#seasonal is kicking in again so while i do have muse and the desire to do things it's hard to muster the energy to actually do it

[nxtherold]

sorry for being so slow lately I have ✨depression✨

[scullyverse]

Covered In Skin

Prompt by Laura @bohoartist for the MSR Smut Exchange 2021;

One of them (your choice) is dealing with some sore muscles while away on a case. This leads to the other giving them a massage in one of their motel rooms. One thing leads to another... yaddayaddayadda. First Time Sex please.

This is for the lovely Laura! Your prompt was so fun to write and I really hope you enjoy it! <3 Part of the MSR Smut Exchange 2021! I had so much fun participating in this event!

Also available to read on ao3

Mulder pulls a muscle during an assignment and Scully is only too happy to give him a massage in his motel room. One thing leads to another and first time sex ensues. Set early season 7. Fic for the MSR Smut Exchange 2021.

Mulder/Scully || Smut || 9.4k words || Rating E (Explicit for smut)

“Mulder! He’s headed your way!” Scully shouted, gun raised, eyes focused as the suspect made a turn away from her.

She watched as Mulder lunged out from the corner, bringing both his own body and that of the suspect to the pavement. Scully grimaced at the noise, lowering her gun now that Mulder had the suspect pinned under his knee. The safety was flipped and her gun put back into its holster as she made her way towards him. Police removed the suspect and left Scully to help her partner to his feet, smiling up at him as her hand shielded her eyes from the sun.

“Nice job there, Mulder. I didn’t take you for the tackling type.” Scully mused, her tone light.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me yet, Scully,” Mulder teased as he brushed dirt from his pants. “I’m not just going to give all my tricks away at once.”

Her eyes rolled but she was unable to stop the slight tug of a smile on her lips as he bumped her shoulder playfully while both of them walked behind the police who loaded the suspect into the car. They had been called onto this case for an extra set of hands and though it wasn’t an X file, even Mulder had jumped at the opportunity to get off desk duty. It was a fairly simple drug bust, but Scully missed how her pulse pounded and how her adrenaline surged from being out on the field again. They stopped to watch the police car drive away and Scully crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes squinting once again against the sun.

Mulder looked down at her with soft eyes, placing his hand on her lower back; a sign of comfort, support, and - recently discovered - affection. Scully felt herself relax into his familiar caress. How can a simple touch make me feel so comforted and at the same time make me feel like shaking?

She wasn’t sure what had formed between them, they had exchanged a few odd kisses here and there over the past few months, which Scully had to admit were new and exciting. It had started one night when she had felt particularly bold, he had dropped her off at home and she’d taken a leap of faith and stood up onto her toes to kiss him. It had been short and sweet and had left her with a shy smile from the look of pleasant surprise etched onto his face. Then it had happened again, this time he had taken the initiative and kissed her at work. It was gentle and at first she had been taken aback by his forwardness, but then he had said she looked beautiful and she’d wanted to kiss him again. So she had.

Neither spoke of what it meant but it was nice nonetheless. That night they shared in his hotel room in Bellefleur, just talking into the early hours of the morning all those years ago, sparked her initial attraction to him, to his brilliance and remarkable mind. It wasn’t until later that the attraction expanded to his body too. Scully couldn’t speak for Mulder, but she knew her own hesitations towards the progression of her feelings for him. She was scared, even if it made her angry to see herself so succumbed to that fear. They were gravitating towards each other in a bubble and she feared the moment the bubble would burst, that the after effects would ruin the relationship they had before. But in their bubble she just couldn’t stop herself from constantly being sucked into his energy and inviting eyes. Eyes that seemed to captivate her for a moment now as he smiled down at her and led her towards their rental car. Her body hummed with the feeling of his strong hand on her back. So warm .

---♡---

Once they arrived at the hotel, the sun had only just set so they arranged to make use of their spare time and finish their paperwork. Scully took her time to shower and change into something more comfortable before she knocked on his door, files under her arm and glasses in hand. The air conditioning made their rooms much more accommodating than the heat outside, though Scully had still opted for silk shorts and matching singlet. Gone were the days of keeping herself overly covered in his presence; she had found herself gaining confidence around him and secretly loved the way his eyes would linger on her, finally outwardly admiring her as someone desirable. It gave her such a thrill.

It wasn’t long before Scully heard him shuffle on the other side of the door and open it with a smile. She took in his appearance; wet hair, shirt stuck to some wet spots on his skin and a pair of simple sweatpants. She was well aware he usually slept in nothing but his boxers; having been greeted by the sight in the early mornings when he answered the door rubbing sleep from his eyes. Is he being considerate to me by wearing these? Should I have been more considerate to him and changed into something more appropriate? She swallowed a slight hiccup of breath when she saw him completely transfixed on the expanse of her bare legs before his eyes moved to her chest and she felt her nipples tighten in response. His eyes met hers and she noticed his cheeks blushing. Scully could feel herself growing warm. So maybe he doesn’t mind me wearing this.

Mulder raised up his arm and Scully smiled as she ducked her head and slipped under and into the room, looking around the room with a sigh. The hotel was nice but it didn’t give much in the way of work spaces. She opted for the floor in front of the coffee table, legs crossed and tucked under her as he stood by the door for a moment.

“You okay on the floor, Scully?” He walked towards her but seemed hesitant to sit on the chair. “You can have the chair.”

“It’s fine, Mulder. I’m quite comfortable down here.”

He watched as she slid on her glasses and he finally sat down on the chair doing the same. They worked in silence, only the occasional question asked between them. With him, even silence was a comfort and Scully worked better with him next to her and the sound of his pen scrawling over paper. It reminded her of them working in their old basement office before the fire. Their old office. They continued to work and Scully was only brought out of her concentration when she heard a groan, Mulder stretching and rolling his neck. She studied him out of the corner of her eye for a moment as Mulder continued, discomfort evident on his face.

“Are you alright, Mulder?” She asked, her head tilted and tone curious.

“I’m fine,” Mulder groaned again. “Just pulled a muscle or something. Maybe tackling that guy wasn’t the smartest idea I’ve had.”

Mulder rarely showed discomfort, so Scully knew it must be uncomfortable for him. She put her glasses down and got to her feet, walking towards the bed.

“Come on. Lay down and let me give you a massage. It will help with the pain and loosen up those muscles of yours.” Scully gave the bed a pat. “Your body is probably tense in an attempt to protect the area you hurt.”

“A massage?” Mulder looked at her with a glint in his eyes. “Well, how can a guy turn down an offer like that?”

Mulder made his way towards the bed and stopped in front of her, his eyes flicking between her and the bed for a few awkward moments as his fingers hesitated in the idea of removing his shirt. In the end he chose against it and crawled onto the bed face down, a pillow pushed under his cheek for support.

“This okay? Or should I wiggle back so you can reach?” He teased.

“Shut up, Mulder,” Scully retorted in jest and rolled her eyes, climbing onto the bed and kneeling at his side as she rubbed her hands together in an attempt to warm them. “The position you are in is just fine. Push your luck and you’ll get nothing.” It was an empty threat and Mulder knew it because he just smiled and tucked one arm under the pillow.

Scully looked down at him and thought about the best way to tackle the situation before she found a spark of courage and threw caution to the wind. She rested her hands on his back before tugging at his shirt. “It will be easier if you take this off.” Scully had to bite a retort in her throat as he looked back at her with a cocked eyebrow. A playful scowl, though, was enough for him to close his mouth. Pulling the shirt over his head, Mulder revealed the vast expanse of his back to her. Scully’s eyes raked over him and for the first time she let herself admire his physique. He really is attractive. Mulder adjusted himself and got back into a comfortable position.

Straddling his thighs, a slight blush crept onto across her nose when she heard a soft moan slip from his lips. He felt hot and smooth as she ran her hands up the middle of his back with enough pressure that evoked a content rumble. Scully knew these muscles like the back of her hand but everything left her brain after a few moments of her hands on his skin. Instinct kicked in and she followed the curve of his spine, allowing her weight to travel down to her fingers. Mulder’s head tilted with a soft smile on his lips, his bottom lip pouted out in relaxation. That bottom lip looks so goddamn kissable . She shook her head in an attempt to erase the lustful thought, which caused her hair to fall and curtain her face. Good. Now maybe he can’t see me looking at that fucking lip of his.

Scully rose to her knees and shuffled forward so her hands could reach his shoulder as she worked her way towards the area that caused him pain. Settling on his ass, her eyes focused on how his skin rippled under her the movement of her fingers until Mulder suddenly jolted away from her.

“Is that where it’s uncomfortable?” Scully questioned, easing the pressure off slightly as she looked down at him with warm eyes.

“Yeah,” Mulder nodded. “Keep going though. Feels amazing, Scully.”

Scully pressed harder once again and settled back into a rhythm as Mulder moved his head and rested it back into the pillow, shielding his eyes from her. His muscles soon relaxed under her touch as she continued to work, a deep blush blossoming on her cheeks, and a warmth soon settled in her stomach as she bounced slightly against his ass with every movement of her hands. The way the curve of his right ass cheek managed to hit just the right spot applied a delicious pressure between her legs. Stop, god, you need to stop right now . She knew she should but she didn’t seem to have control over how her hips rocked gently against him. Scully heard a sudden intake of breath and she stilled instantly. Was that noise from me or him? She couldn’t be sure and she mentally chastised herself for being so focused on the feeling of him underneath her to maintain awareness. Suddenly everything seemed deathly quiet and she could swear she could hear her heartbeat.

“Keep going.” Mulder whispered just loud enough for her to hear.

There was a sudden shift in the air as Scully swallowed, her fingers continuing once more, this time making a solid attempt to keep her hips still. He wanted her to continue the massage and she would keep herself professional and do just that. Though it was impractical to keep them completely still and she couldn’t help the slight movement as she bore her weight down into her hands. Scully bit her lip and tried to focus on her fingers moving against his muscles, which became increasingly harder when she felt fingertips brushing delicately against her knee. Don’t look. Just keep going. She tried, but after a few moments she looked down and saw Mulder’s fingers playing with the skin of her knee with his head still planted firmly into the bed. Is he aware he is doing it?

Scully said nothing and the more it continued the more she didn’t want it to stop. Every touch sent butterflies to her stomach and it was those butterflies that spurred her on, to rock her hips again now unable to stop her natural instinct to seek relief of the heat she could feel between her legs. Scully bit her lip as a warmth crept up her chest. When did I become so aroused? The air seemed thick and she held back a moan when she felt his hips move beneath her. The way his hips rolled against the bed only added to the palpable tension of the room.

“S-Scully.” Mulder cleared his throat.

She opened her eyes when she heard her name. Wait, were my eyes closed? Scully looked down to meet his gaze, his eyes were almost black and his cheeks had a flush all of their own.

“I’m not sure this is the type of massage you signed up for,” he chuckled in an attempt to ease the tension between them, rolling his hips once again to keep his weight off the bed. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Wha-oh!” Scully exclaimed.

It took a second for everything to register, then the flush of arousal on her cheeks was suddenly replaced by a deep blush of embarrassment. She removed her hands and quickly moved off him before moving back to sit on her knees. “I’m sorry Mulder, I didn’t realise.” Well that was a lie. It was obvious her movements had some effect on him, she could feel it in how he seemed to be dry humping the bed. Scully bit her lip and couldn’t take her eyes off him as he rolled over and she caught a glimpse of the erection tented in his pants, a small wet patch on the fabric. Mulder grabbed a pillow, pressing it into his lap as he moved to sit against the headboard.

“I’m sorry about this,” Mulder paused, looking at her with a childish blush of his cheeks as he nodded to the pillow before avoiding her gaze. “It will go away soon.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Scully felt his eyes on her again. He watched her with his bottom lip still pouted, though Scully now figured it was from arousal. God, how I want to kiss you. Scully licked her lips as her thoughts raced along with the rapid pounding of her pulse in her chest and between her legs. She had seen Mulder in all states of human emotion before. But arousal hadn’t been one of them until now and the way he looked at her kicked her hormones into overdrive. It was like the last six years of pent up energy hit her all at once and her body ached for him now that he was so close .

“I guess you just give one hell of a massage.” His voice was rough and low but he gave her a gentle smile.

She could tell he was trying to lighten the mood and she appreciated him for that; her lips curled into a small smile to show him she was thankful for his attempt to ease the tension between them. But her body was tuned into him now and she found herself unwilling to hold herself back any longer. Please, God. Don’t let this be a mistake. Please. A silent prayer was sent above as she got to her hands and knees and crawled towards him, stopping beside him before getting up onto her knees. Mulder watched every movement with a tightened grip on the pillow. They were now close enough to share the same breath as she reached out to trace his jaw with her thumbs and over the slight stubble on his chin. Her thumbs stopped on his lips as they pushed gently down on his bottom lip, the air thick and all Scully could feel was his warmth.

“Kiss me.” Scully said with a hushed whisper. She wanted him. Oh, how she wanted him.

Mulder searched her eyes and kissed her thumbs before arching his neck and meeting her lips. Oh, I forgot how soft his lips are . Scully moaned into his mouth as she tasted the salt and liquid warmth that was just so Mulder . She leaned forward and urged him to deepen the kiss with a lick of her tongue on his bottom lip and when he parted his lips, that was all the invitation she needed. When their tongues touched for the first time she felt a shiver shoot down her spine. This is new. They hadn’t shared anything but chaste kisses in the past and that was nothing compared to how he felt against her tongue. Mulder rumbled deep in his chest which caused Scully to whimper in return, allowing herself to be consumed by him. How have I not kissed him like this before? When on earth did he learn to kiss like this? I feel so hot. How can a kiss make me feel this hot? Damn him.

The kiss was heated and fervent and Scully found herself conflicted; she didn’t want it to end but she also wanted to turn and run in the opposite direction. Though that hesitation got smaller and smaller with every brush of his fingers on her skin and movement against her lips and when he nibbled on her bottom lip, her knees buckled with arousal. He pulled away from her sudden movement and she swallowed a whine of disapproval, sitting back down onto her heels. Her lips were hot and swollen as she caught her breath, his fingers still resting on her collarbones and every brush sent pulses down to her centre. He looked so beautiful in this state of arousal and she didn’t think it possible for his bottom lip to look even more kissable than before.

The air between them sat heavy as they both looked at each other and gathered their bearings. Scully found herself unsure of what to do; her mind and body were still conflicted, but the longer her eyes lingered on his lips, the more she found herself running out of excuses to push him away. There was a primal attraction and if he was willing, she wanted to submit to it and give herself to him. Well, only one way to find out. There’s no turning back now anyway, right? Scully moved one hand and reached for the pillow, intertwining her fingers with his as Mulder gripped the pillow tighter.

“Scully…You don-“

“I want to.” Scully’s voice was soft but firm.

Mulder searched her eyes before he relented. Scully felt her pulse quicken as she removed the pillow and threw it to the side of the bed, his eyes on her as she looked down to admire the full state of arousal he tried to shield from her. They had seen each other naked before and she hadn’t been able to stop herself from looking at him, purely out of curiosity, under the spray of the quarantine showers, but she had never seen him aroused and so proudly on display just for her.

A deep hunger settled in her body and she fought herself to not just reach out and touch him. I know that I want him. But I need to know that he wants this too. Straddling his lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck for support and this time he was the first to make a move. He pulled her in for a kiss with a smile on his lips, one that Scully eagerly replied with one of own. Mulder’s smile faltered when she rubbed herself against him, pushing his erection flush between them. A groan fell from his lips as she rolled her hips, the friction delicious as Scully pulled away from the kiss, their foreheads pressing together as they continued to rock. His hands hovered above her exposed thighs, his fingers opening and closing in fists as his hips rolled with her, making serious attempts to thrust against her damp centre. He’s so eager and man do I want him inside me.

Her eyes watched him as he fought with himself, obviously unsure if he could touch her like he wanted to. Is he hesitant to push me too far? There was something inside her that felt guilty for how she pushed him away so much in the past. He looked at her confused when she stopped her hips before she reached down and took his hands in hers, putting them on her thighs to give him encouragement.

“You can touch me. I want you to touch me,” Scully coaxed, her voice soft and husky. “Please, Mulder.”

Scully sucked in a breath as she allowed him to move his hands up her thighs, resting her hands on his arms in a soft hold as he explored her skin. Mulder guided his hands under the thin fabric of her shirt and her hips began to move again, her body now pulled flush against him. She bit her lip as he looked down at her breasts pushed against his chest and her nipples hardened from the sensation. Mulder’s hands moved to grasp her ass with no hesitation now as he encouraged the movement of her hips. Yes, touch me.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to feel you in my lap like this.” Mulder remarked with a smile on his lips that Scully could only describe as a smirk of pure lust. His thumbs tucked into her underwear and the touch was so intimate it caused arousal to flood from her centre.

“I’ve wanted it too,” Scully bowed her head with a smirk which only made Mulder’s smile grow. “I still want it.”

Scully moved to kiss him with instantly parted lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss with enthusiasm. His hands held her tight as he gave a sharp thrust of his hips, causing Scully to give a high pitched sigh as she bit his lip once before resting her nose on his cheek.

“I need you.” Scully whispered.

Her hands slid down between them and rested either side of the erection tented in his pants as her fingers itched to touch him. He’s so close . Scully shifted back and his hips stilled as she looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Please, Scully.”

Her whole body quivered as a sharp jolt of arousal shot through her at how he begged her. Fuck, Mulder, you need to beg me again . She bit her bottom lip, removed his pants and watched how his erection sprung itself free and lay hard and swollen against his stomach. God, you are so beautiful . The tip of his cock leaked for her and it nearly made her whimper. Nearly. His fingers tangled in her hair as they kissed, his thumbs brushing her cheeks in affection that made Scully’s heart jump. Trust didn’t come easy for her and especially not in the bedroom, but right now she trusted Mulder with her body. He smiled into the kiss and gasped when Scully’s fingertips brushed the underside of his cock, her blunt nails dragging softly from base to tip.

“I didn’t know a bed could get you so aroused, Mulder.” Scully purred.

Mulder opened his eyes, looking at her smirking in affection while her nails continued to tease him. “You know full well it wasn’t the bed, Scully.”

“No. I guess it wasn’t.” Scully bit her bottom lip as she watched Mulder’s head fall backwards with pleasure.

She wrapped her fingers around his cock and began to stroke up and down. Mulder was so warm and his skin so soft in her hand as she collected his precum and used it to coat her fingertips so she could glide easier against his cock. Mulder groaned, gripping the sheets as he started to thrust his hips in a desperate attempt to achieve some relief. Taking her time, Scully marvelled at the different moans and gasps she brought out of him with the different movements of her hand; like a twist of her wrist or a squeeze of the tip of his cock. She caught him off guard when she cupped his scrotum and his hips jolted up, parting his thighs to allow more space as her hand sped up. Soon though, Mulder stopped her.

“Wait. I want to touch you too.” Mulder cleared his throat. “And if you keep doing that this is going to end much quicker than either of us want.”

Scully blushed in understanding. “I want you to touch me too.” Fuck how I want you to touch me .

Mulder nodded as Scully stood up on shaky legs as she removed her shorts, her fingers resting on the band of her underwear. She watched how Mulder visibly swallowed, eyes fixated on her. Scully would have been embarrassed with how wet she knew she was if she wasn’t already so far gone. He was so close to where she desperately wanted him and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head when she felt his forehead on her stomach, his hands resting on the back of her thighs, holding her against him. Scully whimpered and her body arched into him when he placed a tender kiss on her underwear. This man is going to be the death of me.

He sat back and it gave her space to take a breath before removing her underwear. Mulder helped her back to her knees, her chest heaving as he touched her. O-Oh . His fingers slipped between her folds and she parted her legs further to let him explore. The way he touched her was soft but firm. No comment was made about the slick sounds from his fingers exploring her wetness, but her arousal seemed to only spur him on. She gripped his shoulder to keep herself balanced as she closed her eyes. Mmm keep going. Please keep going. Mulder’s fingers brushed over her clit and her knees shook as Mulder helped her to straddle him once again. As he collected her wetness onto his fingers, nuzzling into her neck, Scully couldn’t help arching into him.

“God, Scully,” Mulder moaned, his breath tickling her ear. “Is this for me?”

“Yes,” Scully gasped when his fingers teased her entrance. “All for you.”

Scully’s toes curled and her hips shifted closer in an attempt to achieve more stimulation as her hands wrapped around him, his chin resting on her shoulder with his lips brushed against her neck. Her breath was harsh when his fingers finally entered her. Yes. Mmm yes. Scully moaned when he started a gentle rhythm of fingers inside and his thumb against her clit. Her body craved more and it was if he read her mind, adding another finger and curling them to hit the soft spot against her inner walls which caused her inner muscles to grip him tightly.

“Yes.” It was a whisper against his skin as she rocked her hips, focusing on the pleasure that he sparked inside her.

It was like she felt him everywhere all at once, his scent filling her nose and she felt nothing but the warmth radiating from him. She needed to feel him, it was a sudden urge deep down that craved the skin on skin contact. Scully pulled away and he arched an eyebrow before she bit her bottom lip and pulled her shirt over her head.

She heard him suck in a breath as his eyes stared at her stomach. Scully looked down and watched his thumb brush against the gold ring in her belly button with a glint in his eyes.

“Wow, I wasn’t expecting you to have a piercing,” Mulder teased. “Knowing you have this under those suits of yours…there’s just something so incredibly hot about that, Scully.”

Scully chuckled at his captivation. “Just my piercing?”

He looked back up at her but stopped when he caught sight of her breasts, her nipples hard, dusky pink and desperate for his touch. Scully could have laughed at the look on his face, like he had momentarily forgotten she was naked and was caught off guard by seeing her breasts for the first time. She had seen Mulder aroused, but the look in his eyes now as he admired her was something else. It was just pure unadulterated hunger and she felt a shiver.

“Definitely not just the piercing. Jesus, Scully.” Mulder praised.

Mulder’s eyes never left her breasts, and her nipples - if it was possible - grew harder under his gaze. Stop looking and just put that mouth on me alre-Oh! She didn’t have time to speak, even her thoughts faltered when he leaned down and licked the valley between her breasts before wrapping his lips around her nipple.

“Oh. Mmm.” Scully breathed out.

Her head fell back and her hips rocked harder against his willing fingers, his mouth hot and wet around her. She just wanted to be completely consumed by him and that fucking talented mouth of his. It was easy to fall and get lost in how his tongue swirled around her and she jolted back to reality with a sharp pulse of arousal to her clit as he bit down on her nipple.

“F-Fuck!” Scully gasped with a high pitched whine.

Mulder paused instantly and looked up at her, her eyes snapping open with a whimper as she looked to him with pleading eyes. Why did you stop? Don’t stop! She was about to open her mouth and complain when she felt his fingers ram into her suddenly, the wind sucked out of her lungs, her muscles clamping around his fingers in appreciation. The new pace made it hard to keep eye contact with him, but the look of awe and lust he gave her seemed to make it unavoidable.

“Say it again.” Mulder commanded, his fingers thrusting into her again.

Her body jolted forward, her head lulling to the side when he returned to her chest, now focused on the nipple he ignored the first time. It took her a moment, but she smirked when her brain realised what he was talking about. Oh, so that’s it. You like to hear me curse. She was going to retort with a smart remark but her brain lost function when he bit down on her sensitive bud again.

“Fuck.” Scully whimpered, her fingers threading through Mulder’s hair. “So good.”

She felt him smirk against her and the warmth between her legs began to grow, her body completely tuned into him and the way he worked her higher towards that peak. Her thighs shook and as much as she loved him against her chest she needed his lips again. Her fingers tugged at his hair, pulling him to her again, the kiss messy and hot, just what she needed. She panted and rocked her hips harder against him as she felt his hips take full advantage of their closer position, his cock bumping against her pelvic bone on every thrust of his hips and she found it incredibly arousing that he was getting so caught up in what he was doing to her.

Scully was getting closer as his fingers sped up, his thumb unrelenting against her clit and she found herself needing to touch him. Fuck, I’m so close, and you’re going to come with me, Mulder. I want you to come with me. Her hand slipped between them and her thumb collected his precum before sliding down slickly and in time with how his fingers worked inside her. He groaned loudly as his head fell back and Scully took the opportunity to lick the exposed column of his neck, her eyes fluttering closed when the saltiness of his skin hit her tongue. Mmm you taste exquisite. Mulder gave a loud moan as his hips shot upwards, his fingers faltering for a moment when she bit the underside of his jaw.

“Hold on.” He stopped her hand and intertwined their fingers with a smirk. “I can’t think properly when you do that. And I’m trying to make you come here.”

“But I want to come with you,” Scully replied, tugging his hand to her lips and kissing it, so desperate to have him inside of her. “I need you inside me. Please.”

Mulder’s fingers paused as they kissed again before he removed his fingers, much to Scully’s reluctance, changing their positions. It ended in tangled limbs and they both laughed, Scully on her back with him settled between her legs. They continued to chuckle together as they kissed, Scully’s hands on his arms as they kept his weight off her. It was sudden, the way the air shifted and their chuckles died down, looking into each other’s eyes, Mulder brushing her hair away from her face. All previous hesitations she had before were gone and she wanted nothing more than for him to take her.

“Please, Mulder.” Scully begged. She wasn’t normally one to beg, but her body needed the release he had promised earlier, already completely on edge.

Her legs widened in invitation as he kissed her, the kiss seemingly different than the ones before. This was slow and warm and it seemed to convey all the feelings he had for her without words, her heart thumping in her chest and her fingers gripping his arms in an attempt to keep herself grounded. She had never felt such almost overwhelming affection before and it took her breath away. I need him. I need him. I need him. It was a mantra in her head as her fingers slinked down to rest on his stomach, his muscles rippling under her touch.

“I need you, Scully,” He got to his knees and stroked himself as she watched him. “I can’t wait anymore.”

Scully nodded and bit her lip. “I need you too.”

She got to her elbows and watched him as he slid his cock through her folds, gathering her arousal and using it to lubricate himself. There was something so erotic about the sight that Scully felt her clit pulse with her heartbeat and arousal drip down to the bed. Can’t he see how ready I am for him? Stop fucking teasing! She arched her hips and gave him a raised eyebrow and was about to tell him to hurry up when his strong hand held her hips down, her head falling back when he pushed against her and slipped inside.

“Yes!” Scully moaned loudly.

Mulder’s bottom lip was tight between his teeth as he continued to slide inside with little resistance with how aroused she was and every inch he moved inside her felt incredible. They watched their bodies coming together until he was flush against her and her head thumped back against the pillow. Fuck, yes! That’s what I’m talking about. He adjusted his position and she wrapped her legs around the back of his knees to hold him close against her. Their lips met in a deep kiss as she took her time to adjust to him, her inner muscles fluttering against him with a hum of approval. His hips flexed when her muscles relaxed and she gave him a squeeze with her legs to encourage him to move.

He moved and she had to break the kiss in order to take a sharp breath as she dug her nails into his skin, Mulder’s head falling forward and his hot breath panted against her skin as he struggled to maintain a slow, gentle pace. She admired the way he cared for her but she was already so desperate, she needed to feel him and feel how much he wanted her. Scully’s fingers moved down to rest on his ass, gripping his cheeks firmly, her hands moving in time with his hips.

“Don’t hold back,” Scully emphasised her words with a tight grip of his cock with her inner muscles. “Show me how much you want me.”

Mulder grunted against her before he moved his hips more eagerly as he exposed her neck and wasted no time in kissing and sucking the soft skin behind her ear. Cheeky. She was sure it would leave a mark but she was too far gone to care. All she needed was for him to keep going, his mouth was right on her ear and the way his hot breath tickled her made her back arch.

“I want you so much,” Mulder’s hips continued to thrust, the slapping of their skin and panting breaths, the only sounds in the room. “I’ll always want you.”

Her vision became slightly blurred as she captured his lips and urged him on faster, his heartfelt sentiment sparking something inside her that made her want to give all she had to him. They were never good with words but their bodies seemed to speak for them as years of sexual attraction and emotional connection finally came to a peak. Her body was warm and so surrounded by him, making her feel protected and vulnerable at the same time. Her toes flexed when he changed the angle and he brushed against her g-spot, causing the sparks of her orgasm to build.

“Keep going. Please, don’t stop.” Scully hummed.

Mulder rested his forehead against hers and his hips pumped harder, Scully’s back arching into him. Sliding one hand between them to her clit, Mulder looked down and moaned his approval before he kissed her again, whispering against her lips. “And don’t you stop doing that.”

Scully wasn’t planning on it, especially not with how quickly she could feel her orgasm building, and not with how he managed to brush her hair off the sweaty skin of her cheeks so tenderly while he fucked her into oblivion. Her legs fell from around him and parted wider, causing him to get a deeper angle which was about all her body could take. Her eyes closed and she dug tight into his ass, her inner muscles clenching tight in preparation for the orgasm that had started to blossom in her toes, ready to shoot through her whole body at a second's notice.

“Look at me, Scully.” Mulder begged.

Scully’s eyes opened, desperation on her face as her fingers rolled against her swollen clit, her legs raising off the bed to achieve the right angle. She was so close she could almost taste it.

“I can’t hold on anymore!” Scully all but sobbed in pleasure, her nails deep into his ass with a force that caused him to hiss and rock against her, frantically desperate to push her over that edge.

“Come for me. Let me feel you.” Mulder coaxed, lips right next to her ear.

“I’m coming!” The whine from Scully’s throat was primal and raw. There, fuck, right there, oh god! Her eyes slammed shut and her legs shook when she felt her orgasm rip through her body, lights exploding behind her eyes.

Scully panted as her orgasm crashed over her, her entrance contracting around him in rapid succession, the white heat of her orgasm washing over her in blissful waves. Mulder groaned and slowed his hips down in an attempt to draw out her pleasure in replacement of his own obvious desperation to achieve release.

“Jesus, Scully!” Mulder grunted.

Scully’s body continued to shake beneath him as she rode out her orgasm, her whole body alive and sparking just for him. When the pleasure began to ease, her body relaxed and her legs fell open onto the bed, her chest heaving in an attempt to get her breath back as she opened her eyes to watch Mulder brush her hair away, a smile on his face.

“You are so beautiful.” Mulder confessed and it made Scully break out in a warm smile, her face relaxed in pure bliss. His words only made her body feel warmer, her heart swelling in her chest.

She got lost in his eyes as he kissed her, the kiss soft before desire kicked in and he groaned against her lips, rolling onto his side, and although Scully was momentarily confused, she smiled and allowed him to pull her with him as she rested her leg high on his waist. One of his hands held her thigh against him and the other slipped between her and the bed to pull her closer to him as he started to thrust again. This new angle was different and allowed deeper penetration which caused her head to fall forward into the crook of his neck as his hips worked harder against her, his fingers digging deeper into the supple flesh of her thigh.

She felt so enveloped by how his scent and sweat covered her skin, his large frame cradling her close in an entanglement of limbs. It was an intoxicating feeling and she could already feel herself becoming addicted to it. Burying her nose into his shoulder she nibbled on his exposed skin, tasting the saltiness of him on her tongue and she could sense he was close with how his hips lost their rhythm and became erratic. Scully suspected he was trying desperately to hold on and she had to admit that she didn’t want it to end either, but she wanted him to feel the pleasure he had given her moments before. She wanted to see him completely and utterly vulnerable for her.

“It’s okay, let go,” Scully whispered as she kissed his lips, pulling back only enough to speak again. “Come for me, Mulder.”

He nodded with a whine and it quickly became her new favourite sound. Mulder gripped her thigh tighter and she knew there would be marks there in the morning but it felt too good to care. Mulder’s hips faltered for a moment when he rolled them back into their original position, Scully’s leg’s spread wide and open for him as he lifted his head, picking up his pace with closed eyes and parted lips, panting as his hips started to shake. Wow, you look absolutely gorgeous like this, Mulder. So beautiful.

Mulder’s hand quickly let go of her thigh and she let it fall to the bed as he pushed himself up and pulled out of her. Scully grunted in disapproval with the emptiness left, clenching around nothing and missing his fullness until her brain clicked onto what he was doing a few moments later. If she hadn’t already been completely soaked she would have been now. Mulder held himself up on his knees and elbows with his cock resting close to her, his fist frantically pumping, Scully biting her lip as she reached down, resting one hand on his pubis, so close that his fingers brushed against her wrist with every stroke.

His eyes were closed and she took the time to look down and watch his swollen cock slide effortlessly in his fist with the mixture of their arousal. How she so desperately wanted to touch him and feel him release into her hand, but she didn’t want to ruin his pleasure so she just dug her nails slightly into his skin in compromise and that seemed to be enough of a stimulation as his hips bucked and his eyes snapped open. Scully’s stomach muscles rippled as the tip of his cock brushed against her skin and poked into her belly button on occasion, the slight tug at her piercing sending fresh jolts of arousal straight to her core.

“S-Scully…” Mulder stuttered as he looked down between their bodies. “So close.”

“Yes.“ Scully purred in return, her eyes fixated on him as he brought himself over the edge.

Groaning loudly, Mulder let his orgasm wash over him as he held his cock against her, spurting thick ropes of cum that coated her stomach. Scully arched up as the hot liquid hit her skin, her eyes focused on him in the throes of his orgasm. His hand continued to stroke himself as he whined, the head of his cock bumping into her belly button as he gently thrust against her, cum still dripping out of him. Oh wow . It was one of the hottest things Scully had seen and she bit her lip, her fingers digging into his skin as he slid against her stomach, coating her even more with his desire. He moaned as Scully gripped his hair and pulled him down to kiss him again.

He was almost breathless and after the kiss she let him fall down onto her, the mess between them forgotten as she wrapped her arms and legs around him in a warm embrace. She wasn’t normally one to enjoy the heavy weight of a man on top of her, but with Mulder it just felt so comforting. A hum of approval rumbled in her throat as he nuzzled into her and she closed her eyes, just taking in his warmth and enjoying the post-coital bliss. It wasn’t until Scully became aware of the stickiness between them that she started to pull away and he got back onto his knees, a blush on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry about that, Scully,” Mulder smirked as he ran his hands up her thighs and to her bent knees. “You took away my brain function there for a second.”

Scully smiled and shook her head. “Don’t apologise, I liked feeling you on top of me. It felt...” She paused as if trying to find the right word as she got to her elbows. “Comforting.”

They looked at each other before she looked down at her glistening stomach. It made her clit throb knowing that she was covered in him and nothing but him. Mulder followed her eye line as Scully reached down to collect the liquid in her belly button before his eyes grew wide.

“Oh, shit! Your piercing!” Mulder spluttered with panic in his eyes. “I didn’t mean…Is it going to get infected? I didn’t think! I’m so sorry.”

Scully let him rush out his panic before she giggled, her head falling back as she struggled for breath. Opening her eyes, Scully immediately felt guilty when his face still showed nothing but worry. She smiled before she carefully sat up and brushed his jaw with her thumb.

“No, no, please don’t worry. It’s okay, honestly,” Scully traced his frowned eyebrow. “It won’t get infected. It’s been healed for years, it’s okay.” Scully watched him nod and sigh with relief.

“Was that okay?” He asked.

She guessed he wasn’t just talking about the way his desire was cooling on her stomach but about what they had just done. It was definitely a huge step in their relationship and one she didn’t think would have happened like this - well, if she was honest she hadn’t really been sure if it would have happened at all, even though there had always been a part of her that wanted him. Scully got up onto her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck, sucking his cum off her finger, Mulder licking his lips in approval.

“It was more than okay,” Scully confided as she looked into his eyes and tried to swallow down the lump of emotion that dwelled into her throat at the look of love in his eyes. Oh god, please don’t look at me like that, my heart can’t take it. But she smiled and bit her lip. “A lot more than okay.”

Mulder nodded in relief before he kissed her again, Scully moaning into his lips as she pulled away. “Come on, we should go get cleaned up. I don’t want to ruin the sheets.”

Mulder smirked as Scully struggled to move on wobbly legs. “You okay there, Scully?”

Scully playfully smacked his arm, taking the hand he offered to help her off the bed. “Shut up, Mulder.” Her tone was light as she intertwined their fingers and pulled him towards the bathroom, Mulder following behind her and never letting go of her hand.

---♡---

The shower was just what Scully needed. They washed together, Mulder made sure she washed her belly button thoroughly, and she smiled when he washed her hair before they melded together under the spray of the water. It was soft and gentle, even when Mulder took her again against the cool tiles of the shower. Their orgasms came quickly and even though they weren’t as strong as the ones before, they were just as pleasurable. Once they finished, he lowered her to the floor and they washed again, Scully cleaning their mixed arousal off her inner thighs. They dried together, smiling, before they made their way back into the room. Mulder got under the covers of the bed and watched as Scully gathered their clothes and put them onto the coffee table next to their forgotten paperwork, which they could finish over the weekend. Scully looked over at him as he lay there with the empty side of the bed’s covers pushed back in invitation.

There was a part of her deep inside that went on high alert and told her she needed to run, to get out of this situation and that the feelings of love and adoration she felt for him were too much, as they started bubbling up in her chest. They were too intense to process with her brain pumping endorphins around her body and she knew she couldn’t trust her judgement right now. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind to make a decision when her body called for her to go to him and leave the consequences to be dealt with tomorrow. Oh, how easily she could succumb to them. It was frightening, really. She stood there for a moment in the middle of the room, her towel loosely wrapped around her body, her heart pounding in her chest. Scully felt her eyes drawn to him, his gaze soft as he sat up against the headboard.

“You don’t have to stay, Scully.” Oh, how well you can read me, you always have been so good at it. Damn you. His voice was soft and she felt a sting to her heart when she heard a trace of sadness there. “I understand if you want to go. It’s okay.”

What are you doing? Stop with this shit! This is Mulder. This is the Mulder who you just slept with. This is the Mulder who looks at you like he truly loves you. Just go to him! Her heart screamed at her, but her head told her she needed time to process and she shouldn’t jump into something just because her body wanted it. She couldn’t fuck this up. Not with Mulder, he meant far too much to her. Scully swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded before collecting her clothes and leaving the room, not looking back to him because she knew it would be too hard to leave if she did. Scully rested her back against the door after it shut and looked into her room; it was so dark and empty, the light of his room peaked from under the door and she already missed the warmth.

Walking over to sit down on the bed, Scully let her arms hug around her body in an attempt at self comfort. She so desperately wanted to allow herself the happiness of being wrapped in him, but she didn’t want to possibly ruin what they had; because what they had was just too fucking important to her. It was probably the most important thing to her. Sex could just be sex. But feelings would make things harder, they always did.

Scully ran her hands over her face and brushed her wet hair back as she let her towel pool in her lap. But you want to go back there, stop denying yourself that. Things felt right, didn’t they? It had actually been amazing how naturally they had come together, as though they’d been doing it for years, and she supposed that parts of them had. He hadn’t given her any reason to doubt how much he cared for her and she felt herself wondering if maybe she should ignore her head for once. In all the years what has it gotten me? An empty bed and an even emptier heart . Biting her bottom lip, Scully gave a little strangled whimper when she tasted him still on her lips.

There was a deep ache that had settled between her legs and a bruised feeling on her thigh and all she felt was him, the thought only causing her heart to ache too. She wanted him and she wanted to let herself have that happiness she craved. Hell, even if it only lasts a little, it will be better than not having it all, right? They could work things out later, she just wanted to let herself have tonight. If that was all God was going to give her, she would make it count.

She pulled her towel back around her body and got to her feet, making her way towards the door, her hand lingering on the door knob before she decided to knock. It only took one tap of her knuckles against the wood before she heard him on the other side. “You don’t have to knock, Scully.”

Opening the door, she saw Mulder sitting up in bed, the covers still open in invitation for her. He gave her a questioning look, and just him so close to her again made her heart beat faster. This is where she wanted, no, needed to be. In the warmth and the light, not in the cold darkness alone. Not anymore . Scully gave him a reassuring smile and she could have sworn she had never seen him smile so big before. He lay back, his eyes raking over her body, and when she dropped the towel to reveal her bare skin to him once again, he moaned in approval. His eyes lingered on her breasts before they moved over her piercing, the patch of auburn curls between her legs, then travelled up to her eyes.

“You’re killing me over here, Scully,” Mulder chuckled and Scully smirked, walking towards him with a confident sway to her hips. “You need to give a guy some warning before you do that. So I can at least prepare myself.”

Scully giggled as she reached the bed, only hesitating for a split second before she slipped under the covers and looked up at the ceiling. Feeling him shift, she rolled onto her side with her back to him, unsure of how much he was willing to give her after she had pulled away once again. It didn’t take more than a few seconds before she felt his arms linger around her, hesitant to touch. Scully turned and looked into his eyes, his warmth so inviting as she shuffled towards him before raising her finger in warning, his eyebrow cocked in amusement at her playful attitude.

“If you steal my half of the blankets, I’ll kill you.” Her lips curved in amusement as he nodded and mock-pouted.

Moving as close to him as she could, she wrapped her arms around him. Mulder finally rested his arms around to hold her in a close embrace. Scully hadn’t even been aware that she’d been holding her breath, but it came out in a content sigh when he cradled her head to him and kissed the crown of her head deeply. This feels so right. He’s so soft. Legs slipped between his and there was something so intimate about how their hips connected, his cock soft and rested against her centre, curls rubbing against curls. Closing her eyes, she couldn’t help how her lips curled up when the wiry hair of his chest tickled her breasts, her body relaxing into the gentle way his fingers moved up and down her back.

“I hope your muscles are nice and relaxed now.” Scully smirked as her arms tightened around him and she kissed the skin of his shoulder.

“Very relaxed. Never felt more relaxed than right now,” Mulder paused and pulled her tighter to him, his voice a whisper. “And I’m not talking about the massage. Just being with you is so...” He paused again. “Comforting.”

As he relayed her earlier sentiment, Scully’s heart leapt. I’ve never felt so warm.

[caught-in-the-filter]

Season 2 Captain Swan for your smut prompts? 😏 Anything you want. S2 Hook was just PEAK hotness.🥵

Distraction

Summary: Emma needs a distraction when she finds herself having to be a passenger aboard the Jolly Roger on its way to Neverland, and she wants Hook to provide her with one.

Rated: E; Words: 1901; AO3

A/N: This has S2 Hook’s attitude but dips into an S3 setting. It has a little rope, a bit of talk (surprise surprise lol), and a little angst at the very end. I hope you enjoy. 😉😘

Thank you for the prompt, and to @kmomof4 for looking over it for me, and to everyone on the CSMM Discord for all your support. ❤️

——

Emma had to admit that she enjoyed seeing Hook tied to that tree in the Enchanted Forest, the way he seemed to encourage her blade at his throat, and how quickly they were able to break him. Furthermore, she liked that he smirked while he was handcuffed in the hospital, innuendo dripping from his lips, the way he’d dismissed his escape with the excuse of “pirate” when he managed to free himself from them, and here she thought it was the pirate in him who liked to be tied up in bed. Albeit in the good way, and perhaps that particular day wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.

So it wasn’t exactly a shock, when she had no choice but to sail aboard his ship, that she found herself in his quarters, pinning him to the mattress with her legs spread over his chest, hurriedly tying his wrists to the eave above his head.

Well, it wasn’t a shock to Emma, anyway. Hook, however, was quite surprised when she had arrived at his door, to say the least, and admittedly quite turned on, too.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Swan?” he asked, his eyebrow raised high on his forehead in curiosity and intrigue, making no effort to stop her as she gripped his lapels and cut him off with a steamy kiss, no hesitation before she dipped her tongue between his lips and coaxed his to reciprocate. Emma kicked the door closed behind her and backed him to his mattress with her mouth on his all the while. Her hands moved up to his neck as they hungrily consumed each other’s desire, her thumbs teasing his earlobes as her fingers raked through his hair, until she slid them down to his chest and shoved him back onto the bed.

“I need a distraction,” she answered matter of factly, “and I want you to give me one.”

“Gladly, love.” Hook wrapped his arms around Emma’s waist and tried to bring her down with him as he reclined, but she pushed them away from herself in favor of jumping onto his lap and locking her ankles behind his back. Her eagerness amused him as she pulled him into another kiss by fistfuls of his hair, rocking her body against the solid bulge she knew she’d find beneath his trousers.

When she finally broke away, he mused, “Normally, I’d make the demands here, but you seem in want of a bit of control, and I’d be all too happy to give it to you. And we are on a ship, after all.” Subtle confusion crossed Emma’s expression, so Hook continued, “There’s plenty of rope, if you’d be so inclined as to use it.” He popped the “t” in a sultry tone, and oh yes, Emma was so inclined.

Hook nodded toward the corner where a few pieces lay, and Emma stood to retrieve one. He stripped off his duster, swung his legs up onto the mattress, and casually lifted his arms above his head, waiting in a position of playful invitation as she picked a rope and joined him, her knees on either side of his torso.

As Emma hurriedly restrained him, Hook arched his back and chuckled as she gasped when his chest hit the place where she ached for him, merely a teasing tap through the fabric of her jeans and yet enough to spur her on. She unbuttoned his vest and shirt, pushed them open, and scraped her nails down the flesh she’d just exposed before standing again to remove her own clothes.

“Well, this is certainly a magnificent view,” he said and stretched out on the bed as he watched her quickly undress. “You’re absolutely stunning, Swan. I’d like to show you just how much I admire you,” he glanced down at himself and back to her, “if you’d be so kind.”

Emma unbuckled his belt and tugged his trousers down his legs, removing them with his boots. His erection proudly greeted her, and she couldn’t help but give it a squeeze.

“Bloody hell,” he gritted, and she smiled as she continued to pump him, enjoying the feel of his skin in her hand, and relishing the sounds she coaxed from him by doing so. “Gods, Emma!” he cried when she took the tip between her lips and swirled her tongue over it. “Naughty minx, you’ll be my undoing.”

“You’re a whole lot of talk, pirate.” Emma returned to her place straddling his chest, facing away from him this time, and continued to tease his cock as she challenged, “Why don’t you put that mouth of yours to better use?” She leaned forward as she took him into her mouth again, and he moaned with hot breath over her glistening core which taunted him just above his face as she arched her back and her knees dug into the mattress.

“Can you handle it, love?” Hook questioned, giving her no time to answer before he dipped his tongue between her folds. Emma melted at the contact, swaying backward to encourage more of it. Her mouth was too full to respond to his question, but her honest answer just from that one swipe would’ve been a solid no, and she certainly didn’t want him to stop either.

“Gods, you’ve been holding out on me, Swan,” he sighed as he licked at her core, his breath hot over her skin which already burned with desire. “Depriving me of your taste for all this time was most unkind.” His tongue flicked forward to tease her clit, darting back and forth between making her moan as he drank in her arousal and making her writhe as he set her nerves ablaze. The closer she grew to her release, the more she moved, and the trickier it became for him to keep up with her.

Soon his hand splayed against the front of her leg to steady her, and he pulled her closer, tonguing deeper, his nose brushing against another sensitive spot which caught her off guard for a moment before she continued to suck him. As he inched his fingers closer to the apex of her thighs, he brought the curve of his hook to her clit and grinned mischievously against her skin when she moaned as he continued to work her with his mouth.

“W-wait—” she said, taking him in hand while she talked, her brow furrowing in realization as the base of his palm pressed against her flesh just above where he had teased. “How did you—ohh fuck—” Her balance faltered and she dropped her forehead to his hip as his thumb toyed with her clit in time with the cool metal, rolling and pinching the swollen nub between the two.

“Pirate, love,” he reminded her.

Cheeky bastard.

She struggled to focus on stroking him as he introduced his fingers to where his tongue had been, but he seemed to find as much pleasure in her distracted enjoyment as he did under her touch.

“For the record,” she had to make a quip, however breathless, to keep from falling apart right then from his unrelenting hook and bold hand, “I do prefer this attachment.”

“Mmm,” he smirked. “I thought you might.” He ran the wet curve over the crease of her thigh before trailing the sharp tip along her side and over her taut skin.

“I could teach you so much about tying knots, if you’d like,” Hook offered as he gently fucked her with his hand, the curve of his hook now supporting her beneath her stomach. “Perhaps you’d enjoy swapping positions next time. Perhaps you’d like to be the one on your back, completely at my mercy.” He absentmindedly increased the pace of his fingers as he got lost in his fantasy. “Gods, I’d love to hear you beg for it. The things I would do to you if you’d let me have my way with you.”

“Actually, I quite like keeping the Captain in his place, beneath me,” she teased, matching his rhythm with her fist around his cock, until it became almost too much for them both. Emma silenced her cries by filling her mouth with him once more.

“Fuck, Emma,” he gritted, “I wonder how amazing you’ll feel, when just your mouth and hand have me so close to falling apart.”

“Then allow me to enlighten you,” she mused and shifted forward, bringing her feet out from under herself and planting them on the bed as she held his cock in place and slowly sank down on him until she sheathed him completely, drawing the most explicit sounds from him as they rumbled up from deep in his gut and sputtered out from between his lips. Her hands reached behind her for support, and she hummed as his chest hair tickled her palms. Soon Emma’s moans echoed Hook’s as they moved together, quickly falling into the perfect rhythm as they met and retreated and met again with harmonious rolls, and the pirate resurfaced with one of his signature innuendos.

“Ah, I told you you’d feel it, Swan.”

She wanted to see that smug face of his, needed to see what it became when she finally managed to wipe it away.

Hook grunted in protest when she lifted herself off him, only to smile with wide, hungry eyes when she turned and sat on him again, taking in every inch of her as she bounced atop him.

“There’s a good girl,” he praised as his hook steadied her at her side and his hand made its way to her breast. “Take what you need, love.”

Emma scratched her nails down his chest before digging them into his scalp as she tugged at his hair and pulled him into another kiss, their tastes mingling as her tongue swept across his bottom lip and his surged forward in search of more. Doing so drowned out his moans, and she realized she wanted to hear them. Remembering his penchant for threats, particularly receiving them, Emma parted their lips and planted her hands on his neck gently but firmly.

“Fuck,” he choked out, “yes, Emma. That’s it.”

She rode him with abandon, frantically pivoting her hips as he brought his hook back to her clit, and she lost herself in the euphoria of the stretch and slide of his cock. Her grip on his throat tightened and she threw her head back with a cry as she spasmed above him, her legs squeezing his sides as every muscle tensed and relaxed.

Hook followed soon after, finding his own release in the lightheaded bliss she’d given him. The look on his face as his jaw dropped speechlessly, allowing only a primal groan to escape as he spilled himself inside her, was enough to send another wave of satisfaction coursing through her as their hips bucked together until they were spent at last and stilled with heaving breaths.

Emma collapsed on top of him, laying on his chest as their combined releases dripped down his cock.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his skin as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, an overwhelmed tear escaping her eye as he softly held her in his embrace.

“Anytime, love,” Hook said, pressing tender kisses into her hair. After a beat, he reassured her as he caressed her back with his fingertips, “We’ll find him, Emma. I promise.”

I promise.

——

Tag list ❤️: @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @qualitycoffeethings @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @xsajx @wefoundloveunderthelight @zaharadessert

[annhellsing]

Delicate Monsters.

notes: so i haven’t seen season three and i don’t plan to, but have some enthusiastically consensual sex with d/s elements because i stand by my firm belief that alucard is a sub!! rating: explicit as fuuuuuuck!!! pairing: alucard / reader, referred to from this point as ‘adrian’ word count: 3,051

You are the breath in his lungs, you must be. Adrian smells the perfume you dab behind your ears, even in his sleep. Half-awake, coaxed from soft dreams, he reaches out across the bed. You’re still there, lying next to him and similarly caught in-between states. Your mouth opens a fraction, enough to let out a soft noise of contentment before you sluggishly turn over.

“Another bad dream, love of mine?” you mumble, your words so strung together as to become one. Adrian shakes his head very slowly, opening his eyes just a crack. But you haven’t done the same, so he vocalizes his answer,

“No, no,” he sighs, if only as an excuse to breathe in again. “Nothing is wrong.”

It isn’t your blood that haunts him, compels him to act as a real man might. It’s everything else, the warmth of your skin and the soap in your hair. You made scones earlier, he can still smell butter and sugar on your fingers when you lift your hand.

“Give me the truth, my love,” you say, and this time your eyes do open. You look at him, only a foot away with so much fondness in your eyes. You could fit more affection, he is certain, in your pupil that he could in every inch of his chest. Such is the beauty of humanity.

Your fingers find his hair, long and mussed from turning in his sleep. You pet it, brushing it back from his face. You’re so alive, he can feel blood rushing from your wrist to warm his cheek. Adrian can’t help it, he leans into the touch and feels no shame about it.

“I’ve told you the truth,” he assures you, knowing you only press out of a desire to protect him. Even though you know you can’t, his night-time burdens are his own to bear. Still, you’re there when he wakes up. “I had a good dream, for once.”

“And what was it about?” you smile, nudging closer towards him. Your hand slips around the back of his neck, pulling him gently in your direction. He wants to do nothing more than follow.

“You, of course,” he replies, “what else do I have that’s good?”

“Sypha and Trevor,” you say, your grin softened by lingering exhaustion. He’s sure you’d like to go back to sleep, but you seem more intent on this conversation. Adrian huffs.

“Sypha, perhaps,” he says, a slight edge to his voice that betrays how he teases. You tut, your voice still barely above a whisper.

“You are rich in friends, dear heart,” you say, “no matter how much you try to deny it.”

“I am,” he finally relents, “but now I am merely distracting you.”

His arms around your waist loosen, having proved himself right. You haven’t left, not yet. And while he fully expects you to turn again and shut your eyes, they stay open.

“You’re the one who woke me,” you sigh, but your smile remains unchanged, “so you must do as I say, not the other way around.”

“I would do as you say even if you had woken me,” he tells you. A heat rises in your cheeks, you nod.

“You’re so lovely,” you mumble. Your hand on his neck tugs him closer, still. Close enough to kiss.

Adrian yields, pressing his mouth to yours and allowing himself to fall against you. It is the best feeling, your kiss. Nothing compares to your slight hesitancy before teeth begin to worry on his lower lip. Your tongue follows soon after, brushing gently where you bit. With no resistance, he lets you in.

Your tongue greets his, the gesture more passionate than midnight affairs usually afford. It appears you’ve woken up more than you let on, but still your hands at his neck and in his hair are careful not to grip too tightly. Your poor love, he’s been hurt too much already.

“Do you want it?” you ask, breaking the kiss for much-needed air. For him, breathing is optional, but he lets his lungs overwork themselves. He’s nearly overwhelmed by how good you smell, giggling at him in the soft moonlight. It occurs to him that you expect an answer.

“Yes,” he replies.

“Do you want to do what I tell you?” you continue. He nods, shaking the fog from his head. Adrian feels warmer, now. You are hot to the touch.

“Yes,” he sighs, “a thousand times, yes.”

“Then lie back,” your orders are always easy to follow. He never tires of your impishly commanding voice, the sweetness and love that it always holds. He does as you say, happily turning over on his back and kicking the blankets down from his waist.

You sit up, a little slower than you might if the sun were out. But you crawl towards him over the comforter and sheets with a mock-predatory stance. The look in your eyes is one of clarified lust, you're not the least bit upset to be awake. He swallows hard, caught in your stare.

There is a throbbing under his shift. He stiffens and shivers as you settle next to him on your knees. You put a hand beside his head, resting all of your weight on it as you lift a knee to straddle him. Adrian inhales pointlessly, the smell of your perfume stronger now. The air around you is charged, but not electric. Despite the fact that you are unwilling to slink back off to sleep, there is no urgency in how you conduct yourself.

You sit back on his thighs, admiring the expanse of his still-covered chest and the elegant column of his neck. His hair is fanned out across the pillows, framing his head like a halo.

“Beautiful,” you sigh, “just gorgeous. And so well-behaved, too. You’re so very good.”

You reach out again, taking his face in your hands and claiming another kiss. Adrrian feels your chest flush against his, the soft swell of your breasts and the hummingbird heart that beats underneath it. You’re as excited as he, even if there are no outward signs.

His, on the other hand, make themselves clear. You can feel him under your belly, half-hard and in need of attention. It makes you giggle again, breaking the silence occupied only by heavy breathing and thudding hearts.

“My goodness,” he says when your kiss is once again distracted, “I love you.”

“I feel the same,” you return. And then, to dispel any doubt, you add, “I love you, more.”

“Doubtful,” he mutters, “what have you done to me?”

“Well, I haven’t made you soft,” you giggle again. The sound is sweet and rounded. You lean back and give a toss of your hair. He can pinpoint what it smells like, now. Lavender and vanilla. Perhaps a hint of lemon. But it doesn’t matter, it only smells like you.

His laugh sounds reedy and low, like a half-growl. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up with anticipation.

“No,” he agrees, “you haven’t done that.”

Admitting love so freely, however, that is new. Or perhaps he’s just had no one to offer it before. It’s as powerful a feeling as it is vulnerable, offering one’s heart up at another’s altar. 

“I think I’ll take care of that,” you muse, “lie still. You can touch me, but not yourself. Understood?”

“I do,” he agrees. Obeying you is its own euphoria, but he reaches out immediately once given permission. He grips your waist, your hips, the tops of your thighs.

“Very good,” you say. You do not miss the second shudder that grips him, despite his warmth. Nor the insistent throb under your belly.

You rise up fully, straightening your back. With slow hands, you push up the hem of his shift and find the proof of his around. You give a smile, sweet and in love with the sight. You take him in hand with no preamble, giving a lazy pump to encourage him before letting go.

“More,” he exhales, “more, please.”

“I want to undress you, first,” you say. “Can you wait that long?”

“I suppose I’ll have to. Here--” he cuts himself off, sitting up to help you tug his shift over his head. You brace your arm behind you to keep your balance, and tug on his sleeves to pull the fabric from his wrists. 

He lies back down right away, never one to forget a command. Adrian’s given a kiss for good measure, his head swims at the press of your mouth against his.

“Are you sure you want this?” you whisper, checking yet again for any signs of guilt-ridden compliance on his face. There are none to be found.

“I do,” he repeats. He does not voice his utter shock that you want to do this with him. Such expressions only upset you. 

“Good,” you say, “and you know that--”

“I can change my mind, yes,” he says. The first traces of impatience make themselves known in his voice, making you smile again. God, it’s a beautiful sight.

“Excuse me,” you feign apology, “clearly I am neglecting you.”

“Indeed,” he teases. But somewhere deep in his mind, Adrian rebels against that agreement. You’ve taken good care of him.

“But how can such a body go unadmired?” you ask, lavish in your praise in the hopes of flustering him. You know what he wants, even languid in the middle of the night and insisting that there is no time but time to waste. So you pause a moment.

You explore him, your fingers trailing up his lean chest. His stomach dips and bulges, the muscles underneath fluttering like butterflies with every air-light touch. You can undo him so easily.

“Oh, Adrian,” you mumble when you come to the edge of the scar. Your index finger brushes the edge, where red flesh meets smooth skin. “May I kiss you here?”

“Gently,” he agrees on that condition. You not and dip your head, barely ghosting your lips over that dark and physical memory.

“I love you,” you remind him.

“I know, I love you,” he replies.

“You’re wonderful,” you say, your tone shifting just slightly as the mood edges away from heavy and serious. “I’ve been doing nothing but leading you on and you’re barely cross with me. What an improvement.”

“My thanks,” he laughs, you’re wrapped up in that reedy sound again.

“I think I’m ready,” you say.

You take his cock in hand again, its interest hasn’t dulled in the slightest. Adrian grunts low in his throat, his hips bucking minutely. His hands are still at your hips, his fingers squeezing your soft skin and urging you forward.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut, shaking your head. Adrian squeezes more insistently, but does not force you to move past your pace. You note his desire and press a kiss to the centre of his collarbones.

All the while, your hand works over him. Until it pauses, releases him and tucks itself between your legs.

“Let me--” he starts. He looks at your face, finding his favourite brand of passion in your eyes. “I am allowed to touch you, after all.”

“Yes, you are,” you say. But you do not move to grant any ease of entry. 

“Allow me to occupy myself,” he replies, “I would like the opportunity to return your careful attention.”

“As you wish,” you sigh, sitting up on your knees and withdrawing your own hand.

Adrian pushes his fingers between your thighs, eager to please. You push your legs apart and he wastes no time. He cups your sex, feeling it under his palm. You’re hot, wet, as needy as he but far better at hiding it. He drags a finger up your hairline fracture, the pad of his middle finger catching on your clit.

You moan, the sound of you is almost as addling as the smell. Your desire is another perfume, it makes it difficult to concentrate enough to please. But you have been just as good for him, he admits, and you deserve the best that he can offer.

“Do you like this?” he asks as his finger draws small circles. You nod, catching a moan between your teeth and trapping it. You’re never as loud as he, you keep your noises locked up tight.

That’s all right, he thinks. There is enough time to undo you, too.

His finger grazes you, moving lower until it’s poised over your entrance. Adrian dips it inside you, careful not to demand anything of your body too quickly. You give a sound like a weight has been lifted and part your thighs a little more. You lower your hips, finding a comfortable position so that he can satisfy.

“It’s good,” you say, “you’re good at this.”

His finger curls, sinking into you. He works it in and out almost lazily, the task of caring for your clit delegated to his thumb. It makes your legs shake with almost no effort on his part, Adrian’s delighted.

He presses his index finger into you shortly after, delighting in your audible gasp. You smile at him, brushing his hair from his eyes yet again. You press a kiss to his forehead, then to the bridge of his nose.

Your eyes shut tight when he curls his fingers just right, seeking out a spot inside you that will pull you from silence. Its discovery is heralded with a loud moan of his name.

“All right,” you say, “I’m ready for more.”

And though he could easily entertain you like this all night, Adrian allows you to leave his hand and sit back up. He puts his fingers to his tongue, cleaning them as you stare with a sheepish smile on your face.

“Out to murder me,” you huff. He gives a small shrug. No use in denying it. 

His hand returns to your hip as you pick his cock up from his belly. It’s pale as his skin, but flushed red and a pretty pink near the head. It’s as beautiful as the rest of him, you note. You line him up and settle on his length with a shaky sigh, wasting no more time now.

“Oh, my love,” you say. He grips you tighter and watches your shifting expression. From excitement to relief as you take him in, Adrian is awestruck by how beautiful you look. 

“Yes?” he asks, barely able to form a single-syllable word. Everything feels pleasantly hazy, the night embraces the two of you as easily as you hold him. 

“Fuck me,” you say, “until I finish.”

You’re satisfied with his work, clearly. Adrian smiles, showing sharp fangs before his hips begin to move against yours. Up and down, his thrusts shallow, he does his best to please you a second time.

It’s perfect, your hair tickles his face with your forward lean. And other than a few shifts on your part to meet his upward lunges, he’s left to his own devices to do right by you. You rest your hands on either side of his head, leaning in for kiss after perfect kiss.

He breathes out of habit, because you do it. Your natural behaviour is naturally emulated. He can feel your heart racing in your chest, Adrian draws a hand up from your hip and presses his palm to the valley between your breasts so that he can feel how it races. 

Your eyes close, you’re lost in a good feeling. His hand at your breast is short-lived, quickly relocated where it was before you decided you wanted more. Adrian’s middle finger prods your clit again, making you straighten up and sigh his name yet again.

He thrusts with all the eagerness and desperation of someone needing to prove themself. But he knows that no such action is required of him, you trust him completely. It’s a comforting thought, to know that there is no possibility in which he could fail to give you what you want.

He is what you want, he remembers. And you already have all of him.

His shoulders tense, it’s difficult to remain lying down while trying to give you what you need. He could sit up and get a better angle, but that isn’t what you asked of him. Adrian has his orders, to fuck and make you come. He intends to do both. 

You are so warm around him, gripping like a vice even as you remain still. He pours his heart into the task, lifting his knees a little to find purchase on the bed. It helps, it gives him a new angle for him to sink into you.

And the new wave of pleasure that washes over you is quickly shown to him. You fall forward, your hands finding his hair and giving short tugs. You know how much he cares for that, he keens and bucks against you.

“Good,” you repeat, “just like that.”

His thrusts falter as exhaustion creeps up on him again. While Adrian is no stranger to physical exertions, he finds himself tiring very quickly. And still, he hasn’t completed his task. You note him slowing, but make no move to push him beyond his limits.

“Are you all right?” you ask. He gives a slower, more languid thrust and nods. “We have all night,” you remind him.

“I know,” he exhales.

“And all morning,” you say, “all afternoon, all night again.” You giggle, the sound is like music. Carefully, you trace the outline of his scar with your finger. “Take as long as you need.”

He hums, pausing a moment and bringing his hand to your cheek. You’re warm in the face, and he is too when you turn your head to kiss his palm. It’s the reassurance he needs.

A few, loving moments pass before he feels up to continuing. The meantime is spent exchanging kisses and fond looks. You put no pressure on him, even with your ability to order him as no one else could. Though you hold the power to make him want to do as is asked of him, that fact is never used as a weapon. 

You love him, he thinks. You really do.

And you kiss him every time he begins to miss the feeling of your soft lips against his.

[captainjimothycarter]

Peggy bumps into Ms. Fry while she and steve are grocery shopping (maybe Peggy's noticeably pregnant, and she's wearing her wedding ring on a chain around her neck because of swollen fingers, or something like that) and miss fry starts scolding her for her 'poor life choices,' seeing a baby bump and no ring, until steve comes back from grabbing something across the store and they set the record straight

Nonny, I love this so much. I’m gonna be honest, I forgot who Ms. Fry was and had to look her up and have never written her before so bear with me? This is so not gonna be what you want. I just...couldn’t stop writing.

Insert Steve works at the SSR

--

The day that her wedding ring became too small for her swollen fingers was a day Peggy didn’t like to remember. It was a simple gold wedding band with sapphire blue stones right dab in the middle. It was elegant, yet simple, and everything Peggy could’ve wanted. She didn’t care much for jewelry and didn’t care if Steve asked her to marry her with just a piece of twine or even nothing in his hand.

She would’ve said yes either way.

It was Steve who suggested they put it on a chain, so she could still have it near her while at work. It felt odd not having it on her hand, missing the weight of it, but she felt grateful for her fingers to be free while she poured over the stacks of files the SSR boys kept dropping off thanks to officially being taken off of field missions by no more than Phillips himself.

The man had come down from DC to discuss things with her, taking over as Chief of their simple office, and causing much ruckus and rifling through the workplace. Rumors of the SSR being disbanded started to take place, rumors Peggy ignored.

Agents like Thompson and Sousa got to see first hand how just Colonel Phillips and Agent Carter got along. Meaning there were many shouting matches between them, at one point Peggy had threatened to throw Phillips out of the office himself. The entire office had sat and watched their fight go down, making bets on when Carter was going to be sacked or not until Phillips broke out into a rare smile and laughed at her.

It was odd, to see such a chiseled and grave man from all he’s witnessed to laugh at her like that. And for Carter not to get angry and laugh right back.

There were many rumors on favoritism and Peggy didn’t bother to shoot them down. Phillips did favor her but not for what laid between her legs, for the fact she did her damn job, and two times as better as any seasoned agent. 

Of course, none of them would believe that.

“Go home,” Phillips sighed at her for an unkempt time that day. He stood in front of her desk, wafting a freshly brewed cup of coffee in her face.

Peggy scowled at him, her eyes narrowed. She knew she looked like crap. Morning sickness meant she’d spent a good portion of the daily debriefing in the toilet and had to be caught up by Rose. Her face was pale and sheen with sweat, her normally poised hair was done in a hasty bun on the nape of her neck to keep it out of the way.

And her clothes, something so simple and precious to her, that made the point of the matter that she was a woman and she wasn’t going to let any others treat her different. Due to being heavily pregnant with what the doctor assumed were multiples, she’d been forced to adjust many of her outfits. Ana had struggled to adapt so quickly too, but even then she couldn’t keep up.

Steve, her, and even Howard had suspicions on if this was multiples or because of the serum.

Point is, Peggy was still cursing Steve’s name with the infant hit the right spot on her bladder.

She’d been forced to wear a hastily put-together outfit that did nothing for her figure and the lack of either time or ability to keep up her appearance showed.

And what really showed as her face turned a shade of green from the coffee wafting in her face, was her annoyance at Phillips. He knew one of her triggering scents was coffee. It had been mostly banned from the bullpen.

He’d been trying to get her to go home all morning, each time she ignored him.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” she mused, leaning far back as her seat allowed. “No one else is here to do the paperwork with the 084 in Manhattan. Get that out of my face.”

She brushed his hand out of the way and Phillips smirked around the mug. “This?” He waved it under her nose and Peggy’s lips pursed to prevent herself from upchucking what little breakfast she could keep down. “It’s just coffee, Carter. Besides, Thompson’s on the way back, he can handle the paperwork. You’re too sick to be here.”

“With all due respect, sir, I feel perfectly fine.” The humph from him said otherwise. “I do. I can handle doing my job. Especially if Thompson is going to take over, I assume you don’t want these properly filled out, do you? Or legible.”

“Fine isn’t upchucking in the communal toilet loud enough that we can all hear it. You’re pregnant, Peggy. There’s more than just you to worry about.” He set the coffee on her desk and leaned over, not threatening her space. He knew how quick she could move, pregnant or not, and didn’t desire his own beverage in his face. “I already called Rogers - he’s on the way to come pick you up. As of today, you’re on maternity leave. We can converse over the phone the finer details of what that entails, plus your ideas later.”

Peggy’s heart sunk straight to her stomach. Maternity leave. She’d avoided it long as she could, despite how she needed the rest, wanted the rest. She didn’t need this used against her what so ever by the SSR boys when she came back. 

“My ideas can be discussed as normal after office hours.”

“For Christ Sake, Carter!” Phillips groaned and rolled his eyes. “I can see why you and Rogers make a good pair - you’re both too stubborn for your own good. We will discuss the installments later.”

The hard look in his eyes told Peggy she wasn’t winning this and part of her, a large part of her actually didn’t want to fight this either. Phillips had taken over for a reason - a big reason, long before Peggy had revealed she was pregnant. This had been planned for so long, between them, and taking the first few steps carefully would be crucial to them.

“Traitor,” she grumbled, seeing the entrance door opened and a familiar broad figure standing there, no doubt with a cup of ginger tea.

Steve knew her so well.

“Never been so glad to be called a traitor in my life. Rogers, get your wife, and take her home. Make sure she stays there. If you’re so back in this office without my permission before that little squirt is born, Carter, there will be hell to pay.”

With that being said, Peggy found herself being lead down the exit elevator, sipping on the tea. She avoided Steve’s smugged look.

“Told you so,” he mused, wrapping her in one of his larger coats as they braced the cold wind outside. The tea did nothing to warm her up, but plenty of her belly as he sat her in the passenger seat. She’d long have to give up the ability to drive with her belly.

“Say that again and you’ll be sleeping on the couch. I don’t need to hear it,” Peggy snapped, instantly regretting it at Steve’s pouting look. “I’m sorry, darling, I am just irritated.”

“I know you are.” His hand slid over hers and squeezed before he started the car. “Phillips is just worried, hence I was taken off of duty with the Commandos a while back. He wants me near you in case something happened. Least this way you can relax and slowly plan the aspects of SHIELD.”

Peggy made a noise in the back of the throat, agreeing with Steve. Her eyes falling to the snow and ice outside the window.

“We need to stop at the store and get groceries if we’re to be inside for so long.”

If Steve disagreed, he said nothing as he made a turn to head to the nearest store.

Insisting she could walk, Peggy brushed off Steve’s concerned hand and held her own to her belly when there were kicking and movement. 

She could feel Steve’s eyes on them as they walked the aisles, commenting on the price of peanut butter or bread. The smell of the fish Steve was looking at made her naughtius and this time, unavoidable urge to get sick, having her running to the bathroom. 

“I’m getting some more ginger,” Steve commented when Peggy emerged, using the end of his sleeve to clean some of the sweat from her face. “And licorice. Don’t make that face, it’s good for you.”

“It’s disgusting, is what it is, but I’ll take anything at this point,” she sighed, rubbing over her belly again. “You go do that and I’ll get the tea and sugar.”

At least watching Steve walk away left Peggy with a view that reminded her as to how she got pregnant in the first place.

The last she expected to find when she waddled down the aisle, Steve having taken the cart, was a familiar face. The last familiar face she wanted to see. Ms. Fry.

She hadn’t seen her since she’d told the old coon that she was leaving the Griffith and the woman had gone on some bizarre tantrum about Peggy ruining her life, hanging around men who would do nothing but bring her down, needed to settle down, and find a husband, to train herself to do this and that. And how she was going nowhere, the same with Angie…

It made Peggy want to roll her eyes and avoid the woman but she wanted the tea and to go home and put her damn feet up.

The second she was in the aisle, the woman spotted her. Eyes lit up and trained on her.

“What do we have here?” Her voice was downright sneering and Peggy didn’t miss it as she turned to look at her.

“Hello to you too, Ms. Fry. I’m surprised you remember me,” Peggy replied cooly. 

“I don’t forget the rift raft rulebreaking ones, darling. I always remember their faces.” The term darling was anything but endearing. “I see I was right.”

“About what?” When the woman just looked down at her hand on her belly and back up at Peggy with that grin, the brunette scoffed.

“Still unladylike as ever, I see. Well, which one was it?” When Peggy didn’t respond and just raised a brow, the woman scoffed. “Which one? Whose the unknown father of your child? Or do you just not know and slept around with far too many of those agents you work with?”

Before Peggy could respond, Ms. Fry seemed to be on that tantrum again, “You always did make the poor life choices. Always going out, past hours, or before hours. Always stealing food for the other residents who never bothered to even show up for mealtime. You were always running around, flirting and flaunting with men. A woman doesn’t do that! Now look at you, not even having the decency to marry one of the fellas that knocked you up. You’ve made some poor life choices here, dolly and they’re going to bite you in the can. And I suppose that while you’re here, buying the cheaper version of that tea, that you’ve lost your job too. No one is going to hire a pregnant lass and certainly not hire a single mother. Your best bet is to drop that kid off at the orphanage and to marry the first fella who makes eye contact with you. That poor kid…”

Peggy was seeing red, her chest aching. She didn’t even know when to start, where to start, with what to counter. To yell at this old hag to prove how wrong she was.

Now Peggy never considered herself a damsel in distress. She never needed to be saved, she could handle herself perfectly fine but just this once, she was glad to see Steve strutting down the aisle behind them. She knew that look, had seen it a hundred times during the war, and a hundred times after during his exports with the Commandos or running strategics for the SSR.

The set jawline, the determined look in his eyes, the fierce look that followed after. The way his shoulders were set back and his knuckles turning white around the cart, despite he’d never dare to hurt someone. Even if the thought just barely crossed his mind in a fit of blind anger that came when to defending his wife.

He said nothing to Ms. Fry, even nothing to Peggy. Dropping the cart so it hit the floor, the contents jostling inside. He cupped the small of Peggy’s back before dipping her down for a long and hearty kiss that reminded the brunette why she loved the man in the first place.

Her hand laid on his chest and felt his strong heartbeat underneath, feeling his lips smile against hers as she was settled on her feet. Her necklace with her wedding band on it had come out of the contents of her shirt and laid right in the open.

“Good afternoon to you too, Ms. Fry,” Steve mused as if they hadn’t just made out in front of her. “I see you’re still doing just as lovely. I’m afraid I never got to introduce myself, by the time I was found, and set for duty, Miss Carter and I had eloped and moved in together.” 

He didn’t offer his hand to her, just a shit-eating grin as he grabbed at their basket. The woman was still staring at them, blinking slowly as if to put this all together.

“You see, you’re wrong on many accounts. Peggy does what in the hell she wants, when she wants because she wants to. No one can control her. Not her mother, not me, and certainly not you. Those ideas she puts in the other girl’s head at your home? Those were there, to begin with. You’d be surprised what goes on under your nose,” Steve snorts. “Top it off. The only bad choice in life Peggy has ever made was perhaps to marry me.”

Peggy gently smacked his chest, drawing herself out of her thoughts. “It was not. I love you, darling.”

Steve caught her hand and kissed it. “I love you too.” He looked back at Ms Fry and shrugged. “You were lucky to have Peggy under your roof for the short time you did and I’m lucky I was able to get her back. So, no you’re wrong. She hasn’t been knocked by any of those Agents, just me. We’re expecting our first in an already paid off home, one I’ve been remodeling while Peggy still worked. She’s only just starting maternity leave today, actually. We just came by to pick up a few essentials.”

He waved the basket in her face with a small laugh. “So Peggy’s ‘bad choices’ in life had actually turned around great for her. She has a promising career, a loving husband, and a household full of kids, and love. In fact, not that it’s your business, but Peggy will actually be working while I stay at home to take care of the children. Perhaps not to your ideals of traditionalism but…” 

Steve shrugged before taking Peggy’s arm. Before either could say goodbye, they left. He plopped the tea box from Peggy’s fingers and tossed it into the cart. 

“And the only reason you did get the cheap box was that the others give you a headache,” Steve scoffed, once they’d unloaded the groceries at the house. He watched Peggy from across the way, her feet settled into a bucket of warm water, with a towel around the back of her neck, her hand cradling her belly. 

Peggy looked up from across the way and into their kitchen, seeing Steve staring at her from across the breakfast nook. “How long do you think it’ll be until she figures out you’re Captain America?”

Steve snorted as he brought his wife her cup of ginger tea and sat down with a book in his lap beside her. He’d been reading it to her for the past week. “With luck, she’s still standing in the aisle, looking confused.”

[teaandatale]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @geekynerddemon​

You asked for some of my long lost fic, so I dug around in my unpublished fic files to the first Steggy fic I ever wrote back in 2015. I never was able to finish it, and the writing didn’t ever feel quite up to snuff to post, so it’s sat shelved the past five year (wow, it’s been five years?). So enjoy a dusted off two excerpts from my first foray into all things Steggy. For some context, this means it was written prior to a lot of what we’ve come to know in the MCU, with mostly an emphasis on CATFA and season 1 of Agent Carter.

Untitled 1949 Steggy Fic

Premise: In the early days of SHIELD, recently moved to a D.C. headquarters, Steve Rogers is found, alive, four years after being presumed dead. Steve finds it difficult to transition back to the life of living. Peggy lives a busy life as a Director of SHIELD, and having said her goodbye to Steve on the Brooklyn Bridge some years past, she finds reconciling his return harder than she imagined. There’s a new power dynamic, the logistics of bringing back a presumed dead person, and enough emotions to cause anyone’s temper to boil.

In sum, Steve and Peggy are idiots at dealing with their feelings, when they should be rejoicing in having a second chance. And of course, it’s not the 1940s without Howard Stark causing some drama.

Keep Reading Below The Cut For Two Scenes

*Scene 1:

"I think I want to stay here for a while." Steve interrupts Howard's stream of plans.

"Rogers, you've been wanting fresh air. Come on, a nice restaurant, some drinks, some music, you'll feel much better."

"I want to talk to Peggy some more."

Howard sighs. "You might be waiting a while."

Steve didn't budge. "Not as long as I made her wait."

"Alright. Fine." Howard reaches in his pocket for a card and scribbles on the back of it. "Come by my place whenever you're ready. If you need a ride or can't get a hold of me call Jarvis at this number."

"Thanks Howard."

"Don't mention it. Good luck."

Steve stays down in one of Stark's labs for a while, reading some of the files and news articles about all the things he's missed since he went down in the plane. Stark's secretary is helpful, quiet, and kind about answering some of his pressing questions about SHIELD and as subtly as he can about Director Carter. It's about six when she informs him that Peggy's returned to her office, catching up on her paperwork. He thanks her for all her help and slips upstairs where the desks and workstations are quiet. Only a few Agents are left on shift but he sees the light on in Peggy's office, files sprawled atop her desk on both sides of her typewriter. Steve walks over and stands quietly in her open doorway as he waits for her to appear from behind the file she’s reading.

"Were the accommodations not to your liking?" Peggy asks without lifting her head from the file. When Steve doesn't answer right away she sets the file down and looks up at what she reads as surprise on Steve's face. "It's been a while I admit, but I quite remember the sound of your gait, Captain Rogers. I hope you don't expect you can easily sneak up on a Director of an intelligence agency.”

"I wasn't trying to sneak up on you." Steve says and takes a seat in a chair near the doorway, pushing it to the left enough so that Peggy is right in his line of sight. He revels in her brown eyes meeting his, willing her to not look away.

Peggy indulges him for a few moments before picking up her file and then a pen. "You didn't answer my question. Is Stark's offer not suitable? Other arrangements can be made."

"I appreciate Stark allowing me to stay with him." Steve replies.

Peggy raises an eyebrow. "And yet you are still here."

Steve shrugs with a small smile and bright blue eyes she so constantly reminisced over the years. "As are you Director."

 She snorts. "Yes, well some of us have paperwork to finish."

 "I can wait," he says and pulls out the day's newspaper from his back pocket and starts to read before Peggy can protest.

She bites her lip and watches him for a moment, studying the concentration in his eyes. He looked more comfortable now that he was in a more substantial outfit: khaki slacks and a plain white button up over his white undershirt. It made his presence in her office more real. Steve Rogers, alive from the dead, and refusing to vacate SHIELD to read a newspaper in her office. The itch she felt in the morning was eating her alive again.

Peggy had no desire to kick him out, even if she didn't particularly want him watching her fill out paperwork for the next several hours. She wanted to know exactly why he wasn't out enjoying his freedom with Howard. She wanted to punch him and hug him. And oh, how it made her heart tighten. Instead she continues working diligently in the quiet room, filled with only the occasional sound of him sifting through the paper and her pen scratching.

She makes it through another half an hour before she doesn’t have the heart or the will to keep him at arm's length anymore. He was clearly, for some unknown reason, determined to stay in her company.

She sets her pen down with a sign. "Have you at least had dinner yet?"

Steve immediately looks up at her. "No ma'am."

She purses her lips at his formal address but says nothing.

"Not quite ready for loud, showy fine dining with Howard?" Peggy muses.

"The last thing I can remember eating, outside of the food here, were rations," Steve replies while rubbing a hand at the back of his neck.

Peggy can’t help but smile. "I think you'll rather enjoy going back to a full menu. You'll finally be able to eat as much as your improved metabolism requires."

Steve blushes gently at that, realizing that she had been aware of his eating habits during the war. Thinking back, he can remember Peggy handing off extra rations whenever she possibly could. Peggy always did know him well.

"It was fine." Steve was never one to ask for more.

"Well we can't have you starve. Are you committed to staying in this office or just by my side?"

Steve flushes again but as she was looking directly at him he did not back down from accepting what she was offering. "Some place quiet?"

"Some place quiet," Peggy agreed with a nod. We'll need to find you a coat. Maybe a hat."

 *Scene 2:

Steve is lying in his bed the next day, moping, when Ana gently knocks at his door announcing that he has a dinner guest. He is surprised to see Peggy standing in the front room given their last interaction. He barged into her office and when he wasn't getting the response he wanted he was rude to Peggy. To Peggy. Who has always been his ally. His friend. The shame crept in again.

"Hello, Steve." Peggy is smiling. The confusion on his face must show because she continues. "I took the night off," she explains.

Ana suggests they head to the lounge in the guest wing and then rushes away to the kitchen for dinner. Steve leads the way, opening the door for her and then belatedly asking to take her coat. As she shrugs out of it he adds her blue and red dress to his mental inventory.

"I hear you came in rather late last night," Peggy says. "How far did you run?"

Steve shrugs. "I'm not sure. I think about fifteen miles out and fifteen back. I needed it though."

 "I understand." She’s still smiling easily.

They sit in armchairs across from each other.

"Peggy, I would like to apologize for my behavior last night. I was upset and I took it out on you. You did not deserve that."

Peggy shakes her head. "Steve, you've had one hell of a week. An actually life changing week. I know you're still adjusting." Her voice is just as he remembers its being. Strong and assuring.

"It's just- I'm so frustrated! And I don't mean to be.".

Ana knocks on the door and quietly places cups of tea on the table. And then they are alone. Peggy gestures to the table. Once they sit behind their plates Peggy reaches her hand out to touch Steve's arm. He feels the hair in the spot she touches shoot up, warmth spreading through him. "Steve, tell me what's been keeping you frustrated." He feels his eyes water but his heart lighten. And Peggy keeps her hand steady on him for a few long moments.

They talk long after their plates have emptied, Steve's for the second time. He vents his frustrations of feeling like a man out of place, not content to not being able to rely on his own resources. She listens raptly so he continues. They move back to the armchairs and Steve asks her a lot of questions and she answers all of them. He's been piecing together information from what he's read or overheard that it is nice to finally hear the full story from a reliable source.

The only thing Steve leaves untouched is Peggy herself. He can't get himself to ask about her personal life. Nor does it feel appropriate to bring up the date he missed, the one he was desperate for now. Besides how could he ask for more when his best girl is sitting so close to him right now.

It's hours later when Peggy stands suddenly from her chair but Steve doesn't even have a chance to be disappointed. "Oh, I brought you something. I'll be right back."

 "Can I bring you another cup of tea? Or a drink?"

She smiles at him so warmly. "Tea would be lovely, Steve."

Peggy is already back in the Lounge when Steve comes back with the tray of tea and dessert.

She arches an eyebrow. "Is that all for you or am I allowed a piece?"

Steve blushes. "I brought it for you."

She laughs, amusement filling her face. "I'm teasing Steve. Although I do remember you having a bit of a sweet tooth." She grabs an eclair and urges him to try one. He's mesmerized by the chocolate left at the edge of her lips and the way her tongue pokes out to clear it all in a flash.

She puts a plain box onto his lap and leans forward. "I'm sorry it took a while, but I finally managed to get most of your belongings back. We managed to save the contents of your footlocker, the Howlies and I, before they cleared it out, but then things like your dress uniform were sent back to the U.S. Army. Other than your suit and shield, which Howard has locked safe, I think I brought most of it."

Steve opens the lid careful, fingers gently carding over the top of his personal belongings as his eyes took inventory. A few photos, of him and Bucky. His dog tags. A makeshift sketchbook he flipped through, with a picture of a dancing monkey tucked inside. There's an old Captain America comic he only kept because Bucky and the boys wrote dumb jokes and sketches into the margins. He looks through it all until he comes to the compass he assumed had been lost. He flicks it open, glad to see the photo of Peggy was only a little worn, studies it for a moment and immediately put it in his pocket for safe keeping. Peggy herself had been drinking her tea looking resolutely away in some semblance of privacy.

[bbrandy2002]

My Love

Chapter 5: No Air

Series Premise: With a six week old daughter, Liam finds himself suddenly widowed. When the Royal Council demands he find a new queen and endure another social season, he gets a little help from someone unexpected–his late wife.

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Warnings: Implied thoughts of suicide.

—————-

Liam stirred mashed potatoes around his plate; making careless trails of tine grooves that ran across his plate into his roast lamb and asparagus. He could hear Drake speaking to him about a new development on the boardwalk–but wasn’t really listening. While he nodded and gave a half hearted smile so that his friend didn’t think he was rude, Liam lifts his glass of scotch, taking two quick sips, wishing to hell it would finally numb his tortured mind and take him away for a few hours.  Normally, the drink would leave him refreshed and relaxed, perhaps even incapacitated, yet he hadn’t felt its much desired effects since that night. The night he worked late while his wife tantalized him with texts of want and desire for him. The night he kissed every inch of her velvety, smooth skin and their bodies intertwined with unspeakable passion and devotion to one another. The night death stealthily entered into his bedroom, robbed him mercilessly of every truth he ever believed in and left behind nothing but bitter lies. It was the night Liam watched his purpose and meaning drift away into nothing. 

There is no perfect way to explain how it feels to lose someone. Liam dreaded being asked several times each day by friends and staff, how he was doing. How am I doing? 

He pondered that If all the great minds in the world can’t explain what love is, how does one properly define a loss. 

How do you tell people your heart was literally ripped out of your chest without rhyme or reason, leaving a void so painful that life was no longer something you desired. How do you answer that truthfully and not leave them feeling monsterous for asking. It’s a mindless question really, because in all honesty they want a false answer. He was fine. 

It had been exactly four weeks since Riley died. Four agonizing weeks of loneliness and sorrow- the kind a person will never fully heal from.  Liam’s face had grown paler and his eyes were sunken from lack of sleep and appetite. His tall, muscular frame was just starting to show evidence of wasting away and if one didn’t know better, might say he was ten years older than he actually was. He had grown irritable, withdrawn, and found no pleasure in things he typically enjoyed. If not for Ellie, who was quite possibly the only thing keeping him somewhat together now, he seriously contemplated the merits of pursuing the ultimate Shakespearean ending. 

As he prodded the asparagus and slid it back off his fork, he tried to imagine what Riley was doing at this exact moment. Liam believed in an afterlife; he wasn’t sure exactly what it entailed, but imagined a place where his wife was surrounded by beauty and color his mortal eyes couldn’t begin to imagine. Was she dancing carelessly through a field of her favorite lilies while her laughter carried a melody so sweet and magnificent, the angels were envious? He knew she didn’t have any close family, but perhaps his mother was keeping her company while they exchange funny stories of Liam’s mishaps and clownery.  Does she even remember me? 

No matter how glorious or wonderful her time might be there, one fact remained: there was a chasm that separates him from the greatest love he’s ever known. Until he would be able to break through that barrier himself, he would never feel whole again. Riley was his life and without her, he surmised, he no longer existed.

As he stared at the disarray of intermingled food on his plate, Ellie’s soft cry ripped him from his thoughts. Before he could lift the cloth napkin from his lap to attend to his daughter,  Drake was already up from his chair across from Liam, unhooking the baby from her glider and bouncing her on his chest. This wasn’t anything surprising; if it hadn’t been Drake, it would have been Hana or Maxwell. Liam wasn’t sure if they realized he had caught on to their patterns of, ‘just dropping by’, visits, while attending to his every need and want. Even if he wanted to be left alone, which in large part he did, those three friends most likely used the opportunity to heal themselves of the heavy hearts they were feeling too.

Drake, the ever proud godfather, handed the little girl to her daddy and grabbed an already prepared bottle from the refrigerator to heat up. 

“So, what do you think Neville’s plans are for this emergency council meeting tomorrow?” Drake asked, while he placed the bottle into the warmer and leaned back into the counter waiting for it to finish.

Liam let out a heavy sigh. “You know Lord Neville as well as I do-”  He bent over to pick up the rattle Ellie dropped on the floor and placed it back inside her tiny little hand. “I’m sure whatever it is he wants will likely end with me trying to pamper his spoiled ass and you wanting to kick it.”

Drake knit his brows with a chuckle. “Heh. I do find kicking that nutsack’s ass to be one of my favorite pastimes. Right after drinking my weight in whiskey, moping around the palace on your dime and pounding the hell out of myself to a picture of Madeleine.”

Liam’s face twisted as he stopped rocking Ellie for a moment to let Drake’s words sink in. Did he really just say that about himself? The more time he had to think about them, the funnier it became to him. 

“Drake-” He chortled with amusement. “Where the hell did that come from?”

Drake smirked and started to respond when the warmer beeped, letting him know it was ready. He grabbed the bottle, checking the temperature on his wrist and handed it over to Liam. “That’s usually the kind of ‘Drake Walker’ jokes,” he emphasized with air quotes, “Liv tells that makes the group laugh … thought you could use one. Looks like it worked too, since that’s the first time you’ve laughed or even smiled since …” 

With that unfinished quip, an awkward silence began.  Drake rubbed the back of his neck, feeling terrible for bringing up Riley’s death. Even if he didn’t actually utter those words, the smile that instantly faded from Liam’s face before he turned away from him, told Drake all he needed to know. 

Later that evening, after Drake left, Liam gave Ellie her bath and put her down for the night. With the baby monitor in hand, he stepped out onto the living room balcony-just as he had done every night for the past four weeks- to talk with his beloved. With a full, spring moon overhead, he could see her place of rest clearly and mused how the mound of dirt before her newly placed headstone was beginning to flatten out. Liam leaned against the railing, as he did every night and told her how much he loved her and missed her. He spoke about his day with Ellie and how it must have been Drake’s turn to spend time with them. 

Liam placed both elbows on the cool, concrete railing, clasped his hands together and rested his forehead on them. “My Love, I want to be where you are.” He lifted his head from his hands and glanced upwards toward the stars. “I’ve thought about it a million times since you left. All it would take is one pill and then you and I can reunite … be together forever.” 

Liam dropped his hands over the railing and rubbed the tips of his fingers along the roughened grooves of concrete. The scent of lavender from Ellie’s shampoo still clung to his hands and traveled with the breeze. He let out a heavy breath. “I’m stuck between two great loves though. You’re there and Eliie and I are here and I can’t leave her … I’m just …  really missing my other girl tonight.”

In the silence, Liam turned when he heard the calling out of his name from the living room. He rubbed the dust off his hands and elbows and made his way back inside to find Ellie’s nanny coming in for the night. It was the first time she would be spending the night there. Liam would be returning to his full time duties in the morning and an early morning, emergency council meeting meant her services were needed more frequently now. 

Rolling a suitcase through the foyer towards the stairs, she stops immediately to curtsy when she sees Liam.

“Your Majesty.”

He motioned with the monitor in his hand to the stairs. “Ellie’s been asleep for 20 minutes. I would imagine she will be out for another few hours and the staff prepared your accommodations earlier. Is there anything you need before I retire for the night”

She rolled her suitcase back and forth as she thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. I have everything I need right here,” she patted her suitcase with a playful smile.

Liam thanked the young, brunette and carried the luggage to her room at the top of the stairs. Once the door was shut, he drifted slowly to his bedroom. He had been in there several times, however, this was the first night he would sleep in the bed he’d shared with his wife. Obviously, his hand was forced in that decision; he couldn’t remain in Ellie’s room with the nanny coming and going throughout the night. It was time to face his fears.

After he showered, Liam perused his closet for the suit he would wear in the morning. He wanted something loose, but also knew that Neville had something up his sleeves and wanted to ensure his look didn’t allow the slimy bastard to think he could best him. While contemplating his options between the blue tie and black tie with the suit jacket he chose, a peculiar thought crosses his mind. 

Liam exits the closet after tossing the black tie over the hanging suit and leaves the bedroom. He walks back down the hall and stops in front of Amanda’s door and raises his hand to knock.

“Amanda! Open the door!”

He could hear faint scurrying inside and the closing of a dresser drawer.

“I said open the door, now!”

Amanda opened the door a few seconds later with a shocked, but puzzled expression. “Is there something wrong, Your Majesty.”

Liam gives her a questioning look. “How did you get in my quarters tonight?”

Flustered, she furrowed her brows. “What?”

He placed his hand on the barely opened door and pushed it in a little further.  “How in the hell did you get in my quarters tonight.” He asks again while peeking over her shoulder suspiciously.

Amanda let go of the door and under the watchful of the King, walked to the desk drawer of the guest room, opened it and pulled out a key ring. She held it up in front of her and jiggled it nervously. “Queen Riley gave me the key. After she had the baby, it was easier for me to have one when she needed me to drop by and she was nursing. I … I didn’t think it would be an issue to use it again since I’m caring for Eleanor now.”

Liam dropped his head and rubbed his thumbs over his tired and puffy eyes. Without knowing who killed his wife, everyone and everything suddenly became suspicious to him. He was edgy with everyone and completely annoyed by the lack of of lead yet.

 “My apologies for scaring you … I’m just … a little questioning of everyone. I don’t know who I can trust anymore.” 

Amanda placed the key ring back in the drawer and walked back before Liam at the door. She placed her hand on his arm and slightly squeezed with an understanding nod. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, sir. I want whoever took my dear friend away found also and if you need to question me to feel some reassurance, I completely understand.”

After he apologized once more for interrupting her nightly routine, he bid her goodnight and left her be. She turned the lock on her door and crossed the room into her own personal bathroom. As she stood before the large mirror that clung to the bathroom wall, she grabbed her toothbrush and looked at her reflection with a sinister smirk formed on her lips. She winked at herself in the mirror and gave herself a gleeful smile. “This is too easy and it’s only just begun. You haven’t seen anything yet … My King”

________

Liam glared at the bed he had not slept in since Riley passed away. His heart was pounding faster than he could ever recall; he had reached an anxiety level that was insurmountable. After several minutes of trying to control his breathing and his shaky hands, he finally pulled the duvet down and eased himself slowly onto the bed. Liam lowered himself down and tossed the blanket over himself and adjusted his head on the pillow.

After staring at the ceiling for several minutes, he knows he can’t do this. The bed felt so hollow and empty and was a constant reminder of her touch, her scent, her missing place on the other side of him. 

Liam rose from the bed and walked to her vanity in the corner of the room and grabbed a bottle of her perfume. Standing over her pillow, he sprays a generous helping on it and places the bottle back on her night stand. Trying once more, he crawls back into the bed, grabs her pillow, and snuggles his body and face into it. It wasn’t the same-it would never be the same-but it was all he had. “Goodnight, My Love.”

Just as his body and mind began to feel some comfort, he heard the small cries of Ellie followed by an unmistakable voice come through the baby monitor, that shot his eyes open quickly.”

“Baby mine don’t you cry. Baby mine dry your eyes …”

Liam threw the blankets off his body and twisted around to snatch the monitor from the table beside his bed. He placed the device to his ear, not sure if what he heard was what he thought he did.  He held his breath as the all too familiar voice carried through it and prayed it wasn’t a dream.

“It can’t … can it?”

Still carrying the monitor to his ear, he runs out of his room and across the hall to Ellie’s nursery. He stands before the door and braces himself for the possibilities that lie beyond it.

He carefully twists the door handle, still hearing the sniffles of his infant daughter and a song he hadn’t heard sung in a month.

His blue eyes widen with anticipation and he can feel the blood rush away from his eager mind as the door swung open.

He lets out a small gasp as the baby’s room becomes visible and immediately drops to his knees.

"Riley?”

[the-real-tc]

Fic UPDATE! Wide River to Cross: Homecoming

Author’s Note: So close. We're so close now, dear readers. Thanks for sticking with me this far; not much longer now. I promise. As you'll see from the events in this chapter, it will be impossible to prolong the agony. (Who remembers the actual agony while watching Season 7, wondering what had happened between Jack and Lisa? I remember that agony...) All that aside, the good part about how long this story has taken me is that plot lines that have occurred down the line can be worked in, and they can make some semblance of sense. I hope. Anyway, here's the latest chapter.

Chapter 22: Homecoming

In the darkness of night, the tree-lined drive seemed eerily foreign to Lisa as the town car bore both her and Rachel to their familial estate. Though it was a view she had seen thousands of times in her life, this particular return to Fairfield granted her no trace of comfort or sense of homecoming. It was bordering on close to ten months that she had been absent—one of the longest spells she had been away since her past marriage to Dan and subsequent move to the USA.

Lisa could not help but recall other lengthy absences from Fairfield, particularly in her adolescence when she had attended boarding school in France with Rachel. While she had enjoyed those times away—thanks to her love of French culture and many outings with her doting Aunt Evelyn—the inevitable homesickness was alleviated only upon return. Now, she felt like a stranger returning to a strange place, creeping in like some interloper.

Like a thief in the night, she thought to herself wryly, fighting the encroaching discomposure without much success.

“We’re here, Rach,” Lisa whispered, giving her younger sibling a gentle nudge.

“Huh? Oh, thanks,” Rachel mumbled sleepily. “I didn’t realise I nodded off.”

She smiled slightly, watching as Rachel rubbed bleary eyes before finishing off with a long yawn. Rachel had endured only one flight; Lisa had needed three to return to Alberta. Exhaustion was indeed beginning to overwhelm her, but there was a nervous tension buzzing through her veins, keeping her on an unusual level of alertness. Now that she was back in Hudson, the mere thought of being in the same town as Jack—and potentially encountering him anywhere—set her mind spinning. How would such a meeting play out? What words could pass her lips to express to him all that was in her heart? What words, if any, would he have to say to her?

Security lights illuminated the exteriors of the stables, dispelling the shadows. Night checks would have already been completed by this hour. All was quiet now, though Lisa knew Harry Wilkes would probably still be up in his office, burning the midnight oil while waiting for their arrival.

Good ol’ Harry, Lisa thought with affection. He had been such a constant presence in her life since she was a little girl, working his way up from the very bottom as a stable hand to head groomsman. Matthew Stillman had come to trust the man with just about everything, and Lisa had done the same. Harry was dedicated to the care of the horses in a way that went beyond what was expected of a mere hired hand. Anyone else would have retired from the position by now, but Harry was still logging the same hours as he had during the past forty-five years as a Fairfield employee. He had been there through the lean years and through the successful ones.

Without her realising it, a long pout pulled at Lisa’s face as the car pulled to a stop in front of the sprawling ranch house. She knew Harry was not thrilled with the idea of her selling Fairfield, even though he was guaranteed a handsome severance package. The rest of the staff might be keen on staying on with new owners; Harry would not—Lisa was certain of that.

“Why the long face?” Rachel asked, looking over at her. “Something wrong?”

“Hmm?” Lisa shook herself. “Oh, no. It’s just that... I-I don’t think Harry is pleased with my decision to sell, that’s all.”

“So Harry’s still working here, eh?” Rachel said, lips quirking into a lop-sided smile. “Dad really lucked out when he hired him. He’s been here since before I was even born. Good ol’ Harry.”

“I honestly don’t think I could have managed without him when Dad got sick,” Lisa mused out loud.

Sure enough, the door to the Fairfield business offices opened to reveal the man in question, silhouetted against the interior lights. He waved jauntily at them, and Lisa intuited he was intent on helping them unload their luggage.

“C’mon,” she said to Rachel as she opened her door. “Let’s get out before he gets the idea we’re going to let him carry everything into the house. He’s been up all night waiting; he’s got to be tired after working all day.”

“Right,” Rachel said in agreement, though she was staving off another yawn of exhaustion.

“Ah, the two prettiest girls in Hudson have made their triumphant return,” Harry greeted them affectionately; paternally.

“Oh, Harry,” Lisa said with a chagrined laugh, “I don’t know about ‘triumphant’, and after travelling all day, we look like something the cat dragged in.”

“Ha! Speak for yourself, sis,” Rachel interjected merrily. “Harry, flattery gets you everywhere. It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, Rachel.”

The three gathered for a warm group hug. As Lisa guessed moments earlier, the next words out of Harry’s mouth were an offer to bring their luggage inside.

“No, no, you take it easy Harry,” Lisa quickly stated. “You’ve had a long day, too. Rachel and I can manage just fine.”

“Nonsense,” Harry said, reaching for the largest of the pieces the chauffeur had just deposited from the trunk. “Your father would be horrified if he saw me standing by idly while you two dragged all this stuff by yourselves.”

“Chivalry isn’t dead in Hudson, I see,” Rachel quipped, following the older man with her carry-on and a smaller suitcase.

“Thanks, Harry,” Lisa said after everything was sitting in the spacious foyer.

“Happy to do it, Lisa,” Harry said. “Welcome home.”

“Yeah... for however long that’s going to be,” Lisa sighed.

“It’s going to be hard seeing this place go,” Harry uttered with a wistful air. “Fairfield has been a big part of Hudson ever since you made it the success it’s become, Lisa. This town won’t be the same without it—or you.”

Not unkindly, Lisa asked: “Is this your way of trying to talk me out of selling?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe. I know an old fella like me who’s on his way to retirement can’t interfere with the business decisions of his boss, but you know this place has always been more than just a ’job’ for me.”

“I know,” Lisa said warmly, reaching out to touch his arm in a show of understanding. “And I thank you for everything you’ve done from the day my father hired you to this present time.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, placing a hand over hers for a few moments. “I should be on my way. See you in the morning.”

“Of course.”

Harry turned to make his exit, but hesitated on the threshold. “There is something...”

Lisa waited expectantly. “What is it?” she asked when he did not continue.

“Hmmph. Nah, it can wait ‘til tomorrow,” he muttered. “Goodnight, ladies.”

“’Bye,” Rachel said, trying to suppress another yawn.

“Goodnight, Harry,” Lisa said, closing the door behind him, slightly perturbed by the man’s cryptic parting words. Whatever it was, she would learn of it the next day.

--

As cranky as Jack was at the notion of having the woolly creatures on his land, Georgie’s 4H Club project meant sheep at Heartland was good for something. At least the kid could learn about the rearing of an animal she could handle. Lambs weren’t liable to trample you, gore you, buck you off, or kick you in the head. It was decidedly not fun chasing down the specific lamb Georgie and Olivia wanted, especially since they could not agree on which one was the best one for their needs. Jack half-suspected they were changing their fickle minds on purpose, just for the spectacle of his sprawling about in the grass and weeds, grabbing at this lamb or that lamb.  

It should have been Tim’s job seeing after the sheep, but he picked that very week to head to Moose Jaw to visit with his son, Shane, so they could spend Thanksgiving together. Why was it his ex-son-in-law continued to be such an irritant and an imposition in his life? If not for Lou and Amy, the man would never again have darkened the door at Heartland.

After Georgie and Olivia finally settled on a lamb and Jack successfully secured it, he decided a little break was necessary. It was no use getting worked up over the flock again; also, the girls did not need his grumpy mood to ruin things for them. It was trial enough for Georgie to be partnered with Olivia, he knew, so he did his best to keep his cool while in their company.

Once inside the kitchen, he brewed a cup of tea and eased into a chair in the living room—the kitchen having been taken over by Peter and his laptop. The man really needed office space of some kind while he was here, Jack mused.

Why Tim felt the need to saddle his son-in-law with the nickname “The General” was beyond Jack, but then again, Tim knew exactly how to push other people’s buttons. The recent fiasco involving Tricia and her near-delinquent daughter, Jade, at the fishing cabin was a fine example of that.  

Jack sipped at his tea, trying to resolve in his mind yet again why Tim possessed such an unbridled sense of entitlement. He lacked what Jack’s grandmother would have called social graces. His unsolicited comments could be tactless. The frustrating thing was that such comments were often uncomfortable truths no one else wanted to face or accept.

When Tim had first asked how the Arizona trip had been, Jack recalled initially telling him to mind his own business. Tim, ignoring Jack’s desire for privacy had asked, point-blank:

“You missed Lisa, didn’t you?”

”Didn’t I tell you to mind your own business?!” Jack had retorted. “I had a swell time.”

”You’re not fooling me, old man. What did you do with yourself down there the whole time? You couldn’t have been having that much of a ‘swell time’ because you cut it short and came home a week early!”

“I did happen to have some good times, thank you very much!”

“Yeah? Doing what?” Tim had challenged.

“Saddleback trip. Lookin’ at real estate. Meeting nice people. Camping and fishing.”

“Meeting nice people and fishing, eh? Catch anything good down there in Arizona?” Tim asked suggestively.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I hooked a very nice catfish.”

“Oooh! A catfish!” Tim had crooned, pretending to be impressed. “How big was it?”

Knowing he would not be able to lie any further, Jack had groaned in annoyance and decided it was time to cease this line of questioning. “Dunno,” he had sullenly replied. “It pulled free from the hook before I could reel it in. The sun was going down by then. I quit trying after that.”

“Ha!” Tim had laughed triumphantly. “Dinner out of a can that night, right?”

Jack grit his teeth. “No, I forgot to bring a can opener. Are you done, now?”

“You ‘forgot’ to bring a can opener?” Tim crowed in derision. “So why didn’t you just use your knife to open the can, or did you forget to bring a knife, too?”

“Oh, would you just shut up already!”

Jack stalked off and was thus out of earshot when a gleeful, self-righteous Tim muttered, “Ohhh, he totally missed Lisa.”

--

It was already after 10:00 a.m. when Lisa awoke on Saturday morning. The inevitable jet-lag felt especially pronounced this time around, and she groaned when she realised the lateness of the hour. She so wanted to soak up a few more hours of sleep, but knew work was waiting. There was the matter Harry mentioned the night before which she wanted to get to the bottom of, but the first order of business absolutely had to be contacting the real estate agent.

After a quick shower, she shared a hurried breakfast with Rachel. Her sister was still drowsy and not much in the mood to talk while they ate. When Rachel drifted back to bed for a nap, Lisa finally got on the phone to the realtor, glad they were indeed open that day despite it being a holiday long weekend. After all those months in France of dithering on this, it felt almost anti-climactic the sale would finally be happening. The deed is done, Lisa thought after hanging up. She was not sure what emotions she was experiencing now that Fairfield would officially be on the market.

Ruefully, she thought, I really should call Dan and tell him the ‘good’ news. In all truth, her ex-husband was the last person she wanted to speak to after all their less-than-pleasant email correspondences over the past several months. I wonder what Jack would think if I called him and told him I was back in Hudson? Lisa stopped herself cold. Where did that thought come from?! I would have to explain to him that I’m finally selling the old place and moving to France for good, wouldn’t I? I’d have to come up with some excuse as to why I didn’t even tell him I was coming back.

She stood from behind her desk and decided it was time to check in on Harry, brushing aside any further thoughts of both of her exes.

“Ah, Lisa! Good morning,” Harry greeted Lisa brightly when she knocked on the business office door.

“Good morning, Harry. I just got off the phone with the real estate people. Someone’s going to be by later this week to properly assess the property and get some signs posted and such.”

“Of course,” he said with a nod of understanding.

“Harry, about that thing you mentioned last night...”

“Oh, yes. That,” Harry said, lowering his voice.

Lisa caught his tone, and interpreted he was about to tell her something she would not particularly enjoy hearing. “Well, what is it?”

“It’s Dan,” Harry said in a manner that spoke volumes of disapproval.

“Dan? What’s he done now?” Lisa asked guardedly.

“You’d better follow me,” Harry said, rising from his seat.

He led Lisa out to the stables where they stopped in front of Fairfield Flyer’s stall. The champion racer seemed strong and healthy, and Lisa looked at her head groomsman, awaiting an explanation.

“Dan and some of his people and vets have been here to see Flyer and Rhapsody quite a few times while you were gone,” Harry started. “Since you have joint ownership, of course I couldn’t stop him.”

“Stop him from doing what?” Lisa asked, instantly on edge. Rhapsody was one of her broodmares.

“From getting all kinds of lab work done—and cell samples taken from Flyer.”

“Cell samples...” Lisa mused out loud.

Harry continued. “Rhapsody is already nine months pregnant. You had no idea, did you?” he asked warily as he studied her reaction. “Don’t answer that. Your expression tells me all I need to know.”

Lisa felt her cheeks flush. “I always did have a lousy poker face,” she grumbled.

“Ah, I should have known he didn’t tell you, but you know I’m not the type to interfere,” a contrite Harry said. “And given the nature of what he was doing, I wasn’t sure if you were both keeping it a secret, or what. Sorry, Lisa.”

“Don’t apologize; this isn’t remotely your fault. It seems I have a call to make to my ‘business partner’. Thanks, Harry.”

She strode out of the stables, absolutely steaming, trying to decide how best to have this conversation with Dan. Cell samples? That could only mean one thing, Lisa concluded, coupled with Dan’s recent talk about getting into horse cloning. He was trying to warm me up to the idea, she now realised.

“Where do you get off cloning Fairfield Flyer without even consulting with me first?!” Lisa exploded when she had Dan on the line.

“Now hold on just a minute, Lisa—” Dan tried to interrupt.

“No, you hold on; I’m not finished,” Lisa hissed through clenched teeth. “Harry told me you’ve been out to Fairfield to see Flyer and Rhapsody. This is the real reason you’ve been so demanding about the finances, isn’t it? You weren’t concerned about the Avignon facility—you were paying to have Flyer cloned. How many other horses did you have lined up for the procedure?”

From Dan’s silence, Lisa knew she had hit the nail on the head.

“When were you going to tell me?” Lisa fumed. “When were you going to tell me the Avignon deal was all a sham and that you were really using my investment funds to clone Flyer and God knows how many others?”

“Okay, simmer down,” Dan said, trying to placate her. “Avignon is still a go. But the focus has shifted slightly. It could be the best equine cloning facility in Europe, Lisa. If the clone of Flyer is a success, we’re going to take it to Avignon as the poster boy for the procedure in race horses. We’d be one of the first out of the gate doing this. We could make history, Lisa, because the Racing Association is bound to come around once more people get on board.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Lisa had to keep herself from shouting. “You go behind my back, and-and then try to tell me you’re shifting the focus of the breeding facility we planned in France?”

“All that stuff you learned in that Lexington conference about performance markers is great, Lisa,” Dan said, “but that’s yesterday’s science. Cloning is the future. Do you really want to be left behind?”

Lisa realised she was still too angry to have a rational talk with Dan. “Let’s table that question,” she finally said. “I just got into Hudson late last night, and I’m too tired to deal with this right now. But make no mistake, Dan, I’m not impressed you went behind my back.”

“Fair enough, fair enough,” Dan said, sounding almost relieved. “Hang on, did you just say you’re back in Hudson?”

Lisa clenched her teeth in irritation. “How else do you think I found out about Flyer?”

“Uhhh—Harry told you, didn’t he?”

“Of course Harry told me,” snapped Lisa, relishing the discomfort she heard in Dan’s voice. He sounded as if he were a guilty schoolboy.

“I see,” Dan said in resignation. “Wait, if you’re in Hudson, does that mean you’ve finally put Fairfield on the market?”

“Yes, Dan, you’ll be happy to know I took care of that chore before calling you,” Lisa replied testily.

“Good! That’s great!” Dan exclaimed. “Finally. Look, Lisa, I get you’re upset about the cloning thing. You’re right; I should have included you in that decision. But Flyer is mine, too. I think in time, you’ll see—”

“Ah, but Rhapsody is mine,” Lisa cut in. “You’re still on shaky ground, Dan. As I said just now, we’ll discuss this later. You’ll be lucky if I don’t decide to involve my lawyer with this one.”

She heard his exhalation of discontent, but she frankly did not care. Misappropriation of funds, she thought. Yeah, that has a nice ring to it.

“Come on, Lisa. Are you really going to split hairs like that?” he whined. “Aren’t we business partners in this whole breeding venture?”

It took all the control she could muster not to slam down the phone. Instead, she took a steadying breath before responding. “That didn’t give you the right to use Rhapsody for your cloning experiment without consulting with me first. But what’s done is done. Like I said, I’m not in the mood to discuss this right now. Goodbye.”

Lisa did not wait to hear Dan respond before she hung up the call.

Rachel, having awakened from her nap, was sitting at the breakfast nook in the kitchen, flipping through an old edition of the Hudson Times. When Lisa wandered in, Rachel glanced up and said, “Uh-oh. I know that look. Something’s got you mad.”

Lisa groaned. “Ugh. What tipped you off?”

Rachel smirked. “Yeah, see, there’s this vein that always pops out on your forehead whenever you blow a gasket,” she answered, motioning to her own head.

Grumbling, Lisa swiped a self-conscious hand over her face.

“Hey, it’s not like you get mad often, sis,” Rachel said, trying to lighten the mood. “It must be something big.”

Lisa plopped down wearily across from Rachel. “It’s Dan,” she began. “He’s gone and tried to clone one of my best racers—Fairfield Flyer—without even asking me, first.”

“Oh, wow. Is that even legal?” Rachel asked, folding the paper and putting it aside. “I’m not up on my horse cloning ethics.”

“It is legal,” Lisa said, “but it’s damned expensive, comes with a pile of risk factors, and the Racing Association has yet to accept clones in sanctioned races.”

“Didn’t I read something a couple years ago about clones being accepted for show jumping in the Olympics?” asked Rachel.

Lisa nodded. “Yes. The Fédération Equestre Internationale did announce clones could be entered for equestrian events. I still don’t know what Dan was thinking, though. Flyer is a racer, not a jumper, or dressage. It’s infuriating. And it’s not even about the ethics when it comes to cloning; it’s that Dan was hounding me for months to get Fairfield sold so we could get going on an operation out of Avignon.”

“Avignon?” repeated Rachel.

“Yes. You know I always wanted to retire to France, eventually.”

“Right...”

“Anyway,” Lisa continued, “I sold my share of the Dude Ranch back to Lou, and assumed those funds were going towards funding that Avignon operation. Obviously, Dan was funnelling all of it to help make the payments for the cloning procedure.” She let out another huff of frustration; Rachel eyed her with pity.

“C’mon, Lisa,” Rachel said after several moments of silence. “In the end, a horse is a horse, and we both know you love horses. When Rhapsody foals, you’re going to love that clone. So forget Dan, and focus on making sure Rhapsody stays healthy through the rest of the pregnancy.”

The words were like a thunderbolt, bringing a much-needed dose of reality. Lisa stared at Rachel for a few moments, speechless. “Are you sure you’re the younger sister, here?” she eventually asked with an affectionate smile and shake of her head. “When did you get to be so wise?”

“Oh, I have my moments,” Rachel answered airily.

“Well, I hope there’s more wisdom where that came from,” Lisa said, “because even though you’re right about loving it when it arrives, I get the feeling that clone is going to become more like a monkey on my back.”

--

Thanksgiving at Heartland was slightly less crowded than usual owing to the absences of Tim and Lou. Everyone was thankful for Jack’s surviving the heart attack and for Amy’s health and recovery after her recent scare with Zeus; Georgie was thankful in particular for her new family and for Phoenix.

At Fairfield, the celebration was slightly more subdued. Figuring this to be their final Thanksgiving together before the family farm passed into new hands, the Stillman sisters spent much of that holiday Monday* reminiscing about older, happier times, and some not-so-happy times, too.

“I used to love it when Aunt Evelyn would come to visit from wherever she had last been,” Lisa remarked as they sat together in the cozy living room, a roaring fire burning in the hearth.

“Remember her second husband?” Rachel snickered.

“Ah, yes. Uncle Merrill,” Lisa said. “With those massive sideburns we always wished he would shave off.”

“Where did she meet him, again?”

“Wales, I think,” Lisa replied. “But he was from Scotland.”

“He claimed he was some Scottish lord, right?” asked Rachel. “I seem to remember that.”

Lisa nodded seriously. “He apparently had the bank account to prove it, or so Aunt Evelyn told me.”

“Well, she was married to him the longest,” Rachel said.

“That’s true,” Lisa said, taking a sip of cider.

“Until he left her for a newer, younger model,” Rachel said.

“And she took him to the cleaners,” chortled Lisa. “Then promptly found herself another millionaire boyfriend.”

“That one didn’t last very long, did it?”

“Oh, a couple years, maybe? Then she had a few other gentlemen friends whose names I forget. Then she married Charles, the wealthy stockbroker from New York. They met on a cruise ship. Divorced him after five years.”

“Aunt Evelyn is addicted to men and to money,” Rachel said. “And I mean that in the nicest possible way.”

“Rachel, there is no nice way to call someone a gold digger,” Lisa said, a peal of laughter breaking forth.

“Ha! You said it; not me!”

“All right, Aunt Evelyn may have her... flaws... but she’s always been good to us,” Lisa said sincerely.

“Yeah... you’re right,” Rachel said. “Though you’re her favourite, you know.”

Lisa cocked her head and frowned at her sister, puzzled by this comment. “Naw. She totally spoiled us both. What d’you mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing.” Rachel waved a hand dismissively. “I just got the feeling like she doted on you a little more. That’s all.”

“What? Why?”

Rachel stared at her older sister, considering for a few moments how to proceed. She blew out a breath and said, “Okay, remember that horse you had when we were kids? Silver?”

“Yes,” Lisa said, thinking of the dapple grey mare she got as a rescue. She put aside her mug, sensing Rachel was about to say something she had been wanting to say for a long time, but never had the chance to get it off her chest.

“I remember when Silver got sick a few years later,” Rachel said. “Dad didn’t think he could afford to pay for the surgery.”

“That’s right,” Lisa confirmed. “It was colic. Silver was getting old by that point, so Dad didn’t think the risk was worth it.”

“You know, I didn’t even have my own horse at the time, and Aunt Evelyn swooped in and said she’d pay for the surgery,” Rachel said, voice tainted with the slightest stain of bitterness. “You were seven when you got Silver. I remember, because I thought somehow that’s what I would get when I turned seven, too. Funny, isn’t it? We lived on a horse-breeding farm, and I didn’t get my own horse until I was ten.”

“Rachel, it’s a stupid question... did you even really want your own horse?” Lisa asked carefully.

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Of course I wanted my own horse,” she said. “What little girl living in Hudson didn’t ‘want’ her own horse?”

“I know, but ‘wanting’ a horse isn’t the same as loving that horse when you finally get it, is it?”

Lisa thought back to when Rachel did receive her own horse the Christmas after she turned ten, a gift from Evelyn. In the beginning, the girl had been ecstatic, but the excitement had waned, and the horse was sometimes neglected.

“No, it isn’t the same thing,” admitted Rachel. “Look, I don’t mean to sound petty. At the time, I was jealous; I admit it. When I was younger, I thought Aunt Evelyn paying for Silver’s surgery when I didn’t even have my own horse meant she loved you more and was ignoring me.”

“I’m sorry, Rach,” Lisa said sincerely. “I had no idea you felt that way.”

“Like I said, I felt that way when I was younger. I thought having a horse would make me happy the way it seemed to make you happy; like it made other girls around town happy,” Rachel said. “It wasn’t until later I realised I wasn’t actually a horse-crazy girl like everyone else.”

“No, you were more boy-crazy,” Lisa said, a small smile twitching her lips.

“Ohhh, was I ever,” Rachel said, throwing back her head and casting her eyes to the ceiling.

“Do you ever regret leaving home when you did?” Lisa queried. “I mean, do you ever wish you had waited until you were a little more settled? Aunt Evelyn was willing to pay for your post-secondary education anywhere in the world like she did for me, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. And I keep saying that the timing was probably wrong,” Rachel said. “But I always come back to Ben. He’s the reason I don’t have regrets about that. I love my son more than my own life, Lisa. If I do regret anything is that his childhood probably wasn’t as happy as it could have been because of my stupid relationship mistakes.”

“Well, from what I can see, he’s grown into a fine young man, Rachel,” Lisa said, thinking of the rough patch Ben went through during Rachel’s train wreck of a divorce. “He’s learned some valuable life lessons and he’s working hard now to achieve his goals.”

“I admit I’m proud of him,” Rachel said with a smile. “I’m sorry again for dumping him on you—”

“Oh, stop!” Lisa put up a hand. “We’ve been over this a hundred times. Even though I could have done a better job when he was here, it made me realise raising a child isn’t a cakewalk.”

“No, but it is worth it,” Rachel said. “I look at Ben, and I think at least I did something right in the world.”

“Yeah...” Lisa said softly.

“He did appreciate his time here, Lisa,” Rachel said, getting an inkling of where Lisa’s thoughts might have carried her at that moment.

“I hope so,” Lisa uttered. “Though somehow, I think I acted a little more like Aunt Evelyn: dropping expensive gifts instead of making any meaningful impact on his life that would actually matter.”

“I don’t see it that way at all,” Rachel countered. “You give from the heart, Lisa. You’ve always been the generous type. And with Fairfield’s success came bigger ways to show that generosity. To be honest, I was a bit jealous of your giving nature, too.”

“And if I’m going to be honest, I was a bit jealous of you,” Lisa said seriously.

“Of me?” Rachel said, clearly shocked. “Whatever for?”

“You left home. Had a child. You... didn’t have the weight of responsibility for Fairfield that I had,” Lisa admitted. “I have loved building up the business into the success it is today, but I also thought kids would naturally come along when I was married to Dan. When that didn’t happen, I thought about you and how easy it seemed for you.”

“It wasn’t easy at all, especially when Gary walked out on us,” stated Rachel emphatically. “And I thought I’d have more kids too, when the ex-who-shall-not-be-named came into the picture and seemed like he’d be a great step-father to Ben. We all know how that turned out.”

Lisa bobbed her head slowly, knowing no further words were needed on the subject of the breakup of Rachel’s marriage.

At length, Rachel murmured: “I’m glad I came out here one last time. There was a time I couldn’t wait to leave; relieved you were the older daughter that Dad would look to for running the business. I don’t think I’ve ever truly appreciated how much of a burden you’ve shouldered.”

“We’ve both had our burdens and hardships,” Lisa said, looking at the glowing embers in the fireplace.

“I mean it, Lisa,” Rachel insisted. “Thank you for being there for Dad, and for running Fairfield all these years. It’s just a shame he didn’t live long enough to see the success it’s become.”

“A success that’s now coming to a close,” Lisa said quietly. “When I pick up stakes and move to Avignon, it’s going to be a whole new business.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Rachel commented. “You haven’t heard from Jack. You said it yourself that it’s time to make a fresh start.”

“I know,” Lisa said. “And you’re right. But being here in Hudson, well, it’s brought back a lot of memories with him. Good memories. It hurts to finally realise that there won’t be any more of those.”

“Well, who knows? Maybe you’ll meet a fine French gentleman in Avignon,” Rachel said with a mirthful chuckle.

“Oh, no! The last thing I need is to turn into Aunt Evelyn,” Lisa scoffed, chagrined at her sister’s comment. Her thoughts suddenly took her to Toulon and the foul experience she had with Alphonse. It struck her his marriage to the young Audrey had come and gone that spring, and their baby was probably due any time. I sure dodged a bullet with that one, she decided, even if my “friends” thought we would make a good match.

“You could never be like Aunt Evelyn,” Rachel said. “You’re not a gold-digger, and the money you’ve made came through hard work. And the money doesn’t really matter to you, either, does it?”

“I won’t lie,” Lisa replied. “The money matters, because I got to do things and go places I always dreamed of doing and seeing when I was a kid. But what’s money if you don’t have people you love to share it with?”

Rachel looked at her sister with sympathy. “You really did love him, didn’t you?”

Lisa returned Rachel’s glance. “With every fiber of my being. My whole world stopped when Lou told me about his heart attack. Nothing mattered after nearly losing him like that. I just wish I had the chance to tell him so.”

“Look, it’s not my place to tell you what to do or what not to do, Lis,” Rachel said. “But you’re here in Hudson now, and he’s here. This could be your last chance to tell him.”

A slight shiver ran down Lisa’s spine at the notion of facing Jack and baring her heart as she had tried so many months ago, when she made the horrible mistake of renting the hospital bed for him. “I already squandered that ‘last chance’, Rach,” Lisa said sadly. “It’ll take a miracle to convince Jack to see me again. I blew it, and now I’m paying the price.”

--

Thanksgiving dishes were washed and put away; night checks on the horses were finished; everyone was tucked away in bed. Jack, however, lingered by himself in the living room before the fire, sipping on a hot toddy. There was indeed much to be thankful for, he knew, particularly when it came to his own life. There’s much to regret, too, he thought, watching as the flames licked at the seasoned logs. While life moved on, his heart still pined for her. He was still stuck in a place of uncertainty and inaction; of wanting to reach out and of pulling back again. It’s been ten months. Lisa has moved on, surely. It would be wrong of me to call her now, after all that’s gone on between us, and mess up whatever it is she has going. I should be thankful we had whatever it is we had and let her go. With that, Jack pulled himself up from the couch, doused the fire, and crept into his bedroom. As he closed his eyes, his last thought before falling asleep was that given his angry parting words with Lisa, spoken in the heat of the moment, he was undeserving of a second chance with her. Nothing will ever bring us back together; that’s a bridge too far.

--

*To my non-Canadian readers: Thanksgiving in Canada is celebrated on the 2nd Monday of October.

TBC

[mf-despair-queen]

Manager Girl - Dylan O’Brien AU

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Pairing: Baseball!Dylan O’Brien/Reader 

Word Count: 15,211

Summary: Now knee deep in the role as manager of the Mets, you find yourself in a hard place when Dylan’s performance has warranted drastic measures from Mickey Callaway.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Oral (both receiving), Unprotected Sex, Dirty Talk, Spanking, Hair Pulling, Public Sex, Shower Sex, Wall Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Side Sex, Squirting, Some sort of feels and cheesy romance?

Notes: This took. Forever. And I’m sorry for that. But thank @roscoeknows for being there to support me and help me through this every step fo the way. She is the best Hiro Hoechlin ever???

“Dyl, we shouldn’t be doing this right now.”

The words were broken as they passed through your lips, gasps of delight mingling with the crackled vocals that rumbled from your throat. Your skin burned with the searing hot kisses that were placed to your neck, toes curling into the flats that adorned your feet. The papers that once covered your desk were pushed aside gracelessly, some spilling over the edge onto the carpeted floor, with the opposing body that was leaned over your desk, assaulting your features with the plump, pink lips on his face.

A distinct smirk grew on his features when he pulled away, pushing himself off the desk before rounding it quickly. The chair you were sat in was pushed back, wheels rattling against the plastic mat under your desk’s edges. The round bottom of the baseball player you so fondly adored, despite years of torment and agony, was perched on the edge of the desk, his large, veiny hands cupping your cheeks. The lips you desired in the odd hours of the day ghosted over yours, taunting you with the dream-like connection that was destined to meet them.

“We have time,” was the husky, sultry response that seeped off his tongue. His lips pressed to yours for a brief second before trailing along your jaw to your neck again that was instinctively craned for him access.

“But practice is about to start,” you breathed out amidst the moan of his name you let out, eyes fluttering closed. The front of your blouse was tugged south, kisses peppered to your clavicle. Our hands rose, weaving through the soft locks atop his head that laid flat from the hat he wore in that morning.

Dylan made a sound of dismissal while shrugging his shoulders, smiling against your chest. “They won’t miss me at the start,” he murmured. “Besides, we will be quick. I know you can’t resist me, baby. I know I drive you insane. You’re my girl for a reason. So, what do you say? Just a quick round before I’m busting my ass all day?”

Your lips pursed together, deliberating on not only his arrangement, but everything around you. A year that this had been going on. A year since the egotistical, top player of the New York Mets had changed his fuckboy ways, becoming the loving, caring boyfriend you’d never thought he could be.

And you were on cloud nine.

Things had been amazing. You had officially assumed your role as one of the managers for your dream team. You had practically moved in with your boyfriend, more of your clothes sitting in the drawers in his house than your own. The time spent with him, watching him become a man after your own heart, made it flutter aimlessly. And the rendezvous in your office without anyone knowing what crazy things you were doing behind closed doors made your adrenaline pump.

You couldn’t be happier.

Smiling widely, you pulled him up to your lips, disregarding the discolored mark that stained your skin beneath your shirt. His chocolate creme eyes closed, his face pushing harder into yours. His hands rested on either arm of the chair to support himself, leaving your hands to work on the buttons for his practice shirt. The kiss grew messier, wet smacks beginning to fill the room. Metal filing cabinets against the wall amplified the sound, making it ring in your ears. His lips dragged down against yours before separating for a moment, smashing together mere seconds later. Tongues swirled together between your cheeks, his tongue dominating yours in the end.

The star player sunk to his knees in front of you, hands slowly running along your body, tracing every curve along the way. His tender touch made your shiver, loving the way his hands felt memorizing every inch of flesh. His touch was careful, smoothing over your body until his hands were resting on your hips, pushing at the bottom of your pencil skirt.

Your wordless choice was clear to him, the man hiking your skirt up your waist, revealing the black panties he loved. His mouth watered, Adam’s Apple bobbing when he thickly swallowed. Dylan’s hands were sweaty pulling down the silky material - not that you cared in the end. Every touch made you sweat in return, goosebumps along your skin from the chills he gave you. Dylan carelessly tossed the pair of discarded silk behind him, the wet panties landing in a heap under your desk.

Before he could meet his mark, a knock on the door was heard. Your eyes snapped open and the subtle rapping against the wood, your foot pressed against Dylan’s chest in haste. The man grunted as he toppled backwards, growling under his breath as he shuffled backwards. His head thunked against the edge of the desk, long limbs tucked into the small space as much as possible. You were quick to slide forward, unable to fix your bunched-up skirt before the door opened.

“Hey boss,” one of the marketing employees under you, Jacob was his name, said as he walked in, eyes glued to the envelopes in his hands. Behind him, through the open door, you could hear the cheers and chatter from the rest of the team, one by one the men walking by on their way to the field. Dylan was definitely late, you noted, and you were praying that this wasn’t an inquiry about his location. Everyone know you were dating so if he was MIA, you were the first person they came to. You weren’t exactly sure if you could lie to them when he was currently under your desk, face between your legs and buried in your dripping wet pussy.

“Hey, Jake,” you managed to squeak out, licking your lips to wet your dry. “What can I do you for?”

“Just came to drop off the mail for you,” he hummed happily. His footsteps sounded heavy as he moved forward, your hand outstretched to take the envelopes in his grasp. “Thought I’d save you a trip. Don’t want to wear you out or anything.”

“Thanks, Jake,” you told him, taking the envelopes. “You didn’t have to-”

Your words ended abruptly, a sharp intake of air hitting your chest. The envelopes slipped from your hold, landing on the desk. One hand slammed to the table, nails scratching at the surface. Your body was heating up - seeing as the man between your legs decided to be devious and bury his face between your thighs, tongue dipping between your folds and into your wet center.

Jake’s forehead scrunched up, eyebrow raising. “You ok?”

“Just fine,” you managed to say, minimizing the stammer and shake in your tone. Your words seemed to prompt Dylan to go harder, pressing a thumb to your swollen clit, harsh circles rubbed to it. His tongue swirled around in your core, muted slurps from his lips on your core making you quake. “Just kicked the table on accident.”

“You did?” he asked. With your nod, he didn’t bother to question further. “Alright. Well, I was wondering if you weren’t too busy tonight…”

You wanted to groan. Not only was your boyfriend busy eating you inside and out, his magical tongue beginning to make your vision blurry, you had your staff talking to you, leaning on the very desk he was hiding under. You wanted to tell him to buzz off so you can finish what was started. The last thing you wanted was to listen to whatever he had to propose.

“...Maybe we can grab a bite to eat or something. You’re always busy when I ask but-”

“Can’t tonight,” you sharply cut, biting your lip. “You know how it is. Beginning of the season means more work to do.”

The entire time you talked, Dylan pushed himself into you further, lapping at every drop you released. He was driving you insane and you were on the brink of telling Jake to leave, desperate for more than kitten licks and thumb rubbing.

“Oh. Right,” he chuckled pitifully. “Maybe next time.”

“Yeah. Next time,” you gasped, the hold on your desk increasing. “Now, if you don’t excuse me, I have to get back to work. Have to open mail, finish papers. You know how it goes.”

“Yeah, right,” Jake murmured, backing out the door. “Well, bye then?”

“Yeah. Bye.”

Once the door clicked shut, you stood abruptly, not caring that your skirt was raised and your ass was exposed. Dylan chuckled, crawling out from under the desk with a noticeable erection in his shorts. One hand palmed at it while the other wiped his glistening chin, juices stuck in his stubble. He was quick to follow after you, circling the desk behind you. With his back to the office door, you were trapped against the desk, his body pressed against yours.

“He was totally hitting on you,” Dylan mused. A soft kiss was placed to your lips, muffling a whine that escaped. “He really needs to learn to back off because you’re all mine.”

“He was not hitting on me,” you scowled. The glint in Dylan’s eyes made you back down. “Fine, he was badly trying to hit on me despite knowing I am happily taken. Just let the kid live, Dyl.”

“Well, I can’t blame him,” Dylan chuckled, pressing a firmer kiss to your lips. ��You’re beautiful.”

“And you’re late,” you pointed out, recalling the group of players that had walked by when Jake arrived.

“Well then,” Dylan hummed, grinning. His fingers played with the band on his shorts, tongue poking out to playfully toy with your lips. “We should finish what we started. Show that kid that you are all mine.”

“Except that he isn’t here to watch,” you quipped.

Dylan’s brow rose, smirking at your words. “Would you be into that?” he questioned, pushing down his shorts.

Your mouth parts, but not in the sarcastic response you were about to return with. Dylan lined himself up with your entrance, hiking your legs up so your feet weren’t on the ground. Your bottom sat on the desk, the erect cock of your boyfriend slid deep into your moist pussy. While he stilled, hilt deep inside you, your legs and arms wound around his lean form, hugging him close. Every inch of his muscles - chest, shoulders, biceps and abs - flexed and tensed under your touch, rippling against your fingertips. Veins ran along his bare forearms to his hands, his fingertips digging into your sides.

“Hell no,” you managed to say. “I’d rather it just be you, Dyl.”

“I like the sound of that,” he hummed. “But, I also like when you moan for me in this very office. And at home. And anywhere, honestly. But, for now, you’re going to moan for me here.”

His hips pulled back, a prolonged moan escaping your lips with every inch of his shaft that rubbed along your walls while pulling out. Before the tip could escape your depths, he slammed back into you. The desk rattled, and your body jolted with ecstasy. You moans grew louder the more he moved, repeating the motions he began. Hips clapped together in harmony, skin on skin smacks mixing with your breathless grunts and groans.

Dylan huffed and puffed, eyes closed at the intense feeling he had. Your walls hugged him tightly, the only thing giving him ease to move in and out of you at high speeds being your natural lubrication from your secretion. His hands would tug you forward whenever he slammed back into you, delving deep between your walls until he was hitting the sensitive spots that made you whimper, mewling his name. The tip connected with your sweet spot every time he slid back into you, making your nails dig into his shoulders.

The man carelessly pushed your blouse up, pushing your bra out of the way, so he could dip his head down, latching onto a pert nipple. His thrusts into you didn’t cease, slamming into you relentlessly. The table continued to shake, knocking papers that once teetered on the edge of the desk to the floor. But you weren’t focused on the mess being made. Your head was busy falling back, hands moving to tangle in his hair while he sucked on your breasts. His tongue flicked at the hard bud of your breast. His lips tugged at them with short kisses, pulling at them until the nipple slipped from his mouth with a loud pop.

Too distracted by the man pounding you into oblivion, ecstasy coursing through your veins, neither of you heard the office door open. Dylan was concentrating on his wild thrusts into your tight pussy, cock twitching against your walls with the inevitable orgasm he was approaching quickly, and his lips around your nipples, mumbling incoherent words against you skin that sounded vaguely like he was telling you how much he loved your tits and how he couldn’t wait to paint you in his cum, watching it drip from your depths. You were close, ready to explode around him. Your nails scraped at his scalp, tugging at his hair, chanting his name on repeat.

“O’Brien, aren’t you supposed to be practicing?”

You let out a loud shriek in fright, pushing Dylan away as quick as you could. He left you empty, your legs clenching shut to hide your core from the new presence in the room. Your arms wrapped around yourself, blocking the view of your red blotched chest from prying eyes. Your eyes glistened with fearful tears, your lip quivered with anxiety and face was beet red from embarrassment. Dylan stumbled to pull up his shorts, uncomfortably adjusting his erect cock that was still soaked from your juices.

“H-Hi Mickey,” you gasped, swallowing thickly. Dylan groaned, running a hand through his hair as he, too, turned to face your boss, licking his lips. Mickey’s eyes narrowed on the star player, arms crossed over his chest.

“Hi, boss,” Dylan started with a hint of an awkward chuckle stuck on his tongue.

“Get on the field and practice like you’re supposed to, O’Brien.”

“Yup,” Dylan popped, turning to place a quick kiss to your cheek before sliding by his manager and out the door, his grunts of discomfort heard echoing down the hall from his trained erection that lingered in his pants.

Mickey turned away while you fixed yourself, meekly standing under his gaze when you were done. “I’m sorry,” was your abrupt apology to the older man, your eyes downcast on the carpet.

“I don’t want to know how many times this has happened,” he huffed, seating himself in a chair against the wall. “I hope now is a good time to talk to you, but we really need to have this talk.”

Your eyes narrowed on the man, your brow hurt from wrinkling the way they did. Your fingers curled into your palms tighter, the urge to bite at your fingernails anxiously increasing - a bad habit you seemed to pick up from your boyfriend. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

“You might want to take a seat,” came Mickeys words, the tone somewhat icy and unfamiliar to your ears. It sent shivers up your spine, heart stopping from the unknown discussion you were about to have. “We have a lot to discuss.”

This was not how you thought your day would go.

~

Your body felt weak while trudging outside. Your feet dragged against the flooring towards the stairs that led to the field. Naturally, you blocked out the greetings the players gave you as they slipped by sweat dripping down their faces from their long afternoon of training. Their sweaty stench hit your nose, but you didn’t grimace. You were used to it since Dylan always smelled of sweat and his cologne after practice. You grew to enjoy the smell after months of being around him.

Your heart was racing as you ascended the steps, lifting an arm to cover your eyes from the blinding sun. Even though it was setting, disappearing over the walls of Citi Field, the light outside still made your eyes water and blink to ease the pain until they could adjust to the bright outside. The last of the players were flitting inside, chatting happily about how their practice had gone.

But your eyes were trained on the man still on the field, gathering the last of the equipment with the new ball boy that was hired in your stead. It meant Dylan had lost today’s bet, you assumed. The Mets boys had begun this tradition of bets during training this season that whoever was the loser had to help gather the equipment after practice. It was partially to help the new ball boy adjust to his job - though you wished they could have given you the same treatment when you started - while it was also a way for the men to have fun while practicing for the upcoming season.

Dylan’s eyes lit up when he saw you approaching, a smile growing on his face. You couldn’t hear what he said, but you saw his mouth open, turning to the ball boy, Todd. Todd eyed the star player for a moment before nodding slowly, almost unsurely. The remnants of the equipment in the boy’s hands were dropped in the bin, bats clattering together and balls thudding against the bottom of the rolling cart.

You were cast a small smile by the ball boy when he passed you, his footsteps picking up as he sprint down towards the locker room. He said nothing on his way, leaving you in the silence with Dylan O’Brien. He dropped his own handful of equipment into the bin before opening his arms, wrapping your body in his embrace. His frame was shirtless, like you had come to see many times when he practiced. His sweaty body clung to yours, the fabric of your top stuck to his muscled chest.

The entire time you were trapped in his embrace, your heart sunk more, remembering the long talk you just had with your boss. Your mind was buzzing with the countless thoughts you had, trying to formulate words to spill like word vomit. Your hands, resting on his defined hips, tightened, nails scratching at his skin along his v-lines. While his nose was buried in your hair, smelling the sweet smell of strawberry, yours was tucked into his chest, his musky odor heavenly on your senses. Your eyes became wet with unshed tears, a few deep breaths uneven from your body.

Dylan must have picked up on your odd behavior and unusual habits because he pushed you away from him slightly, keeping you within arm’s reach, a pout on his lips and concern swirling in his chocolate irises. He stared down at you with love and worry, mouth opening and closing until he finally managed to muster the words he was trying to piece together.

“So, what happened with Mickey?” he asked lowly, running his hands along your arms. He watched you open and close your mouth, trying to spit out the words, but hearing nothing come out. Instead, he changed to topic. “So, today, I went to hit the ball and missed so bad, that I fell in the dirt. I tried to make a dirt angel, but it didn’t come out that well.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his anecdote of the day, hugging him closer. The sound rang in his ears, making him smile while returning the embrace. His nose nuzzled against your cheek before he began to swamp it with kisses, smothering you with his abundant affection in the form of wet smacks to your face. His fingers tickled your sides, earning himself more rambunctious laughter, your body trying to squirm away from him.

You managed to get yourself loose from his grasp, attempt to flee from his loving assault. But years of baseball had done the man wonders, his stamina not only good in bed, as you had come to find while being together, but on the field as well. His strides were longer than yours, and your heels didn’t help much until they were left in the dust - well, stuck in the grass and dirt. You managed to make it out to right field before your attempts to dodge him became futile, bulging arms trapping you against him. Your body twisted against his, your feet managing to tangle together in a heap that sent you crashing to the ground.

Dylan caught himself on the grass, keeping you against his body to cushion the fall. Your back laid against the green petals that were freshly trimmed that morning, Dylan’s body hovering over yours. His eyes stared deep into yours, the chocolate color making you melt like they were a fondue pot. Your arms, once around his neck to keep yourself against him prior to the slip, loosened, hands cupping his scruffy cheeks. Hearing him sigh deeply made your heart race, watching his eyes flutter shut and feeling him sink into your touch like a cat wanting to be pet.

Slowly, you pulled him in for a tender kiss, his response immediate. His head tilted to allow your lips to mesh together better, slow kisses smacking together. They were short, lips connecting and disconnect in bursts that left yours tingling, wanting more. His body rolled itself against yours, speeding up the kisses as he became needier, hungrier and more desperate for your touch. His tongue smoothed against yours, requesting permission to slip between your cheeks despite his unusual bravado to take control and push past your lips without asking.

You loved the way his lips felt against yours. You loved the way his lips dragged against yours when he pulled away after tracing the inner linings of your cheeks with his tongue. You loved how his body pressed flesh against yours, your bodies matching together like two pieces of a puzzle that were meant to be together. You loved this man with everything you had, even though he seemed to have grown softer over the year you were by his side. Were you lying if you said you missed his dominating, cocky side? Absolutely. You loved these romantic moments with him, but sometimes, you just wanted to see that smirk that made you fall for him in the first place, hearing his husky voice utter vulgar things to you.

He pulled away, chuckling at the short whine you released. He allowed a hand to run through your hair, a soft kiss left to your nose before he rolled off of you, plopping onto the grass by your side. His hand took yours, fingers laced together and giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. Your eyes stared at the sky - seeing the mixture of blue, pink and orange from the setting sun amongst wisps of white clouds - before turning to face him. He was already staring at the side of your face, and you could see the concern on his features.

He licked his dry lips once, wetting them before speaking. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. Dylan’s frown deepened, inching closer to you.

“What’s on your mind, babe?”

You bit at your lip, hard enough that you thought you’d break skin. You didn’t know how to tell him - you didn’t have the heart for it. But, you knew you needed to. “They’re thinking about a transfer.”

“What?”

Your heart broke more at his confusion, the subtle crack in his voice squeezing at your chest. “I-I…” you began before swallowing and continuing. “They’re thinking of transferring one of us to the Yankees.”

“What?” Dylan burst, angrier this time. Pushing himself up on is elbow, he looked down at you, seething with rage. “They can’t do that! Why would they do that?”

“Dylan, calm down,” you pleaded. “Mickey said that… he said that because of your poor performance over the last few months and through spring training, he’s beginning to think our relationship is having a negative effect on the team. He thinks that because we work together, it’s becoming a hinderance. Really, we shouldn’t be together since it’s a conflict of interest, but he allowed it because of how hard we work. But, you haven’t been the best player lately, Dyl. You haven’t been the star hitter we know you are. You can barely make it to first base sometimes-”

“You can’t say that in bed.”

“This is what he’s getting at,” you huffed. “You know I love you, but they’re serious. Mickey is not happy with your performance and his answer is to remove one of us from the equation. They don’t know who it will be yet because he has a meeting next week to discuss everything, but one of us will be leaving the Mets.”

“But,” he murmured, shaking his head to hide any tears. “This is both of our dreams. They can’t just… they can’t just move one of us when we’ve worked so hard to be here.”

“They can, Dyl,” you sighed. “And they will.”

Dylan sighed, collapsing back on the grass. You could sense his unhappiness, making you frown sadly. “Well,” he hummed, ducking his arm behind his head, resting on his forearm. “We will figure it out, I guess.”

“I guess so.”

It fell silent for a second before Dylan spoke up again. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I didn’t think something like this would happen to us. I know how much working for the Mets means to you. It means so much to me too. I’ve always dreamt of being able to play for this team. I never thought me liking a girl would get me transferred.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you told him, glancing at him.

“It’s pretty much my fault for not being at my best.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, Dylan sneering at your honesty. “You haven’t been yourself for weeks, Dyl. What’s up with that?”

The man was quiet, staring up at the darkening sky, sun fading in the distance. “Just distracted, I guess. I haven’t been here mentally.”

“Well, get it together, man!” you teased, shoving him. Dylan grumbled under his breath, making you giggle softly. “You know, you’ve changed a lot over the past year.”

“What?” he questioned, looking at you. “What do you mean? I have not changed. I am still the same Dylan!”

“Mmm,” you hummed, lips pursed tightly. “You’re different to me.”

“Fine,” Dylan huffed jokingly, rolling onto his stomach and laying his head to stare at the side of your face. “Indulge me, babe. How am I different?”

“Well, you’re sweet now,” you told him. You continued, putting more emphasis on your words when you spotted his sour face. “Remember this, Dyl. When I first met you, and the first years I worked for the Mets, you were a cocky, self-righteous fuckboy that had a different girl hanging off your arm every other day. You were degrading and you were rude and I flat out hated your guts.”

“Such loving words,” he joked.

“I’m serious!” you exclaimed in return. “I couldn’t stand working here because you made my life miserable. But then, you changed and I couldn’t stop falling in love with you because you were such a softie under that rough exterior. You were a loving, caring man under the fucks and shits you strung together like it was nothing. You proved you were more than just a fuckboy.”

“Well, ain’t that just the sweetest.”

“But,” you started, stopping short.

“But, what?”

“Sometimes,” you mused, biting at your lip before turning to stare into his eyes. “Sometimes, I guess that I miss that more cocky man. That egotistical man that knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it.”

You could see his brown orbs widen, a spark of interest in your revelation igniting in his dark eyes. “Really?” he wondered, shifting closer until your lips were nearly upon each other. “Is that so, babe?”

“Yeah,” you breathed shortly, eyes already beginning to close. You were ready to feel his lips against yours. “You know I love you and what you do, but there’s just something about the degrading side of you - the cocky, dirtier side of you - that I miss seeing. It’s just kind of sexy to think about you dominating like that.”

“Well,” he quipped, smirking against your lips. “If it helps you out, we can remind you of those times if you want. If you want to see my egotistical side again, we can make that happen. If you want me to be that fuckboy I was before I got with the most beautiful girl in the world, I will gladly do it for you. I will show you a wonderful time, baby, if you’ll let me.”

“Oh, really?” you laughed against his lips. “When is that going to happen?”

“Well…”

~

The locker room was empty by the time you got there. Everyone had left, leaving you to reenact the first time you had ever done anything with Dylan from over a year ago. The only difference was this time, you were more than willing to be there with him, the water cascading over your bodies while your back was pushed against the cold wall, heated lips placed to yours. Your clothes stuck to your body, the blouse you wore turning see-through while the heated water rained over your bodies. Your body burned from the touch of his hands squeezing at your thighs, his chest pressed to yours while his lips ravenously assaulted you.

He only broke the steamy kiss less than a handful of times. The first was the peel his shirt off his body, the clue cotton with the Mets logo clinging to his biceps and pecs being lifted over his wet with a light suctioning sound, wetly plopping to the side. The second was the drop your skirt, your blouse left unbuttoned to show off your bra. He didn’t have to disconnect from your lips to push your blouse from your shoulders, his focus more on the way his tongue swirled between your cheeks, tangling with yours, than with the removal of your shirt. The third was so he could remove your bra, focusing his mouth on your chest instead of your face.

Your head fell back at the feeling, one hand being used to wipe water droplets from your face while the other tangled in the wet chocolate locks that clung to Dylan’s forehead. Your chest heaved with labored breaths, the hot shower making it harder to catch your breath. It was only amplified by the feeling of euphoria in your heart, the wet smack of lips to your breast making you writhe. Plump pink lips wrapped themselves around each perky nipple, making they harder when he tugged at them nonstop. A large, veiny hand cupped the opposing mound in the palm, fondling it so it didn’t feel neglected. The red blotches that were peppered to your chest earlier multiplied, growing darker than you’re used to.

“God, I just love your tits,” he murmured against your skin, giving your breast a squeeze. You heard him kiss them over and over, your nails curling into his scalp at the pleasure. “I love the way you squirm when I suck on them. Do you like when I suck on them, baby?”

“Yes,” was all you could muster weakly.

“You like when I play with your nipples, don’t you?” he rasped, flicking his tongue against the hard peak to elicit a filthy moan from your throat. “God, you’re such a slut for this. You love when I suck on your nipples. You love when I tug at them with my fingers. Only me, though, baby. Only I can make you feel like this.”

His hand squeezed your breast again, harder this time. “These tits are mine. These nipples are mine. Only I can suck on them until they are so hard, you will show through your bra. Only I can pinch them, squeeze them, and ravage them with my mouth.” He gave them a soft slap, making you yelp in pleasure and pain. “You hear me, baby? All. Mine.”

“All yours,” you repeated.

“Just like,” he began, dropping his hand from your chest to your core. Bypassing your panties with ease, two fingers smoothed themselves over your soaked entrance, your head pushing back further into the wall. “This pretty little cunt is all mine.”

“All yours,” you repeated louder.

Dylan’s lips curled upright, moving back to place his lips on yours. The two fingers at your pussy poked their way inside of you, your mewls muffled and lost to the fierce kiss he was giving you. The slender digits slid in and out of you slowly, taunting you and teasing you, spreading apart while pulling at and thrusting back in when conjoined. Your body quivered at his touch, a knot beginning to coil inside of you.

“Dyl,” you pleaded against his lips when he pulled back for a burst of air. “Please.”

“Please what?” he asked, playfulness laced on his tone.

“Please,” you let out with a whine. “Please me.”

“I think I can do that. But first,” he quipped, pulling his fingers from inside you, tugging at the band of your panties. “These need to go.”

The discard of your panties was agonizing. The man sunk to his knees, dragging them slowly down your legs, leaving kisses to your hips and thighs along the way. Purposefully avoiding your center left you whimpering for more, tugging at his hair in a futile attempt to get him to please you. His shorts were discarded as soon as he stood up, his arm snaking around your waist - his erect cock trapped between your stomachs.

His hand rested on your ass, giving it a slap that made you jolt. “You want a piece of me, babe?” he hummed huskily, licking his lips. His eyes narrowed, peering down at you as you nodded frantically. “Then, turn around, hands on the wall, and stick that round little ass out for me.”

Doing as he said, you felt the sting of the water pelting at your back, resting your forehead against to cool wall. Your fingers curled, palms pressed flat to the tile. Your skin crawled at the subtle touch of his fingers caressing your backside, the light graze of his fingertips traveling down your spine to your ass. A jolt ran through your body when a loud smack was place to your behind, the cheek cupped in the center of his hand.

“This ass is mine,” he rasped, licking his lips. His free hand casually stroked his elongated length, smearing precum over the tip before the shower washed it away. He could feel it pulsating between his fingers, eager to feel your tight walls clasping around him as he bucked into you wildly, slamming you into the wall while you screamed for him.

You couldn’t help but smile, glancing back at him over your shoulder. Dylan felt a groan catch in his throat at the way your eyes shadowed dangerously, the curl of your swollen lips and wet hair that clung to your face making you look attractively appetizing. Even though he had your cheek cupped in his grasp, you shook your backside from side to side, pushing back to feel his erect cock pressed to your skin. “All yours.”

“That’s right,” he breathed, leaning forward so the words were directed into the shell of your ear, ringing against your ear drum. His chest was against your back, his cock sliding between your thighs and between your folds with the help of the water. “All. Mine.”

It wasn’t slow at the start. When he decided to dominate you, he did just that. One single thrust was all it took for him to side inside you - filling you to the brim, stretching your walls to accommodate his large size. A veiny hand pressed to your lower stomach to keep you close and still, his hips pulling back and ramming swiftly back into your tight core.

The motions continued just like that. Pull back, slam into you. The sound of wet, clapping skin from his hips against your ass resonated through the foggy air, the steam from the shower clouding your forms in the small stall. You were bent just the right amount that gave the best angle for him to please you at, the tip of his cock finding the sweetest spots in your pussy that made your stomach tighten more than before. His balls smacked your folds with every thrust, the man hammering into you, his cock pistoning its way in and out of you like a machine in overdrive.

His hand slid through your hair, fingers weaving through the strands, before giving it a sharp tug back. Your moans were being muffled by your hands, your head buried away to the heat and euphoria. You were having a hard time concentrating: the heat making your mind fuzzy, his thrusts sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body, adrenaline from the situation coursing through your blood. Yet, Dylan wanted to hear every moan you were letting out, his name on constant repeat.

“That’s right,” were the husky words you could make out through muffled hearing, the shower pelting against the ground louder than you were used to. That mixed with the ever-growing noise of skin on skin was all you could make out. Even if he was talking almost directly in your ear, you struggled to make out what he said. “Moan my name, baby. I love hearing you scream my name like the slut you are.”

“I-” you choked out, biting back a loud mewl. “I’m only a slut for you, Dyl.”

“Mmm?” he hummed through tight lips. “Only a slut for me? Are you a slut for my cock?”

“Yes,” you gasped.

“You like when I do this?” he continued, ramming into you harder than before, thrusting deep up into your core. Your scream couldn’t be silenced, your body ready to collapse from your trembling legs. If it hadn’t been for Dylan holding you upright, you would be on the floor, quivering from bliss. “That’s right. Scream for me. You love when I pound your tight little pussy with my cock. You love when I fuck you up, don’t you? You’re so dirty, baby. Filthy, dirty little suck for my cock.”

His hand pushed through you wet locks, carefully sliding down the front of your face. Your eyes drifted closed at his semi-soft touch. His palms were calloused from wielding a bat for as long as he had, but, against your wet skin, was a welcoming feeling. The tips of his fingers danced over your partially separated lips, allowing you to place soft kisses to them. You managed to draw them into your mouth, sucking on them briefly, before they descended further south, ending at your neck.

A sharp breath of air left your lips, a squeeze of his hand on your throat slightly restricting your airway. Your mind went completely blank, the hold on your neck cutting off one of your senses increasing the feeling of his manic thrusts into you. Your eyes practically rolled back in your head, your body shaking in his grasp. Your stomach was tight, clenching uncontrollably.

“You’re so sexy,” he whispered into your ear, ramming into you fiercely. The hand on your stomach slid up to your bouncing breasts, giving them a squeeze that mirrored your neck. He tilted his head to watch them sway with his motions, eyeing your face occasionally. “I love the way you look when I’m fucking you like this. If I could, I would film this and get off to this image every time I need to when you aren’t around to help me. I can’t get enough of your sweet body.”

He was getting you close. He could sense it. And much to your dismay, he stopped, pulling out and leaving you dripping and empty. Both hands rested on your chest, juggling your breasts, listening to you whimper pathetically for more.

And when he was satisfied with your noises, he spun you around, one leg lifted with the bend of your knee on his forearm. His other hand, not pressed to the wall, held your arms above your head, his lips finding home on yours. Your exasperated moan was lost to his plush pink lips, swelled from your reckless behavior, when he slid back into you. You back slid against the wall every time he pushed back into you, his speed declined but the pleasure still pronounced. Every thrust was exact and calculated, drawing out every ounce of pleasure he could.

He kept going until you were on the verge of collapse. Your air supply was gone from countless kisses and exhaustive heat. You stomach was so tight, it felt like your insides were going to fall out soon, exploding from the strain. Your limbs ached from clenching, yet you felt the familiar sense of euphoria tingling inside. His lips lingered over yours, sharing the air with you. The touch of his forehead against yours as he pushed into you sloppily made you weak, the contact comforting.

The world seemed to black out when you came, juices spilling out around him, coating his length in your arousal. Your walls hugged him as tight as possible, clinging to him like your life depended on it. Your nails curled into yourself, only separating when his fingers slid through him, interlocking your hands in a firm hold. His body continued to buck into you until he, too, was cumming. His seed shot out in spurts, strings of white filling your core and mixing with your own juices. Your tight walls milked him for all he had, the man slowing his stride until your highs were depleted.

He didn’t pull out as your bodies relaxed. Your leg was dropped, your toes hitting the wet ground, curling into the droplets that encircled your feet. Your arms were released, draped against his shoulders. Your nails scraped at his back, soft red marks left on his skin. They ended up on his neck, playing with the ends of his hair that stuck to the nape of his neck. Dylan turned off the water, droplets dripping from the tips of his chocolate locks to the ground.

Together, you stayed just like that - locked in each other’s embrace, hugging the other tightly. Dylan’s lips touched your forehead, a hand weaving through the hair on the back of your head as he held you. His nose flared out with heavy breaths, his eyelashes fluttering as he fought back tears. Your body shook slightly in his arms, tears of your own beginning to fall. With the moment over, his arms safely around you in a comforting way, the realization was hitting you both.

The dream was over for one of you.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured under his breath. “We’ll figure something out.”

“I know,” you mumbled, leaning back enough to look up at him. His thumb ran across your face, wiping away a stray tear. “Just promise me you won’t make a big ordeal about this. No problems with all of this.”

“I won’t make a scene,” he promised, hugging you close.

Yet, the man couldn’t help but think one thing.

I will figure out why this is happening. And I will fix this for you.

~

A knock wrapped at Mickey Callaway’s door the following afternoon. The manager looked up from his papers, uttering a low ‘come in’ for the unknown being on the other side. To his surprise, his star player - who seemed to be at his worst since joining the team - walked through the door. His hands were stuffed in his short’s pockets, blue training shirt clinging to his torso. His blue Mets hat was pulled low over his hair, his eyes downcast to the floor.

“Dylan,” Mickey began, placing his pen down. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be preparing the game soon?”

“Yeah, I know,” Dylan uttered slowly. When he glanced up, Mickey was surprised to see the dullness in his eyes, slight red rings around the edges. The dark constellation of marks along his cheeks seemed darker than normal against his pale cheeks. The man shuffled in his step, shifting his weight between feet. “I just had a question for you.”

“Alright,” Mickey hummed, gesturing to the chair across from him. He watched the baseball star take a seat cautiously, sitting on the edge of his seat. “What’s wrong, Dylan? You don’t look that great.”

“I don’t feel great, honestly,” he admitted to his boss. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. It was a rough night.”

“Are you sure you will be ok to play this week? We can switch if needed.”

“No, no,” Dylan quickly denied with the shake of his head. “It’s our home game opener. I want to play. I’m ok to play. I will feel better before the game, I promise. But, I just had to get something off my chest first.”

Mickey’s brow cocked at the statement, nodding at the younger man. “Alright. Go ahead.”

“Why are you doing this?” Dylan asked, voice cracking slightly. Mickey eyed him, waiting for him to continue. “I know my performance hasn’t been great these last few months, but I don’t get why you need to transfer one of us.”

Mickey’s lips pursed, leaning forward on his desk to stare down the athlete. “It’s my job to keep this team together, Dylan. If you aren’t performing at your best, I need to fix that. And from what I can tell, the distraction is your relationship. I was lenient and let you guys work together when I really shouldn’t have because I know you both are amazing at what you do. But, when it comes down to it and you can’t do what you need to, I have to fix it.”

His words were harsh, Dylan wincing slightly at what he said. His hands clasped together in his lap, forming a tight ball. “Please,” he let out, biting his lip. “There has to be something that we can do - that I can do - to fix this.”

“Dylan…”

“Please, Mickey,” he pleaded. “You don’t understand how much this means to both of us. I’ve dreamt of playing for the Mets my entire life. I couldn’t bear playing for another team. And Y/N… she worked so hard to be here. She put up with my lying, cheating ass for so long, dealing with the strain and torture I caused her, because she wanted to work for the Mets that bad. It would break both of us to tear either one of us from this job. So please, there has to be something that I can do to save us both.

“And, if there isn’t, don’t take it out on her. She doesn’t deserve it. It was my fuck up that caused this. I’m the one not performing well enough. I’m the one that pushes her to do the things we do when I know we shouldn’t. She is more amazing at this than I am. She is the best manager you will have on your team and if it comes down to it, transfer me, not Y/N. I couldn’t bear to break her heart.”

Mickey listened to Dylan’s pleas. He watched the man break down before him. It broke his heart to see the young man so vulnerable, his hard shell cracking ever so slightly. Dylan was a hard person to read, giving off a persona of a badass to everyone he met. Yet, here he was, begging for his girlfriend’s job over his own, his heart worn on his sleeve in that moment.

“Dylan,” Mickey started, lifting his own hat off his head to run his fingers through his hair. “There isn’t anything I can do at the moment-”

“Mickey, please,” Dylan choked slightly. “There has to be something.”

Mickey sighed. “The only thing that can potentially stop this is if you improve. Show me that I was wrong in assuming that your relationship with Y/N is affecting how you play. Whatever is on your mind all the time, get if off your chest finally and stop waiting for it. Just do it. Be the Dylan that we know and love. Because if you can’t be him, then why did Y/N fall for you?”

Dylan sat silently for a moment, processing his words. “Get it off my chest? Be myself?” he chuckled slightly.

“Yup,” Mickey hummed. “You have something weighing you down. Get rid of that and show me that you can be the man I recruited. You are our best player for a reason, Dylan. So, be that guy. I know you can do it. Make it count and I assure you everything will work out.”

Dylan’s hands tightened before nodding, standing from his seat. “Alright. If I can show you that we are fit to be here, that us working together isn’t a hassle, you’ll keep us?”

“Of course,” Mickey confirmed. “Prove me wrong.”

“Alright. Thank you for the help, sir.”

“No problem, Dylan,” he said, watching the young man leave. Mickey Callaway leaned back in his seat, a smile on his face. “I hope your things work out for you in the end.”

~

Opening day at Citi Field. It was bittersweet for you. You spun around in your seat, checking your phone for the hundredth time in days. Every text had been read, but not responded to. Phone calls were ignored. You didn’t know why, but Dylan had been ignoring you since the night in the locker room shower.

Your heart was slightly broken at the fact that your own boyfriend wouldn’t answer you when you tried to call him. He wouldn’t be home when you went by his house, so you opted to stay at your tiny apartment that felt cold without him there. It didn’t feel like home as you laid in bed, the spot beside you void of warmth.

You felt slightly used, thinking that maybe things were dissipating quicker than you’d like after the talk of someone’s transfer. One last rendezvous in the shower and he was done with you. You prayed you were wrong, but there was nothing else you could think of that would explain his odd behavior.

And as you sat in your office, shorts hugging your hips, Mets shirt buttoned up and neatly tucked into your shorts, and a Mets hat that matched your boyfriend’s, you wondered if you should even be attending the game. The season opener at your home stadium - if it was even going to be home soon. You wanted to support your team - support your man - but you wondered if it would be better for you to go home and drown yourself in some Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.

Glancing at the clock, you sighed, daring to make your way up to the field. The game would be starting soon, the opening pitch thrown in a matter of minutes. Your body felt heavy standing from your seat, checking yourself in the mirror before you would attempt to go out. You didn’t want to ruin your makeup from potential tears.

A knock on your door was curious. They didn’t wait for the ok to come in before the door opened, a familiar man making your heart race in your doorway. His uniform was pristine and clean - bound to get dirty soon. He held his glove in his hand, playing with it. His chest rose and fell with uneasy breaths, like he was afraid to confront you after ignoring your presence for days. He avoided eye contact with you, glancing around the room and diverting his gaze whenever he set his sights on your form across the room. It was not like him at all, and that scared you.

Part of you hoped that he would just be himself - that he would rush forward, kiss you like you were his source of living. You wanted him to feel your body up, his hands moving nonstop against your body, memorizing every inch of you. You wanted him to do anything, honestly. You just wanted to be touched, to be held, to be loved. You wanted the man you fell for back in your arms, and so far, he seemed distant.

You were terrified of what was about to happen.

His mouth opened and closed, his Adam’s Apple bobbing when he swallowed the lump in his throat. His knuckles were turning white from how hard he held his glove. Finally, his quiet voice came through. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you responded, unsure of yourself.

“I um…” he cracked, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to talk to you the last few days. I’ve been a bit busy.”

Your heart sank in your chest, splashing in a pit of stomach acid. That didn’t sound good to you and your mind assumed the worst. Was he seeing someone else? Was he through with you? Was he ready to move on because one of you were going to lose your dream job? What had you done wrong to make this happen?

“I can’t explain right now, but if you’ll give me a chance, I will explain soon. You deserve to know what I’ve been doing and why I’ve been kind of absent the last few days.” He paused, rubbing the scruffed jaw you adored. “I wanted to stop by to see if you were going to be watching me play today. It’s the season opener after all and I was hoping… you’d still be here to watch. I think you’ll enjoy the game.”

You were shocked that he was asking for such a thing. It brought back memories of him asking for a chance before you began dating. As much as you wanted to tell him no, not wanting to be hurt, you bit the bullet, nodding slowly. The first time he asked for this, he showed that he was true to his word. Now, you were going to do the same - trust in his word; trust in him.

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

It was the first time since the other night you had seen him smile. It was small and brief, but it made the butterflies inside you flutter. “Great. I’m glad,” he murmured, backing towards the door. “I should go get ready. The game is about to begin. And please, don’t be late. I want you to be there for the opening pitch because I think it’ll be one to remember.”

Your forehead scrunched in confusion, unable to question him further. He turned on his heel and ran, the door left ajar on his way out. You could hear the chatter of the crowd streaming through the hallways, the stadium filling to capacity for the first game. The fans were there to support your team, and you hoped that they were in for a good game. Knowing that Dylan wasn’t at his peak, you were worried your team would fail, and you would disappoint them.

With a deep sigh, you followed in the steps of your boyfriend, knowing it was time. Your steps seemed to go in slow motion, headed for the steps to the field, directly by the Mets dugout. The sun was still shining overhead, lighting up the field, making your eyes sparkle. Seeing the stands full of people in bright blues and oranges, your heart was alight. The players were preparing for a memorable game. In all your years, it never ceased to amaze you being there.

The music that was playing to pass the time died down, the announcers in the booth announcing that the opening pitch was about to take place. You leaned against the side of the dugout, staying hidden in the shade, to watch the start of the season. Dylan’s strides were long, and his look was nearly opposite compared to how he looked in your office. He was smiling brightly, waving at the crowd as he trotted to the mound, ball and glove in hand.

What you didn’t see was the mic that was hidden in his glove until he stood on the pitcher’s mound, placing the glove and ball to the side to favor the device. “Hey everyone! Long time no see!”

The crowd cheered for him, making you laugh at their delight.

“Is everyone ready for a wonderful season to the Mets?” He held the mic out, listening to the screams of everyone. “That’s good to hear. Well, before we get things started, I wanted to do something a bit special for one of our very, very important team members for the Mets.”

Your brow furrowed, straightening up slightly. You watched him grin, glancing around until he spotted your figure in the distance. He seemed to smile wider, making you wonder.

“A long, long time ago, we had a ball girl that was an amazing addition to the team. She was a beautiful woman, but the ball girl gig just wasn’t for her. She was too smart, too talented, and too overqualified to be chasing around my balls.” The crowd snickered at his words, making you hide your face from embarrassment. “Ok, ok. Bad choice of words. But, it’s true. She had a college degree and everything. And she was lucky enough to become one of our managers. And I was lucky enough to be given a chance to call her my girlfriend on this very mound.

“So, I want to call her out here now because I have a very important thing to talk to her about. I owe her an explanation because I haven’t talked to her in days. I haven’t been the best boyfriend and now, I want to tell her why. So, Y/N,” he hummed, curling his finger your way. “If you’ll please join me on the mound.”

“Not again,” you huffed to yourself, taking a deep breath before stepping away from your spot. Dylan was practically bouncing as you made your way forward, the crowd cheering with every step you took. When you were near, his hand extended to you, hoping you would take it in return. When you did, you could feel how clammy his hands were, his aura exuding nervousness.

“Well, about a year ago, I stood up here, asking this very beautiful woman to give me a chance to be her boyfriend and she has made me the happiest man in the world. She is amazing at everything she does, and I couldn’t be more proud that she has achieved everything she has.” He paused, licking his lips. His eyes met yours, the color bright and vibrant. “I have to say that I love this woman with all my heart.”

“Dylan…”

“And I’m probably going to get hit for doing something like this again, but this has been on my mind for weeks now,” he chuckled, digging his hand in his pocket as he did. “I haven’t been able to focus on practice. I haven't been able to focus on playing. I haven’t been at my best because I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you to be mine for the rest of my life. I didn’t know how to ask. I didn’t know what kind of ring. I was stuck. And it affected my work. And for that, I apologize because it could have hurt you too. I didn’t see you, didn’t talk to you, so I could get myself ready for this. I needed it to be perfect. So, please, Y.N.”

Slowly, he got down on one knee, holding a small, black box in his palm. Inside sat a sing, a single diamond in the middle of the band that glowed in the sun. He cleared his throat once more before speaking up. “Y/N L/N, you are the love of my life and I couldn’t be happier that you gave me that chance. I don’t regret asking you out. I don’t regret putting your name out to be the new manager. You were once my ball girl, then you were my manager girl. But, now, I want you to be my girl, forever, if you’ll have me. Y/N, will you marry me?”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You felt like you couldn’t talk. The attempt to keep your makeup from running was ruined when happy tears slid down your cheeks. You took his hand, closing it around the mic with him. Pulling him up, you held the mic closer to your lips, sniffles echoing through the stadium.

“Yes, Dylan. I will marry you,” you managed to let out. “But, only on one condition.”

His head tilted to the side. “Oh? And what’s that?”

You grinned widely, taking the mic fully from his hand. You glanced around the stadium, listening to people cheer and holler. “You have to go out there and win this game!” you screamed loudly, the fans jumping to their feet, applauding in agreement. Turning back to Dylan, you giggled, staring into his eyes. “What do you say, O’Brien?”

Dylan smirked at your words, snapping the box closed. He took the mic from you, holding it to his lips. “Easy.”

You were surprised when Jacob DeGrom came out to make the pitch instead, Dylan pulling you back to the dugout. You joined the rest of the team, receiving congratulations on the way. Even Mickey gave you a thumbs up, making you question your boss mentally. Dylan held your hand tightly, turning to face you when you were in a corner alone. He held out the ring box towards you, smiling happily.

“Keep this safe for me, will you? That way when we win, I can properly put that ring on your finger.”

“I will keep it safe,” you hummed, taking the box. As soon as you did, you pushed up on your toes, connecting your lips to his. Dylan seemed to melt into you, your hand resting on his cheek, his stubble scratching at your skin. He pulled you against him, kissing your furiously. Pulling apart, your lips brushed his as you spoke. “I love you, Dyl.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

“Kick some butt out there.”

“Always.”

With that, he was on the field leaving you to stand with Mickey, watching the game begin. Mickey cast you a smile, wrapping his arm around you in a fatherly way. “Did you have something to do with this?” you inquired, leaning on the rail, but glancing up at the man.

“Maybe,” he chuckled. “We’ll talk about this later. After the game, I need you and Dylan to come by my office. Alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

~

Nothing was more fulfilling than watching the crowd in the stands jumping to their feet, fists pumping as the final inning closed, Mets obliterating the Giants - lead by Dylan O’Brien himself. The team ran to their star player as he threw the last pitch, the batter striking out for the last time. There was no need for the Mets to play the bottom of the ninth - they had won. The men gathered on the pitcher’s mound, arms wrapped around their star that had regained his momentum during the game. You laughed at their enthusiasm, clapping your hands happily at the victory for your team.

As the guys broke apart, Dylan’s eyes fell on yours, smiling widely. You saw his mouth open, excusing himself from the others you assumed seeing as he ducked under their arms, rushing in your direction. You joined him on the grass, squealing when his arms wrapped themselves around your waist, lifting you from the ground to spin you in circles. Your laughs grew, wrapping your own arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Your foreheads pressed against one another, noses brushing lightly to each other.

“I won for you, baby,” he whispered, licking his lips slowly. His hot breath hit your face, fanning against your cheeks. Your face hurt from how much you were grinning, weaving your digits through his wet with sweat hair without a care.

“You did,” you murmured back.

“So, that means that you are mine, right? Forever?”

You giggled, nodding against him. “I was yours regardless if you won or not, Dyl. Because I love you so much. Winning is just an added bonus.”

“So, I won for nothing then?”

“Naw. I like when my team wins.”

“Good. Because it’s going to stay that way.” He placed you on your feet for a moment, tugging you closer by the belt loops, biting his lip. “Did you do what I asked? Did you keep it safe?”

“Of course,” you laughed, dropping your arms to pull the small box from your pocket. “Kept it on me at all times. You know I’d never let you down.”

“This is true. You never have let me down, even when I was a prick to you for years,” he laughed, taking the box. His fingers trembled while pulling out the ring. You could feel him shaking while taking your hand, glancing at your face with a grin. “And now, I’m glad I can call you my own for the rest of my life.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? A deal is a deal, playboy.”

“Hey! I gave that up because I feel for you!” he chuckled, sliding the ring on your finger. His arms circled your body again, both of you admiring the sparkling gem that adorned your right hand. “But, I’m glad I did. It was, and always will be, worth it for you. I love you so much, Y/N. My manager girl.”

“I love you too, Dylan. My baseball star.”

“Just kiss already!” the rest of the team yelled. The remainder of the crowd hooted and hollered in agreement, making the pair of you share a laugh, chortling at their actions.

He lifted you off the ground once more, locking eyes with you. His orbs sparkled with wonder, glistening in the stadium lights. Dylan leaned up in compliance, placing his lips on yours. You would have been crazy if you didn’t return it, feeling the love that the man felt tingling to them, coursing through your veins to the rest of your body. His lips were soft, as always, turning you to jelly in his hold. The screaming around you disappeared, the only thing mattering being yourself and the man you loved sharing a moment that you would never forget.

Breaking the kiss with a popping smack, your feet found the grass once more, Dylan’s arms never leaving your sides. The man peppered you with a few more kisses, snuggling into your cheek.

“Dyl,” you laughed, hearing him grunt in response. “Mickey wanted to speak to us in his office after the game.”

“He did?” Dylan asked, sound muffled in your neck.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, kissing the side of his head. “You need to go shower and change so we can go see him.”

“Fine,” he whined under his breath, backing away. A smirk grew on his face, hands gripping your hips tighter. His eyebrows wiggled suggestively as he asked, “You want to join me?”

“Do you want the others to see me naked? Do you want the others to see you with an erection? Do you really want them watching you fuck me silly because we know you can’t keep it chill?”

Dylan’s face fell at your deadpanned reaction, pursing his lips. “Damn, you’re right,” he mumbled. “I don’t want them seeing you naked. I don’t care if they watch us fuck because they can be jealous. But baby, you’re mine.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, smacking his chest. “Shower. Now. I will meet you there.”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, kissing you before running off.

You took your time heading to Mickey’s office, knocking on the door when you arrived. The quiet ‘come in’ made your heart race, one deep breath leaving your chest before opening the door. Mickey gave an almost reassuring smile when he saw you in his doorway, nodding at one of the chairs across from him.

“Welcome, Y/N,” he greeted. You nodded in returned, sitting in the plush chair. “One hell of a game, eh?”

“Yeah. Glad we were able to win. We’re off to a great start this season.”

“That’s true,” he quipped, leaning back. “Hopefully it’ll stay that way.”

“What are you up to?” you asked, biting at your lip. “I’m so confused.”

“Just wait. I’ll explain once Dylan gets here.”

“He should be here soon. He just had to go shower and change,” you told the man who nodded in return.

The silence was agonizing and uncomfortable, your foot resorting to tapping to keep yourself preoccupied. The tick of the clock made your brain buzz. Your hands curled together in your lap, eyes directed to the ground to avoid unwanted eye contact with the man across the desk. Thoughts of what could be happening - what your future held - raced through your mind, your body sweating from the unknown. The uncertainty was killing you.

A swift rap on the door made your head shoot up, turning in your seat to watch Dylan walk through the door. His jeans hugged his waist, a plain black shirt clinging to his torso. His hair was still damp, sticking up in random directions. On his feet sat his normal, worn out Adidas you knew he adored. His lips curled in an awkward smile, his speckled cheeks crinkling together. The door shut behind him, your eyes following the baseball player while he approached and took his seat.

“Hey Dylan,” Mickey greeted. “Great game today.”

“Thanks,” came Dylan’s rather meek reply. “What’s this about, Mickey?”

“Right, right. I’m sure you both are wondering what is going on considering the whole transfer talk,” Mickey began. You nodded slowly, biting your lip. Dylan remained silent, kicking one leg over his knee as he sunk into his seat. “How do I explain this? I wasn’t lying about the potential for one of you to transfer. I know how much you both love being part of this team and how much it means to you, and normally, your relationship doesn’t get in the way of your work.

“But, Dylan - you haven’t been your best. You couldn’t focus on what you were doing and the ruling was that it was because of your relationship. And I knew it was because of this.”

“Because of… this?” you asked.

“Dylan’s proposal,” Mickey stated. “He had mentioned that he wanted to propose to you and wanted to make sure it would be alright because of your position here.”

You glanced at Dylan, who was avoiding your gaze by biting at his fingers.

“What I didn’t expect was for him to ponder it the way he did. He let it distract him. Dylan can disagree if I’m wrong.” The man beside you shook his head wordlessly. “I didn’t want to lose either of you so, we came up with the idea to transfer one of you because I knew it would kick his ass in gear to finally pop the question.”

“So, you played us,” Dylan chuckled dryly.

“Kind of,” Mickey laughed. “You guys are good for each other and you are good for this team. So, I did what I had to so you guys are happy. I know it hurt you to think that you’d have to leave, but I did what I thought was best for you. And look what happened. It’s about time you guys got hitched.”

Your face flushed, shaking your head. “That’s cruel, boss.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

“So, what does this mean?” Dylan asked, glancing between you and Mickey. “What’s going to happen to us?”

Mickey chuckled under his breath, leaning on his desk. “Neither of you are being transferred. I will talk to the other managers and let them know what the decision is. You are too great of assets to this team to let someone else have you. I wouldn’t want to see you putting your skills to work with someone who isn’t us. And I know this means everything to you guys,” Mickey smiled. “It would be a pleasure to keep that dream alive in you.”

“Thank you, Mickey,” you laughed, holding back grateful tears.

“Yeah,” Dylan choked, clearing his throat. “Thanks, Mickey.”

The older man chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t thank me, guys. Just get out of here and enjoy the rest of your night. You’re engaged now, after all. Go celebrate.”

“Thanks,” you hummed again, standing from your seat. Dylan followed your lead, not hesitating to reach out for your hand. Fingers interlocked together, the athlete beginning to lead you to the door.

“Oh, and guys?” Mickey called, making you both halt and turn. Mickey’s lips were straight and tight, his eyes narrowed. The glint was glaring, sending shivers to your spine. “Don’t let this happen again. Next time, I won’t be able to help. We won’t go lenient like this again.”

“Yes, sir,” you said in unison, rushing out the door with a loud thunk, running away from your boss as fast as possible.

His words were bone chilling, and his stare was soul piercing. You didn’t want to test him any further. You were saved once - that was enough already.

~

Most people, to celebrate their engagement, would pop a bottle of champagne, make a toast, sip the bubbly alcohol until you could feel the bubbles popping down your throat and in your stomach, destroying your inhibitions after splitting the rest of the bottle.

But no.

You were carried to Dylan’s room quickly, the front door barely shut and locked before you were thrown over his shoulder. It didn’t matter that he had played baseball all night. It didn’t matter that he was tired and sore. His adrenaline was pumping and his hormones were through the roof. His erection was obvious in his jeans, a thick rod pressed against the inside of the denim. The outline was prominent, even in the dim light of the house.

His lips were pressed to yours before you could blink, your back laid to his sheets with the man hovering over you. His hips ground to yours, honey colored irises closing in bliss. Your own eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his tongue tracing your sealed lips, prying them open to gain access to your inner cheeks. Your hands roamed up and down the man’s muscled back, scratching at his shirt that stood between your nails and his marked skin.

The kisses you shared were fast and sloppy, his lips dragging down yours before disconnecting with a loud, distinct smack that filled the four walls of the bedroom. Your separation was always short lived, reconnection after a brief intake of air. Tongues tangled together, swirling circles around one another between your cheeks. Noses bumped against each other, teeth clashing. Smack after smack of lips was making your body tremble, ears ringing from the sound. Your legs wanted to rub together to ease the sensation present between them, yet Dylan’s body kept that from happening.

The man leaned back, your lips swollen and red from his relentless assault. Your eyes were glazed over from ecstasy, but you managed to focus on the handsome man above you. His biceps flexed, veins running along his arms that accentuated his skin, making your mouth water. As he crossed his arms, hands taking the ends, the shirt was removed - discarded across the room. He was left bare from the waist up: lean abs glaring at you, perky pink nipples against pale skin - one tiny freckle resting above one, a defined collarbone and shoulders that made your heart race. His Calvin Klein boxers poked out of the band of his jeans, clinging to his v-lines. His muscles twitched whenever he moved.

He pulled yours up next, your hands held above your head while he stripped your shirt off your body, bra following shortly after. The sheets felt cold under your bare back, goosebumps forming on your arms. They grew - they were amplified - with the tender touch of his lips trailing down your body, leaving marks from your neck to your chest, assaulting your breasts with loving kisses. The nipple was drawn between his lips, tongue flicking at the stiff bud restlessly. A veiny hand massaged the other, fondling it in the palm with the pad of his thumb smoothing over the erect peak.

You mewled loudly for him, his name befalling your lips. The graze of his teeth against your skin drove you insane, the man nipping endlessly at your skin. The tug of his lips at your nipple, pulling at it until it was released with a pop, made your head spin, your core throbbing with want. Everything he did made the increasing wetness between your legs more prevalent. Yet, all you could do was tug at his hair, pleading at him for more.

An empty feeling remained when he left your chest, his kisses trailing south. His nimble fingers worked quickly on the shorts hugging you hip, dragging them - panties included - down your slender legs in one swift motion. Dylan received a full view of your dripping pussy, his mouth gaping and wet at the sight. Two long digits ran through your folds, gathering the moisture you had seeped out. The tips toyed with the entrance, your body writhing unhappily.

“Dyl,” you whined, watching him through half-lidded eyes. “Please. I want you. I need you.”

“What do you want, baby? What do you need?”

“Your cock,” you mused quickly.

Dylan pouted, your laugh unable to be released like normal. On every other occasion, you would have loved the way he pouted, calling him adorable and soft. But, you were desperate in that moment for more. “But baby,” he whined, voice low and husky. “I want to taste you so bad. I haven't gotten to indulge in your body in days. I haven’t gotten to taste your sweet juices on my tongue. I want to eat you out so bad.”

“Fine,” you huffed. Your legs wrapped around him, let out a grunt when you forced him to flip over. The man under you didn’t see pleased when he found himself against the mattress, the springs squeaking under yours weights bouncing from the movement. You leaned up his body, your frame flesh against him - chest to chest, hips grinding together with his jeans blocking him from meeting your center. “Then, we can do it this way.”

He wanted to question, but he didn’t. He let you do what you were planning because he knew he wouldn’t be disappointed. He watched you remove his pants without a hitch, his cock erect and free. He loved the idea of your body hovering over him, turning so your wet pussy was in his eyeline, directly above his mouth. It was even better because you were staring right at his shaft, your lips puckered to place kisses at the swollen, red tip.

He was hungry, delving in for his meal before you could sample yours. His tongue dove deep into you, swirling circles between your walls that made your arms weak. A loud moan was heard, silenced when your hand took his shaft, directing it between your cheeks. Dylan loved the way you blew him, bobbing your head up and down his shaft, hollowed cheeks particularly working at the sensitive head of his length. Your tongue always loved two things: the rough patch of the frenulum and the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock. The way your tongue slid over them made his legs clench, his abs tighten, and his orgasm imminent.

This was one of his favorite positions because he was able to please you, savoring your taste while you fought back moans, while you pleased him at the same time. It was a win-win scenario, both players hitting a homerun when you were gushing down each other’s throats.

Yet, he was greedy. He loved the taste of you on his tongue. He loved the way your walls tightened, spasming happily while he licked you clean. He loved the way your body quivered when his thumb met your engorged clit, intensifying the feeling his mouth gave you. And he loved the way you felt on his cock, gagging on him while shoving him down your throat like he was your last meal. Your mouth felt tight and wet, your tongue working magic on his male parts. Your hand cupped his balls close to him, juggling between fingers while being held. He loved it all.

But he wanted to be inside you, watching you moan. He wanted to be thrusting into you, watching your tits bounce as he moved. He wanted to fuck you hard and fast, filling your pussy with strings of his seed until you were seeping his white substance.

The downside to having an athlete as a boyfriend? Well… fiancée? He was strong and found it easy to dominate you. When he wanted to be in control, he could easily overpower you. That’s how you found yourself back on the bed, head against the pillow with your legs separated. Dylan sat between them, stroking himself languidly. His shaft was wet thanks to your previous actions, making it easy to work himself to ensure he was hard and ready. The tip was even more red and ready than before, oozing precum from the slit.

“Are you ready, baby?” he rasped, voice deep and husky. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’re never going to forget this moment. You’ll be feeling me pounding your tiny little cunt for days. God, I’m going to fill you up so much.”

“Please,” you pleaded, back arching. “Please Dyl. I need you.”

“God, I love when you whine for me,” he let out, leaning down to kiss your lips once. “I love you, baby. You’re all mine.”

“All yours,” you uttered lowly. Your arms wrapped around his neck, playing with the hair on the back of his head. “Please, Dyl. I need you.”

“What do you want?”

You whimpered, scratching at his scalp. “I need you to fuck me, baby. So hard and so fast. Just the way I love it.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he mused.

He was inside you in a matter of seconds, hilt deep and stretching your walls wide. Your moan was drawn out, throat rumbling his name. Your head was thrown back, holding onto him tighter. His large cock filled you to the brim, pulsating inside you to make your insides churn.

He didn’t stay still for long, the man leaning back on his knees to thrust wildly into you. His hips pulled back, snapping back into you roughly. Skin slapped against skin, his hands gripping your thighs to keep your legs separate. Your body jostled against the bed, moaning profusely at the way he made you feel. His cock pistoned in and out of you quickly, the skin soaked with your arousal. The tip hit your sweet spot every time he slid back into you, making your stomach clench. He pounded you into his mattress, shoving himself deep into you.

“Fuck. Yes,” you gasped, weaving your fingers through your hair, arching your back off the bed. Dylan licked his lips, staring at your chest that bounced with his motions. The sight alone made him push harder, thrusting faster than before into you. “Fuck! Right there, baby!”

“God, you’re beautiful when you scream for me,” he let out, biting his lip. “Keep screaming for me baby. It makes me so hard for you.”

His hand dropped from one leg, finding your clit. An electric shock coursed through your body, screaming his name from his simple touch. Harsh circles were rubbed to the nub, amplifying the pleasure you were feeling. You were squirming against the mattress, desperate for release. Your vision was blurry, the combination of his powerful thrusts and his fingers rubbing harshly to your sensitive clit tightening your gut. Your throat was tight, almost unable to breath in the heat of the moment. Sweat coated your skin, the sheets stuck to your skin.

“Dyl,” you panted, eyes clenching. “Oh god, Dyl.”

“That’s right, baby. Say my name,” he grunted. “Are you going to cum?”

“Yes,” you managed to squeak. “I’m cumming. Oh god, I’m cumming!”

Your sight blackened for a bit, body spasming relentlessly. Your walls clung around him, liquid splattering around him. The wet sensation coated him - literally. For the first time in your life, you had squirted upon your orgasm, Dylan’s lower stomach wet from the action. It soaked into the sheets under you, your body slowly beginning to ease. Though he didn’t fill you up, having experienced his own orgasm, his cock throbbed against your walls, enjoying not only the tightness of your pussy and the wetness that came with it, but the experience he was given.

Your eyes cracked open as your high died, staring at the man. His eyes were dark, his hand scratching at his chin like he was pondering what just happened. His tongue slowly eased over his lips. His hips circled against yours, still filling you up.

“You squirted,” he blunted hummed. Your face began to heat up, blushing profusely. “You fucking squirted, baby.”

“I did?” you replied meekly.

“Yeah,” he mused with a smirk. “And fuck, I didn’t know that would be so hot. That was literally the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. God, can you do that again?”

“Really?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow with a smile. “And yet, you didn’t cum yet? It was hot, and you didn’t cum?”

“Not yet, but I’m pretty close,” he told you. “If you squirt again, I won’t be able to contain myself.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” you quipped. “I’m ready for round two.”

Dylan’s smile grew, pulling out of you long enough to turn you on your side, resting on his elbow behind you. One leg was draped over his hips, allowing his cock to realign with your core. He tilted your head back to face him, placing a passionate kiss to your lips as he slid back into you.

His hips snapped into you, hips bucking against your backside. His lips continued to attack yours, shielding your moans from the rest of the room. His hand gripped at your chest, squeezing your breast until his knuckles were white. Your body was instantly on fire once again, stomach tight and body weak in his grasp.

His thrusts were sloppy, his orgasm already impending. He was close from before, and the new angle, tight and wet, made it harder to keep himself sane. Thrusting into you from behind, his hand clasp tightly around your breast, he was forced to breathe heavily, nose flaring with each breath. He kissed you incessantly, tongues playing and lips smacking. He was bound to lose to soon, pounding into you as fast as he could. The tip rammed into your g-spot with ease, making your walls hug him tighter.

The hand on your breast slid between your legs, the man thankful your leg was over his hip, your heel hitting his perfectly round backside. His fingers found home on your clit once more, the pads of his fingers skimming over the nub. In his arms, you quivered, shaking from intensity. He was trying to drive you over the edge, your sight beginning to develop black dots and colorful stars.

“Cum for me,” he whispered against your lips. “Cum and squirt for me. Show me how good I make my fiancé feel.”

The way he said it, emphasizing the term, made your heart burst out of your chest. His rhythm, though frantic in nature, picked up, slamming himself into you in desperation. You could feel it - he was close. And you could feel yourself slowly giving in to the ecstasy of love. Your mouth parted, managing to choke out, “only if you cum inside me too,” before going limp in his arm, convulsing in his grasp.

Your legs were wet. The sheets were wet. The liquid went everywhere it felt like. It came gushing out, splashing against his hand as he rubbed at your swollen clit vehemently. Your walls clenched around his cock, ready to milk him dry when he, too, came. Your juices spilled out around him, coating his shaft to make it easier for his wild, animalistic thrusts. His lips met yours, hiding the moans you both wanted to release.

The knot inside him unraveled the second he felt your walls close. The orgasm he had been chasing, yet fighting, was here. Strings of his hot seed shot out in bursts, filling your womb with his warm essence, mixing with yours. Every last drop he had built up poured into you, filling you with love and affection you knew he felt for you - and only you.

His lips slowly left yours, chest heaving with heavy pants. His eyes cracked open slowly, seeing the smile form on your face, your chest mirroring his. He watched your chest rise and fall, licking his lips at the sight of your breasts that kept him hard within you for a moment longer. Slowly, he pulled out of you, cupping himself as he waddled to the bathroom for a wet towel to clean yourselves up with. He took to the time to tenderly wash you himself, showing the softer side of the former playboy only you, and people close to him, got to see.

You felt the bed dip when he sat on it, running his fingers through your sweaty hair. “Who would have thought that seeing you squirt would be the hottest thing in the world?” he teased, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “I could live seeing that every day.”

“Did you never make a girl squirt before, O’Brien?”

“No, actually,” he chuckled dryly. “But, I’m glad when I did, it was with you. Because fuck, I’m going to be dreaming about that.”

“Well, you’re stuck with it from now on,” you laughed, rolling onto your stomach, head turned to stare at him. “You really want to be stuck with me for the rest of your life?”

Dylan glanced up at the ceiling, leaning back with his arms behind his head. “Years ago, a beautiful woman joined the Mets as our ball girl. She was the most beautiful and talented woman I had ever seen. Yet, I was a dick that fucked around with woman. She made me want to change. That same woman is now my manager and I couldn’t be happier that she is where she is - in my life. And I want her to stay there.

“I love you, my manager girl.”

“I love you too, you dork,” you laughed, pulling him down into a kiss. “You sure have changed a lot since we first met. You’re such a softie now.”

Dylan grinned evilly, forcing back onto your back. His hands trailed up your sides, the man listening to your low moans.

“We can change that.”

Errthang Tag 2.0: @catcrown21; @voidkitsune24; @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone; @poppyshawn; @twilightparker; @rumoured-whispers; @youshiverwhenyouhearmyname; @caitsymichelle13; @addicttotw; @fox-lau; @xmadwonderland; @kaelyn-lobrutto24; @lobrien; @kal-pal; @espermirror; @nowthisiswaar; @belleknows; @ashpie97; @mixedupsammy; @dylobrienlover; @newtosaur250; @bandsweyhey; @offthewallspidey; @livinginadreamersparadise; @tommyswolves; @ashotofblues; @bilesbilinskix; @danathewitchywoman; @thisismexxo; @you-all-have-guns; @soulaura-canavel; @bojabee; @obrienswxlf; @feelingsareharddd; @xoitsjustmexo;@supernaturaltakeover; @suggsmate; @cassiee867; @barryallenplease; @herscrunchiehairtie; @bottleoffirewhisky; @jadalecki-jackles; @evansesdust; @everythingthatisrandom; @puppiesarehappiness; @ixlovexpeterxparker; @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed; @tenseoyong; @jadav5; @myrandomzshit; @disbestiles; @mxtchsbxtch; @dafine18; @avadakedabitch; @girlwiththerubyslippers; @xpinkyprincess; @ssweet-empowerment; @jackles-jadalecki; @dobseventeen; @dylnobrien1911, @redstringlovers; @brien-odylan; @xxxxdelenaxxxx; @katlovey14; @deajm2116; @loverofwaytoomanythings618;  @megreadss; @nooneelsethanrichardmadden; @dvlob; @rubyocampobitch; @lolitskatttttt; @debaucheryfinest;@mrsmitchrapp; @withinyourstars; @redsalv20; @kwaldorfff; @thegirlwhoimagined; @sellinxhs;@preciousnewt; @younghennig; @nope-thanks; @smartanddumbatthesametime; @teenwolfbitches2; @dylanpoptart; @stiles-o-dylan24

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[thedogsled]

You seem to be having a not a great day today, so here's a light-hearted ask. I'm having a good day, curled up in pjs with cuddly pets watching Leverage with my sister. Leverage is one of my favorite shows, because it's smart and fun and has great characters that grow over the seasons. Besides Supernatural, what's a show you really enjoy and why?

Thank you so much for the ask! I’m sorry I didn’t reply to it sooner, I’ve come down with a head cold and this is really the first day in several I’ve been able to compose more than a tweet about how much it sucks (swallowing = a knife jammed right into my inner ear, it’s super fun). But I did want to answer your question so I’ve been musing on it since your ask came in.

If it was just “what’s your favorite show right now” it’d be an easy answer: The Boys. The Boys, back to front, front to back, upside down and inside out. The first season was fantastic, and it felt like it woke me up to being excited about TV again after my interest in The Walking Dead waned mid-season. Everything new has seemed very plastic recently, and even The Mandalorian, which is super cool, is kind of like the Cartoon Network dub of Dragonball Z, so Disneyfied in its bloodlessness that although I’m enjoying it it feels even more synthetic as a result. The Boys was the opposite of that, and also just whoever invented Karl Urban, period, just deserves a nobel prize for that masterpiece. He pronounces twat wrong (okay okay it’s a dialect thing) but you can’t have everything =D

So instead (and because it’s cheating that I can pimp The Boys and wax lyrical about loves of old) I interpret your question as sort of like “Which show is your comfort food?” Which show do I go back to when I’m feeling like TV needs to give me a cuddle. I had a good think about it, because there’s a few…

(aside: I shouldn’t have put that gif in before I started writing. ahem.)

There’s been a few over the years, for sure. As a thirteen year old I used to watch and rewatch Buffy episodes, mostly season 2 (baby Spike!). At eighteen, it was old VHS of Deep Space Nine, my favorite ep was “Wrongs Darker Than Death or Night” which I watched repeatedly and think about constantly even today. 

But the show I keep coming back to is due South.

This post is a long post, it also deals with discourse (because my relationship to entertainment is so often mired in it, so please don’t proceed if you’re rather avoid it) and this is where it begins:

Okay, so fun fact: I watched due South the first time it aired with my parents (I was about 9) and then when it was on TV again as a repeat, I recorded it on VHS by RUSHING home every single day from school with nothing else on my mind but sitting on the floor two feet from the telly to watch it. Quantum Leap was on right after, and I had an entire different set of VHS tapes to record that on, so had to quickly switch between them. I’d stop recording at every break so that I could get more episodes on a tape. It’s not unsurprising to me now that both shows vibed with me as a young person who hadn’t yet really accepted that she was queer; due South’s main character is coded as Other both to the Americans whom he lives with, and his fellow Canadians, while Quantum Leap explores a straight white man jumping into the lives of Others, and living through them some of the hardest moments in their lives. Even though both keep it exceedingly, textually hetero, one has two men riding off into the snowy sunset together (leaving behind a straight lover to do so) and the other features a love between two men that in the original framing of the finale would have seen God/fate reconnecting the two of them even though one was lost in time, and the partner’s wife begging him to go.)

Of course young me didn’t give a shit about that, or didn’t realize that’s what she cared about. Young me loved the buddy-cop partnership of both shows. Young me liked the half-wolf, and the episodes where they ride horses, and honestly just waiting with bated breath to find out where Sam would jump to this time. “Oh boy!” Retrospectively, these shows (especially QL) are a lot more oh boy in a yikes context now than they used to be, but it’s good that shows age into yikes territory because it means that society is steadily advancing. Particularly, pointing out that these shows both feature white straight guys like…welcome to the nineties.

I was introduced to queer coding in part by watching due South. The show is laden with it. With writers, actors, and ultimately an executive producer who was all three, it makes you wonder if they would have gone there if they could; certainly the ending reads that way. They couldn’t, of course, because it was the nineties (and it was CBS that revived it after enormous international fan demand). Still, there was just nothing else analogous to what we have now that was going there on TV at the time. If you were queer (or discovering your queerness) then watching the show meant everything, as it did to me. So I snuggle up on the couch often these days and go back to that, because it gave me such joy, and because I was left with the opportunity to decide for myself how deep the relationship was. There was no promise of anything, because the context at the time was of course you can’t go there, nobody can go there. Queerbaiting was a word that simply hadn’t been breathed. There was no intent, no companies behind the curtain pulling strings going “Yes, make it more gay, we want those queer dollars”, just invested people slipping what they could past the studio censors.

Like this:

Sigh. A less enlightened time. =P (Incidentally fun meta here but this was after a conversation where Ray suggested that communication in a relationship should be intuitive, like breathing.)

So I guess in part I escape back there because none of that representation was ever as loaded as it is today. It doesn’t require me to judge it, or weigh it against the harm it does - because the politics of the time meant I thought it was doing good (retrospectively, and only through the lens of someone who had nothing to lose). It seemed to scream out into an unyielding universe to force it to move. It did a fraction of that, because of course it did. It was the nineties. It stole indigenous narratives and romanticized colonialism just as much as it beat the drum of environmentalism and kicked at the doors of corporate greed and racism. Old shows are inherently problematic. Today’s shows are too. Being able to examine them doesn’t mean not loving them, but it lets you say “Okay, so what do I expect from the things I watch today? What do I expect from the things I watch in five years time?”

All that aside, the show is just damn good. It’s watchable and rewatchable. It struggles to age because it was already so out of pace with the age it was made in–despite its flaws in representation, it was better than other shows at the time that demonized, tokenized, or outright killed minorities to push white narratives on their own shows (Kendra being murdered on Buffy, for example). It’s standalone enough that you can go back and watch any episode you like because overarching story arcs were way less of a staple as they are today.  It’s witty, fast paced, full of action and moral dilemma, do gooding and the consequences of it. Although still severely unbalanced, and very, very white, it did still have indigenous actors playing indigenous characters, and minorities portrayed in stories about them. There’s a dog. There’s classic cars. And it’s all put to the soundtrack of Canadian bands and singers. 

tl;dr ahead for rambling about subtext and being a disaster queer, but please scroll past for more gifs.

Queer me needed this show, in a world where I’d been taught to look and see myself in straight white male protagonists, it felt like A Lot to see all this on screen. It wasn’t, but it was all I got when I was growing up. I envy the good fortune of kids who can see themselves on screen these days while they try and figure themselves out (and hopefully more so in the future) with far less of having to negotiate through the confusion of looking at it through confusing fractals of different lenses and instead just see someone who looks like them showing them that their POV is normal, heroic and wonderful. Those lenses fucked me up big time. Like I’m not even sure right now what flavor of queer I am. I cling to bi like a lifeline of sense in my life, but it is complicated because I overwhelmingly desire the company of women way way more. But also I was was taught to look through the lens of a white dude in order to see myself universally, taught to be both desirous of the female body and humiliated by it, ashamed by sex, taught men were awful, and taught that I was supposed to marry one anyway. I look at my sexuality/romanticism like it’s a meta puzzle that I haven’t figured out yet, wondering how to put it on paper, how to break apart the different influences I experienced as a youngling and as an adult to try and negotiate if I’m misreading my own impulses. How I was brought up, who I’ve known, the relationships I’ve experienced and seen in real life and on TV. I’m 34 and I’m still no more certain. Subtext is both my friend and my enemy. I hate it, and I owe everything to it.

So when I need a rest from giving a shit about any of that noise, I go back to my comfort food. I go right back to subtext, which gave me the tools I needed to desire romance that wasn’t heterosexual, that somehow was more intimate because it relied on longing stares and never stepping foot out of the closet, that was just someone liking another person without any expectation of sex just because they have opposing genitals, and their colleagues hassle them a lot. There’s nothing wrong with the sex, I write a lot of consommation of the feelings that I see bubbling under the surface. I have even grown to appreciate het romance when it’s done in a way that doesn’t reduce the woman to a love interest–I was thrilled when Simon Baker’s Patrick Jane got together with Teresa Lisbon in The Mentalist. Their relationship was filled with subtext too. Subtext isn’t a queer thing, it has a role in all well written romance. Hell, it has a role in terriblebad tropey misogynistic romance, too. And just you know basically all storytelling (and more). 

Queer romance existing only in the subtext, though? It’s heartbreaking explicitly because it feels like a story that isn’t finished, and that’s where subtext reliant shows can hand off the story to be finished by fandom itself. In due South, as I mentioned before, Ray and Fraser jump into a dogsled and ride off over the snowy horizon to “Find the hand of Franklin, reaching for the Beaufort sea”. It’s where I chose my meta name, as I’ve mentioned before, because that ending - that ending - handed us all the subtext so far and said “Here, take it, it’s yours now. Do with it what you like”–and we did. But that was twenty years ago. I loved that ending (I still think it was a very elegant solution) and it was expected and appropriate for a show that in itself is a “Faves Are Problematic” show, but that’s also why I get so passionate about discussing the subtext in Supernatural.

It’s younger than due South. While it may have begun back when Willow from Buffy had her first girlfriend, it is ending now, not at the turn of the century where a dogsled was still good enough to get the point across and none of us had Twitter. My own experiences, my lifelong queer confusion make it so I feel pretty damn bad for people trying to use Supernatural as a medium for their own self-exploration, using characters from SPN as their lenses. A show these days that makes bank on those tropes and doesn’t inform its audience (positively or negatively) is doing so irresponsibly because of the modern context in which the show presently (not historically) sits, and the increasing awareness of the issues surrounding it. Networks, then, are ultimately responsible for that, but they are in a way which is entirely different and far more directly culpable than they were 20 years ago, because people are out there making money out of those intentional subtextual devices. They chose to do it; took a deep breath and backed right up away from Gamble’s problematic queerbashing tropes, chewed it over, then hired gay writers and dived right back in with more grown up, progressive, and less shitty subtext–but still subtext. 

This show that ended 20 years ago was able to cross way more lines with subtext in one episode than Supernatural has done sometimes in an entire season. It did so despite and because of it’s international audience, on a conservative network that would late purchase Paramount, and Star Trek, and ended with a powerfully subtextual ending. Supernatural, of course, is under a far more powerful microscope from the bigots than those oblivious to subtext back in the 90s could have ever produced. due South, like SPN was just “wholesome family entertainment” to a conservative audience that was completely oblivious by all accounts, yet was laden heavily with queer innuendo. It was also blissfully short, and existed in a social media world which consisted of Yahoo groups and not much else. 

In modern context, Supernatural gets a fox in the henhouse treatment from that same audience, and acts accordingly (when it’s not using that same subtext to deliver earnest Fuck You’s to that audience). While I expect Supernatural to bravely - even considering this scrutiny - deliver a dogsled subtextual ending on a good day, there are bad days, too, because the queer subtext has been underlined so loudly that everyone can see it, because it’s “practically text”, because the bottom line is increasingly more concerned with satisfying those bigots (even while they mock them), and because queer fans are “too loud” about what they want. How dare they. /s The pushback caused by being loud about things you care about, the bigots actually seeing subtext in front of their noses, isn’t bad because now they know what we’ve been doing all along, and we won’t be able to get away with it any more; it means they’re becoming more aware of narratives other than their own. Yes, some people will push back, but “when you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression”, and they can shove it right up their asses.

All I ever ask of myself when I interrogate my present day viewing experience, is this: when I sat as a youngster watching due South thinking “This subtextual ending is enough for me”, did I truly believe it was okay to be watching a show about two white guys with a subtextual ending 20 years later? Was that the future I dreamed of and aspired to? Would I be disappointed? The answer is yes, I am disappointed. No matter the whys, the fundamental and societal reasons–I am disappointed. I still love the show probably more than I should, but I am disappointed in the society it sits in - which is increasingly capitulating to far more powerful global financial powers than a couple of red state homophobes - and I’m disappointed in the way we’re treating each other for even caring, and I’m disappointed in myself, too, for being naive and imagining we would be much further down this road now than we are. But we are a capitalistic society, and being both the commodity and the customer should be a surprise to literally nobody at this point. It doesn’t mean you have to like it.

And if you don’t feel that way, that’s okay. We all come from different places. We have different perspectives. We need and want different things, for different reasons, and find joy in different things for different reasons. Variety of opinion is as much a wonderful thing as it is completely terrifying.

I’ve wandered somewhat off topic, so I’m going to go back to the show I love, my chocolate pudding and custard comfort food TV show, and the long stares and the beautiful uncomplicated subtext.

And sign off with half a dozen gifs.

Eye fucking:

Conversations in closets and bathrooms:

Going down with the ship

Intuitively understanding each other without a word spoken

His hobbies humiliate me in public

“Do you find me attractive?”

Sulking in the corridor while you reunite with your ex

This whole ep with original Ray:

And his wolf approving of both

Not pictured “I love you” “And I you”, “Get out of the closet”, actual hand holding when it’s unnecessary, formally handcuffing your buddy, getting stuck in an ice crevasse and a mini submarine together–and so so much more. I invite you to watch the show if you can find it (I have it on a really nice set of DVDs, but there’s some dodgy ones out there that look like they recorded the DVD straight off a VHS, so do check reviews) or else try and find it online. There was a Canada promoting YouTube channel which published both due South and shows like Slings and Arrows, which I recommend as well (It’s not actually bury your gays if the ghost of your gay best friend haunts you, right?) so you should be able to poke around and find a legit copy somewhere. I’ve bigged it up and talked it down, and wandered a long way off topic (that describes my relationship with every show, but especially when I recommend them) but I hope somewhere along the line I also answered the question. The way I hear it Leverage is a similar sort of comfort food, though I haven’t seen it. Sounds like I should put it on my To Watch list.

[breyito]

Breaking Point

TITLE: Breaking Point (read also on  AO3)

AUTHOR: @breyito

PROMPT DAY: Day 2 # Monster Hunt for @geraskierweek

SUMMARY: When Geralt first heard about the vicious wraith holding a whole town hostage it was the middle of spring, so he didn’t think about the fact that the last rumours that he had hear about the ‘Witcher’s bard’ before the winter placed him in that direction.

WORDCOUNT: 1.756

BOOKS/NETFLIX/2002 SHOW/GAMES: Netflix with some Game/Book wikia knowledge mixed in.

TRIGGER/WARNINGS: Major Character Death. Violence. Gore. Blood. ANGST. Like, Heavy Angst. Hurt/No comfort. Suicidal Thoughts. Suicidal Ideation.

RATING: Mature

ADDITIONAL NOTES: I know I can write some pretty dark shit, guys, but...this shocked even me. I mean, I had wanted to write this idea since I sae Ep. 6; but holy molly; this is *dark* (I feel bad for Geralt now, which was not the idea lol). So, please, please, please be careful; don’t read if this is gonna make you feel bad. 

New style!!! The beautiful @hellstrider has this wonderful series Into You on a o3; and I fell in love with that writing style and just, wanted to try it out. I hope I did okay. 

Enjoy!

There was a Wraith in the East, in a non-important town except for the fact that it was a wealthy town; the Earl of those lands having his castle just a few miles from it;

and this spectre was threatening the castle’s comfortable way of living, enough that the knights were sent to other towns and counties, posting notices with the significant reward, never to be seen again after;

because the wraith would attack nobles, would attack soldiers, would attack villagers that tried to get into the woods to hunt game, in the daylight or the darkest hours;

but would shred to pieces any knight that dared to put a foot on the grass beyond the first row of thick trees;

and normally Geralt would laugh at the thought of the ‘elite’ being affected by a monster as much as peasants;

but the lack of enough game had driven the Earl to send his knights to steal meat from the village, on the form of ‘taxes’; and people were starving just so a fat nobleman and his knights could fill their guts;

so he put himself and Roach on course to the East.

When Geralt first heard about the vicious wraith holding a whole town hostage it was the middle of spring, so he didn’t think about the fact that the last rumours that he had hear about the ‘Witcher’s bard’ before the winter placed him in that direction,

he didn’t think about the fact that for a moon and a half he had not picked up any whispers of a colorful bard singing about white wolves,

had not overheard scandalized gossip of Ladies and Lords running a poet out of their lands for sleeping with their spouses.

He had not thought of that, because the Witcher had spent a whole winter licking his wounds (those inflicted upon him by a vicious djinn, and a lover he slighted so badly the scent of lilac and gooseberries would forever burn; and wounds he did to himself, the raw gaping hole on his center that refuses to close, that feels like he lost a limb, that feels like a heavy presence yet screams empy, empty, empty to all of his senses)

and his wounds had seemed more important in that moment, in all of those moments, because he was (will always be) a selfish creature at heart, had learned to be so; and at the most minimal sign that he could be injured he injured back,

so he didn’t pay attention, didn’t realize,

until it was too late to turn back,

to live in denial;

until it was just too late

too late to do anything but hunt, because that is all he had left, because when hunting he didn’t feel,

shouldn’t feel,

feel his lungs compress smaller than under the weight of a troll,

his troath close up in ways a thousand poisons can’t achieve

feel his shriveled up heart hurt.

The wife of the barkeep tells him the story in between tankards of ale (and she doesn’t even water it down now, seeing his pain) and nervous looks around the tavern;

because Jaskier didn’t just die, no, see, he was killed,

brutalized in the most awful of ways,

left in the woods behind the inn with his troath ripped open, his breaches and undergarments torn, his brilliant jade outfit coated in blood;

dumped among dirt and filth, left there to bleed out and perish , after his attacker had taken everything he had wanted from him;

all because the bard didn’t want to give him a ‘private concert’, wouldn’t respond to his insinuations,

because the bard was tired, had been singing all afternoon through the night,

and that’s when the Count’s knight had walked into to the tavern, high on spirits from hunting game to last the castle all through winter;

and one of them had seen Jaskier and had wanted,

wanted so badly he had not asked before pulling the artist on his lap, and his hands on his body;

but Jaskier had pushed him away, lighthearted at first, but then, when the man had followed his refusal with more unwanted touches and slurs had firmly told him no,

and the whole tavern had heard, and the whole town would know by the next morning that a lowly lark had refused bedding one of the knights of the Count, and the knight couldn’t have that, could he;

so he followed the bard when he walked to the inn,

dragged him behind the building,

and took , and broke and laughed while doing it,

walked away with blood on his teeth, loose breaches and a splintered lute on his hand, to hang besides the thropy heads on his state;

left the bard there so everyone would know not to mess with him.

The barkeep and his wife tried to help him; took him to his room and called the local healer, got him bandaged and stitched and cleaned up

and perhaps he would have survived;

perhaps he would have, if the knight had not also taken something more precious than his life, than his self,

because the bard had lost his voice; it had been ripped away, and a bird without wings can’t fly

and a bard without voice can’t sing, can’t really live

and so, when the healer told him this, he cried himself to sleep, with painful coughs and mourful whines,

and when he was left alone he ran, driven by the desire of revenge;

escaped far into the woods, where no one would find where he died and his corpse would remain untouched,

and when he couldn’t breathe anymore, from the pain and the exhaustion; he kneeled under a three, among old roots and the last leaves of autumm,

and teared at his stitches and his bandages, letting out a silent scream,

blooming red drops drenching the ground, mixing with the colors of the season,

and died.

(The barkeep’s wife didn’t tell him this last part, she couldn’t have; but Geralt can fill in the spaces in the story, can imagine it so vividly , hear the rustling of the trees, can smell the salt of Jaskier tears on the air, can see him clutching at his troath like so many years ago; when another foolish and cruel man attempted to steal his voice and kill him-)

When Geralt, from far away, sees the body of his friend, his companion, his bard;

curled tight into a little ball at the trunk of a tree;

he could trick himself into believing that the bard was just taking a nap;

because wraiths’ bodies aren’t touched by decay, rot or time;

and he looks the same,

he looks exactly the same, dark hair, pale skin, little wrinkles at the border of his eyes;

he even fucking smells the same,

the only difference is the cloying scent of blood, and it’s everywhere, the smell of Jaskier’s blood,

and Geralt feels his knees fail him, for the first time in a century, and he falls in front of his bard and weeps ;

because there’s blood on his bard’s lips, on his broken fingernails, on his neck and his shirt;

and he might be torturing himself but he thinks he still sees the track of tears across those pale perfect cheeks,

and he chokes back his apologies, his regrets, his useless words begging for forgiveness;

he is not worthy of uttering them in his presence,

not in front of this person who loved him with all his being and who he sent away with angry, cruel words,

and he wishes to grab his silver sword and impale himself on it, because silver is for monsters and presented with the handiwork his rash cruel actions caused he cannot think himself anything but the lowest kind of beast;

he longs for the only respite life could offer him now, to have his final resting place besides his bard (he would murmur apologies on his hair as the life left his body, would be selfish just one more time, would sully the bard’s grave with his own blood), to hug him in death like he didn’t do in life; curl around him in a parody of the protection he didn’t offer;

but people are still dying, still starving, and the only thing he has now, is the Path, the only thing he could ever  be (no more champion, no more friend, no more muse) now is a monstrous Witcher;

so he weeps as he stretches Jaskier body (whines at the still almost-warm temperature of him) on a patch of yellow wildflores,

weeps as he stakes him,

as he cuts his head and places it between his legs,

as he lits the body on fire and hears the piercing cry of his friend’s spectre,

and doesn’t move;

not when the smoke clogs his troath and the flames lick his knees,

not until there are only ashes left.  

He marches to the Earl’s castle only after learning the knights name, after sending a boy requesting that his reward be given by that knight on the castle gates;

and if any of the townspeople wondered why there were teartracks on the soot of his cheeks they didn’t ask;

because those eyes were pitch black and enraged,

and the Witcher barely stops to question the men waiting for him at the iron gates (on the chance that the wraith did manage to murder his killer) after dismounting;

but he is in luck, because the man answers a yes with a cocky smile,

and the Witcher revels in ripping it off when he sends him flying back with a kick, listening to the sounds of breaking ribs,

smiles when he chops off the knights’ hands with silver,

chuckles as the screams of the man are cut off at the same time as his tongue and become whimpers,

as he cuts off the man’s balls and cock,

and laughs when the knight vomits after Geralt shows them all his body parts in a little line to him,

considers leaving him there at the edge of the road; but decides that the most minimun chance of survival is too much mercy, so he spears him in the heart once he tires of the mans screams.

The Witcher mounted his mare and went on his way,

and if he cried until he had no more tears left no one saw it and it was no one’s problem,

because he felt no joy nor pain nor sadness,

and he had no heart.

Not anymore.

[bluepenguinstories]

Happiness Overload Chapter Fifty-Seven

As I fell, I couldn’t help but smiled. Not at first, but after the initial shock of falling passed, I was really able to take in the moment.

Those two really are the real deal.

It was just as Dr. Michelangelo had said (yes, I was listening in). Their love was at a level I could not comprehend, a power so great that, gah! Yes! That was it! The oft rumored ‘power of love’! I’ve heard of such things!

While my love was for art itself (not that women weren’t beautiful, though I was more interested in the aesthetic beauty than any kind of emotional evocation. So long as I could paint a beautiful picture, that was all the love I needed), theirs was unparalleled!

Thud!

I hit the floor as if I were a blot of ink and a pile of popsicle sticks were the canvas. Pain meant little to me. After all, what was art, if not pain?

No. There was no need to answer that. Instead, I allowed my ears to absorb the surroundings; Every little fixture, movement, heartbeat. Two bodies (the gay baby jail had been moved off the stage, as it was no longer needed), two muses. Two little pieces of inspiration that would provide me the answers to any question related to art and pain. All I needed to do was listen.

All I could think about was how weak I had been to fall into such a trap like that. That I couldn’t figure out a way out, and that I even gave in to the delusion. Even after I woke up, the effects continued to linger, if only a little.

“Yes! We got her!” Coriander cheered. She sounded triumphant, as we watched Dr. Lynch...and whatever other names she might have had, fall, along with her tower of popsicle sticks.

“Good job!” I managed to reply. Despite the blurred vision, if nothing else, I could tell from the vibes that we were victorious. No, not we. She was. “That was badass!”

She looked back at me. “It was?”

Why do you sound surprised? You’ve always been cool.

I laughed. “I don’t know! But if people can call me that, I don’t see why you can’t be!”

“Was I admirable, too?”

Of course. You’re getting better all the time.

I nodded, then started to lose my balance.

“Velvet, are you okay?!”

I watched as my arms swung around, as if I weren’t the one doing the swinging. As I managed to stand back up, I grinned, folded my arms over my hips, and looked her way. “Of course! What, are you worried about me or something?”

She looked away. “Are you going to hold it against me if I say yes?”

Oh my god. So cute.

“Yes! In fact, I will! Every chance I get!” I couldn’t help but let out a laugh. But then I shook my head. “Sorry, I got a little carried away. We’ve got more pressing matters to deal with.”

Coriander nodded; one moment, we stood next to each other, triumphant. Then, I blinked, and it must have been the longest blink ever, as between those few seconds, she had sprinted toward the mad artist and pinned her to the floor. There seemed to be a passion to the way she was positioned on top of her. Or maybe it was just my thoughts drifting elsewhere.

God, I wish that was me.

No, that passion was anger. Pure, unfiltered rage.

“I’ll kill you!” Coriander screeched. “How dare you?! Huh?” Coriander tightened her grip. I watched her let go, only to reach for Dr. Lynch’s throat instead. That snapped me out of my trance.

I got over there and pulled Coriander away. It was a much heavier task than I thought it would be. She kicked and thrashed about and I heard her seethe.

“What are you doing, Velvet?” She struggled to break free. “She tried to kill you! To kill us! Let me at her!” Then, the one on the floor started to cough.

“H-Harder…” Dr. Whoever wheezed.

Coriander groaned. “You know what. I suddenly feel gross.” I let go of her. “But seriously, why Velvet? This person is our enemy! We should kill her! She’s not good after all, she’s not going to help us, she’s just going to keep trying to get us killed!”

“I know, but we need to stay calm if we have any chance of getting through this. Besides,” I rubbed my forehead. “I still don’t feel very well. I’m not Peak Velvet right now.”

Like it or not, my current state was NOT what Peak Velvet looked like.

Through awkward motions, I stroked her hair. After a few expended sighs, she calmed down.

“At least tell me where my backpack is,” she growled.

“Tell us if there’s a way out of here, too,” I added.

As if she would know. If she had, she wouldn’t be in there, would she? “Backpack, no. Way out, yes,” wheezed the art hoe.

“What?! You took it from me and here you are, defeated, and you can’t give it back! I ought to kill you, I don’t care! I ought to beat you senseless!” Well, that didn’t last long. At least I managed to calm her down, for, what? A minute at most?

Dr. Lynch/Dr. Bob Ross leaned up and smiled with the same kind of smirk that I would give Coriander when I wanted her to ravish me.

“My back hurts…” She winced, then went back to giving such a sly, evil look. I noticed that she was holding up a device in her hand. “You broke the button that would’ve been able to give it back when you threw that gun at my popsicle stick tower. Shame, too, all that hard work to build such a magnificent sculpture,” she shook her head, as if it was some fucking tragedy. “Ah, but that’s the beauty of art. You can put your all into your work and watch it get easily destroyed.”

“All it takes is a click or two to delete an important document,” I found myself sympathizing.

“See, you get it!” Popsigirl beamed. “Ah, right! An exit! Look behind me!”

Both Coriander and I looked past the defeated intern. There was a tunnel, which we had failed to notice before.

“I didn’t realize until I was done building my popsicle stick tower, but it ended up blocking the exit.”

“Wait. If there’s a way out, why are you stuck in here?”

No, better question: Why am I trying to apply logic to this equation? For that matter, I’m now expecting her to say “I’m not stuck in here with you, you’re stuck in here with me”. Great.

“At the end of the tunnel is a door. Need a code, and I don’t know it.”

Oh, then that’s perfect for me!

“Let’s go, spiced Kimchi,” I turned to Coriander.

“Fine, but let me at least grab the gun,” Coriander scrambled.

As I walked toward the tunnel, I turned my attention to the mad artist.

“By the way, if you come after us, if you try anything to hurt her in any way, I swear, I won’t be as forgiving,” as sincere as my threat was, I felt like I was about to pass out again at any moment. So I felt like I had to add, “it doesn’t matter how little energy I might have – if you try anything, I will end you.”

In response, all I got from her was a thumbs up.

Oh well, I’ll take it.

With that, my seasoned companion and I departed through the tunnel.

Names can be difficult, can’t they? Can’t just stick with one, especially if it doesn’t fit for all situations. As my dad would say, “a different name for each learned medium”. Then, with all the media art could encompass, I could have a near-infinite amount of names. But life didn’t work that way, not really. For us humans, we are every bit a piece as any other. Our lifespans cannot accommodate for a near-infinite amount of names.

That was okay with me. Names have their meaning, but some believe if a word is repeated enough, it starts to lose its meaning. So, with that in mind, why was “love” the subject of many a work of art. Hell, it was even a subject in my inner monologue!

There was little I could do at the moment, what with my bad back. It was the worst feeling one can have when the desire to create was overpowered by the inability to do anything. I was left to stew in my thoughts. Such a thing was never good. Over time, left alone, like a painting, thoughts take on a life of their own.

What else could I do? Those thoughts of mine turned to the past. Specifically, back at Flashbulb University.

Most days in the cafeteria was spent studying the various students/interns/human shields/aspiring corporate slaves (take your pick of titles, they all meant the same). Their beauty was something I sought to capture more and more of. Not just their features, but ways in which their deepest selves could be translated into ink.

Dr. O’Keefe and Dr. Pollack approached me with a glow and vigor that I needed time to capture. If I could get them to stand still for just a few minutes…

“I have the biggest crush on you!” Dr. O’Keefe announced, as if it were any surprise; I knew how those two eyed me. I looked up.

“Can you hold that pose?” I got out a wood block. Work was about to commence.

“I have an even bigger crush on you!” Dr. Pollack leaned in. He had a face full of acne in such an intricate way that I just wanted to connect the dots. Perhaps it would have made a shape…

“Quite the dynamic. If I could make a suggestion, Dr. Pollack, you should stand in the background with an angry expression on your face while Dr. O’Keefe, you should lean in and hold out your hand as if you were holding a rose. Then, I will turn my head away, and deny the both of you.”

The two of them gasped. I predicted which would speak up first…

“Why couldn’t you just reject us outright?” Dr. O’Keefe was the first to speak. Just as I predicted.

“Because, it’s all about the art of rejection.”

“Also, I thought you said you had an appreciation for the female form!”

I nodded. “That is true.”

“But wait! I thought you said you preferred the abstract!” Dr. Pollack argued. “So that means me, right?”

That was my cue. I erased the image of a cafeteria in my mind and replaced it with a stage, which I proceeded to take to as I got up and placed my hand over my chest. My eyes closed, my head up, so began my (external) monologue:

“For so long now, the two of you had been holding in such feelings, while I, feigning ignorance, took to my paintings. But now you come to me, wishing to know the answer. Do I like you, or you? The truth, I love the art, not the artist. For that reason, we are incompatible.”

“But why?” Dr. O’Keefe seemed confused. How unfortunate. I thought I couldn’t be any more clear. “Don’t you like women?”

“Aesthetically.”

“But don’t you like contrast more?” Dr. Pollack argued.

“Ah, I see what this is,” I paced. They wanted me to educate them. “Attraction does not mean interest. You would do well to know that. For the record, on the subject of sexuality, I am a cubist.”

Each of them nodded. It seemed they finally understood. However, my monologue was left unfinished. That needed to be corrected.

“O’Keefe, I love your paintings of flowers that resemble...begonias. As for you, Pollack, I just adore the way your paint seems to lack any sort of structure, as if you just threw some against a canvas. But, as people, I find you two uninteresting.”

“Um,” Dr. O’Keefe spoke up. “You do realize we’re not actually Georgia O’Keefe and Jackson Pollack, right?”

I blinked. I should have known that, but…

“You aren’t?!”

They shook their heads in unison. “Most of us here aren’t even famous artists. You’re an exception.”

For lack of another expression, I too shook my head.

“No, being famous means nothing. Long after the artist dies, the art will remain.”

Yes, that was the whole reason for the recollection: those two, the ones who expressed such strong love, Velvet and Coriander. Neither fame nor infamy interested me, but the act of artistic expression itself. That was why I lived. To that end, I wouldn’t mind dying in order to create something beautiful.

We had been walking through the tunnel for some time, but at last, I couldn’t take it. I dropped to the floor.

“Velvet!” My beloved cried out.

My beloved...who would have thought? But then, even with all the teasing, it doesn’t feel bad to think of her that way.

“I’m fine. I just need to rest a bit,” it sounded more like I was trying to reassure myself than her. For whatever reason, I felt about ready to break down. Maybe that was what I needed. Maybe then I would wake up and be back to my old self.

“Okay, but we should hurry. What if she shows up again?”

Shit. That was something I didn’t want to consider.

“Then I’ll...I’ll think of something. I’ll figure something out. I always do, don’t I?”

“Right,” she replied, not sounding any more assured than me.

“You sound worried,” I pointed out.

“What? Me? Worried? Why?” I heard her slunk down next to me. “Maybe it was because when that weirdo had us separated, I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it out of there. I shouldn’t have had any doubts, because you’re you, so sorry about that.”

Hearing that made me tighten my hands into fists and I found myself lowering my head.

“No…” I muttered. “I don’t think I would have made it out of there if not for you.” I really was glad for that, but at the same time, it hurt. “I’m sorry.”

“What? Sorry about what?”

“You were right. I shouldn’t have trusted that person. We should have left then and there. Found another way.”

“Yes, well…”

“Also,” I continued. “You were right all those times you said we needed a plan. I thought that something would come last minute and it would all fall into place, and technically, that happened, but even still...I don’t know what I’m doing. I act like I’m so bold, but I’m a nervous wreck.”

She snapped her fingers in front of me. “Hey. Hey. We did what we could with the information we had. It’s just one of those things that no matter how much we could have prepared, we might not have known what to expect. But you know what? You’re doing great.”

That should have been the rousing speech I needed.

“Jeez, I feel like I’m the Velvet in this situation,” she groaned. Then, I couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“What?!” I kept laughing.

“Well, it’s weird cause aren’t you the tough and mature one or something? I think I’ve had to encourage you twice now. Not that I’m counting.”

The laughing fits wouldn’t stop. I slapped my knee.

“I need encouragement sometimes too, you know?”

Despite the dim lighting of the tunnel, I could see her face go red. She must have noticed as well, as she turned away.

“Well, I’m not saying I don’t like it. In fact, I think it’s cool that I can be there for you.”

Right. That was probably why that woman separated us, trapped us in her little boxes.

“Verse was right, too…”

Her words echoed, the ones she spoke when she was trying to convince me against going.

They would rather experiment on you or torture you than kill you.

“What do you mean?” Coriander leaned forward.

“If this is just what one member is like, then just imagine fighting a whole organization of folks like that. Can we really handle it?”

Silence tore into me. That dream, hallucination, movie, whatever you wanted to call it started to linger on my mind as well. How it started off so fun, but then at the end…

How long has it been since I thought of ‘her’? No, more than that, ‘she’ said that I was still my old timid self.

It all stung. To be reminded of such things. Not only that, but to have such a drop in confidence that I couldn’t seem to shake. The culmination of it all formed into little beads of salt.

Those soon went away. I felt Coriander’s soft hand brush across my face.

“What are you doing?”

“Beats me! I just couldn’t think of what else to do!”

There she went again, able to bring a chuckle out of me, and she probably didn’t even mean to. In response, I held her hand.

“Thank you.”

Again with the blush. She let go and looked away. “I just didn’t like that funk you were in. That’s all.”

I picked myself up and stretched. I even grinned for good measure. She got up as well.

“So? Feeling better?”

“Hell to the yeah. I’m ready to kick some bubblegum!”

“Jeez,” she grimaced. “Just how old is that reference?”

I shook my head. “Never mind that, let’s keep going.”

That’s right: all I have to do is put on a face. Sure, she can usually tell when I’m lying, but so what? I don’t need to have all my energy back. It doesn’t matter how confident I am. All that matters is that I act. Act in every sense of the word

Drafts swept below, which intensified into a gust, and what descended were a pair of what looked like life-sized marionette dolls with those old Victorian Gothic dresses. They shimmied about and threw themselves at the two of us. I tried to brush the one that had flung against me aside only to find the thing heavier than I expected.

Then I’ll just have to rush it…

I rammed myself into the figures, elbow out and all, and knocked them to the floor. Coriander, meanwhile, bashed the doll over the head with the gun.

“What in the fuck?” I mouthed the words. I still felt dizzy, but I knew that I would do whatever I could to carry on. As I looked down on the floor, I noticed that they weren’t dolls. Not quite. Once I looked back up and saw who stood ahead of us, I had my answer.

How did she get ahead of us so fast? I couldn’t help but wonder, even if it may not have done me much good to wonder such things.

“You!” Coriander shouted. “Strike three! You’re out!” She opened fire, but a group of dolls appeared out from the walls and took all the hits instead.

“Wa! Ha! Ha!” Cackled the oh-so-evil resident artist.

“Didn’t I tell you? If you try anything, I will kill you,” I growled. “So if you want my advice, stand aside.”

Instead, she just gave another laugh. “Wa! Ha! Ha! I don’t mind that one bit! Don’t you know the quote? ‘Find what you love and let it kill you’! But please, call me Dr. Geppetto. I like to make dolls as a hobby, you see.”

“Yes,” I glanced down. “I see. What’s with these? Why do they lack faces?”

“They’re manikins! Pure, unfiltered wood! Bendable! Over a hundred possible poses! Perfect reference material! Just like the two of you!”

“The only reference material you need is a therapist!” Coriander shot back.

I think all of us could use one of those…

“I could provide that for you!” Dr. Geppetto sounded much more self-assured than she had any right to be. “Artistic therapy!”

Gag commencing in 3...2...nope, never mind. It didn’t happen. False alarm. Oh well, I kinda expected that kind of thing from Dr. Artist. What I didn’t expect was to be grabbed from behind by one of her manikin dolls.

“Velvet!” Coriander cried out.

“Not this time!” I said, without a shred of certainty. But nonetheless, at first I struggled to break free, but then I realized that was pointless. So instead, I leaned back and flipped the doll over, bringing us both to the floor. As the doll collapsed, I got up.

Amidst the struggle, I failed to notice a wall erect from the floor, separating Coriander and I from each other.

I pounded my fists against the wall, to no avail.

Damn it! Her plan must not have been to capture me; she knew I could and would break free. No, she just wanted to create some distance between us.

Please don’t let there be any more poison gas. No more dreams.

“Sorry, Ms. Fabric! You should have known it wouldn’t be that easy! You’re in the headquarters of The Flashbulb, for crying out loud! You’re in the belly of the whale!”

Yeah, she was right, but I wished that she wasn’t. It really would have helped if she was genuine about helping us.

I kicked the wall.

“Yeah, it’s my own fault! But I thought things would be better than this!”

“We’ll figure something out, right Velvet?” Coriander called to me from the other end.

I nodded. “Right. But until then, you have my permission to bust her up.” I growled those words. Never did I think I’d hate such an experience as I did.

Popsigirl (no matter what name she used, all I could see was ‘Popsigirl’) started to run off as soon as I cracked my knuckles. She must’ve known I meant business.

“That’s right! Run!” I chased after her.

Don’t lose your head. She’s already proved she’s willing to throw traps at us, even now.

In spite of that reminder, I figured that as long as I had that gun, it wouldn’t matter. No, that wasn’t right. Thing was heavy and it wasn’t like I should’ve expected to carry it forever. So as soon as I lost sight of her, I started walking. There weren’t many places she could go, so again, I figured I’d run into her sooner or later.

Even when that time comes, keep your eyes peeled. You have no idea what she’ll do.

My self pep talk was all I had at the moment. Velvet suffered a blow of confidence, but I still couldn’t help but think of her as the greater one. She could hack things, and she was also physically tough. Me, on the other hand, I was good with assembling hardware, but I wasn’t that great on the physical side.

“Let’s see...first I’m going to get my laser backpack back, then I’m going to reunite with Velvet, then we’ll kick ass,” I started listing off the agenda on my fingers. Then, when I looked up, I saw it: the door to the exit.

But if I’m already here, then where would Popsigirl be?

My answer must have lied with the door on my right. It said ‘art supply room’ on it.

Bingo.

I made my way through the door.

Be cautious. She’s probably watching you. She wants you to come in here.

The room was much less dark than the tunnel had been. It blinded me to the point that I had to cover my eyes with my arm just to carry on.

“Come on out! No more games!” I shouted.

“Please, I’m just a humble dollmaker!” Dr. Geppetto’s voice called back. “Making dolls is my hobby! I’d be happy to make you one!”

I ground my teeth. That word…

No. It’s just one word. Nothing to be bothered about.

“Stop that! Just give me my backpack and I promise not to use it on you!”

“I’d be happy to!”

My heart jumped. It felt like the air was about to be sucked out from me.

“S...Stop!” I huffed.

Just a few steps forward, I bumped into something. I uncovered my face to find a tall doll, hung from the ceiling by a string around the doll’s neck.

This one looks different. It’s not a manikin…

I pushed past it, only to be met by more. They must have been stuffed dolls. Like, five foot tall Raggedy Anne dolls or something. As I brushed past more, I noticed their faces. Yes, they had faces: freckles, short blue hair, and a backwards cap. It was me.

“What the hell?” I whispered.

I pushed them aside. “What kind of sick joke is this?!” I yelled.

More than that, where did she find the time to make these?

No more of those life-sized dolls were to be found, but in its place was an endless expanse of shelves on both sides of me, each with porcelain dolls sitting on them. I glanced on either side. Both sides were identical dolls, but on one side, they each had long, red hair with some kind of form-fitting outfit. On the other, short blue hair and casual clothes.

“Which face would you prefer?” Dr. Geppetto’s voice entered once more, though she was nowhere to be found.

I’m not going to answer. I’m just going to move forward.

As I took my next step, the doll’s faces turned to face me, then, their mouths opened and music played out.

“Me and you, and you and me, no matter how they tossed the dice, it had to be. The only one for me is you, and you for me, so happy together…”

Why that song?

“So happy together...so happy together…”

“Stop that,” I groaned.

Instead, the volume grew louder, as those three words looped.

“Stop...stop…” I tried to keep forward and cover my ears, but I could feel its intensity. The dolls around me, their faces. It was like they were drawing closer.

Get it together. Together. So...together.

I ran. I thought I could escape the sound and their faces, but it persisted. Then, I bumped into more of those life-sized dolls with my image and they stared down at me. I fell over. I tried to get up, but my arms shook. The intensity of those three words being sung kept me from getting back up. No, not three words. Just one.

“Stop!” I yelled. “STOP!”

Tears filled my face. I found myself crouched on the ground. I felt like I was about to lose my breath and pass out, but it didn’t happen.

“What’s the matter? You went from acting all tough to getting like this,” Dr. Geppetto’s voice broke through. That’s when I realized that the music had stopped.

“You!” I tried to grab onto her leg. I’d squeeze so hard that it would break her bone and make her lose circulation. But that didn’t happen. I couldn’t see her well. Everything was a blur.

“Wa! Ha! Ha! You can’t even reach me right now!”

“Why are you doing this?” I wheezed. It was the best I could muster.

“Doing what? I’m just doing what makes me happy! You’re the one on the floor.”

Again. It had to be deliberate.

“Do you know?” I asked while wincing.

“I would like to hear about it. It doesn’t make me very happy seeing you like this.”

“There was an incident...months ago…” I tried to explain. I didn’t even know why I bothered. “I was on the verge of death...my resentment...I thought the only thing that would make things better…no, I didn’t think that. It wasn’t me. I lost control.”

That memory. I didn’t want it to resurface. But all those forced images, I couldn’t block them out, either.

“It wasn’t you? Why wouldn’t it be? She took the life you knew from you. One where you were comfortable. Then, even though she was an enemy, she was all anyone around you would talk about. How great she was with technology. How she was able to break in, and out, of the most impenetrable places. Of course you would both admire and resent her. Then, when pushed to such a place, wouldn’t it be natural to want to steal her face and take it as your own, as that was the face of the one who got all the recognition from your peers? Despite working so hard, it wasn’t you who got the recognition, it was the enemy.”

“SHUT UP!” My voice shook. I shook. I didn’t want to think about those things anymore. “That wasn’t true. I never wanted to feel those things! I was made to feel them! And I lost control because…”

“Because you were cloned several times with the angel in you and conditioned to think that way, yes, I know.”

I knew it. She’s doing this on purpose.

“How?”

She paced about the room. In her hand was a stick, as if she were a conductor.

“Then, with all that concentrated amounts of that entity within you, it was only a matter of time before you overloaded. All it took was enough bad experiences to really twist you up. Your body wanted you happy, and you weren’t having a very happy time.”

“Use some other word…”

“But saying it makes me so happy!” She laughed again. “But enough with that. I saw your profile. Saw footage of what went down. That’s when I knew what I’d do with you. What really strikes me is that the whole thing wasn’t planned that way. Yes, you were conditioned, but so was most the rest of the world. Everyone was supposed to be all sunshine and rainbows, but instead, it all grew to be too much and now your Earth is having a breakdown of its now. None of that was planned, but doesn’t that make it more beautiful? When things just fall into place like that?”

I gave no answer.

“But it must be so hard for you: finding out you were a copy in a series of copies. Unsure of who the ‘real’ you is.”

She knows. She knows and she’s toying with me.

“Well, I’m here to tell you,” she continued. “I don’t think it matters who the original was! Who cares if you’re a copy of a copy of a copy? Maybe it feels as if your existence was a mistake, but I don’t think there are any mistakes! I think you’re a happy accident!”

I growled and tried to swipe at her, but she skipped over my hand.

“Whoa there, mighty lion. I’m just trying to help you. I think you’d be very happy, happy, happy, happy, with my help.”

“Stop.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m an artist. If there’s anything I hate, it’s counterfeits. That’s why I don’t like children, is because they’re just copies of their parents. But then again, there’s something beautiful about copies, don’t you think? The way they try to replicate the original, yet you can tell there’s something just a little bit off. Hell, my mustache is a fake,” she ripped it off. As if I really thought it was real to begin with. “Then there’s you…”

She took her stick and whacked my hand with it. I cried out.

“Yes,” she continued as I felt the sting and seethed. “You really took on a life of your own, didn’t you? So that’s why I say don’t worry about it!”

“You’re sick,” I muttered.

“I am? Sure, I’ve swallowed paint before, but it was the non-toxic kind. Plus, last time I visited the Medical Department they said I was healthy. Though hard to say when that was, seeing as time doesn’t really serve much of a function in this place. All I know that they haven’t let me see anyone in a long time. Ah, but that’s art for you. Sometimes you just need your space to let out your creativity.”

“That’s not what I mean by sick,” I scoffed. With emphasis on ‘coffed’. I felt like I was about to hack my lungs out. Maybe it was me who was sick. “Art isn’t everything.”

“Wrong!” She hit me again. It should have been so easy to avoid. I cried out, and she continued to pace as if it were nothing. “There is art in everything. Sun Tzu, The Art of War. Peace itself is an art, as it needs a certain degree of creativity to achieve. Literature is an art. Religion itself is an art, as you need a basis for belief, you need to create a set of rules to abide by, a mythology. Same goes for society. Ah, yes, and what do we live in? A society. Thus, we live in art. Art lives in us, as well. It takes the act of creation to create us, after all.”

She continued her spiel, with or without my involvement.

“Art is the absolute, but it also goes beyond the absolute to the possible and impossible. There are those who think that math and art are incompatible, as they use different parts of the brain, but wrong! Math is an art! It is the creation of numbers that we are able to formulate. Geometric figures factor into both art and mathematics. maps, statistics, perspective. All a necessity.”

“Why are you even obsessed with art? I thought you guys were all scientists,” I found the words escape me.

“Because: art is a math, art is a religion, art is how we communicate, but what is art? Art is a science!”

“Oh, you’re a real work of art all right...”

I struggled, but managed to pick myself up. I lunged at her. She jumped out of the way, then hit me across the back. I fell against a shelve of dolls, which knocked over and fell on me.

“Ow…”

She walked over, lifted my head up, and leaned in.

“This makes me happy. That you still have some bite.”

She pointed her stick up as a screen descended. “Ten-hut, soldier. Here’s an educational video.”

The video on the screen played: there I was, but it wasn’t me. It was me from a past life. Many past lives, if I had to guess. The original “Mavis”, or whoever her name might have been instead.

“Oh my god! I can’t believe in the actual Area 51! This is a dream!”

Sgt. Michaels stood by. I half-expected him to comment on his mustache, but instead, he announced: “you were selected from a pool of candidates to fulfill a certain task.”

“Ooh! What task?” It was odd seeing “me” so excited about something.

“Just the other day, someone broke in and stole a ship. This kind of thing is unheard of. Now, regardless of if she ever shows up again, we need intel on her so we can find her and kill her. We can’t have her leaking the stuff she’s seen to the public, and we must recover that ship.”

“Ugh, so no aliens?”

“No. This is an air force base.”

“Suuuuure. I bet you tell everyone that. So where are they? Downstairs?”

He didn’t look amused. Instead, he shoved a folder into “my” hands.

“This is all the intel we have on her. She posed as a soldier and went by the alias Pvt. Jo-Ann. Perhaps that’s some kind of clue.”

“I” burst out laughing. “You know she only used that name because yours is Michaels, right? She probably figured ‘one craft store reference for another’ or some shit like that. Jeez, that’s hardly a clue at all!”

Again, he did not look amused. “Just get to word, cadet,” he said.

The next scene, “I” was in “my” little room, watching security feed on several monitors and complaining about my predicament.

“Man, when they told me I’d be stationed here, I thought I’d get to see aliens, but instead they have me looking up information on this person who probably has no intention showing up here again and doesn’t even really matter in the long run. Like, I’m a typist. I can invent gadgets. But instead here I am doing useless tasks.”

The original me slumped over her desk and complained further. “How am I supposed to pick up cute girls when I leave if I never see any aliens?”

“Mavis, report your findings!” The commanding voice of Sgt. Michaels came in through the speakers of one of the monitors.

“Yeah, uh...so this ‘Jo-Ann’ person matches the same face and voice of someone who was in the CIA who went by the name ‘Velvet’, last name redacted. I should probably clarify that it said redacted in brackets, not that that was her actual last name.”

“We know what redacted means, Mavis.”

“Right. So, anyway, this ‘Velvet’ person totally just leaked some documents then bailed. Kind of a ballsy move, if we’re being honest here. Not to mention, she’s this totally cool hacker apparently and I mean, she stole a ship from here for crying out loud! That takes guts.”

“She’s an enemy of the state!”

“Which state, though? Nevada? I’m guessing this one because that’s where we’re at, but maybe she’s an enemy of Colorado? I don’t know.”

“The United States! How are you this smart, yet this dense?”

“I don’t know! Quit patronizing me!”

“Is that all you have to report?”

“Yeah. That’s all. Nothing else.”

The chat ended, and the original Mavis let out a deep sigh. “Jeez, Velvet. Why’d you have to give these guys so much grief? You’re so cool, but I guess I shouldn’t say that out loud.”

“Huh? Did you say ‘Velvet’?” A voice I didn’t recognize came in.

“Who’s there?” That Mavis demanded. “I’ve got lasers, so you better not try anything.”

Someone dropped down from the ceiling. After she stood up and dusted off her pants, I noticed: she had purple hair and wore a tuxedo paired with corduroy pants.

The lasers which normally lay dormant propped up above the monitors turned their attention to the mystery woman.

“Identify yourself.”

“Relax, I work here. Name’s Violet.”

My eyes widened as I heard that name. The same story Velvet had told me before. I was led to believe that Velvet and Violet were the same person. But that couldn’t be. There was a time where I suspected the original me might have been Violet, but no. That wasn’t it.

“How do I know you didn’t just sneak in here?”

She reached into her pocket and showed a badge. “Anyway, not like it’ll mean anything. I’m leaving this place.”

“You mean you’re resigning?”

She shook her head. “More like going MIA. But first, what was this about a ‘Velvet’ person?”

I turned away. “That’s classified information.”

“Fine enough. I just thought it was interesting because I used to date someone named Velvet back in high school. Probably not the same person, though.”

“Red head? Lanky arms?”

“Hmm...too vague. Do you got a picture.”

If it were me, I’d have found that suspicious, but then again, that person technically was me. Or someone I was based on. I watched as that Mavis handed Violet a picture.

“No way…” Violet mouthed. “That’s her all right. Why so interested, anyway?”

“Not me. Michaels. Apparently this ‘Velvet’ person broke in and stole a ship. Now everyone’s freaking out.”

“Wow. That doesn’t sound like her at all. Sounds more like something I would’ve done, actually. Or used to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I used to break into buildings and stuff just for fun. Or run off places. I was a bit of a free spirit. Velvet on the other hand was more of the opposite: reserved, liked to hide herself away. Never could quite understand how I could just do such risky things. Still, I guess people change, huh?”

She put her hand on her chin. “Actually...now that I think of it, maybe she went looking for me.” She let out a bit of a laugh. “Funny thought, but if I recall, it was her first relationship and she was pretty nervous, but she seemed more serious about it than I did. I tried to warn her that I’d run off sooner or later, but she was so convinced that we’d stay together.”

“Ugh. First I don’t get to see aliens, now I have to listen to relationship drama. Not what I signed up for. Sheesh, Velvet, you sure have been pain in the ass.”

Hey! Watch it! That’s your future girlfriend you’re talking about, past me! I mean, you’re not wrong, she is a pain in the ass, but still!

“Well, if she was looking for me, guess she didn’t find me. Neither of us knew the other was there. Maybe she thinks I’m dead. If she doesn’t, maybe she should.”

“Why do you say that?”

“For starters, she probably wouldn’t like what I’ve become. I mean, joining the military? Really?”

“Well, she joined the CIA, so not like she’d have much room to judge.”

“Ha. That’s a good one. Anyway, I’d rather be thought of as a ghost than a recyclable corpse.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Trust me, you don’t wanna stick around. I’ve seen some things that you don’t wanna be a part of. You want my advice? Try to break out as well.”

“Hey!” That Mavis pointed at Violet. “You’re just trying to make me paranoid. Well, it won’t work. I’m making lots of money here and I ain’t about to throw that away.”

“What good is such a promise if you aren’t ever allowed to leave? You can never spend it, either. It’s just something to hang over your head.”

Mavis gave no reply to that. She sat in silence until she finally said one word: “Go.”

“What?” Violet looked taken aback. “You’re not going to kill me?”

“I don’t have anything to do with you.”

The clip ended there and the screen faded to black.

Dr. Geppetto let go of me and I fell onto the floor. Not only that, I was still trying to process what I saw.

“So, you see, that was the original ‘you’. If that’s how you wish to see it. Furthermore, you were not Violet, as you may have believed, and yes, Violet existed, and we knew she escaped. As for what happened to her...not important. This is about you.”

“All you’ve been doing is breaking Velvet and I down.”

“Yes! I’m helping you two realize your potential! Sometimes you must break your work to see it come to fruition. You know the saying, ‘kill your darlings’.”

“What is your end goal with this? Huh?”

She waved her stick around, as if it were a magic wand. “Simple: I want to recreate that scene. The one where you broke down and wanted to rip Velvet’s face off.”

I shook. I didn’t want to remember that moment. I wanted to block it completely from my memory.

“...That...won’t work,” I managed to say.

“Oh?” She sounded surprised.

“I’m free of that creature. It won’t happen that way. So all you’re doing is torture.”

“That’s okay! We can improvise!”

I gasped and yelled out in pain; hooks attached themselves to the skin of my arms and dug in. Attached to the hooks were strings.

“Now, while we’ve been having this nice little chat, I’ve set up an obstacle course to keep your little friend Velvet busy. So don’t worry, she’ll be totally exhausted by the time you two meet up again, so feel free to go all out!”

I had nothing more to say. No rebuttal. It wasn’t as if I was about to go along with her plan, and yet it felt like I already had. Both Velvet and I fell into her trap. Not once, but twice.

“Don’t get me wrong. I am helping you. But in order for you to become real, first I must make you a puppet.”

There was no way that things would play out the same as before, but she didn’t seem like the type who could be reasoned with. I considered a sort of prayer, to myself and myself only.

Please, Velvet. Hang in there.

Then I closed my eyes.

[isobel-thorm]

Don't kill me, but all the fruits for grant and alistair please 💕

Also just noticed @troyebakers asked for all for Grant too, so here y’all are:

Let me apologize to mobile users now bc this is probably just gonna be a giant wall of strewn together nonsense for them. Switching around the order of the questions to make it flow a fair bit better. 

🍍  :    how comfortable is my muse in their body? how do they feel about their height,  weight,  strength,  and body type?  how important is being attractive to them?  

🍑  :    how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance?  do they spend a lot of time on their hair,  makeup,  grooming,  and clothing?  is there a particular reason why they do or don’t?  Grant:  Grant is basically okay with how he looks. He doesn’t exactly like his appearance, but he doesn’t hate it either, nor does he think it’s that important. The only thing he’ll really fuss over is his hair, and his idea of fussing is brushing it but letting the bedhead win a lot of the time.  Same goes with how he dresses- if a pair of jeans and T-shirt are discarded on the floor one night and they’re not in bad condition/they don’t smell, he’ll wear them again. Alistair:  He’s a little fussy with it. He knows most people find him attractive but he’s not that invested in it. Living for multiple centuries does that to a guy. He’ll make sure he’s neatly put together daily and that’s that. He does usually try to dress nicely though. His casual is a nice sweater, well-fitting leather jacket and dark jeans. He tends to call it ‘professorly.’ 

🍅  :    how does my muse feel about plastic  /  cosmetic surgeries   &   procedures?  is it something they have done or would do?  do they mind if others do it?  Both: Both of them are usually in the “why do people do that, it’s not necessary, people age, it’s a fact of life” side of things- with Alistair noting “except for me” in that last bit. They’d never dream about getting anything done themselves. 

🍏  :    how stable is my muse’s physical health?  do they go for regular or semi-regular checkups by a physician?  do they have any diagnosed illnesses and / or take any medication?  how often do they get sick?

🍎  :    how stable is my muse’s mental health?  have they been diagnosed with any mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they have any undiagnosed mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they or should they attend therapy?    Grant: He’s usually physically healthy and tries to stay that way. Mentally, he’s a mess and tries to get help, but it’s not lost on him that talking with Nic and getting hugs from her works better for him than an actual therapist half the time. Alistair:  Fit as a fiddle permanently, if you don’t count the whole living undead thing. He’s also fairly mentally stable himself, and he’s had a vested interest in Psychology the last century, which helps things. 

🍒  :    how much does my muse value companionship?  do they constantly keep people around them,  or do they prefer to be alone often?  do they have or desire to have many friends?  do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend?  Grant: After what happened during his time as a soldier, Grant got it in his head that he was bad luck for anyone around him, so he tried to stay solo for as long as possible and didn’t actively make friends. Enter Nic and Matthew/John, and it was another story. They didn’t really give him an active chance to tell them to leave him alone so they wormed their way into his heart, which helped his mental state so he was able to pursue a friendship with them and then a relationship with M/J, which healed him enough where he was a little more outgoing/willing to meet and befriend other people. Alistair: Nearly the same deal. He was also fairly anti-friends because people only usually gave him the time of day to get in his family’s good graces. He was very apprehensive about making friends because he figured once they got what they wanted they’d leave him, considering that happened a lot. And then Kat and the others came along and made him feel wanted, and while he still has that distrust of people outside that group, he would die (again) for every single person in their friend circle.

🍇  :    how would my muse describe their childhood?  how much has it impacted the person they are now,  or will become as an adult?  around what age did they or will they start to mature,  and why?  do they wish to go back to their days as a child,  or have they embraced adulthood?  Grant: He had a lonely childhood, his parents did take care of him, but were also fairly neglectful and paid more attention to their business than him. When the whole ‘bi but leaning more towards being romantically interested in men’ thing came to pass his parents sent him off to live with his gay uncles which ended up being the best experience of his life because he finally got active attention/parental figures who genuinely cared about his day or interests for once. The first half of that, however, prepared him a lot for his self-exile after coming home from overseas, but it also planted the idea that there was a silver lining somewhere in life, which he found in his friends. The only way he’d want to relive his childhood is if he was with his uncles the entire time. Alistair: Looking back, Alistair acknowledges that his mother raised him to be a spineless, pompous ass. Him becoming a full vampire/getting some distance from the family when he turned thirty was the turning point where he acknowledged that ‘oh hey, a lot of this shit is messed up.’ He wouldn’t relive his childhood at all. 

🍐  :    how intelligent is my muse overall?  are they smarter than the average person,  or less than?  are they primarily self-taught,  or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school?  are they more street smart or book smart?  Grant: He never went to college, he joined the Army straight out of high school, so he’s got an extremely basic… standard education. He’s more street smart than anything, and considering That Day, he got a lot of “that’s the how the world works, it’s unfair” type lessons from that tragedy. Alistair: He’s extremely intelligent. He went to college for law, but in the centuries since he’s found modern law is a little too corrupt for his liking, so he went into veterinary science and then studied Psychology on his own just to pass the time. 

🍉  :    which of the four seasons suits my muse best,  and why?  Both:  Winter. Their personalities and wardrobes match it more, and they both enjoy the aesthetic of it the most. 

🍌  :    is my muse inclined to help others,  or will they only do it when it benefits them,  if at all?  what makes them this way?  has it ever gotten them into trouble,  or inconvenienced them? Both: Will help others at the drop of a hat for entirely selfless reasons. They both figure they’ve got awful pasts to make up for, and if little acts of kindness and paying it forward is how they can go about it, so be it. 🍊  :    does my muse desire romance?  is it something they would actively seek out,  or prefer to happen more  ‘  naturally?  ’  what is their love life like?  do they have any exes or past flings,  or crushes?  Grant: Was very anti-love/anti-thinking-he-deserved love, but then Matt/John came along and was charming and nice and patient and his heart was all “alright get your shit together because T H I S   O N E   I S      F O R   Y O U.” Because of that, he’s an absolute mush with his LIs, which is a surprise to everyone outside his immediate friend circle because “wait the stoic guy likes cuddling and talking with faces a couple of inches apart and getting all romantic on holidays?” Alistair: Got his heart shattered into pieces by his first love early in his life, so he was reluctant to ever start anything romantic ever again, but then he fell for Kat platonically, which kick-started his heart back up to be willing to go pursue someone romantically - and then said heartbreaker comes crashing back into his life and then it’s a 50/50 clusterfuck again and he’s not quite sure what to do. 🍓  :    how is my muse typically seen by others?  does it ring true to who they really are?  does their reputation matter to them? Grant: Doesn’t give a damn about his bad stoic/wide/intimidating reputation. He’s not here to be judged, and if people wanna judge a book by its cover, fine, that’s not his problem. He’s got a handful of friends who love him because they bothered to get to know him, he’s invested in them. Alistair: Used to care very strongly about reputation and yearned to be alluring/scary/intimidating all at once, but he learns that was a lot of his mother’s influence, so he goes out of his way to nice people to death so he gets a far more welcome, warm, friendly reputation to make sure it sticks. It makes him stop caring about it so actively/doesn’t make it a staple in his life anymore.

🥝  :    does my muse have any  ‘  unusual  ’  habits, interests,  and  /  or talents?  do they hide it,  or are they proud of it?  Grant: Nothing special at allAlistair: He’s a hemophobic vampire, so he doesn’t go out on hunts with his family- nor does he feed on humans unless it’s necessary. He uses his resources as a vet to ‘feed’ on animals- where he’ll only feed feed if there’s a time crunch, but even then he only takes a standard blood test’s amount and tries to make it last- and he’ll even coach the animal through it, promising that he means it no harm, they’ll be safe in a minute, “Awww, we’re done, see, that wasn’t so bad. Good job, here’s some extra biscuits/cat treats/veggies, you did so well.” 

🍋  :    what kind of diet does my muse have?  do they eat regularly,  or the standard 2-3 meals a day?  do they have to be reminded to eat,  or are they likely to remind others?  do they cook,  or have others cook for them?  do they eat healthily,  or not so much?  Grant: Unless depression is kicking his ass, he’ll eat balanced meals regularly, with the usual 3x a day. If he does have a day of depression where he misses a meal or so when Nic or John/Matthew is around, they’ll notice and try not to be too forceful about it but they’ll also make a meal with him and try to goad him into eating it, and it usually works. Alistair:  Also keeps up with regular meals 3x a day, considering he tries to make human food work as much as possible to avoid interacting with blood in any capacity. If worse comes to worse he’ll cook up/order a super bloody steak and have it, wincing all the while. 

🥭  :    how important to my muse is their hometown,  or where they’re from?  are they proud of it,  or considered a hometown hero? did they move away,  or do they wish to?Grant: Grew up in Texas, and mentioned, he hated it so he avoids going back. He considers Wyoming/his uncles’ ranch home and would live there if he could, but then the job in Hope County came along, and he sticks there for a while and he’s happy, but maaaayyyybbbeee he’d consider dropping hints to John/Matthew that settling back in Wyoming could be nice if they’d be up for it. He’d be okay if they weren’t, though. They could always vacation there, and it’s enough. Alistair: Grew up in the downtown area of [CITY REDACTED] and has a hate/love relationship with it, so when Kat comes along and he joins that crew where they’re on the outskirts of town by the bay, he absolutely falls in love with the weird suburbia feel and makes plans to move there nearly immediately. 

[ama-darav]

I came back to this hellshite to get back into writing. I haven’t really focused on doing pieces and drabbles since my car accident almost 2 years ago. My brain was hella injured and I stopped processing words and writing like I used to; things are different. I was browsing through my old writing and some of my old posts on this blog and it felt like an entirely different person wrote them? I’m definitely not. THAT PERSON anymore lolol.

Anywhozles, the first piece that I’ve done in years is this backstory piece for a DND-based text campaign. I have a pretty unique character for the setting that merges the two ideas that the DM had (a harsh environment with tribal-minimalistic survivors) and the dwarven community that lives below it. That inspired this little know-it-all sass monster named Taerel, who is a mixture of both cultures.

This piece is a backstory piece for Taerel, exploring the world where he’s from along with adding mystery and a possible exploration quest in the area. It’s a first hand witness account for a hunt. like “we know about the legend, we witnessed it. It’s there and we can do something about it or do more research into the subject” kinda deal.

Expect to see more pieces in the next couple of days because I am really gonna kick my own ass into writing. I miss my muse and I want them back.

Length: 2,750+

"You know I can't leave this hunt much longer, my love." Taerel could remember his mother speaking directly to his father. He was a child then, no older than eight or nine, and like most children he had been preoccupied. His father had carved him a wooden figurine of a Dwarven soldier, and it had been his favorite toy. However, the last time they had come to their summer cabin in the Nevinai valley, he had left the toy and had not realized it until they were many, many miles away to the south, bed up in their winter dens. Now he was reuinited with his forgotten friend, and there was many a distraction to be had. Through the haze of his blissfulness, he hadn't remembered the sharp worry in his father's voice.

"Yes. but it's too early, a'ne." Ihmer said, clearly keeping his voice even and hushed for the sake of Taerel. He rarely used his wife's language, and Taerel noted that the elven words sounded so strange out of a man with such a thick accent. Tae wouldn't learn until much later in his life that Ihmer Valtor only used his mother’s words when he was playing his final hand. In an argument, The Glacial Elf language was a pleading gesture, to really emphasize that Valtor shouldn't be waved off. And Taerel could only recall instances such as this that his father had resorted to begging.

"Nonsense, Valtor. You and the boy will be fine while I hunt. The herd only uses this pass to the north of here once. At the start of the season. If you want to eat for the rest of the said season, I need to do this. If I put it off they will all be gone, and I will have to track further out and be gone longer. Look. If you're concerned that something might happen, I'll take Kovai and leave Korai here. She'll protect you." The Elven woman said firmly.

The memory of Fel'assari brought Taerel physical pain. His mother was strikingly beautiful at nearly 7 feet in height. She was as lean as a weeping tree, her skin as pale as a freshly fallen snow. Her hair had just started to turn an ashen grey, the ends already burned black by the changing of the seasons. It was nearly spring, and Assari bore the signs in her long mane of hair.

It was one of the rare times his mother wasn't already in her gear for the day. She was in a slim pair of doeskin slacks, and a haltered cut of skin to cover her chest. Although, admittedly, there was nothing to cover as there was no meat on Fel'assari's bones at all.  He remembered the way her Tornaavas, or her story, stretched across her skin in white spidery lines. Each one of Fel'assari's people when they reached the age of ten were sat down; then the clan's story were marked across their face. It started with just the clan's history. but. Eventually as the young elf grew the clan would add the young elf’s personal stories to their body. And soon enough the elf would be able to recount their life's tales by looking at how their body had changed over the years. Taerel remembered that his mother's story was intricate, scrawled down the lengths of her arms and her back. Her stories held the detailing all of the heroic things she had done, and there was a child-like desire burning within as Taerel wanted his own stories to reflect hers.

The memory of Ihmer's sigh broke Taerel's mesmerized trance on the memory his mother. He remembered looking upon from the toy in his hands to the concerned look on his father's face. Ihmer Valtor was a stern man, with a thick red beard and a round nose like a cherry. He had grey eyes like clouds, and a bald, shiny head like a coin. Ordinarily Ihmer's face was plastered with laughs and smiles. This was usually because Taerel had said something funny [often in mimcry of said man] or being alive just brought joy to him. There was fear there, and even as young as he was, Taerel could sense it. Reluctantly, Ihmer agreed for his wife to leave them.

The rest of the day played on without event. Both Taerel and Ihmer had chores to do. The two spent the day gathering herbs and other useful materials from the surrounding hills, and scavenging enough wood to stock the smoke house rack. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that day. Just one of the many lessons that there was always something to be done during the day. And, of course, Tae had happily followed his father along to help.

It wasn't until the night had come that things became unsettling. The first event occured after the meal was over, when the night settled in and a blizzard with it. It wasn't uncommon for snow to fall in the beginnings of the growing season. Plants in Nevinter were made hardy for a reason.

The snow whipped and the winds howled in the cold and the darkness, and Taerel had finally settled against Korai for the night. Korai was always the same in Taerel's memories. His mother's two large direwolf companions never seemed to change. Out of the two sisters, Korai was more mature and experienced. She slowly took in the world and was hard to startle... while her sister Kovai was the opposite. She was a reckless one and didn't have a thought in her head. His mother had a story of how she had rescued the two young dire wolves in her youth, and now the two wolves stayed at her side like family. However, this wasn't the time to recant that tale.

The young Taerel had just nestled into a comfortable spot on Korai, a caribou skin blanket wrapped around him. He still had his soldier in his hands and he was singing to it quietly as the fire flickered in the distance. His father was sitting in a makeshift chair by the fire with a book in his hands. The fire was nearly out, and the whole room was cast into darkness. Taerel did not struggle to see in the darkness. He could see the objects in the room clearly. Although they were now devoid of color and shadows, everything was still easy to see.

Everything in the house was quiet and peaceful, save for a few crackling embers. Sleep claimed the young Taerel, and he fell asleep against Korai.

Taerel wasn't sure how long he was asleep against Korai, but he awoke to the sensation of her growling. He could feel the sound reverberating through her skin, humming through his. "Papa." Taerel cried out, clearly alarmed that Korai was growling. The dwarf in the chair stirred. He had fallen asleep where he had been sitting, his book plastered across his face. The fire had since gone out, and there was a definitive chill in the room. Taerel pulled his blankets closer to him, pulling closer to Korai. Korai adjusted the two of them, not pushing the young child off of her back just yet but getting ready to stand up and lunge if necessary.

Then the two of them heard what Korai was hearing. Someone was screaming for help. It was a dull shriek at first, a woman's voice carrying on the wind. However, with each passing moment the voice carried on closer to the cabin. The winds outside had begun to pick up, and there was a harsh groan of air  and snow against the logs of the cabin. It felt like the storm outside was challenging the cabin, daring it to fall down.

Korai's growls grew more intense as the voice got closer the cabin. The two of them could now make out what the woman was saying.

"Help me, please. You have to let me in. I'm going to freeze to death. Please. I'm dying. My hands... My hands are... " The woman was begging, hysterical with tears and pain. You could hear the sobs grow closer and closer to the door.

Ihmer did not rise from his chair, he stood watching the door with a bewildered look upon his face. Then the banging started. It was the sound of a woman, desperately clawing at the door. It groaned and shuddered in it's frame, violently shaking as the banging continued.

"Please. Let me inside. Please." The voice pleaded again, shrill and full of agony. The sobbing continued, full of tears and terror. The sound of the woman made Tae's blood run cold.

Ihmer finally rose from the chair, however. He dared not near approach the door. Instinctively, he walked over to his son and hoisted him up off of Korai. Taerel was nearly taller than his father now, but despite his height he was still very skinny. Years of being toted around by either of his parents meant he instinctively wrapped around his father, dragging the blanket around both of them to keep them from the cold.

Ihmer rose a finger to his lips, a clear indication that he wanted Taerel to remain very quiet. The two of them then sat in the middle of the cabin on the floor. Korai wrapped herself around them, resting on her haunches ready for the moment hell was going to break loose.

After almost an hour of weeping and calling out, the woman outside had stopped her efforts. There was nothing now, even though the wind ripping outside had not subsided. Ihmer dared not to move, his eyes locked on the door. Taerel could feel his father's heart racing in his chest, and the young man felt uneasy. He had never seen his father so afraid before. He for one was just grateful that the woman had finally stopped. Maybe she had died?

No sooner than Taerel had felt the relief of the quiet wash over him that something else happened. His blood turned to icewater, and he felt his heart seize in his chest. It was like a bottom falling out of a barrel as a wicked laughter filled the air outside of the cabin and seeping in. It was a shrill, inhuman sound, like metal on ice. Taerel's hair stood on end and he whimpered reflexively. It finally clicked in his mind what was going on and the worst fear he had ever felt in his life had set in. They were being visited by an Ice hag.

Taerel closed his eyes as he could feel the tears welling up at his cheeks. He leaned into his father, who reflexively pulled the small boy closer. He didn't want to remember the words, but they came piercing into his mind as sure as the screeching outside.

'Mama, why must we leave here in the winter? Why do we move around so much?'

'Because my sweet son, The Frosthell changes as the seasons do. The Valley isn't safe when the snow comes.'

'Why?'

'Well. When I was just a girl, your age. My father told me a story of a group of humans who had come to settle in this land. They stayed in our little valley. The summer was good and plentiful, but they did not know how to prepare for the winter. Before long the early snows came, and the humans were unprepared.

Many froze to death in their little huts, and many starved to death. All that was said to have survived the coming of the cold was a single woman, and she did so by eating the others. By eating the flesh of her friends, her lover, and her children she transformed into a creature of darkness and cold. The hag she had become survived the winter, but her soul was lost forever in the process.

Now It is safe to live here in the valley during the months that it doesn't snow, but if you see the signs of winter coming you best move on. During the first snows of the year, she comes out from her hiding in the valley and she checks all the settlements to see if any remain. If she were to ever suspect that someone was inside, she'll pound at the door trying to get you to let her in. If that ever happens, Taerel, put the fire out and stay very quiet like nobody is home. It is said that if she catches you inside she'll tear the house down around you and eat you. Never let her in, Taerel.'

His mother's words echoed in his heart like a dagger. He wrapped himself around his father tightly, and sat stewing in his own fear. He dared not make another sound.

The laughing outside increased as the house shook violently in the wind. The bones of the house shook around them as the ice hag continued her onslaught. They could hear scratching and tearing, the house around them taking a beating. Both father and son stayed motionless for hours on the floor, each locked in a palpable fear for their lives.

It wasn't until the first light of dawn broke through the trees that the sounds of the hag had finally subsided. The laughter faded first, receding into the deep woods not far away from their house. Then the wind let up and everything faded into an uncomfortable silence.

Ihmer moved from his spot on the ground when Korai sprung from her hiding spot and bolted to the door, pressing a paw against it. Ihmer hesitantly opened the door, letting the dire wolf out into the snow. Taerel rose from his spot on the floor, instinctively moving to his father's side. He could see hesitation in his father's movements, but he mirrored. and slowly the two of them were standing outside, staring at the cabin.

The hag had done some hefty damage. Long clawmarks had been cut through the heavy logs, oozing with red with blood and ice. The markings had continued along the exterior of the hut as the witch had tried to find a way to bust through to the inside.

The worst part of all this carnage was the front door. It was plastered with blood and ice. Clearly and distinctly, one could make out  the shape of a person hunched down against it as the snow piled around. There were clear signs of human nails scratching at the door near the bottom, but as they rose higher up you could see them progressively start to shift into something inhuman.

The defining feature was three distinct claw marks  embedded into the door, with fresh blood dripping out of them.

With a sinking feeling, Taerel guessed what they were for. Three was the number of living occupants in the house. Three was the number of people she was going to eat. His heart was broken. He didn't want to get eaten by an ice hag.

It didn't take Ihmer long to act. The two of them had spent the day gathering what they could of their things and repacking them into the sleds they used to move around. They took anything that was useful: tools, clothing, oils and things that were tradeable... but they had to leave much behind, like the furniture that Ihmer had built.

When the Sun reached it's highest point in the sky, Taerel watched his father light a final fire in their home in the Nevinai. It didn't take long for the house to catch completely ablaze.

The sight of his favorite place burning brought physical pain to Taerel. Without realizing it, the young man began to cry. Sobbing at the sight of his happiest memories going up in flames, he shook uncontrollably. It was like watching someone he loved die. All the times he spent fishing in the rivers, playing with Kovai in the trees. The meals. The stories. The games. All of it was going up in flames.

....The worst part was? Without needing to explain it, Taerel already knew why. The claw marks in the door were a curse. Every single snow the hag would return to that house, without fail. If someone else were to try and use it for shelter, they would be put at risk by his families' errors. It was the unspoken law of the Frosthell that something had to be done about it, and the simplest way to rid the world of the hag's mark was to destroy what she had marked. He hated this place now. He hated the woman that had become the hag. He hated that this was just another part of his life here in the cold.

Soon. He and his father moved on, making clear tracks to an old cabin they knew of that existed some distance outside of the valley. They would move on from this spot, never to return.

Every now and again though, the memory returns to the deepest parts of Taerel's mind on a cold night. A black reminder that the world he knew the best was ceaselessly cruel.

[missjanjie]

Must be the Summer Heat (That Gives Her That Glow) | Branjie

Summary: This is a continuation of this drabble that ended up being a oneshot. There were six individual requests for a follow up and also a recent prompt for Nina playing Vanjie in snatch game. Enjoy!

-

The All Stars Six cast had entered the workroom for the first day of the third episode. Everyone was in good spirits, relieved to have survived the first two eliminations.

Brooke Lynn and Vanessa, specifically, were happy to have narrowly avoided outing their relationship. It would have been embarrassing to have blown their cover in week one, especially since their official reconciliation was – as Vanessa had put it the first time around – fresh out the womb. In fact, they had only concretely confirmed their status to each other a week before arriving on set.

Maybe they would have better luck convincing literally anyone that they were ‘just friends’ if they had time to work out a story beforehand – they were as bad at improv as they were at any other type of acting. Winging it, they supposed, was all they could do.

This week’s challenge was the Snatch Game – something everyone saw as either a chance at further success or, for people like Brooke Lynn and Vanessa – a chance at redemption. It didn’t take long after the announcement for everyone to rush to their stations and get right into preparations.

“Who are you gonna do, Nina?” Brooke Lynn asked as he brushed out the wig that he was planning on wearing.

“Well, I’ll tell you who I’m gonna do…” Nina spoke in her ‘Vanjie’ impression, immediately making everyone laugh, “You know, hopefully it’ll go over better than Roxxxy’s Alaska impersonation, but I think my Vanjie-isms are on point,” he explained in his normal voice.

Vanessa arched his brow and laughed. “Ima be watching you, bitch. Tread lightly,” he warned, scribbling potential jokes and one-liners for his own character, shifting nervously as he tried to prepare. Clearly his stress was starting to show as he realized Brooke had made his way to his table with a concerned expression.

Brooke Lynn put his hand on Vanessa’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “How’re you holding up, Vanj?” he asked gently, sitting beside him. “You feeling more confident this time around?” he asked, despite knowing the answer.

“Not as much as I should be,” Vanessa confessed quietly, resting his head on Brooke’s shoulder. “This is the shit I still struggle with, you know? I know Ru and everyone else are gonna be looking at me to see how I do. Guess I’m preaching to the choir, but you got some redemption already,” he mused.

He wasn’t wrong, Brooke Lynn knew that as much as Vanessa did. “I know, believe me, I get it. Last time was rough for both of us. But you’ve grown so much, and everyone’s rooting for you no matter what,” he told him. “Besides, you’re too much of a fan favorite to go home this early,” he teased.

Vanessa laughed, sniffling a little. “Thanks, Brooke. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he hugged him before Brooke Lynn returned to his station. He could do this, he thought. He just needed to get out of his head.

When it came time to play the game itself, everyone’s nerves appeared to have subsided for the time being – the most important thing was making RuPaul laugh however they could get him to.

One act that stood out, unsurprisingly, was Nina, who was able to mimic Vanessa’s mannerisms and vocal inflictions almost to a T. It was almost enough to make Vanessa break character at a few different points.

At one point in the game, RuPaul asked Nina in character if he had been staying in touch with the other season eleven queens, to which he answered, “Yeah, you know, I still got my Dream Girls. And between you and me mama, I ain’t been kicking Brooke Lynn out of bed either.”

Ru and the two contestants laughed heartily at that. “Oh really?” he egged him to go on – this was almost as good as getting a confession from Vanessa himself.

“Listen, what happens on tour stays in the hotel rooms. And the dressing rooms. And sometimes the bus when we thought everyone was asleep,” Nina continued, having all but forgotten that Vanessa and Brooke Lynn were both on the same panel, staring at him incredulously. ----------

“Hey Nina,” Asia called out to him while they were getting ready for the runway. “If you get into the top two and win the lipsync, are you gonna split that ten grand with Vanjie? You’re profiting off of her likeness,” he asked with a light laugh.

Vanessa bristled at the question even without being directly addressed. “It’s the least she could do after blowing up my spot like that. She knew she didn’t need to go for that low blow,” he chimed in as he did his makeup.

“Nina, girl, you know I love you, but it would’ve been just as easy to do a funny Vanjie impression without having to drag our personal lives into it like that,” Brooke added in a much more calm and gentle tone.

Asia looked between the three of them oddly. “Wait, so she was telling the truth? I mean, I had my suspicions, but…” his voice trailed off as he gestured vaguely, “I just figured y’all discussed what was gonna go down beforehand,” he shrugged.

Nina looked taken aback, but it was clear he did feel guilty. “Vanjie, I had no idea it would be a sensitive subject for you. We’ve all been joking about it, so I thought it would be fair game. But Asia’s right, I should have asked you for confirmation regardless, and I’m so sorry,” he apologized emphatically.

“I forgive you,” Vanessa replied curtly. He knew Nina’s apology was sincere, and he did accept it, but he did still feel tense and uncomfortable in a way that only time could heal.

“Are you alright, Brooke?” Nina asked with a hint of awkwardness in his tone, knowing that Vanessa was still upset.

Brooke nodded, doing his best to seem poised and unphased. “I’m not mad, I understand that you got carried away,” he replied even though, in reality, he was just doing his best to stay strong so neither Nina nor Vanessa felt any worse.

That had been the end of their storyline for that episode. All of them survived to the next week, and the pressure was building even more. They were all starting to feel the heat. Perhaps that was why after they got to a challenge that they were both safe in, Brooke Lynn and Vanessa managed to sneak away while the focus stayed on the winners and losers.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, Brooke Lynn,” Vanessa confessed. “It was one thing to compete when everyone knew we had our thing going on, it’s different when we’re trying to hide it. It’s just another fucking thing we gotta worry about, like we don’t fucking have enough to deal with,” he vented.

Brooke frowned sympathetically and wrapped an arm around him. “Baby, I get it. It’s hard for me too. I’d much rather be able to hug and kiss you whenever I want. But this is what we agreed to do if we didn’t want to have that narrative again. Then when all is said and done, we can pick up where we left off and love each other on our own terms.”

Vanessa sighed and curled up against Brooke Lynn. “You say shit that’s smart and makes sense, and I want it to change how I feel, but I just…” in an impulsive act, he suddenly sat up and kissed him deeply, cupping his face with both hands and pouring out every single feeling of longing and need over the past few weeks into that one kiss.

And Brooke couldn’t have fought his feelings if he tried. His arms wrapped around Vanessa’s waist and pulled him close. He had missed this – missed him – more than he realized. He wouldn’t go so far as to say love was more important than winning, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t ignore Vanessa’s feelings, let alone his own. If he was going to give in to their desires, he was glad they could do it alone, sequestered from their friends and the harsh eye of the camera.

“Anyone see where Brooke Lynn and Vanjie went?” Asia asked offhandedly, looking around without realizing he was in earshot of the couple.

As nonchalantly as possible, Vanessa and Brooke returned from their impromptu reconciliation-slash-makeout session and joined the group. “What happened?” Brooke asked as casually as he could. All he received in response, however, was a bunch of confused stares. “Is there something on my face?”

“Other than most of Vanjie’s lipstick?”

[teaandatale]

Steggy Week Day 7 (Sunday): Free choice

My Theme: Previews & Support

1. Previews: Okay, work has been brutal, the muse hasn’t been kind to me, so I didn’t finish the couple other works I thought I would for Steggy Week. Instead, I’m going to share previews of 5 fics I’ve been working on (new and old), as a amuse bouche of an end to Steggy Week.

2. Support: Then for the rest of today, I will be checking out all the Steggy goodness created this past week and commenting about how brilliant this fandom is, as much as possible, because I know just how much feedback feeds the muse.

If anyone doesn’t have anything finished for today, might I suggest you tease us with your own preview of Steggyness to come :D

Previews of fics in the works below the cut.

1.     Untitled Agent Carter S2 AU

Summary: Steve is found in 1947, while Peggy’s still in Los Angeles.

“Howard what is going on?”

“We’re almost there. I’ll tell you then.”

He’s in some sort of mood, and acting shifty. She eyes him suspiciously as they follow along through several turns into alleys and side streets. She knows the destination three blocks from the building and the second she realizes, Peggy grabs Howard by the collar of his shirt.

“Easy pal!”

“What the hell are we going there for Howard?”

His eyes shift from hers in a rush, and he rubs at the back of his neck.

“It seemed like the right place,” he mutters under his breath and then ignores her demanding expression and continues walking.

She’d never avoided this street, but for all her time in New York since the end of the war, she’d never ended up back here.

“You found him,” she whispers like a prayer.

And for Howard to keep this information from her… It was cruel.

“How could you not say anything? How could you not tell me? Me! Of all people Stark!”

“That’s exactly why I had to figure out exactly what it is I found Peggy!”

“And what the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?!”

He bites his lip and then heads to the glass where the observation looked over a transformation of Steve Rogers once upon a time.

“Carter…” Phillips trails off in a soft voice she’s only heard a handful of times in her time with him. “There’s a bit more.”

Howard pulls the screen away from the glass revealing not an abandoned lab, but a whole slew of people and machinery working below them.

“He’s not dead Peg.”

 She’s gone insane. She’s finally gone insane. She’d wondered if it would come. If all the incredible disasters in her life would lead her to a complete loss of reality. And it’s finally happened.

 “He’s alive. Steve Rogers is alive,” Phillips confirms.

“We’ve been trying to wake him. But he’s been frozen so long it’s causing some problems. He’s thoroughly thawed out, so we’re not really sure what the trouble is. There’s not a lot of experience I have to work with here. But I’ll figure it out. I know I will.”

She is no longer interested in anything further that Howard Stark has to say.

Peggy flies out of the observation room, wrenching the way to the stairs open, even as medics and attendants swing their heads away from the body laying in the cot to her stomping on the steps.

  2.     Play Like a Girl

Summary: Peggy recently moved to Brooklyn where she happens to run into Brooklyn’s golden boy Steve Rogers on more occasions than she cares for. Her first real interaction with Steve, a recently retired MLB shortstop, leaves much to be desired. And yet somehow she finds herself helping him coach a girls’ baseball team for the summer.

 A baseball lands with a loud smack against her hardwood floors. Winston lifts his head, looks at her briefly with a tilt of his head before he runs off to chase after the rolling baseball.

            Peggy stands staring dumbfounded at her broken window, the faint sound of screeches coming from outside. After a few moments, she finally comes to her senses, outrage pouring out of her as she starts to stomp towards her front door to chase down the culprit. The second she pulls her front door open, her doorbell sounds simultaneously, and there he is standing in front oh her, Mr. Hometown Hero himself.

            Steve Rogers stands with a sheepish expression. Of course its him. Recently retired Dodgers’ shortstop, the hometown rookie of the year that led the Mets to the World Series during his second season in the major leagues, the attractive dog walker she’d been running into at the park directly across the street from her house.

            “Oh,” is the first thing he says, his eyes widening a bit. “Hi again.”

            He fiddles with his stupid backwards cap and she wants to rip it off his head.

            “Hi again? That’s all you have to say to me after hurling a baseball through my window?!”

            Winston decides this is the time to come bounding in with the stupid baseball in question. He drops it at their feet, more interesting at sniffing at Steve. He bounds up, front paws on Steve’s legs who immediately drops down to scratch at his ears.

            “Winston no! Down!”

            Winston withdraws, albeit reluctantly, looking back at her with that head tilt of confusion. She refuses to let her dog fraternize with this jerk of a jock.

+

“Great job today ladies,” Steve calls out. “Now all of you have a wonderful weekend. Be kind. Have lots of fun. And rest up for more on Monday.”

           “Bye Coach Steve! Bye Peggy!” They shout as they give the dogs last pats.

           “It’s coming along,” she notes. “And they’re having fun.”

           Steve nods. “They’re definitely more focused than I had expected. But then again they are much more mature than I was at their age.”

            “Or now,” she jokes. She regrets it for a moment, realizing that they’re not really friendly enough for that kind of teasing comment.

            But Steve, to her surprise, snorts out a surprised chuckle.

           “Well you’re probably right about that,” he agrees with easily. “Hey, thank you again for the snacks and breaks. Obviously they need more of that.”

            She bites her lip but then it comes out of her anyway.

            “I work from home a couple times during the week. So I’m free a few mornings,” she says. “I could perhaps lend a hand on those mornings.”

            She watches his face brighten but the smile is cautious.

            “You’re always more than welcome, you’ve made this even more fun,” he starts, rocking back on his heels, “but I’m sure you’re very busy. So no pressure. Really.”

            “I am busy,” she agrees, “but hell if I’m not already invested in seeing these girls grown as a team.”

            She thought she’d seen the extent of his happy expression, but the look on her face now transcends even his earlier joy with Rodger. It’s blindingly pure and she swears she feels butterflies kicking through her with a force she cannot reckon.

            Shit…

            Oh shit indeed.

  3.     Of Gold & Something More – Chapter 2 Dreams That You Dare to Dream

Summary: Peggy’s family moves to New York when she’s young. While she’s able to keep up her ballet lessons with the transcontinental move, it’s when her brother starts playing hockey that she gets interest in ice skating. There at the local rink, she meets her first (and only) skating partner.

 Michael takes her hand and helps her with her skates. “How was your lesson?”

            “Wonderful!” she sighs. “I didn’t fall once. I bet I’m the best one in the class.”

           He snorts. “It’s your third lesson Peg. Don’t go dreaming about the Olympics just yet.”

           “Why not?” She plants her hands at her hips. “I can do whatever I want to Michael. Even the Olympics.”

            He laughs and she pouts at him. “Alright you win darling. Now come on I’m starving.”

            Peggy turns back over her shoulder to watch the skaters still on the ice. She watches two boys, one with blond hair, the other with brown chasing each other up and down the middle, gliding with perfect ease. One day she was going to be able to skate so fast it would feel like flying. One of these days.

+

“Lessons are on the other end, Peggy,” the boy named Bucky he says with so wide a grin it makes her a little warm inside.

 “Lessons are boring,” she shoots back. “I can already skate backwards. And I already know how to balance you know since I’m a ballerina.”

His friend stays quiet behind Bucky, smoothing kicked up ice off his pants. She tilted her head at him. She wondered if he was shy. He didn’t seem shy when he was tearing up the ice with Bucky or some of the other hockey boys. But then she thinks back to the boys’ lessons she watched him skate during. The other boys would goof off between exercises, but he seemed to stay focused and quiet.

“Hear that Steve? She’s a ballerina.” The blond boy named Steve nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets. She notices that his cheeks are a little pink but she doesn’t know why. “I don’t know about ballet, but I can dance a little too you know.”

“Oh yeah?”

 “Uh huh! I started ice dance lessons with my cousin a couple of months ago.”

“Ice dance?” Her eyes grow wide and the bubbly feeling comes back. “You can dance on the ice? Show me!”

He laughs but it doesn’t make her bristle. He doesn’t seem to be making fun of her. She thinks.

 “I can’t right now. I don’t have a partner.”

 “I’ll be your partner.”

 He gives her his signature grin but shakes his head. “Sorry Peggy you’re too little to be my partner. You and Steve could be partners, he’s not that much taller than you.” She sees Steve turns red and kicks at the ice with his left skate.

  4.     ‘S Wonderful ‘S Marvelous – Untitled Sequel #1

Summary: Steve and Peggy make good on their promise to keep in touch and see each other in person before the end of the year.

 “I don’t snore!”

            Steve hums. “Maybe snore is the wrong word. It’s sort of a mix of a soft snore and a snuffle,” he tells her, his voice gone so soft and tender she feels something tighten in her stomach. “It’s cute. It made it feel like you were right here next to me for a moment.”

           Peggy turns onto her back staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, her free hand running across her bedsheets as if her body’s automatically searching for his.

           “I wish I was,” she whispers back.

            “Soon,” he promises in his whisper. “Time for you to go to sleep for real Peggy.”

            She grunts out her disapproval. “No I’m awake.”

           He chuckles. “It’s late. We’ve been on the phone for hours.”

           She glances over at her alarm clock, her eyes widening at the single digits. Hours indeed.

           “Time has a strange sense of humor then because I swear I just called you.” 

           “And yet time also makes it feel like I haven’t seen in you in months when it was just six days ago.”

            I don’t remember having this before… Just talking. Wanting to share more and more the longer we talk.”

            He hums in response. “It feels special.”

            “It is special.”

           He lets out a long exhale. “I can’t wait to see you.”

            “Me too. It’s soon. Soon. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

            He laughs again. “You got that right. Bedtime Peggy.”

            She hums sleepily. “Good night Steve. I’ll see you soon.”

            “Sleep well Peggy.” His voice is a lullaby and though her whole body aches with missing him, she turns over with a smile and falls back to sleep.

+

Her stomach flutters with butterflies as the train starts to slow into the station. Peggy pulls out her phone and rereads the text she received just a few minutes ago.

 Waiting at the station. I can’t wait to see you.

            She reads it one more time, stomach filling with anticipation. Had it really only been just over three weeks since she’d last seen Steve? It felt like months. And that hunger she had been feeling was finally going to be satisfied. She feels her body buzzing as she collects her luggage and sets off for the platform with the rest of the passengers making their way to their destinations. The station’s lights are a bright glow against the dark winter evening. She’s aware of the chill biting at her exposed skin but she can only think about who she is meeting.

           Once through the station’s lobby, with the parking lot in plain view, there she sees Steve leaning against his truck, his eyes already on her, his face breaking out in such a warm smile that it touches her even from the hundred feet still between them. As soon as the path is clear in front of her, Peggy races towards him.

  5.     Layer on Layer – Chapter 16 Epilogue Part 1

Summary: The one-year anniversary of meeting Peggy looms near. But anniversary celebrations are put on hold when the whole world goes to shit. 

He’s deep in concentration getting her warm brown eyes just right, the right shade, the touch of a knowing glimmer in them. He remembers the first time they locked eyes, across her bedroom, just down the hall from where he stood right then.

            He’s so deep in concentration, he doesn’t think twice at the sound of the front door opening and then when he hears footsteps approaching.

            “Hey Peg, aren’t you late?” he asks distractedly without looking up.

            “She sure is,” a voice that’s not Peggy’s startles him. He nearly drops his palette, tipping it over and paint gets on his bare chest.

            He looks up and sees Angie.

            “Sorry!” she cries out, and he notices she’s not looking at his face when he sets the palette down, trying to wipe at the pint on his skin. “Wow. This is a look. Go English!”

            Steve blushes, grabbing his rag and using it as a make-shift cover for at least part of his bare torso.

            “I thought you two were meeting at your hotel for drinks,” Steve said, reaching over to the couch for his shirt. Angie is still staring when he slips it on.

            “We were but she was running late. And so when she didn’t show I thought I’d see if we got our wires crossed and see if she was here. Sorry for scaring you. I still had my key, and I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

            “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m sure Peggy just got caught up or stuck in traffic. You know how her work is.”

            Angie nodded. “Yeah, she’s always going at a hundred miles a minute.” She stepped further into the room until she was right in front of the canvas. “You’re painting Peggy! You’ve been painting a perfect portrait of her half-naked looking like a Greek God. Unreal.”

            Steve blushed further. “It’s hot but I wanted the breeze and the sunlight filtering in so I turned the air conditioning off.”

            “Oh don’t apologize, Steve. This has been the best surprise to walk into. I can’t imagine how Peg handles coming home to this every day. You’re an amazing artist. That looks just like Peggy, down to that spark in her eye. I might need to hire you to paint me.”

            He laughed. “Free of charge Angie. Friends and family plan.”

            “You’re as sweet as a button, you know that?” She grins. “Must be some hell of a meeting English is stuck in for her to respond to my texts for like five hours.”

            Steve hummed, checking his phone.

            “Wait. What did you say? You haven’t heard from her in that long?”

             Something didn’t feel right to Steve. She hadn’t responded in that many hours? She always sent him responses if short ones within an hour or so, even at her busiest.