#The Box We Put the World in to Keep a Corner from Shattering

[these-summer-nights-in-december]

"The Box We Put the World in to Keep a Corner from Shattering" release reading!

Last week the collaborative poetry chapbook "The Box We Put the World in to Keep a Corner from Shattering," which I wrote with the awesome poets Dustin Pearson and Steve Castro, had its release reading at the University of Toledo, hosted by Timothy Geiger and his Aureole Press, who created this letterpress printed work of art. I couldn't be there in body but I was there in spirit. I'm excited to share this chapbook when it becomes available for purchase!

[xamiah]

𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐀 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

___

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 – 𝐀 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞

𝐋𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐚’𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

‘𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐞. 𝐀 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬.’

___

Pain comes first.

A slow, cruel kind of pain. Like someone drove a railroad spike behind my eyes and is tapping it deeper with every breath I take. Each throb is blunt and deliberate, echoing through the hollow cavern of my skull. My mouth is dry, lips sandpapered, tongue thick and dead. My stomach coils like a fist, roiling with something foul, something that doesn’t belong.

The air tastes wrong. Not like alcohol or cigarette smoke or the musty blankets from my usual bunk. This is sterile. Clean linen, fresh wood, cold wind.

This isn’t my cabin.

I open my eyes - barely. Just enough to squint through the blur, the haze clinging like gauze to everything. I sit up too fast and regret it instantly. The world tips. My vision doubles. Nausea punches up from my gut, sharp and immediate, like it’s clawing to escape. I slap a hand over my mouth and breathe through my nose, counting backward in a silent scream.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

The ceiling spins like a slow carousel. My bones feel waterlogged. Sweat beads at the base of my neck. My skin crawls. I’m in the wrong body - too slow, too hot, too wrong.

Where the hell am I?

The room is brighter than it should be, and too put-together. Not the usual rundown box they keep us in. The walls are painted a pale neutral, the bed is actually made, and a desk sits empty in the corner. There’s a single window, no curtain, just glass cracked open an inch to let in the sound of wind through trees and distant water lapping the shore.

It’s peaceful.

It’s terrifying.

And I don’t remember how I got here.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps jolts me from my thoughts.

The door swings open with authority, no knock, no warning, like they already own me. Three figures file in, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. I recognize two immediately.

Dr Leslie, the counselor with a sunny voice and ponytail that tight it could snap. And Clipboard Guy a member of camp staff with a name I’ve never cared to learn - though I’ve seen him around. Always carries a clipboard like it’s glued to his hand.

The third one’s new. Older. Stern. A tall man with gray at his temples, pressed slacks, and a face carved from granite. I clock him instantly. This guy has spent his whole life giving orders and expecting obedience.

He looks at me like I’ve already failed him.

“Good morning, Lydia,” Clipboard Guy starts, voice smooth like this is some kind of pleasant meeting. “We wanted to check in before your day begins.”

I squint at them through the pounding ache in my head. I grab a pillow, using it to cover myself up like a shield. “Where am I?” My voice croaks out, shredded and raw.

The older man steps forward. “You’re in an isolation cabin now.”

The word lands like a hammer to the gut.

Isolation.

He keeps going, like it’s nothing. “You’ll stay here until further notice. Until we decide you’re ready to rejoin the rest of the group.”

I blink hard. The room swims. The nausea creeps higher in my throat. I swallow it, but it won’t stay down.

The word echoes, bouncing around the inside of my skull louder than anything else. This isn’t freedom. It’s a prettier cage. A private prison wrapped in clean sheets and painted walls. And all I can do is sit there and absorb the blow like it’s not shattering me from the inside out.

“I don’t…” My voice cracks. I clear my throat. “Why?”

Dr Leslie tries the gentle approach. “We know about the incident, Lydia. About you leaving camp property.”

“Escaping,” Granite Man corrects her, without so much as glancing her way. “You were seen. And brought back.”

My brows knit as I fumble for an excuse. “That’s a lie i didn’t-”

“Mr Hargrove saw you,” Clipboard Guy interrupts. “Out in town. He brought you back. Said he found you wandering the street.”

I freeze.

Wait - what?

Billy… said that?

Flashes come back in sick little bursts: the bar, the noise, a man coming way too close for comfort. Billy was there… he saved me from that creep.

He’s… protecting me?

And I should feel grateful, but all I feel is shame, boiling in my gut, rising to my throat like poison.

I say nothing.

I can’t say anything. If I speak, I unravel. If I say it aloud, it becomes real.

So I nod. Like a good little liar.

Granite Man studies me. “You’ll get meals, water and assignments. Any laundry will be collected on Fridays. Stay in the cabin unless told otherwise. This is not a punishment. It’s a chance for reflection.”

I nearly laugh.

‘Not a punishment’.

Sure.

They file out as easily as they came in. The door shuts behind them with a heavy, final click.

And then it’s just me.

Me and the silence.

Me and the nausea.

I sit there for maybe a minute. Maybe ten. The room sways. My heartbeat is too loud. My fingers tremble as I peel off my hoodie and let it fall onto the floor like it betrayed me. Underneath, I’m still wearing last night’s clothes. Wrinkled. Dirty. Foreign.

The sickness builds and builds until I can’t hold it anymore.

I stumble toward the tiny attached bathroom, hit the cold tile on my knees, and throw up until my ribs ache. Until my eyes water. Until I’m empty in every way a person can be.

When it’s done, I collapse sideways on the floor, cheek pressed to the a sink, which is the only thing I have to clean myself up. It’s freezing, and I let it seep into my skin. Let it remind me that I’m still here. That this is real.

Eventually I drag myself back to the bed. I don’t change clothes. I don’t move. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, letting the nausea fade to a dull threat and the headache settle behind my eyes like a storm cloud refusing to break.

And then memory creeps in.

That moment. That single, stupid moment.

I kissed him.

I kissed Billy Hargrove. My Camp Leader Billy Hargrove!

And worse… he kissed me back.

My throat closes. I press the heel of my hand against my eyes, trying to erase it, but it’s carved into me. His mouth. The heat. The hesitation. The pull. God, what was I thinking? I wasn’t. That’s the truth. I wasn’t thinking because I wasn’t me. Because something happened in that bar, something I couldn’t stop. Someone tampered with me. Spiked me!

It’s the only explanation. Because I would never kiss -

The cabin door swings open.

Him.

___

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝟏,𝟏𝟔𝟏

___

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 - 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

[teine-mallaichte]

“Keep your dog on a leash”

Day 2 @year-of-whump-tropes : prompt - “Keep your dog on a leash”

It's been a few days since the group escaped from the facility and found their way the the city state. Ash and Charlie are at the trading post when things escalate when it becomes clear that when now that they are "free" the world stills views them as assets/weapons.

Complex 27 Ash Charlie YOWT Jan list

Charlie’s steps slowed as they neared the curtain, her gaze narrowing on the two guards stationed at the entrance. Both exuded control—one broad and barrel-chested, his posture lazy but radiating strength, the other lean and sharp, with a quiet intensity that promised precision. Their weapons were displayed openly: a baton dangling from the larger man’s hand, and a pistol holstered on the hip of the leaner one, his fingers resting lightly on it. It was a message as clear as their stares: they decided who got in, and who got hurt.

Charlie stopped a few paces away, her posture rigid but neutral. She didn’t need to check that Ash had mirrored her; she could feel the tension radiating off him. It hung between them, sharp and unyielding, the quiet byproduct of years spent being treated as tools rather than people—trained to follow orders, stripped of choice, and molded into instruments of violence.

“We’re here to trade,” she said evenly, her tone a forced neutrality.

The larger guard’s lip curled, his laugh guttural and dismissive. “Trade? Didn’t know they let mutts barter.” His eyes moved over her and settled on Ash, narrowing with disdain. “Should’ve been put down the second you walked in. No one wants your kind here.”

Ash stiffened, his fists clenching at his sides. Charlie didn’t look back, but her gaze sharpened slightly, catching the leaner guard’s reaction. Unlike his companion, he didn’t smirk. His eyes flicked to the small metal box in her hand, calculating, but his expression remained unreadable.

“Back room’s not for just anyone,” he said finally, his voice cold. “What’re you offering?”

Charlie tilted the box slightly, the movement precise, controlled. “Compact EMP. Field-tested. And some... specialised pharmaceuticals.” Her voice was steady, but her knuckles whitened slightly where they gripped the box.

“Specialised? Is that what you think you are? Special?” The larger guard leaned closer, his sneer deepening. “We all know what you really are. Scraps stitched together for war. Broken toys. The kind you toss when they stop working.”

Charlie’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. She didn’t blink, didn’t waver. But Ash…

Ash moved closer, his breath sharp. His hands twitched, the tension coiling in his muscles like a spring about to snap. Heat prickling at the back of his neck, a raw mixture of anger and anticipation that he didn’t fully understand but couldn’t suppress.

The guard grinned, like he’d been waiting for this. “What’s the matter, mutt? You gonna growl? Maybe roll over if I tell you to?” He reached out slowly, deliberately, his hand hovering near Charlie’s arm.

Ash’s reaction was faster than thought, his body moving before his mind could catch up. His pulse thundered in his ears as his body moved on its own, his hand shooting out, clamping around the man’s wrist in a grip. The guard froze, his sneer twisting into shock as Ash wrenched the arm into a lock, forcing him down hard onto his knees. The baton hit the ground with a sharp clatter, the sound cutting through the tense air.

“Touch her,” Ash growled, his voice low, every word laced with venom, “and I’ll break it.”

The leaner guard’s pistol was halfway out of its holster when Charlie raised a hand. “Stand down,” she said quietly, her voice even. Her gaze locked with his, holding him in place.

“Ash,” she continued, turning her attention to him now. Her tone was firm but calm, as if speaking to a cornered animal. “Let him go.”

Ash didn’t move, his grip tightening. His breathing was steady, but his jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might shatter.

“77,” Charlie snapped, the sharp edge of authority cutting through her tone. “Release him. Now.”

Ash’s breath hitched at the command. His grip faltered, muscles trembling as he stepped back, confusion and anger crashing together in a maelstrom he couldn’t untangle. The guard crumpled to the floor, clutching his wrist and groaning in pain, but Ash barely registered it. He stared at his own hands for a fleeting moment, the lingering tension in his muscles a stark reminder of the force he’d just used. He didn’t look at Charlie, couldn’t meet her eyes, shame settling like a heavy weight in his chest.

“Keep your dog on a leash,” the leaner guard snapped, his voice tight as he returned his pistol to the holster, “Or next time, I’ll put the fucker down.”

Charlie kept her face impassive. She couldn’t afford to react, couldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they’d gotten under her skin. Instead, she met the guard’s gaze with cold steadiness, “He’s not a dog,” She stepped forward, placing herself deliberately between the guards and Ash, who was still looking slightly disorientated, “But if you want to see what he is, keep pushing.”

The lean guard held her gaze for a long moment, then jerked his head toward the curtain. “Go. Before I change my mind.”

Charlie didn’t wait for further invitation. She strode forward, knowing that Ash would follow. She waited until they were out of the guards earshot before finally glancing back at him, “Control yourself,” she said quietly, her voice low.

Ash’s stomach churned at her words, the shame and anger tangling into something raw and unbearable. He flexed his fingers, the tension still coiled tightly in his chest. He didn’t understand why the need to defend her burned so fiercely—only that it had, leaving him feeling hollow and unmoored. He stole a glance at Charlie, but her gaze was already forward, her silence cutting deeper than any reprimand.

Swallowing hard, he forced his trembling hands to his sides and fell into step behind her.

[jxtina-86]

Enjoy The Ride

Hidden away from the rest of the world, with only the sun, lake and hills for company, it's the perfect time to switch off and enjoy. DeanAmbrose/Becca. See here for the rest of the series/order to read.

Warning: Hints of smut. Language

Rating: MA

I push open the sliding door slowly, wincing as it squeaks on its rails. Cool air hits my face and I breathe in the freshness as I step out onto the balcony and survey my surroundings. The leaves on the trees whisper in the morning breeze, parting to offer me a breathtaking view of the lake beyond, bathed in a soft yellow glow from the rising sun. I glance back inside at the stairs that lead up to the loft-space where Dean is still fast asleep – I'm half-tempted to wake him, to drag him downstairs, to out here where we can both watch the sun rise. But I remember the tired look in his eye when I picked him up from the airport, the way he only managed a half hour before he fell asleep in the car, snoring for the rest of the journey whilst I quietly sang along to the radio.

He only stirred awake when I pulled off the Interstate three hours later, a dazed expression on his face as he took in our surroundings. His voice was rough from sleep as he shook his head and shifted in his seat, his hand reaching out to squeeze my thigh. And when we pulled up outside the cabin, the first thing he did was lean across the centre console, his fingers pushing a strand of hair behind my ear as he kissed me. It was only late afternoon, plenty of time to explore, walk down to the lake and take in the sunset, but any vague notion of setting foot outside again disappeared the second the front door clicked shut and Dean's hand crept under my shirt.

I snicker to myself as I pull the sliding door shut behind me and settle onto the sun lounger, curling my feet underneath me.  Despite the summer month, the morning air still has a faint chill to it and as the breeze picks up again, I'm grateful for the blanket I snagged from the couch on my way outside which I now wrap loosely around me. I snuggle down deeper, my nose brushing against the neck of Dean's shirt that I just so happened to swipe from the bedroom floor. My heart pounds as his scent surrounds me and I wonder if that feeling will ever go away. I hope it doesn't. Eighteen months is just around the corner and I still get a rush every time I see him, every time he touches me, innocently or otherwise, every time he says my name or smiles at me.

Or when I open our apartment door on Wednesday evenings and find him in the kitchen preparing dinner or lying on the couch, beer in hand with take-out already ordered and on its way. I love being able to walk over and wrap my arms around him, press my cheek to his back or lean over him and kiss him in greeting, grinning as his hand sneaks around the back of my head and holds me to him. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous about moving in with him. I haven't lived with anyone since college and despite the fact that we seem to be spending more time together when he was back in town than apart, we still had the option to have our own space if we needed it.

We'd planned to move into the new apartment when he was back in town. But then my schedule changed and the previously well-devised plans of moving his stuff on one day and mine on the next were shattered. Instead, it became a clunky process of Dean moving his own stuff in and half un-packing before he went back on the road. I arrived back on the Saturday morning and spent the entire weekend surrounded by boxes, completely unsure of where to put anything. It felt strange to go through boxes of his stuff without him there. I felt like I was invading his privacy, despite all the items that I unwrapped being completely familiar from his old apartment. I tentatively arranged our belongings, fretting whether things were in the right place or not, attempting to keep each living space neutral rather than over-load it one way or another.

Yet when I arrived home and found him in the apartment for the first time, I realised I was worrying over nothing. Although I always find it a struggle to concentrate or worry about anything else when Dean's arms are wrapped around me, his mouth on mine, his fingers deftly undoing buttons, zips and bra clasps. The way I had arranged books or put his clothes in the closet seemed irrelevant when he was bending me over the couch, my moans muffled by the cushions as he pressed a chaste kiss to my back before slamming into me hard, causing my legs to shake uncontrollably. And my anxiety had completely disappeared by the time he rolled me onto my side so he could kiss me as he sunk back inside me, slow and steady as he groped at my hip, my breasts, his fingers inevitably slipping between my legs whilst I cupped his sweaty face and held his gaze for as long as possible until my vision went blurry and his eyes squeezed shut and we both came with a shout and a gasp.

The one thing I dreaded was saying goodbye to him every week. Both Lex and Siobhan had warned me about how that was the hardest part for both of them. I thought I was prepared but I was so wrong. The apartment felt empty when I came home that first Friday night, but there were reminders everywhere of Dean. From his dirty laundry in the bathroom, to a pair of sneakers by the closet door. From a handful of mail in his name to his last read book on the couch. He was everywhere, yet I couldn't reach for him. I went to bed and felt cold, missing the extra body warmth that he would usually provide. I missed rolling over in the middle of the night and colliding with his solid frame. I missed waking up beside him, listening to him snore softly, watching him slowly wake and give me that sly, early morning smile he always gives me before he pulls me into his arms and presses his lips to whatever skin of mine that he can find.

And sure, I missed all of that when he wasn't in my apartment. But that felt different, like I knew I couldn't depend on that forever. Yet in a fully shared space? It felt like it should have been the norm and the reality was that it would never be like that. At first, it was frustrating – I was angry with myself for ever imagining that it would be that way, that it would be perfect. But after the first few weeks, it started to feel... Well, normal. It didn't make it any easier, but it felt routine, like this was our sense of normal, of perfection. And let's be honest, it's not like any part of our relationship has been exactly normal in the conventional sense. 

Take the night we all found out about Lex and Roman's impending new arrival. One year into a relationship and two people who have never gotten further than a couple of months with anyone else are suddenly discussing the possibility of a future beyond just having dinner plans and how they'd like to fuck the other person senseless. Or more precisely, having a conversation about the former after just completing the latter in spectacular style. It still makes me giggle how Dean somehow managed to compare a blowjob to a conversation about having a family together. A giggle that slowly turns into disbelief about how he didn't even bat an eyelid at my confession that sometimes, perhaps, maybe, I thought about what we could have together further down the line.

I had never really thought about what I wanted before Dean casually dropped into my life out of nowhere. I was always there for the moment, living in the now, never looking ahead. My career had always been a sticking point in the past. I grew to accept that I was forever meant to spend my life flitting from one guy to another, keeping it casual because I knew that they'd be turned off by the idea of only seeing their girlfriend for a few days a week, even if we were way past just dating. Before I met Dean, I was having some well-deserved me-time. I was bored of the dating scene, exhausted even. I was tired of guys giving it the big talk and then whining a few weeks later when they couldn't see me when they wanted.

Dean was a breath of fresh air. He was relaxed and easy-going, but still exuded confidence in a way that I can only put down to his line of work. Sure, he was cocky and cheeky but it wasn't an act or a charm-offensive – it was just him. He asked me questions and was genuinely interested in my answers; there were no glazed expressions I had come to expect from previous dates. And whilst we took it slowly, inching along an untrodden path, my mind occasionally started to wander to what our destination might be. At first it was wondering if this was love and after that mind-blowing realisation on both our parts, I started to think what was next. What milestone was next on the horizon?

Trust Lex's surprise pregnancy announcement to make us both confess what we wanted. I can remember Lex and Siobhan's faces when I shyly announced that Dean and I were moving in together – there was no surprise, no “are you sure?” It was like everyone else had realised that Dean and I were both headed in that direction before we'd even realised it ourselves. But I decided to keep the rest to myself. The rest being the very abstract possibility of creating a family with Dean. I wasn't ready to publicly admit that we'd discussed that particular gem.

My words to Dean had started out so innocently. An absent-minded comment that turned into so much more the minute the words slipped from my lips. I realised in a fraction of a second how they would sound to him. I wanted to back-track, rewind to moments before when all we were doing was discussing our friends' happy news and leave it at that. I scrambled to correct myself, to make out I meant something else when it was so damn clear that I meant exactly what I said. I stood in that bathroom and I knew I had fucked up. I had destroyed everything we had with one stupid comment.  

What I didn't expect was him to be wrapping his arms around me a few minutes later and telling me that it was okay to think about our future together because he did too. I almost had to pinch myself. I never thought that he'd say those words to me. I have never doubted since the moment he told me that he truly does love me. But I had convinced myself that was it. That's all I needed and deserved. Asking for more was selfish and I was stupid to think that anyone could want anything more than that with me. A small voice in the back of my head was constantly telling me that one day, he'd get fed up like all the others and leave, no matter how much of a good thing we had going on.

How wrong could that little voice be. And I can't even begin to express how grateful I am about that fact.

The sliding door creaks open and I glance over to see a dishevelled Dean blinking in the sunlight. There is something completely adorable about how he looks in the morning – the ruffled hair, the scruffy stubble, the way his muscles ripple as he stretches and yawns before his long fingers chase away an itch on his stomach or shoulder.

He catches my eye as his arms lower. “I thought,” he starts, closing the gap between us, “that we were on vacation.”

“You thought correctly,” I grin as he nears me, raising my hand to shield against the sun so I can still see his face amongst the glare.

“So why are you down here and not back upstairs in bed with me?”

“You were asleep.”

“And?”

“I didn't want to wake you.” I smile softly at the image of him splayed out on the bed, the covers pushed down to his waist. It took all the strength I had to let him sleep and not to push them any further south.

He leans down, fingers brushing across my cheek as his face hovers inches above mine. “You're too good to me.”

“That I am,” I mumble against his lips as he kisses me once, twice, my hand slipping to the back of his neck, making him linger for a moment longer before he pulls back.

“Room for one more?” he gestures at the sun lounger and I nod, moving so that he can sit behind me, his legs stretching out either side of me. His arms wrap around my waist and he pulls me back to him, our fingers tangling as we both attempt to arrange the blanket over us.

I smile contently as I feel his head drop forward, his face in my hair for a brief second before he sighs and leans back again. His hand reaches for mine, tugging it up until his lips brush across my knuckles and a warm shiver runs through me.

“You okay?” he murmurs as he settles his arm around me again, my hand still firmly clasped in his.

“Yeah.”

“You watch the sun rise?”

“Sort of.”

He chuckles. “Distracted?”

I smile to myself. “Maybe.”

“By what?”

I chew my lip for a second. “You.”

“You do wonders for my ego, darlin'.”

“I think your ego does enough for itself,” I shoot back with a giggle as his head rocks forward again and his teeth nip at my earlobe in retaliation.

“She gives with one hand, takes away with the other,” he sighs forlornly, but when I glance up at him, an all too familiar grin is gracing his face. “So, what were these thoughts you were having about me?”

“Don't get any ideas.”

“Me? Ideas? Never.”

I laugh. “I know how that mind of yours works, Mr Ambrose.”

“Mr Ambrose?” he pauses and then I jump slightly as his warm breath hits my ear. “Almost sounds as good as Officer Ambrose.”

I swallow hard, my mind immediately clouding with the memories of that particular evening. Throughout all the late night chats we'd had about my fantasy, we'd never actually discussed when or where. When I opened the door to see Dean standing there decked head to toe in uniform, I almost lost it. Not that I wanted to back out at any point, I was just overwhelmed by his commitment to fulfil my desires. Some guys may have taken advantage of the situation, pushed things further than agreed. Not Dean. He stayed well and truly within the boundaries we had clearly discussed beforehand, as well as being quick to notice any signs of hesitation from me. And not once has he ever tried to introduce what we did that night into our normal antics without a direct request from me.

Dean's fingers slip from mine, reaching to push the hair away from my neck instead. “Another fantasy you got playing on your mind?” he whispers.

I cock my head to the side so I can look up at him. “You're the one who liked the sound of Mr Ambrose. I think it's you that's harbouring a secret fantasy.”

“Such as?”

“You tell me.”

He shakes his head with a smile. “I'm not the one with the over-active imagination. Plus,” he drops his head low, his mouth close to mine. “I enjoy listening to you describe exactly what you want me to do to you.”

“Enjoy is a bit of an understatement.”

His finger trails down my throat, making me shiver as he holds my gaze. “Perhaps.” He inhales slowly as his finger reaches the collar of my shirt. “This mine?”

I nod. “Want it back?”

“Is that an invitation?”

I don't respond. Instead, I sit up and slowly ease myself around until I'm straddling Dean's lap. He holds my gaze steadily, his eyes only flickering south once as I reach for the hem of the shirt and start to drag it upwards.

“Not here,” he mumbles. “Inside.”

“Here.”

“Becca...”

But all words and thoughts of moving are long forgotten as I drop the shirt behind me. He groans softly, his arms winding around me as he pulls me back to him, his mouth desparetely seeking out mine as I slowly rotate my hips and feel him arch beneath me.

His hand cups the back of my head, fingers in my hair as he tries to pull me down into a kiss, but I hold still, taking the time to watch the lust wash over his face, his eyes now unshamedly darting to take in my bare breasts that brush teasingly against his chest. Steadying myself, I reach out to brush my fingers over his forehead, pushing back the messy curls.

“Happy vacation,” I murmur before I let him take over, his responding growl rumbling through my body as he kisses me hard.

**

I pull two beers from the fridge and place them on the counter before starting the hunt for where Dean might have placed the bottle opener. It's the first time I've ventured into the kitchen without him, having previously been banned from the area whilst he cooked dinner. Although that was possibly down to the fact that when we had tried to cook breakfast together, food ended up being the last thing on our minds.

Instead, I was manouvered to the other side of the breakfast bar, out of reach whilst he concentrated on cooking and I pretended to read my book whilst really taking in the sight of his bare back and trying to hold it together everytime he turned to offer me a taste of the spaghetti sauce. All the reasons why we came here have been quickly forgotten, replaced by activities that we could quite happily carry out in our own apartment – eating and sex. Because that's what the entire day has been lost to. Not that I'm complaining. As we laid on the sun lounger this morning, our naked bodies shielded from the rest of the world by the blanket, my stomach started to rumble. We giggled our way back inside, only stopping to re-dress in the essentials before we attacked the kitchen for a breakfast that turned into something far sweeter. Back upstairs, a tug of war with the sheets escalated quickly beginning with Dean pulling me up to straddle his face, taking his time to explore me with his tongue until I collapsed forward over his head to clutch at the sheets. I was in a daze as he pulled me back down his body, one hand gripping my ass as I rode him, the other clutching my wrists behind my back.

We exchanged thoughts on heading outside, but I onl got as far as pulling out fresh panties from my case before Dean's hands were on my hips again and I found myself beging bent over the large desk in the bedroom. Despite the position, it was slow, Dean's hand guiding me back on his dick at a measured pace, his lips on my shoulders as I wound my hips in a teasing circle until we were both panting and clamouring for our release. When we finally made it back downstairs, we promised each other that we would definitely explore our surroundings tomorrow, beyond just fucking on the balcony again.

But the teasing continued throughout dinner, Dean next to me at the breakfast bar, feigning interest in his food whilst his hand crept onto my thigh and threatened to unravel me once more. No matter how many times I shifted in my seat, trying and failing to move away from his long fingers, he was determined to stoke the fire within me. As he pushed his empty plate away, I was expecting him to pull me back upstairs or at least towards the nearest large-enough surface, but instead, he just pressed a chaste kiss to my temple and started to clear away the dishes.

As I started to help, he suddenly smirked, a devious glint in his eye.

“You okay to finish these?”

“Why, where are you going?”

“Upstairs.” His hands brush over my hips as he pulls me to him.

“Again?”

“You'll see.” His fingers slip in the waistband of my panties, snapping the material sharply against my skin. “Bring beer.”

With the bottle opener finally in hand, I make my way up the stairs, peering around the bedroom door first and finding it empty.

“In here.”

As I push open the bathroom door, I can't help the snort of laughter that erupts from me. Dean scowls up at me from the bathtub, which is threatening to over-flow with bubbles. His upper body is completely covered, his hair slick at the tips and starting to curl, his face shiny with sweat. The air is hot and humid, the mirrored walls and high windows starting to mist.

“It's not funny,” he gripes as I close the door behind me, still giggling. “I swear I only put a drop or two of bubble bath in here.”

“Whirlpool bath,” I point out as I offer him one of the beers, watching in amusment as he shakes excess bubbles from his hand to take it. “You're not supposed to use normal bubble bath with them.”

“Well, I know that now,” he frowns.

“It's okay, you look cute in bubbles.”

His frown deepens and I laugh, reaching down to tug my shirt up and over my head. The bath is big enough for two, shaped for one person on either side, but as soon as I step in, he's reaching for me and moving me to sit between his legs, my back against his chest.

“Good job you look cute in them too,” he growls in my ear, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders, his thumbs working slow circles across the base of my neck. My head slowly rocks back against him, my eyes fluttering closed as his hands slide down my arms and tug my hands up out of the water.

He's quiet as he works his fingers through mine, slowly twisting our hands together before drawing them up to kiss my finger tips.

“Thank you for dinner,” I murmur as he laces my hands around the back of his neck and presses soft kisses to my exposed forearms. “I've missed your cooking.”

He scoffs. “You go out to dinner multiple times a week for work, at some of the best restaurants in the country and you miss my cooking?” He presses his mouth to my ear, his voice low and tempting. “You gotta stop it with the compliments, darlin'. My head is getting mighty big.”

“You love it really,” I shoot back. “And anyway, the best restaurants in the world won't let you eat in them in just your shirt and panties. Or let you watch the chef cook topless.”

He chuckles, reaching for his beer and taking a swig before handing it to me. But the second I pass the bottle back and he's set it down, my hand is guided back to behind his neck and he resumes his barely-there kisses along my arms.

“I thought you might drag me back to bed,” I comment after a moment of silence.

“Drag you? I hardly think you need persuading.”

Touche.

“But I figured you might want to take a bath or shower at some point today,” he continues.

“Are you saying that I stink?” I twist my head to look up at him.

He chuckles, his face dipping down to mine. “You smelt of sweat, sex and me, darlin'. And you know damn well that's my favourite combination.”

“So you want me clean so you can start over again?”

“Maybe,” he winks. “Nothing like a fresh canvas...” His fingers trail across my cheek, his thumb pulling my bottom lip down gently before releasing it.

“So does this mean that you'll be keeping your hands to yourself until we're done in here?”

“Now you know I can't make promises like that.” His voice drops an octave, causing a shiver to whisper up my spine. “And you know damn well that if I did make a promise of that nature, you'd make sure I broke it as soon as possible.”

“I would do nothing of the sort.” I mock-scowl, slowly arching my back so that my breasts start to break through the bubbles. I watch with a smirk as he blinks, struggling to keep his gaze up and on my face. “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

“My kind of girl,” he groans, his fingers working their way down my throat, scurrying across my chest to pluck at my exposed nipples before I can sink back into the water again.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I sigh happily as he curls his arms around me and pulls me back to him.

The bubbles softly pop around us as he shifts again to pick up his beer and once again, we share the bottle.

“Roman text me earlier,” he murmurs. “He asked if we could go to Tampa in a few weeks, help out with setting up the nursery. Or rather, I think he wants you and Shiv to get Lex out the house so that she doesn't try to help.”

“I though the last time you three put together furniture, it ended in disaster?”

“Hey, that wardrobe of theirs is still standing thanks to mine and Seth's careful construction.”

I peer up at him. “That's not how Lex tells that story.”

“It's not how Roman tells it either, but it's the truth.” He chuckles. “Anyway, he couldn't give a shit – all he wanted was for us to get out the house as soon as possible.”

“I wonder why,” I grin. “I'm sure if we had moved into the apartment at the same time, nothing would have been unpacked in your presence.”

“I don't know what you mean.” But his lips are twitching as he raises the beer bottle. He swallows and wipes his mouth.

“Innocent doesn't suit you.”

“Funny,” he breathes. “It doesn't suit you either.”

“Isn't that why you love me?” I look up at him.

“One of the reasons.”

His eyes are soft at the edges as he stares down at me, all joking pushed aside. His hands caress my stomach under the water, his fingers splaying out across the soft flesh and I feel dizzy as I remember what we once talked about in another bathroom months ago. My tongue darts out to wet my lips, but I don't know what to say, unformed words catching in my throat as Dean ducks his head down and his nose brushes against mine.

“Hey,” he whispers against my cheek. “You okay?”

I nod slowly, still trying to think of how to respond to his words, his actions. “It is easier.”

He gives me a puzzled look. “What is?”

“Thinking about us. Now that we live together, I mean.”

His eyebrows slowly rise in realisation. “Okay.”

“I... I just thought I should tell you that.”

He nods. “Is that what you were thinking about this morning?”

“How–”

“I told you before, I can tell when you're thinking about whether or not to tell me something.” He kisses my cheek. “It's okay to tell me things like this, Becca.”

“I know. I just...” I try to find the right words. “I just feel a bit lost sometimes. And you seem so sure of what we have.”

“Aren't you sure of it?”

“That's not what I mean,” I struggle to correct myself. “What I mean is that you never seem worried or anxious about where we're going or what we're doing.”

He shrugs. “Sometimes you just gotta sit back and enjoy the ride and not worry about those things.”

“But don't you worry about those things?”

“Sure,” he concedes. “Sometimes. But not at this moment.” He takes in my frown. “Darlin', I think it's great that moving in together makes it easier for you think about what's in store for us later down the line. But right now, I reckon we should just enjoy it. Moving in together was in no way supposed to pressure you into thinking that I wanted to move any faster than we already were. I am more than happy to continue at this speed and all I want is just to spend more time with you where possible.”

“I'm sorry.”

“What for?”

“Over-thinking.”

“No need to apologise for that,” he tells me with a shake of his head. “Hell, there are times were I do exactly the same. But I'm just saying that maybe we should enjoy tonight and tomorrow before we have to re-join the real world.”

“Okay,” I agree. “I'm still sorry though.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah and why's that?”

“Ruining the mood.”

“That's easily rectified.”

“How so?”

He doesn't reply, not out loud anyway. His lips crash against mine, bubbles floating through the air as he twists me in his arms and then backs me back against the edge of the bath, raising me up until I'm pressed against the wall instead. Gazing down at him, I watch as his eyes travel south, wet hands following as he parts my legs and slowly starts to kiss away the bubbles.

**

Dean's arm wraps around my shoulders, his lips brushing against the side of my head as we make our way down the dark path towards the lake. It's late but neither of us care about that or the early start we have tomorrow to get back to the airport so that Dean can fly out to the next house show and I can go back home for the rest of the weekend.

Despite the decision to leave the condo at some point, our plans were only midly threatened with long, never-ending kisses followed by Dean pulling me back into bed every time I attempted to leave. It was almost mid-morning by the time we stepped outside, but it was worth it to climb high above the complex and take in the lake and surrounding area. Determined not to let our over-active sex drives get in the way, we headed out for lunch, followed by a walk around the small harbour before we finally headed back to the condo.

And then I had the wise idea of going back out for dinner rather than cooking. A decision which I regretted the second we sat down in the resturant and Dean's fingers trailed up my thigh under the table. Situated in a corner booth and away from prying eyes, his hand steadily pulled my maxi skirt higher until his fingers could brush over my bare skin, his face neutral as he watched me stammer out my order to the waiter.

“You're going to pay for what happened back there,” I tell Dean, not for the first time this evening.

He snickers. “It was worth it.”

“You're a bad man, Mr Ambrose.”

“There you go with the Mr Ambrose again. Are you sure you're not the one with the fantasy?” he ducks away with a laugh as I take a failed swipe at this head. He turns to face me, walking backwards, the shingle of the lake beach crunching under foot. “And anyway, isn't me being bad why you love me?”

“One of the reasons,” I mimic his response yesterday and he offers me a small smile in the darkness.

“Anyway, I would say you're the bad one right now. Luring me down to the lake late at night. I mean,” he pauses, waiting for me to close the gap between us. “What kind of man do you take me for?” His arms wrap around my waist, his fingers plucking at the hem of my shirt. He leans down, his face inches from mine. “Late night trips to a lake only mean one thing in my book,” he murmurs.

“Yeah and what's that?” I lace my hands behind his neck, holding him to me as his hands finally find their way under my shirt and spread across my lower back.

“Skinny dipping.”

“Dean!”

“What?” he grins. “Fine, what was your reason for dragging me down here?”

“There wasn't one.”

“Liar.”

“And 'dragging you down here?' Like the way you 'drag me to bed?'”

“Oh, so you do admit that you don't much persuading after all?” he chuckles. “I knew it.”

I pout stubbornly. “Can't a girl go on a romantic late night walk by a lake with her boyfriend?”

“Sure. But since when did we do romance of the conventional sense?”

“I would say this trip was straight out of the romantic's playbook.”

“Perhaps. But don't tell anyone,” he stage-whispers with a furtive look around. “It'll ruin my image.”

I pinch the back of his neck and he hisses. “That bad boy act has never had me fooled. You're a sap through and through.”

“Only for you.”

The water laps at the shore as I pull him to me, my lips meeting his in a slow, yet passionate kiss. His hands run up my back and he growls into my mouth when he realises I'm not wearing a bra.

“Let's go back,” he murmurs against my lips as we draw back for breath, but I shake my head. “Becca... C'mon...” His hand reaches for mine, turning back towards the path, but I pull him back.

“No.”

“Darlin',” he groans, his arms circling me once agin. “All I wanna do is take you back to the condo and fuck you till you scream.” He lowers his voice. “That bad boy enough for you?”

“You could do better.”

“Oh, really?”

I nod behind me at the lake with a sly smile and watch as his eyes widen. 

“Becca, I was kidding.”

“I'm not.” I pull back from him, turning away and heading towards the lake. Pausing at a bench near the shoreline, I kick off my shoes and start to unzip my skirt. Turning back to face Dean, who is still frozen in place, I let the skirt fall to the ground before crossing my arms and pulling my shirt up over my head as well. It's too dark to see his face, but as I turn back to face the water, I grin as I hear a muttered 'fuck' followed by the crunch of pebbles.

“If we get caught–”

“What happened to living in the moment?” I remind him as I take a step back towards the water.

“Becca–”

“Whose over-thinking now?”

He groans as he unbuckles his jeans and then: “Hey, that's cheating.”

“What is?”

He steps towards me, his fingers reaching out to pluck at my panties. “These aren't allowed.”

“Then neither are these,” I do the same to him, but I freeze when all I feel is bare skin.

“One step ahead of you,” he chuckles. He snaps the waistband of my panties against my hip. “Get rid of these. Now.”

“For someone who was just worrying about getting caught, you sure are a stickler for the rules,” I grumble as I remove my panties and throw them towards the bench with the rest of our clothes.

“If you're gonna do it, might as well do it right,” he murmurs, closing the gap between us and slowly manouvering me back into the water.

But I dart out of his grip, splashing water back at him as I make my own way further into the water. I glance over my shoulder, laughing as I see him wading furiously towards me, jumping into the dark depths as he catches up with me. His hands grope at my waist, my legs, my arms, but I squirm out of reach, my laugher echoing around in the darkness as I watch the water ripple violently as he dives under water.

And then I'm being pulled down, drawing in a deep breath of air before the water covers me and Dean's mouth latches onto mine. My hands lock around his neck as he cocoons me in his arms, our legs kicking lazily as we fight our way back to the surface, gasping for air before our mouths crash together again.

“You okay?” he mumbles against my lips, his hands moving to push wet hair back from my face.

I nod.

“Cold?”

I shake my head. Sure, I can feel goosebumps rising on my skin, but it's not from the water.

No, it's the way he's looking at me that makes me shiver. The way lust and love covers his face in equal measure, the way his concern for my happiness, my well-being is just as important as the way he makes me scream and beg for more in the most sinful ways possible. It's the way his hand cups the back of my head as we continue to float in the water and his mouth meets mine with renewed fever. It's the way he growls my name as I nip at his bottom lip and then dip down to bite and suck at his neck as he fists my hair with one hand and grabs my bare ass with the other.

“I love you.” His voice is a rough whisper that tears through the air loud and clear as he hooks my legs around his waist. His forehead presses against mine as he steadies himself, his feet finding purchase on the lake floor.

I clutch the back of his head, my fingers working their way through the wet curls of hair as I feel my heart pound and my response threatens to stick in my throat. “I love you too,” I eventually gasp as he slowly eases me up and down.

“Don't think,” he murmurs against my throat before he pulls back, a familiar glint in his eye that makes my stomach flip. “Just enjoy the ride.”

Fin x

[andtheyreonfire]

ev'ry mem'ry i'll keep - 2

2 - that i could die

ao3 Part 1

Wc - 5481

AN: Happy hug a tiny day! Idk why I'm mentioning this. No one gets hugged in this chapter. Kind of the opposite tbh

~

Sumire was captured, Amamiya tells Goro, looming over him like the sword of Damocles.

Goro remembers the stadium, the palace, Maruki gazing at them with an expression of pure pity. He grits his teeth, forces himself to stop shaking where he’s cornered in the subway alley. He asks the giant what happened after, how badly they lost.

An ultimatum, Maruki gave them. Spend winter break watching Amamiya’s friends in pure, artificial bliss. Tell him, in a week, how they’d like to see that happiness shatter.

And, of course, Goro's situation. Amamiya recounts Goro going unconscious next to him, some muttered comment from Maruki about “forgetting a wish.” He recounts Maruki disappearing, just as Goro's newfound curse was bestowed upon him. He recounts walking out of Maruki's palace, the tiny form of a serial killer in his hands.

A wish. That was lead to this, hm? Goro having to clutch his ears every time a train enters the station; having to crane his neck back just to see a glimpse of Amamiya's eyes; having to steady himself every time Amamiya moves, because even the slightest shift jostles Goro like an earthquake. Being powerless, completely at the world’s—at Amamiya's mercy. All because of a single, fucking wish.

Amamiya’s voices faces into a dull roar. Goro’s hands ball into fists. If he thinks Goro will sit there and be a good little instrument to their savior complexes, he's dead fucking wrong.

Goro will make sure of that.

~

Akechi Goro stumbles off Ren’s palm, knees slamming against the wood of his desk.

Ren winces, hand twitching forward him—but, no, he's the reason Akechi flung himself off so quickly, isn’t it? Akechi doesn’t seem to mind the bruises. His tiny arms brace under him, and he blows a microscopic—to Ren, anyways—strand of hair out of his eyes. In one fluid motion, he stands, shuffling back so Ren’s completely in his vision.

Akechi cranes his head back, and Ren schools his face into something resembling indifference. It’s still—a lot, to see Akechi look up at him with visible fear.

Ren hunches down, trying to put himself near Akechi's eye-level. All it succeeds in making the boy jerk back like he’s been burned.

Ren opens his mouth. Nothing slips out. Akechi only looks at him, impossibly tiny eyes narrowed in distrust. Not even a comment about catching flies escapes him. It’s too quiet, without his stream of comments.

Ren sighs. He stands, ignoring the violent flinch Akechi gives at the motion, and walks over to his shelf of nick-nacks. He calls over his shoulder, “What do you want to sleep on?”

A beat passes. Two. Ren looks back towards the desk. When their eyes meet, Akechi calls out, “I don’t care.”

Ren bites his lip. He doesn’t know the right thing to say, or what would stop Akechi from looking at him like Ren’s some kind of predator. And yet, it’s still easier to fil the silence. “In the event this doesn’t wear off, we should probably set something up.”

Akechi's eyes harden. “In the event this doesn’t wear off, sleeping arrangements are the last fucking thing I care about, Joker.”

Ren’s fingers drum against his shelf. “Alright,” he says. “Hang tight for a minute, I'll be right back.”

Ren hears a huff behind him, almost lost to the wind. Akechi's still there when he returns from the bathroom, carrying the fluffiest washcloth LeBlanc owns. It’s just—odd, for Akechi to be stagnant, to do nothing but stare. Ren expected him to be halfway off his desk, sliding down a makeshift rope, by the time he came back.

Akechi only watches him, watches as Ren dumps some bracelet from a shallow box. Watches as he rummages around for a blanket and pads it inside. Watches as he sets it down on the desk, inches away —but what must feel like the length of a room—and folds a makeshift pillow, laying the washcloth flat. For lack of a finisher, Ren gives a pair of jazz hands.

Akechi flinches away from the movement, and jolts like he’s been electrocuted when Ren’s phone—resting on the edge of the desk—vibrates.

“Shit—sorry.” It’s Ryuji, tone weirdly—artificially—fake as he offers Ren an invite to hang out with his track team. Guess Ren’s found a target to try to break through to, but...

“I need to get my friends back,” Ren says. Akechi's gaze snaps up from where he’d been considering the box. “I don’t know if...No, what do you want to do?”

He expects Akechi to put his foot down and take the reins that Ren’s giving him, as he’s always, always done. Akechi only gives a brittle smile, and his voice turns sour. “It’s up to you, is it not? Whatever’s in your best judgement, Joker.”

Ren sits down, not particularly feeling like crouching. His floor’s too hard for him to kneel comfortably on. Maybe it would’ve been easier for Maruki to have shrunk them both. “I want to hear your opinion, too. I'm not the deciding factor in this scenario. We’re still a team.”

“Are we? Are we really?” Akechi backs up further, his steps barely putting a few inches between them. He bares his teeth in a grin. “Excuse me for not seeing the level playing field here, Joker. Or did you forget which one of us is the size of the other’s finger?”

“Just because you’re—“ He gestures at Akechi's reduced scale. The boy’s sneer sharpens into a snarl. Ren can’t find the energy to do more than sigh. “It doesn’t mean your autonomy’s been thrown out the window.”

Ren thinks he can see Akechi's hands fist at his sides—it’s, admittedly, a little hard to tell. Akechi licks his lips. “So, if I wanted to walk out of LeBlanc right now, find my way through the streets of Tokyo on my own, you would let me?”

He winces. “I...don’t know if that would be the best idea—“

Akechi raises a hand, cutting him off with a laugh. “And there you have it. Don’t fucking lie to me next time, Joker. You’re better than that.”

Of all the things to respond to, that’s the easiest. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

Akechi doesn’t answer him, hands moving to untie his scarf. His movements are jerky, at least one eye still trained on Ren. Ren leans back, exhaustion washing over him like a cold shower, and mutters a warning before standing up and leaving for the bathroom to change.

He’s messed up—he knows that. This situation is messed up, but he needs some sleep before he can begin to unravel his thoughts. He’s tired. They both are.

When he comes back, Akechi's already sitting in the makeshift bed, curled into the corner with his back facing the wall. His tiny hands clutch his knees. He flinches, just like he always does, when Ren approaches.

This time, Ren kneels.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs, “We’ll talk about this more in the morning. I just...” Don’t want to lose you again. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Akechi shakes his head. He seems to subconsciously huddle into the fabric, as if shielding himself from the world. Ren’s heart tightens. “What did I tell you about lying to me, Joker?”

His eyes drop to his knees, and that’s the end of that. Ren’s brow crinkles, but he stands, turning off the light and draping the covers over himself. Even with exhaustion clouding his thoughts, he finds it difficult to fall asleep.

For once, the blare of Tokyo is silent, absent of even the sounds of another body. Akechi’s breathing is too tiny for him to hear. Unlike with sleepovers with his friends, he can’t tell if the other party is unconscious. There’s nothing to fill Ren’s ears.

It’s awhile before Ren drifts off, but when as does, he wonders if Akechi’s still capable of dreaming.

~

Ren pulls himself out of bed to meet a pair of tiny, narrowed eyes, scrutinizing him from his desk.

He blinks. The memories of yesterday flood back to him—trying to get through to Makoto, Akechi finally waking up, watching the boy flinch every time Ren so much as breathed. Akechi didn’t run, which is great, because the thought of him trying to brave Tokyo's foot traffic makes Ren’s stomach churn. Hell, Ren doubts the boy would even end up a smear—

“Are you going to keep staring at me all fucking morning?” Akechi snaps, voice barely reaching Ren’s ears.

Ren reaches for his glasses, if only to prevent Akechi from noticing the next time he spaces out. Although, it’d be...fairer, in a sense, to take his mask off. Akechi never thought of his gaze as intense, right?

He stands up, stretches his back, and caches the perfect glimpse of Akechi flinching away from him, as far back as his make-shift bed would allow. His expression oozes with fear. Ren schools a grimace, and slides his glasses on in one fluid motion.

He crouches next to the desk. Akechi's neck probably hurts from staring up at—god, Ren’s probably the equivalent of a skyscraper to him, isn’t he? He’s so small. Ren hesitates, and Akechi growls, “What?”

Is this real? Ren doesn’t say. Is your reaction? Do you hate me? Ren doesn’t say. I'm sorry. Ren doesn’t say.

Instead, he murmurs, “We need to talk.”

Akechi bears his teeth, like a Pomeranian attempting to be territorial. “About what?”

“A battle plan,” he says, in lieu of something Akechi'd scoff at. “Maruki gave us a week.”

Akechi mutters something under his breath, voice too quiet for Ren to make out anything but a mocking tone. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is a public restaurant. There are people here.”

“I'll deal with them.”

Akechi stares at him. His body is still, but tense, like a bird poised to flight. Ren’s not stupid enough to think he wouldn’t run the second he could.

Akechi was the best at acting, out of all of them. He wonders where his masks have gone, now.

Ren counts the seconds in his head. After 20, Akechi says, “Fine.”

It takes him longer to climb onto his hand, and even longer to slide into the breast pocket of Ren’s shirt.

Ren keeps his steps steady as he descends the stairs, one hand clinging to the rail like a lifeline. He can’t help but watch his feet, wish for the lithe grace of Joker to carry through. He almost runs straight into Morgana, his too-blue, human eyes sparkling. He blinks when their eyes meet.

“Futaba missed you last night,” Morgana purrs. Ren schools a wince. It’s like looking at the mid-way point between a shadow’s human form and transformation. Ren keeps having to slide his eyes off him, wanting to look but struck by a visceral wrongness every time he does.

And yet—this was still his wish. Tall; broad; handsome; with opposable thumbs, and a rich baritone instead of a meow. To stand on eye-level with the rest of the Thieves, to be every bit the human they didn’t care he wasn’t.

He’ll buy Morgana so much fatty tuna once this is over.

But, first— “I think Haru's been missing your presence,” Ren says.

The-thing-that’s-kind-of-Morgana perks up. “Oh?”

“Yeah. You were the first one she knew. I know she’s been spending a lot of time with her dad—“ Ren steps forward to hide the violent flinch from his pocket. “—But she probably misses you, too.”

“Yeah, you’re right! I should hang out with her. Ren, you should—“

“What about a sleepover?” Ren searches for a mask. Joker? No. Wingman? Uh. Helpful, logical friend, who only wants what’s best for his other friends? It’s something. “Winter break’s almost over. Why don’t you take the week to stay at her place?”

“I mean,” Morgana responds, uncharacteristically hesitant, ”I wouldn’t want to impose...”

“I think she liked your help with gardening more than she liked mine.” He yawns, stretches, switches masks as he assesses the former cat before him. “‘Sides, it’s winter break, there's so much time. A guy needs his privacy, y’know?”

“Gross.” Morgana wrinkles his nose, but it seems to do the job. “Alright. I'll talk to her about it. No funny business while I’m gone, lil’ bro, alright?”

Ren stifles another grimace. “Aye, aye.”

Morgana pads out, the door jingling behind him. Soiro, thankfully, is an easier job. All it takes is putting on an apron, a wistful mention of Futaba and her mother, before he’s out the door, his keys in Ren’s hand.

There’s no customers. Ren flicks off the stove, the TV, and the kettle. Subconsciously, his free hand drifts to his pocket, over the tiny, curled form against his chest, moving—

Moving?

Moving. Vibrating, really, against his fingers. It’s a small action, repetitive, existing even as Akechi stays still. It gains in intensity as Ren’s hand stays.

Akechi’s trembling.

Ren snaps his hand away like it’s been burned.

After flipping the sign to ‘closed’, shuttering the blinds, and locking the door, Ren bites his lip. His hand hovers over the pocket. He’d let Akechi climb out on his own—but, with what? It’s faster to bite the bullet. Ren approaches the counter.

“Brace yourself,” he mutters, before plunging in and sliding his fingers around Akechi's form. Akechi goes rigid in his grasp.

Slowly, he sets him down on the counter. He tries to put Akechi’s feet under him, but he stumbles to his knees the second Ren’s hand leaves. Ren winces, hand twitching forward to help him up, but stops when Akechi shoots him a withering glare.

He takes his own seat, adjacent to Akechi, leaving him the long, wooden expanse of nowhere to run.

“I'm not going to hurt you.” Ren exhales through his nose. He’s starting this, if Akechi's unwavering glower is any indicator. “I just want to fix this, please.”

A beat. Two. Akechi's glare burns more intense. Eventually, he grounds out, “Why should I believe you?”

”We’re trapped in this together. You’re the only ally I have right now. I—“ Ren’s brow furrows. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Akechi scoffs a laugh. “Try again. Why the fuck should I believe you?”

Ren’s fingers clench around his seat. He stuffs his building frustration in the same place he shoves his doubts on the front line, leading a group of high schoolers to the one of the most dangerous jobs in the world. “I want to help you.”

“Of course you do.”

Ren waits for more. Akechi picks at the skin around his nails, his glare never leaving Ren. When his gaze slides towards the near-microscopic digits, they still. Ren feels like he’s having this conversation halfway underwater, “What does that mean?”

Akechi stares at him in disbelief. “Are you really too much of a coward to even admit it?”

Going a million miles at once, and absolutely nowhere. “Goro, please.”

“Don’t fucking—! Maruki granted everyone’s pipe-dreams.” He grounds the words out, as if speaking to a toddler. “He could defy reality, the very laws of nature to do so. Everyone’s dreams, Joker.”

Ren finally picks up the damn cue. His stomach drops.

He rasps, “Are you saying my wish was to shrink you?”

“Don’t deny you wouldn’t like it.” Akechi prowls forward, eyes absolutely livid. His four-inch tall form seems to shake with either anger or fear—no, both. “Me, tiny and helpless in the palm of your hand. You could do anything you wanted. No one’s watching us, correct? No one cares, if you keep me as a pet, or take out the trash, or use me as some kind of—“

“Akechi.” Ren interrupts him, stomach churning. “Do you really think so little of me?”

Akechi looks away, silent. His body trembles as it did in Ren’s pocket.

He takes in the terrified, livid form in front of him, starting to curl in on himself. Before Ren can think twice, he stands up—ignoring Akechi's flinch—and runs up the stairs.

He returns with a tiny, thin piece of metal. One end wicked-sharp, the other dull and smooth. It's about half the length of Ren’s thumb. He was lucky to find it, almost tempted to use a shard of glass before he looked in his forgotten pile of infiltration-tool failures. He holds it out to Akechi, who stares at it with unrestrained suspicion.

“If you ride on my shoulder, under my collar,” Ren blurts out, “You’ll have the perfect access to my vital veins. You’ll be hidden, too.”

Akechi continues to stare.

“If you feel like I'm about to do something to you, take this and kill me before I can get the chance.”

It takes 10 seconds, this time, before Akechi wraps his hands around the makeshift weapon. He scurries back the second he’s done, away from Ren’s hand. He strains to hear Akechi's mutter. “I'd hardly be able to kill you without getting killed, myself.”

Ren forces a grin. “Well, I don’t think Iwai sells tiny guns. You can’t shoot me in the head, again. You’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

Akechi looks away, running his hands over the piece of metal. Ren begins, “Akechi, I don’t know how to convince you that this isn’t my wish. I just want to figure out what’s going on and fix it—But, to do that, I'll need your help. You’re my only ally. You’re smarter than me, your deduction skills are unparalleled, and you know the Metaverse far better than I do. You were a star detective. I need you.”

“My work was largely fabricated,” Akechi points out. He shines a little at the praise, either way.

“The second this is over, we never have to see each other again. I don’t want you to live like this.” Ren hunches down, keeping his distance from Akechi, but contorting his body so he's eye level. “Can you help me?”

Akechi runs his fingers over the point of the weapon. He stares at it, at his hands, at Ren.

His gaze hardens. He holds the weapon at his side, and nods. “Fine. deal.”

Ren bites back a grin, and the inane, instinctual urge to hold out his hand to shake.

~

Ren had just finished talking with Makoto when Akechi awoke, he tells him. Akechi hesitantly perches on his shoulder as he leaves, Ryuji decided as their next target. Ren removes his scarf so he has room to hide under his collar. He prays Akechi doesn’t decide to stab him on a whim, and sets off.

They do Ann next, then Morgana, then Yusuke.

Morgana takes a little more convincing, both for his memories to shine through, and to convince him to stay at Haru’s for as long as possible. After Yusuke, he treats Goro and him to oden. He bought Goro his own, separate bowl, and offered to help him, so he didn’t have to struggle with picking up his chopsticks. Goro looked sick at the idea. It wasn’t until Ren turned away from him, keeping his eyes trained on his phone, that he heard the boy begin to eat.

Reluctantly, Akechi teaches him how to comb government databases. Ren’s learned a few tricks from Futaba, which means he doesn’t need to go breaking into Akechi’s apartment just to access his computer. The police database is theirs, too. He manages to find Maruki’s past, his research, and his failings. Most of which he already knew, but Akechi’s questions leave Ren with a half-dozen floating around in his own head.

They also discover that, by all accounts, Okumura and Wakaba are completely alive. This and then some is why they save the conversation with their children until the end.

Wakaba is every bit the person Ren imagined her as, and Goro shudders against Ren’s neck every time she speaks. Akechi clams up when their group walks away, remaining silent and stiff for the rest of the night. It hurts, to see Futaba fighting against giving up her own happiness, to have to move on once again. Ren can’t help but feel sympathy for Wakaba’s murderer, having to process the blood re-appearing on his hands.

Today’s target was their last: Haru.

Ren thinks it went well.

Ren’s greatest skill is lying to himself, and it certainly hasn’t failed him yet.

~

Ren winces as Goro, again, slides off his hand like he’s been burned.

But it’s—progress, in a way, how Goro doesn’t immediately back himself into a corner. It might be their negotiation, or the aftermath of the week they’ve spent together, or a sign that Goro's becoming less terrified.

Goro flinches when Ren sits at his desk, his hands spasming from where they were untying his scarf, and that hope is thrown out the window and right in front the oncoming train that is this situation.

Ren turns away. It feels weird to talk about Haru, but even stranger to deflect and pretend that he didn’t just show a murderer the still-breathing corpse of their victim—Hey, Ryuji isn’t here, someone’s gotta be blunt. For lack of anything to distract himself, Ren drums his fingers against the wood of his desk.

He realizes his mistake when he looks back to see Goro frozen, watching Ren’s fingers—inches away from him—like they’re made of the same dynamite in a Showtime attack.

Ren pauses. “Sorry. I—forgot you’re still getting used to things.”

Goro’s face settles into a sneer. “Oh, forgive me for not using the adjustment period that you’ve so graciously blessed me with.”

Ren blinks. Okay—he deserves that. He leans in, only to freeze when Goro backs up a few steps. Ren sighs, and asks, voice low, “What can I do to make things easier?”

Goro’s hands tighten from where they’re wrapped around his sides. “Stay at least 50 yards away from me—you’re awfully good at distance, aren’t you, Joker?”

Ren takes a breath. Don’t rise to his bullshit—it’d be a distraction, at least, to ask him what the hell he meant by that, but no shut up—and keep calm. Ren wills his voice to stay level. “I'm sorry, you’re stuck with me until we fix this. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, at least?”

Goro snarls up at him, “For as self-centered as you are, I would’ve thought you’d take the goddamn bait.”

Ren’s fists clench in his lap. “What bait?”

Goro throws his arms up. If he were normal-sized, the action might’ve been wild enough to clock Ren in the face. Ren can see the slightest tremble in his hands. “No, you know what? Use your fucking brain, Joker. Stop lying to me.”

Ren sighs, taking the silence Goro offers him as the smaller boy picks at his nails. He’s tired—something about the artificial sunlight, about seeing his friends so happy, of facing a terrified face every time he checks his shoulder is getting to him—

And that’s it, isn’t it? This isn’t about their day, or Okumura, or even Maruki. Goro spat out the word bait like it was—

Personal.

Ren looks at Goro, at a frame barely the size of his finger, and shoves away his frustration to murmur, “I'm not going to take advantage of this, Akechi.”

Goro cranes his head higher, fists clenching at his sides. He seems to grasp at whatever regal composure remains. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

“Akechi—“

“No, tell me exactly what’s stopping you.” His eyes are burning, body tensed, taut like a drawn bow. It’s painfully easy to imagine how he would snap the second Ren tries to approach. “I don’t want to play this game anymore, Joker. Stop lying to me.”

Ren stays still, makes his voice level, keeps his hands secured in his lap. “I'm not lying to you. I'm benefitting from this as much as you are.”

“Bullshit!” Goro snarls, stumbling back a few steps. There’s the black mask, the traces of Loki hovering behind him. “You know what this is, don’t you? Don’t say things like that with a straight fucking face! You know how this world works as much as I. Tell me—“

Goro unsheathes his weapon, pointing the tiny piece of metal at Ren. The fire in his eyes is on full display, the heat of a distant supernova. He growls more than speaks, “Tell me what you fucking want from me!”

He doesn’t even fill a fraction of Ren’s desk.

“I want you to co-operate with me.” Ren steels his voice. Maybe that’ll make things easier, for one of them. He’s so tired. “I've said this already. I want to fix things, with you. I don’t want to see you—I don’t know, dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Why me?” His teeth are still bared, as if they were even capable of breaking flesh. With how violently his makeshift weapon shakes in his grip, he doesn’t think that would fare any better. “After all the things I've done to you, why the hell would you waste a single tear over my well-being?”

“Because I don’t want you to go through that,” Ren pleads.

“Aren’t you a harbinger of justice?” He’s grasping at straws, even if he doesn’t realize it. The best actor out of all of them, but hardly the most composed. “Believer in a grand world where everyone gets their just desserts? You’re a noble Phantom thief, a hero. I—I don’t see how you could possibly ignore the monster before y—“

Ren closes his eyes, bites the bullet, and cuts Goro off with a soft, “I wanted to kill Kamoshida.”

Goro makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, the disposal of whatever he was going to say. Ren creaks an eye open to see him staring back with tiny, wide eyes. He doesn’t open his mouth, so Ren continues, “He was a piece of shit. He hurt Ryuji, Ann, Shiho. We found Morgana trapped in the dungeon of his palace. He made people’s lives a living hell.”

Ren smiles, an echo of the mask he wore when he awoken Arsène. He mutters, staring at nothing, “I wanted to kill him.

“But it wasn’t my choice to make, so we changed his heart. Now, thanks to us, he’ll suffer for the rest of his life under the weight of his guilt. Every day he’ll wake up in agony and every night his deeds will haunt him until he falls asleep. Heroic, isn’t it?”

Goro doesn’t interject, so Ren continues. “You never asked me if I cared. You asked if I thought we were just, and I said yes. You never defined your terms.”

Ren takes a breath. Something wiggles past the depths of his heart, slips past his lips. “I never said I didn’t want our targets to suffer.”

A beat passes. Two. Goro asks, voice barely drifting to Ren’s ears, “How does that make you any better than me, in your eyes?”

Ren shakes his head. “It doesn’t.” A brittle smiles splits his lips. “There was just—nothing stopping you, from pulling the trigger. I got lucky.”

“...And why didn’t you? Pull it, I mean.” Goro shifts, interest replacing the heat in his eyes. If he wasn’t so obviously apprehensive, he might’ve taken a step closer. “When it came down to it, why didn’t you finish the job? Kamoshida was yours.”

“It wasn’t my choice to make.”

Ren slides off his chair and shifts into a crouch, back against his desk and head resting on the surface. He looks straight up at his ceiling, deciding to ignore Goro's presence beside him. He can’t see Goro's tiny, fearful eyes like this. It's an adequate bonus.

Ren continues, “Ann was the deciding factor, but everyone was on board with just changing his heart. I’m their leader, not their dictator. You’re the first person I've met who wanted—planned for the person who wronged you to die.”

Ren can hear the mirth in Akechi's voice, even with how quiet it is. “You’ve met him. I don’t think I was entirely in the wrong.”

“No,” Ren whispers. “You weren’t.”

It’s painfully calm, in Maruki's reality. Any other time, the streets would be filled with the blaring of horns, with shouting, with the rush and chaos of Tokyo nighttime. There’s nothing to fill the air between them but the hum of Ren’s heater. It’s far from enough to drown out Ren’s thoughts.

When Goro speaks, his voice is closer, as if he decided to take a few steps forward to the boy twenty times his size. “So, underneath that honest, pure-hearted exterior, you’re just as rotten as me. Is that right?”

“Did you expect me to be better?” Ren asks.

Goro huffs a mirthless laugh. He shuffles, and a flash of tan appears at the corner of Ren’s vision. “I guess not. So, then, do you think I deserve to suffer as much as the people I've wronged?”

Ren closes his eyes. Honesty’s worked so far, so he snaps the bullet between his teeth. “In my opinion, you deserve to suffer far more. More than I could give you, whether you were willing or not.”

There’s the faint, small sound of shoes against wood. Ren allows Goro a second to catch his balance, before he asks, “Were you willing, Akechi?”

Goro's voice is steel. He’s lived with his crimes longer than Ren’s even been aware of them. He knows his answer. “I was.”

“And there you have it.” Ren opens his eyes, but keeps them trained on the ceiling. “Whatever your circumstance, it doesn’t change what you’ve done.”

Even after everything, the air is, somehow, more bearable. Ren resists the urge to jolt when Goro walks completely into his line of vision. He asks, a tiny eyebrow raised, “So, why aren’t we having a conversation with me in a jar? Why aren’t I a smear on the pavement, if my just desserts are long overdue?”

“Because, that’s...that’s not for me to decide. That’s Haru's decision, and Futaba's, and yours’.” Ren gives a strained smile. “We only ever responded to explicit requests, y’know.”

Hesitantly, Goro steps forward. “Even so, there’s...no one here but us. No one’s been present to stop you since I shrunk.”

“You’re right.”

When Ren doesn’t continue, Goro huffs a laugh. “So?”

Ren takes a breath. Slowly, he swings his gaze over to Akechi. The boys stands—more than close enough to touch. It’s...

It’s the face of when Goro was recognized on their first meeting. It’s the face of Futaba as she stares into a crowd, of Ryuji after their confrontation with the track team, of Haru every time she recalled how her company’s treated her. It’s the face of a kid—of a boy that didn’t deserve anything that happened to him—staring into the darkness of their closet and trying to be brave.

“You killed dozens. You hurt countless individuals. You hurt my friends, but...” Ren’s eyes crinkle. “You were my friend, too. If things had been different, you could’ve been one of us. The game was rigged from the start.”

Goro's hands flex at his sides, minuscule skin twitching. Eventually, he rasps, “I tried to kill you, too.”

Ren can feel the bags under his eyes deepen. He tilts his head up towards the ceiling. “Yeah. You did. So listen to me when I say I don’t want to see you hurt, alright?”

Ren knows he is fucked up. He can’t put a name to all the complexes he’s seen this year, but he knows one of them is dampening his feelings towards Goro. Ren’s tired, he’s a dead man walking, but the idea of doing anything to the tiny, fragile form of the boy who killed him sends nausea shooting up his throat.

Goro gives something that could be a nod—it’s hard to tell, with him still barely in the corner of his vision. Ren doesn’t hear him move until a head of chestnut-brown hair appears next to him, and a tiny, warm weight rests against his temple.

Is he—sitting against Ren? He doesn’t dare shift to check, not when Goro's slowly relaxing against him, not when it’s the closest he’s willingly, freely been since he woke up in Ren’s palms.

They sit there, while Ren tries to get his heart rate back under control. Goro murmurs, the sound almost at normal-sized volume with how close he is. “Nothing about this is fair.”

“‘Course not,” Ren breathes, “What better pawns to play the game than us, huh?”

Goro snorts. He’s fully relaxed against the side of Ren’s head. After a beat, he asks, “You said you wanted to know what you could do to, ah, accommodate me, Amamiya?”

Ren whispers, “Yeah?”

“I—“ He struggles to imagine Goro's face crumpling, of him losing his composure. After a moment, that tiny voice gains its steel. Ren lets the ghost of a smile split his face. “If you truly don’t want to hurt me, there are a few things you could keep in mind...”

~

[probablyspooky]

Message Received (Predator x Fem! Reader Guardians of the Galaxy)

I’m crazy {part 2}

With shaky hands you typed away at the small communicator you had managed to steal from your master, a message to anyone, anyone willing to help you. Sweat beading down your forehead as you typed your distress call across the galaxy, hoping a hero would save you and him...

Hitting send anxiety rose throughout your body, causing you to throw the small box across the ground, shattering it. Realizing what you’ve done, you rush over and quickly grab the pieces and try to hide your little accident. Trying to find a place to hide it the door to the room opened, and he walked in.

The Grandmaster strode in, cane in hand and a trail of servants and guards behind him as if they were his own shadow. You quickly fell to your knees and bowed your head to the ground, dropping the communicator  pieces to the floor without thinking. Tears began to well up in your eyes as the thought of punishment or worse began to fill your head.

“Well well well...what do we have here....”, the Grandmaster started, taking his cane and pressing it into your hand that was supporting you, shooting a sharp pain throughout your hand. You yelped in pain, but didn’t dare move, you knew better.

“Did you get a message out little bird?” he asked, his voice smooth, but vile, to a bystander you’d think he was the kindest man in the world, but those who were close to him, closer to under his boot knew to not be even near him, or be near the ones who were already under his boot, someone like you. 

“N-no sir...I wasn’t trying to-” you started, but were abruptly stopped by the swinging of his cane across your face. You fell to your side and began to cry quietly.

“You know better little bird,” he spoke, walking over to you with his gloved hand, and raising your face to look into his, “No one is gonna save you, or him, you know better than to try”

He dropped your face, and snapped his fingers, causing his shadows to grip you by the arms and lead you back to the servants cell, which was a worse than horrible fighting cell. 

The Grandmaster didn’t care if he mixed those who fought with those who served him, to him they’re all expendable. You often found yourself being beaten by the other fighters, you didn’t blame them, they were trapped here just like you.

You struggled a bit against them, trying to at least put up a struggle against them, yet knowing it was all for nothing. You were brought to those same metal bars enforced with an electronic field, you were thrown into the same crowd of females, and the door shut behind you like it did every day. Usually, the others would give you a hard time, but you seemed as if you had already been through it enough for today, so the others kept to themselves. 

You crawled to the corner of the large cell, you curled up and began to cry into the wall.

Now you see, the Grandmaster is rich, he could afford to keep his cells up the par, walls made of the strongest metals known to man, yet he really didn’t care if they chipped or broke from the constant fighting that happened within the cells, he couldn’t care less if the males broke into the females cells, or vise versa. Sometimes even the females are stronger than the males in some species. 

But that didn’t happen as the separate genders tend to not try to break into one another's cells. They kept to themselves, except for two. Two lovers who were taken and forced into servitude, one a fighter for entertainment, one chosen for her face and body, entertainment as well, but for a much darker reason.

As you continued to cry into the wall cracks, a hole at the bottom of the wall caught your eye, as the walls were strong, they just weren’t very thick. A finger poked through it, and you placed your index on it just the same. It curled, hooking the two fingers together, this was the only contact you’d had with him in awhile, feeling his rough skin and his claw against your finger made you feel a bit better.

He couldn’t see you, but boy did he miss you, unbeknownst to him of the damages the Grandmaster had inflicted upon your face, the face that he found so beautiful. If he did of course he’d be enraged, but all that rage has no where to go to besides the others who cowered from him in his own cell.

You didn’t dare let a drop of your blood fall onto his finger, he’d be distracted from the fight that was he was to be in tomorrow, you’d never forgive yourself if you were the reason his life was ended far too soon.

But soon your prayers would be answered, as just a leap away in the same galaxy, a message was received upon the Milano, the ship managed by Star lord and his crew. The large red lettering began to shine across the screen as the message sound blared and a very tired human walked over and yawned. Placing himself into the chair, he played the recording of your voice throughout the ship for his crew to hear.

“H-he-hello? My name is (y/n), I-I am a servant on the planet Sakaar, under the rule of,” you whimper, “Under the rule of En Dwi Gast, the Grandmaster, my ma-...my husband and I were kidnapped and forced to serve...please...if you have a heart...please help us...”

Message end

Of course the silence of the ship was the group collective that they agreed to not sit by, they were heroes of course, though one of them was a bit more reluctant to help you without payment, Star lord agreed that they were going.

They were going to help you.

[tmwcs]

Mermaids Tale - Chapter 1

Alright here we go. First chapter of Mermaids Tale, I think i already mentioned but this story deserves a better title, but we'll stick with it for the sake of ceasing any confusion.

As mentioned in my latest post, I'm adjusting the ML to post the whole storyline of MT, I must...its really quite good and when you read the buildup and the history of the characters, its good. For those of you that want just the good stuff, i'll post ONE chapter of the first smut encounter, just one. This story has alot of smut, among other genres. So there will the best of both worlds here.

Pairings: Heeseung and you

Warnings: Not a whole lot. Mentions of nudity but that's about it.

Summary: Noooooooooooooo....just know, that MT Heeseung is really...sexy. This storyline contains a cat and mouse chase type of thing going on. Lots of hunter and fleeing prey vibes.

Side note, i think they finally fixed my tumblr because posting is alot less of a pain. Seriously, the chapters i've posted so far for each series, some of the grammar errors and structure errors are bc this thing would not let me copy and paste, i had to like re-write each paragraph into the box as i was looking at the draft. So there may have been alot of typos and stupid mistakes in those, apologies.

The sound of the busy city buzzes in your ears as you monopolize through the crowds.

Passing by a line of shops and rows of canopy tents of casual eatery, you keep a hollow face as you remain hidden beneath the bill of your hat. You strut through, strategically making way towards the path of a shorter route leading to your home.

Your hair lays bundled up under your headpiece, eyes remain forward under the hovering cloth, and your body’s form, out of sight and beneath a large sweatshirt. The lengthy shape of your legs made out by the fitted jeans that cover them, and the slight exposure of soft skin on your forearms, revealed by slightly rolled sleeves, remain as your sole identifiable features that are seen.

Carrying out your habitual trend of hiding beneath cloth, and shadow when traveling hasn’t been the most pleasant routine.

However, throughout the course of events in earlier years, you’ve learned and been warned of, the dangers against you. For each time you leave shelter, you place yourself at risk of exposing yourself and suffering the unimaginable, putting an end to your bloodline.

The fate of your bloodline, as mentioned, solely relies on you. Carrying the task of preserving it comes with dire responsibilities and measures, something that you have been doing for many years, yet still haven’t grown entirely used to.

You turn around a corner leading into a marketplace alley. It’s a shortcut you normally take to get back home, saving you a half hour from walking among crowds, which never made you feel easy. Not after you learned of your secret.

The moment you projected the turn, the owner of one of the food tents accidently bumps into you, as he was making his way to customers bringing them hot jasmine tea.

His body was forced back from the impact, as was yours. The ceramic dishes that were neatly staged on the platter fall and shatter on the stone tile. The young man peeks up through recovered squinted eyes and sees that the contents of the teapot had sullied your entire sleeve.

Noticing the color of the material becoming darker from the splash, his face grew into great concern when he saw the skin on your arm glisten at the reflection of a nearby streetlight.

The vapors emerging from your arm are noticeable, as well as the blotches of the bright red shade that takes over the natural hue of your pigment, and the stunning glow you were born with.

He begins apologizing theatrically and calls out to the neighboring canopy owners.

A group of elderly shop owners come to attend to the wound on your arm, suppressing the discoloration with wet cloths and ice. One woman runs back inside her boutique to find a first aid kit, while the others remain in a frenzy as they place effort into treating the burn.

But there was no burn, at least in a somatosensory manner, not visually.

You reassure them that you’re fine, despite their urging in taking you to a hospital. You softly shake your head and thanked them for their care, you further your efforts in convincing them by smiling and waving, appearing as jovial as possible while you continue your way through the alley.

As a child, you didn’t realize that your inability to feel physical touch, vibration, or any sensation for that matter, was really something to be concerned of. Truth be told, you still don’t. In fact, you prefer it that way. Regardless of countless moments where teachers, friends, and family all grew concern over your “defect”, you personally found it convenient.

You would be lying to yourself if you deny ever being curious on what it is like, to feel temperature, roughness, pressure, tickle, itch, pain, pleasure, cloth, skin, and tingle. But you realize that whatever it was that you were missing, you couldn’t possibly be yearning for it if you’ve never experienced it. As depressing that may sound, your “defect” saved yourself the emotional traumas of pain and sadness, which is something you had no problems feeling.

It started when you were six, after your dog Lucy had passed away. You were sad because you missed her greeting you, the way she kept you company and played outside, and the sound of her adorable whines whenever she wanted a doggy treat. You developed a bond with her out of pure emotion because the times that she licked your face, when you pet and rubbed her ears or her belly, or when you held her in your arms, it wasn’t possible to develop any fondness out of the physical compassions of love for her. You never felt it.  Which somehow, you believe, may have placed limitations on the strength of your bond with her. Since everything you felt was out of pure emotion, the number of traits that would cause your grief was limited, therefore you were able to accept her loss much faster.

There were other times too, like the moments where your friends would experience a broken heart or betrayal at the discretion of a loved one. Events such as this is what made you the most grateful. After witnessing the times when a dear friend would come to you for comfort, shattered by the hands of a man who used and abandoned her, you came to understand that the degree of her sadness and heartbreak was enhanced due to her physical relation with that man. Thankfully for you, you could only imagine, not that you would.

You found it very disturbing that regardless of how many times your friend had experienced the ruthless abandonment of her lover, all conducted after a session of sexual intimacy. No matter how many times he left her, she would always welcome him back with open arms, enabling him to do it all over again. Whenever you had asked her why she would even permit herself to let him in again, her response was the sealant of any curious thought you had in the sense of touch.

“I know he’s going to leave, and I wasn’t going to. But then he kissed and hugged me, and I just couldn’t help it, I needed to feel him again. Have you ever gone without sex for weeks Y/N? Its brutal! I got desperate.”

Her words drifted through your brain. What would she have said if you had divulged the fact that, regardless of you being 109 years old, you never had sex. You heard from friends you made along the way of their experiences, and quite frankly, it never appealed to you. It may just be one of those moments where the coined term “you had to have been there” applies heavily to it, which of course, wouldn’t matter for you. The loss of the sense wasn’t just limited to your skin, it was internal as well. You recall the time when you nearly had a close call in exposing your secret.

It was while you were with a group of co-workers, the lot of you all deciding to have lunch at a sushi bar. A moment of carelessness resulted in everyone being confused when the waiter brought out the tea and poured it into each of your cups. You were the first to drink, and upon noticing you sipping from your cup, a fellow co-worker across follows suit and takes a sip.

The sound of the cutlery clashing, the blood curling scream, and smaller dishes shattering on the floor, overfilled the entire restaurant as she jumped up and covered her mouth. The tears streamed down her face as she shouts for ice and water, the remaining group stood off to the side with puzzling looks.

“Too hot! My mouth is burning!”

She panicked as her mouth begin to blister and her lips turned red.

“Why didn’t you let it cool down?”

“I thought it was already cooled down! I saw Y/N drink from her cup, so I thought it was okay!”

The poor girl exhausting her sobbing words as she popped ice cubes in her mouth, desperately trying to relieve herself from the burn.

The group looked your way, they also noticed your lips were bright red, and now that you think about it, you may have had blisters in your mouth as well, but how were you to know?

You played off that whole experience by telling them that you had a damaged nerve syndrome. That’s been your go-to excuse for as long as you could remember, there was no other way other logic that you could use for moments like that one.

You finally make it to your apartment.

Looking down at your arm, you noticed the redness was beginning to swell a bit, ironic that you couldn’t feel the pain from injuries such as this, yet you were susceptible to the damage it would cause. Everything has its ups and downs you suppose.

Migrating to your bedroom, you glanced over to the all the vintage photos of your mother, father, and your siblings.

Managing life by changing your name every decade, relocating, and cutting off ties with friendly relations after a certain amount of time had passed, it wasn’t easy for you to succumb to emotional moments of loneliness. Your life was always moving, nothing was constant or stable, at least not for too long. The only time when you would feel saddened was whenever you looked at the photos of your family, who have all been passed away for years already. The remaining relatives you had from your brother and his wife, your cousins, nieces, and nephews fully remain unaware of your existence, there was no way you could explain that, while they were significantly younger, your appearance had remained unchanged since the year you turned 22. The moment you blossomed into a young woman, no longer having the pre-mature attributes of a girl, you were at your true feminine form and had remained as such. Just like your mother.

A flashback drives past your mind for a moment, you remembered it so vividly.

“Y/n, do you want to join us? We’re doing game night.”

Your younger brother implores you to join, and normally you would, but tonight was different.

“No thanks Matthew, I want to go out for a night walk on the beach. Tell mom and dad I’ll be back after a bit.”

“Are you sure? Do you want me to come with? I don’t think mom likes it when you go out by yourself, remember? She said that a 15-year-old girl should never be out on her own in an unfamiliar place.”

“I’ll be fine, this is private property, and the beach is just right across from the house. I’ll be back in an hour.”

At that, you left the old beach rental your family reserved for the trip to Greece. It was your first time there and it became your favorite place in the world. There was something about the land and the Aegean Sea that surrounded it. It gave you a feeling of familiarity, the same sense someone would get when they go home for the first time in many years. It was nostalgic. Yet, that wasn’t the only thing that made you feel sentimental.

You didn’t know why, but up until that year you pondered the puzzling fact that, while your defect inhibited you to feel physically, there was something about the ocean that contradicted that.

You had found out about it initially when you were 7-years old, your family took a trip to a beach nearby home. The hot sand was too much for your family, and they knew it wouldn’t affect you since the family doctor was the one that initially told your parents of your “nerve damage”.

Despite hearing their calls to you, bidding you to stay put with them, you ignored their yells and ran to the shallow waters. It was the first time you had ever seen the ocean, and you were attracted to its appeal the way magnets attract iron.

With your feet stepping into the water, you were shocked to realize that there was something transpiring. There was a sensation that you’ve never experienced before, and you didn’t know what to call it. Looking back, you know now that it was the temperature of the water. Yes, the temperature. Not only that, but the swirling whirlpool swishing around your ankles, the wet sand riding in between your toes, the jagged tips and points of rocks and seashells, and the feel of the gravitational pull as the water receded, only to return at your feet once more when another rolling wave had hit.

For the first time, you had felt the powerful sense of touch.

You never mentioned the experience to your family, there wasn’t any particular reason, you just felt content that you were able to experience the sensation for once. But you quickly realized that your ability to feel only occurred when you were in the water. The ocean waters.

You exit through the back kitchen door, skipping towards the shallow waves. The rental was just far enough from the water, a single person such as yourself walking amongst the wet sands couldn’t be seen easily at night. But you weren’t concerned at all, there was absolutely no one in sight and that’s how you preferred it, because now you’ll be able to freely express your joy once you reach the shallow waves.  

The moment the water rushed over your skin; you rediscover the sense of touch once more.

Of all things in this earth for you to feel, you were eternally grateful that it was the ocean. You felt as equally grateful as you breached the waters belonging to the beautiful Aegean Sea. It was the first time you get to experience water that was foreign, exotic, and mystical, much different than the local beaches back home.  

Before placing our feet in, you took a second to watch the bubbles of the sea foam riding the waves. It was so pretty to look at. The foam resembled white clouds as the bubbles looked like crystals, reflecting twinkles of glistening light reflected by the moon. Assorted pastel color prisms coated each bubble as you watched them roll back into the sea for the next wave.  

You walk along the shallow end, kicking your feet to create small splashes as you twirl in your summer dress. Apart from the sense of touch, nothing ever changed your experience in the water, up until a feeling hit you. It was a sensation you didn’t recall feeling in the water before, but it stung with a vengeance. You couldn’t put your finger on what was happening, but you knew based off your recollections of witnessing similar reactions with other people, the sensation you felt was the first in your life.

Pain.

The overwhelming reaction of having to feel pain for the first time caused you to collapse, the stinging sensation grew worse. You panicked. Unable to fathom what was going on, your mind tried to process at the sensation you were succumbing to. Drowning with confusion and fear, you realized that, unlike the waters back home, there was something about the waters belonging to the Aegean Sea, and your body was reacting to it.

Fear and shock took over your emotional senses, covering the unpleasant sense of physical pain as legs grew weak, too weak.

The stinging hit every inch of your legs from the hip down, and for a moment you wondered if you had been stung by jellyfish or perhaps bitten by a poisonous sea snake.

To your horror, you screamed as you looked down at your legs, finding that you no longer had them. Not anymore.

Instead, they were replaced with a long, graceful tail and fin. You shuttered in fear, noting that the lower half of your body was now covered with fish scales.

You couldn’t move from the sandy spot you were laying in. Your panic heightened as you attempt to use your upper body strength to crawl away from the water, but the pull of the waves as the tides rolled in enabled the receding sand to sink you down, practically gluing you stuck and your lower half remaining in the water.

As the currents grew stronger, and no one in sight to hear or see you, your body was slowly but surely getting pulled in deeper into the water.

Each wave dragged you in deeper, your whole body was nearly entrenched in the shallow water, yet it was becoming easier to move, so long as you were going in the direction of the deep end. You felt exhausted from fighting against the waves, so you laid there in defeat. Your wet hair was plastered all over your face, the transformation of your lower extremities caused the ruffle lining of your dress to shred.

Noticing that the stinging pain was no longer present, you closed your eyes and found comfort in feeling the soothing sensation of the water showering your entire body. The feeling that you normally enjoyed.

You closed your eyes and laid your cheek down on the wet sand before you, not sure if you just needed a break or if you had entirely given up and assumed you were going to die in that spot. Within seconds after closing your eyes, another wave rolls in, covering you entirely. As it pulls back, revealing every shell and rock that laid thickly underneath the sand, the raging current drags you one final time, fully submerging you in the water.

The feeling, opposed to what you felt moments earlier, was beyond amazing. Even though the temperature of the water was cooler, you felt warm and secured. The swooshing of the current wraps around you and glides against your skin.

Your whole body felt the touch of everything around you. The pale silver scales glowed contrasted against the shadowed depth around you. Considering how dark it was underneath the surface, your view was as clear as glass. Everything you laid your eyes on, you were able to see its finer details, no matter how small or large it was.

You could hear the echo calling of whales, even though they were meters from where you were at. It appeared that not only did you gain the sense of touch by being in the water, but your other senses remain unimpaired. They actually seemed enhanced under water.

As tempted as it was to savor the environment you were in, you started to get worried that your mother would come look for you, especially since your time outside was breaching the final moments of the hour. Though you weren’t entirely sure how you would go see her in the state you were in.

You swam back to the shoreline, although it didn’t feel like swimming, more like gliding. You found it was so easy to move in the water, and you were moving in a speed that you’ve never was faster than any moving car you rode in.

Beaching yourself as you reached the shoreline, you turn to admire the pale-silver color of your tail.

The fin was large and fanned out, the skin that stretched over the frame was semi-transparent, and it glistened with a sheer blend of pastel colors, the same as the seafoam. Two spurs outlined the out corners of the fin as it branched out, they were long, and the tips of them were sharper than any knife you’ve seen.

The scales on your tale all looked like nacre, or simply known as Mother-of-Pearl, reflecting the wide hue of colors to bounce off the silver base. The amount of scales lessened just past your pelvic bone, revealing the skin you were familiar with. Had there been more time you would have removed your dress to see how much had changed with your upper body if it did change. Yet you became more focused on figuring a way to get out of the water, then coming up with an explanation for your appearance.

Moving was hard, compared to how it was in the water, now that you had laid ashore it felt nearly impossible. Finding yourself stuck yet again, the only manner to get farther away from the water was to crawl using your upper body. Digging your elbows into the murky sand, you struggled to find some level of stable foundation as you felt yourself sinking in.

Noticing the partial burial of large rocks all around, you reached for the exposed surfaces, grabbing on to the points and edges. Using the moment of your body to shift in the direction you needed to go, you exhausted every effort by using whatever means necessary to get further up, closer to your destination. The sense of touch begins to fade out, disappearing the further you move away from the water. A bittersweet exchange.

Finally, you reached the dry mounds of sand. Grabbing a handful, you watch as the spilling of dry granules seeps in between your fingers, feeling a sense of accomplishment. You moved upward just a tad bit more, ensuring no part of you, to include the tail, was touching water.

You come to a sudden halt as a familiar sensation hits you. Odd, since you were no longer touching the water, yet the stinging all throughout your lower half re-emerges, and you could feel it just as strongly as you had in the water. You turned over onto your back and saw all the dry granules of sand that coated the scales of your tail. Witnessing the metamorphosis happening before your own eyes, you watched as the beige hue of the sand and the rainbow explosion of color from the scales begin to transform. The merging of colors gradually fades into a hue that matches your skin, while the two long spurs at the corners of your fin begin to recede.

Beginning at the inner triangular tip in the center of your fin, the skin separates, and continues up along the center of your tail, regaining the shape and length of your legs.

Was that all it took? Dry land? Or just being out of the water…these waters.

You didn’t tell your parents what happened that night, you didn’t know how. For the longest time, you wondered if it had been a dream or some type of hallucination. Yet the memory of feeling the water, listening to the whales, and re-visualizing the clarity of your sight, you knew that it was neither.

[mrs-bartowski]

Brace for impact y'all cuz my brain is being Extra Rude this fine Sunday. OKAY, so...

What with Lena's new unemployment status, obviously we have all these hcs about her being unable to afford the penthouse and moving in with Kara.

Then of course we have all the accompanying hcs about Lena's time in the apartment between now and when Kara gets back (blanket sniffing, inability to sleep in Kara's bed, ready-to-pack corner of belongings so as to not alter Kara's home, and all those other super fun things that make me wanna cry).

I see all of those (and love them) and I raise you one: the Mxy tapes.

So, we see right after Mxy leaves when Kara picks up "The One Where Lena Decided To Work With Lex" which is what, in combination with her realization that telling Lena the truth always has "huge" consequences, motivates her to make that super OOC decision to absolve herself entirely of her guilt and tell Lena she'll treat her like a villain if she works with Lex, yes?

Now, what if that wasn't the only tape Mxy left behind? What if he left a recording of each of those alternate timelines because, after seeing Kara twist what she learned to fit her frustration over Lena's continued cold shoulder and hearing what she said to Lena, Mxy decided she might want to watch them again at some point to remember the real takeaway: she's fighting for the relationship that saves the world...

Kara found the tapes stacked on the coffee table when she got home, with a note that said "You found the magic. Now don't lose it." She wanted to get angry, but instead she just put the tapes in a box on the shelf under the TV and tried to forget about them.

----------

Lena's hand shakes slightly as she slides the key into the lock, feeling the ghost of Alex’s hand rest gently on her shoulder as it had when she’d pressed the cold metal into her palm a few hours earlier with a silent offer and an encouraging nod. The door swings open slowly, and Lena is hit by a sudden wave of cold. Not temperature, but energy. It’s too quiet - no NSYNC on the speaker or Bachelorette on the TV. It’s too empty - no smell of fresh (slightly burnt) bread or yarn strewn all over the counter from Kara’s various crochet projects. It’s too...Kara-less.

Lena shakes off the feeling and slides her bag off her shoulder in the corner by the bookcase, careful not to knock Kara’s favorite cinnamon candle off the stool beside her, as she tells Alexa to play Nina Simone. She zips open her bag to pull out her favorite copy of Mrs. Dalloway and finds it missing. Realizing she must have left it in her desk drawer at LexCorp, Lena makes a mental note to send Brainy in after it tomorrow with the promise that he can change all of Lex’s passwords one more time before they leave the game for good.

Lena stares at the blank TV screen for a moment, dreading the thought of watching anything in this room without Kara’s head on her shoulder or in her lap. So, she crouches to look at the shelves of the TV stand, hoping to find at least one of the books she’d gotten Kara for her birthday last year wedged between the latest issues of CatCo Magazine and the recipe books Alex had gotten her in the hopes of spending less money on pot stickers every week.

She’s just zeroed in on The Color Purple when she notices a box she doesn’t recognize laying across the tops of the books on the other shelf. She reaches for it on instinct, then hesitates. She hasn’t touched anything of Kara’s since their falling out, and what if Kara’s “what’s mine is yours” rule no longer applies to her now? She considers leaving it alone and waiting for Kara to get back and explain, sliding The Color Purple toward her without taking her eyes off the box, before her curiosity gets the better of her and she caves, tossing the book onto the coffee table.

She opens the lid and starts at the sight of VHS tapes. Hasn't she taught Kara better than this? They'd converted all her old tapes to DVDs months into their friendship ("Kara, these things deteriorate so easily and the picture quality becomes awful, don't you want something that will last?"). She picks up the first tape and reads the label on the side: "The One Where Lena Doesn't Make It Back In Time." Her brows furrow as she stares, unblinking, at the title - demanding answers she knows only one person can give her.

She glances around, but doesn't see a VHS player anywhere, so she sets the tape on the floor beside her and picks up the next one. "The One Where Lena Can't Save Sam Or Herself." Lena shoves down her growing horror and discards the tape, hoping the next one will be less ominous. She picks it up and chokes back a sob as she reads: "The One Where There Are No Survivors."

Lena can't wait for answers anymore, so she gathers the tapes back into the box, grabs her purse and Kara's key, and heads to the closest library. Lena finds the old CRT sitting on a rolling cart in the back corner of the library, tucked between the stacks of kids' books. She pulls the first tape out of the box and slides it carefully into the slot.

30 minutes later, with tears and too-cheap eyeliner streaming down her face, Lena picks up the last tape. "The One Where Lena Was Never Your Friend." And here she'd thought things couldn't get worse. Lena takes a deep breath as she inserts the tape.

At the sight of the ruin that meets Kara and Mxy, Lena stifles the urge to laugh. Of course this is what a world without her best friend looks like. This exactly how it feels now, and she's only been gone a few weeks.

Lena's breath catches as she hears herself ask "who's Kara?," the mere thought of a world where the reporter had never believed in her, never cared enough to love her, almost too much to bear. Her hand drifts absent-mindedly to her chest as she watches herself reveal a kryptonite heart, and for a moment she can hear the sounds of her own screams as her mother's experiments rob her of the last of her humanity.

She presses her hand closer to her heart, sure that it's stopped beating at the sight of Kara on the ground, in pain at her hands but still refusing to fight her. Feels it shatter when her worst self says exactly the same words she'd said to Kara in the Fortress when asked why she had pretended to be Kara's friend for so long.

And she thinks it might kill her, this agony that's filling her body like acid. She wonders for a moment if this is what kryptonite feels like to Kara. Because it sure feels like her skin is getting seared off her bones and there are nails in her blood and it sure seems like she won't survive watching herself kill her best friend as she lies helpless and desperate on the floor.

And when Mxy pulls them out, Lena's breath returns full force until she's hyperventilating because Kara is gone and she doesn't know how long it will be until they get her back; and she was terrified of what she'd become when she lost Jack but she survived because of Kara; and if this is what losing Kara without ever having her in the first place looks like, Lena has never been more afraid than she is as she realizes what will happen to the world if she doesn't get Kara back. What she'll do to the world if it dares to take Kara from her.

So, when she gathers the tapes and goes to return them to the box and finds a note at the bottom that says "You found the magic. Now don't lose it," Lena promises herself that, for as long as she lives, she will do everything in her power to keep the magic that is Kara Danvers in her life.

----------

Alex knocks on the apartment door three days later and finds it unlocked. She pushes the door open and her hand drifts to her gun, but relaxes as she sees Lena's sleeping form curled up on the couch. Alex approaches a box she knows the contents of all too well and finds it open and empty on the table before she notices the VCR player and tapes strewn across the floor. She smiles softly as she recalls the image of Kara in the exact same position months earlier. And, as she carefully plucks the handwritten note from Lena's clutched fist, she smiles at the knowledge that, once Kara returns, no force in the world will be able to keep them apart again.

UPDATE: Ask and ye shall receive

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

[tchallasbabymama]

Don't Forget About Us

Hello, my lovelies. Here’s my contribution to @nahimjustfeelingit-writes smut challenge (the prompt is in bold!) Let’s see what Erik’s up to now, shall we?

Don’t forget to check out my masterlist to read my other stories and oneshots. Your comments and reblogs mean the world to me, so make sure to let me know what you think! And let me know if you want to be tagged in any of my writing. Enjoy😘

Word count: 5,595

CW: smut...duh.

“So, what do you do for a living?”

Kayla sighed internally at the question and took a sip of her Pinot Grigio. She hated first dates with a burning passion, but unfortunately, that was the only way to find a man around here. She went through the motions of politely answering his questions, barely asking any of her own. She didn’t care. Even just fifteen minutes in, Kayla could tell he didn’t excite her, and she lamented the waste of a good outfit as she listened to him drone on about his life. Every now and then, he’d stop and ask a question about her, but she could tell he was only asking so he could talk more about himself.

How many siblings do you have?

What’s your sign?

Why did your last relationship end?

Her mind traveled to her ex-boyfriend, Erik Stevens. They had spent six blissful years together, and Kayla thought he was the one. She wanted them to get married and start a family, and she thought he did, too, but every time she brought it up, he’d find some excuse to change the subject. At thirty years old, Kayla wasn’t getting any younger, so she grew tired of his avoidance and eventually cut him loose. She needed more out of life, but the guy currently sitting across from her certainly wasn’t it.

“We wanted different things,” she answered vaguely and took another sip. It would be a long night with what’s-his-name. David? Devon? Whatever. At least he had money and took her to a nice restaurant.

Darryl took the opportunity to bore her with the details of his job, which Kayla already knew. He was a colleague of her best friend, Carina’s husband. They worked at the same law firm, and Carina decided to hook them up after tiring of hearing Kayla complain about dating apps. As much as Kayla hated Tinder, she would’ve much rather been at home on her couch swiping left on the cesspool of single men Oakland had to offer. Every few dozen swipes or so, she’d find a cutie, but his bio would be abysmal, or his conversation skills would fall flat.

Despite the fact that their relationship just couldn’t make it, Kayla still thought of Erik as the gold standard. Just thinking about his dimples and his struggle beard made her smile dreamily. His big, strong arms would wrap around her and hold her tight at night, and she’d trace her fingers over the intentionally placed keloid scars that held his darkest secrets. She missed retwisting his locs and the way he always smelled like sandalwood and warm vanilla. Kayla didn’t want to admit it, but she still loved him. No man could compare to her Erik.

“Hello? Kayla?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. Can you repeat that last part?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. What’s got you so distracted, babygirl?”

Kayla fought the bile rising in her throat. She wasn’t his babygirl. It didn’t even sound right coming from his mouth. Maybe it was the thinness of his lips. They weren’t “white man” thin, but they couldn’t hold a candle to the juicy pussy pleasers she had grown accustomed to.

“Nothing, just thought I saw somebody I know. You were saying?”

“Just that you look beautiful tonight,” Damon attempted to flirt with her.

Kayla wanted to roll her eyes but thanked him instead and smiled politely again. Of course she looked beautiful; she had pulled out all the stops for what she had hoped would be a good night out. Kayla had squeezed her thickness into a lavender satin dress. The way the dress’s skirt cinched on the side kept it snug around her plush waist, but the high slit that traveled up her thigh was the main attraction. The strappy silver heels on her feet showed off her matching pedicure that contrasted beautifully with her glistening brown skin, and her makeup was flawless. Her outerwear for the night, a cropped fur jacket that had found its way to the coat check when they arrived, was the icing on the cake. Her outfit deserved the appreciation, just not from Deshawn.

The waiter saved her from having to focus on her date when she brought out the food they had ordered. Since Kayla knew Derek had money, she had ordered the whole lobster, and she fought her mouth from drooling too much as the waiter set it down in front of her. It laid on a bed of forbidden rice, and the side of roasted brussels sprouts and cremini mushrooms looked heavenly. The ramekin of drawn butter off to the side tempted her as it sat next to the minuscule seafood fork. She may not enjoy her company for the evening, but Kayla damn sure was going to enjoy her meal.

“Looks good,” Dominic called from the other side of the table, breaking Kayla from her trance as he cut into his wagyu beef.

“Sure does.” Kayla wasted no time before digging into her meal. Not only was it the perfect excuse to avoid conversation, but it was perfect, period.

A slight chill permeated the air as the door swung open and the crisp January air entered the small restaurant. Kayla shivered as she complained internally about being forced to sit near the door, but that shiver intensified as she heard a voice. His voice.

“Reservation for Stevens, please.”

Kayla stilled.

“Of course. Right this way, sir,” the maitre d’ responded, and Kayla heard three sets of footsteps coming her way.

--------

“Babe, let’s go!”

“Yell at me one more time, woman,” Erik warned as he came around the corner into the living room, fastening his watch.

“I swear, you take more time getting ready than I do.”

“Whatever, Mo. You ready?”

“Nigga, I been ready!”

Erik rolled his eyes and grabbed his keys. It would be a rough night, and things were already starting off on a bad foot. He and Monique had been seeing each other for the better part of a year, and he’d finally reached his limit. She was overbearing, rude, and just after him for his money, but he hated being alone, so he put up with her bullshit. His cousin, T’Challa, had tried to hook him up with a few ladies back in Wakanda when he went to visit after his breakup, but nothing stuck. Almost immediately after coming back to the states, Erik met Monique at a charity event for the Outreach Center. She had the singing voice of an angel and had been booked as the entertainment for the evening. Erik was drawn to her like a sailor to a siren, and she immediately sank her teeth into him. Past her vocal talents, Monique wasn’t really anything special. Her personality left a lot to be desired, she wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, and she just wasn’t her.

The moment Kayla ended their relationship a year ago, Erik’s whole world shattered. He had lived a life full of pain and loss, but Kayla had been his lifeline. She pulled him out of the dark and made him revel in the sunshine. Hell, she was the sunshine, but now he had settled for a UV lamp at best. Kayla had wanted a life that Erik was too scared to give her, but that fear became his downfall. He still missed her most nights. He was lonely, and Monique was there to keep him company, but that wasn’t enough for him anymore. Erik craved a connection that Monique just couldn’t provide. So he decided he had to break it off and figured that doing so in a public place would probably be best. She had a tendency to throw things when she got angry.

The car ride to Chez Martine was tense. Monique had been angry all day because Erik had taken back his credit card even though she wanted to buy a new dress for their date. Her lousy mood almost made him dump her back at his condo, but Erik kept a cool head and stayed focused on the plan. He ignored the way Monique complained the entire time she got ready, reluctantly putting on a dress he had seen her wear before. It didn’t matter to him; he knew what the night held.

When they walked into the restaurant, Erik’s heart dropped into his stomach. He’d recognize that shoulder blade tattoo anywhere. She had cut off all her hair and lost a few pounds, but he knew for sure that he was looking at Kayla. His Kayla. He forced himself to look straight ahead as they passed her table and prayed that the maitre d’ didn’t sit them where she could see him. Unfortunately, he had no such luck because the only open table for two was directly within her line of sight. He prayed again that Monique would sit on the far side of the table, but Bast ignored his pleas once more. He had to sit facing her, and as soon as he got comfortable in his chair, her gaze slyly trailed over to him. They locked eyes across the room, and Erik’s heart stopped. She was just as beautiful as the last time he saw her all those months ago, but who the fuck was that sitting across from her?

“What are you looking at?” Monique’s abrasive voice cut through his eardrums.

“Nothing. Just thought I saw someone I know, that’s all.”

She cut her eyes at him and turned around to look as he buried his face in the menu.

“Quit being nosy,” he complained.

“I just wanna see who’s got your attention, that’s all.” Monique turned back around with a sour look on her face. “It’s probably that fat girl with her cleavage all out.”

“Mo, just look at the fucking menu and act like you got some sense.”

“Fine.”

Monique pouted until the waiter showed up, but she plastered a fake smile on her face as he took their order. As usual, she ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, and it bothered him to no end that she was hellbent on spending all of his money. Of course, he had plenty, but she felt entitled to it. Kayla never cared about him being rich. Hell, when they got together, she didn’t even know he was a prince, but he loved to spoil her nonetheless. He loved the look on her face when he’d buy her things or take her on the expensive trips that she more than deserved. Kayla appreciated everything he did for her with all her heart, but she’d say the same thing every time.

“Thank you, baby, but you’re all I need.”

Erik smiled fondly at the memory of when he bought her a diamond tennis bracelet from Wakanda for their second anniversary. She was so excited to have diamonds that weren’t marred by exploited labor that she damn near dropped the box when she saw what was inside. It had been a rough year for them, what with him disappearing for a couple of months to seize the Wakandan throne and all. She certainly had plenty of colorful words for him when he came back. He’ll never forget the look on her face when he showed up at her door. He had brought T’Challa for backup just in case, but she looked right past the king as tears welled up in her eyes at seeing her Erik, alive and well.

Erik’s eyes started to get misty as he thought about the way she kissed him with so much emotion...then slapped him across the face for leaving. His gaze wandered back over to Kayla and he noticed the light bounce off of something on her arm. She was wearing the bracelet.

As if she felt his glare, Kayla shifted uncomfortably in her seat, so he averted his eyes back to Monique, who had caught him staring again.

“Why don’t you go say hi?” she asked sarcastically, making him roll his eyes so hard they almost got stuck.

--------

Erik Stevens. Here, of all places. He just had to be here.

Kayla noticed that he didn’t seem to be enjoying his modelesque date’s company any more than she was enjoying Darwin’s, and the pang of jealousy she felt at seeing him with another woman went away. She knew she had no right to feel any kind of way about it, especially since she was the one that broke things off. That didn’t make it any easier, though.

Dylan was too wrapped up in his steak to notice her wandering eye, but it seemed that Erik’s food was as uninteresting as the woman across from him. Kayla watched as he half-heartedly pushed it around his plate, but he certainly kept his favorite whiskey coming. She wanted to chuckle but didn’t want Daniel to think he had anything to do with her levity. They were both drowning their dissatisfactions in their alcohols of choice, and Kayla got a phantom taste of Uncle Nearest 1856 on her lips as she watched him take a sip. When he set the glass down and licked his lips, Kayla felt flush. She missed those lips…

“So, how about dessert?” Damien asked as he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach. “I hear their creme brulee is amazing.”

“Uh, sure, why not?”

“You know,” he began as he leaned in and reached for her hands. She allowed him to take them, but the softness of his hands disgusted her. No callouses, no roughness, not even a firm grip. “I’ve had a great night. I’d love to see you again.”

Kayla chuckled nervously, unsure of how to proceed.

“What are you doing next-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

A shrill voice pierced the air as Erik’s date bolted up from her seat. Desmond, and the whole restaurant, turned around to see what was going on, and Kayla took the opportunity to remove her hands from his.

“Keep your voice down,” Erik sneered through his teeth. “We’re in public.”

“So?! You bring me out here just to dump me? To dump this?!” she gestured at her slim figure, and he rolled his eyes.

“You ain’t even all that,” he waved her off. He was tired of playing nice, and Kayla could see the exasperation written all over his face.

“Excuse me, miss-” the waiter attempted to calm her down, but the crazed woman cut him off.

“Stay out of this!”

“I’m so sorry,” Erik mouthed to the poor man who would absolutely be getting a monstrous tip later.

“Oh, you’re sorry for him, but not for me?”

“Mo, just sit down. We can finish our meal like adults-”

“Fuck you, Erik.” She threw her dirty martini at him, soaking the front of his all-black ensemble.

Kayla could damn near see the steam coming out of his ears as his apparent ex stormed out of the restaurant. Erik locked eyes with her across the room, and when he saw the concern written all over her face, his softened.

“Whew, poor fella,” Dexter commented as he turned back around. “Where was I? Oh-”

“Excuse me, where’s your restroom?” Kayla interrupted him as their waiter walked by.

“Right down there.” She pointed at a set of stairs off to the side, and Kayla thanked her as she slid out of her seat.

“I’ll be back, Darius.”

“It’s Denzel.” He deflated.

“Fuck,” she froze. She had been sure it was Darius. “Still, I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here,” he responded, obviously upset by her slip-up.

Kayla hurried off down the stairs and leaned against the wall as she waited for either of the single-use restrooms to open up. She took a deep breath and opened her clutch, reaching in to pull out her phone with a shaky hand and typing in his number. It was one of the few she had memorized, just in case.

“You ok?”

Her thumb hovered over the send button, but she couldn’t press it. Her heart nearly thumped out of her chest at the thought of starting a conversation with him, but something within her said that she should. It would be weird not to say anything after all that, right?

“Hey-”

“Shit!” Kayla dropped her phone when his silky baritone graced her ears.

“My fault, ma.” Erik leaned over and picked the phone off the floor, checking it for cracks. He saw she had typed a message out to him and smirked before handing it back to her.

“T-thanks.”

“No problem. And, yeah, I’m ok.”

“Huh?”

Erik pointed at her phone screen.

“Oh! Right. Um, well, that’s good to hear.” Kayla attempted to push her hair behind her ear out of habit, forgetting she had just cut it all off a week ago.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You ok? You don’t seem to into ole dude out there.”

Kayla sighed and rolled her eyes, “Oh, him.”

“Damn, it’s like that?” Erik laughed, and she slapped his arm. That slight contact was enough to spark a flame in them both, and Erik’s face turned serious. “For real, though, not going well?”

“Better than you, it seems,” she quipped as she eyed his wet shirt. That was a bad idea because his first three buttons were undone, and she caught a peek of the raised scars that she missed so much. And that broad chest, and the chain with his father’s ring that he always wore. He’d let her wear it from time to time, and she always felt like it was such an honor. He trusted her enough to let her wear it. He loved her enough to-

Kayla pried her eyes away and made yet another mistake: she looked up at him. Those eyes still looked like sweet, sweet molasses, and even though his locs were braided back, she could tell he was letting them grow out. She momentarily wondered who was retwisting them nowadays, but her train of thought was cut short by the scent of sandalwood and vanilla. Kayla’s mind went blank as she inhaled slowly.

“Heh, yeah. That was...that was pretty embarrassing. Not even gonna lie.” Erik looked away shyly, unable to hold her gaze.

“I guess you’ll need to find a new date spot, huh?”

“Nah, I think I’m good on dating for a while.”

“Same,” Kayla sighed. “Dating sucks.”

“Yeah…”

One of the bathroom doors unlocked, and a middle-aged white man stepped out and passed them on the way up the stairs.

“Well, I should-”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Kayla walked towards the bathroom, but before she could reach the door, she felt a light tug on her wrist. His touch still gave her goosebumps, and he noticed her raised skin as she turned to face him.

“I just, uh...it was nice seeing you, Kay-kay.” Erik smiled at her, and she nearly melted. She missed when he called her that, too. “You look good.”

“Thanks, E.” She smiled back. “So do you.”

He let her go, and Kayla disappeared into the bathroom. When she closed the door behind her, she took a deep breath to center herself. After all these months, Erik still took her breath away. He clouded her senses and scrambled her mind. Even as she took care of business, her brain replayed their short interaction on a loop.

Kayla locked eyes with her reflection as she dried her hands. How could she go back up there to- what’s his name? Oh, yeah, Da- Denzel. That’s it, Denzel. How could she go back up there to his mediocre company when the man she still loved had made her feel so alive with just one touch. That was the magic of Erik, his magnetism. When they were together, she couldn’t help but be drawn to him, even when she wanted to slap him across his beautiful face. Those were some of the best times, though. If she was angry at him, he knew exactly what to do to calm her down. To put her in her place. To remind her-

Kayla’s daydreaming was cut short by a knock at the door.

“Occupied!”

It came again.

“I’ll be out in a minute!”

She reached for another paper towel to dab off the sweat that had started to pool on her skin at the thought of Erik’s dominance when the door opened.

“What the f- Erik?!”

He pushed inside the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

“You need to start locking doors, Kay.”

“I- what do you want?”

“I want to talk to you,” he spoke as he moved closer to her.

“Here?!”

“Yeah, here,” he chuckled.

Kayla rolled her eyes and tried to push past him.

“Now is not the time or place-”

“When is?” he blocked her exit, and she crossed her arms in defeat, looking up at him through her lashes as she leaned against the sink. “Look, I just need to say something real quick.”

“Fine,” Kayla sighed and gestured for him to continue. She knew there was no use fighting him. She wasn’t leaving that bathroom until he was good and ready.

“Kay,” his voice softened, and she looked away only to have her face pulled back in his direction. “Kay-kay, look at me.”

She made the mistake of doing just that, getting lost in his eyes again.

“I miss you,” Erik murmured.

“Erik-”

“Look, I know, ok? I know. And I’m sorry, Kay. I really am- no, look at me. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough for you...but I miss you, girl.”

Kayla’s eyes welled up with tears that she tried her hardest to blink away, but one had the nerve to fall. Erik wiped it away, and the next one, and the next one. A sob wracked Kayla’s body, and he wrapped his arms around her body.

“Don’t cry, babygirl. I know you worked hard on your makeup.”

Kayla laughed through her tears, but the emotions washed back over her, and she buried her face into his chest. It was already soaked with gin, so what harm would a few tears do?

He held her and rocked her softly from side to side as she cried, and after a couple of minutes, she found the will to look up at him again. His cheeks were wet, so she reached up and swiped her thumbs over them as she held his face in her small hands. He nuzzled into them and kissed her wrists.

“I miss you, too, E,” she croaked.

“I know, babygirl.”

He leaned in to kiss her forehead, and she closed her eyes as his soft lips caressed her skin. They stayed intertwined for who knows how long until Erik felt Kayla begin to pull back. He looked down at her, and the two of them locked eyes. Before they knew it, their lips had met in the middle in a passionate embrace. They got lost in each other for a moment until common sense returned to Kayla, and she pushed him off.

“We can’t-”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“Because what, Kay?” Erik’s voice rumbled as he closed what little gap was between their bodies. He left soft kisses on her temples before working down to her cheeks, then her jawline, and eventually the column of her neck. She let out a soft whimper when his teeth grazed the crook of her neck but pushed him back again before he could continue any further.

“Erik, I...I still love you, and-”

He attacked her lips with his, hands feverishly gripping her waist as he pushed her further into the sink. She had nowhere to go, and she was ok with that.

“I...love you...too...babygirl,” he whispered between kisses.

Kayla’s mind went blank as he lifted her up on the counter and pressed himself between her legs. She could feel him, all of him, and damn did she miss that monster between his legs.

“Erik,” she moaned as he nipped at her earlobe. He still knew how to play her body like a violin.

“Mmm, say it again.”

“Erik!” she squeaked as she felt his strong hands grip her thighs.

“Just like that,” he groaned, and she flooded her already wet panties.

“Baby-”

He connected his forehead to hers and stared deep into her eyes. “You miss me?”

“Mhm,” Kayla nodded with her lip between her teeth.

“I miss you, too, baby. I think about you all the time. Every day,” he pecked her lips, “every night. I miss everything about you, Kay-kay. Your off-key singing, your horrible cooking-”

“Shut up,” Kayla giggled as his hands traveled up her dress.

“Your body…fuck I miss this body. I miss how you smell, how you taste...how that tight little pussy feels wrapped around my dick.”

Kayla widened her legs for him as his fingers found their way to the seat of her panties, stroking up and down her slit. Erik kissed his way back down her face and over to her ear, his warm breath sending chills down her spine.

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself? Because I do. You’re all I see when I stroke my dick...wishing it was your hand...your lips...this fucking pussy.”

Erik pushed her panties to the side, and his nimble fingers circled her clit. Kayla let out a small moan that was music to his ears, making fingers move faster and her breath grow shallower with each rotation.

“Answer me.”

“Mhm.”

“Come on, babygirl, you can do better than that. You think about me when you play in your pussy? This pussy right here?” he asked as he slapped her vulva, her wetness sticking to his hand.

“Y-yes, baby-”

“Uh-uh, you know who I am. Say it,” Erik commanded as he snuck three fingers inside her wetness, making her moan loudly in his ear. “Shhh, you gotta be quiet, babygirl. You don’t want people out there knowing how much of a slut you are, right?”

Kayla shook her head no.

“That’s what I thought. Now, I asked you a question, Kayla,” he reminded her. His gruff voice made her weak, and the fingers that were steadily speeding up inside her certainly didn’t help. “Answer me. Who am I, babygirl?”

Kayla tried to hold out as much as she could. She didn’t want to say it, too proud to give in, but the way he was currently stretching out her pussy and curling his fingers inside her made her cling to his shoulders. The bastard knew what he was doing, and she didn’t want to let him win. But then, he played dirty and bit down on her neck. She cried out, and when he pulled back to look at her, the ferocity in his eyes drove her up the wall.

“I said, who the fuck am I, Kayla?” Erik growled. His hand sped up, making her weak with every thrust. She couldn’t hold it anymore and came undone around him, her mouth betraying her as his name fell from her lips.

“Daddy!” she gasped as her pussy spasmed, and he chuckled darkly.

“Damn right I am,” he kissed her lips, “now gimme that pussy. Daddy missed his pussy.”

Kayla heard a rip and felt the cool air between her legs as he tore through her panties to get to her treasure trove. She reached down between them and grabbed his clothed erection in her hand, making him groan as he bit down on his luscious bottom lip. She undid his belt buckle and slowly unzipped his pants before reaching in and pulling out his throbbing dick.

The longing in her eyes told him everything he needed to know, so he pushed her legs back and tapped his head on her clit.

“You want daddy’s dick in you?”

“Mhm,” she whimpered.

“Good.”

He pushed in and groaned at the feeling of her pussy walls gripping him as he sheathed himself inside her.

“Fuck, you feel like home.”

Kayla moaned into his neck in response and wound her hips against him, meeting him thrust for thrust as he stroked into her slow and deep. She couldn’t form words. He felt so damn good inside her that Kayla’s brain had short-circuited. Erik’s dick hit spots that she could never find herself no matter how hard she tried. Even in her dreams, he drove her body wild. She had spent the last year trying to find somebody, anybody who could make her feel that way, but nobody could compare to Erik Stevens.

Erik and Kayla panted heavily into each others’ mouths as he made love to her body, and as soon as Kayla started to tense up, his thrusts grew harder.

“I-I-”

“I know, babygirl. Daddy feels it,” he groaned as he nipped at her bottom lip. “Cum on my dick like a good girl.”

His words sent Kayla into overdrive, and her body shook as she spilled over him. Her spasming walls hugged him tight, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, begging him with her eyes.

“You feel amazing,” she moaned.

“Mhm. I know them other niggas wasn’t hitting it like this. I just know it. Look at you, cumming all over daddy’s dick. Look at it!” He grabbed her chin and made her look down at her throbbing pussy as his dick slid in and out of her.

“We look so good, daddy!”

Erik slammed into her, and she bit into his shoulder to keep from screaming. He gave her his all over and over, rocking the countertop in the process.

“We’ll look even better if you let me cum in this pussy. Mix my cum with yours-”

“Yes!”

“Yes?” He chuckled. “You want it that bad, huh? Nasty ass, in here getting fucked while that bum ass nigga’s waiting for you upstairs.”

“Mmm, I want it.”

“Want what, babygirl?” Erik teased as he brought his thumb to her clit, strumming it slowly as he thrust into her.

“You. I want you to cum deep in me.”

“Shit,” Erik groaned. “You want it deep in there?”

“Mhm. Put it where it belongs, daddy.” Kayla licked up the side of his neck, making his knees buckle. “Cum in your pussy.”

Erik lost all sense of control and pounded into her tight pussy, somehow getting even deeper in preparation for his release. Kayla held on tight as she felt him begin to spasm inside her, and she released around him again as his deep moans tickled her ear. Erik thrust extra deep and held his dick in place as he emptied his balls into her warmth, whimpering lightly as she rubbed his back to soothe him and bring him back down.

“I missed you, babygirl.”

“I missed you, too, daddy.”

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other until their breathing slowed. Erik was the first to move, slowly pulling himself out of Kayla as she whined at the loss of contact. He kissed all over her face before planting a slow, sweet kiss on her lips.

“I can’t let you go again, Kay-kay,” his voice cracked as tears threatened to fall from his eyes again.

Kayla pulled him back in and kissed him so deeply that she nearly lost herself in him again, but he pulled away and looked her in her eyes.

“I’m serious, girl. I’ll do anything. I’ll marry you, give you as many big-headed babies as you want. Just, please, Kay-” she cut him off with another kiss to shut him up.

“We should go back to my place and talk,” she whispered, and Erik’s face lit up. Something about the way she said it, the way she kissed him, the way her body still responded to his...it gave him hope. Kayla smiled at him and pecked his lips once more before hopping off of the sink. He had to catch her because her legs were wobbly, and she stumbled a little in her heels.

“You aight?” he laughed.

“No, nigga,” she slapped his chest, and the two of them got caught in a laughing fit. They had really just fucked in the bathroom at Chez Martine. Kayla was on cloud nine until a thought occurred to her, and her face fell flat. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Erik’s face turned serious, and his eyes scanned over her body, looking for whatever the problem was.

Kayla started giggling again, and he looked confused.

“What is it?” he asked, barely able to keep a straight face. Her laugh was always so infectious…

“Demetrius.”

“Who?!”

“My date.”

“Girl, don’t worry about him. He probably thinks you dipped out anyway.”

Kayla shrugged and fixed her dress as Erik stuffed his shirt back in his pants. They checked their reflections in the mirror, and Kayla was pleasantly surprised that her makeup was still intact thanks to that setting spray she had splurged on the other day.

“Ready?” Erik asked as he admired her beauty. Kayla nodded, and he unlocked the door, opening it to find Duncan leaning against the wall with a sour look on his face. Kayla’s eyes blew wide as she tried to figure out what to say to her date for the evening.

“Heyyy, um…”

“Denzel,” he seethed.

“Yeah, sorry. So, um, we’re-”

“Sorry, bruh,” Erik clapped him on the shoulder, “but we heading out. Bathroom’s all yours, though.”

Erik pulled Kayla along, and she sent Deion an apologetic glance before following Erik up the stairs. It seemed the whole restaurant knew what had occurred, but neither one of them cared. They were just happy to be around each other again. It had been entirely too long.

Taglist: @ladymac82, @kitesatforestp, @harleycativy, @raysunshine78, @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me,@toni9, @bribrisback, @impremenior, @blacklytical, @uzumaki-rebellion, @honeyandpeaches, @cecereads209, @wakandama2,

[these-summer-nights-in-december]

Watching my next chapbook get made!?!

Wow! Never before have I been able to watch a book of mine actually get made!?! Enjoy this footage of poet Timothy Geiger, founder and proprietor of Aureole Press (at the University of Toledo), hand letterpressing the title page of The Box We Put the World in to Keep a Corner from Shattering, the forthcoming collaborative chapbook I wrote with Steve Castro and Dustin Pearson. Thank you for sharing this Dustin! And thank you Timothy for being such an artist! 🙌

[rocorambles]

Meeting in the Middle

Pairing: Sakusa x reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Yandere, Misogyny, Controlling Behavior, Degradation, Non-Con/Rape, Spanking

Summary: Sakusa shows you that he’s more than capable of meeting you in the middle and listening to you for a change. But be careful of what you ask for.

A/N: This is for the Poly Wives Angst Collab~ RIP us and our never ending collabs we create for ourselves.

If someone had told you five years ago that you’d be dating one of Japan’s most eligible bachelors, a professional athlete fawned over by media and fans nation-wide, the epitome of the strong and silent type, you would have laughed in their faces. What is this? Some silly fairytale? The childish checklist of “things I want in a boyfriend” you’d written in middle school?

But life has a funny way of working and you find yourself in an obnoxiously lavish and rowdy nightclub, made only more crazy by the surprising appearance of some VIPs.

It seems like volleyball has somehow become Japan’s national sport overnight and although you aren’t necessarily the biggest follower of anything remotely athletic, even you know exactly who the rambunctious trio catching everyone’s eyes are.

You can’t deny there’s more than just a bit of appeal in the way their button up shirts cling to toned muscles, but you’ve never been one for crowds and you stray to the emptier corners of the establishment to avoid being swept by the crowd of excited fans. But when Atsumu cheesily winks and flirts as he signs scandalously bared skin of female fans, you mockingly gag, only to whirl in embarrassment when you hear an amused snort from behind you.

“Not a fan of Miya Atsumu?”

Staring wide-eyed and slack jawed when someone asks you a question is very rude and you want to answer. But you don’t trust yourself with basic human speech when Sakusa Kiyoomi is staring at you expectantly. So you shake your head side to side instead, heat rising to your face at the small upward curve of his lips.

“Neither am I.”

Atsumu never lets the two of you live down how he’s the one who technically brought you together, even if it was at the cost of his pride. (You chuckle when you remember his loud squawking when Sakusa recounts the dialogue exchanged at your first meeting.) But even months later, even after Sakusa has officially introduced you to the rest of the MSBY team, even after they’ve accepted you as part of their cozy and rowdy family, you can’t stop feeling impostor syndrome.

Dating Sakusa still feels unreal and you can’t help but feel like you’re living someone else’s life, stuck in a rose-tinted dream, playing dress-up and make believe as you parade around in clothing far more luxurious than you’re used to, whisked around on your lover’s strong arm as you follow him around the world from match to match. And as lovely as it is, you long to truly make this relationship your own, to feel the rawness and grittiness of love and life, to experience the charm and comfort of being true to yourself and knowing Sakusa loves you just as you are.

But your desire to be with him, to call him your own trumps your own wishes and you find yourself quickly backing down everytime you suggest something that he’s quick to turn down, desperate to appease and please him even at the price of your own desires.

He’s never outrightly rude about his preferences, never raises his voice. But somehow that makes the judgement and disdain in his dark eyes that much more apparent. You remember a rough day of work you had, the relief you had felt about being able to swiftly swap your constrictive work apparel for a pair of worn-in shorts and a baggy t-shirt. Your outfit would certainly not win any fashion awards, but you blissfully sigh at how comfortable you are as you call a local pizza shop, ordering delivery self-indulgently.

You could feel yourself becoming one with the couch you’re lounging on, the television playing in the background. But even in the hazy in-between of sleep and alertness, your eyes snap open when the door opens and you lazily smile as your boyfriend enters your shared apartment, returning from another grueling practice.

“You look like you’ve had better days.”

Your smile slips, anxiety flooding through you as you self-consciously curl in on yourself while his lips purse, eyes scrutinizing your sloppy appearance.

“Umm, yeah...tough day at work-”

“Maybe you should freshen up with me. You might feel better in a...real outfit.”

You know better than to think that it’s really a suggestion, cursing yourself, humiliation coursing through you when you think of how foolish you were to get so comfortable so quickly. You’ve seen the caliber of the women who lust over your boyfriend unabashedly despite his long-time relationship with you. You need to try harder. You need to be better.

Self-deprecation rips you to shreds as you painstakingly groom yourself, donning a dress you know Sakusa loves, applying a full face of makeup and a spritz of his favorite scent. And despite how exhausted you are, how much you’d rather be slumped on the couch, gorging on a slice of pizza, it’s all worth it when you see the appreciative look in his gaze as his eyes rake over your figure.

But worry gnaws at you once more as the doorbell rings and his eyebrow raises questioningly at the interruption. It’s a painful walk of shame as you plaster on a fake smile, tipping the delivery boy, the usually tantalizing smell of cheese and grease only making you nauseous as you bring the box to the dining table.

“What is that?”

“Dinner…”

Your voice trails off and you feel so small, so pathetic as Sakusa’s face borders disgust as he observes the offensive item.

“You didn’t cook?”

The disappointment in his voice has you spewing excuses and apologies, your heart shattering when he merely waves off your ramble, telling you he’d order a salad from elsewhere and to enjoy your meal.

You never order pizza again and a steaming hot plate of freshly cooked food is always waiting for Sakusa when he returns home while you patiently wait for him with a painted face and impeccable outfits.

Your friends and family tell you how grateful you should be, how envious they are as they oggle your latest high-end designer pieces, cooing over how picture perfect the two of you always are, staring wide-eyed at your gorgeous home, not a speck of dust or object out of place. Who would have thought that you would be the epitome of the ideal housewife in such a short time?

Yes, you wonder. Who would have thought? Certainly not you.

If only they knew how deep down the deception goes, how lost you are in this pretend world you’re stuck in. And your heart twists and turns when your friends share about the little and big spats that happen behind closed doors, giggling and sighing in an understanding you’re not part of when they playfully complain about how much work love is.

But it’s always worth it in the end because the good always outweighs the bad if you’ve found the right person (not to mention the makeup sex is a bonus). Or so they say, but you wouldn’t know what any of that feels like. Sakusa doesn’t leave room for any arguments, any disagreements, any hint of anything less than a perfect relationship.

Even in the privacy of your bedroom, you feel like you’re in a cheesy porno, dressed in the prettiest white slip dress decorated with dainty lace and a string of pearls around your neck. You feel like a doll as you’re positioned on the bed, eyes demurely looking down, letting Sakusa do as he pleases while he guides you, calloused hands roaming over your skin. You’re sure he means for it to be pleasurable and intimate, and you can’t deny that he knows your most sensitive areas, shuddering when he grazes over your hardening nipples. But there’s a coldness to his movements, a calculating aspect in the way he examines you, dark eyes scrutinizing every inch of you as if they’re looking for a blemish, a reason to lecture you on not taking care of yourself.

Yet as predictable and standoffish as he is, he does know how to pleasure you and you writhe underneath him, moaning, lower lips dripping in your own arousal. But you whimper when he growls at you to stop moaning so loudly, to stop acting like a slut.

“I’m dating a lady, not a whore.”

The words cut you, pain and emptiness mixing with the rising pleasure, muddling into a confusing and overwhelming mess insides of you. You don’t trust yourself to speak, hot tears pricking at your eyes, unsure whether a moan or harsh words would slip past your lips. But you know that neither will work in your favor, so like always, you hold your tongue, doing whatever you can to keep your lover happy. You close your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the tightening knot inside of you, submitting to the waves of pleasure that crash over you as you cum, fingers tangling in the rumpled sheets, back arching in ecstasy.

Only when Sakusa is asleep, his back turned to you, the two of you cleaned and freshened up, do you let your tears stream down your face, feeling more alone than ever in your shared bed.

You hold out longer than you should, much longer than you should, in the hopes that things will improve, that Sakusa will loosen up, reveal his true self to you, let you reveal your true self to him. It’s just early dating jitters, early relationship issues. Things will get better.

Except it’s months later and things aren’t better. If anything, they’re worse and you can feel the weight of his expectations and the stress of perpetually living by a prewritten script crushing you.

It’s time to put an end to this charade.

It’s just another uneventful night and you idly stare up at the ceiling as you wait for Sakusa to join you in bed. Your heart is racing, throat feeling dry and choked up as he slips under the covers. You’re terrified, of Sakusa’s reaction, of ending everything, of starting from scratch. But you know it’s the right decision and when he finally settles in beside you, you begin to speak.

There’s only the sound of your trembling voice as you quietly tell him how you’ve felt all along, how everything has felt so prim, proper, fake, how everyday just feels like another session of rehearsing your lines, making sure you meet whatever standard he’s set for you. You want passion, real love, fights, laughter. You just want to be yourself. You just want to be with someone who loves you exactly the way you are.

“Kiyoomi, maybe we should break up. I don’t think we’re right for each other. I don’t think I’m what you want. I don’t think I’ll ever be what you want.”

“You’re right. Despite how much time, work, money, and patience I’ve spent to better you, you haven’t changed at all.”

You’re left reeling from the matter of fact harshness of his words, the slight exasperation in his tone, as if this is all your fault, as if you’re just a bothersome misbehaving pet.

“Prim and proper? Passion? Fights? So you’re tired of manners? Tired of being a respectable woman? You just want to fight and fuck like animals?”

You open your mouth to protest, anger licking at the open wounds his verbal assault leaves behind. But before you can retort, the air is ripped out of your lungs in a stunned yelp as your body is swiftly flipped over, your face shoved into the mattress until it’s a struggle to breathe, fabric and cushion all you can taste.

Your arms flail as you struggle to breathe, nails clawing at the sheets, arms trying to push yourself up against. But it’s no use against Sakusa’s strength and just as specks of black begin to enter your vision, fingers tangle with your roots and you gasp as your head is harshly jerked up, neck bending painfully back, jaw forced open from the strange position.

You whimper, tears beginning to blur your sight as a calloused hand turns your face until you’re staring at a condescending impassive countenance.

“If you want to be treated like a slut that badly, I’ll be a good boyfriend and give you exactly what you want. Ass up. Now.”

There’s no room for disobedience and spurred on by fear and pain, you listen, awkwardly shuffling into position, shame heating your face at how exposed you feel. But it’s only the start and you scream as a heavy strike lands on your bare ass, more and more blows raining down upon you, until you’re sobbing for mercy, agonized cries forced from your mouth, thighs trembling at having to support yourself through the torture.

Your upper body slumps in relief when the hits finally stop, but you flinch when fingers methodically prod at your entrance. You instinctively try to lurch forward, away from the touch, but it’s no use and you clench your eyes in humiliation at the sloppy wet sounds betraying your arousal.

“This is the wettest I’ve ever seen you. You really do like being used and treated like a bitch.”

You wish you could deny it. You wish you had the spirit to talk back, maybe even spit on that handsome face. But all you can think of is how full you feel as Sakusa’s cock slams balls deep inside your dripping hole, how deep he is inside of you from this angle, how overwhelmingly pleasurable the mix of pain and lust is as he uses you like you’re nothing more than a warm breathing sex doll.

All you can do is lewdly moan and take it, tears slipping down your face, drool seeping into the ruined sheets, eyes rolled back in your head. The coil in your stomach tightens and tightens no matter how hard you try and hold it at bay, desperately trying not to cum, not to inadvertently admit your body’s betrayal as it succumbs to every thrust. But it’s too much, the unfamiliarity of this brutal pace, the overpowering sensation of his tip reaching new depths inside of you, and you shatter to pieces, pussy convulsing, body twitching, pleasure like you’ve never felt before surging through you.

All through it Sakusa continues his relentless rhythm, a sneer marring his flawless face as he watches you suffer through your orgasm, writhing underneath him. It’s disgusting how much you love this, pathetic, pitiful, and yet he’s harder than he’s ever been, more turned on than he ever thought possible. And all it takes is a few more thrusts before he’s spilling inside of you, a strong hand holding you still and tight to him as his groin presses against your ass, not an inch of space between the two of you as he paints your insides white.

Maybe you had a point all along. You’re absolutely filthy and wrecked and he grimaces at the tear, sweat, and sex stained mess he touches as he shoves your exhausted body away from him. Yet there’s a certain appeal to your disheveled appearance, how ruined you are because of him.

How beautifully you break.

Well if you have no desire to improve yourself, he can learn to meet you in the middle, learn to let you be the low-life whore you have no desire to move up from. After all, that’s what you said love is, right?

Accepting each other’s differences.

[tommyspeakycap]

Can I request some chilly fluff? Anything really, just some cute sweet chilly fluff with a little bit of angst maybe?

of course! here's an idea that's been swimming around my brain all day lol

helping hand

ben isn't coping with his newest responsibility and his best friend comes to save the day once again

It's honestly less about the news than it is about the fact that you didn’t here it from him. Texts have gone mostly unanswered since you read that online article you first believed was false, only for it to be confirmed by him. You offered a congratulations despite the pain it brought to you to hear that you had completely lost your chance.

You had probably called him about a million times, each time ringing out and some even being hung up after merely a few rings.

At first, you worried that something had happened. Then you managed to wrangle the news out of Mason that everything was well, you let yourself have those days of utter heartbreak that he had found a girl, started to settle down and then completely cut you out of the picture. This was the first time in all of your 23 years that you hadn't been able to speak to him about things that were going on. He seemed to have completely fogotten about you and you couldn't bring yourself to think of a reason why.

She never really did like you, his girlfriend. You could only imagine it had something to do with the fact that Ben was incredibly close with you. A lot of girls had been unhappy with the fact that while dating Ben, they were subject to teasing that everyone was surprised he was dating when they had thought he was so clearly in love with you. You understand that, it would be irritating but nothing had ever happened between you and Ben that might suggest you would ever get together. People just love a rumour.

What had really hit you, however was seeing her from the Instagram you followed. She didn't even appear to be in London, never mind with him and that made no sense by the timeline you had managed to figure out.

That's how you found yourself standing at his door with what felt like a million bags and a feeling of hurt you had never actually had before. You cornered Mason, refusing to leave until he told you what the hell was going on and when he did, you were gone like a flash with a broken heart to seek out the man who needed you now more than he ever did.

Your heart shatters even more when you step into his house, pushing it open and pulling out the key he gave you a few months ago as you head carefully to the kitchen. You can hear him trying to talk, his voice strained and croaky as he attempts to speak over the sound of the screaming baby girl.

"Come on sweetheart," he begs, "Please take your bottle, I promise you're just tired."

His house is messier than you've ever seen it with gifts unopened, blankets and bottles, baby toys and clothes strewn around everywhere you could see.

You're quick and quiet to get to work clearing the place up, clean clothes being folded and sat in his clean laundry hamper while sorting the dirty things and shoving them into the washing machine by colour before tidying away all the blankets into the baby boxes he had set up in his front room. The infant upstairs screams the entire time you whiz around, throwing an entire bin bag worth of rubbish out of his kitchen before restocking all the shelves and his empty fridge with food for him and milk powder for the little girl. The pizza you shoved in the oven the second you arrived was finished after 15 minutes, so you plated that and left it on the kitchen island before you decided to make you presence known to him.

"Need a helping hand?"

His head whips around rapidly, instinctively tucking his daughter closer into his chest before he recognised your voice and turned his face back away from you. "You shouldn't be here, (y/n)." He mumbles, bouncing his legs to try and get that screeching to stop before he starts crying again himself.

How had everything ended up so messy? He found a girl that he thought he loved, he had his best friends and he had you. She got pregnant and he was ecstatic until she told him she wasn't interested in having a baby. It was too late to do anything about it, so she gave birth to that baby and legally signed over parental rights wholly and fully to a destroyed Ben. You, of course, had to find this out half from the tabloids and half from Mason. Ben was absolutely affronted. He was mortified. How had he gotten himself in this position?

You were the first and only person he wanted to tell. He was desperate to seek out your arms and have an absolute sob to you so you could help him fix this like you do with everything else, but he couldn't bring himself to face you. He cut you off slowly and carefully without even noticing himself because she had coaxed him into it. She played him like a fiddle, let him grow her platform and fund her lifestyle until she had everything she wanted from him and left him with something that was supposed to be theirs to love forever.

As if things couldn't get worse, from the moment he found out she was having a baby he had realised he didn't want kids or a life with anyone but you and now here he is, with a baby that has no mother and he had lost you. How could he just go back crying to you now after all the hurt he had caused you? What kind of person does that? He made this mess and it was his to clean up.

"Mason told me what happened. You can fight me all you want, Ben but I'm not going to go anywhere so you may as well just let me help." You say firmly, not inviting a single space for him to actually contest your words. His shoulder deflate even further than they already are as he finally turns to meet your eyes.

There's bags and dark circles beneath his with greasy, messy hair and a shirt he probably hadn't changed in longer than he should.

"I'm sorry." He croaks, clamping down on his lip with his teeth so he doesn't immediately burst out crying at the sight of you standing there in his house. God, he's missed you so much he couldn't even begin to put it into words and his emotions are so messed up from the lack of sleep that he'll cry at just about anything right now. "It's forgotten about. We don't have to talk about it, I'm here to help."

The weight that lifts off of Ben's shoulder is the kind of immense relief that only really you can bring to him, honestly. There are few people that he has ever met that can ease him like you can and knowing he doesn't have to explain this whole situation really is something he's so thankful for.

"This is Lilly," he says weakly, nodding his head down at her whining. You smile immediately and without thought, stepping forward to get a closer look at the small baby, only two weeks old and already giving her dad a run for his money. "Hello Lilly," you coo softly, raising your hand to stroke her cheek with your finger in the most gentle manner he's ever seen. "Can I? I feel like I've missed out on two weeks worth of aunt (y/n) cuddles."

He tries not to think much into the fact you refer to yourself as her aunt because if he lets enough thought onto it, he'll find himself breaking his heart over you all over again. Ben nods, passing her into your arms carefully.

"I'll feed her, I made some pizza for you so you should go eat." You hold our your hand to take the bottle from him, but he frowns. "I-" Ben stutters, "I don't want to just lump you with her, plus she's upset so I shouldn't leave her y'know? It's not fair on-"

"Go and eat Ben, and have a shower while you're at it. We'll be fine in here, I've babysat a million times before." You shrug, taking the bottle from him as you step further into the nursery instead of standing in the doorway cradling the still whimpering little girl in her pink onesie. "But I-"

"Go."

"I should-"

"Ben go, now."

Ben sighs in defeat and turns on his heel, the rumbling of his stomach finally giving him away as he realises just how hungry and smelly he actually is. No wonder the infant was crying in his hold.

He trudges downstairs, hearing the sounds of those winging dying down as he does, half expecting to walk into the messy swamp he had left when he went upstairs earlier this morning, only to see the whole bottom floor of the house was basically as spotless as it had been the day he moved in, bar the baby variety adjustments he had made to welcome the new arrival.

He makes a mental note to thank you more and do some grovelling and apologising later on. He knows he has to do it and he knows he'll explain in more detail what really happened probably later today, but for now he will scoff that pizza down his throat faster than he has ever consumed a meal in all of his life before raining the cupboards that he discovered you had stocked. He is reminded with every step he takes around his house that this is you, again, here holding him up when the world around him feels like its completely crumbled.

This is what you do, you keep him together, fix him up after the heartbreaks and breakups preparing him for the next girl who's pieces you'll have to pick up when they hurt him. This time he doesn't want another girl, he wants you. This time, the one time that he would be miles too late. He's got a baby now that he needs to focus on and he can't imagine that you're going to want an instant family even if you could really see past the fact he had ghosted you for nearly five straight months from the moment he found out his girlfriend was pregnant. He can't forgive himself, so how on earth would you?

If he would ask, you would tell him you already had. Seeing how hurt he was, how genuinely sorry things had ended dup like this with everyone in his life he was was enough for you. It was enough to cause you actual physical pain. You never could hold a grudge considering the situation he had ended up in.

Ben had never ever once in his life being more thankful for his shower. He’s also pretty sure he fell asleep against the wall with the heat of the shower steam loosening his muscles and the fatigue of barely an hours sleep catching up to him. He towel dries off his hair, letting the towel hang around his neck as he rubs it against his head while he pads along the soft carpet of his hallway from the bedroom to his beautifully done pink nursery where he hears no crying, at all.

But he does here soft talking.

“Giving your daddy a hard time eh, pretty girl.” You hum softly, slowly swaying from side to side. She lays in your arms, looking up at you and stealing every bit of your heart with her daddies eyes. “He deserves it a little, you know. Just ‘cause he done me out of some adorable baby cuddles y’know?” Ben can hear the teasing smile on your lips as he leans against the doorframe out of your sight, keeping quiet so as not to be detected. “But he’s a good man, sweet girl. One of the best, actually. And i know he’s already such a good daddy to you, he loves you so so much. Do you know that, eh?” You say quietly. Ben catches the sight of you swaying that amazed little baby who coos up at you, reaching for your finger to hold. “Mhm, and i love you too. You have no idea how loved you are.” That’s one thing Ben can agree on.

“And you might not know it now because you’re little, but i do know one thing for absolute certain; I’m always gonna be here for you, and for your daddy even if he’s as stubborn about it as they come. You’ve got to help me out though, eh sweet girl? Be good to that daddy of yours. Yeah, sleepy baby? Mhm, my sweet girl.” The way you hum, bouncing her carefully and swaying in just the right way for her to fall asleep in your arms. Ben watches you for only a minute more, softly singing a little lullaby to her that makes Ben’s heart swell to ache so much that he has to take a small little video before he heads off downstairs with one last look.

When you finally greet him downstairs with a tight hug that he sinks into immediately, resting his cheek on your shoulder as your hands massage your fingers through his freshly cleaned hairs as his arms hug around your waist. “I’ve missed you.” He admits, words muffled by your sweatshirt. The feeling of your fingers at the nape of his neck makes him hum in content and sink into you peacefully just like his baby daughter did not half an hour ago. You’re just perfect for them both in every way and there is not one bone in his body that doesn’t wish he had started his family with you.

But with that realisation comes one more; that he will not settle until he has given everything he has, tried with every morsel of him to earn your forgiveness. He might not of started his family with you, but he is damn determined to make you part of it.

[tumbling-darkling]

Midnight Hang-Outs

This is a small crossover between Danny Phantom and DC! (Specifically Danny and Harley Quinn!) Following the prompts from Day 11 and 12 - Midnight and Scars (more of mentioned than revolving around it) Harley might be slightly ooc because I don’t read a lot of DC comics but maybe consider it more of like AU Harley Quinn. Mother hen. She feeds the vigilantes of Gotham on slow nights.

Harley glanced over to the boy sitting next to her on the rooftop of the Gotham Bank, she had been planning to break into it to draw out some fun with any nearby vigilantes but instead she had spotted the scrawniest looking glowing teen she’d ever seen. Well he was the only glowing teen she’d ever seen, but the poor kid was struggling against some freak in a white suit.

He had already devoured about 10 of the breakfast sandwiches she bought from a nearby 24 hour fast food joint, she couldn’t remember the name but her pal, Jeremy, always worked late shifts and gave her most of the grease filled wraps for free. Which she got a total of 20 and was beginning to worry that it wasn’t enough for this endless void. She thought she could calculate this kind of thing better based on Batsy’s kids, then again none of them had powers. That must be the factor throwing her off.

She glanced over him again, taking in his features for probably the hundredth time since she spotted him. White hair that gently wisped around his face like he was constantly underwater, pale blue-green skin with neon green freckles that sparkled like stars in the night, toxic green eyes that matched the freckles, flecks of blue hidden within the irises that shone in the right light. He hand pointed ears and little baby fangs, and his suit itself reminded her of the superheroes she’s faced before, but the material seemed all wrong when she got a closer look. It wasn’t spandex, or that thick armour like fibre that Batsy likes to use. She didn’t know what it was made out of. That flaming looking D was enough to hint at a superhero gig, like Superman and that ‘S’ on his chest. She didn’t care that it was supposed to be a symbol for hope, his name was Superman and that thing was an S, end of conversation.

The kid had taken off those gloves in order to eat, she didn’t blame him though, eating with gloves on was weird, and those white gloves would stain like a motherfucker. What caught her attention about it was the scars. Little one littered this kid's hands, and then there was a ligament scar coating his left hand. It was the brightest of all the scars, glowing slightly a wicked green as if he was still being electrocuted.

She turned her gaze back to the streets below, “So, what are you doing out this late?” She asked, avoiding sensitive topics like the scar. “It has to be way past midnight at this point.”

The kid glanced over to her, then shrugged, “had to chase Boxy all the way out here, the dude flies fast for a ghost obsessed in boxes.”

Harley glanced back over, noticing the kid now had finished the last of the sandwiches as he looked in the bag for more, shoving the garbage into it once he confirmed there was nothing left, “Boxy? Was that the freak in white?”

The kid shook his head, “nah, that was a government agent. G.I.W, or the Guys in White. Must’ve followed me, cornered me after I was already exhausted from chasing Boxy all over town. Boxy is the Box Ghost, blue ghost dude in overalls, fairly harmless but he can be a pain in the ass when he wants to be.”

“Want me to blow the rest of those agents up for you?” Harley asked, leaning closer while flashing a sinister grin.

The kid jerked back, “no! No it’s fine, just caught me off guard! I can handle them just fine, you don’t need to blow anyone up!” He squeaked out quickly, wildly waving his hands around. Harley couldn’t help but grin at the display, he reminded her a lot of Batsy’s kids. Energetic, good hearts (most of the time), think they can handle the world.

“So are you one of Batsy’s kids? Harley voiced her thoughts.

The kid blinked owlishly at her, “Batsy’s… you mean Batman? The Batman?”

Harley shrugged, “yeah, Batsy. He has quite a lot of them so I like to try and stay updated when he gets a new kid. You almost fit the bill, young teen, dark past, though the powers would be new.”

“How do you know I have a dark past?”

“Well, you said you were a ghost, right? Meaning you died and judging by your age, died before you even finished high school. I’d call that a dark past,” she kept out the lingering question of how he died, that wasn’t something you exactly ask someone when you first meet them. “So you aren’t one of Batsy’s kids?”

The kid shook his head, “nope,” he popped the p, “never even met the dark knight before. I barely visit Gotham, well anywhere if I can help it, I try to keep my problems in my home turf.”

“I see, you know what, I should’ve known better. Batsy would never let his kids run around this late anyway,” she hummed. “I did once see him chew a Robin out for fighting crime past his curfew, it got me arrested for sticking around to watch but boy was it worth it!” She laughed. She was surprised that Batman hadn’t gotten to this kid yet, anyhow. He didn’t always stick around Gotham ever since he joined that hero club, but that just meant that this dude had even more of a chance to find this kid. Must be dumb luck or something.

“Batman puts curfews on his sidekicks?” The kid asked, mouth agape.

“Well duh, the guy is all about the well-being of his kids. He has a no killing rule but he gets close to breaking it when one of his kids gets almost killed. He keeps them well fed, makes sure they sleep, I know because I can hear him from across rooftops at times and I fight enough of his kids to notice they aren’t skin and bones like you.”

The kid looked down at his ungloved hands, and she noticed him tracing the pattern of the ligament scar lightly with his other hand. His expression changed as he seemed to run through a series of thoughts before he spoke again, “why did you help me?” He asked, not looking up to meet her eyes, “you are a villain, right? You fight Batman and Robin, and other superheroes too if they face you. You know I’m not a villain, you said so yourself. So why help me? Wouldn’t it be better to just let a vigilante kid get knocked off so you don’t have to deal with him in future crimes?”

Harley felt her heart shatter, who the fuck hurt this kid like this? “I’m not some heartless bitch,” she said in a matter of fact tone, “you and all the teen sidekicks or vigilantes out there are still fucking kids. I have morals, and some villains don’t have the same morals as me, but seeing you getting kicked around by some freak in an alley where no one could see you? That kind of shit rubs me the wrong way. I fight teen heroes from time to time because I know they can handle it, they can fight back and I myself won’t stoop so low as to kill them if I manage to get in a few lucky hits.” She lightly nudged his shoulder, “and it’s not like you’ve personally wronged me or anything. I felt like being nice, helping out. You seem like a good kid, so why not help you out? Maybe one day I can call a favour and you can distract Bats while I kidnap the president?” She joked.

The kid looked up suddenly, sending his hair in rippling waves as he was giving her a wide eyed and the most worried look imaginable. She couldn’t help but let out another laugh, “I’m joking!” She clarified. “But I think we could have some pretty interesting game nights with Ivy. Not illegal game night, more like Uno or something. Maybe just a little gambling.”

The kid relaxed again, “well… uh… thanks. For helping me. And the food. And talking,” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at the sky.

“No problem, be sure to come visit again. Hey, maybe I can even introduce you to Bats at some point! Make a big show and pretend you are a villain and then BAM! Just kidding he’s just a glowing vigilante I helped out once!” She stood up, stretching her arms a little, “be sure to take it easy on your way to your home by the way, maybe take a nap or something on the way there.”

The kid nodded with a smile and stood up with her, then paused as shock filled his eyes and he spun quickly towards Harley, “Wait- how do you know I sleep-?”

Harley laughed, “well, I don’t think ghosts normally eat, so I’m assuming you sleep too,” she offered a soft smile, “just take it easy, and hey, if you ever find yourself in trouble.” Harley then pulled out a business card she usually kept for shits and giggles, handing over the poorly designed card to the kid, “know that you have a friend in Gotham who’s ready to help. And who knows how to get Batsy’s attention the fastest.” She winked.

The kid took the card, a confused grin tugging at his lips, “thanks. Hey, uh. I go by Phantom. Since I never really introduced myself.”

“Well Phantom, nice to meet you,” Harley grinned back.

[americxn]

“I didn’t love you enough.” (James x Reader)

❣ James takes his devotion to the reader one step further ❣

wordcount: 2.3k

a/n: is this what angst is? i’ve never been sure what angst actually means lol

warnings: blood, death

“I have something for you, dearest.” You looked up at James from you position beside the gently crackling fireplace in your shared suite, a book thrown open on your legs that you had partially curled underneath you on the velvet red armchair. “Oh?” You pressed with a smile, encouraging him to go on. James bought you gifts and set up little surprises for you all the around the hotel at least three times a week and so his declaration wasn’t in the least surprising, but it still sent a spark of excitement jolting through you. “Yes.” He drawled, holding out a hand to you from where he stood beside the armchair. You closed your book, placing it on the low table before the fire and unfurling your legs from beneath you to accept his hand. Pulling you to your feet, you looked up at him as he explained: “You know how I love to spoil you?” you giggled quietly with a nod, waiting for him to go on. “Well, I’ve had a...gift, I suppose, planned out for you for a short while now, but I must admit, I’ve been too nervous to give it to you.”  You frowned a bit at this, your excitement spiking. Within your relationship, you and James were very rarely nervous around each other and were fairly open about any concerns that the two of you had.  “Okay?” You said, squeezing his hand as the two of you halted before your large shared bed.  James gestured to the bed with a hand, your eyes following his indication to see a long, slender black box sat atop the covers at the foot of the bed. The box was furnished neatly with a thick black ribbon, your name written in cursive gold on the top of it. “Can I?” You asked James. At his nod of confirmation, you released his hand, reaching forwards to pick up the box. There was some weight to it and you sat yourself down at the foot of the bed with the box in your lap, carefully pulling the ribbon undone.

James stood before you, watching your every move intently; with tense shoulders, there seemed to be an anxious, restless aura radiating from the man. The ribbon fell away from the box and you discarded it beside you, glancing up at James with a smile before turning your attention back to the black cardboard of the box. He offered you a tight smile in return, his hands clasped tightly before him. You pulled the lid off the box, setting it on top of the ribbon. There was a thin layer of silver tissue paper covering whatever lay inside and it’s crinkling filled the silence of the room as you parted the crisp paper to reveal what lay inside. Atop the black cushion that sat in the bottom of the box was a slender silver dagger. It’s blade was flat and cruelly pointed at the end and the hilt was ornately engraved, it’s metal cold in you palm as you picked it up.  “Wow.” You remarked under your breath. “It’s beautiful.” You said, looking up at James. His face was tight, his brow furrowing as you removed it from the box, discarding the black cardboard and weighing the dagger in your hands.  “Thank you.” You beamed at him, pushing yourself to your feet and pulling James into a tight hug. He hugged back for a moment before pulling away, his hands coming to settle on your shoulders and you examined the way the silver glinted in the dim light of the room. Although you didn’t comment on it, you noticed the hard set of his shoulders as you hugged him and the way that his hands clamped down on your shoulders slightly. “Yes, it is. Darling, I want you to listen to me.” You looked at him. “Okay. Is everything alright? I don’t know you seem...off. Nervous.” “Well yes.” He agreed, giving your shoulder a light push to usher you to the bed. He sat on the mattress and you settled yourself upon his lap, the knife a cold weight in your hands. “Now, my love.” You glanced at him, slight worry beginning to unfurl in the pit of your stomach at his serious tone.  “We’ve been together for a considerable amount of time now.” You smiled softly, your thumb brushing over the heavy engagement ring adorning your left hand. “And I don’t think I will ever be capable of feeling even an ounce of the love that I feel for you towards anyone else.” You met his gaze at the heartfelt words, leaning your shoulder into his chest.  “Well, that’s good to know.” You said softly. James huffed a tight laugh in your ear, his large hands coming to wrap tightly around your waist. “Yes. But I’ve... I feel as if I have encountered a sort of... block, if you like, in our relationship.” You sat up straight, your eyes filling with concern as you scanned his face. James hardly ever stumbled over his words, and yet here he was, his clever articulation slipping slightly. “Well, what - Is it something I’m doing?” You asked him, slightly panicked. “Just tell me and I can -”  “Darling, it’s not you.” He cut you off, your next words falling from your lips.  “Then what is it?” You pressed at his thoughtful pause. His dark eyes finally met yours, a glint of frustration shining in them. “It’s difficult for me to accept the fact that you get to keep living whilst I’m stuck in this godforsaken building.” He said flatly, his words blunt. You had to fight to stop your jaw from falling open. “And I know that it is no fault of yours.” He assured, his hands coming to stroke down your spine. The touch, although meant to be loving, felt forced. “But please just try to imagine how it feels to watch you leave the hotel at your whim. I don’t know where you go or who you meet or anything.”  “But I always tell you where I go and who with?” You said with a frown, slightly annoyed at his harsh proclamation. “Yes, but how am I to know whether you tell the truth or not?” You bristled slightly. “So you don’t trust me?” James paused, noting the annoyance seeping into your posture.  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, dear, it’s everyone else. I can’t be there to protect you.” He said, a shade softer. You scoffed, twisting in his lap to face his completely. “I don’t need your protection, James. Or anyone else’s for that matter.” James sighed at your mounting irritation, one on his hands lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I know, but listen-” You cut him off before he could finish. “So what is this for?” You asked, lifting the blade to Jame’s nose with a flourish. James’ hand latched onto your own that was wrapped around the cool hilt, pushing the blade back down onto your lap. “That is... well, I - have you not figured it out yet?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “No?”  His eyes softened as they flicked down to the floor. Using his hands, he spun you around on his lap so that you were completely facing him, straddling his legs. His hands found your face, cupping your jaw. “My dear. I simply cannot keep watching you live a life that I cannot be fully involved with. I know that this is a lot to ask but I truly believe that our love cannot survive if we continue living separate lives like we are right now.” One of his hands fell away from your face. His touch was cold but steady as he put his hand over yours on the dagger, bringing it slowly upwards so that the sharp tip rested just against your breast bone. He pressed the tip of the blade into your warm flesh slightly. “I want you to join me.” He finished quietly, his eyes full of hope as you processed what, exactly, he was asking of you. The cold tip of the knife pressing against the point between your breasts served as a reminder that James was being deadly serious and your gut twisted in horror at his words. He wanted you to kill yourself. To be with him for eternity. “No.” You blurted, pushing the dagger away from your chest. “No. No, absolutely not!” You pushed yourself off his lap hurriedly, watching as James’ eyes gutted and his lip curled. He stood too, stalking towards you and you cursed yourself for having released the blade. The silver glinted wickedly in the dim light as he stalked for you. “I love you too much, y/n.” He said, “I need you here with me.” “James, stop.” You yelped, backing away from him with your arms held out in front of you, palms turned up. “I love you too but I can’t die for you. Please, just give me second.” His advances continued, his face morphing from the man you loved to the monster that so many other had begged to in horror in their final moments.  Your face was suddenly wet with tears and your back hit the door to your shared room. Reaching for the door handle behind your back, you twisted it, turning quickly and bolting from the room. The carpet was silent beneath your bare feet as you ran down the empty corridor, but you didn’t make it very far. James appeared suddenly before you, his hands grabbing onto your shoulders and slamming you against the hard wall. His face was contorted with anger, yet his eyes were soft with a devastation which, had you not been so desperate to get away from him, would have shattered your heart. “How dare you run from me.” He scolded harshly, a single tear spilling onto his pale cheek as he shook you slightly. “James, please.” The silver of the knife glinted in the corner of your vision from where it was clutched in James’ grip, the hand he held it in clamping down on your shoulder. “Give me a second, I want to talk to you about it.” You pleaded, your voice rising. James’ eyes were wild and it seemed as if he were engaging with some sort of inner conflict within himself. “I can’t. I need you here with me. I refuse to watch up leave me everyday for any longer, knowing that the only reason that you return is because I am stuck here. I refuse to watch you walk out those doors, unsure if you will actually return ever again. I refuse to watch you grow old and frail whilst I remain this way until the very world burns.” You sobbed as he slammed you against the wall over and over again, punctuating his words. His face had gone red with pure anger and desperation, and there was nothing that you could do as he lifted his arm high above his head, the silver of the knife winking down at you. “JAMES.” You roared, your hands raising, ready to try and block the path of the blade. “If you do this, James, I will never love you again. I swear to god.” Your shouted words caused James’ set look to falter. “I’ll become just like Elizabeth. I will spend all of eternity hating you. Kill me, and I will never let you see me again.” His mouth went slack, a hint of humanity filling his dark eyes. “I love you, James. But I can’t let you take my family, my friends, my life, away from me. You, do this and I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to love you anymore.” His hand shook, his lip curling into a snarl at your words. His eyes darted from your face to the hand that you held up in front of your face, readying to intercept the dagger’s path to your heart. His gaze fell onto the ring wrapped around your finger, the material symbol of your love for one another. “I’m sorry.” He muttered, his eyes glued to your ring finger. “But I would rather have you here with hate in your heart than out there with love. I need you with me.” His voice was rough but horrifyingly soft. “You will learn to love me again.” And with that, he plunged his arm down, your scream ricocheting off the walls of the hallway, echoing throughout every corridor of the hotel. The blade slid into your chest with ease, your hands grasping onto the sharp edges of the knife in your attempt to pry James’ hand off the hilt. It cut deep into you palms and you sputtered and grunted, your own blood warm and slick as it coated your hands, running down your front in torrents and pooling at your feet, coating the tips of James’ shoes. You gasped and panted, James’ face unmoving as his eyes bore into yours, watching as you fought against him. There was no pain in his eyes, only cold determination. “I -” You fought to stay conscious through the burning waves of pain that radiated from your chest, your rapidly dulling eyes finding James’ own. His face, although set in harsh tenacity, was streaked with tears as your shoulders began to slump. “I didn’t love you enough.” You groaned out in a whisper, the edges of your vision blurring into blackness. The dagger stuck in you chest began to slowly slice its way upwards slightly as you legs gave out beneath you, the knife running through your chest to the wall behind you the only thing keeping you from crumpling to the floor.  James’ face turned utterly pale at your words, his shock and fear the last thing you saw before the world turned dark. taglist: @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise (if you wanna be added or removed, just let me know <3)

[lucky-catttt]

Maxwell Lord’s Aphrodite - Pt 1

Summary: When Maxwell Lord’s world comes crashing down, you, his personal assistant bring him back from the pits of despair.

Pairings: Maxwell Lord x Reader (female), Maxwell Lord x You

Rating: Mature 18+ ONLY - I’ve also put a smut alert ahead in bold if you want to skip straight to the good bits ;)

Word Count: 7,381

Warnings: Sexual intercourse, foreplay, mentions of domestic abuse, trauma, drug/alcohol abuse.

A/N: This is my first fan-fic, so the writing might not be fantastic, but if you have any pointers/advice please tell me! I always read stories about Maxwell being a domineering guy and never stories about how he can be romantic and soft. When I watched WW84 especially at the end I saw how emotional and vulnerable he was with Alistair and wanted to write a story that portrayed him as a big cuddly teddy bear under all that masculine exterior. Enjoy!

You’ve worked for black and gold corporation for the better part of 7 years. You were hired as an intern assistant at just 21, soon after the company jettisoned from its humble beginnings inside a matchbox office suite on the corner of a strip mall, to a stock market listed company leasing the top floor in the tallest high rise office building in Los Angeles. Soon after moving in, the top floor office was packed with young, vibrant men and women who helped profits soar. But even at its busiest, Maxwell always made time for his staff. No matter what he was going through, he would give his staff his undivided attention and empathy. If they were having personal or professional problems, he would do everything he could to help. It aligned with his company motto, “life is good, but it can be better”.

He believed it was important to be as personable and helpful to others as possible, he felt that it was imperative to his own success. Only you knew this really stemmed from his less than favourable upbringing, being abused by his father, bullied by his peers and having to work hard for his achievements. He could be having the worst day, but he would never make it known to his team, all except you of course, being his personal assistant. As you spent a large amount of time together, Maxwell confided in and involved you in many personal areas of his life. 6 months after you started working for Max, he invited you and your then boyfriend to his wedding, stealing a waltz from you at the Reception. A year later, when his son, Alistair was born, he would show you picture after picture of baby photos, gushing about how proud he was to be a father. 3 years later when the company had its first day on the US stock exchange, you and Max stayed up all night at the office running through press releases, interviews and planning the next 6 months of his now very hectic schedule. When Alistair would come to the office to visit, you would babysit and play with him, change him, feed him, read him stories and sing him to sleep.

As he started to grow up, you soon rivaled Max in Alistair’s favourite person to spend time with at the office. Two years ago when you ended up in a very bad car accident and broke your arm, Max showed up personally to the hospital looking frantically worried about you. He even brought along Alistair who was helping carry a giant bouquet of flowers, a teddy bear and balloons. He stayed overnight after your surgery, sleeping in the most awkward positions on the single armchair next to your hospital bed. While you were in surgery, he made sure your work health insurance covered every cent and even provided company paid physiotherapy so you could get better properly. You knew you were in love with him since that dance at his wedding, but you had too much respect and adoration for him to be a homewrecker. Plus, you just assumed as he was so involved with all of his staff, that it didn’t mean he would be into you romantically.

As you were required to attend many of the shareholder and CCO/CEO/CFO meetings to take minutes, you became intrigued with the world of business and economics. So you enrolled in a Bachelor’s degree part time through a local University. At the time, women in business was largely unheard of, and to avoid sexist comments and discrimination, you told no one. When the Global Financial Crisis hit, it slammed into Maxwell’s dreams like a meteoroid. Overtime was required at the office and you spent most of your time in Max’s office doing paperwork for staff that had been laid off due to the budget cuts. Each day he would be on the phone, yelling at other business men on the other side of the world. You watched his positive energetic demeanor slowly chip away, as his drinks cart full of spirits and liqueurs dwindled alongside. Not long after, Black and Gold’s Chief Financial Officer and advisors within the company were arrested for Insider Trading and other shady business dealings.

Throughout all of this, you had given Max as much support, personally and professionally as you could, while still being respectful and platonic as he was a married man. With most of the staff gone and the company’s finances in disarray from the GFC and mismanagement, the universe dealt Max the final blow, his divorce. His wife, who was clearly only interested in him for his money and how it could provide her a cushy lifestyle, filed for divorce as the company was failing. She tried to take him to the cleaners financially, but Max was smart enough to have a prenuptial agreement and keep what was left of his dwindling fortune. So she used their son, Alistair, as a pawn in her game. The courts granted Max shared custody, but only one visit per fortnight. This devastated him as his son was his whole world.

He didn’t want to become destitute by giving up his fortune to his wife, but he didn’t want to lose his son, either. It started to tear him apart, leading to drunken nights in his office, alone. Except, he wasn’t totally alone. Every night, after everyone had gone home, you would stay back late each night to check on him and make sure he hadn’t done anything stupid. You would sit in one of the barren office cubicles with a vantage point to his office, but invisible to see from his desk. With tears sitting at the edges of your eyes, you silently watch him drink enough alcohol to chill out a bull, take some pills, flip through photo books of Alistair and start to sob. This went on for months. Overdue bills and foreclosure notices started to pile up on his desk. Egregiously inflated child support payment requests from his ex-wife littered the coffee table in his office.

Today was an exceptionally hard day, Max had received a resignation letter from his second last employee, leaving just you and him in the office. He slept on the futon in his office the night before, waking up looking disheveled, his tie pulled loose, shirt half tucked, suit jacket on the floor and his shoes god knows where. He looked awful.

Night falls, shrouding the office in darkness. Apart from a few desk lights, the floor is cold & dark. As you start packing boxes with office paperwork and belongings, you glance over to see the outline of Max at his desk, with his back turned, silently smoking a cigarette and drinking a glass of whiskey on ice. He reaches back for a brief moment, to press the answering machine, illuminated by his desk lamp. *beep* Message received, Wednesday, 4:33 pm “Hello Maxwell this is Brittany from AMP investments, your lease agreement with us has been defaulted for 6 months now with $150,000 in rent arrears. If it is not paid by the 30th of this month, building management will deactivate access to the floor and repossess any remaining belongings on the property. *beep* End Message. Message received Thursday, 5:43 pm “Max it’s Barb, I’m cancelling Alistair’s visit this weekend, seeing as you don’t want to pay me any extra child support.” *beep* End Message. Message received today, 7:02 pm “Hey Daddy, it’s Alistair, Mommy said I can’t come over because you’re working too much to see me. I wish you weren’t working all the time so we could play together and go to the movies and-“ you hear Barb, Max’s ex wife cut him off with “Alistair? What are you doing on the phone?! Who are you talking to?” Alistair whines, “I wanted to talk to Daddy” suddenly the sound of the receiver slams into the phone. *beep* End Message. You have no new messages.

The office is dead silent, but you can audibly hear the sound of Max’s heart shattering into a thousand pieces. He begins to cry, slowly shrinking in his chair, slumping down with his forearms on his knees and his head bowed. The cries slowly become more intense, with Max gasping for air between the long loud shrieks as his whole body shakes. “Alistair! My Alistair! My boy! I’ve failed you! Your Daddy failed you!” He wails, tears freely flooding down his face and snot dripping out of his nose, both like endless waterfalls. He drops to his knees and collapses onto the carpet, like he’s been shot right through the chest. He continues to sob & wail, forgetting that he isn’t alone in the office. You walk to the doorway of his office, frozen with indecision. Your heart was pounding and eyes on the verge of tears from what you just heard. On one hand you feel like you’re intruding on something extremely personal and maybe somewhat embarrassing for Maxwell, but you’ve never seen him like this and he looked like he was physically dying.

“Mr Lord, is everything okay?” Your soft voice quietly called out from the doorway of his office. Your medicated voice jolts Max out of his catatonic state and into a sitting upright position, as he quickly wipes his face and fixes his hair. “Oh, Ug-I’m so sorry for you to see me like this, it’s quite unbecoming of me” Maxwell apologises, trying to play it off with a light hearted chuckle between quiet heaved sobs. You catch a frozen stare, peering straight into his soul past the bloodshot, weepy but warm, brown irises.

Your heart is thumping hard, as if to try and break out of your ribcage and fly over to him. Max had been there for all of his staff, especially you. You couldn’t walk away after everyone else in his life had abandoned or given up on him. “You don’t need to apologise, Mr Lord.” You slowly reply, stepping over the booze bottles littering his office floor as you walk over to him. He’s frantically adjusting his outfit and hair, to look as put together as possible before you sit down beside him on the floor. You both sit there in silence, with the odd sniffle coming from Max’s nose. You finally pucker up the courage and say “I didn’t want to intrude but I heard the voice messages, I’m so sorry all of this has happened to you, Max”.

He had never heard you say his name before, it was always “Mr Lord”. It felt like honey soothing his dry strained throat as it rolled off your tongue. You continued, “You’ve always been there for me”, you paused to redirect attention, “for all of us. What can I do to help?”. You reach out and place your hand on his. Your warm, soft touch sends a shock wave of emotion through his body. No one has cared about him like this before, let alone touched him in such a gentle way. Max stares at your now teary eyes, realising he can be vulnerable and trust his longest and closest friend.

He collapses by your side, crying into your shoulder “I’m a failure” he sobs “My business, my marriage and most importantly I’ve failed my son. I just hope one day that he can forgive me and love me and be proud of me. He is my whole life, I just want him back”. You start to choke up but you have to remain composed. You look up and away, silently biting your knuckle and blinking tears back into your eyes before responding. “Max, you are not a failure, you are an exceptional human being. You built this company from nothing and you changed peoples lives. And don’t even get me started with Alistair, you’re the best father a kid could ask for, it’s not your fault your ex wife is being abusive”. He continues to sob, so you wrap your arm around his side and let him cry for a few minutes. The smell of his chemically lightened & straightened dark blonde hair filled your nostrils as his forehead pressed against your chin.

His large fingers and palms grip your free hand. They’re surprisingly soft & very warm. You freeze as his touch sends zaps of electricity up your arm and down your body. As Maxwell leans against you, your perfume overloads his senses, bringing him back to a conscious state. What was he doing? He thought to himself. I’m a failure, and everything I get close to fails or leaves. He looks down at your hands. I can’t hurt such an amazing person. I have to rip off the metaphorical bandaid and be cruel to be kind. “Thank you” he sighs, catching his breath after minutes of sobbing “You can go home now. In fact, I want you to take a redundancy payout so you can find another job. There’s nothing left for you here. I’m a failure and I don’t want you drowning with the ship” he says, in a clinically professional voice. Max hands you a company envelope with your name on it. He sits up to take a sip on the remaining whiskey left in his glass.

Your ears begin to burn and your cheeks redden with anger. Tears prick at the edges of your eyes, begging for them to flow. “Alfred will take you home in the company car, or wherever you want to go”. He continues, now smoking a cigarette.

“But what If I don’t want to go?” You whisper, trying to hide the sobs that are trying to break through your voice. “Please, I just want you to be happy” Max replies. You take great offence at his ignorant statements, as if he knows what makes you truly happy. “How do you know what makes me happy, Max?” You huff, standing up abruptly and folding your arms. “Well, I don’t know, but I can’t exactly see how you would be happy staying here while my company fails” he answers, shrugging. You feel your heart begin to break, realising that even being single and having such a close professional relationship with you, Max seemed to hold no deeper feelings for you and was almost starting to turn on you. You stand there wanting to run for the door but trying to think logically. Men are dim, maybe he doesn’t realise your true feelings? Maybe he’s preoccupied with his own and too overwhelmed to face them?

Max’s embarrassment from being caught in such a vulnerable state compounded with offending you takes its toll and he starts to get frustrated and impatient. “I think I just want to be alone now”. He sighs, looking away. The words cut deep, slicing you apart like ribbons. You begin to feel yourself fall apart, your emotions and thoughts spilling out with force. “I can’t leave” you sob, hanging your head in shame. Hearing you start to cry, he starts to hate himself more as he's clearly made you upset. With emotions bubbling over, he stands up, looking at you with tears in his eyes. “Why? Why can’t you leave!?” He shouts, a pained look of frustration and confusion on his face as he puts his hands on your arms, gently shaking you to get you to speak.

The last of the ribbons tying up your words from coming out fall down around you. You look deep into his crazed brown eyes, longing for an answer. “Because I love you!” You blurt out, sobbing. The tension in the room is now thick enough to cut with a knife. “I’ve loved you since the night we danced at your wedding. I fell in love with one of the most empathic, intelligent, hard working and compassionate men I know. You changed my life and every day I wish I could’ve shown you the love & kindness you deserve. That you need”. You step back from his grip, straightening your pantsuit as you compose yourself. “But I guess if I’m not needed anymore, I’ll leave you alone, Mr Lord”. The duality of your emotive declaration of love against the rigid clinical final words lurched his heart forward like a freight train and then slammed against his rib cage with the force of 100Gs.

You start to stride towards the door, but Maxwell follows behind you quickly, grabbing your hand, where you turn around on your heels. He grabs both of your hands and brings them up between you, squeezing them gently. “Pl-please don’t, don’t leave me” he begs, “you-you’re all I have left”. His dark brown eyes shimmer with tears as he shoots you a pleading gaze. He drops to his knees, wrapping his arms around your legs and squeezing tight like he's hanging on for dear life. You stand frozen on the spot, feeling Max’s warm breath on your legs as he heaves a few more cries. As you start to run your hands through his dark blonde locks, the sensation calms your mind and you reach your hands down to cup Max’s face, tilting it up to look at you. “I won't, Max” you say with a concerned gaze. “As long as you don’t push me away”. Max nods silently as he reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out his pocket square. He stands up and starts to gently wipe your tears away. “I’m so sorry” he apologises “I lashed out because I felt like a failure and I didnt want to let you down anymore and disappoint you.” he continues while making sure he’s wiped all of the tears from your cheeks and cleaned up some of your smudged makeup. “You’re not a failure, Max” you reply, “You’re an incredible man and you should be proud of everything you have achieved”.

Max gives you a small smile, blushing slightly as he gently embraces you with his big arms, pulling you close against his chest. His strong cologne masked the slight tinge of body odour from not showering mixed into a masculine and attractive scent. You quietly inhale as much as your lungs will allow, savouring every smell. As he starts to brush through your curls with his large fingers, he plants a small kiss on your head, making you feel like you could melt out of his arms and into a puddle on the floor. “I’m sorry, too.” you whisper. “Sorry for what?” he quizzes, looking down at you, puzzled. “For telling you that I love you. It’s true, but I feel like it was not the most appropriate time to tell you with everything that’s going on with Alistar, the company, your-” Max interrupts your sentence “Come with me”. Max strides you across his office floor with his arm around your waist. You both walk over to an unassuming door, which you always thought led to a supply closet. Upon its opening, you step into the room to reveal a whole bedroom, complete with a dining table, sofa, TV and ensuite. You had been Max’s personal assistant for 7 years and had no idea such a room even existed. “Wow” you manage to blurt out in complete shock. “I had this room made so that when I was working long hours my ex-wife and Alistair could stay here” Max explained, adjusting bits and bobs around the room “Although my ex-wife never stayed. She always accused me of sleeping with other women in this bed when in fact I was actually working. I kind of live here now, having sold my estate to pay to keep the company running”

He gestures to you to sit on the timber art deco dining chair, as he picks up the phone on the coffee table. “Alfred. Can you please take a drive and bring back any decent takeout food you find. Make sure to get some for yourself, too”. Max hangs up the phone before turning on the radio and then grabs two wine glasses from the small bar by the lounge and a bottle of red wine. He places both glasses on the table and fills both half way. You pick up your glass and walk over to the floor to ceiling window, overlooking downtown LA. As Max is fussing over tidying and making the room perfect, he glances over to see you standing alone, looking out the window. Lost in your own little world, you feel Max’s large soft hand intertwine with your free hand. “I started black and gold in a shoebox office inside a strip mall, over there, in South LA” he points just in front of the hills. He pauses. “I expect that after I get evicted I won’t even be able to lease that same office”. You give his hand a small squeeze. “Maybe I could help you”. Max looks at you dubiously. “How do you mean?” He inquired.

Just as you were planning to answer, Alfred arrives with some food. Max walks over to your dining chair and pulls it out, gesturing for you to sit. You take your seat and he flaps a linen napkin into your lap, before sitting down adjacent to you. Alfred had bought some delicious Mexican food, the intoxicating smell of meats, cheeses and spices filling the room. “Thank you, Alfred. I’ll call you again if we need anything” Max smiles, patting Alfred on the back as he leaves. You both sit at the table for hours, eating, drinking and talking about the company. Max finally learns the secret that you’ve been hiding about studying at University. “I haven’t officially graduated yet, but learning what I have, I could probably help Black and Gold get out of its current predicament. I also might know some investors that I befriended in the same units as me from the University”. Max shoots you a soft smile. “You really are the best assistant and friend anyone could ask for” he beams, placing his hand on yours. Embarrassed by his compliment and burning with desire to want to kiss him, you stand up and head over to the couch to distract yourself from your intense feelings. Max realises the use of the word friend was probably a poor choice. He must be honest with you and tell you how he feels. Max joins you on the couch where your arms are crossed and you’re staring ahead. You’re trying to avoid eye contact else you’ll burst into flames.

********SMUT ALERT********

“I hope you don’t think I’m rude or ignoring the impassioned declaration you made earlier” Max smiles “I just wanted to give you a semi-decent first date”. You feel your cheeks begin to blush and you unfold your arms. “The truth is” Max continues, resting his hand on yours. “I feel the same way about you. Even before my ex-wife divorced me, I started to fall in love with you. The way you are with Alistair, how committed you are to helping me. I just didn’t think you’d wanna be with an older man like me and even more so when everything started to go downhill”.

You place your hand on top of Max’s, both now staring at each other softly yet intensely. “Max” you turn to face him, edging closer. Max nervously places his hands on your cheeks. “I’ve waited for 7 years, please kiss me”.

Max finally kisses your lips, setting your whole body alight. Dizzy from the sensation, you lay back on the couch as Max follows down on top of you. He begins peppering slow, thoughtfully placed kisses down your jaw and neck. You let out a whimper as your hands twirl through his hair. Every movement he makes is slow, as if he is trying to slow down time and make this moment last forever. Max comes back up and passionately kisses your mouth, your tongue begging his for entrance. As your tongues intertwine, he holds your head and neck with one hand, while stroking your hair with the other. Max holds you gently yet strongly in his arms, like he’s holding onto a fragile Fabergé egg. With the position you’re in on the couch and the impracticality of your work attire in non-work sitting positions, he senses that you’re uncomfortable.

“May I?” He asks, holding the zipper to your dress as he places his arms behind your back. You nod and he slowly unzips it, gently slipping it off you and carefully folding it over the armrest of the lounge. Overcome with passion and desire from Max’s romantic gestures, you blurt out “I want you to take me, Max”. Without a word, he scoops you up in his arms and walks you over to the bed, placing you down gently in the middle. Max sits at the foot of the bed, marvelling at your stunning body. You’re wearing stockings and a purple lingerie set, coincidentally Max’s favourite colour.

Max leans down and kisses the top of your foot, peppering kisses up your legs before reaching the clips of your garter belt. He unclasps them before rolling down the stockings, kissing back down your legs. Burning with desire, you unclasp your bra and garter belt, throwing them to the side of the bed. Max looks up from kissing your legs to see your breasts exposed in the moonlight, your nipples hard from his gaze.

“Y-you look absolutely beautiful” he chokes before climbing up on top of you to reach your face. You blush, feeling Max’s extremely hard cock straining in his suit trousers against your thigh. “Kiss me, Max” you moan, brushing your lips against his and moving your hand down towards his crotch. Max slowly and passionately begins to kiss you, your tongues swirling in each other’s mouths, the taste of wine and chilli making for a sensual combination. As your hand reaches Max’s crotch, you begin to grope and rub his sizeable length, causing him to let out a loud moan. You shoot him a cheeky sexual gaze, but he grabs your hand and brings it up for you to cup the side of his face. “Not just yet my little dove” he whispers. You pout but decide to put your hands to better use and unbutton his shirt, revealing his strong chiseled chest. Max starts to breathe deeper from arousal as you unbuckle his belt and throw it to the floor. “I want to take my time with you” Max whispers “You’ve waited so long and I want this moment to be everything you deserve. I want to worship and pleasure you completely”.

Your pussy is now completely soaked, the faint squelches from your juices against your panties sounds in the background of Max kissing your neck. Maxwell is more preoccupied with taking his time in a combination of making up for lost time with you, giving you the best first time with him and making this moment last as long as possible. “Guide me” Max sighs between kisses, giving you his free hand. Holding it with both hands, you guide him down your neck and to your breasts. Max traces your breasts, flicking your nipples as he watches you whine with pleasure. Slowly he leans down and begins to suck on them, gently swirling his tongue and flicking. He kisses from one breast to the other, squeezing them in his hand. “Your body is perfect. Your skin is so soft.” he moans. By this time you’re rubbing your thighs together in an effort to stimulate your clit without your hands as they’re gripping Max’s dark blonde hair.

“Max, take off your pants” you pant, becoming overstimulated from all this teasing foreplay. He stands up off the bed and unzips his trousers, pulling them down to reveal his rock hard cock. “Oh Max” you moan, reaching down under your panties to touch yourself as his cock twitches. Max hurriedly crawls onto the bed and back up to your face, pulling your hand out of your panties. He brings your fingers close to his mouth and rubs them on his lips before bringing his tongue out to swirl around them, sucking your juices off them. “Touch me Max” you immediately whimper “I need your touch”. Max moans before kissing you passionately. As you both enjoy your tender kiss, Max traces his hand down your body, over your breasts, along your stomach and reaches the edge of your panties. Max reaches into your panties and gently places a finger at the top of your pussy, gently but firmly pressing down as he traces over your clit and down to your opening. Your wetness has coated every inch of your pussy. “You’re so wet” he pants, the sensation starts to send some beads of precum out the tip of his cock. “For you” you moan, writhing in pleasure at his calculated & lingering touch.

Looking deep into your eyes, Max rubs your folds slowly before he inserts two fingers gently but deep inside you. He begins to switch between a circling and a come hither motion on your g-spot, sending sparks shooting up through your body. You arch your back and let out a moan, while Max kisses your neck. “Oh Max baby that feels so good” you moan, gripping the sheets. “You feel amazing” Max sighs, brushing your hair out of your face so he can study your facial expressions as he pleasures you. Just when you thought it couldn’t feel any more amazing, Max places his thumb onto your clitoris, bringing you closer to climax in a matter of milliseconds. “Oh my god Max, Max I’m gonna cum” you moan into his neck, biting him. Max continues fingering you, intently watching your face waiting for you to reach orgasm.

Between Max’s fingering, his kisses and eye contact it doesn’t take long for it all to send you over the edge, riding into a full body orgasm, squirting all over Max’s hand. “You’re so beautiful baby” Max coos, holding your body close with his fingers still inside you as your back arches and your body trembles while you let out a long loud moan. Despite this exquisite display and sensation happening between your legs, Max keeps eye contact with you, peering deep into your soul, completely enamoured. As you start to come down from your orgasm, Max slowly removes his fingers and sucks them clean. “You taste incredible, so sweet baby” he moans, licking the squirt off his hand. As you begin to catch your breath, Max kisses down your body and reaches your pussy, where he begins to lap up the rest of your juices. Very gently, Max parts the puffy pussy lips covering your clit. He starts to lick in between the folds, avoiding your clit as it recovers from the intense orgasm. He travels down to your entrance where he sticks his tongue inside, tasting your juices inside you.

The hum from his moan as he eats you out relaxes you like a lullaby. Max then comes back up to your face, kissing your forehead. “That was incredible Max” you pant, staring up at the ceiling. He rests his lips against your neck, cupping your breast and gently squeezing it and thumbing your nipple. “Let me pleasure you Max, please” you beg, giving him a pleading gaze. Max obliges as you change positions with him now lying on his back. You cup his face with one hand, giving him a loving smile as his hand grabs yours. He starts to kiss you as your hands both guide down his chest, stomach and reach his groin. You begin to tease him, tracing your fingertips around the base of his cock, then up the shaft. Your light touches cause his cock to twitch. “Your touch is magical'' Max groans as your hand grips his shaft and travels up to his tip. His precum has soaked the head, giving you enough lubricant to slowly jerk your hand up and down, gripping tightly.

The sensation for Max is heavenly, panting and moaning between kissing your cheeks and forehead as you concentrate your gaze on his pulsing cock. Your jerking movements become more intense as you look up to see Max with his eyes closed, like he’s dreaming and if he opens them you’ll cease to exist. You continue to jerk him as you kiss his neck, feeling his cock harden even more and begin to pulse rapidly, like he’s getting close. “W-wait” Max whimpers. “I want this night to be about pleasuring you. Your mere presence pleasures me enough.” He kisses your hand & cups your cheek, looking deeply into your eyes. “What can I do to please you? Would you like t-to make love?”. Your heart bursts with emotion as this man is so set on pleasuring you so much. “Yes Max, I would love that very much” you sigh.

You lay back down on the bed, Max lying by your side. He begins to embrace you, running his hands over your body before kissing down your neck and chest as he rubs your clit. Max stops for a moment, studying your beautiful naked body. He then moves down and pushes your legs up, exposing your pussy. As you squeeze your breasts and look at his chiseled jaw, Max nervously lines up his cock before rubbing it on your clit, soaking the tip in your wetness. Impatient with how he’s teasing you, you whisper “Fuck me Maxwell”. Slowly, he pushes his cock down your clitoris and through your folds before the tip pushes inside. Without even being all the way inside, he moans “this must be what Heaven feels like”. With one gentle thrust, he’s completely inside, shuddering as your warm, tight, wet walls squeeze his cock shaft and tip. “Oh my god Max. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment” you moan, as he starts to slowly thrust. “M-me too beautiful” he grunts, feeling pure ecstasy wash over him as your pussy tenses, massaging his twitching length. A few minutes go by of you both silently staring intensely into each other’s eyes, kissing passionately. With every thrust you begin to connect deeper to Max, your bodies intertwining on a physical, emotion and spiritual level. Max’s cock twitches inside you as he watches you moan and bite your lip, squeezing your breasts.

“I can’t believe you love a man, a man like me” Max says still in disbelief, watching your body motion up and down as he slowly strokes in and out of you. He studies your body intensely, watching the moonlight and shadows play across your curves as your breasts bounce with every thrust. “You’re so beautiful Hermosa”, his mother tongue now coming through “como una diosa, like, A-Aphrodité.” he sighs, cupping your face with both hands. You cover his hands with yours, interlocking your fingers, turning your face each way slightly to kiss his palms and stare back at him lovingly and seductively, feeling like you could float away. “Your Aphrodite” you sigh, arching back slightly in pleasure, gripping his hands to guide them down to your breasts for him to lovingly caress and fondle. In slight shock at your romantic response, he immediately leans down whilst thrusting and peppers kisses all over your lips, letting out a sniffle.

With his eyes closed, focusing on lasting to bring you pleasure and to hide his emotions, a few tears drop onto your cheeks as he continues to thrust, now grunting each time into your neck to cover up the small sobs. You kiss his cheek, to take his tears away, the saltiness turning into sweet nectar on your tongue. “It’s okay baby, you can be vulnerable with me, I will protect you. I love you”. You choke, now crying also. Both sharing a connection transcending physically, in that exact moment, without an increase in volume, the lyrics of the Bob Dylan song playing on the radio seem to stand out and ring true in this very moment;

Storm clouds are raging all around my door, I think to myself I might not take it any more. Take a woman like your kind, To find the man in me. But, oh, what a wonderful feeling, Just to know that you are near. Sets my a heart a-reeling, From my toes up to my ears...

Your foreheads now together, staring deeply into each other’s eyes, Max whimpers “I love you so much” as his whole body begins to tense, signalling he’s on the precipice of an orgasm. Feeling his cock become even harder as it thrusts into the deepest part of your pussy, slamming the extra nerves to unlock your powerful orgasm. “Oh my god Max I’m gonna cum” you moan, slamming your eyes shut as you begin to try and slow down so this moment can last forever. “Cum mi reina” Max pants, keeping the tempo of his thrusting steady as the waves of your orgasm reach its peak before crashing down & flooding your entire body. Your body arches and trembles as you scream “Oh Max!” while your pussy clamping down & releasing in pulses on Max’s cock. The sight of you orgasming tied with the sensation around his cock sends Max over the edge. “Cielo” Max groans, shuddering all over as his cock spurts thick ropes of cum against your sensitive cervix. You both share a passionate kiss as Max’s cock softens inside you. “That was amazing Max” you pant, your body weak from the two mind blowing orgasms Max gave you.

Max collapses on the bed beside you, kissing your neck and running his fingers through your hair. “I can’t wait for us to do that again” Max chuckles against your neck. You kiss Max’s forehead, sighing as your body still slightly shakes from the two powerful orgasms Max just gave you. “I think a shower is in order” He embraces you momentarily before scooping you up in his arms and carries you off the bed, walking towards the ensuite. “Are you ever gonna let me walk again?” You giggle, nestling into his neck. “I like feeling you be as close to me as possible” Max laughs, before your feet land back on the tiles inside the bathroom. Max turns on the water and you both step into the shower, the steam now filling the room. Max has an assortment of body washes and shampoos, ranging from musky to citrusy and floral scents. You step closer to Max as he takes some lavender body wash and begins to rub it down your back, his hands dancing over the rest of your body as he starts to wash you. “I know I keep saying this, but you are so beautiful” Max sighs, running his hands over your ass, grabbing a cheek in each hand. “You’re not too bad yourself, handsome” you giggle against Max’s neck.

You both spend at least an hour in the shower, washing each other, chatting and sharing a few more intimate moments. Soon, the wine from dinner, the warm shower water, the scent of lavender and your fatigue from your orgasms starts to take its toll and you feel your eyelids drooping. Max finishes washing you and grabs a towel to help you dry off with. As your eyelids close completely Max has already scooped you up and walked back to the bed, placing you in the middle before wrapping you up in blankets and placing a small kiss on your forehead. “Goodnight my love” he whispers. “Mmmm” you moan, already in a dream state. Max soon gets under the covers with you, embracing you tightly as he watches you sleep, twirling his fingers through your hair. The smell of lavender on your skin soon lulls Maxwell to sleep.

The next morning you wake up, dazed and a little hungover, but well rested. As you look around the room, you survey the many pieces of clothes, miscellaneous items and wine bottles strewn across the floor in a tornado of passion from the night before. As your eyes adjust to the sun, you see Max in an under-shirt and pyjama pants over by the dining table. Max, in his own little world, frantically setting the dining table with some breakfast Alfred had brought up while you were sound asleep. He’s making sure everything is laid out perfectly, straightening the cutlery and pouring Orange Juice and Champagne into a glass from the bar. He hears the cotton sheets move behind him, immediately turning around to see if you’re awake. “Good morning beautiful” Max hums, rushing over to the bed to pepper your cheeks and lips with hundreds of little kisses. “Morning handsome” you giggle, running your hands through Max’s hair, in an attempt to match your bed hair. “Are you hungry, mi amor?” he asks between kisses. “I’m famished” you reply, stretching to help you wake up more. As you writhe around in the sheets you notice you’re wearing a chiffon baby doll.

“I hope you don’t mind I uh, had it in the wardrobe & wasn’t sure if you liked to sleep naked so I put it on you just after you fell asleep.” Max laughs, scratching the back of his head. You blush, feeling embarrassed that you got that drunk, but Max’s reassuring smile makes you feel at ease. “I do usually sleep naked, but I like it, it makes me feel beautiful”. Max sighs “so beautiful”, wrapping you up in a tight embrace and planting a single kiss on your forehead. Max scoops you up and carries you out of bed before you lightly plant your feet onto the carpeted floor. As you glance over to the dining table, Max comes up behind you and helps you slip on a long beautiful chiffon robe, accented with feathers on the hem.

“Another little something for my beautiful mariposa” Max coos, kissing your cheek before pulling out your chair at the dining table. You feel like you’re walking on clouds as you step over to your chair and sit down, Max flapping a napkin onto your lap. “Oh my goodness Max you’re such a gentleman” you blush. “My mother taught me to show women the highest level of respect and care. She made me the man who I am today.” Max replies, looking out the window momentarily. You outstretch your arm across the table to squeeze Max’s hand “And she would be so proud of the man that you’ve become” you beam with a sweet smile. Max soon draws your attention to the diverse spread of pastries on the table, pointing out the different fillings of each and asks if you would like coffee. You nod before noticing a large bouquet of red roses in the middle of the table. As Max places a few pastries on your plate, you feel a sense of intense attraction wash over you like a wave.

Your internal monologue starts to read back to itself, reflecting on how loving, generous and respectful Max is towards you. How much he takes care of you and oh god, how handsome he looks…you start to feel aroused by this somewhat submissive gentleman, sensing a rising heat from your core. Max submitted to your every want and desire last night, raising you up and worshipping you like a goddess, now you wanted to submit to him. Knowing now that you can be vulnerable and honest around Max, you lean back in your chair, biting down on a blueberry pastry.

To be continued..... ;) muahahahaha

a special thanks to the users below for the inspiration and encouragment!

@pintsizemama @anaaaispunk @maxlordsgf @rav3n-pascal22, @pedrostories, @absurdthirst @pedrosbrat​

[imagine-lcorp]

Written In The Stars (One Shot)

Request

Hi! Can I request something like Lena falling in love with an alien reader?

A/N: Hey guys!!! First one shot of the year!!! Let’s hope we can keep the rhythm this time...also I broke my phone so I’ll probably be less active on the app...the writing is still going tho so yaaay! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one and as always, let me know what you think! Love ya beautiful people! 

Lena Luthor x Alien!R//Word Count: 2,204 -------------------------------------------------------

When she was younger, Lena Luthor used to look at the night sky with infinite awe. The map of stars that hung above the Earth had been the place where she could find solace and a sense of peace. The stars were never alone, always needing one another to form their constellations. They reminded her she was also not alone even if it seemed like it.

However, as she grew up most of that wonder translated into scientific interest, which started to diminish as she found herself enthralled by more practical sciences. The sky, as vast as it was, was a mystery she recognized she couldn't unravel in her lifetime. She needed to focus on more earthly things, but she was content to be another curious viewer of such canvas of light.

Being a curious viewer, however, was something that changed abruptly when the existence of extraterrestrial life was proven by no other than Superman. Even more when it was known the Earth had been a refuge for many more aliens than it was possible to believe. The stars had reached the Earth, and they came bearing their own cosmic forms of life.

The population had been divided between those that accepted and welcomed the space travelers and those that rejected the idea, defending their right to their land and planet, fearful of an unstoppable invasion, living with the enemy and whatnot. For a while, Lena found the latter to be a matter of great concern. She wanted people to feel safe and believed they had the right to know who among them was or not an alien.

It wasn't until Kara came to knock that idea off, presenting her with an alternative story and reminding her that those aliens too had a right to their own freedom. She opened her eyes to the reality most of them lived. They were mmigrants of desolated planets, seeking shelter from wars and just like Superman, seeking a new home after their planets had been shattered. There were a few bad seeds, yes, but most of them were only looking for a better life. Wasn't that enough to give them a vote of confidence?

Her alien detection device was then transformed into an image inducer, a new gadget that helped aliens conceal their true appearance if they wished to look physically human. It was great to blend with the crowd, and it was a great success in the alien market.

"Miss Luthor, Kara Danvers is waiting for you in the conference room." Jess told her one day as she arrived to the office.

"Kara?" She found herself surprised by the sudden visit of the journalist. "Does she want another interview?"

"No, she has come along with someone else. She said she only needed a few minutes with you."

"Alright." Lena said leaving her purse on her desk and taking a couple of files from Jess to revise them later. "Let's see what it is."

Lena Luthor entered her conference room to find two figures chatting amicably at the room table. One she could recognize immediately, with her golden locks and bright smile, the other she had no idea who it was but as soon as your eyes were on her she was curious to find out.

"Lena!" Kara said rising from her chair, with you following suit. "Thank you for meeting us in such short notice. We promise not to take too much of your time."

"Kara, of course. How can I help?"

"Well, actually, I would like to introduce you to (Y/N) (Y/L/N)." At the mention of your name, you stepped forward, extending your hand to Lena. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Luthor."  

"Lena, please." She said taking your hand.

"Then, please, call me (Y/N)." You said with a firm grip and a kind smile, something rare for Lena to see during those days.

"(Y/N) is the leader of an alien race residing in National City." Kara continued with a proud stance.

"Is that so?" Lena replied with a raised eyebrow and the hint of a smirk on her lips. "Is (Y/N) your real name?"

Lena's words prompted a chuckle from you, and you decided to clarify before there were any misunderstandings.

"It's my chosen Earth name. I don't think you have enough tongues to be able to pronounce the real one." You said with a playful smile. "Also, I wouldn't go that far. I am what you would call a representative, and it is of a small group only. Miss Danvers here is just too kind."

"She is, indeed." Her smile only grew bigger as she saw Kara fail to conceal a little pout.

"Well, you're still a great representative." Kara said.

"But to what do I own the honor of you visit?" Lena said gesturing to you to take your seats again. Kara smiled at you and moved along with you towards your seats.

"Right." You said pulling a small box from your jacket. "I'm here to deliver this."

Lena took the little box from your extended palm, her curiosity growing as she inspected its contents. Inside she found a little black matte icosahedron, nothing extraordinary by the looks of it.

"What is this?" She finally asked.

"The alien community wanted to thank you for creating the image inducer. It has helped a lot of people, especially those of us that don't exactly fit into the human shape." You started to explain as she inspected it.

After the launch of her device, Lena recalled, the company had received countless letters and e-mails, most of them in gratitude for helping the aliens in National City as they were still fighting for acceptance within the human population. It helped them find jobs, housing and places to be without having to worry about their looks or if other people reacted negatively to them. It helped them feel safe.

Only then Lena understood the impact it had on other's peoples lives and how her work had helped them accomplish that.

"So this is a thank you gift." You moved your hand and placed a finger on one side of the icosahedron.

Lena was startled as the other sides of the new device in her hand started to open. Suddenly the room was filled with a clear colorful light, but it was more than that. It was lines and spheres and points and spirals well defined. It took her a moment to realize what it was but Lena found herself looking around the conference room with a fascination she thought she had long lost. As the conversation followed, you explained Lena the device in her hand was a space chart. It contained information about several planetary systems, their galaxies and stars, and common routes to reach them, you said as if it was nothing but a travel guide.

Lena turned her eyes towards you a few seconds later, ready to declare her own gratitude when she noticed your expression. You were staring at a far corner of the room, not with the usual distant look of a daydreamer or that of someone who has lost interest in the present moment. You were looking with intention and, more than that, with longing in your eyes.

"It's wonderful. Thank you." Lena finally said, pulling you out of your thoughts. You blinked a few times before the smile returned to your face.

"If you ever wish to know a bit more about what's out there, you can always consult it and if you need help navigating it, I'll be more than happy to help."

Lena thought about it for a moment more. While she had long ago left her intentions of unraveling the skies, she saw a chance within those stars. This was the opportunity she had been hoping to find in National City. If she could gain the trust of the alien community, she would be able to expand her work and better help not only them but the whole city. To help put the world back together instead of tearing it apart. She was more grateful then to you, for giving her that chance.

Besides, she thought, it was also a chance to fulfill her curiosity about you.

It wasn't long after that meeting that you were back at her office, teaching her how to use the space chart. Her attention bouncing from the lines of stars and planets to understanding the technology behind the device. While her studies on science and astronomy made it easy for her to identify the structure and functioning of the chart, and the several celestial bodies it showed, she still had to learn how to translate that into terms she knew and relearn the names people used to refer to their own planets and stars. You did your best trying to explain how both things worked, which she highly appreciated.

As days passed, Lena took a new liking to your teachings which turned into more personal reunions. You didn't limit yourself to talking just about stars or planets but about the different cultures that inhabited them. Mentions of your home planet became more regular and you even used it to contrast the big differences between Earth and the rest of worlds you had known. Lena was delighted to indulge in such conversations, taking in as much as it was possible.

The way you talked about your home planet, your country, if such concept even applied, your family, your house, everything, was enough for her to look at you with the same awe she used to look at the stars when she was younger. She knew she wouldn't get to know all the stars in the universe but just knowing you, she thought, made up for it all.

"The sunsets there were hours of golden light washing over the citadel, and the nights were, oh, the night was too beautiful with its waves of light across the sky." You told her one day as you both had finished one of your reunions.

You were leaning against Lena's balcony, both of you observing the sun go down behind the city skyline.

"You know, I don't think you have ever showed me where you're from." Lena said, crossing her arms and taking a step towards you, seizing the opportunity. You had showed Lena at least dozens of planets, especially those closest to Earth's solar system but yours, for everything you talked about it, somehow still remained a mystery.

Lena felt a slight pang in her chest as she saw the smile in your face turn sad.

"No, I suppose I haven't." You said and after a moment, where you seemed to ponder a few options, you moved your head, signaling Lena to follow you back inside her office.

You took the space chart from her desk, activating it and moving your hands again until the hologram in the room moved, showing a single planet in the center of the room. You took a few steps back and gestured to Lena to take a closer to look at it.

"Here it is."

The planet, surrounded by seven moons, was a very Jupiter look-a-like. Lena was instantly enthralled by the colors and the stripes, swirls and waves that formed the planet's atmosphere. The hologram displayed a name in a language Lena certainly didn't know and that made her wonder just how many tongues she would need to pronounce it correctly.

"It's beautiful." Lena said, still looking at it.

"It was." You replied, and she turned to look at you with a confused frown and a question clear in her face.  

You moved the chart once more, reducing the image to show the whole system your planet used to be a part of.

Lena saw other nine planets but only one caught her attention as its name was being displayed in an alphabet she actually recognized.

"Krypton." She whispered, eyes widening in shock.

Everyone already knew the story. How the almighty Kryptonians had traveled to Earth when their own planet had been destroyed. But no one, including her, had thought too much about what it had meant for the rest of their own little universe. Lena imagined it then, an explosion setting a chain reaction. Not only one but several worlds shattered, with their people trying to escape the path of destruction.

Lena's eyes landed on you once more, finally understanding the longing she had once seen in your own eyes. She also knew, in some way, what it was to lose your home. So she approached you, slowly taking your hand and muttering an apology, for whatever little comfort it could give you.

"It's alright." You said looking intently at her with a reassuring smile. "I found a new home."

"And I'm glad you found it here."

You made her feel at home, Lena thought and, as she smiled back at you, she thanked the stars for giving you both the chance to find a home along each other, and hopefully, one day, a home for you both.