#and knowing that you can flip the radio on and be comforted by this odd ambient station

[nuclearbyproduct]

Thinking about the radio station in Str*ngetown that is only on air from midnight to 4 am. It only plays spacey ambient tracks. No one knows who's running it, but those up late enough to hear it, enjoy it. It's a comfort to many of the night owls in that little desert town.

[explosionkatsu]

Fulfilling Desires

Human!Alastor x Killer!F!Reader

Warnings: Gores, mention of killing and blood 🩸

Early 1929 - 1930

You were one of the people who were entertained by the Black Tuesday, known as the Stock Market Crash in 1929. You were one of the pessimistic bearish investors who betted against the market making you instantly rich in no time. But after this occurrence, you were somewhat delighted that it didn't cause the ‘Great Depression’ is what they named it. You can still catch a glimpse of how everything went to an ordinary state as if nothing major happened, but the trash and debris around you say otherwise.

As the year 1930 came close, a sudden number of murder cases ascended. You were unbothered by this though.

As the sun began to set, an eerie silence fell over the city streets. The once-bustling roads now lay almost deserted, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle, as if the very air was thick with a sense of fear. Shops and stores, usually open till late, are now closing their shutters and locking up their doors much earlier than usual, as people seek the safety of their homes. The only sounds that could be heard were the rustling of leaves in the wind and the distant hum of the city, almost as if it was holding its breath, waiting for the danger to pass.

You find this odd since you haven't slaughtered anyone for a few months, so it seems like there's another murderer in town. You couldn't help but grin inwardly as you observed the group of people scurry towards the shelter of their homes, seeking refuge from whatever threat or danger loomed in the distance. The sight of their hurried movements and anxious expressions was both amusing and intriguing, and you found yourself quietly contemplating the amount of emotions that must be coursing through their minds at that moment. But it made you question, who is the murderer and what is their purpose.

Well, you know why you slaughter, and you wouldn't even deny the sense of rapture whenever you listen to the cry of your prey who was pleading for mercy. Just thinking back to this made you chuckle.

‘Oh, those poor souls’ You pondered to yourself as you now gazed upon the deserted street of New Orleans, Louisiana.

It's been months since you slaughtered, and you took it upon yourself to take a break after seeing how people do the same measures when you were still active.

Feeling sufficient at glimpsing out of your window, you fixed yourself a hot coffee before resting on one of your cozy settees and shifting on the radio, tuning to your favorite radio host.

Alastor, with a wicked smile on his face, finds it amusing knowing the sudden transformation of a bustling street into a lifeless ghost town. The fear and terror that radiate from every corner of the abandoned street only fuel his twisted sense of pleasure, driving him to keep moving forward with confidence. Nothing and no one can stand in his way as he relishes the power he holds over the once-bustling town.

But it is not yet the time to strike.

"Good evening, wonderful people of New Orleans! As you settle into the comfort of your homes tonight, I do hope that you are all secure and cozy. I cannot wait to share the latest news with you, but before we proceed, I would like to take a moment to express my gratitude to the hardworking authorities. These amazing individuals have been working overtime on some important cases these past few days, and their dedication to keeping us all safe is truly commendable! So, let's give them a big round of applause!" Cue the sound effect. "Now, let's dive into the evening news!" Alastor leaned in closely to the microphone as he spoke. He carefully flipped through the pages of his script, making sure to stay on track with the prepared content. As he read, his rich voice filled his home studio with a sense of confidence. Despite being live on air, Alastor remained calm and composed, delivering each line with precision and clarity.

"Another civilian was found in a gruesome situation in an alleyway near a club. The authorities recognized the body to be Daniel Thompson who's a worker in a men's boutique." Alastor smiled wickedly as he performed his unnatural serious yet saddened voice. "Authorities said they found him with a few of his organs missing, including his heart. Up until now, the perpetrator responsible for the incident is yet to be identified due to insufficient evidence."

Alastor's grin was so wickedly mischievous. As he scrutinized his script, he was transported back in time, reliving every moment with vivid clarity. The words on the page had the power to evoke memories and emotions he felt, almost as if he were living the scenes all over again. Oh, what a pleasure!

Alastor leaned into his microphone, his resonant. "It's truly astounding the thoughts that run through people's minds these days, isn't it?" he mused. "But let's not forget about the safety of those working the night shift. Take extra care on your way home tonight. We don't want any more victims to fall prey to the dangers that lurk in the dark. With that being said, please enjoy this music while I'm off-air! Have a lovely evening everyone."

As soon as Alastor finished his performance, he switched off his microphone and decided to treat his audience with some smooth jazz. After that, he stood up, leaving his script behind in the studio. He walked towards his basement to retrieve a few items that he needed for his later agenda. He carefully checked if everything was secured before speaking, "I'm pretty sure you must be feeling famished by now."

Suddenly, his shadow appeared beside him, grinning playfully. "You know me too well," his shadow replied.

Alastor chuckled at his shadow's response. "Don't worry, we'll be out in a while after I present my final script to the audience," he said confidently, feeling proud of himself.

With that being said after the final music played, Alastor went back to his studio for his final script before bidding goodbye.

Alastor's voice echoed through the microphone, "I'm afraid it is now time for me to leave. Let's give my colleague, the next host, a round of applause. Thank you for listening, and once again, this is your host, Alastor, signing off." With a click, he turned off his on-air light and proceeded to unplug all the devices he had used in his studio.

He then reached for his velvet trench coat, which was hanging on the back of his chair, and put it on. He tipped his black trilby hat and walked towards the door with a small bag on his back. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as he made his way out of the studio, leaving behind the dimly lit room, and proceeded to the front door for his next agenda.

It was now 10 pm as he left his home with all the lights switched off. Every step he takes is hushed as he makes his way to the deserted street. He knew that he'd find every drunkard going home at this hour, especially since almost every club was still active at this hour which he was grateful for.

"I'm craving for a woman.." Says his shadow in his head.

Alastor arrived at a well-known club, his heart pounding with excitement. He made his way to a dark corner, where he could observe the establishment without being noticed.

Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a group of friends who were leaving the club. Among them was an intoxicated blonde woman who caught his eye. Despite her friends' attempts to convince her to ride with them, she declined and instead began walking away, waving goodbye.

Alastor's heart raced in excitement as he saw his opportunity. He followed the woman from a distance, his footsteps silent as he moved closer. He could hear her soft laughter and the gentle sound of her footsteps on the pavement.

'What an idiot,' Alastor thought to himself as he kept an eye on her.

As he trails her in the shadow, he watches a fleet of police vehicles zoom past without offering any assistance to the vulnerable woman. The sound of their sirens fades away in the distance, leaving her alone and helpless. It's as if they deemed her unworthy of their time and resources. When he finally noticed the coast was clear, he watched her vomit in a nearby alley.

He then began his approach.

"My, my. A pretty woman like you shouldn't be alone at this hour!" Alastor approached the woman with a friendly ambiance. "May I offer you assistance, my dear?" He smiled offering her his hand to hold.

Too drunk, the woman looked at him, captivated by how handsome the man who was willing to help her. Without thinking, she nodded and grabbed his hand. "You look so handsome~"

Alastor chuckled at this, "So I've been told, darling." He responded, ushering her to walk. "May I ask, why a lovely woman like you alone at this hour? Didn't you hear about the murderer on the loose?"

"Nah! I know I'll be fine~" The woman giggled. "Now that you're here. I know you'll protect me~"

"Oh, don't worry darling. I will keep you safe." Alastor smiled.

Guiding her to the unlit alleyway was too easy, especially when the woman suddenly passed out on him. 'This is too easy.' Alastor thought as he smiled viciously.

"Keep an eye on the area. Make sure no one sees." Alastor commanded his shadow who immediately nodded and left.

Of course, without letting any more seconds go by, he put a gag on the woman, as well as blindfolded her eyes.

As he lifted the weight of the woman in his arms, he turned his head and his eyes met yours. A smile played on your lips, and for a moment, the world around him faded away as he felt a small dread over him.

Alastor's smile twitched. 'Fuck' He thought to himself.

You noticed him staring at you with a tense expression. Without a word, you raised your index finger to your lips in a shushing gesture, indicating that he should remain silent. The suddenness of the gesture seemed to surprise him, and he watched as you walked away with a sense of bewilderment, wondering what had just happened.

He now knows who's his next target.

The morning sun shone brightly as you stepped out, breathing in the fresh air. The street was slowly coming to life, with stores opening up and people bustling about. You walked with purpose, your steps confident and elegant.

As you walked, people couldn't help but notice you. Women scanned your outfit as you passed by, admiring your choice of clothing and the way you carried yourself. You were a sight to behold, a true embodiment of grace and poise.

Suddenly, a gloved hand grasped your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. You turned to see the same man from last night, Alastor, standing before you with a smile on his face.

"What a stunning elegant woman you are," he said, his voice smooth and confident. You giggled in response, knowing exactly where this was going.

"Why, I appreciate the compliment, Sir," you said, slightly bowing your head in acknowledgment.

Alastor watched you with half-lidded eyes, admiring your beauty. "A polite one as well!" he beamed. "What do you say I treat you to breakfast? I couldn't help but admire you from afar as soon as I saw you."

"Aren't you a charmer," you giggled, your hand covering your lips in amusement. "I don't mind the offer."

"Shall we?" Alastor gestured towards the door of the nearby cafe, his eyes never leaving you.

"Why, thank you," you smiled as you entered the establishment with him following close behind.

The sound of smooth jazz filled the cozy and inviting cafe, creating a relaxed atmosphere that put everyone at ease. As you walked in, the patrons briefly looked up from their coffee and newspaper, taking in both you and Alastor's presence before returning to their affairs. The chimes hanging near the door suddenly made a delicate sound, adding to the already pleasant ambiance.

Alastor courteously escorted you to a cozy corner seat in the bustling cafe, carefully selecting a spot where there were fewer people having their breakfast. He pulled out a chair for you and patiently observed as you comfortably settled into it.

"Thank you." You smiled and watched him sit across from you.

As you settled into your seats, a courteous waiter appeared at your table, menus in hand. You both took your time reading the extensive selection of dishes, taking note of the appetizers, entrees, and desserts. After a few minutes, you both decided on your meals and handed the menus back to the waiter, who gracefully took them and jotted down your order. He then returned to you with a small card bearing your table number, ensuring your meals would find their way to the right place.

Alastor's gaze fell upon the withdrawing waiter, his eyes half-lidded as he commented, "Hm. Such a nice young lady." His voice carried a sense of intrigue thinking what would her flesh would taste like before turning to face you. You could feel his presence looming over you as he continued, "I'm quite sure you know why I invited you." The tone in his voice made it clear that there was something important he wanted to discuss with you.

You smiled at him knowingly and replied, "Oh, believe me, I already know why." As you looked at him, you couldn't help but notice his striking eyes and his calm demeanor. "It is an absolute pleasure to have this unexpected encounter with you. My name is Y/n L/n." You extended your hand towards him, hoping that he would reciprocate the gesture and shake it.

Alastor's lips curved upwards into a charming smile as he reached out to take your hand. He didn't shake it, but instead, he pulled it towards his face and planted a delicate kiss on your skin. "I must say, the pleasure is all mine, Y/n. I am Alastor," he said, introducing himself with a suave tone. "Quite a pleasure."

Once Alastor let go of your hand, he spoke with a hint of closeness, "I'm quite positive you know me from my broadcast."

‘I see.’ A realization dawned on you, and you couldn't help but smile, "I am a big fan of your evening stories, Mister Alastor. They're my absolute favorite. Although, I was quite baffled when you didn't share any tales last night." You pouted your lips playfully, trying to taunt him. "I was truly saddened," you added with a tinge of disappointment.

Alastor couldn't help but stare at you as you made that face. He knew that you were trying to pull his leg. "I truly apologize, Y/n. But something suddenly came up, and I just couldn't make it," he responded while taking your hand in his and gently caressing it to comfort you.

You flashed a smile, trying to mask the growing emotions that were brewing inside you. "Do not worry, Mister Alastor. I quite understand your reasoning." A glint in your eyes almost showed your true as your smile slowly morphed into a knowing grin. The corners of your natural pink lips curled up, revealing the hint of a sinister plan that was about to unfold.

Alastor's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the familiar smile. He knew right away that this person was not as naive as he had previously thought. "If it would interest you," he said with a smooth and charming tone, "I would be delighted to invite you to my humble abode where I perform my nightly broadcast." His smile was inviting. "You can watch me live tonight if you so choose."

You flashed a smile at Alastor, conveying you're accepting his offer. "That would be lovely, my dear sir," you said politely.

Alastor's eyes lit up with excitement as he exclaimed, "Wonderful! I will have you taste my mother's secret jambalaya recipe!"

You couldn't help but giggle at Alastor's enthusiasm. "I'm sure it will be a delight," you replied, eagerly anticipating the dish.

For a brief moment, you both stared at each other, as if silently communicating through your eyes. However, the arrival of the waiter carrying your food broke the spell, causing both of you to avert your gaze.

Alastor hummed, his eyes glinting as he watched the waiter approach their table carrying their orders and placing them on the table. You thanked the waiter and gestured to Alastor to tuck into your much-awaited breakfast.

As you finished, Alastor pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled his address on it. "Make sure you arrive before dusk," he said, his voice low and intense.

You took the paper from him, tucking it safely into your bosom. "Thank you for the delightful breakfast and your company, Mister Alastor," you said, bowing your head in respect.

"Please, call me Alastor," he insisted, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You're not some peasant beneath me."

Your lips graced a smile reaching your eyes as you locked eyes with Alastor, feeling a sudden and intense connection with him. "I'll see you this evening," he added, his voice dropping even lower.

The smile never left your lips as he kissed your hand and turned to leave, his back straight and his head held high. You watched him go, his figure disappearing into the crowd.

'This evening will be unforgettable,' you thought to yourself, turning to walk the other way your smile dropping.

Arriving at his home, Alastor quietly entered. Not a small squeak was heard from any of his movements. His eyes are still half-lidded while he makes his way to his cellar.

The cellar is dark, the only source of light is coming from the small window located at the end of the room. But it wasn't enough to illuminate the entire place.

Alastor took a few steps into the dark room. The scent of rotting flesh was all around the room, the floor was stained with dried blood, and the walls were full of scrapes, claw marks, and even a few splatters of blood. There sat the now awake blonde woman who was gagged and blindfolded. Her arms are tied behind her back and her feet are tied together. Next to her was a stainless bowl with a spoon and a water bottle which Alastor used to feed her before he left.

"It seems like you won't be alone any longer in here, hmm." A wicked smile appeared on his lips as he gazed down at the woman who was crying in the corner. "Don't cry now, darling. I don't want my meat to taste bad."

You had a fast-paced day and were now making your way towards Alastor's house. The house was located in the middle of the woods, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of calmness as you approached it. However, you were ready for anything, with a rapier in its sheath strapped to your thighs. As you walked closer to the entrance, you noticed the house was much like a cabin in the woods, but much bigger and tidier, almost like a mansion.

Once you knocked on the door, it was instantly pulled open by Alastor "Ah! Y/n. Please, come in," He said, welcoming you inside and locked the door behind you, which you couldn't help but notice.

You could see a bunch of deer antlers hanging on his wall, and the seemingly decomposed head of a deer hanging in the middle of the room where his chimney was located caught your attention, "I see that you hunt. Mostly stag." You slightly smirk turning your head to look at him. You could see that Alastor was a skilled hunter, with his collection of deer antlers and other hunting trophies on display.

"Ah, yes. I hunt for fun. But I sometimes crave venison meat, my dear." He chuckled and admitted. "They are quite softer than any ordinary meat."

"How curious." You giggled. "Now you made me wonder what they taste like, Alastor," you said, expressing your curiosity about the taste.

"I don't mind giving you one, my dear." Alastor chuckled. "But it might take a while for me to get my hands on it."

"Is that so." You mumbled looking at him. "But I know one type of meat that was indeed soft and scrumptious."

"I'm not quite sure what you are talking about, my dear." Alastor smiled walking toward his studio with you following behind.

"Alastor, dear. I am not foolish." You chuckled. "I am fully aware of your intentions after what I saw last night." Once you mentioned this, Alastor halted and turned to look at you. You can see his smile thinned. "And I do know this is the reason why you invited me here." You giggled covering your lips with your hand. "I know your game." You said as you confidently walked into his studio without asking for his permission, ready to take on whatever was waiting for you.

"Then I believe I don't need to hide anything from you, Y/n," spoke Alastor, his voice like velvet. As he gradually made his way towards you, he wrapped his arm around your waist in a slow, almost dancing motion.

You didn't feel uncomfortable with his touch though. You simply let out a carefree laugh, which delighted Alastor. You took your time gazing into his half-lidded eyes, which were staring back at you, before slowly pulling away from him. You dusted off your skirt, a small action that didn't go unnoticed by Alastor. "It's for you to decide, Mister Alastor," you said, your voice laced with a hint of playful mystery.

Alastor arched an eyebrow inquisitively, his piercing gaze fixed on the object of his affection. 'Is she teasing me?' he wondered out loud. Without missing a beat, he reached out and placed a strong, reassuring hand on her lower back. "Perhaps you'll find this a lovely present, my darling," he said with a hint of mischief in his voice.

As you both stepped out of his studio, you looked around and asked with curiosity, "Hm? Where are we headed now?" You couldn't help but feel intrigued by the unknown destination as you walked alongside him.

"You'll see."

You decided to go along with his plan, despite feeling uncertain. You wanted to be prepared for whatever might happen next. However, your suspicion began to grow when you realized that he was taking you down to the basement. This sudden change in direction made you feel slightly uneasy.

The scent of rotting flesh was the first thing you noticed once you both reached the cellar. Despite the utter darkness that engulfed the room, you cautiously trailed behind Alastor, trusting his lead. As you neared the threshold, a faint glimmer of light illuminated the scene just enough to reveal the silhouette of a blonde woman. She appeared to be the same person he had carried on the night you apprehended him.

Alastor anticipated that you would be frightened upon witnessing the sight of the weeping woman who was captured. But instead, you displayed a devious gaze and a vicious smile. He became more interested in you.

With measured steps, you closed the distance between yourself and the mysterious woman. The soft click of your heels beneath your feet echoed in the stillness. As you drew nearer, you could see the delicate features of her face and the strands of hair that had fallen across her sweaty forehead. Finally, you knelt beside her, feeling the coldness of the ground beneath your knees before taking the blindfold off of her. The woman looked at both of you, terrified. Tears kept streaming down her cheeks as she whined through the gag as if begging for freedom.

"You poor thing.." You mumbled looking at her eye to eye. "This is why you should never walk in the dark." As you uttered words, your hand stretched out, delicately brushing away a solitary tear that trickled down her cheek.

Alastor stood there, his eyes fixed on you, as you went about your task. He couldn't help but wonder if the way you were doing things was your usual method.

"Such beautiful face, my dear." You whispered. "Too bad it will go to waste.." With utmost care, you slid the gleaming rapier out of its scabbard, the metal glinting in the light. You held it up for the woman to see, her fearful gaze fixed on the sharp edge that seemed to shimmer in the air.

"Nothing is as beautiful as you are, my darling," Alastor spoke behind you, brushing your h/c locks to the side. He then sensually leaned down, placing an alluring kiss on your nape just as he wrapped his arm around your waist and leisurely held your hand where your rapier was.

Your eyes narrow as you watch the woman closely, who is frantically attempting to flee from the both of you using her abilities. You can see the fear in her eyes and the desperation in her movements. As she tries to escape, you notice the subtle quiver in her hands and the beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Despite her efforts, she seems to be struggling to try and escape, making her attempts all the more frantic. "Oh, I would assure you. Nothing is as beautiful as her bathing in her own blood.." You spoke.

The woman's final screech was heard through the night followed by your rapier's blade slithering against her neck bringing her blood to splatter on the pair of you.

But as he witnesses the death of the woman by your hands, Alastor can't help himself but bring fingers to your face, clutching you by your jaw and wringing your face to him before he aggressively places his lips against yours. His actions caused you to drop the rapier and wrap your arms around his neck, returning the kiss almost too desperately.

Your lips danced against his as you felt him fighting for dominance. You felt his arm unbuttoning your blouse, drenched in blood. This causes you to do a similar action, unbuttoning his clothes and sliding both your arms in, feeling his bare skin brushing against your palm.

You felt him pushing you gently, bringing you to lie on the blood-soaked floor while he pulled your maxi skirt.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

ok ok ok your sub! john drabbles actually gave me the best idea. tattoo artist x john wick

tattoo artist reader is there to comfort him and make sure he’s okay and doesn’t pass out esp if it’s his first tattoo.

also writing this made me remember a fic i read that’s not finished but breaks my heart

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21060659/chapters/50100092 if you want to read 🖤

Thank you so much for this ask!! I've been thinking about this idea for a while actually. There was another ask about this a long time ago, maybe on my JohnWickCaretaker blog? I can't find that one, but if that was also you, then thanks a second time. Also, yaaaaay, fic recommendation! 🖤

John Wick x Tattoo Artist Reader (Gender Neutral)

Author's Note: John is a little younger in this one (I’m picturing him being 18-19), so he’s not as mature. He’s even more shy and gets defensive more easily. Also, I'm not a tattoo artist, and haven't gotten any tattoos, so this is just based on what I've read about it!

CW: forced to get a tattoo, tattoo needle, crying, reader swears frequently, bittersweet ending

Image sources: 1 2 3

“You have time for a walk-in?”

You didn’t even hear this guy open the door. Once you’re done being startled, you notice…him. You’re not supposed to let yourself think this way about clients, but shit, he’s cute. He looks soft. Mostly clean shaven, with a thin, elegant face (maybe it’s the high cheekbones), topped off with a mop of dark hair. And probably inexperienced, based on how nervous he looks. A little part of you wonders how this is going to go for him. “You’re in luck. What’s your name?”

No answer.

“Can I see an ID?”

He hesitates awkwardly. “I’m coming from Mrs. Petrov.”

Oh. So he’s one of these. You doubt that’s her real name, but Mrs. Petrov sailed into your shop one day offering to double the usual price if you’d keep quiet and ask no questions, and you sure need the money. Your skin is crawling a bit but you take a deep breath and get into it.

“Okay, good enough for me. What design are we looking at?”

He hands you a paper. It’s the same one you’ve seen half a dozen times: hands touching in prayer over an image of the cross. Guys come to you for this tat again and again, “from Mrs. Petrov.” One told you it was a mark of his acting troupe, another said it was a family crest, another a symbol of his church. They’re probably all lying, but you know better than to call them on it – or to turn any of them away. You’re pretty sure it’s a mob thing. It breaks your heart a little bit to think he’s caught up in all that. He doesn’t look the part. But then, you also know better than to judge by looks alone.

You gesture to the chair. “Settle in, face down. It’s better if we have your shirt off.” He’s way too delicious underneath it. The perfect canvas...shhhhh stop it. You’re a professional and he’s…god knows what. “This will take about four or five hours. Is that okay?”

He nods.

“Silent type I guess?”

That gets a faint smile before he lays across the bench, chin resting on folded arms. You flip the Open sign to Closed, pull on your gloves, and start prepping tools. You turn on the radio to 80s rock, filling the silence between you - though it doesn’t feel like a stressful silence, surprisingly. Both of you know how odd this situation is and you’re both just trying to get through it. There’s a camaraderie to that.

You glance down at the design in your hand and whistle. It’s pretty big, taking up most of the center of his back, between the scapulas. “Is this your first tattoo?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, well I’ll be real with you: this is going right over the spine, so you can expect some pain. Nothing that’ll kill you, just…not super pleasant. So I’ll check in from time to time, see how you’re doing. If you need a break, we can take one.”

“I won’t.” He sounds pretty sure of that. Standing behind him, you shake your head. It’s always the ones that are so sure…

“Well, after a while, I’ll need one.” You run disinfecting wipes over the center of his back and set to work. When the needle touches down for the first time, he winces once, but he doesn’t wince again for the next ten minutes of linework. It takes you that long to realize that he’s barely breathing. “Your muscles are tense, buddy. I need you to relax for me or this will hurt more.”

“…I just…don’t want to move.” There’s something so sweet about the way he says it.

“You won’t move. You’re actually less likely to shake if you can let yourself go totally limp, like you would if you were about to fall asleep. Here, sit up for a second, take a deep breath, and stretch out.” He listens, but he’s not looking at you. You’re pretty sure he’s blushing.

“Okay. I’m relaxed.” Liar. You can still feel the knots in his muscles when you touch him again. But at least it’s a little better than before, and he’s getting impatient. “Keep going.”

Well, the customer is always right. “Alright, let’s do it.” You grab your pen and get back into place. The best you can do is try to distract him. “How did you choose this tattoo anyway?” Might as well see what story this one will make up.

“I didn’t.” That’s probably the truest answer you’ve heard so far.

“Do you…like it?” God, you hope so.

“Not really.”

“…You’re telling me I’m putting something on your body right now that you don’t want there?”

“No,” he says, a little too quickly. “Forget it.”

That’s probably for the best anyway. You’ll get too pissed off if you keep going down this line of questioning. You take a deep breath and try for something lighter. “So what do you, uh…do for fun?”

“Reading, mostly.”

“Oh, sweet. You read anything good lately?”

“Kind of. I’m reading Anna Kerenina.” He slips into a faint accent when he says it, and you have a suspicion.

“What translation?”

“Just the Russian.” He sounds a little annoyed, like you caught him out on something. You suppose you did, and it was kind of fun.

“Bilingual. That’s badass.”

“Thanks.” There’s silence again for a minute, but it feels friendlier.

“So what do you think of it?”

“It’s...fine.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Yeah, it’s kind of dry.”

“I guess, but I don’t mind that. I just don’t like Anna and Vronsky. Which is Tolstoy’s whole point, but…”

“They’re both little shits to everyone. Makes it hard to get invested.”

“Right, exactly.” He shifts his chin. “If I was married, I can’t imagine cheating.” From some people, a line like that would sound like a transparent attempt to come across as a “nice guy.” But he says it so wistfully, you know he means it.

Don’t say what you’re about to say. Don’t say it. Be professional.

…Fuck it, you’re doing this under the table anyway. “Are you dating anybody?”

“No.” It sounds so bitter that, for a second, you think you really are dealing with a nice-guy-impersonator. But then he clarifies. “My…lifestyle doesn’t allow for that.”

“Oh.” You can’t think of any way to reply that doesn’t involve the burning questions in your mind about what exactly this “lifestyle” entails. So you lapse into silence again, for much longer this time, just thinking, wondering what it’s like to be one of these young men with the cross tattoos. Are they all friends with each other? What exactly do they do? Is it difficult? How does it pay? How did they get into it?

You stop when you’re done with the linework. “Okay, that went great! We’re totally done with the outlines, which is half the battle. I’m going to take a break before we start on the shading.” You circle around in front of him to grab your water bottle, and catch a glimpse of his face as he’s straightening up.

He’s wiping off silent tears.

Your heart almost drops out of your chest. “Oh shit. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, but it sounds hoarse and shaky. “Just hurt more than I expected.” He huffs a laugh, trying to play the whole thing off as unimportant.

“Dude, I told you we can take breaks if you need. If you’re crying from pain, you’re too tensed up. Tell me next time, alright?” Before you realize what you’re doing, you’re rubbing his shoulder. He freezes for a second, and you pull back. “Sorry, I – I didn’t mean to – “

“No, it’s okay. I’m just not used to that.”

“Damn, how do they treat you at Mrs. Petrov’s place?” You’re half joking, but you want to know more and more by the second. And when he just looks grave and doesn’t answer, your heart does that weird dropping thing again.

“…Let me get you a water, okay? I’ll be right back.” You’re grateful for the short walk to the mini fridge you keep in the back of the parlor. It feels so heavy in that room. You’re starting to wish you hadn’t taken the deal, because whatever this is, you don’t want to be involved.

When you come back, he’s perfectly composed again, but looking at you more carefully this time, like he’s finally really seeing you. After he takes a drink of water, he hesitates for a second. “My name is Jardani.”

Warmly, “Nice to meet you.” You take the bottle back and set it on the table, within reach. “You’ll tell me if you get overwhelmed next time?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m trusting you.”

You watch him settle in and get back to work. It’s okay at first but there’s a dark shadow under those praying hands that needs to go right over his spine. It’s basically pure black. A couple minutes into it, he exhales sharply, like he’d been holding his breath for a while. “Stop.”

You set your pen down right away. “You got it.” You pull up a chair next to him and he turns to look at you, without sitting up. He’s really pale. “How are you feeling?”

“Lightheaded.”

“Yeah, you can pass out if you get tense like that for too long. But you’re okay. We can take as long as you need.” You put your hand on his shoulder again, massaging it, and this time, he lets you. You can feel some of the tension finally seep away and the color returns to his cheeks. The dark pools of his eyes are fixed on yours, and if you aren’t careful, you feel like you could fall into them and drown. There’s something trapped in cold waters down there, pleading for rescue.

Yeah, sure. If you were being unprofessional before, now you’re being a downright sentimental fool. This guy has probably shot people.

Despite being deep and rumbling, his voice sounds so quiet that it’s almost shy. “You don’t know what this means to me, to have a…nice moment... Thank you.”

“Oh – you’re welcome. It’s nothing, really.” You’re absolutely done for. “Um, do you want to stand up and stretch before we get back at it?”

“Mm-hm.”

Your brain is fried but you manage to hold it together while the both of you get back into position. The rest of the session goes pretty smoothly, and you talk a little more here and there. At first it’s just about how he should take care of this thing when it’s finished – staying out of the sun and all that. But then he starts to ask you about yourself - what you read, how you got into tattooing, your favorite designs. Everything you say seems to interest him. You can’t quite believe it but he’s obviously developing a crush on you. Or at least getting attached in some way. You can’t blame him, if the smallest friendly touch is such a foreign concept.

It's too soon when you place the finishing touches. “Okay! You want to take a look?” You help him up, his hand resting in yours for an instant as he slides off the bench, stiff and probably aching. It sends a jolt straight to your heart, to support some fraction of his weight and to feel the way his fingers squeeze down on yours before letting go. You mourn the contact instantly, and distract yourself by adjusting the two mirrors that reflect into each other, allowing him to see his back. “What do you think?”

“It does look cool actually.” He cracks a little heart-melting smile, and you’re really relieved. He may not have wanted it, but at least he’s not devastated.

“’Course it does, it was done by the best in the business,” you joke. Though to be honest, you really are impressed with your handiwork. Doing the same tattoo so many times pays off – each one has looked more polished than the last. It’s almost a shame to see him put his shirt back on…for multiple reasons.

“Oh, uh…” He fishes something out of his pocket. A wad of hard cash – a LOT of it, as usual. “Here’s the payment.” And then he’s leaving, before you can do anything, say anything, even catch the breath you’d lost trying to comprehend everything that just happened.

“Hey, wait!” You don’t really know what you’re going to say, but then he’s facing you again and you have to say something, and it just comes out. “…Do you need help? I don’t know what’s going on, but look, I’m not an idiot. I know something’s wrong here. I don’t know who Mrs. Petrov really is and I don’t care, but if you need me to do something, like…I don’t know, call a social worker or something or help you get transport out of the city...” Your voice falters. You have no idea what he’d need and even less idea how to provide it without getting both of you killed. And what if you’ve misread the whole situation? What if you’re completely out of line?

It certainly looks that way. It’s like a switch flips in him. “No. Whatever you do, don’t fucking try anything. It’s none of your business.” It’s the coldest he’s sounded. “You won’t see me again.” The door slams behind him.

You brace a hand against the counter behind you, shaking. How could you be so stupid, honestly. This emotional roller coaster isn’t worth it. You wish you’d never seen Mrs. Petrov, let alone this Jardani with his damn pain-soaked eyes and cornered-dog behavior. There’s something awful going on, and you can’t do anything about it, you’re just making it worse. If you can get out of this deal, you have to, even if it means getting out of the city. Maybe out west - San Francisco sounds nice this time of year.

You’re just putting yourself back together and trying to decide what the hell you’re gonna do when the door flings open again and he storms back though it, stopping short right in front of you. For a second, you just stare at each other, breathing hard. Then he catches the flash of foolish happiness in your eyes at seeing him again and musters his nerves.

And he. Fucking. Kisses. You. Forcefully, with his strong hands gripping your arms and his teeth colliding with yours, pulling, desperate, rebellious, like he’s trying to tell you something he’s not allowed to say. You’re pretty sure it’s, “Thank you. For being one of the few people who cared.”

And then he’s gone again, and this time, you can feel it: he’s never coming back.

[mockerycrow]

Hey again Crow, I wanted to see your take on ghost x male!reader w/ "I already lost them, I can't lose you too." I know this one is gonna sting, bring it on!

HEAVEN FORBID (Ghost x Male!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

[THIS HAS MAJOR MWIII SPOILERS. DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS.]

[WARNINGS; mentioned mcd, blood and gore, descriptions of major injury, talks of dying, hurt/no comfort, unconventional confessions, open ending.]

THE FIRST THING you notice is the pulsing in your side; it’s matching up with the pounding in your chest, your heart. The second thing you notice is that your eyelids are heavy, almost like they’re refusing to cooperate—then it’s the ringing. Fuck, the ringing. Your tongue feels like a piece of cotton as you try to lick your lips—they taste odd—you barely feel the sensation, anyway. Your eyebrows scrunch together for a moment as you try to move your legs and you’re not too sure if they did move. Huh.

Your eyes eventually open, your blurry vision staring up into the night sky, smoking swirling into the dark view. You think that the view is gorgeous, the stars populating the wide sky. You don’t get to see them too often because of light population but holy shit, are they beautiful. Twinkling with their everlasting light for anyone to see. Right below your ear tickles, so you bring one of your hands and wipe at your own skin, noticing how.. difficult it was to move your arm like that. Your fingertips feel wet.

You pull back your hand which is trembling and your fingertips and glove is coated in dark red; your own blood. Your eyebrows furrow as you wipe at the same spot on your neck and your hand just comes back with more. That’s not good. You blink slowly, not even minding that you can’t hear anything than ringing right now. You don’t have to listen to the sound of gunfire anymore, explosions..

Wait.. Explosions?

You turn your head to the left and you notice that there is rubble all around you, making you blink once again. Your lungs sting a bit, sure, but why is there rubble? You turn your head to the right and you see your gun pinned under a large concrete block as well as a rapidly growing blood puddle forming underneath from the next large pieces of rubble to your rifle. That’s.. What the fuck.

Then it hits you all at once.

The pain is fucking blinding, coming from multiple areas of yourself; your head, your ear, your back, your side, your fucking chest—but your legs only have dull pains. You squeeze your eyes together as you cannot hold back the choked groan that leaves your lips as both your body and mind tries to comprehend your pain and your injuries. Your left eardrum has surely bursted, you’ve never felt this type of pain before and you can hear the sounds of gunfire and blazing fire roaring in the right. Your radio. You remember your radio. Your left hand, the one coated in your blood, reaches for your chest radio and you flip stations until you hear any chatter, chatter that sounds familiar—

Nothing. You let out a harsh breath as you get fucking nothing, which means they either knocked down the towers or your radio is fucking busted. You try to swear but your throat aches so badly you don’t try again. You take in a shaky, deep breath, trying to reel your mind back in to focus; you need to check how injured you are. First step is to assess. No big deal, right?

You pick your head up—it takes a lot of effort to do so, and the back of your head is wet—and you look down—oh fuck.

You feel the bile bubble up in your throat when you catch sight of rusty rebar sticking up and is in your left side, penetrating it and coming out a bit near your belly button area, the metal coated in a sheen layer of your blood. Your uniform is stained and slick with your blood, there’s a large concrete price of rubble pinning your right hip down, and there’s other large pieces of rubble pinning both of your legs down, neither of them which you can feel at the moment.

You put your head down as you try to swallow a sob whilst closing your eyes, trying to ignore the pain and the gunfire around you, the aircraft’s flying back and forth in the sky. You aren’t sure how long it is when you hear someone approach you, but they aren’t rushing towards you. You already feel quite cold, but a rush of freezing panic flows through your veins to your fingertips.

“Who said yer allowed t’die??”

Huh. Soap. Didn’t expect him. You note that his voice is very overpowering, the sounds of gunfire dulling. “I’m talkin’ t’ye, eejit!”

‘I know that.’ You think, but you just can’t will yourself to open your eyes. You hear Soap approach you and you feel his gloved hands grab your hand, cradling it, as if he’s trying to protect you. “Y’need to focus on t’pain, aye? C’mon, don’t stay here. Y’can’t stay here.”

‘But it hurts, John. It hurts so bad.’ You reply in your head—you don’t question how he knows what you’re thinking—but all of your pain is slowly melting away. Why wouldn’t you want to stay here? Pain free with one of your closest friends, even if he is getting angry with you.. You very much prefer it over the excruciating pain in your abdomen, ear, and back. And probably your legs if you could feel them.

You feel a gentle hand swipe at your ear and jaw, like they’re cleaning the blood away. Another gentle touch to your chest up to your neck near your pulse point, but without a glove this time. “I miss you.” You whisper, feeling yourself unable to rub your face into Soap’s gentle touch. “I know, lad, I know.” Soap murmurs, his voice soothing and gentle. “Don’t let Makarov take ye like he took me.”

“Wake up.”

You gasp as your eyelids fly open, three people looming above you whilst one of them is cradling your face. You cough violently, your throat burning and aching as your vision attempts to focus on the figure that is closer to your face than the other two. The pain is unbearable, a broken sob leaving your lips as your hands go to clench your abdomen, but the person cradling your face uses one of their hands to swat your hands away.

“C’mon—yeah, there you are, love, there you are..” The man who is above you murmurs with a slight shake to his deep voice. You note he sounds familiar, but that thought doesn’t last long as you can tell the two other blurry figures quickly start to begin to move rubble away from you.

“Huh?” You say mindlessly, unable to comprehend what’s going on. You hear fire roaring and and people’s worried chatters and your own heartbeat, fuck, it’s so loud and you can barely hear as it is—

A hand cups your face and moves your head. “Focus here, yeah?”

It takes you a hot second to focus your eyes, but you’re met with a familiar skull plate attached to a balaclava—Ghost. He’s staring at you with wide and worried eyes, a look you’ve only seen a couple other times. “G.. Ghost.” You croak in surprise, looking at him. He nods insistently, a little relief lighting his eyes. “It’s me, love. It’s me. Glad to see those pretty eyes of yours.”

You laugh, but it more comes out as a weird noise as your eyes fill with tears, blurring your vision once more. You blink and they spill down your dust and blood caked face. You vaguely note in your head that Price and Gaz are working to get the pressure off of your legs. “Pretty eyes?” You croak. “Last I recalled, I was a pretty boy.”

That earns a huff from Ghost and a nod, his eyes locking with yours. “That too, the prettiest. Prettier than Gaz.” Ghost remarks, making you snort gently—you feel lightheaded. “No one’s prettier than Gaz, mate.” You mumble, your eyelids threatening to close. “Oi—“ Ghost hisses out, grabbing your face more harshly to shock you awake, which it does. “—Stay awake. We need y’to stay awake.” He insists, his voice breathless. “Trying.” You whisper, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist.

You try to look down but Ghost keeps your head in place. “No- just keep lookin’ at me, darlin’. Only me, alright?” Ghost hums, trying to conceal the shake in his tone. “Already saw,” You reply with a sniffle. “It isn’t pretty, I know.” You watch Ghost close his eyes in sadness for a moment, you both know if you survive this, you’ll likely be plagued with this image for the rest of your life. A piece of rebar sticking out of you as well as the image of your legs covered in debris. You aren’t even sure if you’ll be able to use your legs after this.

“Need you to stay wit’me, alright?” Ghost murmurs. “I already lost him.. I can’t lose you, too.”

Your pounding heart stutters in your chest from the admission—you and Ghost both miss Soap. You have for months; Makarov got away after brutally murdering your boy. You’ve grieved for so long, grieved with the others; it was so obvious someone has been missing from your team dynamic. Every time Ghost makes a joke, you always half-expect to hear Soap’s relentless comments, but they never came. A heavy silence fell over everyone after every joke, because all four of you knew what everyone else was expecting. His voice.

How do you explain that you talked to him just five, maybe six minutes ago? How do you explain to the others that Soap is the reason why you opened your eyes again? You aren’t sure. “Fuck, please—“ Ghost suddenly shakes you—you were closing your eyes again, and you’re blinking awake once more. You inhale sharply as you slur something without thinking about it, but Ghost’s eyebrows furrow. “Couldn’t hear you, love. Speak up f’me, yeah?”

You clear your throat and blink, hot tears trailing down your face—you feel colder than earlier. “I love you,” You slur, followed by a sob. “N.. Need you t’know that. Love you, I have for.. a while.” A beat passes. “Soap knew that.” There’s a unreadable noise that comes from Ghost after you say that. “Don’t—don’t bloody tell me that right now, you fuckin’ wanker—“ Ghost hisses, but you can tell his voice breaks at the very end. You let out a wet laugh before you cough a bit. You wipe your lip with the back of one of your hands to see more blood staining your gloves.

You shudder as you look at Ghost, and you wonder if you’ll make it out of this alive like Ghost wants you to, like the others do, like Soap does. Like you do. You sob as you lean into his warm touch, his heat radiating through his remaining gloved hand, his bare hand wiping the debris off of your forehead. You hope you’ll be able to properly confess after this.

[sporadicthingcollection]

Poise Counterpoise (Tech x F!Reader)

Summary: Tech's first date with you has him shaking in his boots. Sequel to Point Counterpoint.

Pairing: Tech x F!Reader.

Rating: 🌶 Explicit 🌶

Word Count: ~5.8k.

Warnings: Mention of domestic violence, mild violence, PiV sex.

"Got no time," is what you're known to say I'll make you wish there was forty-eight hours to each day Your problem is you ain't been loved like you should What I got to give will sure 'nough do you good...

---

Tech would have been on time to meet you. And then Cid had a "quick" mission for them that wasn't so quick and Echo tripped an alarm.

And then they get back and Hunter lets slip that Tech has a date, and Cid sneers in disbelief.

"And you're going in that?" She throws a handful of credits at him. “Here’s what you’re gonna do, Goggles: on the corner of Pinnacle and Fifty-Seventh is a department store. You’re gonna go in and buy a pair of slacks with a crease down the front. Then you’re gonna buy a nice shirt. One with buttons and a collar. Then you’re gonna put them on and then you’re gonna pick her up. Got it?”

The shirt is itchy. The pants are stiff. But they’re civvies and color coordinated and, apparently, that’s what matters. He finds some comfort in his boots and the belt around his waist, but it's not much.

His stomach is full of fuzz as he climbs the stairs to your apartment, step by agonizing step. As he raises his hand to press the buzzer, his limbic system finally hits its tipping point and his joints seize up.

He’s making a mistake, the little voice of self-doubt mutters.

It’s hard to ignore that voice. It’s instinct. It’s experience. It saved his life a thousand times before as a soldier of the Republic and it will a thousand times again as a soldier of fortune.

But this is not the battlefield. And this isn’t mercenary work. This is a man taking a woman out on a date -- vice versa, actually. You're the one with the steady job. All the money he makes goes to ship repairs and rations.

Another reason to not like him, the voice says. No money, no prospects, no normal life. Should’ve added that to the list. Maybe you would have listened to reason then.

...no, you wouldn’t have. You knew what you wanted and you knew what he needed. To be told to shut up and kiss you. You’re a very self-assured woman. He likes that about you.

And realistically, what’s the worst that could happen? You’ve been friends for weeks. You’ve sat through him prattling on about things countless times. Now there’s just an added physical element. Shouldn’t be hard to account for.

A snatch of music reaches his ears, coming from an open window. It’s a cheerful, upbeat tune he’s heard on the radios around town, about going dancing with a partner.

He can see it clearly in his mind’s eye, you mouthing the words and dancing around the ‘fresher as you fix your hair and put on your makeup. It sounds like something you would do.

It makes his heart flip, and the sudden burst is just enough for him to override the lock on his joints and ring the buzzer.

After a moment, the door opens, and he’s greeted with a strange sight.

He’s met your little brother before. Being around Omega’s age, Phthalo lives with your parents, but he often comes by your apartment to ‘hang,’ as he puts it. Probably something to do with you having a faster holonet connection.

Right now, he’s clad in a fluffy bathrobe and chewing on a brightly-colored plastic pipe. He regards Tech with narrowed eyes. “Hello, Mr. Tech,” he says in a deep voice.

Odd, but probably not a threat. “Phthalo,” he says with a nod. “Is your sister here?”

“She might be.” His eyes narrow even more. “And what exactly are your intentions with her, young man?”

He knows not to take Phthalo too seriously. Where Omega is an outlier in terms of maturity for her age, Phthalo is at the very top of the bell curve. "We are getting dinner," he says, "though I'm not sure where. She knows the city better than I do."

A string of soap bubbles emerges from the bowl of the pipe as Phthalo blows on it. "I see, I see. And then, no doubt, followed by a trip..." He yanks the pipe from his mouth and jabs it at him. "...to Lovers' Lane?!"

Tech is now confused. He adjusts his goggles. "I... am not sure. Perhaps. Whatever she should desire. I am new to this and am following her lead."

The suspicious look melts away, replaced by surprise. His voice jumps back up to its usual pubescent timbre. "You've never been on a date?" Tech shakes his head, and Phthalo blinks. "Dang, really? Like, never ever?"

He shakes his head again. "As a member of a commando unit, I was afforded neither time nor opportunity to pursue interpersonal activities."

Phthalo whistles. “Bummer.” He pauses, then looks Tech up and down. “Gonna keep it a hundred with you: you look like an egghead.”

Tech blinks. Phthalo often uses slang that is lost on him and this is no different. “Am I correct in assuming that is a bad thing?”

“I mean, I guess, but, like, that’s her type.” He leans against the doorjamb. “Last three guys she dated were all eggheads. 'Cept Dyer. He was more of a pointy egg 'cause of the horns...”

Before Tech can even respond to that, he’s distracted by a shout.

"Phthalo!" you bark.

You skid out of the 'fresher and into view, dressed in the most beautiful blouse he's ever seen. Flowing, sunset-colored fabrics cascade down your torso, and you wear a simple pair of blue jeans that hug your hips impeccably. Your sandals have lifts, as seems to be the current style, and your painted toes peek out.

You look absolutely stunning. It's a shame you're so mad.

"What the hell are you doing?!" You pause, then squint at him. "And why are you wearing my robe?!"

Phthalo is unbothered. He lowers his voice again and blows on the pipe. "Telling this young man what I expect of him. You're a respectable young lady, and I won’t have him ruining the good name of this family.”

You spit something in your native tongue, and he replies in turn. Tech is unfamiliar with the language, but it's lilty and melodic punctuated with little pops and clicks. He's been debating purchasing a translation module, but is unsure if that would come off as an encroachment of your privacy.

You switch back into Basic. "Don't you have homework or something to be doing?"

"Joke's on you, sister. It's the weekend."

You give him a dry look as you step outside. "Just be home by dark so Mom doesn’t yell at me. And take my robe off."

“Yes ma’am.” He strikes a salute. His form is poor, but Tech keeps that to himself. "Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do," he says, “but if you do, name it--”

You close the door on him with a roll of your eyes. Finally, you turn your attention to Tech. "I am so sorry."

You pause as you see him, looking him up and down -- your gaze in particular seems to linger on his biceps. Your eyes widen slightly, and you suck in a subtle breath.

"Well, don’t you clean up nice," you say, a smile gracing your lips.

He’s suddenly aware of the heat in his cheeks. His tongue feels fat and heavy. “You too,” he says. “Er, that’s not to say that you do not always dress well. I just-- erm--”

You giggle, and it’s the most wonderful sound he’s ever heard. “C’mon, let’s bounce.”

You shoulder your purse and, before he realizes it, you’ve wrapped your arm around his and slipped your fingers into his hand. Your body presses closely to his, and he can feel every warm, soft curve from your shoulders to your hips.

Then you lay your other hand on his arm. You pause, then give a squeeze. “Oh,” you say, eyes widening.

Oddly, it’s his respiratory system that seizes up this time. His breath catches in his throat and he makes the slightest hrph noise.

He's frozen there a moment, staring at you as you stare at him. You have the most beautiful eyes. A whole load of butterflies flap around in his gut, crashing into each other and his abdominal walls. He really wishes they’d go away.

You’re the first to snap out of it, though you still seem quite stricken. Your words come out in a squeaky tumble. “Nice guns you got here.”

He’s red as a Togruta right now. He can feel it. He says the first thing that comes to mind. “Part of the genetic manipulation performed on clones is reducing the amount of visceral and subcutaneous fat necessary for metabolic processes,” he says.

The wonder in your eyes vanishes, replaced by the familiar curiosity he’s used to seeing. “Huh. So where do you store all your energy?”

Familiar territory. He remembers how to move his legs. “I am unsure of the specifics, but it has to do with mitochondria...”

---

As a clone, Tech has low standards for food. He’s perfectly content to eat ration packs three meals a day, and the food in the Tipoca City mess was only a few steps above that in quality. He’s also used to eating only enough to give him a few hours’ strength -- sometimes having to make do with even less.

So when the waiter places a sandwich half as big as his head in front of him, he’s more than a little cowed.

Fortunately, you seem to find his surprise charming. “Never had a bantha burger before?”

He lifts the topmost bun and examines the contents. Vividly-colored sauces, at least three kinds of fresh vegetables, and a thick patty of bantha beef, seared and dripping with juices.

His stomach growls like a territorial nexu. Very rarely does it do that.

“...Excuse me if I make a mess,” he says.

“Likewise,” you say, picking up your own sandwich. “I always need a pile of napkins when I come here.”

The sandwich crunches and squelches as you bite into it. Juice runs down your chin, and your lips glisten with fat. Setting it back down, you take a napkin and swipe it along your mouth. It’s a wonder how that lipstick is staying on.

You let out a contented hum as you swallow. “Stars, I’ve been craving one of these all week,” you say.

He takes a deep breath. Carefully, he picks the sandwich up and takes a bite.

Soft bread. Crispy greens. Tangy sauce. Sour pickles. Fatty, juicy meat. It overwhelms his palate. As he chews, it all blends together into a melodious symphony of texture and flavor.

He swallows and has to take a moment to compose himself. He notices you staring, brows raised and your lips pursed.

“Told you it was good,” you say.

His cheeks burn. He swipes a napkin across his mouth. “I am very unused to this type of meal,” he says. “My apologies.”

“I refuse to accept them,” you say. You slide over the little paper tray of unsnips, sliced into matchsticks and fried golden brown, and a little cup of sauce. “Try this next. Dip it in the pink stuff.”

He does so. It’s fatty and starchy and salty and the sauce is the same tangy stuff as what was in the sandwich. He’s picked up a second one before he’s even conscious of it.

You giggle as you pick one up for yourself. “I like dunking mine in my milkshake,” you say as you dip it into your drink. “The milk cuts the... the greasy feeling a bit.”

“Unctuous,” he says. You raise a brow. “The technical term for something being oily.”

You glance at the unsnip, then purse your lips and nod your head. “It cuts the unctuous feeling,” you say with a wiggle of your head.

His stomach flips. His heart beats faster. Say something. Anything. “Fat is one of the flavors a Humanoid tongue can detect, in addition to the more well-known sweet and salty.”

You take an unsnip and dip it into your teaberry milkshake, then place it in your mouth. “It’s sweet, salty, sour, bitter, and savory, right?”

“Correct. And you did not include spice, which is also correct.”

You smile and wave your hand. “I paid attention in bio,” you say. “It’s pain receptors, not taste buds.”

He nods. “Mint produces a similar effect, albeit in the opposite direction.”

“Now that I didn’t know.” You rest your hand on your chin and smile at him. “Tell me more, professor.”

His heart jumps into his throat and he almost chokes on the unsnip he was swallowing. He’s unused to such curiosity being directed at him. And especially not by such a pretty woman.

It feels fantastic.

His mind races. He could tell you more about taste -- the stinger of a Yalbec queen tastes like browned sage butter, allegedly. Or how bitterness is a common characteristic of compounds poisonous to Humanoids, hence why it’s not a popular flavor -- and why Humanoids don’t typically find Toydarian cuisine appetizing. Or maybe you’d like to hear about the anesthetic qualities of capsaicin, something Wrecker found out the hard way when he accidentally got a mouthful of bacta.

You’d likely find that amusing. He reaches up to adjust his goggles...

...and smears grease all over the lens. Damn.

You wince. "Oops. Need a napkin?"

He sighs, inwardly cursing himself. Idiot. "Please," he says. He pulls them from his head, smearing everything around.

You hand him a napkin and he gets to scrubbing. He has to hold them close to his face to see his progress. It only really seems to smear things around, but it slowly begins to improve.

"Astigmatism?" you ask. "Or just blind as an ashbat?"

"One begets the other." He huffs. "Would you hand me another napkin?"

"I'll go grab some more," you say, standing up. But before you depart, you lean down to peer at him. "Huh."

He raises a brow at you. "What?"

"Nothing, just..." You pause. "Not used to seeing you without them."

"Do they affect my appearance that much?" he asks.

You shrug. "I mean, you look good either way," you say as you turn away.

Heat rises in his cheeks. He looks up to respond, but you’re already walking away. 

He can barely see, but what he can see, he likes. You’re on the softer side and carry most of your weight in your hips, giving them a gentle plumpness. He’s noticed it before, but perhaps the blue jeans accentuate your figure just so.

Something... base pools in his groin. He wants to grab it and touch it and squeeze it. Your thighs, too. Oh, and your breasts...

He swallows and shakes his head. Dangerous thoughts. He returns his attention to his goggles.

As he looks up, he’s met with a concerning sight.

A burly figure is following you back to the booth. He can't see your face, but your crossed arms and stiff posture betray your agitation. You don’t look scared, but you grow tenser with each word he says.

“...I still got some of your modeling stuff,” the man says as you slide into your seat. “I could drop it off sometime.”

“Keep it,” you say tersely. You place the napkins on the table and Tech takes one.

He ignores Tech. “You spent so much on that plastoid, though.” He goes to touch one of your braids, but you push his hand away. “Be a shame for it to go to waste.”

“I’m not telling you where I live,” you snap. You turn to face him, brows furrowed into a glare. “Now put an egg in your shoe and beat it. I'm on a date.”

The man's body language shifts. He straightens up, his jaw setting. His shoulders tense as he turns to Tech.

Tech places his goggles back on his head and everything becomes clear. You scowl and roll your eyes as the man -- a Zabrak, it seems -- looks Tech up and down with a raised brow.

Finally, he sneers. “You got terrible taste in men,” he says to you.

“Yeah, well, I dated you, so I already knew that,” you say curtly. You punctuate the insult with a sip of your milkshake.

So this is that ex partner of yours Phthalo mentioned. Dyer, he recalls. Wonderful.

Dyer tenses again. He balls his fist. “Seriously, you dump me because you want someone more stylish, and then turn around and take this guy out?"

You hit the table with your fist and jump to your feet, jamming your finger into Dyer’s chest. "I dumped you because you slapped me for being 'mouthy,'" you spit.

Tech isn't prone to strong emotions, but the disgust rising in his throat is impossible to ignore.

"An expected response from someone of his personality," he says. "Good idea to terminate the relationship."

Dyer snaps his head back towards him. "'Scuse me?"

He adjusts his goggles as he stands. "Based on your proclivity to violence and attempt to insult me, I can only conclude that you are insecure in your masculinity."

Dyer gives him a stare that is equally bemused and icy. "...what?"

"Your behavior is typical for an insecure male. Perhaps you’re compensating for something.”

You make a snrrk noise and clap your hand over your mouth in an attempt to not laugh. The fact you’re not scared brings him some relief.

Dyer doesn’t say a word, rage simmering behind his eyes. Without breaking eye contact, he snatches your milkshake from your hand, removes the cover, and splashes it onto Tech’s shirt.

And now, along with disgust, there’s ire rising in his throat. Sour, petty ire.

“What the hell?!” you shriek. You grab his arm and, this time, you don’t pause to appreciate the musculature. “C’mon, we don’t have to take this--”

He waves you off. “I appreciate it, but I can handle myself.” He crosses his arms. “He is not a threat to me.”

Dyer scoffs. He steps closer to Tech, enough that their chests touch. “You wanna make a bet on that?”

Tech takes a step back. Dyer follows. “If you’re looking for a fight, look elsewhere. I have no desire to injure you.”

With his thumb, Dyer cracks his knuckles. “Yeah, but I do.”

He takes another step. Again, Dyer follows. “As I stated previously, you are clearly attempting to compensate for something. An undersized phallus, perhaps.”

A number of things happen at once. Dyer swings. Tech ducks to the side. Grabbing his arm, he uses the other man’s momentum to swing him to the side, sending him careening into an occupied table. It collapses beneath him, and a shower of sandwiches and milkshakes rain upon his head.

Satisfied, he turns his attention back to you. “My apologies for that.”

“Meh. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” you say with a wave of your hand. You look at the waiter who has just emerged from the kitchen. “Can we get a doggie bag over here?”

---

Showers are nice. Hot showers are even better. Private hot showers in a crystal clean ‘fresher with Nubian Sunrise-scented soaps and fluffy purple towels are a luxury that Tech has never experienced.

He wishes he hadn’t. Nothing will ever be as good as this.

You'd insisted that he return with you to your apartment so you could wash his clothes and get him clean. Dyer's your ex and you feel the need to take some responsibility.

“My building’s got a laundry room anyways, so it’s no big deal,” you’d said. “So hop in the shower before you get sticky. Toss your clothes out the door and I’ll grab ‘em.”

He goes as quickly as he can, but even then he worries that he’s taken too long. He sees no change of clothes, so he settles for wrapping the towel around his waist.

He calls your name as he exits the ‘fresher, but you’re nowhere to be seen. Not on your bed, nor on your sofa, nor at your drafting table. You live in a studio, so it’s not like there’s anywhere else you could be hiding.

Time for reconnaissance. Or, as Echo would call it, incessant snooping.

He’s subtle about it. He only looks closely at things that aren’t already hidden, and he doesn’t move anything around in any drawers or cabinets.

He gleans a few insights about you. A holopic on your desk depicts you in a graduation cap, standing between a pair of older men and a pair of older women, all beaming. Your parents and grandparents, most likely. Phthalo likely took the picture, given his absence.

You have an impressive collection of sound slugs of all varieties. Quenk jazz, glimmik, even a compilation of Mon Calamari ballet suites. But most of them are knuff records -- the sleeve of the slug currently in your player is Too Much Is Never E’knuffadelic by a group called, fittingly, Knuffadelic.

But most intriguing are the little model ships everywhere.  There’s a Venator sitting on top of your refrigerator and a little corvette on top of your stereo, amongst other ships and places. On your caf table even appears to be a very familiar Omicron-class attack shuttle, complete with modifications. The craftsmanship is careful and particular, and the only thing it needs is a coat of paint.

He’s making a note to himself to check the type of paint they used on the Marauder when the door opens. He hears the clop of your sandals before he sees you. “Sorry that took so long,” you shout. “The washing machine ate my creds, so I had to call the super to get it fixed.”

You go quiet, and he looks up at you. Your eyes are huge and your mouth dropped open. Your gaze wanders all over his body. Of particular interest seems to be, once again, his arms.

“Welcome back,” he says simply. He points to the mini Marauder. “Did you make this?”

“I-- gyeh-- yes,” you say without taking your eyes off of his arms.

"The craftsmanship is remarkable. I look forward to seeing it finished." He pauses. "I must say, your preoccupation with my biceps is fascinating.”

You sputter a bit before finding your words. "You're just-- You’ve always got all that armor on and--” You take a deep breath. “I had no idea you were so... toned."

Huh. Interesting. He's always considered himself leaner than his brothers, but that may just be the fact that everyone looks small next to Wrecker. He gives his arm a bend, watching the muscle flex. "I suppose I am."

Your eyes continue sweeping him. "...You got nice shoulders, too. And pecs. And abs. You're just..." Your gaze creeps back up to meet his own. “Can I... touch you?”

He's not sure what starts the smolder in his belly. It might be the fire in your eyes, or your teeth biting your lip, or the way you run the pad of your thumb along your fingernails.

But he likes it. He likes it a lot.

“You may,” he says quietly.

Your breath catches. He worries you might sputter again, but you don’t. Stepping close, you lay your palms on his collarbone. Your hands are warm and soft, and the way you slide your fingertips along his skin makes him shiver.

The smolder catches fire, filling his chest with smoke and his groin with heat. He fights to keep his breathing even and, to keep his cock from springing upwards, grips the towel around his waist tightly.

You step closer, your breasts just barely touching his chest, as you move your touch down to his pectorals. You linger on the scars there, pale and puckered. He remembers every one: shrapnel from a grenade on Ando. A sniper round meant for Hunter on Yephus. Electric shock from a zap skate on Mon Cala.

Unfortunately, you stop on the one he’s actually embarrassed by. He cuts you off before you can ask the question. “Accidentally stabbed myself during a training exercise,” he says. “Not my finest moment.”

You giggle, scrunching your eyes into little half-moons. “And here I was starting to think that you were perfect.”

His cock twitches. Hard. A breathy grunt escapes him as it pokes your thighs.

Based on the way your brows rise, you noticed. Your cheeks darken as you glance down, chest falling and rising faster than before.

You trail your fingers downwards, tracing the valley between his abdominal muscles. Thank the Maker he's not ticklish.

You stop at the edge of the towel. Your gaze flickers up to his, an unspoken question on your lips.

He's used to being naked in front of other people. But the prospect of suddenly being exposed to you gives him pause. The self doubt starts up again. What if you don't like it? What if he doesn't measure up? What if--?

He releases the towel before he can talk himself out of it.

He's not fully hard. But he's getting there. Freed from its constraint, his cock bobs and twitches. The smooth head shines in the light.

You suck in a breath. Your tongue darts out to lick your lips. He knows what you're feeling, but a combination of ego and insecurity makes him ask.

"Am I... adequate?" he rasps.

Your answer comes in the form of grabbing his cock at the base and pumping. He covers his mouth with his hand in an attempt to stifle a groan. He fails.

You freeze and release him. "I'm sorry," you say quickly. "I'll stop."

He speaks with a voice that isn't his, hoarse and husky and full of desperation. "Don't. Please."

You stare at him, breathing heavily. "What do you want me to do?" you whisper.

He swallows. "Whatever you like."

It's like flipping a switch. Your unease evaporates and you push him backwards until he hits your sofa. His hands go to your waist as you straddle him, your mouth pressing against his.

This kiss isn’t like the first one he'd shared with you. That one was innocent and misty as a Nabooian spring morning. But this one... This one is the height of a rainy summer noontime. Hot. Steamy. Desperate.

His tongue dances with yours, first this way and then that. You lay your hands on his jaw as you give his lips a nip. Grinding into his lap, you press your plush pelvis against his hard cock.

“I want you,” you whisper. “I really, really want you.”

Sweet stars, he wants you to. He tries to tell you as much, but all that comes out is a tight groan.

You grab the hem of your blouse, yanking it up over your head. You’re not particularly buxom, but your breasts are soft and round as they fill your brassiere, and they jiggle as you toss the blouse to the floor.

Every movement sends a slight ripple through them. Hypnotized, he reaches up to touch them. They fill his hands wonderfully, and they give when he squeezes.

You let out a sweet coo as he kneads them. “Like what you see?” you breathe. He nods, too dumbstruck to speak. “Wanna see the rest?”

No need to ask twice. He reaches behind you to unlatch the hooks and the fabric falls away, revealing two dark areolas with stiffened peaks.

As if his cock couldn’t get any harder. One could cut ur-diamonds with it now.

Wrapping his arms around you, he bucks up into you with a groan. He’s barely able to resist the urge to shove his face between your breasts. He can’t imagine his goggles would feel good pressing into you like that.

...and then you grab the back of his head and shove him in there anyways.

Warm. Soft. Smells nice. Even better than he expected. His cock leaks against you, dampening your pants.

He tries to apologize, but you put a finger to his lips before you shimmy your blue jeans off. He’s expecting to see underwear, but you either aren’t wearing any or managed to get them off with your pants. He doesn’t know and doesn’t care to know because right now he’s looking at your pussy.

He knows what humanoid female anatomy looks like. But somehow the real thing is even better than the textbooks, the pictures, the holos he watches when no one else is around.

You keep yourself untrimmed and unruly, but the outline of your slit is visible. You reach down to part your lower lips and he catches a glimpse of the flushed flesh between.

He wastes no time. He holds his cock steady while you lower yourself onto it.

Tech has never had sex. He's not embarrassed by it. It is what it is. There was no time or opportunity for interpersonal relationships, and he's not one for a fling.

He assumed it was just a step up from masturbating. Stimulation leading to orgasm. 

He was wrong. It's a feast for the senses.

Your pussy is hot and wet, making obscene noises as you bounce up and down. With a flex of your muscles, you clench him tight, enveloping his cock in smooth, warm heat. 

"Holy Maker, finally," you moan.

The sheer implication of that phrase makes him groan. He's unused to being desired. Grabbing your soft hips, he guides you up and down his cock.

Bracing one hand against the back of the sofa, you dip the other between your curls. You rub as he thrusts, making noises like a tooka.

In out, up and down. The cool air as you rise and the wet heat as you fall. The bounce of your breasts and the roll of your hips.

He never wants to leave this moment. Buried deep inside of you, your eyes closed in bliss and your lips pursed in pleasure.

Head falling back, he moans your name, long and loud. You return the compliment, pressing your mouth to his ear and drawing one syllable into two.

His chest heats up. His cock tightens. He thinks he might faint. “G-Gonna...”

You pull away to rest your forehead on his, looking into his eyes. Your pupils reduce your irises to thin rings. “Hold on,” you huff. “Almost...”

He bites the inside of his cheek until he feels your pussy pulse. You let out a whine and he can't hold it anymore. He whimpers your name, sounding absolutely pathetic.

“Please,” he rasps.

You grab him by the hair and jerk his head away to kiss him. The panting has left your mouth cool and dry, and the sudden contrast is enough to send him toppling over the edge.

He comes with a sputtering groan, his hips bucking upwards. Sparks flash behind his eyes and he shoves his face in the junction of your neck and shoulder. You smell like musk and fresh sweat.

Heaven, in other words.

The moment passes all too quickly. The adrenalin fades and his body goes limp. He slumps backwards, panting.

You collapse to the side, sliding off of his cock with a wet shlick. You lift his arm and drape it over you, resting your head on his shoulder.

He lays his head against yours, his mind pleasantly fuzzy. Thoughts drift in and out -- mostly of you. He wonders if you enjoyed it.

He understands now why it's called an afterglow.

---

Once his clothes are clean, you accompany him back to the Marauder. Wrecker appears to be teaching Omega something ship-related, as she is sitting atop his shoulders to examine a fusebox. Hunter and Echo look on, mildly concerned but not enough to interfere.

Hunter turns as soon as your footsteps start echoing on the walls. He breaks into a grin. "Lovebirds are here," he calls.

Omega gasps and jumps from Wrecker's shoulders, landing in a way that had to have hurt her ankles. She speeds up to you nonetheless.

"How'd it go?" she asks. "Where'd you go? What'd you do? How--?"

You return the smile. "It was great," you say. You lay your head against his arm. "We got food and then he beat a guy up for me."

Tech scoffs. "I did not. He ran at me and I used his momentum against him."

You shrug. "Regardless, it was appreciated," you say. "I have work in the morning, so I gotta get going."

Omega's face falls. "Will you be around tomorrow?"

He adjusts his goggles. "That depends on if Cid has any tasks for us--"

Wrecker cuts in. "'Course she can come 'round," he says firmly. "It's not like it always takes all day."

Tech shoots him a look. "No, but accounting for hyperspace time dilation, we often return at odd hours."

You wave your hand. "I'll make time. Just give me a comm when you're free." you say. You take his arm and pull him down, placing a light kiss on his cheek.

It catches him by surprise, and he lets out a slight gasp. He sincerely hopes no one else heard it.

Against his cheek, you murmur something in your native tongue before pulling away. You ruffle Omega's hair and wave to his brothers before departing.

As he watches you walk away, an unfamiliar feeling sets in. It fills his head and pushes against his eyes, making his cheeks warm. It's not sorrow. He has no desire to cry, but... He wishes you could stay a bit longer. Play some of that knuff music and talk about starships while you 'hang out,' as Phthalo would put it.

You round the corner out of sight and he misses you already. Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

Inhaling deeply, he turns away to find everyone looking at him. Hunter with a smirk, Echo with a slight smile, Wrecker with a broad grin, and Omega beaming so wide that her eyes are nearly closed.

Tech glances between all of them. "Is something amusing?"

Echo shakes his head. "Didn't think it was possible for you to look cute." 

Wrecker punches Tech's shoulder and, as per usual, nearly knocks him over. "Lucky you, gettin' a girl so pretty."

"So what was it like?" Omega asks. "Where'd you go? Tell me everything!"

Hunter cuts in. "Hey, let him get settled. He's had a big day. Fix up that fusebox and then ask questions."

Wrecker and Omega try to protest, but one look from Hunter and they slumps. They slink away, back to their task.

Once they're out of earshot, Hunter sidles up to him. "Hop in the shower after you get on board," he murmurs. Tech raises a brow at him, wondering if he can smell your sweat on him. "You smell like shampoo and it's giving me a headache."

Tech blinks in relief. "Of course. My apologies."

He turns away, only for Hunter to speak up again. "Congratulations on getting laid, too."

Tech's cheeks burn.

---

Thank you for reading! Special thanks to my bf for proofreading.

⬅⬅⬅ | "Filled With Things to Say" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar | ➡➡➡

[thespiceyoops]

Spacegirl

Chapter 6

Series Pairing: Eddie Munson x Original Female Character

CW: None, just canon amounts of stress 

Series Status: In Progress

Word Count: 3.9K

The group talks quietly amongst themselves, weighing their limited options and trying to predict the holes that would inevitably be punched in the plan as soon as it starts. Liz gently strokes Eddie's hair as he leans miserably against her shoulder from where they sit on the couch, pulling some sweat stained strands behind his ear before cupping his cheek in her palm and pulling his face up to look at hers, her thumb brushing away a tear that had managed to sneak by. 

“Hey…It’s going to be ok, I promise” She says softly with a small smile “Maybe this is why I’m here” 

“Fuck don’t say that” He growls through his teeth, his eyes narrowed in frustration “Don’t say that like you’re just supposed to sacrifice yourself for us.” 

“I’m not, I have you to save me” She chuckles, her smile not quite reaching her eyes as she tries to comfort him “I rolled your stats remember? I know you’re strong enough to do it. Trust me.” 

He frowns for a second, searching her face and finding his own fear reflected back at him, realising with a sinking heart that she is yet again in the same boat as him, on the run. Letting out a loud, frustrated breath he stands up and claps his hands to gather attention, the preoccupied teens around him jumping with surprise “Ok! Well if we’re going to do this, we need to suit up” 

Snatching up a phone book from under the coffee table he slams it open and flips to an ad titled “THE WAR ZONE, Army/Navy surplus warehouse”. A man dressed and armed like Rambo, is prominently highlighted in the advertisement.

“The War Zone. I've been there once. It's huge. They got everything you need for killing things, basically.” Eddie grins as the group gathers around, Robin peeking over his shoulder with a slightly horrified expression.

“You think fake Rambo has enough guns there? Is that a grenade? I mean, how is any of this legal?”

“Lucky for us it is. This place is just far enough outside of Hawkins. As long as we steer clear of main roads, we oughta be able to avoid cops and angry hicks.” Eddie shrugs with a grin

“If we're trying to avoid angry hicks, maybe we shouldn't go to some store called the War Zone.” Erika snarks, peering around Nancy’s elbow sceptically 

“Normally, I'd agree, but we need the weapons. I think it's worth the risk.” Nancy shrugs

“But is it worth the time? It'll take all day to bike there and back.” Dustin asks nervously “We definitely don’t have that kind of time” 

“Who said anything about bikes?” Eddie's grin grows devilish as his eyes flick to the trailer door, excitement suddenly radiating off of him.

“You got some car we don't know about?” Steve cocks an eyebrow at Eddie as he swings around to face him. 

“It's not exactly a car, Steve. And it's not exactly mine, but it'll do.” He looks around the group “I am definitely going to need to cover up though if we’re leaving the uh..safety of the trailer.” 

In a minute they have an odd assortment of Eddie’s bandana, Robin's oversized sunglasses and a hospital mask out of the bottom of Liz’s bag obscuring his immediate identity. Biting back laughter, Liz takes a quick photo on her phone secretly, her smile dropping when she notices the battery 52%. 

“Ok Eddie, lead the way” She urges, trying to keep the tension out of her voice. 

Slowly and carefully they pick their way through the mostly empty trailer park, ducking and crawling to keep out of sight, Liz using Dustin and Lucas’s shoulders as moving supports until they group up under the window of a motor home. They can hear the disgruntled bickering of a middle aged couple from the front, their radio cranked up loud enough that they are oblivious to the sounds of Eddie sliding one of the back windows open and shimmying inside. The rest of them follow quietly as he scampers around the RV, flicking the lock and pulling out a bag of tools before settling in the front seat. Steve comes up behind him as he yanks a bundle of wires out from under the steering wheel, snipping a little too expertly.

“Where'd you learn how to do this?” 

“Well, when the other dads were teaching their kids how to fish or play ball, my old man was teaching me how to hot-wire. I swore to myself I wouldn't wind up like he did, but now I'm wanted for murder, and soon, grand theft auto. So, I'm really living up to that Munson name.” He flicks his eyes back to Liz with a wink as she peeks over Steve’s shoulder “Told you I had a back story sweetheart” 

Her eyes widen in surprise, her cheeks go cherry red with both embarrassment from the comment and the pet name “I-I didn’t write that” She huffs, looking away. 

“Eddie, I'm not sure I love the idea of you driving.” Robins pipes up, sneaking around Liz to look around the console nervously 

“Oh, I'm just starting the sucker. Harrington's got her. Don’t ya, Big Boy” He grins back at the now flustered boy, striking the wires and causing the RV to roar to life. The shouts of the couple are suddenly heard over the rumbling and everyone throws themselves into any available seats, Steve vaults over into the driver's seat and kicks it into gear as Eddie scrambles into the back. 

“Everybody hang on to something!” He screams as the couple start banging on the locked door, the RV lurching forward over scattered trash. Eddie grabs Liz around the waist, holding her with her back pressed against his chest as he grips tightly to one of the overhead compartments, a wild, almost feral laugh breaking out of his throat. She looks back at his flailing mess of hair and wild grin, feeling his energy grab hold of her and pulling a laugh from her as well. A moment of ‘normal’ fuckery in the midst of the otherworldly chaos. 

“Shit. They look pissed.” Dustin shouts, watching the couple flailing after their retreating RV 

“I mean, it’s not every day you lose your house and car in one fell swoop.” Robin flinches as the man trips into a massive mud puddle “They are having a really bad day” 

“I mean they’re gonna have a much worse day if we don’t stop Vecna so I can ignore the guilt a little” Lucas shrugs, his sister shooting him a withering glare. 

Finally the RV hits the main road and the bouncing interior stabilises, the rattled pile of kids in the back laughing hysterically, picking themselves and the scattered belongings up before finding more comfortable seats, only Eddie and Liz remaining standing near the front. 

“That was wicked” Dustin breathes, grinning widely at Eddie “You’ve gotta teach me how to do that!” 

“Absolutely not!” Eddie laughs “I am not contributing to your life of crime. Steve would kill me.” 

“Yes I would!” Steve’s voice shouts from the front, the back dissolving into giggles as Steve shakes his head, continuing his quiet conversation with Nancy. The RV jumps over a crack in the road causing Liz to wince as pain lances up her ankle. “Uh Eddie, can I sit down?” She laughs, a blush creeping over his cheeks as he realises his arm is still tight around her waist, hand gripping her hip. His lips purse for a moment, the twinkle in his eye telling her he doesn’t want to let go. “My ankle…” 

He lets out a small huff but helps her gingerly to couch at the back, squishing between Dustin and Lucas who waggle their eyebrows at him in mockery, he shoots them half hearted glares as he sits on an overturned milk crate. 

The groups chat quietly as they drive, Dustin grilling Liz on things she remembers from the “future”, she tells him about how the internet that Suzie talked about was kind of a big deal and that people there could actually become rich and famous from just putting up pictures of themselves in their underwear. The two younger boys gag but there is a glint in Erica’s eyes at the capitalistic prospects when she mentions the influencer trend. She mentions the pride parade she had been to recently, watching Robin's eyes widen in shock, growing a little misty with a small smile. She tells the boys about how D&D and comic books become kind of mainstream, that people can actually get paid to dress up as the characters. They shout in disbelieving protest until she pulls out her phone to show them pictures she’d taken at her most recent comic con, their eyes wide as saucers and mouths falling open in comedic fashion when they reach a photo of her cosplaying an elf, Eddie immediately snatches the phone from the boys hands, admonishing them for being “Little creeps” as the girls laugh but taking his sweet time returning the device, only handing it back begrudgingly when she reminds him he’s wasting precious battery power ogling the photo. 

Erica starts grilling her about politics and trying to find things she can use in the future as Lucas scolds her about fucking with the future having consequences, luckily(?) her American history knowledge is spotty at best and Erica has to settle for some vague dates and people, stewing quietly over the information. (Author's note: yes there are some obvious history things I'm purposefully leaving out because this isn’t really a time travel story and I don’t want to have to deal with the consequences of Erica Sinclair knowing about major history moments. None of us want that.)

As Dustin flips through the photos again he comes across the same photo she’d shown them when they first met, the image of her D&D party and suddenly pipes up. 

“What about your family? Or your friends?” The RV goes quiet with the sudden realisation that she had a life prior to this crazy adventure and that she was going to have to leave eventually. They look at each other awkwardly, pointedly not looking over to Eddie who is hunched over and staring at his clasped hands. 

“Uh well honestly, I didn’t leave much behind actually” She laughs awkwardly, trying to break the tension “just a quiet apartment and a D&D group.”

“So no rush to get you home?” The boy questions with a small, hopeful smile.

She opens her mouth to reply but is cut off as Eddie jumps to his feet and strides to the RV’s small bathroom, slamming the door behind him. 

“Hey don’t use that! We’re not hooked up to anything!” Steve shouts from the front but Nancy puts a hand gently on his arm, murmuring something quietly, having been listening in on the conversation from where she sat. 

Liz swallowed the lump in her throat, eyes locked on the door between her and Eddie, jumping slightly as Dustin leans on her shoulder; eyes downcast uncomfortably. 

“We..uh. We don’t want you to go…” He mumbles, wringing his hands 

Tears well in her eyes as she looks around to the rest of the faces all watching her, reading the same thought across each tight smile. None of them should be real, she knew the “real” them, somewhere in another time and place, she’d lived a completely different life time and yet something about the people sitting around her feels almost more real than the last 27 years of her life ever had, the thought of leaving these people behind makes her heart drop painfully. She smiles as a tear sneaks out the corner of her eye, splashing against her knuckles as she wrings her hands in the flannel she’d swiped from Eddie's trailer. 

“I don’t want to go either.”

A quiet 15 minutes later they pull up to The Warzone, an intimidating warehouse covered in american flags, camouflage tarps and comically cutout explosions. Hicks and townspeople swarm around the lot, trucks and jeeps covered in war time paraphernalia. 

“So much for avoiding angry hicks.” Robin grimaces in disgust

“You’d think they were gearing up for the apocalypse” Liz breaths in horror “Though they might have the right idea considering what’s coming” 

“We’ll be fast” Nancy insists, gripping Liz’s shoulder “You guys keep out of sight till we’re back.” She nods, glancing between the two boys and the still closed bathroom door before Nancy, Steve, Robin and Erica slip out of the RV and head towards the shop. 

A moment of awkward silence stretches between the three left before they all speak at once. 

“You should-” “Maybe you-” “I’m just gonna-” 

All stopping short with tense giggles before Liz shakes her head with a laugh. 

“I’m going to check on him” She limps toward the bathroom door, hesitating for a moment before rapping her knuckles on the thin wood. “Eddie? Eddie, can I come in?” 

She hears nothing for a moment and slips in quietly, Eddie’s sitting on the floor facing the toilet, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips as he quickly wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“Everything ok out there?” He rasps, voice tight and horse, gripping her heart.

“As fine as it can be, everyone not on the town's hit list went in” She lowers herself to sit on the toilet lid, feet resting on the floor between his spread legs, she winces slightly and reaches down to massage her sore foot. Eddie shakes his head with a mirthless laugh, taking her ankle in his hands and massaging it gently. 

“He really is a menace with that oar” He mutters, brows furrowed as his eyes stay locked on his fingers. 

“Just glad it wasn’t the bat” She shrugged with a small “That would have done some real damage” 

He chuckles and leans his forehead gently against her knee, letting out a long sigh as her hand smooths down his wild curls. 

“I’m sorry…” He mutters “I almost forgot you had a life… back there’”

“Not much of one to be honest” She replies quietly, shrugging “I have a small group of friends but this is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me in a long time” 

He laughs dryly, not fully convinced of the first statement, shaking his head before drawing in a shaky breath.

“I really don’t want you doing this” He admits quietly

“I know…but I have to” she whispers back, resolute and calm

“But you don’t! We could find someone else” He looks up hopefully “Find someone else with the same symptoms in that therapists office, keep the metallica playing and hide you away from him” 

“Eddie..” 

“Figure out who’s next. Stake out their house” 

“Eddie” She brings her hands to his face, lifting his chin to look up into her eyes, desperation swimming in the dark depths of his pupils “We don’t have time for that. And even if we did, even if that plan could work, we’d be putting a total stranger at risk. A stranger who has no idea what they're up against. I do. He uses my memories against me. But only my darkest memories. Same with Chrissy and Fred, right? It's like he only sees the darkness in us. So, I'll just run in the opposite direction. Run to the light. That’s what I did last time.”

“How do you plan on doing that” He frowns, not fully convinced

“I'm not sure. But it's my mind. Not his, right? So I should be able to control where I am. I just need to push him away. Find a happy memory and hide there. Hide in the light.”

“You got a memory in mind?” He looks up at her curiously, leaning into her warm palm.

“I might” She smiles down warmly at him, rubbing a soft thumb over his cheek 

“Okay, but the second you start to lift, I'm calling in Metallica. All right?” He concedes with this smallest touch of a smile. 

“Alright” She laughs, a real laugh, the sound warming the chill that had settled in his heart slightly. With a smile he shuffles onto his knees in front of her, leaning close in the cramped bathroom, she sucks in a soft breath as his face comes inches from hers, feeling his breath fan across her cheek as he begins to reach up. With a quick motion he slips a chain from around his neck, looping it quickly over hers, she presses her lips together, instantly embarrassed and looks down to where his fingers are sliding down the chain, resting the shining red pick against her chest. She opens her mouth to protest, the significance of it weighing heavier than the small piece of plastic but he taps a finger to her lips, shushing her before she can speak. 

“You’re going to need all the help you can get” he chuckles, his hand sliding across her cheek, thumb brushing her lips delicately as his lids drop heavily, half closed as his gaze drifts from her eyes to her lips. 

A sudden pounding on the door startles them both to their feet as Robin's voice comes through the door in a slightly hysterical panic. 

“I don’t want to interrupt anything but we need to go!” 

The two stumble out of the bathroom as Steve quickly starts the RV and floors it out of the parking lot, hopping over the shopping bags full of weaponry that had scattered over the floor to find a safer seat. Chancing a look out the back curtain Liz can see Jason’s hulking form exiting the building just as they make a quick turn onto the main road and out of sight, a breath of relief falling from her lips as soon as they’ve disappeared. 

Steve drives them to a field in the middle of nowhere, making sure they haven’t seen a house for miles before pulling off the road and parking along a stand of trees. The group piles out and begins hurriedly putting defensive plans into action, Robin and Steve lining up bottles and tearing the old shirts and tea towels they found in the RV to shreds, Erica and Lucas set out the pieces for several long spears and Eddie and Dustin make their way down the hill a ways with the trash can lids and several boxes of nails. Nancy helps Liz properly bandage her shoulder with a med kit they’d found in the RV and change back into her old clothes she’d managed to find back in Eddie's trailers, keeping the tattered crop top she’d made out of his old shirt much to the displeasure of Nancy as she lectures her on how much upside down gunk it must be covered in. They’d managed to find a pair of calf high combat boots in her size at The Warzone, giving her ankle some much needed support and allowing her to finally put her weight on it with little pain. Finally presentable she steps out of the trailer and stretches with an audible groan, twisting and getting comfortable in her own clothes again.  

“Damn, Munson may have competition.” Erica smirks to Lucas, watching Robin and Steve’s open mouthed ogling as Nancy whacks them both with a rolled up newspaper, scolding him for the vodka that had spilled over their hands. 

“Eddie…earth to astronaut Eddie” Dustin calls, waving a hand in front of Eddie's blank face as the young man leans frozen over the trash can lid he’d been hammering nails into, his eyes locked onto Liz’s form as she steps down the trailer stairs and leans back in a long stretch, properly cleaned up and looking more alive than she had in days, long hair pulled into a neat ponytail, leather jacket comfortably over her shoulders barely hiding the ripped Iron Maiden shirt underneath. Dustin's snapping brings him back to the boy's toothy grin “Soooo when are you going to ask Space Girl to stay here?” 

“What??” He frowns, shaking his head with a sigh “I don’t know man. How can I? She’s got another life to go back to.” 

“What if she didn’t want to go back?” Dustin tilts his head, his eyes surprisingly sombre

“Dustin, why would she possibly want to stay here? You saw the photos! How can I compete with that” He spits in frustration, the hammer in his hand driving the nail through the back of the trash can lid. “What could I possibly offer her here? Im just a trailer park coward with now multiple murder charges that will probably be on the run from the police the rest of my life IF I make it out of this alive.” Dustin plants his feet in front of Eddie, arms crossed with a frown twisting his face in frustration. 

“Look man. I don’t care what you think of yourself but me and the other guys think you’re an absolute badass. You took us under your wing when we were just a bunch of goofy nerds getting bullied in the bathrooms and gave us a place where we could be ourselves. You pretend like you’re just a coward but you stood up to Jason and the rest of the Jocks anytime you saw them hassling us. You are my hero and if what she says is true” He jabs a finger back towards the group clearly getting very heated at his insistence “you are quite literally her dream guy! Why would you want to pass that up???”

“I don’t know…” Eddie shakes his head, looking back up to where Liz has joined Nancy off to the side, a shot gun resting on her hip and a wide smile cracking her features. He opens his mouth several times, trying to continue his protest but sent reeling by the boy's outburst and the realisation that he would do anything in his power to keep her here with him… if she wanted to stay. “I don’t, I really don’t.”

“Then DON’T! No more retreating!” Dustin shouts, throwing his fists in the air as Eddie lets out a deep laugh with a final shake of his head, jumping to his feet and swinging the shield around, playing along with the younger boys' theatrics.

“No more retreating…From Eddie the Banished” He growls in his deepest dungeon master voice, sending Dustin into a flurry of giggles. Suddenly the older boy swoops down, tackling the younger one around the waist, the two of them tussling and play-fight for several minutes before breaking apart gasping. Eddie slaps his hands down on Dustin's shoulders, a warm look in his eyes.

“Never change, Dustin Henderson” He grins 

“Wasn’t planning on it” Dustin pants, taken aback by the affection

“Good. You’re the future of Hell Fire you know.” He pats him heavily on shoulder before turning back toward the RV, a determined grin tugging at his lips “86 is still going to be my year, I just know it” 

Liz watches the two boys rough housing across the field with a warm smile, holding the shotgun as Nancy saw’s the end off. She turns her gaze back, seeing Nancy already looking back with a knowing grin, she blushes and hands the gun to the other girl, pulling her phone out and checking the battery. 37%. 

“How much time do we have?” Nancy asks softly her smirk falling serious

“At least until tonight, there’s no service here so it’s not draining as fast as it normally would. Small blessings I guess” Liz says with a chuckle 

“Small blessings hmm?” Her eyes slide towards the boys with a smirk as they flail about and then slowly up the hill to where Robin and Steve; her expression mixing with worry and sadness. The two sit quietly side by side, watching the people they love ready themselves for the literal fight of their lives.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 18: Girl’s Night (Heroes/Villains)

AO3

Prev

First

Teleporting back into her room in Gotham, Marinette flops onto her bed. Passing Kaalki sugar cubes and Tikki a cookie, she suppresses the urge to scream into her pillow. She was sick and tired of Hawkmoth. Sick and tired of being the one who has to fix everything. She just wanted one week with no Hawkmoth, no akuma attacks. But no. Of course not. Of course he just had to send out a stupid akuma every single day. Because why not. How’re people supposed to know he’s still being the main villain of Paris if he takes a freaking day off? Once she finds out who he is, she’s going to punch him in his stupid face. A knock on her door pulls her from her plotting ways to get back at Hawkmoth. 

“Come in.” She sighs, sitting up and forcing a tired smile on her face. 

“Marinette, your father wanted-” Selina starts, pausing as she looks her over. “Come on kitten, we’re having a girls day.” She says. Marinette raises an eyebrow. Sure she’d met Selina before, but they hadn’t really hung out yet. 

“What?” She asks. 

“You look exhausted and angry, sweetheart. Spending too much time with these boys isn’t going to help. So you’re gonna grab anything you need for an overnight trip and we’re going to go watch movies and eat junk food til we’re sick.” Selina instructs. Marinette grins, jumping up and shoving stuff into her backpack. She puts Kaalki’s glasses into her purse and lets her and Tikki fly in before she turns to Selina. 

“Ready!” She says, practically bouncing up and down in excitement. It’d been ages since she’d had a girls day with anyone. She was so ready to just take a break and be silly. 

“Well come on then. Harley and Ivy are going to adore you.” Selina says, slinging her arm around Marinette’s shoulders. Somehow, they manage to not see anyone on the way to Selina’s car. Which is weird, but it is a weekday so everyone probably had something to do besides sit around the manor. Pulling away from the manor, Selina flips on the radio, the new Jagged Stone song blasting full volume.

“Nice taste in music.” Marinette says with a wide grin. Selina smirks. 

“I have to like the man at least a little, his designer is one of my kids after all.” She says. Marinette smiles, a warm feeling flooding through her. Selina didn’t have to accept her with open arms, she didn’t have to treat her like she was her own daughter. But she did, and Marinette was so thankful for that. Thankful that even so far away from her Maman, she still had a Mom there for her. The two nod along to the music, scream singing the chorus together as the car pulls to a stop in front of an apartment building. Marinette glances at the building, suddenly nervous. Would Harley and Ivy like her? Or would they just tolerate her for Selina. 

“Don’t make yourself nervous, sweetheart. Harley and Ivy are two of the sweetest people I know. They’re gonna love you.” Selina says reassuringly, reaching over and squeezing Marinette’s shoulder. Marinette lets out a breath before nodding. 

“Okay, let’s go.” She says, grabbing her bag and jumping out of the car. She follows closely behind Selina, not wanting to give anyone the chance to get between them. You could never be too careful in Gotham. They walk into the building and go straight into the elevator, Selina pushing the button and leaning up against the wall while they wait. Marinette bounces on the balls of her feet, excitement and nerves bundling together. The second the elevator stops, Marinette’s out, following Selina down the hall. She pulls out a key, winking at Marinette before turning and unlocking the door. 

“Honey, I’m home!” She calls, and Marinette’s jaw drops. The apartment was quite literally covered in plants and vines. They were beautiful. She grins as one of the vines near her leans towards her, a small flower blooming at the end of it. 

“And who did you bring with you?” A tall woman with red hair asks, walking into the room. The designer inside of Marinette instantly has a million questions about the woman’s outfit. It seemed to be made entirely of plants, but she could also tell that they were still alive. She had no idea how the woman had managed that, but she guessed that it was something that couldn’t be replicated for someone else. 

“I’m Marinette. Nice to meet you!” She says with a wide smile. The woman, who Marinette assumes is Ivy, grins back. 

“Nice to meet you, Flower. I see you’ve already made a friend.” She says, gesturing to the vine which was now wrapped around Marinette’s wrist. Marinette giggles. 

“Well, I was hoping they liked me and that’s what this was. I have a garden back in Paris, and I’d hate to find out plants actually hate me.” She says. Ivy shakes her head. 

“No worries there. They adore you, it’s a little odd if I’m honest.” Ivy says, dodging Selina who tries to flick her. 

“Did I hear Selina?” Another voice asks, a short blonde woman walking into the room. Her hair was short and choppy, the small pigtails at the top of her head dyed pink. Marinette grinned at the woman’s outfit- a Gotham Amusement Pier t-shirt, Batman pajama pants, and hot pink fuzzy socks. She wondered if her dad knows that Harley Quinn has Batman pj pants….probably not. 

“Yes, with a guest.” Selina says, plopping onto the couch and gesturing over to Marinette, who was still standing by her new vine friend. 

“Hi! I’m Marinette, it’s nice to meet you.” She says, smiling and waving with her free hand. Ivy whispers something and the vine squeezes a bit before letting go, letting her move away from the door. 

“Well aren’t ya just the cutest!” Harley squeals, running forward and giving her a big hug. “Didjya finally join your boytoy’s adopting habits?” Harley adds, still clutching onto Marinette. Selina snorts. 

“No, he beat me to her. But she’s definitely mine, too.” She says, making Marinette’s face turn red. Harley coos at her, ruffling her hair before stepping back. 

“So what brings ya here? Get annoyed with Bats already?” Harley asks. Marinette blinks in shock. Harley knows? She thinks about it for a minute, and realizes it just makes sense. They’d been fighting long enough and then he started his relationship with Selina, who was one of Harley’s best friends. It just made sense that Harley (who was extremely smart) would put two and two together. 

“No, just thought that Mari could use a girl’s day. She’s been stuck with just the boys for over a week.” Selina explains. Harley gasps. 

“The horror!” She says, making Marinette giggle. “Come on pumpkin, I’ve got the comfiest jammies ever. Oooo, and we can paint our nails! Ivy, find the movies, Selina, you’re on snacks. This is gonna be so much fun!” Harley orders, grabbing Marinette’s hand and tugging her along to one of the bedrooms, Selina’s laugh echoing throughout the apartment. 

“I did bring pjs, ma’am.” Marinette says, once Harley stops tugging her and starts searching through a drawer. 

“Bet that can’t be comfier than the ones I’ve got for ya! And call me Harley kiddo, or Auntie Harley if ya wanna.” She says, looking up from the drawer to smile widely. She looks back and cheers in victory, pulling out a pair of bright red pajama pants. Marinette snorts when she notices the logo all over the pants. 

“Really?” She asks, giggling. Harley smirks. 

“We’ll have to take a picture of us and send it to your old man. Really get ‘im riled up.” She says. Marinette nods excitedly, taking the Robin pants from Harley. This was gonna be awesome. 

---

Bruce sighs, looking at the news report from Paris from earlier. The damned butterflies were hard to track. He was used to figuring out problems quickly, and this one was taking too long for comfort. It wouldn’t bother him as much if it was anywhere else, but it was directly impacting his daughter. She was being hurt daily, and she’d even died and now she was plagued with nightmares. All because of a man with some magic jewelry. God, he hated magic. A knock on the study door stirs him from his thoughts. 

“Come in.” He says.

“Hey B, have you seen Mari? I was gonna ask her if she wanted to go get ice cream with me and Little D.” Dick asks, leaning against the door frame, Damian standing next to him with his arms crossed.

“Not since breakfast. There was another akuma attack earlier, but it wasn’t a bad one. She wasn’t injured.” He says, remembering the completely strange battle from earlier. It was some man with pigeons, and apparently this was the 34th time the man had been akumatized over pigeons. 

“Did you not check her room after the battle?” Damian asks, eyebrow quirked. Bruce sighs. 

“It was the pigeon one again. I assumed that she’d want to take a nap, if anything. She still hasn’t been sleeping well. Tim said she’s awake every morning when he comes up for coffee, whether it’s three or five, she’s up.” Bruce explains, frowning at the thought of his youngest daughter’s sleep habits. He certainly didn’t need another sleep deprived coffee addict like Tim. It wasn’t healthy. 

“Well I already checked her room. She wasn’t there.” Dick says, and Bruce frowns, pulling out his phone to send a text to Tim and call Jason. One of them had to have seen her. She never left the house without telling one of the family, unless it was for a battle. 

“What.” Jason says gruffly, Bruce is just grateful he answered. Up until a couple of months ago, Jason would have rather thrown his phone in the river than answer one of Bruce’s calls. 

“Have you seen Marinette?” He asks, getting straight to the point.

“No? Why? What’s wrong?” Jason asks, and Bruce hears shuffling as Jason rushes around wherever it is he is. 

“Nothing. I’ll call you back.” He says, hanging up. He glances down at his texts and notices Tim hasn’t seen her either. He frowns, but doesn’t panic yet. Pulling out his computer, he pulls up the tracker that was on each of his children’s phones. He scans the map, frowning when he sees that her phone is still in the manor. In her room. He stands and swiftly moves past his sons to get to his daughter’s room. He knocks, waiting for an answer. None. 

“Marinette?” He calls, knocking again. “I’m opening the door.” He warns, pushing it open. He frowns at the empty room, nothing appearing out of place. 

“Do you think she had to pop back to Paris for something?” Dick asks, coming up behind him. Bruce shakes his head. 

“No, she would have told us. Suit up, she has to be somewhere in-” He stops as his phone chimes. He looks at it and feels all of the tension leave his shoulders. 

Took our youngest daughter for a girl’s day, back tomorrow XO. Of course Selina had her. 

“She’s with the Sirens. She’ll be back tomorrow.” Bruce says, suppressing a smile at the annoyed look on his youngest’s face. She was safe, and that’s what matters. Even if he was certain he’d have to listen to Damian complain for the entirety of patrol. 

---

“Make all the boy moose go WAAAAAAAAA!” Harley says with the movie, laughing loudly. Marinette chuckles, passing Tikki a cookie in her purse before sticking another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. 

“I still like the first one more.” Selina says, taking a sip of her wine. Harley sticks her tongue out at her before turning her attention back to the movie. 

“Do you think Mia is secretly a superhero?” Marinette asks, frowning in thought. 

“What on earth are you talking about?” Ivy asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Even Harley pauses the movie to turn and stare at her. 

“Stan Lee.” Marinette says with a shrug. 

“Is that s’posed to mean something to me, kid? Cause I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” Harley says, obviously confused. Marinette huffs. 

“Stan Lee makes a cameo in this movie. And Stan Lee is the creator of Marvel, right? He’s made a cameo in like, every single Marvel movie. So is Mia secretly a superhero? Is that why he’s in the movie?” Marinette rambles, almost flinging ice cream at Selina as she gestures crazily. 

“Sweetie, how much sleep have you had in the past three days?” Selina asks after a few moments of silence. 

“Not important. Is Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldi, Princess of Genovia, also a superhero? Does she secretly work for SHIELD? Or is she more like Iron Man, like a freelance superhero? Was she a hero in San Francisco too? Or did she take over a hero's mantle when she moved to Genovia? Cause she was really clumsy in the first movie and also super awkward, but now she’s less clumsy and she seems to be more put together, but are heroes really put together? I don’t think so. I think sometimes heroes pretend that they’re put together to make everyone else feel better when in all reality they’re seconds away from a breakdown themselves. Is Stan Lee coming to recruit her for SHIELD? Is that why he’s in Genovia? Does SHIELD have any jurisdiction there? Is there a Genovian branch of SHIELD?” Marinette rambles, suddenly stuck on the topic. Seriously, why is Stan Lee in Princess Diaries 2 if Mia isn’t a hero? Why would he-

“Kitten, take a breath.” Selina says, her hands on Marinette’s shoulders helping her to ground herself. Marinette takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She blinks a few times, instantly feeling bad. 

“I’m so sorry.” She says, frowning. 

“What for?” Harley asks, looking confused. 

“For ruining girl’s night.” She says quietly. Selina pulls her into a tight hug and Marinette sinks into it. 

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin anything. I don’t know everything that’s going on. But what I do know, is that you rambling out a conspiracy theory about the movie we’re watching is not ruining girl’s night. Trust me. One time, we invited your brother Dick, and he ate all of the cookies by himself.” Selina says, Marinette snorts. Of course he did. “Now that’s a way to ruin girl’s night.” She adds, squeezing her once more before leaning back.

“Let's watch something that we can just get lost in and not have to think at all.” Ivy suggests, looking through the stack of dvd’s. Marinette glances over, eyes instantly catching one of her favorite movies. 

“Legally Blonde?” She suggests, Harley squeals. 

“That’s it, you’re officially ours. Brucie can fight me.” She says, putting in the dvd. Marinette laughs, laying her head on Selina’s shoulder, grabbing a handful of popcorn. She could get used to nights like these.

Next Chapter

Bonus chapter: Harley Vs Bruce

Drawing of Harley and Mari’s pajamas

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82 

[forever-rogue]

Gotta another idea for you (I think? Don't know if I already submitted this)

Anyway.

"Take it off . . . Or I will."

Maybe the oc/reader is wearing something sarcastically or mocking - a hat, t-shirt, or what have you. And oc/reader would respond with "Make me" and it ended up a wrestling match of a sort then make out session?

Ohhh, I enjoyed this and I hope you all do too ;)

The Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

He was supposed to be back within 3 days. 3 days.

It was going on 5. 5 kriffing days without your Mandalorian Tin Can.

Not you were worried. Sort of. Maybe. A little bit.

More so than anything else you were bored. Bored and stuck on the ship in the middle of nowhere. You couldn't even leave and go and anywhere. Luckily you had the small green bean with you but still.

You missed the grumpy, disgruntled Mandalorian. The kid was great and all but he even he was missing Din.

Part of you was wondering if he was doing on it on purpose, just to get a rise out of you. He'd done it before...just not, you know, for days.

Maker.

As much as you trusted him and knew be could handle himself, there was a tiny part of you that was worried. You hated the effect he had on you sometimes.

Normally you accompanied him on business, as his right hand...person. Friend? Partner? Lover? You'd never really put a label on your relationship, and sometimes it left you wondering. The line between just being work partners had become thinner and thinner over time and what had started off as a one time deal ended becoming a...very often type of deal.

You'd promised you wouldn't catch feelings. But that had happened a long time before your first night spent tangled up together. Not just for you, but for your Mandalorian too. The Mandalorian. Not yours. Just the.

But...kriff. Here you were. Missing him and worried about him. You'd get him back for that later. Now all you could do was wait for him to get back. You could go out and look for him, you supposed, but then you'd have to take the baby and you weren't about to subject him to anything dangerous if you didn't need to. And you had no clue what awaited you in the lawless land.

Instead you waited around. And waited. And waited. And cleaned the ship from top to bottom. Made some of the small repairs you spied. Made sure the weapons were pristine and properly stored away. You were tired - listless. But sleep wasn't going to come to you. It hadn't come in more than a few hours here and there since Din had left.

Instead you focused on your green bean, making sure he was bathed and had a full belly before trying to singing him softly to sleep. It took a while, but not long enough. Not long enough for Din to make a grand reappearance.

Once he was tucked safely into his pram for the night you found yourself wandering aimlessly. You sneaked into Din's quarters. Sneaked was a strong word; it wasn't like you weren't in there on a semi regular basis. But without him...it felt odd. Wrong even.

But you missed him, ached for him both mentally and physically. His presence was often the only thing that kept you feeling safe and sane.

Opening the door to the small space he called a wardrobe, small sigh escaped your lips at the familiar smell. No matter how often his clothes were washed, his scent always clung to them. It was comforting, reassuring in the times he was gone. Touching over some of the worn fabrics, you wondered what would happen if you happened to take a shirt and wear. It would only be for a little while...and you'd put it back before he came home. He wouldn't even notice.

So you pulled one of long sleeves out and quickly discarded your own shirt, opting to wear the Mandalorian's. Immediately you felt a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you. Maybe he wasn't there physically, but this was pretty close. It would do for now.

Eventually, despite the late hour, you were still wired. Maybe you shouldn't have had all that caf earlier, but it was too late to regret those decisions.

Instead you turned the holo-radio, playing some music softly as you danced around the hull of the Crest. It was a vain attempt to wear yourself out, and you were in nothing but Din's shirt and your underwear, totally engrossed in the music.

So engrossed that you didn't hear the ramp open or the purposely heavy footsteps of one Din Djarin.

Din chucked his gear onto one of the nearby crates, before deciding to wait and see how long it took for you to notice his presence.

While you didn't hear him, you could practically feel the gaze of his helmet burning holes into your back. When you finally turned to face him, his arms were crossed over his broad chest, his head tilted to the side. Kriff.

"D-Din! You're back," you almost stumbled over your own feet at you stared back at him. Your heart was fluttering as you tried to determine whether he was happy, angry, or...something. Your smile was flattering as you followed his gaze and realized he was staring at your chest, "oh! I didn't...think you were...coming back tonight."

"I said 3 days," his voice was rough and gritty, as tantalizing as it was when he was growling in your ear under the cover of dark while he was inside you. That alone was enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Its been 5," your resolve was already weakening as he took a step closer.

"Exactly," his intense gaze was already starting to make you weak in the knees, "you should have been expecting me anytime."

"I-I-I..." you backed up but soon hit the wall and found yourself trapped, "didn't..."

"Is that my shirt?" he tugged at the collar with his gloved hand as you swallowed thickly. The room was filled with nothing but pure tension, sexual tension, as you stared at him wordlessly. When you remained silent, he roughly, although not hard enough to do any lasting damage, grabbed your chin and turned your face up to meet his, "I asked you a question, sweet one. Is. That. My. Shirt?"

"Mhmm," you mumbled as you looked at with the widest and most innocent eyes possible.

"Take it off," he said sternly. If you didn't know him, didn't know about your relationship with him, you might have been scared. But you weren't. You knew right where this was going. You gave him a defiant little look before catching him off guard and ducking out from under his arm.

"No," you insisted, sticking out your tongue at him, just to rile him up a little bit, "what are you doing to, Big Bad Mandalorian?"

"Take it off," his voice was low and dangerous as he came back to you, "or I will."

"That doesn't sound much like a threat," you raised your arms up, letting the fabric ride up and expose some of your soft bare skin, "come and take it off then."

"You are such a brat sometimes," he sighed before slowly stripping off some of his armor.

"And what about it?" you teased as he came over and you started to dart out of his grasp. But it didn't take much for his long legs to catch up as he wrapped an arm around your waist, and quickly flipped off the lights, leaving the Crest in darkness.

"Such an easy catch," he snorted as you tried to squirm out of his grasp laughing as you wrestled him to floor. Of course, if he'd been trying at all, he'd never let you get the one up on him. But he easily acquiesced and let you pin him to the ground as you straddled his waist. His large hands made quick work of pulling off your, his, shirt and throwing it onto the floor.

"Maybe I wanted to be caught," you grinned at him, despite the darkness as his hands found purchase on your waist, "I was worried."

"About me?"

"Who else, Tin Can?" you as you leaned down, hands going to the sides of his helmet. When he didn't stop you, you slowly pulled it off and set it to the side, "you were gone for too long."

"Getting all soft on me?" his rich, warm voice was like music to your ears as you leaned down and kissed him, finding his lips warm and soft, "I was fine."

"I am not soft," you instead as you kissed every part of his face before going back to his lips. A hand went to the back of your neck as he held you tightly against him, his own kisses becoming more and more heated. You paused for a moment, running a hand through his mussed curls, "just don't be gone that long next time. Or tell me if you'll be longer, or send a message or something."

"Fine," he promised as he pulled off his gloves and stroked your cheek. You keened into his touch before going back to kissing him again, "softie."

"Shut up," you insisted weakly as you held onto him as tightly as possible, already feeling relieved that he was back and safe in your arms, "I know you missed me too."

"How so?"

"You always do," you insisted, "I can tell- the way you kiss me. Its different and I can feel it."

"And what about it?" he repeated lightly as you groaned your hips against his, "tell me what you need, sweet one."

"You, Din. I need you."

"And then you shall have it."

[kim-miyeon]

ONE

Pairings: Lee Felix x Female Reader

Genre: VictorianAU!

WARNINGS: 18+, marriage, adultery, (Warnings vary on chapter.)

Word Count: 4.1K

m.list | prologue | two

London, 1963

The sound of the magazine pages  flipping slowly and the static of the small radio playing “Sally Go ‘round the Roses” was all that could be made out in the moment as the two girls laid in the bed opposite each other. 

“I’m bored Susan!” Margaret moaned and threw a pillow at Susan’s head as Susan turned and scoffed. 

“Margaret quit it! You almost ruined my Beatles magazine!” Susan grabbed the pillow and threw it back to Margaret who huffed.

Susan returned to flipping through the magazine as Margaret began to stare at the ceiling, pondering on what activities the two teenage girls should do on their Tuesday afternoon.

It was the beginning of their winter festivities. School had been out for not only a few days but Margaret and Susan were inseparable. Having been best pals since birth, the two had spent many hours laughing and crying and being incredibly mischievous as well. Which brought Margaret to her brilliant idea.

“Let’s go to your grandmother’s library.” Margaret sat up quickly as Susan turned to her friend in disbelief.

“You must have gone mad.” Susan responded, in any manner but excited at the idea. “You know we are not allowed there.”

“And why not? Because it is your grandmother’s wing of the home? She will never know this house is so incredibly large, how would anyone know?” Margaret cocked her eyebrow and Susan bit her lip. 

A more luxurious life of those in the upper class. That’s the world that Susan was born in.  Born into a family that had wealth and status, Susan had been exposed to every part of luxury. She lived in a comfortable home and it was large enough to house many people, which her mother always utilized for their large gatherings. But she knew ever since she was young that her grandmother’s library was a place that she was not allowed in alone. Her grandmother cherished her collection of books and always wanted to preserve them. But as much as Susan wanted to say no, the seventeen years of curiosity of what lied behind the doors of her grandmother’s den could not hold her back. Especially being one who cherished books and fairytales, what could be behind those doors would lead Susan into a world she always dreamt of.

“Come on Susan, your mother is out and your grandmother is taking a nap, they won’t know!” Margaret persuaded and Susan groaned.

“Fine.” Susan threw her legs over the side of the bed as Margaret shot up 

Susan and Margaret walked down the hallways of the large home, cocking their necks at every turn to be sure no no one knew of their whereabouts. The home felt so empty with each passing corridor, and the tall windows had their curtains drawn to keep the winter air away. The two girls turned the corner of the hallway to enter Susan’s grandmother’s wing of the home. Almost immediately could one see the large Kona dark wooden doors that led to a world unknown. Susan halted in her tracks and Margaret looked back as she had stepped ahead. 

“Are you okay? Do you want to head back?” Margaret asked and Susan shook her head. Both girls could feel the error in their choices to be here.

“I am just nervous, my heart is pounding in my ears.” Susan laughed unconfidently and Margaret sighed, trying to stay with the plan.

“It is a library, not a death chamber.” Margaret grabbed on to Susan’s hand and pulled her friend towards the large dark stained wooden doors. As they approached the library, Margaret outstretched her hand to the door handle and pushed her hand down to open only to find a sturdy opposing force.

“It’s locked!” Margaret groaned and Susan looked at her friend who was upset about the failed mission. But then fear ran through her veins when she heard the sound of a far too familiar snicker behind her.

“Of course it’s locked, dear…” Susan and Margaret turned around to find the owner of the voice, “I wouldn’t leave my library open when I am not present. I may be old, but I am no fool.” 

“Grandmother!” Susan exclaimed nervously to the elder woman, “I thought you were taking your afternoon nap!”

“The universe has a funny way of working, doesn’t it girls?” Susan’s grandmother spoke and walked further to the girls, holding keys in her hand.

“We weren’t meaning to be sneaky Grandmother, we were only curious.” Margaret spoke and Susan’s grandmother chuckled.

“I suppose young girls' curiosities get the best of them.” Margaret watched as Susan’s grandmother took the key to the library and inserted it into the lock. “I suppose it is time to share a bit of my world with you.”

Susan and Margaret watched as Susan’s grandmother pushed open the door, and the enchantment of how beautiful the library was struck the two girls. A scale so grand and modern. Books high up and two levels that overlooked below where a small dark wooden desk sat. Loose paper scattered across the desk with dull pencils nearby. Susan thought about the many days and almost nights her grandmother spent in her library and what on earth she must be studying.

The three ladies walked further into the library and Margaret gasped in awe.

“It’s so beautiful here.” Margaret sighed and Grandmother began to chuckle. 

“It’s my life’s work in one place, a sacred thing. Something two mischievous girls should not be around.” Grandmother smiled at the girls who smiled back. 

As the women slowly stepped further into the room, Susan’s gaze never retracted from the busy desk. Her eyes locked in on a very rubbish looking journal that sat open. Margaret and Grandmother carried on their conversation as Susan drifted off to the desk. She rounded the edges and dragged her fingertips along the dusty wood. Tilting her head to look at the journal clearly she saw a damaged old photograph of a young boy. Susan reached out to grab the small photograph and bring it closer to her eyes. He was standing not too far from the camera, it was hard to see the background but one thing that was clear was his smile. He had a beautiful almost breathtaking smile, it stole Susan’s breath for a mere minute. His hair, laying across his face, made it unable to see his eyes. But Susan could tell he was a gorgeous man. 

“Grandmother,” Susan called out and looked at the photo one last time before she turned her attention to Margaret and her Grandmother, “who is this boy?”

“Oh.” Grandmother’s voice hinted of sadness when she saw the photo, “his name is Felix. A young lad from many years ago.”

Grandmother walked closer to Susan and Susan looked down at the journal that had been opened. 

“Was he your friend?” Susan asked as she scanned over the words that were written in the journal. 

Grandmother stood next to Susan and she sighed as Susan looked back at her grandmother.

“He was not.” 

“Then why do you have a photo of this boy? Who’s journal is this?” Susan carried on in her curious mind as her Grandmother began to sigh as Margaret walked over to Susan to look at the photo of the boy.

“Inviting you into this room comes with the responsibility of telling you stories of years far before you.”

“A love story?” Margaret asked simply and Susan looked at the journal that was lying on the desk. Tracing her fingers over it.

“The journal belonged to a young maiden, who lived in this very home years ago.”

“Tell us about her.” Susan reached over her grandmother’s hand and her grandmother sat in the chair at the desk as the two other girls sat on the floor staring up at Grandmother.

London, 1898

The streaks of the sun splashed on the skin, as you laughed. Picking your feet up and trying not to tumble in the large field as you two ran. Your vision, covered in the hues of green and yellow, matching the weeds on the ground and as you look down you saw a hand in yours. Gripping you in the most odd mixture of gentle and security, wanting you to be free and yet holding you near. His hand was the softest, skin almost an illusion for there were no imperfections. At the edge of his wrists sat the ruffles of his shirt, white and stained with dirt and sweat. You trailed your glass beaded eyes up the clothes arm that is pulling you into the fields. Once you came to the collar of his neck you admired the length of his blonde locks as they rested near his shoulder, blowing softly in the air. You heard his faint deep chuckle and he turned softly to the side to take a glimpse of you. You saw his eyes connect with yours, feeling the intense spark fuel you and almost stole your breath. If this was love, you never wanted anything less.

If this.. was..

The deep rich smell of smoke ran through your nostrils as you fluttered your eyes open to the small lit candle resting on your night stand. The sharp light of the morning sun struck the room as Adelaide, your maiden, drew the curtains for you.

“Good morning Milady” Adelaide spoke cheerfully as she pulled in the window to lock. You peeped at her and smiled as you rose up and yawned.

Your day typically always began at 7:30am. Adelaide was no stranger to being on time, especially during weeks like this. 

“Good morning Adelaide. How did you rest?” You asked as Adelaide grabbed a pitcher of water and walked over to your bedside where a large bowl had been placed. Rosemary leaves had been placed at the bottom and you watched Adelaide pour the hot water over, feeling the steam hit your face and sighed in pleasure.

“I rested well, thank you. Did you sleep well with everything going on?” 

Adelaide walked behind you and went to grab the toothbrush and can of homemade soap and sat it down near the bathing rack.

“I tried at least.” You mumbled as you watched Adelaide keep moving to finish her morning duties.

“It isn’t an easy week I suppose. I will go and fetch your cup of tea this morning while I let you freshen up on your own.” Adelaide smiled at you as she made her way out your door and you went back to freshen up.

You grabbed the towel and soaked in it the water as you felt the warmth of the water relax you. Squeezing the excess water off the towel, you pulled the sleeve of your undergarment and wiped the skin.

Adelaide’s reminder of what this week meant for you was excruciating. For the past five years you had known this day would eventually come, but you had always hoped that if you had believed hard enough, it would never come. Time could pause and you could live happily.

You grabbed your hair and bent down to lay it in the water as you coated your hair in the warm liquid. You heard Adelaide’s footsteps approaching the door and you squeezed the water off your hair. 

“Your mother is awake.”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance “Lovely. How does she seem?”

“Refreshed.” Adelaide shook her head in a sad way to you. 

You turned to her quickly, “Is it too late to run away? You wouldn’t say anything, would you?”

“You know I wouldn’t.” Adelaide grabbed your hands, squeezing them.

“Where to run is the issue.” You sighed and looked at yourself in the mirror. 

“Would you run to the states?”

“It would be fun. Imagine working and making my own money. Choosing my own life. Anything would be a more rewarding life than this. To be brought up to wed and bear children? To have a mind for everyone else besides your own?” You went on as you fumbled with your fingers as Adelaide began to help you stand to dress. Slipping your garments off as she helped you step into your gown.

“It’s the idea of feeling free, to do what I want, not what others want of me.” You continued as Adelaide turned you around and pulled the strings of your corset.

“To bear a day where I dress myself” You mumbled to yourself and Adelaide puked in the strings tighter making you yelp as she laughed.

“Are you stating that you do not want me to dress you?” She smiled and you sighed as she finished.

“It is your job to do so, but you were created for more do you not think?” You turned around to face Adelaide and she shrugged a bit.

“I suppose. I enjoy my job and I have a place to sleep and eat.” She softly said and you bit your lip in agreement.

“I will head down while I give you time to awake.” She smiled and began to head for the door.

“Thank you Adelaide.” You smiled as you turned to the mirror. 

“My lady” you heard Adelaide call out one more time.

“Yes? “

“I know this is a difficult week and things may not be the way you want them to, but know that I will always be by your side, as you are for me.” 

With that Adelaide left you to be alone in the room. Her words made you sad and yet filled with content. Marriage wasn’t a plan you had set yourself up for. It wasn’t something you wanted. You craved the feeling of being loved by someone not because of status and wealth, but because they say you and all your flaws. But you held a responsibility as the eldest, as your father’s daughter, to do what is necessary for the family and for your country.

But your mind drifted back to your dream. The boy. A man so unfamiliar but you felt as if you’d known him for years. Your heart ached feeling like you had fallen for an image of a man, created by your mind. But it felt real, he felt so real to you. 

A knock at the door brought you back to reality as you cleared your throat. “Come in!”

“Milady, your mother is requesting you for breakfast.” Adelaide peeked in as you looked at her and nodded in understanding.

As the door shut you turned to the mirror and took a deep breath in.

“Be strong, Y/N.” 

The halls of the home were long and made one weary as they strolled down. Your heart panicked with the unwanted anticipation that waited beyond the doors to the dining room. You could smell the aroma of the feast that called for you, already knowing that your mother has planned a rather larger gathering than you were expecting. Closer and closer as you approached you heard the laughter of people you knew the sounds of and once you reached the door that was guarded by your family's security men, you saw the faces of those you wished to not see.

“OH! My darling! The bride to be, you look marvelous this morning! Just GLOWING!” Your mother exclaimed and wrapped her arms around you squeezing you tightly in a hug. 

“Good..morning.. mama..” you tried to choked out as you were wrapped in her tight embrace. She pulled back and tidied up your dress and hair. 

“Beautiful as ever.” She smiled and you half smiled back before you noticed your father and your future in laws chatting a bit behind.

“Father, Sir Thomas and Mrs. Thomas, what a lovely surprise. I was not aware you would be joining us this morning.” You courtesy politely to them.

“Oh dear please, call me Lois.” Mrs. Thomas outstretched her hand to you, waving to tell you to stop your courtesy. You lifted your gaze to your future in laws and then to your father who was smiling at you in a sense of pride.

“I wasn’t aware you’d be back to join us this week, sir.” You quaked our to your father who smiled.

“I couldn’t miss my daughter’s wedding. Sir Thomas and I came back for the engagement ball tonight and the ceremony this weekend.” Your father spoke as he turned to his elder and you smiled softly in understanding.

This marriage wasn’t for you. It was for them. To raise your father’s rank by providing a woman to wed the son of the Field Marshall. An eligible bachelor that many women would have died for and yet you have known him your whole life. This arrangement has been in motion your whole life. 

“Is Gregory here?” You asked in more of a trembling tone. Mrs. Thomas chuckled a bit.

“Oh she’s nervous. Yes dear, he should be back soon.”

You mentally rolled your eyes as you had a keen feeling where your loving fiancé could be. You smiled and pulled a chair from the dining room table. 

“Please sit, Lois.” You offered as Mrs. Thomas sat.

You walked over to your mother where you reached out to grab a chair and one of the servant lads grabbed it before you.

“Here, Milady.” The man said and you looked at him and smiled. 

“Thank you James.” You whispered as he smiled softly to you, his dark hair falling towards his face. Sitting down you watched as the servant lads went to through the kitchen doors to grab the meal for the morning.

You knew it wasn’t normal for the young lady in the house to know the names of all you served, but you did. You never looked at the workers as being below you, they were people who deserved respect. So you treated them as such, like a friend. Like Adelaide, who is only a ladies maid but she is your closest friend.

You heard the sound of a child laughing running to the dining room as you saw your mother exhale frustratingly. Soon the young girl ran into the dining room, hair a mess and her dress not tightened. Barely had her shoe in her foot with a stocking while the other foot was bare. You giggled to yourself as the young girl ran past your mother who tried to fetch her and you heard Adelaide’s voice from afar.

“Clarissa!” 

Clarissa halted in front of you and you smiled at her, “Good morning y/n!” 

You embraced your young sister and kissed the top of her head as she pulled back and you noticed Adelaide had entered the kitchen standing next to your mother who was fuming.

“Now Clarissa, what did I tell you about your morning routine?” You started and Clarissa sighed and looked down at her feet.

“To respect Ms. Adelaide’s request and help.” Clarissa mumbled and you smiled gracefully.

“That is correct, now run along back to your room to finish your routine so that way you can join us for breakfast.” You ruffled her hair a bit as she looked up at you in admiration, smiling before turning back to Adelaide and retreating to her room.

“AND she’s good with children, oh dear, imagine.” Ms Thomas exclaimed to her husband implying a future where you would bear her grandchildren. You smiled most uncomfortably at the thought.

“Oh Gregory is here!” Your head snapped to the left side of the room as you spotted the man who you had to wed in a weeks time. His skin was flushed but glowed at the same time as you noticed his hair was a tad bit ruffed up. He wore his military uniform and presented himself in a poised matter. He was attractive, you could not betray that your eyes enjoyed the sight of him. But his heart was not as beautiful. You knew where his intentions were and were completely aware that they had been four inches deep in another woman just now. 

“I hope I am not late,” Gregory began as he turned to you and played his act most perfectly, “how honored am I to have the most beautiful fiancé,” 

Gregory spoke as he walked towards you and you stood from your chair to greet the man as he rushed quickly. “No need to stand my love, you have all waited long enough,”  he turned his attention to a servant lad, “Boy! Bring us the food at once!” 

Gregory sat next to you as you watched him. The smell of sweat and perfume reeked off his hair and neck and it made you boil with disgust. He looked at you for a moment and smiled. His orbs shined a sinful mixture of blue and grey as his dark strands of hair laid on his head miraculously well. He was a painted god, a devil in disguise as you knew. 

“You look beautiful.” He whispered close before placing a burning kiss to your cheek and you smiled at him.

The background noise of your elders conversing and the aromas of the food being brought out caught your attention. You took hold of the glass of water that sat across you as you took a sip from it. You felt the presence of a servant lad behind you as he placed your plate in front of you. You swallowed the water as you looked up to the boy and smiled.

“Thank you Langston. Do you mind grabbing a simpler plate for Clarissa as well? Oh! And some juice instead of tea?” You requested and the servant lad smiled and nodded.

“Will do Milady.” He said as he retreated back to the kitchen. 

You looked down at the plate, loaded with eggs, beans, ham, bacon, fish, and bread. There were sweeter treats placed in the middle of the table for all to share. This was typical, this meal was typical. You knew that there were less fortunate people in the country and you were living in a world full of the rich and selfish. 

That’s why you cared for the workers here. You saw the world differently than your family. You didn’t want life to be handed to you but rather felt pride when you worked hard for the things you wanted. That’s why this marriage was something you loathed. Gregory’s status and your father’s would blossom. More money, more luxurious parties, more of everything. The price to pay was your hand. You knew it wasn’t uncommon for some women to wed a man they do not love. But you wanted to fall in love. Something Gregory could not provide you.

You came from your thoughts when you heard the sound of Clarissa’s heeled shoes running towards the room once more. She was in a much better state than before and she hurried next to you as you and a servant lad helped her into her seat.

“Thank you Harry, but I can handle it from here!” Clarissa stated as a matter of fact and you giggled looking up at Harry who laughed a bit. 

“I can’t believe you all started eating without me!” Clarissa exclaimed at you crossing her arms.

“I had to request that the kitchen make you something special! I haven’t started eating quite yet.” You leaned to her and she smiled as she rolled her eyes. Before the both of you knew it, you saw a small hand with a plate of food placed in front of Clarissa with a side of freshly squeezed orange juice. 

“Here you are milady.” 

The voice of the lad hit a nerve in you that rushed your blood cold and skin so hot.. It was a deep, husky, charming voice. Something that could scare you but in a stranger way made you feel safe. Clarissa smiled at the boy and you took the opportunity to look up at him to thank him. But your eyes were met in a sudden pause to reality. 

Hair a soft pale blonde, skin soft to the look and to be more when touched. All you could see was the side of his face as he retreated away. Much like the dream this morning. Much like the boy you saw in your mind. 

Your heart beat was pounding in your ears as you fell completely in awe as the boy retreated back into the kitchen. You didn’t know him and you knew everyone in this home. Was he real? Was that the boy? Is your mind playing tricks on you? All you knew was that your body felt on fire, but your heart was aching. Who was that boy?

“Y/N!”

Your mind snapped back to where you were again, and all eyes on the table were on you. You looked at your mother who had called your name.

“Y-Yes?” 

“Love, are you alright? You look like you have seen a ghost?” Your mother exclaimed and you inhaled deeply to yourself remembering what you just witnessed and felt and you thought to yourself.

I might have just did.

Taglist: @exonations @sunshine-lixie @beaann  @yumi-xox​

Author’s Note: Hello everyone, after a much needed hiatus I have returned with my second series! I know I am posting on a Friday but I will be posting on Thursdays as usual!  Also THANK YOU for 400+ Followers!!! I am genuinely shocked by the love I have received from all of you! I am so excited for our new journey together and I can't wait to read your responses!! With love- KMY

UPDATE: Postings will now be on Fridays due to my schedule now! Thank you❤️

[jordanstrophe]

A Cinnamon Bun too Pure for this World, part 4

The Dough is Rising~ A flashback

CW: Whump, loss of parents implied, abusive family member, multiple stabbing, hand whump, heist and robbery implied, conditioned whumpee, locked in a closet and Nathen destroying all of Cin’s hope and dreams. 

Masterlist

*flashback chapter with Nathen* 

Cin sat gripping the chair legs with his head down, tears dripped down his face into his lap.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” A woman said. He didn’t respond, he just watched the pool of tears in his jeans grow larger and larger with every drip. 

“It says here you don’t have any surviving immediate relatives. You’re 16, so...” She trailed off. A man quickly approached, whispering to her. She immediately perked up as she clapped her hands in front of her face, making Cin flinch.

“Wonderful news! It seems you have a very distant uncle-in-law! They’ll be informed of the car crash and we’ll let them know about your circumstance.” She said.

‘I have an uncle?’ Cin thought to himself. He never had any other family aside from his parents. A glimmer of hope washed over him.

-

Cin nervously stood by the social worker by the doorway. She was a very nice lady, he practically glued himself to her side like a lost duckling. He almost fell asleep against her hip until he heard a car pull up. He instantly perked up, watching a tall man with messy dark hair, a black leather jacket and ragged jeans climb from his car. The man glanced over at him, eyeing him up and down. Cin’s gut told him there was something wrong, but he shooed the feelings away. This man was nice enough to take him in! He must be sooo kind! Especially since they weren’t *technically* related...

Cin gave him a small smile and a wave when he approached. His eyes darted down to him, as he smiled back! He crouched until he was level with him.

“Hi there, you must be Cin. I’m Nathen” He gave him a warm smile.

-

“What do you mean I’m not going to school?” Cin asked, almost panicked. 

“Homeschool Cin. You’re still doing school.” He sighed.

“Then who’s going to teach me?” He cocked his head to the side.

“I am, silly.” Nathen shook his head. 

Cin just assumed he knew best. He had moved to another state, he had lost his family, and now his friends. But at least he had Nathen! He just got very lonely sometimes. Nathen started working, disappearing for days, but he would always show up with food and clothes for him. He never talked about his work and when Cin asked he would get defensive, sometimes angry, so Cin just decided to be quiet. He would keep the house clean and cook whatever he brought home.

-

“Nathen!” Cin called excitedly. He twirled around while holding something behind his back. “What.” Nathen mumbled under his breath, eyes glued to a computer screen he always kept tilted away.

“I found something I’m interested in!” He beamed, pulling out a pamphlet behind his back and proudly showing it to him.

“That’s nice.” He mumbled.

“You’re not even looking.” He waved the pamphlet to try and mimic those noodle mascots he saw across the street.

Nathen sighed as he pushed his glasses up, squinting. “College?” He raised an eyebrow. Cin nodded his head enthusiastically. “It’s a really nice college! It’s affordable, and it has a social worker degree!” 

Nathen laughed. He laughed and laughed until he was wiping tears from his eyes. “College? Social worker? Why are you thinking about that stuff?”

“Because I’m 18 now! I just thought-” “-You thought what? I could afford college for you? I’m already working hard enough to keep you fed and taken care of.”

“But I-... I can get a job! I can help!” He pleaded. Nathen opened his mouth to shut him down, but paused. His eyes darted from him, to the computer as a smirk spread across his face.

“Alright. You can get a job.” He shrugged.

“Really! Thank you thank you thank you-!”  “-But! You’ll be working with me and my group. It’ll be easy, even someone like you could do it.” He smirked. Cin beamed even more with those words. He wouldn’t be lonely anymore! And he got to work with his wonderful guardian! This would be the best job ever!

-

“Cin, this is Charlotte and Jackson.” Nathen introduced. 

“Nathen! Why didn’t you tell me he was adorable?!” Charlotte shrieked, pinching Cin’s cheeks with her long sharp black nails. The touch wasn’t comforting in the slightest, but he was enjoying the attention. 

“Aren’t you just as cute as a button! Nathen, we could use him as a distraction instead! I know, I’m a fine distraction, but why don’t we let the new kid in?” She smiled, flipping her long dark hair dramatically. 

“Cin needs an easy job, he’s terrible at socializing.” He scoffed. Cin blushed, It wasn’t his fault he never left the house. He used to try and get out a lot, but Nathen would give him a slap on the wrist and drag him back home every time.

“Besides, wouldn’t want him to take your spotlight.” He smirked. “What are we doing?” Cin asked. The group grew painfully silent.

“You didn’t even tell him?” James spat. 

“He doesn’t need to know, he has the easy job, remember?” They fell silent again. “If the kid talks, I’m ratting you all out.” He shook his head. “He’s not going to rat us out! He’s going to do whatever I tell him.” Nathen cranked his head to face Cin, his eyes burning with a twisted expression. “Right?”

“Right!” Cin squeaked. He had no idea what was going on, but he would be useful! Just watch him. Nathen stuffed a radio and a keycard in his hands and walked him over to a backdoor of an odd looking shop. 

“When you hear my voice on the radio, you’re going to swipe the card right there and open the door, mmkay?” He asked.

“Mmkay!.... Wait, is that it?”

“Yep! That’s allll you have to do. You can’t mess it up.” He smiled. The group quickly disappeared as Cin was left standing alone by the door. He held the radio in both hands staring at it waiting for the order. 

Five minutes passed.

Ten minutes passed.

Thirty minutes passed.

Cin was still staring intensely at the radio. By the hour, he had slumped against the door, lightly tapping his head against it barely clutching the radio in his fingertips. Where were they? Did they forget about him? 

The radio crackled as Cin jumped, losing his grip on the radio as he juggled it in the air a bit.

“OPEN THE DOOR! *Crackle* DO IT NOW!” He heard Nathen bark. Cin stared at the radio with fascination before snapping out of it, swiping the card. He dug his heels in the gravel as he heaved the door open as out bolted Nathen and James carrying two bags over their shoulder.

“Let’s go let’s go! Move it!” He shouted, grabbing Cin’s arm and dragging him along. Cin had no idea what was going on, but he happily ran behind Nathen like they were playing some fun game. James slammed the door open as they tossed the bags in, Nathen grabbed Cin’s arm and pushed him in as they hit the gas.

“Wait! Where’s Charlotte!?” James called, looking back.

“We don’t have time, hit it!”

“We can’t just leave her! What if she got caught!”

“Then she gets caught! That’s on her!” 

Cin stayed silent as he sat on the floor of the van. “Did… Did I do good?” He asked with desperation in his voice. All he wanted was a hint of approval from someone. Nathen looked back as his hand ruffled his hair. “Yeah, you did good.” He smiled. Cin beamed with pure joy. He had no idea what happened, or what he even did, but it made Nathen happy, so Cin was too.

Time went on and Nathen asked him to do similar things. Open this door, press this button, call us on the radio if you see anyone, small innocent things. Each time they would return with something, bags, a box or expensive looking things. Cin never questioned anything, because it was Nathen; the person he relied on. 

They person he was nothing without.

-Years passed. Cin was 21 now.

“You said if I helped out you would let me go to college! Please, I really want to go!” He begged. Nathen was twisted with rage, he had no energy nor patience to put up with him today.

“I’m so sick and tired of you filling my ears with college trash! You’re helping us, Cin. We can’t do the big jobs without you! After all I’ve done for you, this is the least you can do to pay me back!” He hissed. Cin groaned with frustration as he bolted from the room, slamming the door behind him as he ran down the street. Nathen didn’t even try to stop him, he knew he would be back. Where would he even go? He had nothing without him.

It started raining, Cin held his arms as he walked cringing down the sidewalk as the cold rain showered. He stopped when he saw a bus stop with a man in ragged clothes huddled under the overhang. They both looked at each other, both looking rather lost. The man had messy hair and a long grey beard, dressed in torn clothes with a bag at his feet filled with random things. 

“Are you okay?” Cin asked, sniffling.

“Pff, I should be asking you that.” The man said. Cin realized half the liquid on his face was tears as he quickly wiped his face. 

The man slid to the side of the bench, making room for him as Cin nervously sat next to him.

“What’s bothering you?” The man asked.

“I… Nathen told me I’m not allowed to talk to strangers…” Cin muttered.

“Not allowed? You look like an adult to me. Although I will say, this is some solid advice from this Nathen boy.” The man chuckled. “I’m David, there, I’m not a stranger anymore.” He smiled. “Cin.” He smiled back. 

“I just… I really wanted to go to college. My guardian won’t let me go, even thought I worked for it! I don’t understand why.” He murmured. The man’s eyes fell sad as he sighed.

“I’m sorry to hear that young man. But if you worked your fair share, you have every right to get a little demanding.” He chuckled. “Hmm? Demanding?’” Cin asked. “Yeah! Put your foot down! Tell him, ‘I worked hard, and I deserve it!” 

Cin gasped as he held his hands over his mouth. “I’m allowed to say that!?” He gasped. “Of course you can! You’re an adult! You get to make decisions for yourself.” He smiled. Cin’s eyes darted to the ground as if he had just made a realization. “I can… Make decisions? For myself?”  

“That’s right!” He smiled. 

“I never realized I could do that!” He gasped, his mind running wild. “What about you? Why are you sad?” He asked. 

“Bah, don’t worry about an old man like me.” He waved.

“No! That’s not fair! It’s your turn now!” He demanded. “Alright! Alright.” He chuckled, raising his hands in defeat. “You’re getting good at this demanding thing, I’ll give you that.” He smiled.  “I lost my home last year. There was a job offer today and I cleaned myself up as best as I could and shot my shot! Well, I didn’t get the job and I guess I’m a little down about it.” He sighed, slumping down on the bench. 

“You’re homeless? Then how do you live? Where do you eat?” He asked. He couldn’t quite fathom his lifestyle. 

“I don’t some nights.” He sighed. Cin’s face went pale. “Did you get something today?” He asked. “.. Yes.” He coughed. 

“Hmmm? Are you suuure?” Cin eyed. The man laughed as he crossed his arms with guilt. “Wait here!” Cin ordered. The man froze awkwardly as he watched Cin bolting off into a nearby store. He returned a couple minutes later with a bag in hand, filled with a stash of fresh food. Nathen had given him a couple of pocket change just to satisfy him for a little bit, but he never got a chance to spend it.

“No, sweetie, you need to save that for your education.”

“No! I insist. Hearing your story made me appreciate what I have more! I’ll be fine regardless if I give this to you or not. But it’ll mean a lot to you, won’t it?” He smiled. 

The man stared at him for a moment before smiling, accepting the gift. “You’re a very kind young man. Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you.” 

Cin giggled before starting to run off. “Thank you for the advice! I think I’m going to take it!” He waved behind his shoulder as he sprinted home with a wave of confidence. 

He burst through the door, dripping wet as he announced “I worked hard, and I deserve it!” He shouted.

“Huh?” Nathen asked, closing the laptop. 

“I-... I worked hard…” He trailed off. “And I deserve it, right? The college…” His confidence was slowly killed as Nathen rose to his height. “Where did you get those words from? Inspirational quotes from a car bumper?’” He scoffed. “N-no. A nice man.” He muttered.

“A nice what?” His eyes grew wide. “Cin! I told you you’re not allowed to talk to anyone!” He shouted. “But he was nice! And he was also right. I can’t stay here forever Nathen! I appreciate everything you did for me, but It’s time I… I made a decision for myself, and this is it.” He muttered.

“Oh, so the pup grew some fangs, hmm? That’s something I never expected.” He taunted. He draped himself into a chair, crossing his arms and legs. “I’ll tell you what, Cin. You help us with one more job, and you can go.” He said.

Cin’s eyes lit up like stars as he jumped up and down “Thank you thank you thank you!” He cheered. Nathen just sat thinking to himself with a twisted smile creeping across his face.

-

“You wanna what now?” Charlotte gasped. “Listen here, I got arrested last time because I was the distraction. We had to lose some of that money we stole to bail me out! You’re so lucky I didn’t rat you all out.” She crossed her arms.

“Yeah yeah, you won’t be the distraction this time. Cin is.” Nathen smirked.

“What? Nathen, he’ll get caught for sure.. “-No no! He’ll be fine. I got a plan.” 

Cin looked nervous, twisting his fingers as Nathen stood him next to a tree outside an expensive looking shop. “Nathen? I don’t understand, what are we even doing?” Cin murmured.  “Oh come now, don’t be shy! You’re just a distraction, so be you’re cute little helpless self, mmkay?” He smiled.

“Wha-...”

Nathen pulled out a pocket knife, placing the back of Cin’s hand to the tree as he jabbed the knife all the way through, pinning him to the tree. James' eyes went wide, Charlotte gasped, Nathen smiled, as Cin screamed…

Blood fell down his arm dripping off his elbow as he was stuck frozen in shock. His breathing spiked as he couldn’t stop screaming. The pressure and sharp pain imbedded into his hand pulsing with every twitch and quiver. 

He blinked his eyes open to see he was alone, the sound of pounding footsteps approaching as a man dressed in uniform ran up to him.

“Hey! Are you-” His voice cut off at the sight of the knife pinning the man to the tree. Cin was hyperventilating as he tried to control his shaking. The man called an ambulance and soon, there was a small crowd of people who worked in the store trying to help keep him calm. 

“How did this happen?” Someone asked.

Cin tried to answer, but he couldn’t find the words. His mind was bewildered into terror and confusion. In the end, he never spoke a word. An ambulance came as they carefully removed the knife, giving him a towel to put pressure on the wound. Nathen miraculously appeared with a terrified expression.

“CIN! I’ve been looking everywhere for you! What happened?” Nathen gasped, grabbing his shoulders. Before he could try to choke out a word, Nathen was already speaking over him talking to the paramedics.

“Thank you so much for helping him! He’s my little baby nephew, he ran off on me and I’ve been looking everywhere worried sick!” He cried. Cin fell silent with wide blank eyes. Nathen assured he didn’t need the ambulance, he was going to drive him to the hospital himself, because he must be so scared. A doctor said to contact the police as soon as he arrived at the hospital, as Nathen assured them he would.

Instead, he drove him home. Countless bags were filling the bag seat of the car that weren't there before. Cin was then dragged home by his arm and thrown onto the floor sobbing. 

‘W-why!! Why did y-you do that?” He sobbed, clutching his bleeding hand. 

“Because, it was for your own good. Cin, just look at you.” He said, crouching down as he tried to crawl away. “But y-you did s-so much to me!” He shouted.

Nathen took his chin as he forced him to look up, thumbing away a tear. “For you. I did so much for you, Cin. Why can’t you see that? You were sick, sick with all these fantasies about leaving. You really think you can make it out there? All by yourself? Without me? I’m the only one who ever loved you, who took care of you. You owe me everything.” He hissed, taking his hand. “And now?” He muttered, pulling out a knife. In a second, he was on top of him pinning his hand to the floor. Nathen used one knee to pin his chest, another pinning his right hand, with his free hand holding his wrists to the floor over his head.

“And now, I can do…” He muttered, plunging the knife into his palm next to the first cut. 

“Whatever” 

Stab 

“I like to you.”

 Stab 

He drove the knife into his left palm over and over again. Cin cried and begged the entire time with barely any air left in his lungs, squirming to try and elude his attacks. Blood fell into the cracks of the floorboards beneath them, eventually, Cin was lying motionlessly on the floor. Four, inch long marks were through his hand as he was dragged over to the closet and thrown in. 

“There’s nothing you can do to pay me back, Cin. So you can stay right here where you belong and bleed until you become a grateful little brat.” He spat, slamming the closet door.

Cin collapsed his back against the wall clutching his hand. He was left to twitch and whimper the entire night until he learned to be grateful to who he was indebted to… Until he learned his place. 

He was… The only one…. Who cared about him… After all.

“Cin?” Richard asked, sliding the closet door open. Cin was on the floor nicely tucked into the corner with his hair pressed against the wall. 

“Are you okay?” He asked. Cin’s left hand was twitching with phantom pain as he silently nodded his head. “Why are you  in here?” He asked. 

Cin’s eyes darted around a little bit. “It’s comfortable here...” He quietly murmured. 

“It’s comfortable out here too though. Don’t you want to rest on the bed?” He asked. Cin glanced up at him with a skeptical look, tilting his head to the side. “I’m... I’m fine here...” Richard stared down with a concerned expression. Cin looked at him like he was expecting praise for stuffing himself in the closet. 

Richard crawled into the closet and sat next to him, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes so he could make eye contact. “Were you thinking about him?” Richard asked. Cin guiltily nodded, pressing his nose into the corner in an attempt to hide. “No no, it’s alright. He can’t hurt you anymore, okay?” Richard soothed. He didn’t understand where Cin went mentally when he was like this, stuck in his conditioned responses when he got scared or confused. 

Which unfortunately, was all the time. 

His left hand would twitch when he would respond with his conditioning. Hiding in the closet was apparently a response when he was scared. Richard was slowly picking up on things that were triggers as he would try to avoid them, but they were difficult to root out. 

“Why don’t we get comfortable on the couch and watch a movie with popcorn?” Richard asked. He peeked an eye out at the mention of popcorn. After much reassurance and comfort, Cin eventually found himself on the couch with a big bowl of popcorn in his lap with a small smile.

@milk-carton-whump @whumpasaurus101  @sillypizzazineoperator @as-a-matter-of-whump @alien-octopus @unicornscotty  @yesthisiswhump

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ  Thank you for reading!

[refinedbuffoonery]

Looking Through A Window (2)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Oh man. My dudes. I received so much love and support and excited feedback on the first chapter that I thought my heart was going to explode. Y’all are so wonderful. Keep it up. <3

*****

Luckily, Matty lets them take the Phoenix jet to Houston. Flying commercial would make today even more tortuous than it already promises to be, albeit for a different reason. 

No matter how hard he tries to distract himself, Mac cannot stop staring at the diamond ring on Riley’s finger. The princess cut gem is stunning and ridiculously large, but it suits her cover as a lucrative arms dealer. A white gold wedding band sits below it. Riley left her usual assortment of rings at home, and Mac can’t help but think her long, delicate fingers look bare without them. 

He tears his eyes away from the rings again and again, both on the plane and while driving to the safe house. Riley drives with just her left hand, her right elbow resting on the center console. Mac likes driving, but there’s something relaxing about riding shotgun while Riley drives instead. He’s never been able to put a finger on it, but the sense of ease washes over him all the same. Admiring the way sunlight illuminates her engagement ring is simply a bonus. 

He doesn’t let himself imagine what he might give her, in an alternate future where she reciprocates his feelings and one day wants to marry him. 

Harley obediently lays in the backseat, staring out the windshield. She's been on her best behavior the entire twenty four hours Mac's known her, ever the professional. 

Which puts her completely at odds with Mac and Riley's shenanigans—cracking jokes, dancing on the plane and in the car, doing purposefully bad impersonations of Russ. These are the best parts of going on ops alone with Riley. They can let loose in a way they just couldn’t when anyone else other than Bozer was around. Everyone else is professional all the time; Mac and Riley are only professional when they have to be. 

Riley taps the steering wheel in time to the classic rock song on the radio. “What do you want for dinner?” 

“Dinner? We haven’t even had lunch yet!” 

“True.” Riley chuckles. “Can you tell I’m hungry?” 

Mac gives her a sly look. “Not at all.” 

They settle on Texas barbecue for lunch on their way to the safe house, because that’s what Jack would choose if he was here. If only the old man could see them now, all grown up and getting sent to take down terrorists unsupervised. 

Seated in a booth in the far corner of the restaurant, Mac raises his brisket sandwich in a toast to Jack, in whatever afterlife he found himself in. Hopefully it’s the one with an endless supply of good barbecue. 

“Oh man, Jack would’ve loved this,” Riley says through a mouthful of food. She sneaks Harley a piece of brisket. 

Mac smiles. “Yeah, he would’ve.” 

It’s easier, now, to talk about him. At first, Mac hadn’t been sure he could ever get to a point where talking about Jack didn’t make him want to hit something or just curl up and sob. 

But here he is, on the other side. Him and Riley both. 

Their safe house is another twenty minutes away from the restaurant, in a nice neighborhood full of trees and children playing on the sidewalks. It’s so much greener than a California neighborhood could ever dream of being. There’s even a park across the street from their apartment complex. It’s exactly the sort of place a young, affluent couple would want to live. 

Riley parks in their designated space, and the pair ascend the stairs to apartment number 202. Outside of the car, they don’t dare use each other’s real names until they’re sure the apartment is free of bugs. The place was furnished earlier that week by other Phoenix agents, but Mac and Riley do a thorough sweep of every room just in case. 

It’s a nice apartment. Wood flooring, granite countertops, matching cabinets throughout. There are pictures on the walls, but Mac doesn’t bother to stop and check what they are. 

Riley clears the space from back to front, so Mac does the opposite. He clears the kitchen first, frowning at the absence of any sort of food, before moving on to the living room. 

Mac stops dead in his tracks when he enters the bedroom. The singular bedroom. With a singular, queen-sized bed. 

Oh no. This is not happening. 

Mac shakes his head and rubs his eyes, hoping his mind is just playing tricks on him and that there’s actually two beds. Or a whole other room he missed before. 

The one and only bed seems to mock him. 

He walks back out, finding Riley already sitting at the kitchen table, turning on her laptop. “Uhh, Riles? There’s only—”

“One bed,” she finishes, not bothering to look up. “I know.” 

Oh god. He can’t do this. He can’t. Not with his dignity still intact. Mac stammers, “I’ll, uhh, sleep on the couch. You can have it.”

That gets Riley’s attention. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re going to be here for weeks. You’ll hurt your back sleeping on the couch that long. Just sleep with me.” Riley’s eyes widen as she realizes what she just said. “In the bed,” she quickly adds. 

Mac ducks his head to hide his blush. 

“What are you working on?” he asks in a feeble attempt to distract himself from their sleeping situation. Because it will definitely be a situation if Mac’s not careful. 

“Connecting to the Wi-Fi,” Riley says in a slow, “What else would I be doing?” sort of way. 

“Right.” Mac silently curses himself. Of course that’s what she’s doing. “Anyway, I’m assuming you already know this, since you probably opened the fridge too, but we have no food.” 

“I saw.” She’s multitasking again, manicured fingers flying faster across her keyboard than Mac can keep track of. “Why don’t you unload our bags while I finish this, and then we can go.” 

Unable to help feeling like he’s been dismissed, Mac complies without protest. 

Soon they’re back in the car, headed to the grocery store, and the whole thing feels ridiculously domestic. Mac’s never been a fan of grocery shopping, but Riley makes it almost...fun. For starters, she’s not methodical about it the way Bozer and Desi are. But more than that, getting to spend time with her doing mundane, non-work stuff is a nice reminder that their relationship is more than just the job. They’re friends too. 

Mac wishes there is a way to tell her all that without it sounding weird. 

They come home, unload the groceries, and take Harley for a long walk, and that feels easy too. It feels normal, even though literally nothing about this situation is normal, and Mac already knows he’ll miss this when the op is over. 

But normalcy ends when Riley beckons Mac to sit beside her at the kitchen table, and together they write an advertisement for their arms dealing business. Once they’re satisfied with it, Riley sends it off into the dark web, and there’s nothing to do but wait, like a spider after spinning her web. 

The waiting is the worst part. 

Mac is contemplating taking Harley for a second walk when Riley asks, “Want to help me make dinner?” He takes one look at her hands on her hips and the “you don’t actually have a choice” look on her face and knows he’ll be left to fend for himself if he doesn’t help now. Mac learned that the hard way back when he and Riley lived together. 

“Sure.” 

They work in comfortable silence. Mac chops vegetables and grates cheese for their quesadillas while Riley does the actual cooking part. Even though they are doing separate tasks, Mac is acutely aware of every move Riley makes, no matter how insignificant. Flexing her long, thin fingers around a knife. Itching the back of her calf with her foot. Dancing in place, spatula in hand, while she waits to flip the quesadillas sizzling in the pan. 

Mac smiles softly. Her random little dances are cute. He’s noticed them more and more since realizing he has feelings for her, but if Mac is being honest, he’s always thought the dances are cute. 

Riley hisses as she peeks under the tortilla, checking to see if it’s browned yet. 

“You good?” Mac asks, frowning. 

“Yeah, I touched the pan by accident.” Riley runs her thumb under cold water. 

Her laptop dings while they eat. Wide-eyed, Mac glances at Riley. That was fast. She grimaces before sliding the laptop closer and checking the notification. 

“Is it them?” he asks tentatively. That’s the hard part about this; in order for their business to look more legit, they had to just put an ad out and hope for a response, rather than target the terrorist organization directly. 

Riley exhales. “No, it’s not them. It’s someone else.” 

Swallowing another bite of quesadilla, Mac says, “I don’t know whether I’m relieved or if that’s worse.” 

“Same.” 

There are no more responses that night.

*****

Mac wakes up in the same position he fell asleep in—on his side, facing outward, with as much space between him and Riley as possible. When they crawled into bed the night before, Riley did the same. 

Harley spent the night on the couch. 

She’s a very guarded dog, Mac is slowly realizing. Tolerating, but not trusting. Mac supposes he would be like that too if he was a dog and he got stuck with a bunch of strangers after his human suddenly disappeared one day. 

He makes coffee, feeds Harley breakfast, and takes a shower, all before Riley loses her battle with the snooze button and finally gets out of bed. While she showers, Mac takes Harley for a walk in hopes that the cool, spring air will ease the anxiety that took root the moment Riley released their ad into the void. 

It doesn’t. 

Dark, puffy clouds loom on the horizon, and the few birds Mac hears shriek at each other in warning. It looks like a storm is coming. 

When Mac returns, he’s met with a grim expression, one he understands without Riley uttering a single word. “They answered,” she confirms. 

“What did they say?” Unclipping Harley’s leash, Mac moves to stand behind Riley, resting his hands on the back of her chair. The scent of her shampoo tickles his nose, and he forces himself to ignore it and focus on what Riley’s saying. 

“They want to meet. Today.” 

“Time or place?” 

Riley points at a small box on her screen. “Just an address.” 

“What’s there?” 

“A warehouse,” Riley says. “Owned by the same shell corporation other Phoenix techs already tied to the organization.” 

“Not very clandestine, are they?” 

“No, they’re not.” Riley looks up at him, her head bumping his sternum, and butterflies ricochet inside Mac’s rib cage. There’s something soft in Riley’s expression that makes Mac want to kiss her. “Are you ready for this?” 

Mac sighs. “As ready as I ever am. Are you?” 

“Yeah,” she says, but her confidence falters. Without thinking, Mac squeezes her shoulders in reassurance before walking away to change.

*****

The warehouse is located on the edge of the city, in an industrial area that has certainly seen better days. Even from a distance, Mac can see cobwebs decorating the warehouse windows and rust creeping up the roller doors. Aside from Riley, there’s not another soul in sight. 

As per the directions the organization sent after Riley confirmed the meeting, Mac parks on the south side of the building, near the only functional-looking door. He doesn’t look at Riley as they get out of the car, instead desperately trying not to cringe at the cold, heavy weight of the gun holstered at his side, hidden beneath his jacket. 

High-end arms dealers couldn’t walk around unarmed, unfortunately. 

Although her hands are occupied with holding Harley’s leash, there’s a gun hidden beneath Riley’s suit jacket as well. Mac’s stomach churns. The second Riley emerged from their bedroom earlier wearing that jet black suit, she was a different person. She was wholly Genevieve Turner, and no matter how hard Mac tried, he couldn’t find even a single trace of his best friend beneath the icy exterior. 

Locking their SUV, Mac smooths the lapels of his own black suit and slips into character as well. 

The dark clouds Mac noticed earlier are directly overhead now. Mac has never believed in omens the way Jack did, but he can’t help hearing Jack’s voice in his head, warning him that black clouds are a sign of certain doom. Or something like that. 

There’s no one inside the warehouse, at least as far as Mac can see. “Hello?” he calls, the word echoing slightly in the open space. Aside from a few random wooden crates, the room is empty. 

A door slams, and then an older man comes into view. He’s probably in his late fifties, with graying hair and a beer belly his shirt doesn’t quite cover. The man swaggers like he owns the place, although Mac doubts the leader of a terrorist cell would deign to play tour guide. 

No doubt there’s a quip on the edge of Riley’s tongue about entitled white men, but she doesn’t share it. 

The man extends a hand to Mac in introduction. “Conrad.” His sneer doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Mac frowns, keeping his hands at his sides. “Last name?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

What he’s about to say might screw everything up before it even starts, but Mac says it anyway. In his gut, he knows it’s the right call. “If it doesn’t matter, then we’re done here. My wife and I have no interest in entering a business relationship with someone too inexperienced to understand that trust is integral to any transaction.” Mac spins on his heel and strides toward the door, Riley falling into step beside him. 

“Wait!” the man calls. They pause, turning around slowly. “Deacon. Conrad Deacon.” The man seems to know he’s already lost. Good. “Welcome to the cause.” He gestures for Mac and Riley to follow him. 

Mac stands his ground. In his peripheral, Riley stands utterly still, the perfect mask of cool, collected neutrality. Almost bored, even. It’s scary how easily she becomes her cover. 

“Come on now,” Conrad says, taking a single step forward. “We have much to discuss.” 

That’s enough of the power play, Mac thinks, but just as he’s about to give in and follow Conrad, Riley utters a single, sharp command that rings through the room. “Sit.” 

Harley obeys. 

Riley’s lips curve in a cruel, taunting smile. “Then enlighten us.” Mac suppresses a shiver; he’s seen this side of Riley plenty of times before, watched her hone it over the years, but it’s still unnerving. Admittedly, it’s also kind of hot. 

Conrad ignores her entirely. He croons, “Why don’t we start with your names?” It’s phrased like a question. It sounds like a question, but Mac sees the demand for what it really is. 

Mac gestures to Riley. “This is my wife, Genevieve Turner. And my name is James.” His father’s name tastes like ash on Mac’s tongue. 

“And the dog?” 

“Killer,” Riley sneers. Mac isn’t sure if she’s kidding or not. 

Again, Conrad doesn’t acknowledge her. “James, why don’t I give you the tour and explain what we do here.” 

“We’ll go on the tour, but we are not here to join your cause.” It takes every ounce of Mac’s willpower to maintain his neutral tone. “All we care about is what you’d like us to provide and how much you’ll pay for it.” 

Conrad doesn’t hide his displeasure. “Fine. Follow me.” 

Mac and Riley are led through the open warehouse. The layout is straightforward and nearly impossible to get lost in. But after Conrad shows them a room full of rifles—countless hung on the walls, floor to ceiling, the rest in half-open crates—Mac finds himself counting the number of wooden shipping crates scattered around the building. 

He doesn’t like his final number. 

Arming terrorists doesn’t sit well with Mac, even if it serves a purpose. It makes him sick, knowing he will likely be indirectly responsible for their next attack. 

Especially because those crates are no doubt full of the kind of rifles designed to kill people most effectively. The ones hanging on the wall are military grade, probably cutting-edge. Desi would know exactly what they are and how they work. 

Trusting Riley is paying close attention, Mac only half listens to Conrad babble about the cause. But then the older man says something that stops Mac in his tracks. “Our country is being run into the ground by whiny do-nothings,” Conrad asserts, “who waste our money and spew garbage that some people matter more than others. Well, you know what? Hardworking, everyday Americans matter. But no,” he scoffs, “those damn liberals don’t like it when we remind them of the truth. Once we’re rid of them and the insufferables who elected them, this country will be better off.” 

The ground sways under Mac’s feet. He knows these people believe this, read it in Matty’s extensive briefing notes. But it’s another thing entirely to hear someone say it to his face. 

He can only imagine what Riley must be thinking. 

Clearing his throat, Mac tries to redirect the conversation. “Like I said, we don’t care about your cause. Just tell us what you’re looking for, and we’ll be on our way.” 

Conrad eyes him suspiciously, but complies. “We’re looking for something a little more than what you can get at the store, you know?” 

Mac doesn’t, not exactly. He’ll have to ask Desi later. “I do,” he lies. 

“Good. Here’s what we’re willing to pay for it.” He hands Mac a folded piece of paper, and Mac does a double take when he reads the number. There are a lot of zeroes. “And as a show of good faith, we’d like it delivered tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” Riley splutters. Mac feels it then, the broiling rage slipping through a crack in her persona. He needs to get her out of there. Now. Not just to preserve the op, but for Riley’s wellbeing. Some audacity Matty has making Riley play nice with men like this. 

Mac slides his hands into his pockets, using the movement as a cover to brush his knuckles against Riley’s fist. I know. I’m here. I’m sorry. 

For the first time, Conrad addresses Riley directly. “Yes. Tomorrow. Unless that’s something you can’t do?” 

“We can do that,” she replies calmly, and the difference between her reactions is like night and day. As quickly as that crack appeared, it was gone. 

“Excellent.” Conrad takes another step toward Riley, offering to shake hands, but Harley’s low, menacing growl keeps him at bay. Rewarding the dog with a quick scratch on the head, Riley closes the gap and shakes Conrad’s still-outstretched hand. 

“It’s a deal,” she says. Following suit, Mac shakes Conrad’s hand as well and follows Riley out the door, neither of them uttering another word. 

Mac drives. One look at Riley’s trembling fist decides for him. 

By the time the warehouse disappears from the rearview mirror, he can’t take the silence anymore. “Hey,” Mac starts, but Riley cuts him off with a hand. 

“Not until we’re inside.” 

They hit every single red light between the warehouse and the apartment, and Mac anxiously taps the steering wheel. Raindrops land on the windshield. They’re small at first, but soon the drops are large and numerous enough to refract the streetlights, and Mac struggles to see where he’s going. He adjusts the windshield wipers over and over, never landing on the right speed. 

Too slow. Too fast. Too slow. Too fast. 

Mac settles on a setting that’s slightly too fast, and the squeak of rubber on glass nearly matches his heart thudding in his chest. 

Riley stares straight ahead, unmoving, unblinking. Mac wants to reach out, to let a gentle touch say what he verbally can’t, but the road is slick enough to make him keep two hands on the wheel. We’re almost there, he reassures himself. 

By the time he parks, it’s pouring hard enough that the ten second walk from the car to the door soaks them to the bone. Riley’s hands shake as she unlocks the apartment door. 

Once they’re inside and Mac unclips Harley’s leash, Riley turns to him with pained, pleading eyes. His heart breaking all over again, Mac draws her in for a long, tight hug. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. 

Mac just cradles the back of her head and sways gently, wishing he could fix the world for her. 

Neither pulls away, even when Riley suddenly says, “If Conrad was smart, he would’ve had someone bug our car while he paraded us around the warehouse. I don’t think he’s actually smart enough to do that, but we should check first, just in case.” 

Mac curses himself for not thinking of that. “Good call.” He rubs Riley’s back, hoping the gesture is soothing. “I hate the way he treated you,” he snarls. “Like you weren’t even worth acknowledging.” 

“Welcome to being a woman.” 

It was more than that. They both know it. But neither say it.

*****

“You need what?” Matty shrieks over the phone. 

Mac winces. “Sorry.” He’d called Desi first, to ask what kind of guns Conrad meant with his innuendo, and received a verbal lashing for not asking any follow-up questions. But she made her best guess anyway. Now on the phone with Matty, it doesn’t take even a single brain cell to know that her reaction will be much, much worse. 

“He wants us to prove ourselves,” Riley adds. “As a show of good faith.” The words come out dripping in venom, but their boss doesn’t comment. Mac takes a second to study her; Riley changed into leggings and an oversized flannel shirt, and there are still remnants of dark makeup smudges under her eyes. Now, she’s sitting on the kitchen counter with her knees tucked into her chest. It’s weird to see her take up so little space. 

Matty sighs, deeply and loudly in a way conveys her annoyance more than words ever could. “Fine. A few weeks ago, Border Control confiscated a huge shipment of smuggled guns near El Paso, so I’ll see if we can borrow those. But next time, Blondie, don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He doesn’t correct Matty in that it was Riley who made the deal. That would only add fuel to the fire. 

“Thank you,” he says, and Matty hangs up. Mac runs a hand through his damp hair. “That went well.” Riley’s lips twitch, but it’s not the amused reaction he hopes for. He’s at a complete loss regarding what to say to her, so Mac gently asks, “What can I do?” 

Riley slides off the counter, and Mac reaches for her automatically, although he doesn’t actually touch her; his hand hovers just beside Riley’s elbow. She doesn’t shrink away, but she makes no move to touch him either. 

“Help me put him and everyone like him in a deep, dark hole where they can’t hurt anybody. And then just…” she trails off, taking a deep breath. “Keep being you.” 

With that, she walks away, leaving Mac alone in the kitchen, racking his brain to figure out what that last part means.

*****

Later that night, Mac tosses and turns, replaying Conrad’s words. Once we’re rid of them and the insufferables who elected them, this country will be better off. They seem off-kilter, like what the man said and what he really meant are misaligned. Mac sighs, rubbing his face. 

Another bolt of lightning illuminates the bedroom, and Mac automatically counts the seconds until he hears thunder rumbling in the distance. The storm is moving closer. 

Beside him, Riley lies on her back with her eyes closed, although her breathing is too light for her to be asleep. Mac wonders if her mind is just as loud and chaotic as his. 

For Riley’s sake, he hopes it’s not.

*****

Sleep never finds Mac. 

The storm rages all through the night, but by the time dawn arrives, the thunder and wind dissipate, leaving just the steady downpour. The clouds are dark enough that Mac can hardly tell the sun even bothered to rise this morning. 

When Riley’s alarm goes off, it’s like the shrill tone is mocking Mac for being awake. Riley groans as she shuts it off. 

“Morning,” he mumbles. His throat hurts. He needs water. “Did you sleep well?”

Another groan. “No.” 

“At least you slept,” Mac mutters.

Riley rolls onto her side, drawing one of the extra pillows into her chest. “Do you always toss and turn that much?”

It was his fault, he realizes, that she didn’t sleep. Mac suddenly feels guilty. “Sorry. And no.” 

He expects Riley to be upset at being kept awake, but she isn’t. With a look that just might be understanding, she softly asks, “What were you thinking about?” 

Mac can’t say that his thoughts whip around his mind like raindrops in last night’s storm. Not without sounding crazy, at least. So instead he says, “I don’t even know. I just have a bad feeling about this.” 

“Me too,” Riley admits. “It feels off.” Her eyes are heavy, and Mac’s had enough early mornings with Riley to know it’s not just the lack of sleep weighing her down. 

“Go back to sleep. I can handle the delivery.” 

Riley rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not letting you do that by yourself.” 

He doesn’t argue. “Okay.” 

A moment passes between them. It’s been happening more and more lately—holding eye contact a little too long, sharing smirks when no one else is looking, stealing moments where it’s just the two of them and nothing else matters. Each one gives him hope that there’s not a wall between them, but instead, a door. Someone just has to be brave enough to open it. 

Sitting up, Riley quipps, “Just don’t make me regret letting you sleep in the bed with me.” Mac snorts. 

“No promises.”

.

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[lilacsandwhiskey]

Happy

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Song inspo: CWJBHN / Jake Scott

Warnings: alcohol usage, fluff

“It’s raining.”

A smile tugged on your lips as the boy on the other end of the phone spoke.

Tom’s thumb tapped the lip of the bottle as he stared at you, wanting to know anything and everything about you. “What’s your favorite kind of weather?” He asked. You let out a small laugh at the question, thinking if you’d ever been asked that. “I love a rainy day.”

You peaked out the window, taking in the gray sky surrounding you, fog rising from the pavement. The rain fell slow and steady. You felt your mood shift, a happiness erupting through your body. “You’re right.” “I’ll be there in 15.” Tom said before hanging up.

Months ago when you’d answered that question, you had no idea how Tom would use that to get closer to you. When you’d met him after a break up at a bar, sulking on your own, he walked up to you, confident, kind, but not over the top. Other guys had walked up, practically demanding a good time, but Tom walked asking for friendship (fishy, right?). He made you more comfortable when he invited you to sit among his friends, after you’d told him you were new to the city. There was no doubt you’d all hit it off quickly and hanging out became more normal as time passed by.

Your friendship was instantaneous. You found yourself fond of the brown-headed boy. He took his time to get to know you, but there was no doubt you’d found him so easy to open up to. He’d watch you, listen to every word you had to say, and then - he’d remember.

The first time you noticed he remembered small parts of your conversations is when you had briefly mentioned that you were so obsessed with dachshunds. He just so happened to see one on the sidewalk while going for a morning jog and snapped a quick picture, sending it and mentioning that he’d thought of you.

Then he was back in London, and though you hadn’t seen much rain in LA, it was raining there. He called you just to tell you it was raining. You felt your cheeks heat up at someone taking the time to know you, study you, and memorize you.

Tom was patient with you above all. He knew how ruined your ex had left you several months ago, and how sudden movements and words could send your mind to places. You’d opened up to him about it one late night over a bottle of red wine in your scarce apartment that you were still trying to make your own.

——————

When he pulled up outside of your complex, you tugged the rain jacket that you hardly got to use over your chest before running out. The boy was out and opening your door before you reached the car. Head down but laughing, Tom ushered you in his car before trudging through the new puddles to get into the driver side.

“What’s the occasion?” You asked as he plopped down in his seat, slightly breathless from the quick movements. “It’s your favorite weather and we’re in the same place for once. Gotta take advantage of that.” He responded, giving you a smile before turning the radio up just a tad that it covered the comfortable silence between the two of you.

Your conversation built up further into the drive as you whisked through traffic. Tom heard you mention that you’d end up finding a chill Thai restaurant a few weeks ago, but he wasn’t in town to experience it. “Why not now?” He said, handing over his phone for you to type in the address.

When you’d both pulled up to the small restaurant, there were hardly anyone in the parking lot. The weather had cleared out some traffic, making it easier to maneuver through the city. As you walked in, Tom slipped his hand into your own, pulling you towards a small booth towards the back of the restaurant. The feeling of Tom’s hand in yours made your heart skip a beat, recognizing the soft grip of his calloused hand in yours. A blush crept to your cheeks as you sat down across from him.

After ordering, Tom sat back in the booth, twirling the straw wrapper in between his fingers. “Missed you so much these last few weeks.” He said with a grin. “I missed you too. It was hard not giggling over a bottle of red with you.” You replied, giving him a small smile. “Hm, maybe we should buy a bottle and do that tonight, whatdya say?” “Let me check my calendar.” You replied with a small laugh.

The conversations were easy. Tom told you about his time visiting with his family, how he’d gotten to go golfing with his brothers and dad, the walks he’d take Tessa on, the new cafe that opened minutes down the road from his childhood home that him and Harrison went to everyday to try a new flavor of pastry each time. You talked about your new job, the new friend you’d made in your complex, the time you thought you ran into Adam Sandler at a restaurant last week but it definitely wasn’t him.

Tom always listened with intent, asking questions to make sure that you knew he was listening. The food had arrived and you’d both been shoveling the food down, talking between bites. Laughter erupted one too many times, receiving odd looks from others in the restaurant, but neither of you minded.

It was hard not to fall for Tom. He was beautiful, really. His curls were always perfectly placed, no matter how messy, his eyes always bright with admiration. He was patient with you, understood why you could be stand-offish in certain situations because of your past. He never failed to remind you that you were important to him. He was smooth, no doubt, come backs and flirting was simple with him.

Tom had so easily fallen for you fast. From the moment he watched your chemistry with his friends, to the talks, the calls, everything, he found himself so intrigued. You were unlike anyone he’d ever met - so gentle and kind, so honest but never rude. But he knew you were still healing, and he was more than understanding of that.

As you walked out of the restaurant, Tom grabbed your hand, running through the pelting rain. Laughter erupted from the two of you as he quickly opened your door, with “love, get in, I’m soaked!”

When he jumped in the driver seat, he let out a breath, taking a look over at you. Giggles continued as you noticed his curls matted to his forehead, droplets of water littered over his freckles. If you weren’t so unsure of what this moment could’ve held, you would’ve kissed him. But you didn’t.

He seemed to hold your gaze a little longer than usual. “So about that wine…” He half-whispered, breaking the trance he’d held with you. “Oh yeah.” You say, recognizing you’d have to stop once more at the store.

One stop later, you were both on the way to his LA apartment where he’d stay in town. You wanted to curse yourself for not asking him to stop by your place so that you’d be able to grab a change of clothes, but the boy must have read your mind.

When you’d made it up the stairwell into his place, he’d set the brown paper bags on the counter, saying “wait here.” He walked back with a towel, a t-shirt and joggers. “You can change in my room, I’ll take the bathroom.” He said with a smile.

You felt your heart do flips as you pulled the shirt over your head, noticing the familiar scent of the boy lingering all over you. It was intoxicating in the best ways. You’d never wore any of his clothes before besides a hoodie here and there when you were out, which you always made sure to return even when he opposed.

When you walked out, your breath hitched seeing his loose gray sweatpants hanging loosely on his hips with a white t-shirt hugging his fit body. He had a speaker in his hand as he scrolled through his phone, music lightly playing in the background. He hadn’t noticed you enter from out of his room yet so when you walked over, his head snapped up but instantly his jaw dropped.

“You, uh, look better in my clothes than me.” Tom said, a smile covering his face. “That’s a bold statement, Holland”.

Music playing softly in the background, the television on playing some cooking show, and the two of you sat in the kitchen at the small table where matching win glasses were across from each other, never going empty.

A few glasses in and there the two of you were, giggling through the alcohol high that was produced. You weren’t entirely sure it was just the alcohol. That’s when Tom’s hand covered your own on the table, eyes beginning to gloss over.

“You know, it’s funny how the world works?” He said, staring across the table at you. “Yeah?” “Yeah. Like I just meet you one day and suddenly you’ve become my favorite person.”He hiccups, causing the both of you to let out laughter.

Your face felt warm as he pulled you over to the couch another glass later. “Cuddle me.” Tom begged, giving grabby hands as you sat on the other side of the couch. You couldn’t help but laugh, and though you’d cuddled before, platonically, you felt the butterflies erupting in your stomach and throat and everywhere else on your body.

You struggled allowing yourself to feel like this. It was Tom Holland for crying outloud, and you were just some regular girl with a regular job. You’d been hurt, and you let that creep into all your thoughts everytime Tom would attempt to get closer to you.

So as you fell into his side, his arm coming across your back and twirling tiny circles on you hip and side, you felt yourself get nervous. Tom must have noticed because he looked over with another hiccup and frowned. “I’m sorry, am I being too much?” “No, never, I just…”

He interrupted with another hiccup and blurted, “I like you.” His glossy eyes widened recognizing the words that left his lips. You played it off with responding, “I like you too.” “No, uh, oh what the hell, no like I like like you.” Tom said, giggling as he pressed his head into your shoulder.

Your heart was swelling with each interaction but perhaps how much was this true? He was a little drunk. As if the boy could actually read minds, he pulled back with a worried look on his face. “I’m not drunk enough to not know what I’m saying. I will remember this in the morning.”

You let a laugh slip your lips at the boys abruptness, and you couldn’t find it in you to want to argue. You had for sure fallen for him, but you were so scared of this too. You didn’t want him to realize that you were broken, that you weren’t worth it in the end. Tom had never made you feel like that though. He was always patient and kind and made sure you were comfortable. He checked in on you, even on his busiest days. He showed you he cared.

His forefinger came to the side of your head and poked. “I see those wheels turning up there. Did I say something wrong?” His voice wavered, the once confident voice was now weaker than before.

“No, no, I just. I really like you too, Tom. I just don’t want you to be burdened by me.” “Burdened? Are you insane?! Woah, no, didn’t mean it like that. But you could never. If anything, I’d burden you with my constant need of affection from the prettiest girl. I can’t keep my hands off you.”

With a laugh, the boy pulls you closer. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on in that beautiful mind up there, but I do know this. You deserve to be happy, we both do. Can we just… be? Be happy? Let me show you how special and important you are.” “Maybe we should talk more about this sober, but I will say this - you do make me happy and I’d be happy to explore this with you. Just not drunk.”

Tom giggled with another hiccup. “I think you’re right, but I’ll definitely remember this. I couldn’t forget the prettiest girl in the world telling me she likes me back.” His tousled curls tickled your cheek as he nuzzled deeper into your neck. “You think I’m pretty huh?” You retort, shaking your head at the affections. “Mhm, the prettiest.” He replies, leaving a small kiss on your shoulder. “The prettiest, darling.”

[impala1967dwinchester]

Dean Winchester: Embrace (Request)

*Not my gif*

Paring: Dean X Reader 

Pov: Reader 

Warnings: comfort from dean, hunt gone wrong, reader crying, LOTS OF HUGS, mentions of Sam (Briefly) 

Summary: The reader come back from a hunt gone very wrong, and all she want is to be in Dean’s arms tonight. Once she makes it to the bunker, she falls into dean’s arms, not being able to keep it together anymore. 

Word Count: 2k 

Masterlist 

Tag list: @akshi8278​, @deanswaywardgirl​

This was supposed to be an easy hunt. One and done type of thing, but that ended shortly after I got to the motel. Dean and Sam already out on a hunt, I decide that it wouldn’t hurt anyone if I went out on my own.  

Shooting Dean, a quick message. “Dean, there’s a hunt about an hour away from the bunker. It involves kids, so I’m packed up and leaving in 5. Love Ya.” I sent the message stuffing my phone in my back pocket.  

Buzzing I pulled it out seeing a message from Dean “Ugh, I wish you weren’t going by yourself, but I understand it involves kids. Be safe and text me when you get to the motel. Love Ya sweetheart.” Well, that had gone by much easier than previously thought.  

So, throwing my bag in the passenger seat of on the many cars I drove off to the motel. According to the article children were going missing in the local town. The thought of so many parents being scared and missing their children was eating at me, so I thought I’d at least try to help.  

Quickly I learned that kids were disappearing, most disappeared near an old shut down mental asylum. Something about kids and wanting to search places that clearly had “DO NOT ENTER” signs on them.  

It was still early in the afternoon so I made my way over to the parents of the latest missing child. They wore worried expression on their faces as they say the quick flip of the F.B.I badge.  

In short, they had said that their son had gone out with a few of his friends. Riding bikes and being a destructive teenage boy. For a few moments the image of Dean being that way crossed my mind, internal smiling at the thought.

I had figured that it was probably a ghost based on the rather odd story the parents retold me. Saying that their son had told them about how the light were flickering and, all the sudden it was really cold in the asylum. It’s the middle of summer, so cold spots are definitely more prominent.  

When I made it back to the motel, I made quick work of trying to figure out where the old mental asylum was, grabbing way to cups of coffee, and junk food from the vending machines I worked until at least twelve in the morning.  

I hadn’t ever realized how much the Sam and Dean’s help was. It was nice to have a tech nerd at your disposal, and a heater next to you in bed every night. Once I had fallen asleep at the dirty small kitchen table in the motel, I thought it best to move to the bed and text Dean.  

“Hey baby, I made to the motel a while ago. You know me got caught up in trying to help. Fell asleep trying to research going to sleep now. Good night baby, Love Ya.” I sent before plugging it in to its charger and falling into a deep sleep.  

When I awake the next morning, I looked over to my phone seeing a new message from Dean. “Sleep well sweetheart. We will be home today, keep me in the loop. Can’t wait to see you.” He messaged with a winky face at the end.  

Rolling my eyes, I got out of the crappy, not memory foam bed. Hearing the slightly creaks and cracks of my bones. Thinking that it would probably useless if i grabbed a shower before going on a hunt, so I opted to grab one of deans stolen flannels, my pants, and my boots.  

Once I was officially ready for the day, I went right back into researching. Finally, hours later I had found an old document that just so happened to have to the address of the mental asylum.  

It was a picture of a few nurses, a doctor standing proud in the back, and a gaggle of children in front of the nurses. Around the doctors' neck hung a stethoscope. It read at the bottom of the picture  

‘Doctor Ethan Zingler, Nurse Betty, Nurse Lewis, Nurse Andrea, with the many mentally insane children. Doctor Zingler holding his prized possession his stethoscope.’ “Fuck yes” I screamed. Damn that was dumb luck.  

Quickly grabbing the car keys, I slammed the motel door, making my way over to the car. Again, I shot him another text, “Alright, found the address for this place. Should be an easy fix. Be home soon, Love Ya.” Sending it before starting to pull out of the parking lot.  

When I made it to the mental asylum, the gates lock was broken making it much easier for me. Making my way into the mental asylum it was quiet, giving me an uneasy feeling. A scream grabbing my attention, but when I made it their nothing, nothing was there.  

As I walked around more, trying to find these lost kids. Turning around at one point, I saw a figure of a decomposed older women. Her white nurses outfit torn at her heart, all the sudden instead of staring at me she was full speed running.  

Cutting into one room I lost her, standing there for a minute. Re thinking everything that I looked up, and the parents had told me. It clicked it was ghosts, they were ghouls. This means that everything I had on me wasn’t going to work.  

Hearing the should of many children screaming at once, I ran towards it. I saw the Doctor his stethoscope wrapped around the necks of one of the children, I ran in trying to get a shot in, but before I could I had they two other nurses hold me down, one trying to stick me with a needle. The other had her very decade hand around my neck.  

I watched every single missing child be killed in front of my eyes, once the doctor was done, he turned looking at the two nurses. They let me go and he slow staked over to me, his hand covering my mouth. I reached down in a quick and swift motion grabbing a long machete knife I had attached to the loops of my pants. In two swift movements I sliced the heads of the nurses off. Looking over at the once respected doctor I chopped his head, it landing on the ground.  

Swiping the blade over my thigh, I slipped it back into its case. I walked out of the asylum flipping it the finger. Getting into the car, it was starting to hit me, that I had watched at least 3 kids murdered in front of me. I was here to fix this, to bring them home safely.  

I drove, no music, no running thoughts in my mind. I just drove, when I finally made it back to the motel, I grabbed a quick shower, trying to wipe away the images of them dying, trying not to cry. “Y/n you’re a big girl. You’re a hunter, fuck you’re with a Winchester get it together.”  I said to myself.  

“Hey baby, how is everything? I haven't heard anything in a while. Sam says that I should stop worrying, but you’re my girl. Text me back please.” Dean messaged me.  

Climbing out of the bathroom, I grabbed my phone, my arms barely keeping the towel wrapped around my chest. “Everything is fine. I’m okay honey. I will be home tops 2 hours, Love Ya.” I sent him back.  

If I broke down now, here, I’d never be able to leave. I need to get dress, I need to get home, I need Dean, now. Wrapping another stolen Dean flannel around me, I could just barely smell his leather, and whiskey cologne on his shirt, I pulled up my sweats.  

Grabbing the rest of my stuff, and throw it into the passenger seat. I walked down to the front desk; I gave to women her keys back. Starting the engine to the car this time I turned the radio on, finding a station that reminded me of Dean. “80′s rock coming your way. Now playing ‘AC/DC Back in black” Taking a deep inhale I back out and drove down the street, radio blasting and windows down.  

“Can’t wait to see you sweetheart!” Dean sent a message as I inched closer and closer to the bunker. Finally, I slowed down and drove down the darkly lite drive way that led to the bunkers garage. As I inched closer, I started to break down, I didn’t want to be a disappointment. I didn’t want Dean, or Sam to see me as a failure.  

I could feel the prickle of tears wanting to escape from my eyes, but shook my head and pushed them back in. As I parked the car, I only grabbed my phone, not really in the mood to look or see anything hunting wise.  

Slowly I made my way to the garage door. Stopping as my hand made contact with the cold handle. I reached for a deep breathe, and opened the door. Conversation still going on, I walked past the library hearing both Sam and Dean call my name.

But the idea of facing them, after everything was too much. I heard the scratch of the wooden chair against the floor. I walked into Deans and I shared room, plopping onto the memory foam bed.  

I heard the bedroom door, slowly open “Y/n?” Dean’s voice bounced off the cinder block room. “Y/n? Are you okay?” He said shutting our bedroom door. “Y/n? Are you hurt? If you’re hurt, I can fix you up, but... but you’ve got to tell me.” He said coming closer to me.  

My breathing becoming harder for me to control. Deans hand landing on my hips first. “Y/n please look at me. You’re scaring me.” I couldn’t take it anymore, I moved quickly making Dean lose a bit of balance before his hand wrapped around my mid-section.  

A breath that I didn’t realize I was holding came out, “It’s okay, you can just cry. I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Dean said rubbing circles into my back. “You’ve got me Y/n. You just tell me what happened okay, let me known that us Winchester deal making didn’t rub off on you.” He said a little chuckle at the end.  

“De... Dean I’m so stupid. I let 5 kids die because I di... didn’t know what I was hunting. I watched the gho..uls kill them. De... Dean Please just hold me. Please don’t thi.. think of me any different.” I said, a few hiccups interrupting me from finishing my sentences.  

I felt Dean take a deep inhale, before speaking, “Damn, Y/n why.. You know what you’re so resilient, so brave, you’re no where to being stupid. Me and Sam got the covered for you. It’s okay, I’m so fucking sorry that I wasn’t with you, I’m sorry, but I’m tell you’  

He said pulling me away from his shoulder. Lightly touching my chin, bring my attention to him. Our eye making contact. ‘Y/n I’m telling you that you couldn’t have done anything more then you did. You’re an amazing hunter, an amazing person, you’re prefect Y/n. I don’t to ever hear you say that you’re stupid, or that you think me or Sam will think of you differently because we just won’t. I love you baby” Dean said.  

I reached up to kiss lips, a small, sparked filled kissed. It was as if that kiss was an okay for me. The okay that Dean was being true with me. “Dean, can.. can we just lay together please? I don’t want to let you go just yet” I asked.  

He gave me short smile, and shook his head ‘yes’. “I love you, sweetheart. Get some rest.” He said kissing my temple, “Love Ya too De.”  I said before the tiredness of crying and the beat of Dean’s heart lulled me into a deep and warm sleep.

Completed 02/27/2021 

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost ☀️ main masterlist ☀️ taglist

previously on...

We meet Lucy, we meet Samantha and her twins & Mother Nature gets a little bit mad. But on the upside - she loves Tony :)

Kind reminder that this story will have horror/thriller elements & graphic descriptions of blood, gore and all the nasty stuff associated with superhero battles described in some detail. This chapter contains some of that.

Honestly, this story is getting- uhh- 8-12 notes on Tumblr. It's got a decent following on AO3 which brings me joy because I truly do enjoy the worldbuilding to a, perhaps, guilty amount. So if you like it too - please reblog :)

The fabric of my skirt was suddenly yanked and I jumped, dropping my phone and startling out of my daze. Two big, blue eyes stared up at me, curiousity mixed with impatience in them. I crouched down to pick up my device, coming face to face with a tiny blonde girl about nine or ten years of age.

"Lucy, hi!" I squeezed out a smile at the child. She looked pale, as if she'd never seen the slightest bit of sunlight, chubby cheeks contrasted by an overall spindliness of her body. Her dress was a puffy, long-sleeved, red and white polka dotted monstrosity with at least two petticoats that made her seem bigger than she actually was. "Sorry, didn't see you there. Long day at work," despite there being a worm of anxiety crawling deeply in my chest, I heeded the warnings on the list of rules and swallowed any unease I had.

Which was a hard feat. The stairs had gotten confused and I lost ten minutes of time going back, over and over, after encountering floors "5", "8" and "19" instead of my third floor, in a five story building. The building providing extra floors shouldn't have surprised me that much but the worst was fighting with the desire to explore them, my rational brain unhelpfully supplying that if this building was truly dangerous, nobody would be living in it.

The pull was almost unnatural in its strength yet my protection charms remained unaffected. Too tired from returning to work, I decided to distract myself with my phone - and nearly ran poor little Lucy off her feet.

"You are new," she signed to me slowly, carefully observing my reaction to her using ASL.

I had been truly unsettled by the rule list, perhaps more than I wanted to admit to myself, so I spent a night wide awake brushing up my meager sign language skills. "Yes, my name is Star," I replied, not quite sure if I wanted to shake her hand or simply make myself scarce as soon as possible.

Lucy gave me a closed-lipped grin, swooshing her puffy skirts in what I perceived to be a calculated amount of shyness. "Can I play with you, please?" Her hands moved a little more rapidly as she side-eyed my apartment door.

I briefly ran a mental checklist of the contents of my fridge. "Sure," I figured that two leftover steaks in it would be more than enough for the little girl. I'd splurged and gotten four prime pieces of meat to treat myself after a hectic moving process, cooking only half of them on the first day. "Come on it. You hungry?"

The door swung open as I led Lucy in, her bright dress and pale skin standing out in the twilight of my apartment. She nodded her head seriously, looking at me from head to toe as shivers ran up and down my spine. My bag was unceremoniously dumped on the couch, my socked feet shuffling into the kitchen and beelining for the fridge.

Lucy followed me quietly, taking a seat at the dinner table and folding her thin arms atop it, expectant blue eyes following my every move. As I plated the meat and reached for the roll of paper towels, I felt like I was being examined under a microscope. Somewhere in the distance, a quiet hissing noise was beginning to rise.

Lucy politely declined the fork and knife I attempted to give her so I just set down the plate in front of her, leaving the kitchen to change out of my dusty, sweaty clothes, too tired to really worry about the loud, sloppy and wet chewing noises and low growling coming from the dining area. I decided as long as she wasn't attempting to have me for dinner, I was going to be just fine.

I found Lucy on the carpet of my living room, flipping through a fashion magazine she'd found somewhere after I was done with scavenging some sweatpants from my mostly-unpacked closet. Her blonde curls bounced as she looked up at me with another tight smile, this time looking calmer, friendlier somehow. "I like those dresses," she signed, pointing at a few pictures with models wearing ballroom gowns in all kinds of colours. "And these..." She pointed out a tiara, probably not knowing how to sign the words.

"This is a tiara," I spoke slowly, signing the last word with my hands carefully as she observed. And then a few more times, until she repeated her last sentence perfectly. "Good job, Lucy," I praised her as she beamed at me. The river of quiet, scratchy giggles never stopped as she pointed out various things and I tried to sign them to the best of my ability, Lucy not showing any signs of upset whatsoever if I couldn't get the name for something right.

After some time, it was beginning to get very dark outside and a couple of pointed glances at the clock was all it took for her to stand up and carefully dust off her skirts. "Thank you for playing with me, Star," Lucy signed excitedly. "I like you. Do you want to know a secret?" She leaned in conspirationally, bursting into my space bubble with a lack of care only a child could posess.

I nodded, not trusting my mouth whatsoever. The closer she leaned in, the more overwhelming her smell became. Her pretty dress reeked of mildew and stale water, her breath - of dried blood and something earthen, like moist soil and cold cobblestone.

Lucy's eyes widened dramatically. "If you need answers, go on to the seventh floor. Bring some warm milk and cookies, they won't bother you too much, but be careful and don't stay for too long. You look tasty," I struggled to keep up with her rapid signing, my eyes firmly trained on her. Lucy's hand carefully patted my cheek and in my frozen state, I could only wave back as she skipped to the door and unlocked it, giving me one of her closed-lipped smiles before disappearing behind it without a noise.

The lock slid shut on it's own after the girl's departure. My heart briefly jumped up into my throat, trapping my jerky inhale in-between my throat and my esophagus. Coughing, I went on to double check the door lock before scrambling for the TV remote to add some background noise to the suddenly eerily quiet apartment.

The sit-com that popped up wasn't any of the ones I knew so I sat helplessly watching unfamiliar people get themselves into more and more absurd situations as the grating noise of pre-recorded audience laughter mocked the characters actions. A sudden shriek pierced the late night stillness, followed by a sound of breaking dishes and a woman's voice tiredly chastising the miscreants.

Samantha.

I'd seen her a few times as she smoked her strong cigarettes in front of the entrance, her twins running in circles around the large pothole in the middle of the driveway. She'd been friendly enough, the dark circles under her eyes and the unkempt state of her clothes telling me more than her words, "I love them, I really do. But I just want some sleep," she rasped as she sighed and attempted to gather her two kids.

I didn't examine them too closely but on first moment's notice their eyes and teeth appeared... Wrong. Samantha had taken them inside after that, clutching a coffee thermos of a size truly impressive, and I went on my merry way, trying not to think too much of the poor, single mother and her two mutant kids. I felt a little proud, even, as she didn't just abandon them like many other people did after discovering their children had an active X-gene.

It didn't take me long to cave in and offer my help with watching the twins, Anya and Arman; one noisy weekend bled into the next and I began to genuinely feel bad for the overtired woman. Inviting the two terrors into my apartment was a choice I had made mindfully: having asked Odette about advice on hyperactive children, she had proposed a puzzle or two.

The thrifted, wooden items weren't able to hold the twins' attention for long, and Anya was the first one to begin gnawing at the hard blocks, covering the area around her in splinters. Arman was a quiet boy compared to his sister: he'd stare at the TV or at the walls, avoiding eye contact and conversation at great lengths.

My couch was jumped on, my dishes were taken out and my houseplants rearranged chaotically; it was almost as if they purposefully tried to get a rise out of me without doing any actual damage. I spent the remaining few hours of my Sunday putting things back in their places - all that pent up frustration had done wonders for the state of my apartment; it sparkled, looking cleaner than the day I moved in.

The babysitting became a somewhat regular occurrence, more often than not with me popping in for a couple of hours so Samantha could run some errands and the odd weekend when the twins came over to me so Sam could get some much-needed sleep.

She was a kind, gentle if chronically overworked woman. We clicked pretty quickly over our shared desire for comfortable stability and some fucking peace; neither I nor she had it in sights for the foreseeable future. Sam's reaction to me being a witch was a shrug and a top up to her wine glass as she pointedly looked at her daughter who was busy chewing on a door handle, leaving small, jagged marks all over the dull metal.

I just had gotten sorted with a bunch of complicated orders when the radio interrupted Eric Clapton with an emergency message and instructions to steer clear of the next few blocks over. Something had hit NYC again and Avengers had been called but nobody knew exactly what it was or when it was going to be dealt with.

As soon as I shot a text to Sam, explaining the situation, I immediately retreated to the back rooms, setting up my healing station over the noise of Odette preparing her office for visitors. For some time, I waited with baited breath, jumping at every little noise coming from the outside. The people tickled in slowly, mostly one by one and all were covered in foul-smelling sludge that evaporated with a loud hiss when the concentrated light of the UV lamp in my office touched it.

"Some kind of aliens, I think," a man with a face somewhere between a human and a hedgehog told me, wincing as he retracted his spikes back into his skin. "There's a hole- a portal, right on a crossroads and there's these things coming out. They kinda look like dragons, or flying snakes maybe," the more light breached the surface of his skin, the more relaxed he became. "The Sorcerer and the Witch are trying to close the portal, unsuccessfully might I add, and the muscle is just," he paused, scratching his chin. "Just killin' 'em, I guess."

I nodded enthusiastically, prompting him to continue to rely the state of the affairs as I applied the thick, viscous ointment on a gash on his leg. "It's hammer and Frisbee time," I mumbled to myself sarcastically.

"Yep," the man popped the 'p'. "Most of us are trying to keep the creatures contained to that one block. I saw Iron Man blasting off some of the creatures off of some of my friends," the last sentence contained a great deal of puzzlement. "Though you won't be seeing much of us this time. These things... They're vicious. They've got claws the size of my foot. A lot of us are going to die where they gut us," the sentence was spoken so matter-of-factly, my hands paused on the man's leg, bringing my eyes to his unblinking dots of black.

"What do you mean?" I swallowed in an attempt to chase away the dry, rough feeling in my throat.

"Those beasts... They're smart. One of my friends - she's a... Telepath of sorts... Says they're an intelligent hivemind," the man's broad, warm palm closed over mine. "The beasts leave only the ones that won't get help in time. They can smell death from a mile away. That's how they hunt," his voice was gentle, soothing over the sudden ringing of my ears.

"I..." My mind stuttered, a sticky ball of anxiety, fear and sorrow gathering up in my chest. "I'm so sorry. I..."

"We know what we're doing, out there, we know the risks," his smile was tight and full of grief. "You're doing your part here, makin' sure our babies have parents. We're out there makin' sure our streets are safe. Such is life," the grin acceptance in his pitch-black, small eyes set fire to the tension in my chest.

I exploded, inside out. The sudden burst of decisive, clear-headed energy made the objects around me vibrate, metal resonated my sorrow and my determination, the wood heated up with the force of Mother Nature itself responding to an act of cruelty bestowed upon her creations.

As soon as the man's bandage was finished and he headed out, I grabbed my old, ratty backpack, hastily shoving things into it in a semi-organized fashion. Clean linen strips, bandages, some premade elixirs and draughts, a few jars of salves, carefully tucked in-between the cloth. As I knocked on the door of Odette's office to retrieve the last few items I would need for my reckless journey, the door handle turned on its own, letting me observe her tending a woman who's skin was peeled off most of her back.

"Can't you see I'm..." Odette exclaimed, throwing her free hand towards the door, which did not budge. She turned on her heel, eyes widening when she observed my wide, solid stance in the doorway, lips immediately curling into a small grin. "I understand. Take what you need. It's not wise to resist Her call," the words were spoken carefully, as if not to spook me, before Odette resumed her delicate work of putting the injured woman back together.

Without a word, I finished packing and left through the front door, not needing more than my scarf and my light sweater to keep me from the freezing gusts of wind. My very core was the centrefold of an active volcano, bursting with white-hot bursts of energy as I approached the injured people on my way towards the terrible screeching noise.

This far out, most of the injured were able to make it to Odette's or to the other healer, who's name I had found out only then, but they were thankful for the water I offered them. Not once did they question me: my star-patterned scarf, out of all things, had become somewhat of a symbol for me among the different folk. Mutants approached me fearlessly, giving generous updates on the direction of the battle and the hotspots I probably should have avoided.

The louder the screeching noises grew, the more people needed my help. The stops took longer, my painkillers were becoming a short supply, the main relief provided by a couple of mid-range, mid-strength energy manipulating mutants that began to tail me after I offered to patch them up in exchange for help with the injured.

It was as if I instinctually knew where I was most needed, my decisions were seldom my own. Me and the two mutants bid a haste goodbye after loading up their truck with the injured, although deep inside, I knew that the amount of corpses, bloody and messy, littering the streets had begun to get to them. In a normal state of mind, I would not have been able to look at them either: then, each mangled, broken body only added fuel to the fire within me.

As I stepped foot in an intersection where someone had piled up bent and broken cars, the shadow flying over my head shrieked, taking a fluid nose dive towards another, smaller flying figure. I dropped flat on the ground, the contents of my backpack clattering, watching the small figure in the sky blast the beast with an off-blue ray of concentrated energy. As soon as the creature began it's graceless drop, Tony turned around and flew off, looking none worse for wear.

At the very centre of my chest, a faint feeling of fondness and hope blossomed into tiny little flowers that soothed the aching sorrow for the dead. Each warcry of the beasts from another world fed the anger, the anguish Gaia seemed to exhibit at their intrusion; the revolt I felt upon laying my eyes on one of them made me sweat, hands clenching into fists until my skin crawled under my nails.

The last part of me that wanted to pretend I was in control was gone; my soft, untrained body a mere vessel for a force stronger than me, stronger than anything. Noise around me grew in pitch, some of the creatures circling around my hiding spot cluelessly, aimlessly, as if they could not find what they were looking for.

I moved spots in a daring series of runs, bringing me almost to the portal itself, and the hellish lizards dived into my previous sanctuary, shattering the concrete and the wood of the house under the amused black stares of glassless windows.

The realization set it - they could not see me. Or perceive me properly, I deduced, inspecting the creatures for any sort of orifice except for their mouths and finding them to lack eyes and ears.

My own stare fell onto Sorcerer Supreme, floating amongst a variety of moving golden circles; I was close enough to hear him talking in a language I did not know. Wanda was hovering nearby, holding up a wall of red energy, protecting the chanting sorcerer.

A united screech invoked a shiver from every living being within it's reach, the creatures circling the portal for the last time before flying off in haphazard directions as the portal slowly began to close. I was prepared to cheer, yet, something stopped me; not a second later, the circles surrounding Stephen dimmed as the man himself jumped up onto his feet in alarm, screaming something unintelligible at the Scarlet Witch.

The overturned food cart I was hiding behind slowly began to creep towards the portal. A couple of rats, a pigeon - the animals flew in front of my eyes, rapidly, as they struggled against the unseen force. My hands grasped the handlebars of the cart in vain, I struggled against the force, seeing a moment of confusion on Wanda's face as I floated- no, rocketed past her as Stephen's golden magic forcefully pushed her out of the portal's reach.

It's size no bigger than a doorway, the vile thing blew cold, dry air under my sweater, muffling Stephen's cursing as we briefly collided during our violent expulsion into another world.

And then, there was darkness.

Taglist! @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins2 @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox

[downondilaudid]

Reality Check

Spencer gets tired of readers reckless behavior, and finally gives her a little reality check.

Requested: Yes

Prompts: My life motto is fuck bitches, get money blow cash.(This is a inspired by a line from the song ODD by Hey Voilet) & That’s not even factual

Word Count: 4.6K

Warnings: SMUT, LIKE PRETTY ROUGH SHIT

“Talk is cheap, but actions are priceless.”

― Green Monk

You wouldn’t necessarily consider yourself reckless, per se, just a little wild. It was a surprising turn of events when you and Spencer ended up together, his teammates had thought you would be nothing more than a fling, someone to keep his bed warm while he was gone. Yet, you had been together for a year and a half now and had been living together for five months. 

Despite the two of you being opposites, you worked together beautifully, you easily complemented each other. Your wild nature allowed Spencer to relax, and enjoy the simplicities of life. While his sophisticated way of thinking forced you to use your head a little more, and consider the consequences of your actions. You loved Spencer, and he loved you, it was just hard sometimes, seeing the world through different eyes. 

“C’mon Spence, please?” You pleaded, your hand latching into his arm to try and get his attention. 

“I really need to work on this, Y/N” he mumbled absentmindedly, pulling his arm from your grasp, and writing something on a notepad. 

“Spencer! You’ve been working on this all night, please take a break.” You shifted so you were standing behind him, wrapping your arms around him, and laying your head lightly against his shoulder. 

He let out a mix between a sigh and a groan, and you could feel the vibration of it through his back. “I need to finish this, Y/N, watching you get drunk, and then having to drag you home, doesn’t sound like a break.” 

You scoffed, “suit yourself, babes.” You pushed off of him, leaving the room to go get ready.

The music pounded in your ears, and the bass rattled your drink against the table. You were already quite tipsy, but for the first time, you weren’t a happy drunk. You guess you were what people call, a sad drunk. 

You stirred your straw around your drink absentmindedly. “Y/N! Come dance with me! Please?” One of your friends questioned. 

Right as you opened your mouth to deny her, the unforgettable intro to Gas Pedal by Sage the Gemini sounded through the club. It was like a switch had been flipped inside you, suddenly you were on your feet. Grabbing her hand, you dragged her to the dance floor. 

She laughed at your change in mood, “yes!”

You laughed along, the both of you staring at each other and in sync screaming, “h-h-h-h-holy shit!” 

This was good, it was good for you to forget, to throw away all the problems of life, and get drunk off your ass. 

Which is how you, and your two girlfriends you had gone out with, ended up stumbling down the street, the club long forgotten. 

The three of you laughed and giggled, talking about anything and everything that popped into your drunken minds. 

“Ooooh! We should prank call someone.” Your friend shouted rather loudly. 

You laughed at her, “totally, we could prank Spencer, he was a dick to me earlier. He didn’t even want to come out with us!” You exclaimed, your hands gesturing wildly, and your speech slightly slurred. 

The girls gasped, both talking over each other, screaming about how boring and annoying he was. 

“I know!” You cried, pulling out your phone to call Spencer. 

You hit the call button, putting the phone on speaker, and hushing the giggling girls. 

“Y/N?” A voice asked through the phone. 

“How did you know it was me?” You asked, a look of bewilderment crossing your face. 

Your friends laughed harder, one of them reaching out to smack you on the arm, “you forgot to block your caller ID, idiot!”

“Oops” you giggled.

“Y/N, where the hell are you? It’s one in the morning.” Spencer questioned angrily. 

Another laugh escaped your mouth, at this point, everything just seemed funny to you. You looked around the dark street, nothing looked familiar. 

“Do you guys know where we are?” You questioned. 

A scoff came from the phone, “are you fucking serious?” 

The girls giggled one of them letting out a childish “oooh! Someone's in trouble!” The two of them turned leaning on each other as they walked away, letting you have your privacy. 

“We were at a club, I’m just not sure where we are now.” You giggled. 

“Which club?” Spencer questioned, his tone authoritative, like a disappointed parent.

You combed through your brain for the answer, “uh…”

Spencer let out a deep sigh, and you could imagine him running his hands angrily through his hair. “You can’t keep doing this, Y/N.” You could hear the sound of a car door opening, and you assumed he was coming to find you.

“Actually, I can do whatever I want, it’s my life. And, my life motto is fuck bitches, get money, blow cash.” Anger bubbled in your stomach, who did he think he was telling you what to do?

“Y/N look around you, what do you see?” Spencer asked, ignoring your comment.

“Hmm…” you trailed off, giggling before you finished your sentence, “my two bitches over there!” You hollered, pointing towards your friends, who laughed at your antics. “The fat stacks in my purse, and the club we just passed where I paid way too much for drinks!” 

“Y/N, I swear to God…” Spencer muttered. 

“C’mon Spence, let me live a little! What are the odds of something bad happening to me? Like, none. I’m with my friends, having fun. Something you seem to never do.” You snapped. 

Spencer let out an angry huff, “first of all, that’s not even factual, second, you need to tell me where you are. Or, I’m going to call Garcia, and have her track your phone.” 

Well, damn. Your eyes squinted, trying to read the blue street sign. “Uh… Briar, Brian Ln.” You laughed, “what the hell does Ln. mean?” 

“Dear God, lane, Y/N, it means lane,” Spencer grunted. You could tell he was tired of your shit.

Luckily for him, the cool night air nipping at your exposed skin began to sober you up. You heard the phone hang up, right as a familiar car pulled up next to you. 

You watched as a very pissed off Spencer leaned over from the driver's seat, pushing open the passenger side door. You looked to your friends, who were jokingly saluting you like it was the last time they would see you. “Good luck! We’re catching an Uber! Call us if you live!” 

You let out one last laugh before clambering messily into the car, roughly shutting the door, and buckling your seatbelt. Spencer remained quiet, his large hands gripping the steering wheel, and his knuckles turning white. You would be lying if you said the sight wasn’t hot, Spencer was always hot, but, angry Spencer was hot.

The rest of the ride was silent, despite your efforts to try and “jam to some music” Spencer smacked your hand away from the radio every time! It was like he wanted you to sit here in the horrible silence. 

As soon as the apartment door closed, the exhaustion washed over you, your limbs felt ten times heavier, and all you wanted to do was sleep. You immediately began your walk to the bathroom to lazily brush your teeth and wash the makeup from your face. 

“Oh, so we’re not going to talk about it?” Spencer said, his voice rising slightly. 

“Spencer, be quiet, it’s two in the morning.” You groaned out quietly, wiping the last of the makeup from your eyes so you didn’t look like a rabid raccoon. You threw the makeup wipe into the trash, moving past Spencer and into your bedroom.

An angry scoff left his mouth, “seriously?” He followed you out, his eyes glaring holes in the back of your head.

You rolled your eyes, stripping from your dress and opening Spencer’s closet to grab one of his old shirts. “Yes, what do you want me to say? Sorry for having fun?” You slipped the soft fabric over your head, turning around to crawl into bed. 

“Please, Spence, we’ll talk about it tomorrow, I’m drunk and tired.” You grumbled, your frazzled mind struggling to pull back the comforter correctly. 

Spencer sighed, your actions proving your words, he leaned over, roughly yanking down the comforter for you, “fine.” 

You closed your eyes, listening to the sounds of Spencer getting ready for bed. He slipped under the covers, turning his back to you. The only reason he did so was because he knew you couldn’t fall asleep unless you were facing him. Something in you wanted his face to be the last thing you saw at night and the first thing you saw in the morning. Despite his petty actions, the alcohol in your system put you to sleep anyways. 

                                                            … 

You groaned, rolling over onto your side, tugging the warm comforter with you. “Seriously?” Spencer questioned, yanking the comforter back, causing you to roll back onto your other side. 

“I need an Advil.” You muttered, squinting slightly to try and block out the sunlight streaming in through the window. 

“Why the hell did you get so drunk, Y/N?” He sat up slightly, the comforter sliding down his bare chest. 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “you think I remember? I’m just as clueless as you.” You pushed the comforter off your body, deciding to leave the warmth of the bed for a bathroom break and some Advil. 

Spencer followed suit, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, “Y/N you got lost, you were wandering the streets alone and drunk!” 

“I’m sorry, I guess.” You mumbled, your speech slightly distorted as you began brushing your teeth, fighting off the nauseous feeling in your stomach. 

“You guess? Y/N, you have no idea how worried I was!” Spencer cried, his hands gesturing wildly as he took a step closer to you. 

You set your toothbrush back in its stand, “mhm, the same worry I feel when you overwork yourself 24/7.” You remarked, turning to face him with your arms crossed over your chest. 

“That’s different, Y/N! You’re being idiotic, reckless, and immature. I was doing my job.” He spat, spinning on his heel and storming out of the bathroom. 

You sighed angrily, continuing to get ready. You knew he was right, you were being immature. Maybe you had let your friends sway you too much, you just wanted to forget Spencer for a night. You hated seeing him so stressed, it broke your heart, and now you were the cause of that stress. 

Walking out of the bathroom and into the living room you were met with the sight of Spencer once again hunched over his desk, pencil in hand. 

‘Wow, didn’t expect that one.” You muttered sarcastically, walking into the open kitchen, searching the cabinets for Advil. 

“Just like I should’ve known you would go out and get wasted with your friends. Seriously, Y/N, what’s it going to take for you to learn you have to grow up?” Spencer slammed his pencil down angrily. 

“Why are we even together if I’m too immature for you, huh?” You growled, watching as Spencer angrily stood from his chair, stalking over to you. 

Spencer’s hands found your hips, roughly shoving you against the counter, his body pressed against yours. 

You felt his hand trail up your back, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Because, unlike most guys,” his hand laced into your hair, giving it a sharp tug so you were forced to look up at him, “I know how to handle brats like you.” He finished. 

A cheeky smile grew on your face, this wasn’t how you imagined this conversation going, but you weren’t complaining. 

Spencer chuckled, “oh you think you’re so cute, don’t you?”

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip, his condescending words casting a new atmosphere in the room. 

“You’re so quiet now, baby, you weren’t so quiet a minute ago.” His voice was low and as smooth as honey. 

A giggle left your mouth, “well, if I talk, will you shut me up?” 

Spencer grinned, his grip on your hair loosening, “I think I have a few ideas.” 

“I’d love to see them” your hands started a path up his chest, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. 

“I bet you would.” He said, and in an instant, he was gone, he had stepped back and was already walking back to the bedroom. 

“Spencer!” You cried, stomping after him like a child who had just been put in timeout. 

“Calm down, I’m just getting something.” He said, digging through his work satchel. 

You rolled your eyes, your bratty nature getting the best of you, “well you better hurry, or I’ll just take care of myself.” 

Your statement sent Spencer into a fit of laughs, and your face scrunched in confusion. “Y-you really don’t know when to quit, do you?” He said between laughs. 

“And you’re saying I’m the immature one?” At that moment, all you wanted was for him to fuck the shit out of you, but, apparently, that was not on his agenda.

He walked over to you, much like a predator would to its prey, slow and deliberately. “Just shut up and fu-shit!” You cried out in the middle of your sentence, as he roughly grabbed your arm, spinning you around and pinning you to the wall. 

“You’re telling me to shut up? All you’re doing is back talking, and I’m sick of it.” He growled out.

You squirmed in his grip, “then maybe you should stop being an asshole!” His hand grabbed your other arm, yanking it behind your back, “ow, Spencer! Jesus.” Then the faint clinking of metal filled your ears, and chills covered your arms as the cool metal clamped around your wrists.

“Did you just fucking cuff me, Spencer?” You screamed, trying to turn to face him. Surprisingly, he allowed you to, in fact, his hands moved to your hips, helping you.

But the second you faced him, his hand was wrapped around your neck, tight enough to restrict your speech. “I did, in case you can’t tell, you’ve been an absolute brat the past few days. And if you want to go out and act like a whore, I’ll treat you like one.” A primal look washed over his eyes, he wanted to break you, to humiliate you into submission. 

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. Spencer chuckled, “oh, you really are a whore. You like it when I choke you, huh?” 

His hand pushed back on your neck, shoving you back into the wall, watching as you collapsed into a heap on the floor. You gasped for air, squirming as the handcuffs dug uncomfortably into your back. 

Spencer’s hands went to his belt, unbuckling it quickly, “get on your knees, sweetheart.” His voice was soft and gentle, probably because he just choked you and threw you against a wall.

You complied, shifting onto your knees with minimal struggle, despite the restraint of your arms. “Good girl.” Spencer praised, pushing his pants and boxers down thighs, his hard cock springing free. 

Your eyes widened, you were shocked at how hard this had made him, sure, you had always had this Dom/Sub dynamic, but you had never been this rough before. 

His hand wrapped around his length, giving it a few good pumps. His other hand wrapped your hair in a makeshift ponytail, using it to drag your head towards his cock. “Open, baby.” 

Your jaw fell open, his cock filling your mouth, and your lips puckered around him, sucking lightly at the tip. “Oh no, baby, I’m going to fuck your mouth, and you’re going to sit there and let me.” 

He pushed down harder against the back of your head, driving his cock further past your lips. You squirmed, gagging slightly as he hit the back of your throat, you tried to pull back for some air, but his hand just pushed your head down further. “That's it, such a good whore” he groaned out.

You took shallow breaths in through your nose, trying your best to relax your throat to take him in further. Tears welled in your eyes, and you tried to pull back once more. Spencer let out a mix of a groan and a chuckle, “no, no, you wanted to act like a whore, you’re going to take it like a whore.” 

He pulled back, groaning as your tongue ran over the vein on the underside of his cock, “God, yes, there you go.” He pushed back in, this time pulling back faster, setting a rough pace. You gagged again, more tears falling down your face, mixing with the saliva escaping your mouth. 

“Shit, that feels good.” Your eyes flickered up to Spencer's face, just in time to watch him lean his head back with a groan. The sight alone caused you to moan around his cock. “Oh, God” he moaned, his hand pushing your head down one last time, as he stilled, his cock twitching lightly in your mouth, spilling his hot cum. 

The sight of him coming undone before you had you moaning around his shaft, milking his orgasm. “Fuck” he breathed out, his chest heaving. You swallowed around him, trying to control your gag reflex as he pulled your head off of his cock.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, his voice once again soft and soothing, his hands wrapped around your shoulders, helping you to your feet. 

“Please, Spencer, please” you begged. 

Then the soft tone in his voice was gone, replaced with a low condescending tone, “please, what? You want me to make breakfast? Or maybe you want me to go back to working?” 

“No, no, no, no” you begged, taking a shaky step towards him, “please, just fuck me.” Your voice came out harsher than expected, albeit still horse from the abuse on your throat. 

Spencer’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a short scoff leaving his mouth, “wow, and here I was thinking you had learned your lesson.” 

“No!” You cried, before correcting yourself, “no, I mean no, please fuck me, I’m sorry.” You could feel your arousal soaking through your panties.

“Hmm… much better. Get on the bed.” He stated, turning towards the bed, he clambered on, laying down in the middle, his cock once again hard, and standing at attention.

“B-but, I can’t, not without my arms.” You whined you could only imagine how much of a mess you looked like, drool and tears all over your face, along with your disheveled hair. 

You watched as Spencer’s hand wrapped around his cock, stroking leisurely, “that’s a shame, I guess you won’t get to ride me.” He sent you a smirk, watching as you struggled to walk to the bed, the bastard was enjoying this so much. He was addicted to the sight of you, no longer reckless, but more wrecked. Completely at his will. 

You fell face forward onto the bed, squirming to try and climb onto it. “How cute.” Spencer voiced, sitting up slightly, his hands wrapped around your biceps, and in one swift tug, he had pulled you onto the bed. “There you go.”

His hands helped you onto your knees, helping you to straddle him. He pulled your panties to the side with one hand, the other spreading your wetness around your folds. He hummed in approval, “almost seems like you’re enjoying this” he teased. 

You whined at the friction, your hips grinding down against his hand. He pulled his hand back, reaching down to grab his cock. He lined it up with your entrance, slipping the head in. You both groaned at the feeling, your head falling back in pure bliss. His hands moved to your hips, yanking you down fully onto his length. 

“Oh, God, fuck yes.” You moaned, your head leaning forward this time, your hair falling in your face. 

Spencer’s hands left your hips, folding behind his head, “if you want to cum so bad, you can do it yourself.” 

You swear your jaw fell to the floor, and the tears that once filled your eyes came flooding back. “No, please, Spence, please fuck me, please.” Despite your words, your hips began to rock into his, lifting slightly only to crash back down on his cock. 

He groaned lightly, his eyes closing in pleasure, “you were acting like a whore, you’ll cum like a whore.” 

“Ugh, shit.” You moaned out, your hips working faster. 

“Yes, baby, there you go. Make yourself cum on my cock.” Spencer said through gritted teeth.

Your thighs began to burn, and you knew you couldn’t carry on much longer. You quickened your pace, desperately chasing your orgasm. 

“Fuck, such a good whore, my little whore.” Spencer praised, his voice strained with lust. 

The burning became too much, and exhaustion hit your body like a train. You collapsed forward, burying your face in Spencer’s neck. “Please, fuck me, please, Spence. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I promise.” You sobbed, your fresh tears falling onto his shoulder. 

“Alright, baby, it’s okay.” He unfolded his hands from behind his head, running them up and down your back soothingly. His hands ran down to your hips, lifting you off of him. “C’mon baby, we’re not done yet, I know you can take it.” He cooed softly.

You pulled your head back, biting down harshly on your lip, you nodded your head, not trusting your voice. “You’re such a pretty girl, and all for me,” Spencer said, his hand coming up to trail over your face affectionately, and you subconsciously leaned into his touch. 

“Okay, up.” He said, landing a soft tap to your backside. You giggled lightly. He helped you off of him, and before you could relish in how gentle he was, it was gone. He shoved your face forward into the bed, and you let out a sharp yelp. 

The low gravelly tone was back in his voice as he spoke, “You’re such a pathetic little mess for me.” He had moved behind you, his hard cock grinding against your clothed ass.

You turned your face to the side so you could breathe, muttering out a, “please, Spencer, I won’t do it again, I promise.”

His finger hooked in your panties, pulling them to the side, and with one swift motion, he had slammed his cock into you. You screeched, eyes crossing, and mouth falling open. “Fuck, yes! Fuck, me.”

Spencer’s pace was relentless, pounding into you, skin slapping against skin obscenely. He practically growled from behind you, and his hand reached up, latching onto the handcuffs. He pulled you back onto him with each thrust. 

You yelped, your wrists ached, and they would definitely be bruised, but the pleasure was too good to tell him to stop. Plus, you doubted he would listen. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer.” You muttered, the tension building in your stomach. 

“C-can I cum, please? Please, please?” You begged, drool sliding from the corner of your mouth. 

“Cum, cum, whore,” Spencer demanded. 

You let out a loud cry, panting as your orgasm coursed through you. Your thighs clamped together, and you cunt clenched around Spencer’s cock. Your back arched further, pressing your breasts into the mattress. 

Spencer continued his pace, crashing into you with everything he had. “F-fuck, shit, Y/N, so good.” He stuttered. 

At this point you were an incoherent mess, your mind was clouded, all you could focus on was the feeling of Spencer’s cock dragging against your walls. 

“Spence, please, I won’t do it again, I promise.” You begged, you couldn’t tell if you were begging him to stop or continue. 

He chuckled through a groan, “your right, you won’t do it again,” one of his hands reached around, placing itself on your stomach. He could feel the bulge his cock created every time he thrust into you, “you won’t do it again, because I’m going to cum in you.” 

The one-sentence had you spasming around his cock again, moans, and whimpers leaving your mouth. “You won’t be able to go out and drink with your stupid friends if you’re nine months pregnant, bitch.” He gritted out, finally stilling inside you, letting his cum fill you up.

The feeling alone sent you into one last orgasm, your body trembling, and a constant flow of tears cascading down your face.

You knew this wasn’t healthy, you couldn’t make up like this. He was so right, you were being childish and immature. Orgasming inside you was almost his way of telling you you’re not a child, you’re a woman, and you need to act like one. It was on its own, a reality check.

Spencer gave you a few more gentle thrusts, before pulling out, moving quickly off the bed. 

You didn’t dare try and move, your body ached, and your wrists had been rubbed raw. Your headache from earlier was back, this time twice as strong, and you groaned at the pain.

“Shh… baby, don’t move.” Spencer was at your side in an instant. You vaguely registered the clinking of metal and the freeing of your wrists. 

You whimpered as he slathered lotion on your sore wrists, massaging them gently. When he was done you giggled deliriously to yourself, it was moments like these you cherished. Such moments of utter vulnerability and trust that would only be shared between the two of you. 

He left once again, and you slowly rolled onto your back, letting your eyes close momentarily.

Spencer came back shortly, walking back over to the bed. He placed a kiss on your forehead, watching as your eyes fluttered open, “hi” you mumbled. 

Spencer laughed, “hi” he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. “C’mon” he mumbled.

One of his arms hooked under your knees, the other around your back, you got the idea, quickly wrapping your weak arms around his neck. He lifted you up, carrying you bridal style into the bathroom. Upon entering you had noticed he already drew a bath, and a smile crept onto your face. 

“Here, sweetheart.” He set you down on the toilet, helping you out of your shirt, and pulling off your ruined underwear. He helped you up, holding onto you as you stepped into the water. 

You got yourself situated, watching as he stripped from his clothes to join you. You scooted forward, allowing space for him to slip in the bath behind you. 

He smiled at your actions, climbing in carefully, he settled behind you, his arms wrapping around you comfortingly. You sighed peacefully, nuzzling into his chest. “I’m sorry if I was too rough with you” he muttered into your hair.

You giggled lightly, “no, I deserved it.” You sank deeper into the water, allowing the warmth to soothe your muscles and the pounding in your head. 

“No, Y/N, you were just trying to help me relax,” Spencer said sympathetically.

“Mhm, and I ended up doing the exact opposite, I’m sorry, Spence. I just wanted to forget about you, I can’t stand to see you so stressed.” You turned slightly so you could look at him.

“How about this, you don’t drink so heavily next time, and I’ll take more breaks from work?” Spencer debated, one of his eyebrows raised in question. 

You let out a giggle at his expression, leaning back to press a kiss to his perfect lips, “sounds like a deal to me. Plus, who knows when I’ll be able to drink again?” You teased, alluding to the fact that he had come inside you. 

Spencer laughed, his arms wrapping loosely around your stomach, “there’s no one I’d rather have carry my child than you.” He ended his statement with a lasting kiss to your lips, pulling back, only to pepper more kisses on your face.

[haloud]

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 9

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Michael and Isobel reckon with the fallout from Michael’s choices; Maria and Max catch up with him post-recovery.

Excerpt:

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

 (Wednesday, 11:00 am)

  Michael flipped Alex’s key over and over in his fingers, running it along his knuckles, pressing his thumb into the teeth until they left a locking-imprint on his skin, then doing it all over again. At some point, maybe it would start to feel real, if he reminded himself of the thing often enough.

The repetition and stimulation of the rough teeth, the cool, smooth metal, soothed him as he waited on Isobel’s porch. She’d called him here in the first place, so eventually she’d open the door. Until then, he waited. And as he waited, he thought of Alex, because what else was there to think about these days?

(A thousand things, like Jones and Project Shepherd, Max and Liz, and all the work piling up at Sanders’s, but Alex had a way of blotting everything else out, and, no matter how much his brain tried to get him to feel stupid or naïve or childish for hoping yet again, he was going to let himself bask in that shade for once in his life.)

He hadn’t left Alex’s house, still, except to go to work and get things from his own place. At Alex’s, he was still sleeping in the guest room, the both of them afraid that they’d fall back into their old patterns too fast if they fell right into bed. But during the day they shared that space, a kitchen, a den, existing alongside each other as they read or cooked or composed, and the routine wasn’t so different from the tense and quiet days right after Michael’s injury, but at the same time they were nothing alike, not when each tiny glance could mean so much, not when fingers on the soft rasp of turning pages were fingers he could touch, that could touch him.

Everything was different. It was terrifying, and exhilarating, brand new and nostalgic. It had only been a day; it had only been half their lifetimes.

“Ew, you’re glowing.”

Isobel’s voice started Michael out of his thoughts, and he jumped, shoving Alex’s key into his pocket. She was glaring at him, but still he relaxed, because Isobel’s snark was a form of love and her turning scorn in his direction was a sign things were getting back to normal between them.

“It’s all natural,” he drawled as she stepped aside to let him inside.

“Right. Did something happen, or is this just some lesser known side effect of being brought back from the brink of death.”

“Uh…”

In a way, sort of, if only because Michael’s own stupidity had driven him and Alex closer together, but that wasn’t exactly a direct correlation or anything admirable.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Just…”

He fell silent. How was he supposed to talk about being in love? He’d never done it before, and this was a first he hadn’t anticipated facing.

“Alex and I…” he tried again, but found himself only able to smile, still without words, and he raised his arms in a helpless shrug.

Isobel’s eyebrows raised. “Oh my god.”

“Yep.”

“I’m still pissed at you, but if Manes is making you his side chick after everything, I’m going to rip his spine out through his—”

“Isobel, no! It’s not like that,” Michael laughed, shaking his head.

“Well what’s it like, then? I cannot handle him breaking your heart again when we’re already dealing with Max.”

He replied, “My heart is fully intact,” as he headed in and dropped down on her couch, throwing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect. “No, uh, Alex and Forrest had a fight, which sucked, but it led to us getting a chance to talk more about, y’know, us, and what we wanted, and each other, so…”

“So this is rebound,” Isobel snipped.

“Can you stop?” Michael said, half-laughing. Even her pessimism on the subject of love couldn’t pop the bubble around his heart right now. He patted the couch beside him, and she hesitated for a few seconds with her arms crossed, before capitulating and joining him.

“Oh, fine,” she groused, leaning against the arm of the couch farthest away from where he was sitting. “Your funeral.”

The words landed like a lead balloon, and Michael winced as her face grew stormier.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” Isobel held up a hand in his face. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, what do you want to hear?”

“An explanation, Michael! What the hell were you thinking? Why would you do that? What if he’d just straight up killed you, did you want us to find your body in a cave somewhere or, or never, blown to smithereens by a man who literally breathes fire! You’re so stupid, and selfish, and—” She cut herself off, furious tears welling in her eyes even as the rest of her face didn’t change.

“I know! I know, you’re right, it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking, or, well, I was thinking, but my head was all messed up.” He rested his forehead in his hands and running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think any explanation is going to make any sense now, out of the moment, but I just…everything was going to shit, and I couldn’t do anything for Max, and I thought Jones might have answers, or could help me unlock new powers like you’ve done on your own. So I could protect everyone.”

Isobel threw her arms up and got to her feet, pacing around the couch; Michael tracked her, anxiety dipping and spiking every time she circled him. Her anger pulsing when she passed behind him made his skin crawl, and he shifted in his seat.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she finally spoke, stopping in front of him.

He kept his head bent forward, staring at his knees.

She continued, “I really don’t. I’ve been trying for twenty-one years, but I still don’t know how to get through to you. How to convince you that you’re not alone, that people want to protect you. To help you. But I’m not Max. I’ve never pushed or pried or fought to cling onto you when you shook us off. I just hung around because I knew you’d always come back.” She took a deep breath. Her voice stayed steady and deliberate. “But Michael, this has gone on for too long, and you went too far this time. You have to let us help you. Otherwise—I don’t know. I just don’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Drops of water speckled the tops of Michael’s knees, and he sniffed, swallowed, mouth dry, throat tight and aching. His sister’s gentle hands threaded through his hair, cradling both temples, right hand over Max’s lingering handprint, but no matter how careful that touch was, he flinched.

Isobel tipped his head up so he had to look her in the eye and said, “You’re my brother, Michael. I love you so much. And I would do anything for you, just like you would—and have—do anything for me. But you need to let me! From here on out, I need you to fucking work with me. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Tears trickling down his face and dripping from his chin, Michael nodded, not trusting his voice, and Isobel fell forward, his arms opening up to catch her, and they stayed like that for a long time, Michael rocking her back and forth, her clinging desperately to his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Max. I just, I can’t stop myself, sometimes, I know it’s not an excuse, I know it was stupid, I know—”

“I know,” she interrupted his stream of self-loathing, sitting back to look him seriously in the face. “I was in your head, remember?”

She’d found him beneath a vaulted ceiling, stained glass in shifting, alive, alien colors, walled in with his demons. Defining himself inside the devouring maelstrom by the battles he understood. His whole life, he’d sewed himself back whole, and his work wasn’t pretty, but the patterns made sense, and they kept him sane even when the odds demanded otherwise. The image flashed behind his eyes, but that’s all it was, an image. He shook his head.

“Not really.”

“Well. I didn’t really go snooping, no matter how tempting it was,” she said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. “But let’s just say…you don’t owe me any explanations you aren’t willing or ready to give. Those belong to you. I know I haven’t always understood that in the past. We both have things to work on, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael rasped, squeezing her tight again. “I…want to work on them with you.”

“Then it sounds like we’re going to be okay,” she softly replied.

(3:00 pm)

Isobel didn’t let him leave the house until both their eyes stopped being red and puffy from crying; It took multiple episodes of some Food Network show he’d never heard of before she agreed to let him out of her sight, and, in deeply un-Isobel-like fashion, she followed him to the door and pulled him into another hug for the road before she let him leave.

The drive from Isobel’s to the Wild Pony wasn’t really long enough to fully ruminate on how bad he must have scared Isobel to warrant this level of reaction. Logically, he’d known, but emotionally it was just beginning to sink in.

Over the past year, he’d been faced with losing Isobel and with losing Max multiple times—had lost Max, in fact. He knew how it felt. Why should the loss of himself be any different to them? In low moments, sure, thoughts shifted beneath the murk of his mind, lurking demons from childhood, that they didn’t need him, they had each other, a more special bond, he was the odd one out, outside, out in the cold. But on the day to day, he didn’t devalue himself like that, not in so many words, did he? But—

To be surprised? That Isobel was afraid, that Max was afraid, that the both of them stood on the precipice of grieving him and had to process the horror of that fall after snatching themselves back at the last minute? It was a slap in the face, a rude awakening. A lesson that for all these years he’d resisted learning.

The first step to protecting those who loved him was to protect himself. He couldn’t keep shelving it as the lowest priority. They were one and the same.

It sounded fake to his own ears, but he’d just have to say it until the lesson sunk in.

With the windows rolled down, the idle breeze tugged Michael’s hair across his face and cooled the late-summer stickiness from his skin. It was just after lunchtime, a little early for Max to be at work, but since he wasn’t at Isobel’s house, it was faster to check for him here than to drive all the way out to his own place.

If there was one positive to his near-death, it was the way Max was invigorated by a purpose. The healing drained him, of course it did; it could have killed him, and that weighed on Michael’s conscience, but afterward, after it worked and he’d pulled Michael back from death, he smiled. He slept. He bustled around Alex’s house babysitting Michael while Alex was at work, and now, with a little distance from fragile death, that didn’t chafe as badly.

Max deserved a better thanks than Michael had thus far been able to render, and with Isobel’s words still ringing in his ears, there was no better time than now.

He pulled up to the Pony, the fairy lights strung across the patio dancing in the wind, the wood of the old building all pale and real in the sunlight. The old, familiar sign above the door was off as long as the bar was closed, but Michael still took a moment to glance at it nice and long, remembering the feel of fixing it under his hands so the whole place felt less liminal, less like a mirror vision of the beating heart that was the Wild Pony glowing under the night sky, lit from within rather than from the sun.

Faint music played as Michael parked and left his truck, so he rounded the corner of the building to suss it out and smiled at what he saw, leaning against one of the trellis supports.

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“Oh, you know me.” She gestured vaguely to the arrangement of papers and tucked her feet up beside her, leaning toward Michael, cutting the space between them in half like it wasn’t worth noticing. Some of the tension in Michael’s chest unwound at her ease around him.

“Hustling?” he prompted.

“Yep. I’m just organizing the events I have planned for the upcoming season and making sure I have space set out for scheduling, details, budgeting, the works. High school me would die with envy; my system was never this good when I was trying to study.”

“I’m definitely impressed. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with, anything you need built, or an extra set of ‘hands’ for decorating.”

“How is that going?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“I’m still getting my strength back. Just gotta keep pushing through and hope whatever Jones did didn’t mess me up for good.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.”

Her hand extended but stopped before touching him, until he turned his hand palm-up, asking her to take it. She did, squeezing him.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “And the TK aside, have any of the other powers cropped up? The light, the teleporting? Those were the ones Alex told me about.”

“That’s all I remember, really. And no. I haven’t even tried, honestly.” He looked at their joined hands, her wrist bare of the pollen bracelet he’d promised her and wasted, thrown away like trash in a corner of Jones’s cave. This is blasphemy…

“Do you think you will? Try?” Maria asked, head tilted.

“I…hadn’t thought about it. Been focused on getting back to square one with the TK, but…”

Was doing more with his powers still an option? Was he willing to try, and fail, and fail again, without folding and submitting to all the voices in his head that told him every failure was proof positive of the erstwhile adage that he was worthless?

“Well, you have time,” Maria said, squeezing his hand again.

“What about you?” Michael asked. “Any visions?”

Her face shut down. She let go of his hand to smooth both hers down her knees then fold her arms around herself, turning her head away. “No. Still nothing. A few dreams, but it isn’t always easy to tell what’s a normal dream and what’s a vision, and with you out of the woods, the most dire ones are already Jossed.”

“What about Mimi?”

“Huh.” Maria pursed her lips for a second, then said, “I haven’t noticed any change in her? But I’ll have to ask and see what she says. I’m not even completely sure our powers work identically, with the things she’s said about being unstuck in time…I don’t always get that same feeling.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael promised her. “Even if it means having to go back to Jones and ask what he knows—”

“No!”

She wheeled on him and smacked his arm lightly.

“Absolutely not! Michael!”

“Not alone, obviously!” He defended.

“Not at all. Jesus Christ. I’ll tell Isobel you said that—I’ll tell Alex��”

“Maria, c’mon,” Michael whined, taking her hand again in an attempt to connect them and calm them both down. “I just don’t want to rule out that he’s meddling in more ways than we know. I still think he’s fucking with Max. You deserve answers, if that’s what’s going on.”

“Not at the cost of your life. Not ever. It could be a hundred other things, too. Stay away from him, Michael, I’m serious.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good,” she said firmly, wrapping her arm around his again and leaning into him. He let out a long, slow breath as she relaxed.

“You know, in Jones’s cave…”

“Mm?”

Michael carefully encircled her wrist with his fingers. “I lost the bracelet I made for you. The backup one I promised.”

“Are you feeling guilty about that? Because please, don’t,” she replied, covering the hand on her wrist with her other. “That is the last thing on my mind.”

“But I—”

“Hush. I’m glad you had it with you, whatever happened to it. It’s good that you opted to protect yourself, even if it didn’t work.”

“I thought your powers were offline.”

“The visions, maybe. But I don’t need to see the future to read you, Guerin.”

“You are something else, DeLuca.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“Hey, Maria—oh! Michael!”

The two of them turned toward the backdoor at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Hey, Max,” Maria said. “Is the inventory finished?”

“Yeah, I was just coming to report back.”

“No need to be so formal,” she teased, standing up and brushing dust from the seat of her pants, looking at the papers around her with her hands on her hips. “I was hoping to get your opinion on some plans, Number One, but someone interrupted, so they’re not quite ready yet.”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael drawled.

Max reached out a hand, and Michael took it to humor him, letting him haul him to his feet.

“I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Maria said as she led the way back into the bar, cool and dim in the daylight. “You can sweep up to say you’re sorry.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said, reaching out a hand, hoping he could summon the broom as nonchalantly as he once could. It sat unresponsive until a spike of formless frustration zipped through him, at which point it flew to his hand fast and hard enough to sting his palm when he caught it. Great. Just what he needed right now—puberty flashbacks.

“I need to run,” Maria said, stowing her binder behind the bar. “Late lunch with Rosa. I’ll see you later, Max—Michael, it was so good to see you. Say hi to Alex for me, okay? I know you’re gonna see him before I do.”

She left with a wink while Michael was still pink and stammering. Maybe Alex had told her already—or maybe that was just Maria, putting him so at ease it was easy to forget how much she saw. His chest glowed so warm he couldn’t stop blushing at that casual acknowledgement, that easy validation, that he and Alex—that Alex and he were what they were to each other, now, again.

“Wait, is she talking about you staying over there, or does she mean—dude!” Max grinned ear to ear and bounded out from behind the bar to pull Michael into a back-slapping hug. “Congratulations!”

Old, brotherly habit had Michael squirming out of Max’s affections, but it didn’t dent his exuberance; he retaliated with a swipe through Michael’s hair, making him duck further out of range, huffing and laughing all at once as he tried to fix it again.

“Yeah, um, Forrest and Alex broke up, and then one thing led to another, so.”

“I’m really happy for you, man.”

“I—thanks. I’m…I’m really happy, too.”

The sudden urge to comfort Max gripped him, a strange survivor’s guilt that things would be working out for him and Alex and Max and Liz would still be so far apart. But it wasn’t his place to throw that in Max’s face now, so he bit his tongue and basked in Max’s honest happiness for him.

“Could you feel, uh, any of my emotions through the handprint?” Michael asked. He ran his hand through his hair over the spot on his temple where Jones had held him, erased by Max’s healing hands, then dropped it back to his side abruptly, flexing away the phantom stiffness that still plagued him, that probably always would. He gave it a shake as if to chase away nervous tingling.

“Nah. But it’s not like I’m looking; I respect your privacy, man.”

“’preciate that,” Michael snarked, and Max just shrugged.

“Any particular reason you ask? I don’t need to know what you and Alex are up to,” Max joked.

Michael considered his answer for a little bit as he made his way between the tables. After all, it wasn’t as if this was the first handprint Max had ever given him. The ones on his neck and hand cut off by his death aside, dozens of times over dozens of years, Max had practiced healing on him and they’d explored that connection. Michael was always the guinea pig; he never wanted for injuries to work on, after all.

But there’d been a lot of handprinting over the past year and change. Max felt something from Liz; Liz felt something from Noah; Rosa and Max had a connection strong enough to tether Max to the world of the living. And then there was Michael, with Jones’s voice in his ear, dripping condescending words about his lack of psychic ability being phenomenal, considering.

At various times in his life, Michael had looked up at the stars and wondered in the silence what it was in him that was irreparably broken.

“Just curious. It’s been a while, and all juiced up like I was, I was wondering if anything felt different.”

“Nothing different. Just you.”

Max smiled like that was a good thing, a comforting thing. And you know what? In between the adrenaline of change, good and bad, in between the rock of Project Shepherd and the hard place of Jones, on an afternoon in a closed bar, a home to both of them, alone with his brother, Michael let it be.

He cleared his throat. “Good. So there’s no…interference or anything? Nothing weird lurking around up there?”

“Not that I can tell; Isobel would probably know better than I would. Whatever he did to you was bizarre, man. It wasn’t like the way, uh, the way I’ve killed people before. Or the way Noah killed.”

“I don’t think he was just trying to kill me.”

Michael made his way over to a booth and beckoned Max over; he lingered over his work for a glance at the clock and then came and joined him.

He continued, “He kept going on about teaching and knowledge and this being the wrong way but the most efficient. He knew it would hurt me, but maybe it would have worked better if he did it to someone more, uh, receptive than me.”

“What are you talking about?” Max leaned over the table, brow furrowed. This close up, the dark circles below his eyes were more noticeable. “Michael, what he did to you wasn’t in any way your fault—”

“I know, I know, that’s not what I mean. Just…look, I saw the security footage from Caulfield, from the day of the Valenti incident. The way that alien approached Jim Valenti and put his hands on him was identical to what Jones did to me, and I think maybe that guy was just trying to communicate but it fucked up a human in a way he either couldn’t expect or was too out of it to realize. And, well,” Michael gestured to his own head. “I’m the most human of the three of us up here.”

“I…huh.” Max sat back and drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he processed that. “Well, whatever the case, it proved you and Isobel were right about him. He can’t be trusted. Nobody should have any more contact with him. We’ll start doing our monthly drop offs contactless until we all figure out what should be done with him.”

His voice was firm, businesslike. Traffic Stop Max was Michael’s least favorite version of his brother and he’d hoped that his turn to the civilian would’ve put that guy to rest, but he had a tendency to rear his head in a crisis.

But in this case, he saw through him, and that façade was hiding something.

“How do you feel about that?” Michael asked, leaning back and slouching, reflecting Max’s rigid body language the way he had for a decade, cops and robbers style.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. He almost killed you; we’ll do what has to be done.”

“Uh, it definitely does matter. You’re the closest thing to a next of kin he’s got, as far as we know. If anyone gets to decide what happens to him, it’s you.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Is it? ‘Cause, look, I know I fucked up a lot of stuff running off to Jones half-cocked like I did. I don’t want to set off a chain reaction of more bad mistakes that rips us apart again when we’re just startin’ to…” Michael trailed off with a self-conscious shrug. It was realer than he’d intended to get, but it was the root of the issue, wasn’t it?

Max’s face softened, and Michael slumped lower in the booth.

“You’re not. You won’t.”

“You’re just saying that—”

“Michael.”

That tone was always a coin flip if it’d get right under Michael’s skin or if it’d shut him up. It landed on the second one this time, to Michael’s relief.

Max said, “No chain reactions. What we were doing before wasn’t working, okay? I knew I wanted something from Jones, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and take it. All you did was force us to make a choice when I would’ve dug my heels in and not been able to for a long time otherwise.”

“The answers you’re looking for, though, you deserve to look for them if it’s what you need,” Michael forged on, battling his clumsy tongue. “I should’ve said that before. You deserve to know who you are and to learn who that is in whatever way you can. Everybody deserves that.”

“Thank you. I mean that. But I was getting so desperate—the things I was thinking of doing—I scared myself, okay? I didn’t think—I don’t think I am that person. And being this person I am right now and who I want to be right now is more important than any answers about the past, if that’s what it means to find them.”

Michael sat with that, looking Max up and down, sitting with his own feelings as much as Max’s words. Parsing his own reactions to Max was something he took steadier, more carefully than most other things in his life. It was a set of muscles he needed to practice with as much as he needed to get power back to his telekinesis.

“Okay, man. I respect that,” he said finally, leaning over the table to punch Max in the shoulder. Max made a face and rubbed that spot.

“Ow, man, thanks, I guess.”

“Damn, did I get you in your writing arm?”

“Try my drink-mixing arm. If I’m off tonight, I’m ratting you out to Maria.”

Michael let out a scandalized noise and slipped out of the booth.

“Where are you going?” Max laughed, dark eyes shining with life in a way Jones’s never could. For all they were identical, Michael barely saw the resemblance.

“To lay low, what do you think? You’re makin’ me a fugitive.”

“Uh huh. Good luck; you know she’s just going to ask Alex.”

“Damn it. The things I do for love.”

A smile on his own face as soon as he turned his back, Michael was almost at the door when Max called his name and he turned to face him again.

“Michael? Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Asking. Listening.”

Those two words held a lifetime of desperate loneliness between them, and Michael would be sitting with that, too, as long as he was holding it in his head, making it a conscious decision, to do right by his brother.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.

“I wanted to,” Max replied simply.

“Well in that case…I guess you’re welcome.”

Michael’s phone buzzed in his pocket, not the single pulse of a text but the longer jangling of a phone call. He fished it out, smiling when he saw the name, and he didn’t even wait to get privacy from Max before answering.

“Alex—”

“Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

“Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Max hurried to Michael’s side.

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

But the line cut off midway through his protest, leaving him with nothing but the dial tone.