#i saw the image of the keyboard on my pinned and i was immediately like THIS IS THE ONE

[wolfiesmoon]

I LOVE THE NEW THEME & COLOR PALETTE!! <33

AAHHHAHAH THANKS I'M SO SO GLAD U THINK SO

[lsvdw-blog]

Not a Minute More: Part 2

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings; Rating: Mentions of a cyberattack, Angst; Teen+

Premise: MC's perspective on the day that rocks Ethan to his core and threatens to change his life.

Author’s Note: I was going to wait to post this, but I'm loving the flood of content we're getting rn, so I thought I'd hop on too. I cried writing this... I'm so sorry 😭. Part 1 here. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading 💖

~ Monday, 8:20am ~

"Good morning, Mike!" Serena greets the security guard right inside the door.

"Hey! How are ya? How's that Dr. Ramsey?"

"We're both doing well, thanks! How about you and the family?" She asks as she puts her phone in a cubby and unplugs the Wi-Fi enabler from her laptop.

"It was the wife and I's anniversary this weekend! We went to Martha's vineyard and saw the most beautiful proposal! You and Dr. R gonna get going on that soon? Aly has been talking about going to y'alls wedding since she met ya!" Mike gives a playful wink.

"Oh, congratulations! That's wonderful and send Aly my best wishes. But you'll have to talk to E on that one," she laughs before opening the door to a stairwell that leads to a classified area.

After keying in her pin, the door clicks open. She grabs a static protection lab coat, walks through the entrance, and is met with a plethora of state-of-the-art equipment. Floor-to-ceiling grey switch panels, curved monitors as far as the eye can see, and countless probes, clips, and wires.

She walks over to a few familiar faces. “Good morning! How’s it going?”

“Nice of you to finally join us! Dr. Ramsey keep you this morning?” Isla, one of the engineers, jests.

“I saw your check-in on the monitor — you walked in two minutes before me!”

“Those diagnostic skills at work, I see,” Isla retorts and they both laugh.

Isla had become a fast and faithful friend since Serena joined the project. They bonded quickly over both being minorities in the world of science and supported each other in every work facet. They had lunch together everyday and gradually, their work bond grew into a personal friendship as well. They’ve become so close that Isla now also regularly spends time with the original Edenbrook gang.

“Alright, enough chit chat. Let’s get this show on the road.”

The team nods and responds, “Yes, Doctor.”

~ 12:00pm ~

Serena exits the classified area with some colleagues and they all make their way to retrieve their phones.

"No new patients. Stuck in meetings and doing paperwork. I miss you and wish you were here."

She immediately breaks out into a large grin after reading Ethan's text and hits the dial button.

"Hey, ready for lunch?" Carmen, one of the lead scientists, asks.

Serena nods and moves her phone slightly away from her ear. "Be there in a minute. You guys go ahead."

She waits for a few more rings. He’s probably busy, I’ll call again later. She hangs up and makes her way to the cafeteria.

~ 12:40pm ~

"We did all the necessary prep work this morning to begin testing after lunch. Everything is looking good. We can begin running our tests since everyone is here. Are we all ready to begin?"

"Yes."

The system engineers are sitting at connected computer stations, inputting the required credentials to start. The rest of the team is standing behind them, waiting and nervously watching the screens. After a couple minutes of tense silence with nothing but the clack clack clack of keyboard keys, Vincenzo, one of the lead engineers, speaks up.

"This is weird… we're having some trouble accessing the necessary data. Did someone put up a firewall?"

Everybody looks around at each other, shaking their heads and muttering "no."

"Isla, are you seeing this? Can you get through?"

Isla continues to type, not saying anything. After a few more seconds, she turns to look at Vincenzo with a concerned expression. "I don't recognize some of the items in our system."

Just as she finishes her sentence, everyone's attention is pulled abruptly to a wall monitor on the right as it starts showing nonsensical images and patterns. Two seconds later, an alarm goes off and a red warning light begins flashing within the building. Everyone's eyes go wide as realization dawns on them: they've been compromised and shelter-in-place has been activated.

~ 12:55pm ~

Everyone begins to evacuate the classified lab area, grabbing their phones on the way out, and peering through the one-way windows. They can occasionally hear Mike speaking rapidly into the phone with a 911 dispatcher, when he's not being drowned out by shouts from colleagues.

On the descent to the bunker, the tension is palpable. Individuals clutch onto each other, others try frantically to reach loved ones, and some are in complete disbelief and shock. As they all descend the five flights of the winding staircase to the basement, windows are no longer available, but the ceiling bulbs keep flickering on and off. Each time it happens, everyone stops in their tracks, ducks down on instinct, and picks up the pace when the lights come back on.

~ 1:15pm ~

The entrance to the Harvard labs bunker is protected by a vault door that has a counter system. When the system is in place, the door can be opened once for people to get in. Once it's been closed, it can only be opened when there's one person on either side working together — it's futile with only one person. The only other way it can be opened is by shutting down the counter system from the outside, with the correct override pin, which only a handful of the most trusted team members know.*

As the vault door comes into sight, the wheel on the outside is turned, and the door opens with a whoosh. People slowly start filing in and head towards the back. However, not everyone can stay in the safety of the bunker. In case of an emergency, the project they’re working on must be erased, to protect it from falling into the wrong hands. Certain people have been assigned particular instructions to delete specific portions.

Serena is one of them.

She's walking next to Isla and their arms are looped together. As Isla enters the bunker, Serena lets go of her arm, stopping at the threshold. Isla whips her head around.

"What are you doing?! Get in here!" She reaches for Serena’s arm.

Serena shakes her head. "I'm the only one currently here who knows the medical codes."

Isla's eyes are frantic in realization. "I'll go back with you! I'll be your lookout! You're not going alone!"

"You'll be safe here. This is my responsibility."

Serena reaches behind her neck and unclasps her gold necklace for the first time in 7 years. She grabs Isla's hand and places the jewelry into her palm, closing Isla's fingers around it.

Serena stares at their clasped hands. "In case anything happens," they both flinch at another flickering of lights. "Promise me that you'll get this to E."

Their eyes are locked now, having a silent battle: Isla begging her to stay and Serena finding the strength not to.

"Isla, promise me. Please." Serena squeezes Isla’s hand that much tighter.

Isla realizes that there's no use in fighting Serena. Risking her life to delete the project is part of the job. They all made a commitment and if the roles were reversed, Isla would be the one fighting to go back.

Isla slowly nods. "I promise, Serena. I promise. But do your best to keep yourself safe. Try and stay near the corners, away from any large equipment that could have aftershock effects, and—"

Serena shakes her slightly. "I know, Isla. We did take the same training," she smiles, trying to make a joke to lighten the mood, but Isla just stares gravely at her.

A booming sound rattles the building and Serena knows it's time to go. She gives Isla a quick hug, before pushing her backwards into the bunker. Before Isla has regained her footing, Serena has closed the bunker door with a resounding thud.

~ 1:30pm ~

On the way back to the classified area, Serena takes out her phone. Ethan hasn't returned her earlier call. Her heart is pounding and with trembling hands, she hits the call button on Ethan's contact card for the second time in less than two hours. After a few rings, his voice comes through.

"You've reached Dr. Ethan Ramsey. I apologize for missing your call. Leave a message and I'll get back to you."

Just as she’s about to start speaking, the lights go down for good. "Hey E," she tries her best to keep her voice from shaking. She puts the call on speaker, places the phone out in front of her, and turns the flashlight on. "I don't know when this will hit the news, but we're currently under cyberattack. I don't know from who or what, but they’ve already gotten into our mainframe and power supply. Everyone has sheltered-in-place and is awaiting further instructions." She takes a deep breath as she inches down a corridor.

"Everyone except me, Vincenzo, and Carmen. We’re the only three here right now trained to completely delete the project in the event something like this happened. I'm walking back to the lab as I speak."

Serena rounds a corner and the lab comes into view. Thinking about what she has to say next, silent tears stream down her face.

"Ethan, sweetheart, I need you to know that the last eight months by your side have been the absolute best eight months of my entire life. You are the light of my existence and mean everything to me." She lets out a deep breath. "I wish I could hear your voice right now… I'm really scared. But I made a commitment, so I need to go back in and finish the job. If something happens, know that you are unequivocally the love of my life and the one for me. I know we haven't talked about it yet, but know that I want to spend forever with you as your wife and have you be the father of my children." She sniffs and continues, "you would be a fantastic husband and dad."

She comes to a stop in front of the keypad located right outside the lab and swallows past the lump in her throat. "But if the universe has other plans for me, I'll be waiting for you and I can't wait to spend forever with you in the next life. This isn't how I wanted to tell you, but until next time, whenever that is, I love you so much, Ethan Jonah Ramsey, more than words could ever properly convey."

She ends the phone call with tear-filled eyes, stashes her phone on a nearby workbench, punches in her key, and enters the classified area one more time.

~~~~~~

*Disclaimer: I have no idea if Harvard labs has a bunker and if they do, what kind of door/system they utilize. This is all purely AU!

[cantgetoutofmyheda]

Omg can you write a one shot where Lexa is paid by her college peers to write love letters to their gfs/ppl they want to date. So Finn asks her to write for Clarke and it becomes a constant. Until one day clarke goes up to her and says I know its you

OKAY. So this has been sitting in my asks for like a year. There will be a few (but short-ish) parts to this. And before anyone asks, this is not based off of “The Half of It” ... but here ya go.

---

Letters

PART 1

It was Polis Record’s fault. Lexa’s atrocious week was definitely Polis Record’s fault. Had Titus not been a complete asshat of a manager and dicked the schedule around, Lexa certainly wouldn’t be having this predicament. Had Lexa’s hours not have been cut back, she wouldn’t be where she was. Had Lexa not known that her next paycheck would be half of what it normally was, she wouldn’t be writing a fake love letter to the devastatingly beautiful girl in her Astronomy class. Had Finn Collins not offered her cash to do so, she wouldn’t be writing this letter on his behalf, even though she was the one that’s had an earth-shattering crush on the recipient ever since their Freshmen orientation, four long years ago.

Let’s rewind.

“Titus, are you kidding me?” Lexa huffed at the bald-headed man who was scurrying around the break room like a headless chicken. “You did what?”

“Lexa, listen,” he tried to calm her down. “The schedule will be back to normal before you know it. I had to hire her. There wasn’t another way around it.”

She was mad. No. More than mad, “There was. But you just didn’t have the balls to tell your mistress’ best friend that you already had a full roster of people on your fucking schedule.”

“Can you keep it down!” He hissed. “This is temporary. I’m sorry. I couldn’t dock my cousin, okay? The schedule will even itself back out. You’ll be back to selling these shitty, scratched up vinyls in no time. Ride it out for two weeks, it won’t kill you.”

What he didn’t realize was that two weeks of half-pay because of shitty scheduling could actually kill her. He just didn’t realize that. There was the pressure of doing well in school, that was one thing. But there was also the pressure of doing well enough to keep her GPA high enough to keep her partial scholarship. And then the pressure of her shitty part-time job at the local record store to help make early payments to her student loans so she wouldn’t have to worry about crippling herself into debt once she figured out what to do with a fucking degree in Geology.

“Two weeks,” she warned him as she started to storm out. “This better be fixed in two weeks, Titus.”

Spoiler alert: Two weeks had come and gone, and Lexa was still screwed off of her work schedule.

“C’mon,” Finn pleaded at Lexa’s side. He had managed to weasel his way into the vestibule of Lexa’s apartment building. “I took that writing class with you last year. I know you’re good. I just need one letter. Typed. That’s it.”

She was already on the verge of a massive outburst after her conversation with Titus. The dickwad that he was, managed to screw her hours up for another week, even though he promised he wouldn’t, “This is not a good time, Finn. Seriously.”

“$200.” He stood tall in front of her. “$200 in cash right now, and all you need to do is type up a page of words that will have her vaguely interested in the person who wrote it, and that’s it. $200 right now. If you do this, then I’ll never bother you for anything again.” He scratched the back of his neck, “Listen, I just need a good way in. I can take the rest from there, okay?”

$200 was enough to cover a good portion of what she would be missing out on for the week. $200 was enough to get by. $200 was enough to get her mind to start churning.

“$300 and it’s a deal,” she tried to match his height. She straightened her back and broadened her shoulders as far as she could.

He laughed at the request, “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“You’re the one that needs me,” she reminded me.

He let out a huff and pulled another Benjamin out of his leather wallet and clumped it with the other two. “Fine,” he shook his head as he handed her the wad of cash.

Lexa nodded as she took the money. She buried the pang of guilt she felt into her pocket, alongside the earnings she just made and was ready to make way up the two flights of stairs when she felt Finn grab her arm.

“Hey,” he called out. “Wait a sec. I started a letter already, but didn’t get very far. You can just go off of this,” he handed her a folded piece of paper.

She opened it and read it aloud, “Have you ever felt like you couldn’t breathe? Like the weight of everything you’ve been carrying has amounted to this one moment in your life? Like there’s this burden placed so heavy on your chest that has left your lungs struggling for any ounce of air?”

Finn nodded as the words poured out of Lexa’s mouth. He was more than proud of what he thought was eloquently poetic. Lexa’s look of confusion went missed by him as he crossed his arms over his chest, “Pretty good, right?”

“Finn,” she deadpanned. “It sounds like you just described having the fucking Spanish Flu. I’m not using this. You sound like a serial killer.”

“What?” he yelped. “It’s poetic!”

“It’s a terrifying beginning to what’s supposed to be a love letter,” she deadpanned again. She shook her head as she finally made her way to the flight of stairs, “Give me a few days, I’ll come up with what we need.”

He rolled his eyes, “Fine. But you better make it good.”

She made it good. She made it really fucking good.

Clarke ran her fingertips over the paper as she scanned the words again. She had no idea who had left it for her—she walked into the lecture hall a few minutes early, as she normally did, and saw an envelope pinned to the corkboard with “Clarke” scribbled on it. She looked around, wanted to see if anyone in particular was looking in her direction. It was the usual suspects that always got to class a little bit early. Monty, the one who was always quiet in class but loudest at the neighborhood bar during happy hour. Echo, the girl who always sat in the back row and snoozed as soon as the professor opened her mouth. Finn, the boy who always found a way to have an uncalled for argument with the professor. Lexa, the one who was always in the front row and tended to herself.

Not a single one of them was paying her a piece of mind, so she let her eyes scan the letter one last time before the room filled up.

Clarke,

I was sitting on the lawn behind the library catching up on reading for a class last week. I was skimming through Voltaire’s words:

“Sensual pleasure passes and vanishes, but the friendship between us, the mutual confidence, the delight of the heart, the enchantment of the soul, these things do not perish and can never be destroyed.”

This particular passage struck a chord with me, and it was mostly because when I looked up after reading it, I immediately saw you consoling who I’d assume to be a friend of yours. I’m not sure what had happened, but she looked like she was crying and you showed up with a blanket to sit on, a bowl of fresh fruit, and sat with her and listened intently while she spoke. It was life imitating art, right before my eyes.

Voltaire’s writing is mostly straight and to the point. It isn’t hard to decipher the messages he often tries to relay, but it was most certainly a breath of fresh air to finish that passage to find a parallel to present day. Your actions on that lawn helped me see things a little clearer.

I suppose I just wanted to thank you for that. SO, thank you for being the catalyst for making something in my brain click.

Before I close this letter off, I do have a question for you. And if you feel so inclined to indulge and answer it, you can drop it back into the envelope where you found this one and pin it back to the board.

Has anything happened to you recently that struck a chord? Something that stood out to you, but you haven’t had a chance to dive deeper into it? I’d like to know.

Enjoy your week, Clarke.

Upon tucking the printed note under her laptop, she took another look around the hall, which was now practically full. She moved her computer to the side and pulled a notepad out of her bag. The professor had started her lecture, but Clarke’s mind wandered from the images pulled up on the projector from the Spritzer space telescope as her pen started to move across the page.

Hello,

I believe you’re at an unfair advantage here. You know my name. You know what I look like. Yet I have absolutely no idea who you are. So if you write back to this, I’m hoping you’ll share some insight on the person behind the pen (or keyboard, in your instance).

I’m happy that the interaction you saw helped bring better insight into what you were working on. Coincidentally, the friend that I was with when you saw me is also reading a Voltaire piece for an assignment. I wonder if you’re in the same class?

She’s taking “Romance Studies” as an elective. I tried to convince her that there was no point harping on what was considered to be “romantic” through archaic literary pieces that are now long gone, and replaced with mediocre-at-best Netflix series about teenage love.

It always seemed that with the way things were going in our lifetime… that all “romance” really was, was when two people swiped right on Tinder.

With that said… I guess I can honestly say that your letter is what struck a chord with me. Especially after freshly coming out of that conversation with my friend.

I don’t want to be presumptuous. But it seems that this gesture of yours, whether it was meant to be platonic, or if it was meant to imply a sense of something more, is making me realize that maybe—just maybe—the practice of sharing words on a page isn’t so archaic after all.

-Clarke

She was happy with the end result of what was hurriedly committed to the page. Clarke quickly tore it from her notebook and tucked the loose piece of paper back into the envelope. She scanned her fellow students to see if anyone was watching her. She slunk further into her seat and wondered if the recipient was there, sitting in that very room. Unfortunately for her, the lecture that was being given on the Nebular Theory kept the attention of every other person in the hall, so she quickly reached for her computer to start typing notes on the theory’s premise of how every planet in the system was formed.

A tedious hour later, her fellow classmates started packing up and rushed towards the exit door. Clarke took her time shutting her computer down and tucking things away into her bag. She was suddenly aware that the person who wrote to her—the person she now wrote to—could be in the room watching her to see if she had a written response back.

She waited a few more minutes, and finally deemed it safe when the last few people in the room seemed to be chatting with one another or finishing up straightening their notes from the lecture. With a big exhale, she pinned the envelope back onto the board and made a swift exit.

Lexa felt a tap to her shoulder, which caused her to look up, “What do you want?”

“I think it worked. She put the envelope back!” the excitement in Finn’s face didn’t go unnoticed.

“Okay,” Lexa lowered her head to finish writing out her notes from the class. “Job’s done.”

“I’m gonna go get it so we can read it and figure out what to do next,” he giddily let out before darting out of Lexa’s peripheral.

She let out a sigh of distaste when he came back half a minute later and pulled a chair close to where she was sitting. “Finn, you said one letter. I did it. This is on you now. And if you don’t mind, I need to finish up here,” she raised her hand, showing she was still trying to get some of her notes done.

“Fine, suit yourself,” he propped his feet onto the table in front of them while he silently read Clarke’s reply. “Hmm, Voltaire?”

The author’s name caught Lexa’s attention. She suddenly looked up to where he was sitting, “What about him?”

“I don’t know. Clarke said something about him. That’s the bad dude from Harry Potter, right?” Finn brought his attention back to the letter. “What did our letter even say? You never even showed me.”

He handed Lexa the notebook page with loopy and wide writing on it. The edges were jagged, as if Clarke did the whole thing in haste.

“What do you want me to do with that?” Lexa eyed the piece of paper.

“Read it and let me know if you think she likes me,” Finn shrugged. “But also, why didn’t you put my number or something on it?”

“Because it’ll probably take more than one letter for her to even be open to the idea of you,” Lexa chided in her reply. She let her eyes quickly scan the girlish handwriting and folded the paper back up. “She’s definitely intrigued.”

Finn finally set his feet on the floor as he leaned forward and rubbed his hands together, “Okay, great! So what do we do now?”

“We,” Lexa pointed her pen between the two of them. “Do nothing. You can write another letter and see if she wants anything to do with you, Finn.”

“C’mon,” he nudged her shoulder. “I’ll pay ya for another one. Another $300. But we need an exit plan for when we move this from letters to texting or something.”

“Her reply literally just said that we’ve opened the idea to her that letters are romantic,” Lexa shook her head. “Your take on that was to immediately turn this to a texting conversation?”

He grabbed the letter from Lexa, “What? Where’d she said that? It doesn’t say that, Lexa.” He scratched his head.

Lexa let out a defeated sigh, “Finn. She literally said something like, ‘maybe the practice of sharing words on a page isn’t so archaic’ or something. Did we not just read the same piece of paper?”

“See, Lexa,” he smiled as he patted her shoulder. “This is why I need you. Just one or two more. Same price per letter. I just need a little more help and then I’ll be outta your hair. Promise.”

She took her palm to her forehead and rubbed her thumb into her temple. One more wouldn’t hurt. Mostly because the $300 definitely wouldn’t hurt.

“Fine,” she finally let out. “One more. Give me her letter back. I’ll have our reply ready for this same class next week.”

“Excellent,” he grinned as he handed the piece of paper over to her. “You’re a lifesaver, Lexa.”

She felt anything but that. But at least it meant she’d be able to get by for the next week or two, while Titus still screwed around with her hours at the record store.

[ayankun]

coffee shop au bitches (working title)

here, have this rough draft of the first half of part 1.  consider it proof of concept.  (the concept is Destiel Coffee Shop AU, but actually good) (”good;” YMMV)

9.3k words; Cas is human like everyone else so to compensate I made him socially anxious af; there’s a brief unpleasantness wherein someone in customer service gets harassed so watch out for that I guess; Cas is also carrying a lot of baggage (literally and metaphorically) and it’s vague for now but a little wearisome so GLHF I promise when it’s done-done they all get the kind of happy endings they deserved from the show

The town of Lebanon, Kansas sprang up without warning, its tree-lined streets shockingly claustrophobic after the three hours of patchwork browns and greens streaming by the smudgy window, the rolling plains uninterrupted to the very ends of the earth until the blank blue September sky finally picked up where the horizon left off.

Castiel felt his eyes strain, forced to reel in his thousand-yard stare, as he squinted at the blur of tidy little houses perched along Lebanon's brief outskirts.  He blinked away from the window and pushed himself to his feet, sidling carefully into the aisle to pull his duffle down from the overhead rack.  In short order, the bus turned onto the tidy little Americana main street and rolled up to a tidy little bus stop, and, reaching back into his seat to retrieve his briefcase, he squinted out at this, too.  

The screech of well-worn brakes, the brace against the final lurch of inertia, the hiss and clack of the doors at the front and back folding open; with no more pomp and circumstance than that, Castiel's journey reached its end.  Clutching the handle of his briefcase and slinging the straps of his duffle over one shoulder, he edged down the aisle and nodded his thanks to the driver on his way down the steps.  Finally, Castiel planted his sensible shoes on the cracked sidewalk, looked carefully up and down the stretch of unremarkable, middle-of-nowhere civilization, and wondered what the hell he thought he was doing here.

The bus shrieked and rumbled back into the non-existent late afternoon traffic, a thick gout of black exhaust signaling its farewell, leaving Castiel behind before he had a chance to change his mind.  He watched its departure absently for half a moment, road-weary and numb.  Then he hiked his duffle a little more snug against his back, turned around, and began an unhurried stroll the shady two and a half blocks back to the motel on the south side of town.

---

"Been expecting you," the woman behind the counter said the second Castiel pulled open the glass door to the motel office.

He paused, looked over his shoulder, saw no one among the growing shadows of the motel's empty parking lot, no one except a trucker hopping out of his cab parked at the gas 'n sip on the opposite corner.  Castiel watched him jog across the street towards the Biggerson's, the lights of its enormous, highway-facing sign flickering on in welcome, and turned back to shoulder his way inside.  "I did reserve a room over the phone," Castiel said, approaching the counter, "And I was told that a few . . . personal items would be held for me at the front desk?"

The woman, Billie, according to her name tag, responded with a nod, less in answer to his question and more in the way one does when one is not surprised by what they've just heard.  She pulled the keyboard to the old desktop computer closer to herself with one hand, and held the other out, palm up, to Castiel.  "ID and credit card."

Setting his briefcase down on the floor, Castiel dug inside his overcoat's interior pocket for his wallet.  By rote he thumbed out the military ID to give her, but at the last second his heart gave a sharp little twist and he drew it back.  Her lips twitched, nonplussed, but she waited patiently until he handed her his driver's licence instead.  She studied the picture on it for a second, mouthed the name, and carefully considered the face on the photo compared to the face on the man in front of her.  He shifted his feet nervously, thinking he should have just given her the first one, if only to avoid looking any more disreputable than he already did.  

Evidently their hangdog looks matched to her satisfaction, though, and she snapped the plastic down onto the counter, shifted her attention to the computer to check him in.

"Room's yours for the week," she read off the screen as he retrieved his licence and put the credit card down in its place.  She slid it over to herself without looking, only glancing down to read the numbers, obsidian black fingernails clacking proficiently over the ten-key peripheral plugged into the side of the keyboard.  "Checkout's at eleven on the 25th."

When she slid the card back over to him, Castiel palmed it off the counter, put it back into the wallet behind his IDs (driver's license on top), tucked the wallet back into his overcoat.  "Um.  I'm not exactly sure yet -- I may need to extend my stay."  Absently, he wondered why he sounded like he was apologizing for it.

Billie looked up from the computer screen at him, neutral.  "Whatever you need.  We can do you by the week, month, whatever.  Got your card on file, so you just let me know when I should stop charging it."

Castiel tried a smile he didn't feel, thinking as he did so that he probably shouldn't have bothered with one, what with how it seemed to crumple his face in unnatural ways.  "I will let you know, thank you."

She pulled a blank key card from a drawer and ran it through the machine to code it for his room.  "Here you go," she said, slapping it onto the counter with another plasticky snap, "Room 401."

"Thank you," he said again, taking the key card and putting it into his coat's front pocket. She held up a hand to keep him from running straight off to the room, a slightly unnecessary gesture, since he had no intention to do so.  Not without the banker's box that she was now pulling out from under the counter.

It was sealed with tamper-evident tape, noticeably intact as she spun it 180 degrees so he could also see his name and a brief description of the contents inked with a tidy hand in the space provided on the lid.  Billie pushed the box toward him and then tapped a nail over one of the items on the contents list.  "She's parked out front."

Castiel peered down at the item she had indicated.  "Keys," it said, rather cryptically, in that unfamiliar, efficient script.  He nodded.  "Thank you."

He bent to pick up the handle of his briefcase, letting the duffle fall farther across his back as he did so in order to free up space under his arm for the banker's box.  It worked, albeit inelegantly, and he felt a little foolish as he fumbled the box off the counter and turned to go.  He felt even worse when Billie said to his back:  "I'm sorry for your loss."

No part of him wanted to say "thank you" again, so he just paused long enough to indicate that he had heard her, and then went out through the glass door and back into the shadowed parking lot without saying a damn thing.

---

Room 401 opened into a concise sort of entryway that pointed him toward a small kitchenette lit primarily by the glare of the Biggerson's sign falling in through the window.  The space featured a round table with peeling laminate, two plastic-and-stainless-steel chairs, a sink and a microwave and a loudly humming fridge.  It was downright lavish compared to the accommodations Castiel had shifted between for the better part of his life.

The banker's box went onto the table, to be ignored until the time came Castiel felt ready to pry inside.

He shrugged his duffle off onto the end of the bed, the briefcase going onto the floor at its foot.  Successfully offloaded, Castiel turned and sat beside the duffle with his hands in his lap, looking at the boxy little TV set sitting on top of a banged up little dresser; at the dusty looking armchair shoved back in the corner to his right, under a dusty looking lamp; at the dim alcove immediately to the right of the TV, keeping discreet the bathroom sink and mirror and the door to the toilet and shower.

He didn't know what to do now.

Twisting to look at the digital clock on the bedside table, he marked the time with no real interest.  Just after 6:30.  Not enough daylight left to try and find his way around town, too early to sleep.  Not that he really felt compelled to do either of those things.  Not that he felt compelled to do anything.

But he had to do something, though, didn't he?  He had to keep moving forward, in whatever small way he could manage.  He had to.

With a long sigh that seemed almost to empty him completely, Castiel got to his feet.  He pulled his overcoat off, went to the alcove closet to hang it up, stopped at the sink to splash some water on his face.  He took a moment to appreciate his appearance -- mournful and aggressively unkempt after two solid days on the road -- before stepping out of the alcove to retrieve the briefcase.  He opened it on the bed and slipped the laptop out, digging around for the charger, and brought both to the dresser, setting the laptop to one side and plugging it into the outlet he found by tracing the TV's power cord.

He stood there, hunched a little over the open laptop, waiting for it to wake from its hibernating state.  He could check his email, at least, or scroll through the news he'd missed while in the air and in taxis and in the air again and in buses that sailed too quickly through isolated islands of 4G signal that lit up only a single bar before going dark again.

His desktop loaded, the wallpaper a heavily-filtered photo he'd pulled from who-knew-where:  just an expanse of faded teal, adorned only by a single, old-fashioned kite, bold and bright with primary colors, pinned there on the sky by an unseen breeze for all eternity.  He had set it a long time ago and never changed it; the image was a small comfort, though for what reason, he couldn't tell.  It wasn't his memory.

The fleeting sense of well-being provided by the tranquil wallpaper faded as quickly as it had come.  The only Wi-Fi network in range was named "Big D's iPhone" and it was locked.  Castiel refreshed the network scan a few times, hoping to see something that looked like it was related to the motel, but nothing else appeared.  He fished his phone out of his pocket for a second opinion, but it, too, displayed just the one fishy looking hotspot and very little 4G, even though he swung it around like an idiot, dowsing the room for a signal, watching the littlest bar wink at him no matter which out-of-the-way corner he took it to.

He even found himself squeezing between the table and the window, pushing the curtain aside as if the radio waves were having trouble making it through the few millimeters of dusty fabric.  He knew better, but it couldn't hurt.  In the Biggerson's lot, catty corner to the motel, a sleek black muscle car came to life with an animal growl, and he watched it prowl out onto the street and streak out towards the highway, taking Big D's iPhone with it.

---

It wasn't Billie manning the motel office when Castiel made his way back inside.  He didn't know why this should surprise him, but the fact that his expectations had been subverted in such a minor way somehow made him stutter his step as he entered.

The woman lounging in the office chair with her boots on the counter didn't wear a nametag.  She did look up from her magazine -- Knives Illustrated -- but only for a second, just a cool, cursory glance to let him know that she knew he was there and also that she wasn't too bothered by it.

"Howdy there, Clarence," she drawled.

Castiel didn't look over his shoulder, this time, but he did falter to a premature stop halfway to the counter, searching the vast middle distance as he tried to quickly figure out if he had enough information to parse the greeting.  He didn't.

"My name is Castiel," he informed her cautiously, eyes lifting to meet hers over the cover of her magazine.

She turned a page.  "Knew it was something hokey like that."

"Yes, well . . . hello," he said, brow furrowing.  She turned another page and he pulled his hand down over his rough five o'clock shadow, a token from his time on the road.  He probably should have cleaned up before leaving the room, but here he was.  He stepped forward, "Excuse me--"

"You're excused," she sing-songed at him.  The magazine dropped just enough to reveal her razor-sharp grin; it was not too dissimilar to the image on the front cover.

"--I was wondering if you knew where I might find a decent Wi-Fi signal in town."  He arrived at the counter as he was speaking, and placed both his hands palms down on its surface.  When she didn't stop looking at him, he picked his hands back up and dropped them to his sides.

She went back to the magazine.  "Depends.  Business or pleasure?"

"Alright," Castiel said, defeated, hands clenching irritably at nothing, "I apologize for having bothered you.  Enjoy your evening."

He turned his back on her, and wasn't going to stop even when he heard the magazine slap closed and her boots clump to the floor, but still that's exactly what he ended up doing as she called, "Hold up, C."

It was the impromptu nickname more than anything, since hearing it inspired him to send a pinched look of consternation back in her direction, where she was now leaning towards him with her forearms planted on the counter, her straight dark hair falling over one shoulder.  "I was only having a little fun," she told him once she was sure she had secured his attention, "We don't get fresh meat like you too often around these parts, and a girl's got needs.  How could I resist?"

"That is a very forward way to speak to a customer," Castiel intoned, the dip of his head turning judgemental.  He'd seen looks like that before; his skin crawled when they were for him.  His hands balled up and flapped open again, trying to shake it off.  "Good night."

"Best bet's the Roadhouse," she told him just as he reached out to push open the door.  Again, he paused, against his better judgement, and she took that as her cue to continue, "Just head on up Main Street, you can't miss it.  If you hit the prairie, you've gone too far."

Castiel ducked his head, hiding the twitch of a small, rueful smile at the joke that slipped its way in at the last second.  "Thanks," he said, more to the half-opened door than to anyone else.

"You watch yourself out there, fresh meat," she hollered a parting warning as the door swung shut behind him, "The freaks come out at night."

---

Castiel walked back to his room to get his overcoat, taking in the rosy hues of twilight that striated the western sky dead ahead of him, chewing over the likelihood that the insouciant woman meant what she'd said.  He couldn't imagine that a small town like this would be terribly dangerous after dark, but, then again --

Stopping at the door to 401, he carefully prodded his better judgement into at least considering taking the car -- he looked at it from the corner of his eye, trying not to dwell too long on the idea that its previous owner would have left indelible personal traces behind -- and, sure enough, he wasn't ready to go digging.  Not in the box, and certainly not in the car.

Castiel gently shook out the fist he had made, swept his eyes over the brilliance of the western sky, and decided he was in the right kind of mood for a walk.

He unlocked his door, entered the room to grab his overcoat, stuffed the laptop back into the briefcase, exited again, pointed himself towards Main Street without giving the car another thought.

---

Turned out she was right about one thing, the Roadhouse was impossible to miss.

From the way the neon sign lit up the rustic wood siding of the cowboy-chic exterior, he half worried the establishment was a bar of some sort.  The windows were dark, the shades drawn down against the setting sun, so he only could only make a guess based on what the exterior looked like.  Hesitating on the sidewalk under a street lamp, Castiel squinted up at it and waged a minor civil war with himself as to whether it would be worth it to go in and find out.

He slowly turned around on the spot, in his little pool of light, casting up and down the nearly deserted street for some kind of sign that would help him choose one way or the other.  Small town Kansas didn't seem to have much going for it, in the way of nightlife; from what he could tell, the storefronts looked exclusively like the little mom-and-pops one would expect from the heartland -- the highway-adjacent Biggerson's the evident exception -- and all of these were either closed or closing.

He completed his inspection, coming face to face once again with the Roadhouse.  On the one hand, it purportedly had Wi-Fi, his current mission being to locate the same.  On the other hand, it looked like a bar, and he didn't want to walk in there with his out-of-towner face, with his uncool overcoat and his briefcase, and specifically avoid ordering alcohol.

He was just coming around to the idea that he could very well survive off the grid for a night when a pair of headlights attached to a shadow came roaring down from the north end of the street at him, the car banking into a smooth, undoubtedly illegal U-turn in the middle of the block, slinking confidently into the open space directly under Castiel's street lamp.  The engine cut off, then the lights, and then a man was ducking out of the driver's side, slamming the door shut behind him.

Castiel was stuck.  He hadn't counted on this particular type of social awkwardness, caught loitering on the street without anything to say for himself.  He averted his eyes, expecting the man to pass him by and go on with his business, but to his increasing embarrassment and frustration, the guy stepped up onto the sidewalk and shoved his keys into a pocket of his green canvas jacket and definitely didn't continue on his way.

"Coming or going?" he asked.  The voice was something of a deep growl, but the tone was friendly enough.  

Castiel looked up to be polite, or, at least, to be less weird.  "I don't know," he found himself saying.  Any chance to possibly come across as a reasonable human being was thoroughly smashed, he thought.  He couldn't talk his way out of this one, even if he tried.  Especially if he tried.  "I've only just arrived," he added.

The guy looked him up and down, not in a lecherous way, or even in a macho, sizing up the competition way; just an unguarded appraisal of his bus-rumpled appearance, the suspicious looking briefcase, the disconcerting way he was caught standing in the dark looking at the door of a place without going in.  The inspection was over in a second, and concluded with a good-natured nod and an open-handed wave that clearly said, "yeah, I figured out that much on my own."

"Well, we don't bite," the guy said aloud, slapping Castiel hard on the shoulder, making him rock from the impact and almost exactly undermining the sentiment.  He immediately turned and stepped up to the Roadhouse's door, hauling it open and beckoning back at Castiel to get his ass inside.  "C'mon, at this rate they'll be closed before you make up your mind."

If Castiel had been looking for some kind of sign, this was clearly providence's way of sending him one.

Even so, he realized he had started moving forward to accept the invitation without consciously meaning to, and, well, he had a lifetime of conditioning to thank for that.  Castiel, ever the good little soldier, taking orders at face value, instead of thinking for himself.  He frowned a little on the inside -- remembering to briefly tug a smile of thanks on the outside -- until the wave of warm, coffee-scented air hit him in the face along with the unavoidable understanding that the Roadhouse was not, in fact, a bar.

The relief of this revelation was powerful enough to enable him to put his weird little hangups back inside the box where they belonged, his outside smile going soft and honest around the edges, and he ducked his head sheepishly at the guy, who had followed him in.  Automatically angling himself towards the register, as one did one when one entered a coffee shop, he said, "I was informed there was Wi-Fi here.  Just not what 'here' was.  'The Roadhouse' sounds -- I thought perhaps it was a bar."

His honesty caught himself off-guard, uncertain as to where the need to explain himself to this stranger came from, exactly.  It was probably because he had already demonstrated the kind of small town friendliness that made Castiel feel like it would be read as rude if he didn't attempt a bit of smalltalk in return.  The guy looked like a nice enough sort of person to meet halfway; about Castiel's age, a little younger, perhaps; kind of a non-threatening good-ol'-boy with his ripped jeans, plaid flannel, and his not-quite-scruffy-not-quite-clean-cut style.  Castiel thought that maybe he could survive being social for a minute or two, with someone like this.

Instantly, this thought hit a bump in the road, as his new friend twisted a funny look at him.  "Got something against bars?"

Castiel dropped his eyes and tried to ignore his obvious misstep while he drifted into the back of the line, behind a towering mountain of a man in a black leather jacket.  Castiel wasn't short, by any stretch of the imagination, but the two men hemming him in were both taller still.  He thought about his answer to the question, flicking rapidly through the options, but wasn't able to pick one that was both simple and truthful before the guy abruptly leaned in.  This startled Castiel, who instinctively shifted away a half step, shoulder bumping up against the glass that separated him from a shiny brass espresso machine.

The guy didn't notice his discomfort, having breached Castiel's personal space to say in a stage whisper:  "If it's rough company you're worried about, nothin' to be afraid of, around here.  The real seedy joints are across town.  Ain't that right, Tiny?"

At this last, he straightened up and raised his voice some, directing the question straight past Castiel.

Castiel turned his head to see the huge leather jacket man fixing the tall canvas jacket man with a full-bodied glare.  He also, at this time, took in the man's shaved head and appreciated the twisting serpent logo coiled on the back of the jacket.  He shifted even closer to the espresso machine, clearing the space between the two men as best he could.

But "Tiny" didn't otherwise react, just turned back and stepped up to the register, boots heavy on the wooden floor.

"Wi-Fi's pretty decent here, yeah," Castiel's companion went on.  Castiel looked back to him, surprised to see him relaxed and indifferent, like he hadn't just specifically tried to antagonize a 400-pound member of a biker gang after dark.  "And the lattes are alright.  Fair warning:  your choices are pretty much either that or black coffee, those're the only things the kid can't mess up too bad."

Off the guy's nod over Castiel's shoulder, he obediently turned and saw the referenced kid -- in actuality, a young, sandy-haired man of about seventeen or eighteen -- working the espresso machine on the other side of the glass.  The milk frother hissed demonstratively for a moment, the kid's face pinched in comically serious concentration on the task, but when he shoved the arm back into the off position, he looked up to see who was watching him and broke out into one of the purest smiles Castiel had ever seen.

"Hello!" the kid said, sunnily, like Castiel was his closest friend and not a literal stranger gawking at him like a zoo animal.  The hand that had been operating the machine was summarily raised in greeting, palm forward, fingers wide.  He radiated a positively angelic energy that instantly made Castiel feel at ease, despite the anxiety of the last several minutes, somehow even despite the soul-crushing weight he'd brought with him to town.

"Hello . . . Jack," Castiel replied, after realizing he could make out the kid's name tag pinned to his apron.  Pinned to their apron, rather, as he belatedly noted the "they/them" pronoun declaration stuck on underneath the name with white label tape.  He smiled, the desire to return just a small portion of the hospitality he'd received so far rising ferociously inside him, one of the strongest emotions he'd had the pleasure of feeling in recent memory.  "I've been informed I should try one of your lattes."

He nodded at the stainless steel carafe of foamed milk in the kid's hand, and they looked down at it as if they'd forgotten it was there.  "Oh!  Yes, I suppose you should."  They poured the milk into a waiting paper cup of espresso, face contorting back into that look of supreme concentration for only as long as it took to pour, smiling back up at Castiel the second the task was done.  "I'm still learning how to make everything, but I'm getting better at the basics."

"Yeah, you are," the guy behind Castiel said, in that manner of speaking that was as aggressive as it was supportive.  Jack grinned shyly, ducking their head at the praise, and shuffled the drink off to the pick-up counter on the other side of the register.

Castiel looked back over to see the guy grinning after the kid, and a thought hit him.  "Are you their . . . parent?" he asked, tripping and catching himself on Jack's pronoun only slightly, a very jarring rush of panic hitting him in time to swerve around using the word "father," just in case gender-nonconformity ran in the family.

The . . . person met Castiel's eye and then looked away, shrugging a little.  "Oh me?  Nah.  I mean.  Sorta.  We're kind of just, looking after them, I guess you could say."

The use of the first-person plural pronoun seemed like something Castiel would pry into next, were he the prying sort.  Instead, he very, very briefly wondered what the average household looked like in Lebanon, Kansas, these days, or if he'd just stumbled into the exception on accident.

A hand was extended his way, along with a name.  "Dean," Castiel was told as he accepted the handshake, "He/him, in case you were wondering."

Castiel let out an inward sigh of relief, and the guy winked before adding:  "Aquarius.  Stones, not Beatles.  Star Wars and Star Trek, but not the garbage that came out after the nineties."  Dean let Castiel's hand go with a chewed-on smile and something of a self-deprecating eyebrow wag.  "That's basically all the important stuff you have to know about me up front."

"Castiel," he returned, "And . . . I am also a man."

Dean snorted a short little breath at that, eyes bright.  He rubbed his chin, scratching through the close-trimmed stubble.  "Castiel, huh?"

Castiel pressed his lips together and took a moment to take stock of the state of his shoes, squaring himself for the inevitable question about his uncommon name, but for once it didn't come.  Dean didn't have the chance to ask it.  When Castiel glanced up, Dean was looking over Castiel's shoulder in the direction of the register, all traces of his friendly disposition replaced by a cold scowl.

As one did, Castiel, too, turned to follow Dean's gaze, searching out the source of his sudden displeasure.  For a second he assumed it had something to do with Jack, maybe getting into some difficult situation with a customer, but at a glance he saw that he only had it half right.  Instead of Jack, it was the young woman behind the register, who pulled her wrist out of Tiny's pawlike grasp as Castiel watched.

Castiel's throat closed up, his second-hand anxiety over the situation momentarily flooring him.  Embarrassed, he looked away, out over the sparsely populated cafe, everyone he saw slowly doing the same:  turning back to their screens and their friends, pretending nothing had happened.

Everyone but Dean, Castiel saw as he finally looked back up at him.  Dean was still watching Tiny closely, his brow drawn down and his mouth set in a firm line.  He flicked his eyes down to Castiel when he caught him looking, and did a stuttered double take when he realized he had accidentally leveled that glare at him.

Dean relaxed his expression into something more neutral, obviously seeing the stress on Castiel's face; while Dean was clearly angered by Tiny's overreach, Castiel couldn't help but project a grim ache that he didn't want to name.  Dean's head tilted, as if he was slowly cottoning on to the depth of Castiel's discomfort the longer he looked at him, and Castiel saw his jaw clench the moment before they both looked sharply back over at the register, hearing the woman's voice rise, frustrated and disgusted, over the country twang of the canned music pumping through the coffee shop's speakers.

"You kiss your mama with that mouth?"  The young woman had taken a full step back into the space behind the counter, dodging out of the way of Tiny's reach.  Castiel could see fire in her eyes, and barely registered Jack standing nervously on her other side.

Tiny laughed, a rolling chuckle that filled Castiel's gut with acid.  The huge man leaned up against the counter, shoving a shoulder as far as it would go into the open space next to the register, and curled his hand around the far edge of the counter.  "Why, you jealous?  How 'bout you pucker up, sweetcheeks, let me show you what you're missing."

In an instant, the nerves and disgust flushed out of Castiel's system, and in its place a white-hot righteous anger swirled up.  His hands twitched, settling for fists, and he took a lurching step forward, his briefcase swinging roughly into his leg, the emotion spilling out of him in a growl of "Hey, asshole--"

"Yeah, alright--" Dean growled at the same time, taking the same step forward, bringing him even with Castiel, the two men suddenly a solid wall staring daggers into Tiny's back.

"Stay out of this, Dean," the young woman said, fierce.  The tone in her voice caused Jack to flinch, snatching back the reassuring hand they'd been tentatively reaching her way.

Tiny heaved himself off the counter, turning to face them slowly, deliberately, letting them appreciate his size and giving them ample time to reconsider the hill they might be about to die on.  Castiel's chin went up, eyes narrowed.  At his side, Dean sniffed and thumbed his nose, aggressively nonchalant.

A devil-may-care smile on his face, Dean put one arm wide.  "No can do, Jo.  There's a quick way to handle huge, steaming piles of human garbage like our friend Tiny here," he said, making stabbing motions with his hand at the man in question, "and I'd hate to see you lose your job over a broken jaw."

Castiel glanced sharply up at Dean, trying to gauge the realistic chances of an all-out brawl going down right here between the novelty mugs and the last of the day's homemade baked goods.  Lebanon, Kansas was quickly proving to be something other than the sleepy, middle of nowhere hamlet he had assumed it would be.  

In fairness, though, he had been warned that the freaks came out at night.

Dean didn't exactly look ready for a fight, though, loose-limbed and calm, fixing Tiny with a cocky grin that was daring the biker to make the first move.  Castiel forced his own shoulders down, his fist to relax around the handle of the briefcase he was gripping like a weapon.  He cut his eyes over to Tiny, who was equally not rising to the bait, just sneering at them for what he was reading as biteless bark.

"Like to see you try, pretty boy," Tiny said, digging in his heels.

Castiel frowned, seeing that the situation had ground into a stalemate before it had even started, two immovable objects sizing each other up, both content with the fact that the one who either struck first or walked away first would make himself the de facto loser of the conflict, one way or another.  Even so, Castiel strongly felt that neither of these two would be the type to walk away.  He raised a hand, palm out, and tried to press some sense into the moment before one of them exhausted their patience and decided to throw a match onto this powderkeg.

"No one has to try anything," he warned, making sure Dean knew he was included in the list of people encouraged to stand down, "Let's all conduct ourselves as civilized people.  Please, just leave the young woman alone, let her do her job in peace."

Tiny peered down at him and made it clear it wasn't about to back off just because a stranger in a rumpled trenchcoat asked him to play nice.

Dean, meanwhile, licked his bottom lip and looked like he might actually be considering his options.  He nodded, ducking his head as though coming to an overdue realization.

"See, I know Tiny's mom," Dean said, raising his eyebrows at Castiel.  

Castiel dropped his own right back at him, a suspicious squint pinching his face as he felt in his gut that the situation was about to spin off the axle in some unforeseen way, despite his best efforts to prevent that exact outcome.

Dean went on, unperturbed, sliding one hand into his pocket as he half turned away from Tiny, like he was just carrying on their friendly chat from before, like they didn't have a behemoth of an audience listening in.  "And I know she would be appalled -- shocked, even -- if she found out what her son was up to when she ain't looking.  Sweet old Martha, she's been in hospice for what, six weeks?  Seven?"  

He swiveled suddenly and jabbed his free hand at Tiny--  "Please, correct me if I'm wrong--"  Back to Castiel, he tapped his own chest twice to demonstrate-- "The ol' ticker's just not what it used to be, or so I hear.  Can't imagine what a bit of bad news might do to her delicate constitution."

As he said this last part, Dean's arm fell, and with it his cheery facade.  He rolled his head Tiny's direction, offering him one of the coldest, meanest looks Castiel had ever seen on a person.

All seven feet of Tiny was now quivering with a quiet kind of rage, his boiled egg of a head going pink as he struggled to hold it in, to not lose the game of chicken he and Dean were playing.  "You're not gonna tell my Ma nothing, you hear me?"

Dean exploded forward a half step, a finger viciously stabbing the air in the vicinity of Tiny's face.  "You stop being a dick, and I'll have nothing to tell," he roared.

"Dean!" Jo shouted over the top of him, slamming her hands down on the counter.

Everyone in the coffee shop flinched.  Castiel felt himself hang his head, feeling the sting as if he himself had been scolded.  But he'd made himself a part of it, stepped in and got involved, hadn't been able to prevent escalation.  He looked out of the corner of his eye at Jo, thinking that maybe he should apologize, but she was just glaring at Dean with hard eyes and a furious shake of her head.

"Out," she ordered.

Dean ignored the way she obviously meant him, and swung an open grin Tiny's way, canines and tongue showing.  "You heard the little lady."

Jo grit her teeth.  "Both of you, out.  We don't need your kind of trouble here."

Something about what she'd said or how she said it got Dean's attention.  He dropped his arms to his sides with a slap of canvas on canvas, twisting her way with a schoolboy pout pulling down his face.  "C'mon, Jo.  You know I didn't mean it.  You know me.  I would never--"

"Save it," she cut him off.  "Jack's shift ends in twenty-five minutes.  Go wait in the car."

There was a second where Dean gaped, fish out of water, at the order, but the cool, commanding look that came with it forcibly shut his mouth with an audible click and he reared back, bumping into Castiel slightly.  "Alrighty, then," he huffed, stomping the wrong way through the line and on towards the door without looking back.  

Castiel watched his boots retreat over the polished wood of the floor, heard the bang of the door being slammed open with more force than absolutely necessary, then tilted his head to catch Jo giving Tiny the same icy treatment.

"What are you waiting for, then, an invitation?  Go on, get.  And if you try something like that again, trust me, I won't bother with your Ma.  I'll go get mine."  She smiled, sweet and sharp, leaned forward over the counter, right into Tiny's personal space, to make sure her point wasn't missed.  "And we can see how many bones she can break before the Sheriff hauls her off your dead body."

An ominous kind of tension straightened Castiel's shoulders, surprised at Jo's candid threat, doubtful that hers would work where Dean's had failed.  After a moment, though, Tiny heaved his bulk away from the counter, gave Castiel a dirty look, and similarly made his inglorious retreat into the night.

Castiel wondered what was going to happen now between the two men, whether they were going to carry on in the street or just back off to lick their wounds until their next meeting.  He hoped Dean had sense enough to actually get in the car, at least.

"Next!"

Distracted from the errant thought of the well-being of a near stranger, Castiel turned to see Jo smiling at him from behind the register, the picture of award-winning customer service, and nothing like the stone-cold demon who had seconds ago threatened to have her mother bludgeon a customer to death.  He stepped up to place his order, thoroughly cowed.

"I apologize for the scene, for my part in it," he told her quietly as he leaned to one side to set the briefcase on the floor at his feet, reaching for his wallet.  "You clearly didn't need us to butt in, but still, I hope you're alright."

She waved his apology away, shaking her head.  "Nothing to be sorry for, it's fine.  Small town like this, hard for some folk to avoid bumping into the folk they shouldn't be bumping into.  It happens, you handle it, you move on.  What can I get started for you tonight?"

Castiel offered her a small smile, feeling it press a little tight around his eyes, his misplaced guilt swirling harder at her need to project such a tough exterior.  It was unfortunate and unfair that the world demanded the thickest skins from some people more than others, and his heart ached in a vague, nameless way, wishing there was something he could do to alleviate the need for someone so young to have constructed such a defensive worldview.

Off her expectant look, he willed himself to remember what he ought to be doing in the here and now.  He gave the menu board on the back wall a cursory review, not really consuming its contents in any meaningful way, until he looked down and caught Jack's eye from where the eager barista floated at a respectful distance between Jo and the espresso machine.

Castiel smiled, this time with notable ease as he remembered Dean's earlier suggestion.  "A small latte, please.  It came highly recommended."

"You got it," Jo nodded, punching the order into the register and pulling a cup from the stack.  "Your name?"  She looked up at him, reaching into a mug with a missing handle to fish out a Sharpie.

"Uh, Castiel," he supplied, and spelled it for her benefit, just in case.

"Castiel," she repeated, as most did when confronted with his name for the first time, trying it out for themselves, "That's got kind of a Biblical ring to it, doesn't it?  Don't tell me you're some kind of guardian angel?"  

"Hardly," Castiel murmured, dropping his gaze to focus on pulling the correct currency out of his wallet.

Jo passed the cup with his name on it to Jack, who immediately took it to the espresso machine and got to work, that same serious look of concentration commandeering their entire face for the duration.

"Anything else for you today?" she asked.  

It was one of those scripted niceties that Castiel truly appreciated about by-the-book social interactions.  A perfect sequitur that spared him the effort of trying to come up with one on his own.  "Do you have a password for the Wi-Fi?"

She nodded, slipping a business card sized piece of paper from a loose stack next to the register, and handed it over in trade for the cash he gave her in return.  As she punched open the till and dug around for his change, he glanced down at the code.  It read "N@turomDem0nto," which, as far as Wi-Fi passwords went, was certainly one.

The till banged shut with a ring, Jo handing him back his change.  Seeing his bemused look as he inspected the hotspot info, she explained, "Sorry, I know it's a little out there.  Our IT guy, Ash, he's a bit of a supernatural freak."

"I see," Castiel said agreeably, though he felt fairly certain that there was some additional piece of trivia he was missing to be able to recognize the significance of the unintelligible string of letters and numbers.  He put the paper into his pocket, dumped the loose change from his palm into the tip jar, and retrieved his briefcase.  "Thank you."

Jo's eyebrows came down, not unkindly, as her lips pursed in baffled amusement.  "No problem," she laughed, shaking her head at him.  "Jack'll have your drink out in a minute."  She waved him in the direction of the pickup counter, and Castiel went gratefully on his way, looking forward to the upcoming stretch of time where he didn't have to make small talk, or try to avoid physical altercations, or accidentally say "thank you" after tipping.

The remaining patrons of the Roadhouse appeared to have cleared out since he had last looked, but whether this was due to the late hour or the recent potential for violence, he couldn't be sure.  Castiel thought about Dean waiting for Jack out in that beast of a car; thought about Tiny (or men like him) lurking out on the streets.  

He pulled out his phone, noting the time as he thumbed to the Wi-Fi settings.  Again, the hotspot listing was sparse, just the one named after the Roadhouse -- finally, full bars -- and, to his muted surprise, "Big D's iPhone."

He was still looking curiously at the cafe's curtained windows, in the direction where he knew that sleek black muscle car with the animal growl was parked under a street lamp, when a bright voice chimed behind him:  "Here you go!"

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, Castiel turned to face Jack, finding a bloom of warmth filling the hollow of his chest to see them sliding his latte over with an exceedingly proud look on their face, certain of a job well done.  Right on the drink's tail, Castiel was surprised to see a small plate with a piece of apple pie being pushed his way as well.

He held up his hand to stop or question the freebie, thinking he hadn't done anything today to have earned getting rewarded with pie, but Jo popped up at Jack's side and gave him one of those looks he already recognized as meaning he wouldn't be allowed to decline.  His bottom lip pursed, he reached out and obediently pulled the plate the rest of the way over with one finger.

"At closing time, we either have trash all the leftover perishables or give 'em away," Jo explained.  She nodded down at the plate with something of a wicked grin, "Normally I'd be packing this up for Jack to take home for Dean, but here's hoping I can teach him something by revoking his pie privileges for one night."

Castiel's eyes went wide, and his hand flew off the rim of the plate as though it had burned him.  Before he could figure out a way to articulate how uncomfortable it made him to know he was stealing someone's pie, Jack laughed and shook their head.

"No, it's okay, really.  Sam's always saying Dean needs to watch what he eats.  So, you're helping!"  They chirped this last bit with a scrunch of the eyes and a jerky shrug of their shoulders.  Jo backed the assertion, a tilt of her head and a jag of her brow to say Castiel really didn't have the room to argue with either of them on this.

"Ah," Castiel said, eyeing the pie like it was a plate full of gold, feeling completely unworthy, "If that's the case. . ."

He looked up, met Jo's and then Jack's eyes, and told them solemnly, "I appreciate it."

Jack's endearing smile crinkled onto their face again, and Jo patted them on the arm.

"Hey, we're all set here," she said to Jack, "Why don't you clock out a little early, okay?  I won't tell my mom."

Castiel kept his small smile to himself, busied himself shifting his briefcase to his other hand as Jack eagerly tripped off to head out for the night.  Still, he lingered a little at the pickup counter, not missing the guarded way Jo eyed the front door, which gave nothing away as to what kind of trouble might still be skulking in the night on the other side.

She caught him noticing, which was fine, because his thoughts were running along similar tracks.  It gave him the cue to share his own.  "Um," he started, glancing away, "Would it be a problem if I stayed until closing?  There's, uh, no Wi-Fi at the motel."

When he looked back over at her, shy, she was giving him a soft eye roll with her mouth screwed up to one side to hide some kind of smile.  She chewed on the inside of her cheek a moment, then looked heavenward with a good-natured sigh.

"You know, for a guy who swears he's not a guardian angel--"

Behind her, Jack, who had traded their apron for a colorful windbreaker, swung through the half-door at the far end of the counter, on the other side of the espresso machine, and called out a chipper, "Good night, Jo!  Good night, sir, hope you enjoy your drink!"

Oh.  Castiel hastily lifted the paper cup, Jo waving her own goodbye as Jack trotted across the shop floor towards the exit.  He took a sip of the latte, cringing a little to discover that it was still far too hot to drink without caution; even so, he smiled at Jack and gestured with the cup.  "It's very good, thank you."

He was treated to another of those full-face, joyous smiles, and then Jack was out the door and Castiel was left alone with Jo, his scalding latte, and his unearned pie.  He thumbed the lip of the plastic to-go lid, only half-certain she had approved of him sticking around now that she was on her own behind the counter.  For all she knew, he could be just as rotten as any of them, just biding his time until--

"Please help yourself to our Wi-Fi for as long as you'd like," Jo told him, fixing him with a kind, if ever-so-slightly bemused, look.  

He nodded his thanks, and, using the bottom of his drink, shifted the pie plate over to the edge of the counter where he caught it in the fingers of the hand already tucked under the handle of the briefcase, maxing out his awkwardness in doing so.  Jo was biting her lip, watching the juggling act unfold before her, but she didn't otherwise comment.  With a short smile of parting, Castiel fled -- cautiously -- to a small table at one of the shaded windows, far from Jo and close to the door.

As he went, the sound of a car engine, startling in both how loud and how familiar it seemed to him, rumbled up through the coffee shop's backdrop of picked guitars and singing fiddles.  By the time Castiel took a seat, it had already roared off into the distance.  He was glad its driver seemed not to have run into any further trouble, after all.

Drink settled, pie settled, Castiel himself settled, he set the briefcase on the floor beside him and clicked it open just enough to drag the laptop out from the pocket. He slid it onto the table between his other items, determined to connect to the Wi-Fi and check his email, to do the one thing he had ventured out to do, even if only to say he had.

As suspected, he now saw no trace of "Big D's iPhone" nearby, and carefully punched in the access code to the Roadhouse's network.  The computer connected without fanfare.  Dutifully, he clicked on his email app and watched the logo splash pop up over the muted periwinkle of his desktop wallpaper.

While the program loaded up, he reached out and pulled the pie over and dug a chunk out of it with the fork that had been so kindly provided.  The first bite reminded him that he hadn't eaten since Kansas City, and his focus narrowed to the singular task of slicing and chewing until there was nothing left but crumbs stuck to the cinnamon-sugary tracks his fork made as it scraped over the plate's inexplicable cowboy boot pattern.

Returning the plate and fork to the table with a sigh, Castiel took up his latte, now sufficiently cooled, and sipped this while flicking his fingers over the laptop's trackpad, disinterestedly scrolling through his inbox.  The loss of a few of his taste buds notwithstanding, he found he was able to appreciate the quality of Jack's handiwork, and he felt retroactively absolved for the preemptive high marks he'd given.

He stopped scrolling.  Not that he'd been paying attention to the task anyway, but thinking about the young person's ineffable good cheer and the mercurial temper of their guardian had him staring at the curtain as if he could see straight through it, into the street and the night, imagining the shine of the street lamp off the hood of that dangerous-looking car.

He drank the rest of his latte while absorbed in the expanse of his mind's eye, the limitless vistas of the day's bus ride peppered with half-remembered moments of the evening so far,  impressions of the short stretch of Main Street Lebanon he'd traversed, the faces of strangers blending one into the next into the next.  There was one face in particular that he kept circling back to, though, and one moment that was sharper than the rest.

Standing under that street lamp, waiting.  Waiting for--

"Sorry to interrupt," Jo said, tentative, seeming to materialize at Castiel's table.

He whipped his head away from the window -- had he really just been staring blankly at the curtain this whole time?  What must she think -- and pushed back his chair to try to get with the program.  "Sorry -- you've probably been waiting--"

She laughed and held up her hands, and he slowed his frantic sweeping of his belongings from the table.  "Whoa, there.  I was just gonna give you a five-minute heads up, is all.  Didn't mean to spook you."

Castiel perched the briefcase he had snagged from the floor onto his vacated chair, and gently slid the laptop back inside.  "I'm fine," he said, snapping the clasp closed, "please don't let me hold you up."

"No worries," she told him, and when he darted his eyes over to her, she was giving him that slightly amused, slightly puzzled look she'd been giving him since he walked in.  She cleared his plate and cup from the table and made off with them.  He picked up his briefcase and pushed in the chair, standing purposelessly there at its side.

She looked back over her shoulder at him, seeing him not leaving.  "Five minutes," she said again, "and then I'm going to let you walk me to my car, okay?  You seem sweet, and I just can't help feeling like you'll have an aneurysm or something if I walk out there alone."

"Sorry," Castiel repeated.  He frowned, suddenly very invested in the stitching on his briefcase handle.  "I've overstepped again."

Jo pushed open the swinging half-door of the counter and regarded him from across the coffee shop floor.  "I'll let it slide, this once.  Just don't make a habit of it," she told him with mock-gravitas, fighting back a telling smile before disappearing into the back.

It was a joke, he could tell, something to dispel the awkward energy Castiel had fomented up around himself.  It worked, just a little, and he took a deep breath and let it out in a quiet sigh at himself.  Anyway, he could promise her that, and easily.  He didn't know exactly how long he'd end up spending in Lebanon, Kansas, but it wasn't like he was planning on sticking around forever.

He shuffled his feet, waiting on Jo's return, and willed himself to imagine opening that sealed box.  Digging out the keys to the wide, boxy, gold-colored Lincoln Continental.  Climbing into the driver's seat and watching this speck of a town vanish in the rearview mirror.

He wondered what tape would be playing in the deck, or maybe what radio station it was still set to.  What the scent of the air freshener hung over the mirror was, and whether the built-in ashtrays needed to be emptied.  What he might find forgotten under the seats.

All at once, a full-body shudder rolled over him, overwhelmed by all these questions with answers he couldn't yet face.  

"Ready?"

He looked up as Jo crossed to the door and flicked the bank of switches to shut off the overhead lights, leaving them both shadows lit faintly by the glow of the displays on the equipment behind the counter.

Ready?  Not in the slightest.

"After you," he murmured, reaching out to push the door open.

---

Castiel showered with military efficiency, the rushing water just about drowning out his empty thoughts.

He changed into his sleepwear mechanically, put himself into the bed, and flicked on the television because there was nothing else left to do.  The day was finally catching up to him, and his body ached as it reluctantly gave itself over to the support of the mattress.  His bones felt heavy, his eyes raw.  He flipped channels without comprehending anything he saw on the tiny screen.

Maybe it was the jangle of espresso in his veins, or maybe it was his internal clock's confusion regarding what time zone he'd ended up in, or maybe it was his white-knuckled refusal to find out what his subconscious had in store for him, but it was several long, dull, droning hours of late-night soaps and infomercials before Castiel finally let go and allowed himself to sleep.

[random-imagines-blog]

Rip Out The Wings of a Butterfly {Wesley Gibson x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: @cryingforwill Wordcount: 2598 Summary: You, the odd inventor, mechanic and tech geek of the Fraternity, get to meet the newest assassin. Notes: Implied animal violence.

You were the youngest member of the Fraternity, at only nineteen years old. It was a huge accomplishment since it took time for them to learn to trust you, and for you to trust them. You weren’t one of the assassin’s - Heaven’s no, you could barely shoot a plastic gun at the duck in the arcade game - but you had a lot of talent in many other areas. Besides, you didn’t want anything to do with all of the blood and gore. You’d leave that to Fox. You were more focused on the technological part of the operation. Not the name-giving loom, since even you thought that was a bit ridiculous, but the weapons, the communications devices, the traps. All in the name of progress - and in doing the right thing, so you believed.

You were surprised when a new member was brought into the faction. That wasn’t a common occurrence, and from the way that his nerves were acting up, you weren’t sure that he would be staying, either. When he was introduced to you in your workshop, you were a little confused - he didn’t look like the usual type. He didn’t have the crazy chiseled jawbone or the killer look in his eyes that you had come to respect from the assassins you usually came into contact with. He was ... almost handsome in a average joe sort of way, except for those eyes. There was something special about that shade of blue, something that would haunt your dreams.

“I’m y/n,” You said, getting up from your workbench to give him a handshake, looking into those lovely eyes. “All the equipment that you’ll be getting, well, it comes from me, so you better be careful with it.”

“Oh, right,” He said, looking around at all of the things that you were tinkering with. “The most high-tech thing I’ve used is a ergonomic keyboard.” He looked as sheepish as he sounded, and your jaw dropped. You looked behind him to Sloane who gave you a patient look, and then to Fox who shrugged.

“I’ll have to ask Sloane to let me borrow you for a couple of days, consider it to be a quick course in Tech 101,” You smiled, weakly. “You don’t need to know how to make this stuff but you have to know how to use it.”

“Yes, there will be time for that,” Sloane nodded his approval. “And what are you working on right now?”

“Right now, I have two projects,” You said, going back around to your workstation to show off what was probably messy to the three, but perfectly organized chaos to yourself. “The first are these sunglasses. They look normal, no?” You held up a pair of ray-bans that you had picked up a month ago. “Expensive, yes, but nothing too out of the ordinary. But here - you try them on, new kid.” You handed the pair of glasses over to Wesley who was surprised by how they were heavier than regular sunglasses. He looked at Fox who gave a little nod, and then hesitantly put them on his face. His mouth gaped  open as he took a look around, focusing on you first.

“Is this, umm, infrared?” Wesley asked, taking them off and set them back down on the workstation.

“Thermal imaging, for when the bad guys are hiding from you.” You smiled, picking up the glasses and setting them back where they were. “Anything that I can do to make your jobs easier.”

“What’s the second thing you’ve been working on. A weapon, perhaps?” Sloane asked, raising a grey eyebrow. You flushed slightly, knowing that it’s what you should be working on, but it really wasn’t.

“Uhh - it’s the custodian’s Dirt-Devil.” You held up the little red portable vacuum that you had stolen from the custodian after they had gone home. “Okay, I know, I know, I should be working on weapons, but the sound of this thing in the hallway drives me insane! I’m just trying to see if I can make it quieter at all.”

Wesley was the only one in the room to find this entertaining. His naturally cherry-red lips opened up to reveal a smile, and then a quick laugh. You flushed even more under the cold stare of Fox. “I need a new scope on my sniper, you can work on that.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am.” You saluted, sitting back on your stool. The tour continued on, with the two superiors and the newbie leaving the room to go meet the less friendly people of the Fraternity. You felt a little bad for Wesley, for he had a lot to get used to in here.

-

You were working late into the night. In a jar, complete with a couple of holes, you had three captured butterflies flitting around. There was one, poor little thing, pinned lightly to your work station. Although tech was more your thing, you dabbled in medicines as well. Tonight, you were working on a gel that you had formulated all by yourself, and you were testing it on the most delicate creature known to you. Hence, the butterflies.

You absolutely hated this part of the job. The part where you had to hurt another living thing in the name of progress, but the last time that you had experimented a healing gel on a human being, well, turns out even the Repairman can feel pain. He had found that out the hard way, and he still avoided coming anywhere near you. But Fox had taken you out for ladies night after that, amused by the way that you had made the blonde man scream.

You were about to do the worst part of the procedure, and that was to cut a rip in the butterfly’s wing. God, this absolutely sucked, but at least if the gel didn’t work, it would be very easy to but the insect out of it’s misery. You picked up the scalpel and was just about to put it to wing when you heard footsteps in the hallway. It was after two AM, most people were usually either in a mission or sleeping right now.

“Try putting on a documentary about something you really don’t care about, that’s how I get to sleep.” You called out from where you were sitting, waiting for the person to make an appearance. To your surprise, it was Wesley who stepped into the door frame, smiling sheepishly at disturbing you. Taking any chance you could get to not be doing what you should be doing, you put the knife down and motioned him in. “How are you adjusting?”

“It’s a lot to get used to,” He said, laughing as he usually did when he grew nervous. It was something that you were picking up on, though you had only seen him a couple of times.

“It gets easier, though I say that without having undergone all the ... repairing.” You winced, thinking about all of the times that you had seen the Repairman’s trainees in the wax baths. That was one of the main reasons why you were trying to make this gel. Easy to carry around in it’s tiny bottle, easy to apply - just a little bit and the skin will fuse together as if it was fabric and fabric glue.

“How did you end up here. You look very...” Wesley’s face turned red as he tried to look for the appropriate word.

“Young? Innocent? Completely out of place next to everyone else here?” You filled in his blanks. You took off the safety goggles that you were wearing, and placed them next to your work. “Yeah, I’m only nineteen, I can barely shoot a gun but I can build one from pretty much nothing, and the closest I came to killing anyone was I told a dirty joke in front of Sloan while he was having a cup of coffee and he nearly choked.”

“Wow,” Wesley blinked.

“If we’re going to be friends, I might as well tell you the story. It’s not much, though. I was a prodigy,” You did air quotes at the p word that you hated so much. “So I was in high school by the age of ten, which of course lead to some bullying. When I was close to graduating, one of the worst bullies that I had died suddenly. Was killed. They officially said it was gang violence, but that didn’t sit right with me because he picked on people lower than him, but was scared by anyone who was higher, you know? He really wouldn’t mess with gangs, or go anywhere near them. So after a bit of digging, too much digging, I managed to find out about the Fraternity. They were alerted right away, stormed my house, saw the potential in me and recruited me. I joined up as soon as I graduated high school so I’ve been here about six years now. And you?”

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Wesley said. “I used to have panic attacks, or what I thought were panic attacks and worked at a useless desk job and had a cheating girlfriend,” he started, but you put your hand up to stop him.

“That’s a lot of negativity,” You said. “Sorry Wes, this is a negative free space. How did Fox find you?”

“Oh, uh, I was picking up my prescription. My anti-anxiety medication. The man who killed my father hunted me down and tried to kill us. Then she introduced me to all of this.”

“Welcome to the wildest ride of your life, Wesley Gibson. You’re going to find out a lot about other people, and even more about yourself here.”

-

Over the next couple of months, you worked with Wesley closely. You couldn’t teach him how to shoot of course, or how to handle pain and other weapons, but you could show him how to use the gadgets that you made. You were extremely proud of the little EMF ipod that you put together which turned off all of the electronic devices in a two-block radius for up to half an hour at a time. Very handy for tricky alarm systems when he had to get into a building. Wesley was a fan of the bungee belt that you put together, for it gave him a rush to jump off the buildings, still have mobility, and know that he was safe while doing it.

“What are you working on?” He asked, walking into your workshop with a paperbag. You could smell your favorite takeaway inside of it and your mouth started watering immediately.

“Nothing fancy. Sloan is going abroad for a little bit and I’m trying to fix up this camera to take some 3D pictures.” You said, tongue sticking out of your mouth as you attached a lens to the camera. You picked it up, pointed it at Wesley and grinned. “Say cheese!”

Wesley grimaced as the flash went off in his face. You brought the camera down and looked at the image on the display. It hadn’t worked, but you saved the photo anyway. You’d keep it for yourself, because embarrassing photos of ones friends is something that should always be hoarded. “Maybe I’ll make this my laptop background,” You chuckled.

“Oh, don’t,” Wesley groaned. He came up to your work station, crossed his arms and rested them on the wooden table. “I was wondering if you wanted to get out of here.”

“Why? You already brought me food,” You said, putting the camera off to the side and opened the bag. “No reason to go out now.”

“When was the last time that you actually had fresh air?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you calling the city air fresh? Because I can tell you that it’s not. Studies show-”

“Enough about studies, I left that word behind in high school. I just thought maybe you’d want to act like a normal nineteen year old for once.”

“And what do normal nineteen year olds do?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. You really were curious about what Wesley was going to say.  It would probably be something cringe-worthy that you can tease him about later.

“Go to parties, go on dates, go to the mall...” Wesley shrugged.

“Is what what you did when you were nineteen?” You asked, poking his chest. It astounded you how hard it was, this was the first time that you had actually went as far as to poke him. Damn - they really were working him hard. “I don’t think being around drunk people is fun, a lot of people are intimidated by my intellect and ... the mall, really?” You laughed at the thought of mingling around with the people inside a shopping center. It was far from something you were interested in doing. But then an idea sprung to mind. “Actually - can you take me for a little drive?”

-

After eating the food that Wesley brought you, the two of you sat inside a rather nondescript car, driving out of the city towards the more rural area. Resting on your lap was a large jar with four large butterflies fluttering inside. One of them had a little bit of a scar on it’s wing, but it was flapping strong anyway. You leaned your head against the glass of the window and looked out as the big buildings turned into suburban neighborhoods, and then pretty much nothing but long roads going many directions. It was only when you saw a little flower patch that you told Wesley to pull over.

You stepped out of the car and took in your first breath of non-city air that you’ve had in a long time. You walked over to the flower patch and smelled the colorful plants. Wesley opened up his door but stood behind it, arms folded over the top of the car.

“Fly my darlings, fly!” You said, unscrewing the top of the jar. The butterflies took their time on leaving, but eventually settled on the flowers. The one with the scar, the only one who ended up under your knife, went to the largest flower in the bunch and spread it’s wings to show off it’s beauty. You got down on your knees and watched as they took in their new surroundings, then slowly started to fly away, towards a small patch of woods close by. It wasn’t as dramatic as you thought it would, but it was only four butterflies after all.

“That’s all you wanted to do?” Wesley asked as you walked towards the car, screwing the lid back on the jar. You nodded with a big grin.

“If you’re gonna bug me to get out of the house, I might as well provide freedom for my friends,” You said, opening the door and getting back inside. Wesley did as well, starting the car back up, but he didn’t go back on the road right away.

“You’re a bit fucking weird,” He said, smiling at you endearingly. You nodded, laughed and agreed with him on that one. He leaned in towards you and pecked your cheek before turning the car around to take the both of you back home.

[originalhybridloverfics]

I Can’t Let Her Die Ch 4

A/N: Sorry for the wait for chapters but hopefully what I have plan for this story will make your patience worth it and secondly, I don't care about the time-space continuum stuff. This is fanfiction for a reason.

                                                 ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Oliver entered the foundry and froze immediately as he heard the familiar haunting sound of fingers typing away on a keyboard.

He ran down the stairs taking two at a time and came to a halt. The sound was echoing in his head, but the bunker was otherwise empty. Felicity’s computers untouched by her for weeks.

He walked forward slowly and gripped the back of his chair, his chest aching with loss. The bunker was darker without Felicity's light brightening it up, without her warming the place with her smile and her belief in him and what they were doing.

The mission to protect the city felt lost without her. He struggled to find the point in saving a city of strangers when he hadn't been able to keep the woman he loved safe.

Oliver turned her chair and lowered himself into the seat, sometimes when he closed his eyes, he could see Felicity right in front of him smiling, her eyes shining with life and purpose. He could smell that light floral scent with a hint of raspberries.

And sometimes he could hear her voice before he hit the streets asking him to come back to her. The way she stood close to him, the way she looked at him, pleading with her eyes for him to stay.

He always came back. He asked Felicity to stay with him, and she couldn’t.

Oliver bent forward, burying his face in his hands.

It’s gonna be okay, Oliver. You will get through this.

Even now, he could hear her voice, but he knew it was his subconscious's way of dealing with his grief.

“No, no, I won’t.” he raised his head tears in his eyes, and he swore he could see Felicity standing in front of him, her glasses perched on her nose, hair in a high ponytail, lips painted pink, in a green blouse and one of her patented short skirts. “I need you here. I have always needed you here. With me.”

The image of Felicity reaching her hand out, cupping his cheek nearly broke him. Her hand was cupping his jaw, but he couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel her warmth or the sense of home she always provided.

He was so lost in his hallucination, he never even heard Laurel enter the bunker or her heels on the steps. “Ollie, who are you talking to?”

As Laurel came into view, the image of Felicity faded.

Oliver washed a hand down his face. “What are you doing here?”

“I know you’re having a hard time and I just thought we could get dinner, maybe talk. I mean, if there’s anyone who can relate what you’re going through, it’s me.”

Oliver pushed from Felicity’s chair. “How could you possibly understand what I’m feeling?”

“I know what it’s like to lose someone you loved.” She reminded, her tone cajoling. “I lost Tommy.”

Oliver gave a harsh, brittle laugh. “You wanted to move on from his death before he was even in the ground.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Laurel protested with a look of hurt in her eyes, stepping closer. “You know things were complicated between all of us before he died. However, that doesn’t change the fact that I lost someone I loved.”

“You didn’t love Tommy the way he loved you. He died because of you. He wouldn’t have been in the Glades if it weren’t for you. He would still be here if he hadn't gone to CNRI to save you when you had already been told it wasn't safe. You got him killed.”

The rounding smack of her hand, striking him across the face echoed through the foundry.

Oliver glared, unmoved by the fresh sheen of tears in her eyes. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it? You did not love him the way I love Felicity, so you couldn’t possibly understand how I’m feeling.”

“I know you’re hurting and you’re lashing out. I know you’re being sucked into darkness, your grief is threatening to consume you.” Laurel's voice shook. “I know you are being mean and cruel because it’s easier to blame everyone around you then to accept you are never going to see Felicity again. And I know this person you’re being right now, hurting the people closest to you is not what Felicity would want. If you want to honor her, be the man she believed in.”

Oliver took a step back; her words effecting him more than a hit ever could. He turned away as she headed back up the stairs. “I’m trying,” he whispered, clutching the back of Felicity’s chair.

And that’s what matters.

He felt a coldness sweep over him, and Felicity's scent filled his senses.

Oliver haunched forward and allowed the grief he felt every minute to take over, his failure to be the man Felicity believed in never more pronounced.   

Or so he thought.

Two nights later, he came upon a scene that set his blood to boil.

A girl with honey blonde hair was pinned to the wet asphalt, struggling beneath the man straddling her waist. He was pulling at her clothes, as she pushed at him fruitlessly with her arms, her legs trapped beneath his weight, screaming for help, pleading for him to let her go, begging him to stop. A pair of spectacles laid cracked on the ground.

And for a flash of a moment, it was Felicity he saw fighting, struggling to get away.

It was Felicity he heard crying out for help.

A moment of seeing her in danger was all it took. Oliver wouldn’t fail Felicity again.

He moved forward, yanking the man from her by his arm, so hard and quick there was a sickening pop as the man’s arm tore from its socket.  

The would-be rapist gave a cry of pain as the blonde girl grabbed at her torn shirt with one hand and searched the ground for her glasses with the other, the rain pouring down making her fingers slip.

“What the fu-”

Oliver cut him off, throwing him head first into a steel dumpster.

He didn’t care that the man was dazed after as he crouched over him and slammed his fist again and again into the scumbag's face.

He could hear Digg’s voice on comms, telling him the man was down but it was like it was distorted, coming through a long tunnel and barely reaching him.

He felt his skin break with every punch, felt the pain in his knuckles, the burn in his arms, the man’s groans of pain growing quieter with every strike, the crunch of bone doing nothing to absolve his anger.

“Arrow! That’s enough!” he felt large hands hauling him back.

“I said that’s enough!” John’s face appeared in his vision, and his anger slowly ebbed. He glanced down at the bloody unmoving man and then to the girl who was struggling to find her glasses in the oncoming slaught of rain pouring down in a torrent, the high gust of wind doing nothing to help matters.

He moved toward her and grabbed her glasses, he reached his hand out, touching her shoulder, and she jerked back with a cry, terrified as she scrambled away.

“Hey, hey, I’m not going to hurt you,” Oliver said softly. “I just want to help you.” he gently placed the cracked frames in her hand.

The girl hurriedly slipped them on and held her shirt together. “You're the Arrow. You saved me.” she looked past him, tears in her eyes, body shaking. “He was going to...”

“It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you anymore.” Oliver looked behind him to John, who crouched over the bastard. “Give me your jacket.”

John looked up at him with a grim frown as he shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it to Oliver who caught it with ease, and gently draped it over the girl and quickly closed it around her. “You’re going to be okay,” Oliver promised.

“Thank you,” she murmured shakily, voice full of gratitude and relief.

For a moment, he saw Felicity staring up at him, telling him she believed in him.

“We got a problem,” John said, his tone grave.

Oliver looked at him. “What?”

John was silent for a moment, his next words heavy. “He’s dead.”

Oliver’s eyes shot to the man, and he didn’t feel remorse. Honestly, he couldn’t feel anything for the man, but he felt like he failed Felicity again.

What would she say if she knew he killed when he didn’t need to? When it wasn’t necessary?

Would she still have believed in him? Would she have still seen him as a hero?

Would she have been able to still love him when he was no longer the man she saw in him? When he was a murderer once again instead of the hero, she had believed him to be.

                                                  ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Oliver leaned on his right elbow, a sheet resting low on his hips, watching as Felicity put on earrings in front of a floor length mirror. She wore a green dress the same color as his hood.

It had a primal urge building inside of him that was proud and possessive. “Are you sure you need to go to the office today?”

“Yes, I have a meeting with the HR department.”

He caught sight of the gold glinting on her hand, and he smiled at the sight of her wedding band, he glanced at his hand that adorned his own golden wedding band.

He smiled, tossing the sheet away and climbed out of bed, walking up behind her he pressed his chest to her back and rested one hand on her hip and the other over her slightly rounded stomach, feeling their baby kick beneath his palm.

“I’m sure I have ways of convincing you to stay home with me. Naked. In bed.”

Felicity chuckled tilting her head back against his chest as his lips pressed just beneath her ear and traveled down her neck. “Tempting, but I have to be there and don’t forget, we have a doctor’s appointment at two o'clock.”

Oliver smiled against her neck. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

Felicity turned in his arms, draping hers around his neck. “Me neither. When you showed up in my cubicle with a laptop full of bullet holes, I never thought we end up here. Married with a baby on the way. Did you?”

“No, I thought I would save the city alone and die alone, and now, I’m still fighting for my city, but I am not alone I have you and as shocking as it is I’m happy.”

Felicity smiled. “Me too.” she pressed her lips to his.

The kiss started out sweet but quickly turned heated as Oliver nipped at her bottom lip. Felicity opened to him and moaned as he licked into her mouth, her stomach pressing lightly against his hard abs, his thumbs massaging slow circles in her lower back.

Oliver loved the taste of her mouth, her body pressed against his.

Felicity jerked suddenly, ripping her mouth from his. Blood slipped out the corner of her lips, dripping down her chin, her eyes wide with pain.

Oliver stumbled back in shock, seeing the arrow sticking through her chest. “Felicity!”

Felicity stumbled forward dropping to her knees, and Oliver was there catching her, one hand around her waist the other lacing with her fingers that curved around her stomach, their child protectively.

“Oliver.” Felicity choked out more blood coating her mouth. “Why didn’t you save me?”

Oliver's chest felt like he was being pried open by a pair of rib spreaders, he gasped painfully. “I wanted to. If I could save you, I would you have to know that.”

“If you had, we could've had all this.” Felicity struggled to get the words out, lifting a bloody hand to his cheek and cupping it gently. “We could have had everything. Helping the city, each other, a family. I could have been more than just one happy story. I could have given you more happy stories than you believed were possible.”

“I’m sorry.” Oliver felt like his heart was being shredded into tiny bits, and he was never going to be able to pick up all the pieces.

How had he gone from being happier than he believed was possible to wishing he was dead? Wishing he was the one who had an arrow in his chest.

“Felicity, I’m so sorry!” he wiped at the blood on her mouth. “Please, just stay here with me!”

His pleas fell on death ears as Felicity gave one last breath, eyes glazing over with nothing as her chest stilled completely.

“Felicity!” Oliver cried in anguish, clutching her to his chest. “Please, don’t leave me. Not again.” A cry of a wounded animal escaped him as he bent over her covering with his body, wishing it had been him.

Oliver jolted up, Felicity's name leaving his mouth on a hoarse shout, his breath came in fast and quick pants, sweat making his clothes stick to his skin and his chest pounded painfully against his ribcage.  

He swung his legs over the couch, sitting on the edge, burying his face in his hands.

It’s okay. It was just a dream.

Oliver’s head shot up, and he stared across at the image that had haunted been haunting him for weeks.

Felicity stood in front of the coffee table, looking as beautiful as the day he met her, black pencil skirt, pink buttoned up blouse, hair pulled back into a ponytail, glasses perched on her nose.

But she wasn’t real. Oliver knew that. His heart and his mind were playing tricks on him. Torturing him.

“It wasn’t just a dream. You died. That part is real.” Oliver wiped a hand down his face tiredly. “You’re not really here. You're dead.”

But you’re not, and you're going to be okay.

“No, I’m not. I’m never going to be okay again as long as your gone,” God, he was going insane. He was talking to a ghost.

Professionals would really have a field day with him.

Felicity’s ghost smiled sadly.

You can’t change what happened to me, Oliver. You have to move on.

Oliver sucked in a sharp breath, her words echoing in his head.

You can’t change what happened to me, Oliver.

But what if he could?

What if he could go back and stop it?

What if he could save her?

He shot up from the couch, reaching for his phone he tossed on the coffee table.

There was someone he had to call.

He dialed a number he never had before. He didn’t care that it was barely 4 in the morning. He didn’t care what time it was wherever the man was.

If he could change what happened, that was all that mattered.

He waited with bated breath, pressing the phone to his ear, listing it to ring, one, two, three, four times, finally on the fifth ring. “Hello, Mate.” A British voice answered.

“I need your help, Constantine.”

                                                    ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Almost 24 hours later, Oliver was letting Constantine into Felicity's apartment.

“You look like Hell spat you out.” Constantine greeted, brushing past him.

“I lost someone I care about very deeply.” Oliver turned to face him. “I was hoping you could help me with that. You do spells and magic and all that weird shit. There has to be something I can to do to save her.”

Constantine regarded him closely. “Your talking about changing what has already happened.”

“It is possible?”

“Is it possible? Yes.” Constantine answered. “Is it recommended? No. Time traveling. Changing the past. It has ramifications.”

“I don’t care. If there’s a spell that would help me save her, then do it. You owe me that much at least.”

Constantine was silent for a moment before finally speaking. “If I do this I can’t guarantee everything's going to work out the way you want it to that part will be up to you. There’s is a spell for sending someone back in time. I can send you back to save your friend; however, by doing so, you would be changing things, causing a disturbance in the timeline. you won’t have any way of knowing if you made things worse.”

“If you want to do this, you need to move forward with caution. There’s no telling what consequences you may face for changing something that has already happened.”  Constantine warned.  

“I don’t care about the consequences.” Saving Felicity was worth the risk. Felicity was worth any risk.

“Okay, then,” Constantine would do the spell. He did owe Oliver one, after all. “Once I do the spell, you can only return back to your time once your task is finished. Once the life you went back to save is no longer in danger of being cut short.”

Oliver nodded if he saved Felicity, then she would be alive when he returned. That was his priority.

                                                   ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Oliver watched as Constantine drew a large symbol onto the floor, he placed five candles around it in a circle.

“Step into the circle,” Constantine instructed.

Oliver stepped through the circle and onto the symbol, turning to face Constantine as he mixed something into a bowl, whatever it was smelled.

“Last chance to rethink this, Mate,” Constantine warned.

“Finish the spell,” Oliver said sharply.

Constantine's eyes narrowed, and he started chanting.

Oliver didn’t try to understand the words he spoke, though he knew it was Latin.

Suddenly, Constantine lit a match and threw it in the bowl, a loud popping sound followed with smoke billowing, and suddenly he felt like he was being pulled, yanked through time.

He shut eyes against the feeling.

“How the hell did you get here?!”

He snapped his eyes open at the demanding voice.

His voice and the familiar sound of an arrow being drawn.

Standing across from him was himself, eyes hard and unflinching, arrow knocked back, ready to shoot. “I will not ask again. What the fuck just happened?!”

                                                 ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

A/N: Okay, so I went a different route than a speedster time traveling or the Waverider. Now, I'll admit I don't know much about Constantine and I don't know if he has the power to send someone back with a spell but for this story, I'm going with that.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Tags: @erika-amber @msbeccieboo @faegal04 @eloiselili @jendiaz69 @omglovechrissie @icannotbelieveiamhere @hope-for-olicity @lageniuswannabe @keabbs @it-was-a-red-heeler

If you want to be tagged let me know!

Also if you hadn’t read the previous chapters you can read them here, https://archiveofourown.org/works/18196577/chapters/43043615.

[allimariexf]

Thriving in Low Light

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Oliver Queen/ Felicity Smoak

Tags: Future Fic/ Fluff/ Romance

Summary: I know who you are. You’re Mr. Queen. (Set sometime in the not-too-distant future)

Notes: Read/comment/kudos on Ao3  ^_^ 

Y’all. I don’t know what this is, the image just came to me and I had to write it.  I have an idea for continuing this story (more details about that in the endnotes on Ao3). Let me know if y’all are interested in seeing me continue this!   

Oliver stepped up to the desk, waiting for the receptionist to notice him.

He looked around. The office was impressive. Not large, but clean and welcoming with a perfect balance of comfortable, modern furniture and abundant greenery.

The woman behind the desk finally looked up from her computer, and when she saw him her eyes and mouth went wide.

Oliver smiled. “Hi. I have an 11:00 appointment. My name is Thomas Robertson…?”

The receptionist nodded slowly, clearly trying to square what she thought she knew about the man in front of her with the words coming out of his mouth. Oliver smiled more deeply, hoping to put the woman at ease.

It didn’t seem to help. Rather than respond to him in words, she picked up the telephone and pressed the intercom, maintaining slightly stunned eye contact as she delivered her message to the person on the other end of the line. Still, Oliver had to give her props; her voice was nothing but steady and professional. “Hi. Your 11:00 appointment is here...okay, I’ll send him in.” She blindly slid the phone back into the receiver. “You can go in.” Her eyes still not leaving his face, she pointed toward a door to the right of Reception. “Down that hallway and third door on the left.”

Oliver dipped his head politely, offering a parting smile and a small wink. “Thank you.”

He opened the door and made his way down a short, daylit hallway, pausing at the end to admire the city view through the floor-to-ceiling window.

Star City was spread out far below him. His home. He’d been away for three weeks, on a consulting job for the city of San Diego, and every day, every hour away from home had been excruciating. Southern California’s year-round sunshine couldn’t supply a fraction of the warmth and brightness he found here.

With a contented sigh, he turned toward the door, deciding at the last second to give a small warning knock. It was a courtesy instilled in him long ago.  

He opened the door slowly, popping his head through first to make sure he’d given appropriate notice. His eyes immediately fell on the woman seated at a 3-sided wrap around desk covered in scattered papers, a few keyboards, several monitors, and a laptop. Her back was to him.

Oliver cleared his throat. “Felicity Smoak?”

She whipped around instantly, meeting his gaze with wide eyes and parted lips.

“Hi. I’m you’re 11:00 appointment.”

Felicity stood up suddenly, a packet of papers that had been on her lap slipping to the floor unnoticed. “Oliver! You’re back!”

Just the sight of her set his heart beating fast, and he couldn’t resist her magnetic pull. In two large steps he was next to her, leaning down into her space but not quite touching. He watched the progress of her eyes as they traveled up his body, snagged momentarily on his lips, and then finally locked onto his. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she breathed.

He reached up to push her loose hair behind her ears, then brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles, savoring the fact that he was here, that he could finally touch her. “I missed you.”

She huffed out a shaky laugh, her eyes large and bright. “I missed you, too.”

Oliver felt himself returning to life under her warm gaze, as if he were a neglected plant that was finally getting water and sunlight. His chest expanded as he took a deep breath of her pear-scented air, and when he released it he felt weeks worth of tension draining away. “I really like your new office space, Ms. Smoak.”

Something sparked behind Felicity’s eyes and she wrapped first one arm around his neck, then the other, pulling him down and raising on her toes so that they were nose to nose. “That’s Mrs. Smoak Queen to you, Mr. Queen.”

Oliver felt the familiar wave of heat and pleasure rush through his body at her words, her touch. His slid his arms around her waist, gathering her close so she could feel his physical reaction to her. He put his lips to her ear. “Mr. Queen was my father.”

He felt her sharp intake of breath against his neck and in the way her body pressed further into his.

When her surprise passed, she slid down his body back onto her heels, keeping her lower body pressed against his but leaning back enough so she could pin him with a bold look. “Mr. Queen, are you using a line on me?”

Oliver’s eyes glinted as they shifted from her flashing blue eyes to her lips and then back again. He felt the smile tug at the corner of his lips. “Is it working?”

She was breathing shallowly, her eyes locked on his as she ran a hand slowly up his chest.  Her fingers curled around his neck, into his hair, and brushed over the shell of his ear until her hand came to rest on his cheek.

Oliver took a shuddery breath and felt his heart stutter as her eyes shifted from flirty to bottomless. He stood transfixed.

“Always.”

He looked back at her for a long moment, amazed that they were here. Amazed that, even damaged and cautious as they both had been when they’d met, they’d somehow recognized each other, trusted each other from the start. “Felicity Smoak.”

“Yeah?”

She watched as he started leaning down into her, his intention clear. “Felicity Smoak Queen, I mean.”

She laughed breathily, clearly caught up in the anticipation of his slowly lowering mouth.

He paused when his lips were hovering just barely over hers. “I love you.”

She closed the distance between their mouths with a firm, forceful kiss, and then pulled back to look him in the eyes. “I love you too, Oliver Queen.” She nodded slightly and then wrapped her hands around his neck, closing her lips over his in a series of inviting kisses.

Oliver sank against her, surrendering to the pull of her lips and tongue before remembering himself enough to mumble his response into her mouth. “That’s Oliver Smoak Queen to you.” He felt her laugh against his mouth as he hoisted her up and set her down on her new desk, ready to show his wife how much he’d missed her.

[thekidultlife]

Audiophile | Jihoon Idol!AU

Words: 3878

Genre: Plain smut, folks.

(A/N: Well, good luck on this one. It was pretty long like 80% of it is smut)

You entered Jihoon’s studio in the manner that you usually did.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary. You, as the music producer of your own group, had rights and reasons to have a space in the studio. Pledis was still skeptical in giving you your own studio, so thus you had to share with Seventeen’s music prodigy.

It wasn’t like he minded your presence, though he was wary at first. Yet as you gradually assimilated into the room, Jihoon actually took comfort in your company. After all, it could really get lonely at some nights.

And so you entered casually.

Most of your things were left untouched on top of your desk, including your phone. Well, there really isn’t any reason for them to be touched since you just went to eat dinner at three in the morning and Jihoon was somewhere you didn’t know and the studio was one of the most heavily secured places in the building.

You nonchalantly approached your desk and cleared the top; moving notebooks riddled with lyrics away and awakening the PC so you can continue a song you were producing. Picking up your phone, you noticed that you left it on record. Probably because you were recording a melody just before you went to eat and forgot to turn it off.

It was recording for two hours and forty-seven seconds.

You shrugged and sighed.

Before you left for the chicken restaurant just in front of Pledis, Jihoon was still working on something and had refused your invitation to eat with you. You figured that he was working on something really important, so you didn’t bother to persuade him and just went out. Since he wasn’t in the studio by the time you went back, you guessed he had probably went to eat as well.

You tapped on the stop button and placed it on top of your desk as you sat on your armchair. You stretched your arms before you and again tapped on your phone to play the recording. The first part might still be valuable after all.

And so it played—you humming a tune as Jihoon’s furious mouse clicking and keyboard typing is heard on the background. Listening while massaging your fingers, the cogwheels in your head began turning on how you would do the verse. You did some backing and sung a bit of lyrics which you thought would match. However, you still had trouble with how you would do the beat of the song so you began tapping your palms and fingers on the wooden desk until you found it right.

Immersed in the beat that you were creating, you barely noticed the part where you were humming was already over and was replaced just by sheer silence.

And then someone groaned.

Your fingers stopped tapping and you looked around you, confused. Like hell were you getting haunted right now when you have a comeback next month.

Then there was a whimper.

“What the—”

“—ah…haa…”

You shivered at the sounds. Obviously, there were sounds which you shouldn’t be hearing right now. It may either be someone having sex in the studio which was impossible since there were no cabinets nor anything to hide in; or someone was watching porn and left it open.

You rose from your seat and looked around. You definitely weren’t imagining things—there were really legit sounds yet you couldn’t fathom where it was from.

“Oh fuck…yes…”

Now you could clearly identify who it was. Well, you weren’t that surprised really.

“Well, Jihoon is a guy,” you said casually and shrugged, turning to return to your chair.

“Ahh…Y/N…god…”

But that wasn’t what you expected.

The air in the room immediately changed into something heavier.

Another thing which caught you in the headlights was where the sounds were coming from. It finally clicked to you that everything was coming from your phone. That two hour recording was Jihoon jacking off to the thought you.

He groaned in the recording. “…Shit…haa…Y/N…you feel so good….”

You heard the swivel chair creak in the recording and you could imagine Jihoon arching his back and throwing his head on the backrest as he pumped his dick as quickly as he could.

“Fuck…ahh…haa…god…Y/N…I wish I could fuck you…”

His words sent currents right to your core as you immediately rubbed your thighs together; still denying that the recording was turning you on. Slowly, you returned to your seat and continued listening to the recording even though you knew you had to turn it off. But you couldn’t. His moans and grunts were too hypnotizing to your ears which left your throat dry but your underwear drenched.

Your hands which were gripping the armrests tightly gradually crept down to your lap and rubbed circles on the skin exposed by your shorts. Licking your lips, the thoughts which swirled in your mind was getting the better of you, urging your hands to slide down your inner thighs as your legs parted hesitantly.

He grunted.

Slowly, your fingers dipped to your apex and rubbed the forming wet patch on your shorts. It was languid and teasing while you enjoyed the breathy gasps of Jihoon from your phone. Shit. Getting a tad naughtier, your free hand unbuttoned and unzipped your shorts as the other pulled them down to your ankles.

Freer than before, your hand immediately went to your covered clit and placed small touches which had you hitching your breath. You also played with your entrance and imagined Jihoon touching you at the same places you did.

“Shit…ughh…ahh…” You could hear skin on skin as the image of him rubbing his thick cock with parted lips and heavy breaths tainted your mind. Everything in that recording happened in the very same room you were in just a little while ago. It was just some sort of porn clip—it was Jihoon at his dirtiest.

“Ji…” a segment of his name escaped from your lips as you finally removed your underwear and directly rubbed circles on your sensitive nub. “…ahh…Jihoon…”

“…nnm…Y/N…I’m…so, so close…”

His voice had gotten higher and louder as you wished he would whisper those exact same words on your ear as he fucks you hard on the desk. You inserted a digit in you as it slid without trouble and you imagined yourself as the recipient of Jihoon’s rough thrusts and dirty words.

“haa…haa…uhh…yes…Jihoon,” you mumbled, your eyes long closed as you slipped another finger in you yet feeling frustrated at how they just could not reach the spot you wanted. If only Jihoon’s fingers were in you…surely, surely…they would…

“Mmn…Jihoon, please…there…ah—”

 “Y/N, you calling for me—OH SHIT. FUCK. I’m sorry—”

Everything was happening too fast.

First, when you heard the real Jihoon’s voice at the doorway, you lunged to pick up your underwear and shorts from the floor and wore them back at Mach speed. Second, Jihoon almost had his eyeballs pop out from its sockets when he saw you half naked and masturbating to none other than him. Third, he slammed the door shut but to his dismay, he shut it the other way, with him and you locked inside the studio together with the awkwardness and the tension swirling in the air.

The both of you tried to avoid each other’s gazes until you accidentally met his and now the two of you were trapped.

“…oh god fuck…ughh…Y/N! I’m coming—”

Jihoon tapped the stop button on your phone and looked away guiltily as his ears were red with embarrassment.

“Wait! I can explain!” you exclaimed first, hiding your hands on your back, away from his sight. “I didn’t record you intentionally, okay? It’s just…! I…uh…I left it on record accidentally and—”

“Oh just fuck this!”

Jihoon interrupted you with a sharp curse and marched towards you with a darkened expression. He pulled you towards him and with a single second of a pause, he had his lips on yours within the next moment.

You couldn’t even process what was actually happening. All you knew was how the kiss was so soft and languid despite how he held on you so tightly on your waist; pushing you flush against his hardness. Yet you enjoyed it all as you mewled in agreement when he slid his tongue in your mouth to play with yours. Instinctively, your arms wound itself around his neck, pulling on his strands of dark hair between your fingers.

“Jihoon…” you whimpered in a soft voice as soon as he left your lips and began nibbling on your jaw and neck; feeling the tingly sensation of his tongue sucking and licking your soft skin.

 The grasps on his shoulders tightened when Jihoon began to urge you towards the leather sofa behind you and when your knees had hit its peripheries, he suddenly pushed you down and pinned you underneath him. He returned to giving you numerous splotches on your jaw down to your collarbone as he now slipped his hands underneath your hoodie—an indication that he needed them off of you.

Getting his hint, you pushed him off of you and took them off, throwing them beside the sofa along with your shorts; leaving you basically naked except for your underwear. Jihoon seemed to have forgotten how to breathe when he saw you so bare for him and had been taken over by an instinct to place more marks on your beautiful skin.

“Finally…fucking finally…” he mumbled over and over like spell on your chest as if binding you to be his.

His nimble fingers crept to the hook of your bra so that it could join the rest of your clothes beside the sofa in a bundled heap. Jihoon then leaned forward to catch your hard nub between his lips and sucked as his hand groped your other breast, loving how they felt against his hand.

You squealed at the sensations he was doing on your body as you melted against his touch like putty; repeating his name on your lips like a broken record. Arching your back as Jihoon teased your breasts, you reveled at how his eyes turned feral when you ground your aching core to his clothed hardness.

Feeling too warm and overdressed for the moment, Jihoon removed his shirt as well as his skinny jeans and rejoined you on the couch; hovering above you with a deadly smirk. Inclining himself, he whispered right beside your ear.

“I heard you get off with my voice.”

Without even looking, you could feel his smugness dripping between his words; implying at how you were masturbating with his moans earlier. You could sense a flush of warmth on your cheeks and a lump on our throat yet you couldn’t deny it—you loved his voice especially when it’s saying how he wants to fuck you so much.

His hand crept down to the band of your panties, teasingly slipping his finger around it and pulling it down so, so slowly while the other was caressing your waist in gentle circles.

“Do you want to hear how I’ll fuck you tonight, my baby girl?” he started, now peppering small kisses up and down your neck. “How I’ll fill your tight wet pussy with my cock and fuck you until you can’t walk straight until next week?”

“…fuck…Jihoon…ahh…” you moaned, the hand which was playing with your panties now raking up and down your sensitive inner thighs.

“Oh god, baby. You’ll look so good covered in my cum as I pound into you again and again…” he smiled at you so sweetly and the contrast between his expression and his words made your stomach do somersaults.

Jihoon’s hands then found purchase on your panties and slipped it off of you, a string of wetness on your pussy evident which Jihoon playfully swiped his two fingers with; a mocking grin on his lips.

“I haven’t even touched you here and you’re so wet?” he remarked, placing both hands underneath your legs and spread you wide before him.

“Please touch me…Jihoon, please…” you begged as you covered your face with your arm, unable to look at him when you’re so open and bare.

Jihoon clicked his tongue at you and gently coaxed your arm away. As soon as he was done, he closed the gap between your lips; giving you a long-drawn kiss. His hand found its way on your cheeks and rubbed it slowly and reassuringly.

“Don’t hide, baby girl,” he smiled against your lips, his eyes boring right through you. “You look so beautiful like this. I want to see you looking so dirty, understand?”

Nodding in understanding, you gave Jihoon a small smile as he went back to his position between your legs. Without any warning, he leaned in and took a long stripe on your pussy; his tongue brushing against your sensitive clit as you jolted in surprise, holding to anything you can reach.

“Oh my god…Jihoon…” you cried, as he continued his assault on your clit, lapping all your juices.

He held on to your legs tightly as they instinctively try to close—you were unable to do anything but hold on to his dark lock as he slipped a finger into you. Jihoon then accelerated his face faster and faster as his tongue sucked on your swollen nub; adding a digit and then another when you got significantly wetter than before. Basically, you were nothing but a moaning mess, arching and screaming out Jihoon’s name in praise of how fucking good his tongue was.

When you could feel the beginning of your climax pooling on your stomach, Jihoon pulled out his fingers from you and replaced it with his tongue, exploring your hole earnestly as he gave you dark expression from between your legs. You groaned at this; tears forming in your eyes at how sensitive you have become.

“Are you coming for me, my baby girl?” he asked with his fuckingly rough voice that had you whimpering and bucking against the three fingers which returned pumping in and out of you.

“Ahh…Ji…! Ji…hoon…fuck yes…!” you replied with half lidded eyes and parted lips as your breasts bounced at both of your movements.

Jihoon grinned at you and went back down on your clit so that a few sucks and licks could push you towards your climax. In several minutes, he had you quivering and moaning as your climax had hit you like a bullet train—looking so utterly sexy and dirty for him only as you came.

Jihoon then pulled his fingers out of you and licked them clean on by one, tongue dragging at ever digit while you were unable to look away though your climax still had you shaking. He then leaned in towards you and gave you a peck on the lips. However, you knew this was far from over as the glint on his eyes had not faded yet but rather turned darker.

“My baby girl is up for another round, yeah?” he asked you, his eyes lingering on yours with a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “You can take on my cock now, right babe?”

His use of words made electricity run up and down your spine once again as excitement filled your blood. You can’t help but nod at his suggestion as you felt his clothed length nudge against your thigh. In a sudden impulse, you reached out to him and slowly rubbed your palm against the tent on his boxers while Jihoon gave a restrained moan.

“Yes, just like that, baby,” he muttered under his breath; his eyes closing to feel your touch a bit more.

Feeling a tad courageous, you slipped your hand underneath his underwear and played with the tip of his bare cock which was already slippery with precum. You reveled at how he was so hard and big because of you and only fueled you to pump his length faster; tightening your grip. Jihoon was already humping against your hand as his jaw fell and eyes shut tightly in pleasure.

“Fucking hell, Y/N…ughh…that’s…enough,” he growled at you, yet you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

Jihoon could come with just your hand however, what he wanted today was to fuck you on the couch. Handjobs and blowjobs were for another time. So he got rid of your arm despite how difficult it is and pinned you back on the sofa. You noticed that there were sweat dripping down his brow to his cheeks and the deep pink flush on his skin and ears and you thought that nothing could be so endearing and so sexy at the same time.

“I told you, that’s enough,” he warned you in a low and husky voice that seemed to make you more excited than ever. “You know, bad girls should be punished. On your knees, now.”

Obediently, you turned around so that your ass was in front of him while your arms were supporting your upper body. Jihoon breathed in this sight of you; your wet glistening pussy right there for his taking and your butt so pretty for spanking.

He took his position behind you and dipped two fingers into your core as you keened in delight however, a sudden sharp pain hit your butt cheek that you had to arch your back.

“Count,” he commanded as he hit your ass once more and then rubbing it gently, a third finger burying inside of you. “And don’t come without my permission.”

You couldn’t seem to comprehend what he was asking of you because of the strange mixture of both pain and pleasure you were feeling, so you struggled to utter a single number.

“Baby girl, what did I say?” he asked you with a voice restrained but hungry. You know you couldn’t continue to disobey him anymore.

“C-count…” you replied with a hoarse voice.

“Good.”

As soon as he replied, he struck your ass again as you moaned a number, struggling not to come with how his fingers were thrusting into you. He continued to hit your butt several times until you were merely whispering the number.

“…Ji…I can’t…please…let me come…” you pleaded as tears glassed your eyes.

Sensing that you can’t handle it anymore, Jihoon pulled out his fingers and gently caressed your ass to ease the pain. You were breathing heavily as you noticed him crawling towards you and giving you several chaste kisses on your lips, cheeks, nose, and basically everywhere on your body.

“You’re such a good girl for me, baby,” he smiled down at you as you crept your arms around his shoulders.

“Please give me my reward now…” you replied with a small grin while Jihoon could only kiss you hard on the lips, tongue playing and teeth biting lips.

“Only for my baby girl,” he whispered as he finally removed his boxers; his dick hard against his stomach.

Jihoon then spread your legs apart and teasingly rubbed his length on your still sensitive clit. Mewling, you slapped his arm in reprimand and he only chuckled at you.

Slowly, he slid into your wet and hot pussy as the two of you wallowed in the sensation of each other. You felt him stretch you out in proportions you did not consider despite all the intense foreplay and you could only spread your lips and arch your back in pleasure. Jihoon didn’t expect how different it felt to be inside you; it was a hundred times much better than his good old hand or anything he could think of.

He didn’t try to move at first, considering if you felt comfortable. When you began bucking against him, Jihoon thrusted into you sharply and you groaned so loudly; glad the studio was sound-proofed.

“Fuck, baby…! You feel so good around me…” he muttered beside your ears as he tried to establish his rhythm; pounding inside you so roughly and steadily.

“Ji…hoon…oh my god…ahh…!” you could only utter sweet rasps as he had you gasping with how he pressed his thumb on your clit.

As he continued fucking you hard, Jihoon had his eyes nowhere but on yours as his lips parted in pure pleasure. You could see how he adored you so much with the way he gazed at you—his dark fringes now damp with sweat as it flew in motion with his deep thrusts.

Your arms reached for his back, nails raking on his skin which you realized was one of his kinks as Jihoon grunted in delight at feel of your fingers burying on his shoulder blades. He then lifted your left leg up and placed it over his shoulder so that Jihoon could pound into you deeper. This had you gasp as the new position had the head of his cock brushing against your sensitive spot, nudging you closer and closer to climax. Squeezing around him unconsciously, Jihoon gathered all of his strength not to come so early, yet he knew he wouldn’t last any longer.

In a sudden impulse, Jihoon bent towards you, his eyes searching yours in a whole different level. He had you at the mercy of his intense gaze, forever trapped and mesmerized by his dark chocolate brown orbs. And as if driven by the moment, both your lips touched and melted into a soft and sensual kiss—totally in contrast with how he was driving his cock into you.

“I…I like you…so much…shit…Y/N…I just…!”

He kept on whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he continued to drive into you, while you were holding onto him around his neck, feeling nothing but love and pleasure.

“Ji…ughh...! Faster! Yes…!”

You squealed as he upped his speed to a notch, the knot in you tightening and closing around his cock. You could feel it twitch inside of you and you understood this as a sign that he was already close to climaxing.

“Fuck…Y/N…I’m so close…!”

As soon as he whispered to you, you arched your back and gripped on his shoulder tightly as you reached your long-awaited climax. Jihoon cursed right beside your ear as he kept on pounding through your orgasm, and pulling out soon after; his seed covering your breasts and stomach.

You were still out of it when Jihoon muttered profanities again; wondering how he was supposed to clean you up. Having none of it, you pulled him down to lie next you and buried your face on his bare chest, reveling on the afterglow.

“Let’s think of that later…” you murmured against his skin, littering innocent pecks on his collarbones. “Right now, I want you beside me.”

Surprisingly, Jihoon blushed a deeper shade of red despite how he just had sex with you a few moments ago and without a protest, he swung an arm around your waist to pull you closer.

“I’m serious, you know…about earlier…” he stuttered like a little boy, making you grin.

“Don’t worry,” you replied as you gazed into his concerned eyes. “I think I might share the same feelings as you do…”

When he heard you, Jihoon immediately lit up and held you more closely as he kissed the tip of your nose.

“But seriously…you touching yourself was fucking hot,” he grinned mischievously. “How about a show for me next time, baby girl?”

-Hyeri 

[secretshinigami]

Title: Testy Author: @abbadon-abandon For: @translightyagami Pairings/Characters: L & Light Rating/Warnings: Rated T, Graphic descriptions of medical procedures/needles Prompt: L and Light giving each other their t shots (originally an art prompt but I got permission to make it a fic) Author’s notes: I have more presents that I’ll give to translightyagami later

It was only the first night of Light’s confinement, and already he wanted to strangle Ryuzaki. The man had spent the day hunched beside him, froggish eyes trained right on him as Light’s fingers had beat a steady rhythm into the keyboard. At every simple typo and misstep he had watched as L’s eyes, regarding him from the corner of his vision, crinkled in silent judgement.

And now, at the end of the night, Light hugging one arm to his side as he stood in only a sleep shirt and shorts in their shared bedroom, a final trial stared up at him.

Before the confinement, Light’s father had always been the one to administer his testosterone; they had hardly had much chance for “bonding”, and Soichiro saw it as an abject expression of non-emasculating affection towards Light to help him. Because of this,  Light had never actually learned how to administer the shot to himself. Even during the confinement, Watari had been the one to help him.

And with L’s judgemental eyes trained on him, the last thing Light wanted to do was call his dad for help. Especially since L also took testosterone; Light shuddered to think how the older man would view him if he knew Light needed help with his shots. The last thing Light wanted was for L to see him as, as some type of child!

“Is Light-kun going to administer his testosterone, or will I be forced to wait here all night as he holds his grudge match against its container?”

“I’m going to! Just stop pestering me…”

“Pestering?” L cocked an eyebrow. “It was only a simple question.”

“You can shove your ‘simple question’ up your-” With the sudden realization that he had become inordinately upset over what amounted to, indeed, a “simple question”, Light snatched the medicine vial and needle from the case, turning so his back faced Ryuzaki. The phrase “like a petulant child” flashed through his mind, but he decidedly chose to ignore it.

Closing his eyes, he conjured the image of his father, eyebrows drawn together as he drew out the testosterone from the vial. Light raised his head, drawing in a breath and steadily drawing the liquid into the needle as if he knew exactly what he was doing. Behind himself, he could feel the burn of L’s eyes watching his movements. Light shrugged the feeling off.

Tugging at a sleeve that already hung far enough up his arm to allow him full access, Light positioned the head of the needle into the familiar spot in his arm. Still, he hesitated, shot shaking as he steeled himself to plunge the needle into his flesh.

A gentle hand pulled on his arm. Light shrieked.

The testosterone fell on the bed as Light jerked, sending a surprised detective crashing into his side.

A long, drawn out pause followed as Light stared wide-eyes at L.

“I suppose I should have… alerted you to my presence earlier.”

To Light’s surprise, L didn’t seem angry. Only apologetic.

“But I must say, this situation would have been avoided if Light-kun had simply told me earlier that he had never administered his testosterone by himself before.”

“Sorry. I just…” Light couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Were you… embarrassed?”

Light glanced up, immediately even more embarrassed than he had been before when he saw the pity in L’s eyes. “No!”

“Of course, Light-kun. If you were embarrassed, which I of course understand that you are not, I would like to remind Light-kun that he is in fact only 17, and most trans men of his age are hardly expected to know how to apply their own testosterone, especially in such a painful form.” A large, spidery hand patted Light’s back in a manner Light would normally deemed patronizing if Light had not sorely desired the affection in that moment.

“Thank you, Ryuzaki.” Light offered him a small smile. “Can you help me?”

L nodded. “Light-kun’s first mistake was not adding air to his needle; it is far less painful with an air bubble to stop the spread of testosterone to the fatty tissues surrounding his muscle.” Emptying the needle back into the vial, L pulled out the medicine before drawing in a tiny bubble of air.

“Did you already sterilize your arm?”

Light nodded.

“Good. Now, lie down.”

Light blinked up at L. “But-”

“Lie down. You need to be relaxed.” A strong hand pushed down on Light’s back, and he begrudgingly obliged. A small grumble left him as L patted his head.

L grabbed his arm next, pulling it out and gently pinning it to the mattress. “Pressure is also important in reducing pain, as well as a straight trajectory of the needle. While this may not be the most achievable when you administer it to yourself, it is still the best practice.” Two fingers pressed against the injection site, and Light fought the urge to tense.

“You’re doing so well, Light-kun.” The murmur sounded absent-minded, simply the voice of someone placating a child, but it soothed Light the same. Only a small hiss left him as the needle plunged into his flesh.

“I hope that is enough for you for today.” L’s hands deftly massaged a cold cream into Light’s skin. “I need to administer my own testosterone.

Sliding upright, Light shook his arm. The pain felt much less than when his father had done it. “Oh? Wouldn’t it be best if I tried it on you? Just so I could practice, of course!” Light tried to “beam” at L.

Ryuzaki’s froggy eyes went wide. “I… suppose so.” Still, his lips remained decidedly pursed.

With L’s guidance, Light drew out the correct fluid-to-air ratio, and it was only with some glee that Light plunged the needle into L’s arm.

“How am I doing, Ryuzaki? Am I doing alright?” He asked, his finger only slipping slightly on the head of the plunger.

A strange grimace crossed L’s face. “Very well, Light-kun. Please keep going.”

Light nodded seriously, flushing the last of the hormones into L.

He reached for the cream, squeezing a generous portion into his hand. Before he could start to rub it in, L’s hand closed tightly around his wrist. “I will do that myself, Light-kun.” The smile still hadn’t returned to full strength.

Light nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. Small grumbles left L as he rubbed the gel in.

As Light turned away, attempting to slip under the covers, L placed his hand on Light’s. “For your first try, Light-kun did well.” He offered, squeezing. Light grinned, turning over so he could look at L.

“I can’t wait to do even better next week!”

L politely hid his groan.

[musicandmusing]

Boy Band

I wrote a thing. I hope you enjoy it. 

AKA If Kenma was in a band. 

(Warning for some cursing and drinking but everyone is of age)

CHAPTER 1

The crowd chanted as they prepared to finish their set with one of the more popular songs from their second album. Kenma waited in the wings of stage left, taking a quick drink of water and wiping his forehead with a towel. He re-adjusted his leather cuff and rings, breathed deep, and headed back onto the stage to the sound of cheers. Kenma on stage isn't actually Kenma. He was Kin, bassist and co-lyricist to the band Storyteller, a silent anchor to the rest of the group. Kin was his alter ego, if you could call it that, and he didn't mind. Kenma smirked at the crowd through his bleached hair as he headed to pick up his bass, causing some girls squeal in the front of the pit. He turned away to face Taketora on the drums as he adjusted his instrument and in-ear monitors. They all knew how to keep the crowd going and he was just doing his part. Bokuto and Kuroo were hyping up the crowd with their banter as they all settled in.

“Kou, you should tell the story about the time you decided to dye your hair red!” Kuroo said into his microphone, pushing his guitar to his back. Kenma looked at Taketora and rolled his eyes with a small smile. They had all heard this story so many times but it was still pretty amusing.

“Nooo it’s so embarrassing!” Bokuto grabbed his microphone as he stormed furiously towards Kuroo. The crowd screamed in delight as Bokuto put Kuroo in a one armed headlock, accidentally showing off his muscles.

“Hey hey hey! Do you want to hear the story?” Bokuto questioned, face fallen in despair when the crowd only erupted into more unintelligible noise. He released Kuroo with a grin and playfully punched his arm. “Fine fine it’s not even that good of a story though!”

“Kou just tell the story.” Akaashi piped up from his keyboard, positioned behind Kuroo on stage right. Kuroo gave Akaashi a fist bump in solidarity.

“Aki stop ganging up on me!” This statement caused Akaashi to move from around his keyboard. Bokuto ran to hide behind Kenma as Akaashi pursued him to inflict his own punishment. Kenma darted up to stand on Taketora’s platform, leaving Bokuto to fend for himself. Akaashi caught him in the middle of the stage in his own headlock until Bokuto conceded defeat .

Kenma would never participate in the banter. He couldn’t handle the attention. He just watched as Bokuto finally launched into his story of the time he tried to dye his hair red and it turned pink after a week. The best part was that he couldn’t get rid of the pink for so long because it faded really slowly and they were on tour at the time. He’d refused to dye it after that because he didn’t want to risk having pastel colored again.

“And on that note here’s our last song of the night, Pastel Memories!” Kuroo yelled and started the familiar riff with Taketora. Kenma closed his eyes as he let the music wash over him and joined in.

Let’s color our memories with pastels

Until they wash away with the rain

But when the canvas dries

Let’s start again, [we can start again]

Kenma watched the crowd sing along, a sea of bodies, no person truly distinguishable from the rest. He also quietly sang the lyrics because of course he knows them. Kuroo ran across the stage in time to the song and Kenma mimicked him to swap places, jumping up and down with the crowd.

Fingers covered red and gold

Paint the morning sky

Dawn breaking through the night

A flash of bright color caught his eye as Kenma positioned himself for the break and he whipped his head to follow it. As he sauntered back to his original side of the stage he searched the crowd for the source. A peak of orange hair cut through the mass of blending bodies. But as soon as he found the person they disappeared again.

Chase the darkness and color our memories

[color our memories]

with your streaks of light

Change the landscape of our future

The music cut back into Kenma’s conscious as he stood on his monitor and pulled his attention back from autopilot to finish the song. He put all his energy into performing, going to stand on the riser in front of Taketora’s drums with Kuroo and jumping off simultaneously. Bokuto stood at the edge of the stage and belted the final lines of the song with the crowd. The cheers were deafening. Kenma and Kuroo threw their guitars up into the air for the crew to catch before they all stood together to wave as Bokuto thanked the crowd for a great concert.

Kenma tried to find the person with the orange hair one more time but to no avail so he waved to the audience one more time and ran to the wings, ready to get out of his sweaty stage outfit and take a shower. Ready to turn back to Kenma, another person in a crowd.

They pushed their way through the backstage and down the stairs to the green room below. Bokuto burst through the door first, bouncing into the room with the energy of an excitable puppy. It was as if the more than hour on stage hadn’t affected him at all. Which it really didn’t. What made him great as their frontman was his ability to feed off the crowd’s energy but he always ended up being as hyperactive after a show as he was before.

“Damn if that wasn’t a good show!” Bokuto exclaimed as he jumped over the back of the couch into the furthest seat from the door. A groan escaped one of his bandmates from the hallway.

“How much energy do you have?” Taketora followed behind and made a beeline for the fridge. He popped open the door and grabbed a water and beer. He chugged the bottle of water, shot it into the recycling like a free throw in basketball, and grabbed another bottle before closing the fridge door. He slumped into the last remaining spot on the couch nearest the door, Kuroo having occupied the middle seat next to Bokuto. Taketora sighed into the couch cushions and loosed his grip on his beer ever so slightly to Kuroo’s advantage. He nabbed the beer from Taketora which resulted in immediate protests.

“Come on Kuroo! Go get your own!” Taketora snatched his beer back and protected it with two hands between his body and the armrest. He fixed his steely eyes on Kuroo to deter further attempts to steal his precious beer. He would have been successfully intimidating if a drop of sweat hadn't at that moment chosen to roll into his eye, effectively destroying his tough image as he cried out. This just caused Kuroo and Bokuto to guffaw at the hilarity of the ruined threat.

“Be nice.” Akaashi whacked both of the chortling idiots on the back of their heads on his way to the fridge. He glared at the couch when the distinct murmur of ‘yes mom’ could be heard from Kuroo’s hunched over form, still giggling. Akaashi huffed and turned to grab three bottles of water from the fridge and passed one to Bokuto on his way back over to the dressing table and mirrors by the door, pointedly ignoring Kuroo as he handed the second bottle to Kenma and kept the third for himself.

Kenma nodded his head slightly with a quiet thanks and uncapped his water to take a large swig. He drank half the bottle before turning to the dressing table to shuck off his rings and cuff, dropped into a bag of accessories used for public appearances. Next came his black denim vest, decorated with a few artfully placed safety pins on the pocket and embroidered calico cat across the shoulder blades. From where he stood in front of the mirror he watched Kuroo finally control himself enough to not be laughing out loud at Taketora’s expense. He managed to make it to the fridge and back with a water and beer before another chuckle escaped.

Akaashi stepped next to Kenma and busied himself with toweling off his face and neck. Kenma focused on taking off his eye makeup, thick, dark eyeliner and eyeshadow emphasizing his golden eyes. Another layer of his stage persona removed with a makeup wipe.

“So what was so distracting during Pastel Memories?” Kenma hesitated for a moment, wipe frozen in hand. Internally he cursed Akaashi’s honed observation skills, as good as his own. He continued scrubbing at his eyeliner, one eye on the mirror, refusing to acknowledge his bandmate.

“ Nothing.” He denied but he felt The Look. The Look Akaashi developed from Bokuto and Kuroo’s less than brilliant ideas as a way to diffuse any future idiocy. The Look directed at him meant no escape, pinned to his spot in front of the mirror, truth or… Kenma didn’t know what. Better to just say it quickly. “Someoneinthecrowdwasdistracting.” He muttered.

Kenma’s quick glance at Akaashi showed an amused small smile playing on his lips but nothing to suggest he was laughing at him. However their not-even conversation had been overheard somehow by Kuroo who swiveled in his seat from his animated discussion about the show. His eyes filled with delight, sly grin across his face.

“Oho? Who could have possibly distracted The Kenma? This is rare!” Kuroo waggled his eyebrows suggestively while Taketora and Bokuto turned their attention to Kenma’s quickly heating face.

“Ohoho Kenma saw something he likes?” Bokuto now matched Kuroo’s gleeful smirk. The pair looked like a couple of hyenas, a bit predatory and completely unwelcome. Flushed, Kenma took a large gulp of water to cool off and avoid looking any of his very intrigued bandmates in the eye. Which was the wrong thing to do as he missed Taketora’s approach and nearly spilled all the water he had left when he was put into a headlock.

“No fair Kenma you weren’t going to share about the hot girl you saw? You know I can’t see the crowd behind my kit! You gotta tell us!” Kenma wriggled out of Taketora’s grasp and darted to the nearest chair where he could probably avoid further unexpected manhandling. His lack of response however had the drummer stalking towards his chair.

“I didn’t see much of them. I don’t even know if they were a boy or girl.” He sighed, exasperated. “Or if they were even remotely attractive.” He added to crush further questioning from Taketora. Taketora froze and then slowly shuffled back to the couch to slump against the cushions in despair.

“Then how were they distracting if they weren't even hot?” He moans.

“I'd like to know that answer too.” Akaashi chimed in from his seat at the dressing table. Kenma decided Akaashi was not going to be in his good graces for a while. He chose not to say so though, opting for a sharp look instead. Damn Akaashi and his stupidly keen observational skills.

“They had bright orange hair. I just thought it was unexpected.” To avoid further interrogation, Kenma stood up and grabbed his clean change of clothes from where he'd left them near their wardrobe. He scurried to the shower, knowing none of his band mates would follow behind him yet. Akaashi would give him privacy and the other three usually waited until the last minute.

It didn't really stop his bandmates from teasing him some more when he came back from his shower but he was at least in a more relaxed mental state to handle it. He diverted their attention easily this time simply by asking who had received more cheers throughout the show, Kuroo or Bokuto. This caused the two to playfully argue over who was more popular. Taketora joined in saying he was the most popular only to have Bokuto immediately dismiss the idea since his biceps were better. It all spiraled into an arm wrestling competition between the three, Akaashi and Kenma watched in relaxed silence. Eventually their manager came and herded them to their tour bus. Only two more stops before the end.

———————

Kenma struggled with writer's block since the concert. Even with two other concerts and an interview about their tour finishing to wipe the memory away, nothing worked. His lyrics were, for lack of a better word, bad. It reached the point where he wouldn’t even show Kuroo, long time friend and writing partner, his ideas.

“Kenma you wrote about oranges again.”

Kuroo had a point though. Kenma had written at least half a dozen ideas with mentions of oranges and a total of zero successful. He couldn’t even help Kuroo with his ideas. It was becoming a problem for Kenma. His mild obsession needed to be broken so instead of sitting in his apartment playing video games to escape, he decided to try and people watch at a nearby coffee shop. Not that Kenma made that choice himself. He would’ve preferred to just avoid the situation as a whole. Akaashi had suggested the idea in group chat and he’d rejected the idea but Bokuto offered to help so he quickly changed his answer. Bokuto was a great singer who always captured the emotion of his lyrics but his collaboration skills were atrocious. He was too hyper and recognizable for Kenma to be able to get any decent work done. And Kenma knew that Akaashi and Kuroo would foist Bokuto on him if he continued to say no.

So when Kenma walked into the coffee shop the last thing he expected was a boy behind the counter with bright orange hair. He wanted to face palm but held back the urge. So much for avoiding what he was trying to get out of his head. He’d gotten this far from his apartment though so instead of walking straight back out the door he joined the line to order. Whipping out his phone from his coat pocket, he texted Kuroo the ridiculousness of the situation.

Kozume (1:48 PM): orange alert.

roosterhead (1:48 PM): I thought you were going to people watch -___-

roosterhead (1:49 PM): I will send Bokuto if you back out

roosterhead (1:49 PM): I can’t even look at oranges at the supermarket anymore

Kozume (1:49 PM): I’m in line. Guy behind the counter has orange hair.

roosterhead (1:51 PM): you’re shitting me

Kenma took a quick picture of the menu board to try and capture the barista’s hair without being so obvious. So many thoughts were running through his head. The most prominent being if this was the same person who could’ve been at their concert weeks ago.

Kozume (1:51 PM): [img attached]

roosterhead (1:52 PM): !!!!!

roosterhead (1:53 PM): he speaks the truth

roosterhead (1:53 PM): Shit. What if he’s the concert person?

“Can I take your order?”

Kenma jerked his head up at the sound of the boy’s voice. Brown eyes met his and he immediately ducked his head back down to look at the counter. He hadn’t been paying attention to his movement in line and now he was texting Kuroo about the boy in front of him. He hoped the embarrassment he was feeling wasn’t showing itself across his cheeks. He glanced quickly back and the boy had cocked his head slightly to the side, patiently waiting for Kenma, small smile on his face.

“Large coffee with room please.” Kenma mumbled to the counter. He focused on pulling out his wallet to get the correct change out.

“What name for the order?” His heart practically stopped at that. Did the boy recognize him? He’d covered most of his hair with his beanie so it shouldn’t be so obvious. He wasn’t dressed like how he presented himself on stage. Kenma glanced at the boy again who was now looking at him in confusion for his hesitation which now that Kenma thought about it was probably making the situation worse.

“Kozume.” Holding out a larger bill, Kenma hoped the boy would stop asking questions so he could answer the texts from Kuroo who was causing his phone to dance in his pocket. Thankfully he took the hint and took the money. The boy directed him towards the counter where to expect his order so Kenma nodded his thanks and quickly scurried away to find a table tucked away by one of the front windows. His phone vibrated angrily, demanding he finally respond to Kuroo.

roosterhead (1:53 PM): kenma don’t avoid my question

roosterhead (1:54 PM): kenma I don’t want to read anymore lyrics about oranges}

roosterhead (1:54 PM): you better be getting your coffee from him right now

roosterhead (1:55 PM): you should leave your number

Kozume (1:55 PM): tetsurou stop.

roosterhead (1:57 PM): finally. now answer me

Kozume (1:58 PM): Yes he took my order. No, I wouldn’t leave my number. I’m not you.

“Kozume!” The boy who’d sparked Kuroo’s ridiculous messages called out. Kenma rushed to grab his coffee and send off a text this time to tell Kuroo to wait. He muttered a thank you as he took the coffee and fixed it up the way he liked it. Lots of milk and one packet of sugar. Back in his seat, he set out his battered and loved leather bound journal and his favorite pen from his ever present messenger bag. The book naturally fell open to the heavily scribbled pages about oranges. Kenma winced at his work. None of it felt worth keeping - clearly oranges were not meant to be written about as lyrics. Ridiculous really.

roosterhead (2:00 PM): sooo…

roosterhead (2:00 PM): I should expect more songs about oranges then

Kozume (2:01 PM): no. Oranges clearly don’t make a good song.

roosterhead (2:01 PM): you think he’s from the concert?

Kozume (2:02 PM): how am I supposed to know? I only saw a few glimpses of that person and it was dark.

roosterhead (2:03 PM): didn’t stop you from writing about oranges for two weeks

Kozume (2:03 PM): …

Kozume (2:03 PM): oranges are delicious in winter/let me share one with you under the kotatsu/let’s listen to the silence of snow falling around us

roosterhead (2:04 PM): no

roosterhead (2:04 PM): stop it

roosterhead (2:04 PM): I’m sorry

roosterhead (2:04 PM): your lyrics are great. Just no more oranges

roosterhead (2:05 PM): although I liked the last line

Kozume (2:05 PM): so do I. I’ll save it.

Kenma pulled his journal into his lap as he got comfortable in his chair. He sank into the cushions and uncapped his pen to start a fresh page, taking a sip of his drink. The coffee helped to loosen the tension from ordering, words slowly coming to him for a first draft.

Let’s listen to the silence of snow falling around us

Warm breath fogging the clear skies

Melting into rain drops on your cheeks

Washing away the tears from yesterday

Kenma took a picture of his progress to send off to Kuroo then sat back to stare out the window with his coffee. Kuroo was fun to have a writing partner. Not that Kenma would tell him that. In the midst of any hangout if one of them was struck with inspiration they would drop everything to work instead. For all Kuroo’s teasing he was always supportive and great at bouncing ideas back and forth with Kenma. So he watched the customers come and go while he waited for a response. He didn’t want to push his luck with more lines just yet since he’d possibly just broken his writer’s block. Who knows. The next lines from his head to his pen could be awful.

It didn’t take long before he started observing the barista behind the counter. He radiated this positive energy that naturally affected the people around him. His coworkers clearly appreciated his overflowing happy vibes and slightly too-loud laugh. He could even disarm the crankiest of customers just by smiling at them. He was like a snake charmer or, no, more like a hypnotist in the best way for the people on the receiving end. Over and over again Kenma couldn’t help but consider this person who brightened everyone else’s day. He tried to watch other customers, pay attention to conversations but his eyes would slide right back.

Kuroo finally responded with edits and additional lines. Kenma focused back on his journal to add the lines from Kuroo and write more. The lyrics were beginning to take structure and it excited him. He had broken his writer’s block on oranges ironically by seeing the very thing that had started the whole dilemma. Well probably not the very thing. The likelihood was too small. Better to say a representative of the orange-haired community.

A woman with her son walked in as Kenma was pausing for a sip of his coffee. He watched the young boy, probably no more than four or five years old, hide behind his mom’s leg as the came up to the counter. The boy kept looking at the barista, unsure whether he felt safe coming forward. With his brightest smile he’d given since Kenma’s arrival the barista looked straight at the boy and asked him what he would like the most. The boy looked at his mom who gave him an encouraging smile and he moved forward to look at the baked goods in the display cabinet next to the register. He glanced at his mom one more time before he pointed to the cookies and stuttered out his request. The barista smiled more if it was possible and continued to prompt the boy into speaking, asking more easy questions.

Kenma watched the whole scene play out, the boy coming out of his shell, emboldened by the positive responses he received from the barista. He wasn’t really paying attention to what he was doing until the barista caught his eye. Immediately Kenma flooded with dread and embarrassment, gathered his journal and pen and shoved them into his bag. He grabbed his coffee, slung his bag over his shoulder and tried to quickly but inconspicuously exit the shop. He glanced at the barista one more time before leaving only to see he was watching him this time with a slight smile. If Kenma wasn’t blushing before he most likely was now as he ducked his head and shoved himself out the door.

After he’d walked a few blockers, Kenma decided that although it ended awkwardly he had been more productive at the coffee shop than he had in weeks. He even had some other ideas floating around that he wanted to share with Kuroo. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to go back another day. Just after he took a week to hide in his embarrassment at home.

[uglymanchronicles]

UMC:R Chapter 4: Systems Check

This one’s a bit of a weird one--basically a heavy-handed excuse to describe my own character in weirdly homoerotic detail.  But it has some PATHOS and I otherwise had fun writing it.  There will be probably two more chapters before the prequel ends and we start getting back into where the original UMC started.  Enjoy!

“Fffffuck me.”

Evan really hoped he wasn’t falling into a pattern of sudden switches between consciousness and unconsciousness. It couldn’t be good for his brain. Speaking of...

He reached back and patted his head where it’d gotten intimate with the counter. There was some blood matted in his hair, but aside from that…

Evan sat up and turned around. There was a bit of blood on the counter, and some on the carpet where he’d been lying. But beyond a slight tenderness where his fingers touched the spot, there was no pain—and certainly no wound. How long…?

Evan pulled himself up, noticing how oddly easy it felt despite having very recently donkey-punched himself by proxy. The video was still going, but past-Evan had somehow unstrapped himself from the machine and was in the process of stumbling towards the camera. Before the screen went blank, Evan noticed the total length of the video. In comparison to what it had been when he’d toppled over, less than five minutes had passed.

In less than three minutes he’d almost completely healed from a potentially moderately-serious head injury. Not only that, assuming there hadn’t been any post-editing, his previous self had recovered enough from having his brain cored out to be able to free himself from a torture device, walk no worse than a six-drink-deep drunk, and manipulate electronics at least as well as a five-year-old.  How much damage could he sustain and still function? Was there a limit? Could he even die?

Introspection provided no answers, and Evan suddenly found himself very uninterested in the question. Right now, all he wanted to do was take a shower. Maybe that would help put things in perspective. Plus, it was after midnight; if he was going to seriously consider DIY-ing himself into a superhero, he’d do it best after a good night’s sleep. There was also the little matter of the blood in his hair, but that barely registered as a concern in the face of everything else.

His bedroom door was littered with post-it notes and taped-up signs demanding he watch the video on the laptop. He felt a slight tinge of resentment for the earlier version of himself. Sure, he’d gotten the point across, but for God’s sake, there was such a thing as going overboard! Evan ripped off a handful of the notes and crumpled them up as he pushed the door open.

He groaned. The bedroom was almost unrecognizable. About the only thing familiar was his computer, which had been moved to a corner of the room and rearranged on an apparently homemade shelf-slash-desk-slash-whatever. What surface wasn’t occupied by his keyboard and mouse was filled with pieces of machinery and small piles of electronic components.   He’d mounted his three monitors directly to the wall, apparently to save space; in addition, two flatscreen TVs, dated and obviously secondhand, hung on opposite sides of the corner of the room.  So many papers, pictures, and maps were stuck to the walls that the cables connecting the myriad electronics were completely obscured. Had he really gone full tinfoil-hat? Evan groaned as he noticed colored pins and threads weaving an intricate web between the numerous pieces of media. Yep. He’d gone full whacko. If there were any actual, legitimate connections there, the connections had been lost when he’d rebooted his brain.

God, he was getting tired of putting off seeking answers. The temptation to dive into all this nonsense and sort through it was almost overwhelming. But he knew if he sat down and started digging through everything he’d be there for days and wouldn’t get anything else done. He looked around again and actually heard himself growl when he realized his bed was gone. His mind went to the bundled thing on the roof of the RV. Great. He’d uprooted everything to make room for his craziness. There was something in the space where the bed had sat, but it was covered in books, binders, and cast-off clothing.

He’d bought a Bowflex and stashed his bed to make room for it. Had he done this after he’d drilled a hole in his head? It seemed like the kind of thing a guy missing part of his brain would do. He peered back out of the door and saw that the loft at the front of the vehicle had been set up into a sort of mini-bedroom, complete with a long, flat dresser. Well, that made some kind of sense, at least.  

Grumbling to himself about nothing specific, Evan hauled himself up to the loft to inspect what he was certain was a cluttered, hideous bolt-hole in his own damn home.  He was pre-emptively sighing as he pulled himself over the edge, but never quite finished it.  

“Oh.”

Another pleasant surprise. He’d actually set up a nice little room there.  The mattress was very flat but looked fancy, like the kind podcasts were sponsored by. The mattress was topped with neatly folded sheets, an understated but tasteful light gray comforter, and surprisingly plush pillows. A legless nightstand nearby held a small lamp, a bottle of water, and a notepad and pencil, all arranged very deliberately. A small pile of books of varying sizes sat neatly by the mattress, and a small adjustable shelf affixed to the wall held another laptop.  Across from the mattress, a small flatscreen TV hung on the wall, wrapping the whole scene up in a nicely cozy domestic package.

All in all, he was impressed. It was a quaint little living space cultivated out of what he’d formerly dismissed as a throw-away attic. He was a little miffed that the price had been his actual bedroom, but of all the things to begrudge his former self for, this was pretty low on the list. He hauled himself up and crawled to the dresser.  As he opened the drawers, he realized how strange it was to experience his own idiosyncrasies from the outside.  Each pair of socks was neatly knotted together, his boxers were folded perfectly square and sorted by color and pattern; it put him in mind of an adorably eccentric little old man, probably a watchmaker.  That seemed like the kind of person who’d fold his clothes with a t-square and index them.  The thought made Evan smile, but the wholesomeness of the image faded somewhat when he found himself thinking that guys like that usually wound up being serial killers.

Fresh clothes acquired, Evan hopped down and headed to the bathroom. It had been a hell of a thing to find an RV with a bathroom that wasn’t smaller than the average coat closet, but he’d scrounged around until he’d found a Class C model—the one with the bathroom you change clothes in without having to stand with one foot in the toilet.  He had never regretted the extra effort and cost.

He stood in the center of the bathroom for a moment, steeling himself. It was time to rip the band-aid off, figuratively and literally. He stepped up the mirror and stared himself in the eyes.

He could almost see his thoughts reflected in the blue of his irises. Did he really want to do this? Not this whole thing, but this, specifically. If he could heal from practically anything but still needed to have his face under wraps, it must be really bad. Maybe he could just wear a mask the rest of his life, never knowing what he actually looked like. Avoid the ugly truth.

Even while he was thinking it, he knew how ridiculous that idea was. The chaos of the past few hours was stirring up a lot of generalized anxiety that was sending his mind strange places. Drilling a hole in his brain less than a week ago probably hadn’t helped on that front, either.

Time to start that journey of a thousand miles, I guess.

He tied back his hair, took a deep breath, and started to peel the gauze away. Adhesives caught on small hairs, tender skin grumpily sent his brain pangs of pain as it was uncovered. The air on the uncovered skin felt alien, as if it was only touching his skin very reluctantly. Evan’s leg was shaking involuntarily by the time the last bandage landed in the trash can, and he had to take a few deep breaths before he finally raised his gaze to the mirror again.

“……fuck.”

His previous self hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he wouldn’t be winning any beauty contests; if anything, he’d been understating the situation. He’d be lucky if he didn’t make kids cry when they saw him.

His left cheek definitely had the worst of it. His in-between-brown-red-tan skin—which he supposed could be called “ruddy”, but he liked to refer to himself as “ethnically ambiguous”—was covered in divots and spots from his mis-angled jawline up to just below his left eye. Evan slowly ran his fingers over his mottled skin, marveling at the variation between the individual pits, bumps, and gashes. There were actual small chunks of face missing. The texture of the skin was almost smooth to the touch but a little bit sticky, like the paint of an old house, complete with uneven coverage and bumps of buildup. Evan found that the skin didn’t hurt to the touch, but it also didn’t feel how skin was supposed to feel; his fingers didn’t immediately recognize it as skin, and the touch of his own fingers on his cheek came through muted and distorted, like the sensation was on a weak, distant signal. Christ. Was it a burn? No, it looked like he’d been too close to an explosion, all chopped up like that. Was it an accident or an attack?

Shit. It didn’t stop on his face, either. It had been hidden by his hair, but now that it was pulled back he could see that the pitting and gashes continued upwards along the side of his head. Pieces of his left ear were gone. Everything behind the top of the ear was a chewed-up mess. His lobe was still there, but not for lack of trying; a jagged tear ran from the back halfway to the front. It was like somebody had bitten the top of the ear off, then grabbed the lobe and tried to just yank it off.

After a few moments of staring at his ragged ear, Evan whipped his head around to check the other one. He sighed with relief as he saw it was intact, but the new angle brought the right side of his face into view. It wasn’t as bad as his left, but, unfortunately, his left side had originally been his ‘good side’; two long, curving scars, the result of an unfortunate incident with a turkey vulture during his teenage years, ran up the right side of his neck and peeked over his jaw about an inch up his cheek. Previously, that had been the extent of the damage to that cheek.

But now, in addition to a ton of tiny scratches and a few more small divots, his right cheek was taken up by a wide starburst-shaped scar that trailed off to a line and crossed his crooked nose like the tail of a comet, ending somewhere among the mess on his left cheek. It even looked like somebody’d tried to stitch it closed—upon closer inspection, the edge of the scar looked almost serrated. Clearly the stitches hadn’t held. He couldn’t imagine how much any individual part of that must have hurt.

His big, broad forehead was relatively unscathed save for a few “normal” scars, though a tiny triangular chunk of the far edge of his left eyebrow seemed to have left for greener pastures. After everything else, it was almost jarring how un-damaged he was above the eyes. Maybe he’d been wearing a helmet or something when whatever mutilated him happened. If it was just one incident.

Well, shit.  He wasn’t quite the most mangled person he’d ever seen, but…

He felt tears start to well in his eyes as his fingers gripped the edge of the sink.  It wasn’t fair.  He’d been handsome, if a bit unusually so, before.  Not that he’d taken advantage of it, but… to suddenly wake up to a face that was no longer his was frightening.  He was hideous.  Hell, he was almost a monster.

Evan’s heart pounded louder and louder as he fought back tears. There was no distinction between anger, sadness, and fear any more. A synesthetic mass of emotions stormed around his brain, crushing all his thoughts under the weight of pure mental chaos. He started to scream, a hoarse wail that pitched up gradually to a roar of insane fury as his whole body began to quake violently. He stared his mutilated reflection dead in the eyes as he continued to scream, a primordial, hateful rejection of the thing he saw before him. When he ran out of breath, he screamed between gasps; short, sharp shouts that consumed all the air in his lungs with each exclamation. He didn’t know how long he was screaming before something made a loud crack and came loose in his right hand.

Evan’s scream slowly trailed off as he looked down at the object in his fist. It was piece of the sink. In his rage, he’d gripped the countertop surface so hard that a palm-sized chunk of stone had broken off.

“What a cheap piece of…” Evan started to say, but then stopped. He’d dropped a hammer on the sink months ago and it hadn’t even chipped the surface. It didn’t damage easily. So what…

Evan’s eyes fell on his hand again. He’d always had huge hands, which stuck out on his lean, lanky arms like the end of a rake. Except his arm wasn’t lanky any more. He couldn’t pick out the bones in his wrist like he remembered. In fact, there was a lot more wrist than he remembered, circumference-wise.  Ditto with his forearm (more scars there, too…), and his elbow was similarly magnified.  And above that…

“JESUS CHRIST.”

Evan had never been a small guy.  Even as a kid he’d been tall and wiry, with limbs that seemed a size or two too long for his torso.  He’d hit six feet tall before he’d hit his 14th birthday.  In high school, he’d been involved in a lot of sports, but always ones where being dexterous and fast were to his advantage.  Even when he’d begun boxing he’d focused more on using his reach and stamina than developing sheer stopping power.  After watching his two older siblings become hulking behemoths of human beings, he was aware that his family had the potential to be extraordinarily beefy, but he’d tried to stick to keeping himself slim and trim.

Clearly, something in the missing months had made him reconsider his stance on the issue.  If his bicep was less than 24” around he’d be shocked.   He raised his hand to shoulder height, clenched it into a fist, and curled it backwards.

“God damn, son!”  Evan watched his own muscle bulge and shrink several times over, a grin slowly creeping over his face.  Okay, yeah, he could work with this.  That’d do just fine.  

Like a kid on Christmas tearing into the biggest present under the tree, Evan yanked his shirt off over his head with violent enthusiasm.  Underneath, he was still wearing that strange undershirt.  

“Weird sequin armor. Later,” he muttered, dragging the strange garment off and tossing it into a corner where it settled with a soft slithering sound.  Evan’s jaw dropped as he took in his bare torso.  Wide-eyed and still staring downwards, he sidestepped his way back in front of the mirror. His gaze slowly raised to the mirror again, and he realized his horrifying face was split into a massive grin. Even with his disfigurement, his sheer excitement was clearly evident. He took a deep breath, held it for a second, and then yelled again.

“Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaa-uhhhhh, BABY!”

He didn’t have a ton in the way of resting definition, but the bulk of muscle was undeniable. Evan spent a few moments flexing his arms and shoulders, marveling how his skin shifted and bulged in novel and fascinating ways. He was at least a foot broader at the shoulder than he remembered, and that was just the start of it.

His chest was borderline absurd. Like his shoulders, it had broadened, thickened, and rounded. Evan gingerly poked at his bulging pectorals. Firm, but not rock-hard. Enough softness to still feel like a person instead of an object, but still extremely supple. He felt his cheeks flush.

He had boobs.

But… like, good guy-boobs? That was a thing, right? Some girls liked that. Some guys, too, he thought, feeling his cheeks burning a little hotter as some cobwebs were dusted away from that particular corner of his libido.

He knew he was fully blushing now, but a strange and weirdly irresitable notion was punching through the fog of embarrassment. Fuck it, he was alone. Who was going to see?

Evan put his hands under his pecs, lifted, and pushed them together, leaning forward and pursing his lips at his reflection. He winked at himself and made a kissing sound, then burst out laughing. He had cleavage! Almost four inches of it!

Evan flopped down on the toilet lid, giggling madly to himself. “I guess the big tits gene doesn’t just affect the women in the family,” he managed to chuckle, hefting ‘the boys’ again. He looked almost hilariously sexualized. In addition to his new bustiness, he was still sporting nipple piercings and belly button ring—remnants of teenage rebellion that he’d kept as a cautionary tale to himself against impulsive decisions. The silver spikes and brass ring somehow looked more at home on his new body; when he’d been scrawny they’d made him look like he was trying to audition for a ‘Suicide Girls’ knock-off. If only he’d had paler skin and a heroin addiction he could probably have made a lot of money with a webcam. Now he looked like he could be on the cover of a harlequin romance—albeit one with a lot of airbrushing and somebody else’s head imposed on his body.

So he’d beefed up in anticipation of… whatever he could call whatever he was about to undertake. That explained the exercise equipment, as well as several containers of various supplement powders he’d come across while checking on his food situation.

Now that he’d finished with his giggle fit over his tits, Evan was a little surprised by how long it’d taken him to notice how much his body had changed. Everything still moved the way he remembered; he still felt very light on his feet, despite his new bulk. Standing in front of the mirror again, he bent from side to side at the waist, testing his flexibility.  Amazingly, he felt limber as ever. Apparently past Evan had done this bulking up thing right; despite the fact that his abdomen and obliques seemed to have been replaced with rock-solid slabs of beef, he was still able to easily bend down and touch his toes. While he was down there, he noticed that he hadn’t skipped the proverbial leg day, either—that, or he’d had a butterball turkey implanted into each thigh.

So… arms and shoulders three times bigger, a jaw-dropping rack, less “abs” and more “slab”, skull-crushing thighs and an amateur slasher movie face.  He looked weird. But… he found himself liking it more the more he thought about it.  He could do something about the face, or make it work for him.  Make looking like a brute work.  Be a fashion pioneer.  Figure something out.  

Now that his giddiness had died down a bit, Evan started looking himself over for other damage.  The video had said he’d have a massive wound on his chest, but he hadn’t even noticed it at first. There was, indeed, a large discoloration a few inches under his left nipple, reaching around under his arm and around to his back, but it looked more like a giant birthmark than a fatal axe wound. Why was it so faint?  Hell, the purple spot on his solar plexis, a sort of permanent bruise from a childhood injury, stood out more than it. His body was dotted with other, smaller scars that stood out much more; a few near his navel were definitely bullet wounds, and judging from the jagged pale lines above his right hip, a bear had tried to steal his kidney.  Regardless of their size, wounds that could cause scars that severe should have been still hurting him bit, even after external healing.  But he found that, aside from the scars, it was as if those injuries never happened.  No sign of any internal injury.  He felt extremely healthy, and he was grateful for it, but it wasn’t how that worked, and that started to eat at him.

The rules had changed and he had virtually no data on how any of it worked. He was no longer afraid, angry, or sad about his situation. Now he was annoyed. How was he supposed to go about this intelligently with only anecdotal evidence? The obvious answer was to start testing the properties of his healing, but what if there were strange rules?  Did he have a personal kryptonite? What if he cut himself, and it turned out the healing didn’t work because of what the blade was made of, and he got an infection and died? What if there was a limited number of times he could heal? Was it like an extra life system?

Evan stepped back up the mirror again, now glowering at his reflection. Now that he wasn’t as shocked by his own appearance, maybe he could figure something out in the patterns of the scars. Some kind of clue in the type of injuries or something. Just a starting point. Some tiny little verifiable speck of data he could cling to like a drowning man.

Before any answers surfaced from his ruined reflection, Evan noticed something sticking out from behind the mirror. The corner of a yellow piece of paper was closed in the medicine cabinet door.  He tugged it out and recognized his own handwriting again.  

Thought you might need these.

Briefly puzzled, Evan pulled open the medicine cabinet.  There, tucked amongst bottles of an alarming variety of supplements, was an old ‘Altoids’ tin, slightly dented and faded with age.  As he picked it up, a familiar skunky smell wafted into his nostrils. He snorted with laughter as he flicked the tin open and pulled out three meticulously-rolled joints and his favorite lighter.   After a second’s thought, he stuck all three between his lips and flicked the lighter open.

“Fuckin’ right I do.”

[btsfanficss]

Stay Professional! Pt. 13

NSFW! Work AU! Fluff, Angst and long awaited smut: Jungkook x Reader

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12

Summary: You can’t help but once again fall for and swoon over the ridiculously charming: Jeon Jungkook, the future CEO of one of the largest companies in South Korea. You knew that rushing your relationship with him was logically and morally wrong but- would your infatuated and thirsty state override all commonsense? 

A/N: This is my first time writing explicit smut! Can I please emphasise that. But I hope you enjoy regardless, just be weary before you read-- your thirst for Jeon Jungkook might become light threatening after this. 

After the ‘first date’, Jungkook had offered to take you to work every morning. Really, it was just an excuse to see you right before he went to work and accumulated stress but all of that would disappear the next morning- when he laid his eyes upon the ‘beauty’ he claimed you to be.

You didn’t plan on accepting Jungkook so quickly, but you found that you made the right decision. You were much happier than before but you were pretty much infatuated with him. It felt wrong and it wasn’t ideal to be head over heels for someone that you had just fixed together your trust for... but you simply couldn’t help it. He was beyond gorgeous and he was unexpectedly cheesy to a point where rolling your eyes had become a habit around him. 

There came many more dates soon after the first and things progressed healthily. He’d sometimes surprise you after work by picking you up and taking you out to dinner. He’d suggest all these fine dining places but you’d always end up rejecting them because you felt as though you didn’t own clothes fit enough for such extravagant restaurants. 

Jungkook always made sure to remind you that he was always thinking about you. It was rather... childish and clingy... but too sweet to a point complaining was way out of question. He often sent you texts midday asking how your day is so far, or what you ate for lunch or what you had planned after work. 

Your relationship with him was completely innocent. Jungkook always drove you home no matter what time it was and didn’t leave until he saw you enter your apartment. After dinner dates and long conversations, he’d walk you up the stairs to say goodbye with evident hesitation on his features. That was the part he always struggled with. He couldn’t afford to kiss you because he was too afraid he’d lose himself in your sweet taste and aroma. 

Jeon Jungkook was never the type of person to hold back. So the fact that he was forced to was really driving him nuts. He knew that if he were to do anything sexual in the slightest, he would lose all forms of composure completely so he made sure to keep his distance-- even if it made you question his attraction towards you. Your dates often ended with either a kiss on the cheek or forehead and at first, it was cute. 

But as time progressed, your thirst for his love continued to burn brighter. You knew that he was really trying to maintain the relationship at a healthy speed but you were finding it difficult to stay patient. It took an immense amount of self-control to not pull him into your face, crash your lips together to taste him.

It was just a matter of time before one of you lost your composures. 

“You really don’t have to do this..” You mumbled to Jungkook who was seated next to you, one hand on the steering wheel and the other slowly inching towards your thigh. 

“It’s fine, really. This isn’t a problem at all, I’m just glad that I get to help you out. Plus, I get to start off my day with you.” Jungkook hummed as his hand inched closer towards your leg. You didn’t notice his sneaky movements as your gaze was fixed outside the window, analysing the shades of green on the trees that rushed past. 

“Yeah you really are helping me out here, Jimin’s company is a little far from my place.” You said through a gummy smile and Jungkook’s chuckle sounded velvety to the ears. 

Jungkook’s hand continued to move closer to your thigh. He could feel his palm getting clammy and he started to develop a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Every day spent with you made him so incredibly happy. He felt full of life and light but-- it was really testing his self-control. Every moment he spent with you just added to the suspense and his barely controllable desire to pin you down and kiss you till you begged him to stop... or continue. 

It drove him wild and he was in disbelief. He didn’t want to admit that he craved sex, so soon. He definitely wasn’t expecting you to rush things with him and he respected that completely. But what he didn’t know was that wasn’t the case for you. It was just frustrating on his behalf because he knew that it would be inappropriate for him to even consider such thoughts. But what else could he do besides jerk off to the thoughts of your heat gripping his member. 

He wasn’t going to risk corrupting what the two of you had going on so he made sure to keep his desires under control, even if it made him feel pathetic afterwards.

A couple of weeks pass and Jungkook is way past his limit and it’s a similar case for you. He made time for you despite his hectic schedule and continued to take you out to multiple dates, most of them being dinner dates as the evening was the only time he was somewhat free. You weren’t complaining. 

But what you were internally complaining about was how slow things felt. His company was great, yes, awesome but GOD the amount of self-control you had to show to not make out with him at random moments. 

Sometimes, the lord really enjoyed to push your buttons. Like that one time he offered you his jacket and he was wearing a tight dress-shirt underneath that hugged his toned chest and you felt your breath hitch at the sight. 

It was that same night that he finally kissed you. Not on the cheek but on the lips. Theoretically, it was supposed to tame both of your thirsty states but nope it did quite the opposite. After realising that he’d kissed you, he immediately stepped back and pecked your cheek before rushing off as he became terrified of what he could’ve done next.

This was it. You couldn’t take another day of fantasising about the most sinful things to do with Jungkook. No way in hell were you going to back down. If he wasn’t going to initiate anything first, you were. 

“Yeah I’m free this evening.” You hummed over the phone as you started to muster up the courage for what you were about to do. 

“Sounds good. Is there anything you want to eat, sweetheart?” Jungkook sounded terribly sweet, but you could hear the stress coated over his words as he sighed soon after. 

“I think I’ve been going out too much. My wallet isn’t really enjoying it right now.” You laughed and Jungkook let out a dry chuckle before he continued to type loudly on his keyboard. 

“This wouldn’t be the case if you let me pay for you.” He didn’t sound annoyed despite the sentence itself sounding a little bothering. He was just especially tired that day. 

“No Kook. You already do so much for me. But on a side note, are you alright? You sound a little stressed recently.” 

Jungkook swallowed loudly and licked his chapped lips. He couldn’t possibly tell you about how little sleep he was getting due to his mind late night fantasisation sessions about you. 

“I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” He pretended to sigh. “Works just been a little hectic for me recently.” He lied and you could hear the rapid clicks of his keys overpower his deep voice.

“Oh..” You said and bit on your bottom lip before suggesting something Jungkook yearned to hear. “If that’s the case, how about we just chill today? You can come over or I can go over to yours and we can just watch some movies or something if it helps you take your mind off work.” 

It wasn’t work that was driving him to the brink of insanity. It was the fact that he couldn’t do anything physical with you that he was turning into a blob. 

He processed your suggestion and immediately agreed. “That sounds perfect. You come over this time since you’ve never visited before.”

“Yeah I haven’t but I bet it’s going to be 5 times the size of my apartment.” You chuckled and Jungkook’s mind was suddenly flooded with images of you, bent over his kitchen counter as his hips rammed into yours at a fast pace. 

Jungkook blanked out and felt his dress pants tighten instinctively. He swiftly slapped his cheek to snap out of it and you raised an eyebrow at the unrecognisable sound. 

“What was that?” You asked and Jungkook felt some sweat trickle down his forehead. “Oh don’t worry. I just dropped my phone.” He lied, a hint of nerves prevalent in his chuckle. You frowned a little before accepting his lie to quickly hang up and finish work. 

Jungkook opened his Porsche’s car door for you to exit. You smiled warmly at him and he swiftly closed it after you escaped the scent of leather from the seats. You looked around your surroundings with widened eyes. Magnificent skyscrapers towered over you as the sight of brightly lit chic and modern buildings caused your jaw to go slack. 

You’d never seen such beautiful architecture before. It felt overwhelming to think that Jungkook had been living in these pieces of art. 

“Holy shit, I can’t believe you live here. I bet the rent is so expensive!” You laughed and Jungkook’s smile grew wide at your amazement. The two of you walked hand in hand as he guided you through the marvellous condominium. 

“Actually, my mum built me this condo a couple of years ago for my birthday.” He casually hummed as the two of you waited for the elevator’s arrival. 

“You’re kidding me.” You whispered harshly as you found it extremely difficult to comprehend what he’d just said. 

Sometimes, Jungkook was so down-to-earth you forgot about just how rich he really was. Although he was occasionally, charmingly cocky; he never seriously bragged about his wealth or power. 

“Do you need a roommate?” You wriggled your eyebrows at him as you looked up at his tall figure and Jungkook just chuckled at your suggestion, secretly loving the idea of living together with you. 

“Actually, I might. Since it’s a private condo, it’s only me that’s living here.” Jungkook fixed his messy fringe with one hand whilst the other continued to intertwine your fingers. 

“Only you?! There’s like 6 floors why don’t you rent some floors out?” You almost shouted during the elevator ride. 

“Mmm but then I can’t be as loud as I want to be.” He said in a low voice- his thoughts immediately reaching out to the deep innuendos that were triggered off inside his head. 

“What a child.” You giggled and rested your head onto Jungkook’s shoulder. 

Boy, was he keen to prove you wrong. 

Jungkook took out the key from inside his Mont Blanc wallet. The key was a small card that he used to tap over the electronic lock and the light glowed green before he opened it. Jungkook took off his shoes carelessly and immediately loosened the tie that sat tight around his neck. He let out a loud sigh before turning around to see you neatly fixing his shoes and placing yours next to them. 

“Welcome to my place, Y/N. Make yourself at home.” He trotted towards the kitchen to grab a cold glass of water. He took off his suit jacket and carelessly threw it over the large living room sofa.

“I was joking about your apartment being 5 times bigger than mine but I guess it’s not so much of a joke now.” You giggled and followed Jungkook closely behind. 

Jungkook’s mind momentarily blanked when he was reminded of the kitchen counter fantasy he had whilst he was on the phone with you. It could be a reality, he thought. But fortunately or unfortunately, he was able to control his urges. For now, at least.

“What movie do you want to watch?” You asked in a sing-song voice. 

“Your pick. I’m cool with anything.” He smiled before finishing off the water. 

It’d only been 20 minutes into the movie but your self-control was running on very thin ice. You sat comfortably next to Jungkook, his arm enveloping your body closer to his as you cuddled up to his side. The cuddling was cute, it was romantic but that wasn’t exactly what you had in mind for the past couple of weeks. 

And Jungkook obviously felt the same. He was practically dying to touch you. The fact that your thigh was inching towards his wasn’t helping, either. The opportunity was so so close to him but he couldn’t give in to the temptations. He couldn’t risk making another mistake. 

So you stealthily started to be a little suggestive. You cuddled up to him even closer and made sure that your black pencil skirt exposed the soft flesh of your thigh as you brushed it against his. Jungkook immediately tensed up at the sneaky movement and he shifted his gaze from the large TV screen to your face- analysing your features, a new and heat boiled up inside of him.

Jungkook couldn’t help but get a little frustrated that you were making things harder for him. Literally. He was already on the brink of insanity but the sudden sweet scent of your hair drove him even more crazy. 

You stayed in that spot for a couple of minutes before shifting into an even more suggestive position. This time, you lifted your legs and slid them over his lap with a soft hum of comfort. Jungkook instinctively raised an eyebrow and looked at you, flustered but annoyed. You innocently smiled at him and pecked his cheek, pretending as though your intentions weren’t suggestive at all. 

Jungkook’s unoccupied hand gripped onto his sofa in hopes that it’d somehow relieve his desires. But nope, you just had to make it even harder for him. You rested your head on his toned chest and shuffled your legs a little, making sure to brush over his crotch and his jaw immediately clenched, the grip on the sofa tightened at the irresistible sensation. 

“Y/N.” He let out a primal sounding growl through his clenched teeth and you lost yourself in the sound it. You looked up at him with big doe eyes, a small and innocent looking beam on your pink lips. 

“Yes?” You hummed before placing another kiss on his face, this time close to his jaw- just enough tease to make him fantasise about how your kisses would feel down his raw neck.

“What are you doing?” He asked with a blank stare on the TV in-front of him. You watched as the colours from the screen reflected on his beautiful features, pupils dilating at he sight of his handsomeness. 

“Just getting comfortable~” You giggled innocently and inched closer to him, basically almost fully onto his lap and Jungkook looked as though he was about to throw a chair across the room. His neck veins started to become visible and you could clearly feel something poke at your thigh. 

You were amazed at his self-control and admired him for lasting this long. But unfortunately for him, your plan was to flip his boat- you wanted him to lose him composure. You loved watching his face sink into a frustrated frown from the little wiggles of your legs that’d distract him completely. 

Jungkook bit down on the inside of his cheek and it felt as though he was about to draw blood. He had started to feel sweat form on his back as you were being the tease that he couldn’t afford to give in to. Stubbornly, Jungkook stayed still. He continued to pretend as though he wasn’t worked up from the occasional crotch brushes as your thighs moved. 

"Don't be such a tease." Jungkook's voice was dangerously low and he was beyond frustrated at your seductive behaviour. He knew that he was going to snap at any moment and he was afraid of what he might do to you.

"But I love watching your reactions.." you whispered into his ear, an airy whisper coated in innocence made Jungkook’s stomach churn with anticipation.

"Y/N. I'm warning you. Watch it." He scolded with a cold tone and you could feel a heat from between your legs flush at the sound of his sultry voice.

You smirked at his snapping patience and decided to push all of his buttons. You rotated swiftly to your side and inched closer to Jungkook before sitting up to teasingly straddle his lap. You sat comfortable on his lap with a proud smirk on your face.

"This reminds me of a particular situation.." you hummed quietly whilst running your fingers through his noir strands. Jungkook suddenly pulled you closer so quickly that your inner thighs burned from his rough pull. You could feel the growing bulge hit your inner thigh once again and you let out a small squeak of surprise that turned him on even more.

"Don't ever talk about that again, sweetheart." He threatened and you could feel lust and desire starting to eat you whole.

“Make me~” You sung in an innocent voice that was beyond Jungkook’s comprehension. But your words certainly did not match your actions as you started to plant soft and needy kisses just below his jaw whilst unbuttoning the crisp dress-shirt that hugged his toned chest.  

"Are you sure about this?" Jungkook asked in an unsure tone but you were just getting needier by the second.

"Shut up and kiss me." You demanded as you went in for a kiss whilst straddling his rock hard thighs and now, boner.

He put a finger over your lips and you immediately frowned at the absence of his soft lips. "Ask nicely, baby girl." He smirked and you were too needy to care about pride at that point.

"Kiss me please..." You asked in a kittenish voice and Jungkook rewarded you by giving your ass a tight squeeze with his large hands. 

"Please what?"

"Please... Sir" You licked your lips and avoided his hungry gaze as you looked down at the vision of your fingers spreading his dress-shirt open to admire his chest. 

And that was the breaking point for Jungkook. 

He immediately lost all types and forms of self control as soon as the word, "Sir" had left your lips. It was exactly what he wanted to hear. He’d never been so turned on by his title before.

That title was a symbol of your submission towards him and that was something Jungkook dreamt of for the longest time-- to have you squeal and unravel under his dominance.

He pulled you in and roughly traced his lips over yours before immediately asking for entrance of his tongue. You opened your mouth so he could dominate the kiss even more, despite you being on top and sitting on his lap.

He kissed you so passionately that you couldn't help but let out a soft moan at the firework sensation of his mouth moulding with yours. Jungkook still had both his hands over your bottom and gave it another tight squeeze before pushing you even closer to his body. At that point, your chest was pressed up against his and he let out a loud exhale of his breath in satisfaction as though he’d just sucked your lungs dry. 

You started to grind up against the tense muscle that was his thigh and you hummed at the much needed stimulation in between your legs.

"Did I say you could feel good?" He suddenly stopped your slow grinding with a low growl and pulled you down onto his lap where you had to stay put under his wrath.

"No Sir, I'm sorry." You immediately apologised and kissed all the sensitive areas on his neck in order to appease him. Jungkook loved being dominant in bed so he was really turned on by your submissive behaviour. He was beyond tempted to rip off all your clothes and fuck you senseless but he wanted to hear you beg for it.

Jungkook encouraged your neck kissing by gently running his hand through your heavenly scented hair. "I thought we had a deal that you'd forget about that incident?" He whispered into your ear as you murmured another "I'm sorry" against his raw neck.

"And I don't think I ever got the chance to talk to you about your behaviour at that conference.. you were being such a suggestive girl with Jimin, weren't you?" You stopped kissing his neck to examine his serious and slightly angered face.

"I didn't do anything with him Sir, I promise. I was only behaving like that because I wanted your attention--"

"--Did I say you could speak back?" He interrupted and moved his hips slightly so the friction between you legs caused you to moan softly.

"I'm sorry Sir.." you nodded and craved for more of the friction that was causing your wetness down below.

"Do I need to be punished?" You innocently suggested with all the wrong and sinful intentions and Jungkook absolutely loved it. He didn't speak another word and just lifted you up unexpectedly.

He threw you over his shoulder and you dangled off it, squeaking a little as the motion was so smooth and quick. His strides were long and fast towards the bedroom and before you knew it, Jungkook threw you carelessly onto his soft satin sheets. You landed with a soft ‘thud’ and before you knew it, Jungkook’s lips had found their way back to yours. 

Jungkook towered over you and he took off his dress-shirt completely- where it met the floor within a flash. "I don’t plan on being gentle with someone that’s been misbehaving." Jungkook planted hungry kisses down your neck, painting it hues of pinks and reds. 

You licked your lips at the sensation and nodded in submission, unable to articulate any words from the overwhelming feeling of Jungkook’s lips on the sensitive parts of your neck. He worked his way down and continued to press his lips against your now exposed skin as he stealthily undressed you of your work blouse. 

You were left in just a black bra and a tight pencil skirt. Jungkook had kissed down to your stomach and you were in a state of complete bliss. He began to unzip the side zip of the black pencil skirt to expose your matching panties with your bra. 

He stopped momentarily to admire the matching black lingerie on your body he found so beautiful. “You planned this, didn’t you?” He chuckled and you hid your face behind your now sweaty palms, suddenly turning shy under his gaze. Jungkook melted at the sight of your embarrassment as he found it so bloody cute that you were suddenly so shy despite being so bold previously.

You simply nodded at his question and he couldn’t help but break out of his dominant character momentarily. “Do you know how much I wanted to do this?” He asked in a sultry voice and he finally took off all of your skirt. He hovered over the top of your heat and teasingly kissed around it, kneading at your soft thighs and depriving you of any source of friction. 

You let out another moan, this time much louder at the how Jungkook kissed all around your lower stomach and dangerously close to your core. “I can’t wait.” You whispered in a shy voice and Jungkook made brief eye-contact with you before diving right back in between your legs. 

He pressed small kisses over your clothed core and made sure to linger his touch over your clit, making your mind blank from the sensation. “Jungkook please..” You breathed out heavily and ran your fingers through his dark hair to get him to hurry up. 

“Mmm?” He completely stopped his slow and teasing movements to deprive you of the insanely good sensations to look up at you with a smirk. You let out a frustrated moan at the lack of his kisses down below.  

“Please Sir... I can’t wait any longer. Don’t you think I’ve waited long enough?” You didn’t break the intense eye-contact and instead of giving in to your plead, he simply stood up to unbuckle his belt. 

The sight was mouthwatering. He stood in front of the bed, a proud smirk across his lips as he slowly unbuckled the belt that sat tight around his hips. You sat up and watched his every move as thirst completely devoured your mental state. “Why should I be rewarding someone that’s been so stubborn?” Jungkook simply cocked his head to the side and unzipped his dress pants before they met the floor. 

His clothed manhood looked painfully hard and so big. You blushed at the sight of his impressive size and Jungkook seemed to notice by your taken-aback features. 

“I’m sorry for being so stubborn, Sir. I promise in the future that I’ll be a good girl.. I’ll be your good girl.” You crawled towards him seductively to the edge of the bed before resting your arms on his broad shoulders and kissed his now swollen lips. 

“Is that so?” He quirked and eyebrow and you continued to nibble on the sensitive areas on his neck and behind his ear. Jungkook’s breathing hitched a little when you found his most sensitive spot, just beneath his sharp jawline. 

“I’m sorry for misbehaving, Sir...” You kissed his cheek and pressed your forehead against his. Jungkook melted at how desperate and ‘good’ you were being to him. 

“I'm sorry for brushing Jimin’s thigh~” You taunted with a sly smile and before you could process his reaction, Jungkook had shoved you back down onto his bed. The first thing you noticed when you opened your eyes was how Jungkook’s serious face was so close to your own as he towered over you, his body caged your small size. 

“Even now you’re being such a tease.” He mumbled and your smile only brightened at Jungkook’s dominant behaviour. “I can’t help it... you’re so fun to tease.” You giggled and Jungkook interrupted your sweet laughter with another heated kiss. 

His hands freely roamed your body and he stealthily slid underneath your back to unclasp the hook of your bra like an expert. You took off your bra completely and he lifted himself off of you to admire the view. 

“I’m supposed to be punishing you but.. you look too beautiful for me not to say this. Y/N, you’re breathtaking. How did I get so lucky?” He complimented as he started to trail butterfly kisses across your chest. 

He made sure to give both of your breasts equal love before he moved down to your heated core. He slowly ran his finger up your slit and you shivered under his dominance. He chuckled at the immediate wetness that he felt through your clothed core and you could only look away in embarrassment. 

Jungkook’s attractive smirk widened as he started to teasingly rub slow circles over your clit. You let out a satisfied moan at the long awaited friction you were finally receiving and Jungkook hooked his finger underneath your black lace panties and removed it to reveal your soaking womanhood. 

“Wow.” He whistled as he increased the speed of his thumb on your clit, making you moan even louder than before. “Sir please..” You pleaded as sweat started to form on your forehead. 

“Please what?” Jungkook innocently cooed as he suddenly thrusted a finger into your heat and you immediately let out a soft scream at the sensation. His finger was completely enveloped in your juices and Jungkook looked so fascinated at the sight of you, whimpering on his Satin sheets. 

“Please fuck me.” You started to beg and Jungkook’s dick pulsed at the sound of it. “I can’t hear you, darling. What was that?” Jungkook continued to tease and you could only groan in frustration as he slowly sped up the speed of his finger that was going in and out of your wet heat. 

“Please Sir, I can’t wait any longer. I’m begging you..” You started to grip onto the soft sheets in hopes that he’d relieve your thirst and pain. 

“Begging me to?” 

“I’m begging you to obliterate my pussy and make me cum until I’m begging for you to stop.” You said through clenched teeth and a frustrated muffled yell. 

He rewarded your dirty talk by suddenly adding another digit into your squelching core. You let out a long drawn moan from the stretch of his long digits. “That’s it baby girl, that’s what I want to hear.” He commented before speeding up his fingers to drive you to the brink of your first orgasm. He hooked his fingers inside your heat at all the correct places, as though he was a mind reader and knew of all the buttons he needed to push in order to unravel you.  

“Are you going to be a good girl and cum for me?” His sultry voice was so soothing to the ears despite his fingers working at a dangerously fast pace. The room was filled with your soft moans as you were trying to hold them back but it was getting harder as your orgasm was just around the corner. 

Jungkook’s hands continued to work at an immensely past pace and before you could reply, you became undone on his hands and he made sure to keep up the fast thrusting of his fingers until you were completely done. Your breathing was ragged and your mind had gone completely blank from the orgasm you’d been craving for so long. 

You just continued to breathe loudly and Jungkook chuckled at your reddened face. He gave you a couple of seconds to collect yourself and made sure you saw him when he seductively cleaned his fingers up licking them clean in-front of you. He then slowly slid down your black panty down your legs, it was soaked in your arousal.

“So so sweet.” Jungkook smirked before diving in between your legs to clean up. He licked a long and tender stripe right up your slit to collect your sweet juices and he swallowed loudly to start that fire in your stomach all over again. Jungkook continued to lick you clean and you murmured some curses as the over-sensitivity started to kick in. Jungkook was well aware of that but that only drove him to tease you even more. 

“Thank you for letting me cum, Sir.” You squeaked as Jungkook’s tongue cleaned up all of your juices. 

“May I help you relieve your pain?” You asked nicely as you noticed how hard Jungkook had been this whole time. 

He simply nodded and you sat yourself up before pulling down his Calvin Klein boxers to reveal his tip that oozed with pre-cum. Jungkook was rock hard it was evidently painful for him. You bent forward and started to lick his hard shaft from the base up. You knew your kittenish licks were driving him crazy from the way he tightened his grip on your hair.

“Finally such a good girl for me.” Jungkook chuckled and inclined his head backwards as you boldly took all you could fit into your mouth with a swift motion. You started to suck him off at a relatively slow pace. As time progressed, your eyes had started to tear up at the sensation of your sore jaw and cheek muscles. 

You didn’t stop though, because the sound of Jungkook’s muffled grunts was more than enough to keep you going. You took in even more of his size and a tear slipped past as his tip had hit your gag reflex. Your throat contracted around his hard size and Jungkook let out a loud groan at the irresistible sensation for him. 

“Baby girl, you’re too good at this.” He brushed your hairs out of your face and pat your head to further encourage you. 

You continued to bob your head with an increased speed and Jungkook’s breathing had started to falter in pace. You were running out of breath so you tapped on his impressive thighs to let him know and Jungkook pulled out of your mouth with a heaving chest. 

You inhaled loudly and sputtered on your saliva and the taste of Jungkook’s salty pre-cum. Jungkook found that ridiculously sexy and he felt as though he could cum at the sight alone. You wiped away your tears and Jungkook looked down at you with a smirk. 

“Do you like sucking me off?” Jungkook stroked the top of your head and massaged it with his fingers. 

“I love it, Sir. I can’t wait to feel you inside me.” You shamelessly admitted and Jungkook could only allow his body to dominate and act accordingly to your wish. 

“Then I guess I can’t make my baby girl wait too long.” Jungkook smirked and aligned himself at your pulsing entrance. 

“Wait... we need a condom.” Jungkook realised and pumped himself a few times, the sight of your saliva on his throbbing cock turned him on even more. 

“I’m on the pill... I’ve been preparing for this and don’t worry, I’m clean.” You moaned and Jungkook sped up his pumping. 

“Are you sure about this?” Jungkook asked for your consent in a gentle tone and you nodded quickly at his question. 

“Please hurry, Sir... I can’t wait to feel you raw.” You moaned a little louder in hopes that it’d speed up the process, and it did. 

Jungkook slowly entered your wet and warm walls with a soft grunt. “You’re so fucking tight..” He exhaled and you moaned at the sensation of him stuffing you whole. He stilled in you for some time to get used to the tight and heavenly sensation of your gripping heat. If he’d moved any faster, he would’ve came there and then and Jungkook would’ve never forgiven himself for it. 

Jungkook planned to enjoy every second of it and so he took things rather slow. “Are you okay?” He asked asked as he noticed the tears that formed in your eyes. The stretch was so painful yet so delicious. Your walls had to open so wide to accomodate his impressive size. 

“Never been better.. keep going.” You encouraged and Jungkook slid even deeper into you. When he entered you completely, he stilled for another couple of seconds so the both of you could adjust to the mind-blowing feeling. 

Jungkook started to pull out of your wet heat but slowly re-entered half way through, shallow fucking you so he could spread you open deliciously. He continued to slowly fuck you for the next couple of minutes as the two of you savoured each sweet thrust of his hips. But you didn’t mind the pain, you wanted him to speed up. 

“Faster..” You complained and attempted to thrust your hips up to meet his and Jungkook's cocky smirk reappeared. “Aren’t you eager?” He let out an airy chuckle and you could only moan in satisfaction as he listened to you wishes and sped up the slow past to a moderate one. 

He kissed you passionately and his tongue dominated yours in the battle whilst his hips had started to speed up even faster. Jungkook swallowed your moans that increased in volume as Jungkook’s hips rocked against yours at a faster rate. 

Jungkook slowed down a little only to stare at where the two of your bodies connected. He admired how his thick cock was coated in your sweet juices and he was in love with the sight of your dripping wet and squelching pussy that he couldn’t help but suddenly thrust deeper into you. 

The sudden slam of his hips into yours led to a high-pitched scream and Jungkook let out another airy chuckle as he watched your face scrunch in pleasure. “You like that?” He hovered over your face and planted small kisses down your neck, his cock now quickly entering and escaping your warmth with the rapid snaps of his hips. You could only nod as a small tear rolled down your cheek. His thumb wiped your tear away and Jungkook continued to thrust deeper inside of you with an increasing pace. 

Eventually, it came to a point when Jungkook started to slam in and out of your entrance with such large force and speed that the room became an erotic mix of your squelching wetness, high pitched moans and his soft grunts. He snapped his hips so unbelievably quickly and you were forced to hold onto him for support as the two of you continued to chase your highs. 

He suddenly changed the position and threw one of your legs over his shoulder, which allowed him to penetrate even deeper inside of you and you screamed at the new sensation and irresistible stretch. 

“You're so big.." you complimented and you saw a quick glance of his sweaty forehead before closing your eyes again in complete ecstasy. 

"And you're so tight.. you feel so good baby..." He kissed you softly which juxtaposed his rapidly fast hips.

"I'm gonna come soon." Your breath hitched as you tightened your walls around him instinctively.

"I didn't say that you could come yet." He threatened and you bit down on your lip so hard it almost drew blood.

"I don't know how long I can hold it for, sir." Your vision was going blurry and your intense sweet release was rapidly approaching. Your toes were curled and it took every ounce of energy to keep your release at bay.

"Come when I tell you to." He growled and slammed into you particularly hard and you whimpered at the roughness. He was so big that it was impossible to not hit all your sweet spots inside so you were finding it impossible to hold back your orgasm. "Please let me come.." you whimpered and he continued to slam in and out of you with incredible force. 

“I’m so close, Y/N. Wait a little bit.. I want to cum with you.” Jungkook negotiated in a husky tone as he proceeded to roughly drill his cock into your soaking pussy. 

You let out loud cries at the overwhelming sensation as your 2nd orgasm of the night was so close yet so far. It took every ounce of energy and concentration to wander your mind to somewhere that’d make you forget about his delicious tip hitting all your sweet spots inside. “Hurry up Jungkook... I can’t hold it any longer!” You gently bit on his neck to leave a hickey that was sure to stay. 

Jungkook suddenly lifted up your other leg with immense ease and popped it over his shoulder so now he could reach the deepest places possible. With both legs on your shoulder, you couldn’t move to your liking as Jungkook tightly gripped on your legs whilst grunting in sync with his rapid hips. The sound of your wetness was pushing him to his intense orgasm and you physically couldn’t hold it back anymore. 

Your pulsating pussy gripped his cock so tightly and Jungkook couldn’t hold back his release anymore. The two of you came at the same time and Jungkook’s thrusting became erratic due to the fireworks that’d been achieved. He released his warm seed into your heat and the squelching sound intensified due to the sinful mix of your juices along with his.

 He couldn’t even hold himself up anymore due to his fatigue so he’d collapsed on top of you, making it even harder for you to catch your breath. 

The two of you found it incredibly difficult to steady out breathing as the orgasm you both shared was so marvellously intense that you’d almost blacked out. Jungkook rolled over as you gently tapped on his back and notified him with a soft hum. He pulled out of you slowly and you bit your lip at the sensation of your swollen empty, throbbing pussy.  

The room smelt strongly of sex and your blank state was interrupted by the sweet sound of Jungkook’s laughter. He somehow still had the strength to pull you close so that your head rested on his chest that progressively steadied it’s rises and falls. Jungkook then kissed the top of your head with his soft lips. 

“I love you.” An inaudible whisper tickled your ear and you could feel an immediate smile stretch across your lips. 

“I love you too.” You replied and enveloped your arms around his tired muscles. 

The final chapter is FINALLY HERE!!

[donaldresslerfanfic]

Hunting.

Rating: M

Warnings: Strong Language, Sexual Content.

Word Count: 2355

Donald Ressler X OC Maggie Waters.

Chapter: Thirty Three.

Chapter Index

Story on Wattpad

Maggie.

I got back home that very night Donald came to look for me.

I was not expecting him to come and get me. I thought I knew him well and he wouldn't stop until he got Liz. But when I saw him standing there in my house, when he told me he'd picked me, I gave in. He picked me, even if it was just for that day, he picked me.

My sister jokingly -and not jokingly- had done the whole 'blink twice if you're not going willingly'. I assured her I wanted to go back with Don.

Loosing the trail on Raymond hadn't stopped him. He still went to work every morning, checked statements, security cameras, tips, anything he could get his hands on. A whole month went by like that.

I, on the other hand, spent them alone in the house, caught up with remodelations in the house, waited for Don, some nights we went out, mainly to distract him from everything. But a month was a month and that was all I needed to realize I had to go back to work.

I showed up unninvited to my old work, making Gina spring out of her seat and greet me. She invited me into her office and over a cup of tea she briefed me. Ha, briefed me, speaking like Donald aren't we?.

"He sold the company" referring to my boss "he got divorced and that kind of killed him. It was recently so it hasn't changed names. We have a new architect who is 100% not you" she chuckled. I was slowly sipping my tea while I listened to her. "I don't like working with her, her style is kind of... I don't know, I'm not an architect so I won't comment but we had some clients who came back after they got your work done by you, and they complained a lot that you weren't here. We lost a few clients after that. I'm still employed here but I'm taking a second job in another architect firm."

"That sucks" I could only comment.

"I hope you made bank with that other exclusive client of yours, and word of advice, move on from this place."

Truth was, I had made bank. Raymond exaggerated immensely my pay check, always cash, I had it stored away in a safe room I'd built under the stairs in my house. I kept it a secret because one; Donald, and two; I didn't like to brag. Yes I bought myself nice things, changed the car, but aside from that I lived modestly.

And also, I'd lost almost all my marriage savings with my dad's illness, so now that I had gotten almost all of it back and paid the medical bills it was a good thing I stopped, it made me nervous to know the amount of money I had in my place.

"I came back because I'm done with that exclusive client. And I don't know what else to do, I'm bored" I whined.

"We can start job hunting together, or if you come back we can lift this thing up. Our new boss let's us do whatever we please"

The door knocked, Gina gave me a little eye roll and walked up to open it. A middle age man walked, slick suit and tie and a warm smile

"And who might this be?" He said looking at me.

"This is Maggie Waters"

"Ah, the Maggie Waters." I chuckled and extended my hand to shake his.

"She was just telling me that she's free to come back"

"Oh, wouldn't that be lovely. Let's head to my office to talk something out shall we?" He motioned at me to leave the office. I gave Gina quick wave and walked to what used to be Paul Bronton's office. " The name is William Ruso by the way" he said while walking behind me.

He reached out and opened the door of the office.

"Please, struggle for the cameras" I frowned and turned to him, well tried. Since my back was to him he pinned one of my arms behind my back, twisting it painfully and placing a clothed hand over my mouth and and nose. A sharp stench hit my nostrils and I could immediately feel the dizziness.

Still, I pushed my head back and managed to hit him on the cheekbone. He didn't follow up with a punch or tried to stop me, but what I assumed was chloroform was already hitting me back hard.

I stumbled out of the office and onto the emergency exit, I already knew where it was, just a few steps down the office. When I grabbed the handle and got out, the body of another person pushed me to the open door, again putting his hand over my mouth. This time I screamed as I was grabbed by the waist, I tried to put my feet up and kick but another one grabbed me by the feet to help carry me.

I felt a sharp sting on my neck, then nothing.

Ressler.

I returned to Maggie's home late at night. I was, again, very confused as in why her house was so quiet, and why she wasn't here.

Nothing had happened, we were fine, this morning we had our breakfast, we talked, kissed, I repeated how much I loved her, there wasn't a logical reason for her not to be here.

I dialed her phone with mine, this time the line had been disconnected. I frowned in confusion and retraced our conversation in the morning. She hadn't mention anything out of the ordinary, we were going to start watching Narcos tonight.

I wasn't going to call her sister, not until I knew for sure what had happened.

I didn't know who to call or where to go, except for one person. In half an hour I was knocking on Aram's apartment.

He was really weirded out that it was me late at night. He opened the door to let me in and I talked as I entered.

"I think Maggie is missing, I need your help to track-" I stopped when I saw Samar sitting in the dinner table, I felt annoyed that I had interrupted something, but I needed to find Maggie.

"Maggie is missing?" She asked with worry on her voice as well "when was the last time you saw her?"

"This morning, before I left for work. She told me she would call me for lunch but she didn't, it didn't came across as odd"

"Okay" Aram said grabbing his computer and opening it "cellphone" he looked up at me. I recited the number to him, Samar was already with her phone on her ear.

"It says it's disconnected" Samar said after checking for herself what I already knew

"Yeah, I could only narrow down the location to a 10 block radius using the last signal received almost 6 hours ago" Aram finished looking up at me. I walked around the apartment and began thinking.

"Can you get a satellite image of the area?"

"And look for what?"

"Her car, maybe it was towed"

"Okay, yes, a black Toyota was towed on Connecticut Ave at 4 pm, in Cleveland park" he said after a few taps in the keyboard

I frowned and turned to Aram.

"What? Does that ring a bell?" He asked.

"Yeah, it's her work address"

"We should get going, if the car was towed at 4 pm it must've been parked for at least 3 hours before the firm had it moved. And now it's been another 5 hours. Her trail is getting cold" Samar said and stood up from her seat.

"I'll head to the post office, I'll have better access from over there" Aram said closing his laptop and holding it to his chest. Before we walked out I looked at both of them and gave them a thankfull look.

"Thank you for helping me"

"You're welcome" Aram said, I looked to Samar who just nodded at me.

We got in motion, Aram headed to the Post Office while Samar and I drove towards Maggie's old work address.

When I got there, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, I walked towards the door of the building and looked inside, the lights were off and nothing seemed changed.

Samar and I walked to the side of the building, finding a little alleyway on the side. Halfway in there was an emergency door and a few dumpsters.

"Ressler" I heard Samar call me, she was a few steps ahead. I walked quickly to her and looked up to where she was staring. "there's a security camera in that store, it's pointing this way. We can ask tomorrow for the footage"

I didn't like tomorrow, she was presumably taken before lunch, that's 8 hours from now, she could be anywhere, Reddington could've put her on a plane and taken her off the city, off the county, off the goddamned continent.

I looked to the side to another dumpster and saw little glints, I moved a paper bag out of the way carefully. Her cellphone was broken, the screen was shattered in pieces. Carefully I took it and placed it inside a evidence bag I always had on me.

"If she was here, she more than likely spoke to Gina, I'll go to her place and get a statement" I said to Samar.

"It's almost 10 pm" she replied, as if it was going to stop me. I turned around and walked back to the car. Samar followed by without saying anything and the drive there was also silent. I was trying really hard to convince myself that this was Reddington that took her, because if it was someone else, then things weren't going to be pretty.

I arrived at Gina's place, walked to the door and knocked, the lights of the house were out, but one upstairs wasn't.

It took a few minutes, but Marcus opened the door at last.

"Marcus" I fished my bag and showed it to him, identifying myself. "This is Agent Navabi, we need to ask a few questions to Gina. It's about Maggie"

He frowned, but let us in, he walked us to the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker, then walked upstairs to get Gina.

She showed up a few seconds later, covering her body with a bathrobe. She looked worried and a little scared

"Don hey" she saluted, I motioned at her to the chair and she sat down. I saw Marcus pour some coffee for us out of the corner of my eye

"Maggie, you saw her today?"

"Yeah, she came to work, talked for maybe a half an hour and then she left with my boss, why?" Her expression changed "did something happened to her?" She whispered at me.

"She didn't return home" I said weary, Gina just gasped a little horrified and her eyes immediately filled up with tears, she let out a strangled 'oh my god' before Marcus walked to her and pressed his hand to her arm. I lead my own hand to her arm and squeezed it tight. "Gina, your boss, Paul Bronton, where can I find him?"

"Paul isn't-" she choked up, cleaning her tears "he isn't our boss anymore he s-sold the company"

"To who?" I pressed. She cleaned up more tears again and managed to spit out the name William Ruso.

I quickly texted Aram to get me information on any William Ruso there was.

"I'll need you to come with me to get a statement, you're the last person who saw her, and I'll need to register your workplace" Samar took over for me while I began watching the photos Aram was sending me to my phone. Then he called

"Unless he is doing business from the grave, a William Ruso did recently purchased the company from Mr Bronton. But like I said, this Ruso died five years ago from terminal cancer"

"I have her phone, it's broken though, can you do anything with it?" I asked, moving a little away from everyone.

"Yes, definitely, bring it back and I'll check it out" I hung up and out the phone back in my inner pocket, looking at Gina. She was looking inside her purse.

When I was going to tell her that we needed to go as soon as possible she handed me a set of keys. I looked at them and then back at her

"Those are the keys that open the back room, the emergency exit. We made copies a few months ago after the entrance was being renewed and we had to enter through the alley." She explained. I put the keys in my pocket and nodded at her thankfully.

On my way to leaving Samar with Gina at the site I called a sketch artist to get a proper look at this new boss, I gathered a forensics team and headed back to Maggie's workplace.

Knowing I would need a warrant, I called Reven Wright to let her know I had a Reddington related case, and she agreed to see me the next morning, but gave me the go ahead to search the place.

It was almost 1 am when I came back to the blacksite, Gina was gone, Samar was getting ready to leave as well, Aram had been working on the phone, but besides recovering what little he could about her contacts list, we would have to wait until tomorrow to scope the security cameras to get a look at the van that took Mags.

I sent Aram home, Samar also left, I ended up alone in the office. Besides receiving confirmation that the prints we took from the handrail of the emergency exit were Mags, all I could do was wait, and I hated that. I hated knowing that every minute she wasn't here was a minute she was traveling farther away, and knowing how hard it was to get Reddington in all the years I spent looking for him, she was going to be impossible to track down.

[spookyfloof]

Don’t Answer (short story)

Summary: A man finds an abandoned cell phone at his local bar. Whoever it belongs to keeps getting messages from a number listed simply as “Don’t Answer”. Unable to find the owner, his curiosity gets the best of him.

“I don't need her. She was a bitch anyway.”

I say this as I'm drowning myself in a Corona. In a bar. By myself.

I need something stronger.

Whiskey. That's manly, right?

I stare down the wall of bottles behind the bartender.

Fuck me. Whiskey, bourbon, gin, scotch... I don't know the difference. For all I care, they're the same damn thing. But I need something stronger than beer.

The bartender, a 20-something with curly, black hair and no fear of showing off her curves passes by me again. I order a whiskey.

“Neat?” she asks.

“Surprise me.”

She gives me a once-over with a little tilt of her eyebrow. Not sure what that meant, but I'm just tipsy enough not to care.

I down the last of my beer.

She probably thinks I don't look the type. She would be right.

I only ever drink beer. Sometimes vodka. I'm not a “man's man.” I'm no Jonathan Goldsmith, no George Clooney. Not even remotely.

Whatever.

A girl takes the stool beside me and orders a margarita. I try not to look at her, but even from my peripheral, I can tell she's attractive. I turn away from her without being too obvious and I notice the bar's filled up since I got here. I forgot it was karaoke night.

I'm glad I never took Denise here. I would hate to be afraid of this place reminding me of her. Merpeople has the cheapest booze within walking distance of my apartment.

She wouldn't have liked it anyway. Too “poor”. She was more of a cocktail lounge girl. At least here I can get a drink without having to dress up and pretend I have money.

At some point I'd gotten my glass of whiskey. I end up staring at the honey-colored liquid, probably for longer than I mean to.

I shouldn't have ordered this.

Fuck.

I touch the glass with the tips of my fingers and tap the lip. It won't be that bad. It'll be just like a shot of vodka. That's what I tell myself.

Eventually, I man up and just toss it down my throat. It burns and it tastes like death, but I manage to contain whatever contortions my face tries to make.

I don't think anyone saw me... I hope no one saw me.

It kicks in almost immediately. The warm haze that's been sitting at the edge creeps over me like a vertigo-inducing blanket and I can't help but like it. I didn't realize I was such a lightweight. Or maybe it's just a whiskey thing.

That's when I realize how starving I am. I pull my phone out of my jacket for the umpteenth time and click it on. 10:47 PM. It's still early. I could probably grab something to eat. And hopefully the cold will sober me up enough so I at least don't look intoxicated.

Cute bartender chick – Sylvia – closes my tab for me, and I swivel my bar-stool to get the fuck out. The attractive, margarita-ordering stranger is long gone, but a bright lights shines from where she'd been sitting. For a second, I think I'm hallucinating, but I realize it's a phone going off.

It must be on silent because I don't hear a thing, not even a vibration. That or whoever was trying to sing Beyoncé is too loud. I pick it up and see "Incoming Call" from a “Don't answer”. Interesting. An ex? Why not just block him? Or her. I don't judge.

I let the phone go to voicemail. After a few seconds, the little icon pops up on top of the screen. I look around to see if I can recognize the woman who'd been sitting next to me, but I hadn't gotten a good enough look to pick her out from anyone else here.

I'm about to hand over the phone to Sylvia, but the phone lights up again. This time a text.

“Don't make me call you 20 times.”

The message is only up on the screen for a few seconds, but long enough for me to read it.

Whoever this belongs to made no effort to lock their phone. So much for privacy. I still think I should let someone who works here deal with this, but what if it's an emergency? At this point, I'm not sure if I'm trying to be the “good guy” or just being flat-out nosy, but I swipe on the phone and it takes me to the home screen.

I first press on the voicemail notification and put the phone to my ear. I'm prompted for a PIN number. Yeah, no. Not even gonna try. I hang up on the robot voice and touch the text icon.

The messenger app opens and the keyboard pops up, just begging me to respond.

It wouldn't hurt anyone.

I shove the stranger's phone in a spare pocket and head to the door, leaving a drunken interpretation of “When Doves Cry” – and most likely this phone's owner – behind. I can turn it in later. Merpeople will be open for another few hours anyway.

As soon as I open the door, I'm assaulted by the cold air, but I brace myself and keep moving. At least it's not raining. I need to go somewhere I can respond to this text in peace and quiet... Would a diner be too on-the-nose?

Probably. But a diner it is.

-

I get seated at a booth near an awkward couple – lots of giggling and hair-twirling. I try not to stare, but they just scream “second date and both hoping to get laid”. It's cute. Sort of. And kind of revolting at the same time. Maybe that's just the booze in my empty stomach.

A deadpan server with a soul-patch asks me if I'd like anything to drink. I touch the menu as if to open it, but I just blurt out the first thing I can think of – a strawberry milkshake – and he leaves. I don't know if I even like milkshakes, but I just want him to go away so I can figure out who this “Don't answer” is.

I turn on the phone again and I see two new messages.

“Ignoring me isn't going to change anything.” “Seriously, I know.”

“I know”? Oh, this is good. Now, I don't generally go looking for drama, but if it happens to land in my lap... or in the bar-stool next to me... who am I to resist? Since I obviously haven't a clue what they're talking about and I don't want to give myself away, my only choice is to play coy.

“Know what?” I text back.

I wait about almost a minute before considering going through the rest of this girl's phone, but I'm interrupted by a soft buzz and a ping.

“Don't do that. Where are you?”

Soul-patch comes back with my milkshake and asks if I'm ready to order anything else. Actually, a burger sounds pretty good right now. I order and he takes my menu. The awkward/cute couple are still flirting with each other a few tables away from me, trying and failing to keep their voices low while they work up the courage to ask the other to go back to their place.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

How should I play this? I know nothing about the real owner of this phone, not even what she looks like, so I can't exactly try to impersonate her. They're going to figure out I'm not her. Still, I want to see how far I can take this. I could tell the truth, but what if this stranger is an abusive ex or something? Either way, whatever they meant by “I know” could get her in trouble. It's not my place to lead whoever this is to her.

I decide to play it safe.

“Out.”

I sip on my milkshake that's not half-bad and look at my actual phone. The battery is down to 10%. I forgot to charge it before I left the apartment, but I'm not expecting any calls anyway. I check the woman's phone and it shows the battery at 43%. Not about to die soon, but it will if this goes on too long. Maybe I can borrow a charger from someone.

Another ping.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

I fiddle with my straw. Does that mean they give up?

Well... that's boring... though to be expected, I guess. I reread the message a few times over. I don't want the conversation to end with that, but what else can I really say? It would help if I had some idea of who “Don't Answer” even was.

I decide to go through the her pictures. Awful of me, I know, but I have to feed my curiosity something, even if it's just bad selfies. Actually, looking through her pictures could help me find whoever this belongs to.... Why didn't I think of that earlier?

I go to her photo gallery and instead of finding rows of selfies and pictures of food, I get....black. Pictures of what looks like nothing at all. Did she accidentally take a bunch of pictures from inside her purse? I scroll down and I just get more of the same. I click on one, thinking maybe the pictures just aren't loading. Still black. I put the screen close to my face, trying to make out anything. I swipe right and the next one is just as empty.

I lean back in my booth and absently swipe from picture to picture. I could dig deeper, check her Facebook, Instagram, etc. Surely, she'd have a picture of herself on one of those.

I feel the phone buzz in my hand and I look down. Another message. And to my surprise, I see something other than black emptiness.

It's a close-up image of... an eye? No context. No face. No eyelids or eyelashes. Just an open, human-looking eye surrounded by more darkness.

I realize I'm making a face when my server comes back with my burger. I hide the phone from him without thinking.

“Anything else I can get you?”

“No, I'm good,” I manage. “Thanks.”

He nods at me with an empty smile and goes to check on the couple. Ignoring what I just saw, I take a bite of my food and go back to her text messages.

“Michael, I know it's you.”

I almost choke, but force myself to chew and swallow.

My name is Michael... This has to be a coincidence. I don't even know the girl who owns this phone. Maybe that's the name of her brother. Or her boyfriend. Michael's a common name.

Maybe I should fess up.

But I don't have the time to type in a single word before I'm plunged into pitch-black night. There’s a scream, accompanied with some startled cursing, but a voice says it's just a power outage and that the backup generator should be kicking in soon. Beams of light appear from the kitchen – employees wielding flashlights and apologizing profusely about the inconvenience. There's chatter and grumbling from the few other patrons and employees.

I turn back to my borrowed cell phone with a sigh of relief and put my hand to my chest as if that would somehow keep my heart from pounding.

I try to finish typing my confession, but the screen turns off and is replaced by a brief reflection of my face silhouetted only by the moving beams of light. I try to turn it back on, afraid the battery has already died and I see a glimpse of another face... no...a mask behind me. I nearly jump out of my seat when something like leather covers my mouth and nose. I try to yell out, but a sharp pinch in my neck sucks the scream right out of me. I tell my legs and arms to kick and flail, but I can’t move. Every muscle in my body has gone numb.

I can't see anything; my eyes haven't adjusted to the dark. Then I feel hot breath and a voice like a spider crawling into my ear:

“You shouldn't have answered.”

.

.

More like this: Lyle’s Cat | Down the Hall and to the Left

[myotishia]

Music box part two

Fandom: Torchwood. Trigger warnings: None as far as I know but feel free to suggest. Characters: Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper, Elise Carter (oc) Rating: Teen and up

Blurb: An alien puzzle box is never just a puzzle box.

“What? It was that simple?” Tosh huffed.

“Yea. The corners came out to start it. The centre button on the side with the sun image reset the whole thing. After that it was just trial and error, I wasn’t really paying attention to what I was doing just keeping an ear out for the musical notes. Now I just need to find out what the symbols mean. Usually a multi levelled puzzle box would change the mechanics as you work through the layers, otherwise it would be too easy.” Elise shrugged, turning the box over in her hands. It was satisfying just to hold but it did make the back of her hand itch.

Ianto opened the hefty book to the correct page.

“You know the top one. The bottom one is another composite that’s a little like midday. Top right is sunrise. Top left is sunset. Bottom left is midnight. Left is morning. Bottom right is evening and the right one is afternoon. It might be an easy one, just putting the times of day in order.” Said Ianto and he studied the tiny writing.

“Sweet. Whatever’s inside must be tiny otherwise this thing would never be able to move.”

“If it’s only three dimensional.”

“True.”

“I’d only work on it while you’re here just in case.”

“Will do. Odd for the first layer to be so much more difficult than the second though.”

“That depends on your point of view. Our days are linear, theirs might not be so it would be harder to work out the cycle.”

“Are you telling me to think outside the box?”

“I would never make such a bad pun.”

“You’re an awful lier, you know that?”

Ianto smiled and closed the book ready to take it back to the archives.

Later that night Elise felt bad not being able to continue the puzzle, having managed to get the symbols in the right order but to no effect, so she was trying to keep her mind on other things. Looking at her laptop she couldn’t avoid the proverbial elephant in the room. Her Owens letter to her. It sat on her desktop, unread. She’d lost count of how many times she’d hovered the mouse pointer over it and wimped out at the last minute. She couldn’t avoid it forever, how ever much she kept telling herself she could. She double clicked and flinched away as if it was going to scream at her. Nothing happened, obviously. She made sure that Owen and Tosh were busy watching TV after dinner and snuck off to the bedroom alone. She took a deep breath and began.

‘If you’re reading this I’m already gone and if I didn’t get to say goodbye I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave you but I guessed you’d be fine with the team. If you can still jump like I think you’ll be able to you might need Jacks help. The watch I had used to belong to him. It was used by the time agency but it was deactivated. Thankfully this time he won’t have to give it up. Things will likely change a lot from this point onward so I won’t bore you with the details of my timeline. I made Jack do that. I’m sorry I put so much on your shoulders, but if it helps you handled it better than I ever expected. I’m sure by now you’re wondering what that symbol is/was on the back of your hand. It was fairy made as far as I know. I found many instances of it over time and had forever to look into it. Its most basic meaning is time, specifically the rout the fay use to travel. It’s a link to that place. If you’re ever in dire need of it you can push others out of time and into the fays hands by cutting it into their skin, but it’s a last resort. When you were marked with it you were marked with death meaning no one being can claim you. It’s like diplomatic immunity for inter-dimensional beings.

It’s funny, even though we’ve known each other for a relatively short time this is the hardest letter for me to write. You’re the first person in so long that looks at me as if they’re happy to see me. As if I’m wanted. When I first died I felt completely useless. I was in the same position as you were when you met me. I jumped but of course the dead can’t die. I felt broken and hopeless. Then I found things only I could do. It gave me hope. If you ever feel like that again I want you to hold onto the amazing things you’ve already done and the potential things you could do. Hold onto that hope. I’m proud of you.

Make sure my past self doesn’t push everyone away. He’s a dick like that.

Take care of all of them, they never see what’s right under their noses.

Owen.’

Tears dripped down onto the keyboard and Elise let out the breath she’d been holding. She closed the lid and set it aside, curling up with a pillow wrapped in her arms.

Entering the Hub the next morning something felt off somehow. Jack was nowhere to be seen but hadn’t left any kind of note. It didn’t sit right. Ianto had left early that morning and had no idea where his captain had gone. He travelled back immediately knowing that something wasn’t right. The moment he stepped into the Hub it went into lock down.

Six figures emerged from the shadows, weapons pointed at the team. Looking at the people surrounding them it became clear who they were. Each one wore the same watch that Jack had. The time agency.

A stern looking woman stepped forward. “Alright, we don’t want to fight you but you’ve been working for a known criminal and we can’t allow you to continue.”

“Where’s Jack?” Owen growled, keeping his hands up.

“That’s what we want to know. That’s why we have this place sealed tight. Apparently he’s picked up some new techniques since we last met but it won’t be long until we have him under arrest. The neurotoxin should be kicking in by now. I wanted to kill him myself but a kill is a kill.” The woman shrugged, dusting off the sleeve of her jacket.

Ianto looked at the floor and asked what everyone wished they weren’t thinking. “And us?”

“We have two options. We could kill you or wipe your memories clean. Either way I like your little setup here. I think an agency outpost could be useful here.”

“So either way we’re fucked.” Owen stated flatly.

“A primitive way of putting it but yes. Don’t be too scared, we’ll make it quick. We just wanted to confirm your captains elimination first.” She took a seat at Elises desk, poking the puzzle box. “What is this?” She lifted it up to the light and Elise could see the underside. It almost looked like a musical score. The notes.

“If this works we have to get down quick.” She breathed, just loud enough for the team to hear. She had to take their silence as agreement.

C#, F#, E, D, B, F#, C#, B, G#, F#, she hummed, the box making a very loud grinding sound in the time agents hands. They seemed to be in a trance, watching the centre of the box open. At first there was nothing but then she began to choke, water welling up from her lungs. She fell from the chair and onto her knees, a green skinned winged figure hunched over her. The area exploded in gunfire as the other time agents tried to shoot the previously imprisoned fairy.

The team took the opportunity to put the agents down, three shot and the last two at the dimension travellers mercy. Mercy it did not have. Owen looked over to Gwen, Tosh and Ianto.

“Go find Jack. We’ll deal with this.”

There was no time to argue, not knowing if the time agency had sent others.

The fairy let them go without paying them any attention but looked over at Elise with fascination. Its voice seemed to echo from all around and sounded like a small child.

“Free. I’m free.” Its wings twitched. “You set me free. My song you called. Human, not one of us.”

“I’m not, but we’re closer than you think. We’re neighbours.”

“What do you want for freeing me?”

“These six people.”

“Yes.” It blinked and tilted its head.

“Erase them from existence. If the time agency knows they died here they’ll send more.”

Multiple voices giggled around them.

“That is all you wish?”

“Yes.”

The fairy grinned, showing sharp, yellowed, teeth. It disappeared in a spiral of dead leaves taking the bodies with it.

“The fuck was that?!” Owen exclaimed, eyes wide.

“I read my Owens letter last night. The time symbol is linked to the fairies. What better to trap a fairy than a puzzle? It was a risk but I had to take it.”

“Don’t mess with those things. They are so beyond us.” He shook his head, still in shock about what he’d just seen.

“I won’t, but those guys had no trigger discipline so I didn’t think we had more than a few minutes.”

“Let’s just go.” He pulled himself together, calling out to the others over comms. “What’s happening out there?”

Ianto had never been a fan of actually having to fight. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the brute strength or that he didn’t know how, it was just not in his nature. Sadly life didn’t always allow for peaceful resolution and this was one of those situations. His knuckles were stinging after knocking one of the time agents out, removing their watch so they couldn’t escape when they came round. What he was a fan of was the weevil bands that made sure the agent would be going nowhere. Down the hallway he heard a struggle and saw Gwen tackling another agent to the floor. It was sometimes easy to forget that she had once been a police officer.

“How many more of you are there?” She shouted, 100% done with the whole situation.

The man pinned to the floor refused to reply. It wasn’t a surprise but it was annoying.

It was then that they heard Owens voice asking what was going on.

Ianto replied. “We found two more. The fairy…”

“It’s gone. Catch who you can, we can retcon them after… Any sign of Jack?”

“Tosh is with him. He was in bad shape. I don’t know what they did to him.”

“I’m on my way.”

Jack was hunched over on the floor. He’d come back from death already but for some reason his body hadn’t completely reset like it should have. He was still weak and his vision kept fading. Tosh held his hand, keeping an eye on the door and trying to keep him safe.

“I was worried about you.” He said, leaning back against the wall. “Guess I didn’t need to be.”

“We were lucky… The puzzle box had a fairy inside.”

He cringed as he tensed up, a sour ache shooting through his body. “Damn.”

“It didn’t attack us, just them. I don’t know why but it did… You���re burning up.”

“I always got a fever whenever I was sick as a kid. It’s been a long time.”

“You never talk about your childhood. After all the stories you’ve told us you’ve never said a thing about your family.”

“We weren’t any different than any other family. Mom, dad… My little brother. He was lost when he was small. I lost my grip on his hand and… I never saw him again. It hurts too much to think about… I’m not good with kids.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is. My daughter hates me. I can’t blame her, it’s not as if I was ever around. She has a kid of her own now. A little boy. He thinks I’m his uncle.”

“It’s not your fault. You can’t really hold a family together in this line of work. You should visit them.”

“She wouldn’t want that. They’re better off without me. I don’t know why they didn’t move away a long time ago.”

Tosh shook her head and squeezed his hand softly. “Jack… Why haven’t you ever said anything?”

“If I don’t talk about it I don’t have to think about it. I’ve had to leave so much behind. If I think too much about it…” He looked away and closed his eyes.

Tosh gently pulled him into a hug, his skin dangerously warm. He passed away for the second time as Owen stepped in through the door.

The doctor carefully helped get Jack to the autopsy bay, collecting some blood to find out what was going on. The neurotoxin was replicating itself inside Jacks bloodstream. Every time his body reset even a few molecules left over would rapidly spread and rebuild. It needed to be wiped out completely at the molecular level. He couldn’t just let Jack keep dying over and over. As the captain took a deep gasp and opened his eyes Owen turned.

“Jack. Listen, I can fix this but I need time… I won’t force you but instead of letting you die again I could put you on ice.”

He looked pained. “Do it.”

Owen sprang into action and gave Jack a large dose of sedatives to help make him as comfortable as possible. It would be tough without their leader but it had to be done.

As soon as he was safely hidden away Tosh realised something.

“Owen?”

“Yea?”

“Wasn’t Elise with you?”

Elise had been but in a moment of commotion she found herself pulled back, a hand held tightly over her mouth. There was nowhere for her to move to as her arms were pulled behind her back. Whoever it was was gripping so hard she swore she could actively feel her skin bruising.

“I’m going to move my hand and if you scream I’ll break your arm.” A gravelly voice said, only an inch or so away from her ear. It sounded odd, like when you have dental work and half of your face is still numb. He did as he said and took his hand from over her mouth. A sharp point was pressed against her back.

“Walk.”

She complied, not wanting to get stabbed but trying to think of how she was going to escape.

“Who are you?” She said softly, not wanting to anger this guy.

“Me? Your good captain never mentioned his brother. Of course he didn't. After all he did this to me.” He turned her around violently, slamming her back against a wall. She looked up to see a man that did have a resemblance to Jack, but it was hard to tell beneath the damage. Half of his face had been horribly burned and mangled, one eye completely gone, the flesh around his mouth exposed and infected.

“What do you want?” She squeaked out, her voice stolen by the sight.

“I want my brother to suffer. Those time agents should have arrested him but no, they had to kill him right away. Or that’s what they said. I don’t think that’s true and you’re my ticket to seeing him.”

“Ok. And where are you taking me?”

“We’re going to look for him. You’re going to walk ahead of me and if you try and run I’m going to cut you into pieces.”

She nodded and let him lead her towards the main area of the hub.

Tosh and Ianto were quickly scanning every camera in the hub now the captured agents were safely stored down in the cells. Gwen was keeping watch and Owen was keeping busy trying to cure Jack. If he wasn’t doing something he’d be pulling out his hair.

Tosh had rewound the footage to follow Owen’s path and pinpoint when Elise was separated from him. It happened in seconds but the heavy shadows covered what exactly had happened. Moving through the footage she did see Elise getting thrown around and the glint of a blade in her attackers hand, but she could tell that Elise was a hostage which meant she could be rescued.

“They’re heading this way. Ely is being held at knifepoint so we need to keep things calm.”

Gwen agreed. “You both should stay out of sight. I’ll try and talk him down.”

They agreed, Gwen had more experience talking people out of tense situations.

She made herself visible as not to surprise the man and have him lash out and made sure that he couldn’t see she was armed. She wanted to look as inoffensive and calm as she could.

Elise entered first, keeping her nerve and looking right ahead. The moment Grey saw Gwen he pulled Elise close and held the blade against her throat. She could smell a mix of infection and dust on him that turned her stomach.

“Woah, woah. I just want to talk. I’m Gwen. Can I ask your name?”

“Grey. Where’s my brother? Where is Jack?”

“I can find out I just need you to lower the knife. Elise is innocent.”

“I’ll lower it when he’s in front of me, otherwise I’m going to start bleeding her out.”

Elise could feel the blade cutting into her skin slightly.

“We don’t need to do that Grey. We can do this without anyone getting hurt.”

He smiled, or what his face could manage that could have been a smile. “You’re talking as if I’m doing this just to see my dear brother. The thing is, from what I pulled from John he really seems to care about you. I want him here so he can see you all di-”

His words were caught short by a bullet travelling clean through his head. The knife fell and clattered to the floor. Turning to where the bullet had come from Tosh stood, hands shaking. Ianto placed his hand over hers.

“It’s ok. It’s over.” He soothed, taking her gun from her hands.

Gwen automatically went to check on Elise and move her from the scene, she did it without thinking.

“I’m fine. Where’s Jack?” Elise asked, rubbing at the small cut on her neck.

Everyone's grim expressions said more than their words could. She looked round at Owen who had jumped up when he heard the gunshot. He was relieved in a way but he knew how much work he had ahead of him.

“Owen’s working on helping him.” Gwen said, a hand on Elises clean shoulder.

“And the time agency?”

“The last two are in the cells.”

“Think I can go and shower?”

She laughed softly. “Yea, I think so.”

“I’ll be right back.” She turned to smile over at Tosh who was calming down.

When Elise returned, wearing the shorts and tee-shirt that she had stored in her locker, the body was gone along with any evidence it had ever been there. Ianto was walking past with a folded camp bed on his shoulder.

“Are we still locked in?” she asked.

“Hmm? No, this is for Owen. When he’s got a project he’s having trouble with he doesn’t sleep unless there’s somewhere to collapse next to him. It’s happened before. He likely won’t eat either.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Just remind him once in a while and don’t get too upset if he gets snappy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Want me to take that? You look like you should put some ice on that hand.”

He thought for a moment then handed the camp bed over, his hand pulsing. “I will.”

She smiled softly and carried off the bed to see Owen. He was sat putting together test samples and hadn’t even acknowledged her.

“Brought you somewhere to sleep.”

“Hmm.”

“I’ll come and check on you later, ok?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’ll leave you to concentrate then.”

“Hmm.”

She doubted he’d even absorbed anything she’d said or remember she’d even been there. It was worrying but there was nothing she could do about it. Just standing there wouldn’t help. She turned and left to join the others.

“What now?” She asked, sitting next to Tosh.

No one really knew if they were honest. With Jack unavailable and Owen having to put every bit of his concentration into his research it left them without definite leadership.

Gwen took a deep, calming, breath. “Right. We can’t just sit here. What happened to the agents that were up here?”

“The fairy took them. I’m guessing by now you can’t remember what they look like.” Elise said, wrapping her arm around her girlfriend's shoulders.

It was true, she couldn’t. None of them could. The memory itself was hazy at best, like a half remembered dream.

“Well the ones in the cells are going to be a problem. What happened to their watches?”

“They’re sealed in a lead lined container for now. Nothing should be able to track them.” The usual protocol for anything that could give off any kind of signal. Ianto liked working by the book.

“We should probably carry on as normal while Jack is… out of action. At least for now.”

For the next three days Gwen was the only one who went home. The Hub felt as if something was missing. It just felt wrong in there somehow. Owen was quickly burning out, having had a total of four hours sleep since he began and the others were considering sedating him. There was no way he could progress if he could barely see. Tosh had said it was only fair to give him a chance to take a break by choice. Elise volunteered to tell him.

“Owen?”

“Hmm?”

“Come on, time to take a shower and a nap.”

“In a minute.”

“You said that six hours ago. You can’t work if you can’t even keep your hands steady and you’re seeing things from sleep deprivation.”

“Just… A minute.”

“You’ll be better after a break. Jack’s in stasis, he’s comfortable, he can wait for you to rest.”

“I can’t… I need to-”

“You need to take a shower. If you won’t take a break we’re going to just sedate you.”

He wanted to shout but he just didn’t have the energy. She was right, he just wished she wasn’t. He turned his chair and tried to stand on legs that had gone to sleep, stumbling. She caught him and helped him to the showers. The water felt nice, helping to clear his thoughts. He’d spent so many hours staring at the same thing that it had stopped making any sense. He needed a way to isolate the neurotoxin with something that it couldn’t break down. It destroyed everything he’d tried, leaving it to multiply out of control. He couldn’t even switch off its ability to multiply. Whoever had created this toxin/virus hybrid knew what they were doing. He just needed to neutralise the toxin. It sounded so easy but it was so new to him.

“You’re mumbling to yourself. I was wondering if getting a pure version of the toxin would help so Ianto’s gone searching to see what he can find. We didn’t think they’d only have one dose on them but we couldn’t find anything in the stuff we confiscated.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope.”

“Nothing at all?”

“No, why?”

“I should have known... Of course.”

“Of course what?”

“I couldn’t find a way that it could be introduced to the body and survive the resurrection process. But if it was dormant in his body before he gained the ability to resurrect then it would just start attacking all over again. The best soldiers always have some kind of killswitch. The toxin is like a biological computer. I just need to switch it off somehow.”

“Told you a break would do you good.”

“How long until you’re going to sedate me?”

“You have two hours then you have to get some sleep.” She sighed and handed him a towel.

One hour and thirty two  minutes in and he had it with the help of a few fibers from the bio computer that was integrated into the Torchwood system he had it. He could make the toxin essentially self destruct. The next time Jack had to resurrect it would immediately destroy itself. The rest of the team heard a sudden increase in movement and came to investigate. Owen had an almost manic smile on his face as he pulled out the draw that held Jack, his body fighting off the cold very quickly. Before he regained consciousness Owen injected the modified viral controller into his arm. They all waited, silently, until Jack opened his eyes. He looked fatigued but not in pain.

“Jack? How do you feel?” Asked Owen.

“Cold… I don’t feel like death anymore… You did it.”

“I always do.” He grinned before the strength left his body. Ianto dashed forward to catch the exhausted medic before he hit his head on the floor.

Jack looked confused, sitting up and rubbing his neck. “How long was I out?”   

“Three days.” Ianto said as he lay Owen on the camp bed.

“I’ll have to ask him what they did to me once he’s rested up. Speaking of which , what happened to them?”

“It’s complicated.”

The captain side eyed his staff as they clearly had something they didn’t want to say. “How about we have a meeting while Owen’s resting.”

“Ok. I understand how that all went, but no one’s mentioned how Elise got that cut across her throat or the bruises on her arms.” Jack stated after hearing what had happened to all the time agents. Elise pulled her sleeves down and kind of hoped that her foundation fully covered the fading bruises on her cheek. A long silence followed before Gwen decided to just rip the proverbial bandaid off.

“She was taken hostage by a man who said he was your brother.”

Jacks eyes widened.

“We don’t know if that’s true. It could have been a con, but… He wanted to see you…”

“Where is he?”

“Jack… He wanted to see you to kill us all in front of you. He wasn’t in his right mind.”

“You had to …”

“Yes.”

“Is he in the morgue?”

“He is… But you need to know even at first glance he was a mess.”

“Gwen-”

“No, listen… Half of his face was missing. If you think you can’t cope with that then just let it go.” She wasn’t trying to be cruel but seeing a family member in that state could poison every single memory you had of them.

Jack nodded slowly. He understood, but part of him needed to know. Just maybe not right away.                         

[childrenofhypnos]

Chapter 21: The Fenhallow Underground

Lana Lupova carried a ring of keys on the right arm of her motorized chair. Emery had only seen her remove it when she didn’t want to make noise, or for special occasions, like school fundraising events and important meetings.

There would be no special occasion today.

“It’s a fat ring of keys and Lana’s going to notice me taking it off her chair,” Emery said to Wes as they pushed their way through the doors of the Asha Gilani Sleep Research Center. They skirted the edge of the lobby, avoiding the gazes of the researchers coming in to start work for the day. “You’ll need to make a distraction. Lana’s office is in the north wing; her lab is in the south wing. She’ll have been in the lab all night, so she’s probably in her office now. The lab doors have tamper alerts—if someone tries to break into them, an alarm goes off.”

“So I need to tamper with the locks.”

“Exactly. I’ll go to her office and start talking to her.” Emery held up her phone. “When I message you, run down to her lab—it’s number three—and set off the alarm. When she hears it, I’ll take the key.”

“Don’t they have cameras? They’ll come after us when I do it.”

“Hide yourself.” She flicked the hood of his sweatshirt.

He pulled it up and glanced behind him, down the south hallway, turning his phone over in his pocket. “Make it quick,” he said.

They split up. Emery strode down the north hallway with quick but controlled steps, smiling at anyone she passed. She knew Dr. Lupova’s office by the cute little flower pinned to the nameplate outside the door. She knocked.

“Come in.”

Lana sat in front of a bank of monitors displaying high-resolution images of the human brain. The stark light washed her face and hair in a ghostly blue. Her keys, the group of them as thick as Emery’s fist, hung motionless from the chair arm. Attached to them was her school ID card.

Emery sidled up close to her. “What’s up, Lupova?”

“It’s impolite to read over someone’s shoulder, Emery.” Lana’s tone was pleasant, and she continued her work. The screen to her right flipped between images of a brain with different sections lit up in bright orange. At the corner of each image was a label, a date and time and the name Warwick. “What variety of trouble are you getting into today?”

Emery kept her phone in her hand turned toward her leg, her finger hovering over Send. “I really resent the assumption here, I want you to know.” Emery paused, looking down, and scuffed her foot on the floor. She made her voice small. “Actually…I was wondering, um…”

Lana looked around.

“So, Wes and I were in the Dream for a while. I know it’s not good for dreamhunters to spend a lot of time there. I was just wondering if, like…” Emery let her fingers play along the arm of the chair. The keys hung from a carabiner; she’d have to be quick. “Things have been weird since we got back. Time moves too slow, and I feel this weird weight on my chest. Does being in the Dream for that long really hurt you? Like, put you closer to your Insanity Prime?”

“Oh, Em.” Lana took her hands off the keyboard. “It’s certainly not good for you. I’ve known hunters who have spent longer in the Dream, but they were older than you, and much more experienced in how to handle themselves inside, not to mention more prepared. If you’re worried, we can run some tests—”

Emery hit Send. A heartbeat later, an alert siren blared from Lana’s computer, and a bright red indicator lit up on the top left of all her screens. She whipped around, eyes darting from one screen to the next, and snapped, “Oh, not again! But we caught him!”

As Lana turned to the door, Emery stepped out of her way, sliding behind her. She squeezed and unhooked the carabiner in the same smooth motion. The alert was too loud to hear the jangling of the keys. Lana disappeared into the hall.

Emery ran for it.

~

Wes met her in front of the administration building. They hustled up the long flight of steps, the quotes beneath their feet flashing in the morning sunlight.

“Someone definitely saw me” Wes said. His hood was still up. “We won’t have that long.”

“Lupova sounded like it had happened before. They might not know it was you if they didn’t see your face. And you didn’t actually go in, right? Maybe they thought you were just a student playing a prank.”

“You don’t think Dr. Lupova realized her keys are gone by now?”

“We’ll be downstairs by the time anyone gets to us.” Emery had already singled out several keys that looked like they would fit the size and age of the elevator lock. She held her fingers around the key ring to hold them separate.

Instead of going through the front doors and facing the threat of running into Grandpa Al, Emery pulled Wes around to the east side of the building, where an access door led to the maintenance room. The maintenance staff often left it propped open with a bucket when they were going in and out a lot for work on the buliding, and today they were bringing in new cleaning supplies in preparation for the winter.

Emery and Wes slipped into the maintenance room and immediately ducked behind a tall metal shelf of cleaning supplies. The room was long and rectangular, the door into the admin building set in the wall on the far end of the shelf, and a second after they hid, a set of maintenance workers tromped through carrying another roll of carpet. Emery and Wes crept parallel to them in the opposite direction, and when the workers went through the outside door, darted out of the maintenance room and into the back hallways of the administration building.

The hallway circled the perimeter of the first floor. Most of the rooms here were offices for other Hypnos State employees; Grandpa Al’s aides, the department heads, and the marketing department that made promotional material for the Hypnos Centers across the city.

The elevator was in the front of the building, near the receptionist’s desk. Emery kept the keys hidden behind her back as they walked, still smiling at everyone they came across. They stopped at the corner and peered into the lobby; empty except for David the receptionist and Sarah Stainer, who was standing in front of his desk in foul-smelling, wet clothing, arguing with him.

“Just set up the meeting, David, it’s not a hard thing to do!” She waved a sopping shoe at him. She was only wearing one now, and her dark sock was oozing onto the hardwood. “Someone around here needs to talk about preventative measures for childhood nightmares—this is the second time I’ve been to the Millers’ this month, and that girl is notorious for doubling up on nightmares when the first one has been taken care of. This is ridiculous—”

Moving slowly, Emery crept around the corner and hit the elevator button.

“I’ll see what I can do,” David stuttered, “but the dean is pretty busy right now. Have you tried one of the Center directors? Maybe they could help—”

“Oh yes, because the Center directors have as much pull as Aldrich Ashworth.” Stainer threw her hands up. “I just got covered in sewer water, put me on his schedule!”

The elevator dinged and slid open. Emery yanked Wes inside, hit the door close button, and began frantically trying keys in the lock beside the door for the basement level.

“She’ll definitely know they’re gone by now,” Wes said.

“Shut up,” Emery hissed.

One small and silver key slid into the lock. Emery cranked it sideways and slammed her fist on the basement button. The button remained lit, and the elevator shuddered and began to move down.

“Yes!”

The bright red 1 on the elevator display changed to XX. Wes crossed his arms over his chest, frowning.

“What’s the plan after we get out of the elevator?”

“No idea,” Emery said. “I know the place down here is big, like another building underground, but I’ve never been down here. Kind of winging it.”

Wes closed his eyes slowly, went very still, then opened them again. “I don’t know why that surprises me.”

“Look, I’m pretty sure no matter what happens, my Grandpa is going to find out I went down here. Even if we don’t run into anyone, they probably have security cameras. When I said I didn’t want to get you in trouble, I meant it—we are definitely getting reamed out after this.”

“As long as we get to talk to him,” Wes said.

“I agree.”

The elevator stopped. Opened. They looked down a long stone hallway lined with harsh overhead lights. At the far end was another door.

There was no point in playing it cool anymore, so they jogged to the far end. As they approached the door, it slid open,  revealing a dark, square stairwell and a metal staircase that wrapped deep down inside it. The only sign of the bottom was a small red light casting a glow across the floor.

Wes made an unhappy noise. Emery started down the stairs.

Their footsteps clanged and echoed down the shaft. At the bottom as another thick door, but this one didn’t automatically slide open. To the left of the door was a scanner, the glowing red light. Emery fumbled for Lana’s ID card on the key ring and shoved its bar code under the scanner. The scanner beeped. The door opened.

The hallway beyond that door was bigger than the first, brighter, still paneled in stark grays. It opened up at the end into a circular hub where several other tunnel hallways met, some leading to more doors, others to stairwells that went up or down. Above each tunnel was a label etched into the stone.

Laboratories

Communication

Bunker

Containment

Control

“Containment.” Wes pointed

Emery looked around the room. “But…what are these others? Bunker? Communications? A bunker for what, is the world going to end? And communications with who? Who do they need to talk to that they can’t do it above ground?”

“I don’t know,” Wes said, “but I don’t want to stand here longer than we have to, because who knows how many people are down here and might come walking through.”

Emery let him pull her down the containment tunnel. At the end was another one of the stairwells. This one went down, like the first, but not as far; there were landings after every flight of stairs, a door or two at each one.

“How are we supposed to know where he is from here?” Wes asked. “It could be any one of these doors, they’re not labeled.”

“Always do the one that’s hardest to get through,” Emery said. At the bottom was another door with another scanner, and Emery went all the way down to it. Past it was a bright hallway, perfectly straight, longer than the hallway after the elevator and lined on one side with doors. The other wall was flat and blank. Emery had to put a hand up to shield her eyes until they adjusted. Each door was heavy and metal and windowless; each one had a small plaque to its right. Twenty or thirty doors, all identical.

And planted on a folding chair in front of the door at the very far end, flipping through an issue of Sports Illustrated, was Marcia.

As soon as the door opened, she looked up, saw them there, and nearly ripped her magazine in half.

“Wait!” Wes held his hands up. “Wait, Marcia. We came down here for answers because no one’s telling us anything.”

Marcia stood and threw the magazine onto the chair so hard the chair folded in on itself. She was still wearing her hunting armor, though she had no weapon out. About a hundred clips held back her riot of orange hair. “Why are you the one talking, Wes?” she snapped. “This was clearly Ashworth’s idea. How’d you get down here?” She glanced down. “Are those Lana’s keys?”

Emery shoved the keys behind her back and jabbed a finger toward the far door. “That guy had a drawing of my doppelgänger in his dream. That has to mean something. He was following me. He was coming after me. I need to know why. You must have spoken to him—hasn’t he said anything?”

Something in Emery’s voice seemed to knock the steam out of Marcia. She huffed, planting her hands on her hips and rolling her eyes. “Hypnos’s balls, Ashworth, he’s not coming after you. If he’d said anything to me about your doppelgänger, I would have told you—I’m not a complete monster. He’s not talking to any of us. Even me.”

“Then let me try,” Emery said. “He might talk to me.”

“He’ll talk circles around you is what he’ll do,” Marcia grumbled.

“Who is he?” Wes asked. “He used to go here, right? You knew him. Other people here must have, too, and the dean made it sound like he was really dangerous.”

“He was stealing sleeping sand from the research labs. That’s why they wanted him brought in. But he’s not—” Marcia’s cuff screen lit up. She glanced at it, eyebrow raised, then tapped it once. “Hey, Lupova.”

“Are they down there?” Lana’s voice echoed in the narrow hallway.

“Yeah, they’re here.”

“Those weaselly, snot-nosed, sticky-fingered little fu—”

Marcia tapped another button. The speaker cut off, and Marcia held the cuff to her ear with a cool look and another raised eyebrow. Lana’s staticky voice, now unintelligible, carried on for almost an entire minute before she petered out enough to let Marcia speak again.

“I’ll get you your keys,” Marcia said. “In the meantime, I’ve got control of them. I’ll report it to the dean, don’t worry. Yes. Yes. I don’t think it has anything to do with the cult. No, he still hasn’t. I don’t know, but I’ve thought about it.” She paused again. “Well, if you say it, L, it must work.”

Marcia hung up. “I have never heard her say that many curse words at one time. What did you do, hit her over the head and run off with the keys?”

“Played to her sympathy, actually,” Emery said.

Marcia nodded appreciatively. “Lupova agrees with you. You might be able to get him to talk. The dean had a few important conference calls this morning, so at most it’s going to be about fifteen minutes before he hears about an attempted break-in at the research center. Maybe less if someone’s watching the security footage down here and sees you.”

She motioned up, where a small security camera sat nestled in the corner of the wall and ceiling above the door.

“But—” Wes looked back around. “They’re going to know you helped us.”

Marcia shrugged. “If you can get him to talk, it’ll be worth it. Fifteen minutes.”

“That’s plenty,” Emery said.

“And you fork over those keys.”

Emery did, happily.

Marcia led them back down the hallway, kicked the collapsed chair out of the way, and started tapping in a code on a panel beside the door.

“Should we be wearing armor?” Wes asked.

“No.” Marcia waved an airy hand, scoffing. “He’s harmless.”

Harmless was not the word Emery would have given to either the Sandman or his dreams. Her knuckle throbbed in response.

“You still haven’t told us who he is,” Wes said.

“His name is Klaus Warwick. He was called the Sandman around campus when we were still in classes. He’s got a lot of dangerous skills, but he’d never hurt anyone.” Marcia leaned in close to a port above the keypad. It scanned her eye. Several locks inside the door clicked open, and she straightened up and sighed.

“He was my partner.”

(Next time on The Children of Hypnos —> Revealing Secrets)