#i need to really get to know joes body bit Ol

[fobnsfwdoodles]

I just wanted to practice drawing some dicks 🍆💦

[ponds-of-ink]

Quick Scraptrap And Y/N Fic: “A Question Answered”

AKA “How to drive Scraptrap’s soul up the wall in five seconds with a simple hand hold”

So this concept crossed my mind today, and I thought it’d be funny to write a short scene about it. Have fun trying to put yourself in this Y/N’s shoes.

—

It was the standard routine for you: Man the office while Mike was out for coffee, ward off who—or whatever— was in the vents, then run out the door as soon as Mike walked back in. Ten minutes at worst, three minutes at best. Nothing to worry about there.

So then why was your mind racing when it should’ve been preparing some quips?

You shut your eyes and breathed deep. Memories of your fellow handy-folks’ conversations drowned out your growing anxiety— If only for a moment.

“So, you’d get anywhere with Ol’ Spring-Bones?” you can practically hear Joe ask one of the janitors.

“Not really,” you recall the janitor telling him. “He’s still insisting I have Tori dump a bucket of water on him. Something about his suit being a death trap if anyone touched it.”

“His whole body’s a death trap,” was one of the last things you heard Joe scoff before you moved to another room. Of course, this was only one of many conversations you heard about the oh-so-elusive Scraptrap. The numerous health requirements from both staff and the robot itself. The countless jokes from the janitors about the obvious degradation of the animatronic. Even your own reports on the off-chance he was the one attacking you that day. All of these, over time, built a strange reputation for him. A looming sense of dread whenever you heard him in the vents, a hint of pity whenever the cleaning requests put him in further isolation, and—weirdest of all—a strong curiosity about one particular subject.

What would happen if you held his hand?

You open your eyes, but keep your head low. One of your gloved hands picks up Mike’s pen and flicks it from side to side. Its clicking only makes your mood worse. “He’ll probably just hide in the vents like always,” you think as you stare listlessly. “He only climbs out of there to attack Mike— And that’s if he’s the only one in there.”

The pen leans to one side. You straighten up, getting ready to lean back in that chair.

A rhythmic thumping hits your left ear. You glance in that direction.

Either that’s him or his pigtailed protégée.

You roll the chair a bit closer to the vent.

The thumping keeps going. And, as far as you can tell, there’s no whirring of plastic wheels after each thunk. Not even after it stops completely.

Before your brain makes the full connection, unfortunately, you hear the source confirm your suspicions. “Did you miss me, Broomstick?” a raspy voice asks, its mocking tone drawing out each ‘s’. “It has been a while, but I was not expecting you to be anticipating me.”

The “nickname” jolts you back into reality. Then the rambling after it gives you an idea. “Scraptrap, the only thing I’ve missed is how quiet it gets when it’s just you around,” you huff, leaning back as you do your strongest eye-roll. “You’re so shy for a killer robot, it’s hysterical.”

You can practically hear the servos in Scraptrap’s head whirring. “Being ‘shy’ is not my intention when dealing with employees like you,” he snips, inching closer to the tiniest bit of light. “I am simply being practical. Tactical, even.”

“So what’s tactical about only letting Tori dump a bucket of water on you when it’s cleaning time?” you cut in, tugging your gloves down. “Or rejecting the main janitor’s idea of giving you a brush ‘bath’? Mike’s paid top-dollar for us, and we definitely know how to mess with horrors like you.”

All you catch is a nervous shiver, then a grumble.

“What was that?” you question flatly, even though your brain is starting to think of exit strategies.

Another shiver, though now it’s punctuated by an irritated sigh. “In that area. I am simply acting with practicality in mind,” he insists. “No need to drive M— your employer’s business into the ground with all the hospital bills he would accumulate. No matter how much you lot prepare, there is nothing to protect you from the rot of the undead.”

You stare at the shadowy figure. Though your expression stays the same, you feel a smile coming on. A smile that you can bet this dumb bunny’s pulled once or twice before. “Is that so?” you ask, using that as your cue to slowly rise to your feet.

In a matter of seconds, the nearly-visible rabbit starts retreating back into the shadows. You calmly walk to the side of the vent, but something seems to prompt Scraptrap to… fumble out of the vent seconds later. You peer down the shaft, but nothing else shows up.

You look back at Scraptrap. He’s using the office chair as a crutch, but the lack of a second arm really isn’t helping him get back to his feet. “Well, better this than risking getting stabbed,” you think as you start to approach.

Scraptrap, on the other hand, gives a furious glare. “I advise you to leave me be,” he says with a gnash of his robotic teeth. “It will take a moment, but you will be regretting all of your countless questions.”

You stop in front of him, then rest your arm on the chair. A full minute passes… And he’s still struggling. “I’m sure I’ll regret it once I’m in the hospital,” you respond, using your free arm to hoist him back up to his feet. “At least I’ll have a funny story to tell when I get back.”

The only response Scraptrap gives is a wide-eyed look towards your hand. And, yes, the both of you are holding hands currently. Given the circumstances, that didn’t really mean anything on your end. Just a happenstance of trying to help someone out, that’s all.

But for Scraptrap?

He must’ve not had basic human contact in years, because the rest of his body is trembling. You can hear the metallic parts of his bones rattling on top of the clearly-pounding heartbeat, that’s how extreme it is. It would be almost endearing if it wasn’t for how unnerving he looked when only his eyes freely move.

So you decide to help him out one more time. “You can let go now,” you tell him, clearing your throat to punctuate your sentence.

Thankfully, this seems to work. “Right,” Scraptrap mumbles before carefully unraveling his bony fingers from yours. “My apologies.”

“It’s all good,” you say with a nonchalant shrug. “Just try to make sure your arm’s wrapped around mine nexf time, all right?”

He’s back to the indistinct mumbling, but his body language tells you that he agrees. With a quickness you weren’t expecting, he hobbles past you and beelines for the other vent. You watch as he cautiously climbs back in, then looks back at you. “You may as well promise that we never speak of this until it is necessary,” he sneers.

With an extra amount of caution, you sit back down in the chair. “All right, but what do I tell Mike?” you inquire as you remove your gloves. “I’m sure you don’t want rumors spreading around the workplace.” You wink at the end of that last sentence just to rub it in.

“You simply tell the truth,” Scraptrap replies in a deadpan tone. “We got into a scuffle, I fell onto the floor, and you helped me back up. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“So I can’t mention you hand-holding with Broomstick?” you pout.

Scraptrap just disappears into the darkness.

And, to be honest, that was probably the best response he could’ve given. It made you chuckle to yourself as you kept office-watching, it told you everything he wanted to without staying and fumbling his words like a shy schoolgirl, and it kept the other robots at bay in the long run. The smartest move all-round, if not the smartest he’s ever made.

..Now if only you could figure out why the office lights were threatening to shut off all of a sudden.

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

Rock Bottom

Joe Liebgott x OC

*Rated T for language and adult themes. (5,471 words)

“Have you guys seen that new girl?” Frank Perconte asked as he squeezed into a small seat along the dining table bench.

“What new girl?” Bill Guarnere asked through a bite of food.

“The new intelligence girl,” Frank said as means of explanation.

“She’s an intelligence officer?” Joe Liebgott asked.

“I heard she was with the OSS before this,” Pat Christensen added.

“I don’t think intelligence officer,” Frank pushed the food around on his plate, “but apparently she speaks like 20 languages.”

“No,” Joe said doubtfully, “no way, that’s so many.”

“Who knows? Once you know one language it’s easier to pick up others,” David Webster said.

Joe shot him an annoyed look.

“I think she’s from the Bronx too, Web.”

“Well hey, there ya go! There’s so many languages going around in the Bronx, she probably picked them up there. It’s so much easier to learn languages when you’re young ya-“

“Where’d you get all this info?” Bill cut David off.

“Luz.” Frank was barely intelligible with his mouth full.

“Hm,” Bill grunted. The information was likely true coming from George Luz, the kid had a way of finding things out.

Their formal introduction to the newest G-2 recruit occurred the next day prior to starting their classroom instruction. The men hadn’t expected the classroom time. They knew the forecast had predicted rain but they didn’t dare to hope Sobel would let them off just because of “a little water”. However, by eleven, the early morning drizzle had grown into a downpour that even Sobel didn’t want to be caught in. He relinquished his company to the instruction of basic compass and map reading.

“Gentleman,” Sobel addressed them dryly, his hands folded behind his back, “before we get started, I would like to introduce you to the newest member of the intelligence general staff.”

The men were gathered in a large tent propped up by recently constructed whitewood. Beside Sobel stood a woman dressed neatly in an army issued pencil skirt, jacket and tie.

“This is Valerie Marchetti, she will be working with the intelligence office as a linguist.”

“Told ya she knew like 20 languages,” Frank whispered to Joe.

“Italian!” Bill nudged Johnny Martin.

“Please make every effort to make her feel welcome,” Sobel finished unenthusiastically, “Alright, let's get started. Radio men, follow Ms. Marchetti.”

“Lucky!” Floyd Talbert clapped George on the shoulder as he stood up. George winked at him with a grin.

“So, what’s she like?” Floyd asked as they headed back to the barracks.

“Aw she’s an angel,” George enthused, “so sweet, and she knows her stuff too!”

“You’d think anyone that pretty was an angel, Luz,” Frank said.

“That,” George said, “is because angels are beautiful.”

But George wasn’t the only one over the moon to have a woman among them. All of the Toccoa men were eager for any chance to ogle Valerie. They were oversexed and grateful to have a beautiful woman in their midst, if only for the hope of earning a smile. Most of the men were limited in their interactions with her seeing as she was part of the intelligence general staff but somehow Bill really got to know her, and by extension, Johnny Martin did too. They became a trio on nights out. Bill jumping from group to group, socializing with all the men while the more mellow Johnny posted up at a table with Valerie.

“Does she actually know 20 languages?” Shifty asked Bill innocently.

“Nah, not actually twenty, but she knows quite a few. She’s damn smart!” Bill said taking a long drink of his beer.

“What languages does she know?” Joe asked.

“Italian, her pa’s Italian. Polish ‘cuz of her ma. Yiddish and I think her German’s okay too,” Bill listed.

Joe nodded thoughtfully, “not bad,” he admitted. “Not gonna be any use to us if we go to Japan though.”

Bill shrugged, “who knows where we’re goin’, they got her here for a reason.”

“Was she posted somewhere else before this?” Moe Alley asked.

“She was a code breaker! Can you believe that? So smart,” Bill shook his head in awe.

“Ya sound like you’re in love there, Bill,” Joe teased.

“God damn right, I love that girl. She’s great!”

Joe chuckled, she was a good looking dame that was for sure. Just his type: curvaceous, dark hair and warm eyes. He admired her just as much as every other guy in the bar. There were plenty of local women around, some of who Joe had gotten to know quite well, but there was something about that army pencil skirt that just did it for Joe.

“She gotta fella?” Joe heard himself asking.

“Why? You interested Joe?” Bill asked.

Joe shrugged, “just curious.”

Bill looked over his shoulder where Valerie sat smiling, her full lips painted a rich red. “I don’t think so, but I’ll tell ya what Joe, she’s not any ol’ dame. She’s a spicy one that’s for sure. She’ll tell you what’s what.”

Yeah, Joe found that out for himself the first time he experienced classroom instruction with Valerie Marchetti.

“Well, actually we’d actually refer to this group as the Allgemeine SS,” Valerie said.

“Deutsche Ausrüstungswerke is German Equipment factories so I don’t-“ Joe defended.

“Well yes, but it’s important to know that this is an armaments division under the SS, Allgemeine SS.”  
“Are you sure? You said yourself you aren’t fluent in German, are you sure you’re translating-“

“Yes. I don’t speak fluent German but I know these terms and I know the organization of the SS. You would do well to listen to me, I know what I’m talking about.” Valerie snapped.

“Okay, calm down,” Joe threw his hands up.

Valerie sniffed at his gaslighting before spinning on her heel and walking away. After that it was game over, nothing about her was attractive to Joe any longer; not her silky, dark curls, not her full red lips, not the way the dark lines on her hose travelled seductively up her leg. He decided she was more trouble than she was worth.

A cheer rose up from the dart boards that Friday night where Bill, Johnny, and Bull were playing darts with Valerie. She was wearing trousers that night, which Joe found rather flattering. But he caught himself as his gaze travelled down from her waist, and quickly looked away.

“Okay, if I make this last one, drinks are on me.” Valerie bit her lip in concentration.

“Well now I kinda want you to win,” Bill said jovially.

“Ah!” The men around her cheered again as the dart hit another bullseye.

“Damn, how do you do it?” asked Don Malarkey in awe.

Valeria smiled coyly and shrugged. “Who needs a drink?” she asked to the men gathered.

“Nah, you can’t possibly cover all the drinks here,” Bill held up his hand in protest, a cigarette burning between his fingers.

“Don’t worry about it Bill, I pretty much owe everyone in here a drink anyways after the way they all tripped over themselves to buy me a drink when I first got here.”

The men sung her praises all the way up to the bar where Valerie instructed the tender to pour everyone in proximity a beer and to put it on her tab. She had come up right where Joe had been standing with Moe. Valerie glanced down at his nearly empty glass, “you need a beer Joe?” she asked.

“No thanks, still workin’ on this one.” Joe held up his glass.

“James?” Valerie asked Moe. He nodded appreciatively and accepted the drink even though his original glass held more than Joes.

“You sure Joe?” Valerie asked in a sing song voice. It grated on Joe’s nerves.

“I’m good, thank you though Valerie.” His dark eyes met hers. The piercing darkness of them sent a shiver down her spine and she abruptly looked away, blushing.

Joe was walking back from the latrine later that night when he heard some voices out in the dark, in the direction of HQ. The tone of the two male voices that carried on the air made Joe stand to alert. The speakers weren’t too loud, but there was a forcefulness to them. Then the voice of an agitated female broke through. A coldness rushed into Joe blood. He rushed towards the noise. He came upon two F company men who were walking on either side of Valerie. They were walking fast, the pace clearly set by Valerie who sped forward. The men kept in step with with her all while trying to box her in between their bodies.

“Hey!” Joe snapped, stopping them in their course, “what the hell is going on here?”

Joe looked at Valerie, a chilling look in her eyes: fear.

The men hardly seemed bothered by Joe’s presence. “We’re just making sure this young lady gets back to her quarters safely,” one said.

“Are you?” Joe asked, “do you even know her?”

“Sure we do,” the other said arrogantly, “mind your business pal.”

“Val, you know these guys?” Joe asked. Even with adrenaline coursing through his body he winced internally at his use of her nickname. He wasn’t familiar with her like that, why did he call her Val in that moment?

“Don’t worry about it Joe, I can take care of myself,” she said firmly, “I’m just right here,” she turned towards the main HQ building where she was posted up with the other few females. The men made to follow her into the darkness. Although it was only yards away, there were too many spots of darkness for Joe to feel comfortable letting those men follow her all the way up to her doorstep. Joe stepped in front of them, giving Valerie the time and space to disappear into the fold of the night.

“What’s your problem man?” one of the men snarled.

“It’s late, you’re just gonna have to accept you struck out tonight,” Joe sneered back.

The other man, who was significantly larger than Joe, took a menacing step forward. “She your girl or something?” he asked with narrow eyes.

“She’s no ones girl,” Joe said, and he turned away to head back to his barracks.

“Hey, you should’ve stayed out of it, guy.” Then Joe felt a hand on his collar spin him around before a fist made contact with his eye.

“Do you know what guys from F company?” Edward Tipper asked as he took in the blue and blackness that was beginning to come out around Joe’s eye socket.

Joe shrugged into his breakfast, “whatever, I’m not worried about it.”

“Those bastards,” Moe said, “we oughta give them what they deserve.”

“I said I’m not worried about it,” Joe said, “will you drop it?” His friends reluctantly sat back.

It was then Joe noticed Valerie standing a few feet away, a breakfast tray clutched in her hands. She was staring mournfully at the injuries he incurred. As soon as his eyes met hers she quickly walked to the table where Johnny sat, taking a place beside him and disappearing behind the figures of the Easy Company men she loved. Not Joe, he was not part of that group.

“Joe,” Valerie came up behind him as he was bussing his tray. He turned around to face her. Bags hung under her eyes but her signature red lipstick was applied flawlessly.

“Yeah?” he asked impassively.

“Um, I..” she hesitated, taking in his appearance. His jacket was unbuttoned, revealing his PT shirt. His dog tags hung heavy around his lean neck. His cheek bones were sharp, the top of the left one was split just slightly below where the blueness had spread to fill his entire eye socket. Valerie winced looking at him.

“I just want to say I appreciate you checking in on me last night,” Valerie began.

“Don’t mention,” Joe flicked his hand dismissively and began to walk away.

“But you didn’t need to, I feel bad, you’re eye, I would’ve been fine-“

Joe looked at her like she was crazy, “Valerie I saw how you looked last night, you knew it wasn’t goin’ in a good direction.”

“I was almost back to my quarters, I would’ve been fine,” she insisted.

Joe let out a sharp laugh, “why were you alone anyway? Walking in the dark?”

“It’s none of your business,” Valerie said.

“Wow, this is a hell of a thank you, Val,” Joe winced. Damn it, why did he keep using that nickname?

Valerie wrinkled her own nose in discomfort, “well thank you, but next time I got myself.”

“Valerie I wasn’t going to just leave you there!”

“You don’t need to worry about me! I can take care of myself,” she doubled down.

“God damn it, would you get over yourself?” Joe snapped. Valerie reeled back in momentary shock.

“Get over myself?”

“Those guys were trouble! We both know it!”

“Get over myself? What do you mean? You don’t trust me-“

“I don’t even know you, I would’ve done the same for any girl-“ 
“So because I’m a girl you don’t trust me to take care of myself?”

“It was two against one.” 
“I’m a soldier same as you and you were prepared to take them on-“

“Don’t be ignorant, it’s diff-“

“Ignorant? Who’s calling who ignorant?”

“See, you just think you’re so much better than every-“

“I have to be better than everyone! I have to work twice as hard as everyone here!”

“In your cozy little intelligence office? Yeah, sure, try doing the stuff we have to do.”

“I have to train too! I’m strong!”
 “But not strong enough to-“

“I am strong enough!”

“Look what those bastards did to me, you don’t think they would’ve done the same to you?”

“Well, maybe not, because like you said I’m just a girl.”

“Yeah well let me tell you that’s exactly why they could’ve done worse.”

“Do you just assume the worst of your compatriots?”
 “Do you not? How dumb are you? I thought you were from the city!”

“You know what, just stay out of it next time Liebgott. I don’t want you getting injured on my behalf.” Valerie stormed away angrily.

“You’re welcome!”Joe shouted after her defiantly. “God damn it,” he cursed under his breath. He kicked a trash bin nearly kicking it over, “fuck this.”

Joe was still heated later that night when he finally retired to the barracks.

“Tough day, Joe?” Bull asked. A cigar hung from his mouth as he unlaced his boots.

“Little bit,” Joe eased down on his bed. His face throbbed where he had been hit. Bull looked up at him thoughtfully, “everything alright now?” he asked cryptically.

“All good, Bull,” Joe lay back on his cot exhaling.

“Not all good,” John Martin was suddenly standing over him, “you were fighting with Valerie?”

“Not really, it’s fine,” Joe draped an arm over his eyes, trying to block out the little light that filled their canvas living quarters.

“It better be, I heard you two shouting at each other earlier. What’d you do to deserve that?”

Joe sat up, “I didn’t do anything!”

John crossed his arms and eyed Joe suspiciously, “well, if she’s after you you probably deserve it.” He stalked off and Joe fell back onto his bed.

“She’s a tough one that Valerie,” Bull said.

“So I’ve heard,” Joe muttered.

“No shit from nobody,” Bull continued.

“You gotta point, Bull?” Joe snapped glaring at the guy in the bunk next to him.

Bull chewed on his cigar, carefully considering what he was going to say next, “it was good of you to look out for her. You did the right thing, Joe.”

Joe hadn’t expected that. He nodded at Bull then rolled over in his bunk. He didn’t know how much Bull knew, or what exactly he had heard through the grapevine, but Bull’s words meant more than he thought the would. Finally a little acknowledgment for preventing the crime he had seen coming. No matter how tough she was, there’s no stopping that when two men decide they’re going to do it.

Joe slid his arm under his pillow, trying to get comfortable. That’s when his hand grazed something hard and rectangular. From underneath his pillow he pulled out a chocolate bar. Wrapped around it, fastened with twine, was a note. In neat cursive were the words: You were right. Thank you for your help.

Joe couldn’t help but smile a little bit. Who the fuck was this woman.

She was a goddamn rule following narc when she wanted to be, that’s who she was. Joe and Moe may or may not have snuck out of the base one Tuesday night and gotten pissed at a nearby bar. They were too drunk to be cautious when they stumbled back onto base, their arms around each other, singing.

Valerie was walking along the well lit path to the women’s latrine when she ran into them.

“What are you guys doing?” she hissed confronting them.

“Hello sweetheart,” Moe slurred with a grin.

“Valerie!” Joe said enthusiastically, “wow thank you for the Hershey bar.”

Valerie flushed bright red, “you guys are being so loud! You’re going to get in trouble.” She looked them up and down, “how drunk are you?”
 “Not drunk at all,” Moe shook his head.

Valerie wrinkled her nose, “sure smells like you are.”

“That’s rude Valerie,” Joe said jokingly.

“Yeah well you guys are going to get all of Easy in trouble tomorrow if you show up hungover.”

“We’ll be fine!” Moe waved his hand, “don’t worry about us, doll.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Valerie said sharply, “its the rest of the company you’re screwin’ over. Goodnight!” she walked off shaking her head.

“What a bitch,” Moe said off-handedly.

“She’s not a bitch,” Joe immediately snapped.

Moe swayed in place, grinning stupidly at his friend. “Whoa there, you’re not in love with her now too are you?”

Joe rolled his eyes and the men stumbled back to their barracks, now a little quieter.

He would never admit it after the way Valerie had confronted them, but waking up the next day was rough. Joe was determined to keep it together just to spite Valerie. He had muscled through the morning and was hoping for a moment of respite at lunch. But to his great misfortune, tuna casserole was being served. Joe’s stomach churned as he looked down into his plate. He was hungry but he was sure that the final remains of alcohol digesting inside of him would not be happy to share his stomach with this meal.

As he contemplated whether to eat or not, Joe felt eyes on him. He looked up to see Valerie’s sympathetic face from across the mess hall. She smiled at him tenderly at him and he immediately felt pathetic in her eyes. A irrational sense of anger flared up in him and he stabbed at the casserole with his fork. He brought a first big bite into his mouth all while maintaining eye contact with Valerie. The sympathetic smile dropped from her face as she watched his performance. She narrowed her eyes, her lip curling in disgust at his juvenile defiance.

After the meal ended she came up to him, her tray as empty as his was.

“Feeling alright, Joe?” she asked as sweet as syrup.

Perspiration was beginning to form on his forehead. He was not feeling alright, in fact he felt rather clammy. Moe had done the wise thing and only eaten his buttered bread. Joe was seriously regretting not doing the same.

“Feelin’ great, how’re you feeling, Valerie?” he asked obstinately.

“I’m feeling great too,” she said smugly, because she was, and he clearly was not even if he wasn’t admitting it. “Enjoy the rest of the day!” She sashayed off.

Luckily, the mess hall was mostly empty because as soon as she was out of sight, Joe dived for a nearby trashcan and regurgitated the lunch he had just consumed.

“Better out than in,” Moe said as means of comfort, looking equally washed up.

By the end of the week Joe was ready to go out again. Just as it happens to all young men, the short term memory of how he felt after a night of binge drinking had left him by that Saturday night. Having secured and successfully retained their weekend passes, Joe and his friends bought tickets to the dance that Saturday evening.

The majority of Easy Company had the same idea and they, along with the other companies of the 101st airborne, filled the local dance hall. Joe was having a pretty good time. Beer was flowing, the band was hopping, and there was an endless supply of beautiful women to dance with. Joe was taking a break from the dance floor when he spotted Valerie spinning across the room in the arms of a dark haired gentleman from another company.

“Look at her,” Edward said appreciatively from next to Joe.

“Who?” Joe asked, pretending not to know who his friend was referring to.

“I know you don’t like her much, but Valerie, she is a looker,” Edward whistled.

Joe scowled but allowed himself a moment to check Valerie out. She wore a slightly-outdated red belted dress. Little white flowers peppered the fabric from the hem to the shoulders where the cinched neckline generously revealed her delicate collarbones.

Joe cleared his throat, “yeah, but there’s lots of good lookin’ broads around tonight.”

Edward just shrugged and downed the rest of his beer before setting out for the dance floor again. Joe did his best to avoid Valerie. He distracted himself with drinks, jokes, and other beautiful women. Despite his best efforts Joe still found himself looking across the low lit dance floor directly into Valerie’s eyes when a version of Mood Indigo came on.

It wasn’t Valerie in his arms, it was another woman. A woman he hadn’t known long enough to truly enjoy the moody slow dance with. Valerie was in the arms of the same guy she’d been with all night and she did look like she was enjoying the dance. Joe realized she was enjoying it a lot more than he wanted her to be.

The glance they had shared had been brief, she had broken it off quickly to nestle her cheek against her fellas shoulder. But that short moment had stirred something in Joe. In the dark golden light of the numerous high-hanging light bulbs Valerie’s eyes had looked like melted amber. The shadows that flickered across the hall softened her face, giving it an ethereal look. She was breathtaking and Joe wanted to be the one with his arm around her waist. He wanted to be the one she leaned her cheek against. He felt an overwhelming unreasonable hatred for this random man he didn’t know simply because he was the one who held Valerie so close.

Once the song ended, Joe politely bid goodbye to his partner and made a beeline for Valerie. She stood talking to her partner and a few other guys Joe didn’t recognize. He approached their group stiffly, his hands in his pockets. Everyone looked surprised at his arrival, especially Valerie, who was obligated to introduce him considering she was the only one who really knew him.

After a quick nod to the group Joe said, “Valerie can I talk to you?” Valerie’s brow furrowed in confusion but she politely excused herself. Joe lead her to an unoccupied side of the room near the door.

“Is something wrong?” Valerie asked, a fresh glass of champagne clutched in her perfectly manicured hands. Joe had no clue as to what he had wanted to say to her or what exactly he wanted from her. His goal had simply been to remove her from that man’s presence. In all honesty, he had no plan because he was confused on how exactly he considered her; was she a friend? An enemy? Or just another beautiful woman?

“Well, I just wanted to give you the option to dance with me,” he hesitated, watching her face for a reaction, “or one of the other Easy guys,” he added.

“Um, I’m alright, thank you, I’ve been happy dancing with-“ she gestured back at her partner.

“That guy? Psh,” Joe said dismissively, “guys a cement mixer, don’t you wanna dance with someone good?”

Red rose up in Valerie’s cheeks, “who? Like you?” she asked.

Joe shrugged, “anyone’s better than that fool.”

“You don’t even know him, Joe.”

Fair point, Joe thought, but he didn’t like the guy. “I can tell he’s a dip, just look at him!” Joe laughed.

“This is a really terrible way of asking me to dance with you!”

“Hey, I’m doin’ you a favor.”

“Me a favor? Could you be more full of yourself?”

“Me full of myself? What about you little miss perfect. I’m not the one walking around acting like you know everything.”

“I know more than you!” “See there you go, why do you gotta go around putting people down?”

“No one seems to have a problem with me except you!” Valerie shot back.

“Take it outside lovebirds,” an intoxicated private said as he passed them.

His interruption killed the argument between them. Instead they just stood glaring at each other, dark brown eyes meeting golden ones. 



Finally, Joe said, “come on, let’s dance.”

“You wish!” Valerie stomped on his foot.

Joe swallowed his curse, “fuck,” he said in a strangled a voice. Valerie turned to stalk away but Joe grabbed her elbow.

“Get off of me,” she hissed, trying her best not to make more of a scene than they already had.

“Come on.” Joe pulled her out the nearest door, throwing them both into the cool Georgian night. Now engulfed by darkness they were really free to fight it out.

“What the fuck was that for?” he demanded.

“Who do you think you are?” she shot back. “Interrupting my evening for what? Just to invite me on a pity dance? I don’t need your pity, I was enjoying myself quite a bit tonight until you started all this!” She threw her hands up in frustration. Some of the champagne from the glass still in her hand spilled over the side, onto her hand. “Ugh,” she exclaimed. She wiped her hand angrily on her dress.

Jealousy stabbed through Joe’s chest at her words. She had been enjoying herself with that guy. “What’s so special about that guy anyways? Didn’t you just meet him tonight?” he sneered.

Valerie opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. She closed it, examining him. A devilish smirk crossed her face, “oh is this what it’s about Joe? You jealous?”



Yes. “No!” he said, “I just don’t know why you’re all moony over this guy. This is a social, not something you bring a date to.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t believe me about what? This isn’t a place for dates? Not usually-”

“That you’re not jealous! What’s your problem Joe? If you’re interested in me just be a man and tell me.”

“Typical, you thinking that everyone has got to be in love with you.”

“Then tell me why you’re being so rude tonight! Either you’re jealous or you hate me.” Was there a third option? Because Joe felt like he was somewhere in between. He definitely didn’t like Valerie. She got under his skin like no one else. At the same time, there was a magnetism about her that kept drawing him in. Those eyes, those lips, even that temper. He wanted to grab her and kiss her just to shut her up.

“And if you hated me you wouldn’t be bothering with all this!” 
Joe was barely even listening to her at this point.

He could feel his blood pumping; the adrenaline and anger mixing together to create a roar in ears that made it impossible to comprehend everything she was saying. He knew he was going to do it even as he counseled himself against it. He surprised himself with his sudden movement; he snatched her waist and pulled her into a hard kiss.

Immediately, she pushed him away. “What the hell!” she threw the remainder of her champagne in his face. Cooly, Joe wiped the liquid off his face with the sleeve.

“You told me to tell you!”

“Not like that!”

He stood glaring at her. She glared back, her now empty glass hanging pointlessly from her hand. There was nothing but silence between them, and the chirp of insects in the night sky. The faint sounds from the festivities inside filtered out but Joe and Valerie were completely in their own world, in a standoff.

Then suddenly, mutually, something shifted between them. Flaring rage turned to lust. Simultaneously they lunged for each other. Joe wrapped one arm around her waist, the other hungrily snaking up her thigh. Valerie’s fingers twisted in his hair, tugging at the thick, dark tendrils. He bit down on her lip as she pulled on his hair. Their kisses were messy and hungry; all the pent up anger and tension that had built up between them expressed in an intimate power struggle as they moved to devour each other.

“You drive me crazy,” Joe pulled away for breath.

Her lipstick was completely gone, its last traces staining her swollen mouth red. “I can’t stand you,” she retorted. He kissed her again, tangling her hand in her hair. Their pace slowed from the previous feverish speed to something more sensual without losing its fervor. Joe had her pressed against the building wall. His hands cupped her her jaw and slid down her throat. His mind was muddled with his detestation for this woman and the aching physical desire that was taking over him. She must have felt similarly as one hand pushed against his pelvis, as if warding him off, while the other dug fingernails into the nape of neck, forcing him in closer.

Once again they surfaced for air, this time taking time to really look at each other. The sound of their panting filled the space around them as her eyes searched his for some explanation.

“What’re we doing, Joe?” her voice was oddly vulnerable. Joe traced her jaw with a calloused thumb.

“I don’t know.” He pushed away from her and ran a hand through his tousled hair. Cold air entered the space where their bodies were previously connected. It sent a shiver through Valerie. “I don’t know,” Joe repeated.

He stepped back even further into the dark, his hand on his hips. He kicked a rock on the ground.

“You don’t like me,” Valerie said with the slight intonation of a question. Joe sucked his teeth. “And,” she continued slowly, “I don’t know if I like you.”

“I don’t know how I feel about you,” Joe said.

Valerie crossed her arms, her eyes bore into him. She was waiting for him to say something else, to offer a but. But it never came.

After a few unbearable minutes of silence she finally said, “I’m going back inside, Joe.” The patch of darkness he stood in was filled with a momentary field of light as she opened the door. Then, she was gone and Joe was alone in the darkness.

Joe did his best to avoid Valerie after that, but he felt her golden eyes on him in the mess hall. He wanted to provide her with answers, to tell her how he was feeling, but he didn’t know. He told himself there was a nothing to like about her - she was a pretentious kiss ass who seemed to have every guy wrapped around her finger. But he saw through her - he wasn’t going to fall for her like everyone else had.

Yet, she consumed his thoughts. All the pieces of love and hate swirled in his mind as he desperately tried to conceive a clear way to explain how he was feeling. He didn’t like her, but he might be falling in love with her. But even if he had realized this sooner, it still came too late.

In a matter of weeks she was stepping out with the dark haired guy she had hit it off with that night. He was a boring, strait laced guy, or at least that’s what Joe had gathered from Bill. The guys dullness was obvious. From what Joe witnessed, there was no fire between them. Not that it was his place to care, he reminded himself. Every time Joe saw them together he avoided her gaze. He knew he would see that look that was begging him to step in, to step up and interrupt this course she was on. But, as long as she was with this guy Joe had an excuse not to love her.

[inkandpen22]

Shared Minds and Shared Souls (2/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fighting, mentions of violence

Word Count: ~2.6k

Part Summary: Y/N is starting to get used to her role in the Summers’ house and with the Scoobies in the days following her arrival in Sunnydale. Much to her surprise, she enjoys predictability of her new routine and the normalcy of it. That is until a troublesome figure in Sunnydale makes his acquaintance and knocks Y/N through an unforeseen loop.

Masterlist

Aunt Joyce being surprised to see me is an understatement. It took Buffy and I both pressing her back down on the hospital bed to keep her from leaping up. Then, she thanked me up and down for coming. Which lead to her insisting she’s fine. She’s been covering at the hospital the last few days, but now she’s finally home. Her surgery went well, thank God! With everything going on, Joyce needs to be well. I don’t think Buffy could take another blow and poor Dawnie needs her mom. I know what it’s like to lose a mother, not fun. It’s Buffy and I’s goal to keep life as normal as possible for Dawn. The routine is I drop Dawnie off at school while Buffy plays Slayer. Then, I come back here and take care of Joyce. From there, I pick up Dawnie and prep dinner. In truth, I’m liking the predictable schedule. It’s odd, I thought I’d hate it here. I’ve never been the sort for the mundane lifestyle, but I haven’t been around family in years and it’s nice. 

While I prepare lunch for Joyce, I listen to the rock station through the boombox they keep on the counter. The house has been rather quiet since Buffy and the other Scoobies have been out doing researching Glory. Giles’s Magic-Box shop is their headquarters. Well, here and there, sort of double at meeting spots. Whenever the house is this quiet, I have to have music or the tv playing in the background. Otherwise, everything gets all noisy. Sunnydale has so much pent up energy, both good and evil, that it messes with my head. All I hear are the voices in the silence, so many voices that it starts to sound like static. I have mentioned this Buffy, I wouldn’t want to stress her anymore. 

My peace is abruptly disturbed as the kitchen door swings open and someone flies in hiding under a blanket. I jump, dropping my knife on Joyce’s sandwich. Smoke radiates from the figure like they’re a walking fire pit. Tilting my head, I watch in awe as a bleached haired man struggles to shut the door, knocking around the blinds. Who the hell is he? He dramatically flails his arms around to get the blanket off with a huff. Instantly, I see the green aura glowing around him. His eyes meet mine with a tilt of the head like a confused puppy dog, granted I did it too. 

“Who in the bloody hell are you?” He curses sassily. 

His accent is enough information to tell me who he is, Spike. So, this is the pain in the ass, psychotic vampy who is tangled up in a love-hate relationship with my cousin. She’s all caught up on Riley, Mr. G.I. Joe, when she has this dude pining after her? Boy, Buffy needs my guidance in more than one department. 

“Good afternoon to you too, Spike,” I greet him by name, much to his surprise.

Cautiously, he moves into the kitchen as I continue about my business. “How do you know my name? Where’s Buffy?” He asks, peaking around the house for her. 

“Don’t worry,” I assure him calmly. “Army Barbie is with her team of misfit toys working on Glory stuff.” 

Before I have the chance to blink, Spike is across the room has me pinned against the fridge. His face scrunched and his fangs daunting. While gripping my neck until I can hardly breathe, he leans forward and presses his body to mine to keep in place. I struggle in his grip, clawing as his hands. “You’re Glory, aren’t you?! Hm?! Messing with me?! What did you do to Buffy?!” He shouts. 

“Spike,” I choke. “You have to-” I gasp for air as he squeezes tighter. 

As a psychic, every time I have skin to skin contact with someone I can enter their mind and memories. It’s like watching a montage of someone’s entire existence. The recipient relives the memories too at the same pace as me. This allows them to kick me out if they so wish, all they have to do is realize what’s going on. However, like being in a dream, it’s rare that they do. I have little control when it comes to entering, it’s like falling. If I wish to leave, it takes a kick, like waking up from a dream. I have to be terrified by a memory or experience immense pain, those are the usual triggers. 

The moment Spike touched me, he opened the gate for me to see, feel, and hear everything he ever has in the form of visions. I can feel my mind slipping and images begin to flash before my eyes like bursts of light. Then, my vision goes black... 

A woman in 19th century clothing stands before with big eyes and brown hair. She’s so beautiful.... Suddenly, a pain pierces my neck.

Next thing I know, I’m sat on an old blood soaked sofa with a dead woman in my lap, bleeding from the neck. I feel hungry for more. 

“My wicked, wicked, Willy,” Dru purrs, peering up at me from her position on the floor with longing eyes. I shove the body off of me and crawl to her. God, I love her. 

I jump through time, landing in the middle of a fight with a young Chinese woman who I recognize as the Slayer. I manage to grab her and bite her viciously. She mutters something in Chinese to me. 

“Sorry Love, I don’t speak Chinese,” I state, tossing her to the side. 

Then, on a subway trained with a later slayer. I’m on top of her, gripping her neck as I twist it, killing her. For good measure, I steal her leather coat. I’m quite fond of it. 

I hover over the most recent Slayer, and perhaps the most annoying one, Buffy Summers. I raise the plank of wood in my hands to kill her. Suddenly, I’m hit over the head and fall to the floor. 

With a jolt, I’m back in the present moment. “Jesus and Mary!” I yelp, the back of my head throbbing. What the hell did Joyce wack me with? Or should I say Spike. 

The vampire stands before me wide-eyed, confused by what just happened. Having had enough reminiscing, I press my hands around his that grip my neck and send a powerful shock, causing him to drop me to the floor. I cough as I catch my breath. God, I can see why Buffy doesn’t like him! Spike recovers quickly and picks me up by my hair. I scream at the surge of pain and dig my nails in his hands. Soon, I’m against the wall and I bump my head. 

“Where are they?!” He barks in my face. “Tell me or I’ll kill you!” 

“If I were Glory and I had taken Buffy, how would killing me help you find her?” I question his logic amongst the fighting. For being over a hundred years old, he’s not exactly wise. 

Spike growls, not finding humor in my mockery. I’m not exactly threatened by the big-bad-bleach-crazy ole chap with the winkley-vampy face. I could have him on his undead ass in two seconds if I wanted. 

“Spike!” Joyce’s voice interrupts our altercation. Both of us turn our attention to the archway to see my aunt standing there in horror. She wraps her robe around herself tightly. “Let Y/N down! She’s my niece!” 

“Oh bollocks!” Spike swears, releasing me instantly. 

I fall to the floor on my knees again. Well, this fun- what’s wrong with people in this town?! 

“I… uh…” Spike stumbles over his words as he helps me up by the bicep. He brushes down my shirt and hair nervously. “Sorry about that. I thought-” 

“You thought I was Glory,” I finish for him, slapping his hands off of me. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?!” Joyce checks worriedly, staying cautiously in the archway between here and the living room. 

I hum, reaching up and running my fingers through the back of my head for any bumps or bleeding. Whatever she hit Spike with it fucking hurt! 

“Did I hurt you?” Spike asks, sounding genuinely concerned. 

“Not really,” I admit quietly and look to my aunt who’s the real reason my head is pounding. “If you ever hearing banging like that, never come downstairs! You hide!” I command of her. “Even if it did sound like I was getting murdered,” I grumble, glaring at Spike. 

“Well, as long as you’re alright. I’ll head back up,” she complies quietly. “But only if you’re sure!” She checks. 

“I’m fine, really!” I try to ease her nerves. It’s not good for her to worry. I shove Spike out of the way to approach her. “I’ll bring your food up soon. I might have to remake it,” I tell her as I spot her sandwich on the floor behind Spike. 

“You don’t have to do that,” she insists. 

“It’s okay! If you can wait one moment, I’ll just use some magic,” I announce, holding out my hand toward the counter. I conjure up a turkey sandwich just like I created before. I could’ve whipped one up this way earlier, but I was enjoying the task. “There you go!” I hand the plate over to my aunt. 

Spike blinks rapidly, stepping forward to stand beside my aunt. He stares at me in astonishment, “you’re a witch?!” 

“No, that shock you felt earlier was all in your head,” I sass, looking at him like an idiot. 

“You didn’t tell me there were witches in your family,” he says to Joyce, sounding offended. 

“We didn’t know ourselves until Y/N arrived a few days ago. She’s here to help out until I’m all better and… well…” Joyce shifts on her feet uncomfortably. “That Glory girl is gone.”

On that note, Joyce thanks me one last time and heads back upstairs. I relax once I hear her shuffling upstairs in her room. Taking a scan around the kitchen, there are broken plates and food scattered across the floor. I was so far into Spike’s head that I missed the reality and all the ruckus. Of course, I felt his hands around my neck, but my vision was impaired with his memories. 

“Let me clean up,” Spike requests, already squatting to pick up the bits of broken porcelain on the tile. 

“No need,” I state with a flick of the wrist. Within seconds, all the broken plates and scattered food is gone. The boombox that we’d knocked on the floor and caused to skip is now all fixed neatly on the counter. Soon, Nirvana is coming out of it without a problem. 

Spike rises from his position quietly starring at the perfectly spotless kitchen. I move around him toward the living room, already thinking of the next item on my agenda. I still have a few loads of laundry to go through and there’s cleaning that needs to be done. If I set those going with some magic before I head out everything will be done before Buffy’s birthday party tonight. Except, one issue, in this town, I don’t feel comfortable dividing up my power in case of an emergency. I could be attacked on the way to Dawnie’s school with the track record of this town. Plus, I’m Joyce’s sole bodyguard during the day, I need all my energy. 

“Hey wait,” Spike calls as he jogs to block my path. He holds up his hands as if that’s going to keeping me from walking away.

 With raised brows, I wait for the important reason he must have to be interrupting my to-do list. 

Wait... ew, I hate that! I have a to-do list! What am I, a 1950’s housewife? 

“Are you honestly Buffy and Dawn’s cousin?” He asks, still not convinced that it’s possible for the Summers’ to have family other than each other. 

“No,” I answer calmly, causing him to perk up. “I’m really Dolly Parton in a disguise!” He rolls his eyes, muttering curses under his breath. “You know, the rumor is the blonde hair is a wig,” I ramble to add more spice to the sarcasm. “And she just walks around Tennessee without anyone noticing her!” 

“Yep, you’re definitely related,” he determines unenthused, stepping aside. 

“I’m glad I’ve convinced you. Now if you don’t mind, I have stuff I need to do!” I step around him to head out and pick up Dawn. 

“I’m coming too,” he declares, following on my heels. 

I snicker, stopping in my tracks. “You’re coming with me to pick up Dawn from school? In the daylight... ” I add. 

“Yeah uh… just meet me at the crypt,” he decides, already heading back to the kitchen. 

“Wait, what?” I blurt out as I grab his wrist. “Why would I do that?” 

He glances over his shoulder, “I came to show Buffy something, but you’ll do I guess.” 

“I’m not Buffy though, I’m no Slayer,” I laugh lightly. “If it’s important I’d show it to her.” 

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?” He asks the obvious. 

“Well yeah,” I shrug. 

“Can you fight?” He continues, clearly leading somewhere. 

I stutter, “I mean I know spells and-” 

“Then you’ll do,” he declares. “We can tell Buffy about it later,” he adds, walking away. 

Buffy is made for this, literally! Unsure of myself, I shake my head. “Spike, I-” 

The vampire rolls his head back with a huff of annoyance. “All you God-forsaken women!” He groans under his breath. “I swear, one of these days I’m just going to lose my patience and kill all of you,” he sasses, facing me. “Except Joyce... and maybe Nibblet,” he determines as if that’s generous of him. “But definitely Harmony and that bloody annoying Cordelia if she ever comes back from LA!” He points at me sharply. “And you missy are testing me too!” 

Um, excuse him! He didn’t not just say that to me! “Oh buddy, you’re testing me!” I laugh mockingly. Little vampy here has another thing coming if he thinks he can threaten me. 

Spike chuckles wickedly and his face changes back to vampy style. He growls to reveal his fangs. I step back cautiously. I didn’t mean for him to take me literally! Abruptly, he comes charging at me. Oh great, not again!

_____________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream 

[incidentreport31]

Episode 2 - Secure TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts.

Recorder clicks on.

SFX of a mug being set down on a counter. Water pouring and then the clink of a spoon against ceramic. Then, an abrupt almost dropping of said mug as Zach begins to speak.

ZACH:

Tea? Really?

ARCHIVIST:

(stammering)Oh, hi, hello, can… can I help you…?

(beat)

ZACH:

You can help yourself by getting some coffee. Tea isn’t gonna do anything for you, you know. It won’t keep you going for the whole day. You’ve gotta get that good ole cup of joe to start your morning.

ARCHIVIST:

I’m… sorry?

ZACH:

You can’t tell me that you actually like that garbage, right? I mean what kind are you even making?

[shuffle as he grabs the box off the counter]

English Breakfast? Really? English? Compensating for being in the US are we?

ARCHIVIST:

(defensive for no reason beknown to the listener but painfully known to them) I happen to like it, actually but- no actually wait a minute, who are you? Do you work here?

ZACH:

(also defensive for previously explained reason) Yeah, I do. Do you?

ARCHIVIST:

Yes, indeed I do. I’m actually the head archivist. May I ask what in the hell you might do around here? Other than, of course, critique drink choices?

ZACH:

Oh. (beat) Oh you- (another beat) You’re the archivist?

ARCHIVIST:

(huffing out a breath) Quite right. Once again. What the hell do you do here?

ZACH:

Oh I’m Zach. Zach Baker. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were… my… boss.

ARCHIVIST:

(hurried and with false confidence) Yes, of course. I’m Val West… your boss. Which means that I’m in charge here. Which then means you should… watch yourself in bothering me about these small things. Yes.

ZACH: It’s not my fault you have the worst taste in drinks-

ARCHIVIST:

(coughs to cut him off)

ZACH:

Well, you do. I’m just saying, okay? And- hold on, are you recording this?

ARCHIVIST: Hmm? Oh, yes I suppose I am.

ZACH:

Where’d that thing come from anyway? It looks ancient.

ARCHIVIST:

It is, from what I can tell. But Mr. Banks has instructed me to record all of my (said with distaste because the archivist is a dick to account givers) “little stories” into it. Apparently, silent reading does not do much in the way of furthering the plot of a story told in an audio format.

ZACH: Yeah, I guess he has a point there.

ARCHIVIST:

Fair enough… Either way, I'm not the biggest fan of the old girl, but she hasn’t broken down on me so far, so that counts for something I reckon. Not that there aren’t better ways of recording things, but I digress.

(a beat)

But, I guess I’ve just gotten in the habit of turning it on when it seems like I’m about to do something noteworthy that might further the plot, you know?

ZACH: Like… making tea.

ARCHIVIST:

Yes, yes, I believe you’ve already expressed your opinions on tea, but some of us prefer it to that… grimy coffee that you seem so attached to.

ZACH:

(flustered and compensating, sputtering his words out) Well you can defend your tea all you want, but I am still objectively correct and everyone else definitely agrees with me too, even if the coffee pot goes missing once a week-

ARCHIVIST:

The coffee pot what?

ZACH:

(feeling like he shouldn’t have said that as it seems to have hurt his argument, starting slow and getting increasingly heated) I… it goes missing sometimes… and I haven’t figured out who keeps taking it yet, but trust me I will, and anyways in the meantime, it’s a bit inconsiderate of you to continue trash talking my drink choice-

Recorder clicks off.

Recorder clicks on.

ARCHIVIST:

God, I had to cut that conversation off… It was getting quite past the point of relevance to anyone listening. Pointless debate. So… back to what I was hired on to do, I suppose. (clearing their throat) For the consideration of Boston College: Jordyn Mackenzie’s encounter with an odd child in her parents’ neighborhood, and her request to be exempt from her midterms. No date, once again. [mutters] I am starting to question my predecessor’s competency when it came to filing these out. Her story begins:

[ACCOUNT START]

Every Wednesday night, I make the drive over to my parents’ house to have dinner. When I first moved into my dorm, I had stubbornly been forced into these dinners, as if they were ripping away my freedom so shortly after I had received it. As time went on, however, those Wednesday night dinners have become what I look forward to most. After a while, the glamour of college began to wear off, and I got homesick easily, even if my mother and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye. There’s something so comforting about being able to step away from the bustling atmosphere of campus, and go somewhere quiet, and familiar. We’ve lived in that house almost all my life, and even with all of the bad memories attached to it, I can’t help but think of all the good ones. Perhaps that’s because I always try to see the glass as half full.

(beat)

It’s not just the house I enjoy. My parents live in a small gated community, just about twenty minutes away from school. The houses are all fairly new, with that white picket fence quality to them. In spite of that, each house has its own personality and charm to it. My favorite is probably this blue one with rabbit figurines out front. There’s a park in the neighborhood, too. Not a fancy one, just some monkey bars, a couple of slides, and a grassy field, but it’s great for picnics. Though, in all my time living there, I’ve hardly seen any other children there. I just assumed there weren’t many young kids in the neighborhood.

(another beat)

Thus, you can imagine my surprise when I met this particular child. Now, after dinner each night, I go out on a walk around the neighborhood. It’s small enough to walk the whole span of it in less than half an hour. My father used to come with me, but he’s been having troubles with his knee, so now I walk alone. The weather this time of year is near perfect for a walk—cold enough for it to kiss your face and wake you up, but not enough to freeze to death.

ARCHIVIST:

(mutters) Good lord, spare me the bad poetry. Would love to get to the actual point soon. Anyways.

[ACCOUNT]

It was on one of these walks that I first encountered the kid.

ARCHIVIST:

(mutters) Thank you.

[ACCOUNT]

As I previously stated, there aren’t many kids in the neighborhood, so it took me by surprise to see a new face. He looked to be about seven or eight, with unkempt, dirty blond hair, and blue eyes that were almost unnaturally large on his face. He wore a basic white t-shirt and jean shorts, and sure, I liked the weather, but a kid dressed like that must have been freezing, right? He did not shiver, however, hardly even emoted. Just walked right down the center of the road, staring dead ahead, carrying a bright orange toy gun.

(beat)

Of course, I worried for the kid. Where were his parents? Why was he out so late by himself?

I called out to him. He looked up at me with a surprised look, as if he was shocked to see me actually speaking to him. I asked him what his name was, but he didn’t answer. I tried to ask him lots of things—where his house was, why he was out so late, if he needed help or if his parents were nearby. He wouldn’t respond to anything I said. Just stood there and stared intensely into my eyes. I have to admit, it made me a bit squeamish. Eventually, I just walked away, hoping that whoever was responsible for the kid knew where he was, and that he would make it home safely. I tried not to think about it too much after that. The following week, when I went to dinner, I didn’t go on a walk. My parents had decided they wanted to play a board game, and I was more than happy to comply. The event with the kid had left me feeling unsettled, so I was a bit wary of going on a walk regardless. After another week, however, I had finally gotten over it. I figured it was just one weird kid, nothing more. I mean, looking back, I couldn’t blame him for being scared to talk to a complete stranger. I mean I wasn’t even certain looking back that the expression on his face was all that disturbing. It likely had just been fear, right? Surely, his parents knew where he was, and he was simply out for a post-supper stroll like I was. It was a fairly safe neighborhood, after all. So, the next time I went to my parent’s house for dinner, I went on another walk. There was a slight breeze, but my body heats up as fast as an oven with the slightest bit of exercise, so I welcomed the blasts of cold on my skin. The leaves in the trees rustled, and combined with the sound of windchimes, it was like a symphony of nature’s design.

ARCHIVIST: dropping down papers

(frustrated) I thought I said no more poetic imagery, christ- oh good it ends.

[ACCOUNT]

It was lovely, up until it wasn’t. I saw the kid again, still standing in the middle of the road. He was wearing the exact same outfit as before, the shorts even having the exact same grass stains they did before. It was uncanny, sure, but I figured it was just a coincidence. This time, I harbored far less discomfort or worry. It was just a kid. What could he do to me?

(beat)

A lot, turns out. (stumbling through the sentence) A lot meaning… scare me, but you know what I mean.

Before I even opened my mouth, I realized he was staring dead at me. As if his doll-like eyes were drilling holes into my skull. The weight of being watched hit me like a freight train, but I tried my best to shake it off. I apologized to him for being so invasive the last time we met. Again, he didn’t answer, just continued staring. I wasn’t quite sure what to say after that. It would be hypocritical if I began asking him questions again, immediately after I had apologized for doing exactly that.

ARCHIVIST:

Not sure a child understands what hypocrisy is, but, if it lets you keep the moral high ground, Ms. Mackenzie.

[ACCOUNT]

I didn’t like the way he looked at me, though. My desperate need to fill the silence was an instinct of some kind. As I stood there, teetering back and forth on my heels as I tried to think of what to do next, something strange happened. The kid, still staring at me, slowly began to raise his arm. In his hand was the same toy gun as before. He raised the toy gun until it was pointing directly at my head. Well, what the hell was I supposed to do with that? I knew it wouldn’t actually hurt me if he fired it, yet I still found myself frozen in place.

That was when the car, driving far too fast for a neighborhood, came barreling around the corner. The kid didn’t move. Didn’t even look to see the car coming. My feet lept to action before I processed what I was doing. I ran out into the middle of the street and tackled the kid. We stumbled towards the sidewalk on the other side as I dragged him. The momentum knocked us to the ground. Pain surged through my shoulder and my hip, but I hardly processed it until later, when I saw the large bruises that had formed. We had just barely managed to clear the car’s path. The driver didn’t even stop to apologize, or check to see if we were okay. Didn’t even slow down. I didn’t get a good look at the driver’s face, or the license plate. All I remember is that the car was black and might have been a Honda. Wherever they are, I hope karma did a good deal on them for their reckless driving.

Before I could focus on my injuries, I checked to make sure the kid was okay. Other than a scrape on his knee, he appeared to be fine, but it was hard to say. Even after all of that, his expression still hadn’t changed. For some reason, this made me indescribably angry. How could you almost get hit by a car and then still act completely neutral? Regardless,if he was in any pain, there was no way I could tell. I offered to take him back to my place and clean up his knee, but he shook his head. I noticed he was staring intently over my shoulder. When I turned around, I realized his toy gun had been destroyed. Orange and yellow plastic bits covered the street, almost like broken glass. He stood up and walked towards the remains. As he picked up what used to be the trigger, his face was still blank, but if I looked closely enough, I could have sworn I saw something adjacent to sadness. Disappointment, perhaps. For the first time since I had met him, he opened his mouth, and—god, I wish I had stuck around long enough to learn more. I wish I had pressed harder, since I now knew he was actually capable of speech. Hearing what he said next chilled me, though. I can’t quite say why. All I know is that after he spoke, I got up and ran back to my house, never wanting to see that kid again. Do you want to know what he said? The only words I ever heard him speak? It was this, with no further details or elaboration: “He’s not going to be happy about this.”

Paper shuffling.

ARCHIVIST:

And that seems to be where it ends. Jordyn gave us the name of the neighborhood this took place in, as well as the exact street the incident happened. The problem is, as she stated, it’s a gated community, and none of our staff had a code to get in. It says here in an attached slip of paper labeled: Incident Report, (sighs) date not given, that they contacted the head of the community in an attempt to gain access, but the head of the home-owner’s association said to, quote, “shove it in a place the sun doesn't shine, you conspiracy theory creeps.” Luca writes here that there was an issue involving a cup of… tea… thrown at their face… what a waste.(mutters) Rich people.

Because of this, there’s not much we can do. Without a stated name for the kid, or any known relatives, it’s hard to try to track this kid down. Frankly, I don’t think Jordyn’s story is all that concerning, other than the incident with the car, which we also could not find due to her vague description.

(beat)

It’s likely the child she met was simply shy, or possibly processed his emotions in a different way than she was used to. Her university certainly agreed with me, since it seems she was not given her requested time off. Thus, as far as I can tell, this is another instance of someone making something deeper than it needs to be and then trying to get an extra vacation. I can’t blame her, I suppose, since nearly seeing a kid get run over would certainly be upsetting. It does appear that Oliver, our resident psychological consultant, did recommend her a therapist, but she never went.

(beat)

Trust me, Jordyn, I would love to take a break as well, but post-grad school is expensive, and I doubt Mr. Banks would give me paid time off even if something worthwhile were to happen. It’s the world we live in, I suppose. Gotta pay off the student loans one way or another. (sigh)

End recording.

Recorder click off.

CREDITS:

Incident Report Number 31 is a podcast made by Three-Eyed Frog Presents. This episode, “Secure,” was written, directed, and produced by Val West and Luka Miller with sound design by Luka Miller. This episode featured Val West as the Archivist and Kaleb Piper as Zach Baker. Music is produced by Luka Miller. To keep up with the show and find transcripts, make sure to follow us on our Twitter at @IR31Pod and on tumblr at @IncidentReport31. To contact us with any questions or concerns, feel free to email us at incidentreport31@gmail.com. Thanks so much for listening!

[letsmisfits]

PTSD Pathfinder: Part 1

I wanted to call this, “The Wary Traveler,” but some a-holes from Canada beat me to it. I don’t actually think they’re assholes, but I felt threatened and wanted to assert my dominance. I checked out their website, I didn’t read anything, but it actually seems pretty tits. I’ll think of a better name at some point in the future. Also, I may have posted this under a different username somewhere on this website. I remember doing it, but can’t remember my username. So if anyone is reading this, I promise I’m not plagiarizing. Fun fact, it is plagiarism to not cite oneself. I made a Haiku about that when I first learned about it. “Just today I learned, that it is plagiarism, to not cite oneself.” Moving forward. 

PTSD Pathfinder: Part 1 (I hate this fucking title so god damn much) 

PTSD is an illness with a mind of its own. From its home base situated deep within your brain it directs operations. It's goal, on the surface at least, is to keep you safe. The brain doesn't like trauma, and so it goes out of its way to prevent further trauma from happening...or at least that's the idea. Oftentimes the way this plays out makes things a whole lot worse, especially if you're in high school, god what a mess that shit was.

Recently I likened it to living with two versions of myself. First there is "Me," and then there is "trauma me." I don't capitalize "trauma me," because frankly, he's a fucking dick. Not only to himself, but to other people. For example, when my roommate comes home and opens the garage, "trauma me," gets all pissy and my roommates friendly "howdy," is met with a short and forced, "hi." How does someone get so flustered by a garage being opened?! And who the fuck opens up with, "howdy?"

This happens to us all the time. The most innocuous things seem to send us into a death spiral. A combination of anxiety, anger, self-loathing, and sadness.

The other thing to know about humans, is that we NEED to connect with others to stay healthy. This is why Tom Hanks had to become best friends with a volleyball in Cast Away (I know I shouldn't be, but I'm still bitter about his woman leaving him in that movie). The thing about PTSD is that it wants the exact opposite. Truly connecting with other people when you have been through trauma is not on the agenda. 

So there you are, stuck on the one hand wanting nothing to do with people (the reasons are endless, "they'll want to talk to me, they'll will try and attack me, they will do ______ to me"). On the other hand, you are sad because you want nothing more than to connect to people. It's a bit of a problem. Not only do you not want to connect to people, you end up afraid of the world as a whole. Like yes, I could go to the park today, but it's better I stay home and watch TV. Yes, I could go to that party, but what if one of the three hundred scenarios that have played out in my brain come to fruition? Then you end up feeling like you've wasted your day. The cycle continues.

Recently I was faced with the mild, and by mild I mean a 0.0013%, chance that I had multiple sclerosis. The other thing about PTSD if you haven't gathered already, is that you are anxious all the time about EVERYTHING. Even the smallest things can cause problems for some of us. I once dated a woman who was afraid to get ice cream for herself when we were at the store...she asked for my ice cream later that night and after providing her with a bowel of that delicious frozen sugar, I asked her why she didn't get ice cream when we were talking about it at the store. Turns out this was quite an anxiety provoking process for her (I hope the people who caused this issue for her die, slowly).

Anywho, since I was faced with the prospect of immobility and death, I decided I needed to go out more. However, this is a bit tricky due to the ole PTSD. Today I said fuck it and decided to venture out into the world farther than I normally would on my own. A 37-minute drive later and I was at 7 Bridges Park in South Milwaukee, WI. I got to a bluff and climbed down the 100 or so feet to the beach. It was mostly empty which is just what I like, save for the couple with their dog walking towards me.

Why do people have to walk towards me? Can they just yield? Take a rest while I walk by at a safe distance? What do they want? What if they say hello? What if they stop to talk to me? What if their dog comes close to me? Do I pet it? Then what happens? These are the thoughts that run through my mind just about every time I encounter people in the world. They walk by, I'm safe. BUT WAIT. The beach ends, now I have to turn around...guess who's taking their sweet fucking time enjoying life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?

I had to stop and pretend to marvel at the scenery like four times so I didn't have to be next to them. Don't get me wrong, the scenery was pretty sweet, but you can only look at a giant body of water so many times before it loses its luster. Eventually I got back up the bluff and kept climbing. I had to convince myself to take a more risky path because that's the opposite of what my PTSD wanted. It then occurred to me:

There have to be a bunch of people just like me out there...wanting to live life but afraid to do so because of the ten thousand things that could go wrong. Maybe in my travels and desire to be with the world and find myself n shit, I can start documenting my experience for others? It could help some people. There's also a small chance that it could be really impactful someday; maybe I could make a living as a blogger (I think the odds are pretty slim on that one).

So here I am, making a blog. I don't know anything about blogs. I don't know how to write them, where to post them, who to talk to about them. Nothing. But I know that I have a reason to go outside next weekend, which is great. Maybe someone will find value in this..…then I would have no choice. I would have to go outside. I would have to talk to that person. I would have to leave the country (I would start with Canada as there is a fairly limited chance of being murdered there...not that there is an increased chance in most places, but this is how my brain works). I would have to do all of the things that PTSD doesn't want me to do.

Maybe if someone finds value in this, it could be like the man in- the- hole story. I heard it on The West Wing (which is full of fun parables).

"This guy's walking down the street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep he can't get out. A doctor passes by and the guy shouts up, 'Hey you. Can you help me out?' The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a priest comes along and the guy shouts up, 'Father, I'm down in this hole can you help me out?' The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a friend walks by, 'Hey, Joe, it's me can you help me out?' And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says, 'Are you stupid? Now we're both down here.' Joe says, 'Yeah, but I've been down here before and I know the way out.'"

Update: I changed my name :) 

[illfoandillfie]

Celebration Day

BxRxJ Masterlist

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Joe Mazzello x Reader

Summery: Ben's birthday gift is as much a surprise for you as it is for him.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), oral sex (m receiving), nothing especially kinky,just some good ol’ fashioned birthday/reunion sex

Words: 2164

A/N: This wasn’t really planned. I knew I wanted to do more brj but I didn’t have any solid plans for it. And then the other day, while I was writing something else entirely, I had the sudden urge to do this piece. Technically this is for Ben’s bday but like well late lmao

Taglist:  @laedymoon​​  @dtfrogertaylor​​   @ezmina98​​  @vee-ndetta​​ @atomic-watermelon​​ @kellypenac​​ @labessieisallama​​ @deakyclicks​​ @jennyggggrrr​​ @drowseoftaylor​​  @hannafuckingsucks​​  @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming​​ @queenmylovely​​ @supersonicfreddie​

It was two in the morning on the second of January when the text came through.

Joe: HAPPY BIRTHDAY BENNY 💕😘

Ben reached for it automatically, making you groan when you were forced to pull away from his chest before you’d finished the hickey you’d started. “Y’know if you’re not interested I can always go to sleep,” “Thought you said you were too tired to sleep,” Ben said distractedly as he typed a reply. “Well maybe I’ll just go watch Netflix then,” you pushed yourself up, swinging your leg back over Ben’s hips and making to slip out of the bed. Ben’s arms wrapped around your waist, hoisting you back onto his lap as you squealed, “No need for that, I promise I’m very interested. You were saying something about a present?” “Finished flirting with your boyfriend then?” “I can flirt with him and make out with you at the same time, see, I’ll prove it,” with one hand he opened the camera on his phone as his other cupped your face and pulled you towards him. You giggled at the snap of the camera, letting Ben break the kiss to examine the photo. That’s how the last month and a half had gone, texts and emails and Skype sessions. It wasn’t easy but you made it work, kept up the habit of checking in with each other so you knew how everyone felt. Regular date nights happened over websites that let you sync up movies and telephone calls on speaker. One time Joe went to the MoMA and kept you and Ben on video chat the whole time, showing you everything he saw. It made the distance easier to bare though it couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing. “Joe’s gonna love it,” he said softly as he sent it off, “or at the very least he’s going to be insanely jealous and come back sooner.” From outside the bedroom you heard a text alert. “Did I send it to you accidentally?” Ben asked, looking back down at the screen. “My phone’s right here,” “Well, shit. I wanted it to be a surprise.” Both you and Ben whipped your heads around at the sound of Joe’s voice, finding him standing in the doorway, his phone clutched in one hand, Ben’s spare key dangling from his finger. “What are you doing here?” “Who cares Ben, as long as he’s here.” Joe dropped his bag where he stood, letting the key and phone fall on top before rushing to the side of the bed. You wriggled out of Ben’s grasp, almost throwing yourself at Joe and kissing him hard. He sighed against your lips, hands falling to your waist and then sliding lower still. Ben cleared his throat behind you, “excuse you but I believe it’s my birthday,” “Sorry, honey,” Joe mumbled as he let you go. There was a half second pause as you stepped back and then suddenly Joe rushed forward and threw himself onto the bed, making Ben yell as all of Joe’s weight landed on his lap. “Still as clingy as ever,” Joe laughed before wrapping his arms around Ben’s neck and leaning in to kiss him too. You couldn’t stop smiling as you walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed in beside them.

“Seriously though,” Ben said, looking more than a little dazed, “What are you doing here? When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell us?” “I’m here because I missed you both too much to stay away any longer. I got back about, um, maybe an hour ago, bit longer I guess. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t get you a birthday present and I figured this could be it. I expected you’d be asleep when I sent the text, so I was going to crash in the other room and surprise you in the morning but then you replied. What are you both doing up so late?” “We might have spent most of the day sleeping off a couple of hangovers,” You said slyly, leaning your head against Ben’s shoulder. “I did wonder how you’d go today, both of you looked pretty plastered in some of those photos. Didn’t realise Lucy and Rami would throw such a rager.” “Yeah, it was fun,” Ben laughed, “but god today, yesterday rather, was awful.” “Not so awful now though?” “Definitely not.” “Good, especially since I seem to have interrupted something,” Joe pressed his finger against one of the marks you’d left there moments before. “Y’know, Joe, if you’d given me some warning you were coming home I could have prepared something special for both of you.” “Oh?” Joe looked at you questioningly, “You mean like a cake or something?” “Uhh, not quite,” Ben cocked an eyebrow and looked toward you, “Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?” “What? What’s she talking about?” “Well you have to admit this seems like the sort of occasion that would warrant…that kind of thing.” “You’d do that with us? I didn’t think you’d be into it,” “If you’d asked me a few months ago I would have thought the same thing but, I don’t know, guess I’ve been thinking about it a bit lately,” you shrugged, “but only if I had time to like get ready first.” “If one of you doesn’t explain soon I might just fuck off back to the US,” You laughed and shook your head, “double penetration, Joe, that’s what I was talking about.” Ben let out a bark of laughter at the sight of Joe’s stunned face, “So you were talking about what I thought you were talking about, good.” “Two things. Firstly,” Joe held up one finger, “Is this whole understanding each other with half a sentence to go off of thing something you’re going to be doing a lot? And two,” he put up a second finger, “Y/N, I love you.” “Well, like I said, it’s not happening right now,” “Doesn’t stop me from thinking you’re incredible for even suggesting it.” “There is something else I can do for you now though,” You pushed yourself up on your knees and shuffled to the end of the bed, holding out your hand to Joe in invitation to take the spot you’d just vacated. He obliged, glancing at Ben as he settled against the pillow, both of them smiling as you settled back on your knees. It was nice seeing them both again, back in the same place, the same room, the same bed. You took a breath to steady yourself, the pure joy of the moment threatening to overwhelm you. When you felt you’d calmed down enough you moved closer to them, between their legs, reaching forward to undo the fly of Joe’s pants. He was quick to kick them off, eager after so long away. For a moment both boys watched you, eyes glued to your lips when you let a string of saliva drip down, to your hand as you began pumping it over his shaft, spreading the spit from base to tip. Their breaths were shallow and audible. “Christ,” Joe groaned, head falling back against the pillow when you finally took him in your mouth, going slowly. Ben chuckled and propped himself up, “On any other birthday I’d complain about you getting more attention than me. But I think I can let it slide today.” Joe’s own laugh was muffled as Ben kissed him. You pulled up, one hand stroking Joe’s thigh softly, “Don’t worry Benny, haven’t forgotten you.” Ben groaned and broke the kiss as you pulled the waistband of his joggers down, much quicker to wrap your lips around his head. Joe took the opportunity to lift his shirt off over his head, grabbing the hem of Ben’s as soon as he was done. You brought one hand back to Joe’s cock as you took Ben a little deeper, listening for their groans and sighs of pleasure as their lips met once more. Alternating between the two of them, you bobbed your head over one and your hand over the other, taking them deeper each time, until the room was full of their moans, muffled by each other’s tongues, and your gags. Each time you came up for air and to switch, you would steal a glance at them, smiling to yourself at the way the looked when wrapped up in each other, their hair mussed, eyes closed, fingers grasping. If you took too long though one of them was sure to blindly reach for your head, pushing you back down. You squeezed your thighs together, trying to ignore how wet you were to focus on them instead.

And then Joe moved, slipped out of Ben’s reach, behind you. You pulled off of Ben, taking note of the fucked out, slightly stunned expression on his face as you turned to find Joe. “What’re you doing?” you half laughed, his fingers tickling your thighs as he pulled your pants down your legs slowly, “you didn’t finish yet.” He pulled you back against his chest, breath against your ear sending a shiver down your spine with every word, “As much as I love what you’re doing, and believe me I love it, I’ve been thinking about your pussy for weeks now. So, if you don’t mind…” he plucked the hem of your underwear. “S’pose I can accept that,” you turned your head so he could see your smile, which only got wider as he pressed a kiss to the side of your mouth and then a few more along your jaw. Shaking your head to bring yourself back to earth, you made to lean forward once more, intending on finishing what you’d started with Ben. Except that Ben moved too, pushing himself to his knees in front of you. His hands found your tits, squeezing them as Joe’s fingers slipped into you. Before you had time to register the changes, you were caught between them, three of Joe’s fingers pumping into you as Ben’s hands wandered over your body. “Ready?” Joe asked, receiving only a whine in response. He chuckled, “I’ll take that as a yes,” and then you were holding onto Ben’s shoulders as Joe pushed into you, slowly working himself deeper. You’d known you missed Joe but feeling him like that, his breath coming in pants against the back of your neck, his hands holding you tightly, his hard length buried as deep in you as he could possibly get, you were hit by the sudden realisation of you how much you’d missed having him in this specific way. He held you differently than Ben did, fucked you differently. It wasn’t better or worse but it was different and you’d missed it so much. “You okay?” Ben asked softly, catching sight of your face. “I’m fucking wonderful,”

As soon as you told him to move Joe brought his hips back and then snapped them forward once more, building up a quick pace. You leaned your head back against his shoulder, back arching towards Ben as he plucked at your nipples. It was a far cry from the slow steady way you’d blown them. Distance had made Joe desperate and needy, fucking you fast, making you moan as he did everything to prove that time and space apart hadn’t made him forget what you liked. His fingers danced over your clit as he rammed into you. Not the slow, romantic night of passion you’d perhaps envisioned when you thought about Joe’s return, but still perfect in its own way. You came with a cry, Joe still rubbing your clit, though somewhat less consistently, as he finished too. You could feel his seed dripping out of you as he pulled out, tilting your head to the side so he could kiss you deeply. You almost bit his tongue as you felt Ben push his cock between your legs, both of them working to adjust your position slightly to make it easier. You ended up with one leg draped over Joe’s arm, their steady support the only thing keeping you from collapsing on your slightly shaky leg. Joe moved his mouth to your neck, leaving marks down to your shoulders, occasionally pausing in his path to whisper dirty words into your ear. Ben’s thumb took over rubbing your clit until you fell over the edge again, swearing as you became too sensitive under the circles his thumb was making. He shifted his hand to your waist, holding you as he thrust into you, his own orgasm approaching. You clenched around him, unintentional, caused by Joe biting down on that particular spot, but it was enough to have Ben grunting through his release.

They let you go gently, making sure you were okay as you crawled up the bed and collapsed against the pillow, Ben stealing another kiss from Joe before they both joined you, Joe in the middle where both of you could reach him.

[mymelodyheart]

Highland Destiny Chapter 5 ~Dinner for Two~

They were standing in the middle of the lounge, suspended in time and space, between heaven and earth, looking into one another's eyes. Claire's hand was still in Jamie's, his fingers generating tiny sparks that surged erratically through her body, fanned into a flame with just a little pressure of touch. His eyes, dark with wanting, bore into her soul, sending delicious heat to her core. She felt the sudden rush of blood to her head as her heart raced, scattering all logic and reasoning into some unknown dark abyss. She tried to summon a memory from the past; Frank, Oxford, the hospital corridors, her parents, uncle Lamb... anything to keep her from drowning into Jamie's deep blue. But it was futile. She was falling, dropping, slipping, but she had no idea into where.

The electrically charged interlude was interrupted by the sound of ringing from Claire's iPhone, jarring them from their trance and making them both blink. "  Dhia  !" Jamie murmured under his breath as his hand released Claire's, to rub the nape of his neck.

Ding! Ding! Saved by the bell. 

O' sweet Lord Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Ding ding indeed!

Regaining a tiny bit of composure, Claire reached behind the back pocket of her jeans, extracting her phone. "I need to take this," she whispered hoarsely, barely audible.

He nodded and motioned with his hands towards the doorway as he made his way to the kitchen. She nodded back with an apologetic smile.

Seeing the image of the caller on her phone, Claire momentarily forgot Jaime and what just transpired. "Geillis, darling!"

"Hiya chick! How are you daein'? O' my God, o' my God ah heard from Joe yoo're in town. Sae, ye moved here for good?" answered an animated woman's voice in broad Glaswegian.

" Absobloodylootely – YES! Oh God, it's so good to hear your voice, Geillis. We ought to meet up as soon as possible. Listen, are you free Friday night? If so, let's catch up then. It has been bloody ages!"

"Och this is so excitin'! Aye definitely, let's meet up. Maybe Joe will come too. Ah cannae wait tae see you and show you our shop. By th' way, what's wrang wi' ye? Ye sound like ye hae bin runnin'. 'Tis a bad time?"

Claire twisted backwards to peek through the doorway. She saw Jamie leaning over the sink, splashing water to his face and neck and felt the heat crept up her own. "Well, kind of. Look, sorry to make this short but got to go. I promise to call you first thing tomorrow. Is Scotch & Rye Pub on Friday at 7 ok? I've been told that its the place to be. We can grab some fish and chips if you fancy."

"Brilliant, sorted! Scotch & Rye pub it is then Friday at 7! Ah cannae wait. An', och, Claire...you hae a laddie there wi' ye?" She can almost see her friend's cheeks dimpling and giving a wicked wink.

"Sod off, Geillis!"   She always knows, the bloody cow!   With that, Claire turned off her phone.

Although she was so thrilled to hear from her friend, the call was a welcomed distraction. Geillis was one of her closest mates in Oxford in medical school. And along with Joe, they were the three Musketeers in the campus until Geillis dropped out. In the earlier days, she developed an interest in Alternative Healing after joining a movement against big pharmaceutical companies; hence, she left her medical studies and followed her boyfriend to Inverness to set up a health and herb shop.

Claire was staring at the phone in her hand when Jamie walked back in. He leaned on the doorway, smiling, his breadth blocking the light from the corridor. "Hey, Sassenach. Shall we start dinner?"

She smiled back. "Sure!" And she followed him to the kitchen taking his outreached hand.

..........

In the next half hour, Claire busied herself with dinner's preparation while Jamie chopped the shallots and washed the chanterelles. Still rattled from earlier, she carefully stirred their conversation onto something neutral and avoided eye contact, but working in such a small area, touching was unavoidable. A couple of times, he had to place his hands on her hips as he navigated narrow spaces, and his mere touch sent bolts of heat coursing through her body. But with his laid-back and relaxed manner, it wasn't long before they were back to bantering and joking. Once the chanterelles had been sauteed, and the rice and shallot simmering in broth and wine, she left him to continue cooking while she washed and changed.

Drying herself after a quick shower and shave, Claire was very conscious of Jaime in the other room. Just knowing that he was there under the same roof was enough to make her heart do somersaults. She could hear him moving about as the wooden floors creaked and the pots and pans banged. For a very big man, he looked right at home and comfortable working in the kitchen.

In her bedroom, she looked for something to wear but looking into her wardrobe, there wasn't really a lot of choices.   Well, it's only Jamie anyway, it's not like it's a date!

Well Beauchamp, ready for round 2? Ding! Ding!

Wot round 2? There will be no round 2.

So why did you shave your legs?

Rubbish! I always shave my legs.

Liar, liar, pants on fire!

Annoyed with herself, she decided to put on a pair of black leggings, an over-sized sweatshirt emblazoned, OXFORD and white woollen socks. She twisted her hair to the top of her head and fastened it with a hair clasp after giving up on taming her wayward curls. Looking into the mirror, she scrunched her nose and poked her tongue out. 

Ok, Beauchamp, let's do this! 

Do what? 

Get laid? 

Not gonna happen. 

But you want to. 

I do not! 

Liar, Liar, Pants on fire!

Sod off!

Satisfied with her reflection, she went to the kitchen.

When Claire walked in, Jaime was in the process of opening a bottle of Chablis. He gave her one of those heart-dropping smiles as he took in the sight of her. His eyes travelled up and down, lingering for a moment at her breast.   Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Can he tell I don't have a bra?   She quickly reached down to touch the hem of her sweatshirt to check its thickness. Taking it as an awkward moment, Jamie reached out and guided her to the table, placing a hand on the small of her back. The scent of her favourite food made her stomach growl ferociously. He must have heard her belly rumble. "Hungry Sassenach? he said with a grin.

She was pleasantly surprised to see that Jamie did make himself at home. There was nothing else for her to do: the table was set, the green salad dressed, her flowers haphazardly arranged in the vase and placed on a side table, and he even had a few of her scented candles burning. In the background, she could hear L-O-V-E song by Nat King Cole playing softly in the lounge. In spite of her nervousness, she couldn't help but smile. Maybe the hunger was getting the better of her.

"Very hungry, indeed!" she replied. Then cocking her head, she exclaimed, "Oh my God, Jaime, you have Uncle Lambs record player working! Sorry, I don't have any sound system set up yet. It's been a hectic during the last few days. There's still a lot of things I need to do with this house."

"Och, dinna fash Sassenach. I love old music and light jazz. We still have my grand parent's record player in our family home, and occasionally, we play some of my ma's collections for 'ol time sake. I hope you dinna mind me going through your uncle's records."

"No of course not, that's what it's there for. Maybe after dinner, we can go through some and listen to some old jig."

"That's grand, Sassenach!" He took her hand and kissed the inside of her palm.

Over the next couple of hours, Jamie and Claire got better acquainted over Rissotto and wine. As the evening progressed, Claire began to relax and enjoy herself as they exchanged stories about their families and life. She found Jamie charming, and like most Scots, he was born a storyteller. He spoke of his late parents and his sister in Lallybroch where he grew up, and in return, she reciprocated in kind and spoke of her travels to archaeological sites with Uncle Lamb and what she can remember of her parents.

After dinner, they moved to the lounge to listen to records. While Jamie lit up the log burner and prepared the whisky and tumblers, Claire fixed a tray of strawberries and cream and coffee. Claire couldn't help notice how at ease Jamie was - he looked like he's lived in Uncle Lamb's cottage forever. For the first time she arrived in Inverness, Claire felt at home, and she wondered if it had to do with Jamie.

..........

Three-quarters of the whisky bottle later, Jamie and Claire collapsed on the floor, spent from laughing so much, after attempting to dance the can-can to Sinatra's "New York, New York." Jamie was a terrible dancer, and Claire couldn't help but giggle her way through the routine. After a few more twirls and twists, they decided to call it a night. She didn't want the evening to end, but it was getting rather late. 

Claire got up from the floor and holding up an almost empty bottle in the air, she announced, before slumping on the sofa, "Ok, Jamie, last drink. I'm totally knackered."

Jamie followed suit, but instead of sitting beside her, he sat down on the coffee table facing her. He reached out and took her hands between his own. This time, there was no hint of seduction or suggestion of flirt. "Sassenach, thank ye so much for a lovely evening. I've never laughed so much in my life, but I will need a taxi, I canna drive back home in my state," he said with a slight slur.

"Rubbish, you can stay here, there's plenty of room. I won't have you driving after drinking so much, and you can have my bed, it's the biggest in the house. I'll take the guest room," Claire insisted. She tried to stand up but swayed a bit. As she regained her balance, she looked up at him and smiled. "And Jaime, I had a wonderful time too. Thank you." Claire got on her tip-toes and gave Jamie a kiss on the cheek before swaggering backwards. She giggled. "Ooops."

"Weel, if ye don't mind, then I don't mind either." Jamie slightly unsteady on his feet, caught Claire by the elbows and laughed.

Claire peered into the almost empty bottle of whisky and poured the rest in each of the tumblers. "Good! That's settled then. And no, I don't mind at all. Last drink?" she said, handing a glass to Jaime.

"Aye." And raising his glass, he made a toast. "Slange var Sassenach!"

Claire wobbling on her feet managed to raise her glass, laughing. "Cheers mate!"

After downing their whisky, Claire handed the glasses and empty bottles to Jamie. "Right, I'll go and get some fresh sheets, and you can bring these in the kitchen. Then off to bed."

"To bed or to sleep?" he asked mischievously with a glint in his eyes.

"Ha-ha,"

Claire hurried to the bedroom, slightly zig-zagging as she made her way. That last remark from Jamie made her conscious of him all over again.   Damn you, Jaime!   As she was getting some fresh linens from the cupboard, she heard a thump and glasses falli

"Jamie, are you alright?" She went quickly to the kitchen and found Jamie taking off his shirt stained with wine. On the floor were shards of glass and spilt leftover wine.

"Och sorry Sassenach, I'm not familiar with your house, and I forgot you had boxes laid there. I tripped over them."

Claire thinking he might be still shaky on his feet due to intoxication, pulled him away from the broken glasses. "It's alright, Jamie. Just stand back a little please." After cleaning up, she went over to him to see if he had a cut. "Let me see you hands Jamie."

"Dinna fash Sassenach, it's just a wee cut." He held up his thumb, and she saw there was a shard sticking out. She quickly went to her first aid kit drawer, to get a tweezer, iodine and some cotton. It was a small cut, but the shard had to be taken out. 

Holding Jaime's thumb to the light, she pulled the glass out from the cut, and fresh blood started to flow. Without thinking, as if it was the most natural thing to do, Claire put his thumb to her mouth to suck the blood.   Oh, sweet Mother Mary, what did I just do?    She only came to her senses when she felt Jaime drew a sharp intake of breath. She felt embarrassed. Feeling idiotic and foolish, Claire didn't dare look up to Jaime and slowly released his hand. Head bowed, she realised he had taken off his shirt after forgetting about it for a moment. As her eyes wandered to his naked torso, she noticed his hard washboard abs and the movement of his breathing. On the hollow of his navel, ran a trail of dark reddish-gold hair that disappeared into his jeans. The thought of running her finger on that trail made the insides of her legs quiver. The skin on her face and neck turned hot.   Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, what have I done, and what am I thinking?

"Sassenach, are you alright?" Jaime said softly as he lifted her chin to look him in the eye. What she saw in Jaime's eye was a concern, instead of his usual mischief. She can only nod, too aware of Jamie's naked torso "You dinna need to be scairt of me - I wouldna force me on you." He paused, taking her hand. "But I would verra much like to kiss you. Would you mind?"

Point of no return, she swallowed. "No Jaime, I wouldn't mind." She paused and then continued, her voice sounding raspy to her ears. "Please kiss me," Then she placed her cool hands on his hard abdomen. 

The moment, Claire touched him, he felt his body was on fire. He thought of the other women in his life in the past,   Louise, Geneva, Annalise, Laoghair e, and looking back, he realised how shallow they have been. The sex was always a welcome release, but beyond that, there was nothing. With Claire, everything came naturally; he was himself, he can laugh, and most of all, she was herself. He looked down at the woman before him but still found himself confused with what he was feeling. 

Jaime, staring into Claire's golden caramel eyes, slowly lowered his head, one hand behind her neck and the other on her waist, pulling her against him. Their lips met, just the lightest touch, but it was enough to send electricity sparks across every nerve ending. It was just a grazing of lips, but he was shaken to the core. He pulled away, his heart hammering, taking shallow breaths. He looked at Claire's beautiful face, her eyes were closed and her lips lightly parted.   Dhia!   Unable to contain himself, he pulled her back once more, this time into a more passionate and intense kiss. He gently thrust his tongue to the opening of her mouth, parting them to delve inside, teasing and probing until she made whimpering sounds. Her own kisses became hot and urgent, her arms snaking around his neck while her fingers ran through his hair, and this made him kiss her harder more. Standing on tiptoes, she pressed her body closer, crushing her breast against his hard chest, sending pleasures down his groin and making Jamie groan.

They pulled away for air, and Jamie searched Claire's face. "Sassenach, I want ye so much, I can scarcely breathe. Will ye have me?" His voice cracked.

He thought his heart would burst when she nodded. 

Feeling emboldened, Jamie then hoisted Claire on to the kitchen counter and clumsily pulled up her sweatshirt, releasing her hair from its clasp and revealing her white breasts. Her curly mass came tumbling down, and Jamie ran his hands through them, raining her neck with urgent kisses and nibbling her earlobes. "  Mo Nighean Donn,"   he whispered. Her legs automatically wrapped themselves around his waist, and she arched her back as an invitation, Jamie's Gaelic endearments making her wild. "Christ Claire, ye are so beautiful!" Jamie whispered in a ragged voice.

Claire moaned loudly as he lowered his head to suckle at each breast, paying homage to each erect nipple. Then his tongue started its frenzied exploration on her skin as his hands tugged at the waistband of her leggings. Once released from the constriction of clothing, Claire said in a husky voice, "Take off your pants, I want you now." 

Seeing Claire exposed on the kitchen counter with her legs apart, was enough to drive Jamie wild with lust. He quickly unbuckled his belt and lowered his jeans without taking his eyes off Claire. Relieved of his jeans, he gathered her into a crushing embrace, his hands fondling her round arse, pressing his hardness against her. Her hips started to rotate, wrapping her legs tighter. He reached down between her thighs, and the feel of her slippery wetness made him groan and grab her thighs even tighter. "Jamie, I want you inside me, please."

Hearing the plea, Jamie lifted her with ease, spreading her legs as he pinned her against the wall. Without a word, he plunged his cock into her wetness. Jamie silenced her cries with a hard kiss thrusting his tongue in the same rhythm as his cock. After a moment, breathing hard, he released her lips, biting and kissing her neck, his hands tightening their hold on her arse as he rammed into her, slamming Claire's back against the kitchen wall. She whispered "harder," and "deeper" as she bit him hard on the neck, which drove Jamie to the edge. He did as she asked and more. As Claire let out a loud cry, her body began to convulse, making his balls tighten. Finding his own abrupt rush of release, Jamie arched his back as he thrust one last time and let out a grunt. 

They held each other for a long while, not speaking, not moving. Eventually, Jamie carried Claire to her bed. She was limp in his arms. As he laid her down, he slipped in under the duvet with her and gathered her close to him. They fitted perfectly. And then he whispered softly,   tha gaol agam ort mo chridhe.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 32

Stand Unshaken

Warnings: swearing, blood, a lot of heartache

Word count: ~4500

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You stand near the river, watching the sun rising, your heart feels as though it’s gone. Not even broken, just gone. John calls your attention. 

“Y/N, let’s go! We gotta keep moving.” 

You blink, tears cascading down your cheeks. “John, I…” 

Without warning, your knees give out. When you land, your injured knee screams in agony. John runs to you. 

“Y/N, please. We gotta do this.” 

You look up at him, silhouetted in sunlight. His dark eyes glisten with unspilled tears. 

“Please, Y/N.” 

It takes all your strength and will to get up, but you do. John pats your right shoulder, glancing at your left which is still bleeding freely from where one of the Pinkertons shot you. You nod to him, signalling you’re ready. 

He runs ahead again, skirting alongside the Kamassa River. You follow to your best abilities, but it doesn’t take long before you have to stop again. John stops and glares at you as you’re hunched down, trying to catch your breath. 

“Come on, Y/N. We’ll steal some horses soon, get there faster.” 

You straighten up and look at him, feeling like you’re about to fall to pieces again. You look to your right and there, in a clearing bathed in golden sunlight, stands a stag. His head is bowed as he grazes, but when your eyes land on him, he lifts his head, showing huge proud antlers. Your mind automatically goes to Arthur and how you just left him on the mountain to die. 

The stag gazes at you for what feels like an eternity. Finally, it blinks and turns, walking slowly and calmly into the trees back in the direction you came from. From somewhere in the corners of your subconscious, a voice echoes. It’s the voice of the blind man you met a couple of weeks back. 

“When the golden stag lifts his head, that is when you must go backwards rather than forward,” the voice says. Understanding rushes through you. It finally makes sense what he was saying. You have to go back. You’re meant to go to Arthur.

“Y/N!” John hollers. 

You look at him, your face set in determination. “Go, John. Find your family. I have to go back.” 

“You gonna let yourself get killed? Y/N, come on! Arthur didn’t want that for you.” 

You sigh, trying to keep yourself together. You straighten up as much as you can, Arthur’s hat shading you from the bright light. 

“I know what I’m doing, John. Now go. Go and watch Jack grow up, try and make Abigail happy. She loves you more than you know.”

John looks at you pleadingly. “Y/N-”

“Just go! They need you more than I do, and to be honest, you have more to live for than I ever did. Just please, for me, go and live a good life, okay?”

“You wanna go back and get killed, fine. But all it will mean is that Arthur died for nothing.” 

“No, John. He… he died for you. And so am I.” 

Before he has the opportunity to say another word, you run off as quick as your exhausted body will allow, back towards the forest. John calls your name, but you ignore him and eventually he stops calling. As you reach the trees, you look back and find he’s gone. You sigh, resolved to what you’re heading into. 

The trees provide ample shade and cover as you run, retracing your steps. You never should have left that goddamn mountain, no matter what Arthur said. If you don’t end up dying today, you’ll never forgive yourself for leaving him there. You just pray that by some power or force, he hasn’t died yet. Could it be possible he’s still breathing?

As you think about the circumstances in which you parted, tears begin pouring down your cheeks again. You don’t let it stop you though. You have to keep going. You push your injured and tired body on, tripping occasionally. Every time you do, it gets harder and harder to get back to your feet, but the thought of finding Arthur alive pushes you on. 

A shot suddenly rings out, a thin oak you’d just passed exploding. It brings you to a stop. From out of the bushes comes Micah, pointing his pistols at you, his face heavily bruised and bleeding.

“Ah, hello Mrs. Morgan. Or should I say, Morgan’s widow? I was hoping I’d see you again.”

“Micah, you son of a bitch.” 

He chuckles. “Always did have a mouth on you, miss. I gotta say, I admire that in a woman.” He holsters one of the pistols, sneering at you. 

“You sold us out,” you snarl, your hand brushing against the butt of your revolver. “You killed Mac, Davey, Jenny, Lenny and Hosea.” 

He laughs again. “You left one more name out, miss.” 

You pause, unsure of who he means. You look behind him, expecting to see Dutch. Instead, Cleet and Joe are there, pointing their rifles at you.

“Dutch-” you begin. 

“Oh, Dutch is fine, far as I know. Last time I saw him was right before I shot Arthur in the head.” 

Your heart drops and you suddenly feel cold. He laughs again. 

“That’s right, miss. To be honest, I didn’t think it’d be that hard to kill him. I’ve been trying for some time. I knew quite a bit about Dutch and his boys before I even met him. I must admit, I was jealous. The man has talent at being a notorious outlaw. Has a certain level of charisma few can achieve. Colm told me all  about him.” 

“Colm? Colm’s been dead a while.” 

He laughs again, slowly pacing in a large circle around you. “Now come on, Y/N. Thought you was smart. I was one of Colm’s boys long before I met Dutch. But he didn’t have the drive or the talent of ol’ Dutch, so I got out before he had the chance to cut me off. That was when I met Dutch.” 

You keep a firm eye on Micah, trying to think of a way to kill him. Your best bets right now are to keep him talking, keep him distracted. He obviously doesn’t find you as much of a threat, otherwise you’d already be dead. 

“I’m guessing you kept in touch with some of Colm’s boys though?”

“Well of course. Cleet and Joe were part of his gang too, until Colm was hung and his gang fell apart. But I was able to leak info on both Dutch and Colm through them. Gotta say, it was entertaining for a while to see them running in circles like that.” 

Micah adjusts his hold on his pistol. “I knew right when I met Dutch he’d be easy to manipulate. He saw my talents, what I could do. Knew I could be an asset. But when he introduced me to Arthur and Hosea, I knew they’d have to go before I could do anything to Dutch. They were his voices of reason, the one thing that kept him from falling over the edge.”

“So you were planning for them to die all along?” 

“Never did like either of them much, to be honest. Hosea never had any spine, and Arthur, well, he always thought he was better than everyone else, always too big for his britches. But Dutch trusted his advice, so I knew he’d have to go. I tried to take care of him clear back after he busted me out of the Strawberry prison. I met one of my old buddies from Colm’s gang up there, and he was in my cell. He thought I was still close to Colm, never was very bright, so he spilled all about a stage robbery. 

“After Arthur busted me out, I got word to Cleet and Joe that Arthur and I would rob the stage and have Colm set up his own trap. Thought killing Arthur would be easy, but of course he survived. Like a cockroach.” 

Micah begins a new circle around you, Cleet and Joe slowly getting closer to you. He continues, “I knew I’d have to be more clever to take Arthur out, so I came up with the plan for Colm to snag him and turn him in to the Blackwater bounty hunters. I was sure Dutch would go rescue him and either he or Colm would end up dead. It went perfectly to plan too until you had to go and rescue him. After that, I knew I’d have to come up with something really good to take Arthur out.”

“But you were in the Pinkertons pockets?” 

He smiles again. “That’s how you choose to see it. They offered me my freedom and even quite a bit of money if I brought them Dutch or Hosea, so I told them about the Blackwater ferry job. Only Dutch and Hosea got away and the Pinkertons refused to give me what they promised. Said Dutch either had to be shot or hung before they’d keep their end. I spent a lot of time thinking of a new trap.  

“Then Dutch met Bronte and got fooled by him. When I saw how angry he was, I could see the cracks. The only thing keeping him together was Hosea. Arthur had a hand in it too, but Hosea truly was the one thing guiding Dutch. So I told the Pinkertons about the bank robbery and what Hosea’s plan was. And that trap was sprung perfectly, I couldn’t have planned it better.” 

You’re shaking by this point. How dare he do this to Hosea, to Arthur, everyone? Micah laughs again as he sees how you take the news. 

“But you ended up in Guarma,” you say. “Something tells me that wasn’t planned.” 

He licks his lips. “No, that wasn’t. But I played my part, pretended to be a good boy. When we got back though, Milton found me and offered me double the cash. Oh, the money, Y/N. If you were offered that amount in exchange for leaving Arthur, you’d do it.” 

“No I wouldn’t. Arthur is one of the few people in this world you can’t put a price on.” 

Micah smiles again. “How hard it must be for you, knowing he’s dead. Ah, he truly was a good man. How hard he tried to keep Dutch’s head from spinning. How he loved you. But when he announced that you two were getting married, I knew the only way to take him down was through you.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Joe shifts nervously behind Micah. 

“I set the trap that ended with you getting that pretty little cut across your face. Must admit, it didn’t end the way it was supposed to. Joe messed up, he and George were supposed to kill you. I figured if you were dead, Arthur would be so hurt and turned around by your sudden absence, he’d be easy to get rid of. Turns out you’re just as stubborn when it comes to dying as he was.”

“You goddamn traitor,” you say, your eyes tearing in anger. “After all the gang has done for you. After Dutch took you in, fed you, paid you and this is how you repay him?”

“I’m a survivor, Y/N. Ain’t no one out there looking after me except my damn self, so I’m gonna do whatever I can for me.” 

You can feel the tension rising in the air, the inevitable ending coming. You flex your hands, preparing yourself. 

“Oh, Y/N. You can’t imagine my delight in this. Morgan was a huge pain in my ass for far too long. Even though he was on the verge of death when I found him, he gave me quite a beating. Maybe, as a final gesture of how I appreciated him, I’ll take you before killing you.” 

Your heart races faster as you realize what he intends to do to you. 

“I’d like to see you try, Micah,” you snarl, trying to sound braver than you feel. 

You predict what he’s going to do and just as he aims down at your leg to take you down, you roll and dodge to the side. As he aims again, you charge him, slamming your body into his, forcing him down. The pistol flies from his hand. Cleet and Joe are about to fire when Micah yells to them.

“Do nothing! She’s mine!” 

He punches you in the face hard, throwing you off. Slightly dazed, you try to get up but he crawls on top of you, wrapping his hands around your throat and squeezing. One hand releases you briefly so he can remove your revolver from its holster and tosses it to the base of a tree. You grapple with his hands, but it’s fruitless, so you shove your fingers into his eyes and he lets you go, crying out in pain. You then ram your uninjured knee into his groin, which allows you to toss him off. You get up and dart towards the pistol, but Cleet’s foot comes out of nowhere, connecting with your cheek. Stars erupt in your eyes and you fall down again. A heavy weight slams down on your back, keeping you pinned.

“Oh, you’re a fighter, Y/N. It’s gonna make this all the much more satisfying.” Micah reaches down and grabs you by the throat again, but you pull out your knife and rake it across his arm, forcing him to release you. The weight on your back disappears, allowing you to get to your feet. 

Micah slams into you, pinning you against the tree. He wrestles the knife from your hand, throwing it into a bush. Then, his bruised face enraged, he places a hand over the wound on your upper left arm and squeezes, causing you to cry out in pain as your arm feels like it’s about to fall off. 

“You little bitch,” he growls. With his free hand, he grabs you by the throat again. You raise your right hand, trying to prod his eyes again but he releases your left arm momentarily to slap it away, still squeezing your throat. The sides of your vision are beginning to fade to black. 

Suddenly, the sound of a pistol firing rings out and blood explodes from Micah’s side. He releases you, stepping back in shock and you slide down to the bottom of the tree, trying to remember how to breathe. 

From behind a boulder, Dutch walks out, aiming his pistols at Micah. 

“You shot me, Dutch. You-” 

“You betrayed me, Micah, betrayed us,” Dutch growls. He must have heard everything. 

Even though your vision is blurry, you look down and see your revolver’s gold barrel peaking through the leaf litter. You pick it up and shoot Micah in the chest until the barrel’s empty. His throat makes a gurgling sound as he steps back again, blood spilling from his chest. He looks at Dutch and then falls, his body twitching. Cleet and Joe run off as Dutch fires at them, but they get away. 

You lower the gun, your entire body flooding with pain. Dutch turns slowly to look at you and then he holsters his pistols. He glances at Arthur’s hat, still on your head. 

“Mrs. Morgan, I-” 

“Shut the fuck up, Dutch, and help me up.” 

He sighs and approaches you, grabbing your extended hand. You get to your feet, groaning in pain. Dutch looks as though he’s about to take you in his arms to help you walk but you slap him away, Micah’s words burning in your ears. 

“Arthur,” you gasp, glaring at him. “Is he…?”

“I… I don’t know. I… he…” 

“Micah says you were there when he...” 

Dutch swallows. “I didn’t see him die. He was on his way out, no doubt and I… I walked away.” 

You take a few steps back from him, wanting nothing more than to rip his throat out. However, you know you’d be dead at this moment if it weren’t for him.

“Get out of here, Dutch. But just know that if I see you again, I’ll be there to kill you.” 

He looks at you sadly for a brief moment and then walks away. You watch him go to be sure he won’t turn on you until he disappears through the trees. 

You’re alone again, and the weight of everything and the physical excursions slam into you, forcing you to bend down again. You don’t take a moment though before you’re picking up your revolver and knife. You have to find Arthur. Micah was lying. He didn’t shoot him, he couldn’t have. You won’t believe it until you see him. 

You continue walking on, running when you can stand it. It’s late morning by the time the mountain comes into view. Your body screams at you, begging for you to stop and rest, but you don’t. You can’t. 

You climb up the mountainside again, just as you did before when the Pinkertons were chasing you. After what feels like a monumental effort, you find the ledge where Arthur said good-bye. After inspecting the rocks and grass growing on it, there’s definitely signs of a struggle. On the rock wall, there’s a spot of blood. Then you see the impression of a body lying in the dirt. Leading away from it and up alongside the ledge, which winds up the mountainside, is a trail of blood. You follow it, curving around the bend and then you see him.

Arthur’s propped up in a sitting position against the ledge wall. Did Micah drag him there? You run the last few steps and then fall to your knees, ignoring the pain from your left knee, as tears overtake you. 

He’s covered in blood from the wound on his hip and his face is badly bruised and cut, but there’s no bullet. You sigh, a little relieved that Micah was at least lying about that part. His eyes are closed and his lips are dry. You grab his shoulders and shake them, crying out his name. 

“Please,” you beg. “Arthur, honey it’s me. I’m here. You can’t die!” 

He doesn’t respond, so you press a finger to his throat. To your surprise, you feel a pulse. It’s weaker than it should be, but it’s there. 

“Arthur!” you cry out. Then, you reach into your satchel and pull out an almost empty bottle of rum. You uncork it and turn the bottle over above his face so the liquid splashes him. He suddenly gasps and his eyes flick open. 

“You’re alive!” you cry out, throwing the bottle. He sucks in a pained breath, his eyes staring up into the sky. It’s almost like he can’t see you. Trying to keep yourself in one piece, you press a hand to his cheek. 

“Arthur, it’s me. Can you see me?” 

He takes in a few more deep breaths and then his eyes finally move, landing right on you. He opens his mouth to speak but only a small croak comes out. Realizing he must be thirsty, you take out another bottle of alcohol, pouring a small amount into his open mouth. He winces as it goes down his throat, but then he licks his lips and closes his eyes, still breathing heavily. 

“Arthur?” 

He looks at you again. “I told you to get out of here,” he says with a deep groan.

With a loud sob, you touch his face with your hand. “I know, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t live with myself knowing you died here alone.” 

He lifts his hand to brush your face. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Thank you for coming back.” 

He winces in pain again, dropping his hand. You study his face more, realizing there’s a red tint to his skin. The sun is burning him. 

“We need to get you off this mountain,” you say, looking around as if the answer of where and how you’ll move him will be there.

“Where?” he asks in a weak voice. 

You think for a moment. “Hamish. Hamish isn’t too far away. Arthur, we’ll go to Hamish.” 

Arthur closes his eyes again. “I can’t walk, darlin’. My… my hip.” 

“No, you can’t. But I can. I’ll get him and we’ll come back for you. Arthur, can you at least keep yourself hydrated?” 

He nods, opening his eyes again. You touch his face briefly before getting to your feet again. You reach into your satchel and pull out more bottles of whiskey. “I’ll be right back, gonna get something before I fetch Hamish.” 

Before he has the chance to ask what you’re doing, you run down the ledge and down the mountain and back to where Artemis and Rannoch died. When you see their bodies, your heart breaks. But you can’t allow yourself to mourn, not now, not yet. Arthur needs you. You slide their saddle bags off and sling them over your shoulder, struggling a bit with their combined weight. Somehow though, you manage to make it back to where Arthur is. 

He watches you intently as you take out his tent from Artemis’s saddlebag and position it over him, shading him from the sun. You make sure to keep the opening free so it doesn’t get too hot. When it’s done, you kneel beside him and unbuckle his pants, to which he questions. You tell him to relax and open his jeans and his union suit to reveal the wound above his hip. It looks awful, but it doesn’t look infected yet. You pour some whiskey onto it, making Arthur cry out. You apologize profusely and then place a strip of cloth to soak up what bleeding there still is. You rebuckle his pants in order to hold the fabric in place and keep pressure on the wound. 

Just as you finish and are about to announce you’re going to get Hamish, Arthur grabs your leg. 

“Sweetheart, come here.”

You look at him, worried. “What is it?” 

He slides a hand behind your neck and pulls you down, kissing your lips. His lips are hot, too hot and after a moment you pull away. 

“Arthur, I’ll be back. Hamish and I, we’ll come get you, okay? I promise, I’ll be back.” 

He nods and you take off his hat, about to give it to him when he grabs it and puts it back on your head. “You need it more than I do right now.”

You nod and kiss him again. “Don’t die on me now, you hear?” 

His lips stretch into a small smile. “I ain’t gonna die. I got you by my side.” 

You blink, a few more tears escaping, and stroke his face again. Then, with another enormous effort, you get to your feet and leave the tent. You throw Arthur another glance and promise him you’ll come back. He nods in acknowledgement but says nothing. He closes his eyes again and rests his left hand over the wound. 

You turn and head down the mountainside again. Your body is so tired and hurt that even your scar from when the Murfree shot you in the leg burns. It causes you to limp even more, but you keep going. Finally, you hit the road, but of course no one’s there. Sighing heavily, you turn down the path and begin heading down the path toward O’Creagh’s Run. 

After only taking a few steps, you hear the sound of a horse coming down the path towards you. Looking behind, you see a man trotting on a small liver chestnut morgan. 

“You there, can you help me out?” you call out.

“I don’t need or want your company, now get lost.” 

Without hesitating, you pull out your revolver and shoot him in the back of the head as he passes. He falls off and his horse stops. You’re surprised it didn’t spook and run off, but you approach it, glaring down at the man’s corpse. 

“Coulda been nice, buddy, but whatever. This is easier.” 

With some difficulty, you drag his body into a cluster of bushes and then go to the horse. He fumbles with his bit but doesn’t react otherwise, just looks at you with a steady eye. 

“Good boy,” you say, patting his neck and then climbing into the saddle. The effort is tremendously painful, but you get settled soon after and then kick the morgan into a canter. You silently acknowledge your luck when the lake comes into view. What would have taken you an hour to do on foot takes you a matter of minutes. 

Buell stands outside the small cabin and he rumbles in greeting when he sees you. Patting the morgan’s neck, you dismount but your foot gets caught in the stirrup due to your exhaustion and you fall, pain coursing through your entire body. 

The sound of uneven footsteps comes from the cabin and then Hamish’s voice calls out. 

“Y/N, what are you doing here? What’s going on?” 

You look up, tears leaking from your eyes again. “Arthur… needs help. Please. I…” 

“Hey, take it easy.” He kneels down next to you and helps you sit up. “Where is he?” 

You take a few deep breaths and tell him. He nods. “Okay. Can you ride a little more? It’ll be faster for me to get to him if you can show me where he is.” 

You nod and try to get up, but you can’t do it on your own. Hamish grips you under your arms with surprising strength and lifts you up, then he helps you back into the morgan’s saddle. He mounts Buell and grabs the reins. 

“Alright, Y/N. Come on, show me where he is.” 

Without a word, you guide the morgan into a steady trot back the way you came. A few moments later, the mountain comes into view. 

“I heard gunfire coming from this direction. You two have anything to do with it?” Hamish asks. 

“I’ll explain later,” you croak as you guide him up the mountainside on the morgan. When you reach the ledge, you stop, hoping Arthur’s still breathing. Hamish helps you get off and then you limp painfully around the edge of the mountain until the tent comes into view. 

“There,” you point. Hamish pats your back and goes to the tent opening, peering in. “Well, Mr. Morgan, you got yourself quite a girl. Looks like she’s been through hell and back. Course, you don’t look much better.” 

A small groan comes from inside the tent. Hamish enters it and you hobble to the opening, grateful to find Arthur’s responsive to Hamish. His eyes immediately find you and you start taking a few steps towards him when your legs finally give out and you collapse. The last thing you see is an eagle soaring above as Arthur calls your name.

[hallelujah-lockandload]

Sweet Venom

Its starting! Here is a link to the Wattpad one in case you want to read it there. I also added the 2nd chapter there too!

https://www.wattpad.com/story/243936475-sweet-venom?utm_source=web&utm_medium=email&utm_content=share_mywork

Fic: Vampire Gerard Way x Reader

Setting: High School

Warnings: Language

Chapter 1

“Just think happy thoughts” I mumbled as I held my hand to my bleeding neck.

“Happy thoughts aren’t going to stop me” the voice rang out around me “neither is your little boyfriend” Boyfriend? I pull a face thinking of Gerard as my boyfriend. If only but also… what an interesting time that would be considering he currently hates me. Let’s go back a bit and figure out why exactly I’m stuck in my favorite abandoned building being hunted by an asshole vampire, who if I had the opportunity I would love to shove a stake up their ass.

2 months ago~

I’m just your average high school senior living a relatively chill life. I’ve got semi absent parents which makes my life near fanfiction worthy, ya know. I’ve got enough freedom living in the town of Belleview that I don’t need to let my parents know everything about everything like who I’m with and where I am, as long as it sounds safe or I just lie. Being an only child makes it so easy to lie, well at least I learned to lie very well.

Anyway! It's senior year right! Gonna be the best time of my high school career right? I mean my best friend Mikey is in a few of my classes despite him being a grade below me, he’s smart okay. I’m not dumb, he’s just smart. We hang out a ton which is the best! We also work on dumb lyrics together and I’m trying to get him to sing but he refuses and says its not his thing. Which is crazy cause his voice isn’t even bad. But he always says that his brother is way better at it. Mikey likes to think his brother and I would get along great because we’ve got tons of common interests but… he hates me?

I have zero clue as to why, it’s just been like that the last few years. Gerard’s never really talked to me anyway but we at least used to hang out together when I was over and like in class. Now even when we have classes together he doesn’t even try to talk to me. I have no idea what happened! But freshman year rolled around and suddenly Gerard isn’t talking to me as much and we just lose our friendship? It's shitty. Not only cause I’m best friends with his brother and at his house a lot but… yeah actually that's it. It makes things awkward but like I guess I gotta live with that. And knowing I will never know why he stopped talking to me. Maybe it’s cause Mikey had a crush on me at some point but that went away when we realized we are way too much like siblings to each other.

I’m not really friends with Gerard’s friends. Like Frankie is cool and I mean Ray and I are friends because Ray usually has classes with me. But our friendship got better once he and Mikey became friends too, so we all hang out. I don’t really talk to Bert or the others Gerard sometimes talks to. Gerard usually just sticks to Frank, Ray and Mikey anyways.

If I’m not hanging with Mikey I usually hang out with my friends Patrick, Pete, and my other best friend Kristin that Mikey has a huge crush on. They would be so cute if they got together! But Mikey is shy and Kristin just out right refuses to make the first move, the tension is so thick you need a chainsaw to cut that. It's so frustrating.

Well that’s my friends and my situation so far but now it's time to actually start senior year and honestly this recap of my life so far as I lay in bed waiting for my alarm to go off was really nice. I hate waking up before my alarm, it's like bitch I could’ve slept in more but noooooo my body just had to betray me. I looked to the clock, honestly five minutes before my alarm is whatever so I guess it's time to get ready. Glad I took those last 10 minutes to think about my life and my friends.

Getting up for school is such a hassle, I wish summer didn’t end but like, I guess I’m excited for school too. Mostly my friends and my electives, and the fact that seniors only have to take english, gov/econ, and math. The rest are all mine.

I went through my closet and picked something cute and punk. I consider myself a punk just because I don’t care too much what people think of me and I’m going to be true to myself even if that offends people. But also my music and style choices make me look pretty punk. I picked out my fav blue plaid bottoms (skirt or pants or shorts it's your look) and a plain baseball tee that I tucked into them. Then went and put some makeup on just like I like. Once that was done it was time for hair which I decided could wait cause food is more important so I head downstairs in search for the food.

The kitchen is usually empty but my mom was there today making eggs.

“Any for me?” I asked as I went to the fridge for juice.

“Yup,” she said nodding, “Figured you should get breakfast on your last first day of high school.”

“How sentimental,” I said, giving her a side hug and mumbling a good morning. I then set the table for two seeing as Dad was already gone. We ate in peace and chatted about what I felt like school was going to be this year. If I’m being honest, it will probably be the same as always. Me and the boys (and Kristin) being nerds and having a grand ole time ignoring everyone else.

7:40 rolled around and I said bye to my mom so that I could jump in the Way’s car for a ride to school just like we have done for the past 6 years. Since they only live around the street from me, carpooling is always something we’ve done.

“You ready for the first day of the end?” I asked Mikey as I hopped into the back seat. Mikey was always shotgun since Gerard was now the driver. He got his license two years ago, so no more fun convos with Mrs. Way. Now it is just awkward looks and minimal words from the driver.

“That’s such a shitty way to say that this is your last year in highschool.” He said back, turning in his seat trying to smack me but not reaching me in the slightest.

I chuckled, “That's how it feels Mikes.”

“Yeah, well shut up.” He said. Mikey and I had a nice talk last Saturday at the Last Summer Sleepover Before School. He’s obviously feeling weird and kind of left out now that his brother and his best friends are graduating this year. Mikey is going to be without me next year, and without Gerard,  for the first time in a decade. It’s honestly kind of scary. I don’t blame him for being snappy at the subject.

We rode to the school in comfortable silence with Gerard’s music playing over the speakers, it was some chill summer music. Which is a nice-ish way to start the day. Arriving at the school parking lot it really does feel different this time.  Last time the three of us start together. We get out of the car and start heading towards the school when I’m suddenly grabbed from behind.

“What is up nerds?!” Patrick’s voice rings out next to my ear. We all laugh.

“Just going to hell for another year, what’s up with you?” Mikey says. Patrick moves so his arm is thrown over my shoulder instead.

“Waiting for Pete and whoever else I can find before walking into Hell.” Patrick says and I nod in agreement.

“Sounds reasonable. No one wants to go to hell alone,” I say.

“Did someone say my name earlier?” Pete says walking up to us. Gerard is just hanging with us looking around for Frank and Ray.

“Ayy! What's up dick face?” Patrick says pointing at Pete.

“Nothin much ‘Trick.” Pete responds. “Who else we waiting for before heading in?” He says looking around.

“Other than Kristin, Joe and Andy?” I ask, raising my eyebrow at him.

“Uhh yeah.” He says before starting to talk to Mikey about his summer and what classes he has. I chat with Patrick as we wait a few minutes for Ray and Frank to join us all.

“Who’s ready for another year of the fuckin’ shit show that is called school?” Frank says walking up to us with Ray and Kristin. They have been carpooling for school together since last year because they all live pretty close together. We all laugh and joke about school sucking but I know we are all excited for our electives. Since we are seniors and juniors we all have more electives now, us seniors get three while the juniors get two. It's so nice that the school actually lets us pick some fun classes to do.

After a while we realize it's 10 minutes before the bell rings and we should probably head into the building now.

“Who’s going to step in first?” Patrick asks. I’m sure people look at each other but everything feels different today. It’s time to just get this year started.

I step away from them not realizing that Gerard has too and we walk up the few steps together wordlessly before pausing in front of the doors for a moment. I breathe in deeply and make my way into the building through the giant double doors with Gerard by my side and our friends right behind us. This year is going to be a good one.

[billyhargroveinaponytail]

Good ole Dacre Montgomery. 

Chapter 8 “Better swim before you drown” 

Songs for this chapter:

'Best Part of Me' by Ed Sheeran

'Chances' by Backstreet Boys

'Talking Body' by Tove Lo

'Carolina.' by Harry Styles

_______________________________________________________________________

"Myra?" The tall blonde was quickly shoved off Jake's lap as he stood from his desk. Myra became squeamish seeing her boss and Liv naked in his office. Jake placed the cushion from his chair against his privates, keeping his eyes locked with Myra.

"It's uh not what you think, Liv she's uh, she's just a friend that's all." Liv gave a disgusted look to him picking up her clothes and redressing herself.

"I was- I was told to drop this off to you, I'm sorry for just barging in." Myra laid down the folder and quickly left the office rushing home to her trailer. What did she just experience, she was dumbfounded. Liv and Jake? Maybe that is why Jake despised Dacre so much, maybe that is what Dacre meant by he had something to explain.

Myra made it home and sat on her couch for the next 3 hours trying to wrap her head around all of this.

"Myra James!" Paisley's sweet voice rang from outside the door.

"Are you hungry? We're going to go get food!" Joe followed behind her inside, trying to persuade Myra to join them.

"No, I am ok I have food here!" Dacre stepped in, giving her a warm smile. "Well if you aren't busy then maybe we could talk."

Myra shook her head, walking to her bedroom closing the vinyl door behind her.

"Myra," Paisley stood on the opposite side of the door, pleading. "Maybe you should talk to him, he might have something important to say."

"No Paisley, I don't want to talk." Myra's biggest worry was that she would out Liv and Jake to Dacre and ruin even more.

"Suit yourself, we're going to eat! Night My!" Myra rolled her eyes, Paisley only ever called her that when Myra was being dumb or making bad decisions. And maybe she was but at that moment she felt like that was the best decision for her.

The door of the trailer closed behind the group as they left and Myra was finally free to come out again, this time wearing a set of pajamas and her hair was placed into a high bun.

"The pajamas are cute!" An Australian accent spoke up in the dimly light trailer, Dacre sat at the small table , waiting for Myra to leave her room.

"Sit, please" He motioned to the spot across from him. Myra crossed her arms sitting down. "Why are you still here? I didn't want to talk."

"Fine, don't talk. Just listen and answer a question." He reached his hand out for hers but she turned,ignoring his gesture. "Before you came to set, before they told you you had the opportunity to work here, did you work hard?"  

"Of course I did. I spent endless nights on papers and projects to get this opportunity." Myra relaxed her arms a little, still confused on what he was talking about.

"When I first became an actor I was so desperate to star in a film, to make a name for myself. I worked hard stayed up late trying to perfect myself so I would be worth something someday and when the opportunity came up to star in Power Rangers I instantly took it and thought would finally be my chance."

"Can I show you something?" He stopped mid sentence asking her, before she was even able to reply he grabbed up her wrist and lead her down the stairs of her trailer.

"Dacre..." She asked,tugging back at his hand as he nearly dragged her down the steps and towards his car. "Dacre, wait..where are we going?"

Myra was only in slippers so moving at the same pace as Dacre was tricky.

"I want to show you something ok? Just trust me!" Dacre opened his car door and helped her inside before getting in himself and speeding down the road.

"When I was first approached about working for Stranger Things, there were so many things they expected out of me, so many things I needed to do and it was overwhelming. This is when I met Jake he talked me into this and explained that he would be here to help with anything I needed!" Myra choked up hearing Jake's name,Dacre acted like he cared a lot about Jake and it hurt Myra to know she was keeping what happened from him.

"Jake told me that If I took on a contract with his company they would help me land a spot on the show..unfortunately I was so eager to join I didn't think out the consequences of the contract." Dacre pulled up to a large fenced in area.

"I promised I would show you this!" He typed in a code and the large gate swung open, showing off the beautiful cars on the other side. Hopper's police car, Joyce's vehicle and in the back sat four beautiful replicas of Billy car.

"Dacre!" Myra's eyes grew with excitement racing off towards the blue Camaro lit up by the street lights. Myra looked inside the tinted window, running her hands down the doors. Myra felt the anxiousness grow, telling her that she needed to tell Dacre what she saw, wether or not he believed her, he deserved to know.

"Dacre.." Myra spoke hesitantly looking over at him.

"This evening Sylvia had me take some paperwork to Jake and when I went into his office.. I saw- I saw Liv and him together." She waited for the anger or tears but neither came, Dacre stood there calm.

"I know," He spoke in a soft tone. "Liv and him have been together for about 3 years."

Myra was dumbfounded, "You-you know?! You knew they were together and you still stayed with her?" Dacre nodded knowing how crazy it sounded.

"The contract," He crossed his arms leaning against the beaten up model car. "When I signed on to Stranger Things with Jake's company, they said I needed to have a girlfriend, we could help each other in popularity. She was a model when we first met."

Myra was taken back by everything, this was something that happened in movies but not in real life.

"It's not real? But-but she seemed like she was in love. She talked about how happy you two were." Dacre shrugged,running a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry,Myra. I should have told you from the beginning and I screwed up, I completely understand if you don't believe me."

The only reply Myra was able to form was a laugh.

"What about Paisley?" Myra finally asked worried about her friend.

"Is their relationship fake too?" Dacre kicked a rock across the lot, stepping closer to her. " No, Joe really likes her, everything there is real. Just like I liked you. It was all real."

"Liked?" Myra tried to joke with him, nudging his arm.

"No,no" He stuttered on his words.

"I still do, I still like you. You amaze me, Myra. I am just- infatuated with you. I saw the work you did on the Robin and Steve scene and that was absolutely amazing. You deserve all of this, you worked so hard to get here." Dacre stood in front of her now, smiling down at her.

"I was hoping you would help more on my scenes.. I enjoyed seeing you." He said with a sly smile, reaching his hand out for hers, she anxiously took it,stepping closer to him.

"I'm sorry." He leaned in closer, their noses brushing.

"I forgive you,Dacre." Her cheeks were heated, the warmth of his touch radiating her skin as it raised goosebumps.  Dacre wasted no time pressing his lips against hers. Myra's chest began rising and falling at a fast pace, their kiss had deepened and Dacre was now sliding his hands under her shirt. Myra moved back laying against the hood of the blue Camaro.

Dacre had worked her shirt off, leaving her chest completely exposed. Myra clenched her fingers around the fabric of his jeans, feeling his pants grow tighter in arousal. She lets out a gasp as his mouth passes over her breast, he began kneading them softly. Dacre unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down along with his boxers.

"H-here?" Myra spoke between the moans leaving her mouth, as he kissed down her stomach.

Dacre looked up at her and then looked around at the large private fence surrounding them. "Why not?" He smirked continuing to place kisses down her, removing her shorts as well.

Myra held back a breath as he thrusted in, a sobe of pleasure left her lips. He thrusted in as deep as possible and mumbled incoherent words.

The sound of a vehicle pulling up, shocked them both and they quickly gathered up their clothes, rushing to put them on. The bright light of a flashlight shined in through the gate.

"Hello? Anyone in there?" A familiar voice rang in. Dacre had his jeans buttoned while Myra hide behind the car, trying to do the same.

"George!" Dacre spoke, seeing the security guard walk past the gate.

"Hey Dacre, what're you up to?" He shined the light across the cars, just missing Myra huddled in the corner.

"Oh I was just stopping by to see if uh- to see if I lost my wallet in the car from the shoot the other day."

George nodded, noticing something move around. "Who else is here?" Myra fell over exposing herself to George.

"Hi." She gave a nervous smile, looking up at his bright light. "Aw, you!" He smiled,helping her off the floor.

"You two crazy kids, be careful, yeah?" He turned off his light, returning it to his belt and walking off to his car. Dacre busted out in a gut laugh.

"That was great!" He pointed down to Myra's inside out shirt.

"You ready to head home you crazy kid?" He ran his tongue along his lower lip, holding his hand out to her.

Myra took his hand walking off to his car, "So tomorrow, you coming to work on set with us?" Myra nodded, swinging their arms.

"I planned on it, I did submit my ideas to the directors on it." They returned to his car and drove off to her trailer.

"I can't wait to see." He opened her front door for her and followed behind her inside. The shower was running and giggles were coming from the bathroom. Dacre's raised his brow at Myra and laughed.

"Joe and Pais?" She nodded removing her now dirty slippers.

The shower cut off and the sound of Joe laughing echoed out of the small room. "Hey, just a warning they are other people here now!" Dacre cupped his hands around his mouth, yelling. The laughing came to a quick stop as Joe pushed back the door a bit and looked out at the two of them.

"Hey, everything ok between you two now?" Joe's long hair was drenched,hanging around his face. "Things are fine, how about you two?" Myra pointed to his towel sliding off of him.

"Oh, perfect,we're just perfect!" Joe gripped his towel,tugging it back up, he shut the door closed again. Myra covered her mouth yawning, "So Dacre, you staying here? I mean only if you want I understand if you need to leave." Myra rambled on.

Paisley and Joe both came out of the bathroom dressed and looking between Dacre and Myra. "So how did your night go?" Paisley ran her towel through her hair.

"It was good, Dacre and I talked and I finally got to see where they keep the car for the show at."

"Aw cool." Paisley smirked, recognizing the look on Myra's face. She was red and flustered.

"I'm going to Steve trailer tonight,so I will see you tomorrow!" Paisley grabbed up her bad and followed Joe down the steps and out the front door.

"Bye guys!" Joe waved goodbye to the two of them.

"So you want me to stay?" The sides of Dacre's mouth raised into a curious smile.

"Only if you want, I have plenty of room!" Myra pointed towards her bed. "Or the couch is available now..." She waited for his response before talking anymore.

Dacre shuffled into her room tossing himself down on her bed. "This will be perfect!" He laid out on his back, Myra moved in after him crawling onto her bed and straddling his chest.

"So what now?" She traced her fingers across his shirt. "What's going to happen between you and liv?"

"We have four months left on our contract so after that I'm a free man.." He laughed,squeezing her thighs.

Myra's eyes slowly opened to an 8 o'clock alarm. She rolled over to turn the alarm off, only to see an empty spot in her bed. Dacre, she gasped as she started to get out of bed, hoping he hadn't left her. Her feet planted firmly on the ground as she got up, calling out for him. Dacre responded with "In here!" Myra sighed in relief as she followed his voice. He turned to look at her, holding a red shirt, with a quizzical expression.

"How come you've never worn this to set?" he chuckled as the print on the shirt became more clear. 'Steve in the streets, Billy in the sheets', it read.

Myra's face turned pink as she grabbed the shirt from his grasp.

"I, uh, just didn't know if it was appropriate," she stuttered, "where did you find this, anyways?" "I saw it near your bed this morning," he paused. "I like it. It's funny." Dacre took the final sip from his coffee as he stepped in towards Myra, now only inches from her face. He stared down at her, a new expression formed as he smirked. "I do have a concern, though," his voice deepened.

"Could you handle Billy?" His hands rested on Myra's waist as she shuddered from his warm touch.

"I...I.." she tried to gain confidence in her voice. She tried to straighten her posture. "I don't think he'll be that much of difference from you, Dacre," she spoke, almost as if she was challenging him. The air thickened, filled with sexual tension between the two. Dacre looked into Myra's eyes one more time before pressing his lips into hers.

Myra just melted into the kiss, feeling fireworks spark all around her. It felt as if all time had stopped and the only thing that mattered was Dacre and her in this moment. He deepened the kiss, swiftly moving his hands down to her thighs and picking her up. She ran her hands through Dacre's hair and he stopped, but only for a second. He looked into her eyes and gave a low growl as he carried her over to the kitchen counter. Myra, overwhelmed with desire, quickly took off her shirt and exposed her breasts to him. He kissed her one more time before examining her body, taking his time.

Myra's eyes grew dark, tilting her head almost challenging him. She couldn't help how her teeth caught her lip in a shy, yet hungry action. Her fingers slowly, gently skimmed his skin, leaving the smallest sensation of her touch. Her eyes met his, deep ocean blue meeting a freezing iceberg of silver. His hand followed her lead, leaving the same tantalizing trail of barely a touch as he moved his fingers, gently grazing up her arm, making her shiver as he slowly moved up to her shoulder, his fingers gently pushing her hair from her shoulder, his hand moving up to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in a rough pull as he pulled her head back, leaning into her, mere millimeters from her lips he'd give a hungry smirk.

"Lets see how much of me you can handle, first before you go off getting cocky, hm?" His eyebrow raised as he tilted his head. His other hand roughly squeezed her thighs as it moved up her body, never missing an opportunity to grab, and hold for but a moment before his warm hand was gone, moving further. Until his hand was no longer on her, she nearly whined, begging for his tough as she looked deep into his cold spring morning eyes. His humor was gone, now there was only hunger. His thumb gently released her lip from her teeth's rough grip.

"Only I-" He'd start, leaning in so she could almost taste his words. "Do the biting" He'd smirk, before she could say much else, his lips smashed into hers. His hands grew hungry, the one hand gripping her hair was rough, yet not in a way that hurt her, but in a way that made her beg for more.

His other hand was gripping roughly at her thighs, his body pressing into a mixture of the cold countertop and her warm body, hands hungry for more he'd pull away for a mere moment before tearing the shirt from her body, the roughness pulling her hair back, head falling back giving him an opening to devour her neck, he was moving against her. His chest hot as he pulled her closer, she could barely contain the noises vibrating from her chest as her hands searched desperately for something to hold onto, at first it was his hair, but her hands were desperate, anxious to hold onto him.

As her nails dug into his shoulders it seemed to only fuel the fire she had started. He pulled her to the edge of the counter, just enough for her to be hanging off the counter, her bum hanging as his hands moved to grip her thighs, holding her up. One of her hands moved to hold herself up, the odd angle needing more support as she groaned, the feeling of his teeth grazing her skin fueling a fire within her veins. "D-Dacre" She'd say, not knowing what she'd beg for, but knowing she needed more.

He'd pull back, a hungry smirk igniting the iceberg within his eyes as he pulled on her shorts, stopping for a mere moment, ocean and iceberg colliding as he asked for permission with a single glance. She nodded, smiling almost mischievously as he tugged the shirts from her, the countertop cold against her heated skin. He'd adjust himself, the hunger forcing a growl from his chest as he slowly pushed into her more than welcoming heat, slick as he pushed into her, he groaned. Myra gasped, as if feeling this for the first time she lifted her free hand to cover her mouth, afraid of the noises she'd make. His hand ripped hers away.

"Don't get shy with me now-" He'd start, a dark smirk pulling at his lips. "Let me hear you." his eyes grew darker as he pushed himself fully in, pulsing within her, she nearly screamed, the sensation he gave made her body quiver as she leaned back, holding herself up on the counter, allowing herself a moment to truly look at him.

The way the sweat clung to his caramel skin, the way his chest rose every time he took a deep breath, the way he'd pause as he'd push all the way in, before ultimately he'd start to move quicker, harder. She nearly screamed this time, her arms shaking, ready to give out at any moment as his fingers dug into the flesh on her thighs. She could feel the fire within her belly growing to an uncontrollable flame. And just as she thought he would either climb up on the counter with her or whisk her away to a bed or even a couch-the moment was gone.

The sound of keys jingling in the door made Dacre swiftly pick up Myra and rush the two of them into her room slamming the door behind.

"MJ, you still here?" Paisley came inside carrying her overnight bag,Joe followed behind with a tray of drinks. Myra wasn't able to reply, she was busy trying to fight her pants back on and Dacre was doing the same. "Yes, I am here!" She finally yelled, out of breath. "I'm just getting ready!"

"Did Dacre leave?" Paisley asked before noticing a pair of boxers laying on the trailer floor. "I'll take these as a no." Myra opened her door at the exact time, seeing her friend raise the underwear into the air.

"Oh, Dacre, yeah he is still here." She swiped the printed boxers from her hand and threw them into her room,smacking Dacre in the chest with them.

"So you guys really mad up huh?" Paisley sat onto Joe's lap on the couch,sipping from her drink. Myra shook her head at her perverted friend. "You guys ready for today? Lots to get done!" She patted her notebook.

"Yeah, speaking of today I should be getting to make up soon." Joe patted Paisley thigh, she stood up and kissed his cheek. "I'm going to go with Myra for a little bit then I will be over in time to see your scene,promise!" He nodded, waving goodbye to us.

"So what're you working on today?" Paisley twisted around the frayed ends of her ripped jeans, returning to her seat on the couch. "More Billy scenes, Sylvia said after today she's going to give me the script for the final episode 'The Battle of Starcourt"

"Oh a battle? Is someone going to die?" Paisley questioned her.

"I mean it is possible, we've already had Barb and Bob's death so what's one more?"

Dacre stepped out of her room,dressed in the outfit he had worn the night previous. "Who do you think they'll kill off?"

"Maybe, Hopper or Murray. That would be extremely sad." Myra had began fixing her hair up into a bun and applying makeup.

"Hopper? No way, Eleven needs her dad. Maybe one of the kids? Or Max? Oh yeah Max and then that'll bring Billy out of his flayed-ness."

Dacre just laughed leaving the two of them wondering. "Do you know who dies?" Paisley looked up at him, drinking from his cup. He only replied with a nod. They were both extremely curious now and she couldn't wait to get her hands on that script.

The bring lights lit up the entire stage when Paisley and Myra walked on, Dacre had left them earlier to get dressed and have his hair done. The walls were black as they were previously,only this time a white bed with checkered sheets sat in the middle of it. Millie stood with the director walking over the set, while everyone got the camera and lights in their places. The back side of this set looked look  just like Hopper's Cabin, a mounted deer head and fish were in the room decor.

"Myra!" Sylvia smiled rushing over to the two girls.

"You ready for today? We've got a lot of filming to do!" Myra squeezed her notebook against her chest, eager to start. "Yes, this is going to be exciting."

The three of them strolled over to empty chairs near the set and took a seat. Shortly after Dacre walked in with Mary and Jane in tow. "There they are!" Matt Duffer rang from behind the camera. "You ready to get started,D?" Dacre signaled a thumbs up while Jane sprayed his wig down more.

Action had been yelled through out the room and everyone froze directing their attention to the two actors.

The camera focused on Dacre sitting in the bed, the white tank top he had been wearing was stained and his face showed the expression of exhaustion. Another camera did a close up on Eleven, her breathing going unsteady as she walked towards him. She now stood toe to toe with him and glanced down. Eleven reached out for hand taking in into her grip. His arm was covered in black veins and scars. Dacre's face still remained blank, "Billy." Eleven spoke out to him.

"Can you hear me? I want to see, I want to see what happened." Dacre's stare was still adverted from her, before he looked up with watery eyes. He then gripped hold of her arm, tightly squeezing. She panted and tried wiggling her arm free. "Stop! No! No! No!"

"Cut! Let's move sets." Matt yelled again as Dacre and Millie moved to the opposite side. Millie sat on the floor in front of the TV and looked around the empty room, waiting for the next command. "Action!"

"Mike?" She questioned, searching for her friends. "Mike? Mike?" She spoke more worried this time, standing up from the ground. "Mike!" She screamed, her own voice echoing back at her.

"He can't hear you." Dacre spoke in a deep voice walking through the door way. Eleven Gasped stepping back from him.

"You shouldn't have looked for me. Because now I see you." He placed his burning cigarette into the ash tray. "Now we can all see you." He walked closer to her, following her around the room. "you..let us in and now you are going to have to let us stay."

"Don't you see? All this time,we've been building it. We've been building it for you." Eleven was in full tears now, they streamed down her face. Dacre's body was glistening in sweat, his eyes red and tearing up as well.

"All that work, all that pain, all of it..for you." Eleven walked into a counter and placed her arms against it,catching herself. "And now it's time. Time to end it. And we are going to end you and when you are gone, we are going to end your friends."

"No!" Eleven pleaded. "And then we are going to end everyone." Dacre continued on.

"Get away!" She yelled raising her hand to him. Before the director spoke up again. Everyone cheered for the two of them and Paisley patted Myra on the back. "Look at your man over there killing it!"

Sylvia gave her a puzzled look then glanced to Myra for an explanation. "No, no not my man." She quickly formed an answer.

Paisley stood and walked to the water cooler,motioning for Myra to join along.  "What do you mean no? I thought thinks were ok between you two?" Myra sighed hoping to find a way to explain this mess to her.

"We are, things are great. It's just uh- Dacre and Liv are still dating, well not really dating but they're together for a- for a contract and they 'dating' for the publicity but Liv is actually dating Jake and Dacre and I are well we're just hanging out." Myra feared the term dating because they weren't, they were just friends, friends who had sex.

"I'm sorry I didn't know..Joe tried explaining it to me, but I thought that was all over now I thought they broke up." Paisley had noticed Liv walking towards set, Jake not far behind her. She skipped over to Dacre wrapping her arms around him.

"You did so great babe!" She scattered his cheek with kisses.

"This is so awkward.." Paisley looked over at the two then back to Myra who refused to look over. "You're telling me." Myra sighed glancing at the sheet of paper laying on top of her clipboard. "Joe's scene is going to be starting soon if you wanna go there." Paisley grabbed up her jacket followed Myra into the next building.

This set was done up to look like a bathroom, the large cameras were pointed in over the top of the stalls. Joe and Robin sat inside the bathroom stalls waiting for everyone to get into their places and the scene to start. Myra rushed over to two empty seats and shoved herself and Paisley into them.

Fake vomit was poured into Joe's toilet before the director yelled out. Joe flushed the toilet as the camera moved from him to Robin. Robin laid on her back both feet up in the air against the door. "The ceiling stopped spinning for me. Is it still spinning for you?" Joe looked up to face the camera. "Holy shit. No. You think we puked it all up?"

"Maybe. Ask me something. Interrogate me." She spoke in a Russian mocking accent. "Okay. Interrogate you. Sure.Umm" Joe leaned himself more on the toilet seat. "When was the last time you, uh, peed your pants?"

"Today!" Robin answered honestly.

"What?" Joe answered in disbelief.

"When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw." Robin spoke still sprawled out on the floor. "Oh, my God!" He laughed, the bruised skin around his eye still throbbing, "Just a little bit though." Robin admitted embarrassingly.

"Yeah it's definitely still in her system." Joe answered himself,rubbing his temple. Robin let out more laughs, picking herself off the floor and sitting against the wall.

"Oh, all right, my turn!" She spoke over to Joe. "Okay! Hit me."

"Have you ever been in love?"

"Yup, Nancy Wheeler. First semester,senior year." He imitates a gunshot to his chest. "Oh,my God. She's such a priss."

"Hmm. Turns out, not really." Robin scoffed at his reply. "Are you still in love with Nancy?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I think it's because I found someone who's a little bit better for me. It's crazy. Ever since Dustin got home, he's been saying, 'You know, you gotta find your Suzie. You gotta find your Suzie."

"Wait, who's Suzie?" Robin asked, rubbing her aching neck.

"It's some girl from camp, I guess his girlfriend. To be honest with you, I'm not 100% sure she's even real.But that's not-that's not really the point. That doesn't matter. The point is, this girl, you know, the one that I like, it's somebody that I...didn't even talk to in school."

Robin looked over at his curious now. "And I don't even know why." Joe continued on.

"Maybe 'cause Tommy H. would've made fun of me or I wouldn't be prom king. It's stupid, I mean, Dustin's right, it's all just a bunch of bullshit anyways.Because when I think about it, I should've been hanging out with this girl the whole time. First of all,she's hilarious. She's so funny. I feel like, this summer, I have laughed harder then I have laughed in a really long time. And she's smart, way smarter than me. You know, she can crack, like, top secret Russian codes and, you know? She's honestly unlike anyone I've ever even met before."

Robin pulled her knees to her chest and rested her head in her knees, sighing. "Robin?" Joe tapped on the stall door. "Robin, did you just OD in there?"

"No." She spoke softly, chuckling at him.

"I am still alive." She sighed again. Joe grabbed onto the bottom of the stall door and slid himself underneath to join Robin on the other side.

"This floor is disgusting." Robin scolded him. "Yeah, well, I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so..what do you think?"

"About?" Robin gave him a sympathetic look.

"This girl."

"She sounds awesome."

"She is awesome and what about the guy?" Joe interrupted.

"I think he is on drugs and not thinking straight." Robin confessed.

"Really? 'Cause I think he is thinking a lot more clearly than usual." Joe placed his foot on the wall next to her.

"He's not, look, he doesn't even know this girl. And if he did know her. Like--like really know her,  I don't think he'd even want to be her friend." Robin chocked back the tears.

"No, that's not true. No way is that true." Joe sat forward,resting his arms on his knees, looking at Robin deeply.

"Listen to me, Steve. It's shocked me to my core,but I like you. I really like you. But I'm not like your other friends. And I'm not like Nancy Wheeler."

Joe nodded along listening to her speak. "Robin, that is exactly why I like you."

"Do you remember what I said about Click's class? About me being jealous, like, obsessed?"

Joe nodded, "Yeah."

"It isn't because I had a crush on you. It's because, she wouldn't stop staring at you."

"Mrs.Click?" Joe questioned her with a confused look.

Robin laughed a low chuckle replying, "Tammy Thompson. I wanted her to look at me. But, she couldn't pull her eyes away from you and your stupid hair." Robin motioned up to the mess on top of his head.

"And I didn't understand, because you would get bagel crumbs all over the floor and you asked dumb questions and you were a douchebag. And-and you didn't even like her and I would go home and just scream into my pillow."

"But Tammy Thompson's a girl." Joe stuttered out, even more confused.

Paisley shot Myra a look of shock, she couldn't believe what was happening. "A lesbian?" She mouthed to her. Myra nodded, chuckling. "A lesbian." She mouthed back.

Robin spoke softly, her eyes reddened and tear filled. "Steve."

"Yeah?"

Robin waited for Joe to finally realize and like a light bulb he spoke up. "Oh."

"Oh." Robin mimicked him.

"Holy shit." Joe leaned back against the stall door again, taking in her confession.

"Yeah, holy shit." Robin mocked him again.

The room fell silent as the two avoided eye contact,staring at the walls in front of them.

"Steve." Robin looked at his puzzled face. "Did you OD over there?" His face turned to a smile, showing joy for his friend.

"No,I just, uh, just thinking. I mean, yeah. Tammy Thompson, you know, she's cute and all, but I mean,she's a total dud."

"She is not." Robin Retorted in defense.

"Yes she is, she wants to be like a singer. She wants to move to, like, Nashville and shit." Joe answered defensively.

"She has dreams."

"She can't even hold a tune. She's practically tone-deaf. Have you heard her? All the time."

Joe began mimicking Tammy's singing, in a loud, out of tune voice. "You see me now tonight, you see me.."

"Shut up," Robin held back the laughs. "She does not sound like that."

"She sounds exactly like that. That's a great impersonation of her."

"You sound like a Muppet!" She wiped the tears off her face and laughed along with his obnoxious singing.

"She sounds like a Muppet!" Joe exclaimed. "She sounds like a Muppet giving birth." Joe now mocked Kermit's singing voice continue the song. "And if you could hold me tight." This time Robin joined in singing along in the same voice. "We'll be holding on forever."

The bathroom filled with their laughter, when Dustin busted in through the bathroom door, Erica following behind. "What the hell?" he spoke. Robin and Joe only continued with their laughing, Joe slapped his knee.

The directors yelled cut and everyone scattered in different directions.

"Don't forget the cast and crew dinner tomorrow night! Everyone is invited!" The director's assistant spoke out to everyone. "So do you think Dacre's going to take Liv?" Paisley asked watching them file into the room they were in, Dacre's arm around Liv's lower waist, his hand in her back pocket. "Oh,I'm sure he is."

[bensakindofmagic]

Chapter Eight

Warnings: swears, smoking (which is real bad kiddos, but I couldn’t help it, it looks so sexy)

A/N: we’re back to some good ol’ fashioned ben content here folks, and it’s all unrequited fluff (that is a term i have coined, feel free to use it, i think it’s perfect).

w/c: 3.5k+

Chapter Eight

The next week went by in a blur. You were filming the Japan tour, which made you hellishly busy. Having so many extras in one room, along with all the lights and sound tech, kept you on your toes constantly. You hung out with the guys when you could but often you were called away the second you sat down. You would always groan and roll your eyes exaggeratedly, but part of you was glad for the work. It kept your mind off everything. Ending things with Matteo, even though they had been so short-lived, weighed heavily on you.  It brought all the memories of the first time tumbling back in like a crack in a dam, and the effort of not getting sucked under the waves was exhausting. On top of it all, the lack of any possibility with Matty sent your mind reeling back to Ben, and it didn’t help that he looked so fucking good in the costume. That white, fringed waistcoat had you all but drooling, and kept finding yourself staring at the necklaces that fell against his chest, bouncing softly with the rhythm of his drumming. After all the emotional turmoil of the last week you were exactly where you started, with an inappropriate crush on a colleague, only now you had the trauma of a past heartbreak woven in. Great. 

On the plus side, Josh seemed to finally be getting the hint and leaving you alone to do your job, even if he was a little sulky with you.

“Y/N, can you come help us for a second,” you heard Joe call, as they waited around for Rami to sort something out with Polly. 

“What d'you need?” you asked when you reached them. 

“We have a very important question we need your considerable expertise to answer,” he continued.

“Does this top make me look more like a dove or an albatross?” Gwil asked with absolute solemnity. You had to smile to yourself at their blatant efforts to spend time with you.

“Oh, for sure an albatross, you’re far to big to be a dove,” you confirmed, mimicking his tone. Joe gave a triumphant, “I knew it.” 

“But I’m so graceful! Albatrosses are such lanky things,” he pouted.

“Um, I believe the plural is albatroi,” Joe teased with mock snobbishness.

You smirked, ignoring him and turned to Gwil, “I think they’ve very majestic. Just because something is big it doesn’t make it less beautiful,” you cooed, standing up on your tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. You turned to leave but as you did Joe moaned, “Where are you going?” 

Before you could respond with a sarcastic, “To do my job”, he complained, “We’ve barely seen you this week, we miss you, Y/N.” 

Ben piped up for the first time, “Are you really so busy that you can’t have a conversation with us?”

You felt guilt washing over you as you met their eyes, the three of them looking at you like abandoned puppies, desperate for attention. 

“I’m sorry guys, I’ve just had a lot on my plate the past few days.”

“Exactly, that’s why you should be hanging out with us, your friends, to take your mind off it all.”

“It’s not like I don’t have any work to do,” you defended. 

“Not in the evenings! You keep blowing us off.” 

“Next time, I promise.” 

“Tonight, my place,” Ben said assuredly, like he wouldn’t take no for an answer. For a moment you were distracted by a trickle of sweat running down the hollow where his collarbones met. “I live not far from here, we can get in some beers and snacks, have a chill one. Most of us don’t have to be in tomorrow.” Only Rami was due on set the next day.

You nodded, knowing full well that there would be no getting out of it even if you wanted to, but the thought of spending a night with the boys was actually quite a comfort. I would be good to relax and let loose a bit, have some fun.

“Okay, tonight.” 

Nervous energy infected Ben for the rest of the day. He was exited to spend time with you again, especially outside of work. You’d been distant, and he missed your tenacity, your unbridled excitement to work, to be part of the family that was celebrating something so wonderful. He missed the way you had always showed up to work grinning, infecting the rest of them with your enthusiasm. As much as it pained him to see you so deflated, he couldn’t deny his relief when you’d told them about breaking things off with Matteo. It made him finally realise that he had to do something about his feelings for you, even if you rejected him; he couldn’t keep pining after you, wishing something would happen between you but never trying to make that a reality. He couldn’t risk seeing you with someone else again, at least not without telling you how he felt. If you met someone else and he lost his chance he’d never forgive himself. 

As he let you all into his apartment he thanked God that he’d recently cleaned. Lucy had been invited along too, and arrived soon after you guys got there from set. She’d only done a few days with everyone but she was already fitting effortlessly into the group. And you could see they way she and Rami looked at each other, even if they couldn’t yet. You looked around Ben’s place, a little nervous at the intimacy of it — being in his home, his private space. The front door opened to an open-plan living room and kitchen with a large island separating them, and a couple of sofas clustered round the TV. The corridor led to two other others rooms, you presumed the master bedroom and a guest room, and the bathroom. The decor was minimalistic, mostly white and grey with some bright green notes from a couple of houseplants, but there was a ruggedness to it, like a layer of venire was hiding something more unkempt. It looked like him. 

You noticed a couple of dog bowls in the corner of the kitchen. “You didn’t tell me you have a dog!” you squealed. 

“Yeah Frankie, she’s a beagle. My parents are looking after her while I’m filming.” He showed you a picture of him with a very young looking puppy laying in his arms. He seemed so soft in his hoodie with his tousled hair, as he looked down at the little pup, holding one of her paws affectionally between his fingers. What a precious dad. 

“That’s adorable.” You were talking about Frankie, of course. Ben didn’t need to know that you really meant him. 

“Who wants a cold beer?” he called, taking cans out of the fridge and restocking it with the ones you had bought on the way there. The chucked one to you, which you caught and tapped the top to get rid of the bubbles. While the others opened their drinks and made themselves comfortable on the sofas, you instinctively went to the cupboards to help. 

“You can sit down, you know,” Ben said, glancing you over his shoulder. 

“I know,” you shrugged, “Where do you keep your bowls?”

He motioned to a cupboard and you got a couple out to serve the snacks in. 

“I thought I was supposed to be hosting.” 

“Everyone can use an extra pair of hands,” you smiled, popping a peanut into your mouth. 

“Chuck me one of those,” he said, so you did. He tried to catch it in his mouth but it hit his chin and bounced onto the floor. You giggled, “Here, try agin.” The second time he caught it and grinned widely, “Nailed it.” 

“Dream team.”

You started to make your way over to the others, hands full with snacks.

“Bring my beer with you when you sit down, will you?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied. 

You were sat on the floor beside Ben’s legs due to the lack of sofa space. You didn’t mind, Rami and Lucy were curled up together on the smaller sofa (apparently they did know it, because they could barely keep their hands off each other), Gwil was on the armchair, and Joe and Ben were on the bigger sofa. You could have squeezed on but you were more comfortable on the floor, your legs curled up to your side, leaning ever so slightly against Ben’s calf.

“Okay, so who would win in a fight between Freddie and Lady Gaga?” joked Joe.

“Excuse me, why on earth would they be fighting?” you interjected with incredulity.

“Hypothetically,” he said rolling eye eyes emphatically.

“Hypothetically, they would hug and fangirl over each other and probably sing a beautiful duet in perfect harmony.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he relented.

“I’ve got one,” you said, shifting your weight, “who would win in a fight between John Deacon and Eugene Sledge?”

“Ooph, that’s a tough one,” Joe hesitated.

“Sledge, surely,” Ben reasoned, “he’s a trained marine.”

“Yeah but Deacy is scrappy, I think he could hold his own,” you hummed. 

“Okay, what about Angel versus Roger,” Joe offered.

Ben grunted, “That’s not fair, Angel has superpower wings.”

“Rog v. Walter?” you suggested.

Gwil roused from his sleepy silence, “Who’s Walter?” 

“From Woman in White.”

“You watched that?” Ben muttered, looking down at you with mild astonishment.

“Mmm,” you hummed affirmatively. “You look good in period costume. I particularly love the sideburns,” you joked. 

“Oh fuck off,” he nudged your arm with his knee. You giggled, but the image of Ben in those baggy white linen shirts lingered in your mind’s eye.

“Gwil, wake up,” Joe scolded, throwing a bottle top at the welshman. It hit him in the face and he jolted upright. “Sorry, the beer’s making me drowsy.”

“Let’s put some music on,” you proposed, and Ben motioned to his speaker, inviting you to play something.

You played Dancing With Myself by Billy Idol, and instantly started to sway your hips to the drum beat, letting the rhythm travel up your body once the guitar came in. 

“Excellent choice Y/N,” Joe praised, tapping his foot appreciatively. 

True to the lyrics, you danced around the middle of the room, kicking your feet and unapologetically enjoying yourself. Before long Rami and Lucy got up too, and shimmied around together, laughing adorably as they tried not to step on each other’s feet. 

You glanced at Ben, only to see he was already watching you. You beamed, shaking your hair out and you pointed at him, “Get up here, Hardy.” He shook his head with a laugh, but you weren’t having it. The beers had loosened your inhibitions and you wanted to dance with him, so that’s what you were going to do. You leant down, still swinging your hips and grabbed his hand, taking his beer and putting it on the table. You pulled him to his feet and purred, “Dance with me.”

“I’m a terrible dancer,” he whined, but you didn’t care. You pulled his body close to yours and let your hips loose. You ran your hands through your hair, letting hang down over your shoulders, and bopped your head to the beat. Shimmying round in circles, and pulling Ben along with you when he got too static, you laughed and smiled, letting your heart soar for the first time in weeks. 

“You look happy,” Ben murmured. 

You smiled, “You said that’s what I deserve, right? Someone who makes me happy?”

“Right,” a wistful smiled pulled at his mouth. Bright green met your eyes and confidence seemed to flash there as he said, “Who made you this happy?”

A grin split your face, and you tugged at your lip with your teeth. “Me,” you beamed and rushed to  play Good as Hell by Lizzo. That song was exactly what you needed, and you belted along, tossing your hair and grinding your hips unashamedly. You watched Ben over your shoulder and smirked at the look of awe and hunger painted over his features. Seducing him would of course be a terrible idea, and you definitely weren’t trying to, but you couldn’t help but shimmy a little harder when you saw him watching. In the end though you were dancing for yourself.

When the song ended you were sweating and decided you needed some air. 

“I’ve got a balcony, here I’ll come with you,” Ben said after you had inquired.

You followed him, grabbing your beer as you went. You shut the door behind you and sucked in the cool November air. It was crisp, a welcome refresher. You took a sip of your drink and watched as Ben pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. He slipped one into his mouth and, raising an eyebrow to you, offered you one. 

You nodded, “Cheers,” and leaned in towards the lighter he held up. Puffing lightly, you watched the flame dance in the moonlight. With the cigarette lit you inhaled deeply, letting the tobacco burn your throat a little and the nicotine make you lightheaded. 

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Ben mused as lit his. The way he sucked in his cheeks, the cigarette dangling from his lips, had you all but dripping with desire. 

“I don’t,” you responded, “But I went to uni.”

He nodded, understanding the implication, “I’m trying to cut down. Smoking kills and all that.”

You simpered, “It just looks so damn sexy though.”

“Right?” he chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his throat. He raised his hand to his mouth to inhale, lifting his chin and extending his bottom lip as he did. Your eyes skimmed over the veins in his hand, protruding like a Renaissance sculpture. You licked your lips and took a drag.

“So tell me Benjamin, how’s it going with this crush of yours?” you pried, “You know, you still haven’t told me who she is. Assuming it is a she, of course.” 

He scoffed and shook his head, “It’s a she.” 

“You laugh but it could very easily have been Joe,” you giggled. Ben just took another drag, and looked out over the city below.

You persisted, “The fact that you haven’t told me who she is makes me think I must know her.”

Still he refused to look at you, so you nudged him with your elbow. 

“You could say that,” he mumbled. Triumph and envy swelled in you in equal measure. “I’m still not telling you who she is.”

“You told her how you feel yet?” He shook his head, dejected.

“What are you waiting for?” you asked with genuine curiosity.

“A sign she likes me back.”

“Ben, how could she not? Have you looked at yourself lately?” you said, incredulous. He gave a bitter laugh. “I mean it Ben, seriously. You’re kind, and smart, and passionate. I’ve seen your capacity for love, I can see it in your face when you talk about her, and she would be so lucky to be loved by you. Whoever she is.”

Smoking the last of your cigarette in silence, you looked up at the cloudless night sky, and admired the stars. You shivered as the bitter chill infected your skin.

“You cold?” 

“It’s my own fault,” you shook your head, “I should have brought a jacket.” He unzipped his hoodie and shrugged it off, offering it to you. You took it gratefully and hugged it around your body, letting the heat still held in the fabric from Ben’s body envelop you. He rubbed his hands up and down your arms to warm you further, his biceps tightening where they emerged from the sleeves of his tshirt, and the veins in his forearms swelling. 

You hummed, “Thanks,” and met his eyes. They glistened, pupils blown in the dark, streetlights reflecting like constellations. There was something twinkling in them, something tender and inviting; you wanted to swim in them.

“You’ve got goosebumps,” you breathed, looking from his bare flesh to his face through your lashes.

“I’m okay,” he murmured. Little you knew, the bumps on his skin were as much from the cold as his proximity to you and the way you looked at him.

You unwrapped the jumper from around you and took a step towards him, leading his arms to wrap around your waist and then pulled it closed behind him. He shivered infinitesimally from your heat. Every inch of your torso was pressed against his, muscular arms pulling you so tight, but still you didn’t feel close enough. You let your head rest against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his deep, steady breaths. You inhaled the scent of him, natural and elemental, like a forest after rain. It was a forest you wanted to get lost in. A contented hum resounded somewhere deep in your chest and the vibrations of your body syncopated with his. Your eyes drifted shut and you succumbed to him, allowing him to infuse into your senses.

“You know,” he cooed, you could hear the smile in his voice, “We could go inside.”

“Not yet.”

You stayed like that for a little while, indulging your desire for intimacy, until the chill penetrated and you shivered. You followed Ben back inside, and when you offered him his jumper back he declined, saying, “Keep it on, it looks good on you.”

Your cheeks flushed discreetly. He took his seat on the sofa and you settled yourself beside him, squeezing into the gap between him and Joe.

“What have you lot been gossiping about then?” you said as you tucked your legs beneath you. 

“That guy Josh who kept hitting on you,” Rami explained. 

“That must have been horrible, Y/N,” Lucy gushed sympathetically. 

“It’s okay, I think he got the message eventually.”

“How come you said no? Just cause you work together?” Gwil questioned. 

You shrugged, “I mean I wasn’t attracted to him, but working together basically put paid to it from the start.”

“Would you ever break the rule?” Joe asked.

You had to stop yourself from glancing at Ben, but the urge was instinctive. “If had an absolute guarantee that it wouldn’t come back to bite me then sure, but no one can guarantee that.”

“What do you mean, ‘come back to bite you’?”

“Say I slept with you Joe,” you ignored his self-satisfied smirk, “and maybe one of us developed feelings for the other, or it got awkward between us, or we fell out, that could cost me my job and my reputation.”

“Oh come on, you wouldn’t get fired for hurt feelings,” he scoffed. 

“No Joe, you wouldn’t get fired for hurt feelings, I very much could. I’m expendable. If you kicked off and it damaged the on-set environment, the easiest way to solve that problem is to remove one of us, and it sure as hell won’t be you that gets sacked.”

The guys seemed shocked: they had clearly never thought of it from the perspective of those on the other side of the camera.

“Surely they wouldn’t just fire you though?” Gwil reasoned. 

You scoffed, “Producers like quick, easy solutions. Firing me and hiring one of the hundreds of people who would cut off their arm for this job is quick and easy. Believe me, they would.”

“You’re not expendable, Y/N,” Ben asserted. You opened your mouth to retaliate, but he cut you off, “You’re amazing at your job, I’ve never felt so at home on set and that’s down to you. You understand people, you know how to get the best out of everyone. I wouldn’t be surprised if this film collapsed without you.”

You smiled bashfully, a little embarrassed but warmed by his words. “Thanks, Ben,” you breathed.

“Okay, so if there was one person you’d break the rule for, who would it be?” Joe pressed. 

Ben’s name danced on your tongue. “Oh Hardy, for sure,” you smirked at the look on Joe’s face, “Tom, that is.” 

“Tom Hardy?” 

“Yeah, I’m really into the whole rugged bad boy thing,” you grinned. You looked pointedly at Ben who ran his tongue over his teeth under pursed lips.

You chatted aimlessly for a while, until Rami and Lucy made their excuses as they both had to be on set the next day. The scene featured just the two of them and only required a limited crew, so you’d been allowed the day off. However, you, Ben, Gwil, and Joe stayed up for hours, talking about everything and nothing. Despite the extra space you stayed curled up with Ben, at one point you laid your legs horizontally over his, and his hand rested easily just below your knee. You were vaguely aware of Joe and Gwil eyeing the effortless propinquity between you, but you didn’t care. A welcome, carefree contentedness had settled in you, and for the first time since Ben had tumbled drunk into your trailer so long ago you let yourself feel the way you did, and it set you free. Your feelings for Ben weren’t going to disappear straight away, so until they did you would just have to feel them, along with the inevitable longing that accompanied them when you reminded yourself that you couldn’t have him. But eventually they would pass, and you would move on.

tags: @anikatcmh @queen-turtle-boiii @orchideax @rogerspoison @my5secondsofneverland @mrsmazzello @ixchel-9275 @radiob-l-a-hblah @devin-marie  @luvborhap @mercurycrowley @spaghetittiesbcimgay @valeriecarolinaw @saint-hardy @caborhapch @stephanie-everlasting @coldmuffinpartycloud @drowse13 

(let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!)

[peachywise]

nullify

an umbrella academy fanfiction // klaus hargreeves x reader 

- part i: the introduction || part ii ⋆ part iii ⋆ part iv ⋆ part v ⋆ part vi ⋆  more parts to be released 

- synopsis: A child and a ghost whisperer walk into a diner. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, but really it’s just the start of an odd, slightly painful night. Turns out they need you and your power to do something, and Klaus seems way to thrilled and fascinated by you and what you can do. (takes place after the events of the first season) 

- notes: lmao how long has it been since i wrote a fic?? too long thanks anyways the reader is they/them pronouns and everything is pretty vague description wise for inclusivity and shit!! also even though this is klaus x reader focused ~romance~ wise i’ll be writing a shit ton with the reader interacting with the other guys like this part is deadass just as focused on number five as it is klaus. let me know if you guys want this as a series??? i won’t write more parts if people aren’t down but i left it open-ended so it could be a series but honestly, it’d be fine as a one-off too so read what you will k love you bye. tw for swearing

link on ao3 

________________________________________

“Isn’t that a health code violation?” 

Looking up from your book you'd been reading for the past half hour, you heaved a heavy-handed sigh. Sitting on the back counter of the dead dinner you worked at was the least of this shitty establishments problems. “I’ll be sure to let the rats in the kitchen know of your concerns,” you replied simply. 

Dog-earring the page of your book, you set it down beside you. Hopping off, you stepped forward towards the counter as the kid who just entered sat down on one of the stools, planting himself with a look of clear repugnance as he eyed his surrounding subtly. Resting your elbows on the counter, you propped your head on your hands and gave a friendly grin, “I’m sure they’d be happy to whip up some Mickey Mouse pancakes, special just for you.” 

His face though perfectly deadpanned couldn’t hide the slight tick of annoyance in his eyes. “Just get me a black coffee,” he muttered. 

“Coffee will stunt your growth.” 

“You’ll be stunted if you keep up this horrible customer service.”

“Ouch,” sarcasm dripped from your tone as you raised your hands up in mock defeat, “the kitten’s got a bit of a bite there, doesn’t he?” 

Quite honestly, your day was now veering on to a particularly delightful route you hadn’t expected when you first woke up this morning. You suddenly believed some sort of divine karma was finally rewarding you with some quality entertainment. He could banter— a bit on the aggressive side, but you would take what you could get out of the interaction. You knew it wasn’t going to last long. 

“Look, are you going to give me the coffee or are you just going to stand around all day uselessly taking in the air that could be breathed in by more deserving people?” 

Oh, so he’s got knobby knees and wit to match. 

Letting a slow amused smile cross your face as you gave a lazy curtsy, you casually made your way over to the fresh pot and grabbed one of the porcelain white mugs, giving him a knowing look as you poured a good ‘ol black cup of joe. Setting the pot back down, you sauntered your way back over still holding the smile. The kid rolled his eyes, reaching out a hand as he impatiently said, “thank you,” in a refined and expertly practiced condescending manner. But you didn’t hand it to him. No, instead you casually leaned back against the back counter and took a long sip of the burning hot liquid. 

Well, the little tyke certainly did not like that. 

In what was an actually flash of blue light before your eyes, the kid vanished from his place on the rickety red vinyl stool and was beside you a moment later, ripping the mug from your hand with such force that caused the liquid to spill over the sides, scorching your hand and splashing it on your already grease stained, 50’s themed uniform. So, he was words and action. You could respect that. 

“What, no screaming? Not even another smartass comment?” He half-heartedly asked, his eyebrow quirked slightly as he studied you. It was like he was waiting for some sort of delayed reaction from his little magic trick. While yes, it was a little jarring to see it in the flesh for the first time, the moment he had walked through those glass doors you expected a bit of a ‘powerful’ confrontation.

You knew he was Number Five. You knew he was a part of that Umbrella Academy. 

“You know who I am,” he stated in his all brilliant glory. Well, look at that. Seemed he was a real Sherlock as well as a tiny space hopper.  

Easily taking the cup of coffee back, wincing slightly as the cold air pressed against the new burn you tried to seem unfazed about, you took a sip and mumbled against the rim of the cup, “I’m a bit surprised you’re here and actually alive, but it’s easy to remember a face that hasn’t aged a day." Setting the mug down on the counter, you pressed a hand to your hip and questioned, “how is that exactly? Did you run from home just to make yourself immortal? Found yourself an Edward Cullen to bite you or something?” 

Now, you’ve had people look at you like you were stupid before, but no one with a talent such as him. Even though he was looking up at you, he still mastered that beady squinty little look that read ‘you’re the joke of the earth’. Precious. 

“I don’t know who Edward Cullen is, but I’m not immortal, and I don’t have time to explain the whole story to you in detail. Let’s just say I got stuck in time.” Doing his little magic flash again, he appeared back on the other side of the counter, continuing to speak as he added, “Is anyone else here? I assume you’d rather show me what you can do without anyone else around.” 

Ah, yes. What you could do. So that was why he was here. Part of you wondered if someday it would happen. That’s why you knew who he was when he first walked in after all. You kept tabs on all of them, at least a bit. Yeah, the whole “Umbrella Academy” was famous for a little while when you were a kid, but most people had since forgotten them and the kids in the academy had grown up and had become almost unrecognizable. Well, apart from Five. And maybe Allison, but hell, she was famous for a while different reason now. 

Like the others, you were born October 1st 1989 to a completely unexpecting mother who got the shock of her god damn life. If you were 9 months pregnant in under a minute flat, you’d probably be pretty shocked too. However, you were just stunned that something as odd as that could actually happen and result in you getting powers.

Unlike the others, when your parents were approached by professor evil monopoly Reginald Hargreeves, your mom rejected anything he offered in favor of her miracle baby. She was certain she was the new Virgin Mary despite absolutely not being a virgin and refused to give up that title up. At least at that moment, she didn’t want to anyway.  

“You managed to figure out where I worked, and I assume at this point you know my name,” you started, “so why don’t you just tell me what I can do and let me know why you're here so I can turn you down and get back to my book.” Gesturing your hands around the extremely empty diner, you breathed, “I’m a very busy person as you can see.” 

Five didn’t say anything, instead just giving you an almost thoughtful look. You didn’t trust it one fucking bit. 

Quicker than you would have expected out him, he reached over and picked up one of the plates on the counter and threw it your way with such force you wondered for a second if the reason he'd been missing for so long was because he’d taken up a passionate love affair with baseball. On instinct, damn the treacherous thing, your body chilled as a static feeling pushed out of you, surrounding you in a soft, nearly invisible blue bubble-- your force field. The plate bounced right off and landed on the floor, shattering lamely and loudly. 

It was legal to kill a kid who had been missing for years, right?

“Can’t you play a game of catch with the poor kid?” Came a new drama-dripped voice in the door, the little bell ringing softly as he spoke. “His father was a sociopath who didn't pay him any mind, he’s very stunted as you can see. So desperate for the affection and attention of strangers.” 

Klaus. He’d been harder to track over the years, but from the feather collared jacket and lack of shirt, you could spot the eccentricity of him miles away. 

Taking on a protective stance, you moved from behind the counter and positioned yourself in front of Five, stage whispering to him, “careful, looks like one of the kitchen rats got out. They’re very diseased.”

Klaus tilted his head to the side, his mouth snapping open and his eyebrows rising up in stunned amusement. Pointing at you, he turned his attention towards Five and stated, “I’m wounded! This seems to be going on spectacularly, don’t you think?”

Shaking your head with a slight grin, you started to speak to ream five out for throwing a freakin’ plate, but your words died off on the tip of your tongue when your gross ass boss pushed open the doors to the kitchen, his loud, gritty greased voice shouted, “what did you break out here?” His spine went rigid a bit when he seemed to finally note the presence of two other people, but his eyes quickly glanced at the shattered plate and his face continued to get splotchy and red. “Is that your kid who broke it? Jesus, that’s coming out of your paycheck.”

Wow, that 50 cent shitty plate? How would you ever survive? 

Hands slipped around your neck in a hug as Klaus propped his chin on top of your head, his attention fully on your boss. “I’m so sorry sir, you know how it is with kids, gotta get all those angst and deep-seated feeling out somehow. Yesterday we found out he’s been pretending the family cat was his girlfriend. Had to take him to the hospital to get those scratches on his little friend checked out, if you know what I mean,” he smiled, moving away from you to pat the clearly seething Five on the head. 

Before the kid could say anything or do something that would get you in more shit, you plastered your own happy little smile on and bent down beside him, wrapping your arms around his shoulder as you continue to address your boss. “He was just upset because he found out I told his teacher about his little bed wetting problem.” Five ripped your arm away with incredible force and stepped away from you both. Sighing dramatically, you rested the side of your face on your palm and slightly shook your head, adding, “It’s so hard, I just don’t know where we went wrong!” 

Klaus snickered behind you, while your boss looked properly petrified and regretful about having walked in on the whole ordeal at all. 

“Just uh-- forget about it. Clean it up okay?” 

Giving him a wink and you stood back up, you flicked your wrist in a lazy salute. “You got it, Boss Man.” He couldn’t turn back around and get back to the back room fast enough. 

Turning the face the two once again, Klaus grinned as he said, “brilliant work,” raising his hand for a knowing high five. You happily obliged. 

“Was that really necessary?” Five ground out from between his teeth, as you shot him back an incredulous look. “Was it necessary to throw a plate at me?” you retorted, fully not expecting him to reply with, “Yes. It was the only way I could make sure you had a force field.” 

Smartass.

Running your hand through your hair tiredly to get it out of your face, you crossed your arms again and didn’t bother to argue anymore. “Just tell me what this is about.” At this point, you were tired and really just wanted to get back to your quiet night. Klaus was also giving you a once over every thirty seconds and you weren’t quite sure what he looked so bloody excited and anxious about. 

“I have a theory, and I’d like to test it out,” Five said. Klaus quickly interjected with, “and I’m one of the test subjects,” wiggling his eyebrows as he did. 

Narrowing your gaze, you questioned “one of?” 

“Well, it requires you, but before I explain, to what extent can you use your powers? Have you done anything more than just deflect things off your field?”

You shook your head, confusion still clouding your words. “That’s all. Some guy tries to knife me? He bounces off. Sometimes I get lucky and he stabs himself in the process. It’s a simple thing. 

“How many times has someone tried to knife you?” Klaus asked with a small snort, but Five cut him off with a great little bomb of information. “I’ve done some calculations on how your power works, and I think that if someone like us was in the field with you it might nullify our powers.”Huh.

“And... math makes you think that?” 

Five rolled his eyes. You got the idea he did that a fair bit. “I want to test out to see if that’s true, so if you will,  please conjure up your field around you and Klaus and we’ll see if it works on him.” 

Flashing your eyes to Klaus who almost seemed to jitter with excitement, your eyes got slightly wide when you asked, “wait, there’s a ghost here? Like right now?” You swiveled your head around like you would actually be able to see it.  

Klaus nodded his head. “Ben, meet Y/N, Y/N meet our brother Ben.” Pressing a hand to his heart, he added, “forever in our hearts and forever by my side. I am his saving grace.” Turning his head abruptly, he quickly said, “shut up,” to the air-- or Ben, rather-- slicing his hand in a silencing sound. 

Raising a hand hesitantly, you gave a flick of your wrist in that direction, squeaking out a small, “Hi Ben.” 

“If you two idiots are done,” Five muttered, but you stopped him as you said, “three idiots. It’s rude to dismiss Ben’s presence. You're his brother, be respectful.” Five ignored you. “The sooner we test this, the sooner we can leave.”  

Oh, now he was speaking your language. 

Shaking out your shoulders, you widened your stance and clapped your hands, saying, “alright, let's go.” Klaus gave some excited little claps as he stepped to your side, telling Five, “field trips are always so much fun!” 

Taking in a deep breath, you let the energy seep out of you until that familiar snap surrounded you, this time entrapping not on you, but Klaus as well. 

The smiling man quickly went silent. 

“So,” you started hesitantly, turning to study his face. “Did it work?” 

Multiple emotions seemed to cross his features, and it revealed to you certain hopelessness and vulnerability that was so unfamiliar to you and what you had known about him. It dawned on you at that moment that you had no idea what this meant. To him. To Five. Christ, nerves started to wrack through your body when you realized they could be having you do this just to try and kill you because they see it as some sort of ridiculous threat. Still, that seemed unlikely. No, they needed it somehow. 

And as Klaus turned towards you, looking at you as if you were some wonderous figure and not just some crappy diner waiter working two jobs just to get by, you realized that whatever they had been searching for, they had found. Whatever Klaus had been searching for, he had found. 

“They’re gone.” 

His voice was just a fraction above a whisper, but it sent a chill across your skin as his intense gaze once again studied you with incredible fascination. But as he took a step forward, his hand oh-so-gently reaching for your hand, your focus went away and the force field fell, all the sounds and senses of the real world hitting you all at once. 

Five was staring at you both with an odd look you didn’t quite know what to think of. 

“Alright."

Clearing your throat, you took a small step back as the fog cleared out of your head, stating back a dull, “huh?” 

“We’ll be at your apartment in the morning. Get ready to meet the others.” 

Wait, what the fuck?

“My apartment? You guys haven’t even explained what you guys want from me!” You blurted, moving your head rapidly as you looked back and forth between the two. 

“I’ll explain everything tomorrow,” was all Five said, as both him and Klaus began moving towards to door, clearly content with what they came here to do. Well, that was nice for them. They could sleep soundly as you sat up in bed all night looking up fucking umbrella academy conspiracy theories to try and convince yourself what happened here was actually real. 

“There’s no way in hell you’re getting those Mickey Mouse pancakes now!” You shot back as he exited the door, huffing as you turned around to go clean up the plate.

Then something smacked hard on the back of your head, landing on the ground with a little rattle. 

“Oopsie.”

Spinning around, gripping the back of your head, you were about to yell obscenities at Klaus who’d just thrown a spoon of all things, but he was already halfway out the door calling behind him, “I thought your little bubble would just appear like a party trick, bye!” 

Idiots. Idiots had just taken over your life. 

[silvensei]

In This Mad Machinery

A human and an android swap bodies, resulting in identity crises, existentialism, philosophy with the boys, and fun!

Detroit: Become Human | gen | 20k | rated T | introspective comedy/sci-fi

Chapter 3 (2.5k words) | [AO3 link] | [first] | < prev | next >

- - - - - - - - - -

A bell chimed above the door as it swung open. A portly woman turned around from the counter, a practiced yet warm smile and greeting at the ready. When she noticed who her new patrons were, she paused and propped a hand on her hip. “Well, look what the cat dragged in!” she teased amicably. “Hank Anderson! Haven’t seen your face ‘round here in ages!”

“Sorry, Bel. You know how life gets in the way,” Connor said, parroting Hank’s briefing from the car. “Is the usual still on the menu?”

“Aw, hon,” she laughed, “joshing as always!”

Connor smiled. He had no idea what that meant.

Fortunately, she turned her attention to the other member of his party. “As much as it’s good to see an old favorite, new faces keep the business going. Name’s Ysabel.”

Hank waved. “Connor.”

“Well, Connor, want a menu? It’s just your typical array of diner classics, but with enough pizzazz to knock your socks off, guaranteed!”

“Oh, no, thanks, ma’am, just a coffee for now.”

“Two cuppa joe and a patty with the fixin’s.” She waved them off and adjusted her apron. “You boys go make yourselves comfortable, y’hear?”

She left for the kitchen. Hank ushered Connor into the diner proper, over to the rows of red booths with black and white marbled tables. With windows on two sides, natural light filled the space. Only a handful of other tables were occupied, people chattering amongst themselves. It wasn’t terribly spacious, but in the way that it felt cozy rather than claustrophobic.

Hank settled in a corner booth, his back to the wall. “She seems nice,” Connor commented, sitting across from him.

“Bel? She’s more than nice. She’s probably the closest thing to an angel I’ve got.” His head turned to look out the window, letting Connor notice a momentary bout of erratic flickering in his LED. “It doesn’t matter who you are or where you’re from, but she still makes this place seem like a mother’s kitchen. Just home recipes abound. And to top it all off? She don’t take shit from no one.

“One time—” he laughed, “—One time, ages ago, Jeffrey and I came by for lunch just pissed off. An easy drug bust flipped right around and left us with nothing, sending us right back to the drawing board. One officer was so furious she quit that morning. So we came in here, fuming, cussing up a storm, just miserable bastards looking to drown our frustrations in some good ol’ comfort food; it was too early for booze, but hell, did we come close. Bel came over with absolutely not the right thing, like soup and salad or something. I’ll admit, I was a bit of a hotheaded prick back then—”

“‘Back then’?”

“Watch it, boy,” Hank warned with a grin. “Anyway, I snapped at her, saying I wasn’t in the mood to deal with this, we didn’t want this, how hard was it to grill a fucking burger, I didn’t even have my coffee yet, and so on, and she shut me up by throwing a glass of water in my face. It was nearly empty already and didn’t have ice, but it was enough to do the trick. Then she said, ‘If starting over is so easy, why don’t you kids stop bitching and suck it up?’ Then she walked away.” Hank rested his chin in his hand, the smile still on his face. “It was the literal smack to the head that I needed. She gave us the soup n’ salads on the house as an attempt to get us to eat healthier. The coffee was free, too, but it was mostly hot sauce to get back at me for yelling at her.

Connor’s own smile had only grown. He wasn’t entirely sure why; it seemed like an involuntary response. “If that’s not the definition of a guardian angel, then I don’t know what is.”

“What can I say? You really do need a friend around who’s not afraid to knock some sense into you.”

Connor leaned back, sinking into the red cushions. This was comfortable. Natural light diffusing through the windows; fun conversation with the white noise of other discussions over quiet music he couldn’t place; the ever-present aroma of a kitchen hard at work; a pleasant warmth from the sunlight (without the radiation). He would like to come here again.

With such fond memories, though, why hadn’t they come here before in the six months Connor had known him? He decided to ask.

Hank continued looking out the window. His expression shifted into something Connor couldn’t interpret, but the brief red light gave him some clues. “It just seemed a bit boring to bring an android to a restaurant, y’know? You don’t really eat and all….”

“You boys gossiping over here?” joked Bel, sliding two mugs of coffee onto the table. Connor jumped; he hadn’t heard her approach. Or maybe his ears did, but his attention was focused elsewhere. Bel laughed. “Late nights at the bar making you jumpy?”

“Ah… not so much anymore,” Connor improvised. “Some late nights on the job, if anything.”

“Oh, I’d bet. Between homicide and android rights cases, you two are probably set on work for the next couple years.” She fished around in the pocket of her apron.

“Where did you hear about our casework?” asked Hank.

Bel found her target and deposited a couple small cups of thirium into the bowl of half-and-half creamers. “All over the news, hon! You’re really paving the way for androids in the work force. Setting the bar pretty high, too, while you’re at it.” She smiled before whisking off to other tables.

“As nice as ever, that Bel,” Hank commented. He inspected one of the thirium cups and asked, “How is this compared to plain old creamers?”

Connor’s hands hovered around his mug. He lacked his infrared temperature sensor, his unfamiliar tactile senses only told him ‘hot,’ and he couldn’t even remember what a fourth-order differential to estimate heat loss through radiation looked like. He’ll just give it a minute or two to cool. “I’m sure thirium doesn’t taste pleasant, but because the android program recognizes it as essential to mechanical function, it won’t register the taste. It’s just used like a nutritional benefit.”

Hank’s nose scrunched for a moment as he regarded tainting his sacred drink. Then he shrugged, poured one in with a stir and downed a gulp. He stared past Connor, eyes narrowed as he critiqued the taste. There was a smattering of yellow in his LED. “Mmmmm,” he soon hummed. “0.12 calories.”

A snort of laughter caught in Connor’s nose, which turned into a short bout of coughs. The tickle it left in his nasal cavity was completely alien. “Shit,” he choked out. Hank was much better at containing his reaction to just a smirk. “I don’t like how involuntary that was.”

“Hah. Welcome to the club.”

“And hot off the presses!” Bel swept over to them once again, setting a platter in the middle of the tabletop. “Did the onions myself! It was such a treat to break out the cheddar patties again, too; they just go to waste when you’re not around.”

Connor sat mesmerized. He and Hank had gone to many—if not most—burger joints in and around Detroit, but the hamburger in front of him was the tallest, most layered sandwich he had ever seen. Two burgers, flecks of cheddar dripping from them, overflowing with caramelized onions, roasted peppers, mushrooms, slices of some other cheese, lettuce, pickles—is that macaroni? A sharp kick to the shin snapped him from his trance long enough to thank Bel and send her off. “Lieutenant!” he hissed. He leaned forward to keep his voice down, regretting the full whiff of that savory, melty scent he got. “Do you know how many calories are in this?!”

“With this head of yours, I do now, yeah. And no way am I telling you, impulsive programming be damned!” Hank set a devious grin in his borrowed expression; this mischievous image of his doppelgänger made Connor uncomfortable. “Give it a try. I can guarantee it’s delicious.”

He knew he shouldn’t. It was unhealthy, grease-laden, and caloric. As if the burger wasn’t enough, the bed of beer batter waffle fries that coated the plate with accompanying cups of barbecue sauce could’ve been a meal on its own. It also smelled incredible.

It was technically a command from Hank, he realized, but without a HUD of objectives, it was nothing more than words. Nothing binding about it.

But it smelled so good.

He picked up the burger, leaving in the steak knife skewer holding it together. Before he could second-guess himself, he took a bite. There was a crunch from the brioche, a different crunch of the onions, then too many to distinguish, each with its own flavor that he had no previous reference on which to base any categorization, but together, it was splendid.

His instinct was to isolate and analyze each individual component, but without his tech, it was just a bombardment of information. By the time the taste stopped overwhelming his senses, half of the burger was gone.

Hank was swirling the coffee around in his mug, expression dripping in ‘told ya so.’ “A goddamn culinary masterpiece, right?”

Connor took another quick bite (getting mostly onions and macaroni) before he replaced it on the plate. He wiped off his hands on a paper napkin to buy processing time. “Lieutenant,” he said. “Hank. I still disapprove. But I understand now.”

“Fuckin’-A right!” Hank took a bite out of a waffle fry. “Listen, I get that you guys don’t need to eat, but it wouldn’t kill ya every now and then. CyberLife at least could’ve built in better taste buds. All I’m getting is calorie count and salt content, not any of the finesse.”

Trying a fry for himself, he noted the tang that he deduced as saltiness. Though not the main dish, they were also quite good. He took another. “It’s not vital to androids’ function—”

“And it’s not ‘vital’ to come and eat out like this. It’s just fuckin’ delightful.”

That is true. Much of his existence these days isn’t spent out of necessity. He didn’t have to pet Sumo, but it made him happy to do so. Munching on a third fry, he realized that humans were the same, except with more of a sensory benefit, like the fluffiness of Sumo’s fur. Why weren’t they the ones with compulsive programming? It seemed like they would need it more, what with all these distractions that can physically affect their mental state. “Ohh…,” he realized, “no wonder addictions are such an issue.”

“Now— hold on, now, how’d you jump to that conclusion? Like, yeah, but—” Hank’s LED began blinking. He flinched from something before raising his eyebrows. “A call from Jeffrey. Now this’ll be interesting.” He hesitated before he looked around the room. “I, ah, should probably take this elsewhere, ‘case it’s on the down low.”

“Tap the temple to answer,” Connor advised as Hank slid out of the booth and went to the door.

Connor crunched another fry, one that was extra crunchy. He should probably pay Bel soon and get a box for the rest, should they have to leave in a hurry. If only he knew how much two coffees and a—shit.

He picked up the untouched coffee. It was barely warm now. Unhelpful one-track human brain. Can’t even set a reminder in the background. He took a sip. It didn’t warm him or anything, but it tingled his tongue in a sort of dry, sharp way. Coffee was bitter, right? He didn’t think it would be this bitter, but Hank did like his coffee black. Despite complaining he couldn’t taste much, Hank’s mug was completely drained.

He spotted Bel this time as she approached. “Could I get a box for the rest of this? It sounds like we might have to leave soon.”

“Always off to save the city, you two are. I’ll get this all wrapped up in a jiffy!”

“And how much do I owe you?” Connor asked before she left with his plate. He was pretty sure Hank’s wallet was in his left pocket.

Bel cocked a grin. “Hon, has it really been so long you don’t remember?”

He paused. “Got two coffees this time.”

“Oh, silly me, that’s true! How’s an even ten bucks sound, then?”

Connor couldn’t help a small frown. “That seems a bit low….”

“Nah, call it a ‘welcome back’ discount.” Her expression lost its teasing edge, becoming something warm. “It’s good to see you again, Hank.”

While he liked the woman, if the conversation was going to turn sentimental, he wasn’t sure how well he was going to keep up his act. “It’s good to see you, too, Bel,” he replied before bringing his cold mug to his lips, hoping to end it there.

“And I hope you kept your talent for parenting.”

Connor almost choked. “What?”

“You were always a good father.” Bel was looking over his shoulder, off down memory lane. “Cole was the brightest kid in the county. But while more tragedy has befallen you than I would wish on anybody, I still hope Connor’s lucky enough to be in the same kind of care.”

“No, sorry, Connor’s not my son, he’s a detective—my coworker—not to mention an android.”

“Which means he might need it most, eh, sugar?” She shifted her weight and her gaze, looking back at him. “Sure, he looks what, twenty-five? Thirty? But isn’t he a new model? He probably ain’t even three yet, and he’s been deviant for way less than that. A father figure to show him the societal ropes sounds perfect to me.”

He felt like a process or ten had stalled. Fortunately, Hank returned to the table, so Bel took his plate and left with no more than a wink.

“Jeffrey wants us at the office today,” Hank said. Connor blinked and took a breath, trying to not focus on Bel’s inanity. (RK800 androids were the most advanced—hot off the production line immediately—he didn’t need—)

“Specifically, he wants me,” continued Hank, “so technically, he wants you. Said it shouldn’t take long.”

Connor cleared his throat. “So why didn’t he call me directly?”

“He did. A few times.”

Startled, Connor quickly dug out Hank’s phone. The screen lit to two missed calls, one new voicemail, and some new emails. “Oh….”

“Not so easy when it doesn’t directly invade your brain, huh? Now can you forgive me for not texting immediately?”

“I thought we were supposed to be unraveling the secrets of existence, Lieutenant, not dissecting your communication and dietary habits.”

Hank laughed. In Connor’s opinion, it didn’t sound right with his voice, but it made him smile nonetheless. “So, are we both going or just me?” he asked.

“I dunno, what else am I gonna do?”

Connor hummed. “It’s Saturday, right? Markus might be home.”

“Markus? As in rA9 Markus?”

“If CyberLife keeps this up, he’s bound to hear about it sooner or later, so why not tell him now? He usually checks in on his human on the weekends.”

Hank shrugged. “Might as well, I guess. Gives me something different to do. Where’s he live?”

“Around. Don’t ask me, you’re the one with the GPS today.”

Bel returned once more and set a cardboard box on the table. “Well, boys, it was my pleasure!” she boomed. “Y’all better come back soon, alright?”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Hank said with a smile as he stood. “Wonderful coffee.”

“Aw, c’mere!” She pulled him into a hug, something that didn’t fluster Hank at all. When the embrace broke, she held him by both shoulders and said, “Oh, Hank, he hugs like you already!”

The real Hank’s eyebrow twitched. “What…does that mean?”

“Nothing, nothing!”

Connor avoided their eyes until he found a ten and some ones in his wallet and handed them to Bel. He picked up the box and used his free arm to give her a quick hug. It was warm. Nice. “Thanks, Bel.”

“Anytime!”

[next >]

[chibioniyuri]

Touch the Dark Reread 2019

Kristina, you ask, did you really wait until 3 weeks before CassieCon to start your reread?

And I answer yes, because of reasons. Valid reasons. There’s this trivia quiz that I bombed last year that was filled with “easy” questions, and the Quiz Master has flat-out said that they’d be “more difficult” this time around. What? Procrastination? I sailed passed soft deadlines and now I’m reading because of a hard deadline? I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s for the quiz.

Last time around, I focused on a chapter-by-chapter breakdown of the book. But let’s be honest; I don’t really have time for that this time. So, the plan is “Things I Noticed This Time Through (TINTTT)” (I need better acronyms)

TtD TINTTT

Rasputin wanted Mei Ling’s spot on the Senate. For prestige? Or so he would have an inside position when it came time to bring the gods back? Mei Ling was “new to the position” when Cassie was about seven, so.... How long ago was he passed over? How long ago did this particular alliance and plot begin? Myra was “kidnapped” more than six months before the start of the book, and Rasputin started killing Senate members six months ago, so at least that long. Were the sneaky plots ironed out by then, or is that how long Rasputin could hold onto his pride before seeking revenge?

Also, I missed it two times now. But Rasputin used to be Tony’s business partner. I’ve been trying to figure out how Tony got dragged/thrust himself into this mess.

Random aside - it’s never come up before really, but Cassie doesn’t shake people’s hands. In fact, it sounds like she doesn’t touch people really at all until she gets to know them a bit, and she tries not to do that much in case she needs to cut and run. That’s.... a really lonely life. She’s probably pretty touch-starved.

Another thing I keep coming back to on my reread is Cassie’s absolutely crazy plan to deal with Tony. Like, it’s smart, don’t get me wrong. She can’t kill him herself, so she arranges for him to get taken down by humans so that the Senate will stake him before he can either... what, bust himself out or tweak people’s curiosity with the medical exam? But she spent like 3 pages talking about how seriously the Senate takes the secrecy thing, so I can’t help but feel that she would get some fallout from that. Did she just not care in her quest for revenge, or was she so secure in her I’m-a-nobody position that she didn’t think the Senate would come after her too?

This book exposes her weaknesses a lot. She wants a person who does the guns and knives thing because she can’t. She gets caught by spells and wards and can’t get around them. She needs a spellcaster. She needs a war-mage. She needs a Pritkin. 

I am.... not a fan of Cassie being outside the time travel loop. It’s easier to keep straight when she’s the one doing the traveling, not the bystander caught up in the time-traveling wake. Gotta figure out this Francoise and Radella mess all over again. /sad face/

And man, it didn’t take them long to slap a tracker spell on her, did it. She thinks it’s a ward and doesn’t find out the truth until the fourth book, but I’m on to you here.

Also, I’m impressed by Pritkin handling both a shotgun and a pistol simultaneously. I don’t have irl experience, but i did recently pick up a FPS game with a shotgun, and the recoil on that thing, even using two hands with a person with enhanced strength, is a bitch.

It’s so nonchalantly mentioned here that I can’t help but feel suspicious: a theory that the earth generates a magical field much like its gravitational field, and that it might be tappable someday. It mimics something mentioned in later books too, about mages trying to tap the energy generated by ley lines to feed magic spells but it being too unstable for common use? And considering that the ouroboros is powered by Artemis’s soul being bound to this plane, and continuously fueled with the combined reservoir of Silver Circle mages, and this has been framed as a problem.... I don’t know, but it’s suspicious. I’m suspicious.

Also, I love the Cass and Billy Joe Show. “’Cause I don’t wanna have to hear about this for eternity if you end up a spirit permanently. I know you. You’d haunt me.”

I know this has probably been repeated (by me) ad nauseum, but good ole LC doesn’t really have a good showing here. I get really, really frustrated really, really easily with his “aww the poor baby human doesn’t know what’s going on, we must coddle her and her delusions” schtick he’s got going on. 

Interesting tidbit: earth is the element Pritkin has the most trouble using, but it forms part of his wards?

“Remember, I have a vested interest in seeing that this goes well.” Damn. Mircea told us from the beginning. We just assumed, like Cassie did, that it meant he was concerned about his immediate survival. But doesn’t Cassie also say later that Mircea doesn’t do anything for a singular reason? Another long-game play, by both Mircea and KC. Brava.

I decided to read the seduction scene, just to see if I could. It is highly, highly discomfiting. I think I’ll be skipping the rest. Considering “the rest” involves feet, I don’t feel bad about this decision.

I am deeply, deeply curious how Pritkin survived the assault on MAGIC. We all know he’s a bad-ass, and wily, and powerful. We know Cassie has a tendency to underestimate people, especially her allies, because she fears losing them. But we never find out what happened in that room after she leaves it, and that bothers me. He could have whipped out some awesome magic; maybe Silver Circle mages streamed in right after the Black Circle. 

Finally: I just had a thought as I read about Cassie finding a naked LC “simply stunning”. Can Cassie claim to have slept with LC? She considers him Mircea at the time, and she was inhabiting another person’s body on top of that. Still.... it’s a weird thought to have, that she kinda sorta slept with her stepdaughter’s beau?? I.... I need to wipe this thought from my brain.

[mybeautifuldecay]

Private Tutor. Chapter Twenty-Seven; I Haven’t.

I know this has been a long time coming, but I have some New Years resolutions - one of them is to get this one more up to date with less time between updates. Writing these days is incredibly hard because my job from September suddenly became quite intense and I’m finding it increasingly more difficult to enjoy Show!OL to the point where I sort of zoned out...though I still love fic of all kinds. 

Happy New Year all!! <3 

Master List is HERE if you need to remind yourselves :)

The phone call came in the middle of an intense study session and Claire barely heard it ring.

“It’s for you.” Murtagh called, sliding her mobile across the bar as she lifted her head from the particularly large textbook.

“Hello?” She answered before mouthing ‘thank you’ to Murtagh and slipping into the ladies bathroom. “This is Claire speaking.”

As the door closed behind her, Jamie came out from the kitchen, wafting the hot chips with his free hand. They could hear a slight mumbling through the thick wood but no actual words which made him edgy and nervous. Putting a chip into his mouth, he placed the bowl on the bar and kept his eyes glued on the bathroom.

“It willna make her come out any quicker, my lad.”

“Do ye ken who it is?”

“Nah, I couldna tell, though he was Scottish.”

“It’s Ned,” he sighed, “I dinna think she kens anyone else other than Joe and he’s a Yank.” At the mention of the lawyer, his heart rate increased exponentially. With the chips going cold in front of him, he tapped his foot nervously against the bar stool. He could see her wandering up and down through the glass panel but there was nothing he could do to alter the course he just had to hope that Randall had done the honourable thing.

Stepping outside, shedding the scent of stale urine, Claire bit the inside of her lip to try and stop herself from crying.

“I’m free.” She whispered, the choked sound echoing around the empty pub as Murtagh quirked a brow.

“Christ. Sassenach. He signed them?”

“Y-yes. By noon tomorrow I’ll officially be divorced.”

A smile overtook the worry on Jamie’s face as he stood and strode towards Claire. Placing his hand over the arch of her belly he rested his forehead gently against hers. “In three months, mo nighean donn, ye’ll be a mother and I’ll be a da - and we’ll be free to marry should ye want to and I canna wait.”

Tears ran down her face, her cheeks pinked from holding her breath as Ned had conveyed the good news to her and her heart was beating clearly in her chest as the weight of her sham marriage lifted from her shoulders.

After their return from Lallybroch and through the beginning of Claire’s course both her and Jamie had patiently waited for any news from the lawyers about the proceedings but Ned had been suspiciously quiet for a whole two months. Though cold, September and October had been milder than usual but they had both begun to numb themselves - even the excitement of the coming halloween hadn’t brought Claire any relief. But, now, just in time for the run up to Christmas, Ned given them some unexpected (added) joy.

“I don’t think I can read anymore about the central nervous system tonight.” She hiccuped, her hands shaking as she placed the phone back into her pocket.

“Nor should ye have to,” Murtagh interjected, “have some champagne on me, aye?” He said, reaching into the small fridge to collect a bottle. “Go upstairs and celebrate the two of ye.” With a wink and a nod he passed the cold Bollinger over to Jamie and watched as the two disappeared through the door to Jamie’s apartment.

They were calm and quiet for all of a moment but the second the air settled around them, Claire let out a squeal of delight, her hands coming to cover her mouth as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “I’m free, Jamie. A divorcee.”

Standing with his hands in his pockets, Jamie twisted the material against his fingers, the sweat dripping down his spine as his hands gripped the small velvet box that he had concealed earlier. “How would you feel…” he started, the pulse racing in his neck as he tried to pluck up the courage to ask the important question, “if I were to ask ye, Claire *Beauchamp*...”

She saw the nervous twitch, the tilt of his head which highlighted the wee droplets of moisture forming on his forehead and she recalled the time, not so long ago, when she’d removed her first wedding ring and how it had felt to finally be free of the shackles of it.

“You remembered my maiden name.”

He’d seen it on the forms she’d been filling in and he’d taken an internal snapshot for reference later.

“Aye. I want to ken everything about ye, Claire.”

“Including whether or not I’ll say yes...to your question?” She said with a knowing glint in her eye.

“Aye.” He whispered, the nerves suddenly dissipating.

Reaching forwards, she pulled his hand from his pocket and smiled shyly at what she saw clasped between his fingers. Placing her mouth carefully over his, Claire kissed him as she rested her hand over his. “I think you already know how I’ll answer. I don’t think you’d have been carrying this-” squeezing her fingers around the back of his hand she let her nose bump against his as she paused, “waiting for Ned to call with news if you had even considered the possibility of me saying no.”

“Say it, then.” He returned, his eyes closed now as he pushed his flat stomach against her distended one. “If ye know what ye want.”

“Right now, would you judge me if I said I just wanted you to take me to bed?”

In the last month her hormones had gone wild, lust ravaging her at a moments notice and having Jamie touch her - even in the most discreet way, caused her temperature to rise in the most delightful way.

“Say yes and I willna judge ye ever again.”

“I’d say screw you, Jamie, but really I mean it the other way around.” She sighed, giving him her most coquettish look.

“Such a filthy mouth, Miss Beauchamp, I like it.”

Removing her top with a swift flick of her wrists, she mouthed “good” as she stepped backwards towards the bed.

Perched on the edge with the duvet scrunched around her bottom, she looked glorious with her maternity bra sitting snuggly between her belly as it covered her breasts. He wanted her naked, he loved seeing the changes in her body as she grew bigger with their child and he especially loved seeing the flush blossom across her skin in the few moments when desire began to take hold of her. She didn’t even need to tell him, she just got this twinkle in her eye and then her flesh just seemed to get this iridescent glow that called to him on a primal level.

“If you want them off,” she said as she leaned backwards on the bed, “you just have to come over here.”

Needing no more coaxing, Jamie went, wrapping his arm around her waist he pulled her close and buried his nose beneath her chin. She smelt of talcum powder, a type of motherly scent that clung to her skin. Dragging himself lower he placed his mouth over her covered nipple before sucking softly.

She moaned making him suck harder. Even half clothed he could tell that she was desperate, the way she bucked her hips and clung to him, her hands now lost in the mass of curls that lay at the nape of his neck.

“Have ye thought about much else for the last few weeks?” He moaned as he fell onto his back, pulling her over his hips.

“I haven’t. No.”

“It’s just us now, Claire. You and I. There’s nothing to stop us.”

Undoing the clasp of her bra and flinging it onto the floor, she took both of his hands in hers and lay one of her the arch of her belly and one over her bare breast. “I’ve never been happier.” She whispered, the rasp of her voice causing the breath to leave his lungs in an instant. “There’s nothing I want more. So yes, Jamie,” she continued, writhing her hips suggestively, “Yes. I’ll marry you.”