#bautista x mc

[dragonknightofsummerset]

wdym besties don't normally give you butterflies in your stomach when their hand is wrapped around your waist? -MC probably

Absolutely love this piece I commissioned from the talented @arystocrat (check out their work, it's amazing)

My hunter OC, Emina Bautista, & Arion Devereux from @evertidings IF: When Twilight Strikes

[somewillwin]

Jjgfhjfjyc i just love that angst potentially at the end of the update! 👀👀👀 give me worried Bautista.

[selfinsertsenpai]

Sometimes, Foster hopes and prays that there’s no God so that they don’t have to see him live the way he does.

He’s 28 years old (already too long a life for someone like him), and there’s a lingering smell of cigarette smoke when he enters a room, as if the ash in the air were writing his signature in front of his eyes.

He’s too tall -- he’s still not as tall as Bautista, and for that he’s honestly grateful, because how that man doesn’t accidentally knock his head off getting into the car is legitimately impressive. His limbs are gangly and he looks like an alien in a human suit when he moves.

He rubs the back of his head, his undercut getting less and less noticeable with every passing day. Dull, lifeless green eyes stare back at him. If he were any less optimistic, he would maybe want to rip them out of his skull, just so that he wouldn’t have to look at them (or any of the rest of himself, for that matter) again.

There’s grime on the motel mirror, and he feels some sort of sacred kinship with it, splashing water from the sink onto his face. The bags underneath his eyes only stand out more. “You need to go outside more,” his mother would tell him. But every time he did, it would never result in a tan. Just another splash of freckles somewhere on his body. (He doesn’t think about how badly he wants Bautista to find all of them, make constellations as if his body is somehow comparable to the clear night sky.)

It probably had something to do with his stark-red hair. Kids would call him shit like “daywalker” and “red-headed step child” when he was little. They would also call him stuff like “girl” and “miss,” which was equally as wrong. He wonders if they’d call him a girl now, or if they’d upgrade to blatant dehumanization.

It was hard enough being a “girl” going through a growth spurt that put you at a solid 6′2″ in freshman year of high school -- imagine how hard it would be to be in front of those same kids that had called him nasty names as he is now. (Maybe he’d deserve it this time.)

He looks like shit, and doesn’t feel any better. Bautista keeps asking him if he’s okay, as if the answer’s gonna change. (He doesn’t think about how his heart starts to beat faster when he hears the worry in Marc’s voice.)

His top scars are one of the few things that he finds any beauty in on his body. They remind him that he’s done what he can to create himself. He is his own man, and he no longer has the tits to prove it. He can’t help but crack a smile at the thought of the way Bautista chuckled when he told him that joke, about a year into their “partnership.”

The syringe of testosterone is lying precariously on the edge of the porcelain, a millimeter of movement away from being on the floor, ready to step on and stab your foot into. The thought of just taking testosterone accidentally like that has come into Foster’s head once or twice before. He doesn’t dare to think about how Bautista would react if he walked out of the bathroom with a hole in his foot.

It doesn’t register that his breathing is getting heavier and more ragged until he looks into the mirror again and sees that he’s crying.

He’d have to deploy the special technique to go to sleep tonight, probably. He might even have to cuddle up with his bottle of ginger ale, if it gets any worse. (He doesn’t think about how Bautista’s arm would be just about as thick around, and how much warmer it would be.)

A knock on his door disturbs his thoughts (and temporarily disrupts his panic attack, thank God for Marc Bautista), giving him a bit of time to try and excuse the tears streaming down his hollow cheeks as droplets of water from attempting to wash his face.

“You can come in, I’m not naked or anything.”

Bautista gives him a second before he takes Foster up on that offer. “I heard you breathing heavy. Wanted to make sure that you were okay in here.”

Foster chokes down a sob. “You ever thought maybe it was just me getting my rocks off?”

“Knowing you, I would honestly be more surprised if that were the reason.”

Foster looks up to meet his “partner’s” eyes, and this is one of the few times of his life that he’s actually felt small.

“Bautista, seriously, I’m fine,” he says, and he would almost get away with it if it weren’t for the breathlessness.

The taller man looks into Foster’s eyes, and he rests a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to lie to me, Pierce. You’re... Christ this is gonna sound pathetic. You’re my best friend.”

Something inside Foster breaks. A rubber band that had been holding his ball-joints in place snaps in half. He feels himself crumble into a pile of mushy messy lovestruck pieces onto the dirty bathroom tile.

“I wish I were a better friend,” he replies, his voice breaking. He means it, in many ways. To be better at showing that he wants to be Bautista’s friend, to be deserving of that level of trust and care, to be even closer...

“You don’t have to be better. You’re great already.”

“Can I hug you?” Foster asks, knowing that this was never guaranteed. He cares so much about Marc. He wants nothing more than to hold him close to his chest and forget about the weight of the past hanging around his neck for just one goddamn second.

When he nods, Foster can’t help but sink into the warm slab of muscle in front of him. He can hear Bautista’s heart beating in his chest, and he wonders if this is the normal pace it goes at, or if it quickens when he’s around, like Foster’s own does.

Jesus Christ, he’s so good at hugs. There was a nagging thought in the back of Foster’s mind that told him that he was gonna snap in half when Bautista’s arms wrapped around him, but he’s so gentle, and it makes the ache in his stomach pulse harder.

One of the arms holding him moves away, and Foster has half a mind to protest, until he feels it on the top of his head, softly massaging his unruly mess of hair, fingers sprawling out across his too-long undercut and too-windblown hair. If this was an attempt at making Foster feel comforted, it was working, but if it was an attempt to stop his heart racing, it was failing miserably.

Foster pulls his head away from the crook of Bautista’s neck in a daze, looking at him through blurry eyes. His face is scorching hot, and it only gets warmer when he feels a calloused hand cup his cheek, tenderly moving a thumb across his cheekbone, catching a tear in its tracks.

And the next thing he knows, they’re connected at the lips, and it’s so good. It’s so fucking beautiful. There’s no perfection to be had here, no fireworks, no swelling symphony. It feels like a release of tension. An elastic band coming back to shape after being stretched to its limits. The ball of anxiety and overwhelming fondness in Foster’s stomach unravels itself as he feels Bautista’s chapped lips slide against his own.

Despite the times this has happened before (however few and far between), they’re still not quite in sync with each other’s movements yet, bumping noses and occasionally clacking teeth. It’s the best kiss that Foster’s ever had.

This isn’t a good way to stop him from panicking, and they both know it, but it gets him out of his head, and it helps them in figuring out exactly what they are, what they want, how they’re gonna fucking make it like this.

Foster’s never been the best at showing restraint, and this is no different. He’s desperately trying to get his tongue into Bautista’s mouth within seconds, and his hands wrap around his neck, hands trying to pull him even closer. His spit tastes like mint, and it’s even better tasting than the mints he steals from Bautista when he’s not looking. It seems like Bautista’s defenses are down too, because he’s relatively quick to allow it.

He’s almost too focused on the sensation of kissing the man in front of him to realize that he’s being pushed backwards towards the wall, and it’s only once his back is pressed to it that it fully registers. Bautista’s hands leave Foster’s body and are now fully boxing the shorter man in. The force behind them would suggest that it’s less about wanting to keep him against the wall, and more as an act of self-stabilizing.

And CHRIST, Foster can feel how warm and strong he is, and he wants to keep kissing him into oblivion, but he knows this is a bad idea. He knows that this will end badly, he knows that they’d both beat themselves up about it if they let it escalate like that, he knows, he knows, he knows.

He pulls away for a moment, breath ragged, as his hand runs along the taller man’s jaw. (He doesn’t think about how sharp and perfect it is, or how nice the stubble feels underneath his fingertips. He doesn’t think about tracing his fingers down his neck, toward his chest, down his abs...

(Or maybe he does.)

[drabbles-mc]

Drabbles-MC Masterlist

Because of the link limit, each character now has their own link on this post that leads to a separate post. But this is still where to go to find all of my fics!

(You can also go HERE to find me on AO3)

Fic-list under the cut!

👀 = smut, 💔 = angst

Mayans MC Characters:

- EZ Reyes Fics

- Angel Reyes Fics

- Bishop Losa Fics

- Coco Cruz Fics

- Nestor Oceteva Fics

- Neron “Creeper” Vargas Fics

- Hank Loza Fics

- Gilly Lopez Fics

- Marcus Alvarez Fics

- Che "Taza" Romero Fics

Michael “Riz” Ariza Fics:

- Reckless

- Wipeout

Miguel Galindo Fics:

- Business Trip

- Withered 💔

Guero Fics:

- Always Here Anyway

Canche Fics:

- Trustfall

Sons of Anarchy Characters:

- Herman Kozik Fics

- Opie Winston Fics

- Filip “Chibs” Telford Fics

- Jax Teller Fics

- Juice Ortiz Fics

- Happy Lowman Fics

- David Hale Fics

- Alexander “Tig” Trager Fics

- SOA/Mayans MC Headcanons

Narcos/Narcos: Mexico Characters:

- Javier Peña Fics

- Horacio Carrillo Fics

- Steve Murphy Fics

- Walt Breslin Fics

- Amado Carrillo Fuentes Fics

- Isabella Bautista Fics

- The Diegoverse Fics: A Series of OG Narcos OC Universes

- Hugo Martinez Fics

- Chepe Santacruz Fics

María Elvira Fics:

- Favors Owed 👀

Danilo Garza:

- Things Like That 👀

Amat Palacios Fics:

- Just A Bad Feeling 💔

Officer Trujillo Fics:

- Looking On

Andrea Nuñez Fics:

- At Your Service

Sal Orozco Fics:

- Cómo Puedo Ayudar?

Enedina Arellano Félix Fics:

- Adamant

Jorge Salcedo Fics:

- Debts Paid

Other Fandoms:

- MCU Fics

- The Bear Fics

- The Bikeriders Fics

- Top Gun Maverick Fics

- Suicide Squad Fics

- Kingsman Fics

- John Wick Fics

- Altered Carbon Fics

- Outer Banks Fics

- Stranger Things Fics

- Silent Night Fics:

- Speaking Volumes (Brian Godlock x F!Reader)

- Better Call Saul Fics:

- Should’ve Seen It Coming (Nacho Varga x F!Reader) 💔

- Fresh Start (Gabriela Castillo x Nacho Varga) [Crossover]

- House MD Fics:

- Not to Spoil the Ending (Robert Chase x Greg House)

- At Least (Greg House x James Wilson)

- Bullet Train Fics:

- Pretty and Unscathed (Carver x Ladybug)

- Emily the Criminal Fics:

- Waking Hours (Youcef Haddad x GN!Reader)

- Law & Order: SVU Fics:

- Stomping Grounds (Mike Duarte x F!Reader)

- On the Ledge (Mike Duarte x GN!Reader)

- Our Flag Means Death Fics:

- Retelling the Story (Stede Bonnet x Edward Teach)

- Here We Are (Stede Bonnet x Edward Teach)

- F.R.I.E.N.D.S Fics

- The One Where It’s The Right Time (Joey Tribbiani x Rachel Green)

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ― Chapter 7: The Hierophant

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 2 ⥽

They fled New York with one purpose. Find, hunt down, and return with a way to kill a vampire god. They abandoned their loved ones and survived the City of Shadows; had their trust broken and darkest secrets brought to light. All that... and Gaius still won anyway. But now that they have nothing to lose, Nadya and her friends are finally ready to do whatever it takes to see the King of Vampires overthrown.

They just have to avoid a vampire population eager to gain favor with their new monarch, the ruthless Order of the Dawn, and whatever plans Gaius has that involve Nadya captured and brought to him alive. So... easy-peasy, right? The worlds of both dark and light hang in the balance. The time has come for the Bloodkeeper to embrace her destiny. So if anyone wants to clue her in on whatever that means, now would be great!

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing reimagining project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere​, @cess02​, @hellyeah90sbaby​, @tayab12​, @saratustra4​, @imnotdonewiththeelementalists​, @thepotatobleh​​ 

*join the Tag List here!

⥼ Summary ⥽

In Prague, Nadya and the others seek the audience of the most famous name in histories both mortal and vampire. It's probably for the best that she doesn't get her hopes up.

content warnings: language

[READ IT ON AO3]

Prague is cramped roads and buildings of all sizes and heights all mostly the same four or five different earthy, rusty tones. Cobblestone streets and narrow alleys she can’t help but look at even in passing and think, with the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention, there goes another hiding place for something wicked and foul.

That isn’t to say Prague isn’t beautiful. Because it is. One of Nadya’s favorite things about living abroad in college (and only in the very smallest back of her mind in Paris and the other cities they’ve hopped to and from here while on the run for their lives and the very fate of the human race) was all the old architecture she got to walk past every day like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Prague is full of opportunities like that.

In her most Nadya-esque fashion, she chooses to focus on that instead of what may or may not lurk in the shadows. She chooses to look at the beauty and history around her because you don’t see stuff like this every day.

That, and because she knows it doesn’t matter what hiding place she might spot — doesn’t matter whether that alleyway or this abandoned road is empty or not. There are things out to get them — out to stop them — regardless of whether or not she’s lucky enough to catch a glimpse.

That’s just their new reality.

Prague is chillier; a fact not made any better by the fact none of the bodies she can cling to in the cold have an ounce of warmth for her to leech. Prague is also kinda rainy; and more often than not when she has the chance to push back the curtains of their modest hotel room the sky is the same shade of grey it was the day before. That’s totally fine — just add some snow and it’s almost like home.

Prague is also the long-time home of Vlad Tepes, the vampire more popularly known around the world as Dracula.

Don’t forget that bit.

Lily certainly hasn’t.

“C’mon,” she’s brought this up half a dozen times now and it always ends the same way but when has that ever stopped her before, “he can’t really be that bad.” Because she’s convinced herself that Kamilah, Serafine, and Adrian are all being a touch too dramatic when it comes to their biased opinions on the most (in)famous vampire in history.

And part of Nadya is inclined to agree… but it wouldn’t be fair not to take into account how literally none of the aforementioned vampires are prone to excessive hyperbole. So maybe he can really be, well, that bad.

Kamilah simply sighs and continues sipping her wine in idle silence. She stopped entering the discussion early on; probably of the mindset that Lily will see exactly what they all mean when the time comes. Whatever that means.

At this point the only one who will actively engage with her is Adrian. Which says a lot — that’s really out of character for him. “I thought much the same before I met him in person, but the truth is much stranger than the fiction when it comes to Vlad.” He’s said something to this effect every single time, too.

And don’t think Nadya hasn’t noticed how he usually ends up shifting where he sits and-slash-or stands. Or how Serafine is usually there to offer him an affectionate touch in some form or another. There’s a story there, she’s certain of it. But she trusts him to bring it up if or when it becomes relevant to their current dilemma — and if it isn’t then she looks forward to teasing him when the world is safe and Gaius is dust in the wind.

Because it’s important to note that truth and fiction are as different as oil and water when it comes to the man, the myth, the legend. Who apparently did his fair share of noteworthy conquests in his human years and even his first couple of decades as a vampire; but somewhere down the line wound up going from famed ‘impaler’ to something that — based on Serafine’s general description anyway — is shaping in Nadya’s mind’s eye to look something like a cross between Vegas-sensation Mario Bautista and KISS without the face paint.

“There’s something to be said for the measure of success Vlad has been able to attain while living in the heart of the Order’s battleground,” says Serafine almost absently, “but any praise for him should live and die there — even that I find myself questioning from time to time.

“He has been widely reviled from the moment he brought that ridiculous novel to light. Not only for placing us in the public eye but for doing so with such utter… disregard for our truths.”

Jax raises an eyebrow. “You’d think spreading a bunch of lies that humans end up believing wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” But everything on Serafine’s face disagrees.

“One might think, perhaps. But if anyone was less suited to such an ill-fitting ego…”

“So he’s got a big head,” Lily shrugs, “what’s the big deal?”

The Big Deal is, apparently, how Vlad Tepes has gone from boasting ass to full-on diva in the centuries that followed. Something Serafine seems to take more than a little personally. “And one could suffer his endless tales when they revolved around little more than himself. When he shifted his focus to the Church of the First things became… complicated.”

Needless to say the entire premise of ‘Vlad Tepes—the Dracula—considers himself to be a prophet for the First Vampire in all but official theophany, and serves as Europe’s go-to for all things related to the devotion of Rheya Herself’ is something Nadya has been struggling to wrap her head around for… this whole time.

Maybe seeing it all with her own eyes will do something about that, she thinks, if only so Lily will finally stop trying to poke and prod for answers their friends don’t seem eager to provide.

Unlikely, but, you know.

“How a person takes in faith is unique to them, and a deeply personal experience. Regardless of their…” Serafine purses her lips for the right words. Or at least ones that are a little more in English and a little less like curses. “… unchecked vanity.

“While I cannot speak with certainty as to whether or not Vlad was a true believer in the ideals of the Goddess, whatever he did feel was enough to earn him a place at Gaius’ side during the pivotal years he spent spreading Her belief.

“What he lacks in all else he makes up for in his ability to sensationalize anything that comes tumbling out of that vacant head of his.”

Which explains the whole ‘singing Gaius’ praises’ thing; the largest source of disagreement when it finally came down to whether or not they were willing to risk it all for what Vlad might know.

And while it was unanimous that they would have preferred to wait and see what more concrete information they could dig up, time isn’t on their side. “Still an awful lot to risk on a mere hunch,” comments Cadence — whose natural affinity for research has made spontaneously vanishing away to Prague more than a little stressful for him.

“I just can’t understand how anyone would even consider believing his claims to have seen the Eternal Tree for himself when there’s literal published proof he’s a pathological liar.”

But this is something they’ve been over, too. Not that Nadya doesn’t totally understand venting the same frustrations in the wake of inaction. But it’s not faith in Vlad Tepes that she has.

Her faith lies in Kamilah. That is more than enough.

“Time and time again I witnessed retribution served by Gaius unto those who claimed to have been touched by the First in some divine form or another. He would not suffer anyone speaking falsely of Her — for good or for ill. Vlad’s claim to have seen the Tree with his own eyes wasn’t exactly kept quiet, yet he remained untouched and, unfortunately, very much alive.”

Which pretty much confirms it’s the one impossible thing he’s actually telling the truth about. This is a good thing!

“And you’re sure you are up to the task, petit?”

Nadya knows Serafine only asks because this is something they can’t do without her. Serafine could try to suss out the truth from him on her own but it would only waste more time.

For once though, Nadya feels… not-as-uncertain as she usually does about these things. She wouldn’t be so bold as to call it confidence, but how hard can one ordinary (fame aside) vampire be after she literally pulled Gaius’ oldest memory out of thin air?

“I am.”

“And if your way doesn’t work, we can always go my route.”

And perhaps the most disconcerting thing of all is how those who would normally oppose Jax’s methods of sword-related threats and violence remain pointedly and purposefully silent. Not that anyone is particularly inclined to draw attention to it.

Just like they don’t draw attention to the way Kamilah tactfully uses the rim of her wine glass to conceal the barest twitch of her lips.

Though none of them are surprised at his offer however, Serafine seems to have outright expected it. She throws him a coy smile across the table; a devious glint in her eye.

“Actually Jax, I’m glad to hear you are up to the task. As what I have in mind will not be possible without your help.”

Sometimes the best plans are the ones that take the most direct route to get to where you’re going. And there’s really nothing more direct than what Serafine has in mind.

The estate is a little under an hour away from Prague itself; swathed in lush and vibrant countryside — or that’s what Nadya imagines. It’s kind of hard for her to see out of the tinted limousine windows as they venture on their lonely road after dark.

Not that the place itself is hard to see. Like a beacon in the night the Tepes manor and surrounding land is lit up in the night. Even with the moon hidden behind roiling clouds the moment their car pulls in and begins ambling up the long gravel pathway they are met with what’s practically a battalion of lamp-posts to show them the way.

All she can think about is how long it must take someone to travel the grounds and light up every single one.

The rest of Vlad Tepes’ lands are hard to see properly. On account of the towering and neatly-trimmed hedge walls that flank their path. “Vlad’s labyrinth is somewhat of a popular novelty,” Serafine explains quietly, “though our heightened senses take most of the intrigue and mystery from the search from start to finish.”

But some well-manicured bushes are nothing compared to the splendor of the actual castle itself. With its sprawling Gothic architecture in spires and buttresses it’s truly everything one would expect when they hear something like ‘the Castle of Vlad Tepes.’

Flickering flames in old stained-glass windows somehow both perfectly preserved and still allowed to age with grace. Not unlike vampires themselves, Nadya thinks fleetingly, and lets herself drink in the passive appreciation of it while she can.

Before something inevitably goes wrong and, much like in the way of Marcel’s castle back home, has her thinking back on it with a sour taste in her mouth.

“I still can’t believe you just called the guy up.”

Jax has barely paid any of it a second glance; not the journey or the destination. He’s stayed in pretty much the same position the entire drive; arms never uncrossing from his chest and, to literally no one’s surprise, with his sword never leaving his lap.

“How would you rather I have gone about arranging this little parley then, hm?”

The two vampires stare one another down in silence. Suddenly the cabin feels a lot more cramped and heated than it did just a moment ago. Nadya tugs at the collar of her shirt in discomfort.

“I’m not saying I had a plan, but if I’d had time to make one it wouldn’t be walking through his front door.”

But the younger’s irritation only seems to amuse Serafine, who purses her lips into a thin line to keep from smirking at him too obviously.

“Ah, oui. I suspect you would have gone looking for a secret entrance of some kind… perhaps a sewage tunnel by which to secret yourself in and out undetected?”

Jax just shrugs. “Can’t say I wouldn’t.”

“I can.”

Two words and just like that all the mirth is sapped from the air around them. Nothing fills the void left behind; it stays hollow and empty with foreboding.

“If such a passage did exist, which I can assure you it does not, would the Order not have used it long ago in much the same way?” She raises a single eyebrow at Jax, continuing before he has a chance to answer her.

“While your modern methods are indeed a fresh eye on an old war, Jax, they seem to blind you to the full scope of the kind of life we have lived here for all these centuries. Safety is but a fleeting dream to us. No shadow goes undisturbed for signs of the enemy. Every shelter — from a boarded-up chapel on the wayside to a sprawling manor house such as this — has been deemed safe only after proceeding with the utmost caution.

“Even someone as brazen as Vlad would not dare risk his own life by doing anything else.”

Nadya swears she can hear Jax’s teeth grind in his set jaw. That may be the gravel under the tires though.

The limo starts to slow down as they pass through a break in the hedges to reveal a wide arcing roundabout that stops just shy of the castle’s imposing front doors.

“So what you’re saying is if this goes to shit tonight there’s really no escape plan, huh?” Jax finally asks, and with a much softer voice than either Serafine or Nadya would have expected.

It makes the vampiress throw him a sympathetic look. One he pointedly ignores, but when has that ever stopped her before?

“Have you such little faith in my charming disposition?”

It’s a meager attempt to lighten the somber mood at best, but it’s enough to at least ease his suddenly white-knuckled grip on the sheath of his katana.

“More like a lack of faith in your judgment.”

“Inspired by?”

“Whatever the hell you see in Raines.”

It’s as though the driver has been taking his sweet time waiting for a break in their tension to finally get there. Which can’t possibly be the case; since the partition has been up from the moment they pulled away from the hotel and the ones they left behind… can it?

He cuts the engine abruptly. Something about the reigning silence makes Nadya’s heart start to inch its way up into her throat. Jax, sitting closest to her and no doubt hearing the spike in her pulse, reaches out and squeezes her shoulder.

“You okay there?”

She gives a noncommittal shrug, glad when he doesn’t drop his hand. “Situationally or existentially?” The joke, unfortunately, doesn’t quite land.

“At least this one is above ground.” He tries to reassure her. But apparently neither of them are allowed the luxury.

“The parts you can see…” Serafine says; her last words before the door opens to signal their arrival.

The night air is cold and makes Nadya’s eyes water as she steps out between her companions. She would have rather had Kamilah or Adrian at her side but that just wasn’t possible.

Serafine had made a point that couldn’t be denied. Between Kamilah’s assumed death and Gaius’ known ability to hold a grudge longer than most modern civilizations had been around, those two were pretty much screwed if anyone just so happened to recognize them.

With Antony and Isseya off the radar since Kamilah’s return and none of them having any hint or clue as to whether or not Gaius had started extending his reach overseas yet, they were better off housebound (metaphorically speaking) for the time being.

As it is they’re risking enough bringing Jax along, but apparently the fact he hadn’t made “much of an impression” on Gaius, to put it in Kamilah’s own words, was to their benefit. They were playing safe over sorry with Lily and her newly-acquired quirks too.

It was easy to write off the fact that Serafine hadn’t even allowed Cadence to volunteer before shooting him down as being, well, Serafine and Cadence being Serafine and Cadence. But there’s still a lot they don’t know about whatever had happened to their friends when the group split up — whatever it was though was enough to ease that tension in ways nobody would have expected.

“The intention is to meet with Vlad as quickly as possible, and ideally without arousing suspicion from him or any who might be in his entourage.” Serafine had explained. “Seeing as Cynbel of the Trinity has been famously dead for over a century now, seeing him suddenly reappear in the midst of Gaius’ ascension might as well be the definition of suspicious.”

The argument was fair and valid and lucky for them to have that kind of forethought, honestly. But when Nadya thinks back to the vague air of their talk back at Ahmanet in London and pairs it almost absentmindedly with the way Serafine and Kamilah exchanged a long and almost nervous glance at one another when Cadence’s back is turned…

Let’s just say at this point she’s just waiting around for the other shoe to drop. Or the other-other shoe. Like the kind of shoe an octopus might wear or something.

All of that and only Nadya is left; always the odd one out. But the Bloodkeeper can’t not do this, so what choice does she have?

They just have to hope Kamilah was right when she assumed Gaius would want to do everything in his power not to let Nadya’s name and face spread too far or wide. That he wouldn’t dare run the risk of someone else getting to her before he could.

Neither option appeals, for the record. But at least she’s not the only one risking her neck.

The driver gestures for them to wait at the base of the castle steps, letting them know they will be shown in shortly. He doesn’t linger, job completed, and soon Nadya is throwing a glance over her shoulder to catch the bright red tail lights before the car disappears back around the hedge line and out of sight.

Serafine’s hand comes down in between her shoulder blades somehow both heavy and comforting. A simple touch that eases the tension beginning to knot there that Nadya hadn’t even realized existed.

“Your heart is racing, Nadya,” she states the obvious with a gentle smile of her own, “we may be able to account his notoriety for your nerves but please… try to control your breathing.”

She nods, wide eyed, and swallows through her dry throat before inhaling deeply through her nostrils, holding, and letting it out as a warm breath on her lips. In, and hold, and out, and in, and hold, and out several times before she glances and sees the tiniest nod of approval from the vampiress.

“You’re pretty calm, given everything.”

“Why would I not be?” asks Serafine in obvious surprise. A little too sincere, in Nadya’s opinion.

“The way you’ve been talking about him sounds a lot like you guys aren’t old friends.”

Her rouge-tinted lips purse wryly. “No, I would not associate myself with him so plainly.”

“Then why did he agree to meet with you?”

A fair question, too. One that has Jax listening attentively even if he doesn’t look away from the doors still not yet opened to greet them.

Given the gravity of the situation, Nadya’s grateful that the woman doesn’t seem to need the time to carefully choose her words on this. Hopefully that means she isn’t sugarcoating it.

“The truth is that I did not reach out to him, but rather chose to finally accept a long-standing invitation.”

“Invitation to what?”

Serafine’s answer is drowned out by the sudden opening of the front doors; old heavy wood on ornate hinges designed more with the aesthetic in mind. Their harsh squeal cuts into the trio’s ears and makes Nadya flinch violently.

Soft yellowing light spills out into the night. A haze that stretches down the stone steps and all the way to where they stand gathered on the gravel. Nadya quickly throws the back of her hand over her eyes as she blinks away hazy colorless dots in front of her sight.

It’s just one big gaping hole of uninterrupted brightness… until a shadow starts to cut a long path through the din. It stretches longer and longer until it nearly reaches all the way back near the break in the hedges; a towering figure that, once her eyes adjust to the new lighting, doesn’t quite match the reality that stands before them.

“As I live and breathe — what be this vision before me? It could not be the captivating sight of one Serafine Dupont, surely!”

There’s so much to unpack there but Nadya’s brain is already frozen and buffering on account of the singular thought that consumes her entire being.

Those are some tight leather pants.

The fact that Vlad is wearing all black only adds to the formidable, if shapely, shadow he cuts across the front path. He gestures widely and exuberantly and with no small amount of purpose; the kind of motion that makes sure his large billowing sleeves move in precisely the right way and give him the perfect amount of flair.

Even without the combined warnings from Kamilah and Serafine prior to this exact moment, Nadya’s certain this first impression is all it would take for her to know exactly the kind of man Dracula is.

A one-hundred percent unrepentant drama queen.

Neither Jax or Nadya miss the sight of Serafine quickly steeling herself. How she tucks away any lingering distaste (though maybe it’s the whole psychic-connection thing but Nadya swears it’s not that hidden if she can still feel the remnants of it) and slips on what could very well pass as a genuinely sincere smile for how natural it looks.

Oh, she’s good.

“Vlad,” she coos, somehow both a greeting and an endearment both with one meager syllable. “I see the years have remained kind.”

With his hands on his cocked hips Vlad lets out his own rich bellowing laugh. The kind that has Nadya looking subtle as she can over her shoulders to see if there really is anyone able to hear him waiting in the shadows; witnessing them all like a permanent audience for his constant theatrics. Her senses may be perilously human but Jax doesn’t seem to notice anything off… hopefully he’s got a better grasp on their surroundings while their host holds Serafine captive with a gaze.

“Whereas you, my exquisite creature, look absolutely radiant. Perhaps even glowing as much as I am!”

The ‘Count’ is definitely younger than Serafine, which makes his comment more than a little suspect. About as suspect as the fact that he hasn’t moved from his place at the top of the steps… nor has she moved from her place here below.

They’re having a good old-fashioned stand off. Each one waiting for the other to yield their ground and move things along. But it’s different between the pair of them, that much is obvious.

Vlad shifts on the heels of his boots with an expectant lilt to his smile. He’s used to being greeted with respect and reverence — which Serafine isn’t not giving him — but it means he makes others come to him.

And everyone (Vlad included) knows quite well that Serafine only does what she wishes and nothing more. Hence the way she stands graceful, calm, and poised. Hands folded lightly over the bodice tight against her blouse.

She tilts her head to the side so gently her hair falls around her shoulder in a dark pillowing cloud.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asks bemusedly, “aren’t you going to come give us a kiss?”

With his hand forced and no time to find a reasonable way to turn the tables Vlad has no choice but to acquiesce. “Of course, of course!” Then he’s skipping down the worn stone steps two at a time, the rhythm of his heels following him all the way down. “I just needed a moment to take all of you in, darling. Alive and well and vibrant as ever.”

He embraces his fellow survivor with open arms and a kiss to each of her cheeks.

Another good reason Adrian didn’t come with, Nadya finds herself thinking — the only distraction she can muster to keep from cringing at how he gets a little too friendly on her face with his lips, we need Vlad alive after all.

And after that display… that might have been something up in the air.

Vlad coaxes Serafine back to hold her at arms’ length; only he doesn’t actually let her go. Some small attempt to reconcile his failed power play, maybe.

It doesn’t matter. Just as she did before Serafine breezes her way through anything he might do to her — a simple gesture and roll of her shoulders to adjust her hair has Vlad all but staggering back like she’s thrown him backwards with all of her strength.

“You say such things as though they may have been in doubt.”

His recovery is a meager and tight-lipped smile. “My ears on the ground have a lot to say about changes abound on your side of the continent. Absolute chaos, from what I’m told.”

Tension ripples through Jax and has his hand drifting to the sword affixed to his belt. Nadya throws him a worried look; all wide eyes and silent pleas, but from the looks of it she didn’t need to bother.

They might as well be invisible for all the attention the famed vampire gives them. Not when he has whatever old grudge fuels the calculated exchange between himself and Serafine to put his energy into. But never in her life has Nadya been more glad to be considered chopped liver.

Serafine doesn’t immediately answer. The inaction makes Vlad’s eyes flicker in ruby shades of delight; makes his smile grow wider and a little more meaningful — he thinks he’s won somehow.

“Surely you know of what I speak,” hand over his heart and eyes downcast in cheap, tacky grief, “as I can’t begin to imagine why you wouldn’t have been in Paris during the Dark Solstice. A morbid affair, from what I’ve heard. Almost no survivors to speak of.

“Save yourself, of course.”

Tension crackles between the vampires like electricity. It amps up the long pause that lets his words settle in like a rot; one he’s content to let spread so long as he can’t see it, or as long as nothing of his is damaged by it. Though if he lets it fester everyone’s gonna succumb eventually… or some other metaphor like that.

“You’ve always given credence to such boisterous tales, Vlad.” The woman replies a mite too calmly.

“You deny the Order has reared its fearsome head on your side of the continent?”

“Did I say that?”

“You did not say otherwise.”

“No…” Her voice trails into something soft; hand coming up the brush the back of her knuckles over the high arch of Vlad’s almost alabaster cheekbone. He could bat her hand away, step out of her immediate reach; anything to abate the way he’s shaking very obviously now in his boots. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move an inch.

He just takes it.

Topped with the cherry pink of Serafine’s angelic smile.

“No I did not.”

And just like that she’s restored some sort of hierarchy between them. One that existed long ago and that Vlad Tepes had apparently forgotten in the intermission that followed. There’s less fear in him when he finally relaxes, when she lowers her hand to clasp his with a gentle little squeeze. But there’s a difference between showing fear and being afraid.

Serafine continues with a newfound confidence. “But your concern warms my heart, old friend. Such as my heart warms to know that with our differences aside we can remember the one thing that binds us. That which is more important than anything else.

“By the Will of the Goddess.”

She takes their joined hands and twists them gently. The darkened copper of her skin in stark contrast to his as she coaxes his palm facing upwards.

Nadya watches intently. She wonders for a moment if Serafine intends to draw blood from the bright vein under her thumb… but it passes over like a kiss and nothing more.

“By the Will of the Goddess,” Vlad repeats — far more winded than he had been mere moments ago.

To Serafine’s left Jax shifts on his boots restlessly. Not that anybody asked but Nadya’s seriously impressed with him right now; given his track record with these kinds of things the fact that he can resist rolling his eyes and looking for all the world as though he’d rather take his way through this in favor of the bare minimum of neutrality is worthy of some serious accolades.

Not that he gets any. But Serafine can take a hint.

“Vlad, ma puce, let us move this inside, shall we? I’ve yet to introduce my delightfully stoic American friend here; and he’s been so patient with us hasn’t he?”

It isn’t hard for Jax to pretend to be utterly disinterested in Vlad as the man finally seems to acknowledge his presence — simply because he’s not even pretending. But Vlad had been; that much is obvious. As he looks the younger vampire over with a lazy enough eye.

One that makes it abundantly clear that he had noticed Serafine was not alone; but that he simply didn’t see why he ought to make the effort to care.

“American you say,” — oh of course he says it like that; snooty upper crusty and like he’s actively trying to get Jax to put him at the top of his hit list; maybe even higher up than Gaius at this point — “how… bold of you.”

But his attitude aside, it’s impossible to miss the shift in the way Vlad’s eyes rake over Jax to take him in fully and as a person, less like a piece of Serafine’s luggage left aside.

His eyelids lower a fraction, likes like smoldering embers as he drags his gaze up to finally take in Jax’s handsome features through thick lashes. If there was any doubt left as to what the man’s mind conjures up with the sight before him — there really isn’t though — that’s pretty much dashed the moment he swipes a hint of his tongue out to wet his lower lip.

“Yes, bold indeed…”

Before he can say anything else there’s a loud noise from just beyond the castle doors. A heavy thud that sounds an awful lot like heavy furniture or something else being dragged across a floor.

Jax’s shoulders sag in visible relief as the sound jostles Vlad out of his thoughts and back to the present. He turns back to Serafine.

“Yes yes, do come inside! The American too, I suppose… You can even bring your little snack.”

It takes Nadya entirely too long for her to realize she is the snack. That doesn’t sit well, to be honest.

But it’s the first time Vlad’s even acknowledged her existence and… it’s a little underwhelming if she’s being honest. Not that she wants to earn Vlad’s attention in any form — especially with how touchy-feely he’d been with Serafine — but maybe by this point she’s just gotten so used to strange reactions from vampires that being completely and utterly ignored is… a whole lot of strange for its own reasons? If that makes sense?

It does make sense, if Serafine’s face is anything to go by. How she darts a quick look between Vlad and Nadya and just barely manages to wipe the confusion from her face before it becomes something worth noting.

It could be worse… so she counts her blessings.

Without further pleasantries the man takes long strides back up the steps. He assumes they will follow right at his heels, and they do. Though if the looks shared between the three of them are any indication nobody is feeling as confident about this whole mess as they did before they exited the car.

And they can’t even mention it. What with the whole vampires having supersense-hearing and all.

Vlad doesn’t stop at the top of the stairs. He continues striding right on through the doorway and immediately he’s met by an attendant on either side. Each face is pretty in the way model runways are pretty; with a sharpness to their features that makes them look almost feline and, these two at least, with some kind of gold-colored highlighter that accentuates the sharpness of their umber skin in the distant candlelight.

One steps behind him to catch the suit jacket he shrugs off of his shoulders, while the other who places a fresh glass of a brown liquor in his waiting hand.

“I hope you can forgive the mess of the place,” Vlad pauses to sip his drink and thanks one of the pretty faces with a knuckle stroked along their long throat. They remain impassive to the act but the intimacy can’t be denied.

“You know how crazy things can get when planning the social event of the year and all that.”

Only it’s not a mess so much as it is just a bit… bustling. From the front walk Nadya’s human hearing hadn’t caught onto the noises coming from inside the place but seeing it all now she’s considering getting her hearing checked.

One would expect an estate that looks like that on the outside would be no less decorated within, but decorated is pretty much an understatement. Though if anyone were to make sure any place they lived was decorated to the nines regardless of the time of year it would be Vlad.

Despite knowing that, the hectic bustle of bodies between propped open grand doors and up and down a staircase that branches off on three of the castle’s main floors, though the staggering height of the place from afar tells her there are more levels than what she sees here.

Everything is decorated with the kind of taste that comes from old and inherited wealth and is topped off with a modern edge.

Banisters roped with thick twines of velvet in various shades of reds and golds and what look like real diamonds acting as little more than baubles dangling from the tassels at the hems; furniture scattered around the large foyer in plush cushions and couches that look at first like the genuine antique but on second glance are gold-inlaid replicas built with modern crafting techniques and with longevity in mind.

Another thud comes from a handful of attendants moving a large chaise from one side of the hall through another doorway.

On the ground floor there’s a giant ladder propped up against the far left wall and an attendant balancing atop it. They hold themselves perfectly still, almost delicate, while they secure dark nearly blood-red ribbons around the bottom rungs of a chandelier. They must be nearly done, judging by the same material already wrapped around the chain securing it to the ceiling, and the dark color of the fabric dulls the light and leaves the room hazy both from the continuous heat of the flames that don’t quite permeate the thick texturing.

By the time this place — or this space at the very least — is done being decorated it will certainly be beautiful. But it will be a dark kind of beauty — gothic in a way.

Exactly the kind of event decorations you would expect from Count Dracula; but there’s a respect to be had for the fact he leans into the aesthetic with gusto.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Tepes,” praises Serafine through a hitch in her throat. She’s looking around the foyer with a wistful kind of wanting; a small sparkle held in her eyes that has nothing to do with the lavish decor and everything to do with the invisible hand squeezing her heart up into her throat.

Given recent events especially, the vampiress is no stranger to grief and longing.

And Vlad beams like the way she speaks is more of a compliment than the words themselves.

“Only the best for the best of us, as I’m sure you remember.”

“All your earlier words about the Order, yet you insist on throwing your bal masqué.”

“It is specifically because of these troubling times that we must continue with our most important traditions, Serafine!” He feigns shock with a hand on his chest. The ice in his tumbler tinks together delicately in his grasp. “I thought you, of anyone, would agree.”

He’s goading her and getting more obvious in how he does it by the second. She’s taken it with grace up until now but there’s a tight edge to her tone starting to chip through her armor.

“Tradition, in times of war, can be put aside if that’s what ensures it has chance to be continued.”

“When are we not at war? The Order is no less vicious now than it was before…” He stops and sips his drink again. Casting a passive appraisal around the continued decorating.

“Unless,” with a click of his tongue, “there is a different war you speak of.”

Nadya doesn’t know what’s scaring her more right now; the fact that Serafine had let something that dangerous slip to begin with or the fact that Vlad had caught on so easily. She risks a look at him out of the corner of her eye… much to her relief his sights are still set on Serafine.

An easy grin curls his mouth. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment; let me make sure the parlor’s been made to greet us.” And when he takes his leave of them off to the right and around a set of double doors there’s a saunter to his gait that wasn’t there before. His smugness lingers in the air like a bad perfume.

The moment he’s out of earshot Jax rounds on Serafine with barely-restrained frustration.

“What the hell are we playing his games for? We don’t need to do any of this to find out what he knows.”

With pursed lips Serafine continues to watch the preparations taking place around them. Jax’s frown deepens.

“Serafine.”

“I heard you Jax, don’t worry.”

But that’s still not an answer. Before he ends up raising his voice even more, Nadya reaches out and lays her hand over Serafine’s where she wrings her fingers together at her waist.

“Serafine…” If only she didn’t sound as worried as she is; as the woman’s continued silence makes grow inside her. Serafine doesn’t push her away, but she doesn’t seem welcome to the touch either.

She finally lets her head hang with a weary sigh. “I had thought that given all that transpires around us, Vlad might have chosen to postpone this for the sake of his own safety.

“If not because of Gaius, then because of the Order.”

“Because they’ve been attacking more often, you mean.”

She nods. “But that’s assuming far too much of him. Cunning though Vlad may be, he isn’t very bright.”

“He’s certainly…” Jax’s growl drips with venom, “something.” Nothing good.

“So are we keeping with the plan?”

Squeezing the woman’s hand is enough to finally wrench Serafine’s attention back to Nadya. “No, we are not.”

Jax tenses. “Why the hell not?”

“Because this —” Nadya’s hand falls to let her offer a sweeping gesture to the foyer’s decorations, “— his bal masqué? It changes things. It changes everything.”

She says it in a way that has Nadya feeling like she’s missing a few key facts. She and Jax exchange equally confused glances, and make Serafine sigh heavily for it.

“There’s too much to be explained here. We must leave while we still are able.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that he knows who you are, Nadya.”

It’s like a large gust of wind blows out every candle in the room. Not literally — but the warmth of them is sucked from her bones easily enough. It leaves Nadya feeling hollow as much as she is cold; makes her wrap her arms around herself like that will somehow protect her. She shakes her head slowly… but the disbelief isn’t as intense as she would have hoped it to be.

“But he —”

“— is a performer before he is anything else,” interrupts Serafine; and she’s not wrong. “While he may not have guessed you would be at my side tonight, he has likely known your face and who you are for as long as Isseya and Antony have.”

“So Gaius has been in contact with him then.”

Serafine doesn’t even have to give Jax a verbal response.

“Then we need to go. We need to leave the city; regroup somewhere else.”

“We’ll take our leave of him tonight, yes… but—” —there shouldn’t be any ‘buts’— “—we will be back. We’ll be here for the bal masqué, with the others; and, Goddess-willing, better prepared.”

Uhm… what?

“Why the hell would we do that?” And Jax just barely manages to check his volume, though he’s no less angry. “It’s a party for fucks’ sakes. What’s the big deal?”

“Not here.”

The swordsman throws a look over his shoulder towards the doors Vlad should be coming back through any minute now. “He’s not just gonna let us leave. Especially if —”

Especially if he knows.

But Serafine seems to think otherwise.

“He will. He knows we’ll return; I would even hazard to say he is counting on it.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Unsurprising.”

Before he can try and push the issue Serafine wraps a strong arm around Nadya’s shoulders and all but shoves her towards Jax. “Take her and go. I will deal with Vlad and give you what time I can.”

He just barely manages to catch Nadya before she falls into him. Reaching out to steady her and make sure she has her feet before rounding on their companion. “What the he—”

But he’s too late. Serafine is already five long strides away — far enough that he’d need to raise his voice to catch her. And they both know he won’t take the risk in alerting Vlad’s house staff. They’ve all been dutifully working this entire time, but if the woman dusting picture frames or the couple laying down ornate Persian rugs are anywhere as deceptive as their boss they may be ready to strike at any time.

That thought does not sit well with Nadya’s meager dinner.

“We should try and leave.” While we still can.

His jaw visibly tenses, but already he’s starting to slowly nudge the pair of them back through the open doors. “Fine. But she and I aren’t done with this.”

They catch the distant sound of Serafine’s laugh just as they walk through the doorway. The cold bites Nadya’s hands and face harder than before but sheer panic is more than enough to keep her putting one foot in front of the other. When they’re out of the building and back in the darkness, Nadya and Jax don’t hesitate to pick up the pace. Any faster when they hit the gravel and they’ll be full-on running into the night.

Well… they are running into the night. That’s the point.

“What’s with all the vampires on this freaking continent and the fact they can’t give a straight answer to save their lives?”

“Well they can’t all be like you.”

At the glower he gives her Nadya just barely manages a smile through chattering teeth. It definitely helps her feel less panicky.

“And that means what exactly?”

“They can’t all be bold Americans, obviously.”

Jax groans, fully under-appreciating her brand of awkward humor, and takes Nadya’s hand to bring her along as he speeds away.

[fiddles-ifs]

What would be the ro's opinion on mc getting with the other ros be? (Like they are best friends with mc and they tell them they are with x)

Bautista would be okay with Nazeri but would keep such a close, hovering eye on the other two that it’d be borderline obsessive.

Nazeri would be similar to Bautista but once they got to know Trace they’d be alright with them.

Devin thinks Nazeri is a creep but doesn’t mind Trace. They’re scared half to death of Bautista.

Trace doesn’t care so long as it’s amusing.

[iamverycrappyatwriting]

Dream

Greenwarden WIP fanfic

F!MC McDonough x M!Bautista

TW: gore, self harm, horror

F!MC has a dream and realizes Bautista might mean more to her than she thinks...

This is the first time I’ve written in 4 years I hope it’s not too offensive >_<

“Hey Guttersnipe, come look at this.” Bautista barely glances over his shoulder to acknowledge you entering his room before he is beckoning you in closer.

Something feels off today, it feels… Lighter. The air around him seems to shimmer, warm and golden as the early evening light makes its way through lace curtains, casting floral shadows over the room creating a comforting affect. A feeling of nostalgia sweeps over you that you can’t quite place and time seems to stretch as you lazily traipse over to him.

Throwing a hand out to lean your weight on the desk, you bend and peer at the screen to see what he’s showing you.You can’t focus on the screen. You’re leaning so close, you can feel the heat radiating off Bautista’s body. Your hair stands bristling, static electricity sparking between you. You feel the back of your neck flush, the tops of your ears, your cheeks. You can’t tell what's on the screen because all you can concentrate on is how close Bautista is to you. How easy it would be to reach out and touch him.

You dare to peak out of the corner of your eye. Why - to see if he’s reacting too? That’s a stupid train of thought… But he is looking back. He looks almost shy for Bautista. A heavy look, the heavenly light reflecting the warm flecks of brown in his dark eyes; intense and magnetic, drawing you in even closer so you find yourself face to face. His dark lashes casting a slight shadow over his strong cheekbones.

He smells good, you find yourself thinking. Warm and earthy, you can smell the spearmint on his breath. 

You're so close now you find yourself looking back and forth between each eye to make eye contact. His pupils are blown wide - is he feeling this too? You would never dare to think… But maybe… You shouldn’t think like this, this is Bautista this is your partner who finds you annoying and selfish and responsible for his failures. And yet… You feel like you can’t pull away.

Beautiful, you find yourself thinking and this time you can’t chastise yourself for the thought. He is. He’s tall and large and strong with hands like shovels but he has a gentleness you’ve never seen in a man of his size; a gentleness creating a sense of safety, his dark eyes so warm and inviting, his lips -

You can’t help to break eye contact to look at his lips. Soft and full and -

And he’s moving closer.

Slowly, tentatively. Your eyes shoot up to his and you find he’s looking at your lips but he glances up to look into your eyes millimeters before his lips hit yours. His eyes asking you the question ‘is this okay?’ as he hovers just above yours. He looks a little afraid - as if he expects you to lash out, or bolt in terror, but in this moment there’s nothing you want more than to see how his lips taste.

Your heart is pounding in your ears, butterflies are creating a storm in your stomach but you feel light and joyful for the first time you can remember.

Hesitantly you lift your lips ever so slightly closer to his, your eyes scanning his face for a sign he’s about to come to his senses - to back out - but the moment you move closer so does he and he gently grazes his lips against yours. A soft kiss so tender your heart aches in your chest and tears spring to your eyes.

His lips whisper against yours again and it feels like heaven and he tastes so sweet, of mints, and a little spicy - that hot sauce he puts on them to stop you from stealing them - and you feel electric. You feel alive. You feel warm. You lean in and deepen the kiss and it feels like you’ve been dying of thirst your whole life and he’s an oasis in the desert. You finally can have a drink you so desperately need and you pull.

Hands reaching - you both gently, tentatively hold each other, your hands running through his dark hair, his tugging you closer to him by your waist, pulling your flush to his chest as he still sits in the desk chair. The touching is doing something funny to your stomach and your kiss deepens again, hungrier you kiss again and again gently building up in intensity and - 

oh God, this feels so good…

You never dared to dream this could happen! His hands are warm and rough but they hold you so gently and you feel so small in his hands but you - you don’t feel breakable. For once you feel safe. Solid. Secure.

You shouldn’t. The intrusive thoughts creep in. 

What are you doing? 

You’re filthy. 

Get off him. 

You’re tainting him.

You open your eyes and find the room has gone cold. Grey, and oh God.

Everywhere you’re touching him there’s blood. Where your hands have been his flesh has been flayed open. The sweet taste of Bautista is overwhelmed by the taste of carrion in your teeth; disgusting rot, black and viscous.

Oh fuck.

Nononononono.

You rip yourself off him to find Bautista is looking grey, and thin and gaunt like something was sucking the life out of him - you were sucking the life out of him. He looks weak, his skin torn and ragged, shredded and macabre and there’s a milky film over his beautiful eyes and you - oh God - you want to be sick.

Bautista turns to you weakly, confused and also barely there, like holding on is hard.

This is wrong this is very, very, wrong.

“McDonough?” He asks, confused, his voice a raspy whisper grating against your ears.

You see the filth you left in his mouth; it spills out rancid and corrosive.

And he’s covered in red, in blood. Your hand prints clear as day.

You did this to him.

He reaches out for you and his hand tremors.

This is wrong this is so, so wrong.

I ruin everything.

“McDonough?”

He stands from the chair to step towards you and he looks skeletal, he looks aged. Blood drips on the floor where he stands, pooling.

Everything feels wrong.

You step back away from him, shaking like a leaf, you hold your hands up to keep him at a distance.

They’re red. So red. So much blood.

You scream.

…

……

……..

You wake thrashing in your sheets, cold sweat soaking you to the sheets.

You think you knew it was a dream by the end but the beginning had felt worryingly, tantalizingly real.

You can’t think like that. You can’t think of Bautista like that. You can’t wish, hope, dream of kissing him. Of being with him. It’s too dangerous. You’re too dangerous. You can only ruin. You destroy everything. You taint everything. Nothing good can come to close before you cause it to decay.

You can’t do that to Bautista.

You sit up, tangled in your damp sheets, hair sticking up every which way and light up a cigarette. It’s still dark out, but your alarm reads 4.15am so not too early then. Not for your line of work.

You let out a shaky breath, grateful you fell asleep with your vodka next to the bed and take a mouthful, swilling it around like mouthwash and swallow.

It’s warm and bitter and makes your eye tear up. Between the vodka and the cigarette you're feeling a bit more grounded.

Today however, you don’t resist that little voice that tells you to hurt yourself and you do put your cigarette out on your arm. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts. It sizzles and leaves the flesh under red and weeping and you want to scream but somehow it also feels like a relief.

Let it be a reminder. You tell yourself. I ruin what I touch.

The burning, stinging sensation stays as you get up to start your day when you hear a knock on your door.

It’s still only 4.22am. Too early to be work related - most likely.

You answer the door still dressed in only an oversized t-shirt and your underwear; let whoever is bothering you at this time feel uncomfortable. It’s not your job to care.

But when you see Bautista you feel your heart seize uncomfortably. You don’t open the door all the way and hide the arm you just burned behind the door frame. You know it was only a dream but you are finding it difficult to make eye contact as if he could see your dreams.

“What do you want?” Your voice comes out closer to a snap than you intended but Bautista doesn’t flinch towering over you in the way he does. God - why do you feel embarrassed, why do you feel so guilty? You can’t look him in the eye.

Bautista however is looking flushed and slightly embarrassed at the sight of you in nothing but a t-shirt (as if it isn’t covering all the scandalous bits, as if he hasn’t had to see most of you to patch you up) and though you felt confidant the thought of him seeing you like this wouldn’t affect you either, you feel even more exposed.

“I just - Jesus, McDonough. Have you been drinking?”

You don’t know why he sounds incredulous at the idea, it should be nothing new to him by now.

“Yes.” You roll your eyes and shift your weight from leg to leg holding the door ever so slightly more open. It gives you another excuse to not look him in the eye and you know it will wind him up. Let’s not think about what just happened. It’s easier to piss him off than face that dream.

“Did you stay up all night drinking? Or is it the first thing you do when you wake up? Because -”

“Did you come here to give out to me for my drinking habits? Or were you coming to check if I’d done you all a favour and finally off’d myself?” You resist the urge to wince, that was probably too far but you’re not one to back down. You were looking for a fight after all. You smile as cruelly as you can manage instead but your heart is aching in your chest.

Bautista is obviously as thrown as you had expected and he gives you a hard look.

“That’s not funny, McDonough.” His voice is hard but he quickly looks behind you into your hotel room. “Can I come in?” It’s a question but he pushes the door to go in as he asks it as if he just expects you to say yes. A sense of panic fills you, as if by entering the room he’ll see the mess inside your head, he’ll see the dream you dreamt and you grab the door quickly to stop him.

“Jeeze, I show a little bit of leg and you’re that eager?” 

Deflect, deflect, deflect.

Bautista’s face twists, his cheeks redden but he looks as annoyed as he is embarrassed by your crass remark.

“Fucking assho-” He starts to snap but suddenly he grabs your arm behind the door and pulls it close, twisting it to inspect it. It happens too fast to react before he sees the burn mark. You feel your gut twist uncomfortably, guilt, shame, those nasty feelings you feel because you’re aware this is something you shouldn’t do but you push them down quickly. It’s not your fault others feel uncomfortable by your coping mechanisms.

Still, you don’t want him to look. Even if he’s seen it before.

“Guttersnipe…” His voice is soft, his hands on your arm hold you softly, his lips are pursed tightly and his face has that awful pinched look. You hate this. You hate being pitied. It makes you feel small; weak. How dare he pity you.

You rip your arm out of his grasp.

“Gotta put cigarettes out somewhere.” Your tone is joking but you are not smiling.

“Let me dress it.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’ll get infected.”

“I said. It’s fine.”

“Just let me look at it.”

“Fuck. Off. You’re not my friend, okay? I said ‘I’m fine.’ I’m fine.” You glare up at him as intensely as you can. You feel like an exposed nerve after that dream and you just want to hide. Every second around him feels like he’s going to find you out and having him act like he cares… It’s too much. It hurts. You want him to hurt back.

It works, you think. Bautista takes a step back, he looks both annoyed and concerned and you suddenly want to be alone. It hurts to see him look at you like this.

“I just…” He begins but you don’t let him finish. You wish you had got dressed before you answered the door now. You see other people wear dresses shorter than this t-shirt all the time and it doesn’t look lewd but you feel undressed all the same. Naked.

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll try get a few more minutes shut eye before we get back to work. Later, Bautista.” You close the door in his face before he can tell you what he even came for.

This is for the best. You’re not friends.

You can’t shake this dream.

You know now, you have feelings for your partner. You have feelings for Bautista. But you shouldn’t.

You can’t filthy him, you can’t do that. Not to him.

He matters too much.

[lovehugsandcandy]

Find the Lady (BP, Ash x MC)

A/N: So I started this when I was amused by the hijinks of BP and abandoned it when it started to get old but then figured I should try to finish it...because I do love me a snarky LI, don't I? This was already posted in AO3, sorry if you already read it.

Pairing: Ash x MC; mentions of Courtney x Mario ‘BrainMelt’ Bautista, Bachelorette Party

Length: ~3600 words

Rating: PG-13 (Swearing. Someone (?) drinks too many Bloody Marys and gets sick.)

Summary: Find the Lady but Mandy’s the Lady and, if Ash can find her, he’s not letting go.

Ash had to do a double-take, a triple-take, hell, a quadruple-take, when he walked by the open door of the Peanut Butter and Banana Quickie Chapel & Pawn Shop at the far end of the Strip. It wasn’t unusual for the gaudy gold doors to be propped wide open in the spring, Vegas heat not yet in full force, comfortable days still the norm before the fire of the summer arrived; the chapel was small enough that he was able to peer inside, past the makeshift pews, past the smoke machines and disco balls, all the way to the far wall where linen flowers and neon lights surrounded the glitter-gold script of their slogan. One-stop shop! We’ll put a ring on it and take it off your hands, too!

However, none of the garish decor caught Ash’s eye. Instead, it was captured by the trio who stood with their backs to him, speaking to the Elvis impersonator. Now that he looked closer, he could tell that it was the blond girl who hooked up with the magician and the hotshot doctor who just happened to live out East near Mandy. These two were just secondary to the sight that stole his attention though because, right in the middle, always right in the thick of everything, stood the gorgeous lawyer herself, braid cascading down her back as she spoke animatedly to Elvis. 

He wanted to head in, to say hello and take just a second to bask in her attention, to see her face, but he had to pause. If she was here, talking to a quickie minister with Reed at her side, it could only mean one thing. She definitely wouldn’t want him popping back into her life at this exact, special moment. So he took just a minute to watch, her hands flying through the air as she gestured to the flowers, the pedestal. He had to smile, melancholy as it was. He was glad it worked out for them. She deserved to be happy.

~~~~~

He hadn’t seen her in six months; hell, it felt like they had barely spoken over text since she left for the airport with her friends and his heart, but she was never far from his mind. He always knew that he was little more than an interesting diversion in her life, a wild story about the time she was in Vegas and met a two-bit hustler while on the run from the mafia, but for him? She was no drunken exploit or tall tale. Yes, it had been short romance, but it was the first time a tourist wove a path into not only his bed but his mind and his bones and his soul. He could still see her, clear as day, standing on the roof of his shit apartment, bathed in the sun's glow as it peeked over the mountains. 

He would recognize her anywhere.

Which is why he had to do another double-take on the Strip that night. He was in the middle of a game of Find the Lady, a pair of eager college-aged tourists focused on his hands as they followed the familiar routine, over-under left right left, when a dark braid caught his eye for the second time that day. He turned his head, quickly, too quickly, and his hands stuttered, the second card falling from his palm to the pavement below.

The girls in front of him laughed as Ash gaped at the card on the ground. He never messed up this game. “Wow, ladies.” He pulled his best smile out. “I think you both distracted me. You win this time.” He knelt to grab his card and held out the deck again. “Best two out of three?”

Once they had finally wandered off, after five more games where he made sure he focused only on his cards, not the gorgeous brunette he was certain he saw, he scanned the crowd intently. Nothing. He looked around.

“Jayson, man, did you see-?”

“I’m not helping you.” Jayson held up his discs. “I’ve had no success tonight because you keep telling people my mix tape is just me at karaoke.”

“It is you at karaoke. It’s not even good karaoke; it’s a clip from your phone at Club Yamang that ends with you screaming at a bouncer as they throw you out.”

“I told them I paid my tab.” Jayson glared.

“Yeah, with a stolen credit card.”

“Man, shut up, you don’t need to blow up my spot.”

“You have no spot.” Ash was still scanning the crowd, Strip packed with tourists and grifters and hustlers enjoying the glittering facades around them. “Do you remember-”

“I remember nothing.” Ash sighed as Jayson stalked off, clutching his CDs under one arm as he looked for his next victim.

With one last look around, Ash shook his head and got back to work. It’s not like she was here to find him anyway.

~~~~~

The next night found him outside the strip club, LIV DUDS blinking in the window. Shitty exterior aside, it was always packed on Saturdays, an easy way to catch willing coeds as they streamed out of the club, high on the buzz that only scantily clad strippers provided.

He was far from the door, eyeing the crowd and waiting for someone who seemed willing to play, when a shout made him turn.

“BACHELORETTE PARTY PART TWO! WOOHOO! ALL THE FUN WITH NONE OF THE GUNSHOTS!” His jaw dropped. It was the blond again, Courtney, the one with the enormous wild streak and dirty mind. She was bouncing, vibrating, visibly excited at being in her element again. And trailing behind her? Ash watched as the three amigos walked out, the senator’s ex and the one with the sketchy job and then, trailing behind with a blush on her cheeks and smile on her face, there she was. Mandy always took his breath away, every time he saw her, and this was no exception.

He stood, frozen on the spot, watching her talk on her cell, hands gesturing, as Diana put her hands on her shoulders to hustle her into a waiting Dryve.

Crap. 

He sprinted forward but watched as the backdoor shut, car lurching and pulling out into traffic.

Fuck. He glanced around, eyes falling on an idling cab. He dashed to the window, knocking frantically.

“I need a- Gene?”

Gene rolled down his window. “’Sup, Ash?”

“I thought you were still pretending to be a human statue by the Bellagio.”

“Meh. Gold paint took forever to wash off, especially when it got inside those tiny shorts and irritated my-”

“TOO MUCH INFORMATION!” Ash grimaced, making a mental note to bleach his brain as soon as he got home. “Anyway, I need a ride. Now.”

“I’m on my break!” Gene gestured to the tuna sandwich in his hands. “I haven’t eaten all day!” The words were barely intelligible around the giant bite in his mouth. 

Ash could just make out the taillights of their car heading downtown. With a deep breath, he opened the door and yanked Gene out of the driver’s seat.

“What the-”

“Here.” Ash pulled open the back door and shoveled him in before hopping behind the wheel, turning the engine, and peeling out. He could just make out the rideshare and had suddenly never been so grateful that the Strip was a long, flat line. “Just sit and enjoy.”

There was a rustling in the back and then a thud as Gene dove towards the floor. “My sandwich!”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“You stole my cab.” He was pouting, brushing off the grime from his food, but Ash sensed that it was halfhearted as he settled into the seat and stepped on the gas.

“Not stealing-you’re in it!”

Ash saw Gene take a giant bite of his dinner in the rear-view mirror. “Still stealing,” he sulked.

“Risk I’m willing to take.” He didn’t know what he would say to her if he caught up to them. ‘Congratulations’ seemed a little too fake, ‘Remember me?’ a little too bitter.

“Grand theft auto here. I can’t believe I took financial advice from a thief!”

“Not a thief, I’m borrowing. Much like one does with a loan when they incur a debt. But I’m giving your collateral back when we catch up with that car!” Ash concentrated on darting between traffic, keeping the Dryve in sight, winding his way up the Strip, past the familiar glittering lights and lively casinos. “And, come on! It’s Vegas! Live a little!”

“View’s different back here.”

“That’s the spirit. Enjoy the ride, man.”

Gene gazed out the window. “Did you know that Dirty Harry’s has half priced drinks tonight?”

“Yeah, they do every year on Clint Eastwood’s birthday,” Ash answered idly, focused on getting closer to the girls’ car, gaining some distance as it started to slow down.

“Hmm….” Gene peered at him. “You’ve been doing this a long time, haven’t you kid?”

“Stealing cabs?”

“Hustling on the Strip.”

“About ten years.”

“You ever think about doing something else?”

Ash thought to the manuscript saved on his laptop, forty thousand words, a treatise on hustling tourists and taking risks in the world capital of risky decisions, only partially completed before he lost his motivation, right around the time he realized he lost Mandy for good. He thought about his book and how maybe he could write from anywhere, even from the ritzy East Coast city where doctors and lawyers met and drank expensive whisky with their expensive degrees on the wall. 

He swallowed. Gene was still looking intently at him, eyes peering into him like he read minds. “Sometimes,” Ash responded with a shrug. “But right now, I’m just thinking about catching up to that Dryve.”

“Just don’t crash my cab. I don’t need anymore debt!”

“You got it.”

Finally, after running two red lights, a nerve-wracking close call with a drunk tourist, and inventive insults from the backseat that Gene should definitely trademark, the Dryve pulled up to a stop; he could see the Girl Scouts jump out and file into their hotel.

He screeched to a stop in front of the building, wincing as the valet dove out of the way. “Ok, take your cab, Gene. Here’s my stop.”

He slammed out of the cab but the “Hey, Ash?” from behind him made him turn.

“Yeah?”

“Good luck with your girl.” He had to smile. Of course Gene knew who they were chasing. Ash had always been obvious.

“Thanks, man. Thanks for everything.”

With that, he raced into the lobby of the hotel, the same hotel where he had accidentally rescued them from the gunman, the same hotel with the forest penthouse and shitty security that seemed to allow Norwegian murderers open access to guest rooms. He shook his head. Focus. No time for a walk down a truly trippy memory lane now; he had to find them. Where could they be?

Luckily, raised voices at the bar to his right were a clear signal. A loud commotion, raised voices, and breaking glass? Bingo.

He skidded into the bar and froze. And blinked. And blinked again. “Ummm....”

“Oh! Hi, Ash.” Aisha gave him a quick wave and then returned to the task at hand, trying to corral an overwhelmed Courtney while bobbing and weaving to avoid the signature hand flap. “Courtney, come on!”

“But....” Ash grimaced as her hand collided with Aisha’s shoulder, the slap barely audible with the noise of the insanity in front of him. “But...”

Diana peeked around her friends, barely visible behind the giant thing in front of him. “Hey, Ash.”

“Hi, Diana. Umm...” He blinked again, wondering if he blinked enough times, the vision in front of him would fade. Did he hit his head? “Is that an ostrich?”

She scoffed at him. “It’s an emu!”

“Why the hell do you have an emu?”

Courtney was still flapping her hands, limbs vibrating as she stood; Diana edged away from her and muttered,  “.... because we’re staying in the rain forest suite again?”

“What. Do emus even live in the rain forest?” The emu looked unfazed. 

“Who cares, Ash!?! Do I look like I watch National Geographic?”

“Yes?” He took in her prim outfit, the severe look on her face, and the bottle of electrolyte water in her hand. He nodded definitively. “Yes. You look like your idea of a wild night is binging National Geographic in a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers while wearing a face mask and drinking a green juice.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That was so specific that it feels like you were spying on me last weekend.”

He rubbed his temples. “Ok, where the hell did you get an emu?”

Courtney had calmed enough to join the world of the semi-functional and jumped in, “Ash, it’s Vegas! You can get anything here!” She lovingly stroked the neck of the bird; it seemed like it enjoyed the attention. Then again, who knew? “They still haven’t supplied any cute animals, so we had to find our own!”

“You mean, you stole it from the zoo.” Ash whirled to see Mandy walking in, a severe man in zookeeper garb trailing behind her.

“Borrowed!” Courtney’s voice did the screech-thing again.

“Stole and hid it in the suite until it escaped because no one fed it!” Mandy put her hands on her hips.

“What?!?! I left it cocktail weenies and made it Bloody Marys from the mini fridge!”

“It eats seeds. Insects. Grass.” The zookeeper edged closer. “It can’t metabolize alcohol; since water is scarce in their natural habitats, they have a tendency to consume vast amounts of liquids so it has reserves when-”

The zookeeper trailed off as the emu made a few grunting noises and, in a stunning display, threw up partially digested hot dogs and red liquid onto the bar floor as the entire group lunged backwards. They all looked at each other in stunned silence.

“Of all the vomit I thought I would see, I really didn’t think it would be from that.” Diana blinked, looking down at the violent red stain on the floor. For once, Ash agreed with her completely. The emu squawked and looked around, nosing its beak towards the bowl of peanuts on the bar. 

“Did that emu just boot and rally?” Courtney sounded as shocked as Ash felt.

The zookeeper sighed. “They really are amazing animals with a fully developed system of-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, enough with the zoology lesson.” Aisha glared. “Can you get this thing out of here?”

The zookeeper glared. “It’s not a thing. It’s the second largest bird on Earth with a wingspan of-”

“Ok.” Mandy patted his arm. “It’s amazing, but can you please remove it? I’m sure it wants to get back to the zoo.”

“Fine.”

Ash stepped out of the way, watching the zookeeper coo in some bird-language that made the emu duck its head and follow him out of the bar.

“Wow.” Courtney had stars in her eyes. “That creature is majestic.”

Mandy shrugged, catching Ash’s eye for the first time. He felt his heart stop. “Hi, Ash.” Hell, time stopped.

“And that’s our cue...” Courtney grabbed Diana’s arm, and he barely registered them brushing by, Aisha hot on their heels as they entered the bowels of the casino. The only thing he registered was Mandy’s gaze, pinning him in place with the weight of months of unspoken words and missed opportunities. 

She stepped closer and still he couldn’t move. “Earth to Ash.”

“Hey.” He looked behind him, taking in the open pair of barstools, past the pile of emu vomit on the ground, and set his shoulders. “Do you want to grab a drink? Not Bloody Mary’s?”

He could barely focus on anything else as they settled down at the bar and waited for their drinks. The dim lighting made her seem shadowy, gauzy, as if she were floating in and out of his daydreams; he had to shake his head and take a swig as soon as the beer was placed in front of him. It seemed like she was already so close to fading away, back into her normal life and out of his reach.

“I wondered if we would find you.”

Her voice brought him back to the present, and he shrugged a shoulder. “Vegas is a small place for a local. Also, the four of you cause so much trouble it was only a matter of time.”

“Courtney causes so much trouble.”

“And you’re right there with her.” The smile was impossible to stop. “I seem to remember you getting into trouble all on your own.”

“And I seem to remember you bailing me out a few times.”

“Don’t need to do that anymore.” He winced as the words came out far more bitter than he intended.

“Ash? Why are you…?” She put her hand on his arm and he inhaled sharply, as even that simple touch sent his mind spinning. He pulled away, needing a bit of distance, any distance, something to give him space from the memories of another bar, just like this, another time when he wondered if he would ever see her again. She sighed, watching him, dark eyes cautious and waiting, before she leaned in again to aver, “You know I missed you.”

He had to turn away so she wouldn’t catch his eye roll. “You stopped texting me but it’s ok, I get it.”

“I’ve been working on some things, Ash. I’m sorry but-”

“It’s fine.” He shrugged, lifting his glass. “It’s all transient. You know how it is.” 

“We had something real. You know we did.”

“Aren’t you getting married!?!”

“WHAT?” She stared at him. “To who? What?!?”

“To Reed? The doctor?” Ash shrugged, turning away from her to hide his face. “I saw you at the chapel. And it’s your Bachelorette Party. Congratulations.”

A hand on his cheek turned his face, so he could see Mandy gaping at him. “Reed? Wait, what? No, no, no. He’s here for the wedding, too. Courtney is getting married.”

“Wait, Courtney?” Any happiness he may have felt at the implication that Mandy might be fair game was supplanted by his shock. 

“Yeah. To Mario.”

Ash was so glad that he hadn’t taken another sip of beer because it would have ended up splattered on the marble of the bar. “The MAGICIAN?”

Mandy shrugged. “I think it’s good for her. She needs a bit of stability in her life.”

“I agree, but a magician named Mindblaster is the stability here?” Ash couldn’t stop the scoff.

“Ok. So it’s not a ton of stability.” Mandy smiled. “But they really are a great fit. And she’s happy.”

“Huh.”

She caught his eye. “And I’m not getting married.”

“I see…” It felt like the air had left his lungs. “So, are you saying you’re single?”

“I don’t know about single…” Ash felt his face fall as Mandy looked up at him, curiously. “There is this guy I like….”

He turned to face the bar, grabbing his beer. Of course.

A hand on his arm stopped the bottle halfway to his mouth. “You fool. You know my type. Japanese-American street performers?”

“Pretty niche, you know.” He had to smile ruefully, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. “You remember you left him behind, right?”

She swallowed. “Ash… I’m moving to Vegas.”

“What?”

“My firm has a rotation program for high potential lawyers.” She looked at her hands. “I was selected and get to work with a top partner at a different branch across the country for nine-month trial period. If it goes well, I might have a permanent position.” Finally, she raised her head to meet his eyes. “It’s a big career opportunity. And I requested to come to Vegas.”

He carefully placed the bottle on the bar. “Are you serious?”

“Starts in two weeks. I want to be more than a tourist here. My career is so important to me, Courtney’s moving here, but I mean…I was hoping you…”

He cut her off with his lips. He just couldn’t stop himself from kissing her, pulling her close so the bar stool tilted and she was supported by his hands on her waist, her thighs against his, reacquainting himself with her lips and her tongue and the small of her back and the soft noise she made in the back of her throat and how her hands clutched his jacket as if she was afraid he would vanish.

Pulling back, he had to grin, eyes tracing over her face, the soft look in her eyes. He’s had some big wins in his life but this one takes the cake. 

“And here I was, thinking of moving out East.”

“Wait, what?” She was still so close to him and he watched the individual lashes surrounding those beautiful eyes flutter as she gazed at him.

He shrugged, feeling bashful. “I missed you.”

“Well, you’re lucky my type is extremely rare back home.”

“Your type....” He couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. “Tell me all about this street performer you like. Total hunk, right?”

“No one says that anymore.”

“Dashing hustler by day, fearless mafia fighter by night?” He smirked and leaned closer, drawn to the smile playing around her lips; it called to him, to his every cell, urging him closer.

“You legit peeled away as soon as we got shot at.”

“With an amazing sense of self-preservation?”

Finally, her grin broke into a wide smile, beaming across her face, and burned into his brain. “Oh my God, shut up and kiss me again.”

So he did. Nine months of this with a chance for more? That’s a gamble he’d take every time.

.

Tags:

Perma Tag: @leelee10898 @emichelle @client-327 @choicesgremlin @brightpinkpeppercorn @thequeenofcronuts @lilyofchoices @choicesarehard @desireepow-1986

This Mess: @tinypenguincheesemachine, @lizeboredom 

[takingcourage]

A Whole New Ballgame

Pairing: Drake x MC

Word Count: 2,150

Summary: Drake experiences his first Major League Baseball game with a very enthusiastic wife at his side.  

Note: Ever since the topic of a sports field came up during the tour of Valtoria, I’ve had this burning need for Drake Walker to attend a baseball game in America. This silly story has been a WIP for more than a year, but I got distracted writing other things and never finished it. Since PB has decided to send the crew to the US again in TRH, it seemed like the perfect time to dust it off and boot it out of my drafts folder. 

This story also fulfills a request that I received for a kiss on the back of the hand. 

“Do I really have to wear the hat, Wittman?” 

His wife assessed him quietly, grey eyes barely visible from under the bill of her own cap. “I’m not going to make you, but it would help make sure that no one recognizes us,” she considered with a shrug. “We want to blend in with the fans here. And dressing up is part of the baseball experience…”

Drake yanked the bright red cap over his hair and considered his appearance in their rearview mirror. The brim of the hat smacked the edge of the sun visor as he turned to get a look at the strands of hair shooting out from underneath the sweatband. “I look like an American.”

“You’re half American…”

“That doesn’t mean I have to dress like one.”

“Here,” she motioned for him to turn toward her. Jena pulled the cap back off his head, smoothing over the hair that fell to his forehead. His eyes closed involuntarily at the feeling of her nails dragging lightly against his scalp. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

Too soon, she tugged the cap forward again before making some final adjustments to brush the hair away from his ears. 

Drake had to admit that she’d done a better job than he had, but he still felt a bit silly brandishing a big white T across the crown of his head. The light in his wife’s eyes made it worthwhile, however. “Let’s go before you find something else for me to put on. I think the jersey and the hat are enough.”

“Drake, I promise you’ll be in good company. There are going to be a ton of people wearing Beltre jerseys. The man just retired after playing since the ‘90s.”

“I suppose it’s better than,” he leaned back in the seat to read her shirt, “better than Odor.”

“It’s pronounced Oh-door.”

“And you chose him because...?”

She colored vibrantly, mumbling, “Because he has a mean right hook.”

Drake gaped at his wife in disbelief. “This from the woman who doesn’t condone violence and nearly lost her mind when I agreed to fight a stuck-up nobleman?”

“Bautista kind of deserved it…” she offered, smiling as she made an exaggerated show of checking her face in the mirror. “And baseball players are always getting into fights. Haven’t you ever heard of bench-clearing brawls?”

“Sure, Wittman. I think you’ve got a thing for men who can throw punches.”

“Nope, just you.” She angled her face up to kiss his stubbled jaw, careful to avoid stabbing him with the end of her hat. “Let’s go, Walker.”

_____

As it happened, Drake felt a lot less ridiculous once they’d made it into the stadium. By the time they’d found their way to their seats and settled in, he was little more than a drop in the ocean of red, white, and blue. 

Jena sat beside him, completely enthralled. It was only the bottom of the first, but Drake found himself wondering if she could keep up this level of concentration for the entire game. He thought back to the other sporting events he’d seen with her, but couldn’t ever remember her being so fully engrossed in what was happening. 

Before the trip, she'd warned him that baseball was her weakness. Drake supposed he’d soon find out just what she’d meant by the expression. 

His eyes flicked to the scoreboard. If the numbers there were any indication, the third man in the Rangers’ lineup was likely to meet the same hitless fate as his the other two. 

Sure enough, the first pitch was a swing and a miss. 

Strike one!

Jena clapped for the pitcher enthusiastically, ponytail bobbing with the force of her movements. “C’mon! Three up, three down. Let’s go!”

Drake shook his head with amusement. “I thought we were supposed to be cheering for Texas?”

Her eyes still on the pitcher, Jena stretched a hand out toward him. “Today, I’m just cheering for good baseball.” 

Squeezing her fingers, he lifted their hands to his lips and kissed just beneath the hinge of her wrist. “Then I hope you get it.” 

Far as he was from understanding her obsession, he couldn’t complain at the opportunity it provided for just the two of them to get away from the ranch. After spending so many hours packed into Liam’s rental car, a full afternoon and evening with just his wife for company felt like a luxury. 

A young boy in the row before theirs teetered, his sudden movement drawing Drake from his thoughts. The child stood on one leg, holding a baseball in one hand while the other was swallowed by a stiff leather glove. He couldn’t be more than four or five years old, tongue between his teeth as he mimicked the stance that was being demonstrated on the field. With expert control, the boy threw his leg forward and swung his arm, hand never releasing its grip on the ball. 

Drake forced his eyes away, but not before his lips had curved into a grin. 

Strike two!

“This certainly isn’t his first game,” Jena observed, having followed her husband’s gaze.

“Heh, I guess not. Looks like he knows what he’s doing.”

“He just needs somebody to catch for him.” Her grey eyes darted from the field to her husband. 

Drake observed the group of people, trying to discern the relationship dynamics. “Doesn’t look like his sister is interested in playing.” Indeed, in the matter of minutes he’d been aware of the family sitting before them, he didn’t think she’d looked up from her book once. 

Strike three!

The inning over, Jena leaned back in the hard plastic seat and gave Drake her full attention. “You’re going to be a great catcher someday.”

His heart stuttered as he took the full meaning of her words. “I can’t wait to teach our kids all of that stuff. Come to think of it, I’ll probably have to teach Bartie those things too. Can’t see Bertrand taking him outside with a ball and glove.” 

Jena’s brow wrinkled in thought. “You never know. I think he’s done better with the whole fatherhood thing than either of us would have expected. He may just surprise us.” 

Drake grunted, feigning interest in watching the mascot dance across home-team’s dugout. It was going to be a long time before the elder Beaumont actually felt like a member of family. 

“But our kids will always have the advantage when it comes to sports, Walker.”

Smirking, he remembered his own childhood. “I used to be a catcher, you know. A long time ago.”

“I know,” she chimed in. From under the shadow of her hat brim, he could see her eyes crinkle in the corners as she smirked back. Her fingers drifted to his leg -- higher than his knee, but not high enough to get them thrown out of the park. “I think that’s why you have such great thighs,” she whispered behind his ear. 

He shivered against her words, incredulous for more than one reason. Quietly clearing his throat, he covered her hand with his own, daring her to keep them there as he spoke. “It’s been almost fifteen years since I’ve played, Wittman. There’s no way that experience has anything to do with the state of my thighs today.” 

“Just take the compliment, Walker.” 

He breathed a heavy sigh and slid both of their hands toward his knee. At this rate, it was going to be an extraordinarily long day. 

_____

Baseball was proving more time consuming than Drake remembered. More than an hour into the game, they still hadn’t come to the end of the third inning, nor had the action on the field been particularly noteworthy. Sucking a deep breath and reaching for his drink, he scanned crowd around them. The boy he’d noticed before had traded his glove and ball for a cup of frozen lemonade. His sister remained just as intent on her novel. 

Drake tried to imagine a much-younger version of his wife coming to games with her grandpa, her mitt poised and hair sticking out in pigtails under her hat. The mental image made him smile. 

More than that, it made him wonder for the thousandth time what it would be like for them to have children of their own. That was the whole purpose of leaving early for this trip, wasn’t it? Somewhat glumly, he tried to work out how much time remained of not only this game, but the one that followed. 

Damn doubleheader... 

Out of nowhere, Jena’s palm made sharp contact with his knee, jolting him from his sundry musings. 

"Ow!” he winced instinctively. 

"Did you see that? Did you see that double play? It was...” she paused for a moment to evaluate the field. “I think it was a 1-3-2-5-3-4...″ 

"It’s a little late for you to be giving me your number, don’t you think?” 

The comment earned him an exasperated sigh. 

"You missed it!" she accused, reading the uncertainty in his eyes. The flecks of silver shone brilliantly, even though her frustration was feigned. “What a way to end an inning.” 

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Wittman?” he inquired, taking advantage of having her undivided attention while the teams switched places. “I thought the whole purpose of coming out here early was to get some peace and quiet. You don’t seem very calm.” 

Jena tapped one long nail to her lip, drawing his eyes to that feature in a way that he knew was calculated to distract him from further critiques. “I will be very calm when we get back to the ranch. I promise.” 

“Still, I bet the press would have a field day if they knew we were spending nine hours watching baseball when we could be ensuring Cordonia’s future.”

She scoffed and straightened in her chair. “Watching baseball is a very effective form of stress relief, which makes this an extremely tactical approach,” she explained, allowing her calf to brush the side of his. 

“It’s not a great strategy if it stresses me in the process,” he argued, ignoring the contact. 

Jena’s lips kinked up in a mischievous smile. “I’ll help you calm down later.” 

_____

By the time the first game had drawn to a close, Drake was running with a theory that this sport had been invented as a form of torture -- especially for men with beautiful, baseball-loving wives. It had been days since they’d had this much time to spend alone together, but the most he’d gotten out of her was a quick series of kisses after the first and only home run. 

During their time in the States, Jena’s freckles had come out in the sun, and his eyes kept drifting over the feature with curiosity. For the better part of the last hour, he’d been fantasizing over the thought of kissing each and every one...

A pair of fingers hooked through the crook of his elbow, gliding softly against the sensitive flesh in the crease. The hairs on Drake’s neck stood tall as he felt his wife’s proximity. 

“We can leave if you want to. I’m not going to make you sit through another game if you’re miserable.” 

Drake recognized the olive branch she’d extended, but he wasn’t about to take away from something she so clearly loved. “I’m not miserable.”

She regarded him dubiously. 

“I mean, it gives me time with you, doesn’t it? And you’re obviously loving every minute of this. I’ve gotta say, Wittman, watching how much you’re getting into this is actually kinda fun.” 

Jena scratched the side of her nose a bit sheepishly. “I can tone it down if it’s too much.”

“Nope. Don’t you dare.” 

Her fingers tightened at his arm, and he covered them with a hand. “I won’t. Though I will try not to smack you again.” 

“I appreciate it.” 

“And I really will make it up to you later,” she purred, the words designed for his ears alone. “But for now,” she told him, voice growing lighter, “I’m going to stretch my legs for a while. I’ll be back in a few minutes. ”

Jena rose and stretched her entire body upward, popping up on her toes before she arched her back into a tantalizing curve. Eyes following her every move, he felt his resolve of just a minute before was quickly slipping away. 

Drake tried to maintain an innocent tone as he asked, "How long before I can take you home?" And get you back in bed? He didn't state the destination, but the sparkle in her eye told him she’d taken the hint. 

"I'm guessing at least another four hours. Get comfy, Walker." 

“Will do. But Wittman?” 

She leaned down toward him, fingertips brushing his knees. 

“Any chance baseball games in Valtoria could have a time limit?” 

[bebestay]

Home’s not too far

pairing: Leon Matthias x Lorita Bautista (platonic)

synopsis: Leon and Lori decide to host an impromptu VLive from their practice for a special MC stage.

“Hello!” Leon smiled as the audience started to grow. “Ate, come on! They're arriving!”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep your pants on,” Lori shouted from off-screen before she hopped into the frame with bags of food. “Hello! Sorry, I had to go get the takeout from downstairs.”

As they started to unpack the bag, Lori started to read the comments.

/What did Leo call you?/

“He called me, Ate, which means older sister in Filipino,” Lori smiled. “It was weird the first few times he called me that since I’m the youngest at home, but he actually called me noona for the first few weeks we knew each other.”

“In my defense,” Leon said, already digging into his takeaway, “I thought you only spoke Korean.” 

“I was born in Florida!” Lori laughed and took out her own box. “I can barely speak in any language outside of English. Korean is still tough for me.”

“You’re improving though.”

The two continued to eat and watched as the hearts and comments poured in. Soon, the two found themselves talking about their favorite foods and snacks.

“Okay, answer me this,” Leon said, mouth full of food. “Milo, mix first or milk first?”

“Depends on if the milk hot or cold.” She pointed out. “If cold, mix first. If hot, milk first. You?”

“Same, actually.” He set down his food to read a couple more comments. “What do you guys do?”

“You are starting a discourse in the chat, young man.” Laughing, Leon leaned against her. “Choc-Nut or Curly Tops?”

“Ooh, uh... Curly Tops. As much as I like the combination of peanuts and chocolate, Choc-Nut is a little too dry for me. It’s my mom’s favorite though.”

“Mine too. She always tries to get me to eat them when I visit or when she sends me a package. She sent me a lot of pastillas in the last box. They’re gone now.”

“You didn’t share? How dare you?” 

“Well first off, my care package. So, by default my food.”

"But Ate~" Leon whined and fell into her lap. "I thought I was your favorite."

"When did I say that to your face?" Lori chuckled, her hand petting his blonde hair. "Ugh. When was the last time you let your hair be natural? I think you fried it with that last bleaching."

"Hopefully, soon. As much as I'm honored to be the blonde one, it's doing a number on my scalp." He ran his own hand through his hair. "What about you? Gonna get rid of the red soon?"

"Probably. My head can only handle so much bleach and dye." He hummed as Lori's hand came to a stop. "We should get back to work. The performance ain't gonna choreograph itself. Bye, everyone!”

And with that, the broadcast was over.

[professor-abeloved]

MAXWELL, and NGUYEN for the ask meme!!

ayyyy, thanks friend :D (luv ur url btw!!)

ask me: FANDOM EDITION

M - Your favorite fanart or fanartist

aww man this is really hard since there are so many talented people in this fandom, but i’ll go with the amazing @lanapowellblog cuz i could stare at their lovely art for ages

A - Your current OTP

so it might be a little obvious but i’m currently stuck in mc/maxwell hell. (please save me he’s not even an official LI yet i am dying)

X - 3 OTPs from 3 different fandoms

um let me be honest i’m rather picky with otps in the choices fandom for some reason HAHA (i have an otp criteria ok, ask me about it another time) but here are some of the ships that gave me #feels:

dom/kenna from tcatf

nerdy twin/audrey from roe

mc/sean from es

W - 5 favorite characters from 5 different fandoms

frick ok uh. maxwell beaumont (trr), michelle nguyen (es), kenna rhys (tcatf), ben park (lh), mirasol bautista (mw)

E - Have you added anything stupid/cracky/hilarious to your fandom, if so, what

…ngl about 50% of my posts flashed through my mind HAHA but my most recent accomplishment is this post, comparing one of the outfits in trr to another video game character’s outfit lol

L - Your favorite fanartist/author gives you one request, what do you ask for

wait do you mean they request me to do smth or i request something of them??

if they request me to do something, i’ll ask for a f/f ship like mc/eleanor (thobm) or olivia/madeleine (trr) because there is a severe shortage of femslash in fandom :

if i get to request anything then uh still femslash HAHA. or dom and kenna in chrom and robin’s outfits cuz i feel like it fits HAHA

[ivanreydereyes]

Por cierto..ya que he hablado que el gemelo [lo q creo q eran en realidad JESUS y JUAN BAUTISTA como los LOPEZ de la NBA o los CALLEJON sin salida de REAL MADRID ] MAttGOss de BROS [al q tras ver 3_10_09 a KYLIE MINOGUE en el mismo Hotel THE PALMS vi a continuación pero en vez de en su Auditorium THE PEARL en su sala GOSSY ROOM q luego traslado al CAESAR PALACE ..y note que me miraba raro pero debió ser xq llevaba el SOMBRERO de BUNBURY con la CALAVERA q compre en el Estadio de TLAXCALA pues me puse eso xq la gorra de PEACE con tela escocesa q compre en EL SALVADOR me desapareció en el BUS de Los ANGELES a LAS VEGAS al quedarme DORMIDO..y luego conseguí una Gorra de FE_DE_X xq al buscar un WESTERN UNION al enviarme mi familia 500€ me dio x cruzar una AUTOVIA como de 16 carriles y se le cayó la gorra a uno de la furgoneta jaja]..el cual sufre el SINDROME POLAND [no tiene músculo en un lado del pecho]..dedico SISTER del cd THE TIME [q tengo en VINILO desde que salio en 1989 tras debutar con PUSH con single WHEN I WILL BE FAMOUS cuando eran 3 pues antes de THE TIME abandono Craig LOGAN q salio con DANNII MINOGUE tras su divorcio del actor JULIAN MC MAHON hijo de un PREMIER AUSTRALIANO]..a su hermana fallecida..en el video sale en una IGLESIA y enfocan A CRISTO con unas ESCRITURAS y unas velas

[somewillwin]

I still can’t believe that the only time I make a mc of decent height, the love interest is a giraffe 🙃🙃

Thanks @greenwarden-cog

Ko-fi // commission

[kaiser-author-san-iii]

ABC TAG

I was tagged by the wonderful @diabolikteacup​

RULES: Copy this post into a new text post, remove my answers and put in yours, and when you are done tag up to 10 people.

Tagging: @crazy-redridinghood​, @anime-trash-goddess​, @vitsumatsu​, @schubertloid​, @milkymoonlife​, @anguished-queen-of-cups​, @e-d-e-l-w-e-i-s-s

A - AGE: 19

B - BIGGEST FEAR: Fear of being fogotten

C - CURRENT TIME: 9:07 AM

D - DRINK YOU LAST HAD:  Pepsi

E - EVERY DAY STARTS WITH: a good smack on the face or a good cup of tea while I look to see if anyone reviewed my fanfiction or fanart on all my social media pages

F - FAVORITE SONG:  Caravan Palace - Clash

G - GHOSTS, ARE THEY REAL?: Oh hell yes

H - HOMETOWN:  Somewhere in East coast, Mountain area of North Carolina, USA. But if we’re talking about the town I was born and raised - Cumberland, Virginia USA

I - IN LOVE WITH:  Two certain butlers, some fanart of historical figures, Romantic era music, electro swing, Schubert, GLASSES, a lot of stuff. J - JEALOUS OF - other artists and the details they put on their artwork, people that have tablets 

K - KILLED SOMEONE: No comment ;D

L - LAST TIME YOU CRIED: Last Saturday, 2/28

M - MIDDLE NAME: Bautista

N - NUMBER OF SIBLINGS: 2

O - ONE WISH: TO GO TO AUSTRIA

P - PERSON YOU LAST CALLED/TEXTED: My buddy, Tyler

Q - QUESTION YOU’RE ALWAYS ASKED: “Do you speak Spanish?”

R - REASON TO SMILE: Fanart (of any kind), songs, 

S - SONG LAST SANG: YoungHwa - You’ve Fallen for Me

T - TIME YOU WAKE UP: Mon, Wed, & Fri: 9 AM ; Sat. - Sun.: 10 AM ; Tue & Thu: 7 AM 

U - UNDERWEAR COLOR:  White with a lace (???)

V - VACATION DESTINATION: AUSTRIA AND RUSSIA!!!

W - WORST HABIT: I’m cheap so.... I hoard all my change and never change it to cash lol : 3

X - X-RAYS YOU’VE HAD: Second grade, my wrist was fractured when I fell off my bed while trying to watch Jurassic Park. Went to the hospital at 1AM and was tended to by some Asian doctor. Then I punched my cousin in the nose when I went to Mexico

Y - YOUR FAVORITE FOOD: WANTONS!! 

Z - ZODIAC SIGN: Gemini. To be more accurate -  Sun in:22°13' Gemini Moon in:22°10' Virgo AS in:5°09' Pisces MC in:15°38' Sagittarius

[somewillwin]

I got inspired by @fat-rolls-frictions fic (told you I had a plan with one of your fic ;). Also, I couldn’t find it in your tag! So if you can link it??)

Ko-fi

[somewillwin]

Poor Bautista

Ko-fi // commission