#only to realize that he feels safer knowing Sterling is with him

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

This is Sterling and Winn and they’re bastards and they’re here now I guess. They have nothing to do with my other OCs, I just think they’re neat. :)

Winn (Gaspar) is a severely antisocial necromancer who uses his late father’s medicinal knowledge for evil, brewing poisons as a hobby. He has multiple blades concealed on his body at all times (including his earrings, that are filed to sharp points) that are lightly seasoned with that poison. He used to kill people to make business more lucrative, but he didn’t have the balls to continue, afraid he would be caught. He suffers from extreme paranoia that leads to massive trust issues and the occasional hallucination. He has trichotillomania.

(Ivor) Sterling is a hitman gone rogue. He used to collect debts for the gambling den he worked at, but he got a bit too much of a taste for blood. He’s utterly ruthless and takes great pleasure in brutal acts of violence and the pain of others, but he’s not as unstable as you’d think. An old habit died hard, and his victims are typically the patriarches of rich families who get a bit too comfortable. He murders them with whatever he has avalible to him in the envenviroment he’s in, or his own fists and brass knuckles if there’s nothing else.

How did they meet?? idk steampunk Grindr?? The upshot is that they now work together, as much as they dislike and don’t trust one another. The only thing that keeps them from each others’ throats... too much... is that they have a professional understanding of the perks of their partnership. Aka., they can get rich exploiting the grieving families of Sterling’s victims. Sterling murders them and leaves the corpses for their family to discover, and since Winn is an underground but brilliant necromancer, most turn to him to give them closure and last words with their loved ones.

What Winn fails to inform anyone of is how the victims’ souls react when transported back into their lethally damaged bodies. They feel everything that killed them, and they can’t find relief until Winn releases them back to death. Too bad if you brought your kids, lady, they get to see daddy’s half-rotted beaten-to-a-pulp living corpse writhing and screaming in sheer animal agony and begging for death. Winn feels absolutely no empathy for them, even enjoys pulling the rug out from under them and seeing the shock and horror and nausea on their faces as they watch their loved one in that state. He makes sure they pay the significant amount of money beforehand, obviously, and uses the loophole of “you didn’t ask” if they ask for their money back. Of course, this spreads rumours about his practice, but threats of further death in the family from Winn and general grieving desperation are good allies to their growing business and wealth.

They currently live together on-and-off, since Sterling uses Winn’s warehouse home as a safe house when he needs somewhere to lay low - pretty much only to annoy prickly bitch Winn. They are constantly on-guard around each other, but also trust each other more than they trust anyone else. They take joy out of hurting each other, from petty to more servere ways. They know one could kill the other very, very easily, and they both enjoy this information.

They’re also fucking. In the most violent hateful way possible. Because of course they are.

[renee-writer]

A Ghost at Colluden Moor Chapter 7 Castle Leoch

AO3

 

It is the same, but different. It has to be, of course. When she last saw it with Frank, it was crumbling and long abandoned. Now, it was standing tall and proud, bustling with people about their daily chores. How amazing that she was brought to the same castle. The significance of it isn’t lost on her. She was destined to be here with him.

 

“Welcome to the keep of Leoch mistress.” He comments as they ride up. “my uncle’s castle.”

 

“Jamie, riding back alone. Oh not quite alone. What do we have here then?” The lady was stout, with her white hair in a matronly bun and her layers of skirts covered with an apron. She looks up at Claire with a frown but her eyes are kind.

 

“Mrs. Fitz meet Claire ahhhh…” He stutters to a stop realizing he had yet to learn her surname.

 

“Beauchamp,” she supplies. It seems safer to use her maiden name.

 

“Mistress Claire Beauchamp, a new widower set upon by some bandits. Lost her servant, her clothing, but, thanks be to God, not her dignity. I found her wondering about lost and thought this a safe place for her to recover. She has skills as a healer. Fixed my gunshot shoulder up. Mistress meet Mrs. Glenda Fitzgibbons, the heart, soul, and steel of this keep. She keeps all running smoothly.”

 

“It is very nice to meet you.”

 

“Ye to lass. I am sorry about your troubles. Come, let’s get you properly dressed. I am glad to hear you have skills with healing. Twill be a real help to me with the gathering coming.”

 

“I will glad to offer any and all assistance I can but, before any seeing to myself, I need to see to Jamie’s shoulder. I fixed it up as well as I could but..”

 

“Aye, a’course. Come Jamie. Let the lass see to ye.”

 

To be walking the same halls she had just, or so it seemed, walked with Frank, but with Jamie and this Mrs. Fitz, brought a strange feeling in her gut. Her mind was trying to reconcile the strangeness of it all and couldn’t quite do it. Yesterday was also three hundred years ago. An impossible quandary.

 

They walk into a large stone room with a fireplace already going. “You may rest here after seeing to Jamie until Himself decides what to do with you.” She brings her what she requests to treat him then leaves them alone.

 

“Himself?” she asks as she starts soaking strips of cloth is the water, boiling with willow bark and garlic.

 

“My Uncle Colum. Dinna fash lass. He is a fair man.”

 

“Dinna what?” He grins and some of the tiredness leaves his face.

 

“Sorry. It is Gaelic for don’t worry. You needn’t. Colum will let you stay, I am certain of it.”

 

“Me too.” As she carefully removes the first strip, letting the air cool it some before placing it on his shoulder, she thinks back to that encounter ( was it only three days ago?) at the Moor. Yes, she would be allowed to stay. How else would she end up with Jamie? She lays the first strip over his shoulder and he hisses a little. “Sorry but the heat along with the medicine on the cloth, will help pull out any festering before it sets.”

 

“Aye, do as you must lass. I trust you.”  She smiles as she adds more. Trust yes. It had came quite easy to them both. A strong force was bringing them together. She had traveled through time, he an even longer distance, through the vail between death and live itself.

 

He sits shirtless before her and she can’t help noticing the criss-cross scars that cover his back. Her fingers gently trace them and she hears and feels him sigh. “Twas a flogging. The man who did it took great pleasure in it.”

 

“I wouldn’t think such a thing could bring pleasure.”

 

“Well, if he wasn’t pleased, he was at least content. He threatened to molest my maiden sister afore my eyes. I preferred he take me instead. He did twice in the span of a week. I think he would have done it one right after the other were he not scared of killing me. Not that he would have minded the killing, mind you. But flogging a dead man, not so much.”

 

“What monster did this?”

 

“Jonathan Black Jack Randall.” A gasp escapes her and she drops the cloth on the floor.

 

“Clumsy me. It will have to be re-boiled.” Turning back to the pot gives her time to re-arrange her face. Frank’s relative, the one he is so proud of, did this? Threatened to rape a maid then brutally flogged her brother.

 

“It is why I am here. Some mates of mine got me out after the second flogging fearing he would kill me. He might have. In the progress, a man was killed. Not by any of us but I was blamed. A wanted man am I with a price on my head. Ten pounds sterling. I am safe enough here under my uncle’s protection. I can’t go home. They ken to look for me there.”

 

“I am sorry Jamie.” She places the last cloth on him and wraps them all up.

 

“Thank ye lass. You’ve a gentle touch. Your husband was a lucky man.”

 

Frank. Shouldn’t she be more concerned about what he is going through? She had, after all, disappeared right in front of him. They hadn’t the perfect marriage. The war and separation were partly to blame. He was older, more settled. She was just an adult. She wonders if they would be together, would have been together if the war hadn’t forced them apart.

 

He must have seen something in her face. “Lass, Is am sorry. I dinna mean to upset you. You are still grieving, of course.”

 

She wasn’t, that was the sad thing. The concern she had for Frank is the same she would have for anyone who witnessed what he did. But Jamie would never understand that. So she nods. He opens his arms to her. She willing falls into them.

 

He holds her carefully, rubbing his huge hands over her back. It is easy for her to melt into him, against him. Softly he speaks Gaelic over her. She doesn’t know what he is saying but the words sooth.

 

After a minute she lifts her head and finds his eyes. She sees the same need reflected in them that she feels running through her. He pulls in his breath. “Nae Mistress, we canna.”

 

“We can.” Damning the consequences, she closes the distance between them and takes his lips.

[january3693]

Someone We Used to Know - Part 17

(This is a Marauders Era AU about what might have changed if Sirius was expelled after the Prank. Here’s the Master List if you’d like to start from the beginning or find a specific part)

(It’s probably late at night for most people, but here’s an extra update, courtesy of This extra update is brought to you by @helloitselvira, who used their song matching challenge prize today.)

Up in his hotel room, Sirius sighs and glances over at the full-length mirror. He’s still dressed in his ruined suit and in desperate need of a long, luxurious bath, but he doubts things will wait while he has a soak.

“Give me ten minutes then you can send them up,” Sirius says. At the very least he needs to wash his face and change clothes before he confronts his old friends.

“Of course, Mr. Sterling,” Helen from the front desk replies.

Let’s pause here while Sirius gets ready and step back in time a few hours. Before we can get to this long-awaited reunion, it’s important to know how Sirius’s old friends came to find him, because there’s more happening here than Remus searching a list of names and making a few telephone calls.

That’s certainly part of it though, so let’s start there.

Remus, Lily, and Peter leave quickly. The work the Order does isn’t strictly legal, and it’s best for everyone if they don’t linger around crime scenes.

Peter seems eager to get back to his mother, who worries even if she doesn’t know what Peter does when he stays out late like this. He disapparates quickly after saying his goodbyes and confirming with Remus that their monthly night out at the Hog’s Head is next Wednesday.

Lily lingers, trying to convince Remus to come with her instead of going home alone. She’s obviously worried, and Remus can’t really blame her. He’s obviously anxious and eager to get home and study the guest list Moody gave him.

“I don’t want to trouble you,” Remus replies. “Go home to James and Harry.”

Lily still hesitates, so Remus does his best to force a smile. “Go,” he repeats, “James is probably pacing with worry, and he’s probably keeping Harry up too.”

“Ugh, just what I need, two grumpy babies,” Lily says. “And I’ve still got to finish prep for Monday’s classes, especially the second years. They’re making swelling solutions.”

Grumbling about the job Remus knows she loves, Lily gives Remus a hug and a kiss on the cheek before they go their separate ways.

Home for Remus is a small house in Godric’s Hollow.

It used to be James and Lily’s before Dumbledore hired Lily as Hogwarts’s new potions professor. James begged Remus to move in under the flimsy pretense of needing someone to take care of the place when they moved into Lily’s quarters at Hogwarts. That’s an unusual arrangement in and of itself, but there’s nowhere safer than Hogwarts.

It’s a good little house, and Remus likes it there, even if the thinly veiled act of charity stings.

After making a cup of strong tea with too much sugar, Remus sits himself at the kitchen table and gets to work reading the gala’s guest list.

It’s almost too easy.

There’s only one “Mr. Sterling” listed on the list.

Mr. Cole Sterling.

There’s even a telephone number written next to it. Two telephone numbers actually.

It can’t be this easy.

Remus takes a scalding gulp of too-sweet tea and stares across the kitchen at the telephone mounted on the wall. Lily had insisted on having a way to stay in touch with her Muggle family. Remus never saw a reason to take it down, though he’s never used it either.

It’s the middle of the night. Remus really shouldn’t be calling anyone, but if one of these phone numbers will lead him to Sirius he feels like he can’t waste any time. Sirius already ran from the museum, what if he runs again?

A woman answers when Remus dials the phone number. A woman speaking French. Very angry French.

“I—sorry but I don’t speak—” Remus stumbles over his own tongue. Maybe the number was fake or maybe he’s just woken up Sirius’s girlfriend or wife or—

“It’s fuck o’clock in the morning!” The woman shouts, switching easily to fluent English tinged with an Irish accent. “Who the fuck is this and what do you want?”

“I, er, my name is Remus Lupin, and I was looking for, er…Cole Sterling?”

The woman on the line goes quiet long enough for Remus to realize he’s holding his breath.

“Mr. Sterling is away on business. May I ask what this is regarding?” When the woman speaks again it’s far more polite, but even through their poor connection Remus would swear he can hear a new tension in her voice. Caution.

“I just want to speak to him,” Remus says. “I’m…I’m an old friend.”

“No, I don’t think you are,” the woman replies.

“I am,” Remus says quickly, before she can hang up the phone. “I’m an old friend of Sirius Black!”

“I’m afraid you have the wrong number,” the woman says icily.

“No, please I really need—”

“Listen here,” the woman hisses. “If you really are who you say you are, it’s in everyone’s best interest if you forget you ever heard the name Sirius Black.”

The dial tone makes Remus flinch when she hangs up.

That was…not what he expected.

Remus hangs the receiver up and takes a step back. He wants to call right back and demand answers from this woman who clearly knows Sirius, but he doubts it will do any good.

There are so many questions swirling through Remus’s head that he has to sit down before he collapses.

What now?

His first lead was aggressively unhelpful and warned him away from pursuing Sirius. What if she’s right? What if there’s a good reason why Sirius ran tonight? Maybe there’s even a good reason why they haven’t heard from Sirius for five years.

Maybe he should leave it be, forget the whole thing. But he can’t.

Knees wobbling, Remus stands back up, walks back to the telephone, and dials the second phone number.

A woman answers this one as well. A different woman. A woman who speaks English with a faint Liverpudlian accent. She sounds a bit tired, but cheerful and professional all the same.

“Boreas Hotel, how may I help you?” this woman asks.

Remus is so startled he hangs up.

A hotel. Is this where Sirius is staying? Is this where Sirius is right now?

He can call back and ask. He can ask to be put through to Cole Sterling’s room. If he does will Sirius pick up the phone? Will he hang up the moment he hears Remus’s voice, or will he listen?

It’s too much.

Remus retreats to the chair again and drinks his still too hot and too sweet tea. He’s debating a hundred things in his head, trying to fathom a hundred different possible outcomes, trying to compose a hundred different conversations.

It’s all too much.

He’s almost relieved when someone starts banging on the front door.

Remus remembers his wand, but completely forgets all of the other safety measures this war has drilled into his head when he opens the door and finds James Potter standing on the front step, pale and shaking and utterly furious.

“James? What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Remus asks.

There’s something clenched in James’s hand, but it’s not his wand.

It’s a mirror. An enchanted mirror.

Once upon a time, Sirius had that mirror’s twin.

He’d left it on James’s bed when he’d been expelled.

Remus hadn’t seen it since then. Honestly, he’d thought James might have smashed both mirrors during one of his early fits of anger.

It begs the question, who has the other mirror now?

Remus doesn’t get a chance to ask though, because James levels him with a stare that could make a dragon turn tail and run. Somehow, before he even says the words, Remus knows that James already knows.

“Is there something you want to tell me about your mission at the museum, Moony?” James asks.

(Part 18)

[hey-i-wrote-a-story]

Chapter 20 The Wasteland

           The Beacon Hills Animal Clinic had a sterling reputation, and that was just among the supernatural folk. The animal clinic where Scott McCall worked part-time as he ventured closer to his goal of becoming a veterinarian had often been the only place that helped tend to, revive, and often save the lives of those with extranormal powers who had been wounded by means both supernatural and human. It had even served as refuge for those seeking to avoid the same. The reason the clinic was seen as a safe haven was the man who ran it. Dr. Alan Deaton was of strong build without seeming overbearing. His bald head and trim goatee were complimented by kind and caring eyes. Dr. Deaton, besides being an exceptional vet, also had a druidic background. His unique knowledge and skill set made him an invaluable asset to Scott and his friends. More than once, Deaton’s knowledge of obscure creatures, legends, rituals, and remedies had been the saving grace for Scott’s pack. His clinic was also a splendid place to bring your ailing Labradoodle.

           Deaton opened the doors to Scott, his pack, and the three kids he’d never seen before. Deaton trusted Scott implicitly. He knew Scott would never arrive unannounced like this unless it was a dire emergency. This was. Lydia, Malia, and Kira found places for the trio to sit, doing their best to make them comfortable. Stiles moved from window to window, keeping a sharp eye for any recurrence of the monster, but so far nothing. All the same, he remained on high alert in case that status changed. Scott rapidly brought Dr. Deaton up to speed and then returned to the side of the three traumatized teens.

           Deaton watched with discerning eyes as the young people he had grown to respect so much tended to the three newcomers. None of them were particularly happy with the situation, in that they’d all been disturbed by Erin’s death, but they understood that Freddie, Kaitlyn and Aadesh had suffered the worst. As they made sure the three teens were alright, Scott, Lydia, and Stiles exchanged silent looks of empathy. They had been through this kind of thing enough times to know how to force their focus onto helping others before allowing themselves to feel the full impact of the situation. It is a disconcerting thing to realize you may be growing accustomed to chaos and death.  Deaton waved Scott over. Stiles accompanied him.

           “I appreciate you having the presence of mind to bring your new friends here to see to their well-being”, Deaton told him. “But it would be far better for them if they were with your mother at the hospital. Having everyone crowded into a veterinary clinic’s treatment room is not the best location to treat teenagers in shock.”

           “It wouldn’t be the first time”, Scott remarked. Then, more seriously, “But I’m worried that if we leave them alone, that thing is going to come back for them. Dropping them off at the hospital could put them and anyone near them in danger. Including my mom.”

           Deaton frowned, considering that. “I’m not sure they’re in any immediate danger. I suspect that if this creature is as powerful as you describe, if it wanted these three dead they would be already.”

           “Do you think it’s gone?”, Scott asked. “For good?” He knew he was grasping at straws when he said it, but he had to hope.

           “No”, Deaton replied. “I think we’re far from being out of the woods yet. I have no doubt that it will come back. I just have my suspicions that it won’t right now. Kira wounded it. I think it hesitated in killing Stiles after incapacitating his jeep because to do so would have kept it there too long. Long enough for Kira, or you, or Malia, to strike at it again.”

           “So what it did by striking the road with its tail before flying off—was that some kind of threat?”, Scott asked.

           “A warning, to be sure”, Deaton said.

           “So what is this thing?”, Scott asked the animal physician.

           “I confess that I have no idea”, Deaton admitted. “This is unlike anything I have ever encountered. And I’ve been in Beacon Hills a long time.”

           “I thought you knew everything about supernatural beings”, Scott said.

           “Would that it were so”, Deaton lamented. He paused in that moment, and Scott could see both sides of this man, the veterinarian as well as the druid. Both healers, protectors, and caregivers. In either role, not being able to arrive at a quick and painless solution always stung. “But we can certainly do our best to find out”, Deaton then said with greater confidence. “Starting with what this trio may know.”

           “I don’t think they know a whole lot, to be honest”, Scott said.

           “They may know a lot more than they think—and just don’t realize it.” Deaton crossed the crowded room to address Kaitlyn, Aadesh, and Freddie. They were slowly recovering. Kaitlyn appeared to be the most collected at that point. Aadesh was not far behind her, although he still had a case of the shivers. Freddie was the worst off, his usual constant stream of patter and smart remarks now silenced by fear and grief.

           “I want to assure you”, Deaton said with as much confidence as he could project, “that this is currently the safest place you could be. This building is designed to protect against supernatural attacks. Mountain ash is infused into its very materials. As are other wards.”

           “D-do you think those will hold off the monster?”, Aadesh asked.

           “As I said”, Deaton reiterated, “I believe you are safe for now. But that condition is by no means permanent. We need something from you if we’re to have any hope of defeating this creature.”

           “What’s that?”, Aadesh asked.

           “Information.”

           Kaitlyn sighed. “We already told Scott and all them everything.”

           “But you haven’t told me”, Deaton pointed out. “So please do so. From the beginning.”

           So she did. Kaitlyn relayed their entire story, with Aadesh adding his comments and input where he could. Freddie said nothing. Deaton learned of how the four young misfits with the miserable pasts met at a halfway house. How their lives were irrevocably altered once the visions of the young heroes of Beacon Hills came to Kaitlyn. The rest, as the saying goes, is history. It was now history of which Deaton had a better understanding.

           “The things you did to emulate your heroes”, Deaton said, his voice low with exasperation, “The extremes you went to go beyond merely being dangerous. It was bad enough that you dabbled in sorcery with no training whatsoever. But to delve into the Dark Web online…” His voice trailed off as he considered how many threats this could have exposed them to, and may yet, for all they knew. “Supernatural agencies, the various entities, are frightening to be sure, but in the end there are certain natural laws—and unnatural ones—they must follow. Human threats can be every bit as dangerous as any monster you can imagine.”

           “Sometimes they can be worse”, Scott said. It was only too recent that a legion of assassins was unleashed on the town in a hunt for him, his friends, and a host of others.

           “Still”, Deaton continued, “we can at least try to turn some of your mistakes to our advantage. You admit to patronizing various black markets online, I presume this was where you procured the different spell incantations and the ingredients to perform them.” Kaitlyn nodded. “I think we should start there.”

           “So what do you want?”, Kaitlyn asked, totally drained but willing to do anything to bring this ordeal to an end.

           “We could use some more of the powder stuff you used on it, for starters”, Scott said.

           “A lot more”, Stiles agreed. “Like a dump truck full.”

           Kaitlyn sighed. “We can’t.” This garnered the attention of the others, who stopped seeing to the needs of the young trio.

           “What do you mean you can’t?”, Scott said, an edge coming to his voice.

           “I mean that we can’t. We used it all up out there.”

           “So get some more!”, Stiles shouted. “What, do we have to think of everything?”

           “We can’t get more because there isn’t any more!”, Kaitlyn shouted back.

           “What are you talking about?”, Scott asked.

           Kaitlyn took a breath and then continued. “I was always the one who used the spell powder, the poultices. It had something to do with my visions. My abilities made it easier for me to make them work.”

           “That’s actually not unprecedented”, Deaton remarked. “Many Native American shaman who were able to make use of supernatural tools found in herbs and other natural ingredients often displayed precognitive or telepathic abilities. Those who could harness their skills became masters at protecting their nation. They trained their successors by guiding them through vision quests.”

           At Deaton’s confirmation, Scott was willing to give Kaitlyn the benefit of the doubt on that point, at least. “That still doesn’t explain why you can’t get any more.”

           “I’m not the one who got the stuff”, Kaitlyn admitted. “That was Erin’s department. She found the stuff, made the spell bags, and I was the one who used them.”

           “She’s telling the truth”, Aadesh insisted.

           “Of course your word is worth so much”, Malia sneered.

           “So why can’t you just go to where she got the stuff?”, Scott asked.

           “Because I don’t know where that is.”

           “Okay”, Stiles said, “I’ve had just about enough of your bullshit. No more with the schemes and incessant lying! This isn’t a game. This is very real. Real monsters, real death--!”

           “It’s true!”, Kaitlyn shouted back. “It was part of our arrangement…our system. Erin did the buying. She found the ingredients, most of which were illegal or less than welcome in this country.”

           “Why is that not a surprise?”, Lydia said.

           “But once she had made the orders, she always covered her tracks. Deleted her browsing history, only ever used public computers when possible, like at the library or cafes, and never told us where she found the components to the spell bags or how.”

           “Plausible deniability”, Aadesh said. “We couldn’t tell anyone what we didn’t know.”

           “Erin said it was safer that way”, Kaitlyn said. “She felt we were better off not knowing. Comes from having a shady past, I guess.”

           The spent spell bag had been dropped on a metal examination table. Deaton picked it up with a pair of tweezers. “So you honestly have no idea what was in here?” Kaitlyn shook her head. “I could examine it, check for residual traces of whatever it was, but that will take time. There’s also no guarantee I’d be able to identify every ingredient, given how obscure Kaitlyn’s story indicates they most likely were. Even at that, I have no way of knowing the measurements used of each one.” He looked at Kaitlyn. “Erin never wrote anything down?”  Again, she shook her head.

           “So our only weapon against this thing is literally in the wind”, Stiles said. “Splendid.”

           “I don’t know that it would’ve made that much difference anyway”, Aadesh lamented.

           “Meaning?”, Deaton prompted.

           “That bag was meant to bring the creature down if we needed to. Completely incapacitate it. But…remember that this thing is not the one we sent for; the one we tried to summon up. So all we did was maybe hurt it a little.”

           “And piss it off a whole lot”, Stiles said.

           “Yeah”, Aadesh conceded.

           “Okay, just clear the room, you guys”, Stiles said. “The grownups need some talk time. We need to figure something out and you’re obviously of no help, so vamoose. Go in the other room and wait for us—and don’t forget that if you try to make a run for it, a giant glowing monster will most likely swoop down and eat you. So there’s that to think about.”

           “Stiles”, Scott cautioned, “ease off.”

           But Stiles wasn’t listening. He moved to Freddie and nudged his shoulder. “You too, ginger boy. Get going.”

           This was the first moment that everyone present realized that Freddie had remained uncharacteristically silent. He sat hunched over, eyes on the floor, his fingers clutching at his curly mop of red hair. There was a long enough pause in the discussion at that moment to make out the soft sounds of the usually jovial boy’s sobbing.

           “Just…”, he said meekly, “just…give us a minute.”

           “We don’t have a minute…Robin”, Stiles scolded. “We have to clean up your mess and time’s a-wastin’. The primal, frightening, murderous mess that you—“

           “I know!!!”, Freddie screamed. His voice came out high pitched and frightening, like a boiler that had suddenly burst. “I know what I did! I was the one who pushed them to do it!” He pointed at Kaitlyn and Aadesh, who were already on their feet. Aadesh began to speak, to reassure his best friend that they all shouldered the blame equally, but Freddie continued before he could.

           “Erin’s dead!”, he cried. “I as much as killed her myself because of what I did!” His face was streaked with tears, his eyes were red and puffy and frozen in an expression of fight or flight. He looked directly at Stiles. “I just watched someone I care about die in front of her friends at the hands of some creature that I helped bring into this world! Do you even know what that’s like?!!”

           Everyone else in the room held their breath. Freddie knew his harsh words were a terrible mistake, but the realization came after he’d said them. Stiles stared back at the panicked redhead but said nothing. He had no quip, no joke, no smartass remark to come back to that statement which hung in the air like an accusation. Stiles’ mouth was a tight thin line. His teeth bit down hard behind his lips. Unconsciously, his right hand curled into a fist and the muscles in his arm clenched. Scott was between them in an instant.

           “Enough”, he said. He looked his best friend in the eye and repeated his command, but in a softer tone. “That’s enough.” His eyes moved to Stiles’ right. Stiles glanced over to see what Scott was looking at. Stiles had not even been aware that he was raising his fist to throw a punch. Once he did, he exhaled slowly and let his arm lower gently to his side.

           Scott rested a caring hand on Stiles’ shoulder and looked back to the three kids. “You really should wait out in the main lobby”, he said. “We’ll call you if we need you. Try to collect yourselves. You’ve had a shock. We all have.”

           Malia opened the door to the waiting area and said, “I’ll keep an eye on them.” Scott nodded in appreciation. Kira followed them out as well, her eyes forward but her mind focused somewhere else. Stiles looked Scott in the eye.

           “How the hell can you trust them, Scott? After all the crap they’ve already pulled, after the deceit and the—“

           “Stiles. I was listening before when they told their story. I was listening now. I think we can believe them.”

           “Well, I was listening too, and that’s why I think we can’t—“

           “No”, Scott said. “I was really listening. To everything. Their breathing, their heartbeats. They were telling the truth. At least about Erin and the spell bags, anyway. And most definitely about them wanting to be like us.”

           Stiles was exasperated. He trusted his friend implicitly but at the same time wanted nothing to do with his friend’s usual proclivity to help the helpless. Stiles was tempted to begin a new argument against helping the three remaining misfits, but Deaton spoke before he could.

           “Gentlemen, Lydia, I have something that I think you should look at.”

            Deaton had taken a large book from a shelf within a cupboard on the far side of the room, relatively hidden by large shelves of medicines, blankets, and other assorted veterinary miscellany. Scott saw the shelf and reacted as if he was seeing it for the first time.

           “How long has that been there? I-I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.”

           “That’s because there are some things I have no desire to burden you with. But in this case, it appears compulsory.” Deaton set the heavy tome down on the metal table and opened it. It gave off a faint smell of must and age. Its pages were yellowed and foxy, but not yet brittle. They were filled with handwritten notes, sketches, diagrams, a number of clippings, photocopies, and even sleeved sheets of microfiche, all boasting a variety of secrets and stories of Beacon Hills better left untold. Deaton flipped through the pages which held so much dark history, looking for something specific. He found it.

           “This is it”, he said. “It occurred to me that the creature you’ve been talking about may have been here before.”

           “Here”, Scott queried, “on our world?”

           “Here”, Deaton responded, “in Beacon Hills. Or very near to it, in any case.”

           Deaton turned the book slightly so that everyone could see the pages he was now referencing. “There was something familiar about your new friends’ story that was lingering at the back of my mind. It was something that was mentioned in this article from decades ago about a disaster that struck not far from here.” Deaton took half a step back so the others could read the headline of the article he’d pointed out.

           UNKNOWN BLIGHT KILLS CROPS, COMMUNITY

Lydia leaned in and read aloud what was written beneath it. “‘Tragedy struck Orchard Ridge when over the course of less than 36 hours, the farming community, already close to barren by drought, was ravaged by a freak wildfire.’”

           “Orchard Ridge”, Stiles repeated, pondering. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

           “Keep reading”, Deaton urged.

           Lydia continued. “’The source of the fire has yet to be determined, but its affects spread throughout the area, destroying homes, fields, equipment, and leaving 81 residents dead.’”

           “Holy cow”, Scott murmured.

           “’Fire Marshalls said they had never seen this kind of destruction. Some of the bodies were so damaged by the fire and heat that a number of them have yet to be identified. It was opined by some officials that the fire may have been started by some kind of chemical experiment, possibly while concocting a new type of fertilizer to combat the drought. The supposition is supported by a number of survivors who claimed to have seen a massive winged creature made from the fire itself, a sure sign that there were chemicals in the air that caused intense hallucinations.’”

           “Or they had a visit from our winged monster”, Scott offered. Deaton nodded solemnly. Lydia looked fearful.

           “Who says ‘opined’?”, Stiles asked.

           “You think what these people saw is the same thing we’re facing now?”, Scott asked.

           “It’s certainly possibly”, Deaton answered. “I keep track of all unnatural happenings in this area as best I can, both present and past. I have a few other sources I’ve made note of that mention a winged monster, death by fire, and people bursting with light after coming in contact with the creature.” Deaton opened a small manila envelope taped to the page opposite the article clipping to reveal a collection of handwritten notes in faded pencil and ink now brightly discolored, citing interviews with locals who survived the so-called wildfire. The interviews provided the kind of accounts that don’t make it into the newspaper. Not today, and certainly not in 1927. “Some notations indicate that those who were set alight—or whatever happened to them—remained upright for some time, possessed of superhuman strength before the light they gave off finally consumed them. The only records and accounts I’ve found all trace back to this place and time. Orchard Ridge, 1927.”

           Stiles snapped his fingers. “That’s where I’ve heard it!” He turned to Scott and said, “I know exactly where this place is. It’s not even all that far from here.” Scott looked perplexed, but Deaton saw that Stiles was on the right track, so he let him continue. “It is smack-dab between the Beacon County line and Bluffton Hills.”

           “There’s nothing between the county line and Bluffton Hills”, Scott said.

           “Sounds like there used to be”, Stiles countered.

           “What Stiles is saying is true”, Deaton said. “Orchard Ridge was once abundant with pastoral life of every variety.” He produced a handful of clippings and a brochure from the large book, just behind the page they were reading. The slim collection was held together by a large metal paperclip, whose rust from years of neglect had rubbed onto what it held. Photos from the brochure showed a lavish farming community rich with flowering trees, verdant fields, picturesque homes, and of course, colorful orchards. The brochure was a garishly-colored affair, even having had years to fade, and welcomed one and all to the annual farmer’s market and county fair. A magazine article secured to the brochure declared that Orchard Ridge took first prize in both vegetable harvest and floral displays for the fifth year running. Scott took it all in, but he still hadn’t made the connection. Deaton said, “Of course, nobody calls it Orchard Ridge anymore. And they haven’t for some time. Now it has a different name entirely.”

           A light of realization came to Scott’s eyes. “The Wasteland.”

[anavoliselenu]

Hiched chapter 11

Jeez . . . maybe I should have. If I was going to endure an awkward morning after, I might as well have enjoyed a fun night beforehand.

Wait, hell no. Don’t even entertain the thought of fucking Justin. That way lies madness. Even though he clearly wants me and part of me wants him back, because his damn sexy face and voice and body and wicked words always hit me right in the . . .

Cheeks burning, I hurry to my office. I e-mail Dad the draft of our proposal, pour myself a giant cup of coffee, and check my backlog of messages. The tedious task works almost as well as a cold shower.

Half an hour later, I get a reply from Dad.

Proposal looks great. Let’s discuss? I’ll order in pastramis from Sal’s.

I smile to myself. Dad knows that place is my favorite deli. And evidently, he also knows that I haven’t eaten since before our flight. I close my laptop and walk to his office.

As I open his door, Dad beams at me from behind his desk. “Your work is top-notch as always. When did you even find the time to write this?”

“Justin and I worked together last night.” As much of a nuisance as Justin made himself, he deserves due credit.

Dad’s expression morphs from pride into pity. “Last night? Oh, sweetie—”

“It’s fine,” I say, interrupting him. I don’t want to hear two different men protest about my wedding night in less than twenty-four hours. And even though my sex life is nonexistent, discussing it with my own father would still be just way too gross. “So, what were your thoughts on the proposal?”

Dad sighs, but takes the hint. “It looks better than anything I’ve come up with. I guess I made the right decision, putting you kids on the case.”

Something in his tone makes me narrow my eyes. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“I’m not sure where we’re going to get the money for all this training.”

“What do you mean? I double-checked our budget. Unless . . .” I trail off, worrying my lip. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

He nods grimly. “Red Dog Optics pulled out. Halfway through a project. They’re paying us for the deliverables we finished, plus our early termination fee, but everything we had in progress . . . labor down the drain. And of course, we can’t count on that future income anymore.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose hard, trying to ward off an impending stress headache. That’s one of our biggest clients—well, it was, anyway. Son of a bitch. I’m out of the office for less than two full workdays, and look what I miss.

Thank God I didn’t let Justin persuade me to catch a later flight.

“Why the hell would they do that?” I ask. “We’ve lost clients before . . .” By which I mean, we’ve been steadily bleeding them for years now. “But never so suddenly. Why not ride out our current contract and then just avoid signing another one?”

Dad shakes his head. “No idea. Our work on that project seemed up to our usual standard, as far as I could tell. The only explanation I can think of is that something spooked them.”

“What, they thought we’d collapse before we could even finish their project?” I lick my raw lip nervously.

Tate & Cane certainly isn’t doing great, and I knew our reputation would take a hit after the board started meeting with buyers and word got around . . . but our situation isn’t nearly bad enough to make Red Dog react like this.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I’m being paranoid. Some dumbass probably just made a careless comment to his golf buddy, it got misinterpreted, and the rumor mill spun out of control. If anything suspicious happens again, then maybe we should investigate. But for now, we don’t have the time or resources to spend on a wild goose chase.

“Then we’ll just have to find a consultant who’s willing to handle our training for cheap,” I say with a lot more confidence than I feel. Hopefully we won’t get what we pay for. “And we can concentrate on winning back some old clients before we try to court new ones.”

“Sounds like a plan, sweetie. I’m behind you kids all the way.” Dad leans forward on his desk. “I’m counting on you to get creative and save this thing we’ve built together . . . not just for the sake of your futures, but for your children too.”

I give him a confused look. “Children? That’s a pretty long ways off, Dad.” Reproducing isn’t on my radar at all. I haven’t wanted babies since I learned they weren’t really brought by storks.

Dad gives my confused look right back. “Not that far off . . . ?”

My phone chimes. I pull it out and see a text.

Justin: You hear about Red Dog?

“Sorry, Dad.” I sigh, not very sorry at all to get off the topic of children. Thanks for the conversational escape hatch, Justin. “I should probably go meet with Justin to get started on this. Can you tell the delivery guy to take my pastrami to my office when he gets here?”

Dad nods good-bye and I hustle to Justin’s office, far away from any ten-pound hints about starting a family. That last part of our chat was surreal. I’m sure Dad has a whole fairy-tale ending envisioned for Justin and me, but seriously? I’m not even close to the motherly type.

Okay, back into work mode. We have to figure out how to start implementing our business plan on the cheap and recovering at least a few old clients. Justin can definitely help on both of those fronts. Persuasion is his specialty . . . sweet-talking, haggling deals, calling in favors. And if there’s a woman in any position of influence, he can turn on the playboy charm and use his handsome face to help sway her. Like he did with Estelle Osbourne at Clair de Lune.

I set my jaw as I walk a little faster. Remembering that dinner still pisses me off way more than it should. It’s not like Justin is really my husband. Hell, I never wanted him to be “mine” at all, in any sense of the word.

At least, I didn’t want that a month ago. Maybe even two weeks ago. But now, maybe . . . I think I might. God, I don’t even know. My feelings have gotten so complicated lately. I think of Justin’s mischievous smile, his low, smooth voice saying my name . . .

Then I push those thoughts right out of my head. We are professionals. I’m a professional. Our job is to get our company through this quagmire. That one single problem is what we’ll eat, sleep, and breathe until we convince the board to reverse their decision about selling Tate & Cane. We have no room for emotions or desires.

Maybe Justin is right about me being an ice queen sometimes. But right now, with over six thousand futures hanging in the balance, that’s so much safer than being human. I just need to maintain my focus and composure, and pray that we’ll get through this.

Chapter Five

Justin

When Sterling texted me asking how the wedding night went, rather than answer, I asked him to meet me for lunch.

My best friend has a way with the fairer sex, and I’m hopeful he has some advice for me about how to proceed after my less-than-stellar wedding night. It wasn’t that I expected Selena to drop to her knees and service me, or spread her legs in our marital bed, but a good-night kiss would have been nice. Sheesh.

“That bad, eh?” Sterling asks when I slide into the chair across from him.

“The wedding night? A fucking disaster.”

He doesn’t have to reply because his eyes say it all. In those honey-colored depths fringed in dark lashes that women go nuts over—the lucky bastard—is a mixture of pity and curiosity. But he says, “Tell your good mate all about it,” leaning back in his seat with his fingers laced behind his head.

Thankfully I’m saved from his Dr. Phil-style self-help entertainment with the approach of our waitress.

“What can I get you gentlemen?” she asks.

When I asked Sterling to lunch, he agreed on the condition that we go to his favorite British-style pub. Despite having English blood pumping through my veins, I despise the food. Sterling was born and raised in the countryside outside of London. He still has a taste for it—reminds him of his youth, I guess.

He places an order for the ploughman’s lunch, and I choose the least noxious thing I can find on the menu—fish and chips. Tea is the one thing we can agree on.

When the waitress saunters away, he’s back to smirking at me expectantly. “So, do tell. How’s the wifey?”

If he bats those fucking eyelashes at me one more time, like we’re having girl talk, I’m going to slug the son of a bitch.

“At least let me get my tea before you badger me,” I mutter.

The waitress delivers a little porcelain kettle with piping-hot brew. It reminds me of the one I have at home. I think of Selena and something inside me pinches. She tapped away on her keyboard until late last night; whether she was determined to get her thoughts on paper or to keep her distance from me, I wasn’t sure.

“I’m not trying to badger you,” Sterling says with a sigh. “Just wondering what’s the problem. I take it the wedding night wasn’t all you dreamed it might be?”

“You could say that.” I take a sip of my tea and find it’s the perfect temperature.

“Is she still as icy as ever, or is she warming to you?”

“We spent all night going over a new business plan,” I say.

“Christ on a cracker. The woman is a ballbuster.”

“Tell me about it.”

It’s true that Selena is relentless in her pursuit of perfection. She’s smart and determined, and she never wavers in confidence. It’s sexy as hell. Frustrating. But admirable.

Nothing fazes the woman. She’s smart as a whip, and doesn’t take shit from anyone. I’ve never once seen her back down from a challenge. What I have seen is her effortlessly dominating executive meetings filled with industry veterans—men old enough to be her grandfather, who were in business suits before she was out of diapers. And she doesn’t even notice or care how beautiful she is . . .

I realize Sterling is still watching me and snap out of my thoughts. They were getting too gooey for my own good, anyway.

“She sure as hell doesn’t act like anybody’s wife,” I mutter.

He shrugs. “So she isn’t a romantic.”

Actually, according to her friend Camryn, she is. But I don’t tell that to Sterling at the risk of sounding like a total cliché.

“She fell asleep at her desk sometime after midnight.”

“You don’t become that successful at the age of twenty-six by taking your eye off the ball.”

“I guess.”

“So I can assume that baby-making isn’t going well?” He chuckles.

“Not exactly.”

“What are you going to do? A woman’s never refused you before, and now your own wife won’t fuck you.” He makes a disappointed noise in his throat.

When I merely flip him off, he excuses himself for a visit to the restroom. When Sterling is gone, I pull out my phone and check my messages.

There are three e-mails from Fred, all of them about the dire situation of the company, and another from Preston informing me that the board is having an “exploratory meeting” with a rival firm next week.

Fuck.

I close out my in-box. Since Sterling still isn’t back, I pull up the business news app on my phone to scroll through the headlines, hoping to take my mind off all the bed news at work.

“Can Manhattan’s New “Power Couple” Turn a Marketing Dinosaur Around Before It’s Too Late?”

I begin reading the top article, only to discover that it’s about Selena and me. Financial advisors are speculating about the future of the company and predict a plummet in our stock price as leadership changes are shaken out.

Well, fuck that. I won’t watch our company go down in flames. But the truth is, we’re not even close to being out of the woods yet. And all this bad press is bound to hobble us even more.

Frustrated, I slam my phone down on the table just as Sterling approaches.

“What now?” he asks, sliding into his seat and laying his napkin across his lap.

It feels like my work life and personal life are both imploding. I’m not used to failing so miserably. Feeling so helpless.

Then I realize something—the solution to both my problems is winning over Selena. We have to work together to save this shipwreck, and I’m tired of her rejections, her pessimistic idea that we can never work. Fuck that.

“I know what I need to do,” I blurt.

“And what’s that?”

“I need to seduce my wife. I need to show her how good we can be together.”

Sterling nods. “So, what are you going to do? Plan some big elaborate date to woo her?”

I think it over, then shake my head. “No. Selena’s much too skittish. It’ll take more finesse than that.”

• • •

When Selena arrives home from the gym at seven, I’m ready. I turned down the lighting in the penthouse and put on some smooth jazz to play softly in the background.

She sets her gym bag on the floor, giving me a skeptical look. “What’s going on?”

She’s probably reading the mood as a romantic one, and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. My goal is just to get her to relax tonight.

Trying to act natural, I reply, “I got some dinner for us and thought we could take the night off from spreadsheets and numbers.”

She shrugs. “Sure. Let me grab a quick shower, then I’ll be right out.”

I expected more of a fight. Maybe the gods are looking down on me tonight with pity.

Toeing off her hot pink tennis shoes, Selena heads toward the bathroom. When I hear the spray of the shower, I head into the kitchen to finalize everything.

The food arrives by the time I hear the shower shut off. I arrange the contents of the takeout containers on a couple of small plates, to keep with the tapas theme.

There’s goat cheese with roasted figs, seared scallops, and a potato-and-gruyere gratin. It smells great. I pour two glasses of cabernet sauvignon and carry everything to the coffee table in the living room.

I hear Selena’s footsteps on the wood floor and look up. Fresh out of the shower, she’s dressed in a pair of black leggings that hug every last curve of her shapely legs and round ass, along with a gray sweatshirt that’s cut to hang off one bare shoulder, exposing her lightly freckled skin. She looks dewy and flushed from the shower, and I want to touch her to see if she feels as warm and soft as she looks.

“Wow. What’s all this?” she asks, sitting down beside me on the couch.

“Just a casual dinner. I thought we deserved some relaxation, considering the pressure we’re under at work.”

She accepts the glass of wine I hand her, and takes a sip. “How thoughtful.”

The sweet scent of her honeysuckle-and-vanilla body wash hits me square in the face, making me want to lean in and taste her skin, her lips, her breasts.

Shit.

I need to get it together. My plan is to win her over, to woo her, not to push myself on her with unwanted advances.

She may have a tough exterior, but I’m starting to learn that she’s actually a little timid when it comes to getting physical with me. Which is not at all what I’m used to. Most other women would love a ride on Justin Tate.

Selena helps herself to a portion of each dish—cutting off a little bite of sea scallop, letting out a little murmur of pleasure as she chews, blowing on a steaming forkful of potato gratin before closing her lips around it.

“So good,” she says with a moan. “How did you know I love tapas?”

I shrug. “I may have pumped Camryn for information.”

Her eyes flick over to mine as she takes another sip of wine. “Why would you do that?”

Returning her gaze, I decide to make myself vulnerable. “Because I like you, Selena. I want this to work.”

And I don’t just mean that in the sense of taking back our company and making a fuck-ton of money. I genuinely think that if she is willing to try, we can have a shot at being a real, happy couple. But I don’t clarify all that extra stuff. Selena appreciates honesty, but there’s such a thing as baring too much too soon. Or possibly at all.

I already know we’re compatible when it comes to the major stuff—politics, religion, and work ethic—but I’m starting to think that together in the bedroom, we’d be explosive. She tries to deny it, but the way her body responds to me is ridiculous. Not to mention the desperate way I crave her luscious ass and her perky tits, even her smart mouth is ridiculous. I’m normally a hit-it-and-quit-it type of guy. Once I’ve had a taste, I’m done and on to the next course. But something tells me that with Selena, once wouldn’t be nearly enough.

First, though, I need to know how she’s feeling about all of this. With the threat of Brad’s blackmail looming over us, demanding all our attention, I’ve barely gotten a chance to talk to her about the wedding, the contract, and especially the baby-making that needs to happen. We need to discuss this elephant in the room like mature, responsible adults.

“So, how do you feel about kids?” I ask.

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Kids?”

I nod slowly, now confused as well as nervous. Why is she so shocked?

“I, um . . . well, I guess I haven’t really thought about them,” she stammers.

My stomach grows uneasy. How in the fuck has she not thought about it? This is Selena, the woman who weighs every decision with a list of pros and cons. Her childhood letters to Santa were probably formatted in official memo style with bulleted requests.

“Why? You’re not thinking about . . .” She’s so flustered that she leaves the rest of her sentence unfinished.

Of fucking course I’m thinking about it. We have a contractual obligation to fulfill. Period.

Then realization slams into me all at once.

Holy. Fuck.

“On the day of our wedding, did you read the contract or did you just sign it?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral.

She shrugs, curling her legs under her on the couch. “Signed it. I already knew what it said. Dad and Prescott must have explained everything a hundred times at all those meetings we had.”

I never expected Selena of all people to sign a contract without reading it. I’m so stunned that I just stay quiet as the minutes tick past and we continue sipping our wine.

I try to calm down and think through this. But I’m stumped. The contract is finalized now—we’re legally bound. We’ve been legally bound for almost a week at this point. And now that I’ve been quiet about it for so long . . . how do I tell her without making it seem like I was lying all along?

Plus, I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’ll rip up the contract and storm off, and the deal will fall apart. I can’t let that happen. No inheritance means no second chance from the board. Which, in turn, means that everyone at Tate & Cane—innocent people like Rosita, who depend on the jobs we provide—will be royally fucked.

I can’t let anything happen to jeopardize this deal. I can’t afford to take even the smallest risk. I’ll just have to win Selena over with my charm and let it all happen naturally. Well, as natural as impregnating your fake wife can be.

Besides, even if I told her about the heir clause and she miraculously didn’t go nuclear, that would just put pressure on her to get pregnant for our company’s sake. Having a kid wouldn’t be a free choice. It’s better if I pitch her the idea on its own merits.

I’m up to the task, right? I’ve already done something similar; she used to hate my guts, and it took me less than a month to woo her into marrying me. Changing her mind about kids will be a lot tougher, but I just have to take things up another notch. Really put my back into it. Be my most charming, appealing self. If anyone can make a woman fall in love, deep enough to start a family . . .

But Selena isn’t just any woman. I suppress a despairing groan. Fuck me sideways . . . I’ve got my work cut out for me.

What in the hell do I do now?

“So, what else is on the agenda, Mr. Tate?”

Selena smiles warmly at me like she has no idea about the inner war I’m waging. I’ve refilled her wineglass twice, and something tells me she’s feeling tipsy and carefree.

That makes one of us.

I stack the empty plates, carry them into the kitchen, and pile them in the sink. Then I just stand there, my hands gripping the edge of the countertop. I need a minute. I feel like the apartment is closing in on me.

Before I make any big decisions about how to approach this problem, I need to think carefully. But with my head spinning and Selena waiting expectantly in the other room, I can’t do that here. I have to take things one step at a time.

So the question is: what the hell do I do right now?

“Justin? Are you coming back?” she calls.

I take a deep breath and return to her side. Realizing I can’t let this unpleasant surprise distract me from my plan, I decide to push forward. Tonight was supposed to be about getting her to relax, unwind, and trust me. There’s no point in ruining the whole evening by thoughtlessly blurting out everything. I’ll figure out a graceful way to tell her later.

“You’ve been so wound up from work. We both have,” I say as I sit back down.

She nods, agreeing.

“Tonight I was hoping we could set all that aside and chill together.”

She smiles at me. “Very good idea. I don’t chill nearly enough.”

Part of me is almost shocked that she’s going along with this so easily. The rest of me is still busy reeling from the realization that she has no idea I’m supposed to get her pregnant within the next three months. Actually, it’s more like two months now.

Selena sets her wineglass on the table and rolls her shoulders, sighing softly.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Just a little tight, is all.”

I inhale through my nose. I have to shove the pregnancy stuff to the back corner of my brain. We’re a long way off from Selena letting me pump her full of my semen anyhow, so why am I stressing about it now? The first step is showing her how compatible we can be.

And that starts now.

I smile at her. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

I grab a bottle of massage oil from the hall closet and return to the living room. The soft jazz music seems to float in the air, creating a pleasant buzz in the atmosphere.

Selena’s eyes widen when I rejoin her on the couch, but she doesn’t question me.

“I’ll give you a massage,” I suggest. “Take off your sweatshirt.”

Selena flinches, chewing on her lip while she watches me. “But I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

That’s the idea. “I promise not to look.”

She hesitates for another second, then turns her back to me and pulls her shirt over her head, dropping it to the floor. The creamy canvas in front of me is one to be admired. The twin dimples in her lower back near the band of her leggings would make lesser men weep.

I warm a few drops of oil between my palms and rest my hands on her stiff shoulders.

“Relax. Okay?”

She gives me a swift nod.

I work my fingers into the knots I can feel under her skin, and when I press my thumbs in next to her spine, she moans.

“Dear God, that feels good.”

“Been a while?” I ask, just a hint of mischief in my voice.

“Since I had a massage? Yeah.”

I meant to ask if it had been a while since she enjoyed a man’s touch, but at the last second, I decide not to clarify my question. The last thing I want to hear about is my wife’s past conquests. No fucking thank you.

I continue caressing her tense muscles and feel her slowly begin to relax. Knowing her breasts are bare and just out of my reach is practically a cardinal sin. Trying to figure out a way to entice Selena for more, I say, “If you turn around, I can reach the front of your shoulders better.”

Total lie. I’m hoping she can’t read my mind.

When she hesitates for a few seconds, I lean in and kiss the back of her neck. “You’re my wife, sweetheart. It’s no big deal.”

Those words hang between us, blossoming into something more than I think either of us ever dreamed.

She swallows, then slowly begins to turn toward me.

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, her eyes glossy with desire, Selena faces me on the couch.

Without saying a word, I drizzle a few more drops of oil into my palms before rubbing them together. I massage the front of her shoulders, her upper arms, and fight off the erection pressing against my zipper.

Selena’s breathing has changed—the entire mood surrounding us has changed. My gaze dips down briefly, and I watch as her nipples harden into little pebbled knots.

Unable to resist the temptation she’s placed before me, I cup the weight of her breasts in my palms and rub my thumbs across her nipples.

Selena draws a shuddering breath, her lips parting in surprise.

My fingers, slick from the fragrant oil, glide easily over her skin as I rub her nipples in small, circular movements.

A tiny groan—just barely audible—slips past her lips, and I dive in for a kiss, knowing she’s silently aching for more. My tongue pushes past her lips and she kisses me back, hard and passionate. I’ve got her right where I want her. Wet. And ready for me.

As we kiss, I move my body over hers until she’s lying on the couch and I’m balanced over her. Her thighs part, inviting me even closer, and I nestle in until my steely shaft finds her warm center. Selena gasps, breaking apart from the kiss. The contact is deliciously frustrating—so close and yet so far, separated only by a few layers of clothes. But if I have my way, they’ll be gone soon enough. My mouth moves to her neck as I continue circling my hips, bumping against her clit with each movement.

“Is this okay?” I murmur and wait in agony as she pauses, her eyes searching mine.

“Don’t stop,” she breathes, her hips lifting to find that friction once again.

I lean down and take one ripe nipple in my mouth, rolling my tongue over it and sucking on the firm tip.

Selena cries out in pleasure. “Justin . . .”

My name on her lips, in that sweet, gravelly voice laden with desire, snaps the last thread of my restraint. I kneel and grab the sides of her yoga pants, peeling them and her panties down her legs until she’s bare to me.

Christ. My cock surges, leaking pre-cum in my boxers. Selena’s body is perfection. Soft milky curves, full breasts, and a bare pussy with a pink clit peeking at me from between her juicy lips. I want to wrap my lips around it and suck until she screams. I won’t—not yet, anyway, but I can’t help reaching down to touch her. Running a fingertip down the length of her cleft, I stroke the soft, swollen bud lightly. Selena lets out a tiny, pleading whimper.

I’m trying to go slow, I swear I am, but with Selena naked and writhing on the couch, looking up at me with those huge blue eyes of hers, it’s nearly impossible. Fighting with myself to slow down and remember my manners, I stroke her clit with one careful fingertip, while my other hand caresses her breasts, thumbing her nipples.

Is there a polite way to say, Ride my face until you come all over my tongue?

“Everything okay, princess?” I ask instead, my voice husky with desire.

“It feels so good.”

She watches my hand as I continue my slow, torturous movements, lightly rubbing her clit, wanting to draw out her pleasure. I can feel how wet she is for me, and use the moisture to sweep across her swollen bud, back and forth, back and forth.

A whimper of frustration rises up her throat, and I know I have her right where I want her. There’s no way she’s walking away from this—from us—until I’ve given her what she needs.

���

[fmlfpl]

Lineup Lamentations - GW27

Our Transfers, Captains, and Starting 11s.

WALSH

Transfers:

OUT: Kane - sorry lad I love you I hope you understand

IN: KUNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Ended up following through with the pod discussion of Kane out for Kun. Feels shitty to remove Kane after his absurd cap haul for me last week but he's got a fairly poor on paper fixture followed by a blank so he got the chop instead of Zlatz. I am expecting to play with this forward slot and get Lukaku in for Aguero next week but who cares about next week. Kun for DGW feels a must. Also feels great to have my best friend back in FPL. Maybe I'll keep Kun..who knows. After much deliberation I have decided to not go in on a hit for a City mid. It would be an easier decision if I had a midfielder who doesn't have a game in GW28 but as it is they all do so taking a hit and not captaining a midfielder from City feels like spinning wheels. It's still 2 games in 2 gameweeks for a City mid or any of my other fucks. Hopefully my differential of not taking a hit will be a good thing.

GK: Standard Tom. Ho hum. Kill for an away clean...was so close for one last week until that fucking pen. Good sign they didn't concede from open play. Eh but a clean means a Siggy blank. I don't know what I want. 

DEF: Will be going with Baines, Alonso, and Brunt. Baines bad fixture...still praying for a pen. The one game where I feel actually better to have him than Coleman. Cue a Coleman goal. Alonso standard friend...we'll see what he ends up with. And finally, Brunt. Brunt on the shortest of leashes and will be a candidate for the chop immediately after GW28. We'll see. I'm sure he'll get robbed of an assist again. But, it's a home game, so maybe he'll come in with a big score who knows. 

MID: Not the best on paper fixtures for my midfield quartet this weekend. I'm sticking by Barkley at Spurs and mostly for his game in 28. Hopefully he gets me some points over the next couple of weeks. Mane and Phil go at home to Arsenal...hoping for an open game and a goalfest. Feel pretty good about it. Mane should have a rocket up his ass after a horrendous showing against Leicester on Monday. Finally, the ever reliable Sigmund has Burnley at home. Not expecting that one to have loads of goals but as usual if Swansea do bang any home it is likely that Siggy is involved. He's been great since I got him...hasn't blanked since GW21....he's a classy lad. Will probably hold for a while until the big DGWs and shit. 

FWD: Defoe - come on you little bro. Agonizingly close to that goal last weekend against Everton off the bottom of the bar and out and he's on two straight blanks since I got him. It would be very unsurprising to see him pop up with a brace against City. I feel like he's going to have a nice game for me this weekend. Zlatan comes back off his blank and brace in the Cup final with a tremendous fixture home against Bournemouth. Hoping for some big returns from him. Finally, Kun. What is there to say. DGW Kun it is time. 

*TRIPLE* CAP: TRIPLE CAP KUN. I'm firing on it. Fuck it. I was shouting it on the pod and I'm going to follow the pod and go for 12 point Kun goals. The fixtures are too nice and the form is too great to ignore and I don't want to be backed into a corner later in the season where there are so many unknowns. Sure Zlatan or Alexis feels like a better and safer triple cap on a DGW but who knows maybe they both die within the next two months. In Kun I trust.

ALON

Transfers:

OUT: Lukaku and Alli

IN (for -4 points): Kun and Sterling

So I’m all in fuckers. I want Kun to want me and it feels very nice having him back in the squad, especially on a double gameweek. Spoiler alert he’s my captain and I’m gonna rise a million places this week :):):)... Romelu to Kun wasn’t a tough decision for me, we talked about it on the pod too, with Rom @ White Hart Lane his ceiling is very low, and I will just bring him back into my side for Kun next week most likely.

The other transfer is the one I realized after we podded and we didn’t really discuss it at all. But it’s simple as this, transferring someone out who has one fixture between GW27 and GW28 for someone who has two fixtures between the two is simple maths. It makes a -4 a -2 right off the bat, and then add in the fact that Alli has a relatively tough attacking fixture against Everton and Sterling has two bankers, it’s job done. So I have three City guys and one Stoke guy. This is my week I’m telling you. The return of Alon.

GK: Lee Grant double gameweek love. Home ‘Boro the best fixture anyone can have in hopes for a cleansheet.. It would just be sooooo tidy if it started off right because the next match is at the Ethiad.. gimme a clean and a combined like 10 saves between two games.. seems realistic to me :).

DEF: I’m in a 4-4-2 this week but unfortunately not expecting many points from the back. Bainesy is now just a sad player to own despite the terrific returns it feels like a net loss of points every week when Coleman does him in. At Totty pretty awful fixture not much of a shout for a clean but hey who knows maybe this’ll be the week we get a pen. Alonso natural start every week for the rest of the season god legend. Fed Fernandez making his debut in my side with a terrific home banker vs Burnley. Real clean potential here which would be very nice. Knowing life they will not clean but Alfie Mawson will dong since everyone brought him in. And lastly another chance at points in my side for Andy Robertson but at Leicester, is that good anymore? Are they good now? I don’t even know what to expect in this one but I still have some faith in Hull’s overall organization and gameplan.

MID: I’m a proper powder blue Man City fuckboi this weekend and it feels great. New old friend Razza Sterling comes in with the delightful double and joining him is Prince Harry AKA Pure Kev, KDB. A lot of games boys... Maybe KDB will redeem himself after getting me 2 points and 3 points in the two weeks I capped him. Rounding out the mids, Mane is still here. People who are freaking out about making a mistake doing Alexis to Mane need to calm the fuck down. He blanked one week, it was a bad weird game, he’s fine. I’ll still take two Mane games over one Alexis game all day. Back to back homes, he’ll probably score a brace in one of’em, very happy to have Sadio. And lastly Snoddy. I knew at the time of getting Snoddy that I’m just being a dumb bitter fuck by getting him and not Siggy and yep that proved to be exactly right. Siggy is automatic returns every single week and Snoddy is yet to break the duck. But, honestly, whatever, fuck Siggy, he’s on my “to kill” list and will remain there. I’m bad enough rank that holding grudges is something I have the privilege of doing.. Snod home Chelsea, good luck you fuck.

FWD: Only two forwards make this side this GW with the Smashley Barnes red card but they’re two gooooooood ones. Kunny Kun Kun comes in after a long (too long) absence from my squad with the double fuckfest. And Ibra with the maybe best fixture in the league home to a Bournemouth side who cannot NOT concede goals for fun it’s just how they roll. I expect a ton of points here.

*TRIPLE* CAP: SOUND THE ALARMS Y’ALL THE TRIPLE CAP CHIP HAS BEEN PLAYED AND YOU ALREADY KNOWWWWWWWWW IT’S KUN TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!! Walsh made a ton of sound points on the pod and I think he’s spot on. You never really get this lineup of form and fixtures, it’s usually one or the other just by chance. Kun has both. Ridiculously hot fire form and very very good fixtures. It’s time, I believe it is time. I’M BACK BABY.... I hope.