His voice, hazy as the air in summertime, seemed to come from somewhere outside of himself. The two of them were silent then, knowing and sharing this sudden, troubling observation. Just as my eyes felt heavy and I felt myself drifting into a peaceful sleep when Erik's voice startled me.

"Charles, do you really think that this is a good idea?"

"Erik, if I didn't have faith in how powerful her abilities are then I never would have allowed her to get mixed up in this in the first place," Charles assured.

"And just how powerful are her abilities, Charles? I feel like there's something you're hiding. What more can she do?"

"She's more powerful than even she knows. You've only sampled a small amount of the power she possesses. But I think that she's holding back what she can do, so until she tells us, we'll have to wait,"

My mind became fuzzy and I soon drifted off into total and calm oblivion.

~~~x~~~

When I woke up, my head was still resting on the window. I lifted my head from my makeshift pillow and saw Erik looking at me, through the rear view mirror, with a mixture of emotions that I didn't recognize. I shifted slightly and sat up slowly, my limbs groaning in protest. It was now early afternoon, as we made the drive to the CIA headquarters.

My eyes shifted between the back of Erik's seat and the back of Charles seat every few minutes. Charles looked at the mirror, shifting his eyes slightly so he can still see the road and keep eye contact with me.

"So Claudia," he began in attempt to break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen on the car now that I was awake. "What did you do at your job?" Charles asked politely.

My eye twitched as I stared at the mirror, "Clearly, I was in maintenance," I retorted sleep still heavy in my voice, as I gestured at my dress underneath my coat.

Erik's eyes moved from the passenger side window back to the mirror, looking at me, "Sarcasm won't be the best way to pass time," he turned his attention back to the road.

We sit in a tense silence, I never was one for small talk. I just left my home and job only a few hours ago to help two strangers I just met. They worked for the government, which raised my suspicion, but the fact that they knew how to find me so easily and knew what I could do was unnerving. I believe that I deserved to be left alone with my thoughts, this was a lot for me.

After a few minutes of more tense silence I spoke up again, "Psychologist," I answered, causing the two men to look back at me. "I was a psychologist's assistant, I only have my bachelor's degree," I explained.

It was the perfect cover, I gave mental support to patients and their families. No one really knew what I was and what I could do if I was given the chance. Secretly, I always hoped something would happen that'd make me use my powers for a cause bigger than myself.

Charles smiled at me, "Where did you attend college?"

My voice turned monotone, "Howard University, but you probably already knew that and my whole life story," I remarked.

"Contrary to your belief, I am not one to betray someone's trust. You asked me to stay out of your head, so until I have your permission, I won't reach out for you telepathically," Charles looked at the rear view mirror again, catching my eyes again.

Regret flashed in my eyes as I dropped my gaze, playing with my hands, "My apologies,"

"There's no need to apologize to me, Claudia,"

I cleared my throat, feeling uncomfortable, I glanced out the window, "Where are we?" I asked, changing the subject.

"We're coming up to the headquarters now," Charles answered, gesturing to the large building looming up ahead of us.

I looked out of the window to see the headquarters. It was made up of one huge tan stone building surrounded by acres of clean, green fields and deciduous trees, with a rather odd looking satellite to the left of it that looked like a large golf ball atop of a tee. It was quite remarkable and imposing, but also very conspicuous.

"I would have thought that it would be more camouflaged, being a government building and all," I quipped, and Erik let out a light chuckle.

The car came to a gradual stop before we pulled up to the curb and we all stepped out of the car.

"Home sweet home," Erik noted dryly.

The air had turned cold and bitter and I shrugged my coat closer to me in an attempt to keep warm, before I grabbed my suit case out of the black car. Charles, Erik, and I had gone back to my apartment after I was recruited to gather my clothes and valuables into my suitcase. I smiled inwardly thinking back on how Erik ordered me to hurry up and pack my belongings and I did just the exact opposite just to piss him off.

"I thought I told you to make it quick," Erik grumbled, trying to steer me out of my own apartment.

"You did. I just didn't listen," I answered simply, before latching onto Charles' arm, and he guided me out the apartment.

"Claudia, Erik. Please. Do try to get on. We have a six hour car journey ahead of us and I don't think that my sanity will be able to stand you two bickering for that length of time," Charles groaned.

"My, my, is he always like that?" I asked, looking over my shoulder with a wry grin and Erik just glared at me.

"Erik?"

"Who else?" I retorted, rolling my eyes. "Is he always so hostile towards people?"

"I would say not trusting in your case, my dear," Charles corrected. "Just give him time and he will come around, probably not entirely, but I trust he will not try to kill you," Charles stated sending me a reassuring smile, that I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow to.

"I'd like to see him try,"

It was starting to become fun, arguing with Erik. He had a quick wit, not unlike myself. We could keep up with each other. Shaking my head out of my daze, I closed the car door. Charles came up behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder and slowly guided me towards the front door.

"Now Claudia, there are six more people here just like us. You will meet them shortly," Charles informed, as I walked beside him with suitcase in hand.

"Ah, Charles, Erik, welcome back. I see you have brought one more recruit," A large, more plump man greeted us, sporting a black suit, wore square glasses, and had jet black hair. "Welcome to my facility, the CIA's new Mutant Division," he welcomed as I looked on impressed. He extended his hand out to me, I was shocked by the gesture. "I'm Agent Platt, and I promise you I'm on your side,"

"Claudia Walker," I greeted back smiling while giving his hand a firm shake. "And by that I hope you mean you support us, because you aren't a mutant," I hinted, my smile never wavered. Agent Platt raised his eyebrows, glancing to Charles uncomfortably. "I'm an empath Mr. Platt. I might not know what you're thinking, but rest assured I know what you're feeling," the man smiled, his cheeks scrunching up.

"Well, anyway, let's introduce you to your new partners, Claudia. You'll be with them for a...long while, so might as well get acquainted," Agent Platt stated.

"We are actually are on their way Agent Platt," Charles informed, shoving his hands in pocket. "We got it from here," Charles stated.

Mr. Platt nodded, "It was nice meeting you, Claudia," I gave small wave and the man twisted around and walked away from us.

As we moved around the halls, which were full of CIA agents, some of them had stopped in their tracks, watching as the three of us made our way through. Some had disgusted looks on their faces, like they had smelled something awful. Others had smirks plastered on their face, and I could see it in their eyes that they were working on plans on how to make my life miserable. It wouldn't be hard, those stares were enough to make me feel uncomfortable.

Charles and Erik seemingly ignored the stares and both pointed out places. It had already become easy to tell who really was fully into this, and that was Charles. As we moved into the laboratories, he lit up with explaining ideas of mutations in genes and all sort of things that revolved around an expansion of the human race. His hope for this new sort of combined world was almost infectious. And then there was Erik, the gruffer of the two who just sort of nodded along, ignoring the mutations speeches, but pointed of the more relevant things like the bathroom and kitchen. Both had their positives and negatives, and you could tell that they were good friends that filled in what the other was lacking a bit.

"Here is where you'll be staying," Charles pushed open the door to the small simple room. "All of us are staying in this hallway. Welcome to your new home Claudia," I looked at Charles smile and internally shake my head.

This was hardly my home. All it was was a big, white, cold building that stuck out like a neon flashing light. It might as well say "Mutants helping the CIA are here. Come check them out!"

I opened my mouth to voice my opinion, but changed my mind, "Thanks," I smiled to him as I stepped in and put my bag on the bed.

"Do you mind if I change. Sleeping and sitting in this dress for six hours was incredibly uncomfortable," I explained.

"Of course, we'll be right outside the door," Charles replied, and he left the room.

My eyes scanned over the room once more, my bedroom looked like a stereotypical military barrack. Grey walls, grey prickly carpet, grey, bland itchy bed covers, a lumpy mattress, standard chest of drawers and a small desk with a small desk lamp. No personality. At. All. It was definitely going to need a change, because this would not do.

"Alright," I shrugged and turned to unpack my suitcase. Flipping it open I started pulling out my perfectly folded clothing and shoes. It was then as I started stooped down and lined my shoes up along the end of my bed that I realized Erik was still there, because he started chuckling.

"Can I help you, Chuckles?" I questioned, glancing back up at him.

"Nope, just wondering where the crack is in that perfect exterior you've built," he shrugged. "I mean, from what I've seen, all of us have one," he reasoned and I knew that he wasn't just talking of the human race, but specifically mutants.

"You tell me yours and I'll possibly tell you mine," I smirked as he raised an eyebrow to me and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms.

"I'm a survivor of the Holocaust," he replied with a look that silently tested me to freak out or something with this information.

This man wanted a reaction and I wasn't going to give it to him.

"That's one enormous crack," I turned back to him unconsciously rubbing my wrist, a motion that Erik did not miss as he raised a curious eyebrow.

"You're telling me," he replied dryly. "So...come on. You've got the Miss Perfect act down to a 'T', so where is it?" Erik asked, his eyes scanning over me.

"I don't if I should say now, yours would trump mine any day," I explained, as I ran my hand down my neck uncomfortably. I cleared my throat hoping to dispel the suffocating atmosphere that was closing in on me. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to change," I reminded, and Erik shot annoyed glance and grunted, before leaving the room.

I turned back to my suitcase and searched through my clothes to change into some more comfortable clothing. After finally deciding on what to wear I had changed into a pair of black cropped pants, flats, and a red turtleneck sweater. I walked out of my room, to see Erik and Charles waiting next to my door.

"Did you get lost in there?" Erik asked irritatedly.

"No. Beauty takes time, didn't you know?" I retorted, and Erik rolled his eyes. "Now, where are the other mutants, Charles?" I asked, focusing my gaze on Charles now.

"Follow me," Charles said, extending his arm out.

We had taken several corridors before finally coming to the room where the others were being kept. I grimaced at my thoughts, I made them sound like caged animals.

Charles stopped at the doors and turned to me, "Can you make sure they don't get into too much trouble? Charles requested.

I nodded slightly curious to see who I'm working with, "I'll be sure to," I answered.

As we stood in front of the door I took a moment to compose myself. I smoothed out the wrinkles in my pants and made sure my hair was in place though it was loose, I wanted make sure it wasn't all over the place. After all, first impressions were everything.

Charles pushed open the double doors and walked in. Erik followed with me in tow. I looked around the room. It was quite large with chairs and tables, couches in the middle and a fish tank against a wall. Two large windows were on either side of the room and it looked out towards the grounds.

"Everyone, I would like you to meet our final recruit,"

I then noticed the other people in the room. They were all younger than me, and staring at me.

"This is Claudia Walker and I hope you treat her well. Now if you would excuse Erik and I, we have some matters to discuss," he announced.

My head snapped up and glared at Charles' retreating form. I lifted my barrier slightly.

"Feed me to the dogs why don't you,"

Charles left with a laugh and several confused glances before he and Erik were finally out of the room. A stunning blonde ran up to me, pulling me into a tight embrace. I stepped back a little startled. Admittedly, I enjoyed being wrapped in her arms, it had been a long time since I last had a friend.

"I'm Raven, Charles' sister," she introduced, pulling away.

"I didn't know he had one," I replied, letting out a laugh.

"Well, he's barely here anymore to talk," Raven sighed, and then flashed me a fake smile. "Anyway, come and meet the others!" Her faux smile turned into a grin as she dragged me to the sofa. "Okay, this is Armando, but he prefers to be called Darwin," Raven started, nodding towards a slim, dark skinned man, clearly the oldest of the group of teens. "Angel," she named, nodding at a beautiful, tan skinned girl, with pitch black hair, and sultry, dark brown eyes. "Sean," my eyes moving to Sean, a pale, ginger, and rather lanky boy.

Sean stood up and took my hand, kissing it, "Sean Cassidy. Sixteen years old, I like fish, and pretty girls with black hair," he hinted. Raven and I exchanged amused looks that said, "Is he serious?"

"Teenage boys and their hormones. It's like being back in high school," I thought.

A muscular, blond boy pulled Sean back into his seat by his shirt, "Alright Casanova," he said dryly, and a laugh escaped me. "Get over it, man. She's out of your league, and probably older than you," the blond boy did a double take, his hand still fisted in Sean's shirt, "Wait, how old are you?" he questioned.

"Twenty-two," I answered.

"Six years older, man," the blond boy pointed to Sean before letting him go.

"I can take older women!" Sean protested.

The boy rolled his eyes and turned to me, "Excuse Ginger's-"

"Hey!" Sean interjected.

"Sad and obvious excuse to get you in a closet, a date, or in his bed...but I'm Alex. Alex Summers," he introduced, a smile forming on his face.

"And finally, Hank," Raven continued, motioning to the last guy left, clearly the nerd of the group, with his glasses and dorky jumper.

Hank reached out a hand, that I briefly shook, knowing it made Raven uncomfortable. She clearly liked him, it wasn't that I couldn't see where she was coming from. He was cute in a way, but just not my type.

"Now we're government agents, we should have code names," Raven suggested. "I want to be called Mystique," she announced, clearly having previously thought about it.

"Damn! I wanted to be called Mystique," Sean protested, faking disappointment. I couldn't help but chuckle and shake my head.

"Well, tough I called it," Raven laughed.

In seconds, blue scales trickled down her body before feathering into a perfect replica of Sean. Sean was taken aback, nearly spilling his drink. After the initial shocked faded, Sean began to study himself. We couldn't help but gape, it was truly amazing.

"Besides, I'm way more mysterious than you," Raven added, everyone broke into laughter, giving Raven a round of applause, as Sean turned back into a rather bashful Raven.

"Darwin, what about you?" Raven asked, taking her applause modestly.

"Well Darwin is already a nickname and it kind of fits," he nodded at us. "Adapt to survive an' all. Check this out,"

Darwin strode over to the fish tank, I couldn't help but wonder what he was about to do. He dunked his head into to the water of the fish tank, we didn't even have to blink before newly formed gills appeared on his face. We began to cheer, as he opened his mouth, impersonating a fish. The gills disappeared as he took his head out of the tank, shaking off the water, before signalling to Sean.

"What about you?" he inquired.

Sean pressed his hands together, taking a moment to decide.

"I'm going to be...Banshee,"  Sean decided.

I was about to open my mouth to speak before I was interrupted by Hank.

"Why do you want to be named after a wailing spirit?" he wondered, taking the words straight from my lips, I nodded in agreement.

"You might wanna cover your ears," Sean warned, getting up from his chair, revealing his full height, winking directly at me and I rolled my eyes.

All of us frowned in sheer confusion before reluctantly covering our ears. Sean bent down, keeping us in suspense. Letting out a high pitch whistling noise, shattering the glass window. Sean winced slightly when he saw the damage he had done before joining in with the others laughter. I gazed in horror at it.

"Charles is going to murder me," I thought to myself.

Maybe I would be able to...fix it, but I knew it was a useless thought.

"Your turn," Sean signaled at Angel, returning to his previous seat.

"My stage name was Angel," she began, standing up, sliding the leather jacket down her arms, revealing her bare back. Sean let out a wolf whistle and Alex shifted uncomfortably, clearly affected. "It kinda fits," Angel turned around revealing tattooed wings on her back slowly peeling off, starting to flutter effortlessly.

"You can fly?!" Raven gaped, mesmerized by her pixie wings.

"Uhuh and..." she bent over, and spat out a ball of what appeared to be acid onto the top of the statues head.

I had to suppress another groan at the damage inflicted upon the statue. Somehow I knew that the night was only going to get more destructive.

"That's disgusting," I muttered under my breath, thinking no one could hear me.

"Well what can you do," Angel challenged me, since I wasn't that impressed with her display.

I smirked and stood up, straightening myself out, "Well, I'm an empath. I can detect other peoples feelings and manipulate them, Watch," I instructed.

I walked over to Darwin and place my hand on his arm, "Amazement," I named, before moving over to Sean. I touched his arm, wrinkling my nose a little. "Lust. Ew," I commented, as everyone laughed and Sean turned a light shade of pink. "And..." I walked towards Alex, about to do my trick on him, when I see him tense up.

The emotions I feel are mixed, there is a hint of happiness, but it is over shadowed by a depressing, dark feeling. I looked into his eyes and there is so much mystery, so much hurt, that I am compelled not to reveal this boy's current emotional state to the entire group.

"... You get the picture," I finished, walking away. I might've been mistaken, but I swear I felt a slight sense of gratitude radiating off of Alex. I took a seat across from Angel, sitting at the edge of it, focusing on Angel's brain. "What I'm doing right now is accessing the hippocampus of Angel's brain, having that send messages to the amygdala, which is the part of the brain that is responsible for emotions. I have to choose an emotion then release and Angel will act the way that emotion wants her to," I explained, looking at everyone.

My choice was to make her really sad, I don't know why but it was just for no reason. When I released her brain, she started to cry hysterically. She could probably fill a bathtub with her tears. Releasing my control over Angel, she calmed down after few minutes, everyone choked with laughter, and Angel glared at me.

"Ask and you shall receive," I stated, returning an innocent smile with a shrug.

"Oh, and I can also-" I broke off, as I pointed towards Sean's glass that he was about to take a drink out of. It took itself out of his hand surrounded in a violet aura and hovered just out of his reach. They all looked up at me in amazement. Sean whistled, clapping. I gave a small smile, bowing in my seat.

"Hmm...what about...Blithe? But spelt B-l-y-t-h-e!" Raven said excitedly.

"I don't get it," Sean stated, confusion evident in his expression.

"It means to be happy and carefree," Hank explained, quietly but all of us heard him and we turned to look at him. He cleared his throat before carrying on looking at me. "It also means to show a casual and cheerful indifference, not that I'm trying to say that you do-" Hank starting to ramble.

"It's fine, no offense taken," I reassured, cutting him off and he looked up at me. "I love it," I looked back over to Raven. "Blythe...It's got a nice ring to it," I carry on smiling at her.

"What's your name?" Raven asked. Hank looked down, embarrassed.

Alex choked on his drink, "How about Bigfoot?" he sniggered.

Raven turned her head to glare at him. I shot a disapproving look at Alex, it was like he had shattered the little confidence, Hank actually had.

"Well, you know what they say about guys with big feet," Raven started, looking down to Alex's feet, I frowned in confusion. Hanks mutation was big feet? "And yours look kind of small," Raven's tone turning spiteful. I couldn't help but laugh along with the others including Alex, all except Raven and Hank, who sat in an awkward silence.

"Alex, what is your gift? What can you do?" Darwin asked, motioning to him before leaning back into the sofa.

"Uh it's not...um, I can't do it, I can't do it in here," Alex stuttered, avoiding everyone's gaze.

My own gaze softened, I found myself feeling sorry for him, "Guys," I started, looking at him in sympathy. "Let's leave him be,"

"Can you do it out there?" Darwin asked, gesturing out the window.

"Darwin!" I exclaimed, making him look abashed. But it was too late, the idea had already caught fire.

"Why don't you just do it out there?" Raven said, her eyes alight with mischief.

"Come on!"

The room erupted into cheers of Alex's name. Leaning back in my seat, I sighed heavily. This is fantastic. Soon giving into the calls, Alex stood up. They cheered, Raven laughing.

"Get down when I tell you," Alex ordered, looking deadly serious. He seemed deathly afraid of his own powers, whatever those were. We got up from our spots on the sofas and piled along the edge of the window. Alex was outside, a little to the side of us.

"Get back," he warned. We ducked back into the room, before peeking our heads out once again. He had a determined expression on his face and his arms were slightly outstretched in front of him.

"Get back!" He ordered, and they repeated their action from before, while I didn't. However, after a moment, they joined me once more. "Whatever," Alex grumbled.

Alex began to circle his hips, in a way that would make you think he knew what he was doing, as three red rings appeared. Letting go, the rings flew in different directions, one of the other beams came dangerously close to hitting Raven another one sliced through the statue, clean in half. When he did, I groaned loudly, clapping a hand to my forehead. The others clapped and cheered, impressed more likely at the destruction of the statue, more than Alex's power.

He split the thing in half! How do you even do that? Giving up, I marched back over to my seat, collapsing in it.

"Sorry Charles," I apologized in advance. "I wasn't a very good caretaker,"

"You know what this party needs?" Darwin asked rhetorically, standing up, "Alcohol," He pulled out a bottle of tequila out of the cabinet.

He was met with cheers as everyone besides me rushed to get some.

"Well," Angel began. "I think we deserve a little music," she suggested.

Rolling my eyes to myself, I rubbed the bridge of my nose. I predicted more damage. Sighing, I sat down in my spot, leaving the others to their antics.

They already caused a large amount of damage, what more could they do?

Chapter Three: Budding Relationships

[vivilove-jonsa]

The Kissing Booth

Day 1 Prompt-Resolutions @jonsadungeonsanddrabbles​

Fluffy, fluffy :)

***

Jeyne slides a familiar piece of paper Sansa's way as they wait for the bus.

New Year/New Me

New Year’s Eve, the girls made resolutions with an agreement that they’d check their progress three weeks later.

Looking down at the list she’d made that night, she recites #1: “Get over Joffrey.”

With pride, she crosses that one off because she’s definitely over that loser.

She slides the paper back only to be asked, “Is that all?”

“All?! It’s not even February yet.”

“Yeah, but with the way you turn red as a beet every time a certain someone gets near you, I’d say you’ve been over Joffrey for a while.”

“Will you hush?” Sansa squeaks, glancing over to where Jon Snow is sitting waiting for the same bus.

Jeyne may have a point.

He’s two years ahead and has a car but it’s currently in the shop. Sansa doesn’t think she’s ever felt so conscious of her every little move just riding the bus home.

But the weird thing is, it’s like they’ve got some connection, like they can sense each other.

Okay, maybe that’s dumb but, as she’s looking at him, he must feel her eyes on him because he looks up from the book he’s reading and stares right back at her.  A small smile starts to form on his perfectly pouty lips,

And what does Sansa do?  She freaks out and turns back to her friend, her face fiery red, no doubt.

“Sansa, you’re never going to mark off #3 like that.”

#3 Talk to Jon Snow.

Her heart skips a beat just thinking about going up and talking to him. Why is she so shy? It’s not like she’s shy with other boys or like he’s snobby or anything. Why are crushes just The Worst sometimes?

“Let’s not skip ahead. I’ll do #2 next. ‘Do some charity work.’ Maybe I’ll ask Margaery if there’s a way I can pitch in at the school carnival.”

***

This is not what I had in mind when it came to charity work.

Margaery hadn’t seen what the problem was. “A kissing booth for charity, what fun, right?!”

Granted, it’s not horrible.  It’s only open to students and it’s not like she’s kissing with tongue or anything grody (though that won’t help her cross off #4 on her list-Experience a proper, toe-curling kiss) but it does feel weird sitting here alone since Margaery and Loras had to go deal with some disaster at the pie-eating contest.

She’s either blushing like mad when someone comes up, accepting their stag and giving a kiss, or feeling conspicuous and pathetic if no one’s coming up in the lulls between brave souls with a stag to spare for a good cause.

She’s reapplying her lip gloss when she hears someone clear their throat and say, “Hey.”

Turning, her breath catches to see Jon Snow standing in front of her. “Hi!”

I can now cross #3 off my list. But, Sweet Maiden, what’s he doing here?! Could he want a…

“You have change for a dragon? We’re running short at the dunk booth.”

Her eyes flicker to the booth across the way for which Jon’s handling the till.

Has she been looking over there after every kiss given for charity? And during those in-between times when she’s been sitting here twiddling her thumbs?

Why, yes. Yes, she has.

And has he been looking back more often than not, usually wearing a frown?

Well…yes.

But there go her blasted cheeks getting hot as a furnace again because of course Jon Snow didn’t come over here for a kiss! He came over to get some change for his more popular booth. Who doesn’t want to a chance to dunk a teacher, right?

“Um, change…right,” she says, trying her best not to feel wounded.

You’ve spoken to him. New Year, New You. One step at a time. Think of something to say.

But his own pale cheeks are pink at the moment when she hands him the change and he scratches at the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s not that I wouldn’t, um…it’s for a good cause and all…that is, if you're willing and…”

As he continues stammering though, someone else appears. “Guess I can still get a kiss from her today, huh, guys?”

She grimaces to find Joffrey and his gross friends have descended on the carnival…like locusts. “I’m not kissing you, not even for charity. If Margaery’s willing, she can take your stag. I’m never kissing you again.”

“You can’t tell me no!” His eyes get flinty and mean the way she’s seen them before but she doesn’t back down. He’s just a nasty little coward at heart.

“No.”

“Don’t be a-“

“This booth is closed,” Jon says firmly from beside her, “and you’d better take a hike before I stuff you in that dunk booth over there, you shit.”

Joffrey looks at Jon like he’d very much like to say something back but Jon’s older and has a reputation for being able to handle himself in a fight so he mutters, "Whatever,” and skulks away.

“Thanks, Jon.”

“No problem.”

“But I can’t really close the booth.”

“I know but…” He pulls money out of his other pocket, his money. “I was hoping five stags might buy me a kiss and give you a break…if you wanted it.”

She smiles and nods, taking his money and putting it in the till. “I think five stages gets you a special kiss…if you want it.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. Just you though.”

He grins, lightly placing his hands on her waist, and leans in just as she does.

When Margaery returns, Sansa tells her she needs a short break to visit the dunk tank with Jon. Jeyne smirks at her slightly swollen lips when they pass her at the cotton candy stand. Sansa tells her to go ahead and mark #3 and 4 off that list for her.

[somuchnonsense]

October Drabbles

Previous drabbles

26. Garden          (post-canon Wangxian featuring bunnies)

Wei Wuxian doesn’t have a farm yet, but he does have a garden on the back hill in Cloud Recesses. “Why here?” Lan Wangji asked him when he started planting. “The rabbits will eat everything.”

“I don’t mind if my hard work goes to feeding the rabbits,” Wei Wuxian responded, grinning. “Besides, I’m not here consistently enough to tend to it and harvest things when they’re ready. At least this way, someone will enjoy the fruits—or vegetables, I suppose—of my labor. And maybe then they’ll love me like they love you.”

Lan Wangji smiled, petting one of the rabbits as they both curiously watched Wei Wuxian work. “I’m sure they will.”

It’s debatable, a few months later, whether the rabbits love Wei Wuxian any more than before, but they do love Wei Wuxian’s garden, and Lan Wangji loves watching him kneeling in the dirt, celebrating the first shoots of a new plant or complaining when the rabbits ate one before it even had a chance to grow. He looks so happy, so comfortable, so relaxed, not the fearsome Yiling Laozu or the brilliant cultivator Wei Wuxian with his ever-active mind, but just an ordinary young man, content with his simple life, with no fears and no painful memories weighing on him.

“What’s that look for?” Wei Wuxian asks, eyeing Lan Wangji with a freshly pulled carrot in his hand. There’s dirt on his cheek and a sparkle in his eyes.

Lan Wangji says nothing, keeping his thoughts to himself, but Wei Wuxian smiles like perhaps he knows anyway, and cheerfully turns back to his garden.

27. Serendipity          (Wei Wuxian canon gen/character study)

It would be easy to think that Wei Wuxian has bad luck. He lost his parents young, and then the people who took him in when he was alone. He lost his adopted sister, and the people who lived with him like family for a year. He lost his golden core and the trust and respect of his peers, and the love of his adopted brother. He lost his home, and the one he found to replace it. And after all of that, he lost his life too soon.

But if you ask Wei Wuxian, he’ll tell you he’s lucky. He lost his parents, but then he was taken in by a new family. Sure, they weren’t perfect, but they saved him from a lonely life on the streets and they loved him, mostly. He lost them too, though not all at once, but then he had the Wens to care about him. That didn’t last, but he got Wen Ning and Sizhui back, at least, and he has the other junior disciples who are ready to fight for him, and Lan Wangji, of course. As much as he’s lost, he’s also been loved by many people, and isn’t that lucky?

As for the rest, well, the loss of his golden core was a fair trade for Jiang Cheng’s life, and it led him to abilities that helped avenge the Jiang Sect and defeat Wen Ruohan and later Jin Guangyao. He’s not the strong cultivator he was as a teenager, but he’s found new ways to be strong and fight the battles he needs to fight. He’s also blazed a new path and invented new things and made a name for himself, in his own way. Isn’t that lucky?

And yes, he died once, painfully, but that’s over and done with and he got a second chance at life. In his second life, he’s fallen in love, made new friends, done some good in the world, and at least done a little to make up for his past mistakes. So few people get a chance like that, including many who are much more deserving than him, so in the final sum, isn’t he lucky?

28. Drunk Confessions          (junior quartet gen)

It started with a few bottles of wine and Zizhen declaring that true friends share their secrets with each other, but nobody could have imagined that it would end like this.

"You're what?" Jin Ling asks, his voice low and strained.

"You're what?!" Jingyi echoes in a loud squawk.

"I'm a Wen," Sizhui repeats, his nervous expression belying his calm voice.

"You never told me!" Jingyi's voice is still far too loud, his expression almost comically betrayed. "How could I not know that?"

"You knew Hanguang-Jun took me in," Sizhui points out.

"Yes, but I thought your parents were Lan cultivators who died back then, or at least non-cultivators from Gusu. Not...Wens." Jingyi grimaces, but wipes the expression of his face when he sees Sizhui's face fall.

“Sizhui is still the same person, right?" Zizhen puts in. "And we know Wen Ning's a nice guy. It's not like all Wens are bad."

"Right," Jingyi firmly agrees. "But I can't believe you didn’t tell me sooner!”

"I didn't know until recently. After meeting Wei-qianbei and Wen Ning, some memories came back." Sizhui finishes the drink in front of him, getting some liquid courage before he looks at the conspicuously silent Jin Ling. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I hope this doesn't change anything between us."

Jin Ling clenches his fist on the table, brow furrowed, and for a long, tense moment, the whole group is silent. Finally, he sighs exasperatedly and says, "Well, it's far from the worst secret I've heard about someone I knew. Do you two at least not have any dark secrets?" He waves his cup and Jingyi and Zizhen.

"None, I promise," Zizhen declares.

"If I do, I don't know them myself," Jingyi says.

"I've met his parents," Sizhui interjects. "They're nice, normal Lan cultivators for several generations back."

"Good," Jin Ling says. To Sizhui, he adds, "For this, you can at least buy us another bottle or two of wine."

Sizhui smiles brightly, getting to his feet. "Right away."

29. Cars          (modern AU Wangxian featuring the Jiang sibs)

Jiang Cheng says Wei Ying drives like a maniac. Wei Ying says Jiang Cheng is a wimp and also boring and besides, he doesn’t go any faster than he can safely drive, but he does always slow down when he sees Jiang Cheng’s knuckles turning white.

“You’d better drive more carefully on your date with Lan Zhan,” Jiang Cheng tells him. “He probably drives perfectly the speed limit and obeys every traffic law to the letter. He won’t be able to deal with you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Wei Ying insists. “And it’s not a date!”

“Just don’t rush,” Yanli says. “You’ll have more time with Lan Zhan that way. And I’m pretty sure it is a date.”

“Not you too,” Wei Ying whines.

Later, though, when he picks Lan Zhan up and sees him looking very dashing even though he’s in what passes for casual clothes with him, Wei Ying has to admit that okay, yes, he wants it to be a date, and sure, okay, he wants to impress Lan Zhan, or at least not scare him away by driving too wildly. He forces himself to go only a little above the speed limit as he drives to the cafe where they’re going to study together, and Lan Zhan doesn’t complain or grab the panic handle like Jiang Cheng does.

On the way home, though, after endless hours of Lan Zhan sitting across from him looking casually hot but looking at his textbook or talking about economics instead of kissing Wei Ying, he forgets himself and drives as usual. Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything, so Wei Ying doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he stops in front of Lan Zhan’s building and sees him looking suspiciously paler than usual, his hand still gripping the door handle. “Oh, uh, Lan Zhan…you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lan Zhan says tightly.

“Say, um…” Wei Ying feels bad and all, but he’s spent hours not kissing Lan Zhan and wishing this was a date and he just has to know if maybe it was, or at least could be. He unbuckles his seatbelt, turns in his seat and presses his lips to Lan Zhan’s. He’s not expecting to promptly get pulled into Lan Zhan’s lap, but he’s definitely not complaining, especially when it’s followed up with a whole lot more kissing.

They only stop when someone honks and Wei Ying realizes he didn’t pick the best parking spot for making out. “So,” he says, grinning shamelessly as he moves back into the driver’s seat, “let’s go out on another date some time soon?”

“All right,” Lan Zhan agrees without hesitation. He’s not smiling, but he is eyeing Wei Ying in a way that he really likes. “But next time, I’ll drive.”

30. Dessert          (modern AU Wangxian, just a tiny bit NSFW)

The first time Wei Ying sees Lan Zhan in a cafe daintily eating whipped cream off the top of a parfait, he can’t believe his eyes. There’s something so unexpected about strong, serious, stoic, ever-responsible Lan Zhan enjoying any kind of dessert, let alone the same kind Wei Ying’s sister and her friends love—unexpected and adorable.

“Wow, Lan Zhan! I had you pegged for the health food 24/7 type,” Wei Ying says, sneaking up on him from behind. He’s obviously trying to surprise Lan Zhan, but he doesn’t expect it to actually work, so he’s thrilled when it makes Lan Zhan jump and then turn a glare on him. “Hey, no judgment. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying something sweet.” The temptation to stick his finger in the whipped cream and dab some onto Lan Zhan’s nose is so strong, but Wei Ying doesn’t want to die today, so he restrains himself.

It takes nearly a year after that encounter for them to start dating, though Wei Ying does manage to put whipped cream on Lan Zhan’s face twice before that. (Maybe he should have guessed that Lan Zhan liked him, despite never mentioning it, by how he didn’t murder Wei Ying for doing that.) It takes another five months after they get together for Wei Ying to convince Lan Zhan that whipped cream will also be delicious when licked off his body, but oh, is it worth it.

31. Trick or Treat          (modern cultivation AU, A-Yuan and Wangxian)

    “I want to go as Uncle Wen!” A-Yuan declares.     Wei Wuxian blinks at him, turns and blinks at Lan Wangji, and then starts to laugh. “I mean, I think a ghost or a vampire or a cat or something is more typical, but sure, you can go as a fierce corpse.”     “Not a fierce corpse!” A-Yuan protests. “Uncle Wen!”     Lan Wangji gives Wei Wuxian his patented You are not treating this child as he should be treated look. “Yes, of course,” Wei Wuxian amends. “We’ll find you the best Wen Ning costume anyone has ever had.”    “Can Uncle Wen come with me?” A-Yuan asks.    Wen Ning won’t do well with crowds or a sugar high A-Yuan, but on the other hand, he’ll blend in on Halloween in a way he usually can’t. “We’ll all come with you,” Lan Wangji tells him.    “Yay!” A-Yuan jumps up and down in excitement. “What will you be? Ooh, I know! You should be a bunny.” He gestures at Lan Wangji, and then to Wei Wuxian, “And you should be a carrot.”    “A carrot?” Wei Wuxian grimaces. “Come on, between the two of us, don’t I look more like a bunny?”    “At least he didn’t say a donkey.” Lan Wangji keeps his voice low, and before A-Yuan can demand that he repeat it, says, “Those are excellent choices.”    “You’re so mean to me,” Wei Wuxian whines, but that doesn’t stop him from going out on Halloween evening in a big carrot costume, hand in hand with rabbit Lan Wangji, with mini Wen Ning skipping on ahead of them and actual Wen Ning looking fondly on.

[stillness-in-green]

Spinaraki Week Level 2, Day Four: Control | Edge

A return to a scenario I brainstormed up last time with/for @codenamesazanka: the “Shigaraki and Spinner Karma Houdini their way out the end of the series and run off to be vigilantes in BNHA!Macau” AU.  That and, “Shigaraki’s hanging onto Mr. Compress’s quirk while he lays low,” is all the context you really need for this, but if you want more, it’s here.

Of course, back in August, there was still a lot we didn’t know yet about Shigaraki and vestiges...

(Content Notes: sleep paralysis, some body horror, AFO being Too Close.)

———–      ———–      ———–      ———–

“So how are things going with you?” Compress asks him, the wind snapping so loud in his coat that he has to raise his voice to be heard over it.  Somehow his hat doesn’t blow off, though, despite the fact that they’re having this conversation on top of New Oumun’s high-speed monorail.  “Putting me to good use, I trust?”

Shigaraki sits sprawled across the roof of the train car, watching the buildings blur past, old alternating with new.  It’s too bright out, but that’s how Compress’s dreams usually are—all vivid colors and frivolous moving parts to distract from what’s going on below the surface.

He shrugs in answer.  “Used you to help us jump a high roller in his own suite last week.  Threw all his chips out the window when we were done.  We figured it’s what you would have wanted.”

Compress laughs, twirling his cane.  “I hope you saved enough for a lobster dinner.  I would have considered that an important component of my evening.”

“Would’ve had to pay for dry cleaning first,” Shigaraki replies, the smile tugging at his face still feeling strange after all this time.

“Ah, yes, the spectacle of you in a dress suit.  You—”  

Shigaraki looks up when the vestige breaks off with a hum of dissatisfaction.  “What?”

Compress tells him, “Hold on.”

Movement in the corner of his eye, something broad-chested but quick, and then the cane’s hitting him dead in the chest.  Pushed over the side, he plummets, catching just a glimpse of the form as it jumps after him.  Overhead, the train flickers by, light rebounding off the windows, the sound of it a high, sibilant humming.

There’s a flash of black; the wind dies.  

In the dark, the whistling movement of the monorail transitions to the long, even sweeping of a blade over a whetstone.  There’s a familiar heavy sensation in his chest.  Shigaraki’s eyes flick open.

Sensei.  Ass planted on Shigaraki’s chest like it’s just the nearest patch of clean ground available to sit on.  The weight burns, clips his breath short.  Sensei looks down at him, head wreathed in smoke that doesn’t quite cover the edges of his hair, the brightness in his eyes.  He smiles—a fitful, twitching little quirk of his lips like he’s trying not to laugh at something—and raises one finger to his mouth.

Get out, Shigaraki tries to tell him, but his lips won’t move.  Sensei just reaches down and brushes at his hair, combing disarrayed strands out of his eyes.  The boundaries of the room throb in time with his depressed heart rate.  The cool rasping of metal on stone continues unabated.

Shigaraki’s body pulls up into a sitting position.  His head swims with vertigo.  Sensei’s sitting behind him now, chest to his back, arms wrapped around his shoulders. The edge of the cologne he used to wear back before All Might collapsed his skull worms its way into Shigaraki’s nostrils, warm musk and a hint of sage.

“A little walkabout, Tomura,” he breathes.  A gnat in Tomura’s ear, one he can’t lift an arm to swat at.  “For old time’s sake.”

Get out.  Shigaraki’s eyes burn; his shallow breathing stays regular, level, even through the rising of frantic anger in his throat.  His heartbeat roars low in his ears, rattling through the walls of their tiny apartment like a tidal wave about to make landfall.

All For One stands him up, tugging his loose shirt into place from where it got twisted around in his sleep.  His heart pounds harder, but still so damn slow; dull clouds of red afterimage drift around the ceiling as his arms stretch up, fingers kneading at empty air.

Sensei fists his hand in Tomura’s shirt—his flesh twists in the grasp; he can’t breathe—and pulls him forward, and finally the whetstone sound scratches to a halt.

“Shigaraki?”  Surrounded in knives and polishing cloths, Spinner looks up at him from the low table in front of the couch, his favorite katana fallen still mid-stroke halfway across the stone.

“Be it ever so humble, hmm?” Sensei asks, his tone amused as his glance takes in the peeling paint, the uneven floor, the clutter.  Shigaraki’s eyes move away from Spinner and over to the window.  “Ah, Tomura; what to do with you?”

Let me go, old man!  You lose this every time!  He tries to force his eyes closed, to focus, but between All For One and the damn sleep paralysis, he’s apparently not authorized for use of his muscles right now.  As his feet walk him over to the window, the smells of the city spin free association images across his vision—the tired smile on the woman running the gai daan jai stall on the corner; Spinner working polish into his and Toga’s blades in their downtime during those weeks against Machia; Sensei sitting down beside him in his old bed and rubbing his shoulder until he could move again, winding a supportive arm around his back as he shook through the remnants of panic afterward.

In the distance, the casino towers climb over everything, obelisks stamped black against the sunset, periodically caught in the sweeping beam of their own spotlights.  Sensei leans in from behind him, fingers knitting together over the top of Shigaraki’s head, elbows on his shoulders, and sighs appreciatively. The vibrations of it buzz through him in a steady thrum.

“We should be up there, you know,” All For One says.  “And that’s just for a start.”

Spinner says something behind him, specific words muffled by the blood rushing in Shigaraki’s ears.

The feel of the sword resting on the side of his neck is a lot clearer.

All For One chuckles, and Sensei slides his arm down Shigaraki’s clavicle, fingers hooking in beneath skin and bone, flesh melting into flesh.  He pivots them around to meet Spinner’s stare, steady at the other end of an outstretched sword-arm the apartment only barely has room for.

“Still so dedicated, Iguchi-kun,” All For One drawls, the grin stretching wide to show teeth.  “But are you really satisfied with the one you chose to follow just scraping by in a place like this?”

Like the Doc’s lab was any better, Shigaraki thinks at him with all the vitriol he can muster. The katana isn’t quite turned all the way in, the flat of the metal cold and grounding, its freshly honed edge just a reminder of a promise.  

“We have our own kitchen and enough space to curtain off the bedroom.  That’s luxurious compared to how some people here live,” Spinner answers, curt anger in his eyes.

“But fear, too,” Sensei says, easy bordering on idle even as All For One is responding using Shigaraki’s tongue, Shigaraki’s mouth.  Sensei’s broad fingertips trail one at a time over Shigaraki’s ribcage, and if Shigaraki couldn’t breathe before, he barely wants to now, trying to keep his lungs from so much as brushing up against those probing hands even as pain starts to clang between his temples.  “He’s never been able to hide how afraid of us he is.”

And that’s not even worth arguing with.  Shigaraki stares into Spinner’s eyes—the anger, yeah, the fear, sure, but there’s awareness there, too, because they talked about this before, and Spinner knows what he’s doing, beyond just keeping himself out of grabbing distance.

Spinner’s mouth moves, and the motion of it doesn’t match what Shigaraki hears—“Shigaraki, you got this?”—but it’s what his eyes are saying anyway as the edge of the blade turns in.

It’s barely anything, hardly even enough to raise the white line of a papercut, much less draw any blood. But, hyper-aware of his locked-up body, Shigaraki latches onto it, the impossibly fine variegation of the blade pattern pressing into his skin with as much clarity as Spinner’s open hand, the scales a rough, insistent comfort.

He reaches up and closes his good hand around the bare blade.  Pain, sweet and hot and real, scores his palm and the insides of his fingers, and there’s a tsk of annoyance from Sensei as All For One falls away under the sudden sensation of slick wetness oozing past his knuckles.

Spinner catches him as his knees give out and the sword clatters to the floor.

“Shit,” Spinner breathes, and, “Let me see.”  He lowers them down to the ground, one arm clutching Shigaraki tight around the waist.  With his other hand, he gingerly turns Shigaraki’s palm towards the light.

“S’fine,” Shigaraki mumbles, rubbing at his face with his left hand.  He’s trembling, which is annoying, but typical of coming out of a sleep paralysis spell—all that strain he was putting on muscles that couldn’t respond right until just now.  The pain’s already fading, his regeneration kicking in just like it was designed to.

Spinner watches the wounds close up anyway, and conspicuously exhales once they do.

“He still talking?” he asks in an undertone, knitting their fingers together and dropping their hands back into their laps.  His thumb rubs absently over Shigaraki’s knuckle, claw scratching across his skin.

“Nah,” Shigaraki answers, tucking his head up into the curve of Spinner’s neck.  “He’s pretty quiet these days.”

“Not quiet enough,” comes the grumble, and Shigaraki huffs in agreement.  They sit that way for another minute, quiet as the noise of the city carries on around them.  Shigaraki breathes it in, lets it ground him—as he’s been finding for the last couple years, the more he’s got to ground him, the better.  Wanting to tear down everything doesn’t give you a very stable foundation to fight for control from—go figure.

Finally, as the first moth finds its way in to start fluttering around the lamp, he straightens up, tugging free of Spinner’s hands.  His partner gives him a plaintive look, at which Shigaraki grins.

“Scum of the city’s not gonna off themselves, Spinner.”

Spinner shakes his head, but he’s already fighting off a grin himself.  “Yeah, yeah.  Let me clean my sword off and I’ll be good to go.”

[one-boring-person]

Only Traitors Consort With The Damned (Part Nine)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: violence, blood imagery

Context: The first of the SRS has arrived, but thankfully not in large numbers.

A/N: hopefully I'll have a more Halloween-esque part to this out next weekend, so stay tuned for that!😁💛

Masterlist

A shiver runs through my body as I move silently through the back streets of Santa Carla, my hand resting on the gun holstered at my hip, gloved fingers tapping lightly on the deadly weapon as if in anticipation, my muscles taut and ready to spring into action. Unsurprisingly, a cool wind is blowing through town, the late October chill easily seeping into my new, stolen black denim jacket, the new outfit the boys found for me acting as a suitable disguise, seeing as the SRS uniform from before is a little too conspicuous, though the chains rattling quietly by my thigh are a little distracting, and the studs adorning the variety of clothes are a little superfluous, but it does it's part well enough. Thankfully, I got to keep my boots, so at least I'm not getting blisters from any new ones.

Biting my lip, I turn down yet another deserted alley, quickly scanning it for danger, noting the lack of people instantly, though there are a few cars and bins sitting by the surrounding walls here and there, each of them providing sufficient cover for a person, or multiple persons. Slowly, I edge forwards, watching the surroundings for any movement, aware that there could be danger at any moment, my heart pounding as I clock the lack of sound in the area, suddenly aware of the fact that there are no working streetlamps on this particular strip of alley, leaving it completely cloaked in darkness. Uneasy, I stop still, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Very carefully, I take off my gloves, placing them in my pocket as I listen closely to the eerie silence, watching the dark space in front of me, hoping to catch anything, should it come closer.

My head snaps round in the direction of a muted footstep, my fingers wrapping around the stock of the gun, pulling it from its holster and smoothly cocking it, flicking off the safety as I turn towards the noise. Mechanically, I lift the weapon a little higher, calming my racing heart before I step over towards the car the noise came from, holding my breath as I try to make out any shapes in the suffocating blackness, finding it nigh-on impossible to do so.

As I approach the car, I lift the gun higher still, edging around the seemingly abandoned vehicle, keeping my eyes trained on the space in front of me, my training kicking in as a dull calm spreads through me, keeping me from moving erratically, everything around me filtering out as I round the bonnet of the car.

A sudden blow to my upper back throws me forwards into the wall ahead of me, the air leaving my lungs as I collide with it painfully, tears springing to my eyes as my nose makes contact, the gun falling from my hands. Recovering quickly, I duck down before the second punch can come, a stifled yelp of surprise escaping my attacker as their fist connects with the hard surface, their knuckles most likely cracking from the force, causing them to reel back a little, leaving me time to spin around and jump back upright again. Without pausing, I swing my fist round into their exposed ribs, feeling the bones give slightly under the impact, my other hand coming round to land a hard blow to their descending face, their body whipping to the side in response. I move closer, intending to grab them, only for them to suddenly lunge forwards and shove me up against the wall, fists pummeling my sides, low grunts of pain leaving my lips as I grab their shoulders, but to no avail.

After a particularly well-aimed punch to the centre of my collarbones, I have to suck in a sharp breath of air, wincing as pain explodes through my chest, rendering me momentarily incapable of retaliating, giving my attacker the perfect opportunity to grab my hair and throw me away from the wall, my body violently crashing into the car bonnet as they drop me there, pain quickly spreading through me as I make contact. Under my weight, the windscreen cracks and shatters, shards of glass digging into my back as I skid over them, my attacker advancing on me with a newfound confidence, my eyes swiftly spotting the knife in their hand. Ignoring the blood pouring from my nose and mouth, I quickly roll to the side to avoid a sudden downwards thrust of the blade, dropping off of the car and onto the floor, going to get up, only to be stopped by a hand grasping my hair again, yanking my head back and pressing the knife to my throat. Eyes going wide, I take hold of their arm and press against it, feeling the icy sting of the blade just cutting into my skin, panic starting to well up in my body as I fight against their strength, only to find them slowly overpowering me.

With one last push, I drive an elbow backwards, catching them in the knee with enough force to make them buckle a little, giving me the chance to duck out of their grip and throw them onto their back on the floor, swiftly pinning then down as I grab my own knife from my pocket, wincing as they manage to use their's to leave a long gash down one of my arms. Putting my knife to their throat, I press down until they stop struggling, the two of us breathing very heavily as we calm ourselves, both waiting for the next move.

When nothing happens, I go to lean back slightly, only for my captive to suddenly write underneath me, kicking me backwards a little so that I have to stretch out my arms to keep myself upright. In doing so, however, I manage to lodge my knife in their thigh, a scream of agony tearing itself from their lips at their self-inflicted wound, blood starting to ooze out from around the base of the weapon, colourful curses and swears aimed at me accompanying the whines and whimpers of pain that follow. Climbing off of them, I swiftly grab their wrists and use the rope at my belt to tie them together, ignoring their pleas and begging, the voice now distinctly male as they try to appeal to my better nature, seemingly forgetting that they just tried to kill me.

I don't look at their face, turning to their newly sustained wound, thinking things over, before making a split decision. Pulling another rope from my belt, I tie it around the top of his thigh, pulling it tight to stop the bleeding, choosing to leave the weapon in place as I work, eventually telling him to shut up as he continues to ramble on.

*

"Who the hell is that and why the fuck is he here?!" David growls at me as I eventually manage to drag the Scout into the cave, a trail of dirt mapping out the path I used as I manoeuvre my way around the messy interior.

"This," I start, dropping the man's legs as I find a better source of light, "Is a Scout, someone sent to find me before the rest of the Clean-up Team arrives. He's here because we're taking him hostage."

Kneeling down beside the now-unconscious man, I turn my attention to the knife protruding from his leg, quickly deciding how to go about this. Taking hold of the Scout's knife, I carefully cut away the fabric of his trousers around the wound, gently testing how tightly the knife is wedged into the muscle, before dropping the weapon in my hand and grabbing a piece of nearby cloth.

"A hostage? Why are you taking a hostage?" David continues to interrogate me, scowling at me as I yank the knife from the wound and use the fabric to staunch the flow of blood that rushes out.

"So that I have some leverage over them when they come for me, though I'm not too sure how well they'll react to this." I muse out loud, only now realising that the platinum blonde vampire across from me is having a hard time controlling himself, "Sorry, I forgot that this would be difficult for you guys."

A small part of me is glad that David is the one who volunteered to stay behind tonight to keep watch with me, given that he seems to have the most self control (apart from Dwayne) when it comes to blood; if it was Paul, the Scout would be dead by now.

David just huffs, sitting in his wheelchair sullenly as he waits for me to finish, blue eyes watching me as I examine the wound.

"Hey, do you think you could get the med-kit from my rucksack, please? I need to stitch this or he'll bleed out." I ask him quietly, hoping he'll agree.

The vampire rolls his eyes, but stands and gets the kit anyway, handing it to me with a grunt. Thanking him, I take out a needle and thread, sterilizing them both as I prepare them for use, removing the makeshift bandage from the wound and leaning in to start sewing the edges shut.

"Where did you learn to do that?" David asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

"This? I learnt on the job, a few years ago. Some werewolf caught me with its claws when I got too close. I had to stitch myself up, so I learned from the experience." I explain dismissively, remembering the incident well.

"A werewolf?" The vampire questions, seemingly confused, "Where was that?"

"Somehwere in Texas, I think. I don't really remember the specifics. Why?"

"Oh, I wasn't aware that there were still werewolves in this country."

"Really?! You can't possibly think you're the only supernatural beings left in the U.S?" I ask, incredulous.

"I've been stuck in Santa Carla for as long as I can remember, so I wouldn't know." He chuckles in response, "What're you gonna do with him when he wakes up?"

I shrug.

"Talk to him, interrogate him. I just need to know how close the SRS are to finding me."

"How close do you think they are?" David queries quietly.

I sigh to myself, sitting back on my heels as I finish the job.

"Honestly, I'd rather not think about it."

Part Ten

[ifinallygavein]

Chapter 3: Salt and Burn

I know it’s been awhile, but here’s the Supernatural AU update!

Chapter 2: Some No Name Bar

Masterlist

Aelin bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. Nehemia sat pressed against the window of the small booth in the small diner as Aedion surveyed the dinner specials. His frame was too large for the booth, but it had been too late for her to move as he sat to face his cousin.

“Haunting?” he asked casually as he weighed the menu’s options.

Aelin sipped her coffee and nodded. “Pretty serious stuff. Scratches on the mother, a bookcase almost fell on the child. These people are lucky they knew Sam. They got a hold of me through his old phone.”

The phone she still carried. They both watched her but Nehemia reported, “We did some digging and found a news story. 1977, a couple was shot and killed in a home invasion.”

“Still defending the home?” Aedion suggested.

Aelin nodded at the theory and took a long swig of her coffee. The bell to the little diner’s door tinkled. Nehemia’s face spread into a shit-eating grin and Aedion’s eyes widened in disbelief. Aelin turned to find the last person she expected.

“Whitethorn.” Aelin stated curtly.

“Galathynius,” he greeted her in the same icy manner. Hands in his leather jacket, he didn’t take his eyes off of Aelin. And she’d be damned if she was the one to look away first.

“You know each other?” Aedion blurted.

“Ran into him on a hunt about a week ago.” Nehemia supplied.

Aelin said with underhanded sweetness, “I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

“Likewise,” Rowan grunted.

Nehemia’s eyes sparkled. “Please, sit.”

Aelin was unceremoniously shoved against the window as Rowan settled into the booth. She glared at Nehemia who blew her a kiss.

“This is my cousin, Aedion Ashryver,” Aelin grumbled. She elbowed him in the ribs to make space for herself.

Rowan shot her a disgruntled look before reaching across the table to shake Aedion’s hand. Aedion asked, “What brings you here?”

“A job. A haunting.”

Aelin knew the odds of two jobs in one town. “Where?”

“Old house on Hickory. I suspect a couple that was killed there in the ‘70s.” When he was greeted with silence, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Don’t tell me –”

“That’s our job,” Aelin confirmed. She laughed bitterly and drained her coffee.

The waitress came to take their order and scurried away as soon as she could. Aelin felt sorry for her and told herself she’d leave the girl a generous tip. When Nehemia caught her gaze with those big brown eyes, Aelin knew what she had to do.

Cursing internally, Aelin made an offer. “We should work it together.”

Rowan hesitated. “I don’t usually work with others.” Nehemia turned those eyes to him. He sighed and relented, “But… we did alright last time.”

Nehemia nudged Aedion. “We did better than alright.”

She launched into the tale of their last hunt. Aelin watched them smiling fondly. She turned when she felt the weight of Rowan’s gaze. Glancing over at Nehemia and Aedion engrossed in the recount, she decided she didn’t want to turn this into a scene. Aelin cleared her throat and asked, “Did you find out where they were buried?”

Rowan nodded. “Rosewood Cemetery. It’s in town.”

Before Aelin could come up with how to carry on the stilted conversation, the waitress came around with their food. They all attacked their meals. Nehemia continued her story, with Rowan or Aelin occasionally interjecting with a correction.

When they finished eating, Nehemia asked, “Rowan, did you find out where they were buried?”

“Rosewood Cemetery,” Rowan and Aelin supplied simultaneously.

Nehemia grinned. “Me and Aedion will go dig them up. You and Rowan go to the house in case we stir up trouble.”

Aelin opened her mouth to object but was shut down with a look from Nehemia once again. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the booth.

All Rowan said was, “I’ll drive.”

As if that settled it, everyone got up to leave. Aelin made sure to leave a generous amount of cash behind. She hurried outside and slid into the passenger seat of Rowan’s old school Challenger.

“Follow them to the cemetery. I need to get my equipment before we go.”

He simply nodded and trailed them. It would’ve been to conspicuous to gather her equipment from their arsenal of a trunk in the middle of the diner’s parking lot. When they parked, Aelin took out her usual weapons: a shotgun with rock salt rounds, several iron knives, and a large container of table salt. Once she had armed herself, she took in Aedion and Nehemia.

“Be careful,” she breathed.

They nodded gravely. Aedion focused on something behind her, “Look after her.”

“I won’t let anything happen to her,” Rowan assured him.

Aedion nodded. Aelin rolled her eyes. “We better get going so you can start digging.”

She hopped back into the passenger seat and waved as Rowan drove them away. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Rowan said, “I know you don’t trust me. But I meant what I told Aedion.”

Aelin scoffed. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know. Just know I’ve got your back.”

Aelin defused slightly. After a few more minutes, she grudgingly told him, “I’ve got yours too.”

When they pulled up to the house the lights were flickering in every window. Aelin swore.

“Did they start digging already?” Rowan growled.

Aelin was sprinting for the front door before the car was stopped. When the handle wouldn’t budge, Aelin threw herself against the door. A child inside screamed and Aelin shot a window and leaped through it. She ran until she found the crying girl in the next room. Hauling her up Aelin found a corner and covered her with her body while she poured a circle of salt around them. The girl clung to Aelin’s leg and sobbed. Aelin muttered soothing words to the child until they were encircled in salt.

She knelt beside the girl and said, “My name is Aelin, what’s yours?”

“Evangeline,” she sniffled.

“Evangeline, I’m here to help. Can you tell me where your family is?”

“My mommy is upstairs in her room,” she sobbed.

“Okay, good. That’s very helpful, Evangeline. Is anyone else here with you and your mommy?”

The child shook her head, lip quivering. Aelin turned to see if Rowan had followed her yet and found him barreling for the stairs as if he’d heard what Evangeline had said. Standing in front of the girl Aelin watched for any threats. A huge crash came from upstairs, followed by Rowan bellowing, “Galathynius!”

Aelin unsheathed an iron blade and pressed the handle into the girl’s palm, closing her fingers around it. “Stay inside the circle. If something tries to hurt you, cut it with this,” she instructed.

Evangeline gave her a wide-eyed nod. Aelin took off, scaling the stairs two at a time. When she made it to the landing, she saw a door at the end of the hall slam shut. A woman screamed from within. Aelin charged it, ramming the door with her shoulder. Her bones groaned and the door remained firmly shut.

“Whitethorn! Get her away from the door!”

Aelin gave them three precious seconds before she shot the knob and kicked the door down. She found Rowan standing in front of the woman in a salt circle.

“Get her downstairs,” she ordered.

Aelin held the door as they raced out of the room and guarded their backs while they ran.

“Mommy!” she heard the girl cry.

She heard the mother sob, “Ev!”

Rowan stood beside her chest heaving for air as the child ran into her mother’s arms. Breathless, he nodded his thanks. She was about to nod back, when she was thrown against the wall. Hard. Aelin blinked against the stars that swam across her vision. Distantly, she heard screaming. She saw Rowan struggling to hold the front door open. He held it long enough for two figures to pass through. Then he was pinned next to her.

Aelin thought she may be concussed when she shouted, “Come face us!”

Rowan must’ve thought so too. He said, “Galathynius, what the hell?”

“Come out!” A man and a woman flickered before them. “I know you think you’re defending yourself and your house, but you’re dead.”

“Galathynius,” Rowan warned.

Aelin continued, “You were killed. Over forty years ago. You have been terrorizing a mother and her daughter. We’re here to help you move on. Please, let us go.”

The spirits looked at each other and back at them. “We’re dead?” the woman asked.

Aelin nodded. “I’m sorry.”

The man looked to Rowan. “You’re here to help?”

Rowan said, “We can only help if you let us go.” The man looked between them skeptically. Rowan pleaded, “I promised to look after her. Don’t make a liar out of me.”

The man glanced at his wife and his face softened. Aelin watched Rowan and saw genuine pain in his beseeching eyes. The man nodded and the two hunters slid down the wall as they were released.

“We’ll see that you’re put to peace.” Aelin promised them.

@sassys-world

[feathersandblue]

How about this then:

Jack ends up the new god, and he decides that there’s no longer going to be a heaven or hell, just Earth and the Beyond, and he’s giving everyone – angels, demons, all monsters who aren’t irredeemably evil – a chance to choose where they want to go. Without their powers, of course, so that everyone gets a fresh start.

When the moment comes for Castiel to decide, Jack looks at him, and Cas looks back, and it’s a silent exchange where Jack is asking whether Castiel really wants to stay on earth when he’s burdened with this overwhelming, unrequited love that will burn inside him for the rest of his life. But despite that, Cas isn’t willing to leave earth behind. He’s got half a lifetime left to experience all its wonders, to love Dean and be his friend. All the while, Cas knows that Dean’s probably going to maintain a careful distance from now on. It hurts, but that’s life too, and so he gives up his Grace without a second thought. He simply takes a step back toward Dean and Sam, who’s standing there with Eileen, and Jack nods and is gone the next instant.

So then they all go back to the bunker. Their friends are back and their phones are ringing near-constantly, but somehow, there’s this silent agreement between them that they desperately need a break. Cas goes with them, of course, but he’s conspicuously silent, telling Sam who expresses concern that he’s simply re-adjusting to a fully human body and its needs. Fooling precisely no one.

At the bunker, Sam and Eileen retire to their room, but not before Sam, after drinking a singly glass of whisky with Dean, shelves the bottle and tells him to talk to Cas. Before Cas walks away. They’ve come to far to leave things like this unresolved.

Left alone, Dean goes looking for Cas and finds him in the room where he was taken by the Empty. Cas ist just standing there, looking lost, and gives a small smile when Dean enters. His confession, the weight and the meaning of it, is the elephant in the room. Dean clears his throat, attempts to make smalltalk. What a day, huh. It’s going to be tough to get used to a world without monsters. Cas doesn’t say much in return, avoiding his gaze.

So Dean’s strategy of feigning normalcy isn’t working. And there’s nothing left to do except finally face the music. “About what you said–“

And Cas, trying to avoid making Dean uncomfortable, offers to leave. He says he knows that Dean doesn’t love him the same way. It’s okay. He doesn’t expect...

“Cas.” Cas keeps talking. “Cas!” Running out of steam, Cas looks at him, lips parted, eyes wide and pleading.

“Come here,” Dean says. Cas hesitates, then finally obeys when Dean beckons him closer.

“Dean–“

“Kiss me.”

Cas is taken aback. He doesn’t want Dean to do anything out of obligation. Out of kindness and because he’s incapable of refusing someone he loves. He shakes his head, trying o put all of it into words, but once again, Dean stops him. “Kiss me. Christ, Cas, grow a pair. Just fucking do it.”

So Cas does. Gently. He frames Dean’s face with his hands, leans in for a soft, reverent kiss. Dean makes a noise deep in his throat, and Cas immediately pulls back. “Was that…”

Dean, running out of patience – running out of common sense – half mad with fear and despair, chest tight and an itch under his skin he can’t get rid off, takes the only course of action that remains, jumping in with both feet, knowing he’s going to drown. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

It escalates from there, very quickly, Dean coming apart under Cas’ hands between kisses and increasingly frantic groping and shoving each other against walls. It’s graceless, harsh, and Dean closes his eyes and lets himself feel.

Then there’s a moment – Dean’s shirt is half off, Cas, unbelievably, is still wearing his trenchcoat while looking decidedly wrecked – where Cas suddenly stills, putting a hand on Dean’s chest. “Your heartbeat,” he says softly. “You’re shaking.”

“Yeah.” Dean laughs, breathless. “Yeah, no shit. Come on. Come on.”

“Dean. This isn’t – I know you don’t…”

And Dean says, in a voice foreign to himself, “Cas. I heard you. Back when … I heard you. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to let you go?”

“Oh,” Cas says, and Dean mutters, “Shut up,” and kisses him.

Fade to black.

In the next scene, they’re lying on the bed in post-coital bliss.

“I could …” Cas starts, sounding weirdly hesitant. “If you wanted …”

Dean, who has been staring at the ceiling for reasons unknown – possibly in a state of both disbelief and exhaustion – turns his head. “What?”

“I could ask Jack. He might be persuaded to … make certains changes to my current shape.”

“Huh?” It takes a moment for Dean to catch up. And then the image is there, in his mind, unbidden – Cas’ face, only more feminine, his jaw a little softer, dark wavy hair. Soft curves, swaying hips. Taken aback, he stares at Cas whose expression gives nothing away.

Then, slowly, he shakes his head. He can’t explain it, but even entertaining the idea feels wrong. “No,” he says, swallowing. “No.”

“Dean…”

“Shut up. If we do this, we just do it, and it doesn’t fucking matter, you hear me?” And with that, Dean tumbles him back in the sheets.

For the first couple of weeks, they fuck like bunnies. Any attempt by Cas to have an actual conversation ends up with Dean pinning him against the nearest surface, and Cas, helplessly in love, indulging his own desires as well as Dean’s, always gives in.

The only way out is through, so Dean fucks Cas like he thinks he can exorcise his own deep-rooted homophobia this way. Urgency, confusion, lost in explosive orgasms, moments of peace when he passes out in bliss in Cas’ arms. He finds himself reaching for Cas, craving … everything. Filling the void inside him with Cas, Cas, Cas.

When Sam and Eileen leave the bunker to reconnect with the rest of humanity, Dean and Cas stay behind and don’t get out of bed for days.

Only slowly, he urgency fades, and Dean comes to terms with being … bi, apparently, if the way he gets off on sucking Cas’ dick is an indication. They can’t keep hiding in the bunker forever. Their first visit takes them to see how Sam and Eileen are doing. While they’re on their way in the Impala, Dean is suddenly starting to freak out. Everything feels the same, only it isn’t – the monsters are gone, he’s no longer a hunter, Sam’s no longer at his side, and Cas – Cas and he – he gets out of the car, doubling over, fighting off an anxiety attack.

It takes a while before he can breathe again. Cas is beside him, looking concerned. Looking … stricken.

Dean takes a deep breath. It feels like getting fresh air for the first time in forever. He looks around, sees the world, beautiful and bright and different. He turns his head to look at Cas, and everything finally falls into place. And all at once, it’s the easiest thing in the world to take a step toward Cas, to crowd him against the Impala, their bodies slotting together effortlessly like they’re two parts of a whole.

“Cas,” Dean says, short for I love you, and kisses him.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Spin Again if Not in the Lead

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: M (non-explicit sexual content) Word count: 3163 @spideychelleweek​

Spideychelle Week Day 1: Road Trip

Summary: According to the game's original slogan, “You will learn about life when you play The Game of Life.”

According to MJ, you'll learn about capitalism, aardvark care, and how to go on the road trip of a lifetime without leaving your boyfriend's apartment.

“One, two, three, four,” MJ counts out defiantly, her plastic car clicking more with every space she taps it against before coming to rest beside the chapel. She glares at Peter and Ned expectantly. They must hate playing board games with her, she assumes―Life in particular―but they keep inviting her, and she keeps saying yes.

“Since you landed there anyway…” Ned begins to point out.

“I stopped because that’s how many moves the spinner gave me, not because I’m obeying that stop sign.”

“All you have to do is add another little plastic thingy to your car!”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“You had to stop,” Ned argues while Peter remains anxiously silent.

“The fact that the game makes you stop your life for marriage only demonstrates the inherent evil of the institution. Look how little time I got to be in college,” MJ says, gesturing to the short opening stretch of the board. “How about I just go back to the start and get another degree instead?”

“You’re supposed to get married here. It’s one of the milestones in the game. Job, marriage, house,” Ned lists. “That’s Life.”

His last remark was a little on the nose, MJ thinks, but it still makes her mad.

“I am not picking a spouse out of that plastic baggie. What does the spouse even contribute in this game? They don’t chip in on the house or make auto insurance payments. They don’t even have a job!”

“Children―”

“Don’t need a spouse for that,” she counters.

“―and companionship.”

“If the game was about companionship, you’d be paired up with another player, not a tiny peg-shaped piece of plastic.”

“It’s pretend,” Ned insists. “If I pull Athlete for the career card, I’m not going to make a big deal about being too short to be a professional basketball player.”

MJ has a retort ready for that too, except Peter finally decides to intervene. It’s not with words, not at first, but with the vibrating whirl of the spinner as he takes his turn. He stops his car next to hers, though his spin allows him to move five more spaces. God. She rolls her eyes, assuming he’s braking for marriage. Though they’re good friends, pretty much best friends anymore, she sometimes feels like Peter doesn’t hear a single word she says.

(Fine, they’re dating, but it’s early days. She doesn’t want one game of Life to send it all tumbling down.)

“Get in,” he says and she glances sideways at him in confusion.

“What?”

“Take your person out of your car and put her in mine.”

“You’re solving this by making me get married to you?” She’s only blushing because she’s angry. These infuriating nerds. “That takes away the only control I have in this game―getting to drive my own car.”

“You can drive,” Peter offers, moving his blue peg-man to the passenger’s seat. “I don’t care.”

When he looks from his car to her face, she has her narrowed eyes ready for him.

“What are you doing, Parker?”

“Getting you out of here. Let’s say your peg is a runaway bride who’s changed her mind about the wedding and mine is a friend who stops to pick her up because the chapel’s on his way.”

Ok, she might be smiling a little.

“Hurry up,” he urges, “I still have five spaces to go before Ned can spin.”

“What if your peg-man is a kidnapper?”

“You think he has the kind of car a kidnapper would want? It’s bright yellow. Pretty conspicuous. Anyway, he’s not a kidnapper, he’s your friend from college. You’ve kept in touch and frequently debate the merits of going back to get a second degree.”

This gets a full-on snort of laughter out of her.

“Also,” Ned offers, “he probably understands enough about your character to realize you would never be happy getting married so young, but also knows how independent you are and that you had to make that decision for yourself without his input.”

“That’s a lot of backstory for Life,” she comments, looking from Ned to Peter.

“Yeah, well, right now our rich imaginations are depriving you of what I’m sure would’ve been a lovely wedding… I mean…” Ned corrects when MJ notices his best friend giving him a look. “…are giving you an excuse to break the established rules of the game.”

“Companionship?” Peter offers with a smile. “And maybe the board isn’t even our plastic people’s whole life―” Ned is ready to ram the instruction sheet into their faces at this, she can tell. “―maybe it’s just a road trip.”

“I could do a road trip,” MJ says, fitting her peg-person into the driver’s seat of Peter’s yellow car.

“Awesome. I warmed up the seat for you.”

“Gross. Don’t make me drive away while you’re in the bathroom at the next truck stop.”

“There are no truck stops in this game!” Ned protests. “There aren’t even trucks!”

“I think I hear your plastic wife reminding you to take your blood pressure medication,” she informs him flatly.

Peter advances their car the remaining spaces and their road trip is officially underway. They keep the order of their turns the same, which should mean that Peter and MJ’s car finishes the game while Ned’s only halfway through, except arguments crop up and their friend takes his turn in the meantime. They argue over picking a house (Peter favours the white picket fence while she insists, with their pooled salaries, that they should go for the biggest, most extravagant house, because why not?), which route to take at forks, and if they should buy a stock card. The baby spaces are the trickiest. Her face feels hot again and neither she nor her road trip buddy are making much effort to meet each other’s eye.

“Is this still a road trip?” Ned checks in, comfortably ahead of them with his plastic wife, two kids, and a dog. “You guys own a house together now.”

MJ finally darts a look at Peter.

“We’ll just say it’s a pet instead of a baby.”

Of course, then they argue about what kind of pet they adopted. She feels foolish and uncreative for suggesting a budgie when, with the height of the ceilings in their mansion, Peter says they could very reasonably keep a giraffe. Their compromise is, somehow, an aardvark. The aardvark gets make-believe packed into a make-believe aardvark carrier and they continue the road trip. The tranquility of their household only lasts until the next baby space. They pick up another pet. They hit another baby space. It’s a fucking minefield, MJ thinks, and she wants to call up the inventor of Life and have a serious talk with him (clearly a man) about his agenda. There should be more natural disasters (she and Peter have home and automobile insurance, so they’re not worried) and fewer trips to the maternity ward.

By the fourth baby space, she’s annoyed and having less fun debating the pet they should adopt in place of human offspring.

“This might be crazy,” Ned says sarcastically, “but you guys could just have a baby together this time.”

Peter makes a weird noise and MJ’s too flustered to look at him. Her companion recovers himself.

“We can’t take a newborn baby on a road trip,” he asserts. “Somebody would have to stay home with them.”

“I’m not staying home,” she says quickly.

All power to stay-at-home moms, but she doesn’t think she’d want to be one. Not that reality matters, obviously, because this is just a dumb board game pushing conformity.

“You idiots brought an aardvark!” Ned blurts. “I’m pretty sure you can handle a baby!”

“Fine,” MJ snaps. She can’t help it. Something about her friend’s words made it seem like a challenge. “Parker, you’re on baby duty.”

“What? I don’t know how to take care of a baby.”

She shrugs.

“Figure it out. I’m driving.”

“Then I’ll drive for a while and you can be on baby duty,” he counters.

“No way! Letting me drive was part of the deal!”

“The deal has evolved! We’re parents now! We need to redistribute our responsibilities!”

“Peter Parker,” MJ hisses, “I will turn this car around and go back to the chapel where I left my car.”

“Then who’s going to look after the baby while I’m driving? Our aardvark? Besides, you can’t start from way back there this far into the game. You’ll never catch up.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll lap you! Just watch!”

“And you just go flying by while I’m busy being a single parent? That’s not fair.”

“I’ll pay for private school,” she negotiates. “And flu shots and stuff, if you land on those spaces.”

He sighs.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do it. This baby is really complicating our lives and they’re not even in the car yet.”

The two of them contemplate the board.

“JUST HAVE SEX!” Ned yells.

Startled, MJ looks up at her friend.

“Uh,” he backtracks, “I mean, to have the baby. You can totally have a baby on a road trip.”

She doesn’t know about Peter, but she’s kinda doubting that Ned is that frustrated about them arguing over sticking a plastic baby in their car. He needs to say something to take that back and make the atmosphere normal again, not like it is now, with MJ practically jumping when Peter’s foot brushes hers. Unfortunately, Ned stands instead of fixing this awkward mess of emotions he’s created.

“Where are you going?” she demands.

“I’m done.”

This seems like more drama―like Ned’s done with them and their baby debate―until he points at where the looping Life highway ends. His car’s parked at the less luxurious retirement home; with Peter and MJ combining their salaries, Ned has no hope of winning the game, since it all comes down to how much money you have. Capitalism, MJ thinks scornfully. Capitalism and a dozen baby spaces.

“Oh.”

“You guys finish,” Ned encourages before MJ thinks to tell Peter to just end it there and pack the game up. “You’re like three-quarters of the way through.”

“If you want to,” she hears herself saying to Peter as she casts an uncertain glance his way.

“Ok. If you do.”

Ned chuckles.

“Alright, you two. Enjoy your road trip.”

It’s a little awkward when he’s gone, awkward and quiet. Peter jumps up from where they’re stretched out on the floor and puts on a road trip playlist. MJ doesn’t stir up an argument over the music; there’s enough tension just with them being alone. Ned was supposed to stay later. There were supposed to be more games and then a marathon of the Jaws movies, ordered by how many people get eaten. That’s what the three of them agreed on and what MJ knows May is expecting. May, who Peter said (with extreme discomfort) told him not to wait up for her because she’s out with Happy. That little announcement of his, made so offhandedly an hour ago, now drapes the room that only the two of them occupy, heavy with new meaning in Ned’s absence. They’re alone and Peter’s just put on Bruce Springsteen.

With unspoken agreement, MJ flicks the spinner and Peter moves their car―they pretend like they never landed on that baby space. They don’t need that right now, trying to get out from under the feeling of having the apartment to themselves and the knowledge that the only thing that’s put the brakes on the making out they’ve done so far in their relationship has been the arrival of other people. They lie to themselves that it’s still just a road trip for their two plastic people (never mind the combined salaries and the shared mansion and the joint custody of an array of exotic animals) and still just a board game for them (never mind the way Peter’s looking over at her and the way MJ keeps looking back to check if he’s looking).

They survive “Born to Run” and are startled into concentration by “Highway to Hell” and landing on the square that forces them to change careers. A couple of forgettable road trip songs follow those, and then “Drive My Car” comes on. MJ’s never thought of the Beatles as the creators of a soundtrack for seduction, so why does this song suddenly have such a sexy lilt to it? Why is every line a double entendre? Why do she and Peter both reach to move their car at the same moment and end up overturning it (R.I.P.) as their fingers intertwine?

She’s about to say how dumb that is, how cliché, when his hand tightens around hers and he jerks her forward. Forget their car―she just took out an entire plastic mountain range with her knee and she’ll probably have a bruise later. She can’t check at the moment because her eyes are fixed on Peter’s, but only sort of, since his face is too close to look at properly. So MJ doesn’t look. Her breathing is quick and somehow the seconds are slow, the press of his nose into her cheek should be clumsy and embarrassing; instead, it’s gradual and sweet. Peter exhales through his mouth and she feels his air on her lips. As she tries to watch and not watch, her eyelashes flutter like crazy, and it’s finally his trembling grasp on the back of her neck that sinks her deep into the moment, which is when he tilts his face just enough to touch his lips to hers.

MJ sucks in―at least half of it has to be his used oxygen and maybe that’s what makes her a little dizzy―and chases her hormones forward. They lead her hands to Peter’s shoulders and send her scrambling into the lap he quickly constructs for her, rearranging his limbs and scattering colourful Life currency with a careless swipe of his foot. She ends up on her knees with both hands cupping his face. She hasn’t quite managed to straddle him properly, like women do so effortlessly in the movie scenes they both blush over and pretend to not really watch when they’re together. Rather than being centered over him, she’s straddling just one of his legs, but she’s too self-aware to want to move, terrified that Peter will realize she’s screwed up this attempt to bring them closer. It was supposed to be sexy. She was supposed to instinctively know how.

Maybe he thinks he can fix it, or maybe he has his own reasons for repositioning them. Either way, he shifts the leg she’s straddling and it rubs between hers. She doesn’t know what song’s playing now, just that it isn’t playing loud enough to cover the way she breathes in―rough, short, unpolished. Move your thigh, Peter, she thinks. She can’t say it out loud because if she said it out loud it would be a snapped command, a chastisement, a rejection. What MJ wants is for it to be an invitation. Even though their mouths break apart, there isn’t anything she wants to say. The nice thing, the right thing, is the sound of their lips parting. It’s good, though not cartoonish, not scripted like a board game. It’s a sound that makes her want more, but she waits for Peter to initiate this time.

She expects his mouth; she gets his hands. They slide up her back, softly, bunching her t-shirt without seeming to try to deliberately undress her. Only once her back is securely in his hands does Peter’s face come impossibly close to hers again. But he doesn’t kiss her. His cheek just rests against hers while his palms warm and rub her back. Abruptly, he raises his thigh again and MJ―willpower departed to parts unknown―rocks shallowly in response.

“We kinda messed up the game board,” he says quietly.

“Your Life is ruined,” she agrees and it’s funny, but neither of them laughs. The skim of his cheek across hers is making her heart race.

“Would you…” His voice runs dry. With a little grunted clearing that’s enough to liquify this desire between her legs, he gives it another shot: “Would you want to, uh, see some stuff in my room? My bedroom. With me.”

“Sweet,” MJ agrees. Her tone is high and flighty, a hot air balloon with its lines loosed. “Road trip.”

They glance at each other constantly over the course of their very short trip. From the second MJ stands, Peter holds her hand securely in his, snatched from where it hung at her side. This is so moronic; she’s been in his room before. When Ned was there too. And May was home. And they weren’t dating yet. Quickly, she gives up on trying to think of this as the same as those other times, because it’s not. There’s not much interesting in this room that MJ hasn’t seen―just what Peter looks like without his clothes on.

With bravado, MJ marches all the way into his bedroom, straight to the opposite wall, where she looks out the window. Can’t go any farther. It’s like the stop signs on the board game.

“We don’t have to do anyth―” Peter seems to swallow his tongue when she faces him and whips her shirt off over her head. “Anything,” he chokes out.

“I wanna go forward,” she asserts defiantly, though she’s not sure who she’s defying, since her boyfriend’s eyes on her bra hint that he’s probably ok with this. His gaze rises to her face.

“So do I.”

“Good,” MJ says with a little twitch of her head.

Peter yanks his shirt off and, clenching and unclenching his hands like he’s psyching himself up, approaches her. Rather than sweeping her feet out from under her, he holds her hand again and brings her over to his bed.

Sitting cross-legged on his drawn-back sheets as they start kissing, MJ finds they do go forward. She keeps her hands to herself until she can’t help it and puts her palms on his knees. His fingers trace her waist before he’s bold enough to grip her more securely.  It can’t take more than five minutes for her to shuffle closer and him to draw her in with eager hands. Like playing Life, they have small moves (the first time MJ runs a hand down his bare chest) and big ones (when Peter rolls on top of her), double turns if you’re not in the lead (somehow she’s naked first and retaliates by removing his jeans and boxers together) and spaces that pull you up short (the long pause while he hovers over her, right after he asks if he should get a condom). Like riding in a car down a highway on a hot summer day, it’s exhilarating and exhausting, sweaty and satisfying. They lie side by side on their backs, breathing hard, and MJ thinks they’re definitely someplace different from where they started.

She wonders what she’ll say if Ned texts to ask who won.

[quickspinner]

Fear Itself

this is not any of the things I intended to write today but I’m just getting carried along by the tide at this point. This is part of my collection All in the Family.

Adrien sighed, looking at the blue-haired man slumped on the bar. 

“Marinette is going to kill you,” Adrien observed, leaning on the bar beside his friend. “And I don’t want to be anywhere near the blast radius.” 

“S’not a crime to get drunk,” Luka mumbled.

“Yeah, you can let me know how that argument works out for you.” Adrien rolled his eyes. “Can you walk or am I going to have to drag your ass all the way home?”

Luka’s response was worthy of Juleka as he  buried his face further in his arms, but Adrien assumed it was some version of “Fuck off, Agreste.” 

“No can do,” Adrien sighed, grabbing his arm and hauling him bodily off the stool. “You knew you were stuck with me when you married my favorite person.”

“I hate you so much,” Luka muttered as Adrien ducked under his arm. Adrien staggered as Luka let him take most of his weight, probably just to be petty. Adrien rolled his eyes, but steered them toward the door. It was both fortunate and unfortunate that he was using the limo that day. It was more conspicuous than was ideal, though at least it wasn’t the stretch, but it did mean Adrien didn’t have to drive. He dumped Luka in the backseat and made him buckle up before getting in the other side and signaling the driver to go.

“So you want to tell me why you felt the need to go get shitfaced in the middle of the week?” Adrien asked conversationally, only half expecting an answer. Luka could be awfully closed-mouthed when something was bothering him, even more so if the reason had something to do with Marinette. They both knew Adrien would be on Marinette’s side anyway.

Luka sighed, leaning his head to stare at the roof of the car. “M’nette’s pregnant.”

“Really?” Adrien lit up, and then frowned. “Wait, that’s a good thing right? You guys have been trying for a while.” 

“Eight months,” Luka agreed, closing his eyes. “We were ssssssso happy, and then M’nette went to work and it hit me that I’s gonna be a sad—dad—and I lost my fuckin’ mind.” His breath hitched. “Wha was I thinkin’, I can’t be a dad. My dad sucked, ‘drien.”

Adrien snorted. “Yeah, join the club,” he muttered bitterly.

“Been a member longer’n you, asshole.”

“I think supervillain trumps seniority,” Adrien snorted. Luka rolled his head to give Adrien a stare through red-rimmed eyes.

“Yeah, so how qualified d’you feel to be a dad, hmm? Not, like, theoretically, but if you knew it would happen ‘zactly thirty-four fuckin’ weeks from now.”

Adrien pondered that for a moment. “Shit,” he said, finally. 

Luka groaned and put his hands over his face. “Tell me there’s some scotch in this godawful monstrosity.” 

“Sorry,” Adrien said. “You’re cut off. Marinette will kill me if I let you die of alcohol poisoning.” He reached into the cooler set into the seat and pulled out a bottle of water. “Bottoms up,” he said, handing it to Luka. 

Luks snorted, fumbling with the cap. “Could drink you under the table, pretty boy.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Adrien retorted. “You know how easy it is to get wasted on champagne if you don’t work up a tolerance. Either way, I’m not giving you more booze.” He took the water back from Luka, twisted the cap off, and handed it back.

“Some friend,” Luka muttered, and then he drained half the bottle. He sighed. “How mad is she?”

“She was more worried than mad,” Adrien told him. 

“Shit.” Luka sighed. “That jus’ means she’ll be madder when she knows ‘m safe.”

“Probably,” Adrien agreed. “So you better sober up as much as you can before you get there.”

“Fuck, ‘m such a loser,” Luka groaned. “She’s gonna think I was lyin’ about bein’ happy.”

“You never lie to her,” Adrien said, feeling a bit more sympathy now that he knew what was going on. “And you weren’t, were you.”

“No,” Luka sighed, throwing his arm across his eyes. “No, I was happy, just…” he sighed, and Adrien suspected he was crying beneath his arm. “Jus’ don’t wanna screw up. Don’ wanna lose everything jus’ cause I got shit genes and a crappy example.”

“Well,” Adrien said, putting his hand on Luka’s shoulder. “Your dad was never there and my dad wouldn’t leave me alone, so hopefully between the two of us we can figure out the right thing to do. You’re not in this alone, man, you’ve got Marinette and me, and Tom.”

“Fuck, Tom’s gonna kill me if he finds out,” Luka breathed. 

“He won’t. It’s not like you make a habit of this kind of thing, and you’ve got good reason to be scared. Maybe find a better way to deal next time, though. If you run off on Marinette every time you get scared—”

“I do not run off on Marinette,” Luka said, lifting his face, moving his arm, and speaking much too crisply for as drunk as he was. “Never. All in until the end, I swore.” He leaned his head back again. “How do you think she knew where to tell you to find me?”  

Adrien smiled. “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about, Luka. Except, you know, what Marinette’s going to do to you.”

Adrien declined his driver’s offer to help get Luka in the building with some regret, but he knew both Luka and Marinette would be happier if he did it himself. Luka was steadier when they walked in the building, and he wasn’t slurring quite so much, but Adrien still had to duck under his arm to keep him walking mostly straight.

“Wuss,” Luka muttered as they waited for the elevator.

Adrien rolled his eyes. “I’m not hauling your drunk ass up four flights of stairs.” He sighed. “Hey, Plagg, head on up and tell Marinette we’re on our way.” 

“No,” Luka moaned. “Sass, stop him, he’ll make it sound worse than it is.” There was no response from his pocket. Luka rolled his eyes. “He’s not speaking to me,” he grumbled. “Spilled beer on him.”

Adrien gave him a look. “You weren’t drinking beer, Luka.”

“The first one was a beer,” Luka sighed blearily. “Was just trying to relax a bit at first. Then I got scared and...and I didn’t want to be, so…” he shrugged. 

Adrien sighed. “You know beer makes you introspective. You should have expected that.”

“Yep.” Luka popped the p. “I’ve known I was gonna be a dad for less than twelve hours and I’ve already screwed up.”

“Dude,” Adrien sighed. “I’m making you an appointment with my therapist.”

Luka snorted. “Like I can afford your therapist. And don’t say dude, you sound ridiculous. You can barely pull off bro.”

“You won’t let me call you bro,” Adrien pointed out. “And shut up. I’m going to make you an appointment, and I’m going to pay for it, and you’re not going to give me any shit about it because this is too important to blow off. For the sake of Marinette and your baby.”

Luka drew in a sharp breath. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” 

“Okay,” Adrien repeated grimly, muscling him into the elevator.

“Fuck, what am I going to say to her,” Luka muttered, breath hitching again. 

“The truth. You’re scared and you screwed up and you’re going to get help. She may take her pound of flesh first but you know she’ll forgive you.” He paused. “Didn’t you guys talk about any of this before you decided to have kids?”

“Course we did,” Luka muttered. “I was worried but I wanted Marinette to be happy. Thought I could handle it.” He sighed heavily. “God I love her so much.”

“Yeah, we all know that,” Adrien said. The elevator dinged.

Luka tried to straighten himself, pulling away from Adrien. He’d face his wife on his own two feet. He did let Adrien take his keys and unlock the door, swaying slightly as the hall tilted to the left. 

Marinette opened the door with the keys still in it. “You’re home,” she sighed, with all the fervency of a prayer. God, he was the worst.

“Hi, babe,” Luka sighed. “Sorry.” He walked into the room and collapsed face-first on the couch. He hated this stage of drunk, where he was sober enough to know what an idiot he was and not sober enough to stop the room from randomly spinning or to be entirely sure his head was connected to his body.

“Ugh, you reek,” Marinette covered her mouth, turning green. “Oh my—” She retreated across the room, and Luka understood but it still made him feel a little bit abandoned. She looked at Adrien and they had one of those conversations without words that he hated. 

“Sorry, Mari, I draw the line at helping him shower.” Adrien raised his hands. That was a lie, Luka knew. Adrien would do literally anything if Marinette asked him to. 

“It’s fine, I can manage him,” Marinette sighed.

“No,” Luka called, unsmushing his face from the couch enough to be heard. “I can handle it myself. You’re not supposed to be lifting.” To stall any further argument, he got to his feet and staggered towards the bedroom, weaving but staying on his feet. His head was starting to feel connected to his body again.

While he got undressed, he filled the sink with water and set a small sliver of soap next to it. Sass finally emerged from hiding and immediately plunged into the water and began scrubbing himself vigorously. Luka turned on the shower and stepped in before it got warm. The cold water helped steady him a bit, though he still had to lean on the wall. “You okay, Sass?” he called. 

“I am fine,” the kwami answered, curtly but at least he was speaking.

“I’m really sorry,” Luka sighed, sticking his head under the spray.

“I know,” Sass replied from outside the curtain, a little more gently.

Luka managed to scrub the alcohol and bar smell off himself. 

“Brush your teeth,” Sass advised. “Her sense of smell will be very sensitive for the next few months.” 

Luka grunted an acknowledgement and did as instructed. He managed to pick up his dirty clothes without falling over and drop them into the hamper, making a mental note to do the laundry himself tomorrow. Sass phased back out into the living room, where he could still hear Adrien and Marinette talking, but the thought of getting dressed and going out there was just too much. He crawled into bed, too exhausted both physically and emotionally to do anything else, and wriggled under the covers. 

Eventually he heard the front door close, and Marinette came in, approaching tentatively. She sniffed the air as she got close, and then relaxed, coming to sit on the bed next to him. Luka rolled to his back and prepared to face the music. 

“You could have talked to me,” Marinette said, stroking her fingertips lightly across her forehead.

Luka sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m happy, I swear I am, just...it’s a lot.” 

Marinette nodded. “Believe me, I know.” 

“I’m afraid I’ll be a terrible dad. I had kind of a horrible example.” 

“True, but,” Marinette shrugged. “We’re a progressive family. We can both be moms if you want. You had a good enough example for that.”

Luka chuckled weakly, reaching up to caress her cheek with his thumb.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled. “I hope she has your eyes.”

Marinette smiled. “Or he.”

Luka shook his head and immediately regretted it as the room spun. “Gonna be a girl. That’s my lot in life. Constantly surrounded by strong, beautiful women who can kick my ass.” 

Marinette giggled. “At least you have Adrien.”

“He’s so pretty he might as well be one of you,” Luka sighed. “C’mere?” He flopped an arm out, and Marinette sighed, and then laid down and scooted over until she could lay her head on his chest. He curled his arm around her and kissed her forehead. “I love you,” he said. “Sorry for being so stupid.”

“Yeah, well, if being surrounded by strong women is your lot in life, apparently being surrounded by stupid men is mine,” Marinette sighed. “You’re going to go to Adrien’s therapist?”

“Yeah,” Luka sighed, closing his eyes. “I guess I better.”

“Then it’s okay. You’re allowed this one.” She was silent for a moment. “Thanks for letting me know where you were. I would have been scared if you just hadn’t come home.”

“I would never do that to you,” Luka promised. “Never. I’m not going anywhere. I may be the worst dad in the history of dads but I can at least be better than mine. I can at least be here.” 

Marinette leaned up and kissed him, and he closed his eyes, savoring the familiar feel of her soft lips caressing his. “You’re not going to be anywhere near the worst dad in history. You have too much love in your heart to be anything less than mostly adequate.” 

Luka laughed. “Thanks, babe. You always know the right thing to say.” 

Marinette tucked the blankets around him. “I still have to go feed the kwamis and do a couple of other things. You sleep it off. Just remember, I have dibs on puking in the toilet in the morning. If you have to hurl, use the trash can.” 

“Yes’m,” Luka muttered, already drifting off. Marinette leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

“I love you, stupid man.” 

“Love you too, strong woman. Women.” 

“It could still be a boy!”

“Keep telling yourself that, babe.”