#the thing that i’ve mostly seen myself get better at is brushing my teeth and i know that’s so basic everyone starts by working on that

[chazz-is-a-zelda-fan]

can’t post this on insta considering a good chunk of my irls follow me there and they wouldn’t get this but i’ve been doing a lot better this week about keeping up with myself, i think

[30fury]

To throw in my two cents, and I guess second a lot of what’s been said...*

I worship most of the main pantheon (plus some) to little issue. (At least, from what I can tell. I’m not the most sensitive to the less-than-obvious). A lot of it is in touch-and-go amounts -- Artemis and Heracles get candles and prayers every so often. Hestia also, though more regularly. Apollo and Aphrodite I come to on a more issue-based schedule. But Dionysus, Zeus, and Athena I’m always bumping up against.

Most of them have nothing to do with me or my life. Like, zero. I just worship for fun, in so many words. I’m not a hunter, nor a woman, but I keep a space for Artemis because she does a lot for us as people. Aphrodite and I have had our issues, but she has such a sway on my life and philosophy that I continue to love and respect her. Evoking them both in the same breath may seem weird, but they’re also family; they are meant to be simultaneously contradictory and complementary. Unless they express preferences to you directly, it is not abnormal to worship multiple gods who cover different realms of life. 

It also doesn’t hurt to proverbially say “hi” to anyone who strikes your interest, or who has interest in you. In my experience, the Gods chose me as much as I chose them -- with the reason for why being literally anything. I used to worship exclusively kthonic deities until I realized we had nothing more to gain from each other. I didn’t touch Dionysus until he kept banging his fist against the side of my brain and I went, “All right, I’m ready.” But I sought out Hekate back in the day, as well as Hades and Apollo, because I thought they were interesting. I ended up enjoying myself, even if it didn’t last. I’m a strong believer in “worship a god because you want to, not because you feel you need to, or have any singular reason to”.

A note on myths: a lot of them aren’t literal, so using them and only them to kind of fit your worship into place may be counterproductive. If you can, looking into their functions in daily life may serve you better if you want to go for a specific “set of rules”. Myths are, first, stories. But myths do set up a lot of associations and, I guess, personality? Basically, myths are good primers, but I’ve gotten a lot more from extended research with a focus on how the ancients used to do things. There’s some feature of the old ways in the epics and even some plays, but this is in the same way that every culture has their own “trademark” in the things they make. It won’t be complete, and may not give a reason for why they’re doing something. While I don’t suggest only doing it, you can also look around on social sites to see what others are doing in regards to their worship. Basically replacing a physical community with a digital one, it’s good to see what other people have incorporated/interpreted from the olds

Even if you don’t directly replicate what they did, it’s usually intent that you’ll focus on. Washing hands is a big one -- I also like to brush my teeth, though, because I’m “talking” to them (even if I’m not really talking). Things like pouring libations and sectioning out food to offer is also common amongst us, though what that looks like to you might be different. For awhile, I was pouring water directly on my garage floor after workouts for Athena. When I do, I eat the food I’ve offered to the gods, so it doesn’t rot and physically go to waste. But I prefer a lot of flame, heat, and hymn recitation for daily stuff.

In short, lots of research and finding what works for you. I can’t really point you in any one way, unfortunately, because my “founding principals” were researched a long while ago, but I do know more scholarly research papers was where a lot of my practices came from. You may need to bypass some institution walls for that, but I’ve seen people pass around some free resources as well. 

Mostly, keeping up with more than one god is going to require effort. That’s unavoidable, and it will come in many forms. Start small, connect and research!

*Also not an expert, based entirely on my experiences. If anyone wants to correct me/add on, please, I actively encourage it. 

Hey y’all

I’ve been trying to do divination to see if any deities want to work with me. The signs I’ve been getting have been more associated with ares. Any advice? I’m lost. I thought that celtic paganism was for me, but since I’ve been seeing these signs, I’ve been seeing things about myself that would honestly be more fitter for ares. Maybe I’m interpreting them wrong?

[reidsmemory]

Daycare

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Y/N is a high school teacher and Hotch’s niece. She meets the BAU one morning and feels a connection with one of the agents. A few weeks later she is involved in a kidnapping and has to get her students to safety. 

Genre: Action with some fluff

Quinn Speaks: Okay so I kinda got off track here and it’s more of a bad ass reader fic but I wrote the bulk of this at like 2 am. I hope you all enjoy and let me know if you want a part 2!!

not my gif!

     Your day started at 3 am. That’s right, 3 am. The buzzing noise of your phone woke you out of your slumber as you picked up the device and brought it up to your face, the blinding white light made your eyes adjust immediately. Uncle Aaron was listed as the caller ID and a picture of him, Jack, and yourself was also shown on the screen. 

     “Hello?” you said in your best ‘you totally didn’t wake me’ voice which really ended up being your ‘I’ve been dead for 5 years and been just revived’ voice instead.

     “Y/N, I’m really sorry, but I need you to come in to BAU. We just caught a case and I can’t a sitter for Jack so he’s here with me and-” the man would have kept rambling about the situation if you hadn’t cut him off.

     “No problem, Uncle Aaron. I’ll be there in 25 minutes.” You threw off your covers and began to walk over to your bathroom. 

     “You’re a lifesaver, thanks Y/N.” You hummed and he promptly hung up the call. You flipped on the light switch and saw that you had indeed looked like you had been dead for 5 years. You sighed and got to work. 

     You usually babysat Jack when Aaron was out of town for a case and your flat had become a second home for Jack. It wasn’t like that hadn’t happened before, him calling you about a case and needing you to watch Jack, no of course not. But he would usually call you a couple hours in advance or it would be during hours of the day when you were actually awake and running around. 

     You finished getting your hair to look quite decent all things considered and your teeth brushed and your face was washed. You decide to just throw a cardigan over your tank top and shorts and you made your way to the front door, grabbing your keys, phone, and some snacks for Jack as well as slipping on your strappy, tan sandals. 

     You locked your door and walked to the elevator on your floor and pressed the parking garage button. The elevator hummed as it went down and you yawned, stretching a bit as well.

     The doors dinged open and you made your way to your car and started to drive off. To keep your eyes awake, you played a classic rock station that was full of guitar solos and drum bangs that would surely keep you up. You pulled into a little drive through and got some coffees for yourself, your uncle, and his team as well as a hot chocolate for Jack.

     “25.96 is your total,” the cashier at the window said as you handed her your card. She was still ringing it up as she turned to you, “so, what’s got you up at 3 am and grabbing a shit load of coffee?”

     You chuckled lightly at her words, “babysitting emergency.” 

     She gave you a grin and handing you your card. “Well, good luck,” she said while handing you the holder for all the drinks as well as the drinks themselves. 

     “Thank you, have a good morning,” you said with a light smile.

     “Ditto.” She closed the windows and smiled as you drove off, you still had about 10 minutes to get to the BAU. Traffic was light which worked in your favor as well as living pretty close to the building. 

     You parked and started to get out with the coffees as you made your way to the entrance. You stepped inside as the security guards scanned you and checked the drinks and you were finally able to make your way up to the designated floor with a visitor pass.

     A woman with black hair came into elevator as well and you both exchanged good mornings and a light smiles. She was no doubt judging the outfit you were wearing, wondering where in the federal government you work that allowed you to come into work wearing your a sleep top and shorts as well as a big cardigan. 

     You both stepped out on the same floor and you made your way through the bullpen and straight to your uncle’s office.

     Emily watched you walk off and she furrowed her eyebrows, she had never seen you at the BAU before and now you were walking into her boss’ office with coffees and in your pj’s. “Do you know who that is?” she asked Spencer as he looked up from some paper work.

     “Who?” he asked as Emily discreetly pointed in your direction. Spencer furrowed his brows as he had never seen you before. He watched you walk up the small amount of stairs to Hotch’s office and noticed that you also had a visitor pass in you hand as well a some coffees. 

     “Spencer?” Emily said as he continued to watch you. “Reid!” she snapped in front of his face as he finally brought his attention back to Emily. He looked at her and quickly stole glances at you when he though she wasn’t watching. 

     She noticed. 

     Emily grinned at the younger man as he turned his attention back to Emily and blushed lightly, deciding to return to the papers in front of him, but not without sneaking another glance at you. 

     Your uncle opened the door and ushered you into his office where Jack was sleeping on the couch. “Thank you for coming,” his voice was quiet and you just smiled as he brought you into a hug. 

     “I got coffees for you and your team; needed one myself and figured you guys would want some too,” you whispered as Hotch smiled lightly and took the carrier from you. “So what happened?”

     “Missing child in Louisiana. He was over at a friends for a sleepover and was nabbed about an hour ago.” You nodded and frowned a bit as did your uncle.

     “Well, good thing they’ve got the best on the job,” you tried to lighten the mood as he held a closed lipped smile. “Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine.” 

     He nodded his head and grabbed some files from his desk and headed to the door of his office. You smiled at him as he said his goodbyes to Jack, waking him. 

     Hotch closed the door and was met by the stares of his team, “we’ll have to brief on the plane. There’s been a missing child report in Louisiana so wheels up in 10.” The team nodded and started to pack up and get ready. “My niece got us all fresh coffee as well,” he walked down the stairs and put the tray on an empty table. 

     “Y/N’s here?” Morgan asked as Hotch nodded. “She is a lifesaver.”

     “My words exactly,” he said and walked away as the team went to grab the drinks. 

     You put Jack on your hip and started to walk out of the office. You closed the door and turned around as you were greeted by the warm smile of Derek Morgan.

     “Morning, Hotcakes,” he teased as you smiled widely. You walked down the stairs as he pulled you into a side hug seeing as Jack was clinging to your other side. You both pulled away as he started up again, “thanks for the drinks.”

     “Course, I figured you guys would be as tired as me,” you said nonchalantly as he nodded. You saw the other pairs of eyes on you and quickly introduced yourself, “sorry, i’m Y/N. Aaron’s niece.”

     They nodded at your words as Rossi made his way over to you. “Nice to see you again, Kiddo,” he hugged you the same way Morgan had and you smiled at the older man. 

     “Jennifer Jareau, but I go by JJ,” she stuck out her hand as you smiled at her and shook it. 

     “Emily Prentiss.” The raven haired woman did the same as JJ as she shook you hand and smiled.

     “Uh, Spencer Reid,” the taller brunette man told you as you shot him a small smile seeing as he didn’t offer a handshake. “I wasn’t aware that Hotch had a niece,” he said.

     “Oh, yeah. I moved out here a few months ago for Hotch and Jack,” you told them.

     “Where do you work?” JJ asked.

     “I’m a teacher at Philip Moore High School.”

     “Yeah, Miss. Y/N is the best history teacher,” Derek teased a you rolled your eyes with a small smile on your face. 

     “Alright, I better get out of your guys’ hair and get this little one out of here,” you told them as they nodded. “Good luck with the case.” You smiled at them and gave Morgan on last side hug before you were walking through the bullpen and towards the elevator. 

     Spencer watched as you went and felt a clap on his back from Derek. He whipped around and saw the older man smiling. “Somebody got a crush on the teacher?” he singsonged as Spencer’s cheeks flamed pink. 

     “From the minute I pointed her out to him,” Emily recalled as she chuckled a it, “the chatty doctor turns into a gaping teenage boy.” Spencer heard JJ snicker as he felt his cheeks heat up even further. 

     The door of the BAU opened as they all whipped around and saw Hotch standing with his go bag and some files, “lets go.”

***

     It was a few weeks later and the case had gone great from what your uncle told you. They had found the kid and caught the creep who took him within the 24 hour rule they set up. 

     You stood by a yellow school bus and held a roster of names in your hand. “Alright!” you yelled out as mostly all the kids quieted down. “I’m gonna let everyone sit where they want as long as the volume doesn’t get too loud, yeah?”

     There was a mix of yes’ and okay’s in the crowd of 25 or so sophomores. Today you were taking a trip to the nations capital, a tradition for this school. The kids would go see a historical museum and take a tour of the White House, then you all would eat lunch downtown and then the kids go to vote on whether they wanted to go to another museum or go see a historical show. 

     “Lets get going then.” The kids filed onto the bus as you marked the names to the faces. Your co-worker was standing next to you and handing kids their badges and name tags. 

     Once everyone was on the bus, you turned to the slightly older man. “Ready to go?” he asked you as you nodded. Both of you climbed on the bus and the kids quieted down as Mr. Greene opened his mouth, “Alright you all know the drill, no wondering off, no yelling or running, and stick with your partners!” 

     They all nodded and said a variation of yes.

     “I can take the middle if you want the front,” you told him as he nodded and you headed towards one of the benches you had put your bag on. A mix of girls and boys were around it and you were glad that you were on the younger side so that you could somewhat understand what they were talking about. 

     “Miss. Hotchner!” a boy called as you turned to face him. “Do you have any games for the ride?” This got the attention of the kids around you. 

     “Sure,” you started, trying to think of something to keep the teen engaged and interested. “Whoever can spot a red car with the letter q in the licences plate will get ice cream for them and their seat partner. Same thing goes for blue cars with a y.” The kids nodded and started conversing strategies on how they would do this. 

     You knew it was silly, but you would’ve loved if a teacher did this during your school trips. The bus started moving and you were soon pulling away from the school. 

***

     JJ walked into Hotch’s office, “We’ve got a case and need to go now.” He put down his pen and and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. 

     “Fill me in,” he said to JJ as he motioned for the rest of the team to get up. 

     “A bus full of high schoolers on their way to a field trip in DC. They never checked in to their morning tour or any other events. Parents can’t get a hold of kids and faculty can’t get in touch with the teachers on the trip.”

     “So it’s local. How long ago did the high school contact us?” he asked.

     “Not even 15 minutes ago,” JJ told him as he nodded. 

     “Let���s take the SUVs and set up at the high school,” he told the team as the nodded and grabbed their things and headed for the doors. They sped to the cars and split up; Hotch, Reid, JJ, and Morgan in one while Rossi, Emily, and Penelope were in the other. 

     “Alright,” JJ set up her phone so it was on speaker and connected to the other car. “26 kids and 2 teachers along with a bus driver were heading out for an annual field trip the school does for sophomores. No one on the bus has been able to be contacted and were supposed to be back at the school 45 minutes ago.”

     “What time did they take off?” Morgan asked.

     “7:15 am and their first activity was at 9:50 am which they never checked in for according to the museum,” JJ explained. 

     “Garcia,” Hotch started, “can you pull up the bus GPS?” 

     “On it, Sir!” she replied. They kept driving to the school and were within 7 minutes of the destination seeing as they had sped all the way there. The team talked more as Garcia was pulling stuff up. Hotch pulled into the school and payed no attention to the sign as they did so. 

     They hopped out of the car and were met with the principal who had a grief stricken face. “Thank you so much for coming,” he spoke, “James Randalf, I’ll take you guys to the room we’re set up in.”

     “SSA Aaron Hotchner,” he said as he stuck out his hand. The man shook it but held a weird look on his face. “What is it?” Hotch asked.

     “You said Hotchner?” he asked as Aaron nodded, “Any relation to Y/N Hotchner?”

     “Yes, she’s my niece. This is Philip Moore High School?” The principal nodded as they walked through the hallway. He opened to door for the team swiftly as he stepped in. 

     “She’s one of the teacher’s that was on the bus.” Hotch paled at the man’s words as the rest of the team did a double take. Spencer had been to immersed in the case file and hadn’t seen the name of the high school as they pulled up or he would’ve at least connected the dots a bit faster. 

     “Get started,” Hotch said as he pulled out his phone rung your number up. The phone stayed ringing and no one picked up as Aaron cursed under his breath. “Garcia I need you to get the GPS of this number,” Hotch read your number and thought to himself that you always kept your GPS on and he urged you to do it one day as you took Jack.

     “Just in case anything happens, alright?”

     “Nothing will happen to us, but okay,” you said with as smile as Jack giggled in your arms.

     “Got the location, Sir,” Garcia said as Hotch snapped out of the trance he was in. 

     “Call for a SWAT car. Morgan, Emily, Reid, Rossi lets go,” Hotch ordered as they all nodded and followed the man out of the building, all hoping to find you and the kids.

***

     “Everyone just stay calm!” the man yelled as he entered the bus with another man behind him. The bus driver reached for his walkie-talkie and the second man shot him right in his forehead. The kids around you were whimpering and crying as you tried to be discreet about your movements.

     You grabbed the pepper spray from you bag and put it down your bra as well as taking your small pocket knife and putting it in your shoe. Students looked to you as you held up a finger to your mouth and nodded at them, gesturing for them to listen and stay quiet.

     “We don’t want to hurt anyone else,” the first man started, “we just want everyone to stay calm and stay quiet. We won’t kill you.”

     “Phones now,” the second said as he came around with a sack as kids put their phones in. You kept your head down and did the same, he didn’t seem to realize you were a teacher. He walked back up the aisle and pointed his gun at Mr. Greene. “Red, up,” he said referring to the color of the man’s shirt. He instructed Greene to move the bus driver out of his seat and onto the side of the road. Once he was finished he stood back up and both men stepped outside and shot him as well as dumping the phones.

     You took this opportunity to turn to the kids next to you. “Only call me by my first name, Y/N,” you told them as they nodded, “pass it on.” They whispered to each other and you were pretty sure that all the students knew what to do now.

     They stepped back on the bus and one of the men got into the driver’s seat while the other stepped to the aisle at the front of the bus. “Everyone is gonna quiet up. You all are a special bunch, parents in high position, rich, and willing to do whatever they can to get back their precious children.” The other man laughed as he started up the bus. “If I see anyone trying to communicate with the outside I will not hesitate to blow your head off. No talking and we wont have a problem.”

     He sat where Mr.Greene did as the other man started to drive off. Some kids kept their heads down and others near you looked to you. You signaled that everything was going to be okay and that you would kept them safe. 

     There had to be a way to warn you uncle where you were going. 

***

     At the sight, the team found two bodies and all of the cellphones. Hotch cursed silently as did the rest of the team. Spencer walked up and down the road as something had caught his eye. He picked up a folded piece of paper and opened it carefully. 

     “Do you have something, Kid?” Morgan asked as he nodded and walked over to the agents. 

     He unfolded the note and showed them as Hotch spoke up, “that’s Y/N’s handwriting.”

     2 men, White. 5′11 & 5′9. 190 and 170 lb. Aggressive and passive. Friends.

     The note had the team smiling as you had been able to give a clue of what they had to look for. “Definitely a Hotchner,” Rossi joked as Aaron smiled lightly at the man’s words. 

     “Lets get this back to Garcia, see if she can get a match.” The team nodded at their section leader’s words. 

     Spencer held the note in his hand and smiled to himself, he had only met you once, but you were proving to be very resourceful as well smart. This made his small crush grow into a full blown one and now he just had to get you back.

***

     They had taken you all to an abandoned barn about 3 hour drive at top speed. They tied you all up and made you all sit as they quickly made their way to a van that was parked in the barn. They had taken the boys to another location and left the the girls in the barn.

     As soon as you heard the car pull away you looked around for any cameras and saw that their were none. Girls whispered to each other as you soon gained their attention, “everyone listen up,” their eyes where on you. “We are going to get out of here alright?” They nodded as you quickly assessed the situation. 

     “What are you going to do, Miss. Hotchner?” one of the girls asked.

     “Get out of these.” You took the pocket knife from your shoe and switched it open. “Here,” you said handing it to one of the girls, “cut these open.” She nodded and did as you told her. Soon the zip ties where off your hands and you took the knife back from her and cut the zip ties around your feet. 

     You quickly did the same to the rest of the girl as you were all free now. “We move together. If they come back I’ll hold them off and the rest of you run and get help. Get my uncle, his name is Aaron Hotchner and he works for the FBI. Take this,” you grabbed the pepper spray and handed it to one of the girls, “use it if you have a good shot and pick up anything you can defend yourself with.”

     They nodded and you lead the way out of the barn. The van was no where in sight and you were good to go. You started going a different path than the main road in as to avoid the men. 

     You were able to walk with the girls for a good couple hours as you soon saw a gas station. You walked in with the girls and told the man behind the counter your predicament, he was about to dial the police as the door opened and a man walked in. One of the men who kidnapped you all. 

     He shot the man behind the counter and the girls froze. “Thought you could get away that easy?” he said as you gripped the knife in you hand behind your back. He came closer and pointed the gun at you all. “Lets go!” he yelled as some of the girls flinched. He got closer as you were able to tackle him the the ground. 

     His gun went off and slid to the side as the girl watched you and him fight.  You were able to flip him on his stomach and grab the keys out of his pocket. You threw them at the girls direction and yelled, “go! Like we talked about! Get to a big city and don’t stop!” He manged to flip you over and push you to the ground as you gritted you teeth and saw the girls run out of the shop and to the van. 

     You kneed him in the sweet spot as he crumbled above you and you got up on your feet and went to the gun but were tackled to the ground as your face slammed down. He turned you over and held down your hands as he delivered a punch to your face.

     This went on for a while; you and him struggling and giving each other bruises that would hurt for days. You were finally able to knock him out, by slamming his head against the hard floor. 

     You stood up and took the gun and knife as you were able to make your way out of the store and to the little car sitting outside. You broke the passengers side window and unlocked the car and made your way over to the drivers side to hot wire the car. You fumbled with wires and finally got the car to start as you heard a chime from the store entrance. The man was coming out as you pulled out as he tried to chase you as you stuck the gun out your window and were able to hit him in the leg as he fell to the ground. All those times training with your uncle had finally paid off. 

     You knew it was stupid, but you couldn’t help but go back to the direction of the barn. You hadn’t seen any structures where they could’ve keep the boys and you had to get them to safety. You had promised them. 

***

     A white van pulled up to the front of the school about 2 hours after the BAU had gotten there. The girls filed out and made their way inside the building as they saw the cars parked out in front and figured their would be someone there. The doors were open and they walked in and were met with shocked faces of the staff. 

     The staff got the agents as they made their way to the front of the school. Aaron watched as the girls look around clearly nervous and distraught. “We need to conduct interviews now.” The team nodded as they each took one of the girls into a classroom. JJ gathered all the parents with daughters and told them the good news. 

     Spencer and Aaron sat with one of the girls. “Start at the beginning.”

     The girl told them about the barn and how you had gotten them out and then the walk to the gas station and how you had fought with the man as you told them to go and get help. “Do any of you know Aaron Hotchner? Miss. Hotchner told us to get him and he would know what to do.”

     “That would be me,” Aaron spoke as she nodded. 

     “She saved us and I feel so bad for just leaving her there, with that man,” she shuddered at the thought. “Do you think he killed her?” she whispered to them as both Spencer and Hotch paled at the thought.

     “I don’t think so,” Spencer spoke honestly, “Miss. Hotchner is very resourceful and you said she had the upper hand, right?” The girl nodded as Spencer smiled. “I’m sure she’s fine and you did just what she told you. You don’t have to feel guilty.” 

     She left the room and was soon reunited with her parents. 

     “We need to get to the gas station,” Hotch said as Spencer nodded. “Half of us will go there and the other half to the barn. We can have Garcia see if the car had GPS and if she can retrace where it’s been.”

     The team regrouped and Garcia was able to get 3 locations in the vicinity. They split up accordingly and headed out to the locations.

***

     You had scoped out a small building. It had no cars in front of it and was the the closest building to the barn you had been in earlier. You knew you could either go in guns a-blazing, but the man inside would have the kids as leverage and you knew you had to take him out as soon as possible or at least injure him. 

     You held the gun in your hand and quickly made your way to the building as you looked into one of the windows and saw the boys all tied up and the man sitting with as concerned look on his face. You devised your plan and figured it would be easier to lure him out. You walked back to the car and put pressure on the horn as it continued to make noise as the heavy stick pressing against it held.

     The man came out as you hid behind a tree and waited for him to have his back to you. Once this happened you fired your gun and hit him in the back of his leg. He dropped to the ground and his gun went forward. You ran over and picked it up as he cried out and started cussing at you. 

     “You stupid bitch! You’re gonna pay for this!” he screamed.

     “Sure, buddy,” you said in an amused voice. You put the guns down as you turned him on his back and took the branch for the car and hit his jaw with it as he passed out. You put it down and checked his pulse, still alive. You opened up the trunk of the car and held him in an army carry as you put him in the small space as you closed and locked the trunk. You jogged over to the building and opened the door to see around 17 teenage boys looking at you with more fear than you had ever seen. 

     “Miss. Hotchner!” one said as you smiled and got out your knife and began getting the zip-ties off of them. 

     “Is everyone okay? Anyone hurt?” They all said no to your question as nodded and finished getting everyone free.

     “What happened to the girls?” one boy asked. 

     “They are hopefully with my uncle and making sure someone comes for us soon,” you told them as they nodded. “You’ll all get the full story when we get out of here, okay?” 

     You lead them out of the small building and told them to stay there. They did as told as you brought the car over and made sure to keep an eye on the man inside if he did manage to escape. 

     After waiting for a hour or so in the dark, a black SUV pulled up along with a swat car. 

     “Everyone put you hands up, it’s alright,” you told them as you placed down the gun and knife and put you hands above your head. The boys followed in suit and you soon saw your uncle get out of the car.

     “Guns down! It’s just the kids!” he made his way over to you as you hugged him tightly. You groaned lightly as he pulled away. “Are you alright?” You nodded and gestured towards the kids as your uncle understood. 

     Spencer came over to you as smiled lightly at him. Your face was littered with cuts and bruises and even a bit of blood that was dried on your face. “Hey, Spencer,” you said as he smiled lightly. “There’s one of the douche bags in the trunk.” You pointed as he nodded at you words.

     “Can I get some cuffs and a guy over here!” he yelled out as he made his way over to the trunk. A SWAT guy had his gun up as you unlocked the trunk and the man tumbled out. 

     He immediately started yelling, “where is that bitch!” he lunged at you from the ground as the SWAT cuffed him and brought him into custody. You closed the trunk and swiftly sat atop it. You winced slightly as Spencer was quick to come by your side. 

     “You’re hurt,” he said frowning as you nodded at his word. 

     “Got thrown around a bit,” you joked. He quickly went over to the SUV and got back to you as he was now holding a first-aid kit. He set it down on the trunk and quickly got to work on your face. 

     You cuts had stopped bleeding by now, but they were still open and Spencer delicately wiped them down and placed a few bandages on your face. You swore he was blushing, but it was too hard to tell in the dark. 

     He finished cleaning up your face and Hotch quickly thanked him. You got into the stolen car as 3 of the boys got in with you as well as Spencer and he started to drive off to the school.

***

     Spencer pulled up to the school as you all got out of the car. Parents were waiting outside the car and the boys rushed to them as they all let out cries. You smiled at the sight and had also asked Spencer about the fate of the girls earlier and were grateful for that as well. You made your way over to a paramedic and she checked you out and quickly realized that you had in fact a minor dislocated your shoulder. 

     “Seriously?” you asked as she nodded.

     “It was probably the adrenaline that allowed you body to over look it. That with the other bruises all over your body, your mind probably thought it was just one of those,” she explained. “I’ll have to pop it back in place.” You grimaced and nodded as she made her way over to your side. 

     Hotch was by your side as you stuck out your hand and he took it. Some of the students were watching, worried for you. 

     “Big breath in,” she told you as you followed her instructions and she quickly popped it back into place. You shoulder cracked loudly and you yelped a bit and turned some heads. “Alright, you’ll have to treat it with care and it might swell, but you are good to go Miss. Hotchner.”

     “Thank you,” you told her with a light smile and you hopped of the back of the ambulance. Your uncle rubbed you back as you looked to him. “How’s Jack?” you asked as he smiled at your question. 

     “He’s fine. Will, JJ’s husband, is watching him.” You nodded at his response and made your way to the school as he still had to pack up some stuff. “I’m driving you home and don’t even think about coming into work tomorrow.” You laughed as he smiled at you. 

     “Miss. Hotchner!” Your name was called you looked to your uncle and quickly departed to got talk to the families. 

     “Is everything alright?” you asked the father as he nodded. 

     “We,” he gestured towards all the parents, “wanted to thank you for saving our kids and keeping them safe.” A few mothers and fathers were crying and kids were smiling at you lightly.

     “Of course, i’m just glad that everyone is okay,” you told them truthfully. A girl came up to you and hugged you tightly as more kids came up and eventually the whole class was in a big group hug as some of them cried a bit, you surely teared up. They pulled away when your uncle came out and you bid the adieu and goodnight as you made your way over to Hotch. 

     “Ready?” he asked as you walked to your car. 

     You bit your lip. “One moment.” You made your way over to the young doctor and tapped him on the shoulder as he whipped around.  “Spencer,” you spoke softly as he looked at you and paused on working on your face. “Would you want to get dinner on Friday?”

     Spencer looked at you with wide eyes and couldn’t help but smile widely at your question.         

     “It’s just, I almost died a few time today and I don’t want to do anything that  would regret, which would include not asking you out. I know it’s bad timing and it’s totally fine if you don’t want to and-”

     You would’ve kept rambling, but Spencer cut you off, “I would love to have dinner on Friday with you.” You smiled at the man as he smiled back and now you were sure of the blush on his cheeks. 

     “Cool, um, do you have a pen?” you asked as he nodded and fumbled to get a pen from his bag. You smiled at him and took his palm as you wrote out your phone number and handed it back to him. “See you on Friday.” You smiled brightly as he nodded. You pecked his cheek and turned around quickly and was met with a surprised look on your uncles’ face.

     Spencer blushed brightly and brought a hand up to his face to check if that had actually happened. Derek came up behind him and smiled widely as he clapped him on the back. 

     “Finally got the girl! Good job man!” Derek told him as he smiled widely and was met with happy smiles from the rest of the team.

     “Dinner on Friday!” he gushed as they cheered and clapped a bit. All happy that the man had gotten some good new for once. 

      Dinner on Friday.

[skellebonez]

Hmmm how about MK and Monkie King with number 1 and number 45

I wanted to write a follow up to a certain fill that got some wonderful art recently too! But then the finale happened and now I made it depressing, sorry. Spoilers for... everything as this is set 3 days after the final episode. This also plays around with the “Sun Wukong is still super immortal and powerful but...” and other theories. (second prompt line is only used as inspiration in fill)

Do not give me that look./ You may technically be an adult, but you’re still my child.

The moment MK's curse was lifted and he was re-aged from 4 years old to adult Wukong acted like nothing had happened at all. No understanding conversations about how his powers could hurt him, no cooking together, no video games, and no accidental couch naps. It was as if the entire day had been undone to the sands of time.

But MK remembered and when the literal next day Wukong announced he was going on vacation... let's just say he was not happy in the slightest. He had tried to voice his objections, citing the Spider Queen as a prime example for why they should be worried, but the immortal monkey just flashed him dual thumbs up with a “Monkey King Out!” and flashed off somewhere MK couldn’t follow.

And now he was back and while MK had been more than happy to get going at first, to push everything that happened deep down inside him and ignore it for as long as possible (why was he doing that, he needed to stop doing that, look where that got them he was a mistake a bad choice as a successor and now he’s barely a successor at all) there was only so long he could go before it became clear there was more wrong than what Sun Wukong was telling him.

There was more wrong with Sun Wukong himself that he refused to admit.

He tried to hide it as well as he could. Despite the heat outside and the fur covering his body he still wore full body clothing. Hiding away the gashes and healing scars that riddled his form now. There was a nick in his eyebrow that had never gone away, and when MK watched closely he could see his mentor sometimes place his hand too far to the left when grabbing something. He walked with a slight limp, though that had improved over the last few days.

And he was quiet. Yes, when someone was addressing him he was “yeah totally, we got this fam, onward westward!”, but when MK caught him alone... especially outside on the deck of the drone, watching the horizon, he was more quiet and still than the Monkie Kid had ever seen him before.

Or maybe he was always like this and now Wukong was too hurt or distracted enough or just didn’t care anymore that MK was finally seeing him.

It was hard to tell with how distant he had been the last three days. Distant in the same way the day after the curse was lifted, but quieter.

“We need to talk,” He said from behind his mentor, watching as Wukong’s tail jumped only a little. Maybe that was just surprise at the words themselves. “Alone. Please.”

He expected Wukong to brush him off, to say “aw bud, can’t it wait? look at the sunset!” despite the sun having set so far they barely had any light left or something else. But instead he straightened up (MK heard the slight crack of his back again, much softer than when he had first heard it after their crash landing, and he wondered how much his back had healed from whatever injury it had) and turned to his student with an odd expression. Somewhat soft and fond and somewhat worried and resigned. Like this was more than just 3 days coming (and it was).

“Let’s... get something to eat first, alright?”

MK didn’t mention that they had eaten just over an hour ago.

~

They sat in the kitchen of the drone, alone under the dimmed lights with cups of tea and sliced fruit between them (mostly for Wukong). Neither had said anything as they prepared the small snack, and neither said anything as they sat down and took sips of their tea.

MK had made it slightly too strong.

“What did you want to ask first?” Wukong started off, picking up a peach slice and biting into it carefully. Slowly. This was something else that was noticed. Before when eating the Monkey King would just shove whatever he was eating in his mouth and MK wasn't certain he tasted it. But now it was like he was trying to make every meal last as long as possible. “There’s... a lot. I can tell.”

“We spent an entire day together and then you left without telling me anything,” MK said firmly, gripping the tea cup in his hands. He squeezed harder, just to see what would happen. It should have shattered... it didn’t. “Why didn’t you just... say something?”

“... I thought I was protecting you,” Wukong admitted honestly, taking another bite of peach. “And the city, the others...  That if I acted distant you wouldn’t wonder where I went a-”

“Wouldn’t wonder wh- no!” MK interrupted, gritting his teeth. “No, Monkey K- Wukong.” The change in how MK addressed him made Wukong jolt, looking at him with wide eyes. He had never called him by his name before now. “We spent an entire day together. You took care of me, helped me when my powers went haywire, helped me make food! You never treated me like that before! You treated me like... Like I was...”

“My kid,” Wukong finished for him, now looking down into his tea cup. “MK... You’re an adult, I know that, but somewhere down the line I started to think of you as... I didn’t know till then I guess, and that terrified me. The idea of you getting hurt that day was the only thing that compared to admitting I got attached to you as more than just my student.”

Had this revelation come sooner MK might have been more surprised. More disbelieving. But after that day and everything that happened once the curse was gone...

“... you have a funny way of showing it,” MK snapped without thinking, eyes widening and jolting upright when he realized what he had said. “I-”

“Don’t,” Wukong said with a shake of his head, sipping his tea with a sigh. “You deserve to be angry with me. I talked to, uh... Pigsy? Sandy too. Tang.... Mei. Your boss in particular laid into me pretty hard after the excitement died down... Don’t know how I went 1000 years without knowing what a ‘lie by omission’ was.”

“... you abandoned me.”

“Yes... I didn’t mean it that way, but that doesn’t change that I did.”

“You didn’t trust me.”

“NO.” Wukong said firmly, voice raised for the first time in days. MK glowered at him. “No, that is one thing I will not back down on. Yes, I lied to you and left you behind and that was a mistake I will need to make up for over a long time, but it wasn’t because I didn’t trust you. I trusted you to take care of yourself, to teach yourself the lessons I left behind, and take care of the city. And you did! You did so much better than I even hoped for, and I hoped so badly that you would do as well as you did! I didn’t leave you there because I didn’t trust you, I left you there because I did... and because I thought I had to do everything myself...” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “I’ve been alone so long... I forgot I could do things with help on my end, I guess...”

“If... If Lady Bone Demon hadn’t finished what she was doing...?”

“Had the Lady Bone Demon not been working faster than I thought she was I would have come back with nothing less than even more trust in you as my successor.”

“... am I even still your successor without...?” MK trailed off, trying to keep his voice level. The tea cup still held strong.

“Yes,” Wukong assured, reaching out to put a hand on MK’s shoulder. MK noticed how he almost missed and corrected his hand. “The staff and my powers alone didn’t make you my successor. I picked you before those, remember? You’re still the Monkie Kid, MK. Nothing is going to change that for me.”

The young man went quiet for a moment, taking a shaky breath. He wanted to ask why he was chosen, what made him so special... but there would be time for that in the future. For now he had gotten at least some of his questions answered. But there was something much more pressing to touch on.

“,,, you’ve been lying to all of us,” he accused suddenly, reaching up and grabbing the wrist of Wukong’s hand on his shoulder before he could pull back. He looked his mentor in the face, watching as Wukong’s eyes widened in realization and horror. “Do not give me that look. Stop... please, stop lying. I’m not stupid, I can see you’re still hurt bad. You’re supposed to be invincible but you came back hurt and... and almost nothing can hurt you!”

Wukong didn’t meet MK’s gaze, looking down at their snack as he breathed heavily and shakily. He knew he was caught, that much was obvious.

“Please... talk to me, for once. I know I do the same thing, I lied to everyone else by not telling them about LBD or the calabash or Macaque coming back-” Wukong tensed at that, an odd sound escaping his throat. “-and look where it got us. We both need to talk. To everyone else. To each other.”

Wukong’s arm was shaking where MK held it, but he didn’t try to pull it back. Not until MK let it go. He sat back down, looking at the table like it held all the secrets of the universe before bringing his hand up to cover his eye. The one with the nicked eyebrow.

“Bud...” Wukong started, biting his lip. There was something wrong in his tone. “I... you were going to find out eventually. I can’t keep this up forever, not like Macaque can.” MK tensed at the mention of the other immortal monkey, watching as Wukong did not move his hand. “This takes a lot of focus. And... with my invincibility partly gone-”

“What?” MK asked, so soft he thought Wukong hadn’t heard him.

“... You didn’t get my powers from the staff, MK,” Wukong said. “And they don’t just duplicate. That’s not how they work. From day one I have been... siphoning my powers to you. Bit by bit. As you got better at controlling them I would give you more until I felt I didn’t need them myself anymore. When I locked away your invincibility I just undid what I had given you and slowed down the transfer... you’d been half invincible for weeks.”

“No...” MK started, slowly realizing what Wukong was implying. “No, no you’re lying again! This is a terrible, horrible prank!” Despite wanting to be quiet before MK found himself yelling. “Say you’re still lying!”

“No,” Wukong shook his head, looking down at the scar on his arm that was now visible as his sleeve had slipped down. “Most of this will probably heal eventually, except maybe one thing, and I’m still immortal! There’s no undoing that no matter what I do. I’m not dying any time soon. But my transformations? Cloning? My cloud...” He trailed off at that, breaking in a shaky breath. “You didn’t even get to use that... Lady Bone Demon took all of it when she took it from you. I still have some powers, some of my transformations and hair stuff and some invincibility... but I’m not the same overpowered Monkey King you met when you freed DBK...”

And as he trailed off, Wukong lowered his hand. Something flickered, something familiar. Too familiar. Reminiscent of Macaque’s shadows but brighter. And after there was something else reminiscent. In reverse.

MK had only seen it for a split second, when all of Macaque’s glamor magic had dropped. The milky white right eye and the scar over it that was left behind from his battle with Wukong 500 years ago.

And now Wukong looked at him with a similarly white left eye, a similar scar that wasn’t just a nicked eyebrow running down his face.

It makes sense in retrospect, much more. MK supposed that when you lose an eye you lose depth perception and it takes a while to get used to judging where things are.

“... what happened before you came in to save me?” MK asked quietly, watching as more of the glamor fell with a curse from Wukong. There was another nick on his cheek that was still healing, a piece of one of his ears had been ripped off too. No doubt there were more injuries under his clothes that Wukong hadn’t let anyone see.

“She has Macaque under her control,” Wukong said plainly, groaning as he held his head. “Damn, that... letting that down...” He groaned again and before MK could realize what was happening Wukong’s eyes rolled back into his head and he slipped from his chair to the floor.

“WUKONG!” MK shot up, rushing over to his side and yelling over his shoulder in the hopes someone would hear. “Pigsy! D-DADSY! Help, SOMETHING’S WRONG!”

When Pigsy rushed in with the others in tow Wukong hadn't regained consciousness.

[heartj4yn0]

(15:30pm)

PLAY : before 4:30 (she said) - mew suppasit, sam kim [spotify // youtube]

tysm pachi, @deardimpledjae for beta reading this & being my tumblr support system [brb crying] <3! pls go check her out!!

“before 16:30.” he said as he ended the call with a light goodbye.

i couldn’t stop screaming my lungs out. i was that happy.

i started pacing back and forth, looking at the clock with anxious eyes. waiting for the time. they say the clock won’t move even if you stare at it for a long time. then i just stopped. i couldn’t move or speak. many thoughts raced in my mind. will the meeting go on smoothly? will i look good? will he like the real me?

which step should i make first? i’m confused.

before 16:30 pm, i recited to myself like a mantra. as if i was supposed to be asked about the time he wants to meet up in an examination hall. by now, i’ve memorized the time. he’s on my brain. hhe effect he had on me. i can’t even believe myself. four-thirty pm. four-thirty pm. four-thirty pm. i probably look like an idiot. but who cares? i was about to meet him. the jeong jaehyun i’ve been talking to for weeks. i mean..who asked him to be so powerful? isn’t that why i fell in love with him though? who knows? certainly not me, ask the universe.

my plan is to take jaehyun’s breath away. amaze him with my looks, words, my laughs and smile. that should be an easy task…right? or maybe not. we’ll see.

i then started mentally taking down notes from my to do list as i racked my brain to find my to do list sheet. the pen ink just had to run out as i was about to write my first item on the list. i quickly scrambled my desk to find a pen with ink. putting multiple exclamation marks for the important things– as i’m known to be a clumsy person.

to do list before 16:30 pm:

☐style your hair!

☐don’t be nervous!

☐brush your teeth– your breath needs to smell good!

☐look presentable!

☐spray your lucky perfume!

☐eat those yummy scented gummies– you will feel better!

☐don’t forget to bring your wallet!!!

☐be yourself!

stop. stop looking at the clock! it’s still half past three. i still had 60 minutes left. i’m so nervous. my hands can’t stop shaking. the day is here. it’s finally here. after so many months of planning and rescheduling due to our busy schedules, we could finally make it. i can't wait to see him today. it’s been so long since i've seen him. is this what love feels like?

okay, don’t worry. i’ve set my timer. i just need to look good, mostly presentable. not going out with these jammies on me. who goes out on a date wearing pink pajama pants? no one does. it’s now time to cross out the things on my to do list asap. like seriously asap.

to do list before 16:30 pm:

☑style your hair!

☑don’t be nervous!

☑brush your teeth– your breath needs to smell good!

☑look presentable!

☑spray your lucky perfume!

☑eat those yummy scented gummies– you will feel better!

☑don’t forget to bring your wallet!!!

☑be yourself!

you look lovely, jaehyun said. it was such a cliché line from the movies, but it still made my heart flutter. god, even the butterflies tried escaping! he said that he wanted to take me to somewhere rich and fancy, but i told him “it was okay, let’s go to my favorite cafe, instead”. it felt so natural. it felt normal. he told me that he couldn’t wait to see me. he was waiting for this day to arrive.

i could sense he was nervous as well. so i sighed in relief– i wasn’t the only nervous one here. i noticed that his leg wouldn’t stop shaking underneath the table, it made me chuckle. little did i know that he caught me chuckling. he smiled at my action.

he complimented me nonstop. it made me feel all giddy. it felt like i was a teenager getting a love confession from my one-sided crush which later turned out to be both-sided. jaehyun took me to the park and we talked and talked and talked. there were so many things to catch up on. we both updated each other on our lives. i couldn’t stop gushing over him.

before we even realized, it was time to go. i could start counting the stars, a sign that it was already dark. a goodnight separated us. i left him with those five little words that were enough to catch him off guard.

“can’t wait for next time.” I said with a sweet smile that caught many eyes of others.

love,

heartj4yn0.

✎...taglist: @deardimpledjae (send me an ask to be tagged on future works!)

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 4,565 Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, typical TWD stuff A/N: This is Part 5 of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: A violent encounter outside the walls only increases Daryl's questions and concerns about Y/N.

Your name: submit What is this?

You immediately and instinctively grappled for your knife at your hip and unsheathed it, staring up in horror at the two men now standing over you. A lot happened very quickly. It must have only been matter of seconds, but it felt immensely long.

“Ohhhh, sweetheart. You’re in trouble,” one of them said, laughing as he glanced over at the man beside him.

You tightened your grip on your knife but the next moment there was a swift kick to your wrist and then a boot came down on it, crushing it into the floor, eliciting another yell from you. Your knife clattered away and you followed it with your eyes desperately.

You struggled to get away but the man was suddenly grabbing you by the ankles and dragging you closer.

“Get the fuck off me!” you growled. You lashed out with your boot and caught him in the face with the toe.

“Agh! You fuckin’ bitch!” he roared, spitting out blood onto the floor. He let out an animalistic growl and stood over you. “You’re coming—with us!” His words were punctuated with strong kicks into your ribs, which left you unable to cry out or even to breathe. You curled into yourself on the floor, willing your diaphragm to unclench and draw breath.

Daryl. The only desperate thought in your mind.

The man who was standing over you suddenly dropped down so he was straddling over your writhing form. “I said, you’re coming with us. Back where you belong.”

You finally were able to wheeze in a breath and glared up at him. “Fuck. You,” you spat, disdain contorting your face. Where the hell was Daryl? you thought desperately.

“This will go a lot easier if you don’t fight it!” his partner shouted down at you, rifling through his bag for something. “We don’t want to hurt ya!”

You shot a knee up as hard as you could and caught the man over you in the tailbone. When he doubled over forward, swearing with his face growing more and more red, you did the only thing you could think of and headbutted him in the face. Hard. As hard as you could.

His nose crunched sickeningly and started to bleed profusely. He let out an anguished scream while you were seeing stars. Fat, crimson drops fell down onto you as you struggled, still beneath him. You were trying to extract your body from beneath his but his weight was too much. He was now completely enraged and the next thing you felt was his hands around your neck, squeezing, compressing. You couldn’t breathe. You tried to break out of it but his hands were so large they wrapped completely around your neck, compressing blood vessels and your airway. Your scratched and clawed at his hands, trying desperately to pull them away. You started to see spots and darkening around the edges of your vision. You clawed at his arms with your fingernails and tried to break his grip at the elbows. You were vaguely aware of some commotion in the background as your struggling grew weaker by the second. You were going to black out.

But suddenly, you could breathe and the weight of him on top of you was gone.

You curled over on the floor, coughing and sputtering, gasping in rasping breaths desperately.

“Y/N! Y/N!?” Daryl’s voice nearby, completely frantic.

You couldn’t stop coughing. Your throat was on fire. Your neck felt raw.

“Jesus—can ya breathe?!” Daryl’s urgent voice again. You felt his hand on your shoulder.

You finally managed to gain control of your gasping breaths again and rasped out. “I’m okay,” nodding but unable to look over at him. You submitted to another coughing attack. Your gasps were wheezes like a kid with asthma.

Daryl was kneeling beside you with his crossbow in his hand. “Are ya sure?!”

You finally glanced over at him, certain your face was bright red and your expression desperate. His features were overwhelmed with panic and concern, blue eyes piercing through the curtain of dark hair around his face. You nodded. “Uhh… I think so. Mostly.” You winced, feeling pain suddenly shooting through your wrist and ribs and a pounding in your forehead as the wave of adrenaline had crested and now started to diminish. “Fuck… What the fuck?” you said, glancing around. There were the bodies of the two men, both with a crossbow bolt through their head.

Daryl clenched his teeth and gently grasped your arm. “C’mon.” He pulled you gingerly to your feet. You stayed hunched over, an arm wrapped around your ribs. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to steel yourself for a moment.

“Fuck…” you muttered again, not even meaning to speak it out loud.

Daryl froze, looking at you with his brow furrowed. His stomach was rolling with regret. “I—'M’ sorry. I should have been faster. I—but this goddamn ankle and I had to get my bow loaded and—”

You raised a hand to quiet him and shook your head. “S’not your fault. At all,” you said, pressing a few fingers to a particularly raw feeling spot on your neck.

But Daryl was blaming himself. He should have been there faster. The angry red marks around your throat were burning into his memory. He bit back his anger at himself and re-secured the front door as best he could. He glared down at the two corpses and retrieved his bolts. He nudged his head in the direction of the other room.

You followed him in, still hunched over. He pointed at the couch and you sank down onto it slowly, hissing through your teeth with each movement.

Daryl set his crossbow down and immediately grabbed his pack. As he was digging around inside it, he spoke with some anxiousness. “Ya know them?” he asked, not looking up from his bag.

You gulped. “What?”

All his movement stalled, his hands still inside his pack, clutching medical supplies. “They sounded like they recognized ya. Said you’re ‘comin’ back where ya belong.’ Did ya—d’ya know them?” When he finished the question, this time his eyes flickered up to your face, watching your reaction carefully.

You were gingerly holding your wrist in the other hand and Daryl thought your eyes looked a bit frantic. You didn’t answer. You seemed—frozen.

Daryl nodded and shrugged, turning back to the pack. “S’alright. Ya ain’t gotta say.” He felt like he pretty much had his answer. “What hurts?” he asked you gently.

You didn’t answer for a moment and Daryl thought he saw waves of panic rising and falling in your eyes.

“Y/N—” he said again.

You seemed to come back to reality, grounded by the sound of his voice saying your name. “Umm… right. I—my wrist. I think that’s the only thing we can do something for. Nothing to do about my ribs,” you said with a wince, your breath hitching every time you tried to inhale too deeply.

Daryl pulled out some gauze and materials to splint your wrist, which he suspected was broken, based on the swelling and how it was already changing colors. “We need to get ya back to an actual doctor,” he mused. “Tomorrow I’ll see if I can find a car close. We can take it back to our truck. Can’t let that wrist go too long without gettin’ set.” His eyes continually found the ring of angry red around your neck and he watched as you pressed a hand to your head, which was pounding.

“You can’t go out there by yourself. You’ve got a fucked-up ankle,” you argued.

Daryl shot you a look and heaved a sigh, leaning his arm on his bent knee where he was crouched. “Well, now out of the two of us I’m in the best shape. So, we’re gonna do what I say and you’re gonna sit here and rest. Ya got a broken wrist and probably some cracked ribs. Not to mention that fucker nearly choked the life out of ya.” His tone told you arguing was pointless. “Now gimme your damn arm.”

You avoided his eyes and held out your hurt wrist. His rough hands on your skin was grounding and you were again reminded of how he had insisted on stitching your arm up that night when you came back after your last bad run-in outside the walls. He was amazingly gentle. You marveled at how small your arm looked in his hands—like something fragile. Daryl was trying to minimize the skin-to-skin contact—almost fearful of what was happening inside him every time his skin brushed yours, but it was a little difficult to do while he was tending to you. He splinted and wrapped your wrist, frowning at the way your thumb was already bruising purple. “Ya scared the shit outta me,” he murmured softly, not even meaning for it to actually fall from his lips.

You raised your eyes to his face in surprise but he was still fixated on bandaging you up. “I’ll, uhh, try not to do it again,” you said, and Daryl was relieved to hear that your voice had relaxed some, though the rasp was still in it.

“Better not,” he growled. He grabbed a small gauze pad and poured a little alcohol on it. “Here. Ya got a pretty good scratch on your jaw there.” He scooted closer to you and watched as you swiped a few fingers over it.

“Oh,” you said, looking at the rusty color that came away on your fingers. “Probably did that to myself trying to pry him off of me…”

Daryl’s expression darkened. “Mhm.” He hesitated a moment before dabbing at the scratch with the pad. “Really. Ya scared me.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Rosita exclaimed as she heaved the gate open to let you and Daryl into Alexandria. “Thank God!” she exclaimed next, looking both of you up and down. “Rick was about to send out a search party. We’ve all been worried sick. Aaron has been driving me insane, coming up to the gate every ten seconds to ask if I’ve seen anything.” Her eyes finally seemed to register the full extent of your injuries and she froze. “Y/N—your neck… Oh my God. What the hell happened?” she pressed, shutting and latching the gate behind you both.

“Uhh…” you walked unevenly, your uninjured arm wrapped around your ribs, though it did nothing to lessen the shooting hot knives of pain with every breath. “Walkers. And then more walkers. And then a corpse and rotten floor boards. And then—” you hesitated., suddenly feeling sick.

“And then people,” Daryl finished gruffly, sparing a glance over at you, his face darkening with worry.

“Shit,” Rosita said, her eyes going round. “A corpse? As in, not a walker? And did you say something about rotten floor boards?”

You nodded. “Yeah...”

Daryl shot her a look that clearly said ‘later.’

“Sorry—just… I need to get to the doctor to fix my wrist before it heals this way,” you said, avoiding her eyes.

“Right! Right, of course. I’ll grab someone else for guard duty and go tell everyone you’re alright. Here, I’ll take your guns.” You and Daryl handed over your weapons and Rosita hurried off.

You limped your way to the clinic and he insisted on holding the door open for you and letting you go in first. Surprisingly, Pete was still there. You always assumed he just was drunk after 4:30 pm.

“Whoa! Looks like we’re running a little ragged, huh? Come on in and sit down and let’s have a look at you,” he said jovially. You eyed him with distaste.

“Where’s Denise?” you asked.

Pete looked around the room dramatically, hands outstretched. “Not here. So, shall we—”

“I would prefer to see Denise.” Your tone was cold.

Pete let out a laugh which he only managed to make sound half-genuine. “She isn’t here so—”

“I’ll wait,” you snapped. You limped over to an exam table and sat down, your countenance stormy.

Pete glanced at Daryl and he shook his head. “Nah. Just her. I’m good. Sprained ankle is all.”

Pete let out an exhale that was mostly a growl. “I guess I went to med school to be an errand boy,” he muttered under his breath, but nonetheless, he left to find Denise.

Daryl sank down on a rolling stool and scooted over to sit near you. “Hey,” he said suddenly.

You snapped out of some deep reverie you were having and looked at him.

“Ya alright?” he asked. “Really. I mean, that was some serious shit that happened out there…”

You nodded. “Fine.” You uninjured hand went to absently touch the bruises on your neck, which were now dark and mottled. “Thanks to you.”

Daryl shrugged. “S’nothin’. Wish I had been faster.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “No. No, it was definitely something…” Despite your assurance that you were okay, Daryl had the sense that it wasn’t entirely true. You were alive, sure, but since those men had busted into the house you had been uneasy. It wasn’t lost on him that you turned to glance behind the truck the whole drive back to Alexandria, and even now, safe inside the walls, you were rigid and on edge. You should have known better than to try and bullshit Daryl. The archer was annoyingly good at reading you. But, to be fair, you were also annoyingly good at reading him.

Your eyes shot up as the clinic door burst open loudly. Aaron ran in with his mouth dropped partially open and wide eyes. “Oh, thank God,” he said, rushing over to you and Daryl and immediately grabbing you into a tight hug.

“Ow! Ow ow ow! Aaron!”

Aaron drew back suddenly at your exclamations. “Oh—God, I’m sorry.” His eyes found the bruising on your neck and his face blanched. “Oh my God. What the hell happened? Are you alright?” he asked desperately.

“Define alright,” Daryl murmured.

You shot him a scolding look. “Yes, that’s what I need. Worry him more. Thanks, Daryl,” you said.

“What happened?” Aaron asked desperately again. It wasn’t lost on him how you avoided his eyes as you answered.

“Just—people. Bad people,” you said.

He stared at the dark purple bruising on your thumb and the splint before glancing over at Daryl.

“If Daryl hadn’t been there—” you broke off, giving Aaron a somewhat fearful look.

Aaron looked back at the archer again and heaved a heavy sigh. “I won’t hug you,” he said, cracking a smile, “but thank you. Thank you.”

Daryl nodded.

“Okay, I promised Eric I would come right back with an update so, umm—I’m gonna go, but thank God you’re back and you’re at least mostly whole,” he said, backing toward the door again. “Thank you,” he said again, looking at Daryl.

You let out a small laugh as the door shut behind him, shaking your head, smiling fondly.

“You’re close,” Daryl said. “With him and Eric.”

You nodded. “Yeah. When they first brought me in, I used to joke that I was like a stray cat they found and adopted. I felt so out of place, you know? And they just—they didn’t care. They just accepted me right away. Made it feel a little more like a home. They’re good like that. They understand what it’s like to be an outsider.”

Daryl nodded. He knew exactly what you meant.

Denise came in with Pete trailing after her. She looked a bit harried and you apologized for having her come in, to which she just gave you a small smile and a meaningful glance. She was well aware of your feelings toward Pete and she shared them… He stood lurking around in case Denise had questions.

“Okaaaay,” she said, gingerly unwrapping your wrist, wincing at the sight of the swelling and bruising. “Yup. This needs to be set…” she said gently, glancing over at Daryl who was still sitting nearby, his blue eyes taking in everything like he was standing guard. “Okay, Y/N, just lay back.” You obeyed, letting out a wry laugh and a forced exhale at the pain shooting through your ribs. Denise muttered an apology as she palpated your arm with her fingers. “Um. Okay. Daryl, I’m going to need you to hold her arm down while I—”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” you teased Denise, a smirk on your face. She pulled a face at you, drawing a laugh which made you clutch at your ribs again and mutter a pitiful “ow.”

“Do you know you’re my least favorite patient?” she retorted jokingly. “Daryl. Come on.” Pete stepped forward, clearly annoyed.

“Are you sure you don’t want an actual--”

You cut him off. “Last I checked, Denise went to fucking med school. And for the last time you aren’t touching me.” Pete muttered something and backed off but he remained nearby watching.

“Ya ready?” Daryl rumbled, his strong hands firmly pressing your arm down against the table.

You nodded and focused on his blue eyes. “Sure…” you said, your voice coming out a little high with nerves and apprehension at the anticipated pain.

Denise didn’t give you a countdown or anything. She just forced the bone back into place. “MOTHERFUCKER!” you yelled, shooting upright on the exam table as soon as Daryl’s hands lifted off your arm. It felt like someone had rammed a red-hot poker into your arm. “Mmmm,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing breaths in and out.

“Done! Done!” Denise said. “See! Not so bad!”

You let out another sardonic laugh. “Easy for you to say.” She immediately fitted you with a stiff brace and instructions to limit use of your wrist and hand for four to six weeks.

“Six weeks,” you repeated. “Are you frickin’ kidding me?” You stared at her, incredulous.

“It’s a broken bone, Y/N, not a bumped elbow,” Denise said as she adjusted the brace.

You looked at the archer beside you for assistance but found none. “Six weeks?” you repeated again. You scoffed. “I’m going to lose my freakin’ mind in here. I can’t—I can’t shoot. I can’t go outside the walls… I can’t even write. It’s my dominant hand.” You let out a frustrated growl. “I might as well be a frickin’ baby,” you growled.

“Kinda are bein’ one right now,” Daryl rumbled. Your eyes snapped over to him and you managed to catch the quick twitch of the corner of his mouth in a rare smirk.

You shot him an unamused look. “I don’t know why you’re so entertained, chuckles. You’re benched too.”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Ya heard her, though. Four to six weeks.” You read genuine concern on his face and sighed.

“Yeah, yeah… I heard her,” you mumbled.

Denise laughed. “Alright. I see your neck… Nothing we can do about that,” she said with a wince. “God. That looks painful.”

You pressed your uninjured hand to it, reflexively covering it up as you felt Daryl’s eyes hitch on the bruises and stay there. “It’s not too bad.”

“Okay, anything else?” Denise asked.

You hesitated for a moment. Daryl didn’t know just how bad your side was and you weren’t real keen on him seeing the extent of the injury from the man kicking you. “Umm… Yeah. Uhh—I think I have some broken ribs maybe and—” you gulped, but you grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it so Denise could see your side.

Daryl immediately stiffened in anger as he saw the extent of the black and purple bruising all up your side. He actually let out what sounded like a low growl before averting his eyes. You noticed his hands clenching and unclenching into fists and he was suddenly restless.

“Oh my God… I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Denise said, her eyes flickering up to yours. She gently palpated your side. “I don’t feel anything concerning beyond the bruising and normal swelling—how did this happen?” she asked you quietly.

You were about to answer when there was suddenly a commotion as Daryl strode over to Pete and pushed him hard in the chest, making him stagger backwards. “Hey!” Daryl roared, posturing toward the surgeon. “What the hell are ya lookin’ at?” You and Denise stared at the two men in confusion and surprise. “We don’ need ya, so why don’ ya just get the hell outta here,” Daryl rumbled, flicking a hand in the direction of the door.

For a moment, Pete looked like he was considering hitting Daryl but he finally just clenched his jaw and left the clinic, slamming the door unnecessarily hard behind him.

Daryl turned to see you and Denise staring at him in confusion. He paced a little uncomfortably. “He was—I didn’t like how he was lookin’ at ya,” Daryl finally spat out.

You felt your cheeks color and averted your eyes from the archer. Apparently when you had lifted your shirt, revealing the bare skin from your waistband to the strap of your bra Pete’s eyes had been a little too hungry, a little too searching, and had lingered a little too long for Daryl’s taste.

You didn’t know what to say. The air in the room was thick and heavy with tension. Denise finally cleared her throat a little awkwardly and broke it. “Okay, I’m serious about the wrist. I’m going to give you some heavy-duty painkillers and anti-inflammatory meds to take for the next five days. If you feel any changes in your side or abdomen you come get me, okay? I’m serious.”

You nodded and Daryl rushed over to help you climb down on the table, hardly noticing the ache in his ankle anymore. You felt another flush in your cheeks as he gently gripped your elbow. “Thanks, Denise.”

She nodded. “Daryl, you’re sure you don’t need me to look at that ankle?”

He shook his head. “Nah. ‘M good. Just gonna get Y/N home so she can rest.”

“You too,” Denise said, pointing vehemently at him.

You walked, or hobbled more like, the distance back to your house with Daryl in silence. It still felt a little heavy, a little uneasy, like the air was holding things unsaid, but finally you climbed the steps and to the front door. You gave him a small smile, but there was something like apprehension in your eyes as you thanked him for all his help. “You know, I’ve known you only a short while and I think you have now officially saved my ass and patched me up more than anyone,” you muttered.

“Yeah, well…” he shrugged. “I think it’s about the same in reverse.” Daryl left with a hollow feeling in his chest as the heavy clunk of the deadbolt secured your door behind you.

Carol was waiting on the front porch and immediately grabbed him into a tight hug. “You scared us,” she said, holding him back to take him in, her eyes searching for injury. “Rosita told us you were back but nothing else. Are you okay?”

“’M Fine. Better than, Y/N,” he said, nudging his head toward your house across the street.

Carol’s brow furrowed. “What happened? Is she alright?”

“Mmm,” Daryl hummed, a noise meaning he didn’t want to talk about it. He dug in his pocket for a cigarette and allowed Carol to gently push his hair out of his face and clasp his shoulder, before he stiffened and moved away to sit on the steps. She knew that meant he wanted to be alone, wanted time to think.

“I’m glad you’re both back and at least mostly in one piece. We’ll be inside if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” the archer murmured. Daryl sat there most of the night, smoking the cigarettes he had left and staring at your dark house, wondering if you were awake like he was.

You were.

The next day, Daryl found Rick in the kitchen in the afternoon. He’d already explained what had transpired outside the walls, why you had both been so delayed. Rick had listened carefully and firmly grasped his shoulder, telling him how relieved he was that Daryl was back safe and that you were too. His words seemed a little pointed, but Daryl shied away from it. But now, after being unable to think of anything else all day, he had a question to ask Rick.

“Hey,” Daryl said, finding Rick in the kitchen, trying to convince Judith to eat something as she squirmed in his arms.

“Hey, Daryl. What is it?” Rick perceived something in the archer’s expression as soon as he glanced up at him.

Daryl scruffed a hand awkwardly through his hair. “Y/N’s interview. With Deanna, when Aaron first brought her in. Did ya watch it?”

Rick nodded, his face falling. “Yeah… I did. I think I watched just about everybody’s.”

Daryl shifted his body weight anxiously from one foot to the other and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to hide the vulnerability he felt while showing such obvious interest in you and your story. “Well… what—what was on it?”

Rick sighed, finally giving up on coaxing Judith to eat, and set her down on the floor on a blanket. He stood and hung his thumbs in his pockets, staring down at his boots for a moment. “You want to watch it?” he asked the archer, glancing up to take in his expression.

Daryl shrugged and let out a non-committal hum.

Rick studied his friend’s expression. “Whatever you’re lookin’ for… Whatever answer… It isn’t on there. But you can watch it if you want,” Rick offered. “Ya saw somethin’ out there that has you worried. I can see that. You can tell me if you want to, but I also understand if you don’t. Y/N is… private… about whatever happened to her before this, before here.”

Daryl swallowed at the tightness in his throat and considered Rick’s words. He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully, his face dark. “I ain’t worried about us,” he clarified. “I ain’t worried about Alexandria.”

Rick nodded. “Just about her.”

Daryl shrugged and avoided the look in Rick’s eyes, which was something surprised but knowing. “We’ll do our best to keep her safe,” Rick said.

Daryl nodded and this time when he glanced up at his friend there was a fire in his blue eyes, a fierceness. “Ya. We will.”

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Daring - Chapter 2

This is part two of my Abby Mordern!Au, you can read Chapter 1 here.

Masterlist

Abby and the reader have dinner at Abby's place. There is music playing and referenced, so I'd recommend you listen to this playlist with all the songs playing in order as soon as the date night begins. About 10k words.

CW for alcohol consumption, mention of death/murder, mention of dubious consent (and possibly terrible grammar. It's 10pm, I just finished this, I don't have a proofreader atm)

Thyme and Tree Bark

“Don’t mess this up, airhead. Take care!”

“Yeah, yeah. Bye, idiot!”

You closed the door behind Mark as he vanished down the stairs and headed straight for your bed. Though you were less wobbly on your feet after devouring half of a perfectly cheesy pizza with just the right amount of jalapenos, it had thrown you straight into a food coma. Your angel of a brother had come over at noon with two chilled cans of coke and a large pizza from your favorite Italian place and not even ripped open the curtains as he usually did. Instead, he had thrown himself on the bed right next to you, handed you a slice, and demanded you start talking.

Of course, he already knew about Abby and your embarrassing shyness when it came to the buff blonde, so he was extremely proud of the progress you had made with your excruciating crush. You both agreed that Abby had definitely invited you over for a date this week - alone, without Manny there - and that it had to mean she was interested, too. He had laughed about the little bar stint when Abby had shut down your flirt with the hot waitress in an instant and was now 100% sure this was going to go great. As long as you kept it together and didn’t ruin everything. As you often did. This needed some tactical planning.

Mouths full of cheesy delight and laughing at each other’s stupid ideas, you and your brother had come up with a fairly foolproof plan. You would text Abby in 1-2 days, keeping it cool and asking when you should come over. Then, you would suggest making cocktails at home, already granting a fun activity and something to loosen the mood. You would keep it casual and bring over some nice liquor and maybe a bag of chips, perfect for watching a movie. You’d try to keep the conversation casual and try to speak mostly about Abby, asking lots of questions so you didn’t get tangled up in speaking about yourself. If you steered the conversation toward movies, you could watch something exciting and maybe even scary together so you could cuddle up on the couch together. And well, if you got that far, things would probably fall into place naturally. Foolproof. Y/N-proof.

You groaned as you reached over to grab your phone from your nightstand. You had a message from your mom asking if you wanted to come over for dinner next weekend and an email from your professor who wanted to submit your last essay to some kind of grant application. You’d have to answer her later, your head still felt like it was filled with cotton. Instead, you sent Leah a message.

-Hey, you still alive? There’s leftover pizza and coke over here.

Five seconds later, there was a delighted squeal at the other side of the wall and you heard the click of your roommate’s door before yours opened and Leah tiptoe-danced inside, beaming at you. She was wearing nothing but an extremely tight-fitting cropped wifebeater and a khaki thong, accentuating her long legs as she leaped right onto your bed and almost made you fly as her weight hit the mattress. You tried not to stare at her perfectly toned abs as she opened the gigantic carton and held up a slice of pizza over her head, letting the tip dangle in her mouth before biting down with a moan that made you snort awkwardly.

“Good morning, you animal.”

Leah just moaned again, making a grabbing motion with her hand and pointing toward the second can of coke on your nightstand. You laughed silently as you handed her the cold can, condensed water running down the sides and wetting your fingers. You wiped them on the blanket. The tall brunette swallowed hard and took a sip of coke.

“Good morning, womanizer.” She grinned widely. “I’m so proud of you, man. This is the first time I’ve seen you in action and I can safely say Abby was just as surprised as I was.”

You buried your face in your hands.

“Oh god, was I that obvious? Did I do anything inappropriate? I thought it went well, but now I’m not so sure.” You spread your fingers to peak at your roommate who was currently chewing on a ginormous bite, tomato juice running down her chin. No manners, that girl. She just shook her head and made a noise somewhere between protest and encouragement.

“No, you were fine,” she said with a full mouth, “very tipsy, but cute. I hope you remember Abby inviting you to her place.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

You ran your fingers through your hair, immediately getting stuck in a tangle of knots. God, you needed a shower.

“Yeah, I already went over it with Mark. We made a plan so I won’t embarrass myself.”

“Good. I hope it goes well, you two would be cute together. Hot, even. I mean, no one can deny the allure of those biceps. And her ass?! Godly.” She easily evaded the kick you aimed at her ribs, laughing and slapping your shin away.

“Come on, let’s not act like you’re not ogling her every chance you get. I am, too - the woman looks like a greek goddess!”

“That’s enough,” you giggled, aiming another playful kick in her direction but only lightly hitting her in the thigh. “I know what she looks like.”

“Right. And soon, you’ll hopefully see a lot more of her.” This time, Leah jumped off the bed before your toes could sink right into her side. You tried to suppress a grin as you two stared at each other for a moment before Leah sat back down cross-legged and began eating the last slice of pizza.

“I mean,” she said casually, “you have seen more of a woman before, right?”

You grabbed your coke and turned it in your hands before answering.

“Yeah, I have. It wasn’t… It wasn’t all that, though. Just one time and we were both so nervous it was just awkward.”

Now Leah looked at you with a mixture of shock and pity.

“Come on, Y/N. Only once? You’ve never seen stars because of a woman’s tongue? Never screamed into a pillow because of some skilled sapphic strap game? Never lost your mi-”

“Leaahhhh!” You groaned, feeling blood shoot into your cheeks. “No, okay? I… I made the other girl cum, but for me, it was just… it was too unfamiliar and I didn’t know her well enough to really let myself enjoy it.”

Suddenly a thought crossed your mind and you felt your eyes open wide.

“Wait. Has Abby…? Is she..?”

Leah paused mid-bite and thought for a second.

“Well, she does have experience with men, obviously. As far as women go… I honestly don’t know. She’s dated a few, but it never went longer than a couple of weeks. I don’t know how fast things go with her and she’s never gone into detail with me. I have to ask Nora about that.”

“Don’t you dare! She’ll know this is about me and tell Abby!”

“Oh come on, I’m interested, too.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell you so you know what to prepare for, win-win!” She nudged your foot and gave you a mischievous half-smile.

“For god’s sake, do what you must.” You finished your coke and threw it perfectly into the bin beside your desk. Leah gave you an impressed nod. “And now I desperately need a shower. There is a literal nest on top of my head.”

“True,” Leah said and stood up, stretching her limbs as she walked to the door. “Thanks for the pizza. I’m gonna ask Jordan if he wants to come over, so don’t walk out naked if you don’t want a threesome.” She winked at you before closing the door, but a small part at the back of your brain knew that she wasn’t completely joking. You sighed and swung your legs off your bed. No point in lying around, it was past 3 pm anyway.

Grabbing your phone, a shirt, and some clean boxers, you headed for the bathroom. You took your time showering, detangling the mess on your head with lots of conditioner, humming along to Marika Hackman’s cover of I Follow Rivers as you stood under the hot stream of water and brushing your teeth for at least five minutes while waiting for a hair mask to do its magic. When you stepped out of the shower, the bathroom was filled with hot steam and you felt like a whole new person. You slipped into your fresh clothes and held the blow dryer to the mirror until your reflection was clear.

So. Here you were. Finally, you had spoken to the woman of your dreams and even flirted with her. She may have even been jealous of your short conversation with Ellie, the bartender. Tomorrow, you would text her, you would be brave and cool and not at all awkward. As you collected your clothes off the floor and took your phone, you suddenly realized something that would destroy your entire plan. You didn’t even have Abby’s phone number. Why hadn’t you asked her? Of course, you could ask Leah for it, but Abby would know because she knew she hadn’t given it to you. It would be a lot less cool and casual. Fuck.

You stepped into the hallway and ran straight into Jordan. Perfect. Good thing Leah had warned you.

“Oh, hi Y/N! You doing alright after all those tequila shots?” Jordan’s face was open and kind. You immediately relaxed. Just a guy, not a threat.

“Better than I thought I would, actually. What about you?”

“Well, I sent them back out the way they came as soon as I got home.” He grimaced and shrugged. “Just glad I’m still alive, to be honest.”

You had to laugh. “I’m glad, too. Leah would have been devastated.”

“I hope so.” He grinned back. The silence between you stretched a little bit too long.

“Anyways, I’m gonna see what she’s up to. See you later?”

“Yeah, sure!” You said, relieved that he didn’t make it awkward. You quickly slipped into your room and sank down on the bed, composing a text to Mark.

-Minor hiccup - I don’t have her number.

His reply came immediately.

-Shit. What now?

You let yourself fall back on the mattress and covered your face with your arm. Your phone vibrated again and you lifted it up, hoping for a brilliant idea.

-Hey, this is Abby. Are we still on for next week?

You almost dropped your phone on your face. For a minute, you just stared at the message. Then you rolled over onto your stomach and screamed into your pillow.

-Hi Abby. We absolutely are. Y/N.

You tried to suppress a fit of giggles as you texted your brother.

-Nvm, she just texted me.

-Omg what!! Play it cool, don’t answer yet. What did she say???

-Oops already answered. Still on for next week.

-Incredibly casual lol. Whatever, good for you!

-Shut up!

Another text by Abby came in and you actually started drumming your feet on the bed with excitement.

-Tuesday? I could cook for us

-Very impressive, I’ll bite. What time should I come over?

-Very clever. 6pm? Any allergies?

-Vegetarian, hope that’s okay. 6 is great, text me your address?

You watched the little text bubble pop up and vanish again for a good minute, getting more and more nervous for her answer.

- No problem. 2425 Constance.

There was nothing else to do but scream into your pillow again.

-

The next two days went excruciatingly slow. You spent the rest of your Sunday in bed, watching a terrible zombie movie and later ordering curry because you couldn’t be bothered with preparing any food. As it got late, you suddenly heard a knock on the wall. At first, you thought it was accidental, until the knocking started to continue in a steady rhythm. With a death glare that you hoped would reach through the concrete, you plugged your headphones into your laptop and continued watching your movie.

On Monday, you threw yourself into art history coursework and caught up on your studies, emailed your professor, and spent three hours on an essay about the depiction of blood in paintings of Judith beheading Holofernes. Lovely subject. Even though you got through a lot of your tasks for the day, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at your phone every 10 minutes to see if you had missed a message. Of course, nothing came up. Around 4 pm, your phone buzzed and you leapt for it only to find out it was Leah asking you to buy toilet paper later. At 6pm, you shut off your laptop and grabbed your backpack to go grocery shopping.

Standing in the liquor store you realized you hadn’t asked Abby about cocktails.

“Looking for something in particular?” the elderly lady behind the counter asked. It seemed to be her own shop and to have been hers for a while, judging by the elegant wooden shelves and the warm, nice feeling of the room instead of neon lights and rows of white metal.

“Uh, yeah, actually. I have a date tomorrow and I thought we could make cocktails, but I forgot to ask what she likes. So now I don’t know what to bring.” You gave her an apologetic half smile. She stood up from her seat behind the register, growing not even 2 inches standing compared to sitting and made her way over to you. Her eyes twinkled behind thick glasses that made her look a little bit like an owl.

“Well, dear. I don’t know if I would go straight into the hard liquor on a first date. On my last first date, we had a delicious red wine, a Merlot. Couldn’t that be something? Are you going to eat anything?”

“Oh yes, she said she’d cook for us, but I don’t know what exactly.”

The shop owner gently put a hand on your arm and guided you to a shelf of dark bottles.

“Well, Merlot goes well with any food, so I think it would be perfect. Cocktails come later, when you dress up and go out together or after a night of theater.” You felt a surge of warmth spread through your chest. Theater? Well, why not? For a second, you began to trail off, imagining Abby in a perfectly tailored suit, you at her arm just as dressed up, every head turning as you entered the room and ordered Gin Tonics at the bar during the break. The voice next to you pulled you back to the present.

“If you’re cooking at home, wine is the thing to bring, trust me.”

“I trust you,” you said with a smile as you took the bottle she handed you. The label was a creamy white, with beautiful golden letters. Hopefully this wouldn’t bankrupt you. “Thank you for your help.”

The shopkeeper sat back down in her chair with a sigh and typed into the cash register. 15.99$. That wasn’t so bad. You paid and gently put the bottle inside your backpack.

“You know, you should come by soon and let me know how it went. I think that Merlot will bring you good luck. My wife and I still have it every Sunday.” Your head snapped up and your eyes met that charming, smart twinkle again, flashing at you out of dark brown irises. For a moment, all of the things you wanted to say were stuck in your throat, then you just broke into a smile.

“That’s wonderful, ma’am. I hope I can have that, in the future.”

“Of course you will, dear.” She really sounded like she meant it. A small lump suddenly appeared in your throat.

“Thank you so much. I wish you all the best.”

“Go get her!”

You laughed and waved at her again as you exited the shop, taking the warmth and comfort of it with you and tucking it right beneath the bottom of your heart and the top of your stomach where you knew it would fuel you for a few days. You had already decided that you would come back and make it your mission to befriend that old lady. What a wonderful woman.

Only 23 hours to go. That night, it was almost impossible to fall asleep.

-

You got through the next day by once again banning any thought of the evening from your mind and diving head first into your assignments. You were going to lead a discussion on different planes of language or communications in women’s art and literature and reading up on the historical differences between male and female narratives, beginning with the ancient poet Sappho. It was an exciting topic, something you were extremely thankful for. Otherwise you might have been looking at your phone every 3 minutes instead of every 20. Of course, no message from Abby.

The bottle of wine was standing on your nightstand, reminding you of your plans with an exciting tingle in your stomach. At 4pm, you gave up on doing anything productive. You spent forever in the shower, stealing some of Leah’s expensive pink body scrub, shaving everywhere and regretting it immediately because you felt stupid for assuming anything, entertaining the but what if thoughts while you thoroughly lathered your entire body in Leah’s shampoo and shower gel and spending a good 10 minutes just standing under the hot water because you weren’t ready to leave that fantasy yet. When you stepped out of the shower, the bathroom was an actual steam bath and you could hardly see the door through the thick waves of wonderfully scented fog. You took your time stealing some more of Leah’s skincare products, having come to the conclusion that if she noticed anything and scolded you for it, you might as well try out the whole arsenal.

When you finally opened your closet door, feeling luxurious and clean and fresh, it was 5.10pm. What the hell were you going to wear? You and Mark had agreed on casual, but what the hell did that even mean? You decided to ask him.

-Help!!! Freaking out over my outfit, need a definition for casual

-Jeans and T-Shirt, just your standard outfit. Imagine meeting me for sushi.

-I’m bringing red wine. It seems wrong to bring wine in jeans and a t-shirt..

-What happened to cocktails?? Trust me, keep it simple. You don’t wanna turn up in a dress and she opens the door in sweatpants.

-I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in sweatpants. Ughh fuck I don’t have time for this. Jeans and t-shirt it is. Lesbian grandma recommended wine, I’ll tell you about it tomorrow x

-Go get her x

You quickly slipped into some black jeans that were just the right amount of tightly fitting around your ass and a white shirt with a tiny pomegranate embroidered on the front. Then you put on your jacket and quickly threw your wallet, phone and keys into a tote before grabbing the wine and putting it in as well. With a last look into the hallway mirror and a yelled goodbye to Leah, you rushed out of your apartment.

The evening air was not as cool as you had expected and the sun was just about to set. On your way to the train station, you typed out an on my way! message to Abby and quickly deleted it again. No sense in sending it now when you hadn’t spoken since Sunday and were about to see her. The train ride was annoying, the wagon stuffed with commuters and some guy trying to convince you the apocalypse was upon you all. Zombies, not the last judgement - something different at least.

During the walk from the station to Abby’s house, you were sure it wouldn’t take much more for you to actually start levitating. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your throat was so cramped up it was hard to breathe. When you pulled out your phone, your fingers were actually shaking. Jesus Christ, get a grip. 5.58 pm.

And there it was, 2425 Constance. Just a normal suburban white house, like any other in the street. It actually seemed a bit weird, Manny and Abby living here in the midst of what seemed to be a family neighborhood with real adults . Then again, they both weren’t in college, so you supposed they actually were real adults. When you walked up to the front door, you could hear faint music from inside - jazz? You wouldn’t have guessed she was the jazz type, but then again you knew almost nothing about her. Right. Ask questions, keep the conversation about her. Be cool.

You knocked.

Abby opened the door, a wave of warm air hitting you from inside. It smelled delightful. Her face was slightly flushed, her lips parted as she took in a deep breath. She had tied her hair back in a low bun, but a few strands had fallen out and framed her face. One was standing up in a funny angle.

“Hi, Abby,” you said, trying to keep your voice level and not stare at her body. Fuck, she had dressed up. And she looked hot.

“Hi!” A smile slowly grew wide on her face. When she realized that she was blocking the door, she quickly shook her head and stepped aside. “Come in! Can I take your jacket?”

Oh God, this was hopeless. You already knew you were hers. Thanking her, you took off your jacket and she hung it in a closet next to the entrance. When she turned around, you got a chance to admire her fully. She wore wide dress pants that perfectly accentuated all of her muscles, topped with a loose white shirt with wide sleeves, reminding you a little bit of a pirate. Her jewelry rounded off the pirate look and you had to bite back a grin. She raised her eyebrows at you.

“What?” Her cheeks were still slightly red, but you attributed it to standing in a hot kitchen for probably the last hour, judging by the variety of smells overlapping and mixing together, already making your mouth water.

“Uh, I brought wine,” you said and held out the bottle. Eloquent as always. Abby took it and whistled through her teeth as she inspected the label.

“That looks classic. The sauce I made has some wine in it as well, this is perfect. Thank you, what a great idea!”

You were overwhelmed with her generous praise and didn’t know where to look, so you settled on her hands. You had always sneaked looks at her hands, at the way she held a glass or drummed on a table or clasped them when she was intently listening to someone. They looked strong and rough from work, but there was also a delicacy in their movement and you were sure her touch could be as gentle as the brush of a hummingbird flying past. Realizing you were staring, you tore your gaze away.

“It smells delicious in here, I can’t wait to see what you cooked.” You followed her into the kitchen, where she placed the bottle on the counter and took a corkscrew from a drawer. A big red pot was standing on the gas stove over a tiny flame, the lid still hiding its contents. Your stomach suddenly growled loudly into the silence.

“Someone’s hungry.” Abby gave you a side glance and an amused smirk as she screwed the silver device into the cork. “Everything’s already set, we can get started right away.”

You covered your eyes with your hand for a second before laughing.

“Yeah, I kind of forgot to have lunch earlier and then I figured I’d just wait so I could really savour this.”

“Smart thinking. I made patates au vin , a vegetarian version of coq au vin which is chicken in wine. It’s basically potatoes and vegetables in a thick brown sauce, served with some good rustic bread.” You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling back at the thought of getting to eat home cooked french cuisine made by Abby in a few minutes.

“Oh my God, say that again.” You could barely stop yourself from moaning. Abby laughed and opened the wine with a loud pop.

“Here, take this over to the dinner table. I’m right behind you.” You took the bottle and followed her nod into the dining room. The wooden table was beautifully set with big and small plates, glasses for water and wine, candles, two blue glass bottles of water and a bowl of salad topped with what looked like apples, pomegranate seeds and feta cheese. You carefully placed the bottle of wine next to the water bottles and stepped aside for Abby, who came out of the kitchen carrying the heavy pot and placed it on a cork coaster in the middle of the table.

“Wait, let me just…” she trailed off as she grabbed her phone from the sideboard and changed the music. A saxophone led a jazz band into the song before a beautiful female voice set in, soft as butter and filling the room like the smell of roses. The voice was familiar to you, but you couldn’t quite place it. As Abby sat down, the music came to a crescendo before breaking off, the voice setting in again with a soft

is it a crime?

“Who sings this?” you asked as Abby opened the water bottle and filled your glasses.

“Oh, it’s Sade. She was my dad’s favorite.”

And I want you to want me too, the woman sang, and your eyes met over the table. You swallowed. Was? Not the right time.

“Sade? Oh, she sings Smooth Operator, right? I know that one, but I never checked out more of her music.”

Abby smiled at you and opened the lid of the pot.

“Yeah. This is the Promise album, my favorite. She is a force.”

A wave of steam erupted from the pot and you bent forward to look inside. Thick, roasted wedges of yellow potatoes lay in a bed of orange and purple carrots, mushrooms and tomatoes in a thick brown sauce, a stalk of thyme on top and a bay leaf poking out from the sauce. You weren’t sure if you were drooling, but you didn’t care.

“Abby, oh my God! This is fantastic.”

A spark had lit in her eyes when she heard you say her name. She elegantly stood up again, grabbed a serving spoon, and held out her hand for your plate. You watched her hands again as she plated an array of vegetables for you and used the spoon to draw a little sauce heart on the rim of the plate. Your ribs felt two sizes too small around your chest. This woman was actually going to be the death of you.

“Thanks,” you quietly said and waited as Abby helped herself to a plate. She sat down and gestured toward the small basket with thick slices of grey bread with a dark brown crust.

“Help yourself. Bon appétit.”

After a few moments of eating in comfortable silence before you showered the blonde in an array of compliments, this time not able to refrain from moaning when you bit into a tender, sweet purple carrot, the conversation began to flow. Abby complimented the wine, you talked about your studies, Abby told a few work stories in which both she and Nora were involved, you told her about your close relationship with your brother and she bittersweetly reminisced about her upbringing as an only child with a single dad. It had just been the two of them, moving frequently because of his changing jobs in different hospitals. He had been a neurosurgeon, and a brilliant one at that, but always humble and ready to help wherever he could. Abby sat up straighter when she talked about him, her chest actually swelling with pride when she told you about one time they had rescued an injured horse that had run away and been hit by a car in front of them.

“I think I was 16 back then. It’s one of my favorite memories of him. It actually wasn’t long before…” Her eyebrows moved into a frown and she bit her lip, pushing a small piece of onion around her plate. Fuck, maybe it would have been easier to talk about you, after all.

“We don’t have to talk about it. You can tell me when you’re ready.”

She looked up and you expected to see tears, but her eyes were full of love and her face smoothed out into a gentle smile.

“No, it’s okay. I’m still working on it, and part of my therapy is telling people who don’t know yet. You know, I don’t really have a lot of friends.” She suddenly laughed, easing the tension at the bottom of your lungs. “That sounds stupid, of course I do. I have Manny and Nora and Leah and Jordan and Owen, I guess. But the thing is, they all knew me before. I haven’t really made friends ever since my dad.. passed away. The idea of needing to open up to someone about all this so I can develop a real connection and friendship with them is just a lot to bear.”

“The mortifying ordeal of being known,” you mumbled, more to yourself, crumpling up your napkin in one hand.

“Sorry?”

“Oh, it’s this quote from a New York Times article that has been floating around the internet for a while. ‘If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known’.” You looked up at her and inhaled deeply. “It’s something I’m also terrified of. Although it seems kind of stupid sometimes, because compared to you for example, I don’t really have a good reason.”

Abby looks at you like she’s just discovered something extremely interesting. She takes a sip of her wine before answering, her silver rings blinking at you in the candlelight.

“It’s not at all stupid. I’ve always been very careful with who I open up to, even before my dad died. It’s horrifying, laying yourself bare for a person, putting yourself on a silver plate and handing it to them and saying there, now do with it what you wish. Maybe they’ll look at it and say no, thanks. Maybe they’ll call everyone and say hey, look at this mad woman with her twisted insides, isn’t that funny? Maybe they’ll see it and think, I can do this, and then after a few years they suddenly realize they actually can’t and you’re way too much and so they leave for someone with a more simple, prettier silver plate. Maybe they’ll even take a few pieces with them as they go.”

She didn’t sound bitter as she said it, and she didn’t look terribly sad either, more as if she was making an observation about something she was mildly interested in. You didn’t know what to say except for show me your silver plate, please show me your all, and I will devour it, savor it, keep it with me forever. But you stayed silent, your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

“I’m quite the handful, am I? Sorry, I shouldn’t have thrown all this” - she gestured toward herself - “at you during our first date.” Then her eyes widened as she realized what she had said. “Fuck, sorry, I just assumed… you probably don’t…”

Finally, movement came back into you. You jumped from your chair and were next to her in a few paces. She lifted a hand and you took it in yours.

“Of course this is a date,” you said gently and smiled at her. “Otherwise why would I have been this nervous for the past three days, thinking of nothing but you, constantly checking my phone to see if you texted me? And I brought red wine, come on.” That brought a smile to her face. She chuckled lightly.

“So I haven’t just ruined everything?” The hope in her eyes was mixed with real, honest fear.

“No, of course not. I’m glad you’re being open with me. You know, I planned not to reveal too much about myself tonight, fearing I would scare you away or say something stupid and make you suddenly lose interest.”

The current song ended and a soft, funky beat came on. There it was again, that twinkle in Abby’s eyes. Your hands were still clasped around hers and she made no move to pull back.

“Well, now I can’t wait to see what you have in store for me. Lay it on me. Over dessert, maybe?”

You raised your eyebrows.

“There’s dessert? You’re going to have to roll me out of here later.”

She laughed, warm and genuine, and the pride you had felt back in The Closet filled your chest again. You would do anything just to be the one to make her laugh every day for the rest of your life. She got up and you both started clearing the table together.

Never going to know

What fate is going to blow

Your way, just hope that it feels right

Could that Sade lady be any more on the nose? You risked a glance at Abby, who was smiling to herself. You followed her into the kitchen and she opened the fridge to produce a large glass dish, showing the several layers of biscuit and white cream, topped with dark cacao.

“Tiramisu? Seriously Abby, how much time did you spend in the kitchen today?”

She gave you a crooked grin before exiting the kitchen.

“Took the day off.”

You just sighed and went back into the dining room.

Such a fine time as this

“Here.” Abby handed you a small plate with a piece of her gourmet tiramisu. Your fingers brushed against each other and you both paused for just the blink of an eye.

What could equal the bliss

The thrill of the first kiss

You sat down and grabbed the small fork left next to your wine glass. On second thought, you took another sip of Merlot. It really was exquisite.

“Buon’ appetito,” you said and sliced off a perfect edge of tiramisu. The soft, coffee-drenched biscuit fell apart on your tongue, mixing with the heavy vanilla-flavored mascarpone. “Did you know where the name tiramisu comes from?”

Abby lifted her fork to her mouth and softly closed her lips around the piece of creamy dessert. You were entranced, watching her hand sink down to the table again, then her jaw moving and flexing as she chewed. She raised her eyebrows questioningly and you cleared your throat, taking another piece on your fork.

“ Tira mi su is Italian for ‘pull me down’. It’s the last thing you eat after dinner and the thing that makes you tired, pulls you right into the food coma. In restaurants, it rounds off the meal and guests will probably leave in the following hour because they feel they’re ready to go home.”

Never as good as the first time

Natural as the way we came to be

“Oh,” Abby said, her voice quiet. She looked up at you through dark lashes. “And are you going home after this?”

“No.” You said it without thinking, only knowing what was true in your heart. “I don’t want to.”

“I’m glad.” Taking a deep breath, Abby straightened up, then reached a hand across the table, her palm facing up. You stared at it for a fraction of a second before placing your hand in hers, feeling something fall into place inside you. The glances you exchanged said so much more than you could possibly dare to say out loud right now.

You used your free hand to stab the last piece of tiramisu. This time it was Abby who was watching you with hungry eyes as the fork vanished between your lips and emerged clean.

“This tiramisu could be the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life,” you said after swallowing and Abby’s fingers twitched ever so slightly around your hand.

“Thank you. I’m really into French and Italian cuisine, as you may have noticed.”

You leaned back in your chair, careful not to pull back your hand.

“I couldn’t do it, honestly. Spending so much time in the kitchen. Especially not with a job like yours, on your feet all day. I’d probably survive off of pasta and takeout.”

Abby smiled and began slowly drawing circles on the back of your hand with her thumb. You were already hyper-aware of how your blood rushed through every vein of your body, a side-effect of the red wine, but now it came to a roar in your ears.

“I guess I need some kind of hobby besides lifting weights. It calms me down. And it’s not just about the end result, about getting to eat something, but also about picking the right ingredients, taking my time cutting them up, trying new recipes with new flavors, and learning more about food and culture, and honestly about myself. It’s like meditating.”

“That sounds…” you were at a loss for words, “unbelievable? I’ve never heard someone talk about cooking like that. And I’ve never felt that way about it, too. I guess I’d like to, though. It sounds nice.”

Abby brushed her thumb over your knuckles.

“Well, I could show you.” You tilted your head slightly. “I mean, we could cook together. Next time. If you want to?”

Sade’s voice, smooth as polished wood and dripping with honey cut into the moment.

How could I have doubted

Honey, it's with me that you belong

“Yeah, I’d love to. What do you have in mind?”

“Do you like lasagna? We could make a vegetable lasagna and substitute the meat for soy. I could show you how to make a béchamel.”

You laughed and squeezed her hand.

“I love lasagna, although I have no idea what a beshmel is.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Abby’s face was glowing with happiness.

As the last two songs of the album played, you helped Abby clean up the table. You got into an argument about doing the dishes - Abby said she’d do it later but you insisted you would do them now or at least help because so far you had not lifted a finger.

“Come on, Abby, please let me help?” You tried your best doe eyes at her. She grinned and playfully slapped your upper arm.

“Okay. But I’ll put on different music.”

She vanished to the dining room while you began filling the sink with water. A high note filled the room before a man spoke.

You broke my heart / 'Cause I couldn't dance

You didn't even want me around

And now I'm back / To let you know

I can really shake 'em down

Abby stepped into your field of vision. The music set in, a delightful 60’s rock and roll melody, and Abby began dancing toward you with tiny steps and shaking shoulders. She was lip synching to the coarse voice of the singer and reaching out her hands for you. Snapping out of your frozen position, you shook your head, grabbed her hands, and were immediately twirled through the kitchen. A squeak escaped you as Abby pulled you back toward her and with another pirouette, you almost slammed into her chest. You both laughed out loud, continuing to dance through the kitchen with big, overexaggerated moves, flailing your arms and shuffling your feet across the tile.

I can do the twist

Now, tell me baby

Do you like it like this?

You quickly began singing along to the simple lyrics and both of you were giggling at each other’s dance moves. The next song was Stand By Me and you both settled down, beginning to clean the pots and dishes. You did the washing while Abby dried off the pieces you gave her and put them back into the right cupboards. Both of you were swaying and humming along to the music.

During the second chorus, both of you began belting along, filling the kitchen with the wonderfully familiar sound of slightly drunk women singing together. As the song ended, you both comically froze and waited for the next song to set in. When it was La Bamba by Ritchie Valens, you both continued singing along and showing off some probably terrible salsa moves. You were done in no time and Abby took your hand, pulling you into the dining room and sliding across the wooden floors with you. Your stomach hurt from laughing and you couldn’t stop smiling.

Next came the bittersweet Be My Baby by the Ronettes, a song you remembered from your childhood, vague memories of your parents slow dancing together after another terrible fight. You swallowed down the hint of bitterness creeping up from your stomach. Instead, you looked up at Abby, almost a full head taller than you, and dared yourself to step forward. You placed your right hand in Abby’s and your left on her tricep, coming unbearably and exhilaratingly close. Abby put her hand on your back, right below your shoulder blade, warming you through the fabric of your shirt. Your faces were incredibly close, her breath warm on your nose, and you could have counted every single freckle on her beautiful face. There was a slim ring of gold around her pupil, complimenting the green of her iris. She was breathtaking.

You couldn’t take this any longer. Should you kiss her? Everything inside you wanted to, but you couldn’t bring yourself to close the last inch of distance. It felt like wanting to do a handstand but pulling back at the last second every time because of a deep fear of failing and hurting yourself. It was terribly frustrating.

Instead, you leaned your head against the round muscle of Abby’s shoulder, turning your face toward her chest and pressing your temple to her collarbone. You could smell the herbs she had used to cook earlier in the fabric of her shirt, but her skin smelled like pine and something else, earthy and dark, like tree bark or wool. Abby rested her chin against your forehead and her low hum of contentment vibrated against your cheek.

A light waltz melody began, Unchained Melody, a song you knew from some commercial and had listened to for a few weeks straight after.

I need your love

God speed your love to me

You smiled to yourself and could sense Abby was doing the same. You kept slowly turning, dancing through the candle-lit room and swaying side to side. The band set in louder and you lifted your head again. Abby’s eyes were fixed to yours, but you couldn’t stop yours from wandering lower, finding those perfectly pink lips, hanging open ever so slightly. Your hand wandered upward, along her shoulder, and to the back of her neck. As the last verse of the song began, you stood on your tiptoes and brushed your lips against her. Abby inhaled sharply, her fingers spreading on your back and pressing against your skin. You gently pressed your lips to hers again and this time, she kissed you back. You dug your fingertips into the back of her neck, desperately wanting to come closer, to pull her down to you, hell, you would climb her like a tree if you had to.

Feeling courageous, you stuck your tongue out and ran the tip upward over her lips. Abby instantly reacted, opening her mouth for you and greeting your tongue with hers. She tasted like wine and cacao, and faintly like thyme. Releasing your hand, she wrapped her arms around your waist. You reached up and buried your hand in her hair. She gasped into your mouth. You tucked that sound away for later, swearing to yourself you would make her do it again as often as you could.

A few seconds of silence between songs were disrupted by your wonderfully frivolous wet kissing sounds and a small whine that escaped you when Abby’s hand wandered lower to cup your ass. The first guitar chords of Nights In White Satin vibrated through the air and Abby grabbed you tightly before lifting you off the ground and wrapping your legs around her hips. She carried you over to the dining table and set you down.

The dramatic crescendo in the song you loved so much began.

And I love you

Yes I love you

Oh, how I love you

The singer’s voice filled every corner of the room, his declaration hovering above you, the high voices of the background singers ringing in your ears and Abby’s hands everywhere, her body leaning over you, her hips pressed between your legs. You flexed your legs to pull her in closer, almost falling apart when Abby let out a low moan and rocked her hips forward against you. Then she suddenly slowed down and broke the kiss.

“Wait, let’s talk for a second.”

You kept your legs clamped around her, but relaxed back a little, brushing back a strand of hair from her forehead and giving her an encouraging nod to go ahead.

“I haven’t… I’m not that experienced with - with women. And generally. And I don’t want to rush things and do something wrong and lose you. I don’t really know how this works and I want to do it right.”

Her hands on your waist tightened slightly. You gave her a shy smile.

“Me neither. I’m scared, too.” You surprised yourself with your openness. “How about we take this slow, then? Talk about everything openly? And just go one step at a time?”

Abby nodded and pulled you closer again.

Holding Back The Years began playing.

“One kiss at a time.” She gave you a gentle peck on the lips.

“Oh, really? I would have never picked you as the sappy type,” you laughed against her lips.

“You wouldn’t?” She acted shocked. “Let me remind you of how I took the day off to cook a gourmet french dish for you.”

“True.” You shrugged and pulled her in for another kiss. “It’s probably the muscles. With those guns, you can do anything and still be taken seriously.”

Abby snorted and you realized that had been the wine talking. For a second, you were mortified, then she scooped you up again, holding your body with one arm as she ran her free hand through your hair.

“Oh, those? You know, they’re specifically for carrying you around all day. Anything for my - princess.” You had very well noticed the little pause there, but you decided not to say anything yet. Instead, you lifted your chin and eyebrows, imitating what you thought a royal would look like.

“Well, what does that make you? You’re obviously not a prince. My lady knight?”

Abby nodded solemnly.

“Sworn to protect and defend you. And to carry you wherever.”

“Well, do you have a sofa you could carry me to?” You tightened your hold on her shoulders and leaned in closer again.

“Of course, my lady.”

Abby carried you through a doorway at the back of the dining room into a cozy living room, equipped with a large sofa and a gigantic flatscreen tv, two vintage armchairs, a wooden bookshelf with at least 100 books, and a desk facing the window, medical books spread across the surface. The blonde sat down on the sofa and you knelt left and right of her hips, straddling her as you gave her another soft kiss.

“You know,” you began, “I’ve been crushing on you for months now. I thought you had absolutely no interest in me. I didn’t even know you liked women.”

Abby’s eyes widened at your confession.

“Shit, I had no idea. You weren’t exactly forward, you know. The first time we met, you already had this pull on me. But you were so shy and I didn’t want to jump you or annoy you, so I tried to keep my distance and wait if you would come around.”

“You have Leah to thank for that. Me coming around. I kind of forgot to come out to her until karaoke night and she told me you were dating women as well. She knows I’ve been a hopeless case when it comes to you, but she wanted me to figure this out on my own.”

Abby thought about this for a second.

“Yeah, Leah probably only told you because she knew I liked you, too. I haven’t been that open about dating women in the past, just because talking about dating in general was weird with Owen and Mel around and I also just don’t like everyone knowing my personal business.”

“I get that.” You nodded. “As I said, I hadn’t even been out to Leah. Mostly because I haven’t dated anyone in forever and the last time was a disaster not worth talking about.” You winced at the memory.

“You wanna tell me anyway?”

You thought about it for a second, then you climbed off Abby’s lap and laid down on the sofa, resting your head on her thigh. Her fingers immediately began brushing through your hair and massaging your scalp.

“Well, I met this girl during a freshman party at a sorority house the weekend before my first semester in college,” you began. You had felt weirdly out of place, but were determined to speak to at least one person. A few hours and an almost-lethal amount of tequila later, the girl you had talked to all night had dragged you into one of the bedrooms. You both had no previous experience, were extremely drunk and it was already 5am. You had fun making out and were both eager to try more, but it had been more out of curiosity than desire for each other and so the experience had not ended in the expected bliss of lesbian sex. Rather, she had come pretty quickly and afterward she'd begun crying and told you she had a boyfriend, and you had gotten dressed and fled the house. After that, dating in college was not really something you thought about much.

Abby listened to your story with interest and sympathy, laughing at a few parts and stroking your hair as you told her about the end of that fateful night. She felt deeply sorry for your experience of strangeness and betrayal, immediately promising to you that she would always tell you what was going on inside her head and what she wanted.

“Like you just did,” you smiled at her. “That was brave. It’s what I should have done that night.”

“I mean, I had a few weird moments, too, before I learned to speak my mind.” Abby’s gaze unfocused and she frowned as she clearly recalled some not very pleasant memories.

“Wanna tell me, too?” you asked, keeping your voice light. She nodded, looking down at you again.

“I mean, there's Owen, obviously. That didn’t work out well and now he is with Mel, leaving me wondering if he was interested in her while we were still together. After we broke up, Nora and I went on a little bender.” Your heart jumped into your throat. Did Abby and Nora...? A wave of jealousy rose from the bottom of your stomach, but you forced yourself to keep your calm, smiling at Abby as she continued.

“We spent every weekend at a different bar, and one of them was actually at The Closet. Nora was making out with a woman in actual overalls” - she snorted - “and I just hung out at the bar, drinking Long Islands and not brave enough to make eye contact with anyone. And then the bartender started talking to me.”

Suddenly realization dawned on you. You sat up and stared at Abby.

“Wait, Ellie? The short-haired one?”

Abby grimaced.

“Yeah. We talked for a while and I came back the next week with Leah and Jordan. They didn’t even notice I was spending a lot of time at the bar. Ellie and I met for coffee a few days later and I mentioned my dad and she got really quiet and strange. Turns out, she’s related to the guy that murdered my dad, so...”

You were pretty sure your heart stopped for a moment, all the air in your chest building up pressure as you tried to figure out how to breathe out. Abby noticed and gently guided you to lay back down, continuing to weave her fingers into your hair.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I’ll tell you the whole story another time. So yeah, Ellie and I. It was horrible, but we still stayed and talked for a while. She couldn’t tell me a lot about what happened, but she had no idea that I even existed and she was about to have a panic attack over it all. I helped her calm down and then she felt terrible for reacting so badly when it should be me panicking and I just told her that there’s nothing any of us can do now and we should probably leave it at that.” She sighed. “I hadn’t been to The Closet until a few days ago. I only came because I knew you’d be there.”

“Fuck, that’s terrible,” you mumbled. “I don’t think I could have gone back there. I’m still glad you did, though.”

“Me too,” Abby said, her voice gentle and honest. She leaned down to kiss you, deeply and passionately.

You stayed on the sofa for the next few hours, talking about school crushes and gay awakenings, about women constantly hitting on Abby and her being confused for a long time. She told you more about her relationship with Mel and you started to actually resent that woman. Who did she think she was? You told Abby about living with Leah and about your current research projects and she listened intently, asking a lot of questions about the art you were analyzing. You began diving into queer art and Sappho and your theory on the different languages of different social groups. Abby actually gave you some great new ideas and some good questions you couldn’t yet answer and you were actually beginning to look forward to writing tomorrow.

As the clock moved past midnight, it became clear you would have to leave at some point soon. Abby had to get up at 7 in the morning for a 10-hour shift, and you had stifled one too many yawns. You were cuddled up on the couch, kisses interchanging with long, deep conversations and more kisses.

“I can accompany you to the station,” Abby suggested as you looked up the departure times on your phone.

“You don’t have to. That’s sweet of you, but I’ll find the way.” You kissed her for her generosity, but she pulled back.

“Honestly. I don’t want you walking alone. I’ll go with you.” A sheepish smile appeared on her face and she did a tiny bow. “My lady.”

You rolled your eyes and got up, making your way to the entrance hall. Abby gently helped you into your coat and put on a black bomber jacket, a strange but hot combination with her fancy pants. She opened the door for you and you stepped out into the cold night together.

You held hands on the way to the station, stopping at every corner to make out, laughing together, and making plans for your lasagna night. You would come over on Thursday, promising to yourself you would finish all your coursework until then. Manny would come back on Friday, so you’d have the house to yourself again.

You arrived at the station way too soon, but your train was announced to arrive in two minutes. Heavy-hearted, you flung your arms around the tall blonde and she wrapped hers around your waist, lifting you up for another deep kiss.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” she whispered against your lips.

“I’ll even dress up next time,” you mumbled and she grinned at you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but jeans and a t-shirt. I’m excited.” Well, now you had to go shopping. Leah would be delighted to go with you.

You pressed a last kiss to Abby’s lips before unwrapping yourself from her arms as the train rolled into the station. As you stepped away, she caught your hand and pulled you back for another one, cheekily running her tongue over your bottom lip. You sighed and kissed her hand, wrapped firmly around yours, before stepping back and boarding the train. You waved at her through the window as you departed and watched her stand on the platform until she was out of sight.

Letting yourself fall into one of the seats, you pulled out your phone and texted your brother.

-We kissed!!!! Call me when you can

Then you texted Leah about shopping tomorrow, just able to send the text before your phone vibrated with a new message.

-You looked beautiful tonight. I’m the luckiest person in the world.

You tried to keep your squeal as quiet as possible. A woman a few seats ahead of you briefly looked up from her phone.

-Can’t believe I have a personal knight who will carry me wherever I want to go

The reply came in seconds.

-Anywhere and anything you want. Text me when you’re home!

-Can I text you before I’m home? I miss you already :(

You had to wait a few minutes before your phone vibrated again. This time, Abby was calling.

“Sorry, I was cleaning up and getting ready for bed.” She sounded a bit breathless.

“No worries,” you said. “What are you wearing for bed?”

Abby let out a surprised laugh.

“Really, now?”

“I’m serious. I want to imagine being with you.”

“Well, I’m wearing a gigantic black t-shirt with a ton of holes and boxers.”

You closed your eyes, envisioning Abby’s thighs straining against the hem of her shorts and the soft cotton of her shirt that you could bury your face in. She would smell like nature and like home somewhere far away.

“I wish I was there.” You noticed you were sounding desperate. Fucking hell, were you about to turn into a 13-year-old? You could hear the smile in Abby’s voice when she spoke.

“I wish you were here with me, too.” She paused for a moment. Then, “Do you want to sleep over on Thursday?”

“Uhm -” you had to think for a second, remembering you only had dinner plans for Friday with your mom. Before you could answer, Abby cut in again

“Fuck, am I rushing you? I didn’t mean - I just thought it would be nice, falling asleep together. But I totally get if that’s -”

“Abby! Of course I want to stay over!” You clenched your free hand into a fist, punching your thigh a few times in order to divert the explosion of energy inside your chest.

“Oh, thank god,” Abby’s shaky laugh was heart-wrenching. “I thought I messed up already.”

You stood up to exit at your station.

“No, not at all. I’d love to fall asleep with you.”

The way to your apartment was over faster than you wanted it to be.

“I’m home now. I think I should hang up, Leah is probably sleeping.”

“Yeah, don’t wake the monster.” Abby chuckled.

“Good night, Abby. Tonight was incredible.”

“Good night, Y/N. You’re incredible. Sleep tight.”

--

Author's note: Thank you so much for your comments and kudos! If you'd like to support me, you can buy me a coffee here

[beelspillowpet]

A Family - Beelzebub x Fem!MC

FINALLY! An NSFW piece with Beelzebub. 🧡 This one is just a tad bit self indulgent I must admit.

Thank you for the meal, @cosmic-whorror​

Content warnings: Breed Kink | Overstim | Multiple Orgasms | A bit of pregnancy talk

~

You love him. Unconditionally. You have since you’ve met him. Sure his hunger pangs and his nightly runs with you could drive you insane, but no one was perfect. He tolerated you and all your issues, and he took them in stride. That was what love was. And you both loved each other, deeply.

You weren’t sure where the desire came from. You’ve never seen him so emotionally invested in something before. Not since you, not since his meal earlier. But you two were in the common room, watching a movie together. It was a romance movie, something Beelzebub was interested in watching with you.

The movie wasn’t too long, but the entire time you couldn’t help the way he kept his arms around you. Usually it didn’t bother you, but his hand occasionally brushed up against your tummy whenever anything relating to a family came on screen. Another time, while resting at a bench from jogging, a family passed you both by. He grabbed your hand and squeezed it. You were sure he was trying to tell you something by now.

You stole glances at Beelzebub every now and then at the dinner table as the bothers kept their conversations up. He wolfed down his meal like usual, before picking at his brothers if they were going to finish theirs. He didn’t dare ask you, however. Something he usually didn’t do.

While cleaning up afterwards, Beelzebub stuck around to help. It was like he said before, he didn’t mind if anyone cooked extra. It never went to waste, and he didn’t mind cleaning up the mess for anyone. You didn’t say a word to him the entire time, but he kept stealing glances at you. You knew what that meant; he wanted your attention once you two weren’t busy with chores.

You two were now cuddled up, again, on the side of your bed, watching a drama that was on tv. He was holding your hand like he always did, but every now and then he squeezed it.

“Bee?” you hum, rubbing his leg. “Do you need something? You’ve been acting awfully strange lately.”

“Ah, I’ve just been thinking to myself a lot is all. Don’t worry.” he brushes it off just as quickly, not taking his eyes off the screen. He’s nervous, and you can tell by the lack of eye contact he gives you.

You’re determined to squeeze the answer out of him, however. “Bee, I know what the problem might be.” Beelzebub’s lips tighten, and he peeks at you out of the corner of his eyes. “For a little while now, you’ve been thinking about her, haven’t you? She who shall not be mentioned.”

Ashamed, Beelzebub doesn’t answer. His eyelids drop nearly shut, and he faces away from you. “‘M sorry…” he apologizes. You know him so well. “I had a dream about her. Lately she’s been on my mind a lot. I just feel awful because we talked about this before. I don’t see you as her, but…”

“It’s okay to miss her. If you think about it, even though we shouldn’t… she’s still here with you. Right here,” you put a hand over his heart. “And here.” You take his much bigger hand, and place it over yours. “It’s just… things are different this time. Much different. Arguably, better, so that this is okay.” You lean forward and peck him on the lips, and when you pull away, his lips chase after yours into a much deeper kiss.

When you’re finally permitted a bit of space, you laugh. “See? It’s not so bad for either of us now. So no more gloomy Bee. M’kay?” Putting a hand on his cheek, swipe a thumb across his face. He puts his large hand over yours and sighs.

“I’ll just say it. It’s killing me to keep it from you.” You almost smirk. Here it comes. “I want one. A baby- a family. I want to have one with you.” You try your hardest to act surprised, but you’re essentially a struggling college student. You aren’t an actor, and Beelzebub knows this. “You knew?” he frowns.

“I’ve had a gut feeling, you could say. You’ve been acting weird when it comes to family lately. I just wanted you to be able to say it before we move forward. And… now you have…” you trailed off, looking away.

“So?”

“I’m still not too sure if I’m ready for it. But… If it makes you happy, I’m willing to give it a shot with you. We can start trying. Because that’s what love is; we give to each other. So this is my gift to you. The possibility of a baby.” Beelzebub looked overjoyed. He pulled you into his lap and squeezed you tightly. He was speechless, burying his face into your neck and peppering it with kisses. “Whoa now, big guy! You want to start now?”

He pulled away and nodded. “Yes, please.” Ever forward, he was.

You huffed, but not because you were annoyed. He was so eager, so honest about what he’s always wanted. The one time he wasn’t was when it was about this. Having a baby with you. “You’re so excited about this, look at you!” you laugh. You pull him into another kiss, and his hand goes up to your waist, drawing little circles into your clothed skin with his fingers.

Hungry for your touch, hungry for your kiss. He rolls his hips up into yours and you choke a bit, pulling away from his lips. “Beel- already?”

“I said I wanted to try now,” he pouts. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

Your answer is to reach down and undo his pants. His response in turn is to remove his own jacket, tossing it to the side. The obnoxious amount of belts he wore was always a task to remove, but you soon discovered they were long gone. “Were you-?”

“I wanted to tell you tonight,” he said quickly, capturing your lips again in another heated kiss. “I figured,” another kiss, “if I just told you,” kiss, “then you’d understand.”

Overwhelmed, you decided it didn’t matter either way. You were struggling to get him to slide his pants down, but he stopped you short and lifted you off him. “Lay down, Pretty.” he instructed softly. He stood up off the bed, and let his pants fall to his ankles, where he kicked them off to the side before promptly ridding himself of his shirt. When you sat up on your elbows, he lowered himself down between your legs.

Pulling your skirt down with little foreplay was just like Beelzebub, just like how he opened your legs and gave a wet kiss to your clothed pussy. “Want you,” he whined, planting a kiss to your thigh. “Please, Pretty?” He thumbed at your clit through your underwear, waiting for permission to move them.

“Do you even need to ask at this point?”

Something flashes in his eye, and you flinch at the sudden brightness. In a moment, your underwear is practically torn off, and more kisses are being planted on your inner thighs, teasing you. “Starving,” he growls. His lips latch on to a section of your thigh and he begins to suck it earnestly. You clench your teeth, fighting back the moan but then the sharpness of his teeth scrape your flesh and you cover your mouth.

He’s always been careful about his teeth, even when he was mostly lost in his pleasure. You wouldn’t deny him biting you, so long as they didn’t break the skin. Him enjoying you, and you enjoying him, were the two things you both found important at times like these. You were sure he wasn’t going to hurt you.

When he pulls away, he plants a little kiss to the already bruising skin. “Love you,” he pants, running his tongue across the bruise. “Love you,” he cries. He loves you.

“B-Beel, enough already. Just do it…”

He breathes out, his breath tickling your pussy. He looks impatient himself, but he’s holding back. “If you really don’t want me to…” he slows. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. It’s a big responsibility and you sometimes act on impulse…”

“I know, Bee. I know. If I told you I wanted to try, would you feel better?” He almost shakes his head. Instead, he just rests it in your lap, a frown on his face. “I want you to breed me, Beel. I want you to fuck me raw, and I want you to fill me up with your cum.” Your hand finds his cheek again and you rub it, massaging his skin in your touch. “I want you to fuck me so deeply, so thoroughly, that you knock me up. When your seed takes inside of me, I want you to be proud. To parade me around and show the others how fertile I am. How potent you are.”

He’s hypnotized by you now, hanging off your every word. He didn’t know he needed to hear those words so badly before. Moments after you’ve stopped, his face is between your legs, sticking his long tongue deep inside of you. At first it’s a bit frantic, but he settles into a pace, locking your legs around his arms so you don’t move. You’re squirming before long, and he growls in between your legs. You’re meant to lay still and open for him.

One of his arms sneak away from your legs and he reaches down to free his cock from his underwear finally. He moans into your cunt the second his hand wraps around it, and is pumping his fist furiously, rolling his hips as he groans into you. Unburying his face, he gives one long, hot lick up your slit, then spits into it. The pressure makes you jump a bit, before he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks it.

“Cum,” he snarls, dropping his jaw in anticipation for you. His tongue snakes out and back into your cunt, eagerly awaiting. Devouring you whole, you think.

Your hand grabs him by the top of his head and he leans as far as he can. Your orgasm crashes down on you, and he’s moaning his delights into your pussy as he laps up your juices. He’s almost surprised, he didn’t really expect that to work.

When he pulls away, he’s getting up again. You’ve collapsed against your comforter, face flushed. One of Beelzebub’s hands rests right next to your head, doubt slowly creeping back on his face. “Pretty, I-”

“Fuck me, Beel.” you command. “No more hesitating, no more games. Put everything you’ve got right in here.” You pant, opening your thighs again for him. He leaned forward and brought your knees with him, effectively folding you in half on your bed. You struggled to sit up right on your elbows again to watch him, your previous orgasm still making your thighs quiver. He slowly pushed in, his hand sliding up your belly to push you back against the mattress gently. He didn’t want you to strain yourself.

Once he had bottomed out in you, he dipped his head low and gave you a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to put a baby in you.” he said. “Are you ready for that?”

You bite your lip. “What did I say about hesita-?”

Before you can finish your sentence, he’s drawn almost all the way out and slammed back into you. You would have bitten your tongue if you weren’t careful. His pace is unforgiving, and in your state you can barely manage to choke out your words behind each thrust. “Q-quietly…” you sob, trying to get him to have some sort of mercy on your smaller body.

“Want to fuck you,” he growls, baring his teeth at you. Like an animal. He means no threat behind his words, because immediately afterwards he presses a kiss to your lips, wanting to explore your mouth. You clamp down on him and he groans, caging you between his arms.

The force of his hips crashing into yours is making your body shudder, and with each thrust you’re trying to take even a little bit more of him if possible. The bed creaks in protest and your brain immediately flies back to the thought that someone else might hear you two.

“B-Beel…” you moan his name. His hips stutter to a stop and he looks you in the eyes. All he can see is your lust filled gaze, and his mind is screaming at him to fill you up. You’re practically begging him, in his mind. He resumes his cruel pace, this time capturing your lips with his. If you so desperately want to keep silent while he fucks a baby into you, he’ll try his best to make the best night of his life quiet.

Well, he tried. That was quickly over, as another orgasm ripped through you. He swallowed your scream in his kiss, devouring the taste of your mouth as he kept thrusting into you. Yes, this was going to be a long and pleasurable night with your favorite demon.

When you just couldn’t stop squeezing down on his cock, he managed to have enough restraint to pull out of you for a moment. Left empty of him, you looked up as tears formed in your eyes. The soft look in his eyes from a bit earlier was replaced with a hungry lion, and he easily flipped you over on to your stomach. He pulled you up by your hips and you relaxed as much as you could. At least until he pushed back into you, going back to his callous pace.

In this new position, you could feel him reaching deeper than before, and couldn’t stop yourself from crying out. “B-Beel! Please, not like this! They’ll hear us! They’ll hear us!!”

“Then bite the pillow,” he growls in response. He watches you in your feeble attempt to reach for the pillow on the opposite side of your bed before balling up your fist and arching your back. Another orgasm was building up in you and you were about to scream from the pleasure. In a last ditch effort, you bit into your sheets, and howled, his pace somehow getting even worse. All you could hear was his labored breath coupled with your own, and the sound of your slick escaping you and covering his cock. 

“Fuck, Bee…” you sobbed. He still wasn’t done with his first round and you’ve already cum twice. You almost regretted telling him you were willing to try if he weren’t giving you so much pleasure.

Clutching onto the bed sheets as he buried himself into you was the only way to anchor yourself to reality. Your insides stretched and expanded repeatedly as your body yielded itself to Beelzebub over and over again. Your last coherent thought was echoing somewhere in the back of your head: He had been holding back all those times before. This is why he wanted to make sure you could handle him.

You couldn’t think of anything coherent at the moment anymore. Nothing.

You didn’t know who you were or your name.

Beelzebub. You heard yourself shouting that word over the sounds of the bed springs straining. Beelzebub. Beelzebub. Beelzebub!

All you could think of were short, incomplete thoughts.

Hot. Hard. Good. So good. Beel. Keep going. Yes, yes… ah! Oh, Bee… love… I love you.

In and out. In and out.

THRUST! THRUST! THRUST!

Voracious moans and grunts mingled with the sounds of slapping wet flesh, filling the room with a symphony of sex and a smell of passion. Squelches and the bed creaking harshly echoed across the bedroom. You could faintly hear the bedpost knocking against the wall from the force.

His hands run up and down your spine. “Gonna cum…” And your brain screams finally! His thrusts are uneven, and through your haze of multiple orgasms, your first thought was how it’d been a while since you two had been intimate. What constituted as a while was simply a week, but that was enough for you two.

Hot, thick semen spilled from his cock and directly into you. The sensation of being filled to the brim with thick cock and hot cum triggered your final orgasm. Your knees and toes curled as you saw only white. Fire and ice burned under your skin and every sensation that kissed your nude body felt sublime.

So much pleasure filled you, destroying any thought, but Beelzebub hunched down and kissed at your neck until you managed to turn your head. His lips caught yours again and your entire body shuddered violently in the afterglow. He gave a few shallow thrusts to be sure, and you panicked thinking he was going to start up again. Your body couldn’t take much more tonight, and you were sure a cooldown period would be needed.

When he slides out you feel relieved, yet somehow empty again. He kneels down and peppers your thigh with more kisses. You only have the energy to move into a slightly more comfortable position on the bed as he gently pushes whatever cum that leaks out, back into you.

“I’m going to show you to all of them,” he whispers between your legs. “We’ll keep doing this. Every night until we get it right. You’re going to have my baby, Pretty.”

There’s the nickname again. You barely slur out a response, exhaustion hitting you like a truck. Beelzebub reaches for your discarded panties before gently getting you back into them. He shifts you onto the bed to lay on your back before kissing your forehead. “Would you like some water?” he offers. “Or maybe something to eat?”

You force a smile, your fatigue taking you someplace far away from Beelzebub. He almost laughs at your response, rubbing your belly. He gets into his own clothes, hot and sweaty still before turning on your fan. “I’ll make us something to eat and let your rest. Okay, Pretty?”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond. He’s probably hungry himself. You don’t bother calling him out for it, because immediately after he’s spoken, he’s out the door and towards the kitchen. You roll over on your side. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. It’s a big responsibility and you sometimes act on impulse…

Those were the words he told you earlier. He was right; you do act on impulse. You weren’t sure if you were ready for a baby. You weren’t sure if you ever even wanted any, as it’s never crossed your mind before. It was probably due to some experiences you’ve dealt with in your own home growing up, but this was different. This would be much different. A child with one of the seven most powerful demons in hell. Life would be as good as it could possibly get. Only if.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Leave Your Boots By The Bed (SPN x BtVS)

Sam Winchester x Faith Lehane

Word Count: 7350

Warnings: It’s smutty! Samhandling, the jockey is MJ’s favorite sex position, lots of discussions of trust and consent, unprotected sex, rimming, spanking, hair pulling, and dom/sub themes. Wee bit o’ feelings but in a nice way with a happy ending. Mostly just a whole bunch of marathon, athletic, probably-not-OSHA-compliant banging. 

A/N: This is the Sam/Faith side-quest (idk what else to call it) to Big Damn Heroes, but you don’t really need to read that to understand this. You can also read just the scene where these two meet over here. 

This is my entry for @idabbleincrazy and her “What Do You Mean This Is Classic Rock?” Challenge! My prompt was “Girl All The Bad Guys Want,” by Bowling For Soup, which 100% gave me Faith vibes. It’s quoted/referenced a couple times in the story. 

It’s also my (second) entry for @stusbunker’s Jam Basket fic exchange. This one’s for @thoughtslikeaminefield​, who deserves the world on a silver platter. I cannot give her that, so instead I offer Faith smut. Thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ for prodding and lotion-related reality checks, and to @fangirlxwritesx67​ for the read-throughs and for reassuring me that if I ever write Sam smut without a little psychoanalysis thrown in, she will worry about me. 

Title from the Jason Isbell song “Cover Me Up,” which I listened to on repeat while writing certain chunks of this. 

“What’s so funny?” Faith asks, looking at him sideways as they walk. 

“I just told you I come from another universe and your response is ‘cool.’” 

“Am I supposed to be impressed? I like it this way. No chance of you gettin’ all clingy.” 

Sam laughs. “Fair enough.” 

“Monsters, huh? You ever staked a vamp before?” 

“Stakes don’t kill ‘em in my world. But… beheaded a few,” Sam says mildly. 

“Yeah?” Her eyes sparkle. “So if we take the shortcut through the graveyard, you’re not gonna slow me down or get yourself killed?” 

He gives her an unimpressed look. “What do you think?” 

“Let’s go, then,” she challenges, pointing to the cemetery gate up ahead. “Bet I can dust more before we get to the other side.” 

“You’re on.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

“Heads up,” Faith shouts, and tosses him a stake. Sam whirls and punches it through the thing’s ribcage, sending dust swirling just in time to turn and watch Faith launch herself at another vamp. 

“Is this where you take all your dates?” Sam wonders out loud, a little bit enthralled by the cocky grin on her face as she sends the vamp stumbling with one of those showy spin-kicks. 

“This is not a date,” she snaps, between solid punches. The last hit decks the vamp, and she stakes him before he can hit the ground. She struts toward Sam, brushing dust from her skintight jeans with a Cheshire cat smile. “I like my job. Fuckin’ sue me.” 

“Not complaining,” Sam says, sincerely. “Hottest thing I’ve seen in ages.” 

She looks up at him suspiciously, like she thinks he’s making fun of her, and Sam lets her see the heat in his eyes. The grin is back, and she’s grabbing him by the lapels and rocking onto her tiptoes, swaying into him with a little sigh and a lot of confidence. Sam slides both hands into her hair and ducks down to kiss her, sucking on her lower lip and tasting waxy red. 

Breathtakingly competent and moderately bitchy has always sorta been his type. 

“We had a bet,” he points out, before crushing his mouth to hers again. She makes a sound like a purr and wrenches herself away, grabbing him by the wrist and making a beeline for the path. 

“I’m gonna say we both won here,” she says decisively. “Let’s go.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

She grabs him the second the lock slides into place, backing him against the door, already tugging at his belt. He yanks her jacket off her shoulders and she lets it fall, and then he grabs her by the belt loops, reeling her in until she’s pressed against him, hips flush to his as he slouches against the door. He bends to mouth at the long smooth line of her throat. 

“Talk to me,” he says, nipping at her earlobe. She shivers. 

“Fuck that,” she says hoarsely. “Didn’t bring you here to talk.” 

“Don’t worry, I can multitask.” Sam nibbles at the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, working delicate skin between his teeth, and pops the button of her jeans. He slides a hand down, teasing her clit with his fingertips, and repeats: “Tell me what you like.” 

“I like a lot less conversation and a whole lot more nudity,” Faith tosses back, but her voice is ragged, and she tilts her head to the side, baring her neck for his teeth. “I don’t fuckin’ know, dude, are we doing this or not?” 

He bends just enough to scoop her up, and she goes with it, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he cups her ass with both hands. When he turns them around, slamming her back against the door and rolling his hips, Faith lets out a breathy sound of surprise. 

He drags his open mouth up the side of her throat and repeats, “Talk to me.” 

She pulls him up by the hair, forcing his head back, rough and perfect, and Sam moans against her lips as she kisses him. It’s more like a bite, all teeth and heat. 

“Bedroom’s that way,” she says huskily. 

She’s so strong, rock-solid where she’s wrapped around him, that it’s barely an effort to carry her through the small, spare living space. She’s got her hands in his hair and her teeth scraping his collarbone, and Sam grits his teeth against the sting as he kicks the door shut behind them. 

“Get your fuckin’ clothes off already,” she rasps, tugging at his flannel, and he strips both his shirts off obligingly, leaning back against the wall to balance as he discards them without putting Faith down. 

She lets go of his neck to help him, holding herself up with no support other than her abs and her thighs. Sam’s just as turned on by that casual display of strength as by the sight of bare skin — no bra — when she peels her tank top off. He hoists her a little higher, until he can flick his tongue over one hard pink nipple. He blows a stream of cool air over the sensitive skin and she shivers, thighs squeezing his sides as she arches her back. 

“What do you want?” Sam whispers, and laves his tongue over the other nipple. 

“Fuck, anything, you’re killin’ me here.” 

“Anything?” He scrapes pebbled skin with his teeth, savoring the way she squirms. 

“Want you naked. Now.” She twists out of his grasp like a cat, sliding down his front and landing gracefully on her feet. Gracefully but loudly, that is; she crouches to deal with her big chunky boots, and Sam toes off his own. 

He grins down at her as she tugs on his belt, admiring the way her mouth looks: bright red from his teeth, now, with the last smudges of lipstick smeared down her chin. 

Sam bats her hands away from his zipper. He picks her up before she can argue and tosses her bodily onto the bed, and she bounces on the mattress, her hair spilling across the sheet like a dark glossy halo. She lifts her hips to get her jeans off, her torso bowing up in a long elegant curve. 

Neither of them hide the way they check each other out when the clothes are finally out of the way. Sam kneels on the bed, looking down at her, and she bites her lip, tracking the movement of his hand as he strokes himself lazily. 

“Is this what you want?” he asks. “Ask for it.” 

Her eyes sparkle, mischievous and defiant, and she moves so fast that Sam’s taken by surprise when she grabs him — he can’t remember the last time that happened to him, let alone in bed. She pulls him down on top of her and rolls them over, switching their positions, and Sam laughs breathlessly as she pins his wrists to the pillow on either side of his head. 

“I don’t like takin’ orders,” she says smugly.

“Is that true?” Sam counters. “Or have you just never met anybody who knows how to give orders?” 

She looks startled by that, but instead of responding, she straddles him — sinks down on him wet and tight and perfect — and Sam has to grit his teeth and close his eyes for a moment, adjusting to all that sudden slippery heat around him. 

There’s a gratifyingly breathless note in her voice when she says, “Does it matter? Point is, I can take care of myself.” 

She’s not fucking kidding about that part. 

She arches into a spectacular back-bend, supporting herself with one hand and zero visible effort. Her other hand is between her legs, rubbing her clit hard and fast as she bucks her hips up in little jerky rocking movements — and there’s an image that will (hopefully) be seared into Sam’s memory until the day he dies. For a moment all he can do is watch and try to memorize it. Then he presses the heel of his hand into her lower belly, grinding into her as best he can, and she clenches around him, soaking and squeezing in pulses so intense it almost hurts as she comes with a rough, husky moan. 

“This is gonna be fun,” Sam breathes, and he tugs her upright for one searing kiss before flipping her onto her stomach. 

* * * * * * * * * *  

When Sam offers to wash her hair, she reacts like he just proposed marriage, except instead of an engagement ring, he’d offered her a grenade pin — shock, disbelief, and more than a little fear. 

“Please tell me this is a kinky thing,” she says warily, and Sam laughs, tilting his head back in the spray and sluicing water from his face with both hands. When he looks down at her again, she’s still got her lip curled and her defenses up. 

“It’s not a kinky thing,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

She can’t get far in the shower stall, but she turns her back to him, and Sam’s forcibly reminded of a cat, licking her paws dry after accidentally stepping in a puddle. 

“I can wash my own damn hair. Shit, don’t get all touchy-feely on me.” 

Sam’s had a lifetime of practice at remaining earnest in the face of someone who’s determined to pretend they don’t want his kindness. He knows better than to give up that easily. 

“Come here,” he says, smoothing his hands up her sides. She doesn’t relax, exactly, but she doesn’t shy away. “Faith. Different universe, remember? Not a romantic thing. I just want to touch you.” 

She takes a reluctant half-step back, settling against him without a word. 

Sam squirts a dollop of shampoo into his palm, tilting her chin up so that her head falls back, and he massages her scalp with his fingertips, rubbing in firm circles. 

“Keep your eyes closed for me,” he tells her quietly, maneuvering her into the spray, but he shields her face carefully with one hand as he starts to rinse the lather out, making sure the bubbles don’t go anywhere near the fan of her spiky-wet lashes. “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah,” she croaks, barely audible under the sound of the water. “S’ not so bad.” 

“Speaking of kinky things,” he says casually. “We should talk about that.” 

“Yeah?” 

“What do you like? What’s your safeword?” 

“Safeword?” She snorts, dismissive. “What, you really think you could dish out somethin’ I couldn’t take?” 

Sam clenches his jaw. He’s glad her back is to him so she can’t see the expression on his face right now. 

There are no more bubbles in her hair, but he keeps running his hands through it, just to have something to do as he figures out how to say this. 

“I don’t think there’s much you couldn’t take,” he tells her softly. “I think you might be the strongest woman I’ve ever met.” 

“Damn straight,” she mutters, mollified.

Sam squeezes out some conditioner, finger-combing it through her hair. 

“You don’t trust me,” he says. It’s not a question. 

“Fuck no,” she replies promptly. “Why would I? Trust is something you gotta earn.” 

Sam’s mouth twists into a smile. “Fair enough. But… it’s not about seeing how much you can take. It’s about you trusting me to stop, no questions asked, if you say that word. You want me to take control, I’ll do it. Believe me, I’m down. But not until you trust me. If you think you can do that, all you gotta do is ask. Okay?” 

She takes a breath like she wants to say something, but she seems to think better of it. She lets out a sigh, looking at him — through him — and all he gets is a subdued, “Yeah, okay.” 

Sam tilts her head back gently again, working his fingers through her hair until the little crease of a frown fades from her forehead. He turns her in his arms, cradling her against his chest, and she lets him, resting her cheek over his heart. 

“Poughkeepsie.” 

“Gesundheit.” 

“Cute. It’s a city where I — I was in over my head, one time, and I needed help. That’s my safeword.” 

She pulls back, looking up at him, confusion written all over her face. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because I trust you.” 

“Really?” 

Sam shrugs. “If somebody offered you a lot of money to kill me, I’d sure as fuck be watching my back. But… as far as respecting boundaries? Here and now, just you and me? Yeah, I trust you completely.” 

Faith stares, scanning his expression for a hint of a lie, but when she doesn’t find one, her eyes soften. Her lips curl briefly into a pleased little smile.   

“Didn’t really take you for the submissive type.”  

“I’m not.” 

She cocks her head thoughtfully, gaze calculating, and prods, “Go on, then. You’re the one who wants to talk about everything.”

“No bodily fluids.” 

“With you on that one. There’s good freaky fun and then there’s just freaky. What else? Bet you’d look real pretty tied to my bed.” 

“No chains. Ropes, cuffs, that’s fine — no chains. Um.. pain isn’t a big deal. I’d rather you didn’t draw blood, but… as far as pain goes, don’t worry about pushing too far.” 

“Tryna be a tough guy?” 

“No. Just telling you the facts. Temperature play is a hard limit. Ice, especially.” 

“Okay. So… if I wanted to blindfold you, tie you up, and ride your face for a while…” 

“Works for me.” She gets out of the shower without another word, grabbing a towel, all business, and he laughs. “Somebody’s in a hurry.” 

“You’ve got like sixty seconds before the hot water runs out and it gets all end-of-Titanic in there.” She flashes him a grin. “Also, yeah. Let’s go.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

She pretends she’s asleep, for a while, but then she slips out of bed, and her bare feet don’t make a sound as she navigates the apartment in the dark. He hears the toilet flush, water run, then the creak of… something. 

He gives her a minute to herself before he gets up, just as silent as she was, and follows the smell of smoke to the open window. She’s leaning on the sill, silhouetted by the filtered yellow light of street lamps, and when she takes a drag the orange ember flares in the dark. 

“Jesus, fuckin’ scared the shit outta me,” she snaps. The Boston in her voice comes out strong when she’s startled. When she offers him the last bit of the cigarette he takes it, grabbing her wrist with the other hand, and throws it out the window as he pulls her close. 

“Hey, I was smokin’ that,” she protests, voice crackly like there’s a popping fire down in her chest. 

Sam traces the curve of her cheek. He brushes one curled knuckle back and forth over her lower lip and then drags the pad of his thumb over the pillow of it, watching the soft give as he presses down. Her tongue darts out to flicker over his thumb, but otherwise, she’s motionless. 

Faith takes his wrist, holding his hand to her mouth, and swirls her tongue over the pad of his thumb. Then she slides his index and middle fingers into her mouth, sucking on them shamelessly. They slide from her lips with a wet pop. A bolt of heat thuds through Sam’s gut — he’s only human. 

“I like your hands,” she purrs, with one last suggestive lick. 

“Something in particular you want me to do with them?” he asks. 

She hesitates and presses a kiss to the center of his palm before answering: “I bet you have some ideas.” 

“Tell me what you want, Faith.” 

For a second there’s a deer-in-headlights vulnerability in her huge dark eyes, and she can’t hide the slight frown that flickers across her face. 

“Why do you keep asking me that?” she whispers. She’s still holding his wrist. Sam twists to lace his fingers through hers instead, letting their joined hands drop palm-to-palm. 

“Because sex isn’t fun for me unless everybody’s getting what they want. Call me crazy, but…” 

“I brought you here, didn’t I? You know I want it. That’d be good enough, for most guys. Believe me, if you do somethin’ I don’t like, I’ll tell you about it.”  

Sam closes his eyes, thinking of a half-dozen possible answers to that question. He considers telling her about Meg and Gadreel and all the other things that have slithered in over the years and used his body without his permission. He feels a phantom pain in his palm and remembers Lucifer’s taunt — you let me in — and he considers telling her about why he can’t stand the feel of ice or the rattle of chains. 

He settles for the most fundamental answer: “Because you deserve to get what you want. You deserve better than ‘good enough.’”

She digests that silently for a moment, and then she guides his hand firmly to her hip, before grabbing the other and placing it flat on her breastbone. 

“Just… touch me?” she asks, and Sam smiles, shifting closer, running his hands over her skin: fingertips in the dip of her throat, thumb stroking her collarbone, palm sweeping up and down her side, gentle and deliberately innocent. 

“Why does it bother you so much when I ask?” he says softly. 

She grimaces, and for a second it looks like she’ll brush it off, make a joke of it. 

“Not used to it, I guess. Most guys don’t ask. I think guys look at me, they make some assumptions, you know?” 

“Such as?”

She shrugs. “Guess they figure I’m down for anything.” 

“Faith.” 

“Don’t. Anyway, it’s more than that. Most people, they only offer to give you something if they want something in return.” 

“What do you think I want from you?” 

“That’s what’s got me spun out. Figured you just wanted a great lay, but… you’re still here.” She drops her gaze. “Bein’ all sweet and shit.”

Sam tries to hide his smile. “Should I not be?” 

“Can’t figure you out,” Faith mumbles. “You’re different.” 

Sam thinks about that for a moment as he folds to his knees in front of her. He drags his mouth down the center of her chest, tasting salt, and nips at the soft skin under her belly-button. 

“How do you mean?” He looks up at her again, holding eye contact as he traces her hipbone with his tongue. 

“I’m not the kinda chick that sweet guys usually go for, you know?” She slides her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and Sam hums his approval. “The nice ones know better. I’m the girl all the bad guys want.”

“That seems a bit reductive, don’t you think?” 

“See, shit like that. Your mouth’s an inch away from my pussy and you’re using words like reductive.”

“I just want you. All of you, not just the ‘nice’ parts or the shit you show most guys.” 

“Might not be saying that if — oh. Do that again.” 

“Faith, trust me when I say that whatever you’ve done, I’ve done worse.”

“Jesus, can we talk about this later?” 

“What do you want?” 

“Want you to get your ass back in bed and quit teasing, for starters.” 

“I can do that.”

* * * * * * * * * *  

“The fuck did you find in the fridge?” Faith asks hoarsely. 

“Beer and pickles,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. 

She’s leaning against the frame of the bedroom door, wearing his flannel and nothing else. It’s open, baring a long slice of pale skin, from the dip between her breasts and down her stomach to a neat trail of dark hair. She looks like a centerfold, but rumpled and sleepy-eyed and real, human, in a way that makes it so much hotter. 

“You went out.” She frowns at the front door.

“Are you surprised I came back?” 

“Honestly? Not really.” Sam hides his smile at that answer. “Except that door’s supposed to lock automatically.” 

“It does. I picked the lock.” 

“Anything you can’t do?” Faith comes over and hoists herself up onto the counter next to him, eyeing the pan of bacon eagerly. 

“Never been good at walking in heels.” Sam passes her the extra large to-go cup of dark roast he’d gotten her from the local coffee place, and she grins. 

“Shit, you really know how to spoil a girl.” 

Sam puts a hand on her bare thigh, thumb running back and forth idly as he takes her in, tracing the shape of her body with his eyes. She gives him a raised eyebrow and sips her coffee quietly. There’s none of the wariness or put-on swagger from last night. She just seems comfortable. 

“No bruises,” he says, hand sliding up higher, finding nothing but unblemished skin where he knows he left marks. Every imprint of Sam’s teeth and hands and hipbones has melted away. 

“Slayer healing.” She leans back on her palms, inviting him to touch more. Sam pulls his hand away — pancakes to flip — but he smirks. 

“That’s a shame. They looked good on you.” 

Faith’s eyes go dark. “Yeah?” 

“I’ll just have to leave some more… later. Breakfast is ready.” 

Faith eats with an indecent enthusiasm that reminds him of Dean, but somehow that doesn’t surprise him. Which… speaking of Dean — Sam borrows her cell as they’re finishing breakfast, because apparently other universes aren’t included in his roaming service, and a sleepy female voice picks up. 

“Faith?” 

“Sam, actually. Is my brother around?” 

“Sam? Did you… you and Faith?” Buffy’s voice goes a little squeaky at the end. Then there’s indistinct scuffling. 

Faith swipes her index finger through the maple syrup that’s left on her plate, sucking it clean, hollowing her cheeks in a way that’s pretty fucking distracting. 

“Sammy?” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Hey. You didn’t even notice I was gone, did you?”

“Where are you? Who’s Faith?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam says. “Did Charlie fix the thing?”

“Uh, hang on.” There’s a muffled conversation on the other line. 

Faith gets up, walking around the table to pick up Sam’s plate, her movements slinky and deliberate, her hips swaying, showing off tantalizing glimpses of skin as his flannel skims the curves of her body. He twists around to watch her go. Faith sets both plates in the sink and stretches, and the flannel rides up her thighs. 

“Pretty sure Charlie’s not awake yet either,” Dean says. “Late nights all around. Go team. Should we save you some breakfast?” 

“No, I’m busy.” 

Dean is saying something, but Sam’s not really paying attention. Faith is leaning on the table, bent at the waist, the flannel riding up to expose the lower curve of her ass. Sam turns in his chair to raise an eyebrow at her, pointedly adjusting himself in his jeans. She smirks like the cat who got the cream. 

“Just call this number when you need me, Dean,” Sam says abruptly, cutting him off. “See you later.” He hangs up before Dean can get a protest in. 

She bats her eyelashes, sugary-sweet. “Sorry, did I distract you?” 

“Don’t lie. You’re not sorry at all.” Sam shakes his head, mock-scolding, and gives her a light tap, mostly to watch the way her flesh jiggles just right under his hand. 

She grins, wiggling her hips and spreading her legs a little wider. “If you’re gonna do it, do it like you mean it.” 

There’s a long, weighted pause. 

“Are you asking me for —”

“Fuck yes I am.” 

“Faith…” 

She’s quiet but sincere when she says, “I trust you.” 

Sam exhales sharply, and because she looks nervous, now, he quips, “Should’ve known bacon would do the trick.” She laughs at that and relaxes, so he stands up slowly and asks, “Safeword?” 

“Dorchester.” 

Sam smiles — equal parts amused by the word choice and touched by the trust. He runs a hand down her back and then up again, taking the soft fabric with him, rucking it up. He takes his time, drawing it out to watch the way she pouts, positioning himself behind her and flattening a palm between her shoulderblades to push her down. She braces herself on her forearms. 

“Good girl.” 

“Well?” 

“Be patient.” 

“Fucking hit me already,” she says sulkily. 

“You can have anything you want,” he promises her, and he grabs a handful of hair, yanking her head back. “You just have to ask for it. Politely.” 

He hears the way she sucks in a breath, ragged and desperate, and he smiles. 

“Please spank me. Hard.”

“Good girl,” he repeats. He steps back and squeezes before smacking her, nowhere near hard enough to hurt. 

“C’mon, is that the best you’ve got?” she teases, laughing. 

“You know it’s not.” He brings his hand down with a satisfying sound, and Faith groans. 

“Harder,” she grits out. 

The next one makes her cry out, ragged and ecstatic. He hits her again, hard enough that his palm smarts, wrist snapping precisely so that the blows are spaced just right across her ass and her upper thighs. 

By the time he pauses again she’s panting harshly. He takes a second to admire her, the pretty shade of red blossoming on her pale skin and the way she’s arching her back, putting herself on display for him. 

“Fuck, you look good like this.” He kicks her feet farther apart and traces up her center with two callused fingertips. “So wet already, aren’t you?” 

She tries to push back into it, to fuck herself on his fingers as she whimpers, “More?” 

He lets loose, brings his palm down with a vicious crack, and he can see the way her legs start to shake. 

“Shit, do you have any idea what you do to me?” He leans forward, grinding against her, letting her feel how hard he is through his jeans, and when he pulls back again she moans. Her skin is hot to the touch. He runs his fingers over it teasingly before sliding two fingers into her cunt, curling them, pumping and twisting as Faith curses and clenches around him. 

“Need you,” she pants. “More.” 

“Let me hear you,” he says. He pulls his fingers out and spanks her again, and she shudders, head bowed, pussy glistening wet. 

“Please fuck me,” she breathes. He’s reaching for his belt before she gets the word out. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” 

He rubs the head of his cock through her slickness, teasing, and when she tries to push back, his shaft slides between her lips, dragging along her clit. He bites back a groan and plants his left hand solidly at the base of her neck, forcing her to drop down with her cheek to the table, holding her in place. 

“Shit,” she snaps. “Fuckin’ give it to me.” 

“What did I say?” 

“Want to feel that big thick cock, please,” she says. He can hear the wicked edge in her voice. “Want to feel you fillin’ me up when I come. Just fucking wreck me, Sam. Hold me down and make me scream… please.” She pauses and then asks smugly, “Fuckin’ polite enough for you?”

She could recite a grocery list in that ragged, raspy voice and it’d probably turn him on, at this point; as it is, he feels dizzy from sudden lack of bloodflow to his brain. 

“We gotta work on those manners,” he says softly, and pushes into her, just a couple inches, before sliding out again. She whines.

He does it over and over again — one torturously shallow thrust after another — working her open with little rocking motions that are nowhere near enough. She whimpers, and he watches, clocking every shudder that runs up her spine, every involuntary quiver as he fucks into her a little deeper, slick spreading up the flushed-dark length of his cock with each stroke. 

It takes every last shred of his self-control, but he forces himself to move slowly, deliberately, until she’s dripping wet and slamming her fists into the table. 

Finally, she caves, sobbing two syllables like they’re the only words she remembers: “Please — Sam — please — Sam — please —” 

“That’s better,” he sighs, and grabs her by the hips, shifting until he finds the spot that makes her twitch and squirm. She quakes when he hits it dead-on, and he sets an unrelenting pace, fucking her so hard the table hammers against the wall, a rapid-fire counterpoint to her broken, drawn-out cries. 

Faith bucks helplessly as she comes, and Sam lets go a split-second later, half collapsing forward as he grinds into her one last time. He braces himself with both palms flat on the wood, and his knees threaten to give out. 

His first coherent thought is amazement that the table is still standing, and while he’s trying to remember how to speak, Faith mumbles, “Shit, can’t believe we haven’t broken any furniture yet.” Sam laughs so unexpectedly he almost chokes, and maybe it’s contagious, because Faith starts giggling too. 

Sam maneuvers them onto one of the chairs in a messy pretzel of sweat and skin and half-discarded clothes. A surge of pure giddy affection swells in his ribcage, and he wraps his arms around her, squeezing tight, tickling her with his stubble against her neck until she shrieks and twists. 

Faith turns her head at an awkward angle to kiss him. Then she mumbles, “Is there more bacon? I could go for more bacon.” 

“Anything you want.” 

* * * * * * * * * *  

Faith stretches extravagantly as she gets up from the opposite end of the couch, and his flannel slips off her shoulders. She lets it fall as she pads over to the fridge. 

“Have I mentioned today how good you look naked?” Sam asks. 

She pulls two bottles of beer from the fridge and strikes a goofy, mock-sexy pose. “No, but go right ahead.” 

“You look really fucking good naked.”

“Not so bad yourself.” She passes him a bottle and sprawls out with her legs draped across his lap. “Why’d you put your clothes back on, anyway?” 

“Hot bacon grease and nudity isn’t a good combo. Trust me.” 

“Sounds like the voice of experience talking there.” 

“Not personal experience,” Sam says with a smirk. “Dean, though…” 

She laughs. He tosses the last bite of bacon at her, and she catches it in her mouth. 

“Not cooking any more though, are you?” she asks archly. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He obliges, though, stripping unceremoniously, and Faith catcalls. She crawls into his lap when he sits back down, leaning in for a kiss that tastes like beer. 

“Much better,” she says quietly, pressing her forehead to his. 

“Really thought I might’ve tired you out there.” 

“Honestly? Yeah, I need a minute,” she confesses, with a laugh. “Just wanted some eye candy.” 

“At your service.” 

She settles a little more comfortably in his lap, straddling him, and they exchange slow, lazy kisses. Sam can’t bring himself to stop kissing her. Her lips are soft and plush, and every brush of her tongue and nip of her teeth feels like a luxury, like something he should treasure, because he knows this intimacy has an expiration date. 

They stare at each other for a long moment, sweet and almost shy. 

Sam offers, “Want to watch a soap opera on mute and make up our own dialogue?”

Her dimples really show when she’s surprised to find herself smiling. She grabs their beers and the remote from the milk crate that serves as her coffee table, raising her bottle in a toast, and then she curls up at Sam’s side, naked and soft and bruised. She fits under his arm like she was meant to be there. 

It’s the happiest Sam can remember being in a long time. 

Normal, he thinks. This is what normal people do — breakfast and kisses on the couch — tenderness and softness and quiet everyday vulnerability. 

Then again, neither of them are normal, not really. Maybe that’s why Sam feels so comfortable with her.

* * * * * * * * * *  

This time, she passes him the shampoo without a word, sighing as he cradles the back of her skull with one hand and smooths the hair back from her forehead with the other. When he’s finished, hazy honey-colored eyes blink up at him slowly, like she’s coming out of a trance. It’s a dizzying change from the last time they did this. 

They haven’t said goodbye yet and he already misses her — misses this — but he knows he’s lucky to have it for a moment, however brief. 

The scalding water feels like heaven on his sore muscles. Sam tilts his head to the side, trying to stretch, and his neck makes a series of popping noises. Faith winces in sympathy. 

“Shit, man,” she chuckles. “You sound like Rice Krispies.” She maneuvers around him in the narrow space, reaching up to dig her knuckles into one of his many knots. Sam groans, exaggeratedly pornographic. 

Her hands are small, but strong, and Sam’s melting under her palms, increasingly loose-limbed and pliant as she works her thumbs in circles down the muscles on either side of his spine. 

“We should get out of here before I forget how to stand up,” he mutters, and Faith laughs. “I think it’s your turn.” 

“I like the sound of that.” 

She lays herself out on the bed, stomach down, and Sam takes a moment to stare. The way she’s put together — sleek muscle and lush curves under creamy skin — is like art. If she was anyone else, Sam might call her delicate, but he knows better; he knows exactly what she can do. She’s a hurricane disguised as a porcelain doll. 

He looks down at his own rough fingers, thickly callused from pencils and triggers and punches, and grabs a bottle of lotion from the dresser before he settles on the bed, straddling her hips. His hands seem massive on her shoulders, and when he drags his palms down, wrapping his fingers around the slim curve of her waist, he marvels at the way she almost fits in the circle of his grasp. 

He loses himself in the pleasure of just touching her — in the glide of silky skin under his fingers — in the soft grunts and hums she lets out when he works his fingers into a particularly tight knot. He sweeps his thumbs down the pretty little dimples at the small of her back and then lower, caressing and kneading. He’s careful to avoid pressing on the dappled purple-red bruises from earlier, but he skims them appreciatively, feather-light.

“Do those hurt?” he whispers. 

“Little bit. I like it.” 

He was already half-hard, aroused in a distant, lazy sort of way, but his dick twitches at that. 

He brushes his fingertips down the outsides of her thighs, then up the insides, watching the way she spreads her legs wider for him, but he stops just short of the apex, tracing out along the creases where her ass meets her legs instead. 

This feels like a form of worship. 

Sam bends to press his mouth to the small of her back, kissing one dimple then the other. He trails sweet open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her ass, lips dragging reverently over velvety skin, licking and sucking along the tops of her thighs, drinking in the way she whimpers and shivers. 

“More?” she murmurs. 

Sam hooks an arm around her, sliding his forearm under her hips to cant them up so he can lick a thick stripe right up her center, swiping his tongue down and up again with a slick slurping noise. The angle isn’t comfortable but it’s fucking hot; it feels like he’s completely surrounded by her, like this, and when he licks deeper, fucks her shallowly with his tongue, the taste of her arousal floods his senses, until the soapy-clean smell of freshly-showered skin is lost under salty-sweet musk and Sam’s mouth and chin are a mess of slick and spit. 

She’s trembling as she repeats, “More.” 

He drags his tongue in one broad swipe from her clit up between her ass cheeks, and she curses, pressing back against his mouth. He twists two fingers into her cunt, feeling her clamp down around his scarred knuckles and shudder under his mouth, a frisson of pleasure that travels all the way up her spine. He curls his tongue against tight muscle and crooks his fingers, circles her swollen clit with his thumb, and she muffles a sharp cry into the pillow as she comes. 

“More — please — Sam?” she gasps, still clenching around him, so wet he can hear the sound of his fingers pumping into her one last time. 

He slides on top of her, blanketing her body with his, kissing the nape of her neck as he presses into her. She reaches back and fists a hand in his hair, making a rough wordless noise that sounds like a question, and her fingers twist until his scalp stings and Sam groans. He sits up, straddling her legs, and his entire body throbs with the pulse of blood in his cock as he fucks her. With her legs together like this, pinned under him, she feels so impossibly tight — velvety-soft and steely all at once — he can barely see straight. 

She’s crying out with every gasping breath: “More — please.” 

Sam wonders what he could do if he could learn her body, learn what she likes, learn how to take her apart in seconds or draw it out until she’s a writhing mess… if he had just a little more time with her. 

* * * * * * * * * *  

Faith is wrecked and gorgeous on top of him, not riding him so much as undulating: deep scooping twists of her hips, rising and falling syrupy-slow like she’s moving underwater. There’s dark sweat-soaked hair clinging to her temples and a hazy-eyed, rosy-cheeked expression of bliss on her face. Sam watches a droplet of sweat trickle down between her breasts.

He’s losing his grip on time and the boundaries that used to sit so decisively between them. They’re both exhausted to the point that everything seems a little surreal, dreamy, right in that sweet spot where they might be too tired to come again but languid, sensual sex still feels amazing. 

“So fucking perfect,” he whispers. “Just like that.” 

Faith tilts forward to kiss him, melting against his chest as she rolls her hips. He wraps her up in his arms and flips them, still inside her, still twined around her. He rocks into her, testing one angle and then another, hitching her leg up higher around his waist, grinding and swiveling until he finds the angle that makes her choke out a curse and clutch at his biceps.

“There,” she whimpers. 

Heat starts to pool low in his gut, building slowly but inevitably. He leans down to kiss her, tasting salt, mouths brushing clumsily between deep ragged breaths. 

“Gorgeous like this.” 

“Sam,” she says helplessly, in the shredded whisper that’s left of her voice. “This — you —“ 

“I’ve got you, it’s okay. I know.” 

Neither of them are particularly coherent, but he knows. 

Gold rays of sun slant through the blinds in stripes, illuminating the amber in her irises and the suspicious shine gathering in the corner of her eyes. She smiles up at him in a way that leaves him breathless. It takes him by surprise, the trust in her expression and the heaviness in the moment, and he knows she can feel it too. 

Sam wants to shy away from it, but he can’t take his eyes off her. 

“Where’s that Al Green soundtrack when you need it, huh?” she manages, and it shocks a breathless laugh out of Sam. Faith giggles too, choked-up and overtired and hoarse. Sam can feel her laugh, feels the rippling clench of wet-hot muscle around him; his body reacts with this gut-punch of arousal, and he snaps his hips, driving in deep. She lets out a rough moan and writhes under him, raking her nails down his back. 

From there it builds fast, wild and uncontrollable and blinding, both of them clawing at each other, moving on pure animalistic instinct, lost in each other — lost in the moment. It’s the sort of orgasm that hits like a blackout, like Sam’s out of his body for a few seconds that might as well be an eternity.

When he comes to, he’s whispering nonsense into the sweat-slick crook of her neck — babbling endearments, calling her baby — saying sweet stupid things she would never accept if she was in her right mind, but she doesn’t argue; he’s grateful. In return, Sam pretends not to notice the tears sparkling in her eyelashes.  

They’re not sad tears, he knows that much. She’s beaming up at him, all this messy pure human happiness shining in her eyes. She’s beautiful. 

Eventually they stop shaking, and Sam whispers, “Nap?” 

“Yeah.” 

She tucks herself under his chin, and he strokes her hair, counting the breaths before she drops off. She’s asleep in ten, and Sam loses count at eleven. 

* * * * * * * * * *  

They’re woken in disorienting darkness by a jangling ringtone, and Sam’s immediate instinct is to grab the gun he keeps under his pillow. There’s no gun, though — just a warm naked girl draped over him, cursing like a sailor as the phone continues to ring — because there’s no need for a gun here. 

Faith answers the phone by growling a suggestion that sounds anatomically improbable, and Sam hears Dean’s gruff baritone on the other end. He snatches the phone out of her hand. 

“S’the middle of the fucking night, Dean,” he grumbles. 

“Dude, it’s nine. When was the last time you were asleep by nine?” 

“Fuck.” He knuckles at his eyes and fights the urge to hang up, turn the phone off, and burrow under the sweat-soaked sheets to sleep until he actually feels rested for once. “Yeah, okay, be there soon.”

Sam is about to apologize for waking Faith, but she sits up too, switching on the lamp, looking around bleary-eyed. 

“Gonna walk with you as far as the graveyard,” she says, through a yawn. “Vamps don’t take a night off.” 

Sam feels like he got hit by a goddamn truck, sore and achy all over, but the exhaustion goes much deeper than that. In spite of it, he’s smiling as they dress. 

They’re quiet, nothing but a soft, “You see my other sock?” interrupting the heavy silence. They don’t touch as they leave the dark apartment and head down the dingy stairwell into the warm California night, and they don’t talk. They’re pulling themselves together — rebuilding the walls that separate them from normal people — putting on the emotional armor that allows them to fight the battles they have to fight.  

They don’t wander away from the path through the cemetery, this time, and the monsters don’t find them. When they reach the gate on the other side, Faith stops. 

“You know how to get back from here?” 

“Yeah.” He pulls her in by her jacket to kiss her, deep and bruising. 

She pulls away enough to mutter, “Fuckin’ figures you’re from another goddamn universe.” 

“If things were different —” 

“They’re not, though,” Faith says, smiling ruefully. “And that’s for the best.” 

“Probably wouldn’t end well, would it? ” 

“We’d never get outta bed, the monsters would take over. Every universe needs its heroes, right?” 

“Right.” Sam cradles her face in his hands to give her another soft kiss and says, “Take care of yourself.”  

Faith steps back. “Always do.”

She turns, pulling a stake out of her jacket as she stalks away, off the path toward the darker corners of the graveyard. Sam watches her go. 

She doesn’t look back, but before she’s out of earshot, she shouts, “Quit starin’ at my ass and go save the world already. You’ve got work to do.” 

Sam laughs, and then he rolls his eyes and starts walking, smiling to himself. She’s not wrong. 

.

.

.

[thiswasinevitableid]

57 sternclay nsfw? i can see stern complaining to a stranger that his ex complained about how weird his kinks were while dumping him

Here you go! 57: “we’re fighting over the last box of half-off valentine’s day chocolate and end up in a “who has it worse” battle.

For being in a mountain town in the slow season, the seasonal candy shelves of the Kepler Walgreens are bare. Were it 10 am on Valentines Day, Joseph would be in a panic. At 10 p.m, it feels like yet more proof this trip is utterly doomed.

But he didn’t become one of the top agents in the Department of Unexplained Phenomena by being unobservant. On the top shelf, pushed towards the back, is a bag of Reese's hearts and a bag of M&Ms. Thank you, years of training.

Being six feet tall helps too.

He’s so locked onto his target that he doesn’t notice the other person in the store until their hands smack into each other en route to the bags.

“Sorry, uh, lemme just get these and I’ll get out of your way.” A voice as deep and sweet as summer honey reaches his ears.

“I’m sorry, but I was going to buy these.” He starts pulling the bags towards him, only for the other guy to grab them. Joseph glares; the man trying to relieve him of his last solace looks like the kind of lumberjack you see in recordings titled things, “Log Pounders IV” or “Bear Hunting.”

“Look, buddy, I really need these so can you, like, find some other bags?”

“These are the last two. And I guarantee I need them more.” As long as he keeps a pleasant voice and gives no ground, this should go smoothly.

“Unless you got dumped this month, I don’t think you do.”

“I got dumped seven hours ago.” He says through an increasingly tight-lipped smile.

“At least your ex isn’t tagging you in a bunch of photos bragging about his new boyfriend.”

“He can’t, because he probably only just got back to his apartment in the rental car. The one I’m now stranded here without.”

“Pfft, just call an Uber or something.”

“It’ll cost several hundred dollars to get home!”

“You look like you can afford it.” Brown eyes flick from his hair down to his shoes, “some of us have to use half-price candy to soothe our wounds. You’re probably staying at the kind of fancy B&B where they have complimentary booze.”

“I would be, except their was a fuck-up with the reservation. Which my ex took as proof this was time to end things, and is the reason I’m dragging this all over town.” He kicks his ergonomically designed, rolling suitcase hard enough that it bumps into his adversary.

“Better he gave you some bullshit reason than the truth, which mine was all too happy to tell me. You can have these when someone you tried to make happy tells you he thinks you’re ‘too soft’ and that if only you’d manned up he woulda stayed, whatever the fuck that even means.”

Goddamnit, Joseph is not about to lose this argument--and his candy--on top of everything else.

“I’ll trade you that for being told you’re: too exacting, far more uncool than your job implies, too anxious, too invested in your work, that your whole personality is flawed and, just for extra fun, that your kinks are too weird and no one in their right mind would ever want to sleep with you if they knew them ahead of time.”

The other man’s hold on the bags loosens. Then it returns, stronger than before, as he grumbles, “Please, no one’s kinks are that weird.”

“You have no idea what mine are.”

“Then how about you give me a demonstration, huh?” Lumberjack snaps.

Joseph's common sense finally catches up with his thirst for comfort and, apparently, conflict.

“I, I’m sorry, did you just offer to fuck me in the middle of a fight over discount candy?”

“I....” the man lets go of the bags, chuckles, “yeah, I did. Fuck, I’m sorry, it’s been such a shitty day that my mouth decided it was gonna do whatever it took to stay in that fight.”

Joseph laughs a little, slumping against the shelf, “I guess it’s nice to know I’m not the only person in town whose Valentine’s Day didn’t go to plan.”

“No kidding. Though, uh, I didn’t get dumped this month. It was three months ago. He did tag me in all those photos today though.”

“That’s so rude.”

“Not as rude as leaving your boyfriend stranded in the mountains.”

B-grade pop hits fill the awkward silence between them.

“I, uh, this might be way outta line, but I got an idea; if you buy the candy, I can take us back to my place and bake something with it. That way we can both enjoy it, and you won’t be stuck wandering around in the cold.”

He runs a quick is-this-a-serial-killer scan of the man in front of him.

“Sure. But just so you know, I’m opening the Reeses in the car.”

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

“Feeling better?” Barclay, his host, wipes stray cupcake crumbs from his lips.

“Much.” He polishes off his second coffee-cocoa cupcake with M&Ms in the batter, lifts his coffee cup, “this place is lucky to have you.”

Barclay blushes the same way he has every time Joseph compliments his cooking, home, or taste in books. They’ve spent the last ninety minutes in the kitchen of Barclay’s small, A-Frame cabin, one of eight laid out in a half circle behind Amnesty Lodge. The cook explained that the cabins were for staff or long term residents, and that while the Lodge sometimes had vacancies, this week had seen them swamped.

The rain alternates between pleasant pitter-pats and drops that could kill a small bird, so Joseph is incredibly grateful to Barclay for giving him a place to shelter. When he thanks him, the cook shrugs with a little smile, “you shouldn’t leave nice things out in the rain.”

As they’re cleaning up the dishes, Barclay passes him a plate and says, “You can stay here tonight. If, uh, if you want. The couch isn’t much, but it’s dry and I’ve got a bunch of spare blankets.”

“That’d be great, thank you. And, um, thank you for being so nice to me, given how we met.”

“Eh, no one who’s in a Walgreens after ten is in a good mood. And, uh, it’s nice to have someone to talk with. I’m kinda the quiet one of my friends, and work is mostly calling orders and stuff.” He pulls the coffee pot from the heat, “can I top you off?”

“Yes, please.” His caffeine tolerance is so high a few cups late at night doesn’t mess with his sleep. Barclay is sticking with tea, something scented like cardamon and comfort.

They move to the couch that’s clearly been re-covered a dozen times, Barclay only getting up to turn on some music; delta blues, if Joseph’s ear is right. It’s not until the clock strikes one thirty that Joseph notices they’re sitting so close that their knees bump whenever one of them turns to talk.

“Okay, I gotta ask” Barclay’s brown eyes shine sweet and playful, “what exactly was so weird about your kinks that your dickhead ex went out of his way to mention them?”

He thinks a moment, scanning his body and noticing he’s more relaxed than he’s been in weeks, including all the times he spent with his ex. Something about the faint scent of dish-soap on Barclays hands, the gentle smile that makes Joseph certain that--for all his bulk--if Joseph told him to roll over and show his belly, he’d do it in an instant, the way he doesn’t rolls his eyes or shy away when Joseph talks, all of that makes him calm. Which makes him bold.

“Wait right here.” He hops up, grabs his bag from the door and pulls it over to the rug by the couch. All he has to do to reveal his secret is lift his pajamas.

“Holy fuck.” Barclay leans forward, “you really came prepared.”

“It was supposed to be a romantic getaway. I...we’d never used any of this together, but I hoped we might this time. It’s, it’s not his fault, I know my tastes aren’t for everyone, and we had plenty in common in bed. But he went through this whole thing where he said we should share our deepest fantasies. Apparently wanting to be choked is fine, but wanting to fuck Mothman is not.”

“That’s what this one is.” Barclay picks up one of the two dildos, black with lots of swirling ridges.

“That’s actually my dragon one. Um.” he holds up the ovipositor toy, “this one is supposed to be mothman.”

Barclay squishes one of the silicone eggs, “that feels kinda nice. What else did you bring?”

His genuine interest is not helping Joseph keep his hopes under control.

“The other toy is the ‘bigfoot’ model. And this is, um, this is my newest one, I was so excited I pre-ordered it. It acts like a cock-sleeve, but this part here is supposed to mimic a, um, a knot.”

“Like the idea of getting knotted, babe?” The cook’s voice is a little deeper than when he last spoke, and rather than pulling away he’s inching into Joseph’s space.

“Yes. I, um, I’m getting the sense” he shifts so his hands are on Barclay’s knees, “that we might have something in common besides our taste in leftover candy.”

“I packed all this so carefully” he brushes their lips together, “it’d be a shame to let it sit unused.”

Barclay scoops him into a kiss, growling happily when Joseph instantly parts his lips. His beard is soft and tickly under Joseph’s palms, and his mind takes the thought of getting beard-burn on his thighs and runs so far with it that he almost misses what Barclay says next.

“In that case, you better decide if you want me to open your ass up so I can fuck you with a knot, or if you wanna do it yourself.”

“I prefer to do it myself.”

A second kiss, a bit gentler this time, “bedroom’s at the end of the hall. Get naked and wait for me there?”

“Roger that, big guy.”

When Barclay growls this time it’s rougher, jumping out of his chest and seeming to surprise him.

Joseph undresses as Barclay stops off in the bathroom, rifling through the medicine cabinet while Joseph folds his clothes. He’s down to his boxers when he remembers there is a conversation he needed to have before it hit this point.

“You trying to get me to rip those off with my teeth?” Barclay grins as he sets some condoms and lube on the bed and starts taking off his pants.

“I, um, there’s something you should be aware of. We don’t have the same, um, set-up.”

Barclay furrows his brow, gets his meaning, then nods, “no problem. If you’re okay with that part of you being involved I, uh, I just got a really, really good idea for what to do.”

“It’s not always the case, but tonight I definitely want it involved. I want you inside me as many ways as possible.”

“Fuck yeah.” Barclay tosses his shirt into the laundry, “get your ass open enough to take that knot.”

He slips the condom on, douses it with lube, and presses the first finger in, discovering that he's unable to stop complimenting Barclay for even five seconds while he finishes disrobing. The flush under his dark chest hair is unendingly charming, as is the little whine he makes at Joseph telling him he likes how big he is.

“I, I’m serious, ahhn, it’s rare to find someone taller than me and I really like it.”

“Feeds into the monster thing?” Barclay crawls beside him, laying down so he can kiss him as he works the second finger in.

“In a way.”

A deep, rumbly chuckle that has Joseph fucking himself hurriedly, “Don’t be coy, babe. You like the thought of something big and hairy getting a hold of you and not letting you go until you’re dripping cum.”

“Holy shit, yes” he gets the third finger in, sighing as Barclay nuzzles his neck.

“Well, I’m not bigfoot, but I’m betting I’ll do just fine.”

“More than fine.” Joseph kisses him, feels him smile in a way that melts his heart like cheap chocolate.

“Got some other theories about you, babe, but you gotta wait until you’re on my dick to hear ‘em.” Barclay sits up, stroking his cock in time with Joseph’s hand, “fucking-A, can’t believe your ex didn’t wanna stick around for this. You look like a fucking porn star; we oughta record you getting fucked in your suit and sell if for big bucks.”

He moans, pulling his fingers free, “Fuck me now. Please.”

“Fuck that’s hot.” Barclay works the sleeve down over his cock, sits up against the wall, “come sit in my lap, facing away.”

Joseph straddles him, gasps when the head of his cock presses in. He prepped well, but all the same he has to take his time wiggling his way down. Barclay caresses him, grunting and whimpering whenever he moves, breath prickling the hairs at the base of his neck. It’s heavenly.

When he hits the knot, Barclay rubs more lube on it, but it stays outside of him as he grinds on it. Between moans, the cook manages to say, “want me to start the next part?”

“Yes, please.”

Barclay loads the ovipositor with the three eggs, praises Joseph for being a good boy when he spreads his legs to accommodate the head of the toy.

“I, I thought you had more you were going to tell me?” He tilts his head awkwardly to kiss Barclay’s shoulder.

“Uh huh.” Barclay slowly works the toy in and out, doing his best to sync it to the rolls of his hips, “I think you’re the kind of guy who doesn’t just want one monster; you want ‘em all.”

“Variety is, ohgod, part of a healthy sex life.”

“I don’t mean one monster on one day and a different one on another. I think you want them all at once.”

“Oh yes, oh! Ohohoh” he kicks his legs as the first egg pushes in, “fuck, Barclay, please keep going.”

“Whatever you want, babe.” He nuzzles Joseph’s hair, “that’s how I came up with this plan; seeing all those different dicks made me think you’d, fuck, you’d like me to pretend there was more than just me fucking you.”

Joseph nods, clinging to Barclays arm and bearing down on the knot.

“Can just see it now; you got yourself lost in the woods out here, go looking for help only to find a whole bunch of monsters waiting for you. Spend the rest of the night pressed into the dirt and leaves while every cryptid from, fuck” he bucks his hips, “from here to Canada had their turn.”

“Shit, shit” the knot starts pushing in, “y-you’ve got my number, big guy.”

“Yeah?” Barclay squeezes the base of the toy as he talks, causing the remaining two eggs to push their way in, Joseph’s body clenching around them, “you want a night where all your good for is being fucked, where if you beg for a break you get a bigfoot fucking your throat and werewolves cumming on your chest instead of them all mobbing you at once?”

“Shit, yes, YESohfuck” the knot enters him as Barclay shoves his hips down, “ohmygod that’s good, fuck, I feel so full, you’re so smart, this was genius, fuck you know how to treat meAHannnfuck, shit.” He holds on to Barclays arm’s as the other man fucks him with abandon.

“Oh I know, babe. Know I was fucking right. You wanna be claimed, wanna be owned, wanna be bred by a whole fuckin pack-”

“Jesuschrist” it’s hard to breathe at the pace Barclay sets, his body aching to cum but not quite able to get there. He squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing frantically at his dick as Barclay loses himself in the fantasy.

“You’d be so cute, leaves in your hair and cum on your chin, taking it all and begging for more. Good thing you’re so needy, you could tear a pack apart with folks fighting over who gets to fuck you, fuck, Joseph, baby, you’re so fucking good, gonna be so fucking good to you, fuck, fuck” he shoves as deep as he can while he cums, and in the haze of pleasure Joseph swears claws prick the skin of his chest. Just the thought of that sends his own orgasm coursing through him, his body tensing and twisting on Barclay’s cock, making them both moan from sudden overstimulation.

“S-sorry” Barclay pants.

“Nothing to apologize for, just physiology, here, let me ow, ow, okay maybe I should have relaxed more first.” He’s free of both toys, but that was right on the edge of too painful. He waits for Barclay to take off the sleeve, then rolls the bigger man so his head is on his chest.

“Your ex didn’t know how good they had it.”

“Thanks, babe.”

He smiles, “I like that. No one ever calls me something that informal.”

“Call you it whenever you want. Babe.” Barclay kisses his arm, “you can, uh, stay in bed if you want. We don’t have a ton of time together so I’d, uh, well, I’d like to spend as much of it with you as I can.”

For the first time, Joseph wishes his vacation would last longer.

“Agreed, big guy.”

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

“You said you had my new assignment, sir?”

“Yes. Agent Stern, you will be going to the town of Kepler to investigate the events described in this file.” Agent Hayes passses him the folder.

“Understood, sir.”

Joseph manages to keep his smile to himself all the way to his desk.

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 41

chapter list / previous / next

The rain continued through the rest of the night and into the pale gray dawn. Talltail and Jake remained close together inside the wet Thunderpath tunnel. Jake was the first to stir and properly examine his wounds. Several parts of Talltail’s body stung badly and his shoulder was horribly sore, probably a result of jumping from a tree and awkwardly hitting the ground. The back of his neck was horribly sore too, like there were teeth marks in his scruff. 

At last, Talltail felt strong enough to speak. “What are you doing here?” he rasped.

“I trailed your scent of course.”

“But how did we get here? I don’t remember.”

“I carried you, mostly,” Jake replied simply.

“How...in StarClan’s name did you carry me?”

“‘Don’t really know honestly, I think panic made my legs move quicker. I might have bit your scruff too hard. It was difficult to get you onto my back. But, hey, I told you I could carry you if I had to.”

“Jake I…” Talltail coughed and tried to catch his breath “I’m so sorry. For everything. You shouldn’t have had to go through any of this.”

“I’m more sorry you left so quick.” Jake bumped his muzzle against Talltail’s cheek. “I was afraid when I couldn’t find you anywhere, and then when I saw the fire…Why did you just disappear like that, without even saying anything?”

Talltail ducked his head in shame. “I just…” Finding a good explanation was hard. Looking back on it, he felt more foolish by the second. Jake’s eyes were round with concern and Talltail couldn’t meet his gaze for long. “...I just thought it would be easier that way. The sooner I left you alone to get back to your life, the sooner you could start getting on without me. You had your own grief to deal with. If it weren’t for me, Dusty may not have left and maybe he wouldn’t have gotten so bad so quickly, and you would have been able to spend more time with him. And after how much you disapproved of what I was thinking of doing... I just didn’t want to make you upset more than you already were. I’ve been no good to you.”

“Talltail…” Jake stared at him “I don’t understand what you’re saying at all. You had nothing to do with Dusty’s death. I’d known he was sick for a long time, I just...didn’t want to admit it. No one could have done anything about it. But you, being with you has meant everything to me! Even if I’ve gotten a little singed, and you nearly had me dropping dead from fear. I was only so afraid because I don’t want anything to happen to you. I meant what I said before, I wouldn’t have traded meeting you for anything.” Jake almost laughed. “Here I felt like all this time I was using you as a distraction. I thought I was pushing myself on you because I wanted something.”

“I...I thought I was the one doing that.”

“Well we’re both silly then. I was happy traveling with you. Were...you?”

“Yes.” Talltail’s reply was instant. “More than I had been in a long time. I felt so guilty for it.”

“But I don’t understand why? It’s like you never let yourself be happy for more than a heartbeat before you're trying to move alone. And you still haven’t fully explained why it was so important for you to get this far. I know I can’t understand fully, but I want to at least...try. If you’ll let me.”

Talltail was hit with the sudden realization that he did want to explain, desperately, if he only could figure out how to. “I don’t know, Jake. I don’t know why I can’t get rid of this feeling. I just thought...ever since I was younger it felt like--I thought that my family...Ugh, I don't know how to say any of it clearly!”

“Just start somewhere, anywhere. We can figure it out along the way.” Jake nudged him gently.

 “Why in StarClan’s name am I like this?” Talltail buried his nose in his paws with a miserable groan. Taking a moment to sift through his jumbled thoughts, he took a breath and tried again. “My father didn’t have to be dead right now. I wanted to do something, anything, right by him. I just felt like someone had to pay for everything that had happened. And maybe if I did that, if I did something, the guilt would go away. Or lessen.” He peeked up at Jake and laughed mirthlessly. “It doesn’t even make sense when I say it out loud. I was so desperate I barely thought about what I was going to do. Looking at it now...I don’t know how I fooled myself into thinking it would help. It was terrible. I didn’t feel like myself. But I just...didn’t know what else to do.”

“Did you?” Jake asked hesitantly, as if he was afraid to hear the answer. “Did you do it, I mean?”

“No.” Talltail said weakly. “I tried to. But I couldn’t do it.”

Jake let out a sigh and leaned his chin across Talltail’s neck. “Good...Thank you. I mean, I'm really glad. I know you thought Sparrow did bad things, but I don’t think it would have made you feel better.”

“He did do bad things! He even confessed to what I was already sure of, of helping ShadowClan, of being directly responsible for my father dying in the tunnels. It was his fault! But for some reason no matter what I told myself, it just...felt so awful.”

Talltail dimly remembered what he’d screamed at Sparrow, while trying to work himself up to the task. Unbearable shame flooded through him as he imagined if Jake had seen him like that. Who even was that cat? They were more comparable to a burning ball of despair and resentment strung together with fur and bones. And that resentment still lingered. He tried to imagine what it would have felt like to go through with it. To sink his claws into Sparrow’s throat and rip the life out of him. He felt sick. The resentment didn’t feel eased. It never would have made me feel better. Even if he deserves it. There’s really nothing I can do...

“What am I doing?” Talltail moaned. “I barely understand why I’ve acted the way I have. I left everyone I loved behind. It was such a useless thing I tricked myself into thinking would have made my father proud of me. But it’s too late for that, and now...”

“Do you think it would have?” Jake asked. “Made him proud, I mean, if you could still talk to him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he would have had qualms against it. Some cats believe rogues aren’t protected by the code.”

“Well...Maybe your father was wrong, Talltail.” Jake said. 

Talltail stiffened, his old defensiveness flaring up like a reflex.

Jake shifted uncomfortably. “I know it’s complicated. I didn’t know your father, and I don’t know what your relationship was. I don’t know what he thought of you, or what he would think that you should do now. But whatever else you are, you're not a killer.”

“You haven’t seen what a coward I can be.”

“Who told you you were a coward?”

Talltail didn’t reply.

“I’ve seen you do a lot of things. I wouldn’t call any of them cowardly. I don’t see why one cat's opinion is the only one that matters...We don’t have to talk about it all now, if you don’t want to.”

 Jake looked down at him with obvious pity, and Talltail couldn't help wanting to hide from it. He could feel he was on the crux of an embarrassing meltdown, and Jake could surely see that too. It wasn’t going to be easy coming up with an excuse to brush it off. “You just lost your best friend, Jake.” Talltail mumbled into his paws. “You shouldn’t have to fix me too.”

“I’m probably not going to fix you. I wouldn’t even know how to start. But I needed you before, and you came back for me despite everything else you had to worry about. So now I’m here for you. How about we just manage one thing at a time?” He stood up. “First thing is to take care of your injuries. You’re hurt and you need some kind of medicine. I’m going to look for something to help. Try not to sit in the muddy water, and I'll be back soon. Just promise to stay put and rest, don’t disappear on me again, and lick your wounds if you can. It’ll be ok.” Jake rasped his tongue over Talltail’s forehead and padded out of the tunnel into the rain.

chapter list / previous / next

[pixieungerstories]

Quarantine -3

It would have been nice to have something other than the word of a shadow to go on.  I stared at the ceiling.  I wished I had a cat or a dog or - hell - a pet hamster.  Some other living thing in the house.  I had no idea what Nick was but I wasn’t entirely sure he counted as a living thing.

“Humans who don’t sleep start to hallucinate,”  I muttered to myself.  Maybe if I actually got some shut eye, I would wake up and this would all be a dream.  “Fuck it.”  I got undressed and crawled under the covers.  I settled under the covers, then realized I was facing the closet, so I rolled over.  Having the door in my blind spot wasn’t necessarily better.

“Nick?”  I wasn’t really expecting an answer.  “Can you move the bed to another room?”

“I can.  I don’t want to.  I like having you where I can see you.”

I nodded.  “I’ll go sit in the kitchen until dawn.”

“Go! To! Sleep!”

I jumped then started to shake.  “Yelling at me isn’t going to help me sleep,” I muttered.

The bedroom door slammed shut.  Rattling the door knob and pulling as hard as I could didn’t make it budge.  “Please don’t do this,” I whimpered, then I screamed as something brushed my face.

The door opened suddenly enough that I unbalanced and fell on my ass, but a moment later I was running down the stairs and out the front door.  I was at the gate before I knew what I was doing.

The cops were still right there.

“You need to go back inside ma’am!” the closest one called.  After that they were all looking at me.  

I paced for a moment, uncomfortably aware how odd I was behaving.  I needed to get out of here.  I needed a smoke.  I needed to stop acting weird before they decided I had killed my neighbours.

Oh god.  I was trapped in a house with a creature that probably killed the looters.

I didn’t want to face the idea that Nick was a killer.

“Ma’am!  Go inside!”

“I saw what happened on the news,” I explained.  “It’s giving me nightmares and I’ve been stuck in that house for more than a month.  I wasn’t expecting to be quarantined in a construction site.”

“Be that as it may, you need to go back inside,” the patrolman called.

“I’m more than six feet away from you.  Can’t I just stay out here near some other people and the street lights? Please?”

“You aren’t exactly dressed for the weather,” he pointed out.  

I crossed my arms over my chest as I realized I was standing on my lawn in my night dress.  I should go in and at least get my robe.  It was in the room with Nick’s closet.

I thought about just confessing to something so that I could go with them.  Prison wouldn’t have Nick.  Maybe I just needed a hospital.  No.  That was a death sentence these days.

He was driving me off.  He had flat out told me that he was good at that.

“Are you alright, ma’am?”

“No!” I snapped.  “I’m scared.”

He gave me a pitying look but still insisted, “You need to go inside now.  You will be safe in your house.”

I snorted, and swatted at the bugs that had found me.

“Go inside,” he said gently.  “The last thing you need is to catch something from the mosquitos.”

I nodded slowly and headed back in to sit in the kitchen.  Maybe he would let me make a pot of coffee.  When I got inside the lights in the kitchen was on and the bed was set up on the main floor.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“You’re welcome.  This is temporary.  You will sleep upstairs when the walls are repaired.

The next morning I got a phone call ordering me out into the garden as a forklift delivered a load of drywall.  It was left in the middle of the floor next to my bed.  I looked at it.   Nick’s voice was too close to my ear, “Someone will come hang in tomorrow.”

“How did you pay for this?”

“You have an excellent credit rating and you aren’t spending much of your money.”

“Great.  Did they say how long it would take?”

There was no answer to that.

“I guess drywallers wear masks all the time anyway,”  I mused.   “At least there will be some other people around.”

“Yes.”

I didn’t have walls the next day.  In fact things were worse as the last of the lath and plaster was taken down.  They found hundreds of razor blades in the wall in the bathroom.  The construction guys assured me that it was normal to find all kinds of weird things in the walls of old houses, but they still looked uncomfortable that it was razor blades and that some of them were more bloody than you would expect from a mere shaving accident.  I spent the night picking them up with tweezers and dropping them into a jar for safe disposal.  Nick didn’t say a word and the lights stayed on that night.

One half the team turned up the next day.  No one commented on why that was.

I ordered a hammock and a grill for the backyard.  I got the hammock but someone had changed the grill to a chiminea when I wasn’t looking.  It was nice, but I couldn’t cook on it.  My order had also been edited to include a bunch of bug repellant candles and some sunscreen.  I tried to figure out if that was something a shadow creature would actually do or was this another sign that I was losing my mind.

Either way, I worked on the concrete table out back at the very limit of the wifi during the day and concentrated on fixing up the yard after official work hours.

One of the drywallers sold me a patio umbrella.

I also got the lecture that just because the walls were up didn’t mean that it was safe to use the shower.  

“You still have to get a membrane installed and your tiles up and sealed,” the guy explained.

I nodded, “You don’t happen to know a tile guy that is still working?”

He frowned, “I’ll ask around.  Do you have tiles yet?”

“No,” I admitted.

“That might be the hard part.  You can still find a few guys willing to come out, but all the factories are shut down.”

“Shit.”

He gave me a look of sympathy.  “Yeah.  There are stories of people doing penny walls or using their grandma’s china to tile just so they have a working bathroom.”

“I don’t have either of those things,” I said sadly.

He nodded, “I’ll ask around.  It isn’t a big project and people might have some leftovers.”

Given how protective Nick was of the house I should have expected his warning.    I was still unimpressed to see “no ugly tile” written on the drywall in the morning.  Still, he could have used the last of my lipstick and instead had found a pencil somewhere.  I tried to ignore it as I brushed my teeth.  I didn’t even have a mirror over the sink.  Grumbling around the toothbrush I realized, “Fuck.  I’m the only person who could buy a haunted house where the ghost had been watching too much HGTV.”

That earned me a creepy house shaking laugh and proof that he hadn’t just left.

“It’s your fault,” he purred in my ear.  “You are the one who fell asleep all those nights with decorating shows playing on repeat on your computer.”

I sighed. “Yeah, it was,” I agreed sadly.  “If I hadn’t would you be haunting me right now?”

“If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have seen the value in what you are doing and I wouldn’t have spent a week keeping you alive when you got sick.  Perhaps you would have been haunting me.”

I frowned, “I wasn’t sick for a week!  It was only a couple of days!”

“You should check your calendar.  It was a couple of days of you being sick and a week of me forcing you to breathe.”

“There is no way I lost a week without noticing!”

He didn’t say anything.  When I checked my calendar there were nearly two weeks missing.  I told myself it didn’t mean anything.  Nick used my computer, he could have just deleted the information.  I could just call work or Penny or someone and ask how long I was away for.

I kind of didn’t want to.  What if he was telling the truth?

I took my coffee and toast and ate breakfast outside, once again wishing for a cigarette.  Nick had never left the house, as far as I knew, and I didn’t want to talk to him just then.  This was ridiculous!  Shadow monsters didn’t … do that!  They didn’t … exist.  I was just …  this wasn’t happening!

I was out of coffee and the coldness of the concrete bench was soaking through my night shirt and into my ass.  I had left the folded towel I used as a cushion inside overnight so it wouldn’t get damp.  Now I was cold and damp instead.  Fuck.

When I made it back to the kitchen, my laptop was open and had apparently been searching for bathroom tiles.  ‘Fine.  Whatever.  Pick something nice that I can afford.”

I don’t know what I was expecting him to do, but contacting a local stained glass artist wasn’t it.  I really wasn’t expecting her to check if it was OK if my boyfriend picked out the design since it was my credit card that was paying for it.

I was afraid to ask, but I had to know, “What did he pick?”

Nancy cleared her throat, “Well, originally he wanted a reproduction of a stained glass window from Maison Schott in France.  But when we talked about how complicated it would be for a tiler to install that, he settled on a simpler rose on trellis pattern.”

  I set down the phone to close my eyes and scrub my face.  “Do you like what he picked out?”  She seemed a little taken aback by the question.  “Yes?  It’s a little modern for your age of house, but it’s a nice piece and will be easy to install.  It mostly uses different textured white glass, so it would be in keeping with a white bathroom. I can have it ready next week.  I’m not exactly over run with work right now.”  She paused before she added, “I’ll send you some sketches and if there is anything you need changed, just let me know.  I could really use the income, to be honest.”

“Yeah.  I understand that.  I guess I’m just doing my part to keep the economy running.”

“I really appreciate that.   The whole ‘buy local’ movement ended when we weren’t allowed to leave our houses,”  Nancy pointed out.

“Ok.  Send me the sketches and the quote and I’ll get back to you in the next couple of days.”

I lay in bed that night and looked at the newly drywalled dining room ceiling.  “What are you doing, Nick?”

“Making a home for you,” he whispered.

“Can I even afford this?  You don’t have a secret money vault hidden in the walls with the razor blades, do you?”

There was a long moment of silence, then he whispered, “You could sell the wine instead of drinking it.”

I froze.  “Just because it’s old doesn’t mean that it’s valuable,” I pointed out.

Something caressed my calf as he purred his reply, “But it is.”

I closed my eyes and let my body melt into the mattress.   My breath caught in my throat as the touch moved up my leg.  As soon as I made the noise, the contact vanished.  I groaned.

“What are you doing?”

“Breaking the rules,” he grumbled from across the room.

I needed to know, “Why were there razor blades in the walls?”

“There was a slot in the back of the medicine cabinet for used razor blades to be dropped between the wall boards so that they were safe and wouldn’t hurt anyone in the trash.  That was perfectly normal at one point in history,” he explained.

I considered this, “Why were there bloody razor blades in the walls?”

He didn’t answer that one.  “Why haven’t you used your little toy since I cleaned it for you?”

Now it was my turn to be silent.

“You liked that toy,” he prompted.  “I liked watching you enjoy yourself.  Good for everyone.”

“That’s really creepy.  Can’t you just watch porn like a normal person?”

“Porn isn’t as satisfying,” he replied.  Then he added, “For either of us.  And I am not a normal person.”

“I noticed.”

“Would we have fucked by now if I was?”  he just sounded curious.  The vocal leer from a moment ago was gone.

“I would have had you arrested by now if you were.”

The low chuckle rumbled through the house at that.  I closed my eyes and he stroked my face.  “Let me watch,” he purred.  “I can feel how badly you want.”

That made my eyes snap open.  “What?”

“I can taste your fear, but also your pleasure.  I enjoyed watching you cum in a way that humans can not understand.  And I am very aware of your frustration.”

“What happens to my soul if a shadow … creature watches me play with myself?”

“It gets to live in a house with a happier guardian?” he suggested.

“A guardian?  Is that what you are?”

“Guardian sounds better than monster or eldritch god but that’s just semantics.”

“I’m pretty sure there is a difference,” I pointed out.

“Perhaps the difference is what I’m doing at the time.  And right now, I am guarding this house, taking care of you and hoping you will take care of yourself.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” I joked.   “I’m too damn tired!”  I thought for a moment, “I need more rules, Nick.”

“Like what?” he asked in a breathy hissing rasp that sounded pretty much like how I imagined a death rattle would sound.

“Well, there’s that,” I pointed out.  “Now I’m scared and I can’t see you so this is going to be another night of sitting up until I fall down.”

“You need to rest,” he murmured in a more normal voice for him.   It wasn’t human sounding, but it wasn’t deliberately scary.

I had already set up and was fumbling for a light switch. I shrieked when he caught my hand.  “Ugh! Look, either I get to sleep or you get to scare me, but you have to pick one.  And I can’t see when you are going to touch me, so it’s scary every time.  That’s why I asked you not to.  But if you can’t do that, can you at least tell me when it’s coming?”

“Would that really make it better if you knew I was going to lick my way up your back?”

“It would if I knew you would listen when I tell you not to.  This is about trust, Nick.  I don’t trust you.  I am already very aware of how vulnerable I am here.  You could easily lock me in the basement and wait for me to starve to death.  You could smother me with my pillow.  Hell, you could slice open an artery and hide the razor blade in the walls.”  I stopped abruptly, wondering if I was just giving him ideas.  “I can’t stop you and I can’t leave and I can’t trust you not to lock me in the bedroom because you think that will help me sleep.”  He let go of my hand.  I turned on the light and looked around the empty house.  “My head hurts and I don’t want to be afraid any more.”

“I have never done anything to hurt you, but I can see how I have done things that are frightening.”  It sounded like a whisper on the very edge of hearing.  “Turn out the light, lay down and I will rub your back until you can sleep.  I will do my very best not to be scary.”

I turned on my laptop as a source of light and sound before I turned off the light switch.  “I can’t believe I am saying this, but if you want this to be less scary for me, find me a nightlight.  I haven’t needed one since I was ten, but, congratulations, I do now.”

I felt the bed dip.  It didn’t always do that.  “I’m going to rub your back now,” he whispered. “You can tell me to stop.”

“Ok,” I acknowledge.

It wasn’t a massage; it was more like a person petting a cat.  He started at the top of my head and stroked back to my waist, then stopped and started again.  It was vaguely soothing and I was really exhausted by then.  At some point in the night I woke to see a huge black shape hunched over my keyboard.

In the morning I had emails confirming my order of six cartoon animal night lights from IKEA and one from an auction house saying they would be happy to broker the sale of my wine and that they would send an expert to confirm its authenticity.  

I wondered how you forge wine.

[primatechnosynthpop]

Wow! Against all odds, I finally got around to actually writing the follow-up to I'm Gonna Be The Anti-Hero that's existed exclusively in my head for months! Well uh here it is :3

---

The secret underground room beneath Plymouth rock was dark and silent as always, save for the faint dripping of water through a crack in the ceiling. It figured that, after living there for countless centuries, the structural integrity would finally begin to erode. That dripping sound, although highly irritating when it first started a month or so ago, had now settled into background noise which John Smith paid no attention to. He was a pilgrim, not a witch; it wasn't like the water could hurt him.

Then again, he realized a few moments too late one rainy spring day, perhaps he should have reevaluated that statement. He was minding his own business sitting in his chair and reminiscing about the very old days (that was the only thing he could really do anymore, slowly decaying as his body was) when the soft and steady dripping suddenly escalated at an exponential rate into what sounded like a small waterfall. He turned his head to see a semi-transparent humanoid figure taking shape out of the water pooling in the corner--strangely tinted red, as though the water were mixed with blood. As the old pilgrim watched, jaw agape, the figure strode purposefully toward him, taking on a more solid form as it did so.

"What are you doing here, intruder?" John Smith demanded, one hand tightening around the hilt of his sword while his other hand reached behind his back to fumble for his musket.

"This secret underground room isn't government sanctioned," the stranger hissed. (Although... was he a stranger? John Smith somehow felt that he'd seen this youngster once before, but he couldn't quite place where or when.) "And you have no official identification registering you as a legal citizen. Not to mention, you haven't been paying taxes... disgraceful."

Before John Smith had the chance to concoct a retort or draw either of his weapons, the masked man's hands were around his throat and crushing his windpipe with a force that could only be driven by an inhuman amount of bloodlust. And within seconds, the life of a pilgrim that had been extended for centuries past its expiration date was finally put to an end.

*

"I can't believe they want us to make a clown movie at a time like this."

"I can believe it," Neil replied without looking up from the shopping list in his hand. "The studio wants a lot from us, remember? They're not going to care how sad we are. Anyway, it's been four months--" The emotions bubbling up within him refused to let his voice stay level, so he gritted his teeth and hissed out the rest of his sentence rather than let himself start crying in the middle of the dollar store. "We should be over it by now."

"Neil..." Kevin began in the way he'd often addressed Neil over the past few months--brow furrowed, voice edged with an obvious and vaguely patronizing concern--only to trail off and shake his head with a sigh. Apparently he'd finally given up on trying to make Neil feel better, which was just fine by him, because things are never gonna go back to the way they were before and it's my fault and I don't deserve to feel good about it.

"Anyway, we've got what we came for," Neil muttered, waving his hand in the general direction of Kevin's shopping basket without looking him in the eyes. "Let's go."

At the checkout counter, the cashier frowned and shook her head when Neil offered her a five-dollar bill. "Sorry," she told them, "But all this is going to cost $29.99."

"What? But we don't have that kind of money!" Neil lamented. "And we got this stuff from the clearance section... plus this is the dollar store, so shouldn't everything just cost a dollar?"

For a visual aid as he spoke, he grabbed one of the items they were ringing up--a bargain pack of multicoloured clown wigs--and shook it in the cashier's face. Apparently unmoved by his bargaining, she pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

"Maybe you should have checked the price tags first, sir."

"Huh? But, but..." Neil trailed off when he looked down at the price tag on the item in his hands. The bright orange tag had the original price, $7.50, crossed out and replaced with $2.35... but then below that, scribbled in tiny and barely legible font, it read "just kidding, it's actually eleven dollars now." "Aw, man," he groaned, tossing the pack down on the conveyor belt and sticking his hands in his pockets. "Just our luck."

Kevin had a thoughtful look in his eyes while he drove them home empty-handed. When he pulled up outside the clubhouse a few minutes later and they climbed out of the truck, he suddenly laid a hand on Neil's shoulder.

"Say, Neil, let's not get discouraged," he said. "I've got another idea for how we could get our hands on some props."

"Really?" Neil asked, perking up despite himself. "How?"

"Well, I think--" Kevin broke off as unexpectedly as he'd started, encouraging smile briefly dipping into a grimace. "...You know what, I'll take care of it myself. You can hold down the fort here, okay? I won't be long."

Neil's brow furrowed. "Okay, but what are you...?"

Without explaining himself any further, Kevin clapped him firmly on the back, hopped back into his truck, and drove off. Neil watched him recede down the road with bewilderment. Being all secretive like that wasn't like Kevin... Unless he's trying to protect me from something, he realized with a twinge of bitterness. That would be just like him, the way things had been recently. Ever since the past winter, and what had happened with Ryan, Kevin's latent big-brother-ish tendencies had escalated; now he watched over Neil like a hawk and freaked out every time he so much as stubbed his toe. Under different circumstances Neil would have relished being fussed over, but now it was more annoying than anything else. The thing was, he didn't deserve it. If anything... his fingers strayed up to absentmindedly fidget with the four-leaf clover pinned to his shirt. I deserve to have bad luck. I deserve to suffer, after what I did to Ryan.

Still, there wasn't much he could do about it now, and he wasn't going to say no to having the clubhouse to himself for a while. With a sigh, he disentangled his fingers from the clover's leaves, ran a hand through his overgrown bangs, and turned to head inside. Maybe he could play cards or something to pass the time.

*

A thick layer of dust had settled over everything in Ryan's house. That made sense, of course. It had been four months--no, five, since Ryan hadn't come home once while he was being a vigilante--since anyone had set foot there. Even so, Kevin was unprepared for the full-scale assault on his lungs when he opened the door, and promptly broke into a coughing fit.

"Man, good thing Neil stayed home," he thought aloud as he batted thick, swirling clouds of dust and spiderwebs out of his face. "The way things have been going for him lately..."

He'd probably choke to death on all this dust, he thought but didn't say aloud, and then felt bad for thinking it in the first place. Kevin didn't understand what had happened to Neil in the course of the past few days, but ever since picking up that clover, he seemed to be having a run of uncharacteristically bad luck. Whether it was random chance or something more suspicious was afoot, it sure wasn't doing much for his already thoroughly frayed nerves.

"Alright, calm down, James," he muttered to himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts and ideally dispel the rest of the dust. "Focus. Concentrate. What are you here for? Props for your webisode. Right."

Keeping that objective in mind, he made his way past the front entrance and into the living room. There, a few objects were strewn around that caught his eye: a mannequin bust wearing a colourful wig; an eccentrically patterned jacket draped over a chair; a brush dipped into a rusted metal container filled with what he hoped was red paint. After looking around a little more he found a large cardboard box filled with mutilated stuffed animals, which he mostly emptied out and started filling with the useful items he came across.

All the while, a persistent feeling of unease stirred in his gut, becoming increasingly hard to ignore with each belonging of Ryan's he packed away. This is wrong. I shouldn't steal from him. Kevin paused and looked down at the box in his arms with a frown. One of the items sticking out the top, a blank-faced doll head, seemed to stare accusingly back at him. For a moment he saw it not as a plastic figure, but as a human form encased in ice and then broken apart. He blinked and the illusion quickly vanished, but an unsettling feeling remained in its wake. Neil was right; it had been months already. So why did going through Ryan's things make him feel so dirty? Ryan didn't need any of this stuff anymore. He was gone. Wasn't he?

With a weary sigh that, had anyone been around to ask, he would have accredited to the physical exertion of carrying heavy stuff around, Kevin set the box down and stepped back to survey the room he was in now. If he remembered right, this kind of room was called a study--there was an armchair with a few suspicious stains lurking beneath the dust, a desk strewn with papers all scrawled full of nonsense like the ravings of a mad scientist, and an ornate bookshelf. He wandered over to the latter furniture piece and ran his hands along the spines of the books, letting their leathery texture ground him in the present. He noticed several unusual bibles and other ancient texts, and a stash of calendars, some of which he was pretty sure had originally belonged to him or Neil; the up-to-date calendars and one of the more normal-looking bibles went into the box, while he decided everything else was better left where it was.

There was one other set of books he recognized: a teen fantasy series that Neil had often gushed about. Thinking back to the previous fall and all the events he normally tried not to think about, he experimentally lifted one of the fantasy books off the shelf. At once, just as he remembered from when Neil showed him, the bookshelf rumbled to the side and revealed a narrow staircase descending into the basement.

If anyone asked him, Kevin couldn't really say what compelled him to go down those stairs. The secret chamber was as empty as he remembered, with nothing down there that could possibly be of use for the webisode. And without a lantern, he could barely even see the only things that were there to speak of: the paintings of Ryan's ancestors.

"Ryan..." The name manifested on Kevin's lips unexpectedly as he stared, squinting through the dust and darkness, at the row of portraits grinning lopsidedly back at him. He knew the paintings couldn't hear him--hell, they weren't even paintings of Ryan himself, just his relatives. But their faces were practically identical to him, that face he hadn't seen in person for nearly half a year, and that alone was enough to clog up his throat with unbearable emotions.

The thought of It's a good thing Neil isn't here for this surfaced again, and this time Kevin had to agree with himself. Losing a close friend was... well, there was no way not to take it hard. But Neil seemed to have taken it particularly hard, even blaming himself, to the point where any mention of Ryan would immediately send him straight back into a depressive spiral no matter how happy he'd been a moment earlier. That was why Kevin had kept this idea a secret from his friend in the first place--that, and he wasn't sure if it was going to pan out and didn't want to get Neil's hopes up. He figured that if Neil asked where he got all the stuff he'd found, he'd just say it was from a garage sale.

Now, looking into the achingly familiar manic blue eyes of those portraits mounted on the wall, Kevin thought of those news reports about the mysterious killings that had been going on around town. If that really was Ryan, and he was somehow still alive...

"Why?" he whispered. Without really thinking, he reached out and pressed his hand against the painting as if to cup its cheek. "Why haven't you come home, Ryan? Where are you?"

*

The target was at home, alone in her bedroom playing video games. Casual, unbothered by any harm her actions may have caused. Shameful. In an icy swirl of perhaps not-so-righteous fury, the vigilante took form in the corner of her room and crept up behind her. With an average build and no weapons at the ready, she would be no trouble to dispose of.

"Playing dead in order to toy with an innocent man's feelings," he growled. "Some people would call it ghosting. I call it a crime punishable by death."

"Jesus christ, what the fuck?!" Wendy yelped as she spun to face the vigilante. "How'd you get in here?"

"You shouldn't worry about that," he told her, gloved hands already flexing in anticipation of tightening around her neck. Or perhaps this time he'd thrust his hand straight through her chest and rip out her heart--an appropriate punishment for her crimes. "You'll have plenty of time to figure it out once I send you to hell."

"Okay, seriously? What is happening here?" Eyes narrowed, Wendy put her game on pause and got to her feet to stare the vigilante down. "You said something about me playing dead..." Her eyes suddenly widened with recognition, and the vigilante waited for the fear to set in along with it, but instead she shook her head and laughed. A pitying laugh. "Wait, you're not friends with that, uh, that filmmaker guy, are you? Geez, I seriously must have dodged a bullet there."

"Filmmaker..." the vigilante murmured as the word echoed in his mind. Yes, that's right. The man she stood up was a filmmaker... of a sort. (How did he know that? How did he even know who this woman was? Those questions weren't worth dwelling on, he decided.) "You may have thought you dodged a bullet back then, but I'm here to see that the bullet circles back around and destroys you like you deserve."

Wendy crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow, any trace of fear on her face outmatched by her sad, pitying smile. "Sure, keep the edgy sayings coming, Mr. Hot Topic. And what's with the getup, anyway?" she added with a nod to the vigilante's predominantly dark outfit. "Must be kinda warm."

Warm? The vigilante snorted derisively. No, of course he wasn't too warm. His blood, as it always had for as far back as he could clearly remember, ran cold like that of a snake. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been warm. And he certainly couldn't remember a time when he'd worn anything other than his current ensemble. Rather than waste time telling this insufferable woman as much, though, he simply took a few purposeful strides to close the distance between them, hands extended and more than ready to kill.

"Ugh, get away from me, creep!"

In a startlingly swift motion, Wendy's leg shot out and connected with the vigilante's ankles, sending him toppling to the floor. He hissed in irration, though not in pain--when his sensations were already perpetually numb, it would take a lot more than that to hurt him--and got to his feet, dusting himself off with a scowl. In the few seconds this took, Wendy grabbed a baseball bat from the corner of the room. Now she stood brandishing it in perfect athletic form with a battle-ready glint in her eye.

"Not another step, you hear me?" When the vigilante didn't dignify her with a response, she gritted her teeth and gave the bat a twirl--attempting to show off, it seemed, but her hands shook slightly and she nearly dropped the bat, only barely managing to regain her grip on it. "My mom is in the other room right now, and... well, she hasn't done anything wrong, so you don't want to punish her, right? And if anything happens to me..."

He stiffened at Wendy's mention of her mother. An innocent citizen? That was the type of person a vigilante was meant to protect at all costs; otherwise vigilante justice was no better than the police. But no one is innocent in this city. Even so, he understood the implicit threat--not that Wendy's mother would bring him down herself, but that either woman could very well call the police. And the last thing he wanted was to get law enforcement involved.

"...Fine," he snarled at last, turning on his heel with a twirl of his vigilante cape. "You can live a while longer. But I'll be back, and then you'll regret your sins."

He heard her gasp but didn't bother sparing her another glance as he let his form dissolve into a splash of red-tinted ice, sinking through her floorboards and off to thwart another criminal.

*

Slowly and carefully as a technician deactivating a bomb, Neil set the three of spades down across the top of the three other cards he'd lined up on the table. The humble beginnings of a tower stood for a moment, and he held his breath eagerly as he reached for another card to place on top, only for it to suddenly shudder and collapse like an anime girl who'd stood in the rain for too long.

"Dang it!" Neil threw his hands in the air in exasperation. When he did, a droplet of his own blood landed on his glasses, and he realized with a start that his hand was bleeding--just a paper cut, but still, he'd better wash up.

As he ran his hand under cold water, transfixed by the sight of the blood swirling down the drain, a sudden cracking noise rang out just above him. His head snapped up to stare at the spontaneously cracked bathroom mirror. His reflection stared back, stricken and gaunt, as shards of shattered glass rained down into the sink, where they mixed with the water and the blood. Neil shivered, his breath quickening.

Icy water... ice, blood, broken mirrors. All mixed together. Shattered. Blood, guts, ice, mixed together, down the drain. My fault my fault my fault my fault--

"No," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his nails into his scalp as hard as he could. "No! I didn't do it, I didn't... I didn't mean to..."

Deep breaths, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. It sounded like Kevin's voice, worried to the point of being slightly patronizing. Neil grimaced, annoyed at his own brain for manifesting its self-preservation in such a way, but he complied nonetheless. Keeping his eyes wrenched shut, he took several deep breaths in and out until his heartbeat slowed to normal--he hadn't even noticed it speeding up--and his hands didn't shake when he lowered them away from his head.

"Hey, you know what'd really make me feel better?" he said aloud to nobody in particular, putting on a broad smile and wiping his hands off on a towel. "A nice hot bath! Yep, that'll counteract my blood running cold, alright..."

He ran his hands up and down his arms as he spoke, although he didn't know who he was trying to fool; the chill that had settled into his bones had nothing to do with the temperature. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure who this whole performance of forced cheerfulness was meant for... the studio, maybe. He wouldn't put it past them to hide cameras everywhere. Either way, even if it wouldn't fix his psychological issues, a bath really would be pretty nice. He put the plug in and started running the tub, with the water temperature set just hot enough that it would scald him a little at first.

He wasn't sure exactly what happened when he sat down on the edge of the tub to take his socks off, whether he slipped on something or leaned too far back or what, but suddenly he lost balance. And by the time he realized he was falling backward, he only had a split-second to curse his rotten luck before his head connected with the wall and he blacked out.

*

In the end, Kevin managed to get a pretty good haul from Ryan's house. In addition to the stuff he and Neil could use for their webisode, he'd retrieved the calendars and a couple other things it looked like Ryan had stolen from them, as well as their old communicator wristwatches. (He wasn't sure if the watches fell into the camp of things Ryan had stolen, or if they'd just brought them over to his place for a sleepover once and forgotten them there. Either way, Kevin figured it could come in handy to start using them again.)

"Hey, Neil," he called as he stepped into the clubhouse with the box in his arms and kicked the door shut behind him. "I'm back."

There was no reply. Frowning, Kevin set the box down with a slight grunt of effort and wandered through the living room and down the hall. There were a few playing cards scattered on the table, suggesting that Neil had been trying to make a house of cards but given up halfway. Kevin couldn't really blame him for that; assembling cards in such a way that they'd actually stay upright was yet another thing that had been more in Ryan's ballpark than in either of theirs. Still, that didn't explain where Neil was now...

"Neil? You there, bud?" Still being met with no answer, Kevin came to a stop outside the bathroom door, which was ajar with water pooling out from inside. "Oh, man, that's not a good sign..."

He gave a tentative knock, and when there was still no response, grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. The sight that met his eyes when he did so immediately made his breath hitch and his blood run cold. The broken mirror over the vanity reflected his slack-jawed expression as he stared at the overflowing bathtub, the pair of still-clothed legs dangling over the rim, and the smudge of blood on the wall leading down to the head of the man those legs belonged to, slumped inside the tub with his head submerged in the water.

"Neil!!"

Kevin sprinted across the room to lift Neil out of the tub. It then took him a few seconds longer to turn off the faucet and pull the plug, as by that point the shock had turned to dread and his hands were shaking. Once the water was slowly starting to drain, he fell to his knees and pulled Neil tight to his chest, one hand clutching at the back of his soaked-through t-shirt while the other fumbled across the back of his head searching for the source of the blood. It didn't take long for him to find the slightly matted patch of damp hair indicating where Neil had banged his head against the wall. Kevin swallowed hard as dread leapt up to claw at his throat. The only question is... how long was he submerged?

"Neil," he whispered, and was almost embarrassed to hear how hoarsely his own voice came out. "Wake up. Please."

No response. Kevin reluctantly pulled back to hold Neil at an arm's length, and shuddered at how limply his friend's body flopped forward. He noticed, with a white-hot jolt of irrational anger, that the four-leaf clover was still in place. Fat lot of good that thing's done for him. He grabbed the clover and crumpled it in his fist, all the while tears pressed against the back of his eyes; he struggled not to let them fall. Damn it... first Ryan, now Neil... What kind of protector was he? What kind of friend?

He slammed his fist, the useless clover still clenched within, against the drenched floor tiles. At that moment, the lightbulb above his head exploded and sent sparking wires raining down around him. As soon as electricity met water, it sent a nasty shock through Kevin's veins; he screamed out of equal parts surprise and pain and scrambled up onto the countertop, which was barely wide enough to support him.

On the floor below, Neil's body convulsed. Then his eyes snapped open and he drew in a gasp that turned into a scream halfway through. Although touching his friend's hand sent the current through his own body for a moment, Kevin was quick to grab him anyway, and he managed to pull Neil safely out of the electrified water and into a fierce embrace. Neil kept shrieking, and he squirmed frantically around, not seeming to recognize his surroundings at first.

"It's alright, Neil," Kevin assured him despite how hard his own heart was pounding. "I've got you."

"Oh..." Neil's body slackened, and he pulled back to blink slowly at Kevin, realization dawning in his eyes. His cheeks coloured with embarrassment and he ducked his head. "Uh, thanks."

Neither of them said anything else, for lack of ability or perhaps willingness to put it into words. After a moment, Kevin realized he was still holding the clover, and he handed it back to Neil, who took it with a dip of his head and a murmur of acknowledgement, and pinned it to his soaking wet t-shirt.

Somehow out of everything in the room, themselves included, that little scrap of plant matter was still intact. And although he wasn't superstitious, that simple fact was what would stick in Kevin's mind for the rest of the day, turning it over until he could only conclude: Yep, there's definitely something weird going on with that thing.

*

Despite the many months he'd prowled the city, this was the vigilante's first time in the hideout of a proper gang. It looked about the way he expected: dimly lit, no windows, weapons hung up on the wall and cigarette butts littering the floor. The gang members, dressed primarily in leather jackets with a few in denim, lounged in chairs leaning too far back, or on top of tables, or on their motorcycles parked right in the middle of the room. Most of them didn't even notice the vigilante as he approached. They were too caught up chattering and cackling amongst themselves like a nest of overgrown crows. The one gang member who did seem to notice the vigilante from the get-go simply looked up at him with raised eyebrows and addressed him once he got close enough to strike.

"Hey, haven't seen you around before. Looking to join the club?"

"Hardly," he snarled. "This whole place is crawling with criminals."

The whole room broke into laughter at that. The vigilante gritted his teeth, fists clenching at his sides. These people were different from the criminals he'd taken down before; between their numbers and all the weapons they had easy access to, they might just pose a serious threat if he wasn't careful.

"You're the ones, aren't you?" he went on once the laughter had died down and the gang members were all watching him with a mix of bemusement and curiosity. No trace of fear amongst them yet, but that would change... "Throwing bricks at innocent people, even seeking to damage their property. Absolutely detestable."

"Woah, hang on," another of the gang members cut in sharply, reaching for a weapon as they stood. "First off, the whole brick throwing thing was months ago. Second of all, we never did that to innocent people, you know!"

"Yeah!" yet another gang member cut in, pumping her fist in the air. "Only to those losers who blew up our boss!"

...Boss?

The vigilante slowly turned, a deeper chill than normal running down his spine, as a strangely familiar smug cackle echoed from behind him. He came face-to-face with a man in a tank top and baseball cap, sneering at him with his arms crossed. Max. Gulping, the vigilante took a step backward. He's their boss?

(How did he know that name? How had he known Wendy's name either, for that matter? Why, out of all the criminals in the city, did a select few ignite disproportionate resentment within him? He'd dealt with some of these people before, he knew, but when he tried to remember when and how it all just turned to slush in his brain.)

"Yep, those losers got what was coming to 'em," Max said. "Except not really, 'cause they didn't suffer enough. But it's okay, we'll get 'em extra hard next time."

"No..." For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the vigilante's voice shook with equal parts fury and sudden fear. "Don't you dare hurt them."

"Huh?" Max tilted his head, already slightly squinted eyes narrowing further. "Heyyy, wait a minute, aren't you one of--?"

Before he could finish that thought, the vigilante was upon him with a karate chop to the windpipe. It was a more reckless attack than he'd planned, and even as Max stumbled backward coughing, he could hear the rest of the gang grabbing their weapons and running up behind him. But it was fine; the vigilante could take them all on and then some. He could kill any number of people if it was for the sake of defending his friends.

(Friends? Did he have friends? Somehow it felt that he must have, once. But that was strange, because the only thing he could clearly remember himself ever being was a cold-blooded vigilante.)

*

"Don't you see? Society's the one to blame! It's society's fault that he had no choice but to become this way!"

As Kevin delivered this speech, waving his arms dramatically toward the focus of the scene, Neil spun the video camera around to point it toward himself. Hopefully the studio would think of the disorienting cinematography for this webisode as a bold artistic choice rather than thinking of it as amateurish and embarrassing. He then leapt back, breaking into maniacal laughter with his prop gun raised in the air. Under ideal circumstances, this role might have been better suited to Ryan, but... well, they couldn't stay hung up on him forever; they had a job to do.

"Eh-heh-heh! Thanks to society, I have the urge to kill!" Neil twirled around to show off his clown costume, while just out of frame, Kevin hastily put on a wig and fake mustache. "And now... I'll kill this innocent man, who's different than the guy who was talking a minute ago!"

(It was fascinating--fascinating and dumb--how a broken mirror and a bit of blood could set him off, but something as heavy as a gun in his hand only brought him the faintest twinge of discomfort, easily ignored for the sake of making a webisode. After all, as Kevin had assured him many times over the past few months, it was the gun and its villainous weilder who were to blame for what had happened to Ryan. On an intellectual level Neil knew that was true--and besides, if he hadn't deflected that bullet, all three of them would have died. But knowing that did nothing to redirect when and why the darkness in his brain manifested.)

Now, much to Neil's surprise as he took aim with his prop gun, Kevin shouted "Cut!" and walked across the abandoned lot they were filming in to turn the camera off.

Neil lowered the gun, confused, as his costar removed his costume with that now all-too-familiar look of concern etched across his face. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know... somehow I've just got a bad feeling about this," Kevin muttered. "Maybe try firing into the air a couple times first."

Neil complied, and was met with the expected result from the prop: a couple of clicks indicating an empty chamber. "You worry too much these days, Kev," he said as he fired one more blank into the sky and then lowered the prop again. "It's not a real gun; it can't--"

As he spoke, his finger accidentally pressed the trigger again, and he broke off with a yelp at the sudden burst of pain in his right foot. He dropped the apparently very real gun with a clatter and clutched at his injured appendage, losing his balance in the process. Kevin swore under his breath and rushed forward to catch him. Before his friend could reach him, Neil's other foot came down on a wide crack in the pavement. A chill ran through him, momentarily distracting him from the throbbing pain, but it passed as quickly as it arose without seeming to trigger any effects.

"By god, what's happening to you?" Kevin exclaimed as he grabbed Neil by the shoulders and held him upright. "You've been so unlucky lately, it... it almost seems like a curse."

"A curse?" Neil stiffened, but quickly forced himself to shrug and morphed his grimace into a dismissive eye-roll. "Pfft, what are you talking about? There's no curse! I've just been, y'know, having an off-day..."

"Neil." There was that concerned look again, that almost parental tone of voice, as Kevin stared him down and tightened his grip on Neil's shoulders. "A couple hours ago you almost died, and now... you can tell something weird is going on, right? And, look--" He sighed, gaze darkening. "I don't exactly know how to fix it, but whatever's happening, I can't just sit back and watch you succumb to it. I can't lose you, too, Neil... not after..."

He trailed off with a faint warble in his voice, lowering his head. Neil gulped, a heavy weight surfacing in his chest. It was true; though he hated to admit it, at this point it was hard to deny that he was cursed. And yet, even as his foot throbbed around the spot where the bullet was lodged and his shoe was slowly stained from within by his own blood, it was hard to convince himself that he should accept help. On some level, didn't he deserve this? Wasn't this a fitting comeuppance for getting one of his friends killed?

Yet here was his other friend, clutching at him ever tighter to the point where his grip on Neil's shoulders was nearly as painful as hitting his head or getting mildly electrocuted or shooting himself in the foot. I'm not the only one who lost Ryan, he reminded himself--another thing he knew perfectly well on an intellectual level, but easy to forget in practice. Kevin is hurting too. I shouldn't make him hurt any more.

"Fine, I admit it," he sighed, letting his tensed-up shoulders slump. "I'm unlucky, okay? And if you think it's possible--" He tore the clover off his shirt and glared down at it-- "then we're going to beat this thing."

*

For as tough as the gang presented themselves, it must have been most of these people's first time in an actual fight. The vigilante swerved to avoid weak punches, clumsy kicks, poor attempts at stabbing. It all blended together after a while, and he stopped thinking of the gang members as individuals; they were just an indistinguishable swarm of insects whose attacks were easily dodged. Unimportant, save for their leader.

The vigilante had Max pinned to the floor now, holding his thrashing form in place with one arm while he brought his other fist down on the ruffian's face, over and over, as hard as he could. Not every blow connected cleanly, and Max had managed to bite him several times already, but that was irrelevant. Criminals must be brought to justice. That was why the vigilante hated these people, wasn't it? Because they were criminals. Yes, what other reason could he have, when this was all he'd ever been?

And then, just as he managed to land a blow to Max's jaw that left him defiantly spitting out blood and a couple of teeth, the vigilante's spine snapped.

It took a moment for him to register what had happened. He just heard a loud crack, and a sharp pain shot through him, and suddenly he couldn't hold his legs in place and collapsed. Max wasted no time taking advantage; he delivered a kick to the vigilante's gut that sent him flying back across the room, where he hit a wall and slumped to the ground, gasping in breathless agony. At once the other gang members closed in on him. Grimacing, the vigilante drew himself up onto his hands and knees, then braced himself against the wall and, with a far greater strain of effort than expected, dragged himself upright. By the time he'd managed to get to his feet, dozens of knives were inches away from him.

Then, to his surprise, Max pushed through to the front of the crowd and held his arms out to hold back his underlings. "Nuh-uh, this one's mine," he told them, sneering as though oblivious to the blood dribbling from between his lips. "I said I'd get him twice tomorrow, and I meant it."

The vigilante flinched as Max took a swipe at him. But rather than a fist connecting with his face, he was met only with the shock of exposure as the bully grabbed his mask and triumphantly yanked it off his face. He was left dumbfounded, blinking, as his vision readjusted to the light.

Wait a minute, I remember--

And then came the punch, square in the nose. Ryan yelped, pressing his gloved hand over his nose to stop the bleeding. When he dodged another punch, his body failed to cooperate and he crashed to the ground again, back aching furiously and heart pounding against his ribcage.

How and why his back had broken, he couldn't say, but one thing was clear: he was horrendously outmatched. Max was saying something now, gloating as he advanced on Ryan with a dagger in his hands, but Ryan couldn't make out the words over the blood rushing in his head. Why on earth had he gotten into a fight like this in the first place? What was he doing? He had to get out of there!

With that thought, yet another thing happened that Ryan didn't entirely understand. (Ryan didn't understand, but the vigilante did. It was one of the few things the vigilante knew: dissolve, reform, enact ruthless vengeance, dissolve again.) His body shuddered, and suddenly he found his solid flesh and bone giving way to a slurry of blood and ice that slipped through the cracks in the floor and disappeared. Then he was formless, freefalling through the dark, or at least that was what it felt like. When he took shape again it felt like dragging himself out of quicksand. Yet when he raised his slowly resolidifying head and looked around, he found himself in the basement of his own home, staring up at the portraits of his ancestors that had started it all.

No. Not started it all. "I had a life before this," he whispered, voice raw with the shock of memory and too many months spent speaking in an inhuman growl. "My name is Ryan, I have a life and a job and friends, I..."

Yes, that's right. Friends. Where were they? He closed his eyes and tried to remember. Each recent memory that took form in his mind was accompanied by a crashing wave of guilt and regret, and soon his body shook and tears pricked at his wrenched-shut eyes. That's right... I became a vigilante, and I teamed up with such a horrible person, let him manipulate me, all because I was too afraid to go back and apologize. And then...

The last thing he remembered, just after the flash of light and shock of paralyzing cold, was the sound of a gunshot, something shattering, and Neil screaming.

"Oh, dear god," Ryan whispered. He raised his head, opening his eyes and lowering his hands from his newly tear-stained face, and sat back on his heels as though worshipping the paintings before him. "What have I become?"

*

The ropes were just slightly too tight around Neil's limbs to be comfortable; he couldn't resist squirming a little as Kevin laid out the open bible on the end table next to his proton pack and began reading from it.

"Okay, um, let's see... ex-or-ciz-amus te, omnis immunde spiritus..." He squinted at the yellowed, faded pages, biting his lip. "Omni satanica pot-es-tas, omnis incurs--incursio infernalis adversarii... uh..."

"You're doing great," Neil called from his position tied to the bed frame; Kevin gave him a weary smile and thumbs up.

As Kevin continued reciting the verse, occasionally stumbling over a particularly tricky Latin word, the room's temperature eventually dropped a few degrees. Neil shivered, but his heartbeat picked up in excitement. He could feel something stirring in his blood like ripples on a lake, and when the furniture in the room began to quiver, so too did his body in eager anticipation.

"...Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux..." A chill wind swept through the room; Kevin gritted his teeth, one hand pressing down on the bible to hold its pages in place while he grabbed his proton pack with the other. "Vade retro Satana! Nun-quam-suade mihi vana!"

The furniture rumbled louder. Neil's eyes widened as an entire bookcase lifted off the ground. "Kevin, watch out!"

"Hang on, Neil, I'm almost done. Uh, where was I... sunt mala quae libas..."

"No, Kevin, the--"

"Just one more line, okay? Ipse ven--"

"KEVIN!"

That last terrified yell was what it took for Kevin to finally turn, just in time to see the six-foot block of polished oak fly directly into him. Neil shrieked and thrashed against his bindings with all his might, but even if he weren't tied up, there was nothing he could have done. The bookcase came crashing down, its contents spilling out onto the floor around it in a flurry of paper. And when the dust settled, Kevin was pinned beneath it, unmoving.

"N... no..." Neil whimpered. Dread tightened like a noose around his throat as the horrible thought seeped into his mind: This is because of me. Now I've gotten them both killed.

"Oh, yes, what a tragedy... just your luck, isn't it?"

Neil's blood ran cold. He raised his head to see the translucent, smoke-shrouded figure of a giant clover looming over him. Its four leaves, dark green tipped with crimson and speckled with barnacles, opened down the middle to reveal a row of needle-sharp fangs. For a second, "Where did you come from?" was on the tip of Neil's tongue. But it was just as well that he was too terrified to speak, because no sooner than the question appeared in his mind, he realized the obvious answer. Oh, right. This is the demon that cursed me.

"Don't worry, your friend is alive... for now," the demon jeered. "But that could change. It's so easy for accidents to happen, you know?"

As if to demonstrate, the demon's leaves fluttered and suddenly a fire sprang up dangerously close to the scattered pile of books on the floor. When Neil screamed in protest, the demon laughed, and part of the ceiling gave in, sending down a controlled shower of debris to put out the fire before anything flammable could catch.

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Neil exclaimed with a shake of his head; he'd be almost exasperated if he weren't so terrified. "You're really powerful and want to hurt people, geez, not exactly a challenging concept. So, what do I have to do?"

That question seemed to give the demon pause. "...Do?"

"You know, to appease you or whatever. If you're threatening me with Kevin's life, then there must be something you want from me, right?" An idea occurred to Neil just then, and his already hammering heart beat even harder, to the point where he hoped the demon couldn't hear it and tell how freaked out he was. "Hey, it must suck having to be a clover. What if a lawnmower or forest fire had gotten to you before I did? And if you like hurting people so much..." He paused, smirking as the demon leaned toward him with obvious interest. "Wouldn't it be easier just to possess my whole body instead of wasting time messing with my luck?"

"That's..." The demon hesitated, its leaves curling up in what looked like excitement. "Ah. Ah-ha-ha! You're a clever little mortal, aren't you?"

"But don't get it twisted," he put in, glaring defiantly up at the demon despite hardly being in a position to threaten anyone. "You have to promise not to hurt anyone else. Especially not Kevin."

"It's a deal!"

Before Neil could stop and reconsider whether this was really a good idea, the demon dove toward him, row of fangs wide open as though it were going to bite his head off. He flinched a split-second before something cold and stinging like nettles clamped around him.

When he opened his eyes again, the world was tinted dark green as if viewed through a dingy screen, his head felt hazy... and he couldn't move, at least not of his own volition. Even opening his eyes just then wasn't his decision. He heard himself cackle, felt his arms and legs flex far harder than he'd known he was physically capable of flexing, breaking the ropes that bound him to the bed frame and setting his body free to do whatever the demon wanted.

"Hah..." the demon muttered in his voice as it made him walk over to where Kevin lay, still trapped and unconscious. The demon knelt down and poked experimentally at Kevin's shoulder and forearm. "This one has more muscle. It might have been a better choice for possession, if it wasn't so damaged already..."

For one petrifying moment, the demon grabbed Kevin's head and stared intently at him, stretching Neil's face into a grin so wide it made his whole face ache, and Neil's mind raced with horrible thoughts of things the demon might make his own hands inflict upon his poor helpless friend. But the demon simply laughed and dropped Kevin, who let out a low groan as his head lolled to the side--an indication that at least he really was still alive. But all of a sudden Neil had trouble believing that small mercy was really worth it.

"Ah, well, this body will do," the demon decided. "Let's take it out on the town and see how long it lasts!"

*

This time when the vigilante materialized in Wendy's room, she did little more than roll her eyes and move to grab her baseball bat. However, rather than try to attack her or even growl out any threats, the vigilante took two shaky steps and then collapsed, catching himself against her dresser. Wendy's eyes widened as she took a closer look at his face. His mask was off now, revealing a pair of striking blue eyes glistening with obvious distress, cheeks flushed with exertion, and a streak of half-dried blood running from his bruised nose. And when he spoke, it wasn't in the gravelly tone she'd heard from him before, but in a quiet higher-pitched voice--almost a whimper.

"Please... tell me..."

Wendy hung back, caught between a sharp tug of sympathy in her heart and a very rational wariness based on their previous encounter. The vigilante tried to walk again, and again nearly fell; his face wrenched up and he let out a pained hiss. At that, sympathy won out over rationality. Wendy edged toward him with her baseball bat in hand, and when she was close enough, held it out to him.

"Hey, uh... here. It's not exactly medically sanctioned, but maybe you could use this like a cane?"

"Oh... good idea, thank you!" He broke into a grin, and Wendy shivered; somehow he was far scarier when his eyes were bright and cheerful. "Terribly sorry for how I treated you last time, by the way. I really wasn't myself."

"Uh-huh?" While the vigilante tested out the makeshift cane, Wendy sat down on her bed, arms crossed. "And who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Ryan... or at least I think I still am." His smile faltered, and he looked away, anxiously running a hand through his hair. It was starting to come unpinned, and his hat was askew; evidently he'd been through a lot in the few hours it had been since their first encounter. "It's been... strange, lately. I don't think I'm entirely human anymore, if I ever was. But I came back here because there's something I want to understand."

"You want to know why I ghosted your friend?" It was just a guess, but Ryan nodded; Wendy smiled privately to herself for having figured it out. "Alright, I can tell you..."

She uncrossed her arms and leaned back on her bed, thinking back to the disastrous date she'd gone on several months prior. It was a story she'd recited many times to friends, relatives, other first dates as sort of a half-joking warning ("So, as long as you don't blow it as much as that guy did, we should be good...") and the more she told it, the more warped and exaggerated it became within her memory. But when she really thought back on it now, it hadn't been so disastrous at all--pretty damn awkward, sure, but not even close to the worst date she'd been on.

"Kevin actually seemed really sweet," she recalled, smiling despite herself at the memory of his big dorky grin. "I would have gone on a second date with him. But then, first thing the next morning, I read in the news that some guy got arrested right outside the restaurant while we were on our date. And the criminal's name? Neil. Same name as the 'friend' Kevin had said was helping him out." She shrugged, lips twisting into a frown. "I just got kinda freaked out, you know? Like, 'oh geez, did I go on a date with a drug dealer or serial killer or something?' Of course it probably wasn't anything that serious, and pretending to be dead was probably an overreaction, but... well, what's done is done."

Wendy was so caught up in her own memories as she explained all this that she wasn't really observing Ryan's reactions. Once she concluded her story, she glanced over to find him sitting on the floor with his legs tucked up awkwardly beneath him, the baseball bat in his lap; he was staring at the floor, expression unreadable. He stayed like that for a long moment, not seeming to notice that Wendy had stopped talking, until she cleared her throat. Then he jumped to attention, eyes flashing like those of a woodland cryptid in headlights.

"Ah! Yes, of course... well, I still don't entirely understand, but I think I resent you less now." Ryan tilted his head and shot her another shiver-inducing grin. (Whether it was supposed to be threatening or not, she had no idea.) "And you're right; I almost forgot--we're all criminals too, Neil and probably even Kevin and especially myself! So how can I be a vigilante?" He answered his own rhetorical question with a shake of his head, manic grin softening into a melancholy smile. "It's ridiculous. I've been so foolish."

With that, his body began to ripple, losing a little of its solidity. But before he could break apart and dissolve through the floorboards like last time, a chirpy little beep-beep-beedle-beep noise rang out. Ryan's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced down at an accessory around his wrist... Wait, is that one of those communicator watches like the one Kevin had?

If it was, Ryan wasn't quick to answer it. He simply stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at the beeping device in silence. Although she knew even less about Ryan than she knew about his apparently only slightly more normal friends, and she didn't normally care to get too involved in the personal affairs of strangers, he was still in the middle of Wendy's bedroom. And the longer that little jingle repeated, the more annoying it got. So she cleared her throat again and asked, in as polite a tone as she could manage given the circumstances,

"So, are you gonna answer that, or what?"

*

It was a stupid, pointless idea. Not an idea at all, really. Just the last scraps of... not even hope, that was pretty much deplenished at the moment, but effort. The effort not to let everything fall apart even further than it already had.

Kevin had woken with a throbbing pain throughout pretty much his whole body. Judging by the crushing weight pressing down on his torso, he was lucky to have woken up at all. The only parts of him not pinned down were his head and right arm, and even those hurt to move, though at least the spinning in his head put some degree of separation between himself and his broken body. Forget about trying to wriggle free when it hurt just to breathe.

So there he was, stuck, the shelf slowly crushing the air out of him, and Neil was gone. Where to, he didn't know. When he craned his neck he could see the empty bed frame, and the ropes broken and discarded at the foot of it. The bible he'd gotten from Ryan's house was facedown beside the tipped-over end table, next to a crushed and twisted lump of metal and plastic that he was horrified to recognize as his beloved proton pack. So wherever Neil was now, he must have still been cursed... or worse. And there was nothing Kevin could do about it.

Unless. Grimacing at the way his joints twinged, he raised his unpinned arm above his head. There on his wrist, perfectly intact despite everything he'd been through, was his communicator wristwatch. In all the hubbub of that day, he'd never gotten around to mentioning them to Neil, so his friend wouldn't be wearing his. But what if...?

It was stupid. It was pointless. There was no way in hell. But it was the only thing he could do. In a display so lacking in dignity that he was grateful nobody was around to see it, Kevin used his teeth and tongue for lack of a free hand to dial in the frequency and send off a signal. The watch's screen flashed in affirmation; he let his head flop against the floor with a weary sigh. Now all he could do was wait.

When he was at Ryan's house going through his things, and he found those communicator wristwatches, he'd only found two of them. And although that could have meant a dozen different things, there was just one wild, far-fetched possibility that any last semblance of hope now rested upon: that the third watch was missing because Ryan was alive, and he was still wearing his.

He didn't expect to get a response. By the time he did, he was struggling to stay awake--funny thing, trying to breathe with fifty pounds of wood pressed directly on your chest really takes it out of you. But he snapped to attention, or the closest he could get when his head was swimming and his body was beginning to go numb from lack of circulation, the moment he heard that voice crackling through the speaker.

"H-hello? Kevin?"

The relief that coursed through his veins was so overwhelming, especially on top of everything else, that he could only laugh--only for it to quickly turn into hacking as his ribs offered a sharp jab of protest. He raised his sleeve to wipe away a streak of blood that dribbled from his lips before speaking into the watch.

"Ryan. Where are you?" He regretted wasting time with that question the moment he asked it; he could tell from the way his organs felt like they were curling in on themselves as he spoke that he didn't have the energy for a full conversation. So before Ryan could stammer out a proper response, Kevin continued: "Neil is in trouble. You've gotta help him."

"What?" The shrill uptick of anxiety in Ryan's voice was palpable, and even just hearing that voice in and of itself stirred up a whole miasma of feelings that there was no time to properly react to. "What's going on? Are you okay? You sound--"

"I'm fine," Kevin lied through gritted teeth. "And... I don't know exactly where Neil is, but I know he's in trouble." A choking mix of emotions and his own blood swelled in his throat as his slowly blurring gaze wandered to the facedown bible. "I've tried to do some stuff today that I couldn't do without you. I-- we need you, Ryan. So, please... help."

With that final plea, something broke within him like a dam that he hadn't even realized was cracking. His arm flopped to the ground, wrist landing near his ear, where the communicator watch kept emitting Ryan's voice as it slowly rose in pitch until he was almost shouting. But even as his friend called frantically out to him, Kevin found it harder to make out the words. He groaned, letting his head loll to the side and his eyes fall shut. The last sensation he was aware of as darkness closed around him was that there was something wet on his face.

*

"Kevin, are you still there? Hello? Kevin!"

He wasn't responding. Why wouldn't he be responding, if the situation was so urgent? Maybe because he couldn't respond. Because he was--

"What are you going to do?" Wendy's voice cut into the swirl of panic Ryan was rapidly descending into. She hovered over his shoulder, peering down at the watch with wide, anxious eyes. The watch's screen had gone dark. No signal. Yes, indeed, what to do?

"What else? I have to save Neil."

If Kevin didn't know where Neil was, then there was no way that Ryan should have been able to instantly find him. But when he closed his eyes and let his vigilante instincts take over, he found that he didn't have to know where someone was. Whatever dark magic was infused in him now, letting him exist in this not-quite-human state even after what should by all accounts have been his death, it was hardwired for vengeance. And saving Neil meant exacting vigilante justice on whoever or whatever was harming him. With that in mind, the vigilante dissolved in a flurry of blood-tinted ice and reformed seconds later in the place it somehow knew it needed to be.

The first thing Ryan noticed when he appeared on the rooftop was the storm brewing overhead. He raised his eyebrows at that; earlier that day there hadn't been a cloud in the sky--and for that matter, when he looked around, it appeared that most of the sky was still perfectly clear, with the storm clouds being localized around this building. The second thing he noticed, upon peering over the edge of the roof, was that he wasn't on just any rooftop, but a skyscraper that towered above every other building in the vicinity. Lastly, he noticed a flagpole at the far corner of the rooftop, several feet away from him. And that was when his gaze fell upon Neil.

Neil was laughing as he swayed back and forth, clad in a brightly patterned jacket that wasn't his usual style at all, his arms and legs wrapped tight around the tall metal pole. Above him, the dark clouds lit up in a flash, followed almost instantly by a rumble of thunder. Although these particular stormclouds didn't come with rain, Ryan shivered. An incredulous exclamation was on the tip of his tongue (What on earth are you doing, stop it, you'll be killed!) when Neil locked eyes with Ryan, and he realized with a jolt of horror that this wasn't Neil at all--his body, yes, but someone or something else was controlling it. His mouth was stretched into a grin far wider than what a human face could normally achieve, and rather than their usual brown, his eyes glowed a sickly shade of green.

"Why, if it isn't my dear friend Ryan!" Neil--or whatever was piloting him--called, raising one arm off the pole in an exaggerated wave. "Oh boy, the guy I got this body from is sure surprised to see you alive! And as much as I'd love to send you plummeting off the edge of this building, I did promise not to hurt anyone else, so..." He waved his hand in a circle, unnaturally glowing eyes crinkling with amusement. "How about instead I pull you in a little closer so you can get a nice good look when your friend's body fries?"

With that, a sudden gust of wind blew into Ryan from behind, sending him stumbling forward. When he attempted to regain his footing, his broken spine betrayed him once again and he flopped to the ground with an undignified oof just a few feet away from the base of the flagpole. Grimacing, he pushed himself up and crawled the remaining short distance to grab Neil's ankle. As he did so, he noticed there was a bloodstained hole in his friend's shoe, and that his pant leg was slightly damp and already bore a few singe marks. Between that and whatever had happened to Kevin... he shuddered at the thought of what his friends had gone through in his absence.

"Nice try, vigilante," the thing in Neil's body jeered. "But I've gotta say, you don't pose much of a threat since I broke your spine."

He stomped his other foot down on Ryan's hand; Ryan yelped and instinctively released his grip. And at the very instant he let go, in such perfectly unlucky timing that only a supernatural entity could orchestrate, the stormclouds above them opened up with a searing, crackling, blindingly bright lighting strike.

Neil tilted his head back and laughed at the top of his lungs as countless volts of electricity tore through him. That horrendous laughter drowned out Ryan's screams of protest, not that there was anything he could do anyway in his current state, when he couldn't so much as get to his feet. All he could do was lay there and gape in horror as Neil's body shuddered and his flesh began to sizzle and burn.

Though it felt like an eternity of torture, the lightning strike couldn't have lasted for more than a few seconds. When it ended, Neil dropped like a ragdoll into Ryan's arms. Ryan, too stricken to even check for a pulse, simply stared blankly into his friend's glazed-over eyes. Then Neil blinked, and his eyes were glowing green again, and he laughed, the sound rougher now that it was being produced by a charred set of lungs.

"Ah-ha-ha-ha! I wasn't expecting this body to survive that! Can you believe Neil is still kicking in here?" He tapped a finger against his head, then sat up with a playful kick of his legs. "...Or is he? It would be just like a demon to lie, wouldn't it?" He grabbed Ryan's chin with his burnt and blackened fingernails and forcefully tilted his head up so their gazes met. "You can't tell, can you, vigilante? So, how hard are you willing to throw your broken body around to try and save someone who might already be toast? Maybe you should just give up and go on with your day, hmm?"

While the demon taunted him, Ryan's mind raced to concoct a plan. Some miraculous last-minute solution that would fix everything... Neil would be able to think of one. Perhaps he already had. But that wouldn't do them any good when Neil was trapped and helpless within his own mind. If this really was a demon, and a powerful one at that, the only thing that might work was an impromptu exorcism.

"Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux! Vade retro Satana!" Reciting the passage from memory as rapidly as he could without tripping over his tongue, Ryan grabbed Neil by the wrists and held him tight while he hissed and tried to jerk away. "Nunquamsuade mihi vana! Sunt mala quae libas. Ipse venena bibas!"

An ungodly noise somewhere between a shriek and a roar erupted from Neil as he tossed his head back and convulsed. It was far too visually similar for comfort to his electrocution less than a minute prior, and Ryan wondered if the demon was doing it that way on purpose in an attempt to scare him into stopping. If so, it wouldn't work. Even if this process was as painful for Neil as it was for the demon possessing him, it had to be done.

Sure enough, as the final line of the chant echoed across the rooftop, Neil shuddered and slumped to the ground next to Ryan. When their gazes met this time, the demonic glow was gone, but Neil was breathing fast and shallow and his eyes were wide with lingering terror.

"Ryan," he whispered. "You're... alive."

"I think so," he replied with a tentative smile. "It's all a little confusing. But we're going to be okay now, Neil."

However, no sooner had those words left his mouth than Neil stiffened up again, eyes momentarily flashing green. "No," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as if to dispel the demon's grasp. "Not yet. Still gotta... get rid of it..." He grabbed Ryan's hands and held them desperately tight, like a scared child clinging to their parent or older sibling. His eyes flashed once more, and this time when the glow faded, his face bore a strained smile. "I've got an idea. Ryan, don't freak out."

And with that, before Ryan could process what was happening and reach out to stop him, Neil sprung to his feet and took a running leap off the edge of the building.

*

For a while now, Neil had been having unusually vivid dreams. They weren't always nightmares, but they often were. Dreams about different worlds, different realities, different lives. Ones where him and Kevin and Ryan weren't all friends. Or worse, ones where they still were, but that wasn't enough to save them. One of those recent dreams, which began as an exciting fantasy only to devolve into a nightmare, was about some kind of flying vehicle. Ever since having that dream, Neil had made two vows to himself. Firstly, that as soon as he gathered the funds to afford it, he'd go back to school and complete his aeronautical engineering degree. Secondly, to always carry a parachute, just in case.

But the demon possessing him had no way of knowing that, now did it? And it wouldn't want to still be trapped inside a host body that was splattered all over the pavement. That was what Neil was banking on, at least. Otherwise he might really be in trouble.

As he fell, a stinging sensation rippled through his body. He shuddered, yet there was a smile on his face--no longer a grin stretched unnaturally wide, but an expression of his own volition--and his heart pounded not with terror but with exhilaration and boundless relief. Sure enough, the demon leapt forth from him and departed in a swirl of green smoke. And with it gone, he wasted no time in engaging the parachute--just in time to slow his acceleration enough that the fall wouldn't kill him.

Admittedly, he didn't exactly come down gracefully. He landed in a tangle of limbs and fabric that he had to shrug off the borrowed jacket, parachute and all, in order to escape, and the landing was just rough enough to deliver a painful reminder of the electrical burns covering the better part of his body. Still, Neil couldn't stop grinning as he gingerly picked himself up and dusted himself off. He was alive and no longer possessed; that was a win in his book.

When he craned his neck to look up at the roof, he thought he saw Ryan still sitting there. Neil grimaced as he recalled what the demon had said about breaking Ryan's back; hopefully that injury was undone with the demon being vanquished, but since Neil's injuries were still there, maybe that wasn't so. Either way, he couldn't just leave his friend up there alone.

As quickly as he could run with a bullet wound in his foot, he entered the building and took the closest elevator to the rooftop. But by the time the elevator chimed and its doors slid open, the rooftop was abandoned, with no sign of Ryan save for an abandoned hat, cape, and gloves, and a slowly fading dark red stain.

*

If Kevin hadn't already been surprised to wake up alive the first time, he sure as hell was now. The only reason he knew he was alive at all was the deep, persistent ache that wracked practically his entire body. That, and the warmth of the hand laid atop his own.

Forcing his eyes open with a pained groan, he turned his head to see the man sitting at his bedside. Ryan squeezed his hand and flashed him a sad smile when their eyes met. His vigilante costume was gone, traded for a simple dress shirt and tie, and his hair fell unpinned around his visibly tired face; the chair he sat in, upon closer inspection, was an old-fashioned wheelchair.

With some effort, Kevin pushed himself into a sitting position. Looking around, he found that he was laying on the couch in the living room with his chest bandaged. How Ryan had managed to pull him out from beneath the bookcase, he had no idea, but he sure wasn't going to complain about it.

"Ryan, you... you're hurt?" It was a stupid question--why else would he be in a wheelchair? "Did the demon...?"

"It's gone now," Ryan responded. "But..." His gaze lowered, and he dropped his hands into his lap to fidget with the blanket draped over his legs. "It was a costly victory, I'm afraid. In order to defeat the demon, Neil--"

His tearful speech was interrupted by the distant bang of the front door being thrown open.

"Geez, you could've told me you were going straight home!" Neil's indignant voice rang out down the hall. "I wandered all over town looking for you."

Ryan's head snapped up, and he and Kevin turned in unison to see their friend running toward them with a slightly crooked gait. With a cry of joyous disbelief, Ryan opened his arms, and Neil tackled him in an embrace that nearly sent him toppling over; Kevin had to lean forward to grab the back of Ryan's chair to keep him upright as he and Neil clung to each other.

"Neil, you're alive! I-I thought..."

"It's okay, Ryan," said Neil. Then, pulling back and glancing at Kevin with a melancholy smile: "I think we're all going to be okay."

*

"So, what do you think?"

As the ending credits rolled on their latest webisode, Neil and Kevin turned to face Ryan with matching expectant grins.

"Well..." Ryan drummed his fingers against the keys of the laptop and tried to think of something positive to say. "The costumes you used were a lot more fashionable than usual--wait, hold on. Weren't those my clothes?"

They were in Kevin's truck parked outside the studio's headquarters, with Neil in the passenger seat and Ryan in the back. It had taken a little over a week for them to recover to the point where they could comfortably climb inside a vehicle, let alone Kevin being able to actually drive, and the studio had already sent them several notes warning them that their pay would be docked for submitting their webisode behind schedule.

"Ah, yeah, sorry about that," Kevin muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"To be fair, if he hadn't broken into your house and stolen a bunch of stuff from you, he couldn't have called you on your communicator watch," Neil interjected cheerfully. "Or tried to do an exorcism... but I guess that didn't really work out for him anyway."

"Hey, c'mon, it wasn't stealing!" Kevin gave Neil a gentle shove, prompting him to briefly wince but laugh anyway. "If we'd known you were still alive, we wouldn't have taken your stuff, Ryan, honest."

"Ah, I'll have to remember that for next time," Ryan quipped. He closed the laptop and handed it back to Neil, who tucked it away inside an oversized shoulder bag. "Well, that may not have been the best webisode we've made, but I can tell you two did your best."

"Yeah, it'll be way better once we get back to making them as a trio," Neil said.

It was still amazing to Ryan that his friends were so quick to accept him back after all he'd done. If anything, it made him feel worse about his prolonged absence, because he knew now that he could have come back at any point and they would have been glad to have him. It was easy to fall into regret when thinking of all that had gone wrong, and all that could easily have gone even worse. But the fact was, they were together again now--altered by what they'd gone through, and not entirely for the better, but still themselves.

And despite it all, the preceding events and the possibility that another horrible thing could happen to them in the future, he found himself agreeing with Neil's hopeful statement.

"Indeed..." Ryan reached out and took Neil and Kevin's hands in his own. They smiled back at him with the same residual traces of relief in their eyes that Ryan had felt every so often over the past week--relief that they were still there to smile at each other. "Gentlemen, I look forward to working with you again."

¤--END--¤

[one-boring-person]

Eyyoooooooooooooo! (hihi)

Can I reqwest 👉👈😁?

I really need an poly lost boys x reader who is chubby and insecure about it.

(could you maybe do an one-shot)

(if not that's fine)

Okey love you byee

Of course you can request! I hope you like this!😊💛

Don't Kid Yourself.

The Lost Boys x Chubby!Insecure!reader

Warnings: none

Masterlist

I can feel my little confidence draining away from me with every disapproving look thrown my way, my posture slowly hunching over protectively. Even with the boys with me, I feel exposed and conscious of myself, embarrassed as I hide behind the physically perfect vampires around me, trying my hardest to ignore the part of my brain that is constantly drawing comparisons. The four of them are talking amongst themselves as usual, apparently completely oblivious to my discomfort, though Paul's arm around my waist is serving to reassure me in some way.

My attention is drawn to a gaggle of well-dressed, mostly beautiful girls walking past us, the group of them holding hands over their mouths as they giggle and make snide comments, their eyes fixed on me. Blushing, I consciously take my hands from my pockets and pull at the hem of my shirt, adjusting it under my coat, which I also pull tighter around my body, hoping it hides me from view. Naturally, the girls notice this and laugh loudly, gesturing at me and making remarks about my size, hurrying past without a second glance at me. The blush on my cheeks has deepened considerably, completely mortified at what has happened, though it's only when Paul presses a quick kiss to my cheek that I realise the boys saw what occurred. 

Looking at my feet, I avoid eye contact with them all, pulling the collar of my coat up slightly to hide my neck and chin from view, my hair falling into my face to conceal my ashamed expression. 

"Well, it looks like we know who's on the menu tonight." David comments, voice laced with hidden anger.

"I can't wait." Marko growls, staring after the girls as they disappear around a corner, still laughing amongst themselves.

Swallowing, I let the tense silence fill the air for a moment as I feel their eyes turn on me, as if they want to say something but don't know how. Eventually, I feel myself break, my insecurities finally getting the better of me.

"I think I'm gonna go home, I'm tired and I have a busy day tomorrow…" I let my words peter off as I timidly look up at them all, hating the pity in their eyes as they stare at me.

"You don't have to go because of them, (Y/n). They're just rude girls with no respect for others." Dwayne gently tells me, fixing his dark eyes on me.

"No, it's not that, don't worry. I'm just...tired." I hastily try to cover myself up, knowing he probably sees straight through me, but at this point I'm too embarrassed to care.

"If you say so." David responds, lips pursed as he watches Paul squeeze me against him, pressing a kiss to my temple as I pull away. 

Smiling at them all, I say my goodbyes and leave them, heading off in the direction of my small flat, just above one of the shops a little way away. Thankfully, it doesn't take me too long to push through the crowd, though I do get a few rude comments thrown my way as I knock into a few people, my self-confidence plummeting with every encounter. I make it to my apartment mostly in one piece, but I can feel my hold on my composure quickly slipping away. Resting the shop, I go to the side of the building and climb the iron stairs to the top floor, unlocking the door to my apartment swiftly and letting myself in, slamming the door behind me as I press my back against it. 

My hands come up to cup my face instantly, my breathing becoming heavier as I struggle to regain my composure, refusing to cry, even though there's nothing I'd rather do at this point. Harsh thoughts rush through my head, each and every comment made from before coming back to me in a bullying ferocity, my resolve wearing thin as I try to force them back. Unsuccessful, I clench my eyes shut for a moment, reopening them so that I can step further into my apartment, intending to go straight to bed, after getting cleaned up. 

Dumping my coat and shoes by the door, I swiftly go to the bathroom, brushing my teeth and washing my face thoroughly, trying not to look at myself in the mirror as the critical part of my brain starts telling me things I don't want to hear again. The cool water is pleasant against my skin, calming the flush from earlier with each splash of it over my features. Completing my usual routine, I keep my gaze turned down and I leave the bathroom again, feeling suitably refreshed as I head into my bedroom, pulling at my shirt as I go, not quite taking it off yet. 

Upon entering, however, I'm quick to realize I am not alone.

"What are you guys doing here? How did you get in?" I blurt out in surprise, gazing at each of the boys in shock.

"We came to check up on you, see if you're ok. We got in through the window." Marko explains, cutting in before David can.

"Yeah, you really should keep that locked, babe. Who knows what'll get in." Paul grins at me mischievously. I try to smile back, but at that moment the action is just a little too much for me.

"What's wrong, (Y/n)? You've been quiet all night." David questions me, the blonde vampire as observant as ever.

"And before you say "nothing" just remember that we won't believe you." Dwayne puts in, smiling gently.

Pouting, I look down at my feet, wringing my hands together in embarrassment.

"I...I just got...I mean...it…" I try to say, finding myself choked up in mortification.

"Take your time (Y/n). You don't have to tell us immediately. Come lay down." David prompts me, gesturing to the bed, where he situated himself against the headboard, Dwayne joining him. 

Swallowing, I hesitantly climb on after them, remaining sat upright as I place myself between them, unwilling to allow my full weight to rest on them. Sighing, David only reaches forwards and pulls me down, a squeak escaping me as I fall back into their cool bodies. I try to sit back up again, feeling conscious of my weight on them, though I am completely helpless to the two vampires, especially as Marko and Paul decide to join us. The former seats himself at the foot of the bed, letting me rest my feet in his lap as the latter lies across us, his head dropping down onto my stomach. Instantly, I move to lift him again, frowning when he whines and bats my hands away, cuddling closer to me.

"Comfortable?" David chuckles, rubbing my arm slightly.

"I guess." I respond, still frowning.

"You guess?" Paul interjects, looking up at me in confusion.

Watching him, I weigh up my options, before finally deciding to confess properly.

"I just...I don't know why you choose to be with me, let alone why you would want to lie with me." I sigh, glancing down at my hands.

"What do you mean?" Dwayne asks, sounding genuinely confused.

"Look at me! My body isn't beautiful, everyone laughs at me, and I'll never be accepted by anyone. People laugh when they see me with you guys because I don't fit in. How can you like me when I look like this?" I suddenly blurt out, tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

The four of them are silent for a moment, clearly shocked by my outburst.

"You can't be serious! You really think you're not beautiful?!" Paul finally exclaims, eyes wide, "You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen! And since when do we care what other people think?"

"Don't kid yourself, Paul, I'm not beautiful." I disagree, clenching my fists.

"We're not kidding anyone, (Y/n). You are the most beautiful person we've had the luck to encounter, and I think I can speak for all of us when I say we're glad to call you ours." David reassures me, softly, pressing a kiss to my temple.

"You sure?" I murmur, too tired to argue with them, even if I don't agree with them.

"Positive." Marko hums back to me, smiling at me, "And i can promise you that the people who laugh just do so because they wish they could be like you."

"No they don't."

"Sure they do. Who wouldn't want to be you? You're sweet, kind, funny, caring, beautiful, hot and just amazing in general. Not to mention sexy." Paul smirks up at me, tracing a finger under my shirt.

Blushing furiously, I bat away his hand, feeling my face heat up as he chuckles, placing his palm on my stomach instead.

"Paul's right. I could go on for hours talking about how great you are." Dwayne smiles down at me, "I reckon we all could."

"Yeah, we could. Your weight is nothing to be embarrassed about, (Y/n). You're perfect, just the way you are." David agrees, stroking my face slightly.

This time, I can't fight off the smile that is pushing at my lips.

"I love you guys."

[niqhtlord01]

Welcome back fans to yet another match up of the ROOSTER TEETH CHAMPIONSHIP!!!!!

Today we have a dynamic duo of fighters stepping into the ring who’ve been a constant thorn in our heroes rear since season three!

First up we have the temptress of fate, the illusionist supreme, the simp queen that’d make anime harem protagonists seem like hugh hefner, give it up for EMERALD! 

Next up we have her counter part, the man with the plan which involves mostly kicking, has shotguns in his legs, and was trained by an assassin father who he immediately murdered when finished, iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit’s MERCURY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Let the fight begin! 

Yang: *Rides in on motorcycle and jumps off* Mercury: Ready for a rematch blondie?  Yang: I’m just here to break your other leg.  Mercury: *Takes fighting stance* Aw, sounds like someone’s still upset from out last fight. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Emerald: *Draws both pistols and twirls* Carolina: Do you really think you can hurt me with those toys? Emerald: *use semblance to turn into Text* Tex: We both know I don’t need a gun to hurt you. Carolina: *Draws pistols* What the hell is going on!? ------------------------------------------------------------------- Mercury: *Walks in and shotgun kicks the air* Caboose: I knew one day you would come for me.  Mercury: I don’t even know you. Caboose: *Pulls out freckles* You can’t make me take tap dancing lessons again, I won’t let you take me!  ------------------------------------------------------------------ Don: *Walks in brushing off lint* Emerald: I have to fight a butler? Don: If I wanted to talk to a street rat I would have brought in Toth.  Emerald: *Draws guns* Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.  ------------------------------------------------------------------- Wyoming: *Walks in stroking mustache* Mercury: Oh joy, another prick with an accent.  Wyoming: Oh goodie, another cripple with anger issues; how original. Mercury: *Kicks the air* You shut your mouth! ------------------------------------------------------------------ Nemesis: *Nano tech cloud slowly forms Nemesis* Emerald: *Attempts to hide with illusions* Nemesis: *Eyes rotate towards her* I-I-I-I-I Seeee you.  Emerald: *Draws weapons* What are you?! ------------------------------------------------------------------- Nomad: *Walks in, wind blowing poncho* Mercury: Listen straw man; just turn around an leave. Nomad: *Shrugs and turns around* Mercury: *Shoots leg at Nomad but misses* Damn, almost worked. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Emerald: *Walks in twirling weapons* Sarge: My principles don’t allow me to hit a lady. Emerald: That’s what i thought old man. Sarge: *Cocks shotgun* And just like the end of an election my principles just changed. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Mercury: *Leaps in kicking air* Kazu: What, do you have a thing for bruce lee?  Mercury: Who the hell is that?  Kazu: *Cracks knuckles* Someone who can beat your ass with two fingers. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Emerald: *Walks in twirling guns* Cinder: I told you to stay at the base. Emerald: But I wanted to help.  Cinder: *Glows red with fire* Your wants mean nothing to me. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Mercury: *Leaps in kicking air* Carolina: Let me guess, your daddy never loved you? Mercury: I killed my father. Carolina: *Draws pistols* Get in line. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Emerald: *Walks in twirling guns* Pyrrha: I learned what you did to me at the arena.  Emerald: If you had made it any easier to trick you you’d be on our side.   Pyrrha: *twirls rifle into spear* It saddens me to know there are people like you in the world.  ------------------------------------------------------------------- Cammie: *Walks in and picks up nugget* Mercury: Kid, you better scram before you get hurt. Cammie: *hacks legs and makes mercury kick himself* Mercury: Scratch that, now I want to hurt you.  -------------------------------------------------------------------- Skout: *Walks in and drops backpack* Emerald: This isn’t afield trip kid.  Skout: I’ll have you know I was trained by the Toth herself and can handle myself. Emerald: *Draws pistols* Oh no, you’ve been trained by a failed bounty hunter; whatever will I do? ---------------------------------------------------------------- Felix: *Walks in twirling knife*  Mercury: If you’re going to tell me you don’t want to fight because of my legs you can save it. Felix: Oh no; I’d beat the ever loving crap out of you regardless if you had real legs or not.  Mercury: *Kicks the air* Finally, someone I can relate to. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Emerald: *Walks in twirling weapons* Locus: You can still turn back; find a better path.  Emerald: It’s too late for me.....I’ve come too far to turn back now! Locus: *Activates cloak* It’s never too late to do the right thing. ------------------------------------------------------------- Mercury: *Walks in kicking air*  Cinder: I told you to wait at the hideout.  Mercury: I never was one to follow the rules. Cinder: *Lights up with fire* Then suffer the consequences.  --------------------------------------------------------------- Emerald: *Walks in twirling weapons* Rufus: For all your wonderful abilities you waste them on being a petty thief.  Emerald: Fitting that someone whose never lived on the streets cold and hungry telling me what Is best for me.  Rufus: *Caliban walks in but is stopped by Rufus* Yet another victim of our worlds greed.  --------------------------------------------------------------- Mercury: *Walks in kicking air* Dr. Grey: What fascinating prosthetics; can I study them? Mercury: Touch me and you die lady. Dr. Grey: *Pulls out scalpel* That’s okay, I’ll study them once I pry them off your lifeless body.  ----------------------------------------------------------------- Emerald: *Walks in twirling weapons*  Neo: *Stares sarcastically at her* Emerald: What do you want you creepy mute? Neo: *Eyes change color and sword tip extends from umbrella.* ---------------------------------------------------------------- Mercury: *Walks in kicking air* Qrow: You’re helping Salem to destroy the world, don’t you get that!? Mercury: From what I’ve seen it deserve to be burned down.  Qrow: *Draws scythe* She really knows how to pick the broken ones doesn’t she.  ----------------------------------------------------------------- Emerald: *Walks in twirling weapons* Tyrian: Aw, it must hurt loving someone who feels nothing for you? Emerald: You don’t know cinder, she cares about me! Tyrian: *Throws off coat and extends axes* Keep telling yourself that; it’ll make the moment she cuts you loose all the sweeter hehehahahahahahah!!!!! ------------------------------------------------------------------ Penny: *Hero Lands*  Mercury: Didn’t we kill you like twice now? Penny: I am fully functional and combat ready! Mercury: *Shrugs* Aw well, third times the charm.  --------------------------------------------------------------------- Grif: *Walks in scratching balls*  Emerald: hope you’re not afraid to hit a girl. Grif: bitch I will curb stomp you into the ground for waking me up from my 3pm nap.  Emerald: *Draws weapons* But it’s 8am.... ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Church: *Walks in with sniper rifle* Mercury: If it isn’t the sniper who can’t hit anything. Church: I’d mock you back but you’ve had such little screen time last three seasons you might as well be  Whitley. Mercury: *Kicks shotgun at Church who dodges* you take that back! 

[justlightlysedated]

Kiss prompt 31? So excited at the prospect at maybe getting something new from you! 💜

31) Lips brushing against each other’s briefly, unsure of whether or not to kiss, before someone finally connects in a deep kiss

Alex is studying, reading over the last chapter and taking notes since Mrs. Baxter’s lectures are mostly unintelligible, when someone sits on the seat across from him.

Alex doesn’t look up, because it’s a free library and everyone can sit wherever they want, but after a few minutes of a stare so intense Alex felt it like a literal caress, he looked up and then promptly wished that he hadn’t.

Michael Guerin was sitting down across from him, dressed up like an emo cowboy, which it wasn’t like Alex could talk with the way that he dressed, but the black cowboy hat was a choice that Michael woke up every morning and made, while completely sober.

He doesn’t look away as Alex looks up at him, which is unusual. He just intensifies his gaze like he’s looking for something. Alex just stares at him blankly, for a second before he looks back down at his book.

It’s better, at least for him, to just ignore Michael. If Alex doesn’t give him a reaction, Michael eventually gets bored and leaves him alone, which is all Alex wants.

He gets enough unwanted attention at home.

“Tell me what you know about Ortecho,” Michael says, and Alex’s head snaps up at that, narrowing his eyes, wondering what the hell Michael wants with any of the Ortechos, and Michael leans in closer, tilting his head and looking at Alex curiously, like Alex did something that he hadn’t been expecting.

“What do you want with Liz?” Alex demands, and Michael grins at him, leaning back in his chair.

“Just wondering what makes her tic.”

Alex shakes his head, and looks back down to his notes, dismissing Michael. It’s not like he’s going to tell him anything, and telling Michael to stay away from Liz isn’t going to actually do anything, not when he could guess the reason why Michael was becoming so interested.

He had been in the Crashdown last night when Liz had fought with Kyle and had gotten comforted by Max.

Michael had only been in Roswell for six months, but he already had a reputation that basically warned everyone to stay away from Isobel and Max or else face a confrontation at the end of the knives tucked into the sides of Michael’s boots.

“Really?” Michael says, sounding slightly incredulous. “She’s dating the bigotted asshole who goads you into a fight on a daily basis.”

“Liz has horrible taste in men,” Alex says flatly, not bothering to look up. “That doesn’t make her any less one of my best friends.”

Michael clicks his tongue in disappointment, and then leaves.

Alex ignores the utterly ridiculous feeling of disappointment curling in the pit of his stomach at being left alone, and continues to take notes.

-

The next day, Alex gets to the Crashdown for his shift and finds Michael leaning back against the lamppost right in front, boots crossed at the ankles, body almost at a forty-five degree angle, hands stuffed in his pockets, the damn black cowboy hat dipped low enough to cover his face.

He almost looks like he’d fallen asleep there, and somehow, Alex doesn’t doubt that it’s possible. Michael has been known to fall asleep in the weirdest places, in the weirdest positions.

Before he can ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, Kyle is bursting out of the doors and heading straight for Michael like a bull.

“What the actual fuck, Guerin?” he says, reaching forward to grab Michael, jostling him enough that his hat falls to the floor. “What makes you think it’s okay to just threaten someone who has never done anything to you? You’re lucky Liz is so nice and forgiving or else-”

Kyle stops talking like he ran out of air, a squeak cutting off the flow of words, his hands dropping from where they’d been clenched in Michael’s black jean jacket, but Michael just pushes, stalking forward and trapping Kyle right against the Crashdown door, the switchblade that had been in his pocket pressed to Kyle’s neck.

“Or else what?” he says, sounding honestly curious.

Kyle swallows hard, and doesn’t seem to be able to find anything to say.

Alex looks over to the inside of the diner, and he sees Liz staring at the scene with wide eyes, and saying something to Mr. Ortecho and shaking her head.

Alex sighs, and looks back to where Michael is still looking at Kyle expectantly.

“Guerin,” Alex says, and Michael tilts his head to the side, towards Alex, but he doesn’t move. “Do you really think that you’d be able to get away with murder with these many witnesses?”

Michael exhales like he’s disappointed, but he steps away from Kyle, turning to give Alex a look, before he moves towards where his hat is still on the floor.

Kyle looks at Alex, and Alex can see the gratitude in his eyes, and he shakes his head.

“Don’t get this twisted,” he tells Kyle venomously. “I didn’t do this for you. I just don’t think that Mr. Ortecho needs to deal with the mess your death will leave behind.”

Kyle swallows hard, and there is something like regret in his gaze before he’s looking away from Alex to where Liz is, and then he just nods his head and leaves, heading towards his car.

“You know,” Michael says, the pout clear in his tone, and Alex sighs, looking up to the sky and wondering what the hell he ever did to deserve someone like Michael Guerin in his life. “Everytime that I think I’ve got you pegged, you go ahead and change it up on me. You don’t like that asshole. The world is better off without his homophobia.”

Alex sighs again, and turns to face Michael. 

He wants to ask what Michael’s damage is that he’d immediately turn to knives and murder than literally any other method of problem solving, but at the same time, he really doesn’t want to know.

“Just because Kyle is an asshole, doesn’t mean he deserves to be gutted like a fish in the middle of the sidewalk.”

Michael gives him a look like Alex is naive and doesn’t know any better, “You are way too nice, Manes. It’s going to end up knocking you on your ass one of these days.”

Alex rolls his eyes, “I prefer that than being a bitter, cynical, knife wielding psycho.”

Michael frowns, putting his guard up so fast that Alex blinks a little in surprise.

“Yeah well, at least I can defend myself if someone who is supposed to be taking care of me comes at me with raised fists, can you say the same?” he hisses through his teeth, and stalks closer to Alex, eyes darting down to where Alex has a bruise on his shoulder from landing against the corner of the table, almost like he knows the bruise is there.

Alex just swallows hard and doesn’t say anything and Michael just scoffs, and then puts his hat on before he’s turning around and walking away.

Alex watches him leave and only moves when Liz comes out to ask him if he’s okay.

-

Alex is walking out of his last morning class, wondering if he would have time to drop by the Wild Pony and eat lunch with Maria before having to come back for his one thirty class when he spots Michael sitting down in one of the tables that dot the edges of the quad.

Alex slows down to a stop, and then tells himself that he really doesn’t want to deal with Michael and whatever it is that he thinks he knows about Alex, when Michael turns his face and looks right at Alex, tilting his head in a beckoning gesture.

Alex is walking over to him before he’s consciously made the decision to. He slows his footsteps as he gets closer to the table, and he’s not entirely surprised when Michael pulls up a brown paper bag from his lap, with the Crashdown logo at the front and sets it down on top of the table.

“What? No milkshake?” Alex says as he drops his messenger bag down on the floor and takes a seat across from Michael.

Michael leans down and pulls up a milkshake, paper cup wet with condensation and some of the green colored milkshake that’s melted and sliding down from below the lid.

Alex huffs out a breath, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth so that he doesn’t actually smile, and then he gives in and grabs the bag, pulling out what is obviously his lunch.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says, after Alex sets everything in front of himself and grabs the burger, wrapper crinkling as he opens it.

Alex stops moving and looks at Michael incredulously.

Michael is avoiding his gaze, so Alex just sets his burger down and shakes his head. “You know, everytime that I think I’ve got you pegged, you go ahead and change it up on me.”

Michael scoffs, and turns to look at Alex, lips quirked up too much to be anything but a smile, “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I just don’t like being called a psycho, and I thought that we understood each other.”

The way he says the word ‘understood’ tells Alex what he’s always feared, that the second that Michael looked at him, when they first met, when Alex had been taking their order, and Michael had been sitting between Max and Isobel in one booth at the Crashdown, he’d seen a kindred spirit.

Alex inclines his head once, and grabs the burger again, “And I don’t like it when people tell me that I’m too nice.”

Michael just inclines his head, copying Alex, and just like that Alex knows that they have another understanding.

“I’ve been thinking about picking up a few classes here next semester,” Michael says after a few minutes of silence where Alex finished half of his burger and most of his fries.

“Because going to Roswell Community College is better than continuing at UNM?”

Michael gives him a surprised look, like he hadn't been expecting Alex to know about that, but Max liked to brag about Michael, almost like a proud dad talking about his favorite son, and Alex had been trapped more than once at the milkshake bar, just listening to Max talk.

Michael just shakes his head and leans back in his seat, playing with the paper wrapper that Alex had peeled off from the straw.

“It’s not about the quality of the education,” he says, sounding derisive. “There are things here that Santa Fe doesn’t have.”

Alex raises one eyebrow in question.

Michael just rolls his eyes and tosses the rolled up piece of paper at Alex, hitting him on the cheek.

Alex just continues to eat his lunch and ignores the heat he can feel flashing across his cheeks.

-

Alex is sitting at the same spot he always sits in the library, but he's got his foot kicked up on one of the chairs, since the doctor had told him to keep it elevated, and his hoodie was pulled up and low over his forehead so that he could avoid people staring at the bruise that colored the left side of his face.

It was pretty late, and the library was going to close soon, but Alex barely noticed that as he worked on the problems for his Calculus homework with his earbuds securely in place.

He's got one more problem to do, when something metal and shiny clatters on top of his Calculus textbook.

It takes him a second to realize that it's a knife, one of those throwing knives that are all metal, with a hole on the end you're supposed to hold, and another second to realize exactly who it belongs to.

Still, he stupidly looks up into Michael's pissed off face, that grows even more furious as he takes in the bruise on the side of Alex's face.

Alex looks away from him, picking up the knife by sticking the end of his pencil into the hole on the handle and holds it out to Michael.

"You dropped this," he says.

"Take it," Michael says, almost talking over him. 

Alex's eyes snap to his face at that, "What?"

Michael just inhales, nostrils flaring slightly as he grabs the knife and then holds it out to Alex, the blade pressed against the palm of his hand.

"Take. It," he repeats, the two words each heavy and blunt.

"What?" Alex repeats incredulously.

"Take it," Michael says one more time. "And the next time he comes at you, defend yourself."

Alex shakes his head once, sharply and then he begins to put his books into his bag, standing up too fast, and almost forgetting all about his badly sprained ankle in the process.

He gasps weakly, and drops his bag to plant his hands down on top of the table to help keep his balance as the pain begins to radiate up his leg.

He breathes through the pain and then pushes away from the table, being careful not to shift his weight to his right leg, and he grabs his bag, ignoring Michael who he can feel like a bomb that's about to go off, and walks out of the library, waving to the librarian Ms. Wayne as he goes. 

She gives him a polite smile but Alex can tell that she's worried about him. 

Michael doesn't let him get too far.

He speeds up his steps and walks around Alex, stopping right in front of him and forcing Alex to stop or bump into him. 

"Take it," Michael says again, but he's not brandishing the knife in his face, almost like he already knows that Alex isn't going to take it, but he still wants to instigate this argument.

"No," Alex says firmly, and just gives Michael a look when Michael grits his teeth and glares.

"My dad is an ex airman who was the Master Sergeant before he was dishonorably discharged. If I came at him with a knife, he'd turn it on me before I could even hope to defend myself. I'm not giving him something else to use against me."

Michael is still glaring but not as intensely as before.

Alex just sighs and keeps speaking, "I'm going to be eighteen in a few weeks, and with the money I have saved I'll be able to get my own place, and I'll be legally an adult, able to take care of myself and he won't be able to touch me ever again."

Michael looks away from Alex, a frown on his face, like he understands Alex's logic, but doesn't like it.

"You can still take the knife," he says, looking back at Alex, something pleading in his gaze. "Just so I can feel better."

Alex shakes his head, "Why is this so important to you?"

Michael gives Alex a look like he's questioning his intelligence, and then he steps closer, and it's not like he wasn't already standing inside of Alex's personal space bubble, but this puts him so close that Alex can feel the sweltering heat that he seems to constantly give off no matter what.

Michael doesn't seem to be satisfied with that and he takes another step closer, so that there is no space between them, and Alex can feel Michael's chest expanding as he breathes in.

Alex inhales shakily and thinks about taking a step backwards, but he's punched in the stomach with Michael's scent, spicy and warm from his fading cologne, but also he can smell sweat and oil and bourbon and something underneath that that reminds Alex of the way the air smells right before a summer rain shower.

It's intoxicating, and Alex is leaning towards the smell before he can stop himself, wanting to know if he sticks his nose against Michael's throat, if the smell will be stronger.

Michael huffs, something too much like a laugh, and Alex's eyes flutter open (when had he even closed them?) and Michael is entirely too close, and from this close, his eyes look so big and dark and hypnotic.

But there is something in his gaze, something that Alex recognizes deep in the pit of his stomach, and Alex feels it click into realization, the reason why Michael wants Alex to keep a knife with him.

It's not just that he wants Alex to be safe because he cares about him, but it's also exactly that, but this time, Alex knows that he means it as something else, something more.

The silent understanding sweeps through him, and he sees the moment that Michael figures it out, because his gaze goes softer, and his lips curve into a small smile.

Alex's eyes drop to Michael's mouth, very obviously, and Michael breathes in sharply.

Alex looks back up into Michael's eyes, and he tilts his chin up, swaying even closer, close enough that their noses brush together.

Alex breathes in shakily, and Michael shuffles even closer, his hands coming up to rest gently on Alex's arms.

Michael tilts his head and their lips brush together so lightly that Alex wouldn't call it a kiss, but he feels it sweeping through him like a wildfire, a sensation so sudden and so sharp that Alex shudders with it.

"Alex," Michael says, voice so low that Alex can barely hear him. "I'm going to kiss you now."

Their lips brush together with every word that he says, and Alex feels dizzy and shivery and his stomach is trembling, and he thinks that he might actually go crazy if Michael doesn't actually kiss him, so instead of waiting for Michael to finally move, Alex does.

He lifts his hands up to Michael's face and holds him still, right before he pushes their mouths together.

Michael inhales sharply, going so still that Alex thinks for a second he did something wrong and then Michael surges against him, digging his fingers into Alex's biceps and parts his mouth against Alex's, pressing the tip of his tongue to Alex's mouth.

Alex opens his mouth to Michael's and loses himself in the kiss, dragging his fingers to the back of Michael's head and into his hair, which feels much softer than he'd imagined.

Alex loses track of time as they kiss, and he feels lightheaded with the lack of air, but everytime that Michael pulls back, Alex pulls him back in, not wanting to stop the kiss.

Michael sways a little and pulls Alex with him, and Alex takes a step to the side, and has to pull away from Michael as pain radiates up his leg because he once again forgot about the sprain.

"Fuck," he says into the space between them, breathing heavily.

Michael tugs him in more securely against him, encouraging Alex to lean his weight on him and not on his foot, and Alex wraps his arms around Michael's neck and leans against him, pressing their foreheads together.

"Let me take you home," Michael says, voice breathless and hoarse, hands restless against Alex's back.

Alex nods his head slowly, as he leans in closer and kisses Michael again.