#whoever thought of the idea to just keep him shirtless is a legend

[wp100]

bolvar has had his tiddies out for 14 slutty, slutty years

[erin-bo-berin]

The Game

MASTERLIST

I wrote this with season 13-15 Spencer in mind. The more confident Spencer that would shoot his shot (no pun intended) because this one gets a little crazy. But I’ve always imagined Spencer could be a little wild in bed at times, even be up for a game or two. ;)

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: Mature (smut)

Word Count: 4,888

Objective: Whoever can withstand any form of teasing the opposite partner dishes out, the longest, wins.

Rule 1: No sexual activities allowed i.e. no sex, foreplay or kissing on the lips.

Rule 2: Normal touches are allowed, no matter the body part.

Rule 3: You may tantalize in whatever forms you please as long as it doesn’t break rule number one.

Rule 4: The game is over whenever one party gives in to his/her desires.

Rule 5: Winner is treated to whatever they please (sexual or non sexual).

Let the game begin.

•

You and Spencer had this little game you liked to play occasionally. Simply nicknamed, The Game, it had become a part of your relationship. It wasn’t often that you played, but when you did it was always played with high intensity. Sometimes the game could get nasty.

Currently, you were in the middle of it.

Working at the FBI had not only tuned your attention to details, but it also made for a monotonous work schedule with little or no free time. Somehow with the invention of this game it seemed to spice things up both at work and in your relationship respectively.

It’d began the previous morning.

After a rough month of cases, there finally seemed to be a lull long enough for the entire unit to catch their breath. Staying so busy obviously led to little to no time for intimacy, so it had been a few weeks. This would make the game much more exciting. Spencer was competitive, always wanting to win and you had to hand it to him, he had won more times than he’d lost.

It was on the flight home when you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Pulling it out, you saw a text from Spencer.

Ready to lose again? 

You looked across the jet towards your seated boyfriend. He shot you a wink, knowing his request was automatically met with a yes.

That all you got pretty boy? I’m shaking.

You didn’t watch as he answered, instead you watched the three dots appear that indicated he was typing.

His answer was only three words.

You will be.

A tingle of desire shot through your body.

Bring it.

•

Today had started off slow enough. You had some work to catch up on so you’d arrived at work early. It was already a tough morning as Spencer had purposely slept shirtless the night before. It was early yet, but you somehow knew this time around things would be even more intense.

His personal best was 6 and a half days. That was as long as he’d lasted before you jumped his bones. This time you were determined to win.

Your glance at the clock revealed that it was 7 in the morning. You only had an hour and a half until the currently deserted bullpen would be filled with bustling activity. You picked up your mug and made your way to the coffee machine. That was something you and your boyfriend definitely had in common, you both ran on coffee.

You were just about to pour the leftover day old coffee down the sink drain when the sound of the doors opening startled you. You weren’t expecting Emily in until at least 7:45.

You yelped, jumping at the sudden noise, the coffee spilling all over your blouse. You heard the sound of chuckling.

“Great start to your morning, huh babe?” Spencer walked over, handing you some paper towels.

“What are you doing here so early?” you asked, blotting the stain.

He shrugged, “Just felt like being extra productive today.”

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. It was more likely he thought it would be a good opportunity to mess with you.

“Uh huh,” you said disbelievingly, “Thanks for making me ruin my shirt.”

“Anytime,” he grinned, walking away from you and towards his desk.

“Damnit,” you mumbled, realizing you wouldn’t be able to blot this stain away.

If you were lucky, you might have a spare shirt in your go bag. You paused, an idea forming in your mind. Since you were sure Spencer had an agenda of his own, you decided to pay back the favor.

“Spence?” you called across the room, “Is my go bag still by your desk?”

Your fingers unbutton your ruined shirt, trying hard to keep the smirk off your face. It was an ingenious idea, really. 

“Yeah, why?” His back was still turned to you, his attention on the files he was flipping through.

“Can you grab my extra shirt please? I’ll just wear that today instead.”

You walked to his desk, your shirt dangling out of one hand, your upper torso clad in only your bra. The moment he turned to hand you the garment, his jaw about hit the floor.

“Figured it’d be faster to just change here. You don’t mind, do you?” you smile sweetly.

“That isn’t going to work,” he muttered, forcing his eyes back to the file after you took the shirt from him.

You shrugged, purposely leaning across the desk when you kissed his cheek to thank him, so he could get an eye full of your cleavage. Lucky for you this bra was just a hair too snug and you had to admit, your boobs looked amazing today.

“Get to work big boy, it’s gonna be a looong day” you called, pulling the shirt on as you walked away.

•

“Kid, I see the wheels turning. Just spit it out already,” Rossi said.

The team was currently in the middle of working a case, everyone working their hardest to catch the unsub. Everyone was spread around the briefing room, you at the round table with JJ and Penelope. Your boyfriend stood in front of the boards that held all the case information, one hand resting on his chin as he studied the information laid out in front of him.

You never knew how, but there was a place Spencer went when he thought. He would space out and focus on nothing but the problem at hand. It was always extremely attractive to you.

“Okay, I think I’ve figured out his pattern. He started in the western part of Virginia right? Then headed to—”

You’re not gonna lie, you ended up missing over half of what he said. You loved when he showed off his knowledge and that brain of his, even just in his job. Your eyes wandered as he talked, eyes lingering on his hands. They moved with his words and you couldn’t help but think of other places those hands had been rather than just used at a crime scene or flipping through case files.

“Right, Y/N?”

You were completely zoned out and missed the fact you were being spoken to.

“Y/N?”

You snap out of it, realizing the entire team was staring at you awaiting the answer to JJ’s question.

“Oh uh- sorry. What was that?”

“I asked if you received the coroner’s report from the latest victim.”

“Right, yes.” You pull out a paper from a file and hand it over to her.

“I know your man is dreamy and all Y/N, but you gotta stop zoning out,” Penelope smirked to herself.

“Hush,” you chuckled quietly, turning back to the rest of the team.

Apparently she wasn’t the only one to notice your staring. Spencer’s smirk made your stomach flip. You weren’t going to let him win again.

•

An unspoken rule of the game was that when it was time to focus strictly on the case, you obviously did. The game would be put on hold until the case was finished. It was one of those days where you were rushing against the clock to catch the killer.

The team was split up, everyone doing different tasks. You, Spencer and Matt were currently sat around a table trying to make connections with an old case, to the one you were currently working on. It seemed to be the same M.O. 

“In 1989 Lila Long was found dead on the doorstep of her house,” Matt said, laying out the photo once again, “Stabbed 14 times.”

You nodded, chewing on your lip while you thought. It was presumed that she managed to escape the unsub who had grabbed her just blocks from her home. She had managed to make it to her front door where she died. It was unclear whether the unsub had caught up to her and stabbed her again or if she had succumbed to her injuries.

“I don’t think he found her again, as there isn’t any blood splatter here,” Spencer motioned to the picture, gesturing at the door, “We know there would be a specific pattern, but it was never recorded for sure because of the amount of blood found there.”

“Fast forward 30 odd years and another woman shows up dead on her doorstep in the same neighborhood,” you say, setting the most recent crime scene picture next to the older one.

“Rosalie Brewer, 51, blonde hair, blue eyes,” Matt reads off the file, “Exact same type of injuries, a dozen or so stabbings.”

“Are we sure it’s not just a copycat? The story does seem to be the local legend. Maybe someone decided to recreate the murder?” you ask, tapping your pen.

“I don’t think so.” Spencer rubs his jaw; you can tell his mind is whirring.

Matt and Spencer throw around some theories, your eyes focusing on Spencer’s fingers twirling his pencil as he thought. 

Maybe because it’d been a longer dry spell of no intimacy than normal for you, but your thoughts automatically turned sexual. Memories of how those long, slender fingers of his had traced your bare skin flashes through your mind. How they’ve dug into your hips and slid down your thighs before parting them and—

You snap yourself back to reality quickly. Now is definitely not the time to be thinking of such things but damnit did it set your stomach churning in desire. Thankfully, a distraction came in the nick of time.

“Guys, we have a suspect!” Luke rushed into the room, Emily on his heels, “I think he just might be our unsub.”

“Garcia’s on the phone with intel,” Emily set her phone on the table for all of us to hear. 

“So, turns out, Lila Long has a son. Yes my dears, you heard me right. Apparently she gave birth secretly 18 years prior to her death while out of the country. She gave said baby up for adoption and never looked back. Fast forward 18 years later little Adam, all grown up, goes looking for mommy dearest and let me tell you it wasn’t for a nice and cozy reunion. According to his adoptive mother he was always a difficult child with a very bad temper. It was so alarming to his adoptive parents that they made him see a therapist. The therapist notes that he showed bipolar symptoms, had a definite anger problem and at times seemed unhinged and out of touch with reality. It wasn’t until after his 18th birthday that he found out the true story about his birth mother; that she’d basically left the country to have him, secretly give him up for adoption and come back to the States like it never happened.”

“Let me guess,” you said, “That didn’t bode well with him?”

“Right you are. Adoptive parents said he made passing remarks about “hunting down the bitch”. They knew he was angry about how he came to be adopted but they never suspected he’d actually find her and kill her.”

“But he did,” Emily said.

“But how does that relate to our current case, Garcia?” Spencer asked.

“Get this: Rosalie Brewer was Lila Kong’s best friend and helped arrange for her to have her child in secret and even found the adoptive family. She just moved back to the neighborhood a few months ago. There was a witness report in the police files that she’d been seen at a local coffee shop talking to a man that no one seemed to recognize.”

Garcia rattled off the description of the man and sent over a picture of Adam. It was a dead ringer. Everything was a go from there.

•

Hours later, the case had come to a close. Adam, who had turned out to be the correct unsub had had so much resentment toward his birth mother and her best friend—accompanied with his unstable mental health—decided to hunt them down and kill them in cold blood. The reason for the 30 year difference between murders was the fact he hadn’t discovered Rosalie’s existence and role in the secret adoption until he was much older. In his mind, the job wasn’t complete until she, too, was dead.

You were exhausted; physically and mentally. He gave up pretty quickly and it could’ve been a worse take down, but the prior days of working hard had taken a toll. Currently, you were relaxing in one of the chairs on the jet, a blanket pulled over you. You thought you were the only one awake, when you heard your phone buzz in your lap, underneath the blanket.

You retrieved it and open a text message from Spencer.

Don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at my hands today.

Another text popped up.

Don’t forget what I can do with them, sweetheart.

Like you could.

You text back, ignoring his provocative texts.

Come over here and keep me company. I’m lonely and cold.

A buzz came slower this time.

Giving in already? Thought you’d last longer than this.

You typed your answer at lightning speed.

In your dreams, Dr. Reid.

You hear a soft chuckle as he walks over to join you in the seat next to you.

“Why are you even still awake?” you asked.

“Just wide awake. You?”

“Same.”

It’s quiet for a bit and you’re sure he’s asleep when you hear him shift positions next to you, alerting you that he’s still just as awake as you are.

A wicked smile slowly spreads across your face as you get an idea. You’re grateful for the dark so he can’t see your expression clearly or predict what’s coming.

“Spence?” Your hand rests on his knee gently, innocently as if it’s just a typical lingering affection.

“Mhm?”

He looks over at you and you can barely see the outline of his face in the darkness.

“Remember the mile high club?” you asked nonchalantly, as if you were simply chatting about the weather.

“The mile high club?” he repeats, clearly confused.

“You know,” you bite your lip, even though you’re not sure he can see it and lower your voice just in case anyone else happened to be awake.

“That time on the way home from a case? When you were having a little problem?”

Your hand slides barely an inch upward and you hear his sharp intake of breath, whether from your touch or the memory you’re unsure.

It had been before the game had been invented. Spencer was extra worked up that day on the way home from a case, so you decided to sneak into the jet bathroom with him to give him some help.

“When I gave you a blow job right there in the jet bathroom?” Your voice is low, your lips by his ear.

“I-I remember,” he croaked.

“That was extremely hot. Trying to make sure you stayed quiet so no one heard us.” 

Your hand slides up his thigh and you smirk satisfactorily when you hear his breath hitch.

“But I could tell how hard it was for you. All you wanted to do was moan my name out loud and grab my head to push me farther down on you.”

He’s silent, his breathing becoming heavier. You’re turning him on and it feels good to be winning for once. You’re not one to dirty talk much, but for this situation, you were pulling out the big guns.

“Admit it. Part of you wanted the entire jet to know just how good it felt with my pretty little lips wrapped around your cock, driving you absolutely insane.”

A low groan escaped his lips and you find yourself having to muster up all the strength you have not to kiss them right then. His hand grabs your wrist, stopping your hand from moving any further.

“Give up now and you can have your way with me when we get home,” you grin triumphantly.

“Never.” 

He places your hand back in your lap, before moving to get up.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a matter to sort out,” he grumbles, making his way back to the bathroom.

You can’t help it, you laugh as he half limps toward the back of the jet.

You didn’t see him for quite awhile after that.

•

“Gotta admit Spencer, I’m impressed you’ve held on for this long.”

It’d been only a week. Usually the games were over pretty quickly as one—usually yourself—gave in after only a few days. But you were so determined to crack him.

“That’s just because you have no idea what I have up my sleeve. Points for you for getting creative lately though.”

You snickered. His most recent jet bathroom escapade had involved him and his hand only.

“I’m still waiting to see what you got.”

He was picking up files to be delivered to Emily’s office when he turned and nodded to your phone.

“I’d check your phone if I were you.”

Your brows furrowed, confused as you reached for your mobile device. You press the home button, lighting up the screen to reveal a slew of messages from Spencer, which seems to include several pictures.

Opening them, you see that it’s a variety of selfies only showing his face from the nose down, his lips the center of attention in every one. The last message was actual text.

I seem to recall your little fascination with my lips. Thought you might enjoy. You especially like it when they’re in other areas too.

You could kill him. It was one of your weaknesses, that’s for sure. You look up and see he’s halfway to Emily’s office now.

“Not gonna work!” you hollered towards him and he sends back a huge grin as if he knew you’re full of shit.

Which you are because now you’re beginning to weaken. But you’re still far from giving up.

-

You get him back at lunch.

You’re eating at your desk with your legs propped up, clearly giving Spencer a good view of them. He’s purposely ignoring you though, doing paperwork, much to your amusement.

You finish your sandwich and reach for the banana you’d packed earlier that morning. You’d been wanting to try this one ever since the game began for the first time. He just happens to glance up as you finish peeling your banana and you shoot him a wink and give a sly, suggestive lick to the side of the banana.

His tongue flicks over his lips as his eyes flicker from your mouth to your eyes, the determination still strong in them. The desire is there alright, the will to give up, is not.

•

Fuck you, Spencer. No actually, fuck me.

The thought floats across your mind. It’s another day at the Behavioral Analysis Unit but damnit if Spencer doesn’t look extra good today.

He always looks good in his work suits and ties, but this one is beyond belief. Or it may just be the fact that you’re wound up and in need of release, but you’re pretty much drooling from afar.

His pants were probably the best part cause his ass looked amazing in them. You’re pretty sure if any of your other teammates were to notice you staring at your boyfriend across the room they’d see you practically in a puddle of your own drool.

“You’re not playing that game again are you?”

You jump at the sound of JJ’s voice nearly sending your pile of files, documents and paperwork flying off your desktop. You turn around in your chair to see her standing at the edge of your desk, an arched brow and amused expression on her face.

JJ was the only one of the team you’d actually relinquished details to about your teasing escapades. Being the one female you were closest to on the team, sometimes sex life talk came up and it slipped out once. She found it creative and intriguing, saying it was never a bad thing to spice things up. But now, apparently you’d been a bit too obvious.

“How’d you know? Is it that obvious?”

“Not exactly. But it was my first guess when I saw you ogling Spence like a dog after a steak.”

You chuckle snort, the simile quite an accurate description of yourself.

“Yes, but the stakes are high this time. It’s been over a month since the last time we..you know had time for anything.”

“By all means, continue on. Win this one for us ladies,” she joked, heading for the stairs.

I plan on it.

•

Okay, so, that plan is not going so well after all. 

It’s a slower day than normal and it’s barely past lunchtime. Spencer isn’t even actively doing anything other than existing and you feel like jumping out of your skin. How the hell he’s keeping his cool is beyond your comprehension.

You glance at your phone when you notice it light up in the corner of your eyes.

Hey, Y/N.

Are you a tardis?

Your brow raises and you reply.

A what?

A time machine. Just stick with me here.

Another text arrives while you’re still reading his initial reply.

Because I’ve heard being inside you will take me to magical places.

You stifle a giggle. 

That’s a pick up line made for you, Spencer.

Ooh baby, you make my floppy disk turn into a hard drive.

You laugh out loud causing a few agents to glance in your direction and you quickly hush.

Give me the chance and I’d be happy to turn that floppy disk into a hard drive.

The gray dots linger on your screen from some time before his answer comes.

Well, shit.

-

You can feel Spencer’s eyes on you all afternoon and you’re entirely grateful that you decided to wear the nicest, form fitting skirt you own along with a button down that shows just the perfect amount of cleavage to still be considered professional.

You cross the room to make copies and you feel his eyes follow you making you shiver. It’s been 12 days since the game started, a personal record for the both of you. The sexual tension between you and Spencer is so high you’re sure it’s gonna boil over at the most inopportune time. 

Instead of focusing on reports you need to file, your daydreams have become more prominent. All you want is him and you want him bad. You’re on the verge of begging just to be able to feel the amount of bliss he puts you in.

You almost groan out loud when you hear Emily ask him if he minds staying a little later to finish up the final reports. You’re not really up to being home alone so you decide to stay with him until he’s finished.

The number of people in the bullpen starts to dwindle until it’s just you and Spencer left. You’re swiveling in your chair, watching him, his face a mask of determination, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth. 

Oh, how much you want those lips on yours, on your skin, those hands roaming your body, squeezing the right places. To have his body pressed close against yours, so close that you can feel his erratic breathing and spiked heart rate against your own chest. You wanted him to make you moan, make you scream even, the building was practically empty at this hour anyway.

You weren’t sure when you got up, but you were halfway toward him when you croaked his name weakly.

Whether it was because of your tone of voice or he just could sense it, he looked up, jaw going slack when he saw your shirt half unbuttoned, your fingers fumbling on the bottom half.

“You win alright?”

In a quick as lighting movement, he’d stood, picked you up and deposited you on his desk, his lips firmly attached to yours.

“Let’s call it a truce, okay?” he murmured against your lips before resuming kissing you.

The kisses were hot and wild, all the pent up sexual frustration being released finally. His teeth scraped over your bottom lip, tugging on it gently before twirling his tongue simultaneously with your own. Your shirt was all the way unbuttoned and your bra pulled down before you comprehended Spencer performing the actions.

He moaned into the kiss, his hands cupping your breasts. You automatically arched into his touch, lavishing in it after going so long without it. His thumbs rubbed over your nipples eliciting a ragged moan from you. Your inhibitions were out the window at this point and you could care less what you sounded like, you just wanted more of him.

“If I knew you’d be this reactive to me, I would torture you more often,” he smirked, leaning down to place his lips around one nipple, sucking gently.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, a hand tangled into his hair.

It was like you were super sensitive to his touch because every little thing he did set your nerve endings on fire. You were throbbing with need and he was enjoying this way too much.

“You son of a bitch, you’re enjoying this aren’t you?” you half growled, pulling his face back up towards yours, pressing a kiss to his sharp jawline, attempting to kiss him again.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” he grinned wickedly, denying your lips of his.

His hand pressed flat against your stomach, pushing you backwards on his desk while hiking up your skirt. His lips pressed against the soft skin of your inner thigh as his hands spread your legs and pushed your panties to the side.

“Spencer, please- fuck,” you moaned, his tongue licking a slow path up you.

“Oh I’ll get to that eventually, just you wait,” he chuckled.

Your ability to form coherent words had vanished, so no remark came in response from you. All you could focus on was his mouth on you and that you wanted more.

You could’ve killed him when he stopped just on the brink of your undoing. 

“Darling, if I had to listen to you much longer I would’ve been done for,” he commented, kissing you again, helping you unfasten his pants before you climb in his lap.

The mutual feeling of ecstasy was all over both your faces the moment you lowered yourself down on him. You vowed then to always let him win the game after this because this was too amazing to miss out on.

“Oh fuck, Y/N, fucking hell,” he groaned into your neck, his slight stubble scratching against your neck giving you chills.

It was rough and border animalistic, your lust and need for each other more than either of you could handle. Your hips rocked roughly against his, fingers digging into his biceps. Your eyes may have rolled back in your head at one point.

One hand is on the small of your back to steady you as you move up and down on him, your back arched as the pleasure rippled down your spine. His lips trail down your exposed throat, marking you as his, his other hand squeezing your hip.

Your hands grip the back of his chair to aid you in your rougher and harder movements as your orgasm builds, the sensation of a pit of lava in your stomach increasing.

A sheen of sweat coats his forehead, stray pieces of his brown curls sticking to his forehead. Your own hair has partially come out of its ponytail, stray pieces hanging in your face. His hand moves from your hip pushing some stray strands from your face before giving you a brief kiss. 

His own release is quickly approaching as his head falls back against the back of his chair, teeth scraping his bottom lip.

“Oh yes, baby, yes,” he growls deep in his throat.

A hand snakes towards your core, his thumb circling your clit. Your climax hits you hard and fast causing your vision to nearly go white. Your breath catches, interrupting your ragged moan of his name.

He lets himself go then, his groans filling the empty room, his expression of blissful pleasure the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen him do.

As you ride out the aftershocks, his lips return to yours, kissing you more gently this time, the action full of love. Your hips have slowed then stilled when he breaks the kiss.

“God, you’re amazing,” he whispers, nudging his nose playfully against yours.

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck so you can stay in his lap for a moment longer before you have to stand and clean yourself up.

“I think I have a new rule for the game,” you commented.

“What’s that?”

“Spencer always wins.”

[epicmoonintensifies]

Straying from the Thunder

Requested by @iamanemotionaltimebomb | Soulmate AU

I went a little bit overboard agaaaaaiiiin...

Your soulmark showed up when you were ten. It was too early.

The mark on your shoulder looked something like a pale green watch face with lightning twisting around it. The numbers, almost too tiny to read, as well as the clock's delicate hands (which occasionally moved, but never consistently and sometimes backwards), were silver. The lightning, which you were sure occasionally glowed even though you had never really seen it do so, also moved, sometimes branching out to strike the line of your spine or the curve of your shoulder blade in slow motion before returning to crackle along the edge of the watch. That, you took as a comfort, occasionally sitting with your back bare to a mirror so you could look behind you to watch it. It was sort of like your soulmate was touching you, you thought. You could imagine that it was a caring hand and not a streak of lightning that was brushing across your skin and tracing your spine.

But perhaps that was just wishful fancy.

Of course it was.

Most people showed their soulmarks off as often as possible, if they could. You had once met a man who almost constantly went shirtless in public because his soulmark wrapped around his entire back and hooked over his shoulders to touch his collarbones, just for good measure (his soulmate, when he found her, had a very... outgoing personality). This was for the sole purpose of having one's soulmate see their soulmark on one's body or vice versa. It was the most straightforward and traditional way of doing things, really. You, however, were not so comfortable doing so. Exposing your soulmark felt like your were exposing your soulmate himself, throwing some special, personal part of him out into the world for everybody to see. And that felt wrong. Very wrong. Like you were making him vulnerable, which... which would be bad. You weren't sure how or why, but... when you looked at your soulmark, the lightning at its edges seemed defensive. Like your soulmate was shielding himself.

So you avoided tank-tops and sundresses and off-the-shoulder whatevers and even wide-necked shirts. You picked thicker, darker fabrics. You kept your soulmark covered no matter how much you were looked at strangely for doing so. You felt a desperate need to keep it covered. To keep your soulmark and, thusly, your soulmate, safe.

It was insane. There was probably something wrong with you. This was probably a disorder. You probably needed therapy. Getting your soulmark so early had probably done something to you psychologically.

You didn't care.

With each passing year, it seemed less likely that you would meet him. Protecting him would probably be the only thing you could ever do for him.

Ozpin was surprised (and this is an understatement of massive proportions) by the appearance of a soulmark on the back of his neck, mostly because he had no idea it was there in the first place.

(In his defense, it wasn't there yesterday.)

(In his defense, also, it was very, very late. Most people received their soulmarks in their late teens. He wasn't expecting to receive one at all.)

It was Glynda who noticed it. She seemed hesitant to mention it when she did, as though unsure if it were something she was allowed to speak of or even acknowledge, but it was a good thing that she did speak of it, otherwise he would not have noticed it at all. His hair curtained over the top half of the mark and his scarf covered the bottom, but Glynda, walking behind him, had caught sight of a sliver of color in the space in between.

And what glorious color it was.

It took two mirrors and a clip to keep his hair out of the way, but when Ozpin finally got a good look at his soulmark, he felt both fear and relief. Fear, because he knew that his soulmate was out there somewhere with a his soulmark, which... could be very, very dangerous.

This would not be his first soulmate.

He had been privileged to have several soulmates, over the ages, but with each life he lived, he was less likely to have one. His age (ancient), and his experience (vast), and his... well, body-hopping, for lack of a better term, made his soul less and less compatible with others. The process of moving from one body to another, mixing his soul with that of each host's along the way, always changed him in a manner that was irreversible and strange. Too strange for most others to tolerate, much less love. He could barely tolerate it himself.

He had lived for thousands of years. He had only four soulmates in all that time.

You would be the miraculous, impossible fifth. It was for this reason that he felt relief. It had been a very, very long time since he had taken comfort in a soulmate, since he had been loved as only a soulmate could love him, and he had ached to have that feeling back. Now there was you. Whoever and wherever you were, he would find you. He had to find you. Not just because he wanted you (needed you), but because with his soulmark on your body, you were at risk.

Ozpin's soulmark, no matter who it was on, remained the same over thousands of years. It was one part of him that never changed.

Salem knew what his soulmark looked like. She had seen it on one of his previous soulmates. And Salem had very likely taught all of her agents what it looked like (Hazel most certainly knew), so that if they ever came across the mark in passing... Ozpin could only imagine what they would do to you. Kill you, maybe, just to cause him pain. Or, more likely, they would take you back to Salem and she would use you as bait. Very effective bait. If Salem had you, then Salem had Ozpin. It was as simple as that. He could not leave his soulmate, even one he did not know, in her hands.

He did not tell Glynda all of this, but he told her enough to know that you were in danger and that he was desperate.

You had to be found.

You had never been to Beacon. Never attended it, never took a tour, never went there to access their big-as-all-get-out library.

It just... wasn't an option you had ever seriously considered. Your parents hadn't bothered putting you in a combat school like Signal, and you only ever took the basic combat classes in your regular school, mostly for self-defense purposes, so... even if you had wanted to attend Beacon, you would never have passed an entry test. Which was fine. Beacon Academy just wasn't in your future, and it never occurred to you, even for a second, to be disappointed about that.

However, you had made up for that by keeping up on your academics, and you had specialized in Grimm Studies. And, since you weren't a Huntress, there was one place within Vale's city limits where that particular topic could be considered useful.

Beacon Academy was in your future after all.

Getting a chance to work there was... weirdly easy. As it turned out, Grimm Studies was not a popular topic to major in, mostly because it's hard to study something that is pure evil, hyper-aggressive towards anything that moves, and immediately disintegrates after it dies.

"You'll be working under Professor Port," Professor Goodwitch told you as you struggled to keep up through the swift pace she was making through Beacon Academy's hallways. They weren't as complicated as you had been expecting, but maybe they just seemed simple because you were practically running through them.

Glynda Goodwitch was a very intimidating woman. And she had a riding crop. You considered yourself appropriately cowed, and she had barely even looked at you since you got here.

"He can be somewhat difficult to work with if you are not used to him," the professor continued. The words had a sardonic scrape to them. "And sometimes even if you know him very well. He is very self-assured, but he sometimes struggles to keep the attention of his students in class. It will be very helpful to him if you can keep them on track."

Sometimes probably means most of the time, you guessed. Well, you couldn't fix the guy's problems if he was too wrapped up in himself to notice that his students were nodding off. Then again, maybe it wasn't that at all. Maybe his syllabus just needed a little sprucing up. Maybe the kids needed a little more action? Or a little less. Or maybe Professor Port was really that bad and he deserved every speck of sarcasm Goodwitch was staining his reputation with.

Oh, dear, she was still talking.

"... and if he makes any inappropriate comments, I want you to come straight to me..."

Inappropriate comments? Oh, great. Fan-flipping-tastic. One of those.

"The headmaster will be coming to meet you at noon, so I suggest you take an early lunch."

Ah. Right. The headmaster. Professor Ozpin. He was a legend. What he was a legend for, you weren't exactly sure and had never cared enough to know, but now you had to wonder. Maybe he was legendary for being a hard-headed pain in the asses of his fellow teachers.

Holy Dust, you were not prepared for this.

At noon, you were no more prepared.

Professor Port was a really, really nice guy. Blunt and maybe a little too forward, but really nice. He just wasn't a particularly good teacher (which didn't make him a bad person). And he was also a little inappropriate (which also didn't make him a bad person but really needed to be addressed). Yeah, you'd be talking to Goodwitch, alright. You didn't want to get the guy fired. Just... a stern talking-to and a slap on the wrist would at least help, right? Especially if he had you in the classroom as his TA to remind him that he was being observed. Yeah. That would help. All of this would get taken care of, you would be able to settle into a comfortable routine, and everything would be just fine.

So you were tired. That was to be expected, whether a teacher put you to sleep with his voice or not. As a whole, it had gone well. You had gotten along with Port. The kids seemed to like you. You knew what you needed to do to help improve this classroom and work as a TA until you had a more permanent position as a real professor. Which wouldn't be too terribly far off, since Professor Port appeared to be displaying all the signs and symptoms of someone ready to retire.

You collected your notes on the class and your copy of the syllabus with a tired sigh. Being tired wasn't helping, but everything had actually gone well.

Maybe this would all work out after all.

You felt a slight tingle as the lightning on your shoulder began to branch out towards your spine. It had been doing that a lot lately. It used to only happen a few times a week, but for the past month or so, it had been happening a few times a day. You had never heard of marks changing like that. Ones that moved regularly were rare enough. One like yours, that moved almost constantly... your soulmate would be special, alright.

A clock and lightning. A clock and lightning. What did that even mean?

Your soulmate would know. But your soulmate would probably never see your mark because you obsessively kept it covered instead of showing it like everybody else did.

It's safe this way, you told yourself, reaching back to press the mark through your clothes. Safe from what, you didn't know. You only knew that it was true. He's safe this way.

"Miss?"

You turned and found yourself face-to-face with the headmaster of Beacon.

Oh.... Wow.

This guy, Professor Ozpin himself, with his very nice suit and very nice scarf and very dangerous-looking cane, looked like he was about to drop dead of exhaustion.

He also looked like the most beautiful person you had ever seen.

His amber eyes were bloodshot. His skin was sickly pale. He was tall (very), but his shoulders sagged. His mouth (pretty lips, chapped) had a grim set to it. Hair that had gone silver prematurely, judging by the lack of lines on his face, was messy and unkempt. That very, very nice suit was rumpled. If he did sleep, he did so with that suit on.

"Professor Port's new assistant, I presume," he finally said after you stared for too long.

"Yes, sir," you answered immediately, avoiding eye-contact out of sheer embarrassment. He looked like he had been having the worst week of his life and you had been ogling him. While he was trying to talk to you. Ugh. "Professor Ozpin?"

"Correct." He gave you an almost-smile. It probably would have been a real and very nice smile, if he had actually slept sometime within the last forty-eight hours. Obviously, he hadn't. "If you don't mind taking a walk with me?"

If you did mind, it wasn't like you would say no.

You almost felt like saying no for his sake. This guy -Professor Ozpin- did not need to take a walk. He needed to take a nap. He needed to take a vacation. He could at least sit down and talk to you. Or lie down. Maybe eat a snack and get in some liquids while he was at it, because if he wasn't sleeping, you could bet that he wasn't eating or drinking like he needed to be, either. Maybe you could trick him into eating some of your lunch? No, that was silly. But...

But, nothing! I'm not his mother!

So you walked. And you discovered that while Glynda was a heel-wearing speed-walker from Hell or Grimmland, Ozpin simply had the natural benefit of infinitely long legs (yes, infinitely, they went on forever), and you had trouble keeping up with either of them.

And it was because of this that you ended up just behind him enough times to notice the glimmer of color on his neck.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

Ozpin looked back at you questioningly when he realized that you had stop trying to keep up with his long strides. Amber eyes. Beautiful amber eyes. Oh, you were doomed even if that maybe-mark on the back of his neck wasn't what you thought it was. You were doomed no matter what. Doom was your destiny as he turned to face you and cocked his head to the side (why was that cute, what the hell).

"I..." You croaked slightly, making a meaningless twitching motion with your hand. "I, um, on the back of your..."

You reached back to scratch the nape of your own neck. Oh, this was a special kind of embarrassing, wasn't it? If you were wrong, you would simply have to never look at the headmaster ever again for as long as you lived (which would be a shame, because... well).

Realization dawned on the headmaster's face. His amber eyes widened.

"Oh," he said. He wavered there for a moment, swaying slightly as he actually looked at you now, taking in the whole sight of you. His lips quirked up at the corners in a hesitant smile.

"I'm not - sure? I..." You cringed at your own ineloquence. "I didn't see..."

Professor Ozpin didn't appear to be listening, however, as he turned his back on you. No, you thought, but then his scarf was pulled away to be slung neatly over one arm, and he reached back to push his own hair aside.

There it was. A soulmark. An amazingly vivid, complex soulmark. You had never seen yourself that way, never considered for a moment that you were as beautiful as to make a mark like that on someone else's body, but when you saw it in full, you knew. That mark was yours. That mark was you.

"Is this yours?" Ozpin asked softly after your silent watching, once again, lasted too long. This time, the professor's voice quavered.

Fear. You couldn't trick yourself into thinking that tone was one of anything but fear. He was just as afraid as you were.

"Yes," you said, and Ozpin's tense shoulders quivered. "That's definitely mine."

And then Ozpin was facing you and much closer than he was half a second before. His hands hovered just shy of pulling you into an embrace even as his face dropped the mask of tired serenity he had been wearing to reveal a desperate yearning.

"And mine?" he asked. His eyes searched your face as if a soulmark might suddenly materialize on your cheek. "Do you have...?"

"Back of my left shoulder," you said, although not with the same impersonal resentment you usually said the words with at the registration office, where you had always wanted to say, none of your business, good day to you sir. You had refused to give them any more information on your soulmark, feeling violated by the process that most other people happily went through, if only to heighten their chances of finding their soulmates through exposure. "Here, I'll show you."

Your heart pounded as you shrugged off your jacket. Ozpin took it from you without a word and slung it across his arm along with his scarf. You peeled off your shirt, too, to reveal the tank-top underneath. You paused, then. You could feel the lightning, in its slow-motion strike, still reaching across your skin towards your spine. The lightning was him. The mark on your body was his, an imprint of his soul, and after thinking you would never find him, now...

Now.

Before you could lose your nerve (anymore than you already had), you turned your back to Ozpin.

His faint gasp hurt you and thrilled you. You felt him draw closer until his hands gripped your bare arms, maybe to steady himself or to steady you, and he knelt down until you could feel his breath against your skin.

"Yes," you heard him say, so faintly that you almost thought you had imagined it. "Yes, this is mine."

And then his lips were on you, tracing the lightning from your shoulder to your spine, so tender and gentle that you could hardly stand it. The soulbond was already forming as you accepted one another, binding you together, and Ozpin's kisses became more fervent as the bond strengthened.

"I was afraid," he gasped against your skin. The lightning crackled in response to his touch. "I was so afraid for you. This mark is dangerous."

"I knew," you assured him. And you would be demanding an explanation for that, later.

You pried yourself away from him only so you could turn and face him. He immediately gathered you back into his arms, holding you almost too tightly, with a desperation you somehow understood.

"I have you."

[literarypsychobabble]

Pack(ed)

SPENCER I sensed the difference early. Air that reeked if garlic poked forked fingers down my throat, forcing a warbled croak out of my raw mouth as I found myself asleep in a bed of fiery leaves that crackled and turned to powder beneath me. I was fully clothed, my mouth smeared in the richness of my latest kill that also clung sweetly but dryly to the inside of my mouth. Of course I had changed and killed and fallen asleep. The distant howls of my pack and the sounds of their thoughts and ticking minds kept me occupied until the same faltering garlic infused disturbance from before returned. A new mind, an empty mind drunk on the screaming silence prowled with us all, death heavy against its lungs as its wild eyes hungrily took in the forest; the vibrant colours and the maddeningly loud sounds and scents. A spear of confusion and fear stabbed the stone heart and made it shatter helplessly as it desperately searched for something that alighted repeatedly as dark brown locks of my own hair turned to a flame crown in sunlight. The scream that ripped through the forest hurled a torrent of cackling black crows into the vibrant sky. I waited, eyes fixed on the point of disturbance, until I heard heavy and laboured human breathing and the distinct sound of wild swearing before clumsy feet stamped over brittle twigs, making me wince when they snapped them ruthlessly. I always felt like twigs were the limbs of trees and was always sickened by the thought of something ruthlessly stomping all over the knuckles of already wizened people. I watched stealthily as a burly man dripping blood so sweet I wanted to throw myself at him and tear him to ribbons of flesh drunkenly staggered away from me. Someone had bitten him. The scent was confusing; not my pack and sent a slight jolt up my spine as I realised something or someone else lived amongst us. It would explain the odd blank energy full of a screaming silence that hurt my heart and made my soul feel raw and awkward when I tried to focus on it. * The tavern was a huge ship someone had overturned and turned into a pub with huge grimy pints strewn along through Christmas lights full of a dancing flame of light each. The pints were signed by rock legends and barons alike but were almost opaque with grime. The boards of the ceiling were heavy and smelt like sweet wet soil, silvery cobwebs sparkled in some of the corners, draped over the dark wood like netting that shimmered and sparkled as drops of condensation bejewelled it, the swollen faced human-fish seemed to have snapped out of the nets and were flopped lifelessly forward over huge pints or backwards with the sturdy chairs propped against walls. Rowdy barks of laughter, patterned bandanas and hairy faces gawked at me stupidly as I walked through them, a stranger in this place and as different as could be. They seemed more rustic than I could ever be, I looked like I was trying too hard and would have probably been mugged in any other instance for being a "prissy boy" because of how I looked and dressed. I knew what I looked like and I had washed off the blood in a stream but it still tainted my nails so it looked like I had tried to get rid of nail polish and my lips were still rouged a stupid red. The sweet scents of alcohol, beer and various drinks infused with the acrid nacho cheese scent of old socks and the garlicky aroma of ripe armpits made my stomach threaten to throw up what I had eaten, making me painfully aware of how my human form had no means of dealing with raw meat. I had no means of dealing with the dreary weight of what lay heavy and nauseating within me. Even after all these years it still let me feeling like I was full of wet rocks and made me struggle to eat anything even remotely human, which only meant my clothes had grown looser over time and I was often attacked by hunger pangs that would leave me struggling momentarily because they almost always felt like someone invisible had stabbed me. I caught his scent despite the odours around me and let the intensely garlicky smell weakly push me into a stool beneath a lopsided sign covered in fancy lettering bearing vulgar jokes about the weather and hipsters that seemed to match the roaring laughter and chuckles that occasionally broke out around me. A maudlin drunk was hunched over a piano in a corner, cradling a drink in his lap as he tapped out a melancholy tune that made me think of how gravestones looked almost toothlike and how oddly beautiful and serene the faces of dead people in black velvet looked. It hardly took me long to find who I was looking for; a huge hairy shape tucked close to the bar. He was no longer bleeding but was wolfing down a burger dripping huge globules of grime and oily fat that was thick and stringy enough to look like cheese or orange egg yolk into his lap. He was intent on stuffing as much of it as he could into his mouth though I picked up on the agonising ulcer that festered deep within the pit of his belly and wanted to apologise. I caught his eye. He looked me up and down, one bushy eyebrow raised slightly until he sniffed at me; I knew what I looked like; the doll-like person who looked far from what I really was. I gestured at his arm in an offhand way, amused by how deep the teethmarks were; whoever had bitten him had been angry and trying to change him had failed. All this hairy giant had gotten was a lot of pain that probably felt like being electrocuted countless times. The wolf was inexperienced, it had fresh lupin blood but it seemed so old and faded, tinged by a bitterness that made me think of graveyards in the dark again. I sniffed. "I can't help but notice you seem to be injured?" I gestured at it nonchalantly even as my tastebuds screamed that something about it was wrong; who was the intruder on OUR territory? He made me dismissive sound and nodded. "Wolf." I stayed quiet. "Rotten beasts coming' back stronger 'an ever we never had a wolf problem here before 'n now look at it all just coming to pieces around us! I used to think 'em sweet and gentle creatures but now they seem vile and vicious beasts that can't be tamed. This one was weird she was. She had markings and grey fur. Very light grey fur and seemed savage-" "She." I muttered to myself, frowning. "How can you be so sure it was a she wolf? All of them look totally the same to me-" "Yeah?" He was watching me confusedly. "Wolves are male and female you do know that? Though I doubt a spoilt brat like you knows much of anything about wolves. No offence there matey but you don't seem like much of a wild chap." "You know a lot about wolves?" He nodded slowly. "I have this fascination with them. Beauties really. I can of course tell the difference between male and female wolves though I used to think that was common." He leaned close to me then conspiratorially. "I don't want to pull at floppy straws here to try to prove a point but I wouldn't even be surprised if these were werewolves." "Werewolves?" I raised an eyebrow at him, careful to keep my face blank. He nodded slowly. "I smell something funny stirrin' in the wind, they says the werewolves are part of our own experimentation you know us havin' to pay for them.....well I darn't disrespect any lady but you know them ones the ones who do things they were used and then the dead were used so we got left with these wolves." I was almost keeled over by a sudden spark of pain that wrapped tightly around my neck, blinding me before dropping me to my knees before him. "Goo' grief you alright there chum?" He anxiously dared to touch my shoulder that I was tempted to rip away from him and snarl at. I nodded to myself more than to him and gave him a tight lipped smile before getting to my feet. "I have to go." I burst out into the cold, shaking frozen drops of ice cold sweat that soaked my spine, hair and face as I broke into a brisk trot and rushed to the house as fast as my legs would carry me. JIM The pack was huddled around together in every single nook and cranny of Alice's quaint house that seemed funnily small with so many of us inside it. I was in a bad mood because I had stumbled across a magazine that was devoted to me; a picture of me shirtless and with my arms wrapped around myself, my shaggy head tilted upwards and my steady scowl affixed to my face as the headlines punched into my crotch screamed about my rapid spiral into drugs and how it had killed me but I had influenced my entire band to join me. My blue eyes were dead. Ice cold. I still remembered the day it had happened and how it felt waking up face down and butt naked in the snow with blood all over me and the beady eye of whatever I had feasted on staring unblinkingly and accusingly up at me. If Spencer had not found me when he had I would have probably screamed until people had found me. He had knocked me out and I had woken up in a strange car, strapped in and in the middle of nowhere which is how he had told me what I was now and how I was going to be going through this for a very long time. He had been amused by how I had just stared at him manically but his face gave nothing away when I introduced him to my band and he had acted as though he didn't know at all who we were which relieved but also made me very aware of how small and insignificant I really was but then I had found the records of my band in the car he used and realised he wasn't much for expressing anything though it secretly made me feel proud and happy that HE knew who we were. Liam walked me over to where Spencer stood seemingly drenched and looking tired but as though someone had jolted him with a lot of electricity. His face looked ashen in the dark, his mouth smeared in blood and his dark eyelashes like spiky black lace as he watched us approach him with half lidded green eyes flecked by golden stars. Liam sighed heavily then and rubbed the heel of a hand over his brow. "I have no idea what's happening or why but I just feel so...lost I feel like something is terribly wro-" Spencer lurched slightly. I felt my eyes widen as I watched him turn paler as though in pain but he just stared at us both defiantly. "Liam." He seemed to be thinking out what to say word for word. "Liam you're going to be a-" A loud howl punctuated the start of a sudden commotion before Alice appeared and made us all start and turn to her as one, eyes blazing and animal instincts peaked as we stared at Alice, her eyes wide and slightly crazy, alight with worry and terror that seemed to shake her. Another howl sounded behind her, closer before there was a splash and then deathly silence. Alice looked ready to collapse as she stared at us all, almost manic. "I need your help. Cora's been attacked." Liam was torn from his own body in a jarringly loud series of pops and crunching sounds as his hole body shifted, twisted and changed, clothes ripping off him as Alice watched him an admirably blank face and as though she saw this happen everyday. Spencer looked at him, then at me and I almost expected him to roll his eyes, instead he looked at Alice too. "Follow me." Alice offered before she turned and broke into an almost run. Liam flitted like air behind her followed by Spencer and me, ignoring the fact that twigs and leaves kept roping and tearing at me as though they wanted to hold me back and stop me from from following the others. I felt like an intruder even though Spencer was silently urging me to follow them. I was part of the pack and I belonged. Of course. Apparently. Liam's fiancée appeared in a clearing by a car, hunched over and clutching some bloody limb of hers. The smell of her blood made me struggle to refrain from retching and throwing myself at her. Her hair was soaked and plastered to her, her huge red rimmed blood shot eyes wide, her face sickly pale and bloodless. Her haunted eyes darted to Liam in his wolf form who had anxiously lurched closer to her, where they froze before she started crying and dissolved against him; her sadness becoming his. She looked past him at Spencer and Alice as the strength of the scent of Liam on her made me want to run away. Her expression turned pleading, almost, her face drawn in pain and despair. Spencer looked as bad as she felt, if not worse as she gripped one of his sleeves tightly, forcing him to keel closer over her, his face almost bloodless as he struggled to seem passive. "Please don't let anything happen to the baby." Alice caught her as she swayed and collapsed. The silence that followed was pregnant with shock. I wondered if anyone else felt unnerved by the strength of the scent of Liam radiating off his fiancée or the sickening garlicky smell I had only now started to realise existed. "She's been attacked." Alice croaked, voice almost shattering entirely. Spencer gently smoothed a hand over Cora's face, his own turning blank before he blinked and stared at Liam the anxious wolf, then at me and Alice. "You need to help me get her to a place where I can lie her down...she's ok-" "No she's NOT can't you see she's been attacked and that's actually dangerous." Alice sounded so calm I felt as though I was experiencing everything in slow motion. "She could die or-" "Liam!" Spencer suddenly turned himself away from the fallen woman who seemed peaceful and in a deep sleep. He gently reached over to smooth a hand over the large beautifully dark golden blonde wolf's snout and then focused on his eyes. "I think it's time I officially congratulated you...you're going to be a dad.....and she's going to be fine, shockingly she's totally unscathed because the baby absorbed the venom..she won't change at all and she won't die. In fact she's probably stronger than all of us combined right now...the baby absorbed the venom so in one way....well she's going to have someone who will be stronger than all of us combined as a pack who, because he started life as a wolf will be stronger than-" Liam blinked dumbly and yawned. Spencer watched him, one eyebrow raised before he rolled his eyes. "Of course he's not going to remember any of this so maybe this isn't exactly the wisest decision I have ever made..." he frowned as though mulling over something. "At this rate we may as well wait until he's with us fully before we actually say something." Liam wagged his tail hopefully. * "So....you're telling me that......" Liam's fiancée seemed better now, but still a bit pale. "We're all just experiments gone awry Ms Hanbury." Spencer offered, nonchalantly edging the plate of avocado slices covered in mustard and a pickle towards her without seeming at all bothered by her strange cravings; maybe he saw this all the time. Cora absentmindedly bit into another one, watching him attentively as she leaned forward over the table. "And-" "Yes you're going to have a....well I don't know if we can call ourselves werewolves but yes..." Cora nodded slowly before looking all around herself. "So does Liam know?" I could almost sense her begging to meet him. "Not yet, no but he is to return soon.." Spencer caught me watching him again. I felt awkward and out of place. Cora turned, saw me and gaped. "Holy SHIT it's you!" I forced my face into a smile. "This is....well....I feel like this is such a big fat fuck you to people who somehow think we know the best for the world-" Cora grabbed another avocado slice as she gestured at me and I tried to seem stoic and suppressed the biggest yawn. Liam walked in then seeming dazed and tired, he looked like a man who was starved of many things but mostly so love such that his eyes looked haunted. He hardly seemed to realise he was walking as though he was in a trance; his hair a mess and his holes clothes and gaunt sharp face making him look too young and too old all at once. I almost expected Cora to throw herself at him but she had her back towards him as he approached her with forced slowness. "Thank you for joining us again Walters." Spencer managed a warped half smirk as he looked straight at him. "I was expecting Ms Hanbury to have a fainting fit but you have so obviously redefined all previous stereotypes." Liam sighed heavily and blinked slowly. "I swear Spencer sometimes I feel like you're the least human person any of us know..." he glanced at me. I resisted the urge to shrink back and away from him. He smiled at me warmly and then turned back to Spencer. Cora slowly turned, her eyes alight with enough tender love to shatter the world. She was looking at him as though she had just started seeing things after a very long time. Her haunted eyes full of tears that made a sharp pang jab at my chest, but I ignored it. She rose slowly as though in a daze; one shoe off and one shoe on and stumbled over to him, cluttering as she tripped over her own toes and he caught her gently, his fingers lacing through hers; his hands overlapping hers as she peered into his eyes with enough love to beautify even Hell. He gazed back entranced and I felt intrusive as usual even though Spencer silently urged me to stay. I wondered if either Spencer or Cora knew how precious the life they had created was especially right now as it grew in its safe place tucked out of sight and mind of the world. "Liam?" Cora finally found her ability to speak again. "I know I should have said this earlier to you-" "I love you so much I totally understand if you want nothing to go with something like me you don't have to act like you love me-" "I'm pregnant." Cora offered. "And the baby isn't Roger's." Liam's kind brown eyes glistened with unshed tears as he swallowed noisily and stared at her silently. She gently cradled his face in her hands. "And I don't think I've ever loved you more than I do right now." A fat tear rolled down her face. Liam carefully drew her close to him. I looked away from them, feeling intrusive. "Just a quick question." Cora had turned to Spencer again. Spencer looked over at her, eyes distant and I wondered where he had gone again, which meant he glanced at me so I quickly looked away from him. "So...the baby absorbed the venom...what does that mean?" "The baby saw the attack as an almost immediate threat and took the most of the venom or the potent change that would have either killed you or changed you. In doing so it saved you, naturally but as a result it is now going to be born one of us or a wolf, without that choice. It is going to be stronger than us all as a pack because it was born into that matter of being and might have other attributes that we do not have." "So.....we're basically having a baby werewolf?" Liam managed, blinking a lot, jaw clenched as he gazed dazedly at Cora. "Yes." Spencer ran a hand through his hair. "The first of its kind because werewolves in general are infertile." I blinked at this newfound information and wondered how I felt about it; of course I had never wanted children but should this upset me? "How um...how different is this from an...ordinary pregnancy?" Liam's voice was edged by worry. Spencer looked all around us and then straight at Liam. "Maybe not as smooth as an ordinary pregnancy." Liam started looking scared but smiled. "I think we can learn to deal with that." And then he fainted. * SPENCER It happened again. The feeling of being watched. The strange dream that left me quivering on the tender edge of a cry for help. The dark void full of screaming despair and silence....until I was woken up by an agonising fist of hunger that made my body cough up a stupendous sneeze that left me breathing as though I had run a marathon. Someone was watching me, that much was enough to make me look all around me at the room full of shadows and darkness. My eyes settled on eyes. Distant, blazing eyes caught in a cracked cobweb of mist and dew that had spidered across the window overnight. I rose, stealthy and silent like a shadow, my animal instincts heightened and my eyes stuck on those caught in the window before I finally reached them, and noticed the cloud of air I kept exhaling. The screaming silence and dark omens of despair rattled and shook like prisoners of the night in corners until I turned to the window again, and the eyes were gone. I shook my head, shrugging away everything and leaned forward, pressing myself closer precariously until I was almost leaning heavily on the window until I caught sight of a bloodless frozen face on the other side and felt my heart lurch sickeningly into my mouth, sealing my throat shut over what could have been a scream as I reached for the rickety but stiff latch, ready to wrench open the window when a loud knock on the door almost startled me. I turned on my heel to see a wild eyed Jim in a baggy black Sex Pistols shirt standing frozen in the doorway with his face frozen in a wide eyed look of what seemed like an unsettling amount of fear. His expression seemed ridiculously drawn on. "There's been another attack only this person died and now the police want to see you because you're apparently responsible for all wolves and wolf attacks-" I grabbed my clothes and roughly shoved myself into them, silent rage buzzing like static electricity over my skin and making my hair curl before I let Jim watch me make my way down the stairs. The burly policemen who stood at the doorway seemed to sway and shrink dramatically out of focus, falling away from me as though fearful so I focused my eyes on the scarier looking one out of the two and refused to let myself blink. They stank of cheap food and sugary tea. He shuddered with recognition as he looked me up an own dazedly. I almost smiled. He turned to the other policeman, who looked at me with a ridiculous amount of terror evident in his eyes. His face quivered with shock and horror. "S-Spencer." "My name's Spencer." I offered. "How may I help you?" The smile threatened to tear open my face again. * They kept looking at the readings, then at my face as though expecting me to suddenly sprout tentacles before glancing back at the readings. I was very much aware of how I looked shirtless; my body hardened by lean muscular definition and hunger I never quite managed to feed making itself evident in the sharpness of my ribcage, collarbones, shoulder bones, hip bones, spine and the veins pressing close and spidering under my pale golden skin. I felt exposed and vulnerable yet special, in a way; something nobody could define and that irked them, it seemed. "How old are you?" One of the finally asked, unblinkingly. I refused to smile. "I'm in my early twenties." I looked down at the shirt folded in my lap. They exchanged a look. I focused on a spot behind them, drawing patterns along the wall. One of them walked up to tower over me. I stared up at him pointedly, working through complex maths calculations in my head for something to do. "Your vitals and test results show obvious signs of atypical development." He poked a paper against my chest and we watched it slip down into my lap and then drop onto my feet, dead still. I looked up and met his steady stare before looking past him at Alice who looked as anxious as I should be but instead I felt oddly triumphant; like someone who has lusted after being different for very long and has finally found the smidge of difference that made them stand out from everyone around them. "That is expected." They exchanged another quick look in the silence that followed. "I..." I splayed my fingers across my knees and focused on a spot on the floor. "I never really had a normal life and I live with wolves most of my time-" "But WHERE are you from? Your name has been documented but very little is actually known about who you are or WHERE you are from or where you went." He paused. "And you seem to be around when these bodies turn up or vanish but nobody seems to know what's happening. It's gone on too far-" I breathed out soundlessly through my nose and narrowed my eyes wearily. "I am not sure I have the answers gentlemen, beyond a certain point I know nothing." I sounded as tired as I felt. "Unless you have evidence that ties me to anything I can't exactly be of any help to you. I don't know who I'm meant to be or where I am from and if I did I doubt I would be sat here right now feeling as utterly perplexed as I feel." They glanced at one another again pointedly before one of them rapped me on the shoulder with a file as he followed his friend out before they turned on their heels from a distance to look back at me. I was tempted to raise my hand and wave at them jauntily to mock them but instead made sure I seemed as bored as possible and refused to look up at them. I found myself fisting my shirt absentmindedly. The door thudded shut distantly behind them. Alice walked over but looked away pointedly as I roughly pulled my shirt on. "Sorry we woke you up. I didn't.....exactly....know what to do." Her voice was weighted by the actual question; what ARE you?! I just shrugged and almost smiled at her but made sure I had my invisible wall around me to hold her out. Her weary frown worried me and made me want to hug her. I looked down at my feet. "Ok so before we well not we but before the people who lost their minds and decided people could be fertilisers for plants, they decided to experiment with women....so women were randomly.......well they were used to breed and their children were the lab rats....little boys whose mothers would be then burnt alive as they watched....of course no one knew of this...." I blinked slowly and carefully cutting myself off on time before I shrugged and cleared my throat. "Isn't that....illegal?" Her face was hard to read, closed off and weary. "It is but that never stops people 'in the name of nature' and the results were assumed satisfactory before it was realised young men or rather dead young men were a better fertiliser. It worked for the first one or two bodies and then just failed." She managed a brave smile. "Those policemen knew about the experiments and about what's done so they kind of seem to be assuming things at this rate but can not be certain. If anyone, they are likely to recognise Jim and his remaining bandmates IF they aren't well I wouldn't say hidden but just kept to one side for a bit." "So right now they know-" "The local wolf whisperer isn't exactly their typical ordinary guy." She watched me for some time and I suddenly wanted to tell her everything but looked away from her instead. "Can I ask you something?" I nodded slowly. She swallowed, carefully drawing on words to ask the next question. "Ok fine." I refused to look at her as I spoke. "There was a woman who started this idea. A wealthy countess who was known for being beautiful and stupendously rich. And she had a son and the experiments angered some people who took the struggling and sickly wolves to her mansion at night. They attacked her obviously and burnt her house but she couldn't deal with the idea of people having suffered and wanted nothing to do with it in the first place so she burnt her son and herself because they were both bitten." "Well right now I just find myself pitying every single person. It can't have been easy." "Nothing in life is. And yet it is life and it can not be changed once it has happened." "You're actually a really nice person when you aren't being all haughty and full of yourself." I just stared at her silently and almost expectantly. "I just don't know who to feel sorry for more I mean at the end of the day no matter what happened innocent people who didn't deserve to suffer suffered a lot." "I don't see the innocence in a woman who pretty much ran a brothel." "She didn't run a brothel and WE don't know her at all. We don't know what she faced or how desperate she was. We only know what you were told or learnt and that's that." "I find that fanciful thinking to be rather naive." "I see it as trying to understand that everything happens for a reason just as everyone acts in a certain way for a reason." I acted like I was mulling over this thought while twisting half of my mouth into a grimace, tutting once softly before I caught her eye. "Spencer even bad people aren't bad. They have their reasons and you have to try to understand what happened to make them bad." I opened my mouth to retort but she was gone again, leaving me alone in the shadows again as howling wolves called out all around us as I slumped forward wearily and tried to work around recollecting my thoughts.