#tan better be the second killer i swear

[weeeeeeezamboni]

@respectthepetty and @italianpersonwithashippersheart exactlyyy i agree you guys have made some incredibly smart observations (i didn't even notice Tan missing when they confronted the boys about the tape! :O) and now i wanna ask your opinions on something

@italianpersonwithashippersheart you mentioned the scene where we see the masked killer run below Tan, and i've seen a lot of people talking about how they believe Non is the third killer, and then i remembered this scene from episode 4

before Top starts getting those seizures, it cuts to a really strange backflash/memory/hallucination of the masked killer raising a knife in front of him in a dark room -- except it zooms in on the killer's arm

it clearly wants us to see Non's bracelet

which is fine, that makes sense, we already know Non played the part of the masked killer in the short film and that Top was genuinely afraid of him, but i wonder if that's what it's actually showing us. was that a backflash to some part of the film it hasn't shown us yet? (i went back and played the scene really slow and found what looks like Fluke's shoulder and glasses at the left bottom and top respectively? so it is a bit of the film then?)

we already talked about the two throwbacks to Scream we've seen from this show so far, but that isn't all. something we see at the end of Scream is Sidney turning the tables on Billy and Stu by pretending to to call them as a killer, which we also see something of with Top attacking them in the shrine, albeit a bit differently. could this show possibly be hinting at something like that again with a third killer? and could that killer actually be Non?

@slayerkitty made a post about their theory about what actually happened to Non, and it's so interesting, you have to check it out! it feels so solid! and it got me thinking about how Tee seems to be the most afraid of Non's ghost and what that means for this theory and if he might have been the one behind the mask if they really did prank Non like that.

in the footage that White saw on the computer, Non was dancing and seemingly having fun with the rest of the assholes, which is just so incongruous with the rest of their interactions we've seen so far, it felt off

(love the cinematography of Non "having horns" if they make that mean something later on)

it would make sense, then, like @slayerkitty said, that they'd drugged him up. so assuming this or something like it is true, that they left him terrified and confused in the woods and never so him again--and assuming also that he really hasn't gone back to see any of the other eight...

what happened to him in those woods? like @respectthepetty said, i really hope Non is still alive somehow. but then what would that mean?

but could he have?

i was ready to chalk all these weird masked killer sightings up to the boys slowly losing their minds in the house, but why Tan?

(this microexpression is for you @italianpersonwithashippersheart, look at Phee's face! the confusion!)

if we're right and Tan is the second killer, then what does he have to lose his mind about? and if what @respectthepetty said is true (and i really hope it is) that White is gonna be our Final Gay and these really aren't hallucinations, then what does that mean for him?

god i'm losing my mind over this show, and i'd really love to hear your guys' opinions on this

(@italianpersonwithashippersheart this one?

or this one?

/\ that one's from when they first see Non's face on the film, before Tan asks who it is, which is just an entirely suspicious scene in general for Tan and Phee, they just. keep. sharing glances!)

just saw what @italianpersonwithashippersheart and @slayerkitty were talking about and i think my reblog answered some of that but also @italianpersonwithashippersheart you make a great point about the brother! cause yeah like @respectthepetty was saying, i do believe that Tan could be the brother, and like you said we've only seen child pictures of him which seems strange if it wasn't going to mean something... but then why is the brother's name New? if it is Tan, why change his name? i didn't get the impression any of the other friends would have even known about him through Non, so why go to that length?

@respectthepetty made a post about Tan being the second murderer and it makes so much sense! of course there are two killers, the masked murderer covers way too much ground and is in way too many places at once for their to only be one, and as @respectthepetty also previously mentioned, we've already seen another subtle throwback to Scream by way of the three main rules for not becoming a victim (all of which were ignored in the very first episode). it only makes sense that we'd see this too

i don't know if anyone's mentioned this yet, but i was thinking last night about the bathroom scene from episode 2 and how they might've pulled that off, and then it hit me

Tan wasn't there

is that what the kids are calling it these days? apparently he'd gone up to sleep (according to Phee who we already know is killer #1), but even watching it for the first time with innocent eyes, this felt strange. he only shows up again later, after the whole incident with Top that he was suspiciously absent from, talking to White and Phee while the rest of the original boys have their team meeting

but this whole exchange feels kinda off

Tan brings up how strange it is that they seem so scared of Non's ghost, and then gets this look when White calls them Non's friend

and then is weirdly quick to jump to the conclusion that his friends, the people he took a trip into the middle of the woods with, hurt Non

and then White says this

and the camera cuts immediately to Phee and Tan looking like they're hanging on his every word

and then White drops the bomb

and they share this significant look

in episode 3 Top volunteers to drive out of the woods to get help after Uncle Dang's death (and after having already failed once attempting to escape with Tee), but Phee stops him, claiming he's untrustworthy (he is)

of course you shouldn't, both killers are at the house, Top might just make it out to help

so naturally, Tan volunteers to go with

but on their way out of the woods, they end up getting lost

following Tan's directions

and then Tan eventually makes it back to the house alone

and we're really supposed to believe he just woke up where they fell and walked all the way back to the house perfectly fine?

after he looks at Phee like this

something obviously happened out there in the woods, and next thing we know about Top is his bloody wallet chain and a trail of blood leading into Janta's shrine

it's revealed later that it was him behind the mask that night, which means it was him that did this

and i don't care how strong Tee thinks he is

that man is not lifting you off the ground by your neck

which means we know three new pieces of information about Top since he went missing:

1) he's suddenly acquired heightened strength (and i'm also gonna point out here that man was hit with a golf club multiple times? where did Tee even get it from? did i miss something?)

2) Top was clearly unwell and vomiting when he made it back to the house

and 3) he was seizing on the couch and then bleeding from his eye

now i'm not an expert on drugs so i don't know if there are any kinds of steroids or anything else that can produce all three of these effects at the same time, but there was definitely something funky going on in his body

these boys all deserve what's coming for them, and i really hope Phee and Tan are working together on this and i'm not just seeing things i would live for that

[pascalpanic]

Fixer Upper PART ONE (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: Nothing seems to go right in your new house. When yet another thing breaks, a certain handyman comes to your rescue.

W/C: 2k ish

Warnings: language, joking mentions of a house being cursed (it isn’t), reader has dirty thoughts bc it’s Frankie and he’s hot

A/N: this one goes out to my anons who’ve been sending me stuff about frankie as a repairman! I loved the idea and I thought it would be super fun to write! This will be part ONE of three-ish! ps idk if any references to reader’s gender are in this part but there certainly will be some in the future so.

It’s been a while that you’ve lived in this house. Since that day you hauled in the cardboard boxes, you’ve been feeling that your life is the epitome of Murphy’s law. Or rather, this damned house is.

Nothing ever goes right. The heat breaks in the winter and the air conditioning breaks in the summer. The plumbing needs work when you need it to work, and the oven only ever breaks halfway through cooking something. Seriously, you swear this place is cursed by some hex determined to pester you out of living here.

You’ve never exactly been the handy type. You don’t know much about mechanics, heating or cooling, the electricity and wiring in your house, any of it. By now, you wish you’d taken the time to learn it at some point rather than hiring someone every time.

The first sign was that the June heat seemed inescapable. You’d been outside all day, and you figured it was just your body taking its time to adjust to the cooler, indoor temperature. Then you never cooled down. When you stepped out of the bathroom after a shower and found the air to be nearly as muggy as that of the steamed bathroom, you realized that the air conditioning must be off.

Well, it was on. The problem was that it wasn’t working. You opened all the windows, and figured the night breeze would cool you, then you became worried about serial killers and crimes and promptly shut and locked all of them again. With the fan in your bedroom on, the air at least moved, but was still thick and heavy.

In the morning, when you wake with no blankets on and sweaty sheets, you dial the repair company as fast as you can. You inform them of the situation, and they tell you they’ll send someone out your way in the next hour or two.

The air is still somewhat cool outside, so you give the front porch a shot once you get changed out of your pajamas and take yet another cool shower. The heavy dew is an indicator of just how humid the air is, and you relish every little breeze that passes by and cools you down. You conduct your morning business outside, hoping to have this problem fixed before the sun reaches a height where the temperatures will rise exponentially.

About an hour after the call, the repair van rolls up into your driveway and parks. “Thank God,” you murmur to yourself.

Your focus returns to your computer, but you hear the door slam shut and look up to find the repairman there. He wears khaki cargo pants and a gray t-shirt, complete with a ball cap on top, with dark brown curls peeking out from the bottom. He fastens his tool belt around his waist as he walks up to the porch. “Hey there. I’m Frankie. I’ll be taking care of you today,” he informs you, a kind smile on his face. You already like him. “I got the basics from the boss, but can you tell me more about the problem?”

Looking up at him from the seated position you’re in, you give an awkward smile. Suddenly, you wish you’re better dressed, fixed up and looking nice. Even in work clothes, this man is beautiful. It makes you a little nervous, you in your pajamas and him looking like a god even in cargo pants. “I wish I could, but I don’t know anything about the air conditioner and how it works other than how to change the settings. All I know is that it isn’t working.”

He gives a good-natured chuckle, a soft bounce of his chest beneath the shirt. He looks down at his tool belt and his scruff brushes against the collar of the gray. “Well, let’s go give it a shot. I’ll need you to show me around, show me the control panel and the main system.” God, he’s handsome.

“Oh, of course,” you nod and stand, leaving your laptop on the small table. “Well, right this way. And please, you don’t need to take your boots off. Those look complicated,” you laugh as you look at the heavy tan boots at the bottom of his body.

Frankie nods and looks around as you lead him through the house. He doesn’t take his boots off, since you insisted, but he does give them a generous wipe on the doormat, careful not to track anything in. “It’s a beautiful place,” he tells you honestly, with a half-smile that just tugs at one of the corners of his ridiculously soft-looking lips.

“Thanks,” you shrug and show him to the control panel. “I try. Okay, here’s the button thingy.”

“The button thingy?” he teases, which leads to laughter from the both of you.

“If I knew what it was called, you wouldn’t be here,” you tease him back and shake your head.

Frankie uses the tools from his belt to take off the casing. You lean against the wall as he works, admiring the way his hands nimbly check the wires and paneling behind it. He holds a small flashlight between his teeth to look into the wall cavity.

“I can hold that for you,” you offer, and he moves his mouth for you to take it from him.

“Thanks,” he says, popping his jaw slightly to adjust from the awkward angle of holding it between his teeth. “You don’t have to. I’m just here to fix it.”

You point it at the same spot. “I might as well be some help, considering I don’t know shit about my own house.”

Frankie laughs at that, stealing a glance your way that makes your face warm before his gaze returns to the electrical situation. “Well,” he declares after a few seconds. “The wiring must not be the problem here. This all is working fine, so it must be with the actual system.”

“Great,” you groan. “The part I know even less about.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he chuckles and screws the panel back into place on your wall, making sure everything works properly and he didn’t mess with any functions.

Leading Frankie to your basement, you show him the cluttered laundry room and the central air conditioning unit. He’s already analyzing the system, and you back off to let him work. He looks focused. “Holler if you need me,” you tell him as he gets on his knees to look at something, daring to gently pat his shoulder. It’s strong, muscular beneath your palm.

Heading back to the kitchen, you open the fridge and sigh. For a moment, you allow yourself to close your eyes and just enjoy the cold air it produces. Hopefully, your house will be the same soon enough. Grabbing two tall glasses, you fill each with ice before pouring half sweet tea and half lemonade into the glasses.

You stand in the kitchen with the freezer open, sighing at the cool air it provides. Not sure how long he’ll take, you scroll through your phone. It’s surprisingly quick, you find.

“Hey, I found it!” Frankie calls from the basement.

Carrying the two glasses, you return to the laundry room to find him reorganizing his tool belt. “Here,” you tell him with a smile as you hold out the drink. “Least I could do. It’s unbearable in here.”

“Thanks,” he smiles and lifts the glass to you in a miniature salute before taking a sip. Frankie then launches into a detailed explanation of the issue with the A/C unit, using all kinds of terms you don’t understand and mentioning parts you didn’t even know were included in the machine. “I got it all fixed up, though, and it shouldn’t take long before it’s working just as good as normal.”

You sigh in relief, swallowing the sweet drink and smiling at him. “God, thank you so much. You don’t even know how awful it was in here.”

“If it’s anything like right now, I do,” he chuckles. The man takes the hem of his t-shirt and lifts it to wipe his face, revealing a muscular but soft body beneath it, with a beautiful little trail of dark hair leading to beneath his belt. Is it terrible that your first thought is that you want to lick it?

You force the image from your mind with another swig of the drink. “Yeah, just about. Well, how much do I owe you?” You ask the man, leading him out of the laundry room and into the basement that’s already feeling cooler.

“Oh, nothing right now,” he shakes his head as you lead him upstairs and to the kitchen. “I just tweaked some things for you, didn’t need any parts or anything, so it’s just gonna be labor.” He seems to remember something. “Ah, shit. I gotta have you sign something. I’ll grab the paper from the van and be right back,” he tells you and leaves his drink on the counter, half-jogging outside.

While he’s outside, you lean against the cool kitchen counter and let yourself daydream. This Frankie guy certainly is attractive, and his personality is definitely something you’re interested in. What if the situation right now played out like a porno, and he fucked you on the countertop? You certainly wouldn’t complain. You noticed his hands and feet are large. Certainly he must be big somewhere else too. “Oh Jesus Christ,” you murmur to yourself. Why did my mind have to go there? And why is the thought so hot? He’s a sweet man too, clearly goofy and sweet. Why is your mind going there then? Really, upon further pondering, you just want to hug the man, admire his strong body pressed to yours in an intimate but innocent gesture.

“Sorry, what was that?” Frankie calls out as he walks into the house again.

His voice snaps you from your daydreaming. “Oh, just talking to myself,” you say quickly and cheerfully, taking the paper from him. The top is printed with repairman name: Francisco Morales. Francisco. That makes you smile. What a cute name. The rest is filled with the details of what he did to the machine to fix it, and you sign and date at the bottom. “Here you go, Francisco.”

His tanned skin turns a little pinker on the cheeks. “Great,” Frankie smiles and takes it back.

“Before you leave,” you tell him quickly, darting to grab your purse from the entryway, “here.”

Frankie walks to you and you hand him a generous cash tip, with a stupid smile stuck to your face. “Thank you, wow,” he says, voice honest in its surprise as he notices the total of the money.

“Of course. I really can’t thank you enough. God, it’s been painfully hot in here and I really just can’t stand the heat,” you ramble, your voice speeding up. “And… yeah. Thank you. For your company, too.”

“Just doing my job,” he tells you with a smile, putting his hands in his pockets. “Oh, here.”

From his pocket, he pulls a little rectangle of paper with his name and company on it. “The shop number is on here; if anything changes, just call and ask for Catfish.”

“Catfish?” You ask with a smile, puzzled.

“My old military nickname. It’s what the guys around there call me,” he shrugs, shy at the nickname.

It makes you laugh a little, and you tuck the card in your purse. “Well, Catfish, thank you. I’ll be sure to use this next time I have some stupid thing I can’t repair myself.”

“Please do,” he chuckles, a shy smile on his face. “I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks!” You call again and cringe. That’s, what, the ninth time you’ve said that now? He walks to the van and you give him a wave before retreating back inside. God, now you can’t wait for this shitty house to need another repair. You’ll certainly be asking for Catfish.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles @queridopascal

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 15

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary:  “Our souls are connected,” you say with as much conviction as you can infuse into your voice. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be your angel, and you’ll always be my Din.”

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,430 (i wish it were longer, but my brain said nope)

Warnings: angst, language, dialogue heavy, overuse of italics, plot plot plot, Din is emotionally compromised, no beta we die like men

Author Note: At long last here comes a new segment. Between bad mental health days, work trying to kill me, and a killer migraine, I finally managed to get this done. Considering how much of a mess my brain is right now, if any of this doesn’t make sense I deeply apologize and will try to clear things up with answers if needed. But also know some things I do plan to talk about in upcoming segments too. Sigh...What can I say? I’m horrible at plot sometimes 😅. Thank you everyone who’s sticking with this fic and offering me such lovely words of support. I love all of you 💖

Links to Part 1 and Part 14.5 and Part 16

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

When you open your eyes, you feel just as shocked as Din looks looming over you. 

You sit up, heart pounding, and pull the edge of your torn shirt up to reveal smooth, unmarred skin. Other than your shirt being ripped, there is not the slightest indication you’d been stabbed, not even a tiny scar. What the kriff? You have no idea what to feel, what to think, but when you look up suddenly nothing else matters other than the fact Din is here with you.

There’s a lump in your throat as you stand up, making it hard to speak when you croak. “Din.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, you throw yourself at him, nearly knocking him backwards. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers tightly gripping the fabric of his shirt, and you bury your face against his neck, unable to hold back the overjoyed sob that escapes. Maker, you’ve missed him so, so much. It feels as if you’ve been apart for decades. You swear you are never letting him go ever again.

That’s the plan at least, until Din abruptly stiffens when you attempt to kiss him and disentangles himself as if you’ve burned him. He backs up, putting a whole galaxy-sized gap of distance between you both. You notice for the first time he’s dressed in civilian clothes, a solid black shirt and dark trousers. There is a hole in the shirt in the middle of his torso, revealing a glimpse of tan skin. 

Your brain struggles to make sense of what you’re seeing. Hadn’t he been wearing beskar before? 

Din stares at you, a mistrustful glint in his brown eyes you’ve never been on the receiving end of. “Who are you?”

Your whole world grinds to a halt. 

What? Why would he ask that? Does he— Is he— Could he— Too many questions spin inside your mind, making you dizzy.  

This must be one of his stupid jokes, you tell yourself. Yeah, that’s gotta be it. He’s always had a twisted sense of humor after all.

“That’s not funny,” you say, scowling. “You know me better than anyone.”

Din just continues to stare at you, and his silence cuts into you like the blade of the Darksaber, bleeding you dry for a second time. You blink furiously before tears can spill down your cheeks because there is no reason to cry. Not at all. This is just a nightmare. None of this is real.

It can’t be.

You turn away from him, needing a moment to compose yourself, and your eyes end up looking at your bed. There is no mistaking the polka-dotted comforter or the abundance of fluffy pillows you’re addicted to collecting. You spin in a circle, struggling to remain calm. Instead of rock walls, you see paint a soft shade of periwinkle you’d spent hours deliberating over. Instead of bookshelves and a desk, you see your matching antique dresser and wardrobe set you’d bought at an auction for an amazingly fair price. 

There is no denying you’re not in Gideon’s lair anymore. You’re standing in the bedroom of your kriffing apartment.

“Is this your home?” Din asks. His tone is quiet, but in the otherwise silent bedroom he might as well be screaming. “Every time someone new arrives, this place changes. I think it’s meant to bring them comfort during their stay. Sometimes it’s a park or a beach, but usually it’s their home.”

Stay? The word snags in your mind, jagged and sharp. Stay means being stuck in one place. Your eyes shoot to the corner where the door to the hall should be, but there is nothing there. Just blank wall space as if the door had been sealed and painted over.

Stay is just a shorter word for confinement. 

“We’re trapped here,” you whisper, a chill sweeping over your body. 

A dark thought crosses your mind before you can stop it: you’ve always been trapped. 

And it’s true, isn’t it? For as long as you’ve been a Cupid, you’ve been under the thumb of Gideon and Hess and your other superiors. The freedom you had on Umbriel was just an illusion, a carrot dangled in front of your face. At the end of the day you reported back to headquarters for your next assignment and followed orders like a good little soldier. 

All this time you’ve been locked in a cage, you’ve just been blind to its bars.

“You’re half right,” Din says, voice uncharacteristically bitter.

“What do you mean?” you ask, facing him again. 

A muscle in his jaw ticks, like there’s something prickling under the surface. “You’ll leave this place just like everyone else does.” His lips purse into a thin line. “The only one trapped is me.”

You blink, not understanding. The way he’s talking doesn’t sound like the Din you know at all. He’s far more expressive than you’ve ever witnessed him to be, openly conveying every emotion on his face as the feelings occur. Biting your lip, you study the man in front of you in lieu of responding. 

Appearance wise, he’s identical to Din. Same piercing brown eyes, same messy dark hair, large hands and strong build. All the outward physical details are supporting the conclusion this is your soulmate you’re looking at, but it’s as if his personality has been swapped with a stranger’s, leaving behind the external shell as a disguise. 

“Din, what—”

“Why do you keep calling me that? The only name I have is Death.”

Your breath catches as your suspicions are confirmed that something is seriously wrong. What if he’s another replica meant to trick you just like the rest of the room? Icy fear starts to spread through your bloodstream, threatening to freeze your heart solid, when a sudden thought cuts through the terror. Your eyes can be easily deceived, but your soulmate bond is impossible to manipulate. It can show you the truth.

You step closer on shaky legs, praying to the Maker for strength. Death tenses, resembling a cornered animal, and the sight strikes another blow against your fragile heart. Steeling your resolve, you reach out for his hand the same patient way he once had with you aboard the Crest. It’s funny how life likes to repeat itself, you just wish it had better timing. 

He gets this expression on his face like he’s leery of your intentions. Like if he voluntarily surrenders to your touch then it means he’s lowering all his defenses, making himself susceptible to being hurt. 

You decide to try a different approach, turning your hand over to display your marked palm. 

His eyes light up with recognition at the same time his lips part in silent shock. He hesitates a beat, then lifts his hand up to mimic yours, showing off his own soulmate marking. 

Inching closer, you lightly brush your fingertips over his, a spark of familiar warmth igniting from the connection. One touch and the truth is confirmed. He is your soulmate. 

He just can’t remember being him.

“I don’t understand,” Death murmurs, raw with vulnerability and confusion. “This mark...Where did it come from? I don’t remember receiving it.”

You swallow. “What’s the last thing you do remember?”

Brown eyes turn distant, looking back upon his memories to find an answer. Your fingers itch to smooth the crease that forms in the space between his eyebrows. 

“Pain.” Death’s other hand touches his chest right where the hole in his shirt is. You’re not naive enough to think it’s coincidental. “I remember feeling like I was being ripped apart. There was this noise, too. It’s hard to explain, but it almost sounded like something was vibrating or humming. Then I woke up in what I thought was my ship, but found out was actually this place when I couldn’t teleport away.”

He looks at you, silently imploring you to help him make sense of it all, but it’s hard to focus as your heartbeat pounds loudly in your eardrums. You touch your side, feeling a twinge of phantom pain.

Xi’an told you that Gideon had stabbed Din once upon a time with the Lightsaber, a horrifying incident you had not known occurred in your soulmate’s past.

“There’s this weapon the Armorer made called the Lightsaber,” you begin, remembering what else the twi’lek had revealed. “It—”

“Takes power from souls and gives it to the wielder,” he interjects. “Why are you bringing it up?”

“Because I think it’s the reason we’re here,” you say softly. It’s a painful answer you don’t want to say out loud, but it’s ultimately one you know is necessary to voice. “The last thing I remember is being stabbed, just like you remember being hurt. I think everyone who’s been trapped here has had a piece of their souls captured by the Lightsaber to use as energy. We’re basically the equivalent of kriffing batteries.”

Death’s expression twists, a mixture of anger and what scares you to identify as despair. “That would explain then why everyone else eventually leaves this place except for me. I can’t die. There is nowhere else for my soul to go. I’m going to remain trapped here, alone, forever.”

“Hey,” you murmur, hating his wounded expression. “Don’t say that. I…” you trail off, because you can’t say I’m here or I won’t leave you when you have no control over your soul’s fate. But the mere thought of abandoning this beautiful piece of Din’s soul behind, lonely and imprisoned, leaves you feeling as if your heart has been torn from your chest. With a low whine, you press your forehead against his and send a wave of love across the bond, conveying what you cannot say with words.

He jerks with surprise, inhaling sharply. “What—What was that?”

“Our souls are connected,” you say with as much conviction as you can infuse into your voice. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be your angel, and you’ll always be my Din.”

Shock flickers across his face before it is swallowed by grim resignation. Tentatively, he caresses your cheek, avoiding direct eye contact. “I wish it really were as simple as that. There is no denying we’re connected as two matched souls, but you and I both know I’m not the Din you love. I’m not who deserves to hear your words of devotion.”

This time it’s you who pulls away. 

Din had told you he believed himself undeserving of having a soulmate until he met you, but meeting this past version of himself has revealed to you just how deep his insecurities were rooted. Even when acknowledging you are soulmates, he stubbornly continues to think he’s not good enough. He can’t help comparing himself as lesser than the competition which is beyond ridiculous because the competition is himself. 

You feel anger burn down the length of your spine, along each and every nerve and vein.

Maker, your soulmate is an idiot. And you make sure he knows it by flicking him in-between his eyes, eliciting a pained grunt.

“Listen to me and listen well,” you say, grabbing both sides of his face and forcing him to look at you. “Love is not conditional, it is constantly evolving and adapting to the changes life forces upon us all. To me, there is no difference between who you were, who you are, and who you will become. I will love you the same. Absolutely nothing will ever change the way I feel about you. You are mine and I am yours.”

He stares at you, still as a statue, and just when you are thinking of flicking him again Death lunges forward, hands wrapping around the back of your neck as he smashes his lips against yours, urgent and desperate. He kisses you like he’s been waiting his entire lifetime for this precise moment. The warmth of his affection spreads through your whole body until it’s all you can feel—his stubble scraping against your cheeks, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, every movement possessive and fierce and unbelievably wonderful. You know nothing beyond the taste of his mouth, the feel of his skin beneath your hands, the love you have for him so overwhelming you can barely breathe. 

Death groans, low and guttural from the depths of his chest, and at first your brain mistakes the sound as pleasure, but then he growls against your mouth, every muscle tensing up, voice desperate, “Stop.”

Your eyes slam open at the same time he forcibly shoves you backwards with a firm hand against your sternum. You struggle not to trip over your feet, arms spinning circles awkwardly in the air until you regain your balance, and when you look up a cry of alarm tears itself out of your throat in response to the horror you see.

Death is clutching at his head, groaning and snarling inhuman noises as his body flickers in and out of focus, appearance changing rapidly between humanoid and shadowy silhouette. He’s shaking so hard it’s as if he’s tearing apart at the seams, caught in the middle of transforming into a feral creature made of darkness that strikes a chord of fear deep inside you.

What do you do? What the kriff do you do?! 

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” you plead, and barely restrain from whimpering when pitch black eyes snap up to stare back at you. “Tell me what’s happening. Tell me how to help you.”

“Get away from me, I—I can’t—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head emphatically with a pinched expression as if he’s bothered by a loud noise only his ears can detect. His voice is similar in its raspy sound to when he wears his helmet, but it is distorted with pain, words almost incomprehensible as they are forced through clenched teeth. “Something’s wrong.”

“No shit,” you retort automatically. You’ve never seen your soulmate like this before—manic and unhinged. It’s such a terrifying contrast to how he had behaved mere minutes ago, you struggle to make sense of the abrupt shift. There has to be a reason to justify the sudden switch in his behavior. Something that would trigger the loss of his control so drastically.

Something like watching Moff Gideon murder his soulmate right in front of him.

You bite back a curse. Out there beyond these four walls you’re trapped within Din is experiencing an emotional breakdown just like Gideon wanted to provoke all along. 

“Sweetheart,” you try again, holding up your hands in a placating manner. “It won’t be easy, but I need you to calm down and listen— ”

Another shudder racks his body and a snarl so loud it verges on screaming interrupts your pleading. Without warning, a wave of dark energy explodes outwards from his hands, sending the furniture in the room flying in multiple directions. 

When the energy washes over you, you expect to be similarly knocked off your feet, but instead you watch with wide eyes as your body absorbs it. You feel it moving restlessly beneath your skin, like it’s searching for something, and in the back of your mind you think you should be freaking out, but when the energy encounters your own powers and wraps around them like a security blanket, all you feel is Din. 

Your potential terror fades into blissful euphoria. Every cell in your body flares with possessiveness and starts to chant mine, mine, mine as your powers adapt to the new presence. It’s like a precious piece of Din has curled up next to your heart, yours to love and cherish and protect. You look to the bond, stunned to find it’s shining brighter than you’ve ever seen, rivaling a supernova in its intensity.

An unprompted memory flashes through your mind of you and Din on the Razor Crest, so vivid and crisp you think you could reach out and touch the armor he wears, feel the chill of the beskar beneath your fingertips.

‘Do you like being Death?’ you hear yourself ask as stars whish by overhead, all blurring into each other, silver light overcoming the midnight darkness of space.

‘I’m good at it.’

For the first time in your existence, you wonder if it’s lonely being a one-of-a-kind immortal entity who roams the galaxy. And then immediately afterwards you think: Maybe I can be good at it too.

When you grab hold of the hazy outline of his hand and hold it against your chest, right over your wildly beating heart, there is no hesitation. Just pure instinct. His powers immediately latch onto yours, light and darkness intertwining together, mirroring the soft glow of twilight. 

Death tries to pull away, to save you from the irreversible change, and inadvertently releases several chaotic pulses of energy as his focus slips. You ignore how the room starts to shake and the walls begin to crack, revealing glimpses of blinding light, instead leaning further into his touch, looking fearlessly into his onyx eyes. “It’s okay. Everything will be okay.”

Your words are as much a reassurance as they are a promise, and you feel the exact moment he believes you when he presses his forehead against yours, his voice shouting over the maelstrom, “I love you!”

There is no time for you to respond as the walls disintegrate into dust and the entire room is engulfed in white light, swallowing you and Din whole. It’s all-encompassing, wiping out each of your senses as if you’re a newborn wrapped within your mother’s womb, not knowing what exists beyond this singular moment. 

An invisible force pulls at you the same way a puppet is manipulated by strings, tugging you up, up, up and away. You don’t have enough self-control to fight it, but even if you did you realize there is no reason to be resistant as it slowly chases away your body’s numbness with gentle warmth, reminding you of how winter gradually melts under the heat of summer. Soon your limbs are able to weakly twitch and respond to your brain’s commands, then your ears pop next, bringing back sound.

You hear a strange huffing noise loud enough it gives you the mental impression the source is mere inches away from your head; a combination of a teary whine and a frustrated growl. It’s familiar, right on the edge of your memory, but nothing leaps out until something pats at your cheek.

Blinking your eyes open, it takes several seconds for your sight to adjust to the unexpected dimness and your change of scenery—most prominently, standing inches away from your face, a little green-skinned child peering back at you with wide, watery eyes. He’s filthier than you remember last seeing him, covered in smudges of dirt.

“Hey, bud,” you greet, throat rough like sandpaper. “You okay?”

He hiccups a choked sob in response, tears brimming.

You slowly sit up, wincing when you catch a glimpse of dried blood caked against your torso. Prodding at the skin, you gasp quietly as you realize not only did combining your soul with the piece of Din’s bring you back to life, it healed your wound too. 

The baby’s fussing increases in volume, drawing your focus when he starts gesturing frantically with his arms towards something to the side of you both.

You tense even before you turn to follow his pointing hands, a jolt of unease rippling through you like an electric current. Squinting, you spy a slither of light dissecting the dark, but there’s something eerie about how it flickers, like a busted bulb struggling to maintain lit. 

“What—” you start, only for your heart to lurch into your throat when the light moves closer and awareness dawns on you.

It’s Gideon holding the Lightsaber. The blade of the ancient weapon is damaged and it no longer hums its haunting tune, but the Seraph doesn’t appear to care about that or his bleeding head wound. His entire focus is consumed by something far more important.

A silhouette enshrouded in a thick fog of shadow and swirling blackness, hovering silently over the ground. 

Din.

Your soulmate mark burns along your palm, not with heat, but with bone-chilling coldness.

“Stay here,” you tell the kid, standing up as your powers begin to buzz and accumulate like storm clouds within your chest. It is beyond precious, this extraordinary strength Din’s energy has infused with your abilities.

Once upon a time you were scared of Moff Gideon. Of all the ways he could hurt you and manipulate you.

“Everything will be okay.”

Now it’s his turn to be afraid.

Series Tag List: @stardust-and-starlight, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @rhiannon-russo, @maytheglitter, @eleinemk, @becauseican2, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @nicotinebirds, @computeringturtle, @linkpk88, @bethany2002, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @imthedoctorlove, @fishsficrecs, @sarahjkl82-blog, @reblogggs, @annathewitch, @thou-creature-of-the-deep

Permanent Tag List: @promiscuoussatan, @vintagesaph, @sylphene, @over300books, @aerynwrites, @softly-sad, @chibi-yuki, @theocatkov, @oh-no-a-whovian, @freeshavocadoooo, @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @lin-djarin, @happiestsparkleofall, @randomness501, @gallowsjoker, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @captain-jebi, @leilei-draws, @coaaster, @stilllivindue2spite, @pointy-sharp, @melobee, @artsymaddie, @disgruntledspacedad, @absurdthirst, @waywardmando, @thisshipwillsail316, @mylifeofcalculatedchaos​, @grogusmum​, @asta-lily​

[out-of-jams]

Space Trash || teaser || jhs

↠ Space Trash ↞ “I mean, we escaped from prison, accidentally stole this super important data drive, and now we’re about to try and take on one of the biggest, baddest douche bags in the entire universe. We gotta at least come up with a name to call ourselves so they have something to put on our tombstones.” Hoseok glanced around at each and every one of your faces slowly, smile beaming in an attempt to rally the troops.

“How about ‘The Guardians of the Galaxy’,” Jimin offered with his bright, lavender hued eyes trained to the metal ceiling of the Milano in thought. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“That’s a little too ostentatious for this circus of clowns. We’re more like space trash than galaxy guardians,” you scoffed. A moment of brief silence passed where all that could be heard was the gentle, constant thrumming of the ship as it drifted in space. “Oh, no.”

“I kinda like it,” Jungkook voiced and scratched his tattooed neck, accompanied by the agreeing murmurs of everyone else and an ‘I am V!’ from V.

Hoseok beamed. “Space Trash, it is!” 

“No!”

pairing: Hoseok x Reader

word count: TBD. possibly 20-30k holy space balls this will take me forever omfg

release date: TBD

warnings/genre: guardians of the galaxy!au. S2E2EL2L. violence. comedy. i swear this isn’t pure crack. angst. space au. they’re all criminals. pilot/thief/why am i here/don’t make me stab you!Reader. (HIIC) head idiot in charge!Hoseok. i eat nails for breakfast but can’t tie my own shoes!Jungkook. pink skinned sassy weapons master techie genius beautiful superior to all others (”who is letting that narcissistic asshole write his own descriptions?”)!Jimin. is that a fucking talking tree!Taehyung. explicit language. one shot. rated M for badassMotherfuckers.

He was staring and you were starting to get more annoyed than you usually were on any day that ended in a ‘y.’  

It was obvious, seeing as how he refused to even blink. You’d think that someone would know better than to do it so conspicuously. Especially in a place such as the Kyln, otherwise known as the dreaded bowels of the galaxy’s most inescapable prison. Only criminals of the highest degree were ever dragged there by the galaxy’s military police: The Nova Corps. Murderers, intergalactic thieves, underground warlords, whoever ran up enough of a bounty that a Headhunter would want to cash them in for credits, you name it.

You fell into two of those categories, though, you supposed, rather three. A repercussion of too many stolen ships from when you’d jump from planet to planet in search of something besides the next place you’d put your sticky fingers. A kleptomaniac, your parents had called you. But you’d needed something to keep yourself busy and out of the house when their fighting had gotten to be too much.

Until that led you to packing your bags in the dead of night and stealing your retired dad’s old, busted down, single passenger ship that you’d oh-so-painstakingly repaired over the years. One jump through The Universal Neural Teleportation Network (UNTN) later and you were finally free. Of the yelling, of the constant comparison to your dead brother who’d done more with his life than you could ever hope to accomplish.

(But no matter how far you ran, the stench of cigarettes and booze and the metallic haze of blood from a busted nose or swollen lip or blackened eye would never wash out of your system.)

Fast forward to three months ago when you’d stolen a ship from a guy who was angry enough and rich enough to hire a whole squad of Headhunters to bring you down. It wasn’t your fault that you hadn’t known he was apart of the Government Counsel on the frosty planet of Contraxia, seeing as how it was mostly inhabited by sexbots, and the man had been a pink skinned Krylorian.

Though, sending ten men after one woman was a bit of an overkill, if you had any say about it. But no one asked your opinion on the Kyln unless they wanted to know which way you preferred to have your insides carved up. You kept to yourself mostly. Not that you weren’t personable, you just had no interest making friends with serial killers. Or murderers. Or serial killers who killed murderers. Or murderers who killed serial killers who killed murderers, because there were about five of them wandering around somewhere.

Which was exactly why you were two seconds away from slamming your metal lunch tray so hard into that leering douche bag’s face that he woke up in another galaxy. He was sitting across the mess hall, with its jumbled chaos of shouting yellow skinned, hairless Aakons, and Courgs stuffing their muzzled, dog like faces with the slop they called food, and the rest of the gaggle of fear-mongering A-holes spilling out of their cells.

He was easy to spot solely for the fact that he was sitting at the bottom half of a table by himself like the seats around him were vacated because he had bad body odor. The piss yellow, tank-top-like shirt and matching pants combo weren’t well worn enough to signify that he’d been stuck in that hellhole for a while. If the blatant staring didn’t give him away as a newbie, that certainly would have. You couldn’t see the color of the stripes on his pants from where you sat, so the classification of whatever crime he’d committed to get in there was a mystery.

The sudden squinting of his — what looked to be from the distance you sat at — muddy brown eyes had a glare sparking to life on your face. He looked human with his obnoxiously sharp jawline and tanned skin and heart shaped lips, but there were a lot of species out there who only appeared to be so.

Whatever the reason for his gawking, he must have found what he was looking for because he stood up away from his full tray of food and picked his way across the room towards you. A fight wasn’t on your itinerary for the day, but you’d gladly shove your metal spork through his eyehole if he tried anything funny.

Or if the thing about him having B.O. rang true. The last thing you wanted to deal with was a prick who smelled like a box of musty socks that mated with a sewer grate and popped out a sharp-nosed baby.

Your fingers tightened around your spork as he approached like he had all the time in the world, and a pair of Courg’s hadn’t descended on his untouched food tray four steps behind him like they hadn’t eaten in days. Even though they had just licked their own clean. Your eyes flickered down to the green stitching threaded through the left upper thigh of his pants.

Treason, your mind supplied. Crimes against more than one governing agency on more than one planet. Possibly in more than one galaxy. 

The definition of treason ranged far and wide, from assassinating a planet’s leader, to selling trade secrets, to figureheading a revolution. Or something else just as equally detrimental.

The moment he made it to your once peaceful corner, he immediately sat down on the stool soldered into the table without asking for an invitation. At least he didn’t smell. 

“Hey there, beautiful. Come here often?”

You were about to say to hell with it and stab him anyway. “What,” was spat out through gritted teeth.

“You.” His voice was low, pitched with a grating vocal fry like he’d just woken up and the first things he’d chosen to spew from his pink hued mouth was that. Leaning forward, he braced his folded hands on the cold, metal table and two tiny, twin dimples peaked out from the corners of his lips when he grinned. “Come here. Often? Beautiful.” 

“Oh, is that what got you landed in here?”

Your response must have caught him off guard since his eyebrows pinched together in confusion and it took him a moment to formulate words. “Pardon?”

“Idiocy,” you supplied him with an answer. “You. In here. Because dumb?”

All works here are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission. That is illegal and you are stealing no matter if you give credit or not.

[hxneyandespressx]

if i were a man (i’d be the man)

summary: jj holds a press conference while on a high-profile case. she has to deal with the stupid male reporters. after the conference is done, jj goes to the nearest bathroom, away from the crowd, and screams and swears to her heart’s content

word count: 6.2k 

content warnings: mentions of emotional and verbal abuse, guns, violence, blood, suicide

a/n: inspiration for this fic is from criminal minds season 4 episode 16 “pleasure is my business”

☆。*。☆。

It was a rough start to a Wednesday morning for a particular FBI agent. She almost twisted her ankle on her early morning jog, got stuck in traffic, and had to wait in a long line for her co-workers’ coffee orders. Soon enough, she started to wish that she took the metro instead. Media communications liaison Jennifer “JJ” Jareau woke up today and chose violence. She huffed in frustration at how her morning went.

Walking toward the bullpen with the coffee orders in her hands, JJ was greeted with “hellos” and “good mornings”. Not wanting to have her co-workers profile her, JJ bottled up her frustration and grumpiness and put a smile on her face. It was a rule amongst the group to never profile each other. With learning an assortment of profiling tactics, JJ knew how to form a realistic smile without genuine happiness. Creases around the eyes, smile lines contoured the mouth, sparkles in her baby blue eyes. The short blonde perfected the fake smile that could fool anyone, even expert profilers.

“Good morning, guys.” JJ said with a bright smile on her face. She held two cardboard trays filled with various coffee orders. She placed one of the trays on Emily’s desk, so she can pass out the orders to her co-workers. She called out the order name as she passed the cup to the person.

“One French vanilla latte for Ms. Garcia. Two black coffees for Emily and Derek. And finally, a coffee with extra cream and sugar for Spence.” Everyone said their thank you’s to the blonde. Then, there was one coffee cup left. A cappuccino.

“Happy Wednesday, my nerds.” Rossi said as he approached the group of tired agents. JJ smiled and handed the cappuccino to the elderly man.

“Grazie.” He thanked the media liaison for her efforts to bring his favorite morning beverage. The group spent some time chatting nonsense before the case briefing. Thirty minutes went by and all of them disbursed into their desks to finish up the paperwork. JJ headed down to her office to work on choosing the next case after the one that was currently ongoing.

After settling in her office chair, JJ took a look around her office. Messy stacks of pending files scattered her desk. Empty coffee cups and water bottles lined the file cabinet. JJ checked the time on her watch. 8:12 AM. About two hours to kill. The blonde put her hair up into a ponytail and took in a deep breath. She dove into the nearest pile of manila files, looking through all the documents and photographs to determine which case for the BAU team to take on after the current case.

As the clock ticked closer to 10 AM, JJ picked up today’s case files and head out of her office. Strutting through the bullpen, JJ entered the briefing room slightly out of breath.

“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” JJ said while passing the manila folders out to her co-workers. After handing out the necessary materials, she grabbed the remote from the center of the wooden table.

“Sam Winchester was found in Fulton Park, in the Stuyvesant Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn. Eighteen stab wounds to his chest and neck,” JJ explained as she clicked on the remote to switch between the crime scene photos. “He is one of the victims dumped at various locations of Brooklyn that was found last night.”

“Hold up. One of the victims?” Derek asked.

“Yeah. So far this killer built up a rep sheet of five kills.” JJ stated. Hotch raised one of his eyebrows at the new information.

“Seven? Why haven’t the NYPD notified us immediately after the first three kills?” Hotch asked the media liaison.

“Probably the department thought they could handle the crimes,” JJ explained. “That was the case until they realized that they needed help.”

The young blonde switched to the next slide, showing one of the other victims dumped in North Williamsburg.

“What’s interesting about the locations is that the first victim was drowned in the Hudson River. And as more victims appear, the disposal methods get more dramatic. Maybe it plays some role in the unsub’s pathology.” Spencer said as he looked at the screen, observing for any patterns.

“Like with one of the recent victims, the disposal site is in Cobble Hill. It’s typically occupied by those who are relatively wealthy.” Rossi said to continue Spencer’s thoughts. “This unsub is getting bolder with his disposal sites. I’m concerned with there being an end game to this.” Emily stated. Everyone at the round table shifted through the various crime scene photos and documents. Rossi took hold of one of the crime scene photographs: a reversed ten of cups tarot card. “It is also apparent that the unsub is leaving tarot cards at the scene of the crime.”

“Tarot cards? What’s the significance?” Derek asked.

“Maybe to tell of the inevitable fortune the victims faced?” Emily said. 

“Well, each card has a different meaning when it is upright and reversed. And usually, when doing a reading, three to five cards are pulled to tell a fortune.” Penelope explained as she typed away on her work laptop. It had not surprised anyone that the technical analyst had an interest in tarot readings and astrology.  

“You know, the first documented tarot packs were recorded between 1440 and 1450 AD in Milan, Ferrara, Florence, and Bologna when additional trump cards with allegorical illustrations were added to the common four-suit pack. These new decks were called carte da trionfi, triumph cards, and the additional cards are known simply as trionfi, which became "trumps" in English. The oldest surviving tarot cards are the 15 Visconti-Sforza tarot decks painted in the mid-15th century for the rulers of the Duchy of Milan. The Duke of Milan described a 60-card deck with 16 cards having images of the Roman gods and suits depicting four kinds of birds.” Spencer talked about the history of tarot cards, with hand gestures to accompany his little ramble. When he finished, everyone at the table stared at him. The young FBI agents sheepishly smiled as Emily poked his left cheek.

“Since when did you learn about tarot cards?” Emily asked. 

“I learned about it when I took a college course on the Italian Renaissance.” Spencer sheepishly smiled.

“Well, whatever it is, it seems like there is a story to be told––or rather to be heard.” JJ said as she stared at the crime scene photos, her eyebrows knitted together in bewilderment.  

“That’s what we need to find out. Wheels up in 20.” Hotch called out. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The BAU members sat comfortably on the jet, each in their little world. That was until the unit chief called on everyone for a case discussion. 

“Let’s go over victimology.” Hotch said to call on the group. Everyone moved closer to the unit chief to better discuss the case. Derek sat in an armchair, with Emily next to him. Across from them were Spencer and JJ. Hotch leaned against one of the seats, practically sitting on the adjustable arm of the plane seat. Rossi sat on the tan velvet couch, adjacent to JJ. 

“Reid.” Hotch called on the genius of the group. 

“White. Male. Between the ages of 45-55. Jobs ranging from a stockbroker to assets protection manager. All of them have cheated on their wives multiple times and some even had sexual harassment accusations.” The young curly-haired man said to start the discussion. 

“Even if these men cheated on their wives and got those accusations, they still didn’t deserve the multiple stab wounds to meet their end.” Emily said. 

JJ looked through the case file to see the reports on all five victims.

“The victims’ names are Igor Andreevich, Lucas Duncan, Hunter Mcevoy, Sam Winchester, Jared Kalinski.” JJ called the names out like it was a roll call. 

“These are the five victims that this unsub killed so far?” Hotch asked. The blonde nodded her head and said “yes, sir” in response.

“As the victim count increased, the more stab wounds appeared on the body.” Rossi said to point out an observation.

“But the M.E. said that most of these stab wounds were created post mortem. Meaning that the initial stab was to get the job done efficiently and he went back in to fuel his rage and/or sexual needs.” Spencer

“Are we assuming his sexual orientation? Because there aren’t many homosexual serial killers, kid” Rossi said. 

“It could be a possibility. We have to consider our options.” Hotch said. 

Just then, the laptop turned on and showed the beautiful Penelope Garcia. 

“How’s it going, my crime-fighting musketeers?” Penelope asked. Everyone, even Hotch, smiled at her cheery greeting.

“Garcia, start compiling files on each of our victims,” Hotch told the technical analyst. “Everything financial and personal. Bank statements, credit card bills, investments, wills, trust funds. Anything that will tell us more about the victim’s lives.”

“Faster than a Hotch rocket.” After that was said into the air, Penelope felt embarrassed while Hotch looked at her with his usual stone-cold face. Derek sighed and shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee to hide his second-hand embarrassment for his babygirl.  

To break the silence, Rossi grunted and coughed into his fist. 

“Based on the jobs these men had, we could safely assume that they were killed in the financial district of New York. Then, the unsub transported the bodies to a dumpsite.” Emily said as she read off from the case file in her hands.

“But why from Manhattan to Brooklyn? That is a lot of weight to carry.” Derek asked. 

“Maybe Brooklyn holds a lot of significance to him. Something from his childhood and he can’t let go.” JJ said. Everyone nodded their heads in agreement as they all closed their files. 

“Once we land, do you want me to get in contact with the media to inform the public?” The media liaison asked the unit chief.

“No. We need to hold back on it. Giving him the media’s attention is exactly what he wants. He wants his story to be heard and we will not give him that.” Hotch explained. JJ nodded in response and wrote down media concerns in her small blue notepad. 

“Dave, You and Prentiss go to the crime scene,” Hotch instructed the group. “The rest of us will get up to speed at the precinct.” Everyone nodded in agreement with the unit chief.

After discussing the victimology and the nature of the case, everyone separated and occupied their own space on the jet. Derek on the couch, listening to music. Spencer by the window, reading the Hound of the Baskervilles. Rossi and Hotch in the back, conversing whatever two elderly men talk about. 

The blonde media liaison stared out of the window until she felt a presence next to her. She looked away to find Emily standing in the aisle with a cup of coffee and a bag of Cheetos in her hands.

“Want some company?” Emily asked as she took the empty seat.

“I don’t mind at all.” JJ smiled at the brunette. The shorter woman felt special that Emily did this for her. She took the Cheetos and the coffee mug from her co-worker. As she grabbed them, their fingers brushed against each other. A little pink blush formed on JJ’s cheeks. Not wanting Emily to know about the silly crush the blonde had on her, JJ covered half her face with her beloved blue blanket. Emily chuckled at JJ’s actions and placed her hand on the blonde’s right shoulder, closing her eyes for a quick nap. 

JJ carefully took some of her dark blue blanket and wrapped it around Emily’s right shoulder. She looked at the brunette who was sleeping on her shoulder and softly smiled.

The blonde took sips of the coffee as she stared out of the window. The sunlight bounced off the water particles in the clouds, creating a mini rainbow over the tops of the white clouds. The media liaison took in the silence as a treat, before landing into the chaos of New York.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A government-mandated black SUV arrived at the 25th precinct. Everyone––sans Emily and Rossi––got out of the car and was greeted by a lively short woman. 

“Detective Miller? We spoke on the phone.” JJ shook hands with the short woman. 

“Please, call me Kennedy. Thanks for coming in.”

“No problem. These are agents Hotchner, Morgan, and Doctor Reid.” JJ introduced them while gesturing at the person, in respective order.

“Hey, why don't you go on inside and make yourself comfortable.” Kennedy said. The remaining BAU members nodded their heads and made their way inside the busy precinct. Police officers swarmed everywhere as the federal agents weaved their way to an empty conference room. 

Everyone worked at a swift pace to get everything set up. JJ and Derek went with a police officer to get boxes filled with case files and other materials. Hotch talked with Detective Miller to get information on how her officers dealt with the unsub so far. While all this is happening, Spencer worked on the geographical profile, so the agents know where to look for the unsub. 

“What do these tarot cards mean?” Hotch asked the group. Everyone shook their head “no”, signifying that they had no clue what each card meant. 

“I’ll call Penelope and ask her about the meanings of the cards.” Derek said as he took out his flip phone to dial Penelope’s number.

“Live from Quantico, Virginia, it is the Divine Miss Penelope.” Penelope greeted the group. 

“Hey, sugar mama. I need something from you.” Derek said.

“Talk to me.”

“I need you to interpret the meanings of the tarot cards that were left at the different crime scenes.”

“Ah- I’ll be your little witch today. Hit me with have you have.”

“Alright, I’m putting you on speaker.” Derek puts down the phone on the wooden table, so everyone could hear what the technical analyst has to say. 

“Ten of Cups, Garcia.” Hotch said. 

“When upright, the Ten of Cups embody happiness, joy, contentment, and emotional satisfaction in your family, relationship, or companion. It represents an idyllic state of comfort, harmony, peace, and love which makes you feel like you are in paradise. When reversed, it could mean shattered dreams, disharmony, or a broken family.” Penelope explained. 

“Reversed Wheel of Fortune card.” Spencer called out. 

“When the wheel is reversed, it means that luck has not been on your side and misfortunes have been following you. When it's associated with this card, you must understand that these are due to external influences that you cannot control.” Penelope said. 

“Reversed Justice card.” Derek said next.

“A reversed Justice tarot card could indicate various things. One Justice reversal meaning is to show you are living in denial. You are not willing to accept the consequences of your actions or others. You are running from your guilt. You must, however, be aware that these are actions that are in the past. Other Justice reversal meanings could be injustice, retribution, dishonesty, corruption, dishonesty, unfairness, and avoiding accountability.” The technical analyst interpreted. 

“Lastly, the reversed Emperor.” JJ said the final card they had. 

“The Emperor reversed is a sign of abused authoritative power. In your social life, it can manifest in the overreach of power from a father figure or a possessive partner.” Penelope described the final tarot card.

With all the information in their heads, the BAU members felt puzzled about how to move forward. 

“How are these cards related to the crime scenes?” Derek asked. 

“It’s like a performance,” Penelope chimed in. Everyone turned their heads to listen to the cheery woman on the phone. “Like there is a story behind these killings. The cards are telling how the unsub is feeling. She wants us to know her story.” Everyone stood in shock when Penelope made a breakthrough in the case.

“Wait, Garcia. You said ‘she’. Why do you think it is a woman?” Hotch asked.

“Well, sir. The first victim was drowned, with no signs of sexual assault on his body. Doesn’t that usually indicate that the unsub is a woman?”

“Not necessarily but it is a quiet and efficient way of murdering someone.” Hotch explained. 

“Female serial killers are a fascinating field. We don’t have much information on them. But what we do know involves throwing the riles completely out of the window,” Spencer started going on one of his rambles. “For example, female serial killers typically don’t leave a signature.”

“But this one leaves tarot cards at the scene.” Derek pointed out.

“Maybe it was what Garcia said: she’s telling us her story.” JJ said. “Alright. Let’s start from the beginning. What could be inferenced from her childhood?” Hotch asked. 

“She could have had a domineering father who worked on Wall Street. And with that dynamic, he could have sexually and emotionally abused her, making her feeling like damaged goods.” Spencer explained the backstory of the unsub. “Also because the victims cheated on their wives, we could also conclude that the father also cheated on the mother, who always forgave her husband and tried to rationalize to stay for her daughter. And that made the unsub feel rage and being inferior. That she didn’t do anything to help her mother and herself.”

“But there is no indication of sexual gratification.” Hotch interjected. 

“However, there’s a reason why there are so many lacerations on the later victims. It could be the rage from her abusive father that this unsub is using against the victims, who acted like surrogates.” Derek said. 

“The stressor?” Hotch asked. 

“To follow her father’s footsteps, she may have also worked in the financial field. As a stockbroker, a financial analyst, or even as a secretary for a company,” Spencer said. “And as she continued at her job, she had a bunch of little comments and slights against her”

“As for the trigger, maybe she got passed up for a promotion by a male co-worker who was less qualified than she was.” JJ explained. 

“Any sane person would get miffed about it, but she’s built differently,” Derek said. 

“So much so, she killed five men so far.” Hotch said. 

“And she did it in an efficient manner where no one had any idea until now,” Derek said right after the unit chief. “But how did one woman kill five men in one borough and disposed of them in another?”

“She must know the area like the back of her hand. Brooklyn is what? Around 72 square miles?” JJ said in response to Derek. 

“Uh, 69.5.” Spencer corrected JJ. The blonde sighed, not surprised that the boy genius would know the exact measurement. 

“And the fact that no one has seen her either abduct or dispose of says she knows the city and its patterns well.” Derek said to continue what JJ had said before she was cut off by the boy genius. Just then, both Rossi and Emily had returned from the latest crime scene. In Emily’s hands were coffee cups on cardboard trays while Rossi had Chinese takeout. Everyone shared the food as they continued to work on the case. Being the little tease he was, Derek flung a wonton piece at Spencer, who was struggling to eat with the wooden chopsticks. The wonton piece gently hit Spencer’s forehead and the boy genius pouted, hiding his frustration at both the chopsticks and Derek.

“The M.E. said that the cuts were clean, no serrated edges. It would have to be a very sharp knife to be able to cut through human skin like nothing.” Emily said, to drive the discussion about the M.O.

“A knife like that could get the job done efficiently. Could be the work of a throwing knife. Take out the victim with a single throw to have them die quickly, then she stabs them to feel something.” Derek said. 

“Throwing knives? What is she? A secret agent of the Dai Li?” Rossi joked sarcastically. 

“From Avatar the Last Airbender?” Hotch retorted, remembering that his son Jack watches that show on Saturday mornings. 

“What’s Avatar the Last Airbender?” Spencer asked. Nobody bothered to answer the young man’s question. 

 “But this one is different. It’s like the more she kills, the more anger builds up inside and it gets released on the victim when she goes back in.” JJ stated. 

It became silent in the conference room, quite the opposite to the noise of the New York precinct in the evening rush hour. Tired from both traveling and working, Hotch could see that the rest of his team was also exhausted from the day. The unit chief called everyone to head to the hotel and rest, as they can always come back to the precinct tomorrow morning. 

Slowly one by one, each of the agents packed their things and get out of the New York precinct, and hopped into the cars, praying the soft hotel beds would lull them into a deep slumber.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Day Three at the New York precinct. All the BAU members were getting irritated that they hadn’t proceeded much on the case. Derek tossed a small basketball up and down to pass the time. Spencer twirled a pen as he stared at the geographical profile, the gears turning in his mind. Both Hotch and Rossi were discussing the case quietly while JJ and Emily doodled on each others’ arms. The blonde was innocently drawing hearts and flowers until Emily came up with an idea. Feeling a tad mischievous, Emily took her sharpie marker and started to outline something on the media liaison’s left forearm. JJ raised an eyebrow, questioning what her co-worker was doing. As the image came together, JJ gasped softly, however, not surprised that Emily drew a vagina. 

Emily quietly laughed as JJ, annoyed by the brunette’s actions, took her sharpie marker and tried her best to transform the vagina drawing into a flower. Taking her time, and with only a sharpie, JJ showed off her artistic talent by creating a masterpiece: a carnation blooming out of a vagina.

Emily rolled her eyes when JJ stuck out her tongue at the brunette. Taking Emily’s right arm, the media liaison started to outline a grid for a game of tic tac toe. The brunette started the game by marking an “x” in a spot and JJ took her turn. The two women continued their game of tic tac toe and 

Everyone was silent in their own world until Hotch’s phone rang. The unit chief picked it up and it was a number he couldn’t recognize. Hotch silently motioned Derek to call Penelope to start triangulating the call’s location. 

“Hotchner.”

“Hello, Aaron.” A sultry voice talked. On the other side of the call was the unsub, Taylor Evans. 

“Seems you know my name.” Hotch asked.

“I researched you in preparation for this phone call,” Evans said. Through the phone receiver, Hotch could hear the soft whooshes of pages turning. 

“You reading a book? What’s the title?”

“Le monde comme il va by Voltaire,” Taylor closed her book. “Have you read his work?”

“No, I haven’t. You seem highly educated.” Hotch stated. 

“You seem to know a lot about me.” Taylor retorted.

“But I don’t know you that well since the start of this phone call.” Hotch responded. 

“What would you like to know?” Taylor asked. 

“May I know your name, for starters?” Hotch asked. A cold laugh could be heard through the landline speaker. 

“Evans. Taylor Evans.” the unsub replied. 

“Nice name,” Hotch complimented her to bring her guard down. 

“Now that we are acquainted, you can ask me questions.” the unsub’s content sigh could be heard on the landline. 

“Has life been hard on you?” Taylor asked, wanting to jump the gun. 

“I try my best.”

“Try my best,” Taylor said mockingly. “Is that the best you can do for your family?” A sarcastic tone filled Taylor’s voice, not liking what the unit chief said in response to her question. 

“With what I’ve got.” Hotch said. 

“You got any children?” Taylor said to divert the conversation. 

“I have a son.”

“How often do you see him?” 

“I try to see him every week.”

“Do you see him every week?” Taylor tried to put Hotch under pressure, to get him to crack. 

“No, I don't get there as often as I want.” A pitiful sigh was heard on the phone.

“I believe you, but don’t compare yourself to the men I see and work with. You are nothing like them. You’re just another whore.” Taylor said with such disgust in her tone. 

“How am I a whore?” Hotch asked. 

“You come when called on short notice. Begging to be put to work. Saving your reputation. However, even though you’re a workaholic, you make the time to see your son. You care for your son. You want the best for him.” Taylor explained. 

“You’re right. I do want the best for him” Hotch said. The unsub sighed, wishing that she had a good man, like Hotch, for a father.  

“Enough about you. What do you have to say about me?” Taylor asked the unit chief. 

“You've been betrayed so many times, You don't know who to trust, And that's why that first murder felt so good. But each one since has been less and less satisfying.” Hotch explained. 

“Good deductive reasoning,” Taylor said. “But how do you know if what I find provides me less satisfaction each time?”

“It’s a part of your nature. Until you hit a psychotic break and start devolving.” Hotch said. 

“Hm. Want to find out, Agent Hotchner?” She hung up on him after that last sentence. Everyone in the conference room stayed silent in awe. The unsub injecting herself into the investigation surprised all the agents in the room. 

“She contacted us,” Spencer said in astonishment, breaking the silence. 

“She’s getting impatient. Have Garcia look up everything on Taylor Evans. We need to find if she lines up with the preliminary profile.” Hotch instructed Derek. The olive brown-skinned man did exactly what the unit chief said: call Penelope and extract as much information as possible on the potential unsub.

“Her use of the word whore is interesting,” Spencer quipped. “It suggests she's trying to disassociate herself from her actions.”

“But she's become more personal with the murders,” Emily said. “This doesn’t make sense. She is contradicting herself.”

After gathering the information, and debilitating on the facts, everyone came to the same conclusion: Taylor Evans was their unsub. 

“Reid, tell Detective Miller that it’s time to deliver the profile.” Rossi said. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Every law enforcement officer occupied the main space of the precinct. All of the BAU members stood at one side, making it like a stage. JJ stood beside Emily, thinking to herself that she could have been this girl in a way. Both her and the unsub look eerily similar, maybe even mistaken for each other. 

“We wanted to give out the profile as soon as possible. We’re looking for a white female, between the ages of 20 and 25,” Hotch said to start the profile. “Her name is Taylor Evans. Dirty blonde hair with grey eyes. She’s organized, methodical, and knows how to blend in with the crowd.”

“When this unsub kills, she does so mercilessly and without an ounce of pity. She also wants her victims to know they are going to die by her hand.” Rossi said. 

“That’s why her preferred weapon of choice is throwing knives. They provide a clean cut. No mess required.” Emily said, slowly rocking on her heels. 

“With her choice of weapon, she can be quick and efficient with her kills, as murder is her only goal,” Spencer paused to catch a breath. “But all the bottled-up rage gets released when she goes in for a second time, post mortem, and stabs the body multiple times.”

“It is a way for her to get sexual gratification. And revenge, from her years of being emotionally and sexually abused by her father,” Rossi said. “The victims fit the description of her father and they are surrogates for him.”

“She is also a textbook psychopath, exhibiting all of the classic traits: incapability of feeling any empathy towards others, neither guilt nor remorse, and claiming no responsibility for her actions. Like others of her type, she is highly intelligent, manipulative, and narcissistic.” Spencer explained the unsub’s pathology. 

“Evans had received higher education. She graduated with a business degree, most likely a subconscious influence from her father. With the business acumen and the social skillset, this unsub can easily blend in with all the other business people and manipulate them.” Hotch explained, walked slowly around the large room. 

“Based on her background, she came from a wealthy family. However, the family wasn’t perfect. Her father constantly cheated on his wife. The mother always forgave him. As a young girl, Evans most likely has experienced emotional and sexual abuse from her father. It was a way for him to control his daughter, and she had resented that for years.” Emily said about the unsub’s childhood. 

“She mostly has experienced misogyny in her professional life. Had little comments and slights against her. Perhaps a less qualified male co-worker took a promotion that she deemed herself to be of a better fit,” Derek explained about the stressor. “Something in her work life triggered her to start killing the men who represented her father.”

“With this profile, we should search for Taylor Evans’ location and any potential victims. We suggest going public with the information as soon as possible… Thank you very much.” Hotch ended the profile with his parting words. Everyone at the precinct was disbursed from the room to get back to their work. The agents huddled together to prep themselves in case something big were to happen. 

“JJ, I would like for you to conduct a press conference,” Hotch said.

“Why is that, sir?” The media liaison asked. 

“I would like to draw her out. Have it known that we are after her.” The media liaison nodded her head in agreement and left the main room to work on getting a press conference together.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Before entering the press room, JJ took a deep breath and exhaled to calm herself down. Thoughts were rushing in her mind. Don’t let them get to you, JJ. She neatly fixed her hair to seem presentable. Taking her golden heart necklace, the media liaison kissed it for good luck. 

The media liaison walked into the conference room with great confidence and stood behind the mahogany podium. Standing tall, JJ was not willing to lose a fight with the media, especially with a high-profile case. 

“Ok, can I have everyone's attention,” JJ said to gather the media’s attention to her. “Please, if you could just take your seats…”

“There have been a series of murders that appeared in random locations around Brooklyn. There is sufficient evidence that the victims were murdered on Wall Street then transported to their disposal sites.”

“We believe she may have experienced a psychotic break recently, causing the unsub to escalate to murder to regain a sense of control. You should increase your patrols in and around Wall Street… “

“Why would you focus your profile on the finance guys when the unsub has also contacted members of the FBI?” A male reporter interrupted the media liaison.  

JJ stood at the podium in shock. How could he know about that? We kept that under wraps. 

“I- How did you obtain that information?” JJ asked. 

“I overheard one of the cops saying it.” The journalist said casually. The blonde’s right eyebrow lightly twitched in anger. What couldn’t those cops just shut their mouths, JJ thought.

“What you heard from these officers isn’t true,” JJ lied to keep confidential information private. “Now, do you have any questions about the case?” A new wave of hands came up. JJ took a few more questions to answer. After a while, it was time to end the press conference.

“If anyone works in or around Wall Street, and sees anything unusual, please do not hesitate to call the number on your screen. Thank you.” JJ said her final statement, ending the press conference. As she walked down the steps down the small stage, a reporter called out her name.   

“Agent Jareau! I have something that may be of interest for you!” A different male reporter called out. JJ turned to face him, excepting the same male reporter from earlier. Trying to keep her anger inside, she greeted the news reporter with dignity. 

The male reporter handed the media liaison a letter. JJ took a look at it and was surprised at what she saw: the signature of their unsub. 

“How did you get this?” JJ asked the man. 

“It was sent to me yesterday, directly to the New York Herald.” The man said. JJ called for one of the officers by the wall to collect the letter for evidence. 

“We are going to take this in for evidence processing. One of the officers here will take you in for some questioning.” The man nodded as another officer whisked him away for interrogation. 

JJ sighed and went to search for the officer that unknowingly leaked information. She saw him with another cop, talking, against the wall outside of the press conference room. 

“That information was not for the public!” JJ said, angrily at an NYPD officer. 

“Listen, lady. I don’t know how and where he got the information from,” The beat cop explained himself. “He could have been creeping around the crime scenes or the precinct. 

“Keep your mouth shut, pal, as this case is private and under federal jurisdiction.” JJ huffed as Derek grabbed her shoulders and slowly tried to drag her away. The blonde complied with her co-worker, not throwing a fight as this was not her battle to fight in. 

Once Derek loosened his grips, the media liaison dashed out of the conference room to find her own space to calm down. 

JJ speed-walked once she was out of the hallway’s vicinity. She rushed into the nearest bathroom. Breathing heavily, the media liaison slowly walked into one of the stalls and locked the door. Taking a deep breath, JJ prepared herself for the biggest scream she would take in her life. 

“Fuck. These little shits. Those bastards. Assholes. Son of a bitch. Fucking shit. Why can’t they keep their mouths fucking shut! Those cocksucking motherfucking god damned jackasses!” JJ yelled at the top of her lungs. Her chest fell hard as the blonde was taking deep breaths. She felt better after taking out her anger by screaming. Feeling a little tired, JJ sat on the closed toilet and placed her head between her knees to calm herself down. A few minutes went by, and someone knocked on the bathroom door. 

“JJ… Are you okay?” Emily’s voice could be heard on the other side. JJ sighed while getting up. She opened the stall door and tried to make herself more presentable. Unlocking the silver lock, she opened the door slowly to reveal a relieved Emily Prentiss. 

“Ah–,” Emily gently grabbed JJ and brought her in a warm embrace. They stood together in that position for a few minutes before heading back to the conference room, where the others were, preparing themselves to capture the unsub tonight.

Later that evening, the BAU team, along with SWAT, raided a luxury apartment building in Downtown Brooklyn. Upon entering the only penthouse, Derek broke the door with his strength. The group of agents entered the area and in the middle of the living room, was Taylor Evans. Black mascara ran down her cheeks as she held a gun in her left hand and the final tarot card in the other. 

“Just in time for the show, agents.” Evans croaked. Her sad grey eyes filled with tears, her cheeks flushed from her mental breakdown. 

“Taylor… Listen. You’re young. You don’t have to do this. If you come with us, you can get a lighter sentence and live your life.” Emily said to calm down the broken girl. 

More time passed by as Emily and Spencer tried their best to negotiate with the unsub, but the end was already written. Taylor Evans planned to do an end game, one where she put herself out of misery. 

“I’m sorry….” the blonde girl whispered. In a swift motion, Taylor pulled the trigger onto herself and shot herself underneath the jaw. Her body dropped quickly but Derek ran up to the body to catch it. 

“Damn it,” Derek said. “She was young. Broken. Felt like she had to prove herself that she was something.”

“There was nothing we could have done to help, Morgan. She already had planned her end. She was long gone before anyone else could have noticed.” Hotch responded to Derek’s little monologue. 

Right next to her body was the Emperor card. A beautiful deep purple with gold lining depicting an emperor. The gold detailing reflected against the tall mirrors in the room. The card was reversed, like if she purposefully did that to tell the end to her story. 

taglist: @homosexualyearning / @ssajelle / @iconicc / @sunlightgalaxy / @jemilyology / @pumpkin-stars / @lgbtbau / @drinkingcroissants / @abbyprentiss / @pen3mily / @morcias / @hotchsbabygirl / @gravelyhumerus / @notsosmexy / @rxcklessly-bratty / @hqtchner / @girlbossjareau / @pagetsimp

[vanillann]

flashback (spencer reid x f.reader)

based on season 9 ep 12, I might make a few different parts to this please let me know what you all think.

warning: swearing

flashback masterlist

2004

“I hate handcuffs.”

Penelope sat beside me, her black fingers tapping on the table. I played with the end of my large sweater, the ends frayed from the long-term nervous habit.

“I can’t believe I got us caught,” I watched as the light above shone down on my hand cuffs.

“It wasn’t you, I shouldn't have gone on the server until you got done asking questions.”

Penelope looked over at me quickly, her pissed face morphing into a gentle smile.

Suddenly the door behind us opened, a tall dark hair man walking the room. He wore a suit and a stern face.

I pulled off the frayed ends of my sweater more, the thought of going to jail was killing me.

“We’ve got you Ms. Garcia, Ms. (L/N).”

“That’s what you think, Mr. Suit.”

I rolled my eyes, this wasn’t the time to be witty.

“We’ve found multiple of your illegal servers and Ms. (L/N) coercing many of your victims,” he looked over at me, I felt myself pull back into my chair more.

“Sorry?”

Garcia chuckled slightly, looking down at me in my seat.

“This isn’t a sorry moment, both of you could be going to jail.”

I felt my eyes fill with tears, the idea of orange jumpsuits and a cell was the last thing my parents expected of me.

“Well shouldn’t the cosmetic company go down with us.”

Penelope spoke with confidence, something I wish I had right now.

“Unfortunately what they were doing wasn’t illegal.”

Penelope only pulled at the cuffs slightly before looking back up at the man.

“Okay Mr. Suit-”

“It’s Agent Hotchner and I’m here to offer you both a job for the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Huh?”

The man shoved his hands in both his pockets, looking over both of us. Suddenly the handcuffs around my wrist weren’t the biggest concern.

“Ms. Garcia, you are the fastest and most efficient hacker we have ever seen, you could run circles around our last tech analysis,” Penelope only shrugged and looked up at him with a smirk.

“-and you Ms. (L/N) have impressive interrogation skills with degrees in Psychology, Sociology, and Criminal Justice.”

I felt a blush cross my cheeks, knowing taking those classes on the side paid off in some way.

“I don't think my friend and I want to teach you how to do your own job.”

I wanted to scream, I loved my best friend more than anything but she was throwing away a ‘get out of jail free” card, one we really needed right now.

“You would help us hunt psychopaths.”

Penelope looked over at me, the smirk still across her face and she looked back at Mr. Hotchner.

“We are psychopaths.”

“Excuse me?”

Penelope deadpanned me, while the agent in front of us spoke.

“You aren’t, in the hacker community you are known as “The Black Queen” and “The Pure Empress”. Both of you are known for talking down cruel organizations.”

Penelope and I both just looked at each other. The contrast between my tan sweater and her black corset would make anyone but us laugh.

“All I need is a resume for Human Resources, or I’ll hand you the jumpsuits.”

“Pen, I love you but I don’t like jumpsuits,” I whisper to her, knowing the man could still hear me but didn’t care one bit.

“Well we don't normally bring our resume to things like this, but hand us our bags and we will write down a few things we know.”

I jumped in joy within my seat, the idea of a new job that wasn’t illegal made me so excited.

Suddenly the door opened, a taller darker male walked in with a taller skinny man beside him. They walked in with our bags in their hands, serious face on.

The first man had on a light suit and his head shined slightly under the light while the second man held my bag and had his hair slicked back.

The one man placed my bag in front of me, my hands going straight to the latch on the side where I kept my notepad.

“We went though and took all their tech gear.”

I scribbled down my degrees on the paper, not knowing what else to do.

“Do you have the key?”

The man standing beside him pulled out two, looking between the two of us.

Mr. Hotchner left the room, both the men walking over to un-cuff us.

“You are very lucky,” the man unlocking Garcia spoke.

“You look like the lucky one, Mr. Calvin Klein.”

I slapped the side of her shoulder, her name quickly fell from my lips with a stern tone.

“I got us out of jail.”

She pointed a perfectly painted finger at her, the smirk took over the whole face now.

“I better be the happiest person in the world in 10 years or I’m blaming you.”

2014

Everyone sat around the woman as she talked, the words sexual harassment made me giggle, knowing where this was going.

Spencer looked down at me from where he sat on my desk, the confused little look he gets evidence on his face.

“Phrases like baby girl aren’t appropriate in the workplace.”

I covered my mouth as I looked over at my friend, her face dropping quickly.

The woman then continued with the slideshow, my finger pointed at Pen the entire time.

Spencer hit the side of my combat boot, the wicked smile on his face as he pointed to the slideshow.

The screen now read “Appropriate Work Attire”, the sight of nice suits flashed across the screen.

“Combat boots and band tee shirts are not appropriate for the workplace.”

I looked down at the Led Zeppelin shirt that I wore with a basic black blazer over it.

Suddenly Penelope whipped around in her chair, looking at me with her tongue out.

The sound of Penelope text went off, her face dropped while she waved her hand over at me. I looked up at Spencer, him already watching me with a smile. He quickly shook his head and looked up at Garcia.

I stood up and walked over to her, the woman looked at both of us telling us to sit down.

“I’m so sorry,” Garcia repeated.

“I’m not,” I smiled as Garcia pulled me over to the elevator.

Hotch stood with his stern face, holding his phone in his hand, this wasn’t a good sign.

*

“I can’t believe they called my band shirts out!”

Spencer laughed as he grabbed my bag from over my shoulder and handed in to the co-pilot.

“I mean we do work for the FBI, they probably expect a lot more appropriate outfits.”

“They shouldn’t have high expectations for me. I’m the same girl that tricked the whole 5th floor by putting whoopee cushions in their chairs,” Spencer only shook his hand as he hit his shoulder with mine.

Pen coughed from the steps of the jet, a wicked smile on her face.

Spencer ran his hand down the back of his neck while he rushed past Garcia. I went to follow him but Pen stuck her arm out.

“When are you going to tell him about the mega crush you have?”

I looked up at her, the bright pink lipstick was in a huge smile. I played with the end of my blazer, looking down at my shoes.

“I’m not telling him Pen, it’s not worth losing him.”

She only turned around and pulled me deeper into the plane.

The team sat around in their normal spots, the couch free for Pen and I both. We quickly took a seat and pulled out the tablet and hard copy, Spencer always made me carry one around.

I read through the file, my memory never forgot this case. Suddenly Hotch came on, already talking about the case.

“Well it seems Star Chambers really like secretive,” Pen nodded her head, the plane laughing from the ground.

Spence came back from the coffee machine, a tea in one hand and a coffee in the other. He handed me the tea, reading the hard copy from over my shoulder.

“It sounds like Sam Russell fit the profile perfectly.”

JJ words broke me from the small daze I fell into.

Morgan looked over at me and nodded.

“This is the case that got you caught, right?”

I looked over at Penelope, her little small smile made me look back over at the rest of the team.

“Yeah I got all three of us caught, but I didn’t know he was a killer at the time.”

Spencer just simply placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled at me.

“It’s all in the past, don’t make yourself have flashbacks.”

part ii

flashback tag list:

@snitchthewitch @summer-writes @mortallythoughtfulgurl

[rahleeyah]

Ok @racethewind10 and @featherpluckn svu polycule barbeque here we gooooooo

It's labor day. And Elliot and Liv have been working a lot and they both want to spend time with Kathy and the kids and Maureen is coming to spend the weekend with her boyfriend and Kathy tells Liv to invite Alex bc she knows how those two are together and she figures if Mo sees Liv and Alex together she won't notice how Kathy/Elliot/Liv are together. It's a faint hope

When Alex gets there, in like. Linen pants and an expensive blouse, she finds Liv in cut off jeans and a tank top playing football with the kids (Katie and Lizzie vs Dickie and Liv) and her hair is tied back in a ponytail and her necklaces are bouncing against her tanned skin and for a second Alex fully hates herself for being in love with a woman who's wearing jorts.

Kathy is sitting in a lawn chair with little Eli asleep on her lap.

Elliot is by the grill.

"Cabot! Now the party's started. Lemme get you beer"

"who are you and what have you done with Elliot Stabler"

He grins and as he walks by her on his way to the cooler he smacks her ass.

No one notices but Kathy, who rolls her eyes

"he's in a mood" she says. "Come sit in the shade with me"

So Alex - who is so pale she'll burn if she doesn't close the blinds on her office windows - sits next to Kathy, big straw hat on her head to protect her nose, and Elliot brings her a beer, kisses Kathy's forehead and ruffles Eli's hair while he's there

"they look happy" Alex says, while they're all watching Olivia playing with the kids.

"yeah she does" Elliot says.

Kathy and Alex know what he means. Liv has had a hard road. But there, in the sunshine, laughing, ponytail bouncing, she just looks. Happy.

The game breaks up about the time Mo and her boyfriend get there. They're making introductions when Liv comes up and takes the beer right out of Elliot's hand and takes a long drink.

Literally no one thinks this is weird except Mo's boyfriend.

Then again after everything she told him about her parents, he didn't expect her parents to be best friends with a lesbian couple either so he figures maybe he was just being judgmental

Kathy goes inside to get the rest of the fixings for the burgers and Alex volunteers to help bc she wants to be in the AC for a minute.

Kathy gives the baby to Olivia.

Maureen watches this. She has never seen them like this, Liv with the baby on her hip like he belongs there, standing by the grill, laughing with Elliot, the four of them so easy together, and it's freaking her out a little

Kathleen notices

"don't make it weird. It works for them."

Elliot takes the beer out of Liv's hand

"what works for them"

Kathy and Alex emerge from the house carrying lettuce and kraft singles and ketchup and mustard and tomatoes and whatever else and Alex is exasperatedly trying to explain to Kathy about cheese and their shoulders are brushing and

"Katie what the hell is-"

"don't make it weird"

Mo decides that discretion is the better part of valor

Meanwhile, at the grill

"you gonna flip those any time soon"

"do you want to do this?"

"well I mean yeah if you're offering"

"like you know how to grill a burger"

"I know you need to flip them"

"I'll flip them when I'm good and ready"

Kathy and Alex are setting things up on a picnic table and Kathy rolls her eyes at them

"are they like this at work?"

"honestly? They're worse. At work they're carrying guns"

"ok children" Kathy says. She steps up between them and settles a hand on each of their backs. "Are they close?"

"yeah, go ahead and get the kids to the table"

Liv and Kathy and Alex shuffle everybody to the table, make the younger kids wash their hands, pour drinks. Liv is still holding Eli. Elliot discreetly flips the burgers while she's not watching

They all cheer when he brings them to the table, and it's all easy laughter and hands reaching and Liv is holding the baby and Mo realizes Kathleen was right. This is working for them. They're happy.

Alex gets em going with some story about something stupid Elliot did and Mo's boyfriend is watching these three women tease him mercilessly and wondering how it's possible that he still looks smug

"was that more or less stupid than the time Cupid threw you through a plate glass window"

"I'm not the one who accidentally got stoned on mushrooms"

"hey I wasn't stoned I was really sick!!"

"I'm not the one who stabbed the captain with a pickle. I swear to God Liv I thought you'd lost it"

"they're kinda cute" Mo's boyfriend tells her in a whisper. She shoots him a murderous look and he wisely takes a drink instead

"so" Alex turns to him and he wishes she wouldn't bc God is she pretty and her top is low cut but she's got eyes like a shark "tell us a little bit about yourself"

And all four of them are looking at him now and he gulps bc it was bad enough when he'd thought he had to impress Maureen's parents, but now he's got the killer lesbians to worry about too

But they have a nice time. The sun goes down, everybody who can is drinking - Liv slips Lizzie a sip of her beer and Alex feels bad for Dickie so she does the same while giving him a lecture about underage drinking - and the kids are running over the grass and Elliot and Liv and Kathy and Alex and Maureen and her boyfriend linger at the table. Eli is now asleep on his dad. It's nice.

They send everybody off to bed and the grownups start to clean up. Boyfriend offers to help, but quickly realizes they don't need him, and he goes to find Mo.

They don't mean to. Kathy has put Eli down and the kids are all in bed, Maureen's boyfriend has been relegated to the sofa but he's in the bathroom when they linger by the door. They need to call a cab for Alex and Liv, but...

"it's late" Kathy says, and she tangles her fingers with Liv's and looks up at Elliot with that pretty little pout he can't say no to.

"you think you can be quiet?" He says to Alex.

"you wanna find out?"

They tiptoe up the stairs together.

They strip each other bare. There's no rhyme or reason to it; just hands and lips trailing against skin and there's a king size bed they all go tumbling into, but they're trying not to move too much and they're all a little drunk and a little tired and they just end up a tangle of limbs and gently exploring fingers, whispers turning into light snores

Maureen's boyfriend sneaks into her bedroom

"my dad is gonna kill you if he catches you"

"trust me, he's not gonna. He's busy"

"what do you-"

"they didn't leave, Mo"

She groans and buries her face in his chest

She's up with the sun, a little stressed, a little confused, and she goes into the kitchen where she finds Liv, wearing one of Elliot's shirts over her jorts, Eli on her hip, making coffee

"you want some" she asks, very gently

She looks soft, and sweet, and happy, so Maureen just says yes. She'll worry about the rest of it later.

[prettynxsty]

Scented Wood

My first ever fic, femdom!reader x sub!Chan

contains: angst, swearing, futa/girlcock, size kink, choking, smoking, toxicity, dark themes, mentions of killing, smut, y/n is straight up a serial killer, okay?

Summary: You’re a notorious serial killer, but you only kill to keep the balance. Your purpose is to rid the world of it’s garbage, but by day you’re simply a forensic crime scene specialist. You tangled yourself in a serious mess by giving into your selfish desires, indulging in hearts instead of stains on society.

AN: I tried to give a new spin on a unique writing style and write something that gives a fresh feeling.

1 2 3 4

  Chan enters the station, his breath coming in shallow puffs. It felt like ice out there, it'd never snow in LA no matter how nippy it was outside. He peels the gloves from his hands and tucks them under his arm while scrubbing together his cold fingers. The station was quieter at these hours, the normal hum of noise was quieter. 

He nods to a comrade at the front desk as he heads down the hallway, he was still cold, if not colder. But there was a warmth that he remembered, one that tickled him inside and out. Chan slowed to a stop beside Y/n’s office, doubting himself for a second before tapping his knuckle against the wood. He shrugs his jacket down to his shoulders, reaching up and gently scratching at the base of his neck under his uniform top.

You nearly jumped out of your skin upon hearing the knock, the wheels of your chair inching you away from your desk. Peering through the frosted windows, you see the familiar frame of Chan. You relaxed gently, but still felt a bit jumpy. You had every reason to be nowadays - after all you’ve done, it's hard to just go back and calm yourself. You’re now paranoid, spastic, loud... but that doesn't matter. 

You saved and exited the document you were working on, then stood up to your full height, putting your hands in your pockets... wincing as the bruised and cut knuckles rubbed against the fabric of your pockets. This was what had to happen - for the good of LA, you just wished that you would have been smarter than to get into a fight with them first. You'll be quicker on the next kill, cleaner. Quieter. But now, you had better things to look forward to. "Come in, Chan," your voice echoed through your office, dominant, deep, assured, enough to chill the room even more.

Chan exhales, his entire frame relaxing as he pushes down the door handle and enters the room. The chill in his skin begins to fade away as his eyes run over the silhouette of the taller form. He swallows quietly, rubbing his lips together and licking them idly as he lifts his eyes to meet yours.

"Hey," he breathes, "you busy?" Lifting a hand, he removes his black cap and combs his fingers through his brown locks to fix them. He hadn't ever outright asked you for what he wanted, he could only ever remember simply taking it, or having it given to him without any word.

You could read the body language of the man as simple as you could a children's book - Chan wanted something. Something he didn't want to say out loud, obviously - his cheeks were a supple shade of red, but that could always be the temperature. You always preferred the cold, so your house is always a steady 65. But Chan was warm-blooded, you could tell that by... everything about him. 

You watch his hair as it smoothed out between his fingers, and you could almost feel the silkiness on your own fingertips. Your hands twitched in response. You swallowed the lump in your throat, lifting your chin slightly, eyeing your friend. "Not usually," you lied. "I always have time for you. What do you need?"

"Just wanted to catch up," the corners of his lips twitch up in a lopsided smile. His lids flutter shut as he stretches his back, moaning quietly. His collar shifts, practically putting his pretty tanned skin on display. His neck was fresh, free of markings of any kind.

Chan tucks his gloves into his pocket, shrugging off his leather jacket and spotting the second chair beside your desk. He helped himself to the seat without asking, quietly fishing out his peppermint chapstick. For an officer of the law, he was acting awfully shy at this very moment. He quickly looks away from you as he glides the balm over his dry lips. "Uh, how have you been?"

You kept an eye on Chan's every movement, every twitch, but stayed completely still yourself. You watched the shine of his lips as he rubbed them together, you would swear you even saw the pink of his tongue slip out for a moment. You suddenly felt slightly flustered, but buried it quickly with your other thoughts.

Catch up? What did that mean? You ran through the locations of your crimes in your head, and as far as you knew, you left nothing but the little folded paper on the victim - some wife beater from Glendale, which you enjoyed killing very much so, even took one of his teeth as a trophy, which was sitting in a jar on your bedside table at home. 

So Chan had to be here as... just a friend. Easing up a bit, you pushed your kind persona to the forefront, offering a smile to Chan. "Good as I can be, with all this rain we've been getting," you laughed slightly, making your way around the desk to stand by Chan. "How have you been? Working the old 9-5?" You leaned against your desk, hands still in your pockets as you looked down to Chan, catching the honey of his brown eyes in the light.

The inkling of desire swimming in his blood began to grow and spread like poison. He just couldn't get enough of you, there was just something about your presence. Your imposing height, the mystery of your character, you were more beautiful than you'd ever realize. The quirk in your charm always made his heart flutter for some reason. In a room full of people, his eyes went to you first and foremost, but why?

He rests his jacket on the back of the chair as he leans back against it, nodding actively as the other man spoke. The chill that was within him was replaced with a fire, a fire that wouldn't be quenched without his desire being fulfilled one way or another.

"Ah yeah, nothing big lately since they have me on patrol until something happens."

He couldn't help but sneak a few glances at your lips before forcing himself to hold your gaze.

"Got any breakthroughs?"

You thought carefully of what to say next; you’re far too good of a forensic scientist to have nothing by this point, so saying no would seem suspicious, but you could lead them in the wrong direction. You reached behind your desk, grabbing a pen and a notepad, scribbling down some info to give to Chan. 

"The footprints at uh... the first scene were partial, but my guess would be they're a men's size 8, so you're probably looking for a guy of average height - 5'8 maybe. The killings are brutal, but I don't have to tell you that. They're probably done by someone of great strength."

Or great stealth. You almost laughed at the thought, before glancing up just in time to see Chan’s eyes on your lips. Oh. So that's what he wants. You cocked your head up again, what a pleasant surprise. Maybe you two could have a little fun together.

"See something you like, officer?"

Chan hummed, nodding as he shifted in his chair to sit up straight, scanning the notes given to him. His lips tingle slightly with the sweet cooling notes of peppermint and menthol in his chapstick, he softly smacks his lips together as he thought for a moment.

Was this a good idea? Chan felt like he was more than likely pushing his luck. Your teasing remark pulls him from the disappointing thoughts, bringing him back to reality. You were probably just joking with him, better not push it.

"Maybe I do," he laughs as he stands up from the chair and stretches.

"I won't keep you too long, Y/l/n. You probably put off some work to talk to me." Chan got ready to turn back and grab his coat, playfully nudging his friend's shoulder.

Your smirk turns into a full blown cocky smile now. There was something nice about the way Chan referred to you, like you were his superior. It warmed you from your thighs to your stomach, and made your heartbeat pick up ever so slightly. Noticing Chan about to leave, you quickly grabbed his arm before it reached his coat.

"Why leave so soon? You just got here," you breathed softly, though your grip was no doubt tight; your thumb grazed right underneath the sleeve of his shirt, right along the little blue vein of his wrist. You licked your lips, stepping closer to him.

"Stay a little longer. We can... go over the case." You didn't want to seem too forward.

Your voice sent chills down his spine, his face grew hotter. He couldn't believe what was happening right now, you wanted him like that? He swallows dryly as his arm was grabbed, it wasn't really harsh per se, but it completely took his breath away. Chan’s mouth fell slightly ajar as he allowed himself to be pulled back into the space of the taller.

The normal beating of his heart gains a nervous and excited flutter as he stands before the other, gazing up into your eyes. They smolder with something deep, hot, something that could burn him, but the warmth was good. "Uh, yeah." He babbles blankly, nervously nibbling at his lower lip.

You watched his lips carefully, watching them quiver ever so slightly. You knew Chan was thinking exactly what you were. You met his eyes, leaning down closer to him, looking for any sign of distress or disagreement. When you found nothing, you moved in quicker, catching his lips quickly. Your own lips tingle at the contact, the taste of peppermint flooding your senses as your other hand shoots to Chan's collar, pulling him in even closer by the neck.

Chan felt his lids fall shut automatically as you leaned in to kiss him, he waited eagerly to receive it. Suddenly he felt a hand on his collar tugging him forward and he moans in shock. This was exactly what he wanted, what he needed. Some roughing up, and he was more than ready to get it. He leans into your touch, grabbing your shoulders as he moves his lips against your own. It felt so good to just let someone else take the lead and take what they wanted, giving him what he craved.

You were a bit taken aback by the moan, but quickly picked up on what to do. You took Chan’s bottom lip between your teeth, biting just hard enough to see how he'd react, but not enough to draw blood. You adored this; having someone squirming under you. Usually it was some high-priced hooker, or someone dumb enough to fuck you in the bathroom, but lately you haven't had much luck - so you were more than desperate, and Chan was the perfect target.

As your pants grew tighter, you kicked Chan’s chair aside to make more space. It bounced off the wall and clattered to the floor. Breathing heavily, you switched position to pin Chan to your desk. You completely lost any inhibition that told you this was probably a bad idea, and instead completely lost yourself in the slim, muscled man underneath you.

Chan jumped as your teeth scraped across his lower lip before sinking in. He took a sharp breath in, exhaling with a deep sigh. The flame inside of you was licking his skin, heating him up in the best of ways. His head spun as blood rushed to his nethers, aching to be filled and used.

Chan barely heard the noise of the chair until it fell onto the floor, opening the space around you. His dick jumps when you pin him back against the pine desk. He was drunk from the smell of earthy cologne and the rough touch, his mind was empty save for one woman, you.

You smiled into the kiss before parting your lips, "You like it rough, huh, detective?" You chuckled, keeping one hand tight on his collar. You move your other hand to lift his chin, dragging your fingertips down the column of his throat before digging your thumb into the base of his neck. Just enough to apply pressure.

You wanted to be rougher - wanted to make the man whimper and beg - but you still needed to toe the line, if you crossed a boundary, you could get fired. You pressed your hips into his, looking down on Chan’s supple lips, his half-lidded eyes, taking in the fact that you could do anything you wanted to him in that moment.

"Tell me what you want, then."

Chan felt his cheeks prickle with heat of shame, to admit something like this out loud, he could never. He opens his eyes, his pupils blown wide with pleasure as you lift his chin. He couldn't contain the shaking moan that came from his lips as his throat was squeezed. Feeling you press completely up against him felt good, felt so right to him. His lips were only slightly swollen from their lip lock, a renewed tingling from where he was bitten. Chan almost couldn't process the demand he was given, babbling the first words that came to mind.

"Fuck me," he breathes quietly, leaning further into your touch.

You smirked once more, leaning in to kiss the last bit of peppermint off his wet lips, before pushing him roughly against the desk. You took a step back, goosebumps raising on your skin from the cold air. "Take off your clothes," you commanded, before looking down and beginning to work on your belt.

You were going to fuck him until you couldn't fuck him anymore, maybe if he was good you'd even let him cum too. When you finally got off your belt, you kept it in your hand, walking to the office door and locking it. Couldn't take any risks, you thought, as you set the belt down on the desk, keeping it close as you quickly unbuttoned your shirt.

Chan obeys immediately, reaching up and making quick work of the buttons on his top. He keeps his eyes on you, not peeling them away for a second as he undresses. He allows the garment to slide from his shoulders seductively, taunting the domineering woman with light, playful eyes. After pushing aside the top of his uniform, he moves down to his well fitted black slacks. Chan unbuttons them with ease, shimmying them off to reveal his snugly fit boxer briefs. Afterward he kicks his pants to the side, dumping them beside his discarded shirt, awaiting his next commands.

You glanced backwards to the frosted glass with a worrisome look, but there was still no one there. You unbutton your black dress pants, pushing them and your underwear off in one solid motion. Your cock sprung free easily, a solid, cut, girthy 7 inches, hard as a rock and shiny at the head from your own excitement. You really hadn't been laid in a while, so you were more than eager to get this show on the road.

You looked to Chan, who stood with a playful look on his face. Oh, so he's a brat, you thought. I can play with that. You took a few steps forward and brought Chan into a kiss, deep and hungry, sliding your middle and pointer fingers in the elastic band of his boxer briefs. You pulled away after a moment, catching your breath once again as you pulled back the elastic and snapped it against his skin.

"Everything."

Chan idly licks his lips, tracing every dip and curve of your body with his eyes. For so long he admired you from afar, not daring to make a move. Now he wondered why the hell he hadn't tried anything like this before. His lips twitch into a sly little smile as he watches the other man make quick work of his clothes, hurrying back to him. He receives the kiss easily, leaning in to the larger form as if it were second nature to him.

His breath hitches as the warm fingers hook under his black undergarments, pulling them back and snapping them against his unmarked skin. Chan hooks his thumbs under his boxer briefs, holding your heated gaze as he slides them down and over his thighs. His cock sprang from the confines of the cotton, standing at attention as he kicked his underwear aside.

You were getting impatient now, especially with the sight of Chan’s cock eagerly awaiting you; if you wanted to, you could get on your knees and suck him until he couldn't stand on his own. If you wanted to, you could fuck his throat until he couldn't speak. But you weren't being paid hourly, and you had stuff to do tonight - particularly search for a new victim.

This wasn't a date, Chan came here for a fucking, and that's what he's going to get. That's all he's going to get. You wrapped your arms around Chan’s waist gently, staring down at the firm rise and fall of his abs, the dip of his hips and his cock, licking your lips hungrily. "You wanna get fucked, huh?" You mumbled.

"Turn around. Bend over."

Chan almost wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, things were getting right to the point. Things were moving without stopping, just the way he liked it. There was too much to be done later to spend too much time fooling around, as much as he would enjoy it. A quick round would help clear his head and put him in the right place to start piecing up this case.

The look in your eyes made his dick jump, sending a shiver through his compact frame. He bit his lip, turning away from you and bending over the desk. Suddenly he felt much too shy to look you in the eyes, being exposed like this. He hated and loved it all the same.

You placed your hand on the small of Chan’s back almost instinctively, running your hand over the tan, smooth flesh.

"Good little slut," you whispered as you exhaled, not even realizing you were saying it. You brought your right hand up to your lips, spitting on your long fingers. You slowly brought it down to level with Chan, moving the hand on his lower back down to spread his firm cheeks lightly, soaking up the sight of him.

"God, you're hot." Your fingers shook slightly as you pressed a lubricated finger to his hole, prodding just enough for sensation but not enough to penetrate, your love for teasing getting the best of you for a moment.

Chan arches his back, allowing his head to loll forward gently. Your warm hands coming in contact with his cooler skin, one resting in the dip of his spine. He chews on his lip anxiously, swaying his hips in anticipation as he hears you spitting on your fingers. He felt a hand part his cheeks before a wet finger rolled against his rose colored hole. Chan let out a quiet sigh, trying to stifle the noise daring to exit his lips. He couldn't be any more ready for this, but he could not get caught, and neither could you.

You decided that you shouldn't waste anymore time. You pressed your finger in slowly until your knuckles got in the way, watching the man's back rise and fall as his breath got quicker and quicker. You twist your finger as you pulled it out, adding a second one easily - a sign he's probably done this before, with some guy at the station, you assume.

You picked up the pace gradually, scissoring your fingers to loosen him up, searching for that spot that would really make him moan. Just thinking of those sounds made your cock twitch, prompting you to reach your free hand down to slowly pump it in response.

Chan felt his body jerk, a moan slipping from his kiss swollen lips. "Shit," he curses quietly as his hole is breached. He felt the long finger twist before slowly retracting before he was being stretched out with two fingers.

This was good, but Chan really wanted the main course, now. He couldn't finish the thought, his eyes rolling back with white hot pleasure. You hit the nail right on the head, curling against his prostate mercilessly. "Fuck me, Y/n," he whines, burying his face in his hands. He felt shame for saying it so loudly, anyone could've heard him.

You felt pretty proud of yourself. You’ve always prided yourself on your power over people, specifically in relationships. You could get anything you wanted easily, it just took the right plan; people were just pawns to you, technicalities. Not that you were completely cold-hearted, you’ve been known to indulge a few of your emotions from time to time- but you’ve never felt better than when you’re on top.

Which is why you kill, apart from wanting to better the city that you hope to one day raise children in - power. Around the workplace, no one knows this, though; they push you around as just the forensics girl, like you’re the technicality. You’re so much more than that. You feel your blood boil at the thought of it, as you pull your fingers out. It felt wonderful to see the tough cop begging to be fucked. 

Eventually, you tire of playing around and gently remove your fingers from his entrance. Wordlessly, you reach over your desk and clumsily pull open the top drawer. Rifling around for a few bare seconds, your fingers brush over the crinkling packet of lubricant. Awkwardly pinching it between the tip of your ring finger and index nail, you lift it out of the drawer and maneuver it into your palm. Tearing the corner carelessly, you cradle your length in your hand and dribble it from base to tip. You busy your hand with spreading it along, pouring the remainder along the cleft of his ass.

A delighted hum rumbles in your chest when he jumps at the cool liquid sliding over his skin. You toss the now useless packet into the trash can beside your desk. You collect some of the lube on your fingers, taking care to spread it around before pushing back in. Once you’re satisfied with your own meticulous preparation, you lean back into the embrace of carnal desire. Pressing the head of your cock against his glistening hole sends a chill up your spine. Planting your feet, you begin to press inside of him.

It felt good to loosen up like this, no strings attached, nothing really at stake. Things would probably fall right back into their neutral friendship as if nothing happened. Afterward he'd head to his desk and take the information that you wrote down for him and try to make some connections.

There had to be a way that these murders were connected, it didn't make sense. His invasive, calculating thoughts were silenced immediately as he felt you begin stretching him out. You were much bigger than your fingers, for damn sure. Chan felt a sting, but it excited him.

You felt disappointed almost that Chan was trying to stay quiet, you always loved to hear the sounds of someone below you, but all you were getting now was a choked back whimper or the occasional soft, quiet groan. Clenching your teeth, you ground into Chan without warning, the warmth around your cock coaxing out a soft moan of your own.

You definitely needed to get laid more, if Chan keeps this shit up, and you'll be coming within minutes. You took a moment to let Chan adjust before moving into a punishing pace, reeling his hand back to smack his ass.

Chan thought he was managing well with keeping himself quiet enough, but you seemed to have a different idea. The powerful thrusts were enough to rock his whole frame and he couldn't bite his lip any harder.

"Oh!" He cried out, trying to clamp his lips shut while catching his glasses before they shot off of his face. Each moan was long and drawn out, despite his struggle to be just a little bit quieter. He bit his tongue so hard that it bled a bit, crying out in shock as the large hand claps over his ass cheek. "God- damn!" He pants, squeezing his eyes shut.

You smirked, feeling the heat pooling in your stomach already. You felt proud, finally getting Chan to show the world just how much of a slut he was. The man was practically a mess of syllables and moans, not making any sense at all, if not for the occasional curse. The desk creaked threateningly as you pounded in again, and you couldn't tell if you should be worried about the receptionist walking in or the wood splitting in half.

The 54-year-old, almost retired woman would cross herself, then immediately collapse if she heard them, undoubtedly filing a complaint to HR which would subsequently cause you to lose the one job keeping you from being arrested. Unfortunately you weren't in the best state of mind to be worried about these things, or even consider them. You leaned forward until your stomach met Chan’s back, wrapping your arm around his throat in semblance to a choke hold. You were gonna make Chan come harder than anyone had before, you were determined.

Chan whines every time you strike that special bundle of nerves, the sound keening. The sensation was beginning to get overwhelming, he was reaching his limit. "Y/n-, ah!" He moans, cutting himself off and allowing his head to hang down limply, pushing his glasses back up his nose. The smaller man could feel you leaning forward, your breasts pressing against his back.

Much to his surprise, an arm wraps around his throat and yanks him backward. His dick dripping precum, pulsing and twitching fitfully. Chan felt the heat climbing his cheeks, the lack of air pushing him to focus solely on the feeling. Soon after, it was all too much. He whimpers pitifully as he cums, shivering with each shot.

You groaned through clenched teeth as you felt Chan fluttering around you, that alone was enough to send you over the edge. You keened, loosening your grip on him immediately. He rattles with a few sharp coughs, gasping to catch his breath. "Fuck," you managed to groan, pulling out of him and frotting your length in between his cheeks.

You came, and you came hard. Thick, syrupy ropes splatter over the small of Chan’s back as you rest your head on his shoulder, planting sloppy kisses along his neck and behind his ear. You hadn't cum like that in awhile, your legs even shook slightly as you caught your breath and tried to wind yourself down. After a moment, you chuckled slightly to yourself. "Where have you been all my life, Bang Chan?"

Chan pants heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. He allowed himself to lay limply over the edge of the desk as he recovered from the earth shattering orgasm. The wet kisses cause a shudder to run through him, sending a felt more bolts of pleasure through his sensitive body. Never in a million years would he have expected you, his friend, the bookish forensic scientist to fuck him like this. "Honestly, I don't know," he breathes, slowly regaining his strength.

You smiled slightly upon seeing the disheveled man, stepping back. Without missing a beat, you grabbed a tissue out of the box sitting on your desk and swept away the mess you created. You’d need to tackle the cum on the front of your desk next, that was a conversation that you weren’t willing to have with the custodian.

You turned your attention away from him, swiftly moving to clean up the evidence of your recent escapade. It was a quick fuck and there were no feelings to be shared, you assumed that Chan felt the same. You dressed yourself as quickly as you undressed yourself, making your way back over to the desk, rifling around for your pack of marlboros in the top drawer. Dumping yourself in the seat, you turned on the small fan on your desk to try and mask the scent of smoke as you lit one up.

"Don't tell anyone about this. DK would have my ass," you mumbled with the cigarette between your lips, inhaling the smoke deeply, and puffing it out in rings. You thought of what Dokyeom, your real boss, would think if he found out not only had you fucked a cop in your office, but offered him a cigarette afterwards.

Chan peels himself up from the desk, stretching out his back with a few cracks and pops. He pushes his glasses into place, and combs his finger through his hair to put himself back together. Decidedly, he would get dressed and head straight to the bathroom to completely clean himself up before he went back to work on the case for a bit. "There's nothing to tell." He agreed, bending over and grabbing his boxer briefs.

Chan made quick work of pulling them up and over his thighs and jumping into the rest of his clothes. Upon straightening his collar, he grabs his cap and jacket. He glances back, nodding at you before seeing himself out quietly. No words were needed, what's done is done. However, he should have definitely wiped the lube out of his ass cheeks before he left, sheesh.

You knew what to expect, so hearing the door shut wasn't that bad of a blow. You take this time to sit at your desk, skimming through anything that could possibly look bad on your part. You weren't stupid enough to keep any evidence incriminating you on your work computer, but you still had stuff to double-check in case Chan wanted on.

You updated the files with some basic information, making sure to get the rough description of the unusual suspect, or unsub, as far away from yourself as possible. You had to feel a little proud; you were only two murders down, but you had big plans, a list, even, of people to target next. You cleaned your email too, deleting all emails from your therapist, making sure to make yourself look as bland as possible.

Chan spent a few minutes in the bathroom, freshening himself up in front of the mirror. He stops, inspecting himself idly as he allows his thoughts to roam. Why did she give me so many details earlier? I didn't really mean anything serious by asking her that... Whatever. Quietly fishing around in his pocket, he pulls out his chapstick and glides it over his lips. He smacks his lips together with a soft pop, putting away the small lip balm as he pushes open the door and exits. Chan strolls down the hallway, entering the office and finding his desk. You weren't far from his mind, just sort of looming for some reason. He stares blankly at the dark computer screen, glancing up as someone walks by. Jinyoung, the chief of his department. Should he question Jinyoung about his sudden suspicion?

[abraxos-is-toothless]

Undercover- Throne of Glass AU (1)

This was meant to go up Friday but my new laptop turned up late, and from now on the schedule should be a Thursday/Friday.

Warnings: Swearing and brief mentions of violence. I’ll update these as the story progresses.

Prologue.

Full Masterlist.

—————

Aelin couldn’t help but grin from as she watched her family bicker amongst themselves. They were in the house they all used for small gatherings including family dinner and movie night or for when they were waiting for new recruits to arrive, such as now.  She was sat at the edge of the room in her window seat where she could see every exit and could have her eyes on every person in the room. Manon and Dorian were sparring in the middle of the room, neither one of them managing to keep the other down for very long before they were at each other’s throats once more.

Aedion and Lysandra were curled up on the loveseat together, the dark haired girl giggling at whatever her cousin had just whispered in her ear, which in turn made Aelin want to smile and gag at the same time. Elide was cleaning her gun as she sat on the floor between Ren’s legs as he braided the girls hair. And last but not least, Chaol was currently fussing over a pregnant Yrene who would bat his hands away and kept threatening to poison him if he didn’t stop.

The last group of muscle they had hired turned out to be undercovers that Aedion convinced her should be left alive, unfortunately, not to mention that they were absolutely fucking useless considering their backgrounds. This time around, Aelin allowed Elide to do the search because the girl was not only capable of killing a man twice her size in under a minute; she was also the biggest nerd and hacker amongst them. Her second in command had pulled through, and when she came to Aelin a few days ago to show her the files, she was told she could have whatever new knives she wanted for such an amazing find. The smaller girl had grinned that awful grin which even terrified Manon sometimes.

Everyone was on alert in a second at the sound of the doorbell and had moved into place by time it had stopped ringing through the house. Aelin was now seated behind her desk with her feet up and hands folded across her stomach.

Celaena Sardothien was present now.

The others were spread about the room, her cousin to her right and Elide to her left, while Lysandra went to greet the new recruits. It would have been Yrene once upon a time, but Celaena refused to let her when she told everyone about the baby. That was their one rule. You do not harm a child. And the gods fucking help you if you do.

Lys came back into the room and wiggled her brows at Celaena before moving to stand beside Ren at the back as five very tall, tanned and muscled men came through just behind her. The first to enter was the man she knew to be one Rowan Whitehorn, sporting an incredibly bored look, much like his second. Lorcan Salvaterre was right on his heels, followed closely by the rest of this little band of misfits. The twins, Fenrys and Connall, she remembered, were the only one with smiles on their faces. Mischievous was a correct description. Vaughan was quiet and looked quite shy on the outside, but she knew he was calculating and planning as he scanned the room and the people inside of it. The last to enter was Gavriel. She hadn’t noticed before, you can’t ever see things in photos, but as he stood before her now in the flesh, there was a familiarity about him that she couldn’t place exactly.

Celaena smirked, making an obvious show of looking them up and down as she spoke, “Gentlemen, welcome. It’s so lovely to finally meet you all.”

They all gave a short bow of their heads with a muttered “Miss Sardothien”.

Manon snorted at that and was promptly glared at when it didn’t go unnoticed by the men before her. The witch rolled her eyes and went back to looking at her nails as if she was entirely uninterested, yet she was the complete opposite.

“Please boys, ignore the formalities. You may call me Celaena,” each of them were clearly about to nod once more but she continued before they could, “if you can survive one little test.”

oOoOo

Rowan was now regretting this whole assignment. Sardothien was an entitled brat that clearly thought this whole thing was a god damned game. She was nineteen years old and had somehow inherited Rhoe Galathynius' empire. It would have made sense to go to Ashryver, being one of the only living relatives Rhoe had left. The whole thing was absurd if you asked him and he couldn’t wait until he and the Cadre had taken everything apart piece by piece.

He wouldn’t let her know how he felt so through gritted teeth he asked, “A test, Miss Sardothien?”

Celaena stood and walked around to the other side of her desk and leaned back against it, still smiling. Rowan didn’t think that he liked that smile which quite clearly said trouble was brewing.

“Yes Whitehorn, a test. Am I not allowed to test people who wish to work for me as I see fit?”

Fucking hell, if this carried on then the mission would be over faster than they expected because he had killed her. “Of course you are. I apologise if I made it sound otherwise.”

He received nothing other than a raised brow and quick once over.

Bitch.

“As I was saying before I was interrupted, if you pass this little test, you’re all hired. If not, well, you won’t be suited here.”

Holding back an eye roll at something as childish as a test, he conceded, “What test ma’am?”

“See how polite this one is Havilliard, why have you never called me ‘ma’am’?” she called out to one Dorian Havilliard, who Rowan knew to be Celaena’s mercy killer. He had the unfortunate job of killing one of their members if any of their injuries were too severe to treat. No matter what business they may be in, he felt for the man and hoped he’d never have to do such a thing for one of his own. He banished the thought when he heard Dorian scoff before her Royal Highness continued.

“If your second here can last at least five minutes in a sparring match against my own second, we have a deal.”

Lorcan, ever one to prove he was better than most, agreed before Rowan could say anything and that time he did roll his eyes.

“Done.” He sneered as he turned to the right of the woman to face Aedion and beckoned for him to come forward. Within seconds of that display the whole room began laughing and more importantly, Blackbeak full on cackled as she noticed their shocked faces. He realised why when a strong feminine voice full of mockery and laughter said;

“I’m over here sweetheart.”

He turned to see Elide Lochan in all her tiny glory, giving his second a smile that even sent shivers down his own spine. There wasn’t much about her in the file they had, just that she was an excellent techy and had disposed of her own Uncle after he tried to sell her off into some underground prostitution ring over in France. No wonder she was second in command when she was so inconspicuous. He should have guessed.

Rowan had barely any time to process the information before she moved faster than he could blink, landing a powerful left hook to Lorcan’s jaw which resulted in his ass meeting the floor.

oOoOo

Having a woman hand him his ass should not have turned Lorcan on, but by the gods it did.

She was a feisty little fireball and Lorcan hadn’t had such a tiring workout since that day six years ago when Whitehorn had nearly killed him and beat him black and blue. He had been an angry, hateful mess after the accident and no one could out last that icy rage for very long. So he had endured it full force until the silver haired had broken down in his arms.

Sardothien did indeed call time after what were a very long five minutes and the two of them were left panting and sweaty in the middle of the room, gazes locked. Lorcan wished it was a different activity that had left them that way.

Enough Salvaterre, you’re here to take them down. No fucking the enemy.

“I’m impressed. Nobody ever lasts even two against Elide, not even the Wolf over there.” The bitch queen jerked her thumb over her shoulder to where Ashryver was standing, who simply flipped her off. Many would have been killed by their bosses for such behaviour, but apparently everything worked differently here.

This was going to be difficult.

“Ren you shit stain, show them to their rooms. You’ll be on the first floor along with Manon, Dorian, Lys and Aedion. They’re very loud lovers so I hope you brought ear plugs with you.” She said it with a smile and wiggled her fingers in goodbye as they were ushered out of the room by a man with a scar on his face. Just before the door closed, Lorcan saw the swagger facade drop as Celaena fussed over her second, worry written on her face as she turned the dark haired woman’s face this way and that way.

Each individual room was pointed out to them by Ren as they passed, he didn’t look too happy to be given the job though. The twins were in the room closest to the stairs, next to them was Vaughan and Gavriel and then himself on his own followed by Rowan’s own closest to the next flight of stairs up. They stopped outside of Rowan’s room before they were allowed to disperse and were given a few ground rules as if they were dogs.

“Boss says you can use the ground floor as you wish; watch a movie, read a book or whatever. You are not to go up to the second floor with permission from Lochan or the Boss herself. Most of us have our own houses so we won’t all be here twenty for hours. The only permanent ones for now will be the Boss, Lochan, the Westfalls and myself. Any questions?”

They all shook their heads which was apparently deemed acceptable.

“Good. Take the day to get yourselves situated; we’re all having dinner at seven, if you can call it that. Don’t be late.”

He nodded before disappearing back down the stairs and Rowan addressed them now that they were alone.

“Get unpacked and sorted.  I want you mingling to your heart’s content tonight, the faster they trust us, the faster their empire falls. Understood?”

They each murmured a “Yes Sir” before walking back to their own respective rooms and Fenrys and Connall went to the stairs to go get their bags from the car. Just before he could turn the handle to his room, he stopped when Rowan spoke again, all seriousness and a stern look.

“Oh and Lorcan? Keep your fucking dick out of tiny, short tempered ladies please. I will not allow us to fail because your hormones led you astray.”

Vaughan chuckled under his breath while Gavriel just shook his head, the twins already out of hearing distance, thank fuck.

A woman had never messed with his morals before and he certainly wasn’t going to let such a thing happen this time.

Not now and not ever.

—————

I hope you like my baby Badass Elide and Horny Lorcan;) If you want to be added/removed from the tags just give me a shout!!

Tags: @bryaxisthefaceofnightmares @fancyclodpaintercookie @empress-sei @acourtofterrasenandvelaris @tswaney17 @queen-of-glass @thesirenwashere @awkward-avocado-s @b00kworm @http-itsrebecca @eatmysandwiches @poisonous00 @flowersinvegas @julemmaes @mu-si-ca-l @spyofthenightcourt @sis-it-dont-add-up

[kelyon]

Nephila Chapter 5: Everglades

The fic where the Stiltskin men are all giant spiders (and some people are into that.)

In which Emma Swan is Florida Woman

Trigger warning: Killian Jones

Read on AO3

“Parks department is gonna shoot us with their tranquilizer guns if they catch us out here, Swan.”

Emma rolled her eyes at Killian and kept steering her fishing boat through the swamp. This section of the glades was tricky to navigate. She couldn’t let his whining distract her. 

 They were in a flat-bottomed aluminum jon boat, ten feet long. It didn’t have a built-in engine. Normally Emma used a paddle to get her where she needed to go on the water. Since her plans today were taking her further out than normal, she had “borrowed” a portable Evinrude motor from her friend Penny. It would be fine though; Penny’s boat just got impounded, so she wasn’t gonna miss the motor.

“I never said you had to come, Jones.” She shielded her eyes from the bright Florida sun. Her glasses were dirty and scratched. The reflection on the water doubled the light and made it impossible to see. She shoulda brought a visor. 

“No, you just said you were going to do something dangerous and stupid.” Killian lounged against the side of the boat and used both hands to swat at bugs. “You know I can’t resist a challenge.”

“Of course not. That’s why you keep hanging around me, even though I don’t wanna bang you.”

“You mean you don’t want to bang me yet!” He gave her the grin that had worked on every other girl in the tri-county area. “I remain hopeful.”

“You remain delusional.”

Every once in a while, Emma thought about sleeping with Killian just so he would get over it and stop bothering her. He was decent company when he wasn’t horny. He was the only person in their group who would go on crazy adventures with her, and he never minded letting her crash at his place. They’d gotten each other in and out of trouble at least a hundred times since she’d moved to Florida during her freshman year of high school.

That was part of the problem with Killian. She’d known him too long. When they’d met, he’d been zitty and awkward, tagging along after his older brother Liam. Killian hadn’t gotten hot until senior year when he started growing a beard. All that shaggy dark hair brought out his bright blue eyes and covered up his acne. He wasn’t bad looking. And he was almost smart. Growing up on a houseboat made him act like he knew everything about every kind of boat, so he was never afraid to act like a drunk pirate. A lot of girls were into that. 

For herself, Emma had heard his voice crack too many times to ever think about him as a sexual option. And yet, ever since graduation, she had found herself at the top of his “to-do list.” It was putting a real strain on their friendship.

 “Oh, come on, luv! You know I’ll do anything for you. But if I’m gonna get a hand bit off by a crocodile, I’d feel better about it if I knew there was gonna be some kind of reward for my trouble.”

“Sex isn’t a reward, dumbass.” Hand on the tiller of the motor, Emma steered them around a patch of sawgrass and into a free-flowing slough where the water could carry them. “And besides, there aren’t any crocodiles in Florida. It’s all gators. I only lived here five years and even I know that!”

“Ha!” Killian pointed a triumphant finger at her. “Well, I’ve lived on these waters all my life! And I know that the American Crocodile is the only crocodile that co-exists with alligators. It’s an endangered species and it only lives here in the Everglades!”  

She narrowed her eyes. “You just heard that on the Internet.”

Killian shrugged. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.” 

Emma shook her head. Whether or not Killian should believe something he read on the Internet was an argument they had at least once a week. Going over it again wasn’t worth it. 

“Point is,” she said. “We’re going to the part of the glades where there aren’t any gators or crocodiles.”

Killian made a face. “There’s no such place.”

“There sure is!”

He still didn’t believe her.  “How do you know gators aren’t there?”

“Cuz there’s too much other stuff. There’s a billion more birds and bugs and lizards in this part of the swamp than there is anywhere else.”

“In the whole Everglades?”

“Yeah. I read an article about it. On the Internet.” 

If Killian wanted to give her crap about her news source, he was going to have one hell of an argument. But he had just enough brains not to, so Emma got to explain. 

“The article had all these science people talking about the ‘explosion of biodiversity’ in this one tiny section of the Glades. It’s probably been going on for a while, but they just noticed it a couple months ago. All the animals and things that you find one of in any other part of the Glades, you’ll find ten of ‘em in this part we’re going to now.”

“With all the animals there, why aren’t there any gators snapping them up?”

“That’s what the scientists wanted to know. They said it makes sense that there’s more little things crawling around when there aren’t any big things to eat ‘em. But it doesn’t make sense that all the gators, the ‘apex predators,’ just disappeared. They think something is killing the gators but letting everything else go. They’re real worried about it too. So I figure there might be some kinda reward for finding out what’s going on.”

“A reward?” Killian sat up so fast the boat rocked. “You didn’t say anything about a reward!”

“I just did,” Emma smirked. “But we gotta keep it secret. I don’t want anybody trying to edge in on our find.”

“Wait, what are you trying to find?”

“Didn’t you hear a word I said? I’m going to find whatever’s eating the gators!” 

Killian’s jaw dropped. “Are you crazy? You think there’s something big enough to eat gators and the first thing you wanna do is go after it?”

“Mm-hmm.” 

Emma turned back to the tiller. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and unlocked the screen. The article she’d read had a dinky little drawing of a map where all the strange activity was going on. Emma had compared it to the real map on Google and taken a screenshot of where she wanted to go. They should be close. 

Killian was still freaking out. At least he was smart enough not to move so much that it would tip the boat over. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Swan?”

“I told you I was gonna do something stupid and dangerous.”

“You know it’s probably just snakes, right? Them pythons people get as pets, then they get too big and people let ‘em loose in the swamp and they eat everything. My buddy Kaa had to do that once.”

“If it was just a bunch of snakes, the science people wouldn’t be so weirded out about it. It’s something they can’t explain.”

“For all you know it could be a giant fucking monster! Did you bring a gun or something? You know McLeach is good to hook us up.”

Emma shook her head. “This is just a fact-finding mission. I don’t need a gun, I’ve got this.” She held up a digital camera in a plastic zipper bag. “I told Hat Man the whole story and he let me use this to take pictures.”

Killian ran his hand over his face. “Of course he did. Hat Man is the only other person in all of Florida who’s as crazy as you!”

Emma threw up her hands. “There are lots of people who do dumber stuff than me or Hat Man ever tried!”

“Yeah, but none of them ever did something that’s gonna get me killed! I swear, Swan--”

“Would the two of you please shut up?” Some guy’s voice rang out over the water. “You’re bothering the monster!”

Emma cut the motor and stood up. The jon boat wobbled but steadied itself after a second. Pushing up her glasses, she scanned around the water. She couldn’t spot any other boats around all the sawgrass patches. 

“Who the hell are you?” she shouted. “And how the fuck do you know about the monster?”

The voice chuckled. “Lady, I know more about monsters than you know about your own parents.”

Emma clenched her jaw and muttered. “You don’t know shit about my parents, jackass.” 

Sitting on the bench seat closest to the front of the boat, Killian put his head in his hands. “Let’s get out of here, Swan. Whoever this asshole is, the gator-eater can go eat him.”

“The gator-eater can eat this guy, just so long as I get a picture.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. “Where are you? Can you see anything?”

“I’ve got so many eyes, I can see everything.” The voice wasn’t shouting anymore. It sounded close. Emma hadn’t heard a motor running. Was this guy in a canoe? This far out away from the shore?

Her head spun as she looked around, but she didn’t see anything besides sawgrass and dead tree limbs and a million birds and bugs. There was an extra glare on the water around here, some kinda gold light coming off the patches of land. 

“Where are you?” she asked again.

“Over here.”

A head popped out of the nearest patch of sawgrass. This patch had the most of the weird light, so much gold it barely looked green at all. Squinting, she tried to see who she was looking at.  

At first, Emma thought it was just a normal guy with a tan. Then she thought the guy had some killer tattoos, maybe jail tats. There were dark brown circles all over his face. Then, the circles blinked at her. Then the guy smiled--and his mouth was green. No, that was not a human mouth. He had fangs. He had pincers.

“Oh, Jesus,” Emma whispered. 

She couldn’t move. This was the thing she was looking for, but she couldn’t move. The camera was right by her feet. Her phone was in her back pocket. The boat tiller was less than a foot away from her hand. But she couldn’t move.

From up on his mound of sawgrass, the guy--the thing, the monster--was still smiling. He waved at her. 

Somehow, she could wave back.

Sitting down, Killian hadn’t seen what Emma was looking at. “Do you see him?” he asked as he stood up. “I wanna get a good look at our competit--holy shit!” 

Everything happened at once. Emma could only think of things in freeze-frame. She saw one second of Killian panicking. One second of him falling over backwards into the water. One second of him toppling the whole boat on his way down. One second of Hat Man’s camera in its ziploc bag flying into the air. 

One second of the water coming closer as she fell.

The water wasn’t deep--just deep enough that she didn’t hit her head on the ground. Her glasses almost flew up off her face, but she grabbed them just in time. Spitting and sputtering, Emma managed to get to her feet in the soft mud. This time of year was the dry season, so when she stood up, the water only came up to her chest. But that didn’t mean much for the phone in her pants pocket. By the time she thought to raise it up over her head, it was already soaked. 

“Shit,” she swore. “You owe me a new phone, monster-guy!”

At least Hat Man’s camera was in a waterproof bag. But from where she was, six inches above the water’s surface, there was no way she was going to find it.

“Shit!” Emma swore again. “And if I don’t get that fucking camera back, you are gonna be in huge trouble!”

Laughter rang out over the swamp. It wasn’t Killian. It had to be the guy. That monster jackass was laughing at her!

“This isn’t fucking funny!” she shouted.

The thing kept laughing. “Yes it is. I mean, come on, lady. You gotta admit this is classic comedy.”

She could not believe this. She’d gone out on the water to find a monster, found out it was a smart-ass jerk, and then lost any way to prove it to anybody! That wasn’t funny, it was…

Okay, it was pretty funny. But she still had every right to be mad about it!

“Killian, can you believe this sh--” Emma stopped when she realized she had no idea where Killian was. She couldn’t see him or the boat. He hadn’t said anything since he had seen the monster. There were a million sounds coming from a million animals, but none of them sounded like a grown man swimming. 

Or drowning.

“Shit!” The third time Emma said that word, it was with bone-deep dread. Her mouth went dry and for a second she panicked. God, Killian could not be dead. She would get in so much trouble!

“Hey, asshole!” she shouted as she began to wade towards the gold-covered island. “You with the eyes and the sense of humor!”

“Call me Neal!” the monster shouted back. He sounded like he was trying to be friendly. 

Emma’s mouth dropped open, but then she closed it before a bug could fly in. Where did a monster get off having a name like Neal? She shook her head. It didn’t matter. What mattered was Killian.

“Okay, Neal. Sure. Listen, Neal, I need your help. I know I talked a lot of shit to you, but this is serious. Can you see my friend?”

“You mean the wannabe bad boy? Yeah, he’s getting eaten by crocodiles.”

“WHAT?” Emma shrieked. 

“Nope. That was a joke. Bad taste, I guess. Actually, he looks fine. He was able to get the boat flipped over and he is motoring off to the horizon.” 

“WHAT?” Now Emma was in a full-on bellow. Over the sound of blood pounding in her ears, she could hear the faint whine of an Evinrude outboard motor. “That son of a bitch stole my boat!”

Now that she knew Killian wasn’t dead, she was fully prepared to kill him. She staggered to the island that was covered in a haze of gold--it looked like a bunch of fancy spider webs, but that was the least of her concerns. 

“Are you around here?” she yelled. “Neal?”

The same head and arms emerged from the grassy water. Up close, the face looked even weirder. There was a circle of brown eyes, all different sizes and all dark as buttons. She couldn’t tell if there was a nose or not. And the mouth was way too wide and way too fangy, especially when it looked like it was smiling. There were… things on either side of his smile, bright, shiny green things, a part of his mouth, she guessed.  

Weirdest of all, over the monster’s human-looking chest and arms, he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. It was green, with yellow flowers.    

“My father always told me to help a human in need. What can I do for you?” 

Right now, Emma was too angry to be confused. “Can you swim?”

Neal raised himself up a little higher out of the sawgrass and Emma saw what the rest of him looked like. 

It was one of those half-man, half-horse things she’d seen in movies. Centaurs, that’s what they were called. Only it wasn’t a horse that Neal was half of. Too many legs for that. He was light brown and gray, so he blended in with all the mud and sticks. His legs looked kinda stubby, and they all came out of one place in front of… Emma didn’t have any other word for it but spider-butt.

Sweet Jesus’ birthday. The gator-eater was a goddamned spider-man!

Neal didn’t talk for a second. Emma figured he was letting her get used to him. But that was gonna take a while and Killian the rat bastard was getting further away by the second. Emma put her hands on her hips and looked this thing in its two biggest eyes. 

“Did you hear what I said? Can you swim?”

“I’ve got so many legs, I can swim anywhere. You want me to catch up with your boat and teach that guy a lesson?”

“Hell no. I want you to take me to my boat so I can give that son of a bitch a black eye myself.”

Neal snorted--or maybe it was a snort. He sounded like he thought it was funny. “I can do that.” He smiled and lowered his spider-legs so his whole body was near the ground. “You wanna climb aboard?”

Emma wasn’t afraid to ride on the back of a spider-thing through the Everglades. She’d been riding jet-skis since she was ten. This couldn’t be that different. It’d probably be easier, since Neal would be able to do all the steering himself.  

He was already mostly in the water, so she just kind of fell on top of him, with her legs on either side of his… Was it a waist? The lower part of his human half. 

Short, prickly hairs grew all over the spider half. They came out when she moved her legs against them. Emma was glad she had decided to wear full pants today instead of shorts. 

“Okay.” She grabbed the Hawaiian shirt with both hands and tugged. “Giddy-up.”

 Neal tensed up and for a minute he didn’t say anything. Then he turned his head to talk to her. “What’s your name?”

“Emma,” she said. Oh crap, was he mad?

“Okay, Emma, listen up. I’m going to help you get your boat, because I am a helpful kind of individual. But if you ever treat me like an animal again, you will be swimming home. Understand?” 

“Oh.” Emma let go of his shirt. “Crap, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “No big deal. I’m sure you’re not used to people like me. Now, let’s go retrieve some stolen property!”

Neal had four legs on either side, but he only used the front three to swim. His back legs dragged through the water to balance him out like a dead man’s float. The other legs pushed past the water, all working together. It almost looked like a bird flapping its wings against the wind. Was that what a butterfly stroke looked like? Or was this just a spider stroke?

All that mattered was that Neal was fast. And he knew this area better than Killian did. They caught up to him when he was trying to push his way through an area too shallow for the jon boat.

“Hey!” Emma shouted. “Are you fucking running my boat aground?”

She was too far away to see the expression on Killian’s face. All Emma saw was him looking at the tiller, looking up at her shouting at him from the back of a swimming spider, then looking at the motor again, frantically pulling at the line to get it started.

“Stop doing that, you’re gonna flood it!” Emma shouted again. Killian stopped, and she leaned forward to talk to Neal. “You can take it easy if you want. He’s not going anywhere.”

Chuckling, Neal reduced his speed. The strokes through the water were slower now, but they felt more powerful.

Now that she knew she’d be getting her boat back, Emma breathed a sigh of relief. She leaned back on her hands against the spider-butt and rested in the sun.

Neal must have noticed. “You enjoying the ride?”

Emma nodded, but then realized that he couldn’t see her. “I figured I been on these glades every way you could be except over ‘em in a helicopter. Never thought I’d get to see ‘em on the back of a spider.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah.”

They were getting closer to Killian. His freaking out kept getting louder, probably because he could see Neal in better detail. Or maybe because he knew Emma was going to beat seven kinds of crap out of him for stealing her boat and running away without her.

“He is such a dingus,” she muttered. 

Neal chuckled again. “Listen,” he said. “If you ever wanna… find me again, I’ll try not to scare you next time.”

“Now that I know you, I don’t think you could scare me,” Emma said proudly. “But I might not be able to get out here again for a while. I’ll have to do a little hustle to get another phone. Plus, I gotta tell Hat Man I lost his camera. He might want me to pay for that too, so my weekends are probably gonna be booked.”

“Oh.” Was she crazy or did he sound disappointed? 

They were within spitting distance of Killian now. It was a weird thing, but Emma almost didn’t want to stop swimming with Neal.

“Here’s your boyfriend,” he said as he swam up to the boat.

Killian’s terror had gotten to the stage where he was huddled in the furthest corner of the boat, white faced and wide eyed. Over and over he whispered, “What the fuck?” 

Crawling off Neal’s back, Emma scrambled into her boat. Yep, Killian the pirate had run a ten-foot fishing boat into the only section of the Everglades that jutted up over the water. It was a miracle there wasn’t any damage  to the hull that would make them take on water. 

Neal was already swimming away, but Emma called out. “Don’t leave yet!”

He spun around. Was she crazy or had his eyes lit up?

“Can you do me another favor? Can you pull us away from this sandbar?”

Nodding, Neal grabbed the boat with his human hands. His hands and arms were the same weird color as his spider parts, kind of a muddy brown. The Hawaiian shirt covered his shoulders, but his chest was bare. Emma could see the muscles in his forearms. He looked… strong.

He swam out to a slough with the boat in tow. Killian looked like he was going to throw up. 

“Thanks,” Emma said when Neal let go. She wanted to say more, but she didn’t know what.

“No problem,” he answered. 

Treading water, all of Neal’s legs pumped like he was riding eight different unicycles. He bobbed up and down like a jellyfish. Emma got the feeling that he wanted to say more too.

“Jesus Christ,” Killian moaned. “Swan, can we please go home?”   

“Now you be nice to Emma, okay dingus?” Neal swam around to that side of the boat. With his human hand, he reached up and ruffled Killian’s hair. “I bet if she wasn’t such a nice person, she’d push you out of the boat and leave you here with me.”

“Jesus Christ!” Killian squealed. He crawled backwards away from Neal like a panicked rat.

Emma tried not to laugh at her friend. She needed to get him home before he started crying. She started the engine and began to motor away.

“Thanks again, Neal,” she waved. “I’ll see you around!”

He waved back. “I hope so.”  

****

Even when they got back to shore, Killian was still spooked. Emma had to talk him through every step of docking, even though they’d both done it a million times. At least they were able to sneak the Evinrude back into Penny's garage without getting caught. That was about the only thing that had gone right all day. 

 When they got back to the houseboat he lived in with his brother Liam, she plopped him down at his kitchen table. She put a cold beer in his hands and started to fry up some hot dogs for lunch. 

He just stared at the bottle. “What was that, Swan?” he asked. “What the fuck was that thing?”

Standing in front of the two-burner stove, Emma shrugged. “He says his name is Neal.”

“‘He’?” Killian repeated. His head fell into his hands. “‘He says.’ He talks? Swan, this is insane!”

“Sure is.” Secretly, Emma was glad Killian was freaking out. It meant she didn’t have to. She could be the reasonable one in the face of all this fucked up shit.

They ate lunch in silence. Emma hated the taste of beer, but there was a hard lemonade in the fridge and she helped herself. Once they were done eating, Emma threw away the bottles and the paper plates. Killian and Liam never asked her to clean up for them, but she knew that if she didn’t, the garbage would stay on the table for the better part of a month. 

“I gotta go see Hat Man,” she announced. “Better tell him now what happened to his camera.”

“I’m coming with you,” Killian said with more life than he had put into anything for the past hour. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Emma nodded, and they started walking. 

****

Geoffrey “Hat Man” Jefferson was the closest thing to an adult that either Emma or Killian trusted. He told them once that his family used to be rich, that a hundred years ago finding feathers for hats in the Everglades was a big business. His great-grandparents bought a lot of land and built a big fancy house on the water. Hat Man still owned the land, and he still wore fancy hats. But the big house had gotten flooded so many times no one could live there anymore. Now he lived in a trailer and spent most of his time getting high on magic mushrooms.

He was a pretty chill guy. Emma didn’t think he would get mad about the camera, but that just made her feel worse about losing it. Hat Man had done her a favor and she had fucked it up. 

Story of her life. 

When they got to the trailer, Emma and Killian found Hat Man and the usual group in the front yard by the road. It looked like they had taken the dining room table from the big house and set it up outside. All their friends were sitting in the dining room chairs, drinking from China teacups and saucers. Margot and Tilly were holding hands and singing to themselves. McLeach was drinking tea with his pinky up and his rifle slung over the back of his chair. 

The table was set with all kinds of pretty platters and bowls--though the menu seemed to be made up of whatever could be snuck out of a gas station convenience store. A red-headed kid named Oliver held out a crystal serving dish of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos to Dodger, who was using a pair of silver tongs to place them, one by one, on his plate. The lace tablecloth fluttered in the breeze and got tangled in the tall grass.

If these were Emma and Killian’s friends, maybe they weren’t actually good judges of what was or was not crazy.

Hat Man noticed them, and raised his teacup in greeting. “Salutations!” he called. “Far-flung comrades, come back to join us in the fold!”

Everyone at the table looked at them. Without anyone saying anything, they all moved around and adjusted their chairs so Emma and Killian could both have seats. Killian found refuge between McLeach and a girl named Vixie--though Vixie seemed a lot more interested in Todd. Todd was a new guy to the group, and had never lived away from his momma before getting dumped here. 

Emma sat down next to Hat Man, who handed her a three-level cookie tray loaded with Ding Dongs. 

“How mellifluous to see you on this fair day, Mademoiselle Swan! To what honor do I owe the occasion?”

Today Hat Man was wearing black tuxedo pants and a silk purple vest with no shirt underneath. The brim of his battered top hat shadowed his eyes, so Emma couldn’t see exactly how blasted out he was. It appeared to be a lot. 

 “Actually…” Nervously, Emma fiddled with her glasses until Hat Man, very gently, pulled them off her face and placed them into a glass pitcher of blue slurpee. 

“You see better when you don’t have stuff in front of your eyes,” he explained. 

“That’s true,” Tilly nodded from across the table. Unlike everyone else at the table, Tilly had drugs that she should be taking, but wasn’t.  

Emma actually saw much worse without her glasses, but that wasn’t anything worth caring about now. Even without them on, she still kept touching her face. 

“Hat Man, do you remember the digital camera you let me borrow?”

“I recall it with the utmost vividity!” he said. His mouth was full of a burrito that appeared to still be frozen.

“Well, I’m super sorry but, it’s gone.”

 He patted at his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Desiccation and decay is the way of all flesh, Emmy-wemmy. And all the goods we horde will crumble into dust or be swallowed by the somnambulatory sea.” He took off his hat and solemnly placed it over his heart. “Adieu, O photographic device of mine! May your memory be a blessing unto the next generation.” 

The only other person paying attention was Tilly. She had tears in her eyes as she nodded along with what Hat Man was saying. 

“So you’re not mad?” Emma said.

“Very mad, but not at all angry.” Jefferson took a burnt Pizza Roll off a silver platter, threw it into the air and caught it in his mouth. “What happened to it, anyway?”

“I…” she didn’t know how to start. “I wanna say you’re not gonna believe this, but I think you’re the only person who will.”

In hushed tones, she told him the whole story. The news article, the missing alligators, the island of gold thread--Neal. Hat Man listened politely, nodded and asked questions, but in the end he shook his head and said that the whole thing was poppycock.

“What?” Emma said. “But I saw the whole thing! And Killian was there, you can ask him!”

“Don’t be farcical,” Hat Man took a sip of… well, it was in a teacup, but it probably wasn’t tea. “How on earth could such a creature get here from Australia?”

Emma frowned. “I didn’t say anything about Australia.”

“Indubitably,” he said. Emma had no idea what he meant by that. “But Australia is the only place where I’ve ever witnessed such a creature before.” 

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hi! Before anything else, I just wanted to say that I absolutely adore your writing! So the scenario I had in mind: Arthur gets severely injured on a job and reader gets really protective (She also gets extremely angry angry at whatever happened/whoever caused it. Tbh it was probably Micah). She then cares for Arthur day by day until he’s better. He says he doesn’t want to be fussed over but in reality he secretly likes it.

Thanks for sending this, Anon, and thank you for the compliment! 🥰 Fluffy Arthur is my favorite Arthur (I would fucking die for this man!) 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You don’t like the look on Micah’s face. Not one bit. Then again, you’ve never trusted the slimy man leading you and Arthur down the muddy road of Valentine. He’s so damn arrogant and he always acts like his plans are going to go as smooth as butter, but then they almost always end in gunfire. There’s just something about him you don’t like. 

Arthur’s by your side too, but if he’s as nervous as you are, he doesn’t show it. He and Micah trade some snappy remarks. They’ve never really liked each other, that much is obvious. Arthur holds your hand lazily, something he always likes to do when you’re both out and about. You squeeze his hand, wanting to let him know something doesn’t feel right. He squeezes back. 

“Just relax, cowpoke,” Micah simpers, walking slightly ahead of the two of you. “This doctor's dim. I went and talked to him earlier, scoped the place out. This job’s on the level. You and your girl just go in there, rob whatever he’s got hidden in that back room, and get out. Easy as pie.” 

“If it’s so easy, why didn’t you rob him when you was scopin’ the place?” Arthur retorts. 

“Because I was playin’ injured, cowpoke. Besides, he’s likely to go snippin’ to the sheriff, what with him being next door. I ain’t so dumb as to rob the sheriff’s neighbor without someone to back me up.” 

Arthur sighs. “Why do I get the feelin’ this is gonna end in us shootin’ our way out of this damn town?” 

“Because that’s how Micah rolls,” you say, making sure he can hear you. “I ain’t ever known anyone so keen to trade bullets.” 

“It ain’t gonna be like that! You both act like I go around, asking people to duel,” Micah growls. You roll your eyes. With Micah’s record, he might as well be doing that. 

Micah leads you over to the doctor’s office. Then, leaning on a pillar holding up the building, he looks around, feigning innocence. “A’right, Y/N, you go and hold that doctor down. Arthur, go get the backroom. Should be easy. I’ll keep watch here, make sure no one suspects anything.” 

“Why don’t you go rob the backroom and I’ll keep a watch on the street?” Arthur says. 

“Because it’s my job, Morgan, I get to call the shots. Now do this quickly before someone sees us three lookin’ too chummy out here.” 

Arthur mutters something but goes inside. You go in a second later and immediately pull out your pistol, aiming it at the doctor. “What you got in that backroom?” you growl. 

The doctor, his face pale, licks his lips and raises his hands. “N-nothin’, I swear. Just a…. A friendly card game for folks willin’ to pay higher stakes.” 

“Well why don’t we drop in on these high-payin’ folks?” Arthur says. He gestures with his revolver for the doctor to lead the way to the backroom. The doctor knocks on the metal door and a slot opens, revealing a pair of eyes. You and Arthur hide as to avoid being seen. 

“J-just me,” the doctor says. “I brought some food and whiskey for you boys.” 

“Eh, it’s only the doc.” 

The door opens and you grab the doctor by his collar and shove him down into his exam chair, pointing your gun at him so he can’t run off to tattle. Arthur heads into the room and there’s immediate yells and a gun goes off. You hear something heavy fall, but you’re sure it’s nothing. Arthur’s more than capable of taking care of himself. That is until you hear someone inside laugh and say, “We got ‘im, boys! Arthur Morgan himself!” 

Quickly, you smash your gun into the doctor’s head, knocking him out, then you dash into the room. There, you’re met by four O’Driscolls and a saloon girl. Arthur’s on the ground, sitting against a wall, a dark circle on his lower left side blooming wider. He’s groaning in pain, the gun knocked from his hand lying beyond his reach. 

Before the O’Driscolls can point their guns from Arthur to you, you pull your trigger, taking them down with such speed it surprises even you. The saloon girl screams and backs into a corner. 

“Don’t shoot!” she pleads. 

“Arthur!” you whimper, ignoring her and going over to him. As you lean down to inspect him, he suddenly grabs your pistol and aims it at the saloon girl, who had managed to get a hold of one of the corpse’s guns. He shoots her and she falls. 

“Oh, Goddamn it, Arthur!” you say. You unbutton his shirt and see a bullet wound below his ribs. 

“It-it’s nothin’, darlin’.” 

“Don’t look like nothin’. Come on.” With enormous effort, you help Arthur up to his feet. Then you haul him to the doctor’s exam chair, push the doctor’s unconscious body out of it, and plop Arthur into it. 

“Okay, honey, stay with me. We gotta get this bullet out.” 

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Just… let’s get out of here. That sheriff’s an idiot, but even he must’ve heard them gunshots.” 

“I’ll be quick, Arthur. Just hold still.” 

You run around the room, gathering instruments and bandages. You find a set of long, thin tongs, the perfect shape to do the job. Removing a bullet is a nasty business. You had it done once when you’d been shot in the leg years ago. It was one of the most painful things you’ve ever endured. 

After gathering your things, you scour the doctor’s shelf up front. Micah peaks in.

“What the hell is taking so long? I talked the sheriff down since you couldn’t manage to keep things quiet.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Micah. Arthur’s been shot. Just keep an eye out, make sure no one gets nosy.” 

He rolls his eyes and leaves the room again. After hunting through the shelves, you come along a bottle of something labeled as aspirin. You’ve heard of this stuff, it was recently discovered to be a pain killer. You grab it and a bottle of unopened whiskey and go back to the room. 

You shove several pills down Arthur’s throat and then pour some alcohol onto his wound. He yells out in pain, but then you instruct him to drink it. 

“Arthur, this is gonna hurt like nothing else. But we gotta get this thing out,” you say sympathetically, holding the tongs. 

He’s sweating profusely, but he nods and grips the arms of his chair. You work the cogs of the chair so it leans back, giving you a better angle. Then you go to work. It’s excruciating pain for him and you apologize as tears leak from his eyes. You pour more whiskey on the wound as you work, but you have to dig a bit to find the bullet. Finally, you grab it and pull it out. He gasps as you hold it up. 

You quickly bandage him up, though you’re not satisfied with the job. Now there’s the problem of hiding his bloodied shirt so you can get him out of here. You help him to his feet and lead him to the front room and then quickly dash out to the horses, ignoring the blood on your hands. After retrieving his tan coat, you help him slide it on and then out to the horses. Micah’s waiting next to them, clearly impatient. 

“So much for me bein’ the one who starts the gunfire,” Micah growls. 

“Shut the fuck up before I put a bullet in your head,” you snarl. It takes all your strength to help Arthur up into his saddle, but he’s a trooper. He does his best to act normal as you all walk out of town, but it’s clear he’s in a lot of pain. 

As soon as he’s in Horseshoe Overlook, you walk him over to his cot and he plops down into it. He pants heavily and you put your hand on his chest, sitting down by his side. 

“Easy, honey. You can rest now.” 

He grabs your hand, comforted by your presence. Slowly, you undress him, flinging his ruined shirt to the side. After closing the flaps of the tent so the others won’t see him lying half naked in his bed, you rejoin his side. 

****************************************

Over the next couple of weeks, you care for Arthur, hardly letting him leave his cot. He keeps pleading with you to stop fussing over him, that he’s an adult who can care for himself, but he loves it. He loves how protective you’ve gotten over him. Hell, Micah isn’t even allowed on this side of camp anymore. He’d probably have better chances of fighting off a cougar than you. Even Sean knows not to come over and rib Arthur for being laid up, even though he means it all in good fun. 

Every day, you’ve gone out to collect fresh herbs from the surrounding area that will help with his pain. Not only that, but you usually bring back a rabbit or a turkey, some kind of small animal. Instead of giving them to Pearson though, you cook them over the scout fire and give Arthur as much as he can eat. He complains that he’s going to gain more weight than he’d like, but he secretly likes that you’re doing it. 

Every night, he pulls you into his arms, stating you can’t go around being strong for the both of you all day. You love cuddling with him like this, hearing his heartbeat beneath your head, his warm skin against yours, his fingers tracing your scalp or back. 

Of course, sometimes these evening cuddles lead to further activities, but you never let him be the dominant one. Usually he’s the top, but when he’s laid up like this, you won’t let him. Instead of being disappointed, he finds it incredibly sexy how you take control of things. He definitely intends to let things go this way after this. 

Hosea comes up to him one day while you’re out collecting herbs. He’s one of the few people who can safely walk this close to your tent without fear of getting their ass kicked. He takes a seat next to Arthur, who’s writing in his journal. 

“That girl eased up on you yet?” Hosea asks. 

Arthur smiles softly. “No. Honestly I don’t think she intends to until this is barely even a scar anymore.” He gestures down to his bandages. 

Hosea lets out a soft chuckle. “She’s tough, that girl. I’ve never seen Dutch so afraid of talking to someone before. Pretty sure she’s the only thing preventing him from coming over to you and begging you to get out there and ‘make us some money’.” 

Arthur laughs. “Dutch is scared of her, huh?” 

“You would be too if you saw how she looks at pretty much all of us. I’m surprised Micah’s still sticking around, honestly. She, uh, clocked him in the jaw the other night when he made it sound like you messed up in that doctor’s office.” 

“I did mess up, Hosea. I wasn’t prepared enough. I just thought it’d be some ranchers who got more money in their pockets than most folk in that town. I didn’t expect those damn O’Driscolls.” 

“It ain’t your fault, son. But you’ll be fine. Hell, you ain’t allowed to be anything else with that girl looking after you.” 

Arthur chuckles again. “So she really gave Micah a good one, huh?” 

“Oh yes. He’s got this big ol’ bruise on his face now. Like I said, I’m surprised he’s still in camp when she’s here.” 

“Hosea, I uh, I been thinkin’. I wanna marry her.” 

Hosea sits up straighter. “You sure? I know how your last engagement went, Arthur.” 

“That was completely different, Hosea. I was young and dumber then. This ain’t the same. Y/N ain’t Mary. She’s…. She’s far better, and she makes me feel like I ain’t just a killer and a bad man. I… I don’t know how to describe what I feel about her, Hosea. All I know is if I don’t ask her, it’ll be the biggest regret of my life.” 

Hosea smiles and puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Well, I’m happy for you, son. Being married was the best thing I ever did, and Y/N’s a special woman. You’d be a fool for not asking her.” 

Just then, Hosea looks up to see you coming over, your hands full of herbs. He waves to you, in which you return it. He gives Arthur a curt nod and heads off. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Arthur says, closing his journal. You return the greeting and sit down by his feet, getting your things together to start grinding the herbs up. 

“Hold on, sweetheart. Before ya get busy, come here.” 

“Why?” you say, looking up at him. 

“Just come here. Please?” he says, holding his arms out to you. 

With a soft smile, you get up and crawl into his arms, letting him fold them around you and hold you close. He kisses your head softly, never wanting to let you go. He wants to ask you right now to be his wife, but the timing feels wrong. He wants it to be special, wants you to know how much he adores you. 

“Thank you, darlin’, for everythin’ you done.”

“Of course, Arthur. I’d do it all over again if I needed to.” You place a soft kiss over his heart that makes him almost swoon. He knows now that he will never stop loving you. 

Just as he’s about to say something, Strauss comes over and interrupts. “Herr Morgan, I have another job for you.” 

“What is it, Strauss?” he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I lent money to a fellow named Downes. Thomas Downes. I need you to reclaim the debt. Beat him, if you must.” 

As quick as lightning, you leap up and glare at Strauss. Arthur’s told you how much he loathes this sharking business. You’re tired of it too. It’s a foul business and one you want him having no part of. 

“If this money’s so important to you, Strauss, why don’t you go get it yourself?” you snarl. 

He looks at you haughtily. “Because, Y/N, people are happy to take money from a man like me, but less willing to give it back.” 

“Well then maybe you need to grow a damn spine for once and do your own damn dirty work. Either that or find another way of making money for the gang. One with less… filth.” 

“I am the one feeding you and the other women in camp-” he begins but you shove him so hard he takes several steps back.

“Bullshit! How many days have Arthur spent out there slaving away to bring down animals and sling ‘em back to camp? You ain’t feedin’ no one but yourself! How many folks have we all robbed and stolen from, while you just go out peddling a few bucks here and there. You’re a sad, lyin’, miserable sack of shit who has no place here! No get out of my sight before I put a bullet in your skull!” 

Strauss, his eyes wide and his lizardish lips parted, starts heading away from you quickly, his tail between his legs. As he scurries off, you scream at him one last time.

“And if you ever tell my man to get your damn money back, I’ll throttle ya, is that clear?” 

He doesn't respond but you know he heard you. After letting out a long sigh, you turn back to Arthur, who’s looking at you surprised. 

“What?” you say.

He swallows. “Damn, darlin’, that was-” 

“Long overdue?” you say. 

“No, well yes, but I was gonna say that was one of the sexiest things I ever seen.” 

You blush and smile at him. 

“You got anymore of that energy left in ya?” he says, his eyes sliding down your body. 

“Why?” 

“‘Cause I was thinkin’ you better close these flaps and show me what else you got.” 

With a giggle, you do as he says. Then you take him so hard Arthur will never forget this afternoon. In fact, he will hold onto it for many years and on the days when he needs you physically but you aren’t around, he’ll use it to help relieve the pressure while being alone. 

As the two of you go at it, he wishes again to ask you to marry him, but you’ve got him groaning and panting so hard he can barely work out two words. One thing is clear to him though: not marrying you will be the dumbest thing he could possibly do.

[nebulawritings]

Birthday Massage

This is pure, unabashed, indulgent smut, people. Re-write of The Nanny Affair Chapter Four. There is dialect and writing taken directly from the Choices app, which they own the content and characters of. MC is Anna. Enjoy! Written in the Second Person (like the app). First time I’ve written in that style.

Choices Stories You Play: The Nanny Affair

Pairing: F!MC (Anna) x M!Sam

Reading Time: ~ 5 minutes

Warning: Mature content. Buckets of it. If you’re not old enough, behave and don’t read.

__________________________________________________________

“Goodnight, everyone”. Fuming, not looking back, you return to your room and sit heavily on your bed, still unsure of what happened. You’re holding the massage bar you bought for Sam, having not put it down after trying to tidy a little, just before Sofia arrived. Huffing, you pull out your phone to text the one friend you know who’ll understand.

OMG Sofia is here –  Anna 

WAT!!! – Jenny

She dropped in unannounced during Sam’s bday dinner. She’s freaking terrible! You should’ve seen the way she was treating everyone. She LITERALLY called me the help – Anna

Gross. Wat did Sam say – Jenny

Nothing. – Anna

EXCUUUUUUUUSE ME?! – Jenny

He tried. But Sofia kept talking over him. Honestly, I think Sam was too shocked to do more – Anna

I hope so. Cuz otherwise. WTF – Jenny

I don’t know, Jen, there’s no way I can compete with that. She bought the boys Armani watches. ARMANI, JENNY, ARMANI– Anna

Listen, babe, u gotta sho him wat he’s missing out on. Remember the bar boy in Miami? – Jenny

OMG when are you going to stop using Miami guy against me?! – Anna

All I’m sayin is dat you worked harder for that, and he wasn’t a hot stuff multi-gajillionaire! Did Miami guy leave the gala with Lucy Street? Nuh uh, gurl, he left wit you – Jenny

You‘re halfway through responding when a knock on your door pries you away from the phone screen. If it’s Sofia with dry cleaning or something I swear I’m not accountable for my actions you think to yourself, before opening the door to find that Sam is standing in your doorway, shirt unbuttoned and chest bare, looking tired and dishevelled and yet, somehow, still incredibly sexy.

“Anna…”

“Sam, hey…Is everything okay?”. You’re surprised to see him at your door, and you try to push the thoughts of why he’s turned up, looking like that, to see you from your mind.

“Can we talk? Sofia is gone, and the boys are down for the night”.

At the mention of her name you feel anger bubbling up, and your expression hardens. “I was about to go to bed, actually”.

“It won’t take long. I need to apologize for what happened”.

Sam touches his neck tenderly and releases a heavy sigh. Your hands itch to help him relieve some of that tension, to stroke him, to touch him…His gaze meets yours, pleading with you.

“Please. I don’t like how we left things back there”.

Your resolve wavers, and your mind flicks back to the conversation you had with Jenny. To the small, delicate package folded neatly in your bathroom, an impulse buy when you’d been out with the boys earlier that you’d hoped would be an extra surprise for Sam, should the night have gone that way. It hadn’t, not with the entrance of Sofia, but she was gone now. After a lingering look, you step back and give Sam space to enter the room. You close the door behind him and turn, gasping softly when you find him surprisingly close.

“I’m so sorry, Anna. I never should’ve let Sofia talk to you that way. I should’ve been more insistent that she stop immediately, instead of trying to wait for an opening ”.

Sam reaches out and places his hands over your shoulders. You tense, wanting him to touch you and leave you alone all at once. “Sam…Why didn’t you stop her right away?”. You feel a little betrayed, although the goosepimples rising where his warm hands rest on your skin do nothing to hide your other feelings about him.

“I didn’t want to cause a scene in front of the boys…But that’s no excuse. Especially since Sofia ended up doing that anyway” he replied, remorseful.

“She made me feel like I wasn’t even there, Sam”.

“I told her that was completely unacceptable as soon as I finished putting the boys to bed”.

Despite everything, a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. Of course she didn’t put them to bed, wouldn’t want to break a nail. You try not to be too smug, although the thought of her wrestling them into bed makes it hard not to smile more. “Oh?” you say, trying to sound nonchalant, “Aunt Sofia didn’t want to do it?”.

Sam hesitates. “She…struggles with them. I decided to save us all an hour or two and take over”.

You meet Sam’s gaze, and feel yourself start to thaw a bit. His hands slip away from your shoulders, causing you to shiver as they go.  

“Sam…I forgive you”. You smile softly. “You make it hard to stay mad at you”.

“Good”.

Your expressions sours. “It’s not the same as an apology from her, though. Also, why isn’t Sofia here, talking to me herself? Is she too good to apologize to ‘the help’”. You make speech marks in the air, and Sam winces a little, clearly uncomfortable at you referring to yourself like that.

“I told her to go home. I just…”. He sighs. “I just wanted to enjoy what was left of my birthday. Everything had been so perfect…until she got here”.

You notice how he looks tense, as he rubs his shoulders with a pained expression. “I just got these knots out, and they’re already back”.

Your mind flicks to the massage bar, to the package wrapped up in your bathroom, and you make an instant decision. In the short time you’ve known him, you’ve seen Sam as a thoughtful, kind person who wants to make the world a better place; and someone like Sofia was not going to be anywhere near good enough for him. Or the boys. Aside from that, he was gorgeous; and Jenny was right. You knew how to play the game, and play it you would. “Maybe I can do something about that for you”. You move behind Sam and slip your palms over his shoulders, digging your thumbs into the tense muscles. He groans loudly, and you relish in the sound.

“Ohmygod…That feels…But you’ve already done more than enough, Anna”.

You smile, kneading harder. “Not as far as these knots are concerned”. Sam moans again and you shiver at the noise, resolve hardening with every passing moment. Your lips find his ear, speaking just above a whisper. “Tell me where it hurts”.

“A little higher. Almost – Ohhhh…”.

You dig your thumbs harder into his back, and you feel him melt into your touch. “You should get on the bed” you whisper into his ear boldly. You see Sam swallow, and he looks at you for a long moment before obeying. Your mind wanders, and you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. You watch Sam stretch out on the bed, facing away from you, and you smile. “I’ll be five minutes” you promise, “could you take your pants off?”. You slip into your ensuite before he could ask questions.

A little more than five minutes later and you emerge, Sam still facing away from you.

“You know” he muses, hearing the ensuite door open, “I think you’re one of the only people who’ve kept me waiting and I’m not…”. His voice trails off as he turns to look at you, and he swallows hard. “Anna…”.

You blush at the way he stares at you, but you stand firm. Slowly you move over to the bed, the white silk dressing gown you’re wearing not doing anything to hide the lacy, red bra and matching thong you’d changed into, nothing else covering you. You’d chosen the deep red to compliment your skin, and you looked killer, if you did say so yourself. Then again, by the look on Sam’s face, you didn’t need to tell yourself that he liked what he saw. “Would you like a massage, Mr Dalton?” you purred, licking your lower lip as you approached the edge of the bed, slipping the silken gown off painfully slowly.

“I…You-“

“Shhh” you whisper, smiling softly. You reach over to the massage bar and straddle his back, a warm wave of pleasure rippling through you as your bare skin touches his, pleasantly surprised that he’d obeyed, and was now only wearing his boxers (the shirt also discarded on the floor). You rub the bar over your hands, making them slick with the sweet-smelling oil, before you splay them on his shoulders. Sam groans immediately, and you bite your lip, mapping every contour of his toned back and shoulders; admiring the tanned skin on show.

“You feel…That feels…” he mutters, shifting and squirming under your touch as you move your hands lower, daring to slip beneath the material of his boxers, toying with his hips and butt. Sam inhales sharply, and you note his toes and fingers curling. “Ohhh…Christ, Anna…What are you doing to me”.

You shiver, the way his voice aches your name making a pool of excitement rise up within you. “Good things, I hope” you replied, bending down. Your breasts press against his back as you whisper in his ear. “Sam, I…” you couldn’t say anything else, as his lips caught your own in a passionate kiss. All thoughts of what you were going to say drifted away and you allow yourself to be pulled down, the room spinning as he flips you over; now looking down at you with hungry eyes. The way you watch them rake over your body makes you giddy, and you shift beneath him. “No fair” you mutter, placing your hands flat against his chest. “I wasn’t done”. You push back and Sam lets you, laughing a little as you settle on-top of him again, facing him this time.

“You look incredible” he muttered, daring to slide his hands over your body. “Is this part of my birthday gift?”. His voice is husky with want, his hands toying with your bra.

“It is” you reply, sliding down his front. “Now, let me show you how else I can work my hands”.

Sam inhales sharply and swears under his breath as you rub the front of his boxers, delighted at his obvious excitement. Slowly you pull them down, your face now next to his hips, and you gasp softly, feeling that desire building up in your core again as you looked upon him. “Why, Mr Dalton” you muttered, gently taking him in your hand, “you kept this quiet, didn’t you?”. You watch gleefully as he opened his mouth to respond, only for his reply to melt into a guttural groan, your hand now pumping his cock, thumb swiping over the head where a bead of pre-cum had appeared.

“Don’t stop” he pleads, “that feels so good…Don’t stop…”.

His voice and his words spur you on, your own anticipation building and building. You bend your head and lick the tip of his cock, a sudden gasp from Sam all the permission you need to take him into your mouth. You bob up and down, moaning around his girth, your mouth full and dripping with saliva and precum, dribbling down your chin. Unable to take it anymore, you slip a free hand underneath the lacy material of your thong, and you run gentle circles over your clit; moaning harder.

“Anna, I-I can’t-!” Sam groans, his hips bucking into your mouth. You moan louder, preparing for his release, when you suddenly find yourself being flipped over. You gasp as his fingers find your soaking core, and he starts to rub, desperately, making you squirm and cry out. “Sam!” you beg, melting under his ministrations. Your cries were smothered by a desperate, passionate kiss and you eagerly returned it, your tongue swiping over his as he positioned himself over you, all the while moving his fingers in just the right way to make you putty in his hands.

His eyes, dark and foggy with lust, found yours and you nod in answer to the silent question. You wrap your arms around his back, clinging onto him desperately as he slips inside you, groaning loudly as he pushes in, slowly, savouring it.

“Ohhhh God….Sam, please” you beg now, bucking your hips in time with his as he thrusts in and out of you, again and again, hitting that sweet spot oh so deep inside. You’ve never felt anything like it, stars already blinding your vision but still riding the high; building over and over. “Please…!”.

“I’m not…I don’t” he says, voice strained, shaking his head.

“It’s okay!” you promise desperately, tugging him close and being forever grateful that Jenny had talked you into getting an IUD. “You can trust me, I swear just – Don’t stop. It’s okay, please. I need you to..! Please, Sam!”.

His resolve wavers and his lips meet yours again in a crashing embrace. “Anna-!” he cries out, finally, pressing himself into you fully as he comes undone, thrusting and groaning as he finishes deep inside of you.

Your own orgasm follows soon after, and you shiver uncontrollably, writhing beneath him as your nails dig into his back, shaking as you desperately cling to eachother, each one of you moving and grinding in sheer bliss

You slowly come down from your high, although you stayed connected for a while, laying together and enjoying the comforting silence and comedown.

“I’m glad these walls are insulated for noise control” Sam mutters, absently mindedly playing with a strand of your hair. “I wouldn’t want you to stay quiet if that’s what’s in store…Your voice is so damn sexy”.

You laugh and slap his chest, before running your hands over the skin. “I take it this means your not mad or…Gunna chuck me out?”.

Sam sits back, stared deeply into your eyes. “I would never” he whispers gently, stroking your cheek. “But what this means I…I don’t know”.

You nod, understanding, and rest your head against him. “Can we just enjoy this?” you ask softly, as you feel his grip tighten around you.

“I would like nothing more” he replied.

You feel a gentle kiss on your head and you sigh, content, slowly drifting off to sleep in his arms.

[commander-rahrah]

RESIDENCY: SECOND CHANCES (AN OPEN HEART FIC): PART TWO

Pairing: MC (Jordynne Holland) X Ethan Ramsey X Bryce Lahela; MC X Bryce; MC X Ethan. Please note that both pairings are present in this fan fiction — off & on, at the same times, and the relationships do ebb & flow. Please keep this in mind. Thank you.

Masterlist: Click Here

Chapter Rating: T (drinking, swearing)

Word Count: 5000+ (its a big one) 

Description: Bryce and Jordynne have time together to explore what everything happening between them means, since Ethan is away in the Amazon finding his own answers.

Disclaimer: Characters, storyline, and parts of the dialogue are taken from Pixelberry’s Choices. They fully own the characters, dialogue, backgrounds, etc. MC Jordynne’s background is my own creation, based loosely off of MC in-game’s personality and provided with more details.

Author’s Note: Well this took much longer than expected! With everything happening in the world, I found it harder and harder to take that personal time for myself to get away and write. But I eventually carved out time for it, and it felt nice to get back into the perspectives of Jordynne, Bryce and Ethan. This fic has a lot of little moments and memories from Book 1 (and fic 1) that can turn into big moments for these characters in the future <3

As always any likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated. If you would like to be added/removed from the tag list please just let me know! I have always had issues with the tag list as well (people not receiving notifications) so if you do receive a notification if you could let me know that would be great! Or if you have any tips for why it wouldn’t be working? 

Taglist: @drakewalkerfantasy @owleyes374 @lahelable @mayar-mahdy @paisleylovergirl​ @nicquix @emilymay100 @octobereighth @llamasgrl @timmagicktoad @lilyofchoices @msjpuddleduck @mfackenthal @paulfwesley @ccolz88-blog @mindlessdreaminxo @jooous @lapisreviewsstuff @choicesarehard @themingdynasty @omgjasminesimone @hopelessly-shipper  @binny1985  @perriewinklenerdie  @jens-diamondchoices  @indiacater  @chasingrobbie  @writingsbymissy  @dimitriwife  @tacohead13  @amy-choices  @violinet​ 

Previous Updates: Residency — Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen Part Fifteen Part Sixteen Part Seventeen Part Eighteen Part Nineteen Part Twenty

Residency: Second Chances -- Part One

Chapter 2

The golden liquor coated her pink lips, turning them shiny. They pursed together, licking the excess off as she lowered the shot glass to the table with a loud bang.

The sound snapped Bryce back to reality — and he swallowed hard as she watched Jordynne throw her head back and laugh.

She was in full force tonight. Her big laugh echoing in the bar. Her perfect, wide smile drawing everyone in. Her wild, blonde hair being thrown over her shoulder.

Sometimes he wondered if she was really from this world.

“Let’s get more!” Her voice was much higher than usual — a good note that she was getting more and more intoxicated.

“C’mon Jordy, let’s pace ourselves.” He suggested, grabbing onto her wrist gently.

“Pace ourselves?! Do I look like a beginner to you? Come on!” She put out her bottom lip at him, looking up at him with giant puppy dog eyes.

It was like a punch to the gut — she could get whatever she wanted with that look. Dammit.

Before he could reply, Jackie came to the table with a tray of more shots and Jordynne greedily grabbed two of them.

“Whoa, Holland’s on a roll tonight,” Jackie said as she slid into the booth, passing out the remaining glasses.

“She’s on something.. that’s for sure,” Sienna said to them, a hand in front of her mouth.

At the sound of the next song coming on, she jumped onto her leather seat in the booth. “This song! This song!!”

He couldn’t even hear it over the crowd. But he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at her excitement.

She crawled over Sienna and jumped out of the booth, landing with surprising dexterity for the amount of liquor she had consumed. “Come on dance with me.” She stretched her tan fingers over to him, “Please.”

“Okay,” He agreed — maybe a little too easily.

He grabbed onto her warm fingers, letting her pull him to the dance floor with surprising strength.  

He watched her jump up and down for a moment — her blonde hair flicking around wildly. He let out a laugh, before mimicking her movements — his tan arms raised above his head as they danced recklessly in the crowd.

She joined in with his laugh — flashing her white teeth at him in a brilliant smile. He gulped as she moved closer to him. He could still smell her, even in the old bar — orange blossoms, vanilla, and jasmine. He could get drunk off of that scent.

His heart fluttered as she grabbed onto him casually, pulling him into her to dance more closely. Bryce was suddenly overwhelmed being this close to her — he felt dizzy, and it wasn’t from the liquor.

Jordynne Holland was intoxicating. And addicting.

His dark eyes settled on her mouth, how much closer it was getting to his as she swayed in front of him.

“Jordy...” He breathed out, stepping away from her.

“What?” Her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she looked up at him — her green eyes fluttering. She stepped forward and carefully wrapped her arms around his neck. “I just wanna have some fun. You’re fun. You like fun. Remember fun?” Her pink lips stretched into a smile.

He felt his stomach twist and tug and flutter all at once.

Bryce so badly wanted to give in — to crash his lips onto hers, to hold her back. But he didn’t know where all of this was coming from. Things were still so messy — and right now, she was messy. There had to be something that caused it.

“I know — I just —,” He hesitantly put his hands on her waist, steadying her movements, “Are you sure, you’re okay?”

“I’ve never been better Bryce Lahela. Now dance with me.” She replied, tightening her hold on him as she pushed her body up against his.

_____________________________________________________________________

Ethan watched the light through his window dim as the plane flew into a series of clouds — the pages of his book in his lap suddenly becoming harder to read. 

Letting out a sigh, he put his head back on his headrest — leaning against it as he looked over his shoulder and out of the window.

He eyed the empty spot next to him — a placeholder for his leather bag this time. He tried hard to not go there — to think about the last time he was at the airport, on an airplane, who was with him. If he started down that road, it would make everything harder.

So he ignored the subtle reminder — repressing the memory and averting his eyes from the empty chair.

“Hi sir,” A brunette flight attendant pulled a cart up near his seat, “Due to the length of the flight you will be provided an in-flight meal. It will be arriving shortly. Would you like a beverage to go with it? Spirits? Wine?”   He gestured to the cart.

Ethan swallowed as he eyed it — the little bottles of alcohol clinking together as the flight attendant shifted the cart.

It was tempting. It could be another way to repress memories in the long flight. To calm any gears that started winding.

He cleared his throat, putting on a polite smile, “Can I actually just have a coffee?”

“Of course, sir.” He poured the hot beverage and carefully passed it to him. “I’ll be back with your meal.”

Ethan took a sip and grimaced slightly. It was terrible. And he had to force another thought down as he thought of who else would grin and bear it with him.

But it was just a coffee. He’ll get over this.

He can get over this. He could do this.

_____________________________________________________________________

The slightest crack of one of her eyes caused Jordynne to groan in pain. Her head was pounding — and even the little trickle of light coming through the blinds was killer.

Blinking over and over, she finally was able to open her green eyes fully. She was in her bedroom — how she got there? She wasn’t entirely sure.

The previous night was a blur. She remembered taking an uncertain amount of tequila shots and dancing. So much dancing — her feet were killing her.

Letting out another groan, she shifted onto her side but froze when she felt resistance next to her. Moving her head, her eyebrows raised as she saw Bryce laying next to her — sleeping soundly. He was still wearing his jeans and t-shirt — his arms folded around himself carefully as he slept on top of her white duvet.

Her eyebrows furrowed together — a deep line forming in her forehead. Now that she didn’t remember. Peaking under the duvet, she realized she was still wearing clothes — her boyfriend briefs and shirt were clinging to her body. Her mind started whirling as she attempted to connect the dots.

“Hey,” Bryce’s groggy voice whispered next to her, “You okay?”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek — praying that it was too dark in the room for him to see how embarrassed she looked, “I’m— I’m pretty rough.”

“I would imagine so. You consumed enough tequila to get you, me, and Sienna drunk.”

“Ugh.” She groaned.

“And I’m sure spending two hours on your bathroom floor probably didn’t help.” 

“Nooo...” Her face felt hot as it flushed with embarrassment.

He let out a quiet chuckle, “Oh yeah. Held your hair back and everything.”

She wasn’t sure if she had ever hated herself more then that moment. “Ugh, I’m so sorry Bryce.”

“Don’t be — I didn’t mind.” She gulped as she felt his practiced hand rub her shoulder.

“I’m sure that’s not what you signed up for when we decided to go out last night.”

“I mean, I went to hang out with you. And we did hang out..” His voice trailed off for a moment, “I just didn’t imagine it would be on your bathroom floor with your head hanging off your toilet.”

“Haha,” She hesitated for a moment, “Did we — Did I say anything? Or... I dunno, try anything?”

“Oh yeah,” He let out a little chuckle again, “Drunk Jordy is chaaaatty. And handsy.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t — we didn’t do anything. You just tried to kiss me a couple of times.” He mumbled a little.

“I’m sorry.” She apologized again.

“People have done crazier things then try to kiss someone while drunk on Tequila.” He reassured.

“I know, I— But we never—“

He interrupted her, “S’okay Jordy.”

“Thanks for staying with me.” She whispered. And she meant it. As complicated as it was, she was glad Bryce was there. He was always there for her.

She felt the bed shift as he turned on his side to face her, “What kind of doctor would I be if I didn’t take care of you?”

“I live in a house full of doctors.” She could feel how close his face was to hers.

“Ha — right.” She could see his sheepish smile in the dim light. “I just needed to know you were okay.”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” She lied — a little too easily.

“I just — I haven’t seen you like that before. You were drinking hard. Did something happen?”

She shook her head against the pillow, “I just wanted to let loose. Celebrate surviving my first week back. I just went a little bit too hard.”

“That’s the only reason?”

“Yeah.” She did her best to hide the lie, suppressing the memory of Ethan walking away in the parkade, “So what to do I gotta do to convince you to drag my ass out for some breakfast?”

“No convincing necessary.”

_______________________________________________________________________

 He fell into a routine a lot easier than he thought he would. The repetition was nice — satisfying after the continuous curve balls life had thrown at him over the past year.

There was still chaos here — it was still a medical crisis. But it wasn’t anything that Ethan couldn’t handle.

He spent most of his days in their temporary clinic — diagnosing cases. In the evenings he would spend time with other team leaders, discussing measurements and tactics for preventing further cases. During their free time, he would usually see himself to his room — avoiding the socialization hours around the campfire. He rarely spoke to his colleagues in Boston, why would he do it in the Amazon.

One of the local doctors had told him his Portuguese was improving. A compliment that Ethan heartily took as he was teaching himself from the little pocketbook in his messenger bag and repetition with the locals.

Most nights by the time his head hit the pillow he was too exhausted to think. For the gears to start winding. For memories and thoughts to resurface from the far depths of his mind. And if they did — he forced them away. Closing his eyes with knitted brows, until sleep overcame him. And then he would wake up to do it all over again.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Wow, it’s been a while since I was in here,” Jordynne smirked as she stepped into a familiar supply closet.

Bryce had texted her during her break — asking to meet her there. She didn’t have to ask which one he meant — she knew. The supply closet from the first day they met. From where she had dropped all of her usual guards and kissed a stranger.

The smirk fell off of her face when she saw Bryce’s expression. It was serious — his usual megawatt smile was nowhere in sight. “Wh—what’s going on?”

He took a steadying breath before he spoke, “Jordynne, when did you know?”

“Know what?” Her eyebrows furrowed.

“That Ethan was gone. That he was leaving again.”

Her mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. She didn’t know what to say.

He let out a sigh — taking her silence as an answer. “Is that why you got like that? At Donahue’s? You literally drunk enough to make yourself sick.”

“I— I was upset.” She explained, stepping a little closer to him, “I didn’t know what else to do — I just didn’t want to deal with it.”

“Have you dealt with it?” He asked back, his voice sharp, “You lied to me. I asked you what was really going on. And you lied.” His brown eyes stared deeply into her green eyes — studying her.

“I— I can’t talk to you about him, Bryce.” She wrapped her arms around her torso, folding in on herself. “I know you tell me I can but I— I just can’t.” Her eyes dropped down to her shoes.

“Why not?”

“Because it isn’t fair!” She raised her voice, her jaw clenched tightly, “Bryce, every time something bad happens with Ethan I run to you. When I didn’t want to admit to myself how I felt about him, I went to you. When he rejected me, when he quit, when he flew to a different continent literally just to get away from me. I keep boomeranging back to you Bryce. And it’s not fair.”

The small space of the supply closet turned quiet as they both thought.

Jordynne broke the silence as she finally looked back up at him, her voice croaking out, “So no I don’t want to talk to you about Ethan. Because it reminds me of what an atrocious person I am.”

“You’re not a bad person Jordynne.” Bryce shook his head at her, reaching a tan hand out and brushing a piece of her hair away.

She closed her eyes at his touch, doing her best to not lean into it, “I am Bryce. I have been to you.“

“I think... I think that you’re human. And things got complicated. And that I decided it was worth the complication — your feelings and relationship with Ramsey included.” He used a knuckle to raise her chin, putting her attention back on him, “But I need you, to be honest with me. Is there something between us? Or did I just invent that?”

“No.. of course there is Bryce. But I... but there’s something between Ethan and I too. Or there was.” She grabbed onto his hand, holding onto it as she took a deep breath. “You’re one of my best friends Bryce. And you’re more than that. And that’s why I need to say this. I think we should stop the “more” between us. For now. Until I — until I can figure how to stop complicating everything. And I can’t do that if we ...”

“Okay.” He said, interrupting her with his honey voice. He was nodding at her — his dark eyes focusing on her as he placed his steady hands on her shoulders.

She let out the breath she was holding, staring up at him in disbelief, “Okay? Just like that. Why are you so agreeable?”

“Puppy dog remember?” He gave her a half-smile, his long hair falling into his eyes as he looked down for a moment. “I’d thought you would’ve figured out by now I’m not going anywhere, Jordy.”

_____________________________________________________________________

Ethan hesitated for a moment — looking at the group of people sitting and chatting by the fire. He could join them — if he wanted.

Shaking his head, he plopped himself down on a stool on the edge of the campsite. Tucked away, and out of sight.

He pulled out the pocket-sized translation book from his chest pocket and started thumbing through it in the dim light from nearby lanterns.

“May I?” A voice asked from behind him.

Ethan stifled the sigh that almost escaped him. Straining his neck, he turned to see Dr. Adébáyọ̀ standing sheepishly, waiting for his response next to the empty stool beside him. He grunted in response, closing his book and slipping it back into his pocket.

The pair sat in silence for a moment, staring off at the distant campfire and taking sips of their drinks from their steel water bottles.

“Do you mind me asking why you came here, Dr. Ramsey?” The other doctor's voice broke the silence.

Ethan furrowed his brows, “Why?”

“I’m curious.” He shrugged, looking over to him.

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back.” The man retorted quickly. “Humor me.”

Ethan remained silent — keeping his eyes on the lid of his water bottle.

“Okay — I’ll go first. I came here to practice, of course. Help with research. But I came here for selfish reasons too.” Dr. Adébáyọ̀ settled into his seat as he spoke. “My family emigrated from Nigeria when I was 8. We lived in the UK, Canada, America. We traveled all over the world. But never South America. My father died last Spring. He always wanted to come here. So I signed up for him. It’s sentimental but — I’m glad I did.” He smiled up at the night sky that was glittering with white stars.

“I’m sorry about your father.” Ethan finally replied, looking over at his comrade.

“Me too,” He nodded, a sad smile on his face. “So are you going to tell me why the Ethan Ramsey left his fancy office in Edenbrook for tents in the Amazon?”

The Ethan Ramsey.

He hated that.

He hid his white-knuckled fists at his sides. “I am a diagnostician. I came to diagnose and treat Malaria and other ailments.” He used his practiced voice.

“And that’s it? You are a doctor and nothing else. What are you running from?”

Ethan remained silent for a long moment. He had been avoiding thinking about it this entire time. Why he had flown all the way out here. Abandoned his regular life to sit in a tent all day in the Amazon.

Out of sight, out of mind.

But he could feel his stomach twisting — a gnawing.

“Not what.”

“Hmm?” The other man was so shocked at him speaking, he barely heard him.

“Not what. Whom— whom I’m running from.” He let out a heavy sigh.

“I see. And this person... They are family?” Dr. Adébáyọ̀ asked with a raised brow.

He shook his head.

“Ah, I see. Matters of the heart.” He span around on his stool, so he was facing him more, “You are not together anymore?”

“We — we never got the chance to be together in the first place. Not really. She — we’re coworkers.” He admitted.

“That could be complicated.”

“And when I get back I’ll be her boss.”

“That’s more complicated.”

“Yes.” His voice was barely a whisper as he admitted this all out loud.

“What are you going to do? Coming here is doing what?” He questioned — his eyebrows furrowed as he studied Ramsey in the dim light.

“Delaying the inevitable.” He took a swig from his water bottle, gulping it down, “I’ll have to face her eventually.”

“And when you do?”

He avoided the question, “I just keep thinking to myself what if things were different. If she worked at a different hospital, if we met at a conference instead...”

“Do you want to hear something that was told to me? The universe sends us exactly what we need, right when we need it.”

Ethan let out a sad laugh, remembering Teresa saying the same words to him. “A patient told me the same thing once.”

“And is she? What you need, right when you needed it?”

Ethan thought to the past year. He couldn’t have handled Delores without her. She helped him process and navigate the Naveen situation. Hell, she saved the man too.

She grounded him — brought him back down to Earth. Yet had never had more ups and downs in his life before meeting Jordynne Holland.

He couldn’t have planned for any of it. But he wouldn’t take it back either.

“She — she’s everything I need that I never knew I wanted.“

“It sounds like you have an answer.”

“I don’t — because I’m not what she needs.” Ethan hung his head back for a moment, pursing his lips as he looked up at the inky black sky.

_______________________________________________________________________

She had forgotten how easy it was with Bryce Lahela.

How contagious his smile was. How infectious his laughter was. How easy it was to fall for him.

She was starting to remember why it had been so easy to make out with him in that closet after only knowing him for a few hours. What those early days were like — sneaking away together, watching movies in bed, remembering each other’s burger orders. Before she had made a mess of things.

The entire group was laid out on a couple spread out blankets at the park across the street from the apartment. They had packed some snacks and music — and were all basking in the sun, enjoying each other’s company.

Jordynne was sitting with her knees to her chest — smiling down at the blanket as she listened to Bryce’s warm chuckle reverberate through her. He was sprawled next to her, teasing Sienna about Danny.

Jackie, Elijah, and Aurora were in the blanket next to them — arguing over who has the best taste in music as they passed the speaker around.

She knew what she and Bryce had decided. And they had honored that over the past month. They were still friends — after everything the pair had gone through in the last year, she felt like she could always rely on that fact. They still hung out altogether, and a few times alone too. But sometimes she would catch herself staring at him a little too long, or laughing at his joke a little harder than anyone else.

The tune of an ice cream truck nearby snapped her back to reality as her friends buzzed with childlike excitement. “Ooo! Let’s get some for dessert!” Sienna jumped up, a wide smile on her face.

“Good idea,” Bryce stretched his arms behind him to push himself up, the hem of his shirt pulling up just enough that beginnings of his tan abs were revealed. Jordynne bit her lip as she watched him get up, “What does everyone want?”

“Chocolate!” Elijah said eagerly, his eyebrows raising up on his forehead.

“Gotta go classic — vanilla please Lahela.” Jackie gave him an unusually warm smile as she looked up at him.

“Got it. Mint chocolate chip Jordy?” He asked, looking down at her expectantly. 

“Um, yeah. Thanks.” She blinked in surprise at him knowing before a small smile spread across her face. Bryce Lahela knew her way too well.

Once they had returned with their frozen treats, the group sat together in a circle. Eating fast as the treats started melting over their fingers on the sunny summer day. Bryce had sat next to her again — his bare knee touching hers as they sat crossed legged. It was comforting. And maybe a little distracting.

Jordynne dared a glance at him, to only find him already looking at her. Her breath caught a little as he let out a little chuckle.

“Oh, you gotta little’,” He pointed his finger at his mouth, indicating she had something on her own, “Here I’ll get it.

He reached forward, his hand moving up to her face — his thumb gently swiped at the corner of her mouth, wiping away the melted ice cream. Jordynne unconsciously parted her lips as his thumb traced the curve of them. Their eyes finding each other during the few seconds — holding each other’s gaze.

Sienna coughed awkwardly — breaking the moment.

“You get it?” Jordynne asked, blinking herself back to reality.

He smiled sheepishly at her, “Yeah, I did.” Her eyes fell to the ground before his did, her face flushing a deep pink.

Sienna grabbed onto Jordynne’s shoulder, turning her attention, “Hey Jordynne, I need to wash my hands. Come with me?”

“Oh,” She tried to hide the surprise on her face, “Sure.” She followed Sienna’s quick march to the public restrooms across the park.

“Uhhh, so I thought you guys were gonna cool it?” She asked with one eyebrow raised as they entered the restrooms.

“What? We are — nothings happened.” She shrugged in reply as she headed to the sink.

“Suuuuuure,” The word dragged on with a tone of disbelief, “You looked like you were about two seconds away from sucking each other’s face.”

She shook her head, “We’re just friends right now Sienna.”

“Mhmmm.” Her friend sounded like she still didn’t believe her.  

“I mean it.”

She watched as Sienna turned on her heel and headed into one of the dark green stalls. “I’m just saying friends don’t look at each other like that.”

“You should talk. Aren’t you and Danny “just friends”?” She retorted. She grinned a little when she got no reply.

As she waited, Jordynne pulled out her phone from her back pocket. Her thumbs swiped over her keyboard quickly as she replied to the lengthy group chat between Kenzie, Carter and Jason. God, she missed them.

She started scrolling aimlessly through pictogram, liking photos of friends and scenery back home. Her homesickness was starting to become intolerable.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she scrolled passed a photo quickly — not quite believing what she saw. Scrolling back up, she felt a pang in her chest as she realized she saw it right.

It was Ethan.

The World Health Organization had posted it — whom she followed long before he volunteered with them and flown off to a different continent. He was in the corner of a white tent — his mouth pressed in a firm line as he listened to the slightly out of focus patient sat in front of him.

He looked more rugged — his stubble darker and longer than she had ever seen it. His skin had a golden tinge to it from spending time in the Brazilian sun. It was weird to see him out of his usual button-up shirt and jacket — he was wearing a soft henley instead, showing off the lines of his neck and shoulders.

She swallowed her feelings down as she realized the most important thing about the photo. He looked fine. His usual Ethan Ramsey self. He wasn’t torn up about leaving. He clearly didn’t look like he was having sleepless nights, worrying about what happened to them, what was going to happen to them.

Not that she was doing that anymore.

Well, not as often. She was trying.

Jordynne blinked away at the tears welling in her green eyes — staring up at the tacky fluorescent lighting in the public restroom.

“Hey — you okay?”

She felt Sienna’s warm fingers grab onto her wrist gently. Her coffee coloured eyes were filled with worry.

Jordynne mustered on a smile, squeezing her eyes shut to get rid of any lingering tears. “Oh, yeah yeah. I’m fine.” She reassured — sliding her phone back into her back pocket quickly, “Just my allergies with all the pollen.”

Sienna looked up at Jordynne, her eyebrows still meeting in the middle a bit from concern, “Okay.. you good to head back to the others?”

“Of course. Everything’s good.” She lied through her teeth, forcing a smile onto her face a lot easier then she thought she could.

_____________________________________________________________________

 A couple of days off in the nearby port town did Ethan a lot more good than he had expected.  Santarem was gorgeous — it had been a long time since he had been able to visit somewhere new as just that, a visitor. Not a doctor — he had no busy conferences or meetings or lectures to attend. And there were definitely no tents for taking RPDs for Malaria — thankfully he got to take a break from that.

He could barely remember the last time he had just gone somewhere to enjoy being there.

That’s why when he saw the sign for motorcycle rentals, he had marched straight towards the shop.

Now he was riding along the coastline — the wind wiping around him as the fine machine purred down the road. The green leather jacket he had purchased was still a little tight — it needed to be broken in. But he had liked the way he felt in. How he felt on the bike.

A little jolt of pain went through his face — and Ethan realized it was because he was smiling. So wide that it was hurting.

Pulling over on to the side of the road, he used the toe of his boot to put up the kickstand. Maneuvering around a few rocks he made his way to the shoreline.

He stood there for a moment — putting his hands into his jeans’ pockets and soaking in the Amazon river in all its glory.

Pulling out his phone he took a photo of the scenic view of the river. He hadn’t touched the device since he came to South America — airplane mode staying on constantly to stop any reminders of Boston to come creeping in. Then he twisted around and took a picture of his rented motorbike. The only photos of his trip so far — and they were moments he would want to remember.

Without the wind wiping around him, he felt hot in his leather jacket. Shrugging it off, he laid it out onto the sand and sat on it — his arms resting on his knees as he looked out at the water.

And then it hit him.

Miami.

Sitting on that beach with Jordynne — sharing the tiny space of his tuxedo jacket. Closing his eyes he could still remember the feeling and weight of her resting her head against his shoulder.  Or the way her green eyes had stared into his — trying so desperately to read him, to see if he was feeling the same things as her on that quiet beach.

Snapping his eyes open again, he let out a loud sigh — his eyebrows furrowing in anger with himself. He had been enjoying himself — finally, he had a moment of solace and he let that memory creep in to ruin it.

Why had it taken him so long to find that solace? Over a month of being here — away from all of it, Boston, the hospital, Naveen, her. And still, he was battling it. Constantly — every day.

His body twisted with want, and anguish and frustration.

It — they — she had so much power over him still. Even 3200 miles away in a different timezone, a different continent. And that’s what scared him the most. It terrified him. 

Ethan took a hard swallow, trying to stop the emotion that was climbing up his throat making it harder to breathe.

Part  3

[buckthegrump]

Achilles’ Heel - 4

Summary: 5 years after your death Bucky would say he’s doing ok. Not great, but he’s getting better. That is until Nick Fury shows up and asks for help finding your killer. Now with a new mission to help bring down the man that killed you Bucky isn’t sure what he’s getting himself into.

Word Count: 822

Warnings: Some violence, angst (kind of), swearing

A/n: if you want to be added to the tag list there’s a link in the bio

It had been three months since Natasha left for her mission and she was nowhere close to finding who the new head was or this Gaea person. 

She wasn’t too bothered about the head of HYDRA part, it was the second person that was pissing her off. Who was this asswipe to be a notorious agent but not be trackable? 

Then the thought of Bucky as the winter soldier and how he was practically a ghost story. But every account that she’d heard in the past few months led her to believe that Gaea was being treated like a person.

Which meant that if Natasha wanted to find them, she’d have to actually go under-cover, which is not something that she was particularly looking forward to. 

Or. . .

She could just find someone from HYDRA who knew something and torture it out of them.

Yeah, she liked that idea better. No need to go around HYDRA trying to pretend that she was on their side.

So she had a new game plan.

/

It took her a week to find someone high enough in the rankings to know something but low enough that she could kidnap. She knocked them out before the could break their cyanide tooth and die.

While he was knocked out she removed the tooth and tied him to a chair. She pulled another chair in front of his and sat facing him. He looked like a commercial for why someone should never do too much fake tan. And the amount of gel in his hair couldn’t be comfortable.

Natasha was about three seconds from waking him up herself when he opened his eyes.

“Oh fuck,” was all he said before he closed his mouth.

Natasha watched as he realized that his one way out was gone.

“I guess you’re stuck talking to me,” Natasha winked.

“You won’t get anything from me,” he said so sure of himself.

“Oh baby,” Natasha leaned in so that she was so close to his face she could feel the heat radiating off of him, “I’m going to make you sing like a musical theater student.”

He blinked a few times before tilting his head.

“Is that the end of your analogy?” He asked.

“Have you ever met a musical theater student?” She smirked before stepping back and slapping him.

/

Natasha liked to think that she was good at her job, in fact, she was good at her job. Some would even say the best. But this idiot was not giving her anything.

“What do you mean she doesn’t have a name?” Natasha growled as she sunk the knife deeper into his thigh.

“We don’t get to know it, Gaea is what everyone refers to her as,” he whined.

“How do I find her?”

“I don’t know,” he said then screamed when Natasha pulled the knife out and stabbed him again in the other leg, “FUCK! Ok. Ok, ok! She has an apartment just outside the city, she doesn’t stay for very long, she moves from place to place so you’ll have to hurry.”

“Thank you,” Natasha smiled as she pulled the knife from his leg and plunged it into his chest puncturing his heart.

“Hail -” he stuttered but never got the full phrase out.

“Yeah, yeah,” Natasha rolled her eyes, “I get it.”

She didn’t do anything while choked on his last breath. Once she was sure he was dead she grabbed her things and left him there in the middle of the abandoned warehouse in the heart of the city.

This mission was proving to be a pain in her ass.

/

“I’ve already told you everything I know Fury,” Bucky groaned. It was 10 am on Saturday and Bucky was so ready to just enjoy a day off, but Fury had other ideas and got the poor man up at 7 am to go over everything he knew.

“I know, I just get the feeling that I'm missing something,” Fury muttered rubbing his forehead.

Bucky stared at the man for a moment. “I know the feeling,” Bucky whispered. He didn’t know what came over him or why these next words came out of his mouth, but they did and he almost instantly regretted it. “Do you need me to go in?”

Fury looked at him like he was weighing the pros and cons of sending in a previously brainwashed super-soldier. And honestly, Bucky didn’t know what answer he wanted. On the one hand, he wanted to stay as far away from HYDRA, on the other, it would be nice to go completely ape shit on the organization that killed you.

“Not yet,” Fury decided.

“You don’t seem too sure about that.”

“Let’s see how Romanoff fairs if she fails, which I don’t think she will, then we send you in.” Fury got up and left the room.

Bucky watched him walked away, he should be relieved, so why did he feel so disappointed.

[anothers-trash-my-treasure]

Bittersweet - Chapter Seven

“I hope it doesn’t take me a month to get the next one out.” lmfaaoooo I’m so sorry it’s been like a month and a week. Better late than never right? Enjoy!

Pairing: Merriell Shelton / Reader (femme)

Warnings: Swearing, kind of cheating? Emotional vulnerability. Let me know if I should tag something else

Word Count: 3430

Tag List: @ahkmenrami1205 @itsme690 @xoa-lex @ramibaby @r-ahh-mi @xmxisxforxmaybe @sherlollydramoine​ @txmel​ @moon-stars-soul​

Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list.

Six months. 

It’s been six months since I left New Orleans. And over those six months, I had let myself go. The first few days I was home I did nothing but cry and analyze every moment we spent together, wondering where the hell we went wrong. Was it something I did or was it just the way he was? I found myself unable to stop thinking about him. When my friends finally dragged me out of the house he was everywhere. Any person with green eyes, or unruly curly hair or olive-toned skin sent my mind reeling. My heart stopped with every slow, southern accent and my heart ached anytime something reminded me of him. 

For six months, I woke up every day checking my phone for any interaction with him. Any kind of text message, Facebook or Instagram like, any recent activity that I could cling to because it was all I had left of him. I even looked at everything Eugene posted because maybe, just maybe, that could give me some insight as to what they were up to since we left. I never answered his apology text. What was there to say? I couldn’t tell him it was okay, that I understood because it wasn’t okay and I didn’t understand. I couldn’t tell him I was disappointed or be honest about my feelings because what was the point? He had made his decision, he didn’t want me. And that was clear enough.

But finally, six months later, I felt ready and confident enough to move on.

Chloe had set me up with her friend Colin. Colin was, all in all, the perfect guy. He was funny and sweet and caring. We started hanging out more and more and I really enjoyed hanging out with him for the time being. I told him everything about Merriell. I told him how hard I fell for the witty cajun, how he made me feel and all the fun things we did. And he listened. He told me he understood and told me stories about his ex-girlfriend. He opened up to me. Told me about his childhood, was vulnerable and I could see myself falling for him. 

But there was always this little voice in the back of my mind, that I tried my damn best to ignore, that screamed ‘it’ll never be as good’.

Six months later, Colin and I are on our fifth date, having been seeing each other for about a month, things could be getting serious tonight. I met him for dinner after work at this little restaurant that served the best Chicken Parm that I had been looking forward to all day, even if there was the smallest part of me that said it was wrong to go on this date when I’d never be as happy as I was with Merriell.

“Hey,” I say breathlessly as I sit down.

Colin smiles at me, big and trusting and his fiery brown eyes sparkle when he looks at me and I push the comparison between the blazing heat of flames and the beauty of the ocean during a storm out of my head before it can settle. 

He asks me about my day and holds my hand, thumb brushing against the back of it while I talk. When dinner comes, I ask him about his day and he tells me about work and his new promotion at his fancy law firm and for the briefest moment, I think about how different he is from the hard-working lumber yard worker I had met and nearly loved all those months ago. 

After dinner we decide to walk around the city, he swings our interlocks hands back and forth, he laughs at my jokes and teases me when I trip over my own feet in the park and bring him tumbling with me. He kissed me as we watched the sunset, offered me his jacket when I was cold and did everything the boys from all those movies I watched growing up did. So why did I feel so incomplete?

I’m happy. I’m so happy with Colin and I think I could live like this with him. Colin was good enough, wasn’t he? He was everything I looked for in a guy and maybe if I hadn’t gone to New Orleans and met Merriell, I would have been all in with him. But something was holding me back.

Little did I know, something was waiting for me at home. 

Colin and I walked back to my apartment in a casual conversation, he had lined up a killer set of jokes for me and more than once we had to stop so I could get my breath back from laughing so hard. His hand was in mine as we turned the corner to my street and I took notice of a figure sitting on the steps to my apartment little ways down the street.

“Oh boy,” Colin said, “which one of your crazy neighbours do we have to deal with this time?” 

I laughed, but unease sat in the pit of my stomach like a rock. This didn’t look like anyone from my building. 

Colin kept talking as we walked but I wasn’t really listening. As we got closer I could distinguish more and more features of the stranger sitting on my steps. A small, yet muscular frame, tanned skin, curly hair and a strong jaw. Realization hit me like a truck and I had to stop cold in my tracks, breath caught in my throat. 

Merriell. 

Colin called my name and Merriell’s head snapped in our direction, meeting my eyes before getting up and starting to pace in circles.

I stutter for a second, feeling cold sweats break out across my body, “I, uh,” I start, “Colin, I’ll text you tomorrow okay?” I say, finally breaking my gaze and forcing myself to give Colin a smile, “There’s something I..” I trail off as he nods, looking towards what is to him a strange man.

“Are you sure?” He asks, clearly concerned as to who this stranger is.

I nod and usher him along. I watch him walk away, if only to give myself a little more time. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest, anxiety and confusion set in my stomach and I feel a little sick. Why is he here? How did he get here? How long has he been waiting? All these questions circle in my head as I start to walk towards him. 

I feel like I’m gliding on air, barely aware of anything except him. Before I know it we’re standing five feet apart, staring at each other. 

Neither of us says a word. I tug my sweater closer around me, trying to shield myself from the breeze that’s picked up as the day comes to an end. My eyes keep flicking from him to the ground, unsure of what to say. The last time I had seen him everything had been so different. 

Finally, he clears his throat and speaks.

“Hi.” 

For a moment, I’m angry. Six months after everything and all he has to say is ‘hi’? The anger quickly turns to nostalgia, hearing his voice again only makes me realize how much I missed him. But I refuse to be swept up in his charm again.

“What are you doing here, Merriell?” I keep my tone neutral, my arms crossed in front of my chest.

He shrugs and looks away, eyes squinting against the setting sun, “Can we talk?” he says as he looks back at me. His voice is soft, softer than I’ve ever heard it. He sounds rough and as I take him in I realize he looks rough too. 

His once tanned olive skin looks pale and sickly, dark circles under his eyes and they don’t sparkle with mischief the way they used too. He looks drained of all energy. He was always a skinny guy but his sweater looks like it’s wearing him rather than him wearing the sweater. He’s beat and worn down. And maybe that’s why I agree to lead him up to my apartment. Because even after all this time I still care.

We end up standing in the kitchen, I offer a drink but he declines and so we stand and we stare and it’s silent and it’s eating me alive. 

“So you wanna tell me what this is all about?” I finally ask, if only to break the silence and keep myself from going crazy.

He looks at me, and there’s so much self-deprecation in his eyes that I can actually feel his pain, “Honestly, I didn’t think I’d get this far.” He confesses, “I thought there’d be a lot more yelling.” 

“Why would I yell at you?” I ask, genuinely confused. I’d never yell at him. Even considering how angry I was, and still am, at him, I don’t think I could ever yell at him after he came all the way down here. 

He looks surprised, he looks away after a moment and speaks so quietly I really have to strain to hear him, “Ya should yell at me.” it’s nearly a whisper, barely louder when he continues, “I jus’ left you like that. Ran like a dog with ma tail between my legs.” He squeezed his eyes shut and I know this is hard for me. Even the short amount of time I knew him, it had never been easy for him to be vulnerable in front of anyone. 

It’s quiet again as I gather my thoughts. 

“I was hurt.” I admit, “When you left, I was hurt and confused and angry. With you and with myself.” I pause, trying to keep my shit together, my tears in, “And the next day when you didn’t come to the airport I was,” I take a breathe, “Devastated.”

He looks at me and I rush through my next sentence as my insecurities resurface.

“I know it’s stupid. We only knew each other for two weeks, I had no right to feel so strongly, to think that this could work. I was stupid and naive and caught up in the fairytale of what could’ve been.”

It’s my turn to be self-deprecating. I turn in on myself, trying to hide in plain sight. It hurts to be so open with him again, knowing it could easily backfire on me again. I hate how vulnerable I have to be, but this conversation is long overdue. It’s now or never. 

“Maybe it wasn’t so stupid.” He says after a beat of silence. 

When I look at him again he looks, almost guilty. He can’t meet my eyes, staring instead at my sock covered feet and the hardwood floors beneath them. I feel my face twist in confusion. What is he talking about? Of course, it was stupid. It’s why he ran. 

He doesn’t continue. Even though I so desperately want to hear why it’s not stupid. I had spent months, beating myself up about every little thing I said or did that may have turned him away, that may have turned him off. If those things I did weren’t stupid then why did he leave? 

“Who was he?” 

I’m dumbfounded. I feel annoyance swirl up from the pit of my stomach, feel it spread all over my body, tensing my muscles and tingling in my fingers.

“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask, my tone clipped and clearly aggravated. 

He shrugs, arms crossed as he leans back against the countertop, “He sure was makin’ ya laugh real hard.”

I scoff a laugh, looking away, I can feel my mouth turn up in a bitter smile, every muscle in my body tense when I look back at him to answer.

“That was Colin.” I say shortly, does he deserve more of an answer?

“An’ Colin is?”

Apparently, he does.

“Why does it matter, Merriell?” I ask, my voice rising slightly before I can control it and push it down.

“Well if he’s ya boyfriend or whatever, I don’t wanna step on any toes.”

I shake my head. I truthfully don’t know the answer to his question. Colin is... special to me, sure, but to label him, to label our relationship? That conversation hadn’t been had yet. 

“It’s complicated.” 

Merriell nods, and hums, and a bitter smile of his own crosses his face.

“Jus’ fuck buddies then?” 

I glare at him and sigh. Why is he acting like this? He comes all the way down here and then acts like an asshole for what reason? 

“Why are you really here, Merriell?” I ask, exasperated, “I know you’re not here to ask me who I’m dating, or fucking, how my life is, or to just catch up so why don’t you just cut to the chase.”  

He sighs, a hand coming up to run through his hair anxiously.

“Look,” he starts, “I fucked up. I think that much is clear. I jus’” A sigh, “I wanted to explain myself an’-” He looks up, head still titled down, looking more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him, “An’ maybe get a second chance.” 

My heart sinks. Where was this when I needed it months ago? Why now?

“Merriell-” I sigh, only to be interrupted.

“No, I know, jus’- hear me out.” he pleads, hand raised in the space between us. He stands up straighter, looks around one more time and fixes me with a determined look.

“I told you before, that I wasn’t good at relationships.” He starts, voice wavering in the slightest, “I run away when things get in any way real, or serious or when anythin’ seems like it could actually make me happy.”

He takes a breath, and starts again.

“The things I felt for you. The things I still feel for you.” He swallows nervously, “They scare the absolute shit out of me. I have neva’ felt so strongly about someone, in such a short amount of time. Six months ago, I thought runnin’ was the best option. Because you were leavin’ an’ I didn’t think I deserved to keep someone like you all to myself.” He scoffs, “Hell, I still don’t think I deserve you.” His eyes are soft, something glimmers in them and in the light of the kitchen it looks like tears, “I realize now that runnin’ was stupid. I should’a jus’ talked to ya. You’re such a good person, Y/n, I know that had I talked to you honestly about my fears and doubts you would’a been so understanding about everythin’.”

He looks away, unable to keep such strong eye contact while pouring his heart open. 

“That last night together, you were sayin’ everythin’ I wanted.” His eyes close, his head shakes and he continues, “I wanted to keep you in my life, I did. But it scared me so fucking much, that for once, I could have everythin’ I was afraid to let myself want.” 

He takes one last shaky breath and looks at me with wet eyes, clearly trying to blink back tears, “It’s not that I didn’t feel the same way, it’s just that you deserve so much better than me.”

The kitchen is filled with silence again, nothing to be heard by our own breathing and the faint noises of cars driving past on the streets below. I’m faintly aware of the thick lump that sits in my throat and the tears that sit just behind my own eyes. 

I’m at a war with myself. Here he was, the guy of my dreams, telling me he fucked up and that he wants to fix that, he wants to fight for me. This is everything I had hoped would happen. But at the same time, I know Colin is on a bus somewhere, waiting for me to text him, explain and tell him I’ll talk to him tomorrow. I know Colin is crazy about me and would never run away from something he wants. He’s the safer option. But safer, doesn’t always mean right.

“And who are you to decide what I deserve?” I manage to choke out, his words have taken hold of my heart, squeezing it tighter and tighter, hurting to know he thinks so little of himself. 

He laughs, it’s wet and bitter, “Ya think you could be happy with a mess like this?” He asks, bringing a hand up to wipe at his eyes. 

I smile sadly at him, taking a step forward. And then another, and another, until we’re finally face to face, no more than a foot apart. 

“I think,” I start softly, looking into the stormy colour of his eyes, “that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I got home. And I think that if we were able to be open and honest with each other about everything; About our feelings, our past, and all the good things and all the bad things, I think we could have something,” I pause, searching for the right word, “Breathtaking.” 

Merriell’s eyes slip shut and his head tips forward to rest his forehead against mine. I breathe him in, having missed everything about him that my mind failed to replicate in my dreams. His smell, earthy yet somehow still sweet, reminding me of tall cedar trees. The warmth that radiates off of him, chasing away any lingering coldness from the street below. 

His hands begin to touch me, starting softly at the tips of my fingers, slow and hesitant as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. They move slowly, up the back of my hand, across my wrist, forearm and finally resting on my upper arms. His fingers squeeze gently, grasping onto my skin to remind himself that I am here in front of him. This is real. He can have this.

“I really gotta know if that Colin guy is actually your boyfriend or not ‘cause, fuck, I wanna kiss you so bad right now.” He breaks the silence with a soft voice, it’s filled with longing as he rubs the tip of his nose against mine. 

“We never labelled it. Never discussed what we were.” I confess, “Kiss me.” I say softly. 

I want it. I need it. Need to feel his lips against mine after so long. After so many months of longing and the loneliness that comes with wanting someone who, at the time, feels so out of reach. Colin is the last thing on my mind when I can feel Merriell’s breath on my lips. 

A hand moves up to cup my jaw, tilting my face upward ever so slightly before he closes the short distance between us. I revel in the feeling of his lips against mine after so long of missing them,  They’re soft and warm, and they feel like home. I’m focused on every sensation he gives me;

The slide of our lips against each other.

His breathing out as I breathe in.

The feeling of his hands cupping my jaw.

The texture of his curls around my fingers as I run them through his hair.

God, I missed him. 

When we break away, our foreheads lean against each other, keeping our eyes closed for another moment before the flutter open and finding each other.

“I missed you,” He says, voice barely above a whisper, “So damn much.” 

I rub my nose against his softly, “You have no idea.”

Time passes as we just hold each other in the harsh light of my kitchen. I know I should feel guilty about Colin but I can’t find it in myself to really be concerned about him. For the first time in months, I feel complete again. 

“Hey, Mer?” I ask softly, when he hums I continue, “How did you get here anyway?” 

“I drove”

I pull away to look up at him incredulously, “All the way from Louisiana? Merriell that must’ve taken you all night.”

He just shrugs and shoots me his signature grin, “you were worth it.”

The sound that escapes from the back of my throat in response to him could only be described as a whine and I place another kiss on his lips. 

“No fucking around this time, okay?” I say softly, bringing my hand up to his face so I can run my thumb across his cheekbone, “If we’re going to be together, we can’t-”

He interrupts me with a nod and another soft kiss, “I know.” He says softly, “I’m not runnin’ anymore.”

Another kiss to my lips.

“I promise.” 

~

(A/N) HAPPY ENDING TO THIS CHAPTER YAY! I’ve got one more chapter lined up and than probably an epilogue so stay tuned for those! 

(Chapter Eight)

[angstymarshmallow]

part seven - “give me a sign.” (cal lowell x mc)

[a little note: I’ve been wracking my brain on this for two weeks now and I think...I think this is where I want it to be. It’s a bit different than what I imagined originally for a crossover and is loosely based off that particular bloodbound chapter.  I mean like why are action sequences so hard  and there will be a secondary piece of more crossover time in the next part! Can you believe this is still going on? And we’re not even at the end yet. If you read it - than you! If you leave a comment, bless you!.]

[words counted: 7600]

[summary: While MC (Wren) heads to New York in hopes of finding Cal, Cal tries to come to terms with what he wants vs. what he can’t have. Trapped in Kavinsky’s makeshift prison, he can only count on himself. Little does he know, Wren and the most unlikely allies are here to break him out of this hellhole].

[part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six]

The trip to New York was short, but it’s been one anxious moment after another during the several hours she’s been locked in her seat – peering at the clouds from her window as late afternoon gradually became night. For someone like Wren whose spent most of her life being unperturbed by nearly everything, it says a lot. There isn’t a great deal of things capable of making her anxious.

Still, her anxiety is half the problem and the other half is completely fixated on Cal. He’s all alone out there.

She tries to picture his boyish smile, the light flush in his cheeks when she teases him or the warmth in his laughter – but the images quickly fizzle out at the thought of anyone hurting him. I swear to god if that asshole harms one fucking hair on his head –

She would do anything to have him safely in her arms again.

Wren inhales deeply, sagging against her seat as the plane comes to an almost complete stop. It won’t be long now. She’s supposed to be meeting with Nik’s contacts as soon as she’s out of here.

Keep it together. Just keep it together.

She tries to push him out of her thoughts, but he funnels through. She can’t stop thinking about him, and her mind will end up thinking the worst at the rate things are going. Checking the time on her watch, she sighs and relents to resting her head against her seat. She peers at the plane’s ceiling.

Focus on something else.

She wracks her brain, absently tapping the screen of her phone.

Adrian Raines. Kamilah Sayeed. Jax Matsuo. Lily Spencer. Harlow Daniels.

She mulls over their names as the pilot exchanges his farewell across the intercom.

Only half of them vaguely rings a bell, but the latter are a mystery as far as she’s concerned. Who were they beyond what the media reports?

They’re supposed to meet, and yet she has no idea what meeting with them will entail. Vampires of all the things. In the flesh. Fangs and all. There’s a quiet kind of exhilaration at the knowledge that they’re real, that she’s really meeting a bunch of bloodsuckers. Hell, even a year later – the supernatural world still continues to catch her off guard.

It’s only a shame that they haven’t exactly been forthright about anything else. None of the people she’s meeting tonight have expunged any information as to what they need from Kavinsky, but she’s assumed as much that they must have bene looking for something specific. He was after all – a glorified artist that collected the highest quality of merchandises.

But people aren’t merchandise.

Scowling, Wren wrenches her seatbelt free. The thought infuriates her.

She steps in front of an elderly woman without thinking and flinches before making enough for her to pass. Muttering a stiff apology, she follows the rest of the crowd out of the airplane shaft.

A swift vibration emanating from her pocket has her glancing down in time to catch a glimpse of Danny’s name floating across the top screen of her phone. She quickly swipes it free, thinking the worst until she’s able to read his entire message.

There were some wolves poking around earlier. They smelled weird but Pete sent them packing before we realized they’re apart of Shaw’s pack. He’s kinda in bad shape but Nick, Theo and Sabine are fine. Just wanted to check in that you got to NY okay.

A pause before another message pops up.

Not that I care or anything.

Wren hides a smile behind her smirk. The little shit does care about her.

She’d be lying if she said the idea doesn’t lift her spirits – even a little at the thought, but she knows better than to make a big deal out of it. At least not right now. She can always tease them later when their lives aren’t in danger anymore.

Ah hell, who’s she kidding? Their lives will always be in some level of danger.

Tapping her fingers lightly against the screen, Wren tries to think of a response.

Heard you loud and clear kid. I got here fine and I’m about to meet with Nik’s associates.

She waits a beat before adding.

Then we’ll find Cal and we’ll be back before you even know it.

He doesn’t say thank you in so many words but she can tell he’s grateful for her reassurance. Before Wren is able to pocket her phone safely into her jacket, another text dings and flits across her screen.

Good. Stay safe.

You too kid.

Taking a deep breath in hopes of settling her nerves, Wren manages a sharp nod at the security that ushers her through. If she has anything to say about it – they’ll be back home in no time.

-

The place they’ve agreed to meet her seems a little far off the normal radar. Well, normal radar being – not dark, dingy and creepy. Although, she’s been to her fair share of sketchy places, she’d feel much better if they were meeting in Time’s Square instead of backstreets leading into abandoned alleyways.

At least she has a switchblade with her.

Still, the side streets and corners with flickering lights all but scream serial killer.

This is where psychos kidnap or knock out the few people dumb enough to travel out on their own. But Wren isn’t just some random idiot taking a shortcut home – she’s here for a reason. And she’s hellbent on finding Cal, no matter how long it takes. No matter what it costs.

Besides, Nik’s one of the few people she trusts and a favor is a favor after all.

However, Wren still finds her anxiety getting the best of her. Her thoughts are ridiculously stuck on things out of her control as she toys with the brunt edges of her blade between her fingers. After a few minutes, she checks the time on her phone.

They’re late.

It isn’t until the sound of light footsteps coming from the long-winding alleyway does some of her anxiety finally began to chip away. She glances up and notices shadows casting sinewy figures across the cobblestone pavement in time. They belong to five people. The closer they grow, the more she’s able to discern their appearance and what she sees – has her whistling in soft appreciation under her breath.

They’re seriously good-looking – not that she thinks she’s ever seen an unattractive vampire before, but her eyes can’t help but be drawn to each of them, as if against her own will. It’s almost close to indescribable when it comes to how enthralling they appear at this distance.

The first is a well-dressed gentleman with an almost bronze look to his skin as his intense-looking obsidian eyes meet her stare. He’s taller than the rest of his cohorts. She feels trapped by his gaze somehow and she sucks in a breath when her lungs fight for one. Seconds pass before his gaze travels south – to the rest of her. When he finally breaks eye contact, she manages to scope out the rest of him with something akin to a relieved sigh.

He’s in a grey suit that’s way too fancy for this part of New York. His dark and thick hair has been sleeked back as a stiff grin settles and draws her attention to the sharpness of his cheekbones.

The woman a few paces beside him wears her own expensive-looking suit as well. Although hers’ is several shades of dark purple – not quite the colour of licorice but not quite anything else either, she possesses such an air of authority that Wren fights with the sudden urge to sink her gaze to the floor. The woman drags a tanned and flawlessly manicured hand through her long and almost oakwood-coloured hair. Something in her penetrating stare causes gooseflesh to break-out across Wren’s skin.

The third person stands a little off to the side and heaves a mean-looking crossbow across her back. Unlike the other two, she doesn’t radiate an ounce of unfriendliness. She seems to be the exact opposite down from the laid-back way she’s dressed. Her dark eyes and skin are a stunning comparison to her lavender-style braids. She sticks out from the people in suits – but in the best way possible. She tosses a few of her braids across her shoulder before waving at her.

The remaining two stand a little closer together from the rest. Wren can’t help but think there’s something more between them than just simple business partners as she diverts to their attention. In fact, the taller of the two seems to almost glare suspiciously at her as he places a protective arm around the secondary person.

He’s the one that deserves Wren’s own glare in response. He’s wearing a dark crimson jacket that isn’t even his colour and tight-fitting jeans that seem a little outdated compared to the rest of his companions. But it’s his protective arm loosely tucked to the woman’s side that’s convinced her there’s definitely something more. Her eyes follow the length of his shoulders and she nearly does a double-take.

Is that…is that a katana?

His jet-black hair nearly obscures his dark eyes, but Wren is still preoccupied at staring in awe at the sword that’s strapped across his back. What I wouldn’t give for one of those.

It isn’t until the much smaller and wiry framed woman nestled beside him steps forward that she finally breaks eye contact.

Her bangs are even longer than her counterpart, but she wears it with in such a fashionable style that Wren is barely able to tell the difference in length. She’s dressed just as impeccable as her partners, but unlike the rest of them – there isn’t as much of an otherworldly-ness to her. She doesn’t have the same likeness that makes them a vampire. Still, something about her remains vaguely familiar despite Wren being unable to put her finger on it.

Apprehension makes the air around them shudder and Wren shifts uncomfortably on her feet from the sudden awareness of the terse atmosphere.

If their intentions aren’t as sincere as she hopes, she’d severely outmatched and a complete dumbass for meeting them alone. Even with her half-working fae powers at best, nothing can prepare her for taking on a bunch of vampires on. They’re ridiculously stronger than any average human, and as much as she’s fae – the rest of her is still human.

Steeling quiet resolve, Wren forces a smile at the sign of their approach. They’re a few feet away now and she has to convey complete confidence. You’re in control Wren, you’re in control. Not some meek-minded weak person. Although she’s looking for information, she can’t give them the idea she’s desperate. “I heard you’re the people that I’m looking for.” She inclines her head.

“Maybe, that really depends on you.” The guy with the crimson jacket grunts, his hand on his weapon.

The woman that’s been beside him this entire time, shoots him a sudden look. Then she straightens herself upright, the ruffles of her blouse crinkling at the motion. “I take it you’re Wren Howell, right?”

“Yup. And you’re…Nik’s associates.” Wren makes a gesture at them.

They’ve gradually grown closer and she can make out a gleam in one of their eyes.

“That’s correct. He mentioned you were looking for information.” The particularly fancy grey suit has folded his arms. His eyes are carefully neutral, which Wren suspects is something he does quite often when he’s assessing someone.

“Actually, I’m not just looking for information. I’m looking for someone. Cal. Cal Lowell.” She says his name a-matter-of-factly. “And I heard you may know how I can find him.” She takes a deep breath in an effort to keep her voice even. Although, she’s desperate to find him, she refuses to break down in front of a bunch of strangers. “I know you’re all meeting Landgon Kavinsky.” Her gaze steadily flits across to every one of them, pausing to emphasize the depth of her words. “And I know Cal’s last whereabouts were through him.” She hesitates before adding, “a couple night ago if I’m being completely honest. They had a meeting,” she continues steadily, the blade between her fingers moving more rapidly. “And no one’s seen or heard him since.”

The man in the crimson jacket whistles. “You sure don’t like to waste any time, do you? I kinda like that.”

“Me too.” The lavendair-haired woman chirps, flashing Wren a wide smile.

“Lily, we’re here to discuss something important – not flirt with our new guest.” Another one of the women chimes in; the shortest of all three with a bemused expression flitting across her face.

Lily pouts and Wren wrestles against the abrupt urge to smile. “I don’t see a point in beating around the bush. Time isn’t something I have a lot of, and I don’t want to spend precious seconds here when I could be looking for him out there.” She jerks her chin behind them.

For a few seconds, no one spoke.

Something in Wren’s chest tightens. “Look,” her voice cracks a little and she winces at the sound. “You can obviously tell that I care about the guy. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me something.” The switchblade within her grip moves a little faster – from finger to finger, “my gut is telling me that he’s in danger and I need to find him.” Her gut feelings have rarely – if ever been wrong before.

Grey-suit folds his arms while his brows arches to seemingly contemplate her words. Scrutinizing his expression, he breaks the quiet tenseness in the air first. “Harlow, you didn’t mention any of this.” He cuts his attention to the shortest of the two women in front of Wren.

The woman – Harlow, pinches her expression together as her lips thin into a faint frown. Cautiously, she peers back at him. “Sorry Adrian, I didn’t realize it was this serious. Nik wasn’t keen on so many details other than a name and Mr. Kavinsky’s usual meeting places.” She bites her low lip.

“So, you do know Kavinsky then?” Wren interrupts impatiently.

The other woman – tallest of all three who has yet to speak, suddenly bristles. Every length of her seems to stiffen. Her eyes narrow into slits as she speaks up, abruptly interjecting before Harlow is able to assemble any sense of an answer. “We may or may not, although that doesn’t explain why we should divulge such delicate information.” There’s an emphasis on her words and Wren detects a hint of a slight slur – fairly unlike any accent she has ever heard before.

“Kamilah!” Harlow’s face goes a little pale but Adrian seems to consider the other woman’s words carefully – he strokes his chin.

Kamilah snorts and crosses her arms. “You certainly can’t blame me. After all, we’ve only just met and I’m merely stating the obvious.”

Wren tenses. She gets it, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. If circumstances were reserved, she wouldn’t be necessarily jumping at the opportunity to help. But she’s the one that needs their assistance – so she bites her tongue and shifts on her feet.

“She has every reason to be cautious. How do we know we can trust you?” Adrian tilts his chin, eyes glimmering from ashen black into twinges of deep red against the dark backdrop of the dim city lights.

“And how do we know we can’t?” Lily cuts in.

“This is no small favour.” Adrian meets Lily’s sudden frown until she drops her stare. “This isn’t just some stranger without a single pull in the city. We ‘re talking about – Mr. Lavinsky and he’s the kind of man no one should cross lightly.”

“I’m not asking for you to cross him,” Wren fights to keep her tone steady, but it’s hard. Every second she wastes standing here talking is another second Cal remains missing. “I’m asking for you to let me come along – let me find him on my own.”

“Like hell we will!” Kamilah snarls, baring her teeth.

The other vampire, whom Wren presumes to be Jax seem to echo her sentiment with a derisive snort, and his hand that’s rested on his weapon has turned white as he shoots Wren a glare. Although, both Harlow and Adrian seem to hesitate – glancing at their companions uneasily, it’s Kamilah who keeps pursing it. “This is not up for discussion. Absolutely not. You would jeopardize everything we’re trying to accomplish.”  

“– you said you wanted information where he was – not that you wanted to come with us.” Jax adds, frowning.

Wren takes a deep breath, “okay fair. But you don’t get it. It’s for him. For Cal.” It’s always been for him. “I shouldn’t have let him go alone in the first place. I should’ve –” Her voice trembles a little, “dammit! He just shouldn’t have gone alone!” Her free hand clenches into a tight fist and suddenly she’s left with fighting the urge to hit something. “I should be there because when you love someone – there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for them. So that’s why I’m here,” she spreads her arms out wide. “Standing and barely capable of holding it together at the thought of him being out there – alone.” She jerks her chin, “because that asshole locked him up.”

“You don’t know that.” Adrian’s brow furrows. “Mr. Kavinsky has never been the sort to add living people into his collections. That blurs all kinds of lines –”

“I’m not here to argue with you.” Wren interjects, jutting her chin out stubbornly. “I’m only here on a hunch and I don’t need the details of what you’re all doing here.” Okay, she’d love to know but that’s besides the point.

“Nik sent me, and like he said – you owe him one. These were his terms.” She makes a point of staring directly at Adrian and feels some satisfaction in noting a slight grimace in his appearance. She’ll definitely have to thank Nik later. If there is a later anyway. “And you don’t strike me as the type of person to go behind their word.”

“No.” Adrian sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. “I am usually a man of my word.” He turns his attention to Kamilah and Jax, “we need to take her with us.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Kamilah says curtly, shaking her head. “She could jeopardize everything.”

“Or she could help us.” Jax adds, his brow creasing in thought.

“Are we all on team Wren now?” Lily asks, bumping Jax’s arm.

Kamilah arches an eyebrow. “…..what makes you think we can even trust her?”

“…Uh, hello?” Wren waves a hand wildly in front of them, breaking shifting all their attention back on her. She gestures down at herself. “I’m still here. I didn’t just fade out of existence.”

“We can’t.” Adrian answers evenly, glancing objectively back at Kamilah. “Not with absolute certainty.”

“Hey!” Wren presses her fingers to her lips and whistle. “Listen, you can trust me enough because Nik sent me here.” Wren grumbles hotly, drawling out his name to emphasize her point.

If Adrian’s heard her, he makes a note of blatantly ignoring her outburst. The bastard.

Sure enough, within seconds Adrian lowers his voice until Wren can barely make out his words or what anyone else is saying.

Huffing a breath, Wren settles for balefully watching them instead. She taps her feet impatiently. Every now and then, they glance in her general direction and she opens her mouth to speak before they glance away and her mouth snaps back shut.

Ugh, I don’t have time for this. Clearing her throat, Wren glares at them. “As interesting as this has been, if you aren’t going to help me then we’re wasting each other’s time and I’ve got someone to save.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Harlow breaks the tenseness in the air first, her smile – alarmingly cool for someone that’s been mostly quiet this entire time. Her steady voice seems to put the others at ease too as she gestures between them. “We’re on board with taking you with us. We know exactly where Cal was taken.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” Kamilah intercedes, pursing her lips.

“I do,” Harlow suddenly retrieves a phone and points at the screen. “Because he suddenly decided to change our meeting spot and something tells me it’s where Cal is.”

Wren swallows back her sudden excitement. “Great.” She’s close – so close in finding him, so close in seeing him again. She takes a few steps towards them as Harlow taps across her phone’s screen. “When do we leave? Tomorrow night?” She’s hoping it won’t take anymore time. She’s itching for a fight.

“No. It’s happening tonight.”

-

Blood.

The smell of it is heavy and pungent in the air. It’s not just his blood either. There’s a mix of all sorts in here – supernatural creatures that has no business being locked up and tucked away from the rest of the world. And no matter what Cal does – there’s no escaping from it.

His eyes snap open with a gasp until he realizes he’s still cuffed and in chains, as the rest of details from the last several days come rushing back to him. Again.

Although he knows it’s futile, he wrestles against the metallic material across his wrists until his struggles turn into shaking, and the stupid thing administers another jolt of shock into his system. Another painful fucking reminder that he’s trapped.

The wolf in him whelps and practically seethes but the rest of Cal settles for gritting his teeth to prevent himself from yelping out loud. Fuck, he won’t ever give them that satisfaction. He wets his cracked dry lips as he sniffs the foul atmosphere; trying desperately to pick up any hints as to a way out of here but when nothing sticks out to him – he settles for slamming his fists against the glass – hoping feebly that his wolf strength won’t fail him now.

But it does fail him. He’s hungry, practically ravenous for something and his footing slips as he staggers against the surface.

He hears the sound of barely contained and muffled laughter. He growls. The least these assholes can do is feed him regularly but he supposes Kavinsky knows enough of werewolf physiology that feeding him more than a little does wonders for his strength. If he even has a little more, he’d be able to do something more than howl and shove his shoulders and fists fruitlessly against it.

Slamming his fist again, Cal manages another hard punch before slumping down the floor. He hugs his knees and leans his head back until it’s able to rest across the glass’ seemingly impenetrable surface. It’s no use. There’s no way he’s getting out of here.

Cal has spent the last few days trying to scratch, break, punch his way through the thick walls of his prison. But nothing’s changed. There’s no dent in the wall. No cracks in the glass because they know he’s not strong enough to do anything more. He’s not going to escape – Kavinsky built all these in a way that makes the idea laughable at best but still, Cal hopes.

His hope carries him to sleep. It deludes him into thinking he’ll wake up the next day in the comfort of his home – surrounded by people who love him. Donny and his petulant frowns whenever he’d scold him. Wren’s smirk or the mischievous glint she gets in her eyes whenever they’ve been left alone. I miss them. And the absence of their presence has left him cold all over.

He wedges his eyes close, tries to fight a panic attack with simple breathing. The wolf in him isn’t satisfied though, he snarls and tries to take control. But the cuffs around his wrist quickly remind him there’s no hope of him getting out.

Fuck – if he could only get these things off.

When Cal’s eyes flutter open, and he heaves a sigh. He’s never getting out of here. They narrow into slits a second later when the light above his head suddenly flickers then dies out. He stands a little straighter, the hairs on the back of his neck sticking as something in his gut implores that something is strong. Ignoring the abrupt panic seizing his chest, Cal presses his hands across the glass while he waits anxiously for something to happen.

The lights make a soft humming noise as they flicker back on.

What the hell was that? His ears perk at the abrupt and nearly muffled sounds of footsteps, followed by the rapid shouting voices. He can’t make them out yet – they’re still too far away. But he does gather through keenly listening that there’s some kind of a commotion going on. And by the sounds of it, it’s definitely something Kavinsky hadn’t expect.

Good, that bastard deserves everything that’s coming to him.

If only Cal wasn’t stuck in here and while all the action out there made him itch to try sifting again. If only he didn’t have these stupid cuffs on. If only he could do something more than stare miserably at the door, hanging onto every sound  –

The cuffs around his wrist suddenly go slack and Cal blinks down at them in surprise. Something tells him not to wait – he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d rather count his blessings than take them for granted and he clenches his hands into fists – squeezing tightly before pushing them several inches apart from each other.

Snap.

He breaks free and what’s left of the metal is littered across his feet.

Stretching out his wrists for a moment, Cal grins. They’re still raw from how long his skin has been chafing but at least they’re free now. At least he’s free. Whatever’s out there – that’s where his concern should be. But instead of focusing on the qualms of what’s behind the door – his other half is practically straining against his rational side to be free.

He doesn’t waste any more time. With a howl, Cal sheds his human form and embraces the wolf with eager and wild abandon. Hunching over slightly; it takes seconds for the familiar rush of adrenaline to envelop his senses – to wrap him in an overwhelming sense of joy at finally being able to shift again. His pulse turns erratic while his bones crack and reforms themselves into place. Russet-coloured fur rapidly replaces where skin and he launches himself at the window – a streak of dark brown that shatters the glass barrier on contact.

The pieces fall at his feet.

Cal pauses long enough to howl and deeply inhale the heavy atmosphere.

There’s a change in the air and it spells something bad. Or good. He can’t decide. He doesn’t have complete focus like this, his instinct has almost completely taken over. The fact that his body is shaking in excitement but remains unmoving is a miracle of itself. His nose twitches as he inhales again, deeper this time – and there is a lot to find familiar.

There’s the unpleasant stuff that’s not easy miss – the dried blood of torture, the smell of unwashed people left alone for far too long. And the heavy odor of security’s body spray. But not all of it makes sense – some of what he’s able to smell is ridiculously strange. Another whiff of it allows Cal to realize the scent of blood isn’t merely the kind of creatures locked away – there’s fighting going on and the sickly odd smell happens to be bloodsuckers. His fur stands at ends with the rest of his body.

But there’s one - one familiar scent in the entire universe that he never thought he’d be able to enjoy again. Especially not after ending things.

No fucking way. It can’t be her.

But he knows her scent. He knows it so damn well because he’s spent a lot of time committing her to memory. He’s spent so much time running his tongue across her skin, nibbling her most sensitive spots, burying his lips by the crook of her shoulders, by her inner thighs  – there’s no way he can ever forget her and suddenly he can’t wait to get out of here.

With another low growl, Cal hastily bounds to the door. There’s no sense in trying the lock, he simply paws at it – claws crunching the metal, until he’s able to administer one hard shove.t

The door bursts wide open.

It looks like he’s made it just in time.

-

Their plan worked.

Wren wants to laugh in disbelief but she’s too preoccupied with fighting against the wave of security to stay alive. She can’t give anything more than a momentary we-did-it yell inside her mind before there’s another asshole to clock in the head.

She ducks under the arm of her current assailant and deftly switches the hand of her switchblade. She wipes alongside the length of his beefy arm. The man cries out in pain and Wren takes the opportunity in stride, knocking him flat on his ass by shoving the brunt of her palm towards his chin.  

Another guard manages to land a solid punch to her jaw and Wren fights against the sudden stab of pain. Gritting her teeth, she spins away as he titters forward to push on the offensive. She utters a harsh battle cry and feints right, landing a front kick to the chest before his entire body goes flying.

A third guard slams into her, knocking her to the floor. Her back arches in pain and she hisses as the man tries to press his palms into her neck. Choking, Wren head-butts him, almost seeing stars but it isn’t enough to throw him off.

Suddenly he cries out and stops moving. Shoving him off her, Wren kicks him for good effort as she spots two arrows lodged firmly into his chest. Surprised, she glances up in time to notice Lily’s thumbs up before she spins away to strike another security guard.

From across the room, the crimson jacket vampire tosses his katana with breakneck speed towards another guard that seemed to be seconds away from grabbing Harlow’s arm. It lands almost directly in the base of his skull and Harlow yells a word of thanks before gripping the hilt of the sharp weapon and yanking it out.

A hair length away Kamilah has already dealt with a handful of security, dancing in and out of their reach as the set of her elegantly tipped daggers follow the motion. Her eyes are terrifyingly beautiful; dark red – glimmering in delight as another guard falls to her feet. She throws a wink over her shoulder when she spots Wren watching.

“Duck!”

Acting on instinct, Wren listens to the commanding voice and watches in awe as Adrian practically sails across her head. He’s launched himself at two enemies, burying his fangs into their neck as they scream in pain.

Holy shit, they’re amazing.

The group in front of her aren’t just business associates. They aren’t just friends either. They’re well-oiled machine, stepping into place to defend and attack on each other’s behalf. If one doesn’t make a killing blow – another person is suddenly there to aid them, and Wren does everything she can to keep pace with their efficiency.  

A sudden howl fills the air in the middle of all this chaos. Her heart skips a beat at the sound. There’s only one wolf that sounds like that. Powerful. Magnetic. It’s not like she could ever forget his voice – wolf or human.

Without thinking she raises her chin – just in time to spot all eight hundred pounds of lycan bustling from out of the hall and sending the rest of people scattering in his wake. Screams fill the air and there almost isn’t place Wren looks without a splatter of blood.

His bright amber eyes meet hers for a moment, softening before hardening again at guards still left alive. A howl rumbles and escapes his throat.

Wren watches a little mystified at the immeasurable speed he’s able to strike – muscles that bunch together and ripple beneath his fur with every movement. His razor-sharp claws slice through thin air as though he knows exactly where they’ll be before they even know it. The sounds of complete agony fill the re room and become loud enough to drone out the erratic pacing of Wren’s own heartbeat.

The screaming quickly turns into silence.

Wren wipes the worst of the blood off of her face.

The adrenaline is still flooding her veins at an incredible rate and it doesn’t take her long to cross the space between left them – her heart hammering wildly in her chest again, every step of the way. It’s him. It’s really him.

She can scarcely believe it. But he is – right here.

He bounds loftily towards her – fur practically trembling from anxiety.

She can’t hear what he’s thinking but radiates worry, fear. “I’m here. I’m really here Cal.” She wants to reassure him but her voice chokes on the words. “And you’re okay, god I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Are those tears?

Something wet has touched her cheeks but she doesn’t care, he’s here.

Cal drops to his hind legs and his large forearms cocoon her to his chest.

The heat is a blissful, welcoming feeling, like the furnace he always is – it takes no time for her to feel his heat all the way down to her toes.

He lets out a deep hum as she buries her fingers into his mane.

Seconds pass before the fur she’s been stroking turns to soft skin. His skin is slicked with sweat and he’s almost too hot for her fingers to wince in return, but to Wren it’s still the greatest feeling in the world. He’s back where he belongs – he’s home.

Wren squeezes her eyes shut and buries her lips into the crook of his neck as he effortlessly lifts her off her feet. The sudden motion makes her fumble and nearly lose her footing, but the rest of her body reacts almost steadfast – clinging onto him tightly as an abrupt and startled laugh leaves her throat.

Usually, she hates when he does that – hates it more when she cries, especially in front of him – let alone the audience she’s all but forgotten in her haste to get to him. She hates what she’s doing now even more, trembling at his touch and muttering non-stop through ardent words of how much she’s missed him – missed them.

But she does it all the same, because the words keep leaving her lips without her thinking – without her censoring any of it. She’s shaking so much with relief that when he lifts her higher, all she has is an eyeful of his breathtaking smile – and it’s as if she’s staring into richly intense sunshine.

Warm-eyes, like the colour of soil flecked with black and gold don’t waver from her stare. They’re just an enthralled. Then he bumps his forehead affectionately against hers’, pressing his sweaty brow and whispering softly under his breath. “I love you too.”

What?

Her heart leaps. A hysterical laugh bubbles from her throat.

Is that the only take-away he’s gotten from what she’s said?

Then she says it again, only because he’s smiling at her and she wants to keep commit it to memory. “I love you – you idiot.” She repeats it a third time and then again, cupping one of his cheeks as her own cheeks suddenly grow hot – flushed by the sincerity behind her words.

“Does that mean we’re no longer broken up?” His eyes search hers’ uncertaintly.

She manages a shaky laugh. “I think Nik wants his couch back, and I can’t even manage a whole week without you let alone a whole lifetime.” She doesn’t care if they have an audience, she can’t stand the idea of not touching him any longer – of not sinking into him the way she’s thought of ever since he left.

Greedy fingers quickly tangle in his hair. It’s matted and sweaty but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because it’s still Cal. Her Cal. Her mate.

She has all of him in front of her and the last she wants to do turn away from something so fruitless. She yanks him closer, impatient to have more than just him looking at her with clear adoration clouding his eyes – she needs to feel him, to really feel him. She has to show him how much she really loves him.

The kiss is hot and demanding.

God, she’d forgotten how much she melts under his lips. They’re rough and coarse – but they’re everything. She’s on cloud nine, swimming with happiness and relief all melded into one. Fuck, how had she managed to let him go? To let this go?

She grips him tighter as his fingers drift into a downward trail across her hips and then her thighs. He hooks his hands there as she wraps her legs scantily around him, hiking the length of her pants when his fingers dig into the garment.

He moans low in his throat.

It’s a sound that makes heat coil in her belly and painfully aware how long it’s been since she’s had him, naked and panting in their bedroom �� since she’s seen the face he makes when he comes inside her. At this angle she can feel every bit of how much he’s missed her too.

God. He is real. And she’s never letting him go again. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s stuck with her – for good this time.

The sudden clear of someone’s throat behind them has grounded Wren back into reality. She blinks and then reluctantly pulls away. Before he sets her on her feet again, she watches in mild satisfaction at how quickly his eyes darken once they linger on her face.

Taking off her jacket, Wren hastily ties it around his lean hips as all eyes remain rooted in their direction.

Before she can step away, Cal snakes a hand loosely around her waist and keeps her tucked at safely at his side. “I think I’m missing something here.” He doesn’t relax completely. He tilts his chin and sniffs the air. “Bloodsuckers.”

“Good, bloodsuckers –” Wren elbows him. “If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have found you.”

Kamilah wipes her daggers clean and raises one critical eyebrow. “The least you can do is say thanks, pup.”

Cal’s stiffens.

“I think what Kamilah means to say is,” Harlow holds up her hands, smiling hesitantly at Cal’s decisively protective stance. “We wanted to help.” Jax appears by her side as she speaks, rubbing blood absently off her arm. “The idea of anyone suffering in some place like this is sickening and wrong.” Her face twists. “It seems that our information on Mr. Kavinsky wasn’t all what it’s cracked up to be anyway.”

“You didn’t find what you were looking for?” Wren asks, dragging her eyes away from Cal. If only for a moment. The least she should do is properly thank them.

A look passes between all four of them. Ah. They definitely aren’t going to share that kind of information with her – which makes her want to know even more. What exactly are they hiding?

“While I think introductions are in order,” Adrian lips curve in slight amusement, breaking Wren out of  her wayward thoughts. “I believe we should probably head out of here. We did let go all those other people too. They’re probably destroying the place as we speak.”

“Wait, what?” Cal’s mouth hangs open for a moment before just as swiftly snapping shut.

As if to emphasize his point, the entire ground floor begins shaking.

“Yeah, you’ve missed a lot.” Wren pats his arm.

Lily’s the only one that’s still staring as if struck in awe. “You’re a werewolf?” She pauses to think, “well – I mean I saw you. But I still can’t really believe it.” She smiles, “I have so many questions.”

“Before you ask – no werewolves do not go into heat.” Cal’s tone is almost deadpanned.

“And it’s definitely not the time Lil.” Although, Harlow laughs as she says it.

“God, I know so many fanfic authors that’d be disappointed.”

“Who are you again?” His brow furrows.

“I’ll fill you in on the way.” Wren mutters, grabbing his arm. Although she hesitates, and drops her gaze down the length of his body – almost drawing in a shaky breath at how visibly stunning he is.

Gaah. A part of her wants nothing more than to pry that jacket off him, but the rest of her realizes she’ll have to wait.  Although, she has a peculiar feeling that it’ll be worth it – it still takes a tremendous amount of effort not to jump him right then and there. “I uh -,” a spot of color touches her cheeks as she glances away. “I brought some clothes with me.” Then she clears her throat, turning back to smirk at him. “But feel free to walk around naked on my account.” She gestures to him, “I certainly won’t stop you.”

His confident smile falters and he bashfully glances down at his feet before chuckling. “I’ll take my chances with the clothes this time.” He shifts his attention briefly towards the rest of their little group. Already, they’ve started dispersing after checking the security feeds. “Thank you,” he says earnestly.

“You should be thanking her” Jax jerks his chin towards Wren. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Cal bends slightly to bump his forehead affectionately against hers’. “Thank you.”

“Never scare me like that again.” She says the words seriously but her stomach still flips at his heart-felt gesture. “And you can thank me properly when we’re all safely outside.”

He breaks out into a grin. “Deal.”

Giving his hand a light squeeze, Wren returns the smile before fixing Adrian with raised eyebrows and a very important question. “Now how the hell are we supposed to get out –”

“I’ve already got us covered.” Lily interjects, tucking several braids behind her ear. She’s been tapping through something on her phone for the last several seconds before glancing up with a confident smile. “Just follow me.”

-

By the time they’ve left, the building is almost in ruins. From the outside, it looks nearly the same – a few missing pieces of brick and cracked windows, but these are the only telltale signs of destruction. However, on the inside – most of Kavinsky’s collections have either been stolen, broken or severely disfigured.

It’s a pity he isn’t among what’s left behind. Even if he was still alive – Kavinsky has multiple targets on his back.

Cal doesn’t think he’ll re-surface anytime soon, but he’d have liked giving that asshole a piece of his mind.

The rest of his mind has more important matters to contend with – he’s alive and he vows never to take that for granted ever again. He can scarcely believe it himself, after the last couple days he’s had – trapped in the prison of a madman.

But he’s not there anymore – or is he? How is being in the company of strangers any better? He doesn’t know them and they’ve offered him a place for the night, a place for both of them.

For a moment, Cal was beginning to think escaping was some sort of fever dream. How else can he explain the absence of cuffs on his wrists? The uneasy happiness filling his chest? Did he ever leave? Or was he so lost in his delusion that he’d concoct this whole reality?

The last time he’s seen her, she wasn’t nestled by his side the way she is now – she was throwing accusations at him. How can he believe his own eyes, or listen to his heart after everything he’s been through?

Cal feels soft fingers cupping his chin, forcing his gaze from the window and unto the softest expression of pure love he’s ever seen from her face.

It’s like she can tell his thoughts are spiraling and having her touch helps to ground him back into reality. His eyes flutter close of their own accord as she leans into him.

“You’re okay.” She says the words gently, “we’re okay.”

He listens to the sound of her voice, allowing its gentleness to creep back into his heart. She’s right. He isn’t back here, he’s with her – with the only person he’s ever loved. Fuck, it feels so good to have her here.

“Wren,” his voice cracks and she’s looking up at him again. There’s a lot he wants to say, a lot that they haven’t said. Where do they go from here?

He’s still the alpha.

She loves him but he’s still the alpha.

As far as he’s concerned nothing’s really changed.

In any other reality – maybe things could have been different. Maybe he could shirk from his responsibilities and ride into the sunset with her; build a life together - separate from all this chaos in NOLA. But he thinks about Donny and his last year in school. He thinks about those kids from Shaw’s pack and all the other people counting on him.

“We can talk later.” She promises.

He swallows past the sudden lump in his throat and forces a smile of gratitude. This isn’t the time or place for that kind of conversation, but staring deeply into those deeply warm eyes – Cal wants to put her first.

And that, perhaps is the most dangerous and scariest knowledge of it all.

-