#threw a whole kitchen sink of comparisons at the walls of this one and for better or worse many of them stuck ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[guiltreservoir]

 as long as there is an ocean ✧ read on ao3

the abyssal plains of tommy's subconscious are littered with the carcasses of his father's favorite adages.

no matter how valiant his attempts have been to pry them free — and despite the meticulous, delicate nature of his methods — it seems that many of the sea-skeletons have been left sitting beyond salvation, now inextricable from waterlogged sediment. they're too far-sunk to extract safely; if lucky enough not to crumple like a sheet of discarded tissue paper on the journey down, he'd explode his lungs to red mist on the way back up to the surface. it's almost easier if he imagines them this way, as broken fragments of corpses too fragile to exhume:

the fleshy tissue of a half-eaten squid — actions speak louder than words. the crushed shell of an unfortunate lobster — beggars can't be choosers. the rotting remains of a clever eel — boys who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. the ribcage and spine of a starved shark — do as i say, not as i do.

one saying in particular has been mummifying for longer than the others, a giant humpback frozen in a state of watery decay, embalmed in the sandy gunk of his darkest trenches — keep your shoulders straight and your head on straighter. oft punctuated with a caustic, kid.

it's pretty ironic, considering the fact that tommy kinard has nary a straight bone in his body. maybe that's why the line burrowed itself so thoroughly into the deepest, slimiest crooks of the substrate of his mind, slow-growing algae coating the slippery crevices of his hippocampus to rankle him perpetually. tommy hasn't spoken directly with his old man in years; these days he couldn't if he wanted to, or at least not without a ouija board and an uncharacteristic flair for masochism, neither of which he cares to equip himself with.

nevertheless, the phantom whale fall of his father's most-reliable phrase continues to nourish the last hungry, lonely fish left scouring the ocean floor of tommy's mind. nearly every move he makes is centered around practicality, every decision sewn together by threads of vigilance and observation.

with nearly four decades of practice and application under his belt, he's gotten good at keeping his shoulders straight, and gay as he may be, he thinks his head's on just fine, although such would be a contradictory and controversial statement upon the ears of one thomas kinard, senior. thankfully he'll never have to hear it.

tommy can live with his own amendment to the man's words because tommy knows himself and therefore knows the truth. his posture is excellent and he's a considerably level-headed guy. he can't be straight; he doesn't want to be. what he can be is pragmatic. he can be logical, he can be useful, he can be rational. he can be quite capable and, as it turns out, even likable. he can be funny, and charming, and vulnerable with the right people. he can be queer, he can be gay, he can be loved, he can love. he can become without becoming unmoored.

for thirty-some good years, tommy kinard does a bang-up job at keeps his shoulders straight and his head on just fine. he's pushing forty when he meets evan buckley and eddie diaz.

───────────────

evan buckley and eddie diaz exist as a singular entity within the confines of tommy's skull. two sides of the same coin, grumbles the detached jaw of an imaginary anglerfish.

it takes some effort to extract one from the other, but tommy finds ways. over mutual interests in muay thai, basketball, and helicopters, he and eddie become fast friends. over mutual interests in each other's inquisitive minds, curious hands, and wanting mouths, he and evan become even faster lovers.

he makes out with one of them, roughhouses with the other; it all feels the same, gets identical synapses firing. he knocks eddie to the mat, steals spit-flecked exhales off of the inches of air near his wild-grinning lips and brings them home for buck to drink down, licking them into his ravenous mouth, delivering him secrets to unwittingly swallow. he smelts himself down to the base and seeps in between them, liquid copper in the nickel sandwich of their clad coin.

it isn't until tommy's got both of them sprawled out on his couch one night, months into his increasingly complex relationships with each of them, that he truly starts to grasp how evan and eddie might exist as a singular entity outside of his skull, too.

top gun's ending credits march, sans serif ants, to the glowing edge of tommy's television screen. fuzzy, synthetic white-blue haze pours into the room and across the skin of buck and eddie's limbs and faces in a manner that makes tommy think of marble hewn painstakingly into handsome statue, of rock tumbled smooth by a patient, perpetual stream, ever-flowing towards the sea.

tommy thinks, i could be a sculptor. i could be a river.

copper in the nickel.

the two men are draped across his sectional like lions in the sun, impenitent and unabashed in the way they take up space, in the way they take up each other. buck's legs are long, stretched out along multiple cushions, his head heavy on tommy's lap. eddie, on the opposite end of the couch from tommy, started out the evening upright, but the drone of the movie — combined with tommy's easy laughter and the literal and figurative warmth pouring off of buck — had helped to coax a more relaxed posture out of him. now he slouches deep into the pillows, legs spread wide to knock up against buck's bare feet where his sweatshorts ride up his quads. tommy almost expects the point of contact between the pair of them to spark, start a blaze that would surely incinerate the three of them in spite of their résumés.

his heart's been a tinderbox for long enough that he can usually recognize flint even when it's disguised as water; the thirst that parches him convinces him it's worth attempting a sip without regard of probable risk.

he lets out a long exhale and drops a hand to card through evan's hair, half-listens to eddie babble on about how the shots of the F14 fighter jets are still so cool all these years later. he's beaming like a kid the whole time, sunshine-ray of a smile gleaming straight at buck.

tommy watches as buck can't help but smile right back, and god, if the energy radiating off of them could be harnessed for physical usage, tommy would never have a utility bill again in his life. he watches, enraptured, as buck flexes and curls his toes against the soft dark hairs of eddie's thigh, pressing dents into his skin. watches as eddie presses back.

eddie falters in his warplane musings when buck's foot skids over and catches in the edge of his shorts.

buck says, "sorry," not convincingly.

eddie clears his throat and drags his gaze from the arch of buck's foot resting against his leg up buck's calf, to his knee, to where the exposed pale of his thigh disappears behind them hem of his shorts. he takes his time wandering up the rest of buck's body, lingering especially at the relaxed curve of his dick under loose cotton fabric, the relaxed curve of his gently parted lips. finally he meets buck's answering stare and blinks, languid, like he's searing something into his memory, buck-shaped sunspots in his retinas. he says, "no big deal," not convincingly.

before tommy's eyes, water transmutes into flint and back into water and over again, metamorphosing in a churning lazy whirl. it dizzies him, blurring his vision until there is no difference between the two; there's just a murky charcoal pool, molten obsidian shimmering like glass, rippling like the surface of an ocean less haunted than the one sloshing in his cerebrum.

an ocean glinting with the reflection of two incandescent stars careening towards each other at a devastating rate, a spectacle to behold.

relaxing his shoulders, tommy orders them to, "kiss," more certain than ever. when they hesitate, he adds, "each other," bracing himself for the likelihood of a stellar collision.

when eddie clambers on top of buck and leans down to crush their lips together, pushing his head down against tommy's thighs, pushing tommy out of his own, it feels more like the calm soar and twinkling glitter of a shooting star against the navy velvet sky, the soft crash of a wave against the edge of a silky coast.

there's no threat of unkind flame, no exploding celestial dust.

it feels like water.

tommy kneels at the sacred place where the luminous sea laps at the heavenly shoreline and drinks, and drinks, and drinks.

───────────────

drinks become shots become wandering hands in the generous backseat of a stranger's car, an obvious cocktail to use as a scapegoat for the hammering beneath tommy's breastbone. the depths of his mind bubble up with, trust your gut, not your heart.

he has mixed feelings about that one, but at present he's not sure he can trust any singular part of his corporeal form, so at least it half-applies.

hearts and guts aside, tommy is starkly aware that things between buck and eddie may be escalating a bit beyond his feasible reach. he'd come into the evening equipped with the knowledge that he's successfully constructed his own internal witch's cottage of cake shingles and sugared windowpanes in this questionable "date" night between the three of them, however mutually agreed upon the night may be. he's self-aware enough to understand that he's destined to walk himself straight back into it, naïve as hansel and gretel without the excuse of not knowing better.

he just hadn't realized how famished he's become, and how tempting his own makings would look.

with buck seated comfortably between himself and eddie, tommy has no real access to eddie outside of the smush of knuckles-on-upper-arm from the hand he's got slung around buck's shoulder. as per usual the concept of space does not seem to exist between the other men, and tommy's fingertips get wedged so tightly between their limbs that it feels like with just a little more effort, maybe they could do some damage. the sick, private, bourbon-drenched gutters of his mind surmise that maybe he'd let them.

he watches as they exchange a heated look and a hotter liplock, uncertain as to whether he'll ever get used to witnessing them like this. in the weeks following the fated night of their little home movie screening, tommy's been lucky enough to encourage and initiate several more exchanges of both kisses and conversation among the three of them.

"i... still want to be with you," evan had mumbled against his chest, as they laid in bed together the morning after their tag-team makeouts with eddie to the soundtrack of top gun's menu screen music on a muffled loop.

"i had hoped," was tommy's response. after a beat, "and eddie?"

buck had peered up at tommy, eyes so earnest and open and stupidly fucking blue. "yeah, yes, eddie," he'd said, almost apologetic. "i— i do want to be with eddie," like he had to.

"i know," tommy had told him, the organs in his abdomen heaving tumultuously. "it's okay, evan," he'd said, his heart a hummingbird fluttering frantic. like the idea wasn't sending his ribcage collapsing in on itself, he'd even managed, "i can leave whenever you're ready for me to go." he'd assumed all along that he was on borrowed time; couldn't be a beggar and a chooser.

buck, with love bursting forth from every single inch of his being, with more than enough to go around, had admitted to wanting tommy to stay, if tommy would be okay with it. he pitched the idea that they could talk to eddie, try this together, give it an honest shot.

tommy had flashed back to a childhood history lesson on the u.s. mint where he learned that certain coins aren't made in layers, but instead by melting all of the metals together to become a solitary slab. his copper edges fuse further into mirroring ponds of nickel.

three sides of the same coin, he'd thought to himself. imagine that.

"god, eddie," buck rasps now, voice low, clandestine enough to stay in the backseat. "want you so fuckin' bad."

eddie's answering, "jesus, buck, i— want you, too," honest and shameless, snaps tommy fully back into the present moment in perfect timing.

their rideshare driver whips into the driveway of tommy's house, personified stress wearing a thin windbreaker of customer service as he vocally ushers them out of the car — ahem, looks like we're here, have a pleasant rest of your evening, goodbye. as eddie and buck tumble out of the passenger's side rear door in a picture of resolute gracelessness, tommy, clutching stubbornly onto an ounce of awareness, pauses to give a rearview-mirror nod of thanks to the weary-eyed dude white-knuckling the steering wheel. he promises a significant gratuity for bearing with their shenanigans and lets himself out on the driver's side of the car.

while he steadies himself on his feet, gravel crackles under the wheels of the gratefully retreating sedan, headlight beams fading to shadow. tommy observes the silhouette of the inelegant, eight-limbed, two-headed harbinger-creature making its way to his home's front entrance in a clumsy tangle and waits for his innards to spike with fear, with reluctance. he meanders up the drive and overturns every stone lining the path to his warranted doom, expecting to find the tattered shreds of his decomposing clarity, or maybe a colony of vicious fire ants. all he finds is fertile, loamy earth, rife with potential.

he stumbles up his porch stairs and unlocks the door when he gets there, opening it for the lot of them to fall through together.

───────────────

together on tommy's mattress, buck and eddie writhe and moan and curse. they haven't been able to break apart since toppling out of the backseat. they kiss like it's the very thing keeping them alive.

from where he's snuggled up to buck's back, tommy's got a front row seat for the premiere screening of his most-likely demise. he can see the saliva bubblling on the edges of eddie's tongue as he smears it from buck's throat all the way to the cap of his shoulder, a glistening snail trail scattered through with blooming bruises he'd sucked into buck's skin minutes before. he can hear every wet catch of buck's breath in his throat, every soft grunt eddie lets out into against it, every exhale shared between them.

tommy's head spins, so god damn far from being on straight. he feels like a balloon released into the wind, miles above the cold and familiar waters of his deep-ocean, stranded somewhere in the high desert of his psyche. loose dry earth kicks up in a vortex around him, carried by the tempest of his culminating untended emotions. when the dust cloud settles enough for him to think, he recalls the term raison d'être.

it's french, that's why it sounds fancy, is what his father had said to teenage tommy, long before he'd cared to even attempt a grasp on the concept. he'd been moody, hormonal, and wildly, spitefully uninterested in all of the things the man he shared a name with held so dear. rolled his eyes at the gruff, translates to 'reason for being.'

"buck, buck, c'mon," is what eddie says as he scrabbles for a good grip on buck's shirt, taking fistfuls of fabric and wrenching it over buck's head in a frenzy. says, "come here," like buck isn't already melded into him, bare torsos flush, thighs slotted close. says, "come here," again, and it registers that eddie is calling for tommy, too.

tommy eyes snap onto eddie's across the naked curve of buck's shoulder to find them scalding. "fuck," he breathes out, "okay," like it's permission enough for all of them.

for now, it will suffice.

the skin stretched over buck's bulky trap muscle is tacky with eddie's spit when tommy sets his mouth against it, bursting salty-bitter on his tastebuds. buck whimpers into eddie's mouth and grinds his ass back against tommy's crotch; eddie's hips follow after them in a sinuous roll. into the blushing hollow of his ear tommy asks buck if he'd like to feel eddie inside of him, makes sure it's just loud enough for eddie to hear, too. he feels eddie's ankle hook around his own, overlapped with buck's.

"please, yes," urges buck, fervent and wanton, lust and liquor fraying the last threads of his hesitancy. "i've been wanting that."

"you have?" eddie asks, as tommy says, "he has."

"god." context aside, eddie's tone is reverent. he says it again, as though the word is synonymous with buck's name. then, like it's still a secret to himself, admits, "i've been wanting you, too."

buck groans and shifts, or maybe it's eddie — as tommy's faculties render off in the burn of both the top-shelf whiskey in his bloodstream and buck and eddie's immediate intimacy, it becomes progressively more challenging for him to distinguish the fine details. it all feels the same, gets identical synapses firing.

he tracks eddie's movements as he smooths a hand down buck's side, sure and attentive, as natural as breathing. when he keeps moving south to bump his fingertips up against the waistband of buck's jeans and the boxers beneath, buck's breath hitches, hips jerking. tommy tilts against them in pursuit.

eddie asks, "can i?" and it's double the approval he's seeking.

"yeah, eddie, please," buck begs again while tommy nods, delirious with overwhelm.

in an uncoordinated jumble, eddie gets buck flat on his back and makes himself a home between his open-lolling legs. right away his palms return to the broad planes of buck's chest, the curves of his strong stomach, the slight slants of his hips. he makes constellations out of kisses on buck's collarbone, his nipples, in the divot of his sternum.

it looks as close to worship as anything tommy's seen.

tommy wonders if it's worth telling eddie how he'd taken his time working evan open that morning, fucking him deep and thorough so he'd be easier for eddie to push inside of now. if it's worth telling eddie how he'd come, sudden and hard and so fucking good, from thinking about buck taking him so readily.

when eddie's devout, trembling fingers struggle to unclasp the button of buck's jeans, tommy decides to backburner the dirty talk. instead, he rests a hand on top of eddie's, gentle yet authoritative, and says, "let me help."

buck's hips lift for tommy's hands without second thought, making it simple to shuck the pants off of him as eddie shimmies out of his own. before he can even process the sight of evan buckley and eddie diaz naked, together, on his own mattress, tommy's met with twinning expectant gazes and understands that he's meant to strip, too.

"i—" thought i would stay on the sidelines, he tries to say. but as seconds pass under the scrutiny of the other men, the reluctance dies in his larynx, and he jostles around a bit until the denim of his pants is bunched down low enough to free his dick.

he's too preoccupied by the fact that he's got both objects of his affection directly in front of him, touching and loving on each other and spilling all of it onto him, to truly comprehend the magnitude of the moment. his head is so far into the atmosphere that he almost misses eddie say, "tell me what to do, tommy."

re-tethered to the earth by the string of eddie's voice, tommy doesn't miss buck's impatient, "aw, c'mon, eddie, just get in me." his desperate, "need you," is clear as day, clear as his afternoon sky irises, brighter against the rosy blush ruddying his cheekbones. he's always so damn pretty when he pleads.

tommy glimpses down at buck's dick, finds it stiff and pink and already leaking a mess onto his belly; he flicks across to the heft of eddie's where it rests heavy in the lax grip of his own hand. it's a beautiful cock, flushed dark and filled out, not quite as thick as tommy's but a nice, proportionate size. tommy knows buck will unfurl for him at once, a blossom to the morning sun.

meeting the bonfire of eddie's anticipative stare, tommy decides to say, "it won't take much, i got him ready for you this morning. right, baby?"

if buck could nod any more vigorously, he might snap his vertebrae. he adjusts the angle of his hips a little to make more of his ass visible, scoots onto a pillow so that he can prop himself up enough to get a better hold on eddie's waist.

"jeeesus," drawls eddie — a rare slip of his honeyed-rye texas lilt — and then, like he can't help it, "christ." his eyes rake down buck's body, idling on his twitching dick before trailing further, like he'll be able to find evidence: tommy was here.

that makes tommy smirk. he wishes he could keep his instructions ambiguous, left up for eddie's interpretation, something like he can handle whatever you're willing to give him. instead, mindful of the fact that this is largely uncharted territory for eddie, he suggests, "start with your fingers, you won't hurt him."

tommy's trusty bottle of nightstand lube is within convenient reach, making it no trouble to squeeze and slather some across eddie's fingers with a lewd jerk. a bit of extra coats the side of tommy's hand and he uses it to rub along the cleft of buck's ass, prompting a shiver out of him.

"there you go," tommy rumbles, "nice and wet."

the synchronous broken moan that the two let out when eddie finally finds the courage to nudge his fingers into buck is one that will most likely play like a broken-record loop within the walls of tommy's skull forever from this moment forward, for better or for worse.

buck promises, "i can take more," with the bleeding edge of a prayer still present in his tone. "i want more, want you, eddie, come on. it's alright, you can fuck me, you're not gonna break me."

eddie asks, "are you sure?" dually directed.

"never been more sure," buck affirms, as tommy says, "trust him, he knows his own limits," all the while knowing he can't make the same claim about himself.

regardless, he casts himself into the riptide, plummets into the undertow and captures buck's lips in a greedy kiss. he licks behind buck's teeth and drinks up his whines as eddie rides his dick along the slick valley of buck's asscheeks. before he even pushes inside, buck's making these fucking tiny wounded noises that make tommy's heart swell and cock throb.

when eddie lines up and sinks, at last, into the place inside of buck that tommy has come to learn and know and adore, buck breaks away from tommy's kiss with something close to a genuine sob. one of his hands finds one of tommy's, the other still firm on eddie's waist, keeping both of them close. he's got a leg hitched up over one of eddie's hips for better leverage, and his toes curl when eddie starts to move, shallow and slow.

eddie's name has never sounded better to tommy's ears than it does falling out of buck's lips now.

"buck." eddie's tone is reverent. he says it again, as though buck's name is synonymous with god, the two a singular entity within the confines of his skull.

tommy nearly has to look away from them, they blaze so brightly. evan buckley and eddie diaz, starfire contained in terrestrial form, crashing and combining and dazzlingly white-hot.

───────────────

white-hot aftershocks zap through tommy's nervous system as he sits at the edge of the mattress, back turned to the two other men. his fingers are gooey with spatters of buck's come mixed with his own, his softening dick sensitive and sticky as his entire body pulses from the dopamine spike of his orgasm. being a spectator to eddie and buck's otherworldly connection — and a helping hand in their ridiculously hot, intimate sex — has him feeling triply unmoored.

he's supposed to be getting them something hydrating to drink; he'd been the one to offer after eventually peeling himself free from the gordian knot of their bodies. evan always gets thirsty after, in particular when he gets a little teary from the pleasure overload, so tommy figures he could use a glass of cold water. they all could.

he tries to will his legs to stand; he finds his knees locked. impulse turns him inward and sweeps him cliffside on the tallest peak of his high desert mountain range. there, he can stand with his shoulders in repose and head in the clouds, squinting far into the distance where he can decipher the unmistakable expanse of an ocean that glints with the reflection of two incandescent stars careening towards each other at a devastating rate. a ghostly whale breaches the surface for a flash, a mere speck on the horizon from here, vanished before its presence totally registers.

his heavy eyelids flutter shut and he mulls, achingly, over the term raison d'être.

he can hear buck and eddie behind him exchanging lazy, smacking kisses and sweet murmured praises.

"you made that so good for me, thank you."

"mm, you were pretty fuckin' good yourself. now come kiss me some more."

the sounds and sentiments soak into tommy's soul like they're meant for him. his lips tingle as though the press of another mouth is against them; his ears warm as eddie waxes on about how fucking glorious that all felt. his heart swoops at evan's quiet, bashful laugh.

upon opening his eyes the fog in his line of sight clears, and even through a blur of unwanted tears he can clearly recognize that he is no longer in the desert but in the sacred place where the luminous sea laps at the heavenly shoreline. the call of the waves isn't far off at all — the surf is actually rippling at his toes, splashing at his knees and calves. he's been here since the night that eddie diaz kissed evan buckley in his lap, feet sunken into silt, warm tides rising and falling around him.

translates to 'reason for being.'

"come back to us, tommy," summons eddie, as evan's hands reach out and welcome him back down to their mess of rumpled sheets and sweaty limbs.

tommy thinks, i could be a river, and lets himself melt into the embrace of their current, stream into ocean, copper into nickel.

[reidecorating]

Waking up Slow

Requested: Nope, this is just what happens when I decide to avoid studying for physics 

Pairing: Matthew Gray Gubler x Female Reader 

Word Count: Around 2k

Summary: It’s been a dream of mine to wear Gube’s alien shirt and make him food and just have a good old yarn with the man so I decided to write about it. This is just a whole lot of flirting and banter and making out on a Sunday morning

Warnings: None, a lil spicy but pretty SFW, might mistake this for a pillow though, with the amount of fluff

Rays of impatient late morning sun poured in through the gaps in the curtains, which were hastily shut the night before, as they failed to meet in the middle. Matthew never minded sleeping with them half open. Some nights, he would squint and try to make out constellations in the cosmos as his whole world lay curled up beside him, her ear against his heartbeat the way a young child would listen to the ocean through a shell. Other nights, when they would both lay tired and out of breath, she would call him moonlight as her fingers danced along his collarbones, shimmering in the star shine as the thin veil of sweat painting them was the only evidence of what they had been doing previously. However, now, while the two of them remained entwined, the white sheets appeared to glow yellow in the wake of the stars which had collected into one, hours ago. She woke up to Matthew’s arm draped around her waist, having found its way under the fabric of the shirt that scantily covered her, in an attempt to share the warmth of her skin. Stretching and letting out a yawn, she debated falling back asleep, seeing as her only interlocutor was still doing the same. Craning her neck over the pile of poetry sitting on the bedside table, obscuring her view, she made out the small digital numbers reading just before midday, and turned to face the dozing man beside her.

Her eyes brushed over him in all his sleeping beauty, head resting against the supple skin of his upturned palm, brown hair brighter in the morning light, pixie nose tilted up towards the headboard. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks at whatever he was dreaming of, and she wanted, so badly, to taste the pink of his parted lips, to join his dreamscape by breathing into his lungs. A large portion of the sheets had been stolen by her in the middle of the night. While she was bundled up like a cinnamon roll, Matthew lay exposed to whatever monsters and ghosts he claimed reside in his house. His bare chest rose and fell with each breath, but her eyes trailed down to where the waistband of his pyjamas hung temptingly low on his hips, leaving very little to the imagination. Catching her off guard, he pried open one eye, the murky waters of a pond spilling into her view. “It’s rude to stare,”

“Not at art, it isn’t,” she combated his teasing. He groaned theatrically as he stretched out across the span of the bed before regaining his position. “I won’t take sugar in my coffee then, you’re sweet enough,” he smirked. “Oh no, could you please move, I’m actually trying to look at the portrait behind you,” she teased. “Evil,”

“But you love me,”

“I do.”

He removed his arm from where it rested, a little too low on her body, to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting his hand linger on her cheek, absentmindedly stroking his thumb against the slight flush of her face. She tilted her head slightly to delicately graze her lips against the inside of Matthew’s wrist, making his breath hitch. “Kiss me?” She asked, giving into the adoring look in his eyes. “Your wish is my command, m’lady,” 

“Wow, a magician and a genie, I really hit the jackpot with you,”

“You’re really going to leave bodybuilder off the list? With muscles like these? I’m built like…Dwayne Johnson. Did you know they wanted me to be in the Fast and Furious series? But they actually thought I was ‘too buff’ and ‘too macho’ and all my sex appeal would distract from the plot, so they had to settle for Dwayne.”

Laughing into his chest, she pulled herself up and straddled his waist, bringing the blanket with her as if it were a cape. “I’m not joking, Y/N, my net worth is sixty thousand dollars per muscle,” he continued, one hand behind his head and the other now resting on her bare hip, tracing light circles on the skin where her giant shirt had ridden up, revealing the black band of her underwear. “Essentially, what you’re saying is that I could sell you on the black market and make a lot of cash?” She asked him raising an eyebrow and toying with the mess of his hair. “You could, but then you would miss out on this.” He finally kissed her, slow and tactile. Resting on her forearms, linked together above his head, she let her hair drape down and tickle the sides of his face. He swiped his tongue along her bottom lip, at a painstakingly low pace, his hands now caressing her jaw and dabbling with her hair. She breathed him in while he continued to gently suck at her lips, then jaw, then neck, eliciting faint moans from her. “We’re hungry,” he spoke, halting his actions, removing her from her reverie. “Matthew, don’t stop,” she whined semi-facetiously. He gave her a smug look, eyebrows raised. “Fine, I’ll make you food - only because you did it yesterday - but we’re not done here,” she huffed, making him chuckle as she crossly got off him, and out of bed. “It looks nice on you, pumpkin,” Matthew chirped. Tilting her head in confusion, she looked down and realised he was referring to his whimsical alien shirt she had stolen the night before. The buttons that were undone torturously left Matthew craving her skin, as she gave him a glimpse of his favourite view each time she bent down to slide on a sock. “Considering it is a woman’s top…”

“Hey!” He threw a pillow at her, “I thought it looked nice, something a space cowboy would wear during his leisurely time,” “I didn’t say it didn’t look nice!” Her hands went up in surrender, suppressing a smile when she threw the pillow back in his direction. Making her way towards the kitchen, she left him starstruck and staring at the ceiling, smiling to himself like a teenager in love.

Eyes getting tired of reading the words of Robert Frost, when his stomach grumbled loud enough to genuinely frighten him, he placed down the book and followed the enticing aroma wafting into his room. When he saw her, she was humming to herself, swaying to the rhythm of whatever song was playing in her head. He admired her bare legs as the hem of his shirt skimmed the tops of her thighs. Gazing at her tied hair swinging to and fro, giving him snippets of the back of her neck, he became eager to pick up where they had left off. “Hey there lover of mine, wasn’t it you who told me its rude to stare?” She beamed at him, turning around cradling a giant bowl of some sort of mixture in one arm while sporting a giant wooden spoon with the other. He realised she must’ve heard him shuffling around, he wasn’t the most graceful person alive after all. His heart melted at the smile she sent his way, tucking his lip beneath his teeth to avoid grinning back so hard he would sprain something. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he glanced down at his feet from where he leant against the doorframe. She still made him nervous. However, the man never failed to make her fall past the point of no return each day, so they were even. “I’m so in love with you, Gube,” she shook her head and laughed, facing the stove again. He stepped forwards and slunk his arms around her, planting a kiss on her cheek before dipping a finger in the batter to taste it. “I tried making us heart shaped pancakes,” she muttered sheepishly. “Key word, tried.” He stifled a laugh, looking at the piles of pancakes on their plates, decorated in berries and cream. “Maybe if you squint and look at them from really really far away they look a little bit like hearts…”

“Do you have a warrant for all this pancake slander? Because I wasn’t aware that you were the geometry police,” she poured the last of the batter into the pan before piling up more dishes. “The proportions in my paintings can speak to that,” He pointed to his latest work in progress leaning against the wall, its newest layer drying in the spring breeze which was fleeting past the rickety handles of the kitchen windows. “I’m glad Picasso came and went when he did, poor man��d be facing some real competition if he was still around,” setting down his warm brew in front of him as he dug into his - what was now - brunch, she continued to tantalise him. “Are you mocking my curvaceous abstract cockroach? It actually came to me in a dream once,”

“Matthew, you did not just use the adjective ‘curvaceous’ in regards to an insect,” she chuckled, “but a dream? Really?” She pressed on, wondering, one, why he was dreaming about the revolting beasties and, two, whether she should leave him while she still could. “No, I lied, I just saw your face and felt inspired,” he winked. “Hurtful,” she scoffed. “All the artistic recognition is getting to your head, fame changed you Gube,”

“What’s a man without his roach?” A fake western accent glossing his words as he made a gesture of stroking a bug between his hands made you throw your head back in laughter. “Well, I’ll be damned, a roach-less man!” She chimed in, sounding almost as Texan as he did, making it his turn to laugh.

They ate in a serene silence, aside from Matthew’s odd compliments to the chef, both enjoying the view from opposite sides of the kitchen counter.  “So, aside from finishing that horrid thing,” she tilted her head in the direction of his painting, “what’s on the agenda for the one, and the only, Salvador Dali, today?” Matthew breathed out a laugh in response to her comparison. “Would you still love me if I grew out my moustache like his?”

“Bold of you to assume I love you even without the moustache,” A false and dramatic look of hurt found its way onto his face as she teasingly blew him a kiss from where she stood at the sink. “Anyway, now that you’ve completely destroyed my self confidence and broken my tiny, fragile heart, to answer your question… You are, actually,” he spun around on his bar stool. A sea of scarlet rose up her neck and made a home in her cheeks at his simple remark. “Well… I’m glad, because you’ve been at the top of my ’To Do’ list for a while now.”

She placed their cups in the sink and made her way over to where he sat, the seat of the stool resembling a bottle cap. “Is that so?” He smirked, now wearing the same shade of blush she was, as she stood between his knees, letting her hands snake up around his neck. “Mhm,” she gently planted her lips on his, “and you’re one thing I’m not going to procrastinate on getting done,” 

“You’re killing me, Y/N,” he breathed against her mouth. “You’ve always wanted you be a ghost, haven’t you?” She felt him smile against her as her lips glided over his. She placed one hand, still warm from the coffee it had been cradling, on his chest while the other inattentively played with the wiry tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck. The effect she had on him hadn’t changed with time, even after two years, she realised, his racing heartbeat evident beneath her palm.

This time, when their lips met, it was slightly more desperate, the need for one another gushing from both of them. She captured his bottom lip beneath hers, gently biting down before drawing back for air. Matthew gazed at her devotedly, eyebrows furrowing together when she kissed him again. While her tongue traced over his lips, enchanting him, his hands travelled down to her thighs, gripping each of them firmly before standing up and lifting her onto the counter. Their lips separated with a small smack as she gasped at the contrast in temperature between the granite and her skin. His nose skimmed hers when he made his way back down along the same path he had travelled earlier that morning, this time, unbuttoning the remainder of the shirt she wore, the heavenly sounds she was making leaving him in a trance. He adored seeing her this way, unguarded and sinking in his touch.  “You’re sensational, Matthew,” she sighed, tugging at his hair and craning her neck back to allow him more access. He nipped at the column of her throat, smiling to himself at the comment. She had no clue what she did to him. “Angel, I don’t often get dessert after breakfast, but do you think you can make it happen for me today?”

[a-third-attempt]

The Long Green Line

A/N: Presented on the occasion of @call-me-clever-girl’s 22nd birthday. Thank you to @selectedtrash for beta reading!  (3428 words)

Santiago is an OC of @call-me-clever-girl. Source (at her writing blog).

Warnings: Food. Brief mentions of gore, horror, overeating, violence.

 * * *

You paced frantically around your one-bedroom apartment, towel in one hand and yardstick in the other. You’d been living there for nearly a year now and while you had no illusions that it was some grand estate, you never had the occasion to quantify exactly how small it was.

Today, that innocence died. As the aroma from slow-cooked pork wafted through the kitchen, you learned that there was about three and a half feet between the appliances attached to the wall and the countertop that butted up against the living room couch. You walked up and down that corridor, all nine feet of it, as you tossed in vegetables and spices. The aforementioned couch was exactly seven feet long and the coffee table stood two feet from it, the television ten. The front entrance, as well as the door to the bedroom and the bathroom, measured just under three feet wide. Tricky, but not much to be done about it.

After a day spent creating carnitas and egress, the apartment smelled of garlic and sage but looked almost spartan, a far cry from the cozy atmosphere that you normally enjoyed. The only hints of its prior life were found in its dusty corners, where tall piles of treasure and clutter alike were packed into as little floor space as physically possible. This was the price you paid for precious inches of maneuvering room. And today, today only, that price was worth it.

You knew that he was going to arrive exactly on time, because for the last week he had been so excited about seeing your place. So when you started waxing the floor you knew that you had exactly nine minutes to finish up and change your clothes, which you did, with eleven seconds to spare. You spent those last seconds fidgeting with the ends of your hair, trying to shake off your analytical mindset. This should be fun. It was going to be fun.

Ding Dong!

“Just a minute!” you called out. Stealing one last look in the mirror, you stood up straight, put on a big smile, and opened the door.

Standing before you was Santiago, the love of your life. A naga, with russet-brown skin fading into mottled dark green scales, he stood a whole head above you, looking down with luminescent yellow eyes. His black hair was tousled in beautiful waves that fell just above his broad, muscular shoulders. His features were naturally sharp, but they were softened by the smile that came easily to his face.

“How are you, my clever girl?”

“Lovely, now that you’re here.” You stood on your tiptoes and kissed his neck. “Say, what’s that behind your back?”

You grinned. He never came to a date empty-handed, always bringing along some little bauble that made him think of you. Sometimes they came from a shop, sometimes they came from the swamp, and you loved them all the same. But this time you were surprised; you gasped as he revealed a bouquet of plump white roses.

“Oh, Santiago, they’re gorgeous! This is incredible, thank you!” He beamed back at you. “I’ve got just the spot for them in the kitchen. They’ll catch the evening sun.” 

You rinsed out a glass from the sink, put the flowers in, and set it on the windowsill. During it all, an uneasy silence rested in the air. You hadn’t invited him in, and he didn’t make to enter. He simply sat in the doorway, watching you walk around your nearly-empty apartment. “Looks like you’ve been busy.” His tongue fluttered out and tasted the air, “Mmmm… and it smells like it, too!”

“Like I told you, you need to eat a proper meal for once.” He didn’t exactly fill up at restaurants. Despite his protests, you always felt guilty for ending dinner so much more satisfied than him. So now, meeting at your own place for the first time, you had resolved to feed your boyfriend as much as he could eat.

You returned to the doorway and unbuttoned his big black coat. It hung well below his torso but still looked comically small, his tail easily spilling out from the bottom and far into the hall. Clothes weren’t terribly useful in the water, he had explained to you on your first date, but the coat helped him remain decent in human society. Still, he grew up wearing nothing at all, and that’s what he preferred. You preferred him that way too, which had probably been obvious from your uncontrollable blushing.

You tossed his coat to the side, then hesitated. “Come in, babe.” Both of you understood how much anxiety you were hiding behind those simple words. But he said nothing, and if he had reservations of his own, they didn’t show. He held his smile and began slithering in.

His powerful muscles glided his body across your newly waxed floor, thick waves of scales shifting to and fro. You tried not to stare as your brain automatically began measuring out his length. Three feet. Six feet. Nine feet. He turned back to face you, sheepishly, coming back toward the door as his tail began piling up in the space behind him. Twelve. Fifteen. Eighteen. He stopped suddenly, looking around. 

“Um...”

“Wrap through the kitchen?” He nodded wordlessly, sliding between the counter and appliances. In one opening and out the other. Twenty-one. Twenty-four. Twenty-seven— The tip of his tail was nearly through the doorway, and you shared a relieved sigh, knowing that you’d cleared the first hurdle. As soon as it crossed the threshold, you slammed the door shut, perhaps a little too hard. He winced, then broke into full-chested laughter.

“Well, that was a little adventure,” he said, reaching the end of his tail up to embrace you.

You wriggled free, thoroughly embarrassed. “The first of several, perhaps. Now, sit down, and I’ll check the pork.”

He did not sit down, and instead followed you eagerly into the kitchen, his tongue lapping the fragrance of the meat. The walkway is barely big enough for one person, certainly not accommodating two plus a tail. “Sit down, sit down,” you say, shooing him away. “I’ll bring the food out when it’s done, but give me some space.”

He begrudgingly retreated, flopping down on your couch. At only seven feet, it wasn’t even pretending to be long enough for him, his tail lazily draping over the end.

After cooking the meat for hours, the last steps for carnitas always felt strangely rushed. You took a big vat of sour cream from the fridge, tortillas and hot sauce from the pantry. Placing the trays on the stove to cool, you dropped one steaming piece of pork in your mouth. Perfection. Mama would be proud.

From the couch came a small whine, as the top of your boyfriend’s head peered over the back of the countertop. “Dear god, that sssssmells so good. I’m about to drown in my own drool.”

You clicked your tongue and shot him a sideways glance. “Are you a dog, whining for your food like that?” His brow twitched in embarrassment. “Am I dating a dog, Santiago?”

He collapsed dramatically onto the couch, whumping down on the pillow. “You’re always teasing me, Raptor.”

“You make it too easy, darling.” Your lips curled upward as you poured the juices over the cooling meat and tried another piece. 

“It’s reeeeeaady,” you sang.

“Yaaaaaaaaayyyy!” He threw his hands in the air as he cheered. He was playing it up for you, of course, but he was still clearly excited, his tongue rapidly flicking in and out of his mouth. “I can get up for it.”

“Nope,” you said, already setting down the toppings on the coffee table.

“What are these for?” he said, shrugging his shoulders. You rolled your eyes. He was always feigning ignorance about food, saying that a childhood in the swamp left him with simple tastes. Humans make it all too complicated, he insisted, with these vegetables and sauces and spices. But it was all a ruse. He loved savory food especially, and there was no hiding it; he rolled each bite around on his tongue to bask in its flavors.

You brought over the two heaping trays of pork, and he rubbed his hands together. “Not yet,” you admonished, a pair of fingers tracing the lines between your eyes and his. He smiled but said nothing, tongue still snapping out between his lips. Last, you brought the tortillas and napkins, plopping yourself down on the couch. “I’ll make your first?” you asked.

He nodded. “Thank you, sssweetie.” You loaded it up with everything, including nearly a fistful of the pork. You smirked as you passed it to Santiago, who was now visibly salivating. 

He grabbed it from your hand and didn’t— maybe physically couldn’t— force himself to wait a moment longer. He took his first bite, and his eyes fluttered shut. “Mmmmmm, oh zhissssh is ssssho good,” he said, barely getting the words out before cramming the rest into his mouth. 

You laughed quietly as you piled up your own tortilla and laid down on his chest. He was only too happy to have you, his tail curling slowly around your body, tiny by comparison.

“Why would you ever eat out when you can cook like thisssss?” he said, licking the grease off his fingers. 

“You flatter me.”

“It’sss not flattery if it’sss true.”

You cocked your eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it still is, actually.” Then, slapping him playfully on the tail that laid across your chest, you nodded to the trays. “Anyway, eat up. I made this for you, it’s all yours.”

His tail abruptly stopped sliding across you, shocked. You could practically hear his eyes bug out. “All of it?”

“As long as you let me sneak in a few, yeah. I told you I was gonna feed you for real, didn’t I?”

He wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head again and again. “Oh, whatever I did to deserve you, it couldn’t possssssibly have been enough.” 

You hummed, lifting his hands off of you to prepare yourself another. “I’m not gonna keep making them for you, though, you gotta dish your own from now on.” 

He giggled and mussed your hair, and then hastily piled some meat on a tortilla. As he scarfed it down, the tip of his tail poked up to lie on your chest, as it always did when you ate together. Warm on both ends, he would say. 

He ate for nearly an hour, cleaning every last bit of meat off the trays. Mama always told you that the highest compliment that a cook could receive was a silent meal. But she was wrong. Santiago’s gratitude was vocal as he pounded one loaded shell after another into his mouth. His tongue turned its flavors into all manner of sighs, grunts, and murmurs. You said almost nothing the entire time, soaking in that beautiful music of his.

Swallowing his last bite, he smacked his lips and heaved an enormous sigh. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! It was amazing, sssweetheart. A gift from heaven.” His scales tickled as you pressed himself closer to you.

Your cheeks flared and you gave him an embarrassed smirk. You rubbed his belly, engorged from the sheer size of his dinner. “You full now?” 

“Oh god, yesss,” he groaned, his hand resting on top of yours. “I won’t eat for another week.”

“Mmmm, then I’m satisfied.” You nuzzled his side, and he squeezed you gently in response. By then he had engulfed you entirely in his tail, leaving only your head and arms uncovered. It was not a warm embrace; you, in fact, were the furnace in the relationship. But it was still immensely comforting to you, like nothing you had known before. His tail rarely came to a complete stop, always slithering gently in place, and the texture of his scales soothed you as they brushed over your skin. 

You were lost in that full-body massage when he cleared his throat. You lifted your head to see him watching you, with a look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. 

“Ssssssso, we were going to watch a movie?”

You smiled. One of the few things you loved about your apartment was that when the sun went down, it got dark. There were no streetlights and the road rarely saw traffic that late, so the most light that made it into your apartment was filtered through two window shades from your neighbors. It was a gentle reminder from the world that it was time to sleep. 

Or, more relevant to present company, it set the perfect mood for a campy horror movie. Watching them had become a Friday night ritual, and you were delighted that this week, Santiago was going to be part of it.

There was just one problem. “Aww, you’re gonna make me get the lights?” You brushed one hand along his abs and the other up his tail, from the tip to as far as you could reach. It wouldn’t take more than ten seconds for you to hit the switches, of course. But in that moment you wanted nothing more than to stay wrapped up in him forever.

He cocked his head. “No, I’ll get them. Where are they?” You didn’t exactly want him to stand up either— it takes two to cuddle, after all. But instead of arguing, you pointed to the wall next to the front door. To your surprise, he did not move to stand up. He scrunched his tail into a hump where you had pointed, and then smacked it clumsily against the switch. 

You giggled, but it worked.

The title screen rolled and the score began, a creepy little melody that already had you grinning. You could already feel his body tensing around yours. Stealing a glance at him, you barely recognized the voracious predator that destroyed your carnitas. In his place, a young man, wide-eyed and lock-jawed, features tensed as if preparing for a fight.

You tried to sound casual. “Hey darling, what’s up?”

“I— I don’t watch a lot of movies like thisss...” he said, softly.

“Oh,” you said. A little disappointed, you reached for the remote. You had others you could put on, of course. Honestly, you’d watch anything if it meant you’d get to snuggle with him the rest of the evening. But still, this shift in the routine felt like you were betraying the tradition.

“No, I want to watch!” he said, grabbing your wrist, and then immediately releasing it. “I mean, if you like it, I’m sure I’m gonna like it.” His eyes narrowed into a smile, their dim light seeming to sharpen as they glinted off his teeth. “I’ll tell you if we should ssstop, I guessss.”

Understanding flashed through your mind. “Oh my god, Santiago are you scared?” No way, you thought, it couldn’t be that perfect. 

He shifted in place. “A little, yeah,” he admitted.

You covered your mouth to stifle a giggle. “Oh, now this is gonna be fun.” 

His eyes suddenly widened. “I ssshouldn’t have told you that, should I?” he asked weakly.

You set down the remote and brushed his cheek, still giggling as you shook your head. “No, Santiago.” You leaned up to plant a small kiss on his lips. “You absolutely should not.”

He sighed and buried his head in your shoulder. “Hmph. Sssome help you are.”

The film was new to you, but it was clearly a love letter to the B movies that the directors had enjoyed as teenagers, hitting beats that were all too familiar. Your boyfriend probably had a harder time seeing that love through the spooky veneer. But his reactions breathed life into the experience like you hadn’t felt in years. After all, you could see the jump scares coming from a mile away, but he was caught off guard every time, letting out small yelps. And as the tension mounted, you could feel him instinctively constricting more and more around you, anticipating the next big release.

But it was the gore that really got him. The first death scene was a decapitation, and when the guy’s head flew off, he shuddered so hard it rippled down his entire body, jostling you several times on the way down. You could tell that the second one was going to be bloody as well, which gave you an idea. Just as the nerd’s guts spilled out of their chest, you dug your nails into his sides as hard as you could and scratched them across the same spot.

He bucked wildly and howled, tossing you around in his grasp. You collapsed into his chest, laughing. “Geez, Santiago, you’re gonna wake the neighbors.”

“Damn you,” he muttered, bopping you upside the head.

You hugged him, but before long your hands had other plans. They began roaming around his sinuous curves, matching his motions along yours. You relished the gentle firmness of his spotted green scales in your palms. He rewarded your affection with sharp, breathy gasps, and deep shivers that shook both of your bodies. Soon the movie was forgotten entirely as you wrapped around each other, snuggling ever closer.

Your intimate dance was interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream, the heroine finally succumbing to a grisly death. Your poor boyfriend nearly jumped out of his skin, spasms flinging his tail around wildly until—

CRASH!

His tail connected with the pile on the far side of the room, striking it to the ground.

“Oh my god, I’m ssso sssorry!” he said, immediately stilling himself and letting you go.

“What happened?” you asked, still dazed.

“I’m sssorry, I’m sssorry, I didn’t mean to, I should have been more careful!”

Putting the pieces together, you let out a relieved chuckle. “Hey, hey, it’s fine! Stop—” you fumbled around for the remote. “It’s fine, Santiago.”

He groaned. “I should never have come over, it was ssstupid, we both knew there wasn’t room—”

“No, listen—”

“I broke everything!” His voice was loud but it wobbled, as if he was on the verge of tears.

“Darling, stop. Look at me.” You grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Where’s the light?” you grumbled, tripping over his length as you turned on a lamp. His gaze immediately snapped to the mess he had made, but yours kept trained on him. You didn’t care what had fallen down. You rushed back to him, grabbing his chin. “Darling, look at me.”

He did, and what a sorry sight it was. His normally toned skin was near-white and his mouth sagged, hanging open. His eyes were wide, downcast, and wet with half-formed tears. You stuck out your neck toward him, trying to match his pathetic look with one of patient determination. 

“First of all, you did not break everything.” You glanced over at the trinkets now scattered across the floor, none of which had any significance at the moment. “I don’t think you broke anything at all. But even if you did, that’s okay.” He whimpered in protest. “No, Santiago, I mean it. It’s okay. We both knew it was going to be tight, and I wouldn’t have let you come over if it mattered that much to me.” Your features softened, but you spoke seriously. “That stuff doesn’t matter. You matter. I’m glad you’re here.”

As you spoke, he closed his eyes and took long, deep breaths. He began to nod, your words bringing him to his senses. “If you want to go home, I get that, but I’d rather have you stay.”

He nodded, swallowing. “Me too,” he whispered.

The two of you sat in silence for a while as he continued calming down. You smiled at him; when he opened his eyes, he sighed in response. “You’re too good to me, Raptor,” he said, dipping his head. You bent down to meet his far-off gaze. The embarrassment was still etched into his face, but at least his hysterics seemed to have passed.

“Now, you want to finish the movie?”

He let out a weak grunt. “What, so I can wreck the resssst of your apartment?”

“Yeah, well,” you said, grinning. “I wasn’t really watching anyway.” You blinked, surprised by the truth in your words. Years of Friday night movies, and you couldn’t remember a single time that you’d actually stopped watching one entirely. But somehow, you thought to yourself as he began wrapping you once more in cool scaly coils, this change in the routine suited you just fine.

[ohpuckthat]

Dreams Come True... (Travis Dermott)

Requested by Anons Prompts: “We’re gonna have a baby~” and “I’m pregnant”

When I was young, I was obsessed with fairytales. I always thought that one day, my prince charming would come and save me. As I grew up, my thoughts of a guy coming and sweeping me off my feet slowly started to disappear. The guys I would go out with made me realize that I should lower my standards. That was until I met Travis. From the get go, he was a complete gentleman and continued to make me feel like a queen. We saw each other almost everyday and before I knew it, he had asked me to be his girlfriend. Just under a year later, we said our ‘I love you’s’ and just a month after that, we moved in together. We spent as much time together as possible and I was as happy as I could be. Even the mundane things like grocery shopping and doing the laundry were so much fun with him. Two years in, back in my hometown, Travis got down on one knee and proposed. Everything I thought about in my childhood was finally coming true.

Travis had just left for yet another road trip and I was curled up in bed with Niylah, feeling like trash. Every winter, almost like clockwork, I would get a cold that would last about a week, however this time, it felt different. When Travis left, he promised he would be back with medicine, soup, and anything else I needed. I got up and made my way to the kitchen, needing something to drink, but had to quickly make a detour to the bathroom and threw up. I fell back onto the ground and took a few deep breaths, my head leaning against the wall. I slowly got up, cleaning myself up slightly in the sink before walking back to our bedroom to grab my phone. I unlocked it and quickly called my best friend. 

“Hello?” As soon as I heard her voice, I broke down. “Woah, Y/N are you okay?”

“I- I, I don’t feel good.” I whispered out between sobs.

“What do you need? I can be over in ten.” I heard shuffling on the other side of the line.

“I know this is awkward but, can you get me a pregnancy test?” I asked, thinking about everything that had happened in the past few weeks. 

“Yeah, of course. I’m about to get into my car, do you want me to stay on the phone with you?” 

“No, I think I’ll be okay. Drive safe.” 

“I’ll be there soon.” She said before hanging up. I finally made my way to the kitchen and grabbed myself a bottle of water and settling in on the couch. I kept my phone close, just in case but closed my eyes for a bit. I got up when I heard a knock on the door and let her in, engulfed in a hug as soon as I opened the door. “Do you want to take it now or chill for a while.” 

“If I don’t take it now it’ll just be a weight on my shoulders that I don’t need so...” She went through her bag and pulled out a few tests, passing them to me. I made my way back to the bathroom and did my buisness. I placed them all on the counter and walked over to the door. I called out and we sat on the ground, our backs on the counter, waiting for them to finish up. 

“What are you going to do if you’re actually pregnant?” She asked, throwing her arm around my shoulders. 

“I don’t know. I mean, I love Travis and I would love to start a family with him, I just don’t know if we’re ready.” I leaned my head on her shoulder and scooted a little closer to her. 

“You’ll never actually be ready. Not until your kid’s like, 18. Then you’ll be ready.” She said, laughing slightly before pulling me even closer. “You and Travis are probably the best couple I know and would be amazing parents. You know how they say it takes a village to raise a child? You have a whole city. You’ll be great.” 

Just as I was about to thank her, my phone went off, signalling the timer was done. I took a deep breath and grabbed her hand, getting up, my eyes closed. I squeezed her hand and opened my eyes, seeing all of them were positive. 

“Woah.” I whispered, not really believing what was in front of me. 

“You’re going to be a mom.” She whispered, hugging me from the side.  

“I’m going to be a mom.” I whispered back. 

~~~

She stayed with me for a few hours before she had to return home. I sat in the living room, the Leafs game playing on the tv. As I watched the boys skate around, I thought about how I was going to tell Travis this news. They were coming back to Toronto late tomorrow morning so I would have time plan something elaborate but that’s not us. 

Most of our relationship milestones were in a way... simple. When he asked me to be his girlfriend, it was just him and I during a movie night at my old apartment. Our engagement was in my parent backyard, both of our immediate family there. Our wedding was small in comparison to other hockey players. Things were just effortless with Travis and it just felt wrong to do something over the top. 

By the end of the game, seeing how happy Travis was about the win, made me excited, but also a little nervous. I had a very good feeling that he would be happy for us, but there was always the little voice in the back of my head.  I decided that going to bed would be the best decision and fell asleep fairly quickly from all the excitement of the day.

When I had woken up the next morning, I heard the front door open and something fall of the ground, undoubtedly Travis’ bag. I stayed in bed, knowing he would eventually make his way to me. Closing my eyes yet again, I soon felt the end of the bed dip before feeling arms around my waist and I was pulled back towards his body.

“Hi baby.” He whispered, kissing my neck slightly before laying his head on mine.

“Hi.” I whispered back. By the way he moved, I knew he could tell there was something bothering me and all the worries I felt just the night before came rushing back. I eventually just turned to face him, a slight smile on my face.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, his hands still on my waist.

“I need to tell you something and honestly, I’m kind of nervous.”

“You know you can tell me anything. You don’t need to be nervous.” He said, pulling me even closer. I took a deep breath before whispering into his chest.

“I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what?” He asked, pulling back to meet my eyes.

“I took a test yesterday. I’m pregnant.” I said before watching him jump out of bed and pulling me up with him.

“Holy shit! We’re going to have a baby!” He screamed, pulling me in and twirling me around in a hug, laughter filling the room. “We’re going to have a baby.” He said again as he let me down.

For the rest of the day, he couldn’t stop repeating himself, not yet believing that what he was also dreaming of, was finally coming true.

[sinfullystanning]

V is for Voler Part 3: Hell in Heaven

Bucky Barnes x Darcy Lewis (Wintershock)

A/N: I know I probably should have waited, and spaced things out, but I couldn’t help it, I’m posting it now! Thank you to everyone who’ve been supporting the new changes to the fic!

The cool Paris night air ruffled Bucky’s hair as he climbed the rickety metal fire escape stairs behind V. He might have been an assassin once, but he felt like a bag of bricks compared to the way she moved. Even as his footsteps here quieter than most, they seemed to echo in comparison to the soundless way she practically flew up flight after flight of stairs. Her feet moved in precise yet memorized steps making it clear that she’s taken this route more than a few times. Even in heels that could easily catch in the grated metal and the long dress that would have limited the leg movement of any other woman, she moved as if she were wearing the most comfortable clothes in the world.

Finally, the stairs ended on a landing similar to all the others, all once-red, now-rusted iron railings, and just enough front space to fit a welcome mat and perhaps a flower pot or two. This landing, however, unlike the others before it, was empty. As a matter of fact, to the casual observer, it seemed as if no one lived in the top floor unit, as it was devoid of life and emotion, nothing that remotely clued in the fact that anyone lived there.

That’s why Bucky was absolutely taken aback when V turned the key in the lock and held the door open behind her to invite him in. If the outside of the house screamed decrepit inactivity, the inside boasted opulent extravagance. The walls were painted black with a tastefully stenciled on vine pattern that was all Parisian charm in bold red. The crown molding that ran along the top of the room was an elegant gold that caught and threw light across space. The short entryway led into an open living room with a surprisingly high ceiling that was painted red and accentuated by a sizable skylight. The room was furnished with pieces in various blacks and shades of red with specks of gold here and there, with a handsome gold-painted fireplace looking over the space. Bucky’s eyes caught an identical pair of frames adorning the gilded ledge that held small canvases that both read “voler,” one in red paint and the other in black. “Voler,” the same word he’d seen on V’s back earlier.

He walked over to run a curious finger along one of them before turning to search for his host, eyes finding her leaning against a post by the entrance to what he assumed was the kitchen. Nodding in the direction of the frames without taking his eyes off of her he asked, “What’s with the word?”

V’s position was that of guarded nonchalance, appearing relaxed to most, but Bucky knew that her senses were working double time, watching him without wanting him to feel watched. Too bad he was an expert at the tactic himself. She shifted her weight at his question, arms crossing just a tad tighter across her chest, her hair slipping from where it had been pinned against the pillar by her head to gracefully arrange itself around her taut shoulders. Finally, she broke her silence, “I heard you tonight, your French isn’t too bad, you tell me, Soldat.”

Bucky frowned. “First, I told you to call me Bucky. Second-”

“Why? I like seeing you all riled up, Soldat.” Her eyes sparkled with laughter as he glared at her. “You were saying?”

He tried his best to let it go, but every utterance of that word from his past was an annoyingly sharp prick in his brain. “Voler, it’s a verb, to fly.” Right? his eyes asked as they met hers, his icy blue battling the roaring waves of hers.

“Half correct. Voler is an interesting verb as it has two meanings. One, the one you stated, to fly, but another as well, to steal.” Her eyes danced as her red lips curled into a devilish smile.

“So you’re a thief?” Bucky grabbed the string with both hands, anything that could possibly disclose more information about the woman in front of him.

V scoffed. “Such a crude word. I’m a freelancer, I’ll do anything, for a price. I’ll be anything, a thief, an assassin, et cetera. Why, did you need something stolen, because usually I don’t take on multiple jobs at once, but I think I could make an exception for you.” She was toying with him, but rather than pissing him off, Bucky felt a thrill of adrenaline run through him. Winning against her was going to be harder than he thought.

“Why ‘V’?” He was pushing his luck, but he had to know. “We both know that’s not your real name.”

Surprisingly, she answered without a pause. “V, the Roman numeral for five. Five fingers make a fist, five fingers can hold a gun, five fingers can kill.” Her eyes glinted with danger but Bucky was sinking right in.

He decided it was time to change topics, however, and reigned in his thoughts. “So, is there a reason you brought me here because I know it’s not because you trust me.”

She chuckled, conceding to the change of topic. “If we’re going to work together, we’re going to need to literally work together, so you’ll be staying here.” Bucky was dumbfounded, but she was smart, bringing the fight onto her home turf, upending the playing field. “Unless that’s a problem?” She asked the question but Bucky knew there was only one answer.

“Not at all.” She nodded at that before straightening up, stretching before turning to disappear down a hallway. “You’re taking the couch.” She called over her shoulder as she went.

The moment she was gone, Bucky let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, flopping down onto the black leather affair in front of the fireplace, running a tired hand through his hair before reaching down to loosen his tie. Just as he closed his eyes for a second, he felt a thrum through his senses, and his eyes shot back open, just in time to see the cause for the movement he’d registered.

Standing in front of him was a wolf. At least it definitely looked like one. Its coat was pitch black, fitting the rest of the decor of the room so well that he wouldn’t have been sure it was real if not for the slight rise and fall of its chest as it watched him soundlessly. Had it been in the room the whole time? He started to wonder if his age was finally catching up to him, as V’s life always seemed to run one step ahead of him. Or maybe it was just some intoxicating spell she had on him, dulling his senses, making him vulnerable.

Neither of them moved until finally, Bucky regained his composure and slowly extended a downturned hand to the animal to smell. Before it could, however, a voice broke the silence. “Thief, he’s a friend." Bucky heard V come back into the room, slowly crossing over to the couch. “Don’t move.” She advised him but it was then that the wolf, Thief apparently, opened his mouth and extended a rough pink tongue that licked Bucky’s hand before then nudging it with his nose. Bucky acquiesced, patting the jet-black snout gently before Thief invited him to scratch his head.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” V said, clearly surprised by the animal’s behavior. Bucky turned to look up at her.

“So were you planning to tell me you had a wolf living here too, or just mention it after I died in my sleep?”

“He’s not a wolf, he’s a German Shepherd.” She said, but Bucky could hear a note of guilt in her voice.

“Good to know. Now, are there any other roommates I should know about?” He asked as Thief wagged his tail, clearly pleased with the attention Bucky was giving him.

V shook her head. Bucky took a minute to admire her, she’d changed out of her finery into a red lace pajama top and black satin shorts that brushed her thighs with a matching robe, currently open, and a pair of glasses now perched on her nose. “I don’t get it.” She said, pulling his attention back as she gazed at her dog in astonishment. “He LIKES you.”

“One more thing you two have in common, other than your taste in color, apparently.” Bucky joked pleasantly.

“You don’t get it. Thief’s never met another person before.” That piqued Bucky’s interest.

“Never?”

V shook her head, now-loose curls bobbing. “I got him when he was just a puppy and he exercises on the roof.” She explained as if that cleared up everything.

“Well, maybe he just needed a friend,” Bucky said, shrugging. V nodded but was clearly lost in thought over something else.

She broke out of it for a second, tossing Bucky the blanket he hadn’t noticed she was holding. “Bathroom’s over there.” She motioned behind her towards the hallway she’d disappeared down earlier. “Thief, let’s go, it’s bedtime.” Thief had other plans, however, laying down on the rug next to the sofa. “Traître.” Traitor. She muttered at him before turning around and disappearing back the way she came.

Bucky sighed, gaze drifting to his new companion who was watching him back from his place on the floor. “You’re not going to kill me in my sleep are you, buddy?” He said as he untied his dress shoes and pulled off his socks, followed by his suit jacket and tie that he laid out on the armchair next to his make-shift bed before spreading the blanket over the surprisingly-wide couch and climbing underneath it, letting sleep take him.

***

Darcy woke up in the middle of the night. Groaning, she rolled out of her expansive four-poster king-sized bed. For the first time, it felt too big for one person. Sliding her glasses back onto her nose and grabbing her robe off of the crowded hatstand by her bedroom door, she crept out into the hallway, soundlessly making her way towards the kitchen. After procuring the glass of water she saught, she leaned against the kitchen counter as she drank, watching the back of the couch. Curiosity got the best of her and she padded over, stopping to let a smile steal across her face at the sight of Bucky asleep with Thief draped over him. Perhaps Thief was right about Bucky and blind faith wasn’t such a bad thing to place in him, but Bucky Barnes was an Avenger and though Darcy had only met one other Avenger in her life, she knew exactly what kind of damage they could deal, so she wiped the smile from her face and headed back to bed.

Taglist:

@gamorarogers @callie-bear15 @spacemansam @vulgarvalyrian @cchellacat

[beatricethecat2]

if/then (2.0) - 18 (new edit)

This is not a new chapter, instead a highly edited version of what came before, taking into consideration the notes given to me by a certain someone (you know who you are, thank you!) I did a crappy job initially because my head wasn’t in the game. Fast forward to now, after an absurdly busy spring work-wise, and I’m back to taking a crack at it all. I had to push this out to move forward, but the first draft of the next chapter is written and in edit mode so that’s proof the wheels are turning. And I am confident where this is now heading - so many twists and turns, so many little details to add, it’s never-ending. Quick recap: Helena revealed that she’s been working with Bonnie to keep Mrs. Frederic from framing Myka. A police interrogation ensued and Myka has no idea where it’s all heading. Typos are all mine, I’m sorry my mistakes are beyond what robots can correct. When that day comes we should all probably run for the hills. (see reply for link to previous chapters.)

/////////////////////

"Hey Claud, I'm coming up." Myka pushes through the front doors but pauses in the lobby. “If you're there, text me or something, ok?” She smiles at the front desk guy as she ends the call.

“Hey Doug, you seen Claudia today?"

"Uh-uh. Just started my shift. Want me to ask Tony?" He picks up his walkie-talkie.

“That’s ok." Myka hurries past him as the elevator doors open. Two people step out as she steps in. She taps Claudia's floor and checks her phone, no reply, but she's not surprised. Every message she's left this week has gone unanswered.

Claudia should be home as it's late for a school night, but, no wait, it's already Friday. Maybe they're eating out or watching a movie really loudly. Or maybe Claudia's so miffed she won't pick up the phone.

Claudia's antics at the police station are still a conundrum to her, they could have been for show or totally sincere. After the harrowing group interview, she didn't see Claudia or Helena again, so she has no idea how clued in Claudia is. She'd feel more confident moving forward if she had talked to at least one of them. This holding pattern she’s in is making her paranoid.

The doorbell rings and rings, so she waits a beat, then knocks twice and inserts her key card. When she opens the door, Dewy whooshes out immediately.

"You don't want to go down there," she calls, dropping her bag and following him down the hall. She scoops him up near the stairs and walks back, holding on tightly as he squirms. She wedges her foot in the door and swings it open then crouches down to pick up her bag. Dewy wriggles free, but she blocks his second escape with her bag.

"Claudia? Christina?" she calls from the entryway. No reply, so she checks the bedrooms and terrace.

"Where's your moms?" she says to Dewy as he rubs up against her leg. He's purring so loudly she can hear him clearly from the floor. This level of affection must mean he wants something. She glances his bowl, it's completely empty.

"Let's get you some dinner, mister," she says and walks into the kitchen. Its surfaces are oddly clean, but the cat food cabinet is its usual mess. She sets the food on the counter then grabs Dewy's bowl. It could use a good cleaning before filling.

The sink is unusually devoid of dishes as they often linger for days. She checks the fridge, also sparse, but maybe Claudia hasn't gone shopping yet. An empty fridge is not as uncommon as a clean sink.

Dewy mews plaintively and Myka snaps back to her task. She opens the food bag and he hops up on the counter. "Dewy, chill!" she says and swipes him to the floor. He's way more anxious than she remembers.

As he eats, she strokes his head and rubs behind his ears, his purrs vibrating vigorously up her fingers. Such good cat, she thinks, so good-natured, and mostly well behaved. We're lucky to have him, even if he is a little dumb.

She looks towards her corner, then traipses through the living room, into her space. There's far too much stuff to take in one go so she'll have to divide it in two. She starts plucking out what she needs and laying it on the bed.

A picture of Helena hangs on the wall with one loose corner flopping forward. She drags a finger over Helena's likeness then peels it off. She studies the curve of Helena's lips as she sits on the bed.

"Would it be bad for you if I see them? I want to know they're ok. But I don't want mess this up for any of us." Second guessing her movements has already been difficult. Subterfuge isn't her strong point.

Dewy bounds into the room and jumps on the bed. He sits on his hindquarters and mews insistently.

"What's up?" Myka asks as he smushes his head against her, then drags his body in long strokes along her side. She rubs his head again, then swings her legs up and reclines fully, lying down. Dewy obviously wants the company, so she really should stay, if only for a few minutes longer than needed.

"You're lucky, Dewy. You can't fall in love. At least not the way humans do." She holds the photo of Helena at arm's-length and smiles. What a lovely day that was, laughing and lounging at the beach, with Helena beaming with positive energy. It’d be nice to get back to that happy place someday.

Dewy headbutts her cheek then flops on his side. She lays the photo on her chest and turns to look at him.

"She did this all for me, you know, but you don't know that means. I should be thankful, but…" She reaches over and scratches Dewy's belly. "I can't stop thinking about Bonnie."

Dewy claws at her wrist, lightly, as a warning. Myka yanks her hand away.

"Exactly! I don't know if I can trust her. But she's helping me, I guess. She's supposed to be an ally." She looks at the photo again, remembering the undercurrent: they were only pretending everything was ok. But if Helena knew that Mrs. Frederic planned to frame her then, was she already in cahoots with Bonnie? And was Bonnie's price a roll in the hay or is that the jealous girlfriend talking?

Dewy stands and turns, then lowers himself down, smooshing his back into Myka's middle. She scratches under his chin and turns on her side, pulling her knees up and hunching over to spoon him.

"She wouldn't do that to us, would she?" Dewy's purrs soar as she rubs behind his ears again. What lengths would Helena have gone to spare her? She skims a hand over Helena's pillow, smoothing a non-existent head print. She closes her eyes and summons Helena's form.

Helena often laid awake as the clock ticked toward her deportation. On those days, Myka would nudge her on her onto her side and spoon her from behind. She'd bury her nose into the bend of her neck, letting her warm breath graze over Helena's skin. When Helena would let out a whimper, she'd press kisses into her shoulder until Helena rolled over and kissed her back. And then quickly, but quietly, their bodies would meet, instinctively quelling each others lingering anxieties.

In comparison to now, those times seem simple; if only being deported was the worst of their fears. It's not fair their last night together was fraught resentment. She'd wasted precious time and energy being angry in Poland.

Dewy rises and blinks as she shifts to lie flat. He then settles into her armpit after a few turns. He lets out a huge yawn as Myka slips an arm around him. She yawns reflexively, then scratches his head.

"I wish I could stay and nap with you," she says as Dewy lays his head on his paws. "But I don't want to scare your moms when they get home. And, well, I probably shouldn't be here anyway." Myka turns to leave, but Dewy lays a paw on her arm. She slips it free. "Sorry, little dude. Say hi to them for me."

"I hope you're ok," she says to Helena's likeness as she plucks it off of the bed. She tucks it neatly into a bag and continues packing.

----------------

Myka's phone rings as she waits on the sidewalk for her Uber.

"Steve, hey!" She'd called earlier to ask about Claudia.

"You're back!"

"Yeah."

"Claudia's back, too?"

"She should be."

"Great! Then we don't have to feed Dewy anymore?"

"You're still feeding him?" A car pulls up to the curb with an Uber logo in its window. "Hang on a sec." Myka waves and points toward the trunk. After it pops, she throws in several overfilled tote bags and a garment bag. She slams the trunk closed and climbs into the back seat.

"Ok, back," she says to Steve, but gets no reply. "Steve?" She pulls the door shut and checks her screen; no service. The driver drives away as she waves the phone left and right.

"No use, dead zone," the driver says.

"There're no dead zones in New York," Myka snips. She scrolls through her settings and taps buttons, but to no avail. She glances at the driver, her voice is familiar, but her fair hair bunched up under a baseball cap doesn't give many clues. "Hey, your not..." She consults her app, but the phone won't connect. "I thought my driver was a dude."

"Change of plan," the woman answers. At a red light, she turns toward Myka. "You and I need to talk."

There's a thunk as Myka's phone drops. "B-B-Bonnie?” Bonnie's tone is deeper than she remembers. Plus the American accent threw her off.

"Morgana Kurlansky, Interpol," Morgana says, extending a hand over the seat. "Though apparently, you know that already."

"I, um..." Myka takes her hand and shakes it, limply.

"You should know, this whole business has gotten way out of hand. We're doing our best, but there are many loose ends."

"Am I a loose end?”

Myka jumps as a horn blares. Morgana turns back to the wheel and drives away.

Myka looks out the window to orient herself, is theist way to her apartment She feels trapped, too close to Bonn— Morgana, who is driving her who knows where. She yanks on the door handle as if to escape but the door doesn't budge.

"Child locks," Morgana says, then the locking lever clicks open. "Be my guest, jump out on the bridge." She motions forward toward the ramp they’re about to enter. “But I am taking you home."

Myka grimaces. Morgana knows where she lives, but then again, she probably has this whole time. To avoid Morgana’s smug gaze, she looks out the window, watching Coop Village fly by. It occurs to her that’s where Giselle lives, and if had she bailed, although it would have been complicated, she could have possibly run to her for help.

"Is Helena in jail?” If she’s stuck in this car then Morgana better pony up information.

"No. She's being monitored, held for questioning."

"Have you seen her?"

"I can't. Not as Bonnie Belski. But Helena's not alone, her daughter and friend are with her at home. Both are under our protection."

"They're in danger?"

"Potentially. MacPherson's a threat, but Mrs. Frederic's our main concern. We're worried she'll use Christina to force Helena's hand."

"She wouldn't do that," Myka says, "that's just wrong." Christina shouldn't be a pawn in this, ever.

"There's no limit to what she might do." Morgana glances at Myka in the rearview mirror. The sincerity in her eyes takes Myka aback.

"You and Helena…did you, really? You said you had proof.” Myka slumps back in her seat.

"What do you think?"

"I…I don't know," Myka says, narrowing her eyes.

Morgana mirrors the action. "Everything Helena's done has been to keep you in the clear. Do you think really she'd go that far?"

"No.” Myka looks down at her hands.

"She loves you, Myka. Remember that. Use your doubt wisely."

"What does that mean?"

"Go with your gut."

Myka groans. More cryptic bullshit. Great.

Blocks whiz by as Myka stews in silence. Too many questions swirl in her head.

"We have eyes on you, but stay on your toes. Has anyone at work asked about your trip?"

Myka mulls over her idle conversations. "Just normal stuff, like my show and Thanksgiving."

"Even Vanessa?"

"I've barely seen her."

"Steering clear until there's a verdict, hm. None of this is public yet."

"I know, I've looked." Myka stares at the back of Morgana's head as if that will force Morgana to divulge all. "How long will this last?” she asks when Morgana doesn’t continue.

Morgana drives on until a red light then turns to meet Myka's eyes. "There's no timeline I can give you. But if things go further south—"

"They could get worse?"

“—there's a contingency plan."

Myka scoots forward. "What is it?"

Morgana glances at the light then drives on.

"What about Christina's school? And Kenpo? And drum lessons?"

“All will be handled."

"Steve and Liam? Claudia's neighbors?"

"Claudia will be in touch."

"And if Steve asks what happened? What do I say?"

"You already know."

"I have to tell everyone Helena cheated on me?"

“That's the protocol.”

“There’s no other way?”

“This is the plan. How everyone stays safe."

Acting like a scorned lover is going to be difficult, but if it keeps Helena and Christina safe, she’ll have to do her best. "Do you really work or Interpol?" Myka asks as the car pulls up to the curb.

Morgana nods.

"And the other stuff Claudia dug up on you, is it true?"

"Don't forget your phone," Morgana says peering at the floor over the back of her seat.

Myka grabs it up then looks up at Morgana. Morgana's expression offers no answers, and while Myka could push, she’s unsure she wants an answer.

"Remember what I've said. And be mindful about what you say," Morgana warns. "This is a critical time and we all need to play our parts. Everyone's looking for faults, especially Mrs. Frederic. Be extra careful if she contacts you."

The remark stings like a slap in the face. It's still foreign Mrs. Frederic wants to hurt her and the ones she loves. "They're ok, right? All of them?"

“They’re fine, as far as I know," Morgana says. Her lips lift into a small smile, the first glint of hope Myka's gleaned this whole trip. "I'll be in touch when I can."

"Thank you," Myka says. She exits the car takes a few steps toward her building.

"Forget something?" Morgana calls.

Myka looks down at her hands, she has no bags. She walks back, shaking her head, cursing under her breath. The trunk pops open but the mass of stuff inside no longer seems as pressing. She unloads everything onto the sidewalk and Morgana drives away.

---------------

There’s no new news as December crawls to a close, exacerbating the dull, constant worry lodged in Myka’s gut. Lying to friends has left her questioning her every move, especially with Abigail, who innately knows when she's bending the truth. She's dreading meeting up with her after the holidays, worried she'll break down and divulge everything.

While she’s home for the holidays, there's little mention of Helena, except for her sister, who begs for details. Unable to stomach the tale in full, she babbles about visas and compromise, until Tracy seems appeased.

On Christmas afternoon, she hides upstairs, sifting through boxes her mom said to "take back with her." Nothing strikes her worth keeping, though lukewarm memories abound, displacing thoughts of Helena's whereabouts momentarily.

She’s weighing a vacation-related trinket’s worth when her phone buzzes, startling her into the present. The number on her screen's oddly long but her gut tells her to answer anyway.

"Hello?"

"Happy Christmas! Did you know they say that instead of Merry Christmas?"

"Christina?" Myka's heart leaps.

"It's Nadolaig Llawen in Welsh. Mom's been teaching me."

"Nadolay…huh?" The last word sounded like a phlemy version of "lawn."

"But on TV, everyone says Happy Christmas, and the Queen gave a speech to address 'her royal subjects!' Mom said I'm one of them, but Aunt Claudia's not because she's American."

"There was a war, back in the day. A revolutionary one. So she's right." Myka sags against the wall. They're ok; they're all ok. This is the best present ever.

"We opened Christmas crackers and mine had a hat, a bracelet, and a joke. Wanna hear the joke?"

"Sure!"

"Who delivers presents to baby sharks at Christmas?"

"I don't know."

"Santa Jaws!" Christina laughs like she doesn't have a care in the world. "Oh, oh, and we made fruitcake! Mom said the store-bought ones were gross but the one we made was kinda gross, too."

"I've never had fruitcake."

"Don't, ever, yuck!"

A mumbly voice sounds in the background. Christina says "Ok."

"Mom wants to talk to you."

"I want to talk to her, too."

"I wish you were here."

"So do I, honey."

"Merrrrry Christmaaaaas!" Christina says, words fading as the phone is passed on.

"Hello, Myka."

Those two words, spoken in that rich, velvety voice, make Myka's knees wobble. She swallows back a sob, pulling herself together, at least enough to reply. "D-Does this mean that you're..."

"Unfortunately not. There's been little movement since we last spoke. All that fanfare for such little gain."

"How are you calling?

"Many strings were pulled. A tantrum may have occurred. One in front of several key officers and not by Christina."

"Oh my." Myka pictures a distraught Helena pleading with suits with Claudia concocting a covert communication scheme in the background.

"You're at your parents, I assume?"

"Yeah."

"Good. You shouldn't be alone."

"Where are you—"

"How are you coping?"

"I'm…" Should she tell her how lying's been eating away at her soul and waking up without them every day is torture? "I'm managing ok, I guess. But it sucks, not knowing where you are or how you are."

"I apologize."

"It's not your…this is my fault. You did this for me.” And the weight of that's still sinking in. "It's just hard being here without you."

"As it is for us."

Myka tears up; bottling up the truth's taking its toll on her resolve. "I, um…I got that residency, in LA. I'm going in February. Unless you think I shouldn't."

Helena sniffs once then clears her throat, she must be affected, too. "Go on. Focus on your work. Move us into the background if possible."

"What if you come back while I'm gone?"

"That's highly unlikely."

"But it's already been a month. How long will this take?"

"As long as it needs to, so we all may be safe."

"I get it, it's just..." Myka pushes a box of out of the way and sits on the bed. "I'm being encouraged, 'for appearances,' to move to LA."

"By whom?"

"By Morgana."

"You've spoken?"

"Briefly. Twice."

“Good. I asked her to watch over you."

"I guess she is. Do you think I should go?"

"If she thinks it's best, perhaps consider it. I know it's a lot to ask."

"I have to move anyway because Charlotte and Bennett are leaving for London. And Vanessa introduced me to a museum there that has a job opening."

"Clever move. If she hands you off, you're no longer her problem. I imagine she's keeping her distance, riddled with guilt."

"Maybe, yeah. I don't know. It's been weird at work in general." Everyone keeps giving her these sad, concerned looks, and she's worried they know more than they're letting on. "A fresh start might be good, but I've never been to LA. I might hate it."

"It's awfully showy."

"You really think I should go? I want to be in New York when you get back, not on the other side of the country."

"Claudia will be back eminently, but Christina and I…"

"'Christina and I' what?"

"Christina and I will be moving on after the holidays."

"Moving on? Where?"

"Somewhere safe."

"You're not safe now?"

"We need somewhere permanent."

"You'll call me when you get there, right?"

"There'll be strict rules once we're settled."

“Settled.” Myka’s stomach sinks. "You mean witness protection."

"Myka—"

"For how long?" Myka yelps. "God, I sound like a broken record."

"We'll miss you terribly if that helps."

“Not really.” Myka drops her head into a hand. "This is bad, Helena. Really bad. What if I never see you again!"

"I won't let that happen."

"How?"

"Let's get through these next few months first."

“Months. Months!" Myka's hand curls into a fist. She looks around for something to hit, but nothing satisfying presents itself. "Does Christina know what's going on?"

"In as much detail as a highly intelligent eight-year-old can."

"She's almost nine, Helena. Nine! I'll miss her birthday. I don't want to miss her birthday."

"Nor do we want you to. You'll be there in spirit, I promise."

"What if—"

"Hold on."

There's mumbling in the background again.

"Please, not yet," Helena says.

More mumbling.

"They're saying I must go. The line's unstable."

As if on cue, the line crackles.

"Helena?"

"I'm here, love."

"Merry Christmas."

"Happy Christma—"

"Helena. Helena!" There's a click, then dead air, but Myka stays on the line. "I love you," she whispers as if the phrase will reach Helena anyway.

"Who ya talking to, sis?" Tracy says from the door.

“Tracy. Hi!" Myka swings around. "How long have you been there?"

"Just ran up. Mom's having a coronary because you haven't come down yet."

"Has she been calling?"

"Like a zillion times."

"Oh."

Tracy eyes Myka's phone. "What was that about?"

"Um..." Myka looks at the phone and lays it face down on the bed. “Abigail’s family's driving her nuts."

"Join the club." Tracy rolls her eyes.

Myka chuckles once, but it borders on a sob, her belly caving too sharply for mirth.

Tracy walks into the room and sits next to Myka. "This is a big one, huh? Got your heart broken, didn't you?"

Myka hangs her head.

"You'll get over it. You always do. I bet there's tons of hot girls in New York." Tracy punches Myka lightly on the arm.

"I might be moving to LA."

“LA? Oooh, that’s new."

“Myka! Tracy! Aunt Marjorie and Uncle Ted are here!" Myka's mom calls.

“Coming!” Tracy yells. “I’ll help you make it through dinner in one piece if you tell me everything after."

Myka answers with a shaky half-smile. “Ok. Deal."

-TBC-

[fhujami]

Helpless when she smiles | Chapter 8 [Sam Drake x Reader]

Summary: Once again you were telling your friends about your date, when suddenly your doorbell rangs.

Words: 1294

Tags: @dragonjedihobbit

A/N: Oh god, I couldn’t make this part work, and I still don’t know if this work at all but…. (sorry)

Helpless when she smiles

Chapter 1 - Chapter  2 - Chapter  3 - Chapter  4 - Chapter  5 - Chapter  6- Chapter  7 - Chapter  8 - Chapter 9 - Chapters 10 - 19 - Chapter 20 - 29 - Chapter 30 - 39 - Chapter 40 -

Chapter 8

On the next day, you were drinking wine with Janet, Annie and Violet while sitting in your apartment. Your cheeks were red as a tomato and you hoped the earth would suck you, you were so embarrassed. The whole situation was new for you, normally you listened to your friends telling about their dates and relationships, and now it was your turn - finally, borrowing your friend’s words.

“So, what happens next?” Janet asks you. You shrug your shoulders.

“I don’t know. We talked to take it slow. Now he’s out of town for a couple of days.”

“Remember, you deserve this [Y/N].” Violet reminds you.

“I guess.” You shrug once more when your doorbell rang and Annie jumped up from her spot.

“Pizza time girls!”

She walked across your apartment to the door while the rest of you stayed in the living room starting to get ready for your pizzas for making a room to your coffee table.

“Umm [Y/N], would you come to the door?” Your head snapped to Annie, who peeked behind the wall weird gaze on her face. You took a glance to Janet and Violet before you stood up and made your way to the door, on your way placing your glass on the table. Was there something wrong with your order?

When you reached the door, you saw in the hallway flower delivery boy with a huge flower bouquet in his hands.

“[Y/N, Y/L/N]?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Flower delivery to a beautiful lady.”

You stared at the guy with your brows furrowed. This must be some kind of mistake, who on earth would send you flowers? When you couldn’t do anything, just standing at the door staring the delivery boy, Annie took straps in her hands and took the bouquet, thanked the boy, and pulled you inside.

She pulled you after her to the living room and made you sit on the couch.

“What the hell?” Janet screamed when she saw the bouquet, almost bursting her wine out of her mouth. Annie placed the bouquet on the table front of you.

You just sat there on the couch, staring the flowers and tried to think what the hell was going on.

Violet saw a card on the bouquet and grabbed it.

“Hey there’s a card, can we read it?”

You slowly turned your gaze to your friends, still confused look on your face, but you slowly nodded to them. You were too confused to do anything.

Violet smiled with pleasant and opened the card.

“Oh, these are from Sam.” She smiled and you flinched, oh god he sends you flowers? Why on earth he would do that?

You grabbed the card from her hand, and your friends looked at you with smirks on their faces.

“C’mon, read it out loud!” Janet encouraged you. You read the card and grinned before you read it out loud to your friends.

“Enjoy these flowers knowing that although they are beautiful, in my eyes they pale in comparison to you. -Sam”

“Okay, I have been in a relationship for two years and I never got flowers and a card like that. You are such a lucky girl!” Annie told you while she took the bouquet and walked with it to the kitchen to put it in a vase.

You looked at the card and re-read the message in there while you bit your lower lip and your heart beating hard in your chest. No-one has bought you flowers before.

Hours later your friends left, and you sat on the kitchen table drinking last glass of wine, staring at that beautiful bouquet of flowers on the table which Sam had sent to you. The bouquet was gorgeous, beautiful red and pink roses, white alstroemerias and light pink lilies, colors matched each others perfectly. And you thought it must have been really expensive.

You bit your lower lip when your phone vibrated on the table front of you and you saw that Sam send you a message.

Sam [09.21pm] - You got my flowers?

You [09.22pm] - Yes I did.

Sam [09.22pm] - Was it too much?

You [09.24pm] - They were beautiful thank you.

Couple seconds later he called you. You grinned and poured the rest of your wine to your throat before accepted his call.

“Hey.” you greeted him.

“Hey. Was it too much?” When you heard his voice your heart started to beat on your chest. His voice was so deep and calm and it made you feel relaxed.

“No, I don’t think so. But why you send them to me?”

“Did you read the card?”

You took the card in your hand on opening it. “Yeah.”

“That’s why.” You could hear in his voice that he was smiling and you couldn’t help but smile yourself.

“Yeah but still; why?” you shook your head and threw the card back on the table.

“Does everything have to have a reason?” He chuckled and you started to think. And actually he was right, everything does not have a reason. Why were you always wondering why? But the fact that no-one had ever bought you flowers made you to question the true purpose of his actions.

When you didn’t answer to him, Sam continued his talk.

“I wanted to cheer you. So, what did you do today?”

You got up and placed your glass to the sink.

“My friends were here, we talked and had some wine and pizza.”

“Gossipping again about our date?”

A smile appeared on your smile while you leaned the kitchen counter, was it really that obvious?

“Maybe.”

“Well hope it was good gossip. At least the date was good.”

You bit your fingernail when you started to think about your date. Yes, it was a good date, even though at some point it looked like you ruined it with your insurance. You stopped biting your nail and touched your lips with your fingers while closing your eyes. You could still feel his soft lips on yours. You actually missed the feeling when his lips touched yours, and his taste in your mouth.

“What’s your thinking?” He asked when you didn't answer him, again. Sam started to wonder were you hiding behind your walls again, but when you answered to him he knew from your voice that it wasn’t the case.

“Nothing.” You felt how your cheeks started to warm up and slowly turn red. You bit your lip and tried to stop yourself from smiling.

“Just our kiss.” You hide your face in your palm. You did not just say that to him, did you?

“Oh, well that was good too wasn’t it?” Sam’s heart skipped a beat when he heard that you were thinking about your kiss. It was a good sign, that you were thinking about your kiss and the fact you told it to him.

“Are you always this cocky?” You asked and brushed your hand through your hair.

“Maybe. But I need to go, I can call you tomorrow again if you want to?” Sam told and you heard that someone said something to him behind him, it was probably his partner, Victor.

“Okay.” You nodded and headed to the living room to clean the pizza boxes away.

“Good night beautiful.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Goodnight Sam.”

You ended the call and walked back to the kitchen with empty pizza boxes. You stopped next to the table and looked at the flowers again. You placed the boxes down and took the card from the table and read it again.

Although they are beautiful, in my eyes they pale in comparison to you.

You smirked and leaned down to smell the flowers. They were beautiful and you couldn’t imagine that Sam thinks you are even more beautiful.

[rabiesram]

hot head can’t do math

ech a one shot I did one night when I couldn’t sleep well freeform kai and lloyd just bein bros (movieverse)

The bell echoed throughout the school. It's loud ring signified the end of the school day, much to the joy of all the hardworking students. A whole class nearly busted out the door, almost thirty teenagers pouring out from the classroom they were just sitting in seconds ago. Out of all these teens, six of them grouped up at a line of lockers in a hallway just nearby. "Cooole! Do you really have to throw these airplanes at me?" Jay whined, picking various shaped paper airplanes out of his curly hair and throwing them on the ground. "Heey! Don't throw 'em! Those are good paper planes!" Cole complained back, scooping them off the floor. "Since when did you learn how to make these...?" Nya questioned her friend, taking a paper plane out of his hands. "Give it back! I spent so much time on that one too!" He cried out, snatching it back quickly. He flung his large black book bag off his shoulder and shoved his planes into his bag. They were his hard work! How dare they try to destroy them, let alone take them! Jay chuckled at this. Meanwhile, Zane just watched with the most confused expression. "So, get your homework before the end of class?" Lloyd casually asked his hot-headed buddy. Kai sighed and shook his head. "No. I...I didn't really...get it." He muttered, clenching his hands into fists. He didn't like admitting it, really. Lloyd's eyebrows shot up. "You? Out of all people? Kai glared angrily at Lloyd. "Don't say it like that! I...I usually get this stuff! I'm like, so good at this stuff...most of the time!" He yelled, crossing his arms. Lloyd laughed and let his hand fall onto Kai's shoulder. "Don't sweat it dude," He said, a smile across his face. "If you want, just swing by my place later and I can see what I can do to...uh...help out." Lloyd suggested, pushing his friend backwards a bit. Kai snorted and then took a minute to consider it. Did he really want to put the effort towards this? And did he really want Lloyd, his leader to help him with such a petty little thing? He really didn't want to waste Lloyd's time anyway. But...finals were coming up... "...I'll probably pop over in a hour." Lloyd smiled at that answer. Though he wouldn't admit it in public or to Kai himself (yet), he really liked spending time with Kai. It wasn't like he didn't like spending time with the other ninjas on his team, but he just seemed to click with Kai. So it was pretty nice just to kick back with him, even if it was school related. Lloyd brought out his fist in front of Kai, a grin still stuck on his face. Kai returned the smile and bumped his own fist against Lloyd's. "See ya' around greenie." "See you soon!" With that, Kai walked off with a very subtle skip in his step and Lloyd turned back to the rest of his friends. -- Lloyd was in his apartment building, sitting at the kitchen table with his mother at the sink doing the dishes. "Everything all cleaned up for your friend?" Koko asked with her cheerful voice ringing through Lloyd's ears. Lloyd nodded. "Yes Mom." "Are you sure? We wouldn't want Kai to find your dirty shirts all over the place, now would we?" Lloyd groaned and put his head in his hands. "I'm super sure. A hundred percent. Just...don't embarrass me when he gets here, 'aight?" Koko giggled and dried a dish off with a towel, setting it gently to the side on the counter. "Understood, lil' Lloydie!" She smiled. The blonde groaned again and slammed his head on the table. Then, a ring at the door. Lloyd shot up. "Kai!" The blonde scrambled out of his seat, nearly tipping over the wooden chair. He ran to the door and looked through the peephole quick before opening the door. He had made this a habit of his ever since Garmadon sent one of his shark army general's to his door a few times to attempt a kidnapping of sorts. Much to the teenager's delight, the only thing at the door was a kid his same age with brown, spiky hair, a scar over his left eye, and a red jacket. It was Kai. Lloyd sighed in relief and unlocked the door to his apartment, swinging the door open. "Welcome to my humble-abode!" Lloyd called out, stepping to the side to welcome Kai into the apartment room. "What a welcoming. Wish I had that every time I got home." Kai said, patting Lloyd's shoulder as he walked in. "So, you brought your stuff?" Lloyd asked, shutting the door. Kai nodded, shaking his back a bit to show off his backpack. "You know it." "Alright, good. So what do you need 'help' with." Kai was about to tell him, but he froze. He looked around quickly, making sure nobody was around to hear about Kai's...academic problems. He crept closer to his leader and cupped his hand around his mouth. "Math. All of it. Everything we've learned this week." Lloyd was surprised by Kai's rather strange behavior. He couldn't remember the last time he saw Kai like this. Kai's cheeks even looked like they were starting to grow pretty pink from the embarrassment. "Uh...no problem dude. Follow me." Lloyd said, making his way through the small living room. Kai followed him as ordered. It didn't take long to reach Lloyd's bedroom where his dark green backpack lay on his bed. He grabbed the pack and zipped it open, digging his hands through the bag. "Ok...sooo...I got notes from the last couple days...a few worksheets...and to be honest I never really did any of them but you could try 'em out...uhhhh..." Lloyd continued to throw his papers back on the floor, aimed at Kai's feet. Kai bent down and started to pick up all of the flurrying papers that came from his friend's bag. He didn't like the look of all of this...it seemed incredibly boring. Inhumane even. He looked over each paper as he shuffled them together as more came to his feet. "That's great 'n all but...where do we start? This is...pretty overwhelming." He said, nervously reading over each of them. Lloyd looked back at Kai with a 'oh' kind of expression. "Oh! Um...we can try notes first and then we can move on to the worksheets." Lloyd spoke up, flushing the rest of his bag out of all the papers that were filled with equations and any signs of numbers. Kai watched the whole scene unfold and grumbled to himself. "I knew this was a bad idea." -- "So, that's how a arithmetic sequence works. Got it?" Kai looked obviously pretty stressed. His eyes were wide, trying to take in all the information being thrown his way. His hair even looked incredibly messed up, which Lloyd didn't understand because his friend didn't even touch his hair for the whole time he was here. All he knew was that Kai looked like a mess. And he didn't even know if his hot-headed friend was even getting any of this. "...I...yeah I think I know now." Kai lied through his teeth, a tight grip on his pencil. Lloyd noticed Kai's grip on the pencil, seeing his hand shake. "Do you...wanna take a break, bro?" Kai snapped his pencil. And so did he. "AUGH!" Kai threw everything that was on his lap onto the ground with one big push. He then chucked the split pencil at the wall and got up. Kai angrily stomped his way out of the room, his hands still clenched into fists. Lloyd blinked in disbelief in what had just took place in his room. After getting over the shock, he rubbed his hair out of his eyes and started to pick everything up. He was quick about it though. The teenager had everything in a pile near his bed in a minute. He then slid this pile back into his bag and zipped it up before pushing it under his bed for the day. "Well...better go after him. Don't want the apartment burning down." He groaned himself, setting out to find Kai. It didn't take incredibly long to find him though. "...Lloyd?" "Kai? Where are you?" Lloyd asked in response to his name, looking around. "Bathroom." The blonde slowly went over to the bathroom and leaned against the door ever so slightly. "...Sorry 'bout that...you know me..." Lloyd felt a pinch of pity bite at his stomach. He knew Kai pretty well, and he usually prepared to handle Kai's kindergarten-like tantrums. He thought that it must've been hard being the fire ninja...having a temper like that. "I just...well...I don't like having weaknesses. I always want to be the best person I can be, y'know. I just...want to be the best ninja I could be," Kai ranted. "And I can't be the best if I have flaws!" "...Hey Kai...?" "...Yeah?" "...It's just math." A awkward silence blew through the air before Kai broke it with a soft chuckle. "For real though, nobody can truly be the best. For example, I'm the green ninja and everyone expects me to be the perfect ninja on the planet, right?" There was a brief silence. "Well, I'm not! I'm literally the most in-perfect loser there is out there." Another silence ripped through the air, making Lloyd cringe a bit. He must've been saying something wrong. "But...I think you're a pretty good ninja. You make a excellent member to the team, no matter what flaws you might have." The door flew open, nearly hitting Lloyd. The blonde stepped backwards before getting tackled. Lloyd let out a yell as he was pinned to the ground with...affection. Kai was tightly hugging him on the ground, his grip tight as ever. Lloyd wondered if he was going to end up like the pencil; split in two. Lloyd grinned and returned the hug gently in comparison to Kai's death grip. "Thanks dude." Kai sighed, starting to let go and getting up onto his knees. Lloyd gave him a dismissive wave. "Ey, it's no problem," He replied as he sat up to face his friend. "So now that we've hugged it out...I say it's time for a little...desert?” Kai gasped. "You don't mean...?!" "Yep." "Dude. I'm gonna take it all." Kai said in awe, darting off to the kitchen. "You always take all the ice cream when you come over! Mooom! Protect the ice cream with your LIFE!"

[trexrambling]

Bite Me (Part 2)

Characters: Reader, Sam, Dean (no pairings as of yet!)

Warnings: Minor character deaths, violence, swearing

Overview: You were raised in the hunter life. You fell out of it. It wasn’t your choice to get pulled back in.

Word Count: 1,059

A/N: This is the second installment in my first ever fanfic. Thanks to everyone who gave me support and love for Part 1! Still a slow burn, always a slow burn. We’ll meet a Winchester in the next chapter, promise! These words, like everything else I write, are for me. Feel free to join me in the adventure.

Read (Part 1)

The only face that filled my childhood memories was my uncle’s. No mom. No dad. Just Uncle Jay. The thought of parents had never entered my mind until we came across a family camping in the woods a few miles from our cabin. I remember asking him about my mom and dad, an innocent question in my five-year-old mind, and his response being, “It’s just us, Small Fry. We’re the only family we need.” He always called me Small Fry, a reference that was lost on me as I had never visited a fast food restaurant before. I asked him what a fry was one day and he tried to make some in a pan on the stovetop, but popping grease and several swear words later and our potatoes ended up being mashed that night instead. I remember laughing at him as he danced around the kitchen with the hot pan, arm stretched as far away from himself as possible before he threw the whole thing into the sink. 

He kept his nickname for me well into my teen years, even into my early twenties when I would scowl at him and say I’d outgrown it. If I had known there would come a time when I would never hear anyone call me Small Fry again, I would have realized the blessing of an affectionate nickname much sooner rather than years later with the loss of its memory. 

I was in the final stages of having all of the people in the feeder room back as far away from the door as possible when it was splintered from its hinges by a massive force. The smell of rotting meat permeated the entire room as the vamp I assumed to be Iver slowly walked through the doorframe, followed closely by Marv and Gareth. My left fist tightened around the broken bedspring I had managed to pull from the mattress while the fingers in my right hand held a shard of glass, poised and ready to throw.

Iver was massive. My earlier comparison of a grizzly bear was fitting. He was just as wide as he was tall, every inch of his frame filled with muscle. Even his clothes looked dwarfed on him; a t-shirt stretched to its limits and shorts that were slightly too short.

He needs to shop at the Big and Tall.

His eyes narrowed as soon as they saw me in my defensive pose, and a smile crept from beneath his matted beard. “You’ve brought a hunter for feeding, Gareth.”

Gareth scowled. “You wouldn’t have guessed it from where I took her. The home was clean, no gear in sight, no defense in place. Just a stupid pet that wished it hadn’t sunk its teeth into me.”

For a second my blood ran cold. Arlo. Please, dear God, please tell me he didn’t –

“It was funny trying to watch it get to me with two broken legs. Bite me again motherfu-“

“Enough!” Iver snapped.

The ice in my veins turned back into a raging heat that took over my whole body. These sonsofbitches were going to pay.

In the time it took Iver to finish yelling, my wrist snapped out, sending the piece of glass my fingers had been holding airborne. I watched with satisfaction as it lodged itself deep into Gareth’s throat and shot clean through to the other side of his trachea, a shiny tip visibly poking out of the skin on the other side of his neck. Gareth’s eyes went wide as he began to splutter out incoherent sounds, Iver and Marv staring at him in confusion before turning to me in realization.

Marv pounced with a screech, hitting me so hard I toppled to the floor and almost dropped my bedspring. I managed to slash once in her direction before her fist connected with my face again, then my abdomen, then my jaw. I had forgotten what the pain of being pummeled felt like, and my unconditioned body almost went limp in defeat.

Pain is a signal. You can choose to ignore the signal.

Uncle Jay’s words rushed through my mind like a stream of life. Instinct from years of training kicked in. I lashed out with my feet, felt Marv’s body fall away from mine, and was in the process of returning to a standing position when a different fist connected with the left side of my face. Hard.

I saw stars and dropped like a rock. I faintly heard Marv start to race towards me, heard her cry out in rage when something held her back from reaching my now crumpled form.

“We need her alive,” Iver barked. “You can have her later.”

“I want her now!” Marv’s voice was deranged and full of anger.

“And the Winchesters might want her too! We can use her as leverage.” Iver had returned to a calm state, shifting into battle mode like I had done not so long ago.

Through swollen eyelids I saw Marv struggle in Iver’s arms a few times before settling in defeat. Her eyes raked over the four other humans in the room that were cowering as far against the walls as possible. “What about the feeders?”

“We don’t need them. Finish what’s left and then join me outside.”

Iver went to the middle of the room and yanked the bolt holding our chains out of the floor with his bare hands as though it were nothing more than a pushpin. I couldn’t stop the cry of pain that slipped past my lips when Iver grabbed me by my now knotted hair with one hand and yanked my chin with the other. He began to drag me backwards out of the room, the chain still attached to my leg scraping the ground behind me. I clawed against his hands and arms and dug my heels in as best as I could, but the dizziness and nausea I had felt the second Iver’s fist connected with my head had left my brain struggling to convey messages to my limbs, rendering my efforts useless. 

My vision was blurred, but that didn’t stop me from seeing Marv throw herself on top of the skeleton girl called Four and bite deeply into her pale flesh. The last thing I heard was Four’s screams before my body shut down and there was only darkness.

Part Three

Tags: @wheresthekillswitch @sama1314 @emilywritesaboutdean @mamabear82nd @tas898 @pinknerdpanda (you appear to be un-taggable today)

[i-mushi]

Izzy

I’m on a roll! Izzy was only mentioned briefly as Jesse’s friend in the beginning of Fire Touched. (Whose first chapter I wish I could pin on my wall. Mercy vs. the Multi-Level Marketer.) She isn’t mentioned again as far as I know, but I wanted to peek into Jesse’s life, especially when the revelation about werewolves and her dad became public. I know it didn’t go like this and she probably didn’t have many friends sticking up for her, but in my head Izzy was there. Also, Adam would totally be that hot dad teenagers have passing thoughts about because come on, we’ve all been 16 and crazy. 

Izzy

Izzy swallowed for the third time as she drove down the dead-end street to Jesse's house. She and Jesse had been friends since third grade, and she was a wholehearted supporter of almost anything Jesse did. (Dyeing her hair with Kool-Aid was the only time Izzy had truly regretted that blind loyalty. It stained. Badly.) She loved Jesse and they were best friends, but Jesse's dad would always be intimidating to her.

He was, unfortunately for Izzy's hormones, attractive, all while somehow looking young despite being at least thirty-five. Christy, was starting to show her age, though woe be on anyone who mentioned it. They'd been divorced for a while now, and Jesse's dad worked a lot, so Izzy didn't see either of them much, but whenever she had he'd been hard to look in the eye. Her grandmother had always stressed being polite, shaking hands, and making eye contact, but Izzy had never managed the last one. She'd only seen him truly mad once and that had been enough to scare her badly.

She'd once even tried to tactfully bring up how… well, she couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something about him. But despite being best friends forever, Jesse didn't talk about her dad or his colleagues and friends much, though Izzy had seen them around the house before. She wondered if that impromptu party, work event, or something she'd seen had been why Jesse came to her place now and she didn't go over anymore.

This lab project had to be done though, and since Jesse was grounded for getting that temporary tattoo at a party she wasn't supposed to be at (and making her dad believe the tattoo was real for a couple of minutes), Izzy had to go to her. She just hoped her dad didn't open the door; Izzy had kind of been dating a guy named Dave in school, but she was old enough to know the difference between boys and men.

She pulled up and grabbed her backpack as she got out of the car, jogging up the front steps before she lost her cool. Just because Mr. Hauptman looked like he could read her mind and was uncomfortably good looking sometimes, didn't mean he actually could or could tell she noticed.

The door opened before Izzy could hit the bell, but it wasn't Mr. Hauptman at the door. "Oh, uh, hi Mercy," Izzy greeted with an awkward smile. She was never quite sure how to act around Mercy, who Jesse loved like a big sister and who Jesse's dad was obviously smitten with. She was a family friend who Izzy had only met tangentially.

"Hi Izzy. Jesse's in her room with the music turned up. Can she change that scream-o metal for something a little more… classic rock?"

"She'll know you wanted me to ask that," Izzy pointed out.

Mercy shrugged with a smile. "Had to try."

Izzy headed up the stairs, spotting Mr. Hauptman as she passed Mercy. He smiled at her and she waved before focusing slightly harder on the stairs than necessary.

Jesse was flopped back on her bed when Izzy opened the door, the music indeed very loud. "I'm not turning it off," she said before Izzy could get a word in.

"I like the third track better, but the whole album is good." Izzy dumped her bag and crawled on the bed to lay down beside her best friend. "Any chance your mom could come back and plant a different bush under your window so you could jail break?" Being grounded sucked. Outside of school she hadn't seen Jesse in almost a week.

Jesse snorted and blew her stylish purple bangs off her forehead. "Probably wouldn't work anyway."

"Why not? We got out of my house over the garage roof."

Jesse rolled over until her face was planted in the pillow and muttered something, but Izzy couldn't make it out.

"What?"

"Not important. Let's get this lab done so I can get Mr. Bailey off my back."

Izzy frowned, sensing one of those secrets Jesse kept from her. "Is something going on Jesse? Is your dad and Mercy—"

"No, though she's been around more often recently, and he's better when she is. It's nothing, really." The way that Jesse turned away quickly to dig out her homework felt like a betrayal.

"You can tell me anything Jess, you know that. I don't keep stuff from you."

Jesse seemed to consider that, then scooted closer on the floor until she was at Izzy's feet, beckoning her down. Izzy sat cross-legged on the floor too and watched confused as Jesse pulled the heavy comforter off her bed and over them.

When their knees were touching and their breath was starting to heat up the impromptu tent, Jesse leaned her forehead forward until it was on Izzy's shoulder. "I wish I could tell you," she whispered, barely audible above the stereo blaring and the muffling of Izzy's shirt. "But I can't. Just… let's always be friends, okay? No matter what?"

Izzy put her arms around Jesse without thinking twice. "Of course, you couldn't keep me away. Who'd dye your hair after all?" Izzy's mother was a hairdresser who'd lent her talents and time to showing Izzy how to properly dye Jesse's hair and how to undo the horror that was Kool-Aid coloring. Jesse had been most impressed at how calm Izzy's mom had been when she'd walked into what looked like a murder scene in the bathroom.

"Ha," Jesse said without humor.

"Is it your dad? Or your mom?" Izzy considered how awful Jesse's mom was sometimes, and then how intimidating Mr. Hauptman could be. He worked in security, had Jesse seen something? "Witness protection program?" she joked.

That made Jesse smile and finally pull back from her shoulder. Her face was red, though Izzy couldn't be sure that wasn't the stifling warmth under the blanket or how hard she'd been pressing on her shoulder. "My dad's not a serial killer and mom only ditched me for Reno once."

"And for Las Vegas," Izzy added. Jesse had spent a spring break at her house instead of going to her mom's. Mr. Hauptman had only found out after day three when Christy finally called to ask when Jesse was getting on the plane. Izzy had been terrified when she'd opened the door to that ferocious glower, but when Mr. Hauptman had seen Jesse the flash of relief had been real. That had been the only time Izzy had seen him mad, and if she didn't know how much he loved Jesse she'd have been worried for her.

"Why can't you tell me?" Izzy asked, but Jesse shushed her.

"Not so loud. I—" She looked pained, but was getting more composed. "It's better if you don't know. Please trust me on that."

Izzy gave her a long look before grudgingly acquiescing. She knew Jesse and trusted her absolutely, even if she disagreed with her decision. It didn't mean she wasn't going to keep a sharper eye out. "Okay, fine," she whispered back.

"Great! Lab time," Jesse chirped with unnecessary force and threw off the blanket. Izzy blinked sharply in the light of the window, their moment of solidarity and secrecy gone in a flash.

Werewolves. Izzy sat dumbfounded in front of the small TV in the kitchen watching the morning news with her mom. Werewolves were real. Just like the fae.

She thought of all the movies about werewolves she'd seen and how dumb the Hollywood ones probably were in comparison to the real thing, and then to how uproariously Jesse had laughed when they watched Teen Wolf together—

"Do you think they go to dog groomers?" her mom asked.

"Yeah, sure," Izzy mumbled, standing up and swaying for a second under the epiphany she'd just had.

Normally Izzy didn't bother with the newspaper, but when she spotted the front-page article in her dad's hands she sat back down. "What's it say?"

"There's a list of known werewolves. Mostly in the military apparently. Probably a violent lot." Izzy winced. Hauptman Security wasn't quite like her father's accounting work.

"Anyone we've heard of?" her mom asked.

Her dad scanned down the list and Izzy held her breath. Surely she was wrong. They couldn't have outed every werewolf in the country, so maybe she was wrong or he wouldn't be on the list.

"Izzy," he dad said slowly, and her stomach felt like it dropped to the floor, "your friend Jesse. Her last name is Hauptman, right?"

Her stomach started sinking into the black hole beneath the floor. "Yeah."

"Related to Adam Hauptman?"

Izzy nodded, and her head felt like it was buzzing. Her dad opened his mouth to say something more when her mother cut him off. "That poor girl, living with werewolves. She's got good manners, though no wonder her father looks so young. Goodness, I wonder if the press will be at school."

The press… God Jesse probably wouldn't even go to school if they were there. Would they pull her out? Was her dad the only werewolf in town or were there more? Was Jesse one too?

"You've been over to her house before, haven't you?" Her dad interrupted, sounding alarmed. "Izzy, did you notice anything? Has Mr. Hauptman ever done or said anything to you? I can't believe such a dangerous creature was here under our noses!"

His panic made her angry, as much as her mother's telling silence when she looked at her. "Yeah, dad," she snapped. "He has said something to me. 'Hi Izzy, how are you?' and 'Jesse's upstairs right now'. He's a dad, dad."

Her father jutted his chin out like he did when he argued with her grandmother. It wasn't a flattering look and warned of his stubbornness. "Don't take that tone with me. Wolves are vicious animals, and we don't know anything about these werewolves and what their capable of. I don't want you around Adam Hauptman until the we know more."

"I'm not going to stop talking to her or hanging out with her, dad!" Izzy stood up quickly, knocking back her chair. She'd never feared for her safety around Jesse or her dad, and her father sounded like those pundits on TV talking about the fae.

"Izzy, honey, we just want to know if she, you know… 'inherited' it, if you know what I mean." Izzy's mom had gone for the placating tone, forgetting that nothing made Izzy angrier. She wasn't a child who needed the world to be explained to her, and she knew in that moment that Jesse wasn't a werewolf.

"Jesse's not a werewolf, she's my best friend. That's what matters to me." She grabbed her backpack and left for school, fuming and righteously indignant in turn.

Izzy had arrived earlier than usual, but her ears were already ringing with comments from the parking lot. Jesse wasn't going to stick out just for her purple hair anymore from the sounds of it; other students had put two and two together. Izzy ignored Dave asking if she'd known or ever seen Mr. Hauptman turn into a beast and stomped through the crowd to the front of the school.

She waited outside for Jesse to pull up, brushing off questions from hanger-ons. She recognized the SUV when it parked in front of the school but not the man driving it. Jesse took an extra minute to open the door, and Izzy was there the second she did, trying to act like normal even as the whispers around them surged.

"Hey Jess, did you bring my scarf? I texted you last night that I forgot it."

Jesse looked so relieved to see her that her white knuckles loosened just a little around the strap of her bag. "Yeah, I've got it."

The guy in the driver's seat tipped an imaginary hat at Izzy, eyed the crowd behind her, and drove off.

There was a three-foot buffer around Jesse and Izzy as they headed inside the school. People talked behind their hands and a few brave ones approached to ask questions, but Jesse refused to say anything more than they knew. "He's my dad, that's it. I'm not a werewolf too," she repeated all day. By the end of the day curiosity had started to wane, perhaps because Jesse had yet to turn into a wolf or because she refused to say anything more.

Her shoulders were slumping though, and she looked tired when Izzy caught up to her. They didn't have the last three classes of the day together, otherwise Izzy would have tried to be a buffer for her.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Jack won't talk to me at all and Ms. White passed over me three times to answer questions. I feel like they're scared of me." Izzy leaned on the locker but turned in time to spot heads looking at Jesse then jerking away.

"Looks like your dad is outside waiting for you."

"Great, just what I need." She exhaled heavily. "I know it's not his fault, and it sucks that everyone knows what he is now, but he doesn't have to deal with school." She shot a nasty look at some of the girls down the hall who were obviously gossiping about her. Jesse had never gotten along with that group to begin with, but now they were outright ostracizing her.

Jesse saw their looks and his lips tightened as she packed her bag. "Guess I won't get invited to another school party."

"Well if I am we'll go together," Izzy promised. "And if I don't then we'll just party by ourselves. Maybe we should try rainbow-dyeing our hair for LGBT Awareness Month. You said the purple just made your dad roll his eyes."

Jesse looked up at her and finally smiled, though it was a bit more wobbly than her usual ones.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. No promises my parents will like it, but we've already proven it's easy to sneak out from my place." Izzy grinned down at her best friend.

"And now you know why I can't do the same. Dad can hear a pin drop from across the street." Jesse looked rueful for a moment. "I better go before he draws a bigger crowd."

There was already a large crowd loitering around watching him, but they didn't get much of an event. Mr. Hauptman smiled at Jesse, opened her door for her, and then hopped in his side before driving off. Not a snarl, growl, or tuft of fur in sight.

[gallavichpain-blog]

Week in Mexico

The body began to wake up. The brunette's eyelids began to rise a little. He does not catch himself in the best position. He completely lay on his .. husband. Already a husband. Not that he did not want it. Very much, but everything was so spontaneous, Mickey thought that it would take at least a month to prepare. But now, two weeks later, he stood before this fucking altar, holding his hand with Ian. And he seems to be happy. But something does not allow to fully enjoy it. Most likely the reason was a headache. By the way, the wedding was like clockwork. There was a lot of booze, and warm words. Each person felt it necessary to express how glad they are to reunite. Mickey slowly began to rise, that would completely look around the situation and understand where he is, your mother is. "B-fuck, do not move." Jen's voice sounded sleepy and a little hoarse. Apparently, the blame for everything was the songs that so zealously yelled at the beach. "Does it hurt you?" Milkovich thought he was holding something to him or something, so that his movements became more fluid and slow. "Hell, no." He waited a short pause. "I've picked up the stand, do not go." Gallagher gave a short laugh, but immediately fell silent as soon as he received a strong blow to his chest. "The devil's a pervert." "Hey, what about a kiss for your beloved husband?" And again those puppy eyes. "You will consider this a punishment for being an asshole." The cranial box hurt so much, as if in a second it would explode. Just like a time bomb. Well, an ideal comparison. Walking a little on the living room, Mickey realized that he was in his house. Was he just too ... dirty? No. Rather, too festive. Everywhere were scattered caps from the day of birth. (What the fuck did they even forget here?) Different flashlights and scattered candles. A few boxes of eaten pizzas and cans of beer. Entering the kitchen, the brunette was a little surprised. Perhaps this is the cleanest place in the whole house, not counting a few dirty dishes in the sink. On the wall clock there was a beautiful figure. It's lunch time, and he has not even had breakfast. In the fridge he found eggs and some vegetables. Damn, too corny. But there is nothing else. Ian never saw Mickey standing behind the stove and cooking fried eggs. It was one of the nicest things he saw. Everything was constantly falling from his hands, and the vegetables were not subject to his control. They then bounced off, then rolled away, far away, as if fleeing from imminent death. About the egg in general is another story. He fucked two eggs in nowhere. And only from the third time the egg broke more or less normally. Well, at least not past the frying pan. Gallagher neatly came from behind and gently embraced the brunette by the waist, which caused the latter to shake a little and almost fucked the red scapular. "Fuck, fucking Gallagher." But in spite of everything, Mickey stayed in her husband's arms. Ian buried his face in the curve of the brunette's neck, which made Milkovich almost mumble. "The devil's kitten." The redhead bit his lover's neck and headed straight for the table. "At least I'm not trav- ing?" "And you risk it, maybe you will not die." He gave a short laugh. "And if you die, I'll bury you on the beach in the sand." I'll lay the grave on the shells and put algae in place of flowers. It's kind of like flowers too, right? - Yeah, and bury yourself next to me, be kind. You'll eat it, too. "I pointed straight at the frying pan. "I'm like a dog, it's all healing fast for me and I can eat whatever I want, and I will not even be fed." So you can poke a dick and eat my creation art. - before Ian appeared a plate in vegetables and these unfortunate eggs. "I like the first sentence more." Gallagher smiled. "What?" The brunette raised one eyebrow and began to look at the redhead. "You understand what I'm saying, a pleasant appetite." Ian just licked his lips and started at his fairly late breakfast. Mick threw everything into the sink and joined Ian. - And I love you.