#there should be at least another zipper pocket on the chest but i think this is enough for him

[revivisection]

i thought well. can't have this guy mention flashdrives looking like that (ignore the fact that tunisia is not canon)

[icky-rickyy]

Joy Ride

Motorcyclist!Logan x Motorcyclist!reader

I am currently obsessing over street bike tik tok. Taking a short break from my multi part I am writing to supply this beauty.

Rated: E for everyone.

Should I do a part2

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Marissa, your roommate spoke from her bed. She was laid in snuggly under the covers, chin tucked to her chest and cell phone resting on her abdomen as she dedicated the first half of the day to ‘doom scrolling’ as she called it.

“Yeah why not? I never meet anyone, and I never get to show off. I haven’t gone on a joy ride in months.”

You were tugging the zipper of your armored pants up, making sure they were fastened tightly to your body.

“You’re going to go cruising into a bike meet? A male predominant space and expect to get treated like one of the guys? Your tits are out!” She inched up in her bed, resting her back against the headboard.

“The last time I went to a bike meet was with Ethan. And I went as a backpack. I didn’t even have my own bike to show off, I was just eye candy while riding bitch and holding on to him.”

“And I look better on a bike when my tits are out anyways!” You looked down the front of your white cropped top, tugging the bottom hem down.

“Are you going by yourself?”

“Well….. no. I was going to ask Ethan to meet with me. Buutttt, if you wanna play backpack then I won’t invite him.” You were pulling on a thin zip up jacket, zipping it only a quarter of the way.

“I am so sorry but this is my only Saturday off all month, I am not getting oogled at and then being scared for my life while you drive recklessly.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Kay fine. Don’t be mad when I come home with some biker hottie and we’re knockin boots all night.”

You grabbed your helmet from the end of her bed, tucking it under your arm with a firm slap to the top of it.

“Don’t die, and don’t get any STD’s!” She cheered after you as you headed through your apartment to the front door.

You dialed quickly on your phone, tucking it between your ear and shoulder as you pulled your keys from your pocket. It only took two rings before it answered.

“Uh hello?”

Ethan was on the other side, asking pensively.

“Are you going to the bike meet at the abandoned Jiffy on 10th?” You hung your helmet on the handle bar of your bike, swinging your leg over to mount it.

“Yes. How do you even know about that?” You could hear him shuffling on the other line.

“You’ll see. I’ll be there in 20.”

You hung up the phone quickly, locking it on to your phone stand and reaching for your helmet. You pulled it on over your hair, tucking the loose strands up in the back before fastening it tightly around your chin.

The bike roared to life beneath you, and your heart settled happily in your chest. You were excited for the evening, ready to see what the rest of the day could hold.

You weren’t even sure where to park.

The abandoned parking lot was already half filled with bikes of all shapes and sizes. Riders stood talking to one another while others stayed perched on their motorcycles simply observing or scrolling on their phones. There were at least 30 people stood waiting, and the meet wasn’t meant to actually start for another 10 minuets.

You tried not to shy away from peering eyes as you rolled into the large group of people, looking for an open spot to put the kickstand up on your bike and put it in park.

There was an open spot next to an older model Harley, the owner stood leaning against his bike puffing a half smoked cigar as he looked to the others suspiciously.

It was a stark difference, your bike next to his.

His classic looking motorcycle next to your lilac purple crotch rocket. Dark black leather next to pink and white accents and flashy rims.

You pushed the kickstand down, staying mounted on your bike as you fiddled with the helmet strap. Your hair fell from its tucked in position, setting your helmet on the gas tank and pulling your gloves off to run your hands through your messy helmet hair.

You tried not to look at the man next to you, watching his eyes scan as his large chest huffed with each inhale of his cigar. He had a leather jacket folded on the seat next to him, clad in a white beater tank top and bootcut jeans help up by a large silver belt buckle. His arms were big and muscular, covered by a vast sea of body hair. A tickle of the dark hair peeked up past the neckline of his tank top and teased at the base of his throat.

He looked many years you senior, and hot as fuck.

“Hi, nice to meet you.” You stuck your hand out to him sheepishly, introducing yourself.

“Logan. Like your bike.” He nodded down, eyes narrow with a stern look on his face. His words were curt but friendly.

“Right back at ya.” You chuckled back, pausing your next sentence when your phone began to ring in your pocket.

“Sorry.”

You dismissed yourself, answering Ethan’s incoming call and pressing it to your ear.

“Hey. Yeah. I’m next to an all black Harley. It’ll be hard to miss me. Yep. See you here.” You pushed your phone back into your pocket after ending the call, adjusting your seating on your bike.

Logan was still looking around, watching people walk past and nodding to the few that gawked openly.

A group of girls still wearing their helmets were walking by, whispering and squealing quietly to themselves at the sight of your bike. They all came by to swoon with you, asking where you got it and identifying questions you weren’t unfamiliar with answering.

You could hear the signature roar of Ethan’s bike as he approached, the girls standing near all making a clearing as he pulled in behind you and parking his own bike. He dismounted, swiftly pulling off his helmet.

“Wow. I’m impressed. You might have just out done me.” He stood with his hands on his hips, watching as you pulled your leg over your bike approaching him with a hug.

It had been nearly six months since your breakup that you had last seen Ethan. You tried a few times after the initial ending of your relationship to rekindle, but it never seemed to work out.

“I didn’t even know you got a bike.” He held you proudly by your shoulders, stepping back and putting his hands to his side when the group of people around the two of you finally registered in his brain.

“Well I was tired of being a backpack, what can I say? This is your fault though. You started this addiction.” You laughed open heartedly to him, watching him nod with a smile.

“Well I have a few buddies here to catch up with, but I’ll cruise with you when we get going later.”

You nodded as a quiet response to him, smiling as you watched him walk away and into a group of guys that all hugged and high-fived him happily.

“Boyfriend?” Logan asked from next to you.

You had almost forgot he was there, looming quietly from his bike.

“No.” You laughed to him. “Ex. This is actually the first time we’ve seen each other in months.” You pulled your phone from your pocket again, sending Marissa a quick text that you had arrived safe and sound.

“His loss.” Logan muttered quietly, pulling a final drag of his cigar. You looked over with a flash of shock, watching him smirk as he flicked the tobacco to the ground and stomped it to ash.

All you did was nod with a shy smile, looking to your street shoes and kicking a loose pebble around.

The entire group of bikers waited for another 10 minutes before everyone loaded up. You pulled on your gloves and helmet again, tugging the strap tight and hopping back on to your bike. Ethan mounted his behind you, you both shared an excited glance before you flicked down the visor of your helmet. Logan pulled on his jacket, climbing onto his bike without any protection. He smirked over to you, you blushed behind the darkness of your helmet.

Your whole body was vibrating in excitement when the group of bikes roared to life. There were at least 50 of you. It was too hard to count when the front of the group sped from the parking lot and out into the street.

Ethan replaced Logan’s spot on the side of you, keeping steady pace as you all began to race down the pavement. Logan followed shortly behind.

Passer-bys in their cars all gawked at the lot of you, heads swinging on a swivel as the singular headlights went by in a flash.

The group was picking up speed, going through main traffic until you took enough turns and ended up on an open paved backroad.

Evening was dwindling down, and the traffic was decreasing by the minute. This left the wide open pavement to the entire fleet of motorcycles to cruise in and out of the two lane road.

People were synced up to each others helmets, talking joyfully through about their lives while others shared music with each other in a collective jam session. You typically would enjoy far too loud music while riding, but you left your ears open to hear the herd of rumbling bikes race down the streets and to pick up on any important or urgent comms messages.

Logan managed to squeeze in between you and Ethan, his classic bike groaned and rumbled deeply as he yanked on his throttle in show. You laughed aloud at his ego display, looking between him and the road as he smiled brightly.

Logan leaned over as much as he could from the distance between you, sticking his hand out in invitation. You veered your bike closer to his, placing your hand in his open palm. He clasped his hand around yours, pulling your gloved knuckles up to place a soft kiss upon them. He squeezed your hand before sending you a wink and letting go.

You put your hand over the mouth of your helmet, tilting your head to mock grace at his chivalry. He threw his head back in a laugh, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

When you both quit giggling you watched Logan’s eyes flash dark with mischief. He scanned the area quickly, locating and calculating the closest bikers before he yanked down on his throttle.

His bike was absolutely screeching, hollering in a deep grumble as he pulled down harder and shifted gears. He was flying through the group, weaving in and out of everyone as he accelerated through them all.

You were almost shocked, watching him navigate the group with ease. You watched a few people flash back to you with confusion. You decided, why the hell not, and yanked down on your throttle just as hard.

The wind was whistling against you as you leaned down into the tank of your bike, feeling yourself accelerate even faster with the aerodynamics. It was a flash of headlights and rainbow colored modifications as you passed each biker swiftly in urge to catch up with Logan who was now coasting freely at the front of the group.

Your comms system was catching nearby voices, hearing them whisper in confusion or holler in excitement.

Logan was looking back as often as he could when he heard your bike accelerating behind him, a wide smile on his face when you finally caught up. You flipped up the visor of your helmet.

“You tryna race?” You yelled over to him.

He shook his head from side to side. “Not tonight doll, just wanted to show off a little.”

“Maybe next time?” You inquired with a smile, watching him roll his eyes playfully.

“Yeah, maybe next time.”

It was nearly 10 pm when you all returned back to the abandoned parking lot. Many of the bikers wished a good night as they broke up from the group to head home, the others followed back and were now parked in the meeting spot. Most were walking around in the light of the street lamps engaging in conversation or perusing the parked bikes in admiration.

You’d mainly went back to bid a goodnight to Ethan and then head home, to thank him for showing and for inspiring you to chase this particular fulfillment in your life.

It’s was hard to ever consider a time when you didn’t have a bike. From the moment you met Ethan and you began riding tandem with him, you were obsessed. The adrenaline, the quick feeling of flying through the open roads, the deep contentment that settled your soul and helped you sleep at night.

“Thanks again.” You confirmed to him, seeing his bright smile underneath his helmet. He held your shoulders kindly and his bright blue eyes shimmered down in pride.

“I’m proud of you. I hope you know that.”

You could have teared up at his endearment. Sometimes you wondered what it would have been like if this managed to work out with him.

“Thank you. Let’s plan another time to meet up, maybe without the other seven million people.”

Ethan nodded in confirmation with a laugh, pulling you in for one last tight hug before separating to head to his bike parked nearby.

He waved to the group and his friends as he drove away on his bike, peering out into the road before he filtered into the straying traffic and was gone in a flash.

Logan had still loomed by, leaning against his bike and finishing another cigar. You were ready to leave and head home, but felt compelled to talk to him.

“Thanks for the fun tonight. This was my first ever meet solo and you, uh, you just made it a lot better.” You stuck out your hand as a formality.

Logan reached out and shook it, his large hand wrapping around your gloved one like earlier.

“Thank you for playing along. Recklessness can get boring.”

You chuckled in response, nervously tucking your hand into your pocket and looking to the ground.

“Hey?” Logan asked, tentatively reaching for the bottom of your helmet. He tugged you closer, tilting your head up to look up at him.

“Let’s do this again, just you and I? Next week on Tuesday work?” He puffed a cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

You nodded wordlessly.

“Meet here? 10 am?”

You nodded again.

“Perfect. Good night, and get home safe doll.” He released his grip on your helmet, watching you stay frozen in shock. He stomped out his cigar like he did earlier, mounting his bike swiftly.

You watched in awe as he rumbled it to life. He sent a flirty wink before pulling up his own kickstand. Logan flew out of the parking lot and into the street.

“Oh fuck me.” You groaned, flicking down the visor of your helmet and mounting your own bike to head home.

[tadcccallmyocs]

Bring back Tether part 2

Tether and Ashrani were still sitting together when the Portland opened again, and an orange furball rocketed through the portal and slid across the floor into the opposite wall. Ashrani hid behind her interdimensional sister as Tether stood to confront the strange presence.

Tether "wh--Who are you?"

Totes "Urk, that was worse than Caine's teleporting-- I'm Totes. And you must be Tether."

The ferret-person stood up slowly, looming taller than anyone Tether or Ashrani had ever seen. Needless to say, they were both intimidated. In spite of the newcomer's goofy smile.

Tether "h-how do you know my name?"

Totes "Well, it's a long story... one we don't really have time for right now."

Totes then reached for the zipper at the base of their neck, unzipping it to reveal a mostly empty pocket in their chest. It looked big enough to fit a person inside-- which, to Tether's horror, was the plan.

Totes "Alright kid, get in! I'm taking you home marsupial-style!"

Tether: "n-No way!"

Tether backed away from the strange animal, remembering her parents warning about going off with strangers. Besides the general bad vibes, this person reminded them just a bit of Jax between their toothy grin and mammalian appearance. She put on her brave face-- the one that was color-inverted-- and further confronted Totes.

Tether "Why should I trust you-- I've never met you before! Why would my parents send you, of all people?!"

Totes took a moment, smile falling away as they came up with an answer that would prove their intentions.

Totes "Well in truth it wasn't your parents that sent me... it was your best friend, Harley."

Tether "Then I don't-- did you say Harley?"

Tether's expression turned, and in doing so they notices that Tote's had also changed-- their serious expression had a touch of sadness to it.

Totes "Yeah, she's real worried about you. Every one in your server is, by the looks of it. Zooble was a bit too busy beating the [#$ಠ⁠益⁠ಠ!%] out of Caine for porting me in instead of you, so I went ahead and sent myself here. Which sure, maybe not the best idea, but how many servers have people with names that start with T? I have no idea what that chatterbox was thinking--"

Tether "Ok fine-- I believe you."

Tether gave Ashrani a quick goodbye hug and then climbed into the ferret's pouch. Once they were fully inside, Totes zipped the hole closed.

Totes "Ok, get comfortable-- oh, and if you find any chocolate bars in there, don't eat them. It's uh... mushroom-flavored."

Tether "Eww! Why would you have mushroom-flavored chocolate?!"

Totes "Well the flavor isn't really the selling point-- oh, here we go, portals activating! Hold on Tether!"

There was another lurch of teleportation, and once again Totes was standing in front of the same mix of half and full strangers. Kinger's finger was still pressing the recall button.

Kinger "Ah--! Sorry, wanted to see if it worked. Guess I pressed it too soon..."

Cathin "well at least you bring the guy back... but not the child"

Zooble "Where's my child, weasel?"

Gangle "Oh no, did you not find her in time?" Gangle asked, tears welling up from her eyes.

Totes "Relax, your timing was perfect-- and I'm a weasel of my word!"

Totes unzipped their pocket, and inside was Tether-- dazed from the teleportation, but fine.

Tether "h-Hi everyone. I'm really sorry about disappearing like that--"

Harley "TE-TE!"

Totes "Whoa!"

Harley didn't wait for Tether to get out of Totes, tackling both to the ground to hug her friend. Soon Zooble and Gangle joined in, and it became a group hug.

Harley "I'm so, so, SO glad you're ok! We were so worried when you started to abstract!"

Tether "y-You were?"

Gangle "Of course we were-- we love you Tether."

Zooble "You're still grounded... but, I'll count the days you were gone."

The hug may have went on forever, but then Caine hovered over.

Caine "Harley darling, your enthusiasm is delightful-- but it seems to have been a bit much for our new friend!"

They glanced over to Totes who-- between the disorientation of being recalled and the fall-- was out cold.

Harley "Oops... sorry."

Jax "Great, we're stuck with the weasel for a while.”

(totes and this writing is made by @enby-denby, this Collab has come to an end thanks to @spookykittyzzz to be so awesome to made this arc possible and I hope some of you have questions like Harley and Tether know what abstraction is or more things let me know have a nice day)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Night🌙10

Warnings: noncon sexual acts, angry Andy, hormones

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: One night changes your entire life.

for @kittykatlow​‘s 200 Follower Celebration

Note: Another update? Who is this bitch actually trying?

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The bus chugged down the city streets as you sat closer to the back. You stared out the window and watched the grey sky of Nelson hanging overhead, a cloudy backdrop to the smoking city. 

You sighed every now and then, trying to forget the beeping and when it stopped. You still felt Andy’s hand on your back and the suffocating silence of the drive home. The burden of the dead woman on your shoulders.

It was as if it had been years since you saw the slightly crooked pole that held the bright sign. The bus stop was as desolate as ever, the dirty bench marked with spray paint and the shelter glass cracked. You set off around the corner past the house. Each was familiar but not comforting.

Your hips hurt from the stiff ride and you rubbed your stomach. You wore one of Andy’s hoodies under your open jacket, the zipper of the latter no longer meeting. You stopped in front of your parents’ house. You hadn’t asked permission; not from your mother, your father, or Andy. There was no courtesy phone call so you hesitated, afraid you might be sent away.

It was noon. Your father would be in the garage. He always had some project going. That was his work. He was cheaper than any other mechanic in the city, he just did it all from home. He could recycle parts from the junkyard and charge half price. They usually did better than the newer parts sent away for down at the Jiffy.

You walked up the driveway, the garage door was only halfway open, the bite of the late autumn, rather the early winter, mingled with the warmth flowing under the metal. You tapped on it with your knuckles, “dad?” you called.

You stepped back as his oily hands gripped the bottom and he hauled it up entirely. He tilted his head at you but couldn’t hide his smile. He looked at your stomach and you dropped your hand. He drew you to him before you could react. He hugged you tight and rocked you.

“Your mother’s gonna be mad you didn’t call before you came,” he let go of you and looked you over again.

“Mad that I’m even here,” you remarked.

“No, she might act like it but…” he waved you into the garage and rolled over the little stool he sat on when he was working. He helped you sit and put his wrench on the plywood table against the wall, “she missed you. We both did.” he wiped his hands on his jeans, “you could have called us. You know how she is. She feels before she thinks.”

“She kicked me out,” you felt precarious on the little rolling stool, “you let her.”

“So why’d you come back?” he asked.

You hung your head and hugged your stomach, “well, I’m having your granddaughter. I didn’t want you to find out from anyone but me.”

“It’s a girl?” he grinned.

“Sorry, wish I could give you a boy to get all filthy in this place,” you shrugged.

“You never minded getting your hands dirty,” he neared and grasped your shoulder.

“Yeah, guess it doesn’t matter too much, she’ll be as curious as any kid,” you said.

You were quiet as you looked around. Your dad’s rolling chest of tools was dented and rusted, the same one he’d had your whole life. The place hadn’t changed, only the car sitting in it.

“That’s not the only reason you’re here,” he said. Your father was a simple man but he wasn’t dumb.

You frowned and felt a prick in your eyes. The hormones, you told yourself, they were getting to you.

“I need you guys,” you said quietly, “is that so bad?”

“I missed you, you’re mom did too, she’s just stubborn. Think that’s where you get it,” he turned his hand over and held it out to you, “but she won’t turn you away.”

“You sure?”

“I won’t let her. Not this time,” he bent and took your hand, “now come on.”

You let him help you to your feet and he led you through the side door into the house. You heard your mother’s old Patsy Cline CD droning from the box speakers on the shelf as she muttered to herself. 

Your dad kicked the dirty off his boots and you slipped your own off. You followed him and peeked over his shoulder as he went to the living room. Your mother was wiping down the framed picture from your high school graduation.

“I got a surprise for you,” he announced as he stepped aside and beckoned you in alongside him, “and she’s got a surprise for you.”

Your mother turned and froze. Her lips formed a straight line and her eyes pierced you. She didn’t say anything as he stared at you then tossed the dusting cloth onto the table beside the lamp. She looked down at your feet.

“You remembered to take your shoes off,” she said.

Your lips parted and your chest gripped. She was still mad.

“You remembered us,” she swept over to you so quickly, you flinched. She hugged you and her middle met yours. She let go and looked down at your stomach. Her eyes were sad but not angry, “I’m…” she lifted her head and met your gaze, “I’m not good at saying it but I’m sorry.”

You watched her for a minute. She was still her mother as nasty as she’d been. You could see her regret and it coupled with your own. It didn’t fix everything but for her, it was a lot.

“I’m sorry too,” you breathed, “it was… me being stupid started all of this. I just didn’t know what to do.”

“You gotta tell her,” your dad intoned.

You glanced at him then back to your mom. You gulped, “we found out yesterday, it’s a girl.”

“We? And where is… he?” your mother bristled.

“Working,” you said.

“We went to the diner, they said you quit. The café too,” your mom batted away lashes, “please, sit.” She touched your stomach, “you’re so big.”

“Five months, I think,” you said as you let her take you to the old floral sofa, “and the doctor recommended I take it easy so I had to… leave.”

“Oh? Is something wrong with the baby?” she picked up her cloth again and resumed her dusting. Your father quietly excused himself.

“No, just me,” you leaned against the arm, “but they said my blood pressure is getting better, just have to check it now and again.”

“And that man? The least I can say is at least he’s taking responsibility, even if he is married,” your mom hung the picture back on the nail.

“It was a mistake,” you said, “but you know, I think it’s taught me a lot. Not that it was worth it.”

“I don’t mean to rag on you, but… it’s just not how it should be,” she went to the television stand and focused on the edges.

“You think I don’t know that. Mom, I didn’t come here to argue my morality. I came here…” you paused as you felt your phone buzz. You slid it from your jacket pocket and checked the ID; Andy. You ignored it and dropped it back inside, “I just wanted to see if you had any interest in your granddaughter.”

She spun back and her face wrinkled with sadness. She twisted the cloth and retreated to the rocking chair and sat. She chewed her lip and looked at the floor. When she looked at you again, her brows crinkled.

“I’m trying,” she said, “but what you did, I don’t know if I can’t get over that. That man, everyone knows him, and when it comes out, with his wife still in a coma, you don’t think about what that does to us.”

“Well,” your throat constricted and you held back the hot tears bubbling behind your eyes, “she’s not anymore.”

“What?”

“She… she passed last night,” you sniffed, “and I’ll admit that I came here as much for me as you. I just needed… needed to get away. Just for a little.”

Your phone went off again and you grunted as you pulled it out and swiped away the second call from Andy. You kept the phone in your hand and rested it against your thigh.

“I just need time,” your mom leaned back heavily.

“Well, it’s quickly running out,” you replied, “she’s gonna be here soon enough.”

“I know,” she said grimly, “I know.”

There was another silence and your phone twitched. You turned it over and checked the message on the screen; ‘why don’t you invite your parents for dinner if you’re not gonna answer me?’ You let the phone slip between your legs and slowly raised your eyes. How did he know?

“I can go, if it’s too much,” you said, “I didn’t expect to get past the front door, honestly.”

“It’s not-- you’re still my daughter,” she uttered, “and even if it’s not the best situation, you got my granddaughter too.”

Your phone began to shake between your legs and you huffed, “sorry,” you stood with effort as you snatched the phone up, “just a second.”

You went into the dining room and answered. You hissed into the phone, “what do you want, Andy?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going there?” he asked sharply.

“How do you even know? You following me?” you kept your voice low.

“I know, that’s all,” he retorted, “it is… surprising.”

“They’re my parents,” you scowled at the tabletop as you leaned on a chair.

“Mine, too, right? Considering--”

“Andy,” you warned, “come on. Let’s cut this out--”

“Invite them for dinner. You’re right. Our kid will need her grandparents,” he interrupted, “I’ll get off early and help.”

“I don’t think--”

“Invite them,” he demanded, “and don’t take the bus back. I’ll send you the money for a cab.”

“Jesus, I can take care of myself--”

“No, you can’t, which is why you’re sleeping under my roof. And this isn’t about you, it’s about the baby,” he exhaled and you heard a squeak of metal, likely a chair, “Now I want you home by two. I’ll be there shortly after.”

He hung up before you could argue. You closed your eyes and forced down the angry bile in your chest. You shuttered and tucked the phone back in your jacket. How did he know you were there?

🌙

Your parents agreed to dinner. Your mother wasn’t subtle that she was curious to see Andy’s house. Her judgement was always her driving motivation and you were certain she could find something to hate, even in the suburban utopia. 

You took the bus out of defiance and brewed with anger as you got off just outside the cul-de-sac. You walked the single block to Andy’s and paced like an angry lioness inside.

He arrived at three, just after. Your anxiety boiled with anger and you stopped to face him as he entered. You watched him put down his briefcase and hang his long black coat. Your nostrils flared as you braced yourself for the onslaught ready to spill forth.

“So, you weren’t following me?” you challenged.

“I was working,” he said quietly, “to pay for all of this…” he pointed to the ceiling, “and that,” he pointed to your bump.

“No, Andy, you don’t get to do that every time,” you snarled, “how did you know?”

He didn’t answer and brushed by you. You followed him into the kitchen as he went to the coffee machine and pressed the buttons bluntly. You watched him from a foot away, your hand on the cold marble.

“You can’t just ignore me. How did you know I was there?”

“Because…” he grabbed a mug and filled it with water. He poured it into the machine and snapped the lid shut, “because you have my baby and I have a right to make sure you don’t take it from me.”

“That’s not an answer,” you sneered, “Andy, I have done everything you’ve wanted. I have stayed here, I have quit my jobs, I have kept this baby for you, and you… you’re what? Tracking me like a dog?” You reached into your back pocket and slammed your phone on the counter. You slid it over to him, “when did you do it?”

His jaw ticked as he put a pod into the machine and hit start. He tapped his fingers on the counter and let out a long breath through his nose. He turned to you and crossed his arms.

“After you stayed out that night. I couldn’t worry like that again. I had to know,” he said staunchly, “because I’ve had a wife go out and not come back. A child--”

“I’m not your wife and I won’t ever be. This child is all we have in common,” you rebuffed, “even after last night. What you did, that doesn’t change things.”

You nearly tripped as he marched towards you. He had you against the far wall, his hand planted on either side of your head as his anger rippled across his forehead and set his jaw square. You pressed yourself against the pure white wall and tried not to wither.

“I did that for you,” he breathed, “I’ve done everything for you. Don’t act like you’re the only one doing shit.”

“Andy, get away--”

“No,” he punched the wall and you gasped, “my wife is gone. Jacob is gone! This is all I have; you, my daughter…that’s everything and I will be damned if I’m going to let you take any of it away from me.”

“You’re scaring me,” you wisped, “Andy, please--”

“No, you shut up and you listen. This is the last time we have this conversation. Your parents are coming and you’re going to be good. You’re going to wear something nice, you’re going to cook something good, and you’re going to smile. You don’t let them see you crack, not once.”

“You can’t--”

“Enough!” he hit the wall again and you heard it crumple under the force, “if you don’t, they won’t be around. Ever. Do you understand me?” you gaped up at him and trembled, you shook your head in disbelief. He leaned in and spoke softly to you, “Understand that I will make sure you and no one else ever sees them again.”

“You… wouldn’t…”

“I could. I will. You’re fucking bitch of a mom deserves it,” he hissed, “so, honey,” he growled the second word, “what’s it gonna be?”

Your lip quivered and you searched his face. The rage had his blue eyes alight and his breath rasped out like animalistic snarls. You thought of Laurie, of how blank he’d been when they stopped the machines. And that smile, after. What was that?

“I’ll… be good,” you murmured, “I will.”

His lips twitched and he shoved himself away from you. He stomped over to the fridge and took out the light cream. He added it to his mug of fresh coffee and stirred. You stood straight shakily and looked up at the hole beside your head.

“Well,” he said, “better figure out what you’re making for dinner. Our guests won’t be long.”

[sir-subpar]

Where have you been? (Part 2)

*Warning: Blood/Gore*

Five weeks. That's how long Boyfriend had been missing. Five weeks with still no sign of the blue-haired man, it was starting to drive Pico mad. The longer this went on, the harder it was for Pico to think positively. He was starting to struggle with sleep, sometimes going days without so much as a wink of rest. His fiery orange hair was messy from him constantly running his fingers through it. It was hard to relax when someone you care about was unaccounted for. Whitty and Hex were still helping out, which Pico appreciated, but it did little to ease his fears. The three of them met up and searched for Boyfriend as often as they could.

It was late in the afternoon, another day going by with no luck finding Boyfriend. The trio had resorted to putting up missing posters for Bf, splitting up to scatter them around town. It did little to help, especially when random vandals would tear them down or draw all over them. Every time Pico saw one of the posters being ruined it pissed Pico off to no end. He didn't think it was possible to want to strangle a graffiti artist as much as he did. By some miracle of willpower he refrained from doing so (that, and he didn't know who was doing it). Pico sighed angrily as he hung another poster, his thumb turning white as he pushed the tacks into a wooden pole. His gaze lingered on the poster. In the picture, Bf was smiling. He looked so happy.. Pico felt his chest tighten around his heart. It felt hard to breathe, but not impossible. He clutched the front of his vest, fidgeting with the teeth of the zipper. Pico could only imagine what Boyfriend was going through, and his imagination was not kind. As much as he tried to ignore the worst possibilities, he struggled to stay positive. 

What if Boyfriend was dead? 

He hated the idea. He didn't want to think about it. Surely he was alive. He had to be somewhere! Anywhere! He couldn't be dead! Pico tried to ground himself by thinking of other possibilities. Maybe Bf was just hiding from everyone because he didn't want Gf and her family to know where he was. Pico grit his teeth as more anger suddenly rose from his core. Girlfriend… he was honestly starting to resent her. Sure, most people don't want to see their ex after a breakup. Pico understood that, sure, whatever. But when someone goes missing, it's good to help find them. Especially when you're the last one to have seen them…

Pico was suddenly brought back to reality when he heard his phone buzzing in his pocket. Whitty was calling. The two exchanged phone numbers after they went to that diner weeks ago. Pico tapped the green icon to answer, and brought the phone to his ear. "Hey Whitty. What's up?" Pico asked, his anger faded a bit, now being distracted with the sound of Whitty's voice. "I just wanted to let you know that Hex can't help us for a few days. He's got some computer virus that's apparently been a bitch to remove." Whitty sounded agitated. Pico figured he was probably worried about his best friend. "Is he gonna be ok?" Pico asked, he was already missing one person, he didn't want to lose another. "Yeah, some tech guy's helping him out. He should be fine soon..." Whitty paused. "Hey, do you want to meet up? I'm out of posters to hang." Whitty's tone changed a bit, Pico couldn't quite figure out why, but he brushed it off. It didn't matter anyway. "Yeah, I'll pick you up. Where are you?"

…

Pico drove in silence as Whitty sat in the passenger seat. He felt a little bad for the bomb man as even with the seat pushed all the way back, he barely fit in the car. Pico's car just wasn't designed with people over 8ft tall in mind. Whitty had the chair leaned back so he wouldn't hit his head on the ceiling, his knees were bent just so he could fit in the car. Whitty's hands were in his pockets, despite the lack of space in the car, he seemed like he was relaxing a bit. 

"Hey Pico." Whitty broke the silence. Pico let out a hum, signaling he was listening. "I had this random idea for the next place we should check."  "Hmm?" Was Pico's only reply. He was tired, but he wasn't gonna quit for the day just yet. "You know that bridge close to the freeway? The one over the ditch?" Pico had to think for a moment before he caught on. "You think he might be hiding out in the ditch?" Pico asked, a little glimmer of hope making itself known. Whitty shrugged. "Maybe. I dunno. It's a common place to hide." Pico turned on his blinker, he had to drive to the opposite side of town to get there but at this rate it wasn't a big deal. If there was even a chance of Boyfriend being there, he had to take it. He had to make sure Bf was safe. 

…

After Pico parked the car, he and Whitty climbed down into the dry ditch. It was now night, the darkness making it hard to see anything. Except Whitty's eyes, that is. In the complete darkness, Pico noticed Whitty's orange eyes were glowing. He could partially see the tall man's body as the warm light from his eyes reflected off of him. Pico found it fascinating. It was oddly comforting, like a fireplace. Pico found himself getting lost in them.

 "... Pico?" Whitty's voice interrupted Pico's stupor. Turns out the inside of Whitty's mouth glowed too. "Huh? What?" Pico asked, a little lost thanks to his little daydream. "Are you alright? You seemed out of it." Whitty asked, shifting awkwardly as he stood. Pico felt uneasy, did Whitty see something in the dark that he hasn't noticed yet? Were they alone? Pico quickly shoved his hand in his pocket and whipped out his flashlight. As soon as he turned it on, and the light flooded the ditch, he realized no one else was near them (at least no one was close enough to see). So why was Whitty uncomfortable? Like someone was staring at him? 

Wait… 

Pico had almost physically face-palmed. He was staring at Whitty. He just stood there in silence and stared at this dude's face in the darkness. From Whitty's point of view, that probably came off as creepy. Now he felt a bit guilty for being so weird. Damn it, he had to say something to break this weird silence! But what? Should he apologize? Or just brush it off so they don't have to talk about it? 'Damn it Pico, say something! Anything!' He mentally chastised himself. Just when he was about to blurt out what probably would have been nonsense, Whitty piped up. "Did my eyes creep you out?" Whitty asked, sounding disheartened. Pico suddenly panicked, speaking before his brain could filter it. "What- No! No. Not at all. Your eyes are cool! Like a jack o lantern or something. They're neat! They like.." Pico cleared his throat to compose himself again. He had to give a rational response. "I think your eyes are fascinating. I didn't mean to offend you, I just got distracted. I'm sorry." Pico's face turned a light shade of pink out of embarrassment. He hoped his disjointed response would somehow make the situation less awkward. Whitty's eyes widened, and his cheeks glowed a bit as his expression shifted from surprised to bashful. He started rubbing the back of his head, a nervous habit, Pico assumed. "I… thanks. I've had people say my eyes remind them of Jack O lanterns before, but I think this is only the second time someone's used it as a compliment. Bf was the first." Whitty confessed, his tone sounding fond. Pico smiled a bit, of course B would say something like that. Pico snapped out of his trail of thought before he got more distracted with reminiscing. "Speaking of… we should get back to looking for him." Pico stated, bring their focus back to the task at hand. Whitty nodded. The two chose to walk throughout the ditch, hopefully they'd eventually find a sign of Boyfriend under these bridges. 

Each step they took echoed off of the cement around them. It was a little eerie. Pico was glad that he wasn't alone, Whitty seemed like he could hold his ground. It was comforting. After a few minutes, they came across a blanket laid out next to a few plastic water bottles. They couldn't necessarily say they belonged to Boyfriend, but it felt like they were on the right track at least. They continued their walk, hoping to find more signs of Bf. A few more mostly uneventful minutes went by, then they saw someone not too far ahead of them. Pico lowered his light a bit so it wasn't shining in their eyes, but he could still see them pretty clearly. They were leaning their back against the wall of the ditch with their arms crossed. They had what appeared to be a goat skull for a head with long horns er.. Horn. Pico noticed that one of their horns had clearly been broken off. Their face had multiple large cracks all over it. He wore a dark blue hoodie that matched his hat. His jeans were either a darker shade of blue or black, Pico couldn't quite tell. The skull-faced stranger had turned their head to look at Pico and Whitty, clearly having noticed Pico's flashlight. His black eye sockets with glowing yellow pupils staring them down. Pico admittedly got a shady vibe from him, but he was accustomed to shady people due to his type of work. He decided to approach the man, but not get too close, he just needed to know if he had seen Boyfriend. "Hey. Mind we ask you something?" Pico called, hoping the stranger would cooperate. "What do you want?" The horned stranger rudely snapped in a clear Russian accent, he was clearly agitated. Pico wasn't that fazed by the man's rudeness, again, he was used to that kind of behavior (not to mention he wasn't all that polite or well mannered himself). "We just have some questions. We're looking for a friend of ours, maybe you've seen him around." The man appeared to relax a bit after hearing that. His expression was less aggressive. "What does your friend look like?" He asked, his tone a bit less harsh than before. Pico pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his gallery until he found a picture of him and Boyfriend. He turned the phone around to face the man. As soon as he saw the photo, his eye sockets widened, and he tilted his head back a bit in surprise. "Boyfriend?" The man questioned.

Now it was Whitty and Pico's turn to be surprised. "You know him?" Whitty asked, bewildered at the man's recognition of Bf. "Yes, we are… acquainted. I see him a lot lately." That, admittedly, made Pico angrier than it probably should have. This guy knew where Bf was while no one else did. B had trusted this guy instead of Pico? Or Whitty? Pico once again asked himself the question that plagued his mind for weeks. 'Why didn't he come to me?' Pico tightened his grip on his flashlight. He should be glad. They finally had a potential lead. Pico forced the irrationality down for what felt like the 100th time that day. "Do you know where he is?" 'Please. Tell me you know where he is.'  Pico begged internally. The man nodded his head in a 'sort of' fashion. "I know where he's been hiding lately. It's not too far from here." He looked around a bit, as if checking to see if they were alone. "You know that little theater on Chavez road? The closed one? He's been around there lately. You'll find him if you go there." Pico suddenly felt a small rush of relief. That sounded promising. "Thank you, Mr..?" "Tabi" "Thank you Tabi. We appreciate it. Oh! I'm Pico, by the way. This is Whitty." Whitty waved, and Tabi nodded in acknowledgment. Tabi bagan to walk away. "Take care of Boyfriend you too. He's fragile right now." He called before departing. "We will," Whitty replied, "Thank you." Pico mumbled one more time before he and Whitty rushed towards the car. 

…

For the first time in weeks, Pico felt hope. He felt almost giddy in a sense. Soon this nightmare could be over. Soon Bf could be safe. But there was still a chance that they wouldn't find Bf. There were a lot of emotions running rampant in his head. Nerves, excitement, doubt. He couldn't remember the last time he was this conflicted. Various 'what ifs' both positive and negative coming forth to give their piece of mind. Pico gripped the steering wheel of his car tightly, his knuckles turning white. 

Tabi's words echoed in his head. 'Take care of Boyfriend, he's fragile right now.'   

Was this all really because of Bf and Gf's breakup? It just felt extreme. Most people don't go missing for weeks after a breakup. Especially Boyfriend. This was out of character for him. He hated being alone. There was more to it. There had to be. Pico was sure of it. 

Pico pulled over as the old theatre came into view. The decorative walls were a bit worn, but still beautiful. He knew this old place fairly well, it made him a little sad when it was shut down. Pico and Whitty stepped out of the car. Whitty stretched his arms, glad he could stand at his full height again. The bomb man looked at the various posters on the theater's walls, each one advertised some sort of play or performance. "Huh." Was all Whitty said. "What's up?" Pico asked. "I don't know why, but I thought this was going to be a movie theater. I didn't realise it was one of those performing arts places." Whitty replied. Pico turned to Whitty. "You've never been here before?" Pico asked, genuinely surprised. Whitty only shook his head in response. "Aw man, that's a bummer. This place was nice. It was family-owned, a local theater, ya know? It went bankrupt, but when it was open it was cool… B loved it here." Pico's tone shifted as he reminisced. Going from casual to bittersweet. Whitty tilted his head curiously, waiting for Pico to continue. He didn't make eye contact with Whitty, instead focusing his gaze on the theater's doors. "Ya know… sometimes, after a show, the owners would let B and I use the stage. We'd sing there for as long as they let us. We did it almost every week." Pico couldn't help but feel nostalgic. He remembered those times so well. It was years ago, back when he and B were together. They were memories he cherished. "Sounds like it was fun." Whitty commented briefly. "It was." Pico's tone continued to be bittersweet. Deep down, he hoped that he and Boyfriend could have what they did back then. He always regretted letting B go, but never said anything. Once Boyfriend found someone else, he figured he'd never have a chance again. Pico's vision started to blur slightly. 'Goddammit Pico! Now's not the time!' He mentally chastised himself, he didn't want to cry. Not when Bf was still lost. Not in front of Whitty. He was able to bury this before, he could do it again. Pico did his best to refocus on the task at hand. He needed to stop doing this. 

Pico cleared his throat.

"A-Anyway, we should look for Boyfriend. He's probably around here somewhere." Whitty nodded. Pico was thankful that Whitty didn't pry into his emotions. He'd rather NOT talk about that at the moment, thank you very much. "Let's check inside." Whitty proposed, Pico gave a brief sound of agreement before pulling the front door's handle. Surprisingly it was unlocked. Was Tabi right? Was Boyfriend here? Did he unlock it? Pico made a mental note about the door and continued inside, Whitty following just behind him. Once again he needed his trusty flashlight. The theater was usually dark as is, but it was extra dark with it being the middle of the night. While in said darkness, Pico was briefly reminded of earlier that night when he stared at Whitty's eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time. Pico's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. This was definitely going to be one of those memories that kept him up at night whenever he thought about it. Then, Pico had another thought. "Hey Whitty." "Hm?" "How come you haven't been using a flashlight too? I mean, I don't mind sharing mine, I'm just curious." Pico hoped it wasn't a rude question. "Oh, well, uh.." Whitty began, Pico once again noticing how the inside of Whitty's mouth glowed like his eyes. "I don't really need a flashlight. I can see in the dark." Whitty's cheeks glowled orange a bit, now Pico was convinced that was how Whitty blushed. He found it kinda endearing, to be honest. "That's really cool. Wish I could do that." Pico said and chuckled a bit, feeling a bit lighter in spirit. Whitty also laughed coyly, feeling a bit flattered. "Let's check out the stage first." Whitty directed, already walking towards it. "Yeah, good idea." Pico agreed, following suit. The 'house' was dusty, and the seats clearly hadn't been used in a while. Well, most of them hadn't. Pico paused, getting a better look. He quickly noticed that a few of them had been folded out, the armrests were raised, and what looked like a shiney red blanket was draped across them. Someone had been using them as a makeshift bed, Pico realized. Someone was definitely here. "Psst, hey Whitty." Whitty turned around to face him, Pico waved his hand in a 'come here' gesture. Whitty nodded and approached him. 

The tall bomb headed man leaned over Pico, looking down the same row of seats he was. It didn't take him long to catch on. "We must be on the right track. Wait, is that a curtain?" Whitty reached over Pico to pick up and hold the 'blanket' which was, in fact, part of a stage curtain that had been cut. Pico felt his heart clench. B was using a curtain for a blanket, he must be cold. Pico looked at the chairs/bed. One of the seats had a pile of clothes/costumes haphazardly bunched together, probably being used as a pillow. This was just… sad. Bf didn't deserve to live like this. 

While Pico looked at the seats, Whitty took a second to inspect the curtain. It was red on one side, and white on the other side- wait, no, the other side had red too. In weird splotches and smear-like patterns. Whitty held it stretched out in front of him, the white and red patterned side facing him. The patterns looked inconsistent not just in size and shape, but in hue as well. Some of the red splotches looked darker almost..wet, while others looked faded, like stains. Whitty touched one of the darker red spots with his thumb, surprised when it was actually wet. Realization suddenly dawned on him, this wasn't a pattern. Now he was worried. "Hey Pico?" His scratchy voice quietly called, Pico turned around to look Whitty in the eyes. Whitty held the curtain in a way that only let Pico see the shiney full-red side and not the 'patterns'. "I'm not entirely human, so correct me if I'm wrong but… human blood is red, right?" Pico gave him a confused and worried look, then nodded hesitantly. "That's what I was afraid of." Whitty admitted, turning the curtain around so Pico could see. Pico's white eyes shot open wide, before giving Whitty a panicked look. Pico's heart dropped.

Just as Pico was about to say something, there was a loud *CRASH* from a distance. 

Pico and Whitty's attention snapped towards the stage, it looked like a shelf had fallen over from backstage. Frantic footsteps could be heard. Neither of them had to say anything, they both bolted towards all the noise. Running up the small stairs to the stage. They ran towards the backstage area. Their own footsteps echoing as their shoes hit the wooden floorboards. Whitty, with his longer strides, took the lead ahead of Pico. Once they arrived at the backstage room, they saw the metal Exit door slowly closing. Whitty slammed it back open, dashing through it, Pico not far behind him. Once outside, they had stumbled into a fenced in parking lot. Street lights illuminated the empty lot, now they could see the other person running away from them. They were short, around Pico's height. They had a black hoodie on, the hood was up so they couldn't see their head. Even so, Pico was sure that it was Boyfriend. It had to be. 

The hooded person ran into the parking lot's locked gate. Attempting to climb over it, but they weren't fast enough. Pico and Whitty were on their tail. They still tried, though. They were clearly struggling to get up the fence's bars, it looked like they kept slipping, like they couldn't grip the bars. Just as they were about to make another attempt to climb, Whitty caught up to them. The tall bomb man swiftly wrapped his hands around their torso, easily lifting them off the ground. Like holding a kitten. They helplessly swung their arms and legs, attempting to free themself from Whitty's grip. Amidst all their wild flailing, the hood came down, revealing a familiar face with blue hair. Boyfriend. They found him.

"N-no! Let me go! P-Put me down!" Boyfriend yelled, his voice filled with panic. His eyes were closed, and tears soaked his cheeks. Whitty knelt down to bring Boyfriend closer to the ground, still not letting go. "Hey! Hey… Boyfriend, it's just us. It's okay." Whitty did his best to keep his scratchy voice steady, hoping to calm down the terrified bluette. Despite not having the most soothing voice, it seemed to help a bit. Bf stopped flailing and yelling for the moment, his eyes snapped open. He seemed to have come to a sudden halt. His fearful eyes scanned the environment around him. Pico tried to approach him slowly, he didn't want to spook the poor guy more, but he too, was shaking. He had seen Boyfriend scared before, sure, but not like this. This was a new level of absolute terror. He looked so… fragile. Like if someone so much as flicked him, he'd fall to pieces. This was a far cry from the Boyfriend Pico knew. The dumb, reckless, confident man was no where to be found. What really struck Pico though, was the noticeable dampness of Boyfriend's hoodie sleeves. Pico figured he must have been injured, and he had to help. 

In the moment though, he was overwhelmed. He was happy that they found him. He was also worried about him. Part of him was angry. After all the weeks spent searching for Boyfriend, after spending those weeks bottling up all his frustrations, fears, grief, worry. He had reached his tipping point. He couldn't hold back anymore. The tears in his own eyes couldn't be stopped this time. Pico threw away his inhibitions, and just ran up to hug Boyfriend. Pico buried his face in the crook of Boyfriend's neck, and dug his fingers into his blue hair. He was there, they actually found him. And he'd be damned if he lost Bf again. His own face was wet with tears. "G-god Damn it you- you fucking idiot. Don't scare me like that again. F-fuck." Pico's voice shook, sobbing, his cries making it harder to speak. Whitty let go of Boyfriend's torso, instead wrapping his arms around both Pico and Boyfriend, trying not to cry himself (emphasis on tried). A few of his hot, orange tears fell onto the other two boys, but neither seemed to notice.

After a few moments, Whitty and Pico pulled back from the hug. Pico kept his hands on Boyfriend's shoulders, he didn't want to let go. His attention was once again brought to the dampness of Bf's hoodie, he knew it had to be blood. "B… let's go home." Apparently that was the wrong thing for Pico to say, as soon as he did, Boyfriend panicked again. "I-! N-no! I don't want to see her again please Pico-! Don't make me go back!" Pico rushed to ask what was wrong, startled by Bf's reaction. "B, who are you talking about?" Pico gently grabbed Boyfriend's hands, he wanted to be comforting, but that changed when he noticed Bf heavily flinched, and his hands were wet. Pico gently brought Bf's hands into the light. His hands were cracked and bleeding. Badly. The skin and flesh looked like it was just barely holding on to the bones. Some of the blood was dry and crusty, while some of it was fresh. Pico furrowed his brow. "B… what happened?" Bf began crying again. "Gf.. She.." Bf's voice trembled, his lip quivered. He started sobbing. Whitty's orange eyes widened, in a spur of the moment, Whitty gathered both the shorter males in his arms. Lifting them off the ground and standing at his full height. "Hey Pico, why don't we all head to your place?" Pico nodded, still holding Bf's hands. "You can stay with me, B. I promise I won't take you to Girlfriend. She won't even know we found you, okay?" Bf looked into Pico's white eyes, then Whitty's orange ones, before slowly nodding and letting out a barely audible "okay". 

Whitty carried them to Pico's car, he decided to sit in the back with Boyfriend so he wouldn't be alone while Pico drove the car (they moved the front passenger seat as far up as they could to make more legroom for him). Bf was huddled to Whitty's side, the tall, warm, bomb man made him feel safe. Whitty had one of his arms wrapped around Boyfriend, hoping to comfort him. The bluette was still crying, but not as much as before, he seemed to have calmed down slightly. No words were exchanged during the car trip to Pico's house. 

Once they arrived, Whitty gently carried Bf into Pico's house and carefully set him down on Pico's couch. Pico ran off to grab his first aid kit from his hallway closet, mentally preparing himself for how wrecked the rest of Bf's arms might look. He didn't want to end up freaking out and scaring Bf more. Pico moved to sit next to Boyfriend on the couch. "Okay B, show me what hurts." Boyfriend seemed hesitant, Whitty, who was sitting at Bf's other side, rubbed his back. The small gesture seemed to comfort Bf a little, and he removed the black hoodie he was wearing, hissing as the fabric pulled away from his wounds; he was only wearing a tank top under it, so the damage to his arms was revealed easily. Boyfriend's arms looked worse than his hands did somehow. Cracked and bleeding, in some places, it looked like the skin had stitches only to fall apart more and undo them. He could see the bone in Bf's elbow and shoulder. 

Pico felt sick. It was a mystery how Boyfriend wasn't just screaming in anguish. Pico took a quick glance at Whitty, who also looked appalled at the gorey sight before them. Pico looked into Boyfriend's teary eyes, then back at his arms. "We should take ya to the hospital." Pico said nervously, his gauze and hydrogen peroxide couldn't fix this. "I-I already tried that. They couldn't- *sniff* they couldn't stop it. I-It's magic." Bf confessed, Pico noticed Whitty's expression changed from shock to sympathetic. Whitty gestured to Bf's arms "Was this Girlfriend's magic?" Boyfriend nodded. Pico felt rage bubbling in his core. His attempt to keep calm and collected was thrown out the window. "Did she do this on purpose!? That's it! Imma beat her ass!" Pico whipped out his gun. Furious. "I'm gonna pump that bitch full of lead!" Pico was about to storm out his house when both Boyfriend and Whitty stopped him. "PICO DON'T!" Bf and Whitty said in unison. Whitty gripped Pico's arm (which was super easy seeing as his hand was big enough for his fingers to wrap all the way around Pico's forearm), and Boyfriend hugged him, burying his face in the crook of Pico's neck. "Why the fuck are you two stopping me!?" Pico shouted, still undeniably pissed. "Please don't go, Pico!" Bf cried. "Listen dude, as much as I'd love to see ya give that girl more holes than swiss cheese, if you even try it, her family will kill you. Plus, if ya went to her now, they'll know we found Bf, and who knows what they'd do to him then!"

Pico hated to admit it, but Whitty was right. He'd just make it worse by confronting Girlfriend. Her family was powerful, her parents would definitely come after all of them if he tried to do anything to her. His anger was screaming at him to go and blast her with his Uzi, but reason objected to it. Pico sighed, and put his gun on the table. "Alright. Yer right. I'm sorry." Bf hugged him tighter. "Thank you." He said quietly. "Well, if I can't shoot that bitch, let's at least try to solve… this." Pico gestured towards Bf's arms, which were bleeding all over him in the hug. Whitty rubbed the back of his head, unsure. "Well, demon magic did this in the first place, maybe another demon can undo it?" Whitty offered, Pico thought about it, it made sense. If hospitals couldn't treat a curse, might as well try magic. "I can't say you're wrong, the issue now is finding a demon who would be willing to help. The only other demon I know I wouldn't trust as far as I could throw her. Do you know anyone?" Whitty shook his head. The three stayed quiet. Pico wracked his brain for anyone who might be helpful. Maybe his dad knew someone who could help? Probably not. His brother definitely hung out with demons and whatnot, but most people his brother hung out with were bad news. Not to mention he hasn't spoken to his older bro in a long ass time. That was a no go. Who else could he ask? Pico glanced at Whitty, he appeared to be going over various options in his head too. They were silent until Boyfriend chirped in. "I might know someone. Maybe tomorrow we can find her?" Pico shrugged. "I guess that's just what we gotta do. For now though, you should go get cleaned up. You remember where the shower is?" Bf nodded, and started walking down the hallway. "I'll bring you some clean clothes you can borrow!" Pico called, Bf replying with a distant "Thank you" before disappearing around the corner. 

Pico made eye contact with Whitty. He might not have known this guy too well, having only met him a couple weeks ago, but the time they spent working together trying to find Boyfriend made Pico appreciate him. He wanted to know more about him. Whitty was so helpful, even managing to calm Pico down when he was two seconds away from snapping. He found the gentle giant fascinating and comforting. "Hey Whitty?" Whitty let out a curious "hmm?" 

"I just wanted to say thanks.. For everything. You've been really helpful and great and.. I really appreciate it." Pico's earnest tone made Whitty's cheeks glow slightly. "It's no problem. You don't have to thank me or anything. I just.. Wanted Bf to be safe too, ya know?" Pico nodded understandably. "I wish we coulda met under better circumstances. You seem like a great guy, I uh… I'd really like to keep hangin out with you. Maybe once we get this whole curse thing sorted out, we should do something together? Maybe all three of us should." Pico felt color flooding in his own cheeks now, feeling somewhat nervous. Whitty smiled. "I'd like that." Pico let out a small chuckle. "Cool. Cool. Sounds good." 

An awkward lull took the conversation, neither saying much. Whitty eventually stood up and stretched, feeling a bit sleepy. "Well, I should head out. I'm gettin tired. Want me to meet up with you guys here tomorrow?" Pico hesitantly nodded, he almost offered to just let Whitty stay the night, but if he had plans to go home, who was Pico to stop him? "Sounds good. Imma uh.. Get some clothes for B." Pico attempted to make the situation less awkward, he was never good at goodbyes. "Yeah, that'd be good. I'll see you tomorrow." Whitty and Pico parted ways after that. Now, Pico just had to help Boyfriend. Hopefully this woman he was talking about can reverse whatever demon spell was on him..

Pico let Bf borrow his spare pajamas, and threw Bf's clothes in the wash. He wasn't sure if the washing machine was gonna be able to get all the blood out. As he was going through it, he noticed that the inside of Bf's jeans were bloody too, the curse must've been affecting his legs as well. Pico kept the 1st aid kit out, that way he could bandage what was left of Boyfriend's limbs. While Pico tended to the bluette's wounds, he made small talk with Boyfriend, hoping it would put him at ease. It seemed to help. Eventually it became time to turn in for the night. Both boys were exhausted.

 "Hey Pico?"

 "Yeah B?" 

"Can I sleep in your bed with you? I don't wanna be alone."

"... Yeah. C'mere."

"Thanks Pico."

"No prob. G'night B."

"Good night Pico."

[novelconcepts]

anything that involves freckles. go nuts

Gonna go ahead and double up on a recent request of @scavenger-rey‘s, while we’re at it. Just for giggles.

Jamie has a surprising number of freckles. Not that it’s Dani’s business what hidden secrets are stamped into her skin. Not that Dani needs to be looking at her skin at all. 

Not that she can help it, either, with Jamie doing things like this. 

“You look warm, Miss Clayton,” Hannah points out, depositing a tray upon the little table with an arch smile. “Perhaps you’d like to take a leaf out of our groundskeeper’s book?”

Dani shoots her a sharp look, remembering just in time two very important details: one, that she has only known Hannah for two months, and therefore is not quite at the slapping at her arm in frustration stage of friendship; and two, that Hannah does not know what’s going on in her head every time Jamie’s around.

Hannah might suspect with the certainty of a particularly clever detective breaking down a fourth-grader’s criminal activity, but she does not know, and that has to count for something.

“She doesn’t--usually do this.” Heaven help her, was that her voice? Her voice, which is generally high and quick and never tinged with that particularly raw shade? 

“She does when it’s hot enough.” Hannah sounds entirely unimpressed. “Every time, I have to spend half the afternoon explaining to Flora why she’s required to keep all her clothes on.”

Someone should probably have that talk with Jamie, Dani thinks wildly. Someone should definitely explain to Jamie, in no uncertain terms, how dangerous it is for her to be waltzing around the grounds in overalls and a sports bra, her hair pulled out of her face. Someone should definitely get across to Jamie how it is utterly distracting, and not the least bit professional for someone like Dani--who is a co-worker, who is meant to be keeping children out of trouble, and has somehow found it’s much harder to keep herself out of it instead--to deal with.

“Water,” Hannah advises. “Before you keel over. Would you like me to tell her it’s making you uncomfortable?”

Judging by the raised brow, the tilt of Hannah’s smile, the barely-restrained note of amusement in her voice, it’s clear she knows uncomfortable isn't exactly the word. Dani shakes her head. 

“No. I’m. I’m fine.”

“Ah,” Jamie says cheerfully, right on cue. “Hannah, my love, you are a godsend.”

She’s just there, pressed nearly to Dani’s back, reaching over for a glass of ice water. She’s there, and her skin is rosy with the lightest sunburn, and Dani thought Hannah was being cheeky about the whole keeling over jab, but on second thought--

“All right, Poppins?” Jamie’s free hand has wound around her forearm, she realizes. Jamie is looking at her with mild concern, she realizes. Probably because she is quite literally swaying in place.

“Hot,” she croaks. There are freckles on Jamie’s hand, too--and wrist, splashed at random up her arm. There are more than a few on the bare curve of her shoulder. She’s still mentally tallying them up when Jamie presses her gently toward a chair. 

“Didn’t dress for it,” she observes, looking Dani over with worried eyes. “Should take off that jumper before it kills you.”

Have to keep it on, Dani thinks nonsensically--though, it’s true, she had dressed for the gray of this morning, not the heatwave the afternoon has become. Still. Have to keep it on, and maybe add a few more layers, besides, because she can’t let herself linger on what she might look like to Jamie otherwise.

Can’t linger on how Jamie’s eyes might drift over her skin if she were to strip down to a tank top and shorts. Can’t linger, worst of all, on how it might feel if Jamie were to pull her aside--

“Poppins?” Jamie is waving a hand up and down in front of her face. “Right, enough of this. With me.”

There’s a gentle command in her voice Dani finds herself following without thinking. She catches herself taking two steps away from the chair, pauses, stands there looking helplessly back at Hannah.

“I,” Hannah says magnanimously, “think I can manage the children. Go.”

“C’mon,” Jamie adds, and now her hand is in Dani’s somehow, her fingers tightening around Dani’s like this is the most normal use of her body. She gives a light pull, and Dani is suddenly trailing along at her heels, trying desperately not to stare at the back of her neck, the skin shining up from the break in denim at her side. 

Freckles, she thinks wildly. I shouldn’t know she has freckles. 

“You still with me?” Jamie is tugging her, she registers, toward the greenhouse. She gives a shaky nod. “Good. Would hate to have to give you mouth to mouth.”

“You don’t give mouth to mouth for sunstroke,” Dani replies in a voice she still doesn’t recognize. Jamie sends a smile over her shoulder.

“No? My mistake.”

It’s not flirting, Dani tells herself. Jamie is her co-worker, one who keeps to herself and doesn’t have any reason at all to flirt. Jamie is just being kind, worrying over her now, because Dani’s gone and lost her mind over skin and freckles and the spot at the back of Jamie’s neck that leads her brain helplessly into wonder what that tastes like territory--

“In,” Jamie says, gesturing to the door of the greenhouse. “Got a spare set of clothes you can borrow.”

“I have clothes,” Dani points out. Jamie laughs.

“I’ve seen your clothes. They’re not going to help today.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” This is good. This, a mild flush of irritation, distracts nicely from the way Jamie looks crouching beside a trunk Dani’s never noticed beneath one of the tables. 

It almost distracts from the way Jamie looks up at her, a teasing grin playing around her mouth. 

“They’re well and good,” she says, “for carting around after the little beasts. Here. Got nothin’ in pink, ‘m afraid.”

She’s holding up a white t-shirt with the sleeves shorn off--the frayed threads at the shoulders suggest Jamie cut them free herself, possibly in the middle of a workday--and a pair of denim shorts. Unable to find a polite method of declining, Dani accepts. 

“I’ll...just go up to the house to change, I guess--”

“Nah.” Jamie twists around, hands in her pockets, making a point of gazing off in the opposite direction. “Silly to waste the time. Go on, before Hannah thinks I’ve lured you off to commit a murder...”

It’d be kinder, some part of Dani thinks. Standing with Jamie’s clothes clamped against her chest, sweat creeping down the back of her neck, watching Jamie tip her head back and whistle, is entirely painful. 

Particularly when Jamie, evidently registering the lack of rustling fabric, chances a glance over her shoulder and adds, “Unless you need help there, Poppins?”

Dani grimaces. Jamie grins. For a moment, she thinks the rest of the afternoon will become this: staring at one another in a sweltering greenhouse, Jamie watching her like she knows exactly what Dani has been trying so hard not to think about lately.

Jamie smiling like she’s got no problem with Dani counting up all those freckles. 

“Okay, okay, turn around.” She heaves a sigh, waiting for Jamie to rotate back before hauling the sweater over her head. It’s impossible to deny the relief that floods in the minute she’s free of it, and how much better Jamie’s shirt feels against her sticky skin. 

The same cannot be said for the shorts.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she says before she can stop herself. They are, admittedly, nearly the same height and close enough in build for most things--but does Jamie really wear these? 

“Only when it’s this fuckin’ hot,” Jamie says, still facing the other way. Dani closes her eyes. “Ah, you didn’t mean to say that part out loud, did you?”

“Just--they’re so--” They’re not shorts, she thinks, trying to tug down the hem. They’re like two tiny squares of fabric haphazardly stitched together. The pockets are longer than the pants themselves, for Christ’s sake. “You wear these around people?”

“Just the ones I like,” Jamie says idly, and Dani hates herself a little for being disappointed she’s never seen them before. 

“I can’t face Hannah like this, she’ll laugh herself sick.”

Jamie, at last, twists at the waist. Her eyes drift down Dani’s frame, her lips parting slightly. 

“They, um. Feel less short when they’re on me.”

Dani is going to combust, and then there will be nothing to worry about. No freckles. No shorts. Certainly not the drag of Jamie’s eyes up her legs. Dani combusts here and now, and gets out of all of it almost painlessly.

“No, hey.” Jamie is closing the gap between them, reaching out. Her hands find Dani’s, prying her clawing fingers away from the hem of the shorts. “If you feel weird, you can put your jeans back on. Was only trying to...to help.”

Her voice has gone weirdly slack, Dani registers. Weirdly breathy. Her eyes are still wide, still fixed on Dani’s legs, a color rising in her cheeks that has little to do with her sunburn. 

“What?” Dani asks--less because she wants to know, and more because she can’t stand not knowing. Jamie’s fingers are soft around her own, her breath seeming to hitch in her chest.

“Nothing. You, ah. Have freckles.” Jamie gives her head a shake, blinking rapidly. Her hands fall away from Dani’s. “Never noticed before.”

She’s staring at Dani like she’s never seen her before, and Dani suddenly wonders what courage would look like in this sweltering room. If it would look like hooking a hand around the strap of Jamie’s overalls. If it would look like pulling Jamie in. Letting Jamie press her back against the nearest table. Letting Jamie’s fingers trace up beneath the hem of these ludicrously-short shorts. 

Courage, she thinks, would taste like sweat and mint, like freckles mapped under a curious tongue. It would sound like Jamie’s voice muffled against her neck, the snarl of a zipper lowering in an otherwise-silent jungle of glass and greenery, the thump of a shirt tossed recklessly to the ground--

“Right,” Jamie says, and swings back a step. Her smile is sitting crookedly on her lips, a funny little tilt that makes her look younger, somehow. “I should--should get back to work. Just. Just toss ‘em wherever.”

Courage, Dani thinks, wanting so badly to grasp her shoulder as she turns. She could. She could close her fingers around nearly-bare skin and sink her mouth against the back of Jamie’s neck. She could slide a hand up Jamie’s stomach, pull her backward, feel her tremble under a hungry kiss tattooed to the freckles at her nape. 

She could. 

If she were just a little braver. 

But Jamie is already walking away, one hand tousling her hair nearly out of its bun. Jamie is already walking away, faster than Dani’s ever seen her walk anywhere. 

You, ah. Have freckles, she’d said in a voice like a woman dreaming. Dani bites her lip. 

The shorts, she thinks, could have their uses after all.

[definitelyseven]

risky business | one (m)

summary: you were hired to be with everyone else but Park Jinyoung

one (m) | two | three |

You stared at yourself through the mirror, watching the half-naked women behind you rush to get ready to go on stage. Tonight was your first night at the club and you were extremely nervous. It was obvious you didn’t fit in here but you had to do this. You didn’t have a choice - not when your mother left you with thousands of dollars of medical bills and you father thinking he can pay it all off by gambling. You were millions of dollars in debt and there was no way you could pay it off without doing this; without selling your body. Your sister was still young and you couldn’t put her through this. She didn’t deserve it. She was innocent. 

“You should put on some lipstick,” the woman behind you suggested. 

“Thanks,” you smiled weakly as you took the lipstick from her. You twisted the cap off to reveal a bright red lipstick; a color you would never wear. 

“I’m Momo,” she introduced. “This doesn’t seem like a place for a girl like you.”

“Y/N. You’re right, I don’t belong here. But I need to be here,” you tell her without revealing to much detail. 

“Don’t worry. Most of them are nice and great tippers. Just follow my lead out there.”

You quickly patted some lipstick onto your lips and followed her out. The club didn’t open for about another hour but there was a special guest today and all the girls were requested to come in early. 

“Mr. Park, these are my girls. They’re all very good,” the manager of the club said before handing the attractive man a portfolio which you assumed was filled with pictures of all the girls here.

The man seemed disinterested though. He was busy scrolling through his phone, didn’t even bother to take the portfolio out of the manager’s hand. The manager eventually set the portfolio down on the table. It was awkward - all the girls were standing there half-naked, ready to shake their asses off for random men but the men standing in front of you was unbothered. It was like you didn’t even exist to them. But then again, how could you? These men were well-dressed, handsome and obviously wealthy. They could get any women they wanted so why were they here? 

“Are these girls not to your liking Mr. Park?” the manager spoke again. 

The man finally looked up from his phone and towards you and the other girls. He was attractive, really attractive. He looked like one of those models in the magazines - not one single flaw. He watched the girls carefully, mentally picking out which girl he didn’t want and then his eyes met yours. 

You held your breath, feeling awkward. This was the first time you revealed so much of your body to anyone, let alone strangers. You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing them up and down to keep warm. You could feel the goosebumps on your skin. 

“Her,” he finally said. You looked up from the ground and see him pointing at you. The girls around you began to whisper - you were just as shocked as they were. “I want her,” he repeated. 

After the man selected you, the manager rushed the other girls out of the room. You don’t know what you were selected for but he chose you. He picked you. 

You continued to stand there awkwardly until another man ushered you to come closer. You slowly made your way over to the men, taking a seat next to them. 

“You’re perfect.”

“I’m sorry but what am I perfect for?” 

He chuckled at you before speaking, “What if I can offer you another job that pays more than this one?” 

“How much?” you asked interested. 

“Two, three times as much. I’m willing to pay for something that’s worth the price,” he smirked. 

“W-what do I have to do?” you asked, scared. 

“Don’t be scared princess,” he continued to smirk, making you blush. Even his smirk was attractive. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“I’m Jinyoung. Park Jinyoung,” he introduced himself. “I have a proposition for you.” You raised your eyebrow at him, curious as to what his offer was and how much money you could make from this. “You work here because you need money. I work with a lot of rich, powerful and secretive men. Men that are willing to pay anything to have their fun.” You chewed on your lower lip as you listened carefully. “You’ll be doing what you’re doing here but during the day you’ll be in an office - something you can eventually put on your resume.” 

“Why me?”

“These men that I work with have seen all types of women but the type of women that is the hardest to find are the innocent but kinky ones,” he teased, tipping your chin. You gulped, nervous from his touch.

“How do you know I’m innocent and kinky?” you asked, mumbling the last word. 

“Just by looking at you. That’s why you’re perfect,” he reminded. You looked down at your lap, debating whether or not to take the offer. Jinyoung was right - you’d be doing the exact same thing here anyways but you’d be in an office. It looks so much better on paper.

“O-okay,” you agreed. “What do you want me to do?”

That night you met Jinyoung was almost three months ago. He saved you from working at the club, from stripping for random men. At least now, your sister won’t have an older sister who strips for money. These past few months Jinyoung and his team worked hard to train you into the perfect secretary by day and the perfect seducer by night. 

Today was your final test.

“I’ll wait here,” Jinyoung said before taking a seat by the fitting area. Your last test was to pick out an outfit that would make any man swoon for you. It seemed easily enough but if someone would have asked you to do something like this three months ago, it would be nearly impossible for you.

You were different now. Three months of hard work to change you into someone completely different; someone that exuded confidence, someone that can speak various languages, manage another person’s entire day, and most importantly seduce anyone that laid eyes on you which was by far the hardest thing to do.

“What do you think? you asked Jinyoung as you smoothened out your tight dress that accentuated your curves and revealed just the right amount of cleavage that would make any guy look twice.  

Jinyoung looks up from his phone and at you. He smirks in satisfaction as he shifts in his seat, spreading his legs slightly apart at the site of you. You could tell from the tent in his pants that he enjoyed what he saw. “Stunning,” he said proudly, making you blush. He made his way over to you before turning you around to face the mirror. He stares at you, scanning your body from top to bottom while he licks his lips. His hands made his way to your sides, his fingers dancing against the fabric of your dress. Jinyoung gives your waist a small squeeze. You hissed at his touch. He brushes your hair to one side, revealing the nape of your neck to him. He runs the back of his hand up and down your neck as he plays with your ear. 

“Like what you see?”

“Mhmmm, the confidence,” he hummed, giving the back of your neck a small squeeze. That was lesson #1 - confidence is attractive. Jinyoung reaches inside his pocket and takes out a diamond necklace. “Last piece to make this outfit perfect,” he whispered in your ear before putting the necklace on you. 

“There’s one last thing you can teach me,” you tell him. Jinyoung looks at you surprised as he has nothing left to teach you. “I’ll eventually have to sleep with them, don’t I?”

Jinyoung turns you around to face him. He strokes your cheek gently. He didn’t want to lie to you. “There’s a possibility that could happen.”

“Then teach me.”

“Teach you?” Jinyoung repeated. 

“Teach me,” you paused. “Jinyoung, I’m a virgin.”

“Oh...I didn’t know. If you-”

You shake your head, “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want it to be the reason that I couldn’t do this.” You paused again, waiting for his response. “I want my first time to be with someone I know, someone I trust.”

“I can’t do that,” Jinyoung rejected softly. 

“You can,” you assured him. “I need you to do this for me. If you want this to be successful than do this for me. Please.”

Jinyoung nods slowly, finally agreeing to your suggestion. He lets out a light sigh before pulling you into his arms.

“Do you live here?” you asked once you entered into his luxury condo.

“It’s one of my many estates,” he explained, taking off his tuxedo. You were nervous but you knew Jinyoung will take care of you. He always does. “Want a drink?” You nodded, watching him pour the drinks. 

“Expensive,” you teased as you took a sip out of the beverage. 

Jinyoung clears his throat before setting his drink down. “Show me what you got,” he demanded.

“W-what?” you almost choke.

“Show me what you got,” he enunciated. “Pretend I’m like those men.” You didn’t know what to do. You’ve never done this before. You slowly set down your drink, running different scenarios in your head on what to do next. “Don’t think, just do it.” Jinyoung takes a seat on the couch, carefully watching your next move. You swallowed the lump in your throat. You could do this. You have to do this well. 

You slowly made your way towards Jinyoung, your eyes on his as you gently bit your lower lip. You stopped in front of him before taking a seat on his lap. You run your palms up and down his chest, stopping just below his collar. You leaned in close to his face, feeling his length poke against your thigh as you pressed your body against his. Jinyoung’s hand rubs your lower back, fiddling with the zipper on your dress. 

You got off Jinyoung’s lap and kneeled down in front of him. You licked your lips before looking up at him. He was eager, desperate for you to do something; anything. You rubbed his thighs up and down, inching closer and closer to his length. You stroked him through his pants, feeling it grow harder by the second. You licked your lips again while you unbuckled his pants. His cock was pressed tightly against his pants, aching to be released. You bit your lip, nervous about touching him. 

“Don’t think, just do it.” You pulled his pants lower until his cock was fully exposed. It sprung up almost automatically. He was hard; the tip of his cock bright red with a large bead of pre-cum threatening to fall. You gulped before rubbing your thumb over the tip. Jinyoung lets out a low groan, attempting to hide his moan. His tip now wet with his own pre-cum, you opened your mouth and twirled your tongue against the tip of his cock. He hisses at your touch. You opened your mouth wider, slowly taking in his length. He moans feeling how wet your mouth feels against his cock. You didn’t know any techniques but you did know that sucking was the right thing to do - so you did. You sucked him hard like a lollipop while wrapping your hand on the base of his cock, stroking him long and hard. You bobbed your head up and down until the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. You kept bobbing your head up and down, hearing him moan and swear under his breath. You had one hand on the base of his cock, stroking him slowly while the other hand massaged his balls. You feel him twitch in your mouth as he groans in pleasure. Jinyoung gets lost in pleasure and thrusts his hips forward. His cock slams into the back of your throat making you choke. “Fuck...” Jinyoung runs his fingers through your hair, gripping tightly onto it. He guides your head up and down his cock, each time harder than the next. “Shit baby...” he moans loudly before pulling away.

You pulled away from him, saliva dripping down your chin. “Did that feel good?” you asked him, staring up at him. 

He chuckles out of breath, “Yeah....” You get up off your knees before wiping your lips. 

[bloodpenned]

plz plz plz can you write m!whitney skullfucking pc

wordcount: 2.5k (can’t believe this is the first time i write an actual fic on here.) cw: noncon, detailed ero guro / gore porn, eye trauma, drugging, knives, vomit mention, needle mention, degradation, victim blaming.

or: whitney fucks your eye socket and prepares you for the act. don’t read this to upset or trigger yourself, please.

Since all of your holes have been used by others, Whitney makes one for himself.

“Look at you- You can barely keep your fucking head up, slut.”

The voice drifts to you from far away, a figure leaning over the ice you’re trapped under. Where am I?, you ask, but all your vocal cords produce is a gurgle. Your limbs are made of cement and frozen in place. Letting yourself be dragged back into the depths of unconsciousness is much easier than staying afloat. Through trembling eyelids, you barely make out the shape of the person in front of you. Their legs, to be precise. Pain shoots through your scalp and you jolt, finally present enough for the ties around your wrists and ankles to register in your mind, the cold wall you’re leaning against. That it’s Whitney, because who fucking else would it be, yanking you up by your hair. Your tongue still refuses to move. 

“Follow.” His voice feigns disinterest. Yet he keeps shuffling, leaning his weight more on one leg, then the other again. He holds his hand in front of your face, moving it from side to side. Your head is so fuzzy you see no reason to disobey. By the time you’ve caught up with him to the right, he’s already back the other way. Your eyelids droop. He laughs. “God, you’re out of it. Poor you, did I gave you a little too much? You can’t say I’ve ever underestimated you.”

As soon as his grip loosens, your head drops and black dots litter your vision. Drool spills from your mouth. Something bad is about to happen, there’s no other explanation for this. His hands will end up all over your body again. But there’s no chatter of his friends, no flashes of cameras, so different from the usual that you don’t know what to expect. The world fades out, before flickering back in the middle of a sentence.

“...pay me back. Got that? Good.” The hand is back in your hair, keeping you steady. He’s digging around in his pocket. “If you weren’t such a whore, I wouldn’t have to do this. Did you think I wouldn’t see those pictures? Wouldn’t know when my slut’s gagging around someone else? I promised I would beat some sense into you if you didn’t listen, so here we are.”

Whitney’s found what he had been looking for. There’s something in his hand, moving toward your face too quickly to make out. Everything’s so blurry that even while squinting, you can’t immediately tell what it is. You nearly go crosseyed trying to figure it out. A handle clenched in his fist, gray, reflecting surface, ending in a sharp point-

A knife.

“You’re a fucking cumbrain already, but I’ll give you one too.”

You watch the situation unfold from the back of your skull. This is happening to someone else, anyone except you. It’s a movie, and a bad one at that. You can’t pinch your arm to wake yourself up. Whitney had hurt you before, sure, with his bare hands. Never like this. He’s always made fun of Kylar for having to resort to knives, why would he use one now? Is it just a threat? It has to be. Then again, you’re so disoriented you don’t stand a sliver of a chance against him. Your heart hammers against your ribcage, so loud it makes your head throb. The furthest your abilities go is to shake your head and force a whimper from your throat, rubbing your wrists raw on the zip tie. Whitney presses cold steel against your cheek. You try to spit at him, but you can’t put any force behind it. It dribbles down your chin in a slow stream. 

Whitney barks out a laugh. “What the fuck are you, a dog?” The knife digs into your skin, a gentle push away from slicing you open. “Don’t get to get too excited yet, we haven’t even started, slut.” He slides the blade up to your bottom eyelid, leaving a shallow cut. (Your brain is fuzzy. Your cheeks are warm, burning- Are you blushing? Is the wetness rolling down your face a tear?) Your fingers twitch, your teeth grind together, every muscle pulled tight like a bowstring. 

His breathing is laboured, eyes boring into yours, expression blank for a mere moment. Whitney, as you know him from school, is all but empty. He’s of scoffing and snarling, of laughter and grins- This is nothing you recognize. Your gut twists. Every instinct in your body is screeching at the top of its lungs for you to run. At the same time, another part tells you to stay as still as possible, as if you will simply fade out of existence if you don’t move. (But it’s okay, because none of this is real, and you’re at the orphanage in bed curled up under the covers, and you’ll wake up late and rush to get your uniform to not miss the bus and you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine-) Whitney’s tongue darts out to trace his upper lip, his fingers turning white around the handle. 

The next, there is a blow of air against your eye before pure, indescribable agony accompanied by a wet squelch. You’re dying, you’re dying, you’re dying, it’s over- Half of your face has been blown off, your brain is exposed for all to see and poke and prod, your lungs collapse with every breath, your throat spasms around vomit. What’s left of your right side of vision is a red and black pulsating blur. The screams, the sole outburst you’re capable of, are mere groans in the back of your throat. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish on land. Blood, sweat, tears, pus, slime- You wouldn’t know. Something oozes down your face, thick mucus, making a mess on your lap. You’re warm, you’re cold, sweat thick underneath your clothes. Everything is wet. Everything is hot.

A hand is on your head, stroking. The sensation dissapears into and becomes one with the pain, the thing that melts everything else away. “There you go, you’re being so good! But I’m not done yet.” He speaks to you in the tone reserved purely for dogs. From the corner of your good eye, you can see him reaching his fist back and pounds it against the handle, your entire world dissolving into nothing as it hits.

When you wake up, you do so to a palpitating heart that’s skipping beats left and right, to a convulsing body, to spit frothing at your mouth and a needle in your leg. The gag in your mouth rubs against your tongue and tastes of sweat. Whitney has discorded the knife, left it at your feet. Your eyeball looks like scrambled egg white on one end, a sloppy mess, and you gag. At one point or another, you will have to come to term with the fact that you’re never going to see from it again.

“Can’t have you leaving before the party’s started.” Your head whips around, the sensation of something sloshing inside your eye socket immediately making you regret it. Wind blows straight into the wound and causes you to ear up. He’s on your right. Somewhere. What you assume to be the syringe falls to the ground with a clatter. There’s no way he isn’t standing there, in the void he created, on purpose. You would’ve preferred to be really fucking dead right now. Let him rape your corpse, at least you wouldn’t have to be there to notice it. Whatever he injected you with, it’s all so much sharper now. The lights are brighter, every little step he takes ringing in your ears, your right eye (or the slurry that’s left of it) aflame. You rock back and forth to shuffle further away from him, but you’re already backed against a wall and the movement makes the blood in your skull slosh alongside it.

“Gotta check if you’re wet enough for me. Thank me later, slut.” Whitney pulls on your eyelashes, the tip of his finger teasing the hole. Once in a while, it dips into the wound, your nerves tingling in anticipation at the near touch. Breath hitching every time, your brain can’t comprehend what’s exactly happening to you. Your heart pounds in your ears, your limbs keep twitching against your will. Now that you can, you want to struggle, but you’re so scared of that pain, terrified that he could choose to take the other one as well.

All you want is for this to be over. You just want to be home. As flawed of a home it is, it’s still the one place you can think to return to. (Robin will be there, waiting for you. They always have. Could you still keep up with them during games, now that you’re like this? Bailey’s presence, suffocating as it is, at least keeps you safe from intruders. How pissed off are they going to be, now that you're a damaged ware?)

“Can’t you sit still for one fucking second? You wanna know what it feels like when I slip so badly?” Your head jerks to the side against your will, foot hitting his ankle. “I guess you do, huh? But, fuck- You keep writhing around, maybe I should give the needy whore what they want. You’re soaked, that’s for sure.”

Whitney pulls away, his fingers coated a pale red. Using your hair as a rag, he smears the fluids in it, tugging on it once for good measure. He takes a step back, descends back outside your field of vision. There’s the rustling of fabric, unbuckling of a belt, a zipper being undone. You begin to plead through your gag, repeating muffled, incomprehensible words, because please, anything but this, not right now, not ever, hasn’t he done enough, isn’t he satisfied, he’s already ruined you enough, please, just please-

“It’s cute you think you have a choice.”

There’d been a nagging suspicion in the back of your head that it would come down to this. Every meeting with Whitney would end up leading down the same path, but this time... You choke on your breaths, chest heaving with sobs. With every shock of your shoulders, more heat leaks out of your eyes, your entire face turning into one throbbing mess. You squeeze your eyes shut. (There’s no way you can move the right eyelid, the knife has torn straight through it. All it is now is limp meat, hanging on by a thread.) His dick presses against your cheek. Fucking hell, why does he have to be so big too? There’s ringing in your ears as he leaves a trail of precum, mingling with the mess already there. His scent overpowered by the metallic smell of blood. Why can’t you just pass out again? But you’re still twitching, thoughts racing faster than you can keep track of.

“You’ve been asking for this, don’t try to deny it. I’m not stupid. Well, you’ve got my attention now. You better be grateful.” He misses the first time, the head of his dick rubbing against your eyebrow. Whitney curses underneath his breath. Trembling fingers tug your eyelids as far apart as possible and you hate it, you hate this so fucking much, you want someone to come by here to save you, you want to sink through the floor, you want to die.

He sucks in a breath through grit teeth, and hits his mark. You’re not sure how much he crammed inside your skull, but all of it was too much, too cruel. The screaming is clear through your bounds, raking your throat raw. Whichever way you move, his cock stays lodged in between the bone. The muscles snap and tear, the bones crack, the flesh, like the tight fit that it is, clings around his dick, and he groans as he pushes himself further inside. An impossible amount of more fat and mucus and slime comes free, clogging your nose. The back of your head slams against the wall with every movement, but it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t compare. 

There’s nothing else. There can be nothing else. Your mind is full and empty at the same time. He’s all you can think about, he’s fucking the memory of him into your brain, leaving his permanent mark. Is this what he wanted? You’re being dissected, pulled apart, the creases of your brain violated. He’s saying things, (tight, mess, slut, enjoying, loud.), but he’s pulling out and the scrape of the warm flesh makes the scenery blur. Your throat feels like it was pulled across sandpaper.

The pressure dissipates and you cry in pure relief. But, a moment later, he’s back in and down a slightly different path at a slightly different angle and there’s more snapping, more gushes of fluid. The only thing that will ever fit there again will be him. The perfect little cocksleeve. He’s pushing up against something and you don’t know what, but every time he twitches and brushes against it, your entire vision blacks out. Where the pain reached a crescendo before, it’s turned around to be almost numbing now. Are your nerves torn up? Are you dying?

“Open your mouth. Wait, fuck-” He’s breathless, stuttering over his words. His dick twitches and scrapes against bone. Trembling fingers remove the gag from your mouth. If this were literally any other situation, you might have been almost proud to have turned him into such a wreck. “Stick your tongue out and it’ll be over. Done.”

You latch onto those words like a lifeline. No matter how it ends, you just want it to be over. Without much more than a second of delay you do as he asks, your good eye rolling up to try and look at him. Considering how full your head is, you hardly notice the strings of cum being added to the pool, until some of it leaks through your nose and onto your tongue. He puts one hand on your head, shaking it until more follows. (Though his cum isn’t the only thing there.)

Strings of blood and slime stick to his dick like drool as he pulls out. You hate him. You hate yourself. You hate this fucking town, and you hate every piece of shit in it. Your brain is a cacophony of screaming, of visions of growing fangs and claws and tearing him to shreds, of burning this whole town down. All you do is stare up without really looking, eyes glazed over. You’re tired, so unbelievably tired. All you want to do is rest, even if it’s while bleeding out in some shitty alleyway. His voice drifts to you from far away, smile clear in his tone.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

An eye for an eye has never sounded so appealing before.

[duuhrayliegh]

watch your six - part four

pairing: eventual bucky x reader (still a slow burn but it’s getting closer)

warnings: some violence but not really, men being creepy, language (one f bomb), also badly written speaking while crying, aaand i think that’s it

word count: a little over 2300

a/n: aaaah it’s part four babes!!!! the response to this has been so positive i’m in love with y’all!!! <3 <3 <3 i’m still way behind on my classwork and going through a terrible break up but we’re pushing through here

p.s.: my requests are still open if y’all want me to write yall something! aaalso, there’s a bucky short coming tomorrow ;)) <3

series m.list

ray’s m.list

********************************** 

This strange man’s hand was still caressing my hair as he smirked down at me. Running has hands up to the root and then yanking my head upwards to face him directly. “When I speak to you, you look me in the eye, little one.” Not one to show my fear, at least not to men like him, I scoffed. Thick brows shot towards his hairline and a twitch in his jaw as he clenched it. The hold he had in my hair gave him leverage over me. I winced as he lifted his arm to bring my face closer to his. A small whimper escaped the back of my throat, saliva gathering in my mouth. “Don’t test me, little one.” I sneered then spat in his face, the wet substance sticking to his face across his nose and cheek.

Bringing a hand up to his face to swipe the thick liquid from his skin, he glowered as he pulled his palm away. Then several things happened at once. The man forced a harsh breath out and then I was facing the ground with a sting on my left cheek. A gasp left my lips, he just slapped me. Who the hell does he think he is? I shook my head and then leveled my gaze with the man’s. I’m almost positive that my cheek is sporting a bright red handprint that does nothing for my complexion.

“What the hell man? What was that for?” I groaned while attempting to soothe my throbbing cheek on my shoulder. I mean, was it kind of justified? I did just spit in this man's face. No, he totally deserved that. After releasing his grip on my hair, he transferred his hands to the sides of the chair I was chained to. The metal scraping along the concrete floor caused a loud screech to reverberate through the small room.

“I said not to test me, bitch.” the man growled out as he pushed my chair onto the back two legs. I’m starting to think that this is a bit more serious than I originally thought. “Now, you’re going to sit here like a good little bitch and tell me what I want to know.” He retreated only to grab the chair that Suits used. Slamming against the pavement he straddled the chair with his forearms resting on the back.

“How many missions did you participate in?” I released a groan and rotated my head, leaning my head back.

“I already told your friend,” I tilted my head to speak directly to the absolute jerk-wad of a man in front of me, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man quirked an eyebrow and clenched his jaw. He rolled his neck, causing the bones in it to crack and then stood. He walked to the other side of the metal table that sat in the middle of the room. The sound of a zipper caused me to snap my head to where he was standing. The tactical vest he was wearing dropped to the metal surface allowing for a loud thunk to flow through the room. He stretched out his shoulders and swung his arms out in front as if he was trying to increase the blood flow. I’m the one who’s literally tied to a freaking chair, what does he need blood flow for? My breathing quickened,  calm down, don’t show any fear. He popped the knuckles of his hands and approached me.

“I’m not a patient man.” He bent at the knees and leaned his face closer to mine. Exhaling into my face, he maintained eye contact with me. “And you’re not acting like the good little girl we both know you oh-so-desperately want to be.” I rolled my eyes at that, apparently that was the wrong thing to do in this man’s face. His left eye twitched as he stared at me.

“Do you think you could back up? Your breath reeks, man.” I have no concern for my own well-being do I? The man’s head tilted to the side and then he wolfed out a gruff laugh. He shifted his weight to land on the heels of his feet and threw his body into the laugh. It was a bit disconcerting to see this man laughing so wholeheartedly in a situation that didn’t feel funny to me. Another blow to the side of my face was issued, however this time he didn’t stop. Several open handed hits were delivered, all the while he was resetting my head back by grasping my chin. My breathing was becoming labored, my chest heaving up and down in a frenzy. He gripped my chin and jerked it upwards so he could stand at his full height to tower over me.

“How many missions did they send you on?” He demanded, increasing his hold on my face surely leaving sickening bruises that would match his fingers perfectly. At some point, tears began running down my red cheeks.

“I don’t kno-ow what you’re talking ab-about!” Tears streaming down my swollen face, “I s-swear to god, I don’t know wh-what you mean!” Choked sobs were preventing me from breathing correctly. The man grabbed my shoulders and shook my body.

“Calm the fuck down and speak clearly.” Small hiccups were escaping my mouth without permission. Why am I letting this guy get to me? What the hell is happening? “How many missions did they send you on?” I broke down again, fat tears leaking out of my eyes.

“I ju-just want to go h-h-home. I s-swear I don’t kno-ow anything!” I shouted in his face. He glowered at me and lifted his hand from my shoulder. My whole body tensed as I readied myself to the impact.

“Johnson.” The door burst open, stopping Johnson from landing another hit. “This is not what you were supposed to be doing.” Suits walked back in the room. Johnson backed down, lowering his hand and turning to the new member in the room. “Sir, I was told to interrogate the prisoner.”

“Yes, Johnson, interrogate her. Not beat her to a pulp.” He gestured wildly with his hand. “If the boss found out you were doing this, he’d have your head on a platter.” Suits took steps closer toward us and Johnson shrunk into himself. “Get out of here before I call him about this.” Johnson nodded quickly and left the room quickly, leaving his tactical vest on the table.

I was still quietly crying while strapped to the metal frame of the chair. Suits approached me while pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. He raised it to my face and I jolted backwards away from his touch. “Easy now, I’m only here to help.” Is he seriously pulling a good cop, bad cop routine on me right now? He wiped my cheeks of the salty remnants, “Now, how can I help you besides that?”

“You co-could let me go h-home.” I tried to say without stuttering, clearly unsuccessful. I didn’t want to show my emotions but really at this point, could it get worse?

“Awe, girly. You know I can’t do that until you tell me what I want to know.” He began to drag the chair next to me, back to the opposite side of the table. This created an obstacle between the two of us, which made me slightly more comfortable knowing he wouldn’t be able to reach me as quickly.

I heaved a sigh, “but I don’t know anything.” My weeping had come to a definite end, making way for frustration. My face heated for a different reason than being struck several times.

“See, this is where we disagree because I know that you’re lying to me.” He shook his finger in my face and I scrunched my brows together, flicking my eyes between his finger and face.

“You’re kidding me. I told you I don’t know about any missions.”

“Oh really? Then who’s Gemini?” He reclined in his chair, looking smug. “Actually, you know more importantly, who is Libra? The whole thing is just fascinating to me.”

“I don’t know what any of that is. I swear to whatever you want me to.”

“Then why do I have this that says you do.” He held up the manila folder that he first walked in with. I shrugged my shoulders.

“Whatever is in there is lying to you.” He cocked his head to the side and flipped the folder open. He removed a photograph from the folder and placed it on the table in front of me. Staring back at me, was a slightly younger version of myself with shorter hair. A large X was drawn across the whole picture and underneath it read the words ‘Agent Libra.’

My eyes widened, “I have never seen that before, in my life.” Suits sighed heavily and then began flipping through the rest of the papers.

“So what is the Svengali?” He threw out another paper and I glanced down at it. It looked like a typed report of some kind. Much of it redacted by thick black lines. The words Libra, Gemini, and Svengali were visible amidst the sea of dark ink.

*****************************

A ping sounded throughout the room causing the screen of the phone to illuminate. A metal hand reached for the thin device.

New mission alert. You’re needed. Meet at the compound.

Great, this is just what Bucky needed to keep him distracted. Sleep never came easy to him so he was spending copious amounts of time trying to catch up on what he missed out on. Steve told him to make a list and Sam kept rambling on about some gay Marvin man? Bucky much prefered to do things on his own. He hasn’t had help for over ninety years, why should he need it now?

Throwing on his leather jacket as he began to leave his apartment, he checked the pockets for the keys to his motorcycle. He also made sure to grab his gloves. Even though T’Challa and Shuri were good enough to give him a new vibranium arm, Bucky still wasn’t too keen on being stared at in public. It was better for everyone if he just kept the arm tucked away as much as he could while around strangers.

He did one last once over of his apartment before locking the door behind him. He jogged down the stairs towards his bike. It definitely was his pride and joy, it was the first thing that he bought with his own money since 1943. His apartment was courtesy of Pepper Potts, no thanks to Tony’s complaining. Tony and Bucky had eventually worked out their differences, to say the least. Tony still hadn’t fully forgiven the Winter Soldier for killing his parents, and neither had Bucky so they were agreeing to disagree.

The ride to the compound from Brooklyn wasn’t a hard one. It gave Bucky time to appreciate the scenery around him. Slowing to a stop at a four way stop just outside of the compound, Bucky dropped his feet to the tarmac below, stabilizing the bike between his legs. He tilted his head back and felt the warm rays of the sun on his face. Warm was something that Bucky was still getting used to, it was easier in Wakanda. He had his own hut, voluntary therapy sessions, and easy-going check ups with Shuri in her lab.

Everything was simpler in Wakanda, but what Bucky missed most from Wakanda was the stability. He didn’t have to worry about missions, or keeping up with Steve, or the crushing guilt that he felt whenever he saw Tony. After parking his bike at the facility, Bucky made his way to the meeting room. Dark wooden tables in an L-shape appeared in his view. Steve and Sam were standing in front of the large monitor that was displaying images of an unknown, yet familiar looking woman.

“Tony, we don’t know if she knows anything.” Natasha said, apparently trying to rationalize with someone else in the room.

“Natasha, we don’t know that she doesn’t not know anything.” Tony shot back, Sam turned slowly and opened his mouth with a confused expression on his face.

“Tony, we aren’t in an episode of FRIENDS. This is serious. We need to decide if this is worth pursuing or not.”

“Wilson, that’s all well and good but we have to acknowledge that this woman could get us our first real break in our search.” Tony explained while taking deep breaths.

“What are we deciding?” Bucky interrupted as he plopped into one of the chairs. Now that Bucky has been given his freedom back, he’s able to display a difference between his mission self and his regular self.

“This woman here,” Steve gestured to the woman on the screen, “is a member of the Virago. It’s an international branch of SHIELD that was believed to be infiltrated by HYRDA years ago.”

“This is the agent code named Libra. Her last mission was with another agent code named Gemini. The mission report has since been lost to us. All we know is that Libra and Gemini were instructed to watch a Svengali safehouse. Apparently something went wrong and only Libra made it out alive.” Tony added, “Which is why we need to find her and see what she knows.” “Tony! There’s no guarantee that she has any knowledge of this mission.” The redhead stressed as she leaned over the table towards the man she was speaking to.

“I think we should find her.” The words left Bucky’s mouth before he could stop them. All motion in the room stopped.

“Um, did the Manchurian Candidate just agree with me?” Tony questioned as the rest of the room remained quiet.

“Look, I’m not necessarily agreeing with you.” Bucky started.

“Nope, can’t take it back.” Tony mused, “Already said it.” Bucky sighed and shook his head.

“Why do you think we should go after her Buck?” Steve inquired. Bucky’s brows furrowed and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I think I know her from somewhere.”

[neonthewrite]

Field Trip

Another contest prize! The request this time was for some quality fluff between Jacob Andris, a human, and Vel, a young wood sprite of Wellwood. Jacob is the gentlest giant around, so it's no wonder that little sprite wanted to hang out with him!

Reading time ~5-10 minutes

~~~~~

Jacob smirked when Bowman flitted towards him. As he predicted, the fussy sprite wasted no time scolding him. “Could you be any more of a stompy giant?!” he complained, banking in a wide arc around Jacob’s long, striding gait. “You’ll scare everyone off before you even show up.”

Jacob had put a lot of work into walking carefully enough to avoid that exact situation. Even knowing he could do more, he was confident in his skills. Naturally, that did nothing to stop Bowman from scolding him. Jacob would worry about the little guy if he ever kicked that habit. “Nah, I won’t,” he countered. “I had you to warn everyone I was coming. They know I’m on the way. Bet I’ll even have a big welcome party.”

Bowman scoffed. “Welcome party or not, you’re blasted loud, Jacob. No storm clouds to be seen and yet there’s thunder.”

That earned another chuckle from Jacob. “Dude, what’s got you so worked up? Trying to convince people you trained a giant again?”

Bowman groaned, and Jacob spotted the look on his face before he could flit away. “Bowman, you don’t need to fret about it. I’ll be on my best behavior, like I always am. No one will find a reason to scold you, at least not from me.”

Another little scoff. This time, Bowman swooped close so he could land on Jacob’s shoulder. With his perch claimed, he finally admitted “Fine. You’re right. But if someone gets upset, I might just get chased out of the village. Last visit a nestling climbed into your hood but I’m the one who got bopped for it!”

Jacob laughed, though he tried to rein it in with Bowman perched on him. “Dude, they wouldn’t do that. And if they did, you can just chill with me. That’s not so bad, right?”

“Ha. If any nestling gets in trouble, I’m pointing at you, giant.”

Jacob rolled his eyes, but wasn’t surprised. “And if someone tries to bop you, I’ll probably have to let ‘em. Wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m not trained, right?”

“Oh, climb a dead tree. And then behave. We’re almost there.”

~~~

Jacob had visited Wellwood several times before. It never went as badly as Bowman assumed it might, though not for lack of griping. Most of the residents of the village trusted Jacob to be near their vulnerable homes; he’d stood up for them against other humans before, after all. He protected the secret even from his own family. Even those who were still wary of him didn’t begrudge others a chance to visit with him. Jacob had no intention of forcing someone to be around him if they didn’t want to, anyway. He had plenty of visitors as it was.

True to his word, he behaved well. He put up a calm front for Bowman, but in reality Jacob was careful to watch every move. He didn’t want to break that fragile trust he’d built up with the wood sprites of Wellwood.

While some of the younger sprites came to see Jacob, with their parents nearby just in case, Bowman had spent some time wheeling about in the air, chasing or being chased by other sprites his age. It was a pleasantly uneventful afternoon, as far as Jacob was concerned.

He made his way back to his clearing near dinnertime. While the sprites all wandered home to eat, Jacob wanted to be well away from the village. Seeing him eat made them nervous sometimes, and it made him feel awkward. He’d go have his dinner at his camp and the sprites needn’t be bothered.

The clearing, his temporary residence whenever he visited, was just as he’d left it earlier. His tent waited to one side with some firewood piled next to it. A plastic cooler sat in the shade next to a bucket for water. He had a sturdy line tied between two trees to hang up some of his other belongings, particularly food he didn’t want some forest critter to drag away.

He took a few steps towards that line only to halt in surprise at the sound of a giggle. The sound startled him enough that he swayed in place from the sudden stop. It was not a sound he expected out here, not with the village so far behind him.

“Alright, very sneaky,” he said to the open air before looking down at the pocket on the front of his hoodie. An innocuous pouch of fabric, it fascinated most of the sprites that encountered it. They didn’t have pockets on their clothes at all, so he didn’t have to wonder why.

Gingerly, Jacob reached a hand into the pocket, wary of bumping into tiny wings at the wrong angle. A small figure shifted away from his fingers and another giggle emitted from the pocket, and he couldn’t help a faint smile of his own. Whoever it was, they were young and quite pleased with themself for their deception.

A deception Jacob would take the blame for, he was certain.

“C’mere, kiddo,” he said, scooping his hand beneath the miniscule sprite and ferrying them out into the open. Little movements fluttered on his palm as they settled, and before he even had them in view he felt little hands clinging to his thumb for stability.

It turned out to be one of the nestlings, an absolutely tiny child with wings too small to do more than flutter along on the ground. His light brown hair was mussed and staticky from the pocket, and his wings stretched out as soon as he was back in the sunlight. He grinned at Jacob as he rose to eye level with the would-be giant. “Hi, Jacob! I was hiding!”

“I noticed,” Jacob replied, amusement coloring his voice. “You’re … Vel, right?”

If possible, the boy’s grin brightened. “Yeah! I’m Vel! I wanted to see your, um, your camp! So I was real sneaky.”

That exuberance was hard to deny, so Jacob only shook his head ruefully. “You don’t need to be sneaky to come visit me here, Vel. I’m sure your parents wouldn’t mind bringing you, but you should have asked so they’d know where you went.”

The boy stuck out his lip in a defiant pout, and his little wings flared open in a show of confidence despite the way his arms still wrapped around Jacob’s curled thumb. “But I wanted to be sneaky! And my mama wouldn’t have said yes, not when it’s dinnertime. But I thought, maybe, I could just have dinner here! Then when we go back she won’t get upset!”

Oh she’ll be mad alright, Jacob thought. Just probably not at you. It looked like Bowman’s worrying earlier would come to pass and Jacob would earn a few tiny bops.

He looked over his shoulder as if he might see a pair of angry sprite parents darting out of the woods right then and there. When he looked back, he was met with some very potent puppy eyes from Vel. “Okay,” he conceded, earning another enthusiastic grin. “But you’ll have to be good, and you have to promise me you won’t hide in my pocket again, okay? It’s not safe for you to be in there without me knowing.”

Vel nodded vigorously. “Okay! Yeah! I’ll be good, Jacob, I promise!”

“Good, we don’t want to make your mom worry any more than she already will,” Jacob replied with a faint smile.

Jacob had no doubts the kid would do his best, but really the responsibility all rested with him. He sighed and determined not to let that thought worry him; it wasn’t like he would let Vel wander into something dangerous, and the kid really couldn’t go all that far on his own. His wings were still small, occasionally fluttering involuntarily.

He moved his hand closer to his chest, offering his tiny guest better stability as he continued towards his hanging food bags. “You might end up having a dinner of human food, I can’t remember everything I brought,” he warned.

Vel didn’t seem worried. “Yay! Is it candy?”

Jacob had to chuckle at that. He grabbed one of his bags down from the line and made his way to his dormant campfire to have a seat. “No, I’m not gonna feed you candy for dinner,” he chided. “You need something healthier to make sure those wings grow big and strong.”

Vel pouted up at him, but didn’t have any further arguments. He clung tighter to Jacob’s thumb as he settled himself on the ground. He watched the sturdy food bag curiously, eyeing the zipper as Jacob opened it up.

First things first, Jacob rummaged in the bag with his free hand until he found a handkerchief, little more than a worn swatch of cloth he’d meant to use as a napkin. This he set on the ground before finally lowering Vel down. “Here you go, bud. You can sit here so you’re not right in the dirt, sound good?”

Vel scooted himself to the edge of Jacob’s hand, pausing to survey the offered picnic blanket before he hopped down. His wings fluttered and his arms shot out to his sides so he could prevent a stumble, and then he grinned proudly up at Jacob. “Thanks, Jacob! It’ll be fun! I’m gettin’ hungry! What’re we gonna have?”

Jacob couldn’t help an endeared smile. He gently nudged at Vel’s tiny stomach, earning a burst of giggles. “Hungry, huh? Let’s see what I have, maybe we can fill that tummy right up.”

“I betcha have a lot,” Vel mused, dropping to a seat while Jacob searched through his bag. “That bag is big enough for a whole house! Maybe two!”

“It’s pretty big alright,” Jacob agreed. “Gotta have a lot so I don’t run out while I’m visiting. Then I’d have to eat leaves, and those don’t fill me up as well as they do for you sprites.”

Vel giggled some more, but was distracted from responding when Jacob produced a few clear baggies from the large canvas bag. Raisins, granola, trail mix, and a few other things that kept well were separated into the bags; Jacob set aside a few that definitely wouldn’t work (thankfully Vel didn’t notice the M&Ms in the trail mix before it was out of sight again). Jacob picked out a raisin and a broken shard of a banana chip, thinking they’d be plenty to get the kid started.

He held them out and Vel, his eyes wide, took both in his hands with an endearing kind of reverence. “Thanks, Jacob! These look really good! This … what’s this yellow thing?”

Jacob helped himself to some granola, but before eating any he explained the food for Vel. “The yellow thing is a dried piece of a banana. It’s a kind of fruit. The other thing is called a raisin. It’s a dried berry. They’re still good like that, I promise.”

Vel wrinkled his nose in thought, then eyed up the two unusual fruits in his lap. “That sounds like winter food,” he pointed out. “But they’re not cold!”

"Nah," Jacob agreed, keeping an eye on the fascinated little sprite. "Maybe they were cold when someone dried them out. I don't know how they make 'em."

Vel nibbled at the banana chip and pondered it. Jacob took the kid's distraction as a chance to sneak a few more bites of granola. Vel didn't seem as worried about it as most of the adult sprites, but Jacob didn't plan to take any chances upsetting him. The kid had an innocent trust in the would-be giant in his midst. Breaking that trust would be deplorable.

After a few minutes of quiet, Vel finally had a verdict. "I like this banana thing," he announced, holding up the piece he'd barely made a dent in. "You said it wasn't gonna be candy, but this is just as good as candy! It’s kinda hard but I don't mind 'cause it's really yummy!"

"Well, good," Jacob said with an endeared smile. "It’s good for you. Much better for those wings than candy would be " To punctuate his claim, Jacob nudged one of Vel's fluttering wings with a fingertip.

Vel squirmed away on his makeshift picnic blanket, clutching his banana chip close to his chest as he did. “Wait, wait, I wanna try the other thing too!” he said in between giggles.

Jacob relented and nodded pointedly at the raisin Vel had left behind in his scrambling. “Oh, that thing right there? I thought you were leaving it for me.”

Vel gasped and dove for it. “Nooo, I still want it! I promise!”

“Alright,” Jacob conceded, doing his best put-upon expression. “Go ahead and try it out. Whatever you don’t manage to fit in your tummy can go home with ya, okay? Maybe your parents would like it.”

And maybe a peace offering will get me out of trouble, he amended silently.

Vel fidgeted to settle himself comfortably again. “Yeah! I bet they’d like to try it. Winter food that isn’t cold is so weird!”

Jacob hummed thoughtfully. “I bet it is,” he said, sneaking some more of his own food while Vel was preoccupied. “I wonder what your mom and dad will say about it.”

~~~

Soon enough, it was time to head back to the village. The sky was turning orange at the edge of the horizon. No matter the begging faces he got, Jacob’s resolve only wavered a bit. He really couldn’t let the kid stay out too long without his parents knowing where he was.

Arriving back at the village, he had a feeling he knew which of the trees held Vel’s home. A number of adult sprites fluttered around it in agitated patterns. They barely noticed his return to the village.

Until he cleared his throat. “Um. Hey, guys.” He held up his hand, fingers curled for the security of the nestling sitting on his palm. “I had someone sneak back to my clearing with me when I left for dinner.” Vel waved at the nonplussed adults.

Several of them darted over to Jacob, heedless of his size. Among them was none other than Bowman himself, who came to a hover right before Jacob’s face. “What did I tell you about behaving?!” he scolded.

Jacob blinked and leaned back. “I did behave! Vel here is very sneaky. So I gave him some dinner before bringing him home.”

Vel was grinning at a sprite woman that had landed right on Jacob’s hand to check on him. “I was so sneaky, mama!” he announced. “We had fun! Jacob let me keep the leftovers!”

At least he had Vel to smooth things over. Jacob could tell by Bowman’s narrowed eyes that he’d be bopped later. “It was just a little field trip. Won’t happen again without permission, I promise.”

“It better not,” Bowman warned, as if that was all it took to keep a nestling from misbehaving and landing Jacob in trouble.

[gyllousos]

Warnings: Depression, masochists, language.

Copyright @ gyllousos 2021. All rights reserved.

Dedicated to @the-grimm-writer

_________________________________________

Hannya despised hospitals. She hated the smell of disinfectant, the plain white walls decorated with awareness for the human body, as well as the chairs in the waiting room. Not that the one she was sitting in was uncomfortable, yet her ass felt like a pin cushion since she'd been in the thing for well over an hour and counting. Just ten minutes ago she had gone to the vending machine for a soda, downing the Sprite in one gulp.

She was still staring into the empty soda can as though it would refill with more of the carbonated beverage. Her thumb pressed into the side, crinkling the corner. Above her a TV played an old show, something about two children using their imagination to escape into a new world.

One where they forgot about all the bad stuff, even for a moment, a paradise for two. A haven. Thinking about that made a lump swell in Hannya's throat. She set her can onto a nearby table, curling her hands into her lap. A nail dug into the fabric of her leggings, she winced at the bruise there. It was still throbbing a week later, still sore. Her back arched from the cut diagonal cut, also a week old, but it didn't pulse like the thigh bruise did.

Her old cuts and bruises hurt most days, even though half of them were healed for weeks, despite their ugliness in the beginnings. She used to never recognize herself in the mirror after they fucked. Not screwed, but fucked until she lay beneath him unable to move, a quivering mess of orgasm.

God. She was truly sick.

She inhaled slowly through her nose. Hannya refused to cry in this place. One of the nurses had been looking at her so often, a pitying look in her eyes. Hannya avoided eye contact.

She knew that nurse too well, she'd nearly made a home here. But that was long ago. And the nurse, a petite brunette with gentle doe eyes was always so kind to her.

Vague flashes of Hannya in a room where she was monitored, wearing a gown, and counting the hours on the clock to her meds. No, she wasn't going down memory lane again.

What if she broke again? But not because of him.

Dabi.

ㅤHe twisted the fabric of her shirt, bunching tightly. There were tearing sounds. Fraying sounds. Dragging her to within inches of his leering, predatory smile.

ㅤHer shirt came away in a ribbon, leaving her in unkempt, scant rags. He sneered, pinching a nipple as her pert little breasts jiggled free. Dabi tweaked the nipple, and swatted her breast with an open-palmed slap.

Hannya let out a cry between a gasp and a moan.

Dabi clenched his fist around her throat, thrust his arm so she was pinned to the wall behind her. One hand constricted the air from her lungs, while the other twisted cruelly on the same nipple from before.

"Scared yet?"

"No."

ㅤㅤ"No need to lie."

ㅤHis other hand slipped low, her breast freed from his cruel touch only for his hot breath to caress it. Dabi sank teeth into her its supple flesh, snakelike tongue uncoiled to writhe slick against the nipple. His loose fingers delved between her thighs, groping a handful of her warm, tender sex.

ㅤHe didn’t need her to black out from the choking, but it was designed so that every throb of pleasure he squeezed into her body lightened her head. A cruel, sadistic practice to strangle every last drop of ecstasy, to send her spirit into heaven but her body to hell.

Dabi's fingers were long and defined, two sunken deep into the supple heat of her cunt. His pace, merciless. The villain ground the heel of his wrist firmly against her clit, assaulting every inch. He worked in and out of her with aggressive vigor, stirring up loud, sloppy noises from her.

She felt him adjust, she bit her lip from the harsh penetration when he slammed himself into her, those haunting blue eyes never leaving her face.

"You're mine, Hannya."

"I'm yours."

"If another man looks at you the way I look at you, or even thinks about fucking you, I'll split his goddamn skull."

Hannya snapped back to reality at the alert of her name being called. She remembered now that she had been called into the exam room for tests. The gown felt paper thin on her, exposing her to the nurse who held her clipboard in hand.

She hadn't commented on the palm bruise on her thigh or the cut on her back. Hannya was almost relieved her skin was back to semi-normal. It had been a long time since she last been here. How long ago?

Three years since her last attempt.

"You're doing well Hannya, much better since your last visit with us. You've been keeping up with all of your appointments, last time you were hear you had bad anemia and an infection. You bounced back like a champ. "

Hannya smiled faintly. The plump old woman reminded her of a doting grandma.

"Your appetite back to normal?"

"Yes ma'm. Everything is good."

She tried best to hide the clip in her speech.

"Now that we're following up, I'd like to wait for the rest of your test results to come in."

Hannya hid her impatience, wishing time would go forward, she could grab her things and leave. Back to her home where she could close off the world. Block everyone out. Would Dabi be waiting for her? For once, she didn't want to see him. As much as their sadistic games were fun time both of them, she just didn't have the desire. No other man could get her off the way Dabi did.

Lately, she dreaded seeing him propped in her couch, or getting a text from him. She could damn near feel him without him being near. A moment later, when the same woman poked her head in, Hannya actually beamed.

The door closed behind her.

That's when Hannya left the hospital in a daze, barely clutching her phone and purse, she didn't even know she drove home until she parked in the driveway. Turning off the engine, she sat in stunned silence, her knuckles tight onto the steering wheel.

God, she just wanted to turn back time to the last month, the last year, erase everything. She was numb enough as is and she hoped Dabi wasn't waiting on her. She just couldn't take it right now.

“No,” she said, barely audible. The nurse's words echoing in her ears once more.

A sob escaped her. She dragged herself out of her vehicle, barely registering her feet moving towards her home, inside of her apartment. She locked the door behind her. And didn't have to look around to see a tall man with spiked dark hair and a smile that gave her goosebumps.

"Dabi..."

"Miss me?"

Her legs felt like jelly. Her heart was being so fast she feared it rip itself through her chest. Hannya's knees shook, and her heart hammered in my chest. She felt like she was already walled in, and she didn’t even know it.

“I wish I’d never met you,” she said, almost whispering.

He stopped, his boots creaking the wooden floor under him. “Believe me, girl, the feeling is fucking mutual.”

No arguments, no shouting, no cursing even though she wanted to spew a blue streak at him. Eventually she fell onto her knees, the metallic clink of a belt and a zipper being pulled down; she parted her lips for Dabi's cock already slick with precum. She swallowed him into the back of her throat.

"Good girl," he praised her, stroking the back of her head.

___________________________________________

Hannya hadn't seen Dabi since that day, what felt like over a month had turned into sixteen months. As much as she didn't care, she ached for him, and not in the sexual sense. She truly yearned for his company if she could actually believe it. Just what happened to him after that?

No texts, no calls. No sudden appearing without warning. Poof! He never told her he was leaving. Then again he never told her a lot of anything. Hannya often dreamt of him, as the little boy named Touya. The same boy who came crying to her in the catacombs and she to him. Two kids yearning for a place in the world.

She hadn't given up hope she'd see him again, if ever. Hannya swiped her fingers across her phone screen, tucking her device back into her pocket, her blue eyes swiveled up the moon, an ache swelling in her chest.

"I'm losing it..." She mumbled, proceeding to walk. She was patting her pockets for her car keys when a hand snaked its way around her forearm, dragging her into a brick corner, pinning her against a wall.

She couldn't scream because of the stranger's hand covering her mouth. Her eyes doubled in size, his sinister smirk making her skin flush.

Touya!

"Dabi." It came out as a muffle.

"Like you've seen a ghost," he sneered, letting her go.

"For a minute I thought I did..." She whispered.

His eyes raked over her outfit, eyes narrowing in on her chest. He sure knew how to make her vulnerable, naked without undressing her. So he hadn't left after all. Was he hiding from her?

He was never far to begin with. Something told her this wasn't a social visit, she needed to get home before she did something like kiss him. He'd take her right here in public. Wouldn't be the first time.

"I was looking for you, " she said.

"Is that a fact?" His voice was utterly emotionless. Not the least bit of warmth.

"I suppose I was looking for you, too. You made a big mistake Hannya."

The way he said it made Hannya scoot an inch from him.

"What are you talking about?" Hannya remained composed, furrowing her dark brows. Dabi only advanced.

"Telling lies, keeping secrets. It was all gonna come out eventually, you just should have been more careful."

"Dabi..." He chuckled, one hand stuffed in his jacket pocket.

"I...I meant to find you...I was looking for my family."

Dabi almost laughed, shaking his head slightly.

"You were looking for a family, huh? One could argue it's my family you’re looking for right? How are my baby boy and girl by the way? Got my eyes don't they?"

All the color drained from Hannya's face.

A glimpse into memory had her back in the exam room months ago.

"We ran more tests Hannya. Your bloodwork shows you’re also pregnant, a little over eight weeks along. Congratulations.”

Why couldn't the Earth just swallow her whole now? There's no way he could have known. No she wouldn't have told him right away, if at all. He wouldn't have been a great father. When she was told she was pregnant Hannya wanted to cry, scream, break something or even someone. The last thing she had ever wanted inflicted on her had happened, she was in such hysterics she nearly fainted.

Why couldn't it have been anyone but him? The raw cry she let out. She imagined life with two tiny humans, ones she could give unconditional love to. Innocent souls. Her twins. She knew she was going to keep them, her darling babies. How she tried to keep them from Dabi and now...

"You knew...how long..."

"Does it matter? You honestly didn't think you could hide them from me forever Hannya. You should know better than that." His voice was almost a taunt.

"Try keeping them away from me, if you so much as leave with them I'll burn everything down in my path, everyone, to get what I want."

It was like a slap in the face. He wouldn't? Right? No, he had no rights towards their children. Her children. As far as Hannya knew Dabi was just the sperm donor.

Hannya scowled.

Dabi smirked.

He was right, the twins got his eyes alright.

Still advancing, Dabi pinned Hannya to the rough brick wall, his nose level with hers. He didn't want to admit he missed his little devil. He had to resist the urge to to tear off her clothing and fuck her until she was begging him to stop. God, her scent. She couldn't have been more beautiful, plump lips, inviting breasts, fair skin he wanted to mark again.

"I'll be watching you and our children, doll. Who would have thought..."

He gripped her oncoming wrist from slapping him. Should he break it? No. Some other time. He released her, backing up to give her space, almost yearning for the closeness again. No more talk, he left quietly as he came. He heard the faint falling of Hannya on her knees, cursing him to hell and back.

[purrincess-chat]

My Chosen’s Keeper CH3 (FINAL)

Here is the last chapter of the petty kwami AU. I have basically this whole week off because of Hurricane Sally, so I decided to go ahead and post the last chapter since I finished it up. I’m so happy you all enjoy this fic, and I hope you like the conclusion!

Read on AO3

Chapter 3

After a week, Lila stopped scheming against Marinette. In fact, she’d stopped doing much of anything. Every so often she’d look over her shoulder as if expecting someone to be following her, and she flinched every time she opened her locker or her bag.

Tikki was satisfied enough with their efforts, though she worried they’d gone too far when Lila spun around on poor Nathaniel walking behind her to his seat. Her goal was to inconvenience Lila, not scare her out of her skin, and now her stomach was churning too much to enjoy her morning macaron. She popped into Adrien’s bag where Plagg was dozing in an empty Camembert carton and shook him awake.

“Plagg, do you think maybe we went too far with all of this?” She asked, but Plagg simply shrugged his shoulders and burped.

“Relax, sugar cube. That girl got what was coming to her.”

“Yeah, but she’s petrified now, and people are starting to notice,” she said with a nervous glance up at the open zipper. “I think we should stop.”

“Fine,” Plagg yawned, and Tikki prodded his side.

“I’m serious, Plagg. No more pranks.”

“Okay,” he said, and she sat back, antenna pressing low against her head.

“Good,” she said with a nod.

As the bell rang, Tikki slipped back into Marinette’s bag before her owner noticed her absence. She tried to push the whole situation from her mind, but when Alya leaned against Marinette’s neighboring locker, her nerves only worsened.

“Lila’s been acting super paranoid today. I wonder what’s bugging her,” Alya whispered, casting a glance at their classmate across the room.

“Nathaniel told me she thinks she’s being haunted,” Marinette said. Even she seemed concerned, and Tikki shrank deeper into her purse.

“I mean, a lot of crazy stuff has been happening to her, so maybe she is,” Alya said with a wince.

“I wouldn’t doubt if she’d made a spirit angry,” Marinette mumbled, and Alya leaned in closer.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I feel kinda bad for her. I saw her dozing off in class earlier. She must not be sleeping,” Alya said, biting her lip. “Hey, why don’t we all plan a sleepover? Maybe if a group of us supports her then she’ll feel safe enough to sleep.”

“Uhh, yeah, sure,” Marinette said, sounding anything but willing. “You plan it, and I will definitely not think of an excuse not to go.”

“I’ll ask her this afternoon. It’ll be fun.” Alya nudged her with her elbow before they headed to their next class.

To Tikki’s horror, not only did Lila accept the sleepover invitation, but somehow, she managed to convince them to host it at Marinette’s house. Lila had a way of backing people into corners, and Marinette didn’t really have a choice in the matter. Tikki was equally as unenthused. Just what she needed—another reason to get involved.

“Plagg, what am I gonna do?” Tikki asked that afternoon in art class. “I know she’s up to something!”

“Do you want me to leave stinky cheese in her locker again?”

“No!”

“Good because it’s a terrible waste of perfectly good cheese.”

“Plagg! I’m serious. What if Lila does something to my owner tonight?” Tikki said, tugging his arm. “Help me!”

“I thought you wanted to be done with all of this? No more pranks?” Plagg said, and Tikki averted her gaze, antenna lowering.

“I do, but she’s coming into her personal home. What if she finds her diary and learns that she’s Ladybug? Or what if she just so happens to steal her earrings? Or what if-”

“Don’t worry, sugar cube. I’ll help you tonight. Lila won’t get away with anything, okay?” Plagg said, patting her head.

“You mean it?”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Plagg asked, and Tikki’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, bad question. I promise I won’t let you down—this time.”

“Thanks, Plagg.”

Later that evening, Tikki chewed her lip as Marinette tidied up for her guests. She’d helped remove any lingering Adrien pictures despite her friends all knowing about her crush, but Marinette was just as wary of having Lila over as Tikki. As a result, she was taking a few extra precautions like hiding her diary and anything else Lila could use against her. It eased some of Tikki’s worry, but not all of it.

“Are you really going to have that girl over?” She asked as Marinette locked her important belongings in her chest.

“I couldn’t exactly say no. Lila is too good at manipulating everyone. If I had said no, she would have made it seem like I hate her,” Marinette said, leaning against her fist.

“But you do hate her.”

“Yeah, but I can’t prove why I hate her to everyone, so I don’t have a choice,” Marinette sighed. “We’ll just have to be extra careful tonight. I doubt Lila will try anything with all of the girls over.”

“Yeah. Hopefully.”

Thankfully Alya arrived first to help set up because Lila was the first after her. She seemed surprised and slightly annoyed to find Alya there as well, and Tikki’s blood boiled at the sight of her. She popped up to the roof, tapping her paws together as she peered out over the street. The night was calm and quiet—a direct contrast to the storm brewing inside her. Where was Plagg?

“Ya know, you really worry too much.”

She spun around to see him lounging on the chair with a cheese danish from the bakery. Relief flooded her mind, but it was quickly replaced by annoyance. “Where have you been?”

“Relax, sugar cube. I was doing some important reconnaissance,” he said around a mouthful.

“You mean helping yourself to whatever your greedy stomach wanted?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You are so selfish!”

“Oh, then I suppose you already know that Lila has a lockpick in her bag?”

“She- you- oh…Well, then we should-”

“Already did. And her toothbrush just for fun,” he snickered, and Tikki lowered onto the chair beside him. “I’m a little insulted that you don’t believe in me.”

“Dinosaurs, Atlantis, the Black Plague…”

Plagg bit off a chunk of his pastry and chewed it grumpily. “We never talk about your mistakes.”

“Thank you, Plagg,” Tikki said, and he blinked, swallowing the rest of the danish whole. “For everything.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all sappy on me.” He turned his back to her and waved it away, but she could see the smile tugging on his lips. “Now come on. We’ve got work to do.”

The girls were gathered in Marinette’s room when Tikki and Plagg snuck in and took position on Marinette’s bed. Marinette had strategically positioned herself on top of her locked chest, and partnered with Plagg’s disposal of Lila’s lock pick, it eased some of Tikki’s nerves. At least her secrets would be safe, but that didn’t mean Lila didn’t have other tricks up her sleeve.

After a while, they moved downstairs to watch a movie, and Mr. Dupain brought up homemade pizza. Plagg groaned beside her as the girls pulled apart stretchy strips of cheese, and Tikki restrained him from flying down and helping himself.

Halfway through the movie, Lila got up to go to the bathroom, and Tikki followed. Just as she feared, the moment the door closed, Lila set to work silently opening cabinets. Tikki had half a mind to spray her with the sink nozzle again, but after a few minutes of searching, Lila found what she was looking for—a metal nail file. She pulled a bobby pin from her hair and tucked them both into her pocket.

Back out in the main room, she announced that she was going to go upstairs and call her mom who was traveling overseas on some important ambassador thing, and she only had a short window in the evening to talk to her because of timezones or something. It didn’t matter the reason because it was a lie. Marinette’s glare followed her up the stairs with Tikki right behind it.

“Plagg?” She hissed, glancing around for that lazy black cat, but she didn’t have to guess where he was. “I told you not to touch the pizza!”

Plagg clung to the piece he was greedily stuffing in his mouth as Tikki tugged on his tail. “Oh come on! Mr. Dupain makes his own mozzarella. I couldn’t resist!”

“Lila is on the move! She took a nail file from the bathroom, and now she’s upstairs! Come on!”

Plagg caressed his slice of pizza one last time before Tikki dragged him up the stairs. Lila was already kneeling beside the chest, nail file and bobby pin at work.

“Come on, stupid chest. I know Marinette is behind all of the weird stuff happening to me lately,” she grumbled. “I just need something to blackmail her with to make it all stop. Just open!”

“Plagg, what are we gonna do?” Tikki whispered, and Plagg was already surveying the rest of the room.

“Follow my lead,” he said, darting for the nearest mannequin.

Lila nearly had the lock open when a stack of shoeboxes toppled over, and she jumped. Seeing that it was only boxes, she took a deep breath and turned back to her work.

“What?” She gasped when her makeshift lock picks were no where to be found.

“Lila…”

She startled, jumping up and spinning around, but no one was in the room. No one she could see anyway.

“Liiiila…”

“Very funny, Marinette. I know it’s you. It’s been you the whole time. I don’t know how, but you won’t beat me,” she said, but the way her eyes flicked frantically around the room betrayed her true fear.

“Leave her alone…”

The mannequin by the chaise, surged forward, and Lila’s scream filled the house. She scrambled for the trapdoor, but it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard she tugged. The girls rushed up the stairs, Marinette at the front. She pushed the trapdoor open easily to find Lila curled into a ball on the floor, tears streaming down her face.

“What are you doing?” Marinette demanded, and Alya crawled up to wrap an arm around Lila’s shoulders.

“The mannequin!” Lila wailed.

“What about it?” Marinette asked.

“It-It talked and moved and-and-” She pointed across the room, but the mannequin had returned to its original place. Even the shoeboxes had righted themselves. “But…”

“Maybe we should all just go to bed,” Alya suggested, and Lila grabbed her shoulders.

“But it did move! I swear I’m not making it up,” she said, gripping her shirt so tightly that Alya swatted her hands away with a hiss.

“I think you’re just tired-”

“Or crazy,” Marinette mumbled, masking it with a cough.

“Sleep deprivation can make you see weird things,” Alya said. “Come on. Let’s get you some sleep.”

As the girls moved downstairs again, Marinette eyed her chest, but her secrets were safe. Tikki still stayed up all night to make sure Lila didn’t try anything again, but their ghost stunt seemed to have scared her off the idea.

When morning light streamed in from the windows, Tikki sat back with a yawn. Curling in next to Plagg snoring loudly on Marinette’s chaise, she slipped off into sleep with the reassurance that Marinette was safe.

***

The Monday after the sleepover, Lila entered the school on a quest for vengeance. Dark bags hung under blood-shot eyes, and her whole demeanor was slightly unhinged as everyone hung out in the courtyard on break. Tikki knew she was going to target Marinette again, so she lingered close by—waiting.

Marinette was sketching on a bench by herself while a maintenance man repainted the railing to her left. When he reached a stopping point, he scooted the ladder next to the bench and took his break, but Marinette never looked up from her drawing.

“Hey, I heard about the sleepover. What happened?” Adrien materialized at Marinette’s side, startling her out of her skin. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Marinette relaxed. “I don’t know. I knew she was up to no good, and while we were all watching a movie, she went up to my room to ‘call her mom’ then she just started screaming and freaking out,” Marinette said, shooting her a glare across the courtyard. “I don’t really know what happened, but she swears my mannequin talked to her.”

“Do you think she’s doing it all for attention?” Adrien asked, but Marinette pursed her lips.

“I don’t think so this time. She seemed really freaked out when we found her. I think she’s actually losing her mind,” Marinette said.

“You don’t think she’s really being haunted, do you?” Adrien’s green eyes clouded with worry.

“I don’t know,” Marinette said with a shrug. “Maybe she is making it all up for attention, or maybe all of her lying is finally catching up to her.”

“Let’s hope this convinces her to start telling the truth whatever it is,” he said. “I’m just glad she didn’t do anything to you. I was worried when I heard she was coming to your house for a sleepover.”

Marinette’s cheeks flushed at that, and she took her eyes off Lila. Adrien was the perfect distraction, but Tikki wasn’t so easily deterred because Lila was watching them too. Their friendly smiles and close proximity drove her over the edge. When she dashed toward them, Tikki braced herself, but Lila wasn’t aiming for the bench.

Tikki glanced up at the paint can resting precariously on the top of the ladder beside them, recognizing the intent in Lila’s eyes.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said, flitting up to the bucket.

Lila rocked the ladder, but against the laws of natural physics, the can twirled around and dumped on top of her. The courtyard fell silent as the can clattered to the ground, and Lila wiped green paint from her face.

“That’s it!” She screeched, pointing a finger at Marinette. “This is all your fault!”

“Lila, Marinette didn’t do anything. I was talking to her the whole time,” Adrien said, holding up cautioning hands.

“No! Everything is her fault!” Lila stomped a foot. “I don’t know how you keep doing it, but I know it’s you!”

“Lila, what are you-” Alya started, but Lila lunging at Marinette cut her off. Nino and Ivan caught her, and Adrien took a defensive stance in front of Marinette.

“How did you do it, Marinette?” She growled. “I put those test answers in your schoolbag, but they weren’t there when Mlle. Bustier checked! I planted my necklace in your locker during lunch, but somehow you put it back! How did you do it?”

Marinette and Adrien cupped hands over their mouths as the weight of those words settled among their classmates. Confusion and anger snaked its way onto every face, and more classmates joined Adrien guarding Marinette.

“Wait, you tried to frame Marinette? But why?” Nathaniel asked, and Lila shot him a glare.

“Because I hate her! She’s always getting in my way and ruining my plans. I’d have you all eating out of the palm of my hand if it wasn’t for her!” She said, shoulders heaving. She ripped away from Nino and Ivan and kicked the paint bucket with a shriek.

“Whoa, so all those times Marinette said you were lying…” Nino said, lowering his gaze.

“She was right,” Adrien spoke up, and all eyes turned to him. “Lila is a liar. Nothing she’s ever said is true. She just wanted to use all of you for attention.”

“So, you’ve never met Jagged Stone?” Rose deflated.

“And let me guess. You’re not really bffs with Ladybug,” Alya said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Of course I’m not friends with that stupid insect! I hope Hawkmoth takes her Miraculous and rids the world of her stupid face!” Lila shouted.

“What’s going on here?” Mr. Damocles demanded as he and Mlle. Bustier approached.

“Karma,” Marinette said with a grunt.

Lila glanced between each face glaring back at her, the rage-induced fog clearing enough for her to see the damage she’d inflicted. Her eyes widened, and her shoulders shrank. For the first time since she’d stepped foot in their school, Lila was exposed. Powerless. Small.

“My office. Now.” Mr. Damocles barked through gritted teeth, and Lila followed behind him quietly. She had nothing left to say. No more lies to tell.

“M, are you okay?” Alya pulled her best friend in for a tight hug. “I’m so sorry I never believed you.”

“Yeah, we should have known better. You never trip out over anyone unless there’s a reason,” Nino said, ruffling her hair.

“We’re sorry, Marinette.”

“Yeah, we shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“It’s fine,” Marinette said, cutting everyone off. “Really. I’m not mad at you. Lila manipulated all of you. It’s not your fault she can’t tell the truth.”

“Marinette…” Alya cooed, and all of their classmates huddled around her.

When the bell rang, they all dispersed, heading to their next class, but Marinette excused herself to the bathroom. Tikki slipped back into her purse, relieved that it was finally over and that she hadn’t been caught. Or rather, she thought she hadn’t been caught until Marinette ripped open her purse and dumped her out into her waiting hand.

“I thought kwamis weren’t supposed to meddle,” she said, quirking a brow, and Tikki shrank guiltily.

“I’m sorry, Marinette! I just knew she was up to no good, and I couldn’t let her frame you,” she said, pressing her paws together.

“Putting the test answers back and moving the necklace are like you, but exploding milk cartons and mannequin ghosts?” Marinette cocked a hip. “Plagg, I know you helped too.”

A sinister chortle echoed above them as Plagg floated down beside Tikki. “I couldn’t let sugar cube have all the fun.”

“We’re really sorry,” Tikki said, lowering her head.

She braced for her punishment, but instead, Marinette lifted the two of them to her lips and planted a soft kiss on each of their heads. “Thanks, you two.”

“You mean you’re not mad?”

“Nah, Lila deserved it,” she said with a shrug.

“I’ll accept my reward in the form of one of those tasty cheese danishes your dad makes,” Plagg said, puffing his chest out, and Marinette scratched under his chin with a giggle.

“You can have all the cheese danishes you want,” she said. “It’s nice to know you two have my back.”

“Of course,” Plagg said, draping an arm over Tikki’s shoulders. “If someone wants to mess with the Bug, they’re gonna have to go through us.”

“We’ll always make sure you’re safe,” Tikki added, and Marinette held out a pink with a smile.

“Bien Joué!”

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 6: “Who Brings a Gun to a Cemetery?”

For Day 6: Cemetery Boys

Rating: General Audiences; Ship: Pre-Destiel; WC: 3,219

POV Outsider (Original Male Character); full tags on AO3 or below the cut.

Summary: Jerry Wallace has seen a lot of satanic rituals. A lot. Candles and daggers, pentagrams, hoods and chanting; you name it, he’s seen it. As the head of security — and only guard — of Sullivan Cemetery, he’s bound to have run into the occasional devil worshipper. It doesn’t even faze him anymore. There’s not much Jerry Wallace hasn’t seen.

In which: Jerry Wallace encounters Dean Winchester, supposed Satanist.

On AO3 Here (or read under the cut!)

Full Tags: POV Outsider, This poor cemetery guard doesn't know what to do about Dean Winchester, Dean seems insane, BAMF Castiel, Early Seasons Dean and Cas, Pre-Relationship Dean and Cas, Pre-Friendship Dean and Cas, somehow they still manage to flirt though, POV Character is briefly threatened by Dean Winchester but it all ends OK,Humor

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jerry Wallace has seen a lot of satanic rituals. A Iot. Candles and daggers, pentagrams, hoods and chanting; you name it, he’s seen it. As the head of security — and only guard — of Sullivan Cemetery, he’s bound to have run into the occasional devil worshipper (and worse. People dig up graves for really unsavory reasons). It doesn’t even faze him anymore. There’s not much Jerry Wallace hasn’t seen.

But tonight, as he sweeps his flashlight back and forth across the dewy grass, making his rounds and sipping on his steaming coffee, something stops him short. He narrows his eyes and cocks his head to listen. There’s a scuffling sound up ahead, from just outside the Bennett mausoleum. It sounds too big to be any of the usual animals. Humans, then. Jerry sighs. He was hoping for a quiet night, so he could make himself comfortable under the lamp at the cemetery entrance and read the book his teenage son, Andrew, had lent him. Cemetery Boys, it’s called. Jerry finds it fitting.

A man’s rough voice rings out from around the corner of the mausoleum. “Dammit, Sam, you can’t give me any hints?”

Jerry blinks at the audacity. Who sneaks into a cemetery at night and doesn’t even try to be quiet about it? He decides to give these particular satanists a little scare, just to teach them a lesson. He switches off his flashlight and gently sets his precious cup of coffee on top of the nearest headstone. Time to have some fun.

He sneaks on silent feet across the grass, clutching his flashlight tight in hand and deciding which tactic he wants to use. The reliable old jump scare? Flashlight beam to the face and an earsplitting yell — it’s worked well on thrill-seeking teenagers in the past. Or the more tricky option, creeping around and making ghostly sounds to unnerve the trespassers so thoroughly that they leave? More time investment, but also more amusing in the long run — Jerry decides on Option Two.

The wall of the mausoleum gives him excellent cover to start his performance. He sidles up along it, to the very edge. The intruders are just around the corner, and it sounds like one of them’s rummaging around in a bag of some sort. Jerry rolls his eyes. Probably some weirdos with spray paint, here to deface the walls of the mausoleum with symbols that take ages to wash off. Jerry opens his mouth and is about to emit his first long, ghostly moan, when the same voice as before pipes up again.

“Picking the lock didn’t work, Sam, I’m telling you, it’s gonna take longer. You gotta hold her off.”

The other person — Sam — doesn’t reply, though. Jerry furrows his brow. Who’s being held off? He decides to get a better picture of the scene before initiating his plan. Very slowly, he pokes just the right side of his face around the corner. The front of the small white building is washed in moonlight, the nearest lamp a ways down the path.

There’s a man crouched outside the mausoleum, maybe in his late twenties, from what Jerry can tell in the low light. He’s wearing an oversized leather jacket over a patterned shirt, with jeans and sturdy-looking boots. His short hair is spiked a bit in the front.

He doesn’t look like a satanist. Jerry stays very still, breathing shallowly and watching.

The man has both hands in a medium-sized duffel bag, rooting around. The contents of the bag are clanging and thudding. With a triumphant exhale, the man stands up, crowbar in hand. Jerry balks. This is already a step beyond chanting and spray paint. Again, nothing he hasn’t seen before, though.

What Jerry couldn’t see while the man was crouched, that now makes itself clear, is that he has a mobile phone pressed between his shoulder and ear. As the man advances on the door with the crowbar, he barks into the phone, “Update, Sammy. You still kicking?”

Jerry can’t make out Sam’s muffled response, but it obviously displeases the man, because he whacks the crowbar against the mausoleum door with a frustrated growl. “Watch your back. Figure out what the hell I’m supposed to burn!” He flips the phone shut and stuffs it into his jacket pocket.

This is getting stranger and stranger. Jerry watches as the man goes to town on the mausoleum door, an offense that Jerry would usually be more inclined to stop from happening. Something about this man, though, about the way he carries himself and the way he talks, is holding Jerry back.

He’s very glad about his decision to stay put about ten seconds later, when the man drops the crowbar to the ground with a clang and pulls a gun out of his jacket. Jerry doesn’t even carry a gun. His heart starts beating and his palms prickle with sweat. He didn’t sign up for this. Who brings a gun to a cemetery?

The man steps back a couple feet, points the handgun at the lock, hunches his shoulders, and fires. Jerry barely has the wherewithal to throw himself back around the corner and press his hands over his ears before the shot goes off. He feels it reverberate through the wall, twice, as the man fires again. Fully out of sight now, Jerry gingerly lowers the zipper on his jacket and reaches into his chest pocket for his radio. He needs to call this in. This is way above his pay grade.

“Dammit!” the man yells. The gun must’ve been ineffective. Jerry mentally pats himself on the shoulder. He requested upgrades to all mausoleum locks after a series of break ins last year, and it looks like the security company came through.

Jerry hears the keypad of the mobile phone beeping as the man punches in a number, then there’s muffled ringing. Jerry uses the sound as cover to pull his radio out and to inch his face around the corner again so he has a visual of the scene.

The man’s phone rings and rings. With another frustrated yell, the man slaps it shut and paces back and forth in front of the door, one hand running through his hair, the other still holding his gun. After a few moments, he stops in his tracks. He’s facing Jerry’s direction, silvery moonlight throwing his cheekbones in sharp relief. He looks like a respectable young man, really. Jerry wonders where he lost his way.

There’s a set of complicated emotions working their way across the man’s face. His eyebrows are pinched in concentration, eyes squeezed shut, lips moving as if he’s talking to himself. This lasts about ten seconds before he throws up his hands and glares at the sky.

“Oh, come on!” he shouts. “Get your harp-toting ass down here! Castiel!”

Jerry, who prides himself on never swearing, thinks: What the fuck.

The man is obviously disturbed. He needs a doctor. Jerry glances down at the radio in his hand, and presses the emergency button. He can’t afford a conversation with dispatch; the man will overhear. This will at least get someone out here.

When Jerry looks back up, he twitches. There are now two men in front of the mausoleum. The newcomer is wearing a long trenchcoat and standing stiffly. He’s facing away from Jerry, looking at the gunman, sensible shoes planted hip-width apart. His messy dark hair blends into the shadows.

Where on earth did he come from? Jerry darts his eyes around. The mausoleum is on a slightly raised part of the cemetery, visibility clear in all directions. Even if the trenchcoat man had approached from the opposite side of the building, Jerry would have seen him.

“Cas,” the gunman says, voice heavy with something like — relief, perhaps? His tense posture relaxes slightly and he claps the trenchcoat man on the shoulder. “You took your time,” he accuses. “Can you open those doors?”

The trenchcoat man, Cas — is this Castiel? Jerry cannot keep up — turns slightly to regard the doors.

“This is why you prayed to me?” Cas’ voice is deeper than the gunman’s, rougher. He speaks like a robot. “Heaven is at war, Dean. You call me to help you break down a door?”

Jerry’s brain is spinning. Are these… actors? Cosplayers? He learned about cosplayers from Andrew. Some of them do have very elaborate costumes. Jerry squints at Cas’ back. This doesn’t look like a costume, though. Cas looks like a tax accountant. Like he should be at home with his family at this time of night.

“Sam’s in trouble,” Dean’s saying, an ever-so-slight pleading edge to the words. “I gotta get in here, Cas, or he’s gonna meet a real bad end. I know you’ve got the mojo, come on!”

“I do not exist to do your bidding,” Cas replies. He strides over to the doors, though, trenchcoat flapping around his calves. “I do not serve you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re a warrior.” Dean’s hovering at Cas’ shoulder. “Can you blast ‘em?”

Cas lays a hand on the doors, long fingers splayed against the metal. Jerry glances down at his radio again. The red button is flashing, indicating that he’d called for help, but he can’t hear any sirens yet. He hopes they send enough officers for two grave-desecrating weirdos.

“Stand back,” Cas says. “And tell the man behind the wall to stand back, too.”

“What?” Dean’s head whips around.

Jerry hastily pulls his head out of sight, heart racing. Oh, no. He’s seen enough. He can ID these two for the cops later. He doesn’t need to be on the scene.

He turns heel to run, but makes it only two steps before a hand grabs his collar and yanks him back. The air is knocked out of him and he yelps, feet scrabbling on the pavement as a strong arm drags him around the corner. He lands on his butt in front of the doors, palms scraping on the ground. He quickly raises one over his head in surrender.

“Please— please, I have a family!” He keeps his eyes averted. Dean’s boots are inches away from his legs. “Don’t hurt me, I won’t say a word, I promise!”

“You the guard?” Dean crouches down in front of him. Oh, lord, the gun is trained on Jerry’s face. He whimpers and nods.

“Great. Give me the keys to the doors. Stat.” A palm appears in front of Jerry’s chest, held out in expectation. He hesitates. Isn’t that aiding and abetting?

No way. He’s at gunpoint. He nods again, fervently, and fumbles in his pocket for his ring of keys. His hand shakes violently as he drops them onto Dean’s outstretched palm. He sneaks a peek up at the men.

“Cas,” Dean says, tossing the keys to the trenchcoat man. “Figure out which one it is. I’ll deal with him.”

Cas catches the keys. “So, you do not want me to break the doors?”

“No— just—” Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, lips pressed together. “Just unlock them.” Cas scowls, but begins slotting the various keys into the mausoleum lock.

Dean turns back to Jerry and waves a hand in front of his face. “Hey,” he snaps. Jerry meets his eyes, conscious that he must look utterly terrified. He hopes it’ll appeal to any sense of humanity in this gun-toting lunatic.

“Whatever you think I am, I’m not,” Dean says, quickly and gruffly. “I’m not some pervert tryin’ to get my rocks off with Sleeping Beauty in there. I haven’t got time to ease you in slow, so here it is: ghosts are real. There’s one after my brother. I can gank it, but I gotta burn some hair or somethin’, something keepin’ it here. That’s all. Once Cas opens the doors, I’ll be in and out. We don’t have to get nasty. I’m even saving your doors from gettin’ blasted, as a favor. ”

Jerry picks and chooses what to process of that. “You have a gun pointed at me.”

Dean glances at the gun, like he’s just now realizing he still has it trained on Jerry. He lowers it. “Sorry. Had to let you know I’m serious. You gonna let me do my thing, or we gonna have a problem?”

The police will be here soon, Jerry thinks. It’s not my responsibility to stop this maniac.

“No problem,” he says. Dean nods once, satisfied, and in that moment, the lock clicks. The doors swing open heavily. Dean springs to his feet and races toward the mausoleum.

“Awesome, Cas!” he shouts, slapping a palm against Cas’ chest as he passes. Cas looks after him, a bemused expression on his face.

“I don’t know what to burn!” Dean hollers from inside.

Jerry is so far past trying to understand any of this. He nurses his scraped palms, huddling on the cold pavement and thinking of the book Andrew gave him. He wanted to finish a few chapters tonight so they could talk about them over breakfast tomorrow. He hopes he gets the chance.

Jerry is tough, but his eyes sting a little as he thinks about it.

“Dean is a good man,” Cas suddenly says, in that mechanical way of his. “Righteous. He won’t harm a human.”

Jerry stares at him in disbelief. There’s nothing he can say to that, beyond “Okay.” Cas just nods, and turns to gaze into the darkness of the mausoleum. There’s a lot of scraping and clattering echoing from the room inside, as if Dean is dismantling the place. He probably is, Jerry thinks miserably as the sound of breaking glass reaches his ears.

Dean comes storming back out of the room, assorted items piled in his arms. Jerry recognizes the doll that’s usually propped up behind the glass of the Bennett daughter’s crypt, and a locket that hangs behind the mother’s. A whole array of other personal effects that Jerry spends his nights guarding also end up on the pavement at Dean’s feet. Dean dives into his duffel bag, pulling out a can of gasoline. He douses the whole pile in the acrid-smelling stuff — Jerry’s nostrils sting and he coughs, scrabbling a little farther away. Dean pulls a lighter out of pocket and flicks it several times, cursing when it doesn’t ignite.

“Allow me,” Cas says, stepping forward. He pauses. “Close your eyes.”

Jerry throws an arm over his eyes without a second thought, just catching sight of Dean doing the same. His jacket sleeve does very little, though, to shield his eyes from the brilliant blue-white light that rips through the darkness. It feels like a bonfire, there one moment and gone the next, leaving the tips of Jerry’s hair singed. He cowers, eyes pressed shut, heaving huge breaths.

“Damn, Cas,” Dean says, voice tinged with awe. “Thanks for the assist.”

Jerry lowers his (slightly smoking) arm and peers at where the pile of belongings once lay. It’s completely gone, reduced to ash, just smoldering dust on the pavement. How on Earth—

In that moment, Dean’s mobile phone rings. He frantically plunges a hand into his jacket and rips it out, flipping it open.

“Sammy?” he asks sharply, pressing the phone to his ear. The voice on the other end mumbles something and Dean sags in relief, dragging a hand over his face. “Close call, huh? Yeah, glad it worked.”

Jerry tunes out the rest of Dean and Sam’s conversation. His eyes travel from the smoking pile of dust, to Cas (who’s standing motionless, staring at Dean), to the open mausoleum door, to his own hands, trembling in his lap. A light catches his eye off to the side and he follows it, realizing it’s his radio, abandoned on the pavement, red emergency light still blinking steadily. He gazes at it like a lifeline.

“Is that— Did you—” Dean’s voice is suddenly closer, right next to Jerry, and he quickly looks up. Dean’s looking at the radio, too. His phone is closed in his hand; he must be done talking to his brother.

“The cops coming?” Dean demands, gesturing at the radio. Jerry doesn’t want to let on, he doesn’t, but faced with this strange, complicated, definitely violent person, he can’t hold out. He nods.

“Dammit,” Dean mutters. Just then, the first siren wails in the distance, growing louder by the second.

Finally.

Dean groans and rushes over to his duffel bag, throwing the can of gasoline back in and grabbing the crowbar off the ground to toss that in, too. “Leave the keys, Cas,” he snaps at the trenchcoat man, who still has Jerry’s key ring dangling from his fingers. Cas drops the keys on the ground.

“Can you zap me to my car?” Dean hoists the duffel over his shoulder and faces Cas. “I won’t make it if I run.”

Cas steps closer to Dean, until he’s right in front of him. Their noses are just a few inches apart. Jerry, with nothing else to do but wait for his rescuers, watches them. Dean takes what looks like a shaky breath. His eyes flick down to Cas’ mouth. “You gonna stare, or you gonna help?” he asks, but it comes out small, a weak attempt at bravado.

Cas reaches out and places his hand over Dean’s left shoulder. “I’ll go with you,” he says, deep and measured, and in the next second, they’re gone. Just gone.

Jerry could swear he heard the flapping of wings. He sits there, numb, staring at the spot where they vanished.

Eventually, the yellow beams of flashlights dart across the front of the mausoleum and voices break through the fog in Jerry’s brain. A hand lands on his shoulder. “Sir, are you all right?”

He’s saved.

There’s a lot of questions from the responding officers, a lot of Jerry having to recount what he saw, picking and choosing details — which of course renders his story utterly implausible — and a lot of nobody believing him; there’s a breathalizer test — humiliating — that of course comes back clean (whether that’s better or worse for him, Jerry’s not so sure), and a round of paperwork, and finally, finally, Jerry is allowed to go.

He stumbles down the cemetery path in a daze, passing his long-cold cup of coffee, still perched on its headstone. He snags it and throws it away in the trash can at the cemetery gates. The officers said they would lock the mausoleum and the security station; Jerry was supposed to go home. He stops briefly at his station, though, to grab Andrew’s book.

He’s not quite ready to go home yet. He’s not sure what to say.

Jerry makes himself comfortable in the front seat of his car, overhead light on, and cracks open his book. He starts to read.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Place Like This 3

Warnings: this short series includes dark elements including noncon, violence, mentions of mental illness, mentions of contraception, and other explicit content. I’m not your mother, curate your own consumption.

This is dark!Lumberjack!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve gone too far to back out now.

Note: Okay, writing this, I thought hey, I can keep it to three parts... and this could be an ending but if you guys want one more part, I’ll do an official finale.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You finally broke the surface, floating and bobbing on your back. You were dizzy, your head pounded and your lungs burned. Your body felt heavy and you couldn’t help but shiver as a fire crackled nearby. 

You opened your eyes. Your mother sat with your head in her lap, you were wrapped in a thick duvet before the fireplace, and she pressed her warm palms to your cheeks.

“She’s awake,” She said. “Girl, you really scared us.”

A shadow neared and you flinched as Andy knelt beside you. You let out a weak moan but could only wriggle in the duvet. You coughed and shook your head.

“Get him away!” You rasped. “Ma!”

“Shhhh,” She traced along your cheekbone. “It’s okay. It’s just Andy.” She looked up. “She must be delirious.”

“She’s lucky I got to her when I did.” He replied and reached to touch your forehead. Your teeth chattered. You felt the cold deep in your bones. “But she’s still cold. If it’s hypothermia, we gotta keep her warm, at least until morning.”

“Yes, of course,” Your mother rocked your shoulders. “Oh, thank you, Andy. You saved her. I can’t-- If you hadn’t been there.”

Andy sighed and waved away her words. He stood and crossed to the fire. He fed it another long and looked to the old grandfather clock in the corner.

“It’s past midnight. You should sleep. She’ll be fine.” Andy said. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Nonsense, I’m her mother. I should be here--”

“You been trying not to drift off for the last hour. You’ll do her no good if you’re exhausted,” He said. “I’ll take over. Don’t worry.”

“You’re too good a man, Andy Barber.” Your mother smiled and tutted. She caressed your cheek again and Andy handed her a cushion to place under your head as she moved from beneath you. “Well, I suppose there had to be at least one in this godforsaken world.”

He took your mother’s hand and helped her stand as she groaned at her aching knees.

“Go. Sleep. When you wake up, she’ll be better.” He assured her. “Alright?”

“Okay,” She nodded and squeezed his hand. “Thank you… have a good night.”

“You too,” He bid. “Go on.”

“Night, dear,” Your mother called to you. She hadn’t called you anything but ‘girl’ since you were a child. You clung to the duvet and your arms brushed against your bare torso.

“Good night,” You croaked as you remained paralysed before the dancing flames. 

You wanted to beg her to stay but Andy turned and glared. A silent warning. Your mother turned and went up the stairs. You watched her helplessly and sucked in a breath as you listened to her footsteps and then she open and shut of her bedroom door above.

You sat up. The effort made you light headed and you hunched over as you moaned. Andy was beside you in a moment. He urged you back down with a hand on your shoulder. His hair was messy around his head and he wore a different shirt than earlier that day. 

He must have dived in after you, but why?

You hugged yourself and shivered again. “I’m naked.” You said.

“We had to get your clothes off so you didn’t freeze,” He sat back as his eyes searched your face. “You almost drowned. I barely got you back before the storm began.”

“You tried to kill me.”

“You wandered onto a frozen river. That’s hardly my fault.” He said tersely. “And I was nice enough to drag you out.”

“All I did was follow you,” You grumbled. “Then you… you attacked me.”

He scoffed and his jaw squared beneath his thick beard. His eyes glowed in the fire light and he reached into his shirt pocket. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes and opened it up. He slid one out and placed it between his lips. 

He fished around for a sleeve of matches hidden in his pocket and sparked one off the strip. He lit the smoke, the wisps blowing out from the corners of his mouth as he dug deeper in the pack. He pulled out the photo. He unfolded it and looked at it, holding it against the carton with his thumb as he pulled the cigarette away from his lips with his other hand.

“Two smokes to the left, five to the right, the corner of the photo bent just enough to keep it in place.” He mulled. “You’re a shit detective. I know, I used to work with them.”

You looked down guiltily. He took another puff and grimaced.

“Not much of a smoker but sometimes when I’m thinking too much I have one.” He blew away the smoke and stretched his arm over you to flick the cigarette into the fireplace. “My wife and son. They’re dead now. Whether I talk about it or not, but I prefer the latter.”

He put the photo back in the pack and reached behind him to place it on the low coffee table. He turned back to you and poked his tongue out between his lips.

“So, what is it you thought? That I killed them?” He scowled. “I didn’t, not in reality, but maybe it was my neglect, my denial that killed them. But it wasn’t me.”

You stared at him. You tried to sit up again but he quickly caught your shoulder and held you down.

“I came here so I didn’t have to talk about it or think about it. I came here to get away because everywhere I went I saw husbands, wives, children; families, all happy, all alive. And it made me so… angry.” His nostrils flared as his grip tightened on your shoulder. “Then I meet you. Your mother. You two can barely stand each other. Perfect. Nothing to envy, just as miserable as me.”

You pushed your arm above the blanket and grasped his wrist. You tried once more to sit up and shove away his hand. He quickly twisted his arm away and his fingers stretched across your throat.

“Doesn’t kill the loneliness. In fact, it makes it worse.” He sneered. “Doesn’t it?”

You squinted at him as you latched onto his wrist. He didn’t squeeze but held you firm enough to keep you down.

“I heard you. In the shower. I was curious how you coped with being alone all the way up here.” He smirked. “I can’t say it didn’t inspire me.”

“Let go--”

His fingers tightened and strangled your voice from you. He got to his knees and his other hand gripped the top of the duvet. He tore it away and bared your naked body. The heat of the fire washed over your skin as you tried to hide yourself. He was quick to straddle you as he kept his hand on your neck.

“Get off--” You dug your nails into his cuff.

“Shhh,” He bent until his nose was almost touching yours. “You don’t wanna wake your mom. Trust me. She’s sick already.” His lips curled. “You wouldn’t want her to get hurt because of you.”

“You wouldn--”

“She’s a cranky old wart.” He snapped. “But you…” His other hand tickled your side. “You’re her daughter, you love her, you want to keep her safe.” He backed up and his thumb ran along your hip and his fingers curled around your flesh. “You would do anything for her, wouldn’t you?”

You gaped at him and your lip quivered. You swallowed and nodded as he loosened his hold on your neck. He let out a small chuckle and slid his hand down to cup your chest. His eyes followed as he played with your nipple.

“You know, I heard the best way to warm someone up is skin to skin contact.” He moved further back and dragged his nose along your throat and chest. He nuzzled your nipple and flicked it with his thumb. “And no doubt that adrenaline I feel pumping through you will help.”

“Please…” You whispered. “I won’t tell--I won’t say anything.”

“Shut up,” He lifted his head and grabbed your chin. He squeezed so hard your jaw felt as if it would break. “I don’t want to hear you.”

You shuddered as he looked up at you. His other hand moved below him as he drew his knee back and forced it between your legs. He pushed his fingers against your cunt and you kicked your legs around him. He caught your thigh and pinched.

“You’re a stubborn bitch.” He growled and fell onto you. He rolled over and took you with him. Your teeth chatter as you were exposed entirely to the room. “Stop thinking about yourself and start thinking about her.”

You pushed yourself up and stared him in the face. You blinked in horror.

“You do what I say and she’s safe. That’s it.” He shoved you up so you straddled him. “This little living arrangement won’t be so bad with some compromise.” You nodded as he grabbed your wrists and held your hands to his chest. “Listen. Carefully. Think about that river and how much worse I could do to an old lady.”

You winced and he slowly slid your hands over his shirt.

“I want your mouth.” He sneered. “I’m sure you can figure out what I want you to do with it.”

“Andy--”

“Not another word,” He shoved your hand lower so it was nearly between your legs. “These things happen. The fire gets out of control, help is too far away; a pity you were both trapped inside.”

You recoiled and tore your wrist from his grasp. Panicked your hands shook as you fell back and barely caught yourself. Slowly, reluctantly, you righted yourself as he watched you. He folded one arm behind his head and then the other and smirked. 

You closed your eyes and shuttered as you rested your palms against the front of his jeans; the twitch there added to his words. He sighed as you flicked the button of his fly loose and opened your eyes. Your hands shook as you pushed the zipper down and your hot breath puffed from your nose in frantic gasps.

Your eyes were glossy. Don’t cry, you told yourself as you gripped his jeans and he lifted his hips with a low chuckle. He was amused. His briefs were slid down next and the elastic caught on his arousal. Your fingers brushed his tip as you unhooked them and rolled them down. 

Your fingers twiddled in the air as you looked down as his cock. Then you glanced at yourself, your nakedness, and quaked. You couldn’t decide if you were more cold or afraid. Both, you thought.

“Do you need detailed instructions?” He taunted.

Your eyes snapped up and you scowled at him. You gripped his cock without look and moved back on your knees as you bent. You opened your mouth and he reached down to grasp your chin again.

“Keep those teeth to yourself.” He warned and let you go.

You lowered your gaze, your tongue was sour and your stomach churned. You poked your tongue out and swirled it lightly around the head of his cock. He groaned and you pressed your lips to his tip. You felt as if it was all happening in half-speed but you had to go on. 

You slid your mouth around him and his hand stretched across the back of your head before you could pull away. He pushed you down until he was at your throat. You grunted and he forced himself deeper. You extended your neck and choked as you took all of him, unable to breathe as your head pulsed even harder.

“Like that,” He let up and you slid back only to have him force you back down again. “Yeah that’s it.” He carried the motion, the sloppy noises of your mouth and throat filled your ears. “Take it. All of it.”

He was urgent, relentless as he bobbed your mouth down his length. His hand slipped as his other pressed to your head and he clutched you tightly. He moved his hips from below as your fingers curled into his hips. You were dizzy and dazed as you eyes rolled back and your chest felt as if it would burst.

He shoved you away all at once and you crumpled onto the floor beside him. You touched your throat and coughed, your entire body shook as Andy sat up, his hand at his cock.

“Fuck, you almost did it,” He snarled. “Fuck…” He hissed and took deeper breaths. “Fucking bitch.”

He slapped your thigh and you winced. He stood and pushed his pants all the way down. You sat up and touched your forehead as the room spun. He kicked the denim away from him, his socks and underwear caught in the folds. Another flutter of fabric and his hand was on your shoulder. 

He shoved you onto your back and bent over you. Your eyes struggled to focus on his as he glared down at you.

“I can’t decide…” He held your chin and pushed his thumb between your lips. “I like your tits… but the ass is nice too.”

You hit his wrist weakly and groaned. He snickered and pushed down on your tongue before he drew his hand away. He moved between your legs and bent them carefully. 

Your vision cleared, he was naked, his broad shoulders were limned in the fire light and you watched the thick muscles of his arms as they tensed beneath his skin. His chest was thick with the same colour hair as his beard and his raw power was corded in the muscles of his stomach.

He hugged your thighs and dragged you closer. His cock rested against your cunt and he slipped a hand between your bodies to guide it to your entrance. He poked you and slid it back up, he teased your fold as a low rumble rose from him. He stopped, once more as your entrance, and tilted his hips. 

You gasped as he pushed into you and slapped his hand on your thigh. He ignored you and got even deeper. He grabbed your other thigh and lifted your pelvis as he impaled you entirely.

You let out a wispy cry as he hung his head back and let out a long breath. He jerked his hips and you clawed at the rumpled duvet below. He moved your entire body as he began to thrust; short, sharp, mean jolts. The crackle of the fire was punctuated by the even, measured clap of flesh.

“That’s it,” He growled as he rutted into you. “You little bitch. Look at you. I can feel you, feel how much you need this; you want this.”

He bent over you and you tried to turn your face away from him. His hand framed your jaw and he held your head still. He kissed you roughly as he buried himself to his limit and drew away with a vicious nibble of your lip. He sat back on his knees and lifted you with him. 

His hand spread over one side of your ass and he began to rock you against him. His other arm hooked around your back and his fingers clung to your shoulder. He grunted as he slid you up and down his cock, your pelvis snug against him as the friction sent a wave of heat through you.

“You don’t get it. You don’t get-- how long-- I’ve waited-- I’ve been alone,” His bestial panting stuttered his words. “You don’t realise-- how much you hunger-- for human touch-- for anything-- until you’ve waited so long.”

Your arms were folded against his chest as your fingers curled into the muscles beside his neck. You whined as your core began to swell. You shook your head, ashamed of your building arousal. This man… you didn’t know this man or what he’d done. All you knew was that he could kill you and your mother. That he would if you made him.

“Fuck. Or maybe-- you were-- waiting for me,” He bent his head and nuzzled the crook of your neck as he continued to move you, his fingertips pressed deep in the flesh of your ass. “Huh? Did you think about it? Like I did? Waking up? Opening my door?” 

He snarled and sank his teeth into your throat, he bounced you faster against him. He left your flesh raw and sore as he removed his mouth and replaced it with his hand. He lifted his hand as he gripped your throat and lowered himself carefully onto his ass. He took you with him as he laid flat, still grasping your neck as he had you sitting atop him.

“Keep going.” He snapped. You kept your hips going as he squeezed and your head swam. “Did you? Think about crawling into my bed? Huh? Keep it quiet? Just a little human warmth for that frigid heart?”

“Andy--” You mewled as his other hand guided your hip. Your clit brushed his pelvis and you felt your surging orgasm. “And---”

“Shhh,” He dropped his hand from your neck and grabbed your other hip. He rocked you faster, holding you down so that the friction grew unbreakable. “That’s it. Give in.”

You covered your face as you came. Your thighs tensed around him as you let him move you and moaned into your hands. He chuckled and changed your motion. He bounced you atop him. You dropped arms and clung to his wrists. His eyes focused between your legs as he watched himself inside of you. He stuck his tongue out and snarled.

“Shit,” He swore and slammed you down over and over. “Get ready.”

He pushed his head back into the floor and every muscle in his body contracted. He groaned as he spilled into you and you quaked atop him. His warmth filled you and turned your stomach as he slowed you. He held you down, every inch of him inside of you, and panted as his nails dug into your hips.

He drew his hands back and rubbed his chest. His lips curved slightly and he patted his shoulder. 

“Here,” He said. “We need to keep you warm still.”

You raised yourself on your knees weakly. You swayed as you climbed off of him and fell down beside him. Your vision swirled and every ounce of strength drained from you. He rested your head on his arm and his hand lingered on you, threatening to crush your jaw. Then the tension left his grip and he stroked your cheek. You were startled by his gentleness.

“That’s what I want you to do.” He whispered as he rubbed your cheek with his thumb and his arm hugged you closed. “When it’s late, when you’re mother’s asleep, I want you to come to me. Keep me happy and I’ll keep you safe. Both of you.”

You gulped and blinked away your fearful tears. You shivered as another wave of cold crawled over you. He reached and bent your leg over him and he inhaled the scent of your scalp.

“Understood?” He said.

“Yes,” You breathed as you trembled against him. “I got it.”

Your hand slipped down as his cum leaked from you and cooled on your thighs. You sniffed as you rubbed your fingers through the mess. Your mind was hazy but you knew that wasn’t good. He sensed the movement and his hand found yours and he dragged his fingers through the slickness of your cunt.

“I came inside you,” He said as if only realising it. “Are you--”

“I’m not...” You murmured as you tore your hand away. “But I’ll go to--” You were blurry, you couldn’t focus. “I’ll go to town… tomorrow.”

“No, you’ll stay here,” He poked his fingers inside you and played with his cum. He hummed as if pleased with himself. “I’ll get it. I’ll take care of it.”

[snelbz]

The Ranch {15}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @snelbz​ x @tacmc​

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

Opening day had arrived and Nesta was caught somewhere between puking and a heart attack. She hadn’t slept at all, but she wasn’t tired in the least. Cassian, however, had snored the night away beside her, not caring what day it was. She envied his ability to sleep through chaos.

Although it probably wasn’t chaotic for him.

He didn’t stress about much.

She envied him for that, too.

It was just after five a.m. when Nesta hauled herself out of bed. She did yoga, a simple workout that had been approved by her doctor, then drank a glass of water and a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade.

It was all she wanted, lately.

Lemonade.

Freshly squeezed.

After letting Beau back in the house, she checked the clock, once more. It was nearing nine, and Elain would be showing up, soon, with a haul of bouquets to decorate throughout the main house. 

Nesta and Cassian were still staying in the master bedroom. It was easiest as she prepared for the opening, and Nesta was starting to think that it was best, overall. His cabin was small, and so was the house that she occupied on the land. She wasn’t certain how she would feel once guests began checking in, but for now, the master bedroom of the main house had been treating them well.

Nesta planned to dress in a modest sundress and sandals, laying it out to wear, and all the while, Cassian stayed sleeping soundly, Beau snoring once again at his feet. 

She didn’t bother to wake him, not yet.

The celebration didn’t begin until one.

As she stood in their bathroom, she pulled the measuring tape around her stomach, which was still flat as could be. She held the tape up, her thumb indicating where the end of the tape had lined up with the tick marks and looked at it.

She had gone down. By four millimeters.

She groaned, sitting down on the edge of the porcelain, and rubbed her fingers into her temples. So far this baby had made her vomit constantly, she hadn’t woken up without a headache in over a week, and she had probably consumed enough lemonade to ensure she’d never need to take a vitamin C supplement again.

And she had nothing to show for it.

Save for her massive, heavy tits.

Cassian had noticed, which, honestly, wasn’t saying much. 

She sighed and stepped into the dress, pulling it up and reaching behind to zip it, which wasn’t a problem, until she reached her back.

It wouldn’t zip.

The fucking dress wouldn’t fit over her breasts.

She groaned, staring at herself in the mirror, the dress remaining unzipped. 

“Come on,” she said, cursing, trying again at the zipper.

It wouldn’t budge.

“Shit,” she muttered. “Cassian!”

Nothing.

The man slept like a brick.

So, she tried again, louder. “CASS!”

“Hmm? What?” his sleepy words came from the bedroom, and she instantly felt guilty for waking him, but she needed help. 

“I need you,” she said, turning around to show the half-zipped back of the dress in the mirror.

A minute later, a bare-chested, sleepy-eyed Cassian padded into the bathroom. He took one look at her and raised a brow. “You look nice.”

“My dress won’t zip,” she snapped.

“It’s your tits,” Cassian mumbled, and Nesta’s lips formed a tight line.

“Yeah, I know,” she snapped. “Help me, please.”

With a sigh, Cassian came up behind her and tugged on the zipper. It moved maybe half an inch, but not anymore than that. “Babe, it’s not going to zip.”

“Well, try harder!” she scolded.

He sighed again, knowing better than anyone not to argue with a pregnant woman, but more specifically not this pregnant woman.

He pulled and pulled and pulled, until he knew it wasn’t going to budge and he looked at her in the mirror. He gently rested his hands on her shoulders and said, “If I zip this dress up, you won’t be able to breathe, and if you do, these gorgeous, amazing, huge breasts are going to make a special guest appearance for our first guests.” He reached around from behind and palmed them through her dress, hoping to at least make her smile.

The scowl she was giving him through the mirror could have frozen Hell itself.

Cassian quickly dropped his hands. “Do you have another dress you can wear?”

“No,” she snapped. “I have very few, appropriate dresses and they’re all this size, in this cut.”

She tugged on the zipper another few times, but there was nothing.

“Fuck!” she cried.

Cassian frowned, trying to pull her into him for a hug, but she wouldn’t let him.

“I need a dress,” she said, hurrying from the room. “I need something.”

“Hello?” Elain’s voice traveled through the house from downstairs.

Cassian let out a breath. “Thank the gods.”

Nesta shot him a look, but he only held his good arm up in surrender.

“Up here!” Nesta growled, frustration still lacing her tone.

Elain was in the doorway a moment later, eyeing Nesta, then a disheveled Cassian. “Something looks off. There’s a situation happening here, isn’t there?”

“My dress won’t zip,” Nesta snapped.

“It’s her tits,” Cassian supplied.

Elain cleared her throat. “Well, let me take a look.”

She walked up behind Nesta and tried the zipper, but it still wouldn’t budge. After digging her phone out of her pocket, she said, “We have a few hours yet. How about I take you into town a minute to find something new?”

“There’s no time! I still have so much to do and I haven’t even started baking and-.” Nesta began to hyperventilate, something she’d never done in her life, but thanks to these damn hormones, something that was triggered nearly every time she cried.

Cassian was there in an instant, his hands framing her face. “Sweetheart, breathe. It’s okay. I can handle everything, except the baking. Go with Elain, pick up a dress that will accommodate your growing...assets, and come back and everything will be ready for you.”

Nesta nodded, wiping away the few tears that had slipped out. She mumbled, “They’re not assets.”

Cassian looked like he wanted to protest, but didn’t. “Go. I will finish the last minute details. When you come back, all you’ll have to do is bake, and I’ll be there to help you with that, too.”

“I do like ordering you around,” she muttered.

“Exactly,” he grinned. “Alright? Go with Elain. I’ve got this.”

She nodded, hesitantly, but didn’t complain. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he breathed, then looked to Elain, thanks in his eyes. 

He gave Nesta a slow, soft kiss before she left with her sister, quietly, in her shorts and tank top. Elain helped her into the passenger side of her car, even though Nesta didn’t need help. It was her sister’s way, though, with her gentle spirit. 

They drove into town, mostly in silence. She was grateful for her sister, for her gentleness, her caring-ness, her kindness, but she had nothing to say. All Nesta could think about was what Cassian was getting done in her absence. 

Elain parked downtown, on the main strip, just next to a little boutique they used to shop at all the time in high school. She followed her sister in and looked at a wall full of sundresses.

“Alright,” Elain said, clapping her hands together. “What are you thinking?”

“Literally anything that fits,” Nesta mumbled.

“Well,” Elain began, picking up a pink floral number that Nesta prayed was for herself and not her. “What size have you been? You don’t exactly need to jump straight into maternity clothes. So we’ll either need to pick a size up or find a more...forgiving fabric.”

Nesta glared at Elain over her choice of words, but she began to flip through the dresses. “I wear a four, so I guess I should look at sixes?” She held a dress up, but the lime green fabric nearly hurt her eyes.

“Or a stretchier four,” Elain reminded her. “How about this?”

She held up a pale yellow dress with a grey pattern stitched in. Nesta made a face of indifference. “Don’t know if yellow is a good color for me.”

Elain nodded. “That’s fair. Yellow isn’t a good color on anybody.”

Nesta chuckled and the two of them set to searching, each finding a few dresses Nesta didn’t absolutely despise.

She tried them on, but refused to show Elain any of them, no matter how much her younger sister protested. At last, she settled on a pale blue dress, reaching just above her knees. The spaghetti straps were decent in holding up the fabric that mostly covered her breasts. She changed into the clothes she had arrived in, claiming it was the one. After paying for it, she dragged Elain from the shop, ordering her sister to take her home. 

Elain didn’t argue. She wasn’t one to argue, anyway, but Nesta assumed it was mostly because of her current attitude. Nesta couldn’t apologize, though. She was too pregnant to care about her sister’s wishes, as awful as it sounded. 

When Elain was pregnant with Azriel’s spawn, Nesta would react the same.

True to his word, Cassian, with his good arm, was displaying Elain’s bouquets around the house, on every table and shelf. He had also vacuumed and dusted, once more, for good measure. He’d even gotten the things he thought she was most likely to need out on the kitchen island for her, although those things only consisted of sugar and flour.

Elain had made herself scarce, going to find Azriel and promising she’d be back to help as soon as Nesta needed her, and Nesta made her way upstairs, dress bag in hand. She heard the shower running and made her way into their room. The white dress she intended to wear - the one she’d specifically bought for this occasion - was still on the bed where she’d thrown it on her way out. It was next to Cassian’s sling.

She sighed and re-hung it on the plastic hanger and knocked on the bathroom door. Cassian’s muffled reply sounded and she let herself in.

He called over the water, “You find a dress, baby?”

She entered her closet and hung them both up, deciding not to wear the blue dress until after she’d finished baking. “Yeah. But I don’t like it as much as I liked my white one.”

“I’m sure you’re going to look as beautiful as you always do.”

Nesta smiled toward the shower, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. Well, not in-depth, anyways. The frosted glass allowed Cassian to see out just as much as it allowed Nesta to see in. And all she could see was a vast expanse of tan, naked, wet skin.

Gods it has been so long since they’d had sex.

Three more days and Cassian would be off of light-duty, as they’d jokingly started calling it. To the doctors, it meant Cassian was allowed to stop wearing the sling and was allowed to return to work, as long as he continued to have Az do the literal heavy lifting. But to the two of them, it meant the end of a nearly three-week-long dry spell. Longer than they’d had to go since they’d gotten together.

She nibbled on her bottom lip as she said, “Thank you for prepping for the opening.”

“Of course,” he replied, above the water. “Anything I can do to help. It’s nice to feel useful.”

She leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom to say, “The band should be arriving any minute now to set up. I could use a shower, so hurry up.”

“You could use a shower?” Cassian asked, pretending to be oblivious. “Were you inviting yourself? There’s room for two.”

“Three more days,” she warned.

“I can’t even see you naked?” he laughed, his heavy feet turning atop the tile. 

Nesta sighed. Of course, he could, but the temptation that came along with such had her toes curling. “Hurry up, Nazari.”

“Join me, Archeron,” he argued. Then, he added, “I promise to be nice.”

Nesta hesitated, but sighed and stripped off her clothes, quickly wiping the remnants of her tear stained makeup off. She tossed two towels on the vanity by the shower, knowing he hadn’t remembered to grab one for himself, and pulled open the door.

The warm steam enveloped her as she stepped in and was face to face with his, well, back. She reached up and traced the ink that swept from his left shoulder blade down the outside edge of his spine. The shiver that went through him had nothing to do with the cool blast of air she’d let in when she’d stepped in, but before he could turn, she’d wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him from behind.

“Do you think people are going to like it?” Her cheek was pressed to his warm back. The question was quiet, barely audible over the water pattering on the tile.

“Like what?” He asked, after a moment.

“All of it,” she breathed. “My dress, my cooking, the opening. The B&B itself.”

He took a moment to respond before turning to meet her, his hazel eyes lit with surprise. His brows were scrunched together as he answered, “Of course they are. Nes, you have worked so fucking hard and you should be so proud at what you’ve accomplished. I know I am.”

She smiled, seeing the truth of his words in his eyes and leaned up to kiss him, pulling back when she was poked in the stomach. “Seriously?”

“It’s been a long few weeks,” he laughed, pulling her against him regardless. He kissed her, his lips still brushing hers. “He’s missed you.”

She laughed, “Oh, it’s him, is it?”

“Yes, him,” Cassian laughed. “I love you, but his obsession with you is an entirely different thing. He’s missed you. Give him some love.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Three more days.”

Cassian groaned, his head falling back. “If you tell me that one more time, I’m going to lose my shit.”

“I believe your shit is already lost,” she mumbled, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Just a quickie,” he whispered.

Nesta snorted. “No.”

“Please?” He asked, kissing her forehead, her nose.

“No,” she laughed.

“You have no idea how badly I need to be inside you.” He began to kiss her neck, her shoulder, and she let him, loving the feeling on her skin. “Let me make you feel good, baby. It will help make today easier, I promise.”

His mouth continued his assault on her neck while his hand traveled south, stopping to tug on a peaked nipple, which had Nesta whimpering softly. It continued to move down until it was over her stomach, fingers spread out. “I am so proud of you, sweetheart. You told me you were going to do this the very first day you came back and you did it. I love you so much.” He crouched, the spray of the water on his back, pressing a kiss to Nesta’s stomach. “And I love you. More than I can begin to explain. I can’t wait to meet you.”

Nesta was tearing up again, watching the man before her, this powerful man that put his life on the line for his best friend, for her, talking to their baby.

A knock came at the door. “Uh, Nes! The band is here…”

Cassian was back on his feet as Nesta called, “Be right out!”

“No she won’t!” Cassian followed.

Nesta laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re going to make Elain uncomfortable.”

“What?” Cassian asked. “She knows I knocked you up, but us showering together is taboo? Yeah, okay.”

Nesta blinked. “Did you just say taboo?”

Cassian was peeking his face out of the glass, as if it helped amplify his voice. “She’ll be right out!”

He wrapped his arms around her one more time, even though he knew their time was short. “Hey,” he whispered, getting her to look up at him. “You’re going to kick ass today. I love you.”

She smiled up at him and rose up on her toes, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I love you, too.”

And he had no doubt. She would.

Twenty minutes later, Nesta was hurrying downstairs, t shirt and shorts on, hair dried but not yet styled, nor was her makeup done, and met Elain talking with the band in the living room.

“Hey, Lucien,” Nesta said, in a rush. “I’m so sorry. Times just gotten away from me today.”

Lucien grinned, and shrugged. “It’s all good. Elain’s organizational skills are coming in handy.”

Nesta winked at her sister. “Good.”

“I heard the news, by the way,” Lucien went on, nodding to Nesta’s stomach. “Congrats.”

Nesta’s smile softened. “Thank you.”

Elain cleared her throat. “So I was thinking we could set the band up over by the new stables. That’s where we’re serving the food, right?” A nod from Nesta while Lucien listened to his best friend’s instructions. “The vendor tables are going to be all along the west pasture edge and…” She looked down at her watch. “The bounce house will be here at twelve-thirty.”

“Great.” Nesta took a deep breath and was thinking through what all she had left to do.

Cassian’s heavy boots came thudding down the stairs, and he appeared around the corner. “Hey, Luce.” He shook his hand. “How’s that shit bag friend of yours that shot me doing?”

Lucien cringed. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t spoken to him since he was sentenced.”

It had been an emotional day to say the least. They had all been asked to testify, and only Feyre and Nesta had declined. Nesta wasn’t sure her nerves could handle it, didn’t want her baby being flooded with those kinds of endorphins. Feyre told their lawyer she lacked the ability to be subjective.

As one of the intended targets, Rhys would have spoken regardless, but since he had been the one to keep Cassian breathing until they’d gotten him to surgery, his testimony was damning. As were Elain and Azriel’s, though Elain was more of a witness than any direct involvement. Azriel had had to retrace his steps, once in person and once over a map of the property. But all Cassian had to do was answer simple questions. His body, the trauma he’d gone through was evidence enough.

Cassian nodded, opening his mouth to speak, but Nesta cut him off. “Where’s your sling?”

“Come on, Nes, it’s a family fun festival,” he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “We’re a family, we’re gonna have fun, and I’m not doing anything today that requires my sling.”

“Put it on,” Nesta said, turning to go back upstairs and finish getting ready. “Or you’ll regret it. Elain, you got this?”

She gave Nesta a glowing smile and a thumbs up. She lived for party planning and when Nesta had tried to talk a price for helping, Elain had told her she was offended and to not bring it up again.

After walking back into the master bedroom, Nesta padded into the bathroom and started on her makeup. When she was pleased, she stripped off her tee and shorts and pulled on the pale, blue sundress. Outside the windows, she could hear vendors arriving and scurrying about.

Her nerves were going haywire.

It didn’t help that Cassian had yet to come get his sling. Not only did Nesta have to worry about everything else, but she had to worry about him, too. 

Nesta slipped on her sandals and unlocked the velvet box on the dresser, where she took out the necklace he had gotten for her. Standing in front of the mirror, she clasped it around her neck.

After grabbing Cassian’s sling off the bed, she was hurrying back downstairs.

She rushed into the kitchen after finding Cassian talking with Rhys, throwing the sling to him and hitting him directly in the face with the wadded up fabric. She tied an apron around her waist and began to whip up the batches she needed for the macaroons she was making.

After about twenty minutes, Feyre rushed in the backdoor. “Sorry, I know I’m late, I’m here!” She set her bags down and hugged Nesta. “I’m so happy for you.” She pulled away abruptly. “Are your tits…bigger?”

She sighed. “Does no one else know what happens to the female body during pregnancy?”

“I’ve learned, recently, first hand,” Cassian said, mouth full of baked goods. He had claimed he was helping Nesta, but he was doing no such thing.

Feyre shot Cassian a bemused look. “What kind of sex life could you two possibly be having right now-.”

“Feyre,” Nesta snapped.

“She’s right, no physical activity,” Rhysand muttered, his mouth also full of Nesta’s baking.

Nesta was rolling her eyes. “Feyre, can you take these two assholes and give them a job to do?”

“Damn,” Rhysand said, just as Cassian muttered, “Watch your language.”

This only earned them both a death stare.

They were instantly on their feet, following Feyre out of the back door.

Nesta sighed, thankful to her sister for giving her the small moment of peace and quiet in what she was expecting to be one of her busiest days yet. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and memorizing the scents around her: the warm, sweet smell of the baking macaroons; the rich, woodsy scent of her childhood home; the earthy scent of the rolling pastures. But there were also subtler smells around her, that were harder to pick up on, but just as important, like the unpleasant, but honestly, not that horrible once you get used to it manure; the hint of bleach and lemon from where she’d spent hours cleaning the kitchen yesterday; the heady pepper and spice scent of the love of her life.

Nesta tried to stop the quiet sob that left her mouth, but her hormones were so crazy. She was just so overwhelmed by where her life was, how happy she was in Velaris when she never thought she could be. She was having the baby she never thought she would with a man she never could have imagined.

And now she was carrying on her father's legacy, his dream. She looked out the window, watched as the flurry of people set up for the celebration that the whole town was invited to.

A celebration for her father, for his dream, for the rebirth of something Nesta once had no interest in, but now put her everything into.

The thoughts running through her mind had her eyes growing misty, but not with tears of sadness, only joy. 

After finishing up in the kitchen, Nesta walked out into the backyard, where everything seemed to have been already set up. There were lawn games spread out, the band set up by the stables in the distance, tables laid out where the caterers were setting up the food.

People would be arriving any minute.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Nesta turned to find a woman with a kind, familiar face approaching her. “Hi, welcome to Belles & Blossoms.”

She smiled fondly. “You don’t recognize me.”

Nesta blinked a few times. “Alis? Oh my, goodness! Hi!”

She embraced the sweet woman who’d taken an interest in a surly teenager in a diner, taught her to love cooking, and all manners of it, not just French gourmet.

“I heard you were back and reopening the B&B,” Alis smiled. “We will have to catch up some time so you can tell me all about your adventures.”

“I’d love that,” Nesta agreed. “I went by the diner a few months ago, but you weren’t working.”

“Well, I’m glad I hunted you down,” she chuckled. “Are your sisters here?”

“Somewhere,” Nesta said, looking around. All she could see was Cassian standing by the beer table, helping himself. When he caught her eye, he waved.

He still wasn’t wearing his damn sling.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Alis,” Nesta said, chuckling softly. “The resident thorn in my side is poking me.”

“Cassian Nazari is a nice boy, Nesta,” she said. “He’s been sweet on you for quite some time.”

She spun, looking at her quasi therapist, surprise on her face. “What?”

Alis laughed. “You always had your nose in a book, you never stopped to notice when someone was noticing you. Even all those years ago.”

She winked and headed towards the house, blending with the small crowd that had begun to accumulate. Nesta stared after her, blinking.

“You look lost.”

Nesta jumped, having been lost in her own thoughts, indeed. Cassian was standing behind her, watching her, thoughtfully, a plastic cup filled with beer in his hand.

Nesta’s look of surprise turned into one of frustration. Her eyes narrowed. “Where is your sling?”

Cassian blinked. “I don’t understand the question.”

“Cassian,” Nesta groaned, but he was only laughing.

“I’m fine, alright?” He held up his cup as proof. “Took my pain meds, got my alcohol, even Rhys says it's fine. I promise to put it on as soon as all these people leave.”

Nesta’s lips formed a straight line. “You’re trying to uphold your tough guy image, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “Absolutely, yes. Yes, I am.”

She pursed her lips, trying to keep the smile from forming, but Cassian saw the side of her mouth twitch. He saw the sparkle in her eyes that only came out for him. He wrapped her in both of his arms, holding her tightly and kissed her forehead.

She gazed up at him and smirked, “So what you’re saying is I shouldn’t tell them all how you cried during the end of Eight Seconds?”

His tone was one hundred percent genuine when he said, “He was riding for Lane, Nesta. Even you were tearing up.”

She laughed and leaned up on her toes, kissing him. “Or that you tear up when you tell me stories of what you want to do with our baby? Or when you talk to our baby? Or when you do anything that has to do with our baby?” She was laughing by the end, but silent happy tears were streaming down her own face.

Cassian watched her, absolutely adoring everything about the woman in his arms. He hugged her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and said, “Okay, you emotional basket case. Let’s go find you some lemonade.”

“I really like lemonade,” she whispered.

She was convinced it was her one true love, as of lately.

Cassian grinned. “I know, sweetheart.”

The entire town began to gather as they walked about the grounds, Nesta sipping on her lemonade as she greeted her guests. She was surprised by the turn out. She had hoped this many people would show up, but to actually watch it unfolding was miraculous. 

Cassian was his usually charming self and, true to his word, he seemed to know everyone.

“How are you feeling?” Mor asked, when they’d joined her on the porch. Her plate was piled high with Nesta’s macarons, as well as the barbecue they’d had catered for the event. How she managed to stay so fit but eat as much as she did was a mystery to everyone.

“I’m okay,” Nesta smiled. “The morning sickness is the worst part, not that I can even call it morning sickness. It happens at all hours of the day, with no warning.”

Feyre crinkled her nose. “Between that and your unintentional boob job, I’m beginning to think adoption may be a good fit for me.”

She laughed but Rhysand shook his head. “You told me last night you can’t wait to start having kids.”

She glared at him. “I said start trying to have kids.”

He chuckled. “My mistake.” He kissed the top of her head and headed to meet Az and Cass at the food table, which had apparently become a beer pong table.

Mor asked, “But aside from that, the pregnancy is...normal?”

Nesta laughed. Their friends had all had questions about it, whether or not she needed to take it easy for the next six months. They’d had questions about it, but at her doctor’s appointment the week before, he’d told her to follow the same precautions as a normal, expected pregnancy. It wasn’t staying pregnant that was a problem for Nesta’s body, it was getting pregnant.

She started to reply, but a deep voice behind her asked, “You’re pregnant?”

She turned and found Tomas and a friend on the porch steps. She looked around frantically, trying to locate Cassian in the crowd, or Rhys, Azriel, anyone that was Tomas fucking Mandray. They weren’t at the stables, not with the food. Her phone wasn’t on her. Mor didn’t know Tomas and Feyre and Elain didn’t know how truly deeply her fear of the man ran.

But Nesta nodded before turning her back to him, hoping he’d go away.

He didn’t. “Congrats.”

To anyone else, it would sound genuine, but when Nesta looked back over her shoulder, she saw the gleam in his eye, that familiar gleam, one she loathed with every ounce of her being.

He was pissed.

Years later, and he still thought he had some sort of claim on her. 

“Thanks,” she gritted out, through clenched teeth.

“Where’s the dad?” Tomas went on. “Have to congratulate him, too.”

Mor opened her mouth to answer, but Nesta was already saying, “Don't know.”

Tomas nodded, Elain shooting a worried glance at Nesta.

“Well, hopefully I run into him before the days done,” Tomas said, then winked, before walking away.

Nesta’s blood ran cold.

Elain places a gentle hand on Nesta’s knee. “Are you-.”

“I’m going to be sick,” she said, shooting to her feet and heading for the house. She knew her nausea had nothing to do with the child growing inside of her and instead to do with the man that couldn’t accept that she no longer belonged to him and never would again.

She threw herself up the stairs, where no one was, and fell into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She was on her knees, her skin hitting the tile with such a force that she cried out as she hurled the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

She knew she was crying, knew her makeup was running, and it only grew worse as she thought, I have to get to Cassian.

What if Tomas did find him? Surely he wouldn’t congratulate him, surely he would have other things in mind.

And Cassian was in no condition to hold up his end of a fight.

But a soft knock came to the door.

“Nes?”

Cassian. His deep, calming voice floated through the door.

She tried to speak, but instead, another round of heaving hit her and Cassian tried the knob. “Sweetheart, the door is locked. Are you okay?”

She heard muffled voices from the other side of the door, barely registering that one was female. She tried to say something, anything, but it was as if her voice wouldn’t work. She climbed to her feet on wobbly legs and unlocked the door.

Cassian opened it, finding her with puffy, red eyes, streaks of mascara running down her face, and bruised knees where she’d dropped to the tile.

His gaze fell, heartbreak filling his eyes as he shut the door softly behind him.

“Elain found me, said something happened with Tomas.” His voice was soft, both of his hands cradling her face. Concern lacing his tone.

They had talked about Tomas before, but very little. Enough that he knew what had happened between them, knew the hatred and fear that Nesta felt when it came to her ex.

When Nesta didn’t answer, Cassian pulled her into his chest and held her tightly, closely.

“I hate him,” she whispered. 

“I know,” Cassian breathed, rubbing slow circles on her back.

“My face is ruined,” she said, and when she looked at his shirt and saw the mascara stain on it, her frown deepened.

“Makeup can be re-done, shirts can be washed. Not a big deal.” He kissed the top of her head and stooped to pull a makeup wipe out from under the cabinet. He handed it to her and pulled the shirt over his head, wincing slightly as he raised his left arm. Nesta’s eyes were concerned when he looked back at her. “I’m fine, I promise. Just sore. See?”

He went through the motions of the physical therapy Rhys had shown him and Nesta silently watched. The only reason she wasn’t making him put the sling back on is because Rhysand had said it was healing well and he could use the movement to keep it from getting stiff. She sighed and nodded, trying to salvage what she could of her makeup, while Cass leaned on the door frame, watching her. Still shirtless.

Nesta tried not to look at the puckered scar forming on his chest, even if he didn’t seem to have a problem messing with the tender spot.

“It’s all going to be okay,” he whispered, watching her with his arms crossed. They were the same words he had muttered a million times since he’d been shot.

Nesta just nodded, not quite believing them, not quite wanting to protest, either. She dropped the wipe in the wastebasket and met her reflection.

Good enough.

“Perfect,” Cassian said, his voice still low.

Nesta closed her eyes and took a deep breath before meeting his stare. “Okay.”

“Ready?” He asked, holding out his hand.

“I’ll go get you a shirt,” she said, in answer.

Cassian grinned. “What? I can’t go out like this?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ll start a riot.”

He strolled into his closet and came back out in one of his old faded t-shirts he loved so much. She wanted him dressed a little more nicely, but she decided it didn’t matter what he was wearing. This was their home. Why put on an air that they were anyone but who they really were.

He took her hand, but when he headed for the door, she hesitated, tugging him back lightly. He looked at her.

Her bottom lip was between her teeth. It was a habit he didn’t even think she realized she had, but he knew she was truly worried when that full lip was caught in her teeth. He gently used his thumb to free it and leaned down to press his own lips to hers.

He asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Tomas said he… He wanted to congratulate you, on our pregnancy.” The words were small. Scared.

“Congratulate me?” Cass asked. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she said, taking a breath. The words began to flow out of her in a whoosh of air. “And that’s why it worries me. I don’t know what he wants to do to you, but you’re in no condition to fight, but I also really would prefer not to make a scene at our own grand opening, and-.”

“Nes, baby, breathe.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “Breathe, sweetheart.” She did as she was told, tamping the hyperventilation down. “Do you really think Azriel and Rhys would let anything happen today? Or anything happen to me?”

She shook her head.

“Stop worrying,” he said, that little smile plastered on his lips. “If it helps, I’ll stay right close by until everyone leaves. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, smoothing out her dress even though there were no wrinkles. She knew she was overreacting, but she couldn’t help it.

Not today.

It was all too much.

“Do you want to order pizza for dinner?”

Her head snapped up. A night to not cook, a night to eat greasy, cheesy food and just relax? “Please.” Then she added, “And can we watch a bad movie?”

He held her hand as they headed back downstairs and into the crowd. “The worst movie we can find.”

The rest of the afternoon had gone well. They hadn’t seen Tomas again, but Nesta kept Cassian within view until everyone left.

He knew she worried about him, and he didn’t want to cause her anymore stress. She had enough on her plate. 

Which is why Cassian was walking up the stairs of the little house, a box of pizza, a giant bottle of lemonade, and a twelve pack of beer in his arms. Since it was the first night of guests in the B&B, they would be spending their more private evenings in one of the little houses. Maggie would be on site from nine in the morning until five in the afternoons, Wednesday through Sunday. The guests all had the emergency number Cassian and Nesta had set up. Everything was going smoothly and he’d even stopped in to check on the guests on his way back to the house.

Tonight, Nesta needed to de-stress.

And Cassian had a few ideas on how to make that happen, starting with junk food and her requested “bad movie”.

The first step of that was already in motion. Nesta had been soaking in the clawfoot tub with a book for the past forty-five minutes while he picked up their dinner. 

Beau poked his head out through the newly installed doggy door, not quite used to the weird way he’d been getting in and out of his houses. He gave a short yelp of greeting and Cass tried to get him to come through the flapping door, but after a solid forty seconds of nothing, he gave up and opened the door.

He found Nesta in the kitchen, at the stove and he set the pizza box down on the counter. “I thought you didn’t want to cook.”

“I don’t,” she sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about the smell of mirepoix, even if I don’t have a dish to put it in.”

Cassian walked to the fridge, putting the lemonade and beer in, grabbing one for himself before shutting the door. He looked into the pan. “Onions, carrots, and celery?”

She nodded, taking a deep breath. “And butter and garlic.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

Her wet hair was bundled on top of her head. Her face was bare, not a stitch of makeup on, and she was wearing one of his old rodeo t-shirts.

He turned her face towards him and softly pressed his lips to hers. “Gods, you are so beautiful.”

Her eyes narrowed but she could stop her small smile. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” Cassian asked, cracking open his can.

“Complimenting me,” she said, simply, taking the giant bottle of lemonade he’d gotten and pressing it straight to her lips.

“No glass?” Cassian asked, amused.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Why would I waste time with a glass?”

He couldn’t argue with that logic.

He gestured to the pan on the stove. “Do you want to put that on top of your pizza?”

She scrunched her nose. “No, the smell was enough. I’m ready to eat my pizza though.” She was eyeballing the box and Cassian laughed.

She started to clean up the kitchen and he put the pizza in her hands and said, “Go. Sit. Eat. I’ll handle this.”

Nesta smiled and did exactly that, while Cass put the cooked vegetables in a bowl to cool down. Looks like Beau was going to be getting a good meal tonight.

Eventually, Cassian finished up with the kitchen and joined Nesta on the couch. After a fierce debate about what exactly fits the parameters of being a “bad movie” and genuine offense from Cassian when Nesta picked one of his favorite childhood movies, they finally agreed on a cheesy romantic comedy and Nesta was asleep on Cassian’s chest almost immediately. He turned the tv down and changed it to roping highlights, scrolling through his phone. His good arm was still around her, but he was able to do what he needed with his left arm.

After about an hour, even he was tired from the day’s festivities. When his eyelids slid shut of their own accord for the third time, he knew it was time to move to the bed.

“Nes,” he whispered, peppering her brow with soft kisses. “Wake up.”

She stirred, but whimpered, forehead creasing as she frowned in her sleep.

“Nesta, wake up, sweetheart.” He gently shook her.

She gasped, eyes wide. “Where is he?”

He framed her frantic face with his hands. “He’s not here, baby. It was a bad dream.”

She was still breathing hectically, eyes searching everywhere, from shadows in the corners to the hallway behind them. “Bad dream?”

“Just a bad dream.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Come on, let’s go to-.”

The sound of glass shattering filled the small house and Nesta screamed. Cassian immediately pulled her into himself and covered her body with his.

Beau was barking, but the shattering had stopped. And once Beau realized they weren’t under attack, he quieted down, too, going to sniff at the middle of the room.

The silence was disconcerting. Nesta was quietly crying into Cassian’s chest and he unwound her fingers from in his shirt. He stood, following Beau to where he sniffed. He was careful not to step on the glass, picked Beau up before he could do the same, and herded a shaking Nesta into the bedroom. He calmed her down before coming back out and inspecting the item that had shattered not only serenity of their night, but also their front window.

A brick, with one, solitary word scrawled in baby blue paint:

Congratulations.

[jj-ktae]

(M) Squirt Pro Quo

Banner : courtesy of  @jaebeomsmullet​

Pairing : Bambam x Fem!Reader Genre : Smut (Oral, body fluids, penetration, raw language) Words : 2669 Saturday nights are the busiest ones and starting midnight, most party-goers are either drunk or comatose, if not both. Tonight though, as you are taking your last fare, one regular customer enters your taxi with a whole new destination he wishes to penetrate into. 

This scenario is part of The Pleasure Chest ~ A Cringe Fest Collaboration

Squirt Pro Quo

You will never understand people who drink until they collapse.

Alcohol is a good way to make a party wilder but what is the point of wasting all this money if you’re going to forget about what actually happened? It’s part of your job, taking care of drunk customers who get left under your care like it’s your duty to make sure they make it home safely.

You have no other choice though. It is part of the job; no driver can drop a dead weight on the street and leave.

But how many times do you have to do this every weekend? It’s tiring and it fills your car with disgusting odours of liquor you wouldn’t even pay to drink. The application is beeping every five minutes with new requests. It’s the end of the night and people are more and more wasted, turning fares into a chore you wish you could live without.

It’s good money though. Weekends are good money.

This is what you tell yourself when you take the last fare. Money is needed. You might even get tipped. You usually check who you’re taking; you never know what type of person could enter your car. Some are regular users, others are new. You often pick the ones you at least took one time, just to make sure.

Drunk people aren’t only hard to deal with, they apparently gauge their level of attractiveness accordingly to the number of shot they drank.

You stop by one of the familiar nightclub, phone laying on the passenger seat and already signalling your customer that you are waiting. You turn the music off, just in case you end up with someone who thinks you’re holding an after party in your car.

You see a few people stumble and laugh at their clumsiness, others are dancing to no music at all and oh is that a man peeing against that tree?

“I’m late I’m late-, oh it’s you!” The voice makes you stop judging the bystanders to look at your rear-view, where one of your regular customers is looking for the seatbelt.

Bambam.

You should have seen it coming; there was not a week when you didn’t take him back home. He always goes out of the same club, looking like a hot mess and being overly flirty.

He also gives huge tips.

“Am I the last customer?” said boy asks, finger pressing the button to lower the back window. He takes a deep breath and you suspect he is feeling nauseous.

You start the engine, nodding and sighing heavily when a guy almost falls right in front of your car, in the middle of the road. “Tough night?” You try.

Bambam shrugs. “The usual routine night, alcohol, dancing, doing weird things.” his comeback is only funny to him and he notices it, because you see him nod toward the back of your head. “How about you?”

“The usual routine night, alcohol, puking, doing weird things.” You joke back, stopping at a red stop and looking at the rear view again. “I can’t wait to go to sleep.”

“Do you ever party?”

You shrug, barely turning around to look at him. “When I see how you people end up puking and having no dignity, I wonder if I ever will.”

Bambam laughs, dodging your remark with ease. “You’re too pretty to collapse on the streets anyways.”

“Always the smooth talker.”

“Yet you refuse to give me your phone number.”

You pull up at another red stop, feet pressing the brake hard just to shake him a little bit.

Bambam jumps, his pitiful whine quickly replaced by another pick-up line. “I love girls who know how to handle big engines.” he smirks afterward, a brow wiggling up in an obvious attempt to be lascivious.

“You whistle, amused.” This is what you say to the girls in that nightclub, right?”

“None of them hold the gear level the way you do.”

To this you laugh. Bambam always does the same thing; he flirts and flirts until you almost give in before leaving a big tip on the backseat and offering numerous winks.

Tonight, he seems different, though. Almost serious.

“How many car metaphors do you have?”

“Probably less than your horsepower.” He says, taking the seat belt off to lean toward the driver’s seat. “You obviously have a lot going on under that hood.”

You chuckle, taking a turn before stopping again. How many more red lights will you have to deal with?

Bambam feels your irritation, for his hands reach your shoulders to massage your tense muscles. “You’ve never been this cranky, what happened?”

“Nothing, I’m just tired.”

He presses harder, his lean finger feeling like heaven. He does have some skills. “So it is probably a bad time to tell you that I forgot my wallet at the nightclub?”

You turn around abruptly, forcing him to stop massaging you and looking bewildered. “You what?”

“I just noticed, it’s not in my pocket anymore.” He doesn’t even look panicked and merely makes an apologetic face.

“How are you going to pay- great, I will never have that money, right?” You should have known. Turning on the feature I take cash on the application was a very stupid move.

“Well…” Bambam starts, not really getting the part where you would need so little money when you can have him in your car. “I could give you the money next time or…”

You stop, nodding toward him to make him continue.

“Or I could make you relax.”

The light turns green and thankfully there’s no one behind you because you’ve been proposed...sex in exchange of a free ride?

Bambam’s hand finds your shoulder again. “Look at that awful pout. Such a beautiful car body yet such a bad temper…”

You see the way he enjoys the teasing and the way his eyes lit up when you frown at him. He likes it when it’s a losing battle, it seems.

But it might not be that much of a losing battle when the probability of hot sex in your own car crosses your mind.

You lack too much sleep. It has to be the reason why your pussy is clenching.

“Love, the light is green, or you probably would like me to-”

You turn around before he can finish, pressing the accelerator so hard it plasters him again your leather seat.

Bambam laughs, your uneasiness more amusing than disturbing.

He finally looks confused when you don’t turn left like you should be doing. You see him cross his legs, eyes boring into you through the rear view.

“I live the other way” he tries, amused.

“Did you think I would go all the trouble of accepting that fare and leave without getting anything in return?” You answer, irritation mixed with a sudden urge to destroy Bambam’s smug face.

And smug he is, with his lip-smacking and quiet nodding. He lets you take him where you want, still slightly surprised that you finally accepted his overtures.

You stop near a tiny park. The road is empty if not for a couple of taxi, already going around town to pick the last partygoers.

No one is walking by this side of the park so early, either.

You turn around when the engine stops, observing a curious Bambam who is checking outside to test the waters.

“Now how about I lubricate the camshaft?” You lift a brow and earn an impressed look from Bambam, who wastes no time reaching for your seat bell to free your body. His clothes create funny sounds against the leather but he is already too caught-up in the act.

Instead he pulls you at the back of the car with much difficulty.

“Babe, I don’t need no GPS do get into your pants.”

And it is true. Bambam pops your jacket’s buttons with one snap of his fingers and pulls on your sleeves to let it fall. His long coat is easily forgotten when you straddle him and sneak your hands under the thick fabric to let it slide off his shoulders.

He grabs your hips, leaning properly against the leather seat and creating more questionable sounds. They all fall to deaf ears though, especially when he raises his pelvis to make you feel how aroused he is.

“Which gear do you think I’m at?” He teases, head dipping to lick the curve of your neck. His thick lips feel like fire and even cause tiny desperate thrusts against his now hard dick.

“I’m not sure...but you might need to slow down before your engine goes overheating.”

He laughs, warm breath tickling your moist and sensitive skin.

Your clothes fall rapidly, piling on the carpeting and each layer reveals an even better view, Bambam thinks. He lets you return the favour, manoeuvring his hips when you start pulling on his expensive Gucci belt to reach for his ripped jeans’ zipper.

Fog paints the back windows –and you wonder when did he even pull if back up- , hiding your shadows and allowing Bambam to open your bra without you being too conscious about anyone seeing you.

You lean back when your breasts meet the chill air, your hands leaving the bulge in his boxers. Bambam stares for the longest time, his eyes obviously drawn to your nipples, now perky and oh-so-inviting.

You roll your hips against him when he grabs one of your breast and wraps his mouth around a nipple. A satisfied sigh leaves your parted lips and your back arches, automatically sticking more of you against him. The boy welcomes you gladly, bringing you even closer while subtly grazing his lips over your skin.

You jump, giving him a particularly hard thrust in the process and he can only groan, before sucking hard in retaliation.

He is not going to get a free fare and tease you.

Bambam releases your nipple with a popping sound when you part from him. He stays seated, looking at you questioningly as you get up from his lap.

“Let’s check that dipstick before it goes into the oil hole.” You wink seductively, your inhibition out the window as you pull on his boxer’s elastic to free his painful hard-on.

Bambam hisses, your cool fingers short-circuiting his already poorly functioning brain. Two pumps are enough to turn him into a mess of thrusts and grunts, your grip a little bit too tight if he wants to last long enough to keep his promise.

But you don’t seem to care for you lean - and hit your knee against the seat - to gobble his dick in one go.

Bambam jerks away, head shaking violently. “Easy,” he breathes, eyes glued to your parted lips, now against that one very swollen vein.

The feeling is too exciting. The situation is nothing but thrilling; anyone could walk by and see you, kneeling in the back of your car and feasting on a man’s cock. It feels wrong, like you shouldn’t mix work and pleasure but at the same time, you’re merely paying yourself for that free ride.

Bambam is breathing heavily, the tip of his cock turning redder with each stroke of your tongue, now flat against him. He lets you have your fun, satisfied with his self-control. He would love to fill your mouth right there and then. You’d look so beautiful, with a string of semen dripping from your chin.

You look up when you feel his finger threading into your hair. It’s too delicate to be one of a horny man but it isn’t unpleasant; you definitely don’t know him enough to allow any sort of choking with his thick dick.

Surprisingly, the thought doesn’t bother you.

“Touch me,” he adds, “pull on me like you pull on that handbrake.” he demands, now at your mercy. Your hand automatically goes to his navel and travels down until it reaches the base of his cock.

“Like this?” You ask candidly, hand devastating as you pull on his dick way too hard.

It almost hurts, but Bambam enjoys every second of it. “Just like this…”

You keep going, alternating between hard sucking and dick pulling and Bambam grabs your chin when he finds himself reaching his peak

“Turn around.” He adjusts himself on the seat and grabs your hips. Your head hits the ceiling in the process and Bambam has to spread his legs even wider if he wants you to keep a good position.

You end up looking ahead, eyes going wide when you notice how clean the windshield is; anyone could see you, bent into your car and ready to impale yourself on a guy.

“Come on, sit on me babe…” You hear Bambam’s needy whispers and you comply, aligning yourself perfectly and feeling him enter you with a switch motion. “...ride me.”

You moan, the position tiring but also offering one of the best angle you’ve ever experienced. You do exactly as he says, your butt bouncing rapidly on his lap and allowing him to nestle his dick into you to the hilt.

And nothing more happens, nothing more but the sound of wet skin and pleasured moans. You end up grabbing the head-rests for balance when your legs start to quiver and Bambam decides to end your misery.

He feels the signs of release, so powerful they are tickling his legs and hips. Everything gets too hot, too satisfying to resist the urge to fill you up.

And that’s what he does, when he can’t take it no more.

You feel it, the warm semen and the jolting legs informing you of what is happening.

Bambam gives one final thrust, his head falling back and body sweating.

It was mind-blowing.

You’re about to protest. How dare he finish before he even-

“We’re not done.”

You find yourself being pulled back on the seat, his cum dripping on your thighs and you’re sure the leather is going to be ruined but you’re also curious.

“Let me take you somewhere nice.”

He has difficulties moving and you totally blame it on how long his legs are but he doesn’t complain, even if he looks ridiculous with his pants down and shiny dick.

He spreads your legs and somehow finds himself between them. His finger graze the wet skin and you cannot help but blush at how satisfied he seems to be when he looks at his own cum staining your beautiful skin.

“So fucking pretty…” he muses, fingers reaching for your engorged pussy to thrust two fingers into you.

You close your eyes, legs shivering when he picks up the pace and starts ramming into you. You hear him grunt, like he is enjoying this as much as you.

And he is. “You know what works best with overheating engines?” He looks up at you and tries to get up. His voice is a tad deeper and sensual, like he is going to completely end you. He grips the seat and ends up towering you, his hand now allowing him to press his thumb against your clit while finger-fucking you.

You shake your head, eyes glued to his predatory smile and shiny eyes.

He accelerates his hand, stimulating you more and more with his stroke. “Coolant.” His hand goes crazy, so fast it’s almost unbearable.

You scream, hips shaking from the hectic thrusts and you don’t expect to cum this hard.

So hard you are now squirting all over Bambam.

He looks down, admiring his masterpiece and stimulates you even more to keep you going until there’s nothing but a trickle of cum, ridiculous and dripping down the seat.

You keep your eyes closed, the realisation of what happened hitting you like a truck - or so to speak.

Bambam sits back, his hands grabbing your exhausted legs to let them rest on his half-clothed lap. “How about I never get my wallet back?” he tries, his cheeky smile tearing a tired snort out of you.

“You’ll have to because my car is a mess now.”