#men everywhere at every point i. time will always find an excuse to kill women for existing

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Personal trainer

Summary: Chris Hemsworth is your new personal trainer. It doesn't sit well with your boyfriend Thor, until it does.

Warnings: 18+ smut, threesome?

Pairing: Thor x Reader, Chris Hemsworth x Reader?

Square filled - Rivalry

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: Written for @avengersbingo Please read warnings before proceeding.

Thor Odinson Taglist – @raspberrymama @bitchycherryblossomlove @jennie22feona @innerpaperexpertcloud @thorfanficwriter @darklydeliciousdesires @longlostinanotherworld

Everything Taglist – @godofplumsandthunder @ladyacrasia @agustdowney @swaggysposts @littlegasps @suchababie @another-stark-sub @supraveng @kahlanmars @disappointmentofthefam @pandaxnienke @tom-hlover @just-the-hiddles @fyreball66 @asmigurub @avantgardium-leviosa @imerdwarf @gladiosamicitias @fanofalltheficsx @ladyburberry @chickensarentcheap @dontmindmyname123

Flames of anger and jealousy grew bigger and bigger inside Thor as he watched you chatting so animatedly with your new personal trainer Chris.

He couldn’t wrap his head around why you needed one in the first place, in his eyes, you were perfect just the way you were.

But he went with you to the gym religiously, insisted on staying ever since you got a new trainer, even though it was against the gym policy. Nobody really felt brave enough to ask the God of Thunder to get out of the place.

The way you giggled and casually touched his biceps or hit him on the chest every time Chris made a funny comment made Thor’s blood boil. He had an effect on you just as much as he did on every other person in that gym. The women did their level best to strike up a conversation any chance they got, while the men took it up as a challenge, the man was intimidating, but undeniably the hottest trainer you had ever laid eyes on.

You were about to finish a set when Thor walked in to check on you under the pretext of getting you a bottle of water.

“Alright give me ten more (Y/N).”

“I already did like a hundred. Leave me alone.” You joked, panting loudly as you wiped sweat off your forehead, chest heaving while you laid on the mats.

“Ten more no excuses. I’ll take off my shirt if you do it properly.” Chris sent a wink your way, holding your knees in place and fixing your stance for the last ten crunches you were about to do.

“Oh you just want to show off those perfectly chiseled abs.”

You finished the set and exhaled out loud, tired after that grueling core workout he made you do, when Thor walked in.

“I don’t see that shirt coming off Hemsworth. A promise is a promise.”

Your teasing was the first thing Thor heard and he didn’t like it.

“What’s going on here?”

“Oh hi! Uh nothing, Chris made me work hard today. I was just asking for a reward.”

You went over to the Asgardian, stood on your tippy toes and pecked his cheek.

“I’ll take my clothes off for you when we get home, my love.”

Thor’s voice dropped as he spoke, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you closer, not bothered about your sweat-covered body.

“Well let’s get going then.”

Your flirt was cut short when Chris joined you two, Thor’s grip on your side tightening, not that you were surprised.

“Great job today (Y/N), you killed it, like always.”

“More like you killed me. It was a great workout Chris, thank you. You’ve met Thor, haven’t you?”

“Yes of course. How are you mate?”

“Perfect. Now do I get to take my girl home with me?”

“Ah she’s all yours. We’ve had our fun.”

“What does that mean?”

Chris held his hands up in surrender as Thor narrowed his eyes at the man, he clearly disliked the guy and made no attempts of keeping those feelings to himself, the situation begging for you to intervene.

“Alright that’s enough. Chris, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Thor reluctantly let you go as you hugged Chris goodbye, keeping an eye on his hands the entire time to make sure they weren’t going where they were not supposed to be.

.

“Are you being serious right now?”

You demanded as Thor kept his eyes on the road as you drove home, not meeting your gaze, his jaw clenched. It had been a fun workout session and Thor was getting on your nerves with his childish behavior.

“I do not like that man.”

“Well I do.”

Your deliberate comment was laced with irritation, but there was truth to it. Chris was a nice guy and all you wanted was for Thor to get along with him.

“You like him? More than you like me?” He didn’t sound hurt, it was just an unnecessary overreaction which angered you further at this point.

“Right now with the way you’re behaving? Yes!”

You probably shouldn’t have said that, but well you did.

That kept him silent for the entire ride home.

It wasn’t until late in the evening that the pouting and moping God of Thunder found you and apologised for his irrational outburst. Not only did he make up to you, he made sure you remembered who you belonged to, a workout you definitely appreciated more than the one you had in the morning.

.

“Look at you all cute in your workout clothes.”

You giggled as Thor stepped out in his attire - a T-shirt that perhaps was too tight to contain the rippling muscles of his physique, and pants that hung low over those hips but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chris was coming over to your house today and you had planned to go for a little hike along a trail with Thor. It was about time the two boys learned to be comfortable around each other and not start a pissing contest every time they met.

“I’d prefer being called handsome, my love.”

“Promise me you won’t get all crazy and jealous when he arrives.”

“I wasn’t jealous, I just don’t like him getting his hands all over you.”

“Thor!”

“Alright you have my word.”

Just as you were pecking his lips, the doorbell rang causing Thor to pull you in for one last searing kiss and making you giggle before you ran to open the door.

“Well hello! Welcome to our humble abode.” You joked, giving Chris a side hug and inviting him in, knowing Thor was lurking behind.

“Thank you (Y/N) you’re looking great. I see those squats working wonders.” He winked, joining in your laughter before Thor made his presence known.

“Thor! Nice seeing you again. I didn’t know you were joining us today.”

They shook hands like civilised men before turning to you.

“Yeah I thought it’d be a good idea to do this together. Shall we?”

“After you, my lady.” Chris bowed and gestured for you to take the lead, as you did, Thor slipped in his hand into yours and clasped it firmly.

.

The hike took thirty minutes to reach the summit, but Chris had managed to turn it into a workout for you, making you jog the entire length not once but twice. By the time it was finished, the two men weren’t phased however you were left a sweaty panting mess, hands on your knees as you glared at them.

“It’s not fair!”

“Alright I’m going for another one.” Chris announced, racing back down alone while Thor made sure you got some water as you perched yourself on a large rock, watching the sun go down on the horizon.

Your Greek God of a trainer shortly returned sans his T-shirt, a self-confident grin adorned his face as he came to a halt right next to you.

Tiny beads of sweat made his body glisten in the golden light cast by the setting sun. The dips and plains on his torso enhanced, your mind was too busy making up scenarios where you ran your hands all over that perfect body.

Before you knew it, Thor was also shedding the fitted tee you’d made him wear, being nonchalant about it but you knew what was going on. Shaking your head was all you did because nobody was at a loss here. Being surrounded by two drop-dead gorgeous, strong and very shirtless men was better than anything else.

“Okay you two. If you’re done basking in all your half naked glory, shall we head home?”

Neither of them answered but made no attempts to put their clothes on either. You shrugged and stood up when the muscles in your legs screamed.

“Come on (Y/N), don’t be the odd one out. You know you want to.”

Chris gestured for you to take your tank top off.

“Oh there’s a lot of things I want…”

You bit your bottom lip before walking over to your boyfriend and asking your boyfriend to carry you the rest of the way.

Thor was more than happy to oblige.

.

It felt like a heady mixture, having the two men you desired the most this close to you.

You felt Chris’s hands move slowly along the side of your neck, down to your shoulder before sliding your bra straps off and letting it fall down your arms. All while your mouth moved in sync with Thor’s as he kissed you senseless, groping at your breasts over the fabric until it readily slid down.

You wasted no time in unhooking your lacy bra and throwing it blindly across the room. Your hands found home in Thor’s hair, gripping and pulling on the ends as your tongues danced in harmony until Chris covered your breasts with his large hands, those deft fingers pinching and rolling your nipples until they peaked and pebbled.

A sinful moan escaped your lips as the kiss broke, your head thrown back onto Chris’s shoulder as his lips found the heated skin of your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses while Thor watched, stroking his erection through his boxers.

The blurry but arousing combination of hands and mouths continued while you felt yourself getting wetter by the second, your panties a complete mess at this point.

Chris let his hands slide lower, along your stomach and down into your panties all while Thor had recaptured your lips and was claiming your senses.

Your wet folds were played with agile fingers and your arousal was gathered between them before two of those fingers entered your warmth.

The stretch felt wonderful as you cried out, your voice muffled in the kiss. The two burly gentlemen touching and kissing everywhere, worshipping and devouring you.

Thor moved down to close his lips around your nipple, licking and sucking languidly while Chris worked his fingers inside you at an equally slow pace, stretching you out and getting you ready.

The Asgardian slipped his hands behind and squeezed your cheeks before finding your puckered hole, rubbing along the entrance and making you moan loudly in wanton need.

“Chris…”

“My love.”

“Quit teasing you two…”

“(Y/N)?”

“Mmm..”

“Wake up, my love.”

You were dazed and disoriented when your eyes fluttered open. Thor’s concerned figure looming over you as you slowly came to your senses and realized it wasn't real. A wet dream featuring the love of your life and the man you were shamelessly lusting over.

“It was a dream.” You muttered, repeating it to yourself as if reminding you that it could never happen.

Thor’s hand slid down your body and between your legs where your arousal was evident. You’d slept naked tonight, which meant the sheets were probably ruined. A smirk formed on his face as his fingers teased your glistening folds.

“Just a dream..could be a reality if you want.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Good thing he’s sleeping in the guest room.”

My first time writing for Mr Hems. Thots???

[jawritter]

Your Perfect...

Request: the reader is always willing to go down on Dean but when Dean goes to return the favor the reader stops him and always finds an excuse. No one has ever offered to go down on her before so she’s insecure about it and doesn’t want to look weird in from of dean. I hope this makes sense!

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, oral (male and female receiving), language, insecure reader, body image issues, self-hate (a little), I think that’s it unless I’ve messed something.

Word Count: 2253

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

A/N: As always all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is gold! Hope you guys enjoy this one!

Want More? Check out my Masterlist!!

****MASTERLIST****

This was not a new position for you, not even close, but here you were once again. On your knees with Dean's glorious, thick, throbbing, dripping, cock in your mouth. 

You loved to watch him when he got close the way he was right now. His head was thrown back against the wall, his eyes closed tight, showing off those beautiful eye crinkles that you loved so much, his breathing labored, his tongue reaching out and licking at his bottom lip before he sinks his perfect white teeth into the soft flesh there; trying to control the noses that were coming from his mouth. 

Goosebumps rose all over his body, as his hips begin rocking into your mouth as he gets closer and closer. 

You run your tongue up the thick vein that is basically pulsing at this point. Your fingers wrapped firmly around his base, holding off his release some as you took his whole length inside your mouth, the taste of him overwhelming your senses as you let go and swallowed him all the way to his hilt. 

His body stiffened and jerked as he spilled down your throat. Your name with a string of curse words and incoherent sounds fell from his lips as you sucked him dry, massaging his tight balls as his dick jerked in your mouth, making sure you had taken all he could give you. His body finally falling limp against the wall as you released him from your hold. 

Standing as he wrapped his hands around your hips, pulling you to his chest and kissing you deeply, his tongue tasting himself on your lips as he dominated your mouth.

"Your turn," he said, backing you to the bed as he continued his assault on your mouth.

You struggled against him to get a word in as he backs you to the bed letting you fall on the mattress, and crawling over you like a predator about to devour his prey. 

Reaching his hand down, running his fingers up your bare thigh and across your folds, massaging your swollen clit with his fingertips as he kissed his way down your jawline to your neck, working his way down your body, stopping to give each nipple attention; worshiping your body like you were the most perfect thing he'd ever seen. Just as his lips made their way down your stomach though you couldn't do it, your own insecurity winning out over the overwhelming need for him.

"Dean stop!" you said, jumping off the bed like you'd been shocked. Dean raised up on his knees. He looked hurt by your rejections even though he remained quiet for a moment.

"What is it? Did I do something wrong?" he asked, his voice was gentle, but his eyes showed just how much your repeated rejection of him hurt. 

You were more than willing to go down on Dean, in fact, you loved it. The way he felt thick and heavy against your tongue and down your throat, the way he tasted, the way he looked as he came undone under your power. It was a rush you'd never get tired of, and honestly, you could probably get off on just watching him.

Even though you'd been together for almost six months now, you never let him return the favor. Every time he'd make a move to go down on you, you would stop him. 

You were afraid.

Afraid you wouldn't look as pretty as some girls he'd been with, because Dean had been with a lot of women. 

What if you tasted off, what if you disgusted him. 

No man has ever offered to go down on you before, even though you'd been with men before Dean. They were usually ass holes who wanted nothing more than to get themselves off, you were just a fuck toy for that moment. 

When you had met Dean everything was different, he was kind and gentle. The hands that killed monsters where the very hands that touched you so softly. He acted like you were his everything, something precious that should be worshiped and reverenced, but you didn't understand why. He was a freaking Greek God robed in flesh. His body, his features, everything was perfect. Any woman with a pulse, and apparently some that no longer had a pulse... Would give their left arm to sleep with him, have him touched them the way he did you. Still, you just couldn't let him do it.

You didn't want to lose him, you couldn't, especially over something like this, you wouldn't live through it. 

You and Dean had sex plenty of times. It usually was a nightly thing for the two of you when you were home. You would let him do just about anything he wanted, except that. 

Right now though, looking into those olive-green eyes that you loved so much, filled with hurt and rejection, you knew you had to come clean to him or you were going to lose him. He wasn't going to keep letting you tell him no and push him away without a reason, and you knew it.

"Dean," you said softly, moving over to the bed to sit down next to him, taking his hand in yours. He was quiet, watching, trying to figure this out. His eyes searched you, you could feel them even though you couldn't meet his gaze. 

"You didn't do anything wrong. It's me."

Dean looked at you more confused than he was a few moments ago before the confusion quickly turned to anger. 

"Has someone hurt you before? Tell me who that mother fucker is and I swear to God..." 

"No Dean, no one has ever done anything to me. It's just." you let out a sigh, trying to put your feelings into words that didn't sound stupid, or childish as the felt right now in your head.

"No one has ever.. done that.. gone down on me before. I'm afraid you won't like me anymore if you do because no one ever thought I was good enough to do it before now, so there must be something wrong with me that I don't know about. What if I look funny or something is off, and you don't want to be with me anymore," you confessed to him, refusing to look up at him. You could feel your embarrassment burning in your face, and tears were prickling in your eyes. 

Dean sat there for a moment in stunned silence. Of all the things that could have come out of your mouth, that was NOT what he was expecting. Not even close.

Reaching up he softly placing his hand on the side of your face, forcing her to look at him.

"Sweetheart, you are so, so wrong. Those idiots you were with before were just assholes. They only were out for themselves, they didn't care about you the way I do. You're perfect! There is absolutely nothing wrong with you! Don't ever tell yourself that, and I'm not going anywhere. You couldn't get rid of me even if you wanted too. I love you, everything about you is perfect to me. I just want to show you how much I love you, Sweetheart, let me show you, and if you still feel uncomfortable I'll stop, but I promise you nothing is going to change the way I feel about you, even if you never let me touch you that way. I'm in this for the long haul, pretty girl." 

His lips brushed yours and he wiped away the tears that had made their way down your face. His touch was gentle, cautious, and patient. He wasn't going to push you, and you knew that, but you didn't ever want to see that hurt look on his face again. Maybe he was right, maybe you were just being self-conscious and paranoid over nothing. Those other guys were dicks. Dean loved you. He'd never let anything come between the two of you, so why in the world were you sitting here letting this stop you from being closer to the man you loved more than your own life.

"Okay," you said, swinging your legs back over onto the bed, laying your head down against the pillows, pulling Dean by the shoulders to hover over your body again. His lips met yours again in a slow, tender kiss. 

"If you feel uncomfortable tell me and I'll stop, there's no rush, there's no hurry, we have all the time in the world okay? We will go slow. I'm okay with that."

You nodded your head as his lips came down on yours again. His lips make their way in soft kisses from your lips to the shell of your ear, running his teeth and tongue lightly over the shell of your ear. His breath tickled the sensitive skin of your neck, and he worked his way down to your pulse point on your throat, nipping and sucking there, leaving his mark on you, one that you wouldn't even bother trying to cover up in the morning. You were proud to be his, and you didn't care who saw it.

When he was done there he worked his way down to your breast. Giving each equal love and attention before kissing his way down the valley of your cleavage, and down your stomach. Your breathing gets faster as he made his way to your hips. Kissing each hip softly. Letting his breath fan over your overheating flesh. 

You were terrified but determined. You weren't going to let your own insecurities come between you.

Dean's hands ran down your side, making their way to your knees, spreading your legs for him, giving him a full view of your already wet folds. 

"So fucking gorgeous, baby," he mumbled, close enough that his breath puffed out over your skin in little huffs, causing your own goosebumps to rise over your body.

Being as soft and gentle as he could, Dean licked a strip through your folds, stopping at your clit and lapping at it gently in a barely-there touch that nearly had your body arching off the bed. 

"Fuck you taste good, Sweetheart," he said, his voice deep and rough, his shaft hardening again against your leg as he covered your pussy with his mouth.

He felt like he was everywhere all at once. His tongue licking and lapping at your dripping sex, sucking your clit into his mouth, eating at you like a starving man. His hand made its way to yours and he laced your fingers together as he continued his administrations. 

That same warm feeling started to form in your lower belly as your free hand gripped the sheets. The coiling tight on the inside of you, spreading its way through your limbs like a wildfire in dry brush, your hips moving on their own against his face as his tongue worked you over. Moans and sinful sounds fell from both your lips, filling the room around you. Your breathing is coming in short spurts. Pleasure coursing through your body as he pushed you closer and closer to your release.

"Dean," you whimpered.

It was all you could get out. You were so close one more lick of his tongue and you'd be a goner.

"Let go, Baby, I got you," he said against your skin, sending vibrations through your whole body. His thick tongue sank into your soaking cunt and your body cave around you. Your walls milking his tongue as the coil inside of you snapped and the strongest orgasm you've ever experienced ripped through your body. 

Dean didn't stop lapping up all that you had to give him like it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. Working you through your orgasm until you came down completely, leaving you a sweating, panting mess.

Dean crawled his way back up your body. Kissing his way back up your lips. The taste of you lingering on his tongue as he kissed you gently before sinking deep inside of you in one swift thrust. Your back arching to meet his chest as pumped himself into you over and over again, everything made more sensitive by your previous orgasm.

Before you knew it you were at the edge again. 

"Fuck Dean, I'm close," you half moan as you clung to his shoulders. His own pace is starting to get sloppy, losing his perfect rhythm as his own end approached. 

"Me too, Baby." 

With that your second orgasm hit you. Your vision blurring around the edges as wave upon wave of pleasure washed over you. Dean's name falling from your lips like a prayer as he buried himself deep inside of you, spilling his seed, coating your insides with him, grunting into his own release; rocking into you slowly as you both came down from you high. 

Laying you down next to you Dean pulled your body flush with his as you trace his tattoo absently, just enjoying the afterglow of all that he'd given you.

Dean peppered your face with little kisses as sleep started to take its hold on you. His strong arms wrapped up around you, his hands trailing little patterns on your back. 

You were so glad you finally let him in, fully, trusting him with your body. Because that's what it really is about. Trusting him to take care of you, just like he trusts you to take care of him. A partnership. One that's not ever going anywhere. 

You loved him more now, even though you didn't think that was possible, than you ever had before, and you would love him as long as you had breath in your body. That much you were sure.

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[shabre-legacy]

Chase to the Capitol -Stolen Home chapter 8

The last part of the trip to Coruscant passed quietly. Everyone was rather differential and even the crew and security didn’t really bother her. All her drinks were free, and her and Corso found that they got invited to games of Sabbac and whatever else was being played, or to go dancing or whatever anytime they appeared. She’d even gotten a message from some senator thanking her for saving the ambassador who’d put them in that situation to begin with. 

The passengers were nervous around them though. Corso brought it up when they once again took their drinks back to the room. Too many men approaching her ‘to dance’ practically drooling on the floor because they never stepped outside their tiny little circles and thought the criminal hero would be easy. Too many women approaching Corso. They made him uncomfortable, the man just wasn’t used to the attention and the socialites weren’t used to having a man who knew how to use his strength. The poor girls were both scared of them and very interested and that combination led to uncomfortable situations and overly pushy behavior. Between the two groups, both of them just wanted away from the situation. 

The ‘guests’ were grateful for being saved, and trying to show that, but her and Corso, they scared the passengers. They’d done what trained soldiers hadn’t been able to do, somehow word had gotten out that she’d killed that damn Sith, and without the uniform to suggest some kind of rule that she was bound to, her success made her a bit scary to the pampered socialites on this ship. They didn’t know her, they didn’t know what she wanted and they didn’t know exactly what she was planning or what she was really capable of and it frightened them. Noch’h ria nus’a, as Nuri would have said; amazement and interest and fear and curiosity, it was so very obnoxious. 

Finally though, they made it to the Coruscant spaceport and everyone went their own ways. At last, she could breathe without someone looking over her shoulder, or at least she’d be able to once she got through customs. Unfortunately, an T series security droid approached as soon as they stepped into the arrivals terminal. She stepped over to the customs terminal, hoping the droid wouldn’t notice. A few ill-planned smuggling runs had landed her on certain watch lists with the Republic and that meant every spaceport she entered under her own name ended up with a delay as she was searched and interrogated and there was never enough time to put up with that shit. Lucky for her, or unlucky for customs, she had a cover. 

She glanced at Corso as the droid rolled up and greeted her. Like a team that had been together longer than they had, he smoothly moved between her and the droid and started chatting with the it. She used the moment to slice the terminal. The droid accepted the input from the terminal and wandered off. As they moved towards the elevators, Corso leaned down and quietly whispered, with a hint of a laugh, “Admiral Numinn? Interesting choice.” 

She giggled and gently elbowed him, “nobody messes with an admiral, plus ya know, circumstance. Long story, better not told here.” Giggling, seriously, how long had it been since she’d done that. This was really getting out of hand, the sooner she could get him his blaster and drop him off again the better. Plus Tika would hate having another person aboard, perfect excuse. 

He smiled down at her, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Point taken.” They reached the elevator and caught sight of the scenery out the massive viewports. “Everything in Coruscant is huge. You see those city towers as we flew in? How many people you figure live in those? Millions?” 

Sometimes, she could forget how much of a farmboy he was, the mercenary took center stage. Other times, it was so damn obvious. It was a bit sad though, the state of Coruscant, almost ten years and some things still hadn’t been rebuilt. “Looks like some of those city towers are still short a few levels, thought they’d have fixed that since I was last here.” 

“You been here before, Captain?”

 again with the Captain. He wasn’t gonna stop anytime soon, kinda liked it though.  She shook her head, “another time” 

He shrugged and moved on, he seemed good at that, another question Leikael had about him. “...Even knocked the Jedi Temple off its pedestal.” 

And there it was, the comment always made about Coruscant and the war. “I know, my brother died there.”

That got a real pause from him. “That’s… That’s rough. I’m sorry for bringing it up Captain.” 

Taking a moment to breathe, she quickly waved him off. “I hadn’t seen him in like 7 years anyway. Let’s talk about something else like that banthashit who took my ship and my fracking Cat.”

Corso stared for a moment, “alright Captain, if you say so.” He took a breath, and she could see him shrugging aside the memories of his own loss. Her ability to read people had saved her life a few times, but now it was just obnoxious. “Wanna find Skavak before we’re too old to shoot straight? We’re gonna need local help.”

Help? She’d gotten help and it hadn’t worked. “We’ll just rattle some skulls until Skavak falls out.” Scumbag like that, he’d leave a big ass trail through the underworld. And that was a population she could work with, mostly, well, sometimes. 

“I know a faster way.” That sigh was one of resignation. Almost like his idea exhausted him. “There’s a gambler named Darmas Pollaran who keeps tabs on everything worth knowing about Coruscant. Friend of Viidu’s, good man. You’ll like him.”

Information broker. She’d worked with a few, not a bad resource if you could afford it. “Worth a visit, I guess. Where do I find this Darmas?” Let Corso run off and do whatever, she had no expectations of men anymore. 

“Well, Viidu always said if you look for a Sabbac table surrounded by beautiful women, you’ll find Darmas. But I can narrow that down. I still have Viidu’s holofrequency contacts. Give me a minute…” He pulled out a comm and started tapping at it. 

“Viidu had you keep his contacts?” 

He shrugged, “head of security and bodyguard. Traveled with the old man pretty much everywhere, had to keep the secure frequencies list in case his comm went down. Part of the job.” 

He held up the comm between them and it flickered to life, showing a slim middle aged man.  “Corso, is that you? It’s been too long, you rascal.” His tone implied familiarity, must have had more than a few conversations in the past. 

“A friend and I are on Coruscant and in a real bind. Is there a place we could meet you?”

This Darmas had one of those smooth voices, a slow soft drawl that made it sound like he was trying to charm everyone who could hear him. “Of course, come to my private cantina booth.” something about the game he was playing. Kael was really only half paying attention, she was mostly watching the customs agents standing aways off. She slipped closer to Corso, into the view of the Comm, hoping to look as though they were simply arranging a pickup. “Hope you don’t mind the occasional blaster fire; the cantina’s in a rowdy part of Coruscant.” 

“Sounds like my kind of place.” She could see the moment he saw her. If the holo were more detailed, he’d probably be glancing between her and Corso trying to figure them out. She’d keep him on his toes until she knew more about him. Or at least she’d try to. 

“I hope that’s only the first of many affinities we share.” Of course he was a flirt. She’d expected as much, but he was smooth. Could be fun. 

Corso interrupted before she could respond. “Keep your comm link open. I’ve got some bad news about Viidu.” He tucked the comm away and turned to look down at her. “I’ll bring Darmas up to speed while we travel. He’ll have the cantina coordinates sent by the time we find a Taxi, or shuttle rental or whatever they got for transport here.”

The customs agents were talking to that damn droid and looking at her. “Keep an eye out for that scum-sucker that stole my ship.” She quickly pulled Corso into the elevator and sent it to the main floor. She glanced over as it dropped a few levels and spoke low and careful. “Customs sniffing around, follow my lead.” She didn’t miss the slight shiver when she spoke. 

“You got it, Captain.” she didn’t even have a ship and he still called her captain. It was quickly becoming something she could get very used to.

As they stepped out of the elevator, Leikael leaned into him a bit, threading her arm through his. It was fine. She’d shared a bed with the man and he hadn’t done anything. It was fine and she could handle this. She kept her pace to  a mid speed saunter and started chattering about all the random facts about Coruscant. Trying to appear like a couple of tourists here for a holiday. Each customs agent, each soldier, each guard who passed by without stopping her was one closer to the entrance and making a clean getaway. 

As they finally reached the front of the spaceport and stepped out into the artificial sunlight of Corsucant, Corso stopped, just staring. Up ahead, the galactic senate building loomed tall over everything. All around them, filling in the horizon were hundreds of towers. It was an impressive sight, especially so on your first visit. Leikael grinned and dropped his arm, walking forward a bit. She let a bit of a skip into her step as she moved several steps in front of him. Spinning dramatically, she lifted her arms creating a frame for the view behind her. “Welcome to Coruscant, farmboy. The heart of the republic where half your dreams might come true.”  She spun around and made her way across the walkway towards the building in the middle, still a bit more bounce in her pace than normal. If her memory was correct, there was a public taxi running out of there. They were finally on track to catch the bastard. Now all she had to do was keep enough momentum and Skavak’s head would be hers.

[johns-prince]

So I’ve always been a huge history buff, and especially I am fascinated by, if not constantly humbled, by the first and second world wars.

It’s not original, as I’ve seen a few fanfictions set in this AU, or something similar; the boys being drafted for the second world war. Primarily because I’m much more knowledgeable about the second than the first, and in the second they were utilizing medics in the field.

***Based off of historical events, AU is obviously fictitious. There are most likely inaccuracies***

So, you know, Paul’s mother and father had expectations he’d become a doctor. Instead of becoming a doctor though, Paul wanted to be useful in the front lines, be in the midst of it all too (remember many men were basically fed propaganda about how grand going into war was; many did not know the horrors) so Paul trained as a combat medic. Of course Paul’s mother was rather upset, she’d rather her boy be safe in field hospitals/medical centers, far from the fighting, but Paul is stubborn. Jim is proud, of course, but even he shows emotion and fear of not seeing his eldest again as Paul is about to set off for basic training.

Paul would be considered a specialist; CMT [Combat Medical Technician] 

Now, I have an admiration for paratroopers, as they were also a new sort of military branch; so, John, George, and Ringo, followed by Paul, would be placed into this new parachute infantry; British Airborne. Not to mention they’d be getting paid for it, sent to their families back home, so why not? (Though John would’ve joined regardless of the bribery of money)

My knowledge of the UK military and airborne is adequate at best. I think I’d place them in the Parachute Regiment, or “PARAS” 5th Parachute Brigade, 6th Airborne Division. This isn’t set in stone though!

George and Paul signed up together, while they meet John and Ringo later on. 

John seems to be the best at hand-to-hand combat, struggled with his marksmanship.

George and John both struggled getting over their slight fear of heights and planes (both got sick once or twice) and both caught harmless crap for it from Paul and Ringo, though the teases were simply that. 

These would be the uniforms and equipment I imagine them having:

WW2 British Paratrooper Uniform – Basic Uniform

WW2 British paratrooper combat uniform

WW2 British infantry combat uniform

Paul’s outfit might’ve been a bit different being a combat medic:

Battledress, though without the insignia of a captain.

Worn over battledress.

On the left arm, one of the many armbands Paul could have worn, along with a simple combat helmet or one also featuring a red cross.

Medic satchel.

One of the weapons a medic would carry for both self defense and defense of their patient, The M1911.

John was often the one found provoking and taking the piss outta Paul, calling him “Nurse Paulie/Macca” for a bit until eventually Paul earned John’s respect and admiration for his bravery on the field during the heat of battle, focused solely on the injured. While John doesn’t completely drop the rather degrading nickname, he does adopt calling Paul “Doc,” or “Doc Paul/Paulie/Macca”

Despite John’s teasing and targeting of Paul since day one of training, they caught on like a house on fire; Paul could keep up with John’s wit most of the time, and even had this odd patience for his antics and at times, aggressive personality; when John learned Paul had a passion for music, and that while his parents wanted him to be a doctor, he actually just wanted to do music.

When John learns combat medics are trained extensively in close-quarters/hand-to-hand, the older makes Paul his honorary sparring partner– ‘’Don’t wanna get rusty now, do ya?” though it often divulges into play-wrestling/play fighting, stopping when someone gets pinned or they’re called. 

Among the company it becomes common knowledge that if anyone gives Paul flak, especially with John around, they’d get their head bitten off, dignity shred to pieces– if not physically intimated by John, always rearing for a fight, always willing to take a swing at anyone who talked badly about Paul. They have each other’s backs, and wherever Paul goes, John is sure to follow; wherever John is, Paul will also be. 

George is often treated like the little brother between John and Paul, much to his chagrin. Ringo treats George as much of an equal despite being older, and they become incredibly close, best of buds. The four musketeers altogether though, been there since day one.

Captain/Major/Brigadier Brian Epstein and  Second Lieutenant/Colonel George Martin.

To pass time, the boys often end up providing not only entertainment for themselves, but for the other men in the group; singing songs, songs of home, of women they’d left behind, and popular diddies and songs from back home. Ringo would often than not just provide some rhythm like a drum. Paul and John were often the ones singing though. It was great for morale, and somewhat kept the boys sane. They could always escape through music.

They talked of finding each other once this was all over, since they were all from Liverpool. Get together and form a proper ragtag of a band. This sort of talk also kept them optimistic. Plans of the future, making music, leaving all this carnage and blood and horror behind. During times of waiting for orders, of silence– John and Paul could sometimes be found writing down song lyrics and notes in their battered journals, planning to work on them with actual instruments when they got back to Liverpool. Anyone who wasn’t Ringo or George that went over to the pair during these ‘’sessions,’’ to see what they were doing and be nosy, were always met with a resounding “Fuck off,” “Piss off,” “None of yer business ya nosy little twat”   

I do know they’d be part of D-Day, invasion of France (when liberated, division sent to Paris for recouping, get good food and warm baths, clean set of uniforms. John and Paul end up spending it pretty much alone together, running off from George and Ringo. They share a room, and whenever George and Ringo go to fetch them, they know they’re in when music is playing from inside, thumping about and laughter. George commented on how they’ve both gone batty for each other, and nearly got a thump on the head for that by John. Paul merely cuffed him. Ringo could only laugh, if not come to the defense of George, claiming he’s merely stating the obvious. 

As they grow closer, the fear of losing each other slowly builds; while Paul is better at keeping it in, John isn’t, and after every major battle, usually separated with Paul running off to attend to anyone he can along with the other one or two medics assigned as well– when John finds Paul, regardless if he’s covered in someone else’s blood [god forbid his own] John embraces him. John won’t cry, can’t, but he holds onto Paul as if holding onto a lifeline. Paul let’s him, of course he does, because touching is good and touching that isn’t painful or the reassurance for a dying man, is what Paul finds himself desperate for at the end of it all, if he’s still alive.

Paul would be lying to himself if he wasn’t always looking forward to these comforting, intimate touches from his mate. 

Replacements would be Stuart Sutcliffe, Tara Browne [probably others I can’t exactly think of right now]

As Brian is promoted to  Lieutenant Colonel [and/or killed] replacement in command would be Allen Klein, though this would prove an awful fit as no one in the company actually respects or likes the man (especially Paul) though John at the beginning does take a rather liking to Klein. Until he found Klein trying to physically bully and, en short, dominate Paul; if it hadn’t been for Paul stopping him from going any further than decking the man, John probably would’ve killed him. In the end Allen Klein was moved to another company, with George Martin taking lead as Captain/Brigadier. 

Battle of the Bulge was a low point [for everyone] miserably cold, trees exploding everywhere, soldiers were breaking quicker. On the coldest of nights, in a foxhole, all four boys would huddle close, sharing a poor excuse for a blanket; “Oi, if this hole is lucky ‘nough to get hit, at least we’ll go out together.” “John.” “George?” “Shut up.” 

Paul singing this right after a brutal bombardment by the Germans; an eerie stillness falls as those who are still alive listen, listen to the haunting melody, and dream of going home. A song for those who hadn’t made it, the dead, and, John thinks, listening with weary eyes closed, and a song for them as well– because in a sense, they’re already dead too. They died the moment they signed up.

[randommusersmusings]

Childfree CAN be freeing: A Response to a Response

“'Childfree' may not be as freeing as it sounds”. The name of the article by a mother named Tamara that I accidentally stumbled on, browsing Google with my free (of children) time. The article was meant to be a reply, of sorts, to the Guardian's “Childfree Women” series. I rolled my eyes. Here we go, I thought. Another person who thinks being childfree is an attack on mothers everywhere. Another argument to birth children we don't want to have. Another rebuttal to our reasonings, fears, and wants, trying to strip it all away until we reach the conclusion that we can now just go ahead and start making babies, and you're welcome, by the way, for making up your mind for you. Maybe it's not that bad though, I thought. Besides, it's fair for her to voice how she feels. I clicked on the article. “I wonder where they've put all the articles that make the case for having kids,” it began. I clicked off the article. I'm not subjecting myself to that, I thought. But curiosity killed the cat, as they say, and I have to imagine it's that same curiosity that led to me crawling right back to that article. Still reading, still trying to make sense of it. Where are the articles for having kids? Well, let's see if I can answer that.

“...talks about opting out of having kids for a number of purposes, most of which struck me as excuses rather than really good reasons”. Did... I miss something? Pray tell what is a “good reason” to not want kids? Who do we report to, and do we need a note from our doctors? In any case, one of the reasons (or “excuses”) was the overpopulation of the planet and climate change, and fear of exacerbating both issues by adding more children to it. Tamara's argument was that one can simply counter their offspring's existence by donating to charities and organizations that battle climate change. There's a few things wrong with that. Number 1: we still just don't want kids. Number 2: she's assuming we have money. If we don't have money to spend on children then how do we have money to spend on charities? Now on the other hand, we do have enough wealth and resources on the planet to feed everyone, and to maintain ourselves and any children we see fit to bring into this world. If we only spread the wealth and share the resources. Ah. There's the catch, we're doing exactly the opposite of that. Families are still living in poverty in... everywhere, while the rich get richer. Families already struggle in a world where one medical emergency can shoot a family far down the poverty well, then take the ladder away.

“...also talks about kids being difficult and costly, but isn't anything worthwhile the same”. Not always, actually, but for the sake of argument let's say sure. Not only can I now refer back to my previous point (we have no money) but I'll raise Tamara the problems that can come with wanting to do all the things you find worthwhile. Where is everyone going to get all the money they need to provide a good living situation for their kids and also, say, go to college? Not only would that be incredibly costly in terms of our money, but also in our time. It can be done, sure, but it's hard, and only gets harder the less money, time, and overall privilege we have. If your spouse isn't supportive, if your have a job, if you have no one to watch your kids during the day, if you have no car, need to bus it, and be back in time to make dinner—the list goes on. It can be so, so hard to be able to do everything you want to do with a tight budget, and the time and demands can simply be too much for the person trying to do them. It can be done, we've seen it before, but there's a reason those stories stand out. It's because they don't happen often. So if a uterus-bearer decides they want to prioritize their education and/or career over having children, then more power to them, I say. It's a fair choice for many in a world where's it's near impossible to have it all.

“...insists...it is not selfish for a woman to decide to never have a child”. It's not. “...But I can say that having children does involve selflessness”. Well...in theory, yes. Sadly not always in practice, though. But do continue. “A woman’s body changes for her child, her mind changes for her child; every moment is affected by the existence of that child”. We know. That's what we're trying to avoid. “I, for one, think personal growth involves being more selfless, and if having kids helps with that, then great”. Well sure, unless we don't want to actually raise a kid. I'm sorry but what's so difficult to understand about that? One can grow as a person without forcing a child to come along as a crutch to help one deal with their emotional baggage, thank you. In fact, I would argue it's much more beneficial to do whatever you need to do (therapy, medication, anything) to help manage your struggles, and then bring a child into the world if you see fit. For many people, dealing with their issues as well as their child's issues can hinder their personal growth, rather than help it. Not everyone seems to want to hear this, but children don't “fix” a parent's problems and they don't “fix” the parent. Managing problems is so personal to each individual, and it's frankly dangerous and irresponsible to tell them having a child will help with their personal growth. That's just not always the case.

“Sources please? I don't hear women being told that their only value is domestic”. Well Tamara isn't listening enough, then. Here's the thing about getting sources on something like this: it's awfully hard to do. The problem is it's not something that we have proof of just laying under couch cushions like loose change. It's an attitude, an idea, ingrained into society. In the way we talk, in our attitudes, our assumptions. How often do we hear about the lazy stay at home mom trope? Now if this has never been an issue for Tamara, then great! No seriously, that's good to hear, because that's how it should be! But the problem is, that's not everyone's experience, and it isn't the norm, either. Society has this unspoken assumption that a woman is going to stay home, take care of house and kids, and split precisely zero of these responsibilities with her husband, whom she also takes care of. Children assumed to be female at birth are pretty much trained to take care of the house and the men in it once they're old enough to stand. How many families leave the menfolk to watch football or drink a beer and talk while the women (including children) cook, clean up, and otherwise serve the men, before they are allowed to enjoy themselves, too? Don't ever try to tell me that women and feminized people aren't valued for their domestic contributions more-so than men, and that there's no pressure on them to prioritize that over everything else. Just don't.

Now, this next point...it made me angry, I won't lie. The author recounts how a couple of women writing in didn't want to have children, as their families were alcoholics and neither wanted to pass on their addictive genes. To that: “Having a loved one who has struggled with addiction and has now been in recovery for many years, I see that the lessons he can pass on to his kids – whether they have addictive personalities or not – are so, so valuable. He is more the inspiring person for the difficulties he has been through and overcome, and he is evidence of the good that can come out of suffering”. I...how dare she? How dare she diminish those women's experiences like that? Listen, I'm glad her loved one is doing well, okay? I am. But I'm sure he would be heartbroken to watch any of his kids go through what he did, knowing how hard it was for him. Also, to be frank, not everyone does overcome those struggles. Not having experience with addictions myself, I'm reluctant to talk too much about this. I haven't seen or lived with this. But please, if you read how someone grew up with parents struggling with addiction, and talking about not wanting to pass that struggle on to their own kids, don't counter with “A world devoid of suffering doesn't help kids –teaching them how to move on from it is what counts”. It's tone-deaf, dismissive, and sickening.

“Yes, there are burdens associated with being a parent”. We still know that. We still want to avoid those. “But there is also the freedom of choosing to love, choosing to live for others...to be less self-seeking”. Oh my God. Choosing to love? Excuse you? Is this that “you don't know real love until you have children” thing? Do I, She Without Children, actually hate my parents, my pets, and my brother, because I don't have the love of a child? Man I hate that argument. It's truly pointless. Many childfree people are perfectly capable of feeling love, as is...any human being out there, really. Also, “choosing to live for others” doesn't necessarily have to mean bringing kids into the world. If one wants to one can adopt a kid already here and waiting for a good home. One can volunteer at or donate clothing and food to a homeless shelter. One can donate to charities, if you have the funds to. Adopt a pet from a shelter. There are so many ways someone can make other's lives richer, and procreating isn't the be all end all to that selflessness. Which again, doesn't always happen. “If you ask me, there’s still a very strong case for motherhood”. There is, and that's if you actually want to have children.

Well. There we have it. “I wonder where they've put all the articles that make the case for having kids”. Do I have an answer? I think I do. Go and read her article. I'll wait. Back? Good. Now, in that whole article, the tone implies that people with a uterus definitely want to have kids. Like the default is just “you want kids”. Of course you do. What do you mean you don't? Why don't you want kids? There it is. When women and feminized people don't want kids, that's an attitude that's outside of the norm society has imposed on us. We don't want kids, so now we have to argue out way through an invisible judge and jury to give us permission to feel that way. The pro-motherhood sentiment is already all around us, in societal pressures, in the media we consume, in our medical practices. Uterus-bearers are often turned down for medical sterilization on the grounds that they “might change their minds”, or worse, their husbands might want kids. This line has been used on people who aren't even married. Our bodies are already forbidden from being ours on the grounds they belong to men. Sometimes hypothetical men we haven't met yet! That's why it's time, finally, to give childfree people the platform we need to let our voices be heard. To explain something that we should be able to say in five words: “I just don't want to”. So instead of counter-pointing and arguing and trying to get people to change their minds about deeply personal decisions about their own bodies, just stop, and try listening to us instead.

[semperintrepida]

The Emissary

The city of Korinth was loud and dirty, and, if Phoibe thought about it, a little bit scary. Back in Athens, there were soldiers everywhere to keep the peace; but this place had no soldiers — just mean-looking thugs all over.

Phoibe sat on a stack of bricks in the agora. Aspasia once told her "a city runs on its market," so she'd come here first to get a feel for the place. The market stalls were full of wares, and both patrons and merchants looked like they had drachmae in their purses. But no one here seemed very happy. Even the musicians played one sad song after another.

Aspasia had sent her here to deliver a message to Anthousa. Anthousa was a hetaera, like Aspasia once was, which meant she was a prostitute who was paid to know a great many things, even if Phoibe didn't know exactly what all those things were. Anthousa's house was in the Porneion. Phoibe had figured out that word meant a place where prostitutes lived. She'd learned a lot of new words while working for Aspasia. Some of them had come with explanations, but the rest Phoibe had to puzzle out for herself. If Kassandra were here, Phoibe could just ask her what it all meant, but Kassandra wasn't here. Not yet.

A buzzy feeling started up in Phoibe's chest, as if she'd swallowed a bee, or some other fluttery kind of bug, and she tugged at the bundle slung over her shoulder that held her clothes and other things she needed for the trip. There was another reason Aspasia had sent her to Korinth: to tell Anthousa that Kassandra would be arriving soon. That meant Phoibe would get to see Kassandra soon too. The buzzy feeling grew, until she couldn't sit still any longer. She jumped to her feet. She had to find Anthousa.

To do that, she'd have to ask for help, and she'd have to ask carefully. Adults were already wary enough of strangers, and she didn't want to add annoyance to their suspicion, or she'd never get any answers.

The first part of asking carefully was choosing the right person, so she wandered the market, keeping an eye out for someone who appeared nice but also wasn't in a hurry. The market wasn't even half the size of the one in Athens. There were so many chickens running around the stalls, and piles of pots everywhere. There were even chickens standing on top of pots. Then she saw a young woman selling baskets gently nudge a few hens away from her wares, and Phoibe knew then she'd found the right person.

The second part of asking carefully was being polite. Phoibe presented herself before the young woman and said, "Excuse me, which way is the Porneion?" Kassandra never had to say "excuse me," but that was one of her powers. People who weren't made out of solid muscles, like Phoibe, had to resort to tricks like being polite if they needed something done.

The woman's brows came together. "Aren't you a little young to want to go there?" she asked.

"I'm supposed to deliver a message."

"Really." The woman didn't look convinced, but she lifted her arm and gestured to the east. "It's that way, just past the main road. But be careful, that place is crawling with the Monger's men."

The Monger. Phoibe didn't know who that was, but his name had that same scary-but-you-kinda-wanted-to-laugh-at-it feeling about it that the Cyclops's did. Of course, if anyone ever did laugh at the Monger's name, he'd probably kill them. This place was beginning to feel like Kephallonia, but richer.

"Thank you," she said, before setting out in the direction the woman had pointed. The market stalls ended at the road, which was wide and paved with stone. Then she got her first good look at the Porneion.

It was fancy. Really fancy, like Perikles's house in Athens. The buildings had three, or even four floors stacked on top of each other; and banners hung everywhere, from balconies and windows, pink ones with a Pegasus on them. She crossed the road, careful to stay out of the way of the roaming thugs, and took a seat near the entrance with the most people walking around. If she sat still and quiet, no one would pay her any mind.

The first thing she noticed was that a lot more men were coming and going from the Porneion than women, and most of them were leaving as quickly as they'd arrived.

"I only have eyes for the hetaerae, Stephanos," she overheard one man say to another as they walked past her on their way out. "I won't waste my time if Anthousa's taken them all with her."

Her heart sank. If Anthousa wasn't here, where was she?

She scratched the back of her neck. Anthousa was the most famous of the hetaerae, and the hetaerae were the best prostitutes in the Porneion, so Anthousa probably had the nicest house.

She half-walked, half-skipped around the outside wall of the Porneion. There were thugs standing watch at every entrance, but they ignored her as she passed, just a little girl at play. She studied the houses, until she found the largest one with the most beautiful garden.

She walked up to the entrance and peeked inside. An older woman stood in the foyer, sweeping old flower petals up from the mosaics on the floors.

Phoibe stepped inside and asked, "Excuse me, is this Anthousa's house?"

The woman paused her sweeping. "She's not here, child. And she took the hetaerae with her."

"Why?"

"You aren't from around here, are you?"

Phoibe shook her head no.

"It's the Monger," the woman whispered. "He's taken over the city, and now he wants the hetaerae and their money."

Phoibe started whispering, too. "I'm supposed to deliver her a message. Do you know where she is?"

The woman hesitated, and Phoibe thought she might not answer. But then she said, "Go up the road that leads to the Temple of Aphrodite, and look for the Spring of Peirene along the way. Someone there can help you."

The Temple of Aphrodite was on top of the Akrokorinth, the hill that rose high above the city. Getting there was a long and tiring walk up a steep and rocky road, and just when Phoibe started thinking about looking for a place to stop and rest, she spotted an oasis of green trees and graceful columns tucked into the side of the hill.

Her curiosity getting the best of her, she followed a path to the trees, and discovered they surrounded a spring and a small courtyard. Graceful forms glided within. At first, Phoibe thought they might be forest nymphs, but they turned out to be mortal women.

Phoibe had never seen so many women so beautiful. Their clothes were expensive, as fashionable as what the richest women in Athens wore, and they moved like dancers. Even their voices were pretty.

Surely these were the hetaerae.

One of them noticed Phoibe, and stepped away from the others to greet her. She had dark skin, and her eyes were bright and lively over sculpted cheekbones. "Is there something you're looking for, little one?" she asked.

"I'm here to deliver a message to Anthousa."

"A message from whom?"

"Aspasia."

The woman's eyes widened before she smiled. "A messenger from Aspasia is always welcome among the hetaerae. If you'll wait here, I'll see if Anthousa can see you now."

It wasn't long before the hetaera returned. "Please, come with me," she said.

Phoibe followed her to a set of stairs that seemed to disappear into the hillside. At the bottom was a large chamber, brightly lit with lamps and strewn with flower petals. A dark-haired woman in a red dress awaited them.

"Thank you," she said, dismissing the other hetaera, who bowed her head and left the room. "Damalis tells me you bring a message from Aspasia."

"Only if your name is Anthousa."

The woman laughed. "I am indeed Anthousa. And you are?"

"Phoibe... of Athens."

"Well met, Phoibe of Athens."

Phoibe pulled a small scroll sealed with wax from the pouch that hung at her belt and handed it over.

Anthousa opened the scroll. From the sounds she made as she read it, she was pleased by what she saw. She rolled up the scroll and smiled. "You've brought me hope, young Phoibe, that my Monger problem might soon be solved. Aspasia says you can tell me all about the mercenary they call the Eagle Bearer."

"Her name is Kassandra. No one can beat her in combat, and her eagle came from Zeus himself."

Anthousa raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? She sounds formidable."

"She's the bravest person I know, and she'll help you... if you help her."

"A woman with a head for business, then. Do you know why she's coming here?"

Phoibe shook her head and said, "No." She only knew that Kassandra had spent the winter in Argolis. "She'll be here soon, though. Tomorrow, or the day after."

"Very well, we'll await the arrival of your Kassandra." Anthousa's eyes settled on the bundle slung across Phoibe's shoulder. "Have you a place to stay in Korinth?"

"Not yet."

"Then you shall stay with us. Let it never be said that Anthousa failed to offer hospitality to someone in Aspasia's employ." She swept her arm towards the back of the chamber, where Phoibe could see a slim doorway lit with torches.

"Now come. We'll make sure you feel at home... and then you can tell me all the news from Athens."

.oOo.

Phoibe was sitting in a tree near the city gate when she spotted Kassandra riding up the road from the Port of Kechries, just as Aspasia had predicted Kassandra would. That's what Aspasia did: she made what she called "informed predictions," and she hired people like Phoibe to watch and listen and tell her about the things they saw and heard. That information gave Aspasia the power to see the future.

It was afternoon already, and the sunlight was that shiny yellow of springtime that made everything feel green and new. From her perch in the tree, Phoibe watched Kassandra pull Phobos up to the stable and start haggling with the stablehand over the boarding fee.

What Phoibe wanted to do was to hop out of the tree and run over to them, but Anthousa had asked her not to tell Kassandra where the hetaerae were hiding. They wanted to see Kassandra at work before revealing themselves, and Phoibe only agreed because it meant she'd also get to see Kassandra at work. She never had, not really, because Kassandra always made her stay home whenever it looked like the fighting might get bloody. Well, with the number of thugs in Korinth, there was a good chance Kassandra would end up using her spear on one of them, and that was something Phoibe had waited her whole life to see.

She followed Kassandra from a distance, not wanting to chance being seen, and she could only hope that Ikaros would keep her secret. She glanced at the sky, but saw only blue skies and one lonely, puffy cloud.

Even from far away, Kassandra stood out in a crowd, and Phoibe had an easy time tracking her. Kassandra was tall — taller than most men, even — and seemed even bigger now that she had started wearing armor. Phoibe still wasn't used to seeing her in it.

Kassandra was, like a mountain was. She towered over everything around her, as strong and hard as stone, and anyone who got in her way would merely bounce off her sides. Except she wasn't like that with Phoibe. She was softer, quicker to laugh and smile, more patient, more willing to teach, and only Phoibe got to see this Kassandra. It was Phoibe's secret to keep, because no one else could know Kassandra wasn't always the toughest person in the room.

Especially in places like this, as Kassandra walked alone into the Porneion. The eyes of all the men and Monger thugs were instantly upon her, but all of them kept their distance. Phoibe crouched down behind a high pile of pillows and watched Kassandra approach one of the women lounging in the pavilion.

"I'm looking for Anthousa. Know where I can find her?"

"Anthousa?" The woman stood and moved close to Kassandra, reaching out and trailing her hand from the center of Kassandra's chestplate down to her belt. "I could be anyone for you, misthios. I charge less than the hetaerae, but do I ever know my way around a hay-bed."

Phoibe wrinkled her nose. Part of her wanted to know what the woman meant, and another part of her really didn't.

"So her name means something to you," Kassandra said, ignoring the woman's touch.

"Anthousa? They say she and her girls all work as one, but Anthousa's special. She talks — they listen. And the last time she talked, they all went up to the Temple of Aphrodite with her." The woman tugged on Kassandra's belt and slid up against her. "Now, are you sure you don't want a bit of fun? I haven't been with someone... skilled in forever."

Kassandra gently pulled herself from the woman's grasp, saying, "Not interested, sorry," with a smile at her lips that faded as soon as she turned away. Phoibe ducked behind the pillows and curled into a little ball so she wouldn't be seen. She waited several breaths, then peeked out over the edge. Kassandra was already on her way out of the Porneion.

Phoibe let her go. She'd beat Kassandra to the Temple of Aphrodite, because there was no way she was going to walk up that hill again when there were wagons to sneak rides on.

Back at the crossroads, she passed on wagons full of logs, bricks, wool, and flax. The best wagons were ones full of hay, like the one rolling by right now. She darted across the road, and when her hands hit the back of the wagon bed, she pulled up as hard as she could and swung herself over the side, sinking down as the hay swallowed her up. A little itchy, but the ride would be worth it.

There was a crack in the boards, and through it she could see behind the wagon: the dirt road, people trudging up and down the hill, and then, a flash of familiar crimson and gold.

Hidden inside the pile of hay, Phoibe waved and mouthed the words "bye, bye" at Kassandra as the wagon passed, then settled back for the trip up the hill. Even though Phoibe usually wished she was bigger — and she didn't even ask for all of Kassandra's muscles, just most of them — sometimes it was worth being small for all the sneaky things it let her do.

Sometimes.

.oOo.

At the top of the Akrokorinth, Phoibe could see the entire world from the Temple of Aphrodite's altar. Down below was the city, then Athens in the distance, the islands beyond it, and the sea beyond that. The temple was big — not Parthenon big, but the view more than made up for it. There were flowers everywhere, and sculptures of men and women that looked like they'd come to life at any moment, which would be really interesting if it happened because their bodies were entwined in all sorts of embraces.

Sneaking a ride had given her such a head start on Kassandra that she had plenty of time to check out the grounds. She avoided the Monger thugs loitering on the temple's steps, and wandered under the flower-covered canopies along the edge of the grounds where the worshippers rested on rugs and pillows. The air had that temple smell: flowers and incense, this one heavy on the flowers. It made Phoibe want to sneeze.

Then she found some bushes in the corner of the temple courtyard that weren't too sharp and pokey, and she crawled inside them to watch the entrance and the canopies without being seen. She shifted a branch aside to keep it from digging into her thigh, then sat back to wait.

Waiting was what Phoibe did. She'd been waiting ever since she could remember. First she waited for her mater and pater until she realized they weren't ever coming back. Then she waited whenever Kassandra said "not until you're older." Now she waited for things to happen that Aspasia found interesting, and waiting for something to happen meant someone else was in control of making that thing happen.

She wanted to make things happen for herself, like Kassandra and Aspasia did, like adults did, so that instead of hiding in a bush, watching some thugs harass a pair of worshippers, she could be like Kassandra was now, striding up to the thugs and telling them, "No one's paying you anything."

The buzzy feeling in Phoibe's chest was back, and it grew as she watched Kassandra deck one of the thugs with a punch straight to his nose. Then Kassandra turned and faced the next one: a balding man wielding a wooden cudgel. Baldy swung wildly, and Kassandra sidestepped it and caught his arm, twisting it down savagely. Phoibe heard it snap, and winced.

Baldy cried out in pain and dropped the cudgel, only for Kassandra to catch it out of the air and clout the side of his head with it.

Phoibe's hands grasped at the branches in front of her, and she nearly tumbled out of the bushes. She sat back, one hand curling around the hilt of the dagger she wore at her belt. Knowing it was there was a comfort.

Two other thugs had been standing on the temple steps when the fight began, but now they drew their swords and charged at Kassandra. She stood there, tapping the end of the cudgel into her palm as she waited. Was she really going to fight them both with just a wooden stick?

The first thug was short and shrimpy looking, the second a big brute. The brute chopped his sword down, as if trying to split Kassandra like a piece of firewood, and she stepped aside and smashed his wrist with the cudgel before dodging a swing from the shrimpy one's sword. It was like Kassandra knew what the thugs were going to do before they did it. Perhaps she also had the power to make informed predictions, to know that she needed to duck under the brute's big fists before she could kick out his knee and slam the cudgel against his head as he fell, or that the shrimpy one was going to swing his sword this way so if she dodged that way she'd have a clear opening to hit him, boom and boom, sending him off to dreamland along with his friend.

Then Kassandra stood alone, surrounded by unconscious bodies, and it had all happened so quickly that Phoibe only remembered her as a blur. Phoibe blew out the breath she'd been holding in relief, but she also felt a vague disappointment.

The worshippers Kassandra had saved from the thugs ran up to thank her, and they conversed too quietly for Phoibe to hear. Kassandra kept moving her left arm around as she talked, stretching out her shoulder. Maybe she'd injured it in the fight.

Kassandra kept the conversation brief, and whatever she'd learned was enough for her to turn around and start walking back down the hill instead of continuing to the temple. Hopefully she'd be heading for the Spring of Peirene.

If not, Phoibe was totally ready to cheat and tell her about it. She'd kept Anthousa's secret long enough.

.oOo.

Kassandra was already talking to Anthousa by the time Phoibe snuck up behind her and interrupted their conversation with a "Surprise!"

Kassandra turned around, her shoulders jerking back and her eyebrows raising. "Phoibe?" she said. She looked Phoibe over once, then checked again, her eyes full of questions.

"Aspasia sent me," Phoibe explained.

"But here? Korinth isn't safe."

"I had to tell Anthousa you were coming. Aspasia taught me a new word: 'emissary.' That's me."

"And now Kassandra and I have met," Anthousa said.

"See? This is easy. And now I can help you, Kassandra."

"There's a killer on the loose in a city with no morals to begin with," Kassandra said, frowning. "You can't just follow me around like in Kephallonia."

Phoibe blinked. This wasn't the reaction she'd expected. "I made it all the way here, didn't I?" A little bit of doubt began wriggling inside her, slippery like a fish.

At first, Kassandra didn't say anything. Then her lips turned up in a tiny smile. "Yes, you always find a way."

Anthousa touched Kassandra's forearm. "We need to move inside, Kassandra. We're not the only ones watching. Come with me, and we'll talk."

"Can I come?" Phoibe asked.

"As long as you're quiet," Kassandra said.

Anthousa led them both down the stairs into the chamber dug into the hillside. Once there, she turned and asked Kassandra, "To what do I owe your visit?"

"Alkibiades told me about you."

That made Anthousa laugh. "Did he? Go on."

"I'm looking for a woman from Sparta — a runaway, long ago. She may have gone by the name of Myrrine."

"Who's that?" Phoibe asked.

Kassandra turned to her, lowering her voice and speaking quickly: "She's my mother."

So Kassandra was searching for her mother here in Korinth. "Is that why you left Kephallonia?"

Kassandra's voice sharpened with irritation. "What did I tell you about talking?"

Phoibe shrugged, but the fish in her belly did a little flip. She hadn't meant to be annoying. She looked at Kassandra again, closely this time, and saw dark smudges under Kassandra's eyes. She looked tired.

"I see," Anthousa said. "There will be time to respond to your question, but that time isn't now."

"That's not the answer I'm looking for," Kassandra said, crossing her arms.

"It's the only one you'll get until I've bargained a proper exchange. I've become quite the businesswoman, after all."

Phoibe wasn't sure if Anthousa could be trusted, and she didn't like her unhelpful response to Kassandra's question either. "You better be telling the truth. Kassandra can get really mad."

Kassandra gave Phoibe a hard look. "Why don't you go play?" she said, in a fake-nice voice that she'd never used on Phoibe before. "Let me and Anthousa talk."

Kassandra wasn't just unhappy to see Phoibe — she didn't even want Phoibe around. Something squeezed Phoibe's heart painfully. "If you say so," she said, letting her defeat show in her slumping shoulders. Then she went and climbed up the steps, and her feet felt like they'd sunk in the sticky clay pits she'd seen all over town.

Something was definitely wrong with Kassandra. Maybe that's why Aspasia had sent her here, because she knew Kassandra needed Phoibe's help.

Phoibe kicked a pebble hard and watched it skitter across the courtyard. It made her feel better. So did thinking about ways she could help Kassandra without her knowing.

There were a few bushes around the courtyard big enough for her to hide in. It was time to get sneaky.

.oOo.

Phoibe had a plan.

It was a good plan, too. Anthousa had asked Kassandra to help one of her girls, Damalis, who had a client who'd gone bad. Timaios was his name, and he was asking too many questions and making threats. Kassandra was supposed to find out what his problem was.

Damalis had introduced Phoibe to Anthousa when she first arrived at the Spring. She was nice, and helping her would also help Kassandra.

Listening in on their conversation told Phoibe that Timaios's house was near the pottery district. And Phoibe already knew where that was. She could get there before Kassandra and do some spying. Check the place out and see what this Timaios was like.

The houses next to the pottery district were the rich part of town. Phoibe dressed the part: a nice embroidered tunic, necklace of polished stones, and tooled leather wraps around both wrists. Her coin pouch and dagger hung from her belt. She felt fancy. She felt like a real emissary.

Finding Timaios's house was as easy as asking the people walking around. It was a small, two story building near a fountain, and Phoibe found a nice hiding spot among some large pots under a window. She could hear Timaios inside, rummaging through his papers and muttering to himself, "If I don't get it tonight I'm a dead man."

More rustling. "Deinomenes better have that fucking deed."

She heard something metal strike against wood. "Pig farm. Always at the pig farm, he says. What does he do with those pigs? Fuck 'em?"

This man was crazy.

She crawled out from behind the pots and ran up the walkway, not too far so she could see when Kassandra was coming. She ducked behind a tree and waited.

"Hey! Kassandra! Over here," she whispered as soon as she spotted her.

Startled, Kassandra's head turned instantly in her direction. Then she walked over and crouched next to Phoibe behind the tree.

"It's about time you showed up."

Kassandra shushed her. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard Damalis talking about her crazy client earlier and I wanted to help."

"What did I tell you about this place being dangerous?" Her voice held that hard edge again.

"I know, that's why I've been careful."

Kassandra sighed. "Well, you're here now. I suppose I could use you."

"See? That was my plan all along."

"I'm going to talk to this guy and see what he has to say."

"I've been here for a while. Spying. And I heard him mumbling to himself."

Kassandra raised an eyebrow.

Phoibe went on. "He's weird. But I can tell you what he said."

"Let's hear it then."

"Let me think..." She dug into her memories, trying to put his odd mutterings together. "He's supposed to meet someone called Deinomenes tonight at a pig farm. And he wants something called a deed from them. He's worried that if he doesn't get it, he's a dead man."

Kassandra put a hand on Phoibe's shoulder and smiled the first real smile Phoibe had seen her give since she'd gotten to Korinth. "That's good information. Thank you, Phoibe the spy."

Phoibe suddenly felt bright and glowy inside. Like someone had lit all the torches in a dark temple at once. "Not bad, huh?"

"Now it's time to act. Listen closely." Kassandra's hand was solid and heavy on Phoibe's shoulder. "You sneak inside and see what you can find in his house while I distract him."

"Quiet like a mouse."

"Good. But if you get caught, run. Right out the door. We'll meet here afterwards. Promise?"

Phoibe nodded. "I promise. Let's go."

They went to the house. Kassandra leaned up against the doorway and crossed her arms, waiting until Timaios noticed her. Phoibe crouched down and snuck around the corner of the house, until she reached an open window.

She heard his voice drift out from it as he spoke to Kassandra. "Do I know you?"

"No, but I know you, Timaios." Kassandra's voice was the one she used to sound dangerous, the one like a far-off thunderstorm, all dark and rumbly.

Phoibe lifted herself over the windowsill, slowly and silently, and dropped down on the other side.

Timaios had moved to the door, facing off with Kassandra. "If Myron sent you, tell him I was going to pay him back this very night!"

"No one sent me. We need to talk."

Phoibe glanced around the room. The furnishings were old and rather shabby. He didn't seem all that rich, actually. There was a writing desk against one wall, a long table in the center of the room, and a doorway in the back that led to other rooms and a set of stairs to the upper floor. She started with the writing desk.

The top of the desk was cluttered with papers, but Phoibe noticed a worn and creased letter poking out from the pile. She swiped it, along with a coin purse. She focused on being quick and silent, but still heard bits of conversation.

"How do you know that! What else do you have on me?" Timaios's voice trembled.

Kassandra ignored his question. "What do you think will happen if I keep you from meeting Deinomenes tonight?"

"What do you want from me?"

Phoibe's eyes swept over the long table. There were two lamps sitting on it, one at each end, along with a set of scales and an iron poker. Something about the iron poker scratched at her thoughts, and she picked it up and stuck it into her belt next to her dagger.

"Either I hurt Damalis, or I'm killed!"

"That's not love, it's weakness," Kassandra said.

Phoibe looked the room over one last time. A glint of metal caught her eye: something long and shiny leaning up against the corner. Oooh... It was a sword, sharp and silver. Her hands were already full, but if she could take that prize...

She slipped the letter down the front of her tunic to keep it safe, then grabbed the sword and climbed up to the windowsill. The sword was heavy and she moved awkwardly. As she swung herself through the opening, she heard the blade of the sword knock against the window's frame, and she froze in panic. Go! something shouted in her mind. She pitched herself over the edge, landing in a heap but somehow keeping the sword from clattering against the ground. Then she clambered to her feet and began running.

No one was shouting behind her, and once she'd reached the meeting spot she didn't see anyone either. She stood there, breathing heavily, her skin buzzing from her scalp down to her toes.

She was still breathing hard when Kassandra arrived a short while later. "You all right?" she asked.

Phoibe nodded.

"Let's see what you found."

Phoibe laid it all out on a nearby table: the iron poker, the coin purse, the sword, and the letter.

Kassandra stiffened. "I've seen that iron poker before."

A sudden realization hit Phoibe. "He didn't have a furnace in his house! So why does he have this?"

"It's not used for fire... It's a weapon. For torture. I saw someone use it in Phokis. Someone huge."

"Huge like the Monger?"

"Just like the Monger."

Phoibe nudged the coin purse with her finger. "He had this, but the rest of his things aren't very nice, though. If he's rich, why have all that junk?"

"He must have just gotten paid. Maybe he spends all his money on Damalis."

"I also found this sword and this letter." Phoibe pointed to one, then the other.

Kassandra seemed surprised by all the items on the table. "You've turned into a good thief."

Phoibe straightened herself up and squared her shoulders. "Borrowing is just one of my many talents," she said in her best Kassandra voice.

Kassandra laughed, her voice rich and smoky, like the incense in the Temple of Athena that was Phoibe's favorite back in Athens. "Well then, Phoibe-of-many-talents, what does the letter say?"

She picked the letter up and waved it at Kassandra. "I haven't forgotten what you taught me," she said, as she unfolded the paper and began to read it. The words were ugly. She frowned. "It's mean. It says he'll get hurt if he keeps doing things wrong."

"I thought as much."

"There's more. It says he needs to bring Damalis to a place here in Korinth. There's directions. What do you think it is?"

"Don't know... But I'll find out." Kassandra took the letter and tucked it inside her belt pouch.

Phoibe bounced on her heels, ready to go. "I'll be right behind you."

"Not this time." Kassandra knelt, facing her. "Go to Damalis and wait for me there."

"Aww, please? I'll be careful!"

"Phoibe, I appreciate all you've done, but I need you to do what I say. This is one of the Monger's hideouts. It'll be dangerous, and I won't risk you."

Timaios's house had been dangerous, too. Phoibe crossed her arms sullenly. "Okay, fine."

"I'll come find you after," Kassandra said, and then she was gone, off to make something happen while Phoibe waited yet again.

Then Phoibe had a sneaky thought, and it got bigger and bigger, pushing her in the direction Kassandra went instead of the way back to Damalis.

She'd helped Kassandra once without her knowing today. She could do it again.

.oOo.

It was full dark when Kassandra finally scaled the wall that surrounded the Monger's house, and climbed up on its roof, and disappeared over the edge of a balcony on the second floor. Phoibe was stuck watching her from a hiding spot in some bushes outside the wall. She couldn't get any closer; guards watched the entrance and patrolled the grounds, and they looked even meaner than the thugs in the other parts of town.

The house was dark. Phoibe listened as hard as she could. At first, there were lots of footsteps pacing all around. But as time passed, Phoibe noticed that what had sounded like many footsteps began to dwindle, until there were only two distinct sets, and then one, and then none, and then the guard standing at the entrance abruptly turned around and left his post.

He never came back.

Then she heard pottery breaking, a sharp sound that cut through the darkness, and she took a chance, creeping out of the bushes to peek around the wall. The house's small courtyard was still and silent. Someone had lit a torch, and a pool of light spilled out from within the house. She slipped through the entrance and darted across the open, heading for the bushes beside the lit doorway, but before she could crawl into them, a hand grabbed her by the arm and pulled her off her feet.

"Gotcha!" said a man's voice.

Heart pounding, breath gasping, she had to decide: draw her dagger or don't. Her right arm hurt from the man's grip around it as he dragged her towards the torchlight. Who had lit the torch? She'd have to use her weak hand to stab him, and she'd only have one chance to do it. Who'd lit the torch? Gods, let it be Kassandra.

He tossed her through the doorway. "All right you little shit, who sent you?"

She landed hard on the floor and slid to a stop at a pair of feet. Greaves that didn't match, fabric in familiar crimson and grey. Kassandra. Phoibe scrambled around behind her, and in that instant she understood what miracles really were.

Kassandra looked down, her face unreadable. "Run. Now!" She was already reaching for her spear.

Phoibe launched herself at the doorway, dodging away from the man's lunging grasp, and then she was running, through the courtyard, onto the road, running until her chest burned fire, knowing that she'd handed Kassandra a mess of trouble to clean up behind her.

.oOo.

Phoibe expected Kassandra to yell. To be angry. It was almost worse that she didn't do either of those things.

They'd given Damalis the letter they'd taken from her client's house, and now it was just the two of them standing next to the Spring of Peirene.

She kicked her sandal against a crack in the stones. If she looked up, she'd see Kassandra wearing the same unreadable face she'd worn back at the house.

"Kassandra, I'm sorry."

Kassandra sat down heavily on the edge of the spring's basin, saying nothing. Her armor was dotted with dark spots, and a smudge remained on the back of her hand. Phoibe knew those dark spots in the torchlight would be red in the daylight.

She chewed at her lip. She didn't know what else to do in the silence.

It was a long time before Kassandra finally said, "So am I."

Phoibe stood there miserably.

"I know you want to help me—"

She nodded.

"—but I need to be able to trust you, and now I'm not so sure I can."

Tears tried to come out of Phoibe's eyes, but she squeezed her eyes tight until they went away.

Kassandra reached for her hand and gently pulled her closer. "Now you know how quickly things can go bad, even when you think you've got them under control."

"I didn't even see him."

"I didn't either. Got all the other guards but him." Kassandra lifted Phoibe's chin with her fingers. "You're turning into a good spy and an even better thief. I can use that kind of help, but only if I can trust that you'll do what I tell you to — even if you don't agree."

"I will."

She brushed a stray bit of hair out of Phoibe's eyes. "I'm glad you're all right." Then she stood up, and said, "Good night, Phoibe," before walking off into the dark, leaving Phoibe alone with thoughts as many and scattered as the stars above.

.oOo.

It was easy for Phoibe to keep herself busy. The hetaerae had enough errands for her that after a couple of days of work, she'd collected a nice little pile of coin. She wasn't avoiding Kassandra, not exactly. She just didn't want to get in the way of whatever business Kassandra was plotting with Anthousa. Something about burning things in a warehouse, and making the Monger mad.

She'd just come back from a sunrise delivery to the Temple of Apollo when Anthousa herself approached her with a job. "Deliver these to the theatre," she said, handing Phoibe a bundle of scrolls. "We'll be hosting a show later today."

Phoibe peeked at one of the scrolls as soon as she could. It was a playbill. The Monger has been a pox on Korinth for too long, she read. The Eagle Bearer will bring him to justice, here when Helios reaches his zenith...

Kassandra wasn't just going to poke the monster, she was going to punch him in the nose. And then kill him.

The rest of the morning passed by so slowly Phoibe was sure the Monger had plotted with Helios to delay his doom. She was excited and nervous at the same time, and waiting just made her more excited and more nervous.

Phoibe still hadn't seen the Monger, but everyone she'd talked to used the same word to describe him: huge. Huge made Phoibe think of a man the size of a bull. Like the Minotaur. Could Kassandra kill a man like that? Thinking about it made Phoibe chew the side of her fingernail. Kassandra had killed the Cyclops, but no one had called him huge, and no one had said he was much of a fighter either. All these thoughts combined into one large, nervous thought.

She wished she knew where Kassandra was.

Word of the "show" spread fast after she'd delivered the scrolls. By the time the sun blazed high overhead, she came back to a theatre nearly full of people. She squeezed into a spot a few rows from the front, and watched the crowd wait restlessly for something to happen. Rich and poor alike had come to see the Monger die.

A murmur passed through the crowd; Kassandra had arrived, and Phoibe watched her stroll onto the stage with Anthousa. Kassandra didn't look nervous at all. She was wearing her I-have-a-plan face, which was one of Phoibe's favorites. It made her look like one of the statues of heroes that lined the way to the Parthenon.

"That's the Eagle Bearer?" she heard someone say behind her. "She's going to get fucking crushed by the Monger."

Phoibe pressed her lips together tightly to keep from telling them how wrong they were. Kassandra would show them soon enough.

Another murmur swept across the crowd, louder this time. The Monger was here. Phoibe craned her neck to get a look at him. He was a lot bigger than Kassandra, but he was no Minotaur. She blew out a breath in relief.

He stomped into the theatre, flanked by two other warriors wearing shiny armor. He'd brought help? That felt like cheating to Phoibe, but Kassandra didn't seem to care.

The Monger wore no armor, probably so everyone could see all of his massive muscles. He didn't seem to have a neck. He raised a large mace, shaking it at Anthousa and the crowd. "You wanted a fucking show? I'll bring you a show!"

Kassandra stepped forward, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword. "I wanted you to see the face of every person you've wronged."

He pointed his mace at her. "I'll cover their faces with that precious blood of yours. Just like I shoulda done with Myrrine."

That made Kassandra's eyes go wide, then narrow. "You... knew my mother?"

"I enjoyed squeezing my hand around her throat, but I'm gonna enjoy killing you even more. You're gonna die slow, bitch, and then I'm going to pay your mother back by bringing her your fucking head."

"Not if I bring her yours first." Her voice made Phoibe shiver.

Kassandra drew her sword and spear, and things happened all at once: Anthousa fled the stage, the Monger's guards raised their shields and charged at Kassandra, and the Monger pounded his chest and followed them into the fight.

The man to Kassandra's right rushed her, and she somehow tore his shield out of his hands, then threw it at the man to her left. He went sprawling while she turned back to face the first man and the Monger, then backpedaled to keep them both in front of her. She circled around, staying away from the big mace, and she blocked a swipe from the guard's sword before sticking him low in the belly with her spear. She kicked him free from it, hard, and he landed at the crowd's feet in front of where Phoibe was sitting, crying out in pain.

Phoibe had never heard anything like it: a tight, high-pitched wail that she felt behind her eyeballs and inside her teeth.

A shield flew into the crowd, turning its murmur into a gasp. People began to shout encouraging words. Kassandra was winning them over.

She'd worked herself around so she faced the remaining guard and the Monger at an angle. The Monger's mace swung down, but Kassandra was no longer there, and the crash of heavy iron against marble sent the sound of shattering stone echoing around the theater.

The guard swung his sword, and Kassandra used her spear to deflect it and create an opening to chop her own sword down into his neck, and the crowd noise rose like an ocean wave as everyone seemed to realize at the same time that Kassandra might actually be able to pull this off.

Only the Monger was left. He swung his mace. Again, Kassandra was one move ahead, and it missed. She let him chase her around the stage, and then she did something strange: she smiled.

He screamed curses at her. His mace missed again, crushing more stone, and Phoibe could hear him breathing heavily all the way from her seat. Kassandra's spear flashed out and opened up a cut on his chest. He swung. Missed. And she cut him again, and again.

Kassandra was playing with him, Phoibe realized, the way a lynx would play with a rat instead of killing it. The white marble stage turned pink, then darker shades of red, as she sliced him up with her spear. This was more blood than Phoibe had ever seen at once, and her stomach felt like it had been filled with the shards of marble left under the Monger's mace.

Once the Monger's entire upper half was covered in blood, Kassandra kicked his leg out from under him. He dropped to his knees with a bellow and swung wildly — a weak attempt she dodged easily. Then she raised her sword and chopped his hand off at the wrist, sending the mace crashing to the ground. But her sword never stopped, and she looped it back around and cut his other hand off in one smooth motion.

As the Monger stared at what used to be his hands, Phoibe's stomach twisted with a sharp jolt of pain that made her feel sick. Kassandra stuck the tip of her sword under his chin and forced him to look at her. "That was for touching my mother," she said.

All of the hetaerae were here now, and they gathered in a circle around Kassandra and the Monger. Each one held a dagger in her hands. Anthousa swept around the stage, holding her arms open wide. "People of Korinth!" she said. "Behold the weasel that steals your bread! The scourge that spoils your crops! Here is the justice you seek."

Kassandra stepped back, inviting them to the Monger with a sweep of her sword. "He's all yours," she said. Then she walked off the stage as the hetaerae closed in around him.

Phoibe couldn't watch any longer. She pushed her way along the row of seats as the crowd jumped to its feet, its roar growing and growing, and when she reached the steps at the row's end, she leapt off the side of the amphitheatre instead of running all the way down.

Though the drop wasn't far, she rolled to soften her landing anyway. But when she came to a stop, she found that she'd ended up right at Kassandra's feet.

Greaves that didn't match, covered in bloody streaks. Crimson and grey fabric, spattered with even more red. Kassandra, with a blade still in each hand, blood dripping from them onto the stone, spat, spat, spat, the sound of it loud in Phoibe's ears.

Phoibe looked up into eyes filled with rage. The word volcanic shot through her thoughts. If she stared into the crater of the Foundry of Hephaistos it would be like staring into Kassandra's eyes: endless fires raging in the darkness.

Kassandra towered over her, and those eyes didn't change, didn't seem to know her at all. Phoibe froze and felt her face go numb, then she scrambled away from Kassandra in panic, her sandals scraping against the stone walkway.

Then Kassandra blinked and said uncertainly, "Phoibe?"

Phoibe finally got her feet back under her, and then she did something she never thought she would ever do: she ran away from Kassandra.

.oOo.

The chambers where the hetaerae had hidden themselves were cold, despite all the rugs and blankets they'd brought in with them. Phoibe squeezed her arms against her knees and pulled the blanket around her tighter. She tried to imagine sunlight and summer winds instead of blood and stone.

But she'd run away from Kassandra, and all the thoughts inside her wanted to bounce around the question why.

One of the hetaerae poked her head inside the room. "Phoibe?" she said. "There's someone waiting for you at the Spring."

There was only one person it could be.

Kassandra sat on a bench at the edge of the courtyard, her hair and armor damp, her blades clean. She said nothing as Phoibe sat down beside her, and she stared blankly at the stones in front of her feet. Her skin was pale, as if she'd washed her own blood out when scrubbing off the Monger's. It made Phoibe think of the sad spirits in the Underworld who wandered the shores of the Styx, lost and alone.

She wondered if the shores of the Styx were this quiet.

This was a big kind of silence, the kind that grew deeper and deeper, and suddenly Phoibe felt like she'd been pulled under water and didn't know which way was up or down.

So she said, "You look so much different in armor," just to say something, and it was even mostly true.

Kassandra smiled a strained smile. "And you look different in Athenian finery."

She glanced down at herself and supposed she did look different enough. But she was still the same person despite the change of clothes. That meant Kassandra was still the same person inside her armor. But something had changed since Phoibe had last seen Kassandra in Athens.

"What happened in Argolis?" she asked.

The corners of Kassandra's eyes tightened. She didn't answer immediately, instead taking a few moments before saying, "You're old enough to know the truth about me."

Phoibe didn't think that answered her question at all.

"What you saw at the theater wasn't what you expected, was it?"

"No." Kassandra's weird answers were making Phoibe's insides feel murky. "I didn't know blood could be that gross."

Kassandra rested her forearms on her knees and studied her hands. "Now you know what I do, Phoibe. What I am."

It wasn't news to Phoibe that Kassandra killed people. Kassandra had to be talking about something else. Phoibe's murky feelings got even murkier. "The Monger was evil. He tortured people," she said, but then a memory from the depths poured into her mind and filled it with an image of a lynx playing with a rat. "Did you... like... killing him?"

Kassandra went still, not even breathing. Then she said, "I should have killed him quick. But I got angry."

"He's the one who opened his big mouth. No one's gonna blame you for getting ragey."

Kassandra looked like she was going to say something, but turned to face Phoibe instead. "I'm sorry I scared you. Afterwards." The color was coming back to her skin.

"That wasn't you. Not really," Phoibe said. And just to make sure, Phoibe looked into her eyes: warm bronze, flecked with gold. Knowing and familiar.

Phoibe slid her arms around Kassandra and rested her cheek against Kassandra's armor. The metal under her skin was cold at first, but warmed the longer she stayed there. Kassandra's arm circled around her back, enfolding her in a feeling of safety she'd missed so much it made the corners of her eyes fill with stinging wetness. Then she closed her eyes against her tears, and imagined the heartbeat and the rise and fall of Kassandra's breath that she knew was there, but just couldn't feel.

Part of the Elegiad. Go back to the previous story, or on to the next...

[wellhellotragic]

A Poor Man’s Mantra (2/2)

Summary: Killian’s life just isn’t going to plan. A bad breakup and a demotion might actually be the least of his problems when he realizes that he’s falling in love with his brother’s new girlfriend.

A/N: Here’s the conclusion of my submission to @csseptembersunshine. I’m not sure how you guys are going to feel about this one. Yes, it has a happy ending for CS, but there’s a twist that no one has guessed and I’m nervous about your reactions to it….

P.S. At the behest of @let-it-raines I should tell you all that no one dies and it’s not an angsty twist.

Also on Ao3 if that’s more what floats your boat...

He wasn’t quite sure which was worse, being awoken by a violent shaking, or the nausea that came with it. Of course, the searing headache may have left more of an impression had his brother not been leaning over him in a strange place yelling his name.

“Killian! What in the seven bloody seas are you doing here in my apartment passed out?”

He tried to respond, barely getting his brother’s name out of his parched mouth.

“Oh bollocks. And you’re drunk off your arse.”

“Li-”

“Save it, I can smell the rum wafting from your pores.”

He tried to respond, but no words came out of him. He had no rebuttal. He was there, unannounced, drunk in a strange city still wearing the clothes from the day before. Liam had every right to yell. And he was well prepared to take all that Liam had to give when he heard an angelic voice speak up in his honor.

“That’s actually my fault. He and I have been planning this visit for months as a surprise for your birthday, and when he got here he was so jetlagged that he just wanted to go straight to sleep but the hotel lost his reservation and I told him he could just stay here on the couch. And he’d already had such a long trip that I insisted he have a glass of rum with me to help him sleep.”

He managed to tilt his head to take her in, her messy bun, the way the straps of her top barely covered her arms, her pink lips.

And then it all came rushing back. The bar, the multiple glasses of rum. The kiss. He felt his face heat as the thought of it, the sheer embarrassment of knowing that he’d forced himself upon a woman. Upon his brother’s live-in girlfriend.

Liam arched an eyebrow at him, looking for some form of agreement, and like the coward he was he nodded yes, hiding behind the excuse Emma gave him. Liam seemed pleased enough as he apologized for waking Killian up in such a way, causing guilt to further settle into every part of his being.

They talked for a while, Emma excusing herself to go to bed at some point. The brothers talked about everything, Liam’s job, his mysterious girlfriend, his birthday plans for later in the week. They talked about Killian’s latest missions, they caught up on crewmen that Liam hadn’t seen in years. They talked about everything, everything except for Killian. He still couldn’t find a way to tell his brother of all of his failures.

He wasn’t a fool. He knew that eventually the truth would come out and it would be best coming from him, but he was tired, and Liam just looked so content that he couldn’t do it.

They made it a week without it ever coming up, and Killian was thankful. Liam’s birthday came and went with tons of fanfare. All of his friends came over to the apartment to wish him well and to drink his beer. Even Belle sent him a small gift through a proxy, an olive branch of sorts. Liam seemed to feel like it was her version of closure.

Killian also met some of Liam’s closer friends. Guys that had invested in the bar with him originally, before it became profitable enough that he was able to pay back their loans. Liam’s flaxen beauty never showed, not properly at least. Emma was there, in jeans and a sweater. He’d bit his tongue on more than one occasion as he watched them hug and flirt. When he asked his brother about officially meeting his girlfriend, Liam got a bit dodgy, telling Killian that she couldn’t be there. That she had an out of town work commitment.

It only further cemented things in his mind, although he still couldn’t figure out why Liam was so reluctant to admit that he was dating Emma. In the week that Killian had been in Boston, they’d gotten along smashingly enough. And it’s not as if Killian judged his brother in someway from moving on from Belle. Sometimes relationships just weren’t meant to be. He and Milah being a prime example.

Although in the year since they’d split, the pain of losing her had lessened significantly. It was the embarrassment of it all that lingered. The impact that those events had on his life, they way one night had completely derailed his life plans.

Over that last week, Emma for her part never brought up the kiss, and Killian had done his best to avoid her when his brother wasn’t there. He wasn’t an animal. Controlling himself in a sober state wouldn’t be an issue, but he did have a difficult time looking at her without flushing bright red. Instead he used his brother as a buffer of sorts.

The following day after Liam’s party, Killian nearly had a panic attack. The weight of his situation finally crushing him. He had savings, but he’d left before he could claim a pension. With no job, no income, and no life plans, it was finally time for him to come clean to Liam.

Of course, he gave his brother the redacted version. Milah never coming up in conversation. Liam knew the rumors surrounding Gold, so it wasn’t hard to explain why Killian had punched him. Although Liam was rightfully angry at Killian for losing his temper, at least he’d spared himself from having to explain the entire story.

Emma did her best to keep Liam calm, rubbing her hand up and down his arm as she spoke to him in the kitchen. Even with hushed whispers, Killian could see the effect she had on his brother. The intimacy that they shared, and if he wasn’t so full of guilt and self loathing over everything else, it would have probably killed him.

Once Liam’s initial rage had subsided, he sat Killian down and asked about his plans for the future. Killian admitted he had none. The furthest out that he’d thought the situation thought was just getting to Boston. Liam went into a whirlwind after that, having Killian fill out an official application to work at the bar.

He tried to resist, being a bartender wasn’t his ideal career path, but Liam was insistent, wanting to keep an eye on him like he was some sort of brute that needed a minder. Liam also wrote up a list of people that were hunting for roommates and made appointments on Killian’s behalf to see each one.

He understood his brother’s reasoning, but the entire thing was insulting. Yes, he’d made some rash decisions in his past that had led him there, but he was still a perfectly capable adult, but for some reason Liam was set on treating him as a child.

The rest of the night was much of the same. Liam planning out the next six months of Killian’s life with Killian having zero input. When it was all over, Liam went to bed and Emma simply gave Killian a small smile, telling him that everything would work out. To just give Liam some time to process it. She even placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. It took everything he had not to just sink into her, hoping for her comfort.

The following week was spent viewing apartments and getting acclimated to the bar. He did inventory, learned how to change kegs, and even a little about how to cook in the kitchen. It was exhausting, and each night when he arrived back at Liam’s at four in the morning after cleaning up crushed peanuts and spilled beer, he barely had enough energy to unfold the blanket on the couch before falling into a deep sleep. He was working more hours than any of the other bartenders and he was fairly certain that it was Liam’s way of filling up every spare minute he had.

Another day, another dollar.

The apartment hunting had been horrible. On one particularly slow night at the bar, Liam and Emma stopped in to grab a drink and ask how he’d like the paces he’d seen. When he told them about the first guy, one of the smaller microbrewers Liam purchased from, they refused to believe him when he told them about the sheer volume of collectables everywhere.

The entire living room was filled with hats. Hundreds of hats, all in different styles and colors. They covered every inch of the wall. There were special hat stands on the tables, and Jefferson had told him one of the ground rules was no beverages outside of the kitchen because he didn’t want his collection harmed. And to make matters worse, the entire dining room had been set up for a tea party, that no one ever had. It was all decorative, and unusable. And when Killian picked up one of the small cake plates to look at the pattern, the man flew into a rage and kicked him out.

The second guy, a second year resident had detailed diagrams of the female anatomy hung up all around the apartment. When Killian asked about it, Victor got a gleam in his eye. The whole thing left Killian feeling dirty and he had the impression that Victor’s decision to go into gynecology was not because he cared about women’s health, but because he was just the worlds biggest sleaze.

The last interview had been that morning, and the most normal by far, aside from the inhabitants generally cleanliness, or lack thereof. It was something he could handle though. Although, the idea of living with a woman was slightly foreign to him. He’d spent years living in tight confines with nothing but men. He’d stayed in Liam’s apartment for two weeks with Emma, but Liam was always there. Never just the two of them.

“So, roomie, did you tell ‘em yet?”

Killian felt his face warm as shock set in on Liam and Emma’s faces.

“I was just about to- roomie.”

Liam looked pleased as pie, but Emma nearly choked on the ice in her drink. Killian might have wondered if her reaction meant something, but he was too focused on the way Liam’s hand rubbed circles on her back, soothing her from her coughing fit.

The four of them spoke for a few more minutes, settling on a move-in date, before a group of women came in and Killian moved to the other side of the bar to attend to them. When he came back, Ruby told him that Liam and Emma had to leave and wanted her to tell him congratulations.

When he got home that night they were both asleep, and when he woke the next morning, they’d both left for work already. He moved out later that morning, still only lugging around a small rolling suitcase and his shoulder bag. Liam had gifted him a few new shirts, but everything he owned still fit in just those two bags.

Ruby’s apartment was near the bar, another plus, but one of the only few upsides to living with her. He’d come to find over the month that he’d been living there that Ruby’s sexual appetite was insatiable. Even on the nights that she worked, she still somehow managed to find a bar straggler to bring home. There were mornings where he’d walk in on a man in the kitchen, wearing nothing more than god gave him. Some mornings it was a strange woman in slinky lingerie. Ruby apparently didn’t discriminate when it came to the human body.

And he was always tired. He never gave thought to the type of insulation in the walls when he was searching for an apartment, but a month later, he learned just how important it was, as he learned the hard way how loud his roommate’s cries of passion could be. It kept him up at night.

The only other perk to living there, was that he’d managed to recapture some form of friendship with Emma. He’d thought about her often enough in those first few weeks. About the smell of her perfume, even after she’d been at work all day. About the way her face glowed when she first woke up, make-up free. About the way her chest heaved out as she stretched before her morning runs. Of course that last thought was an unfortunate side effect of hearing Ruby’s “Oh god” screams.

As the month went on, his thoughts became more lurid. He’d think of her as he carressed himself to sleep at night. Imagining that it was her making those noises. It was still an awful idea, she was dating his brother, but somehow, living in a different building had allowed his brain to rationalize it.

But around the second week, just as Killian was spent and near sleep, he heard his phone go off. He’d ignored it at first, opting to dream of Emma rather than hear someone from the bar beg him to pick up their shift. But when it went off two more times though, he begrudgingly grabbed the phone from under his pillow, ready to tell off whoever was text him, until he saw her name.

Hope everything is going well.

We should all get dinner one night when you have some free time.

This is Emma by the way.

He texted her back right away, thanking her for checking on him. They texted for a few more minutes before she had to get back to whatever case she was up late working on.

They texted again the next night, and the one after that. Eventually they started texting during the day time as well, sending each other memes and gifs. Making fun of Liam. He’d sent her a picture of Liam covered in beer one night as a keg exploded on him.

At one point, they’d both been a little drunk after a night out with Liam and some other coworkers during their annual christmas party. Liam had gone to bed already and Emma swore she was too wired to go to sleep. Their texts started off innocent enough, but with an ill placed line of innuendo, it took a turn, and suddenly things heated up. Even with the rum coursing through his blood, slowing his responses, he still knew what they were doing was wrong. That he shouldn’t have joked about wanting a picture of her, and that she never should have reciprocated, asking for one of him after his shower.

And he knew that sending her one of him, with a towel around his hips and water beads still falling down his chest was a bad idea. Even as his thumb hit send. But in that moment, it wasn’t only the rum that had him intoxicated.

When the morning came, guilt weaved its way into every fiber of his being. He’d essentially sexted his brother’s girlfriend. He was gutter trash in the worst of ways, but that morning, she’d texted him again as if nothing had ever happened. Part of him felt horrible for his brother, that he was with a woman that placed such little value on loyalty and monogamy. But the other part of him was elated and he couldn’t decide which part to let win out.

They continued on that way for weeks, months even. Their relationship never escalated the way it had that one night, but they still became closer in a way. He learned that the yellow bug she drove was stolen, a youthful indiscretion that she eventually made right. He learned that her favorite cupcake flavor was vanilla, but she preferred rocky road ice cream from a little place near the station. He told her about Milah, making her promise not to tell Liam. He told her about why he really hit Gold, feeling the weight lift from his shoulders. He told her about the demotion and humiliation. She didn’t judge him or scold him the way he’d expected. She just listened and let him open up in his own time.

Everyday they texted he fell more and more in love with her. And everything was great, until it wasn’t. Until one night Ruby came home crying after learning that he boyfriend of two months had been cheating on her the entire time. After listening to her talk about the pain she was in, the humiliation she felt, the betrayal. It was all too much, hitting too close to home.

He and Emma may not have ever revisited the pictures, they’d never spoken about that kiss his first night in Boston, and they’d never done anything physical, but they’d had an affair in a way. An emotional one, and the idea of hurting Liam the way Ruby had been hurt was just too much.

When Emma texted him that night, he ignored her. When she texted the next morning he did the same, and later that night he finally just blocked her number. It was painful, and killed him to do so, but he needed to end it before anyone got hurt. Before he fell so hard in love with her that he’d never be able to dig his way back out of the hole.

They didn’t speak for four months. Emma stopped coming around the bar with Liam on his off days. Liam still talked about her so Killian knew they were still together. He missed her, but it was for the best. Instead, he tried to get on with his life.

He tried dating, but only the once. The whole experience was just so awful, and not that he’d been a fan of vegan food before, but after listening to Tink drone on about how much better of a person she was for eating it, he came to loathe the stuff. And the pixie herself.

After that, he just gave up on the whole idea of dating. He gave up on women in general, even choosing to toss out a letter from Milah without ever bothering to open it. Instead, he threw himself into work. Bartending wasn’t his dream job still, but it was all he had.

Another day, another dollar.

But as life went on, the loneliness set in. He watched as Ruby met someone new, a woman that genuinely seemed to love and cherish her. He watched as Ruby spent fewer and fewer nights at home in favor of Dorthy’s place. He watched as the fridge became more of a beverage cart than a food cooler.

He watched as Liam took him ring shopping for his still not-so-mysterious girlfriend. He watched as Liam found the ring. He watched as Liam picked the date and made a dinner reservation. He watched as his life fell apart again.

And because life always had a way of kicking him when he was at his lowest, he was also forced to watch, on the night Liam had planned to propose, as Emma stood on the corner of a seedy street in downtown Boston, dressed in a mini skirt that barely covered her hind-end, as she leaned forward caressing the face of a man that was decidedly not Liam.

His initial reaction was not to believe it, to tell himself that he was wrong. To remind himself that she wasn’t the only blonde in the world. But as he walked closer, and her face came into perfect focus, he couldn’t deny it. It was her.

In retrospect, he should have just left. She wasn’t his problem anymore. He’d made sure of that months before. But something in him snapped and he walked towards her, screaming her name in obvious rage.

“Shit.” He barely heard it, dulled by the street noise around them, but she knew that she’d been caught.

Before he knew it, she was on him, whispering for him to stay quiet and follow her, letting her drag him into a car against his better judgement. As soon as the car door closed, she turned on him, just as he was ready to lay into her, but she put her hand up, silencing him instead.

“No, Graham, stop and listen.” He watched, vexxed as she nodded to herself. “I promise, he’s not a john. He’s just a friend and I didn’t want him to blow my cover. Ya, ya, I know. I’ll be right there.”

Something in her eyes softened as she continued.

“Killian I know you have questions, but right now I need you to just go home. I’ll explain everything later, okay? Just- go home.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond before hopping out of the car, pulling her skirt down a little. He was completely confused, and in his is fog, did exactly as she asked. He didn’t even bother picking up the thai food he’d ordered, the whole reason he’d even been walking on that block. Instead, he turned around and went right back up to his fourth story walk up, back to an empty apartment.

As he waited, he thought of Liam, wondering if she’d even bother to show at the restaurant, or if she’d just turned him down instead. His brother would be crushed either way.

He also wondered if she’d been with other men during their late night texting sessions. Had she been waiting until she was sure they were asleep before she left, just using him to kill time?

Had she ever even cared about either of them?

The longer he waited, the more his thoughts raced, and the angrier he got. By the time he heard a knock on the door, he was in a full rage, letting her have the full force of his wrath. He called her a whore among other things, but no matter what he said, what horrible insult he threw at her, she stood her ground, never wavering.

“Are you done?”

He was panting by the time he’d said everything he wanted. He could only nod.

“I’m going to say this very calmly and I’d like for you to listen until the end and not interrupt me.” He nodded again and she continued. “I don’t know what Liam’s told you about my past, but I had a crappy childhood, and I was on my own for most of it. I made a lot of mistakes, and I’ve paid for them. I also made a lot of bad decisions when it came to men, most recently in the form of a man named Walsh, who unbeknownst to me, was dealing in stolen imports.”

Emma walked around the room, not speaking for a moment. He could see her eyes becoming more glossy, but no tears fell. Eventually she settled on the couch and motioned for him to join her.

“I tried to explain to my chief that I didn’t know about it, but it wasn’t enough. In his mind, I either knew and was helping to cover for Walsh, or I really didn’t know and that made me a shit detective. So he fired me. That’s why I came to Boston. I needed a fresh start, but when I got here, the only open position was in vice. It’s humiliating playing a prostitute night after night, dressing in these skimpy clothes, but it is what it is.”

He was stunned. In all of the scenarios he’d played through his head since he’d left her on that street corner, vice cop had never once crossed his mind.

“So those guys from tonight?”

“The newest residents of the Boston city jail.”

“And Liam is okay with this?”

“Honestly, not really. But oddly enough he was the one that told me to stick with it. That I have to bide my time and prove myself, and hopefully when another position opens up for a detective in another unit, I’ll be able to transfer.. What is it he always says? ‘Another day, another dollar’ or something like that.”

Everything she said made sense, but it still didn’t explain why even now she wasn’t wearing Liam’s ring. When he asked her about it, about them , she said that it would be easier to just show him than to explain everything. The two of them sat in silence as she drove them to a brownstone in a more affluent neighborhood than either of them could afford. She effortlessly paralleled parked in front of one of the stoops, killed the engine before getting out, waiting for him to join her on the stairs before knocking.

It was late, too late, and when the porch light turned on, Killian was sure the homeowner was probably going to shoot them both for waking them up in the middle of the night. But that didn’t happen. Instead, a blonde woman in a robe answered the door, calling to Emma in concern.”

“Emma, is everything alright?”

She fussed over Emma as she pulled her inside, Killian following closely behind them.

“I’m fine, really. Killian just needed to talk to his brother, and I thought it was time that he finally met the woman that was going to be his new sister.”

Killian was stunned for the second time that night, but as he looked at her, he couldn’t help but realize she was just as Liam had described in his early emails. Pale skin, flaxen hair. Blue eyes. And it was evident that she was a kind soul.

“Ingrid, love, what’s going on?”

The shock on Liam’s face as he saw Killian standing there in their in the entryway was obvious. Emma and Ingrid excused themselves to let the brother’s talk. As it turned out, Ingrid had been one of Emma’s foster mothers when Emma was a teenager. Emma ended up running away, one of the poor decisions she’d mentioned earlier, but Emma thought of her often and once she got to Boston, she looked her up and reforged their relationship. Eventually Emma introduced her to Liam and he was struck by her beauty, even if she was slightly older. They had a lot in common, and while Liam was still on the fence about children, Ingrid assured him that she’d already been through that part of her life and would be fine with whatever he decided. They could live their lives out, just the two of them, or they could adopt if he changed his mind. Before Liam knew it, they’d fallen in love.

Killian felt like a fool, and excused himself as soon as possible, leaving the newly engaged couple to themselves. Emma soon followed him and they got in her car, heading back towards their side of town. She was quiet, giving him time to think things over. The entire thing had been one huge misunderstanding. Liam and Emma were never dating.

“So Liam and your mom.”

“Foster mom, and yes.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Admittedly is was weird at first, maybe still is a little but they both seem really happy and I guess that’s what truly matters.”

He nodded and the silence settled back in until they arrived to his apartment again. He wasn’t really sure what to say, but he knew he needed to apologize for how he’d reacted so he invited her up for a night cap. Neither spoke as they walked upstairs, or even as he poured her a generous tumblr of rum.

It wasn’t until he finally took a sip that she spoke up.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Because you thought I was with Liam?”

He nearly spit the rum out all over her. After some backtracking and a lame attempt at saving face, he admitted that he thought that they were dating, even when he was still in the Navy based on Liam’s descriptions. That Liam was just hiding the fact that they were together in case it didn’t work out for some reason.

It only led to more questions. Why did you flirt with me then? Why did you kiss me? When did you send me that picture if you thought I was with your brother? Eventually he had to admit that while he knew it was wrong, he’d gotten to know her, and had fallen for her. That against his better judgment, he couldn’t get her off his mind and he’d spent the last year wishing she was his instead.

After they’d both cleared the air, gotten everything out in the open, there was nothing left to say. All that was left was action, as Killian pulled her with him into his room, finally turning his fantasies into reality.

And six months later when Liam wed Ingrid and subsequently moved in with her, Killian took the leap and moved in with Emma.

Another day, another dollar.

A poor man’s mantra. A poor man, yes, but a happy one too.

[brightlycoloredteacups]

Set Up

Fandom: Vikings

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless x OFC

Warnings: None for this chapter

Tag List: @salt-is-a-terrible-currency @salimahbicharara-comun

Brynhilda shifts on her throne, uncomfortable despite the soft padding. Becoming Jarl had not been the point of killing the previous one. She’d only been looking to send a message, yet somehow, the entire town now saw her as their de facto leader. Something wasn’t right about that. 

Looking out at the great hall, she’s surprised to see so many familiar faces. She’d revealed her game plan only a week ago, and already her tiny little village had swelled three times its original size. Men and women, young and old, new soldier and army veteran, all of them looking forward to fighting for her. She nearly chokes on her emotions...well, at least her laughter. 

With allies come enemies, she understands that, but she doesn’t know what to make of this particular situation. On the one hand, she’s highly amused, on the other, slightly disturbed. She knows this will only add to the rumors that she’s Odin’s chosen. But, really? She looks at the fabric in her hands, the Sleep Thorn had been stitched into it. She wondered what Floki the Boatbuilder would make of it. He had a special connection to the gods, he would’ve had a great deal to say. Suddenly, she misses Kattegat, misses funny old Floki and the girls, she even misses the cranky old medicine woman that refused to treat Ivar because of his temper. 

“Lady Brynhilda?” Alf says, nudging her shoulder. Brynhilda blinks, brought to the present, oh, right, she’s supposed to sentence the traitor. “The Sleep Thorn,” She mutters, tracing the symbol with the pads of her fingers. “Not very effective, was it?” She looks up at Alf. He looks as amused as she feels. “No, lady, it would seem it wasn’t.” They look at the man who’d done it. “Jarl Brynhilda,” A rather rough looking man walks up to her, she only knows him as Arrow. He was the first to greet her back home, and the first to pledge his allegiance to her cause. “I say we kill this traitor and send his head to Boggvir,” mutters of agreement flow through the long house.

Brynhilda stands up, walks down from the dias, and stops in front of the man. “Why would we do a thing like that? Boggvir wouldn’t even recognize him.” 

“My lady?” Arrow asks, unconvinced of her statement. Brynhilda begins to stalk the man that tried to curse her, round and round she went, taking in every detail. “You aren’t acting out of loyalty to Boggvir, are you?” The man struggles against his binds, snarling unintelligibly at her. “You're acting out of revenge for your brother.” The shock that Brynhilda remembers him is evident on his face. It’s quickly replaced with a smile, he speaks. “I didn't think you'd remember.” 

“Yours is a hard face to forget.” Brynhilda straightens, looking at her confused men, she didn't feel like explaining that the one before her had been after her since she helped Falki take over. “The way I see it, you have two options. Choose your death, or choose to work with me.” The man spits at her, snarling once more in rage. “Why would I work with my brother's killer?”

Brynhilda turns from him, sitting back on her throne. Damn, this thing was hard on her back. “You and I both know I was a mere pawn in Boggvir's army, his best warrior yes, but a pawn nonetheless. I got Falki and her troops into your village, I killed your fighters, but I did not kill you brother. If I had, I would have been the new Jarl.” 

He squirms in his binds, considering her words. What she said was true, even her enemies knew she was not in the habit of lying. Still, surely years of anger and hatred didn’t shift from one target to the next. He straightens, giving her a haughty look. “You may call me Dofri.” Well, she’d been wrong before. It’s stupid to trust someone that just tried to curse her. She’s an idiot, she knows she is, but there’s something about him, something in his eyes. He’d never before considered working to kill the true target of his revenge. Maybe Falki had been unattainable to him until now. She knows she’s just making up an excuse to trust him. 

The way she figured it, the benefits outweigh the risks. She needed someone with a desire for revenge, some like her, that would stop at nothing to see it through. And, if she had to be completely honest, he reminded her of Floki.  “Dofri” she motions for someone to cut his hands loose, “Welcome to my army.”

*

Those that visit Brynhilda's feast hall swears it’s a place of unsettling magic. Not exactly gloomy or bright. Not cold or hot. Not comfortable or uncomfortable. A charge was ever present in the air, making one aware of the unearthly quality Brynhilda exuded. Unseen things crawl around the place, whispering in the ears, telling the listener that they were safe, cared for. The only catch was Brynhilda herself had to be in a good mood. 

Part of the magic of the place was that the feeling in the room changed with her feelings. If she was angry,  the urge to drive your axe into the skull of your greatest enemy became almost too great to resist. If she was sad, you felt as though your heart had been ripped through your chest and eaten by a wild beast. If she was happy, you felt as though you had the strength of the gods themselves. The moment you left the feast hall, the cool air hitting your face, you felt dazed and confused. Why had you been subject to such alien feelings? 

Only adding to the atmosphere were the plants hanging from ceilings, growing in pots in the corners, covering the windows with their leaves. Dorfi the Poisoner, a strange man you weren’t exactly sure was even a man, had made himself at home. He had no house of his own, no relatives he could rely on, so she opened the feast hall to him, and allowed him to do as he wished, within reason. Most of the plants were harmless until mixed into the right concoction. Dofri could make you a healing draught that helped you fight like ten men, or a poison that made you bleed from your ass. Many were unsettled by that fact, all but Brynhilda, it seemed.

Dearest Bryhilda, wild, untameable Brynhilda. She was the topic of much conversation. Alf had his suspicions that Brynhilda didn’t exactly belong to the world, she was to ethereal, too much wild energy danced about her. It didn’t help that to add to her mystique were the legendary stories. She’s killed a hundred men on her own, she survived the bite of the most poisonous snake in the world, she survived being Blood Eagled. Of course, she always brushes the stories off with completely plausible explanations. Those hundred men she killed on her own? It had taken her a week, and even then she’d gotten lucky with a rock slide taking out half the force. That snake bite? The poison didn’t get too far into her system before she had been treated. The Blood Eagle? Hadn’t been completed before an army attacked.

She may be a living, breathing, legend, but she was humble. That's why people flocked to her banner. Or perhaps it was because she was kind. The people in the village had been starving thanks to the previous Jarl’s greed, but now, they had rations, enough to last them through the winter. And with the promise of a good summer’s planting, the harvest should be more bountiful. Either way, in just a few short weeks, Brynhilda’s popularity was skyrocketing. Which surprised her, if her constant look of annoyance was anything to go by. 

Alf listens to the conversations around him as was his task. Brynhilda needed to divine the moods of her people in order to be successful at ruling them. She needed eyes and ears everywhere. He knew Dorfi had also been given the job, but there had to be other men and women about. Two men couldn’t share the burden of ten. If Alf knew Brynhilda like he thought he did, and he was fairly confident in his assumptions despite knowing her for such a short period of time, he knew that she was keeping the other people that worked under her a secret. She was the only one that knew all the plans. Everyone else was kept in the dark in the event of a capture, or worse, a betrayal.  

The most amusing talk was that of how animals reacted around her.  She had two ravens, and wherever she went, they went. One was cheeky, always playing with her hair, her clothing. Always talking to her in its own birdish way. It was fond of mead, often drinking from Brynhilda's cup. The other raven was stoic. It either stood still on her shoulder, or the best place to watch over her. You got the feeling it was always watching over her. It too drank from her cup, but very sparingly. Mostly, it ate meat from her plate. 

Pigs were excited by her presence, they followed her whenever she passed by a pen, what’s more, they obeyed her when she gave them an order. If she found any strangeness in that little fact, she told no one. 

Alf looks up to try and find her, desiring her biting wit to end his boredom. She sat in a corner, a raven perched on either shoulder. She’s still, looking more a menacing statue than a young girl. He can clearly see the exhaustion on her face. 

She woke up before dawn to the crowing of her ravens, trained relentlessly, ate like someone four times her size, then trained more. She ran through the forest, uncaring of the potential hazards, she hunted, bringing in the best kills and sharing it with her men. At night she learned all she could from men like Alf and Dorfi, medicine women, even the greenest soldiers she pestered with questions. She maintained that you could learn a great many things, so long as you though to ask. 

So yes, Brynhilda was wild, but she was kind, she could be brutal, but only if you pressed her. Mostly, she was curious, and infuriating. He thinks back to their previous conversation.

“You need to consider the dangers of attacking during winter.” Alf cautione. This had been an argument ongoing since the announcement of her plan. He knew she was pressed for time, but her plan was downright suicidal, “And you need to consider the advantages.” She argues. “Brynhilda, you want to keep your men, not freeze them.”

“Quick attacks,” she says, “on the two port cities. Here and here,” she points them out on the makeshift map. “We walk the ice, attack from the harbor where they least expect it, when they least expect it. Just before dawn, when it's darkest. Everyone will be asleep, confused.” 

“Alright,” Alf says, seeing she isn't going to be persuaded, “Suppose it works the first time around, do you honestly think it'll work the second time around?” 

“I considered it,” she says, nodding, “We can split the army in two, attack at the same time.” 

“Who can you trust to lead the second half of your army?” he couldn't think of anyone he'd trust, not even the men who watched her grow up. “You,” came the obvious reply. Alf has to register her confession for a while. “Me?” She nods. “You owe me for freeing you,” she points out, “that's why you hung around for so long.” Damn her, she read people too well. “Do this for me, and your debt is repaid.” Alf huffs, this was a bad idea, a very bad idea, but she did have a few good points. After a long while considering his options, he heaved a sigh, “Alright,” he says, “I'll do it.”

[sextonsharpwinhalstead]

The comments on fb, twitter, everywhere are dragging April. Why does Med hate women so much?

Yeah, I’ve seen some of them. It’s always the same shit different day. I just saw one where someone said that April doesn’t communicate she yells or verbally attacks...and I was just like... wow.

The fact is yes, there is something kind of creepy about the way the women on the show suffer, and the way the “fans” react to it. When they have some kind of trial, tribulation, or weak moment they’re ripped to shreds.

When April broke up with Ethan at the end of season 3 the fandom took no time to negatively criticize her, she was a hypocrite who encouraged Ethan to mend his relationship with Emily but then punished him when he went the extra mile for her when she got sick. 

They casually blew off the fact that all season their fights were based around him making unilateral decisions and assumptions about what she wants (remember these are the same people screaming she should just communicate ,but  never entertain how discouraging it would you be if they had to FIGHT and argue for every bit of respect and agency in their romantic relationships and their partner STILL was doing the same shit?) She isn’t always right or righteous in their conflicts but that’s the point. She doesn’t have to be cause no one is perfect or always right 100% of the time. But grace isn’t afforded to the her.

We haven’t even touched on the power imbalance either, and the frustration you KNOW these nurses feel with these doctors snapping at them and talking down to them. The writers cranked things up a notch by having her be wrong in her medical opinions because; stupid nurse, haha. Ethan is a talented doctor but he is emotionally inept.

 Emily was what Ethan warned April about and she listened but she could also see what a struggle it was for him, he didn’t even mention she existed! When April is ready to back away from the Emily-mess, he isn’t and that’s fine, because the point she was trying to make was family is family. Yay a point for Ethan! He finally gets it. April’s face appears devastated at the end of their relationship but she seems like she feels trapped in a loop with him. 

Then she spent last season being supportive of Ethan and Emily’s relationship and got no story of her own all while still being in love with him knowing he hadn’t really changed. She risked her health, and he paraded his girlfriend in front of her, and when she had a couple of crumbs of sass he accused her of not being “nice enough to Vicki”. And for her trouble? Our rabid-sexist-color-struck fandom blamed the situation on her, she dumped him so whatever happens is her fault, “Vicki’s lighter prettier anyway.”

Meanwhile Ethan isn’t really over her either, which is why he kissed her back in the break-room, after apologizing again for being a fucking dickhead. But yes, let’s forget that so we can drag April for being a cheater because Ethan would never. 

And the craziest canon bit from last season is Ethan is basically #teamabortion (im not judging about that I didn’t think he was wrong) when Emily finds out she’s pregnant, and hey fuck this sick abandoned baby who’s going to die alone cause I have a date, and ugh Vincent? Why do we have to help out with my family? -To having ONE pregnancy scare and being #teamahaveababy. 

It’s whiplash, but don’t worry it’s not completely out of character because he still doesn’t listen to April or even honor what he says he’ll do, but please fandom, tell me that April needs to communicate more.

Make ALL the excuses for the men, for Ethan, cause when they are going through some shit, when they use their privileged to overrule hospital policy, when they scar patients lives because they KNOW they’re right, when they almost kill their patients because of the bullshit attitude they brought to work, but then shed a couple of thug tears at the end all of it is forgivable cause...reasons.

But fuck April if being thrown headfirst into Mother-Nature’s last kick in the teeth is causing her a bit of emotional confusion. You know cause Ethan has always been a haven of emotional bliss and understanding.

[skiller0dani]

You | Dean Winchester

Summary: You’re a shapeshifter, and you’ve fallen in love with the notorious Dean Winchester. You manage to hide what you are, but what will he do once he finds out? 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Shapeshifter!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Drinking, Smut, 

A/N: sorry, been forgetful and lazy. :c ALSO I don’t write smut much. So just bear with me. It might not be long, but I promise I’ll get better at it. 

Masterlist Part 2

You pulled the glass to your lips, okay enough with all this. You think to yourself- your hands are shaking. He’s in the very corner of your left eye, this is the 4th body you’ve tried on him. Still nothing, not even a glance. He focuses on hustling the drunk men out of their money at pool, a cocky poker face covering his expression. He always seemed so sure of what he was doing, of what he wanted- he radiated confidence and control. It was so painfully intoxicating to you. You pulled down your dress a little, your chest popping out more as you prepare to approach him- you turn only to bump into an overweight abdomen with a stained shirt. “Oh sorr-” His hand comes down to your shoulder, his bearded face and stained teeth inches from your ear. “N-no problem sexy,” His voice is sultry and slurred, you feel a retching in your stomach from the smell of his breath. You look down at the ground, your fingers inching towards your knife secured safely in your clutch. “Thanks again,” You say with a tight smile, trying to move past him but his fingers curl around your arm.

You feel your temper rising, and you get ready to sweep the disgusting mans feet out from under him when he’s ripped off you. When your eyes focus on your rescuer your eyes widen- Dean. Your heart is thumping when Dean shoves the man to the ground, “douchebag.” He says, before placing a hand on the small of your back to lead you out of the Bar. You smile shyly when it’s just the two of you standing on the curb, “you okay sweetheart?” He asks, genuine concern in his eyes. You flush, tucking your dark brunette hair behind your ear. “Yeah, thanks Dean-” as soon as you said it, you wanted to slap yourself. This is the closest you’ve gotten to him in weeks and you’ll have to change all over again. His eyebrow lifts, his guard up. “I mean you’re kind of a legend among the hunters.” You quickly save, with a smile. He relaxes a bit upon realizing that you’re a hunter- or rather the hunted pretending to be a hunter. “So you’ve heard of me?” He asks, that cocky smile returning to his face. Oh yeah, you’ve heard of him. Tough as nails, knows Death personally, best friends with an angel. Everyone’s heard of him, kind of puts a big target on his back though. “Where’s that brother of yours?” “Research,” he says with a smile, taking his car keys out of his pocket. 

You follow carefully, “so what’s your story?” Dean asks, reaching to unlock his car. You chuckle, “really long and not important.” He laughs, it’s much easier to talk to him than you thought it would be. “Couldn’t be worse than mine.” Dean jokes, leaning back against his car- you have to bite your lip to suppress a moan. He’s also acutely aware of the fact that you already know his life story, “does that get weird? I mean most of all hunters nowadays know who you are, you’re a hunters version of a celebrity.” You ask, and Dean thinks for a moment. Almost as if he’s never even considered it that way. “Would love it if it came with perks, I’m still always gettin’ shot.” Dean half jokes, half says seriously. “Me too,” You agree, lifting your shirt to reveal the bottom of your stomach, the once smooth skin riddled in bullet wounds. Dean lifts his own shirt to reveal a few matching scars of his own. “My kinda girl,” He smiles and you try to control the raging fire burning in your cheeks and stomach. “Hey you wanna come get a drink with me? I got the best stuff at the bunker,” Dean asks, no hint of nervousness at all. “Bunker?” You ask with a smile, he laughs. “Yeah I’ll explain when we get there.” Dean holds the door open for you, and you graciously sit in the passenger seat and a part of you can’t even believe this is really happening. 

Every hunter and supernatural being alike knows who Dean Winchester is, and he may possibly be the most dangerous man you’ve ever sat in a car with but he doesn’t feel dangerous. He’s kind, and funny, but still guarded and closed off. You want to say something to ease the silence but your brain is fogged with arousal and the smell of his cologne, being so close to him is making you dizzy. “The infamous Impala,” You muse. Dean chuckles, one hand lazily holding the top of the steering wheel. You know it’s going to be hard to fool Dean Winchester, he may as well have been born with a built in bullshit detector. You however have lots of practice, you’re smarter than your Shapeshifter brothers and sisters. They think eliminating the hunters will give them their best chance at survival- you disagree. For one, you hate how monstrous they are, you have absolutely no desire to kill people- you have no issues with killing the ones who do. You’ve also had the brains to figure out that a hunter would never expect a Shapeshifter to be a hunter, immediately gets the radar off your back. “Even my car is famous?” Dean laughs and you can’t help but be addicted to that sound. “She’s almost sexier than you are...” You say, your cheeks heating at such a forward statement come out of your mouth. Dean gives you that look that so many lucky women have gotten in the past. The look you never thought he’d give you. 

The Bunker is not what you were expecting. It was a small metal shack in the middle of a forest. You follow Dean down a set of stairs and when he unlocks the door you see a whole house inside this metal shack. A map room and library are in your view, and you see Sam sitting in the library- eyes skimming over a book. But when you try to enter, you can’t. Dean turns to look at you, his eyebrow quirking up. “You comin’?” You can tell he’s suspicious, you have to think of something now! “Forgot my cell in the car, go pour those drinks you promised me.” You smile and Dean sends you a wink before disappearing down the stairs and around the corner. Panic sets in as you look around the walls of the Bunker, shit. The entire thing is Warded- tears spring in your eyes as you turn to leave. You want to go in after Dean so bad but you can’t get in, and when Dean finds out...you may as well start digging your own grave. “Who are you?” Sam asks from behind you, causing you to jump. “Y/N. My mother is a witch. Put some sort of protection spell on me, I guess you have a ward for that?” You lie with a laugh and Sam’s suspicion drops. He hands you a key and then, suddenly, that magical wall disappears. You feel the silver key burn your hand and you do your best to ignore it as you quickly hand it back to Sam. “Not often my brother picks up a hunter. Or a witch.” Sam says, clearly not trusting you. 

“I’m not a witch, just a hunter. My mother is a witch. I want nothing to do with her.” You lie again, feeling a pang of guilt every time you do. “Not flirting with my brother are you?” Dean teases as he enters the Bunker, having changed his clothes- wearing a dark t-shirt and flannel now. He hands you a glass filled with Whiskey, his gaze fixed on you. Sam awkwardly clears his throat, “wouldn’t dream of it.” You smile, nearly forgetting Sam was even in the room. He excuses himself quickly, leaving you and Dean alone. Dean takes a slow step towards you, his eyes darkening. You drink your Whiskey in one gulp and in an instant Dean lifts you to sit on the table as his lips press against yours. Both your glasses go smashing to the ground, the shattered glass splintering off everywhere. All you can focus on are his hands- God those damn hands. They’re inching up the bottom of your shirt, so his fingers can dance around your hips. Your arms wind around his neck as his body presses firmly against yours, and at first you don’t know what to do with your legs until Dean’s free hands folds them around his hips. He ruts against you, the friction makes you breathe out a moan. 

Dean presses kisses to the corner of your mouth, the wet trail leading down your neck as your nails dig into his back. His hands grab the hem of your shirt, yanking it up and over your head. To be honest- you don’t do this. With anyone, sex means something to you. You’ve only given yourself to one other person before Dean. You know his reputation- hooking up is part of his weekly routine but you were going to let yourself pretend, for one night, that this was more than that. Your breasts were exposed, behind your black lacy bra that caused Dean to let out a low groan. Dean pressed kisses to the swells of your breasts, his hands easily finding the clasp. Before he unclasps it he looks up at you, asking for permission among all the action driven lust. You nod feebly, your eyes lidded as he easily pops open the clasp, his pupils blowing wide at the sight of you. “Can’t let my brother see this,” Dean says, lifting you up- your legs still around his waist. His arms press you against his chest- ensuring his brother can’t get any looks. Intentionally or accidentally. He kicks open his bedroom door and then kicks it shut before dropping you on his bed. “Goddamn,” Dean groans, practically salivating at the sight of you half naked and laying beneath him. 

“You’re too dressed,” You smile- trying to shake off some of your nerves. You were shaking like a leaf and your heart was nearly beating out of your chest- you hoped Dean wouldn’t notice either. Unfortunately Dean can sense your nerves and sheds his shirt with an easy smile, knowing you aren’t the kind of girl he can fuck into the mattress. He doesn’t do this, normally this is the point he’d cut it off- he knows you’re not that kind of girl. But he decides to go gentler, he never does gentle with one night stands. He only does gentle when it means something more to him. Gentle leads to feelings. Feelings lead to loss. Or he’d have to do have that ‘I’m sorry but I can’t have a relationship right now’ conversation- they always lead to tears. But he doesn’t want to cut it off, so he’s going to break his own rule. He’d risk it for you. He slowly lowers over you, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips before his fingers find the button of your jeans. “May I?” He says, using his words this time. You giggle, your cheeks heating up as you nod nervously. Dean smiles at your red cheeks before popping open the button and pulling down the zipper. He can feel your body trembling, “relax baby. Just you and me.” Dean says softly, his hands curling into the waistband of your jeans. 

Your heart swells when he says ‘baby’ but you try to relax as he pulls your jeans down your legs, revealing your matching lacy panties. It surprises you how this went from rough and desperate, to slow and intimate so quickly. You should stop him you really should, with your current feelings towards him, and Dean being who he is, and you being who you are. This was definitely going to end in heartbreak, tears, and hating yourself for letting it happen. But you couldn’t help but let him continue as he presses soft, gentle kisses up your legs- closer and closer to your clothed center, a damp spot already forming on your panties. Dean’s kisses trail up your hips, your stomach and finally to the valley between your breasts. Tingling took over your entire body, it felt like you were laying on clouds. Sighs and moans fell from your lips when his lips encircled your nipple, gently biting and nipping at it. You started to squirm, the heat between your legs becoming to much to bear. “Dean...” you whimper, “hm?” His eyes flicker up to look at yours, “Need you.” You whine, hating now pathetic and needy you sound. Dean smiles before pulling away from you- you miss his warmth the second he’s gone. 

His hands reach for his belt, and you shake as he undoes it. “You okay with this?” Dean asks, noticing how nervous you are still. You nod again but Dean doesn’t continue removing his jeans, “need words for this one sweetheart.” You swallow thickly, trying to will your nerves away. “Y-yeah. Please Dean,” You half whine, and Dean gives in- he can’t say no to those needy lust blown eyes of yours. Dean takes his time undoing the button and zipper and pulls down his jeans and boxers in one tug. Your eyes widen at his size, how on earth is that going to fit inside you? You feel the panic setting in, what if this is a bad idea? What are you doing? You’re a shapeshifter, about to have sex with Dean Winchester, he’s a hunter. You get ready to stop him when he takes your hand. You didn’t even notice him lean over you again. That thought completely disappears as he lines himself up, and you can tell he’s holding himself back- which you appreciate greatly. “You ready baby?” He asks, his eyes locking with yours. You nod, but he gives you a look and you clear your throat. “Y-yeah.” You force out- your throat incredibly dry. Dean’s forehead presses against yours as he slowly eases himself in, the tightness overwhelming him. It’s taking every ounce of self control he has not to pound into you.

You feel the sting as he stretches you open, he’s much bigger than you thought. Dean groans, his hand still laced with yours. This feels so intimate, but you know it doesn’t mean anything to him- nothing like it means to you. You hold the tears back, preventing them from building in your eyes. Because crying during sex is a big turn on. Dean stays still, fully inside you until you tell him it’s okay to move. You let yourself adjust to him, waiting until the pain subsides before you squeeze his hand, telling him he can move. Dean knows his way around women, you know that. He’s only being gentle because he saw how nervous you were and he’s not a complete asshole. Dean slowly slides out before thrusting back in, you definitely see stars, a moan being pulled from your lips. Dean takes long deep and slow thrusts, his grip on your hand tightening as he whispers words of encouragement in your ear. “Doin’ so good sweetheart,” He presses kisses to your neck, “you feel so good Y/N,” he keeps thrusting, making sure the pace stays slow and deep. Your arms hold him securely, your face in his neck as he continues his slow torture. You’ve been so infatuated with Dean for so long but you didn’t expect this, you didn’t expect to want him to be more than that. When you come, Dean comes too and it feels perfect. But for how long? 

The sun wakes you up the next morning, as does the slight ache in your thighs. You find your body pulled against Dean’s, his arms wrapped around your waist. His face is in your neck, his breath fanning against your skin. You gently unwrap him from you as you scramble for your clothes. You shouldn’t be here- you shouldn’t be here. Last night should not have happened. You remember your shirt and bra are in the library and you curse to yourself as you throw on one of Dean’s shirts. You move to the door, your heart breaking as you look back and see him sleeping in bed- thinking you’re still there next to him. You want to get in bed with him again, but you can’t. In the past you’ve definitely wished you were human but now more than ever. You slowly close the door and creep out to the library, “morning.” You jump and let out a sigh when you see Sam. “Not often women sneak away from Dean, usually the other way around.” Sam comments, sipping at his coffee casually. You quickly grab your clothes, and you’re ready to head out when you notice you’re still wearing Dean’s shirt. “Silver doesn’t normally burn people either,” He says even more casually, causing your blood to turn to ice in your veins. 

You don’t know what to say when Sam looks up at you, and what you didn’t know was that you had tears in your eyes until a tear fell down your cheek. Sam turns the book he’s reading so it faces you, and the page he’s reading says Shapeshifters. “Don’t tell Dean.” You plead, you legs shaking. Sam’s expression softens, “look I don’t know what your story is but if you don’t kill people- then you’re not a monster.” Sam says and your mouth drops open, he isn’t going to kill you? “That would explain why you’re running away from Dean though.” Sam says, with a small smile and you relax. You misjudged Sam, you didn’t expect him to sympathize with you. “I can’t be here, I shouldn’t have come.” You say sadly and before Sam can answer you hear Dean’s door shut. He comes out into the library, a surprised look on his face when he sees you. “Thought you took off.” Dean says, brushing past you. He’s upset. “Dean-” “Anyone hungry?” He says, turning down a hallway and completely ignoring you. “Like I said, not many women run away from Dean.” Sam says, patting you on the shoulder as he follows his brother. 

[theadorablespderman]

Please excuse the long post. But I want to write something for women about what I’ve learned, being a 21 year old women, about safety and the shit things women feel we need to do so we’re not attacked by shithead on a daily basis:

Two girls my age have been murdered 30 miles from where I live. The girl who was killed just recently was found and the suspect is in prison, he kidnapped her, killed her, and burned her body. And a girl 6 months ago was killed by a guy she dated for 2 weeks. It’s so scary being a woman and I live in a pretty safe area and it’s just heartbreaking. I’ve had some serious anxiety issues from this and I’m just scared to even meet any men or date or do anything because like this is what can happen. And these girls were smart, strong women and they’re just gone now and that’s terrifying.

Anyways guys I just haven’t been active on tumblr because this has been weighing heavy on my mind. Please women, practice safe dating, be aware of your surroundings, meet in public places, and don’t trust anyone alone until you’re sure you know them. It’s not our fault if we are murdered, it’s the killer, but unfortunately we have to try and minimize the dangers that come with being the sex we are (men get murdered too, I know this, but being a woman you’re raised in constant fear of what some men can and will do to you) I’m just saying women are born into this culture of being the weaker sex, the targeted sex, and dear lord my fellow women I wish we weren’t, so let’s fight back, let’s be safe, and that might not always work but know that I’m being you and so are millions of others. It’s so important to understand that we don’t need to seek protection. We can protect ourselves and police, neighbors, or family may not hear or heed our cries for help, for protection, for understanding but that is their wrong doing.

Idk guys.....I’m just feeling a lot of things and I want any young girl reading this...even if you’re not a girl, but I want to specifically let young women know:

1. You will never owe anyone anything you feel uncomfortable giving, or feel obligated to provide because the other party made you feel guilty, or lesser for not providing it (this includes your time, sex, conversation, money, or a smile)

2. Unfortunately, what we wear will be considered by some low life’s out there as invitations to take what you aren’t willing to give. You dress how you want to dress, but always be prepared to defend yourself. There are dangers to wearing certain clothing (but guess what, I still wear those items of clothing) but it is nieve to think that in the age we live in men (or possibly other women) will not in their fucked up brains think that’s still some fucked up invatation. Be prepared to slap those assholes, but don’t think they no longer exist because light has been shed of rape culture. Always always be prepared. No matter what your wearing, always know that someone is going to think you owe them something because of how you look (how much makeup you wear, what close you have one, damn it, what kind of music you listen to). They are awful people, but they exist so please be aware of that and do everything in your power to be vigilant of that. (I’m not wanting to victim blame any survivors. If you’ve been raped and have or haven’t done these things it is not your fault, you should never be blamed. It’s the asshole who violate you and no one else, but if there are ways we as a society can try and flush the assholes out before they can hurt anyone else, I want to try and make women aware of this. So please I love and support any survivors and would never dream of making you feel bad or lessor if you’ve been raped or abused. IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT)

3. That leads me to three. Like I said. If you are abused, attacked, raped, beaten, etc. IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT. People will ask “why didn’t you do this?” Or “you should’ve done this” and that’s what’s already going through your head to some degree. It’s no ones bussiness to know why you made the choices you did. No is fucking no and fighting or letting whatever happen happen it’s no different. You are a survivor, you are still worthy of everything the worth has to offer ( that is good) and you are not at fault. People who point the finger at you are victim blamers and not worth your time.

4. You should always be aware of your surroundings as women. I’m in college and while walking to your car or anywhere really, my college campus has made sure to post flyers around the school about safety practices. I’ve also read online some things convicted rapists look for in their prey. Often they will look for a women who seems to be alone, most likely who seems distracted, either by taking on the phone, with headphones in, or looking down at something while walking. what I did during my night classes I would keep one headphone in while walking the long walk out to my car in the dark, I’d keep my headphone in, stay on the sidewalk with street lamps and away from any bushes and I’d call my mom because she’s the person I trust most in the world and lives close by that may be a different person for you. Anyways I would have her on the phone and because my headphone was in it didn’t look like I was talking to anyone. It made me feel safer and I still was able to stay aware of my surroundings) I would either but a hood over my head if I had my hair in a bun which is basically every day, but that is something rapists look for. Buns. It’s easy to grab.

Additional safe practices while walking anywhere even during the day in sketchy areas or just when your alone and someone could attack you, I always walk with my keys between my knuckles so I could punch and injure or impale any attackers. I will always text or call my parents (may be someone else for you) to let them know I’m leaving and I’ll let them know once I’m in my car. I also carry pepper spray and I keep my head constantly on a swivel. Looking behind me, side to side, and if I’m going through any parking lots I stay away from large vans or trucks...basically any car I can’t clearly see into from a distance. If I have to go between cars to get into my own I will often do a quick look over the car, under the cars, and check to see if anyone is around. I then will put my phone in hand ready to press the emergency button and I’ll unlock my car because it’s old as hell and I don’t have a remote. I hop in the car and immediately lock it again.

Do not accept someone’s request for your help if it has to do with putting anything in their car or lurering you away from a public place. If you do wish to help, find a local security guard, campus police, or even just a group of friends to come with you. But law inforcement is better. If it’s a legitiment request for help the person should not begrudge you for being extra hands or requesting a security guard help them. Additionally if you feel uncomfortable and someone disabled requests your help getting into a car or anything call 911 or your local police station that a disable individual require help getting into their vehicle and you feel that the police would be more qualified.

Often attackers bank on peoples good nature and disguise their plans in a veil of trying to get you to help them with odd tasks. Should you stop helping and being a good person? No! But be safe and aware while you do it!

5. Get an if I go missing file together. This is something off of Crime Junkies Podcast (amazing go listen if you haven’t already). If I go missing folder may seem grusom and errie but I promise it’s will help. You put all your passwords, account info, for you bank, phone, social media, everything in the folder. Make sure to keep it up to date and file anything away that might come in handy if you go missing. Tell one or two trusted family members or friends about it and it’s location (any access codes or other info on how to get to it) and only tell the people you know you could trust. This way if god forbid something does happen to you. Instead of having to wait for warrants and all that jazz, family members and friends can look into your recent history to see if you have in fact dropped off the grid, if there has been any unusual activity etc, and then they can provide this info to the police who will be days ahead of the investiagtion without having to serve warents to phone, bank, and other companies who other wise would not be able to provide account details unless they have your password and information. Doing a If I Go Missing folder could possibly lead the police to your kidnapped, killer, or if you’re alive, even you. It’s so so so so smart to have!

6. If someone attack’s you, leave as much evidence behind as you possibly can. Spit everywhere, throw up, pee, poop, scratch their bodies, get their dna allother you and get your all over them. If your being raped and can pee or poop or vomit on the attacker that is a very good way to try and stop them, it’s unexpected and they won’t want to be covered in your waste or vomit. Another self defense tactic my dad had told me from the time I was a child (sad he had to tell a child this) but if you can play as though your into the whole sexual getting raped thing long enough to get your hands free, and if your in a position where you can see the attackers penis, reach down like youre gonna touch and participate and then my dads exact words “grab his dick and squeeze tight, yank that thing and don’t stop till your arms are over your head” they might throw up from the pain but you can then hopefully make an excapr and if you were able to really injure them the police should find the guy with the torn scrotum in a hospital or at the crime scene. There are things you can insert into your vagina, it looks like a weird condom almost and I’m sure there are multiple kinds but it’s an anti rape device that when inserted if you are raped the insert will act as though it’s a condom when they insert their penis into the vagina, the insert will allow the penis to enter, but when it’s pulled out the man will find his penis now has a barbed condom basically stuck to his penis that basically will shred it if he tries to take it off. Here’s a picture:

There are other amazing things out there but don’t let someon threaten you into leaving an area, or threaten you into having sex or anything. You always have a choice and even with a gun to your head it’s better to scream, not always, but most of the time this will scare the attacker and they will then start running. You could be killed still, but people will know what happened, there is most likely be witnesses, and there won’t be a search for the body.

Sorry I know this is so not my normal blog post and it’s not even fandom but I want everyone to feel like this is a place we can talk about how to be safe as a women. If anyone has ideas or things they do to help their safety pleas reblogg or just comment or just share with some one somewhere about our rights as women. I want to know what my fellow sisters do to stay safe, or if there are any questions.

I don’t pretend to know what it’s like as a victim. I was jumped by a man on a date when I thought he seemed like a nice guy, and I let him drive me over to my car in the dark. He put my seat down and was all over me in a second. Hands on my breasts and butt. I said no after unfreezing and I felt so so sick like I was nothing. But he did stop when I said no and I got out of the car and cried and sobbed. My dad held me for an hour when I got home because I knew I was a lucky one. So I’m not a victim, I was lucky because he could’ve easily raped me and he didn’t. So I don’t pretend to know what it’s like, but that pure gut wrenching, sickening terror I felt in that car for five minutes gave me a look what it must be like and I just want the women out there to know we can be safe and then even if we are or aren’t safe you never ask to be raped or killed or attacked. We all have awful stories but it’s important to voice “no” and to fight back. It’s important we she we are not to be trifled with.

Anyways. I’m sorry again for that taking long and thank you for letting me ramble. I feel my anxety has dropped a level. Stay safe out there!

[shabre-legacy]

Part of chapter 7 of stolen home that I’m currently working on

The last part of the trip to Coruscant passed quietly. Everyone was rather differential and even the crew and security didn’t really bother her. All her drinks were free, and her and Corso found that they got invited to games of Sabbac and whatever else was being played, or to go dancing or whatever anytime they appeared. She’d even gotten a message from some senator thanking her for saving the ambassador who’d put them in that situation to begin with. 

The passengers were nervous around them though. Corso brought it up when they once again took their drinks back to the room. Too many men approaching her ‘to dance’ practically drooling on the floor because they never stepped outside their tiny little circles and thought the criminal hero would be easy. Too many women approaching Corso, made him uncomfortable, the man just wasn’t used to the attention and the socialites weren’t used to having a man who knew how to use his strength. The poor girls were both scared of both of them and very interested in the young man who differed from the others around them and that combination led to uncomfortable situations and overly pushy behavior. Between the two groups, both of them just wanted away from the situation. 

The ‘guests’ were grateful for being saved, and trying to show that, but her and Corso, they scared the passengers. They’d done what trained soldiers hadn’t been able to do, somehow word had gotten out that she’d killed that damn Sith, and without the uniform to suggest some kind of rule that she was bound to, her success made her a bit scary to the pampered socialites on this ship. They didn’t know her, they didn’t know what she wanted and they didn’t know exactly what she was planning or what she was really capable of and it frightened them. 

Finally though, they made it to the Coruscant spaceport and everyone went their own ways. At last, she could breathe without someone looking over her shoulder, or at least she’d be able to once she got through customs. Unfortunately, an T series security droid approached as soon as they stepped into the arrivals terminal. She stepped over to the customs terminal, hoping the droid wouldn’t notice. A few ill-planned smuggling runs had landed her on certain watch lists with the Republic and that meant every spaceport she entered under her own name ended up with a delay as she was searched and interrogated and there was never enough time to put up with that shit. Lucky for her, or unlucky for customs, she had a cover. She glanced at Corso as the droid rolled up and greeted her. Like a team that had been together longer than they had, he smoothly moved between them and started chatting with the droid. She used the moment to slice the terminal. The droid accepted the input from the terminal and wandered off. As they moved towards the elevators, Corso leaned down and quietly whispered, with a hint of a laugh, “Admiral Numinn? Interesting choice.” 

She giggled and gently elbowed him, “nobody messes with an admiral, plus ya know, circumstance. Long story, better not told here.” Giggling, seriously, how long had it been since she’d done that. This was really getting out of hand, the sooner she could get him his blaster and drop him off again the better. Plus Tika would hate having another person aboard, perfect excuse. 

He smiled down at her, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Point taken.” They reached the elevator and caught sight of the scenery out the massive viewports. “Everything in Coruscant is huge. You see those city towers as we flew in? How many people you figure live in those? Millions?” 

Sometimes, she could forget how much of a farmboy he was, the mercenary took center stage. Other times, it was so damn obvious. It was a bit sad though, the state of Coruscant, almost ten years and some things still hadn’t been rebuilt. “Looks like some of those city towers are still short a few levels, thought they’d have fixed that since I was last here.” 

“You been here before, Captain?”

 again with the Captain. He wasn’t gonna stop anytime soon, kinda liked it though.  She shook her head, “another time” 

He shrugged and moved on, he seemed good at that, another question Leikael had about him. “...Even knocked the Jedi Temple off it’s pedestal.” 

And there it was, the comment always made about Coruscant and the war. “I know, my brother died there.”

That got a real pause from him. “That’s… That’s rough. I’m sorry for bringing it up Captain.” 

Taking a moment to breathe, she quickly waved him off. “I hadn’t seen him in like 7 years anyway. Let’s talk about something else like that banthashit who took my ship and my fracking Cat.”

Corso stared for a moment, “alright Captain, if you say so.” He took a breath, and she could see him shrugging aside the memories of his own loss. Her ability to read people had saved her life a few times, but now it was just obnoxious. “Wanna find Skavak before we’re too old to shoot straight? We’re gonna need local help.”

Help? She’d gotten help and it hadn’t worked. “We’ll just rattle some skulls until Skavak falls out.” Scumbag like that, he’d leave a big ass trail through the underworld. And that was a population she could work with, mostly, well, sometimes. 

“I know a faster way.” That sigh was one of resignation. Almost like his idea exhausted him. “There’s a gambler named Darmas Pollaran who keeps tabs on everything worth knowing about Coruscant. Friend of Viidus’s, good man. You’ll like him.”

Information broker. She’d worked with a few, not a bad resource if you could afford it. “Worth a visit, I guess. Where do I find this Darmas?” Let Corso run off and do whatever, she had no expectations of men anymore. 

“Well, Viidu always said if you look for a Sabbac table surrounded by beautiful women, you’ll find Darmas. But I can narrow that down. I still have Viidu’s holofrequency contacts. Give me a minute…” He pulled out a comm and started tapping at it. 

“Viidu had you keep his contacts?” 

He shrugged, “head of security and bodyguard. Traveled with the old man pretty much everywhere, had to keep the secure frequencies list in case his comm went down. Part of the job.” 

He held up the comm between them and it flickered to life, showing a slim middle aged man.  “Corso, is that you? It’s been too long, you rascal.” His tone implied familiarity, must have had more than a few conversations in the past.

[teddybeardoctorr]

Lost Souls - Supernatural Fic

*I thought I would finally dabble in fanfiction again and write a little something with my favorite character. Hope you all enjoy! - A/N

“Son of a bitch.”

I spat out the milk in my mouth. It was spoiled. I can't believe...well, I can believe it. Me and Sammy had been working on a case for a week. Shopping wasn't on our to-do list.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I dumped the milk in the sink and rinsed my mouth with water probably four times. I was so pissed. How was I going to eat my cake now?

Yeah, my cake. I didn't think Sam was going to believe the sight of it when he came home. I don't bake, ever. I have, but...let's just say it wasn't my specialty. Last time I baked a cake for my dad's birthday at 10 years old, the firefighters weren't happy about seeing me...again.

At least there was nothing box directions and Google couldn't fix.

Grabbing my plate and fork, I head off to my room in the bunker. We were still in this dingy place I guess you could call home. It was at least a great place of quiet, and sleep. Oh, I planned on getting 12 hours of sleep after gutting a whole army of vamps.

Opening my door, I stopped in my tracks. There was a white envelope on my bed.

A letter?

I don't get letters.

Placing the plate and fork on my dresser, I walked slowly, looking at the letter. Labeled “Dean Winchester.”

“Funny,” I snickered. Who was playing a sick joke on me?

Ripping open the envelope, I unfold the paper. Only a few lines of text:

“Dean,

I can't believe I'm writing to you. It's been such a long time.

I hope you still remember me. I need you.

When you get the chance, please give me a call. It's urgent.

Love,

Val”

Val?

“Very funny, Sammy.”

Laughing to myself, I was sure he did this. Who else could it be? Crowley? He was dead. Castiel? I'm not even sure Cas would know how to craft a letter. Sam? Well, I guess I wasn't sure about that, either, but no one else lived here.

What if it was a demon? An angel? Another vamp? Some sort of trap? How the hell did anyone get in here?

Hearing footsteps, I left my room to see Sam in the kitchen, unbagging the beer I asked for.

Should've asked for milk, too.

“Do you think this is funny?”

Sam looked up, folding the paper bag. “What are you talking about?”

“You have nothing better else to do but craft fake love letters?” I asked, holding up the letter.

He rolled his eyes and laughed. “Dean, you're crazy.”

“I gotta admit,” I said, handing him the letter back. “Val sounds sexy, but stop fucking with me, man.”

Perplexed, he opened the letter and read the words. He laughed and shook his head. “Dean...I would never write this. I didn't write this.”

I paused, shaking my head and said, “Then who did?”

“One of your many flings? That's probably why you don’t remember who,” He said, cracking open a beer.

One more time, I gazed over his face. Relaxed, too playful, and no sign of hiding anything, Sammy was telling the truth.

“Whatever,” I gave up. “I'll get you next time.”

Heading back to the room, I thought to myself briefly. There were no signs of forced entry. There were traps everywhere for monsters. Who delivered the letter?

Sitting on my bed and taking another bite of cake, I looked over the letter again. Val….Val…I could remember her name, vaguely.

How could anyone know to deliver me a letter? As far as the public world knew, Dean Winchester was dead. Like the wind. I hadn't had friends in...well, ever, I guess.

Flings? Different story.

I wouldn't even consider any woman a fling. A fling implied having some sort of romantic connection. Almost every single one had been a hookup. Physical...very physical. Easy to forget about. I couldn't risk being close to anyone.

Val...Val…

Oh shit. Val.

Vaguely, but still recalling, Val was the woman I met...maybe a year ago now? I wasn't too sure, but I remembered Val.

I remembered her because of her tattoo.

Clinton, Arkansas was one of the most driest towns I'd ever been to. Not dry as in drought, but dry as in there was nothing to do there.

The town didn't have many bars to choose from, so that's how I landed here, in the Driest Saloon. What a coincidence.

At least there was a pool table, nice selection of beer, and just a few people. It made hiding in the corner at my table a whole lot easier.

“Is this seat taken?”

I looked up, knitting my eyebrows.

“Good,” she said, pulling out the chair and plopping down. “Didn't think so.”

I loosened my lips once I took in my new view. Brunette, green eyes, and smirking, like there was something to laugh about in secret.

“Um, actually-”

“I'm Val.”

Looking at her outstretched hand, I chuckled.

“Look, I don't need company, but thanks anyway.”

Challenging my stare, she withdrew her hand and pulled the top of her flannel down, showing me her chest tattoo.

An anti-possession tattoo.

“Calm down,” she laughed. “I'm one of you.”

Grinning, the memory of that night came back to me. It wasn't smart trusting her. She could've been anyone lying to me, trying to kill me. But she caught me at a weak moment, I guess.

And God, was she beautiful.

Me and Sammy were working a case and weren't coming up with much answers. I needed a few beers to cool down, alone, and wanted nothing but a fuzzy buzz to cure my tension.

But then Val came along, and I decided to let loose. For once.

Yeah, I was stupid. Hopeless and stupid.

Tension releasing from my shoulders, I laughed and asked, “How did you know?”

“Well,” she started, “Yours is peaking out from your shirt. I figured it wasn't a coincidence.”

She was right. Bringing only a v-neck on this trip--from a lack of clean clothes--my tattoo showed a little when I wasn't wearing a button up.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s not everyday you run into a hunter.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Guess it's my lucky day.”

Looking at the number written down, I decided to take out my cell and give it a ring. I wasn't exactly sure what Val wanted, or how she was able to send me a letter, but it didn't hurt to find out.

After four rings, I heard her say, “You called.”

“I, uh, um yeah, it's me.”

“Dean.”

Hearing her voice say my name sent a chill up my spine. Even after just meeting her once, I could still feel her affect on me. Her voice dancing under my skin, making me want to touch every inch of her.

How could I forget that night?

“Val,” I said. “How did you find me?”

Laughing, she said, “Well, it sounds crazy, but I prayed, and your friend heard me.”

Shaking my head, confused, I asked, “You mean...Castiel?”

Picturing her nodding, she replied, “I was desperate and didn't know how to get a hold of you. He shows up in a trenchcoat, and asks what I need, and helped me get to you. I...I just can't believe it worked.”

Cas always did have our backs, me and Sammy. It was just strange how he heard her pray and...delivered a letter? Why wouldn't he just tell me?

“Well, it's me,” I said. “It...it's great to hear your voice, Val.”

She got up, fetching us two Blue Moons at the bar. I cringed internally. Blue Moon was sweeter than I liked, but my bourbon was dwindling down. Guess I wouldn't say no.

Sitting down, she said, “I think you're working on the case I had no interest in.”

I laughed, taking the last swig of bourbon. “What? Ghosts taking over home appliances doesn't interest you?”

“Not exactly,” she agreed, taking a sip of her drink. “Once I sucked it up and got to the crime scene, I noticed two men with fake FBI badges working.”

Arching an eyebrow and licking her lip, catching a drop of beer, I froze. I had seen many women in my lifetime, yet, she was someone who had a hold I couldn't shake.

I don't remember that happening since...ew, Amara, the darkness.

Back to reality, I rolled my eyes. “Like you don't have twenty of those.”

“Twenty-three, thank you.”

“Funny.”

Reaching for the lone bottle, she swatted my hand away. “You can get your own.”

Pursing my lips, I asked, “Excuse me?”

Finishing off her bottle, she smirked, winking. “That was for you until I finished mine. You have to be quicker than that.”

My lip curled, watching her. Her soft voice giving me goosebumps; watching her long hair flip to her backside; imagining it running through my fingers.

Trouble has company tonight.

“You too, Dean. You too.” She sighed, and I could picture her smiling.

Only...her voice didn't show any sign of enthusiasm.

Clearing my throat, I said, “I'm guessing there's a reason you were looking for me.”

After a pause, she replied, “Yeah. There is. Or um, there was.”

Silence sliced between us, but I didn't do anything to separate it. Normally, I would've chased to the point, but something told me not to right now. I could feel the...dread, the disappointment in her voice.

Disappointed in what?

“Dean,” she said, velvety and smooth. “Do you remember that night between us?”

“Of course,” I admitted too quickly. “It was my lucky day.”

Chuckling, she replied, “Good. I'm calling...because I never forgot what happened that night.”

Rising up from my chair, she tugged on my sleeve, shaking her head.

“I got it,” she said. “I live here. It's on the house.”

Protesting, she got up anyway, looking back at me after putting in her request. She smiled, tucking her hand in the back of her jean pocket, and winked.

God damnit.

She brought back two glasses of bourbon, both of us sitting down. “Now both are for you. I can't stand Jim Bean.”

“Me either,” I agreed. “That's why I drink it.”

Perplexed, she shook her head. “A new form of torture?”

I nodded, kicking back a whole glass and slamming it on the table. “Isn’t that the point of drinking?”

“Isn't the point to forget?”

“Not exactly.”

Picking up on my sarcasm, she grinned. “Are you always alone?”

“Naw,” I replied, sipping from my glass. “My brother is catching some sleep.”

Nodding, she took a sip from her own bottle. “Well, he's missing the fun.”

That's when the flickering lights cast a shadow on her face, making her eyes glow with flecks of gold.

Turning our heads around, we noticed our breath in front of us…

Of course.

“Are you talking about all the appliances we trashed in the bar? Or the scratches on our heads?” I asked, chuckling.

Laughing, she replied, “Both. What are the chances we ended up in the ghosts home? Buried in the basement and all?”

She was right. It was of course a hunter's chance that we would end up in the bar of the ghost making headlines in town. And it wasn't an easy feat.

The ghost, or Henry Simmoms, tried taking control of everyone and stuffing them into appliances to die. Freeze, burn, whatever could happen. After a few injuries, finding makeshift weapons, and attempts made to slow him down, we finally were able to burn him in the coffin stored in the basement. Unsanitary and disgusting, but convenient.

“You were badass,” I replied, smiling. “Never seen someone in my day break appliances in two smashes.”

“Shut up. I know.”

We shared a laugh, letting silence settle again. Her laugh was soothing. I could feel her hand on my shoulder, squeezing it a few times as we looked over the bar of frazzled customers when it was all over. I didn't think anyone in the destroyed, glass ridden joint knew what happened, and honestly, it was best that way.

Only we knew what happened that night.

“Well,” she said. “I meant...what happened afterwards.”

Oh yeah, that.

Chuckling, I replied, “Yeah...that too.”

“There's something I have to tell you.”

This silence was different. It was...waiting. It was nervous.

Reluctantly, I said, “Well, what is it Val?”

Walking out of the Driest Saloon, Val took a deep breath and said, “Well, off I go.”

“Wait,” I protested, turning to her. “You can't be serious?”

Knitting her eyebrows, she asked, “What?”

“You almost die in a bar and you want to go home alone?”

“Just another day in the office, right?” Grinning, she shook her head and walked forward. “I'll be fine. Seriously.”

“But you didn't even get to learn my name.”

That's what made her stop in her tracks. Turning around, she looked up and down, nodding. “You're right. Because you never told me.”

“Want to find out?” I asked, walking to the impala. “Get in.”

“My mom said never to get in a car with strange men.”

“Now I'm strange?”

“No,” she said, walking to the passenger side. “But you're a man.”

“I fucking hope so,” I said, slamming the door closed.

Val directed me to her home, a 40-minute drive. Apparently, everything in Clinton is miles apart.

Listening to the whistle of the wind against the window, I remembered a thought I had earlier.

“Why don't you have a southern drawl?”

She turned her head to me, smiling. “Cause I'm not from here.”

“Where are you from?”

“Somewhere in Indiana.”

“What, you don't remember?”

“I try to forget.”

Can't argue with that.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“Kansas,” I replied.

Not asking any more questions, we sat in silence, with the occasional direction. It was somehow comforting. Words didn't need to be said when silence said everything.

Pulling up into the rocky driveway, I took in Val's home, or what was left of it. There was no roof, barely any sidings anymore. I gotta admit...this place was a dump.

“This isn't it,” she clarified. “Come on.”

I waited, and waited, but no answer.

“Still there?”

“Yeah,” Val replied quietly.

Nervous for her response, I waited again. After a measured breath, I waited again. What wasn't she telling me?

“Dean,” she said. “Do you believe in...right thing, wrong time?”

Confused, I answered, “Well, I guess.”

“Do you?”

“I mean...if it was truly meant to be, it would already be, right?”

“Are you saying us?”

“In general.”

In reality, I meant us. From the moment I laid eyes on Val, I knew she was different. I was suspicious, and sure, distrusting, but I always would be. It came with the hunter lifestyle. But she was different. She broke down walls I didn't know could be torn down, after years of building on the foundation.

My imagination told me we could be. We could protect each other. Go to great lengths to stay by each other's side. Vow to never let go until it was no longer a choice. But deep down, I would never let it happen.

In this lifetime, there was too much to lose. I could barely stomach the thought of losing Sam. Even Castiel, I couldn't consider the scenario. And Val...I knew if I let her too close, I would be terrified of losing her, too.

And plus, I couldn't be another reason to add to her endangerment. She was a hunter, so she was used to it. Hell, it was probably her lifestyle that cost her a family. She knew what pain felt like, just like I did.

And I didn't want to be another reminder of pain. Ever.

“Yeah,” she said. “I agree. Some things just weren't meant to be.”

Getting out of the car and tapping my door twice to let baby know I'd be back soon, I followed her to the side of the house. It looked like above ground, her home was burned down to pieces a while ago, maybe ten years back.

We made it to the back, where a roof of a shed peaked from above ground. There were double doors on the roof. Interesting design.

“Some enemies burned my home down a while back, and I didn't want to risk being found again,” she explained, looking down at the doors. “It was temporary, but I discovered I don't like the sun, anyway.”

Looking down at her, smiling, I couldn't imagine why she wasn't a fan. With skin as olive kissed as hers, and a grin bright enough to light up a room, I had my doubts. She belonged in the sun.

Quietly opening one of the doors, she stepped down and reached her hand out for me to grab. Interlacing our fingers, I followed her, closing and locking the door as instructed. At the bottom of her staircase was the living room. It was as if this was above ground, a normal home.

“I started rebuilding this once my house was destroyed,” she said, stepping further and leading me to sit on the couch with her. “It came along quickly. Kind of resembles what out there used to be.”

“What made you want to stay?” I asked, letting go of her hand.

I could tell the subject was personal to her. She looked ahead, and then up to me. This time, her grin was sad. “I guess I'm connected to my family. They aren't here anymore, but I can feel them.”

“Trust me,” I said, putting a hand on her knee, squeezing it for comfort. “I know.”

At first, I panicked at the movement. I usually never felt compelled to touch. A desired touch, sure, but I knew how to keep my urges to myself. But something told me to comfort Val. She was a magnet, and she was dragging me along. Only it didn't feel painful. To be honest, I could drown in her all night.

And there was no need to worry, because she put her hand on top of mine. Now, she was back to her mischievous smirk.

“What's your name?” she asked.

“Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“I know.”

“You knew.”

“Your name definitely started with a D, but I was thinking Danny.”

Throwing our heads back in laughter, we somehow came back together. Looking at each other; smiles fading. She bit her lip, and that was it. That was my undoing.

Only I didn't make the move. Her hands held onto my shoulders as she moved forward to kiss me.

With enough pressure, I could sense the urgency. I could sense the spark. We both ignited the match.

And I wasn't going to let the flames stop.

She moved back, keeping her eyes closed for two seconds before looking at mine.

“Was that okay? I'm sor-”

But the distance was too much. I moved forward to close it, placing my hand on her lower back, bringing her close and pressing my lips against hers, saying, “Don't be.”

It's amazing how much you can jump from one place to the next. At one point, she crawled onto my lap, wrapping her arms around me, tracing my bottom lip with the tip of her tongue before gently biting down. I sighed against her lips, feeling my hands settling onto her hips, bringing her closer to me. I felt her smile between our kiss, and knew she was enjoying having this effect on me.

At the next point, my lips left a trail down her neck while my hand wandered to her chest, over her flannel. Kissing, nibbling, licking; I was doing anything to hear her moan and watch her throw her head back in pleasure. Moving her hips forward with one hand, squeezing her breast and applying pressure to her nipple with the other, she found the right spot between us, making my hips meet hers.

That's when I found myself rising up on my feet, keeping her lifted as I maneuvered my way around with her guidance.

“There’s a, uh, bedroom, to your right,” she sighed, reaching down with her lips, meeting mine and sneaking her tongue in.

Luckily, I was great at walking with my eyes closed. I led our way into the bedroom, the glow of two nightlights showing me my steps. Gently laying her down and kissing her deeply, I slid my tongue against hers, wrestling before sucking on her upper lip, letting go and hearing her whimper.

“Dean,” she moaned.

Trailing further down her neck, I said against her collarbone, “You rang?”

She giggled, probably from feeling tickled, and asked, “Will you stay?”

She crawled back, making me crawl with her, grinning and throwing her hair back. She was so hard not to ravish. But I knew with her, I had to take my time. If this was going to be the only time we could do this, I wanted to savor every inch, every touch, every feeling I had on top of and inside of her.

Looking down, her head was sinking in the pillows, smiling up at me. Even in darkness, her eyes were hard to let go of.

“I could never leave.”

And I couldn't. Nothing stayed except our bodies under the sheets. One by one, clothing was chucked all over the room. We were eager to take them off, helping each other since we got tangled, laughing most of the time and switching positions often. This was a great workout alone.

Wrapping my arms around her waist, rolling her on top, she stayed close to me. Her chest against mine. Her lips pressing deeper. Her tongue diving in before nibbling and sucking, making me do the same to her lips. I tried bringing her closer, even though it wasn't possible. But I needed her. I needed her so bad.

“I'm all yours tonight,” she breathed against my mouth.

She kissed me before rising up, hands on my chest. Looking down between us, she rose her hips before sinking down on me and gasping.

I hissed, “Shit.”

She looked at the ceiling, moving her hips forward and breathing heavily. First, it was slow, enjoying me inside, filling her deeply. But once I grabbed her hips, controlling her speed, she moaned and looked down at me.

“Yes, please,” she whimpered, digging her nails in my chest.

I groaned, closing my eyes and trying to keep my cool. She was so fucking tight around me. So wet. So fucking wet I could hear it. The faster I moved her hips forward, her clit rubbing against me, the more I heard her moaning. It was so beautiful. I wanted her to keep moaning, as if she was singing.

Immediately, I took hold of her and flipped her over, hearing her gasp and giggle. I smiled and looked down at her as she laid under me. She rose her hips against mine, wanting me inside again. Her eyes quickly closed once I slammed inside, causing her to moan and hold onto my shoulders, looking down between us as I kept thrusting, slowly and measured.

“Faster,” she whispered. “Fuck me, please.”

Sealing her lips with mine, groaning in her mouth, I slammed my hips against hers faster. Her moans turned into yearning whimpers, trying to catch her breath and still kiss me. Getting wetter and contracting around me, I knew I was going to cum soon.

But I needed to see her come undone first. I needed to see the effect I had on her because she was so fucking beautiful.

Peeling my lips away, I opened my eyes and took in the sight below. Her breasts bouncing with each thrust; her eyes trying to keep contact with mine but rolling back instead; her mouth hanging open, half smiling in pleasure.

“God, you're beautiful,” I groaned, throbbing inside of her.

“Dean,” she moaned. “Fuck.”

Sealing her lips with mine, I slowed down. Feeling her skin against mine, feeling her tremor, her lips tickling mine, I fucked her slow so I could tease her, and slow myself down.

It was impossible not to lose myself in her. I had never felt this way physically towards someone before.

Reaching my hand down to rub her clit in small, pressuring circles, I felt her pulse against me. She teared her lips away to yell her orgasm out. Arched back; breasts against my chest, her nails creating long scratches down my arms, I watched Val ride out her pleasure, spasm and all.

Watching her, I didn't realize I came, too. I felt it ripple through me, pausing inside of her and sinking my head down. But I was too busy looking at her.

Beautiful.

“I've never been a believer, anyway,” I said.

“Even after everything we've seen?”

“Would you blame me?”

Val was silent, answering my question. Out of everything that has happened in my life, probably in hers, too, my expectations weren't high in any way. God was a bust. Fate was a joke. Death could be cheated.

If things were meant to be, then they simply would be. Maybe in some other universe.

And when everything could change, I always did my best to make the right change.

Which is why I always knew with Val what my choice had to be.

Waking up, there was no sun shining in my face. But once I cleared my eyes of sleep with my fist, I saw her fixated on me.

“Did you sleep?”

She nodded. “I'm just an early bird.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

Giggling, she came closer, laying her head right in front of mine. Through the morning breath, I kissed her, missing the way her soft lips felt against mine already.

“I know you can't stay,” she said.

“I wish I could.”

“Me too.”

Laying in silence, staring each other down, and tracing the few freckles on her face with my thumb really made me not want to leave.

Val was beautiful in so many ways. Physically, emotionally, spiritually. I didn't know much about her, and she knew even less about me. But somehow, neither of that mattered. What mattered was that even just being around her, she had me stuck in time reliving all the good parts. It was comforting, because I knew I was safe. I knew she was that person.

But she couldn't be. Not now.

And if I could help it, not ever.

“Can I help you get dressed?” she asked.

I smirked, trying my best to match hers. “Just to undress me?”

“Isn’t that the idea?”

We laughed, kissing each other again. We allowed ourselves a few more minutes of fooling around, her mouth around me and mine exploring her. Her lips felt just as amazing around my cock, swallowing every bit of me, not minding the tears in the corners of her eyes. It didn't take long for me to turn myself into her.

It didn't take her long, either. Her clit pulsed against my tongue, her lips wrapping around my tongue when I explored inside. Bringing her closer to my face, moaning against her and enjoying her taste is what it took to have her orgasm, her flooding my tongue with a taste hard to forget.

It was hard to get out of bed after that, especially when I wanted to devour her. Again and again and again. But it was already 8:00am, and Sam was going to be up soon. We needed to head out.

But she made me want to stay instead of run.

I knew I wouldn't feel that for a while.

Stopping in front of the drivers side of the impala, we looked at each other with a mutual understanding. We couldn't keep in contact. We couldn't have each other's information. We couldn't because we connected, and anything evil would try to take that away from us.

And that hurt more than actually not having her near at all.

She nodded, grinning. “You take care of yourself, Dean. Home appliances aren't even safe.”

I chuckled, leaning down to kiss her cheek and cupping it, feeling her soft skin under my calloused palm. “You too, Val. Be safe.”

After a few seconds, she started stepping away, causing my hand to drop. She waited until I was in the impala, starting it and backing out of the driveway to smile and wave goodbye.

I knew I wouldn't see her again.

But I was hoping I would.

“Val,” I interjected, growing impatient. “What's wrong?”

Taking a deep breath, she started, “I wish I didn't have to tell you-”

“Listen, you don't have to tell me-”

“But I do, Dean. I do.”

Hearing her shaky voice created a swell in my chest. Before, I could tell she was trying to keep herself together. But now, I heard the gates break down, tears probably streaming from her eyes.

“Please, don't cry,” I whispered, closing my eyes, willing away the image of a broken woman falling into my arms. I wish she was close to me.

“Sorry,” she said, sniffling before clearing her throat. “S-Sorry.”

Taking a deep breath, she continued, “A few months after meeting you, I started getting sick. I wasn't sure why. I hadn't had the flu in years.”

Discomfort crawling beneath my shoulders, I breathed slowly. This couldn't be happening.

“Turns out, I was pregnant,” she said.

Pregnant.

“By who?” I quickly asked.

She snorted, but it wasn't friendly.

“You,” she bit back. “You, Dean. I just...couldn't tell you.”

After a few seconds of silence, I knew she wanted me to say something.

But what could I say?

Settling my fist onto my lap, reluctantly stretching out my fingers, I shook my head and asked, “Why?”

“Because you didn't deserve that.”

“I didn't deserve to know I was having a child?”

“You didn't deserve to have a child with me,” she yelled, taking me back. “You had enough on your shoulders. You don't understand what life is like for me, what you would've been walking into. I couldn't do that to you-”

“That wasn't for you to decide,” I seethed. “I would've made it work. I would've raced down there. I would do anything for my child-”

“There is no child!”

That's when I felt the world stop.

The clock stopped ticking. My chest ached with pain. My eyes made it hard to see anything in front of me.

I wasn't too sure if my ears were working correctly, either.

“Wh...What?” I asked, surrendering. “What are you saying, Val?”

“Dean,” she said, pleading. “I gave birth and...he didn't make it.”

[cj-wu]

The dagger of love

It was a peaceful afternoon in 18s as I wandered the streets of Northern Ireland. The streets were full of noise: men drinking and cursing, women chattering, horses whipping on their backs, wagons creaking over the pavement... Just then, when my whole mind was wandering in this Ionian city, a man claiming to be a reporter for the weekly newspaper jumped out and stopped me. He said he wanted me to tell him a short story about me and my husband Ike, so that we could have a front page story that everyone would be interested in.

I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Eileen Goode Davis, and my husband Ike Davis is one of the most famous pet philanthropists of our time. Since we got married 30 years ago, we have been treating each other with respect. We have never had a fight. As a result, our unusual marital bliss has become a matter of public curiosity, with newspapers and private investigators scrambling to find out about our romantic past without success.

But today, after all that I've been through, I'm going to die with my husband, to thank my best friend Jennifer, and to die to make up for what I've done wrong forever. So I felt the need to make our "romance" public.

I was Eileen Goode at the age of sixteen, and my father,Hedsen Goode, was a major shareholder in the local bank. Through my father I met another shareholder, Mr. Focus Jansen and his daughter, Jennifer Jansen. Girls of the same age always find it easy to find common topics. After a few exchanges, we naturally become good friends.

The next spring, Jennifer invited me to a picnic. We were joined by her fiance Ike Davis. I would like to declare that I did not steal her fiance. My love story with Ike only started after Jennifer died. But I can't deny that my love for Ike began when I first met him.

Ike was very fond of animals, and his favorite at the time was a mongrel lame-legged greyhound. He carried the greyhound everywhere he went, and this was no exception.

At first, Jennifer didn't mention Ike was her fiance, so I didn't know about it. I kept making eye contact and trying to get his attention with my flirtatious behavior. But when I noticed Jennifer's scowling face, I thought maybe is my demeanour annoyed her. Until she told me that Ike was her fiance that I realized I had gone too far.

After lunch Jennifer suggested playing hide-and-seek in the woods.

First I came looking. I quickly found Jennifer, and Jennifer found Ike. I was hiding under what looked like a centuries-old tree by the side of the pool. When Jennifer found Ike and quickly hid under the rockery, we looked at each other, smiled at each other, and made a silent gesture.

Ike was coming, closer and closer, and I could even hear his breathing! Oh god, he sounded like he was only two yards away from me! My heart was pounding in my chest, and I thought he could follow it to find me. He kept walking up and down near where I was hiding, and at this rate I was sure to be found. Suddenly I found the limping puppy lying by the pool in the sun. If... If I could distract him...

With a pen in my pocket, I dug up a large stone from the mud at my feet and threw it at the dog. The poor little dog jumped up in my fear and rolled over into the water.

The puppy barked in the pool. It couldn't swim to shore. It was a lame dog!

At that moment, I sensed a cold stare coming from behind the rockery. It was Jennifer. She saw what I did. Startled, I made eye contact to silence her, but she pretended didn't see me and came out calling out for Ike.

Little did I know that Ike was far away when I threw the stone, so it was some time before Ike came. By the time he got there, the limping puppy was lifeless on the water.

Ike scooped up the dog and held it in his arms, staring at us and asking what had happened. I was going to make up an excuse to explain, but Jennifer beat me to it.

"Eileen put it in the water."

"Not me! "I retorted automatically.

"I saw it, you throw a stone at it, it fall into the water!"

I wanted to say more, but at the sight of Ike's eyes full of grief and anger I could not say anything. I felt very guilty.For a while, tears do not know how to flow down. I walked up to him, stroked the dog's wet fur, left a kiss on its forehead, and I turn fled.

I was half asleep all night, but thank god I didn't sleep too deeply.

I was at the point where I felt a white light pass through my eyelids. I opened my eyes and saw Ike standing by my bed with a dagger and an angry face. I suddenly realized that the white light was the reflection of a dagger that was about to slit my throat.

I sat up quickly, trying to calm him down.

"Ike, Ike, sit down. What happened?" I pretended to be calm.

"You killed my dog! Ike growled. "You killed my dog!"

"I didn't!" I shouted back.

"Jennifer saw it all!" Ike's hand with the dagger swung in the air and nearly cut my eye.

"It wasn't me. It wasn't really me. It was Jennifer!" I screamed.

Ike stopped his movements. The anger in his eyes turned to doubt. "what did you say?"

"I like you, and I liked you as soon as I saw you today. But you're Jennifer's fiance, so she's been mad at me, so... How could I find a rock big enough to scare a dog? Unless you have to dig in the dirt. Uh...Look at my hands!" I held out my hand to him. "This is the nail polish I painted the day before yesterday. And then, they look like new!" I swallowed and looked up at Ike. "At that moment, Jennifer was hiding behind the rockery by the side of the pool, there are many big rocks. And if I had stoned the dog, Jennifer would have gotten so close to it that she would have had time to get it out, but she didn't..." My voice is getting smaller and smaller.

"Really?

"I swear!" I said.

Ike presumably believing me, turned and climbed down from my room window.

The next morning, I heard Jennifer's death. My father told me that Jennifer had been cut my throat and had several knives in her abdomen, but the police had no clue to the murderer.

It must be Ike. I know it must be him.

A week later, Jennifer's funeral was held at angel cemetery. I stand on the side of Ike, "You'll miss her, right?"

"Never." His answer was simple and short.

By the end of the funeral, Focus Jansen had been talking to Ike alone, about the cancellation of his marriage to Jennifer.

Ike agreed quickly, and I had already shown my heart that I had become his lawful wife.

I made the right choice, I've told myself over the years.

My husband and I have been dreaming about Jennifer every night for the last few months, and I finally can't stand the guilt that's been buried deep inside me. Before I wrote this, I had killed my husband with a dagger, and when I came to myself, I think I should make the secret public, and follow in the footsteps of my husband's spirit. To make up for it by dying forever.

(If there are any grammar or word mistakes, please tell me and I will correct them. Thanx!)

[lexiwhittenburg-writer-blog]

A Family Mystery

There's always been something off about my family. Our maternal side is sort of a mystery to all of us except for my mother. We moved to Atlanta, GA when I was around 6 years old, and my sister was 2. I have no idea where we lived before that. I never knew the family outside of our household, and my mother intends to keep it that way. Our father's parents died before we were born, but he always shares stories and memories of them with us. Any questions asked of my mother, however, is answered, "Curiosity killed the cat!" The constant charade she keeps up simultaneously intrigued and scared me. What's so strange that she feels the need to hide our family from us? What secret is buried so deep?

​We take a family vacation every year – somewhere new and exciting each time. This year was odd, though. Our mother received news that our maternal grandmother had passed away.. She left our mother a cabin in the swamps of Louisiana, so that is where our next family vacation was. We left on a Sunday afternoon after church, something our mother insists we attend as often as possible. I'm not much of a believer, but I attend to appease her.

​Around nine o'clock in the evening is when we arrived at a docking area with a small motor boat. There was no one around, yet our mother just steps into the boat like it's hers. Maybe it is. She starts the boat up after tugging the string a few times, hearing the blubbering sound meaning it probably hasn't been started in quite some time. My sister and I looked at each other in awe of our mother, of the unknown. We stepped into the boat and took off towards a small island about three miles off the mainland. It was connected, but there was no possible way to drive down the thin strip of muddy land.

​When our mother finally stopped the boat, she stepped out, pulled the boat onto the shore, and tied us off. I never knew she could drive a boat, but looking at her now seems like she's been doing this her entire life. We stepped out of the boat with our sleeping bags and backpacks of food and water onto the muddy island. We were faced with an old, unsteady cabin that seemed to be hundreds of years old. My father sighed softly and started towards the cabin. Thank goodness, I wore my hiking boots, I thought. We all grabbed our flashlights out of our bags as it started to get darker, not knowing if there would be any electricity. The yard surrounding the cabin was overgrown and neglected. It didn't seem as if a lawn mower was ever used on this land. My sister pulled out her camera and started taking photos. I'm not sure how they would turn out, but the flash seemed to be enough to show what she needed. As we inched closer to the cabin, the musky smell of mold overwhelmed my senses. I flashed my light over the porch of the cabin. The light caused bugs and rodents of all kinds to scurry away. My stomach turned.

​We all stopped before the stairs to the porch, looking the cabin over. My sister eventually joined us and made the mistake of asking a question, "How long has this place been empty?" Surprisingly, an answer came from our mother, "Sixteen years or so." Her eyes never left the cabin. Looking in her direction, we all saw in her eyes a look of hurt and disappointment. None of us dared ask if she was okay. She wouldn't tell us anyway.

​Walking carefully up the stairs, we realized the cabin may be sturdier than we thought. It is in the line of hurricanes, after all, and is still standing. My mother was the first to walk into the cabin, and her breath caught in her throat. She suddenly stopped and slowly moved her head from side to side. My father ran up behind her, "April, is everything al--" Before he could finish, he was mimicking her movements. Around the house were papers covering the floor of the living room. There was old food sitting on the dining room table, and the refrigerator was turned off, which could be included in the horrible stench radiating from the cabin. My mother's hand slowly reached for my father's shirt, "Ron, I think this is how it was left sixteen years ago." I gulped. Sixteen-year-old food? Disgusting.

​My sister and I followed our parents into the cabin to see the full extent of the damage done. There was a desk in the living room area. The drawers were opened and scavenged. The dark cherry wood was scratched to hell. The chair of the desk didn't seem to fit. It was a black, rolling office chair. It seemed clean and relatively intact compared to the rest of the place. As I spun around, taking in the environment, I noticed stairs without a railing. Along the stairs, there were several boards missing. I was surprised they were still standing. I was making my way over when I felt a tug at the back of my shirt. My sister, Joan, stopped me with a look of worry and confusion on her face. "Want to go up with me?" I motioned for the stairs. She nodded slowly, looking back at our parents who had busied themselves picking up the scattered papers.

​The stairs creaked loud enough that there would have never been a worry of intruders without someone knowing. As we got to the top, we saw two bedrooms to either side of us, and a bathroom directly in front. The one on the left was closed, but the room on the right was open and full. There was mostly trash, but the few items that were visible were antiques along with norms of the 70s. I looked at Joan, "Do you want to see what's behind door number one?" She smiled at my attempt to lighten the mood. We headed for the room to our left. The door was jammed, but a few blows with the shoulder, I was stumbling into the room. Newspapers were stacked all over the room, as if a hoarder had started on their journey to filling up the cabin. I looked through the first few stacks and they all had something in common – the headlining story. They were all about a serial killer loose in New Orleans between the late 60s to early 70s. The stories were brutal. Women being mutilated, prostitutes being raped and beheaded, even men being killed. As I skimmed the pages from one newspaper to the next, the connection was never quite clear. There were natives, recent citizens, and tourists.

​A loud clap behind me made me jump. I swirled around to see my mom and dad. My mom had a huge, forced smile on her face. "Now then. As you know, this cabin was given to me in my mother's will. We are here for a couple of days to clean it up, and then I will be putting it on the market." Joan and I were baffled. She chimed in first, "But why? This place is so cool!" My mother's face dropped as she turned on her heels and headed down the stairs. I looked at Joan and shrugged. Better not to ask questions. My dad shook his head towards Joan, “You two get ready for bed. Sleep wherever you’d like.” He followed our mom’s footsteps.

​I woke up in my sleeping bag on the floor with the newspapers the next morning. Joan and I had the rooms upstairs and my parents had the living room. When I trudged downstairs to hopefully find some food, my mother was already up and cleaning. She probably had been for hours. I wiped my eyes and yawned, "Good morning, mom." She looked up from the floor and smiled, a real smile, "Good morning, sweetie. Would you like some breakfast? The stove is a gas stove, so I was able to get something cooked!" She pointed towards the dining room table. There were beans and canned potatoes. Better than nothing. I sat with Joan as we ate our breakfast, then went straight to work. The sooner we get this done, the faster we get out of here.

​As I was cleaning the newspapers, I tore the headlining page from each day, to research this infamous New Orleans killer when we got home. I had already filled three trash bags, and started on my fourth when Joan half ran, half snuck into the room with a box. It was like a tackle box without the separators for the different lures. She was trying to hide it with her arms, but it was much too big. I raised one eyebrow, "What are you trying to do? Lure me in?" I laughed, but Joan didn't. I started to feel concerned. "I know you've been tearing those newspapers and saving them in your bag. Maybe this can help with your research," she opened the box to show cassette tapes and a player in the tackle box. My eyes widened as I read the handwritten titles. Barbara. Jeanne. Nancy. Prostitute #1. Lucy. "What is this?" I looked at Joan, whose mouth was turned down in a concerned frown. She lowered her voice and whispered, "I think the killer lived here, Leland." My heart sank. I stepped back into the wall behind me and sighed, never looking away from my sister. She pushed the box towards me, and I picked up my bag where she dumped the tapes and the cassette player.

​After three days of cleaning the cabin, it was finally complete. Well, as complete as we could manage. My mother decided to have the cabin remodeled with the money she also inherited to make a profit. As we were packing our things, I heard my parents talking in low voices. I stopped to hear what they were saying. "I didn't find the tapes," my mother said. "He probably destroyed them before he died, April. Maybe this can finally be behind us," my father replied. I gulped and pushed the contraband to the bottom of my bag. .

​

​We arrived at our hotel in New Orleans at around two o'clock in the afternoon. We had four days to have a real vacation. I kept my backpack in my sight or on my person everywhere we went. I was hoping to be able to get away from my parents to see if I could speak with anyone who might have been here during the late 60s to early 70s to get some insight on the serial killer who fed off this city. No such luck. Joan and I were beginning to get antsy knowing the tapes were in my backpack and how they would possibly connect our family to this killer.

​After two days of being in New Orleans, I finally asked my mother if Joan and I could take a walk by ourselves. We made up an excuse to go see this fortune teller down the street from our hotel, which was a five-minute walk. She paused for a few seconds and finally gave her approval. I grabbed my backpack and Joan, and we were out the door. Joan asked if we were really going to see the fortune teller. "No, she isn't old enough," I smiled. Her eyes filled with excitement as she realized what we were doing.

​We caught a trolley to the cemetery we spotted earlier in the day as we were walking around. The tour guide was an older, voodoo-looking woman. Hearing the little bit of the tour she was giving, she seemed very knowledgeable of New Orleans. Probably our best start. As we stepped off the trolley, I saw her locking up the tour building. Joan almost ran to her side and asked in excitement, "Were you here in the late 60s to early 70s?" The woman was caught by surprise, but her expression softened when she saw Joan's face. I caught up with Joan and put my arm around her waist, "I apologize ma'am. We are here visiting with our parents, but we ran across something very interesting, and we were just trying to find some people who lived here in that time frame to see if we could connect some dots." The old woman nodded and spoke with a heavy creole accent, "Absolutely, I was. I lived off Main Street, a time it wasn't so busy. What is it you are trying to figure out?" I smiled wide and brought my backpack to my front, "Our mother was inherited a cabin, and I found these newspapers stacked in one of the rooms. All of them had this same story," I pulled one out and showed her the headline. Her face dropped in horror. "I'm sorry, but why are you looking into this?" Her question caught me off guard. "Like I said ma'am, we found newspapers all with this same headline in the cabin our mother inherited from her mother. I'm just wanting to know if this has something to do with our family." She nodded slowly, but didn't say anything for a long time, looking at Joan and me with odd intensity. "Come inside," she finally said as she unlocked the tour building.

​"The man's name is Connor McElroy. He plagued our city with fear and death from the time he was born," the old woman explained. "I don't know if he's a part of your family seeing as the cabin you described has been vacant for sixteen years. Could have been squatters, or someone with an odd obsession." She motioned for us to sit at a table in a room behind the front counter. "When was he captured? The newspapers don't go as far as figuring out who he was," Joan inquired. The old woman leaned back in her seat and sighed, "He was finally caught in 1973. He had been causing chaos for eight years." Joan and I both sat back and looked at each other, then back at the old woman. "How did you escape being a victim, if you don't mind my asking," I pushed. Her smile was sly and mischievous, almost mocking, "I’m black."

​On the trolley back to the hotel, Joan and we came up with readings from the fortune teller we never saw. There was an uneasy feeling in my gut. This killer was only targeting white people. That was such an odd concept for me to accept. If this cabin my mother inherited was her family's, then why were the newspapers and tapes hidden away there? It's time to listen to the tapes. Outside of the trolley were tourists walking along the strip, having the time of their lives. I wondered if that was the same for the tourists during the time of these killings...

​

​

​We arrived back to the hotel, pulled ourselves together, and gave our parents the elaborate fortune we made up on the way back. "I'll marry the love of my life soon," Joan beamed. Her giddy excitement was well acted. Much like a fourteen-year-old who's been told this future event. We were sitting at the dining room table eating our dinner when my mother piped up, "Leland, you've hardly touched your food. Are you okay?" My head snapped up, away from my thoughts, "Oh, yeah. Sorry, mom. I was just thinking." I picked up my fork and began eating fast. I need to listen to those tapes.

​Once dinner was finished, our parents were retiring to bed. Joan and I said we were going to watch some television in my room, which was on the other side of the section in the middle, where Joan's room was. "Its nice you guys are getting along so well," my mother smiled. We nodded and smiled as she walked to their bedroom.

​Dumping the contents of my backpack on my bed, we arranged the newspaper stories to be in chronological order. This way, we could listen to the tapes as the serial killer emerged. There were 34 newspaper articles, 34 tapes. My heart was racing, I could feel the blood pumping in my temples. Joan and I sat next to each other with one headphone on each of our ears, as I slid the first tape into the cassette player. I took a deep breath and pressed play with shaking hands. The cassette player crackled for a moment, then a man's voice started speaking in a thick Creole accent like the voodoo woman:

"Kill number one. Karen Daley. October 15, 1968. She was tough. Her screams were hard to mask. I picked her up on Bourbon Street at around 3 o'clock this morning. Stinking prostitutes think they can dirty up this town with their sins."

Joan reached over to stop the tape, "We're related to Connor McElroy." Sighing deeply, I looked through the tapes and matched them with the newspaper articles for each victim, wrapping them neatly. I placed them into a shoebox I found in the hotel. We've got to tell mom what we found out, but how?

​Joan made her way back to her room. We had one more day in New Orleans. I wanted to find out more. Why did he target white women? Was he white or black? I need an article from when he was caught. I need to go back to the voodoo woman. Sleep was not coming to me that night. I was almost tempted to continue listening to see if there was any indication as to why this all started. What we did hear, "...prostitutes think they can dirty up this town with their sins," was a clear indication that this was a religious man. Was his motive fully religious? My eyelids were getting heavy, then, but sleep was still a distant goal.

​I heard my parents exit their room the next morning. I rolled over to see the bright digits read 7:00 AM. I gave myself a realistic thirty more minutes, then rolled out of bed to meet them in the kitchen. "Good morning, mom, dad," I yawned. "Well, aren't you two up early?" My father looked from me to Joan slinking out of her room. Giving a small laugh, I explained, "We must have slept good." The smell of biscuits, gravy, and sausage filled the kitchen. My stomach growled. The one thing I loved most about our vacations was that my mother still loved to cook almost every day. We would make a grocery stop before getting to the hotel to make sure we got everything we needed, and to make sure we knew where the grocery store was just in case we forgot something.

​After eating our breakfast, our parents let us know that we were free to do whatever we wanted that day. They were planning on staying in and enjoying our last day on the balcony taking in the scenery of New Orleans. I almost jumped out of my chair with excitement. I told Joan to get ready, and we were to head out on the town. Grabbing my backpack, we headed out the door to the trolley taking us to the voodoo woman giving ghost tours.

There weren't very many people wanting a ghost tour this Monday morning, so we were able to walk in and ask for her specifically. When she stepped out of the back, she stopped in her tracks, giving us a look that said what now? I smiled and held up our tickets for the nine o'clock tour. She seemed to relax a little, but knew we weren't there just for the tour. She gave us a rundown of what we would be seeing and how long the walk was – which I'm sure she gives to everyone – and we headed out the back of the building. About two minutes into this tour, she turned her head slightly and asked, "So what else is it you need to know?" Joan looked at me and smirked. "We just have a few questions to see if there is any way we can connect this man to our family. Why these tapes were in our cabin." The voodoo woman stopped, me slamming into the back of her. She twirled around so fast, I didn't realize she was facing me when she said, "You have the tapes?" Her voice was a low hiss. I stepped back and nodded slowly, looking into her flaming eyes, "They're in my backpack. I have them each wrapped with their corresponding newspaper article. We are just missing the last ones, when he is identified and caught."

​She led us into a graveyard, which was a stop on the tour, and asked to listen to one. I was taken aback, but I didn't argue. I pulled out the shoebox and tape player. She listened all the way through the first tape, her face growing grimmer by the minute. "I had no idea," she whispered. "What do you mean?" I slowly pulled the tape player out of her hand and situated everything back into my backpack. She signed heavily and began the tale of a horrific man:

"Connor was someone I went to school with. He was born and raised here in New Orleans. As I'm sure you know, this town is predominately African American," she motioned her hand as if to show us something. "Growing up with Connor, there was an underlying uncomfortable feeling I got when around him. He constantly seemed angry or bitter towards something. No one knew what. When we learned he was the serial killer behind these events, we weren't necessarily surprised. He made comments along the lines of, 'These whiteys will get what they deserve one day,' which didn't make any sense to us. He was white. I finally asked him what he meant by this when we were in high school. He explained to me that he was raised by his nanny, who was a black woman. She taught him everything he ever needed to know about living on his own, about what areas to avoid when he would wander around town... She was always there for him. His own parents borderline abandoned him, leaving him to be raised by this woman. He had come across the knowledge that when his parents were going on 'business trips', they were actually attending lynching events in the surrounding towns. I don't see why they didn't just move, but that's neither here nor there. It was a terrible childhood to have, his only caregiver being someone who was hated by her employers. By the late 60s to early 70s, he had grown up in the mindset that white people were to blame for all his problems. He had the mindset of the minority. He started small – prostitutes, tourists. Then he made his way up to well-known citizens who had started building their lavish homes in New Orleans. 1968, he dropped out of college and moved out of his parent's house to the lower income side of town. We called it the valley then. We lived on the same street. He married a white woman, but that was because she had the same type of childhood. She was also raised by a black woman. They had a child. It was a beautiful baby girl. He felt he had to protect her from the white people in town to keep her from becoming what he loathed – his mother."

​I was in shock. I looked at Joan who had tears pooling in her eyes. "What was his daughter's name?" The question was in a cracked voice that I didn't realize was mine. "April," she said, "April McElroy." Joan's breathing became shaky. She was crying now. The voodoo woman gently rubbed Joan's arm and gave us a look of sympathy. "Thank you... What is your name?" She smiled softly, "Joyce." I nodded, "Thank you, Joyce." She stood, "Would you like to continue the tour you paid for, or would you like to go back to your mother?"

​Joyce took us back to the building the long way, to make it seem like we took the tour so she didn't get into trouble with her boss. Joan had pulled herself together to get back onto the trolley and make our way back to the hotel. We entered the door to my room. We had to figure out how to tell our mother what we had learned, that we knew her father was a maniac. Joan reached for my backpack and dumped the tapes out onto the bed, "Mom!" I looked at her in a panic. "We won't do it unless we just do it," she whispered. Our mother entered the room and gasped, "Where did you find these?" Joan held a hand up, "Save it, mom. We know everything. We met a woman named Joyce who was a friend of Connor's. We know it all. Why did you feel like you had to hide this from us?" Our mother glided to the chair at the end of my bed and slumped down. "I didn't know how to tell you. I never wanted you to find out. He was someone I looked up to for a long time, but finding out that he was behind these murders put a loathing in my heart. I wanted to forget."

​We sat in my room and talked about the events leading up to Joan and I finding out. Our mother sighed and slumped farther into the chair the longer we went on. "I know you kids may be upset with me, but in all honesty," she stood from the chair, "I just wanted to know how you would turn out when you got older." Her voice turned cold. Joan and I looked at each other, then back at our mother. "What do you mean?" Joan squeaked, holding in her fear. "What I mean, sweetheart," she turned towards us with a switchblade in her hand, "I was hoping I had raised you two to be accepting creatures. I was hoping I had raised you to appreciate all walks of life. The way you're speaking of my father is not a reflection of that raising. I am very disappointed." The knife danced between her fingers menacingly. My heart was coming out of my chest, "Mom, we were just telling you what we were told. That's why we brought this to your attention. We wanted to know the truth. Right, Joan?" Joan was in the fetal position on the end of the bed. Her breathing was staggered. Her anxiety had set in, and she was not with us anymore. I stood slowly with my hand out in front of me, "Please, mom. I don't know what you're doing, but you're scaring us both. Look at Joan. She's gone into an anxiety attack. You know how long it takes for me to get her out of those." Our mother looked at Joan with disgust, "She's the worst of the two of you. You should have seen what she was saying about a girl in her class with her so-called friends," she spat towards Joan.

​"Now, Leland. I had such high hopes for you. You reminded me so much of my father when you were younger," she stepped closer, "So forgiving, loving, caring... I see the way you look at some people. I see the way you react to those who are supposedly 'less than' us. It's such a shame." She leaned over Joan. In one quick motion, her blade glided across Joan's throat. Blood was rushing out of her neck like a river. I choked, falling beside Joan, "No!" I held my hand on her throat, "Dad! Help!" My father stepped into the room, looking satisfied. "Your father would be proud, honey. They got what they deserved."

​"What," was all I could spit out before my mother's blade reached my own throat. "Goodbye, sweetheart," she murmured before mimicking the motion that killed Joan.

[yoonqified]

The Joker - Part 1

Word Count: 10k

Rated: 18+

Warnings: smut, mentions of drug abuse 

 Summary: During your check up with your regular patient, your interrupted by your co-worker Kim Namjoon as he hands you your new patient’s folder.

"Name."

"Hah, you know who I am."

"NAME!"

Jimin chuckled lightly at the officer sitting in front of him as he looked down at his cuffed hands that were lazily resting on his lap.

"Park. Jimin." he responded with a smile.

"Age."

"23."

"23 years old and you're already being put into prison. Wow Park Jimin, you should have learned to be a better psychopath while you were out there." The police officer commented laughing at his own insult.

Jimin leaned back in his metal chair and chuckled lightly. "I'm a great psychopath." he stated through slightly gritted teeth.

"I'm sure you are!" The officer continued to laugh and leaned his forehead onto the steel table. His laughter echoed throughout the room and rang into Jimin's ears. His eyes twitched as he gripped onto his knees tightly. He looked up at the camera that was placed in the corner of the room's ceiling and smirked. With a swift move, he reached over to the still laughing officer and grabbed him by the neck - handcuffs still strongly attached around his wrists. He pushed the officer's left cheek onto the cold table and leaned down to his ear. 

"Are you doubting me?" He whispered softly. The officer only shook his head rapidly, too shocked and scared to open his mouth. The alarms suddenly started to go off indicating the S.W.A.T. team to get to the room as soon as possible. Jimin looked up at the red blinking light and furrowed his eyebrows. God did he hate the cops. He looked down at the vulnerable officer and the grip that was tightly around his neck before leaning down once again and softly kissed the officer's cheek. 

"I don't believe you." He whispered into his ear.

The officer's face was suddenly slammed into the steel table multiple times splattering blood everywhere. Jimin only laughed menacingly at his actions as blood stained his porcelain skin and black v-neck shirt and continued the gruesome act until he got tired. He let go of his tight grip around the dead corpse's neck and let it fall to the ground. He slowly walked to the door and stood there fixing the handcuffs around his wrists, waiting for the officers to tackle him down. The door burst opened and four men in bulletproof jackets and masks entered and grasped Jimin by his arms as the chief walked in. He walked around the criminal and swiftly pulled his hand over his gaping mouth as he looked at bloody scene in front of him.

"Dear God." He whispered in despair.

Jimin chuckled at the chief's comment and continued to look forward. The chief finally walked over to Jimin after inspecting the mess that he had made and stood in front of him, looking at him in the eyes with horror. 

"W-what are you?" The chief whispered out in shock, mouth still gaping open.

"Me?" Jimin smirked. "I'm Park Jimin."

***

You rushed your way down the hospital's hallway knowing that if you didn't get there on time, your patient would start to get an anxiety attack. I know what you must be thinking, what is an innocent schizophrenic doing in a criminal asylum? Well, Kim Taehyung isn't so innocent. He actually murdered his parents 4 years ago because if his schizophrenia. The police think he's a crazy murderer, but you just think he's sick.

"I'm here Taehyung, you don't need to worry anymore." you said as you swung the door open and rushed into the room. Taehyung was sitting on his bed like always staring up at the clock before he shot his gaze towards you once you stepped inside and the look of concern was wiped off his face. There were small beads of sweat on the side of his temple and you cursed at yourself for making him wait. Taehyung always got anxious when you were late because he would think that you had traded his folder with another doctor because you couldn’t handle him anymore, or just because you were tired of him in general. 

"I'm sorry Ms. Y/N, but I thought you were going to be late again." He said clawing onto the edge of the bed. 

You pulled up a chair in front of him and sat down with your clipboard on your lap, and opened his folder that was clung onto the clipboard and grabbed a pen from the pocket of your lab coat. "So, Taehyung, how are you feeling today?" You watched him as he continued to claw at his bed and wrote it down on his file. He never learns. "I promise I'll stop!" You look up from the paper and faced Taehyung. "I promise I'll stop if you don't write it down,” he pleaded, “Or not the men are going to come in here again and put me in that thing that wraps my arms around my body! It hurts!" he said breathing a little more heavier. You sighed and looked back down at his hands. His nails were so short and you could see the dry blood on them. "Ok Tae, I won't." You lied. You knew that he was going to be mad at you when he realizes you did, but he'll get over it. You weren’t trying to be cruel. You knew the other workers scared him, but he needed help. It's your job to help people. People like him. Like Taehyung. 

"Have you been seeing Meemo?" You asked, deciding to change the subject. If you didn’t, he’d continue to blabber on about what you had written down and sometimes he can get out of hand. He starts to panic and yell and it takes a while for him to calm down. You remember the last time he had one of his episodes he lunged himself at you because you had asked him a question that had seemed to trigger him. You weren’t allowed to be alone in a room with him for a couple of months after that.

"No, he's stopped visiting,” Taehyung said with a pout, “I've looked everywhere for him but I haven't found him. I'm sure he'll visit soon though!" he said smiling to himself. Meemo was his imaginary friend that he started seeing once he arrived to the asylum. He was picked on by the other patients because he would sit in a chair in the corner of the day room and talk to himself, well, to Meemo. Although he felt some what offended after you told him that he shouldn’t be talking to Meemo in front of the others because they can’t see him and should just keep it to himself, he agreed and has only reported to you when he sees his friend running down the hall. 

You sighed in relief when he told you that he hadn’t been seeing him - the pills are working. "Well Tae, what are you going to do if he doesn't come back?"

"But he will!" he retorted.

"And you're sure of that?" You asked him with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course I am. Friends don't abandon each other, do they?"

You smiled and nodded your head softly. "They don't."

The door suddenly opened and Dr. Kim walked in. 

"Doctor, we have a new patient for you." He said handing you a clean file and you looked down at it confused.

"They never told me about getting a new patient?"

"He just came in today... I wish you luck Y/N." He said rubbing the back of his head. He then drew his attention to Taehyung.

"Kim Taehyung! How has my favorite friend been!" He said grabbing him by his hands. Taehyung smiled brightly and leaned his forehead onto Dr. Kim's. You smiled at the sight before looking down at the file in your hand. As you opened it and scanned the new patient’s profile, your eyes widened when they stopped at the name written in black ink at the top of the page.

"Namjoon, you can't be serious?!" He stopped playing with Taehyung and stood straight up not letting go of the patient's hands. "I'm sorry Y/N, but I don't make the rules." He said with an apologetic look on his face. You sighed in frustration and threw your head back. This has to be a joke.

"When do I start?"

"Now, actually."

"W-well what about Tae?" You said trying to find an excuse. There was no way in hell you were going to take this patient under your care.

"I'm fine taking care of him for a while." Namjoon said, like if he was talking about a five year old. You groaned and hung your head low. This can’t be happening!

You got up from the chair and walked towards Taehyung, "I'll see you later, ok?" He nodded smiling softly and waved as you walked out the door. You looked back down at the file - Patient 306 was written in bold in the corner and you took the elevator to the 300 rooms. You had never been up there once, but have heard stories of that floor. Stories that made you scared just looking at the number three every time you took the elevator. You could feel your heart pumping, ready to shoot out your chest. Not only were you scared, but you were angry as well. You've heard of this person before - this monster - and what he's done. He's killed innocent people. Women even!

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. "Good morning, Ms. Y/N." The only receptionist on the floor greeted you with a smile and you greeted her back with a small bow and gave her the file in your hands. She looked through the file before looking up at you with an apologetic look as she handed it back to you along with a key. "He's right down the hall. Last door on the left." She pointed towards the direction and you could have sworn that she was shaking in fear. You bowed your head once again thanking her and made your way to the room. Your heels hitting the tiled floor echoed throughout the white walled hallway and every room you passed, you received a cat call from the men being caged in their room for being too aggressive to be around the others. The 300 rooms weren’t just any kind of rooms. They were built for the most dangerous patients in the asylum, and most of them haven’t seen the broad of daylight in years. If any of them would be released with the others, it was be a messy and bloody scene, so keeping them here was the only option you guys had. When you got to the door, you swallowed the lump in your throat and fixed your lab coat. Sticking the key in the door knob and twisting it open, you entered the room knowing very well he was in there. You made no eye contact with the figure, but lord did you feel those menacing eyes on your body. You dragged a chair in front of his bed and sat down clearing your throat and opened his file while you pulled out a pen. You finally built up all the courage to look up at him only to make intense eye contact. He had a small smirk on his face, and his eyes scanned your body from head to toe. 

Fuck, he's hot.

You cleared your throat once again, "Good morning," you chirped out as you straightened out your back. You were going to do this as quickly as possible so that you can run out that room and hopefully never look back.

"Are you being polite because you want to be, or are you being polite because you're scared?" He chuckled out. His hands were chained to the side of the bed before you came into the room, and you could see the intense redness formed around them knowing he probably struggled through them.

"Park Jimin. 23 years old. Murder. Kidnapping. Drug dealing..." You ignored his stupid comment and began to read his file to him. 

He only snickered, reminiscing all the horrible actions he had committed. "You're really pretty, you know." He commented with the same cocky smile spread across his face. You rolled your eyes and looked up from the paper and made eye contact with him once again. He threw his head back and started laughing hysterically. 

God you hate your job sometimes.

“Are you going to take this seriously or can I go now?” You barked out. You hated when you were given cocky and childish patients. You would never get anything done and then your boss would give you shit because they always needed a daily report on the patients. So for Jimin to sit there and ignore everything that you’re saying just so that he could compliment you was making your blood boil. You didn’t have time for this. You still had to go back and finish your session with Taehyung and even had more patients to see. 

“Oh c’mon,” Jimin said tilting his head to the side, “can’t you just take the compliment?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “I don’t take compliments from people like you.”

“And what type of person am I?”

“I don’t even think I should be considering you as a person to be honest with you.” You responded back with a sly smirk. If he wanted to play his little game then you had no problem playing along if it meant you could tell him his truths. 

“Ouch, aren’t you suppose to be helping me instead of making me feel like shit?” Jimin said as he crossed his legs together on the bed.

“To tell you the truth I don’t think there’s anything I can do to help you.”

“There’s actually one thing you can help me out with, love.” he said with a mischievous grin.

“And what’s that?” You responded back with a fake concerned tone.

“It’s been a while since I’ve gotten my cock sucked and maybe you can take up on my offer? I’ll make it worth your while.” You were ready to launch yourself towards him and choke his ass. You couldn’t believe that he just told you that with such a straight face and expected you to just brush it off like it was nothing. Was he good looking? Yes - but he’s... he’s Park Jimin. Now if he was another person and had a completely different past, you wouldn’t mind getting down on your knees for him. You were a doctor yes, and everyone saw you as a professional woman, but you had needs and wants that you just need to satisfy once in a while. And by the looks of it, Jimin could definitely give you what you need. Not only did his face look perfect in the dimly lit room, but the sleeves of his hospital attire were tight around his biceps and you could see the outlive of his thigh’s muscles through his pants. You could already feel yourself getting wet from just the thought of riding them until you come undone but you immediately shook the idea out of your head and tried focusing on the important things like work.

You sighed and stood up from the chair and Jimin watched you with curious eyes, “Wait, you’re actually going to do it?” he laughed out with pure happiness. You snapped the manila folder shut that even Jimin jumped in surprise, "Ok, we're done here. When you're ready to act like an adult, just let the guards know when they come check up on you in about 3 hours." You said as you look down at your watch that was wrapped around your wrist. The guards usually do a check up round every three hours or so just to see if anyone has gone mad(der) or hung themselves by their bed sheets from how stressed they are from being locked up. Of course you had no agreement of keeping them locked up 24/7 and thought that it was completely inhumane, but they were dangerous people. Some of them are more calmer than others, but you’ve heard that every doctor that comes up here to have a session has to have at least 2 body guards with them in the room. No one came with you this time because apparently Jimin isn’t as "crazy" as the others - what ever that means.

"Will I be seeing you later, then?" Jimin said as he showed you his pearly whites and hid his brown orbs with the thin lines of his eyelids. 

"Sadly," you responded as you opened the door and walked out. The receptionist took the key back and looked a bit surprised to see you still alive but you ignored her stare and made your way downstairs to get back to Taehyung.

***

"Oh, you're back!" Taehyung rejoiced as he shot his attention to you as you walked through his door which you responded with a smile and nod. Taehyung had the personality of a child but the mentality of the 22 year old he was. He wasn't mentally ill in a way that made him act differently or make him seem like he wasn't smart enough, but he acted a certain way to be kind to others. Other doctors say that he's just autistic, but you knew better. You actually didn't blame him for acting the way that he did - who wouldn't try to be kind in a place that's filled with psychotic murderers.

"How'd it go?" Dr. Kim asked as he stood up from kneeling in front of Taehyung. You groaned and rolled your eyes in frustration, "Horrible," you mumbled. Namjoon only smiled apologetically and patted you on the back. "It'll get better." He reassured you. You only shrugged and bit the inside of your cheek.

 "Well! Mr. Taehyung, I will see you again soon, ok!" Namjoon said holding Taehyung's face in his hands. Taehyung only nodded and waved the doctor goodbye. You closed the door behind him and sat down in front of Taehyung again. "Is Park Jimin really your new patient?" Taehyung commented as he sat criss cross apple sauce on his white sheeted bed. You only nodded and sighed as you fiddled with the corner of Taehyung's manila folder in your hands. "Is he really hot like everyone else says he is?" You were taken aback from Taehyung's question and looked up at him in shock. "Taehyung, are you.. are you - you know... attracted to men?" He only shrugged, pouting as he made a face like if he was thinking really hard. "Well..hmm? I think you're beautiful, and that's ok. I think Park Jimin is handsome from what I've seen on the T.V. and I like his face, and I think that's ok too, right?" He said looking at you in the eyes. 

"So.. you're attracted to him?" You asked him trying to get more to the point.

"Mmm." Tae only nodded and shrugged. 

Interesting.

"Well Taehyung, if you find men attractive then that's ok." You smiled and wrote down in his file. It's not like it was a bad thing for Taehyung to be gay, or in his case be bisexual, but the higher doctors wanted this type of content. They thought that it would bring them closer to "curing" the patients or some bullshit like that. You didn't see how knowing their sexuality was going to justify anything, and actually thought that it was no one's fucking business, but work is work. 

"Am I in trouble again?" He asked as he looked down at what you were writing down, and you shook your head. "Of course not. Just a few information I need to update, that's all." 

"Ms. Y/N?"

"Yes?" you answered.

"Am I a bad person?"

You stopped writing and bit your lower lip. "Well.."

"I didn't mean to do it." He added as he continued to stare down at the paper, attentive at what you were jotting down. 

"Then.. why'd you do it, Taehyung?" It was a question you had always wanted to ask, but you felt like asking it would trigger him or something. Taehyung had always been a calm person and he never gave you any difficulty, but he was not completely all there, so you knew at least something had to trigger him, and just the memory of his last episode he had with you had you a bit traumatized as well. He stared at you for a while and pouted his lips.

"Well.. they made me do it - the voices.." He pointed at his head, "they told me that if I didn't do it myself, that they were going to do it, but worse, and I loved my parents. I didn't want them to die horribly, so I decided that the best way was for me to kill them, like the voices told me to, so I poisoned them. I tried explaining it to the cops, but they never listened. All they did was scream and scream at me, and I really didn't know what I did wrong at the time. Now that I'm older, I understand.." He paused and looked down at the concrete floor but you could still see his face perfectly. "The voices aren't real.. and I killed my parents because I'm crazy and I understand why they put me here. This is where all the crazy people are at." He then looked up at you and shrugged. You were so shocked at his response, let alone the way he explained it to you. He was so calm - like if he was explaining something so simple and normal, and you didn't know what or how to respond. You only nodded, indicating that you understood. 

"I know you can't give me a proper answer, and maybe I am a bad person and maybe my head isn't fully in place like yours Ms. Y/N, but as crazy as I am, I do feel regret, and I miss my mom and dad everyday. But I'm glad that I have you, Dr. Kim and Meemo to take care of me."

It's so weird. He knows that he's sick and acknowledges everything he's done wrong, but he still believes Meemo is real. As a doctor you felt like you were obligated to know the reason, but as much as you sat there and studied him, you just couldn't find the answer as to why Taehyung's head functioned the way it functioned. You reached out your hand and placed it on top of his because it was the only thing you could do. You truly didn't know how to respond to his confession. You wanted to comfort him and tell him that it wasn't his fault, but then again it's like you would be encouraging him for his wrong doing. You believed he understood what position you were in and he smiled at your silence. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, ok Taehyung?" You said as you stood up and fixed your pencil skirt. He nodded and walked over to his small closet to take his slippers out. It was lunch time for the patients, so you decided to walk him to the cafeteria. 

***

Jimin laid in his bed with a huge grin on his face at the thought of your reactions to everything he told you during your short session together. He loved how you were so blunt and aggressive towards him that just the thought of it made him hard. But apart from your soft looking legs in your short pencil skirt running through his head, he was also thinking about how he was going to keep his addiction under control. Jimin was what they call a drug abuser, and he loved to feel a bit of rush once in a while, but his rush was quickly dying out at the moment and he could already feel the side effects from it. His door suddenly swung open and the big hairy guy that cuffed his hands to the bed when he was brought in came in again. “He smelled funny,” Jimin thought.

"Lunch time." He simply said as he took out the keys to the cuffs. “For me or for you buddy?” Jimin said under his breath with a slight snicker. He made him slip on his fluffy slippers and pushed him out the door. “A simple please would be great don't you think? The nerve of some people.” Jimin groaned out as he looked up at the taller man standing in front of him as he cuffed his hands once again and walked him down the hallway.

"You asylum people are really into these handcuff things. Tell me, ever handcuffed a hot chick in these? That'd be pretty fucking hot." Jimin continued to blabber on trying to start a conversation with his now permanent guard because he thought that it would be nice to get along with each other from now on.

The man only pushed him harder to walk faster, completely ignoring his inappropriate question. Once they reached the cafeteria, the guard made Jimin stand at the entrance as he walked over to the serving table. Jimin looked around cringing. “These people are complete knuckleheads.” he thought, “I'm Park fucking Jimin, I belong with the big boys. I'm writing a letter. Where the hell is the main office, I have a complaint.” As he looked around he found you walking with another patient which had happened to be Taehyung. He smirked as his eyes fell to your behind and how it moved every time you stepped. God if only he could name all the dirty things he’d do to you by just looking at your body move under your clothes he’d probably be hung for jerking off in front of everyone. Sadly the guard interrupted his smutty thoughts and shoved a tray full of lord knows what in front of him. “It looks like something that guy over there with the saliva dripping down his chin would shit out. Complaint number too. Way to go asylum, you're going to get 3 golden stars from me.” He was so use to be treated like a King that he wasn’t having any of this bullshit. He wanted to go home and lay in his bed naked with his girls around him as they fed him grapes and what not. Not stand in the middle of a smelly cafeteria filled with lunatics.

"Are you going to uncuff me now, daddy?" Jimin asked with a girly voice as he batted his eyes at the guard. He didn't get a reaction from him and was only uncuffed with an annoyed sigh. “Geez these people are just no fun. Why aren't these other people handcuffed?! Aren't they criminals too?! Goddammit complaint number 3. Going down to 2 golden stars when I yelp this fucking place.” Jimin mumbled to himself as he walked to the nearest table with the some sort of normal looking people, only to have them pick up their trays and walk away quickly.

"They didn't let me shower, I'm sorry!" He said as he waved them off.

He rolled his eyes and shoved a spoonful of the blob in his mouth only to spit it back out. “This tastes like ass!” he grimaced as he grabbed a napkin from the napkin holder placed in the middle of the table and scrubbed his tongue with it. “I miss Jin hyung’s cooking,” he sighed out as he pushed the tray away from him. Jimin lived in a mansion along with his buddies Seokjin, Jungkook, Hoseok, and Yoongi. They've been in the mafia business for a while now, and the four boys had been working together for the longest time and got so close that they decided to live together and share their riches. Each boy had their own role in the group and Seokjin happened to be the leader. Although he was a man that no one in the mafia business would want to mess with, he had a kind heart towards his boys and whenever he had time away from 'work', he'd cook gourmet dinners for them. Seokjin was calmer compared to the other gangsters in the business and tried his best to not get involved in the bloody mess his friends liked to make. Yoongi was in charge of managing the money. He was the one who took calculations of the amounts of money they received daily from the drugs they handle to the few strip clubs they owned in Seoul. Hoseok was the one who took care of managing those strip clubs, and was usually the one who the girls came to when looking for a job. He had an interest in the whole business world and liked making a good bargain once in a while when selling or buying buildings for projects the boys had in mind. Some of those buildings were warehouses the boys used to store their bundles of cocaine and marijuana - and that's where Jungkook comes in.

 Jungkook worked in the warehouses with the narcs and made sure that the shipments that were being sent out to different gangsters were the right amount and one small slip up can lead to a bullet being triggered into his skull by Park Jimin himself - the hit man of the group. Jimin was never really given that title, he just gave it to himself through time. The boys knew something was off in that head of his, but never knew what it really was. He had no mercy against anyone, and although he cared for his pals, if any of them had one slip up or triggered him in any type of way he wouldn’t think twice about pulling the trigger. 

Jimin winced as he head pounded with pain from the withdrawal symptoms of not being able to ingest any type of drug for the last couple of hours and he banged his head on glossed wooden table. He couldn’t take this anymore! The voices of the people talking in the cafeteria echoed in his head and he felt like every mouth in the room was facing him and the voices were getting closer. He looked up and around the room and saw that no one was paying attention to him at all, and tsked in annoyance. 

Quickly, he stood up and tried walking out the door before the guard got in front of him and signaled him to pull his arms out. “Really?” Jimin said in an annoyed tone, “If you’re so fucking concerned how about we just hold hands, huh?” He didn’t want to wait for the guard to take his sweet ass time and cuff him then uncuff him. He just wanted to go straight up to his room and lay down and hope that this will pass by quickly. The guard ignored his words once again and did what he had to do only to receive a few curse words from the prisoner. 

The walk there was agonizing, but the guard was starting to see a change in Jimin and he finally spoke up once they finally reached Jimin’s designated room. “You don’t look so good, I’ll go call the doctor.” Jimin scoffed as he laid into his flat bed, “Huh, you do talk.”

“I’ll call Dr. Y/N.”

“No!” Jimin argued, “I don’t want anyone in this fucking room. I want everyone to just leave me the fuck alone!” He was so frustrated and hated how everyone was on his back and expected an answer from him. He was tired of talking to people and annoyed to the point where he was ready to cry. He didn’t want to be around anyone and just wanted to be in pure solitude. The guard sighed and closed the door as he walked out, making sure to lock it. As he went to the second floor, he made his way to your office and you looked up at him with curiosity before looking back to your computer screen. He never really came into your office, but when he did, he always had some complaint about the patients.

“I just put Park Jimin back in his room and he doesn’t look so good.” he said as he leaned on the door frame.

“What do you mean?” You said as you finally decided to give him your full attention and twisted your swivel chair so that your whole body was facing forward. 

“I don’t know, he’s all sweaty and shivery and seems really annoyed.”

You nodded as your furrowed your eyebrows as you tried to come up with some diagnosis that was causing his symptoms. “He said he doesn’t want anyone up there, though,” the guard said interrupting your analysis, “He does seem pretty annoyed.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” you said with a chuckle as you watched him push himself off the door frame and walk off only to be visited by an even more familiar face.

“What’s going on now?” Namjoon said as he stood at your doorway. You sighed as you shrugged your shoulders and rubbed your temples, “Apparently Mr. Park Jimin is showing symptoms of withdrawals.” you stated, finally coming to the conclusion to your analysis.

“How so?”

“Sweaty, annoyed, shivering..” you drifted off naming all the symptoms of withdrawals and Namjoon chuckled, “Ahh, well, good luck.”

“Can’t you just go check up on him?” you groaned out.

“No can do, I have plans.”

“Plans?”

“Yeah, I’m going home, and you should, too!” Namjoon sweetly commanded, “You have bags under your bags. Go home and get some rest, the other doctors can take it from here.”

You smiled at Namjoon’s kind heart and nodded lightly, “I will, I will. Let me just go check up on the poor kid before he starts having a panic attack. Literally.”

“Have fun!” Namjoon cooed and you rolled your eyes as you pushed yourself off your comfortable chair and made your way passed him towards the elevator. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” He called out and you waved your hand, not turning your head as you entered the elevator. As it made its way up you felt more tired than nervous. The first time you came up here, you were shitting bricks wondering what you had in store for you, but once you sat in that room with him and realized he was more of a prick than a psychopath, your nerves were calmer than ever. 

The doors opened and you weren’t surprised when you didn’t see the receptionist there anymore. She was probably long gone at home resting for the next day while you were still here trying to handle a 23 year old like if he was 4 or something. You went to the back of the desk and pulled out Jimin’s room key and made your way down the hall, your heels echoing off the walls as always. You let out a long sigh as you outside his door before unlocking it and stepping inside.

You found Jimin laying in a fetal position with his back towards you. He was shaking and you could hear his small whimpers as he felt the throbbing pain grow even more in his head. “Jimin,” you called out, keeping your distance.

“I told him that I didn’t want anyone in here.” he said through gritted teeth.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit amused as you watched the almighty Park Jimin crumble right in front of you. He looked so vulnerable and well - weak. “You’re having withdrawals, aren’t you?” you said in a way too obvious amused tone.

“Get the fuck out of my room!” he commanded, but he still wouldn’t turn to you - afraid to show you how effected he was from not having the drugs in his system.

“You need to breathe.”

“I need some fucking drugs.”

“I know you do, but sadly you ain’t getting any of that in here.” you responded back, “so you need to breathe.”

“And you need to keep your mouth shut.”

“And you need to fucking breathe.” You weren’t scared of raising your voice. He wasn’t listening to what you were instructing when in reality he just had to breathe.

Jimin chuckled finally turning to face you. His face was a bit damp with sweat and his lips were red from how much he had been chewing on them. His hair was a mess and you couldn’t help but catch your breathe because god damn did he look so fucking good. “You got some nerve talking to me like that, Doc.”

"Do you want help or not? Because if not I will gladly get the hell out of here and leave you to suffer for the rest of the night!"

“Huh, and I’m the asshole,” he slowly sat up and threw his hands up in defeat, “fine, help me!”

You sighed and and made your way towards Jimin only to stop right in from of him. “You need to breathe,” you repeated for the umpteenth time and inhaled and exhaled to demonstrate how he should do it. “Place one hand on your chest, and the other on your stomach. Breathe into the hand placed on your chest, and breathe out of the hand placed on your stomach.” Jimin pursed his lips together and didn’t seem so pleased with getting told with what to do but he too was tired of feeling like shit so just sat there quietly and let you do all the talking. He did this for a good minute and you trailed up your hand on his neck to find his pulse right under his jaw.

You smiled to yourself as you felt it go down, “See, I told you.” you said in a low ‘matter of fact’ tone. You loved how you were right when it came to helping people out in any situation. You were a psychologist yes, but you were also taught anatomy just like any other doctor would. The only reason why you chose the medical field was because not only did you want to help those in pain, but learning about the brain and how it worked amazed you so much. It felt a bit awkward being the youngest doctor here because you entered college at a young age because of your academic success in high school, but it felt so empowering, especially as a woman. You finally turned to Jimin and stood frozen as you made eye contact with his beautiful brown orbs. He had a slight smirk and you could feel the lump in your throat start to grow. 

“You’re so pretty,” he said with a low almost sweet voice. His eyes scanned your face and he brought a hand up to push a strand of your hair behind your ear. Your breathing became shaky and as much as you wanted to move, you couldn’t. You were so lost in the way he was looking at you like if he had you in a trance and you could feel his hot breath getting closer to your cheek. 

This was wrong. It was so totally wrong - but the way his soft fingers trailed against your jawline just felt so fucking right. 

“Jimin..” you let out with a shaky breath as you dropped your hand on his shoulder. It felt so broad under your touch and you could feel him tense up by your action. “I don’t think-”

“Shhh,” you were cut off by Jimin’s soft shush as he wrapped his other hand around your waist and pulled you in and made you stand directly in between his legs as he still sat on the bed. The beds in the hospital were tall so that when a patient was ill and needed to be check on, the doctor could easily check up on them without having to bend down so low. So you were at complete face level with him and he cupped your cheeks as he leaned his forehead onto yours, “just one peck, hmm?” he cooed.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his proposition. You were amazed that he even had you in this position at the moment. Your center that was getting wetter by the minute with slick with just his soft touches and his needy cock that hadn’t been touched in so long were only mere inches away that if you just shifted a bit you’d be rubbing yourself against him. It was all going to your head because you too haven’t been touched in months. Your last hook up was with a guy named Jungkook, and the night you guys spent together was amazing. He made you come so many times in different ways you never knew you’d be comfortable trying in bed. He had so much stamina that the day after you guys laid in bed all day - and even before he left he gave you a good fuck as a goodbye. Of course a dicking this good couldn’t just be left with nothing, so you asked for his number and tried having him come over once in a while, but Jungkook wasn’t the type to just stick to one girl. Maybe after the third time you guys slept together he completely ignored your calls and texts and you just decided to give up after that. So you blamed you being extremely horny and dick deprived for making you let this type of man try to get his way with you. 

“I promise I’ll be a good boy, Doc.” Jimin said as he nudged your jaw with his nose trying to expose your neck to him. His voice was so soft and filled with honey when he spoke to you that you couldn’t help but gasp at his words. Jimin knew that he didn’t need a verbal response from you to know that you wanted him, because by the way your hand that was placed on his shoulder bunched up his shirt in anticipation as he dragged his soft plump lips across your neck was the only invitation he needed to continue. The soft whimper that had been caught in your throat for the past ten minutes was finally released when Jimin finally fully pressed against your neck and let his tongue spill out from his lips to lick a certain spot on your neck. You brought your other arm and wrapped it around his neck and pulled him closer as he continued to lick and suck the specific spot he found so delicious on your neck. You whimpers and gasps continued to spill out and Jimin tightened his grip on your hips as he pulled them forward to rub his now hardened cock against you.

He needed to feel some friction against himself or not he felt like he was going to lose it. He wanted you so badly and couldn’t wait to feel your warm pussy pulsate around him as he slammed himself into you from the back. Your mind continued to tell you to stop, that this was wrong and you could lose your job from doing this - but your body told you to continue, and let his strong hands touch every inch of it until he made you feel complete euphoria. As you continued to battle between the two, you finally got your answer when Jimin pulled your lab coat off and ran one of his hands towards your lower back and found the zipper to your skirt and slowly tugged it down and let your skirt pool at your feet. He wasted no time in letting his hands land on your cheeks with a loud smack making you moan loudly at the stinging feeling. Jimin chuckled and kneaded his fingers into your soft flesh and finally connected your lips together.

You hummed into the kiss. His lips felt so soft against yours and you couldn’t help yourself from sucking his bottom lip into your mouth and letting your tongue run against it before nipping at it softly. You ran your hands to the hem of his shirt and snuck them under to feel his warm toned skin burn with your touch. His breath was starting to get unsteady as you rubbed his abs with your thumbs and traced every beautiful crease he had on his tummy. You followed the thin trail of hair that lead to his crotch and rubbed your palm against his clothed cock only to receive a low grunt from him as he put more force into the kiss with more need. 

You broke the kiss and pushed him onto the bed and slipped your heels off and started to unbutton your shirt. You couldn’t take it anymore. You wanted him - no, you needed him. Fuck everything else and the voices telling you to stop. Your strength to stop yourself was long gone and you could feel your slick soak your thong and rub against your thighs. Jimin watched you with hunger in his eyes before shifting in the bed so that he was leaning against the head board and slipped his hospital shirt over his head. You mouth watered at the sight of the abs you were just rubbing and wasted no time in crawling onto the bed and onto his lap. 

“How about you take on my proposition?” Jimin finally spoke as he grabbed onto your hair as you placed your hands on his chest and started to trail kisses on his jaw. 

“And what proposition was that?” you answered, not disconnecting your lips from his skin. You began to circle your hips around his clothed member and couldn’t help but whimper as your clit rubbed against his tip once in a while.

“Ahh fuck.. wrapping that little mouths of your around my cock,” he threw his head back and gripped onto your hips, letting out a long hiss, “fuck just like that, baby.”

You smiled at the way he was loving your dominance over him and let you do what ever you pleased with his body. The way he let you suck on his neck and tease him made you clench around nothing knowing that Jimin didn’t care who was dominant in bed as long as his dick was feeling good.

“Will you be a good boy for me?” you teased, trying to test his ego. But it seemed like he didn’t give a damn because he let out the cutest whimper ever and nodded, “Yes,” he pleaded.

You pecked his lips one last time before crawling off his hips and settling yourself in between his legs. You trailed your lips down to his chest and nipped at one of his nipples making him hiss and lean up on his elbows to watch you with hooded eyes that were overflowing with lust. Your dragged them lower and lower until you were face to face with his clothed cock and you looked up at him to give him a small smirk. As much as Jimin wanted to smile back and give you that cocky smirk of his, his head was too clouded with lust and need the he couldn’t react in any shape or form but furrowed eyebrows and the noises that were being pulled from the back of his throat. 

You finally hooked your fingers on the waistband of his spandex and pulled them down slowly to let his member free and slap against his stomach. The tip was an angry red and the vein that ran on the underside was thick and blue with want. It was thick and a tad darker shade than his pale porcelain skin. Jimin let his head fall back and he let out a low guttural moan as you licked from the base to the tip and repeated the action just to tease him.

“Please baby, just suck on it,” he said, panting from how desperate he was. You could feel your wetness slip down your thighs and you wanted to slip your hand down your stomach and touch yourself but you were too focused on Jimin right now. You decided to finally give him what he wanted and wrapped your lips around his tip and softly penetrated his slit with the tip of your tongue. Jimin immediately arched his back and dug his nails into your scalp as he cried out in pleasure, loving the soft sting feeling of his slit being slightly stretched. You couldn’t help but moan at his reaction, sending vibrations down his entire cock. 

“Fuck.. you’re so good at this,” he heaved out, “your pretty mouth looks so good wrapped around my cock, baby.”

You hummed at his praise and lowered your head taking more of him in and hollowed your cheeks as you sucked. You could feel his precum drip out of him and onto your tongue and you continued to lap it marvel at the salty taste. Jimin didn’t know how to control himself as he watched your head bob up and down on him as you arched your back and perked your ass out - your red thong shining against the white walled room. His view was amazing and he wished he had his phone so that he could capture this moment and save it forever. 

His moans started to sound more desperate as you lowered yourself as much as you could, deep throating him and trying not to gag as his hips lifted slowly as he fucked your mouth. He kept petting your hair and telling you of how much of a good girl you were and your pussy was completely drenched from all the praise you were receiving from him. Never have you ever been with a man that was so vocal in bed before. Jimin had no shame in showing you how much he loved feeling you wrapped around him with the soft whimpers and moans that he kept spilling out along with the curse words that came with each thrust of his hips. 

“Keep going, I’m so close,” he whispered out, his mouth agape from all his panting.

You started to hum around him and started to pay more attention to the underside of his tip as one of your hands wrapped around him and started to pump him. The glide was easily lubricated with your spit and you looked up at Jimin to only catch him with his head thrown back and his abs clenching as he felt the knot in his stomach start to contort. His nose was scrunched up and his moans started to sound more like cries.

Once you reached down and started to massage his balls, you felt his cock stiffen in your mouth and Jimin arched his back off the bed as he shot his warm load into your mouth. It was thick and you felt it run down your throat as it continued to spurt out of him. He didn’t wait until he was done and pulled your mouth off of him letting his cum shoot against your chest and pulled you by the chin and smashed his lips onto yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth and letting the come that you still had in your mouth spill into his own. You could feel your clit pulsate from just the thought of Jimin enjoying the way he tasted and you felt like you just found the man right for you. 

When he pulled away, his lips were glistening with his own juices and that cocky smirk of his was plastered on his lips, “Your turn.” he said in a deep, lustful voice before throwing you onto the bed making you yelp in surprise. He licked the left over come off your chest, and slipped his fingers under your back to unclasp your bra, but before he was able go any farther, your phone started ringing and you were suddenly pulled from your trance. You gasped as you sat up and let everything that just happened sink in. Jimin looked at you with confusion written all over his face as you pushed onto his naked chest and jumped off the bed. 

“Shit shit shit,” you said in a frantic voice as you grabbed onto your clothes that was scattered all over the floor.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jimin said as he got off the bed and stood there watching you quickly get dressed. Your phone continued to ring and as you reached for your lab coat, Jimin grabbed you by the waist and pulled you in. “Hey, look at me,”

You shushed him as you looked the caller id and saw that it was Namjoon. He sighed in frustration and studied your face as you placed the phone up to your ear and let out a nervous breath.

“H-hello?”

“Y/N! Where are you? I’ve been waiting for you to come out so that we could go get something to eat together.” Namjoon spoke on the other side with a somewhat worried tone.

“O-oh, umm, you see I had to stay back and finish some paper work on one of my patients. I might be a while so you should just go home, Joon. I’ll see you tomorrow, though.” You lied as you looked up at Jimin who was looking at you with a tilted head and a sly smirk. He leaned down and nibbled at your bottom lip before going back to the one spot he seemed to like and started to suck softly making you moan and slap a hand over your mouth.

“Hey, are you ok?” Namjoon asked, clearly hearing your moan.

“Mhmm, I’ll see you later, bye.” You quickly hung up the phone before sighing in frustration and pushing Jimin off of you and walking towards the door.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Jimin asked before you twisted the knob. You stopped in your tracks and shook your head at the question, “He’s just a co-worker.”

“Why is he inviting you to dinner then?”

“Because he - you know what, I shouldn’t even be explaining my love life to you.” you said in a frustrated tone.

“Well from the looks of it your love life hasn’t been so exciting. I can smell you from here, love.”

“Just... stay away from me.”

“Hmm,” Jimin humphed out with a smile, “speak for yourself, beautiful.”

You pursed your lips and stormed out of that room in seconds and headed out to your car and drove off. You could still feel the wetness in between your legs and you figured a good shower would cool you off and get your mind off of the smutty activity you just did. You went in there to check on him for withdrawals and you came out with the taste of his semen in your mouth and the feeling of his tongue and lips against your neck. 

You groaned as you drove off to your apart that you shared with your 3 year old chocolate lab Charlie.You were greeted by him once you walked through the door and you knelt down to give him all the pets and kisses he deserves before going into your kitchen and filling up his food and water bowl before entering your bathroom to take a long shower. 

Your apartment wasn’t small, but it also wasn’t something fancy to show off. You were still trying to pay off medical school and this place was the only acceptable place you could afford. It wasn’t much, but it was home, and as long as you had a roof over Charlie’s head was the only thing that mattered to you.

Once you were down with your shower, you made your way to bed and were quickly joined by Charlie as he curled up at your feet. You sat there, biting onto your lower lip as scenes from earlier continued to play through your head. How could you have let him pull you into doing something like this? What were thinking? Is anyone going to find out? Is Jimin going to tell anyone about it? Was Namjoon suspicious when he heard you moan? You groaned and let your head thud onto your headboard. Why did you continue to think of this man? Why were you obsessing over him when in reality you didn’t really know anything about him besides him being a murderer. You continued to tug on your bottom lip before sighing and grabbing onto your laptop that was charging right next to you.

You weren’t going to be able to sleep if you didn’t at least look him up, so you typed in his name into the search bar and in the matter of seconds, news reports, blogs, articles, and even fan pages were popping out like madness. You didn't know where to start.

"Notorious Park Jimin strikes again!"

"3 men killed; suspect, Park Jimin."

"Prostitutes Found and Arrested in Park Jimin's Mansion; Jimin not Found."

"Drug Cartel Rising due to Park Jimin's Amazing and Unsolvable Smuggling."

“Park Jimin; the Most Handsome Criminal Known to Man.”

"When Will the Crime End?"

You scanned through every article you could and the more you read, the more you were captivated. You then clicked the Wikipedia page on him, and felt like she had hit jackpot.

 Born in Busan.

23 years old.

Nutjob.

You bit your lip as you continued to read as you grabbed a hair tie and pulled your hair back so that you could read more comfortably. You couldn't stop. You couldn't stop scrolling through pictures. He was so interesting. So beautiful. You groaned and slammed your laptop shut and tossed it to the end of your bed. You really didn't understand why you were so interested - well obsessed - with him, but something about him just intrigued you so much. You couldn't get enough. Just the thought of him made you feel butterflies of excitement in your stomach, and the way he touched your body with so much care brought shivers down your spine.

 You cursed yourself for being such a girl, and falling for his looks, and not looking at the bigger picture. You were scared of going back to work tomorrow. You  was going to see him again, he was your patient. You had told him to stay away from you but how could that be possible when you had to evaluate him every single say. Was it going to be awkward? Is he going to try to pull one of his stunts, again? Are you going to fall for it, again? You looked down at Charlie who was long gone in dreamland and sighed. You had to do something about this situation. You had to give him to someone else. He couldn't be yout problem anymore. As a psychologist, you knew the way you felt and the thoughts you were thinking weren’t normal, and knew you had to act fast. You decided to ask Namjoon to trade one of his patients for Jimin, and prayed to God almighty that he agrees, because if he doesn’t, you don’t know how far you’re going to be willing to take this.

Author’s Note: Hope you guys enjoyed it :’)

© yoonqified, 2018. Do not copy or repost without permission.

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