#and as long as the devil is inside him the timer is paused

[ladylooch]

Love & Fairness -[Nico Hischier]

A/N: OPE! I LIED!!!! We do have a full fic for Sunday! The Nico and Lexi angst I've been hinting at for months from that original lil blurb. Hope you all enjoy a little roller coaster for our perfect parents.

Word Count: 4.3k

Timeline wise: Nico and Lexi are married. Lucie is between 1-2. Mack and Sophie are not born.

The night is coated with cozy nostalgia in a dimly lit Hoboken restaurant. Lexi sits with her former nursing coworkers, discussing the most ridiculous patient and staff stories from the hospital since the last time they all connected. Lexi is embarrassed to admit that she hasn’t been able to attend one of these meet ups since Lucie was 3 months old. Her daughter is over a year old now. But life has been hectic with her and Nico’s new addition, plus the long stretches of hockey the Devils have been playing. 

It’s all worth the sacrifice to watch Nico hoist the cup above his head. Soon, Lexi thinks. Soon he will reach his dream and then maybe the pressure can ease a bit. 

With two fingers, she twirls the stem of her now empty martini glass as Gretchen whines about the limited available to take time off with how short staffed the hospital is. 

“We need more people. They can’t even find nurses through the program Lexi came here on.”

“Really?” Lexi’s eye raise in surprise. “It was so competitive when I started there.”

“The pandemic has thinned the desire. Plus working conditions are awful.” Lexi nods. The circumstances weren’t great when she left either.

“Honestly, even if we could find part time people it would help alleviate the pressure.” Ashley mutters, throwing her curly red hair back over her shoulder. The table pauses. Then collectively, they all glance Lexi’s way, including Shawna, who had been relatively quiet.

“What? Me?”

“You were just talking about how boring and mundane your life has been. Maybe… coming back part time would help fulfill your sense of purpose.” Ashley shrugs. 

“Lex, things haven’t been the same since you left. We could really use your sunshine right now.” Gretchen adds on. 

“I am raising my daughter. That is my priority.” Lexi hears herself say the same thing her and Nico have talked about since Lexi became pregnant. But inside her body, a bubble of hope and excitement fills her chest. It starts as a tiny, translucent circle and begins to grow the more the two women encourage her to reconsider. 

“Raising Lucie is incredibly important.” Shawn agrees. “This wouldn’t detract from that, especially on a part time basis. Think of your immediate impact! You haven’t been out of the industry that long. All your certifications are still relevant. You could easily slide in a few days a week, for 3-4 hours at a time. They’re even allowing part-timers to build their own schedule from week to week. It would be the perfect fit for you!”

“And they have daycare in the hospital now! You could bring Lucie there. Socialization is so important for babies. You could have it all right there rather than scheduling a million mommy and me play dates.”

Lexi stares at her three friends in front of her, a slight smile on her face. The gears turn in her head, consider, contemplating, feeling excited at the prospect of returning to a profession she spent so many hours of her life working in. But the though of Brady looms over her head. Losing him took Lexi a long time to get through. She still wakes up at night sometimes, hearing the flat line of his monitor.

“I don’t think I could go back to pediatric. Not with Lucie.” Lexi shakes her head, sighing.

“You wouldn’t have to. They are fully staffed.” Gretchen assures. She begins to dig around in her purse. “Look, just call Aly. She would be excited to hear from you. The rest could easily get worked out.” Lexi takes Ally Schneider’s card, her former boss. Ally had been the one who held Lexi after she lost Brady. She was the one who sent Lexi home and she was the one who accepted her resignation a week later, with full grace and understanding. She would be compassionate and supportive of Lexi being a mother. Maybe this could work. 

In a quiet room, in the back of her mind, a part of her pauses at the thought of bringing this up to Nico. He is so proud of Lexi being a stay at home mom and wife. He shouts it to anyone who will listen about Lexi’s important role in their household. She does worthwhile work for them. He puts he on a pedestal because of it.

Lexi decides that she will talk to Ally first, before she approaches it with Nico. After all, her friends have a clear agenda here. Maybe it wouldn’t be as simple and flexible as they are portraying. 

So Lexi decides, before she talks to Nico, she will talk to Ally. 

- - -

Later that week, Lexi steps out of her evening shower, onto the white, memory foam mat. Nico waits outside the glass enclosure, holding up a fluffy towel for her to step into. He wraps it around her back, then lazily stuffs one corner over the other into her breasts. Lexi grips the towel closed, knowing it won’t stay up like that. That may have been her husband’s agenda.

“Thank you.” She sighs, getting on her tip toes to kiss him. He crushes her into his chest, using his tongue to trace along her lip, then dash into her mouth. Lexi melts into his sexy warmth. Nico grips the towel at her hips, pulling her flush with him. 

“You’re welcome. Luc is sleeping.”

“Finally.” Lexi sighs. 

They had a hard night with Lucie. She was fighting sleep from the moment dinner ended, rubbing her eyes, and saying no to bed time, even to daddy. They both took turns rocking her, putting her in her crib, but nothing was giving. Finally, Nico took her to the couch with a warmed up blanket from the dryer. Lexi disappeared upstairs at Nico’s request. Between now and then, their little girl finally succumbed. Nights like this are becoming more prevalent for Lucie. Lexi is not surprised as their little girl is more toddler than baby these days. Both her and Nico need to buckle up for the upcoming roller coaster of their daughter growing up. She smiles at the thought. There is no one else Lexi would rather do this with. 

How will you going back to work effect her? An inner voice whispers like a siren.

Lexi raises her green eyes to the mirror, staring at her expression. She looks worried. And she is. Because she has a job offer expiring tomorrow that she still hasn’t talked to her husband about. She never expected to walk out of her meeting with Ally three days ago with an offer of employment. She had told Ally she needed time to talk to Nico, but then the Devils lost two back to back games and Nico’s mood has been less than desirable for the conversation. 

Beside her, Nico grabs his tooth brush then dots toothpaste on the bristles. Lexi assesses his mood, seeing him relaxed although a bit tired.

“Can we talk about something?” She begins while dabbing a finger into her moisturizer. She presses three generous dots in a triangle, then begins to smooth them into her face.

“Mhm.” He says around the tooth brush oscillating against his back molars.

“I think…” Lexi starts, then swallows loudly as she stop herself. Nico continues to brush his teeth, looking at her in the mirror. She pretends to smooth out more of her moisturizer on her neck. Her heart flutters heavily against her throat. When she doesn’t continue, Nico turns fully to look at her.

“What?” He mumbles around the white foam in his mouth. Her tongue caresses the side of her mouth anxiously.

Why is this so hard to spit out?

Nico spits out his toothpaste, then wipes his mouth.

“I think I want to go back to work.” She finally sputters out. Nothing about her voice sounds confident. Nico whips his head in surprise at her. He opens his mouth and then closes it, pursing his lips. Lexi immediately sense his annoyance.

“Okay? But, we have talked about how important it is for you to stay home with Luc? You’ve always agreed to that.”

“Yeah….” She trails off, sticking her tongue into the pocket of her cheek so it juts out. “But I’ve been thinking about what I want lately, as me, and I really miss working with patients and having a place to go outside of here.” Nico’s eyes widen, and he looks away, sighing. 

“Okay.” He shakes his head. “I thought you were done with nursing after Brady.” Lexi doesn’t flinch at his name, but her heartbeat patters more heavily in her body.

“I thought so too, but it’s been calling to me the last few months. And I have an opportunity to go back.”

“I don’t see how that is going to work for our family.” Nico shrugs simply, already seeming done with the conversation.

“Well, can we talk about it? Because I talked with Ally-” 

“What does you talking with Ally have to do with our family? Because you and I have already discussed this, before we had Lucie. You said you would stay home because I’m gone so much. How…” Nico scoffs, looking above her head, trying to find his words. “So what, someone else is going to come here every day and watch her? Or we drop her off at some day care center where random people are raising her?”

“They have a daycare at the hospital. She could go-”

“No. Our daughter deserves better than that.” Nico shakes his head vigorously.

“So you just unilaterally decide this for me then?”

“So you unilaterally get to decide to go back to work?” He shoots back at her. Lexi stand up completely straight, rolling her shoulders back.

“You don’t own me.” She hisses out unexpectedly. Immediately, she wants to take the words back at the fire igniting in Nico’s eyes. His cheeks begin to turn red in frustration while he forces a hand through his long, brown locks.

“When did I say that?” Nico snaps. His tone and voice are reaching places Lexi has never heard from him. Her eyes narrow at him, then she turns to leave the bathroom. Nico is hot on her heels. “You’re putting me in a position to be the asshole, Lex. You and I agreed you would stay home with our kids.”

“Well I need something more!” She huffs at him. “Emma gets to go be-”

“That’s Emma and Timo. Not us.” She startles, feeling like a scolded child by their parent. Tears begin to fill her eyes at the shame of his disappointed scowl.

“I’m allowed to change my mind.” She whispers to him, hating the way her lip trembles.

“Yeah you are, but not when it ruins our kid’s life.”

“Nico, that is so unfair.” Her tone wobbles at her words. Nico’s jaw tightens at the two drops that escape her lids. He looks away, large eyebrows jumping as he tries to brush the effect of her emotions away.

“I don’t care, Lexi.” Nico shakes his head again. “The answer is no.” 

Lexi shakes her head in disgust before heading into their master closet to change. She cries as she pulls on her pajamas. When she returns with tears on her face, Nico doesn’t even care.

Instead, he climbs into bed and turns his back to her like a cold, distant monster.

- - -

Nico and Lexi don’t talk the whole next day. Not even about Lucie. They move around the house, avoiding each other. She goes to the store to grab groceries; he stays home with Lucie. They sit silently, watching TV during dinner. Lucie doesn’t seem to notice, snacking on her food and playing with her toys like everything is normal. 

This continues into the following morning when Nico has to head out on a five game road trip. He dotes all over their daughter as Lexi’s resentment for him breeds into an ugly, angry tyrant in her mind. She doesn’t even let him kiss her cheek when he is about to leave. She slides away from him, turning her back on him like he did to her two nights ago. His heavy sigh makes tears sting her eyes, like she is the one in the wrong here.

“Lex.”

“Nothing about this will be resolved before you leave in the next two minutes. Travel safe.” She responds without turning towards him.

He stands there for a few more moments, rubbing his hand along Lucie’s head as she munches on her oatmeal. Internally, Lexi wonders if he will try to find some middle ground regardless of her words. But then Nico leaves without apologizing, or saying I love you, or providing any comfort like he usually does. She feels herself hating him a little bit more.

She doesn’t watch the Devils games that week.

She is so angry with Nico. They do nightly FaceTime calls with Lucie, but Lexi don’t speak to her husband. Nico gets more and more frustrated with her. It begins to bleed out onto the ice against the St. Louis Blues. Nico gets two penalties in the game, including five minutes for fighting. Of course, Lexi doesn’t know this because she is watching. She knows because Emma Meier shows up at their door with a bottle of rose the next day.

“What is going on?” She asks when Lexi opens the door. Lio is on her hip, munching on an apple sauce pouch as she strolls in. Emma is in dark wash, tight designer jeans and a tan, long sleeved crop top. Her hair is straightened and perfect, not even a hint of frizz from the rainy humidity earlier in the morning. She puts the bottle of rose on the counter, then goes to put Lio next to Lucie. She’s pulling her skin tight jeans back up her waist as she looks expectantly at Lexi. “Nico wouldn’t share anything with me. Timo couldn’t get it out of him either.”

“Of course not.” Lexi snorts, then rolls her tense neck muscles out. Emma nods her head at Lexi to continue. She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “I want to go back to work and the dictator of this house said no.” Emma widens her eyes. 

“Nico said no?” The words seemingly taste awful to her as she says them. 

“Yep. He told me if I go back to work I’m ruining our daughter’s life.”

“No.” Emma’s mouth opens in shock.

“Yes!” Lexi exclaims, reaching for the bottle of wine. She twists the top open, then takes two really big glugs. The acidity burns at her esophagus as she puts the bottle back down. Emma picks it up, taking a more delicate sip. She slowly blinks and shakes her head.

“Wow, I’m surprised.”

“Me too.” Lexi responds, sighing heavily. Tears prick at her eyes as she recounts the conversation from last week. She purses her lips, looking back at Emma.

“I don’t understand why he gets to make this decision for me?”

“He doesn’t.” Emma says simply. “This is your life. You have the right to do the things you want to do with it. Your partner needs to be supportive of that.”

“Nico doesn’t seem to see it that way.” Lexi looks out into the living room, watching as Lucie coos at Lio, holding up a large, red lego block. Lio takes it from her, then puts it next to a blue one.

“Oh we can’t do that one. Rangers colors.” Lio shakes his head. “Grab a green one, LuLu.” 

“I’ll talk to him.” Emma insists after pouring two glasses of rose. “He is being unreasonable.”

“Actually, I’d prefer if you didn’t.” Lexi sighs, tracing a circle onto the marble counter top, then looks up at her. “I think it would just make it worse.” Emma scans her sister-in-law, then nods in understanding.

This is one they’ll have to work through on their own.

- - -

The night Nico is due home, Lexi stares at the ceiling, replaying everything that has happened in the last two weeks. Life went from the mundane, same day over and over again, to this angsty, aching storyline of push and pull between a husband and wife. She went from having no job prospects, to receiving an offer, to turning it down. She hasn’t even told Nico. She doesn’t want to. Doesn’t feel like he deserves to know with the way he has been acting.

Her phone lights up the room as the garage camera catches Nico returning home from his late night flight from Colorado. Tears curve into the water line of Lexi’s eyes. Normally, after a road trip this long, she would gallop down the stairs excitedly to throw herself into his arms. He could catch her. They would make out like teenagers against the refrigerator, then he would carry her upstairs to make love. 

Not tonight.

Her brain traces his path through the house from memory, knowing when he stops at Lucie’s room. Five minutes later, she hears him rustling with his bag outside and closes her eyes, pretending to be asleep so she can avoid an interaction with him. Her lip trembles as she shakily swallows to wet her dry throat.

Nico comes into the bedroom almost completely silent. He drops his things in the closet and presumably changes. Lexi’s chest aches when he comes to the bed and grabs his pillow afterwards. His footsteps are so silent, when his voice speaks from next to her, her heart jumped into her throat. 

“Lex?” She startles at his touch. Nico grimaces. “I’m sorry… When I went in to kiss Luc, she was hot. She has a fever.” Lexi moves to get up. Lucie was fine when she checked her a few hours ago. “No, please. I’d like to take care of her myself.” 

“You can bring her in here.”

“No, you deserve to sleep.” He reaches out tentatively for her cheek, cupping it briefly. “Goodnight. I love you.” It’s the first time he’s said it to her directly in a week. He moves to pull away and she grips his wrist.

“I love you too.” She earnestly looks into his deep, brown eyes. “But I am also so mad at you.”

"I know. You have every right to be.” He maintains direct eye contact when he says it. Lexi’s eyebrows furrow. “We will talk tomorrow.” He leans down tentatively and Lexi goes the other 50% until their lips meet. The kiss is sad and achey. Their lips crave the taste of the other, but can’t go all in like they want to. Lexi pulls away first, stroking her nose along Nico’s. She can feel his lashes against her forehead. Then he pulls away to go lay on the floor of their daughter’s room.

The next morning, Lexi is up first. She pokes her head into the guest room, seeing Nico and Lucie have moved there together. Lucie’s bare feet are pressed into Nico’s chest, cheeks pink, hair wild like it had been sweaty and dried sometime during the night. Lexi creeps in, pressing a hand to her toddler’s forehead. No fever. With that comfort, she tiptoes from the room again. 

Downstairs, she makes herself a berry smoothie and settles into the couch with a book. She stays there for a bit, then begins to feel antsy waiting for her loves to wake up. She heads back upstairs, unpacking Nico’s bag completely and getting started on his laundry. She bring his three suits to the downstairs closet for dry cleaning to pick up tomorrow.

It’s almost lunch time when a sleepy Nico and Lucie come downstairs together. Lucie smiles at her mama around a pacifier in her mouth. Lexi arches a slender eyebrow at Nico. Lucie hasn’t had pacifiers for 6 months.

“I lost the battle.” He groggily mumbles. His long hair is flopping every which way. He hands their daughter over to Lexi, then kisses her head. “ ‘m gonna take a shower.”

Nico disappears back upstairs while Lexi gives Lucie some of her leftover smoothie. She sucks it up happily, babbling for some banana when she is done. Lexi is cutting that up when Nico returns downstairs. His hair is slicked back from his shower. He is dressed in new lounge sweats while texting on his phone.

“Do you want a smoothie?” Lexi asks him.

“No, I’m going to make myself some eggs. Do you want any?”

“No, I already ate.”

“Okay.” He wraps an arm around her waist from behind. Lexi resists the urge to tense, trying to purposefully relax her upper body. Nico rests his chin on one of her shoulders, then turns his nose into her neck.

“I was completely out of line last week.” He murmurs while staying there. Lexi scoops up the banana pieces and puts them in a small bowl for Lucie, then slides it across the counter to where she is in her highchair. Lexi puts the knife down and turns so her and Nico are facing each other. He keeps her enclosed in his arms with a palm resting on the counter, on either side her.

“Do you only love me because I’m the mother of your child?” Lexi ponders.

“No, Lex. I love you. The person. So much.” He finishes with a whisper. His eyes trace her face earnestly. Lexi nods. 

“I turned them down.” She admits.

“I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sorry if I have a hard time believing that.” Lexi says pointedly. 

“Fair.” Nico nods then swallows hard. “But I am.” 

“Can I get an explanation?” Lexi asks. She reaches her hands out to rest on his hips, gripping the waistband of his joggers as an anchor.

“I’m having a hard time with how much I’m missing of Lucie growing up. And I put that fear into you last week. Like… I’ve been able to fall back on the idea that you’re here. And if you go back to work, what will I have to ease my failures as a father?” He touches his chest delicately. Lexi lowers her gaze to his beaded bracelets. She moves one of her hands up to hold his wrist. “If this is what you need to do… to be happy… to feel what I get to feel when I step onto the ice every day, then I am in full support of you.”

She stares at his chest, letting his words sink in. As he always is, Nico is patient. When her eyes meet his again, they stare at each other wordlessly for a moment. She is wary. He can sense it.

“I know I hurt you and I’m so sorry.” He whispers. She nods her head in recognition of his apology.

“Nico, you are an amazing dad. It makes me really sad you feel like you’re failing our daughter. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.” She shakes her head, blowing out a sigh. “And I wish you would have shared that with me before it turned into this.”

“I’m embarrassed.” He shrugs. “I’ve been good at everything my whole life. Working so hard to overcome any obstacles.. but there are things I can’t give to Lucie and it kills me, babe.” The way he says babe wrecks her. Lexi moves his hand to the side so she can slide against his chest. Her fingers clutch at his muscular back and dig into his scalp as she cradles their heads together.

“She is so lucky to have you, Neeks.” Lexi turns to kiss his stubbled cheek. He buries his nose deeper into her collar bone as she stroke along his spine. “I am too.” His large arms wrap around her waist, enclosing it completely.

“Tell me again?”

“Hmm?”

“Tell me you are thinking about going back to work.”

“I’m… thinking about going back to work?”

“Okay. Whatever you want to do is what works for our family. We will figure it out.” Nico murmurs. “That’s what I should have said to you. I’m sorry I didn’t.” Lexi smiles against his cheek. Nico turns, capturing her lips. 

“I accept your apology.” She murmurs. “But I really did already turn Ally down.”

“I’ll call Ally. Tell her your husband was a fucking idiot last week, but he’s done with that.” Lexi chuckles, top teeth dragging over her bottom lip. 

“I would like to try it. See if we can find a balance?” 

“Yes, 100% yes, baby.” 

Across the counter, Lucie squeals excitedly then throws her banana bowl onto the floor. 

“Oh! LuLu is in too!” Nico cheers. “Yay mommy!!!” He claps around her back. Lexi chuckles, a whole body rumbling one as her and Nico separate. Nico grabs Lexi’s phone, sliding it across the counter. “Call Ally.” 

Ally extends another offer to Lexi immediately on the phone. 

Within an hour, Lexi has signed an offer letter and has orientation scheduled for the following Monday. Nico brings her to her first day of work, packs her lunch, and spends the whole time Lexi is working with Lucie in the day care, spending time with the kids, signing autographs for staff members and patients alike. By the end of the Lexi’s four hour shift, he is exhausted.

“No wonder you need a break.” He mumbles, exhaustedly running a hand over his hand. “And she isn’t even tired.” He points out about a babbling Lucie in her carseat. 

“Welcome to my life.” Lexi smirks, then clicks her seatbelt in place. Nico wraps her hand in his, bringing it up to kiss along her knuckles. “So what’s for dinner stay at home dad?” Nico balks at her.

“McDonalds.” He chuckles, turning out of the parking lot.

With ease, the Hischiers settled into this adjusted life, until two pink lines show up a few months later on a test in their master bathroom.

Read more Nico and Lexi here.

[abbatoirablaze]

Angels & Demons, Chapter 13

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: threats of death/hunger, mentions of violence/murder, knife violence, thoughts of suicide, angst. 

“Sam Winchester has to die.”  Anna frowned.  Cas shook his head as she took a step forward, “I’m sorry, but we have no choice.  He’s Lucifer’s vessel.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“What?  That guy Nick?” she scoffed, “he’s burning away as we speak.  No.  Sam is the only vessel that matters.  You know what that means.  If Lucifer can’t take Sam, his whole plan short circuits.”

Cas looked at her warily, knowing that the woman he loved could also be an alternate vessel for Lucifer, “Anna-“

“No,” she argued, brushing him off, “no fight with Michael.  No Croatoan virus, the horsemen go back to their day jobs!”

He paused, not able to tell her about Caitlyn, “if you could kill Sam, Satan would just bring him back to life!”

“Not after I scatter his cells across the universe,” she smiled, “they’ll never find him-not all of him.”

“We’ll find another way.”

“How’s that going?” she asked, “how’s the colt working out?  Or the search for God?  Is anything working?  If you want to stop the devil, this is how!”

“The answer is still no,” he argued, thinking about how that would put Caitlyn in Lucifer’s sights as his next vessel, “because Sam is my friend.”

“You’ve changed.”

“Maybe too late,” he wondered, “but maybe I have.  Anna, you and I have been through so much together, but you come near Sam Winchester, and I’ll kill you!”

Without another word she vanished, not ready to argue the conversation any further.  Deep down, Cas had a dark feeling about it all.  He’d never known Anna to just give up. 

XX

“You have to stop!”

The man in the wheelchair eyed his niece without judgement, “Aria…it’s been so long since I have seen you.  Come, come closer.”

“I’m close enough!” she said shortly, “you know why I’m here.”

“Oh, but of course.  You’re rearing to go when dear old daddy either kicks the bucket or finishes off the earth with the rest of us!” he smiled, “coming to learn the family business…but you’ve visited the wrong horseman my dear.”

“You can see inside me…you know that’s not why.”

He chuckled, “look around child.  Everyone is hungry for something.  Those Winchesters…their angel.  Everyone has something.  And I have a plan for them.  The demons that Dahlia’s father leant me are just cannon fodder for Sam…his hunger for demon blood will reach a fever pitch soon enough.  And the angel, Castiel…while angels may not crave things, his vessel will.  And the demons have already found that weakness and alerted me to the fact that it is red meat.  The only piece missing from the puzzle is what does good old Dean Winchester feel hunger for.”

“Nothing!” she replied smartly, “just like the demons protecting you, Dean has died before which is why he won’t have a hunger.  He’s spent time in hell.  He’s not going to have the same hunger that anyone else would have.”

“You-you are a smart one,” he chuckled, lifting a long, bony finger and pointing it at her, “you are a Nephilim worth keeping, you.  And even though you are but a child in the eyes of us old timers, and you already know how to play the game.”

“I’m not playing any games, famine,” she growled, “leave this town.  Go back to whatever pit you crawled out of.  The apocal-“

“The apocalypse is just getting started,” the old man cackled.  He pushed the button forward on his scooter, moving him closer to Aria, “MY TIME IS JUST GETTING STARTED!  AND I’M GETTING STRONGER EVERY DAY!”

“WELL, THAT ENDS NOW!”

“You can think that all you want, but that doesn’t make it true.”

The doors to the kitchen burst open and Aria was surprised to see Cas at the back of the restaurant.  He’d had the demon blade in his hands and looked beyond unsure of himself.

“Castiel…you’re here!  And right on time as exected!” Famine smiled, breaking away from the conversation with his niece, “that must mean that the Winchesters are nearby.”

“You must leave, Famine.”

“I must not do anything,” Famine chuckled hoarsely, “but I can sense what you need, Castiel.  I can feed your hunger.   Or at least, that of your vessel.”

He looked at one of the demons, and they produced a pan of red meat.  Nervously, they tossed the pan a few feet from him; and the angel, unable to control himself, dropped to his knees and began to dig into it. 

“Uncle-“

“This is what I am, Aria…this is what I do!” he reminded her, “I am hungry…and my hunger shall be satisfied with the apocalypse.  With the souls of those who succumb to me.”

“You won’t get away with it!”

“I will, dear niece…” he sighed, “oh, but I will.”

Famine looked at Dean, bewildered. 

He’d seen the memory, had seen the only thing that Dean had hungered for.  Or at least, what he had hungered for in Aria’s mind. 

“Alright, here’s the rules,” Bobby grunted with a nervous look to the two older kids, and his eight-year-old daughter, “Dean…Sam…Hannah, Dahlia won the last round and is on the hunt with John.  Now, the three of us are here, and I’m going on a low-grade ghost hunt when he comes back.  But I need the three of you to be prepared for anything.”

“Piece of cake,” sixteen-year-old Dean scoffed, “I’m fighting a twelve-year-old and an eight year old.  This isn’t even fair.”

“Sometimes it ain’t about the age of the hunter, Dean,” Bobby chuckled as he slapped Dean upside the head, “Dahlia is Sam’s age, and she beat you out last round-“

“Dad likes Dahlia better than me, that’s why,” Dean grumbled, “she’s a know-it-all suck-up and he picked her because of that, not her skills.”

“You’re just mad because she had a better shot than you, Dean…and dad needed someone that was focused for the vampire hunt!”

Dean glared at his younger brother, “yeah.  Whatever.  Let’s just get this started so I can kick your butts and me and Bobby can take on that ghost.”

“You’re going down!” the eight-year-old said with a glare as she looked between the two older boys. 

“Yeah, whatever, pipsqueak.”

She frowned and looked back to Bobby, “same tests?  Shooting gallery and obstacle courses?  Other hunters pretending to be a ghoul?”

Bobby messed with his daughter’s hair, “actually Hannah…the three of you are going to go out into them woods with the dabbers.  The one that comes out alive, gets to go on the hunt with me.”

“That’s it?” Dean asked, his brow cocking, “all I have to do is knock out Hannah and Sam?”

“Well, I’m gonna blindfold the three of ya, and drop you off somewhere in the woods.  It’s going to be your jobs to track each other down and take each other out.”

“Cool!” Hannah grinned.

“I don’t know, Bobby…what if something’s out there.”

“What’s gonna be out in the woods by my place, Sam?” Bobby laughed, “dang idjit.  Now come on kids.  Grab your dabbers and a blindfold and get in the truck.  Gotta drop the three of you off before it gets dark.”

“Hunger doesn’t just come from the body,” Famine mused, “it also comes from the soul!”

“it’s funny,” Dean chuckled dryly, “it doesn’t seem to be coming from mine.”

“Yes…I noticed that.  Have you wondered why that is?” he asked, before sparing a glance at his niece, “How you could even walk in my presence?”

Dean’s eyes shifted over to Aria, “Hannah!”

She looked away from him. 

“Aren’t you going to tell him why that is, Aria?”

“Aria?” Dean scoffed, “who the hell is Aria?”

“Tell him why he can stand to be in my presence, Aria.”

“Well, I’d like to think it’s because of my strength of character!” Dean tried to joke, “but more importantly, why is he calling you by another name?  Who the hell is Aria?”

Hannah felt the worry in her core as she looked down at the scene below. 

While Dean had managed to track Sam down and take him out, he hadn’t expected her to be up in the trees, already tracking him. 

But right as she’d been about to drop down on him, she’d caught onto something else that had been tracking him. 

A young wolf. 

And it had managed to get the drop in him before she could warn him. 

But she’d still had the drop on the both of them from her sneakiness in the trees. 

Dean was doing his best fighting the werewolf off.  But it was too strong. 

And with every flex of his claws, and every swing of his arms, he was getting even closer to catching the eldest Winchester and infecting him. 

So, with tears in her eyes, she pulled her trusty silver knife from her thigh, the blade nearly as long as it, and she found the perfect time to drop down. 

The wolf had swung his arm at Dean, but missed, taking a chunk out of one of the trees instead.  And she had dropped down, her blade driving right at the juncture of his neck, between the collar bone, and assuredly into the creature’s heart. 

It howled in pain, throwing the small child off of it, but the damage was too late. 

As Hannah tumbled to the ground, and the wolf collapsed not far away, she was surprised to see the elder Winchester staring at her in disbelief.

“Hannah!”  he called, “Hannah, wake up!”

Shakily, she reached into her jacket, and Dean cradled her.

“Come on, kid.  Don’t die on me!”

“Got ya!” the eight-year-old whispered as she dabbed a bright red splotch over his heart, “i-I win!”

“You nearly got killed by a flea bag and you’re worried about some stupid game?”

She giggled, coughing as her lungs felt heavy, “Dean…I-I think I broke something.”

“You probably broke a few ribs…” he muttered, looking off to the wolf that had already reverted back to its human form, “you got the flare Bobby gave you?”  I shot mine at the ground as a distraction for Sam…”

She nodded, reaching into her pocket to hand over the flare gun to the teenager holding her.

“Here.”

“Aright…don’t move, okay?” he asked, “I’m gonna shoot it in the air, and we’re gonna wait for your dad…”

“Dean…no…if there’s more.”

He frowned, “What do you expect me to do?”

“Carry me?” she begged, “w-we can’t be far from the house…head North…”

Dean looked up at the sky, and she laughed a little more, holding onto her ribs and wincing after the pain hit her, “North is that way, Dean…”

“Right…” he nodded, getting up and already starting on the journey to Bobby’s, “hey-uh…thanks for saving my life, Hannah…”

“Of course, Dean…”

“Yes, I see,” he chuckled, “that one deep dark nothing, you got there, Dean.  Can’t fill it, can you?  Not with food or drink, or even sex.”

“You’re so full of crap!” Dean grunted.

“Oh, you can smirk and joke and lie to your brother,” he sighed, “lie to yourself, but not to me.  I can see it inside you, Dean.  I can see how broken you are.  How defeated.  You can’t win and you know it but you just keep fighting, just…keep going through the motions.  You’re not hungry, Dean…because inside…you’re already…dead.  Do you know why I allowed you in here though?  Why I captured you?”

“Why?”

“Because I had to show my niece,” he said, throwing a glance in her direction, “that this is what happens when you fall in love with a human.  She’s the daughter of death, and she’s sucked dry most of her powers by making sure if you ever come in contact with me…with her father…that you’re protected.  That you’ll survive…do you know the gift that she’s given you?  The advantage to stop the apocalypse which your family started?”

Dean looked over to Aria.  His nose twitched, and he felt the sting of the tears that wanted to fall down his face. 

“What did you do to me?” he asked. 

“I took your pain away,” she admitted solemnly, “I made sure that if you came back, they wouldn’t have one over on you…”

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?” he roared.

“Dean…”

“That’s enough,” Famine hissed, looking at Aria once more, “you’ve seen what you’ve done…but he still lost anyways…go…tend to your father, niece.  You gave him your power when it comes to me, but I know if you’re here any longer you’ll give in to your hunger…and your father would never forgive me for that!”

“Wh-what’s her hunger?” Dean asked nervously. 

He saw her shift uncomfortably and famine frowned, “she knows that she’s disappointed you Dean.  Her hunger is that she wants to earn your praise…your love…that never changed.  As long as she’s known you she’s tried to do what she could to have you see her as a strong woman.  As a potential suitor.  And I can sense just how far she feels from it.  If my men let her go, she’d take that knife on the floor and slit her own throat, ear to ear, because she knows you see her as a monster; and monsters deserve to die in your eyes.  Niece…leave now…today is not the day you die.  I refuse to let that happen.”

Chapter 14

[hannah-deactivated20220725]

Bella/Lucille: Luci’s First Kiss, P1

Words: 1190

Summary: This is part 1. The story ended up a little longer than I’d expected, so I’m breaking it into parts. This part is where the girls meet up for drinks and food at a new bar.

--

I have never really been interested in romance. After all, I’m the devil of hell. I have no time for kissing and cuddling.

But one day I was out with my new friend, Belinda, and we were having a grand ol’ time. We had hung out several times at this point, sharing many moments and conversations. Even a few moments of laughter.

But she seemed to be as disinterested in romance as I was, which honestly took off a whole thing of pressure because I didn’t even know what to do if someone was interested in me. It’d never really occurred to me before.

However, this time around, something seemed to change. She was giving me a look I hadn’t seen in her eyes before and my anxiety peaked just ever so slightly.

She started to trace around the rim of her shotglass and then took the whole thing plus two more in one mouthful before gulping them down, slamming the glasses down and smacking her lips.

She still remained silent after that. I wasn’t sure what was going through her mind, but whatever it was, she was deep in it.

Finally, she opened her mouth and asked me, “Hey, how much do you eat a day?” I was slightly taken aback by the question. No one’s ever asked me that; people were too afraid of what I’d do to them or were just... not that rude. But something about her made me answer anyway.

“Uh, I’m not sure. Depends on how many food places I discover.” I eyed her for a second before adding, “how much do you drink in a day?” She snorted.

“As much as I can get away with.” The bartender was staring at us silently before she waved for him to pour her another refill. He made a face of confusion as he poured another. He’d been watching us very closely for the last half-hour and seemed really confused by us. Maybe it was because of how much I ate and how much she drank. She has had at least 10 drinks and was still perfectly sober. As a human, I’m sure he was confounded by that fact. After all, it seemed that other humans only took 3-4 drinks before they started to get drunk, even the more seasoned drinkers took only 6-8.

The man slid a couple more drinks her way and then walked away, though I knew he was still watching us. She didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she didn’t care? She seemed to confuse every bar personnel she came across, except the one at the bar where we first met. Perhaps she went there a lot? Maybe that’s why everyone there seemed familiar with her and the bartender didn’t even seem fazed by how much she drank - or how much she outdrank the rowdy men that had been there.

She was studying my eyes when they came back into focus and I smiled sheepishly, turning away to request another item of food, but before a single word could exit my mouth, she turned my face back toward hers.

“Hey, I’ve got some great food at my place. Wanna swing by?” She asked casually. It was odd. All the times we’ve hung out, and she’s never asked me to come over before. I was not only surprised but also perhaps a little intrigued. What made this time different? Why was she looking at me like that?

I wet my lips. Curiosity got the best of me. Was she a good cook? And why was she looking at me like that?

I cleared my throat, as to not be silent too long before my head started bobbing up and down in a nod. She smirked ever so slightly before tossing down a wad of cash and then nudging me to my feet.

She downed the last of the drinks and joined me to her own feet.

“Let’s go, then. Don’t want you out too late.” She gave me another strange look and I was confused once more. Laughing, she led me out the door and to a cab, which drove us to her place.

It was... much more modest than I expected from someone with her attitude. She seemed to think she was better than anyone else, yet she had such a humble place. I couldn’t help but to stare as she pushed me out of the car and to my feet. She watched my face for a second while she joined me on the driveway, then pulled me toward the house.

“C’mon. Let’s go inside,” she instructed me, tugging me toward the door then unlocking it and leading me inside. Again, she didn’t hold the door open for me. It’s a habit of hers I’ve had to get used to, but she was an interesting person to be around, so I always put up with it.

Once inside, she went straight for the kitchen. No surprise there. When she returned, she had a couple of drinks in hand.

“Food?” I asked instantly and she chuckled.

“Oven’s heating up. I gotta bake it first.” As soon as the words were out, one of the drinks were shoved at me.

“Uh, I don’t drink,” I tried to remind her, but she kept the glass shoved at my face.

“C’mon. It’s orange juice. It tastes like oranges.” Unable to resist this new information, I grabbed at the glass and downed the whole thing. Halfway through, she tried to protest but it was so delicious, I couldn’t stop until the whole thing was empty. When I finished and glanced at her, she looked surprised. And... amused?

She snorted once more. “For someone that doesn’t like liquor, you sure downed that quickly,” she teased. I tensed slightly.

“What do you mean? You said it was-”

“It was. But it had alcohol in it too.” She paused. “You might want to stay here tonight. Uh... that had quite a bit of tequila for a first-timer.”

“Te-” I began, then shook my head when it started to get slightly fuzzy. Just then, there was a ding that made my head feel like it was being pierced by a stake.

“Hey, why don’t you go sit in my living room?” She offered, suddenly looking slightly more concerned for me. I tried to shrug it off but the feeling was only getting more intense.

“Uh, yeah... where is it?” I asked. She led me to her couch, where I sat and then disappeared to go put my food in the oven. While I waited for her to return, I sat back into the couch, getting comfortable. This place was... so quaint for a person like her. I was still surprised.

I glanced around for any clues into her personal life. And when my eyes fell on a photo of a young girl, I-

“Hey,” she said, poking her head in and then giving an amused smirk. “You doing okay in here?” I lazily tossed my head her way before letting it fall against the back of the couch. “Yeah, fine,” I said simply. She chuckled.

“Clearly.” I said nothing in return.

[ofmermaidsandmarauders]

stolen dreams took our childish days chapter 4

Read on AO3 or FFN

March 2020

Fergus was playing in the yard when he heard the yelling. He was allowed to play outside when Jamie was home and cooking dinner because the man could watch him from the kitchen windows. He had seen Claire’s car pull up a few minutes ago and was surprised by the noise inside. His body tensed when he heard the smashing of glass. It was only then that Fergus realized it wasn’t the excited kind of yelling that the couple usually did. No, this was angry. He sank to the ground, clutching his knees to his chest. He just knew that at one point they would crack.

____________________________________________________

“You can’t just make these decisions without me, Jamie Fraser! I am your wife. That means your partner!” “Aye, I ken fine well what ye are, Sassenach. And I am entitled to purchasing what I damn well please wi’ my salary. You canna tell me what I can and canna buy!” Jamie knew that his argument was weak, but he was refusing to back down as he had just been trying to do something nice.

In hindsight, Jamie should have consulted with Claire before renting a beach house for an upcoming weekend. He knew that she would likely have it off work and thought it would be a fun way for them to celebrate the upcoming holiday. It would be the last one before Fergus had to finish out the school year with no breaks. He thought the lad would enjoy the open air and sand beneath his toes. He also thought Claire would enjoy the break, but he was apparently wrong.

“You better be fucking joking! I know you don’t truly believe that you don’t have to consult me on this type of spending! We have bills to pay, Fergus is going to need summer clothes, your car is up for inspection soon! Jesus Christ, sometimes I think you truly are daft!” Claire’s words spat out at him, dripping with vitriol.

“Daft? Daft? I’m just trying to make sure the lad has some good memories! Excuse me for tryin’ tae give him some fun! You’re always fecking workin’! I thought it would be a nice time for us to bond but I guess no’!” Jamie froze as the accusation came out of his mouth. Claire worked hard and that was something he had never pushed her on. In fact, Jamie wanted Claire to work. She was a skilled surgeon, and he knew that it was her passion. She was made to heal others. It was the reason he agreed to take on fewer responsibilities at work; he wanted Claire to have the career and family she dreamed of. “Sassenach, ye ken I didna mean what I said.”

“No, just… No.” Claire held up her hand, stopping him from apologizing. She left the kitchen without another word, shutting and locking the bedroom door. Taking some space from Jamie would be good. They had both said harsh things that they didn’t mean, but it didn’t make the words hurt any less. In fact, it hurt more knowing it was said with that exact intention in mind.

____________________________________________________

Jamie looked around the kitchen trying to figure out what exactly had just happened. One minute he was surprising Claire with a relaxing long weekend away with their foster son, the next they were screaming at one another and she was storming out.

He knew he needed to find a way to apologize. He would respect her request for space and then deal with things later. For now, he had a child to feed. Jamie checked on the chicken that was roasting in the oven before grabbing the glass he had been drinking from. He peered around the kitchen before sneaking over to the liquor cabinet, refilling his tumbler. As he went to shut and lock it once again, the glass slipped from his hand and shattered against the white tile.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, the shards flying everywhere. Glancing at his arm, Jamie felt a sting and recognized that one of them must have pierced his skin, the whiskey causing it to burn more than it should have. He set about cleaning up the mess before taking a peek out of the window to see Fergus pressing his curled body against the trunk of the tree. Finding it odd, Jamie excused the behavior as the oven’s timer dinged. He could ask questions later.

Calling the young boy in for dinner, Jamie went to the bedroom and let Claire know their food was ready. He gathered a plate for himself and Fergus, allowing Claire to prepare her own if she chose to join them.

____________________________________________________

Fergus appeared timid as he climbed into his seat, looking between Jamie and the hallway. When Claire came out a short time later, her face clean and hair washed from a recent shower, Fergus noted that her eyes were glassy. He had seen that with his own mother on plenty of occasions. A fresh shower to hide her tears and remove any traces of scratches or odd marks.

His eyes slowly raked over Claire’s body, inspecting her for any cuts or abrasions. He didn’t see any, but she had put on a sweater and some pajama shorts. She could be hiding them beneath her sleeves.

The couple was silent as they ate, directing any questions at Fergus. He answered them easily, though it felt like he was on edge the entire time he ate. His stomach was twisted into knots and he was afraid that he was going to throw up if he forced himself to consume much more.

After a few minutes of tension, Jamie’s face lit up as if he had suddenly remembered something.

“I saw ye outside earlier, by the tree? Was everythin’ alright?” Fergus was trying to remember the moment that Jamie was talking about, but it quickly dawned on him that it was when Claire and Jamie had been arguing, and he had gripped onto the nearest thing. It was something one of the counselors taught him to do when he felt his body start to get nervous: lean against the nearest wall or door, close his eyes, and focus on his breathing. He wished that they gave him ideas that actually helped.

“Oh, I was just playing a game,” Fergus answered lamely, not sure that Jamie would believe the lie. Jamie studied his face for a moment, but didn’t push him on the excuse.

“Fergus, what’s the matter, lad? You gobbled up yer afternoon snack, I expected ye to devour yer meal,” Jamie commented with an arched eyebrow. Fergus peered down at his plate for a moment before spearing a piece of chicken onto his fork.

“I guess I’m just not that hungry. Sorry, Jamie,” he apologized, forcing himself to chew and swallow the small piece on his utensil.

“No need to apologize, lad. Jus’ finish what ye can and we can wrap up the rest.” Dinner was silent after that, Fergus’ ability to eat diminishing with each moment that Jamie and Claire ignored one another. He slunk away from the table toward his bedroom once he was finished, pausing in the hallway to eavesdrop on the adults. He couldn’t hear their exact words, but he knew they were arguing back and forth again. He lost track of how long he was standing in the hallway, their voices muffled by the walls and their movements. It got suddenly silent and he froze. Fergus could feel his pulse throbbing in his ears, heart pounding. He wasn’t sure how to make himself calm down. His breathing came faster as he heard a clattering and bolted toward the kitchen once more. Fergus knew that sound; it was a common occurrence when Adam launched something at his mother.

“Don’t touch her!” he screamed, launching himself at Jamie, his tiny fists curled up and pounding into Jamie’s back before he even knew what was happening.

____________________________________________________

“Are we going to discuss the issue at hand?” Claire asked Jamie coldly, her arms crossed over her chest.

“You ken fine well what ye’re doing, Sassenach. Crossing yer arms over yer chest in that way!” he accused, jabbing his index finger in her direction. She gave a glance down at her chest, a smirk appearing on her lips as she stepped closer to him.

“And what about it? Afraid I’ll convince you to cancel your major rental with my womanly ways?”

“Aye, and I damn well willna be canceling the rental! ‘Tis two months away and that is plenty of time tae get everything in order tae go on a trip!” Jamie was becoming flustered and took a deep breath before placing both of his hands on her upper arms. The only way this was going to get better was if he took the opportunity to apologize. “I hope ye know how verra sorry I am, mo chridhe. I wanted to do something kind. I apologize for what I said earlier. I was sore, ye ken?”

“Aye,” Claire teased as she leaned her forehead into his neck. “I’m sorry, too, Jamie. I didn’t mean what I said. I know you just wanted to give us a nice surprise. It’s a very sweet gesture.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to discuss it wi’ ye before making any grand gestures.” Jamie wrapped his arms around Claire’s waist, lifting her onto the table. Her foot caught around one of the legs of the chair and knocked it to the ground as he leaned forward to give her a kiss. Her lips moved in time with his own, hands settling against his large shoulder blades. Jamie suddenly stopped kissing her, confusion on his features.

“Wh-?” Claire’s question trailed off as she watched Fergus burst into the room. His cheeks were splotchy and his eyes were welled up as he began to punch his fists into Jamie’s thigh and back.

“Whoa!” Jamie exclaimed, grabbing Fergus’ arms to get him to stop hitting him. “What in the devil?!”

“Don’t you dare hit Claire!” Fergus screamed, trying to wrench his body away from Jamie’s. Claire sat on the table, stunned by his outburst. Jamie let out a soft chuckle at first, then let go of Fergus when the boy finally stopped jerking himself around.

“Did ye think I was hurting Claire? Och, no. Only kissin’ my wife,” Jamie explained, letting Fergus look at Claire for confirmation, at which she nodded.

“I knocked over the chair with my foot, that’s all. Jamie would never hurt me.” Claire hopped off of the table to right the chair before taking a seat in it, pulling Fergus close to her. She let him gather his thoughts before lifting him into her lap. “We did fight, yes, but we would never lay a hand on one another other than out of kindness and love. I need you to understand that, Fergus.”

He nodded solemnly, resting one hand on Claire’s arm, the other holding onto her hand. Jamie squatted so that he would be level with Fergus, his knees creaking as he bent.

“I hope ye ken I wouldna ever lay a hand on Claire out of anger or pain. Nor would I lay a hand on ye, lad. ‘Tis important that ye ken I care for ye as my own and wouldna want to see ye in pain.” His words were soft and he lifted a large hand to smooth back Fergus’ curls from his face. The boy looked calmer now and gulped before allowing himself to speak.

“C-can I have a glass of water?” he asked quietly, now feeling silly for his reaction. Jamie noted his expression but nodded, getting him the water as requested.

“I hope ye feel safe here, Fergus. I canna imagine how scared ye were and what ye have seen before,” Jamie spoke soothingly, letting his hands rest on Fergus’ skinny legs. “Claire and I just want to see ye safe and happy.”

“Oh,” Fergus exhaled, his eyes welling up with tears again. “Adam used to… he would fight with my mama and I would hear yelling and banging. I could never stop him.” His shoulders shook as he began to weep, leaning against Claire for comfort.

She looked at Jamie frantically, though her arms automatically wound around his small frame. She had no experience with children and was only hoping that she was doing this right.

“It’s alright, hush now. You have no need to be scared of us. We’re going to keep you safe,” she whispered before remembering she was not supposed to make promises she couldn’t keep. For a moment she felt guilty before another thought popped into her head. Fuck that. Holding Fergus in her arms, his body shaking with fear and tears, Claire knew she would go to the ends of the Earth to protect this small boy from any person or thing that threatened to harm him.

Her own eyelids brimmed with tears as she felt a fierce need to keep him safe and see his tears end. Giving a quick look at Jamie, Claire saw that he had a wide grin on his face. It was the same look he had worn when she graduated with her medical degree and could begin practicing medicine at the hospital. That was his “proud” smile, he had told her later that night when she commented on it. She couldn’t help but smile back at him for a brief moment when she realized that he was smiling like that because he was proud of her maternal instincts.

“It will all be alright. He canna hurt ye anymore,” Jamie whispered before pressing a kiss to both Fergus’ and Claire’s hair. He knew how Claire felt because he felt it as well. He would do anything to protect this little family they had built together.

[mystical-flute]

Uncharted Waters (ch. 11)

AO3 || Ko-fi

“My Pharaoh, there was something you needed of me?” Azila asked, breezing into the throne room, her brow knitted in worry. “Are you ill? In pain?” It wasn’t like him to summon her to him outside of any sort of official priest meeting. Or perhaps he had decided that he hadn’t actually liked her standing up to him in the weeks following his predecessor’s death. Maybe this was to be a delayed execution.

Seto was standing at the window, as he always seemed to be. “Did we have any unusual deaths last night?”

Oh.

Azila swallowed thickly. “We have received word of three, my Pharaoh.”

“And you went to check yourself as I have instructed?”

“Of course. There was magic there, but it was not the shadow magic we use. Mana is trying to identify it now. I tried my healing powers, but they had no effect. Whatever is causing these deaths… it is not from Egypt.”

“What about Eturn?”

“I have a message out to an associate in Eturn. I am waiting to hear back.”

Seto cursed under his breath, resting his fist against the wall beside him. “I don’t understand why this keeps happening. What more must we do to appease the gods?”

“I wish I had an answer for you, Pharaoh.”

“So we’re back to 'Pharaoh' now? You seemed so comfortable calling me Seto the other week.”

Azila stuttered. “You were in need of a shock to your system. It is my job to make sure you are healthy and together, is it not? Unless you chose me as your Chief Physician simply because we are friends.”

“Nonsense. Your talent speaks for itself. I just fear that Egypt will crumble under whatever is causing these deaths… it will fall back on me.”

“Whatever is happening is not your fault. The people know this.”

“But how long until they stop believing it isn’t my fault?”

Azila didn’t have an answer to that.

“Pharaoh! I’ve found something!”

Mana rushed into the room, something glowing in her hand.

“What is that?” Seto asked with a frown.

“I don’t know, but it contains the same magical properties that Azila felt last night,” Mana explained, opening her hand.

A stone, glowing a greenish color, laid in her palm.

“I’ve never seen such a thing, nor have I heard of it,” Azila said softly.

“You two, work together to figure out what it is and how to stop it,” Seto said. “We cannot let our people suffer anymore.”

“We won’t let you down, Pharaoh.”

She hated working overnights.

I.D.R.A headquarters was quiet, the only sound was the new-age music coming from Aiko’s speaker to give the impression of the women being in a spa.

Which Reika was desperately beginning to wish she was in, given how chaotic the day had already been, and the phone call she was currently in with Yugi was not helping matters at all.

“No, I’m sorry, you what?”

“Joey got kidnapped and possessed by Marik and we had to duel. There was a timer and we had to beat it in order to win. But we both ended up in the water.”

Reika slammed her hand against the table harder than she’d meant to. “Yugi, what the hell? Are you okay?! Where are you now?”

“We’re fine, we’re fine. Mai’s driving us to the finals now. I’m sorry you won’t be able to make it.”

“It’s fine. I mean, who would turn down a chance to go to a spa for their birthday with their best friend?” she asked, swiveling her eyes to stare down Aiko. “At least I’m away from the Rare Hunters. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Aiko grimaced, sipping at the water in front of her.

“Right. You should be safe there since you’re not in Domino.”

“And you could be walking right into their trap. I’m worried, Yugi. If Marik could possess your friends so easily once before, what’s stopping him from doing it while you guys are at the finals? What if he’s in the finals?”

“The knowledge that we’ve stopped him once before? And I believe in the Heart of the Cards and my friends.”

“From what I’ve seen, belief usually doesn’t stop bad guys. That’s why they keep going until someone physically crushes them.”

“Why have you seen that?”

She blanched, scrambling for an answer. “I watched a lot of TV when I was in E - school,” she replied, twirling a strand of hair around one of her fingers. “Anyway, I’ll let you go. I’m sure you guys are almost at the stadium, right?”

“Yeah, see you when we get back.”

“Hey, is that Jean-Claud -”

Whatever Joey had started to say, she didn’t get to finish hearing as she ended the call and tossed the phone down on the desk in front of her with a long groan.

“I think you need to get some air,” Aiko said as she looked over a map of the North Blue. “We’ve been stuck in here all day and you hardly paid attention to the latest intel that came in.”

“Garrison managed to topple -”

Aiko raised a brow. “Garrison? His name is Karasu, Reika. You know that.”

Reika paused. “Karasu managed to gain control of the Vroven Kingdom and deposed their corrupt queen. The residents are quite relieved, according to the report, and it’s a major North Blue trading port.”

“You also almost said you were in Eturn to Yugi on the phone.” Aiko continued to squint at her until Reika put her hands up in defeat.

“Okay, okay, I’ll grab my cloaking device out of my locker and go for a walk. Do you want me to get you anything? Burger World’s down the street.”

Aiko was already sliding money across the table. “Get me the number three with no onions and a soda. Please.”

“Yeah yeah, no problem.”

“Reika, are you alright?” Azila asked as she made her way toward the elevator to the downstairs locker room.

“It’s just been a long day, Azila. There was a rebellion that didn’t end well in the South Blue, and when I checked on the Straw Hats, I was having trouble getting a read on where they were. And then Yugi called and said his friends were kidnapped which led to him almost dying and I couldn’t do anything about any of it!”

Azila stared at her with concern. “I think your friend is right. A walk will be good for you.”

Reika exhaled slowly through her nose, stepping inside the elevator. “I know. I’m just starting to feel trapped here, that’s all.”

“Trapped? In the building?”

“No, in Domino. It’s been almost two months since I’ve been in Eturn. Who knows how many islands I’ve missed that might have information on where my parents are?” she questioned. “And as much as I love my family here, it’s just not the same without the crew.” When the elevator reached the first floor, she stepped out of it with a sigh. “Did you remember anything about that energy we read the other day?”

Azila looked down. “I remember doing research on it after a strange series of deaths in Egypt. There were several in Eturn as well.”

“Well, what is it?” Reika asked, tossing a hoodie over her shirt and tying her hair back before sliding the cloaking device in her hair and hearing it switch itself on.

“We - we failed to conclude. The deaths stopped after two weeks when we got rain. It was like Egypt was purified,” Azila paused, looking at her. “You look strange with the brown hair again.”

“Heh. I’m sure I - ”

The alarm began to chime overhead, and she rushed from the locker room to the nearest computer to track it.

“Oh, god.”

“What is wrong?”

“It ripped here. Someone from Eturn is in our building,” Reika gasped, activating the lockdown protocols for the I.D.R.A’s area of the building. The staircases would be a pain to check, but at least the elevator would be clear.

Reika grabbed her gun from the holster still strapped to her hip and began the process of checking rooms.

“Aiko, check in. Where are you?” she asked.

Something thudded from the conference room and she tensed, slowly approaching. “Hello?”

“Where am I? Who are you?”

Reika almost froze at the voice.

Aiko’s voice was muffled.

“Miss All-Sunday, I strongly suggest you let Aiko go,” she said. “And put all your hands up.”

“Who are you?”

“Aw, c’mon, don’t tell me you forgot about me already. We had such fun together at the casino…” Reika hummed, stepping into the room, her gun still drawn. “Especially the part where you threw me out a window and said all my friends were going to die.”

Miss All-Sunday stared at her, horrified as she let Aiko go. “You’re - from the Straw Hats…”

“Indeed I am.”

“Why weren’t you on the ship when it left Alabasta?”

“Why do you know I wasn’t on the ship when it left Alabasta?”

“I joined the crew. Luffy saved my life, so I joined his crew. I snuck on-board the ship after Crocodile was defeated.”

Reika stared at her, but slowly put her gun away. She wanted to say the woman was lying, but this was Luffy they were talking about. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for him to do such a thing.

“Hold on, I recognize you now. You’re Nico Robin, the last survivor of Ohara!” Aiko suddenly said.

She couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her as Robin nodded confirmation.

“I am. Please, where am I?”

Reika ran her tongue over her teeth and looked at Aiko. She was from Ohara. She likely knew what the Veil was, so…

“You’re in Japan. Earth.”

“Earth…” Robin’s voice was barely a whisper. “So - so the scholars… they weren’t just spinning wild folktales when they talked about a sister world? All of those books about it were real?”

“Very real,” Aiko said, putting a hand on Robin’s shoulder. “We were in contact with the scholars of Ohara up until the Buster Call. “We tried to find you but… you were good at keeping yourself hidden from the Marines.”

“I thought I was, but today proved otherwise…” Robin shivered, and it was then Reika realized just how pale the woman looked.

“What happened? Is the crew okay?” Reika asked sharply.

Robin sighed. “We encountered a Marine Admiral.”

“An admiral?!”

“Aokiji. I’m not… completely sure what happened after the initial encounter. He froze me solid and I woke up on the Merry. That’s when I saw the light that led me here,” Robin explained.

God, could the crew even deal with an admiral right now? Luffy was strong, but Devil Fruit wielded by an admiral strong? She didn’t know. “Okay. We’ll get you back to the ship and the crew. Aiko, can you get the teleporter ready?”

Aiko nodded, rushing from the room.

“Robin, do you want to take a look at Earth?”

“I never even dared to dream about Earth,” Robin whispered.

Reika grinned, raising the blinds. “Welcome to Domino.”

“What is that?” Robin asked, pointing at the KaibaCorp blimp that was hovering over the city, and Reika was suddenly very glad she had her disguise on.

“A blimp. There’s a tournament going on right now, and that’s where the finals are taking place,” she explained. “It’s being broadcast all over the world.”

“How?”

Reika shrugged. “Our technology seems to be more advanced than in Eturn.”

Robin looked a little overwhelmed as she continued to look out the window, her eyes darting every which way. “I’ve never seen anything like this. To think that another world was hiding from us this whole time. Why were the worlds separated?”

“That’s what our organization is trying to figure out,” Reika said. “All we know for sure is that it happened around the same time as the Void Century. Before that, the Veil between worlds was open. Trade, travel, anything you can think of, was common in ancient times.”

“And then nothing.”

“Essentially. Sixty years ago, strange tablets were found in boxes around the world. They’d been buried for centuries, or passed down from holy man to holy man. Aiko’s grandfather was the one to crack the code, the International Dimensional Research Agency was founded, and here we are,” Reika said. “C’mon, let’s get you back to the Merry before Luffy loses his mind over you being gone.”

Robin frowned at her as they made their way upstairs. “Why would you join something like this? I mean, going between this place and Eturn? It must not be easy.”

“It’s not,” Reika agreed. “But my parents went missing in Eturn when I was eight. Somewhere in the Grand Line. I want to find out what happened to them. If for nothing else, for my grandfather. He deserves to know what happened to his elder son.”

“Your grandfather? The one who fell into a coma?”

She laughed softly. “They told you about that, huh?”

“Nami did. How is he doing?”

Reika hesitated for a moment. “Getting stronger every day,” she decided on, pushing the door open to the teleportation room.

“Whoa…” Robin gasped. “What is that?”

“This is one of the official Veil-points between Earth and Eturn. I just put in the coordinates to the Going Merry,” Aiko said, glancing at Reika and handing her one of the emergency transporters. “You’ll have an hour in Eturn before it drags you back.”

Reika frowned. “What do you mean an hour?”

“I told you to go for a walk, didn’t I? Go have fun with the crew. You’ll be back before the first duel starts.”

“Thank you, AIko. I owe you.”

“You can still go to Burger World when you come back here.”

“Deal.”

Aiko opened the portal and Reika stepped forward. “After you, Robin.”

Reika practically felt herself vibrating with excitement as she followed Robin through the portal, blinking as they arrived back on the Merry, in the midst of some sort of argument between Chopper and Nami, neither of whom seemed to notice the portal that had opened behind them.

“Luffy’s frozen and Robin’s gone! What are we gonna do?!” Chopper wailed.

“A-hem.”

The duo froze, slowly turning around.

“Did you guys lose someone?” Reika said, jabbing a thumb in Robin’s direction.

“REIKA!”

“ROBIN!”

Reika was almost knocked off her feet by the force of Nami’s hug. “Nami, Chopper - hi! I missed you too. What happened to Luffy?”

“He got frozen by Aokiji!” Chopper cried. “Usopp’s with him now trying to thaw him.”

“I hope I’ll get the chance to see him before I have to go,” Reika said softly.

Nami frowned. “Go? Go where? You just got back!”

“I know, I know. But things aren’t completely settled in Oxram. Aiko was kind enough to send me along with Robin when we realized she was part of the crew, but I’ve only got an hour before I have to go back.”

“But when are you gonna be back for good?” Chopper asked, his eyes wet with tears.

“Aw, Chopper, it’s okay!” she soothed with a smile. “Nami, you have a map, right? I’ll - ”

“I’M GONNA KICK THAT ICE GUY’S ASS!” Luffy suddenly shouted.

Reika chuckled. “Bring the map to the galley, Nami. I’ll figure something out. Oi! Luffy!” she called, stepping into the hallway. “Luffy? Usopp?”

“Reika’s back!” Usopp shouted.

“Reika!”

There was a terrible grunting noise, and then Luffy made his grand appearance, almost knocking the bathroom door off its hinges. Chunks of ice were still stuck to his body and hat, but he was grinning all the same.

“Luffy, you should be careful!” she gasped, not even flinching as Luffy’s rubber limbs wrapped around her torso and he flung himself at her. She found herself thudding to the ground, laughing all the same. “Hey, Usopp, get Zoro, Vivi, and Sanji and meet me in the galley, yeah?”

“Vivi stayed in Alabasta, but I’ll get the others,” Usopp replied.

She wasn’t surprised.

“Only an hour?” Luffy whined when the entire crew was gathered. “Why can’t you stay for good?”

“My grandfather’s recovery is slow. He woke up but he’s still re-learning stuff and can’t be left alone yet,” she explained, looking at the map in front of her. “In three weeks, you’ll reach an island called Water 7. It’s a major trade port with Oxram. I’ll meet you there. I promise.”

“Aiko can get you there?” Zoro asked with a frown.

Reika nodded. “With her fruit, as long as she remembers what a place looks like, she can get there. She was here, so she can get me back here.”

Luffy had that unusually serious look on his face again, glancing between the map and her. “Okay. Three weeks.”

He held out his hand, and they shook on it.

She wasn’t sure why she had said it. She’d had a return date of August, not July, but something in her soul told her she would be needed in Eturn earlier.

“I’ll have time to prepare for three beautiful ladies on the ship. Excellent!” Sanji sighed.

“I still have a boyfriend,” she laughed. “But I’d love a quick snack before I go? I’ve missed your cooking.”

Sanji zipped over to the fridge. “Of course, Reika dear!”

“Have you been keeping up with your training?” Zoro asked.

“Obviously. I’ll be training even harder now that I know we’re on an admiral’s radar.”

“Well, with my tech from Skypiea, I’ll be able to protect the crew!” Usopp declared with a grin.

“Skypiea?”

“We went to an island in the sky, Reika!” Luffy said, slamming his hands against the table as Sanji set down some sort of fruit and yogurt dip. “And I fought against God!”

Reika nearly choked on a berry. “I’m sorry, God?”

That was how Reika spent her hour in Eturn listening to the tale of Skypiea - of Sky People and Sky Fish and Octopus Balloons, and of the golden bell at the top of a beanstalk (her life was a soap opera and now there were fairy tales mixed in?). It was all making her head spin, but she knew this would be important information for the agency to learn.

Reika rose to her feet after glancing at her watch. Less than a minute left. “I’ll meet you at Water 7.”

“Three weeks.”

“Three weeks,” she echoed, feeling the yank as the portal opened, dropping her back in Domino.

Aiko was grinning at her from a nearby computer. “How was it?”

“Surprisingly informative. Get a pen and a map of Eturn. We have some geography to add.”

Burger World went forgotten that night as the duo imported the information into their database before settling down to watch the finals on the conference room screen.

“This game is insane!” Aiko shouted as the last duel of the evening concluded. “I mean, three people landed in the hospital because of cards?”

“Well, don’t come to a tournament when you’re already injured, don’t piss off a lightning god, and well, well, yeah, the third one’s bullshit,” Reika said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Mai had him on the ropes. She would have won if it wasn’t for her not being able to read the text on Ra’s card.”

“You do see how that’s worse, right? That evil shadow magic bullshit shouldn’t even be a thing,” Aiko groaned, running her fingers through her hair. “You’re sure you’re okay taking the first shift?”

“Yeah, I just want to make sure Yugi’s not going to call me. Get some sleep, Aiko. I’ll wake you up at three.”

The downside to these shifts was being alone in the early morning hours, providing there wasn’t an emergency with an undercover operative. To give herself some distraction, Reika switched on some music, and soon, soft jazz filled the surveillance room.

It was a quiet night - no frantic calls from other field agents, or important updates from Dragon. The jazz music had started to lull her to sleep, until it suddenly stopped as a call came in.

One-thirty in the morning only meant one person.

“You should be sleeping,” she greeted, rubbing at her tired eyes.

“So should you.”

“I was, until you called. What’s up?”

“If I stare at this computer anymore, my eyes are going to fall out of my head. These damned god cards…”

“Let me guess- Ra, right? The one that killed Mai?”

“Valentine is unconscious, not dead.”

“You do understand that’s only marginally better, right?”

“Tch. Whatever.”

A strange silence settled over the call.

“I get the feeling you didn’t just call me because your eyes are burning.”

(She wasn’t sure that happened to him anymore)

“We’ll be landing at Alcatraz in a few hours.”

“Alca - shit,” she slid her hand down her face. Of course she knew what Alcatraz was - the old testing grounds for KaibaCorp. She had never been there herself, but she’d heard enough rants out of Seto to know there was a high chance Alcatraz wouldn’t be standing in the next fourteen hours. “Seto, I’m so sorry I had to ditch the finals.”

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t - she could hear it in his voice.

“Listen… when you get home, I’m yours the rest of the week. Anything you want to do.”

“You play a dangerous game, Reika.”

“But with you, it’s always so much fun.”

“Hmph. I’ll let you know later, then.”

“Get some rest, Seto. You’ve got a tournament to win, right?”

The call ended, and she ran her fingers through her hair.

Alcatraz.

She was the worst girlfriend on the planet.

[buns-with-a-book]

Strawberries and Cream

This is what happens when you yoink ideas. I haven’t done Reader inserts in years so hopefully I still have it. It’s a-spicey one! Idea from this ask

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante/Reader Tags: @nimnox @furyeclipse @synchronmurmurs @harlot-of-oblivion @queenmuzz @tehrevving

Summary: You decide to try out a new recipe that involves strawberries and pie. Of course, Dante wants some cream with that pie. 

It’s a completely ordinary but empty day at Devil May Cry. The sun peered behind cloud-filled skies, shafts of late afternoon light peering into the rain-dampened windows. Only hours earlier, the clouds had gathered and poured rain onto the streets of Red Grave City.

It had been through the rain that you ran through, holding your precious bundle of foodstuffs as you rushed through the threshold into Devil May Cry.

Now, after a good hour of cleaning the kitchen to make it less of a disaster zone (because Dante had the bad habit of not cleaning up after his very wild and very whacky kitchen adventures), you were just putting the finishing touches on the strawberry pie you had worked hard to make for him. Despite his antics, you were still so very fond of him. Sometimes his dependence on pizza and sundaes bothered you (because that wasn’t very healthy) but, through hard work and coaxing on your part, he expanded his food pallet to things that weren’t pizza and sundaes. Of course, he still loved them above all else, but he was just as much of a risk taker on the battlefield as he was off it as long as it didn’t involve olives.

But, a man could have some strawberries in his life. As a treat. Which was exactly why you were making this pie for him. Opening the oven, you slid the strawberry pie inside and closed the door. You stood up and set the timer for twenty minutes. You clapped your hands together, knocking the flour off your hands before going over to wash said hands. Wiping your hands off with a towel, you got to work cleaning up the kitchen.

“Hey sweetheart.” A familiar voice spoke. You whipped around to the doorway, seeing Dante leaning against the door frame with a wide grin on his face. You threw the plastic container, one of two, that you were holding. “What’s cooking?”

“Oh, a strawberry pie. I found the recipe in a cookbook and wanted to make it for you. You know, as a treat.” You opened the fridge and put whipped cream on the table.

“But you’re my favorite treat.” He pouted. You laughed as you walked over to him to give him a peck.

“Really now? Even topping strawberries?” He glanced behind you, to the empty plastic package that used to contain strawberries. On the counter, on a paper plate, one last strawberry remained that didn’t fit with the rest. He plucked it from the counter.

“Why not both?” He asked, a cheeky grin on his face. He gently pressed the strawberry against your lips, a silent invitation to open. Deciding to indulge him, you let him feed you the strawberry. Letting the fresh fruit slide inside, you chew and swallow. You glance up to Dante, seeing mischief in his eyes. He was obviously planning something, that was a look of mischievous planning if you ever saw one (and you were quite familiar with Dante when he was scheming something). He leaned forward, taking your lips into a kiss. His hands wander down your side, reaching over to grope your ass. Giving it a massage, he deepened the kiss. After a few heated moments, you pulled back for air. “Delicious, as ever…” He murmured.

“If you plan to fuck me over the counter-” You began to warn.

“Nah, you’d yell at me for it being unsanitary.”

“Well, it is!” He chuckled and peppered kisses across your face.

“How about over the table? That’s clean.” He asked. You nod. Pleased with your consent, he sat down on the nearby chair with you kneeling down on the tile floor. You undid his belt and pulled down his pants and underwear, letting it pool to the floor. His cock sprung forth, earning a soft chuckle from you.

“Eager much?” Before he could answer you, you took the tip into his mouth. His answer died on his lips, replaced with a hiss. His hand gently stroked your hair as your tongue swirled on the tip of his cock. Slowly, you took more of his impressive girth into your mouth, relishing the sounds of a very pleased Dante.  

“Babe...damn you’re the best.” You glanced up, seeing his lazy but pleased smile on his face. Spurred on by that, you continued your ministrations to him. Your hand gently rubbed at his thigh, feeling him tense and shiver beneath your fingertips. You heard the sound of something resting on the table and glanced up, seeing a small bottle of lube being set on the wood. Of course Dante would have lube in his pocket.

“Babe.” He gently pulled back your head. “I’d love to just keep you there but…” He jerked his head to the oven. You understood.

“Alright, alright, mister impatient for his strawberries.”

“No, I don’t want all your hard work to get burnt.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw before guiding you over the table. Making quick work of your pants, he poured lube on your entrance. A finger pressed in, earning a moan from you. He let out a shuddery exhale as he worked to prepare you. One finger became two, scissoring and stretching you for him. You glanced back, seeing his other hand pour extra lube on his cock. He began to stroke himself slowly, to keep himself from cumming all over you. After a few more minutes of preparation, he pulled out his fingers. “Ready babe?”

“Ready.” With that, Dante slowly pushed into you. A soft moan followed the push, his girth stretching your entrance wide. You two had had sex before but his girth always something that took time to get used to. Dante knew this just as well as you did, always going at a careful pace to make sure you were fully stretched out for him before the main event. As he slowly pushed, he paused every so often to double check on you, leaning forward to press gentle kisses to your head to comfort you.

When his hips were finally flush with yours, you let out a sigh of relief. You felt his breathy chuckle on your ear, making you shiver.

“Damn...I-I love you babe.”

“I love you too Dante.” You turned a little, reaching up to gently pull him down to press your lips against his. He let out a pleased purr into the kiss, a slow lazy kiss while he remained at rest within you. After a few minutes, he rolled his hips to test the waters. “I’m ready Dante.”

“Gotcha.” He smiled against your lips before pulling back. He pulled his cock back before pushing back in, starting off at a slow easy pace. As he thrust, that slow easy pace increased. You loved how considerate he was, knowing that his girth took time to get used to, needed a prologue before the action. Even with his wild antics...you loved him.

“Dante…” You let out a breathy moan. “You can go faster, I can handle it.” With that, Dante began to increase his pace. That slow pace was replaced with a snappier thrust, the sound of skin against skin and slick movement filling the air along with you and Dante’s panting. His hands were firmly gripping your waist, keeping you steady while he thrust hard and fast into you.

“Babe, you’re so good to me...babe…” He whispered, a breathless praise to you. You smiled at that, glancing back to see him. He smiled back to you, followed by a harsh thrust that made you moan out his name. He groaned at the sound, you felt his cock throb within and knew he quite enjoyed that. You were promptly distracted by the warmth coiling tightly within you.

“Dante, I’m close!”

“Yeah, me too!” He grunted, his thrusts becoming shorter and harsher. The coiling heat was too much…!

“Dante!”

“I’m here!” He groaned, pulling you into his arms as he thrust in one final time. Together, the two of you hit your peak. He lazily rolled his hips, riding out your orgasm. After a few minutes, he pulled back out, kicking your pants aside.

“Hey...hey sweetheart...we made a strawberry and cream pie.” Dante let out a breathy laugh, nuzzling his face into your hair. Your palm promptly met your face.

“Oh Dante.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too Dante.” Dante pressed a kiss to your temple as he helped you stand. He slowly pulled out, earning a soft groan of discomfort from you.

“It doesn’t look like the pie’s done yet th-” His words, hinting at more lustful activities, were cut off by the shrill ring of the oven. You and Dante jumped a little at the ring before you rushed to the counter. Pulled on a pair of oven mitts, Dante pulled kicked his pants to yours while you took care of the hot oven. Opening the oven, you pulled out a freshly baked strawberry pie. “...pie first.”

“No, it has to cool off first!” You scolded, placing the pie on the counter. “Which means we have to find a way to pass the time.” You glanced back to him and winked, throwing the oven mitts onto the counter next to the pie. He quickly got your intentions and wrapped his hands around your waist.

“Then I guess we gotta find something to do to pass the time. I think the bedroom’s a good place to start.” He hoisted you up into his arms and carried you out of the kitchen and to the bedroom, grinning all the while.

[searchingwardrobes]

Start of Time: 7/9

In this chapter, Wendy/Emma worries things will be awkward after the kiss, and "Wendy's" real life may be closer than she thinks.

Summary: Killian and his son are driving through a bad snow storm when they find a disoriented woman walking down the road. The question is, how can they help her get home when she has no idea who she is? Written for @teamhook​ on her birthday.

Rating: T

Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this fic and Alice and Henry are both Killian’s adopted children with Milah. Henry isn’t Emma’s. Positive past Millian. No Neal.

Words: about 2,500 in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals::@snowbellewells​ @kmomof4​@jennjenn615​ @kday426​ @let-it-raines​ @bethacaciakay​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @thislassishooked​ @tiganasummertree​​@whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snidgetsafan​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​ @winterbaby89​​ @distant-rose@shireness-says​​ @xhookswenchx​​ @optomisticgirl​​ @spartanguard​​ @branlovestowrite​​ @welllpthisishappening​​ @stahlop​​ @hollyethecurious​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @scientificapricot​ @wellhellotragic​ @vvbooklady1256​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @superchocovian​ @nikkiemms​ @lfh1226-linda​  @ultraluckycatnd​ @ohmakemeahercules​ 

Wendy had a fitful night sleep as she replayed the kiss in her mind. Sometimes she fantasized about it - her heart pounding as she remembered the feel of his lips on hers and his fingers lightly tracing her skin. Other times she beat herself up for grabbing him like that. It wasn’t fair to him at all when she had another life out there to return to. He was a father, too, which made it ten times worse. She hadn’t just gotten too close to Killian - she’d gotten far too close to Henry and Alice as well. She was an awful person, there was no way around it.

She also tossed and turned wondering how in the world she could face him again. First she’d initiated a kiss, and then she’d pushed him away? She’d seen the tormented look on his face - as if he’d done something wrong. She punched her pillow in irritation a couple of times before giving up on sleep altogether.

It was a quarter past four in the morning when she slipped from her room and headed down the stairs. She paused at the bottom step when she thought she heard sounds coming from the deep recesses of the house. She tilted her head. Was that . . . music? Wherever it was coming from, it was faint. She veered around the kitchen, heading towards the hallway off the foyer instead. She’d never ventured into this part of the house. She knew it led to the garage and Killian’s veterinary office on the other side, but she’d never had reason to go there.

Wendy slowly eased open the door to the garage. It was surprisingly warm, though still a bit chillier than the rest of the house. She flipped on a light switch and gasped in surprise at what she saw. She knew the Joneses didn’t keep their vehicles in here, and she had heard Alice mention painting in the garage, but she hadn’t expected this. The room was insulated and heated, for one. The floor was still concrete, though, and for good reason - Alice had free reign to be as creative and messy as she wanted. The floor was splattered in a haphazard way with various colors, and glitter and tiny bits of paper added to the creative mess. There was an unfinished oak table in the center of the room with matching oak chairs. These were also splattered with paint and scribbled all over with markers and crayon. Two easels were set up: one was a chalkboard, and one held a canvas. Bins lined the opposite wall, filled with all the art supplies a girl could dream of: buttons, pom poms, pipe cleaners, stickers, glitter, and half a dozen others. A cabinet next to it was littered with various mediums from acrylic paints to oil pastels. It was a legit art studio, and Killian had made this for his daughter.

The music she had heard was coming from her left, through a door that she assumed led to Killian’s office. He had told her the entrance for customers was on the outside of the house, but she also knew the kids had access to his space from inside the house. This must be it. Wendy’s lips ticked up in a smile as she imagined Alice interrupting her dad to show him her latest creation.

She tiptoed across the floor, the concrete ice cold even through her socks. Slowly Wendy opened the door. Killian’s back was to her and at first she wasn’t sure why he was hunched over. As she stepped into the room, it became clear: he was playing the guitar. He was singing, too.

“Touch your lips just so I know. In your eyes, love, it glows so. I’m bare-boned and crazy for you when you come crash into me, baby . . . “

He hummed then, either because he didn’t know the rest of the words or because he was concentrating on strumming, and Wendy cleared her throat. He startled at the sound, then relaxed when he turned in his chair and saw her.

“Sorry,” she apologized, “I couldn’t sleep, and then I heard music . . .”

She trailed off as she realized that she was doing the very thing that had kept her up - facing him. The early hour had given a surreal quality to everything, but now it slammed into her that he was only a few feet away. If he felt as awkward as she did, however, he didn’t show it.

“No, no, don’t apologize. I hope I didn’t keep you up. I usually don’t disturb the kids way out here -”

“No, it was fine, really. I was already up. I could barely hear it, but I was curious.”

He simply nodded. “I’m a bit rusty,” he confessed. “Hope it didn’t sound too bad.”

“Not at all. And you have a great voice.”

He ducked his head, blushing at her praise. Wendy found a folding chair and dragged it over so she could sit down. She reached her hand out towards the instrument.

“May I?”

“Of course,” Killian told her, pulling the strap up and over his head and relinquishing the guitar.

A thrill went through her - it felt so familiar, so right in her hands. She put the strap around her shoulders, then adjusted the guitar on her thigh. She plucked a few strings, then began to strum. Once she felt comfortable, it just came to her, and she was suddenly playing a guitar solo. Killian’s eyes widened, and she just grinned. She transitioned to strumming as she began to sing.

“If we still have time, we might still get by. Every time I think about it, I want to cry. With bombs and the devil, and the kids keep comin’. No way to breathe easy, no time to be young. But I tell myself I was doin’ alright. There’s nothin’ left to do at night but go crazy on you. Crazy on you. Let me go crazy, crazy on you.”

She trailed off when she saw how Killian’s jaw had dropped. Her own mouth hung open in shock as she stopped the sound of the guitar with her flattened palm.

“I can sing!” she exclaimed. “And I know how to play the guitar!”

Killian blinked and shook his head. “That’s an understatement love! That’s Nancy Wilson’s guitar solo you just played! My God, lass!”

“Yeah,” Wendy mused, “Nancy Wilson from Heart. That’s not easy to play, is it?”

“Not like that it isn’t! I’m sort of embarrassed that you heard me muddling around just now.”

She shrugged. “I thought you had promise,” she teased.

He laughed and shoved her playfully in the knee. “Come to think of it, I did hear you belting out ‘Brass in Pocket’ the first night you were here.”

“Wait a minute!” Wendy exclaimed. “I was singing that in the shower!”

Killian’s face turned bright red and he scratched furiously behind his ear. “I was just leaving you some clothes, I swear. I turned right back around!”

Laughter bubbled up out of her. “I thought one of the kids left those clothes. They were all balled up and half falling on the floor.”

“I told you I got out of their post haste!”

They were both laughing now, and it felt wonderful. She should have known he wouldn’t make things awkward. She stared down at the guitar in her lap and idly strummed.

“About you not sleeping -”

“Don’t, Killian, please.”

“We need to talk about that kiss.”

“No, we don’t. It was a . . . one-time thing.”

Killian sighed and then stood wearily to his feet. “As you wish.” He made his way slowly to the door. “You coming?”

“Would it be alright if I stayed in here and played a little longer?”

He smiled gently at her. “Of course, love. God knows that guitar deserves someone with more talent than me.”

The sadness infusing his words lingered long after he’d left, and Wendy could only hum while picking out a few chords. Then, suddenly, words that she knew were in no recorded song she had ever heard before, yet were familiar all the same bubbled up out of her along with a melody for the instrument in her hands.

“Once I lived in darkness out there on my own. Left to brave the world alone. Everything seemed hopeless, no chance to break free. Couldn’t hear the song inside of me.”

She stilled the music with her palm once more. Where the hell had that come from?

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

Steam rose up from the colander where Killian was draining the pasta. Behind him, the oven timer starting going off.

“Henry, can you grab the garlic bread?”

Henry hopped up from the kitchen island where he was finishing his homework, grabbed an oven mitt, and slid the bread from the oven.

“When are Alice and Wendy gonna get home? I’m starving!”

Killian smiled as he shook his head ruefully. It seemed like the boy was always “starving.”

“I’m sure they’ll be back any minute. I hope so anyway. This food is gonna get cold.”

As if their conversation had summoned them, the front door suddenly burst open and his daughter’s giggles blended with Wendy’s laughter. The sound made his heart clench and his smile widen. He looked over his shoulder as the two of them tumbled into the kitchen, dropping bags on the table.

“Come see what we got Daddy!” said Alice.

Killian wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. “Okay, but only for a minute. We don’t want the food to get cold.”

“Where’s Mary Margaret?” Henry asked with a frown.

“She had to get home and help David with something with the horses,” Wendy told him, “but she said to tell you hi.”

“Okay, girls, what do we have?” Killian asked.

“This is mine,” Alice said, digging something white and frilly out of one of the thrift store bags. She shook it out and held it up for them to see.

“An apron?” Henry scoffed.

“I’m gonna be Alice, get it?” Alice pressed the apron to her torso and frowned at her brother. “You know - Alice in Wonderland. I’ll wear this over my blue Easter dress.”

“Oh,” Henry said, “I see.”

“We also bought some blue ribbon at the craft store to tie around her hair,” Wendy added.

“And this . . . “ Alice announced dramatically, pulling a long, stainy, light blue nightgown with capped sleeves out of the other thrift store bag, “is for Wendy.”

“We’re casting ourselves to type,” Wendy said to Killian with a shrug.

“I like it. But this is a couple’s dance.”

“Daddy, we know that,” Alice countered with a roll of her eyes. “You and Henry will match us. So Wendy is - well, Wendy, so you can be Peter Pan.”

Killian narrowed his eyes. “I am not going as Peter Pan. You are not getting me in green tights.”

Wendy and Alice exchanged knowing glances. Wendy reached into a bag from the party supply store. “We had a feeling you’d say that, so we got you this.”

Killian chuckled as he took it from her. “A plastic hook. Okay, I’ll go with it.”

“I thought we should get a pirate hat too, but Wendy said you wouldn’t go for it.”

Killian caught the woman’s eye. “She already knows me so well.”

Wendy glanced away as a blush stained her cheeks.

“What about me?” Henry demanded.

“Well, since I’m Alice, we got you this.”

“Sweet!” Henry exclaimed as his sister handed him a tall, purple velour hat with a giant fake price tag attached. He plopped it on his head and grinned up at Killian. “Can I borrow one of your vests, Dad?”

“Sure, son.”

“We are going to look so cool!” Alice squealed as she jumped up and down. She grasped Wendy around the waist, and the woman hugged her back with enthusiasm.

“I know,” Wendy agreed, “I’m so proud of us! And we only spent like twenty bucks!”

Killian watched his daughter planning out her costume with Wendy, and first his heart warms at the way the two of them have bonded. On the heels of that emotion, sadness washed over him as he realized that his daughter could also get hurt.

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

Zelena Green really thought that that teaching her spinning class would get all of her frustrations out, but she stepped out of the showers fuming just as much as she had when she’d arrived that afternoon. Her mother had always warned her she came on too strong with men, but Killian Jones had really seemed to be warming up to her. Until this infuriating Wendy person showed up. Amnesia? Yeah, right. Zelena was a master of manipulation, and even she hadn’t stooped low enough to try that tactic.

As Zelena stomped out of the locker room, her students gave her a wide berth, many of them still struggling to breathe after the torture she’d put them through. She ignored the teenager at reception, her boss asking to speak with her, and the tiny brunette named Dorothy who cried out in irritation when Zelena practically bowled her over. Curses spilled from her mouth when she collided with a corner of one of the tables in the lobby littered with magazines. They all slid to the floor, and Zelena cursed again. She tossed her gym bag down and started scooping them up.

She froze when she saw a copy of last month’s Rolling Stone. Normally, the small blurb on the members of a moderately successful female indie rock band going solo wouldn’t have caught her attention.

But there was a blonde in the picture she had seen before.

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

“Ms. Mills, you have a call on line one from a Zelena Green that you really need to take.”

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Regina told her assistant archly, “so just say I’m busy.”

“Begging your pardon, but I really think you need to hear what she has to say.”

Regina rolled her eyes as she swiveled her chair to face the incompetent woman interrupting her. “And why is that?”

“Because she says Emma Swan is stuck in rural Maine with a case of amnesia.”

[icecreambeach]

Prompt: bad sex (anything from slightly disappointing through to completely disastrous and requiring a visit to Dr Ziegler, up to you!), McHanzo

I feel like I chickened out on the prompt a little (in that the first part is bad sex, but then it evolves into Very Good Sex), but a part of me really wanted to write Jesse and Hanzo clumsily working through one of Hanzo’s many hang-ups. (Not necessarily a hang-up that I permanently HC him as having, but an angle I wanted to explore!) So it starts a little angsty before quickly building into feelings, smut, and then… feelingsmut.Also this is a bit uhhhhh long for a prompt, but! Since when do I not over-write everything.

Obviously, this is rated E. And use condoms in real life, please.

And thank you, motetus, for your very good prompt! If you haven’t already, please check out motetus’s excellent artwork.

- - -

“Han?” Jesse slows his hips, presses a hand to Hanzo’s face. Tries to guide him into eye-contact. “You okay?”

“Yes.” Hanzo is holding up his thighs, spread and lovely, but his neck is twisted into something terrible. Smashing his cheekbone into the pillow like he wants to bury his face. Ignoring Jesse’s guiding touch. “Keep going.”

The cowboy obeys. He doesn’t know what else to do. He’s only been fucking Hanzo for a few months and most of their interactions contained even fewer words than this. Life moves fast for men like them. No time for long, poetic romances; no patience for games. Even now, as they lay on an air mattress in a small cabin in the middle of the forest, they are hunted. Nothing is ever aimless.

But as the look on Hanzo’s face goes from displeased to uncomfortable, Jesse has to slow again. “You sure you’re okay?”

A growl of contempt, then Hanzo pushes his face even further into the pillow. “Yes, hurry up!”

Jesse stops altogether. “Alright,” he mutters, trying not to sound disappointed and failing. “It’s okay.”

“Why are you stopping –”

“It’s alright, Han, we don’t have to –”

“I told you to keep going –”

“I can’t keep it up with you looking like that–”

“What is wrong with –”

“Alright, just knock it off!”

Jesse slips off of Hanzo, breathing rapidly through his nostrils, mouth firm and pupils vibrating. He glares at Hanzo, who looks like a grown man who’s just been yelled at by the person fucking him.

He pushes Jesse out of the way with a snort. “Pathetic.”

“Hold up now,” Jesse brays, whipping off the condom and tossing it into the wastebasket.

“This was a bad idea.”

“Just relax!”

“I was relaxed.” Hanzo yanks on expensive sweatpants, then his yukata. “It’s you who cannot seem to perform a simple function.”

“A ‘function?’ Like I’m a set of gears or something?”

“I should’ve expected it.”

“What the fuck all has gotten your panties in such a twist?”

“We should go back to the way we did it before.”

“You ain’t even listening to me,” Jesse growls, gathering the blankets over his chilly shoulders in retreat.

Hanzo stops. Jesse watches his back rise and fall slowly, recognizes it as controlled breathing. 

Must’ve said something that struck a nerve. He can never tell what will get through to Hanzo and what won’t, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to keep track. Just takes things as they come and hopes it’ll sort itself out. It’s worked out so far. Jesse always did seem to wind up with the most ornery of partners. Maybe he attracted those who would be borderline intolerable for less devil-may-care types. Or maybe he’d always enjoyed slowly breaking in stallions.

But these spats with Hanzo pop up more and more lately. It’d be easy enough to bounce, but Jesse doesn’t feel the urge to run like he usually would. Maybe because Hanzo is just that beautiful. Or maybe because he has nowhere better to go.

When Hanzo turns, Jesse has already softened. His temper burns hot but goes out fast – something he hopes that Hanzo has picked up on by now.

Jesse mutters, “I’m sorry.”“No, I…” Hanzo straightens, tugs his yukata a little more closed, though it just falls open again. “I told you that I am not used to…”“And I told you that you don’t have to bottom. Lord knows I like it enough. And, shit, y’know this ain’t the best place for it. ‘Specially if you ain’t done it too many times before.”Hanzo clears his throat, still not looking at Jesse. “I want to.”

The cowboy looks at him for a hard moment, then lazily reaches for the half-cigar he left in an ashtray by the bed. Give Hanzo a moment to find his words, and he would. Push him for answers and he’d only lock up more. Just like training mustangs.

“It was too fast.”

Jesse’s only just gotten the cigar going when he pulls it down from his mouth and gives Hanzo his raised brows. “Too fast? I could’a slowed down, Han.”

“In the beginning.”

“Oh.” He flashes back to the kissing, to slowly opening Hanzo up, to pushing inside him inch by agonizing inch until he’d started slowly thrusting inside. He hadn’t even gotten past what he’d describe as a leisurely fucking when Hanzo had started looking like he was close to a panic and clenching on him like a vice.

Hanzo is clearly struggling to express himself, arms crossed and gaze still elsewhere. And Jesse, reticent gunslinger that he is, hasn’t a clue as to how to help him.

Maybe they’re better matched than he thought.

“Y’said you’d only bottomed once before?” Jesse takes another puff, trying to sound casual.“Yes.”

“When was that?”Hanzo sighs tersely. Sits beside Jesse on the bed’s edge, where the light through the translucent drapes scatters soft across his frowning profile. “One of the brothers. Hiro.”“Huh. Knew a Blackwatch agent named Hiro.”

Hanzo sighs again, long-suffering. “There are a million Hiro’s.” A pause. “It was the only time I went to his home. It was quick – I had eluded my guards and knew they would call Hiro soon to ask about my whereabouts. It was not… comfortable.”“No shit.”

Hanzo huffs. He looks at Jesse, too, and Jesse is relieved to see some affection there. 

“I was not permitted to see men. Did I tell you?”Jesse’s eyes widen. “Seriously? This day and age?”

“It was practicality, not bigotry.”“Don’t know about that.”

“Regardless… it was an unspoken rule. And I barely had the time to court women I was matched with, let alone seek something that could only ever be temporary.”“You were the boss’s son – you’re tellin’ me you didn’t even get to pop bottles in a VIP section once in a blue moon?”Hanzo half-smiles at the ground. “Every leisure activity I pursued was for the benefit of the clan. Socializing with business partners. Participating in festivals or other public relations events. Enhancing existing ties and creating new ones. If I did do something for myself, it was encouraged that I…” Hanzo tosses his hand, a gesture Jesse only ever saw when he was struggling to translate a very Japanese concept into English. “It was understood that I would spend my personal time on approved activities. Training, with my family, or on dates with women my parents chose. Anything else was considered a waste of time, a potential scandal, or worse – an opportunity to blackmail the family.”Once again, Jesse finds himself struggling to relate to Hanzo’s experiences. No one ever gave a rat’s ass what he did with his spare time, let alone with his cock. If he’d had even the benefit of a concerned teacher or a distant relative who laid down some rules earlier on, he might’ve turned out a far different man, but he can’t even stretch his brain that far around. Deadlock’s rules never slowed him down. Even Blackwatch’s regulations never really kept him corralled, and boy, the second they tried – the second his own personal will started scraping up against Reyes’s direction – he was out of there with tires screeching.

He sits there and mouths his cigar and struggles to come up with something that will take that morose look off of Hanzo’s face. A joke? He seemed to like Jesse’s jokes, occasionally. Should they just call it a night and try again later? Something tells him that’s not a good idea. Like Hanzo might take this little crack in the wall and, with solitude and over-thinking, turn it into a breach. 

Quickly, Jesse thinks about his new lover: subtle, restrained, stubborn. Traditional. Likes things the way he likes them, won’t accept less. Appreciates nature and old music and good bourbon. High-quality craftsmanship. Things that take time and effort and attention.

It was too fast.

Jesse sets the still-smoking cigar back on its ashtray. “C’mere.”Hanzo looks up. He doesn’t move, so the cowboy scoots closer, the thin sheets barely pooling around his hips. 

“We don’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna.”

“But I do want to do…” Hanzo lowers his gaze again, stubborn. “…This.”

“Well, there ain’t no right or wrong way to this. Can go as slow or as fast as you want. Ain’t no timer on my table.” Jesse takes his natural hand and glides the knuckles up Hanzo’s tattooed arm, slow and light. “We’re safe here. Thirty-two whole hours of free-wheeling.”“I know that,” Hanzo grouses again, though less rigid this time. Jesse can see his shoulders loosen just a bit, but it’s still as if he’s got a steel rod in his throat. Still defensive – like he has something to lose. “I still want to try.”

Jesse tries very hard not to screw up his face again – as if squinting hard will help him figure out just what it is going on inside of Hanzo’s head. Wanting to ‘try’ means there’s a right and a wrong way to do a thing, and Jesse’s a hundred percent sure that Hanzo could twirl his hair for a couple hours and he’d consider it a successful night.

It never occurred to him that Hanzo might get nervous around him. What could Jesse possibly do to him?

Slowly, his hand goes to Hanzo’s shoulder. A chaste touch; like he’s working out a sore spot. It’s a wonder he’s never touched Hanzo without intent to generate or dispel lust before. There’s a lot he should’ve done before. 

“I know I ain’t said it before, but, uh,” Jesse clears his throat again, finds his head go fuzzy trying to get the right words in order, “I like being with you. Even when we ain’t knockin’ boots. We could order a pizza and watch shitty TV and I’d still be having a grand ol’ time.”

Hanzo snorts, but the disbelief is only slight. He leans into Jesse’s hand when it comes up to his face, though he seems oddly disquieted by the experience. Both Hanzo and Genji didn’t seem like they grew up with any kind of regular physical affection – shit, the first time Jesse’d hugged Genji, the guy flipped him onto his back – but right now Jesse is fixated on getting Hanzo to know, really know, that he can’t do anything wrong in this scenario. That he can just be free.

But maybe that’s not what he needs.

Back in Blackwatch, Genji’s work ethic startled Jesse. He threw himself into simulations and regimens and tests from dawn until dusk. He worked his new body to its breaking point and then crashed in the common dorm without a word exchanged. Jesse brought it up to Gabe more than once. Said he didn’t think it was right, Gabe running the new guy ragged like that. Especially after all he’d been through.

But Gabe just looked at Jesse in that semi-pitying way that he did and told him: Genji isn’t like you. He needs rules to feel free. Expectations he can meet and feel satisfied in accomplishing. Even when he was dicking around on his family’s dime, his life had more structure than you could ever imagine. If we don’t give him that now, the freedom could kill him.

When Jesse imagines how much worse it must be for Hanzo, and really looks at him, he can see just what a struggle it is for the guy to even bend towards Jesse’s offered hand. To simply sit with the touch after Jesse told him that he could do whatever he wanted. That permanent knot between his brow is starting to make a whole lot more sense.

Of course Hanzo would treat bottoming as some sort of task at which he can succeed or fail.

Jesse holds Hanzo’s face and gently tugs until their eyes lock. “There’s this, uh…” He keeps his voice low, husky, near-whispering. Just how he knows Hanzo likes it. “There’s this thing I learned. First guy I was with tried it out with me. Back in Deadlock, we didn’t get much time or space for messin’ around. Always worried ‘bout the law, ‘specially out on the road. This thing… it got me to relax real well. Was real fun.” He strokes down the side of Hanzo’s beard, gives his goatee a playful shake before he lets him go. “Wanna try it?”Hanzo hesitates. “What does it entail?”

“Well,” Jesse smiles and spreads his thighs, facing Hanzo more squarely on the bed; open, yielding. “I tell you something I want you to do, then you do it. Then you tell me something you want me to do, and I do it. Doesn’t have to escalate, doesn’t have to follow no line. Could be I ask you, like,” he nudges Hanzo with his leg, “Stroke up and down my thigh a bit, then could be you ask, Tell me something you like about my eyes. Could be anything. I’ll put on the damn kettle if you ask me to.” Jesse raises a coy brow. “But you gotta do two things. One – if you don’t wanna do what I ask, you gotta tell me so. Then I’ll pick another request. Two – If you got no objections, you gotta do exactly what I say. Think you can handle that?”Hanzo scoffs, and Jesse smiles. Fish hooked. “Of course.”

“Alrighty.” Jesse sits up. “Gimme a kiss, then.” Then, feeling he might have made the first request too easy, he tags on, “Without using your hands.”

Hanzo appraises Jesse’s face and, with a look that warms the cowboy far more than he’d ever expect, seems to find something he likes there. Then he leans forward, closes his eyes and the press of their lips is so soft, so slow. So much like the first time: sea salt wind and whiskey breath and Hanzo high up on the comm tower with his scarf whipping like the flimsy drapes that shield their soft little room now. Jesse lifts both hands to hold Hanzo’s jaw. Something loosens, and both men drop their shoulders. One of them moans. Hanzo brings up a knee, scoots a little closer.

The room is so quiet that every little sound of their lips moving together is pronounced, undeniable. It gets Jesse going something fierce, even though when Hanzo tries to add his tongue into the mix, he pulls away a little and responds with even more chaste drags of his lips. Frustration in the archer isn’t cute – he’s known Hanzo to get dangerously demanding when he doesn’t get what he wants, or else to disappear entirely as he nearly did earlier.

But, for now, he is quiet. He wants to complete his objective, Jesse suspects. He wants to do a good job.

When Jesse is satisfyingly kissed, Hanzo leans back, humming low in his chest like he’s just had something delicious. Flushed, sleepy-eyed, but expectant. Still ready to perform this game well.

But Jesse can see him struggling to figure out not only what he wants, but how to ask it from Jesse.

“You can also tell me,” the cowboy rumbles, brushing his nose against Hanzo’s, “To give you another request. If you want.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrow suspiciously, but it passes as he re-focuses on Jesse’s lips. Jesse hopes he’s going to ask for more kisses, but then he mutters in that raspy, gloriously low voice: “lick my neck.”

Jesse leans in slow, lets his beard graze the pale skin before he places one, two, several kisses in a languid line across the slope of that strong throat, and then follows with drags of his tongue. Light, sensual drags of his mouth, then deeper sucking on the racing pulse. He hears Hanzo let out a deep breath and tries not to pat himself on the back too much, which doesn’t prove hard to do. With Hanzo so close, so still and warm beneath his lips, smelling like he smells and groaning like he groans… Jesse is rapidly forgetting why he started this whole thing in the first place.

He leans back when he thinks he’s spent about as much time on Hanzo’s neck as they spent kissing. “Uh…” Jesse looks Hanzo’s torso up and down, “Play with my hand.”If Hanzo thinks the request is odd, he doesn’t show it. He takes Jesse’s natural hand in his own and squeezes the thumb pad, smoothes down the fingers, slips his own in-between. He smiles as if at some private joke, then, murmurs something about how he used to get massages like this after training. Jesse hums along, turning his hand under Hanzo’s direction, watches it for awhile. Then he watches Hanzo’s face. The undoing of his knotted brow.

Roughly the same amount of time passes before Hanzo whispers: “play with my hair.”

Jesse is smiling wide when he takes Hanzo’s hair in both of his hands and pulls through the inky silk strands. Hanzo closes his eyes and leans even closer as Jesse strokes, gently scratches, gathers and releases the longest part of his hair. Slow hands rub up and down the shaved sides, especially at the back of his neck, soft like the night-breeze through the window.

His efforts are rewarded with a sigh – the kind of sigh he’s never heard from Hanzo before.

“I love your hair, honey,” Jesse sighs, unexpected even to himself. He feels pressure threaten as Hanzo’s eyes lift and widen – this is far beyond the world of rough trysts they’ve been enjoying for the better part of two months, but no part of him wants to stop. “So beautiful.”

Then he whispers, “Give me another request.”Hanzo sighs. Takes his time, and Jesse gives it to him. “I want you to lick my chest.”Jesse couldn’t have come up with a better idea.

He guides Hanzo to his back and Hanzo goes, makes himself comfortable against the pillows. Jesse smoothes his hand over Hanzo’s pecs from his side, staring at him like he doesn’t know where to begin. Then, trusting to impulse again, he swiftly ducks his head and licks flat over one nipple. Flicks it with the tip of his tongue.

“Jesse,” Hanzo sighs, gripping the cowboy’s hair as that tongue makes rapid circles.

Jesse looks up. “Don’t look away,” he whispers. Hanzo frowns minutely, but obeys, somehow seems to know it to be Jesse’s next command, even if his own request is not yet complete. Jesse lifts up, straddles Hanzo’s legs so he can bend over his chest like a starving man at a trough. He knows how much Hanzo likes his mouth, knows that Hanzo knows how much he likes his chest. But he’s never told Hanzo to watch, never made a special effort to show him the extent of his want, never threw himself into demonstration. But now he feels like he’s got something to prove beyond the white-hot sensations in his groin.

He sucks one of the nipples between his teeth and teases with the edges. He feels the fingers in his hair tighten as he mouths the other nipple, twists the first, and hums. No matter how many times he gets his hands on Hanzo’s tits, he can never get enough. Soft skin that turns red under his teeth, full muscle that yields to his hands. And such an obvious erogenous zone for Hanzo – Jesse can feel him slowly churn his hips, humping air, scraping Jesse’s scalp with his nails. Saliva escapes Jesse’s bottom lip as he breathes out steam, flicks his tongue again. The metal hand on the other nipple pinches just hard enough to sting.

He closes his mouth and sucks and hums and circles the nub with a greedy tongue. Then Hanzo yanks back his hair and Jesse’s jaw goes slack, eyes blurry as he stares into Hanzo’s. Both men are dark red. Breathing hard. Worked up to all hell. Hanzo’s chest looks like it got beat up.

Then Jesse follows Hanzo’s guiding grip until they’re both on their sides. He lets Hanzo lick into his mouth while he strokes up and down Hanzo’s sides. Softly, he comes back from the edge.

“Your turn,” Hanzo mutters.

Jesse closes his eyes, lips centimeters away from Hanzo’s lips. “Let me…”He touches down the bridge of Hanzo’s nose with the tip of his warmed metal finger. Feels Hanzo knead the muscles of his lower back. Their cocks rock together, both of them too far gone to stay still. 

With a low sigh, Jesse realizes that he’s having too much trouble keeping a single thought in his head, let alone continuing the experiment he started. He wonders if it wasn’t to help himself more than Hanzo. “Give me another request.”

“Kiss me.” One corner of Hanzo’s reddened lips curls upward, as if startled by his own quickness in answering. “And finger me.” 

Jesse moans right up against Hanzo’s open mouth. There’s the lordly killer he knows.

He kisses Hanzo like they’ve only ever done while both of them were too drunk for bedrooms and too horny for words. He finds the lube still on the bedside table and manages to keep kissing Hanzo while he coats his fingers, warms it up, presses it slow and teasing to Hanzo’s waiting hole. With a wild smirk, Hanzo draws back, situates his head against the two pillows still bunched up against the headboard. Jesse follows like a hound, gets Hanzo to put his ankle over his shoulder, leans down until their mouths are together again. There’s still some pressure when he pushes two thick fingers inside. Still tight and silky like he remembers. Hanzo slaps a hand to Jesse’s trapezius and hooks around the back of his neck, holding on, grunting. There’s something so charmingly jock-ish about it, as if Jesse were helping him pop a joint back into place or stretching out his hamstrings, and Jesse grins, gives Hanzo’s ear a kiss where he can. 

He takes his time. Pulls out to the last knuckle, then twists in again slow. Lets Hanzo know that he’s not just trying to spread him – he’s trying to feel him from the inside. Then he spreads his fingers apart to feel him even more. Between the heat, the tightness, and the soft walls clutching around his slicked fingers, Jesse’s jaw is permanently dropped. Staring, riveted. Feeling around for that spot he knows Hanzo will love.

Then Hanzo hitches his breath and for a second, Jesse thinks he might be regressing. He leans back to see, but the only story Hanzo’s face tells is one of total pleasure: hazy heat and sharp-edged need. That notched frown like an underline instead of an X. Parted lips, the hint of bared teeth. Glowing from the chest up.

It makes Jesse access the old roguish top he used to be. “You like that, sweetheart?”

Hanzo’s lips part even more. The brow notch deepens. He looks like he’s halfway between being tortured and wanting to torture. Like he’d wring Jesse’s neck for making him feel this good.

For a brief moment, Jesse worries that Hanzo will think this was his plan all along. To get Hanzo nice and pliant just so Jesse could get what Jesse wants.

But then Hanzo nods. It’s small, and so fast, but Jesse catches it and his eyes light up. He knows his eyes light up because he can feel the strain and also because Hanzo mirrors it back to him – like a teenager, Hanzo’s mouth makes the shape of a snicker and he pulls up his own thigh to the outside of Jesse’s hip, giving his hand even more room. Looking like a happy man.Jesse grins. Whispers like smoke. “Yeah? You like my fingers?” He makes a show of licking his own metal palm and smoothing the saliva over his own cock, dazed and wanton. Hanzo’s leg twitches on his shoulder. “You like gettin’ filled up by my big ol’ hands?

Hanzo whispers and mutters at the same time, vague and subterranean, impossible to decipher except that it feels very positive. Jesse hears a gravely ‘oishii’ and so pushes harder against the soft node of his prostate, makes jabbing motions that cause Hanzo’s hips to jump in time.

“More.”

Jesse immediately adds more slick, holds Hanzo open by the back of his thigh and pushes inside with three fingers. Hanzo bucks with his leg bobbing in the air. Head thrown back. Hands clutching at the pillow behind his head. If he was clutching Jesse’s fingers before, he’s sucking on him now, and Jesse tells him so, mutters deep and dark about Hanzo’s hole until the archer is red from chest to hairline.

Then Jesse curls his fingers upwards and has to put his metal hand over Hanzo’s mouth to silence the loud groan that shoots out. “Shhh. Easy, darlin’.” He smiles at Hanzo’s furious, molten-hot gaze and drops his hand enough to press his mechanical thumb against Hanzo’s wet bottom lip. “Don’t want the neighbors to call the cops, now.” 

Hanzo bares his teeth and growls like he’d fight off a thousand cops just to keep Jesse’s hand pumping against his prostate. His hips buck in time with Jesse’s hand, in and out, curling and hooking, twisting and stroking. Jesse edges back and looks down just so he can see his spread hole, so much wetter and redder than the time they’d tried before. He looks up to check, and, yes – Hanzo’s cock is wetter too, thick and weeping all over his abdominals. The rest of him is so loose and sweaty and pulsating with life that it makes Jesse glow.

They definitely went too fast last time. This is better than anything he could’ve ever planned.

“Fuck. Hanzo.”

Hanzo lifts his chin. He stretches his chest out, stretches his arms until his hands are fully behind his head.

Open. Even yielding. And, yeah, there’s no mistaking it – more a little proud. As if he’d accomplished something in getting fucked open so nicely on Jesse’s fingers. As if it were his idea all along to play this game.

Then again, if the heat on Jesse’s skin and the strain in his groin is any indication, the thing making Hanzo preen like that could be the actual sight of Jesse. He knows he must look wrecked already.

Then the archer licks his teeth. “I believe… it is. Nngh. Your turn.”Jesse straightens. Looks down with heavy lids and red hunger. Sweeps his eyes over each glorious piece before resting on the blown-black gaze staring so fearlessly back at him.Jesse runs his hand over Hanzo’s lower belly as he rubs his prostate. Trying to feel his own prodding fingers through his gut. “Tell me to fuck you.”Hanzo arches, and groans: “fuck me.”Jesse takes himself in hand. He pushes his knees under Hanzo’s thighs, makes him spread, takes a moment just to stroke over Hanzo’s now-puffy hole with his thumb. Marvels slack-jawed at the slippery red head nudging at the buttery soft ring trying to suck him inside.“Fuck me now.”

Jesse pushes. The wider head slips in suddenly, makes him gasp and Hanzo moan. Hanzo pulls up on his own thighs to better accommodate the stretch. He growls while Jesse lets out a string of hoarse expletives, one for every inch. “Fuckin’ tight,” he hisses, taking Hanzo under the knee and holding the leg out to get a better view. “But you’re takin’ me so nice, Han. Opening up real good for me, baby.”Fully seated, Jesse feels Hanzo relax even more. He starts to rock. Hanzo’s jaw remains loose, mouth hanging open and then clenching in a half-snarl, looking at Jesse like he’s the sun and also like he wants to hit him a little, maybe. The man’s natural aggression only makes the act hotter – like Jesse wrangled himself something wild, something that was difficult to catch.

It takes Jesse a few seconds to realize that part of that expression is surprise. Surprise that it could feel this good. 

And that makes Jesse bow forward, kiss Hanzo on the mouth and sink into him to the hilt. Hanzo squeezes Jesse with his thighs, squeezes around him, too, and shudders when Jesse groans against his lips. A thousand dirty words shoot through his brain.When Jesse opens his eyes, he’s looking at Hanzo half-bemused expression, and realizes that he didn’t keep that long thread of inventive profanity inside his head.“If you say Jesus one more time,” Hanzo shifts his hips, like he wants to sit up, “I am afraid he will turn up.”

Jesse leans back, but then Hanzo keeps pushing, until he’s on top and Jesse is bent-kneed beneath him. His hands trace softly up Hanzo’s sides, fingers curl into the shadows of his muscles, thumb grazing the nub of one hip bone. In the dark, he thinks he can see himself through Hanzo’s belly. Or maybe his sick mind just wants to see it.Then Hanzo gets up on his heels and lets Jesse almost entirely out of him. Jesse swears he can almost feel the last catch of Hanzo’s holes, and then he drops, and Jesse howls. 

“Neighbors,” Hanzo hisses, but it’s half-lost behind his clenched teeth and the urgent downpour of need that seems to swallow them both at the same time.

Hanzo draws himself up and down the full length of Jesse again, and again, greedy for every spare inch, until the gunslinger can only hold on for dear life and hope he doesn’t come before he’s had a chance to wear Hanzo out. Words and curses spill straight from his mind to his mouth without filter and he’s hardly conscious of any of it. All he knows is the tight clutch around his cock and the slap of firm muscles against his pelvis and the warm skin under his hands and the sight of Hanzo, gleaming and lust-shocked and looking at Jesse like that.

For a man who’s never ridden cock before, Hanzo move like a goddamn rodeo cowboy. Jesse feels like he’s being milked when Hanzo finally settles down, starts rocking just to feel the grind of Jesse’s cock against his prostate. The smell and the heat and the noise expand until Jesse feels a touch of other-world madness about him, like they’ve slipped into a whole new zone. It makes his groans sound croaky, his hands grip tighter. He tries to thrust up hard for awhile, and Hanzo lets him, hisses and even whines through it all, but then Hanzo pushes him down by the shoulders and starts riding again. Determined to do it himself. Licking into Jesse’s mouth like he’s trying to steal it. 

It’s no surprise that neither of them really last, or that neither seem upset about it. Jesse sees it approach Hanzo first, his little gasps and increasingly louder groans, and he squeezes hard on his hips to get his attention. “How you wanna come for me, honey?”

Hanzo growls through his panting breath and rocks harder, faster, gyrating just enough to get Jesse’s cock against just the right spot. He leans back to grab Jesse’s thighs as his hips make quick, jerking nods, and Jesse reaches down to stroke him through every pulse. Sudden shocks of come reach all the way to Jesse’s throat, but most of it lands on his chest.

The archer is spent, but still he rocks, now leaning forward to grab Jesse’s tits and rub his own come into Jesse’s skin. “Come inside me, Jesse.”

Helpless to deny him, Jesse takes Hanzo by the hips and holds him in a strong enough grip to prevent Hanzo from moving while Jesse fucks up into him like a hare. Hanzo groans, low and steady, urging Jesse on in Japanese until Jesse shouts, bucks, and shoots off as deep inside Hanzo as he can go.

The slow ceiling fan is absolutely no help. Jesse is hot and sticky and Hanzo is laying on top of him with his full weight, stuck together until their breath returns to normal. Jesse isn’t sure if he should be the one to speak first. He isn’t sure he should speak at all, to be frank – he isn’t confident that he’ll be able to keep his heart inside the cage of his chest.

“Shower with me,” Hanzo mutters as he slowly pushes himself up.Jesse goes. Pliant and warm with afterglow, he pads heavy steps after the archer, who somehow walks with the same graceful power he always does. Jesse has time to admire his elegance, the way he lays down a towel on the floor before allowing Jesse inside first, the way he strokes a lather through Jesse’s chest hair in hypnotic, figure-eight movements. 

Eventually, he realizes that it’s weird that he hasn’t spoken yet, and intelligently croaks out: “s’good.”Hanzo looks up at him, cocks an eyebrow, and then resumes rinsing the soap from his hair. “Yes, you were.”Jesse beams. He strokes Hanzo’s scalp, pulls him out from under the water just enough to rest his forehead against Hanzo’s. “Killin’ me.”Hanzo grins. “It was a good idea, your game.” He pets up Jesse’s sides, rough and quick, like he’s stroking a horse. From anyone else, it might feel odd, even a bit standoffish, but from Hanzo it’s just right. “Your partner in Deadlock must have been quite the man.”Even though the temptation to milk Hanzo’s jealousy is great, Jesse can’t help but be honest. “There was no Deadlock partner.”Hanzo looks up. “What?”“I mean, I had partners in Deadlock, but ain’t none of ‘em ever teach me that. I just made that up on the fly.”Hanzo blinks with silent questioning.Jesse takes his hand, halfway apologetic, but they both have to know how much he isn’t sorry. “Just thought it’d be a good idea. Didn’t think you’d go for it if you knew I’d just thought it up myself.”Hanzo looks to the side, past the tiled wall. His hands continue to make slow trips up and down Jesse’s sides to the point that Jesse, once again, begins to worry.Then Hanzo rests his temple against Jesse’s chest and presses his palm against Jesse’s lower back. “I would still have ‘gone for it.’”“Oh yeah?”“You have very good ideas.”“Aww – flatterer.”

Hanzo reaches around, squeezes Jesse’s ass, and looks up at him with a tired, deeply satisfied smile. “It was your idea to flirt with me in the first place, was it not?”-     -     -I added this ficlet to my prompt-fic on Ao3!https://archiveofourown.org/works/14761046/chapters/46189798

[dreamwritesimagines]

Bad Habit 6- Trainwreck [Billy Russo x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for the amazing support, my lovelies! ❤️

Billy Russo x Reader, Karen Page, Frank Castle, Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson.

Summary: Sometimes, a gun can mean many things.

Click here for: Bad Habit 1, Bad Habit 2, Bad Habit 3  Bad Habit 4 Bad Habit 5

Click here to see the playlist for the first 4 parts!

Warning: Explicit language, cussing, mentions of sex.

Word Count: 3524

Please tell me what you think

Gif’s not mine! 

“Okay, think.” You muttered to yourself. “Think!”

You had left Karen’s office in a rush, in a desperate need of fresh air –as much as you could get with two bodyguards that was a sign of Billy’s Don’t Die approach- and then made your way to the café, the only place which could get your mind off the feeling of impending doom that was your brother. You were so distracted that you had completely forgotten about the way you looked, or that your friends had no idea about what had happened to you, so as soon as you walked inside and Vicky turned to look at you, she froze.

“Damn it,” You mumbled, “Vicky. Hi.”

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened to you?!” She asked as she put the tray to one of the empty tables, and made her way to you, but was stopped by Simon. The guy sitting close to you looked up at you, and them, frowning slightly before going back to his newspaper.

“Ma’am, please keep your-“

“Simon,” You threw your hands up, “My dude, you gotta chill. It’s fine.”

“What is happening right now?” Vicky asked you, completely confused and you shrugged,

“Meet my uh… my new friends.”

“Nice to meet you.” Isaac said and Vicky and Simon both turned to look at him, making him seem to regret his decision about opening his mouth.

“You too.” Vicky mumbled, mouthing “What the fuck?” to you, before smiling at Simon.

“What happened to your face?”

“Long story.”

“Make it short.”

“I got mugged.”  You stated, “So there.”

“You okay?”

You nodded, crossing your arms, “Mm hm.”

“And these are your…bodyguards?”

“Friends.”

“Friends that stop people from getting close to you?”

“Overprotective friends.”

“Do you even have enough money to get bodyguards?”

You shot her a look, “You’ve seen me getting excited over a five dollar tip, do you really think I have enough money for bodyguards?” You asked, “Courtesy of Billy Russo, charmingly hot guy who wants to teach me how to shoot a gun.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the customer’s head snapping up and staring at you for a couple of seconds, but he averted his eyes when you turned to shoot him a quizzical look.

“How to shoot a gun?”

“Yep.” You turned to Vicky “I have a gun now.”

“I haven’t seen you for like a day?” Vicky seemed sincerely confused, then waved her hands “Walk me through it.”

“Okay, so the hot guy who gets off on guns-“

“Billy.”

“Yeah, he took me out, then drove me home after I almost killed myself with spicy Chinese food. Then Karen asked me to go outside, you know, her technical ex-“ the customer lowered the newspaper a little but you paid no attention to that, “And his partner, they were all drinking outside. So I was going there, I got-“ You cleared your throat, “I got mugged. Woke up in the hospital. Billy dropped by my house, got pissed, and now I have bodyguards and a gun, because apparently that’s what happens when the former Special Forces rich boy gets pissed.”

“My head is spinning.”

“Dude, you’re telling me-“ Your eyes found the figure behind the counter and you frowned, “Who’s the new guy, where’s Liz?”

“Liz’s boyfriend got this allergic reaction or some shit, she had to go to hospital. That’s the part timer.”

“He’s cute.”

Vicky wiggled her brows, “I know, right? Sit down, I’m getting you a piece of cake and coffee, you look like you’ll need it, and we can talk on my break.” She took a look at Isaac and Simon, “Your bodyguards want anything?”

“No thank you ma’am.”

“Come on, I’m buying.” You shrugged, “Apple pie?”

“Coming right up.” Vicky walked to the counter and heat the pies and prepare the coffee while you sat down to the closest seat, and Simon and Isaac took another table –which you guessed was the standard when it came to protecting people and being invisible at the same time. The customer that you had caught looking at you fixed his hat, then cleared his throat.

“Sorry ma’am, I couldn’t help to hear.” He said and you rolled your eyes.

“Jesus Christ, are we in the Princess Diaries now? Why does everyone keep calling me ma’am?”

That seemed to made him chuckle, and you narrowed your eyes,

“You look familiar, have I seen you somewhere before?”

He shook his head, “Don’t think so. I’m Pete.” He extended his hand, “Pete Castiglione.”

“Y/N. Nice to meet you.” You shook his hand, “So what’s up with ma’am, Pete? Do the stitches make me look old?”

“It’s an old habit, from Marine forces.”

You raised your brows, still trying to find out where you had seen him before, “You served?”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded, “Sorry for eavesdropping.”

“Well, I’m in a public space, so not like I can exactly blame you.”

“Just wanted to say-“ he looked like he was fighting off a proud smirk for some reason. “You said your man was in Special Forces?”

You could feel the burning spreading your cheeks, “I wouldn’t exactly call him my man.” You shrugged, trying to play it cool, “But yeah, this dude I’m…” You did air quotes “This dude I know. Yeah?”  

“Just wanted to say that if he’s giving you a gun, that’s some serious shit.”

“Hold the fuck on, was that symbolic?” Your jaw dropped, “Jesus, motherfucker doesn’t tell me anything about army gestures!”

Your string of cusses seemed to make Pete smile and you heaved a deep sigh, leaning back.

“My life is a legit shit show right now.” You pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes until you could see the small dots of lights in the darkness, then pulled your hands back to fold them behind your head, making a face, while Vicky served Isaac and Simon their slices, then came to put yours onto the small table, winked at you and walked back to the counter. You whined, pushing at your apple pie with the fork.

“Dude…” You heaved a sigh, “Fuck coffee, I need booze.”

You grabbed your phone from your pocket and found Karen’s contact, then took the phone to your ear.

“Karen?” You said as soon as she picked up, “Code red. Bring your ex-boyfriend and his ex-boyfriend.”

She only paused for a second before answering.

“Which bar?”

Escaping bodyguards seemed to be easier than you had originally thought it would be. All you had to do was to say you would use the employee bathroom, walk into the kitchen and escape from the backdoor. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel guilty for dodging Isaac and Simon, but you just felt like you needed to breathe, so you took the metro, met Karen, Matt and Foggy at the bar and now you had been drinking for three hours straight.

“So like, from a dude’s perspective-“ You slammed the shot glass down and looked at Foggy. “From a dude’s perspective, the fuck is this?”

“Don’t ask me. Creepy dude in the café gave you your answer.”

“He wasn’t creepy!” You defended Pete, “He was really nice. He enlightened me about…about stuff.”

“About a dude giving you a gun might have a deeper meaning?”

“When you put it like that…” You mumbled and Foggy scoffed.

“Does this mean your schoolgirl crush on Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is gone?”

“Fuck no, we’re gonna get married!” You snapped, “I mean…we just gotta meet first.”

“Such a great start,” Matt stated and you shot him a look.

“And that’s why you won’t be invited to the wedding, Matty.” You chastised “It’s true love!”

Karen pressed her hand to her lips to hide her laugh, but Foggy made no effort of hiding his own laugh, making you flip them and down another shot.

“You know what I’m gonna do?”

“You’re gonna call the pretty boy with the gun fetish.”

“I’m gonna call the pretty boy with the gun fetish!” You slammed your hand on the table, nodding and Karen grabbed her beer bottle before it got knocked over, while shaking her head fervently.

“No, Y/N, give me the phone.”

“I’m not giving you my phone.”

“Give Matt your phone.”

Matt held out his hand, bowing to the inevitable.

“I’m not giving Matt my phone.” You said, and Foggy snorted,

“What if he promised to introduce you to Daredevil?”

Matt rolled his eyes, “He’s drunk.”

“We’re all drunk, Matt.”

“That’s why it’s not a good idea to call the pretty boy.” He motioned for your phone and you shook your head.

“I gotta ask him what the gun means.”

“You got rid of his bodyguards and now you wanna call him?”

“Mixed signals thing is my shit.” You said and stumbled as soon as you stood up, but managed to find your balance by holding onto a stool, and walked outside

“Don’t get mugged!” Karen and Foggy called out after you and you nodded slowly, finding Billy’s name in your contacts and hit call.

He answered on the first ring.

“Where are you?”

You hissed in a breath “I’m guessing you talked to Simon and Isaac?”

“No shit.”

“And you’re pissed.”

“And you’re drunk.”

You leaned on the dusty wall of the bar, “A little,” You confessed, “But hey, I got a gun now!”

“Don’t shout that in public, please?”

You rolled your eyes, “I got a question for you.”

“I got many questions for you.” He said and you groaned,

“Fine, wait for your turn first. What does the gun symbolize?”

There was a pause, “I’m sorry?”

“Like what does that mean? What does the gun mean?”

“…How drunk are you?”

“Is it like a code in the army?”

“Yeah.”

You held your breath, “What does it mean?”

“It means you shoot your attacker.” He said calmly, “Where are you?”

“In a bar.”

“Where?”

“In New York.”

He let out a breath, as if praying for patience, “Y/N…”

“I’m fine, I’m with friends,” You said, “We’re gonna leave in an hour or so.”

“Send me the address; I’ll come to pick you up.”

“Billy, you don’t have to-“

“You’re drunk, it’s night time, and you live in a sketchy neighborhood,” His voice was stern, “Send me the address when you’re ready to leave.”  With that, he hung up and you huffed out, then made your way back inside.

When you, Karen and the boys were ready to leave, it was very late and you were the only people in the bar. You stumbled your way out of the bar and grinned when Matt pulled you upright.

“What a gentleman.” You teased, making him chuckle.

“Jesus, you’re wasted.”

“Is that the guy?” Foggy asked you and you turned to look at the direction he was staring at, still giggling. Billy was leaning against his car, busy with his phone and you heaved a sigh at how effortlessly handsome he looked. If your hormones were more out of your control, you’d probably start serenading the guy with a poem right there and then.

“Do you know a word that rhymes with scruff?” You asked Foggy, who only shot you a look “Hey, how’s this; You look like you like it rough, also I like you and your scruff.”

“Shakespeare, get out the way.” Foggy commented drily and you scoffed, but by the time you could walk his way he had already seen you, so he pushed himself off the car and approached you silently.

“Miss Page.”

“Mr Russo.” Karen, by some miracle, managed to look sober and professional even after countless shots. You were still holding onto Matt’s arm, so he extended his other hand towards Billy.

“Matt Murdock.”

“Billy Russo.” Billy introduced himself “I watched you and your partner in the Frank Castle case.”

“Which was basically a disaster.” Foggy mumbled after shaking hands with Billy.

“I thought it was a great job actually.” Billy said silkily, “Not many lawyers in Hell’s Kitchen stand up for what’s right anymore, good to see there are exceptions.”

“See?” You slapped Foggy on the arm, “Told you, jackass.”

“You ready, Y/N?” Billy turned to you at last and you nodded.

“Do you guys need a ride? Miss Page?”

“No thank you,” Karen smiled slightly, stealing a look at you “Matt and Foggy are taking me home.”

“We are?” Foggy asked, but stopped talking as soon as Karen raised a brow, shooting him a warning look. “Yeah- yeah we are.”

“See you guys later!” You said as you pulled away from Matt and made your way to Billy’s car. You got in and buckled your seatbelt, then he started the car while you rolled down your window, enjoying the night breeze on your hair, leaning your head back to the seat. For the whole road, both of you were silent, partly because you were trying really hard to regulate your breathing and not throw up in his extremely expensive car. He eventually pulled over in front of your house in the ‘sketchy neighborhood’ as he put it and you took a deep breath.

“Thank you.” You muttered, without opening your eyes and he chuckled,

“Anytime.”

“Are you still pissed?” You asked, and opened your eyes, “Would a poem help you feel better?”

He drummed his long fingers on the steering wheel, deep in thought. It was more than obvious that he was still angry about you dodging his bodyguards, but it was also obvious that he was so used to not showing his emotions, so he just fell into silence, as if he couldn’t decide how to react. You turned around so that you could see him better.

“What did the gun mean?”

He licked his lips, and turned to bore his eyes into yours, making your heart beat faster.

“Do you question everyone or should I feel special?” His voice was way too calm as it washed over you, and you rolled your eyes, slipping a little in your seat, and leaning your knees against the dashboard. You ran your fingernails over the worn out fabric of your ripped jeans, trying to find the right words.

“I’m not good with the whole…” You cleared your throat, “I can’t think when people are around me. You, or Karen, or…even your bodyguards. I just- I can’t think. People distract me.” You let out a laugh, “You, especially. It’s like this week is…” You trailed off and he waited patiently.

“I’m way too drunk, man…”

“This week is what?”

You licked your lips and ran your fingers through your hair, pulling at the roots hard enough to hurt.

“I should probably go.” You mumbled and pushed the car door open, then walked to your building but of course your head started spinning once more. You grabbed at the door handle and out of the corner of your eye, you saw that he got out of his car, then made his way to you.

“Fuck, I can’t even be mysterious and shit without a head spin.” You muttered as you fished your keys out of your bag, pulling your earphones and pens along with it. You huffed out as you tried to find the keyhole and looked up at the windows, seriously considering buzzing one of your neighbors, but by some miracle you managed to find the keyhole and open the door as soon as Billy reached you.

“You should go to sleep,” You tried to play it cool as you grabbed at the iron handrail and climbed the stairs slowly.

“I know. I’m still walking you to your actual door.”

“No offense, but I’m not gonna sleep with you when I’m this drunk.” You said as you reached your door, jingling the keys in your hand, “I really wanna remember it when it happens, because you look like you’d be really good at it.”

That seemed to make him smile a little, and he shook his head,

“I’m not that much of an asshole,” he said as you leaned your back to the door, grinning up at him,

“Billy?”

He leaned his hand to the wall beside your head, “Hm?”

“What is gonna happen to Isaac and Simon?” You asked him and he shrugged,

“Why?”

“I don’t want them to get into trouble. Isaac is like a puppy.”

“Oh no worries, you’ll see them again.”

You played with the hem of his dark green shirt, “You know, it sounds like you’re actually worried about me.”

He looked down at you, sides of his lips turning upwards with an amused smile and he pursed his lips as if he was trying to hide it, bowing his head a little.

“I’m using my right to remain silent.” He quoted you, and you giggled,

“You’re cute.”

“I’m not cute.”

“You’re very cute.” You teased him, “Not cuter than Isaac, but you have your moments.”

“Is that so?” He raised his brows “Well, it sure as fuck sounds like Isaac needs a new job.”

“No!” You protested, making him chuckle and he pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, making you close your eyes momentarily.

“I don’t like competition.”

“Good thing there’s no competition then.”

“At all?”

You frowned slightly, and snorted, “Billy, if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, stop thinking.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Matt is technically Karen’s ex. You don’t touch your friends’ exes.”

“Wouldn’t know, I actually touched a couple of my friends’ exes.”

You made a face, “You just know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you Russo?” You asked him and tried to find the keyhole while he leaned his back against the wall, arms crossed.

“Just saying,” he said, “I mean, he’s got that whole gentleman lawyer thing covered-“

“That’s because he is a lawyer and a gentleman, it’s not that surprising?”

“And you know what they say about lawyers.”

“Is it worse than what they say for private military contractors? Jesus-” You managed to find the keyhole but this time the door didn’t budge. You rolled your eyes, pushing it a little.

“Wrong key?”

“No, it’s- I think it’s jammed-“ You pushed at the door a little and heard the lock slide with a click as Billy’s head shot up “Finally-“

What happened next; happened in a second. Before the door could open with your push, Billy had already tackled you to the ground as a deafening gunshot echoed through the empty hall, and you heard the bullet whizzing through the wooden door and hitting the wall behind you. The sound was so loud that your ears started to ring and Billy pressed your head to the floor with his arms while shielding your whole body with his, his weight pressing you down as the echo stopped and left you breathless, and you heard a scream coming from your neighbor’s apartment, probably due to fear. When there were no more gunshots, he pulled back slightly, and looked down at you, his eyes frantically searching your face as the ringing got a little better.

“You okay? Are you hurt?”

You mentally checked yourself and shook your head, still panting, “Y-You?”

“Stay here.” He demanded as he got off of you and cocked his gun, his whole body on alert as he took a step into the apartment, looking around with his gun ready to shoot at any small movement, as if a switch inside of him had just been flipped. You tried to regulate your breathing and see through the mind numbing panic,

“Billy!” You whispered and as he walked into the living room and you tried to stand up on your shaky legs but it was only for a second before your legs gave up due to fear and you fell on your knees, hard. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and dug your fingernails into your palms, trying to pull yourself together before you grabbed at the iron handrail again, this time to pull yourself up. You tried to put some of your weight on your trembling legs, and a spark of pain shot through your stomach.

Of course. You had just popped your stitches.

Billy walked back to the door after checking your bathroom and bedroom, and touched the gun mechanism facing the door while you crossed your arms over your stomach, hiding the wound.

“I’ve seen this before,” he muttered, his fingertips following the string that tied the gun’s trigger to the door “Supposed to fire as soon as you open the door.”

You gulped, still trying to make sense of what just happened, “How did you-?”

“I heard a click,” he said slowly, and shot you a bitter smile, “Experience.”

You pressed your hands to your knees, doubling up to keep the pain from showing on your face, but as soon as you did, the small folded paper lying innocently on the floor caught your eye. Billy’s eyes followed your movements as you picked it up.

“Don’t touch that-“ he started but it was too late. You unfolded the paper, and all of a sudden, your breathing got way, way worse when you recognized the handwriting.

Hi sis. We need to talk.

Part 7 is here! 

[whispersandwhiskerburn]

Live to Fight Another Day

Summary: Part 1 of a 2 part suspense/angst fic: a hunt goes terribly wrong for the reader and the Winchesters while Dean battles with his guilt. Canon style. Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 2,430 Warnings: This is going to be an angsty one, folks. SFW. Also, cliffhanger. Author’s Note: This was a combination fic: the title came from Rebekah (@impala-dreamer)’s “Titles are Hard”Challenge, but the gif below and the bolded line came from Jess (@wi-deangirl77)’s “Fave SPN Episode Challenge” where she gave me a gif and a line from my favorite episode “Lazarus Rising”. When my bestie @waywardjoy picked the same episode for this challenge, we decided to combine our efforts and write a two part fic set in season 3 right after the “Jus in Bello” episode. When the Queen of Angst posts the second part, I will link it HERE as well as at the end of the fic. FEEDBACK IS LIFE, PEOPLE. Without further ado, the Queen of Canon presents part one of this fic:

Dean woke up from a new nightmare, the sheet sticking to the sweat on his chest as tried not to wake Y/N in the bed next to him.

He could still hear the voices of Henriksen, the cop he’d gotten killed, and Nancy, the virgin from the police station. Also dead because of him.

New ghosts to haunt him. Just what Dean needed.

“Babe, you okay?” Y/N mumbled, barely awake and reaching for him to comfort.

Dean didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her, but he pulled her close anyway and let her warmth and nearness chase away the ghosts.

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Just a nightmare. Go back to sleep.”

She snuggled into him, and Dean spooned around her, steadying his breath and heartbeat to match hers as she drifted back off to sleep. He shot a glance over at Sam and found his brother passed out, then tried to copy the two of them.

He’d learn to close his eyes again without seeing the faces of those people. It might take some violence, some alcohol, and some time, but he’d find a way. He always did.

When Dean finished his shower the next morning, he walked out into a tense room.

“Just because she’s a--”

“Demon, Sam. She’s a demon. And I don’t trust her. Knife, no knife; advice, no advice. She’s working an angle, and I’m not going to let you fall into her trap.”

Sam threw up his hands, apparently recognizing the tone in Y/N’s voice. Dean knew that when she was that adamant about something, there was no way either Winchester would be getting his way, despite their legendary stubbornness.

Dean raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend, but didn’t ask anything when she shook her head no. He could stay out of it. For now.

“So, what’s the plan? We got a case?”

Sam shot a glance at Y/N, then turned to pour himself a coffee in the crappy kitchenette of the cheap hotel.

Y/N spoke up, “maybe. I picked up a police report on the scanner of some missing backpackers in the national forest about 50 miles from here. I talked to Bobby, and he said there’s some demon signs in the area, so it might be our kind of thing.”

Dean made a face which Y/N interpreted correctly. “I know, I know, a devil’s gate was opened recently and there’s demon signs everywhere these days. It’s a thin lead, but....”

Sam muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “which is exactly what I said,” which Y/N pointedly ignored.

The two of them looked to Dean, evidently waiting for him to make the call.

He thought about his nightmares, how all he wanted to do was take a damn break and be happy to have his brother alive, and his girlfriend in his arms. He wanted to get the Colt back, and he wanted to find a way out of this deal that had his soul bound for Hell. He wanted to forget about ghosts and guilt and the blood on his hands and just be a normal man, for once in his life.

But people don’t always get what they want. So Dean did what he always did: forced a smile and a quip, put on a brave face, and got on with the job.

“Hey, I just got outta jail. Bring it.”

Y/N’s look to Sam screamed I told you so! As she grabbed her bag and started repacking it for the road.

“I’ll see you two male models in the car in five then, ‘kay?”

The Winchesters both grunted their agreement and moved to get ready themselves as she headed to the motel office to check out.

Even with his life on a timer, the job never ended.

Before they rolled out of Nowheresville, or whatever this tiny town was, Dean pulled into a gas station to fill up Baby’s tank, and sending Sam inside to get some road-food before they started hunting.

Dean was surprised when Y/N got out of the car too, and even more so when she didn’t follow Sam in to visit the bathroom. Instead, she leaned against Baby’s door next to him with her arms crossed over her chest, her tee-shirt already sticking to her skin in the mid-morning heat.

“Okay, Dean. Spill.”

He raised his eyebrows at her in what he hoped was an innocent expression. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Recently.

“What?”

“Whatever it is that’s crawled inside that thick skull of yours and is making you so grim.”

Dean went to protest, but she held a hand up, cutting him off. “Yeah, yeah, you’ve kept a smile on. You know I can see through that shit. So can Sam, but he’s less willing to call you on it, especially now.” Dean’s face tightened.

“Is that what’s bothering you? Your deal?”

He looked at the pump, hoping it was almost done so he could get back in the car and avoid this conversation. The numbers seemed to be dragging.

“If it’s your deal, you shouldn’t let it bother you that much. We all know why you did it--and we’re not going to stop until we find a way to get you out of it. No matter what you say.”

Dean had made his thoughts clear on that subject in the past. Bobby, Sam, Y/N, Jo, and Ellen continued to ignore his warnings and there wasn’t much he could do about it.

But Y/N was staring at him, expectant. Dean sighed, knowing she wouldn’t let it go till he said something.

“It’s not my deal, or the fact that all of you have signed up for a lost cause trying to save me. Well, maybe that’s part of it. But mostly it’s the lost cause that seems to be my entire life--trying to save people and losing them anyway. Over and over and over again. Mom. Dad. I couldn’t save Jess for Sam. Everywhere I go, bodies drop, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Not really.”

Y/N’s eyes had become soft and understanding. He didn’t know why he’d said all that. He always said to much when he talked to her.

Her voice was gentle, and a teasing smile was on her face when Y/N spoke again, “so, you’re not worried about yourself, like a sane person would be. Your time’s ticking down, your life and soul on the line, and you’re sunk in survivor’s guilt, of all things.

“Dean Winchester, I want you to hear me. This job we do--it’s dark and depressing as hell 99% of the time. For every monster we face, there will always be another one, no one ever thanks us, and we all know we’ll probably die bloody somewhere along the way. We do what we can, but we can never save everyone. That’s just not how the world works.”

“Gee, thanks. I feel loads better now.” Dean finally heard the clunk as the old gas pump finished filling up the tank and  busied his hands with the gas cap and the nozzle while Y/N waited for him to look at her again.

“Dean, guilt is as much a part of this life as booze and bullets. But letting it eat at you because you survived when someone else didn’t? That’s stupid. Saving people is part of the job description--and you’re a person. Sometimes, saving yourself is the win, especially when it’s all you can do. At least then you live to fight another day, to save someone else and yourself again another time. That’s important too.”

Her voice was serious, and Dean could tell this was something she had put a lot of thought into. Y/N had been raised a hunter like Sam and him. He knew she’d probably gone through this before, and he wanted to listen to her.

But he couldn’t. Not right now. Not with the faces of Nancy and Henriksen and the other people they were probably going to get killed because of that damn demon gate.

So he smiled and nodded, and she frowned, clearly seeing through him. He could tell she wanted to keep talking, but thankfully, when she saw Sam coming out of the gas station, she held her tongue and moved to get back into the car. Dean knew he hadn’t heard the last of this, but he was glad for the reprieve.

Sam reached the car and opened the passenger door, tossing in two bags of snacks before leaning on top of the cab. “I called the local cops while I was shopping, got directions to the campsite where the hikers went missing. We should be able to get there in about an hour, hour and a half.”

“Sounds good.” Dean ducked into the Impala and started her engine, pausing long enough for Sam to get settled and to pull out a bag of potato chips before pulling out onto the highway and on to their next hunt.

“It looks like we have to hike the rest of the way from here.” Sam was looking at a walking trail map that he’d picked up at the entrance to the state park, his fingers tracing the route to where the report said the missing hikers had been camping at.

“Awesome.” Dean smiled at Y/N’s sarcasm and the three of you piled out of the Impala, grabbing the necessary gear and following Sam’s lead into the woods.

The day was heating up, the temperature already in the mid 80s and Dean was sweating after just a few minutes of hiking. He stripped off his outer layer, tying it around his waist as he navigated the trail. To make the climb a little more enjoyable, he focused on watching Y/N’s ass instead of dwelling on the heat as he followed her into the woods, the last in their small line of three.

The plan was to find the campsite and look for sulfur or EMF readings. If they didn’t see either, it probably wasn’t their kind of case, and they’d leave it to the regular cops to find these people. Dean felt a little more guilt piled on at the thought of abandoning lost people, but there were just too many supernatural threats out in the world that they could be protecting people from. The natural ones had to be left to those out of the hunting life to take care of.

His thoughts and hike were interrupted as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

“Hang on a second, guys,” Dean pulled his cell out and saw one of Bobby’s numbers before accepting the call. “Yeah, Bobby, what’s up?”

“Dean? I need--there’s--you and--” There was static and Bobby’s voice was hard to understand.

“Bobby? Can you hear me?”

More static. When Dean glanced at the phone, he saw that the call had been disconnected.

He glanced at Y/N and Sam, “I must be out of range. I’m going to cut through to the maintenance road on the map,” he pointed off in the woods to the west,  “ and walk back towards the entrance until I can get a signal again, see what Bobby wants, then I’ll catch up with you two, okay?”

Sam nodded and Y/N finished taking a drink of water before speaking, “sounds good. Watch your back and we’ll see you in a few.”

Dean handed off his bag so he could move faster and struck off into the woods. The trees weren’t so close together, and after barely a minute of walking he could see the maintenance road. Walking on it was a lot quicker and easier than the rough hiking trail, and he kept a good pace, checking his phone signal every 30 yards or so.

Finally, he got enough bars to place the call.

“Bobby? Can you hear me?”

“Dean! You three need to be careful. I did some digging on the area that Y/N told me about. There’s demon signs in the region, but the disappearances date back way before the demon’s gate. Every ten to twenty years, people go missing. I know you’re in Colorado, not Michigan, but it looks to me like--”

Dean had already done the math. “Wendigo. It’s a damn wendigo.”

“Probably. You’re packing flares, right?” Bobby sounded concerned, and the connection was faulty, but Dean could still tell what he said.

“Yeah, I think there’s some in my bag or Y/N’s, probably Sam’s too. I’ve got to go, Bobby, I split off to get you back on the phone.”

“Be careful.”

Dean had already hung up and was jogging back towards where he had got on the service road when he heard the scream.

Y/N.

“Y/N! Sam!” He picked up the pace, sprinting now.

Part of his mind was telling him to be careful, that that a wendigo could mimic voices, that it might be a trap. But when he heard another scream from Y/N, his body responded without his mind, and he took off through the woods toward the sound, calling out her name, and Sam’s, desperate to find them.

He had to save them. Dean couldn’t stand to lose either of them.

He found the trail and raced down it, tripping once on a root and falling, skinning his hands and landing hard on a knee. Dean pushed himself up again, cursing under his breath, his heart pounding as he raced through the woods.

Everything was quiet now, which scared him almost as much as the screams.

He almost tripped over his bag when he rounded a curve in the trail, but he caught himself this time. Sam was laid out under a tree a yard away and Dean rushed over to his brother. There was no blood, no wounds, but Sam wasn’t moving.

He felt for a pulse and let out a shaky sigh of relief when he found it strong in Sam’s neck. He looked around, but other than some claw marks on the tree above Sam and in the dirt a few feet away, there was no sign of the monster.

Y/N wasn’t there either.

It was late afternoon now, the sun was already starting to set, and Y/N had been taken by a wendigo. Dean felt like his stomach was sinking in his abdomen as he shook his unresponsive brother, and tried to think of a way to save her.

He would save her. Dean would not have Y/N haunt him too.

Part 2 HERE by @waywardjoy!

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[ddaddsprompts]

The dads reactions to walking in on you giving their kid(s) a makeover

Somehow these got way longer than my ~250 word aim! And the Robert one got very emotional very fast, ups! Hope you’ll enjoy!

TAKING REQUESTS

Imagine giving the kids a makeover and the dads walk in on you!

🥃 Robert had gone out to do…something, so it’s just you and Val. This was your third time seeing her sincethe barbeque and you’re really happy to see her and Robert start to get alongbetter. There is still a long road ahead of them, but the biggest step has beendone and now they can heal. “Y/N,” her voice pulls you from your thoughts andyou put down the nail polish, reaching for the remover instead. You clean upher nail, making sure you didn’t get any more of her skin, before you continue.“Sorry. I was thinking.” Val smirks. “Then don’t. Clearing your mind andmaintaining a blank space is important for many things in life. It was one ofthe first things Robert taught me. It was the only way I survived the manyyears we spent on the run, hiding from the organisation he betrayed. You haveto have an empty head when you pull the trigger. No remorse, no second-guessing.”You raise your eyebrow at her. A beat, then she chuckles. You join in a momentlater and start applying the red nail polish. The front door opens with a creakand Robert steps inside, throwing it shut again with his foot. “Did anyone diewhile I was gone?” He turns around the corner and pauses when he sees you twositting on the carpet, you doing Val’s nails, your own already painted red,with tiny stars on them. You look up and you’re surprised to see him look sovulnerable. There are so many emotions you can’t read them all, but the onesyou understand make your heart jump in your chest. You wave him over and heslowly sits down next to you. Val takes his hand and begins applying nailpolish to his nails. You notice Robert wipe his face more than once, but don’tmention it.

🍸 You really should have waited for Joseph to comeback home before doing this, but Christie had looked so excited about it, youcouldn’t make her wait any longer. By no means are you a professional hairstylist, but you’ve given Amanda enough haircuts throughout the years to knowyour way around scissors. You had turned the porch into a makeshift saloon witha mirror through which Christie was watching you as you cut her hair. Thefather in you wonders what brought about this wish for change, but you assumeshe just wanted something different. Lord knew how many times Amanda haschanged her appearance during her childhood. The only thing you’re trulyworried about is Joseph’s reaction. You hope he won’t be upset that you’ve donethis without asking him first. It’s already too late for him to do anythingabout it, but the last thing you want is for Joseph to be angry. Christian’sshout is the only warning you have before Joseph is already at the door,staring at the scene in front of him. He looks… shocked. You put away thescissors nervously and turn to face him. Christie notices her father a momentlater and jumps on her feet, running over to him. “Daddy, look! Y/N cut myhair!” Joseph lifts her into his arms and runs his fingers through her hair,which now only reaches down to her chin. “Did you want a new haircut, sweetie?Why didn’t you ask me to make you an appointment?” Christie looks sheepish. “Ithought you’d say no.” Joseph shoots you a look. You’re relieved to see he isn’tangry. “Christie, baby, I would never dictate your appearance. You can haveyour hair be however you like it.” Christie wraps her arms around Joseph’s neckand hugs him. He smiles at you and when he carries Christie over so you canfinish, he kisses the top of your head and tells you what a good job you’ddone.

☕ Carmensita lets out a yelp and instinctuallypulls away, but you tighten your (gentle) grip around her waist and keep herseated in your lap. “I told you it would hurt,” you say, putting away the dreadwax for a moment so you can gently rub Carmensita’s scalp. “Yeah, but I didn’tthink it would hurt that much!” You make her turn around so you can look intoher eyes and see whether the pain was too much for her. Her eyes are sparklingwith tears, but her cheeks are dry and she is still looking excited even thoughyou’ve been at it for two hours by now. You squeeze her shoulder inencouragement. “We’re halfway through, dear. If you want, we can stop andcontinue another time or day. You don’t have to do it in one sitting.” She’sdetermined, though, and eager to get this done, so you continue, using yourcomb to twist the next square section of her hair. This time she doesn’t yelpwhen you twist and you mumble praise, but your words are drowned out by thesound of the door opening. You look up and give Mat a smile, which he returns,albeit with a confused expression on his face. “What’s going on here?” He asksand puts down his guitar case. It’s obvious what you two are doing, butCarmensita replies anyway. “Y/N is giving me dreadlocks, like yours!” You smileindulgingly, not about to tell her it would take some time until hers wouldlook like Mat’s. Mat looks surprised and walks over to inspect your work. Oncehe has assured himself you know what you are doing, he leans down to kissCarmensita’s forehead. “You’re doing amazing, sweetheart. Why don’t I make yousome hot chocolate to help against the pain?” He smiles at you. “For you too,baby.” You lean up and kiss him, then he walks off into the kitchen while youcontinue.

🌹 “Are you sure?” Like the other times you askedhim that question, Lucien rolls his eyes and huffs out a ‘yes’, but this time,with him leaning over the bathtub and the dye in your hands, he soundsuncertain, nervous. His decision to change his hair colour was a spontaneousone and at first you hesitated and said he had to ask Damien, but somehow, he managedto convince you anyway and here you are, about to dye his hair. You havealready draped a towel over his shoulders and separated his hair into littlesections with hairclips, so all there was left was applying the dye. “Just doit, Y/N,” he says, after taking a deep breath. His voice is unsteady, but youcan tell he is sure, he wants to do this, so you pick up the brush and get towork. You generously apply the dye, trying to avoid his skin, and set thetimer. While you dispose of the gloves, he disappears in his room; he onlycomes out after the timer goes off again and he’s buzzing in his shoes, lookingso excited you feel glad you caved in. You don’t know at what point Damienarrives, but when he finally announces his presence to you two, Lucien’s hairis already a vibrant shade of pink. Both Lucien and you look up. You open yourmouth to apologise for not calling him, but he speaks before you can. “Look atyou, Lucien! That colour is absolutely stunning. Do you want to take picturesin the garden? There are some roses with the exact shade as your hair.” You letout a breath of relief and get up to join them.

🎣 Brian might have been better at many things, butthere was one area of expertise he couldn’t best you in: Braiding. “Amanda’shair was thicker and unrulier than yours,” you tell Daisy as you gentlyseparate her hair into three strands. “I remember a lot of tears and tuggingwas involved.” Daisy’s hair, in comparison, is easy to handle, but hers has awhole different texture than Amanda’s and she is sitting still, somethingAmanda never enjoyed doing. “Can you teach me how to do it myself?” Daisy asksyou, shovelling a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. You hum a yes and startbraiding her hair. It is only going to be a simple French braid, but you’realready planning on giving her a spiral braid, if she likes it. You’re soengrossed in your work, you do not hear the front door open, nor Brian’sgreeting as he shrugs out of his jacket and comes into the living room. “What are you two doing, hm?” You look up and find him leaning against thedoorframe, arms crossed in front of his chest and a bright smile on his lips. “Daisy’shair, obviously,” you reply with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. Brian laughsand walks over. He sits down on the couch next to you and throws an arm overyour shoulders, then kisses your temple. “I didn’t know you could braid.” Youshoot him a look and huff. “Brian, I have an adult daughter. Of course I canbraid.” He kisses your cheek and noses down to your jaw. “Can I get some, too?”Turning, you look at his short hair and frown, but then a thought crosses yourmind. An hour later, father and daughter sport matching braids; Daisy on her head,Brian with his beard. He proudly shows them off at work the next day.

👟 Craig’s fashion sense, you realised early on in yourrelationship, hasn’t improved much since college and it seems his daughters inheritedit. Part of you mourns the death of Smash’s superior, but unfortunatelynon-dominant, fashion-savy genes, the rest jumps at the opportunity to take thegirls shopping, which you did while Craig was at work. The three of you arehigh on sugar, soda and other unhealthy stuff you three have vowed to never,ever tell Craig about, so it is not surprising when Craig comes home, theliving room is a mess of clothes that were haphazardly thrown aside and you’redoing your best Stanley Tucci in TheDevil Wears Prada or Project Runway’sTim Gunn impression, while Briar and Hazel abuse the couch as their runway.Neither of them has strayed too far from their love for blue and dark greycolour scheme, but you’re proud to see they, for once, are wearing somethingother than their softball uniforms. “Um,” is the first thing that Craig managesto say. “Why… what…?” You really missed the way how easy it was to render Craigspeechless. You jump off the coffee table and hurry over to him in order topush him towards the changing rooms (the bathroom). “Finally! Punctuality iscrucial in this business, Mister Cahn! Fetch us the faux-leather jacket fromthe brown paper bag, would you? Briar’s pants need something dark to go with them!”Craig stares at you as if you have lost your mind, but obliges. A moment later,he sticks his head out of the door. “Dude, how much did you buy??”

📖 The fact that Ernest had come to you and notLucien or anyone else makes you feel more sentimental than it should. If henoticed your awestruck expression and the tears in your eyes when he asked youto do his makeup, he hadn’t let it show, and you are determined not to embarrassyourself while you’re at it. It’s obvious he’s never worn makeup before; hekeeps on twitching whenever you near his eyes with the pencil, cannot keep hiseyes open to save his life, and you lost count of how often you had to remove mascarastains from his cheeks. But he’s also smiling the whole time and you’re holdinga civilised, personal conversation. He hasn’t cursed at you during the wholeordeal, not even once. You don’t know what he needs the makeup for, but youalso do not plan on asking. If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you. Your backis turned to the bathroom door and Ernest’s eyes are closed since you areapplying eye shadow, so neither of you notice Hugo standing there until youtell Ernest he can open his eyes again and he screams. Your dad reflexes make you turn around and hold the brushlike it’s a knife and would actually keep attackers at bay. Hugo stares. Youstare back at him. Behind you, Ernest mumbles something about needing to go,but you gently hold him back. For one, you’re not done. Secondly, you can tellhe is scared of Hugo’s reaction. He needn’t have worried, as all Hugo did wassmile, tell him he was looking good, and letting them know dinner is going tobe ready soon. He leaves you alone and you turn back to Ernest. “Don’t you darecry, you little brat, the makeup isn’t waterproof!”

[gooddame]

I'm pregnant klaroline

I hope you forgive me for this prompt took on a life of it’s own and moves rather quickly. I’d also like to thank @that-wandering-belle, who helped me immensely last night in deciding whether or not I should post it. Thank you.

Please Enjoy and Happy Reading!

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Her lips were soft and tasted of the one glass of white wine she had for dinner, her body flush against his as they rocked against one another in the nearly empty apartment she had pulled him into.“Is this place yours?” he had asked.“Does it matter?’ she replied before sucking on his lip.She was wild Klaus recalled, her movements reckless and her inhibitions very low. Now though she was panicking momentously and while he outwardly seemed composed he too was more than flustered, finding her again had not been part of the plan. After months, four to be exact, of thinking about her constantly like she was embedded in his skin he realized something.Something he should have realized soon but he had been acting foolishly, wishing her presence in his mind away. Pushing the memory of her afterglow scent and the way his hands roved the plains of her body like molding a sculpture. He was never supposed to meet her, know her, and take her in the apartment that most definitely was not hers come to think of it.Klaus had been in a neighboring town close to his pack with only a few wolves alongside him for protection when he had seen her. Enchanted he strode towards her asking her name only to have her rebuff him in front of his faction. He smirked enjoying her fire as she swiveled her hips with extra effort walking passed him, he turned ordering his wolves on a wayward errand leaving him to chase her alone.He should have been focusing on the undertaking task of growing their parklands, the estate growing smaller with the pack only growing greater. They whole day had been about scouring the outlands to keep everyone close but far enough away that no one was breathing over the others shoulder, quite literally. He ignored this having mentally selected the areas he wanted to pursue finding a more stimulating challenge before him incased in a salacious blonde enigma.His wolf longed to pounce and claim her as he followed her into the bar watching her give the same rebuff to another, lesser, man delighting him immensely. He slid into the stool besides her grinning as he waved to the spouting fool she had just finished annihilating. The blonde looked over at him with a turn of her neck riled at his sight but sitting down nonetheless. He gazed at her amiably as he introduced himself, “Klaus,” as he waved away the bartender in a bid for more time alone with her, his wolf loathsome to share her attention.Her lips pursed in consideration before finally parting, “Caroline,” she stated as their thighs brushed together provoking a feeling deep within his chest.Now while he observed her spirited pacing by the kitschy rooster timer on the stove as she held the plastic stick in her hands she seemed dissimilar. Caroline was far removed from the devil may care attitude she had carried throughout their adventure some time ago. However Klaus was just as riveted in her manifestation, feeling more than deprived of her presence over the last few months.She stopped spinning long enough that he got a good look at her frightened bright green eyes, the worrying of her teeth over her lip biting. He longed to pull her into his arms and tell her just what he was but he knew how poorly she would react. Even now hearing the resilient beat of a heart deep within her more than an indication that she was pregnant and he was most certainly the father, his ancestral blood calling to him. Being a coward was not in his nature and already knowing the truth was a rather large determining factor so Klaus knew what he had to do. His hand reached out his fingers grasping hers brings her back to him in a moment that seemed to defy gravity and all of time and space. Like a pull and tug he seemed to center her, relax her enough to take a deep breath before he spoke.His brain clouding as he struggled to gather the words it took to explain that he was not only a werewolf but an alpha, and as such he could choose his mate. That he had chosen her without thinking, had bit her and marked her for his own on their first and only night together. How the feelings he had within him may not be matched by her feelings and that she might despise him, where were the words to explain that?“Caroline,” he paused, her name on his tongue for the first time in months, “Remember when we were drinking and I confessed some things?” he asked treading lightly.Her eyes rolled as she tried to tug her hand away, “Like that the guys following you around like puppies couldn’t disobey but didn’t work for you? Yeah, why does that matter now?” she demanded.“Exactly like that,” Klaus hesitated knowing she was looking for words of comfort but receiving this news instead, “Remember how when we were rolling on the floor and I bit you just there.” His fingers brushed her neck feeling her shiver under his touch, “Klaus the timer is about to ring, please be getting to the point,” she pleaded with him.“I’m actually a werewolf,” he spit out feeling her stiffen, “And I can hear them, alive, inside of you,” he gestured to her soft bump of her stomach.The more he heard the repetitious beating sound, the more contented he became, “You are pregnant with my children,” he said as the timer rang gratuitously.She reached for the timer, her grip powerful, shattering the sound until the plastic device all but disbanded, “Wolf? Wait, children? As in plural?” she squeaked.He nodded, “It’s entirely possible it will be a multiple birth,” he admitted a little more contained then he had been moments ago realizing he might be distressing her instead of helping.Caroline seemed to drop all pretenses in front of him, the possibly crazy stranger she had sex with four months ago regarding at him with immense panic, “Are you fucking saying that I am carrying your were-wolf pups?” she cried hugging her stomach.Klaus took a step closer, probably a stupid idea, he thought as he ventured forward, “Well, they would be ours Love,” he answered back realizing much too late what a horrible reply that was.“Has a werewolf ever been killed by a human with a frying pan,” she tested in turn reaching for the first pot or pan she could find instead reaching for the skillet nearby.“This might be a first,” Klaus said reaching for the iron skillet in her hand wrestling it from her fearsome grasp only to push her body closer to his, their eyes locking and erratic breaths mingling.“You’re insane, this is insane,” her voice, her mind seems scattered coming to a realization as her hand falls on her neck resting a top the small faded piecing of  his teeth that bleeds like a freckle into a wolf’s mate.“And yet you believe me, don’t you?” he queried, his eyes searching hers only to find the unrelenting truth that she did, a sight that caused his chest to tighten with emotion.“I do,” Caroline sighed resting her temple under his as he massaged her scalp, rubbing soft circles, “Stuff has happened. Like extra force power, eating meat, weird cravings and I find everything, um, poignant!”“You’re saying you’re erotically charged?” he asked delicately feeling her body warm even further as he gazed deeply into her eyes. “It’s a side effect prominent in an Alpha’s mate or so I’ve heard.”“Alpha as in leader of the pack,” Caroline cringed as he lifted her up to sit on the counter of her small kitchen holding her pliable body to his own. “Question. Am I a wolf too?”“No, err, that would a more complicated matter.” Klaus replied as he wrapped her legs around his hips getting as close to her as his wolf could get. “I could turn you if you like but after with a scratch.”“I mean, I don’t know. This is a lot to process in less than five minutes,” Caroline admitted to Klaus who could only concede her point.“True, but for now, you should rest,” he replied lifting her up in his arms, “Bedroom?” he asked as she held onto his back her head resting over his shoulder.“Left door,” she whispered, her lips tickling his neck as he moved in the direction she had designated pushing open her door, “Will you stay with me?”Klaus’ wolf rebelled, “Of course, I won’t be going anywhere,” he promised her as he gently slid her out of his arms onto the bed.“No I know that, I meant in bed with me,” she clarified with a simpering smile that had him crawling over her to rest on the other side of her frame.“Come here,” he offered as she rolled onto her side fitting against him with an easy sigh as her hugged her body to him cradling her in a gentle embrace until he felt her breaths evening out.He made an effort to stay awake, to watch over her as she slept, a pleasure he was denied on their first night but when her wayward hand clutched his shirt he felt an odd sense of release. A feeling of contentment heartening him as he pressed closer into her and shut his eyes finding his first true sleep in months.

[nea-writes]

Taste of temptation

Title: Taste of temptation or Mouth of the devil

Rating: T

Fandom: D.Gray-man

Characters/Pairings: Howard Link/Allen Walker, Kanda Yuu

Summary: Link's baking always tastes great, but that doesn't mean it’s good for you.

Notes: Written for Linkllen Week prompt Angels/Demons. Part of the larger au between hurryupfic and I. Demon!Link, Human!Allen, and Angel!Kanda.

"So, what are you doing?"

Link should not have been as surprised as he was. Masking the startled jerk he gave and turning it into a glance over his shoulder, he found Allen at the entrance to his kitchen, eyes curious and focused on the bowl in front of Link.

Link turned back to the dough, regarding his hands. They was absolutely caked in dough and remnants of the ingredients used to make it. "I'm baking," Link said.

"Well, yes," Allen said, sounding amused, "but what are you baking exactly?"

Link paused for a while, trying to recall which recipe he was on. In the background he could hear Kanda's muffled complaints. "This is number eighty-four... so blueberry muffins, I think."

From the living room Kanda snapped, "Arsenic! They're fucking arsenic!"

Allen's brows rose nearly to his hairline, and Link had the grace to blush. "Yes, well, they were meant to be blueberry muffins." He frowned, looking at the fruit and rolling one under a finger. "Don't quite know where it went wrong."

"I see," Allen said, and Link could hear the smile in his voice. Allen paused for a long moment, and Link wondered if he'd ask where, exactly, blueberry muffins turned into arsenic muffins. Link idly considered gloving his right hand. Perhaps that'd dull the influence. "Is there a reason you're baking muffins? If you wanted some I could have gone to the store and bought them."

Unsaid but strongly implied was I'll eat most of them, but I'd be sure to leave you one!

Link hesitated, turning fully back to his baking. He cracked another egg and sharply whisked it in, not thinking anything good but trying his best to avoid anything bad. "It's to pass the time," Link hedged.

"To pass the time," Allen echoed. "You're baking and feeding Kanda arsenic-laced muffins to pass the time?"

Well, when he said it like that.

Satisfied with the viscosity, Link tossed in the blueberries and fervently hoped they wouldn't somehow become poison. He ladled the mixture into readied paper-lined cupcake tins. Setting the bowl aside, Link reached for one and paused when Allen grabbed the other with a smile.

Together they placed the pans in the oven and Link wound a timer, patting his hands and mournfully regarding the mess of a kitchen.

"I'll clean up," Allen offered. "I mean, you baked them. Least I could do, right?"

Suddenly feeling very useless, Link floundered in the kitchen. Allen was under the impression he'd be able to eat the muffins — which, if they came out as they were supposed to then Link would gladly give them all to him — but the reason Kanda was currently nursing a sore stomach wasn't because of greed.

Everything Link touched turned to poison.

In the early years this had been more of a problem. Simply stepping foot into a building rendered all in it terminally ill. Touching anything soured it from the inside. It took many years of concentration to carefully wrap all of this down, so that he could perhaps interact among people and not murder them accidentally.

As it was, he could stay in the same room as Allen and not ruin his mood, appetite, or even his health. Directly handling food and cooking it was, however, another matter entirely.

Allen crouched in front of the stove's window, admiring the heat waves. "They're going to be delicious."

"How can you tell?" Link asked, moving closer and wondering if just the color of it informed Allen of its taste.

"Because you made them!" Allen said, laughing lightly. He looked up, and Link hastily stepped back. "I'm sure you've put a lot of careful thought into them."

In the living room Kanda was changing the channels idly, and the soft flick between each station, the dull heat of the oven, the quiet drip of a leaky faucet Allen had never gotten around to fixing, the clink of dishes settling in the sink — all of it crowded the quiet space in the kitchen.

Why was Link baking these muffins? He hadn't put that much thought into it. He had just wanted to. Neither Kanda nor Link needed to eat. This was a mindless indulgence that by nature Link was allowed to frequently exercise, but by disposition rarely did.

Gathering the mess he'd made of paper towels and emptied cartons, Link dropped them in the trash, taking care to brush the side of it and rot the evidence of the previous eighty-three batches of muffins.

Allen bounced up onto the balls of his feet, rocking slightly, clearly excited. "I can't wait!" Then, before Link could respond, he fluttered around the kitchen, collecting all the dirtied dishes to dump in the sink. He folded his sleeves up, a particular mannerism of his, removing his gloves to deposit on the breakfast bar before turning the sink on. He let the water play over his hands for a moment, and Link watched the clear liquid run in the grooves of his ruined hand.

Allen still had not told Link how he'd come to receive such mangled scarring, and as far as he knew he hadn't told Kanda either. Of course, even if Kanda knew there was no reason for him to tell Link, but the nagging thought still remained.

He was here for Allen's soul. He didn't need to know the particulars behind it.

Left with nothing to do, Link grabbed a wet rag and wiped down the counter, mourning the flour dusting the front of his clothes. He had a sneaking suspicion there was some on his face too. This had been the longest time he'd spent in one home, and of all his hobbies baking had been the hardest to keep up. It'd stand to reason he'd be messier than usual.

Something warm and wet touched his cheek and Link jumped, turning to find Allen beside him. Taking advantage of Link's new position, Allen moved closer, wiping his face with his wet fingers. It left his forehead and cheeks chilled to the air, and before Link could reach up to trace them Allen had grabbed a dry towel, wiping the wet spaces clean.

"There," Allen said with a grin. "I'm not even sure you knew how much flour was on your face. There was a quite a bit."

Link touched his cheek, skin still slightly damp. "I didn't..."

Satisfied with his work, Allen retreated to the sink, and Link could see the tell-tale sign of redness in his ears.

That, of everything, flushed Link hot. Whirling back to the counter, he gripped the edges, tracing the fake wood-grain with his eyes. He pressed the back of his marked hand to his cheek, mortified at how hot it felt. He was ages old! Thousand of years had passed behind him, made him up, shaped him into the man he was today. One tiny innocent touch shouldn't be flustering him like this!

He was just eager, Link reasoned. Once he had Allen's soul, he'd be free. Of course, there was the little detail of fighting Kanda over it, but it was just a technicality. Link had all the confidence (and carefully meticulous planning) that he'd succeed.

Allen's cheery egg timer eagerly thrilled, and Link turned it off, focusing instead on if the muffins were done. A tooth-pick test informed him they were baked to perfection, and Link grabbed the dog-shaped oven mitts, handling the tings carefully in the dog's faux teeth.

He set them on the oven, sniffing curiously. Nothing smelled off, but neither had the oleander spiked chocolate chip muffins. Of course, the oleander would have only upset Allen's stomach versus the probable death of arsenic, but Link very much aimed to feed Allen, not in any way poison him.

So when Allen's wriggling fingers came near the still hot-to-touch muffins, Link felt no remorse in swatting them away.

Allen feigned hurt, looking at Link with mournful eyes. "Just one! Come on, Link, one!"

"No," Link said staunchly. He removed the cakes to cool on a wire rack, keeping an eye on the time. "They need to cool properly." And be taste-tested by Kanda.

Allen wheeled it a bit longer, but Link refused to budge. Huffing, Allen resigned to finishing the dishes, and Link remained in the kitchen if only to make sure Allen didn't try to sneak one while Link's back was turned.

With half his focus on Allen's wandering gaze, Link idly prepared tea for Kanda, partly to go with the muffins and partly to soothe his palate if they were, indeed, poisoned again.

He supposed being a demon really did matter, even through all the years. He couldn't even bake muffins without potentially killing a man.

The water shut off and Link glanced to the side to find Allen wiping his hands dry, the dishes airing on the rack. It flustered Link to find Allen's gaze on him, steady. Something in him felt galled, and he refused to look away, hands stilling on the tin of dry leaves.

"You never told me," Allen said quietly, soft now that the loud rush of water had ceased. In the background the T. spoke in muted layered tones, words indecipherable. "Is it really just to pass the time?"

He continued when Link didn't speak. "You know you're free to leave right? If you're bored, I mean. You don't have to stay here."

That was true. The assignment didn't necessitate that Link remain around Allen the entire time. Of course, the moment Link stepped into Allen's living room and found an angel with the same goals there as well had been the moment the assignment had been skewered straight to hell (ha!) — but it still didn't mean Link had to stay here. Stay, and greet Allen every morning and night when he left to work and came back; stay, and bicker with Kanda the whole day through or simply ignore each other for hours; stay, and purposefully avoid touching the plants Kanda had taken to growing so Link would not kill them; stay, and bake batch after batch of muffins just to surprise Allen.

Link traced the mark of the devil on his right hand, each line and each circle, read the imbued power and darkness there, flexed his left hand as he felt the imaginary hilt hidden in his mark.

"I know," Link said, and did not say but I want to stay here, anyways. Stay here, with everything that implies.

He did not say it, but Allen's ensuing smile spoke wonders.

Kanda walked into the kitchen, grabbed a muffin, took a crass bite from the top, and immediately snagged a napkin to remove the bit. "Belladonna," he spat out, glaring at Link.

Link regarded the muffins with something like resigned exhaustion and dumped the whole batch out.

[cosmosfated]

il est encore permis d'espérer

A kettle generally cold, is warm even without the brush of fingers. A usual set of mugs long absent from their spots. There's a hovering sense of unease in the air despite it being home. Despite it being welcome, despite the door opening as always. A notion that it never has to, but whatever door is chosen can lead home.

No, this is a quiet sort of simmering brew, a heaviness to the air that isn't just the smoke curling near the rafters. Though there is more then usual drifting about with the stink of tobacco and clove. It's the feeling of a storm brewing within the hot ash swirling within the air above the heads of the unsuspecting.

A study room door left open, the doorway thick with curling grey that claws its way past the firmament and into the rest of the house. This place at least belongs to someone draped in shadow and moxie, someone leaned forward in his seat with hands laced before him, staring at a tea set left untouched.

"Cheers mate." Comes a far more boisterous call then should be warranted for the current climate clinging to the woodwork. "If I'd known we were drinkin' I'd've brewed stronger stuff."

This sense curls a chilled touch at the base of his neck and dripping down his spine, a vice grip of death upon the collar of his coat as another attempt to escape her clutches after a dance is halted, finally caught. Despite such a chill, he can't help but mimic the gesture of someone suddenly growing hot and tug at the collar of his shirt, jostling the necklaces decorating him with the faintest edge of color, of hope.

He can't help the smile when Ian speaks, stepping into the smoke laden room without so much as a note of disgust. He's grown used to the scent, and it's been absent from his clothes, his work. The lack of it dulling his sword's edge to a point of decorative rather than functional purposes, left to rust and forgotten to history. Colorful clothes lackluster and depraved of vibrancy, mostly grey and unlike him.

"i could definitely do with a drink, or four." Comes the admittance of anxiety and worry on the edge of a playful lilt. "but that'll have to wait until after we're done talking. which is, definitely something we need to do." Said with an air of reluctance as he takes a seat nearby, toying with a ring on his right hand.

A toothy grin is sighted below laced fingers, seeming to drip with the smoke that escapes like a dragon breathing a laugh. Coiling grey like a broken halo around a head of messy hair and perhaps teasing it into a pair of horns.

There are no saints here, only sinners.

A pair of blue eyes seems almost to glow with the dark as they scan the boy before him. That devil in the dark sort of predatory gleam that rakes the soul over the coals before letting it drop into the pit.

No comment however is made, as smokes drifts in lazy circles with two men before the gallows as its witness.

Better the smoke and ash in his lungs than the icy sludge that's gotten much thicker as of late. So the breath that he takes is deep, painful, but needed, the scent of clove cluttering his senses and clearing them of any else. It's welcome familiarity and a tone of seriousness that usually only comes during red lights that last far too long. The longer he waits to speak the harder it gets to. No strings, no magic, no deal; simply climbing anxiety and a title making him blur the edges of friend and foe.

Then he finally brings himself to speak. But the words aren't the ones he practiced. They aren't smooth and certain and steady, they aren't clear and helpful and hopefully calming. They tumble out of his throat like someone tripping over a crack in the cement while having a bag of groceries in tow, graceless and unhelpful as feet fail to find placement proper once again. Even so, he just keeps talking.

"might as well get it over with. people in my timeline, a good five or six years ago... apparently stole from me. pieces of me. my memory isn't reliable in this as i remember it differently, though i've been told that could be because it was too much for my mind to bear. but there are pieces of me, out there. people have them, use them. often. openly, now. i hadn't realized how important they were to everybody else, but i feel as my... brother... you have the right to know and make your own decisions on how to approach the situation."

The panic swells in his chest; he's going to get angry, someone's going to die. And there's something else there, something light yet burning hot. The weight of a title he cares little for burns into the joints of tired fingers where arrows once rested and aching shoulders where armor once covered.

Piercing blue narrows in the dark.

There's a moment in everyone's life when they can remember holding their breath. Not because there was water surrounding them, crushing them, on all sides, but because of the weight of their words upon another. Everyone can remember that catch in their lungs, that sinking feeling that's like your heart getting dragged down towards the grave where the shame burns it to belong. Because somehow, someway you know, though these words hurt, they hurt someone else far worse.

These are the words that can incite rage. Incite terror. Incite despair. These are the words that force the world to come to a grinding halt as every waking thought is narrowed to one field of view.

This is INTENT. Powerful stuff. The purest of it is what magic is truly made of. Intent without a guiding hand, a postulate of a belief. A thought to shape existence, and the WILL to do so.

This is what makes the world turn, this is what heroes fear to harness, this is the power to do the impossible, this is the weight of a crown, this is the weight of an executioner's axe.

It's a terrible thing when very suddenly even the smoke seems to still within the air, disturbed only by the most recent exhalation.

Do not waken, the sleeping demon, you will not like what you see. Do not dare waken, for you will fear the curse upon the air you breathe. Do not tread near to waken, for that is ash within everyone's lungs that will steal the breath from the living. Dare not.

Once upon a darkened dream, that same powerful stuff would have made him freeze, or perhaps lurch forward to grab his weapons. Once upon a darkened dream, his actions were little more than mechanic. This dream he's in now is full of life and color and his blades only bleed grey into the world, stealing color but never producing it. This dream is vibrant and hopeful, something he stands to protect instead of defy. An act of defiance perhaps against something unseen that sees him as a machine, gears and wires disguised as a person who can't think past survival. He can use it to his advantage though.

Silence takes him as ever watchful eyes catch every moment, every twitch, every stillness around him. A shifting home in which the thoughts carry an echo in the walls. Imprints in a way.

A single claw taps a simple rhythm into enchanted steel upon a finger. Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap. He only speaks after deliberating his words a little better now.

"i know... i know you must be more than irritated at only now finding out, and i have hardly any position to ask, but if you'll heed at least the listening to a request, i'd be quite grateful." The tapping stops, and he meets Ian's gaze with a sense of bittersweet fondness in his eyes. "do as you will. i have no right to stop you. my only request is that you don't do whatever you will within the timeline. i don't want to play executioner against my own brother, it's not a comfortable part to play. but. i have as much control over your actions as i do over my mother's or my father's."

He sighs, eyes closing for a moment. Pausing, reconsidering. Only to reach into his pocket and take out a bloodstained silver and black pocket watch to hold out to him, smile understanding regardless of the tense situation. "the worst retelling of cinderella, i'm afraid." Clock hands just under two hours to midnight, despite the lack of numerals to tell the time.

Cinderella or Through the Looking Glass? Honestly both had bothersome clocks. Just one wasn't guaranteed to come galumphing back.

Sometimes you just have to become the next Jabberwocky.

The bridge of his hands tightens and then crumbles into spires as if in mock prayer. All holes and no substance. Just sand slipping through the fingers, not enough to fill the hourglass.

Sorry Alice.

But then again...

The smirk that's curled along an all too in control countenance is telling of a mind spinning through possibilities and words not said used to bend around rules. Mind what you tell the hatter and the hare, mind what you let know to the cheshire cat. You never know when it's off with their head.

"Fine." Hands are drawn close, mocking a prayer to nothing in particular as his thumbs find his shirt lapel. "And what's your plan?"

Damaged hands curl around the watch, snapping it shut with the same amount of force as someone would when trying to read but is interrupted one too many times. Strain on the hinges, creaking almost imperceptibly against too much pressure. The silver stained with red hidden again inside a coat with no pockets.

"let the timer run out." The response is short and simple, a plan that wouldn't sit well with anybody. "i've had four more years than i was initially to have; some of that time was stolen and the rest bartered. i have much more than what i expected to have when my time is up, and for that, no word nor act could attest to my thanks. however, i have no intentions of fighting this. i have no intentions of fighting my descent. i've grasped my happy ending, or what i'm going to get of it at least, and that's alright with me. i'm content with the happiness of the ending i've earned."

There's a sadness and fear in his eyes deeper than the ocean itself, but there is also just as much hope and warmth. A dichotomy that fits him in a way that contradicts so drastically and yet he bears that title with ease. But there is also a glint of deviousness, a familiar sight walking the streets as an idea is struck or may soon come to fruition. "i only want you to make me a promise, ian. i want you to promise me that you will not do anything rash while i'm running on bartered time before the gallows, that you will at least try to remain calm enough so that i can have a sense of normalcy in these last weeks."

Exhaustion takes in his shoulders finally. "you don't need to promise me that, though. the fact that you've not stormed off yet is relief enough for me... or maybe that's just sleep deprivation talking." A chuckle.

For a moment all is quiet. Two hanged men sharing time before the gallows.

Just a moment before Ian plucks his kretek from his mouth and flicks it towards the kid. A hat thrown into the ring. But which ring? Neither will tell.

Ian leans back in his seat, blowing the last of the smoke from his lungs. Letting it circle like a beast waiting for the slaughter; for the feast.

"Right right, one vacay." Seems he'll have fun riding this wave.

A grin, slow and deep, creeps across his lips as the words come from the warlock before him. Emotionally drained as he is, aching in worn and broken limbs, he still can understand the sensation of desiring a moment of reprieve.

His eyes close for a moment. Calm, steady, as a man would knowing his time is short. Quiet as he considers his options.

"... if you don't mind i would like a good night's rest."

[exodosau]

Baekhyun POV

Beep, beep, beep...

The constant beeping was faint yet loud enough to wake up the unconscious man, Baekhyun. The moment he regained his consciousness, his vision adjusted to the red light that was set up in this room. Feeling perplexed, he sat up and slowly got on his feet to look around, scanning every space and equipment that was set in this room. Being a photographer himself, he recognized it right way where he was.

He was in a darkroom.

A lot of photos were seen to be hung across the room including various photos of him with Chanyeol and the giant boy alone. He heaved a sigh as he analyzed every picture, one by one. Some reminded him of happiness and some of them reminded him of.... pain which he’d been avoiding the most in his entire life, that one memory he wanted to be erased, forever.

“Soojin...” He muttered to himself as he saw a photo of a tall black haired girl with Chanyeol together. The girl was laughing in the picture, showing rows of her white teeth while Chanyeol, being goofy as he was, tried to kiss her right cheek; everything was captured in one photo. A happy couple to begin with once. Baekhyun bitterly smiled, he was reminded by the tragedy again.

Speak of the devil, his heart shattered as the following photos were all the images related to Soojin's death until the day of her funeral; Her pale face, a pool of blood was coming out from her head and some parts of her lifeless body covered with bruises — all of them were there, captured in photos accordingly.

Feeling terrified, he rushed to the metal door and of course, it was locked. He cursed to himself and leaned against the door on his back. Baekhyun closed his eyes, cold sweats were running down his face, his hands trembled and his heart was beating fast till the point it was hard for him to breath.

Again, he was interrupted by the beeping sound from a non-existent life support machine. He just couldn’t find it where the machine was but the beeping was still there, accompanied him from the silence. Nonetheless, this time it was way louder from before and rather than beeping constantly like an actual normal heart beat pace, it was replaced by a pause with long monotone as if the heart has stopped from beating and he knew exactly what happened.

A sudden green glow caught his eye. There on his wrist sat a smart watch, the screen mimicked electrical pulses, but a flat green line ran through the screen. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to deny what he felt.

“Come to your senses, Byun Baekhyun. She’s dead.” Baekhyuns slammed his hand against the metallic door, in frustration.

As if it was mocking him, the noise gradually increased three octaves until it turned into the awful sound of screeching. Baekhyun closed his ears with both of his hands, eyes tightly shut, fear of what could happen next. Before he knew it, the screeching stopped and it was replaced with the sound of stationary beeping again but different, which he wasn’t sure what was that for.

Baekhyun tried to calm himself down but a sudden faint ‘tick’ was heard and caught his attention which lead him to look at his smart watch. Baekhyun’s eyes immediately widened as the timer has set on his smartwatch but for what? He couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Would the room explode? But first, he needed to get himself out from this room...

Free himself... that’s what he needed to do right? He turned himself to the locked door and realized it has some kind of machine that you need to enter the passcode. No numbers just letters, which was quite unusual for a passcode lock. Would he need to just guess? What if it had limitations for every attempt? What happened if he failed? He let out a heavy sigh. There must’ve been solution and clues in room. Perhaps.... the photos...

He walked towards the hanging pictures again, examining one by one and sometimes flipped it over. It was such a disappointment as he couldn’t find anything until the very last picture, something was written behind the back of the film which happened to be Soojin’s funeral photo.

18/10/04

The date of Soojin’s death...

The slow and impregnate beeping caught his ears attention. The sound wasn’t in the same pattern, he perceived.

It was very familiar to him, but what was it?