#oh you know his plants have little silly names related to whatever happened the day he got them

[so-that-was-okay]

Plant Dad!Tommy has been in my heart since we spotted this little plant in Buck's place in 7x10. And I need it to be so real. I also need to see Tommy's life from the plants' pov.

They love his place and living with him. It's cosy, never too hot, never too cold. He lets the sun in when it's less burning, and the fresh air rustles their leaves when the temperatures fall.

Tommy always takes good care of them, water is filtered, the fertilizer is organic, he tends to them, talks to them, sings to them, never forgets to check on them.

Then one day... something is new. A new voice sings broken songs, new hands tend to them, touch them more roughly. Tommy is different too, he always takes care of them the same way but there's something more. His voice is warmer, his laugh richer.

And the love... It's everywhere.

[forever-rogue]

Honey & Velvet - Part 4

Summary: Ruthless CEO Max Lord is about to meet his biggest match yet in another CEO such as cunning and biting as he can be.

A/N: Thank you guys for all of your support on this story. Your love for it is beautiful and I appreciate. I hate and love Max so much! If you’d like to be tagged, please let me know, and as always, feedback and comments are always welcome! xx

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: masturbation (18+ only!!); sex; language

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 | PART 9 | PART 10

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Max sighed to himself as he grabbed his letter opener to unseal the surprise special delivery. He wasn’t used to having do such a menial task for himself; no that’s why he paid others to do it all for him. Tossing the weighted object down, he reached in and felt around, trying to figure out what was inside. It didn’t feel like a letter or any sort of documents, but pictures rather. Polaroids to be exact.

His breath hitched in his throat as he slowly pulled the small stack of photos, trying to prevent himself from taking them in too quickly. He wanted to savor this moment, to remember his exact reaction when he saw the photos. Since it was you and he already had a taste of your fiery personality, he knew it could have been pictures of anything; perhaps you had decided to play a trick on? Hell, it could have been pictures of your feet...although he might have found a way to think that was sexy too. He was a man of...interesting taste.

He set the small, square photos in a neat stack in from of him, arranged just perfectly for him to easily filter through. As soon as his eyes landed on the first image, he picked it up and held it in front of his eyes to examine it closely. There you were, frozen in time and space, immortalized in the photo. You were staring back at him, posed in a scandalous position as you stared directly at the camera, lips pouted perfectly. He licked his own lips as he looked through the photos trying not to get too lost in them. He was, after all, still in the middle of his work day, and not exactly in the positions to just get out his frustrations. 

Letting a heavy breath out through his nose, Maxwell already felt his cock twitch in his trousers, that familiar sensation beginning to take hold. He flicked through the rest of the photos, each of them getting progressively more scandalous, until the last photo. He audibly groaned at it as he tried to study it as closely as possibly. Of course you would manage to send him a photograph of yourself completely nude, but with just enough shadowing so he couldn’t see everything. But it left very little to the imagination, and was enough to send him over the edge. 

Fuck it. 

Tossing the picture back onto the edge, he quickly unzipped his trousers, which happened to be brand new and in season; he’d made quick work of refreshing his wardrobe after your little comment when you’d first had cornered him in his office. He pulled out his cock, already fully hard and leaking, and leaned back in his chair. The door to his office wasn’t locked, but he was so caught up in the moment it didn’t matter to him, besides that he knew most people knew better than ever dare to walk in without knocking. 

A low sound, a mixture between a moan and growl escaped his lips as he started to stroke himself, eyes scanning over your myriad of photos. He could only imagine how good it was going to feel when he finally was able to be inside of you, to feel your walls around him. He’d get his sweet, sweet revenge on you for making him lust this hard after you. He could see it now: taking his time with you, leaving you on edge until you were crying and begging for him to finally fuck you. 

With the image of you firmly planted in his mind, it didn’t take long before stifled moans managed to slip past his lips. Finding one of the favorite photos of the bunch he held it near his cock as he came, letting your name spill off of his lips like a quiet prayer; repeated, gentle, hopeful. He spilled all over his hand, dragging his high out, managed to get a few drops of his thick cum on the edge of your photo. Max you couldn’t wait to see how good you would look with it all over you.

He smiled at his handiwork before dropping the Polaroid back onto his desk and reaching for one of his trusty handkerchiefs. He felt bad, almost, about the stack of used squares that the cleaner had to deal with every week. Sometimes it was none, sometimes, especially of late, they were many. Anyone with half a brain could figure out what they used for, but he couldn’t bothered in caring. If anything, Max could easily convince them that it was really anything.

But for now, coming down from his climax, he was...satisfied and would be content for a small while. Glancing around to make sure no one had intruded for whatever reason, he gathered the photos and tucked them into the top drawer of his desk, the one that was always locked. They would live there for now, until they were of further use, which probably would be sometime in the near future. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

For several hours you were sitting in your office, twiddling your thumbs, both metaphorically and literally, as you waited, and waited, and waited, for a call that never came. It was frustrating, infuriating even, to sit around and be so distracted that it prevented you from even working. How could you let this one man, this one infuriating man, get under your skin so much?

After a while of sitting around and getting nothing done, you let out a long sigh, dropping your head to the desk as you tried to clear your mind. You thought you were being quiet, at least somewhat subtle, but Adina was quick to knock on your door, poking her head inside to find you in distress.

“Y/N?” she asked as you sat up bolt right, trying to collect yourself and not make it seem like you were nearing the middle experiencing mental anguish. Over a fucking man. 

“What can I do for you?” you asked with a stunted smile. She raised an eyebrow, giving you a quizzical expression. Of all the times to be a bad liar, this was not the time. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked and you nodded even before the question was fully out, which most definitely didn’t help your case, “really? Don’t mind me, but you’re acting...off.”

“Off?” your voice pitched about an octave as you realized you were still digging your own grave. She’d known you for so long, she knew you about as well as you knew yourself, “w-what do you mean?”

“I mean...” she trailed off and waved her arm around as if trying to make a general statement of off, “you’re acting kind of weird, different lipstick, which I’ve never seen you do before, I don’t think you’ve done a single thing today, which I am totally not judging by the way...ever since you’ve gotten those deliveries. What even was in them?”

“Adina,” you popped up and walked over to her, putting an around her shoulder, doing your best to give her a small hug, “my sweet, sweet Adina. There’s nothing wrong, I promise. I’m just...tired. Had a late night. It’s totally just me, you have nothing to worry about. I might take off a little early today though...try and get some rest.”

In Benjamin’s bed. Again.

“Y/N,” she back down in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited you closely, “I’ve known you since we were in college. I know when you’re acting different.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” you insisted, leaning against the doorway, trying to present yourself as being cool and collect, “I promise. I could never lie to you. Everything is fine.”

Except right now. I’m a dirty, dirty liar.

“If you’re sure,” she was hesitant, but willing to accept your answer. You’d never given her a reason not to believe you before, why would you start now? 

“I am,” you tried to let out a natural sounding laugh, but even to it sounded stunted...awkward, “you needn’t worry about me. Your energy is much better spent on almost anything else.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you shot her a quick wink. You were about to go back into your office to attempt to do a little work before making a departure for the day, but Adina cleared her throat right before you walked away, “yes, ma’am?”

“Your blouse,” she pointed to the mismatched buttons, “it’s all wonky. Fix your buttons, boss.”

“Oh,” your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you looked down and spotted your mistake. Oops, you wanted to kick yourself. In your haste to slip back into your work clothes, you must not have been paying that much attention. You hoped that Adina hadn’t noticed that your shirt was perfectly crisp and buttoned when you came in that morning, “silly me...must...be getting lazy in the morning.”

“Hmm,” was the only sound out of her mouth as she slowly swiveled in her chair, back to the work sprawled out on her desk. Your door was almost closed when she remarked, “Benjamin called for a little while ago. Said you spoke this morning and asked if you could give him a call back at your convenience.”

“Ben,” you sighed loudly, thinking about whacking your head against the door. Of course he called; that would only raise Adina’s suspicions - the two of you hadn’t parted on good terms and that was knowledge to most people, “oh funny. I’ll give him a call back.”

“It’s been a while since you’ve spoken to him, hasn’t it?” there was a curious lilt to her voice as she seemed to play Sherlock, digging and digging until she finally discovered the truth. You turned and gave her a small smile, “I didn’t know you were still on speaking terms with him.”

“We...are,” if that’s what you called spending time in bed and fucking nowadays, “I had to speak to him for something business related. It’s just a transaction we’re hammering out.”

A wonderful choice of words.

“Sure,” there was a tone to suggest she absolutely did not believe you, but without any real evidence, she couldn’t just accuse you of anything. On top of that, you’d never given her a reason not to trust you; you were the boss after all, “if I can do anything, please let me know.”

“The...envelope from earlier,” your voice cracked a little and you found it hard to meet her eyes, “it got delivered, yes?”

“Yes,” she promised, “I gave it directly to Mr. Lord’s assistant and I saw her bring it into his office.”

“Wonderful-”

“What was it regarding, again? Anything I need to be aware of?” you swallowed the lump in your throat at her words. You hated having to lie to her as much as you hated the feeling you were experiencing for the petulant bastard himself.

“No. If anything comes up, you’ll be the first to know,” you promised and turned back to your office and closed the door slowly as you heard her mumble something in response. Making sure the door was locked, you let out a low, “fuck.”

You hated lying and trying to sneak around. You shouldn’t have even needed to be sneaking; you were a grown woman that could do whatever you pleased. If you wanted to fuck Maxwell Lord then you could.

Shit.

You finally admitted it to yourself. You wanted to fuck him. What had happened to you? It had to be...something. Maybe your hormones were off or...literally anything else. There’s no other reason you could possibly want him, right? He was just a silly man child in an overpriced suit with a bad dye job and too much time on his hands. What was so appealing about that? Nothing. But the growing neediness between your legs suggested otherwise. 

Whatever it was you knew you couldn’t let it get any further. No, you had to clear your mind and get back to work. This was all business and it couldn’t be anything more. You would never mix business and pleasure and you certainly weren’t about to start for him.

Jumping onto your desk, you reached for your phone, fingers hesitating slightly as you contemplating dialing Max and telling him you were done. But no. That would be giving into him, egging him on and giving him just more reason to contact you again. 

Dialing Benjamin wasn’t a much better option, but right now it was the lesser of two evils. With a shaking finger, you dialed his direct office line, still finding that you had it memorized. A part of you was hoping that he wouldn’t pick up; if he didn’t you would have the excuse that you tried but couldn’t get through to him. Yes, you thought to yourself, perfect.

But just before it rang out, that smooth, slightly accented voice picked up on the other, “Y/N. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Ben,” you said firmly, not surprised that he immediately knew it was you,  “you can’t just call my office whenever you please! Adina is going to get suspicious - everyone knows we don’t talk.”

“Relax,” he chuckled on the other end, “I was perfectly pleasant and didn’t offer her even a drop of what happened last night.”

“Ben-”

“What?” he asked and you sighed in response, “you’re the one calling me back. Surely you could have just ignored me if you weren’t interested in...speaking.”

“Fine,” you gave in, rolling your eyes and wishing he could see, “when are you free?”

“I can be free whenever you need me to be,” gods was he always this cocky? He was almost as bad as Max. Maybe it was time to reevaluate your taste in men. 

“Meet me at mine in an hour,” you hated yourself even as the words came out, “but this is the last time. I swear it, Benjamin.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” you loathed the nickname but he always made it a point to call you that, “I’ll see you at yours. Champagne?”

“Whatever I need to drown out that fact that I’ve resorted to fucking you again,” you twisted the cord in your hands as he could just laughed, “perhaps something stronger.”

“I’ll see you soon,” with that he hung up and you found yourself listening to the dial tone again. Slowly, you put the phone down, it suddenly feeling heavy in your hand, along with the weight of everything else in your heart. You shouldn’t be acting like this; like some sort of fool just running around like sort of animal in heat. 

But this was the last time; you kept repeating that to yourself. You were just going to fuck Ben one last time, or times that afternoon, and then get back to your normal self. Maybe if you kept repeating that yourself it would eventually come true. 

Maybe.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Oh fuck,” you were on top of Ben, hands on his chest as you rode him, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to that sweet edge you so desperately craved. His large hands were on your hips, in a grip like a vice as he steadied you.

“God, you feel so good,” he managed to moan in between his thrust as he felt your walls start to clench around him, “missed having you so much.”

You didn’t return the sentiment, not exactly proud that you were in this position, but when you were so lost in the moment, you didn’t care. Closing your eyes as you started to see stars, you threw your head back in ecstasy as the familiar crescendo of your orgasm started in the bottom of your belly. You felt his cock twitch within you as he thrust with more vigor. 

“Fuck,” Ben groaned, “‘m gonna cum.”

“Me too,” his hands from your hips to your breasts, massaging them in just the right way to pull a few mewls from your lips. Gods, it had been ages since you’d been with someone that knew how to touch you, to make you feel good. If the two of you weren’t so similar and didn’t butt heads all the time, you relationship could have blossomed into something beautiful. But you were okay with this - a satisfying orgasm; it was better than nothing.

It was only a few more bounces before you climaxed, a small cry erupting from your lips as you waves of pleasure rippled throughout your whole body. Ben came along with you, coating your insides with hot, thick ropes of cum as your name came off his lips repeatedly, like a quiet prayer. 

Running your hands over his chest, you were so lost in the moment that you didn’t even realize what you were saying. But when a soft little Max fell off your lips, that wasn’t lost on Benjamin, your current partner who was certainly not Maxwell Lord.

“What?” he asked as his eyes snapped open and the moment was all but killed. He stopped moving and his roughly came back to your hips as he pushed you off of him. You let out a sound of surprise at the sound movement, and the loss of feeling so full, as you fell against your pillows.

“What the hell?” you asked as you suddenly felt more naked and exposed than ever, pulling the silk sheet up to cover yourself, “what’s your problem, Ben?”

“Who the fuck is Max?” he asked with wild eyes as he practically jumped out of your bed, grabbing his discarded clothes on the floor. Your own eyes widened in shock as you realized what must have happened, “who is he?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“I’m not a fucking idiot,” his voice was low, dangerous, almost predatory as he pulled his clothes back on, “is that why you’ve been wanting to see me?”

“Ben, you don’t understand,” you closed your eyes and groaned as you leaned back against the headboard. A few tears of frustration welled up in your eyes as you tried to get him to see reason. You weren’t the only bad guy in this scenario; he too basically had admitted this was just for sex, “it’s not like that. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated,” he repeated with a snarl as he shook his head at you, “it’s not that complicated, Y/N, it never is. If you’re so caught up in thinking about whoever the fuck Max is, go and fuck him.”

“Ben-”

“And leave me out of it,” he walked out of your bedroom, but you weren’t satisfied with leaving it be. Instead, you dashed out of bed, still as naked as the day you were born, and walked after him.

“Don’t act like I’m the bad guy,” you tried your best to contain your temper, “we agreed that this was just sex. We both got what we wanted. Hell, I wouldn’t have cared if you pretended I was fucking Cleopatra. It’s not personal and it’s not that deep. Get over yourself and be glad you got someone to fuck you with that piss pour excuse of an attitude.”

“You’re a lot of things, Y/N,” he sighed as he shook his head at you, “I didn’t think you were this. I’m out of here. I get that this was just sex, and I can get down with that. But if you just wanted someone else the whole time, you could have done me the courtesy of letting me know. As least have been honest.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“When’s the last time you were honest with yourself?” he asked and you hung your head. He had a point with that, at the very least, “maybe if you figure out what you really want you can let me know. But this? Where I’m just a substitute for what you really want? I’m not okay with it.”

“Just leave,” you pointed at the door and he left without another word. You sighed as you relocked the door after him, cursing yourself more than anything. He had made some decent points and you were willing to admit that, but you hated yourself more than anything. How could you have left him get into your mind like this. He was slowly consuming every part of your thoughts. Even when you thought you were able to keep him out, he managed to invade your mind. 

Walking to the fridge, you pulled out the bottle of champagne that Ben had brought with him, quickly cracking it open and filling up a class for yourself. You took it and sat out on the balcony, in the dying light of day, far beyond caring about who, if anyone, would see you in your naked glory. At this point you felt lost. You didn’t know what to do anymore, and you weren’t sure if you were to give in quite yet. Could you ever live with yourself if you gave in to the biggest prick you’d ever met?

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next couple of days passed in sheer, agonizing slowness. You weren’t sure how time could manage to pass so slowly, but sure enough it did. You swore that for every hour that crept by it had felt like ten. Your mind was all over the place and it was hard to focus on any one thing. But you made yourself stick it out and managed to get the bare minimum done. It was better than nothing. 

And if anyone nothing anything off, they didn’t mention it. Maybe you were that good of an actress. Adina had only given a concerned glance here and there but never pried more than necessary. She probably knew better than to upset you and unleash your wrath. There had been a few times when you had gotten angry, truly angry, and she had witnessed all of them. It was scary, and truth be told she hadn’t realized you were possible of such ire. 

But as the weekend slowly approached, you were glad you’d have an excuse to isolate and remain at home, feeling sorry for yourself. But you found yourself drifting further and fruther into a daydream, lost as you started outside your window, you found yourself picking up the phone. His number was halfway dialed by the time you really realized what you were doing. Biting the inside of your cheek, you willed yourself to stop and put the phone down. You were long beyond that point though; you knew that deep down in your bones.

“Maxwell Lord’s office,” was her voice always so sickeningly sweet? You could still hang up, if you really wanted to.

“Y/N L/N for Mr. Lord, if he’s available,” there was a pause on her end as she registered who you were. It was almost as if she was judging you; you didn’t blame her. You were judging you too. All you heard was a few clicks of the phone system and then a bit of tense silence before the other end was picked up.

“Y/N,” for the first time, his voice didn’t have that automatically arrogant tone. It sounded almost...normal, kind even. When you didn’t say anything he let out a small laugh, “I was wondering if I’d ever heard from you. I received your package by the way, it was...exquisite.”

“Why?” you suddenly blurted out, unable to control yourself, “why me?”

“Why you what?” he smiled to himself as he leaned back in his chair, feet on his pristine desk as normal, “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Why are you coming after me?” you asked, hiding your face behind your hand, feeling a flush come over you, “I’m just...”

“You,” he finished for you. If you didn’t know him, you’d almost think he was normal...just like any other man, “what more do you need?”

“I...” you trailed off, unable to believe the words that were teetering on your lips, “when can I see you?”

He let out a warm laugh, and when he wasn’t be a complete jerk, it was a pleasant sound; a warm, rich, velvety timbre. You wondered if you had made a mistake...if it was too late to take it back, “I happen to be free all weekend. If I didn’t know any better, Ms. L/N, I think you were volunteering to spend time with me. Did Mr. Vasquez did not do it for you anymore?”

“How do you know about Ben-”

“It doesn’t matter,” there was that a bit of that arrogant tone in his voice. Of course. The real Maxwell Lord was bound to come out at one point or another, “I’ll have a car to pick up tomorrow evening at six.”

“Fine,” will you had the option of refusing his offer, you both knew you weren’t going to. But you still liked the illusion of choice.

“And Y/N?” you waited for him to go, “wear it. All of it.”

Without feeling the need to expand, he hung up and you did the same, biting your lip in almost nervous anticipation. You’d finally given in and broken down. He had you right where he wanted you. You could still change your mind, refuse to go through with it, and keep whatever was left of your dignity...

But your fate had been sealed some time ago. The day you first inked a deal to work with him. The first time you called him out for shamelessly staring at your tits. 

You sighed lightly.

What a world.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[gallavictorious]

”You going out? I thought you weren't working tonight.”

Mickey looks up from his tie to see Ian leaning against the doorframe, in uniform and with his hair neatly slicked back.

”Nah, it isn't work. Well, not exactly,” he says, finishing the knot and taking a step back to admire the result in the mirror. He's getting pretty good at this. Lots of practice in the last few months, ever since he took the bodyguard gig officially on the road. Clients like it when he wears a tie. ”You know the chick I've been babysitting for the past few weeks, the one whose stalker I caught trying to climb in through the fucking window? She and her dad's taking me to some fancy place, uh... Piccolo something, to thank me. Since you're working the late shift, I thought – ”

Ian interrupts, straightening: ”Piccolo Sogno? Like, that really romantic place down in West Town? You telling me the girl who has a crush on you is taking you there?” He pauses, looking at Mickey with a cross between disbelief and bemusement. ”Are you going on a fucking date?”

Mickey stares at him. ”What the hell are you talking about?” he demands. Crush? Date? What?

---

The chick's name is Charlotte Eckerton.

He was supposed to call her Ms. Eckerton, she insisted he say Charlie, and what he actually went with was usually some classic television reference that she didn't get, or – when she's was being particularly annoying – ”hey, brat”. She was probably no worse than any other spoiled little North Side princess, but Mickey sure as hell didn't get why anyone, no matter how loony, would want to stalk her, because literally all she did was go to class, study, shop, and party with her equally irritating friends. Oh, and endlessly updating her Instagram stories with every last detail about her fascinating life, of course. He put a quick stop to that, because continually announcing your location to the public when a deranged psycho was stalking you was... well, let's face it, it was about as stupid as he expected from these people.

She threw a tantrum when he swapped her phone for one with restricted access to social media apps, and she tried to give him the slip at least twice a day for the first four days, going as far as paying some other goons to attack him while she made a run for it. She was not completely stupid, he had to give her that, and he was beginning to understand why her father had come to him rather than hire a more well-established firm. The girl was a complete nuisance, and occasionally quite clever about it. Clearly needed someone wise to all the tricks, and unafraid to rein her in and tell her in no uncertain terms when she was being an idiot.

Mr. Eckerton was loaded, having made his fortune doing some IT-shit or other, and for the kind of money he was offering, Mickey was prepared to put up with a quite a lot of hare-brained shenanigans, as well as hanging out at the Magnificent Mile afternoon after afternoon, and listening to the brat's endless babble about... hair? Make-up? Bands? Whatever. He didn't really pay attention; he'd have needed to be paid hell of a lot more than he was to do that.

After a week or so of thwarted escape attempts Charlotte had exchanged overt defiance for a more subtle approach, trying to throw him off his game by suddenly gifting him stuff, like a dark gray shirt ”that goes really well with your eyes”. He took the shirt, because it was pretty nice, as was the watch and the stupidly expensive hair-product she produced in the following days. He was a little insulted she thought he could be bought so easily, though; she'd have needed to double her father's money, at the very least – or gotten him a nice car. He had said as much to Ian, who had eyed the gifts with an unreadable expression on his face, and had failed to comment.

When bribery too proved a failed tactic she started asking a lot of personal question instead, fishing for weaknesses to exploit. Her strategy was pitifully obvious, however, and Mickey gave her nothing but monosyllabic responses. Finally, she resigned herself to being stuck with him for the time being, and mercifully stopped pestering him about letting her go to whatever concert or party was happening that night. She still dressed up and put on elaborate make-up every damned evening, though, even if it was just the two of them chilling at her place, but he supposed it was something for her to do. Fuck knew he could sympathize with the boredom of being locked up.  

So that was Charlotte, spoiled and stubborn and maybe a little bit clever underneath it all. Not the worst person he could imagine babysitting, not by a long shot, but not one he'd think back on either, now that the job was done. He probably wouldn't even have accepted her and her father's invitation to take him out for a meal, if it hadn't been for Ian's occasional insistence that he needed to be ”nicer to his clients” and ”cultivate professional contacts”. This only made his husband's reaction to the whole situation all the more annoying –

”It is not a date,” Mickey says flatly, irritation coloring his voice, because Ian is smiling at him in all too knowing way. ”I probably saved her fucking life, she wants to buy me dinner. That doesn't make this a – Listen, her fucking father is going to be there.”

”Yeah, sure he will.” Ian crosses his arms, still smirking like an asshole, but there's just a hint of an edge to the smile now. ”Does she even know you're gay?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. ”Of course she fucking knows, because I open every damned conversation with 'Hi, I'm Mickey and I love cocks' like a normal fucking faggot. Jesus. It hasn't come up. She knows I'm married.”

”Like that's gonna – ”

They're interrupted by the door to Liam's room opening, the boy stepping out to give them his very best judgemental look. ”Why are you yelling? I need to study.”

”Oh, it's nothing,” Ian says casually. ”Just Mickey having a date tonight. With a teenage girl.”

”She’s nineteen, and I am not – !”

Liam frowns. ”Is this like when he was fake-dating Byron to make you jealous? Are you going to go on a fake date too? With a girl?”  He pauses, frown deepening: ””Is there a Grindr for straight people?”

Ian's spared a reply as Lip comes up the stairs with Freddie in his arms. He pauses on the top step, brow furrowing as he takes in the scene: Mickey, dressed to the nines and with a scowl to match, Ian smiling with his arms crossed, and Liam wearing his trademark look, the one that says that everyone else is a bit of an idiot. ”What's going on here?”

”Mickey's going on a date with a woman.” Liam offers it readily, a true believer in the free dissemination of information. Probably something he picked up at private school.

Mickey gives a half-choked groan. ”It's not a – ! You know what, fuck you.” With one last glare and an extended middle finger, Mickey grabs his jacket and storms off.

Ian, Liam and Lip watch him go, nonplussed. Lip glances at Ian: ”Huh. Less than a year of marriage and you've already turned him off men.”

”Yeah, well. Have to admit I didn't see that one coming.”

---

The restaurant is fancy as hell, linen cloth and candlelight, one person to take his coat and another to show him to the table. Charlotte is already there, blonde hair pulled back in a strict ponytail, something expensive glittering around her neck and drawing attention to the generious helping of skin her lowcut black dress offers.

The table is set only for two. Mickey frowns as he takes his seat. ”Your father coming?”

”No.” The smile she gives him is very innocent. ”He got held up in a meeting, so he called to say he can't make it. He said to tell you sorry, and to thank you so much for your service.”

Listen to those alarm bells going off all at once... Mickey tries to mentally shake it off. It's nothing to worry about. Just Ian putting weird ideas into his head. ”Uh, yeah. Don't worry about it. Just doing my job.” He waves for the waiter to bring him a beer. He does need a drink, quite urgently.

Charlotte leans forward, looking up at him from under half-closed lids with a very intense expression on her perfectly moisturized face. ”You were so brave when Smithson attacked me. I don't know how I can ever thank you enough. You know, my father is paying for this meal, but if there was something else you wanted... ?”

And that's her grabbing the olive from her drink and very deliberately pushing it past her lips and that's... that's her foot, sans shoe, slowly sliding down his calf.

Oh. Fuck. This is a date. Inwardly groaning, Mickey rubs a tired hand over his face, before looking straight at Charlotte: ”You know I'm fucking gay, right? Like, married to a man?”  Jesus, Ian is never going to let him hear the end of this...

Charlotte reels back just a little, mouth falling slightly open. He's prepared for shock, disgust even – but instead a dreamy look appears on her face. ”Oh my god, that is sooo hot!”

What?

---

He feigns sleep when Ian returns home a quarter past midnight, but his husband isn't fooled. ”How was your date?” he murmurs as he slips in under the covers and wraps his arms around Mickey from behind.

”Shut the fuck up.”

A quiet laugh, a kiss pressed to his shoulder. ”I take it you're sticking with cocks for now then.”

And sure, there's a teasing edge to the words, and sure, he'll hear about this for-fucking-ever, but... Mickey turns around, facing Ian. ”I guess I am,” he agrees, reaching up to run his thumb over Ian's cheek.

Whatever mischief is there fades from Ian's eyes, from his voice: ”I'm glad,” he says simply, and pulls Mickey in for a kiss.

Yeah. So is he.

---

This one goes out to @starkcravingmad​  who suggested a teenage charge crushing on a clueless Mickey, in a reply to this post. I know you didn't ask me to write it, and I have no idea if this is even vaguely related to what you had in mind, but for better or worse you planted the seed, and here we are. Didn't intend for it to get this long, or this silly, but yeah.

[outside-of-my-box]

Life is full of surprises, everyone knows that. But there are a few universal truths even the most skeptical refuse to dispute. The sun rises in the east. Death. Gravity. Taxes….and a man pursued by Endeavor is a man already in chains.  

The current no. 1 hero had an irrefutable record of success. ‘Endeavor will catch his criminal’ and ‘water is wet’ score the same on the cosmic truth scale and it is this fact that keeps the general public tolerant of the other inarguable truths that surround him.

Endeavor is an ass. Endeavor is a bully. Endeavor has nothing even close to a bedside manner. Endeavor always plays to win.

And if there is one true golden rule. A law of nature that trumps all other physical and theoretical laws…it would be this

Never. Ever stand between Endeavor and his prize.

Man, woman, child, building, river, ocean wide…there are no immovable objects to the unyealding force that is the Flame Hero Enji Todoroki.

“Shit. Sorry man.”

The problem with universally recognized laws of nature…

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!”

…Is that scientifically speaking nothing is ever true…

“Eh. Thats the problem with ice you know…its kinda slippery”

…Things are simply not yet proven false.

“who the hell do you think you are?!”

“Oh, the name’s Mika Hammonds and on behalf of the Yagi Hero Agency I extend my deepest- “

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

The building was small and quaint…less like an office and more like the home of a family man with a respectable job and a reasonable paycheck. If it were not for the small sign out front no one would suspect it for what it was.

Funny enough the same could be said of the man currently standing just outside its simply iron gates. Both building and boy where attractive in a way that actively prevented them from standing out. Sweet, inviting face and open posture. Small, but graceful in stature. Large green eyes that seemed to positively sparkle with life and a healthy dusting of freckles like cinnamon on a morning latte. His strangest feature was his hair. It was an unusual shade, almost black from most viewpoints. However, when the light caught a stray strand or the sun danced full force above one could finally see the truth. Like a diamond illuminated by a perfectly placed glow his soft curls and gentle waives lit up a deep earthly green, like a forest at sunrise. An emerald in the rough.

Not that this sort of thought had ever even begun to cross the mind below the messy tussle of hair. No. The word that came to mind…that had always come to mind…when someone was asked to describe Midoriya Izuku in a single phrase…was plain. He took no issue with this. It was just true. Like the sun. Like gravity. Like taxes.

But to Midoriya Izuku the building he now stood before was anything but. To him it was a palace. A beacon of light. Sacred, hollowed ground he still wasn’t convinced he deserved to enter. But enter he did. With one scarred and shaking hand he gripped the cold metal of the gate and took the first steps into his destiny. Any sensation he had felt in his 3 years at U.A. paled in comparison to now. A week ago he has stood on a stage in front of gods and men alike to receive what had once been the fever dream of a small quirkless child.  

He had cried then. Unashamed and unbridled tears of joy and relief and wonder. Tears that did not stop as he held hands with his classmates and announced themselves to the world for the very first time as heros. Tears he had shared with many as he wrapped his arms around familiar forms and traded promises to keep in touch. To not forget. Tears of pain and sorrow as he watched his brothers and sisters each, one by one, turn and walk out of the gates for what was both a first and a final time until only one remained…until they had been alone.

He shook his head, attempting to chase the bittersweet from his mind. His eyes were dry now but the feeling in his chest was the same as he reached out and pressed the doorbell with fire in his soul and determination in his face.

Nothing happened. He pressed it again and stood back. Waiting. Nothing. He began to fidget as his resolve began to slip. Doubt crept in slowly. Was he early? Was he late?! Was this the wrong address? Had they reconsidered? By the time the door opened Midoriya was half way into a panic attack with the image of the office staff hunkered down under desks and behind plants as they quietly prayed the nuisance of a rejected sidekick would just leave already.

But open the door did to reveal a woman about the same height as he was. Her attention was on something behind her as she shot a half annoyed half teasing remark over her shoulder. In her hand she held two large trash bags full of what could only be assumed was trash.

“Alright! Im doing it, no need to nag. God this is why I hate when you come to visit – oh!”

It was evident that whatever she had expected to find on the large covered porch beyond the door she had just opened it was not an attractive young man in a cotton t-shirt and slacks awkwardly picking at the strap of a gym bag slung over his shoulder and a large rolling suitcase at his feet.

“Can I help you?” she had a kind, musical voice and an accent that was undoubtably American. She punctuated her question with a quisical cock of her head, like a dog trying to pick up the sound of a fox in the brush. It was a tick he would come to know very well in the coming months as proof of her formidability but for now the almost childlike quality of it stilled his fraying nerves. The sharpness of her eyes however, a blue so cold and light he almost shivered involuntarily, did nothing to still his pounding heart.

“I’m..um..My name is Midoriya Izuku- Deku. Im the hero Deku. Im supposed to start..um…today” He almost winced. Talking to girls, particularly attractive older woman, had never been something he was particularly adept at. And the color of her eyes where just a little to intimate not to conjure up ill timed memories…Though she did have one more than he was used to.

Suddenly, like clouds parting over a frozen lake, her eyes warmed into the calm sea surrounding some tropical paradise. She smiled wide and giggled. It wasn’t a laugh, lacking the adult-like restraint the word demanded…it was a genuine sound of joy and amusement usually reserved for small children and silly girls. It made Izuku smile despite the emotional whiplash the last few moments had been.

“Oh shit, really?!” his smile faltered a bit so she clarified “I didn’t realize that was today. Welcome Welcome!”

She took a step forward and embraced him. So taken aback by the action was Midoriya that he simply stood there and allowed it to happen. Had she been a classmate or a woman his mother’s age he would have expected it but this woman was maybe 4 or 5 years older than he was. Possibly less. Hes head swam. He could count on one hand the number of times he had been this close to a woman he wasn’t related to…

“Who-Mika!” All Might saves the day once more as his small, thin frame appears behind the creature currently assaulting his physical and mental space. She let him go and half turned with a clear ‘what?!’ written across her face. “At least put down the trash!”

Two pairs of eyes blinked at him, confused. Then in unison both looked down at the bags still clutched in her hands.

“Oh. Oh my…” her face flushed red as she very carefully placed the bags down beside the door as if they where filled with something very precious or very volatile. She turned back to Midoriya with a look of horror so over the top he had to restrain a smile. “I am so sorry! So sorry. I cant even- I promise its just papers and stuff. Not that that really makes it better. But I mean…”

She shook her head and picked up the bags again and without saying anything else carefully stepped around him and began down the walk towards the street.

“Where are you going?! The trash it around the side.” All Might called as he came to stand beside his protégé. “Mika!”

“Im going to take it down to the dumpster. Maybe throw myself in front of a bus.” She paused and turn around as she got to the gate. “Oh, It was very nice to meet you Midoriya Izuku!”

As green eyes, full of confusion and bewilderment, followed her hasty exit the boy allowed his former teacher and mentor to usher him inside with a laugh. And so their first meeting had concluded. A strange, awkward and all around unimpressive encounter between two unknown and seemingly mundane individuals. Despite all of this however, this odd collision between strangers would mark the beginning of something far more prodigious…more breathtaking…more dangerous than anyone involved could have possibly imagined.

[star-going-supernova]

Can we hear more about Joey and his plants?

Of course you can! Here’s some little bits and pieces centered around Joey and his plants:

~ His initial reaction to finding out is just this feeling of really? Really? Plants, of all things? That’s what I’m good at? And he’s a bit disgruntled at first, but before he can so much as complain about it, Henry’s jumping all over the place, so excited and babbling about how proud he is, because Henry can’t manage any of this plant magick stuff for the life of him. And then it doesn’t seem so bad anymore. Not because Henry can’t do it, but because Henry’s so happy that Joey can. 

~ He wishes he could say that he suddenly became an avid plant lover, but he didn’t. Contrary to what you might believe, Joey doesn’t actually spend all his time screwing around with magick. He does have a business to run, after all, and the studio will always be one of his top priorities. Henry helps him find time to practice, though, and that’s more than enough for him. 

Eventually, he does get a few little potted plants in his office, and it feels nice, to have something to take care of like that. He’s determined not to name them, right up until he hears Henry call one of his succulents a name he’s never heard before.

(“What’s a corvel?” Joey asks. “Close,” Henry says, smiling. “Korv’l. Short and sharp, no long el sound.” “Korv’l. But what is it?” “It’s a demon name.” “Oh, Joey says, rising from his desk to stand next to Henry, looking down at the beautiful blue, pinkish-red tipped succulent. “Old friend of yours?” 

A look Joey’s not familiar with flashes across Henry’s face. “No. It means ‘majesty.’ A bit of a pun, to be honest.”)

After that, Joey names some of the others as well, to join Korv’l. Most of the names are silly, like Belladonna and Sir Reginald, and at least one or two names seem to change every day, him and Henry always coming up with a new one. 

~ Henry comes into the studio one day laughing so hard, he can hardly breathe. He finally manages to calm down enough to drag Joey and a few others outside and around the corner of the building. The outer wall of Joey’s office is covered in ivy– to the extent that they can’t even see the actual wall through it– and they all know that it wasn’t like that a few weeks ago. Henry never explains exactly what happened, since whenever someone tries to bring it up, he starts laughing again, wheezing with the strength of his amusement. 

~ Joey eventually starts a garden just for fun and because he can appreciate plants more than he used to. He keeps it at the studio, since that’s where he spends the most time, and he doesn’t really use magick on it ever. There’s something nice and relaxing about being able to do it all on his own. 

~ A normal, not plant related spell goes wrong and accidentally enhances Joey’s plant-ness, whatever that means. Henry’s on a business trip and doesn’t quite have the time to fully explain, instead settling with warning Joey to stay inside and not touch his plants. Everyone’s pretty sure they figure out what he meant when Joey forgets, takes one step out of the back exit towards his garden, and within seconds, grass and roots and flowers and all manner of plants are crawling up his legs. 

He ends up sprawled on the ground, absolutely covered in greenery, while his employees alternate between laughing their heads off and frantically trying to get ahold of Henry. 

For the record, when Henry finally answers the phone, he doesn’t even wait to hear what they have to say, he just sighs and says, “He went outside, didn’t he.”

That’s all I’ve got right now about Joey and his plants, but if I come up with anything else, I’ll be sure to include it somewhere.  :)

[nedcanquen]

Le Loupgarou - Chapter 3 (NedCan Week 2017 - Joy/Sorrow)

This is so hilariously late it can’t even be for NedCan Week anymore but I managed to finally finish this next chapter, so why not post it?

This chapter does not have a happy ending (see the prompt that inspired it), but  it’s also not the end of the fic as a whole.

Tags: Werewolf AU, supernatural, Historical AU.

Pairings: NedCan

Image from Pexels

Now that he knows how to sleep, Leverett sleeps like the dead. Maybe his body is trying to make up for lost time, Matthieu has no idea how long it has been since his guest has been able to get a proper night’s sleep, but he knows the fatigue that comes from it so he doesn’t question it.

Maybe it was Leverett’s sheer exhaustion when they met that Matthieu had related to - so tired he did not care if he lived or died. Matthieu knew what that felt like. Years of working himself to exhaustion with the Jesuits and earning their praise, only to lie awake at night with the sound of silence surrounding him, wondering if there truly would be anything after this life. Sometimes he wondered if he should simply...die and see his family again in the village of souls, for surely as his people were almost gone from this world, the village of souls was now teeming with all the familiar faces that had left this world and then some. One day, deafened by the silence and the loneliness, Matthieu almost tried to return home, before remembering that his mother had wanted him to live as long as he could of this life. Why else had his uncle agreed to bring him here? But he was often tempted. The Jesuits earnestly believed that to take one’s life was to send yourself straight to hell, but they also called Matthieu an innocent, so would that not take him to heaven? Rather than deal with these contradictory lessons - between what he had learned as a child, to the irritating dismissal of the brothers when his beliefs did not match theirs - Matthieu began to think of how he could live without either his old world or the Jesuits. He tried to imagine something of his own, something for the future.

Nothing could have prepared him for this - waking up next to a man for the fifth day in a row, hours before he would turn into a wolfman. But they were making progress, Leverett had more spirit and strength in him now, no longer so tempted by death. Matthieu had found himself opening up more about the past, slowly and carefully, but Leverett always listened respectfully and never interrupted. It was only knowing that they had to prepare for the inevitable change later that day that made Matthieu pull himself out of bed and detangle himself from his bedmate.

“Sleep...” Leverett mutters, clutching him tighter. “Warm.”

Matthieu chuckled. “I need to rise. There’s much to prepare.”

Leverett reluctantly shifts and loosens his grip. Matthieu gets up and does what is necessary, but eventually returns to the bed and sits on the edge to try to coax the other man up. Matthieu cannot imagine what goes through Leverett’s mind every morning on a day he knows he has to change again, so he tries to be gentle about this. He doesn’t have to say anything, Leverett props himself up on his elbows and frowns slightly. “It’s cold.”

Well yes, that’s hardly news though. Because Matthieu takes too long to respond to the obvious statement, Leverett wraps an arm around Matthieu’s waist while he’s distracted and tries to pull him back onto the bed. “Really?! You’re a man! Not a puppy!” Matthieu yells with no bite.

“But it’s cold.” Was the petulant reply. “And by tonight I will basically be a puppy.”

Matthieu has to laugh at that, and decides to give up the fight for now. Who is he to deny Leverett some silliness on a day like today? Or a lie in? Whatever he needs to calm his nerves, their nerves. He lies down and changes his position a little so he can lie on his side a bit more to look at Leverett’s face and amused eyes. He doesn’t know why but with his lonely memories fresh in his mind, he has to acknowledge that right now, he’s the happiest he’s ever been in a long time. Leverett reminds Matthieu that there is warmth and some happiness to be found in this world - in helping a man find himself again, in sharing space, in working with someone. That in some ways, his little sanctuary out here needed this man in it to feel like home, even if it didn’t make any sense. Matthieu built this place to hide away from the rest of the world. He didn’t want to be swept up in it, to lose his humanity to the lawless port towns, money, desperation and blood. Sometimes he felt that he may just get away with hiding away for his entire life, pass on quietly before he had to face the reality of how broken and swept away his time was...and at other moments he thought that it was only a matter of time until the world found him. In his loneliest moments he wondered if hiding was the right thing to do even if at most times it felt like the wisest thing to do.

Leverett is from a nation of ships and wealth in countless form. A thriving nation with thriving cities, greedy and insatiable. Matthieu could tell, from the way Leverett spoke sometimes, that he missed it. He missed the life that he had before he was bitten. Given a choice, he would probably prefer to live in a town, than shut-in out here in the middle of nowhere, where he only had to face the potential of accidentally killing one man every month, and not everyone. Leverett can draw maps, read, write, and he’s seen the calculative gleam in his eye when Matthieu skins the animals for their pelts, when Matthieu makes medicine from the plants and trees he knows, when Matthieu moves through the forest. Matthieu knows that Leverett sometimes works so hard because he’s trying to distract himself, he’s frustrated he’s not doing more with his talents. If Matthieu had to guess, it’s about money, he’s seen the spidery numbers on loose sheets left on the table. He wouldn’t be surprised if somewhere in that mind of his, Leverett has calculated some shallow value to everything here.

“What happened? What’s wrong?!” Leverett’s urgent questions drove Matthieu from his thoughts.

“What?”

“Just now you...I mean, at first you looked happy. Joyful. It’s nice.” Leverett smiles and Matthieu realizes he hasn’t seen that look often. It’s a good look. “Then right after that you just...you looked so sad...”

Oh. Matthieu is a little open isn’t he? Well, he hasn’t really lived among people for a prolonged period of time in a while, there has been no reason to guard himself. Long, calloused fingers caress Matthieu’s cheek and Matthieu looks at Leverett in surprise. “Lev-?”

“Daan.” Leverett interrupts.

“What?”

“That’s the name my mother gave me - Daan. You can continue calling me Leverett, if you like, but I just wanted to let you know, that’s the first name I had.”

Daan. DA-ahn. Matthieu doesn’t make a sound but tries to get a sense of it, the tongue flicking on the roof in the front of his mouth, the slight exhale of breath to emphasize an ‘H’ sound, closing the mouth on the roof of the tongue. It’s a very straightforward name, it simultaneously suits and yet, doesn’t always suit the man now lying next to him.

Now lying even closer to him! What? “Loup-, I mean, Le...?” The fingers gently trace the shape of his lips.

“Something made you sad.” He’s now so close, voice dipped low and soothing. “That’s not right. Let me help you. Let me... banish the sadness, for just a little while, let me do something for you. I do owe you everything after all.”

Matthieu cannot think straight. He’s not naive about these matters, he’s just never put himself in the position of being in this situation before. But he cannot let Leverett, or Daan, or whatever this man ultimately wants to call himself be quite this reckless, so he sits up so fast he almost feels dizzy.

“A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.” Leverett, no Da...Leverett, he’s more used to Leverett, says in a too-controlled tone and Matthieu takes a breath.

“You don’t owe me anything. I want to make that clear. I may not know what it feels like to change into a wolfman every full moon but...” Matthieu looks around him and gathers his courage to say what comes next. “But it has been...nice...having you here. I wonder about you sometimes, if you’re happy being here. Having one man for company must be a world away from growing up in a thriving city.”

Matthieu feels the shrug more than sees it, feels the bedding shift as the other man sits up as well. “Same can be said for you. I’m not from your nation. The opposite, one could say.” He’s about to say something else but stops, there’s a pregnant pause. “And for some reason, you’ve never asked me to leave.”

Matthieu lets the silence last for a moment longer before saying. “So...you don’t want to?”

“As long as you let me stay with you...I want to stay with you.” He seems to realize something and lets out a short, unbelieving laugh. “And I want to make this clear - I’m only offering what you’re willing to have, but...I do... want you.”

Matthieu feels his own jaw drop. He’s been with others of course, before, soon after his escape from the brothers he sought intimacy until he found how shallow his encounters were. After realizing that he didn’t actually need them, and life in the ports and growing trade posts were not for him, he decided to start over. This though, this is different somehow, it’s never felt like this before. It’s like a wall has caved in, a dam burst, with the admission from Leverett that he wants to stay. “You really...um...alright.”

Was it because he was the only person there? Was Leverett so starved for touch? Matthieu had meant to ask, but didn’t. Matthieu feels his face grow warmer, and he doesn’t move away when the distance between their lips is slowly closed, slightly chilled fingers caress his cheeks. Leverett somehow steals away the doubtful voice that normally echoes in Matthieu’s head, normally given strength in solitude. Where he touches, with lips and gentle fingers, Matthieu feels his skin go numb, his heart singing with fast beats, echoed with his partner’s. Breaths, sensation, the touch of tongue to lips, then of lips and tongues greeting with tentative exploration, and melding into a dance.

Matthieu can’t tell when one breath ends and another begins, or where he ends and Matthieu thinks that they’re already one. One in breathing, one with touch, with loneliness, being lost and now found. Matthieu wraps his arms tightly around the other man, because even this close he’s too far away.

Then he has to pull away, because they have to stop now or they wouldn’t, and if they didn’t stop, they wouldn’t be prepared for tonight.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Matthieu murmurs, “I just...never want you to leave. And if we’re going to make that happen, we need to make sure we can get you back tonight. We’re deep in winter now, it’s not going to be the same.”

Matthieu can tell from the look on his face that he’s not going to argue this time.

If Matthieu hadn’t been so distracted by the kiss, or by the fact that he had woken up for five nights in a row, warm and happy, he would have paid more attention to the weather. Maybe it wouldn’t have helped. The storm built up quickly and now just a few hours away from the change, Matthieu looked at the blinding white outside hopelessly.

“You can’t run out in this.” Matthieu says with finality. “I don’t care if you’re a man, wolf or wolfman. If you run out tonight, you will die.”

“I can’t stay here!” Leverett has become more restless and irritable as the day has gone by. Unlike Matthieu, he’s still terrified of intense winter storms. Matthieu respects the storms, but he suspects that the Dutch nation didn’t have them quite like this.

“You won’t attack me.” Matthieu tries to argue, yet despite the panic that’s enveloping him, he feels and knows this to be true. “Wolves aren’t stupid, and I think...I’m your pack now. Or at least part of it. I welcome you here just as you are, this is no longer just my home, it’s our home! If you’ve attacked before, it was because you were scared. Everyone back where you come from believes you’d harm them, that for one night you’re far away. I don’t believe that. You’re you. I don’t think even in your wolf form you’d destroy your own home!”

“YOU DON’T KNOW!” Leverett throws his hands up in the air and paces.

Matthieu grabs him, tries to stop the pacing and the nerves. “All these months you’ve run away from me. I always thought it was some hidden desire of yours to get out of here, that you didn’t want to be here with me. But...it was fear wasn’t it? You didn’t want to hurt me, so you ran as far away as you could.”

Leverett looks around helplessly. “I can’t be here when I change Matthieu. It’s not just the risk of me harming you. It’s…” He looks around.

“What is it?”

Leverett shakes his head with urgency. “I can’t stay here.” He looks at Matthieu with a strange outward calm, but his eyes betray how terrified he is. “There are many creatures out there Matt, who can survive a storm like this.”

Matthieu feels the chill of fear in his chest at these words, wondering what Leverett has seen out there.

“And I think it’s time to find out if I’m one of those who can.” Leverett continues, but Matthieu’s not entirely convinced. “Believe me, it’s not a good idea to keep me chained up somewhere to ride out the night.”

Matthieu imagined that would just enrage the wolf, no one liked being chained up. He wasn’t stupid enough to hope that these months meant domestication. “Wasn’t planning to.”

“WHAT?” Leverett’s eyes are so wide, he can’t hide the panic anymore.

“I said I trust you not to hurt me.” Matthieu says, trying to reason. There’s no other choice really, if Leverett refuses to stay, well, Matthieu won’t let him kill himself out there. He’s prepared to fight Leverett and subdue him. In human form, he should be able to do it. Once Leverett changed, well, he’d figure that out once they crossed that point.

“You are insane!!” Leverett yells, panic has finally burst into explosive anger. “No, worse! You’ve given up on life! You’ve quit! You will hide out here in the middle of nowhere until you die and for what?! What useless reason? You are not cursed! You are strong and brilliant and you have so much to do in this world, to give, to make, but you’ve chosen to die and be forgotten here, what a waste! Go ahead then! Kill yourself! Kill the last of your people and your family’s efforts to make sure you lived! What a waste of their memory! Throw your life away but I won’t do it for you!”

The words are stabbing, and part of Matthieu’s mind can barely register the difference between the man who kissed him softly this morning with the one raging in front of him now, but there is the quiet voice inside that knows better, that despite the hurt, this is Leverett trying to escape, trying to make sure that he doesn’t hurt him. So Matthieu harnesses the hurt and anger, then runs and tackles Leverett before he can run out the door. “I know what you’re doing! It’s not going to work, I’ll fucking tie you up in here! I’m stronger than you until the moon rises!”

“LET GO!”  

They wrestle around on the floor. Matthieu is stronger but Leverett is cannier, a man used to besting opponents stronger and faster than him by playing dirty.

“Just stop!!” Mattieu yells. “You can’t wiAAH!” He curls up in pain after he’s kneed in the groin. Oddly, Leverett actually does stop, and through a haze of pain, Matthieu thinks he sees the regret and worry in his eyes. His hands, gently pushing Matthieu’s hair from his eyes and caressing his face are certainly sorry.

Then Leverett remembers himself and his face settles into a mask of determination. He stands and strides towards the door.

“Oh no you fucking don’t!” Matthieu yells through gritted teeth and manages to pull himself up. He grabs Leverett again, throws him down and drags him back into the cabin, kicking the door closed behind him. He grabs the rope that’s hanging by the door and strides closer. He didn’t want to have to resort to this, but Leverett is now too scared to think straight...

“I SOLD GUNS!”

Matthieu freezes.

“I sold guns. Biggest sale of my life. I was fourteen but even then I was tall for my age and they took me for a man, a trader in my own right. It took me a year to organize it, then I sold them for shipment to New Amsterdam. I knew that new lands were the perfect place to sell guns, I knew that native nations warred against each other and I didn’t care. I bought the startup capital for my own business, my mother her retirement, and my siblings a future out of a whorehouse. I thought I was so smart, I thought I’d keep going until I could form my own trading company that would stand all on its own. I was doing well, great even. Then I was bitten by a wolf.”

Matthieu still can’t move.

“So save your strength for someone who didn’t happily profit off the death of your people.”

There are three things that Matthieu wants to do right now: cry, kill, and reverse time. Maybe two are feasible, but he still can’t move. All he can do is feel.

Matthieu feels cold. It’s cold outside, it’s cold within. It’s cold in his chest and stomach, and the cold curls in his head, at the tips of his fingers and toes. He sees what his life once was, the only times he’s felt happy - the love he knew he had, the times his mother disciplined him but he broke the rules again anyway. He remembers what it feels like to know who he is, to be held by family, to smile and laugh. He remembers waking up feeling warm again, the purpose that comes from saving a man’s life, from giving up rabbits for one season. Then he remembers that he’s presently standing in a cold house, alone in whiteness, and all he has for company is a murderer. Daan shakily stands with tears running down his face. Matthieu does not care.

Daan takes step after step, Matthieu does not stop him. He barely looks at him. He’s trying his hardest to forget the last six months, to forget the warmth of companionship, to forget sleeping in each other’s arms, the kiss that morning. He tries to forget how living feels.

Matthieu still doesn’t move when he hears the door shut, the wind grow in intensity, whistling its furious and lonely song. He can’t breathe. He’s been crying and his nose is now fully clogged. Matthieu opens his mouth for air and finally feels the chill freezing the tears onto his face. The fire is low.

How long has he been standing here?

[s-ephiroth]

Sephiroth Week || Day 5: Nature

Read the other week prompts on [AO3]

(Of a gentle witch in a flower garden and the things he seeks to discover.)

After their accidental, yet fruitful meeting, Sephiroth made sure to exchange phone numbers. He knew he’d need to meet that cadet again, eventually. The situation was one that would require the guidance of someone with knowledge of it, even if that didn’t come from someone above him in power. (Which was an odd concept, the more he thought about it. Perhaps it was just the way the situation was unusual that bothered him. Regardless, Sephiroth let the thought slip away for the time being.)

His secretive new contact reaches out to him just in time, in an afternoon during which it was brought to his attention a series of apparent problems with the reactor in the Nibel area and that the company was considering sending him out to investigate the issue. The area was full of dangerous beasts, after all. (Dragons, twin brains, zuus and so on.) It wouldn’t do well to send just seconds and technicians. They could save the technicians for reactors closer to Midgar and spare them the dangers of the distant location, while preserving their SOLDIERs from harm at the same time, as they were more than simply confident in Sephiroth’s prowess as a warrior.

(Overconfidence will do nothing but destroy you.)

The message he gets from Cloud simply reads “Meet me near the Goblin’s Bar,” with no reason added to it. It’s almost as if the blond knows saying so little and inviting for more is the way to catch his attention; setting a bait out to fish his curiosity.

When he’s able to, before he knows it, Sephiroth finds himself making his way to Loveless Avenue. He’s quick to see the cadet pretending to guard the area and wastes no time, promptly approaching him. Cloud gives him a salute as soon as he sees him, only dropping it when he’s told to be at ease.

They’re meant to follow protocol, after all, — at least while they’re in this area — so to the public eye and therefore, Shinra to an extend, it can be seen as just an infantryman reporting an issue to someone of superior rank who can deal with said problem.

“Sir, I’ve found the source of that problem,” the blond says, keeping the act just in case someone nearby overhears them.

“Lead me to it.”

And Cloud does as he’s asked, guiding him all the way to the train station. The realization they’re going down to the slums hits Sephiroth rather quickly but he doesn’t ask. In fact, they don’t talk much until they’re sure nobody’s going to overhear anything they say.

It’s always a strange thing, trusting someone he barely knows to show him the way and yet, something about the blond other than the complicated story bounding them together at the moment makes him worth of trust.

“I met someone,” Cloud eventually says, “she sort of dragged me into a church and we had a long talk.”

“That’s where we’re going, then?”

The infantryman nods.

“I thought seeing her could help a little. With the plan.”

Oh yes, the plan. Which they discussed over texts a few times, looking for ideas on how to prevent what could happen in Nibelheim. They’d have to do it without alerting Hojo about their intentions. Refusing the mission wouldn’t do, as the scientist could always order his… pet to be brought back to Midgar and for Sephiroth to go to the labs. But at the same time, going to that town could lead to trouble on pure accident. Cloud had suggested more than once for him to not accept the mission so the blond himself could sneak into the labs and solve their issue himself.

Sephiroth couldn’t help but think it was too risky to be worth it.

Part of the plan involved doing something to keep his mind anchored as well, to prevent him from engaging in reckless actions such as burning a whole town to the ground.

When they finally enter the church they’re headed to, Sephiroth has a feeling he knows what Cloud’s trying to do, while being completely lost on how this will help, if at all.

Just as they enter, a small woman stands from where she was kneeling down near the bright colored flowers that seem to grow in the place. She wears her long brown hair in a braid with a pink ribbon tied to it; her bangs framing her face just like his own do. Completely the opposite of him, she’s dressed in white; a dress that follows her little turn as she moves away from the flowers to approach them.

For a moment, as Sephiroth notices the green eyes, — different yet similar to his own in a way — he almost swears this is a long lost relative of his. He wonders about that.

Why does she feel familiar?

“Oh, you brought a friend!” She says to Cloud, before turning to him. “Hmm… Sephiroth, wasn’t it? Zack talks about you sometimes when he comes to visit.”

“You’re Zack’s girlfriend.” It finally clicks.

“Mhmm. The name’s Aerith.”

Sephiroth is thankful for the information as he couldn’t recall whether her name was Aerith or Aeris. He only knew that Zack seemed to be even more puppy than man whenever he mentioned her — which usually happened at times Sephiroth couldn’t fully pay attention to whatever he was saying, only catching bits of information here and there.

Aerith glances at Cloud for a moment, before the latter nods and leaves to sit by the flowers. Once the blond is away from them, she takes his hand.

“You’re looking for your truth, aren’t you? The place you came from, your family…”

He doesn't recall mentioning the topic with both Zack and Cloud, but nods regardless, with a puzzled expression.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “It’s just that I feel as if somebody important to you is really troubled right now. Maybe she’s been for a long while.”

“How… how are you doing this?”

The brunette lets go of his hand, her green gaze drifting away from him.

“Ever since I was young I can… feel the Planet and the bits of it resonating within people, the animals, the flowers… everything.”

Ever since I was young I knew I was different from the others.

Sephiroth takes a step back, a little nauseated by the thought. He doesn’t mean it as an offense against this young woman, but she doesn’t take it as one either, offering a sympathetic smile when she notices.

“It’s… a little scary, isn’t it? Sometimes it scares even me,” she pauses, getting a little sad so suddenly, “The first thing I thought when I saw you just now was that it must be sad… losing someone dear to you while trying to find out about yourself.” Sephiroth opens his mouth to say something, but she continues before he can say it. “But! It’s alright to grieve and maybe it’s okay to be so different. You get… hm, more to learn from other people or more things to talk about.”

He looks past her shoulder to where Cloud has given up on waiting them sitting by the flowers, now lying on the floor like a lazy cat out in a garden during a summer day. Sephiroth thinks about all the things he doesn’t know about this short, yet very noticeable cadet, about Zack (Why does your girlfriend look like she’s related to me?) and about the past; the things that happened before he even came alive.

So much yet to learn, his curiosity is tickled by such a thought.

“Maybe you have a point.”

Aerith nods at that with an expression that reminds him so much of Genesis that it’s almost painful; that one look of “Of course I’m right” that never failed even once at making Sephiroth either roll his eyes or smile… or both.

Wordlessly, she turns away from him to join Cloud, leaving him to follow after her; being unable not to wonder whether or not Zack is aware of those things. Once they’re all properly seated by the flower bed — the presence of which seems like a puzzle, given that, unless it’s a potted plant kept above the plate, plants aren’t meant to survive for long in the environment of Midgar — Aerith exchanges a look with the blond and a silent agreement, before talking again.

“I think what we’re here for is to make it clear how Cloud traveled through time.”

It’s a general agreement between the three of them. The infantryman urges her to explain instead of having him do it. Sephiroth wonders about how complicated the matter of it might be.

“In my family,” she says, “the women aren’t only born being able to ‘listen’ to the Planet. We’re also born with the ability to perform a forbidden magic… which Cloud’s a victim of.”

“So, as far as I understand, you can travel through time?”

“No, no, silly.” She chuckles and Sephiroth basks in the audacity she has, like a child playing with fireworks; not knowing about the potential danger of it and fearless in such ignorance. He catches Cloud snorting at it in an attempt to disguise laughter.

You just called the general of the most important corporation in the world ‘silly’.

(Well played!)

“We can only send back other people, because that comes at a heavy price: You have to die to be sent.”

And Cloud died, he thinks and gets the picture, then.

“But if you’re not sending yourself back, how would you know that you sent someone else?”

“I ‘smell’ of afterlife, apparently,” Cloud says and goes back into lying on the ground like a tired tabby cat.

Aerith laughs at that, the sound of it a timeless thing that somehow has Sephiroth understanding a little more the... time mage nature she claims to have — a nature he doesn’t question after they talked away from the blond for that one moment. (If you can do something unusual, it wouldn’t be surprising if you can do something else that’s also unusual.)

“You smell fine to me,” he teases the cadet, who simply blushes and curls into a ball.

He looks like a fusion of a chocobo with a hedgehog. It’s quite… adorable, Sephiroth thinks.

It only makes Aerith’s effort to catch her breath more difficult after laughing so much at such antics.

“Well, it’s not literally, thankfully,” she giggles and picks up a flower, only to put it on Cloud’s hair, “but here, now you can smell just like a flower.”

At that, Sephiroth understands a little what Cloud might’ve been trying to do when bringing him to such a place and such a company; he needs to avoid falling into despair, needs to stay on a bright path so his mind and his spirit become harder to break or to be influenced in the case they need to… face their monster together.

It also has him thinking about… something else that has him concerned and lingering behind for a moment longer to ask Aerith something before they return to the headquarters.

She had mentioned Cloud told her about their strange predicament, after all.

“I know you mentioned it’s a forbidden magic, but in the case we fail, in the case he dies again…” Sephiroth hesitates “Could it be repeated?”

She nods. “His mind and body would only remember his last death and the events before it, but yes.” Then, playfully she suggests “Would you like me to do it?”

It sounds as if he’s about to make a deal with Hel herself.

“Yes… unless there are any drawbacks,” he agrees to it anyway.

“Hm, there’s one. Say, if we were to repeat this enough times, the Planet would remember and it wouldn’t take it kindly against any of us.”

“Meaning?”

“It could become worse. He could forget he’s ever time traveled, for one. Something different could happen and you’d fail anyway, even if he lives. I could lose the power to do it and never know about it. We could never meet, and so on.” Aerith sighs at the prospect. “Would you still want me to do it?”

His simple nod seals the deal as a weird sensation courses through him. Not even the risks can shake his resolve of fighting such a terrible fate. And yet, he can’t free himself from the feeling he already agreed to such a deal before.

Just as he leaves, Aerith can sense it in the echo of him that his spirit leaves behind. But she thinks better of it than following Sephiroth to confirm the truth.