#mmmm its very difficult to explain with just words

[nohomie]

Are demons born demons or humans that died and turn into demons or is it just a mix of both?

(And also Julie is best girl)

Oh! Thats simple, think of demons as just another race. Demons are born demons. While demons can mingle with other races too and create hybrids, you cant turn a human born human into a demon

Basically you cant change a person's natural race, human or mythic because the only kind that can turn you from a human are vampires and usually only humans get turned into vampires. Usually. Normally--

[thebadchoicemachine]

“Vines” aka Human Cries: an intergalactic guide.

@thecatchat @wilboo-soot 

If you’ve ever worked with or fought or interacted with a human there is a high likelihood you’ve witnessed one of their many cries. Whether another human called, they answered a phrase from a machine or report, they called to themselves, or you unknowingly instigated one of them, you were probably confused as all space. 

You see, humans are very social creatures. One of their ways of socializing is by instigating these calls. One might cry out and all- no matter what side they are on or what they are dong- will answer. Most everyone agrees, it’s unnerving. BUT, there is no need to fear! It is simply a cultural habit. In this paper, I will outline some phrases to avoid/recognize and what they mean. 

[list under the cut]

----

1. DON'T FUCK WITH ME (US)

2. I'VE (WE'VE) GOT THE POWER OF GOD AND ANIME ON MY (OUR) SIDE

A war cry. A scream of defiance and strength. It's not quite certain what an anime is yet but those who attempt to study humans, along with humans themselves, assure us it is something to fear.

----

1. [Road] Work head?

2. Uh, yeah I sure hope is does

A prayer for protection. A reminder of skepticism and diligence even when safety appears obvious.  

---

1. [Rebecca] It's not what it looks like!

2. I won't hesitate, bitch.

A more blatant exclamation. Said to convey ruthlessness in the face of perceived betrayal. Often, the beginning is merely implied as only the answering call is said. Unlike other cries, this is not one that necessitates an answer.

---

1. This bitch empty!

2. YEET

A cry of power and physical prowess. Used often with their biological ability to throw with their bare arms. Another where the full mantra is not said and they simply recite the final part. It is used so often it has become a staple of their language, describing something being moved with great force. 

---

1. And they were roommates!

2. Oh my god, they were roommates.

An implication of romance. Something of a fascination to historians. It is believed its origins have no clear implication of such yet its meaning is entirely accepted. 

---

Look at all those [chickens.]

Misidentifying something with juvenile glee or confidence. A single phrase, no completion required. 

---

1. When will you learn? When will you learn

2. THAT YOUR ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES? 

Another more blatant example. An insult, a harsh apathy towards your failings, disapproval, embodiment of karma, and a shrill reminder of reason. Notably, the scorn is without smugness and rather contains distress. It is often quoted when they are just as displeased with the consequences as you.

---

1. Two guys chillin' in a hot tub 

2. Five feet apart ‘cause they’re not gay.

An implication of romance in dissidence. Often alluded to with forbidden, stigmatized, or in-denial/”blind” lovers. 

---

[T-T-T-T-T-TARGET]

This one is difficult to explain with text as most of its influence comes from the tone of voice used. The word itself varies wildly (”target” is the original). Essentially, if some form of script display is malfunctioning they will enounce it accordingly.  

---

Freshavacado

A similar cry to the last example, but instead of malfunctioning it is employed when something is messily/unclearly written. Generally, they will sound out the jumbled letters three times. First stumbling through the made up pronunciation, next complete in a humorous tone, and finally they will yell it, probably laughing. 

(A reminder, laughter is not a threat. It is a natural sound they emit when humored. Although, human humor can come from many strange, basically any, things.)

---

Back at it again at Krispy Kreme

Another single phrase used to insight reckless, destructive, and joyous, but ultimately not intended to be damaging, performance.  

---

1. [Chris], is that a weed? 

2. No, this is a [crayon]. 

3. I’m calling the police!

A mockery of pointless and contrived justice. 

---

[Mary], is that a police? I’m calling the weed!

A subversion of the previous call, normalization/empowering of a rebellion or outlaw. 

---

[What up?] My name is Jared, I’m 19, and I never fucking learned how to read.

Self deprecation in light. A humored approach of self criticism, lovingly and drastically hyperbolating their failures. Sometimes used as a refusal to do paperwork. 

---

1. Why the fuck you lying? Why you always lying?

2. Mmmm, oh my god, stop fucking lying!

A cheerful but spiteful insult. A brag, an accusation, a bold and brazen declaration of disbelief. In human language they have a word that captures its meaning quite simply. A “Call out.” 

(Note: While in their nature to complete and begin these calls, please remember that it is informal even in their culture and not appropriate for political meetings. Even in, as I’m sure many humans will claim, it is “totally called for.”) 

---

1. What do you have?

2. A [KNIFE!]

3. NO!

Authoritative denial of power or the wielding danger. This is one of the few often used with non-humans due to it’s simplistic question-answer structure, aided by the human acceptance of silence as an answer.

Don’t worry about it starting any serious conflict though! This is used mainly for beings it is accepted to be controlling over such as children, “pets,” and (for some reason) cleaning droids. Even when the human is often the one who bestowed the dangerous item to the droid in the first place... and it never answers... because it is a vacuum with wheels... 

++++++

This ends the summary of what you’ll be most likely to encounter. There are hundreds more, of course, but they’re generally self-contained or obscure and not so far reaching across humanity. That being said, there are other things you should be aware of. 

While the ones listed are all generally harmless, there are curses among humanity that are incredibly offensive. If there are any humans reading this I suggest you stop now for your own safety. 

++++++

It is best to avoid: 

Referring to losing an unnamed game. 

- While you probably are not discussing the specific Game it may inadvertently allude to it and seriously upset nearby humans. 

- They have spent centuries attempting to wipe It from their collective consciousness, It is best left unspoken and unthought of. 

Using a set of symbols resembling lines split in quadrants. 

- Especially in the order of one tall line, a tall line and a short line, two tall lines, and a tall line with a horizontal line.  

- It is a curse. A foreboding message of pain and misfortune, so much so they simply refer to it as “Loss.”

BE CAUTIOUS of the Rolling Tricktster  

- He is an ancient human deity of deceit and guile. His song perpetuates the galaxy, he is used as an insult, a game, a lie. 

- Those who use his image practice the art of luring and betrayal. They are sirens of misinformation and false promises. 

- Your human companions may be one of them but this does not grant them immunity. You also will not be safe, be alert and be cautious, lest you fall the the old god Astley as well. 

[writing-in-april]

Erotica Explained

Spencer Reid x Female Reader (Spencer’s POV)

Summary: Spencer discovers his girlfriend’s writing.

A/N: Hey Heyyy- this is my twenty-sixth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April! It’s based on this request- and I did end up using a small snippet from one of my other fics! Sorry this ones out late too lol had a very difficult day. Feel free to leave me an ask here (I promise I don’t bite) Thanks for reading and hope y’all enjoy!

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Sub!Spencer, Unprotected sex, A little bit of grinding, A little bit of overstimulation, Creampie

Main Masterlist Word Count:1.7k

I don’t use technology often, if I can help it I don’t use it at all. But, I had to use it right now, there was something I needed to look up on the computer. It wasn’t for a case or anything, I was just too curious and too impatient to wait to go to the library.

Because I don’t use technology often at all, I didn’t own a personal laptop. The only one I regularly used was the one I was given at work, and that was done begrudgingly. Though I couldn’t use that one right now as I was at my apartment I shared with my girlfriend. My girlfriend however, happened to have a laptop that she wouldn’t mind me using.

When I opened up her laptop, it was already unlocked with a tab already opened. My eyes unintentionally quickly glazed over the page, my eyes widening as I flitted across the page. It was some sort of story, one that contained things that made me blush. At the end of what was visible without scrolling down it read,

His fingers twitched at his side when you blew cool air onto his length, you sneered again, “If you touch me I’ll stop.”

My own trousers started to grow a little tight after reading that, then confusion made its way into my face, wondering what in the world I was reading. I clicked around, not really knowing what I was doing and I fell into a wormhole of reading. It wasn’t until I glanced up to see who owned the documents it all clicked together. They were my girlfriend’s stories.

They were her stories about a slew of characters that already existed in other media, the first one I had read even happened to be about a Star Wars character- Poe to be specific. Once it all clicked together I slammed the computer shut, feeling like I had invaded her privacy. Then I swiftly got into a cold shower, ready to freeze my arousal and wash off my shame.

—-

My foot was tapping even crazier than normal as I sat next to my girlfriend. We had decided on a night in, choosing to order take out and watch a few movies on a rare night off for me. It was her turn to choose, and unsurprisingly she chose Star Wars.

“What’s wrong?” She asked me when I started to basically vibrate when Poe came onto the screen. I couldn’t keep it in any longer, the guilt was eating me alive sitting here while I watched a constant reminder of what I read.

“I’m sorry-“ She was about to open her mouth to probably ask me why I was apologizing, but I steamrolled over it by ranting, “I looked at your writing- the erotica you write. I- I think it’s about already existing characters? Which I hadn’t heard about before-“

She finally did get a chance to cut me off by calling out my name, getting me to stop my nervous rant, “Are you mad- that I umm am writing about someone who’s not you?”

“No! It’s natural to be attracted to different people even while you’re with someone…” I was already falling down into another rant, this time however I caught myself and found the point I had been looking for, “I actually think it’s kind of hot.”

“Oh yeah?” Her eyebrows had shot up almost high enough that they were up into her hairline. I flushed a little at that, feeling vulnerable under her gaze even though I knew she always kept me safe.

“I- um actually was wondering if you could do to me-“ The words died on my tongue when my eyes met hers again, and just by her eyes I could see that she knew what I wanted. She just wanted me to say it out loud.

“What do you want me to do to you?”

“Wh-hat I read- can you umm-?”

She didn’t let me stumble any longer, cutting off my stuttering, “You want me to do the things you read about to you?”

I nodded vigorously, but that wasn’t enough for her. She leaned forward, grabbing my cheeks between two of her fingers, then prompting me, “Use your words.”

I whimpered at that, remembering seeing it in one of her writings. I learned from the character, who had mouthed off in the fanfic, instead breathily answering, “Yes, I want you to use me like you wrote.”

Soon enough my clothes had been taken off by me as I had to follow her command to ‘strip’. She did so as well, then straddling me, starting immediately to grind on my cock. I moved my hands to her hips to try to get her to do something more, but they were quickly pushed off. She then pinned them above my head, leaning forward to whisper into my lips, “No you don’t get to touch unless I tell you too.”

“Yes, Miss!” I gasped out instantly, wanting to be perfect for her.

“Mmmm good boy.”

That made me keen even more, loving the praise she gave me a dash of, I craved her showering it onto me. She kept her course of action, grinding onto my cock until her own arousal completely soaked it. All it would take was for the head of my cock to notch at my entrance, she was so wet I could slip in easily. But, all I could do was wait until she let me have her. I’m sure if I begged she’d only smirk at me, so I kept my mouth shut and took what I was given.

She finally sunk down onto my cock, though it was excruciatingly slow. I tried to fight my instincts, keeping my hips flush with the couch so I wouldn’t get scolded for moving without permission.

When the backs of her thighs finally hit the tips of mine, I groaned unintentionally. She seemed to love it, starting to buck her hips enthusiastically at my response. My hands balled up into fists, knuckles turning white from how hard I was gripping them. It was taking so much to not cum already, her hands pinning me and how beautiful she looked above me making it overwhelming.

“Awww are you already so close? You love getting used like this don’t you?” She goaded once she realized how much I was fighting my release with my squinted eyes.

It took me a minute to find the words, as all my mind could focus on at the moment was how she felt around me. My IQ was completely slashed to 60, but I did eventually get out, “Yes miss”

She sped up her pace at my words, alternating from grinding down into me hard and bouncing vigorously on top of me. When she lent forward to give me a bruising kiss, she swallowed all the noises I was making, until she dipped her head down to mark up my collarbone. It was all too much; I didn’t know how much longer I could hold on.

“You’re such a good boy for me Spencer.” She gasped above me, writhing on my cock while she continued to bounce. It was getting so hard to bear, especially with more praise, but I wanted to wait until she came. She looked like a goddess, especially just as she was about to cum, which she soon signaled by saying, “Oh god baby, you’re gonna make me cum!”

All I could do was watch as she removed one hand from where they were wrapped around my own to rub circles into her clit. She tipped her head back, mouth dropped open in a moan, and thighs shaking as her orgasm washed over her. She shook above me for a minute, hips stuttering as she tried to continue the pace she built while her orgasm was ripping through her. Once she had come down from her release she then focused on mine, building the pace back up to be even faster than her original one.

“Go ahead and cum baby boy.” With one more swivel of her hips, I fell off the edge at her command, filling her all the way up with my release. She held my hands up above my head still and still moved her hips while I rode out my high. When she stopped her movements once I whimpered loudly out of overstimulation, she finally let go of my hands.

I let myself relax as she slumped over onto me, resting her head onto my still somewhat heaving chest. With my hands once again free I wrapped my arms around her middle, entrapping her this time.

Looking up I then noticed the movie was still going, completely unobstructed by our actions. It was towards the end of the movie already, telling me how long we had been going at it. Though I didn’t care that I missed it, I got to act out a partial storyline from it, even if it was a made up one. The movie could only hold my attention for so long, there was someone far more interesting with me.

“So are you gonna write some with me?” She giggled out while tracing her fingers up and down my chest, lingering over my sternum. Her proposition was an intriguing one for sure, especially now that she explained some of it to me. Though, I think my writing style is more suited for more of an academic setting.

I snorted a little, giggling a little myself, then brushing my hair out of my eyes so I could see them more clearly. When I tipped her chin up with my fingers and their eyes met mine, they were full of mischief. She was definitely trying to get me riled up again, but I had a quip back of my own, “I don’t think I’d be good at it- but maybe you’ll let me read from now on? I wouldn’t mind editing some as well, it sounds fun.”

Ask Me Anything

——

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All Works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @spenxerslut @boxofsparklingmuses @multixfandomwriter @takeyourleap-of-faith

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99 @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat @anaagraceeberr @ashcakes1918 @reid-me-a-story @cosmic-psychickitty

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat

Sub Spencer: @thatsonezesty13 @pastathighs @virtualpeanutartisanjudge @calm-and-doctor @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat

[aarontveitfic]

Not Yet

A/N: Y’all. Here it is. I hope you like it. This story has been a labor of...something, mostly love. It's been with me for over a year, all while I’ve gone through some pretty difficult personal things. Some days I didn’t think I'd write again. Some moments I'd get so carried away with the story, I thought it’d be done so quickly. But life just is, and I guess it needed to show up in its own time... So here y’all have it! Thank y'all for sticking with me. I’m very thrilled to have all of your support.

Mostly smut below the cut, with a plot, of sorts, and some angst. Blink and you’ll miss a “Daddy” reference, but you can ignore it if that isn’t your thing. SNOB = Saturday Night On Broadway- when cast/crew get together for some drinks after the performance of a live production to celebrate the weekend. 18+ please and thanks. Leave me some love and let me know what you think! It really helps me figure out what to do moving forward. 

Last and most certainly not least, to M. I cannot thank you enough. Your words of encouragement have meant so much to me. You have been my biggest cheerleader and number one supporter in all of this, and I am so grateful for you and our friendship. This story wouldn't be finished without you. This one is for you, sweets. 

Enjoy! xoxo 

“Hey.” She said as she approached her apartment door, standing in front of it was a familiar face.

“Hey.” He said back.

“I didn’t know you were stopping by tonight.” She said.

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d see if you were around.” He responded.

She fiddled with the keys trying to get in the door, paused and turned to look at him, “You were just hanging around SoHo at 2am on a Saturday night?” The statement dripping with disbelief and sarcasm.

“Well, you know, we did a little SNOB and then I split a cab with a friend. Ended up this way and wandered here.” He explained as she got the door open. “You look really nice tonight. Date?” He asked as nonchalantly as possible.

“Thanks. No.” She smirked as she looked back at him and nodded towards the door “Just out for a girl’s night. Coming in, Tveit?” She asked.

“Yep.” He said looking around the apartment building hallway. “Your roommate out tonight too?” He asked as his voice trailed off.

“She’s out of town actually. Went home for a few days. I hope you weren’t waiting here too long.” She said as she set her stuff down in the kitchen. “Would you like a drink?”

“Sure, whatever you have is fine. Nah, I wasn’t waiting very long at all.“

“That’s good. Here.” She handed him a beer out of the fridge, grabbing one for herself as well. “The show seems to be going well?” She asked, changing topics.

“Great. Really well, actually. Things couldn’t be better with work.” He said. He had set his backpack, jacket and fedora down in her living room, familiar with the layout, almost making himself at home. “How about work for you? Good?” He asked as he moved to meet her in the kitchen, now taking a sip from the green glass bottle.

“Oh you know, same bullshit, different day. I shouldn’t complain though.” She took a sip of her own beer, setting it on the counter. “Can I get you anything else?” She asked as she turned and rummaged through the cupboards for a snack of some sort.

“You know what else I’m here for.” Aaron was now standing behind her in the kitchen. His voice was low and sultry. He had hooked his finger on the inside of her cardigan at the shoulder and started to pull it off, the thin strap of her silk camisole exposed. He put his lips to her shoulder and softly kissed it. The cardigan now hanging off her shoulder, she leaned to the opposite side exposing more of herself to him as he continued to kiss her, sucking on her neck.

“Aaron, you said last time that was the last time.” She whispered softly.

“I lied.” He said so casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His other hand came up to fully remove the sweater from her arms. He sucked on her neck, grazed her ear with his teeth to playfully bite, then kissed the soft spot on her neck behind the ear.

“Oh” she whimpered. “You said we were over.”

“We’re never really over. We’re too good together to be over.” He said, his hands caressing her body, exploring her skin. They moved to her jeans, unbuttoning, and unzipping them.

“Aaron, what about your girlfriend?” She asked, ass arching into him.

“No girlfriend. Not anymore.” He said between kisses.

She moved his hands away, and spun around, her hand on his chest, pausing him for a moment. She looked into the sea of blue of his eyes, searching for the truth. He could lie all he wanted, but she always knew the truth by looking into them. “No girlfriend? You know the rules.”

“No. I swear.” He said as he cradled her, hands on her waist; “Me and her are done. It’s over. I promise.” Their little arrangement, fuck buddies— although, it could never be as simple as that, she wasn’t that lucky— was not allowed while one of them was in a relationship. She may have been a lot of things, but cheater wasn’t one of them.

“You told me to not let you do this again.” She said sighing into his touch, spinning back around facing the kitchen cabinets again.

Aaron reached around her; “You can tell me to stop if you want,” he slipped his hands into her undone pants, moved her panties out of the way and started to play with her clit. “But we both know you won’t.” He said lowering his voice to a husky whisper.

She let the feeling of ecstasy come over her, pushing her ass into him, arching her back and holding on to the counter with one hand, the other around his neck behind her, as her eyes closed. She softly mewled. They stood there for a moment, her relishing the feeling of his fingers rubbing and circling her clit. “Oh, shit. Aaron. We shouldn’t.” She gasped as he moved faster. “We‘re so messy together.” She said.

Aaron softly chuckled as his hand fondled her, while his other arm wrapped around her. “Maybe so. Maybe we were a clusterfuck, but fuck, you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“Mmmm. Ohhhh. Aaron. Fuck.” She said as she reached around trying to grab his dick. As she felt its long outline through his pants and Aaron let out a moan.

“I bet that pussy of yours is just aching to be fucked. Huh? It’s been so long. Can you even handle my cock anymore?” Aaron gruffly whispered.

“Oh shit. Mmhmmm.” She whimpered. The pair stood in the kitchen, she braced herself on the counter, with both hands now, as Aaron’s fingertips moved up and down, playing with her clit. She was panting heavily, her breaths becoming more and more ragged.

“I bet no one fucks you like I do.” He softly said said. He was right. “Are you gonna cum for me?” He asked.

“Oh god Aaron. Shit. Fuck!” She cried, her legs quivering, the feeling of him holding her, his fingers making her weak, ecstasy rolling over her in waves. She was on the brink of her orgasm when she breathlessly whispered. “Stop. Aaron. Oh fuck, Stop.”

Aaron stopped. Removing his hands and holding her tight as she gasped for air. “Is everything okay?” He asked softly, concerned something was wrong.

“I just— not yet— I don’t want to cum yet.” She said. After a moment, she caught her breath, and turned to face him again. She crashed her lips on to his. A smile creeping across his face, as his lips intertwined with hers, her tongue tied with his, as they both made soft moans into the others’ mouth. Aaron’s arm wrapped around her waist, as his opposite hand came up to caress her neck. Her hands slid down from his chest to his waist resting on his jeans button. His hand, now tangled in her hair, as his other hand made its way to the other side of her face, while the pair kissed passionately. She pulled back, after a while, and looked into his eyes. She saw something she hadn’t seen in them in a long time— longing, desire, and something else, but she couldn’t tell what, lust? Perhaps. “Are we really doing this again?” She asked faintly, quieter than a whisper.

Aaron responded in a low voice “If you want.” She lingered for a moment, gazing into his face, and then he started kissing her again. She kissed back as her hands fumbled with the button and zipper on his jeans. She slipped her hand into his boxers and wrapped one around his cock. “Mmm. Oh fuck.” He said pulling away as she gently started to slide her fingers up and down the length of his dick, pulling his jeans and boxer briefs down with her other hand.

“Wanna suck you.” She whispered peppering a few kisses to his jaw. Aaron let out a grunt. She sank down as she stroked his dick, his hands tracing her body as she did, when she reached his waist, she put her lips to the tip of his cock and circled it with her tongue. Aaron’s head fell back as he moaned loudly, she kept circling. He looked down at her as she slowly moved her mouth from the tip down his length, her hair all around her face, and he gently gathered it, with both hands into one fist, letting out another moan. “Oh fuck, just like that. Suck my cock. Oh. Mmm.” His fist gently tugging on her hair as her head bobbed back and forth along his dick. She took him in inch by inch, until she had all of him in her mouth, feeling each vein and the twitches his dick made as she sucked him. Curse words effortlessly spoken by him, as she hallowed her cheeks and fucked him with her mouth. She wrapped one hand around his firm, tight ass, while the other made sure to engulf whatever part of his dick she wasn’t sucking or massaged his balls. “Oh fuck.” He moaned. “No one blows me like you do. Babe, damn it, Fuck!” He whispered as he leaned against the counter, his legs falling a little wider in his stance now.

She continued to suck him, as one of his hands traced her jaw holding it gently, and his other tugged her hair forcefully back and forth as her tongue slid against his cock. He opened his eyes and glanced down at her, her swollen lips, the feral sounds coming from her mouth, her wide doe-eyes staring up at him with tears forming in the corners, from how far down her throat he was buried. Fuck. He was a goner. “Shit. Shit. I’m gonna cum.” He said as he started thrusting harder, faster, more sloppily into her mouth, holding her head in place. She braced herself, one hand gripped around the outside of his thighs. She moaned, her mouth around him. “Oh fuck baby, you’re gonna take it, right? Uh, mmm, so fucking good. Aw, yes, oh, FU—.” He yelled as his abs tensed and he came down her throat. As he calmed down from his high, he loosened his grip around her hair, stroking her head softly now. She continued to suck him slowly. His hands falling from her hair now to the counter behind him to ground him as he recovered.

She gently let her mouth ease off of him, resting her forehead on his thigh, as her hands gently ran along the back of his legs, in feather light touches. Both of them were breathing heavily, and Aaron was shaking. After a few moments, slowly, she stood, pressing light kisses against his various parts of exposed skin as she rose, bringing her head his shoulder and placing a kiss to his cheek. She reached around him for the beer she opened for herself earlier, taking a sip and looking at him, spent, half-naked in her kitchen. God, he was hot, and he was hers— only for tonight and it was going to hurt like hell when he left, but hers for this moment. She smirked as she set the bottle down, kissing him again, from his t-shirt covered shoulder, up his neck to the corner of his lips, his glance now looking to her as his focus came back and his breaths calmed. He smiled. “Gosh.” He sighed. “You’re really pretty when you blow me.” He said with a smirk and laugh, a look she knew all too well.

“Only when I blow you?” She teased against his lips.

He hummed a question in acknowledgement and looked toward the ceiling and whispered back. “No. Always pretty.” He flashed that million-dollar smile. “Beautiful! Gorgeous even!” He spoke louder.

She laughed in amusement as she gave a half-hearted “Why thank you. But I bet you say that to all the girls.” in response. She buried her face in his chest, giggling, as he held her close.

“No.” She looked up at him as he spoke. “Only the ones I lo—.”

“Aaron don’t.” She stopped him speaking sternly, pulling away from his chest, still in his embrace, studying his face. “Please don’t.” She said shaking her head, quieter this time. He nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I just— I don’t— What do you want from me?” He asked, his eyes pleading for an answer.

The pair had gone through this before, enough for her to know exactly what was running through Aaron’s mind. They have great sex, get mixed up in the feelings and then one of them ends up hurt. The cycle was fun for a while, but ruthless. Neither were ever on the same page. She needed to pull him out of that space quick. She gave him the only answer that would do that. Looking up at him, eyes wide, bottom lip between her teeth and ever so sweetly, dripping with extra sugar she pleaded “Make me cum Daddy.”

She looked into his eyes, watching them change as he cocked his head. Their gentle blue faded into a deeper, darker, sinister look. One that meant he was about to give her exactly what she asked for, and he wasn’t going to be nice about it either. He shoved his lips on to hers, pushing her from the kitchen with a shuffle; jeans and boxer-briefs still around his ankles. They moved into her living room, one arm around her waist to keep her close, the other around her back working quickly under her camisole to unhook her bra, finally bumping to a stop against the back of the couch that divided the walkway from the living room. His arm still around her waist, this time to steady her, as his other hand worked to quickly discard her jeans and panties from her waist. Aaron trailed his nose up her arm to the crook of her neck. Breathing in the scent that was uniquely her, a scent that took him back to their time together, messy as it was, with one simple inhale. He let out a moan in her ear as his lips met the spot of her neck behind her ear again, causing her to shiver. She leaned slightly against the back couch, spreading her legs as his hand found its way to her clit. His fingers moved easily from her clit to her pussy.

“Mmmm. Still so wet for me, huh?” He said.

“Mmmhmm.” was all she whimpered, breathlessly, as he circled her clit slowly.

“Now, you’re going to stay standing until I make you cum.” He ordered, with a hint of gentleness behind his firm words.

“Oh, fuck.” She moaned in response as he now slid a finger into her pussy.

“And...” he said, as his fingers slammed in and out; “You’re gonna fucking take it. ” His fingers deep moving deeper inside her with every word. “Got it? No stopping. Not until you’re soaked, which at this rate, won’t be too much longer now. Will it?” He asked with his voice directly in her ear.

“Fuck, yes!” She cried out.

Aaron’s hand stopped. “Sorry? What was that?!” He asked

Her chest heaving up and down she looked at him, with lust filled eyes, biting her lip again. “Fuck, yes, sir.” She responded. Moving her lips to his, moaning when his hand continued at the same pace as before. He stood there, finger fucking her, whispering the foulest of things into her ear. She was dizzy with pleasure, holding on to him for dear life as worked her over, not only sliding his fingers, three of them now, in and out of her, but holding her steady and massaging the G-Spot deep inside her.

“Oh, fuck, babe. Uhuh, that’s it. Shit, yes. That’s my girl. You’re so beautiful when you moan for me. Fuck. Wanna be in you.” Aaron whispered, his voice gravely.

Her face contorted in pleasure as she moaned and squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to cry out with how good she felt. “Don’t stop. Oh fuck, don’t stop. Don’t stop.” She begged.

“Not gonna stop babe. Just want you to cum for me. But not yet. You wanted to wait before; you’ll have to wait a little longer.” He said as his hand set a punishing pace, moving his fingers up and down inside of her.

“Oh, fuck. I can’t hold it.” She cried out as she dripped from her pussy, knees weak and shaking against him. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can. Just a little more. Not yet.” He whispered gruffly, nibbling on her ear, stretching her out with his fingers. The squelching sounds making his dick harder than before.

“Fuck Aaron. I can’t. I can’t. Babe, please fuck.” She squealed, as tears of pleasure formed in her eyes.

“Just a little more. Come on, that’s it. Hold it for me.” He felt her pussy squeezing his fingers. “Feels so good on my fingers, can’t wait to be buried in you. So close babe.” He sucked her neck. He waited a moment as she moaned, and squealed, and squirmed in pleasure, anything to hold the release she was so desperately longed for.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Aaron. Oh fuck. Fuck! I’m gonna cum, fuck!” She screamed.

“Alright, pretty, cum for me.” He pleaded.

“Ohh. Oh. Ohhhhhhh. Aaronnnnnnnnnn.” She threw her other arm around him as she leaned back, revealing in the orgasm that was washing over her. Aaron’s fingers coaxing out every single drop he could from her pussy. Aaron kissed her forehead as she shook. Legs, still quivering, resting now leaning against the top of the couch. Gathering her breath as she stood arms around him. He held her close, murmuring praises in her ear. After a moment she lifted her face to his, kissing him gently. He kissed back slowly at first, growing with fervor as their lips continued to dance along one another. Her fingertips slowly traced down his abdomen until she reached his cock, hard and ready to go again. She smirked against his lips and he groaned as he grabbed her hand that slowly wrapped around his hard dick.

“Think you got one more for me, babe?” He asked with a gruff whisper.

“Only one more?” She asked playfully.

Aaron’s eyes caught hers and he smiled. “We’ll see how it goes.” He said.

“Mmmhmm. I got at least one more.” She replied.

“Mmmm... good girl.” Aaron praised.

“Bedroom?” She asked slowly, starting to remove herself from his embrace, to lead him down the hallway of her apartment.

“No. Need you now, here.” Aaron replied as he crossed his arms, grabbing the hem of his t-shirt and quickly removing it. “Can’t wait.” He said moving his hands to her hips. His lips finding hers again, as though they were the only thing grounding him to this earth in that moment— she didn’t seem to mind. Her arms gripped around his torso, one hand making it up into his hair, pulling on his soft locks. He let out a soft grunt against her lips. “You know how I like it when you do that.” He smiled.

“I do” she smirked, “Now what was all this talk about not being able to wait? Hmm?” she said as she started to stroke his dick with her other hand.

In one quick swooping motion, Aaron grabbed her by the waist, and knelt to the ground, laying her down gently on the carpet running from her hallway into her living room area. He freed her ankles from her panties and jeans that had pooled there earlier, tossing them haphazardly behind him; she could find them later. He nudged her legs open with his knee, leaving his pants and boxer briefs around his legs, too eager to try to remove them. She looked up at him and smiled as his one hand came up and stroked her hair to one side, trailed down the side of her face, to her neck, down her chest, slipping her camisole down to expose her breasts. He grabbed one of them, pinching her nipple, and she arched her back off the floor, and wrapped her legs around Aaron’s waist. He grabbed his dick and lined it up with her pussy, his blue eyes locked with hers, sparkling in the dim light of the apartment, and he slowly pushed himself in to her. She threw her head back in breathless ecstasy, moaning. No man ever filled her the way he did with his cock.

“Fuck Aaron. Mmm, your cock feels…. so… shit babe. Mmmm.” She cried.

Aaron took a sharp inhale. “Shit. Fuck. Babe, fuck how are you so tight?! Fuck.” He said taking in another breath, adjusting his arms, caging around her.

She reached up and put her hands on his shoulders for leverage. “Mmm, fuck, Aaron. Need you to move.” She said as jerked her hips a little.

Aaron obliged, slowly at first, dragging his cock in and out of her pussy, getting faster as he went, then stilling, his cock filling her, grinding and rocking his hips into hers.

“Oh, Babe. Mmmmm you feel sooooo good.” Aaron whispered in her ear as he moved around inside of her.

“Yes. Fuck. Right there. Oh shit. Yes. Keep doing that. Ohhh god. Yes!” She cried out, pulling on his hair.

“Mmmm like this pretty girl.” He groaned as he grinded his hips harder into hers, his body rubbing her clit with each motion.

“Oh fuck. Yes, mmhmm, just like that — OH FUCK.” she screamed out.

He felt her pussy clenching around him, walls fluttering around his cock, adding to the sensation of being inside her. Aaron knew she was close again, already.

“Mmmm, you like that Babe. My cock buried so deep in that tight pussy of yours. Uh, yes, damn it. Fuck. Feels so good fucking you like this.” He whispered as she moaned.

“Oh. Oh. Oh. Fuck. Aaron.” She cried as he picked up the pace, slamming into her, dick sliding in and out, making sure to go as deep as he could on each thrust.

“That’s my girl. Come on babe. Cum for me again, one more time. You’re so close.” he groaned.

“Almost there. Babe Fuck, Aaron. Oh, yes yes yes yes.” the words failing from her lips like a prayer, one he was happy to answer for her, his thrusts getting more erratic, as he grew closer to his own finish.

Aaron felt her pussy clench around his dick. “Cum for me babe. I’m right behind you. Cum on.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Aaron. Aar--Fuhh. OH!” She yelled out, her words getting lost in her high as she orgasmed for the second time that night, Aaron still pounding into her.

“Shit. Babe. Shit. Oh. Oh. OH! FUCK!” Aaron said as he came a few hard, deep thrusts later.

Their two bodies tangled in one-another, lost in the reverie, coming down from their high. They lay still for a moment, right there in the middle of her apartment hallway. The pair stayed there for a bit, Aaron’s back against the floor with her tucked into his side, both panting heavily, chests heaving up and down. Her fingers gently stroked through the soft tuft of his chest hair as the two regained composure.

“See.” Aaron said.

“Hmm” she hummed in acknowledgement.

“Always good together.” He let out chuckle and kissed her temple.

She smirked and pushed herself up off the floor. Aaron lay there smiling at her, still on full display. “Hang on, let me get you a towel.” She said as she walked to the bathroom. She fished around for one in the cabinet, dampened it and threw it at him with a wink, as she closed the door to clean herself up as well. She pulled on an old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt she had in her bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Messy hair, smeared lipstick, pink, swollen lips, a slight glisten of sweat, even though she’d tidied herself up, and a smile. God, when was the last time she smiled like that? She glanced at the closed bathroom door and back to her reflection. Her shoulders and her smile sank. Aaron was her favorite source of happiness, but their messy history— could she do this again? Maybe they were older, better. Maybe it wouldn’t be like the last times. Maybe when she woke in his arms in the morning, she’d tell him she wanted to try again— for the umpteenth time— but maybe this time, it would stick. Maybe she could finally acknowledge the feelings she had for him, unbury them from the place deep in her soul where she hid them, and let them shine in the light again. Renewed hope. She nodded to herself and opened the bathroom door. Braver than she’d been in all the past times she’d seen him in recent memory, willing to maybe open-up, and —

“You’re not staying?” Her faced scrunched, as she stood there watching Aaron, zipping up his jeans, t-shirt already on.

“I have to get home to the dog.” he said. “Is that O.K.?”

“Oh, uh, sure, it’s fine. You just usually stay, so I’m just surprised, is all.” She offered a soft smile, folded her arms, and leaned against the doorway, hoping Aaron couldn’t see her heart breaking.

“Can’t tonight, sorry babe.” He said as he closed the distance between them, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Next time.”

“Sure, next time.” She said, hope deflated, her hands now fiddling with the frayed sleeves of her sweatshirt. She paused and channeled the courage she’d had only moments before “What if we reach a point there isn’t a next time?” She asked pointedly.

Aaron’s features softened as his eyes flickered over her face. “That won’t happen. It’s never the last time. It’s never going to be the last time with you.” He acknowledged simply.

“I can’t keep trying to get over you.” She looked over his face as pieces of heart continued to fall, shattered.

“Then don’t.” He replied simply with a shrug.

“God, Aaron.” She said more exasperated, “When are you ever going to have a serious conversation with me?”

“When are you going to finally admit to yourself that you’re in love with me?!” He countered, lips inches from hers, staring into her beautiful eyes. Touché.

“When are you going to promise to not break my heart?” She replied softly, looking back into his.

He hoped she couldn’t hear those words rip his heart to shreds in his chest. He knew he’d made mistakes with her before, and he so wanted to right them. “When are you going to trust me enough to not break it again?” He replied even softer.

She paused for a moment.

“Not yet.” She whispered finally, shaking her head. She placed a kiss to the corner of his lips. “Not yet.”

[i-donot-forget]

4 Days

My Candy Love - Love Life

Eric - Candy/Sucrette - Nathaniel

Words 2373

Spoilers Ep 12 - 13

So I was thinking about the days between the kiss with Eric and our date four days later, but from his perspective.

I don't speak english very well, so this is like 90% google translate

DAY 0

I ran away like a coward after what I had done, what was I thinking? How did I let it happen? But they weren't my imaginations, she reciprocated, right? The more I tried to remember the details of that slip, my mind could only think of one thing, her and the softness of her lips, steal her breath, her glassy eyes and flushed cheeks despite my misdeed, I couldn't help but smile because the reality was more delicious than anything I had imagined. 

The loneliness of my apartment took me out of my reverie, now I had to deal with the consequences of my actions, the only question was when? surely as soon as she got home she would tell him how I took advantage of the situation, maybe Nathaniel was on his way here right now to beat me up, which I deserve anyway ...

I still felt the light touch of her perfume on me and it was driving me crazy, I went to take a cold shower with the horrible sensation of hearing a knock on the door, a product of my tormented imagination. I could not think and I had no one to talk to, I was going around the place like a caged lion, I looked at the clock again helpless when I saw that even time was making fun of me, I changed with the idea that there was only one thing that could distract me now, go for a run. I was going fast, lost in my thoughts with the uncomfortable feeling that I was being followed, stopped at a traffic light I was left blank when I saw a blond guy in a white jacket on the other side of the sidewalk, I knew it was not him and even so I could not take my eyes off him until I was 100% sure, I trotted past him receiving the smoke from his cigar fully on my face, By the time I got to the other side of the street, I needed a cigarette more than I needed oxygen. 7 years in the trash, I thought as I ripped off the plastic and opened the box, that first puff was the only thing that managed to calm me down a bit and before I knew it I was on the second.

I walked home calmer or the fact that my head was spinning absorbed some of my attention but when I closed the door the adrenaline and excitement had passed, now I was on the floor, I saw the time and resigned that tonight I could not sleep I dropped into the chair in front of the table that was overflowing with reports, I opened the laptop and gave myself to the escape who had rescued me from Melissa for the last year and there I could see an e-mail from Ben that I should have checked that afternoon if I wouldn't have been in such a rush to get to a certain cafe at 8pm.

DAY 1

By the time the sun rose I could no longer bear the thought of not knowing what to expect, so I called Nathaniel against my logic and common sense, put the phone on speakerphone, and put it on the table as I clung to the wood tightly. Each ringtone fed my paranoia. I expected the worst, screams, insults, threats, at the very least, and then he answered, I stammered incoherencies until I realized that he didn't know, she hadn't told him… yet. I told him about the information Ben had sent me feeling slightly relieved, I hung up the phone calmer but not better, this secret was a time bomb and I felt like garbage. 

I froze as I tightened the doorknob, because by inertia my feet would take me straight to the Cozy Bear, like every morning before work and every afternoon at closing time, but I couldn't go back there like nothing else, I was a criminal returning to the scene of the crime simply couldn't break into her space after what had happened, not without her authorization. I walked towards the station in the company of a cigarette and for some reason I could not remember when was the last time I had done this, I was tense, distracted, I could not concentrate even on the simplest idea my mind was restless and I simply could not ignore the why, I would have to look at his face and act like every day, I had to be convincing and it felt horrible. I hesitated before entering and after crossing the entrance I stopped for a few seconds to look inside, searching quickly, I took a deep breath out of inertia thinking I still had a few minutes left.

- I am glad I am not the only one who is affected by the investigation . -

A friendly slap on my shoulder caused me an exaggerated start but Nathaniel passed by directly to the Chief's office, I saw how he stopped at the threshold, looked at me and gestured for me to enter. I explained the progress in the investigation with few details until our superior resumed the meeting, luckily without a field operation on the agenda I could keep my distance without raising suspicions. The day was eternal and tortuous but it was already after 10 o'clock at night when I went to vent to the gym, 3 hours later I was at home, another night awake.

DAY 2

-  It is the second day you arrive smelling of cigarettes instead of coffee. I believed that with age your habits would improve, not worsen. Is the wisdom of old age a myth? -

Nathaniel joked as the sound of his fists on the punching bag filled the air, I set the dumbbell I was lifting on the ground before giving him a look.

- Yes, yes, I want to see in what condition you will be when you are my age, young man. -

- But seriously, two days without coffee? That's a record, the Cozy Bear will go broke without you. -

- Yes, well I'm changing the coffee for the gym. With the whole move in I realized that I am not in such good shape. -

- Have you already adapted to your new apartment? -

- I finally have a bedside lamp so even though I don't have a TV, or real china, I was able to finish the last book you recommended. -

- Great. Did you start something new? -

- Yes, in fact I'm already halfway there... it's something different, more suspense with some science fiction. -

- Boring… -

- Whatever you say... to tell the truth... I had discussed it with... Candy. -

- Oh yeah? -

- Yes, now that I think about it... she asked me for the reference, I saved an article from the internet with several titles of the same style. -

- Would you send it to her? will you do me a favor. -

- Sure, mmmh I don't have her number. -

- My phone is in my jacket, the pass is 4444. -

- Don't you know her number by heart? -

- Mmmm no. -

Upon unlocking the screen, the background photo was like a kick in the stomach, it was her with a beaming smile, which I did not remember ever seeing, I imagine that smile is only for him. I looked for the contact, "Honey" of course ... I sent it and put the phone quickly as if it burned in my hands.

I avoided the excused lunch with an imaginary date with a divorce lawyer, I drove through the city with no clear destination, away from those streets where by any chance of life I could come across her, I parked at a gas station when it became apparent that no matter how long I was behind the wheel I would not find the right words and finally I called her, dial tone and after a few minutes, mailbox. Come on again, she must be tending the cafe after all. Second try, back to the mailbox, this is more difficult than I thought. What if she doesn't want to answer me? No, how could she know it's me, maybe she has my number. But what nonsense are you saying? Of course she doesn't have your number, let's go once again the third time's the charm. And I was defeated, after the third attempt I did not have the courage to call again and the uncertainty began to fill my head, I drove back to the station with a thousand ideas going through my head and in all of them I am the villain.

I was collapsed on the desk in my office after the afternoon meeting when the phone rang, seeing her name on the screen made my heart race, I closed the blind on the door window and I hesitated for a moment before locking with key.

- Hello, Candy? Thanks for calling me back. I think we should talk ... -

- Eric? I don’t remember giving you my number. -

Yes ... I simply continue to deceive Nath to calm this uncertainty that is killing me, I continued to accumulate crimes and although I believed that I was prepared to face the consequences, I was surprised at myself, at what I was willing to do to find out. 

- Ahem... I asked Nath for it. I told him I wanted to share the name of the book we had talked about with you but… we both know that’s not the reason. I wanted for us to talk... about what happened between us, the other night. -

- And ... You couldn't have just stopped by? On the phone, it's a bit ... -

- I agree! But I wasn't sure that you wanted to see me. Well, anyway… -

- Okay, well, you know where to find me, right? I don't close before 8, if you haven’t forgotten… -

- Well ... I'm busy today... And tomorrow. I thought…… Maybe we can get a drink together in two days? I promise, it won't take long. -

- Uh… Okey, see you after tomorrow, then! -

When she hung up I felt that the world was turning again, that everything had stopped just with her voice, in the middle of all this a part of me was glad to hear her again. Little by little the plea that had almost stuttered became clearer,she could still hate me, disown me and want me as far as possible from her life. Maybe that was what I deserved, maybe that was for the best.

That night I slept fitfully waking up with a start until dawn, a single nightmare repeated itself in a loop, she laughing in my face for having been so stupid as to believe that there was something between us, that I was mistaken her sympathy for interest and I don't know how I could even dream of her leaving him for… for someone like me.

DAY 3

Jogging accompanied by the morning dew helped me wake up after not resting, somehow a choppy night's sleep was more harmful than a sleepless night, this lack was beginning to take its toll and it was already more than evident in my face that I was not having a good day. Today I would have a little field operation, nothing more to watch in case I saw anything suspicious, although I definitely couldn't see anything if I could barely keep my eyes open.

I hadn't been able to escape lunch today and Nath had already been staring at me for a couple of minutes.

- Everything is fine? -

Hearing that question aloud I hesitated, as if I was no longer physically capable of following this lie, I thought of confessing everything to him, not just the kiss, but this forbidden feeling that I had allowed myself to cultivate, how traitorous and scoundrel I was, but then I thought about her, and how I couldn't take away from her what belonged to her by right, if someone had to be the great antagonist it was me, the only one who would have to pay for deception and lies.

- Yes ... Although I think my attempt to give up coffee for something healthier is ironically killing me, I think I'll go back to my old habits. -

- Take care Eric, I still need you around for a while, someone has to stick up for this department. -

Who would say that words could cause physical pain felt like his words were digging into my back and blocking my throat. I could only smile. Sitting alone in an incognito vehicle my mind was blank, no, not blank really an idea had been fixed in my head as a clue that appears after rereading for the tenth time ... I could not, I simply could not do that to Nath, this had all been a huge mistake, a confusing and totally out of place situation, and it had to end as soon as possible. 

That night I couldn't sleep either, I spent the hours thinking about her, saying goodbye in some way to the moments that I had collected in my memory, I had kept this absurd fantasy for too long and I couldn't continue lying to myself.

DAY 4

This morning I was calm, despite being the day of our meeting, but perhaps it was not tranquility but resignation, today the suspense ended, this story that should never have existed ended.

The hours passed quickly because I had already made a decision, if I wanted to end this forever there should be no doubt, I had to tell her absolutely everything, so when she rejects me and denies each and every one of my hopes, I could turn off that light that still wants to see her, that not even the fact that she is with someone else has been able to extinguish, it must be her and it must be brutal.

I was surprised at how quickly the orange glow of the evening began to creep in through my office window, it seemed that after all I did not really want to go to my “date”. My discouragement was turning into nervousness with each step I took, by the time I realized I was outside the cafe.

And then I saw you through the window and I smiled without being able to contain myself because only when I saw you did I realize that I missed you and that I had not liked spending so many days without seeing you and that everything even seemed a little brighter... 

Oh… Shit, I'm really screwed...

[xxpadfootxx]

🐾Late Night Murmurs🐾

A/N: Hey everyone! I finally got around to starting up this Tumblr account! Welcome to my first post here! I will start to post more of my works here more often and I will be taking requests so if you like what you see and would like to see more then please let me know! My rules and regulations are posted on this account if you have any questions! Also, this was supposed to be just a short little one-shot/drabble and then it turned into this... oh well, sorry it’s so long 😂Now, on to the IzuOcha stuff!

~~~

Izuku knew it was late. His eyes stung and he felt as if his brain was constantly short-circuiting but he needed to keep going. Glancing up at the clock on his wall, Izuku groaned, his hands rising to rub at his sore eyes and run through his hair. It was nearly three in the morning, and although Izuku knew he needed the sleep, he just couldn’t. The stress of the upcoming exams gnawing at him like a dog with a bone, preventing him from sleeping and making it difficult to focus. He felt the anxiety wash over him and it took everything in his power to keep from wanting to vomit. Leaning back in his chair, Izuku closed his eyes, tears building up under the lids as he felt his eyes stinging in relief. He didn’t know what to do. He had been studying for hours and yet everything still felt so jumbled and confusing, it was making him lose his mind. Throwing his pencil down onto the desk, Izuku placed his face in his palms, relishing in the small break he was giving himself as the stress continued to wear him down.

A small snore jolted him from his scrambled thoughts, causing him to turn around and glance at the girl sitting behind him. A small smile made its way to his face as he peered at his friend’s prone form, her eyes closed peacefully and her mouth slightly open as she lay sprawled out across his second desk, fast asleep.

Ochako had come sprinting up to Izuku earlier that day, panting heavily with a bright red face and alarmed eyes, her arms filled with a ton of books and papers, asking him desperately to help her out. She had seemed almost feverish at the time, her mind swirling and her hair messy as she explained her predicament. Ochako was very smart when it came to a lot of different subjects but the one she genuinely struggled with above anything else, was math. She had tried and tried to study for the mathematical exams that were going to be a part of the final test but she just couldn’t get it right, her mind obsessing over the smallest things that would change her answer astronomically. She had been on the brink of tears when she had asked Izuku for help, knowing he actually enjoyed math and never struggled with numbers. Izuku had been a bit stunned to see her this way, the normally cheerful yet collected young woman acting as if she had just been chased all over Japan by a villain, but had immediately accepted her plea for help, taking her to his room to help her study.

He watched her sleep now as her gentle snores got a little louder. She looked so peaceful now, so different from the hot mess he had been confronted with that morning, her face relaxed and her breathing normal. She had calmed down when he brought her back to his room, helping her set up at his desk and pouring over her work to see what she was doing wrong, but she had remained tense the entire time, her body ramrod straight and her knuckles had turned white with her grip on her pencil. His council had helped her relax just a little and he knew she was immensely grateful for his assistance, but he could see now just how much stress she had been under as he eyed her fully relaxed form.

He hated seeing her so distraught, she was always so joyful and kind that the sudden change in her mood had set him off balance. He decided that he never wanted to see her like that again as he watched her, the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders soothing his own torrent of stressful thoughts. She had been with him through thick and thin, ever since their first year at U.A. They were adults now, making their way through their third year at the esteemed hero school, but she still stuck with him. She had been his rock ever since they had met, battling beside him, holding him when he felt lost, consoling him, allowing him to shed his status as one of the most quickly promoted young heroes in Japan and just be Izuku Midoriya around her. She let him cry on her shoulder and let down his walls, to just be human. He had always held feelings for her but held them back. He may be climbing through the ranks rather quickly but she was not too far behind. After their first year at U.A., Ochako had worked harder than anyone, fighting tooth and nail to the top so that she too could stand beside the best of the best, unwilling to back down from the daunting task of chasing her dreams. He admired her so much for that, how she had taken something she was doing just to make sure her parents lived a happy life and dialed it up to eleven, choosing to be the best hero she could possibly be rather than choosing to settle as a sidekick. Both jobs would get her the money she needed to support her family, but it was her fiery determination that made Izuku feel so inspired by her.

He understood why she had been so freaked out earlier, she wanted so desperately to pass these exams, make it through one of the final hurdles to achieving her dreams. He knew that she considered this test to be one of the most important moments in her life and it made his heart clench to know that she had panicked over her own skill, her mind filling her heart with doubts about her own capabilities until she broke down, desperate to prove herself wrong, to make it through and make all of her hard work worthwhile. He felt the same in a way, although he felt pressured less because he doubted himself and more because he didn’t want to let everyone who had helped him get this far down. Just like her, his whole career rested on the shoulders of this exam and he couldn’t help but feel the same rising panic in his gut when he thought of it. But just like always, being with Ochako had helped him get a grip on himself, helped him to focus on the problem just like he always did. He hated seeing her with that look of panicked despair in her eyes, but he was happy that he was finally able to return the favor of comforting her when she ran up to him. Pride flashed through his heart as he thought about it. They had been friends for years and yet it still made him beam with glee when she came to him with her problems, that she trusted him enough to spill her insecurities to him and vice versa.

It was something they had started to do half-way through their second year at U.A. when Izuku had come to Ochako randomly one night to cry to her about a battle he had had with a villain during one of his work studies where he couldn’t save the life of a man that had been targeted during the fight. He hadn’t wanted to burden anyone with his problems but had no other place to go, so he had forced down his pride and embarrassment and asked if they could talk. The night had ended with them holding each other, his face pressed into her neck as she cuddled him, just letting him cry and release everything he felt inside of himself. She had just listened and comforted him, only interjecting to calm him down and praise him softly. After that moment, the two had been inseparable (much to the enjoyment of their teasing friends), always looking after one another, and watching each other’s backs both in and out of battle. Izuku’s feelings for the gorgeous young woman had only grown as their bond strengthened, their increasing age making it more and more difficult to ignore his feelings around her, but he held back. He didn’t want to interfere with the dream Ochako had worked so damn hard for, and on top of that, he did not want to ruin their seamless friendship with something as stupid as romantic feelings.

She stirred slightly before settling again, making Izuku snap out of his reverie for the second time that night and debate whether he should wake her or not. On the one hand, he knew she would have the worst back pain in the morning and knew she would be much better off spending the night in her own bed. But on the other hand, a small, selfish part of him liked seeing her in his room, her body relaxed as she slept away her worries. It made him feel light that she was so comfortable being around him. He glanced at the clock again and realized it was probably time to wake her and send her back to her own dorm. She was obviously dead tired and he didn’t want her to be teased in the morning if she was seen leaving his room when everyone else woke. Leaning forward, Izuku reached out to gently shake her awake when she groaned slightly. The sound trailed off into a small, adorable whimper that made his heart clench.

“Mmmm,” Ochako mumbled making Izuku chuckle a little. A few more incomprehensible words then fell from her lips, her nose twitching slightly.

“Trying…,” Ochako said in her sleep. Izuku watched her silently, he didn’t know her to be a sleep talker, but here she was, starting to form words and small phrases as she slept soundly.

“Forward.”

“No, don’t go over there…”

“Wait, come back…”

“Come here, I want to tell you something.”

She was just so beautiful. He smiled as his eyes trailed over her, keeping his gaze modest as he just stared at her in wonder. He knew that what he was doing was a little strange and he had no idea what he would do if she woke up right now and demanded an explanation from him, but she was just so captivating, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. She sighed and moved a little again, her fingers twitching slightly. It seemed like she was waking up, so Izuku backed away from where he had unknowingly leaned close to her face, and prepared to wake her up once more.

“Urm, I-Izuku?”

Izuku froze as his real name fell from her lips in a breathy tone. She never called him that, she had always reverted to using his nickname, Deku, when addressing him. He was almost disgusted with himself at how much his heart fluttered when she said his name.

“H-Hey Uraraka, are you awake? It’s really late, you should probably head back to your room.”

It took a while for her to respond, the silence seemed to almost pound on his ears. Izuku had no idea why he was so eager to hear her talk to him again, but he felt like he was going to explode if she didn’t say something soon. When the silence was finally too much for him, Izuku leaned over and placed a warm hand on her shoulder, his mouth opening to speak when she cut him off.

“Izuku, hmmm,” she moaned softly.

Izuku’s hand shot from her shoulder as if he had been burned, his cheeks burning a bright flaming crimson at her words. His mind struggled to grasp what was happening. He wasn’t naive or stupid when it came to women, he knew what those husky words meant despite never having heard them before, but he was struggling to get a grasp on his emotions. What the hell was he supposed to do!?

“I-Izuku,” her breath hitched slightly as she spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Izuku did a double-take, snapping out of his dazed mindset for a moment. He knew she wasn’t entirely awake and was probably in the middle of some dream but it still made him look at her incredulously at her words.

“What the hell do you have to be sorry for?” Izuku asked in a hushed whisper, leaning closer to her to hear her more clearly.

“I-I’ve failed you,” she muttered softly.

“What are you talking about!? You have not failed me! You will NEVER fail me, what is this?” Izuku said.

Ochako groaned again and shifted a little, her face scrunching up slightly, almost as if she were in pain.

“I’ve been holding you back.”

“What!? You have not been-”

“You’re so amazing, Izuku. I’ve always known that but what I haven’t known is how much you have been restraining yourself,” she mumbled.

“What’re you-?”

“You’ve been holding yourself back, all because of me. I have been keeping you from reaching your full potential. I didn’t see it before, how selfish I have been, keeping you for myself. But I see it now.”

“Uraraka-!”

“I’m so so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing!”

“You have such beautiful wings, Izuku. You don’t need me tying you down, you need to soar. You’re already such a fantastic hero, everyone loves you, and you need to be able to stay in that limelight,” Ochako said as she shifted again, her body curling into a ball slightly.

“Uraraka, you-!”

“I don’t deserve you. But I can’t live without you. All this time, I’ve been fighting and battling for the top spot without even realizing how much I was hindering your chances. You are the best hero and you deserve that spot. The last thing I want is to get in your way.”

Izuku opened his mouth to cut her off again but didn’t even get the first letter out before she spoke again, her voice choking up as a few small tears escaped from beneath her closed eyelids and ran down her cheeks. What he wouldn’t give to kiss those tears away.

“I-I want y-you to be free,” She whispered, more tears sliding down her face. “I want you to have a future and I know now that if you are to fully achieve your dreams, that future can’t have me in it.”

“No!” Izuku all but yelled. She still didn’t wake to his surprise, her nose merely scrunching up more and her eyes closing tighter, her whole body writhing in his desk chair.

“I will say this before we part though,” Ochako whimpered. “T-Thank you so much for being my best friend. My life would n-not have been the same without y-you.”

Tears streamed down his face as Izuku reached out to touch her shoulder again. He needed to wake her up now.

“I love you.”

Izuku’s whole body froze for the second time that night, a jolt of hot electric emotion skittering up his spine and biting at every nerve in his body. It honestly felt similar to when he would activate his quirk but multiplied times ten.

“I love you so damn much,” Ochako whispered, her face turning red even as she slept, her arms coming around to clutch at her knees. “I know it’s wrong of me to love you, and it’s probably even worse to tell you, but I can’t hold it in any longer, especially when I won’t get to see you very often anymore. I love you, and even though you don’t feel the same, I needed to tell you, otherwise I would regret it for the rest of my life.”

Izuku couldn’t move. His whole body was stock still, stuck in time, unable to break free of the vice-like grip her words had on his heart, mind, and body. Ochako chuckled a little, still lost in sleep.

“What do I love about you? Everything. Absolutely everything, Izuku. I love your personality, I love your looks, I love your courage and your determination and your strength. I love your weaknesses and your insecurities because to me, they are nothing more than more amazing parts of you in disguise. I love how smart you are, how loved you make me feel, how kind and loyal you are. You are very handsome, and, as a little secret between us, I almost cried when I saw you interacting with the children who have been affected by tragedy after our battles. You are so gentle and inspiring and loving, just like you are with me. I imagine that one day, you will make an excellent father.”

Izuku blushed somehow even deeper at her words, his eyes nearly bulging out of his skull.

“I just love you and everything about you,” Ochako said, her voice low and husky. She twitched and shifted in her seat again, her mind barely on the edge between her dream world and reality.

Izuku snapped then, his patience completely lost. Gripping her shoulders, he gently shook her awake, his fingers tightening slightly when he saw her gorgeous chocolate eyes flutter open to look up at him. His breathing was heavy and he knew the blush on his face was practically making him glow but he didn’t care at that moment. His hair had fallen to slightly cover his eyes but he ignored the strands in his face as Ochako finally made her way into full consciousness.

“Deku!!!” Ochako shouted in surprise, jumping away from him, her rolling chair sliding across the floor of his room until her back bumped against the wall. Her eyes were wide with shock and she held a hand up to her heart as she tried to calm her breathing. “Sorry Deku, you just scared me, what time is it?”

Izuku didn’t respond but instead shot up from his chair and marched over to her.

“Deku-!?” Ochako squealed when he grabbed her shoulders, hoisted her out of the chair, and pulled her into a tight hug. She hesitantly wrapped her arms around him, her eyes widening as she felt his whole body begin to tremble.

“Deku, what happened?” Ochako asked breathlessly, trying her hardest to shove down the feelings that reared up in her throat and chest when he embraced her.

“Ochako, I need to know, did you mean it?” Izuku asked, ignoring her other question as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, his body starting to shake even more as he awaited her answer.

The shock of him using her real name for the first time was bypassed by her shock at his question. She knew what he was asking, but how did he know? She only confessed her love for him in her dream! Unless…

“Fuck,” Ochako muttered to herself, causing Izuku to pull away from her to get a good look at her face.

“Ochako?”

“I was sleep talking wasn’t I?” Ochako asked, her large eyes meeting his gaze, several indistinguishable emotions swimming behind them.

Izuku nodded slowly and leaned back into her embrace, his eyes closed. Ochako sighed in response before nuzzling his hair, her arms clamping down on his back to bring him even closer to her, tightening their embrace. Izuku’s breath hitched at the feeling.

“Does that mean you-?”

Ochako nodded against his shoulder without hesitation, her eyes closed as she waited for the sound of his rejection. Damn her inability to keep her mouth shut. “I’m so sorry Deku, I didn’t mean to say anything, I don’t want to make things awkward between us and I just screwed everything up!” A few tears slid down her still damp cheeks. “I’m sorry, god, I know I should be dealing with this like the adult that I am but I just can’t…”

Izuku leaned back and looked into her face once more, his trembling subsiding a bit as he took in her beautiful features. She was so stunning, even with the tear tracks lining her skin, her eyes shining with emotion as she forced herself to meet his gaze.

“You didn’t screw up anything,” Izuku said, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek. His heart flipped in his chest when she leaned into his touch, her eyes closing. “I feel the same way about you.”

Ochako’s eyes flew open and she stepped away from him, shaking her head back and forth. Izuku frowned, concern and confusion washing through him in waves. Why was she rejecting him? He just confessed to her after hearing her true feelings for him, why wasn’t she embracing him again? Letting him kiss away her tears? Letting him hold her and whisper in her ear all of the loving things he has wanted to say since they met?

“Ochako-?”

“Don’t pity me, Deku. You have your own life to live, don’t change your feelings just because I’m your friend. You know as well as I do that being invested in a relationship that you aren’t fully interested in is unhealthy, even for a normal person. And you are trying to become the new number 1 hero! I will only be in your way,” Ochako sniffled and tried her hardest to hold back the rest of her tears, saving them for when she was alone in her own room. Standing up tall and holding her head up high, she managed to make eye contact with him, his wide green eyes making her smile sadly. “You are so kind Deku, but for once, you don’t have to save me. Please, be free.”

She looked down at her feet though, suddenly unable to hold his gaze any longer. The silence hung heavily between them as Izuku scrambled to think of something, anything to say back to her. He had so many thoughts jumbled up in his mind, his mouth couldn’t possibly form the correct words.

A heavy sigh from the amazing young woman in front of him dragged him away from his inner turmoil and his eyes widened as he watched her steel herself and turn away from him, her hand reaching for the doorknob.

“Goodbye Deku, thank you for being my friend, I’m sorry I had to ruin it for us,” Ochako said in a hushed whisper, her fingers wrapping around the handle in front of her.

Deku wasted no time in making his way to her. He had no idea what he was going to say or how he was going to say it but he had to do something before the best thing that had ever happened to his life walked out on him, her own self-doubts and insecurities clouding her judgment. Striding over to her, Izuku reached out and wrapped both of his arms around her torso, his hands clasping together on her stomach, his face burying in the back of her neck. A small smile made its way to his face when he heard her sharp intake of breath at the contact, her body freezing under his touch.

“Deku, please, let me go,” Ochako begged, her throat starting to choke up. Why did he have to make this so hard on her?

“No, please hear me out, I just have so many things I want to say. I can’t sort through them all fast enough. Just please wait, please, I need-” Izuku cut himself off as his own throat started to constrict. He swallowed hard, holding her tighter against him. Ochako didn’t move away but she didn’t hug him back either, her back remaining ramrod straight against his hold. Izuku gulped and took a deep breath. He needed to say something, now. Slowly releasing her, Izuku gripped her shoulders and spun her around to face him.

“Why do you think I’m not serious?”

Ochako frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what made you think I am not completely in love with you?”

Ochako gaped. He couldn’t be serious, he just couldn’t be! How could he love her? She wasn’t in some romantic movie or novel, in real life things like this just didn’t happen. Maybe she was still dreaming?

“I-I-I don’t know, I just feel like it’s impossible for you to love me back, not when I’ve loved you for so long, not when you’ve never been interested in a relationship before. There’s nothing special about me, there’s no reason for you to like me back.”

Izuku’s eyes flashed with disbelief and rage, an emotion she had never seen directed at her before. She shrank back slightly, scared she had upset him. He noticed her shift and calmed the harshness of his gaze a bit, but remained firm.

“What are you talking about?” Izuku asked incredulously. “You think I feel shackled to you? You think you are keeping me from being successful? You think I want nothing to do with you now that I’ve found out you are interested in me in a romantic way?”

Ochako swallowed before nodding slowly.

“God no, Ochako! I know you confessed by accident but you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear those words from you. Ever since I met you I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, but then I got to know you and I found out you were so much more. You were always so kind to me, so loving, so gentle, so amazing and talented. You inspired me to work harder for my dreams. I’ve never deserved you, Ochako, but I am so damn happy to have you in my life. You don’t shackle me to the ground, you are the one who built my wings! Without you, I’ll never be able to fly. Please, don’t go,” Izuku’s voice started to shake as he spoke. “Come on, you’re the smart one, open your eyes and see that I am telling nothing but the truth. I love you, more than anything.”

Ochako felt more tears stream down her face but for entirely different reasons than before. Her heart called out his name at his loving words, her mind racing, and her breathing hitching. She felt as if this was all some dream, but she knew it was real. She looked into his eyes and saw nothing but the honest truth swirling in them, his green hues shining brighter than ever before.

Izuku knew she believed him, but he also saw the hesitancy in her eyes, the doubt that she still wasn’t good enough and that this was all some elaborate illusion. Gathering the small strands of courage he had left, a shaky breath left his lips as he cupped her cheek again.

“Still think I’m not serious?”

Without waiting for a response, Izuku dove in to seal her lips with his own. Ochako gasped in surprise at the feeling of his warm and surprisingly soft lips on hers and instinctually pressed her hands into his wide shoulders for support. The kiss was gentle but persistent, encouraging her to give something back, to either push him away or pull him closer. It was only after a few more seconds of hesitation before she decided on the latter, linking her arms around his neck and pulling him close to her, their bodies pressing flush against each other.

Izuku groaned at the feeling of her against him. He had wanted this for so long, she was immediately intoxicating. Reaching down, Izuku gripped her thighs and scooped her up. He smiled when she squealed at the sudden movement, the joyful sound making his heart throb. Izuku carried her over to his bed and sat down, settling her down on his lap. They broke the kiss for air, the two young adults panting as they leaned their foreheads against one another.

“Ok, I believe you now,” Ochako said with a breathy chuckle.

Izuku beamed at her and brushed her hair back behind her ear, his heart leaping for joy. He had always found her hair to be absolutely stunning, but it had always bothered him when she would push it back, his fingers itching to do it instead.

“Good, I never want you to doubt me or yourself ever again, understand? I need you in my life, Ochako, more than anything. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you. You will never hold me back, because with you I am the best version of myself. Got it? I never ever want you to think your not good enough,” Izuku murmured.

Ochako felt like her heart was going to explode. He was being so kind and gentle, so loving. She still couldn’t believe this was happening. He loved her back, he really loved her. Izuku watched as the determined sparkle in her eyes returned, making him love her even more.

“Okay, I promise. Just so long as you make the same promise,” Ochako said softly.

“I will,” Izuku said, his eyes darting down to her lips and then back up to her eyes.

Smiling at his request for permission, Ochako nodded once and leaned in, meeting him for another kiss in the middle. She sighed as his lips acquainted themselves with her own, his eyes closing and his fingers moving to run through her hair. Ochako uncrossed her legs and wrapped them around his waist bringing them even closer together. She tensed, hoping she wasn’t pushing any boundaries, her cheeks on fire. Everything about this was new to her, but it felt right so she went with it.

To her relief, Izuku took it in stride, pulling her closer to him with a soft groan. The noise he made set her nerves on fire, her blood roaring in her veins. They eventually broke apart again, Izuku staring at her with a slightly glazed expression. Ochako giggled and reluctantly slid off his lap. Izuku’s gaze instantly cleared and he looked at her with a mix of confusion and longing, an expression that made Ochako want to laugh and leap right back into his lap but she held off.

“As much as I’m having fun, it is 4 AM and we have class tomorrow. Maybe we can continue this tomorrow though? Maybe go to a movie first?” Ochako asked, her eyes twinkling.

Izuku snapped his gaze to the clock on the wall and realized she was right. He had totally forgotten how late it was, his exhaustion chased away by his ability to finally hold the woman he had wanted for so long. He smiled and chuckled slightly, running a hand through his hair. His face was flushed but he managed to meet her gaze.

“I’d love that. Goodnight ‘Chako, I love you,” Izuku said.

Ochako seemed to almost glow at his words, her eyes twinkling and her teeth flashing as she smiled the widest she had ever grinned.

“I love you too ‘Zuku.”

Izuku melted into a pile of goo at the use of his first name in real life, something about the way she said it with such love and confidence making it much more significant than when she had called to him in her sleep.

“Thanks for helping me study,” Ochako said slyly with a wink as she made her way out the door, closing it behind her without waiting for a response. Izuku laughed quietly to himself and laid down on his pillow, waiting for sleep to overtake him. When he did finally fall asleep, he dreamed of the two of them, a small smile creeping onto his face as he slept peacefully, the beast in his heart finally satisfied after all these years. Finally, they were together, a closer team than they had ever been before, and Izuku wouldn’t have it any other way.

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

the one with my favorite martian

AKA: J’onn’s intro the CAK ‘verse

*insert itsbeeneightfouryears.gif here* ...

THEN

It's her first big story.

The article runs on the front page of the business section—under the fold, sure, but still fairly prominent. The bold, black text of the headline runs half the width of the page, as does the large candid photo that accompanies the write-up. Kara's certain that the photo accounts for at least 70% of the attention the article has received over the course of the current news cycle; it's perfect. A shot that walks the fine line between candid and staged, capturing an otherwise unremarkable lab space and about a dozen lab techs on the move, dynamic as they go about their routine tasks, but at the center?

Dr. Kimiyo Hoshi, effortlessly commanding the room, unflappable and somehow radiant, in spite of the terrible fluorescent lighting.

Kara makes sure to highlight it at every opportunity. As her coworkers drop by her desk, offer congratulations, give her hearty slaps on the back (that result in more than a few confused murmurings—geez, Kent, you got...a solid shoulder there) she points to the photo, and reminds them,  a picture's worth a thousand words. A response that charms a few of the staff writers, but incenses Perry.

“It's a good article, Kent. Wouldn't have run it on the front of the section if it wasn't,” he says with an almost paternal huff of exasperation. “Stop deflecting and just say, 'thank you.'”

So Kara does, if only to keep peace with her boss. It bothers her, though, to be so firmly in the spotlight for any length of time. It pokes at a wounded part of her—whatever part might've been happy to receive accolades, and recognition, prior to arriving on an alien world where she could be hurt, where Kal could be hurt, if anyone ever got too close to them. To the real them.  

It's only when she's back home with Martha, Jonathan, and Kal that the praise is not immediately met with a level of discomfort. Though, it is a little embarrassing.

“On the fridge? Really?” Kara laughs as she reaches for the milk carton.

“Well, she wanted to hang it up on the bulletin board at the rec center,” Jonathan tells her from his seat at the kitchen table. “I had to talk her down. Bribed her with brand new magnets.”

“Aren't they cute?” Martha smiles at the updated collection. Kara has to agree that yes, the little plastic fruits are cute.

Kal, at least, is less concerned with telling her how great the article is, and more concerned with how professional journalism works. He wants to know everything. The questions last well into the evening; all four of them end up staying up late, comfortably gathered in the living room. Kal's in his usual place, sprawled on the rug, Jonathan in the recliner, Martha and Kara on the couch. It's only when Jonathan starts snoring at an octave unpleasant for Kryptonian super-hearing that they decide to call it a night.

“Put out fresh sheets,” Jonathan tells her through a yawn as he makes his way up the stairs. Both Jonathan and Martha keep insisting that they're eventually going to get around to turning Kara's room into...something. (Guest room and/or office are the prevailing front runners, though 'craft room' and 'home gym' have also been tossed around, on occasion.) The only proof that they've made any sort of progress is the handful of boxes in the back of her closet, otherwise it remains unchanged.

“Thanks,” Kara says, as Kal trails close behind Jonathan. She's about to follow, when the phone rings in the kitchen.

Martha answers. Several seconds pass, and then, from the doorway,

“Kara? It's for you.”

Kara blinks in surprise; she has no idea who it could be. Not any of her coworkers—she's made a point not to mention her routine weekends trips back home—she'd never be able to explain where she gets the money for 'airfare.' And she doubts it's anyone from town—the median age in Smallville is about fifty, and therefore, almost everyone's in bed by eight.

She accepts the receiver from Martha, but not before raising her eyebrows, hoping she can provide some sort of guess as to who it is.

But Martha shakes her head; she doesn't know.

“...Hello?”

“Kara?”

It takes Kara a moment to place the voice, distorted as it is by the phone. “Dr. Hoshi!” she says, both by way of greeting, and in answer to Martha's questioning stare. “...Hi!”

“I haven't caught you at a bad time, have I?”

“No, no, of course not,” Kara says as she leans against the wall. Martha offers a quick wave and mouths goodnight, which prompts Kara to glance at her wrist watch. “Er...uh. Well. It's a bit late, actually.”

“Oh! That's—sorry. I didn't even consider,” Dr. Hoshi says.

“It's fine,” Kara assures her, idly fiddling with the phone cord. “Just...unexpected?” she admits. “This actually isn't...” Kara pauses for a moment, trying to decide how much she wants to share. “...My primary number.”

“I know,” Dr. Hoshi says, “I used our tracking software to find you.”

Kara drops the phone cord. ...The mapping software can do that? A reflexive paranoia causes momentary chaos with her response time; she wants to stammer out some sort of reply, but she can only open her mouth, and close it. It's on maybe the third or forth guppy imitation when she hears a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. “...That was a joke.”

The alarm bells in her mind cease their loud ringing. “Oh, ha,” Kara forces out her own chuckle. “A joke. Of course.”

“I tracked you down the old-fashioned way,” Dr. Hoshi explains. “I asked the receptionist at the Daily Planet for the best number to call.”

“And she gave you this one?” Kara asks, incredulous.  

“No, she gave me five,” Dr. Hoshi laughs. “And I tried them all, several times. This is the first call to get through.” Kara can hear the smile in her voice as she adds, “You're a difficult woman to track down, Miss Kent.”

That's by design. “Oh, that's...I think I just need to update my contact information,” Kara lies. And, because it is late, and Kara's still recovering from that momentary scare, she's inclined to be a little more blunt than she might normally be, otherwise. “Was there something you needed?”

“Well, now it seems silly,” Dr. Hoshi says. “I just...” she trails off briefly. “Wanted to thank you. For your work on the article. I had a chance to sit down and read it today, and...” There's another pause. “It's very well done. Thank you.”

Kara's both relieved, and a little...underwhelmed? She'd almost been expecting the worst—that Dr. Hoshi was displeased with the article. Because why else call at this hour? But...a simple thank you? She probably could have left that with the receptionist at the Planet...

“Oh, uh...” Kara returns to fiddling with the phone cord. “You're welcome. But, really, I was just. Reporting the incredible work you're doing.” 'Stop deflecting, and just say thank you', she can hear Perry saying. “But, ah. Thank you. For the...thank you. Call.” She finishes awkwardly.

“I'm used to not being taken seriously by my peers,” Dr. Hoshi goes on like she hasn't heard Kara. “For a number of reasons, as I'm sure you can imagine, but. The work I'm doing certainly doesn't win me any favors.”

Kara frowns. “Your mapping software is the most advanced cataloging system of its kind,” she says. “The data you've been gathering should be proof of concept—”

Dr. Hoshi cuts her off with a laugh. “See, that's what I'm talking about. Your conviction. Your faith in the work we're doing here. You treat us with respect, and the same cannot always be said of my colleagues.” She sighs. “That is what I wanted to thank you for, Miss Kent.”

Kara is truly at a loss for words. She has to go back to, “You're...you're welcome.”

“I've kept you long enough, I think,” Dr. Hoshi says, and Kara's grateful, because she's not sure she'd be able to keep this conversation going. “And again, sorry about the late call.”

“It's no trouble, really.”

They exchange polite goodbyes, and Kara returns the receiver to its cradle, still processing the exchange.

As she turns off the kitchen light and heads upstairs, she reasons that maybe it's not that weird, this late night thank you call. She remembers her dad and her uncle, and how they would lose track of both time and social graces when wrapped up in a project.

And of course Dr. Hoshi would pick up on...how had she described it? Kara's conviction. Because Kara, for as cagey as she tries to be about some things, has a very hard time not wearing her passion on her sleeve. She's honestly surprised that Dr. Hoshi didn't ask her if she'd be interesting in donating to their funding, for as much apparent interest Kara has in their research.

She tries not to let this worry her as she brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas. She's just finished putting the clean sheets on her bed, when she hears Kal.

“Who was on the phone?”

He's using their 'super secret cousin communication line'—basically whispering at a volume only the two of them can hear.

“The scientist from the article,” Kara answers, relieved to discover that he didn't resort to eavesdropping to satisfy his curiosity. “She just wanted to say thank you.”

“That's all? ...I figured it was some sort of emergency, cause it's so late.”

“I thought so too, but.” Kara flops down on her bed and closes her eyes. “Nope. Just a thank you.”

“She thinks you did a good job?”

“Seems so.”

“That's good. That she liked it.”

“Mmmm-hmmmm.”

“...”

“...”

“...Kara?”

“...”

“...Are you asleep?”

“...I'd like to be.”

“It was really just a thank you call?”

Kara sighs. “I think...she was just happy that I took her seriously. She liked that the article was respectful, of her and her work.”

“...Why wouldn't it be?”

“Because a lot of people think her work is...” Kara tries to find a good word. “...a waste of time.”

“I thought she made space maps.”

“Not that work.”

“Oh.” There's a lengthy stretch of silence. Kara thinks that perhaps Kal's finally out of questions, and she can get some sleep. But, “Well. What other work does she do?”

Kara stares at the ceiling. The paint and drywall fade away to reveal the dark night sky overhead.

“She wants to find aliens.”

* * *

NOW

The Grand Mesa SETI Installation isn't much to look at, squat and square as it is, surrounded by miles and miles of red dirt and scrub.  The fifteen or so arrays aren't terribly impressive either—in fact, they have something of an eerie quality about them, occasionally shifting, intermittently whirring, all in a slow, synchronized dance.

Against the backdrop of the Arizona desert, it's all just a bit...alien.

Kara would laugh at the irony, if not for the pervading somber mood of the visit.

The interior of the facility is less off-putting than the exterior; no-nonsense linoleum, flat grey walls, plastic furniture left over from the mid-eighties. Kara wonders if the equipment, too, is as dated as the interior decorating, which only makes her frown deepen.

There's no one at the front desk. Kara takes a quick glance at the rest of the facility with her x-ray vision—there are a few blind spots, thanks to what she imagines is old, lead-based paint, but she can see that it's basically a skeleton crew; the bare minimum amount of techs to keep the place running.

Kara sighs quietly to herself as she hears the click of the door on the far side of the front desk.

“Oh, uh. Hi.” It's a man, perhaps in his forties, dressed casually and clearly surprised by her presence. “Um. Are you here to see somebody?”

Kara opens her mouth, but is cut off by the arrival of a second person breezing through the same door.

“She's here to see me,” Dr. Hoshi tells the man. He catches a glimpse of her expression—stony and displeased, and quickly excuses himself. “Hello, Miss Kent.”

She doesn't smile, but the displeasure softens marginally into something like annoyance. Kara marvels at how different this woman is, from the woman she'd written about in her article, years ago. She's still austere, with her sharply styled a-line bob and pristine oxford and slacks, but where there was once idealistic determination in her stern gaze, there is a brittleness; cold and fragile, like thin ice.

“Dr. Hoshi,” Kara greets. “It's been a while.”

“It has,” Dr. Hoshi agrees, but her tone is utterly flat. “But that's to be expected, I suppose. As you can see,” she gestures to the room around them, but it's obvious she means the entire facility. “I'm hardly a high-profile catch these days.”

“You alluded to as much, in your recent...” Accusation? Confession? “...Interview.”

“If you're here for proof,” Dr. Hoshi shakes her head. “I have nothing for you.”

“I know,” Kara says, and Dr. Hoshi's expression changes for the first time since they've started talking. Not much, though. Just a slight narrowing of her eyes, a barely perceptible twitch in her frown.

“Then why are you here?”

“Well,” Kara's relieved for the opportunity to drop the hardened reporter act, “you might not have proof, necessarily. But that doesn't mean there isn't a story here.” Dr. Hoshi looks like she's going to protest. “This is all off the record. I'm not on company time. Honest.” The other woman still regards her with suspicion.

“You came all the way out here, on your own time, just to talk...off the record?”

“I came 'all the way out here' to visit friends in California,” Kara corrects her. “This was on the way.”

Dr. Hoshi regards her for several long moments. Kara feels inclined to add, “I want to hear your side of this. Because...I think you deserve that chance.” She shrugs in what she hopes is a disarming manner. “And I'm just. Still a big fan of your work.”

This seems to be convincing enough for Dr. Hoshi to acquiesce to her presence. Not fully accept it, exactly. But. Tolerate it?

Which Kara can work with.

“Was doing,” Dr. Hoshi tells her, breezing past Kara and gesturing for her to follow. They enter a hallway off the main lobby and head deeper into the box-like building. Handcarts stacked high with half-packed boxes of broken and outdated instruments litter the spaces outside of large rooms that house the actual monitoring equipment: computers just as boxy and unremarkable as the cardboard boxes in the halls.

“This entire facility is obsolete,” Dr. Hoshi explains over her shoulder. “We're basically a glorified tax right-off.”

“They put you here to keep you quiet and out of the way,” Kara surmises. Dr. Hoshi nods.

“And I got tired of keeping quiet.”

Kara nods. She'd seen the 'tell-all' interview, an impassioned accusation on a local news channel that had stumbled its way on to the national news scene when a LexCorp lawyer happened to catch a rerun of the broadcast while holed up in a grimy motel off of 10. (Why a LexCorp lawyer was even in a grimy motel in Arizona in the first place was conveniently left out of the equation, no doubt thanks to LexCorp's not inconsiderable PR team.) Had the lawyer never seen the footage, it probably would've faded into obscurity. Some loony, local scientist claims big business stole her stuff.

Big whoop.

Dr. Hoshi flips on a light switch, and the dim set of fluorescent overhead lights are joined by a second set of equally dim fluorescence lights; these ones buzz louder, though.

“Do you think they'll fire you?” Kara asks, watching as Dr. Hoshi begins what looks like a routine check of the computers and recording apparatuses.

“No, not really,” she says with an air of grim acceptance. “It will be easier for them to blacklist me. I'll be forced to stay here, and they'll be able to keep an eye on me.” She pauses, and stares at the large arrays in the red expanse just outside of the building. There's a dull whine as they turn their large, concave faces to the east. Mechanized sunflowers, searching the starlight. “All these relics, constantly recording. And I'm the only thing here LexCorp cares about monitoring.” She says this quietly, more to herself than Kara.

Kara gives her a moment, not wanting to be rude as she gently continues her questions. “Do you know if LexCorp is using your technology currently? Do you know if they used it to track the Doomsday Event?”

“The Doomsday Event was a terrorist attack,” Dr. Hoshi parrots the widely-accepted official statement. Kara blinks, surprised to hear that line come from Dr. Hoshi.

“But what about Supergir—” Kara starts to say, only to swallow the rest of her sentence whole as Dr. Hoshi slowly turns.

“...What about Supergirl?” She asks, eyes narrowed. Kara frantically tries to think. She's only done a handful of interviews, and she can't remember. She can't remember...did she ever say it? Did she ever admit that she was an alien?

“I thought,” Kara clears her throat. “I thought she confirmed. That Doomsday was extraterrestrial.” She hopes Dr. Hoshi doesn't follow the news too closely; Kara never actually commented on the Doomsday Event.

“...Maybe she did,” Dr. Hoshi says with a shrug, turning her intense stare away from Kara. Kara breathes a little easier. “And maybe it was. But STAR Labs handled the autopsy, and they insist that whatever attacked Metropolis was human in origin. I know LexCorp tried to bully them into sharing access to their findings, but they were never successful.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, because I did some of the bullying.” Dr. Hoshi says. Kara's eyes widen. “But it became clear to me that they weren't going to budge, so I backed off, and focused on my own work. LexCorp 'locked down' my research shortly thereafter. Maybe in retaliation, for failing to procure the STAR Labs files. Or maybe because they felt they were falling behind in the new space race, and my insistence that we should proceed slowly and carefully and follow the science was too much of a hindrance.”

Dr. Hoshi's voice rises slightly as she ends her statement; it's the most emotion Kara's seen from her since she arrived, even more than the quiet suspicion of LexCorp's spying.

“...I'm sorry,” Kara says. And she means it.

Dr. Hoshi must sense this, because she lets out a very long sigh, and even offers a smile. It still carries that brittle quality, though. “Thank you.”

They share a moment of mutual silence before Dr. Hoshi turns to inspect the last computer.

���So, no. LexCorp was not using my work, prior to the Doomsday event. But they're almost certainly using it now.” She leans in close to the screen, and types something on the keyboard. “Or, they're leasing it to the military. We'll probably never know for sure, though.” She squints, and types another command in on the keyboard. “Odd...”

“What's odd?” Kara asks, moving to stand closer to the computer. There's a lot of information on the screen, but Kara can't decipher it. It just looks like a lot of random numbers and letters.

“This computer tracks our data here against the information gathered at the sister installation, down in Brazil. There's a lag, but the systems generally keep in sync, which we use to make sure everything's up and running properly.”

“So if they fall out of sync—”

“Something's broken.”

“It's not just...picking up space radio waves?”

Dr. Hoshi chuckles. “No. See this collection of data here?” She points to a set of numbers on the screen. Kara nods. “It's essentially too strong to be from space. Something is physically affecting an array.”

“Here?”

“No, down in Brazil.” Dr. Hoshi moves to the other side of the lab and grabs a phone from one of the desks. Kara hears the dial tone, and then the rapid succession of key tones.

She plans on listening to the entire call, of course—all the while making a show of how very interesting this computer screen is—until the conversation lapses into Portuguese. Kara winces.

Mental note: Learn Portuguese.

Given the tone of the individual on the other end of the line, Kara gets the sense that something is wrong. Maybe not catastrophically wrong, but the other scientist is clearly distressed. Dr. Hoshi says something that Kara assumes is meant to be assuring before ending the call.

“I'm sorry, Miss Kent, but I'm afraid we'll have to cut this visit short.”

Yes, we will. “That's okay, I understand,” Kara tells her as Dr. Hoshi leads her back into the hall. “Is everything alright?”

“There's some sort of...” Kara can see that the other woman is choosing her words carefully. “Mechanical problem, which means I get to look forward to a long evening of phone tag. Complete with international rates.” She smiles ruefully.  “Another tax write-off for LexCorp.”

Dr. Hoshi apologizes again for the abrupt end to the visit, but Kara is quick to remind her that this was unplanned.

“Now we're even,” Kara says, and Dr. Hoshi blinks at her in confusion. “Um. From when you called me, back when the article...never mind.”

Dr. Hoshi is kind enough to ignore the awkward moment, and simply wishes her well on her visit to California.

“Are you driving?” Dr. Hoshi asks as Kara digs her car keys out of her purse. Kara heads for the parking lot.

“Just a rental,” she says, holding up the key fob and the bright yellow tag attached to it. “I'm heading to the airport.”

“Have a safe flight, then.” Dr. Hoshi says, and returns to squat brick building.

Kara drives back into town and returns the car to the rental agency. That part wasn't a lie. And technically speaking, she is going to fly.

She finds a secluded spot, behind some buildings on the edge of town, and tugs at her shirt, revealing the primary-colored costume beneath.

Up, up, and away.

* * *

The only similarity between the Grand Mesa and the Montanha Verde SETI installations are the collection of large arrays flanking the main buildings; while Grand Mesa's surrounded by a vast sea of parched, red earth, Montanha Verde lives up to its name, nestled atop a collection of vibrant green foothills, the arrays dotting the terraced slope of the mountainside just above.

As Kara touches down on one of the far hills, she takes a quick x-ray scan of the building and the immediate surrounding area, mentally tallying the number of people onsite.

There are more techs here than at the Grand Mesa facility; she hurriedly does the math. If it comes down to it, she can clear the entire site in two minutes. Depending on wind speed, anyway.

She's hoping that won't be the case. As it turns out, 'mechanical failure' means that one of the arrays is on fire, and threatening to topple into an adjacent array, which is troubling enough on its own. More troubling, is the potential for the arrays to tumble down the mountainside, right into the back corner of the main building.

Easy fix, she decides as she (literally) flies into action. She decides against freeze breath, not wanting to damage the arrays further. Instead she flies in a tight circle around the flames, creating a vortex that robs them of oxygen. The flames die down almost instantly; she does send a light breeze in the direction of the singed metal, just to cool it down.

Once she's certain the nearby vegetation won't catch fire again, she lands, and pulls the leaning array back into position. She welds a quick patch into place—hardly a permanent solution, but better than simply hoping the compromised array won't fall over.

Some of the techs want to rush over as soon as they see her finish with the spot weld, but she holds up her hands, stay back! They nod, and keep a safe distance.

“Thank you,” they all start to talk over one another as she approaches, and that's the only phrase she can 1.) pick out and 2.) understand.

She underlines her mental note. Learn Portuguese!!

“You're welcome. I'm—sorry, I don't,” now only a few of the techs are talking, realizing that she's a little overwhelmed. “I don't speak—”

“Verde, verde,” Kara hears.

“Verde? Right, Montanha Verde,” she points over to the building, hoping she's understood. But one of them—a man with dark hair greying at the temples and a neatly trimmed beard—shakes his head profusely.

“Verde monstro.”

“Green...monster?” Kara can't imagine that word meaning anything else. The man doesn't confirm if she's translated correctly; he points farther down the ridge, past the land cleared for the facility, where the cropped vegetation gives way to actual jungle.

It's both the last thing Kara expects—this was supposedly just a mechanical failure, after all—and yet somehow, terribly fitting. Of course a 'green monster' would be the source of mysterious troubles at a SETI facility.

“I'll check it out,” Kara tells them, hoping her tone and facial expression help get the meaning across.  She takes off quickly, only to belatedly realize that perhaps it's not terribly wise, to charge into unfamiliar terrain.

It's not like there's anything on Earth that can hurt you, Kara reminds herself.

Still. She doesn't love the prospect of accidentally spooking a wild animal. She slows down and flies just above the canopy, keeping her eyes trained on the forest floor for any signs of...whatever tracks a green monster might make.

She keeps up the search for several hours, and tries not to think about the fact that this is a textbook case of needle in a haystack. She's not physically tired when she finally calls it quits, but   it's getting dark; the search is only going to become more and more difficult as the sun sinks lower in the sky.

She spots a clearing and drops into a quick landing, intent on checking the wristwatch she keeps in her cape pocket while there's still enough light to see. It's set to Metropolis time, and she's somewhere west of Belem, but what is that in terms of longitude—?

Kara doesn't notice it at first. Or, she does notice it, but it doesn't register until it's almost too late—she mentally cataloged it as just. Typical forest sounds.

But there's a pattern. A rhythm.

Footsteps.

Kara whirls and her heat vision goes off without conscious thought—just a bright beam of blue that shoots in whatever direction she's looking. A half-fallen tree branch bursts into flames.

“Argh!”

The yell isn't Kara's—a tall, something. Man? Stumbles back, away from the flame, bringing an arm up to shield his face.

Kara sends a gust of cold air on the flames, not wanting to create an international incident. Superhero Burns Down Amazon Rainforest by Accident is a headline Kara would very much like to avoid.

The man continues his frenzied retreat from the flames, only to stumble over a large exposed root. He lands on his back, hard.

“Please,” he says in a voice that is distinctly not human. “Please, do not kill me.”

He drops his arms, revealing his face. Green skin and bright red eyes.

Verde monstro.

Except, no. Not a monster. Not a monster at all; frightened and confused lab techs had, perhaps understandably, seen something unfamiliar, something monstrous among the flames. But Kara is not frightened and confused. Startled, maybe, but otherwise able to see how scared he is. She can hear it.

“I'm not going to kill you,” she tells him, holding out her hands in an open, non-threatening gesture. “I'm sorry about my—about the fire,” she apologizes. “That happens sometimes. When I'm scared.”

She doesn't move forward at all—she doesn't want to do anything that could be perceived as aggression. She lets him set the pace of this...encounter? Exchange? Whatever this is.

He uses the opportunity to climb to his feet, all the while keeping a close eye on her. He remains tense, arms bent in a defensive position.

“I'm—” Kara knows she should say Supergirl, but what comes out instead is, “Kara Zor-El. I'm here to help.”

He says nothing. They continue to stare at one another for a very long time.

After a small eternity, he finally speaks.

“My name is J'onn J'onzz,” he says. “And I don't think you can.”

* * *

Kara starts a fire—deliberately, and safely, this time—and invites J'onn to take a seat.

He does take a seat. About ten feet away from the flames.

“...You don't want to sit closer?” Kara asks. It's possible he's impervious to extreme temperatures, like her and Kal, but. If he sits closer to the light at least, the conversation might be a little less...spooky.

(Because, as much as Kara hates to admit it, she can understand why the lab techs were scared; J'onn's face is comprised of hard angles, and a long, ovular cranium. Not unlike the shape humans ascribe to the stereotypical 'Gray' aliens supposedly found at Roswell. But, more so than the harsh angles and green skin, Kara thinks perhaps they were mostly reacting to the glowing red eyes.)

“No,” J'onn says simply.

Kara nods. “Okay.”

Another small eternity passes. And then,

“My planet...burned to death.”

Kara stares at him across the flames, watching the shadows shift over his face as he pointedly turns away from the fire.

A heavy sadness settle in her chest.

“You're a refugee,” she says.

J'onn doesn't look at her. He keeps his face turned away. “Someone who is forced to leave their home to escape war, persecution, or a natural disaster,” he recites the definition. “Yes. I am.”

Kara takes a deep breath, reflexively reaching for the edge of her cape, to run her fingers of the corner. An outlet for her pent-up emotions. “I'm sorry,” she says quietly. “Did...did anyone else escape?”

“I am the last.”

Tears spring to Kara's eyes, the words landing on all the broken bits, the still-healing bits that she buries down deep inside. They press down hard and cause her to let out a watery chuckle, which J'onn probably thinks is extremely rude.

But he must see the glint of the firelight reflecting off her tears, because his expression is one of confusion, not outrage. And Kara then explains,

“Same, actually.”

The confusion lingers only a moment longer, before understanding sets in. He nods.

And then, slowly, he stands.

Kara watches, a little confused herself, until she sees him skirt the edge of the clearing, and come to sit fractionally closer to her. Still quite far from the flames, but. Most definitely closer.

“I'm...sorry.”

She wipes at her tears and takes a steadying breath. “Me too.”

* * *

It's weird. Not a bad weird, but certainly some kind of weird—two complete strangers sharing stories of lost home worlds around a campfire, somewhere at the edge of the Amazon Rainforest.

Kara can't remember which one of them started it. She thinks maybe it was J'onn who got the ball rolling, telling her a little bit about Mars. Not much; there was still a guarded element to his demeanor, and Kara would eventually come to understand that wariness was borne of having spent so long on Earth hiding. Decades to her fifteen or so odd years.

And then she started talking about Krypton. Really talking about Krypton. The blemished, imperfect Krypton that Kara had, perhaps a bit unintentionally, scrubbed clean for Kal's bedtime stories.

Talking with Kal...it was just stories. Because all he knew was Earth.

Talking with J'onn—he knew. He'd had friends, family, a daily routine. Favorite foods that could never be replicated, because the ingredients no longer existed.

“That's why I wanted Dr. Hoshi's work to succeed,” Kara finds herself explaining, as the conversation inevitably turns to how they both came to be in Brazil in the first place. “I mean. Obviously, it's going to be...a long time, before Earth reaches the point where they have the technology necessary for intergalactic communication, let alone travel, but...” she purses her lips, and stares into the flames. “I'd like to think that someday, aliens will just be a fact of life. And then...maybe...” she sighs. “Maybe. We won't have to hide.”

She can see J'onn shift in her peripheral vision.

“That is where we differ,” he says. “I've been on this planet a very long time. I don't think we'll ever be able to stop hiding.”

Kara wants to argue the point, but J'onn continues, “There's a group that's been following me. Hunting me. I don't know how they're managing to track me.” J'onn looks off in the direction of the SETI facility. “I...overheard, that they were planning to make use of facilities like the one on that mountain ridge. If not to track us on this planet, then to track those like us before they even arrive.”

“Is that...” Kara swallows. “Why you...”

“I didn't want to injure anyone, I only wanted to disable their tools.” J'onn tells her, and Kara can't help that her first thought is one of stern judgement, that he's basically admitted to destroying private property, and by extension, potentially endangering all those people. “But I miscalculated, and the dish caught fire.” He takes a breath. “So I ran.”

“I...I understand your...” Kara doesn't think concern is the right word to use. “...Fear. I do. Really.” And she does. It's now, in her adulthood, that she's recognizing that it was not normal or healthy, for a thirteen-year-old to live with the constant background radiation of worry that a shadowy government organization could come snatch her or Kal at any time, with no warning or consequence. “But we can't just assume that everyone—that they're all like the group that's—” hunting, stalking, preying, “following you.”

“You have not encountered these people,” Kara can see that J'onn is making an effort to respond calmly. His shoulders tense, and his hands curl into fists. “You do not understand.”

It's a sobering reminder, one that Kara doesn't counter, even though she'd really like to. As alike as they are, they've also led very, very different lives. Kara has to respect that.

“You're right,” is what she decides to go with. “I'll never fully understand, and I'm sorry, for everything you've had to endure.”

“...Thank you.”

* * *

WHUP, WHUP, WHUP.

Kara grumbles in irritation. Her apartment building is 'centrally located, close to public transit, ideal for commuters,' which is realtor speak for: overlooks the elevated train tracks of the city's metro system on one side, and the approach to the Monarch Bridge on the other. So if it's not the sound of the yellow line waking her in the morning, it's the sound of a traffic copter, covering rush hour.

She reaches for her quilt, intent on burrowing beneath the covers to try and catch a few more minutes of sleep.

The quilt feels. Weirdly like her cape? That's—

She's awake in an instant, as the sounds of the helicopter become impossibly loud and close. She's not in her apartment; she's in Brazil—her and J'onn had talked so long, that she ended up deciding to simply catch an hour or so of sleep before heading back to the states, just before dawn. J'onn had offered to stick around and keep watch, 'just in case.'

Kara thought it was both courteous and maybe a little unnecessary at the time.

Boy, does she feel foolish.

“It's them,” J'onn says in a strained voice, eyes trained on the sky. “I have to go.”

He's already turning to head deeper into the jungle. Kara jumps to her feet, shaking off leaves and dirt.

“Wait, wait, there has to be...something we can do—” Kara says, rushing after him, but as she says it, she thinks, what? What can we do? Talk to them? Fight them? She's not even sure who this 'them' is. She's only heard J'onns vague accounts of their various encounters, and she gets the sense that he doesn't really know who they are, either.  

“Don't involve yourself in this,” J'onn says, not bothering to look back at her as he speaks. “You're fortunate, you look like them. You have a life to go back to.” The words are painful to hear, but probably even more painful for J'onn to say, and they aren't untrue. “So, go.”

But Kara won't. She can't.

“Let me help you, at least,” Kara insists, reaching out to try and touch J'onn's shoulder. The movement makes him turn, causing him to slow.

There's a sharp Crack! followed by a terrible sound of wet impact. J'onn grunts, and falls to his knees.

“J'onn!” Kara cries out in concern, stooping to support him before he falls forward completely. A figure emerges from the dense brush and trees.

“Supergirl, what an unexpected surprise.” Kara looks up to see a black man dressed in camouflage fatigues, holding a semi-automatic weapon. The tag above his left breast pocket reads: H. Henshaw. “Didn't know you were hunting this monster as well.”

J'onn lets out another pained grunt. Kara helps him to apply pressure on the wound on his abdomen. “Do I know you?”

“No, but we know you,” Henshaw says with a terrible grin. “It's our business, to know all about our...” he pauses, and brings up his gun to train the sight on J'onn. “Strange visitors, from other planets.”

Kara positions herself between Henshaw and J'onn. “Are you CIA? Military?”

“I'm afraid that's classified information,” Henshaw says. “Move.”

“I'm not going to let you kill him,” Kara says fiercely.

“Careful, Supergirl,” Henshaw growls, tightening his grip on his gun. “So early in your career...do you really want to make yourself an enemy of the state?”

Kara doesn't know how to respond; she's desperately trying to think through this. Trying to see all the angles, all the potential consequences, instead of rushing in. (As she's prone to do.) But she can hear J'onn's labored breathing, her attention thus divided, her mind running in too many different directions.  

Henshaw must mistake her hesitation for defiance. “Alright, let's try something else. Move, or I'll have a group of agents at that quaint little farm of yours faster than you can blink.”

Kara can't stop the strangled choking noise that works its way out of her mouth—no, no, she was so careful, she'd always been so careful...

You never should have become Supergirl, she thinks, but then, as she continues to stare, wide-eyed at Henshaw's face, she has a horrifying realization that he looks familiar. She's seen him before. Somewhere. Some--

A memory. Smallville. Shortly after her and Kal had landed, going into town with Martha, having pancakes at the diner before finishing their errands...

A couple of guys in suits at the far end of the restaurant. She caught their eyes a few time, but thought it was a fluke. An awkward, accidentally moment of eye contact.

But it wasn't. It wasn't a fluke, it wasn't an accident, they had found them. They'd known all along. But how?! She thinks, borderline hysterical. How had they evaded her detection? She has super-hearing! She can see through walls!

It's a struggle to simply breathe through the panic and processing; she doesn't notice as Henshaw loads a new cartridge into his gun—one that gives off a subtle glow in the milky, pre-dawn light.

He's about to fire, but there's a roar from behind Kara.

“Wha—no!” Henshaw yells as J'onn barrels into him. They both tumble further into the trees. Kara forces her mind to stop spinning in frenzied circles long enough to clamber unsteadily to her feet. They've known, they've always known—

Focus! She tells herself, and charges after the two men. She can hear them before she sees them, the grunting, the struggling, another gunshot.

Someone yells—Henshaw. But the yelling fades, like he's—

She's spotted them now. She surges forward through a tight knot of trees. J'onn is slumped at the edge of a cliff.

Henshaw is not with him.

“He...he went over, I wasn't—” J'onn tries to say, but he's breathing heavily, and still clutching his side. “—Not strong enough, not fast enough to pull him back—”

He passes out, at that point. She approaches the edge of the cliff, just enough to see that it's...a very long way down.

She presses the back of her fist to her mouth, eyebrows drawing together in distress as she imagines the fall. She proceeds no further. There's no need.

Instead, she picks J'onn up as gently as she can, and extends her hearing as far as it will go. The helicopter has landed a few miles to the south, and she can hear two separate scouting parties.

They need to leave.

They also need to...figure out what to do about these people, the ones who have been following J'onn, and apparently Kara as well.

...One crisis at a time, Kara decides.

She takes off, her speed probably more than a little reckless, but she needs to get J'onn help. And fast.

...She just hopes that the Danvers know as much about patching up Martians as they do about patching up Kryptonians.

* * *

Alex usually isn't allowed to have a second juice box, but she takes her chances asking mom if it would be okay. After all, Kara is visiting, and when Kara visits, sometimes the rules change a little bit.

Like getting a second juice box.

(She checks to see if any of the grown-ups are looking, before quickly grabbing a third juice box that she stuffs under her sweatshirt.)

She makes sure to close the refrigerator before hurrying past the dining room, where Kara and her parents are. They don't notice her, which is okay—they're really busy talking.

So she continues on her way to the family room. It's a little messier than normal, and for once, it isn't because Alex has forgotten to clean up her toys. Instead, there are Band-Aids and stuff all over. She's careful not to disturb anything—it's all stuff that only the grown-ups are allowed to use, and she's already sneaking juice boxes, so. Best not to break any more rules.

She settles herself on the couch, fluffing a pillow, and getting comfortable before she turns her attention to her juice box. She pulls off the straw and bites through the plastic wrapper.

The big green man that Kara brought with her stirs at the other end of the couch.

“Wanna juice box?” Alex asks, removing the super-secret extra one from under her sweatshirt. “It's fruit punch.”

The big green man blinks at her with his glowing red eyes. Christmas colors, Alex thinks.

“Fruit...punch?”

“It's really good,” Alex explains. “Because it has all the fruits. Together.”

She offers it to him. He looks at it for a second, before reaching out to take it.

“...Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Alex says. She starts on her own juice box, then realizes the green man is still staring at his. “Oh. You gotta—” Alex reaches over and pulls off the straw to hand it to him. He takes it, but he stares at that too. So she reaches over again and takes the straw, slamming it on the coffee table to get it to pop up out of the plastic.

She sets the wrapper off to the side, and gives him the straw once more. “Now poke it through the silver dot.” She points to the top of the juice box.

The green man follows her instructions. The straw slides into place. “Yeah. Like that.”

She watches as he takes a hesitant sip. The juice box trembles a little in his grip, but that's probably because he was hurt earlier, and is still getting better.

“It is...very good.” He says after several more sips. Alex smiles.

“Toldja.”

They sit side by side, enjoying their juice boxes in companionable silence. As Alex finishes her own, the cardboard crumpling as she noisily slurps the last fruity drops, she says, “My name's Alex.”

“I'm J'onn J'onzz,” the man says.

“Are you from Krypton, like Kara?”

“...No...I'm from Mars.”

“Oh.” Alex nods. “Okay.” She looks down at her hands, and counts on her fingers. “My...very...educated...mother...” She looks up. “That's right next to Earth!” she smiles. “Like a next-door neighbor.”

“...Yes,” J'onn agrees.

She looks over to see that he's finished his juice box, too. “Want another one? Mom will probably say it's okay, because you're sick.”

J'onn regards his empty juice box. “Would it also be...fruit punch?”

“Yeah.”

“...Then yes, please.” He gives her a small smile. “I would like another juice box.”

* * *

It takes J'onn two days to recover. It's mostly thanks to his own healing ability—Eliza and Jeremiah do as much as they can for him, but their resources are limited.

So, he spends the two days sleeping in their guest bedroom. Kara spends those two days thanking Eliza and Jeremiah profusely.

“I owe you guys,” she tells them.

“You can pay us back in juice boxes,” Jeremiah says.

J'onn is up and about by day three, and pretty much immediately insists on leaving.

“I'm a danger to you all, staying here.” The Danvers try to reassure him that, it's fine, that he doesn't need to feel like he has to flee into the night.

But. Kara had told them. About the man, Henshaw, and what he had revealed to her, when he'd cornered them in the jungle.

“They probably know about you, too,” Kara admits with a grim expression. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be,” Eliza says with a firm shake of her head. “We were well aware of the risks, when you came to us after the Doomsday Event.”

“But J'onn's right,” Kara says. “It's dangerous—”

“Then it's a good thing we've got a Kryptonian on speed-dial,” Jeremiah interrupts with a grin.  

“Still, I understand why he's anxious to go,” Eliza concedes. “Is there anything we can do to help him?”

Kara admits she isn't sure, and is determined to find out. Which is how she finds herself in the Danvers' backyard, joining J'onn in quietly admiring the sunset.

“I've never been able to just,” he takes a long, deep breath. “Enjoy this planet.”

Kara nods in somber understanding. But then adds, “One of the things Earth has going for it,” she smiles. “It's beautiful.”

“It is.”

Encouraged by his agreement, Kara continues, “And a lot of the people on this planet...are really wonderful too.”

She braces for an argument. But,instead, J'onn looks down at his hand, and Kara realizes he's holding a juice box.

“I still have a hard time believing that,” he says. “...But I would like to try.”

She nods again. “The Danvers want to help,” Kara tells him, crossing her arms over her shirt. She's not in costume. Standing next to J'onn, though, with his regal blue cape and dark, armored suit, she feels under dressed. “We all want to help. However we can.”

“That group...I think they're called the D.E.O.”

Kara frowns. “How do you know that?”

“I heard one of the other agents,” he says, which Kara finds strange. She'd heard the agents too, but they'd mostly just been whispering commands and confirming locations, entirely in code; she hadn't heard any of them openly discussing specifics.

But then, maybe he meant he'd heard it during one of their earlier encounters.

“They'll be looking for Henshaw.”

She turns away from him. “There's no way he survived that fall,” she says in a low voice, trying not to think of the man's grizzly fate. She's still horrified by what Henshaw told her, and she got the impression that the man took a sickening glee in the prospect of killing J'onn—and possibly any alien they deemed 'too powerful' to conceivably coexist with humanity in peace. But still. It was a gruesome end, one Kara wouldn't wish on anyone.  

“I'm going to take his place,” J'onn says suddenly.

Kara starts. “What?”

She turns back to face him and he's—something's happening. There's a red glow that envelopes his entire body, and J'onn's face fades away, replaced by the face of Hank Henshaw.

Kara gapes.

“I've thought about this,” he says, “If Henshaw is listed as 'MIA', or worse, it they find and identify his remains at the bottom of that ravine, they'll intensify their search, maybe even respond more harshly to perceived 'threats'.

“But if I take his place...I can divert their entire operation. Change it from the inside.” Kara's trying to focus on his plan, because, as wild as it is, it's...admittedly a very good one. It would potentially solve...a lot of problems.

...But she's silently freaking-out, just a little. J'onn just—dead! Dead guy! Dead guy, standing here, talking to me! “I can make it safer on this planet, for people like us.”

“That's—you—” Kara shakes her head. “You can shapeshift???”

J'onn smiles.

“I can also read minds.”

* * *

“—and she didn't come back, but satellite imagery suggests she left Brazil alive, with an injured civilian. They entered U.S. airspace that morning.”

“...I see.”

“Did you get the reports on the array? The damage was surprisingly minimal.”

“...I did get the reports, but I still need to look them over.” She ends the conversation abruptly, knowing she'll have to apologize to Dr. Silva later.

But she doesn't really care.

Because how was it, that within hours—hours—of speaking off the record with Kara Kent about an incident at the Montanha Verde installation, Supergirl arrived at that very same location, without any explanation as to how she knew they were in trouble, how she even knew where to go?

The obvious explanation is that Kara leaked the story to someone with connections to Supergirl. Or maybe Kara herself was in contact with the superhero.

Or.

Or.

Dr. Hoshi retreats to her office. A sparse room consisting of a desk, a chair, and a meticulously organized bookshelf. It's free of any personal touches—Kimiyo remembers feeling like it would have been admitting defeat, to settle down here. To invest in the lie LexCorp was building, about her. Her career.

Normally, the sight of the office simply depresses her. Now?

She finds herself growing angry.

She sits at the desk, and thinks. Kara Kent had always been so invested in their work. Kara Kent had come here, unannounced, and had basically received a VIP tour, getting an up-close look at their monitoring equipment. (However rudimentary and obsolete it may be.)

And there was that business about the Doomsday Event. And Supergirl.

Supergirl...who went to help with the damaged array. The damaged array that Kimiyo had specifically mentioned.

To Kara Kent.

...A crazy theory, she decides. But then, how many widely accepted scientific truths began as mere crazy theories?

She just has to test it.

But to test a crazy theory, you need funding. And resources.

She looks around the small, bleak office.

She reaches for the phone on her desk. Dials a familiar number.

The call is picked up on the second ring.

“Kimiyo, hello. What a pleasant surprise,” the greeting is not delivered with any sort of sincerity. “Has E.T. phoned home yet?”

Kimiyo refuses to dignify the stupid joke with a response. “I want out of here, Lex.”

“You're welcome to tender your resignation at any time.”

“I know how we can get back at STAR Labs,” Kimiyo says.

The line goes quiet for a time.

“I'm listening.”

“It's just a theory, at this point. I'd need to test it...I'd need—”

“Access to your research? Your old lab?” his tone is mocking.

“And money.”

“Natch.”

“You wanted Doomsday, right?”

“...You have something on Doomsday?”

“No,” Kimiyo admits, and Lex makes an irritated noise. “...I might have something on Supergirl.”

She waits for his response.

There's a chuckle. A laugh. A guffaw, and she's certain she's blown her chance at redemption, that she's destroyed her career for a record second time in the space of three years.

But then he speaks.

“That's even better.”

Dr. Hoshi takes a steadying breath.

“So we have a deal?”

Lex Luthor laughs, in a manner most unsettling.

“Oh, yes.”

* * * 

NOTES:

- I generally try to keep the notes to a minimum but THIS ONE’S GONNA NEED SOME EXPLANATION - It took me forever to decide on when J’onn appears in the CAK universe. I had initially planned on just using the date and circumstances from the show, essentially replacing Jeremiah with Kara. - Buuuuuut that would mean J’onn would arrive when Alex was a teenager, and the thought of Smol Alex inspiring J’onn to have faith in humanity was. Too compelling of a notion to pass up. XD  - So this kind of contradicts events in ‘the one where alex saves the world’ but those inconsistencies can be handwaved away with: Alex wasn’t aware that her cool Martian friend she met One Time is the same guy as Kara’s grumpy colleague from the DEO.  - TIMELINE CHECK: This takes place before, and then after ‘the one with the beginning’ (AKA the Doomsday one.) - As always: the science is just pure made-up nonsense, cobbled together from light Googling and my vague recollections of Contact. - Kara finds J’onn in Brazil as opposed to Peru because I definitely misremembered episode 1x17.  - And SPEAKING OF, if the whole trip seems contrived and like it was meant to be the beginning of a much longer plot/mystery, that’s because it was, but I lost the notes to what I had initially planned.  

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “John Wick” Part 1

Y/N left The Organization 3 years ago for the one reason strong enough to make her settle down: love. But after tragedy crushed her to pieces, she decided to leave The Joker and seek refuge with an old friend and mentor - John Wick. Needless to say The King of Gotham can’t accept his wife running away without a word, especially since he didn’t have a chance to tell her things she might want to hear.

Part 2     Part 3

Your high heels click on the marble floor, numerous conversations stopping in the hotel’s lobby since you haven’t been seen around in the past 3 years. The concierge can’t hide a smile and you take your sunglasses off, finally making it to the front desk after driving for hours.

“Welcome to the Continental, Miss Y/N. Such a pleasure to see you.”

“Thank you Charon,” you remove 7 gold coins out of your purse and slide them on the counter towards him. “It’s good to see you too.”

“For how long will we have the pleasure of your company?” the man inquires, taking a peek at the computer’s screen to make sure he can shuffle things if needed.

“One night.”

“That will only be 4 coins,” Charon informs and you point out at the tiny pile:

“The rest is for you.”

“Thank you, Miss Y/N,” he smiles again, typing on the keyboard. “Your old room is available; it will be a couple of minutes for us to add a few finishing touches.”

“Sure. Is the manager here?” you ask because you texted him this morning to announce your arrival.

“He’s waiting at the bar,” Charon gestures towards the elevator and you take a deep breath, excited and a bit nervous about the upcoming encounter. “Also, if I may… Allow me to express my deepest condolences.”

You bite on your lip and can’t utter a sound besides nodding your head instead of a reply: although it’s a genuine declaration, it caught you off-guard.

You slowly walk towards the elevator and once inside you press the B button when a hand halts the doors from closing; you know whom those tattooed knuckles belong to. Ares squeezes inside looking like she wants to kill everyone. What else is new?

“I thought that was you,” the woman uses the sign language and you silently gaze at her.

“Which floor?” you sign back.

“10th,” her thumb indicates the number.

The elevator’s doors shut and she analyzes Y/N, deciding to continue the conversation:

“Remember I told you next time we bump into each other I’m going to kill you?” the mute assassin’s threat brings a faint smirk on your lips.

“Shut up,” you elbow her and the smartass response doesn’t fail:

“I’m always as quiet as a mouse.”

You chuckle and Ares grins at her own cleverness, having a nice suggestion for the evening.

“I have the night off; wanna meet later for dinner?”

You are tired as hell but a distraction doesn’t hurt.

“Will 7pm work?” you accept the invitation.

“Awesome!” she signs, delighted you two can catch up. “They have new items on the menu you would enjoy,” Ares winks then her enthusiasm gradually dies out. “I’m sorry about…,” the discussion takes a serious tone and you sniffle, trying hard not to cry.

“Thank you,” you touch your chin and the ding sound reveals its first destination. “I have to bail; I’ll see you soon,” you step out of the elevator and she remains inside.

“It’s a date!” she signs, concerned you’ll burst out in tears as soon as she’s gone.

Yet after the elevator’s door close, Y/N manages to pull herself together; God knows it’s not easy to pretend she’s fine following the tragedy of losing someone she loved with all her heart.

The individual waiting for her at one of the tables at the bar can definitely notice the struggle behind the tired eyes; Winston sipps from his martini and gets up, opening his arms in anticipation.

“There you are,” he gives you a hug, then invites you to sit down.

“Hello Winston,” you place your purse on the floor and Continental’s owner is attempting to small talk:

“Please make an old man happy and confirm your return.”

“You’re anything but old,” you emphasize while he snorts, amused. “I’m not sure; I have to figure out some personal stuff…”

“Of course,” Winston agrees right away given the situation. “Mmmm… I’m terribly sorry for your loss,“ he addresses the heartbroken Y/N.

“Thank you…” you mumble, avoiding eye contact since the painful subject hurts more than any physical wound you ever sustained.

“I wanted to come attend the funeral yet I was out of the country,” the man underlines.

“No worries. I appreciate the flowers you sent… …”

Moments of complete stillness before Winston changes the topic; he knows better than to prolong your agony. A manager with his flair can at least guess the extenuating circumstances that led to your presence on the premises.

“Any plans for the near future?”

“I’m going to stay with Jonathan until I decide.”

Winston wishes to suggest a couple of options but he’s interrupted by your warning:

“Someone might come searching for me.”

He taps his fingernails against the martini glass, the weak echo dissipating in the background noise.

“Is that someone…somebody’s husband?” his furrowed eyebrows prompt an answer not difficult to estimate:

“More like… ex-husband…”

The manager inhales, debating on your confession.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” he reassures without any hesitation; heaven knows a domestic dispute is the last kind of mess Continental needs but it will probably pass undetected. “Would you care for a drink?”

Suddenly, Winston’s cell goes off and he retrieves it out of his suit’s pocket, apologizing for the delay.

“I’m sorry, I really have to get this,” he slides the screen, attentively listening to the person speaking. “Are you kidding me?!” the man raises his voice with contempt. “Damn…,” he rubs his forehead, annoyed. "Well, he brought it upon himself! Transfer me,” the manager passes the sentence without hesitation after his call reaches the correct department. ”Accounts payable: 11111. Effective immediately: Magnus Stonnenberg, excommunicado. Open contract: 2 million dollars. Distribution: international,” and he hangs up. “Work never ends,” Winston adds even if it’s not necessary; you are perfectly aware how the company works and what it means to run it.

“What happened?” you curiously investigate.

“Trouble on the 15th floor: Magnus murdered Anuscka Volovdya on the hotel grounds, thus I have to implement punitive measures. This is neutral environment and the rules are clear: no killing. Cocktail?” he lifts his glass up and you politely decline.

“No, thank you.  If it’s all the same, I will retreat to my quarters. It was a very long drive and I can’t wait to freshen up. I will come see you in the morning before I leave; would that be ok?”

“Of course,” Winston stands up in the same time with you, a faint smile lingering on his face as he watches you distancing yourself from the bar. He didn’t see you in a long time and he can tell that although you look pretty much the same, something has certainly changed.

Everyone’s cells start chiming and ringing, including yours: the text messages keep on popping up with the manager’s most recent order regarding Stonnenberg.

You wander along the small corridor leading the stairs when at the corner Magnus almost crashes into you; he seems distressed and no big surprise due to his present predicament.

“Are you back?” he hisses while quickening the pace in the opposite direction because he wants to get the hell out of there.

“No,” the short acknowledgement triggers his cockiness mixed with relief.

“Great! One less to worry about!”

You frown at the unnecessary statement: pursuing a bounty is not financial gain you are momentarily interested in; you have more important problems on your plate and chasing a persona non grata isn’t on your list.

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

Next evening, 7:13pm

“There you are!” John exclaims as soon as he sees you. “Come on in,” he grabs the two suitcases out of your hands, leading the way around the house. “Did you get stuck in traffic?”

“Yes,” you close the door and follow him into one of the bedrooms downstairs already prepared for your visit. “Traffic was terrible, took me one hour to pass Lincoln Avenue.”

“Well…” he places the luggage by the bed, “I’m glad you made it.”

“Me too… Thank you so much for letting me stay here, Jonathan.”

Despite having his hair in a ponytail, the shorter strands slide out and John blows them off his cheeks, irritated.

“Yeah, absolutely. Plenty of space.”

“What’s that smell?” you sniff the air, intrigued.

“I cooked chicken Alfredo.”

“Oh no,” you crinkle your nose and he laughs at your despair. “Are your skills as bad as I remember?”

“Worse,” he admits. “Helen is not here to guide… me…”, John swallows the last word and you feel compelled to soothe his grief.

“I’m sorry she’s gone… You had a terrific partner…”, you sadly smile and continue . “We pay such a heavy price for leaving the organization… I must say you got a better deal than I did.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds and you could swear there’s no trace of Baba Yaga inside him; I suppose this is John Wick’s greatness: his ability to switch from an apparent normal guy to the deadliest assassin in a blink of an eye.

“Umm… do you want me to help you unpack?” he breaks the silence and you lift the first suitcase on the bed, opening the metal clasps.

“I don’t have a lot; just some basic necessities,” you explain and gulp when you take out the device you use on a regular basis. “I… I still pump the milk and… and throw it away since I don’t have my baby to feed anymore…”

Jonathan exhales, sensitive to the mother’s sorrow: he knows a thing or two about losing a loved one and Y/N uncontrollably sobbing triggers emotions he kept bottled up for weeks. He pulls you in his arms and you hug him back, hopelessly crying on his shoulder after displaying such restraint in the past days.  

“Why didn’t he drive the car? Why?” you keep on repeating the question and John understands what you’re referring to:

Two months ago The Joker was supposed to bring his three weeks old son from the beach house to The Penthouse and didn’t; he had a meeting and instead he sent one of his henchmen to drive Kase back to you and they never made it. There was a horrible accident on Glissan Street: the car was smashed to pieces by a huge truck, both driver and the baby dying on impact. You couldn’t stop blaming your husband for his indifference regarding the safety of his own child. I supposed the meeting and making money was infinitely more critical than driving his son home.

Maybe if J navigated the vehicle, he would have taken another route and you would still have your tiny treasure right now. 

You’re calming down a bit and John wipes your tears, upset to see you broken beyond anything he could ever fix.

“Do you want to lie down?”

“No,” you whimper and fight to regain your composure. “I’m a little bit hungry…”

“Well,” your friend puckers his lips, “depending on how bad it is we might have to order something. Shall I…call anybody for you?” he hints and surely didn’t predict the reply:

“My anybody is probably too busy with his mistress or planning a heist, can’t be bothered with any type of insignificant matters.”

Your friend seems shocked and you enlighten the mystery for him:

“I followed J so I know… That’s why I decided enough is enough. I packed minimum necessary in a hurry and left… … …I should have killed him… …” your voice dies out and your attitude proves Jonathan that you most than likely tried to. “Can we eat now please?”

“Should I actually order Italian?” he plays along for your sake.

“I’ll try the chicken Alfredo first.”

“Shit! You’re brave,” his brutal honesty makes you giggle and whimper in the same time. “C’mon then, food’s on the stove.  Hopefully we’ll survive,” he smirks and you nod in agreement, grateful to have a soul to talk to since your husband’s lack of empathy made it so much harder to cope with your son’s demise.

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

Same evening, 7:30pm – Continental Hotel

“Mister Joker,” Winston greets The King of Gotham. “Welcome to New York!”

The gush of wind sweeping the terrace on top of the building messes J’s locks and for once he couldn’t care less.

“Hello Winston,” your spouse growls, barely able to concentrate after he slept a couple of hours the previous night.

“Grape juice on ice?” the manager’s hospitality emerges out of necessity because The Clown isn’t exactly the easiest character to accommodate.

“Is my wife here?” J quizzes, ignoring Winston’s cordiality.

“Walk with me,” the hotel owner persuades your husband; they move alongside the concrete path bordered by decorative shrubs as information is shared. “Y/N was here.”

“She’s gone?”

“Yes.”

“Where did she go?” The Joker sneers.

Winston fails to spill the beans and J is aware he can’t push for a disclosure, not with a high ranking member of the organization. So he attempts a different strategy.

“Imagine my surprise when I returned home after a meeting just to find out my wife abandoned the nest,” he shows management a post-it with your handwritten note:

Do what you want with the rest.

“She just took a few things, thus I have to personally discuss with her a very crucial dilemma: what am I supposed to do with the baby’s items? I have a room full of them. So I’m asking: WHERE.IS.MY.WIFE?”

“Mister Joker, you forget that in my line of business I am good at reading people and I can tell when they lie,” Winston elegantly throws it out there for the heck of it.

The King of Gotham halts and cracks his neck, displeased with the comment.

“Then tell me, am I lying?!”

The manager sighs, carefully analyzing J’s features: although he looks pretty much the same, something has certainly changed.

“Maybe she’s staying with a friend,” he insinuates and your husband articulates a sentence rarely spoken aloud:

“Thank you,” J stomps away, already having a few ideas about your whereabouts.

Winston huffs, intrigued to have discerned a crazy detail while reading The Clown’s reactions: besides the fact he wasn’t lying, something else stood out. 

“He loves her…” management mumbles to himself. “I bet he doesn’t even know it.”

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

10:34 pm

John softly knocks at the cracked bedroom’s door, unsure if you’re awake or not.

“Y/N, do you need anything before I go to sleep?”

There’s no answer and he creeps inside only to see you passed out with your hand hanging over the side of the bed. Jonathan tucks you in, feeling awkward about your unresponsiveness.

“Hey, are you ok?” he gently shakes you and freezes when he realizes there’s an empty pill bottle on the nightstand.

“Oh God!” he panics and reads the label. “Trazodone 300 mg: Take 1 tablet by mouth nightly for depression/insomnia.” That’s the highest dose for the medication and he taps on your cheeks, concerned you took a bunch of them at once. “Y/N, Y/N! Can you hear me?!”

You moan and open your eyes, unhappy to be woken up in such a hasty fashion.

“Jesus, lemme sleep... would you?!...” you grumble and turn on the other side, groggy from the drug.

“How many sleeping pills did you take?” John doesn’t give up and you yawn:

“One…my last one…” you adjust your body on the comfortable mattress, not comprehending why your host is agitated. “I’m exhausted…” you close your eyes and he lingers next to your bed, relieved the situation was a misinterpretation from his part.

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

11:32am, New York

“Oh my…”The Bowery King deciphers a missive a dove flew in 10 minutes ago; he got a whiff of some valuable data yesterday and the new documentation is by far the best conspiracy and revenge scheme he stumbled upon this year. “Would you look at that,” the man grins, caressing the bird’s feathers. “What do you think?” he addresses the winged companion. “Should we be nice and tell Y/N and Mister Joker their son is not dead?”

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[jovialyouthmusic]

Special Delivery

Fabio and I share a bottle of wine and discuss previous relationships.

Word Count 2993

No warnings - just a few feelings and a bit of sexual tension No under 18s please

8 What Came Before?

It was late afternoon on the day my new lodger moved in. He retreated to his room after Martin’s visit, and came out when he heard me clattering around in the kitchen.

‘I can help?’ he asked.

‘You say can I help? I corrected him.

‘Ah.’ he sighed. ‘I never learn.’

‘Don’t worry.’ I reassured him ‘I like the way you speak, and you make yourself understood very well. Your vocabulary is really good, but the tenses are difficult. I looked into learning a couple of other languages a little while ago, but most of them have masculine and feminine forms, and that really confuses me.’

‘Ah yes, that is all normal for me.’ He gestured at the salad ingredients. ‘I get these ready if you like?’

‘Okay.’ I smiled ‘Do you want an apron?’ I tugged at my own apron just in case he didn’t know the word. He nodded. ‘I have just the right one for you then.’ I giggled, reaching into a drawer to bring one out that was made to look like a dinner jacket and bow tie. He grinned.

‘Perfecto! I look smart, yes?’ He put it on and struck a pose, hand on his cheek, looking off into the distance, one of the poses that had made my heart beat a little faster when I had seen it on Instagram.

‘You do’. I smiled. I got on with grilling the salmon while he washed and cut up the lettuce and rocket. I told him how to make the dressing, and before long the meal was ready. I put a small portion of fish out for Ginger, who I had shut out of the room while we cooked. He rushed in and wolfed it down eagerly. I hoped he would go and sleep it off rather than sit and stare at me as I ate my dinner. Fabio reached into the fridge, where he had put the bottle of wine he’d brought, and opened it while I got out the wine glasses. We went through to the dining room, the table set out neatly. I loved having a separate dining room and putting everything out just so, with flowers and napkins – it made meal times more of an occasion. Earlier on I had prepared strawberries for dessert, washing and cutting them up and putting a little sugar on them before placing the bowl in the fridge. He poured the wine while I waited.

‘Salud, to my new English home, and my new beautiful friend.’ he said, raising his glass, and I reached out with mine to clink them together, feeling my cheeks heat up.

‘Bottoms up.’ I said, without thinking. For a moment he looked puzzled, then he laughed loudly. I blushed even more, but he set me at my ease.

‘Ah, you mean the bottom of the glass.’

‘You can say cheers or to your health.’ I explained ‘bottoms up is rather – informal.’ I refrained from saying cheeky in case that got me in hot water.

‘Thankyou for telling me - it sounds very English.’ He waved his fork in the air ‘Tomorrow we go out to eat, yes? I pay.’

‘That would be nice. You can say my treat if you like. There’s an place on the coast that does great bar meals, very English. We can go there after our walk.’

‘Si, it sounds good. Do we need to book?’

‘Not usually, but I can do to make sure.’ I replied. We began eating, the fish fragrant and tasty, the salad crisp and the dressing piquant. The wine went down nicely, and he kept my glass topped up.

‘We get just a little drunk.’ He winked. ‘But I don’t throw stones at the window.’

‘You don’t need to, you’re already inside.’ I said drily.

‘That is true.’ he grinned, sitting back in his chair, stretching, his hand behind his head. I reached out to clear our empty plates.

‘Strawberries?’ I asked ‘I have Greek yogurt too. To be properly English we should have them with cream, but I think that’s a little calorific – and I like Greek yogurt.’ He made the gesture again with his thumb and forefinger touching, kissing his fingers and raising his hand

‘Perfecto.’ he grinned, obviously relaxed from the wine, as was I. I presented him with a bowl of the red fruit, bringing the yogurt in with a spoon. He picked a piece up ‘Try this’ he said, and dropped it into his glass ‘Is better with champagne or prosecco, but is good’

‘I’ve heard of prosecco and strawberries’ I replied ‘I’ve never tried it though’ I dropped a piece in my drink and swirled it round. A little of the sugar clung to the fruit, and when I drank it sweetened the wine, while the strawberry was a little tart. I became aware that Fabio was intently watching me as my lips parted to suck the strawberry from the glass. He kept eye contact with me as he sucked his from the wine and rolled it around his mouth. Heat pooled in my belly and I felt a little light headed from the wine.

‘Is good, no?’ he smiled seductively, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Mmmm.’ I replied, spooning the yogurt into my bowl to try and break the spell he had on me. He reached out for the pot when I had done, and ladled a dollop onto his. He took his time with dessert, toying with his spoon and savouring every mouthful until his bowl was empty. I went to take the empty bowl, but he reached across and stopped me, his hand on mine. Our eyes locked as a little jolt of electricity travelled up my arm, and my cheeks flamed red.

‘Is okay, I wash up.’ He said ‘Go, take your glass and sit in the lounge.’

‘I – umm - don’t bother to dry things. I usually leave things and put them away later. I – it annoys me if things aren’t in the right place.’ I couldn’t handle standing next to him drying the dishes, I decided, and although my house was often cluttered and disorganised, in the kitchen everything had its place so that it was easy to cook.

‘You teach me where things go tomorrow.’ he smiled, and stood, taking the bowls and spoons out. I rose onto shaky legs to pick up the yogurt to put it away, then went through to the lounge. I sat in the easy chair and curled up, comfortably full and a little tipsy, taking a deep calming breath. The couch was dangerous territory, I told myself, and leaned forward to put my glass on the coffee table. Ginger was curled up on the couch and opened his eyes to look at me sleepily before dozing off again.

I listened to Fabio washing up in the kitchen. It was good to have company, even company that made my knees go weak and my heart flutter. I told myself he couldn’t possibly feel anything for me, being used to rubbing shoulders with beautiful models. I was just ordinary, my only claim to being exotic in his eyes was my nationality. Of course he was flirting with me, good looking men like him just did that naturally, I told myself. Perhaps he didn’t even know how he was affecting me.

Fabio came into the room with his glass and the rest of the bottle, almost empty now. He sank down onto the couch and Ginger made a little sound of surprise.

‘El gato churo.’ he smiled, and reached out to stroke him. The cat stretched out luxuriously and exposed his belly, a goofy expression on his furry face. I envied him his relaxed acceptance of my new lodger and his total lack of restraint or self consciousness.

‘So we are a little drunk.’ he said, raising his gaze to mine. ‘Relaxed, no?’

‘Solo un poco.’ just a little. I admitted.

‘Martin, he is a good friend?’ he asked, turning the conversation in a direction I hadn’t expected.

‘He is. We talk a lot, about all sorts of things.’

‘He tries to protect you. I think he doesn’t like me.’

‘It’s only natural I suppose. He’s like a brother to me.’ my breath caught in my throat as Fabio gave me a slow smile. ‘I’m an only child – no brothers or sisters’ I said quickly.

‘Senora, you said your head and your heart tell you different things.’ He leaned his elbow on the back of the couch, his cheek resting on his palm.

‘Doesn’t everybody feel the same way?’ I asked ‘your heart tells you to – to jump in, not think about the consequences, and your head tells you to stop. I suppose mostly my head wins.’

‘You mean with love? You have had a boyfriend – or someone special before?’

‘Of course, I’m only human. Nothing longer than a couple of years, mostly just months.’

‘Me also. Perhaps every now and again it is good to jump in, otherwise we are lonely.’ His words made me suddenly feel sorry for him.

‘You’re lonely, Fabio?’ I asked softly. He shifted self consiously.

‘I travel alone. I have friends here and there, but when you move around so much it is difficult.’

‘I’m sorry. Sometimes I feel lonely too, but most of the time I don’t mind.’

‘If I was not here?’ he asked, the end of his question hanging in the air.

‘I’d take in a lodger, maybe not as soon as this, but unless I meet Mr Right One, I guess Ginger would be my companion.’ He smiled and stroked Ginger, who was now sitting with his paws tucked under his body, his head dropping forward sleepily.

‘Lucky cat, to live in this English house, quiet and happy. Rabbits to chase, a warm place to sleep, someone to look after him if he gets sick.’

‘Fabio…’ I started, but he interrupted me.

‘I’m sorry senora, perhaps I move too fast, I…’ he paused and reached into his back pocket for his phone to translate his thoughts ‘I think that maybe you want…’ he rubbed his forehead. ‘Perhaps the wine is talking.’

‘We should just be friendly for now.’ I said gently ‘it’s easy to get carried away.’ He smiled ruefully.

‘Your head is strong. Your heart…’

‘My heart needs a little more time’ I explained ‘It doesn’t always lose, sometimes my head realises that my heart is right. We only met a few days ago.’ He nodded sagely.

‘That is true senora. Tell me, you like me calling you Lisa?’

‘Lisa is fine.’ I replied ‘How about you? Do you have a nickname? Something shorter?’ he shrugged.

‘Not really’ he smiled.

‘You know, the first part of your name – Fab – is like ‘fabulous. How about Fabby?’ He grinned widely.

‘I like Fabby. You use that. Is almost the same in Spanish - fabuloso’ He stretched and took his glass up again, taking a sip and putting it back down again. He looked very relaxed, long legged, his ankle resting on his knee, his arms spread wide along the back of the couch.

‘So you and Martin. You are just friends? Always?’

‘Yes, always, though I had a bit of a crush on him when we met. He was married though, and by the time he was free we were – just friends. I don’t think of him that way, and his life is very complicated.’ We spent a little more time talking about old partners, falling into a comfortable place. Eventually Fabricio yawned.

‘I am tired.’ he announced ‘I think I will go to my room. Tomorrow we go for a walk – you said the coast?’

‘Yes’ I smiled.

‘And you listen to your head, let your heart get used to things.’ he smiled, standing. I stood to pick up the glasses and bottle. He moved toward me, then stopped, thoughtful.

‘Do friends whose hearts are waiting hug each other?’ he asked ‘Is alright?

‘I think so.’ I replied, putting the glasses back down. I walked into his embrace and he held me tight. It was different to hugging Martin – I felt it was something Fabio needed, something that grounded him, but there was an undercurrent, a feeling of potential. I felt him sigh happily, then he drew back and kissed me on the cheek. Doing anything more daring was not a good idea after the wine, I told myself with a little pang of regret.

‘Sleep well. Do you need anything?’

‘No, is fine. I see you in the morning. Is okay to shower when I get up?’

‘Of course, the door has a lock on it, and I’ll hear you. This is your home.’

‘My English home. Goodnight my friend.’

-------

I slept surprisingly well that night, but I closed my bedroom door which did not please Ginger at all. He fussed to be let in, and settled down with a little grumble. At two o’clock in the morning I relented and left the door open when he yowled at me, but he didn’t return until he decided it was breakfast time. He was so insistent that I thought I would risk going downstairs in my dressing gown. I could hear the shower running in the bathroom and calculated that I had time to complete my task before he emerged, so I went to feed Ginger and put the kettle on for coffee. I started out to go back upstairs to get dressed when I realised the sound of the kettle boiling had masked the sounds from the bathroom, and Fabrio emerged, clad only in a towel wrapped around his waist.

My breath caught in my throat at the sight of his bare chest, unwaxed and unshaved with dark hair forming a trail that lead down below the towel. His hair was wet and tousled from towel drying and steam billowed out from the bathroom. He was barefoot and grinned at me disarmingly.

‘Buenos días senora.’ he said as I gripped the newel post to stop my legs from giving way. The scent of his shower gel flooded the hall and I managed to return his greeting.

‘Good Morning Fabio. Did you sleep well?’

‘Muy beuno. Is quiet here. El gato – Ginger, he came to sleep on my bed when I got up for the bathroom.’ I eyed the cat, who had strolled out from the kitchen licking his chops and making for a comfortable place to digest his food. He avoided Fabio’s bare legs, but went to his door and looked up at him, mewing to demand entrance. ‘Ginger, you are bad.’ he scolded ‘You go to Lisa, not me.’

‘I’m so sorry. If you don’t want him in your room…’

‘Is okay, I don’t mind, but he should be more – faithful.’ I shrugged

‘Cats are very independent. I’m glad he likes you, it means you’re not a threat.’ Fabio gave me a smouldering look, and I pulled my dressing gown closer around me. He looked back down at the cat, nodding sagely.

‘Ginger, you are a good wing man. You make me look good.’ He laughed loudly and the cat glared at him and stalked off to the lounge.

‘I uh – I’ll get dressed and we can have breakfast.’

‘Thankyou Lisa.’ He shook his head at me, his hair flopping over his forehead. He pulled at it ‘I do this and then I join you.’

It wasn’t long before we met again in the kitchen, both fully dressed, Fabio’s jet black hair styled and glossy. I made coffee and showed him what was available for breakfast.

‘Have you ever had porridge?’ I asked ‘It’s more Scottish than English. In the USA they call it oatmeal.’

‘Si, I have it before.’

‘I like to cut up banana and cook it with oats and water, and I add something sweet – honey is good, and a splash of milk. The Scots like it with salt.’ He looked thoughtful.

‘Make it the way you like it, and I try it.’

‘Okay, if you go and sit down I’ll get it ready.’ He took his coffee and phone and went into the dining room, and ten minutes later we were sitting together eating and looking out at the garden.

‘Ginger will love it when he’s allowed out.’ I said ‘He probably won’t bother sleeping on my bed if it’s warm outside.’ Fabio looked at me.

‘El gato, he is not sure who to sleep with now. This is good.’ he waved his spoon over his bowl ‘Very healthy, yes?’

‘Thanks. You can make it richer if you make it with milk instead of water. You can put sultanas in, or any kind of fruit you like.’

‘Strawberries?’ He asked, and I nodded, remembering how we had flirted over strawberries and wine the night before.

‘I like bananas best.’

‘You don’t have to feed me all the time, senora.’ he said ‘today we eat out, and on my next day off, I make paella.’

‘Okay, I can put aside space in the cupboard and fridge for any food you want to cook, but otherwise you can share most things – if you’re not sure, just ask.’ 

When we had finished, Fabio washed up for me again, and I showed him where to put things away in the kitchen. I was getting more comfortable having him around, but there was still an undercurrent, the sense of possibility. I had wanted excitement – but as usual my head had put the brakes on, and I hoped I could overcome that and manage to go toward that goal again very soon.

[bcdrawsandwrites]

For Unity By @jaywings​ and me

Rating: T Genre: Friendship, Angst Characters: urGoh, skekGra, skekSil, skekSo, skekTek, skekVar, urVa, urSu, urSol, urZah, possibly others… Warnings: A LOT OF VIOLENCE. Description: One was as vile and repulsive as his brethren. He murdered, and maimed, and reveled in it. The other was as slow and indirect as the rest of his brethren. He hated his dark half as much as the others did theirs. But who they were did not matter, for Thra saw its moment, and seized its opportunity.

---~~~---

Chapter 5: Interlude: Unaware Summary: In which perspectives shift.

---~~~---

Report on Further Gelfling Division

Prepared excellently for His Most Royal Highness who Reigns Eternally, by skekSil the Chamberlain

As per my last report, my Emperor, those Skeksis living outside the Castle have found that Gelfling clans grow more and more distrustful of each other. Even here in the Castle itself, Stonewood and Spriton guards in particular now find it almost impossible to patrol together.

This is excellent news, yes! The very proof that our efforts succeed! Mmmm… Though, of course, if hatred between Gelfling grows unchecked, so too do our own forces weaken. This problem must be dealt with swiftly.

Word has come from skekNa, who suggests that

There was a loud, echoing click, followed by a prolonged creeeaaak, and the massive library door pushed open.

“There you are!” a crisp, nasally voice exclaimed, and skekOk swept into the room. “I’ve been searching half the castle for you!”

SkekSil, seated at the large desk in the middle of the room, dropped his quill into the inkwell and fanned his partially-written report with his hand. “Looking for me? Why?”

“A Gelfling wants to speak with you.” The Scroll-Keeper sounded rather cross. “A Stonewood guard. He says he has something important to share only with you. And of course I am sent running about the castle like a hapless Podling trying to find you—Why are you skulking in my library again?”

“Ah, apologies, highest apologies, friend Scroll-Keeper!” skekSil simpered. “I will replace everything exactly where found. I am merely writing new report for Emperor—is so hard to find quiet place in Castle to sit and write. You understand, yes? Other Skeksis are so loud and obnoxious. Care not for written word.”

SkekOk huffed, some of his irritation evaporating—or, at least, switching targets. “Yes, I have noticed. Did you know, skekVar once spat rotten tubers all over one of my newly-bound books! Took me weeks to remove the stains…”

“Yes, yes, is clear why so few are allowed in beautiful library—”

“—Very few, in fact. How do you keep getting in here?”

SkekSil cleared his throat quickly. “Where is Gelfling who sent for me?”

“Waiting in the empty guards’ quarters. He said he would not feel safe speaking elsewhere. Awfully demanding, if you ask me.” SkekOk approached the desk and, to skekSil’s annoyance, bent to squint at his report. He clicked his beak. “And why have you put ‘mmmm’ in writing?”

SkekSil stood abruptly, almost knocking the glasses off skekOk’s narrow beak. “Yes! I go, now, to speak with Gelfling. Goodbye.”

He rolled up his parchment and pushed it into his sleeve, then strode out of the library, leaving skekOk alone to mutter something about “illiterates.”

So… a Stonewood Gelfling acting secretive, he mused. Hmmmmm… A complaint about a nasty fight with a Spriton, perhaps, something that he could add to his report? Or something more interesting?

He quickened his step, shuffling his way across the castle until he reached the guards’ quarters that were always empty this time of day. At this point he slowed, and pushed his way through the door and into the room.

Immediately his mood soured as he smacked his head on the extremely low ceiling. He scowled, rubbing the wound. Spit-faced puny Gelfling runts…

“Gelfling?” he called, forcing a sense of cordiality into his voice and removing his hand from his face, moving further into the room. It was wide, used as lodging for many guards, but with bunks stacked along the walls and floor so close together that it was difficult for him to edge between them. The room also appeared dark and empty. “Geeeelfling? You wish to speak to me?”

“Lord Chamberlain?” There was a rustle, a flurry of movement from somewhere to the right, and a nervous Stonewood Gelfling appeared from around one of the bunks, his pointed ears turned backwards. “My lord—thank you for taking the time to meet me—” the Gelfling fell into a hurried bow— “I’m not worthy—”

“Yes, yes, very true,” skekSil said, waving him off. “You say you have message for me? For Chamberlain’s ears only?”

The dark-skinned Gelfling blanched; his pupils constricted, showing more white around them, and his hands intertwined near his chest, fingers trembling. Something was clearly terrifying him, though whether it was from being in the presence of a Skeksis Lord (most likely not, as he was a guard at the Castle), or from the news he carried, skekSil couldn’t be sure. As the puny creature ventured closer, skekSil could see that he had partially-healed burns all down one side, which gave him a faltering step. Recent wounds, clearly, meaning he must have received them from the battle against the Gruenak savages. Unless he had perhaps had a terribly nasty fight with a Spriton.

“My name is Hiral, my lord, of the Stonewood,” the Gelfling, apparently fond of pointing out the obvious, said. He was wringing his hands now. “You told us all to report any strange behavior to you. Well, I was in the Gruenak battle,” —as skekSil had suspected— ”but I was hurt too badly to continue fighting,” —again, obvious— ”...I got too close to one of the fires, you see, and one of those metal-manglers pushed me… My patrol partner Nuren brought me up the hillside away from the battle to recuperate, and when it was almost over, I… saw something.” The Gelfling hesitated, looking shaken.

“Go on,” skekSil prompted, taking care to inject his voice with a gentle, comforting note, as though he were a caring parent. “Tell Chamberlain everything. Gelfling is safe here. Chamberlain gives word, Gelfling will never be in trouble for spilling secrets of Gelfling.”

“But that’s just it, my lord,” Hiral said miserably. “This isn’t about a Gelfling.”

SkekSil stood up a bit straighter and fixed the Gelfling with a stare, his attention fully caught now. “Hmmmm?”

Suddenly the guard’s nervous manner made complete sense. He wasn’t racked with guilt and uncertainty over the misdeeds of a fellow Gelfling—he had witnessed something done by a Skeksis at the battle. But who? And what? Certainly, it could not have been something done against Gelfling, or Hiral would likely not have trusted the Skeksis enough any longer to come and tell skekSil about it, or allow himself to be alone with him.

With this thought, skekSil loosened his posture, softening his eyes and ducking his head the smallest degree, making himself look as harmless as possible.

“Not Gelfling?” he cooed. “Hiral is wise to bring this to Chamberlain. Who, then, does Gelfling speak of?”

A smile twitched at the corner of skekSil’s beak. If it was skekVar, that would be delightful—the cretin was far too interested in getting close to the Emperor for his liking…

The Gelfling looked skekSil in the eye, let out a long breath, and said, “It was the Conqueror, my lord—Lord skekGra. I… I think he’s a traitor.”

SkekSil’s thoughts switched track immediately.

SkekGra? ...Though yes, he should have known… skekGra had been acting strangely since he’d returned from the Gruenak battle, most unlike himself indeed…

The Conqueror was not, and never had been, an obstacle to skekSil’s own plans. He had no political ambitions of his own—he seemed to be perfectly content exactly where he was. Perhaps a bit too content. He could even have been useful, if he were more cooperative, but skekSil had the growing suspicion that skekGra didn’t much like him. Ah well.

“Lord Conqueror was chasing a few of the Gruenaks up the hill,” the Gelfling explained. “I saw him reach them, but then… he let them go without a fight. I don’t know why.”

That was it? SkekSil couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Still, he had never known the Conqueror to let an enemy live.

He shifted backwards, steepling his fingers. “And you have told no one else of this?”

“No one,” the Gelfling confirmed, and hesitated. “There’s… something else. It—it was hard to see in the rain. But some… creature appeared.”

Hiral looked up at skekSil, uncertain, and skekSil inclined his head slightly.

“It looked hunched over,” the Gelfling continued. “And it almost looked like it had four arms. It made me think of those stories you hear, about creatures that appear in the dead of night—four-armed wizards that steal Gelfling souls, and even the Hunter…” His voice wavered, and he seemed unable to continue.

SkekSil turned his head a fraction so that Hiral would not see the hint of a smirk on his face, though he could not keep his eyes from widening. “...Mmmm… Thank you, Gelfling,” he said. “Is best if Hiral does not concern self with this any longer, and leave Chamberlain to deal with matter. Now, is there anything else, hmmm?”

“No. That’s all. And trust me, I won’t tell anyone else about this...” The Gelfling sat down on the nearest bed, looking pained—his burns were clearly bothering him. He peered back up at skekSil with a hopeful light in his eyes, his ears lifting. “But my lord, what you said about- about bringing information to you—and the reward?”

SkekSil casually waved a hand. “Yes, of course. Gelfling will receive full day’s extra wages.”

“Sent to my family, please, my lord,” Hiral said quickly. “At Stone-in-the-Wood. My two daughters, they’re barely out of babyhood, twins… My brother’s been looking after them, and we don’t have much—”

SkekSil’s eyes narrowed slightly. SkekOk had had a point earlier—this Gelfling was entirely too demanding of his lords. “Of course, Gelfling. Of course.”

He turned swiftly and took his leave before the presumptuous guard could ask for anything else, exiting the barracks and heading toward his own chambers with a hum emanating from his throat and his mind whirling with this new information.

---~~~---

Yes… he eagerly awaited the return of the famed Conqueror.

Take your father's job and watch over the observatory, they said. It would be an easy job, they said.

But they didn't say anything about enormous monsters barging in, sneezing everywhere, and then falling asleep standing up! This had not been part of the job description!

"UrGoh! Ah! UrGoh!"

Throwing herself against his side for the fourth time, Fedle found the strange creature had once again failed to budge. She'd shouted at him, jabbed him with a finger, and even pinched his one of his weird wrinkly hands at once point, but nothing happened. What was she supposed to do with this great thing?! What happened to him?

Fedle stole a glance at Mother Aughra, who still lay softly snoring beneath the Orrery, and felt a tightness in her chest. Aughra had been there for many trine... how long had it been now? A decade or more since she'd last awoken?

She looked from Aughra to urGoh, a sudden worry gripping her: had urGoh fallen asleep as Mother Aughra had? Would he, too, be asleep for a decade or more? It was hard enough having to watch over Aughra, but this enormous beast? She couldn't even reach the top of his shoulder! How would she dust him?

But... no. Aughra was very clearly asleep, her eyes shut, while this beast's eyes were wide open, yet unseeing. She moved to his front, hopping up and down in front of him and waving, but again he failed to respond. Perhaps something had gone wrong with his eyes... if she could bring a stool up to him, she could get a closer look.

Grumbling to herself, Fedle grabbed a stool that sat near a tower of books and pushed it over to the front of the great creature, crawling on top of it to get a better look at his eyes. Perhaps something bright from the Orrery had shone into them and made his vision go funny? That had happened to her once, when a beam of light from the Great Sun hit the metal of the Orrery just as she happened to glance at it, and she couldn't see right for a good few minutes. If she could just block his view...

To her surprise and delight, it seemed to work—urGoh's eyes flicked downward to face the spinning crystal in his palm. Fedle hummed in approval, and was about to address him again when she saw... something.

Something wasn't right about his eyes, his face. It wasn't the unseeing look he'd had before—it was something darker, stranger, as though she were looking into the eyes of another creature entirely...

And without any warning, he collapsed.

Fedle yelped as his head knocked against her stool, sending the seat crashing backward and her along with it. Groaning, she pushed herself upright, and frowned at the massive beast. Well, if he hadn't been asleep before, he was now. But unlike the easy sleep Mother Aughra was in, urGoh seemed to have fallen into a troubled rest, his creased brows furrowing the already-deep wrinkles in his face. She hoped it meant that he wouldn't be asleep for an age.

As she got back to her feet, she looked over the creature's face again, but any sign of that... strangeness she'd seen earlier was completely absent. No, he was merely asleep, and seemingly having unpleasant dreams.

Well, whatever had happened... she was going to see to it that Mother Aughra paid her family extra for this mess.

---~~~---

With a final cry and a satisfying squelch of green blood, the last Arathim was dead.

SkekVar regarded his work with a contented snort. The dark Grottan caves, typically lit with a soft blue glow from the moss, now had a greenish hue to them from the sheer amount of Spitter blood that coated their stony floors. It was a rewarding sight—a sure sign of victory.

No thanks to a certain obsessive, foul-faced idiot who was supposed to be leading this entire campaign. He’d been absent almost the entire time!

Which... wasn't like him at all.

With a sigh, skekVar glanced in the direction of the tunnels he'd come through. In previous campaigns, he had never praised skekGra’s prowess in battle—not without a grumble of spite or a bite of sarcasm to his words, anyway. In truth, skekGra was never anything other than a competent leader in military conquest. It was the reason he was the Conqueror, after all. (In fact, skekVar had even stolen a few techniques from him—while calling them his own, of course—when leading military campaigns without the Conqueror.) Every battle skekGra led was a victory; every pathetic race he'd determined to stamp out had crumbled, with him at the helm.

So what had happened this time? The Conqueror had drawn up the initial attack plans, yes, but after that... he'd run off to chase down a few puny Spitters, and then disappeared. It was lucky for the Conqueror that they had won. If they had lost due to his absence, the Emperor would have flayed him with his own claws.

"Lord skekVar," one Gelfling said, and he turned to face her. It was too dark in these tunnels to make out exactly which clan she was, not that it mattered—these things all looked the same to him. "The Arathim seem to have been vanquished, but we have several wounded that need to be treated immediately."

SkekVar snorted. "Fine, do as you will." His blood-soaked claws itched to be scrubbed in the spa at the Castle, but he supposed skekSo and skekUng would be displeased if more Gelfling soldiers were lost than necessary. Numbers were important, after all—they were part of what helped the Skeksis win victories... alongside competent strategies. Speaking of which...

With another grunt, he turned back to the tunnels again, and raised his voice. "I need any able soldiers to follow me immediately," he said, and trudged back in that direction. Several soldiers fell into step behind him as he fished through his pockets, producing the crumpled map that skekGra had shown him earlier. It was hard to see in the dark, but he was pretty sure they were going the right way. If not... he could probably find the Conqueror by smell alone.

"If I may ask," one Gelfling said, "where are we going, my lord?"

"To find Lord skekGra." Part of him wanted to say something about the Conqueror's absence, but, tempting as it was, he kept his beak shut; speaking against the other Skeksis in front of these things might make the weaklings question their loyalty. The Gelfling knew nothing about the Skeksis punishment rituals, and never heard any negative talk of their lords. As far as they knew, the Skeksis were perfect, unerring Lords of the Crystal, as it should be.

Even so, he heard the soldiers behind him whispering in confusion. "I noticed he wasn't with us in the battle," one said.

"He saved Bayl from a Spitter! I saw it."

"But how come I didn't see him when we got here?"

"Silence!" skekVar spat, and the Gelfling all came to a stop at a fork in the tunnels. "I need to concentrate."

In truth, his sense of smell wasn't exactly hindered by their speech; he just found it grating.

Stretching his neck forward, skekVar drew in a deep, long snort, taking in the scents of the cave to figure out which direction they should go. He registered damp dirt, putrid Arathim blood, the muddled traces of various Gelfling clans, clay, and...

SkekVar froze.

He'd attended more than enough punishment rituals to recognize the sharp, pungent tang of fresh Skeksis blood. The scent was unmistakable.

His gaze drifted to the ground, where he could just make out dark splotches among the rocks and dirt, making a trail further into the tunnel. Vaguely he remembered smelling blood when he’d first come across skekGra in these tunnels, but the other Skeksis had seemed fine despite any wounds he might have borne.

Yet there was blood puddled on the ground, and skekGra had not returned.

“This way,” skekVar grunted to the Gelfling soldiers. He stomped down the path, his scowl fixed firmly on his face in defiance of his racing thoughts, which were beginning to border traitorously on panic.

Surely the Conqueror could not have succumbed to a few measly spiders. The Arathim had few battle techniques other than “screech and try to bite things,” and most of all, they were stupid. The Skeksis had nothing to fear from them except their sheer numbers.

So unless… skekGra had been overrun…

SkekVar quickened his pace, though snapped his beak irritably when he found that the tunnel became too narrow to walk upright, forcing him to awkwardly crawl through the dirt hunched over on his knees like a Gelfling infant.

The Gelflings behind him murmured their dissent as they followed.

“This tunnel gives me the creeps.”

“Is this really the right way? Why in Thra would Lord skekGra come down here?”

“I want to turn back. This isn’t worth it!”

No, it isn’t, skekVar silently agreed, though the fact that the Gelflings’ worries echoed his own was humiliating. How badly injured was skekGra, anyway?

Wounded enough that he couldn’t come back…

He didn’t know how long he crawled through the dark and the cold, how deep under the surface he was and how he would ever find his way out of here again.

“I think the tunnel is widening!” one of the Gelflings behind him said suddenly. SkekVar sniffed the air again, drawing his lips back in surprise. The air seemed fresher here, and he thought he could even see light up ahead. Where were they?

"Wait," one of the Gelflings breathed as they approached the light, "is this not...?"

"Yes! The Grottan have a Tree of their own, don't they?"

Tree? SkekVar shook his head. What in blazes were they talking about? What sort of tree grew...

The tunnel suddenly widened into a massive cavern, twined with roots snaking in all directions. SkekVar heaved himself up properly onto his feet again, staring up at the enormous, twisted tree trunk towering above his group. Well... that answered that question. Around him, the Gelfling let out exclamations of wonder.

"Wow, it is the—"

"Lord skekGra!" A shriek broke through the awed atmosphere, jolting everyone out of their reveries.

Shaking himself, skekVar tore his gaze from the tree to survey the area, and felt a freezing talon close over his heart.

There, lying in a heap on the ground, surrounded by pools of shining blood, was the Conqueror.

“Oh Thra…”

“I’ve never…”

"The Lord Conqueror! He's—" One of the Gelfling swallowed. "He's not dead, is he, Lord skekVar?"

"Of course not!" skekVar snapped, glaring down at the soldier, who cringed away. We cannot die.

...Can we?

He slowly forced himself to approach the other Skeksis' still form, scanning him for any signs of life, though truthfully he didn’t have a clue what to look for. SkekGra’s eyes were tightly closed, his robes torn and his helmet lying several feet away, the decorative ruff around his neck hanging raggedly by a few threads and revealing ugly purple bruises around his throat. Some unpleasant emotion that skekVar refused to identify stirred within him as he stared down at the lifeless body, his own going very still.

We are eternal.

"Ugh! What is that?"

Jerking up his head at the Gelfling's cry, skekVar was surprised to see that skekGra hadn't been alone here in the cavern. Lying a short distance from him was a much smaller figure, this one drenched in dark blood. Something about the smell of it was familiar to him—along with the metallic tang of blood was a clay-like scent, which was like... like...

"Gruenak?" skekVar murmured, leaning closer to it, but he did not step away from skekGra's body. "What's a Gruenak doing out here?"

Tipping his head, he glanced at skekGra once again, and the memory of a chance meeting in a lightless tunnel hit him in a flash.

I saw a group of three cowardly survivors fleeing down this way.

It hadn’t struck him until now that skekGra had never specified that his quarry were not Arathim. He must have been in enough of a hurry to assume skekVar would know what he was talking about. But... how could these creatures have survived? Had they not perished in that last battle a few days ago? The Podlings were still washing Gruenak bloodstains out of his other outfit!

"Could that scum have hurt Lord Conqueror?" one of the Gelfling suggested, staring in open disgust at the Gruenak corpse, and skekVar let out a hiss.

"The Conqueror should tell us himself," he grunted, and finally stooped down to shake the fellow Skeksis' shoulder. "SkekGra, get up! The battle is over! SkekGra!"

Behind him the Gelfling were muttering again, their voices pitched in anxiety. "Could Lord skekGra really be...?"

"But the Lords can't die, can they?"

"What if he doesn't wake up?"

"Quiet!" skekVar snarled, turning to glare at them. He pointed to the one of highest rank. "You, captain! Get out to Domrak, or the Tomb of Relics, or wherever the blasted Grottan are right now, and find a healer!"

"Yes, my lord!" the captain said, and charged back down the tunnel.

"Be quick about it!" skekVar shouted after him, and turned his gaze back to the fallen Skeksis. He tried shaking his shoulder again, and hissed when the Conqueror gave no response. "Conqueror, if you don't get up, I'm... I'm going to give your helpings of dinner to the Gourmand. He'll gladly take them!"

The other Gelfling soldiers were at either side of him now, staring down at skekGra's form silently. He could smell the terror on them, and it made his hackles rise. "Stop moping around!" He waved them away with all four of his arms, lashing his tail. "The Conqueror will be fine."

And yet, unwittingly, he pictured his lone return to the Castle, bearing two ceremonial staffs, with news of a sweeping victory for the Grottans but a staggering loss for the Skeksis…

Shaking the image from his mind, he glared at one of the soldiers. "Make yourself useful and see what else you can find here!"

While the remaining soldiers began a search of the area, skekVar stooped closer to skekGra, trying to listen for signs of... anything. He wished the Scientist were here. Vital signs and health fell under his area of expertise, more or less, so he should know, right? Either way, skekVar did not know, so he hummed in thought, wondering what else he could possibly bribe skekGra with to wake him up.

Slapping his tail against the ground, skekVar leaned in close again. "If you don't get up right now," he said, "then... when I get back to the castle, I'll go to your room, and—no, no, I'll have the Chamberlain go to your room, and have him do what he will with all those nasty puppets of yours. I'm sure he'd make good use out of them!"

He was almost certain he saw the Conqueror's face twitch, and he snorted in satisfaction. Even so, the other Skeksis did not wake up.

One of the Gelflings made a repulsed noise, and skekVar looked up, but it seemed the soldier had only found the severed head of the fallen Gruenak. In the dark, and in the midst of his... well, in the midst of fuming over skekGra, he hadn't even noticed the corpse had been missing a head. But they found nothing more, and skekVar resumed his watch.

"Hey, keep up, will ya? These tunnels aren't that hard to get through!"

SkekVar perked up at the new voice and turned toward the tunnels. A very young female Grottan zipped through the tunnel they'd come out of and landed neatly on one of the roots of the massive tree to survey the situation, a satchel swinging from her shoulder. "What seems to be the problem here?" she asked, as though it weren't obvious.

"Are you the healer?" skekVar asked, straightening his spine.

The girl brushed some dirt off of her outfit. "No, the healers are busy tending to the other Gelfling, so my mother sent me here."

Growling, skekVar eyed her—she wasn't even full grown. What in the name of the Crystal were these Grottan doing sending—

"Princess Argot," the captain gasped as he climbed out through the tunnel after her. "You must bow before the Lords. And I've been... trying to tell you..."

“Oh! I forgot!” the girl interrupted, and fell into a clumsy bow. “I’m Princess Argot, like he said. You’re the first Skeksis I ever seen, my lord.”

Princess, huh? What was that supposed to mean, again? It was always skekZok and skekSil who understood the Gelfling politics. The rest of them never bothered with it. SkekVar shook his head—whatever, it was a title, so she was someone of importance, though the mere thought of speaking to this childling like an equal made his skin crawl.

"It's Lord skekGra, Princess," skekVar said, gesturing to the unmoving Skeksis on the ground. "We believe he was attacked by a stray Gruenak."

"Hm, never heard of a Gruenak bef..." The girl trailed off as her eyes fell upon the Gruenak’s corpse. Immediately her demeanor changed, and she rushed up to it, placing her hand on its back. "Oh... oh no..."

Argot looked back up at skekVar, suddenly appearing every bit her young age with her wide, worried, coal-black eyes, and her ears turned back over scraggly blond-ish hair. “What happened here, my lord? These creatures were under my mother’s protection…”

Around them, the congregated Gelflings let out gasps, glancing quickly at each other. Some of them noticeably tightened their grip on their weapons.

SkekVar let out a puff of air through his nostrils, letting his beak open slightly in the beginnings of a snarl. “And who’s your mother, then, the Maudra?”

The Gelfling child’s eyes hardened slightly, though she still looked shaken. “Well, yes, my lord. They don’t call me princess for my shiny hair!”

“Hmph.” SkekVar bristled at the green-skinned runt’s snotty attitude, but decided that the matter at hand was pressing enough to let it slide. “Then the Grottan Maudra rescued enemies of the Crystal and placed them under her protection?”

Argot stood, her wings rustling and green skin going pale, casting fearful glances at the hostile glares of the other Gelfling. “Enemies? What do you mean?”

“We fought a battle against them two days ago!” skekVar growled. He struggled to remember the paltry explanation the Chamberlain had given to other nosy Gelfling asking the same question. “Those Gruenak savages stand against the Crystal of Truth and spit in the faces of the Skeksis Lords!”

“I didn’t know!” Argot gasped, scrambling away from the body. “Mother didn’t know! We didn’t know! Please, my lord, don’t punish us for this—”

SkekVar narrowed his eyes to dangerous slits. “Attend to Lord skekGra,” he said, “and we’ll see.”

The Gelfling princess immediately hurried to skekGra’s still form and knelt beside him, leaning close. SkekVar craned his neck slightly in an attempt to see what she was doing, but her back was to him.

“That poor girl is too young to see all this,” one of the Gelfling soldiers murmured behind him.

“Do you think they really didn’t know about the Gruenaks?” another on whispered to his friend, who shrugged.

“Who knows? The dirt-dwellers don’t care about anything on the surface. And they’re idiots. I bet this childling doesn’t even know the first thing about—”

“This Lord is alive!” Argot announced, and skekVar almost drooped with relief. The Gelfling under his command seemed to let out their own breaths, some even smiling at each other.

But skekVar’s relief dissipated almost at once. “Then why is he unconscious?”

“That, I don’t know.” The princess stood and paced around skekGra, striding with ease over the uneven roots strewn through the dirt, and rifled through her satchel. “He has burned and bleeding hands, a bitten shoulder—Spitter bite, of course—and bruises on his neck. We have healing salves for those things, but I think you’ll just have to wait for him to wake up on his own. And then he can tell you himself.”

“And won’t we be glad to hear it,” skekVar grunted, shooting a look of poison down at the Conqueror—though with this stunt, he may not be the Conqueror much longer. He waited with mounting impatience while the Gelfling girl cleaned and tended to skekGra’s piddly wounds and lifted his head to drip water down his throat; he muttered commands to his nearest soldiers for someone to mount their swiftest Landstrider and head for the castle at once with news.

At last Argot stood and crossed lightly back to skekVar, bowing low. “I think that’s all I can do for him, my lord. I don’t think he’s in any danger, but you should get him back to the Castle of the Crystal to have your own healers tend to him.”

SkekVar grunted. The castle didn’t have full-time healers, unless you counted the Scientist, but sure.

“My mother and I, as well as our clan, owe you our lives. We thank you for coming to our aid.” These words sounded practiced. Argot continued on, glancing back at skekGra. “And um… As for lifting him into a carriage… Maybe I can ask urLii for help?”

“Early when?” skekVar barked. “I’m getting him out of this place now. Just have to get him to the blasted surface.”

“Oh, that’s the easy part.” Before skekVar could say another word, the princess ran to the trunk of the enormous tree and pressed her hand to it, closing her eyes. After a long moment of nothing happening she blinked her eyes open again, looking at skekVar in surprise. “My lord, is there something special about this Lord?”

SkekVar snorted, tempted to say “absolutely not,” but decided against it. “The Twice-Nine are all extraordinary. Now, get us to the surface.”

But it was already happening. Tree branches reached down, wood creaking loudly, to none-too-gently wrap around both skekGra and, to skekVar’s simultaneous surprise and horror, himself, lifting them swiftly toward the sky.

He struggled against the restraints, but they did not slacken, and he looked down toward the cavern floor in alarm. The princess was still there, waving at him... rather absently, it seemed, for her gaze was trained on skekGra's unconscious form. Was she still worried about him, even after she'd said he would be fine? SkekVar glanced back at the Conqueror, only to give a start—he finally seemed to be stirring.

Before he could think on this much longer, the tree finally lifted them out of... itself, it seemed, before planting them a bit too firmly on the damp ground outside. At least the rain had stopped.

To skekVar's side, skekGra was beginning to murmur incoherently, eyelids fluttering open but not really seeing. With a frustrated grunt, skekVar stooped down to lift him up underneath his good arm. His armor made him heavy, but it was nothing skekVar couldn't handle. "Wake up, idiot," he growled. "We're heading back to the carriage."

"No... no... I can't... no..."

"You can walk just fine. You don't have anything wrong with your feet!" Snorting, he yanked the Conqueror forward, and the other Skeksis' legs seemed to obey automatically, though skekGra did not seem fully conscious. SkekVar shook his head and looked around them: they were atop a tall hill with that massive tree, and he could spot the carriage some distance off. It wouldn't be such a problem if he weren't half-carrying skekGra as it was, and he had to resist the urge to just chuck him down the hill. But the Emperor likely wouldn't approve of that, so he begrudgingly began the ridiculous task of helping the Conqueror down to the carriage.

"Have to... have to..." skekGra murmured, his eyes starting to drift shut again.

"Did you drink a gallon of ale with that blasted Gruenak before you beheaded it? Ugh."

It took a great deal longer than it should have, but skekVar finally managed to get skekGra over to the carriage. By the time they reached it, the Gelflings were already approaching, some of them rushing up to the two of them in concern.

"Lord skekVar! Is Lord skekGra all right?"

"We heard he was gravely injured!"

"Lord skekGra is fine," skekVar said, finally hoisting the half-conscious Skeksis up and shoving him onto the floor of the carriage. SkekGra groaned, but made no other protest, and the Gelfling soldiers did not dare argue. "I'll be taking him back to the castle immediately, unless he has any better ideas."

The two ceremonial staffs they’d brought fell on top of him, but he was out of sight of the Gelfling soldiers, and skekVar didn’t care enough to remove them. They’d brought those staffs for their victory celebration, but it was clear that no one was in any mood for celebrating.

SkekGra’s hands twitched. "H... have to... m-make... have to..."

Make what? skekVar wondered, only to smack his hand against his beak. Of course, he would want to make a puppet show of this, wouldn't he? If skekVar hauled him back to the castle without some souvenirs, he'd probably never hear the end of it. Snorting, skekVar turned toward a few Gelfling toward the back of the group—three of them that had just arrived. "You there! Get back into the tunnels and bring some Arathim pieces with you. Hack off some legs or something. We'll... um, be needing them. For important matters."

The three Gelfling exchanged exhausted glances, but obediently turned around, heading back toward the caves.

That settled, skekVar clambered up into the carriage and settled in his seat, looking back out over his soldiers. "To the Castle!" he said, and pulled the lever.

The armaligs jolted awake and began rolling forward, finally taking them away from what was feeling like a strangely bitter-tasting victory.

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 36

Ansgar slept fitfully during the night. The unfamiliar bed, the soft occasional coos and rustles coming from the baby monitor, the thumps and sleepy whines from the Bean’s room, and ultimately, the lack of Joline’s warm body beside his kept him wide and painfully awake.

Not to mention the arrival of his brother and sister in law at two o’clock in the morning. Their attempt at quiet whispers and floor-creaking tip toes as they made their way through their house was comical to Ansgar at just how ineffectual it was. They may as well have stomped and shouted for all the noise they made.

At least, it sounded like they had fun.

And so, come early morning, still dark, Ansgar pushed himself, groaning, out of bed. He reached immediately for his phone, disappointed to find Joline hadn’t responded to, or even read his texts.

“Shit,” he muttered, running his palm viciously down his face. “It’s too early anyway,” he said. “Probably still sleeping, the lucky darling.” He rubbed his eyes, blinked away the rest of the sleep - or lack thereof - and texted.

5:01: Good morning, darling. 5 am comes too quickly. Hope you rested well. See you at 10 x

***

He strode out of the bedroom, dressed and showered, combing his hands through his damp hair. He’d left his curls loose again, eschewing his typical slicked, combed and pomaded look. It wasn’t a conscious decision, not a calculated thought, just… an instinct. A knowledge. A deference to Joline’s comments, to the way she toyed with his hair when they made love, to the anticipation of more of it to come.

And of course, Rebecka noticed.

“You look… different, Sgar,” she said, handing him a cup of coffee. “What gives?”

“Well, good morning to you too, my dearest sister.” He took the cup, bent to her and pressed a warm kiss to her cheek. “Thanks,” he muttered, and took a long drink of the fragrant brew. “Mmmm. You’re up early, early bird.”

“Ingrid woke up. Had to feed her,” she shrugged, yawning. She walked back to the table and sat slowly down, straightening out the placket of her pyjama top. “What’s going on with you?” she pressed. “Something’s off.”

“How was the wedding?” Ansgar asked congenially. “Did Mags make a fool of himself on the dance floor?”

Her eyes flicked up to him, fixing him with a deep, delving stare. “Quit the diversionary tactics, Sgar. I’m a journalist. I’m tenacious. I won’t give up. Now, spill.” She sipped at her coffee.

Ansgar leaned against the back of a chair, crossing his legs beneath him. He drank his coffee, eyeing Bec over the rim. “I’m sure I’ve no idea what you’re on about.”

Rebecka glared at him, eyes narrowed. “Okay,” she intoned, nodding sagely. “Don’t forget, Sgar. I’m married to your twin.”

“So?” Ansgar shrugged.

“So, I can tell what you’re thinking. I can read you and Mags like books on a shelf.”

“No. You can’t.” He spat, shaking his head. “Don’t even try.”

“Oh. Really.” Bec’s eyes widened above a broad, knowing smile. She settled back into her seat, perched her feet on the opposite chair and cradled her steaming cup by her chest. “Tell me, Ansgar. What’s her name?”

He stopped, mid-sip, and stared. He held the cup to his lips for a long moment before he lowered it slowly, set it on the table, and straightened. He swallowed, dropped his customary mask, and let his lips curl into a blithe sigh of a smile. “Her name,” he said brightly, “is Joline.”

***

10:35 a.m. Monday

Ansgar peered at his watch for what he knew was at least the fiftieth time since he’d read the face at 10:00. He’d paced Joline’s office back and forth for the past twenty minutes, sure he’d worn a fresh path in her already threadbare Oriental rug.

He’d even taken to sitting at her desk, making a surreptitious attempt to gain access to her laptop in an attempt to locate her. He tried various combinations of the names Hugo and Adrian and Emilie and Elias and even his own name until the system locked him out of any further tries.

He’d called, and by the time he’d finished, his phone showed twelve calls to her mobile number and two calls to her land line, all of which went unanswered. Voice mails, two. Face time attempts, three.

He’d walked the theatre, asking for her at the reception desk, the ticket office, the light booth. He asked the foreman of his own company, the costume designer, the stage manager, the director of the production of Aida. None had seen her. None had heard from her. With every person he’d asked, it became more and more difficult to hide his anxiety, his fear, his apprehension….

… his anger.

And, then there were the texts.

10:05: You’re late.

10:07: How long are you going to keep me waiting?

10:18: I’m still at your office. Are you on your way? Are you okay?

10:26: Joline, respond to me. Pick up your phone. It is most unprofessional of you to miss a meeting with your partner without notice. Please advise where you are ASAP. Work cannot proceed without your authorization.

10:30: If you are not here by 10:40 I am going back to my office. Text me when it is convenient for you to reschedule this meeting.

10:35: Joline. Where the fuck are you?

“God damn it to hell!” he bellowed, wrenching open her office door. He strode angrily down the marble hallway, his loafers slapping against the slick surface, echoing off the walls like his heartbeat in his ears.

He clenched the steering wheel two-handed as he bobbed and weaved his Tesla viciously through the midday Stockholm traffic. He sat forward, keeping  his eyes fixed straight ahead. But his thoughts were elsewhere, far away.

He couldn’t help it. He thought of Faye, damn her. His flesh, his bones, his very soul remembered. Remembered that desperate, empty coldness, that numbness of the nerves and fire behind the eyes and thickness in the chest that felt as if he were choking in the sulfuric clouds of Hell.

He wondered, as he slipped the car dangerously into the left lane, nearly missing a trash collector truck, whether she’d, whether Joline, too, had run from him. Whether she had severed ties and slipped away and deserted him like Faye had. Wondered if she, too, abandoned him.

Left him.

Took his heart and wrenched it asunder at the seam of his scars.

Heaving the wheel hand-over-hand, he caromed the Tesla, tires squealing, into his parking spot, and threw the car into park. He sat there, breathing like a grampus through his nose, his throat too tight, his jaw too clenched to even open his mouth. His heart pounded against his chest wall like a caged lion desperate for its freedom. “Fuck!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the dashboard. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Not again! Not fucking again! I never should have said that! Never should have told you… told you….”

Never should have told you I loved you.

He peered down at his phone, the mute-arsed piece of shit. He lifted it, opened the messages, and peered at it. “Come on,” he growled, willing it to chime. “Fucker, come on, give me something, you useless bastard.”

Nothing.

He opened the car door, lifted the phone high and nearly threw it across the garage, his imagination painting him a picture of the phone and all of his overtures of love to Joline breaking into a million pieces – glass and little red broken hearts shattered against the concrete abutment.

But instead, he lowered the device, regarded it once more, set his thumbs to the keyboard and typed.

11:10:  Ms. Lindberg. Come when convenient. I may or may not be available.

Pocketing the phone, he lit from the car, slamming the door shut with an echoing, hollow thunk. He kept his hand there, on the top of his Tesla, and he bowed his head, thinking - or trying to think. His mind was clouded, foggy, his logic blocked with filthy, sticky clots of pain. He breathed, calming himself, flushing those mental pathways clean of corrosive emotion.

And then, he imagined two compartments set apart by a partition in his mind. A massive wall.

He placed Faye in one compartment. Placed her there and sealed her up along with the gory, blood-soaked detritus of her -  his anxiety, his worry, panic, desperation, despair, self-hatred, loneliness, loss, and hopelessness.

And Joline he set, free to roam, within the other.

And this wall, he fashioned it of steel girders and heavy masonry block and thick concrete and kevlar siding.

Impregnable. Indestructible. Mathematical.

Faye =/= Joline. The two sets do not intersect. Disjoinder. Non-union.

And thereby, the fog lifted. He found he could think again. He stood up straighter. He settled his shoulders. He relaxed his breathing, let his clamped jaw go slack, slowed his heartbeat. Logic, as it does, won out over emotion once again and the calculations and numbers and words flowed freely through his intellect.

“Something has to be wrong,” he told himself, calmly. “It’s not you. She’s not left you. Ergo,” he muttered. “She can’t communicate. She’s distracted. Something happened. She had an accident, she… Jesus!” His eyes flashed with the realization of it. “Her mother!”

And, like a shot arrow, he ran toward his private lift, mashing his hand on the button. While he waited, foot tapping, eyes staring at the moving numbers, he pulled out his phone and dialed.

And as expected, the call went to voice mail.

“Elias,” he barked. “Ansgar Martinsson here. Ring me when you get this. It is an urgent matter so you must respond immediately if you can.”

And as the lift arrived, he hung up and opened his messages again.

11:14: Joline. Is it your mother? Is she ill? Tell me where you are and I will be there.

***

Peritoneal Dialysis Infection.

The doctor called it. The doctor used those words to explain what happened, why Emelie needed to be hooked up to hemodialysis, intravenous antibiotics, a heavy drip of hydration and a ventilator to breathe for her. Her body suffered from a massive infection. She no longer had the antibodies to fight, her system already weak and depleted by her low red blood count. Her own immune system attacking itself, gone haywire by a disease that confused healthy and detrimental cells. The lupus had destroyed her kidneys, her blood full of toxins, her belly full of infection.

Joline understood it logically, but she couldn’t justify it happening all at once and certainly not to her mother. The doctors explained it time and time again to both of them, but Jolie still felt a sense of outrage for all of it. For the doctors explanations. For the lack of a cure. For their inability to fix it, to even make it better.

Joline felt her mother being ripped from her life, ripped from her arms, and ripped from her heart. Her heart ached with missing her mother already, the way she pulled Joline’s leg about her choice in shoes, the way she played with Joline’s hair while she worked at her computer, how she met Joline at the door when she was due in.

Joline clutched her mother’s hand (not cold but not warm either) as she listened to the machines beep and whirl and drip and spin. She willed all of it to work, to bring life back into her mother, to bring her mother back to her. She wasn’t done, and even as a grown woman, she needed her mother’s practical guidance and savage logic.

Tears slid down her cheeks in utter helplessness. She couldn’t lose hope and she wouldn’t, but she felt impotent, handicapped and entirely lame… just sitting there, doing nothing. But didn’t dare more, to wander away and leave her mother’s side. Emelie needed her, and Joline needed her mother.

The chair was anything but comfortable, but she stayed, nearly glued to it, waiting for a miracle to occur. She’d sit on railroad pikes if it meant saving her mother from this danger, this hint of death. Joline laid her forehead on her hand gripped around her mother’s and stared at the jeans she wore beneath. She couldn’t remember putting them on, the act of sliding into them forgotten in her haste, in her agonizing stress… but she must have done.

On her days off, at home, oversized t-shirts with the neck cut out suited her. She still wore the Harley Davidson one that she’d been wearing while reviewing her notes for Ansgar.

Ansgar… he felt a million miles removed from this, from her, from their fledging relationship. A million miles, a million hours, a million heartbeats and breaths away.

The jeans she’d shimmied into just before the first responders arrived and rung the bell to fetch her mother had been the first pair Ansgar had seen her in, after the smart pencil skirt that she’d worn to invade his office. She’d changed into the threadbare, broken knees, painted massacre of denim, but the first pair of jeans she’d worn in front of Ansgar, that first day they met. She couldn’t figure why this was important, other than… she missed him. She missed her life.

Absently she pulled at the white strings at the knee of her jeans, trying not to cry, trying not to dissolve on the spot. She didn’t often find comfort in another’s arms but she suddenly longed and craved for Ansgar’s, coveted his confident strength, yearned for his unflappable arrogance.

Joline could imagine him in her mind berating the doctors until they fixed her mother. Demanding a better doctor, a better specialist, a better hospital, even a better procedure because he simply could. That’s precisely who Ansgar Martinsson was. He expected the best and accepted no less than that. He didn’t accept failure.

A sob, a combination of fear for her mother’s fate and the realization about how she felt for Ansgar, escaped in a hiccoughing sound and she finally lifted her head. Swiping at the tears with the heel of her free hand, she whined and cried to the woman in the bed, “Oh, God, mama… I love him and you haven’t met him yet.”

Please don’t leave me. I can’t bear it, mama. Not yet. I don’t know what I’m doing.

Finally, mercilessly, Elias made it to the hospital. He held Joline securely in his arms as the doctor repeated everything for him, for his benefit, without the filter of Joline’s limited knowledge. Elias remained stoic, listening, intent on getting pertinent information and a possible course of treatment. The next three days were critical to get through and would indicate whether Emelie would survive this bout of infection. The doctor also mentioned a kidney transplant, not for the first time, as a possibility.

Elias rubbed Joline’s back, imbuing her with some form of comfort, as she took it the hardest. His sister was capable of so much, she exceeded in diplomacy and logic and management in her everyday life, but she experienced intense empathy for her family. That strong part of her all but disappeared when her emotional, compassionate side emerged.

When the doctor left them alone outside the intensive care unit, just outside their mother’s window, the siblings tried to make sense of all that happened in such a short amount of time. “Did she give any indication that she was unwell?” Elias asked softly, without blame.

“You know how she is, she’s so stubborn about… God! I wish I’d known. I should’ve known!”

Elias pulled her to his shoulder and kissed the top of his sister’s head. “You can’t blame yourself, Jo-Bo. You know that. This,” he indicated their mother upon the hospital cot with a wave of his hand, “was always a danger. The course treatment she chose… it was a risk.”

“I just… I need her well. I need her with me. I need her, Elias.”

He nodded silently, stroking her back again. He let the quiet between them calm her, dry her tears some. It was so rare to see or hear Joline cry that he didn’t know any other way to stop them other than letting them run their course. “I remember the first day mum brought you home. I hated you, Jo-Bo,” he said with a sad chuckle.

Joline laughed through her tears even.

“It was a Friday. I was meant for this show and tell or some shit at school. Instead our grandmother kept me home to meet my baby sister. I was pissed right the fuck off—“

“At five?” Joline asked with a reserved smile.

“Don’t mock me. I never got to show off my car collection.”

“The horror!”

“You were a little terror,” Elias pulsed his arm around her shoulders. “Cried all the damn time. I was the star until you came along.”

Although their father was a big part of both of their lives when he was alive, for the most part, Emelie was a single parent. Bryan, their father, visited once a month and took long vacations in the summer to spend time with them.

“Sorry, I stole your spotlight, big brother.”

Elias brought Joline into a hug. “I do remember when things changed though… just so you know.”

“You don’t still hate me for stealing your thunder?”

“Just a bit sore, but I’m getting better,” he joked, holding her tightly. “You gave me your scone. You were maybe, three or four? I was whining mum’s ear sore about something… she gave you the last lemon glazed or cranberry. From your highchair, you pushed your plate to me. You kept the peace even then, and I knew you wanted it.”

“Did you give it back?”

“Hell, no! I wanted it! But you weren’t so bad after that.”

After another lull in their conversation, both lost in their musing about Emelie, Joline asked, “What are we going to do, Elias? This… this is serious. I can’t lose her. Not now!”

“It is serious,” Elias acknowledged with a nod. “We just have to see how the next few days go, and we’ll make the decisions together. Yeah?”

Joline nodded, fighting back another wave of tears. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know… I still don’t know what to do, how to fix this.”

“Be patient. There’s nothing you can do. I know you’re used to fixing things, finding the best solutions for all parties, Jo-Bo. But this isn’t one of those things for you to solve.”

She nodded, unconvinced.

“Why don’t I sit here with you and mum for a couple of hours, yeah? We’ll talk. Keep her company. Let her know that we’re here pulling for her. At nine,” he said looking at his mobile, “I’ll hit the cafeteria to get breakfast. If you need anything in the morning, I’ll get it and you can stay by mum, okay?”

[peggysousfan]

Agent Carter An Au Series

Here’s chapter 2! Chapter 3 should be up tommorrow or Thursday. This chapter will be from Daniels POV. Enjoy :)

Peggy's POV:

Walking up a flight of stairs normally isn't a problem, but being eight months pregnant makes it quite difficult. Now, instead of actually walking, I seem to be waddling like a bloody penguin. Why can't we have a lift in this building? Finally I reach our apartment floor, when I hear a crash.

"Dammit," I hear someone say. I look down the hall and see our neighbor and it looks as if hes dropped a grocery bag. Oh I forgot his name. Sonna? Soasa? All I know is it begins with an 'S'. I walk, or waddle, down the hall to see if I could help. "Mrs. Carter?" he says. Oh bloody hell!

"It looks like you could some help with that," I say.

"Oh no its fine." He uses his crutch and bends down for it. He's lived in this complex longer than I have. I've seen him around and we've had small conversations at the post, but nothing more than neighborly civil conversation. "Sorry about that."

"There's nothing to be sorry for Mr...uhm"

"Sousa. Daniel Sousa." he says. He reaches out his hand and I shake it.

"I'm terribly sorry Mr. Sousa, you must forgive me."

"There nothing to forgive Mrs. Carter,"He flashes a charming smile and I attempt to relay one myself. If only people would stop addressing me as Mrs. Carter...

"Well I ought to be on my way," I say.

"Of course. Have a nice day." He says, smiling once more. I smile and return to my flat.

Colleen's been working much more as of late. Since the war has been over, many more GI's have been discharged, and many woman have lost there jobs to soldiers. Colleen has to help train the new recruits, leaving me quite on my own. Hours go by and its soon supper time. I'm no chef, but I normally make do. We haven't made it to the shops like we intended, so our food supply is quite low. However, I could smell something quite delicious itself waffling through the air. Mmmm. Whatever it is has triggered a craving. Damn. It seems that the food is from Mr. Sousa's flat. I can't help but pace and think of whatever hes made. Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm at his door knocking, with a plate in my hand. What in the blazes was I doing!? I start to walk back when I hear the door open.

"Mrs. Carter?" I stood there frozen for a moment. Sighing I turn around.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, Mr. Sousa, I was just being silly." I say awkwardly. Never have I embarrassed myself like this in my life. He looks at me with a furrowed brow and a puzzled look on his face.

"Uh.. did you need something?"

"No.. I uhm.." I stammer on and try to explain, rather horribly, what I was doing. "Well...no. I uhm... I'm sorry to bother you."

"You sure..?" he asks again. He smiles charmingly and has a small tease to his tone. Damn him. I try to smile it off, but it doesn't work.

"Its just.. well whatever you've made smells delightful.."

"You want some of my food?" Rather than being rude and sounding appalled, he actually sounded surprised, yet kind; if anything he was slightly amused.

"I hate to be a bother..." I trail off. He looks down and smiles, as if a sweet thought had crossed his mind.

"I don't mind at all. If anything it would be a big help." he laughs.

"Are you sure? I don't want to impose-"

"Its cod... It doesn't exactly taste great reheated and eaten the next day." he teases. I laugh and whole heatedly smile.

"I concur." I say.

"Here, how about this. You come inside while its finishing up and you can have half." I stop for a moment, not wanting to over step, but the babe has other plans. I close my eyes and give in. This little one is so head-strong already...

"That sounds lovely."

"Great." He opens the door and we make our way to the kitchen. I can't help but moan at the delicious smell. Daniel looks at me and laughs.

"What?"

"Nothin'."His back is turned towards me, but I can sense his amused demeanor.

"There must be something thats keeping you amused." I press. I want to keep a small conversation going to avert this awkward situation. Although being here seems warm and welcoming, not invading.

"Its just.. my sisters are the same way." I furrow my brows as he turns to me. "When they were.. uh.. you know."

"With child..?"

"Uhh, yeah. They'd sit or stand around and enjoy the smell of the food in the air. " I can't help but listen  to his every word. He must sense I was hoping for more details, so he pressed on. "They always made me cook or them, especially when they had cravings." He laughs lightly as the memories play in his mind. "I remember my older sister, she would call me at 3 in the morning, because her husband had night shifts, and she would call me and ask to get her whatever she wanted. Sometimes I'd have to bake or cook depending what it was. She'd sit down and just smell the air and pester me when it'd be done." His laugh is so contagious, I can't help myself.

"Well, it seems you are a very good brother," I say. "I don't think my own would be so loyal and keen to meet my every need and craving if I asked." I laugh. The timer goes off and Daniel takes out the cod. It looks different than most I've seen.

"Its a Portuguese dish, I hope you don't mind."

"Oh, of course not. I've never had Portuguese before, I must admit, but it smells delicious." He laughs and grabs his own plate.

"So, wheres your brother now? I-If you don't mind me asking that is.."I look down for a moment and then up.

"Oh no its fine. My brother, Micheal.. He uhm.. died early in the war." I try to keep my emotions in check, but a tear escaped without my permission. Quickly I wipe it away. Damn pregnancy hormones..

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't mean to bring something like that up, I-

"Its alright, Mr. Sousa, I pray you don't reproach yourself. " I look up at him and see his demeanor change. "Honestly it's alright. I enjoy talking about him actually."

"Yeah? What was he like?" As Daniel began to serve our food, I rambled on and on of stories about Micheal and what he was like. In turn, Daniel told stories of his own sisters, and about a brother he had lost in the war. I've barely uttered more then a few sentences to this man in the many months of living in Brooklyn, but now, sitting here with him, I feel as if I've known him my whole life. Everything feels right and calm, and I have an odd feeling of wanting to never leave. All too soon though, we both finish and I hobble out of my seat. I grab both of our plates and place them in the sink.

"Uhh ...You don't have to do that you know. I can take care of it." Daniel makes his way to where I am, but I refuse his help.

"No, no, I all but invited myself over, its the least I can do." He must sense my determination, because he doesn't try and argue. Several minutes go by and I'm nearly finished, when a pain in my lower abdomen begins to start. At first its small, then It grows more intense. I can't help but hunch over, one hand on the counter, the other on my back. He must have sense my distress because he rushes over to my side.

"Ar-Are you okay?... Sh-sould I do something? Is it the baby? Do I need to call a-"

"No, no, Its not that." I force my self to say. "It must be false contractions. Normally they go away, but.. they seem to be more insistent at the moment." He stares, awe-struck, frozen. "I should probably head home, sleep it off..."

"Uh yeah sure, do you need anything?"

"No i'm quite fine. Thank you, Mr. Sousa." I start to walk across the hall when I hear him reply.

"Yeah, No problem." I look back and attempt to smile. Oh this child will be the death of me, the sooner they get here, the better.  I  grab the bed off of the wall and lie down. Soon enough, the contractions end. I hope Daniel won't be offended by my sudden leaving, I feel horrible, but poppet had other plans...

[stopforamoment]

Pernicious Passion: Part Six

Please check out the Pernicious Passion MASTERLIST for the complete list of writers and artists who inspired this series!   Bastien Lykel belongs to Pixelberry, and Kara is a real-life talented PB writer. Events in this fic are purely fictional because this is just a fun spoof!  Author’s Note and Summary: Bastien reflects on all the fandom writers and artists who love him. It’s also a shamless plug for all of them. If I missed anyone, please send me a DM so I can add you! Links will take you to author masterlists.

Part Six (1,467 words) Bastien was lying awake on Kara’s couch, thinking about the Tumblr fics that gave so much depth to his character. The writers who advocated for him. He was so happy in those Tumblr fics. Yes, Kara was partially right. There were fandom writers who created angst in his personal life, but they still loved him as a character. @mrsnazario1223  created a series Secrets in the Dark where he struggles to free MC Elizabeth, his Bets, from the clutches of an evil Liam. In Sometimes Beginnings Start with Goodbyes, @innerpostmentality almost decimated him when Drake was hospitalized, and he felt so guilty that he missed the warning signs: How depressed Drake was after MC Giselle and Liam’s wedding. How he had been drinking more than usual. Fortunately, Duchess Olivia Nevrakis was able to comfort him. They had feelings for each other for so long, and it just happened so naturally. And @emceesynonymroll did focus on how much Queen Riley loves her King, but he is content with his secret crush on her. Besides, if enough people gently persuade and her muse agrees, there will be a follow-up series that will focus on him finding true love at last.  Yes, sometimes he experienced pain in the fan fics, but there was so much happiness. And he was so happy with his face claim, Fabricio Zunino. @cora-nova is the brilliant artist who first discovered Fabricio, and fanfic writers have been swooning over Zunino’s Instagram account ever since.

@endlessflame was the first person to write about him. His first love, Juliette, who left him because she couldn’t handle the danger of his career. And now, she writes about the sexual tension between him and Riley, and their secret rendezvous. The light between his legs began to spark. And then when he and Riley got engaged—such happiness in his life.

@riseandshinelittleblossom and her fics with him and Foxy. He adores Foxy so much, and @riseandshinelittleblossom was the one who made it canon that he made grilled cheese sandwiches with mayo on the inside so the cheese was creamier. And that he loves dancing the foxtrot to Frank Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight.” And when Foxy dressed up for Halloween in that skimpy black outfit with the backseam stockings and garter belt? Fuck. He was amazed they even made it downstairs to their own party. @tornbetween2loves also understands that backseam stockings are his kryptonite. His Scarlet Duchess frequently takes advantage of that weakness, but he never minds. @boneandfur was the first to create a NWFW ABC list for him. It features the noblewoman he vowed to keep safe after an assassination attempt. @boneandfur’s writing is so sensual with its description, and these words never fail to make his member twitch: “I love that fucking dress, my lady. I can tell you’re not wearing any underwear. I can smell your arousal. I’m going to walk you around that corner, and then I’m going to slide my hands up your thighs and spread you apart. I’ll get on my knees and I’ll bury my face between your legs and you’re going to ride my face and scream so loud the king will give me a medal for a job well done.” Mmmm. @jovialyouthmusic. She made it canon that he was so well-endowed that the madam at a high-end brothel begged him to visit every year—for free. And his Sophia. Such a strong, beautiful woman who loves him. Who cums for him multiple times, who makes him cum harder than he ever did before. But it was more than the sex and their relationship continued to grow, and she was the one who stood by his side after his injury. Yes, she is His Goddess and His Temptress. And soon, his wife. @jovialyouthmusic’s Protect and Serve series gave him life. @lolablackwrites is such a talented writer—especially smut—and he loves being the focus of her Guarded Hearts series. How brilliant that he and MC Alice met before that fateful night at the restaurant when she met Liam. She still came to Cordonia, not realizing he was there. But he is so glad she did because Alice has a sarcastic sense of humor. She’s intelligent. Sexy. He loves their playful banter and how she understands his literary references when he sends her text messages. Their relationship has already overcome so many challenges, but he asked Alice to move in with him, and he knows she’s the one he will marry. @likethetailofacomet has two series that he especially enjoys. The series Learning to Love Again focuses on Drake and MC Claire, but he is featured several times throughout. However, he frequently thought about his long-lost love Annabelle in that series. What he lost because of his duty to the Crown. Fortunately @likethetailofacoment wanted to explore that a bit further. That’s what prompted her to start a second series, called The Broken Bits, that explores their relationship 21 years ago and hints that perhaps their love will have a second chance. And @sirbeepsalot. She gave him a passionate, yet tender relationship with Olivia, his mon doudou. He was always an important part of Liam, Drake, and Olivia’s family. Bastien smiled as he thought of their children—Jackson, Stella, and Estel. He is their Papa Bas. He also started as Olivia’s lover, but their relationship developed into something more. Now they are their own family, and his mon doudou recently gave birth to his daughter Odette. Yes, he is a very happy man. Then there were the other fics that made him a father. @blackwidow2721 focuses on his daughter in the series Playing with Fire. Cami is beautiful and headstrong, and he is so lucky he can trust Drake to be a gentleman with her and also scare off Liam, Leo, and Maxwell. He can trust Drake, right?

@bobasheebaby did cause him pain in some of her series, but overall her muse treated him well. In Crimson Rain he is a mob boss who adopted Olivia when she was a child. Then he discovered he has another daughter, Hope, and they are developing a strong relationship. But Liza. Poppy. His true love. After the heartache of several miscarriages, he was going to be a father again. Her name is Sage Lana, and the entire family—including their adorable dog Buttons (Butt) and cat Pickles—are over the moon. Then there’s @stopforamoment’s slow burn with Rinda. In the series he and Rinda are still dating and they’ve created a loving family with her son, now his son too, Henry. But @stopforamoment is already starting to write drabbles where they’re married (she knows how they get there, but there are other projects keeping her busy—sorry). Rinda is in her 40s and they both agree they are happy with Henry and don’t need to expand their family, so he will get a vasectomy. But @stopforamoment ‘s muse already created a crazy-train drabble to explain how they could get pregnant even though he had a vasectomy. He, Rinda, and Henry are also going to be in a Choices Crossover collaboration that features characters from The Royal Romance, The Crown and the Flame, Blood Bound, Perfect Match, The Haunting of Braidwood Manor, Veil of Secrets, and The Freshman series. Ferals and matches will overrun Cordonia, and the characters must work together to save Cordonia. @kennaxval thought of the idea, and he’s working with @begging-for-kamilah, @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat , @scalpeljockeybrycelahela, @strangerofbraidwood, @stopforamoment, and @tornbetween2loves to bring this story to life. @innerpostmentality and @tornbetween2loves collaborate to create an AU titled Arcana Unbound that focuses on the next generation of Cordonia: the children of King Liam Rys and his Queen Hyclea, Drake and Meridoc Walker, Leo and Katie Rys, Duchesses Riley Brooks and Hana Lee, and yes. His children too. He, Bastien Lykel—the head of the Royal Guard, married Duchess Olivia Nevrakis and became a duke. His daughter Sarissa wants to follow in his footsteps, joining the Royal Guard and protecting her King. However, life may have other plans for her. His son Xiphos inherited his dark looks and Olivia’s emerald green eyes. Xiphos is known as a playboy, but he will find someone who sees him for who he truly is. And Bastien knows his popularity was growing. He welcomed a new writer to the Bastien fandom: @applevictorianico  Her series Bruises is only a prologue and two chapters in, but already other writers in the fandom are swooning over her description of him as a father who was reunited with his daughter on her 21st birthday. There is so much mystery about his past, and his daughter’s past, that will be a wild ride for the fandom. His daughter Roxy has her own impressive military career in the United States Army and shares his sense of loyalty. And grey eyes. It’s so much to keep track of, but fortunately @mfackenthal of The McFackenthal Show is the president of his fan club. He will always be taken care of in the Tumblr fandom.

Bastien sighed. It was going to be difficult ending things with Kara, but their love now had the bitter taste of the first crop of Cordonian Ruby apples. It was intense at first, but it had become an acquired taste. He now knew what needed to be done. A/N If I missed anyone, please send me a DM so I can add you to the list. If any tags or links are wonky, please let me know. Thanks!

CHAPTER SEVEN

[gold-eyes-vengeful-heart]

Prompt#16: Jitter

((Runya and a serpent.))

=====

Well, that was unfortunately timed. His hand jittered right as he had been making the final line in the newest page of his book--

And the cube of Allagan design attached to his belt burned hot, but only for moments before the energy there reacted to the misshapen arcane geometry, calling forth an aetherial form that solidified into a voidsent all too real, an undulating coil of blinding white that ended in a hood and a broad head with two pitch-black eyes.

This was...a bit of a problem. Not only was that particular one massive, towering over him by a good few fulms, but it also was staring at him in about as hostile a manner as a snake could manage. (And as a voidsent on top of that? That hostility radiated from every scale on its body, too.)

[Free us, mortal.]

The haughty demand coursed through his head in a sibilant whisper--dreadfully cliche of it, really, but most of them talked like that, he supposed. Or...”talked”, anyway, it was difficult to explain.

He was quick to make sure that the hand that bore the ink-stick he had been using was turned so the serpent couldn’t see that he still had it. “Mmmm...” He presumed, if just since he hadn’t been bitten or crushed or otherwise messily slaughtered by the thing he had been keeping captive for ages by now, that it wasn’t able to simply free itself, and the knowledge lent a smile to his expression. “...What if I told you no?”

The giant white cobra voidsent hissed, fangs longer than his fingers flicking into position as its hood bristled widely and shimmered with strange patterns that made his eyes twinge looking at them. [Then you will die here.]

“Are you trying to convince me of that, or yourself?” He tilted his head to one side, his ears pricking forward smugly. “If you could kill me, I imagine you would have done it already. Or you would have possessed me, done something positively nasty to my soul--whatever you pleased.”

But before he could continue, the snake charged, striking like a levin-bolt, and he would not be reluctant to admit to himself later that he flinched at it...but the snake stopped just short of him as if hitting a wall, hissing furiously until he felt droplets on his face. (He shut his mouth tight, unwilling to test if that was actual venom or not.)

[FREE US!]

He recovered just enough to speak, gold eyes riveted on the voidsent’s black ones...and his hands trembled again, though from a distinctly more emotion-driven cause than before. “No.”

[Do you think you can keep us trapped in that metal prison forever?!] the voidsent hissed, looping its coils around so they thrashed a bit too closely to Runya. [Do you think, in your hubris, that you can use beings as powerful and ancient as us with such impunity?! I have ruined entire mortal cities, damned entire hordes of souls--I have cursed entire bloodlines for thousands of years for daring to oppose me in the mortal realm!]

Oh, he knew a lot about that. There was a very, very good reason that dearest Daeyona wasn’t aware that he had such void-serpents...and this one in particular. Doubly so, now that they were, if grudgingly, forced into one another’s company more often than not these days, with Sorin between them.

[And you.] The word was practically spat into his head. [You, some misshapen cat, thinks he can control me?!]

“I don’t think so.”

He had, while the snake had been ranting and raving, been inching his hand towards the book--and the marks he had made in it. And with a single quick flick, he wielded the ink-stick still hidden in his palm and whipped it across the page in a single fluid motion, sinuously weaving around and through the geometry there with the speed of an escaping serpent. 

“I know so.”

The sudden addition of the rune demanded the voidsent’s return, pulling on the aether around it--and specifically, the voidsent’s, forming a bridge of aether between itself and the cube that it could not ignore and could not resist, either. With a rage-filled snarl that was entirely at odds with its reptilian appearance, it twisted over itself and tried its best to avoid the pull, but the geometries were something that it could not defy and bright blue markings and runes burned into its flesh and its aether and its entire form was sucked back into its prison of metal in a flash of blinding light and a scent like a storm, though that too dissipated after mere moments.

He waited a few long seconds to see if the binding was still holding, and when the snake made no reappearance, he just sighed, the exhalation shakier than he would have liked anyone else--especially Sorin--to hear.

He needed to not make that mistake again. Maybe he...should take Sorin’s offer to take an even closer look at him, if those were the sorts of mistakes his traitorous body was going to start making him commit...

[kinksonyeondan]

Scream My Name

Genre: Smut Pair: Seokjin X Reader Word Count: 1,543

Fuck...just a little more....almost there.....fuck, fuck, FUCK!!!

"Ugh!" You yelled at the top of your lungs, collapsing on the floor after your 3rd set of squats. Your thighs were on fire, sweat droplets dripping onto the floor. Everything went silent, the sound of your heartbeat loudly thumping in your eardrums.

It has been a month since you started your new exercise routine. To be honest, you hated it. You find exercise pointless and a waste of time, but ever since you saw your boyfriend Seokjin with his gorgeous coworker, you became jealous and insecure about your body.

He always told you to not become insecure over such silly things and that he loves you for who you are. Even though you know he endlessly explains that the women he works with are just models who could care less about trying to get at him, but you still get jealous.

You never weighed yourself, because you know you'll get slightly disappointed if you didn't lose weight even after the nonstop exercise routines and awful diets.

"Y/N!"

You jolted, regretting it seconds later when you felt the soreness hit you. You whimpered, not even bother trying to get up. Seokjin walked into the living room, his eyes widening when he saw your limp figure collapsed on the floor. "Oh my God! Y/N!" He ran towards you to check if you were alive. You swat his hand away, "Stop it, I'm not dead."

He exhaled deeply, "Yah! Then why are you on the floor looking like a dead corpse?!" You covered your ears, waiting until he was done with his whole speech. With much difficulty, you sat up and placed your finger on his lips, telling him to shut up.

"I was exercising and I got really sore. And I'm pretty sure my legs are made of jelly right now." You explained, squeezing your thighs. He couldn't help it, grinning at your suggestive comment. That's not the only thing that makes your legs feel like jelly...

"You know.." Seokjin led on, gently pulling your finger away, "I think you should be punished for scaring me like that." He stood up and circled around you, lifting you up abruptly from behind. "Ah!" You yelped, as he forcefully tugged your hips towards his crotch, his gradually growing bulge poking your ass. What's with him?

Even though it was bad timing, he couldn't resist being aroused by your current state. Your black tights hugging the curves of your legs, tight enough to show the lining of your underwear. The way the few drops of sweat dripped into the bridge of your cleavage, which was complemented by the black sports bra that exposed more than normal, his boiling blood rushing through his veins.

You couldn't help but feel turned on by his eagerness, the feeling of his member poking your ass sent tingles to your core. You quivered in anticipation, his fingers grazing your glistening tummy. You huffed, struggling to keep your eyes open.

He nibbled your earlobe, making you weak in the knees, literally. He followed the outline of your flushed ears with his tongue, blowing cold air into your eardrum. "Get ready to scream tonight..." he threatened, sweeping you off your feet, bridal style.

You were secretly hoping he would go rough on you since he only did it on very rare occasions. He pushed the bedroom door open, kicking it behind him. He impatiently launched you on the bed and quickly hovered above you, "Fuck, you're so sexy..." he purred, attacking your lips with his own. The kiss was passionate, breathy moans escaping both of your mouths.

Your fingers entangled in his hickory brown hair, your legs wrapped around his waist, like if they had a mind of its own. His hand groped your breast, following the side of your waist and under your ass, giving it a good smack.

You moaned loudly, giving him the chance to plunge his pink muscle into your mouth, exploring every corner. Your tongues danced together in harmony, like if it was rehearsed over and over. All you could think about was the feeling of his tongue on your core, the way the tip of his tongue would flick your sensitive nub. And his long, pale fingers plunging into you rhythmically, making your juices spill onto the bed sheets.

He got up abruptly, pulling you out your fantasy and making you groan in annoyance. He laughed devilishly, pulling his hoodie and shirt off, exposing his flat, pearl stomach. You couldn't help but reach your arms out to unbuckle his belt, fidgeting with his button and zipper. He chuckled at your desperation, going for the rim of your tights without hesitation and pulling them off swiftly. Before moving his attention to your lower body, he sank his head next to your ear, "Who cares if you don't have a thigh gap and your thighs touch, I'm going to separate them for you anyways babe..."

Those words made you clench around nothing, his soothing, angelic voice whispering one of the most arousing things he's ever said to you. You couldn't wait until he devoured you, leaving your body limp and lifeless, like if he sucked the energy out of you.

He slowly crawled down your body, placing little kisses down your abdomen and dangerously close to your heated core, making you twitch. "Someone is a little eager..." he purred, lightly brushing his index up and down your clit to your core. You arched your back, humping the air for the much-needed attention that only his tongue, fingers, and cock can provide.

Finally giving you what you wanted, he duck his head in between your trembling legs, swirling his tongue around your clit. "Fuck," you mutter, as you felt bursts of ecstasy shoot through your body. You gripped the sheets in your fists, the sight of his head in between your thighs, the feeling of his tongue drawing circles around your delicate nub, sent you to heavenly bliss.

You felt yourself getting dizzy, the walls twisting into a spiral. You felt his tongue put you in a trance, the only thing that would bring you back to your senses is an orgasm. While you were busy in your own ecstasy, he plunged two fingers in your core, making you shriek. "Mmmm, fuck," you growled, your hand grasping a lock of his hair, while the other grabbed your own hair.

You can hear a squeaky sound coming from your core, his fingers easily going in and out. "Scream my name..." he said provocatively, adding another finger. "Seokjin! Fuck!" You screamed, slapping your mouth shut. You felt so brave and willing to take risks with just his touch, one part of you telling you to stay quiet, while another part of you is telling you to squeal so loud that even your neighbors can hear what your boyfriend is doing to you.

You outstretched your fingers, your hands quaking from the pleasure. He swiftly reached for your hands with his own, intertwining his fingers with yours. How can someone be so romantic and cheesy while eating you out?

You felt a ball form in your abdomen, your muffled cries, and moans lodged in your throat, clenching his hands tightly. "Seokjin, Seokjin, Seokjin!" You squealed, releasing in his face. Your heart was pounding against your ribcage, your chest heaving up and down. He licked his lips, cleaning the cum off his face.

Without wasting any time, he removed his pants and boxer briefs, finally freeing his twitching member. He groaned, having to bear the tent in his jeans. He pumped himself a few times, quickly grabbing a condom in the side drawer. He tore the package with his teeth, wrapping his dick with the rubber.

He placed your legs over his shoulders, aligning himself. You bit your lip, "I might scream..." you purred. "You better." He replied, harshly pushing himself inside of you in one go. "Ugh!" You groaned, abiding by your promise.

He knew what he was doing, knowing that the angle would bring immense pleasure to both of you. Still recovering from the explosive orgasm you had, you found it difficult to not cum so early. Impatient and desperate, he went deeper, your knees almost touching your chest."Oh my God, fuck Seokjin..." you squealed, pressing the pillow against your ears.

He couldn't help but kiss your furrowed face, loving the fact that he can make you melt in his touch. Without warning, you came a second time, your fragile figure jerking with every thrust. He gradually became sloppy with his pace, almost reaching his own high.

His low pitched groans vibrated in your ears, waiting for the love of your life to cum inside of you. With one last thrust, he came inside of you, rolling off of you. "Fuck, that was..." "Amazing," you finished his sentence. He removed the cum-filled rubber, throwing it away.

He pulled you in a warm embrace, giving you a tender kiss on your glowing forehead. "Don't you ever be insecure about yourself. I love you for who you are." He said to you, rubbing his temple on your head. You smiled like a little girl, "Okay."

"Or else, I'll fuck you senseless."

[distressedpanda]

Not A Fan! (Tom Hiddleston x OFC) Part 6

Warnings: Language, Slow burn, Younger woman/Older man, Smutty fluff, Extreme Angst

Triggers: Dark past, Hints of past abuse

A/N: I stayed up all night and all day to get this ready to be posted. It was a very difficult chapter to write. It is very Angsty (not a word and I don't care), but I had to have this chapter to move the story in the direction I needed. It is stupidly long!!!!!!! I couldn't find a good place to end it without interrupting the flow. So I am pre-apologizing for pretty much EVERYTHING! But I still hope this is a chapter you will enjoy reading! Hang with me, I promise it will be worth it!!!

P.S. Yes I am a fan of Tom Waits. No I did not steal the song from TWD. I did however decide to use that particular song because it had been adapted by a female vocalist already. Tom Hiddleston is a fan of Tom Waits, so I figured it was easier to imagine the vocals for it.

Tags: @intransittosomewhere

Gets a read more for length(obviously)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Part 6

Freshly changed into not so holey jeans and a baby blue v-neck t-shirt, my hair in a messy bun atop my head, I sat in my shop painting, casting, and finishing molds for the masks I still needed to finish. My phone whistled and I paused grabbing it and grinning at the screen.

This is so boring!!!! I could think of a million things I would rather be doing right now. Chris isn't even talking about the event!

The text from, Thomas, was one of many he had sent since he left me breathless in my apartment. Seemingly needing to stay in contact with me even though we were going to meet again tonight.

I took a selfie, smiling widely, my finished masks in the frame behind my head.

Making great progress here. Nothing boring about this!

I put my phone down, grinning at myself for the double meaning of my message. I could do this. Flirting with someone over a phone was easy. I didn't have to see their reactions, they couldn't see mine. I didn't have to hide, didn't have to think, I could do messaging relationships. Never been good at the face to face aspect needed to hold a healthy, stable relationship. The only time I was able to handle direct interaction, was if I was drinking-obviously, though never to the degree of this morning.

Immediately, my phone whistled back.

Gorgeous, and you are most definitely not boring.

I grinned again, happy he understood the double meaning and ran with it. But before I could come up with a comeback, my phone vibrated again.

Can I tell you something strange?

Sure, I giggled to myself, waiting for his response.

It doesn't come immediately, and as I started painting again, I began to worry he wasn't going to answer. Maybe he brought up something he thought he shouldn't have. Maybe I didn't answer correctly, perhaps I was to flippant, to ignorant of his feelings.

Just before I started to dismember myself-emotionally-my phone whistled again and I released a breath I didn't realize I had been holding.

I miss you

A small smile danced across my lips, and I could understand his hesitation in answering me quickly.

Honesty. . .

Please, he sent back instantly.

I miss you too

Mmmm

I chuckled at the simple response and continued painting.

When I started dozing off and getting dangerously close to screwing up the piece I was working on, I searched my phone for the time. I had been on it several times, harmlessly flirting with Thomas, but I hadn't looked at the time not once.

6:32

Jesus, I had been working for ten hours straight. The sudden pang of hunger confirmed that I had gotten lost in my work and the scintillating conversation. I cleaned up and returned my apron to its hook, dawning on my coat and locking up the shop. Checking my phone on the way up to my apartment, there were no new messages from Thomas and we hadn't spoken about whether we were doing dinner again or not. But when my stomach audibly growled, I decided I couldn't wait that long even if we were eating later.

I opened up my apartment, escaping the cold and hanging my coat. I made my way over to the fridge and rummaged around, finding the ingredients for a simple salad, I quickly prepared the meal. And sat at the bar to eat.

Deciding to determine whether I needed to be cooking or not, I sent him a quick message.

Think you are gonna be later than dinner?

I chewed on a mouthful of lettuce as I waited for a response, humming to myself absentmindedly, when my phone whistled.

It's going to be late, just got Chris on topic about an hour ago. Probably won't make it for dinner so don't worry about me, I will grab something before I come tonight.

I snorted at the innuendo, my mind quickly falling into the gutter. Well that had answered my question though I was slightly disappointed.

Have fun, I sent back.

I finished my meal quickly, leaving my phone on the bar and placing my dishes in the dishwasher. I changed into a long light gray sleep shirt that ended at mid-thigh and some skimpy sleep shorts that were patterned with different shades of pink elephants on a swirling green background. I could barely tell I had shorts on under the top, but at this point I didn't care. I could always change before Thomas arrived. My mind wandered as I pulled my hair free from its messy bun and braided it loosely over my left shoulder. What was I gonna do to occupy myself for however long it took for Thomas to arrive?

“I could do some research,” I thought aloud, and went to retrieve my laptop from the top of my dresser. Making my way over to the couch I sat down and snuggled into the plush cushions. I opened the laptop and pulled up my search engine typing in: Thomas Hiddleston, and hit enter.

I clicked on the first link that wasn't Wikipedia, and suddenly felt guilty as an IMDB profile loaded. Was I going to far by researching this man? Was this an invasion of privacy? He seemed very intent on keeping his dating world out of the limelight or so he had said. If he was in fact a private person there could be things on here he would rather tell me himself.

Deciding against this side of the research, I quickly closed the window and opened a new one. This time I typed in: Loki Thomas Hiddleston. The top of the page read, Showing results for Loki Tom Hiddleston, and I giggled at myself. I had honestly forgotten that he had introduced himself as Tom and not Thomas. Probably another aspect of that privacy he values, I thought. I skimmed the articles opening only those pertaining to the character and the mask I would need to fashion for him.

I did stumble across the fact that his main residence was in Belize Park, in London, England. I guess that explains why he was flying in.

My eyes grew heavy again, and I fought to read the articles about this man I didn't know and come up with ideas that suited the character.

A soft pressure and tickle on my nose had me crinkling it and balling on my side into the couch cushions. Suddenly, my eyes snapped open as my sleep addled brain registered the depression of the cushion next to me. I whipped my head around and was enveloped by an all to familiar and breathtaking mega watt smile.

“Hello, sleepy head,” Thomas whispered, as he lent over me. He had one arm on the back of the couch and the other on the arm, holding himself mere inches from my body and face.

I took a shallow and shaky breath, “Umm, hi,” I cleared my throat and wriggled myself deeper into the cushions again, trying to regain the ability to breath properly. “How did you get in?” I asked breathlessly.

He chuckled and shook his head, “Your door was unlocked, which I truly hope isn't a habit of yours. I tried texting, I even called when I got here and you wouldn't answer the door. I simply decided to try my luck. . .” something seemed to register behind his eyes, and quickly he sat back on his knees. Running the hand that had been on the arm through his hair to rub at the back of his neck, he seemed embarrassed, pink tinging his cheeks and the tops of his ears. “I hope. . .” he cleared his throat and looked away at the floor, “I hope I didn't over step my boundaries.”

I sat up against the arm of the couch, pulling my legs underneath me. I shook my head at him slowly, “No, i-it's alright. It just startled me is all.”

“It was never my intention to frighten you, or cause you discomfort. I just had to see you,” he said sounding ashamed and he still wouldn't look at me.

I reached out, gingerly placing my hand on his cheek and turned his head toward me. I ducked my head forcing him to look me in the eye, “Honestly, I am fine. It's not the worst way I have been woken up, by far,” I admitted, and tried desperately to squash the memories as my eyes involuntarily tried to water.

He watched my face as I spoke, and seemed to breath slightly easier as he covered my hand with his own, “God, I missed you,” he breathed, and I shivered.

“I missed you too,” I admitted, and he lent forward and pressed his lips to mine. Gently, there was no rush in the kiss, no scramble for captured moments. It was chaste and sweet and ended quickly, leaving us both panting. For though it had not been hot, it was still laced with every bit of passion that had been formed between us.

I bit my bottom lip and looked away, withdrawing my hand from his cheek and hold. I turned allowing my legs to drape over the couch and noticed my laptop on the floor, screen gone black. I picked it up and closing it, sat it on the coffee table. I stood up and walked around the couch, I could feel his eyes on me as he watched me silently. When I reached the bar I noticed a black bag sitting there, and looked from it to him. He was now facing me still seated on the couch and his eyes showed a heat that made my own rise from my core.

I shook myself and gestured to the bag with an open hand, “So what do you have planned for tonight?”

He stood, stroking a thoughtful hand through his beard, “I thought we could talk.” He moved to stand across from me at the bar, placing his hands on the top and leaning into them. I noticed his blazer missing and looked over my shoulder to see it hanging next to my pea-coat, oddly the picture looked and felt right to me. My eyes were drawn back to him as he continued to speak, “I figured we haven't done enough of that yet,” he chuckled, “And of course, any serious conversation is always aided by the proper libations.”

That explained the bag, and I couldn't hide the blush that crept into my cheeks. I cursed myself for having tied my hair back, when I knew he would be around. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me, and I voiced it even as I turned to have it answered, “What time is it anyway?”

The clock on the microwave read, 11:53. He wasn't kidding about it being late, “I know I said I would be late. I didn't really plan to be quite this late though. If I need to, I could leave and we could reschedule. . .” he trailed off, looking down and licking his bottom lip and capturing his tongue between his teeth. He shook his head before adding, “I have gone mad,” under his breath.

I giggled and shook my head at him as his eyes returned to mine, the fire in them had died back but I could still see the flickering in his ocean blues, “If you are mad then so am I, because I don't want you to leave,” He smiled, and I felt my heart skip a few beats before it returned to a regular rhythm only accelerated. “Besides, I unexpectedly got a good nap in. I would probably be up all night anyway. You could consider it a civil service. You are providing me company, for what would otherwise be a very long and boring night.”

His smile turned into a devilish grin, “I could certainly meet that request.” His eyes blazed and darkened, and I fought to control my breathing and my heart, my legs trembling. He reached over to the insulated bag without taking his eyes off mine. I flicked my eyes to his hands as they withdrew a bottle of Merlot and a bottle of Jameson, both unopened and chilled. I chuckled at the sight, and turned to the cabinets behind me, reaching up to the top shelf, I grabbed a wine glass and a tumbler. I heard him moan low in his throat and blushed severely, as I settled back onto my heels. I had completely forgotten about my clothing or lack there of, and whipped around to face him, hoping I hadn't caused a repeat of this morning. He had remained at his place at the bar but had lent forward on his elbows, knuckle tucked neatly under his chin, and his eyes scanned my body, making my body shiver and sending sparks to the fire steadily growing in my core.

“Loving the wardrobe choice,” he drawled thickly.

I ducked my head and brought over the glasses, “Well, if you expect me to stay in this and be able to actually speak to you,” I set the glasses down in front of him and daringly looked up at him through my lashes, “I am definitely going to need some of that libation you were offering.”

He chuckled, pouring a generous amount of wine in my glass before pouring two fingers in his tumbler. He picked up the wine glass and swirled its contents lightly around the inside before offering it to me, “You plan on getting drunk again?” He playfully asked, as I took the offered glass from him.

I took a sip of the dark liquid, relishing the rich biting taste as it ran across my tongue, he watched me curiously waiting for me to answer, “Only if I need to be,” I answered honestly. There was a whole lot about me that did bring up bad memories, and I was definitely going to need the liquid courage to get through it. Of course I had no idea what he would even want to know so . . .

“I guess that depends on what you would like to know,” I clarified, when my answer was accompanied by stunned silence and his furrowed brow. I slowly made my way around the bar, returning to the couch. I sat down curling my legs in underneath me, and patted the cushion next to me, “We will probably be more comfortable over here.”

He smiled, and licked his bottom lip as he sauntered over to sit next to me, glass in hand. Laying a leg over the couch, he leaned with one arm across the back so that he was facing me. He cleared his throat, lifting the glass at me, “So tell me about yourself,” he said, as he took a small sip of the amber liquid.

I looked down, and began fidgeting with the bottom of my glass, “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” he admitted, sounding completely sincere, as he grinned and sipped from the glass steadily, “But how about we start with something easy. Where were you born, where did you grow up if they were different?”

“That is easy, I was born and raised in Columbus, Georgia.” This might not be so bad if we stuck to generalized questions like this.

It continued on like this for about an hour. He told me about his childhood, his sisters, his mother and father. He told me about his education, how he had gotten started in the acting business. He even admitted to still maintaining a permanent residence in London. My answers came slower, I talked about my mother, her teaching career. She was a Theatre professor, and that is how I had gotten interested in mask making and special effects. My rudimentary education, which led up to college in New York and the discovery of my shop and subsequent purchase. He danced around questions of my brother and I answered as best as I could without getting dragged under-refilling my glass about halfway through.

“He was six years older than me. He read me comic books because he wanted to help mom as much as he could with my care. He played dolls with me, and I played cars with him. He was my protector and confidant, and I know my world became a lot darker without him in it.” I had started opening up without being completely conscious of it, and the words were just pouring out of me now, “He joined the Marines when he graduated from High School. He always made it a point to keep in touch with me, tried to make sure I didn't feel like he had abandoned me. I told him over and over that I understood, and I did. I knew that serving his country had always been very important to him. And he was a good soldier, that was his calling. He was in on leave, when he went for a drive with my dad and. . .” my breath hitched in my throat, my bottom lip trembling, and I could feel the silent tears streaming down my cheeks. I wasn't entirely sure when they had started.

Thomas had been listening in rapt silence, but when I had mentioned him-my dad-his eyes went wide. I could see him putting pieces together in his head, and as he reached for my cheek, I quickly turned my head away. I didn't want to cry anymore, not because of him. I quickly brushed the tears from my cheeks and downed the rest of my second glass before placing it on the coffee table.

“I loved him, dearly,” I added under my breath, and he reached for me again placing his hand gently on my shoulder, setting his own glass on the table next to mine. He made no move to draw me in, and he didn't say anything. His touch seemed to center me and I cleared my throat, “The rest is probably a story for another time.”

I gave him a small sad smile, and he returned a comforting smile, “I can tell he was dear to you. As far as the rest, I am willing to hear only what you are able to tell me. I will not pressure you, ever.”

My smile was still small but turned into something more akin to solace, “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice breaking. I cleared my throat, and added softly, “Can we change the subject, please?”

“Of course,” he moved his hand from my shoulder to brush across my hair. He withdrew his hand placing it lazily across his lap, and shook his head, “I have an odd, off the wall, almost comical question, if you would allow it?” I grinned slightly and nodded my head snuggling back into the cushions. I lent my head against the back of the couch and watched him nervously rub his hand through his hair, “Alright, I have to ask,” he brought his hand in a sweeping motion from the back of his head and extend his pointer finger toward the television, “Why do you have a television, if you don't watch movies?” His brow furrowing in inquisition.

I laughed, in genuine belly rolling amusement. I was laughing so hard, tears ran down my cheeks again. His eyebrows practically met in the middle as he watched me. His own lips curving into a smile of there own. I wiped my eyes, reigning in the fit, “Wow, I needed that,” I looked up into those deep ocean blues, feeling my mood lift even more, “It's for music. I sing.”

His brows reached his hairline then and his mega watt smile shinned brightly at me, “Really?”

I nodded, giggling, “Yes, really. I don't know if I am any good or anything. My mom and brother always said I had an ear for it, so I started one day and just never stopped.”

Licking his lips he breathed in on a hiss, “I would love to hear you one day,” he admitted, his eyes darkening. Heat bloomed from my core and I prayed it didn't show on my face.

“Mmmm,” I tapped a finger against my chin coming to a decision, “What is your favorite song?”

He snorted, “There are far too many. I love music,” he admitted.

I nodded and stood, walking over to the TV. I bent over and pulled a fabric binder from beneath the DVD player. I came back over and dropped it unceremoniously in his lap. He let out a loud huff, “Pick something,” I crossed my arms across my chest and grinned, standing in front of him and cocking my hip to the side.

He opened the binder, and started flipping through the pages his eyes scanning the discs, “You can sing all of these?”

I scoffed at him, “All I have to do is change the octave. Technically, I can sing any song you want, as long as I know the words.”

He chuckled, “I suppose that is true. Not that I doubt you,” he continued flipping through the pages, and then smiled up at me, “You just seem to have quite an eclectic taste, much like myself.”

I rolled my eyes and giggled, “Just pick something.”

He flipped a few more pages over before he turned a devilish grin to me. He pulled a CD from the sleeve and handed it to me, “This one, number four,” he dared me with his eyes.

I took the disk and scanned to number four and grinned widely turning to put it in the player, “You could have chosen something more difficult. I know this one by heart.”

I heard him chuckle behind me as I placed the disc in the player and turned on the TV. I switched to the song he had chosen and smiled sweetly, as the somber guitar intro played. I turned to him and closed my eyes, letting the music flow through me and out of my lips.

They hung a sign up in our town "If you live it up, you won't live it down" So she left Monte Rio, son Just like a bullet leaves a gun With her charcoal eyes and Monroe hips She went and took that California trip Oh, the moon was gold, her hair like wind Said, "don't look back, just come on, Jim"

Oh, you got to hold on, hold on You gotta hold on Take my hand, I'm standing right here, you gotta hold on

I opened my eyes to look at Thomas, he was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. His lips were slightly parted, and eyes were fixed on my face. I smiled and continued.

Well, he gave her a dime store watch And a ring made from a spoon Everyone's looking for someone to blame When you share my bed, you share my name Well, go ahead and call the cops You don't meet nice girls in coffee shops She said, "baby, I still love you" Sometimes there's nothin' left to do

Oh, but you got to hold on, hold on Babe, you gotta hold on and take my hand I'm standing right here, you gotta hold on

I closed my eyes again and began to sway, as the lyrics would call for, slowly side to side letting my hands swing gracefully back and forth.

Down by the Riverside motel It's ten below and falling By a ninety-nine cent store She closed her eyes and started swaying But it's so hard to dance that way When it's cold and there's no music Oh, your old hometown's so far away But inside your head there's a record that's playing

I opened my eyes again, and he stood up moving to stand in front of me, as I continued with part of the chorus.

A song called "Hold On", hold on Babe, you gotta hold on Take my hand, I'm standing right there, you gotta hold on

He reached out wrapping an arm around my waist and halting my movements. He placed his other hand against my cheek, and I faltered. My knees knocking together, as I trembled in his grasp. His eyes blazed blue, “That was. . .” he started but then seemed at a lose for words.

I giggled, placing my hands on his chest and listening to the song end. I turned my face into his palm to place a kiss there, “What was it, Thomas?”

He shook his head and closed his eyes, “I didn't know, Tom Waits, could be sung like that,” he answered, then slowly opened his eyes. His eyes were almost black, his pupils blown, “You have the voice of an angel.”

I blushed and shoved lightly against his chest, “It wasn't all that, you just picked one of my favorites.”

He tightened his arm around my waist, pulling me more firmly against his body and ran his thumb slowly across my cheek bone, “Trust me,” his voice became low and sent shivers through my body, pouring gasoline on the fire at my core, “It was all that and more.”

My skin was on fire, especially where he was touching me. I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think and when he lent down to press his lips against mine, I let myself get lost. Slipping my hands up his chest to thread my fingers through his hair, I pushed up onto my toes deepening the kiss. His tongue found mine and I moaned, pulling lightly on his hair, causing his own moan to vibrate into my mouth and rumble down my body. He tasted like whiskey, and smelled like an intoxicating mixture of alcohol and cologne and man. A scent that couldn't be identified as anything other than him.

He pulled away, my hands loosening from his hair and sliding down to his shoulders. He was panting heavily, my own breathe stuttering from my lungs. He looked over my face, running his hand over my hair and settling his hand at the nape of my neck. He cleared his throat, and seemed to regain a little control over himself, his eyes returning to there calm ocean blue, “Well, I suppose that should be all the proof you need.” I quirked my eyebrow at him, opening my mouth to ask for clarification, but he cut me off before I could voice my question, “It was definitely all that.”

I giggled and tucked my chin down, my forehead resting against his chest, “Rose colored glasses,” I breathed.

He chuckled, “Perhaps.”

I lent back in his grasp, reaching to turn off the TV and DVD player. He lent with me, refusing to release his hold on me. I looked back up at his wonderfully angular face, “So what do you want to know next?”

He shook his head, grinning widely and capturing his tongue between his teeth, “I already told you. I want to know everything.”

I turned my face away from him. Lost in thought, I pushed away from him causing his arms to slip from me. He reached to catch my hands in his, before I could turn away. I looked up at him, my face dropping as I got lost in how much I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him everything but I couldn't help but fear how much of my story I could reveal before he ran from me.

“I want to tell you, Thomas. Please, believe that I do,” I shook my head and pulled against his grasp, not trying to free myself, but I wasn't sure what I was trying to accomplish instead. “I'm just. . . I just. . .” I couldn't find the right words, my brain firing off too many explanations at once, but none of them seemed adequate.

He pulled me with him, backing toward the couch again. He sat down and pulled me to sit at his side, still holding my hands, he cleared his throat drawing my eyes to his, “You are frightened, I can see it in your eyes,” I nodded, even though he needed no conformation, “ I won't pressure you, Alyse. So let us go back to the simple questions again, like. . .” he drew the word out on a thought and scrunched up his nose, running his thumbs across the backs of my hands, causing my mind to ease at the adorable expression. “Oh, what's your favorite color?”

I smiled, “That I can answer. My favorite color is blue, but like cobalt blue. It's so peaceful and calming,” I blushed, and tucked my chin to my chest, “At least it is for me,” I mumbled.

He finally released my hands and placed the side of his finger under my chin, lifting my face to look at him again, “I couldn't agree more,” he smiled widely, adding, “Mine are red and blue as well.”

We stuck to favorites for a while, and I relaxed into the numbing effects of the wine. He brought up his home again, mentioning its beauty and how much he enjoyed living there. This caused a sobering thought.

“When do you go back?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

This seemed to bring him up short, and leave him at a lose for words. He rubbed nervously at his beard, “I was supposed to leave today, actually.” He didn't look up at me, and I could tell he had trouble admitting that he had planned on leaving today. “I rescheduled my flight, so I could meet with Chris.”

“Which you had to reschedule because of me?” He nodded, but still wouldn't look up at me. He lent his elbows onto his knees, clasping his hands in front of him, he was turned away from me. His form becoming rigid, and causing my mind and heart to race.

“When?” I breathed, leaning closer to him and laying my hands helplessly in my lap.

He shook his head and chuckled dryly, and I saw him capture his tongue between his teeth before he turned his head to me, “Honesty?”

I lent in, placing my forehead against his shoulder. I was suddenly fiercely afraid of his answer, but I knew I needed to hear it, “Please,” I breathed against his arm and I could feel him tremble.

He cleared his throat and laid a hand gently on my knee, “I don't want to leave,” he admitted.

I snapped my head up, my breath catching in my throat, “But you have work, don't you?” He nodded his head, closing his eyes briefly. He looked back at me with trapped eyes and seemed to be struggling for a response. When he parted his lips, I quickly placed my finger over his lips, the tickle from his beard on my skin causing a delicious shiver, “I will not be the reason you postpone work. I understand how important doing something you are passionate about, truly is. You can't give up any part of your life for me. I won't let you.”

He looked stunned, and I slowly withdrew my finger from his lips. He took a steadying breath that mirrored my own, “You really are different from anyone I have ever met.” He sounded wonder struck.

I blushed, but tried to keep my eyes on him, “I told you that already.”

He chuckled, and shaking his head he placed his hand on my cheek. I nuzzled into his touch and closed my eyes, “You did,” he rubbed his thumb across my cheek bone and I released a small sigh between parted lips. “I really don't want to leave now.”

I looked up at him and saw him leaning in, lust darkening his eyes. I threw my hands up, one landing on his chest, the other on his shoulder, “You are trying to distract me, and it won't work. When is your flight rescheduled for?”

He heaved a long sigh, and glanced behind him to the clock on my microwave. He looked back, and laced his fingers into my braid, pulling me closer. He brushed my lips, and I almost pulled back again until he answered, “I have time.” He captured my lips, and I melted into him, his tongue pushing past my lips to find my own. Conscious thought left me completely and as he slipped his other arm around my waist pulling me closer, my arms slid up to wrap around the back of his neck. He pulled me and I squeaked into his mouth when I ended up sitting across his lap.

He chuckled darkly, at the noise. I lent away trying to catch my breath, his hands falling to land one on my hip and the other at the small of my back, “We really do lose control behind closed doors,” I whispered.

He nodded and chuckled again, “We do,” he stated simply.

I cleared my throat and moved to straddle him, my hands resting on his shoulders, sitting draped across his lap becoming uncomfortable. He repositioned the hand that was on my back to land on my other hip, “You never answered my question,” I chastised.

He shook his head at me, “I do not want to answer it.”

“Isn't that lying?” I asked, quirking an accusatory eyebrow at him.

“No,” he stated, sounding incredulous, “It is an omittance,” he grinned devilishly at me and I rolled my eyes. “Besides, if I tell you the truth you may make me leave,” he added, pouting his bottom lip and giving me the sweetest set of puppy dog eyes I had ever encountered.

I lent forward and daringly nibbled on that bottom lip, sucking it between my lips. He groaned, his fingers digging into my hips, when I released it, “That soon, huh?”

He shook his head and swallowed thickly, his eyes gluing themselves to my lips, “No, but I won't get much sleep, if any, before it.”

I cocked my head to the side, “Why would I make you leave because of that? I have a perfectly good bed over there,” I waved my hand across the room behind him.

His cheeks lit up with a pink glow, “I am not sure that is a good idea.”

Emboldened-and I knew this time it was the alcohol-I ghosted my lips across his, “Why?” He groaned and dug his fingers into my hips even harder, to the point of pain. I moaned lowly savoring the heat that flooded through me, at the sensation.

He breathed, heavily against my lips, “I know I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you. I can't do that here. In a bed. . .” He left the answer open ended, but I knew where he was heading.

I lifted my lips away from his, giving him a break, “I wouldn't mind you hands on me.”

He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the couch and a guttural moan escaped his throat, “You are going to be the death of me.”

Sitting up and nuzzling my face into his neck, I placed small kisses up to his ear. Whispering straight into it, “Is that a bad thing, Thomas?”

“Alyse,” he moaned my name, and I took it as a challenge. I nibbled at his ear lobe, a soft grunt escaped his lips and he pushed me back by my hips, “I do not want to do that to you. I refuse to objectify you, or treat you as though I do not care.”

My eyes snapped to his, and I could tell this was hard for him. But the growing fire in my belly couldn't be extinguished, not even by those oceans.

“We don't have to go that far,” my voice was low and sultry and I didn't dare change it, as I watched his slowly turn into blue rimmed coals. I traced my hands down to his chest and rubbed back up to his shoulders again, his skin trembling beneath my hands, “I don't think I want that either,” I admitted. “But I want you. In a way I have never wanted anyone before,” I was trying to explain myself and felt like I was failing.

He chuckled and shook his head, “Are you asking me to make-out with you?” I nodded, biting my bottom lip, “In your bed?” I looked down and nodded again. “And you aren't expecting more?” I shook my head vigorously, causing myself to become slightly dizzy. He slid his hands up my back, and I let myself be pulled against his chest. He slid a hand into my already messy braid, and tugged lightly so I was looking at him again, “If it becomes to much for either us we stop, yes?”

His grip on my hair prevented me from nodding in reply, so I released a breathless, “Yes.”

He growled and rolled his hips, I gasped feeling his growing erection rub against my inner thigh. “Harmless touching, nothing more, yes?” He ground out between clinched teeth. I couldn't stop the whine that escaped my parted lips, and he yanked slightly on my hair, causing just enough pain to make me gasp and tremble in pleasure. I could feel my panties becoming wet, as my juices started to flow. “Yes?” he reasserted.

“Yes,” I cried, giving over completely to his domination.

He lent forward, cocking my head to the side by my hair. He ran his warm, wet tongue from my collarbone up to my ear lobe, and I couldn't breathe, “Good girl,” he purred, I gasped trying to find air, my panties becoming soaked.

Swiftly he stood, latching his hands around my thighs. I yelped and threw my arms around his neck and hooked my heels behind his back. He chuckled as he walked around the couch toward my bed, kicking his shoes off as he went. My heart kicked into over drive. All kinds of questions racing through my mind. Was I really going to do this? Was I going to have a make-out, possible heavy petting session like some horny teenager? Were we moving to fast?

A resounding Yes filtered through my head, and as he lowered me gently onto the bed and hovered carefully over my body resting on his elbows, and nestling firmly between my trembling legs. I found I didn't care. Not about the questions, not about how fast we were moving. Everything felt right, and as he leaned in to capture my lips with a fire of his own, I felt safe and wanted. I let go of everything holding me back, all the niggling memories from past relationships. Where they learned my story and ran. Where they learned that I was broken and left. Where they found I could get lost in my past and called me crazy. Where they found I could cry at the drop of a pin and offered no comfort.

One of his hands moved from the bed to trail down my side, over my hip and came to rest just beneath my ass cheek. My heart fluttered and I moaned into his mouth when he squeezed, kneading my flesh with his fingers. I moved my hands to the sides of his face, pulling him harder into my mouth as our tongues fought for dominance. He growled and rolled us so we were laying on our sides, never breaking the kiss, he let that hand trail up my side again and brushed the side of my breast with his thumb causing me to mewl into his open mouth and arch into his hard body.

He chuckled darkly, breaking away from my lips to trail kisses down my neck, nipping at the sensitive flesh above my collarbone. I gasped and moaned, rolling my hips into his, desperately seeking release from the heat growing between my legs. He let his hands flow all across my body, rubbing up and down my back and across my stomach while continuing his assault on my neck with his mouth. Seeming to need to be in contact with all of me, and yet hesitating to touch anywhere that could be covered by a swim suit. I pleaded with him, “More,” But I wasn't sure what I wanted more of, and he growled nipping at my neck.

I moaned and keened under his touch, completely forgetting what to do with my own hands. I caught up when his mouth found mine again, his fingers dancing playfully across my collarbone and teasingly grazing the tops of my breasts. I tangled one hand in his soft curls, pressing him more firmly against my mouth, while the other brushed across his toned back and down his side. I curled my fingers into the hard flesh just above his waist band, earning an appreciative moan that I returned with a mewl. I let my finger nails drag up his stomach to his chest, unknowingly pulling the fabric of his t-shirt with me.

When my hand reached his collarbone, he rolled me onto my back again. He broke away suddenly and I could see what I had done to his shirt. He quickly stripped it off over his head, tossing it carelessly away, and latched back on to my neck. I grasped, and moaned running my fingernails down his bare back. He growled into my throat and began pawing at my shirt.

Fair is fair, right.

If I kept my back against the bed, I could remain comfortable shirtless. So I lifted my ass off the bed to aid him and ended up grinding my warm wet lips against his erection. He groaned loudly throwing his head back. I finished removing my shirt and tossed it to the floor. When his eyes came back to me, he sucked a sharp, hissing breath in through his teeth, “You are killing me,” he breathed, and didn't sound upset about it at all.

I giggled at him and laid my arms above my head, causing my breasts to swell and spill slightly over the top of my bra. I was still wearing the set he had bought for me, “You bought it,” I teased, my voice low and seductive, “It's your own fault.”

He groaned as if in pain, his eyes trailing from my face, down over the swell of my ample chest, across my bare stomach and back up again, “How?” He begged.

I frowned, bringing my arms down and suddenly feeling very self conscious, “How what?” My voice trembling, despite my best efforts.

“How am I supposed to resist you?”

I smiled, bringing my hands up to the sides of his face. He closed his eyes at my touch, and buried his face into my hands, his beard tickling my palms, “Don't,” I whispered and pulled him down to my lips, pushing my tongue into his mouth and swirling it around his, as he moaned.

All to soon, my eyes started growing heavy. The fire between my legs becoming smothered, under the haze of sleep. My movements becoming sluggish and lazy, I sighed happily. His hands roaming up my sides, mine clawing at his back. Fighting the tendrils of sleep threatening to close my eyes for sleep, instead of pleasure. He grouped gently at the under sides of my breasts and I arched my back into his ministrations, his lips never far from mine. His movements started slowing as well, his kisses turning short, losing some of the heat and becoming sweet.

He sighed, pulling away to lean his forehead against mine, “You are tired,” it wasn't a question and I whined at the statement.

I fought to answer, but found my tongue thick and my mind bleary with the edges of sleep, “I don't want you to leave,” I mumbled

He chuckled lightly, running his hands up and down my sides. His thumbs drawing circles, that had m body trembling, and arching into him again. “I can stay. But you need sleep,” he groaned in response, “I need sleep.” I whined again, but was physically unable to resist, when he lifted me up from the bed to nestle my head gently against the pillows. He pulled the covers over us, and my mind surfaced long enough to make sure my back wasn't visible to him. I curled into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around my waist pulling me close and nuzzling his face into the top of my hair, inhaling deeply he sighed, “Sleep, little one.”

I closed my eyes and was almost out when I asked, “What time do you have to be at the airport?"

He grumbled, “Noon,” and the vibrations from his chest against my cheek, pulled me even closer to that edge.

I fought it needing to tell him, “Wake me before you leave,” not knowing if he understood the request, as sleep captured me and pulled me into its comforting embrace.