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writingsfromhome · 4 years ago

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Plus a Little Extra I

Part 2 / Part 3/ Part 4

A/N: The YA reader in me can’t stop writing YA Harry so here’s another high school fic, Harry’s your bffl but just as he gets into a relationship you realise there’s some more-than-friends feelings between you two. But it might be too late. Part 1 of 3 maybe?

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I was in love with my best friend and there was nothing I could do about it.

I know, it sounded like a lame cliche. But this cliche was painful and I had to live it everyday, watch him walk up to his girlfriend and kiss her for everyone in the hallways to see. And then third-wheel them all the way to homeroom.

It was another Monday, painful and boring as usual, and I wait in the parking lot for Harry to finish parking his car before he hops out, nearly forgetting his backpack.

“It surprises me that thing still runs,” I look at his car in pity. “You really should just let it go already.”

“For your information,” Harry pushes me. “My car is a she and I will love her for as long as she keeps giving.”

“That’s what he said,” I roll my eyes as we walk into the double doors of high school. “Men.”

“I meant about my car,” Harry tries to clarify but I keep teasing.

“Uh-huh, hey look there’s May, should I tell her what you just told me about how you treat your women.”

“That big mouth is going to get you in trouble one day,” Harry wags his finger at me. My heart drops as his girlfriend May approaches and kisses his cheek. He immediately responds to her, pulling her in for a kiss.

I drag my eyes away, “See you kids later.”

As cool as I tried to make myself appear, I felt like dying inside. Seeing Harry with someone else suckerpunched me every time.

And it really isn’t what you think, it’s not like I’d harbored a secret crush and didn’t have the balls to ask him out. I’d only realised I had a crush on Harry near the end of the summer and by September he’d already started dating her.

Harry and I were best friends since we were seven, and even though we ran in different circles in high school, we managed to remain just as tight. I always thought he would be my best friend forever. Nothing else. But everything had changed one warm evening last August...

Two Months Ago

“Who do you have homeroom with?” Harry asks. I just got off my shift at a music store I worked at part time. Harry sometimes walked me home and waited for me to change so we could hang out in the evening. Usually we stayed in and watched The Office or Friends, sometimes we went to parties.

“Mr. Lee,” I groan. Schedules had just been released that morning.

“Really?” Harry jumps in front of me and walks backwards. “I’ve got him too!”

We do a mini-celebration dance on the sidewalk as we realise we had two other classes with each other. Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad if Harry was by my side. Partners in crime.

“Partners in crime again,” Harry reads my mind. “It’ll be like middle school all over again.”

“Except there’s no way you’re copying any of my homework!”

“I can be persuasive when the time comes. I’m not worrying.”

“And I can be stubborn when the time comes!” I stick my tongue out at him as we reach my house.

“I know that all too well.”

I give Harry the finger and he makes himself comfortable in my room while I freshen up.

***

“How do you know her again?” I ask Harry as we make our way to the bus to take us to a house party he’d been invited too.

“She was in my biology class,” Harry shrugs. “She sent a dm on Instagram and said I should come with friends.”

“You know she meant um, male friends?”

“Yeah...?” Harry looks over with a confused face and I push him away from me. He laughs, “You’re close enough.”

“So not what a girl wants to hear.”

We end up talking about the upcoming school year all the way to the party. It was in a nice part of town; a pool party because whoever had invited Harry had money for a built-in pool to fit however many people were here. With the cars parked around the block...a lot. As soon as we walk in, people assault Harry and I wander away to find people I knew. This was a common occurence-we would find each other eventually.

I spot a few of my friends and we get to talking.

“It’s May’s place,” one of my friends says. “Like May Lemont?”

“The one that says every french word with that fake accent?” My other friend scrunchles her nose.

“Yeah like we get it, your dad’s French.”

“She’s never even lived in France.”

I’d only shared a couple classes with May, didn’t know her enough to share in the gossip so I excuse myself to get a drink.

“Drinking alone?” A voice asks. My heart skips a beat, I’d know that voice anywhere. James, my childhood crush, stood on the other side of the island.

“I’m going back to my friends.” Stupid thing to say-that’s not how you flirt!

“Can I suggest a counter offer?” I raise my eyebrow at James’ question and he walks closer to me. “We take our drinks into the pool and get to know each other.”

This is...kinda random, I think. No, I accidentally say out loud. Shit!

But James just laughs. “A little birdy told me you were looking for me?”

I stay silent, who would have told him that? Harry? They were on the same football team but he swore he wouldn’t say anything to James about my crush. I was going to kill him!

“Right...well why not!” I rush out back and holy cow, dozens of my classmates crowd the wide space. May’s parents must be really well off.

I spot Harry talking to a group of his people, May lingering nearby. I consider going up to her but James calls me over and I stand by the pool.

“Are you not coming in?” He asks.

I feel self conscious as I take my denim shorts off and reveal the bottom half of my one piece. This was James. Here. Watching me-quite intensely. Inviting me to be in the pool with him! Miracles did come true!

We float around with our drinks, splash each other and he lays it on heavy with the flirting. We eventually find a float that I sit on but he just leans on it.

“Kind of like Jack and Rose isn’t it?” James smiles, his dimples are deep enough to hold the pool we’re in.

“There’s plenty of room on this door,” I gesture to the empty space beside me.

“I’ll take the hero’s end,” James grins. “It’s more sexy isn’t it?”

“Sexy is staying alive-“

“Incoming!” Someone shouts from the other side and suddenly water shoots up around me. I blink and the float is nowhere around me as I sink into the pool.

I push my way up and spit out the water in my mouth, trying to catch my breath. I move the hair from my eyes to see who just disrupted my peace, deep down knowing who it was.

“Round two!”

My head is once again underwater but I’m slightly more prepared. I hold my breath and open my eyes to Harry’s sea green eyes mocking me as he kicks up but I grab his leg and pull him down before kicking away and up myself.

“Y/N you alright?” James asks when I surface. “Harry what’s the matter with you?”

“It’s okay,” I laugh. Harry could never go into a pool without pranking me somehow. “I’m alright. It’s just Harry being Harry.”

“Harry,” James says as Harry finally stops rubbing his eyes. “You’re wild.”

“James,” Harry goes in, slapping hands and slick chests. “You should join, dunk Y/N like-“

I push away, knowing what Harry was going to do. James locks eyes with me and we both have the same though, advancing on him and dunking him in ourselves. I laugh, my heart soaring as James looks at me as if really seeing me, finally. But then he goes under.

I splash Harry as he surfaces and accidentally splash the people behind him who in turn splash us and before we know it we’ve created a pool fight around us. More people jump into the pool to join in.

I can barely see and try to make it to safety but Harry makes it to me first and takes me down with him. When we surface, he’s mere inches away, his chest pumping as hard as mine.

His hand is around my back as we cling to the only safety in pool fights—the pool wall.

“Look what you’ve done,” Harry nods to the fight around us but he doesn’t take his eyes off of me. Not to look around at “what I’ve done” or see if we were in danger.

We’d been in this position before, Harry’s hands on some part of me and eyes locked. When we were trying to sneak out, arm wrestling to settle who was stronger, dancing at parties. But it never felt like this. Like his hand was spreading fire everywhere it touched and our eyes were decoding a language created right there between us.

“I should say you started it,” I lay my hand on his chest. I had no control over what I was doing. It’s just Harry, my head is shouting. My body pulses otherwise and I just wanted to get closer to Harry. I felt myself being pulled to him. I felt out of control.

“You’ve always been a troublemaker,” Harry mutters. And there, right there, his gaze falls to my lips and my heart is out of my chest and flopping like a fish in the water around us. I’d never thought of Harry like this, him and I. He was handsome-I wasn’t stupid. But he was my best friend. And this wasn’t supposed to happen...

My leg is yanked, hard, and I slip out of Harry’s arms. I manage a small breath before I’m underwater again, now staring at Harry’s knees. Someone pulls my arm away and I see it was James who had pulled me down. He winks at me and I probably looked dazed. I had no idea what was happening. Below or above water.

But James must have interpreted the dreamy look in my eye for him because he locks me into him and slowly presses his lips to mine. James. Kissing me. Underwater.

14 year old Y/N would be faint with pure excitement right now. And I can’t deny the attraction so I close my eyes and kiss him back. It was what I always wanted. And it was romantic and so perfect. Except for the part where I turn away to go up for air and catch Harry swimming back to the surface. He’d seen us.

What had I gotten myself into now.

I call Harry’s name when I surface but it was like he’d sprinted away because he’s too far away to hear.

“Y/N?” James surfaces beside me. “Are you okay? You’re shivering.”

“I-“ I realise I was. The adrenaline was too much, and now I was crashing with the realisation that something between Harry and I had just been changed. Maybe forever. “I just need to get out of the water, I’ll meet you back here.”

I pull myself out and walk into the house clutching my shorts, no longer conscious of my one-piece. I needed to find Harry, ask if we were on the same page because it felt like we’d suddenly split off into two separate series that didn’t feature one another. And I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why.

He’s nowhere to be found though, so I find an empty washroom and lock myself in it. I sit at the edge of the bathtub and fish my phone out to see if Harry messaged but 0 notifications.

I face myself in the mirror. My usual criticism of my body doesn’t come, I can’t stop staring at my face-I’d kissed James today. My face splits into a grin. At least there was that.

***

“There you are,” James must have searched for me. I stayed locked in the tiny room for at least a half hour just sorting the evening in my head. I bump into him in the den and he immediately places his hands on my hips. I swallow the insecurity I felt and smile at him, wrapping my arms around him too.

“Here I am, kind of had an emergency sorry.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, it was more like a personal crisis. “Have you seen Harry?”

“Why?” James asks. I tilt my head, he almost sounded offended. And when I don’t answer he tell me, “I saw him outside.”

“Let’s go hang outside,” I slip my hand into his and flash a pretty smile. He relaxes and pulls me into a kiss, a gentle nudge, before leading me outside.

A group of people sit around an outdoor firepit. I spot Harry’s grin as he laughs at something one of his footbal friends say. He’s shirtless-something I’d seen countless of times, but the flicker of the fire reflected off the water droplets on his chest makes him look like the hot stud in a cheesy teen movie. I clear my head.

“James!” One of his friends calls out and he lets go of my hand to chest bump him. Or whatever.

Harry’s eyes follow the commotion and he sees me. I raise my eyebrows and he smiles, like nothing was wrong. Like I imagined the whole thing. But when his eyes flicker to James hand as it drapes over my shoulder again, his face falls ever so slightly. And I know I wasn’t crazy. Something did happen.

Someone else calls out to James and he leaves my side again. I decide to walk over to Harry but before I could take a step, May settles beside him and says something that makes him laugh. A small voice inside urges me to break it up but I ignore it. May invited Harry, they obviously knew each other. I was getting ahead of myself. It wasn’t like they were going to get together.

***

“What you thinking about?” James asks later that night. It was way past midnight, most of the party had gone home and the remaining stragglers surround the firepit that was burning just as bright as before. It was a lot of the football team, their girlfriends, and a group of seniors that usually stuck together.

“Nothing,” I lie. I was thinking about Harry’s arm around May’s shoulders and the blanket around both of them that she brought out a little while ago. It makes my chest feel like it was being squeezed in a vice. It was a confusing way to feel about my best friend in the whole world. Maybe I was being possessive but maybe...my mind shifts to the pool. James hand on my thigh brings me back to the present.

“You’re so quiet,” he says. I look at his hand and thread my fingers through his.

“I like watching the fire,” I say honestly. “It’s kind of mesmerizing.”

“Like you,” James turns in place so his knees bump into mine. I look up and he looks at me with open adoration. “I really like you Y/N.”

“I...really like you too James,” I say. “For a while actually.”

“I know. Me too,” James’ response surprises me. He laughs at my surprise. “I’ve seen you in school, you keep to your people but I always thought you were funny. When you put down Ricky in English class...”

“Oh right,” my cheeks burn when I remember. I’d been appalled when the teacher allowed Ricky to give his disgusting interpretation of the book we were reading. Everyone listened with eyes bulging and I’d called him a pig...and a few other things. I forgot James had been in that class.

“It’s cool! We all gave him shit at practice that day,” he nudges me. “You’re hard to miss.”

“So why did you just approach me today?”

“Well...like I said someone told me you-“

“Who?”

“Eh,” James looks around uncomfortably. “Okay, May told me you were crushing on me. I could never read you so I didn’t know-“

“Wait, like May who threw the party?” I ask. James nods and I glance over to her leaning her head on Harry’s shoulder. That bitch! Wait, I realise the only way she would’ve know was Harry. My rage at May quickly flips to hurt at Harry’s betrayal.

“Y/N?” James calls my name. “Is something wrong?”

“I just...don’t know how May knew that. I don’t talk to her.”

“Oh, probably Harry,” James says as if it were just as obvious to him. My hurt doubles. “May’s crazy about him, always shows up to our practices and games and I think she thought you and Harry were a couple or something. Since you guys spend so much time together. She only told me cuz I thought the same thing, I didn’t believe her when she said you had a cr-“

“You thought Harry and I were together?” I ask.

“Or into each other or something, you two are always sneaking off places.”

I try to wrap my head around it all. Is that how people saw us? Did Harry know?

“So anyway I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow?” James asks. “A few of us are going to the beach at six.”

“Oh, my shift ends at 6:30.” I glance at Harry again and back to James.

“We can catch up to them, I’ll pick you up. Just text me where you work. Here, I’ll put my number in.”

I get his number and try to act casual, trying to convince him and myself I was unfazed by all the new info but my mind races and my hurt twists its way around my body. Mostly, the lump in my throat makes a home there and doesn’t let me forget.

I couldn’t act normal for much longer so I tell James I was going to head home. He offers to walk me to the bus stop but I refuse. I needed to be alone. But as soon as I turn the corner of the street someone calls my name. Harry comes running down, out of breath.

“You didn’t even tell me you were leaving, I thought we were going home together?” Harry says when he catches up.

“You looked cozy with May,” I say casually. “I didn’t want to break it up.”

“James didn’t even offer to walk you home? It’s not safe this late. Let me grab my shirt just stay here.”

“He did but like I told him, I’m-“ Harry’s sprinting back before I can finish. My stomach turns, I didn’t want to ride back with him with all the unspoken words between us. But he was right, it was unsafe. So I wait.

“So. James?” Harry starts off as we wait for the bus. “Did you finally tell him you like him like I keep telling you to?”

“No.” I answer curtly. I didn’t want to get into it but he keeps pushing.

“But I saw he finally kissed you,” Harry nudges me. “You spent all night with him. You didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t need to. Apparently he heard from someone I was crushing on him.” I don’t even look at Harry and he picks up on the accusation right away.

“Wait you don’t think I told him?” Harry asks. “I swore on my signed poster of Friends, don’t think I’m giving that up so easily.”

I roll my eyes so I wouldn’t crack a smile. But I remember how easily he gave up my trust, and with that the cursed tear falls onto my cheek. I wipe it away quickly but not before he sees.

“What is it? What aren’t you saying, Y/N? Did James do something to you?”

“No!” I shout. “He’s great, James is lovely. A gentleman. He told me May told him. And the only person who could have told May is...”

“Me,” Harry faces me, his eyes apologetic. “I swear Y/N I didn’t think she was actually going to tell him. She was convinced I was-we were a couple. When she didn’t believe me I told her how you’d been in love with James since-“

“But why would she tell James?” I demand. “That wasn’t her secret to tell! It wasn’t yours either!”

“I don’t know!” Harry shouts, the guilt stressing him out. “Maybe she thought she was being helpful? Maybe she was just being nice!”

“God Harry are you that bloody naive?” I finally stare at him. “You totally broke my trust! Told some girl I don’t even know and she told James! What if he didn’t like me back? That would’ve been...oh my god that would’ve been so embarassing! She just wanted to have you for herself so she blabbed her mouth and you told her.” I jab his chest, tears pouring out of me like a broken faucet. “I trusted you and you told someone just because you thought she was...hot!”

I can’t stand his face. I step out of the bus stop and start walking; I would just walk home even if it took me an hour. We’d gotten into plenty of fights over the years but never like this, on a level this deep. And I didn’t want to be around him. It hurt too much. So I keep walking.

“I didn’t mean to betray your trust! Y/N! I didn’t even think she cared enough to tell James!” Harry’s voice gets closer as he catches up to me. He stops in front of me, holding my shoulders. “Why are you crying? I’m really sorry Y/N I’ll make it up to you I promise. I wasn’t thinking when I told her-it just came out when I was talking. I would never try to hurt you purposely.”

“I know!” I try to shake him off. “That’s not the point!”

“Then what is?” Harry shakes my shoulders and I look up at him. He scans my face in confusion. As the anger leaves my body, the hurt remains. Not only about Harry telling May my secret, but that it was May. It felt like he was leaving me behind and even though it made no sense I couldn’t shake the feeling. It felt like he was leaving me for May.

Harry wipes the tears from my cheek and pulls me into his chest. I bury my face there, he was my best friend and I was starting to realise I felt for him more than a best friend. And I was screwed. And it was all his fault.

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeats as he holds me to him.

Just one evening had rocked the foundation of our friendship, leaving fractures along the whole thing. This was a turning point, I realise as Harry holds me, and I think I was just mourning that.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #writingsfromhome #fic #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff

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nadisabug · 4 years ago

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Fictober 2020-Day 8

Hung Over You

Prompt: "I'm not doing that again."

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: George Weasley x reader Warnings: mentions of alcohol, language, and slightly nsfw themes A/N: Another one for my boy George because who doesn’t love the Weasley boys? This one was so much fun to write, I love oblivious boys. And boy is this boy oblivious... you’ll see ;) hope you enjoy guys!

BTW, the reader’s house is not mentioned, but I wrote it thinking of a Slytherin reader. However! It can really be any house.

I opened my eyes to probably the worst headache in somebody's life.

Not mine, though, because I'd felt this bad many times over. All because of my horrible drinking habits.

I groaned and rolled onto my side, curling into the fetal position.

"And the sleeping beauty awakens," a far too chipper voice called out to me.

I didn't feel like gracing his snarky comment with a response, so I ignored it. Instead I tried pushing myself up to a sitting position, which I immediately regretted. Waves of nausea rolled over me, knocking me back down to the bed.

"Woah, princess, be careful." Suddenly he was at my side, helping me back onto my pillows. I halfheartedly swatted at him, but the blow didn't land. "Well that was pathetic," he chuckled, presumably at my lame attempt to beat him off of me.

"Piss off George," I slurred. "I don't need a babysitter."

Now to be completely honest, I actually did want his stupid gorgeous face near me. He was the reason I drank myself into this stupor. Yesterday was the big Quidditch game, and after Gryffindor won, they held a magnificent party for the winning team. Of course, all the girls were fawning over the undeniably handsome beater and his brother, so I drank to take my mind off of it. Getting buzzed seemed to be the only way to get over my fascination with him, but I knew in reality it only made it worse. Part of the reason why I got so wasted is because I knew George would be there to take care of me, even if it meant nothing. It always meant nothing. Just like it meant nothing to him the night he kissed me, over two months ago at another party.

"Yes you do," he laughed and I hated how much I adored the sound. "Here, drink this," he said and held a vial to my lips. I complied and downed it, knowing it was probably a hangover potion Hermione, his little brother's friend, brewed for him. Well, for him to give to me I suppose.

After I finished it, I flopped back onto the pillows and waited for it to kick in. After about five minutes I felt a hell of a lot better. I finally opened my eyes and took in my surroundings. Everything was so red and gold, the decor quite gaudy if you asked me.

"Am I in the Gryffindor dorms?" I asked out of confusion. Usually when I woke up I was in the common room of my house.

"Yes, in my bed too," George said. I looked at him and scrunched my eyebrows together.

"Where did you sleep?"

George laughed. "That's your first question? I slept on the floor. I could have taken Freddie's bed, seeing as he slept over in some Gryffindor girl's room," George paused to comically shudder at the thought, "but I was too worried that you might choke on your own vomit while you slept."

"Sexy," I rolled my eyes and tried to sit up again. This time I was successful, with only a slight increase of the throbbing in my head. I crossed my legs and put my elbows in my lap, head in my hands. "Aw, fuck," I murmured. "I am not doing that again."

"We both know that's not true," George said, this time without his usual laughter.

"Yeah you're right." I forced a smile and got up out of his bed, no longer able to stand the alluring scent of him now that I had finally noticed it. The bed reeked of him in an all-too-good way.

"Why do you do this?" He finally asked, stopping in front of me.

I looked up at him and, fuck. He looked so good in the morning. His hair was all over the place, a tousled mess of a bed head. He had thin dark lines under his eyes from not sleeping - presumably my fault - but even despite that he still looked gorgeous. I had to force myself not to stare at his lips. Would that be too obvious? Well, what could be more obvious than snogging him in the common room, I thought to myself.

"Like you care," I rolled my eyes so that I would stop staring at him.

"I do!" He responded angrily taking another step towards me.

"Well not in the right way!" I yelled at him before I could stop myself. Once I realized what I had said, all the blood drained from my face. I quickly spun around and began searching for my things. I spotted my purse on the night stand and snatched it up. I presumed my phone and wand would be in there but I didn't want to stay to find out.

"What does that mean?" George said softly.

I ignored him and bolted to the door. However, George got there first and blocked my path. Curse those long, sexy legs.

"Y/n, what does that mean?" He asked again more persistent.

At this point, I couldn't stop the tears from prickling at my eyes. I was probably more emotional because of my hangover, but I am sure I would have cried regardless.

I looked up at him with watery eyes and glared. "You know exactly what it means."

"Y/n, I'm sorr-"

"I am too," I said and tried to push past him, but he caught my arms and held me firm.

"No Y/n you're not listening. I'm sorry for being a pussy and a dumb git."

His statement made me freeze. I looked up at him in confusion and the look on his face almost shattered my heart.

"I'm sorry for not telling you how I feel, but in my defense how was I supposed to know?"

"How were you supposed to know?" I exploded. "How about when I stuck my tongue down your throat?"

George blinked for a second. "You remember that?"

"Of course I do!" I was sobbing at this point, the bottled up frustration too much for me to bear. "I confess all my feelings, you kiss me, then you act like none of it happened the next day!"

"I thought you were drunk!"

"Well, yeah of course I was. There's no way I would have told you I've liked you since I first saw you if I wasn't at least a little fucked up."

"So... you actually... meant it..."

I couldn't stop myself from rolling my eyes. "Yes I did. Now will you please let me leave so that I can go jump off the Astronomy Tower."

"Not before I do," he groaned and slumped against the door, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm such an idiot."

"We established that," I sighed. "Now can I-"

I wasn't able to finish my sentence because before I could, George's lips met mine in a ravenous kiss. It took me a moment to realize what was happening, but once I did, I caved and began kissing him back. His hands wrapped around my lower back and I slid my hands into his messy hair. I tugged on it to pull him closer and licked his bottom lip. In response, he leaned down, grasped my ass, and lifted me up. Out of pure instinct and because of the adrenaline coursing through my body I wrapped my legs around his waist. He spun us around and pressed me into the door.

We made out until we both couldn't breathe and we parted, panting. It took us a moment to compose ourselves, me still wrapped around him.

"I wouldn't mind doing that again," he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Only if you'll date me."

"You drive a hard bargain," he declared in what I could only guess was his impression of an American salesman.

I slapped his chest and glared at him.

"Ouch," he winced, but quickly regained his smile. "Ok, sure."

I rolled my eyes, but I knew that was the best I was going to get. Despite how hot George was, he still was an awkward jokester at heart. And I loved him for it.

So I kissed him again.

#fictober2020 #fictober20 #george weasley x reader #george weasley #Harry Potter #x reader

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chachkayes · 4 years ago

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Bad Idea - Mer x Hayes

Gee! Would you look at that - another Merhayes fic. Title obviously inspired by the cheating anthem, Bad Idea from Waitress. I cannot stop writing for these two. I wrote this one very late last night after @/emrobs on twitter posted about how she wanted merluca to break up later than they did so that Merhayes could cheat on DeLuca. Since I am not a fan of Andrew DeLuca, the idea of writing this fic became very intriguing. Alas, here we are, with a sexy Merhayes fic where Meredith cheats on DeLuca with Cormac Hayes because this story isn’t real and I can take it wherever I want ;)

“God, it’s always Derek this, Derek that nowadays! Just forget about Derek, Mer! You’re with me now!” Andrew DeLuca yelled at Meredith in the hospital hallways, something that had become the norm for the estranged couple. Jaws dropped from surrounding hospital staff, including Cormac Hayes who was just in earshot of the argument. Meredith flinched at his words, recoiled and went completely silent. She stared at him, tears in her eyes, expecting him to immediately apologize, but he stood by his statement.

Meredith held her composure as best as possible, and sharply turned away from DeLuca, storming off. In a blind rage, she stormed into a nearby on-call room and slammed the door shut. She sat down on the bed, and the fits of tears came flooding in. Her tears blocked out all the noise around her – to the point that she didn’t hear the door to the on-call room open and close. For a whole minute, Meredith Grey didn’t even realize that Cormac Hayes had entered in the room, staring at her sobbing in the way that only a widow could.

Carefully, he sat down beside her on the bed and placed his hand on her knee, catching her off guard, long enough for her to realize who was beside her. Her first instinct was to wipe the tears away and act like she was fine, but when she realized that Hayes was the one beside her, she melted back down into a puddle of tears, falling quickly into his embrace. He covered her as she cried and rubbed her back in an attempt to calm her breathing and stop her from hyperventilating. A few minutes later, Meredith’s breathing stabilized and her cries died down. Cormac’s heart broke every time Meredith would stop crying for a moment, only for it to start up again a few seconds later. His scrub shirt was now stained with tears, but in that moment, nothing and no one else mattered except for Meredith.

Meredith looked up at Cormac, who’s eyes were filled with concern. “Is there anything I can do?” Meredith thought of every kind thing he could do for her as a friend, but the only thing Meredith wanted to do in that moment was get back at Andrew DeLuca for hurting her the way he did, and forget about him in the same way he’d told her to forget about Derek, even if it was just for a little while. “Kiss me.” She said, staring at him. He looked at her, confused. He couldn’t say that he didn’t want to kiss her, but he would’ve preferred her to not be in a relationship when doing so. “Grey, I can’t. You’re-“ He was cut off by the feeling of Meredith’s hand around his bicep. “I don’t care. I need to stop thinking about him, just for a little while. Please.” She leaned in closer to him. Cormac couldn’t help but feel like he was taking advantage of Meredith’s vulnerability, but she was asking, he really wanted to, and they’d already had their fair share of close-calls previously, especially after pulling off incredibly adrenaline-boosting surgeries together. Still, he hesitated. Meredith was at the point of begging. She needed the relief of kissing someone who genuinely cared for her.

“Please. I don’t trust anyone else, except you right now, Hayes.” She asked again, pleading. The small waver in her voice as she said his name was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and Cormac Hayes wrapped his hand around the back of Meredith’s neck, kissing her in a way that was so passionate and fiery, it could have only been the result of many months of unresolved sexual tension. Immediately, Meredith felt a sense of safety with Hayes, something she didn’t realize she hadn’t felt since Derek, until she’d felt it again. As things began to heat up and escalate, Meredith remembered that everything they were doing was a first for Hayes. As she began to feel the urge to take things further, she stopped kissing Hayes and stared him straight in the eyes. “I want to do more than just kiss you, right now.” Hayes smirked at Meredith. “But these are all firsts for you. And if we take this any further, like I want to, I want you to have a safe word. If it becomes too much for either of us, the safe word is Switzerland. Okay?” Even with the slight pause in activities, the fire between Meredith Grey and Cormac Hayes only grew exponentially. There was no extinguishing that fire anytime soon. “Got it. You realize this is probably a really bad idea, right?” Meredith laughed, and leaned close to his ear, getting very close to full on straddling him. “Who doesn’t need a bad idea every once and a while?” She whispered. Immediately afterwards she pulled herself fully onto Hayes’ lap, and went straight back into kissing him, as if they’d never stopped.

It did not take long for them to find themselves entangling their bodies together on the bed. Luckily, the fight had happened at the end of both Meredith and Cormac’s shifts, meaning there was quite literally nothing stopping them from letting the inferno between them keep building. Meredith knew well enough to not let things go too far, but shirts definitely came off and found their way to the floor.

After things between Cormac and Meredith finally died down, they laid together on the bed, feeding off each other’s safety and warmth. Meredith’s head laid comfortably on his chest, one arm around his torso. His one arm wrapped loosely around her waist, and he ran his fingers through her hair with the other. “Are you okay now?” He asked her. Her smile following the question was all the confirmation that he’d needed. “I should be asking you that.” She said, looking up at him. “Why?” He asked, confused. “It’s just… I know how hard those firsts can be.” Cormac used his free hand to grab Meredith’s, lacing their fingers together. “I’m okay.” He finally told her. “Good.” Meredith felt nothing but a complete and utter sense of safety, peace, and happiness as she laid beside him. “What?” She said as she looked up, happily confused as she felt Cormac begin to laugh a little to himself. “I’m sorry, it just hit me. You cheated on DeLuca. We’re cheaters now.” Meredith laughed along with him. “I guess we are. And the thing is, I don’t even care.” Meredith said as she snuggled in closer to Hayes. “So, is this a good time to mention that I may or may not have given DeLuca a piece of my mind after you left?” He asked, completely serious. Meredith laughed. “No, probably not. But thank you, for standing up for me.” Hayes kissed her palm. “I couldn’t listen to him talk to you the way he did and not say anything, so it was no problem. I’d do it again if you ever needed me to.” Meredith sighed, closing her eyes for a decently long time. She found herself ready to doze off for a little while as she laid there, completely safe, still, and quiet. “Do you mind if I take a quick nap? I forgot how tiring crying is.” She said quietly after a few minutes of silence. “Do whatever you want, I’m perfectly content to stay here however long you need.” With that, Meredith closed her eyes and let herself fall asleep on top of Hayes’ chest, with the complete knowledge that she’d just become a cheater, yet with absolutely no guilt whatsoever.

#merhayes #cormac hayes #merwidow #grayes #meredith x hayes #hayes x grey #meredith x cormac #cormac x meredith #hayes x meredith #mcwidows #merhayes fic #grayes fic

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alarawriting · 4 years ago

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The Cold At The Heart of the Light: Chapter One

I’ve decided I’ll post probably the first three chapters of this as I work on it. There’s currently six chapters written and the seventh is started; I have been planning about twelve of them.

This is gonna have to be edited a lot when I finish the whole thing -- it’s too goddamn long, for one thing -- but I can’t spend too much time editing the first draft when I’m not done with it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as the maid led me to the living room and I got my first look at the little girl, I could tell the child was dying. She was sitting on an overstuffed, white suede couch with brown fringy pillows all around her, at the back of a living room that looked like something out of House Beautiful, all tall wide windows and understated elegance in brown and beige and gold and white. She was maybe about seven, if her disease hadn’t undersized her, feet dangling off the couch and not moving. When children whose feet are dangling are not kicking those feet, and there is neither a book nor a TV nearby to explain the discrepancy, I can generally tell something is wrong. Her blonde curly wig was as expensive as the décor of her parents’ living room, but I’m an expert in these matters – I could tell the chemo had taken her hair. And her skin was dull and dry looking, her eyes vague and unfocused, her expression indrawn and blank, her small limbs painfully skinny. She showed all the signs of either being abused, drugged, or severely ill, and given that her father had called me in, I knew that at least it was the last. Probably the second as well. The pharmaceutical industry has never solved the problem of stopping children’s pain to my satisfaction (or, for that matter, the children’s.)

Her mother would have been an elegantly plastic politician’s wife if she hadn’t been sitting tensely at the edge of the sofa, arm around her daughter, clutching the child. Fear and anxiety make even women with $500 haircuts and botoxed foreheads seem human. I’d already forgotten the woman’s name; after checking over the daughter with a quick glance, I turned to focus on her father. Senator John Lightman, one of those politicians who manages to look “boyish” simply by being a thin dark-haired man in his prime when everyone else in the Senate is somewhere between 60 and dead, was walking toward me, reaching out a hand as if to shake it. I saw the look of puzzlement cross his face as he got a good look at me. “Are you…”

“Dr. Mystery?” I filled in the blank. “Yes, of course, I apologize. You couldn’t possibly recognize me like this.” I had arrived in a stock form, a middle-aged woman of average height, weight and appearance with blonde graying hair in a short fluffy do. I couldn’t very well drive around town in my working form, but now that I was here, it was time to shock and awe the mundanes. With a thought, I transformed.

When I first adopted this as my working form, it used to take me ten or twenty minutes in front of a mirror to get it just right, because it doesn’t look human enough for me to use DNA as a model anywhere – I have to brute-force it. But by this time I’d been doing it for so many years, it took only a few seconds. Changing doesn’t hurt – it feels like having a really good stretch, actually.

In a moment, I was six feet tall, simultaneously busty and thin, with the golden skin of an Academy award, iris-less purple eyes with cat pupils, and flame-red hair down to the small of my back. I wore a skin-tight black leather catsuit with no shoes, and modified pelvis and leg muscles so I looked like I was wearing high heels even though I was barefoot – an anatomic impossibility for other women, but there’s no point in having total control over your own flesh if you can’t use it to show off a little. To complete the costume I grew a white cotton labcoat over the catsuit; not exactly a cape, but the name is Doctor Mystery, not Ms. Mystery or Lady Mystery or Sexy Chick I’d Like To Do Mystery.

Being a supervillain’s all about the power and the respect. Back when my working form wasn’t quite so do-me hot, I actually used to get less respect as a villain, as if a woman couldn’t possibly really be all that mad, bad and dangerous to know if she doesn’t look like a supermodel. But when I do the catsuit without the lab coat, I get respect as a badass with dangerous powers and incredible fighting skills, not as a biomedical genius. Not that I’m not a badass with dangerous powers and incredible fighting skills, but I’m not a teen thug for hire anymore, I’m a bona fide mad scientist and I want people to remember that, dammit.

Mrs. Lightman’s eyes went wide, and she made a tiny little yelping noise and clutched her little girl… who rather than looking frightened, actually looked mildly interested for the first time since I’d arrived. Her dad was trying to hide it, but his lips had compressed as if he were trying not to bite them and there was just the tiniest tremor in his hands. I expected Mrs. Lightman’s reaction, but the Senator could have gone one of two ways – men usually react to me with fear or lust, or a combination. I didn’t think I saw lust in Senator Lightman, and when I took his hand and shook it, I confirmed it. He was on the verge of peeing his pants. I might have believed he wasn’t reacting with any lust because he really had eyes only for his wife, if he weren’t a politician. But I’ve known very few male politicians to be faithful, and even they couldn’t avoid being lustful. Senator Lightman was terrified of me because I was a Proxima and he was a Sapien-centric bigot. Also, probably, because I was a supervillain and a killer and I could drop him dead in a second, turn him inside out, make the skin melt off his flesh or give him cancer, just from the touch of his hand in mine. But I suspected I’d have gotten the same reaction if I’d been a member of the Peace Force, or even a Girl Scout with purple eyes and gold skin trying to sell him cookies. He hated my kind, but he needed me today.

And I intended to use his need to my people’s advantage.

“Introduce me to your family, Senator,” I said.

I felt his adrenaline spike through the skin connection of our clasped hands, but he managed not to show it. He let go of me. “This is my wife, Dot, and our daughter Mindy. She’s eight.”

I walked over to Mindy and knelt down in front of her, prompting more tension and white knuckles from her mother clasping her. “Hello, Mindy,” I said.

“Hi,” she mumbled.

“Do you know who I am?”

“My daddy says you’re some kind of super doctor.”

Super doctor. I liked that. “He’s right. I’m here to help you. I imagine you’ve gotten real tired of being sick.”

She smiled wanly. “Yeah.”

“Let me have your hands.”

“Will it hurt?” Her tone was tired and apathetic, as if it didn’t really matter if it was going to hurt or not. I suspected it was more resignation than apathy.

“Not at all.” I smiled at her. “I’m a super doctor, remember? It doesn’t hurt if I don’t want it to.”

She gave me her small hands and I clasped them in mine. I can’t entirely describe what I feel when I examine a living creature, not in terms that refer to the senses everyone else has. It’s like feeling a symphony or hearing a tapestry. Everything is very complex and interrelated, and I get signals from thousands of processes in the body, but it all melds together into a single big picture. The big picture here was that Mindy’s body was attacking itself. Her bone marrow was busily churning out cancerous white blood cells that didn’t work, filling her bloodstream with useless cells that crowded out and starved the working, useful ones. The pain signals were overwhelming even with the drugs trying to mask them, and the drugs themselves were dulling her mind as much as the fatigue and weakness from the disease.

Like many terminally ill children, she was quiet and accepting, which is constantly mistaken in glurgy human interest stories about terminally ill children for bravery. Children who go out with scarves on their bald heads and run lemonade stands to raise money to research and cure their own illnesses are brave. Children who are too tired to feel fear and have been living with a disease too long to cry about it are just normal human beings. Mindy was a normal human being, and her leukemia was also perfectly normal, something I’d dealt with a hundred times before.

I closed my eyes so I could focus better on Mindy’s internal world. First I triggered the release of endorphins into her bloodstream to mask any pain caused by what I was about to do. The human body rebels against my power, seeing my authority as a violation of its autonomy, and frequently reacts by tattling to the brain about it in a way that the mind perceives as agonizing, but unspecific, pain. As I told Mindy, though, no one feels pain in my hands unless I allow it. As soon as her body was saturated with endorphins and I’d shut down most of the internal sensory trunk lines to the brain, making her internally numb while leaving her ability to sense anything touching her skin, I swept my concentration through her body and killed every immature white blood cell she had. I then targeted the surviving mature white cells and forced them to rapidly replicate and mature, until she had almost a normal white blood cell count and they all worked correctly.

To finish off, I blocked the drugs that hadn’t been working so well anyway, turned the internal nerves back on, and filled Mindy with a combination of endorphin and oxytocin, and other hormones designed to make people feel good. This particular cocktail wouldn’t have sexual effects – Mindy’s brain lacked some of the structures needed to process that, yet, and I always took great care with children not to do anything inappropriate to their age. After what my own father did to me… well, I may be a supervillain, but I am not a child molester, and that makes me better than he was. What I was going for – what I always gave the children I treated – can be best described, if you remember being a kid, as the excitement from knowing you’re about to go to an amusement park, coupled with the pleasure you get from eating ice cream, and all that combined with the warm snuggly feeling you get when you’re cuddled with your parents. Mindy wouldn’t know why, in the future, she looked forward to my visits and felt very warm and positive emotions toward me. She would just know that seeing Dr. Mystery would be the coolest thing ever, and just my presence would be more fun than any doctor’s office lollipop ever was.

Combine such warm and pleasant emotions with the freakish physical appearance of an obvious Proxima, and Mindy would not grow up to share her dad’s bigotry, even if he tried to teach it to her.

“Mindy?” Dot Lightman asked, her voice trembling slightly. “Are you all right?”

Mindy lifted her head. Her skin didn’t look any better, of course – I hadn’t done any cosmetic work – but her eyes were refocusing, turning bright and engaged. “Mommy? I feel good, Mommy. I think the doctor fixed me!”

With my endorphin cocktail chasing away her fatigue temporarily, she leapt to her feet. “Thank you, Super Doctor Mystery! I feel all better!” She twirled around, perhaps to prove to all of us that she was fully healed… and stumbled. “Whoa, dizzy!”

“Slow up there, kiddo,” I said. “You’re not cured. You feel a lot better and you’re going to be a lot better, but you’ve spent a couple of years being sick and you’re not going to be back to your full strength overnight. Take it easy.”

“Is she—is she going to be cured?” her mother asked, looking at me, her lower lip trembling.

“She’s much healthier, right now. But no, as I said, I haven’t cured her yet. I triggered a temporary remission and bolstered her immune system to compensate for what the disease did to it, so she needn’t suffer while she’s waiting for a full cure.” I turned to Senator Lightman. “To cure her, I’ll need to perform three treatments, about two months apart. The cost will be $8,000 per treatment. When we’re done, not only won’t she have leukemia, but the genetic potential for cancer will be purged from her system, so it will be very, very unlikely that she ever get any cancer-like disease again. Short of living on top of a radioactive landfill, of course, but you understand what I mean.”

“Oh, God….” Mrs. Lightman started to cry. “Oh, God, thank you…”

“Don’t cry, Mommy,” Mindy said, and gave her mom a hug. “It’s good news. Don’t cry.”

“I’m crying because I’m so happy,” Mrs. Lightman said.

“I—I don’t know what to say, Doctor. You have a deal. I’d pay anything to save Mindy’s life, and your prices… well, they’re much more reasonable than I was led to assume. I’d pay more than that for hospital treatments, even with the insurance.” I was pretty sure this was a fib – Senators get damn good health insurance. But of course Lightman belonged to the party that thought that health insurance was a privilege, not a right, and downplaying the high quality of his own state-sponsored insurance was probably a reflex by this point.

I smiled at him. “That’s because most of my payment is non-monetary.”

“Non-monetary?”

“Let’s go have a discussion, Senator. I imagine you must have a private office in this house somewhere?”

His wife gave me a hard-eyed look. I returned her look with an “oh, please” expression, just the slightest of eye rolls and sardonic smile. “There’s nothing you can say to me that you can’t say in front of my wife,” Lightman said, his voice hardening.

“Yes, there is,” I said, pleasantly. “You want to tell her all about it when we’re done talking, that’s your prerogative. But I am here to negotiate with a United States Senator, not a husband or a father.”

He stiffened. “All right,” he said slowly. “We can go downstairs to the den.”

“Is it—is it going to be all right?” Dot Lightman asked her husband.

“I don’t see that I have much choice, Dot,” he said. “She’s the only hope Mindy has. You know that.”

“Mommy? Can I play outside?”

“Sure. Sure thing,” Dot said, her voice breaking again. “I’ll play with you.”

“Don’t let her overexert herself,” I said. “As I said, she’s better, not cured, and even if she were cured she’d still need time to recover her energy. She wants to run around and play now because she’s not in pain, but she actually still does need to save her strength.”

“We’ll go for a walk,” Dot said. “How’s that sound, Mindy?”

“Sure, Mommy. We can do that.”

“The den is this way,” Senator Lightman said.

It was a typical suburban finished basement, not nearly as fancy looking as the living room, if you didn’t count the huge projection television. I perched on the still-nice-but-obviously-worn couch, sitting on the back of it. “Let’s get down to it, Senator,” I said. “You’re a member of the Committee to Analyze Parahuman Activity. You’re aware as well as I am that the United States government has been investigating or implementing various techniques to control or eliminate the Proxima population, including laws to create a registry for us as if we’re sex offenders, black ops soldiers with power suits to hunt us down, attempting to find cures for us like we’re a disease, secret databases being maintained in an attempt to identify us in the absence of a registry law… so on and so forth.” I didn’t mention the biowarfare; people who didn’t live through being imprisoned in a government research facility and watching others being injected with various tailored viruses have a tendency to assume that government biowarfare is the stuff of paranoid conspiracy theories, and I doubted anyone had actually let Congress know what was going on there. The others, I was pretty sure he’d been briefed on, if not actively involved with. “And you’re an active supporter of the Human Definition Amendment, which would deprive us of any human rights whatsoever on the basis of junk science.”

The faintest beading of sweat broke out on his forehead. “The United States government hasn’t taken any illegal actions to ‘control’ the Proxima population, as you put it, and certainly not to eliminate you. You must understand, however, that we do have the right and the duty to protect normal humans from people like…”

He hesitated just a moment too long. “Me?”

“I was going to say, people like Caesar Primus or Optometron. But if the rumors about your activities are true, then yes, you. Weren’t you some sort of assassin? An enforcer for a drug lord?”

While technically the description was almost true, the idea of describing David as a “drug lord” almost made me laugh. Almost. I don’t actually have a lot of a sense of humor when it comes to David. “And I was rehabilitated by the Peace Force and today I’m a fine, upstanding citizen who cures little girls of leukemia,” I said.

“That isn’t a lot of comfort to the families of the people you killed.”

“Maybe not. But if I’d been killed by American soldiers in power suits then, your daughter would be out of luck now, wouldn’t she?” I slid off the back of the couch and paced around him. “And this isn’t about me. How many people were saved when the Irregulars stopped that second plane from crashing into the Trade Towers? When they held up the collapsing building so the firefighters could get out? When the Peace Force shored up the levees in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina so the city didn’t flood, or when Maui’s volcano went active and they shut it down again?” The Senator didn’t actually need to know that was a plot of Professor Octohedron’s, if he didn’t already. The Peace Force hadn’t actually broadcast the fact that the disaster had been caused by a Proxima in the first place; I only knew about it because Octohedron continued to believe that he could get into my pants if only he could impress me enough, and he hadn’t actually ever managed to figure out that I wasn’t impressed by grandiose plots to take over the world by threatening to activate volcanoes. “You might owe your life to a Proxima. You are about to owe your daughter’s life. So I want your support for our basic human rights. Oppose the Parahuman Registry, oppose the research to kill us or break us of our powers, and oppose the Human Definition Amendment.”

“The Human Definition Amendment isn’t designed to take away your human rights,” he said. “It’s designed to clarify the rights you do have. I mean, there have to be different ways to handle you people vs. the rest of us. Remember when the ACLU sued on behalf of the Heat Miser? They said that it was cruel and unusual punishment to keep him continuously drugged in prison. And as soon as they won and the drugs were withdrawn, his powers came back and he burned the prison down. 700 people were killed, over 100 guards and the rest of them human inmates, who’d been sentenced to serve time in jail for their crimes, not to burn to death.”

“Then you redefine cruel and unusual punishment to state that methods intended to block Proximas from using superhuman powers to escape from prison are not cruel and are perfectly usual. Passing an amendment to the Constitution that declares that Proximas aren’t human is overkill.”

“It actually declares that humans belong to the subspecies Homo sapiens sapiens, and that the law should not be automatically extended to grant human rights to people who can destroy our entire planet with a thought just because some bleeding heart doesn’t think they deserve to go to jail for killing hundreds of people.”

“Yes, and by declaring that Homo sapiens promixus does not automatically count as human, it effectively says that we’re not, and we can be shot on sight with no one but the ASPCA to worry about our murders, let alone suffer discrimination in every part of our lives. You do not live with the reality of what being defined as non-human means, Senator. I do.”

“And you, Doctor, don’t live with the reality of inhabiting a world filled with creatures who can kill you with a thought, steal everything you own, destroy your home without even touching it, or make you believe that up is down and black is white.”

I could argue that last point, if I wanted to be a smartass – I lived in the world where there was conservative talk radio, and it had convinced any number of people that up was down and black was white. But that would be sidetracking. “True. But you’re so focused on perceiving yourself as a victim of the existence of Proximas that you’ve given no thought to what it would be like to be one of us. And you really should. Because you have a child, Senator, and she is too young to be confirmed as Sapien or Proxima. You don’t know what she is, and you’re just assuming she’s Sapien. What if she’s Proxima?”

He blinked. “Well, of course I—but she doesn’t have anything in her background – I mean neither her mother nor I have anything unusual, genetically—“

“No one knows what’s causing the sudden explosion in powered humans, Senator, but we do know that it’s some type of mutation. 90% of Proximas have parents who were Sapien. And the number is that low only because some of us have started having kids. If your daughter was a Proxima with two fully Sapien parents, she’d be in the same boat as most Proximas. Including me. So you really need to think about it.”

“Well, I – I certainly wouldn’t treat Mindy any differently if she were – but if she were, you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t check for it. But I could, yes.”

“Well, if she turned out to be, you could just fix it, right? As part of the treatment?”

I stared at him as if I’d just found him on my shoe. “Of course I could. And if she was black, I could make her white and blonde and blue-eyed. And I could change her into a boy if you decided you really wanted a son. Have you any idea how offensive what you just said is?”

“I – I didn’t mean to give offense. I just want Mindy to have a normal life.”

“Most Proximas do. I don't look like this all the time, Senator. When I'm not treating hopeless cases, I live in a nice little townhouse, with two cats and a cockatiel. I go dancing with men friends on weekends, I buy groceries, I do my laundry. I choose to look like this when I'm treating people like your daughter, because I have no desire to be kidnapped and pressed into the service of crime lords or the government."

"Why would the government kidnap you? Proximas have rights. If you’ve served your time for your previous crimes, and committed no new ones--"

"--I would still have the power to make old men young, cure impotence and infertility, heal disease and scarring, change people's appearances... come on now, Senator, don't be naive. If you had a way to make me heal your daughter without paying my price, you'd do it. And I think you're basically a good man, who’s concerned for the child he loves. Can you say none of your colleagues would want me to heal them? To restore lost youth, or whatever they had lost?" I thought of the white room then, the snipers with guns outside ready to blow my head off if the important old men screaming under my hands didn’t get up and walk free completely healed when I was done. Never again.

"I... suppose power corrupts. There are some bad elements in any system, but that doesn't mean the system is evil."

"I didn’t say the system was evil. I said it’s not designed to protect people like me. And if you and your fellows have their way, it’ll be even harder for me to live a normal, safe life.” I shook my head. "We're sidetracking. If Mindy turns out to be a Proxima, she could still have an entirely normal and happy life, so long as you didn't reject her for it and the government didn't kill her for it."

"I would never reject Mindy. No matter what. If-- if she was a parahuman--"

"Then your opinions on appropriate treatment of Proximas would be rather different, wouldn't they?"

He sighed. “Look, I have a constituency, Doctor Mystery. They elected me into office to protect them and serve them, and they have ideas as to what constitutes doing that. If I do something that they don’t approve of, I won’t have the power they’ve given me for very long.”

I flopped down on his couch again. “Oh, baloney. You mean that if you can’t fearmonger about hidden Proximas living among us and the draconian measures the Daddy State will take under your watch to protect the poor scared soccer moms and NASCAR dads, you can’t get elected.” I sat up and leaned forward. “It’s all bullshit. The tide of history always favors greater human rights, greater freedoms, greater protections for minorities vs. mobs. And it always works out better in the end that way. I understand that you have to protect yourself from lunatics who shoot death rays out of their elbows, but you know, you also have to protect yourself from lunatics who break into the McDonalds’ with a gun and start shooting people, and somehow it was your party who decided it was an unacceptable infringement on your freedom to hunt, shoot intruders, and generally feel like manly men to make people undergo background checks to get assault weapons.”

“The Constitution guarantees the right to bear arms.”

“The Constitution wouldn’t say that if you passed an amendment redefining a ‘well-regulated militia’ as the National Guard. Which I’m not saying you should. I’m in favor of your right to protect yourself with a gun. I’m in favor of your right to shoot animals for fun if you feel like it; I’m a Darwinist and you’re a predator. It’s in your genes. Go shoot deer if you want. But the Constitution currently states that I am a human being, because it doesn’t say that I’m not, and I was born in the United States to two human beings, share 99.9% of my DNA with you, speak your language, look like you, and have sex with you. Well, not you personally, but Sapiens men. So if it’s so vitally important to preserve the right to bear arms, because it’s in the Constitution, that it’s okay to let sociopaths get guns and shoot up college campuses, then it is vastly more important to make sure that every child born in this country to human parents is defined as human.

“If you pass this Definition of Humanity amendment in order to protect your constituency, and Mindy turns out to be a Proxima, then she can be raped and her rapist could be charged with bestiality at best, because she wouldn’t be legally a child who can be molested, she’d be legally an animal. She could be killed, and the most her killer could be charged with is animal cruelty. No school would have to take her, no hospital would have to treat her diseases, no restaurant would have to let her in to eat with you. You would have to fight a battle to get her treated in a way that you humans take for granted, every time. Want her to die in a car accident because the paramedics didn’t want to treat a Proxima? Want her to die in a fire because the firefighters didn’t want to risk themselves going into a burning building for someone who isn’t even human? There are better ways to defend Sapiens than making it legally open season on us.”

“But you’re against those too. The Parahuman Registry would allow us to track dangerous people without having to deprive any of you of basic civil rights.”

“Except I’ve never heard of a version of it suggesting that only parahuman criminals be added to the registry.”

“Well, dangerous parahumans haven’t necessarily committed crimes yet. But for instance, if your next door neighbor turns up dead of a heart attack and everyone knows you were fighting with him, isn’t it important that the police know you have the power to stop people’s hearts by touching them?”

“If your next door neighbor has a gun, isn’t it important that you know about it so you can keep your daughter from playing in his yard?”

“Most gun owners are law abiding citizens, and if someone is killed with a gun we already have laws on the books to help the police track down the killer. If someone is killed with a superpower, we wouldn’t even necessarily know to look for a superpower.”

“So educate the cops better on superpowers. Most Proximas are law abiding citizens. If you kill your neighbor by hitting him over the head with a frying pan, does that mean you needed to be on some sort of registry of frying pan owners?” I started pacing again. “It’s irrelevant in any case. I don’t care what your personal beliefs are. I care that you love your daughter and want her to be healthy.”

“So you’re blackmailing me.”

“Blackmail? I’m demanding payment. When your campaign contributors give you money for re-election, they’re not blackmailing you to expect that you’re going to show them some quid pro quo. I’m offering you something far, far more valuable than a few dollars in your re-election coffers; I’m offering you your daughter’s life and health. I think expecting a little quid pro quo is not unreasonable.”

“And what if I refused? Would you let her die?”

At one point that would have been a tough one; in this line of work you have to appear to be compassionate, but you also have to be tough or the patients will walk all over you. I had had plenty of experience dealing with this particular conundrum, though. “Do you know what I did for Mindy today? Do you understand her disease at all?”

“I don’t know what you did, no. You keep saying you made her better but you didn’t cure her. But I do know something about her disease. The doctors tell me that she’s making too many white blood cells, and it’s crowding out and killing the rest of her blood.”

“Close. They’re immature, cancerous blood cells, so they don’t work to protect her from disease the way mature white blood cells would. This lowers her general immunity, and yes, it clogs up her bloodstream and takes resource away from working cells. What I did today was to kill all the immature cells and regenerate some of the mature ones. She still has leukemia; she’s still making too many immature cells. Without a full treatment that will never stop. What I’ve done is to ease her symptoms. Until she builds up too many immature cells again, she’ll feel better.” I leaned on the wall, arms folded. “I’m perfectly capable of doing this every six months and never actually curing her. She’ll feel better, and she’ll have a happy, normal life, as long as she gets her treatments on time. The one time she misses a treatment, though – maybe because the government kidnapped me, arrested me, killed me or took my powers away – she’ll have full-blown leukemia again, and within a year or two she’ll die.” I pushed off the wall. “So you can support me up front because it’s the right thing to do for the person who gave you back your daughter’s life, or you can hedge and haw and refuse to get with my program, and if so your daughter will be well for exactly as long as I am able to continue treating her. The very laws you want to pass that will harm me, will block my ability to heal her sooner or later, and then she’ll die, and it’ll be your fault.”

“And how do I know that if I promise to do as you ask, you really will heal Mindy and you won’t just do what you just said?”

“How do I know that if I really heal Mindy, you won’t go back on your word and start pushing for the Human Definition Amendment again? It’s a matter of trust, Senator. You trust me, I trust you. Or you don’t trust me, I don’t trust you. Tit for tat. What’s it going to be?”

He took a deep breath. “I’m not going to just rubber stamp your suggestions. Even if that was the right thing to do for my constituency, and it’s not. I’m going to study the situation and try to do the best thing to protect my people and yours. You can accept that or not.”

“All right, I’ll accept that, with one caveat. The Human Definition Amendment is totally off-limits. You can switch your support to the Inclusive Humanity Amendment, or just drop your support of Human Definition, but if you don’t publicly do one or the other within the month Mindy does not get fully cured. The other stuff, do the studies you want to do, but I think you’ll find that when you look at Proximas as if we are people and not weird animal things with superpowers, you’ll find it a lot easier to come up with ways to help protect your kind without harming mine.”

Lightman nodded. “All right, Doctor. Then we have a deal. When do you want to perform the first treatment?”

“If you’ve got $8,000 lying around in a checking account, we can do it today.”

“I do. Who do I make the check out to? I don’t imagine you can cash a check made out to Doctor Mystery.”

“Make it out to Miracle of Life, LLC.” I had about twenty-seven of these shell companies I used to funnel my various payments through, since even Senators typically had a hard time coming up with $8,000 in small unmarked bills on short notice, and a girl’s gotta eat. Playing politics is all well and good, but I needed to cover the mortgage and the gas money for my various trips to clients, plus the funds for my various Activities of Mad Science. Just because you can manipulate any organic tissue with a touch, doesn’t mean you get your beakers and retorts and Petri dishes for free. “Let’s go upstairs. I’m sure Mindy is eager to begin freeing herself from this disease.”

“Of course.”

At the top of the stairs, I reached out for his hand. Too afraid of giving offense to refuse me, he took it, and I shook with him. “Pleasure doing business with you, Senator. Go call your daughter in, give me a check and we’ll do this thing.”

“Thank you, Dr. Mystery. I may not entirely approve of your politics, but thank you for giving my daughter back her life.”

He wouldn’t be thanking me so much if he had known I’d just planted a tiny clump of slow-growing cancerous cells deep in his brain. It’d be a year from now before he started feeling any symptoms, and that would land in the middle of his re-election campaign. If he did what I wanted after I finished healing his daughter and we were on good terms, I’d find some excuse to come by and heal him or prune it down again. If not… there was a reason I was a feared supervillain even though most people knew me, if they knew me at all, as some kind of uber-doctor. You didn’t double-cross Dr. Mystery and survive it. Ever.

Well, unless you were Dr. Suryabati Chandrasekhar. Then you got any number of free passes.

***

The truth was, I was being something of a hypocrite.

I was offended at Lightman’s suggestion that I make his daughter a Sapiens if she turned out to be a Proxima, but not for the reason I told him. The difference between a Proxima becoming a Sapien and a Sapien becoming Proxima isn’t the difference between black changing to white or male changing to female. The difference was described by Plato as a man raised in the darkness leaving the cave to see the light of the sun, vs. a man raised in the sunlight doomed to spend the rest of his life in a cave. Making a Proxima a Sapiens is like giving someone a lobotomy, or a clitoridectomy, or binding her feet until she can’t walk. It’s an obscenity, a Harrison Bergeron nightmare of breaking the best down to the level of the mediocre, taking away a birthright one was born with.

Making a Sapien a Proxima is, on the other hand, one of my great callings in life.

Mindy Lightman wasn’t a Proxima before I touched her. But she would be, before I was done. I did a preliminary assessment of her DNA while I was performing the first treatment, and I stored a small amount of her cellular matter in a pocket under the skin of my hand, to study at length later. I’d determine how much energy her mitochondria could supply her and which latent powers-complex genes she had, and which powers they were likely to ignite into. If she had something distressing, like death touch or world-shattering TK or the gene for turning blue, I’d edit the complex over the next two sessions into something more palatable for the child of a public figure, something frilly and unthreatening. Maybe the ability to make pretty light shows, or fly. Most flyers loved it, and it didn’t seem to frighten Sapiens as much as some other powers did.

When I left the Lightmans’, now back in my middle-aged lady persona, I headed first to the bank to deposit the check. Senators whose daughter’s lives are on the line don’t give me checks that bounce, but they do take time to clear, so the sooner I got it in, the better. And then I dumped the rental car at the airport, changed form in the bathroom, and got on the Metro to head back home.

****

Science fact: There is only one gene that determines the difference between a Sapiens and a Proxima.

To most people this seems insane. Proximas come in an entire extra range of colors besides the human norm, have powers ordinary humans can only dream of, and get energy to fuel these powers from a source that is frankly incomprehensible. We just have to be a separate species, in most people’s minds. When Proximas were first discovered, there was a huge push to label us a fully separate species – Homo superior (thankfully, that one got shot down real fast) or Homo proximus, “the man who comes next.” Scientists – not me at the time, since I was too young, but reputable geneticists and biologists – had to constantly point out that the definition of a species is that they cannot viably interbreed. The children of superpowered and ordinary humans were themselves perfectly fertile. Ergo, we cannot be a separate species.

But we hadn’t mapped the genome then, and we didn’t know exactly why Proximas had powers. So scientists made, in my opinion, a mistake. They agreed to classify us as a separate sub-species.

You’ve grown up being told that you are Homo sapiens. What you might not know is that technically, if you’re not a parahuman, you are actually Homo sapiens sapiens. There were several other subspecies of humans, all extinct, such as Homo sapiens idaltu (elderly wise man). It is still scientific nonsense to call us a subspecies, when we’re only different by one gene – to put this in perspective, parents and children differ by many, many more than one gene – and in fact the International Commission on Zoological Nomenclature keeps debating changing it to Homo sapiens sapiens proximus or dropping the designate proximus entirely. But the scientific evidence that we aren’t even a separate subspecies gets even less play in the media than studies that show that men and women are alike, if such a thing is possible. And at least the Homo sapiens proximus nomenclature reinforces that we are of the human species.

The trouble is, most people don’t know that the true name of Homo sapiens is actually Homo sapiens sapiens. So when they hear the short designators – Sapiens vs. Proxima – they assume that our species is Homo proximus. We’re widely believed to be an entirely separate species, and it doesn’t help that high-profile supervillains like Caesar Primus (who is 2,000 years old and knows as much as any Roman gladiator about science, which is to say, diddly jack), or Professor Octohedron (a brilliant physicist and inventor, but he knows about as much biology as I know about fixing my car, and let me put it this way, the last time I ended up dead on the side of the road I needed a friendly dude passing by to tell me I’d run out of oil) are constantly spouting off about how we are a new, superior species. Informed laypeople and doctors usually know better, but the truth – that we are different by only one gene – is so appallingly counterintuitive that you almost need to be a geneticist or an evolutionary biologist to get it.

But here’s the truth.

The human genome is packed with genes that don’t do anything. Most come from our evolutionary history. You may have heard that we are less than 1% genetically different from chimpanzees. That 1% consists mostly of control genes, which govern when, how and if the other genes turn on.

It turns out that some of those genes generate superpowers, under the right conditions. One of them turns melanin, the brown pigment of humans, blue in the presence of a hormone called catalysine. Others use catalysine to activate superhuman abilities. All humans carry some of these genes. But only a very, very tiny number – about 1 in 10,000 – have the gene that codes for the creation of catalysine.

Like testosterone, catalysine has two surges in a person’s life cycle. One is pre-natally. The amount generated is small and doesn’t pass the placental barrier, so no, pregnant women do not manifest superpowers when carrying a Proxima baby. That’s an urban myth. The surge pre-natally does little, usually, except to prepare the brain to control superpowers someday, creating a brain nucleus and appropriate wiring. In cases where the child has two Proxima genes – for example, the child of two Proxima parents-- the amount of catalysine created pre-natally might be enough to distort the child’s appearance, begin converting melanin into azurin, or awaken a low level of superpower.

When the child hits puberty, the same genes that turn on sex hormones turn on catalysine production. The superpowers appear, and wire up to the brain structures created in utero. If the child has the gene for azurin conversion, their pigment changes from brown to blue – so pale red-haired and blonde white children suddenly develop purple, green or blue hair, while brown-skinned children turn blue all over. (Azurin is also rare. Only about 5% of all people carry the gene for azurin production, and only Proximas ever display it. Non-Proximas with the azurin mutation never express it, and end up creating perfectly normal melanin, because they are never exposed to catalysine.)

The “power mitochondria” are another pan-human phenomenon that only expresses itself in Proximas. All living cells on Earth contain tiny organelles called mitochondria – practically separate living things, with their own DNA, they use oxygen and sugar to generate the chemical that powers all life, ATP. Power mitochondria vastly overproduce ATP, and no one knows where they get the energy to do it – it’s like they suck potential energy out of the universe and convert it to life force. But they do this only when activated by catalysine within the cell. About 1/3rd of humans have power mitochondria. In the presence of the Proxima gene, these people generate energy above and beyond what they take in from food and air, which is then consumed by their superpowers. Without power mitochondria, a Proxima must draw from their own life force to fuel their superpower, which makes their powers pretty weak. The exact same genes for telekinesis can code for a person that can lift 70 lbs with their mind with effort vs. a person who can lift an aircraft carrier out of the water and break it in half, depending on the presence and output of the power mitochondria. Since mitochondria are passed by the mother, Proximas who inherit their power from a powerful mother will always be very powerful themselves, whereas Proximas who inherit from a powerful Proxima father depend entirely on the hidden status of their mother for their own strength.

(Funny fact, here: when Proximas were first discovered, male Proximas freely dated, married and fathered children on human women, because our entire society says it’s okay for men to have wives who are weaker than they are. Proxima women, on the other hand, mostly stuck to their own kind. In the seven years since we discovered the role of the power mitochondria, we have seen a dramatic reversal in which powerful Proxima men will not marry or get serious with human women unless they consider themselves “childfree” or have had the human woman’s mitochondria analyzed for power status, and more and more Proxima women are dating Sapiens men.)

So most of what goes into making a Proxima is actually in a vast percentage of the human population – 30% have power mitochondria, pretty much all of them have powers-complex. It’s the presence of the single gene that codes for catalysine production that makes a person Proxima as opposed to Sapiens. My belief was that Proximas would not be safe from the fear and envy of Sapiens unless we were normalized. The more Proximas there were, the more the law would adapt to and accommodate us and our needs and the less we’d need to fear the mob of Sapiens out to kill or control us. So my primary work, since I became Dr. Mystery, had been to increase the number of Proximas by giving as many Sapiens the Proxima gene as I can.

In my early experiments, when I used uncontrolled methods like retroviruses to mutate people, there were high casualty rates. Sapiens adults whose brains have not been exposed to catalysine in utero can’t control whatever superpowers they develop if they suddenly start making catalysine. So I started working primarily with children, usually terminally or chronically ill children that I could get direct access to. My power can create new brain pathways, and in a child or teen, with a developing brain, I can do it transparently, with no one noticing. Adults cannot experience sudden brain growth and change without noticing that something’s wrong – memories suddenly becoming lost, well-developed skills becoming weaker, mood swings, etc—so I only alter adults into Proximas if they request it. I often modify women of child-bearing age so that all their eggs carry the Proxima gene, ensuring that they’ll give birth to Proximas if they ever have kids. It’s harder with men, because men are generating new sperm all the time – I’d have to alter the spermatogonia, and since they’re part of the body, the body’s immune system might notice that they are genetically different from the other cells and attack them, making the man infertile. So I only make men into Proxima-fathers if I have plenty of time to work with them and tweak their immune systems, if necessary – and if they’re likely to have kids. Gay men coming to me to save them from AIDS and 70-year-olds who don’t want to get Alzheimer’s are usually not worth modifying reproductively.

The Peace Force were aware of my work, and opposed it. They believed it was wrong of me to change people’s genes without their consent. Technically, maybe they were right, but come on, what sane person would object to having superpowers? The only reason anyone would not want to be a Proxima is the prejudice against us, and I was working on that too. So I had to maintain a low profile because every so often the Peace Force would take it into their heads to try to capture me. I’m pretty sure this wasn’t fully legal – I was pardoned for my activities as Megamorph by Bill Clinton (did you know that Hillary Clinton once had breast cancer? No? Well, neither does anyone else), and nothing illegal I’d done as Dr. Mystery could be proven in a court of law. But the law hadn’t caught up with Proxima abilities, so the Peace Force never overly concerned themselves with whether they could prove wrongdoing or not. Their mentor and leader, Dr. Suryabati Chandrasekhar, aka Doctor Sun, was a telepath, and if she said, “Bad guy! Go fetch!” they would jump like puppydogs after a thrown stick.

So I lived in Baltimore, in a townhome in the Woodberry neighborhood, on Television Hill, because living directly under the broadcast tower generated enough interference that Suri couldn’t find me telepathically. I’d have preferred Little Italy, or better yet, a real city like New York or Philly (and I’d come way down in the world, admitting that Philly is a real city), but New York was far too close to Suri, whose base of operations was in Manhattan, and a lot of my work was done with politicians, making Baltimore or DC more convenient than Philly. And DC had the Special Service, human police in power suits who patrolled to protect the Capitol from parahuman attack. I never felt safe in DC. My Woodberry home had civilians living on both sides and a children’s day care across the street, ensuring that the Peace Force couldn’t attack me in force – they’d know the threat to civilians from a power battle would be too great to risk it politically for my sake (and to be fair, most of them are goody-two-shoes hero types who wouldn’t risk civilians, especially preschool children, even if they had perfect political cover for the operation.) So I figured that if Suri ever found me, she’d still think twice about siccing her dogs on me.

Also, the Light Rail, Baltimore’s sad and pathetic substitute for a subway, had a stop near my home. I didn’t learn to drive until I was 28, and I still hated it with a passion. I was a Brooklyn girl – give me a city with buses and subways and railways, so I wouldn’t have to dodge hurtling chunks of death metal just to get where I was going. From DC’s Metro, after I dropped my rental car at the airport, I changed at Union Station to the Camden line, took it to the baseball stadium in Baltimore, and changed there for the Light Rail. This took far longer than a car would have, but didn’t involve me being isolated in a tiny box with no source of living organic matter other than my own flesh and facing careening metal boxes coming right for me. It also didn’t involve traffic jams, which are brutal on the DC Beltway. A short walk from my stop later, and I was home.

As I unlocked my front door, Brian the cockatiel chirped at me wildly, flapping his wings in his cage. I’m really proud of Brian – in some ways he’s my greatest work. He used to be a man, or the head of a man, who attempted to rape me once. The truly pathetic thing was that Brian had been a good-looking guy, wiry and blond, the way I like them, and if he’d been willing to wait half an hour I would happily have had sex with him. But he hadn’t wanted sex, he’d wanted rape – the only reason he dated women and went back to their houses with them, rather than jumping out of the bushes with a knife, was that he was a lawyer and knew that a handsome man with money who date rapes a woman will basically never, ever be convicted. People think rapists have to be hard up for sex, or have to somehow look evil – the idea that a handsome, charming guy who could get any woman he wanted would actually prefer to hold screaming women down and force them when he could get consensual sex with the exact same woman instead breaks people’s brains. They assume the woman must be lying, because what man who could get mutual fun would prefer to commit rape? No one wants to admit how common misogynistic sadists actually are or how normal they look.

I found out from Brian that he’d date-raped ten women before me, that only two had tried to press charges, and the cops had refused to take the charges in one case and upset the other one so badly with their disbelief that she’d dropped the charges. I found this out while I had him paralyzed but still able to feel sensation, his voice made too hoarse to do more than whisper no matter how much he suffered, on a cot in the basement. Over the course of the two weeks that I used him in experiments, he told me his entire life story, amidst lots of self-justifications, begging, pleading and promising to change his ways. Then I started turning his body parts into animals, bit by bit. The rats and mice I made of his arms and legs didn’t come out right, and they died. The cockroaches who used to be his testicles were actually very robust, but after the cat knocked over the terrarium I was keeping them in, I had to get an exterminator to kill them because who wants cockroaches in their house? I was actually quite sad when the puppy I made out of his guts wouldn’t wake up and live – sometimes they just won’t come alive no matter what I do. Living things are very complex, and it’s more an art than a science to do things like make life into different life.

Since at that point, Brian had no way to digest food or ingest water, and he was therefore only a day or two away from death, I finally put him out of his misery by turning his head into a cockatiel and his torso into an iguana, a gecko, and a handful of tropical fish. Nothing lived longer than a week except the cockatiel, which so far had lasted three years. I often wondered, since I’d used some of the original brain tissue in making Brian’s new cockatiel brain, if he had any dim sense that he used to be human.

I fed Brian a cracker, re-absorbed my shoes into my flesh, and took back my original human form before plopping down on the couch to relax and await my cats. My actual body was permanently frozen at about age 22 or so; I changed it so often, I’d never really had the opportunity to let it naturally age. I could have forced it up to 36, where I really was, if I had to, but why bother? No one was going to see me and think less of me for looking too childish. My natural form is about 5’4” and built like a gymnast – tiny breasts, thickly muscled legs and arms, a rounded and balanced body with a low center of gravity and nothing sticking way out of line with the rest of it. For gymnastics – my childhood passion – and for combat, it was a fantastic body, and I used it for years as Megamorph before it occurred to me that maybe I should hide my true face if I was going to be a criminal. For instantly commanding respect, making men drool and women envy, or sending the signal “I AM A SERIOUS CRIMINAL MASTERMIND”, it wasn’t so good. It was short, the face looked too young and soft (and too much like a young, soft Gillian Anderson – people in med school actually used to call me “Scully”), and a body perfectly proportioned for gymnastics or martial arts isn’t all that attractive by the psycho standards of our culture. But it was my body, and in my home, with the shades drawn and the security system on, I went back to it because it was me.

As I wiggled my toes on my shag carpet and then propped my feet up on my coffee table, I wondered where my cats were. They were well-fed cats, but their heightened metabolisms made them constantly hungry, and they knew I was a sucker for giving them treats when I’d first come home. Normally, they’d be leaping on me minutes after my arrival. This worried me. If I had accidentally shut them in the bedroom, Angelkitty would probably pee on my ceiling to express her displeasure and Pikachu might have destroyed my furniture with a few good lightning blasts by now.

My cats were also experiments. I’d been curious to see if the genetic structures I’d observed in other mammals that seemed related to the human powers-complex were in fact superpowers, so I got myself a pair of abandoned newborn kittens and in between the droppers of kitten formula (I really drew the line at making cat milk in my own breasts; those little things have teeth very early), I modified them to generate catalysine. The female promptly grew bird wings (which didn’t attach to the right spot on her back and were too small; she’d never have flown if I hadn’t heavily modified them for her), and the male developed the ability to shoot lightning out of his paws, so I named them Angelkitty and Pikachu. (Technically, if you have seen the Pokemon cartoon, which I admit I have, Pikachu is a mouse that shoots electricity, or something rodentlike anyway, but come on, there aren’t exactly any mythological figures of cats that shoot electricity.) Angelkitty’s a Siamese and Pikachu is mostly white with some orange. They don’t have power mitochondria – that does appear to be a human thing – so they eat like pigs. I could feed six ordinary cats off what my two eat, but they remain extraordinarily svelte, almost feral in their slimness. And so if they weren’t here to pester me for fish treats, something was wrong.

I got up and went out to the kitchen. To my relief, my cats were still noshing on their tuna fish, which amazingly it looked like they had barely touched before I came home. (I always fed them human food. Why not? I had the money to keep them in canned tuna rather than cat food, and they loved the stuff.) Pikachu looked up at me, gave me a meow that I interpreted as “Oh, you’re home, good,” and then went back to his meal.

Wait a minute. There was more food in the bowl than there had been when I said good-bye to them this morning. And it was beyond the realm of possibility that they’d left so much food untouched for so long, anyway. And the tuna looked fresh out of the can. So how—

“I was wondering when you were going to get home,” a woman’s voice said behind me. I was already spinning to face her, preparing to leap at her, but as soon as I saw her I realized it was hopeless. “Don’t you ever feed these cats? They look like they’re starving.”

Ciana Kim, aka Sapphire, my once-classmate and current dire nemesis, was standing – well, floating—above my stairs in her traditional blue bubble, her features slightly obscured by the blue distortion and concealed behind her mask. The combat leader of the Peace Force was in my house.

I backed up. I couldn’t take Sapphire directly. Her power was to generate spherical or toroid magnetic fields, which glowed blue due to the way they bent light, hence her name. I needed organic channels to send my power through—behind her force field, Sapphire was totally safe from me, because I couldn’t touch her. I wasn’t safe from her, though. She could generate a force field around me, trapping me, any time she wanted.

There was a switch by the door to my basement, labeled “FURNACE – DO NOT TOUCH,” that would actually activate an EMP. All the computer and electronic equipment I had in my house outside the Faraday cage of the basement would fry, but Sapphire’s power would fail as well, and I could leap on her before she could reset her power. Or, if I didn’t really want to replace my MP3 player, phones, and the laptop in the bedroom, perhaps I could grab Pikachu and throw him at her. He’d be startled enough to discharge a bolt, and the electrical surge should pop her field like a soap bubble. I knew I had a faster reaction time than Sapphire – after years of modifying and tuning up my nervous system, I’m faster than anyone who doesn’t have super-speed as a specific power – so I should be able to grab her and neutralize her power or knock her out before she could get a force field back up again. I was reluctant to do that because Pikachu was my kitty and throwing him at superheroes seemed kind of mean, even though I knew he wouldn’t be hurt, but the EMP generator could theoretically blow out TV Hill, and then I’d have to dodge swarms of reporters trying to find out why they suddenly couldn’t get on the air anymore.

I stalled for time. “They’ve got very fast metabolisms. I feed them all the time, but they’ll pester anyone they meet for more.”

Sapphire rolled her eyes. “Oh, stand down, Meg. If I was here to capture you or beat you up, I’d have done it before you knew I was here.”

She had a point. Sapphire wasn’t stupid, and she had completely gotten the drop on me, to the point that I was actually really embarrassed about it. “So what do you want? Cooking advice? I always prefer to replace the generic vegetable oil with olive or canola, it’s easier on the heart.” The last time I’d been in the same household as her, Ciana Kim had refused to learn to cook, for very similar reasons to her refusal to learn hand-to-hand combat.

She ignored my jab. “Doctor Sun sent me. She needs your help and she asked me to ask you.”

I blinked. Doctor Sun wanted my help? Cold day in hell. But it’d have to get a lot colder before I’d say yes. “She wants my help? And she actually thinks I might agree? Excuse me, but the last time I interacted with any of you people you wrecked my lab, ruined four years of work and set me back half a million dollars.”

“You were infecting children’s vaccines with a retrovirus. Did you seriously think we’d let you just get away with it?”

“All it would have done was make them into Proximas. What do you think I am?”

“Someone who mutates people against their will. And how do you know that’s all it would have done? Retroviruses mutate. Besides, it’s still wrong to change people without their consent. How do you know those kids would even have wanted superpowers?”

“Oh, be real. Who wouldn’t want superpowers?”

“If I wasn’t a Proxima, I might have been an Olympic gold medalist.”

She was telling the truth. One of the things that annoyed me so much about Ciana was how close her life had been to mine, minus the dysfunctional family. I, too, had had Olympic dreams once, and my coach had told me when I was 11 that I might seriously make it as a contender. But no matter how good I’d been, I’d never really had a chance; if my parents hadn’t died when I was 13, some other aspect of my family’s screwed-up-ness would have ruined it for me.

Ciana Kim, however, had had a good and loving family who’d pushed her hard in the belief that she could achieve anything. She was a third-generation Korean American from California and her parents were doctors or something like that, and they’d stood behind her every step of the way. Even after everything had fallen apart in my life and I’d basically become a thug for hire, I had followed the Olympic gymnastic news, so I’d known all about this as it was happening.

Ciana was originally to be the USA’s representative to the Olympics in Seoul for women’s artistic gymnastics. Much was made in the media of a Korean American going to Seoul to represent America, but Ciana had been very photogenic and full of great soundbites about how she was as American as apple pie and she was honored to represent our great country and she was so looking forward to bringing a medal home for the US and she was following in Mary Lou Retton’s footsteps and blah blah blah. And then, a week before the Olympics, it had come out that she was a Proxima. They’d finally figured out that doing a blood test for catalysine would find any Proxima with an active power.

The truth is that even now, twenty years later, as an experienced superhero who uses her powers all the time, Ciana still can’t use her powers invisibly. There’s always a shiny blue blob there. And she had no training with her powers when she was 16, so it would have been even more implausible that she could have somehow used her powers to secretly cheat. I would be disqualified from a Sapiens competition in gymnastics in any sane world because of what my powers actually are, but Ciana was disqualified solely from anti-Proxima prejudice (and, to be fair, probably some anti-Asian prejudice from the Americans whose job it would have been to advocate for her). The Americans paid for their prejudices when Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union took home all the women’s gymnastics medals (I don’t like Ciana, but I’m pretty sure she would have won at least a silver in something, if not a gold.) Ciana was recruited by Dr. Chandrasekhar to learn how to use her powers and eventually join the Peace Force, Dr. Chandrasekhar’s UN-supported superhero team.

So it wasn’t that I had no respect for Ciana’s loss, but it irritated me that she saw the problem as being that she was a Proxima rather than that the Olympic committee was scared of Proximas. And also, that being an Olympic medalist was better than being a superhero. “Yeah yeah, you could have had your moment of glory, and nowadays you’d be selling sneakers and breakfast cereal to pay the bills, assuming anyone even remembered you at all. What’s Mary Lou Retton doing with her life?”

“She’s been an Olympics commentator, and she’s a motivational speaker who supports physical fitness.”

Trust Ciana to actually know this. “And that’s better than being a superhero how? You save lives, you have an action figure, millions of little girls look up to you—“

“—I wear a mask when I save lives because otherwise supervillains or stalkers might hunt me down, no one knows my real name, my family aren’t allowed to tell anyone what I do for a living, I’ll probably never have a normal life with a husband and kids—“

“--You could marry some guy and quit the superhero business any time you wanted to, it’s just your overblown sense of responsibility that says you can’t quit your job to have babies until your powers give out on you, because you think the world needs you, and if that’s the case where would they have been if you hadn’t been a Proxima?”

“Someone else would have taken my place if I hadn’t been a Proxima. And all of this is besides the point; no matter how great you or even I might think it is to have superpowers, the fact is that you were planning to infect helpless babies with a retrovirus that would have mutated them. Some of them might have died of it. Some might have been killed by their families for being Proximas once they manifested. You don’t have the right to play God that way.”

“Nobody would have died of my virus,” I retorted. “I tested it thoroughly ahead of time. But you also notice, I haven’t done it again.”

“Because you know we’ll stop you.”

“Because I listened to your arguments that retroviruses are unstable and highly prone to mutation, and I decided that maybe you have a point.”

“Then why did you bring it up?”

“You didn’t even try to just persuade me. You just blew up my lab! Do you know how many vials of vaccine I hadn’t modified yet you destroyed?”

“All of this is pointless,” Sapphire snapped. “I’m wasting time arguing with you when Doctor Sun is dying. Are you coming or not?”

Wait, what? Dying?

I had been a half-crazed killer with no self-esteem, no sense of myself being able to be or do anything good, no belief that anyone could ever care about me – at least not without dying for it – after David died. Dr. Chandrasekhar had taken me in and taught me that I could have a better destiny than being a tool for monsters to use to kill each other with; that I didn’t have to be a monster myself. I could use my powers for good. I could help people. I could be a decent person.

Viewed from her perspective, I suppose, it didn’t last – I freely admit I am a supervillain and I do highly unethical things, up to and including killing people. But I do it for a cause I believe in. I do it to save my people from the bio-engineered diseases I was forced to participate in creating at Sonnebend. I do it so girls with superpowers who are going to medical school to learn how to save lives will not be kidnapped, stripped of their powers except when convenient for their captors, raped, tortured and forced to use their powers to heal enemies and kill their own kind, by agents of their own government. I do it so my people can enjoy the same rights and privileges as every other human on this planet. And the fact that I can fight for a cause, that I can see myself as a person with a noble goal of my own… I owe that entirely to Doctor Sun.

No matter what she does to me, no matter what she orders her Peace Force to do, I can’t ever get away from that.

“Dying of what?”

“She was kidnapped and raped by Caesar Primus. When she escaped, she was two months’ pregnant, but the doctors say it seems more like six months. The child is growing too rapidly for her to handle it, and it’ll kill her.”

Oh, God.

My heart started pounding, my throat went dry. I could feel the adrenaline surging, my sympathetic nervous system revving up for a totally inappropriate fight-or-flight response. I couldn’t stop imagining the reality behind Sapphire’s words. It didn’t help that I’d once had sex with Primus myself – consensual, sort of, but I could entirely too easily imagine what it’d be like to be raped by him, without powers to protect you. And Primus was immune to telepathy, so effectively Suri would have been helpless. God, no. I didn’t want to think about that.

So I was flippant, and cold. “Doctor Sun’s a woman of the world. You’re telling me she’s never heard of an abortion?”

“She doesn’t want an abortion. She says she won’t compound Primus’ act by taking an innocent life.”

“When did Doctor Sun turn into a pro-lifer?”

“She says the baby has a mind and she won’t kill it.” Sapphire floated herself down onto my dining room floor, still surrounded by a protective bubble but no longer on my stairs. “Are you going to help, or not?”

“I’m a feminist Darwinist. I’m morally opposed to letting a fetus conceived in rape live. It lets dangerous genes persist in the population. Suri knows that.”

Sapphire sighed explosively. “Fine. I knew you weren’t going to be any help, but Doctor Sun believed in you. I’ll just go tell her I was right and she was wrong.”

“What is this supposed to be, reverse psychology?”

“Nothing reverse about it. I knew before I got here that I would be wasting my time. You’re a killer with no conscience; why Doctor Sun ever thought you might help, I have no idea.”

“Because she knows me better than you.” I stepped forward. “If this is reverse psychology bullshit, it isn’t necessary. I’ve known I was going to agree to help you since you told me she was dying. And if you really believe what you’re saying, then nyaah nyaah nyaah. I’m a doctor; everything I do, I do to save lives. And at least I have to try to persuade Doctor Sun to abort the thing. Besides, if she was raped by Primus she might have injuries she could need my help with.” Primus had hammered at me like he was trying to break my pelvis, and without my powers he might actually have done so. And I’d voluntarily gone to bed with him. What he’d do to a woman he was raping, I really really didn’t want to imagine.

I didn’t mention to Sapphire that this was partly my fault anyway. When I’d met her, Suri (Dr. Suri to me in those days, but I feel I have the right to call her by her first name now) had been dying slowly of multiple sclerosis. She had met me on a good day; she’d only needed crutches and braces to move. On bad days she’d been confined to a wheelchair, and on really bad days she’d had to stay in bed. I’d healed her, and in the process I’d turned her from a forty-something woman approaching menopause back to a woman in her prime, young and healthy, physically in her 20’s. It had been almost 20 years since I’d done that; Suri would be approaching menopause again, but obviously wasn’t there yet. By now she’d be well past childbearing if I hadn’t de-aged her when I’d healed her disease.

I didn’t know whether Primus had raped her to torture her, to express domination over her, to really make the Peace Force mad at him, or to impregnate her, but I knew he had enough control over his body that if he hadn’t wanted to impregnate her, it wouldn’t have happened. It was entirely possible that the goal of the whole thing had been to force her to carry his child; Suri was an enormously powerful Proxima with high output power mitochondria, and most women with such energy-full mitochondria would have had a power they could use to fight back against Primus. Blocking a Proxima woman’s powers while she was pregnant carried high risk to the fetus if it too was a Proxima; it could prevent the fetus from developing the ability to control its powers as an adult. Suri was rare in that she was incredibly powerful but only telepathic, with no telekinetic abilities, and with Primus’ immunity to telepathy, she’d have had no way to fight back against him even at her full power. If Primus had wanted a powerful woman to pass her mitochondria to his child, and he hadn’t cared about her consent, there were few Proximas who’d make a better target for him. And if that was the case, then the whole thing wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t made her younger, sixteen years ago.

Sapphire blinked. “Wait. You are coming?”

“I just said so. But we have to bring my cats. They need to eat more than the average cat – they’d starve if I left them without food for three or four days, and obviously I can’t ask the neighbors to come feed them.”

“Fine. Sedate them; I don’t need a cat flying all over my car, or meowing and moaning in his carrier the whole time. We’ll put them in one of the suites and make sure they get fed.”

I took my cell phone – it had all of my appointments and contacts in it, and I’d have to call them all to reschedule once I knew how long this was going to take. If I could talk Suri into aborting the fetus, this could probably go very quickly, but I knew how stubborn she was. If I had to save the baby too, I could possibly have to take a few weeks.

Damn Suri. Why the hell was I taking time off my work and spending four hours in a car with one of the people who most annoyed me in the entire world to go save my greatest opponent anyway? From a problem she could just fix herself if she wasn’t so damn stubborn?

But I already knew. I couldn’t let Suryabati Chandrasekhar die; not under any circumstances, and most especially not if she’d asked for me specifically. Our differences were ideological; what she’d done for me went beyond ideology. I would fight her and her people when I had to, but if she was dying and she needed me, I had to go.

#nanowrimo #cold light #wip #supervillains #tw: csa #tw: rape #the trigger warnings are for things being talked about not things we see

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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 5 years ago

Text

Doyenne~ Part 4

Pairings: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy needs help from one of Birmingham’s most powerful underground gangs, the Hemlock Angels. Little does he know, he’s not the king of Birmingham after all.

Warnings: Violence, VERY GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF DEATH AND GORE

Word Count: 2200

__________________

Blood trickled down your neck from the several small, shallow cuts that littered your skin. The crimson liquid also had stained your face, caked onto your lower lip from the busted lip earlier.

“Just tell me. What do you know?” Darby Sabini sat in a chair across from you, leaning over onto his knees as he interrogated you.

“I already told you,” You panted, still coming down from the pain of the last few cuts, “All I know is that the chief of police has dirt on him that he doesn't want seeing the light of day.” You admitted, partially honestly. Omitting details doesn’t count as lying, right?

Darby stood up in frustration, “I already know that! I’m the one who held in the information in the first place! The chief of police frequents my clubs and has done some less than reputable things in them. I need to know how you know about it. See, he now blames me for poor security and claims that I'm a double-crosser. I need to know who gave you the information so I can get things straightened out with the chief and not lose my ins with the law.”

As he spoke, your eyes roamed the room, now officially too exhausted to focus much. That was when you saw it.

Thomas and John Shelby crouched behind two large crates, guns cocked and ready. Your eyes widened slightly, just enough for them to see that you acknowledged they were there. Tommy held up a finger to his lips and jerked his head back towards Sabini. Even though the signs weren’t clear, you knew what you had to do.

You chuckled again but it was now beginning to sound more insane than defiant due to the blood, “Sounds like your security is pretty shit then, Mr. Sabini.”

He leaned down close, ready to strike you yet again but before his hand could swing down, you threw your head forward, forehead crashing into his nose. “Mother fucker!” He screamed, stumbling backwards and clutching his face. Dark red blood already seeped through his fingers as he fell to the floor, consciousness fading.

Before the man with the knife could react, Tommy jumped out of the shadows and with two loud bangs, the large man was on the ground. He ran over to you, looking over to John and gesturing to the large man. In an instant, another shot was fired and the man with the knife hit the ground, dead.

“Get the knife!” You told Tommy, using your head to indicate to the knife that had slid across the floor when the man hit the ground. John knelt down and picked it up, tossing it to Tommy who somehow miraculously caught it by the hilt.

He used the sharp blade, drops of red still pooled in the crevices, to saw through the rope binding you. Within less than a minute, he got your hands undone and you shook your arms free, hands burning from the sudden amount of blood rushing to them. He started working on the rope around your ankles but then hurried voices sounded from down behind the door that Tommy and John had entered from.

“Tommy…” John looked behind him, panickedly as the voices grew nearer. It was impossible to tell how many there were but he didn’t want to find out.

You reached into your coat pocket, now that your hands were free, and pulled out your concealed gun, “Back up!” You shooed Tommy away and pointed the gun at the side of the rope that was tied around the back of chair leg and pulled the trigger. With the loud crack, the leg of the chair shattered and rope was sliced by the bullet. One more shot and your other leg was free too.

“Shit-” John exclaimed as he watched what you’d done, noticing the way you flinched in pain after shaking your ankles free. Blood seeped through your stockings and Tommy noticed that small cuts that scattered from your calves down to your ankles from where the wood from the now splintered chair legs had been shattered from the gunshot.

You were well aware of the pain but the adrenaline pumping took the edge off. You’d worry about it later. “We gotta go!” John yelled over to you.

“Which way?” Tommy asked, seeing as their entrance and only known exit was now blocked by who knew many thugs.

You grabbed his arm, ripping his attention from the door. “They took Brandon and Jameson too. I’m not leaving them.”

Tommy looked down at you and you’d never seen him like this. The usually calm but stern exterior had been cracked and his crystal eyes looked wide and wild, “Where are they?”

“I don’t know. I just woke up here.” You answered honestly, frustrated at your lack of knowledge. Out of control, you were out of control, you had to be in control.

Tommy groaned internally, frustrated. He was not going to die for this but he knew he had to get you out of here to finish off the deal. Not only that, but a strange part of him didn’t want you to suffer or die, something he usually didn’t care much about with his other associates.

Before he could answer, the door burst open and bullets began flying wildly around the room, the sound deafening. Tommy threw his arms around your shoulders and tackled you to the ground, covering your body with his. What the hell is doing? You thought, definitely not taking the Shelby man as one to put his life on the line for almost anyone.

John rolled behind a large crate and began firing back blindly. Tommy army crawled across the floor and you followed until you’d both a table that had gotten tipped over. You gripped the smooth metal of your gun and returned fire, trying your best to stay hidden. Tommy peered around the other end of the table and did the same.

A loud crack sounded directly next to you and you flinched to the side, seeing a small hole in the tabletop beside you. “This isn’t gonna hold up Tommy.” You tried saying as quietly as you could over the resonating gun shots.

He looked over to see what you meant and noticed the holes that blew threw the wood ever so increasingly.

Thankfully for the three of you, the number of bullets being fired at you seemed to be gradually decreasing but you still guessed there were at least three men out there. You listened carefully to where the bangs were coming from and tried to shoot there until, instead of a bang, there was only a click coming from your gun.

Your heart sped up as you pulled the trigger a few more times, only to keep hearing clicks, “Shit! I’m out.” You hissed to yourself, tucking your gun into your coat.

In a surprising turn of good luck, though, the returning gunfire seemed to stop. You looked over to Tommy, the question clear in your eyes: Are they all dead?

He carefully peeked around the table, flinching back just in case bullets began flying again but no bullets rang out. Tommy leaned back and nodded to you, “We’re clear, John.” He announced. All three of you stood up.

John held his arm and you noticed that his black coat was stained a little darker than usual. He noticed your gaze and shrugged, “Just grazed me.” He reassured.

Tommy led the way, you followed behind, and John brought up the rear of the group. You hated the idea of needing protection from men but the fact of the matter was that you had no ammo and they did.

You all hurried through the halls as quickly and quietly as you could. “If there’s anyone else in the building, they’ll all be pouring into here soon. That was a lot of gunfire.” You pointed out.

“Then we better hurry up and find your men.” Tommy glanced through the small windows in each door, moving along if he saw they were empty. Then he stopped at one, a little ways down, “Here.”

He twisted the door knob but it barely gave, locked tight. Tommy looked back at you with that what next? Look.

“Let me try.” You shouldered ahead of him and pulled a pin from your hair, H/C locks falling from their place. You knelt down and bent the thin metal pin back, contorting it into a makeshift lockpick.

Tommy’s breath almost hitched when you did so. With your hair down, you looked so much less uptight and prim and proper. It was enticing and sexy like this, another side of you he’d yet to see exist. But he couldn’t focus on that thought now. He and John stood guard while you jiggled the pin in the hole.

Finally, you felt something mechanical inside give and you twisted the knob. This time the door swung open. “We’re in!” You announced quietly, pocketing the pin and hurrying inside the room, John and Tommy following and closing the door.

Your first thing was to hide behind the first thing you could find and scope out the situation but you quickly noticed there wasn’t anything to hide behind. In fact, there wasn’t much of anything in this room. It mimicked the room you’d been in, cement covering every surface with three small windows and a single light. In the circle of light illuminated by the hanging bulb lied two men that you’d immediately recognized as Jameson and Brandon but other than them, it was completely empty.

You rushed towards them to inspect the damage. Their hands were cuffed behind their backs and they lied face down, “Wake up.” You said as you landed on your knees, nearly skidding, beside them. But just as you did, the scene became clear.

They’d been shot. Now that you were up close, you could see the crimson soaked matted hair of both of your soldiers and the pool of blood that had flowed towards the opposite wall, which is why you couldn’t see it before. “Oh my God…” You whispered in shock, all the blood draining from your face. “No, no, no, no.” You pushed against them with all your strength, rolling the bodies over. A strange part of you felt like you needed proof that they were gone. Undeniable proof, as if the pool of blood next to their heads weren’t proof enough.

Sure enough, large exit wounds looked as if they’d shattered through the front of their skulls in a gory, bloody scene. “FUCK!” You screamed, punching the ground. Your head fell into your hands, unable to look away from their empty clouded eyes and chapped violet tinted lips. Veins began to show through their skin that was turning purplish wherever it was covered in blood.

These weren’t the first bodies you’d seen but these hit differently. You felt yourself beginning to pale and shake, trying with all your might to keep it to yourself and not show it to the men. These were men, good men, and they’d met this horrible fate. They didn’t even look like themselves now, just blood soaked, bone cracked, empty eyed shells of who they used to be.

John and Tommy watched from back a ways. Neither of them would admit it, but a small part of them felt for you. If anyone knew how hard it was to lose people close to them (and to be responsible for it), it was them. But if your men couldn’t be saved, Tommy knew you had to get out while you could. “Y/N, we need to go.” His voice was gentler than you’d ever heard it before as he used your first name for the first time but he was still insistent.

You knew he was right. It was just agonizing to see these men that you’d cared about so much and tried so hard to rescue meet an end like this. With a deep breath, you pushed yourself up and walked towards the door. Tommy was surprised to see how serious you looked. He’d expected tears or grief, judging by the way you’d reacted, but your face was flat and angry. It was a face he was well familiar with. It was the face of someone pushing down so much pain and anger and fear with everything they had.

“Let’s go.” You took the lead this time, stomping right past them and down the hall. You’d passed the door that appeared to be an exit on the way here so you had an idea of where to go. Door after door blew past as you kept your attention straight ahead, rage clouding your thoughts and vision.

Suddenly, the door to your right flew open and you saw someone lunge at you from your peripheral vision. You dipped to the side and whipped your belt off as quickly as you could and hopped on the man’s back as he stumbled forward, too much force going forward. You whipped the belt around his throat and wrapped it around your fists several times as he crashed to the ground. Firmly planting one knee on his back and the other foot on the ground, you pulled upward with all your might. He clawed at the leather choking him, broken cries and gasping coming from him, but you refused to let up until you actually felt a small pop. The man’s noises stopped and he relaxed into the ground, lifeless.

You stood up to see John and Tommy both looking at you with open mouths, pure shock, fear, and twisted impression in their eyes. The attention made you slightly uncomfortable, just enough to peek through the rage, so you continued down the hall, leading them to the exit to escape.

_______________

TAGLIST:

@kiaoizz

@sweatydragoncloudknight

@hinagiku0

@stressedandbandobessed7771

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder headcanon #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby imagines #thomas shelby #doyenne

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blackandblue13 · 5 years ago

Text

things william schuester should have been arrested for (season one):

01.01 - pilot

existing

teaching spanish

taking over glee club

not wearing a shirt

putting mayo on terri’s sandwich

framing finn for having weed and then blackmailing him into joining glee club

“accounting is sexy”

01.02 - showmance

getting a license plate that says “glee”

thinking that “freak out” is a good song for glee club

rapping

making emma so sad that she locked herself in her car to cry while listening to sad music in the pouring rain

“everyone loves disco”

being shirtless again

trying to “cure” emma of her ocd

apparently not knowing how to count to ten bc that was Not ten seconds

giving rachel’s “don’t stop believin” solo to quinn

01.03 - acafellas

being a bad choreographer

thinking that starting a hip-hop a cappella group in his living room is a good idea

being shirtless again?

abandoning glee club for acafellas

rapping again

not tying his bowtie

01.04 - preggers

breathing

not understanding birth

not being tough

intruding on ken and emma during lunch

saying that he’s one of rachel’s only fans

tried to teach football players how to dance

01.05 - the rhodes not taken

telling emma about quinn’s pregnancy without asking finn beforehand

bringing back april rhodes

01.06 - vitamin d

doing whatever fucking thing that was with his tongue

guys vs. gals competition (sexism)

tossing a baseball between his hands?

“celebrity judge”

stressing out sue

designating emma as the “celebrity judge”

having to go to the bathroom while ken proposed to emma

that Look he gave emma towards the end of the episode? yeah i don’t like it

01.07 - throwdown

looking like a crazy person

that vein on his neck

punching sue on the arm

threatened to destroy sue

has curly hair (makes it hard for sue to trust him)

bad at teaching spanish

touched sue on the arm even after she threatened a lawsuit

licking his lips

trying to dance

was mean to sue (even tho she was mean to him too)

“because you’re all minorities. you are in the glee club”

01.08 - mash-up

“bust a move” is one of his favorite songs

unbuttoned his shirt in a public high school (he had a t-shirt on underneath but it was still gross)

more rapping

sang sex lines that seemed to be directed towards the cheerios

danced?

annoyed kurt with his dancing

wearing sunglasses indoors

he put the shirt back on but he didn’t button it up and his t-shirt underneath is a v-neck and i can see his chest hair that’s disgusting

is he rapping again? twice in one episode??

he cannot dance and yet he is “dancing” around emma and he’s singing ken’s favorite song this is completely inappropriate

tripped on emma’s wedding dress train when he was trying to dance

danced in the middle of a wedding dress store

smiled at emma

01.09 - wheels

bad at spying

01.10 - ballad

sang “endless love” with rachel

caused suzy pepper to eat a really hot pepper and burn a hole in her esophagus and enter a 3-day medically-induced coma

01.11 - hairography

drinking milk

wrong about sue’s interest in glee club

“here’s the problem with sue sylvester” wrong, there is no problem

step ball change

he gave rachel a Look during the jane addams school’s performance of “bootylicious”

tried to be intimate with his wife

hairography

01.12 - mattress

blocked terri from seeing the tv

was out of line with emma

the entire interaction with terri scares me every time. it wasn’t a healthy relationship for either of them, but he was still way too aggressive when he confronted terri

used a mattress (although he didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to use it)

used the phrase “gussied up”

01.13 - sectionals

talked over emma

01.14 - hell-o

mentioned alexander graham bell (who was, in fact, a bitch)

looking at emma like that (omfg gross)

“i could just lean over and kiss you if i want to. and i want to” shut the fuck up

sang over neil diamond

cheated on emma with shelby

associated the same song (”hello” by neil diamond) with two different gals (terri and emma)

made emma cry again (count: 2)

01.15 - the power of madonna

being a man

stole madonna from sue

had too much margarine in his hair

insulted sue

wore a v-neck

01.16 - home

wore another v-neck (gross)

01.17 - bad reputation

his shirt too many unbuttoned buttons

“performed” “ice ice baby” (if you would call that a performance)

he rapped, he danced, he got the rest of the glee club to do the “ice ice baby” backup and they danced with him. these poor students. they don’t deserve this.

is a slut

isn’t good enough for emma

man-whore

thought he could make it up to emma with flowers and a sad apology well sucks for you william but she’s too good for you

01.19 - dream on

too much unbuttoned

sang aerosmith for a “les miz” audition

audition outfit straight out of a 90′s boyband

got the lead in “les miz”

insulted bryan ryan and made him want to punch will in the face

01.20 - theatricality

doesn’t think vampires are real

made out with rachel’s mom (not in this episode, but i knew he was thinking about it when mercedes told the new directions about shelby)

too much unbuttoned

he mimed the string instruments when the boys were singing “beth”

didn’t have an actual lesson in mind

touched tina’s shoulder yuck

slow clap

01.21 - funk

broke sue’s trophy

the way he looked at terri during the whole divorce-signing scene? disgusting

creeped santana out

suggested that the new directions prank vocal adrenaline in retaliation

then called it a “harmless prank” when puck and finn slashed the range rover tires of vocal adrenaline

“we are gonna get funked up”

“~funky town~”

zoned out when rachel was talking about jessie breaking her heart

hitting on sue

wasted two minutes of sue’s time

will: you ain’t got / me: *mutes the volume*

this entire number jesus fucking christ i can’t look at the screen i can’t go into detail or else i’ll be scarred for life

why is he seducing sue

he took his jacket off put that thing back on this instant william

not another v-neck

he enunciated way too much and got way too close to sue’s face

made sue think she had romantic feelings for him

got sue flowers and appletini carbogel things

said he and sue had chemistry

“the only thing i want is sue”

touched sue’s hair

asked her out to dinner

“you know what wednesday is right? hump day”

that fucking look yuck

led her on and stood her up

another unnecessary v-neck

caused sue to pull out of nationals

went to sue’s house

wouldn’t let the glee guys beat up jessie and the rest of vocal adrenaline

touched rachel’s phone (babe you gotta boil that)

he only has two buttons on his shirt and both of them are undone

licked his lips

almost kissed sue

his breath stinks of mediocrity

01.22 - journey to regionals

his hair looks like a briar patch

invited the new directions to his house? is that legal??

stopped his car in the middle of the road

and cried

said that glee club sucked (nine months ago) (when there were only five of them)

got emo

almost became an accountant

~journey medley~

made fun of finn’s dancing

his offstage dancing sucks

kissed emma

made sue sad

hugged rachel

touched her shoulders

played the ukulele

way too much unbuttoned. you’re in a school, william

#baneet watches glee

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wildefiction · 6 years ago

Text

The Beast Inside

PAIRING: Sam x Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,063

SUMMARY: Reader has been hunting with the Winchesters for several years now. She's always had a thing for Sam...not that she'd ever admit to it. But recently, Sam's been different. Cold. Calculating. Scary. When the reader witnesses what's happening, will she turn from him or will her attraction allow her to justify his new behavior?

WARNINGS: Anxiety, Trust Issues, Soulless!Sam, Murder, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Dom/Sub Undertones, Rough Sex, A Smidge of Breath Play

A/N: This was written for @hornsbeforehalos 666 Follower Challenge last year. My prompt was: 'He who makes a beast out of himself, gets rid of the pain of being a man."

The metallic, copper thickness coating his tongue was simultaneously entrancing and revolting. An almost comical adaptation of small figures on ones’ proverbial shoulder. One egging him on, the other shrinking back in disgust at his newly predatory behavior. The first time it had happened Sam had woken in his bed, much like any other night - this one perhaps a little more sleepless than the rest. Shuffling down the hall to the nearest bathroom, he’d absentmindedly flicked on the light, the harsh fluorescents illuminating the space; a dull buzzing echoing around the room. Reaching for the calcium-stained faucets that lent a cool reprieve from his consistently rising body temperature, he’d first noticed the dark residue beneath his fingernails. When the water poured forth from the stainless steel spout, that residue had sloughed away - hitting the white porcelain and blossoming into crimson flowers, like some macabre art exhibit. Eyes widening, Sam caught his reflection in the mirror. Dark purple circles edged red-rimmed eyes, his hair disheveled from what he assumed had been sleep. The night terrors had prevented any semblance of rest. Delirious, he could remember nothing from the previous few days.

At first, he struggled with it. Fought against the rising panic. Blood was part of the job, maybe he’d simply forgotten to scrub beneath his nails after the last case? As the weeks wore on however, small bits of detail too sharp and mundane to be dreams lingered in the corners of his mind when he was awake. Almost like memories. Regardless of how intricate the minutia, his inability to remember entire events is what intrigued him the most. His constant struggle with the fate thrust upon him as an infant quieted in these times. There was no worry about the demon blood coursing through his veins, nor was there an ounce of shame or distress at the idea of letting his big brother down. Sam’s failures lessened and he came to embrace the idea of entire blocks of time disappearing from his conscious.

*** 12 weeks later**

Dried flecks of crimson hit the cool, white porcelain -- the clean purity of the surface now somehow marred, tainted by the blood. Running water circled the drain, washing away any evidence of the brutality that had occured just hours before. Violet cupped her hands together beneath the flow, watching as it quickly filled the makeshift basin before raising them to splash the liquid over her fevered skin.

Three. It'd been the third body in as many days. Things were getting out of control. Violet padded from the bathroom through the dim hallway of the bunker. The twisted, black wall sconces glowed with a dull, golden glow - lighting a path to the end of the hallway where he was waiting.

Sam had been..different lately. At first Violet had figured it was an adjustment disorder. Coming back from the deepest pits of Hell could make anyone act erratically. But the more time passed, the worse Sam became. The gentle, research-loving man she'd hunted alongside for the past three years was gone. Sure, he still looked the same, he still recognized you and Dean and even Cas but he was also a lot more calculated - almost to the point of being empty, as if there was no emotion left at all.

Raising a hand, you tentatively knocked at the solid oak door.

No answer.

Closing your eyes, you very nearly turned and just went back to your own room. It would've been easier. Steeling yourself and shaking out the nerves that prickled along your spine, you tried a second time. The echoing thud of your heartbeat almost matched the hollow sound of your fist on the barrier between you and Sam. For a moment there was silence, and then you heard it; the quiet shuffle of bare feet across thick carpet. If you were tense before, nothing prepared you for the surge of adrenaline that spread from the base of your neck through the rest of your body as the solid door opened and Sam filled its frame.

Truth be told, he'd always been imposing. Being six and a half feet tall, it was a given. His mannerisms hadn't been the only thing to change in his absence however. His entire body was different; eye level with his massive chest your mouth was suddenly dry. Almost as long as you'd known the Winchesters, you'd had a thing for Sam. He was one of those people who just didn't realize they were beautiful. You never mentioned it though, eventually settling into an easy friendship with the brothers had dampened the fire living in your belly. Sure, on occasion there was playful flirting and comments that reddened your cheeks, but little by little the winged-flutters quieted into a sort of easy contentment.

“Violet.” There was a lilt at the end of the word, almost a question as to why you stood at his door. Was his voice deeper? Had it always sounded that way? Blinking several times in rapid succession, you abandoned the thoughts trying to invade the more sensible parts of your brain. “Hey Sam, I..” “mmhm" “do you..?” “are..how are you?” Wondering exactly why you were standing before him, Sam’s lip twitched in amusement even as his eyes narrowed, the hazel irises swimming with colors you'd never noticed. Teal and spring green mixed with the more muted hues holding you captive. The man had the gall to laugh at your flustered appearance, stepping forward until his body brushed against yours. “I'm good; was about to watch a movie. Wanna join me?” That dazzling smile slid into place and you could almost believe the old Sam stood before you. Something in the back of your mind cautioned you to be wary, but it was such a small blip that you very nearly hadn’t noticed it at all.

Before Hell, the two of you would often spend the occasional quiet evening watching old, black and white television. Silent movies had always been amusing, the use of exaggerated body language providing all the dialogue needed. So, you accepted his offer; hoping against hope that it would be like old times.

Looking around the room, nothing had changed. Rows of books sat neatly on shelves flanking his large bed, the lamps alit on each end-table bathing the space in low light. Perching on the end of the mattress Violet watched Sam fuss briefly with the television before sitting next to her. “You okay?” Sam had turned to look at the girl and it didn’t take a rocket-scientist to notice her anxiety.” Hey... it’s just me, how many times have we watched movies together - hm?” Reluctantly you tabled the concerns you’d wanted to voice aloud, little by little allowing yourself to relax. Sam scooted to the head of bed and patted the space next to him. Apparently you took too long to move and he had no problems wrapping one massive arm around your waist and hauling you into the space he occupied; grunting with the effort.

The television flickered to life, shortly thereafter you realized he’d chosen Bram Stoker’s Dracula. A favorite of his. Soon, the two of you were back to laughing at the campy effects and trying to decipher messages hidden in the storyline. Legs crossed around a now empty mixing bowl that had held a mountain of popcorn, you finally relaxed against the man sitting behind you. While the position was more intimate than any you’d been in before, it didn’t feel out of place. You were simply friends enjoying each others company. Just like before.

Launching into a lively debate on the themes of the film pushed the rest of your doubt to the wayside. “I never understood this part really, why does he turn into a wolf and a bat type..thing?” “He seems to be winning her over just fine as a man.” Sam shifted into a sitting position; legs still framing your body as he leaned into you. His golden skin hot against your back - “ Sometimes , ‘He who makes a beast out of himself, gets rid of the pain of being a man.’ ” His mouth brushed against your ear, the words a mere growl. Abruptly that fire was back, spreading through your limbs even as his arms tightened around your body. Teeth closing upon the lobe of one ear, the words faded into silence. “Sam, what are you doing?”

Silence.

His lips were now pressed against the thud of your pulse point. In all the years of flirting and sidelong glances, nothing had ever progressed beyond that point. “I know how you feel about me Violet.” For a brief second you wanted to deny his accusations, tell him it was all in his head. In the course of trying to figure out what to say, the silence was answer enough. “The walls are pretty thin…” he was laughing again. “Honestly though? It was sexy as fuck .” The last word was barely a groan. Turning wide eyes to meet his expression was a bad idea. The darkness was back; an expanding ring of lichen rapidly filling his normally bright eyes when he pushed his mouth to yours. The kiss exploded into wandering hands, heavy breath and snapping teeth. The comfortable embrace from earlier tightening into one that crushed your body against his, palms steady on his chest when he gripped your thighs, pulling them to straddle his lap.

The swell of his arms encircling your waist; his thick fingers digging into your hips reminded you of the strength the man possessed. What he was capable of.

Flashes of red ripped through your mind when you allowed your eyes to fall shut and enjoy Sam’s touch.

So much blood. You were covered in it. Sam was drenched to the elbow, a broken body lay in a heap by his feet. The night was supposed to have been a fun trip out for a couple of drinks, instead becoming a grisly admission of what you had been trying to deny. Yes, the man had been lewd, his comments about your outfit leaving little to the imagination - but you had paid him little mind. Having him follow you out of the bar though..

Sam turned his attention back to you, as if what he'd done had meant nothing..

“Sam, wait a minute..Sam we nee--Aahh!” The hunter chose that moment to roll his hips, the cotton sleep pants you wore barely deflecting his intentions. “Fuhhngck me..” The words hadn't been intended for him, more of an exclamation at the situation, but Sam answered you all the same. “Oh, sweetheart I plan on it.”

And then you were on your back, a yelp of surprise escaping your lips at the sudden change. Sam's broad hands curled around your hips, flipping you to your stomach and pulling your ass in the air. You felt ridiculous, your chest pressed to the cool, inky sheets. The complaint never made it past your swollen lips, a chill breeze assaulting fevered skin when the pajama bottoms were yanked from your hips. Your body vibrated and you had only a brief moment to wonder if it was from the sudden change in temperature or the anticipation of what was to come. Sam's face nudged against your panty-covered ass, his thick, warm tongue swiping over the bit of satin and lace. Once. Then again. A deep growl accompanied his eager teasing and suddenly you forgot what you'd been about to say, instead pushing back against his roaming tongue - yearning for more.

Hot bursts of breath fanned over your delicate skin, the damp fabric between your legs clinging to you, Sam's nose brushing against it while his tongue greedily consumed everything your body offered. Fevered panting matched the beads of sweat dotting your forehead, a high-pitched whine escaping when Sam twisted his hand in the ruined silk and pulled - the sound of splitting seams and tearing fabric sending an unexpected shiver of delight through your body.

He was a monster, he deserved to die.

That's when it started. You justifying Sam's actions.

Sam's tongue flattened and dragged through your folds, the tip flicking against the swollen bundle of nerves nestled within. Closing his lips around you, he sucked in earnest while one long finger traced your inner thigh - teasing but not giving in to your pleas. “Fuck, Sam... please..” Not one, but two fingers sunk into your body then, a low groan filtering between your lips at the sound of your core accepting his ministrations.

“That's it baby...fuck you're so wet. S’that all for me?” Truth be told, Sam had wanted this for as long as he could remember. Coming back from Hell, he found most of his memories were gone. You though...you he remembered. His cock strained against the pants slung low on his hips; one palm closed over his erection, the pressure alleviating a bit of the uncomfortable sensation; his hips rutting gently against his touch, almost of their own accord.

Eyes flicking between his cock and Violet’s swollen cunt, he pulled his fingers from her body, the wet sound assaulted his ears and it took everything he had to not take her just like this.

The quickness with which Violet was on him took Sam by surprise. Not that the hunter dwelled on it for long. The woman kneeling before him was different than the Violet he thought he knew. Lust-blown pupils zeroed in on him as she dove beneath the elastic band of his scrub bottoms-turned pajama pants. There was no hesitation when she wrapped her fingers around his thick base, and he groaned at the sensation of finally having this particular dream come true.

Pushing the fabric down his muscular thighs, you wasted no time in wrapping your lips around his head, swiping your tongue across the drops of precum that dotted the surface.

Sam's hands wove themselves in your hair, his fingers flexing with the effort it took to not twist the locks in his painful grasp. He’d never hurt you. Not without you directly asking for it anyway. He knew your frustrations with him. The old him had done everything in his power to avoid killing anything. Whether the particular thing in question deserved it or not. He was a monster. He’d told himself that often enough, that he’d started to believe it. The looks Dean gave him when he thought Sam wasn’t looking only further solidified those beliefs. And so he gave the things they hunted the benefit of the doubt until he couldn’t. That was before. Now, he really couldn’t muster the strength to give two fucks whether they were innocent - the less time he spent on each case, the more cases he cou-- fuck . This girl knew how to suck cock. Sam’s head flung back, his thick auburn mane brushing his shoulders. Whimpers leaked from Violet’s lips, excess saliva and her probing tongue almost too much.

His fingers tightened more and he pulled back from her mouth, leaving the woman gasping - her eyes slow in re-focusing as she looked up at his pained expression.

Sam cupped your face, his wide hands cradling your cheeks even as he brushed tendrils of stray hair away from your wide eyes. He pulled you close then, and you became intimately aware of the heat of his lips as they descended on yours, his tongue almost gentle in its exploration of your mouth. Grabbing your waist and pulling you close, Sam’s cock brushed your belly, his brilliant eyes searching yours as you wrapped arms around his shoulders; sweat-soaked skin burning beneath your touch. Boldly you sought his attention, lining yourself up against his body, a challenge in your eyes.

When Sam trembled against you, his eyes fell shut with the effort of not moving too fast. Violet wrapped her long fingers around his length, bringing him closer and tracing the thickness of him through her folds. That was the final push Sam needed, his eyes snapped open, his grip tightening around her waist as he pushed his way into her core - the heat enveloping his cock and eagerly pulsing around him. He struggled to remain still, letting Violet adjust to the intrusion. She was eager though, clenching her walls and dragging herself up to catch his mouth with hers again almost immediately. A ragged breath flew from her lips as she cried out, “Sam, Sam move, please!” The hunter didn't need to be told twice, a growl bubbling up from his ribcage at her request - hands that had been holding her to his chest now threaded into her hair and twisted, pulling a moan of pleasure from the woman straddling his waist - “Fuck Violet..damn baby..” Coherent sentences escaped him as he rocked his hips up into her body and she met him thrust for thrust, wanton cries of pleasure filling the room around him accompanied the sounds of skin colliding against skin.

Violet’s fingers whitened around the tips as her grip tightened, nails biting into Sam’s broad shoulders as the first ripples of an orgasm passed through her, a wave of slick coating her thighs while Sam continued his onslaught. The desperate clenching of her muscles around his length caused Sam to stutter, the biting heat of her nails in his skin building layers of his own release up, his hips snapping towards her erratically as his teeth closed over the thudding in her neck. Screwing his eyes shut, the youngest Winchester bit harder, Violet’s pulse racing between his teeth as his pleasure ripped through him, thick ropes of cum spilling into her body. His forehead falling to her shoulder, Sam's arms tightened around his best friend, holding her warm body close to his.

He noted with a new curiosity the realization that he had to physically tell his brain to loosen the grip his teeth still held on her neck. A small part of him had toyed with the idea of seeing just how far he could go, wondering what the next step would be if her blood filled his mouth. Like with the others. Gingerly, Sam released his hold. He could never hurt her. The mantra lazily drifted through his mind. As she laced her fingers with his and a cautious smile tugged at the corner of her mouth - Sam hoped it would be enough.

Make no mistake, the beast inside me is sleeping - not dead.

TAGS: @arses21434 @jaredsunflowergoddess @jamielea81 @wings-of-a-raven

#wildefiction #spn x rpf #sam winchester x reader #supernatural

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crescentmoon223 · 5 years ago

Text

Two Worlds Collide Chapter 12

Read it on AO3 | Rated: NC-17 | Stella x Scully

Chapter 12

Scully saw her when she was still a block away from the restaurant. Stella stood just to the right of its entrance, talking on her phone, but that wasn’t what had captured Scully’s attention. Stella wore a knee-length dress that clung to her slender frame. At first glance, it looked black, but when a shaft of late-day sunlight fell across it, Scully saw that it was actually a deep, shimmery purple. And if she was flawless in her everyday attire, Stella Gibson in a dress was downright otherworldly.

She held up a finger in Scully’s direction, and her stomach plunged as she realized what was happening. That ultra-concentrated, serious look on Stella’s face was usually reserved for work. Which meant, she probably had to go. And Scully understood. She really, truly did. It was just that Stella had been out of town all week. They’d only seen each other the night of her birthday for those few precious hours, and Scully had been looking forward to tonight—the chance to dress up and go out with her—so much.

But this was the life they’d both chosen to live, a life that involved being called in to work at a moment’s notice, even on a much-anticipated date night. So, Scully swallowed her disappointment gracefully, determined not to give Stella any undeserved guilt. Hopefully, they could at least see each other later tonight.

Stella hung up her phone, staring at it for a long moment, eyes glazed with whatever news she’d just received. Scully closed the distance between them, pausing to appreciate the extra makeup Stella wore tonight, eye shadow shimmering against the sunset, lips painted a shade darker than Scully was accustomed to. “Work?” she asked.

Stella nodded, eyes focusing on Scully, a faint smile curving her lips. “You look lovely.”

“So do you,” Scully told her. “In fact, I’m wondering why I never thought of an excuse to have you dress up for me before, because damn, Stella.” She slid her gaze appreciatively over Stella’s dress.

Stella stepped forward, pressing her lips against Scully’s as her fingers hooked into the front pockets of Scully’s pants, bringing their bodies together.

She sighed into Stella’s kiss, so glad to be here with her, so glad to be anywhere with her. “Do you have to go?”

“No,” Stella murmured against her lips.

“Thank God.” Scully pulled back to grin at her, ridiculously relieved. “Because I’m really looking forward to tonight.”

“So am I.” Stella gave her another long look, but there was still something distant in her gaze. Whatever the phone call had been about, it was weighing on her mind.

“Bad news?” Scully asked.

“Good news, actually,” Stella told her. “They got him.”

“The rapist in Wembley?”

“Yes,” Stella said, and now Scully could see that it was victory, not defeat, distracting her from their date. “They were so focused on the fact that their top suspect was a former Met officer and wanting to avoid any implications of impropriety that they completely missed the link to the victim’s ex-boyfriend, who had a history of sexual assault.”

“But you saw it,” Scully said proudly.

“I did.”

“You’re a smart one,” Scully told her.

“I’m just good at my job,” Stella deflected.

“You are,” Scully agreed. “Your brain is always one step ahead, always seeing the connection everyone else misses.”

Stella silenced her with another kiss, this one deeper and more demanding than the last, her hands cupping Scully’s face, her perfume filling Scully’s lungs, intoxicating her, distracting her. Stella was shit at accepting compliments. So was Scully, for that matter.

“So, we’ll celebrate your win tonight,” Scully said when they’d come up for air.

Stella slid her hand into Scully’s as they walked into the restaurant, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Good to have something to celebrate.”

“It sure is.” And she figured it was especially good for Stella, coming off her disastrous last case. Scully was ridiculously glad she’d been able to follow it with a win in Wembley. Maybe it would help Stella make peace with everything that had happened. Maybe she’d needed a win to put Belfast behind her.

They were seated at a table for two in the loft part of the restaurant overlooking the main dining room below. It was quieter up here, more romantic. A candle flickered on the table between them, and as their wine arrived, Scully watched Stella visibly relax on the other side of the table, sinking into her chair as the tension drained from her shoulders, a satisfied smile toying with her lips.

“It’s good to be back,” she said thoughtfully, and Scully wondered whether she meant back in London after spending the week in Wembley, or back on top of her game after closing this case. Maybe both.

“You deserve this,” Scully told her. “And it’s perfect timing for our date night.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Stella swirled her wine before taking a sip, her gaze riveted on Scully’s. “Although, if I’m being perfectly honest, I’m a bit impatient to take you home.”

Scully crossed her legs, leaning forward so that her elbows rested on the table. “Well, if I’m being perfectly honest, it was a lonely week here in London without you.”

Stella’s eyes flickered like the blue flame at the heart of a fire, the hottest part. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“A shame our theater tickets aren’t refundable, then,” Stella said, taking another long sip of her wine.

“It is, but it isn’t, because I’m really looking forward to the show too. It’s been years since I’ve gone out like this.”

“Mm,” Stella said. “I haven’t either, at least not for fun.”

“What for, then?”

“Fundraisers, work events, the kind of thing where I’m still working, even if I’m not.”

“Yeah, I know all about those things.” She and Mulder hadn’t been invited to many of them as part of their work at the FBI, but there had been fundraisers and parties during her years at Our Lady of Sorrows, events Mulder had usually begged off, leaving Scully to attend on her own.

She and Stella chatted through their meal, while Scully basked in the relaxed vibes coming off Stella tonight. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her so fully at ease with the world around her. They polished off their bottle of wine before heading out into the cool evening air, strolling together down the street toward the theater.

Stella’s heels clicked against the pavement, her hair shining gold beneath the streetlights as they passed. Scully stumbled over an uneven section of pavement, and Stella’s hand shot out to steady her, fingers clasped around Scully’s, warm and strong. From across the street, a man whistled. Stella’s eyes sparked like flint in his direction.

“Hey, ladies,” he called. “How about a drink?”

Scully glanced over to see a group of about five men loitering outside a bar, smoking. Stella ignored them, although her stride quickened just slightly, fingers still tightly laced with Scully’s.

“Come on, ladies. Let’s have some fun,” another man shouted, and she was peripherally aware that they’d begun walking on the other side of the street, keeping pace with her and Stella. And then, almost before she’d realized what was happening, they were crossing the street.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Stella muttered under her breath.

Scully grinned. These men had no idea who they’d just messed with.

“’Ello, beautiful,” one of them said as the group fell into step around her and Stella, crowding their space, turning the air stale with the scent of their cigarettes.

“Not interested,” Stella told him curtly.

“Drinks?” the first man said. “On us. Anything you want.”

“No, thank you,” Stella said.

“Aw, come on. We just want to have a little fun.”

“The lady said no,” Scully said flatly.

“Two pretty lasses like yourselves shouldn’t be out alone, especially all dressed up like this,” the largest man in the group said, moving in close to Stella, hand out as if to touch her dress. “Let us show you a good time.”

Stella stopped walking so abruptly that Scully bumped into her, shoulder colliding with Stella’s. Her expression had flipped from quietly annoyed to quietly furious, her hand slipping from Scully’s. She took a swift, threatening step toward the man who’d spoken, and he fell back, raising his hands in the air.

“Whoa,” he said. “Easy.”

“Fuck off.” Stella’s tone was lethal. She stood, eyes narrowed, shoulders squared. “Now. All of you.”

“Come on,” one of them said. “We just want to have a good time. Don’t you ladies know how to have fun?”

“As a matter of fact, we do,” Scully told him. “And being harassed by a bunch of men who don’t understand the word ‘no’ is not my idea of a good time.”

Stella arched an eyebrow, her razor-sharp gaze never leaving the men in front of them. Somewhere in the back of Scully’s brain, it occurred to her that maybe she should be alarmed. Neither she or Stella were armed tonight, and they were pitifully outnumbered by a group of drunk and semi-aggressive men. But she’d be damned if anything was going to ruin this night, and somehow, she felt sure she and Stella could take down the whole group with their bare hands if necessary. In fact, slightly high on adrenaline and Stella’s indestructible attitude, she found herself relishing the thought.

But the men were already beginning to back off, demeanor shifting from “drunk and pushy” to “drunk and defensive.”

“No need to be like that,” the big one said as Stella’s eyes bored holes in his ugly face. “You don’t want us to show you a good time? Your loss.”

“Bitch,” one of them muttered, not daring to meet either her or Stella’s gaze.

They ambled off in the direction of the bar they’d come from, tossing various insults over their shoulders as they went.

Scully waited until they’d crossed the street before turning to Stella, whose stance was still dialed all the way to deadly. She was absolutely terrifying and so fucking sexy, Scully could hardly stand it. She grabbed her waist, bringing their lips together for a bruising kiss. “You’re hot when you go all badass like that.”

Vaguely, she was aware of the men hurling a new set of slurs at them, but she tuned them out, focusing on the pleasure of Stella’s tongue in her mouth, her hands on Scully’s ass.

“Fucking tossers,” Stella murmured against her lips, body softening into their kiss.

“They picked the wrong women to mess with tonight.”

“Men like them usually do.” Stella pulled back, glancing in their direction, and they must have still been watching, because she extended her middle finger toward them before tugging Scully after her in the direction of the theater.

Scully leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Hot.”

Stella gave her an amused glance. They rounded the corner, and Scully spotted the glittering marquee up ahead for the show they were seeing tonight, an adaptation from Broadway that she’d always wanted to see. They made it inside with time to spare and stopped at the bar for a drink before going to their seats.

Something in Stella’s expression had gone distant again as she stared at the ornate room around them, intricately carved woodwork, red carpeting beneath their feet, and an elaborate chandelier glittering overhead. “My father brought me here once,” she said quietly, lifting her wine for a hearty gulp.

Scully blinked at this unexpected information, reaching over to place a hand on Stella’s.

“I was thirteen,” she continued. “It was my first time attending the theater. I felt so grown up that night.” She cleared her throat, eyes glazed in memories. “I couldn’t have told you the name of the theater, but I remember this room so clearly.”

“Oh, Stella.” Scully desperately wanted to hug her but knew she wouldn’t want that, not right now.

“There was a photographer here that night. He took our photo right over there.” She gestured to a spot on the far wall, an empty space between two large windows. “I kept that photo for the longest time, but it got lost in one of my moves. I hadn’t thought of it in years.”

“I’m sorry,” Scully whispered.

“Don’t be sorry.” Stella looked up, meeting her eyes. “It was a good night, a special memory. He got sick soon after. I’m glad to be here again.”

Scully blinked the moisture from her eyes. “I’m glad too.”

***

Stella felt like she’d entered an alternate reality, one where Dana Scully occupied every vacant spot in her brain, in her bed, in her life. She’d spent a sleepless, miserable week in Wembley, and here she was back in London, awaking refreshed on a Sunday morning with Scully beside her, crimson hair fanning across the pillow.

In this alternate reality, Stella considered going downstairs to find something to fix them for breakfast. She imagined waking Scully with hot coffee and pancakes, before remembering her cupboards were currently bare. And then she considered kissing her awake to tell her how beautiful she was first thing in the morning, how beautiful she was every fucking moment of the day, how every part of Stella’s day felt more beautiful when Scully was a part of it. But those were truths to hold inside her own heart, not things to be said aloud.

In the end, she simply lay there, watching Scully sleep, lulled into a strange sense of calm that was as foreign to Stella as it was appealing, the ability to lay quietly in bed without being consumed by the darker parts of her brain.

Scully’s eyes fluttered open, blinking lazily as they focused on Stella. “Morning.”

“Good morning.” Stella slid closer to press a kiss against her lips. “What do you want to do today?”

Scully laughed, voice husky with sleep. “In a hurry, Stella?”

“No,” she said apologetically. “Just been lying here thinking.”

“And what do you want to do today?”

“I need to go for a swim. Would you like to come with me?”

Scully yawned, stretching against the cream-colored sheets. “Maybe. I’m not much of a swimmer, though.”

“That’s all right. There’s also a hot tub.”

“Sold,” Scully said with a smile.

“Perfect,” Stella said, immensely pleased at the idea of bringing Scully to the pool with her. “I need to run some errands afterward and catch up on paperwork. Everything’s been piling up while I was out of town.”

“I have a few things to do too, but maybe we can meet up again later for dinner?”

Stella hesitated, having assumed they’d go their separate ways after their swim, that they’d see each other again sometime later in the week. After realizing how much she missed Scully while she was in Wembley last week, she’d come home determined to return a little space between them. But here she was, helpless beneath Scully’s warm gaze and the promise of another comfortable evening together. “That sounds nice.”

So, they got up, moving around Stella’s flat together as they got ready. Stella gave her a suit to borrow, and they stopped at a little café down the street for a light breakfast and some much-needed coffee before walking to the pool. The usual high Stella felt upon walking through the doors was compounded today by having Scully at her side.

Just the sight of Scully in her swimsuit was a ridiculous turn-on, two of her favorite things brought together. Stella inhaled the sharp scent of chlorine, watching as Scully dipped a toe into the pool, the reflection of the water dancing across her face.

“I have to admit,” Scully said, glancing over at Stella with a smile. “I’m curious to see you here in your element.”

“Is that so?” Stella walked to an available lap lane, sliding her goggles into place. Aware Scully was watching, she put a bit more effort into her dive than she might have otherwise. Usually, the initial rush of water over her body brought an overwhelming sense of relief. Today, she was surprised to realize she wasn’t in such desperate need of it. Apparently, Scully herself was almost as good a form of stress relief as swimming.

Stella surfaced, arms and legs beginning to move, pushing and pulling her through the water in a comfortable rhythm. Today, she managed a solid thirty-minute swim before the pain in her ribs built to the level where she knew she should stop. She was healing, slowly but surely.

She pulled up at the end of the pool, resting her elbows on the deck as she took shallow breaths until the pain had eased. Scully was in the next lane, kicking lazily on her back, arms fluttering at her sides as she swam. Stella turned around to better watch her, trailing her fingers across the surface of the water. Scully stopped at the opposite end of the pool, grinning at Stella across the turquoise expanse of water. She braced her hands behind her and hauled herself up onto the pool deck, gesturing for Stella to follow her.

Feeling like an invalid, Stella swam across the pool to the steps and walked out. She followed Scully to the hot tub, which was thankfully unoccupied at this early hour. After removing her cap and goggles, she stepped in, letting the hot, swirling water caress her skin as she sank into its depths. They settled side by side, legs bumping beneath the water’s churning surface. Scully leaned back, eyes closed, a peaceful smile on her face.

Stella leaned in, kissing her, hands roaming beneath the water. They fooled around until the heat of the tub drove them out, showering together before they went their separate ways. From there, Stella spent a few hours catching up on paperwork, shopping, and all the other chores she’d fallen behind on while she was out of town, before heading to Scully’s for the night.

The next morning, they were both up early to get ready for work. It had become almost routine at this point, moving together from Stella’s flat to Scully’s, both of them equally comfortable in each other’s spaces. Stella walked into the Met that morning with a bit more swagger in her stride than usual, head up, shoulders back.

A world of difference from the last time she’d returned from a review, physically battered and sidelined by an inquiry into her mishandling of the case. This time, she’d gotten her man. She swept into her office, setting her briefcase beneath her desk, eager to get started with her day. As she booted up her laptop, Chen popped his head through her doorway.

“Nice job in Wembley,” he said.

“Thank you.” She looked at him, feeling a rush of gratitude for his role in Scully’s birthday visit. Maybe he’d known her better than she knew herself last week. Maybe letting certain people into her personal life wasn’t always a bad thing.

He sat with her go over developments on the Martin case, which was progressing nicely. From there, she began wading through a week’s worth of information that had accumulated in her absence. Just before lunch, her phone rang with an outside line, and she picked it up absently as she closed out of her case notes.

“Gibson,” she answered.

“Stella, hi, it’s Fran.”

Stella’s lips curved involuntarily at the sound of her friend’s voice. “Fran, it’s good to hear from you. How are you and Mitch?”

“Never better. I was actually calling to invite you over for supper next weekend. It’s been too long since we’ve had you over. What do you say? You and Dana.”

“Dana? How did you…” Stella pinched the bridge of her nose, swiveling her chair to look out the window.

“You’re not my only friend at the Met,” Fran reminded her with a delighted laugh.

“Right.”

Fran had probably been talking to Chen. Stella didn’t care if people knew about her relationship with Scully, so she really wasn’t sure why the idea of bringing Scully to dinner at Fran’s filled her with such discomfort. It just felt so…domestic, like a scene out of a movie where Stella didn’t belong.

“So, what do you say?” Fran asked. “Dinner?”

Stella hesitated. The last time they’d seen each other, she had been emotionally ravaged, sipping soup with a fractured cheekbone. No doubt, Fran wanted to check up on her and make sure she was okay, but…maybe she really was okay, for once. “Yes, of course. I’d love to join you for dinner. I’ll have to check with Dana about her schedule and get back to you.”

“Perfect.”

Stella disconnected the call and leaned back in her chair, still unsettled by the invitation but pleased by it as well. Fran would like Scully. She was sure of it. Really, she couldn’t think of anything unpleasant about bringing Scully to dinner, except for the domestic picture it painted. But she’d had dinner with Fran and Mitch countless times. It wasn’t really that different to bring Scully with her this one time, was it?

When Stella got home that night, she extended the invitation, and Scully eagerly accepted, as Stella had known she would. So, that was that, then. No sense wasting any more energy second guessing herself about it.

They spent the rest of the week in their newfound routine, meeting at either Stella’s flat or Scully’s after work, sharing bits of either other’s lives that Stella hadn’t shared with anyone in a long time. She fucked often, but she rarely dated. Everything with Scully just felt…easy. Comfortable. It would all have to end soon enough when Scully went home, but in the meantime, maybe this was exactly what Stella had needed after Belfast.

By the time Saturday rolled around, she was surprised to realize how much she was looking forward to their dinner plans. She found herself oddly proud at the idea of introducing Scully to one of her dearest friends, to let Fran have a glimpse of this part of Stella’s life, to see that she had managed to be a part of something normal and meaningful, even if only for the duration of Scully’s fellowship.

Scully dressed in fitted black trousers and a royal blue blouse that accentuated her eyes and set off the rubied tones of her hair. Stella wore a black pencil skirt and a gray blouse, nothing different than she’d wear to work, but it felt different with Scully at her side as they approached the Kingsleys’ front door.

She knocked, and it swung open almost immediately to reveal Fran’s smiling face. Stella’s former boss was in her early sixties now, but her eyes still twinkled with the same vigor they had when Stella was a newly minted constable, fresh out of the academy and determined to take on the world.

“Stella.” She leaned in for a quick hug and kisses on each cheek before turning to Scully. “And you must be Dana. It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Scully told her with a warm smile.

“Do come in.” Fran motioned them inside. “Mitch is in the living room.” She led the way through the parlor into the living room, where her husband sat in his motorized wheelchair. Mitch Kingsley had been shot in the line of duty five years ago, only a few weeks before his planned retirement. Life had a sick sense of humor sometimes.

“Stella,” he said, a brief smile softening his otherwise stern expression. “Good to see you.”

She crossed the room to him, leaning in to kiss his cheek before she turned to introduce him to Scully. They exchanged pleasantries, Scully gave Fran the bottle of wine they’d brought, and soon everyone was gathered in the dining room serving up salad and pouring wine while Fran placed a sliced beef roast in the center of the table.

“Fran tells me you’re a former FBI agent,” Mitch said to Scully as he began to fill his plate.

“I was, yes, for many years,” Scully confirmed.

“A room full of detectives,” Fran said with a chuckle. “Something tells me we won’t be short of conversation this evening.”

“What kinds of cases did you work on?” Mitch asked.

“Unexplained ones,” Scully said, without a hint of the frustration she’d displayed when Stella had asked her the same question back in 1998. “My partner and I investigated unsolved cases that were often pretty strange. We saw things that sometimes I still can’t quite believe.”

“Like what?” Mitch asked with newfound interest, and Stella cringed internally in anticipation of the way he would react to talk of aliens or vampires.

But luckily, Scully knew how to read a crowd. “Like a prehistoric parasitic organism that had been preserved in an ice core sample taken near the arctic circle, an enormous subterranean fungal growth with hallucinogenic properties that nearly digested my partner and me, and a town that believed itself to be the victim of a lake monster that turned out to be an extremely voracious alligator. And those were some of our tamer cases, believe it or not.”

Both Fran and Mitch were staring at Scully, their expressions somewhere between shock and awe. She darted a quick grin in Stella’s direction.

“That alligator ate my dog,” she added with a wistful sort of look.

“You had a dog?” Stella asked in surprise. Somehow, she had never pictured Scully with a pet, but now that she thought about it, she could see Scully taking it on long walks and giving it belly rubs, showering it in the seemingly endless depths of her affection.

“Only for a little while,” she said. “A little Pomeranian named Queequeg.”

“Like that bloke from Moby Dick,” Mitch said.

“Yes,” Scully told him with an appreciative smile. “My dad and I gave each other nicknames from the book. I called him Ahab, and he called me Starbuck. So, I named my dog Queequeg.”

“And he was eaten by an alligator?” Mitch asked.

She nodded. “Maybe someday, if my life settles down enough to allow it, I’ll get another dog. I liked having him around.”

“You and Stella met on that case, what…twelve, thirteen years ago?” Fran asked. “That psychopath who was drinking people’s blood?”

“Yes,” Scully confirmed with another shy smile in Stella’s direction.

“I don’t think you and I were properly introduced back then,” Fran told her. “I was Stella’s boss at the time, and I remember the case well. Very strange.”

Scully shrugged, reaching for her wine. “I told you my cases were strange.”

“Indeed,” Fran said, visibly enchanted by Scully, just as Stella had expected. What she hadn’t expected was to see Mitch hanging on her every word as well. Sometimes she forgot just how charming Scully could be, how effortlessly she shifted from one world to another, how much better she was than Stella at compartmentalizing the darker parts of her life, presenting her time at the X Files as an exciting adventure, leaving out the abductions, the pain, the heartbreak she’d suffered at every turn.

After dinner had been cleared away and dessert served, they lingered around the table, sharing more police talk. Fran told Scully about the first killer Stella had ever caught, how she’d been so determined to check all the boxes during his arrest that she’d read him his rights three times and sat at her desk until sunrise the next morning, typing up the longest arrest report in the history of the department.

“I was very thorough,” Stella confirmed, sipping her wine with a self-deprecating smile. “I didn’t want to fuck anything up.”

“She had her sights set on my job from the moment I hired her,” Fran told Scully. “I had never seen a female officer with such ambition, such grit, and one of the sharpest minds to wear our uniform.”

“I wasn’t after your job,” Stella deflected, her cheeks uncomfortably warm.

“Not in a strict sense, but you were going places, and we both knew it. I did what I could to help you get there.”

Stella met her gaze. “And I appreciate that more than you know.”

Fran lifted her wine, waving it in Stella’s direction. “You’d have gotten there with or without me, but I opened the doors for you a little sooner where I could. You were an asset wasted on patrol.”

“Thank you,” Stella said quietly, overwhelmed with gratitude for the woman in front of her even as her skin prickled uncomfortably beneath Fran’s praise.

Scully squeezed her hand beneath the table, neatly shifting the conversation by asking Fran about a photo of Scotland on the shelf behind them. They lingered for another hour or so before finally calling it a night.

Fran pulled Stella aside as they made their way to the door. “I’m so glad you two could make it tonight.”

“So am I,” Stella told her. “Thanks so much for having us.”

“Dana is delightful, although you obviously know that.” Fran’s eyes danced with amusement. “You seem very happy together, and I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.”

“She’s only in London for a short time,” Stella reminded Fran.

“I’m sure that could be worked around,” Fran said with a wink. “You’re a complicated woman, Stella. It takes a special kind of person to match you, intellectually and romantically. If Dana is that person, hold on to her, okay?”

Stella’s ears were still ringing with Fran’s words when she made it home that night. She lost herself in the welcome warmth of Scully’s body, drowning out anything but the absolute pleasure they created together. But she felt the darkness swirling inside her, rising steadily, threatening everything. Stella could never make something as beautiful as what she shared with Scully last.

Scully deserved a life in America with her friends and family, a partner who loved her unconditionally, someone who would put her first, the way neither Stella or Mulder ever could. She deserved the chance to have a dog, a whole house full of pets if she wanted them. So, Stella would let her go when the time came. But, in the meantime, she intended to enjoy every moment they had left.

Over the next week, she and Scully alternated nights between their flats, sharing most of their free time together. Everything had fallen into place, maybe a little too easily, until the night Stella arrived at Scully’s flat to find her slumped over her kitchen table, face resting in her hands and tears coursing down her cheeks.

#Two Worlds Collide #Stella x Scully #stella and scully #fanfic

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luxover · 7 years ago

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i'm obsessed with "the latent bonding of devildogs at war." SO good!! idk if youre planning on writing another installment or anything, but if you're taking prompts... brad for a minute maybe NOT being so bad at the whole bond thing? thank you

“You’re starting to burn,” Brad says, his fingertips darting out to touch the skin of Ray’s collarbone for just a second. He’s leaning over Ray and blocking the sun.

“Is it sexy?” Ray asks. When he opens his eyes, Brad’s frowning, and Ray fucking hates that; he saw a lifetime of it when they were in Afghanistan, and then again in Iraq, and Ray fucking refuses to see it when they’re at home, too.

He wishes, not for the first time, that Brad let him look. Brad’s a hard read, but it’d be so much easier if Ray could just follow the bond and dip into his head, look and see what Brad’s feeling without having to wait for Brad to implode and admit that he’s feeling anything. But then again, he wouldn’t exactly be Ray’s Brad if Brad actually let him, and Ray doesn’t fucking want that. Ray wants this Brad, the one he has right now. It’s just—

A little clarity now and again would be nice. They can’t all be emotionally stunted robo-Vikings with endless sex drives and no need for a vocabulary larger than yeah and come on and you fucking like that, huh?

“The fuck are you thinking about?” Brad asks. He makes the same aborted gesture to his temple that he always does when he doesn’t want to say, the bond, which is always.

“Just how you’ve ruined me for other men, homes,” Ray says, propping himself up on his elbows. He can feel sand stick to his bare back as he does, and he squints up at Brad.

He wonders if Brad can feel how much Ray loves him, or if he’s just a complete fucking idiot in everything but war.

“C’mon,” Brad says. “Put on some sunscreen.”

“I’m already wearing some,” Ray tells him. Brad rolls his eyes, just barely.

“Then put on some more,” he says evenly, and reaches behind himself to unzip his wetsuit. Ray watches him struggle to find the pull on the zipper.

“Want help, homes?” Ray asks.

“Yeah.”

Brad drops down onto the towel in front of Ray. He’s soaking wet, and gets saltwater all over Ray and his abandoned book, just from that movement alone.

Ray finds the zipper pull easily; it’s somehow gotten tucked back into the neckline of the wetsuit, and Brad’s spine straightens and then curves when Ray pulls the string out, the same way Brad’s spine straightens and then curves when Ray trails his fingers down the line of Brad’s back, Brad half asleep and come-dumb in their bed.

Ray unzips the suit. He wants to kiss the back of Brad’s neck as the suit gives way to Brad’s skin, but he doesn’t. He’s not a fucking retard.

“Thanks,” Brad says once the zipper’s down.

“Will that be cash or credit?” Ray jokes, only because it was nothing, not in the grand scheme of things he’s done and is still willing to do for Brad, and then he reaches for his book. Next to him, Brad pull his arms out of the wetsuit but otherwise leaves it on.

“Hey,” Brad says, shifting on the towel. His hand finds Ray’s ankle, his skin cold and wet against Ray’s.

He looks at Ray, and Ray feels that tug in the corner of his brain, in the part that he never knew was there until he met Brad, and then he feels himself being pulled half into Brad’s head. It feels like a library almost, a place for everything and everything in its place. Everything quiet. Brad’s head is nothing like the loud, haphazard chaos of Ray’s, and Ray wants to savor it, this time in Brad’s space.

Brad shows him the ocean, and the burn in his shoulders as he paddles for a wave. Ray can feel it in his own shoulders, and feel the spray of the water on his face. He feels his heart pounding, mostly from anticipation but a little bit from worry, because he knows how it feels to be held under for too long. And then he sees Afghanistan, the dirt and all their Humvees. His Humvee—no, Brad’s Humvee, someone’s skinny, camo-clad ass hanging out of the driver’s side door. It’s his ass. That’s Ray. And then Ray turns around and he can feel an earthquake in his chest—in Brad’s chest—and Ray sees himself smile like a fucking idiot, in a way that he had thought gave everything away but that Brad doesn’t know how to read. And then it’s dark, and Ray’s outside the Humvee yelling, Would you please back the fuck up? and the cloth lining of his Kevlar is split by some shitty round shot from the trees, and everything stops. Inside, everything stops and Brad forgets how to do the one thing he knows how to do. When he catches up, it’s like the world is in fast forward, and then Ray’s in Nevada and he’s looking at himself, and he says, Homes, I don’t know what the fuck you flew out here for, and looking at himself, Ray wants, or maybe Brad wants, and he’s okay with wanting, and then his hands are smushing Ray’s face, Ray saying, That’s hardly asking nicely, and Brad knows this feeling, and so Ray knows this feeling, and then he’s dropping into the wave, and the water is curling around him, a tunnel of water, the world at the end getting smaller and smaller, but it’s still there, and Brad’s heart is pounding. He knows how this can go, can feel the tightness in his lungs just thinking about it, but then he breaks through the other side and all he can feel is adrenaline and elation, and it’s just sun and sand and the horizon, and Ray sitting on a towel on the beach. Ray’s skin warm under his cold and clammy palm, Ray’s mouth dropped a little open. His heart rate is steady, but it feels like it should be racing. Ray’s smiling and he’s studying it, trying to remember it, Ray’s smile and the fucked up teeth that Ray hates but that he loves, and he doesn’t do many things right, but Ray was one of the—

Ray blinks back into himself.

“Homes,” he says. He’s smiling so wide his face hurts from it. “That was unbelievably gay.”

Brad doesn’t respond, but he leaves his fingers there, on the bone of Ray’s ankle, as he shakes the water out of his hair with his free hand.

#might only make like 50% sense if you haven't read latent bonding #fic #generation kill #bradray #thank you for the prompt!! that was fun

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emberpendragon · 7 years ago

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The Forbidden Stories

Chapter One Chapter two Chapter Three Chapter Four

(Alright this is my very first time writing the actual smut part so please bare with me and give me any and all feed back... here we go ;p)

Chapter 5: The Carnival

You woke up early this Monday to make sure you were ready for Steve. He said he would be there to pick you up at ten. Taking your time, you took a shower and made sure you were perfectly groomed. You found a cute little red dress to wear, making sure to match your underwear and bra perfectly. Then you curled your hair before dolling yourself up, smiling at the thought of him calling you “doll” like he did. Now you at least earned the name. You even painted your nails the exact same shade of red. As they were drying you got a text from steve.

“I am on my way Doll, I will be there soon” it read.

“Can’t wait,” you replied.

Standing up, you walked out of the room careful not to ruin your nail polish and went to the fridge for some water. Humming a tune from your favorite band your bend down a little to grab the water.

“You look gorgeous.”

Spinning around you almost spill all the water form the filter pitcher you are holding, only to see Natasha sitting in your living room like she owned the place.

“Way to knock!” you yell.

“I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about our plans,” She looked you up and down. “Now that I KNOW you didn’t, i’ll be on my way. Have a good spring break.” She winked at me before walking out of what you thought was the locked front door. You were left speechless in the kitchen drinking my grass of water until steve showed up.

Hearing a polite knock from the door you quickly check your nails. Relieved that they are dry you make sure to take a deep breath before opening the door.

In the doorway you see steve with a red rose in his hand and a smile on his face. He looked you up and down shocked as you gesture him to come in. “Wow…” Is all his can muster through his half open mouth.

After a second he puts himself back together and steps forward, handing you the rose slowly, “This is for your doll,” he says in a low voice.

Smiling you take it and smell it, taking in the beautiful scent. “Oh steve its gorgeous, thank you so much.”

“That flower is nothing compared to you,” He blurts out, realizing how cheesy that was he starts to blush.

You giggle and place the rose in a small vase before returning to him with your hands in front of you. You notice he is still staring so your decide to do a small. “So what are we going to do today?” You ask.

He stares down at you, speechless, while he watches that dress turl. He is brought back when he realizes you asked him a question. “Uh, I-, I mean I planned for us to go to a carnival that is not to far away.” He stutters, but doesn’t stop staring.

You love carnivals and always have. From the first time your mom brought you into the barns as a toddler to see all the animals. To when your dad brought you on your first ride when you were a little older. Even when your first love managed to somehow win you the biggest stuffed animal in the whole place. You always had fun at carnivals, so the idea of going to one with Steve made you excited.

“Then let's go!” you squeal, grabbing his hand and pulling him with you out the door.

At first you were a little freaked to ride on his motorcycle. Mostly because you haven’t ridden on one before. You have read many stories about how dangerous they are. Looking at it made your stomach drop.

Steve only had to put his arm around you and land his hand in the small of your back to calm you down. Looking up at him, you saw the concern in his eyes as he stared down at you.

“Do you trust me love?” he asked as he took your hand, kissing your knuckles.

You nodded and gulped. He mounted the motorcycle and motioned for you to sit behind him. He gave you a helmet and you thanked the lord that your only curled the bottom half of your long hair. Then you wrapped your arms around his thick chiseled chest and softly gave the okay to move.

Steve took it slow, taking back roads until he felt you relax. Only then did he give you a wicked smile you never thought you would see on this man. He sped up so fast you thought you would lose your head. The adrenaline pumped through you and suddenly you felt free. You felt like you were flying like an eagle, like you could leave all your worries behind you. Not to mention you understood why he preferred to ride a motorcycle instead of in a confined car.

You almost arrived at the carnival too fast, but once you saw it, your excitement grew. The towering rides were already in motion. The smells of food you can only truly get at a carnival make your stomach growl. The moos and oinks of all the cute animals calls to you asking for pets.

You dismount the bike in a hurry and rip off the helmet. Smiling the whole time, “Come on Steve what are you waiting for?” you taunt.

He’s by your side in a second with a hand on the small of your back, “Relax Doll, im right here.”

Many hours go by, you guys visit the barns and Steve swears you had to pet every animal. He could feel him falling for you almost as much as you fell for the mini fluffy cow. He takes you on every ride and loves your way to cling to him the whole time. Some of them scare you, others make you feel wild, all of them make you laugh and scream in happiness. You two ate so much fair food you could have sworn you had grease instead of blood.

It’s getting to the end of the night, the sun falling below the horizon. And you see the most adorable little stuffed bear. A small brown teddy bear with a Captain America suit on, complete with a round felt shield. Steve fallows your eyes and smiles at you, giving you a wink before viering over the game the bear is displayed by.

The game was simple, you had you knock all three of the blocks off of the pedestal using only one soft ball. “I have never seen anybody who is actually able to do this,” you taunt playfully.

Steve, holding the softball he was given in hand, slouches a little and whispers into your ear, “trust me when i say this, i am getting you that bear tonight doll.” you feel a shiver down your spine.

Then with one expert throw, all the blocks went flying. Even the guy working the game was surprised. But nonetheless he pulled the bear down and gave it to Steve, who turned you your and held it out to you with a smug look on his face.

You blushed as you took it slowly, snuggling the bear into your chest. It had only been in his possession for two seconds, but it already smelt like him.

He then took hold of your waist and brought you too him, leaving the bear in the middle. “I told you that bear would be yours.” He chuckled.

You looked up at him and smiled, “I have no more doubts.”

Putting a hand on your neck he pulled you in for the sweetest kiss you ever tasted. You opened your mouth instantly for his tongue, which caressed yours in the sweetest manor, you never wanted it to stop.

This time getting back on the bike was easier, you took your time making sure the bear was safe in between you and Steve, sliping it little foot under your thigh before placing the hemet on your head. Steve starts the bike and glances at you, “Homebound Doll?”

You smile and kiss just behind his ear, “If you wouldn’t mind.”

You could feel his shiver as he groaned a little.

The next thing you knew, he had you pinned on the silky sheets of your bed. His shirt was lost in the process along with your dress. He looked down mesmerized by your gorgeous figure and tauntingly sexy underwear.

Reaching up, you stroke his spine with your left hand and pull his mouth to meet yours with your right. He reaches under you and pulls you up to him, pressing you against him as much as he could. He other hand feels down your side, creating tingles as it goes. It stops at your panties and he groans, pulling away for a second.

“My apologies, but i owe you a new pair Doll,” he chuckles as he rips the pretty lace right off and starts to massage your entrance.

You arch your back as he does, letting out a short huff of shock, “ookay hun,” you breath as he starts to circle you clint.

Your eyes flutter shut as he gently slides one of his fingers into you, his thumb putting pressure on you clint the whole time. After a second he slides the second finger in with more feriousity and you let out a squeal of pleasure. He leans down and uses his teeth to pull your bra down, giving his accsess to your now hard nipples. He sucks your left nipple into his mouth with a moan and starts pumping his fingers into your pussy.

Your breaths get short and your body starts to lose control. Arching his fingers, it takes him a second but he finds your sweet spot, making you let out a moan that was louder then you liked it to be. Hearing it only made Steve more hungry. He pulled you into a passionate kiss as his fingers start to go deeper into you, with speed you have never felt before.

It didn’t take long for you become undone in his hands. His thumb putting pressure on you clint and his fingers hitting just the right spot. Steve smiled into your lips as he helped you ride it out. Before pulling his finger out slowly and setting them on your stomach.

“I bet they don’t do it like that anymore,” he winked at you.

You gave him a soft laugh as your tried to catch your breath. But before you could find your bearings, Steve was on top of you again with his over your shoulder. You heard the rubber stretch below you, and looked down to investigate. Seeing his member, your eye grew wide.

Steve smiled and kissed you sweetly, “Trust me doll, i’ll be gentle.”

Lifting you up, he sat back and placed you on his lap, letting you set the pace. You set your hands on His shoulders to steady yourself as you lift yourself up and position him under you. He groans as you sit back down slowly, his cocking filling you all the way up to your cervix. Once you are back on his lap, he lets you get used to him for a second, kissing your neck gently.

Then he brings you back down on the bed like an animal and starts to pump into you ferociously. You scream his name as he does, feeling a sensation you have only dreamed of feeling, a feeling no other man has been able to accomplish. He pushes his lips into yours again, never stopping and never slowing down. You can start to feel yourself losing control again. Your eyes flutter shut as your nails dig into his back, high pitched moans leaving your mouth uncontrollably. He moans loudly once and slams his cock so deep into you, you thought you might break. Your walls tighten around him and you feel a warm sensation flow over your pussy.

You feel his arms shaking as he stands still for a second, holding onto the moment. You relax your head back into your pillow as he slides out of your and rolls onto the other side of the bed, in a long sigh.

“Fuck baby,” he breaths, “your talents never cease to amaze.”

Chapter Six

@amryan8 @rin-rue

#Avengers #captian america #steve rogers #steve rogersxreader #smut #fanfic

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calzona-ga · 7 years ago

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Grey's Anatomy heats up in firefighter-set spin-off — first look | EW

Shondaland’s stake in Seattle is expanding with a Grey’s Anatomy spin-off set at a nearby firehouse — and EW has the exclusive first look!

Jokingly referred to as Blaze Anatomy, the still-unnamed offshoot focuses on first responders whose high-stakes rescues have more drama than Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital. “Our hero characters aren’t just saving lives, they’re putting their own lives at risk,” says showrunner Stacy McKee.

The 10-episode drama follows a team — including father figure Captain Pruitt Herrera (Miguel Sandoval), charismatic charmer Jack (Grey Damon), and leading lady Andy Herrera (Jaina Lee Ortiz), whom McKee calls an “emotional anchor” for the show — as they complete 24-hour shifts. Grey’s regular Ben Warren (Jason George) launches the new series in March when he trades his scrubs for a spot in the firehouse. How much will the spin-off then cross over with the flagship? Get all the details from McKee below. (Check back later for more first look photos and our Q&A with Jason George.)

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: Does the Grey’s spin-off have an actual name yet? STACY McKEE: [Laughs] Nope, not yet! We don’t have a name. You should see the bulletin board in my office. We have hundreds of Post-its on it with possible names. It’s pretty fantastic.

I heard a temporary name jokingly being thrown around on set is Blaze Anatomy. As a joke.

What was the first germ of an idea to do a firefighter-set spin-off of Grey’s? I knew that I wanted to find a show that could match Grey’s in stakes, intensity, and tone. I wanted something where we could be laughing, and crying, and throwing things at our television all in the same episode. I always want to tell stories from characters first, so I just loved this idea of having some kind of big, awesome, hilarious, sometimes dysfunctional work family, and the fire station just seemed to work as a really natural setting for that. Plus, it’s an extension of the existing Grey’s Anatomy world. I mean, how many times have we seen first responders in the background rushing into the breezeway, dropping off patients and leaving? This way, we just get the chance to jump back into the rig with them and drive away.

How do you feel the spin-off is thematically and tonally either similar or different from Grey’s? The show is different from Grey’s because our hero characters aren’t just saving lives, they’re also putting their own lives at risk in the process. The very nature of their jobs will put these characters out into the streets, on location, immersed in their patients’ lives in a way that’s a lot more visceral and a little bit more messy. It isn’t the perfectly draped body in an OR. They’re responding to a patient on-sight, the scene of an accident, their homes, it’s just a different energy. There’s no safety net there. Gosh, it’s so similar, too. As much as we’re out and enjoying all of the action, there’s just so much heart and humor, and sexy time — all of that, plus this great shot of adrenaline.

How much will the show actually cross over with Grey’s? When Private Practice did it, it was more of a major event, whereas shows from the Chicago franchise do it more weekly, but smaller cameos. Will you lean more toward that? We’ll see. I don’t know yet. We just finished shooting the pilot, so we’ll see what the crossover potential is. There’s so much, which is so great. The worlds are so rich. Because they coexist, we have the option to do it just a little or a lot. We’re open to all of those possibilities. There’s just a tremendous amount of cross-pollination that could happen. I can’t tell you how many times I would walk into the Grey’s writers’ room and would pitch some crazy, amazing patient story, and everyone would be like, “Yeah, that’s great, Stacy, but all of the cool parts of that happens off-screen. We have to treat them once they get into the hospital.” Now, with this show, I get to do all of that off-screen stuff, so to me, the possibilities for cross-pollination are limitless, because what if we could just do it all if we want?

In terms of the two writers’ rooms, are you talking to each other a lot about how you can interweave these stories moving forward? Of course. We’re throwing every idea against the wall, and it’s like spaghetti, we’ll see what sticks. What’s fantastic about this show is because it’s Grey’s Anatomy-adjacent, there’s the potential for things to connect really, really easily. With Private Practice, even if we did a crossover, we always had to build into the story that there was a change of location, because Private was located in Los Angeles and Grey’s has always been in Seattle. This show takes place in a Seattle fire station that could, in theory, be just a few blocks down from Grey Sloan Memorial. Plus, I know all the writers over at Grey’s and vice versa, so it’ll be a very symbiotic relationship.

There have been some pretty memorable patients on Grey’s, particularly the two conjoined by a pole. Would you ever consider doing flashbacks to some of those big moments we’ve seen on Grey’s over the years? I mean, maybe, it’s such a cool idea. I do now! I love it. I’m writing that down. Note to self. Hmm, interesting. I’m going to the room after this. [Laughs]

Ben Warren is moving from the flagship to the spin-off. Can you talk about how that character is the connective tissue between these two shows? Yeah, he’s definitely a lot of connective tissue. What’s really nice is that, for his character, he’s going to be so new to this whole first responder firefighter world in the same way that any of us, our diehard Grey’s Anatomy fans, will be. So if it’s new for him, it’s new for us, too, which will be a really helpful, fantastic way of storytelling. He’ll be fundamental connective tissue.

What can you tease of other characters we’ll see on the show? Oh my gosh, they’re so fantastic. I’m giddy. They’re really fun, strong, a little messed up, and completely unique in all sorts of different ways. There’s Andy Herrera, who is played by Jaina Lee Ortiz, and she’s this pretty fantastic, badass firefighter, and she’s going to be a real emotional anchor for the show. There’s going to be firefighters from all different ranks, from captain all the way down to the newest probie. It’s a firefighting team of about seven, and three of them are going to be women; we have all ethnicities, all different sexualities. But at the end of the day, it’s just a real family of characters — not necessarily related by blood, but definitely a family.

Miguel Sandoval is playing the captain, so how does he compare to some of the authority figures we have on Grey’s, like Bailey and Webber? Oh yeah, he’s definitely a bit of a father figure to this whole group of misfits in the station.

What does being set in a firehouse afford the show to do that you may not have been able to do at Grey Sloan? We get to go to the accident, we get to run into the fire. There’s just this opportunity for so much more action, stunts and big set pieces like that, which is really, really fun. And a firefighter shift is literally 24 hours long, so you have these characters who are both working together — saving lives together and saving each other’s lives together — and living together for a minimum of 24 hours at a time, so they’re all up in each other’s business. Plus, we get to ride on firetrucks, which is everybody’s dream. I mean, don’t you want to ride a firetruck? It’s the best!

What kind of consultants do you have on this show compared to Grey’s? We basically have the equivalent of that, but for firefighting. We have firefighters and EMTs, who are both on set and consulting on the creative side, so we have a tremendous amount of resources in that way. We’ve also been in communication with firehouses both in Los Angeles and in Seattle, because some of the firefighting specifics are regional, so we’ve been trying to make sure that what we do is Seattle specific.

So a lot of rain then? [Laughs] Well, as much as you can do when you’re filming in L.A.

Grey’s has been hinting at Ben’s decision to change jobs, but how will the show really start to introduce this spin-off as we head into the back half of the season before its launch? Yes, they’ve definitely been setting the stage for Ben on Grey’s this season, and a little later this season, there will be an episode where we’ll actually get to meet one of the characters from the spin-off, just as a story within the episode. It’ll be Jaina’s character, Andy Herrera, and it’s going to be such a fun, fantastic introduction to her character. It will also showcase a really lovely story for Ben, where we get to just juxtapose his two worlds and see his reaction as he transitions from one world to the next. We’re actually shooting it right now. It’s going to be so good.

Ben has been training for this, but how might he struggle taking on this new profession? This is Shondaland, you know we’re not going to make it easy for him ever. He’ll definitely struggle and he’ll thrive. My goal is for him to have ups and downs, and to experience things that just give him such an adrenaline rush, and help him get so excited, and then in the next breath, he’ll face things that will rock him to his core. If we can do that for Ben, and then go on that journey with him, it’s going to be a pretty fantastic ride.

When it was announced that Jason was moving to the spin-off, a lot of fans thought that would spell bad news for Ben and Bailey. Do you want to give fans some hope? I don’t think anyone should feel hopeless.

Grey’s Anatomy is in season 14 and just hit its 300th episode. Is that added pressure in launching this show, or less considering this strong foundation? I don’t think about the pressure at all. I mean, I was there at Grey’s, I was an assistant on the pilot, I started as a writer in season 1, I was there for almost every one of those 300 episodes, so truly all I feel right now is excitement. I’m just so thrilled about this show and it moving forward and how it can connect to Grey’s and how it’s just an extension of the universe to me. I’m just geeked out. I’m basically a fan first and a writer second, and I just think it’s going to be fantastic.

The Grey’s Anatomy spin-off will first launch in an episode of the flagship slated for March before debuting sometime in the spring. Check back later for more first look photos and our Q&A with Jason George.

#Grey's Anatomy Spinoff #Stacy McKee #ben warren #Meredith Grey #EW

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theresnosafeharbor4myships · 7 years ago

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December 8, Christmas Caryl

a sweet and quiet fic from a few years ago (also on 9L)

Time Alone

He’d woken her up not 20 minutes ago, long before dawn and any other member of their family would rise, and asked her to dress and come with him. He wouldn’t tell her where, but she trusted him implicitly—with everything from her weapon and her secrets to her heart and her life—so she climbed out of bed, a bit reluctant to leave the cocoon of warmth behind. Daryl nodded at her once before heading downstairs, and she shuffled to the bathroom to freshen up.

Carol pulled a pair of dark brown cargo pants, a deep red, long-sleeved shirt, and a zip-up black sweatshirt from the dresser and changed. Something told her they wouldn’t be staying within the walls today, so she slipped her feet into her boots, a sense of strength filling her as she laced them. She’d missed the sturdiness of their soles, the sure-footedness she experienced when wearing them—unlike the loafers she’d donned since arriving at Alexandria, which reminded her entirely too much of her life Before.

She secured her knuckle knife on her belt and went downstairs, snagging a fleece jacket from the front hall closet.

“You ‘bout ready?”

She turned around, slipping the jacket on over her layers. “Yep. You?”

He nodded, and they quietly slipped out the front door.

It only took a few seconds for the chill of winter to seep through her clothes, but Carol followed Daryl silently to the side yard and waited patiently as he walked his motorcycle out into the open. She closed the gate behind him, noting a small duffle tied to the back of his bike.

“We’ll start it when we get outside the walls,” he explained.

She nodded and pulled her jacket tighter around her, sinking her hands deep into the pockets and matching him step for step.

The slivered moon cast little light on their path, but they’d spent too many nights in the shadows of the woods, without a home, to let that worry them.

Carol’s gaze roamed the shadows around them and the street ahead, and she knew Daryl did the same. But Alexandria was quiet. No lights graced the windows of the homes they passed; nothing stirred. A part of Carol wanted to stay inside the walls, pretend the world of walkers and madmen and starvation and danger could remain outside the haven they’d stumbled into, if only for a little while longer. But another part of her, a larger part, desperately desired the open road, the honesty of survival, the familial bond with those she’d come to love with her heart and soul.

Sasha’s voice echoed down at them as they approached the gate.

“Goin’ out. Be back tonight,” Daryl promised.

“Got weapons?” she queried.

“A few. Enough.”

“Be careful,” Sasha warned.

“Got a talkie if you need us.”

An Alexandrian whose name slipped Carol’s mind opened the gate for them, and they stepped free of the compound. Neither of them turned around as they walked down the road.

Once they’d passed the hollowed out homes lining the entry to Alexandria, Daryl stopped and she took point as he started the bike. The rumble sounded like gunfire in the silence of the pre-dawn. Before long, the dead would be converging on the spot, but they’d be gone by then. Still, she stood at the ready, hand on the hilt of her knife.

“Come on,” he drawled, and she turned to see his long, lean legs straddling the bike, his body far back from the handles.

Her eyes flicked to his, his expression nearly imperceptible in the dark.

“I taught you before,” he said gently when she didn’t move. “I’ll be right here.”

She remembered the one lesson she’d had, a rare, easy afternoon at the prison. They’d been checking the vehicles for gas and oil levels, and she’d surprised him with her “dipstick knowledge,” a phrase they’d found exceedingly amusing and had begun using for any number of things, including some of their friends at times. But the motorcycle was the one thing she knew nothing about. He seemed eager to educate her, and she loved learning. Loved even more that he was a kind and patient teacher, his voice slow and easy, his words carefully chosen, his hands gentle in their guidance. After he’d given her “dipstick knowledge” of the bike, he’d cajoled her on to it and walked her through the steps to starting and shifting it.

“Go on,” he’d encouraged when the lesson was over. “Give it a try.”

The bike roared to life under her, and she prepared to take off.

“Remember….easy,” Daryl’s voice found her ear, his body close as he oversaw her steps.

The bike jerked under her and away from him, and her heart pounded wildly with fear and adrenaline. She halted it harshly, unsure how to proceed.

“Easy,” he coached gently, and relief flooded her that he was next to her again. “Here.” His hand at her back encouraged her to move up on the seat, and she slid forward a bit, making room for him behind her.

Her heart clamored wildly, and this time not from the bike’s unexpected movement.

Daryl was pressed against her. The muscled wall of his chest against her back, his thighs hugging her hips, his head next to hers with that sexy voice in her ear, his arms aligned with hers.

She swallowed hard, followed the honey-voiced instructions he murmured, and suddenly they were off. It was rough at first, her unskilled hands weaving a bit as she tried not to focus on the heat of his body and to remember which handle did what, but a few moments later they were puttering around the yard. He instructed her to stop, then to go again.

Finally, she came to a stop on her own and turned off the bike. “Did good,” Daryl enthused as he slid out from behind her.

For all that she’d been nervous about his proximity, she instantly missed the feel of him against her. Warm. Protective. Gentle. It’d been a long time since she’d enjoyed the comfort of a man’s touch.

“Except for the take-off.”

“Nah, it happens. You were great.”

She beamed under his approval. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if she could try again sometime, but then Carl was calling for her, and she mumbled a thanks, and headed up to the cell block, face flushed and heart racing.

“Come on. Ain’t got all day.”

Daryl’s teasing voice pulled her back to reality, and she smiled at his self-deprecation. With the raise of an eyebrow, she lifted one leg and eased it over the bike, settling onto the seat and wiggling provocatively against him.

“Grrr,” he growled into her ear. “We got a ways to go yet—“

“Mmm, I hope so,” she purred, leaning back against him fully.

“Ain’t what I meant,” he chuckled, and he tenderly but forcefully set her away from him. “Least not right now. We gotta get outta here.”

“What do you expect when you wake me up in the middle of the night? Usually you wanna—”

“Shhhh,” he hissed, leaning into her, pressing her forward to grip the bike handles.

Carol settled into the grip and took control of the bike, easing it forward more gently than the last time they’d ridden together.

“Smooth,” his voice rumbled in her ear. She smiled to herself and sped up a bit.

It felt good to be out on the road. She hadn’t realized how truly claustrophobic Alexandria made her until this moment, how stuffy the grandma clothes felt, how caustic the whole ruse was. The instant shift to freedom, to being alone—being herself—with Daryl, the crisp freeze of the wind on her face, taking control of the bike, the obnoxiously loud rumble of the contraption taking them away from the quiet cage that momentarily kept them safe.

She turned down the roads he instructed, and she estimated they’d been gone for at least half an hour when he finally asked her to slow down.

They pulled into a dirt driveway, and he guided them through the overgrowth into a small clearing where a cabin sat. Carol eased the bike to a stop and turned off the engine.

“Found this place a while back,” Daryl offered by way of explanation. Together they sat on the bike in the silence of the woods and stared at the small home. Two steps led up to the porch where a double bench stood beneath a wide, curtained window.

The place seemed decent considering how long ago the world had gone to hell, and she wondered how many people had found shelter within the humble home.

Daryl kissed her shoulder. “Let’s go inside.”

He swung one leg over the back of the bike, and she instantly felt the loss of his body heat, though one hand rested on her back. She climbed off the bike and started for the cabin.

The deep green curtains were too thick to see though, so she pulled her knife from her hip and waited for Daryl to catch up. He’d slung his crossbow over one shoulder and now carried the bag she’d noticed on the back of the bike.

They opened the door and peered into the one-room cabin, finding it empty. Moving inside, Carol secured the front while Daryl checked the back door.

A couch angled away from the fireplace on both sides, and plaid blankets laid askew over the backs of them. A few bar stools sat at the kitchen counter, but the rest of the home was sparse: one end-table, one lamp, a small, near-empty bookshelf, a threadbare weave-rug in front of the fireplace. The place had been ransacked but was still in decent condition.

Dawn was beginning to peak, but the curtains didn’t allow light. Daryl set the bow and bag down by the door and surprised her by pulling out matches and lighting the candles she hadn’t noticed before but were placed strategically around the room.

“Daryl...? What is this?”

He didn’t answer, instead focusing wholly on his task of adding light and warmth to the room. When he finished, he tossed the matchbook on the bar and came to stand in front of her. He reached for her hands and held them in his own.

“It’s Christmas Eve, ya know.”

“I know. The kids told me Olivia’s been keepin’ track. They asked me to cook for tomorrow—I”

“Someone else can do it,” he told her, a hint of frustration underlying his tone. “You never get a rest. Hell, neither of us do. So…thought I’d create one for us. Brought food. I just miss—” He stopped abruptly, and she saw the pink tinge his cheeks. “Miss spendin’ time with you. The real you. My Carol.”

She’d need to be blind not to see how much he loved her, how much of a toll the farce she played in the compound was taking on him. On them. “I’m here,” she promised, sliding her hands up his arms and around his neck. “Every night you come home to me. Every night you wake me up with that devilish mouth of yours.”

“I love that. You know I do.” He traced his fingers along her forehead and down her cheek, pushing her hair away from her face. “But I just miss...bein’ with you.” He cupped her cheek, gazing longingly at her. “Wanna spend Christmas Eve with me?”

Tears pricked her eyes. “I’d love nothing better,” she assured him, voice strained with emotion.

He kissed her then, tenderly, sweetly, imbued with the love he could only show her in their bedroom while in Alexandria.

“You planned this, huh?” she asked, impressed.

“Had to get you outta there before the masses needed you. Been plannin’ for weeks,” he admitted. He moved to one of the couches, his hand in hers tugging her along with him. He settled into the corner of the couch, and she plopped down next to him, sidling up close.

“Happy Christmas,” he breathed into her hair, placing a kiss atop her head.

She sighed contentedly. “It really is.”

#caryl fanfiction #carol x daryl #daryl x carol #christmas caryl #caryl #caryl fanfic #christmas caryl 2017 #personal

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rfsak2 · 7 years ago

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Cactus, Part XVII

This took some time to write! Sorry about that. Make sure to hit that little heart to tell me you like it. Also requests are always open, so if there’s something you want to see, holla!

Cactus, Part XVII Summary: Power Couple. The Styles Warnings: None, I think. Some anxiety.

Before we conclude our list of Cosmo’s Top Ten Power Couples of 2021, we thought it only right to include a notable mention, an up-and-comer so to speak. May we present: The Styles.

While we are aware that they are by no means new to the game, both having been active in the music industry for a decade now, Harry and Jamie are a good deal younger than most of the other couples on our list, clocking in at 27 and 26 respectively, and we’re excited to see how they stand the test of time. Married for over two years now (together for nearer to five, we’ve been told) and expecting their first child, the Styles are music and fashion royalty, each very successful in their respective careers.

Harry is of course one-fourth of mega-band One Direction, a successful solo artist in his own right and one of the world’s sexiest men. The band’s most recent album swept the 2021 Grammy’s and their tour has generated multi-millions of dollars in profit. Jamie is one of the top guitarists in the English-speaking music world with roughly 400 writing credits to her name and is an integral part of three successful bands. It is reported that she charges top-dollar for her work and it has been rumored that she bought her now famous tricked-out Jeep Wrangler with the commission earned on a single album.

Styles is of course known also for his iconic fashion sense, credited with the veritable phoenix-like rise of the glam rocker. Known for a delightfully zany collection of custom Gucci suits and a love for a well-made Chelsea boot that is only surpassed, hopefully, by his love for his wife, Harry has indeed proven that unconventional doesn’t mean unattractive.

Jamie is no peahen, however, content to let her peacock show her up. Our girl is a sexy, little rocker who favors a feminine aesthetic with a distinct edge, featuring classic silhouettes in fun and surprising colors and fabrics. She is an avowed disciple of colorful, retro-inspired label Alice + Olivia, having recently purchased a custom maternity wardrobe, complete with leather and suede trousers, from the label, and is said to own an impressive Louboutin collection.

While arguably already a power couple, we hope that they will age like fine wine and that we will be adding them to the ranks in years to come.

“Tired, lovely?”

She nodded and laid her head on Anne’s shoulder. “Exhausted. I think adrenaline may have masked my pregnancy symptoms while we were touring.” She smiled. “Now all of a sudden, my back hurts and my feet are swelling and all I can think about is what the nursery should look like.”

Anne patted her thigh. “Well, I guess it’s lucky that you’re done touring. Can take a break now, yeah?”

Jamie sighed and rubbed her hand over her belly. “There’s so much to do now though. We’ve done zero shopping, except for the antique Spanish guitar we found couple of months ago. I haven’t even thought about birth plans or Lamaze or anything-”

Anne grabbed her hand and shushed her, smoothing over the creeping panic. “Shh, lovely. It’ll be just fine. You, Gemma and I can do all the shopping we need to here in Manchester or in London. By the time you’re ready to go back to LA, we can have everything done, yeah? No need to fret, my love.”

She took a deep breath, her chest still tight and hot. “So you don’t think I’m a horrible mother… t-that-” She took a deep breath and tried to calm down before she had a full-blown meltdown. “You don’t think that I’ve neglected my pregnancy for my career or… or-”

“No.” Anne shook her head and rubbed her thumb over the back of Jamie’s hand. “No, I don’t think that and no, you aren’t a bad mother. You’re a busy working mummy who has taken excellent care of herself and her baby despite being the literally busiest mumma ever. Seriously, Jamie, you completed a world tour with one of the biggest bands on the planet with no problems. That’s impressive for a single woman much less a married mum.

“You are the healthiest I’ve ever seen you and little Evie Stevie is healthy and strong and honestly was there anything more important for you to have been focusing on these past six months? Nurseries and Lamaze and birth plans can be done and taken care of in the matter of a couple of hours. So don’t fret, we’ll make a list and get it sorted.”

Head, still on Anne’s shoulder, she nodded. “Alright.” She sat up and smiled. “Alright.”

“Yeah?” Anne smiled. “Let’s get started on the nursery.”

Jamie smiled as she heard the front door open. “We should probably wait until Haz gets back. He’ll be sad if we don’t seem to value his aesthetic opinion.”

“Seem to value?”

She let her head drop back against the couch and smiled. “Did I stutter?”

Harry grinned and bent forward to kiss her. “I love yeh.”

“Love you too.”

He grinned and pressed his hand against the swell of her belly. “And I love you, Evie Stevie.” He paused waiting for some sign from Evie that she was awake and paying attention. “Never cooperates for daddy.” He shook his head and kissed Jamie’s hair. “Just like her mother already. How are yeh, monster?” He kissed her forehead. “Feelin’ good?”

She nodded. “I feel fine. We’re gonna start working on the nursery, if you want to join us.”

He nodded and lifted a bag over the back of the couch. “Sure. I have something for you first.”

She pulled out a black t-shirt and shook it out. Printed across the front in big white block letters were three lines: ‘WIFE. MOTHER. BOSS.”

She giggled and smiled back at him. “I love it. Thank you.” She reached up and brought him down for another kiss.

“I knew you would like it... “ He grinned against her lips and dropped another bag gently in her lap. “So I got you another one.”

She threw her head back and laughed, before digging yet another shirt out of the bag. This one was white and across the chest it read: ‘Anything you can do I can do pregnant and in heels.’

She snickered as he walked around the couch to kiss his mum.

“Hello, mum.”

“Hello, my dear.”

He took the seat on her far side and tapped her shoulder. “Turn ‘round, love. I’ll give you a back rub while we look at stuff for the nursery.”

She turned, passing the second shirt to Anne so she could see it. “What room are we turning into the nursery, baby?”

Harry massaged gently at her lower back and shrugged. “The office I don’t use anyway? It’s conveniently located right down the hall from our bedroom. Makes everythin’ a bit easier, don’t yeh think?”

She grinned at Anne. “But where would I hide all your presents?”

He hit an especially tight spot and she moaned. “In the nursery, I’d imagine.”

She smiled at him over her shoulder. “We can move your office upstairs.”

He shook his head. “No need. When was the last time I actually used it? We both tend to work out of the studio. Don’t need an office.” He leaned forward to kiss her shoulder.

She smiled. “That’s settled then.”

“We’ll need to have it repainted. It’s dark.”

“That leads to the next question, then. What colors?”

Harry kneaded at her back again. “What’re yeh thinkin’? Are we still thinking gender neutral?”

Anne smiled. “Yellow could be very pretty. Soft.”

Jamie nodded and leaned back against Harry’s chest. “Like an antique yellow? I like yellow.”

“With gray and white?” Harry pressed a kiss to her hair and cradled her belly in his huge hands. “We could have someone do a mural on the wall of little cherubs and angels.”

All but squealing, Jamie leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Oh! That’s perfect. The yellow could be like sunshine-” She sniffled and lifted her hands to her face. “Shit! Why am I crying?”

Harry chuckled and lifted one hand to wipe gently at her cheeks. “T’s the hormones, love.” Suddenly, Evie kicked against the hand still settled against her belly and he gasped. “Evie Stevie, yer awake!” He pressed gently at her skin, while Jamie wiped away a couple more tears.

“Say hello to daddy, pretty girl.”

They both giggled as Evie pressed back against Harry’s fingers. Jamie grabbed Harry’s other hand and pressed it high on her belly where she could feel Evie’s hand. Harry buried his face in her neck and chuckled wetly against her skin. “There’s my baby girl. Yeh playin’ with daddy, poppet?” He chased Evie’s hand across Jamie’s belly before glancing up at his mum with tears in his eyes. “Never gonna get ova this, I swear.”

Jamie reached back and ran her fingers through his hair, before turning slightly to kiss at his tears.

Settling into her wicker chair, Jamie resigned herself to simply watching the chaos around her unfold.

Well, ‘resigned’ was strong. This was going to be hysterical. It would just be some much more fun if she could drink with everyone.

At least Harry promised to keep her company on sober island.

Lola, ecstatic in her godmother role (‘You shitting me? I’m going to be the godmother of Harry fuckin’ Styles’ baby?’), had already succeeded at making Mitch very uncomfortable (arguably achieved at their last meeting a year ago) and seemed to be trying to exhaust the last of the quiet man’s patience.

He downed the rest of his beer and Jamie snickered.

“Wha’?”

She accepted Harry’s chaste kiss and pointed to Lola and Mitch. He grinned and passed her a cup of iced berry tea, sitting in a conveniently placed chair next to her wicker throne. “Those two are gonna be hysterical.”

She smiled and sipped at her tea. “At least she’s already married and they live almost a day away from each other. Otherwise, Mitch’d never get a moment’s peace.”

She heard voices being raised and turned to see Louis, Niall and Liam caught in a passionate argument with her cousins.

“How many football arguments did you bet would happen?”

Harry leaned around her to watch. “I said no one would start an argument with me, not that there wouldn’t be any arguments.”

She snorted and rubbed a hand over her belly. “Your daddy is a clever one, Evie. Very good with loopholes.”

Harry grinned and leaned over to kiss her, hand covering hers on her stomach. “My girls.”

“Your girls.” She pecked his lips and caught a glimpse of her mom and her sisters clustered in a corner, giggling at each other. “What are they doing?”

Harry turned over his shoulder and she swore they all melted. Sighing, Jamie looked at the suspicious liquid in their pink baby bottles. “They’ve broken into the tequila.”

“You think so?” Harry chuckled into his fist and then smiled and waved, watching as four grown women giggled like little school girls.

“They’re probably hypothesizing on the size of your dick right now.” Her Aunt Linda made a vague motion with her hands and her Aunt Josephine pulled something up on her phone. “Now they’re looking up old 1D videos. Good thing Eleanor, Cheryl and Mitzi are all here. They won’t flirt too much with the boys. Where’s your mum and Gemma?”

“With Nick, who also looks to have broken into the tequila.” Harry snickered.

“We’re gonna play games now!” Lola turned to shout, whacking Mitch’s shoulder lightly, who simply widened his eyes at Harry and mouthed ‘help me’.

Harry nabbed another chair and patted it. Mitch all but ran only barely beating Nick there.

Nick stood behind Harry and grinned, thumbs up around a baby bottle. “Mate, they drink at baby showers here… out of baby bottles.”

Harry nodded and pointed to a chair. “Yeah, ‘know, mate. Sit?”

“Gather around. Gather around.” Lola went to stand at Jamie’s opposite side. “First let’s play guess the belly size! Fairly straight-forward, you’re gonna tear off a piece of crepe paper ribbon approximatin’ how big our darlin’ reina is. Harry’s not allowed to play because I’m sure he’d win. Winner gets a prize, loser gets shamed for the rest of their lives.” Harry leaned over to talk to Mitch and Nick and was interrupted. “Harry is also not allowed to help anyone.”

“I swear I wasn’t!” Harry held up his hands.

Lola nodded decisively. “Good and before you get any ideas Mitch: You’re playing. That’s your god-daughter in there so man up and pick up a piece of ribbon.”

Jamie made a face. “It’s fine if he-”

“No it isn’t.” Jamie mouthed ‘sorry’ at Mitch as Lola passed both Jamie and Harry a clipboard. “Fill these out. Don’t peek at each other’s answers.”

Jamie made a big show out of hiding her answers and Harry giggled. “Monster, what’s the answer to number 3?”

“42.”

One of her little cousins giggled and she winked at her.

Mitch ended up winning and while neither Lola or Jamie was sure just how, they were both convinced Harry had helped him. He also just happened to pick the prize holding the promise of two free movie tickets.

Harry grinned and offered his hand for a high-five. “Redeemable in LA, Mitchy.”

“Wanna go and watch a movie with me, bro?”

Jamie shot Harry a look and whispered so Lola couldn’t hear. “Your daddy is a cheater, Evie Stevie, and Mitchy is even worse.”

Harry pouted at her. “Didn’t cheat, love.”

“Uh-huh.” She shook her head at them and turned to regard Lola as she began to introduce the next game. “Be glad I didn’t tell her.”

“This game is called the Newlywed Game. We’re gonna see who knows the other better. Now they aren’t necessarily newlyweds, but considering they effin’ eloped, we decided as a family that this needed to happen.” Lola smiled at them as the family laughed and Harry shrugged, unconcerned. “There are no prizes in this game. This is just for shits and giggles.”

“And bragging rights.” Jamie shifted in her seat and glared at Ryan, who snickered. “Bragging rights are very important and I intend to win.”

Harry snickered and reached out to grab her hand. “We shall see, monster. We shall see.”

Lola pretended to gag. “So cute.” She motioned to two chairs in the center of their family. “Take a seat and get your white board ready.”

Harry helped her out of her chair and together hand in hand, they walked to their seats.

Jamie smiled. “Just to be clear on the rules… I’m supposed guess what his answer is, right?” She looked up Lola. “And he’s gonna try to guess what I wrote, right?”

Lola nodded. “First question: What do you find most physically attractive about your spouse?”

Jamie snorted and scribbled something on her white board. “Good luck, baby.”

“Don’t need it, love.”

Lola rolled her eyes. “Reveal your answers.”

After reading his answer, Jamie snorted. “You were supposed to write what you thought my answer was.”

He frowned. “I did.” He read her answer and frowned. “Do you really think-”

Lola tutted. “They’re both wrong… shocking. Harry wrote down that Jamie is most physically attracted to his chest/shoulders. Jamie’s answer was his hands.”

“My hands?” Harry made a face. “What?”

Jamie shrugged. “You’re a very attractive man, baby. It’s very hard to choose just one thing.”

“Jamie is also wrong. She wrote down boobs, Harry’s actual answer was her smile.”

Her family aww’d and she snorted. “You big sap.” She ‘whispered,’ “We both know I’m right.”

“You said hands…”

“So? You have beautiful hands. I’m sure I’ve said that before.”

“What is it about your spouse that makes them perfect for you?”

Jamie made a face. “Really? Huh…”

“Do you not know?” Lola looked smug. “Some wife you are.”

“Yeah!” Harry chuckled.

“I know my husband. There are about five answers to that question.”

“Humble.”

She elbowed Harry and scribbled something down. “I also know that he’s gonna lose this game.”

“So far, no one is winning, love.” He grinned and wrote down his answer.

“But I will.”

They turned their boards around and Lola smiled. “Okay. So… Harry’s answer is: ‘He listens.’” She looked down at the answers. “And he’s right. Jamie’s exact answer was: ‘he listens and remembers, no matter how mundane the conversation is.’”

Jamie leaned up and kissed his cheek.

“Jamie’s answer is… right. Sort of. She wrote: ‘She doesn’t judge.’ Harry’s exact answer was: ‘She supports unconditionally supportive.’ We are still tied up.”

“Next Question: What is your spouse’s most-repeated sentence or phrase? Do you find this irritating?”

“Harry, please come sit, baby.” Jamie held her hand out over the back of the couch, other hand massaging at the tight skin of her abdomen.

“Yer in labor. We need to go to hospital. Now.”

She shook her head and beckoned him closer. “I’m not in active labor yet, please come sit, Haz.”

He shook his head and continued rummaging through their pregnancy ‘go’ bag. “Yer in pain, love. We’re goin’.”

“They’re just gonna send us home, baby. I still probably have about an hour before they can do anythin’. I’d rather send that hour sitting on our couch in our house then in a hospital… regardless of how nice that suite is.” She started breathing through her nose as another, relatively mild contraction hit.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the checklist. “The hell they’re gonna send us home.”

“I want you to come cuddle with me, Haz.”

“Can’t. Gotta make sure we have everything.”

“You’ve already checked it twice today. We have everything, baby.” The security system beeped, indicating someone at the gate, and she stood, rolling her eyes as he ignored them.

“Sit.”

“No.” She walked right past him, hand low on her belly. He grumbled and she smiled as his hand slid up her side, his other hand cupping her elbow.

“You should be sitting.”

She turned slightly to press a kiss to his cheek. “Walking feels good and it’ll help hurry this up. I’m ready to have a baby.”

He chuckled and she reached up to hit the intercom button. “Hello?”

“Hey. It’s Lola. I’ve got your moms, Gemma and Dante with me… And Niall and Mitch just pulled in behind us… Oh and behind Niall I think I see Liam and Louis as well… What do they drive?”

Jamie cast a look at Harry over her shoulder. “You invited everyone, didn’t you?”

He blushed and pushed the call button. “Do you see Nick? Or Jeff, James and Ben?”

“No Nick for sure. Jeff may be in the car behind maybe-Louis. Wait the gate is opening.”

Jamie smiled. “Then that’s definitely Jeff. See you in a bit.”

“Okay, mama.”

She turned and shook her head at Harry. “We should order food.”

“I figured they could stay here when we go to t’hospital.” He grinned awkwardly. “Thought it might be nice to have people in the house when we come home.”

She wrapped her arms around him as best she could. “Y’know there is always the chance that we’ll be at the hospital overnight… if not a full day afterward.”

He pressed his lips to her hair and shrugged. “There’s plenty of room here.”

“The sheets are clean?”

He nodded. “Had the cleaning service take care of it.”

“Okay.” There was a knock on the front door and they both went to greet their guests.

Her mom was the first person she saw and Jamie smiled, opening up her arms. “Hey momma.”

Angelica wrapped herself around her daughter as well as possible. “M’hija’s havin’ a baby, today!” She cupped Jamie’s face in her hands. “How are you feelin’, baby?”

“Good.” Her resulting wince ratted her out and Jamie looked down at her phone.

“Are they coming closer together?”

Making a so-so motion, she turned to kiss Anne’s cheek. “Has your water broken, lovely?”

“Nope.” Gemma wrapped her up in a hug and Jamie smiled. “Hey, Auntie Gem.”

“Hello, mummy!”

It, in fact, took two hours for her labor to progress to ‘go-to-hospital’ and Jamie had to admit that having their incredibly large extended ‘family’ had been an excellent idea. Having the boys around kept Harry calm and their mothers had immediately went into ‘get-it-sorted’ mode collaborating with Jeff to get food for the next couple of meals ordered in a manner of seconds.

Calm and secure in the fact that everything was taken care of, Harry had finally come over and sat down next to her, sitting behind her so she could lean back against his chest.

They made it to the hospital without incident (she’d been secretly terrified that her water would break all over the leather seats in Harry’s Rover). They pulled into a private entrance and were met by her doula. As she stepped out of the Rover, Harry on one side, Dante on the other.

Almost in time with the closing door, she felt a pop and then a gush of water. She groaned and Harry’s hand tightened around hers.

“Are yeh okay, love?”

She nodded. “Water broke.” She lifted her head and smiled. “That is incredibly gross.”

The doula, a grey-haired, older woman, smiled and tutted. “Part of childbirth, honey. Let’s get you in a wheelchair.”

Jamie went to argue only to be cut off by a much stronger contraction. “Okay… Yeah. Wheelchair please.”

Hours later, well after five the next morning, her doula settled a clean, swaddled little body against her chest and Jamie immediately started laughing breathlessly, tears gathering in her eyes.

“Hello, pretty girl.” Jamie pressed a kiss to her forehead. “My little Evie Stevie Styles.”

Harry gasped behind her shoulder. “Holy shit. She’s beautiful.” He kissed her shoulder and she felt hot tears on her skin as his hand passed into her line of sight. He smoothed a thumb over the back of her hand. “Hello, Evangeline.”

Jamie leaned back and caught Harry’s lips. “We have a baby.” “Thank you.” He smiled brilliantly and she leaned back enough to cup his cheek in one hand. “Thank you so much.” He kissed her again. “I love you so much.”

A Blurb Up Next: Part XVIII

#harry styles #harry styles/reader #harry styles/oc #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic

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