#my neighbours are having an extension and the work is so loud

[lordacne]

ok if this wank doesn’t fix me idk what will

[sincerelyneo]

no judgement | l.mk

“i can be your lover or your shoulder to cry on, you can be whoever you like”

💿now playing: no judgement by niall horan

❯ summary: Mark’s shocked to see you at his front door step crying, but he isn’t surprised. You do this all the time - get a new boyfriend and forget about your childhood best friend. And the minute that asshole dumps you, you always want him to pick up the pieces. And he will. He always does.

❯ pairings: mark x fem!reader (brief mention of yuta)

❯ genre: friends to strangers to lovers? smut, angst

❯ words: 4.9k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, protected sex, lowkey sub!mark, hookup, rebound sex, glasses kink, big dick mark bc yes, oral sex (m receiving), nipple play, slight begging, yuta is an asshole for the plot, reader is also kinda mean, mentions of cheating (not between mark + y/n), slight unrequited love, use of ‘pretty girl’, reader uses she/her pronouns.

Mark thinks his mind is playing tricks on him. I mean - it would make sense - the last time he’d checked the clock on his desk it was 12:17 am. So, there’s no way the light knocking on his front door is really happening…right? 

He tries to focus on the papers in front of him - a work assignment that was due last week that he’d already managed to get an extension on. He knows his boss will have his balls if he doesn’t have it completed and on his desk by 8:00 am sharp tomorrow (today). 

However, Mark’s fears of premature insanity are put to a quick end this time when the knocking is paired with an unnecessarily loud yelling through his letter box. 

“Mark Lee if you don’t open this door right now, I swear I’ll kick your ass the next time I see you.” 

Now that - the sound of your voice - wasn’t in his imagination. 

You bang harder, clear that you're using a fully clenched fist to make as much noise as possible.  “I’m serious dude, I’ve kicked your ass before, and I’ll do it again. Now open. The. Door.” 

Mark knows he should just ignore you, pretend that he’s sleeping and focus on his work; but, he hasn’t seen you in months, and you are supposed to be his best friend after all. He can’t just leave you out on the street at this hour — he won’t — what sort of friend would he be?

He rises from his desk, removes his glasses, and places them gently on the wooden surface before pinching the bridge of his nose.

You knock (pound) again. 

“‘Alright alright, jeez, I’m coming,” he says, followed by a small curse as he ushers through his hallway to the front door. 

As he swings the door open, he’s almost hit with a nasty sucker punch to the cheek as you simultaneously raise your fist to knock again.

“Woah there, calm down, you’re gonna get me a noise complaint,” he flinches. 

“I think it’s a little too late for that,” you point to the house next door, “That woman has been glaring at me from her window since I got here.” 

Mark peers out of his house, the cold night air nipping at the tips of his ears, and sees his neighbour looking down shaking her head disapprovingly at him. He raises his hand in a feeble apology, with a tight-lipped smile to ease the edge, but it doesn’t, he knows it doesn’t and he knows he’s going to have to do a lot of ass kissing in the morning. 

“Well, Mrs Kim and her husband have just had a baby.” 

He watches you shrug then grimace, “How was I supposed to know that? They didn’t have one the last time I was here.” 

It’s now when Mark takes in the person standing in front of him, a mere silhouette of his childhood best friend. You’re barefoot, which already raises questions in his mind, and a bottle of wine is in your hand. Your hair is dishevelled and mascara smudged under the bottom of your eye – which makes sense since he can see the faded redness from where he knows you’ve been crying. 

 “So, you gonna let me in or what? I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

Well obviously, Mark thinks, you’re wearing nothing but a short black dress, covered by a thin sheer blazer leaving your legs completely bare in the middle of winter. Your teeth chatter and he has to suppress the smile threatening to dance on his lips because it reminds him of when the two of you used to mess around in the snow during winter break back in high school.

But he pushes those memories to the side, just like his front door, as he makes enough room for you to slip into his house. As you step inside, you waste no time making yourself comfortable - old habits die hard you guess - remembering how things used to be.

You remove the blazer you're wearing and walk over to Mark's desk, draping it over the back of his chair. Your eyes fall on the sheets of paper scattered across the surface, partially covered by his glasses. You recall that he had stopped wearing them during junior year, opting for contacts instead - a decision you found disappointing. You had always liked his glasses; they made him look kind of... cute.

“I’m not interrupting you, am I?”

Yes. 

“Nah, not really,” Mark shrugs following in from behind you. 

“Really?” You ask picking up a sheet of paper as you raise an eyebrow, “Marketing campaign for neo gummies, on my desk Monday 8:00 am.”

There’s a smile on your face as you read it because it’s nice to know that the Mark standing in front of you is the same as the one you grew up with. He was always the last person to hand in his college assignments, and school science projects; but don’t get it wrong, he’d always ace them. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve basically finished it.”

Mark’s lying, and you can easily tell by the way his arm reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. It's a mannerism you've become aware of, noticing how he used to do it when you asked him for his opinions on some of your uglier fashion choices throughout high school. 

“You sure?” You add, “I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble with your boss or anything. Especially now that you live in this fancy-ass townhouse, your mortgage payments must be crazy.”

Mark shakes his head with a smile, reaching for his glasses and putting them back on. “They’re not that crazy…”

You give him a knowing look, his living room alone is practically the size of most apartments in the city. But you didn’t expect anything less from him, he’d always worked hard for everything he had. He graduated with flying colours, found a high-paying job after college, bought a nice house; and you’re sure that one day he’d secure himself a nice girl to live in it with him. 

What you’re trying to say is Mark Lee had something to show for himself, which is more than you can say after you took a more leisurely approach to college. Mark had always worked a little too hard for your liking, or maybe you just worked a little too easy for his. Either way, he’s the one with his life put together and you’re just…standing barefoot in his living room, looking a mess, with a bottle of alcohol in your hand.  

“Well then, since I’m not imposing, how ‘bout a drink?” You suggest, waving the bottle of wine in the air in an attempt to win him over and distract yourself from your own reality. As shitty as it sounds, you come to Mark to escape the chaos of your own life, so dwelling on comparisons isn't something you want to keep doing.

For Mark though, he knows he shouldn't indulge in a drink – after all, the work assignment on his desk is practically begging to be completed. But he's always struggled to say no to you, and he's well aware that you know that too. It's why you're so comfortable knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning when most of the city is asleep; you know he'll always open up for you.

And that’s exactly why he’s heading into his kitchen and rooting through his cabinets until he finds two wine glasses. 

When he comes back into the living room, he finds you standing by the fireplace. It's not unusual, considering you were freezing just moments ago on his doorstep from your attire. However, what catches him off guard is that you're not warming yourself by the fire; instead, you're holding a picture – Mark's favourite one – taken by his parents on the day you got your wisdom teeth removed.

"No way you kept this," you groan, though there's a hint of laughter in your voice.

"Of course I did. You were completely out of it on anaesthesia, going on about marrying Lee Taemin," Mark replies.

You squeeze your eyes shut, remembering the way you sent the hot senior you had a crush on in your freshman year a DM in your high state. “Oh gosh, don’t remind me.”

But truthfully, that's not the sole reason Mark kept that picture, or why he still chooses to display it despite having hundreds of clearer, better ones of the two of you together. He treasures that particular photo because it was the day you told him you loved him – although you never brought it up again. Mark pins it down to you not remembering from the anaesthetic, but that photo, it’s the last slither of hope he has left. 

“Well, I must say, Mark Lee, you have had quite the glow-up since your high school days,” you laugh putting the picture back on the fireplace. 

Mark can't believe his cheeks are warming up as if he were that same teenager – pathetic, he thinks. And he wants to say the same about you, but he hardly recognizes you. You're a completely different person from the girl in the picture, and while he loves you, truly, it doesn't change the fact that you're a mess sitting before him.

To his defence, it's impossible not to notice it; he saw it the moment he opened the door and saw your smudged makeup and raw eyes – you’re defeated. And even though he knows precisely why, he still asks.

 "What are you doing here, Y/N?"

You swallow, “Can’t I just come and see my best friend?”

“No, you can’t.”

His words carry a double-edged sword, both an accusation directed at you and an expression of the hurt he's experienced from your repeated instances of ghosting him over the last few months. 

You begin pouring yourself a generous glass of the wine you brought along. If you were going to have this conversation with him, you weren't about to do it sober.

“Yuta broke up with me.”

And there it is. You always do this –  get a new boyfriend and forget about your childhood best friend. And the minute the asshole in question dumps you, you always want him to pick up the pieces. 

And Mark hadn't forgotten the name Yuta; in fact, it had been seared into his mind ever since you posted a picture with him on your Instagram account, looking all lovey-dovey. And then Mark had gone into full stalker mode – because of course he did – he always did. But the thing with Yuta was that he was one step ahead. One particularly awful day at work, when Mark wanted to check your account, he found himself blocked.

Honestly, Mark doesn’t blame Yuta, he’d be lying if he said all his thoughts about you were completely innocent, but you’d never blocked him over a guy before. He's accustomed to the isolation, the ghosting, and the personality changes that come with you getting a new boyfriend; but being digitally blocked by you was a new low. It's safe to say Mark had already formed his opinion about your new ex-boyfriend: he was definitely an asshole.

"Why did he break up with you?" he asks, not out of genuine concern, but rather out of selfish relief. Still, he knows it's the right thing to do.

“He found someone else, or I found him fucking someone else,” you spit bitterly, “and do you know what? That fucker didn’t even give me a chance to grab my shoes before he kicked me out.”

You take a long gulp from your glass, the liquid burning slightly as it goes down your throat, and then you flop back on the sofa. Your movements are heavy, weighed down by more than just the alcohol in your system. As you sink into the cushions, a wave of emotion crashes over you, threatening to engulf you completely. It's a moment of vulnerability that you've been holding back, and tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. You try to fight them, push down the rising tide of emotions, but it's futile. 

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he reassures, quickly taking a seat beside you on the sofa and resting a gentle hand on your thigh, where he begins to rub small, soothing circles into your skin, just like he used to do. "You can stay here tonight."

You groan into your hands, you can’t believe you're acting like this – pathetic – and it has you immediately defensive. “Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, so quiet Mark almost misses it.

“Like what?”

“All judgy.”

“When have I ever judged you, Y/N?” he questions, his tone gentle, “I’m always your shoulder to cry on, we’re past the judgement stage,”

"I don't cry that much," you protest weakly.

“Well…” he starts, that teasing look in his eye you love.

In response, you push his chest playfully, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Because you’ve missed this – missed him.

And that’s the part that always stings the most: how effortlessly you two slip back into each other's company. Despite not speaking for a couple of months, it's like you didn’t lose any time. And perhaps that's why Mark finds it so easy to keep forgiving you, and why you find it so natural to slide in and out of his life and then expect him to mend your broken heart.

Mark grabs the hand you used to push his chest and looks at you seriously but gently, “Seriously, Y/N, you can just be yourself with me, just like it’s always been.”

His words resonate with you, stirring something deep within the pit of your stomach. You meet his gaze with glossy eyes, and in that moment, you feel an overwhelming surge of emotion. Without hesitation, you lean in and press your lips to his. 

It's a tender kiss, soft and sweet just how you expected Mark’s lips to be. And he melts into it just as much as you do, if not more so. It’s like he craves it, like he’s hungry for it. And he is because you – his first-ever crush, the girl he’s been in love with since he could remember – is pressing her lips to his. The teenager in him is jumping up and down right now.

Just as you're about to deepen the kiss, your face bumps into his glasses, causing both of you to pause as they sit askew on his face. Mark blushes and begins to fumble with them, but just as he's about to take them off, your hand wraps around his and stops him.

“Mmmm. Keep ‘em on,” you bite your lip as you reposition them on the bridge of his nose. “I like them.”

“I didn't realize you had a glasses kink,” he teases.

“Neither did I...just like them on you.”

That triggers something inside of him because his tongue lightly sweeps over your bottom lip where he nips it with his teeth. One of his hands reaches up to cup the nape of your neck; the other finds its way to the hem of your dress, intrusive fingers brushing over your bare skin, making you gasp.

He stills.

Did he just fuck this up? Was he reading it wrong?

There’s a fraction of a beat where you just breathe against him, and Mark feels a twinge of self-consciousness. And just when he’s about to apologise, you dive into him and all reservations are thrown out the window as you give him the green light. 

His hand wraps around your waist and he pulls you over his lap to straddle him. It gives him all the access he needs to grab your thighs and lift you up as he stands. He keeps your lips connected as he wraps your legs around his waist, pressing into you just enough to feel the swelling in his crotch. 

If you thought he was hungry for it before, now he’s starving. 

Your arms wrap around his neck, your breasts crushing against his chest. Your hips start to move against him without any control, almost like it’s instinctual. You suck on his tongue and he groans. And God if it isn’t the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard. 

“You feel so fucking good, Y/N,” he says into your mouth, “Are we really doing this?”

You smile against his lips, “We’re doing this.”

You both take that as a confirmation to go harder, kissing like you’ve been starved of each other for years, and Mark supposes you have. His body moulds to yours and you feel his hand wander to your ass making your dress lift as he carries you out of the living room. 

When you see him heading for the staircase you know exactly where his head is at, and when he opens his bedroom door with you still in his arms, you feel wetness pool right between your legs. 

He drops you on the bed so gently and carefully not to hurt you – because even though he’s so goddamn horny right now – he’s still Mark. When your back hits the whites of his sheets it gives you a moment to look at him, his chest is heaving, lips swollen and cheeks flush. His hair is tousled and it makes your blood run cold. 

He looks like pure sex. Hot sex. Good, filthy, all-night-long sex. And you want him, more than you’ve ever wanted any man before in your life.

Mark kneels on the bed in the space between your legs, coming close enough to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, and you wonder if he sees you the same way you see him right now. He brushes your cheek gently with his thumb and you lean into his caress and plant a small kiss against his palm. 

His lips meet yours again as his hands slip between you two. They glide up your leg, to your stomach to under your dress, where he finds you not wearing a bra as your nipples pebble under his rough hands. 

Instinctively, your arms stretch over your head, reluctantly breaking the kiss so he can tug the material off and over you, lips crashing back together as you roll your hips into his with desperation and need. 

Mark groans when he pulls away to look at your naked chest in front of him, it’s a picture he thinks. One that needs to be hung up in an art gallery or some shit – actually now that he thinks about it – he hates the idea of you being on display like that for someone else.

His fingers wind themselves in your hair, a delightful shiver skittering along your body as you soften into his touch. You can’t help but grin suggestively as you look him in the eyes, top teeth holding down on your lower lip as your hands creep low enough to hook into the band of his pyjama bottoms. 

Mark practically whimpers as your hand teases at the elastic, “Please.”

The plea has you smiling wider, knowing exactly what he wants. You remove his bottoms without a second thought, the same time he strips from his t-shirt. His cock springs free, thick and long and straining so eagerly for you. 

You get a thrill knowing you’re the one who’s made him this hard and that makes you want to please him badly. So you do, taking control and flipping him over to be underneath you. He gasps at the motion and then he almost cums untouched at the sight of you kneeling between his legs, lowering yourself down just enough to kiss the tip of his cock.

The teasing touch sends a chill right through him. He leans back on his arms just to see you, eyebrows strained as he concentrates, glasses slightly fogged – he wants to remember exactly what you look like like this. You’re intoxicating, strong enough for him to get drunk on.

“So pretty,” he murmurs under a soft breath and you blush.

You lick your lips, focusing on his cock, flattening your tongue from the base all the way up to his head, where the slit is leaking with pre-cum. You hear him suck in a breath and it makes you smile. 

You like knowing he’s needy, teasing him to ignite small reactions, but continuing to do so would only be hell for you; because right now you want nothing more than to suck on his cock like it’s the last thing you’ll ever taste. 

You wrap your hand around his shaft and don’t waste another second before your mouth is sinking to suck on him. You manage all you can – there’s a lot of him – and use your fingers to move up the length you don’t swallow, stroking him painstakingly slow.   

As you kiss and lick at him, Mark is going mad because it’s your mouth. Your mouth is wet and hot and currently wrapped around him good enough that his thighs have started trembling. 

It’s not long before his hands find your hair and he helps you to slide more of his cock inside, knowing exactly when to stop instead of making you take too much. But he’s big and thick and your mouth barely covers him – which he hates – it feels like a reminder that he’s not made for you. 

The thought has him letting out a growl, which catches you by surprise from the whimpering mess he was seconds ago. The grip he has on your hair tightens. 

“Fuck, Y/N, suck me harder…” The dirty words sound dominant at first, but they trail off as you continue sucking on him, a lot like you’re melting him, and you fucking love that idea. 

The thought of having him be so desperate for you is making you wetter and needier. And it’s that need that has you reaching up to graze his nipples with your fingers. Mark finds the chill of your cold digits distinctive, responding with a mewl that rings between the walls of his room. 

You can't believe such a small touch makes him so…responsive. 

Every tug on his sensitive peak is enough to pull a sound from his pink lips, enough to make him writhe his hips and edge his cock further into your mouth. 

You twist and pinch and watch as Mark’s face twists in the feeling, mouth dropping open to release a stuttered breath. It’s so sensual - so carnal. 

You pull off his cock with a sickening pop, looking up at him with spit-covered lips. “Who would have guessed your nipples would be so sensitive?” 

Your hand stays at a steady pace, stroking him slowly as you speak. Mark shivers from the loss of your warm mouth around him, but there’s still a part of him that’s glad you stopped. But not because he doesn’t want this — he does, so badly — but because he was starting to feel his cock’s overwhelming urge to twitch with his orgasm. And there was no fucking way he was going to cum before he’d even buried himself inside you. 

In a cooling breath, he replies, “Only sensitive for you.” 

Warmth flushes on your face, and the arousal soaking between your legs begs to soak his cock. He’s so cute when he is all red-faced and whiny, eyes closed tightly as his brows knit together. And you suppose his own state of neediness triggers yours. 

“Want you inside of me now, Mark,” you pant, “Need it.” 

“Fuck~” his voice drips like honey as he moans, hands moving to grab at your waist to flip you under him.

You push yourself further up the bed and he crawls after you. It’s only now he realises the lace barrier still on your skin standing between you and his cock. Your panties are dark blue and they look so pretty against your skin.

He leans down, kissing the inside of your knee, letting his fingers slip up your ankle to cradle your smooth calf.

“Sometime tonight,” you tease.

But Mark likes to go slow, he likes to savour in your sight, study your body to remember every detail for his next late-night fantasy. He wants to bask in you being so bare and so ready for him — not your ex-boyfriend — him. 

He skims his hands further up your bare legs until he slides your underwear down and disregards them somewhere on the floor. Then, he wraps his arms around you, holding you close, pressing your chests together skin to skin. He likes it like that — being so close and so intimate with you that it's almost raw. 

He reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a condom. You don’t take your eyes off him once as he rips it open with his teeth and rolls it down the entirety of his length. Heat pools in your stomach because this is happening — and that makes your pussy throb. 

He keeps his eyes on yours as he lines himself up with your entrance, pushing inside of you, breathless. You can’t help but sink your head back into the mattress, eyes closing.

“Eyes open.”

You lazily blink them open.

“Eyes always on me pretty girl,” he demands, thrusting into you. 

You’ve never felt anything like him. You feel so full. He’s everywhere. Even your lungs and head are filled with him.

“Taking me so well pretty,” he groans.

His praise has you gushing, whining with the feeling of him stuffing you. It’s not awkward like the first time having sex with someone can be. It feels like you’ve always been doing this.

“You’re okay?” he asks.

He sounds calm, but you can see the restraint that he’s barely holding on to by the tightening in his jaw, and the tension in his brow.

“More than okay. Just fuck me, Mark. Please.”

He brushes his lips over yours and whispers, “Oh I plan to.”

You smile, but it’s quickly gone as he starts to move, fucking you slowly, then quicker and quicker, and harder and faster. The headboard is banging against the wall, surely denting it, and you know if the neighbours weren’t already pissed about your knocking they’d definitely be pissed now. 

And selfishly, you can’t find it in you to give a shit because he’s like a machine, working thrusts into you at all the right angles to elicit sweet moans from your lips. 

You’re panting and groaning like a bitch in heat. Mind fuzzy with euphoria as your flesh slaps loudly together. If college you knew that Mark Lee, your best friend, was about to give you an orgasm she would have laughed in your face. 

But, God, the man can fuck. 

He urges you onto his cock harder, clit rubbing against his pelvic bone, each time your hips connected in powerful thrusts. 

“Oh God, Mark,” you try your best to keep your eyes open, but the pleasure is threatening to consume you. 

“That’s it. Cum on my cock pretty girl. I won’t come until you do.”

The idea makes you want to hold off forever, let him fuck you for hours just to bask in the feeling of your closeness. However, your body disagrees with that sentiment, and suddenly you’re cumming hard. 

“Shit,” he hisses, feeling your walls flutter around his length. 

Mark doesn’t slow down though, he fucks you through your orgasm like a madman, hammering deep to the hilt to chase his high. 

“I’m gonna cum, Y/N…shit…fuck…” He growls a sound so erotic in your ear, you feel like you might cum again.

He sags onto you, his body heavy but not crushing, his skin warm against yours. You touch your fingers to his cheek. 

“I don’t think I can move,” he says, breathless.

“So, don’t.”

The tips of Mark’s ears turn red at the suggestion, but eventually, he figures he needs to move — much to his dismay. He eases out of you, catching hold of the condom and pulling it off his cock. He rolls off of you and out of bed to put it in the trash before he’s back next to you, arms engulfing you in a hug. 

You look up at him and he presses a kiss on your lips before pulling back. “Are you staying?” 

“Do you want me to?”

“I asked first.” He says.

“I’ll stay if you want me to stay.”

Liar.

Mark swallows, “Okay well, I’ll get us breakfast in the morning then, yeah?”

He says it but he knows come the morning you’ll have slipped out in the middle of the night because this isn’t the first time he’s had sex with you. 

Mark has always been your rebound. Yes, he’s your best friend, but he’s also your favourite hookup call when your boyfriend’s being an asshole.

And he knew that when he first heard you knocking on his front door. He knows you'll never change – and strangely, he's content with that, he’s accepted it. Because even though he knows you'll move on again, he doesn't mind keeping your secrets safe until the next time when you want a man to heal your heart.

Because Mark will settle for being a pity fuck if it means he gets to be a constant in your life.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

How did it end?

Summary: A flashback to the night that changed your lives forever.

Pairing: past Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.4k

Rating: T

Warnings: angst (so much angst), flashbacks, some really hurtful words, cursing, crying, pregnancy tests, Joel being a dick, Calvin being the best supportive brother

A/N: somehow I feel in my mind like this should have been worse, but I am sure you all do not feel like that at all so I'm sorry lol

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part three of invisible string

Even before the outbreak you dealt with your anxiety or with big life decisions the same way.

You were stress cleaning. 

After walking out from Joel you made your way into the town centre, picking up your kids and then got back home where your brother Calvin was already trying to cook something but you mutually made the decision that you were gonna cook while he bathed the kids. 

You both did not want him to burn the house down.

He wanted to ask you how it went, having run into Maria on his way home from the Patrol meeting, who had told her that you had been at the clinic to see Joel. 

But this wasn’t the time or the place. 

It ended up being a nice evening all things considered. 

You had dinner, played some boardgames, read a good night stories to your kids and watched them sleep in their little beds until the nervous energy in your body left you walking back downstairs.

Once the house got quiet after the kids and you brother were asleep (he had an early morning with his first big day on Patrol the next day) you were alone with your thoughts. 

And your thoughts were loud, and demanded to be heard. 

So you went into the kitchen, took a look at all the cleaning supplies that were still stocked under the kitchen sink and got to work. 

You started with the top of the kitchen cabinets, standing on the counter as you scrubbed what felt like centuries of dust off of them until you were satisfied and moved to inside the cabinets. 

What a picture it would be if one of your new neighbours caught the crazy lady next door deep cleaning the kitchen at 2 am during the literal apocalypse.

Cleaning usually had the power to make the thoughts inside your head shut up. 

But as you emptied the cabinets so you could clean them inside, your mind drifted to the last time you had tried to deal with whatever was going on in your life by extensively deep cleaning every surface around you. 

The Outbreak might have been an excuse for many people to let things like cleaning the place where they lived become unimportant. 

Which deep down it was of course.

Why have a clean kitchen when just down the street, behind the fences and walls the so called new government had pulled up, there were people and what once were people dying or fighting (or eating) each other?

But you always lived by the mindset of clean home, clean mind. 

And what you desperately needed right now was a clean mind. 

Two ten year old positive pregnancy tests you took this morning after feeling off for the last couple of weeks and missing you period were enough reason to freak out. 

But you couldn’t freak out. 

Joel would do that for you, you were sure. 

That was, if he ever decided to come home to you again after being on a run with Tess for the last four days. 

He hadn’t even told you or kissed you goodbye this time.��

You had woken up to a note on the kitchen table telling you that he’d be gone on a run with Tess and he didn’t know how long.

Something about your husband had changed in the last few months. 

It changed ever since Tommy left and Tess was his only influence outside of you. Not that you had much influence on anything he did nowadays. 

It wasn’t like he was the most attentive men to begin with. 

But you fell for him. 

You fell for the complicated, traumatised and closed off man who to this day was the most handsome man you had ever met. 

And deep down you knew he fell for you, mumbling his confessions of love into your skin when he thought you were asleep. 

It was the way he looked at you. 

The way he brought home a new book to read whenever he went out of the QZ. 

The way he made you forget about the fucked up word outside of the walls you made your home whenever he gave you his full attention. 

He wouldn’t have put a ring on your finger years earlier as you laid in his arms, asking you to be his until the day you both died, if he did not love you, would he?

You loved him, you loved him even when he seemed to make it his personal goal to make you hate him. 

He used to be home every night in the beginning. 

He used to love to spend time with you and you with him. Staying up just talking for hours if he wasn’t making love to you. 

Because even when he was fucking you, it felt different. More… intense. More passionate.  

He used to smile at you. 

By now you couldn’t remember the last time he smiled at you now. 

And by the time you had practically polished the whole shitty apartment you and Joel lived in it was dark outside and he still wasn’t home. 

In hopes he would be home and it would lift his mood you had made dinner that now sat cold on the stove.

It was after 11pm and you were tired, having been in the bathroom brushing your teeth when you heard the door unlock and open. 

A nervous flutter in your stomach made the dinner you had earlier almost come up but you took a deep breath, looking at yourself in the small mirror over the sink. 

You were wearing one of Joel’s old worn flannels, his familiar scent in your nose. 

What was the worst that could happen?

It was not like you could just turn back time?

You were pregnant and he just would have to deal with it. 

Right?

You would never forget the way his eyes hardened once you said the words

„I am pregnant.“

He had been in a relatively good mood when you joined him in the small kitchen, having already taken his shoes and coat off, his hair damp from the rain outside. 

It made you reconsider telling him for a tiny moment, wanting to just enjoy this with him. But maybe he would not react like you thought he would? Maybe he would be happy?

You wanted to ask a million question about how it went but you were too nervous, having instead kissed his cheek with a whispered „I miss you“ and then offered to warm up some food for him. 

He had put his hand on your waist, his fingers brushing over your stomach as he went into the bathroom, his lips against your temple telling you that he would just take a quick shower. 

It was after he ate, the table cleaned that you told him. 

Sitting across from him at the tiny shitty table you had, your hands flat on the surface, the silence after you told him the news sickening.

His whole face had changed, expression hard, by the time he opened his mouth to speak. 

„Is it mine?“ He asked and you just blinked at him, speechless, your head falling back as if he had slapped you, before you answered. 

„What do you mean? Who else would it be? We’re married,“ you said and he scoffed. 

„Doesn’t mean you don’t open your legs for anyone else while I’m gone,“ he sneered and you flinched at the accusation and the tone he used. 

Sucking your bottom lip in you looked at your hands, still on the table, nodding your head slowly. 

„Good to know what you think of me after all these years,“ you whispered, still trying to process his words. 

„What did you think would happen? That I’ll be happy? Newsflash darlin’, this isn’t one of your dumb romance novels you keep reading,“ he said, before he brought his fist down on the table, making you jump. He got up from where he was sitting, walking over to the cabinet that held all the liquor he scavenged, opening the one bottle of original Jack Daniel’s and taking a long sip. 

„You gonna get rid of it,“ he said and you looked at him. 

„Excuse me?“ You asked. 

„Don’t want no kids of mine in this fucked up world. And especially not with you,“ he said and you felt slapped again. One blow after the next coming from him. You crossed your arms in front of your stomach protectively. 

You had imagined his reaction would be bad, but this wasn’t bad. This was destroying you.

„So that’s it, you don’t want a kid, and I have to just comply?“

„That’s exactly how it is, sweetheart,“ he grinned darkly at you, shaking his head and leaning against the wall and you desperately tried to find the tiniest part of the person you had fallen in love with as you looked at him. 

But there was nothing left. 

Maybe you just had been too blind to see it until now.

„I thought you loved me,“ you whispered, tears in your eyes. 

„How can someone love you? You thought because I put a ring on your finger everything would be okay? We’d be a happy little family and live in this shitty apartment in this shitty QZ while the world around us is fucking dying? How did you think this would go?“ He asked. 

„You made it sound like I planned this. Do you think I like this? Do you think I like being pregnant by a man who even though treated me like the fucking dirt beneath his shoes for the last months, was still the man I thought I would spend the rest of my life with?“ 

„Then get rid of it and we can get back to it,“ he said and you scoffed.

„You really think things are gonna get back to how they were after you said all that?“ You asked. 

He shrugged. 

„Where would you go? You have no family. No friends. All you have is me,“ he said. 

„And you’re so different? Who do you have? Tommy left because…“

„Do not talk about my brother,“ he threatened and glared at you. 

You shook your head, taking a deep breath. 

He was drunk. 

This was not going anywhere. 

This would never go anywhere.

„Things are not going to go back. I can find someone better than you on every corner,“ he said and you could not stop the sob that shook your body and you were pretty sure you could hear your heart breaking. 

„I don’t love you. I never did,“ he said and the tears you had tried to hold in finally fell. 

„Get rid of this, before I take care of it,“ he said, and a chill ran down your spine at his tone. 

„And then get the fuck out of my life.“

You were in the last touches of finishing cleaning the kitchen when you heard footsteps coming down the stairs. 

You hadn’t even noticed the tears until Calvin pulled against his chest, his hand running soothingly up and down your back. 

„You wanna talk about it?“ He asked and you shook your head. 

„Not yet. Not ever if I’m honest,“ you mumbled and he chuckled. 

„Need to talk to him though,“ you said and leaned back, turning around to turn on the stove to heat up some water and make some tea for the both of you. Looking at the clock hanging on the wall you noticed that it was just before 5 am. 

„Don’t need to do anything,“ he said and opened the fridge, getting the lunch he had prepared the day before for his day out and grabbing some stuff to make himself a sandwich. 

„I can’t ignore him forever. As much as I would like to. He’s…. He’s here and he won’t go anywhere. Neither will we. So we have to…. Co-exist somehow.“

You both get to your tasks before you both sat down at the table, you with two mugs of tea, one for him, him with two sandwiches, one which he pushed towards you. 

„You still love him,“ your brother said after a while and you sighed, looking up at him. 

„Yeah. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t think I’l ever be able to forgive him for everything that happened,“ you smiled sadly. 

„Well,“ your brother said before he got up and put his plate in the sink.

„Then you should talk to him and tell him that so you can both move on with your lives.“

You followed him towards the front of the house where he put his shoes on and checked if he had everything in his little backpack for this first patrol. 

„What if he wants to be in their lives?“ You asked, nodding upstairs to where both your children were still sleeping. 

„Do you think he wants to? He made himself pretty clear from what you’ve told me,“ Calvin said. 

„I don’t know. It’s been a long time and he seemed…. He seemed really sorry? I just….“ You took a deep breath, shaking your head.

„Nope. I am not gonna spend any more time thinking about Joel Miller. I’m gonna go upstairs and take a two hour nap and then I’m gonna go and explore our new home while my children are learning stuff in an actual school,“ you said. 

„There you go!“ Calvin grinned.

„Be safe today!“ You said, grinning back and hugged him quickly. 

„You too,“ he smiled, before he opened the door, your face falling as you saw Joel stand on the porch, his hand held up in a fist as if he was about to knock. 

„I’m here to pick you up for patrol? Tommy’s gotta stay home today,“ Joel said as he looked between you and your brother. 

„Well that is gonna be fun,“ Calvin said, winking at you, before he stepped out and pulled the door shut behind him, giving Joel no chance to try to say anything more if he wanted to.

You watched them through the window next to the door as they walked down the porch and then down the street until they were out of sight. 

Letting your shoulders fall while you exhaled with a sigh you shook your head before you made your way upstairs. 

This was gonna be a long day. 

[ween-kitchens]

you’re not as brave as you were at the start

7159 words

because now he’s gotten over the initial shock of having what he’d consider to be his arch nemesis at his front door, joel finally notices the worryingly large wounds littering stella’s body. some of them appear to be done by a knife, one or two still have an arrow embedded in his skin, and one has to have been done by talons. all of which look intentional, and none of them self inflicted. stella stumbles a little and joel catches him automatically. “what the fuck happened- why come to me?” stella gives an ironic laugh that soon turns into a hacking cough. it takes a moment for him to recover, and when he does, his voice is ragged and weak. “sorry for this, I just- i had nowhere else to go.”

cw: injuries, mentions of attempted murder

when I tell you this has taken me MONTHS to complete oml. i've only written something this long once and it has been lost to the void

this is for an au that icl I made up so I could have a 'I didn’t know where else to go' moment with joel and scott HKFHD so if you notice any inconsistencies no you don’t

joel watches the last rays of sunlight vanish over the horizon from where he’s trying his best not to burn his toast. before you say anything, no he’s not bad at cooking—in fact, he’s the best at cooking—but since his last toaster got shot by that stupid ice prick, he had to buy a new one. the new one is bullshit. how on earth is he meant to make toast if the first setting barely makes the bread warm and the next one practically reduces it to charcoal? he’s honestly tempted to try and sue the stupid watchers to get a new toaster. it might work, if he pretends he’s a civilian—though, he reckons stella only shot his window because he knew it was joel’s.

the toaster pops up and joel gives an embarrassingly loud shriek of surprise, accidentally setting the rug on fire. he stamps out the flames, before hurrying over to check if his toast is at least somewhat edible—which it isn’t. he huffs, wondering if he ought to take the toaster back or just cut his losses and buy one that costs more than five quid. he’s heard argos do toasters for thirteen pounds, though he has no clue if they’re any good. 

by the time joel has his phone out and is searching for the best toaster brand, there’s a knock at the door that startles him so much, he sets the rug on fire again. 

cursing whoever happens to be outside his flat, joel extinguishes it once again and notes, disgruntled, that he’s gonna need a new rug before walking to the door. he can’t imagine who it’d be at this time of night; maybe someone trying to sell him a random newspaper he couldn’t care less about, or telling him why he should support the local gardening community—which he has never heard of before or since, even after some extensive discussions with some of his neighbours. he thinks someone was trying to scam him.

but when he opens the door, joel doesn’t find someone handing out newsletters about their tulips, or someone asking for the last owner of the house. if the toaster and the knock at the door weren’t startling enough, joel has somehow found himself standing face to face with stella.

there’s a pause in which joel tries to process stella’s existence on his doorstep, becoming progressively more angry and confused as he takes in the surroundings. nothing is on fire or under attack outside, so why the fuck is stella at his flat?

“you- what the hell are you doing here?” joel hisses, tempted to shove him. “you broke my toaster and now you- you-“

because now he’s gotten over the initial shock of having what he’d consider to be his arch nemesis at his front door, joel finally notices the worryingly large wounds littering stella’s body. some of them appear to be done by a knife, one or two still have an arrow embedded in his skin, and one has to have been done by talons. all of which look intentional, and none of them self inflicted.

stella stumbles a little and joel catches him automatically. “what the fuck happened- why come to me?”

stella gives an ironic laugh that soon turns into a hacking cough. it takes a moment for him to recover, and when he does, his voice is ragged and weak. “sorry for this, I just- i had nowhere else to go.”

joel stares at him for a moment. he could kick him out, he could tell him to find somewhere else to lick his wounds and never have to think about it again. after all, stella has been a thorn in his side since day one of his vigilante career, and it’d be the ultimate revenge for joel to turn him away at this moment of need. 

.. but. there’s no way he can actually bring himself to do it. even the thought of telling stella to get lost when he’s so desperate, he’s come to joel for help, makes him want to throw something smashable against the nearest wall. it’s stupid and ridiculous because stella is his enemy and once upon a time, he’d have taken this opportunity to slam the door in his face and laugh about it for a very long time. and yet-

“well, are you gonna just stand there or are you gonna get inside before someone sees?” joel snaps, and he doesn’t miss the look of desperate relief that flickers across stella’s face as joel helps him across the room and onto the sofa, kicking the door shut behind him.

joel hurries into the kitchen to find his medical supplies, something beginning to gnaw at his chest as he does so. 

“why- I mean, why out of all places would you come here?” he asks from across the room. “you literally just broke my toaster. we’re enemies and shit.”

“if- if you hadn’t already noticed,” stella gets out, and even as he sounds like every word he speaks is agony, he still manages to sound exasperated. “I am not in the best- the best situation right now.”

“well yeah, but you hate me.” joel says. crouching down by stella in order to check the injuries for any signs of infection. they all look pretty recent—worryingly so—but there’s no infection that seems to be present at least. “and you know I hate you. how would you know I wouldn’t just kick you out?”

something akin to fear passes over stella’s face, gone as soon as it came. “I- I didn’t. I told you, didn’t I?” he grunts in what sounds like a suppressed gasp of pain as he shifts a little. “nowhere else I could go.”

joel looks at him for a long moment. “well. you’re lucky i’m such a good person.” he lands on, taking out an antiseptic fluid and soaking the cloth in it. “now, this is gonna hurt, and it’s gonna be funny.” he preempts.

“what a good person you are.” stella deadpans. joel can’t pretend he doesn’t feel a small sense of vindication as stella winces when he dabs the cloth around the biggest slash wound on his leg.

the two fall into silence, broken only by the occasional hiss of pain from stella as joel works on his leg. luckily, as joel is able to spot now he’s closer, most of the wounds are fairly shallow and will be a lot faster to heal than he’d initially thought. in all honesty, he didn’t expect the advanced first aid course to be nearly as helpful as it ended up being; joel is very glad jimmy pressured him into taking it with him.

as he works, joel finds himself noting the size of each gash, the length of the talon marks, the colour of the arrows still embedded in stella’s flesh with a growing sense of unease. he recognises the pattern on the arrows as the watchers’ own terra, notes the length of the talons as stupid sol’s, the shallow gashes undoubtedly from luna’s sword. something sours in joel’s stomach at the thought of terra attacking stella, despite his loathing for the latter.

of course, he’d always been suspicious of the watchers—after all, jimmy had found his way to the vigilantes after being rejected from the watchers for being ‘too soft’, whatever that meant—but he’d never expected them to do something like this to one of their own. either stella fucked up bad, or they simply outgrew him and decided to get rid of him.

joel wants to ask what stella did, why they’d get rid of their most perfect hero, why they’d tried to eliminate him entirely. when he looks up to do just that, stella’s face is a blend of far too many emotions for a single person to be feeling, and it strikes joel that he feels at least some kind of way for stella (other than loathing, anyway) because he instead mutters,

“I don’t like that you know where I live.”

stella gives a pained scoff of a laugh. “what, you thought I wouldn’t- wouldn’t keep track?”

joel resists the urge to glare at stella (see, he is such a nice person) as he sets the cloth on the floor next to him and grabs the roll of bandages. “you shot my toaster.”

there’s a moment of confused silence. “I- what?” stella says.

“you shot my stupid toaster.” joel huffs, beginning to bandage the gash and suppressing a smirk as stella lets out a hiss of pain. “and then I had to get another one but it’s shit ‘cause it was only, like, eight quid.”

stella scoffs, exasperated even through his pain. what a dick. “get a better toaster then, why should I care?” 

joel does glare at him now, thoroughly done with this stupid hero. “not all of us earn millions a year, stella. you broke my window last week, so I had to get that fixed, so I can’t get a better toaster right now.” he tries to sound as pissed off as he feels, but the end of that last sentence dips into something sadder than joel ever wants to sound in front of stella. “you’re lucky the window was open that time or I would have kicked you out immediately.”

there’s another pause, and joel assumes it’s just stella being confused at the concept of money before he says in a softer voice, “I didn’t- i’m sorry. I didn’t.. think.”

“too right you didn’t.” joel says, but his frustration gives way to confusion and he looks up. “but you’re thinking now. which is out of character for you.”

stella glares at him, but it’s not angry enough for joel’s liking. “why did you let me in, pyro?”

joel rolls his eyes. “same reason you came to me.” he huffs a little at the absurdity of it all as he ties the bandage around stella’s leg and begins to clean the smaller gash. “what else was I gonna do?”

“slam the door in my face.” stella says. “tell- tell me to fuck off, or just- demand I pay you for it.” he tries to shrug, apparently forgetting the whole ‘almost mauled to death’ thing he has going on, and gives a sharp gasp of pain. “i’d- I wouldn’t just let you in.”

it takes a moment for joel to answer. after all, he has to think of a valid reason first. “I just- you looked terrible. you still look terrible.” joel glances up briefly and sees stella looking back at him with an entirely confused expression. “you never- you don’t let people see you. if you let me see you like this, you had to be desperate.”

stella is audibly frowning when he says, “I still don’t understand.”

joel hesitates. “you were turned on by the people you considered family. they were told to kill you, and so they tried.” he cuts another piece of bandage for the small gash as he speaks. “I wasn’t gonna be the last straw.”

there’s a longer stretch of silence than what seems appropriate for that sentence, and joel looks up. stella is staring at him like he’s just said his full name and address. “how- I never said-“

joel shrugs. “easy.” he nods at the arrows, as briefly as he can. “those are terra’s.” joel gestures to the now-bandaged talon marks. “that’s from sol.” he’s careful not to touch the wound when he points out the gashes. “those are from luna’s sickles. right?” 

stella just nods, looking less startled and more defeated now. “I didn’t- I thought you might not notice.” he says quietly.

joel raises an eyebrow. “i’m not an idiot.”

“I hoped you were.” stella admits. he scoffs a laugh, which dissolves into a cough. “you- it’d be easier to dislike you if you actually were a dick, you know.”

halfway through deliberating what the best method for removing the arrows would be, joel gives stella a withering look. “i’ll make a note of that.” he says sarcastically. “right, so, i’m gonna have to pull these out.” he points at the arrows. 

“that’s how you do it.” stella mutters. “sure- fine. just- do it fast.”

joel stands up, wincing as his knees crack, and braces one leg on the sofa. he pointedly ignores the look of fear on stella’s face and thinks instead of the fact that he’s going to enjoy lording it over stella that he saved his life that one time. 

joel grips the first arrow and glances at stella. “do you want, like, a countdown or-“

“just do it.” stella snaps. joel is electing not to take that personally—he’d probably also be a bit pissy if he were in stella’s situation.

“right- yeah.” joel yanks the arrow out, thanking whatever potential deities there might be for how smooth that was- and realises that his sofa is frozen. but stella’s leg is bleeding again, and joel decides to figure out the sofa after he’s prevented infection. ice melts anyway.

stella is breathing heavily, tears in his eyes and teeth clenched. joel can’t find it in himself to make fun of him—which is a little concerning. he might have to go to the doctor. “sorry.” he manages.

joel blinks, entirely bewildered. “for what?”

“your- your sofa.” stella says, beginning to relax a little as joel finishes wiping the arrow wound and starts bandaging it. “I can’t- I don’t know how to undo it.”

“I can’t express how much I don’t give a shit.” joel deadpans. “you’ve probably stopped me from setting this on fire next time one of my enemies comes knocking on the door at nearly midnight.”

there’s a lengthy pause as joel ties the bandage. “I did wonder about your rug.” stella mumbles.

for another fifteen-ish minutes, joel works on stella’s wounds, occasionally making fun of him as random things begin to frost over whenever joel scrubs a bit too hard with the cloth. stella has threatened to turn joel into an ice statue too many times to count, but the threat loses any value it had when joel leans against the frozen sofa and his touch alone melts half of the ice away. joel doesn’t miss the relief on stella’s face as he realises joel is iceproof. huh.

it’s deeply strange how much he and stella seem to be getting on with each other—considering that they were mortal enemies about forty-five minutes ago. of course, they are threatening each other, but stella doesn’t seem to be actually pissed off, and joel isn’t either, so he considers that a win.

once joel is done, he isn’t quite sure what to do. instead of hovering awkwardly around stella, he elects to tidy the bandages and cloth up, melting the rest of the sofa as he does.  

“do you want something to eat?” joel calls from the kitchen as he shoves the kit away again, dumping the cloth in the washing basket. “I- do you eat? or is it like, some injection of steroids you all get every night?”

there’s a pause before, “you- that’s from a spy film.” comes from the living room. “of course I eat.”

“okay, well, i was gonna make myself dinner before you came here, so i’ll make some for you too.” joel says, dumping the burnt toast into the bin and moving to the fridge. “what do you want?”

another long pause. “I- what?”

joel notes the suspicion in stella’s tone with a slight sense of concern, which- lets be clear, he is nothappy about this new development. since when is joel worried about stella? 

but- well. stella’s suspicion at joel’s offer to make him food, coupled with him being attacked and nearly killed by his fellow ‘heroes’ and coming to joel of all people for help.. it’s not looking great. not to mention how panicked he seemed about all the frost before joel reminded him that he has fire powersand that he can get rid of it in a matter of seconds if he cared that much. 

“i’m not- I don’t know what they did to you in the hero place,” joel starts to say before he can realise how awful of an idea it is. “but I didn’t fix you up just so I could kill you another way. I mean- that’d be a huge waste of bandages, and you were pretty easy pickings, so it’s not like I couldn’t.”

stella is silent from across the room, and joel glances over to see the hardwood beginning to ice over. he hopes that’s not gonna ruin the price of this apartment any more than his constant.. incidentsalready have.

“so, y’know. don’t be any more of an idiot than you already are and tell me what you want for dinner.” joel says. he can’t help the slight grin that makes its way onto his face as stella gives a quiet snort. 

“i’d- okay. fair.” stella says. “i’m- if you don’t mind- can i have soup?” the tentative way he asks is so bizarre—especially when considering how sure of himself he seems to be in combat. joel doesn’t like how.. worried it is. 

“soup it is.” joel says, grabbing an armful of vegetables from the fridge, shutting the door with his shoulder. “I hope you like mushroom, ‘cause that’s what you’re getting.”

“i’ll survive.” stella says dramatically, and joel snorts. 

—-

there is absolutely nothing in this world that could ever be stranger than eating soup with your enemy of several months—made even stranger by the fact that the enemy in question is annoyingly good at cooking. scott had always assumed that pyro was the kind of guy who could maybe make beans on toast and not much else, but apparently he was wrong about that too. not that he’s about to complain about getting a warm, homemade meal that he knows for certain isn’t poisoned on a day like this one.

it’s just- it’s so ridiculously domestic in a way that scott hasn’t felt since.. well, since ever, to sit on a rapidly defrosting sofa, eating soup and watching some home makeover programme with pyro of all people. although, based on pyro’s response to- well, everything that’s happened, he also finds it completely bizarre.

“what?”

scott blinks, only now realising that he was zoned out. pyro is looking at him like he’s doing something out of the ordinary, and scott instinctively frowns at him. “what?”

pyro nods at him. “you’re sat weird.“ is all he says, and scott is about to say something snarky before he notices that- yeah, okay, fair. he is sat weird.

“I didn’t wanna freeze your sofa again, what’s wrong with that?” scott huffs, not moving from where he’s scrunched up against the side of the sofa arm. 

“all you’re gonna do sat like that is hurt yourself.” pyro says. “and- y’know, normally I wouldn’t care, but it’d just be a waste of bandages.”

scott gives pyro a withering look, but allows himself to spread out a little more across the sofa. annoyingly, the strain against his wounds lessen as he does so, and scott finds himself relaxing a little.

“why’re you so worried about freezing my stuff anyway?” pyro says, not even looking at him. “my whole thing is literally just fire.”

“I- because it’s dangerous.” scott says, shocked that pyro wouldn’t even know. “I can’t-“ he hesitates as pyro looks back at him with something akin to worry in his eyes. “it’s- it’s dangerous, okay.”

“why’s it dangerous?” pyro says, and there’s something in his tone that makes scott a little nervous. “‘cause, like- I can’t control my powers all that well, and i can guarantee that fire is gonna kill you a lot faster than ice is.”

scott huffs. “maybe you’re just foolish.”

pyro looks him in a way that makes scott feel like he’s being somehow psychoanalysed. can pyro read minds? did someone forget to tell him that pyro can read minds or something, because it’s certainly looking that way right now. “you’re scared of yourself.”

scott stares at him. “i’m- you don’t-“

“you are.” pyro raises an eyebrow, as if he’d only been guessing before.

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.” scott snaps. “i’m not- I know my own strength, i’m not scared—i’m careful. unlike you.”

pyro scoffs, amused. scott knew there was a reason he didn’t like him. “is that what they told you?”

scott rolls his eyes. “oh sure, i’ve been told that i’m some- fucked up monster or something. the watchers aren’t evil godparents, y’know.”

“stella, i’m not sure if you’re aware of the situation right now,” pyro is saying, somehow both exasperated and deadpan. “but you are literally at your enemy’s house because the watchers turned on you because- well, I don’t even know why, but clearly it wasn’t that big-“

“I compromised the facilities.” scott interrupts. he didn’t exactly want to tell pyro this, but if it’ll make him stop going on about him being cinderella’d, then it’s worth it. “I could have hurt someone badly. it was right for them to-“

“to try and kill you?” pyro looks less exasperated and a lot more concerned and- scott does not like the idea that pyro is worried about him. “do not tell me that’s okay.”

scott huffs. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. they didn’t want to, it was necessary to protect-“

“oh, and that makes it all better?” pyro says, voice dripping with sarcasm. scott is tempted to hit him. “you seriously don’t realise how fucked up that is? what did you do- specifically, what did you do?”

“I- well, I.” scott finds himself hesitating, needing a moment to remember. “I froze a cctv camera, accidentally.” pyro looks like he’s about to lose his shit, and scott cuts him off with, “someone could have gotten in- I could have endangered the whole association.”

pyro is staring at him. “you froze a camera. so they tried to murder you.”

“they didn’t- it wasn’t murder-“ scott defends, but pyro isn’t listening.

“jimmy wanted to join.” he’s muttering to himself. “fucking hell- no fucking wonder you hate yourself.” pyro says to scott, who feels like he’s several chapters behind.

“hate myself? what are you-“

“you- stella, you are justifying someone trying to murder you because you froze a fucking camera.” pyro’s voice is getting louder, and scott finds himself shrinking away unconsciously. it’s ridiculous. pyro, the dick, seems to notice, and softens his voice. “you can’t- you have to recognise how fucked that is.”

scott stares straight ahead for a long moment. it’s- it all makes complete sense, of course—to kill someone because they temporarily disabled a singular cctv camera by accident is ludicrous. if it’d happened to anyone else, scott would be questioning everything by now. but since it happened to him.. he keeps thinking- what if he deserved it? he didn’t, but he might have. no one else would have deserved it. what if he deserved it?

“are you sure?” scott asks, and his voice is quiet and vulnerable and everything he never wanted to be, ever, because- well, because the watchers told them it was wrong.

“I- dude.” pyro sounds sad, and scott doesn’t think he’s ever heard pyro sound like that in his life. “i’m sure. i’m one-hundred-percent sure about this.”

scott hesitates. “how do you know?”

pyro gives a slight scoff. “well, ‘cause i’m not an idiot. no one deserves to die if they fuck up. if that was the case, humanity would be wiped out, like- a thousand years ago.”

“am I- have I been a massive dick this whole time?” scott turns to pyro.

“you-“ pyro blinks, apparently taken aback. “well, you broke my toaster. and my window. so- I mean, you’ve been a bit of a dick.”

“I will pay you for those.” scott says, slightly sheepish, and pyro grins at him. “I am sorry for that- and any more grief i’ve caused you.”

pyro looks both amused and pleasantly surprised. “don’t worry about it.” he says, before he apparently realises what he just said and pretends to gag at himself. “fucking hell- that was weird to say. even weirder to mean.”

“I said worse shit to you.” scott says competitively.

“well, there’s nothing bad about my life, so it's not like I could say that to you.” pyro brags, and scott has to doubt that, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “unless you count having a million friends and the best wife and-“

“wh- you have a wife?” and- okay, scott didn’t mean to sound that surprised, but- well, it’s a surprising fact! he expected pyro to be single or dating the canary, in all honesty. unless he calls the canary his wife-

“you- yes, I have a wife!” pyro exclaims, offended. yeah, no- that’s fair enough; scott was kind of rude about it. “you think I couldn‘t be in a relationship?”

“i’m- no, i’m just surprised.” scott says, allowing a slight smirk to play at his lips. “I thought you were with the canary.”

pyro snorts, apparently entirely accidentally, based on the way he covers his mouth a second later. “you- you thought I was dating jimmy?”

“alright- it’s not impossible.” scott defends as pyro continues to cackle at him. “you two are inseparable. it was always very annoying.”

“yeah, he’s my best friend.” pyro grins. “he was my best man- besides, he’s already with tango.” scott must be looking as blank as he feels because pyro adds. “oh- you’d know him as tek." he gives a huff of laughter, apparently remembering an inside joke as he then mutters, "tango of the tek variety.”

scott tries his best to keep his expression neutral. “so- the canary and tek are together?”

“yeah, i’m surprised you didn’t notice, they’re-“ pyro stops mid-sentence, a shit-eating grin on his face. “wait- you like one of them, don’t you?”

“wh- no!” scott says, hoping he sounds offended. “that would be- it’d be unprofessional, and-“

“you do!” pyro crows, looking mischievously delighted. scott isn’t sure he wants to find out what happens after this point. “c’mon, who?”

scott gives what he hopes is a convincingly exasperated huff. “neither, I don’t know what you’re talkingabout. besides, we were talking about your wife, not my hypothetical love life.”

something in pyro’s eyes light up on the word ‘wife’, and scott has to admit that it’s pretty sweet. “you’d know her as the sculk.” he says, fondness coating every word. it almost makes scott overlook the actual sentence.

“you- your wife is the sculk?” scott practically squawks in surprise (and a little fear).

“yeah. has been for.. jeez, it must be nearly five years now.” pyro gives a little huff of laughter. “y’know when we met, she was trying to kill me. she almost did.” he grins, like that’s meant to be a meet-cute. “she thought I was trying to kill her, because she’d startled me and i’d accidentally set her hat on fire, so- fair enough.”

scott blinks at him. “you’re making me feel better about my love life.” he says without thinking, and regrets it the second pyro smirks at him. “i’m not telling you anything.”

pyro rolls his eyes and turns back to the tv, which is playing some house renovation programme. “you will. eventually.”

scott snorts. “if that’s what helps you sleep at night.” 

over the span of the next few hours, scott finds himself making- well, it can’t be called pleasantconversation exactly, but it isn’t unpleasant, which he decides to call a success. pyro really does have some ludicrous stories to tell about his experiences in the vigilante career—which somehow manage to be even more bizarre than scott’s; he’s not quite sure how he missed a time loop, but it sounds unbelievable all the same.

it’s kind of strange how quickly he and pyro seem to be getting on—considering how they were at each other’s throats for the better part of a year. scott wonders if they were always capable of this kind of- friendship? friendliness, if nothing else. it’s.. oddly comforting. 

“-and jimmy somehow managed to-“ pyro stops in the middle of a story about the canary and tek (both of whom scott is determinedly not thinking too much about) almost destroyed half of manchester one time, and gives scott a weird look. “I- dude, do you wanna sleep? you look exhausted.”

scott had begun to nod off about two minutes ago, but he wasn’t quite sure how he was meant to ask to go to bed—partially because he wasn’t sure where he was meant to sleep. “i’m- well, yes, but I don’t know where I would go?”

“oh, you can sleep in my bed, i’ll take the sofa.” pyro says simply, gesturing for scott to pass him his now-empty soup bowl. he must have noticed the shock on scott’s face, as he adds, “i can change the sheets if you want.”

“that’s not the- I can’t ask you to sleep on the sofa for my sake.” scott insists. “I can manage perfectly fine-“

“you’re not asking me though, i’m telling you.” pyro grins. “besides, you almost died; you take bed priority.” he goes to take the bowls into the kitchen and pauses. “I don’t suppose you took pyjamas with you.”

scott gives him a withering look. “oh of course. because whilst the watchers were trying to kill me, my top priority was my pyjamas.”

“you could have just said no.”

-

in all honesty, when scott came to pyro’s house in a last ditch attempt at a safe place to reside, he absolutely did not expect that the cause of most of the conflict would be the sleeping situation. pyro was entirely set on scott sleeping in the bed, but scott drew the line once pyro was about to try buy some pyjamas at eleven at night—as if any clothing shops would be open anyway. luckily, pyro seems to value comedically baggy pyjamas, and so scott was able to fit into a spare pair with relative ease. amusingly, they’re still a little big on him.

the second scott’s head hit the pillow, he was entirely dead to the world—awkward situations be damned. weirdly enough, however, he was woken up by- something about five minutes ago, and scott knows neither what woke him up or why it did so when he was sleeping so deeply. he must have slept for a while too, because the time on the alarm clock next to the bed is saying 3:28am, and he knows he couldn’t have fallen asleep later than twelve. it doesn’t make sense for him to have been woken up at this time unless there was something that had disturbed him, and right now, he can see or hear nothing. 

after about ten more minutes of trying to go back to sleep (in vain) scott gets out of bed to investigate the something that woke him up, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. he wonders blearily whether the watchers have somehow found him, and that if they have, he’ll have to complain about the time of night they deem appropriate for their break-ins. perhaps it’s a burglar who does not yet know that they’ve chosen the worst house to attempt to rob, but who will soon find out. does pyro have a cat that he forgot to mention earlier that knocked something off a shelf?

when scott pushes the door out of the bedroom open and peers into the living area, he finds that the disturbance was none of the above. it is, in fact, a very anxious looking pyro, sat awake on the sofa in way-too-big pyjamas. there’s a small puddle of water next to the end table, covered haphazardly with a tea towel. next to the puddle lies an shattered mug. scott supposes that’s what must have woken him.

pyro’s eyes focus on scott, and something akin to fear flickers across his face for a second before that familiar look of smug indifference takes over once again. “i’m surprised you’re awake, after everything.”

“you dropped your cup.” scott says, gesturing to the mess. “it woke me up.”

“oh- sorry.” something about pyro’s manner changes as he picks up the remaining pieces of the cup and puts them on the table. it’s far too guilty for such a small matter, and distinctly anxious. 

“it’s alright.” scott gives pyro a curious look. “why are you up? it’s very late.”

“couldn’t sleep.” pyro shrugs. scott doesn’t believe that easy nonchalance for a second, but he can’t quite decipher what it’s veneering. he gives a grin that scott refuses to accept at face value. “it gets very boring when you can’t sleep, I have to say.”

“i’ll stay with you. if- that is, if you’re okay with that?” scott says. he watches as something behind pyro’s eyes lights up in poorly concealed joy. interesting.

“that’s- yeah, that’s fine. i’ll take all the entertainment as I can get.” pyro snorts to himself as scott sits beside him.

scott watches pyro for a moment, taking in the way he shifts so he’s sitting a little straighter, the slight redness to his eyes, the way his smile wavers once he turns away from scott. “are you okay?”

for a split second, pyro looks a little like a cornered animal. “i’m- yeah, of course i’m okay. why wouldn’t I be?” pyro’s whole ‘i’m so much smarter and better than you’ thing doesn’t work too well when his voice is shaking. he clears his throat.

there's a stretch of silence as scott tries to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound completely ludicrous. unfortunately, every single thing he can think to say is utterly ridiculous—which is honestly  unsurprising, considering the attempt on his life yesterday and the fact that it is three in the morning right now. maybe he should just go with the least odd option he can think of. 

"can I hug you?" oh wow, yeah okay that sounds even weirder out loud. on the bright side, confusion often helps ground people—maybe that might help right now? who knows.

pyro practically freezes, looking at scott with the most bamboozled expression he has ever seen. "you- huh?"

"I mean, say no if you don't want to." scott says, watching the way pyro's expression shifts as he seems to consider if this is a genuine proposition, and if so, whether he wants to accept or not. "it- you don’t have to." he adds, suddenly realising how embarrassed he is about what he just asked. "that was weird, I-"

scott stops abruptly as pyro shifts a little closer and leans against scott's shoulder—he probably should have expected it, but- man, pyro is warm. if scott thought he couldn't get any more embarrassed, he was wrong, because it occurs to him just how much he wanted this as his chest begins to ache gently. it takes a moment for scott to build up the confidence to put his arm around pyro's shoulders, but when he does, pyro sinks into him. there's a lump in scott's throat, and he swallows aggressively. he is notabout to cry because he’s hugging pyro; he'd never hear the end of it. probably.

"this isn’t- i’m doing this because you wanted it." pyro says suddenly, and scott looks at him. 

"I appreciate it." scott says, trying to keep his voice as level as possible, but it breaks in the middle and he clears his throat, looking away.

there's a pause. "i’d- we're kind of fucked up, huh?" 

the bluntness of it startles a snort out of scott, and he looks over to see pyro giving him a weak grin. "that's not quite the way I would have put it, but- you’re not wrong." he rubs a thumb idly against pyro's shoulder and pyro closes his eyes, flicking his tail in what appears to be contentment. scott might cry again. 

"I- thank you." pyro mumbles, barely audible, and scott is pretty sure that's the most open pyro has been all night. "i’m- it's usually-" pyro gives a huff. "thank you."

"'course." scott says, voice coming out far softer than he meant it to. "I mean, you saved my life. giving you a hug is the least I could do." he smiles to himself.

pyro gives a scoff of laughter. "yeah, well. your debt is repaid, or whatever." he shifts a little closer, and scott wonders how long he must have been without this kind of affection for it to make him want to cry right now. in a good way. 

there's a pause, in which scott finds himself almost drifting off again (he can't decide if that's embarrassing or not) before pyro says, "what are you gonna do now?"

"I don't really know." scott admits. he racks his brain for some kind of solution that isn't illogical or impossible, and comes up blank. he has no friends, no family, no source of income anymore. he has enough saved up, hypothetically, to find somewhere else to live, but that's only assuming that the watchers haven't withdrawn it all already. "I- I don’t know."

"you- well, you can- the vigilantes have an open spot." pyro says, almost nervous. "that's- if you want to."

"would-" scott says suddenly, anxiety rising in his chest, along with a kind of hope that he isn't ready to feel just yet. "is that something that's- feasible? until- like, five hours ago, I was- y’know."

"I can't imagine people would be too upset." pyro says, confidence back in his tone. "not- I mean, especially now." 

scott hesitates. "would you be upset? if- if I were to join."

"why would I be?" pyro asks, and apparently realises how honest that sounded, because he adds, "that- I just mean- I asked you. I wouldn't- it'd be dumb if I asked and didn't want you to join."

"what would.. what do you think would happen, if I did join?" scott says.

pyro frowns, apparently considering it. he seems to be considering it far more in depth than scott initially meant him to, because it takes a long moment until he says anything again. "I think lizzie would be suspicious until you do something to prove yourself. tango would be suspicious for, like, five minutes, and then he'd warm up to you." pyro snorts fondly. "jimmy would be suspicious but he wouldn’t do anything about it. mumbo would probably just be nervous about everything, but as long as you don't- like, kill someone, you'll be fine."

scott blinks, somewhat reassured—surprisingly enough. "I- thanks. anything else?"

"uh," pyro cocks his head to the side. "skizz will probably give you a dumb nickname. gem might ask to fight you, but that just means she likes you." he smiles at that, and scott wonders how many of pyro's scars were from spars, rather than the huge battles he assumed they must be from. "impulse will be more intimidating than you think he should be. bigb- he might just confuse you, honestly, but that's just what he does." he thinks for a second, before adding on, quieter, "ren will probably ask you how mars is." 

"oh." something twists in scott's chest as he remembers that look on mars' face as he stood back and watched as-

scott blinks, something dawning on him. "it- mars, god- he didn't-"

it takes a moment, but pyro seems to realise too. "he- oh- do you think- was that intentional?"

"it- there was no way it couldn't have been." scott's chest is tight. "they- I couldn’t-" he takes a breath. "there was no way he could have missed me."

"were you two close?" pyro says, half zoned out, as if he’s trying to come up with some sort of plan.

embarrassingly, scott's face flushes, and he wills himself to act normally. "I- well, we- he. he meant a lot. to me, anyway."

pyro glances at scott, and upon processing his expression, gives a grin. it's- somehow, scott doesn’t think it's teasing. "I guess you meant a lot too."

a knot of anxiety seems to loosen in scott's chest, just a little, and he relaxes against pyro's side. his wounds are aching and his limbs are heavy but he can't find it in him to get up and go back to bed. "maybe it's not hopeless."

pyro stretches in a way that reminds scott of a cat, what with the quiet grunt he gives. "it's not hopeless, but it's gonna be really annoying." he says, resting his head on scott's shoulder again.

"yeah." scott says, half distracted. "I- you’re really warm." oh- okay, that's probably gonna come back to haunt him later.

pyro gives a scoff of laughter, and he almost sounds embarrassed. "yeah- I get that a lot."

scott smiles to himself as he spots pyro flicking his tail contentedly out the corner of his eye. "it's nice."

"thanks." pyro is definitely embarrassed by now, and scott can't pretend like he doesn't find it funny. "I- just- if you do want to join us, would you still be stella?"

scott pauses, still slightly distracted by pyro's warmth. "I don't think so." he manages. "I- y’know, they named us. I don’t know what the significance was, but they got pretty heated about it after luna."

pyro huffs. "creepy." scott isn't facing him, but he can hear the way pyro's lip curls as he says it. "what do I call you now then?"

"it- uh." something akin to anxiety bubbles up his throat, and he swallows. "you can call me scott."

there's a little pause, in which scott can practically hear the cogs turning in pyro's mind. "oh." he finally ends up with. "well- in that case, you can call me joel."

scott looks at him. "really?"

a grin tugs at py- joel's lips—no doubt at whatever silly expression scott is wearing right now. "no, i’m jeremy, but joel sounds better." he says sarcastically.

scott is smiling before he even registers the action, settling down against joel again. it- god, it feels weird to call him joel. "you have a boring name."

"wh- okay, scott." joel scoffs, and scott cackles at how indignant he sounds, releasing far more tension than he knew he was holding along with it. "like that's an exciting name." 

scott elbows him, and joel grins. "I meant in comparison to 'pyro'." he pauses, leaning his head on joel's shoulder. "though I suppose 'stella' isn’t much better, when compared to scott."

joel gives a soft huff. "yeah, it's not." he says, suddenly quiet. he stretches a little, akin to a cat, and settles back down. "I- thanks. this helped."

"no problem." scott smiles to himself. "thanks for saving my life."

joel scoffs a laugh. "yeah, well. you’re welcome."

[blurredcolour]

In My Blood | Part Four

In My Blood Masterlist

Curtis "Curt" Biddick x SOE!Female Reader

You and Curt find a lot more than shelter for the night in Langon, but as your affection for one another only grows, you cannot help but start thinking about the fact that you are also nearing the end of your journey.

Warnings: MAJOR canon divergence, Language, Weapons, Spy Craft, Fear, Alcohol Consumption, Smoking, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Fingering, Multiple Orgasms] - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This story contains revisionist history, read at your own risk. Reader is half-Belgian, half-English and has been given an extensive backstory and family tree. While they have been given the codename of "Marie," no physical descriptions or Y/N are used.

Italics used for non-English words and to indicate dialogue spoken in a language other than English.

This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5974

-------------------------

The rumble of a car engine brought your feet skidding to a halt, the scattering of gravel atop cobblestones carrying you further into the open than you intended. Curt’s hand wrapped around your wrist, hauling you back between the buildings for cover. You had been so very close, just two streets away from ‘Victoire’s’ home in Langon after creeping your way into town through ditches and alleyways. The sharp beam of a flashlight cut through the dark, ruining your night sight, making you blink furiously as you and Curt retreated further from its threatening glare.

As he pulled you around the back of the squat, brick building, pressing against you protectively, your breath hitched in your throat at the mortifyingly intense reaction his closeness evoked from your body. A shiver cascaded from the crown of your head down to the tips of your toes, leaving stiffened nipples and clenched thighs in its wake. Welding your lips shut, you forced slow, measured inhales and exhales through your nose, waiting for the sound of the car and its probing searchlight to recede, only risking a careful glance back toward the road after a good two minutes of silence. Even then, after extracting yourself from Curt’s distracting albeit shielding stance, you insisted on backtracking slightly before attempting a different approach to Victoire’s house.

Mercifully, you managed to reach her back garden with its now-empty planting beds and small shed without further encounters, knocking at the door loud enough to be heard inside but not arouse the suspicion of her neighbours. The curtain covering the small square of glass in the wooden door fluttered slightly in the darkness before the faint scraping of a chain lock being released was followed by the ‘click’ of a deadbolt. The door swung inward slowly as Victoire, a young woman not much older than yourself, appeared, swaddled in her house coat with something clenched in her hand.

As she began to step outside, forcing the pair of you to shuffle backwards out of the way, you and Curt shared a look of confusion before quickly following her in the direction of the shed. Gingerly manipulating the padlock, she carefully opened the latch and then the door for you.

“I am sorry, but the house is fully occupied.” She whispered and you nodded, clasping her hand in gratitude for any shelter she could offer, no matter how humble, before slipping into the drafty building full of empty pots and smelling of damp soil.

Taking a moment to get your bearings, you chose to slide to your suitcase beneath the potting bench before carefully moving several larger pots and gardening implements to open up enough floor space for yourself and Curt to rest for the night. The sound of the door sliding home, followed by the ‘snick’ of the padlock, made you glance back over your shoulder. The sight of Curt pulling the generous wool coat from his suitcase, the garment that you had acquired at great cost back in Beverst, barely discernable in the dark shed, made your lips curl fondly. At least he would be warm tonight. Settling onto the rough wooden floor, propped up against the wall, you swallowed your hiss at the sharp cold against your bare legs.

“Here.” Curt whispered once his suitcase was stowed next to yours, shuffling down to sit beside you, hip and shoulder pressed against yours in the limited space as he draped the coat across the pair of you.

Your eyes snapped from the dark navy fabric up to his face, inhaling sharply to find him so close, nose almost brushing his. “Curt…” You murmured softly in gratitude.

A grin of satisfaction unfurled on his features as he huddled closer to ensure you were both properly protected from the elements. There was a palpable tension between you, an electricity shimmering across your skin that made your lips part in an attempt to take in more oxygen and quell the swimming sensation in your head. Curt’s expression grew more serious, his eyes tracing along your face towards your lips, a motion like a caress that gnawed insistently at your self-control until you felt yourself lunging forward to crash your mouth against his.

A noise of surprise escaped him, only to be muffled by your lips before you felt the warmth of the coat fall away from your shoulders as his hand fought its way free to cup your cheek and pull you closer. Your lips parted with a sigh of relief, a motion which Curt quickly took advantage of, tongue swiping teasingly at the gap but never properly sliding into your mouth. Not until an indignant whimper sounded in the back of your throat, only to be rewarded by a thorough kiss that had you clinging to his shoulders until you needed to pull back to gasp for air.

You could feel the curl of his smile as he trailed his lips across your cheek to whisper, “can’t kiss a girl and not even know her first name.”

The feeling of his damp lips brushing against the curve of your ear made you shudder yet again, affection and want thrumming through your body with each beat of your racing heart. Shifting to press your lips against his ear in turn, you barely breathed your true name, a lance of fear as well as the thrill of being known rocketing through your gut. He repeated it with a soft sigh, sending your teeth sinking into your lower lip before you kissed him once more, a fierceness at hearing it tainting your actions as your hands delved into his hair, ruining the hold of the pomade he had put into it hours ago.

The heat of Curt’s palm slid down your neck across the front of your sweater to caress the swell of your breast and you hummed, arching eagerly into his touch while simultaneously growing frustrated with the awkward positions your found yourselves in. Shifting carefully, you swung your leg over his to straddle his thighs, the coat falling behind you, completely forgotten. His hands squeezed your hips warmly as you pressed a soft kiss to his lips only to pull back and begin painting kisses along his jaw and down his neck. Mapping the raised scars you could feel but not see in the darkness. After an initial huff, Curt hummed contentedly, tilting his head to offer more flesh to you as he resumed kneading your tender flesh with both hands.

Feeling your hips buck in response as you pressed a moan against his neck, he dropped one hand to your lower back, pulling your hips flush with his. The press of his hardening cock against the apex of your thighs sent your lips colliding with his once more, rocking experimentally, to your mutual pleasure – a melding of moans against your tongue. You were addicted to the way he made you feel, a woman fully alive, under your own name. Not ‘Marie,’ the fragile shell who internalized every secret and nurtured every wound.

And even though the friction of his length through his trousers against the thin barrier of your underwear made your eyes clench shut and breath shorten to harsh pants, still you wanted more. Hands sliding between your bodies, you began to work at the fly of his trousers, feeling his tongue flick at his lips, desperately trying to wet them.

“You sure?” He rasped and you eyed his silhouette a moment, swallowing roughly.

The reality of your situation was bleak, and while this was most definitely outside the bounds of propriety, the truth of it was you were either going to die or, by some miracle, make it back to England. To a world of strangers who did not, and never could, understand the truth of what you had faced. What you had endured. None of them would ever be like the man before you, would have shared the same dangers and trials. So the answer was rather easy.

“Yes.” You breathed emphatically and made quick work of freeing his cock, sealing your mouth against his neck as his blunt fingers pulled aside your underwear to slide through your slick folds.

Working together, you shifted up onto your knees to guide him into your warmth, your shaky breaths pouring into his gaping mouth as he stared up at you, brows furrowed in pleasure. Hips settling snuggly atop his, your teeth clacked against his in your desperation to smother your moan at the feeling of him seated fully inside you. Curt’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you rocked forward before you tensed your thighs to begin working your hips up and down his length, his head falling back against the tongue and groove wall, jaw slack.

Heavy sighs of your name tumbled from his lips, tone reverent and dream-like as he watched you with half-lidded eyes. Despite the fact that you remained fully clothed, to be called thus left you feeling practically laid bare before him. A pang of longing struck you, wishing you could see him better, see the flush on his cheeks. For now, the warmth of his skin beneath your hands would suffice. Was proving more than sufficient in combination with his prayerful use of your name and the fact that he was lasting far longer than the last man you had been intimate with – some pretty popinjay outside Sarah Spencer-Churchill’s debut ball who had cum within a few moments of being allowed up your gown. All told, it was a heady mixture that was making your thighs shake with the effort to drive the pair of you towards climax.

The sudden shift brought on by the bend of his knees made you gasp, planting your hands on his shoulders to avoid smacking your chin against his. You had barely stabilized yourself before his fingers curled into your hips and he began to thrust up into you insistently. A cry of sheer delight flew from lips, unfortunately only half smothered by his solicitous mouth, but thankfully it did not interrupt his exquisite rhythm, nor seem to arouse suspicion outside. Toes curling in your shoes as your nails dug into the leather of his jacket, it was not long before you were hurtling over the precipice into orgasm, clenching around him ruthlessly.

The feel of his sticky, hot release drew aftershocks of pleasure from you as you slumped against his chest, utterly spent, entire body rising and falling as his chest heaved beneath you. Curt tender kisses feathering along your temple and cheek pulled soft giggles from you, making you lift your head to press your lips against his warmly. As the flush of the afterglow slowly ebbed from your skin, the wind whistling through the gaps in the shed’s construction began to steal the warmth from your body, making you shiver yet again.

“Hold on, gorgeous, let’s get you warm.” Curt murmured softly, breathing returning to normal as he helped you rearrange your underwear before re-assembling his trousers.

Tucking you close into his chest, he gathered the coat once more, bundling the pair of you beneath it, making you hum in comfort as you burrowed your head beneath his chin. Pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, he murmured, “sleep” and you found no desire to argue with him.

The next sensation you were aware of was the sound of the padlock rattling outside, a sure sign that Victoire had returned to summon the pair of you – hopefully for breakfast. Shafts of weak light filtered through the numerous gaps in the shed walls as you forced yourself awake, reluctantly but quickly emerging from the warm cocoon of Curt’s arms. Rain was gently but steadily pattering against the roof as you managed to settle onto the floor at his side, the pair of you presenting a quite proper sight to your host as she popped her head in.

“Come inside, there is food, and you can clean up.”

“Thank you, Victoire.” You smiled sleepily as Curt stirred beside you.

Collecting your luggage, you both followed her through the icy drizzle into her warm home that seemed devoid of all guests, only young son playing with some toys on a blanket in the kitchen where she had set out a breakfast hash of canned corned beef and potatoes.

“You spoil us.” You murmured as Curt dug in with a bright if clumsily pronounced ‘Merci,’ making you struggle against the urge to smile fondly.

“You received the worst accommodations last night, therefore you get the best breakfast.” She insisted, pouring two cups of hot coffee substitute which was bitter but warm. “Things seem busy as of late, am I right, Marie?”

Nodding as you swallowed your mouthful, you pointed down the hall as you saw Curt’s plate was empty. “Bathroom is first door on the right, you go ahead.” Turning back to Victoire you sighed heavily. “Incredibly busy, and more dangerous.” You replied in French.

She hummed thoughtfully, taking a sip from her own stained and chipped mug. “I hope you are being safe out there.”

“As much as I can.”

Her son let out a squeal of delight as he crashed one wooden car into another, drawing an exhausted smile from his mother. “At least he will never know.” She murmured, standing to ruffle his hair warmly before cleaning up from breakfast.

Curt returned from the bathroom, clothes changed and freshly shaved.

“I’ll be right back.” You murmured and took your suitcase to do the same, stripping bare to take a bath in the sink with a borrowed washcloth.

Changing the bandage on your nearly healed arm with supplies from your luggage, you then slid into a fresh outfit. Retrieving a silk scarf from the depths of your suitcase, you secured it atop your hair, both as protection against the persistent rain, and to make yourself less recognizable to anyone who might be looking for you. You certainly hoped they were still searching in Bordeaux but were not about to be unnecessarily cavalier about it. You also retrieved the last of your cash reserves from the envelope secured in the zippered portion of your suitcase, transferring it to your handbag. Things really must be coming to an end if this was all you had left.

Stepping back into the kitchen, you felt Curt’s eyes on you, assessing for a moment before he stood from where he had been entertaining Victoire’s son on his blanket. Watching curiously as he shrugged from his leather jacket, that fond smile from earlier stole its way across your face as he pulled on the wool coat – the length of it stretching to his knees and the cuffs covering his hands – before he flipped up the collar, obscuring a great deal of his face but legitimately appearing to be simply warding off the elements. In countless ways he had proven himself to be the easiest of your charges, practically a natural at sneaking his way across occupied Europe, despite your initial sense of his inability to shut his mouth. You were going to miss him.

Doing your best to ignore the way that made your stomach plummet, breath snagging on your emotions as you tried to inhale, you turned to Victoire to wish her farewell.

“Thank you again for the shelter and incredible meal.”

“My pleasure, as always, Marie. Best of luck to you both.”

“You and yours, also.” You nodded firmly, collecting your things.

Curt, as soon as he finished rolling up the overly long sleeves of his coat, did the same, nodding to your host before the pair of you headed out into the rain, shoulders hunching as a natural barrier against the wind. It was a fifteen-minute walk from Victoire’s house to Langon Station – a long building of pink brick and white stone, much more understated than the rest of the stations you had visited thus far on your journey. Damp and tired, you were unspeakably grateful that the Nazi officer on duty barely glanced at your papers, waving you onto the ticket counter where you were relieved to learn that trains were indeed running to Toulouse today.

Once again, the train in service was small, with no private compartments available. Wedging yourself side-by-side with Curt, you pinched the inside of your cheek between your teeth, doing your utmost to ignore the way it felt utterly different to have his body pressed against yours. Rather than sleeping, a glance over at him revealed that Curt was leaning against the window to watch you quietly, a small smile curling at the corners of his mouth. Bowing your head under that love-struck gaze, you swallowed roughly, trying your very best to remain focused on the final leg of your journey for which you were responsible. With numerous stoppages, some on sidings to allow freight trains to pass, some for absolutely no clear purpose, as well as one transfer at Agen, it took nearly the entire day to reach Toulouse.

While it gave the pair of you the opportunity to thoroughly dry out, it also left each of you feeling remarkably hungry by the time you reached ‘Françoise’s’ apartment. As the door swung open, the sight of her cloud of snow-white hair, barely contained in a semblance of a style despite numerous pins, with her shadowy black cat Charbon weaving himself around her ankles, was nearly enough to make you collapse with exhaustion and relief.

“Ah, come in.” She whispered and ushered you both inside quickly, casting a glance around the hallway behind you before firmly shutting the world out with an extensive number of deadbolts and chains. “Marie, welcome. Who is your friend?”

“Curt.” He smiled, setting down his suitcase to offer his hand, which Françoise eyed a moment before shaking with an unusually strong grip for a woman in her sixties.

“You both look ready to fall asleep, go rest and I will find something to feed you.”

“Bless you, Françoise.” You murmured, leading Curt down a short hallway to point out the washroom and showing him into his room. “You can sleep here, keep the curtains closed and your voice down.”

He nodded, eyeing you a moment, but a persistent meow interrupted anything he may have been about to say.

“Yes, Charbon, you can come have a nap with me.” You smirked. “Rest well, Curt.” You turned, the cat trotting happily in your wake into the room next door, hopping up onto the bed expectantly.

You took a few moments to remove most of your clothing before slipping beneath the blankets and fell deeply asleep to the sound of an enthusiastically purring cat. Waking to a stew of beans accompanied with thick slices of a coarse bread, you and Curt devoured all that Françoise could set before you, chatting briefly over cups of tea before you all turned in for the first solid of night of sleep you had enjoyed in weeks. Charbon, of course, spent the night with Françoise who slept with her door open to give him free run of the apartment. Enjoying showers and a filling breakfast the next day, you turned to Françoise to begin planning the last and most physically demanding portion of your journey.

“I will make contact with the Ponzáns, would you be able to acquire two rucksacks for us? We will have suitcases to leave in return.”

Her black eyebrows, hand drawn with a makeup pencil, jumped nearly to her hairline. “Two.” She echoed flatly before retrieving a cigarette from a tarnished silver case. The scent of bitter German tobacco filled the air, a vivid reminder of why you had given up the habit. “Marie, you are leaving.”

It was not a question, but you nodded in answer all the same.

Her mouth twisted in displeasure, the scarlet of her lipstick interrupted by the cracks of age. MI9 liked to call her eccentric, you simply viewed her as a woman who had lived a full life and refused to let the expectations of age dictate how she ought to continue to live now.

“A great loss.” She sighed with an exhale of smoke through her nostrils, tapping the ash into a crystal ashtray, one of many that lived on every surface in her apartment. “Well, it will do no good dwelling, you and I must get to work. I am sure they will ask for a great price to ferry you, however.”

You grunted in agreement, all too certain that Pablo’s eyes would light up in an hour or so. “Hopefully it is not be the crown jewels.” You sighed and a rattling laugh burst forth from her throat.

“Might very well be, Marie.” Her hand with its dry, paper-thin skin patted at the back of yours before she leveraged herself to her feet. “Now, Curt, have you ever washed a dish?”

“No, ma’am, but I am not above trying.” He replied, wrenching his eyes from you and following the woman to the kitchen.

Collecting the dishes from the table, you set them on the counter in the small kitchen before heading to your room to collect your handbag, ensuring your knife and gun were both readily available within. Pausing in the doorway, you took a moment to enjoy the sight of Curt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands in the dishpan as Françoise provided stern guidance at his side.

“I’ll be back in a few hours.” You said gently, nodding as both of them turned back to you quickly.

“See you soon, dear.” Françoise nodded.

“Be safe.” Curt said firmly, eyeing you intensely, surely in a bid to communicate his desire for you to return without injury, covered in blood, or having shot someone else.

“That is the plan.” You replied reassuringly before slipping back out, pleased to find the rain had ceased.

The walk to the bookstore was remarkably pleasant, though the crisp autumn air drove your hands into your pockets to keep warm. Stepping inside, the bell chiming overhead, you nodded with a friendly smile to the man behind the counter. You did not know his name, nor he yours, but he was a friend of the Resistance. A conduit for the Françoise Line to reach the Ponzán Group to guide downed airmen across the Pyrenees. And now, hopefully not at too great a price, yourself as well.

Perusing the shelves for a time, reading the synopses of a few books before putting them back, you walked up to the counter once you were certain the store was empty.

“Good afternoon. I was wondering if you had any books on Saint Christopher?”

As you spoke, the rack of comic books on display at his elbow caught your eye, the illustration of a boxer prominent on the cover. Momentarily distracted by the thought that you should purchase a copy for Curt, you huffed inwardly at your schoolgirlish distraction, looking to the shopkeeper as he replied.

“That’s a good question. I might have a few options in the back, one moment.” He slipped out from behind the counter to lock the front door before leading you into the back room and down a set of stairs narrowed by stacks of boxes, knocking on the door before it swung inward to reveal Pablo himself.

“Well, well, if it isn’t you.” He nodded dismissively to the shopkeeper before turning back inside the rather well-appointed secret office. Shutting the door behind you, you settled into the seat opposite him as he tilted his head. “What can we do for you and your English friends, Marie?”

“Passage for two across the mountains with proper winter clothing for one and accessories for the other.” You replied cooly, showing that you were unaffected by his attempts to intimidate you.

“Boots too? What sizes are we talking about?” He tilted his head probingly.

Exhaling slowly. “I am not interested in playing games, Pablo. I need the winter clothing. The airman needs just the accessories. I believe he wears an American size 8 or 9 for his boots?”

His eyes glittered hard in the light of the candle on his desk, gaze narrowing greedily. “Run into a spot of trouble with the Vichy, Marie?” He taunted, putting on an infuriatingly poor impression of your upper-class English accent, the one you spoke with thanks to your mother’s tutelage. “Or was it the big bad Gestapo?” He sneered a little before grabbing a piece of paper, writing out a terrific sum of francs and a list of weapons before referring briefly to a leather notebook in his breast pocket before adding a set of coordinates. “Payment and drop location. We will confirm once we have been in receipt.”

“Right.” You replied tersely, tucking the slip of paper into your bag before standing. “Give Francisco my regards.”

“Oh I will, Marie.” Pablo grinned darkly, tenting his fingers as he watched you exit his office.

Climbing back up the stairs, you paused at the counter to purchase a newspaper, grabbing the comic book just as shopkeeper was about to give you the total and passed over the requisite number of francs for both. Taking a moment in the corner of the shop to slide the rather offensive list of demands into the paper, you tucked your purchases under your arm and headed next to a café where you would be able to pass along the Ponzán group’s order to a runner for the wireless operator in the area. Glancing at your watch, you confirmed it was just before noon, and tried not to smile as the young girl was seated in the back corner at her usual table.

Snagging a seat by the window, you ordered a black coffee and perused the comic book, pleased to see that it was most definitely the story of a boxer. Coffee finished, you deposited your payment on the table and made your way towards the bathroom, casually setting the folded newspaper on the girl’s table as you passed by before stepping into the single-stalled washroom. After flushing, you took a moment to tidy your appearance, taking a few breaths before opening the door and retrieving the empty and turned newspaper from the corner of her table, no other patron or staff person even glancing in your direction.

It was a tense walk back to the safety of Françoise’s apartment, being sure to take a circuitous route and triple-check that you were not being followed, before making your way up the stairs just as the woman herself was returning with the two requested packs. Drawing her keys from the pocket of her worn fur coat, she unlocked the numerous deadbolts before ushering you inside. As she locked up behind you, you bent to scoop up Charbon, going to Curt’s door to knock quietly.

“We are back.” You spoke softly through the wood.

It slowly creaked open, and he smiled in relief as he laid eyes on you. “Success?” He murmured and you nodded.

“It is arranged, we shall see if the price is a pill that can be swallowed.”

“For your luggage.” Françoise’s arm thrusted a rucksack between the pair of you, startling Curt before he took it with a nod of thanks. “You two probably need to do laundry now?”

“As always, you are correctly.” You set the cat down, ignoring his meow of protest as you took the other bag. “I can do that. This,” You held the comic out to Curt, “is for you.”

He took it with his other hand and smirked slowly. “Boxing…you remembered.”

Françoise shook her head and trundled down the hall to the bathroom to retrieve the laundry supplies, giving you no chance to discuss your gift to him as you gathered dirty clothes from both suitcases and worked with your host to scrub and rinse and wring for the rest for the day. Once the apartment was sufficiently strung with clothing hung to dry, intimates mercifully relegated to your respective rooms, there was dinner, and then a hushed game of poker at which Françoise mopped the floor with both of you.

The pattern continued thus for several days, Françoise keeping the pair of you busy with chores as you awaited news of a successful drop. Every evening, she would outdrink and outwit the both of you at cards, making you grateful you were only gambling with tokens and not real money. All communication with Curt was forced to be bland, sanitized, safe to be overheard by the English-speaking and ever-present woman whose apartment you were sheltering in. Only brief moments of intense eye contact across the round dining table, covered with its mended lace tablecloth, or a brushing of hands as you worked together in the kitchen to wash and dry the dishes, revealed there was something much more to the pair of you than simple traveling companions.

Retiring to your room after your third night of defeat at cards, you were feeling restless, thoroughly empathizing with animals held in cages against their will. Normally you would be out, walking the streets of Toulouse, scavenging, acquiring, making connections. But now, as a wanted and known person yourself, you too had to stay indoors as much as possible. You had always tried to be patient with your charges but had never truly understood how it felt to be in their shoes until now.

Turning your unsettled energy to more useful pursuits, you set the rucksack on your bed and carefully began to transfer the remnants of your suitcase into it, pausing as you came across the small tin of gun oil, cloth, and bore brush bundled inside a set of thick woollen socks. Setting it on the desk to your right, you finished your task, setting the empty suitcase by the door to turn over to Françoise before changing into your nightgown, a light summer affair without sleeves. Sliding a cardigan overtop of your bare and finally bandage-free, you retrieved your pistol and knife from your handbag settling in to clean your weapons.

Ejecting the clip from the pistol, you stripped it down before working with the bore brush to clean the barrel before applying a few drops to lubricant it. Turning, then, to the action, you ensured it too was cleaned and lubricated before you reassembled the weapon before moving onto your knife. You were nearly finished polishing the blade with a few drops of gun oil when your door suddenly swung open, making you jump to your feet.

“Easy, gorgeous.” Curt whispered, quietly closing the door behind him before turning the handle to let the latch slide home. “Just me.” He stood there clad only in his boxer shorts and an undershirt.

Releasing your knife onto the desk with an exhale of relief, you tilted your head in silent question, watching as he quickly closed the distance between you.

“Can’t stop thinking about you.” He sighed, sliding his arm around your back to pull you close as he kissed you deeply.

Your hands quickly rose to cup his cheeks warmly as you returned his kiss, hoping you convey you were suffering the same, despite your inability to speak at the moment. Guiding you backwards one step at a time, you were saved an uncomfortable collision with the wall as his free hand leaned up against it, ensuring your comfort as his mouth devoured yours. Hands sliding to cup the back of his head, you bit your lip as he began to nip and suck his way down your neck, humming against the expanse of skin exposed by your nightgown. As he encountered the set of buttons trailing down the front of your sleepwear, his fingers began to work at opening them, one by one, hand delving beneath the thin cotton to cup your right breast.

Sighing heavily in delight, you writhed against him, gnawing on your lip savagely as he circled his tongue around your nipple before sealing his mouth around the hardened bud. Curt seemed to be on some kind of personal mission to test your ability to remain quiet, well aware of that open door just down the hall, of neighbours through the adjoining walls, as he fought with the hem of your nightgown to trail his fingers up the outside of your thigh. Eyes meeting yours with lust-blown pupils as he found no underwear blocking his target, he cupped your mound as his mouth shifted to torture your left breast, forcing you to clamp a hand over your mouth as he parted your folds to apply mind-numbing pleasure to your clit.

The hand still clinging to his hair gripped hard as his middle finger slowly slid deep inside you, a sharp ‘merde’ escaping against your palm as you bucked, and he hummed happily against your sensitive flesh. The feeling of his ring finger joining the insistent thrusting, his thumb continuing its circling pressure, had your head rolling back and forth against the wall, desperately trying to swallow your sobs of pleasure or at the very least smother them against your hand.

“C’mon gorgeous, let me feel you.” He panted against your sternum, pleading once more with the addition of your name before pressing his lips against your skin hotly.

Hips bucking sharply against him, you were helpless not to oblige, clenching rhythmically around his fingers in release. Working you through it until he felt your body slacken against his, Curt then pulled his digits from you carefully, only to make a show of slowly licking them clean, your thighs pressing together quickly as your heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The instant his mouth was free, you grasped his jaw and pulled him in for a hungry kiss. Pressing closer, he began to slide the hem of your nightgown high above your hips. Sensing his intentions, you quickly reached out to push down the waistband of his boxers, lifting one leg to wrap about his hips.

Pulling back from your lips, his eyes bore into yours as he rocked forward, driving his length home into your warmth. Eyes rolling back into your head, you clung to his shoulders but gasped as he suddenly hiked your second leg to wrap around him, pinning you against the wall with a cocky smirk before beginning to thrust in earnest. Drowning your moans in frantic kisses against his lips, you clutched and pulled at the straps of his undershirt, heels digging into cheeks of his ass. Body already sensitive, and his pelvis grinding so enthusiastically against your clit, it did not take long for you to climax once more.

A squeak flew from your lips as he quickly pulled from your body, sliding down the wall slightly as he deprived you of the sensation of his orgasm, his cum spraying across your lower abdomen instead. Though you supposed it was for the best in the end. Lowering one trembling leg and then another, you reached up to grab a clean handkerchief from its position on the drying line nearby, lips twitching fondly as he insisted on taking it from you to gently wipe your skin clean.

“Woulda come sooner…” he smirked briefly but soldiered on, “but that damn cat kept gettin’ in my way.” He finished with a huff.

“Charbon?” You giggled breathlessly, reaching up to smooth his hair which you had put into such disarray. “He is harmless…”

“What does that name mean, anyway?” He asked, crumpling the handkerchief into his fist.

“Charcoal.” You replied quietly, fingertips tracing along his cheekbones affectionately.

“I’ll turn him into charcoal if he tries to keep me away from you again…” He muttered gruffly, lips pressing against the pads of your fingers as they strayed too close to his mouth.

Your eyes widened at the threat against the cat’s life. “Curt!” You admonished half-heartedly before you pressed your face against his chest to smother your resulting laughter.

-------------------------

Read Part Five

In My Blood Masterlist

Tag list: @precious-little-scoundrel, @luminouslywriting, @polikabra, @beingalive1

[doyourememberrocknrollradio]

Music was in my heart and soul the day I was born way back in 1965 🥴lol, as I was the youngest of 6 boys and one poor girl lol, although she was well protected her entire life. My parents loved their country and western music, but all of us kids listened to Rock music, whether it was soft, hard or pop rock. I became the only KISS fanatic and am still a proud KISS Army soldier today, although my love for music is extensive to say the least. My older neighbour took me to my first concert when I was 11, if I remember correctly, as it was RUSH touring their live All The Worlds A Stage album and they Rocked, blowing this young kids mind away, especially Neil Pearts drum solo, but the heavy and loud sound of that first concert vibrated through my soul, causing me to forever be hooked on concerts and I really wish I would have kept all my concert tickets, because I would have framed them all and proudly displayed them in my man cave 🤘😁 but I’ll always have and cherish those memories, along with being a regular in record stores, as I spent a ton of money on vinyl once I started working at 16 and memories of driving 7 hours to Toronto with my brother, mainly to buy records we couldn’t get in our smaller city was a blast, as we’d crank the music in his Firebird so loud for the entire trip, that it would take hours for our hearing to come back once we got to Toronto lol, and while I spent a small fortune on music in my lifetime, you cannot possibly put a price on the happiness I got from it. Music is the universal language of the world and medicine for the heart and soul 🎶🤘❤️

Ritchie

[elvenmother]

Context and Perspective: All In A Day’s Work

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x F Reader  Rating: Teen. Warnings: Swearing, mentions of injuries, mentions of blood Chapter: 9/15 Word count: 3443

Summary: The newest member of the Heroics has gone missing and as one of the better-known Villains on the scene, you are blamed. Then your sidekick goes missing. You must go after the Heroic’s leader to try to get them back and clear your name.

Note: This has not been beta read, so apologies for any mistakes.  This is my first time writing for We Can Be Heroes and Marcus Moreno.

Part Eight | Part One

All around you, dust and debris swirled in the air as you ran full speed into the thick grey cloud. You could hear people screaming to your left, trying to find friends and neighbours, crying out names in panic. Over on your right were heavy groans and coughs as people who had been in the street sat on the sidewalk in shock. The sound of a loud scream straight ahead drew your attention, and you sprinted toward it.

“Shit.” You muttered, spluttering out a cough as your lungs filled with the fine grey billowing in the air. You narrowed your eyes, trying to keep the particles of whatever the fuck this was out of them as you searched for the source of the cry.

“Hello?” You heard Moreno behind you call out. You weren’t sure if he was looking for you or survivors.

“Over here!” You shouted. “I heard someone over here, but I can’t see a damn thing!”

Turning, you saw the outline of Moreno silhouetted in the dust before he finally emerged into view. He was covered head to toe in thick grey grime. He must have removed his glasses and tie at some point, as you could see both poking out of his trouser pocket. He looked at you, concern etched on his face.

“Can you do something about this dust?” He coughed. “Blow it away?”

“Yeah, but honestly, wind is just going to make things worse.” You had already considered using your control over the wind to clear a path. “If I start blowing things around, it’ll be like stirring up silt on a riverbed. It’ll make visibility worse.”

He nodded for a moment, looking around in thought. Then his eyes snapped back to you. “What about stopping any breezes altogether? Can you do that?”

“Oh.” You smiled. You hadn’t thought of that. “To make the dust settle quicker? Yeah, I think I can do that.”

Planting your feet shoulder-width apart, you closed your eyes, took a deep breath through your nose and began concentrating. Reaching out with your senses, you could feel the gentle breeze as it tickled at the edge of your consciousness. Reaching out further, you instinctually began to pull on that link, strengthening it until you could feel the weather around you as though it were an extension of your own limbs. Grabbing that link, you held it still, although you could feel it fighting against you, wanting to be free. Bit by bit, it began to quiet itself before subsiding completely. Opening your eyes, you watched as the dust swirling in the air started dropping, revealing the scene of devastation before you.

You were about a block away from Donna’s salon in front of a pile of bricks and twisted metal that had once been a building. It had once stood apart from its neighbours on an intersection and had once been perhaps an office or large store. Now it was gone. Beams jutted out seemingly from the ground, twisted or bent at strange angles. You had no idea how many floors this building had once had or if anyone had been inside.

The cry of pain came again, louder this time from directly in front of you under a section of thick metal beams. Before you could move, Moreno was there, hands out and eyes closed. 

“Careful.” You moved to his side. “This looks really unstable.”

“It is.” He replied. His voice strained as he concentrated on the rubble. “I’m trying to work out what is safe to move to get them out.”

“Alright.” You nodded, watching as his face twisted into a grimace. “I’m going to see if I can figure out how many are under there.”

Glancing around the rubble's edge, you spotted exactly what you needed. A small patch of earth, most likely exposed when the building cracked the sidewalk. Kneeling down and pulling away a little cement, you dug your fingers as deep as you could into the exposed soil.

Closing your eyes, you expanded your consciousness into the ground, finding ants, worms, and roots confused and clustered. Ants. They were helpful. Gently nudging at their minds, you reached out. 

‘Can you help me, little friends?’

‘So much shaking.’ ‘What was that?’ ‘Why is this happening?’

Poor things; they were just as bewildered and frightened as the humans up here. You tried to push a wave of calm over them.

‘It’s over now, and I’m fixing it. But I need to know if more people are in the rubble?’

‘The big ones?’ ‘Of course, the big ones!’ ‘One is crying.’ ‘So much blood.’ ‘It smells so good.’ ‘Oh yes, it tastes so good.’

The ants were being attracted to the injured person by the protein in their blood and were beginning to get distracted by their meal. You pushed out another calming wave to get their attention. You wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer. Although small, there were thousands of them, and all those tiny voices in your mind were beginning to overwhelm you.

‘Please. Tiny friends.’ You implored. ‘This that the only source of blood? Are there more big ones in there?’

‘Just one.’ ‘Only one.’ ‘They are alone.’ ‘Just this one.’ Came the chorus of replies.

Pulling your hand out of the earth, you opened your eyes slowly. Moreno was stood over you, frowning.

“What did you do?”

“Ants.” You managed to get out as your head still hummed. “Only one person in there.”

“Got it.” If he had more questions about ants and how you knew that Moreno didn’t voice them. 

Instead, as you dragged yourself to your feet, you watched as he reached out his hands once more. His fingers twitched, and his hands shook for a moment before you could hear the creaking and groaning of metal. Beams shook and jerked to reposition themselves as he slowly rearranged them to create a gap without bringing the rest of the wreckage down. 

“Grab. Them.” Moreno forced out through gritted teeth.

Without hesitation, you made your way to the edge of the ruined building once more and found yourself looking down into a small cavity created by Moreno. There, covered in blood and sobbing quietly, was a man probably in his mid-forties. Carefully climbing down the shallow hole's sides, you gently reached for him. He gasped in pain as you began to pull him back up to the surface. 

As soon as you were clear, you looked over at Moreno, still concentrating on holding the metal support beams in their new positions. He was breathing heavily, his jaw twitching with the effort and sweat rolling down his forehead was dislodging a layer of thick grey dust.

“Clear.” You called over, and immediately he smiled. Slowly and carefully lowering his hands to let go of the twisted metal. With a final thud and a smaller dust cloud, the building wreckage settled again.

“How is he?” Moreno panted out as he walked over to you and the still sobbing man.

“Give me a minute.” You couldn’t help smiling up at him. He was impressive; you had to give him that. Those beams had to weigh over 100lbs each, plus the weight of the bricks, and he had held it all up long enough for you to get in there.

Pulling your eyes away from the bemused-looking Moreno, you looked down at the rescued man, taking in his injuries for the first time.

“Broken arm.” You pointed to his left arm, which he was cradling against himself. “Doesn’t seem to be a compound fracture, though, so where is this blood coming from?”

“Leg.” The man gasped out, rolling slightly to reveal a large gash on his upper right thigh. 

“Yeah, that’ll do it.” You nodded, immediately placing both your hands on his leg. He whined and pulled away slightly, but you held him firm. Looking more closely, you could see all sorts of crap in the wound. “There’s no way I can heal this.” You shook your head, looking up at Moreno.

“Heal it?” He cocked his head. “You can heal?”

“A little, yeah.” You nodded and pointed to the man's leg wound. “It’s full of shit. It needs to be cleaned properly.”

“There’s probably ambulances on the way.” Moreno sighed, turning his head to look at the crowd of people all around the scene. “Is he going to be ok until they get here?”

“Yeah.” You smiled down at the man, brushing some of the dust off his face. He looked back up at you with large panicked eyes. “Yeah, you’re going to be fine, sir. I know it hurts like hell, but other than your leg and arm, you’re fine. No head injuries and no internal bleeding. Once the ambulances get here, they’ll give you some good shit and fix you right up. Ok?”

He nodded, managing a weak smile. “Thank you. Thank you, both of you.” He craned his head to look at Moreno.

“I’m going to my car to call this in.” Moreno sighed, looking around at the disaster.

“Are you crazy?” You stood, carefully stepping over the injured man on the ground and hissed at Moreno. “What if they see me?”

“Wait with him for an ambulance, then go to Donna’s.” Moreno looked genuinely apologetic. “I’ll come get you when we’re leaving.”

~~~~~

Forty minutes later, you were in Moreno’s car driving back to his house. Both of you sat in silence for the journey, both too tired to talk, and you were amazed he had any energy left to drive.

The Heroics had come quickly after Moreno had called them. Crushing Low had arrived to take charge of the scene along with Tech-No and Red Lightening Fury. Luckily all three had been too busy tending to the civilians to notice you get into their leader's car and leave with him.

As you pulled up onto Moreno’s driveway, you could see your own car still parked down the street waiting for you. Glancing at your seat as you exited the car, you let out an involuntary giggle.

“What?” Moreno eyed you curiously. 

Pointing into the car, you just shook your head, unable to stop giggling to explain. Moreno made his around to your side and peered in before looking back at your like you’d lost your mind.

“Care to clue me in?”

“The dust.” You giggled before composing yourself. “I’ve left an outline on your car seat in dust. Sorry, it just seemed really funny. We’re sneaking around because I’m a villain, but there’s my ass imprint in your car.”

Moreno let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, we are covered in this crap, aren’t we? I’ll vacuum it up later. Come on in, and we can get cleaned up.”

You stared at him for a moment as he casually walked up to his front door and fumbled with his keys. How far the two of you had come in just one day. Not even a day; it was only early afternoon. You jogged to catch up with him as he pushed open the door.

“So.” You followed Moreno back to the kitchen. “I don’t want to get this all over your house. Do you want to just brush me down here, or should I go out into the garden?”

Moreno laughed, catching you off guard before turning to face you smiling. “I think I can do a little better than that. How about I show you where the bathroom and guest room are. That way, you can shower and get changed.”

You were taken aback by his kindness and were grateful that the heavy layer of dust on your face hid your red blushing cheeks. 

“Thank you.” You began to follow him once more. “But the only other thing I have with me is my costume, and I doubt you want me leaving your house in that. This is very kind, but I’ll just get changed at home.”

He stopped outside the bathroom and turned to face you again. “Are you sure? It’s no trouble. I can find you something to wear.”

“Oh.” You gulped, suddenly shy. “Ok then, thank you.”

Moreno smiled and gestured to the bathroom and the room next to it. “Main bathroom and guest room. I’ll leave you some clothes on the bed. There should be towels in there.” He opened the bathroom door and peeked his head in. “Yes. Towels are there, and just leave your dirty clothes on the door. Once we’re cleaned up, I’ll put them in a bag for you.”

With that, he turned and continued down the hallway, presumably into his own room, leaving you unattended in his home. Blinking a couple of times at the absurdity of it all, you went into the bathroom.

The bathroom was fairly big. Much bigger than you had a home in your apartment. There you had just a shower, sink and toilet in a room little bigger than a closet. This bathroom was a proper bath room. A stylish round mirror hung above the sink, giving you the first look at yourself since you left home that morning. You looked like shit.

The dust and grime from the collapse had set into a hard plaster over all of you. You could see cracks where you had moved your mouth to speak or smile, making you look like a grey-scale clown of sorts. Pulling at a few strands of your hair, you winced as the matted clumps pulled at your scalp. This was going to take longer than quickly hosing yourself down in the shower.

Gingerly you started to peel off your clothes, causing puffs of dust to rise into the air before quickly settling on the bathroom floor. As you undressed, you continued to look around the room, taking in little details of Moreno’s family life. A vibrant orange toothbrush sat in the multi-coloured tumbler on the sink. The wicker hamper next to the door was full of clothes with the hem of something red poking out. The shower was above a beautifully large tub with a colourful shower curtain decorated in bright swirls. On the edge of the tub in the corner were shower gel, shampoo, conditioner and a bright blue shower puff. This must be the main bathroom that his daughter used. 

Shedding the last of your clothes, you leaned over and started the shower. After waiting a few moments for the water to reach a reasonable temperature, you stepped in and immediately let out a sigh of relief. Hot water had never felt so good, and you watched as the thick grey dust streaked down your body and down the drain.

After getting most of the crap off of you with just the water, you picked up the puff, helped yourself to some of the citrusy-smelling shower gel, and finished cleaning your face and body. Washing your hair took a little longer as the dust had set into hard clumps, but after a bit of coaxing, you soon felt and looked much better.

Stepping out of the shower and wrapping your body and hair in a towel, you opened the bathroom door and peeked out. There was no sign of Moreno. Now out of the shower, you were getting cold, so you quickly grabbed your bra, panties, socks and shoes and made your way to the guest room on your tiptoes.

Just as he’d said, a set of clothes was waiting for you on the bed. A turquoise t-shirt and a pair of jeans were neatly folded next to the pillow. Setting down your undergarments, you quickly dried yourself before pulling on the clean clothes. They smelt of lavender, and although the jeans were a little tight, they’d do until you got home.

Using the towel, you dried your hair as best you could before combing it through with your fingers. It was at this point you heard movement outside the door and froze. The footsteps paused for a moment before continuing, and you mentally slapped yourself as you remembered it was probably Moreno. It was his house, after all.

You headed out of the guest room towards the kitchen, looking in the bathroom, intending to scoop up your dirty clothes, but they were gone. Moreno must have already taken them, and that suspicion was confirmed as you reentered the kitchen. Moreno stood behind the counter, hair still damp from his shower, carefully putting your soiled clothes into a plastic bag.

“Thanks.” You hadn’t intended to startle him, but you watched him jump all the same as you spoke. “Sorry.” You added sheepishly as he turned to face you.

His eyes looked you over, and his hands paused mid-task as he stared at you. Slowly his cheeks turned a deep pink. 

“They fit.” Moreno smiled a small soft smile that didn’t fully meet his eyes.

“Yes, thank you again, Mr Moreno.” You brushed your hands down the front of the t-shirt smoothing the fabric. 

“Marcus, please.” Moreno’s smile widened as his shoulders relaxed, and he continued to bag up your dust-covered clothes. “After today, I think we’re way past being formal.”

“Ok.” You stepped into the kitchen and leaned on the kitchen counter opposite him. “Thank you for the shower, Marcus. It was very much needed.”

“My pleasure.” His smile finally met his eyes as he handed you the bag. “You were amazing today. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Pfft.” You waved your hand coyly. “All I did was stop the dust blowing around and chat with some ants. You did all the heavy lifting. Literally.”

“Not true.” Marcus leaned on the counter, placing his face directly opposite yours. “With the dust no longer an issue, we were able to get to that man sooner. You were able to quickly find out there was only one person in the rubble. And I may have lifted the beams, but you got him out. Without you there, I couldn’t have gotten that man out in time.”

“We make a good team, then.” You could feel yourself blushing as you let your eyes wander over his handsome face. He was so close to you. Without his glasses, you could clearly see his dark chocolate eyes looking over your own features. His thick dark hair was tousled from the shower, and his shirt and formal trousers had been replaced with a simple grey t-shirt and sweatpants.

“Yes. We do.” He locked eyes with you, and the two of you just stared for a moment. You could feel prickles of excitement on the back of your neck. Then as suddenly as the moment had begun, it was over as Marcus abruptly stood up.

“I… erm… it’s… Missy...” He stammered. “My daughter will be home in a couple of hours, and I need to clean the car and the bathrooms.”

“Right.” You stood up straight. “Right, yeah. I should go then. Leave you to it.”

Marcus nodded, walking you to the front door. You weren’t sure what to say as you left his home. When you came here this morning, you had no idea that he would be so damn nice. And hot. Damn it. He was hot.

“Hot.” You muttered.

“What?”

“Hot, erm, hot action today.” You lied, cursing yourself internally. “If you need me, need to get hold of me, I mean, I can… here’s my number and email.” You dug into your dirty jeans and pulled one of your business cards from your wallet, handing it to Marcus. He nodded and tucked it into his pocket.

~~~~~

You berated yourself for acting like a stupid schoolgirl in front of Marcus for the entire drive home. All he’d had to do was point those big brown eyes at you, and you were a blushing stammering mess. He could seriously weaponise those things, and you were beginning to suspect they were his true superpower.

You shook off your dusty clothes in the parking garage before heading inside to your apartment. These were going to do a number of your washing machine; you just knew it. Once inside, you let out a long, loud sigh before throwing your jeans and t-shirt into the machine. As it sprang to life, you looked down at your borrowed clothes. It wasn’t all bad. At least giving these back would be an excuse to pop round to his house again. Surely he’d want them back.

You stopped dead in your tracks halfway to your bedroom as the realisation hit you like a truck. The clothes. They smelt of lavender as though kept in a closet, probably near one of those little bags people kept to keep clothes smelling nice. They were too big for his daughter. No, these were the clothes of a grown woman. A grown woman who had at one time lived with Marcus.

Oh fuck. These were his wife’s clothes.

~~~~~~~~~~ Tag list: @Anaaaispunk, @littlemisspascal​, @galaxyofmando​, @pintsizemama​, @athalien​, @wondercloud​, @amoriavelton​, @alm0501​, @kinda-nobody

[skylordhorus]

mum and i (and hopefully dad if he decides to finish work early) are having a picnic today and im excited! i havent had a picnic in so long

but our neighbour over the road is up on the scaffolding of the extension theyve insisted on diy-ing (with no safety measures ohhhh my god (also its been like a year now)) and it was so fucking loud yesterday, and if he does it again today i think im entitled to go over there and throw breeze blocks at him

[rianafying]

i wish i could talk to my therapist every day or like every other day, because i can’t seem to talk to my friends or anyone for that matter. i’ve been struggling a lot and nobody really gets me, even if they try. but my therapist comes pretty close. i think i need a restart. with my hair, with my studies, with the state of my room, with my health. correction, i don’t need one, i want one. but i can’t have one, and that’s genuinely fine. just a matter of time till my hair grows out, just a matter of time till my trimester ends and i get a break from studying. just a matter of time till i clean my room. just a matter of time till i learn new things, get a job, have some money, grow older, find myself, make lots of art, listen to music, go on walks, and be older and hopefully happier.

the end of the year is approaching, and it’s always the best time of the year for me. i hope that stays true this year as well. i missed halloween this year, but there will be another halloween next year and the year after that. many occasions to dress up and party. i had a nice day on halloween though, at the dawat and met my babuwabus. i’m a little stressed out about my assignments. but that should be fine. if it isn’t i’ll ask for an extension or something. it should be fine. i get overwhelmed sometimes. but i get through.

i’m okay with my life and how it is. i do get anxious often, but i’m definitely not unhappy. just scared. of things going wrong. but i’m trying. so very hard. always trying.

i’ve been quite the loner lately. but it feels good. i think i like it this way. to only have myself to entertain. all my time is me time. screw instagram tbh. vanity platform. i have to do so much work on instagram for the influencers assignment. and i’m not looking forward to doing that at all. the worst part is that i know exactly what to do and better than everyone else but it’s just that i don’t want to do it. i don’t want to post on social media. at all.

there’s so much i want to have and to be. i wonder if i’ll be around long enough to have lived a full life. i can’t help but feel like i’m too old. i’ve been 22 forever. but i don’t feel like that’s a young age to be. part of me is looking forward to being older and wiser but i also am bothered by the passage of time and all the people who have done exceptional things at half my age. i’ll never be one of those people. because i am not young and i’m not getting younger. in a couple of years, i’ll have wrinkles to worry about. what is all this about? is this it? i mean it’s nice, but is this life? it’s an awful lot of work and little moments of beauty scattered throughout.

romance or children are not happening. neither is single-handedly saving the world. or having an exceptional experience at life. i won’t even write a book about all that i was put through. and i’ll have nothing to write home about and nobody to write to. i’ll have lived a life, just like a few billion others, who have just lived a life. i don’t get all the fuss about trying to extend it. well, i get it i just don’t relate to it. if it was okay to do so i’d probably just end my suffering. or probably not. things have been nice lately. maybe i’ll stay and see how things work out. no grand narrative. no coherent plot line, only twists and turns, surprises and alarms, all throughout the way.

i like it when my neighbours play loud music. they’re probably having fun. and the muffled bass is a nice little addition to the atmosphere in my room. makes me feel like i live among people, like i’m a part of the world. there are other lives being lived just across the hallway. always a good reminder. that i’m not alone. especially tonight people outside are having fun. everyone’s been drunk all day is a public holiday. i wish i could get a public holiday from my inner monologue. i’m kind of getting tired of this constant discussion. not everything needs to be processed. i wish i could calm it down sometimes. even my dreams are so vivid, i wake up feeling under rested.

today i found out that it’s tradition to wear hats and fascinators on melbourne cup day. it’s cute. old people dressing up.

i’ve been wanting to go to the beach. maybe tomorrow. i’ll go to the beach and take a nice snack with me. and i’ll dress up warm because it’s so windy there. i’ll take my speaker.

[heich0e]

If u r still accepting prompts, can u write a fluffy college roommate oikawa short (if u want) 👉👈

oh oh OH roommate tooru who is absolutely hopeless but is Trying His Best™

shrunk oikawa tooru/reader (haikyuu!!) warnings: a little itty bit en ess eff double yew, mostly chaos

"Oikawa?" you were almost scared to call out his name into the quiet apartment, the stillness settled over the quaint two bedroom not far from your university campus too delicate to fracture with a noise too loud.

It was never this quiet, save for late at night when Tooru would sit on the floor of his bedroom and watch game footage on his laptop, noise cancelling headphones snug over his ears. Sometimes he'd watch in the living room, you'd caught him once or twice on your way back from a midnight trip to the kitchen for some water, but usually he holed up in his room when he got this quiet.

But his bedroom door was open.

His shoes were at the door, his coat on the coatrack, his slippers gone from their usual perch just beside the mat that demarcated where entryway met hall.

He had to be home.

Low and behold, a familiar mop of brown hair peeked around the corner, remorseful eyes on you.

"Hey," you smiled in greeting, dropping your backpack on the ground as you stuffed your feet into your slippers. "How was class this morning?" you asked him. He always got home earlier than you did on Tuesdays.

"It was good," Tooru responded, looking away nervously.

You froze.

Tooru 1) was never nervous, and 2) never responded to any question you asked him in less than 200 words.

"Is everything alright?" you asked him, taking a step further into the apartment.

"Wait!" he said, holding his hands up to stop you -- and you paused again.

You looked at him blankly, your stomach dropping.

"I, uh, got home from class this morning and had some free time to kill, so I decided to do some cleaning," Tooru said, reaching up and ruffling his already tousled hair even further.

You held your breath.

"And I happened to notice that you had..."

Not laundry. Not laundry. Not laundry.

"... some laundry that needed to be washed."

You groaned.

"Tooru!" you whined. "We've talked about this!"

And you had talked about it. About a million times, in fact, since the two of you had moved in together four months prior.

Moving out of his family home had been a real leaning curve for Oikawa, who had been doted on by his mother and older sister for most of his life -- and had been too busy with volleyball to, apparently, learn any practical life skills that didn't involve smacking a ball really hard -- and had been forced to adapt quickly to taking care of himself. You, as his roommate, had suffered by extension.

Burned dinners, broken dishes, clogged drains, and endless issues with laundry.

Clothes flying off the drying rack on the narrow balcony that Tooru hadn't pinned down safely enough, leading to the two of you having to go door to door to collect the various garments that had landed on your neighbour's balconies thanks to the wind (and kissing a few of your favourite pairs of socks goodbye.) A single red towel thrown into a load of lights that led to every white piece of clothing either of you owned being tinted a light shade of pink until you got your hands on some bleach and salvaged what you could. And countless articles of clothing fitting you a little bit worse because they had somehow found their way into the dryer.

"What is it this time?" you asked sombrely. You'd already lost more than a few good men (garments) to Tooru's laundry blunders, and you shuddered to think about what might have happened.

"Well, I was doing a load of darks..."

Bleach?

"...and my clothes weren't enough to fill the machine so I just thought that maybe you might have something that needed to be washed..."

Did he overfill it and floor the apartment with soap suds?

"...and I happened to notice your work dress hanging up on the back of the bathroom door..."

You froze.

"Tooru," you said quietly. "You didn't..."

"I swear I checked to see if it said not to put it in the dryer, just like you told me!" Tooru threw his hands up in defence, his expression pleading.

You slapped a hand over your mouth.

"Show me," you said quietly, the word muffled into your palm.

Oikawa sighed, shoulders slumping defeatedly, waving you down the hall to follow him into the living room.

The slinky black cocktail dress you wore to work as a restaurant hostess (that already toed the line of being indecent at the best of times) was haphazardly laying over the arm of the sofa, beside a pile of neatly folded dark laundry. Clearly he'd been examining the damage when you had first walked through the door.

You picked it up.

It had shrunk, that much was clear. But the extent to which it had been affected would be impossible to tell until you actually put it on.

"Tooru, I have to work tonight," you said, shooting him a miserable glance.

"I know, I know," he said apologetically. "That's why I washed it! I was just trying to help."

He pouted, wringing his hands as you examined the dress. It was too late for you to call your manager and tell her you'd need a new one -- it usually took at least a few days to get a replacement. And if you showed up in something else they might send you home, which you couldn't allow because you needed every dollar from your paycheque to go to your bills.

You sighed.

"I'll go see how bad it is."

You shuffled off to the bathroom, dress in hand.

And oh, it was bad.

Your eyes scanned your body as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, mortified.

The hem hit only a few inches below your ass, the material clinging to every curve and line of your body like a second skin. To make matters worse, you were wearing one of your more padded bras that day, and the girls were making themselves very well known as they spilled out over the top of the plunging neckline.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your misery.

"How is it?" Tooru asked from the other side of the thin door.

Your throat was dry.

"Bad," you replied quietly.

"I'm sure it's fine," he assured you, "just let me see."

You paused. Maybe he was right. Maybe you were just being hard on yourself because it was your own body, and it wasn't something you were used to seeing.

You turned the handle of the door, pulling it open slowly.

Oikawa's eyes widened immediately when he saw you, his gaze tracking down down down your body, before slithering all the way back up -- catching on certain parts of you as he went.

You watched him swallow hard.

"You can't wear that." Oikawa shook his head, covering his face with his hand.

"Is it that bad?" you asked, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

He turned away from you for a moment, letting his hands drop to his sides where they curled into fists.

"You can't wear that," he repeated again.

"Tooru, I have no other option!" you groaned. "I know it looks awful but I can't just-"

"You don't look awful."

You paused, your sentence cut short.

Tooru turned to face you again, a fierce blush burning across his cheeks. "You can't wear it because I'm gonna go insane knowing that you're out there, looking like that, with a bunch of strangers looking at you."

You blinked.

"What?" you asked him quietly.

He sighed.

"You really don't get it, do you?"

"Get what, Tooru? That you're bad at doing laundry?" You were utterly lost at what he was alluding to.

"That I like you!" he replied exasperatedly, and both of you froze after he said it -- staring at each other with equally wide eyes.

"You like me?" you asked him quietly, perplexed.

Tooru's brown eyes watched you carefully for a moment, his jaw setting firm. The blush on his cheeks was still present, but it had settled slightly -- though he was sure to keep his eyes on your face.

"Yeah," he took a careful step forward, as though waiting to see if you were going to slink back. "I like you."

His hand reached up, resting against the curve of your neck. You wondered if he could feel how hard your pulse was racing under his palm.

"And I'm gonna have a heart attack if you don't take that dress off soon."

You blinked. Once, then twice. Two slow flutters of your eyelids as you processed the events of the past few moments.

"I have to wear this to work tonight," you said after a moment, and Tooru deflated slightly, stepping away and letting his hand drop with a somber nod.

You caught his wrist as it fell, and Tooru's eyes snapped to you curiously. He watched as you guided his hand down to the (shortened) hem, pressing it against your thigh.

"But how about you take it off me first?"

[potter-loves-malfoy]

Can you please recommend me some auror Harry drarry fics please ?

Hi there I'm so sorry that this is so late that I don't even remember when this ask was sent in! Hope you're still in the mood for some auror Harry fics!

You didn't specify how long you want them to be so I'm reccing both short and long ones. Some of these, even though they have Auror Harry, it's not a focal point of the fic, so they might not quite be what you're looking for. That being said they were too good not to be recced.

Short Fics (<15k)

It Came Without A Warning by p1013

The locker room door had opened, not surprising considering how many other Aurors were involved in the sting, and there was a set of footsteps, ones Harry had learned to recognise over the last three months.

"Malfoy?" he yelled. "Is that you?"

"Piss off, Potter," was the exhausted response, and though Harry knew his recalcitrant partner wouldn't be able to see it, he smiled.

A Series of Neighbourly Epistles by slytherco

Harry finds himself in a very awkward spot when he calls the Aurors on his neighbour… having very loud sex. As in not actually killing anyone. He writes him a disgruntled note and thus begins a very interesting exchange. When they finally decide to meet, Harry’s not quite prepared to find out who his mystery neighbour turns out to be. Or for everything that happens next, for that matter.

So Heal Me by Cunninglinguist

Draco Malfoy, Head Healer of the St. Mungo's Potions Department and resident expert in all things werewolf, is surprised to learn that his next patient is none other than Harry Potter, who was bitten by a wolf during an Auror mission. Between Potter's ability to heal quickly and Draco's extensive experience, it looks like Potter will be out of St. Mungo's in no time, but when certain aspects of werewolf biology surface, feelings that were supposed to stay hidden are revealed, and plans (and professionalism) are thrown to the wind.

Long Fics (15k+)

Regardless of desire, life hands you who you are by sassy_cissa

When Draco finds himself wrongly accused – of course it's Potter who swoops in to save the day. Isn't it always Potter?

Ardour of Karma by XxTheDarkLordxX

“Malfoy knows something is going on with you and unless you both want to go back to fighting and death glares, you should fix it.”

“How do I do that? Just waltz up to him and say, ‘I know I’ve been a prat but your scent makes my dick swell. How’s your day?’”

“Mind repeating that?”

The familiar drawl had Harry’s throat clamming up as his blood ran cold. Oh no.

Risks worth Taking by keyflight790

Draco and Harry broke up 78 nights ago. Only a miracle (or perhaps an errant spell) could bring them back together.

the strength to stay by violetclarity

Draco and Harry are the best Senior Aurors in the DMLE, which is why they’re working the case about Wings – a dangerous new potion that sends users into a dreamscape from which they may never return. When Harry is kidnapped by the group behind Wings, Draco takes it upon himself to go after him, and is forced to confront the reality of Harry’s feelings for him, which he’s been ignoring for years.

Cabin in the Forest by justdrarryme

Of course Harry would get partnered with Malfoy when Ron leaves the Aurors, nothing in his life could ever be easy. What he hadn't counted on though were his feelings for the other man.

Or, Harry and Draco get trapped in a Bundling Bed and are forced to work their shit out.

Naked by bixgirl1

Harry and Draco are sent on an undercover assignment to catch a Dark wizard — which might not be so bad if it weren't at a Muggle nudist resort.

Now Draco has to deal with a very interested Harry, temptation he's long-since learned to ignore, and threats around every corner — including the one to his heart.

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by firethesound

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

The Ordeal of Being Known by louisfake

When Auror Potter is anonymously cursed with silence by being forced to hide his own voice inside his mind, there's unfortunately only one person in the country with the qualifications to fix it: Certified and Licensed Healer Legilimens, Draco Malfoy, specialist in Mind Curses and Afflictions. It's obviously a terrible idea, a disaster waiting to happen, but Draco's never been able to back down from a challenge... especially from Potter.

Features fuzzy cartoon slippers, devious house elves, 90s music, and lots—LOTS—of memories. Ron is annoyingly hot, Hermione sees right through you, Harry is a powerful idiot, and Draco is a reclusive masochist that would buy an entire city if it would make a kid happy. (And Pansy is "5'2, I wanna dance with you, and I'm sophisticated fun.")

Teenage Wasteland by GallaPlacidia

(This one is former auror Harry for the majority of the fic but, a great read! Or listen, as it is also available in podfic form)

Draco never thought he’d end up as the sole guardian of a troubled teenage girl. Harry never thought he’d end up a werewolf. Being twenty-two is hard.

Live to Remember, Remember to Live by Mosrael

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has just taken on a new case involving a dangerous experimental potion. Neuromagicologist and Potions Master Draco Malfoy is the one man in Britain who may be able to determine what it does and who’s brewing it. Harry Potter just feels lucky that he gets to tag along.

In Pursuit of Lost Marbles by Theartfulldodger

(This one is also ex-auror Harry but, again an amazing, heartbreaking read!)

Every night after work, Healer Malfoy follows the same routine, beginning with a familiar flight of stairs that leads to the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's. With an air of professionalism, he introduces himself to Harry, his husband of seven years, when a memory curse makes Harry look at him like a stranger. He tries not to flinch when Harry calls him sir, but he smiles when bits of the old Harry emerge. Eventually, Draco leads Harry to the Pensieve where he shows him pieces of the life they've built together, what Harry will come home to, one day, when this is all over.

Then, Draco waits. He waits, and he hopes.

And an Owl Named Romeo by Rickey

Draco breeds owls, Harry's an Auror, and an owl named Romeo is going to bring them together.

[espressokiri]

Ok, I have a request! Class 1-A with a classmate who's a witch and is very curious about quirks since she didn't know anyone with quirks growing up (really like's Baku, Kiri, Nejire, Kami and Todoroki's quirks, she thinks they're pretty)

Class 1A x F!Reader

In which Class 1A deals with a classmate who has been hidden from the world of quirks and practices witchcraft.

Warnings: Possible wrong depiction of witchcraft (I was not sure if you meant witchcraft like something from the MCU or actual practice so I'll mix them both in.)

Genre: Fluff

It was a sight for neighbouring students to see class 1-A flabbergasted. It was especially pleasing for the one and only Monoma Neito of class 1-B, who was cackling in the background, to hear something as absurd coming out of Y/n's mouth.

"So you're saying it's not magic but a mutation in human genetics?"

"How are you even in class 1-A without a quirk or knowledge about quirks?"

Y/n shrugged and pointed at Aizawa who merely slapped her hand away at the rude manner.

"Y/n may be quirkless but she has shown something far more spectacular for someone as mundane as her, something I don't believe anyone with a quirk could achieve." Aizawa drawled, "Y/n is a witch and has mastered the art of witchcraft."

"Isn't that technically a quirk?"

"Whoa a real witch! In our school!"

"Do you ride broom sticks?!"

"Whoa! Do you have a wand? Is it like that really old movie, Harry Potter?"

It's going to be a long day.

»»—————————————————————————-————-««

"You're like a human firework!"

"HUH? WHAT'D YOU SAY WITCH?"

Bakugou's hands released his quirk dangerously close to Y/n's face but she kept staring in awe, despite the loud sounds the small explosions emitted, Y/n found it absolutely amazing at how the human body was able to create such a thing.

"Your quirk is so cool!"

"EH? OF COURSE IT IS! I'LL BE THE NUMBER ONE HERO!"

"THERE ARE HERO RANKINGS???"

»»—————————————————————————-————-««

"Kaminari! I don't know if you know this but you could definitely come in handy during medical situations! That electricity you can produce can help someone restart their heart! Like a defibrillator! You’re like a stun gun, defibrillator, and a generator! Three-in-one!”

Kaminari had grown increasingly red as Y/n went on about his quirk, never has the boy been this ecstatic about this own quirk until this new girl showed up and praised him every second. Ego slightly inflating each time. 

“T-thanks Y/n! I’ll be the best hero for you!”

“Yes, you will! With all this practice you’ll even stop frying your brain after extensive amounts of voltage discharge! You’ll be unstoppable!”

“Marry me.”

“What was that?”

“AH! N-Nothing!” 

Kaminari continued to let out a screech as he spotted multiple spiders around the training room they were in, “ah, Loki must be calling me.”

“E-EH?”

Kaminari had forgotten she worked with a norse deity.

»»—————————————————————————-————-««

“Awe man I ran out of matches and lighters.”

Y/n was pouting as she gently held a candle in-between her hands, She was ready to make an offering to Loki but had no access to lighting up the candle. She knocked on the door across from her room and waited patiently.

The door swung open, revealing a confused Todoroki as he stared down at his new classmate. “I was wondering if you have a lighter or a matchstick? I need to light this candle urgently.”

Todoroki stared at her with furrowed eyebrows before he lifted his pointer finger up, a small flame barely licking his skin.

Y/n blinked once. Twice.

“I FORGOT ABOUT QUIRKS!”

Todoroki ignored her outburst and lit the candle with ease.

“Loki would like you! You’re half flame! Well, I think he’d like you.” Y/n muttered as Todoroki looked slightly intrigued. “Who is Loki?”

“Oh! He’s a deity I work with! I needed to light this candle to give him my offerings!”

“Offerings?”

“Yeah! He really likes cinnamon or candy!”

“How does he help you?”

“Well, he gets me out of tight situations, I don’t really know how to explain that but he does help! That and helps me own up to my problems or situation! There’s so much more but I don’t want to take up too much of your time! Thank you for your help, Todoroki.”

Before Y/n could go, Todoroki stopped her. “Maybe one day I can learn more?”

Y/n’s eyes shone bright at his interest and nodded excitedly.

»»—————————————————————————-————-««

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE DEATH CARD?” Kirishima screeched.

“It’s not a bad card! It just means you’re afraid of the changes that will come or that are happening in your life right now!” Y/n reassured as she placed it back in her tarot deck and shuffled them. Kirishima calmed slightly and slumped back down in his seat.

“Hey, Kirishima?”

“Hm?”

“Can I see your quirk?”

“Uh, sure. It’s nothing special or flashy!”

Y/n scooted closer to the male and pressed a finger to his arm, Kirishima gave her a confused glance before hardening the area her finger was prodding. “Whoa!”

“Do it again!”

“Eh?”

“Again! Again!”

Kirishima could swear she looked like a child at that very moment, excited at the thought of feeling his quirk despite him being nonchalant about it. “Oh man that’s so cool! I wish I had a quirk, or knew about them! It sucks how my parents kept me around the quirkless so I wouldn’t get bullied or something. That’s what they said anyway, but look at me now! In U.A! Filled with people with quirks!”

“You’re so cool, Y/n.”

The words came out before Kirishima could process them.

Y/n smiled at him before focusing back on her cards, “lets see where these cards take me.”

Immediately a card falls out and Y/n picks it up before flinging it across the room. It was The Tower.

“NO!”

»»—————————————————————————-————-««

(A/n) Hey there! I hope you like this depiction of your request, I did try to write Nejire’s but despite having caught up with the manga and seeing more of her quirk being used in it, I need more visuals and detailed information regarding her quirk as my brain simply cannot understand it. I do know it is motion waves and it’s a really powerful quirk but I do not know enough information about it to be able to write to my satisfaction. I apologize for leaving her out.

[creativeashproductions]

Permanence // Luke Patterson

Summary: On the run for most of her life the reader had been accustomed to being a lone wolf in world with eyes everywhere. Living in the age of technology and life online makes it hard for a girl stuck in a permanent state at nineteen physically. All things change when the reader moves next door to a healing teenager and her ghostly band.

Warning: Swearing, loss of death, talk of injuries/hospital,  angst, and fluff

Words: 5.1k (yikes)

A/N: Loosely based on the film Age of Adaline. Also includes a scene using the BBC show Call the Midwife as well. I’ve been MIA due to this fic. I love it.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

The love tingled in your lips as the taxi pulled away from the curb leaving behind the white-haired woman. Your hand raised to wave as the woman turned into a speck in the review mirror but never far from your heart and thoughts.

“Going on a trip?” The taxi driver questioned taking a right turn with a jarring sensation. His brown eyes speedily meeting yours, “Does your mom grandma live in San Francisco?”

A mournful smile appeared on the wrinkle-free complexion, “Something like that.”

The reply didn’t faze the driver in a big city he had chosen to make his living with for his family, he had heard worse. The airport reared its head with the big heavily populated by tourists and loud machinery of transport.

The royal blue wool jacket concealed the black blouse tucked into the grey, and black tartan fitted trousers. Paired with the black velvet kitten heels that had been in your possession for a very long time. Hair left down in the soft waves and makeup natural for the plane right.

The flight was over quickly for the young woman with her carry on, and purse collected you immediately headed to baggage claim. The suitcase was easy found and lifted off the conveyor belt with little trouble. Your expressive eyes finding the taxi, some may call you old fashioned for not ‘ubering’, but it was a nostalgic action.

“Where to?” The taxi driver asked with pretty blue eyes shadowed by the crows’ feet at the corner’s of her eyes. Swiftly you listed off the address to the house you had bought with your vast savings, “Half hour ride.”

You settled back into the leather seat as the city passed by with the memories staunchly kept in a locked box escaping. Los Angeles had been the location of the only family trip you had had in your late teens.

Los Angeles, 1936

“Darling! This Samuel, he owns the restaurant up the beach.” Theodore’s bright white smile gleamed as he returned to your side, “He’s personally invited us to celebrate the first night of our life together.

The pleated cark charcoal pants held up with black suspenders snuggle atop the button-down shirt of denim blue colour. The shirt left with the top two buttons undone revealing the white undershirt. Shiny polished black shoes on Theodore’s feet he was dressed as perfect as the day he caught your runaway hat.

“Oh, thank you.” You told the shy man as he led you up to the well-known restaurant with the gorgeous view of the water.

Samuel went further by providing his best table in the house, leaving the host annoyed at the interruption. The dinner was spent with Theodore listing off the itinerary for the week in the city. From visiting the museums to watching a film at the Los Angeles Theatre recommended by Theodore’s connection from work.

“You like to share a dessert Darling?” Theodore asked tenderly holding your soft hand in his smooth one. His smile never faded as you declined his offer satisfied with the large meal from the five-course dinner.

“I’d much prefer the comfort of our hotel room.” Your lips ended the words with a smile that paired well with the glittering eyes. Theodore’s heart expanded as his wife’s smile, he had fallen in love with first.

“The hotel placed a nice bottle of champagne in our room,” Theodore spoke once the bill was taken care of. He pulled your chair out to help you slip on the navy blue wool jacket on from the back of your chair, “You are absolutely beautiful.”

“Still as charming as ever.” You whispered gazing up at him with such love. 

You had loved Theodore from the first chaperoned date at sixteen with the handsome eighteen-year-old that had saved your hat. The wind that day had been unbearable as you walked the beach of San Francisco with your mother. At seventeen, you wed; a mere few days previous. Theodore came from a well-off family but worked as an engineer for the city.

“We’re here.” The taxi driver spoke as the car pulled to a stop at a pretty house painted a blue with white accents.

Mumbling a thank you the driver took off once your belongings found ground on the sidewalk and the fare paid. The house door unlocked with a click revealing the furnishing you had sent and hired a company to build. The boxes of personal belongings had arrived in boxes the previous day and awaited unpacking.

The first order of business on your to-do list was changing the locks as well as testing the safety alarm. The next few hours you unpacked your kitchen and clothing as the locksmith took his time finishing up previous appointments.

Your hand hovered over the oval golden framed photo of your wedding day with Theodore with a smile on both your faces. You didn’t look a day older than the day you married Theodore even if it had been so long. The familiar clench at the sight of the man happened every time you saw the photo.

“You’d be so proud of Rosie.” Your index finger caressed the elegant picture of your first love with a mournful emotion.

Pulled from the sad memories as the doorbell rang signalling the arrival of the locksmith. The appointment was swift before you finished unpacking the living room from the bookcase to the picture frames. As the minute handle circled the clock face, you settled in for the simple meal.

“Tea on the porch.” You sighed curling into the cherry red Adirondack chair in the front porch watching as children went inside their houses.

It wasn’t how you had anticipated your life dreaming of a life with a family in a lovely home. You never expected to live in fear for your life, and your child’s as the second World War reared its ugly head. You never envisioned having to move every few years to keep safe. Lastly, you had never foreseen watching Rosie’s hair turn white before your own. You thought you’d be buried beside your husband after a long life. So far, it had been too long at this point with your childhood friends all dead.

 “Hi.” The voice of a teenage girl spoke. Your gaze left your lukewarm tea for the girl at the bottom of your porch.

Strands of her curly textured hair pulled away from her face it revealed her clear tawney complexion. The most expressive brown eyes framed with thick lashes that took your breath away with the kindness in them.

“You just moved in right?” The girl asked as you climbed down the steps to the younger teenager, “I’m Julie Molina, I live next door.”

 “Hello Julie, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” You spoke, shaking the extended hand of the young girl inspecting her.

Her fashion was obviously of the current time whereas your own style was a mixture of different eras. The style fits in but touches to bring in the past decades you had lived through.

“Where are your parents?” Julie asked with a furrowed brow.

“I live alone.” You replied sighing as the confusion flashed in the younger teen’s eyes before you elaborated, “I’m nineteen. I bought the house, my parents live in my home state.”

They weren’t living, but they were buried in the cemetery with the other family members that had since passed. Unless a freak accident happened, your plot near your husband wouldn’t be filled. The only person who knew the truth was Rosie, she was your daughter.

“Wow! That’s cool.” Julie beamed glancing over her shoulder as her phantom friends poofed in behind her.

The sudden appearance startled you and while it was confusing you had become well acquainted with weird. You hadn’t aged a day since a stormy night on the country roads in 1938 heading to pick up Rosie. You barely flinched at the appearance.

“Oh damn, Julie’s neighbour is hot.” The leather jacket one spoke scanning the newcomer with an awed expression.

The boy with the sleeveless top sharing the same awed expression. Whereas the blonde in pink’s breath released in an exasperated sigh. Only a corner of your lips twitched up at realization this must happen quite a bit.

“I should head back inside. I have a few more boxes to unpack. It was lovely to meet you, Julie.” Your eloquent words taking the boys by surprise from the lack of modern language and slang. You didn’t use any of the terms that Julie and Flynn spoke in.

Luke followed Julie with glances over his shoulder to the back of the mysterious girl closing her front door. It wasn’t often Luke was intrigued by anything other than his music. Still, something about you was the most interesting thing. Not even touring some of his favourite bands’ personal homes was as interesting.

“C’mon Luke!” Reggie called out to the lingering teenage ghost. Unbeknownst to the retreating guitarist, your curtain had been pulled away as you peeked at him.

Over the next few weeks, you had become acquainted with Julie, even admitting to seeing the boys. It was a mess of Reggie blushing at your revelation of hearing his comments on your beauty. It wasn’t earth-shattering, but it was a friend group.

Two months later, over the course of a week, you withdrew from the group for the comfort of your living room. A garbage bin for used tissues as it sank in once more that the anniversary of Theodore’s death rolled around. 82 years since he was tragically killed.

You looked a mess and barely reacted when the four friends to it upon themselves to enter your home. Your hazy mind barely caught onto the arrival as Julie ushered your saddened form to the bathroom.

As Julie helped dress you, taking it from the extensive closet, the boys cleaned up the living room, and Alex poofed out. He returned with a pizza he began cooking coming to a stop at Luke’s gaping gaze at the mantel above the fireplace.

“What’s wrong?” Alex demanded rushing to the guitarist side equally shocked. Perfect timing as you came back into the living room with Julie.

“That’s Theodore.” The words came out gravely from the lack of use for the past few days. Your feet brought you to the side of the three boys, “It was raining the day. The sky broke when we left the church.”

“That’s you?” Reggie inquired frantically glancing between the old photo and your exact replica of the picture.

Julie gasped at the sight picking out the scar on the edge of your forehead barely seen in the photo but the matching appearance remarkable. The soft smile appeared as your hand came to grab the frame remembering the lovely day—the beautiful ceremony and the small reception before heading out for the honeymoon.

“Theodore Prescott was eighteen when I first saw him on the beach in San Francisco. Mother and I chose a windy for a walk; my hat blew away. Straight into the trousers of a young man that I would fall in love with instantly.” Your smile grew as your form settled back on the couch, having traded the frame for an old album. The four people were quiet.

“We married a year later in 1937, I was seventeen years old. Theodore whisked me off to Los Angeles for our honeymoon. We dined at fancy establishments, caught a film at the Los Angeles Theatre.” Your smile faded, leading Julie’s heart to clench as she knew that expression from seeing it in the mirror, “He was an engineer.”

“What happened?” Julie questioned grasping your soft hand in her own hand, focusing her eyes on your face. Your face remembering one of the most challenging times.

“Theodore was an engineer for the construction of the Golden Gate Bridge. A section of the bridge collapsed taking three men down. Theodore was one of them.” A lone tear travelled down your cheek, “It was difficult grieving my husband and caring for our daughter.”

Luke’s gasp was audible, “Are you a ghost?”

“No.” You told the seventeen-year-old guitarist, “I’ve been nineteen for the last 83 years.”

“Eighty-three years?!” Reggie exclaimed completely taken aback blinking fast to take it in, “Did you find a fountain of youth? Some special French creams?”

“Reg, shut up.” Alex elbowed the raven-haired teenager in the side with an apologetic smile, “I’d apologize and say he isn’t normally like this…but you know us too well.”

“It’s alright Alex,” You told the drummer fiddling with his ring as you returned back to Reggie, “It was storming in 1938, but I had promised to meet my parents and Rosie at the cabin. Visibility got worse, and I fishtailed right off the road into the ravine. I’m not sure the science but I know I died, and then I woke up.”

“This so weird,” Luke mumbled listening intently to the story with wide eyes that quickly matched his friends.

“Believe it’s shocking when your daughter graduates from college with her mother looking younger than her.” The bitter chuckle couldn’t be held back, remembering it as the first time you were retitled as Rosie’s sister.

“I just got used to being a ghost.” Alex sighed, settling into the armchair to the left of the couch. Luke sat on the couch next to you while Reggie took the armchair across from Alex.

As the sun rose higher and began to set, you enthralled the teenagers with stories of your long life. Luke was the most interested in the music you have seen evolve over the course of time, and the musicians you had met. In telling them stories, it allowed you to step out of the dark abyss of your mind.

“Freddie Mercury?” Luke asked from the other cherry red Adirondack chair turned to see you in the matching one.

“I had coffee with him in a little hole in the wall coffee shop in New York. He loved whip cream, but he didn’t like the dairy they used. The shop is now a Starbucks.”

The giggle escaped at Luke’s look of absolute awe, “That’s so rad.”

“Rad. Haven’t heard that in a long time.” The sparkle for sure would have sent Luke’s heart thudding like Alex’s drumming in Now or Never; if it still beat that is.

“…so do you think people can fall in love more than once?” Luke had been very undecided in asking the question. Everyone around could tell he felt something for you so unlike any other relationship.

You kissed your teeth, thinking about how to properly articulate your thoughts on such a heavy subject. It was clear that you felt something for the teenage ghost even if you had lived far longer than Luke had.

“I think it’s possible. Luke, I’ve lived a long time and while I’ll love Theodore for as long as I live that doesn’t mean I have been alone.” You revealed to the ghostly guitarist stepping back in a part of your history buried incredibly deep.

“The way you were torn up made me think-“

“I’ll always mourn Theodore, I had a year, and that was never enough. I worked as a midwife in England in the late 1960s.”

Poplar, London, England circa 1960s

The blonde-haired bombshell marched her way through the crowded Poplar district in London scanning the late-night Christmas shoppers. Beatrix, Trixie to her friends, had a young mother a mere street away. The only available midwife to help her happened to be off duty shopping for gifts. 

Trixie was thankful for the American accent that distinguished the midwife from the crowd, pointing her towards a store window. Your eyes dragged away from the lovely young mother giving her thanks for delivering her baby a few months prior.

“Trixie!” You beamed, revealing a white smile that lit up your pretty eye colour. Trixie’s anxious expression dropped the smile, however, “Is something wrong?”

“Jenny Turner is in labour. Tom is with her right now, but I need help. Everyone is further away.”

In seconds you had pulled the charcoal cape secured by the bands crisscrossing your shoulders to properly rest. The cloak had armholes with material covering the holes, no sleeves seen. The cape covered the plain light blue nurse uniform with the white-collar and the maroon red cardigan.

Trixie led you to the small apartment housing twenty-one-year-old, Jenny, with Reverend Tom Hereward waiting. This would be Jenny’s second child with her husband Roger leaving the midwife’s nervous after her first pregnancy.

“Hello, Jenny.” You spoke stepping closer to the woman, “Trixie said you requested my presence.”

“You delivered my first baby. I want you here, Roger a county away for work.” Jenny heavily spoke as a contraction ended, “I’m not due for two weeks.”

“Baby Turner is too excited to meet their big brother.” You soothed settling beside the young mother, “You’re in great hands with Trixie. You are close to the hospital and the clinic if you’d prefer to move.”

“No. I want to stay.” Jenny was sure of that, at least. Her hand left yours to clench the white bedsheets as a contraction clenched her midsection.

“Then I’ll be right here with you.” 

It was a promise you kept as Trixie delivered a healthy baby girl appreciating your help when you cleaned the baby. Trixie helped Jenny deliver the afterbirth and clean up the room just in time for Jenny’s mother to enter the room.

“I came as soon as I could.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” Jenny spoke with a small tired smile. The smile that made the job worth watching babies being born, of family’s growing.

Tom was waiting outside in the living room as you exited the bathroom. Your heart fluttered at the sight of the Reverend Hereward waiting for you with his patient smile and a tender look in his blue gaze.

“How is Jenny?” Tom asked, holding the door to the street open.

“Tired after delivering Cynthia. Cynthia is an eight-pound baby with no complications. Thank you for praying Tom.”

“Trixie informed me of Jenny’s first pregnancy, and I felt like I was needed. Do you happen to be free tomorrow night?” Tom asked, linking his fingers in yours with a smile that almost looked nervous.

“I am.” You responded as Tom walked you to Nonnatus House where the unmarried midwives resided. You stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, “Good night Tom.”

“I’ll meet you at the park,” Tom responded, waiting patiently as you entered the building before he turned on his heel to head to his residence. Unknown to him, you peered down from your bedroom window as he pulled something out of his pocket.

A small box housing a ring he would propose with the very next night. A ring that broke your heart. A ring that you’d never see up close as you handed in your resignation and left England as quickly as possible.

Luke’s invested gaze shuttered as you revealed you had run away before Tom could propose because it could never happen.

“He was going to propose, and you didn’t say goodbye?”

“I don’t know if I could have said no when he asked. I wish I knew what I would have said, but it was unfair. How could Tom, as a Reverend, accept that his fiancée or wife would never grow old? It went against everything he believed in.” You countered with a raised eyebrow, “He married the midwife that was hired a year after I left. Barbara Gilbert. Trixie sent me the letter.”

Luke’s perceptive eyes caught the tinge of sadness in your gaze recalling the second man you had loved. You loved with your whole heart and with that came a lot of heartbreak.

“Do you keep in contact with them?”

“I send a letter to Trixie every once in a while, to check up on her. She married a few years after I left and had a few children. I believe she had a step-daughter.”

Luke’s mouth went to open before a flash of light, and a slight gasp was heard from the blonde drummer. His eyebrows raised as the close proximity between his best friend and his new friend. He shook it off as he turned to face Luke fully.

“Did you forget? We have a gig.” Alex spoke amused as Luke’s eyes widened theatrically vividly recalling the excitement in Julie’s eyes.

You waved the duo off to disappear in a ball of light to the gig they had for the night while you entered your home. You didn’t hear Alex make a comment that Luke couldn’t deny.

“You’ve fallen for her,” Alex spoke just outside the coffee shop that housed the record execs with the power to change their afterlife. The quirk of a smile sealed Alex’s opinion of the girl.

Content to spend your time in the house you retreated to the kitchen. Your hand slipped into your pocket for the phone that had few contacts such as Rosie and Julie’s along with the number of Rosie’s doctor. Mostly pictures of Rosie and landscapes but never your face, not after the 1953 incident.

Living next door to the Molina’s you often shared recipes with Ray, he had taken you under his wing. He felt empathetic with the young neighbour he saw you as a daughter almost, unaware that it would the other way around. You had years on the widowed father.

The wooden spoon stirred the sizzling stir-fry that had been a fixture in raising a rambunctious little girl interested in skinny her knees. The stir-fry was the quickest meal while Rosie played outside or in the little play corner with her dolls. It seemed like the world knew when your phone rang.

“Hello, darling.” You spoke securing the phone between your neck and shoulder, “Did you teach Gladys poker?”

The silence was stifling, “Is this Y/N Y/L/N?”

A cold sweat broke out as the unfamiliar voice came from Rosie’s cell phone roused the deep-seated fear of loss. The wooden spoon in your hand clattered on the tile flooring of the modest-sized kitchen.

“Your grandmother Rosemary Prescott tripped over a cane. You’re her emergency contact.”

“Has she been admitted to the hospital? How extensive are her injuries? Let me get a pen and grab the address.” You rambled frantically scouring the kitchen for the notepad, “Was she alone?”

“She’s still being seen by the doctor, and I’m unable to reveal the details over the phone. Her friend Gladys was there, and she hasn’t left your grandma’s side.” The person responded in an even tone with the failed intention of soothing you.

“What’s the address?”

“I’m a nurse at Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital and Trauma Center.” The nurse prattled off, providing the address and visiting hours. 

As soon as the call ended, you had quickly grabbed a quick bite from the meal before packaging it up. Next, you dug out the small suitcase to pack the essentials with the mental capacity of a zombie. The bag was stowed in the backseat of the car while you kept your purse on your shoulder.

You barely comprehended knocking on the Molina door or Ray opening it, “Hello Y/N.”

“Ray. Tonight, I made stir-fry, I’ll be out of town for a few days.” You told the man catching sight of both Carlos and Julie in the background.

“Are you okay?” Ray questioned taking the container from your shaking hands, “Do you need us to do anything?”

“Could I have a h-hug?” You stuttered feeling a smidge better than the older man tugged you in for a hug. Two pairs of arms joined with the Molina kids ambushing you.

“You’re coming back, right?” The question came from the concerned hazel-eyed guitarist watching the interaction with a particular look. A look he knew came from not being able to comfort you.

“I’ll be back once I know Rosie is okay.” You replied, locking eyes with Luke over Ray’s shoulder earning a tender smile from the male.

“I’ll pray for your Grandma,” Ray spoke, stepping back to let both Julie and Carlos say their goodbyes to their neighbour. Everyone but Carlos and Ray half-heartedly smirking at Ray’s belief that Rosie was older than you.

Unlike typical times you didn’t linger in the Molina home with the distracted thoughts of Rosie injured with her mother with her. Rosie is the only thing you would drop anything for, the love of a mother and her child. So distracted by your thoughts you didn’t notice Luke had appeared right beside you.

“Are you driving?” Luke asked, tapping his shoe on the porch step, bringing your sad eyes to meet his, “Or are you taking a plane?”

“A plane. It’s a five-hour drive to San Francisco from here not taking in traffic time. I bought a last-minute ticket.” You replied, heading straight for the car with Luke hot on your heels to the vintage car.

Half of you wanted to refuse his evident intention to join you, but a part of you yearned for the comfort. A stroke of luck had a plane seat beside yours empty, time didn’t exist, but it dragged on at the same time. So lost in thoughts you never noticed the brush on a pinkie on your skin.

While you stared off in the distance, Luke’s jaw was dropped at the silky feel of your skin. Words bubbled up his throat just before he knew it wasn’t the right time to bring it up. Instead, he chose different words to regale you with stories of his childhood.

“I begged for a dog when I was eight years old. Reggie had this golden retriever his family had before he was born. My dad was allergic in the end, so I was content with Reggie’s dog.” Luke spoke, “That didn’t mean I didn’t sneak in this stray one night. We kept him in the garage while we found him a forever home.”

“What was his name?”

“Fender.” Luke sheepishly spoke, catching the tweak of your smile as the clouds in your eyes cleared for a few minutes. Luke loved being able to ease your mind through the flight, not holding back on the embarrassing stories either.

“Thank you.” You told the easy natured teenager with a familiar flutter in your chest that terrified you.

You could name only one other time you had felt that flutter when everything was easy. 1936 with a man you thought would be your one and only. Feeling something that strong for a ghost was incredibly scary.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Luke asked just outside the closed hospital door, separating you from your daughter. Your lips parted to deny his question but you couldn’t so you simply shook your head.

“Come in!” The voice was prompt after knocking on the door. Opening the door, you found Rosie’s grinning in her bed with Gladys at her side, scolding her.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” Gladys spoke shuffling by you out of the door with a quick hug. The second Gladys closed the door, your eyebrows furrowed.

“Rosemary Elspath Prescott. What were you thinking?” You crossed your arms walking closer to Rosie, “You know your ankle hasn’t been the same-“

“-since I shattered during a cheer comp in college. Mama, I know. It was an accident.” Rosie softly spoke just before her gaze met Luke’s with fear planted squaring in her blue gaze. Luke’s lips parted, “He knows?”

“Oh.” Luke blinked at the sudden new change in his afterlife with Rosie actually seeing him, “I’m Luke.”

“This is going to sound craz-“

“Mama, you’ve been nineteen for over eight decades. I think we’ve hit the crazy already, tell me. Before I get a bad heart.” Rosie joked with that twinkle you saw countless times over the years.

The first time you saw it was when you found her on the counter at age two when she learned how to climb. Other times included her sneaking out to a senior party with her friends and the teasing she started when she got her first grey hair.

“You better have taken our discussion about your salt intake serious young lady.” You pointed at her mere seconds before your shoulders dropped. You leaned down to kiss the crown of her head, “Luke’s a ghost.”

Rosie’s lips parted, staring down the boy before whispering very softly in your ear, “Well. At least he doesn’t age. You look happy with him Mama, I’m not getting any younger, and he’s really cute.”

“Don’t talk like that.” The low response came out broken at the horrible future where you would bury Rosie. 

A cold hand landed on your waist as you stretched to place an ornament on the tree you chose with Luke. The wire hugged the branch a ghost of a kiss pressed against your cheek, a moment of quiet in the loud house. Reggie and Alex had been baking cookies with Rosie for the last two hours. Julie was finishing her family dinner at her home before she would come over.

“Merry Christmas,” Luke murmured tugging you in his chest. A flutter of butterflies moving in your tummy.

Once Rosie had been discharged from the hospital, she had been convinced to temporarily move to Los Angeles. For the first time since Rosie’s senior year in high school, you got to live with her. Subtlety had never been her strong suit with nagging you and Luke about getting together.

“Merry Christmas.” You replied, stretching to peck his lips once before cuddling into his chest with the thick sweater.

“Would you like a cookie…Dad.” Rosie teased, bringing a tray into the living room with the gooey chocolate chips.

Another revelation other than being able to touch the boys was that once Julie saved them from Caleb, they could eat small quantities. They couldn’t eat a lot, and they didn’t need it, but it was a comfort to the group.

 “That’s so weird.” Alex chortled, taking in the shocked and uncomfortable expression Luke had. Reggie beamed with a mouthful of cookie. This was the first Christmas the boys had surrounded by only acceptance, love, and untainted happiness.

“How about we stick to Luke?” Rosie chuckled just as weirded out by the odd age gap and the forever youth the couple displayed. 

While Rosie interacted with the arrival of both Flynn and Julie, you curled into Luke’s embrace taking in the room. Julie and Flynn listened to the rebellious stories Rosie carried. Alex had retreated to the kitchen with a guy with shoulder-length brunette hair. Reggie was involved in a conversation with Ray; another unexplained phenomenon after the Orpheum.

Your eyes found the mantle with the picture of Theodore and you. Right beside it a lovely photo with Luke dipping you in a kiss and besides that picture was the very last picture of Luke with his parents. How lucky you had been in the years you had lived to end up with a chosen family.

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[peaches-writes]

full circle

description: even if you’ve only known him for eight years, if you think about it, you’ve actually been with minho for most of his entire life. member: minho / lee know genre: fluff, historical au, vampire au, time traveler au, college au, neighbour au, best friends to lovers au, fem reader, this is a longer and revised version of reliable source word count: 10k warnings: explicit language, mentions of animal murder, war, death, blood, alcohol note: yay a third entry to the seven hundred and one universe! oc from seven hundred and one universe is named shiyeon here while the oc from kart rider is named soojung! + this prolly has a lot of plot holes & is just generally mediocre but whatever it’s fiction lmao + @skzwriternet​

present: February 13, 2020

Even before he saw you on the other side of his apartment door at 9 PM with all of your work materials and equipment, Minho already knew full well that this day was coming. He’s always known most days are coming. He‘s just more excited for this in particular than the rest, given its inevitability that he‘s lived through for almost 600 years of his total 900 years as a vampire. Tonight, as evidenced by the Google Docs displayed on your open laptop, is the night you’d travel to the past for your doctorate thesis and meet his past self for the first time. 

He just didn’t expect this in particular to be on the day right before Valentine’s Day, when he and his two other housemates have decided to make a complete mess out of the kitchen with all of the chocolate they’ve been trying to make.

“Hi, sorry for bothering you at this hour but I was thinking—ew, what’s that smell?” You instinctively and bluntly ask first, sniffing the air escaping his side of the door. Minho could smell it too, strongly at that, and the older vampire could only purse his lips and widen his eyes at you. “Are you guys—please don’t tell me you’re actually cooking humans this ti—“

At that, he immediately shakes his head and breaks out into a nervous laugh, pulling the door closer to his body and effectively hiding Jisung scrambling around for the exhaust (and maybe the fire extinguisher too, for some reason) before you could peer over his shoulder. “No, no! It’s just Jisung and Jeongin—well, it’s mostly Jeongin then he dragged Jisung in on it—they’re making Valentine’s Day chocolates for...some people.”

You could sense the slight bluff in his tone (supported further by the little heart-shaped candy on his cheek) and that at least one of those ‘some people’ he could possibly be referring to is one of your friends, Nari, whom Jeongin has not-so-discreetly been pining over since your second year of college, but you easily let it slide. In the eight years you’ve known the vampires who live and own your apartment complex, after all, you’ve definitely walked in on much wilder things than a couple of questionably burnt chocolates (chocolates aren’t even cooked, as far as you’re concerned!). “Um, okay, sure, I’ll trust you with that.” You squint your eyes at him. “Anyway, can I come in? I need your help with something.” 

Minho exhales a small sigh of relief which he turns into a smile for you before looking over his shoulder once to make sure that the coast is clear then opening the door wide once again. “Yeah, come on in.” He concludes next, picking up your backpack on the floor and your heavy laptop in your hands as you cross the threshold. “But it’s really messy in the common area right now so we’ll have to stay in my room, if that’s okay with you.” 

You’ve never been in his room, not even when you first became friends in your first year of college eight years ago or on game nights when he always asks for help taking out his Play Station sets. All of Jisung and Jeongin’s jokes of his serial killer tendencies when you’re not around could be true for all you know and it’s the only thing going through your head as you wordlessly follow him inside his apartment, pondering on the thought.

In response, Minho bites down a laugh between his teeth next to you as he accidentally reads your thoughts and when you catch him in the act, you make sure to elbow him with your freer arm, careful of your drafts binder. “Ya, stop reading my thoughts without permission, you asshole!” You scold him in a sharp hiss right as you pass Jisung and Jeongin in the open doorway leading to the kitchen. You greet the two courteously and even make a salute to the fallen chocolates, to which Minho laughs even more at and the two boys groan in protest. “Well, shit, it really is...bad.”

“I know, poor people who’ll get that tomorrow.” Minho shrugs.

“You could say Nari, it’s fine, I won’t tell.” You shrug back with a laugh, taking this time to take the candy off of his cheek and walking past him and the other two boys with a parting wave before Jeongin could even process that you caught up to him and his crush so easily.

Minho, meanwhile, clears his throat awkwardly and follows you, in a poor attempt to hide his immediate flustered expression. Some of the chocolates were actually for you but he won’t tell you that too, of course.

Especially not when you arrive in his room not long after, nodding in approval at its cleanliness that clearly contrasts the current state of his kitchen and, by a slight extension, living room. “Glad you to know you don’t murder people in your room, Min. See? We get closer as friends would every day.”

“I’ve been on blood bag and animal diet since we met, you brat. Don’t tease like that.” Minho rolls his eyes, prompting you to laugh.

“So, where do I work, then?” You ask after, turning to Minho on your side and accidentally brushing your shoulders together.

He gestures to his work table in response, naturally placing his other hand on your back and guiding you towards it. He really hopes you’d be oblivious to the way he’s growing more flustered this time. He doesn’t let you in his room for a reason, after all (that being it’s too intimate in his opinion). “You can use my desk.” He instructs you after, following you and pulling an extra chair for himself once you’ve reached his desk. Placing your backpack next to his work bag then your laptop on top of the table, he then asks, “So, are you travelling now or later?”

He already knew you’d do it sometime now, he really just wanted to ask to keep the conversation going. He even has your hanbok ready—bought from Changbin’s wife’s shop last month.

But, to you, he seems to have miscalculated the situation a little bit as a realization dawns on you while you’re taking out the portable time travel machine from your backpack. It’s actually just a watch but your professors insist on keeping them in really fancy boxes. “I can do it now if it’s oka—wait, I haven’t even told you that part yet! How do you know I’m not just going to hoard your wi-fi?” You exclaim mid-thought, your mouth falling agape and forming an ‘o’ shape in surprise. You know he wasn’t reading your mind just now because, usually, Minho would announce his presence obnoxiously loud in your head or make the face he did a while back but he didn’t this time. “So you’re going to agree to my request? Is that it?”

Eyes equally wide in his mistake, Minho falls back in his chair and ends up fumbling around with his words. “Well—no, I mean, you always only need my help when you’re about to time travel so—!” He tries his best to cover up which only elicits a victorious smile from you. “Ugh, fine, you got me!”

“So, you’ll help me? I mean, past you, technically.” You ask again for confirmation, sitting down on your own chair this time as you fully take out the portable machine and place it on your lap. “I have to tell you, though, that I need to travel to three other periods for my thesis this time. Is that okay?” 

Minho props his elbow on the arm rest and nods against his knuckles. “You already know the answer to that, I think.” 

You chuckle at this. If eight years of knowing him has taught you anything, it’s to pay attention to the smallest details. He’s clairvoyant, after all, and you need to up him at his own game every now and then somehow. “Then, I’ll also need the proper attire. Haseul said that she can’t take in commissions at the moment so I couldn’t—“

“In the closet, furthest right.” Minho gestures to the walk-in closet behind him in defeat. “You can use that for all the times you’ll go, too.” 

“Have I told you that you’re my bestest friend in the world today? Even more than Nari, and she’s a witch, might I add!” You dramatically announce with a grin, handing him the machine’s box before standing up and making a beeline to the double doors on the other side of his bed. When you follow his instructions and find a pink and blue hanbok along with a floral hairpin on the very end of his closet, you then take it out and head to the open bathroom across the room. “Oh, wow, you even got my size right! You must’ve been preparing for this for a long time, huh?”

He really has—but, again, Minho is too stubborn to admit it to your face. “Just tell me if it’s uncomfortable or something.” He simply replies to you instead before you could close the door and change. Once he hears you acknowledge him with a hum before clicking the door to a lock, he then quickly prepares the time travel watch for you (by the way he remembers you doing it in front of him countless of times while you were cramming for a school requirement with him) then places it next to your laptop in exchange for his phone to message the rest of his friends.

minho [9:13 PM]: its happening

chan [9:14 PM]: you’re confessing?

hyunjin [9:14 PM]: hey that’s great! good for you hyung!!!

minho [9:16 PM]: no! y/n’s making the travel to 1388!

changbin [9:18 PM]: chan u know not to get ur hopes up w minho alr we all know he’s hopeless

minho [9:21 PM]: just bc ur alr married u brat

Changbin was still typing out a reply in the groupchat when you came out of the bathroom in your hanbok, laughing behind your hand when Minho looks up and momentarily gapes at you. “Why are you looking at me like that, weirdo?” You furrow your brows as you approach, smacking his arm before sitting down on his bed right behind him with a slight struggle. Peering over his shoulder, you smile appreciatively at noticing the time machine already set up. “And I see you’ve set up the machine without breaking anything this time! Progress!”

Minho scoffs, swiveling his wheeled chair to face you properly before gesturing to the hairpin in your hands. “You don’t like the hairpin?”

"I don’t know why you’re making me wear a hairpin that looks like a wedding heirloom.” You frown. Not to mention, from it’s material, you could tell that it’s new as well, meaning it was designed this way on purpose. “Won’t it attract too much attention?” 

Minho doesn’t know why you eventually came to him in the past wearing the hairpin too. He thought his future self was being ridiculous then (and he still does in the moment). “I don’t know, either,” He tells you truthfully this time, standing up from his chair to place it on your tightly-made bun. “But you did come wearing it eventually so just go with the flow, I guess? I don’t know, what do your sci-fi movies say?” 

You scoff at him, puffing out the heat rising up to your cheeks at the proximity. He could read your mind if he wants to but he doesn’t seem to be in the moment, even when his lips are gently fanning air into your ear as he fixes the hairpin with utmost care. “I guess I’ll just have to follow your instincts, then.” You sigh in defeat. “I can’t miss a detail, even if it’s weird.” 

“Right. I was there in the moment before you right now.” He smiles cheekily before sitting back down on his chair, passing you your time travel box after. “Ready to go?” 

You nod, fixing your collar one last time before receiving the machine from his hands. “You haven’t met me in the 1388, right?” 

“The first time you met me in the past was in the 1910s for that graduate thesis of yours and the oldest version of me that you’ve met so far was the one from the the 1740s.” Minho corrects, recalling your fourth year thesis some eight years ago. “But the first time I met you in my history was for this doctorate.” 

Your eyes light up at this. “Really? You’re meeting me for the first time now?” 

“Yeah. Why?” 

“We’ll have differing first impressions after this!” You point out to which he snickers. “Also, I haven’t met this version of you, you might be a snob in 1388 and think I’m weird or something.” 

Minho personally doesn’t think his first impression of you will ever change, no matter when you’ll meet in time. He’ll always think positively of you. “I was already turned for a long time, then. I haven’t met Chan and the others but I’ve seen and heard of weirder things than a time traveler.” He assures you. “Now, go, so I can help Jisung and Jeongin in the kitchen.” 

Rolling your eyes, you then set the date to January 1388 (you notice Minho’s already set the location while you were in the bathroom) before bidding a temporary goodbye to him, disappearing into thin air with the watch on your wrist right after. “I’ll be back before you know it!” 

In the blink of an eye, you’re already in a flea market somewhere in Seoul (then named Hanseong, you made sure to remember that well out of all of your history and anthropology notes). 

past: January 1388

You easily find 1388 Minho wandering around the flea market, a crowd of court men and women following him religiously as he examines the crops, livestock, and flowers being sold in stalls. The sight makes you scoff in disbelief, even more when you approach and see how he ignores each and every one of them up close. 

You know Minho isn’t the one of royal blood in his current coven of vampires (that’s Hyunjin—you know it well from the amount of times you’ve pestered him in your other time travels while he was sulking over his present day fiancée) but he has mentioned in passing once about being popular in the palace court, a socialite of his time if you will. 

But then, who could blame him? He’s just that handsome and charming.  

“Minho...Lee Minho...” You try calling for him in the crowd but to no avail, the slight embarrassment of following the crowd creeping up to you. It reminds you a bit of when you first saw him in your timeline, your first year of college and his fourth year (because Chan keeps insisting that he goes to university every now and then to pass the time) when all kinds of students would also follow him around at the campus library. It’s annoying, regardless of wherever you are in the world timeline. “Excuse me, Lee Minho!” 

He only turns to you when you raise your voice, an eyebrow momentarily raised until your eyes meet and a look seemingly of recognition crosses his features. 

You became friends with him as an older vampire but why is he more intimidating as a younger one? It’s probably the rest of the crowd’s eyes being on you because of your sudden interruption. Either way, you forcibly gulp down your nervousness and call for him again. “Lee Minho?” 

“Yes?” 

“C-Can I—Can I talk to you for a moment?” You gesture for him to follow you, his piercing gaze making your hands shake a bit. This is probably what Chan meant when he said Minho was a bit scary when he first met him in the 1400s. 

Minho follows you, anyway, which alleviates and heightens your nervousness at the same time. The crowd would’ve followed if not for him glaring at them not to right before you turned to the main entrance of the flea market where a few people were loitering around at. He feels like he knows you from somewhere which, if you knew about, you’d tell him that that’s impossible since, chronologically, you haven’t met him before this. 

Once you’re away from the majority of the market crowd, only then do you turn to properly face him and his expectant eyes. He’s still looks the same as he does in the present, just more curious, seeing as you’re a stranger for now. It’s comforting, somehow, so much so that it relaxes you and eventually makes you laugh as well. 

“What’s so funny?” He asks you without any hint of malice once you uncontrollably burst into giggles, prompting you to lift your hand up to your mouth. Already developing his clairvoyant abilities at this time period, he could easily tell by the unfamiliar terms in your thoughts and the way you hold yourself up that you were different—far more different than everyone around you. “And who are you?” 

You wave your other hand dismissively, taking a step back to recuperate. You end up giggling a few more times before you could manage to take a deep breath and exhale slowly by turning your eyes away from Minho momentarily. “I’m sorry, I’m Y/N and I—sorry! It’s just so...it’s a bit weird!” 

“Definitely.” Though your answer is unsatisfactory, the boy nods anyway. “And how do you know my name?”  

“I know you from the futur—wait, you can tell that it’s a bit weird too?” You raise an eyebrow and fold your arms over your chest. “It’s…sometime in the 1300s—“

“Thirteen eighty-eight.”

“Right.” You nodded at his correction with a dry scoff, piquing his interest further. “It’s only 1388 and you’re already this good of a clairvoyant?”

Minho was instinctively taken aback with you. His present self forgot to tell you that clairvoyance doesn’t have an established name in this time yet. “How did you—? What? Huh, well…the hanbok—the hanbok’s a bit of a giveaway too, I guess. It looks different from what the court women usually wear.” 

You then briefly glanced down at your hanbok, a pout resting on your features when you look back up at Minho again. “Really? But you—I mean, my source told me that this was accurate.” Come to think of it, you didn’t really check the attire thoroughly since you really needed to travel immediately to cram your paper. You’ll have to give 2020 Minho an earful about this later. “Ah, guess it’s my fault for not double-checking. I was in a bit of a rush to come here.” 

Minho from 1388, however, shakes his head at you in disapproval then briefly begins pointing out the different design patterns that looked foreign to him. “And this hairpin,” He pointed your hair accessory last, from what you can remember at present. There’s an unreadable expression in his face, one you’re too flustered to interpret as amusement. “This looks like a wedding heirloom but…a bit futuristic for my time, if that makes sense. I don’t suppose you wanted to come here disguised as someone’s wife, right? That’d attract more attention to you.”

And with that, you almost immediately deflate right in front of him with a defeated sigh and he smirks teasingly in return. To the passersby at the flea market, people could’ve easily mistaken the two of you for a quarreling married couple. “So that’s how it is.” You surrender easily, your arms loosening. “I guess even at this time you’re clairvoyant and smart. How annoying.”

His smirk grows even more triumphantly at this. “So, why did you come here?” He asks next. He figures out halfway through your rambles that it’s probably better to go along with you than to insist on his own questions, at least until you’ve organized your thoughts a little bit better. 

You ponder on the question for a moment, shifting your weight between the balls of your feet to pass the time. When you do answer, you explain, “Well, it’s a little crazy but my source has said that you’ll be okay with it so...believe it or not, I’m from the future and doing my doctorate thesis on a dynasty that’s about to establish itself around this time.” When 1388 Minho doesn’t immediately and visibly freak out as he would on your worst case scenario, you take this as your cue to continue. “You’re still alive in my time but I can’t tell you what our relationship is or it’ll be spoilers! All I can say is that you’ve helped me passed a lot of my major requirements in school and if you’re okay with it, you can help me with this one too!” 

The Minho in front of you thinks that you probably know him very well to know that he’s not easily spooked with anything out of the ordinary, not even by someone who claims to be from the future and is doing an academic paper about the past. You did mention knowing his personal history, as well, which effectively gained you his trust. He just hopes you’re not married or something in the future as the hairpin seems to be trying to imply or else he’d consider this first meeting of yours a bit chaotic for his liking. “Sure. Where do you have to be right now?” 

Really? It’s that easy? Is all you can think about, much to Minho’s curiosity when he reads your thoughts. “O-Oh, well, um...if you can take me to the palace courts, that would be...cool, I mean nice.” 

And so, Minho from 1388 ends up showing you around the palace courts for the next six months that follows (but, really, it’s just merely six minutes in the present time), even introducing you to people whom you ended up entrusting with your data-gathering. You almost mentioned Hyunjin and his fiancé, Shiyeon, on more than one occasion, remembering how the vampire would be with Seungmin already by this time while the immortal witch would be travelling around Korea, but opted not to instead when you also remember that no one from this time period really liked talking about the previous fire that killed most of Hyunjin’s family. 

Besides, you didn’t want to mess up the timeline and have Minho meet Hyunjin before he could meet Chan, even when he would ask you about it right before you left. 

“How am I in the future, by the way? Am I allowed to ask that?” Minho asks you curiously as you hold out your watch in front of him. It was starting to get annoying, having to hide it in your bell sleeves all the time. “And what am I doing by then?” 

“I can’t say anything specific that’s important.” You scrunch up your nose disapprovingly to which Minho only glares at you in response. “Just trust me, you’re sort of happy with where you are in my present day. You don’t have to worry about it now, it’s still 600 years away, anyway.” 

Minho mistakenly interprets that as the two of you being married in the future. He doesn’t have feelings for you in this time period but he takes your word not to worry about it until it’s happened. 

Besides, you seem kind. He’ll see something in you eventually. 

“When will I see you again, then?” 

“Um...around 1418, probably?” You answer with a hint of uncertainty as you faintly recall your thesis’ outline. You needed to see King Sejeong’s court next. “You’ll still be here, right?” 

Minho initially had plans on moving to a nearby province but he nods, anyway, thinking that that could wait for a few more years. “Yeah.” 

And with that, you’re gone again. 

present: February 13, 2020 

When you get back to the present day, it’s only 9:35 PM, almost six minutes since you left, but Minho’s already in the kitchen, helping Jisung and Jeongin clean up their mess. 

“Back already?” Minho asks with a blood bag between his teeth when he catches sight of you by the open doorway as he wipes the kitchen island clean, immediately noticing the grin you wear on your face. “What did you think?” 

“You were much chiller then!” You exclaim, ducking past Jeongin and Jisung to sit down right across Minho on the countertop. “I mean, you were a bit scary at first with the whole glaring thing you got going on but you were very calm and collected, then, like you weren’t even phased about me being from the future!” 

Of course he would be at that time, he was literally there when it happened (and also because he’s always had a feeling even from before that you’d meet but that’s also on his long list of things he won’t tell you). Instead, you see him quirk an eyebrow, throwing the rag towel in his hand to the side to pick up his phone and resume his Kart Rider. “Weirdoes vibe with weirdoes, I guess.” He shrugs, chuckling when you protest at this. “Anyway, you got what you need, right?”

You nod happily with a hum, propping an elbow up on the now clean counter and resting your cheek on your palm. “I have enough to write about later when you’re done cleaning.” 

“Ya, Y/N, if you’re gonna stick around at least help us clean the kitchen!” Jisung complains as he drags a wet mop across the floor behind you. 

“And why would I do that? I didn’t even help you make the chocolates!” 

“Because Minho’s been making cho—” Before Jisung could finish his sentence, however, Minho throws his rag towel towards the younger vampire, aiming it directly to his face. “Ya!” 

You shake your head in disbelief, turning to Minho again after. “Anyway, I have to fix my notes for a bit and you need to tell me where else I went for this paper!” 

Also because you were kinda cute back then, you think to yourself more as an after-thought, not really expecting for Minho to accidentally hear it.   

Now, Minho knows why he made you wear the hairpin. Is it normal to be jealous of one’s past self? 

present: February 16, 2020 

Minho offers you a whole bag of your favorite mini Toblerones the next time that you knock on his door to work on your thesis. The Valentine’s Day homemade chocolates were a fail even when Felix was eventually brought in last-minute (then you just had to disappear for a whole day with Nari and Shiyeon, too), so he rushed to the nearest convenience store to buy you the Toblerones as soon as you told him that you’ll come over again to pester him with his Internet connection and ask him more about your work. 

Maybe this is really it, the one you were talking about in his past. 

“You’re being nice to me with all this chocolate.” You squint your eyes with a piece of the chocolate in between your teeth suspiciously across the dining table as you work, head buried in papers to revise and dusty reference books. Your professor has you on travel limit as everyone else, only allowing you up to four actual visits to the past, hence the mountainous stacks of library books and journals you’ve borrowed from both the campus library and Changbin’s personal collection. “What do you need? Ya, I’m talking to you.” 

Minho, busy in his own academic work on his laptop, only peeks up at you belatedly when he’s reaching out for his blood bag buried underneath all of your papers. “What?” 

“What are the chocolates for?” You ask straightforwardly this time, picking up another mini Toblerone off the yellow bag. “Last time you bought me something from the convenience store was when you ate the squirrel I was feeding in the back garden.” 

Minho only shrugs as nonchalantly as he could, though he can’t help but feel a little flustered as evidenced by the way his eyes briefly widen. The squirrel incident was a long time ago and yet you still won’t let it go. “Can’t I be nice?” He simply asks back in answer to which you scoff at. He laughs along with you, anyway. “Jeongin bought it then gave me the extra, probably to give to you since I can’t really eat it.” 

You wanted to tell him that Nari actually shared the chocolates Jeongin gave her and they were definitely not Toblerones but you let it slide again. For some reason, it’s funny seeing Minho try to cover up something right in front of your face and thinking that he’s doing a good job at it. He’s trained you to see past his bullshit for the past 8 years, he should really know better. “Um...right.” You nod teasingly. “I’m gonna pretend you’re not looking very suspicious right now.” 

Minho could clearly tell that you’re doubting him even without reading you but he does nothing more to it. He’s too deep in his bullshit already and you both know that. 

Truth is, he was just fulfilling something you mentioned in your second visit to him (and probably as a way to give you something on Valentine’s Day even if it’s two days late). 

“Anyway, when are you making the travel again?” 

“Right after I finish summarizing this book.” 

And it happens to come full circle today, too. What luck does your best friend have. 

past: August 1418 

You jump between days in a span of six years this time (which is approximately an hour and twelve minutes back in the present time) with the help of Minho, Chan, and Changbin from 1418 helping you by preparing an entire closet of clothes and coming up with a very detailed background story of how you were a distant relative of Chan’s from the province in the case that someone asked about you. The other two boys were more than happy to welcome you despite how foreign time travel was to them in this time period because, apparently, you’re all Minho’s ever talked about since they met. 

“It’s nice knowing that Minho didn’t fever dreamed you up or something.” Changbin joked to you once towards the end of the six years of your data-gathering, to which he received a full apple shoved in his mouth from Minho. In this time period, his wife, Haseul, was still in that sleeping curse you still don’t understand fully at present, carefully laid in a tomb somewhere in the capital. Fortunately, you managed to avoid telling him that she wakes up seven centuries later (and that they get married) throughout your entire stay and avoided spoilers. “Vampires who’ve lived long like us tend to do that sometimes. Heck, even Chan does that lots of times these days, telling us about this immortal person he’s been looking for a while now. I guess it’s the human brain’s natural response to having a lot of memories.” 

“Minho remembers me just fine in the present, though.” You shrug as you re-write your interview notes, to which Minho mumbles a ‘Really?’ at. When you nod at him, he immediately rolls his eyes up in thought. You want to tell them that the person Chan’s been looking for at this time’s also real (and that he and said person, Eunhye, even live together now), too, but you decide against it later on for spoiler reasons again. “You have really good memory in the present, you even bought me Toblerones today.” 

“What are those?” 

A realization dawns on you right there and then, a small smile forming on your lips to which Minho quirks an eyebrow at and Changbin immediately asks you about. “You’ll find out soon enough. Just know that they’re my favorite.” You simply answer, standing up from the front porch of the inn you’ve been staying at and dusting the dirt off of your new hanbok. You remind yourself to ask Minho and Changbin about where these are at present later on. “Anyway, I’m off! I need to interview a few court people then I’ll be off your hairs again soon!” 

When it’s time for you to leave again, Minho’s still pestering you about what Toblerones are. 

“Come on, tell me!” He protests, going as far as holding your wrist where your watch is before you could escape. “Y/N!” 

You only grin up at him mischievously, gently swatting his hand away. “February 16, 2020! Also, make me ramen and coffee when I get back to the other side, please! I’d really like that!” 

present: February 16, 2020 

A steaming bowl of ramen and a warm cup of miraculously decently-brewed coffee are on the kitchen countertop by the time you come back, just as you asked him six hundred years in the past. What you didn’t expect, however, was the way your notes and references have also been organized neatly on the table while you were away and Minho dozing off on the nearby sofa in the open living room (he really likes genuine sleep lately which you’re yet to ask him as to why). You make sure to check that he really is sleeping by pinching his nose (and getting no response which is his usual indication of actual sleep) before placing the blanket he has reserved for you in his apartment over his hunched over body. 

“You don’t really need it,” You whisper tiredly, tucking the blanket close to his neck. His skin is naturally cold, as any normal vampire’s, but you’ve slowly grown accustomed to it over the years. “but how else am I going to say thank you for remembering my request after six hundred years? You’re going above and beyond anyone I’ve ever met, Lee Minho, you should stop raising the bar too high for men like this.” 

three

past: May 1592

“Are you sure you want to be here?” Minho from 1592 asks you right after you’ve reappeared in his house. Chan is out for work and Changbin is visiting Haseul on this particular day, leaving him to tend to their main house alone. “We’re in the middle of—”

“A Japanese invasion, I know.” You finish his thought for him, casually plopping down on the front porch right next to him and gingerly receiving the cup of tea he offers you. The garden he’s been trying to tend the last time you were around hasn’t made any significant progress even when an entire century has passed. You want to think it’s because the boys have been travelling elsewhere right before you returned but you also know it’s because they haven’t met Seungmin and Hyunjin yet. Those two are still probably travelling with Shiyeon. “That’s exactly why I’m here.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re—” Minho leans away and gazes back incredulously at you. He can already tell, with his own abilities, that you’re not thinking of what he’s thinking but he asks anyway to fully confirm. “I’m not letting you go to the frontlines if that’s what you’re going to ask me this time.” 

You chuckle at his genuinely mortified expression as you sip on your tea, making the boy furrow his brows at you. You really must be crazy. “You already know I’m not thinking of that! Though, I will ask you crazier things in the distant future.” You assure him. “I’ll only be staying for a year, six years again at most since I only need to complete a few interviews and fact-check a few books.” 

“Good.” Minho sighs in relief, taking a long sip of his tea as well. Even in 1592, the only human beverage Minho could stand is tea, you’re quick to notice. “That’s...that’s a relief.” 

“Why would you even be worried about going to the field, you’re immorta—ya, perhaps, do you you care about me?” You tease, grinning widely at the sudden realization. “We have a really messed-up timeline but you already care about me as early as now, that’s cute!”   

Minho from this time period could only roll his eyes at you against his sudden flustered feeling. If he was curious of your relationship with his future self when you first met, he’s curious as to how his future self keeps up with you this time. “Because you might be important to me in the future or something.” He bluffs to which you only chuckle fondly at. “I can’t really tell since you won’t tell me exactly how I know you in the future.” 

“Well, what am I to you now?” 

“A friend.” And he means it truthfully.

You’re momentarily taken aback, Minho sees even when you’re quick to hide it. Present Minho won’t even call you his best friend like you do to him. “Then just—just remember that until then.” You point out, smiling when you gaze over to his side and see his sincere expression. Something leaps in your chest at hearing him say those words without his usual playful tone of voice. It’s not what you’ve always been hoping for but it’s a start. “Won’t it be better if you just find out in the moment when it does happen?” 

Minho wants to tell you that he can’t wait but his teasing nature always gets the best of him first, “Hm, maybe you don’t actually know me at all in the future, that’s why you’re always being vague when I ask you.” 

You scoff, smacking his arm. “Ya!” 

“So, really, what are you to me in the future?” He insists anyway, swiftly dodging your hits until he’s caught your wrist in his hands. “Friend? Best friend?” 

A lover? He wanted to add further but he bites his tongue back just in time.  

“I always call you my best friend but I’ve yet to hear the same thing from you so, honestly, how would I know when you’re so secretive with your true feelings all the time! I’m even surprised you answered my question just now.” You frown, unintentionally coming off as bitter in your tone of voice as you retract your hand back to your side. You place your cup down as well, careful of the remaining tea so it doesn’t accidentally spill on your hanbok. At this moment, you miss the way Minho’s expression turns into confusion. “If it helps, though, I can only tell you that you always let me in your house to hoard the wi-fi—which you don’t have to know about right now!—and you’ve kept me around long enough to know when you’re trying to lie to me or read my thoughts with your clairvoyance thing going on.” 

Minho nods along, humming in thought. “So you’re a parasite?” 

You inhale a deep breath, focusing all of your energy into restraining yourself from hitting him for a second time. “You’ve called me worse.” You sigh with a controlled laugh. “Expired dinner and ex-wife who has nowhere else to go are my personal favorites.” 

Next to you, Minho’s eyes genuinely widen in curiosity. “We got married?” 

“Um, no? No, no, it’s an expression!” You shake your head and snicker despite the contrasting heat on your neck. Minho grows flustered at sensing the blood rushing up to your face. “I don’t even know if you’re capable of romantic love, dude. You’re always kinda everywhere and nowhere.” 

Minho’s not offended, though, especially not when you try to apologize after at realizing that you’re not as close with this version of him as you are with the version you know in your own time. “It’s fine.” He assures you with a shrug, knowing full well that you were just kidding around. “I’m guessing with that that I’m still single five centuries later.” 

“That and a bit of a flirt, too.” You clarify before his words fully process in your head. “Wait, so that means you haven’t dated even before this?” 

Minho shakes his head. “No, no one’s caught my eye yet.” 

You purse your lips in thought of this new revelation. It’s in moments like this, when you’re meeting past selves of your immortal friends that you realize just how little you actually know of them. “Huh, I didn’t peg you as the type.” 

“The type to what?” 

You shrug slowly, hunching over in your seat. “To be the fall in love just once type? I don’t know...”

Chan has mentioned to you once about Minho believing in soulmates but you were quick to dismiss that then. Remembering that now, maybe he is right. 

And, as if he has been reading your thoughts this entire time, Minho agrees with a nod. “Then, now you know. If you’ve lived as long as I have, soulmates are really nice to think about.” 

“But you always tease me about it...you from the future at least.” You pout. “Again, no offense, it’s just that—from the way I know you in my time, you’re very confusing.” 

When you glance over at Minho, you see him sit up straighter and lean closer to you again, your shoulders bumping against his as he tilts his head to meet your gaze. “Really? How am I confusing? Maybe I can help.” 

You scrunch up your nose. “Ah, but that’s unfair. You’ll take note of this in the future again.” 

“Your time’s five hundred years away, I’m sure I’ll forget this with time.” He assures you to no avail as evidenced by your squinted eyes. 

“You remembered my ramen and coffee request from last time, though.” You argue back, making his eyes light up. 

“I will?” 

You nod, placing a finger on his forehead and pushing his face away from yours. “Yeah, so I don’t trust you. Let’s just leave it at that.” 

Minho doesn’t bother you anymore about it for the rest of your one-year stay, which you’re more than grateful for.

present: February 22, 2020 

He does, however, teases you about it again when you’re back to the present. Closing in on you in one of his bone-crushing hugs when you reappear in his room, he asks, “So, how was meeting me in the 1500s this time, best friend?”

“Excuse me, what did you say?” You furrow your brows at him, your arms going limp on your sides while your entire body freezes on the spot. 

“I just called you my best friend.” He repeats casually with a shrug. “Why?” 

Minho purposely omits the fact that he double-checked his old journals to make sure that you just time traveled to that period when you mentioned to him how he’s never called you his best friend. He’s been waiting for this opportunity to set it right with you since he didn’t know much of the context back then. 

You shake your head in response, reluctantly hugging him back once you’ve regained feeling in your arms again. “Nothing, it’s just...” 

“Dude, you’re acting like past me and present me are different people.” He chuckles against your hair, squeezing your frame once before pulling away. “So, we’re good, right? You’re not bitter about the whole best friend thing now?” 

You frown, slapping his elbow to which he only chuckles at. “Who said I was bitter?” 

“You did in 1592!” He teases, his mischievous grin softening into a fond smile after. “But seriously...sorry about that. I just think it’s cheesy to say most of the time but you really are...my best friend now I guess—maybe until you die in 50 years.”

Minho then runs away before you could even protest, prompting you to chase him out of his room and into the hallway. “Ya, Lee Minho! I’m going to kill you first, you brat!”  

But you know that deep in your heart that he’s only joking (and also because Jeongin has gossiped to you once about accidentally reading one of Minho’s journal entries from the 1700s once about meeting someone who shares your name but was already working as a professor in university and may or may not already be a vampire). 

present: February 29, 2020

“Okay, to refresh...” You mumble as you adjust the watch on your wrist and the switchblade Minho insisted on you keeping in your pants’ pockets. Next to you, said vampire’s is sprawled on his bed, a reviewer and highlighter in hand. “In 1895, Hyunjin was following Shiyeon around the world, Seungmin was starting out his photography career, Soojung was taking a beauty nap, Haseul was still sleeping, Changbin was going on a Jack the Killer rampage somewhere in Europe, Jisung was still a newborn, Felix, and Jeongin haven’t joined you yet, and Chan was...learning yoga with Eunhye? Is that right?” 

“And I’ve met all versions of you by this time.” Minho adds in absentmindedly before going back to chanting his notes over and over again. He really doesn’t need to since he really has sharp memory these days but you let him study for whatever it is he’s studying, anyway, so he has something else to do besides Kart Rider and annoying his other friends. “Just tell past me who I’m meeting when you arrive since you know how I kept mixing graduate studies you and college thesis you up all the time.” 

“That’s...you guys have lived lives.” You puff out a tired breath, making Minho glance up to you briefly and chuckle. “Sometimes, it makes me and Nari feel so small.” 

“It’s not much.” The boy shrugs back. “It personally hasn’t felt that long.” 

“And why’s that?” You hum curiously. 

He mumbles something behind his paper but you don’t hear it well. When you ask him about it, he only shakes his head and kicks you with his socket foot, urging you to go already. 

Minho actually said, “It’s because you’ve been with me the entire time.” but he’ll just tell you all about it later when you come back. 

With a scoff, you then swat his foot away and bid him goodbye. “Fine, see you later then.” 

“I’ll organize your notes until then. Bye.” 

past: July 1895

Minho sets your location on your watch to his house, now renovated to what was considered modern then. You’ve been here countless of times, albeit in different time periods of your own past (the last being when you had to ask for his help in the 1860s about your graduate thesis), but you’ve never been here in the 1890s, not when a newborn Jisung had the self-control of a toddler and immediately tried pouncing on you the moment he smelled you on their front lawn.  

Now you know what the switchblade is for (and the one time Jisung kept apologizing to you in the 1910s). 

“Ji, calm down!” Minho growls in annoyance, holding the younger boy by his arms as he drags him back inside the house. He can feel your anxiousness increase just by looking at this unfamiliar side of Jisung, prompting him to send you an apologizing look. “Sorry, um, Y/N, I—” 

“I-It’s...it’s fine.” You assure shakily with a curt nod, taking a step back as well when Jisung tries regaining two steps towards you again. “I think I came in the wrong day.” 

“It depends. What are you here for?” He asks, his voice growing faint as he successfully manages to lock Jisung inside the house. He then quickly jogs back to you, examining your face for any recognizable hints of where you could be from.

“Doctorate thesis.” You answer for him, earning you a look of realization from him. 

“Oh, it’s you.” He smiles in relief. You remember distinctly how these were also the very same words he told you when you first met him in a time travel. “I was thinking you’d never come back.” 

You feign a frown in front of him, making him laugh. “Why? Did you think I wouldn’t finish my studies?” 

“It’s just that the next time you came back, from my point of view, is when you were only in college to ask me about the 1810s.” He clarifies, to which you nod in understanding. So he does remember. “I thought it weird at first that you didn’t come back sooner to finish your doctorate.” 

“Ah, well, you in 2020 has been a big help—well, him and a shit ton of books.” You chuckle awkwardly. “This is my last trip for my doctorate, actually, since I have the smallest amount of resources for Queen Min.” 

“T-This is—this is your last?” 

You smirk at his briefly dejected expression, elbowing him gently. “Why do you look so sad? You already know we’ll meet again in the future. Plus, you’ll still meet younger versions of me later on for my college requirements which is a bit confusing to hear right now but you’ll get it later!” 

Minho opens his mouth to speak, initially to tell you something about being frustrated that he’s only seen glimpses (and different versions) of you throughout his life so far, but he’s suddenly cut off by Jisung banging wildly against the front door, making him and you flinch. 

“Um...what if we deal with Jisung first?” You suggest. “I assure you we’re all going to be great friends in the future but no one really told me that this would happen.” 

Minho nods slowly next to you, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Yeah, we should probably take care of him first before your thesis. You could spare five minutes to sit down, right?” 

“Definitely.” 

And so, you spend the rest of your first day getting Jisung to calm down in your presence. 

present: February 29, 2020 

“Chan, babe, please, please, please promise that you won’t flinch when we use the party poppers later.” Eunhye sighs exasperatedly as she leads everyone into organizing the kitchen and living room. “Felix, good job on the cookies by the way! They turned out really well! Jisung, hurry up with that banner!” 

“Babe, I don’t flinch!” Chan yells across the hallway as he re-checks if everyone will have enough party hats, trumpets, and poppers for later. 

“Yes you do!” 

“What’s so significant about today, anyway?” Nari asks Jeongin as the two enter the apartment with boxes upon boxes of blood bags and alcoholic drinks. “Besides Y/N finishing their thesis, of course.” 

Shiyeon and Hyunjin follow closely behind with take-out boxes of chicken wings. “Because today is Y/N’s last time travel before they become a professor! A lot of good things are going to happen after, trust me.” Shiyeon answers with a wink. 

“How come you know all of that? You were barely with us in the 1800s.” Jisung asks while struggling to put the other end of your congratulations banner across the kitchen. Soojung is on the other end, arm beginning to fall asleep as she holds up the other end of the banner for Jisung. “Even Jeongin and Felix don’t know that.” 

“There’s a thing called correspondence and Hyunjin was a diligent gossiper.” Shiyeon only chuckles, setting down the take-out boxes on the countertop. “Also, hey, I was there in one of Y/N’s visits! It just hasn’t happened in our timeline yet but it will in three years!” 

Minho then emerges from his room, phone in hand counting down the seconds until you’re back again. “Okay, we have two hours to get everything ready.”

“Lee Minho where have you been this entire time!” Eunhye complains, finally taking the boy’s presence to take a seat. “I’ve been organizing everyone for a whole ten minutes!”  

“You mean you have two hours to get ready.” Haseul teases, seated on one of the dining table chairs and helping Changbin, Seungmin, and Felix make proper chocolates this time. “Don’t you have something else important you need to prepare?” 

“No, I can just wing it.” Minho dismisses to which Chan immediately laughs at, catching the younger boy’s panicked expression. 

“Sure you do.” Seungmin dryly responds, to which everyone topples over in laughter. 

past: November 1905

“You’ll see me again in five years, at least from your point of view.” You assure Minho from 1905 right before you leave. Jisung’s apologizing again about the incident last time but you’re quick to hug him and effectively shut him up. “The one you’ll meet in 1910 is going to be a little different, though, a little younger.” 

“But it’s still you.” 

You smile at this. “Yeah, still me.” 

Minho wants to tell you so badly that he’s met another version of you while you were away, someone older, but he quickly pushes the thought at the back of his head. Is this how you feel holding back spoilers from him? Instead, he ops to tease you. “You know, when people usually meet, it’s not as backwards as us.” When you raise an eyebrow at him, he continues, “You keep meeting me from the past and I’ve met you from the future countless of times. Even if culture’s going to be different in the future, I’m pretty sure this is still not how it goes there.” 

Finally, understanding, you let out a laugh, hitting his side playfully. “Definitely not.” You agree sheepishly. “But I think that makes it even more special. It makes you wait until we’re in the same time, right?” 

Minho nods. “What date are you going back to again?” 

“February 29, 2020. Why?” 

He says nothing else on it but bids you goodbye with one last hug instead. “Nothing. I’ll see you again soon...or another version of you.” 

“And I’ll see future you.” You chuckle before disappearing. 

present: February 29, 2020 

You come back to all the lights in Minho’s apartment turned off at the present. You hear whispers and the soft clicking of a lighter as well, prompting you to follow the noise outside. 

“I think it’s better if Changbin doesn’t hold the cake, don’t you think?” You recognize Haseul’s loud voice even from the hallways, fueling your curiosity even further. 

A slight pause then follows before you hear Chan agree, “Yeah. Hyunjin, you hold the other cake.” 

“Lix, you’re stepping on my foot.” That’s Jisung, you know by the way he’s always whiny when he complains. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” 

“Everyone, quiet! Y/N’s on their way!” Nari scolds and the hushes then quickly fall silent once you reach the kitchen, flipping the light switch on the hallway to the sound of party poppers exploding right in front of you. Only then do you see the big ‘CONGRATULATIONS Y/N!’ banner hanging right above everyone standing in a line with cake, hats, and trumpets. 

“Um?” You raise an eyebrow at everyone, breaking out into an uncontrollable grin. “What’s with all this?” 

Minho of your time then walks over to you with a Toblerone cake, carefully protecting two candles from the breeze that enters through the windows. “Chan and Eunhye insisted on a party so...congrats on finishing your thesis!” 

Over his shoulder, said vampire and immortal immediately shake their heads in denial. “It’s his idea!” Eunhye mouths to you with a smirk, making you chuckle.

You then turn to Minho with a smile. “I haven’t even finished writing it yet.” You point out only for your best friend to shrug nonchalantly. “And my graduation’s in a month.”  

“Yeah, we can work on that once everyone’s out of the apartment.” He suggests. “Now, just blow on the candles first, Seungmin’s arms are about to fall off waiting to take a picture.” 

You briefly apologize to Seungmin on the side with a sheepish laugh, blowing on the cake’s candles after to the many snaps of his film camera. “Thank you for all this. I really appreciate it, you guys!” You thank your guests after, approaching them with Minho on your side this time. 

“We can call you Professor now, right?” Hyunjin playfully asks, elbowing you gently on your side. 

“It makes me sound really old.” You pout, making him laugh. “In a few years.” 

“Three years.” Shiyeon coughs to which Minho immediately glares them down for. 

Catching this gesture, you decide on purposely ignoring it for now. You’ll have to ask Shiyeon what they mean with that later. “Anyway, let’s eat. Have you guys been here long?” 

“Not really but I’m already starving!” Soojung exclaims, passing you a plate and utensils. Next to her, Felix and Chan instinctively open up all the take-out boxes of food for everyone to dig in. 

“Alright, let’s eat!” 

present: March 1, 2020 

Minho kicks everyone out after by the strike of midnight, when all the food’s been devoured and the party games have been played at least twice. Surprisingly, even Jisung and Jeongin were directed outside by Minho at this time, which you immediately ask him about once the two boys are out of the door. “Don’t those two live here?” You joke with a dry chuckle. “You don’t have to kick them out so we can work.” 

“They’ll come back later.” Minho gently shuts the door before turning to you as you stand with your arms crossed in front of your chest, a genuinely curious expression on your face. “I just...need a moment with you.” 

You pretend to take a step back with your best dramatic expression of fear. “Oh my God, you’re going to kill me after eight years of friendship, right?” 

“What? No.” Minho furrows his brows at this, making you laugh. “It’s just...fuck, now I’m off-tracked.” 

You giggle this time, loosening your arms in front of you. “What is it, Minho?” 

There have been times, both in the past and present though rare, when Minho has looked nervous in front of you. The last time he was, from what you can remember, was when he was about to tell you that he accidentally killed the squirrel in the apartment’s back garden but even then, he wasn’t as nervous as he is now—fiddling with the hem of his blue sweater for a brief moment before finally taking the courage to step closer to you. “I-I, um—” He stammers out, one hand instinctively going up to his nape. “What I want to say is that...remember when I asked you in 1592 about how I know you?” 

“You just teased me about that last week.” You roll your eyes in an attempt to ease the sudden awkwardness, only to make it even worse for Minho. With this, your expression immediately contorts into worry. “What about it?” 

“Then in 1905, where you just came back from, you told me we’ll meet in the right time eventually...” He continues after a while, smiling back when you do reassuringly. “In between those centuries, of course, y-you—you came in for your college homework and your Masteral’s but there was also...there was also someone else.” 

This unexpected turn drops something heavy on your stomach, your smile unconsciously faltering. Minho wants to snicker but, knowing you, you’ll probably think of him cold if he does so he takes in a deep breath and tries his best to continue with less stutters this time. “Don’t be too sad, it’s still you, just a few months in the future.” He assures with a chuckle, hands instinctively going up to your sides to rub your arms comfortingly. Your eyes widen at this in response and you freeze in his touch. “Anyway, July 2020 Y/N just told me to do something tonight, if that’s okay.” 

It takes you a moment to respond but Minho patiently waits, holding back his laugh by biting his lip down. He’s reading your thoughts as they go into overdrive. Is this how you feel when I hide the future from you before? You internally ask to which he nods at. “U-Um, so...what are you going to do?”

“Just tell you that I’ve been in love with you for a long time.” Minho finally confesses, sighing in relief once he’s gotten the words out surprisingly well. “And if you’d like to go out for a trip after your graduation—and not the time travel trip, this time so we can be together right.” 

There’s more to it, actually, Minho has a whole paper written and rehearsed for a span of almost three centuries but he figures you’ll find out about it eventually. He could tell you about how he’s been in love with every version of you that he’s met in the past another time or maybe you already know it. 

“So?” He asks after a while when you don’t speak verbally. Your thoughts are still muddled and your heartbeat’s a little too fast for his liking but he holds any impulsive urge he might have in for your sake. “What do you say?” 

You purse your lips once, mustering up a relieved smile at him after. “You already met me from the future this time—which I commend you for, by the way, because you’ve one-upped me again this time!—so I think you already know the answer to that.” 

epilogue

past: July 1799

You know full well that you’re not supposed to travel back in time for personal reasons, especially not for the reason you’re coming into 1799 to see a past Minho for, but you figure that you’re already in your university’s faculty roster. If I get caught, you think to yourself as you easily spot Minho with Chan at an art exhibit in Paris, the professors will probably understand. 

“Minho! Chan!” You call with your hand above your head waving frantically at the two, catching theirs and a few patrons’ attentions. You don’t mind the extra attention as you approach him, though, since they did instinctively made way for you because of it. “Hello there, you two!” 

“Hi, Y/N!” Chan greets you happily, giving you a side hug. “Aren’t you back too soon?” 

But knowing full well that you’re probably not the same one the two met last time, Minho smirks in amusement as he eyes your choice of clothes and asks, “And where did you come from? By the clothes, me from the future probably doesn’t know you’re here.” 

“Yeah, I picked out my own clothes for today. Anyway, I won’t be here long.” You roll your eyes with a chuckle. “I’m from July 2020 and I’m not here for any academic work this time! I just wanted to ask you a quick favor.” 

From what you’ve detailed in your own journals, the last time you met from this particular Minho’s point of view was when you were doing a paper on the Baroque movement for one of your college classes. 

“What is it?” He asks you anyway, his body turned away from the painting that he and Chan have been previously admiring as he gives you his full attention. 

Judging from the amount of times you’ve visited him (and the different versions of you he’s meet as well), his future self seems to agree on your requests all the time. 

“I can’t tell you much but please prepare something on February 29, 2020!” You answer, your watch beeping on your side to remind you that it’s almost time to leave. “And make sure to mention me! Remember, Y/N from July 2020!” 

Before he could ask about it, further, however, you were already gone. 

“What do you think that was about, Chan?” Minho asks the older vampire instead. 

But Chan simply shrugs, hands going deeper in his pockets as he thinks. “No idea.” He admits in equal confusion. “Guess we’ll have to see in three hundred years.” 

[supernatural-jackles]

Owe You One - Part 4

Title: Owe You One - Jefferson’s Starship

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 7,067

Warnings: Minor Angst, Sexual Harassment, Self-Loathing, Anxiety, Fluff, Smut, Friends with Benefits

Summary: Dean Winchester has been your best friend and neighbour for the last year. A year of finding comfort in random drop ins and casual conversations, but neither of you know the pasts that the other has. Not fully. Pasts that come back to haunt you, and ruin everything you want in life. Can you find what you’re seeking in a couple of favours and a good time between the sheets or is history doomed to repeat itself?

Owe You One - Masterlist

Squares Filled: Bartender!AU ( @spndeanbingo) FWB Relationship ( @spnfluffbingo)

A/N: Part 4!! I hope y’all enjoy this part!! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! Happy reading!!  

 You stirred away at the pot you had on the stove, getting dinner ready for yourself. It was Friday night, and you had just gotten home from work about half an hour ago. You changed into your comfortable pyjamas before deciding to cook yourself a nice dinner. You were going to curl up on the couch for a little while and maybe turn in early. You had nothing extensive planned. Nothing but your PVR and previous episodes of The Walking Dead to catch up on.

 You reached for a bowl in the cupboard next to you, placing it on the counter before pouring your pasta into it. You heard three loud knocks at your door, pulling you from your meal for a moment. You placed it back down on the stove before heading over to the door, opening it up. You rolled your eyes with a smile when you found Dean standing there with a smile playing on his lips. You walked away from the door, letting him walk in without protest.

 “You want something to eat? I made enough pasta for two,” you pointed out. “Four cheese.”

 “Oh fuck yes,” he nodded, taking a seat at your counter. You reached in the cupboard, grabbing another bowl before pouring some into it. You took two forks out of the drawer, bringing Dean’s bowl over first before your own. You hopped on the chair next to him, looking forward to tasting your meal.

 “Thank you for this,” he smiled, taking a forkful.

 “You’re welcome,” you beamed, taking your own bite.

 “So what are you up to tonight?” he asked nonchalantly.

 “Stuff,” you answered smuggly. “What do you want?”

 “How do you know I want something?” he claimed, his voice went up half an octave.

 “Because you didn’t call or text before coming over tonight. You usually do if you just want to hang out for the night. So I’ll ask again, what do you want, Winchester?” you chuckled.

 “Okay, I have a huge favour to ask and seen as how you’re wearing your cute comfy pyjamas, I know you aren’t doing anything tonight. I also know for a damn fact that you would never let any guy see you in those so you’re not getting laid tonight.”

 “Thank you! I get the point,” you scoffed playfully, taking another bite.

 “I need help at the bar tonight. Sammy’s gonna be late and all I’ve got is Benny. You’re the only one that I can trust,” he stated. “I’ll pay you, of course. And whatever tips you make are yours.”

 “So you want me to bartend at Jefferson’s Starship tonight and I get paid?” you chuckled. “Actual money?”

 “What, you think I’m going to pay you in sex again?” he laughed, shaking his head. “‘Cause I can if you want me to. A little touchy touchy-”

 “Shut up, Dean,” you giggled, shoving him a little. “How late do I have to stay?”

 “Just until Sam gets in,” he assured you. “Not all night.”

 “Alright, let me eat. Then I’ll go get changed. You’re lucky I like you,” you side-eyed him.

 “I owe you big time,” he breathed out in relief. “Like huge, sweetheart.”

 “I’ll take you up on it at some point,” you winked. “Really though, you don’t owe me anything. Remember, you helped me out of a very low point. That isn’t easy.”

 “I still owe you a little. You literally never go out to the bar,” he pointed out with a sad smile.

 “You are more than right. Remember that,” you winked. “How was your day anyways?”

 “Eh, it was okay. Pretty busy as usual. I kept to myself at my station. My dad worked on what he needed to do. I fixed up a couple of cars and got all my paperwork done so I don’t have to do any this weekend. Fresh start Monday morning,” he explained to you. “How was your day?”

 “It was okay. Boring as hell, but that’s my job for you,” you shrugged.

 “So you were going to use this time to unwind, huh?” he said sheepishly. You could see the guilt he felt sores across his features. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

 “It’s okay, De. I should probably try to get out more anyways. Sitting at home alone isn’t going to do me any good,” you breathed out.

 “I mean, you’re not entirely wrong. Sometimes alone time is what you need. But in this case, you’re coming out. Not to mention, I own the bar,” he smirked.

 “Yeah yeah,” you tried not to smile.

 You managed to eat your pasta in record time. You figured you’d do the dishes in the morning after your breakfast. You knew Dean had to be there soon, and you didn’t want to leave him or Benny screwed. This was a job for you and you were going to work with professionalism.

 You grabbed something comfortable and presentable to wear to the bar. A pair of dark skinny jeans with a rip in the knee. You pulled on one of your white shirts and threw one of your red flannels over it to keep with the Winchester look. After that, you grabbed your comfortable boots and your bag, heading out the door with Dean by your side.

 Dean opened up your door for you and you slipped inside. There was a part of you that wondered if this was a good idea. After all, he and his brother owned this bar; his family. Last you knew, his family hated you. All but Dean. You didn’t want Sam to walk in and kick you out or worse, yell at you in front of everyone. You didn’t want to ruin their business. This was important to both of them because they started it together. You weren’t going to be the one to come between them. You were simply going to help your friend out and go on your way home. If Dean wanted to join you later, that was fine. But you weren’t supposed to mix business with pleasure.

 Dean parked in his designated spot out the back of the bar. There was a spot for him and a spot for Sam. No one else had access to park back here. You kicked your door open, circling around the car to the front. Dean motioned for you to follow him to the doors around the front of the building.

 The second you walked into the empty bar, you smiled to yourself. This bar wasn’t like any of the bars you had been in and you had been in many of them during your college days. They wanted their place to feel like home in some sense. There was a jukebox in the corner that played only classic rock. Lots of room for people to dance. Enough tables for people to sit. Booths for those who had bigger groups. Couches and chairs set up around the tv. By the actual bar, he had stools set up all around and a tv up on the wall so people could watch from there. He had all his liquor on display and coasters stacked, ready to go. All his glassware was branded with the bar's name, and a cowboy hat. This place was something to be really proud of, that was for certain.

 “Well well, look who it is,” Benny smiled. “I’ll be damned if it isn’t miss Y/N walking in for the first time in forever.”

 “Hi Benny,” you grinned

 “Hiya darlin,” he beamed. “What can I get for you tonight?”

 “I’m working tonight,” you told him, circling around the back of the bar. “Boss needed and extra set of hands.”

 “If you need help with anything, Y/N, just let one of us know. I know you know what you’re doing,” Dean nodded.

 “You’re damn right I do,” you said confidently. You grabbed an apron from the shelf beneath the cash register. You had a notepad, a pen and a cloth in there, ready to get to work. It had been a long time since you had stepped foot behind a bar, but you were sure you were going to snap right back into it pretty quickly. “Let’s do this.”

 It wasn’t long before people flooded into the bar. Some people just getting off work, having a drink to wind down. Others coming in in groups. The three of you worked in a perfect sync with one another. Pouring and mixing drinks the fastest you could get them to the customers in a timely manner. In record time, you had about fifty dollars in tips. The night was just getting started.

 You glanced around the room as soon as the first rush died out. Everyone was distracted in some way. A group of guys watching a game on the couch by the tv. A few women sitting at a table, gossiping about their week and their husbands. Then there was a few loners sitting at the bar, sipping away at a beer or a glass of whiskey. Trying to unwind after the week. You wiped down the counter top.

 “Hey there,” a man greeted you, taking a seat at the counter right in front of you. His smile was wide as he placed his hands on the countertop.

 “What can I get for you?” you asked, taking a deep breath as you tucked your cloth back in your apron.

 “Your phone number for starters,” he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows twice. You wanted to scoff but you were working. You weren’t about to ruin Dean’s business because some guy decided to hit on you. Not to mention, he wasn’t that cute. A man like him would be just like the rest of them. They’d get off and you’d be left finishing yourself off in the shower. You weren’t doing that again.

 “Your drink order, sir?” you corrected him, trying to keep your tone in check.

 “Whiskey neat,” he stated. “And that phone number.”

 “Whiskey it is,” you declared, putting the glass down on the napkin in front of him. You reached for the bottle of whiskey behind you, knowing full well he was staring at your ass. He was treating you like you were easy and that wasn’t okay with you. You weren’t doing that anymore. No more shitty guys.

 “Don’t play hard to get, baby,” he frowned. “I saw you eyeing me the second I walked in here tonight.”

 “Enjoy your drink,” you said, your voice void of all emotions. You walked away from him, taking your cloth once more before heading out to the customers area to begin cleaning up empty glasses and bottles. Dean and Benny were still working behind the counter, serving people. It had slowed down a little more. They still had the odd person come up to them.

 You wiped down every table, gathering all the empties. You snapped back into bartender mode pretty quickly. It was something you had done for years during your college years. Dean ran a really nice bar. Everything was really clean, but you also had a feeling that his brother had something to do with it. You took note of what needed replenishing to bring it out during your next trip. You gathered up what you could, placing it on the bar to move to the back when you had the chance to. You wiped down your last table before heading to the back. You could feel the creepy guy’s eyes on you and that told you to move quicker.

 “Baby c’mere,” he cooed, standing up. Your heart began to pound in your chest. You needed to move quickly.

 “Not interested,” you stated clearly, backing away from him. He was a big guy now that you saw him compared to you. He was tall and had a strong build. His hand made its way down to your ass, tugging you into him against your will. You tried your hardest to shove him off of you, but he barely budged. “Get off of me!”

 “Hey! Hey!” Dean shouted, making his way around the bar. “Hands off of her. Now!”

 “We were just getting to know each other, right baby?” He smirked, tugging you in once more. Hearing him say those words only angered you more.

 You pushed him once more, successfully getting him off of you, but not getting as far as you would have liked. “Get the fuck off of me.”

 Dean stepped between you and the douchebag, getting in his face a little more. You could see it in the way his jaw clenched that he was pissed. When Dean was pissed, no one wanted to be near him.

 “House rules. Respecting others, especially women is the second on that list. Sexual harassment is unacceptable. Get the fuck out of my bar,” he warned him, “I’m not going to ask you again.”

 “Whatever, she’s a cheap piece of ass anyways,” he scoffed, throwing down a bill on the counter before grabbing his jacket, heading to the door.

 “You okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked as he turned to face you. His hand came up to the side of your head.

 “Yeah,” you nodded.

 “You want a drink,” he offered you, smiling softly.

 “No thank you. I’m good,” you smiled before heading around the back of the bar to finish cleaning up. You also knew you’d be safer behind the bar and that was where you wanted to be.

 “You sure, darlin’?” Benny raised his eyebrow. “I can make you a mean drink.”

 “I’m sure. I don’t drink,” you stated, placing the empty bottles in the bin.

 “Since when?” Dean furrowed his brows. “We got drunk together a few months back.”

 “Since whenever,” you shrugged.

 “I feel like there is more behind this then you’re leading on,” Benny side-eyed you with a bit of concern.

 “There is, but we’re dropping this now, okay?” you smiled, heading over to the counter to serve the next customer.

 As you handed the customer their drink, Sam walked into the bar. His hair was a bit of a mess and he looked to be in a bit of a rush. You stiffened a little. After all, Sam had to know all about you now. His mom had to have said something to him. He had always been nice to you, but that was back then. There was a whole other side to you and your family now. Sure, Sam was nice, but he wasn’t going to be happy you were here if he knew anything.

 “Hey,” Dean greeted his brother. “How’d it go?”

 “Good,” he smiled to himself. “Place is picked out and booked. We officially have a date.”

 “Don’t leave me in suspense, Sammy. Wedding date now,” Dean chuckled, wiping down a glass.

 “September 15th,” he grinned widely, reaching his hand up to the back of his head.

 “I’ll save the date,” he nodded with a big smile. “Congratulations, little brother!”

 “Thanks, De,” he shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

 You stood behind the bar awkwardly, not knowing if you should say something, or go do something else. You didn’t want to be in the way of him. This was his business too. You pulled your cloth back out, and decided to head back out to the floor to wipe down the tables again.  

 “Dean, what is she doing here?” you heard Sam say.

 “She’s helping us out because I asked her to,” Dean stated.

 “Dean, you know-”

 “Sam-”

 “No Dean, if mom or dad was to walk in right now, you’d be in so much shit,” he stated. That was your queue. You weren’t welcomed and you weren’t going to ruin a family business. You had no idea why you even agreed to in the first place. Mary told you that you were never going to be good enough for her family. Why did you think you’d be good enough to work at her son’s bar?

 “Sorry,” you breathed out, as you untied your apron. “I’m- I’m gonna go, Dean. I don’t want to ruin your business or your relationship with your family. You don’t have to pay me for tonight.”

 “Y/N, wait,” Dean called out as you began to walk away.

 “Dean, it’s cool,” you nodded, assuring him it was.

 “No, it’s not cool, Y/N. I invited you here tonight,” Dean declared, walking over to you. “My mom and dad don’t own this bar. Sammy and I do. I’ll tell you again. I don’t care who your mom is or was to my parents. I care about you and who you are to me. If Sammy has a problem with it, then he can stow it for tonight. You are welcome in this bar.” His hands made their way to your arms, holding you in place.

 “Dean, I’m not worth the trouble, okay?” you smiled weakly, pulling the few bills out of your pocket, handing them to him. “This is yours.”

 “No, they are yours. You earned them tonight. All tips are yours,” he stated.

 “Y/N, please stay,” Sam called out.

 “Please, sweetheart,” Dean pleaded, holding his hand out for you to take. “You’re off the clock. Just hang out with us for a little while. You said you needed to get out more.”

 “You want a drink Y/N?” Sam offered, grabbing a clean glass from beneath the counter.

 “Okay,” you nodded. “Water would be great.”

 “W-water?” Sam furrowed his brows.

 “She doesn’t drink,” Benny added in.

 “Ah, okay,” Sam nodded.

 You walked around the bar, taking a seat on the stool behind the bar. Sam placed a glass of water with a few ice cubes on the counter in front of you, giving you a soft smile. You knew he was trying to keep a smile on his face to keep you around for the night. It was forced at best.

 “So, no guy in your life right now, Y/N?” Benny questioned you. “You usually have someone-”

 “Nope, I don’t. Not right now,” you smiled at him, bringing your water up to your lips. Great, even Benny knew you got around, you thought to yourself.

 “You want someone? ‘Cause you know, I’m single and you’re-”

 “Benny, knock it off,” Dean warned him. “She doesn’t need another guy hitting on her tonight. House rules.”

 “What? ‘M I not good enough for you,” he teased playfully before serving the next customer.

 “You’re not my type,” you giggled. “My track record states that I only go for dicks. You’re a nice guy.”

 “So Y/N, I gotta ask,” Sam started, taking another stool, sitting close by. “I know you grew up with your mom-”

 “Sam,” Dean called out, his voice laced with a bit of anger.

 “It’s okay Dean,” you assured him.

 “Was it just you and your mom or was your dad ever around?” he questioned. You knew he was curious, and he didn’t seem to want to cause any harm to you. It was a simple question. Nothing you hadn’t been asked a hundred times before.

 “No. It was just me and my mom. I never knew my dad, in fact, I’ve never met him or know his name for that matter. My mom always told me he didn’t want anything to do with me and that was why he wasn’t around. He didn’t want me and that’s why it was the two of us. I have no idea who my dad is, or if he’s even alive at this point. I never knew anything about him,” you shared with him.

 “Were you ever curious?” Dean added in, stepping closer to you and Sam.

 “Yeah, of course I was. I grew up without a dad. The kids at school were terrible to me because I didn’t have one,” you began. “I mean, look at me now. I’m a mess ninety five percent of the time. I just wish my mom would’ve been straight with me. But at the same time, my mom slept around a lot. She had a new boyfriend every month. I doubt she even knew who my dad was.”

 “Do you think she was hiding it from you?” Sam brought up.

 “In some ways, yeah. I asked her when I was eighteen, before I left for college and she said there was no point. My dad was probably dead.”

 “If you ever wanted to find out more, Y/N, I’m sure I could do a little digging for you,” Sam offered you. It was a kind gesture but it wasn’t worth it.

 “I’m not worth that kind of trouble, Sam. I don’t want to cause any more issues with your family than I already have.”

 “Your mom’s issues weren’t your fault, sweetheart,” Dean reminded you.

 “Dean’s right, Y/N. What your mom did in the past has nothing to do with you. It bugs the hell out of my mom because you look like her. It’s still wrong that she treated you the way she did. You’re nothing like your mom,” Sam said with a sad smile. It was really nice to hear those words coming from Sam. Especially now that you were here. You didn’t want him to hate you like his family did.

 “Okay,” you breathed out. “I’m giving you the okay to take a look. It can’t hurt to find out my family history. And I’m curious as to what my mom hid from me all my life. But I don’t want to make any contact if we find out who it is.” In reality, it was probably good to find out in case you had a family history of cancer or something like that. It was too late now to ever have a father daughter relationship like you dreamed about when you were ten.

 “Deal. You are always welcome to change your mind later on, okay?”

 “Thank you,” you smiled softly at him. “Means a lot to me that you want to do this.”

 “Well well, look who decided to show up for work,” Dean greeted the two people as they walked in.

 “I thought you were short tonight, De?” you furrowed your brows.

 “Chuck and Cas work later so we can go home at a decent hour,” he told you. Both of them walked behind the bar, settling their stuff underneath the cash.

 “Hey,” a man with curly-ish hair greeted you. “I’m Chuck.”

 “Y/N,” you waved at him.

 “So uh, how you doin’?” he wiggled his eyebrows.

 “Chuck,” Dean warned him, shaking his head.

 “Oh shit, sorry. Is she your-”

 “No she’s not my girlfriend. She’s my best friend,” he stated, earning a chuckle from both you and Sam. Dean was very protective over you, and you actually kind of liked that he was.

 “Oh god, that’s worse,” he breathed out sheepishly. “It was very nice to meet you, Y/N.”

 “You ready to head out, Y/N?” Dean offered with a smile.

 “God, yes please!” you beamed, hopping off your stool.

 “I’ll grab your number from Dean,” Sam nodded, giving you a wink. Dean grabbed his jacket as you circled around the bar for the last time. You couldn’t wait to go home and change into your pyjamas. You couldn’t wait to be in the privacy of your apartment so you could finally unwind for the night.

 Dean followed behind you as you lead the way to the impala. It was just after eleven when you looked at the clock in the impala as Dean started her up. It was a long night, and some parts of it sucked, but for the most part, you were glad you did it with Dean there. His friends were also nice people to be around so that certainly helped.

 “You did good tonight,” he smiled at you as he turned out of the parking lot.

 “What can I say, I’m an ex bartender,” you chuckled. “Thanks for asking me to come out tonight.”

 “You’re welcome,” he nodded.

 “If you’re up for it, you wanna hang out at my place for a bit?” you asked him. “Only if you want to.”

 “Yeah, I’d love to,” he agreed.

 It was almost eleven thirty by the time you arrived at your front door with the keys in your hand. Dean stood right behind you, keeping a close distance. You figured after that creepy guy at the bar tonight, he was keeping you close in case something was to happen. You really did enjoy how protective he was of you. He had been ever since that day the two of you made up. It was nice to have someone want to keep you safe from harms way.

 You threw your keys on the counter as soon as you walked in. Dean locked the door behind him and kicked off his shoes on the front mat. You leaped onto the couch, flopping down on your back, earning a laugh from your best friend.

 “Long night, huh?” he said as he sat down next to you.

 “Very! I love being hit on by creepy guys. It’s my favourite,” you joked, moving up to a sitting position to give him more room on the couch. Your couch was big enough for two people to sleep on, but Dean just had to sit close to you.

 “You used to enjoy guys like that,” he teased you.

 “Eh, I wouldn’t say I enjoyed them. I prefer guys with a little more respect. Not guys that grope my ass in a crowded bar while I’m working,” you breathed out. “I don’t know. Lately I haven’t been interested.”

 “In what?” he cocked his head to the side, looking over at you.

 “Dating. Men in general,” you shrugged, leaning against the arm of the couch. “Too much to focus on and I’m a mess most days.”

 “Not even sex for you?” he questioned.

 “Eh,” you smirked. “I’ve got my own ways of handling things in that department. It’s not like any of the guys I slept with before knew what they were doing. I’m just not wasting my time.”

 “Good,” he grinned. “You deserve better than that.”

 “What about you, Winchester? You’re nearly as bad as I am for taking random people home,” you pointed out.

 “Not as of recently,” he confessed, looking down at his hands. “Part of it is how busy I’ve been. No one has really caught my eye. Everyone these days are dating, and settling down. After Cassie, I don’t really want to date right now. Especially since she left things open for when she gets back.”

 “I don’t blame you,” you nodded. “Would you get back together with her if she were to show up at your door right now?”

 “Deep question there, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her since we broke up. Not even an email. If she were to knock on my door, I don’t think I could just settle back in like nothing happened.”

 “That’s understandable,” you nodded. “At least you’ve moved on a little. We slept together.”

 “You’re the last person I slept with,” he admitted.

 “You’re my last too,” you nodded. “We’re doing awesome. Although, I certainly can’t complain. You were damn good. You kept up your end of the bargain beautifully.”

 “Well, technically I owe you one for tonight,” he joked with a smirk. “I know how to drive a good bargain.”

 “I’m down if you are,” you wiggled your eyebrows with a soft smile.

 “Actually?” he cocked his eyebrow.

 “What’s the harm?” you shrugged. “Not like we haven’t before.”

 “I’m definitely in if you are,” he nodded. “No pressure at all. Only if you want to.”

 “You’re too nice to me, you know that?” you smiled at him as you moved over. You threw your leg over his legs, settling down over his lap. His hands instantly reached for your waist as his eyes went wide.

 “I wouldn’t say nice,” he breathed out. “I just care ‘bout you is all.”

 “Well, thank you. I really appreciate that you care,” you smiled. “I care ‘bout you too.”

 “Alright, this is getting too chick flicky for my liking,” he stated, leaning forward. He captured your lips with his in a soft, heated kiss that had you instantly craving more. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders tugging yourself closer to him as your tongue slipped over his bottom lip.

 His hands reached beneath your flannel, pushing the material over your shoulders in record time. You had a feeling this was going to happen fast. It was late after all, and you both had been working since nine this morning. It was going to be a quickie at best and that was more than okay with you. A quick fix to make you both feel good and that would be enough to put you to sleep right away.

 “You’re sure about this?” Dean asked you, pulling away a little.

 “Yes, more than sure,” you breathed out, pushing his flannel over his shoulders. “No foreplay this time.”

 “Got it,” he nodded. “Just a quickie?”

 “Quickie then bed,” you smile at him.

 “Roger that,” he agreed, tugging the hem of your shirt up your body, throwing it to the floor. You did the exact same to his, tearing it off of him as quickly as you could. He bucked his hips up to yours, and you could feel the bulge of him already. The thought of having him once more sent heat pooling in your core.

 You climbed off of his lap, toying with the button on your jeans before shoving them down your legs along with your panties. Dean unbuckled his belt, making quick work of removing his jeans and boxers, pushing them down his legs. His hard cock standing proud between his legs. Fuck, was he perfect.

 “Condom?” you asked him.

 “Wallet,” he nodded, reaching down to his jeans, pulling out the leather pouch. He opened it up, taking the foil packet from his wallet. You stepped forward, straddling him as he opened the packet with his teeth, taking the rubber out. You watched as he took his cock in his hand, rolling the condom down over himself. You reached behind your back, removing the final article of clothing from your body to reveal yourself to him once more.

 “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he smiled softly at you.

 “Dean,” you grinned, shaking your head.

 “You are,” he shrugged. “I like that I’m the one you went home with tonight after all the guys that hit on you.”

 “Thank you,” you half smiled. “You’re sexy as hell.”

 “Hell doesn’t sound all that sexy,” he teased you.

 “Shut up, Winchester,” you giggled. “Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

 “Please,” he chuckled.

 “Then ask me nicely,” you played, wanting to test him just a little.

 “Y/N, will you please let me put my dick inside you?” he let out a laugh, not able to keep a straight face through the entire sentence, making you laugh along with him.

 “I can’t believe you actually asked,” you cackled.

 “Shut up,” he shook his head, trying not to laugh more than he already had. “The things I do for you.”

 “Hey, the way to a girl’s heart is through humor, Winchester,” you pointed out.

 “Yeah yeah,” he scoffed. “Alright, I’m going to touch you now. Make sure you’re ready for me.”

 “By all means,” you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. His right hand came down between your legs, his middle finger brushing through your folds to see if you were ready enough for him. You knew you were more than ready to take him. The mere sight of him had you ready to go. The kissing certainly helped you get there too. He was a damn good kisser.

 “Fuck, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You’re sure?”

 “Yes,” you nodded. “You’re sure?”

 “I am,” he agreed. “Whenever you’re ready.”

 You balanced yourself on his shoulders, moving up his body to get ready. You reached one of your hands down, taking his cock before lining it up with your entrance. Your eyes met with his as you positioned the tip in place. He nodded his head, not daring to break the eye contact you held. You let yourself sync down on him, slow and steady. His eyes fluttered shut as you surrounded him in your heat.

 “Fuck, Y/N,” he breathed out as he bottomed out inside you. You could feel him twitching a little as your walls grew accustomed to him. He finally opened his eyes, meeting yours as a smile played on his lips. He slipped his hands around your back, ready to help you move on him.

 “You feel amazing, De,” you told him, leaning forward, pressing your forehead to his.

 You made yourself more comfortable before beginning to move on him. He repositioned himself beneath you, making it easier for you to ride him, and for him to meet you halfway. As you sank down on him, he thrusted upwards. His grip was tight on you, keeping you close to him. He felt amazing inside of you. Hell, almost better than he did the first time. From this angle, his cock brushed over all the sensitive spots, getting you there a little bit faster than you were expecting him to.

 His lips trailed on your neck, making your fingers curl in his shoulders. Your walls fluttered around him at the sensation. You brought your hand up to his hair, carding through his soft locks as you continued to bounce on him.

 “Shit Dean,” you cried out.

 “Feels so good,” he muttered, pulling away from your neck. “So close.”

 “Faster,” you urged him on.

 His hands slipped down to your ass, pulling you closer to him. He shifted quickly, your back hitting the couch as he fit between your legs. He snapped his hips against yours, picking up the pace to get you both there. One of his hands reached between your bodies, toying with your clit to heighten your pleasure.

 “Dean, Dean, Dean,” you moaned. Your grip tightened around his shoulders, desperate to grab onto something to keep you grounded. You were panting profusely. You felt the tightness growing in your abdomen. You were so damn close.

 “Come for me, sweetheart,” he urged you on. “Let me feel you.”

 Your walls came crashing down around him as you let out a wanton moan. Your eyes fluttered shut as you threw your head back, letting the pleasure course it’s way through your body. Your fingers curled into his back, trying to hold onto something to keep you from floating away. Your vision went white and your body began to shake just enough for you to notice.

 “Atta girl,” he encouraged you as he bucked his hips into yours. You knew he was damn close to the edge. He just needed that final push.

 “Feels so good, De,” you whispered, trailing your shaky hand up into his hair. “Come for me, Dean.”

 “Shit-” he growled, picking up his pace just a little more. He gave three hard thrusts before his cock twitched. His seed filling the condom before he collapsed on top of you, letting out a breath.

 Your hand carded through his hair, playing with his soft locks as you both came down from your highs. You turned your head, looking at the time on the clock above your tv. It was just after twelve fifteen. You knew you had to get up and get ready for bed.  

 “I just realized we did that with the curtains open,” you giggled, glancing over at the big open window.

 “Well shit,” he let out a laugh. “I hope they enjoyed the show.”

 “We should get up,” you told him. “Get ready for bed.”

 “Yeah,” he breathed out, shifting himself up. He reached down, grabbing the base of his cock to remove himself with care.

 You were the first one off the couch, leaving your clothes on the floor. You headed into your bedroom, going straight to the bathroom. Dean wasn’t far behind you, throwing the used condom into the trash in your bathroom.

 “Uh, you’re welcome to stay if you want to,” you offered him. “Or you can go, whichever you want to do.”

 “Whichever you’re more comfortable with. I don’t want to overstep,” he stated, taking a step back.

 “We literally just had sex,” you reminded him. “I don’t know what would even be considered overstepping at this point.”

 “True,” he chuckled.

 “Well, if you’d like to stay, there is an extra toothbrush in my drawer and boxers in the top drawer in my bedroom,” you told him with a soft smile. “I’m going to shower to get the smell of sex and alcohol off of me. If you want to do the same, you know where the towels are.”

 “Alright,” he nodded, turning towards the shower. You watched as he turned the nozzle, setting it on hot. “You shower first and I’ll clean up out there.

 Dean was out of the bathroom, giving you a bit of privacy. You shut the door a little, giving yourself the comfort of being alone to do what you needed to do. You went to the bathroom before slipping into the shower.

 The water was the perfect temperature for you to clean yourself up. You were just going to have a quick shower to wash your body. You could wash your hair in the morning. You just wanted to feel clean. You had the feeling Dean was staying with you tonight, and you weren’t against it persay. You didn’t want him getting the wrong idea. You weren’t looking for a relationship. You hoped it was just sex for him. That you could handle with ease. You didn’t want to do the whole ‘feelings’ thing. Not with your best friend. Sleepovers were normal for friends. Two friends could have sex without it being weird. There was nothing wrong with casual sex.

 You washed your body quickly. You could feel yourself getting more and more tired the more you stood under the stream. You just wanted to get out, brush your teeth and head to bed. Nothing more.

 The water shut off and you stepped out onto the mat you had set out. You wrapped your towel around yourself, making sure it was tight. The mirror was all steamy, and you could barely see. Not that it was going to stop you from brushing your teeth.

 “Dean, you’re good,” you called out, reaching for your toothbrush. The bathroom door opened, revealing Dean in his boxers and nothing else. He was quiet as he went about, gathering what he needed to shower. You tried your hardest to keep your eyes off of him while he moved around.

 He hopped in the shower as soon as you finished brushing your teeth. The mirror was just starting to clear when you turned away, giving Dean the privacy he deserved. You noticed as soon as you were in your bedroom that Dean had thrown your clothes in the laundry hamper. His clothes were set on the chair in the corner of your room, folded nicely.

 You grabbed the first pair of panties from your drawer, and an oversized shirt to wear to bed. You could feel yourself starting to overthink this. You didn’t want anything to change between you and Dean. You didn’t see him as anything other than your best friend. You didn’t want to date him. You didn’t want a boyfriend or a serious relationship for that matter. You didn’t want him to get the wrong impression.

 You got dressed quickly, throwing the comforter back, slipping beneath the sheets. You heard the water turn off, which meant it was only a matter of time before he was joining you in bed. You lay on your back, adjusting the covers over your chest.

 Dean emerged from the bathroom in a pair of clean boxers, shutting the light out. He circled around the bed, following the same steps. He joined you in the bed, resting on his back, looking up at the ceiling.

 “You tired?” he asked you.

 “Now that the lights are out, not really,” you chuckled. “You?”

 “No not really,” he let out a laugh. “That was fun.”

 “It was. And I’m not usually for being on top,” you admitted with a half smile.

 “Why this time?” he questioned, turning his head to look your direction.

 “I don’t know. I guess I feel a little more comfortable around you. I’m not as nervous about some things, like the way I look for example,” you confessed.

 “You’re beautiful,” he said with a laugh. “Hell, I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

 “What, like that?”

 “That. And sex in general,” he shrugged. “I’ve got what is probably not a good idea. But you said that you’re not looking to date anyone. I’m not ready to date anyone. We’re best friends and speaking from previous experiences one and two, sex is great between us. You’re comfortable with me, and I’m comfortable with you. Why don’t we continue sleeping together? You know, get each other off, try some new things?”

 “Like a friends with benefits kind of thing?” you inquired, furrowing your brows.

 “Yeah I guess so,” he breathed out.

 “How is that going to work, Dean?” you turned to face him. “It literally never works. There are too many rules, and someone always gets hurt in the end.”

 “Not if we don’t let it,” he reminded you.

 “Fair point. If we’re going this, and that’s a big if, Dean. I don’t want stupid rules and shit, okay? Friends who have sex, try new things; whatever. Nothing about our friendship changes,” you declared.

 “Done deal. I can agree to those terms,” he nodded.

 “Good. I’m all for sex, but as soon as something goes sideways, of gets complicated, I’m out, okay?” you breathed out.

 “More than okay,” he smiled at you. “Now, are you going to deny me after sex cuddling?”

 “We had sex like half an hour ago,” you scoffed playfully.

 “Friends are allowed to cuddle, you know,” he reminded you. “It’s not going to hurt you.”

 “Fine,” you shook your head. “You’re big spoon though.”

 “Turn around then,” he smirked.

 You turned over, trying to make yourself comfortable on your side of the bed. Dean slipped his arm around your middle, his chest pressing against your back. You let yourself melt into him, feeling safe in his hold. You knew for a fact that he was going to keep the nightmares away tonight.  

 Maybe after sex cuddling wasn’t so bad after all.

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

Part 5 coming Tuesday!

Did you like it? What was your favourite part? Any theories? Please share your thoughts with me via reblog, reply or send me an ask! Nothing is stupid! I WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU! Your response is the ONLY thing keeping me sharing this story!

Dean Babes

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[tintentrinkerin]

nothing on my tongue but hallelujah...

Rating: Explicit

Pairing:

Jared Padalecki/Jensen Ackles, Jared/various, Jared/Alex Calvert

Warnings: 

Gangbang, Barebacking, Jealousy, Top Jared Padalecki, Bottom Jensen Ackles, Religious Cults, Power Dynamics

Summary: Jared's Cult, the "Church of Grace" is a peaceful and harmonic little community in the South. Then young Jensen appears and rocks the Cult leader's world - moreoever, it rattles Alex awake, who's been sure to be his leader's most loved member.

Written upon request

Word Count: 9.9k

Read below the cut or on AO3

Kudos are love <3

The Divine Five Pillars of “Church of Grace”

Obedience

Purity

Community

Free Love

Kindness

The “Creed”

I believe in God, the Father and the Almighty,

who created the world, the people, the seas, the animals and the trees.

I believe in God’s son, who is his true Vicar on Earth

For he brings joy, love, community, kindness and hope. 

I reject the Devil and his kin. I turn my whole existence to 

the true Vicar of the Holy Father. 

I hereby swear to follow the five divine rules of the Church

and give myself into the hands of God’s most graceful creation.

May He and God’s Angels lead me into Paradise.

Amen.

2 Corinthians 11:13-15 

For such men are false apostles, deceitful workmen, disguising themselves as apostles of Christ. And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. So it is no surprise if his servants, also, disguise themselves as servants of righteousness. Their end will correspond to their deeds.

Siddharta Gautama

Through true honesty deeply believe that all sentient-beings are one.That all beings have the same true nature, wisdom, virtue.

If people knew how much effort it took to get an orgy going, they probably wouldn’t even bother and settle for porn instead. 

Jared and Alex had to plan every monthly “gathering” very thoroughly, especially, when new recruits and adepts arrived. The new boys and girls would maybe chicken out at first, but that wouldn’t be punished. Later, yes. At their first time? No. Jared was very kind to those he found. In other communities they’d be punished right on spot. But Jared, no no, he wasn’t that barbaric. He wanted everyone to feel happy and included. Everyone had to use the headquarter’s communal showers or baths after they had an extensive cleansing plan, to purify their body and also a very intense work out session. All for purity’s sake. Jared loves purity. 

The garden behind the Church of Grace’s headquarters was around 400 acres, enough space to celebrate free love, the holy spirit within all of us, and most importantly, worship the true Vicar of God on Earth. Forget Jesus. 

Jared was pleased when he saw his usual very busy adepts who were about to be initiated in the second step of Priesthood. They were so eager and they had a fantastic taste in decorating. There will be a bonfire, it’s May 1st after all, one of Jared’s favorite dates for a gathering. Pagans used to celebrate Beltane, well, they still do. In tiny groups, the Wiccans and the Druids. He has no affiliations with them, but as a shepherd of his sheep he needs to be informed. Wise. He wants to be the one who can answer all their questions, give interpretations. His interpretations. His view of the world. And in his world, only his Church will bring them peace and harmony and closer to God’s grace and mercy. 

The bonfire wood is piled right in the center of the garden, the part of the garden that members are allowed to see and walk on. Around the bonfire a lot of big wooden logs are placed for the followers of Jared to sit on. As soon as the fire burnt down a little bit and some chalices of holy wine were emptied and some delicious weed was consumed, the orgy might start. Jared will let the believers start first. There’s always a couple or a single horny person that will start wooing a person of their interest. Jared will join later, when the ecstasy is palpable and the adepts play the drums, letting the mass of naked bodies find their rhythm. Behind the huge pile for the bonfire, there’s Jared’s seat. A massive chair made of dark wood, polished, carvings all over. Still a thing someone could find a little too pagan, but Jared doesn’t care. The truth is what he speaks, not the others. And the truth is, that people still are just the same as in the early Middle Ages. The same things struck them with awe, and it’s not churches in white marble and Jesus hanging from crosses. Nature and it’s forces, the hidden desires. Intimate, primal and authentic. That’s his motto. No nude angel chiseled out of porcelain will make people feel this kind of raw euphoria and devotion as a bonfire and some drums do. Let the drums shake their cores and make their blood rage. This is how you make people feel their primal truth, and then, they’ll realize why doing this once a month is so freeing. They will get back to work, back to Jared’s mass, satisfied and their needs soothed. Then they will happily obey, stay pure, pray and make the community itself a functional unit of people with the same values.

And their money. It’s always gonna end up in such a community running itself, on donations, the members’ money and other things. 

When the sun sets, the members of the community sit down on the wooden banks or logs, or they bring a white towel to sit on. Jared counts the members and everyone is there. Alex sits beside Jared’s chair, obeissant. 

The white flowy cult dresses start billowing in the wind. Jared sits down on his chair, with a graceful flowing movement. He’s dressed in white too, linen, see through even when dry. When he sits all the heads turn to him. In the twilight of the remaining sunbeam, you could think, Jared just descended from heaven. He likes that idea. He raises his arms and in his strong, rough voice he proclaims “Brothers, sisters, it’s time for our monthly celebration. You cleansed your bodies, you prayed and did good service to the community. Now is the time to reward you, my brothers and sisters. Let’s have the holy communion, break bread and offer it to your neighbours, offer wine to your friends. Connect.” There’s faint applause and Jared puts his hand down. “No need to applaud, my dear sister, tonight, we celebrate you and your devotion and purity!”

He turns to Alex, dressed in white linen trousers. “Brother Alex will light  the fire and then, brothers and sisters, enjoy the bread and wine, let your spirits flow and find your matches for tonight!”

The crowd cheers and they end the chorus with a loud and enthusiastic “Amen!”

“Amen!”Jared echoes and his voice layers upon everything else.

When he sits down and Alex lights up the fire he watches all these people, the four new recruits. A young cute redhead girl, she looks like condensed sunshine - a young boy, looks like he’s here because the redhead is here (he’d be weeded out tonight) - another redhead, looking fierce. A snake. He might take a closer look at her - and then, there is Green Eyes. The boy that Jared picked himself. Usually one of his lower assistants would pick them but this time, Jared had to intervene. He needed these assistants to weed out the no go’s just before Jared could even see them. He couldn’t check on every person willing to join, they needed to make a first sighting and then the few ones who might be of Jared’s interest, would be invited to meet the True Vicar himself. Usually, that was 10 out of 200 or even less. And Jared was just as rigorous with ditching the foul seeds. But Green Eyes was his favorite all along. Those eyes… 

Alex breaks the loaf of bread and offers it to Jared. Of course, he’s on his knees and only looks up when Jared takes the half of the loaf and gives him his blessing.

“May you be blessed by our Lord and his Angels,” Jared says very formally. Alex looks up, his face has tiny sprinkles of ash on them already and his robe turned transparent from the sweat. He’s decent. Will he try as the first one today? Like always? 

“May you be blessed by your Father, Our Lord and his Angels,” Alex replies until Jared gestures to him to stay up. 

“Amen.” 

“Amen.”

Jared eats and then receives the wine from Alex too. That’s a golden rule. As his personal assistant, Alex receives the blessings from Jared. Just after him, anyone is able to be blessed by their Master. They share half of the bread, they will need the rest later. In this community it is not necessary to receive Jared’s blessing to consume the holy communion as his liberal practice says that any true believer in their community, on one of the 12 holy days of their community “gathering”, can offer and receive blessings from a brother or a sister. Jared’s happy about that, because blessing 120 people would make him pass out drunk and he can’t have that. He is in control. And he needs to stay in control, too. 

Around him, the wine, the food are eaten and some herbal cigarettes are lit, the thick smell of weed is everywhere. Four cult members responsible for music start playing the drums and flutes now. Quietly still, just a hint that soon, the gathering will start with their original purpose. The physical and mental connection of the members with each other. Jared can already see people who are done eating, wine tipsy and a little herbally relaxed. Hands wander under togas and robes, simple shirts and wide hippie trousers. Alex stays with Jared, looking down on the obedient sheep doing what they’re supposed to do. The fabric in his crotch is tenting. One look in Alex’ face tells Jared everything.

“You won’t give up, huh?”

Alex shakes his head. “No. I will never give up.”

Jared now stands up and stretches like a cat that has just awoken and now is on their way to do some mischief. “Boy, all of you try so hard, but none of you can take it.”

“It’s about receiving your mercy,” Alex says, now sounding a little sulky. 

Jared heads towards the bonfire where some couples (or more) are intertwined with each other, laying on the bare grass, sitting on logs or they found a nice spot on the white towels everyone brought. Right in the center, around the fireplace, it is too hot to sit there. Jared makes his rounds, ruffles some hair here, kisses a girl there, even helps a young girl settle on her lover’s cock.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he coos, “that’s how you show your love and devotion.”

She would be too tight and small for him though. All the women here would surely love to try again and again, but none of them would be prepared for his cock. 

When he is done doing rounds around the bonfire he sits down on an empty white blanket and just like it’s natural, the free members gather around him. The drums start playing a hard and catchy rhythm. 

The psychology behind music and rhythm. His members really know how to play a mass of people and put their bodies in the right directions. Alex joins and everyone respects Jared’s assistant too much to try and get Jared before him. In absolute devotion, Alex pulls Jared’s white linen pants down to his naked ankles, then off his naked feet. The participants murmur and gasp, such a delight every time. Jared didn’t wear boxer briefs or anything else underneath and so, everyone can admire his massive cock. It’s big, the erection growing strong and hard and the tip bounces against Jared’s toned six pack, above his belly button. Even Alex with his long filigrane and very skilled fingers can’t wrap around the shaft fully. 

They all watch, not even Alex dares to touch him yet. 

“You. Alex. Claire. You were such a good team last time. Would you show me how perfectly you harmonize?”

The blonde girl blushes deep red and Alex first raises an eyebrow. It’s clear who he wants, but he would never deny one of Jared’s commands. And that’s what it is. A command. 

Alex pushes Claire on all fours, one strong hand in her hair and presses her down while he sucks on two of his fingers and then penetrates her with them. She squeals and giggles, but before Alex fucks her he knows he has to give his true interest a show, and he will. While fingering her he presses his face between her buttcheeks and starts sucking. The scene gets very loud with pleasure noises very soon and another guy asks to accompany them. 

Jared supports himself with one arm and the other he uses to stroke his cock, throbbing and hot, he loves it when his followers put on such a show. He’s leaking some precum already and a boy next to him looks at it. Greedy and inexperienced. Jared doesn’t let him taste yet, and instead the nameless boy bends down to kiss Jared’s very muscular thighs. Another follower starts doing the same on the other side, everything with Jared stroking himself slowly. He wants to enjoy every minute of it. His toes are sucked on, submissive followers suck them like it’s his massive member. The first brave adepts gather around them too and Jared can’t help but smile. People stroke his hair, kiss his neck and leave their marks, but what Jared really needs is someone taking his cock like a champion. He knows he’s intimidating. Thick and lock, and even grows bigger when hard. The first adept who is bold enough to come forward is very much welcome. He has himself oiled pretty well, he smells flowery and when he sinks on Jared’s cock (just the tip!), he freezes. 

“Oh… God”, he hisses, “oh my f… so big…” Jared smirks, his hands on the twink boys hips. Such a beautiful boy, Jared would love to fuck him and fill him up, but it looks like he is already failing at the tip. 

“Go slow, my dear,” Jared says nonetheless. A guru can hope. 

Two hands on his shoulders push the boy farther down and he cries out, half in pleasure, but also in pain. The hands disappear and the young man on Jared’s cock looks like he’s about to cry. 

“It’s too much for you, hm?”

The boy nods and gets up, legs shaking. You can tell he never had a guy fuck his ass before, bonus points for using oil as lube. He might try again after he gets used to it with another cult member. He stammers an apology. Jared pulls him down for a second and presses his thumb on the boy’s forehead. 

“I bless you, brother.”

It’s a ritual, it’s a necessity, or the boy will maybe consider leaving. But most of the boys, like Alex, stay close to Jared and try it again and again and again. Some people are overachievers, maybe one day it will be successful. 

The boy mumbles an Amen and then strolls away, looking for another group he can find a place in. Jared still feels the tight ass of this boy and, damn, how much he loves it when they’re tight, maybe an anal virgin even, and he’s the first to fuck them. Another brother sucks him off, but  he also has trouble swallowing more of Jared’s wand than just the tip. His sucking is superb, ambitious even. Drool runs down his throbbing cock, damn, he even makes delicious sounds! Jared’s head falls back and he wishes he could blow his first load, but all these attempts of his followers just leave him just ‘almost coming. The man takes him deeper now but is interrupted by heavy gagging and he has to give up. Now it’s Alex who claims to be next. Alex is the kind of guy who acts like a passionate lover with anyone, even though he only craves  Jared’s attention. He’s open and gaping already, must've gotten into a very nice threeway with Kathryn and the other member. Alex sinks on Jared’s cock, his back pressed against Jared’s sweaty chest. Alex is able to take more than just Jared’s tip after extensive dilating practice or when he’s been fucked already by two or more of his brothers of the Church, but that leaves Jared only semi turned on, too. He feels loose, not as tight as when he tried it the first time and cried for several minutes because Jared’s dick almost tore him apart. It’s enough to make Jared cum and bless Alex with an intense prostate orgasm, but still Jared is not satisfied. When Alex leaves and some others follow him to the pool, he sits down again, crotch still throbbing, his need still not satisfied. Around him the orgy is at its peak, no one is alone by now, everyone is sharing their love and energies. Jared is gifted, his cock is ready again five minutes later and he mounts that ginger woman, the adept. But she winces when he’s halfway in and Jared has to pull out. She’s biter and a scratcher, her thick accent is sexy and he makes her cum multiple times with his tongue and fingers, but he holds back now, he waits for the perfect one. Someone to form a union with. A tight one, but skilled and resilient. A man that can take his cock and even if it hurts a little, push through. 

Jared sinks down on one of the blankets, lies down and stares in the clear starry night, a follower brings him a pillow and others massage his thighs and arms, his feet. God, yes, his feet are so sensitive. Another guy shyly asks if he may be of service and when Jared opens his eyes and looks up it’s Green Eyes. He hasn’t seen the boy since the beginning of the orgy. Jared immediately hikes up and shoos his other followers away. 

“Sure, sit with me.”

The boy with the forbidden pretty pouty lips, the rough voice and piercing green eyes sits down, facing the self proclaimed Vicar of God.

“You want to be of service, what was your name again? I’m sorry that I have to ask, I am terrible with names – most people change theirs after initiation anyway and that’s what stays in my memory.”

Green Eyes looks at him. “I’m Jensen.”

“Hello Jensen. I’m glad you came to our monthly free love gathering. Is that the kind of religious practice you seek?” 

A girl offers them some bread and a chalice of wine, plus some mushrooms on the side.

“It would be an honor, Jensen, to break the bread and drink the wine with you. Mushrooms are not mandatory if you’re allergic to that kind.”

Jensen grins and echoes the girl’s “amen” and gives her a smile. It’s gotten a bit quiet around them, some followers watch Jared and his new recruit very, very closely. 

“I don’t want to break the protocol, who is supposed to break the bread and offer it?” Jensen asks with a shy grin. Jared chuckles.

“We do not have a strict protocol, not on these special nights when we celebrate freedom and harmony. And free love. When we surrender to our primal instinct, you understand?”

Jensen nods seriously. “Yes, I get that.”

He rips off a piece of loaf then a second and offers one to Jared without the ceremonial motto. Jared ignores that (at least today) and receives the bread. “May you be blessed by our Lord and his Angels,” he says, presses his thumb on Jensen’s forehead and mumbles an “Amen”. Jensen echoes again, then takes a bite. When he’s done Jared offers him the wine with the same motto, and this time Jensen copies it, even though the Vicar is addressed during that sentence with “May you be blessed by your Father, our Lord and his Angels”. He will learn that, Jared will make sure of it. 

No one dares to come any closer after they’ve been offered shrooms, bread and wine. Some couples, or whole piles of copulating people don’t care what’s around them but some very devoted followers of Jared’s doctrine watch their Messiah and the new man very closely. Some are envious. Some are in awe of these two beautiful men sharing the body of Jesus Christ (strictly speaking Jared’s ‘brother’, just a few thousand years earlier) in such a manner. Jared’s tanned body glistens in the light and sparks of the bonfire and his hair started curling a little lately. Several people’s eyes turn wet. Given the beauty of their leader. Or given the fact there’s a new boy in town. And this boy is too pretty for his own good.

II

The wine is dry and aromatic, nothing you would just chug down and Jensen and Jared empty four chalices which are refilled by a maid that was brave enough to disturb her leader and the new recruit. It’s gotten chill and the bonfire shrinks and shrinks, some members of the Church try to revive it for a little longer and throw thick and heavy branches on it, along with brushwood that would burn easily and then transfer the fire over to the branches.

Just like in the 16th up to the 18th century – this is how you build a pyre to burn witches.

Jensen carefully, even a little shy now, lays a hand on Jared’s leg. The leader is surprised, given his attitude and behaviour he didn’t count on Jensen to take part in the orgy, he seemed more the watching type. The bonfire reflects in his intense green eyes and Jared feels an aching towards his new recruit. 

Now he realizes that Jensen’s white shorts are tenting. The way he looks up at Jared, through his thick blonde eyelashes it’s absolutely acting. Jensen is not that shy. Maybe a little. 

“The others told me…” Jensen started, “that I should under no circumstances give in to your… advances. You would, how did they say… tear me apart…? I wonder why…”

Jared snorts as an answer. Amused. His followers keep saying this to either see if someone’s brave enough to come forward right in their first few months here or if they’ll chicken out. 

“Well!” He has to laugh again. “Look, I think you’ve… you’ve watched a little without participating in this celebration, right? You’re still dressed, to my dismay!”

Jensen blushes, one hand on his crotch. Now, this reaction is a little more honest. 

“I can, I mean…”

Jared laughs louder now and then lays his hand on Jensen’s, that is covering his erect penis.

“Don’t make it awkward, Jensen, it’s fine. Not many participate in their first orgy and you are not obliged to, either. This is about free love. Father gave us free will for a reason. Because without free will, there is no love on this Earth.” 

There’s one streak of Jensen’s chin long hair, it’s styled but now the hairspray or the gel isn’t working it’s magic anymore. Jared brushes the strand behind Jensen’s ear. He’s closer to the recruit now and Jensen’s hand under his pulls away for the messiah to feel what’s underneath. 

“Regarding your concern about ripping you apart… I would never. But as you can see…”

Jensen’s eyes fixate on Jared’s growing cock and he gulps visibly.

“Yes, I…”, he looks up again, doe eyed and his mouth slightly opened, his pink silky tongue wets his lips. 

“You have the face of an angel, do you know that? I wonder what hides behind that…”

Jared’s voice is low and rough now, he groans when under his fingers Jensen’s cock jumps. 

“Jared, but… what if I can’t--”

“Shush, I’ll prepare you for it. And we have masses of oils. We’ll go slow. Very slow.”

A whisper erupts amongst the witnesses, their leader and idol! – wooing Jensen. A newbie. Some figures in the dark hurry for more oil, whole cans of it, juices, towels and fresh clothes. This is a choreography of duty to care for Jared. Everyone knows this is an occasion they won’t be able to witness that often. So far only one person could take Jared’s cock and fulfill his most aching wish. 

It’s Alex’s now hated duty to bring it all over to the blanket where Jensen climbs in Jared’s lap, panting faintly between two very passionate kisses. There’s fresh bread, more wine, water from the Church’s own well, fresh clothes for both and a big bottle of lube, oil based. It will stain every inch of fabric it’ll meet. Jared doesn’t even look up at him when he retreats, but he throws a ‘thank you’ in his direction. As soon as Alex is out of reach he is forgotten. 

Jared takes his time with this one. His commune members are in such harmony with each other already that prolonged foreplay isn’t necessary, but of course encouraged. Jensen is vocal, moans in their kisses and Jared loves the effort and the devotion he shows already. Jared pulls Jensen’s clothes off and bathes in the glow of this beautiful sight. Jensen’s skin is flawless, soft. It’s a joy touching him. Jensen pulls him in another kiss and arches in the leader’s strong arms - so responsive, in every way! 

“I want to try it,” Jensen then whispers, shakily.

“What exactly?”

“Take you. Suck you.”

Jared chuckles and gets up, pulls Jensen along on his lap. Jensen’s hand is big, he has deliciously thick fingers and Alex would appreciate some good fingering from him. He should introduce these two a little later

Jensen slides between Jared’s legs, who’s supporting himself with his arms to be able to watch Jensen try and gag on his cock. Jared senses some of his sisters and brothers coming closer, silently, to not interrupt them in their exploration ritual. He can’t blame them for being curious, and this is the exact purpose of their monthly gathering. Enjoy each other freely. 

Jensen’s mouth waters and when he opens his lips, a thick streak of drool runs down his face and chin. He doesn’t hesitate to bend down and wrap his lips around Jared’s tip.

A moment of breathless silence from everywhere. 

Jensen. slides. deeper. 

Jared moans and his head falls between his shoulder blades, so that he can see the clear starry night sky.

He will stop now, it’s too much. Oh God it’s too much, he can’t do it, Jared thinks, and then he starts praying Please let him go deeper. 

Jensen’s mouth feels tight, soft, and hot and he produces so much drool, it makes it messy. Perfectly messy. Jared’s head falls foward again and he watches Jensen taking him inch by fucking inch. Jared’s cock disappears in Jensen’s tight throat to the root. Jared stays perfectly still and tries to not even move a hair’s breadth. Jensen’s hand slightly presses on Jared’s stomach and then pulls away slowly. Painfully slowly, while working Jared’s incredibly thick shaft with his tongue. As soon as he’s able to look up to Jared everyone can see streaks of tears in his angelic face and his flushed cheeks. He keeps on working Jared’s tip, circling the bundle of nerves under the tip and then, with a high pitched gasp, pulls away completely.

He looks over to Jared and smiles. “Did I do good?”

Jared nods. It’s been ages since someone took him completely. It takes all of his willpower to not grab in Jensen’s hair and force his mouth down again to suck him off.. and then fuck his recruit’s face. He would gag and whine so pretty…. Jared needs a moment to breathe in and out very deeply, call himself to reason. 

“You are perfect,” he says, his voice shaky. “By the Angels, you are the best.”

Jensen blushes even deeper and looks away. He notices the other believers have gathered around them. Jared combs through his hair. He feels that Jensen now really is shy.. that’s not a show.

“Don’t bother, my dear. They won’t touch you if you don’t want to. I’m here for you and only you. Okay?”

Jensen nods. “So I really did good? Did no one before me take you that deep? I mean it’s a bit tricky but -”

Some of the watchers moan. 

“Did I say something wrong?”

“They all tried, dear. And failed. I guess you just earned yourself a title.”

Some of the watchers lurk in the dark, some are illuminated by the fainting bonfire. The sound of drums is gone. Jared watches Jensen look around and get used to it, after all. Then he turns to Jared and grins.

“I will work to keep the title then…,”

Jared pushes his delicious mouth on his cock again, and yes, fuck, holy fuck YES, Jensen can take him. He takes him so deep that Jared can feel his throat tighten and contract, but he’s not gagging in the bad way. Tears fall and drool runs down his reasonably thick shaft. Jared’s hand grips in Jensen’s hair and pulls. Jensen utters a surprised but pleased moan and keeps going faster and faster. One hand sneaks around Jared’s balls and massages them. Jared’s hips buck up and Jensen needs a break for a second, deep, hectic breathing, his teary eyes, the rest of the bonfire glistens in his eyes. Jared has a hard time holding back his possessive nature when Jensen just worships him like that. Faint and aroused moans around them show Jared that the others enjoy Jensen’s show as well. Some couples even have started fucking. Girls stand close by, rubbing their swollen and wet parts. 

“Look around,” he orders Jensen, “look around, how much love you spark.”

“Your voice… so deep… so much deeper,” Jensen is still fighting for breath. It makes Jared only crazier. 

“That’s you, you do that to me.” 

Jensen’s hand is still stroking him. Jared would be ready to come just now, preferably he’d shoot his massive load right in his throat, but what he wants even more, what’s the source of the deepest aching is the longing to finally be inside someone fully. He wants to ram his cock in Jensen up to the root and make him come first, then Jared could let go. 

“You’re close,” Jensen whispers and presses a kiss on Jared’s lips. “I swallow if you’re into that…”

Jared’s answer is a low and growl. “What I really want…”

“Let me guess… you want to fuck me? Here in front of all these people?”Jensen sounds out of breath, thrilled, over excited. His hands are shaking when he pulls himself on Jared’s lap.

Jared holds him close, his raging, painfully hard cock pressing on Jensen’s asshole. It’s slick from all this spit, but he wouldn’t dare to just enter him now, without warning. Without giving him something to chew on while Jared has to push his way in. 

“Free love. My pleasure is their pleasure,” Jared manages to say. He’s very proud to have that uttered in a manner that makes him seem still in control of himself. 

Jensen laughs quietly and then climbs down Jared’s lap. He stands up. And everyone can take a look at this beautiful body, shaped by God to strike people in awe. His own cock is thick and looks just delicious, Jared might want to get a taste one day, too. Then Jensen turns around and lowers on all fours, his perfectly shaped ass in Jared’s direction, head down, almost submissive. 

“Make your pleasure my pleasure,” he whispers, only Jared seems to hear it. 

Men and women formed a crescent around them now, the opening pointing to the dying fire. Jared licks his lips while he squeezes a very lavish amount of oil in his hand. He doesn’t cover his cock yet, he will help Jensen first. He enters him with one finger and Jensen bucks away first, in surprise but then lowers himself on the finger, starts fucking himself with it. His broken and sweet moans make Jared’s blood boil and also the participants around them start jerking harder. One hand gesture from Jared, and his followers stop. They shouldn’t finish before Jensen does, that’s just and right. 

“More,” Jensen demands, looking behind him with big teary eyes. His pupils are tiny and the iris of a thick and rich green. Jared gives him more. Jensen literally sucks the second finger in and when Jared starts massaging his prostate from outside with his thumb, Jensen cries out, stretching more and swallowing Jared’s long fingers to the root. He gasps tiny “oh god’s” and “fuck’s”. And then Jared isn’t able to hold the urge back and test if Jensen really is what Jared needs. Someone who fits him. He covers his long member with a lot of oil and also spreads generous amounts around Jensen’s anus.

“You think you’re ready, yeah?”

Jensen nods. “Positive.”

He even grabs his buttcheeks and pulls them apart, Jared has perfect sight of his slightly mouthing, dilated hole and all he has to do… He gulps violently, but then places his tip on Jensen’s entrance and sloooowly pushes in. Inch for inch. Jensen has to let go of his buttcheeks and his hands press on Jared’s hips.

“Holy… sh…”, Jensen huffs, “Is swearing even allowed?”

“Too much?”

“It’s a lot, but not too much… fuck…” 

Jensen breathes heavily but slowly, as slowly as Jared goes, his hands don’t push against him anymore and Jared can slide in even deeper. He’s amazed by how Jensen’s hole just swallows him, inch by delicious inch. He’s tight, extremely tight, thanks to the thick oily lube he won’t be hurt. Quite the opposite. Jared pushes in, freezes and rubs over Jensen’s back, soothing him. Jensen doesn’t need that much soothing though, after a few seconds of Jared holding perfectly still and just twothree inches away from going inside all the way he sinks against Jared’s hips, taking him fully with a low, needy moan that seems to last an eternity. 

“Please… move…” he moans, while Jared still holds Jensen’s hips and stares. Just stares in awe.

He really did it.

Jared can’t believe it’s really happening, that he feels so close to someone, again, finally, after such a long time. As he doesn’t start moving, Jensen rolls his hips back and forth, his back stretches and his hands clawing in the blanket. He just fucks himself on Jared’s member, doesn’t wait any longer and the moans he utters are - there is no other word -- they’re downright vulgar. It shows how much he lets go and it washes Jared away, his fingertips dig into Jensen’s hips as he meets his recruit’s pace. Now Jensen cries out, the words and moans just drop from his lips, he wants more, and Jared can feel how greedy he is. 

The audience around them is a choir of pleasure sounds, each of them takes Jared up so high he feels like he’s more than drunk. More than high. He feels like he’s elevating.

“Jared… Harder!” 

Jared fucks him harder. Jensen around him stretches and clenches like he wants to milk him dry, make him cum, but not now. It’s too good to let it end too early, he’s been starved too long and he wants to enjoy every second of fucking this angelic but oh so slutty adept. No one ever met his pace, wanted to be fucked harder and harder, no one asked to be sore, but Jensen does.

His moans are so loud his voice breaks and trails off, chokes on his own sounds. Jared loses it at this point, he grips in Jensen’s glossy hair and pulls him on his knees, closer to his body. Pounding his ass now makes beautiful wet sounds. Jensen leans on Jared’s chest and reaches for the prophet’s ass to push him deeper. And deeper.

“Can’t get enough, huh?”Jared growls, his hand in Jensen’s hair is pulling stronger, the other on Jensen’s hip holds him steady. “Want every inch of me?”

Jensen nods, sobbing. “Yes, never been fucked so good… just how I need --” He can’t even finish the sentence, Jared’s mighty deep thrusts make his voice fade into a cry. “Oh, God!”

Jared needs to slow down just for a bit, give himself time to breathe and hold back the orgasm that’s building up. He’ll shoot a massive load for sure, he wants it to be worth it. He bites Jensen’s neck and feels the violent shudder. They cling onto each other, hands in hair, fingernails scratching and leaving red trails. 

“No, no, don’t stop now… I’m so close,” Jensen huffs, turns his head to Jared, their lips meet and Jared kisses him until both are too breathless, too close to be gentle or patient. 

When Jared picks up his pace again it’s only a matter of a few seconds until Jensen cries out and sinks back on all fours, hiding his face in the blanket. He doesn’t have to touch himself to cum, with a loud and guttural sound he spills. And spills. It’s such a mindblowing orgasm. Everything about it is perfect. Jensen’s moans, how he pulls out handfuls of grass. His clenching asshole around Jared. The amount of cum he splatters on the sheets. Jared bends forward, pulls Jensen’s face up and turns it to the crowd.

“Let them look at you,” he hisses, “share the love.”

And then Jared cums, grunting and thrusting as deep as he can. His cock pumps and pumps masses. He’s never come so hard, so long, so satisfying. For a couple of seconds he doesn’t know anymore where he ends and Jensen begins, that’s how good and intimate it feels. Jensen’s tightness squeezes him tight and makes it impossible to move or pull out. 

Jared collapses on Jensen’s back. He’s dizzy. He needs a moment.

Around them the noises turn from moans to grunts. Heavy breathing. Jared gestures to the watchers to stop jerking. He wants to have Jensen for himself for another moment when he pulls out. Jensen winces underneath him but his face just shows blissful exhaustion. Jared loves to watch his cum pouring out his partner’s holes and it’s no different tonight. Not after this divine intervention. Not after he’s been blessed with such a partner. 

It’s a lot. Jensen turns his head to Jared, his face puffy and red, strands of wet blonde hair on his forehead. And now there’s the hint of a smirk. 

“Did I do well?” he asks.

“I think you know…” Jared replies.

His hand strokes Jensen’s still half hard cock and Jensen moans. So sensitive. Next time, Jared might return the favor and suck that pretty cock.

“Your brothers and sisters want to show you how much they enjoyed watching you.”

Jensen looks around, then back to Jared.

Now the smirk is undeniable. 

“Let ‘em come.”

Jared gets up, his muscular body beaming in the light of the moon and embers of the fire. He feels like he’s about to rise above anything and anyone. This union has given him the deepest peace he could ever feel. He still feels painfully hard and when he looks down he still is. His glossy cock perks up, but he won’t take Jensen a second time and risk really tearing him apart. 

Jensen is on his knees, arms stretched forward like a satisfied lioness, sticking out his freshly bred ass to the audience.

“Children. Time to welcome Jensen in your midst.”

Alex approaches Jared to wash him off with a fresh wet cloth and a sponge while the others gather around Jensen. No one touches the recruit, after Jared united with him, but he will be showered in attention and much more.

Two days later, Jensen is still a bit sore. 

He didn’t sleep much on the night of the celebration, he’s been too hyped, too high from the rush of alcohol, adrenaline and sex. Especially the sex. He can still feel Jared’s massive pole in his ass and everytime he gives in to the memory he shudders and feels his white robe tent. 

Everything in this commune is white. The community houses in which the members live, white. The Church, white. Jared’s residence, white. The only thing that seems to be different is the massive wooden chair in which Jared sat during the celebration and watched his followers unify. 

The blankets are white, the towels, the plates. Purity is an important pillar of this group, and everyone who’s not familiar with the customs might argue that collective orgies aren’t really pure, but Jensen knows better already. Purity is based on keeping your body healthy. The diet here isn’t vegan, but the community has their own farm. 120 people need food and water. Most of them live and work here. On the farm where vegetables and fruits are grown seasonally, or they take care of the cattle, pigs and chickens. Others help keep the houses intact. 

Days are warm, the nights are pitchblack, there’s a lake and a river closeby. Women wash the clothes of the community. There is no “mine” and “yours” in the Church. There is only “we” and “us” and “our”. 

Jensen has his own room, because the morning after the orgy, after the morning prayers and morning sports, in the great hall at breakfast, Jared proclaimed that Jensen was indeed heaven sent. Chosen by the Angels. That makes him special enough to have his own room for a while and it helps him acclimate in this environment. Most new members need that. They come from their picket fence life in the suburbs or the pulsing lives of a big city. They had day jobs, night jobs, family, addictions and almost everyone of them has been materially wealthy. 

Everything that keeps them away from living a pure, devoted life with God is taken away here. Jared provides everything they need. 

Some take a week to find their place in the community, some struggle for years. Some pack their bags as soon as they realize that the sense community here also consists of freedom in love, friendships. Children are born in this community and are raised by everyone, not only their genetic parents. No one here claims to own someone or something.

Well.

At least they say so.

Alex’s room is - as it’s appropriate for his position - in Jared’s residence. This morning he decided to cut his shoulder long, honey blond hair and trim his long beard.

Purity doesn’t mean to be shaven clean or have short hair. Purity comes from the heart, free will and the ability to love. Alex doubts he is quite pure at the moment. The community is free of the toxicity of a material life - in the community, you don’t aspire to climb up ranks. There are simply only three ranks. The community, Alex, Jared. Jared is their natural leader, it is supposed to be like that. Alex is chosen. Alex is confident.

He was. His heart is full of love for the cause and for Jared. 

Until a few nights before he looked in the mirror every morning and smiled at his reflection. Because the reflection showed him a confident young man of faith. Full of love, not bound but blessed with free will. 

Then, his heart started to hurt. 

Now he hates his blue eyes, he hates his long hair, he hates the beard. He hates that he isn’t able to provide Jared the one thing he ached for.

It feels like an inconsistency of Jared’s teachings. Or Alex just isn’t at the point of enlightenment he always thought he was. He finds the fault in himself rather than Jared. But he likes it most thinking that it’s Jensen’s fault.

Jensen with the dazzling green eyes that tantalize Alex. And his damn ability to merge with Jared. Something no one in the community ever could provide. 

Alex hates that someone other than him satisfies Jared in any way.

When he looks in the mirror he sees the man who came here all these years ago when Jared’s predecessor was still alive. The man who crashed here after drugs and sex addiction ruined his life.

Growth is something that never stops. And any day you don’t work through your struggles puts you one step further away from divinity and back into the life of materiality and toxicity.

Jared mustn’t know.

Alex stares blankly in the mirror while he shaves his beard off. Completely.

It takes a few days generally for the community to calm down after such a night. Jared knows that. He feels sore himself, but in a good, satisfying way. His community is thriving, they have new members. Fresh blood. The prayers are inspiring. Jared insists on holding the divine services all by himself. These days he’s beaming with love and the rich and satisfying feeling of being connected. This is Jensen’s merit. His sensuality, his sexual aura, everything about him reminds Jared of the Archangel Michael, the fiery son of God who guarded Eden. Everything about Jensen seems to set Jared on fire. And not only Jared. The others feel it too. The women, the men, everyone stares when he passes. It takes Jared a lot of introspection, prayer and exercise to not just drag him back in his bed. Jared is known for being considerate, kind, and balanced. He leads these people on their path to God and divinity, he is their idol. The true Vicar of the Holy Father. Preferring Jensen in his first month here would weaken his own strong will. He’s sure this man is sent by his Father to heal his hurts, but he needs to care for his community first. 

Jared must not be selfish. He obeys the Lord and he will follow His guidance wherever it may take him. When he knows that his community is safe. 

After morning’s prayer and exercise Jared retreats to the communal bath. Alex prepared everything like always. He’s shaven clean and his hair is way shorter than before. While Jared sinks in the hot tub, Alex hesitates to accompany him. He looks bitter. Some of the old worry lines reappeared. Jared makes an inviting gesture.

“Come in, Alex.”

Today, Jared notices, it sounds like more than an order. 

Alex first shakes his head, but then looks up and his face softens. The lines disappear. He undresses and joins Jared for a bit.

Jared pulls him on his lap, it’s unusual for Alex to be physically distant. He recognizes his assistant has a razor cut on his chin. He runs his thumb just right under it and Alex inhales sharply.

“Why did you shave your beard?” he asks.

Alex looks away, bites his lip. His tooth gap is adorable. 

“I didn’t like it anymore.”

Jared frowns. 

“Do you doubt yourself?”

A scoff. Jared knows he just hit a nerve. Alex never scoffs at him.

“It’s just hair,” he replies. Now he even sounds a bit defiant. 

“Alexandros.”

Alex stiffens. Jared has a habit of calling him by his full name when he fucks up, just like a mother would.

Jared cups his face and looks straight in those bright blue eyes and he sees the vulnerable boy that Alex still is. His progress is phenomenal, but part of him will always stay in the darkness he escaped. 

Alex writhes but doesn’t honestly struggle against him. 

“Your looks are not important. Be careful with your heart.”

A faint nod. Jared kisses his forehead, then his lips. Suddenly no writhing, no defiance, no stubborn behavior. Alex is pliant. Good.

“I have to go”, Alex mumbles, “I have to prepare our departure to Seattle… Our original flight was cancelled…” 

Jared nods. Actually he has no desire to attend this event, but as the leader of this religious community, he has to fulfill some duties. Like going to charity events. It’s not that he hates charity, quite the contrary, as a son of God, it’s his pleasure and deepest wish to make the world a better place, but he hates the whole attention. He hates being compared to apocalypse cults or worse. His teachings are as pure as they can get under given pretenses and the struggle of humanity to overcome the Great Tribulation. 

Alex knows. “I know you don’t want to go. But I will make it worth the trip.”

“You always do.”

Alex gets up with slightly shaky legs and a very impressive erection. When he jumps back in his clothes he even turns away. Suddenly he is so shy. When they’re back from Seattle, Jared will have to hold some very intense prayer and service sessions with Alex. He seems in need of healing. And that’s what Jared was chosen for. Provide for people like Alex.

Alex isn’t gone for five minutes when Jared hears a shuffling behind him.

“Did you forget something, Alexandros?”

Someone’s clearing their throat and it’s not Alex. When Jared turns around he sees Jensen standing in the entrance, blushing and looking at his feet.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… umm, am I disturbing you?” 

Jared’s face lights up and he turns around fully, crossing his arms on the brim of the pool. Jensen is in his white robe, bread crumbs along his collar. He probably just ate breakfast. His hair is messy. 

“Not at all,” Jared replies, “usually, I don’t have guests when I bathe but you’re welcome to join today. You’re new, you can’t know.”

Jensen frowns. “Alex doesn’t count as a guest?”

“No. He is wherever I am, unless he doesn’t want to be.”

Now Jensen’s eyes glow. 

“Like now?”

Jared grins. 

“You are a cheeky one, aren’t you?” he asks.

Jensen stands there, looking at him like he’s about to say ‘yes’, but ultimately doesn’t. 

Jared gestures. “Come in already.” 

Ruffling of clothes tells him that his recruit followed his wish and now gets undressed. A moment later Jensen slides in the water beside Jared, about an arm’s length away. His cheeks turn pink.

“Are you well?”Jared asks, just as the caretaker of his people, he is always worried about them. Always ready to provide care if needed or wanted. 

Jensen’s teint turns even brighter. Ah. The orgy. It was surely his first time.

“I mean, I think I got a little rough with you there,” the leader admits.

Jensen shakes his head a little, a shy smile and a dreamy gaze show that Jensen might indeed be well. It would be reassuring to hear it though.

“No, no, it wasn’t rough at all but I would lie if I said I don’t still feel you inside me. It was a very world-shaking experience.”

“Uh-huh,” Jared replies, “it was.”

The memory alone makes Jared’s body fill with a need to do it again. Just right here. His pliant and slick body, how hot and tight and damn, how responsive and eager he was to take his cock. And that he succeeded!

Jensen turns to him, comes a little closer to get in touch, physically and Jared is very fond of the idea to have him close. Without a word, Jensen’s hand under the water’s surface, lays a hand on Jared’s thigh. Very close to his member. Flaccid. Yet. And still very big. Jared knows he’s gifted with this large cock and people who can take it, they won’t want anything else after they’ve tried it.

“I wondered, why, umm, everyone treats me like I’m super special, you do too…” Jensen’s eyes are fixated on the tiny waves his hand causes when he strokes along Jared’s thigh. “What makes me special?”

That is a very interesting question and Jared needs some time to think about it. Take deep breaths. It also shows that his new member has not ingrained all of the lore of the Church of Grace. That’s normal. No one knows it by heart after joining so recently. 

“Being special is a gift from the Lord, my Father. Everyone is special in their unique way. Take Alex. He’s devoted and tough, loyal and very good at organizing things. Ruth and Judith, you probably crossed their paths already, they’re the best cooks I’ve ever been blessed to taste. Also they are very skilled in sculpting. Everyone is special. Some special things seem to be common, like, so many people on this Earth are talented cooks, tailors, musicians, yogis. And you, you are special, because you give me a feeling of unity in such a primal way, it may seem succinct or superficial. What is it worth, being able to take me? It might not be special to others, but to me this is a thing that brings me peace. And this peace, I can multiply, share it with my people. And by the Lord, it’s not only your physical perks. The way your brothers and sisters here look at you. Some are jealous, but most see in you the most important addition to the community in years. You have a spark in you and you will do great things for the Church. I’m sure of it.”

Jensen stares and Jared notices the slight squint of his deep green eyes. His utter beauty is a gift to humanity already. He radiates purity. If he knows that?

“Is that understandable for you?” Jared asks. He lays a hand in Jensen’s neck and gently squeezes. Pulls him closer. Just an inch but it’s enough to feel Jensen way better and catch his vibes. 

“Yes, it is,” Jensen says, “I’m glad this community welcomed me, I’m glad I met you.”

Now he wraps his hand around Jared’s shaft, which is still too much and he won’t be able to embrace it completely. 

“I was worried, I am worried, it will be the only time to be close to you.”

“You will be close to me every day. At the service, at the monthly celebration. We share everything here.”

“But, can I be alone with you, just like now?” Jensen huffs, his grip tightens. Jared is just a man, his body reacts and he grows hard, so big that the tip would break the water surface now if Jensen let go. 

“I’m a man of my people, I will not deny you. To be honest, yes, I invite you to be with me.”

It would be so easy to lift Jensen up and let him sink down on his cock. It would be amazing to feel him right now. But he is still a little sore. Complete physical unity has to wait. 

“Jared…” A sigh. “What you made me feel that night… I think I felt closer to my true self than ever.”

“I’m glad this is helping you. There will be a lot of occasions for you to discover your deepest self, your fears, your worries… Everything will come to light and I know, you will overcome, you will shine and rise above your plain human being.”

Jensen’s hand moves now. He knows how to touch a man, strictly physical. It's a mechanical reaction after all, but when Jared looks deep into these green eyes he discovers his own need and how much he suffered without a mate that would be close to him. 

“Tell me, how do you like it… I feel it, I need it… you need it…?”

“I long for it.”

Jared wraps his hand around Jensen’s to guide him with the strokes.

He wants it to build up slowly, and his hand on Jensen’s neck holds him steady, whispering his instructions to keep eye contact, when to slow down and when to get faster. And Jensen is all in with it, he’s passionate, his tiny moans and curses, just from seeing Jared, make it extra hot. Actually Jared doesn’t need to climax here, because the mere anticipation of his partner is more than satisfying. They sink in a kiss when Jared’s instructions turn into a breathless staccato of ‘yes like that’s. He’s noisy when he comes and jerks in Jensen’s hand, forceful first but rapidly turning lazy and soft. 

“Teach me more,” Jensen whispers, his face burning red, making his freckles pop even more.

Jared's head sinks on Jensen’s chest. 

“About what?”

“About, what you like, how you like it… how we… connect… unify… Physically, I know… I can do that,” Jensen bites his lip.

“But you don’t know how it works spiritually?”Jared asks, placing a kiss on Jensen’s freckled shoulder. 

“Is that a stupid question?”

A headshake. Why should it be? But Jared knows, Jensen is insecure, he longs for answers and guidance. 

“Believe me, you didn’t ask a stupid question so far. You crave unity?”

Jensen nods.

“Just like you do.”

“I would love to show you more of it. But I will have to go to a congress in Seattle in three days. Alex and I will be gone and you’ll be on your own for a couple of days,” Jared replies. There is indeed some longing in his voice. 

“Oh, that is… it will be long and I’m new, I…”

Jared clicks his tongue while he combs Jensen’s hair. “You don’t have to worry, everyone will take care of you. They will do what I’d do. You will be shown around.”

Jensen shakes his head. His muscles stiffen just lightly.

“That’s not my worry, but- I wish I could be with you.”

This causes Jared’s eyebrows to raise. He wants to be with Jensen, too. Show him the world that Jared lives in and help with the settling. It’s hard to find a place in a community. Jared also fears (and hopes) that Jensen found a way in his heart.

“You are with me. And you will be. You belong to the community now.”

Jensen winds.

“I mean… could you… I would like to go to Seattle. With you…”

“And Alex,” Jared corrects.

“And Alex,” Jensen confirms.

There is no reason to say ‘no’, but there is also no reason to say ‘yes’ that is justifiable. Jensen is new. But he’s shown commitment and he wants to learn. They would bond. Jared wants it. Badly.

“Will it put your heart at ease when I say yes?”

Jared smiles and it’s a knowing one. Jensen smiles. He also knows. 

“Yes, it would.”

The way Jensen smiles and blushes is cute, maybe a little staged. Jared’s not an idiot, he knows that Jensen is wooing him. Trying to impress. Wants to appeal. He already does, there is no need to be overly pliant. Jared enjoys the attention though, who would judge him for it? He presses a kiss on Jensen’s lips and their hug turns closer, just like the last minutes of touching didn’t exist. Jared wouldn’t complain about that, either. 

“Thank you,” he utters before he can think it through.

“For what?”

Jared squeezes Jensen’s growing cock. 

“For giving me - peace.”

Peace is not the only thing Jared wants to thank his disciple for, but Jensen’s soft moan drowns any further thoughts. He wants to merge. Now. He doesn’t want to wait. Not for them to be in his room or Jensen’s. Just take him here.

Alex listens to the quiet conversation that turns into moans and splashing, Jared’s deep and ground shaking grunts. He would be a big fat liar if he claimed to be untouched by it, even Jensen’s soft noises make him rock hard. But what he feels in his heart and what he feels in his body, these two things diverge wildly from each other. He shoves a hand in his pants and hates himself for it. But who he hates more is Jensen. He will take Jared away from him. 

That mustn’t happen.

Alex has to do something about it. Soon.