#my brother in christ i really did just set myself up for part 3 huh

[valaruakars]

Horny for Revenge (Part 2)

Viktor x f!Reader || 5.1k || NSFW

You’re fucking Heimerdinger’s assistant. He can’t resist fucking with you sometimes, when you’re least expecting it. But for once, he picked the wrong morning to underestimate you.

shoutout to @studyincontrasts for revealing my ultimate kink: being called pretty 🥺 credit where credit is due for THAT bit, you’ll know it when you see it. 

warnings: little more thigh fuckery, biting, unsafe PIV, semi-public sex, it’s just all p0rn okay

[Part 1]

To your credit, you tried to let it go. Made a commendable effort; terribly valiant of you, for once. You really put your back into it—only to end up on it instead, but that’s a story for later. We’ll get there.

Left struck and sodden in his mind-numbing wake, you had options. Direct action. Immediate gratification. More of that bitter taste of his tongue. There were many paths at that crossroads that could’ve led to those things—very few wise or reasonable. You could see down one that might have led you to follow after him; to become the devil at his shoulder whispering of filth and spiteful promises, perhaps punishment to be redeemed later. Another that might’ve seen you laid low and simply begging for him to finish what was started—at his earliest convenience, please, please. And the worst: one that had you dragging him by the fistful into the nearest single-occupant bathroom; to have him quick and literally dirty. Gross.

And yet…?

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

You flushed that idea down the proverbial toilet. Smoothed yourself out, clothes then hair, with a good few stinging slaps to your cheeks for clarity's sake. Fumbled for something, anything else to feel and settled on the ease of anger. Almost as easy as want. Indignation, that righteous, driving feeling, was the only illuminating thing that guided you back to the path you’d started on this morning. The shrewd path; the studious path. You waddled down it dutifully, wishing desperately for a change of underwear.

It led you first in your flush-faced fury to the hold counter. Saw you snatching up your books in a rush, quite sure by the crinkle of his nose that the ancient clerk could scent the reek of depravity clinging to your skin. Breaker of silence, defiler of books—he knew it was you. Knew what you’d done. Probably—no, definitely—shushed you himself. Oh no, you thought, looking down at the scribbled reserve ticket on top. He knew your name too. You clutched your books as if they could keep you afloat in an ocean of shame, and ever polite, fumbled out a thank you.

Wholly embarrassed, you fled deep into the bowels of the library to find sanctuary at a study carrel, one you liked to haunt in the engineering stacks. To focus, focus, focus on the work you came here to do. Threw yourself into it with enough clumsy violence to smash your knee against the desk, rushing to settle in. Books? Open. Notebook? Out. Thighs? Clenched. You were determined in your budding wrath; it flourished beneath your skin, marrow deep. Would it not be so deliciously spiteful to just forget about him? To be utterly unaffected? You thought so. In the beginning, you really did.

You, haughty and hotly optimistic to start, waded through six pages. A meager six before you stumbled bodily, shoved off course by none other than his hands. Long and lithe, that phantom touch; you leaned into it reflexively. You felt it ghost through your hair, pulling sweetly; on your knee, sliding up and under. Closed your eyes and felt it viscerally at the sodden cleft of you, palming that sickly heat between your thighs, through your panties. Oh, fuck. And that was certainly what you’d say, the moment he would slip them aside and touch you properly.

The squeaky wheel of a book cart brought you back as it passed your desk—from behind, blessedly, so that you were spared the ordeal of being caught practically drooling into your hand. Probably just looked like you were sleeping. Having a raunchy dream, at worst. Happens to everyone, right?

Sure.

Shit—focus!

And you did, somehow. Reason unclear, but you managed for two agonizing hours hunched over that desk, grinding a poor pen between your molars. You coaxed your rotten, useless brain through sixty eight dry and clinical pages until it broke you. Or, well, he broke you.

Because in the end, you couldn’t let it go.

Not when your mind finally, fatally wandered. Not when you started hearing the soft lilt of his accent in the words on aptly numbered page sixty nine. It gave way quickly, spiraled uncontrollably into the recollection of his filthy whispers: ‘Good girl, very nice, louder for me, lyubov.’ You thought of him, his voice cracking, panting, moaning into your ear. Into your mouth, sometimes, when he would cum and breathe that pleasure into you, messy and broken. You were doomed, when you thought of him sloppy. Absolutely finished.

You clapped that godsforsaken book shut. Well and truly thought: fuck it. And put your conniving little brain to work properly this time, wrathful and needy.

You were blessed with a scheming mind, an aptitude for getting what you want. Forceful, focused, really fucking horny; you wanted Viktor. And you read the solution easily on the dial of your pocket watch as you fished it out and checked the time. Natural as breathing, you thought of something truly terrible. And worse, you thought to execute it.

Revenge in thirty minutes or less.

You were packing up in a blind rush before you could sabotage your own brilliance; before you thought too long and hard into all the ways it could go wrong and the consequences therein. Too many variables—ignore, ignore—shove book into bag, harder and it will fit. Or not. You huffed rather dramatically; abandoned it and bolted, more pressing matters to attend. One less thing to weigh you down. A price you could pay.

9:29AM

You took off out of the library, down the marbled hallways. A sprint where nobody could see you, a fairly suspect power-walk where they might. Turning familiar corners, passing familiar doors, you tried not to choke on that breathless rush tightening your lungs. Giddiness. Anticipation. Light cardio—yikes. Your heart beat hard and fast against your sternum; your mouth was going dry from the frenzy of it all.  

You saw fit to duck into a bathroom—just a little detour. Rinsed your mouth. Fluffed your hair. Gave yourself a long, hard look in that mirror and hissed to the deranged creature staring back at you: ‘don’t fuck it up.’ It would be a toss up, naturally. Seduction was the knife you fumbled for blindly and held with a limp wrist. But, oh, did he seem eager to press himself to your blade. Dick first, the psycho. You really liked him.

Liked him enough that in a final stroke of obscene genius, you decided to make it so blissfully easy. He should thank you, really. But if he didn’t, you quite liked the sensation anyway; it felt like such a delightful, dirty secret. That you weren’t wearing panties anymore, having slid them off over your ankles and shoved them deep into your bag. Along with your bra, which was pointedly no secret at all.

Your watch bade you hurry along, and for once, you listened. Checked it, dropped it in your pocket and fled what could be considered your second? third? crime scene of the day. Crimes of passion, thank you.

9:35AM

You stormed up to the threshold like a wild-eyed tempest; took a deep, grounding breath as if it could temper the thrill. You felt a little insane, and for this, maybe you were. Needy thing, you pushed through that great, looming door before you could even think to worry that it might be locked. But why would it have been?

Professor Heimerdinger never locked it when Viktor was inside.

Yes, you really were that stupid. Stupidly, helplessly infatuated, you thought indignantly, since you refused to be faulted entirely for falling prey to him. In fact, this was all his fault for choosing to fuck and fuck with someone so lacking in restraint. Yes. Perfect logic.

You slipped quietly inside to find him right there. Stationed at your left, shelving books in the grand, vaulted space of the Dean’s office. It suited him to stand beneath that starry, painted sky. No cane. Neat and tidy. Alone, but you had to be sure.

You loved your field, but his expressions made more of an intriguing study. He hid them poorly; lacked control and you could learn of them easily.

That initial spark of surprise in shades of wide-eyed amber when he first caught sight of you, the suggestion of a smile on his fine mouth, it faded to something sharper. You could see the gears turning as he shelved the book in hand and did not reach for another. Calm, cool, and professional in the hard set of his jaw, a man diligently at work, but his eyes swam with something more. Always the eyes. Heady, dark and wanting; you read your fortune in their churning depths and divined that he would not refuse you. Could not refuse you, perhaps, because it was almost like you could smell him. And he reeked of desperation too.

Holy shit, you thought with such delight. You were going to make him behave so unprofessionally.

You bit back a wicked smile, saved it for later, and asked with such deceitful innocence: “Is the Professor in?”

Cruel, that he turned back to his work so easily. Snatched his eyes from your breathless figure too quickly—all futile resistance. “He doesn’t have appointments during lecture, and won’t accept unscheduled walk-ins afterward.” Viktor recited his dry lines like you were any other visitor, playing the role of Professor’s Assistant almost perfectly. Almost. He slipped when he added: “As you know, Miss (Y/L/N).” Couldn’t conceal that pitch of mirth in his voice, not when he said your name. Acknowledged the game and joined, a willing participant.

“That’s a no then?”

“It is.”

“That’s fine” you hummed, nearly rocked back on your heels in such dainty, impish delight. Dropped your bag near the door and looked around coyly, curiously. “Since I came to see you, actually.”

“Oh?” You saw that terrible smirk and knew it meant danger; signaled a misstep. “For what purpose?” he asked, blunt and bit cavalier, bringing attention to a terrible flaw in this half-baked plan. That being: you. Not brave, not direct, and not keen on confessions. He liked those, unfortunately, the curious prick; derived too much satisfaction from drawing shameful little truths out of you.

Inching closer, dragged by his gravity, you hoped he would see and accept the answer unspoken. Your dress was unforgiving through the chest and your body was a traitor, always on his side.

“Are you not happy to see me?” you asked, trying for low tones. Sultry tones. But your voice never did quite what you asked. Not when the thrill of being bold had a hand at your throat and squeezed tight, pitched it too breathy, too unsteady.

He canted his head, rocked it consideringly. Definitely noticed your traitorous nipples up close; you saw him wet his lips.  “Eh…” That long sound, drawn out between his teeth, let you hope he took the redirect. Falsely. “I believe I asked my question first.”

Fucking fine.

“Give me your hand,” you sighed, and he thought to hold it like you needed an anchor in this vast, scholarly confessional.

You did. But not like that.

You flipped it palm up, drew it to your chest, and bid him squeeze in the span of a stuttering heartbeat. His breath did the same, ghosting over your temple as you crowded closer and refused to look up into his face. His throat worked over the prim knot of his tie, and with a hard stare, nurturing that hollow resentment from earlier, you tucked your face there and whispered, “Did you really think I would just… let it go?”

He laughed into the shell of your ear, soft and taunting, and for it, you licked a warning stripe up his jugular—nipped at the apex and you weren’t sorry for it. He deserved it. He liked it. You knew, when a salacious something stiffened, half hard against you. You knew, when his voice grew breathy and his tongue thickened on the vowels.

“I wondered what, if anything at all, I might have set into motion. I wasn’t sure,” he confessed quietly and cupped your breast more generously; dragged his thumb over your nipple in long, sweet strokes. Too slow. Not enough. “You are so erratic. An unknown variable, if you will—”

And to prove his point, you pushed your impatient mouth hard against his—teeth on teeth, but he didn’t oblige you the rush. Took hold of your hair at the nape, and gently drew you back. Thickly, you remembered that he had use of two hands at the moment. Foolishly, you looked into his face and drowned a little bit.

He flushed so nicely, and sincerity suited him when he said: “My intention was to keep your interest, and my hope was to find you at my door tonight.”

A curious statement, if a little somber, you filed it away for dissection later. You know, when you weren’t trying to get throughly, efficiently fucked on tight schedule.

“That’s a long time to wait,” you chided, growing more and more anxious at the minutes ticking away. Time, slipping through your fingers. Time, forcing your forward, ever faster, lest you be caught. How close you were cutting it, how thrilling. “I’d rather you fix your mistake now.”

“Mistake?”

You were pleased that he didn’t focus on ‘now.’ Pleased that his hands had taken to gathering up your skirt in grasping handfuls, hiking it higher. Infinitely pleased that when his hands found your ass completely bare and waiting, he groaned and swore and pulled you tighter to him.

That wicked smile you’d saved for later caught your lips, but they had a better use still. Your hands worked at his tie, his collar, to make space for them as you said, “I would consider leaving me high and dry a mistake, yes.”

“Dry?” He practically snicked the word, and you went for the throat—literally. Latched on to that private space beneath his collar and set to bruising it with your mouth; lips and tongue and teeth in a hot hurry. You were kind to cradle his head, though the press of the shelves into his spine was likely uncomfortable. Now he knew how it felt. Understood then that you wanted to punish him, if only a little bit.

“Restraint was necessary, I promise you,” he said, repentant; keening when you bit softly at the juncture of his shoulder and neck. Pliant and unwinding, until he grew bold, suddenly. Put that leg back between your thigh and had you gasping at the friction, at the scandal, because the wet patch left on his pants would never dry fast enough. “Risking our standing aside, you are far too loud for the library,” he whispered thickly, and you whined right on cue when he kneaded your ass, ground you down harder. “I could not keep you quiet enough if I tried.”

“You’re not very quiet yourself,” you scoffed. Pulled his hair and heard nothing for it but shit-eating silence, the smirk to match. Just to be contrarian—for now, until you’d exhaust him of that capacity. The twitch of his cock betrayed him, though; told you in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t entirely unaffected.  

“Then I would consider this an improvement from earlier. To be alone, behind closed doors.”

“Not like it’s your office, though. Not entirely private.”

“No,” he said thoughtfully, looking down between your bodies. You were far past being embarrassed at what he must’ve seen to say: “No, but I think you like that, don’t you?”

“Mmhm,” you nodded in quick, thoughtless agreement. Moved to fuss with the fastens of his pants imploringly between the cage of his arms. “But it also means you really need to hurry up. Don’t you know what time it is?”

Poor Viktor; he came abruptly back to himself and stilled. Inhaled, sharp and nasal, and breathed back out a nervous, “…No.”

You knew what he’d done—lost track of time, again, as he tended to. In all fairness, you only had a rough idea now. And it wasn’t optimistic.

So you fumbled for it in your pocket, the little golden watch. Pressed it into his hand as you brought him down by the tie and lavished those wet, open-mouthed kisses to his collarbone and up. Kinder, sweeter, softer. Begged him with each one not to leave you wanting again. You heard in quick succession: the spring of the case opening and the soft swear that followed. Not from your mouth’s minstrations, sadly.

He finally, finally understood your impatience. How for once, in this moment alone, it was well placed. He caught your jaw in his hand urgently, looking so dark and desperate and reckless; the swipe of his thumb over your cheek a gentle contrast. Showed you first that he didn’t want to stop, and you would ruin him for it.

“I will give you anything, but we have no time for—for everything I could possibly do to you,” he said forcefully, reverently, and you had to kiss him for it, ever briefly, on the bow of his lip. Once. Twice. Until he said, a murmur against your mouth: “Sixteen minutes, lyubov. Tell me your choice.”

Ah.

9:44AM

You knew in your heart of hearts—see also: the throb of your cunt—that you wouldn’t last five minutes. And you knew, too, that though you’d love to kneel for him, bruise your knees on the marble floor, he wouldn’t manage two rounds. You couldn’t have his cock and suck it too. Not in this amount of time. The choice was clear, but as to where? Well.

“Let me think…” you hummed. Backed off him and wandered away from the lovely, hot flush of his body; shrewdly appraised the options such a lavish office had on offer.

It was obvious though, wasn’t it? Part of you already knew from the moment you fled the library with your dire plan. You wanted it quick and carnal on that solid, stately beast of a table that filled the center of the space. Cluttered as it was, books and loose papers and—oh look—his cane leaning there against it, that was your choice. Even if it meant getting stabbed by a wayward protractor. Despite all the things littering its surface, you would add your body to it.

But first, you added your dress.

He made a strangled sound when you did it—pulled it swiftly over your head and discarded it across the open pages of Techmaturgy: A Century of Progress. You hadn’t planned to, but in the moment it felt right in a very, very wrong way. Bold. Sinful. Exhilarating, to show him your body where it was so forbidden.

You drummed your thoughtful fingers on the worn wooden edge, his uneven footfalls in symphony. Made a tempting show of your ass, perfect in his eyes, leaning over it ever slightly. Looked sidelong over your shoulder and asked: “Over the desk—can you manage?”

He pressed into your back, warm and lithe, first reaching around to place your little doomsday clock face up.

You didn’t care to look—not yet.

His hands found you then, quick to roam the naked expanse of your body—nothing short of worshipful, like you were a fantasy fulfilled. “Manage what, exactly, hm?” he asked into the crook of your neck, returning the favor of such feverish, open-mouthed kisses to the skin there.

Your head tipped back against his shoulder; gently, not leaning any of your weight onto him. Let him knead your pliant flesh however, wherever he liked, and clearly he liked all of you. Could have closed your eyes in such rapture, but you stared up, and found an answer there in painted shades of blue and white. Constellations, reflected on his skin.

“I want—” But you broke so quickly, giggled, because the joke you saw was very good. Told him through the grips of a snickering smile, knowing the curious arch of his brow without ever seeing it: “I want you to fuck me until I see stars.”

You felt the contagious grin, the quietly huffed shake of laughter against your skin. “Then don’t look up again until you want to finish.”

That required a start.

You looked, then, not up but down, as you slipped his grasp and bowed forward. Prostrated your body across that table; hitched your knee up on the edge and thoroughly exposed the crux of your need, slick and swollen. “Fourteen minutes,” you urged and choked on a sigh, shuddering as your forehead dropped to hard leather binding. The slow drag of his long, blunt fingers down your spine should not have caught you so off guard.

9:46AM

“I, eh… appreciate your eagerness,” he said, growing distracted, evidently. By the slide of his palm, that languid, thoughtful caress over the curve of your ass, you knew what he was looking at. Died a little bit as he squeezed and gripped and spread you apart, no doubt watching. And that sound, wet, sticky and shameful—oh yes, part of you absolutely died on that table.

His voice was far preferable to hear, heavy as he asked so sweetly: “But if you could turn over, please?”

“Why?” you snapped like a reflex, but your body moved without question. Turned and settled you sitting on the edge. You wished it hadn’t acted to fast.

Because it was hard to look at him, like starting into the sun if it could rise between your legs. Your heart seized as he shrugged, as he said all too casually: “Because you are so pretty. More so when I fuck you, you understand.”

And you did, if only because you felt the same way about him.

It wasn’t a question, but you nodded, a little spellbound by his voice, and widened your thighs. Inviting him in as he pulled his cock out and crowded closer, falling into your trap, quite sprung. If he wanted you shaking and desperate and entirely bent to his will, he could have had that. But his mistake; he gave you too long to realize that while you may bend, ever slightly, all you wanted was to see him break.

And this was how you’d do it.

This was how you’d end up on your back.  

You took matters into your own hands—took him in hand, heavy and warm and twitching. Found his hip on the better side with the other and tricked him, made him think you needed to brace yourself with it. Like he needed to brace himself on either side of you, leaning hard on his hands, heavier to the left. You angled his cock up, gripped his hip hard and pulled him flush, flattened the underside against your cunt. He must have realized that you meant to set the pace and obliged; a sigh was his first concession.

Pushing and pulling, rocking him against you to slick his long length enough that it was easier to take, you decided that, no, it wasn’t a sigh at all. You heard wrong. It was the first breathy pant of many that began to fall from his lips, not nearly swollen enough, but you would fix that.

He looked over, stricken, and reminded you: “Ten—Ah, nine minutes, (Y/N).”

9:51AM

“You’d rather stop?” you taunted, thumbing over the soft skin of his tip on the upstroke. Slick, and it was anyone’s guess as to who it came from.

“What? No—” he said too quickly, too ardent; noted it, relented, and made his second concession as you started to take your hand away. “Please, no.”

He begged. And for it, you were merciful. That is, after you stopped the steady roll of his hips and laughed softly at his pinched, worried expression.

You were merciful for the way you gripped him at the base and lined up the head to your entrance. More so for the way you stroked his slick shaft, knowing that it had gone untouched up until this point. Where you were twice given the opportunity to grind against his thigh, he’d been left so neglected. That much was clear as he struggled for restraint and failed; hips twitching ever slightly, tidy snaps, into your hand and cunt alike. Just the tip and fuck it felt good.

You worked him and he worked you open; you both watched with sick, heady fascination, foreheads nearly  touching. Panting breaths intermingled in a humid fugue. Your wrist ached where you leaned back on it, but it didn’t matter. Not while together you watched your hand slowly lose ground on his length as it disappeared; watched where he sunk into the delirious resistance of your body. More and more until you took your hand away and he breathed truth onto you, low and thankful and deliciously vulnerable.

“I would not have made it through the day without… ah, touching myself to the thought of you…”

And that was it. It was over. You cared for nothing anymore but to cum and have him cum wherever he pleased.  It didn’t matter who broke who, though it would certainly be you if he kept talking like that.

You dragged him in hard and fast by the tie, set to brutalizing his lips with each terribly sloppy kiss you imparted. It forced him to bottom out between your thighs, sunk to the hilt. The stretched burned until you rocked your hips through it, saw it turned to something sweet that had you keening high pitched into his mouth. Pleasantly full. Pressure building.

And then he thrusted. One, twice, and though you so desperately wanted to swallow the sounds he made for you, you couldn’t keep upright. You collapsed backward on that academic leaf-litter and writhed in it, letting each ragged snap of his hips punch such vulgar sounds from your lungs that you covered your own mouth. Watched down your body as he lost himself entirely, a mess of a man, and thought to make it worse.

“Harder,” you demanded, “Fuck. Me. Harder.”

“Yes,” he nodded, breathing hard around that single word. Pressed a hand to your thigh, pushing you wider if ever you could spread more for him, “If… If that is what you want—yes.”

He was devolving rapidly, becoming your favorite version of himself: erratic and sloppy. Clothes disheveled, neck mottled, and his neat, pretty hair sullied by your hands. His eyes were a half-lidded, amber haze, but he watched you too. You were too far gone to wonder what he saw, what made him shudder and groan, lean harder, thrust deeper into your cunt with a foreign swear on his lips. The arch of your back, the bounce of your breasts, the hand on your mouth hardly stifling those sweet, pathetic sounds—it could have been anything.

But it was another thing that didn’t matter. You came around his cock all the same.

He struck a spot in you so saccharine and overwhelming, brushed up against your clit over and over until it was just enough, and you were well and truly finished. Threw your head back like the most excellent of whores and begged him not to stop, near sobbing, with nothing but his wrist to hold onto. Heedless of how loud you were.

“I won’t, I—I promise,” he hissed, and by the grit of his teeth and his faltering rhythm you knew what came next, “But I—Tell me where—?”

“I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care,” you chanted, and meant it, as long as he kept touching you somehow.

You weren’t surprised when he immediately collapsed on top of you. Gave a few weak thrusts with what felt like his entire body, and made a deep, breathy, broken sound into the solace of your throat. It was perfect—let you grind your hips beneath his weight, rubbing greedily against his pelvis. Riding out the shuddering wake of your impatient orgasm, you drew his out longer and sweeter, his heavy, keening pants hot on your neck.

For a moment, you felt peace, full with the twitching feeling of his spent cock. Looking at him lazily as he looked back just the same, smoothing back your hair.

And then you felt panic.

“Time?”

Viktor inhaled sharply and dragged himself off you, so fast and soon that it stung, but you felt that privately. He found it quickly, read to you in a rasp, “Three minutes,” and tucked it into his pocket, clamoring to right his clothes.

9:57AM

“Yes, but consider that he still has to walk up here on those short little legs,” you snickered, closing yours to stand shakily and hopefully delay the mess, “Might take an extra five minutes.”

But you could feel it, leaking thick down your sweaty thigh as you pulled on your dress again. The shower called and you were sure as shit going to answer.

“Let’s… not cut it closer, hm?” he said, exasperated by how close you could fly to your deadlines. He repaired the knot of his tie and you attempted to brush his stubborn hair back into place with your fingers. Efficient, if a touch domestic, it saw him crack a thin smile. “I would feel better if you were not seen leaving. Otherwise my lies won’t be so convincing.”

“Planning them ahead for once?”

“I’m trying to,” he shrugged, a soft thank you to follow as you offered him his cane and made for the door. Quickly, to spare him any trouble. Quickly, to get the hardest part over with. Silly, sentimental creature—you hadn’t anticipated that leaving would be so difficult. Perhaps you had made a mistake this time, the want of him transformed into something tenderhearted. You wanted now for his weight, his warmth and the smell of his skin.

“Are you forgetting something?” he asked, and the guilt of your unkindness hit. Escape at what cost? He deserved more from you.

“Well, um—I suppose, yes,” you said, backtracking easily, so drawn to him as it was. It was easy, too, to lay your hand on his arm; to reach up and kiss him, a chaste and lingering press to the thin curve of his bottom lip.

A kiss he returned, because of course he did, even if your cottony, lust-addled brain had gotten it all wrong. You read it in his expression—like he was trying not to laugh, a pinch of surprise—before he told you true. At least you hadn’t apologized yet.

“Your bag?” You followed his line of sight and flushed. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Oh, right,” you said, clearly fucked stupid, but you weren’t about to admit it. Still salvageable, you scooped it up, slung it over your shoulder, and tried to be cool about it. Tried, because it was hard when you were a braless mess with cum running down your leg. Really hurt the cool factor, wasn’t great for morale. “Well there goes a great excuse to see me later,” was the flippant, shameful word vomit that came from your mouth and you were so quick to regret it.  

“We are past that, don’t you think?” he said quietly, his pretty face cut by a sliver of hurt for a split second before he could recover. Almost sheepish, in the way he fidgeted with the handle of his cane. “You know, the invitation for tonight still stands… if you, eh, don’t get me fired.”

A clock struck then, its long, sonorous peals perfectly timed, and you didn’t need to count them.

10:00AM

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” you sighed, poised to flee out the door. The last thing you saw, the sweetest thing you could ask for, was slender curve of his lips in a private smile as you whispered in parting, “I’ll see you tonight,” and slipped away, knowing yourself a liar.

[sada-siva-sanyaasi]

Stains - Part 9

Series Summary: An artist goes through a lot of things, sure, but having to deal with her ex on a constant basis wasn’t something she signed up for.

Words: 3,625 words.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Modern!AU)

A/N: Words under the cut. Also been a long long time, eh? I honestly had a rough patch these last few months, and also didn’t have my laptop with me to update even though I had written, so I apologise a thousand times. I am so so sorry everyone! Hope the next few weeks of updates and story can make up for my loss of inspiration! Love you always, and as usual, feedback of all forms is greatly appreciated!

Series Masterlist / Twitter Profiles | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |

 Y/N watched Peter walk into the building and sighed to herself, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, this is it, you dropped your toddler now you go shooting.” She didn’t realise how long she was just sitting inside until she heard someone honking behind her, making her snap back and drive on.

Each step she took towards the studio was heavier than the one before, her heart racing and her hands shivering. Y/N stopped in front of the door and let out a shaky breath, cracking her knuckles. “It’s just another project, why am I getting so worked up? Fucking relax, Y/N, this is not a big deal. This is like every other project you’ve had with models.”

“Although I don’t mind the whole ‘talking-to-yourself’ thing,” Y/N jumped and turned around to see Loki stand there, a smile on his face, “do it inside the studio while you’re setting things up, won’t you? That way no one stares at you like you’re a weirdo.”

Y/N beamed and smacked Loki’s shoulder, a small yelp escaping his mouth. “Good morning, Loki. I was just giving myself a pep talk. It’s a shoot for Tony Stark, right?” Loki hummed, opening the door and ushering her in while they set their stuff down.

“Yeah, someone you already shot for if I remember. And you shot him too,” Loki added, making Y/N close her mouth and turn away with a scowl. “So I really don’t see why you’re getting so sweaty. Unless of course, it’s because your ex is coming here.”

Y/N stopped fixing her lens and turned to Loki, who looked busy setting up the lights. “How do you know so much?” Loki snickered and walked to his laptop, noticing more support staff walk in. “I just am very observant, my dear. Especially with your Twitter shenanigans, it’s hard not to know really. I think even Thor knows, I heard him laugh at your tweet for about ten god-awful minutes.”

Y/N grimaced and connected the main camera to Loki’s laptop, a hot red blush spreading across her cheeks. “We do not speak of my Twitter shenanigans, Laufeyson. It’s a dark subject.” Loki rolled his eyes and smirked, bowing in front of Y/N just as Thor walked in. “My humblest apologies, oh revered one.”

Y/N smacked Loki again and both of them laughed as they greeted Thor, settling down in their chairs. “When will the models get here?” Thor huffed, looking at his watch, and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“They’ll have to get here, set up, dress up, and pose. Oh it’s a long day, and it’s only day one. There’s five more days till we go back to shooting other things again.” Y/N frowned, biting her nails as she looked up.

“Wait, what are we shooting for again?”

Loki and Thor burst out laughing, Thor even leaning forward to ruffle Y/N’s hair. “Are you sure you’re the photographer and not just an assistant, Y/N? We are doing endorsement shoots for today and tomorrow while the rest of the three days will be personalized shoots of the models.” Y/N’s scowl deepened as she stared at the door.

“Oh God I’m regretting these shoots already.” The doors opened and her breath hitched, only to see people with makeup kits walk in, and she stood up angrily.

“Oh, they’re taking so long! I’ll go get a coffee, you want something?” The brothers shook their heads and she walked out, stuffing her hands into her pockets and humming under her breath.

As she walked into the Stark cafeteria and waited in the queue, she heard an all too familiar voice laugh. “Oh I know, Bucky has made it his life mission to screw himself up in front of the world. Now he bullshits about Tony’s work, what an idiot. Jesus, my head hurts whenever he decides to use his brain. Ow, what the fuck!” “I’m standing right beside you, asshole.”

Y/N bit her lip to stop the laugh from leaving her mouth and silently stepped towards the counter. “I’d like a chocolate cappuccino with two shots of espresso and extra chocolate please.” The barista looked up and smiled. “Long day ahead? It’ll be $3.50 please,” She said, and Y/N smiled, nodding.

“Almost never ending, and here you go.” Y/N’s smile widened when she got a sandwich along as the barista winked at her. “It’s on us, hope you a great day.”

She turned and nearly bumped into a person when two strong arms wrapped around her, holding her steady. “Easy there, coffee girl.” A smooth voice said, and Y/N froze entirely, her blood turning cold. “Don’t call me that, Barnes,” she mumbled, looking up, and Bucky smirked. “Why not, Y/N? Wasn’t that how we met?” She glared at him and gestured towards the drink in her hand. “Want to get drenched in something hot again?”

Bucky stepped back from her, still not letting go. “No, I don’t think you would voluntarily drench me in that chocolate-y coffee goodness. I know you enough to know you love your coffee a lot, and that it costed a lot too.” Y/N huffed and sipped her drink, her eyes closing momentarily when the hot liquid flooded her mouth.

“Yeah, you’re right. I wouldn’t, but I would like to go now, so if you leave me.” Bucky hummed, his grip not faltering a bit. “No, I don’t think I will let you go, Y/N. you and I need to go to the same place anyway, and I like holding you, it’s been a while.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and she noticed Pietro behind them, waving and grinning at her as Bucky ushered her to the studio.

“Fucking let me go, asshole!” She barked, not caring about how many people were looking at them, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “Oh, hush child. We have the same destination, and so I’m making this journey along with you.”

Y/N mumbled a soft “what the fuck” as Pietro opened the doors and bowed down, allowing Bucky and Y/N to walk in. She finally shook him off and stormed over to Loki and Thor, setting her coffee down. Loki watched as she cracked her knuckles and bent forward, picking her sandwich and taking a bite of it.

“You said you didn’t want anything!” Y/N hissed and he shrugged. “With how that lady just ate our brains, I got a little hungry. I’m not sorry,” She looked around and her scowl deepened, fist clenched.

“The witch has already arrived, I see.” Loki nodded, his hand creeping towards her coffee only for it to be smacked away.

“Alright,” Y/N yelled, walking to the models in the middle of the room, “let’s get this show on the road. We got three hours today, and I want them to count. Get dressed, you’re having shoots with products.”

 --

 “No, I don’t like the shade of lipstick; don’t you think it’s too dull? How about blood red?” Dolores said, looking through the makeup as Y/N sighed out loud for the tenth time, sipping her coffee.

“How is your coffee still not over?”  Thor said, sitting beside her, and she glanced at him. “I’m trying not to finish it so that I’m busy till she decides to end our misery and just model. Jesus Christ, this is why I hate shooting with living creatures, such monsters.”

Thor coughed to cover up his laugh when Dolores shot a glare in their direction, and Loki leaned towards her. “When will you tell her this is a monochrome shoot?” he whispered, and Y/N turned to him, a coy smile on her face.

“I want to see how long it takes before she figures it out on her own.” Both of them grinned at each other and Y/N turned, only for her breath to be snatched right out of her lungs.

Bucky stood a couple feet away from her, his hairstylist fixing him up as he unbuttoned the top part of his shirt, checking himself out in the mirror. She didn’t want to admit it, but he looked like he dropped straight from heaven.

“He looks good, huh?” Pietro said, making her jump and turn to scowl at him. “What did you say?” Pietro smirked, “You heard me,” Y/N rolled her eyes and finished her coffee when Bucky said, “I heard that its monochrome today.”

She nodded, picking her camera and fiddling with it.

“Well, what colour is it, then?”

“What colour is the background, Barnes?”

“Black.”

“Your clothes?”

“Black and white.”

“Bingo.”

Dolores stopped applying her blush and glared at Y/N. “You’re telling me that after I spent twenty minutes trying to pick out the right shade of lipstick for this cream dress?!”

Y/N stared at Dolores. “Did you bother checking with me if you needed blood red lipstick and coral blush? He asked me, I told him. You should’ve asked me, Miss Smith. Would’ve saved you and us a lot of time.”

Dolores continued to glare at her as Y/N stood up and said, “I hope you’re ready. Your products have been placed there; we will be going with you first. Loki, I need you to set a diffuser over the light falling from the top and Thor, a reflector to the left please. Let’s get this done with.”

Bucky watched as Loki and Thor stepped away from Y/N while she knelt forward, looking into her camera. She adjusted the lens and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, scrunching her nose a little as she said, “Thor, move closer. Dolores, adjust your position a little to the left, chin higher in the air, thank you. And smile, don’t smirk.”

A smile unknowingly made its way onto Bucky’s face, his heart feeling light as he kept watching her. It had been three years since he spent so long with Y/N, and he was more than happy that he was getting to see her like this. Emotions and memories he kept buried for years resurfaced, his chest tightening as he remembered the little things about her.

Pietro watched Bucky, and scoffed silently. “Bro, you are whipped. I bet you even know what’s happening in her head.”

“She’s not happy with how Dolores is posing, she’s constantly correcting her but her eyebrows are still furrowed and her tongue is not sticking out yet. It shows she’s angry, not concentrating.  Y/N will stand up and walk to correct Dolores and her posture anytime now.”

Not long after the words left Bucky’s mouth Y/N stood up, walking to Thor and angling the reflector before murmuring to Dolores, moving her hands and adjusting her. Bucky’s smile turned smug as Pietro stared at him, shock on his face. “Did you fucking study this girl? How do you know so much after so long?”

Bucky’s eyes never left Y/N as she set Dolores’s hair, rambling about the position of the fans beside them. “Fall in love, Pietro. You won’t forget what makes them who they are that easily. Look, her tongue is peeking out, she’s finally satisfied and she’s concentrating.” Pietro turned to where Bucky was pointing and chuckled, noticing how he was indeed right about Y/N yet again.

“You really love her, huh.” Bucky’s smile softened and he sighed, nodding. “I do. I didn’t prove it to her then, and I don’t know if she’ll believe me now. But I won’t give up, not after I have her right in front of me.”

“For five more days, Buck. You don’t even know if you’ll see her again. And you can’t make someone fall in love with you for the second time in so little time.” Bucky frowned, looking down as his stylist walked over to him, checking his outfit. “I could tell her the truth,” he mumbled, almost a whisper. “And then what? She’ll magically let you back into her life?”

Bucky turned to Pietro, who stared right back at him. “I’m serious, Buck. You think she’ll just let you back? Do you remember the look on her face that day?”

 Flashback

 Tears made their way down Y/N’s cheeks as she took in the scene in front of her, Dolores on top of Bucky and her hands on his chest. “S-So all of this, whatever Natasha told me, it’s true? I thought she was doing it out of spite, Bucky.”

Bucky pushed Dolores off him and stood up, the stench of alcohol from him reaching Y/N immediately. He looked at her; eyes swollen and cheeks red as she struggled to contain her sobs. The fight seemed like it happened so long ago, neither of them remembered what it was really about, but it had gotten out of hand. The people around them faded, non-existent and not mattering. “Just tell me it’s not real, James. I’ll believe you. Not Natasha, not Dolores, nobody. Please,” she whispered, stepping towards him only for him to step back.

“I think you need to leave and stop assuming things, Y/N. I’m drunk, and not in my senses.” Bucky mumbled, loud enough for her to hear every word. “So, that’s it? It’s the end?” She laughed, the sound hollow.

“Did it ever begin?” Bucky hissed, and Y/N looked like she had been slapped. “A year, Barnes.” She croaked, her nails digging into her skin. “We were together for a year and friends for two years before that. And you tell me none of it was real? I was in love with you, for this? Fuck you, James Barnes. I don’t want to ever see your face again.”

“Oh, the feeling’s mutual sweetheart.” Bucky said, turning back to the counter and grabbing his beer. Y/N turned and left, slamming the door shut behind her and Bucky slumped into his seat, tears leaving his eyes. Dolores rubbed his shoulder in comfort only for him to swat it away harshly. “Get out, Dot. I don’t want you.”

Dolores scowled, biting her lip.

“Here?”

“Ever. Out.”

 End of Flashback

 Bucky rubbed his head as Y/N said, “Alright, we’re done here! You can go change, Dolores. If the boys step forward, it’ll be great,” and stepped forward, watching her thrust props into his hands. “Hold these and pose right,” she mumbled, turning to leave when he grabbed her hands.

“I’d rather hold you, if I’m being honest.” He tugged her closer and smirked when Y/N pulled away, blushing profusely. “Shut the fuck up,” she seethed, glaring at him, and he bent forward to her level, tilting his head.

“Make me, sweetheart,” Bucky’s eyes went to her lips and his smirk widened when Y/N stepped away, calling his stylist to set his suit. Pietro sighed and elbowed Bucky, shooting a sharp glare. “Stop being a flirt, you’ll scare her away, asshole.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and punched Pietro’s shoulder. “You shut up, Maximoff. Don’t teach me how to get my girl back.”

Pietro watched Y/N talk to Loki, pointing at the lights and camera and rolled his eyes, grumbling, “What a cocky bastard.”

 --

 “Today was a long day,” Y/N sighed, falling into her chair and looking through her laptop at the pictures taken. “Longer than we wanted, Dolores spent so long getting ready. Wow, all ladies like this?” Thor grumbled, chugging his coffee.

“Slow down Thor, that’s not beer.” Loki chided, shaking his head and sitting closer to Y/N. “We were supposed to finish shoot in three hours, took us four and half because Atomic Blonde kept complaining about her fat face and wrong angles, what a drama queen.” Y/N chuckled and went on to making basic edits in the pictures, before sitting back. “Be careful with your words, Loki,” she said, nodding towards the models walking to them. “I heard drama queens have powerful ears, especially around things they shouldn’t hear.” Bucky and Pietro got their chairs and sat down, Pietro beside Loki and Bucky squeezing in between Loki and Y/N.

Dolores spared Y/N a glance before dragging a chair and sitting down in front of her, as if trying to squeeze herself between Y/N and Bucky. Y/N cleared her throat awkwardly and said, “Uh, I need to see the laptop Dolores, and you sitting here is making it impossible to do so. I need to show the final results to the other two models too, you’re not the only one.”

Dolores shot her a glare before pushing her laptop back a little, and Y/N rubbed her face. She stood up and grabbed the laptop, setting it down in her lap and turning to Bucky and Pietro.

“Since these are mostly close up shots focusing on the products, not a lot of your face is in the pictures, and we will be shooting in colours as well tomorrow. I hope you’re ready for it.”

Dolores scowled and looked into the laptop. “Don’t you think my angles are bad? My face looks swollen in these.” Pietro snorted. “That’s because you got here hungover.”

Loki coughed in a poor attempt to stop laughing while Thor made no such attempt, making Dolores fume. “You talk like you look great, Maximoff.”

Bucky rolled his eyes while Y/N said, “Please, he’s a Maximoff. He’s hotter than you and five generations of your family.” “I’m sorry; I think I need a minute. Can I hug you, Y/N?” Pietro said, while Bucky shot him a glare.

“Not now Maximoff, see your pictures and then you can.” Y/N kept scrolling through her laptop as Loki raised his eyebrows, looking at the pictures. “Your pictures look fabulous, Barnes.” He remarked, and Bucky smirked, resting his head on Y/N’s shoulder. “I’ll have to thank the hot photographer for that. She seemed to have paid special attention to-” “-the product, that’s why the pictures look great. All of them do, and if you guys have any problem with how you look, go to Loki. He’s doing the editing. And get your head off my shoulder, Barnes.”  

Bucky stared at Y/N and mumbled, “I never noticed, you have a double chin.” Y/N’s hand crept to her jaw as she turned to Bucky, whose head was still on her shoulder. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Get off me, please.” He shook his head, nuzzling closer to her and said, “I don’t want to.”

Y/N huffed, reluctantly settling into her seat to make it more comfortable for him. She didn’t know why she was doing it, but she did. Bucky smiled to himself, slowly wrapping his arms around her too.

Loki and Thor looked at them, and then turned to each other, eyebrows raised, before shrugging and standing up. “Who wants coffee?” Thor asked, and Bucky grabbed Y/N’s hand and raised it, while Pietro nodded and Dolores shook her head in disgust.

“I’d like a green tea; coffee is so bad for health.” Pietro scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yes, and getting shit-faced is not, Dolores. Come on, let’s go get coffee. What’s your order, Y/N and Bucky?”

“I’ll have a black coffee, Y/N will have a cap-” “I’ll have a café mocha, and I’m coming with you.” Y/N, with surprising gentleness, lifted Bucky’s head off her shoulder and stood up, brushing his arms off her.

She glanced down at him and bit her lip, before walking towards Loki. Bucky sighed and stood up, watching her. “Looks like some stuff did change in three years. She hated mochas before.”

Dolores rolled her eyes and glared at him. “You’re hung up on her even now? After three years?” Bucky stared at her.

“Well what else should I do, move on with you? I didn’t realise I had such a splendid option available.” Bucky pushed past Dolores and she scowled, stomping her feet. “Three years later, and nothing fucking changed.”

 --

 “See you tomorrow, gentlemen.” Y/N smiled and hugged Thor, before moving to Loki. “Send me one picture after editing it so that I know how it’ll turn out.” “Yeah I know, stop doubting my abilities.” He pulled her into a hug and sighed. “You know Barnes is trying hard, right?” He mumbled, and she pulled away slightly, her gaze unsure. “I know, and I also know what I saw that day. He didn’t stop her then, Loki.”

“And he doesn’t spare her a glance now, Y/N.” Her gaze hardened. “Once a cheater, always a cheater. Doesn’t matter how hard he tries to be different now. People don’t change, Loki.”

“But people change people, Y/N.” Loki sighed, rubbing his face. “You’ve known him for three years, and you’ve been away from him for three years. He must really miss you if he’s trying so hard even after you dumped whatever was in your hand on him.”

Y/N chuckled and shook her head, stepping away from him. “Whatever you say, Loki. Dolores is still stuck to him, see?”

Dolores was indeed stuck to Bucky, blabbering on as he stared at her with disinterest and discomfort. Pietro was watching their interaction and trying not to laugh, albeit unsuccessfully.

Loki rolled his eyes. “She’s trying to get you jealous, and you’re letting it work.” Thor nodded, munching on a cookie. “I’m sorry, where did you get that cookie from?” Thor grinned sheepishly, shrugging. “The barista found me hot.”

Loki nodded, pulling two cookies out of his pocket. “She gave me two.” He smirked, only for it to fall when Y/N pulled a croissant from her bag. “Complimentary goods from the chef, many more inside. Back down, peasants. Anyways, even if Dolores is trying to make me jealous, it’s not working.”

Thor patted her shoulder and shook his head. “You said her name and crushed the top of your bag. Like heck it’s not working.”

“Fine, she’s making me jealous and annoyed. What about it?”

Loki smirked and looked at his brother, who was wiping cookie crumbs off his face. “What are we here for?”

---

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[hideyseek]

50 Questions You’ve Never Been Asked

tagged by @usersoup <3

What is the colour of your hairbrush?  it is .. black and turquoise, though i must admit that since i’ve cut my hair i rarely use it. 

Name a food you never eat? huh. caviar? i tend to forget about the existence of foods i don’t eat until i’m on the instacard website. chocolate ice cream, i guess. that’s like, a normal-person food i never consume.

Are you typically too warm or too cold? i am constantly too cold. as i type this i am in my apartment in sweatpants under a blanket and my roommate is in shorts and a tshirt.

What were you doing 45 minutes ago? mm i was reading a room of one’s own, at risk of sounding like the pretentious humanities major i am. i’m reading it out of desperation (we are in possession of the writer’s block and we would like to give it up as soon as possible), after having had it in my head to read since i came across a lin-manuel miranda tween in like 2015 telling all young writers to read it

What is your favourite candy bar? i don’t really like.. candy. twix or butterfingers, if i had to pick one at gunpoint.

Have you ever been to a professional sports event? yEAH u fucking bet i went to winterguard international championships twice in high school and bands of america championships once (both as part of my school’s winter/colorguard). i’ve never gone to a pro sportsball match though. 

What is the last thing you said out loud? oh, are you really out there alone? (at my roommate, who is on the balcony with a desk lamp rigged up for optimal dirtball making).   

What is your favourite ice cream? vanilla. or hazelnut. i fucking love hazelnut. 

What was the last thing you had to drink? not to associate myself with brands, but i am drinking sprite as i type this. 

Do you like your wallet? yes! i had my wallet nicked on a bus in the middle of the semester and my replacement is a lovely narrow black folding wallet that i am infinitely fond of.

What was the last thing you ate? the dregs of my cheezits, pepper jack flavor

Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? mm no, though during my phone call with my grandma earlier this week she told me i should buy more clothes no less than four times. she thinks i should own and wear more “pretty girl clothes” and i haven’t the heart to tell her that i think gender is fake. 

The last sporting event you watched? i participated in a harry potter pub quiz over zoom the other week, if that counts. otherwise, probably something televised and american football related, several months ago.

What is your favourite flavour of popcorn? KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN

Who is the last person you sent a text message to? oH thank god i have an interesting answer to this one -- my stage manager/playwright friend, whose recent play i am dying to get a copy of.

Ever go camping? yeah. my family used to go every august with some family friends. 

Do you take vitamins? mm just vitamin d. (fuck off this was not meant to be a dick joke).

Do you go to church every Sunday? nah.

Do you have a tan? not anymore... even during the semester i spend most of my time underground in a basement rehearsal space or in the on-campus computer labs. (hence the vitamin d)

Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? these are?? not equivalent at all in terms of scope? chinese food, of course. 

Do you drink your soda with a straw? nah. can-to-mouth for me. 

What colour socks do you usually wear? depends on how cold i am: i have some very lovely warm purple socks and some red and black socks that my dear friend gifted me for christmas last? year? but otherwise i have just sports shoes height white socks and black socks.

Do you ever drive above the speed limit? i am gay, i do not drive.

What terrifies you? failure, mostly. i hate that that’s my answer, but there you go. failure, or being putting myself in a situation where i don’t really have a choice in what happens to me.  

Look to your left, what do you see? mm, i just moved from the study to bed so: the empty space in the loft bed railing where the ladder is, a blank wall, the edge and hinges of the bedroom wall.

What chore do you hate? none, really? i’ll get really passive-aggressive about some of the small apartment tidying things in my head, but not often enough that anything comes to mind now. 

What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? how my linguistics prof last semester had folks self-identify if they spoke non-american english in the middle of lecture

What’s your favourite soda? hm, hm. oH. there’s a vietnamese sandwich place in my hometown that has the best lychee soda. (a handful of google image searches informs me this is elisha aerated brand)

Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? hm, most of the time when i’m going to fast food i’m going to in-n-out with either a pile of theater people or my high school friend group, so sitting. er, going in.

Who’s the last person you talked to? roommates, in person. 

Favourite cut of beef? i could not name cuts of beef if u asked me to really nicely. actually jk i know uh, ox... oxtail? i like oxtail soup.

Last song you listened to? am in the middle of listening to trenchh by cavetown but i’ve been alternating fob and cavetown and bastille on shuffle on spotify.

Last book you read? ella enchanted by gail carson levine, because it is my #1 comfort book.

Favourite day of the week? i like thursdays. they just sound nice.

Can you say the alphabet backwards? if i had like, several minutes, i probably could do it. but everything after w would involve me counting (counting? reciting?) from the beginning.

How do you like you coffee? i’ll drink it any way but black. i have discovered i do not like dalgona coffee. but i like the dark chocolate mocha that peet’s does in the winter a ridiculous amount.

Favourite pair of shoes? i have this pair of converse that’s grey stripes that always makes me feel like a Cool Arts Student, even though it’s actively terrible for my arches. 

The time you normally go to bed? to bed? midnightish. to being asleep? usually 1-2ish. 

The time you normally get up? eleven in the morning, apparently, since that’s what’s been happening now that i’m not setting alarms. during the school year, usually 7:30 or 8 because i work in the scene shop half the mornings of the week.

What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? conceptually? sunsets. aesthetically? also sunsets. metaphorically, though, i prefer sunrises.

How many blankets on your bed? i’ve got a blanket (duvet, maybe? comforter? i have never really vibed with these western concepts of bedding) and another knitted blanket. 

Describe your kitchen plates: black and square and slightly chipped because roommates and i get a bit aggressive with cramming them onto the drying rack. 

Do you have a favourite alcoholic beverage? i like hard cider. (i like soft cider better than hard cider, but the apple taste drowns out the alcohol taste enough for me to have a pretty good time.) 

Do you play cards? haha yeah. whenever i’m home i play 24 with my little brother and lose a lot. or my family’ll play 21. or BS, which i fucking hate because i cannot lie for shit.

What colour is your car? still gay, still don’t drive.

Can you change a tire? mmmmmmmmmmm no. i have a shocking lack of car-related life skills for someone holding down a job that mostly involves wrenches. 

Your favourite province? oh boy. hubei province, bc there’s no country specification and this feels less impersonal than if i were to just point somewhere in australia. 

Favourite job you’ve ever had? hm, let’s limit this to work i’ve done for money, just to narrow the field down. (i tend to like the work i do a lot.) i really really enjoy working as a sound technician, especially as a mic assistant (it checks my “meeting people” box and my “helping people with their emotions” box and my “storytelling for an audience” box because at the theater i work at, pre-show mic check is me talking about my day and has resulted in a handful of people telling me i should try standup). the hours and pay are kind of crap, though. you don’t get friday nights when your friday nights are spent backstage of the same show you’ve heard twenty million times at this point. i also enjoy teaching computer science, because i just fucking like computer science. christ, i just,, miss being at work :c the production of newsies i was gonna do this summer got canceled. 

How did you get your biggest scar? mm, pass. 

What did you do today that made someone else happy? i, hm. everything that comes to mind feels vaguely manipulative, since i can’t really tell if people were made happy? oh! i had an extended slack conversation with one of the academic interns for the cs class i help teach that was basically just us bonding over word humor. he seems like the kind of person who would have gotten a kick out of it. 

I tag: @kittog @wali21 @capt-ann @lemon-yellow @iamanonniemouse @raccoon-sex-dungeon @snakesonacartesianplane @eternalflarg @swimmingseafish (do it if u want! don’t let me bully u into anything)

[1-mini-1]

Highlights from Orangestar and M.B’s Interview from Mormon.jp (Part 1)

This interview was published in 10 parts in September 2017, but is VERY in depth about Orangestar’s music, goals, experiences as a producer, and his hiatus (like, 20 pages in a word doc extensive). The full article can be viewed here. That being said, this isn’t a full translation, but rather my favorite parts.This first part focuses on his songs Natsuiro Answer, Mikansei Time Limiter, Earphone to Semishigure, Asu no Yozora Shoukaihan, and Amekigoe Zankyou.

M.B. is also featured in this article (he’s the artist for all of Orangestar’s stuff and his partner in crime). Translator’s notes are in parentheses and look like : (TN:...)

Part 2

Highlights from Session 1: How They Met and 『Natsuiro Answer』

Orangestar: We didn’t know each other personally. I was on the bus on the way back from an event for youth in the church (TN: Referring to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, which both Orangestar and M.B and me are members of) and making songs with my computer, but by chance M.B’s brother was sitting next to me and reached out to me by asking, “What are you doing?”. At that time I was making my own videos, and after talking about how that was my hobby, he said, “My little brother is an illustrator”. Then he showed me his illustrations and I thought the quality was amazing!  After I got home I immediately friended him on Facebook. The song I was making on the bus was “Natsuiro Answer”.

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M.B: I honestly don’t think that it was a coincidence that I met Orangestar. We had the same goals, hm, I guess you could call it a destined meeting.

Orangestar: Yeah, I was the one who reached out at first, but it feels like M.B is the one who pulled me along. The lyrics from my works before we met versus after are different, right?

M.B: They were kind of hopeless, weren’t they? I guess haha. I was like, let’s make things that sound more hopeful, let’s make things that’ll make people happy.

Highlights from Session 2: Their First Collaboration 『Mikansei Time Limiter』

Orangestar: How did we proceed with Time Limiter again?

M.B: It took about 2 months for the illustration to be completed. But there were also some struggles and stuff.

Orangestar: Yes, work got kinda heavy, didn’t it.

M.B: Yeah, we couldn’t really make progress. Then, it was at this time right, when we probably talked together the most heatedtly on skype. There was a reason we met this way so we also had to make songs that had meaning. That wouldn’t be by making songs however we felt like, but instead based on our Christian perspective. This way, when people out in the world would hear them, they would be able to feel happy or gain courage. That was it. So I guess let's both be careful in our private lives so that nothing prevents that haha.

Orangestar: Yes. Both of us were people who never looked at Nico Nico (Video) so we didn’t know what was trending on Nico Nico but, I don’t know what I was thinking, but I said something like “Let’s make our own era!” then.

M.B: You did, didn’t you haha. “Let’s make our own era!”

Orangestar: But, back then, I didn’t talk at all.

M.B: Yeah, that was really our first skype huh. I talked 99% of the time. Orangestar would only say “mmhm” and nod.

Orangestar: Mhmm. Basically, M.B pulled me along. After all, freshman me seemed like a high schooler that didn’t think of anything at all.

Highlights from Session 3: Studying Abroad in America and 『Earphone to Semishigure』

Orangestar: I uploaded Time Limiter, my first year of high school ended, and I temporarily withdrew from school in Japan to study abroad in America in April 2014. In Utah. My dad was like “Let’s go study English!”. Everyone in my family was dragged into it. So, we went to America. American schools start around August 19th. I went there right after I finished (my first year of) high school so it was right in the middle of the school year, because American high schools end in May (TN: Japanese high schools end their school year in March). I basically just bummed around the house we moved to in April. My dad would say, “This ain’t good” because after only going to school for one month in May it was already summer vacation. I didn’t have any friends still and thought I had a lot of free time so I thought, well, guess I’ll make music. After that I devoted myself to songwriting. While thinking about how I missed Japan’s summers, the song I made while cooping up in my house was “Earphone to Semishigure”.

Session 4: 『Asu no Yozora Shoukaihan』On Towards the Major Debut

Orangestar: It was at this time though, that I went ahead and made a song that was like a farewell for my friends in Japan. I thought to myself, “Ah, this is a good song, I made a good one,” and M.B also really liked it.

M.B: Yeah, Asu no Yozora was really good. The illustrations were tough. It was my first animation.

Orangestar: I made a lot of requests. Even on the illustration like “This! Do this! This!”. At that point in time there was no doubt that it would be my masterpiece for me at that moment, and I had a feeling that Asu no Yozora would become my most representative work. Also, while making the video I would get lost in thinking of a lot of different ideas, like having the idea of flipping the video upside down.

M.B: That was a success. I definitely think that was a masterpiece. The animation and the image change, the song’s vibes were completely perfect, I think. They were pretty troublesome. I remember some parts being a huge pain. Like I remember being also pretty worried while drawing the sky.

Orangestar: Yeah. Then, August, the day before my birthday, the morning school started, I uploaded it. After I uploaded it, I went straight to school but, I couldn’t sleep and went to school, while watching how people would react to it haha

M.B: Oh youth hahaha

Orangestar: But I wasn’t like that I first. Although Semishigure had 100,000 views after the first week. After Asu no Yozora also had 100,000 views after 2 weeks I was like OOOH!!!

M.B: It was ranked number 1 right. The response was slow but it became number 1.

Orangestar: It first became number 1 then after that everyone noticed me all of a sudden. Then, on the next day, it was my birthday haha. I uploaded it as my last piece as a 16 year old.

M.B: The best birthday present. Everyone celebrated it.

Orangestar: After was the piece I made before, “Amekigoe Zankyou”. M.B was busy then.

M.B: I really wanted to draw that song’s picture. When I first heard it, I thought, “I’m definitely gonna draw the picture”. Even now, I feel frustrated about it haha.

Orangestar: After having 2 hits, I thought about uploading it once to lay low for a bit. I didn’t really intend to upload it, but my dad said it would be good if I did. I never thought something like Amekigoe Zankyou would get popular on Nico Nico.

M.B: That’s true. It clearly had a different feeling to it.

Orangestar: Yeah. The one I asked to make the illustration was a girl from my music class in high school, but, according to her, she drew it with M.B’s illustrations in mind.

M.B: Ah, really? I’ve been saved haha.

Orangestar: I made Semishigure, Asu no Yozora, and Amekigoe Zankyou in the same flow.

M.B: And from that we kept our popularity. Everyone gradually set their eyes on us, so I guess it was kind of unshakable.

Orangestar: About the next month talk of a major album was emailed to me. It was sudden.

M.B: You were 17 huh, around then right.

Orangestar: From there, we started working on an album.

M.B: On my work, I tried to make it so they held many different meanings. Like on the jacket illustration. It’s not just pretty scenery.

Orangestar: Yeah. We even thought about the direction of the contrail. Like the plane was coming home haha

M.B: We also had a setting for the world view.

Orangestar: The bus stop idea was all M.B though. Red Summer Bus, Mount Zion.

M.B: I drew it pretty sneakily, but on the major debut’s site the picture was enlarged so I got some questions. From my Twitter mutuals. What’s Mount Zion? Haha, I talked about a lot of things. Heatedly talked.

Orangestar: It was heated huh… even though we made it in Winter.

M.B: For us, it was completely summer.

Orangestar: At that time I guess it was finally like I felt like I firm grasp of what direction I wanted my work to move in.

M.B: Right, we both had that feeling.

[seeaddywrite]

stars, hide your fires: chapter four

this chapter wouldn’t exist without @soberqueerinthewild‘s cheerleading, handholding, willingness to let me rant at her about my plot holes, & assistance with the word ‘soldier,’ which really shouldn’t be this hard to avoid. also, big thanks to @lire-casander for her cheerleading, assistance with middle names, & general fabulousness. 

the plan is to upload chapter five by Thursday evening :) thanks for reading this crazy adventure of mine.

AO3 LINK

chapter index: 1 || 2 || 3 || 4

It’s frighteningly easy to get a meeting set up with the oldest of Alex’s brothers. Charlie responds almost instantly to the email he sends requesting a face-to-face, and surprises everyone by saying that he’s already in Roswell, and would love to see Alex the next day at 0900. His presence doesn’t bode well for the secrets they’re trying to keep; Charlie’s a sniper in the Air Force Special Operations Task Force. He’s rarely stateside, and for him to be in Roswell either signifies that he knows something, or that there’s something else going on that Alex doesn’t know. Neither option makes Alex particularly optimistic, but he can’t allow it to change anything.

Going in the next day isn’t ideal. Alex had been hoping for longer to research and develop his narrative, but there’s no stalling now. He’d been the one to request the meet -- it’ll look suspicious if he asks to postpone now, which is the last thing he needs. Charlie always had a soft spot for Alex when they were kids, but Alex knows better than to think that will matter if he gives the slightest reason for Charlie to doubt his sincerity. While Charlie may have smuggled him snacks when their father locked him in his room, and brought painkillers to the shed when Alex hid there after a beating, he’s still Jesse Manes’ son. There’s no such thing as the benefit of the doubt in that world.

And, well -- Kyle had said it best, the evening before, when they’d finally settled down to review files and put together a game plan. “Aren’t any of you Manes guys normal meatheads?” he’d demanded, thumbing through Charlie’s file with increasingly anxious fingers. “Look at this! Charles A. Manes. Air Force Silver Star Recipient three different times. Sniper. Special Operations Task Force. Best known for taking out thirteen armed terrorists in a shoot-out by himself -- this is the guy you think has a soft spot for you? Seriously? What if he’s already talked to Flint and decides to shoot you on sight?”

At the time, Alex had waved off the concern and pointed out that none of Jesse Manes’ sons could ever be average. Not if they wanted his approval. Charlie was Spec Ops, Hunter was an ace pilot, and Flint was head of Research and Development in several major projects. They were all brilliant in their fields -- but Alex had the distinct advantage of being the only one who’d given orders. The rest of them, as he’d once accused Flint, are sheep. They’re exceptional as long as there are directives in play; without them, they’ll fall like marionettes with their strings cut.

At least, that’s Alex’s hope. As he stands in the middle of the bunker he’d requisitioned from Jesse Manes all those months ago, face-to-face with a brother he hasn’t seen in close to a decade, he’s not so sure. Valenti may have had a point, after all. Charlie looks nothing like the young man Alex remembers from brief visits between deployments; where once there’d been a liveliness to his dark eyes, there’s now only a cool, calculating stare. Age seems to have wiped away all traces of similarity to their mother, and Alex feels an uncomfortable wave of deja vu. Staring Charlie down in this bunker bears way too much similarity to the day he’d played the same game with their father and come out on top.

Sandy colored hair, shorn in military style that hides the greys just beginning at the temples, posture so ramrod straight that it looks painful, and features that may as well be carved out of granite -- Charlie’s entire appearance screams ‘Jesse Manes’ son,’ and Alex can’t help but wonder if he’s made a mistake, expecting any measure of softness from this man.

Just as he’s psyching himself out, though, Charlie steps forward and slaps Alex’s back in greeting. It’s as close to real affection as any of the Manes boys get, and, paired with a cool smile, it signifies that things are going even better than Alex could have hoped for. “It’s good to see you, kid,” Charlie tells him, glancing around the underground headquarters as if he was reacquainting himself with a space he hadn’t seen in a while. “You’re looking pretty good for a guy who got on the wrong end of an IED not so long ago. I’m impressed.”

Alex can’t help but stand a little straighter as Charlie looks him over, the response as automatic and ingrained as jerking awake at the first ray of sun on his face or jumping to attention when he hears the order. He’s spent a lot of time on base acting as if he’s still got two legs -- pity isn’t something he can tolerate, and at first, there’d been no escaping it. It’s not pity that he’s worried about with Charlie, though; he just doesn’t want to give away any weaknesses. His missing leg is something that can’t be helped, nor can his brother’s knowledge of the injury, but he can damn well be sure that it’s made clear that the prosthetic doesn’t slow him down.

“Sorry I couldn’t get back Stateside when you lost the leg,” Charlie continues, still scrutinizing Alex from all sides. “I tried, but I got shipped overseas two days later. Did you get my letter?”

It’s so far from the suspicious welcome that Alex had been bracing for that he’s momentarily speechless.

“I -- uh, yeah, I did,” Alex says when he pulls himself back together, and nods jerkily. “I meant to write back, but -”

Charlie shakes his head, a bizarrely affable smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it. You had more important things to worry about.” He moves around one of the temporary tables Alex has set up in the bunker, his every step infused with the sort of deadly grace that Alex could never hope to emulate. Charlie glances at some of the carefully-selected files spread out on top of the table. He never pauses long, but the laser-focus of his gaze tells Alex that he’s cataloguing every detail for later perusal.

It’s part of the plan, for Charlie to see the work Alex has been doing, to believe he’s as dedicated to protecting the world from aliens as the rest of the men in their family, but he still has to clench his fists in the pockets of his jacket to stop from fidgeting. There’s nothing about Michael or the Evans’ twins in the contents of those pages; Alex refuses to endanger them further, even though Max and Guerin had both told him to use whatever he had to in order to get the information he needed. There are too many ways for that to backfire, though, and he refuses to risk it. There are other ways to earn his way into Project Shepherd than by throwing his people under the bus.

“So,” Charlie says, after another moment of rifling through the files. “Dad decided to read you in, huh?”

This is where it starts to get tricky, and Alex feels every muscle in his body tense. It’s an effort to maintain his nonchalant facade, but he manages it. “I had to hack into his databases first,” he tells the other man honestly. “But, yeah. Eventually.” He’s talked through his story with Kyle and Guerin at least twenty times the night before, and he’s prepared for anything Charlie might ask. Anxiety ebbs away as he slides into the well-rehearsed cover, and Alex feels himself becoming steadier, more dangerous -- more of the man who’d survived Baghdad and ten years of active duty service.

“You know Dad would never trust me voluntarily. That hasn’t changed.” It’s no use pretending that Jesse had a magic change of heart about Alex’s ‘weakness.’ No one would be fooled. So the narrative isn’t so different from the truth, at least to begin. “But since I figured out the truth, even he can’t deny how useful I can be. At the very least, I can shore up your cyber defenses, because it took me less than half an hour to break in and get all of the intel on the Project’s servers. His access password was ‘password,’ for Christ’s sake.” There’s no pride in his tone, just matter-of-fact honestly and scorn for Jesse’s computer illiteracy.

“And then I found out about Caulfield, and I wanted to see it for myself, you know? I thought Dad was crazy, but if there was proof …” Alex lets the thought trail off deliberately, knowing that sometimes less is more when it comes to this sort of story.

The mention of the off-books base makes Charlie’s expression darken, just enough that Alex notices. He leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest in a way that makes his muscles stand out in stark relief against his brown t-shirt, and Alex’s jaw tightens momentarily. If Charlie thinks things like overt displays of physical dominance are enough to scare him, he’s got another thing coming -- after growing up in a house with their father, Alex is pretty much desensitized to anything that Charlie could possibly try.

“And then you went to Caulfield,” he prompts expectantly, eyes narrowed shrewdly. It’s a standard interrogation tactic employed by the military: don’t give away any of the answer when the question is asked. Use prompts rather than specifics. Lets the detained person say what’s really on their mind, take the answer in the direction they want -- and usually, they’ll implicate themselves.

Alex isn’t that stupid. He blinks wide, guileless eyes, and nods slowly. “Yeah. Then I went to Caulfield.” He leaves Kyle out of the story for now. Flint knows, so it’ll come up at some point, but Alex isn’t eager to bring his friend into the tale, and it’s not really relevant at the moment, anyway. “I had to see them for myself, Charlie. I mean, aliens? It sounds like something out of a fucking Star Wars movie, not real life. I needed to see it. So I went.”

As he speaks, Alex is careful to maintain that careful air of naivete. The act balances on the knife’s edge between uselessness and innocence, and he needs to stay just on the side of innocence. If he takes it too far, Charlie will write him off as foolish and unhelpful, and that’s the last thing he wants -- but it’s important he play the awed younger brother just trying to follow in the family footsteps. That’s his ticket into the game.

Charlie nods, his expression no less guarded. “And?”

Christ, he’s not making this easy. Not that Alex had expected him to -- but it would have been nice.

“And it’s hard to deny the truth when you’re standing right in front of them,” Alex says bluntly, letting some of the incredulity and fear he’d felt in that place seep into his expression. It feels odd, to be so calculating of his every movement and facial tic around someone that’s supposed to be his family, but he doesn’t let that stop him from doing it anyway. “Dad’s right. You’re all right. There are fucking aliens invading our planet -- and I want to be part of trying to stop them.”

Silence echoes in the space between the two men, and Alex doesn’t look away from Charlie, doesn’t give him the chance to think that he might be lying. Instead, he lets that announcement sink in for a moment, then continues: “I know you’ve heard Dad saying that I’m weak for our entire lives, but I’ve served three tours on active duty, and did my time on the ground, just like the rest of you. I signed up to serve and protect my country, and I’ve done it. That’s part of who I am, now, and I can’t just ignore the alien threat. Dad may not like it, but I’m part of this family, too. Protecting people is in my DNA just as much as it is yours -- I want to be a part of Project Shepherd. I want to help.”

The lies taste like ash in his mouth, and everything integral to Alex’s being rebels against the idea of being just another Manes sheep with no free will of his own. He’s had literal nightmares about that, about what he could have been capable of if his father had been able to crush his will. But he knows what Charlie wants to hear -- it’s the same thing all of his brothers have wanted to hear for his entire life. They want him to be one of them, another nameless airman in the generational parade, want him to stop asking questions and fall in line. And, most importantly, Alex knows what Charlie will be willing to believe. He’s learned from experience that people remember their first encounters with a person more than anything else. And to Charlie, Alex is always going to be the little boy determined to follow in his big brother’s footsteps, desperate for approval and in need of protection and advice.

Charlie shifts his weight on his shiny, black boots, and looks at Alex steadily. “We’ve already got three people trying to run things here, Alex,” he says carefully, and the omission of ‘kid’ is either a sign of respect, or a signal that Charlie is trying to distance himself from Alex. Guessing which is dangerous, so Alex doesn’t try. “And even if I say yes, Dad’s not likely to be happy about it when he gets back. He’s been pretty clear about not wanting you onboard for a long time.”

He appreciates that Charlie doesn’t try to pretend that Jesse Manes gives two shits about Alex. It’s easier that way, with at least some honesty between them -- and Alex has always hated it when someone tried to tell him that his father does care about him. Fathers who love their sons don’t break their bones to show it. They don’t spend years attempting to reshape their souls with their fists, like it’s nothing more than clay on a potter’s wheel.

Alex snorts. “Dad’s never wanted me around, Charlie. That’s not news to me. But you said ‘when he gets back,’ right?” He’s walking the razor’s edge, now, and knows that if he over or under sells the act here, this is as far his mission will go. “If he’s not here, you’re running things.” It’s not a guess; Alex is no stranger to chain of command, and Charlie’s the highest ranking of the brothers by virtue of age, at the very least.

“I’ve been stateside for three days, Alex,” Charlie says with a sigh, running a hand over his shorn hair. It’s the first sign of stress that he’s shown since arrival, and it’s enough to tell Alex that he’s getting somewhere. Charlie wants the extra help, wants to have another person to depend on -- it’s a fair bet he’s got access to Alex’s personnel file, too, and knows that Alex has the skills to actually be helpful.

In other words, Alex has got an opening, and he’s going to exploit it.

“And I’ve only been in Roswell for less than twenty-four hours. Dad fucked off somewhere without any warning months ago, and Flint and Hunter have taken on most of the responsibility here. I can’t just read you in without talking to them first. It wouldn’t be right -- especially since Flint is pretty damned sure you purposefully blew up Caulfield with Kyle fucking Valenti.”

The words don’t particularly surprise Alex; of course Charlie and Flint would have been in contact in the last six months if they’ve been working together. To make matters worse, Flint likely would have contacted Jesse as soon as it happened. Alex can’t be certain, but he’d be willing to be that intel is why Jesse showed up in Roswell despite Alex’s warnings and tried to kill Kyle, around the same time Max brought Rosa back to life. So no, he’s not thrown off by the fact that Charlie knows more than he let on initially -- but it’s still irritating to have it thrown back in his face.

Alex narrows his eyes and crosses his own arms over his chest, keeping his weight perfectly centered on his legs to hide the ache that’s started in his bad knee from standing and posturing for so long. “Flint thinks I blew up a secure facility and nearly killed myself on purpose?” he asks, acid dripping from the words. “No wonder he’s been stuck in R&D for ten years. He’s clearly got no fucking common sense.”

Charlie quirks an eyebrow in an expression that Alex recognizes from looking in the mirror. “So you didn’t blow it up on purpose?”

“I didn’t blow it up at all!” Alex says, the anger in his exclamation genuine. He’s not willing to take all of those deaths on his conscience, not even in a lie. “Some security protocol went off and the whole damn base self-destructed before I could do much more than stare at an old woman through the glass door, and get some insane story about a cancer-causing alien that sent Valenti off the deep end.” He sits slowly at the computer desk and tapped out a short sequence on the keyboard. On the monitors, the security footage of Valenti Sr. being shoved into the alien’s containment unit and, presumably, contracting brain cancer. Alex watches steadily, refusing to waver now. “If I’d realized that Valenti was going to find out our father murdered his, I would’ve left him in Roswell.”

Talking about something that is still causing Kyle so much pain in such a cavalier fashion makes Alex hate himself. He wants to scream when Charlie just nods, his lips twisted in disdain, like Kyle’s reaction to realizing his father had been murdered was somehow pathetic instead of justified. Thankfully, Alex doesn’t have to work very hard to hide his reaction; both he and Charlie are looking at the screens. “My guess is that he cracked one of containment cells, trying to get at the one who gave Jim the tumor, and it sparked the self-destruct.”

Guerin hasn’t been mentioned thus far, and Alex knows Flint had no idea of his presence at Caulfield, so there’s no hesitation as Alex rewrites the truth to fit his needs. It would be stupid, if he didn’t know for a fact that Guerin’s not on any surveillance footage from that day -- Alex had been sure of that. He’d torn his way through the cyber defenses of whatever server the video had been backed-up on without any finesse and erased everything, practically daring them to trace the data trail back to him. It hadn’t been smart, but Alex hadn’t been in the right headspace to be smart, back then. Not after witnessing Michael losing his mother a moment after finding her. Not after their near-escape from a deadly explosion. Not after being shoved out of Michael’s life and losing the only sense of family he’d ever known for his best friend --

At the time, Alex had almost hoped they’d come for him.

But Guerin is safe, for now, because of that stupidity, so Alex can’t bring himself to regret it.

Charlie’s brows furrow as he digests that explanation, and Alex can see his certainty waver. In that moment, Alex goes for the throat -- figuratively, of course. “Charlie, please,” he says, closing the video on the server and spinning his chair back around to look at his brother head-on. “You and Flint and Hunter are the only family I’ve got left. And you know I can be useful. None of you have the tech skills that I do, or the inside knowledge of Roswell. I’ve been here for months. I still have roots and connections here that none of you do. I can help. All you have to do is let me. And when Dad gets back, I promise, he won’t be able to deny that I’ve done good work.”

As he speaks, Alex is eight and standing in the kitchen of the house they all grew up in, begging a twenty-year-old Charlie to stay home after their mother had finally had enough and left. Then it’s Charlie, coming back on leave and swinging a six-year-old Alex around while he laughs. Or Charlie, smirking as Alex proudly smashed a guitar over Flint’s head at twelve, or the man in uniform, boarding the plane to take him back to the Middle East with a small smile over his shoulder just for Alex, who’s fifteen and cradling a broken wrist against his chest. It’s almost easy to want Charlie to believe him, to want to truly be on his brother’s side -- because despite everything he knows about Project Shepherd and the horrible things his brothers have done, a small, childish part of Alex is always going to want their acceptance.

But as much as Alex cherishes the memories of Charlie’s kindness, he hates the feelings of helplessness and impotence they evoke more. Since enlisting, Alex has built his life on the pillars of control and logic, his own sort of power, to make up for the lack in his childhood, and stepping into this situation has cost him all that work.

But this is for Michael, for Liz and Kyle and everyone in that group who’d come to mean something to him, and for them, Alex will allow his foundations to crumble, if that’s what it takes. This is only shaking them a little -- and tonight, at least, Alex has the promise of returning home to the one person who always makes him feel safe and stable.

“I’ll talk to Flint and Hunter,” Charlie says after a long, fraught silence.

Alex can read the answer in his eyes, though -- he’s convinced the man that he can be trusted, and he’s done a good enough job that he can be sure Charlie will persuade the others one way or another. The calculating, ruthless part of his mind that Alex tries to keep locked down is pleased at the ease with which he manipulated Charlie -- the rest of him, the human parts, just feel cold.

“I can’t guarantee anything until I talk to them, and I’d be thinking of some specific ways to show them you’re worth the risk,” Charlie continues, and Alex’s stomach sinks. Proving his worth to an anti-alien task force is going to involve doing a lot of shit he doesn’t want to think about, he’s sure -- but that’s a problem for another day. He made it through today’s set, and Alex has every intention of taking the whole match. And he’ll have some time to plan, now -- if Hunter’s still in Afghanistan, as his records indicate, there’s no way Charlie will have a response for him in the next day or even two. Alex will make damn sure to take advantage of that time.

“Thanks, Charlie,” Alex says with a smile that rings false to himself, but would fool anyone who didn’t know him well -- which, ironically enough, described his brother perfectly.

“Don’t thank me yet,” the older man says with a grim twist of his lips, and for a moment, Alex wonders why he looks so unhappy. Is he really that worried about selling the idea to Flint and Hunter, who hang off of his every word? Or is this fear of their father -- reluctance to go against his will? Alex doesn’t know, but he wishes Charlie would stop looking at him with those pitying, worried eyes. It’s making it harder to keep the smile on his face.

To the younger brother’s unending surprise, Charlie pushes away from the wall he’s been leaning against and moves closer, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Take a couple of days of leave and think this over while I reach out, huh? This isn’t like the other ops you’ve been involved in. It’s not something you ever get to walk away from. Just -- remember that. Consider your options. You never wanted this life, kid, and you’ve already lost enough.” Dark eyes, so close in color to Alex’s own, sweep over his body to linger on his bad leg, and Alex shivers despite himself.

Shock jolts like electricity down Alex’s spine at the thinly-veiled warning, and he opens his mouth to ask why Charlie is suddenly so worried about his choices -- or maybe to deny that he wants anything but the mission? Alex isn’t even sure. But Charlie is already walking away by the time Alex pulls himself together enough to speak. “I’ll call when I’ve got an answer for you,” he says over his shoulder, deep voice echoing off of the cavernous walls of the bunker as he begins the ascent to the surface.

Alex stays seated in his desk chair long after Charlie disappears, staring at the blank wall in front of him. Doubt and insecurity encroaches on him, flickering like shadows in the corner of his mind, and for the first time, Alex allows himself to wonder if he’s gotten in over his head. For a long, dark hour, he lets his mind conjure one possible scenario after another, each one growing darker and darker, and all ending in the death of everyone he cares about. What if Charlie’s warning was a hint that they know his plan? What if his brothers are three steps ahead while Alex is lagging behind? What if they’re going after Guerin and the others as he sits here feeling sorry for himself? What if he loses the few parts of his soul that the war left him with?

Eventually, Alex can’t take it anymore. The walls of the bunker are closing in on him, and if he doesn’t leave this place soon, he’s not sure he’ll be able to pull himself out of the spiral Charlie’s warnings had started. It’s so stupid that he’s reacting this way -- but he’s been running on caffeine and adrenaline and sheer stubborn determination for the last thirty-six hours, and now that the immediate threat is past, everything else is crashing down on him at once. The burden he’d taken on. The responsibility he’s shouldering. The fact that to succeed in this mission, he’s going to have to send Charlie and the rest of his biological family to prison.

Usually, when he has moments like this, Alex finds himself sitting behind the bar at the Wild Pony, or in the middle of Liz’s living room, or even with Mimi DeLuca in her little apartment. Being alone had never been particularly good for Alex’s mental health, and he knows that none of them would turn him away.

But there’s only one other place he wants to be right now, and it’s not with any of them -- and for once, Alex is pretty sure that he won’t be turned away.

Drawing in a deep, determined breath, Alex stands slowly, finds his equilibrium, and points himself toward home.

[chevrolangels]

a few excerpts from my fic, The Five People You Meet in Heaven. 

Happy Birthday Dean <3

Today Is Dean’s Birthday

“You know how you get presents on your birthday?”

Dean doesn’t look up. He makes another whoosh sound, completely focused on sending the red car zooming across the carpet.

“And…”

She sits heavily down next to him, placing a hand on his head.

“It’s your birthday today.”

Dean smiles widely.

“Uh-huh.”

He continues to send the imaginary citizens on their daily lives, going as fast as his little fingers can push them. She watches, stroking a hand through his hair.

“Well…I have a present for you.”

Dean abandons his cars and quickly turns to his mother, his face lit up with anticipation.

“What is it?”

She smiles, leaning forward.

“It’s right here,” she murmurs, patting her stomach. Dean frowns, reaching out. He places his hand on the slight swell of her dress.

“In your tummy?” He asks, looking up with those wide eyes.

She nods, covering his hand.

“Yeah.”

She moves his hand slightly, so Dean can feel where the baby’s been shifting all morning. He’s quiet now, but maybe he’ll perk up for his brother.

Mary smiles.

“A little brother. Just for you.”

Dean fidgets a little, squinting at her.

“A brother?”

“Yeah,” she says gently. “Would you like that?”

He kicks, strong this time, and Dean’s eyes widen, his tiny face filled with wonder.

“Whas’ his—what’s his name?”

“Well…”

Mary smiles, tousling his hair.

“You know how you’re named for Grandma?”

Dean nods.

“Well, me and your Dad were thinking…that this little one will be named for Grandpa.”

Dean smoothes his hands over her stomach, and she points.

“Sam.”

Dean repeats.

“Sam.”

Mary laughs, nodding.

“Our little Sammy.”

Dean reaches for her, and she sweeps him up, hugging him close.

“Like it,” Dean says, tangling his fingers in her hair. “Like it a lot. Sam. Sammy.”

Mary chuckles.

“I’m glad.”

She dips him quickly, and Dean shrieks happily, giggling. Mary pokes him in the chest, smiling wide.

“And what does my big man want for his birthday breakfast, huh?”

Dean wiggles in her arms, shouting.

“Hug!”

“Ohhh, yes of course,” Mary coos. “You love hugs, don’t you?”

Dean nods, squirming so he can wrap his arms around her neck. She obliges him, hiking him up.

“I think we can do that.”

She carries him downstairs, whispering conspiratorially all the way.

“We can go to the park, and then we’ll play with—“

“Legos!”

“Yes, honey—I didn’t forget about the Legos—and by then Daddy will be home, and we can eat the pie you helped me make.”

“Pie!”

“Mhm. And blow out candles.”

Mary raises her eyebrows, tickling him a little.

“And how many candles do you get?”

Dean frowns, counting briefly on his fingers.

“F…four. Four!” He says triumphantly, holding them out for her to see.

Mary grips his tiny hand.

“That’s right! You’re four years old,” she says, smiling. “And getting so big already. Oof.”

She adjusts him a little on her hip, trying to avoid the slight swell of her stomach. A couple years from now, and she won’t be able to lift him like this anymore.

She sets Dean down on the counter, and he helps her make breakfast, even though he ends up knocking over the blueberries and sending them sprawling. They make funny shapes with the pancake batter and flick little globs of whipped cream at each other, Dean giggling happily, syrupy-sticky fingers holding her own.

Mary smiles.

“Happy Birthday, Dean.”

Today Is Dean’s Birthday

“C’mon, it was just a few dollars—“

“And you don’t think we’re scrapin’ by as it is? I told you not to lose that money!”

“I’ll get it back, Dad—it’s not a problem—“

“It wouldn’t have been a problem if you had just fuckin’ taken care of it!”

The door slams, hard.

Dean hears the engine growl, and the squeal of tires as Dad pulls out of the parking lot.

He clenches his jaw, fists balling in the loose material of his jeans.

He vaguely stumbles backwards, until his legs hit the edge of the bed, and he sits down, sinking heavily onto the mattress.

He stares at the shitty motel wall, unseeing.

Some time later, there’s a soft click as the door opens, and Sam walks in.

“Dean?”

His voice is hesitant.

Dean quickly sits up, wiping his eyes.

“Yeah. Hey.”

He slouches into an easy smile, plastering it onto his face.

Sam glances around, fiddling with the strap of his bag that hangs off his shoulder. Kid’s been at the library all day, studying for…what is it—chemistry? Biology test on Friday?

“Where’s Dad?” he asks carefully.

Dean digs his nails into his palm.

“He went out.”

Sam nods. He doesn’t have to say anything.

They both know he’ll stumble in some time past three a.m., sleep it off and be ready to go again by noon.

“Well.”

Sam fidgets, not looking at him.

“Um—happy birthday.”

Dean looks up.

“You remembered,” he says, a little dazedly.

Sam scoffs, dropping down beside him on the bed.

“Course I remembered, jerk.”

He shyly slips an arm around him, giving him a brief hug. Dean snorts back a laugh and returns it, ruffling his hair as they part. Kid’s almost as tall as he is now.

Sam smiles sheepishly, and they go back to sitting in silence, staring at the floor.

Dean scuffs at the carpet with his toe. Sam bites at his nails.

Then he seems to make a decision, quickly bending over and digging through his backpack, as if he expects Dean to stop him. Dean opens his mouth, ready to tell him that he doesn’t need any presents—when Sam surfaces, a bunch of pamphlets in his hands.

“I, uh—I got these for you.”

He practically shoves them in his face, and Dean takes them, confused.

“Don’t be mad at me,” Sam says.

Dean frowns, glancing down at the page.

Achieve more, dream more—Get your GED today!

He looks up, dumbstruck.

Sam holds up his hands.

“I—I saw you looking at them last case we were on,” he blurts. “And you know, I feel like crap, you moving around so much, when I actually got to go to real school, and I—“

He pauses briefly, then barrels on.

“And there were a couple in the school's office, so I figured, hey, might as well.”

Dean just stares at him.

“Because Dad would have a fit, and I know you’d never do it yourself, so no, don’t freakin’ look at me like that,” Sam mumbles.

Dean stares wordlessly down at the bright lettering, and he closes his fist around it, tight enough that his hand starts to hurt. He knows he should probably say something, but his voice isn’t cooperating.

Sam bites his lip.

“You’re my brother, Dean,” he says softly. “I know you better than I know myself sometimes.”

He sighs.

“You can be pissed at me all you want, but…just promise me you’ll read them. Okay?”

Dean vaguely realizes that he’s nodding.

‘Yeah,” he chokes out. “Okay.”

Sam’s face splits out into a huge smile, and before Dean can defend himself—Sam is leaping on him again, hugging him tight. Dean scoffs, shoving him away.

“Alright, Sasquatch. Calm down.”

Sam lets him go, but he’s still beaming at him. Dean scowls, aiming a half-hearted punch at his shoulder. Sam ducks it and escapes, laughing as he drops his bag on the table.

Dean shakes his head, looking back down at the pamphlet in his hands. He runs a thumb over the edge of the pages, his eyes burning.

“Hey, Sam.”

Sam looks up, and Dean clears his throat.

“Thanks,” he says. “Thank you.”

Sam gives him that big dumb grin again.

“No problem.”

Dean quickly stands and shoves the pamphlet into his own bag, a stupid smile slowly spreading across his face.

“Oh, hey—“

Sam turns suddenly, heading towards the shitty motel fridge.

“I got you a cake, too!” he says enthusiastically.

Dean heaves a groan.

“Jesus Christ, Sammy. Pie—PIE.”

Today is Dean’s Birthday

Dean shuffles down the hallway of the bunker, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

Forty. A milestone most people consider important. And for Dean, it might have passed insignificantly, another year, another birthday. Nothing special.

But this time, it’s different. Because he didn’t wake up alone.

Because Dean had been sharing his bed for almost a month, one perfect month since Castiel had entered his room, swiftly and silently. One month since everything changed.

Looking back now, it almost makes Dean want to laugh. Never in his wildest dreams, his secret dreams of a normal life—he had never seen it happening like this.

If it ever managed to happen, god—he had expected an awkward flurry of hands and lips, panicked and desperate after a close call, or maybe just confessing it all, laying it bare when there was nothing to lose, on one of their many last nights on earth.

He had never expected this.

Dean hadn’t expected Cas to stop by his bedroom in the bunker, instead of heading off to his own room, to get the sleep he needed, for a body now tired and human again.

Dean hadn’t expected Cas to ignore all his questions and just say it.

But he did.

Cas said it, and then just stood there, staring at him in that infuriating way of his, eyes intense and piercing.

And Dean was speechless.

The conversation that followed was perhaps one of the most difficult and most awkward of his life—navigating sex and relationships with an age-old angel who had barely a decade of experience in humanity, hashing out all the shit that they had done to each other over the years—but in the end, it all seemed worth it.

Cas merely asked if he could stay, and Dean wordlessly opened his arms.

They fell asleep like that, slipping off into tomorrow, woken eventually by the gentle sounds of Sam moving about the bunker.

Dean hadn’t had a nightmare since.

He walks carefully back from the kitchen, careful not to spill the coffee. He slips into their room, quietly shutting the door behind him with his foot. But just inside the doorway, he pauses.

Cas is still asleep, snoring softly, and at the sight of him, all tangled up in the sheets of Dean’s bed—

Something tugs deep inside his chest, and he's almost overwhelmed by the feeling, something he can't really describe. It's like warmth and nervousness and a slight edge of melancholy, but Dean swallows, and pushes it all aside.

He quietly sets the mugs down. He takes a deep breath.

Then he softly walks over to the bed, slipping back in beside Cas under the covers.

I love you.

Cas had said it the way he said everything else—with that strong conviction, slow and sincere, and Dean couldn’t help but believe him.

He closes his eyes, pressing his face against Cas’s sleeping back. Dean listens to him breathe for a moment, selfishly reveling in the soft movement of Cas's body against his own.

But he can’t stand it any longer.

Dean presses a gentle kiss to his spine.

“Cas.”

He kisses up his bare skin, up to his shoulder blades, up his arms, his neck—and finally Cas stirs, muttering sleepily.

“Dean…?” he murmurs, in a voice that’s ready to drop off again. Dean slips a hand around Cas's waist, nosing into his back.

“I’m ready,” he whispers.

Cas turns so he can see him properly, completely awake now.

“I want you,” Dean says quietly. Cas is still. Dean shivers a little, continuing to press kisses up his arm, shoulder, and finally to his lips.

“Please, Cas.” He whispers.  “Please.”

They move a little hesitantly, a little slow, but every touch laced with a strange sense of urgency. They both know they have all the time in the world, but still—Cas touches him like it’s the last time he ever will, a slight edge of desperation in the way he grips at Dean's arms, his back, his legs—and he kisses Dean endlessly, pressing words of love and devotion into his skin, Cas's eyes never leaving his.

Dean sinks his forehead against Cas’s, his breath harsh and ragged. They rock slowly back and forth, sweaty and sticking together with tongues and heat, as Cas murmurs words in a language Dean can’t understand. He curls his hands into the sheets, panting hard.

“C-cas. Cas.”

Castiel holds his gaze, not blinking. Dean’s tongue is frozen, he chokes on his words.

“I’m here,” Cas murmurs, burying the words in his mouth.

I’m here, Dean, breathed into every inch of his skin.

I’m here. We’re here. We’re finally here.

A few breathless moments, fingers skimming over skin, small little sounds, endless sighs.

Dean kisses him roughly, panting desperately in the space between their lips. Cas’s hands drift over Dean's body like he’s praying, worshipping, and Dean breaks.

“Cas—”

He forces those eyes on him.

“You—you know, right?”

Cas fixes him with that stare, and Dean swallows, eyes brimming with tears.

“You know I do, too?” he whispers.

But Castiel just nods.

“Yes, Dean,” he breathes, capturing his lips with a kiss.

“I know.”

[rickstexaschick]

Random Picks, Chapter 5:  Coach Sanchez, Part 1

You have to satisfy your PE credit before you can graduate. You thought this would be an easy option...

It was in the mid-90s when I went back to college to finish my degree, having taken the "long route" path through life to get there.  A few years working at different fast food restaurants, then worked my way up through management at a retail clothing store at the mall...  I even tried being the assistant to a family photographer -- who turned out to be less than family oriented in his handling of his employees...

"No" apparently didn't mean "no" to him; and the whole "Me Too" movement wouldn't happen for another 20 years.

Finally, even I had to agree with my patient and long-suffering parents and admit that I was getting to Nowheresville fast.  So, I went back to school, taking mostly night classes wherever possible while working full time during the day, until I was down to the final semester, getting ready to register for those last few courses and then I'd be done.  That's when my advisor told me that I wouldn't graduate without completing the 2 hour physical education requirement.

Christ.  28 years old and I still had to do Phys Ed?!  It was so fucking stupid.  I scanned the listing for the less-strenuous courses -- archery? bowling?  Nothing held any appeal for me whatsoever.  I still had a week or so to come to a decision and was sitting in the Commons area.  I was “Slamming and Cramming,” which was basically slamming coffee and doing some last minute cramming for a final exam.  I overheard 2 students talking about their racquetball class.

Ooh!  Racquetball.  I'd missed seeing that on the listing.  I tuned out the students' remaining conversation and pulled out my worn and tattered copy of the next semester's course listings.  Quickly flipping to the PE section---sure enough, there were 2 different classes offered.  I had to pick the late one at 6pm, which would give me an hour break at the end of my work shift.  Yuck, a PE class at 6pm.  Oh well, it would have to do.

Fortunately I come from what you would call a Racquetball Fanatic Family.  Other families did tennis or golf, ours was racquetball.  My dad had gotten really into it, when it first became popular, and for a number of years he participated in semi-pro tournaments.  Then he became a rep for one of the bigger equipment companies.  My older brother did even better and started playing in junior tournaments when he was 15, then turned pro at 18 and continued doing it for years.  Not that that was a lucrative thing, but still...  Then he, too, took a job as a rep with the same company as my dad.

I dabbled in it, playing in junior tournaments here and there while I was in high school, but I wasn't as good as my brother or my dad, or maybe it just didn't appeal to me as much.  And I didn't really want to travel around selling sporting equipment.  So, that was my racquetball story.  At least now it would pay off, and this would be an easy "A."

The semester ended and the new one started.  I was standing in a long line at the textbook store, waiting to check out when a guy standing in the line next to me happened to see the slim, used copy of "Handbook to Racquetball" on the top of my stack of books.

"Racquetball, huh?  Too bad you have to get Coach Sanchez this semester."

"Never heard of him," I said, hoping to avoid a long, drawn out conversation about some evil-tempered asshole.  So often these types of stories had no basis in fact, were more Urban Legend than anything. The scary calculus professor who failed everyone, or the female English professor who would sleep with 1 or 2 of her male students and would let them miss every class and still give them A's.

"He came out of retirement to coach this semester.  The regular coach was in a bad accident over Christmas."

We shuffled closer to the check-stands.

"You seem to know a lot about it," I said, finding my curiosity growing.  At least, the accident story sounded interesting.  I can rubberneck along with the best of them when it comes to passing a car pile-up on the road.

"I'm a Kinesiology Major — that's Phys Ed.  Gonna be a professional trainer when I finish," he said proudly, swelling himself up, holding his stomach in and puffing his chest out.  The guy looked the type---all bulky muscle, tanned, confident.  Probably more muscle than brains, like so many jocks.  He adjusted the heavy stack of books in his arms and continued.

"We heard all about Coach Radcliff's car accident -- he almost died.  Anyway, the way I heard, this guy Sanchez was pro for long time.  Taught here for a few years, then disappeared.  That was a while back.  Not the easiest guy to get along with, is what they say.  Kind of an asshole."

Huh, I thought.  I'd never heard of anyone with the last name of Sanchez, and the Racquetball World wasn't exactly huge...   We each stood in silence after that.  I paid for my books -- Holy Crap, these damn things were expensive.  If only I would actually read them...maybe I'd have better grades.

The first day of class came and I was running late from work, of course.  Story of my life...  The course listing said that the first 3 or 4 classes would start in the classroom setting, so at least I wouldn't make myself any later by having to run into the locker room to change first.  I opened the door to the classroom and was grateful when I realized that the door was in the back of the room -- so no "walk of shame" past everyone and the professor, interrupting the lecture.

I slipped into a desk at the end of a row as quietly as possible.  The room was long and narrow and there was a tall guy sitting in front of me.  I couldn't see the front without leaning past him and halfway out in the aisle, which I sure as hell wasn't going to do -- no need to draw anymore attention to myself.

"We-urp-ell.  It l-l-looks like our star player, our celebrity has finally fuckin' arrived..."   The man's voice was deep, rough.  And sounded very annoyed.  I looked around to see who'd come in behind me and realized to my horror that he meant me.

Oh shit.  Please don't let this class, my last semester, be like this...  Everyone in the room was looking at me.  I felt my face burning and tried to slide down a little in my chair.

The guy in front of me had turned around sideways in his seat to look at me, giving me a clear view of the man at the front of the class.  He was tall, lean, with a shock of blue-grey hair sticking out from his head in unruly waves.  Like he didn't own a hairbrush.  Even from the back of the classroom I could see his blue eyes piercing me.  Damn!  He was fucking sexy!  I sucked my breath in and felt myself growing wet.

He frowned.  "N-n-nice of you to join us.  Y-y-you didn't feel the need to change?"

I looked around and realized, to my horror again, that everyone was in shorts and t-shirts and had their racquets.

"Um, sir," my voice croaked and I had to clear my throat and start again.  "The course listing said that the first few lectures would be in the classroom.  So I thought..."  I trailed off lamely.

"Th-Then you thought wrong.  Go change.  Meet us on the courts.  Everyone else, let's (urp) go."

I gathered up my things and headed for the locker room, my face still burning with embarrassment.  How was it that I'd made this mistake, that everyone else knew to be in work-out clothes?  Then I stopped in my tracks at the entrance to the locker room, my hand on the door.  I didn't have any work-out clothes with me.  I wasn't expecting to need any yet.  Shit.  Shit, shit, shit.  Now what?

I turned around and went to the racquetball courts.  Coach Sanchez was trailing up the rear, the students having disappeared around a corner, and I caught up to him.

"Coach, I don't have anything with me.  I wasn't expecting to play today.  I'm sorry."

"Hhmmph."  He refused to look down at me, barely acknowledged that I'd said anything.  He continued walking, his long legs taking great strides and I struggled to keep up, taking two steps to his one.  We got to the wing of the building with the courts, everyone was standing around, waiting for instructions.  Coach paired everyone up and sent them off to the courts.  He turned and looked down at me.

"Go wait for me -- go up on the gallery."

Some racquetball courts are designed with the rear wall made of plexiglass, so observers can watch.  But being a classroom setting, this facility's courts were regular walled, with a viewing gallery on the second level so that the coach could look down on the various games and call out instructions.

I went up to the second level and set my things down in the corner.  I peered down onto the first court and watched two students clumsily knock the ball around.  I went from court to court and saw that this pretty much was the caliber of all the students in the class.  I ended up above court #9 and watched two guys hitting the ball wildly, laughing at themselves.  The tenth court was empty.

"This group f-f-fucking sucks."  He was standing right next to me and I nearly jumped out of my skin.  "Can't believe they talked -- talked me into this shit."  He pulled a metal flask from the hip pocket of his shorts and unscrewed the cap then took a deep pull.  His long fingers were wrapped around the flask, his other hand rested on the rail, his fingers taping it lightly.  I stared at them and wondered what they would feel like on my body...  He offered the flask to me, nudging my arm.  "Want some?"

"Uh, no thanks..."  I was pretty sure it wasn't Gatorade in that flask.  He stood uncomfortably close to me and I began to breathe quickly.  Occasionally he'd lean into me, on the pretense of craning his head down into the court below to watch a player, but he didn't immediately move away afterwards.  Soon he stayed pressed up against me.  His skin was warm and I started to feel wetness and heat bloom between my legs as the skin of his arm continued to rub against mine.  Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and took a careful sideways step away from him.  I could feel his eyes on me, but I kept my gaze steadfastly downward, pretending to watch the game below.

"Hhmmph," he chuckled.  "All r-r-right.  You can take off -- you can go.  Be here, be back Thursday, fucking on time and ready to -- you're gonna play for me."  He looked me up and down, smirking.

I stammered a goodbye, thanking him, then gathered my things and left.  My legs were so weak I nearly tripped down the stairs.

When I got to my car and started the engine, I had to sit there for a few minutes, waiting for the throbbing in my pussy to go away.  God, what was it about this man that made me so fucking horny?  Everything about him screamed "drunken lech" but all I could think about was him fucking me.  I wanted to reach down and rub my clit, finger fuck myself right there.  I took a quick look around the parking lot and didn't see anyone.  Coast clear.  Being winter, it was already dark out...should be safe enough.

I reached a hand down inside my pants and leaned over the steering wheel to hide myself.  Then I slowly rubbed my clit, thinking a quick orgasm would ease my tension before I drove home.  Reaching further, I pressed two fingers deep inside and began to stroke, thinking about his tall body, those elegant, long fingers...I was breathing heavily and sweating, I felt myself coming close --

A hard rapping on the driver's side window brought me back to reality and I yanked my hand out of my pants but stayed bent over the steering wheel.  Oh my God, here I was, caught masturbating in a school parking lot by the campus police.  What the fuck had I been thinking?!  I was too afraid to look up, but then the hand rapped on the window again.  I turned my head and it was Coach Sanchez.  He motioned for me to roll the window down.

"Y-you left without the -- without a copy of the syllabus."  His eyes gleamed and his smirk was positively lecherous.  He looked down at my hand where I had it down on the seat and I imagined that my fingers were dripping with my juices.  I was mortified.  I wanted to melt down into the floor boards of my car.

"L-L-Looks like you, uh, you could use some help there."

I cleared my throat, "Um, no.  I'd dropped my ID under the seat.  Was just trying to find it..."  It was such a blatant lie.  I couldn't look him in the face.

"Uh huh.  Here."  He leaned into the window and handed a copy of the syllabus in to me.  I could smell the faint odor of liquor on his breath.  "I let those fools out -- I let class out early.  Wanna get a drink?"

Now I really was mortified.  My coach had caught me masturbating in the car...Surely he knew I was thinking of him, and now he was asking me out for a drink?  My mind raced.  I can't say that I wasn't tempted...There was something about him.  Duh.  Obviously.  But, no.  I'd already had one affair with a professor.  It ended badly.  His wife had found out about us.  Threatened to have me kicked out of school -- but this would have ended her husband's career, so fortunately she didn't say anything.  I couldn't put myself through that again.

"Thank you, Coach Sanchez, but I worked all day and I'm really tired.  I think I'll just head home."

"Tired, huh?  D-d-don't let that be your -- affect your performance in the future."  He straightened up and stepped away from the door, rapping on the roof twice with his knuckles.  "See you -- see you on Thursday."

Grateful at finally being released, I rolled up the window and backed out and drove away.  I looked in my rearview mirror.  He remained in the same spot, watching my car until I turned down the row of the parking lot.

tbc

This was originally posted on Archive of Our Own:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15708732/chapters/36759801

[spn-ficfanatic]

The One Moment- BONUS CHAPTER: A Nice Day For A White Wedding

SERIES MASTERLIST - PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5 - PART 6 - PART 7 - PART 8 - BONUS: IN SICKNESS & IN HEALTH - BONUS: YOU’RE NEEDED ON SET – BONUS: SERENITY, COURAGE & WISDOM - BONUS CHAPTER: SHOWTIME!

Bonus chapter to my fic “The One Moment”, can be read separately. Shout-out to @ellen-reincarnated1967 for the story suggestion!

Pairing: Jared x Reader

Genre: Fluff (it’s a wedding, so....)

Words: 1475

A/N: This was hard. I don’t get weddings, I’ve been with my partner for 11 years and we have no plans to ever get married but that’s just us. So the whole “excited about a wedding” thing is kind of foreign to me but I hope I pulled it off!

A/N/2: There’s gonna be more bonus chapters than the actual series, rofl. It wasn’t supposed to be this way but the idea’s keep flowing and I can’t stop myself!

You stood in front of the floor-length mirror admiring your dress. Long and flowy, it was exactly what you always imagined it to be and the sight of you in it made you smile so wide you felt like your face was going to break. You watched Lacey behind you in the reflection with amusement. Well, you couldn’t actually see her, because her dress was hiked up as far as she could take it while she fiddled with her stockings.

“You quite alright there?” you asked her with a laugh, and she let out an annoyed grunt.

“Stupid stockings. They fit me a month ago!”

“Take them off then, you don’t need them,” you told her, going over to her to lift the back of her dress over her head, avoiding her immaculate hair-do. “Better?”

“Much, thanks,” she replied, reaching over for a pair of nearby scissors and proceeding to cut into the tights. “There, I think that’ll do it,” she replied with a relieved sigh, throwing them across the room with a huff.

There was a gentle knock at the door and you put her dress down quickly before calling for them to enter, praying it wasn’t another Padalecki relative. Not that there was anything wrong with that, you just weren’t used to a big family. Or really, any family at all. You were relieved when Jensen’s face poked through the door.

“We were just wondering ho—oly cow Y/N, you look incredible,” he gaped, coming toward you to give you an awkward hug, standing back as far as his legs could reach.

“Christ Jay I’m not gonna break,” you told him rolling your eyes, stepping closer and squeezing him properly.

“Well sure, but I didn’t want to mess up your do,” he replied, pulling back and waggling a finger at your hair which hung low in gorgeous curls. You shrugged.

“Meh, Lacey did them, she can do it again if they get squished.”

“What? No she can’t! It’s 15 minutes until the wedding, don’t put her under that kind of pressure!” she told you in a panic, her hand on her hip.

“And who is this gorgeous specimen?” Jensen asked, striding over to Lacey with a smirk and open arms. She smiled back before putting a finger to his lips, stopping him before he reached her.

“Nuh huh. She may not care about mussing herself up but you get one wrinkle on this dress and you’re not getting it off… capisce?”

Jensen gulped and nodded quickly, backing away while you laughed at the scene. You reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry Jay, she’s just a bit tense at the moment. Once all this is over I promise your girlfriend will revert back to her normal crazy-ass self.”

As if to confirm this, Lacey blew him a kiss and a wink before walking to the bathroom. “Well, I’ll let you two kids talk, I’m gonna hit the toilet one more time before we get this show on the road.”

The door closed behind her and you grinned as you turned to face Jay.

“Your friend is weird,” he told you.

“Yer, well, I ain’t the one dating her,” you told him with a raised eyebrow, as you tidied up his tie. He mulled that over for a second before smiling and nodding in agreement.

“So,” he started, taking your hands from below his neck where they nervously fiddled with his neck-wear, and holding them in his. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrified,” you admitted with a deep breath, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise and concern.

“Really? I thought this was what you wanted?”

“What? Oh God, YES, I absolutely want this. It’s just stupid wedding day jitters, you know?”

“I don’t, so why don’t you tell me?” he asked you with a frown, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You took a deep shuddering breath.

“I just… I’m not good enough for him Jay. He could have anyone in the World and he chose me?” you replied, looking at the ground while your cheeks grew hot. You weren’t really sure what possessed you to bring this up with him; sure he was like a big brother to you but Christ, this was the best man you were freaking out to! You felt a hand lift your chin, and found yourself being forced to look into his eyes.

“You two are more alike than you realize. You know he was just having this conversation with me 10 minutes ago?” You raised your eyebrows in surprise and he smiled back. “That man cannot believe you chose him to spend the rest of your life with. I’m not sure if he’s told you but he had a crush on you from the moment he laid eyes on you, so if it makes you feel any better he was definitely the one doing the chasing,” he told you with a wink. “I was watching him while you sang in the club that night, you know the Pink song?” You nodded as you remembered the night fondly, one of your most favorite memories. “I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, he fell in love with you right there and then. I actually can’t believe he made it to a whole year before he proposed. But the point is; you’re made for him. And him for you. So don’t freak out about this, you got it.”

You sniffled as you nodded and smiled back, your eyes glistening. You patted him affectionately on the cheek before leaping up for a hug which he returned tightly.

“Aww guys, that was adorable,” Lacey commented from behind you. “I mean, you totally stole my maid-of-honour speech but you can make up for it later,” she told Jay with a wink, and he replied with a low growl. You laughed and slapped him lightly on the chest.

“Cummon, I think my nearly-husband is waiting for me,” you told them, taking Lacey by the hand and pulling her toward the door, Jensen following right behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Don’t let me trip don’t let me trip don’t let me trip,” you chanted quietly to Lacey, as you slowly made your way down the aisle with a vice-like grip on her elbow. It was a small crowd, but big enough to make an idiot of yourself if you fell flat on your face.

“Don’t be daft, I’ve got you,” Lacey whispered in reply. “By the way, if you hurt him I’m gonna hunt you down and… oh wait, sorry, that’s Jensen’s speech.”

“Har dee har har Lace,” you replied with a smirk.

“Seriously though, I actually can’t tell you how thrilled I am for you. Every time I think about you two it just makes me so happy, and I hope he makes you happy too.”

“I think my heart would explode if it were any fuller,” you told her honestly. She patted you on the arm.

“Babe, don’t look at your feet. Look up!”

“I can’t, I’m gonna trip!” you hissed back, before she put her hand under your chin to lift your face. The first person you laid eyes on was Jared, and for the rest of the ceremony you didn’t turn away. You felt sure that at some point Lacey put your hand in his and that he lead you to the front, and that there was a priest or someone saying something about marriage and love and yada yada. You’re pretty sure you said things where you were supposed to and that you put his ring on the correct finger, but it was all a blur. All you could do was look into his eyes, and he in turn had trouble looking away from yours. You wanted to memorize every second of this moment, because it was the start of something special.

“You may now kiss the bride!”

You were pulled out of your daze with the words you’d been aching to hear, and you leap into his arms while the crowd around you cheered and howled in celebration.

“Do I have a booger or something?” Jared asked you when you pulled away, and you slapped him playfully on the arm.

“Those are your first words to me as my husband?” you ask him in mock horror.

“Well, you won’t stop looking at me!” he laughed back, resting his forehead on yours.

“It’s not my fault you’re a goddamn Adonis,” you replied with a laugh. “If it bothers you I can stop? Never look at you again?”

“Don’t you dare,” he replied, pulling you in for another kiss. Jensen wolf-whistled behind you and you raised a middle finger which elicited a loud laugh from the crowd.

“Alright alright, break it up. I want me some cake!” Lacey called out with raised arms, earning a cheer in response.

Enjoyed this? Read the series that inspired it HERE

“Everything” Tag List: @angelsandwinchesters, @grace-for-sale, @growningupgeek, @iamnotsaneatall, @nanie5, @queen-of-moons2025

“The One Moment” Tag List: @winchester-writes, @winchester-lover999, @fandomoniumflurry, @oneshoeshort, @ellen-reincarnated1967, @the--real-wombat, @demonic-meatball, @waywardlodging, @lelifesaver, @imaginationisgrowth

[what-ever-happened-to-chip]

Part 4: Junkie

*insert story and whole memory montage of joni and jesse's life* (I'm writing it now, but to make it complete I would have to write a lot more so i'll slowly add in some shit about it to maybe inspire the mood)

For now,

HOLY SHIT, where was I? Christian? I need a cigarette, what's wrong with my body? Who am I? "Hello Gray" A ghostly smile was plastered on Christian's pale face. "Gray.....yes I'm...Gray? What did you just do to me? Where's Jesse?" "I gave you Joni's memories and of course to see a memory the way it really was perceived, you had to had to have lived it. You just lived Joni's entire life. And in tandum, her mind is melded with her brother's so you just indeed lived Jesse's life to. They're minds melded when they were about 14 so you saw them at the same time then. However once you 'became' Jesse as well you saw all his memories too. Quite the anamoly indeed." I couldn't think straight...or I could. I felt invaded, however I had let this parasite in. No..not parasite, but my mind did not only feel like mine. I felt like 3 people. "You're fucked up, i gotta go..." I knocked the chair over getting up and bee lined to the door. "Oh, but you'll be back" he warned with a sordid grin. Nothing around me looked new, but it's as if I had 3 perspectives of it, but they weren't separate. I was all of us. I was we. But I was only myself still. I understood Joni now and I wish I didn't. What was I thinking? I paced around looking at everyone with shifty eyes and desperately needing an escape? I'd never felt so trapped, but yet apathetic, but not -errr i don't know what i think. They think that. She thinks that. I think....jesus christ. What the fuck is wrong with me, i need something....I

"Oh there you are Gray, please come join us. Lana's observations have led us to discuss, why Jenn has a special hatred for our dear Yuna here." I stared at him too long and forced myselves through the motions of sitting down. "I don't believe Jenn hates me, she's much too kind for that. I know when people are in love they want to protect it and the rejection of feeling your love might be not completely genuine hurts very deeply. I don't want to make her feel that way" "Indeed so Yuna, however I think you just proved my argument right. Jenn wishes you were a bitch so she could hate you, but you make it rather impossible." Marcus grinned at her, was he flirting? I've never noticed flirting from a girl's perspective before. It made me uncomfortable. "Yeah, but you never answered why she wants to hate Yuna, I just don't get it!" lana said confused even though she had more information than anymore. "Shall you be the tie breaker Gray?" 6 sets of eyes all gazed over at him with anticipation. "Uhh...what am I voting on?" "We tryna figure out if that Jenn girl is a THOT or not!" Buddy clapped his big hands together, silently laughing at his own opinion. "Yeah me, Marcus, and obv Yuna don't think she is a bad person just.....yknow confused, but, Buddy, Rikku, and Jesse think she's a cunt... I mean bad person. yeah." I stared at Jesse and wanted to agree with him. At first glance it felt as if I was looking at a reflection. I also wanted to forgive woman? What? I guess I like Jenn....but is she a bitch? I can't stop thinking of calling her my chicka....what the fuck? What do I think. I thought I was confused before. Why do they care what I think of all times? "Oh my god! I told you that he had a crush on Jenn! See Yunie! they should totally date, he LIKES her" The room instantly grew quiet as loud stomps dominated the room. "Who the fuck has a crush on Jenn?" He scanned the room with murderous eyes. He  stared at Marcus suspiciously longer than anyone, but landed on Gray. "Uhh hey man you got that hit you owe me...you....fucker?" Why was I saying the insult like a question. I have no idea how I talk. "You best stay the fuck away from her if you don't want me to kill your unborn children" That hit my chest heart, it hurt so deeply, yet I knew he had made that joke every day this week and it just meant kicking me in the nuts. The crotch. I had never once felt ashamed of having a penis, not once in my life, until now. But i didn't think that. She did. OR he. I was was having a very hard time finding deciding what 'I' thought. "Not if I do it first!" I yelled out impulsively. Is that what Jesse would say? That's so lame. Laughter burst out throught the room. I felt even more shame and wanted to say another self depricating joke just to get through it. I also wanted a drink reaaaaaally bad. Aiden looked even more suspicious at me. "Fuck you guys I got better shit to do" and with that I scurried away. As days went by I knew I was Gray again. I couldn't tell Joni what I did and she seemed none the wiser of my quiet acceptance of her. Jesse seemed more suspicious, but I knew now that his jokes most of the time were desperate paranoia to be in touch. I thought he was just a joker, but the new found knowledge I had made that simplification of him impossible. Like the lonely intimacy junkie I was I couldn't help it, but to want to see more lives now.   Once again I was in the same position in Christians room, this time I sat across from him knee to knee with my palms up. He suggested since he had seen everyone's life that I should start with Yuna. How it felt to have to send Tidus for the 'greater good'. It seemed nice to think about it in a positive way and I was right. When I came back from Yuna's memories I had known pain, loss, and sorrow, but no matter what I had enjoyed everyone moment of life. She truly cherished every experience and every chance she had to be alive. She looked back on all her memories fondly because she got to live them. I was fine feeling the glow of Yuna's mind, but as with any high it wore off and I wanted more. Our sessions became more or less weekly as I let him shape me around the perspective of the comrades around me. Things got darker with Zack, but the integrity I felt and pride in my position made it all worth it. SOLDIER was my (his) life, yet it betrayed, used, and lied to him. It didn't matter what the organization had become SOLDIER was a code he took and vowed to keep to the end. To protect and serve mankind. To be a hero. I felt similarities in Rinoa's fighting spirit and the belief I had in myself with all her decisions. She really did like herself. She would think she was wrong for almost a split second and quickly decide she was right. It wasn't even her fault she had that big of an ego, she was taught to, yet despite it she rebelled for what she thought was right. Roxas proved to be more lonely, the loss of identity and the questioning of your own reality. With is, I saw Sora's too. The metaness of seeing memories through memories was not lost on me and added to a long state of confusion, when I became Gray again. The adventures of Zidane's rogue lifestyle, let me explore the world, feel things deeply, enjoy any piece of life you had, yet have the heart to mourn for important things and fight for truth. I now knew the appeal of cocaine for a performer. Marcus for the entirety of his life was utterly and completely pleased with himself. He hardly ever felt lonely, scared,  or unsure, not in any existential way. The guy didn't even mind being dope sick, he reveled in the extremes of being in a human. He truly did believe Aiden was the most fascinating person he had ever met. He died almost as an inside joke to himself. Christian and I exchanged out quick goodbyes and spoke briefly of perhaps the next person he will show me. I left in a good mood. I safely made it out the door...or so I thought. Aiden burst out from down the hall and grabbed my arm and leaned in close to my face. He stared into my eyes long and hard in a way that made me feel terribly vulnerable. "So you went and saw Christian today?" "What do you mean? I mean yeah...I was looking for you man, back off what the fuck do you care?" "I think your a fucking idiot, but your life" "You hang out with him all the time so who are you to talk?" "yeah but what I do with bitch boy is a whole fucking other game to what you're trying to get off on. Dont' you see?! He'll give you sum chumps memories, all fun and games, but then he'll get bored. And by then you're probably hooked so he can stick his greasy fingers in you head and do whatever he wants. I'm sure he gave you Yuna's huh? How was being the happiest person ever? Or Aang? I bet that zen buddhist shit was real comforable. but just wait  and then he'll give you something shitty ones like Tidus's. Ever thought about what a schitzophernic's brain looks like? Well i'll tell you what, it looks the same. From his point of view his life looked just as normal's as any fucker as boring as Jerry's" "Jerry?" "The dude my mom fucked. Oh you'll find out soon the way you're going. But you know what? When you get to be Gray again and know that you just lived the life of a crazy dude and no one believed you even though he or YOU knew you weren't crazy. Well jokes on you, turns out you were. You'll never forget understanding that fucker. Or maybe Gaara might be a blast. 12 years of complete anguish and loneliness, the pain, the need...the need....." He closed his eyes and started rocking back and forth, grabbing at his hair and scratching his temples. He was starting to sound pretty nuts, which didn't bother me usually, but this time I was terrified. Terrified, because for the first time since i've known the guy his paranoid, weirdo,  bullshit that I always wrote off as crazy, was now starting to make sense to me. "I dont' give a fuck if you fuck up your life holding hands with faggot boy, but I won't have you get in the way of mine. You think Christian's a saint? A fucking weird, but thoughtful guy that helps you understand your friends and gets Aiden get his memories he forgot back?" The more he started saying his own name like it was a strangers, the tenseness in the atmosphere grew. I wanted him to stop talking, I didn't want him to do anything to risk what I wanted to keep doing, but if he disillusioned me how could I continue? " Yeah fucking right. Sure he'll give him back his memories (the him being Aiden himself), but not after he jumbles a bunch of random people's realites in there with them and have me guess which ones are mine. But I don't have to guess, I know the ones that are mine. Because they are the worst thing some one could ever do. If any of those good memories were mine, I wouldn't have forgotten them." Maybe Joni was wrong, if he goes through that every day he must be trying to make things right. Forgetting might be easier, but he takes the bad to have the good. "But if I see everyone's memories. I did everything. Meaning I did nothing. I don't know what bad things I did, so how's any of it my fault. Anyone's memory looks the same as mine. Aiden's memories are his fault. I didn't do them. All i know is what I know. Nothing. Everything. I'm no one but who I want to be. I just want one thing. But i can't have that one memory, I need all of them or else I am what I did. And I won't be him. I won't." Holy shit Joni was right, he's totally checked out. Pretending he isn't his own reality. I pondered about how delusional Jenn was about him. Was that her naturally or did Christian doctor her mind for the benefit of his friend. She's alive right so it doesn't matter he killed her? That's insane. It's all fucked up. I never wanted to think about these things in so much detail. "I got it dude, i'm done" He smiled for a second than decided to take the more stoic route and with dead eyes mutterred, "It will never be done" With that he pulled his jacket tight to his body as if giving himself a hug and stormed off.

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 6

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 3,791 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Also on ff.net and AO3. In which Dick is surprisingly racist towards clones.

Two birds on a wire One says "come on" and the other says "I'm tired" The sky is overcast and I'm sorry One more or one less Nobody's worried

-Regina Spektor, "Two Birds"

Then.

Once their guest had left, Tim turned to Dick with a wounded air.

“How about giving me some warning next time before someone shows up, huh?  A little heads-up would’ve been nice.”

Dick’s smile didn’t falter.

“What, did she catch you doing something embarrassing?”

Tim skewered him a look of disgust.

“Do you have to make everything sound dirty?”

“Sorry, sorry.  …I’m surprised you’re still doing ‘that’ after all these years though.”

Tim shrugged with a heavy sigh.  “Was just testing to see if I still could, I guess.  I messed up on the landing anyway.”

“You probably just need to work on your form some more.  It has been a while since I last saw you brush up on any techniques, they’re bound to get a bit rusty.  If you want, I can still coach you…”

Tim’s lips tightened.

“Forget it.  It’s not worth it.”

“Are you sure?  That girl seemed pretty impressed by it. She’s the one you were talking about earlier, right?”  Dick nodded in sage observation.  “She’s cute; nice face, decent rack- ow!”  He rubbed his arm as it was abruptly met with an annoyed punch.  “Hey, it was a compliment.”

“…Didn’t sound like one.”

“Would you prefer I said she has a mighty fine ass?”  He waggled his brows and grinned provocatively, despite wincing from the pain.  Kid could still hit pretty hard when he wanted to. “Not as fine as mine though.”

“Shut up before I shove a dumbbell up there.”

Dick clutched his behind in mock dread at the threat.

“Seriously though, she’s obviously into you.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “The way I see it, from where I’m standing, she’s more into you.”

“Oh ho, do I detect a note of jealousy?”

“No,” Tim denied hotly, though his cheeks told a different story.  “It’s just that you’re being super-gross about it.  You know you’re acting like Bruce by coming onto every giddy schoolgirl and her mom who walks in through the door.”

Dick’s smirk jerked slightly.

“Wow, okay dude, we’re really going there.”  It was his turn to be hurt by insensitivity.  “You didn’t need to go that far.  I’ll have you know this and that are completely different.”

“How so?”

“I approach these things from a sole marketing perspective.  Purely professional.  It’s called ‘show business’, bro.”

“Uh-huh.  This coming from the guy who just lied about his scars to make himself look good.  I suppose ‘that’s’ also part of your advertising strategy?”

“Hey, it’s not like it was a total lie.  That really did happen, you know – minus the ‘falling debris’ part.  …Besides, what else would you have me say?”

Tim shook his head, keeping his voice low.  “…I don’t know.”

Dick seized on the telling silence.  “You are attracted to her, aren’t you?”

“I am not.”

“It’s okay, I can see why. It’s all right to admit these things, you know.  You don’t have to hide it.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

The firm, yet flustered defiance only further confirmed Dick’s suspicion.

“Heh heh, little Timmy’s got a crush~”

He tousled Tim’s hair teasingly, to which the boy scowled.

“I do not.”  He pushed the invading hand away in indignation.  “Will you cut that out already?  I’m not a kid anymore.”

Dick lowered his limb in disappointment.

“Okay, okay.  Sorry.”  Despite insistence otherwise, it delighted Dick that Tim was finally exhibiting some of the youthful desire – if not exuberance – he’d missed out on through his teenage years.  “Trust me though, I have no interest in someone her age.  She’s all yours.”

“Look, will you just drop it?” Tim snapped bluntly.  “It’s none of your freakin’ business.”

Dick exhaled, clicking his tongue.  If only Tim could be more honest with his feelings, true to himself – though he was painfully aware of how excruciatingly difficult that must be, what with everything the boy had been through.  To be fair, he had his own troubles genuinely opening his heart to others, after all the times it had been broken and betrayed before.  …He could only imagine how terrifying it must be for Tim, to allow someone else – a complete and total stranger – to get close by entering into his currently (semi-)stable and secure – if supremely secluded life, experience that kind of risky emotion again. Breach the many walls and defensive barriers he had set up around himself, upset the plainly precarious balance that was still a struggle to barely maintain.  So as much as he wanted to continue coaxing and clowning – kidding around, he agreed to leave it alone for now, raising both palms in admitted defeat.

“Okay, I get it.  I won’t bother you about it anymore.”

The subject successfully dismissed, Tim attuned towards the boxes in the back.

“So did you want me to help with moving this stuff or what?”

“Yeah, I needed to clear out some old things to make space for new equipment.  Trying to tidy up the place more, getting rid of useless junk and whatnot.  …Although most of it’s probably going up to the storeroom in the attic anyway.  Sorry to bother you for this; I’d do all the lifting myself, but with my back…”

“Don’t mention it, it’s the least I can do to repay you.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Tim knelt by one of the cartons as Dick set to work sifting and sorting, organizing according to some arbitrary system that ostensibly only made sense to him.

“Christ, how much crap do you have here?  Seriously, what even is half this junk?  I knew you had all kinds of odd ends lying around, but I didn’t realize it amounted to this much.  Do you ever throw anything away?”

Dick shrugged.

“What can I say, I’m a hoarder by nature.  Keeping keepsakes is my hobby.   …Well, more like a habit, I guess.  Why do you think we had a trophy room in the basement?  It wasn’t originally Bruce’s idea, I can tell you that.”

Tim remained quiet as he poked through a large collection of CDs, containing a few recognizable but mostly random titles by various indie bands and artists he’d never heard of.

“Man, you’ve got weird taste in music.”

“Hey, don’t knock the classics.  Those are precious goods, be careful with those.”

In spite of his scoffing, Tim picked up one of the discs that appealed to him, and was almost about to subconsciously slip the item under his oversized hoodie – an old, old habit of his own – before remembering he didn’t have to resort to sneaking or stealing when he could just ask.

“Can I borrow this?”

Dick didn’t even twist to look, implicitly trusting in his little brother’s judgment.  “Yeah sure, go ahead.”

Tim breathed out in relief as he pocketed the prize with permission.  That was a close call.  Borderline kleptomaniac compulsions hadn’t surfaced like that in a long time, but then, it was only another minor checkbox on the extensive, exhaustive list of psychotic symptoms he was suffering from today.

There was another entry that caught his eye, different from the others.  It had no hard case or album cover; just a plain, simple jacket labeled with marker:

For Babs.

Tim wondered if it was a mix tape – surely Dick wouldn’t have tried to record something himself? He couldn’t tell whether it was a gift Dick planned to give but never worked up the courage to – or something Barbara sent back after (one of numerous) breakup(s).

…Maybe Joker was right. Being in love with someone seemed like way more hassle than it was worth.  Hell, just watching those two go back and forth between affection and anger even back then was tiring.  Aggravating.

At any rate, he left burning curiosity alone, not wanting to intrude too much on Dick’s privacy (years ago he would’ve taunted his brother with the juicy bit of exposing bait himself, but that was then, when he was less mature and still found amusement in such things), and moved on to another container.  As soon as he saw the contents inside, he balked a bit, heartbeat spiking.  Aching.  It was a family photo album, full of fond memories from the Flying Graysons’ circus days. His hands trembled as he flipped tentatively through the pages, unable to tear away even though it made him uncomfortable for a number of reasons.  Paranoid of polaroids.  Anything involving camerawork tended to make him queasy, though he could typically tolerate homages to others at least.  These were different from the blown-up, polished posters on the wall though; the images portrayed within were more intimate, unscripted.  Candid, captured moments of a close-knit clan, happy as a clam – treasured remnants of childhood innocence and bliss combined with parental pampering.

“This must have been such a cool place to grow up.”

“…It was.”

Glancing back at the receptacle, buried at the bottom was another set of snapshots: a framed photograph of Dick and Barbara together (him smiling smugly straight at her in puppy-like adoration while she beamed brightly at the viewer instead), and a worn print of the former in graduation garb next to Bruce, who had his paw wrapped proudly on the other’s shoulder.  Scrawled on the top left-hand corner in Bruce’s surprisingly haphazard handwriting was a short congratulatory message:

Good luck at college, Dick.

Tim recalled how Dick told him the story of Bruce missing his graduation from Gotham State University, shortly before the two split up as Batman and Robin.  (…The old man never even bothered to come to his own high school ceremony – not that Tim was expecting him to – although Dick and Barbara both did attend at least, albeit sitting at opposite ends of the auditorium.)

“It was building for a long time.  I realize that now.  …It was never really right.  I mean, this isn’t exactly a normal childhood.”

He hadn’t really comprehended the notion then, but Tim understood now what those words meant – unfortunately all too well.

Tim sensed a shadow behind him, and for a brief instant, he half-envisioned it being Bruce from the way it loomed – but of course when he revolved around it was only Dick instead.

“Yo, you all right? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”  Tim looked down at the scrapbook in his lap, a wistful mist in his eyes.  “I was just… thinking I don’t really have any pictures of my folks.  At least none where we’re all together.”  Or that isn’t a mugshot, he thought sullenly to himself.  “I never saw my dad keep any mementos of Mom after she died.  To be honest, I’m not sure I even still remember what she looks like.”

Dick plopped down on the ground next to him, resting a hand on the boy’s sagged shoulder.

“Listen, I hope you know: No matter what, you can always think of the two of us as family at least. I know I haven’t exactly been that much of a great guardian myself, that I could never replace what you lost either… But you are still a brother to me. Hell, I consider you the closest thing to a real relative I’ve had since then.”

Tim simply nodded, swallowing a lump in his gorge.  Dick patted his back with a thump.

“Us guys, we gotta stick together, right?  Through thick and thin.”

“Yeah.”  Tim ducked his neck towards his collar, surreptitiously drying ducts on his sweatshirt.  “…Thanks, you know, for letting me stay here so long.  Roy and Conner too.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” A pause.  “…How’s Conner doing by the way?”

Tim snorted, the caution in the other’s tone not escaping his notice.  “What do you care?  You never liked him anyway.”

“That’s not true. It’s just… The whole idea of cloning someone kinda wigs me out, okay?  I dunno, imagining there being a duplicate copy of you running around is freaky enough, but one of Superman?  It still doesn’t sit well with me to leave him loose like that, after all the underhanded crap Cadmus has pulled.  Something about it just doesn’t seem right.  Who’s to say he doesn’t have some secret kill switch that’ll make him go rogue like Supergirl’s doppelganger?  Gotham may be full of crazies and creeps, but at least we never really had to deal with stuff of metahuman caliber aside from Ivy and Clayface, or Kirk when he took the serum.”  Dick intentionally didn’t include Killer Croc on the atypical rogues roster; guy was too dumb a criminal to count.  “We’re on the high end of the ‘weird’ scale, sure, but not even Batman’s equipped to take down a serious superpowered menace alone.”

Tim glared at him in disbelief.

“Is that you talking, or the old man?”

“…Maybe a bit of both,” Dick willingly conceded.  “Look, I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“Yeah well, don’t be. I’ve got Mr. Kent on speed-dial, and Kon gave me his full consent to use the Kryptonite at my discretion as part of our ‘roommate agreement’.  If anything happens, he told me himself he wants me to hit him with it as hard as I can.” …Even if it meant killing him – although Tim knew he could never go through with that. Not again. “Besides, it’s not him you’re actually worried about, is it?”

“Tim…”

“No, you know what this is?” Tim clenched his fist, drawing away from contact again.  “You look at him with the same way you do me – like some ticking time bomb about to explode. I’m getting real sick and tired of it.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Sure it isn’t.  Look, for your information, Conner’s doing fine. Hell, he pretty much behaves just like you; he’s probably getting wasted and chasing after chicks at some mixer right now.  …That’s what you call a ‘normal college life’, isn’t it?”

Dick cleared his throat, aversely acknowledging hypocrisy.

“…What about you?  How is school going?  Do you like it there?”

Tim shrugged.

“It’s okay.”

“You know you didn’t have to just stick locally around here.  If you wanted to go someplace else I would’ve sponsored you.  I mean, I chose to stay close to Gotham because of that… ‘part-time job’ stuff, but you’re smart, you could’ve gone anywhere better.”

“I told you, I’m fine with this.”

“What about taking that girl’s suggestion at least?  Life doesn’t just have to be about books and studying for tests all the time either, you know.  Look at it this way: You’ve got the time and opportunity now to be a part of after-class club activities that I never had.  Why not take advantage of it, get out there and socialize.  Enjoy the excitement of your youth and all that.”

Tim stared, trying unsuccessfully to read the other’s expression.  He couldn’t deduce whether the dude was just being humorously sarcastic, or genuinely envious and attempting to live vicariously through him.  Either way, he wasn’t falling for it.

“I said forget it.”                                                          

Dick kept pressing despite disengagement, earnest in his endeavor to tempt Tim to pursue what used to fill the boy with fervent passion, desperately hoping to rekindle some kind of joyful spark.

“Come on, I’m sure it’ll be fun.  I bet I could even still teach you to do a quadruple somersault if you’re interested.”

“Why?  I suck at it.”

“You just need more practice.  …Besides, it’d be kind of a shame to let a legacy die out without passing it on to at least one person.”

Tim wavered at the sincere, if somewhat scheming statement.

“I don’t know…”

“Trust me, it’s easy once you get the hang of it.”

“Maybe for you.”  He bitterly bit his tongue under his breath.  “I’d like to see you try to concentrate on keeping your balance with the Joker as a peanut gallery.”

“What was that?”

“…Nothing.”

Dick held his gaze for a second.

“Tim, I didn’t want to bring this up, but… Conner called me the other day.  He told me, about the lab incident.  He says you haven’t been sleeping or eating much either.”

Tim grit his jaw, feeling like a dagger had just been thrust in his gut.  He couldn’t believe his best (perhaps only) bud in the world would betray him like that.

“Damnit, Kon.”

“Don’t blame him, he’s just worried about you too.  I told you: You don’t need to keep hiding things from us.  We’re here to help if you need anything.  Babs too.  If something’s troubling you, you can talk to us.”

“It’s fine, I’m handling it.”

Dick wouldn’t desist, determined to get the truth out of him.

“Tim, I heard you yelling earlier.  …He’s back again, isn’t he?”

The boy sighed in surrender, eyes slanting stage right.  “…To your left, making faces.”

His partner fixed him with stern concern.

“Are you off your meds again?”

“They don’t work.  Not as well as they used to.”

“That doesn’t mean you should just stop taking them.”

“For what?  So I can only experience the side effects?”

“So talk to Leslie.  Ask her to adjust the dosage.”

Tim made a hollow noise.  “I’m already on the highest strength that’s considered ‘safe’ for human consumption.”

Dick pulled out his phone anyway and began dialing her number.

“I’m contacting her.  There must be at least something else we can try.”

“Not Dr. Thompkins,” Tim whined, as if a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Look, either you call to make an appointment, or I will.”

Tim seethed, grinding his teeth.  “All right, fine.  Jeeze. God, you and Barbara still both treat me like a fucking child.”

“Yeah well, maybe if you stop acting like one.”

“Whatever.  Just hand me the phone.  I’ll talk to her.”

Dick extended the cell towards Tim, who took it with all the enthusiasm of accepting a dirty sock.

“It’s ringing.”

He listened closely in on the conversation to confirm a meeting time was set up, before Tim returned the receiver.

“Here.  She wants to talk to you.”

Dick lifted the mobile to his ear.

“Hey, doc.”

“Hello, Richard.  It’s good to hear from you boys.  How’s the back treating you?”

“Fine.”  He didn’t want to dwell too much on his own health status, so he moved on to the matter at hand.  “Is there anything we can do to help Tim?”

“In such a rare and unusual case as this, it’s hard to say.  It’d be beneficial to start by identifying the root of his relapse.  Once we pinpoint that, it’ll be easier to formulate a treatment plan.   It’s possible it could just be due to the stress of moving to a new environment.  It’s good that you’ve been able to help support him through high school, but now that he’s becoming independent it may be triggering a stronger separation anxiety response in him.  Even if consciously he rejects it, the Joker ingrained himself as a parental figure in Tim’s mind.  Essentially, he equates that kind of attention with the nurturing love and protection he never properly received growing up.  It’s common for child victims of abuse to form a disorganized attachment to the caregiver, especially when the caregiver behaves in an inconsistent manner.  The conflict of the caregiver being both a source of comfort and distress can cause the child to display contradictory patterns when faced with a stressful situation; instinct tells him to simultaneously avoid and approach the one who is mistreating him.   In the absence of a familiar atmosphere he’s accustomed to, he’s likely seeking alternate methods of coping as a survival mechanism.  Has he been under any kind of particular pressure lately?”

Dick relayed the events leading up to the fainting spell, with little input from Tim beyond affirmative nods.

“I see.  It’s certainly a sign of progress that he’s trying to face his fears, but a heads-on approach might not be the best tactic.”

“I tried to tell him that.  He won’t listen.”

“I’ll have a chat with him about it when I see him, hopefully we can find a way for him to succeed in his studies without compromising his sense of safety.  One more question, this is important: Has he tried to harm himself?”

“I… don’t think so.  I’ll check, and let you know.”

“Please do.”

As Dick temporarily terminated the exchange, he rotated to see Tim had stood up and was headed towards the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out for a smoke – walk – whatever.  Just text me when you need me.”

“Hold it.”  The harsh bark arrested the boy before he was halfway to the exit.  “Wrists.”

Tim swiveled with a sour countenance.

“Seriously?  Do we really have to do this?”

“Show me.”

He hissed, but obediently rolled up his sleeves, revealing bare but apparently unmarked skin.

“Satisfied?”

Dick advanced and examined him all over anyway, before nodding.

“All right.  Now empty your pockets.”

Tim tsked, feeling as violated as when the staff at the detention center frisked him on admittance for any concealed contraband.  He dug through his possessions, retrieving objects one by one: phone, wallet, CD player, lighter, cigarettes, and finally – under Dick’s demanding eye – the hidden pocketblade.

“Give me the knife.”

He hesitated.

“Don’t make me wrestle it from you.”

Relinquishing, he slapped the weapon into Dick’s grip without a word.

“Thank you.  You can go, but try to keep near.”

“Sure thing, Mom.”

Dick deliberately chose to ignore the sardonic retort, used to receiving attitude by now.  (For a fleeting moment, he mused if he ever gave Bruce this much frustration, although no doubt Alfred would certainly attest to it.)

After Tim left, Dick hit redial to reassuringly inform Leslie on the observed lack of self-inflicted damage to the patient’s physical condition at least – and preemptive confiscation of means just to be safe – before bidding goodbye with a final beep.  He sighed as he rubbed his neck, hoping his “tough love” hadn’t come off as too deterring. He really wasn’t good with this whole “parenting” thing, considering the primary role model he had for nearly half of his life after early adolescence.

As he picked up the memoir from the floor, he caressed his fingers feather-light over the cover, brushing off collected dust and disenchantment before delicately placing it on a shelf for easy viewing access.  The rest he unceremoniously dumped in the “to toss” pile, purposefully cramming as much trash as he could on top.  …After a few minutes though he fished them out again, rescuing from the base of the rubbish heap with ambivalent reluctance, restoring to the original package and sealing tightly with tape.  They could remain upstairs for now at least – like his ruined Nightwing costume – evidence of old wounds and shattered bonds shuttered behind closed panel; tucked away in the dark recesses of his conscience, lurking and lingering deep in the shadows off-screen.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Two birds of a feather Say that they're always gonna stay together But one's never going to let go of that wire He says that he will But he's just a liar

[hornsbeforehalos]

Anytime, Sweetheart: Part 18

Pairing: JDM x OFC

Features: Ackles & Padalecki Families, R2, Misha Collins & Vicky Vantoch, Norman Reedus, Andrew Lincoln, Kim Rhodes, Briana Buckmaster, Ruth Connell, Corey Taylor and other cast members & OFCs* *THIS IS AN RPF FIC**

Series Masterlist Summary: (I’m horrible at summaries, but let me try): Kylin Ackles runs to her brother’s house after leaving her abusive boyfriend of 3 years, where she meets Jeffrey. Events unfold that bring them together, as well as push them apart.  Warnings: Emotional abuse, Physical Violence, mentions of rape, cursing, drinking, recreational drug use (weed), Strip Club, RPF, NSFW**, GIFs, implied smut, Age Difference, Slow burn, Emotional rollercoaster, poorly written smutt, etc… 18+ please

(A/N: This is strictly a work of fiction that I came up with off the top of my head. For fictional purposes his S/O & Son are not mentioned. I love him and his little family, though, so no hate intended. This is the first time posting anything on Tumblr, but I couldn’t get it out of my head since my ao3 fic is currently on hiatus because writers block. Feedback is appreciated. unbetaed, all mistakes are mine.)

*SONG USED IN THIS PART IS BODAK YELLOW BY CARDI B ALL LYRICS AND IDEAS IN REGARDS TO MUSIC VIDEO BELONGS TO HER.

TAGS: @jml509 @jesbakescookies @daddy-kink-confirmed @wayward-mirage @aquivercactus @xagateophobiax @sorenmarie87 @missghoul18@jdmfanfiction @jeffreydeanneganstrash

   The rest of the weekend went by in a blur, split between following Misha around like a chicken with my head cut off and sneaking away to find Jeffrey to bury ourselves in each other. It was over too fast, and before it felt like I could blink I was back in Vancouver, on set and bored out of my skull.    "Jesus Christ, Padalecki, get it the fuck together!" I heard the director yell from his chair behind the camera. He was new, and thought he knew shit. He did, in fact, not know shit.

   I whipped my head around at his tone of voice, shooting daggers towards him before turning to the stage. My brother was obviously irked, vein in his neck straining as he clenched his jaw in that very Winchester way as he controlled himself from going off on the balding man.

"Places....Rolling....Go."

   The boys started the scene again, said their lines, discussing whatever hunt the brothers were on this episode. Everything was going smoothly until Jensen accidentally knocked a prop off of the map table and couldn't help but laugh.

   "Jesus....Are you two fucking idiots? Can you two really not get through one fucking scene?"

   Jensen made a brazen move forward, but Jared stopped him with a firm hand on his chest. My brother was about to open his mouth to speak when I jumped up from my place.

   "Aye! Who the fuck do you think you're talkin' to?" I  barked, drawl sifting through with my rage as I swiftly stalking forward to stand closer to where the annoying little prick sat. 

   "Who the fuck are you?" he recoiled in a hiss, eyeing me up and down with venom in his eyes.

   "Who the fuck are you? I've never seen you a day before in my life and I've been on this set for 13 fucking years. You don't speak to my brothers like that here. You don't speak to anyone like that here!" I seethed, squinting my eyes at him like he was a pest that needed to be squashed.

   The man huffed, his eyes sliding from me to the two men who had moved away from the stage to menacingly stand behind me. I quirked an eyebrow at him and crossed my arms, "I think you need to apologize before someone fucks around and fires you on your first fucking day."

   He swallowed thickly, glancing to me for a second before back to the glowering looming figures above me, "I-I-I'm sorry, Mr. Ackles. Please forgive me, Mr. Padalecki."

   I smirked, craning my head to look up at Jensen and Jared, finding them nodding spite the scowls still splayed across both their faces. I looked back forward as I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Pulling it out, I noted that it wasn't a number I had programmed.

   "You're lucky I'm getting a call right now, douche, or I'd tear into your ass some more."

   I walked away from the area as the crew went back to work and slid the accept button.

"Ms. Ackles?" The man on the other line said

"This is she."

   "This is Webster, we met at the gallery? Norman said he let you know to expect my call?" "Oh yes, sir! How are you doing today?" "Great, great. Do you have a moment to speak now?" "I do, Mr. Webster. What did you have in mind?"    "Well my client, Cardi, said she really liked your look and that you would suit well with her vision of the video she wants. This is all on her as far as creative ideas, so she's basically getting whatever she wants, and she's decided that she wants you."    "Cardi, like....Cardi B? The rapper stripper chick from Love and Hip Hop?" he chuckled, and I pictured him shaking his head, "Yes, 'mam. That's her." "Huh. That's crazy. I actually worked with her one time years ago. Weird."    "She said she thought you looked familiar. Maybe that's where that's from. Anyway, we're offering you full commodities and accommodations, travel expenses, et cetera, and the over all pay out due to you will be roughly 10, 000 after the work is completed."    I choked on the gulp of RedBull I had been attempting to swallow, "Wha-wha-what?! 10,000, like, in, money?"    He chuckled again, "Yes, Ms. Ackles, real U.S currency. Cash, Deposit, or Check, however you prefer." "Holy fucking shit."    "So, I take that as a yes? I can have the contract sent over for you to go over with your lawyer by the end of the day." "Fuck yeah, send that shit."

   "What're you doing?" Jeffrey rasped into his end of the line the second he picked up. "Freaking out. You'll never believe it." "Webbie call you?" "Fuck you, it was supposed to be a surprise" I faux pouted "Surprise, I already knew? You'll be in New York in a couple weeks, right?" "Yup! I'm so excited. It's a little bit out of my element, but I think it'll be fun." "Look at you. You gonna be staying at Norman's?" "Nah, he's not gonna be home then, he'll still be down there with ya'll." "I know this." "Then why did you ask?"    "Well, because I was planning on staying at Norman's that week and could really use the company." He teased. "Really?" I couldn’t contain the excitement in my voice if I wanted to    "Yeah, it worked out that I'm not gonna be needed that week. I was gonna fly up there to see you but Normskie told me about the contract so we figured you and I could just stay there 'As long as we didn't soil the place', he said" Jeffrey chuckled, probably shaking his head at the thought of his friend. "Yay! Yes! I was actually kinda scared about going by myself" "Well, now you don't have to be. I'll be there to protect you." "My hero" I sang sarcastically, earning me another husky laugh from Jeff.    "I can't wait to see you, love. Been too long." He rasped, voice pitching an octave lower. "It's been two days, babe."    "Yeah, two painstakingly aching days without you. Without your kisses, without your arms, without your smell. I'm craving you, baby girl." his voice was so low now if it got any deeper it would strike oil. "Fucking bitch." I gasped, lightheaded from his words. "Yeah, you are." he chuckled thickly, "My dirty little-" "Fuck you."    "I will, babydoll. Don't worry about that. The moment I see you, Daddy's gonna be buried so deep....Mmmmmm." "Fuck you." I repeated with a added whine, "Why do you do that?"    "What? I'm just communicating my needs to my lovely girlfriend. My lovely, beautiful, sexy, tight, girlfriend." I hissed in response. He giggled, enjoying tortuing me. "I'm gonna wear your ass out when I see you, Mr. Morgan." I hummed. "Not if I wear yours out first, Ms. Ackles."

   The next two weeks seemed to creep by. Even with the insanity that was Gish week, the familiar tasks of going over entries and scoring and tallying and organizing did little to keep my mind from wandering to Jeffrey. The anticipation of seeing him had me missing him even more, especially with the teasing conversations that he had to elicit every time we were on the phone. I swear the man was trying to kill me or something. When the day finally came for him to meet me at the New York airport I tore myself across the over crowded are where I saw him waiting for me with a couple security guards and flung myself at him like a mad woman.    My bags dropped to the ground and and I leaped, full speed, into his open arms. My legs wrapped around his waist and my mouth melted to his so fast I couldn't close my eyes before the stars appeared. He pulled away from my lips to pepper my face in kisses before smothering me against him as he squeezed me, effectively popping several vertebrae in my back.

   "God I missed you, sweetheart," he breathed into my hair, not putting me down as started walking towards the exit, his body guards grabbing my bags. I buried my face into his collar bone and inhaled his intoxicating aroma of cigarettes and cologne as he carried me through the airport, ignoring the multiple flashing cameras as we made our way out.    "That's gonna be on TMZ, ya know. "Kylin Ackles gets carried out of airport like a baby by Jeffrey Dean Morgan"    "Yeah, because the headline is gonna be about you, love." he chuckled as we approached the SUV waiting for us.    "It is. I'm more famous than you, you know." I giggled, scrunching my nose and nuzzling his scruff.    "Yeah, I'm sure you're totally correct on that statement, there,  baby doll." he snorted before sitting me in the back seat. I scooted over so he could join me and close the door.    He instantly ignored the two giants as they crawled into the front seats, pulling me as close to him as possible and shoving his tongue down my throat with an arm snaking around to grasp my ass.    "Jezus, Jeff, let the poor woman breathe!" the one driving, Eddie, teased as we pulled out of the airport    "We're right here, bruh. I love you and all, you my dog, but I ain't tryna see your dick." the passenger, Tyrone, kidded.    I instantly snorted out a laugh against Jeff's mouth, efficiently breaking us apart as my face beamed red.    "Awh, hon, no need for you to be embarrassed, it's Jeffy poo over here that's about to blow his fuckin' load." Eddie joked, eyeing my red complexion in the rear view mirror, "You got that man whipped, girl."    I giggled as Jeff pulled away to glare at the men in the front seat, covering my mouth with my hands as my giggles erupted to full blown uncontainable laughter.    "Oh, so now I got you laughing at me too?" Jeff whined, turning his attention back to me before deepening his drawl, "You're gonna get it, little girl" "Ho-Oh! I bet she could take you." Tyrone bellowed.    "Damn right she can." Jeffrey replied, throwing his arm over my shoulder as he adjusted the leg of his jeans and pulled me into his side. "Jesus Christ, babe. Couthe. Fucking couthe." "I have none." "Obviously."

​   When we arrived at Norman's apartment Jeffrey let us both in with his key and threw our bags behind the door. We slipped off our shoes before scooping me up bridal style and rushing us to our room. I giggled the entire way as Jeffrey once again covered my face and hair and neck in sloppy kisses while squeezing his fingers around his grip on my thighs. He plopped me, literally, onto the bed and I squeaked, bouncing on top of the mattress as he ​threw himself over me with a playful roar.  I tried to scurry my way up towards the head board but he grabbed my ankle and halted me.    "Get over here, little one." he growled, predatory snarl decorating his face as his eyes darkened.    "Make me." I smirked back, murderous smile splayed across my own cheeks. He clicked his tongue against his front teeth, "Wrong answer, baby love."    He yanked my leg and I slipped down the mattress before he grabbed my other ankle and flipped me over onto my stomach. Before I could even register his movement a hand came down over the denim covering my ass with a loud "THWACK!" That caused my whole body to tingle and an embarrassing moan to escape my throat.    "You have been hellish recently, little girl, you know that?" he questioned with a grin, working his shirt over his shoulders as I remained still on the bed, my ass still stinging. "S'part of my charm," I mumbled into the blankets. THWACK!    "Oww! Fuck you!" I jerked my self out of his grip of my ankle and pushed away from him.    "Now, now, Kylin Kay, no need for the language." He cooed darkly, Cheshire smile spreading as his head tilted. "Fuck you, Mr. J." "I will, Ms. Ackles. You bet I fuckin' will." "If I let you."    "What happened to 'wearing me out' hmm? Seems like I'm sticking to my promise."    My eyes narrowed in challenge, my own face tilting quickly to the side as my voice dropped an octave seductively, "Is that what you think, Mr. Morgan?" "Mmmhmmm," He hummed smugly.    "Well, darlin', in my personal opinion," I started, twang thick in my lust as I pulled the tank top I was wearing over my head to toss at him, exposing my lacy black bra I had picked out specifically for this fun, "That you hit like a litty, bitty, bitch." "Big opinion for such a small girl." "The only opinion that counts, though, right, old man?"    Jeffrey snarled again as he leaned over to crawl on the bed, eyes dangerous and hungry. He prowled forward, his body hovering over mine as he peered down at me and licked his lips. Suddenly, one hand wound itself in my hair with a sharp pull, jerking my head upwards towards his face, "The only one who's gonna be a bitch here is you, my little bitch in heat, begging for daddy to fill her up."

   A flood happened somewhere in my panties, and my breath choked as my whole body became sensitive from him scratching his rough beard along the flesh of my neck. A loud, wanton moan filled the room as he ground his hips against mine, denim on denim creating almost painfully needed friction. He moved his hand from my tresses and slithered it to my jaw, thumb brushing across my lips before diving in between my lips forcefully. My tongue, with a mind of its own, instantly wrapped and curled around his digit, sucking it deeper into my mouth. Jeffrey closed his eyes and dug his hardness into me again. Seeing the opportunity, I bit down. Hard.    "Rah! Fucking hell, woman!" Jeffrey road, snatching his hand away from me and sitting up on his thighs, "You wanna play like that, huh? I've got you, now." He backed off of me and moved downward, tugging my shorts off and leaving me in nothing but my panties that matched my bra. Jeffrey groaned at the sight, tongue darting out between his mouth before he secured his bottom lip between his teeth. He ran his hands up my smooth calves to my thighs, eyes never breaking contact with mine. He smoothed his fingertips downward before moving them back to my ankles.    In one swift, unanticipated movement, he twisted my body as he sat down on the bed, spreading me across his lap, my tummy to his thighs.    "You've gotta be fucking kidding me." I griped, fighting against him as he pinned me down with one arm over my back, like you would a child. 

THWACK "Fuck you, Jeffrey!" THWACK "You're still a fucking bitch." THWACK-THWACK-THWACK "Just fucking wait-" THWACK ​"Okay! Okay! Jeezus! I'm fuckin' sorry!"    THWACK, but this time, instead of instantly removing his hand from my cheek, he kept it there, shaking it gently as it absorbed the sting. "What was that, little one?" "I said I was sorry, damn!" "Language, kitten." he rasped and I felt him raise his hand above me again. "YELLOW FUCKING LIGHT JEFFREY."    His whole demeanor changed instantly, hand quickly dropping back down to massage the scarlet painted flesh that was my behind as he leaned forward and hunched over me to kiss my back.​ The tingling sensation that my whole body was experiencing flung me over into hypersensitivity and my eyes rolled back in my head at the feeling of his course hair against my skin. "You okay?" His deep drawl was still lusty, but mixed with concern now. "Yeah," I panted, trying to steady myself. "Fuck" "What do you need, baby girl?"    "You, inside me, now." I groaned, gingerly lifting myself from across his lap to straddle him, raking my manicured nails down his chest "You've got entirely too many clothes on, Mr. J."

"Well take 'em off of me, sweetpea."    I wiggled off of his lap to kneel between his legs where he sat on the bed. My hands moved to finger the button on his jeans, slowly tugging them open and unzipping them. He raised his hips to allow me to pull them off at the same time as his boxers, my mouth instantly watering as his clock flopped free. Naturally, Jeffrey picked up on the needy look in my eyes.    "You wannet, baby?" He rasped, looking down at me through hooded, wanton eyes as he grasped himself and stroked. I licked my lips before moving my eyes from his dick to his face and nodding. "You wannet bad?" he asked again, continuing to stoke himself. I nodded again. "Say it," "I want it." My dialated pupils rose back to his face. "Want what?" he smirked. "Your cock." "Say it." "I want your cock." "Where, baby girl?" he cooed mischievously. "Inside me." I whimpered "What was that?"    "I want your cock inside me, Daddy." Throwing the last word in for good measure.    The growl that emitted from his chest sounded like it came straight from his soul, and he lunged at me from across the sheets. His long arm curled itself around my back and with a snap, my bra came open and he ripped it off my chest, my nipples instantly hardening against the cool air conditioning of the apartment. I didn't have time to shiver before his mouth was attached to my right breast and his other hand moved to massage the left one. I moaned again, grateful for his contact that I had been deprived of for the past two weeks ​    "Jeffrey." I groaned, feeling him dig his hardness into the slick between my thighs, "I need you, baby."    "There it is." He grinned smugly, pride beaming through his irises, "There's my girl." "Fuck, Jeff." "Do you need something, little one?" he cooed sarcastically. "I hate you." I whined.    "Oh, really? Well then I guess I'll..." he trailed off, moving away from me, trying to back off the bed.    "Fucking bitch, I don't think so, mister." I growled, wrapping my legs around his shoulders and pulling him forward. The motion made his hands slip and he landed face first into my panties, "That's more like it." "Oh yeah, you think you deserve my tongue laving at this pussy?" "Yes." "And what have you done to deserve it?" "Put up with your teasin', Mr. Morgan. I deserve a prize." "Tsk tsk, little girl. I don't think you're needy enough." "Jeffrey Dean Morgan." "Mmmm, I like the way you say that"    "If you don't...." I trailed off, unable to finish my sentence as he began to pull my underwear downwards with his teeth.    Once they were off my ankles, he re-positioned himself between my legs and breathed deeply over the bare flesh in front of him, "If I don't what, Darling?" I whined, a pitiful sound that ached down from my very core. Jeffrey smirked that devilish grin of him that further pulled the string holding my composure together. "Get it the fuck together, Kylin. Don't you let him make you beg.'    His hot breath ghosted over my skin beneath his mouth with another deep hum, his tongue gently darting out to graze over the outside of my lips, spreading them just barely. Jeff could visibly see my core contract as my walls clenched around nothingness, physically begging for contact of any kind. Another smirk appeared over his face as he looked down at it with a chuckle, before peering back up to me knowingly.    I whined again but bit my lip, squirming as I tried to buck my hips upward. He held me down still, his arms wrapped under neath my thighs to hold them open. He licked the front of his top teeth hungrily, lust blown pupils boring into me and furthering my torture. 'Don't you fucking do it.' I had to keep telling myself.    An idea came to mind and I executed it before I had time to really think. I swiftly brought my thighs back around his shoulders, gripping him tightly about the neck. His hold on my legs had loosened due to my unexpectedness, and I seized the opportunity to roll us both over and rise to my knees in one fluid motion. I was now, to Jeff's very obvious surprise, holding his body down to the bed with my pussy directly in his face. I reached back, my long hair tickling his stomach, and gripped his cock firmly in my hand before he even registered what had happened. "What in the fuh-" "Eat it, now." I commanded, squeezing at his root.    "Fucking bitch-" Jeffrey growled, and although I couldn't see his face I smirked at the idea that he was rolling his eyes between my legs before diving his tongue deep inside my folds to drink up the wetness like it was the blood of Christ at Easter Mass. ​ ​   "Yeeeaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhsssssss" I wailed as tears pricked my eyes at the sudden relief​ that flowed through me. I eagerly began to rock my hips back and forth, the vibrations of Jeffrey's grunts and groans wrecking my very soul. I gasped, and moaned, and screamed, and cried as his tongue assaulted my clit before dipping and suckling at my entrance. The familiar tightening sensation coiled around my center as the course hairs of Jeffrey's face scratched and scraped against my flesh. His face was soaked with my juices but he never came up for air, instead furrowing his brows as he felt me begin to quiver above him and picking up his pace, his attack brutal and feral as he twisted his tongue against my folds.    I leaned back again and twisted myself, almost uncomfortably, around to be face to face with his cock. Opening my mouth as wide as I could, I sunk my throat down over his length, earning me nothing short of what could be described as a scream from Jeffrey against my cunt, followed by his hips bucking upwards to thrust further down my neck twice before I gagged and and tried to pull away. His dick followed my mouth though, and I had to actually push his hips down to pop my lips from his shaft. I chose the opportune time, as well, because as soon as he left my mouth my entire face was coated as nut spurted from his cock. In his reaction he released a feral roar as he dove his tongue as deep as it could possibly dig, his whole mouth enveloping me with hot breath and suction, triggering my own meltdown that made me cry out and shake, my walls clenching down on his tongue trying to hold him in place there forever. The release took over my being, disallowing me to do anything but pant and quiver and whimper. The relaxation slowly turned to over sensitivity and I wretched myself from him and landed face first into the sheets, butt in the air as I wiped of the mess from my face in the process.    My ass was directly in his line of sight where he lay beside me panting, and he couldn't help himself as he raised up and rolled to his side, delivering another violent THWACK to my ass that he used to hoist himself into the sitting position. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, and I felt like I was dying in a blissful day dream that was way too short lived.    He stood from the bed in front of my head, hand tangling itself in the mess that had became of my hair, and jerked my face up to be eye-level with his softened dick. "Look what you did."    I smirked up at him triumphantly, licking my lips as I shifted my eyes downwards towards his member "You're the one who couldn't handle a little head." ​    I stuck my tongue out and grazed the spent head that still had fluid dribbling out of it. Jeffrey's fingers tightened against my skull, making me open my mouth in a gasp that he took full advantage of. His free hand came to grip the base of his cock as he shoved it past my lips. 

"Suck it. Get it hard again. I'm not done with you yet."    I moaned, eyes rolling up to meet his as I hummed around his flesh and slurped him into my mouth, feeling him growing harder and harder by the second. He pumped into my throat quickly, grunting at my body's willingness to take him.    "That's it, baby girl. Fuck, yes. So good." ​he praised in a rasp, his hand around his root moving into my hair to form a pony tail to pull it away from my face, "Best fucking mouth I've ever had."    Another moan ripped through me, a new coat of wetness slicking my cunt and dripping down onto the sheets as my body shivered with need. I reveled in the feeling of his thickness plunging into my mouth, his pants and grunts above me making my pupils dilate and body tingle.    He pulled my head away from his cock with a loud pop, one hand gripping the base again as he stroked himself gently before untangling the other from my hair, "Turn around, beautiful, hands and knees."    I obeyed silently, body pretty much taken control of itself while my mind was hazy with lust and orgasmic bliss. I let out a surprised squeak when I suddenly felt two of his long, thick digits enter my pussy and his thumb press firmly against my asshole. Before I even had time to react, his other hand came down across my ass one final time, and my second orgasm wrecked through my system so unexpectedly I couldn't even make a noise if I'd tried. My arms buckled and I face planted into the sheets, mouth gaping in a silent scream. I had no time to recover before Jeffrey was behind me, the blunt head of his cock pushing past my quivering entrance as my body tried to suck him in further. "If that's not the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen."    "Fuuuuuuhhhhhhkkkkk" I was finally able to get out, my voice broken as pleasure-induced tears streamed down my face.    "Awh, look at my baby girl. Crying for daddy's cock, are you?" He smirked, voice sweet but sarcastic.    Tired of his games and torture, I mustered up the energy some how to lift myself up to my elbows and arch my back before slamming my hips backwards and impaling myself on his dick.    "You fucking dirty little bi-" He started but was cut off by me moving forward and slamming back again. "Filthy fucking-" SLAM "That how you wanna do this, huh?" SLAM "Oh yeah, you wanna take it?" SLAM "I'll make you take it, little girl." SLAM    "Okay, enough of that." He growled, finger tips gripping my hips with bruising strength. He pulled me back roughly and rolled his hips, digging the head of his cock into the opening of my cervix , causing me to cry out again in both pleasure and pain. "Yeah, you like that, baby girl?" he rasped, to which I whined in response. "Huh? Do you?" He panted, pulling out and plunging back in deeply.    "yeh-yeh-yeeeasss, daddy" I cried, my hips instinctively moving in time with his thrusts "That's my good girl."    He began a barrage of hearty thrusts that I kept up with willingly, my hands clutching the sheets for leverage as we rocked back and forth against each other as fast as we could. Need and desire took us both over and we both became blubbering, moaning, wet messes as my slickness coated him as he moved himself in and out of me. Within a matter of minutes I felt the familiar heat spreading through my core as he throbbed inside me, preparing for release.    "You take it so good, baby. I'm gonna come. I need you to come first." He panted, slowing his thrusts as he tried to hang on.    "Nnnnnng, Jeff, I can't...." I could feel the orgasm trying its best to push forward, but it couldn't reach the surface no matter how hard I tried to will it.    "Yes you can, baby doll. Come for me." Jeff soothed, leaning down over my back to snake arms around me and pull me upward to where my back was against his chest. His lips and scuff brushed my skin as he peppered my  neck with kisses and nibbles, teeth grazing and marking what was his. One palm moved to my breast to pull and tease at the nipple as the other one slithered down between my thighs to push against my clit. Within two swirls of his fingertip around the sensitive nub my mind exploded as stars shot across my vision. The dark coil inside me burst once again and I gushed against him as he pushed me back down on to the bed, hands moving to pin me down to the mattress as his thighs straddled me and he jack hammered himself into my heat, chasing his own release with several quick thrusts before ripping himself out of me and spraying all over my body, thick ropes reaching across my ass and back all the way up to my shoulders with it's intensity. The guttural sound that emanated from his vocal chords shook me through and finalized both of our releases.    His body instantly collapsed beside me on the sweat-and-whatever-else-soaked sheets. "Jesus fucking Christ." "Mhmmm," I hummed contently, eyes still closed, "promise completed."    "Yes fuckin' 'mam!" he breathed with a chuckle, peaking one eye open to look at my disheveled state at the same time I did the same. 

​   After cleaning up and taking a small nap, Jeffrey and I lounged around Norman's penthouse ​for the rest of the evening, ordering pizza and finding something to watch on TV. It was nice and relaxing, being able to sprawl out across the couch with my feet in his lap, him smiling at me with that cheeky grin of his as he tickled my toes. We eventually dug around and found norman's stash, Jeffrey rolling a joint and us sharing it on the patio balcony, gazing down at the busy streets of New York. ​   "You nervous about the meeting tomorrow?" Jeffrey asked as he lit a cigarette between his lips and passing the pack to me.    "Hmmm, I'm not sure." I said, taking one out and lighting it, "I guess I am. I've never done anything like this before, but you being here is helping me chill out."

"Good, I'm glad. S'kinda my goal."     I smiled at him, leaning over the railing as my eyes drifted among the lights as I took an inhale off the cigarette between my fingers. "Watcha thinkin' bout, princess." "Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just at peace for a moment, ya know?"    "Hmm, I think I do." He moved behind me, chest against my back and hands on either side of mine against the railing. I savored the feeling of having him around me as he nuzzled his nose into my hair and kissed my shoulder. I leaned my head back against his shoulder as I took another drag of cancer.    "It's crazy to think my life was nothing like this a year ago." I sighed contently, enjoying the rapture, "Thank you, Jeffrey." "For what?"    "Supporting me...pushing me...being there for me....putting up with me." I snorted at the last part.    Jeffrey snorted too, kissing the crown of my head before bringing his cigarette to his lips, "Anytime, Sweetheart." 

   The next morning came too soon, my body tired and sore and worn out from the previous days excitement. I groaned in protest when my alarm went off, throwing my arm over Jeffrey's back as I snuggled into his side as he quieted my phone for me.    "Come on, babe, nope, gotta get up." he gruffed, voice thick and raspy from sleep. "Fuck you. Make me coffee." I grunted. "Too early in the morning to deal with your sass, little one."    "Too early in the morning to be alive, old man" I shot back, pulling myself away from his warmth to drag myself into the connected bathroom and start the shower, "You better bring me fucking coffee!"    "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I hear you, you fuckin' brat." I heard him shout through the door. 

   Of course he had my coffee made exactly the way I liked it on the nightstand when I exited the bathroom wrapped in a towel, my clothes laid out that I had told him I wanted to wear, and a joint rolled and ready to be lit. I smiled at my man sweetly as I watched him pull a white t-shirt over his shoulders and down around his torso. He had already put on my favorite black jeans of his and I couldn't help but lick my lips at how lucky I had gotten to find such a wonderful human being.    "You're too sweet to me, Mr. J." I blushed as I dropped the towel from under my arms and picked up my coffee mug, him turning to burn his eyes over my flesh as I took a sip of the warm caffeinated liquid.

   He chuckled, licking his teeth again as he drug his lids upward across my body to reach my face, "You're the one who looks like candy, darlin'."    I sat the coffee cup back down and picked up the joint, tossing it to him with the lighter as I began to dress. He lit it as he watched me pull my underwear and bra on, passing it to me as I sauntered over to stand between his legs where he sat on the edge of the bed. He wrapped his arms around my thighs to cup my ass cheeks with his hands, drawing me closer to him as he nuzzled his nose in between my cleavage and jokingly making the motor boat noise. "You're a dork." I choked, my laughter causing the smoke to irritate my lungs    "Am not." he protested, squeezing my ass cheeks before giving the tender skin a playful smack, earning him a yelp of discomfort from me.    "Sorry," he chuckled, massaging the skin tenderly, receiving a hum from me in response. 

   I was sitting in a large conference room waiting on the production team of the music video, as well as Cardi, the artist, sipping on the coffee the assistant had brought me when my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. 'I know you're in NYC, it was so great to see you again, Kylin. I hope your meeting goes well.'    I hissed as I read the message, instantly knowing where it came from 'how did he get this number? how does he know where I am? The pictures, dumb ass, the fucking pictures from the airport. Fucking hell. When will this end?'    I was distracted from my thoughts as the door swung open and several men in dress shirts entered followed by the artist herself. I stood​ up, smoothing my shirt out nervously as the group approached with smiles.    "Kylin! Thank you for coming! I'm Perf, the director, and these are my assistants, and of course, this is Ms. Cardi." The first man greeted, bright smile contrasting greatly against his chocolate skin 

   "Ayeeee! Oh my god it is so great to meet you, girl!" Cardi beamed, pushing past the group of men to engulf me in an unexpected hug    "Oh! Uh, It's great to meet you too, 'mam!" I replied, wrapping my arms gingerly around her nervously.    "None of that 'mam' bull shit, ya hear me?! We all hoes here! Ha!" She laughed, sticking her tongue out, making us all laugh and my nerves ease. 

   We all took a chair around the conference table, Cardi sitting directly beside me and grasping my hands in my lap fondly. I smiled at her and she squealed, obviously excited for this meeting.    "So we have a concept for the video, and we think your talent will fit perfectly into it." He started, pulling out a few concept sketches.    I peered down at them as he slid them over to me and Cardi, her long nails pulling them closer to us as Perf pulled out his phone and let me listen to the song. Said, "Lil bitch, you can't fuck with me if you wanted to" These expensive, these is red bottoms, these is bloody shoes Hit the store, I can get 'em both, I don't wanna choose And I'm quick, cut a nigga off, so don't get comfortable, look I don't dance now, I make money moves Say I don't gotta dance, I make money move If I see you and I don't speak, that means I don't fuck with you I'm a boss, you a worker, bitch, I make bloody moves    The song continued, my head nodding to the sound of the beat as my head whirled with ideas and inspiration. I looked to Cardi, who had a huge smile across her face as she watched my reaction.    The music ended and she looked at me with a squeal, "So?! It's fucking poppin', right?"    "I'm excited for sure. Is there any choreography that I need to learn before hand or is it just basically all gonna be freestyle?" I asked, looking to Perf.    "You have free reign, basically, it's all gonna be in slow motion, so we don't have anything specific that we need you to do, just be sexy."    "Which can't be hard for you to do." Cardi cut in, bright smile still prevalent as she saw the blush creep over my face, "Oh don't start that shit with me, gurrrrl, I seen who you're fuckin'. That nigga too foine"    My eyes almost popped out my skull at her words, face burning impossibly hotter. "Uh- Ha. I'll be sure to let him know, ha ha."    "We should do dinner this week! Get to know each otha better, and you gotta introduce me to him!" She practically begged, pulling my hands into her lap again as she squeezed them, “And then of course the wrap party!” 'How is this my fucking life.'    "Um, sure. I'm sure that can be arranged. Um, here, uh, if you put your number in my phone I can let you know when?" I pulled my phone out of my bag and handed it to her once I unlocked it and opened the contact add. She input her information and then pushed the selfie button for a picture, focusing us both in the shot. We made funny faces at each other and then she added it to her contact, sending herself a text from my phone.    The meeting finished up quickly after that, them giving met he schedule of when they would need me on set and where to go and all of that, it would be a quick 3 days of getting a few shots for me and then I would be on my way back to Vancouver by the end of the week. 

   The idea of Anthony knowing where I was bugged the hell out of me all the way back to Norman’s apartment. My paranoia further increased when I could help but feel like someone was watching me as I exited the car and made my way up to the door. I rushed inside, slamming the wood behind me and instantly locking the dead bolts as fast as I could.

   “You okay, doll?” Jeffrey asked, walking towards the entrance when he heard me come in. 

   “He knows I’m here.” I whispered, turning around slowly and pressing my back against the door, “Feels like someone’s followed me.”

His eyes instantly darkened as his brow furrowed, “What do you mean?”

   I sighed as I stepped away and walked towards him, pulling my phone out and opening the text message to show him. He read over it and his knuckles whitened around the device, threatening to crack the screen under his strength.

   “I’m going to deal with this. Soon.” He growled, arms folding protectively around my shoulders as he pulled me to his chest, “He’s not getting to you again, baby girl. Trust me.” 

   I nodded as I leaned into him, fighting the scared tears that attempted to work their way over my eyelids. My arms circled around his waist, squeezing the comfort he brought into me the best I could.

   He lead me into the kitchen where he lifted me onto one of the bar stools, leaving me there to pull open one of the drawers and extract a freshly rolled joint. He placed it in front of me on the bar counter with a lighter, which I quickly grabbed and held to my lips. With a wink from him I flicked the lighter as he turned back around to pull a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet with two glasses. 

   I passed the spliff to him as he moved my drink in front of me, replacing one for the other in my hand. I swallowed the amber liquid quickly, fighting the burn of the strong liquor as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand as he chuckled.

“I love you, Ky.”

I smiled at him, “I love you too, handsome. Thank you for keeping me safe.”

“Anytime, Sweetheart.”

   Jeffrey ordered me security personnel for the rest of the week to escort me back and forth from rehearsal while I shot the few parts that were needed. Cardi herself had excellent security and once Jeffrey had explained to her the gist of the situation over dinner, she even made sure to order her own body guards to keep an eye on me too while we were around each other. Dinner with her was hilarious, she kept Jeff rolling the entire time with her bluntness and jokes, and we received several dirty looks from big wigs in Armani suits over our whoops and hollers. 

   Filming went fantastic, the director, Perf, loving everything that I was doing with the parts asked of me. Me flipping up side down and spinning around on a gold pole that apparently would appear to be on fire once editing was done, and of course the basic ‘sitting around a table with a guy with a lot of money’ shot. Cardi and the rest of the crew members constantly kept everything entertaining, though, and I felt like it was basically the same atmosphere as on set with my brothers. 

   We were at a loud New York nightclub for the wrap party taking up the whole VIP section with the group of people that followed Cardi around, having drink sand having fun for her last night in the city before she few out the next day. I wasn’t scheduled to return to Vancouver until 2 days later, in time to be back to work on Monday.

   “Come with me to the bathroom, girl, I don’t know if I can’ make it on my own!” Cardi hollered over the loud music, grabbing my hand and pulling me up with her. I gave Jeff a quick kiss on the cheek before following her in the direction of the lady’s room. A body guard went to follow us but Cardi waved them off, saying that the bathroom was close and we needed a ‘girl moment.’

   When we reached the private bathroom she immediately pulled me into the stall with her, shushing me when i made a surprised squeak

   “Shhhh, girl, do you do coke?” she asked, digging through her bag and finding a small blue baggie.

“Uh, I mean, I used to, I haven’t in a while, though.”

“You want some?” She held her long acrylic powder filled pinky nail towards me.

   “Um, no, not right now. I’ve never done it around Jeff and I really have never even talked to him about it. I wouldn’t be able to hide it from him.”

   “No problem, girl, I gotchu.” She raised her finger to her own nose with a deep snort, inhaling the drug with ease.  “Here, take this, talk to him about it when you get home tonight. Maybe he’ll do it with you and ya’ll can have some nasty fun.” She giggled and stuck her tongue out at me, causing me to shake my head and laugh as I took the baggie from her.

   “Girl, I’ll definitely let you know how this goes.” I shoved the plastic bag in a zipper compartment of my purse for safe keeping. 

   We washed our hands and were making our way back to the table when I felt firm fingers grip my bicep tightly. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as the familiar feeling of slime coated my entire body. I was jerked backward, pulling my hand out of Cardi’s that I had been holding.

   “What the fuh- Who the fuck are you?” She demanded, flinging herself around and grabbing my hand again before I had a chance to even look up at my attacker, even though I already knew who it was. 

   Anthony didn’t let go either, though, and for a moment they played a small tug of war with me as I attempted to pull away from his grasp, “Let me the fuck go, Anthony!” 

   “KENDRICK!” Cardi screamed, still not letting go of my wrist as she alerted the security guard. 

   The scene didn’t last long, or at least it didn’t feel like it did, because before I knew what happened 2 very large men ripped Cardi and I away from Anthony and thrown into Jeffrey’s arms. He caught the both of us, arms around our waists as he pulled us away from the commotion

   “What the fuck! Drag is ass, Ken! Now!” Cardi screeched, tears pricking her eyes in anger as Jeffrey held her back from charging forward.

   “They’ve got em, girl, come on,” Jeffrey pulled her back into the circle of safety that had crowded around us to escort us out the building quickly. I didn’t turn around to see what the two men had done with Anthony.

   “Was that the reason you needed security?” Cardi asked, catching her breath as we stood outside and waited for the valet to bring our cars around. I was clinging to Jeff, fighting back tears as my heart thudded in my chest. Jeffrey’s arms were curled around me protectively, and I felt his head nod against where he had it rested on the top of mine. 

   She nodded her own head in understanding, pursing her lips in discontent, as she rubbed my arm up and down, “Well, he’s gonna get his shit dragged around The Bronx for a little bit in the trunk, then Kendrick and Callem will make sure he knows not to fuck with any of my friends.” 

I smiled as I sniffled, side of my face pressed against Jeff’s chest, “Thanks, girl.” 

“I gotchu.”

   Something deep down in my gut told met hat this wasn’t the last I’d see of Anthony, though.

   “Are you okay?” Jeffrey asked as we sat in the back of the SUV on the way back to Norman’s apartment.

   “Not really. Just kinda wanna forget.” I replied honestly, pushing myself closer  into Jeffrey’s side.

   “I’ll get a nice bath drawn when we get back, pour some wine, get you out of those uncomfortable shoes and that makeup off your face.”

“Sounds like heaven, Thank you, Jeffrey.” I cooed, loving that idea.

“Anytime, Sweetheart.”

   “So, Cardi gave me some...party favors...” I began, shifting through my purse as Jeff ran the bathwater into the over-sized Jacuzzi tub. 

“Oh yeah?” He quirked an eyebrow, “What kind of ‘party favors’?”

“Um, the nose candy kind?” I answered, revealing the small baggie in my hand.

   Both of Jeffrey’s eyebrows shot up as he raised himself to his full height from where he had been bent down by the water, “Oh yeah? I haven’t partied like that in years.”

   “Me either.” I chuckled, flicking the bag a couple of times to settle the contents at the bottom, “It’s not a lot, but should be enough for a little...” I trailed off realizing how close Jeff was standing to me, his arms boxing me in against the counter as I looked up into his chocolate eyes.

   “Fun?” He finished my sentence for me, hunger taking over his already dark irises.

   “Yeah....fun.” I breathed before he lowered his mouth to mine to tug on my bottom lip.

“Well, than, sugar, let’s have some fun...”

Part Nineteen (MID-SERIES FINALE) released 9/25/2017

[sunken-standard]

Prompts Round 3, pleeeease? Any or all: #69 "Bed. Now."; #90 "Road Trip"; #95 "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas".

“Bed. Now.”/ “Road Trip!”/ “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas”

(set in the Vegas-married ‘verse)

“Get your keys,” Sherlocksaid as he threw back the blankets on the bed.

“Hn?”  Molly grunted, gropingfor the lamp.

“Clothing, keys,” Sherlocksaid, already on the other side of the room and pulling open drawers.

“What?  Why?  Is this is it?  Isit zombies?”

“Road trip!” he saidbrightly.

“Wh—” she was cut off by awadded-up something smacking her in the face.

*

“This isn’t legal, is it?”

“Pfft, legal,” Sherlock said,binoculars trained out the passenger window.

“Just tell me we’re not going tobe kidnapping anyone.”

“We’re not going to be kidnappinganyone.”

“Are you fibbing?”

“You wound me, Molly.  Oh, therehe is.  Keep the engine running,” Sherlock said before dartingout of the car and into the night.

*

“Should have known there was somemonkey business going on when you brought a car seat,” Mollysaid, looking in the rear view mirror at their new passenger.

“Really, that was the best youcould do?”

“I had two hours of sleep and I’mabout to get on Le Shuttle to France.  With a shaved chimp in mybackseat.”

“Bonobo.  And he’s not shaved,it’s from whatever they’ve been injecting him with.  You’re an animallover, you should be thrilled with this.”

“Just because I give to the RSPCAand have a cat calender on my desk doesn’t mean I’m ready to join theA.L.F.”

“He’s actually been grantedcitizenship in Belgium.  We’re repatriating him for my client,”Sherlock said, twisting to reach over the seat and do something withthe chimp.  Bonobo.  Whatever.

“Are you getting paid in bananas?”

“No, pounds sterling, and I wasgoing to split the fee with you and help you smuggle however muchbooze and chocolate from the duty-free we could manage until you madethat crack.  We need to get him dressed before they check ourpassports,” Sherlock said, unclipping the harness of the childseat.

“Does he at least have a name?”

“Quentin.”

Quentin shrieked at his name.

Molly wondered what life was like fornormal people.  Relaxing, probably.

*

The border officer looked at Molly,then Sherlock, then Quentin (now dressed in jeans and a jumper and arain hat pulled low over his face).  Sherlock scowled and shifted thebonobo in his arms.

“Is it cancer?” the womanasked, sympathy pouring off of her.

“Congenital,” Molly answered. “Beddoe-Clyde syndrome.  Very rare.  Incurable.  Runs on myhusband’s side.”

“Oh,” the officer said,hushed.  "Well, you have yourself a lovely time in France then,Mrs. Holmes, Mr. Holmes.“

"Oh, it’s not—”

Sherlock snatched their passports. “Come along, dear, you know what happens when baby doesn’t gethis snack,” he said, plastering on his fake smile.

“Did she even read the passports? I mean, one’s obviously a fake—” Molly started once they wereaway from the desk.

“Shh!”

“And she didn’t even get my nameright.  I’ll take mine back now, by the way.”

“It’s fine, I’ll hang onto ituntil we get to the Belgian border.  Travelling as a family, may aswell keep them all together,” Sherlock said too quickly.

“Give. It.”

“Promise you won’t be cross.”

“What did you do?”

“I… may have misplaced thedivorce papers.”

“Misplaced.”

“Misplaced, burned, whoremembers?”

“Sherlock, give me my passport,”Molly said calmly.

He handed her the passport afteranother moment’s hesitation.

It wasn’t her passport.  At least, notthe one she’d had for the last four years.  It was brand new.

Molly L. Holmes, it read.

“Your brother, I assume?”

Sherlock bounced Quentin into a morecomfortable position and walked away quickly toward the men’s room inthe terminal.  The bloody coward.

*

“Are you supposed to be feedinghim sweets?  Shouldn’t he have like, fruit or leaves or something?” Molly asked, leaning against the front fender of the car.

Sherlock handed Quentin (who was sat onthe bonnet) another Malteser and put one between his own lips, makingthe same kissy face the bonobo made.

“It’s fine,” Sherlock said,shaking some from the packet into her outstretched hand.

“Can he do any tricks?  Like, ifyou point your finger at him and say ‘bang,’ will he fall over?”

“He’s got a three hundred-plussign vocabulary and paints portraits as well as keeps perfect 6/8time on a drum.  He doesn’t do 'tricks.’”

Quentin reached over and put his handson Molly’s breasts, then signed something.

“Well, maybe he does one trick.”

“Grabbing my tits hardly counts asa trick,” she said flatly.

“He said you’re a B-cup.”

“You’re making that up.”

“Am I?”  Sherlock raised hiseyebrows and blanked his face.  Molly tongued the inside of hercheek.  The staring contest was only broken when she closed her eyesbecause Quentin had decided he needed to re-measure.

*

“I think we’re being followed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, we’re notbeing followed.  It’s first thing on a Saturday morning, do you knowhow many tourists are—oh.  Right, no, that’s not good.  Changelanes.  Now.”

*

“Just a slight detour, Molly,”she said, doing her best I-am-a-posh-git baritone.  "We’ll stillbe in Brussels by noon.“

Sherlock ripped off a piece of ducttape with his teeth and put it over one of the bullet holes in theboot.  At least they hadn’t shot out the back window or hit the gastank, though both her tail lights were broken.

"Well, we’ll make it beforesundown at least.  Think of it as a second honeymoon, touring theFrench countryside.”

“We just got back from the firsttwo months ago.”  

“What can I say, I’m a romantic.”

Quentin blew a raspberry on Molly’scheek.  "I’m surrounded by them, apparently.“

*

Molly woke with a start; Quentin wasout of his seat and had his hand on her boob again.  It was darkoutside.

"Sherlock,” she said slowly,removing the bonobo’s hand from her chest, “why are we inGermany?”

“I’m not allowed in Luxembourg. Long story.”

*

“I am way too sober for this,”Molly said as she watched Sherlock being handcuffed.  "Quentin,so help me Christ if you do what I know you’re thinking of doing Iwill phone Proctor and Gamble myself and you’ll spend the rest ofyour very short life looking like a losing contestant in RuPaul’sDrag Race.“

"Molly!  Is that any way to talkto our only child?” Sherlock bellowed before he was stuffed intothe back of the police car.

*

“Mycroft? This is your sister-in-law.  Yes, I know what time it is.  We need afavour.  No, he can’t come to the phone because he’s currentlyworking his way up to another international incident.  We’re in apolice station in Fuck-If-I-Know-Where Germany and… yeah, no, just,um, bail, or diplomatic immunity, or whatever it is you do if youcould… I need to go to work Monday and we still need to get toAntwerp.  Fine, yes, I’ll owe you, you can have our firstborn,whatever Rumpelstiltskin.  Fine.  Thank you.”

*

“Whyis Quentin wearing lederhosen?  We’re not even in the right part ofGermany for that.”

“Funfact: bonobos really like beer.  Or at least, this one does.  Evenfunner fact: I’ve finally met someone who’s more of a lightweightthan you are.  Luckily, Frauline Mueller over there found these inthe lost property box.  Oh, and we have to name our first babyMycroft.”

Sherlockopened his mouth, but obviously couldn’t decide if he wanted tocorrect her grammar first or refute the possibility of ever naminghis offspring after his brother.  

*

“Chipsfor breakfast.  Healthy.”

“Yes,I suppose potatoes are healthier in their distilled form, if the wayyou prefer to consume them is anything to go by,” Sherlocksniffed before shoving a handful of still-hot chips in his mouth. “And they’re frites, not chips,” he added afterchewing and swallowing.

*

“This is not my Quentin.  What areyou trying to pull, Mr. Holmes?” Sherlock’s client said angrily.

“What’s he talking about? Sherlock?”  Molly looked between Sherlock, the client, and(not-)Quentin.

“Wh—no, this was the only bonoboin the facility.”

“That cannot be!”

“Mr. Orville, I can assure you—”

“Out!  Take this imposter and getout!”

*

“We’re not keeping him.”

“He’s toilet trained.”

“So he’s going to live at BakerStreet, then?”

“Don’t be silly, I can’t keep ananimal, Mrs. Hudson has limits.”

“So you think he’s going to livein my flat?”

“You had that cat once, hardly anydifferent.”

“Start calling zoos.”

“You are not the woman I married.”

*

“Don’t worry, Quentin, we’llvisit, we promise.  Isn’t that right, Molly?”

Molly smiled tightly at the bonobo,letting him have one goodbye grope.

*

“A single occupancy.  Wonderful. You know what?  I don’t even care.  Bed.  Now,” Molly said. They were lucky to even get a space on the overnight ferry from Hookof Holland to Harwick; she wasn’t about to drive back to London afteronly sleeping maybe five hours the entire weekend.  At leastthey didn’t have to take the ferry to Hull.

She peeled off her her shirt (whichsmelled vaguely of primate and beer) and wiggled out of her trousers,then figured to hell with it and flicked off her bra, too.  They weremarried, after all.  Not that they’d consummated it or anything; theyhadn’t even so much as kissed after that aborted fumble in the hotelroom in Las Vegas.  Probably would have shaken out a lot differentlyif his testicles hadn’t been so badly bruised.

She crawled into the berth andplastered herself against the wall to give Sherlock enough room tolay down; he shed his suit and joined her.  There was a bit ofshuffling until they got their arms and legs and the blanketsarranged, and then a new kind of awkward tension took over.

“Did you really burn the divorcepapers?” Molly blurted.

“Not intentionally.  Scienceaccident.”

“Uh huh.”

Sherlock sighed.  "If you reallywant a divorce, we’ll just get another set of papers from thesolicitor.  And you can keep them so they don’t get unintentionallydestroyed.“

"Don’t you?  Want one.  It wasjust for the case, right?  What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

“You said it yourself, it’s just aslogan,” Sherlock hedged.

“Yeah, but you haven’t, uh, shownany interest since we got back, so I thought it was just a passingthing.  Caught up in the moment.”

“You didn’t show much interestyourself,” he countered.

“So if I were to show interestnow, what would you do?” she asked, twisting the curl at thenape of his neck around her index finger.  His fingers twitchedagainst her shoulder and he shivered.

He tilted his face down towards hers. “Probably kiss you and then ask for a rain check on anythingelse, considering the amount of sleep we’ve both had in the lastthree days,” he said frankly.

“It’s a start,” Molly said,giving him a half-smile.

[peakyxshelby]

Forbidden Flame

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

A/N: OK so I’m thinking one or two more parts!

Isaiah had helped you get dressed and ready like you asked him to. He was cautious of you, you had almost immediately stopped crying and had become calm.

“Where are you going (Y/N)?” Isaiah asked increasingly worried, as you hadn’t said a word since you came back home crying and now you were heading for the door.

“The Garrison.”

“It’s 1 PM, why are you going there?” He was confused quickly rushing to get his coat on to follow you out the door.

“I need some time Isaiah,” You turned to face him staring right into his eyes. “Give me some time, I’ll come find you tonight.”

“(Y/N) wait,” he called after you but you didn’t answer you kept walking leaving him standing at your door alone. Your mind had become numb, you loved Isaiah you really did. But you loved your family too. Rage filled your lungs thinking about Tommy and his sick twisted ways, what he was trying to do was not fair on you. But what if this deal made your brothers safer again, protected your family. Your mind was scrambled as you headed down the road to the garrison. You swung open the door even though the place was closed.

“Sorry, we’re closed.! Oh Miss Shelby I.. What can I do for you?” Harry asked as you stormed towards the bar.

“Whiskey please, and before you try to convince me out of it I will get Arthur down here quicker than you can say your own name.” He nodded not saying another word before setting out a glass and a bottle of whiskey. He left you to it by yourself as he went to work on his books.

7 hours later, your head was in the toilet as you threw up anything that may have been left in your stomach. You couldn’t see, you could barely speak and as you tried to stand up again you felt drowsy and dizzy. You made your way to the toilet wiping your face as Arthur walked in.

“Jesus Christ (Y/N), what the fuck is going on here?” Arthur shouted around the bar as you practically fell into his arms. He pulled you into the private room as you saw John follow behind him.

“How much have you had to drink?” john asked taking out his pocket square to wipe away any leftover sick from your face.

“A bit.. A big bit,” You slur as you let your head fall to the desk.

“We tried to speak to Tommy, but after your big spiel, he went into full on emotionless mode. Fuck knows where he even is he left shortly after you did.”

“I hate him,” you say harshly spitting your words out.

“That’s the problem, though (Y/N), isn’t it?” Arthur said pulling his arm around your shoulder. “You don’t hate him, that’s why you're hurting.”

“I love Isaiah too,” you whispered. John and Arthur stayed quiet. Nothing anyone could say would help or fix what was happening. Arthur cleared his throat to say something but you interrupted him. “I need some air.”

You had made your way down to the docks, the sky had turned black by the time you made it down there. You moved down towards the edge of the short pier and sat at the edge swinging your legs. This is where you used to come when you were younger, Tommy had shown it to you one day when you were upset about something.

“Focus on the water, helps calm your head.” That’s exactly what you needed. Ever since then whenever you were upset or annoyed you’d come and sit by the docks staring at the water. Your mind began to wander as you looked at the water underneath your feet. How much easier would this all be if you just jumped in? You had heard the stories of the drunk men that fell in the river and never made it out. Maybe it would be easier this way. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, edging your bum closer and closer to the edge. Your heart was racing as the only thing that was keeping you balanced were your hands placed on either side of you. That’s when you were snapped out of your dark tunnel of thought. A cough came behind you and footsteps hit the pier. The body sat down beside you hanging his legs over like you.

“What are you doing here?” You asked shuffling yourself back. You turned around to look up at your brother. It was Tommy, but his eyes were red and bloodshot.

“I wanted to speak to you.”

“Well know you want to speak up huh?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Like you give a fuck.” You were angry, you hated speaking to him like this but he deserved it.

“Who is he?” He asks softly. He sounded hurt and confused not knowing who the man you were going to marry was.

“Isaiah.” His fists clench as he takes a sharp breath eyes shooting into the water again.

“What the fuck? When did you start seeing Isaiah?”

“Ages ago Tommy, I wasn’t 18 so we didn’t tell anyone. Polly caught us a couple months back and banned us from being together till I was 18. It was tough cause I loved him you know. And when you and Pol went home he got down on one knee asked us to marry him. I just want to be with him.”

“You’re still young (Y/N) you don’t know properly yet.”

“See I knew you wouldn’t get it, never loved anything in your bloody life.”

“I love this whole family (Y/N) everything I do is for this family. Isaiah can’t protect you the way James can. I can’t protect you from them if you stay with Isaiah.” Your rage softened as you realised your brother was trying to protect you as well as everyone else that is. You knew his intentions weren’t all from a bad place.

“Is there any chance I can get out of this?” He shook his head taking a deep breath.

“No there isn’t. If you do this you’ll protect each member of this family, remember when they tried to kill Arthur? Left him for dead you remember that? None of that will happen anymore. John married for family and found some sort of love maybe you will too.”

“But Isaiah…”

“Isaiah is a blinder, he knows the sacrifice that comes with that. I’m sorry (Y/N) I really am.” You stayed quiet taking a deep breath.

“Will you give me away?” He looks at you in shock before a smile crept back over my face.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Tommy walked you to Isaiah’s house with you in silence, it wasn’t awkward it was almost comforting. When you reached the door you turned to face Tommy.

“Want me to wait?”

“No, I need to do this one by myself.” He nodded at you and gave you a reassuring hug before heading away. You knocked lightly waiting.

“(Y/N)?” Isaiah said opening the door and pulling you into him kissing your head. “You ok?”

“Well… not really. We need to talk.” His face dropped as he realised what you were doing. He opened the door more letting you in past him as you made your way to his kitchen and taking a seat. He sat opposite you and held your hands in his and looked at you with begging eyes. His expression broke your heart. You loosened your hands from his grip taking the ring off your finger and placing it back in his hand.

“(Y/N) Please don’t do this,” he croaked trying to keep himself together. You let tears spill over now as your breathing became heavy.

“I’m so sorry, I love you, Isaiah, I really do. I only want to be with you, but I don’t have an option. I can’t lose my family but I can’t lose you either. If you don't want to be around to watch it happen I understand, but I don’t want to let you go. Please don’t let me go.” His eyes hadn’t left the table since you had started speaking and you both sat in silence for a couple minutes.

“You need to leave.” He stated coldly.

“Isaiah…”

“No, you need to leave.” You couldn’t stop yourself from uncontrollably crying now begging him to look at you but he stayed still and silent. You tried to grab his hand but he pulled it away. Your heart was breaking as you left the house in tears not bothering to look behind you.

It was the day before your wedding and the day you were meeting the infamous James Solomons.

“Morning (Y/N),” Michael chimed not bothering to look up from his newspaper as Polly put down breakfast in front of you. “You excited to meet the man himself today?”

“You heard from Isaiah?” you asked avoiding his question.

“Well… No. You did break his little heart I can’t imagine you’ll be getting a wedding present.” Polly clipped Michael over the back of the ear. “Ow!”

“Aw fuck it, maybe I’ll fall in love with Solomon's junior.” You sigh getting up and heading to your room to get ready.