#place. like shit man I would’ve wanted to drive a truck into a building and fight kiryu too ngl I felt bad fighting him cause he was kinda

[designernishiki]

just got to that part in kiwami where majima gets shot and falls into the fucking ocean and kiryu just. goes. eh he’ll be fine. and leaves him to fucking bleed out and/or drown. and oh man. that sure was Bad and Out Of Character. like that was so out of character it was actually jarring

[aliwritesfic]

The Night Shift part 11 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

WC: 3.3k

AN: Yall I'm so sorry this took ages to be updated, my laptop screen broke and the repair place had to wait over a week for a new one, I hope the end of this part makes up for it <3 Parts will also be slower to come out as I'm starting my next semester of uni on Monday and that's going to take up a large chunk of my time, but I'm still going to try and put out a new part at least once a week

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Part 1 Part 12 (coming soon) Masterlist

Friday arrived far too quickly for Frankie’s liking. So quickly he had gotten himself into a routine of being with you, and it felt like it was being ripped away from him. Of course, he knew that it would happen, he hadn’t deluded himself into thinking it wouldn’t, but still . . . still he had grown so used to your presence that when it was finally time to “get your shit from that ugly ass motherfucker” (Will’s words, not his), he felt almost depressed.

You were perched on his couch when he woke up late Friday morning, a cup of steaming coffee clutched in your hand, your gaze fixed absently on a point on the wall. He called your name gently, not wanting to scare you. You blinked a couple times, as if coming out of a trance. He knew the look well.

“Didn’t sleep?” he poured himself a cup and sat down next to you. You shook your head.

“Not great. I think an hour, maybe. But like, really shitty sleep.”

“Not fully asleep but not fully awake?” Frankie suggested, having become very accustomed to the feeling during his military time. You nodded, giving him a tired smile. He understood your exhaustion. You had spent every waking moment stressed about the move, online shopping to replace the things that you were leaving at Kurt’s, and then stressing some more. You had picked up the keys on Wednesday and Frankie had gone with you to check the place out.

It was a bright, airy place, seven floors up with huge windows and a tiny balcony off the living area. Frankie had noticed your eyes shining as you took it all in, almost like you couldn’t believe it was yours. You had wiped away a tear, taking in the view of the lake by the apartment complex.

Frankie had come with his measuring tape and notebook from his mechanic days. He measured each room, each alcove where a piece of furniture would sit, and wrote them down diligently with a messy scrawl on a page labelled with your name.

When you had gotten back to his place, you set to work writing down a list of what was yours and what you needed to replace. At the top of that list was a bed, heavily underlined and circled.

“The bed’s mine, technically,” you explained as you clicked on a display photo of a wrought iron bed frame, “but he can keep it. I want a fresh start, and I think I need a new bed to do that.”

“Makes sense,” Frankie said sitting down beside you, “is that the one you’re going with?”

You had nodded, clicking add to cart. The store had next day delivery, and for a small fee would even build the bed for you. You opted for this, despite Frankie’s protests.

“Please, you’re doing so much already, and putting my whole bed together for me . . . it feels like a very unfair trade,” you told him firmly. Once again, your stubbornness had won over. Frankie, rather grudgingly, had to admit to himself that the delivery people were much quicker than he would’ve been at assembling the bed frame, especially after he had taken a quick look at the instructions.

He wasn’t about to tell you that though.

It was almost midday when a knock sounded on his door, followed by the three men he called brothers piling into his kitchen. You emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed and a shy smile on your face. It struck Frankie that this was the first time you were meeting these guys, truly meeting them without the inclusion of alcohol.

“You’re all really excellent for helping me with this,” you said fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt. You had opted for long sleeves throughout the whole week. “Sorry you have to give up your Friday for this.”

Benny was the first one to make a move. He strode forward and enveloped you in a tight hug. Frankie could see the initial shock on your face before it was replaced by a hesitant kind of happiness.

“You like Taylor Swift?” he asked, and you nodded. Benny craned his neck to look at Frankie. “She’s riding with me, if that’s okay?” he turned back to you and you nodded again. Benny grinned and whispered something in your ear, causing you to snort out a laugh.

Santi stood beside Frankie and pressed an envelope into his hands.

“The photo,” he explained. “Again, remember I have several copies, so if you plan on destroying this one, imagine it like a hydra.” Frankie rolled his eyes and put the envelope in his back pocket. You were too busy chatting with Benny and Will to notice, and he was glad. He wanted to surprise you with the photo when you needed it.

Benny and Will had taken a particular soft spot for you since Frankie gave them the bare-bones rundown of how Kurt had treated you. Frankie noticed it now, in how Will stood like your own personal bodyguard, in how Benny had slung his arm around your shoulders, like you were old friends. Frankie felt the briefest flash of jealousy before he stamped it down. Just because he couldn’t – wouldn’t – touch you, didn’t mean no one else could.

“Quit staring Fish, you look like one of those cartoon characters whose eyes turn to hearts,” Santi muttered, elbowing Frankie in the ribs. Frankie elbowed him back, annoyed.

“Alright, gang! Let’s get this show on the road!” Will clapped his hands together. Benny raised an incredulous brow at his brother.

“What are you, fifty?” He turned to you, linking his arm through yours. “Don’t worry, Fish, I’ll drive extra carefully.”

Frankie felt envious of Benny then, even though he had basically had a week straight with you. But knowing it was coming to an end, that tonight you’d be sleeping at your own place, instead of just down the hall. Well, it made him almost sad. He pushed that aside though and forced himself to be happy for you.

As he drove to your old apartment, everyone else following behind, he focused a little too hard on the radio, just to give his mind something to do. A newsreader was talking about how a quick-thinking pilot had landed a plane in a field after something went horrifically wrong with the engines. Zero casualties, minor injuries. People were already calling for the pilot to be given a medal.

Maybe I should renew my licence, Frankie thought. He didn’t want to be a commercial pilot, or a hero of any kind, although the uniforms were nice. But it couldn’t hurt to have it.

He pulled up outside the building, gripping the steering wheel tightly. This was it.

Will and Santi parked behind him, but Benny’s ridiculously lifted pickup was nowhere to be seen. Frankie squinted towards the end of the street, knowing he couldn’t have gotten lost. He had you with him.

Ten minutes passed with no sign of you. “Where the fuck are they?” Frankie grumbled, now worried that you and Benny had gotten into a car accident. He trusted him, but Benny was the worst driver of all of them. He pulled out his phone to text you but was interrupted.

“That’s his truck,” Will said, pointing to the end of the street, where Benny’s truck had just pulled in. The sound of heavy bass reached them before the truck did. As Benny pulled up outside the apartment, Frankie recognised the song as Gimme More by Britney Spears.

“Sorry we’re late,” you called, clambering out of the truck, a tall plastic cup in your hand. “We stopped for frappes.” Benny sipped innocently at his, giving Frankie a look that said he needed to speak with him.

“Where’s my fuckin’ frappe,” Santi grumbled, looking envious. Benny grinned and handed his over to Santi for a sip.

You stood, looking up at the building, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Guess we better go up. I sent him a text telling him I was doing this today, but he didn’t reply, so I don’t know if he’ll be here.”

“Want us to jump him if he is?” Benny offered, but you shook your head.

“Not right away,” you said, “but if he starts up maybe slap him around a little.” Frankie knew you were joking, but the look in your eyes was one of fear. He took your hand gently and lowered his head to talk to you.

“You can wait out here if you want,” he murmured, “we’ve got the list of what we need to get.” You squeezed his hand and shook your head. Yours was cold and slightly clammy in his own, but he didn’t mind.

“No, I need to do this.” You said. Frankie nodded, understanding. You didn’t need to explain the nitty gritty of your reasoning, all he needed was for you to know that you had him, in whatever way you needed.

You kept a firm grip on his hand as you lead the way upstairs to your old apartment, only letting go when you stood outside the front door, fumbling in your bag for your keys.

At first, the apartment seemed empty of life. All the lights were off, the curtains closed, and the place was eerily silent. You stepped over the threshold, followed by the rest of the boys, who immediately got to work.

As it turned out, Kurt wasn’t there. He remained gone for a good half hour while the boys carried your heavier shit down to their trucks. You set to work stuffing the rest of your clothes into plastic trash bags you had picked up from the grocery store.

Benny joined Frankie in carrying a loveseat downstairs.

“Fish, I need to tell ya,” Benny started, grunting as they made a turn. “She’s as into you as you are her.” Frankie shook his head.

“Don’t do this, man.”

“I’m being serious. I talked to her in the truck. She didn’t say it outright, but you should’a seen the look on her face when I talked about you.” Benny waggled his eyebrows. “And her friend Sara agrees, she’s ‘smitten’ with you. Whatever the fuck smitten means. If you want my advice-”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“-Go for it. Tonight, once we’re all gone. Shoot your shot my guy. Don’t waste anymore fucking time. Sara said she wasn’t even sad about the breakup, like she’s been checked out mentally for months now.”

“Wait, did Sara tell you about me punching Kurt?”

“All I’m saying is, she likes you a lot, you like her a lot, don’t waste this.” Frankie mulled over what Benny was saying. There had been more than a few moments that week when he had spied you looking at him and wondered . . . but each time he had pushed the thought out his head. Old insecurities, respect for you, held him back.

Historically, Frankie had never been very good at telling when someone was into him. He could be literally balls deep and he’d still be questioning it. Even sometimes with Portia, he’d wonder if she really felt the same way he did. Santi, who knew Frankie as a kid, chalked it up to Frankie having a rough go of puberty, not growing into his features until almost the end of high school. By then, whenever someone had showed even a slight bit of interest, Frankie had dismissed it as a cruel joke. Unfortunately, those insecurities had followed him deep into adulthood.

The mood in the apartment had become relaxed, all the heavier stuff, like your couch, TV, furniture, and fridge had been taken care of, and now all that was left was to gather all the small shit. Frankie found you in the bathroom, unscrewing the shower head. You tossed it into a box filled with other bathroom items, the loud clang making him grimace. He opened his mouth to speak to you when yelling from the front room interrupted him.

Your face fell instantly, going from focused to almost afraid. Your eyes met Frankie’s own, and he reached out to touch your arm. It’s okay the touch said, he can’t do anything to you. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and walked out with Frankie to the commotion.

Kurt was being held back with a single hand on his chest by a bored looking Will, screaming a string of expletives and struggling to land any kind of hit on Will, Santi stood behind Kurt, ready to jump in if needed. Benny was hunched over, clutching his sides in laughter. Kurt finally caught sight of you, standing a little in front of Frankie.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” His tone made you wince slightly, but Frankie was proud of the way you didn’t shrink away.

“I told you this was happening today, Kurtis, it was your choice to come back while we were here,” you said calmly.

“You’re taking all my shit!”

“I paid for every single thing I’m taking,” you said. “It’s not my fault you never put anything of monetary value into this place.” You stepped forward, so you were facing Kurt head on, but still behind Will. “You need to calm down, you’re acting like a fucking child.”

“I’M ACTING LIKE A CHILD?”

“Yes. You are. You’ve acted like one almost our entire relationship. So you can either calm down, leave and come back later, or my friends will force you to calm down.”

“Are you threatening me?” Kurt spat.

“Yes. You’ve already been smacked down before, any one of these guys would love to be the one to do it again.”

“I’d like to see them fucking try!” Kurt pivoted and lunged at Benny. Big mistake. With a simple, yet effective, punch to the head, Kurt was out cold on the floor. Benny looked up, almost apologetic. You grinned at him, silent laughter shaking your shoulders.

“I didn’t mean to hit that hard,” Benny said, flexing his fist. “But I also did.”

Santi dragged Kurt’s unconscious body to the now empty living room, carefully posing him so he was curled in the foetal position, sucking on his thumb.

“He actually arrived at the perfect time,” you said to Frankie, standing back beside him. “Cause we’re done here.”

“We’ve got everything?” Santi called, overhearing you. You nodded.

“We’re finally done here.”

~*~

Frankie was glad you had decided to ride with him back to your new place. You were buzzing with a new energy, unable to keep a nervous grin off your face. You didn’t speak on the drive to your new place, but Frankie hoped he wasn’t reading into how much closer you sat, your thighs almost brushing his. Benny had gotten into his head, he knew, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation.

You were the most beautiful person he had met, both inside and out, and the very idea that you could like him the way he liked you . . . well fuck, it didn’t seem feasible. But then he thought back to the previous week spent with you, and maybe it wasn’t such a ludicrous idea after all.

He pulled up at your new building, parking in the spot designated for you. You turned to him, unlatching your seatbelt as you did.

“Frankie . . .” you started, then leant over and pulled him into a tight hug. Frankie felt like everything you wanted to say was in that hug. You pulled back slightly, so your faces were almost touching. He could’ve done it then, he fucking should have done it. Crossed that miniscule amount of space between you. But then the moment passed, and you pulled away entirely.

You climbed out of the truck, moving to the back to grab some of the garbage bags that held the smaller stuff. Frankie’s phone buzzed in the cupholder, a message from Will in the group chat.

Ironhead: Pussy

Frankie turned and saw Will staring at him. Fuck offhe mouthed. Will flipped him off with a grin. The effort of getting all your stuff up to your new place was considerably easier than it had been the first time around. For one, your new place had an elevator. So even though they had to take turns using it, it was worlds above struggling up seven flights of stairs. The mood was also improved by the fact Will had knocked Kurt out cold. Frankie had begun to wonder if that had become the main highlight of your day.

It was well into the night by the time everything was in its new place. Benny and Will flopped down onto your loveseat, drinking beers that you had kept in an ice chest you had brought in yesterday just for this. You sat on the floor, drinking a fruity vodka thing that Frankie thought looked and smelt like a melted popsicle. The balcony door was open, a breeze that held the promise of summer drifted through.

“Where’s Santi?” You asked looking around.

“He had to get something from the truck,” Will said. As if on cue, which if Frankie knew these boys as well as he did, it was, Santi burst through the door, one arm stretched wide, the other behind his back.

“My dearest,” Santi began, and Frankie groaned inwardly, “over this past day, the gentlemen and I have grown quite fond of you.” What is this, regency England? Frankie rolled his eyes and took a sip of his beer. “And as such, we wanted to present you with a housewarming gift.” With that, he whipped his arm around and held out a vase of sunflowers. Your face softened, then broke into a grin.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you pushed yourself up and pulled Santi into a hug, motioning for Will and Benny to join. You hugged the three men as tight as you could, smiling at Frankie over the tops of their shoulders. Frankie smiled back, raising his beer in a silent toast.

You placed the flowers on the kitchen counter, facing them toward the window. It was just past ten when the three boys left, Benny carrying the ice chest along with the promise to bring it back as soon as he could. It seemed like it was only moments before only you and Frankie remained.

Frankie’s phone buzzed.

Benny: Don’t fuck this up.

Frankie saw you move outside onto the balcony, leaning against the railing, silhouetted by silver moonlight, your face turned towards the breeze that coasted off the lake. Everyone else was gone, and he wondered if he didn’t take this chance, would he ever?

He moved to stand next to you, standing so close your arms were touching. His heart felt like it was caught in his throat. He murmured your name.

“Frankie,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of his beating heart. Before he could stop himself, chicken out like he had before, he closed the distance between you. One hand cupping your warm cheek, the other encircling your waist, he tilted his head down until his lips met yours.

It was everything.

Your lips were soft against his, hesitant at first, but then you were wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. You tasted like candy and those sugary drinks you insisted on bringing. Your touch was like tiny jolts of electricity shooting down his spine.

Fuck.

His tongue darted against your bottom lip, and you let him in almost hungrily. Frankie deepened the kiss, wondering just why the everloving fuck he waited this long.

He whispered your name, the word like poetry on his lips. You were poetry, you were art, you were every beautiful thing wrapped up into one person. He was in love with you.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @1800-fight-me @annathewitch @darnitdraco @frankiecatfish @punkerthanpascal @nakhudanyx @gracie7209 @quica-quica-quica @pintsizemama @phoenix-of-loki @procrastinationstationnation

[from-seas-to-skies]

Farm Grown / Hawks x Reader ♕︎

uwu, I had the lovely @weirddpand4 draw this picture of cowboy Hawks for this work!!!

warnings: NSFW, spanking, cream pie

words: 4,802

-

“Oh, wow! Look at that! I’ve never seen grass so green before!” your friend, Urakaka Ochaco, exclaims.

Glancing up from your phone, you follow her line of vision; gracious hills of rich green grass stretch out far into the horizon, meeting with the brilliant shade of blue. It’s so unlike the skyscrapers and closely-knit houses you’re used to seeing. No, this is what pure beauty looks like, Mother Nature in one of her most wonderful forms. Although the fields are dotted with wildflowers and corn fields, you don’t miss the dirt road further up ahead, a large wooden sign planted next to it.

When Ochaco originally came to you with the idea of being a farmhand, you thought she was crazy. You’ve finally graduated from high school, got the title of professional hero, and this is the first thing she wanted to do? However, as she further explained, it was a family friend who needed help during the summer months, and what were heroes for? Granted, you wanted to run around the cement jungle and provide help that way, but this “almost vacation” didn’t sound too bad – plus, with the puppy eyes Ochaco flashed at you, it was impossible to say no.

And so, here you are, sitting in the passenger side of a coupe with Ochaco behind the wheel. You have to admit; the surrounding atmosphere is beautiful, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to run barefoot through the grass. Clouds of dust rise as the car eventually comes to a stop outside of a weathered farmhouse. Ochako flashes you a smile, her large eyes twinkling.

“Look at how huge this place is! I know Uncle Iroh said he had a couple people helping out, but this is incredible! We’ll each have our own room!”

You can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. Ochaco’s always been easy to rile up, and the fact that she’s genuinely excited to spend quality “bonding time” with you is heartwarming. As the two of you step out of the car, the front door to the farmhouse opens, revealing an elderly man with a long beard and a kind expression. His face cracks into a smile when he and Ochaco make eye contact; the two hurry towards each other, warm greetings and bone-crushing hugs being shared between the two. It’s no wonder Ochaco was so excited to spend the summer here; with a relationship like that, you’d be happy to see the man too.

“Oh, come, come!” Iroh says, hurrying around the car and popping the trunk open. “You must be Ochaco’s friend, yes?” he asks, looking towards you. A wave of pleasant warmth washes over your being as he sends you that charming smile. “I appreciate the help! I only have my nephew and another man working here already, but the extra hands will come in handy.” He pauses then to chuckle at his own joke. “But I think it’s about you two get settled, yeah?”

“Right!” you respond, pulling out your own suitcase.

As you walk up towards the wraparound porch, you glance to the other trucks sitting out in front of the farmhouse. Iroh said two others were already here, so you figured the trucks must be theirs…

“Zuko!” Iroh booms. “Our guests are here!”

After a moment or so, a boy around your age staggers from the kitchen, a tray in his hands. From the looks of it, a teapot and some cups line its surface.

“Tea is our specialty, here,” Iroh says, nudging you with your shoulder. “Get something to drink and then we’ll show you your rooms.”

-

Later on that evening, you’re gazing out your window, watching the sun fall. Hues of orange, peach, and lilac paint the sky, bidding the world goodbye for the night. It’s definitely different to experience it here than back home, back where silhouettes were outlined by the golden glow. A steady breeze carries on, carrying the scent of wildflowers and musk; your curtains flap from the sheer force of it, but you pay it no mind. It’s like Ochaco brought you to a slice of paradise, even if it’s with the intention of putting in labor.

In the distance, you hear calls and the distinguished moos of cows. Shifting your gaze, you catch a herd of cows being moved towards a barn; a man riding a brown horse wrangles them in, a border collie by his side. The way he pulls it off is smooth, and it’s clear that he’s used to pulling such a feat. However, what really catches your attention is the pair of magnificent scarlet wings protruding from his back. Now, you’re used to seeing some rather flashy quirks, but this guy’s is just… Wow.

“Hey, Uncle Iroh wanted me to come get you,” Ochaco’s voice says suddenly. Turning around, you see her standing in the doorway, a pleasant expression playing on her face. “We’re having oyakodon for dinner! Doesn’t a hot meal sound delicious?” And, as if to amp up your spirits, Ochaco licks her lips and pats her tummy. “I’m so hungry from a long drive!”

You huff in amusement. “Yeah, I am too.” Turning around, you catch a glimpse of the cows disappearing into the barn, that mysterious cowboy stationed by the doors. “Hey, Ochaco,” you start before realizing it, “but who’s that other guy that lives here? The one with the wings?”

Walking over to where you stand, Ochaco peers out the window, following your line of sight. “Oh, him? That’s Keigo. Uncle Iroh says he’s only been here for the past year or so, but he’s really good at what he does! I heard all the animals like him a lot – maybe it’s because of the wings?”

“Don’t you think it’s… odd that’s only a farmhand? With a quirk like that, you’d think he’d be doing something else.”

Ochaco shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe you should ask him sometime? Oh, but I’m really hungry! Can we go eat, now?”

“Yeah, sorry, I just got distracted…”

And so, you soon find yourself sitting at a sturdy wooden table, a bowl of oyakodon sitting before you. It smells utterly delicious - and paired with the tea Iroh brewed, you know you’re in for a treat. Just then, you hear a door opening and closing; there’s a chatter of some sorts, but then there he is, right there in the flesh.

Strong build, wide shoulders, blond hair that looks permanently tousled, and oh yes, those magnificent wings. Perhaps you shouldn’t be staring so much, but the sharp line of his jaw and intense eyes make it nearly impossible to look away. You’ve heard of such things, read about them in stories, but maybe, just maybe, you might’ve fallen for the guy at first sight. That, or he’s just too damn attractive for his own good.

“Howdy! Oh, shit, who are these two cuties?”

Or maybe not.

“Oi! Keigo! Can’t you be respectful for once in your life?” Iroh barks, popping around the other. He scowls as he slaps a wing out of his way. “Make a good impression for yourself. These two are going to be here for the rest of the summer, so don’t be an ass.”

“C’mon, gramps,” Keigo drawls, “you know I’m better than that. Plus, if they don’t like my attitude, then it’s not really my fault, huh?”

“Nothing ever changes,” Zuko says lowly, his words followed by a deep sigh.

You and Ochaco share a look. It seems like your Prince Charming is nothing more than a sarcastic asshat. How befitting.

“Liven up, birdies,” Keigo says, sliding into the chair directly across from you. “I don’t bite.” He winks at you. “Yet.”

Your entire body jolts at his proclamation. This guy really is shameless, isn’t he? Still, you can’t help but feel undeniably attracted to him. Curse his charisma, dammit.

“Aw, sweet! Is this oyakodon? Hell yeah.”

To the side, Zuko facepalms. Iroh merely chuckles and shakes his head, much like he’s way too used to this kind of behavior and has accepted it as it is. Hell, even Ochako cracks a smile. You, on the other hand, stare at Keigo in confusion. He has a bird-based quirk, doesn’t he? Does it not bother him to not eat chicken…?

Keigo puts up a hand, an amused glint in his eyes. “Look, I already know what you’re gonna ask, kid. I can practically see the gears spinning in that pretty head of yours. I fucking love chicken.”

Oh… Well, that takes care of that, doesn’t it…

-

After that first fateful encounter, you’ve grown used to Keigo’s ways. It’s funny, though, how he and Zuko’s personalities basically sit on either end of the spectrum, yet Iroh treats the both of them like they’re his children. While Zuko is serious and straight-laced, Keigo is more of a chatty free spirit. That said, you’ve also gotten used to Keigo’s flirty side. You suspect it’s because he likes to get a rise out of everyone. Whether that’s the case or not, your eyes often wander after him, stare down the hard lines of his back. Even better, you itch to trail your lips over the scruff lining his jaw. The guy’s too damn hot and he knows it.

Over the past month, a game of cat and mouse has started between the two of you. Him, trying to act all chummy and overstepping numerous boundaries. You, trying not to give into the weird relationship that’s bloomed between you and him. Sure, you might have flirted back, but what were you supposed to do? After all, Keigo’s proved himself to be a rather cool guy.

“You can’t keep spacing out like that, kid,” Keigo says, snapping you from your thoughts. Glancing down at him, you attempt to suppress your embarrassment, but Keigo’s too smart for that. Despite his relaxed attitude, he’s surprisingly intelligent and quite observant.

Hands tightening around the saddle, you scoff. “I wasn’t spacing out…”

Keigo cocks an eyebrow. “You know, if I wasn’t holding onto the reins, Nugget would’ve bucked you off a long time ago.”

This time, you snicker. You know that he has an undying love for chicken, but every time he refers to his horse as Nugget, you can’t help but laugh. This guy really is like a child.

“Pffft. Laugh all you want, birdie. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s how to ride.” Narrowing his eyes, he flashes you a sultry look. “If you want, I can show you.”

All laughter dies on your tongue. A spark of heat erupts in your stomach, makes your heart thump against your ribcage. He always manages to fluster you, to plant naughty little thoughts into your head. You swallow thickly. “I think… I think I’ll stick with Nugget for now.”

At that, Keigo shrugs, his expression turning into something more nonchalant. “Suit yourself. Seriously, though; you should always keep your focus while riding a horse. Anything can happen, and you’ll only know you’re fucked until you’re being crushed. Better yet, you’re flying overhead and end up snapping your neck. Hate to break it to you, but you don’t have wings to break your fall.”

“Keigo.”

He looks back up at you. “What?”

“Your wings. It’s just that… Well… Why help out on farm?”

Keigo blinks at you, no words slipping out. “Hah? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Shit,” you say quickly, mentally cursing yourself out, “that’s not what I meant. You can fly, can’t you? It just seems like you could’ve made a name for yourself…”

“And become a hero, right?” You wince at his words. He hit the nail right on the head. “Heh. Yeah, I guess you’re right. I could spew a whole bunch of shit from my mouth and call it a day, but that’s not my style. I’m a hero in my own right.”

You furrow your brows. Remaining silent, you wait for him to carry on.

Keigo sighs at your implication. “Not all heroes wear capes or whatever. What about cops? Firefighters? Nurses? People who help put food on your table and help that old man out? Just because I’m not stopping some robbery doesn’t mean I’m not important.”

His words come as a slap to the face. He has a good point; actually, scratch that. He has a fantastic fucking point.

“I’m sorry,” you say after a moment’s silence. “That was selfish of me.”

Keigo waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t beat yourself up, kid. Nugget gets nervous if you get into a bad mood.”

Absentmindedly, your hand drops onto the horse’s neck, giving it a couple of reassuring strokes. “He’s a beautiful horse.”

“Yeah – well, until I bathe him. Getting up close and personal to horse cock isn’t fun. A bit degrading, actually.”

Slapping a hand over your mouth, you try to muffle your sudden laughter. Air streams through the cracks of your fingers.

Instead of his usual smirk, Keigo flashes you a genuine smile. You’ve only seen it once or twice before, but it never fails to make your heart stop. His whole face scrunches, his pearly teeth a startling white compared to his sun-kissed skin. Okay, so maybe you’ve fallen in love with this guy. It’s no big deal; you’re only here for the summer, so there’s no point in chasing after something you can’t have.

“What, did ya find that funny? I’m here all week, folks.”

“You saying you’re a standup comedian now?” you shoot back. “I didn’t know they accepted clowns on farms.”

“Ohoho, so you do got a mouth. Where’s that been all this time, huh? Would’ve made things a lot more fun.” Reaching up, he knocks his cowboy hat further back, revealing more strands of sandy hair and bronzed skin. “Listen here, partner. This town ain’t big enough for the two of us.”

“Oh my god,” you say with a snort. “You’re such a dork.”

Keigo snickers. “You know you love me.”

Heh. Yeah…

If only he knew.

-

Maybe you should’ve taken his words more into consideration.

Your instincts are more attuned to what could happen in battle, not for words. Besides, Keigo is a sneaky bastard. Most of the things that spew from his mouth are innuendos and pure sarcasm. He doesn’t really come off as a genuine type of person.

It’s whatever. You don’t like to read into things too much, and maybe that’s your fault, maybe it’s not. Who knows?

Even so, your eyes continuously drift over to where he stands. He busies himself with hanging Nugget’s saddle and harness away, his body lax. If one’s thing for sure, he definitely seems a lot more comfortable around animals rather than actual human beings. You can’t blame him, but what about you? Is he comfortable around you?

Clearing your throat, you turn back to the task at hand. Brushing Nugget down, you trail your hand over the coarse hair, the hard muscle. You meant it when you said he’s beautiful. Shiny brown coat, straw colored hair – he seems like the perfect match for Keigo.

“Cowboy Keigo,” you mutter. “Tell me, Nugget,” you begin, “does Keigo treat you right? Feeds you apples and lumps of sugar? A pretty horse like you deserves to be spoiled.” At the mention of his master’s name, Nugget whinnies. “Is that a yes? You’re avoiding the question, man.”

“Are you seriously trying to sweettalk my horse?” Keigo pipes up. Stepping over the stall, he hoists himself up onto the gate and straddles the wood. Wings sweeping behind him, he flashes you a peculiar look. “Didn’t they teach you in school that you shouldn’t seduce a horse? I don’t know about you, kid, but bestiality isn’t smiled upon around here.”

“Then what does that say about you, bird boy?” you quip. “Surely you don’t put yourself in that category?”

“Ooo, degradation. How did you know that was one of my kinks? Were you looking through my search history?”

Rolling your eyes, you set the brush to the side and join him at the gate. Climbing up, you mimic his movements and straddle the wooden beam. “Kinky cowboy, huh? Kind of has a nice ring to it.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve got the bedazzled white boots and everything. I mean, I’m already wearing the assless chaps and everything.”

“You sound more like a stripper rather than a farmhand. What do you think, Nugget?” you ask, turning towards the horse. Nugget merely snorts and shakes his head.

“Hey, hey, don’t agree,” Keigo tells him. “I’ve got to keep my secret life a secret, you damned horse. Help a guy out.”

“I guess your partner would rather throw you under the bus,” you say with a chuckle. “Good horse.”

“Now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings.”

“Cry me a river, bird boy. Or do I have to kiss your booboos?”

At that, Keigo falls quiet. The look in his eyes is unreadable, but the way his body tensed tells you something else entirely. Abruptly, he swings his leg over the gate and hops back down onto the ground. Aw, shit. Did you take it too far? It was only lighthearted flirting and yanking on his leg-

“C’mere,” Keigo says, offering you his hand. His voice is a lot more… soft.

With little to no hesitation, you take hold of his hand and get off the gate. You’re about to ask him what he wants, but then he’s abruptly pulling you to the side, further away from the stable’s open doors. Birds are singing outside, their sweet melody carrying along with the sweet summer breeze. It almost seems like an entire world away. A grunt escapes your lips as you’re shoved against the wall, the smell of straw and musk filling your senses. Keigo steps in close, the heat radiating off his body sending shivers down your spine.

“Listen here, pretty little birdie,” he drawls, his lips pulling back in a smirk, “but I may just have to take you up on that offer.”

Wait, what?

“What the hell, Keigo? Where is this coming from?” you question. It’s not like you’re against him being so damn close, it’s just… unexpected.

“Oh, right, like I’m supposed to pretend that you don’t gawk at me at any chance you get. You’re not very subtle, you know.”

Embarrassment heats up your insides, crawls up your neck. So this bastard is really going to rub it in your face, huh? Seems just like him.

“Then why didn’t you say anything about it before?” you hiss. “If it’s such a problem, don’t stay silent. You’re not the type to let things like that slide.”

“Who said it was problem?”

Keigo: 1 / you: 0

Spluttering, you try to gain control of your whirling emotions. This is not how you were expecting this conversation to go. Actually, you weren’t expecting this conversation at all!

“I know for a fact that you can’t get enough of me,” Keigo continues. “And if I’m being completely honest, I like it. You look so cute when you stare after me, birdie. Then you have the audacity to pretend like nothing happened whenever I catch you.”

“Is that what this is all about?” you huff. “Okay, fine. I admit it. Maybe I watch what you’re doing more than what’s necessary. It’s not my fault you walk around all the time without a shirt on or anything…”

“Normally, I’d say because it’s because I get hot when I’m working, but knowing that you were watching made it all the better.” He winks at you. “Gotta hand out a treat here and there, you know?”

“You really are a clown!” you squeak. Keigo laughs as you weakly shove at his chest. “You’ve been leading me on this entire time? What am I, a joke?”

“Hey now, don’t get ahead of yourself, kid. It’s not my fault you couldn’t come up to me like a civilized adult.”

Okay, now you’re fuming. “Keigo, you fucking idiot-“

Swooping in, Keigo cuts you off with a kiss. Unsurprisingly, his lips are soft; he tastes like citrus and salt, and before you know it, you’re looping your arms around his neck, knocking his hat off in the process. A huff of laughter fans across your lips as Keigo pulls back, his mouth hovering over yours. “Shit, I’ve been wanting to do that ever since your pretty ass sat at the kitchen table for the first time.”

You sigh. “You really do have a bird brain…”

You kiss him, again and again. Perhaps you should be ashamed that you have your tongue shoved down somebody’s throat rather than working, but there’s no way you’re stopping now. Like him, you’ve been waiting for this moment. The two of you have been tiptoeing around each other, rolling the tension back and forth like a goddamn snowball.

But fuck if it doesn’t feel good.

His hands aren’t shy, not in the slightest. Fingertips map out the ridges and dips of your body, seek out the spots that really make you tick. You bite back a giggle as he drops his mouth down your neck, the scruff covering his jawline tickling your skin. Your own hands trail over his body, tracing over the hard lines of muscle that hide beneath his clothes. Time and time again, whenever you’d see him without a shirt, you wanted nothing more than to run your hands all over him. This is your chance, now, and you’d be damned if you didn’t take it.

“Shit, shit, shit, not the wings,” Keigo pants into your neck. The scarlet feathers feel like silk beneath your fingertips; skimming over them, you follow their shape, feel how they get fluffier the closer they are to his shoulders. “Oh, fuck. You know just what you’re doing, huh, birdie? Playing around with me like that. Two can play at that game.”

Another grunt slips from your lips as he pushes you against the wall, harder this time. His hands shamelessly drift underneath your shirt, warm palms sliding over your skin. Your shirt comes off before you know it, being unceremoniously thrown to the ground.

“Fuck, birdie, aren’t a pretty one,” Keigo purrs, his nose bumping against your throat as he sucks another mark into your flesh. “I bet you’re real pretty down here, too…” Making quick work of your jeans, he easily slips them down your legs and you eagerly step out of them. “Don’t mind if I do, kid,” he murmurs into your ear before nipping at the lobe.

A weak moan breaks from your throat as a hand slips into your underwear and cups your sex. His hand is just so warm, and the roughness of his callouses causes your head to spin. Within no time, wet, sinful noises sound from between your legs, mixing with your heavy breaths and Keigo’s encouraging words.

“Yeah, you like that, birdie? My fingers feel good, huh? Wait until you get a feel of my cock.”

Spurred on by his words, you hastily unbutton his shirt, pushing the fabric to the side and running your hands over the swell of his pectorals, the ridges of his abdomen. A faint dusting of blond hairs covers his chest and arms; and, if you look close enough, more sticks out from the waistband of his jeans. Keigo hums as you continue to feel him up, his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek.

“Like what you see? I bet you’ve been wanting to do this for a long time… Fuck! Not going to go easy on me, huh? I like someone who can bite back.”

“Has anybody ever told you that you talk too much?” you breathe. Fingers wrapped around his cock, your movements catch up to his in speed. “You should consider yourself lucky that I like your voice.”

“Oohoohoo, feisty. That mouth of yours is saying a lot of mean things today, isn’t it? Guess I’ll have to put you in your place.” He pauses, swipes his tongue over his bottom lip. “But, if I’m being entirely too honest, I don’t think I have the patience for that.”

“Keigo,” you pant, “I swear to Christ if you don’t fuck me right now-“

“On it, on it. Don’t get your panties in a twist, your majesty.” In hurried movements, he strips you of your underwear and shucks his chaps and jeans down. Large hands grip onto your thighs and then you’re being hoisted up, sandwiched between his rigid body and the wall. “Why, won’t you feel that,” he purrs, “I’d say it’s high noon.”

“Don’t talk about your dick like that, you dork,” you scoff. “Oh, fuck.” Another pleasured noise slips through your lips as you grind down against him, his cock just barely teasing your hole.

“What was that, birdie? You know what they say – sweetie on the farm, a freak in the barn.”

“You’re anything but sweet. Just – Keigo, please?”

“Alright, I get it, enough teasing.” Adjusting his hold on you, he flashes you a tiny smile. “Hold on, partner.”

A choked groan breaks free from your throat as his cock slides in, your velvety walls sucking him in greedily. That damned smirk of his stays on his face the entire time he fucks you, along with that devious glint in his eyes. His façade only cracks after you start stroking his wings and squeeze around his cock; if he wants to act like a cocky son of a bitch, then so can you.

“Shit, you’re fucking tight,” he pants. The smack of skin against skin fills your ears, right alongside Keigo’s breathy moans and muttered words. “Keep squeezing like that, birdie, and you’re gonna make me cum quicker than I want to.”

“You almost sound like that’s exactly what you want me to do,” you breathe. “A cowboy like you has got to have some stamina, right? Don’t tell me all of that work goes to nothing.”

“Jesus, and you called me talkative. Fuck, I can’t wait to shove my cock down your throat and shut you the hell up – I said don’t squeeze like that, holy hell. Dirty little head you got there, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you mumble, yanking him back into a kiss. Keigo only moans loudly as you continue to play with his wings, quickly finding out that the spot where they protrude from his flesh is the most sensitive.

“Milk my cock, birdie,” he mutters between broken kisses. “You’re so fucking good to me, oh yeah. I should’ve done this weeks ago.” A startled squeak bursts from your throat as he abruptly strikes your ass. Sucking air through his teeth, he does it again, relishing in the desperate noises spilling from your mouth. “That’s right, birdie. Come on, make me cum. I’m gonna cum so fucking hard for you, fill you up until your belly’s bloated.”

“Keigo-“  You moan as his hand drops down, fingers furiously rubbing at your sex.

“That’s right, say my name. Let the whole fucking world know who’s fucking you this good.”

“Keigo-“

Smack.

“KEIGO!”

The knot building up inside you snaps; with a cry, you cling even closer to him, your velvety walls spasming around his thick cock as you cum.

Slamming a hand against the wall, Keigo fucks into you harder, faster, the wet noises sounding from between your legs almost deafening. “Oh fuck yeah, oh fuck yeah, oh fuck, fuck, fuck – ah- ah- ugghnn…” Burying his face in your neck, his hips erratically jerk as warmth fills your insides. “Still… cumming… fuccckkk…”

Your eyes flutter as he shallowly thrusts into you, the sinful squelch of his cum leaking out around his cock filling your ears. Slowly, he comes to a stop, his hot breath fanning over your neck and the side of your face. Gingerly, you let him go, completely unaware that your fingernails had dug into him in the first place.

“Well,” he starts, lifting his head and flicking away sweaty strands of hair, “that was eventful, wasn’t it?”

You scoff. “Tell me why I like you again…?”

“Oh, darling,” he drawls, leaning in and pecking the corner of your mouth. “I don’t think you like me. I think you love me. You aren’t very subtle.” He laughs as you smack him on the chest.

“Okay, fine. You’re lucky I love you, bird brain. Don’t go rubbing it in.”

“Silly birdie,” Keigo hums, his face scrunching into that wonderful smile of his. “I may just love you too.”

Wait, seriously?

“And no, I’m not joking or being an ass,” he continues, as if reading your mind. “What’s it called? Love at first sight? I dunno, seems like cheesy bullshit to me, but I… I like the appeal of it. It sounds nice when you’re involved.”

Your heart thumps against your chest.

Oh, fuck.

[cathrrrine]

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 18: SAFE HOUSE

—

A/N: I hope you guys like this one ! I just wanted to add a little bit of fluff after all that angst-fest. Happy reading my loves! :)

———

"Enigma." I mumbled, the strange woozy feeling in my chest expanding as I shifted in my car seat to turn to Pietro.

"What?"

"I figured it out. I'm your enigma. Everyone has one." There was a lightness to my words as I said them and oddly enough, I didn't really mind. "You said you couldn't figure me out, therefore I'm your enigma."

I could see his hands on the wheel tighten just a little bit. The whole car ride, I'd been observing him. I just couldn't get his words out of my head.

You're driving me crazy, Y/N.

My head felt like it was about to explode by the sheer amount of force it took for me to figure out what he really meant. I felt...perplexed. I was wracking my entire brain out by trying to decipher the whole point of our previous conversation. Why did I drive him crazy? Why did he feel the need to tell me that?

Why did I feel like I should trust him?

"My enigma?" He scoffed, throwing a playful, cocky look my way. "You are nothing close to anything I'd call mine."

I rolled my eyes, "You know, it's no wonder you've got a head full of grey hair, you grouch."

"Hey!" He gasped, genuinely shocked at my comment. "I am most definitely not a grouch."

His accent made his reaction much better than I could've imagined. The way he rolled his R's made me laugh a little, so I copied it just for kicks, the letter teetering on the edge of my tongue. "Yep, a grouch would most definitely say that."

I scanned his face for any signs of annoyance, waiting to see if my words left any impression on him. Instead, I saw his expression grow heavier. I'd miss it if I blinked, but I swore I saw a flash of that same expression he wore when he confronted me before in my cell. Seriously, I have got to figure him out, and soon. Before I'm too vulnerable.

"We're here."

I turned around, looking out of the window to see the building I'd been dreading to return to. My heart felt like it had been dipped in acid and encased in lead. Suddenly, I knew why Pietro grew quiet.

Getting out of the facility had been fun, exhilarating almost. Steve had helped me escape just as he promised and left me with Pietro in the garage, handing him the car keys and giving him strict instructions to drive away while remaining incognito.

Pietro had a dazed look on his face then, part-confusion and part-anxiety, but I knew that we had one thing in similar; roguery in our veins. Pietro is a little troublemaker, I had mused as I eyed his way-too-giddy movements. He had no trouble following his Captain's orders, he was eager almost.

I told Steve that we could hide in an old safe house of mine, a tiny studio located somewhere in a sketchy town that was close to the facility so it was reachable by car, but far enough so that it wouldn't be a problem if any of his teammates were to come looking. At least we'd have enough time to escape if they did.

The last time I'd been here had been 2 years ago. Back when I thought I was still running from The Winter Soldier. Everything the Captain had revealed to me made me want to throw up. How else were you supposed to feel when someone told you that you'd been running and hiding for years, from a ghost? I felt like I'd been on an unprompted wild goose chase, except that instead of chasing the 'goose', I'd been chased by it. What a joke.

"You alright?"

Pietro raised an eyebrow, nothing but that disgusting kindness in his eyes. I wanted to strangle him right then and there. Was he offering me pity?

I threw him a half-hearted scowl, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I'm just asking. This can't be easy for you, no?"

His words hit me like a truck, and the realisation that he wasn't offering me pity, but simply just inquiring, soon came after. It was an odd question to be asked. I'd rarely been offered that luxury, of someone caring enough to ask if you were alright or not. It felt weird to be on the receiving end of that kind of sincerity, something I thought only existed out of my own realm. Yet here I was, trying to figure out the answer to his question.

I shook my head in an effort clear my thoughts, sort of like an etch-a-sketch. "I've been through worse."

We entered the building quietly, ignoring the looks thrown our way from a few bystanders. It was a rather rundown building, just as I had remembered it to be. I'd never made company with any of the people who live here, because how could I have? What kind of shit assassin would do that?

"They must not be used to new faces, huh?" Pietro tried—and failed—to ignore the man eyeing us from our right, clearly uncomfortable with the unwanted staring.

"I'd assume not. It's a pretty small town."

Pietro cleared his throat, "I see."

He looked a little uneasy, shifting from foot to foot. I followed his line of gaze and oh my god, the man was still staring.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" I snarled. He scurried away immediately, eyes averting from us either in shock or in fear. Though it was most likely the latter, considering the way he kept looking back with wild eyes to see if we would chase him down.

I turned back to my speedster companion, and sure enough, he looked much better than he did before. "It's fine, he's just a creep."

He nodded, "I was never fond of creeps."

We climbed up the flight of stairs that lead to the studio apartment, silent the whole way up with Pietro taking in his surroundings and with me being a bit preoccupied with the thoughts swimming in my head. Memories from my past kicked in violently, and I tried to swallow them down.

"Is this it?" He said as I stopped in front of a tattered door with the number 42 on top of it, pointing to it with his right hand.

"Yep." I walked closer to the door, reaching up to the number 4 and trying to detach it from the wall. Apparently though, it was too high for me, sitting just at the tip of my fingers. Either someone had moved it higher, or I'd grown shorter since

Heels. I'd worn my goddamn heels when I last set this thing up. I'd have slapped myself by now if my hands weren't occupied.

Annoyed, I groaned and stood on the tip of my toes. Just a bit more.

"Here."

My breath caught in my throat as I felt his voice reverberating through his chest which was now level to my head. Pietro came up behind me with his taller stature, his height enabling him to reach for the 4 in less than a second, his hand brushing against mine in the process. I blinked, hard, trying to steady myself and grab hold of my thoughts. I felt my face grow hot, warmth spreading through my skin like fire.

I tried not to make it obvious, how much his skin contact had bothered me. I felt stupid for making such a big deal out of it, and even more so that it was caused by him. What the hell? My throat felt tight, so I cleared it with a cough and put on a neutral expression seamlessly.

He backed away as soon as he grabbed hold of the number, twirling it around his fingers with a playful, lopsided smile. Holy shit, I want to rip it off his face. Just punch the living shit out of him.

"Hmm, maybe you're not that useless after all." I scoffed.

He grinned, "Well, if the grouch hadn't been here, it would've taken you all day to reach for this thing."

"Huh, so you admit you are a grouch."

"I didn't—Whatever you say, gnome."

"Wow, look at you." I snickered. "Practicing sarcasm are we? Pray, do tell, was I your inspiration?"

He shook his head in defeat, then he flipped the 4 over, eyebrows meeting in the middle. "What is this anyway? Some sort of secret hidden in here?"

Classic topic changer.

"Yes," I snatched the sign from him. "A very important secret actually."

I turned the thing around and pressed hard on the back of the long vertical line with my nails, breaking the plastic cover. It gave in with a little bit of pressure, and I dug my fingers in to pull out the slender, metal object that I had hidden 2 years ago.

"Ah. The key." Pietro looked impressed.

"Smart, isn't it? It's an old trick that I stole from a woman in Amsterdam."

He moved closer, and I felt myself flinching a little, afraid my body would have the same reaction that it did just a few seconds ago. Luckily, he didn't notice how distressed I was.

"Why bother though, if you weren't going to keep the key with you? Why not just kick down the door or climb in through a window or something?"

There he goes again, with his perpetual rambling.

"We're 4 floors up idiot, climbing in through the window is too risky, people might see and I might fall and die, which is not very ideal, in case you haven't figured that out yet." I inserted the key into the lock and twisted it, hearing the clack of the latch and bolts as they moved.

"Plus, I just did it for fun. I never even knew if I'd come back here or if this building would even still be intact by the time that I did."

He didn't take up the trouble to reply, or even if he did, I didn't hear him. The moment the door opened and I stepped foot inside the room, I was immersed in the haze of my past. A version of my life that was drastically different to the one I had now.

My emotions were all over the place.

A cloud of dust covered the room from years of vacancy, our shoes creating imprints onto the floor. I was surprised no one had broken in for the whole 2 years. Somewhere in the back of my head though, the memory of me threatening the landlord popped up.

"If I come back and I find out that my house got fucked up, I won't hesitate to drive this knife through your chest."

It's a wonder how far a knife and few sharp words could get you.

"Looks like it needs a bit of vacuuming, just a bit. But that's just my opinion."

I fumbled around for something hard and chucked it at Pietro's head with full force, earning an 'Ow!' immediately after.

"What was that for?"

"I've been meaning to throw something at you for a while now." I shrugged, then continued to explore my previous home even further.

It was exactly as I left it, minus the accumulated bits of dirt and the herd of dust bunnies. I walked to the small kitchen space, opening the cabinets and finding the slightly dented kettle and the 2 mugs I had kept there, untouched. Then I fished around the drawer beneath it and eventually found the box of—hopefully unexpired—tea packets and some Sweet'N Low's.

My fingers clasped around the faucet knob and turned, waiting for a good minute for running water. "Come on, come on..."

After some violent sputtering and grumbling from the sink, out came the water flow. Yes! I cheered mentally.

Then I turned to the silver-haired grouch, gesturing to the tea packets I held between my fingers. "Care for some tea?"

He shrugged, "Only if you won't poison me."

taglist: @ifilwtmfc

[empty-masks]

Book One, Chapter Two

CW: Strong Language, Sexual References, Graphic Violence, Fantasy Bigotry, Smoking, Alcohol Use

Inside the Admin building, a short truck ride away from Smokestone itself, two men stare at one another. 

“An inspection, is it? You’re dressed rather casually for something as formal as an inspection.” An orange-haired man rubs his chin, pacing back and forth in the hall in front of his office. Sharp teeth are exposed as his lip curls downward into a scowl, pointed flagrantly and unashamedly at a tall shape across from him. “Blondie.”

Before Mr. Gilroy stands a white titan of a man, tall enough that even the high rafters of the admin building are veritably within the reach of his great arms. He’s like a slab of the palest muscle to ever be seen, topped with shoulder-length, disquietingly white hair that’s kept loose and flowing. His massive frame is wrapped in a short-sleeved dress shirt, upon which is a print pattern of pumpkins against a solid, obnoxious baby blue. Firm, chiseled features pull into a sharply toothed smile, boasting a hint of a blonde shadow across his jaw and upper lip. He shaved before the drive, Gilroy notes.

To top it off, he doesn’t know whether to be insulted by the near constant looming, given as Blondie’s several heads taller than him even like this, or if he should be more insulted that the giant’s wearing khaki cargo shorts with socks and sandals. “This isn’t a cookout, you moron. If you’re here on business, we don’t do business casual. We only do business.”

Blondie snorts, turning his cool, blue eyes down toward Gilroy’s suit— a black and red affair, one of several— as his white brows raise. “Look into a better tailor then, because that looks like the kinda shit a stripper would get with snap-off buttons. Got a bachelorette party you need to perform at later?”

Gilroy pinches the bridge of his nose before letting out a sigh tinged with the slightest of alcohol burns. When he had been told he would be receiving this visitor, half of a bottle of whiskey found itself disappearing into a series of mixed drinks. “I’m not taking any advice from a man who thinks it’s a good idea to wear shorts in this weather. I was told you were here for something and you show up like this— is this a joke? Did Penny put you up to this?”

“Nope, direct orders from on high. I’m here to get the wheels turning and drum up interest in that new initiative. Feel like a career switch?” “I like what I do, Blondie. I’ve no interest in doing dirty work. I like everything neat and tidy.” A facetious smile makes its way onto Gilroy’s face.

Down the hall from the two, figures in grey jumpsuits stop in their tracks and then elect to find an alternate route, opting not to bother crossing paths with their superior or his big, pale visitor. Blondie laughs as the series of shapes clad in grey disappear, then turns his attention back to Gilroy. “Don’t flatter yourself, it wasn’t a real offer. I’m not dumb enough to offer you a job that’ll get you killed in two hours flat. You’ve got a few interesting foremen, ripe raw material. The big heads want me to take a look at your folks and see if any of them have what it takes to go do a real job.”

“Because keeping the miners in line somehow isn’t as real as wandering around with a gun on your hip at all times, of course.” Saying this, Gilroy’s gaze drifts down to a holster at Blondie’s hip.

It’s such a natural part of his silhouette that at this point he’s actually forgotten the man carries it. The gun is large enough that with some glue and screws and a half hour you could make it a high ordnance rifle, but on Blondie, it looks about the right size, proportional in scope to the white-haired giant. Even in such casual clothing, it’s a part of him.

Fondly, Blondie places a hand on the handle of his gun and gives a nod. “Keeping people in line is important, sure, but you don’t need to be going into those holes with the crews to do it. If you had some real skill on the job, you would’ve seen a downtick in foreman hospitalization by now, Gilroy.”

“Real skill? All you do is break things and wave a gun around, but sure, go on about skill all you like. You don’t have to do any of the paperwork.”

“Neither do you, Penny’s the one stuck with that. You just get to sign your name on checks and daydrink in your office while underlings handle shit for you. Which is why I’m looking to make the offer to them and not to you, bitch.” A hearty laugh punctuates Blondie’s last statement before he turns and walks down the hall in the direction he saw the grey shapes shamble off to. “I’m gonna have a meeting with your folks, don’t fret too much about it. If we’re lucky, you’ve got some untapped talent on your hands that I’ll be sure to scoop up. Nobody you’d need down here, anyways.”

“Go bite your— just don’t waste their time. Unlike you, they have real jobs.” Gilroy snaps down the hall at him. Once the heavy, thudding footsteps are far enough away that there’s no trace of Blondie to be seen, he heads back inside, sits down, and returns to finishing off that bottle of whiskey, entirely neat.

Jessup and Piper sit on the back porch of the Admin building, the former busy whittling what looks to be a wooden dog figurine, settled right on the steps, as the latter simply lounges in the swinging chair which hangs by chains from the ceiling.

“You think they’re gonna fire her when she wakes up?” Piper prods, her tail poking Jessup on the shoulder.

His initial response is little more than a thick huff, but soon after real words do come as he says, “I think she’s gonna get chewed out but they ain’t firing her. I’d fire her if I were in his position, but I suppose that difference in thinking is why I’m wearing a jumpsuit and Mr. Gilroy’s wearing a business suit.”

“Hey, don’t be down on yourself about something like that. Just means we don’t need to hand out pink slips. Plus, I’m sure there’s somewhere to go from here. They did say there were opportunities for career advancement back in orientation…”

A new voice sounds out just behind them both, and in deep tones that make even Jessup seem runty, Blondie says, “I’ve got a fun little career opportunity for you two. Go get all of your friends, then head to the mess hall. Doubletime.”

There’s a brief moment of silence as the two foremen turn to look at him, but there’s no hesitance to obey once they realize how important the man must be. After all, if their boss had to tolerate his presence then they absolutely had to do whatever he said. The two scramble up from what they were doing, Jessup tucking away his whittling knife and the half-finished dog statuette as he and Piper both rush back inside.

Blondie, meanwhile, runs over the presentation points in his head once again before pulling a few small leaflets from one of his pockets. “Promising already.”

==============================================================

The mess hall is more of an elongated, windowless kitchen in the center of the Smokestone Location’s Shepherd Gemstone company building— one where a single fridge, double burner, microwave, and sink sit at the far end, and a single row of circular tables with cheap, plastic chairs runs to the opposite end. Now, this room design isn’t much of an issue for the day-to-day, as there usually isn’t an entire force of foremen attempting to squeeze themselves inside all at once. Usually, people come and go, leaving drearily empty space between one another as they sit tables apart.

Blondie has to hold back a snicker when he walks into the front of the room. They’re almost elbow to elbow in some places, and while some of them are more comfortable than others (more than likely because they’ve been working together for so long), it’s amusing to see such large people packed in like sardines.

To hide his smile, he goes over his presentation once more in his head. Talk about why freelance security got liquidated. Talk about why that’s a good thing. Talk about what’s gonna happen with that money. Talk about what he’s looking for. Easy peasy. Nothing to it. He’s just gotta get their attention, first. Blondie cups his hands over his mouth. “HEY!”

The hubbub in the room is instantly silenced. “Very nice. You know when to listen,” he smiles. “In case you folks didn’t know what you’re here for, I figure I might as well introduce myself first.”

He holds a massive hand over his heart as he addresses the room. “I’m Blondie. As of current, the only full-time repossession officer in all of the Shepherd Gemstone corporate network. And that,” he starts, smile getting toothy, “is for a reason. But, I’m sure some of you know why first-hand. After all, Gilroy and I are real close.”

“Now to get to the bit you’ve been waiting for, since I know you’re just itching to clock in and start punching down. As all of you may know, Shepherd Gemstone has officially ended their freelance security program for all Locations around the valley. That includes Smokestone, folks. I did that,” he states, matching the gaze of a few foremen around the room.

“And I did it because the company’s got some cracks in its armour. Hiring mercenaries is a coin toss as to whether they’ll be competent or an idiot, but I’m sure some of you are aware of this. It didn’t take much convincing of the higher-ups to get the program stripped. And though your little jurisdictions are now without official security, you folks seem to have been doing an okay-enough job at keeping the peace. That money is now being distributed elsewhere.”

“So, what am I here for, other than to break news you’re already familiar with?” Blondie folds his arms across his chest.

“You’re looking at the head of a new project, using that old security money, to establish a private force of peacekeepers and acquisitions-adjacent officers within the Shepherd Gemstone territory,” he says, grinning. “And I’m here, today, to prospect a little.”

Talk between the foremen bubbles up almost as soon as Blondie finishes his sentence. It’s both annoying and satisfying for the massive man, as part of him still has stuff he wants to say, but another part of him is pleased with himself that he was able to rouse them to such a degree. It’s good to see that there’s such interest. In fact…

He points to Piper (who is sitting in the front row with her hand patiently raised), saying “Young lady.”

Piper clears her throat before speaking. “What would it mean for us? If we were to sign up and all.”

“HEY! EVERYONE, LISTEN UP!” Blondie shouts, feeling this question to be important for everyone to hear. “Ask again, for your co-workers?”

 “I’m wondering what that means, sir. If we sign on, what’re we doing?” she repeats herself, a little louder for those in the back.

“You won’t be signing up,” Blondie scoffs. “I’ll be recruiting you, and that’s only if you’re interested and able. No exceptions. But you’ve still got a good question there. What the hell will you be doing, instead of helping manage Gilroy’s playground?”

Blondie throws up his arms. “You’ll do anything the company wants you to do, straight from the mouths of the higher-ups. You take care of contract-breakers, you help keep subsidiaries in check. You get paid to run around the valley and do the exciting shit you hear about me doing. And, of course,” he pauses for effect, “you live by your own rules, once you’re on the road.”

“Your way or no way,” he repeats. “So that’s why I’m here. To make sure, personally, that the folks who’re doing this shit aren’t gonna die on the first job, or take the money and run.” He leans in close to Piper’s face, who attempts to steel herself for the occasion. “You think you’ve got the balls, young lady?”

She matches Blondie’s gaze. It’s terrifying, it’s sending the flight response to every molecule in her body. Nothing, not even the times she’s gone toe-to-toe with some of the most intimidating miners around Smokestone has caused this kind of reaction in her gut. But, she bites her tongue to keep her stare steady on his impossibly blue eyes. The pain helps numb the feeling, and she has to lick up the blood off her teeth before responding, “Yeah. I bet I do, sir.”

Blondie smiles a little, tapping her on the cheek with his baseball mitt-sized hand.

“Now that’s a good first impression. If you jerks want any chance at a more interesting job than this, be more like her,” he announces to the rest of the room. He leans back down to her level. “What are you, miss?”

“Same as you,” Piper responds, finding it easier to meet his eyes the second time round.

“Don’t bullshit me. You don’t smell like a Werewolf. Lemme see those teeth of yours again.”

Piper opens her mouth, and Blondie peers inside. His features bunch up temporarily as he notices the traces of blood on her tongue. But, a thought strikes him, and he motions for her to close.

“You’re one of those Were-Snakes, aren’t you.” “Yes, sir.” “So why’d you lie to me?”

“I thought you were referring to us being Lycans,” she responds. “Shepherd Gemstone doesn’t hire anyone else to be their upper staff.”

“You’re damn right about that. But that was a stupid assumption, because it assumed I was stupid,” Blondie says, standing up straight again. “You’re lucky that I’ve got something to say on the topic anyways.”

The whole room goes silent once more as he begins to speak. “As this young lady here has stated, you’re all Lycanthropes. That means you’ve got a physical advantage over everyone else on this planet. And I mean everyone. I’ve seen scrawny motherfuckers turn a mugging around ‘cause they got angry and let loose. Seen old grandmas get away with disemboweling the guy stealing her purse. Gangs turned to abstract paintings on the walls of barber shops. You all know how the stories go. But, there’s a common thread throughout all of them, no matter who’s doing the retelling, and you know what it is. Lycanthropes who make the difference are able to control their shifting.” 

He points to the rest of the room, slightly within the vicinity of some Lycans who happened to be turned. “I feel sorry for you Diurnals and Nocturnals. That brute fucking strength you hold just goes to waste, since you don’t have a lick of control over when you can use it. It’s pitiable.”

“Compared to folks who can control it,” he laughs, “you’re crippled. Crippled from birth. And I can’t be having folks like that in this program. I need consistent strength. Controllable strength. Don’t bother approaching me about this job if you can’t control your shifting. Gilroy won’t like the answer you get.”

He lets that statement sink into the room for a moment. There has to be someone who’s willing to challenge him on that, right? Someone who’s ballsy enough to stand up and shout at him about how he’s being a disgusting bigot. Someone he can raise his gun at, and mention how he’s going to make them a cripple if they don’t sit back down and be a good little foreman.

But nobody does. Everyone keeps it under control. What an impressive display of submissiveness. Blondie frowns, and turns his gaze back to Piper, who is mumbling to Jessup to stay out of this. “So, I’ll ask again young lady. What are you?”

Piper takes a moment to respond, but does so by gritting her teeth, showing the white giant how her canines twist and warp into syringe-like fangs, and how her eyes transform into the image of an exploding green universe, torn in half by a black void.

“Thank god,” he sighs.

Piper spits out a glob of hissing venom, which sizzles as it lands on Jessup’s shoe. “What now?”

“What now?” Blondie repeats. “I’m gonna go and have my lunch. You folks need to get to work. If you’ve got any questions about this program of mine, ask Gilroy, I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed to let you in on it. You know my terms.” He stuffs a hand into the pocket of his shorts, and walks into the halls of the building. “Have a good shift, now.”

==============================================================

MOONSTONE? SOMEONE HAS BROUGHT AN UNTRAINED CHISEL TO YOUR SURFACE. LET ME INSPECT THE DAMAGE.

Judith sat down opposite of her interviewer, a currently turned Werewolf who barely fit into his chair. A tie was loosely tied around his neck, and every inch of his torso threatened to explode out of his dress shirt as he carefully scribbled something into a manilla folder. His glasses rested perfectly on his snout, bottle-lensed and reinforced with heavy metal rims, and another set sat on the desk’s surface— smaller, less durable looking— a commonplace occurrence in sight-impaired Lycans. Five minutes passed and Judith became increasingly uncomfortable in her seat. At some point she had to cover her nose, as it was on fire from continually inhaling the close-range stinkbomb of a scent that was emanating from the Werewolf.

“Is it that bad?” he finally asked, leaning over his desk and pointing a pen towards her.

Having slightly left this plane of existence, she visibly snapped back into form, pulled her hands off of her nose and sat up in her chair. “Is what bad? Whatever it is you’re smelling.”

“Oh. You mean me covering my nose?” she says, as a bead of sweat drips down her neck. “I do that when I’m anxious. I’m really excited, you see. This is a big interview.”

A slight grin passes over the Werewolf’s face, and he jots something down in the folder. “Let’s get this show on the road, Judith. So, you’re an accountant?”

“Yes sir. I’ve had a job working with numbers since I spawned— not counting the years spent in school.”

“Twenty years of experience is quite impressive.” “Thank you, sir.” “Was there any reason in particular you were attracted to Shepherd Gemstone Enterprises?”

The money is absolutely through the roof and after years of working for small-scale business I feel as though I deserve a bit of a hoard to sit on, is what she wanted to say. “I’ve heard some good things through the grapevine about it, and with all the money going around, I figured you’d need more bodies to help manage it.” That works nicely. Not too dishonest.

“You figured right. We’ve had some big expansions lately. Can you tell me a little more about yourself so we can gauge how well you’d fit into our community?” “Community?” I thought I’d just be punching numbers into log books. “Uh, sure? I work well with groups, but I usually work better alone. I also tend to take charge if projects are in need. I’m good at talking to customers and collaborators alike—”

“Are you quick to anger?” Judith swallowed her tongue. “What?” “I asked if you get angry easily.” the Werewolf matched her gaze. “I… I don’t think so?”

The room shrunk and she was closer than ever before to her interviewer. His scent invaded her brain like a lobotomy hook, and she felt a hand begin to creep its way up to her nose. His eyes were a bright, canary yellow behind the thick lenses. Lycans tended to have brightly colored eyes, and she could tell that he was looking into hers for the same trait. Another troupe of sweat drops marched their way down the back of her neck and into the empire of her dress shirt collar.

“How well do you deal with co-workers who could be considered annoying or troublesome?” “I deal alright, I think? I have my limits, everyone does, but—” “And what’s your limit?” The question hit her full force to the dome. “I apologize, but is this really relevant to the interview, sir?”

“We want to gauge how well you might deal with disagreements, Ms. Judith. You see, due to the volatile profit margins of the gemstone business, workplace environments range anywhere from calm and pleasant to intensely stressful, sometimes within days of one another. You must be able to cope with this if you’re to have a place in our enterprise.”

“I see.” she said, digging into her thighs as she tried to keep her hands down.

“On that note, I feel as though we’ve gone over enough. Is there anything else you’d like to add before we end this interview?” the Werewolf asked, somewhat expectantly.

Yeah, why the hell couldn’t you have taken a shower before holding this interview? “No.”

He held out a massive paw. “Fantastic. It was great meeting you, Ms. Judith. We will get back to you as soon as we can about whether you’ve been hired.”

She stood up from her chair, and shook the Werewolf’s clawed hand. Something changed in his expression as she did so, and as soon as they separated he sat back down and immediately began scribbling in the folder.  Judith walked out of the cubicle and out of the office block, unaware of the tears she had made in her dress pants until she got back to her apartment. There, she screamed.

When Judith arrived on the dig site, she zipped up her grey jumpsuit, affixed her nametag, and locked her car. Waiting for her at the entrance was another grey jumpsuited person, who asked in a deep voice, “You the new Foreman, Miss… Judith?” Her eyes widened. “No, I’m an accountant.” “Uh, Miss, check your nametag.”

She looked down. Hi, My Name is Judith! DIRECTING FOREMAN.

“Oh, fuck.”

PERHAPS I WAS INCORRECT— THE CHISEL OF BUREAUCRACY IS TRAINED, BUT ACTS UNDER MALIGNANT PREMISE. YOU ARE CORRECT TO BE ANGRY, MOONSTONE. BE WARY OF BURNING FOR LONG, AS SMOULDERING WILL EAT AWAY YOUR SURFACE MORE QUICKLY THAN YOU MAY PREDICT.

==============================================================

Waking up feels like hell on a good day, and this particular awakening is among the worst of those she’s ever had the unfortunate displeasure to endure. In the past, at least her dreams were pleasant rather than half-baked recollections of irritating low points in her life. Her nose stings from the mere recollection of that bastard’s stench now and she ends up spending a long time rubbing at it with the heel of her palm in some desperate bid to get it out.

The few nurses at the clinic are concerned for her, but they don’t bother Judith as she trudges through the necessary paperwork and promptly leaves. It’s not necessarily the paperwork or the injury that has her aggravated; the problem’s the date. All the papers she had to sign were marked with a date set a week later than she last remembered being awake, not the next day, and this isn’t a place for practical jokes. It’s not a joke, though. It is a terrifyingly real fact: she’s been out for a full week, including weekends.

Another terrifyingly real fact is that this means any and all paid time off she might have had is now out the window, and that’s if they actually used it. For all she knows she hasn’t been paid at all, because unlike the folks who got better contracts in earlier years, she’s not a salaried employee— she’s paid by the hour. At least she woke up in the morning. That means she has the chance to make up for her lost time somewhat.

As soon as she steps foot inside of the Admin building, a tall, blonde shape stops her in her tracks. “Hey, J,” Piper says with a smile. “You look terrible.”

“I feel terrible. Is breakfast over already?”

“Nope, but friend to friend, don’t bother. It’s not an amazing choice set today, plus I got you this.” From behind her back, Piper produces a platter with the best breakfast options offered that day. A hefty and entirely rubbery omelette, some slabs of fried meat, and a healthy dollop of some kind of pumpkin pudding. “The nurses called ahead to the boss to let him know you were on your way, and he told me to tell you that he wants to talk. So I thought it might be a good idea to get you something to eat.”

Judith’s eyes narrow. The tone says it all; they aren’t friends, but it pays to pretend. Regardless of actual friendship, showing a willingness to play nice looks good and it tends to cover your ass when everything goes sideways. An alliance of obligation and reciprocation is an uncaring one, but it is one nonetheless. If Piper actually cared, this would’ve been back at the clinic and she would’ve had a ride over.

“Thanks,” Judith says in a soft and non-hostile tone as she takes the platter. By no means is it friendly in any shape or term, but it isn’t harsh. “I’ll go see the boss when I’m done.”

That’s more than enough for Piper, of course. She turns and offers Judith a brief wave of a hand as she walks off, her tail brushing at Judith’s side in the process.

She’s in the middle of eating, sitting on one of the immaculately carved and distinctly uncomfortable benches in the main Admin hall when an orange haired man in a black suit stops to stand in front of her, arms crossed expectantly. She hasn’t even had the time to finish off the omelette or the second slab of fried meat and her boss is here.

“So, you’re making me wait so you can eat breakfast, Jenny?”

Judith swallows more egg before saying, in a small voice, “My name is Judith, sir?” The half-hearted and questioning tone is mostly damage mitigation, hoping to offset some of the anger that inevitably comes with being corrected by someone that is, as most would say, an underling.

Mr. Gilroy clears his throat and adjusts his tie. “Right, of course, Judith. In any case, I see that you’ve decided to sit and eat before coming to speak with me about your unfortunate incident. Not an amazing sign with regards to your upward momentum, June.”

His slip earns another soft correction in the form of just the name “Judith” exiting the woman’s mouth, but by the time she’s said it he’s already halfway through another sentence.

“You’re a good numbers foreman. I need a numbers foreman. Now, of course you’d ask, what’s a numbers foreman? It’s someone who’s good at handling the paperwork half of this job. Now, there are plenty of other teammates who aren’t quite there yet with regards to their skills with a pencil or pen, but you’ve got it. Which is why I need to make sure that you understand and can handle the hands-on part of this job. Do you know the main focus of your job?”

Judith straightens up somewhat, tilting her head up to look into the man’s eyes. “I run my diving team and the overall section of the site that I’ve been assigned to, sir.”

“Very good, you remember the contract. Truth is there’s a little more to it than that, and while I don’t want to think you’re dumb— I don’t hire stupid people, Jesse! Uneducated, maybe, but by no means are any of my hand-picked foremen stupid. Now, while I don’t want to think you’re dumb, I get the feeling you might not actually understand the fine nuances of operating the team. In any other situation I’d tell you to shadow Jessup for a while to see how he handles things, but given the unique makeup of your diving team I do have to make an exception to my usual peer-review style handling of this situation.” His teeth are sharp in his mouth as each word leaves him, fangs clicking against fangs, all as his fingers drum against his suit-clad biceps.

Though his tone doesn’t say it, the fact that she can hear his canines scraping against themselves as he speaks tells her plenty about his anger. A lead foreman’s been out for a week, that means plenty of problems. Plus her position as a recent hire and this incident being the worst of a series of smaller incidents, though to her it’s not so small, do not look very good. Adding on whatever it was that Piper just pulled— had she intended to actually offer the professional olive branch, or was that a move to make sure Gilroy was extra pissed?

“Here at Shepherd Gemstone, our foremen are our lifeline. You handle not only paperwork with regards to your part of the site but you are hands-on leaders amidst a sea of hard working and well cared for miners. And as a leader, that means any failure of your crew falls upon you.” His hands leave their opposite arms to instead settle at his hips, elbows out. With his shoulders squared, he’s taking on a pose one might expect was shown to him by a peer at a convention for businessmen who routinely need to go out of their way to appear bigger than they truly are, physically and emotionally. “Do you understand?”

“Sir, the crew— my crew— they’re a bunch of incompetent—”

“You, Judith, are a Shepherd Gemstone foreman. Your job is to see their incompetence and handle it. Jessup keeps his people in line fine, and so does Piper and every other foreman at every other site I run. Their incompetence does not reflect badly on them.” To punctuate the statement, he actually bends down, looming over her, lowering his voice as he begins speaking near directly into her ear saying, “These people are little more than tools, raw material to be ground up and used. Manpower is a resource, people are numbers, and these miners are idiots. If you do not keep them in line they will get you or themselves hurt, and that hurts our bottom line, and here at Shepherd Gemstone we do not like when something is hurting our wallets. Listen up, and listen good, because you were out for a week and so was that crew of yours. I don't care why, I care only that it happened. Don’t make excuses for your own incompetence.”

Her arms are wrapped around herself by this point, and rather than make any kind of eye contact with her superior she focuses her gaze into the pumpkin mush staring straight up at her. “I’m sorry, sir.”

There’s an identifiable sizzle of frustration and a slight deepening of his voice as he replies, “Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it. Do your job, and do it right. I don’t want to have to talk to you like this, but when you screw it badly enough that not only are you out for a full week of operation so’s the rest of your crew, meaning that if we don’t just leave your section unattended we would need to waste manpower from other crews to handle it, you messed up. It’s your job to keep them in line, so keep them in line. They’re idiots, and you’re not, so when they fail it’s your fault. They’re not your friends. I’m not your friend. This is work, Judith, and if I have to talk to you about another incident like this I swear—”

He stands suddenly, then looks at his watch. “We’re tabling this for now, but expect to talk again soon. I have to go.”

She doesn’t watch him leave, instead focusing her eyes squarely on the ground where his dress shoes once were instead. Biting at her lower lip, she stays seated on the bench for another ten minutes, fingers gripping the sleeves of her jumpsuit tightly, so tightly that when she finally releases the grip she expects to have torn into them. There are no tears, though. It's tough material.

Her cheeks feel wet, though. Has she been crying this whole time? Did she start at some point? Her lip feels different. A gloved hand pressing up against it and then back into her vision shows she’d bitten it hard enough to split it.

Judith shoves the tray and the still remaining food into the trash can before awkwardly and haphazardly pulling her mining mask over her face. After all, she does still have to work on site today.

Chapter End

==============================================================

[[ Table of Contents ]]

Blondie & The Smokestone March is © 2020-2022 Empty Mask. All Rights Reserved.

[uhgood-dooghu]

Dial Tone [M]

Author uhgood-dooghu

Pairing Namjoon x Reader

Summary Namjoon’s been gone for a week. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

Rating 18+

Genre Smut, fluff, my attempt at crack, established relationship

Warnings Explicit sexual content, phone sex, daddy kink you’ve been warned, dom/sub undertones, begging, edging, orgasm control, dirty talk, use of a sex toy, Namjoon’s packing, OC is a bro girl at heart, self gratuitous porn with no plot

Word Count 2.7k

“Daddy...”

Namjoon almost swerves into a passing truck as your breathy voice fills his car.

Swearing, he composes himself, eyes flitting rapidly between the road and his phone, the Bluetooth allowing a string needy moans to ring out from the speakers.

When you’d called earlier, he’d been in the middle of the Meeting of the Year (trademarked by Seokjin), deep in the throes of negotiations but also riding high on the success of the afternoon. He hadn’t seen the notification until he’d finally left the building forty-five minutes late, waving goodbye to his business partner and waiting for his car just outside the lobby. He’d frowned when he’d seen your name. You’d made plans this morning to call him later tonight, so the timestamp concerned him slightly, but he knew well enough that if there was an emergency, you would call at least 7 times. Probably blow up Seokjin’s phone as well.

Sliding into the drivers seat, he’d connected his phone and pulled onto the street, absentmindedly hitting play on your message.

Thank god Seokjin had declined his offer for a ride.

“Holy mother of fuck,” he exclaims, panic clouding his thoughts before he has the sense to throw a hand out and adjust the volume. Does he know what’s happening? No. But he really doesn’t need the bass bumping your moans through the window for the whole world to hear.

Gripping the steering wheel, he swallows thickly, ears tuning in to the words you start to speak.

“Daddy, I need you,” you whine. “Where are you? You said you’d be done by now–“ You break off with a gasp.

When it hits him, the panic subsides, his jaw locking in place as he maneuvers his way through the evening rush. To clarify, you’d made very specific plans to call him tonight.

Apparently you’d gotten impatient.

The way your voice shakes tells him you probably had three fingers buried in your pussy, trying and failing to replicate what his own fingers are capable of. He listens to you take a few grounding breaths.

“I miss you, daddy. You’ve been gone for so long–oh my god–I miss you touching me.”

Namjoon’s eyes harden and he presses harder on the gas. A horn blares to his left, but he ignores it completely, barely seeing the angry driver flip him off, because his pants suddenly feel much tighter than they did five seconds ago.

“I miss your fingers. And your dick. Fuuuck, daddyyy!”

Your moans start to escalate, chasing after that edge, likely trying so hard to curl your fingers against your g-spot while circling your clit frantically with your free hand. His knuckles whiten around the wheel, his exhale dark as your voice turns progressively more manic, more helplessly panicked, until you cry out in desperation, the way you always do when you’re denied.

Your voice cracks and he feels it right in his dick.

“Daddy daddy, please please please, call me back, please please, I wanna come, daddy, I’ve been so good, please please please, call me.”

Your words slur, voice wrecked, and you let out a final sob before the message ends.

Namjoon sits frozen for a moment, mechanically turning his car into the hotel drive, before he inhales sharply and looks down.

Yep, he’s hard as fuck.

“Shit.”

Pulling up to the valet, he fumbles with his belt, tucking his erection into his waistband with a silent prayer that it’ll be enough to save him some embarrassment. It probably won’t (surprise, it’s actually quite difficult to hide a massive dick, who would’ve thought), but he doesn’t have a whole lot of options. At least he wore black pants.

He grabs his phone and steps out of the car only a little awkwardly, passing the man his keys before making a beeline for the glass doors. Thankfully, the lobby is near vacant as he rushes to the elevator, angling himself away from the front desk. Still, the receptionist raises an eyebrow, so he forces a smile, dimples fully on display even as his eyes stare daggers at the dial above the door. Tapping at his phone, he shoots you a text.

Namjoon: Couldn’t wait for tonight, huh? [6:31 PM]

When the doors finally open, he darts inside, choosing his floor and frantically tapping the “close” button.

The elevator moves far too slowly. That’s all he can think as he adjusts his crotch, swearing under his breath. It does nothing to relieve the pressure and he swears again. He really does have big dick problems. He nearly trips when the doors slide open, narrowly missing a wide-eyed housekeeper passing by with a cleaning cart. He is quick to apologize but does not stop as he speeds to his suite, already tugging at the knot of his tie.

Letting himself through the door, he works the top few buttons of his shirt open and glances at his phone. You haven’t responded, which, knowing you, could mean one of two things. Either you let the moment pass...or you’re too fucked out to notice his message.

Quirking a brow, he texts again.

Namjoon: You there baby? [6:34 PM]

This time your response is immediate.

Y/n: Call me [6:34 PM]

With a chuckle, he strips to his boxers and falls to the mattress. Readjusting on the pillows, he presses the phone to his ear, listening to it ring twice before you pick up.

“Daddy…”

“Hi, baby.” He hooks his arm behind his head and licks his lips. “What you up to?”

He smirks when you moan, loud and wanton.

“Having fun?”

You stutter out a yes.

“Mmm, without me?”

He listens in amusement as you keen.

“I’m sorry, daddy, I c-couldn’t help it. I miss you!”

“It’s okay, princess. I miss you, too.”

In the background, he hears a soft drone.

“You got a toy in you, baby?”

“Mhmmm!”

“Yeah? Which one?”

You take a shaky breath. “T-the black one.”

He hums in approval, cock twitching at the image of you lying on the bed, legs spread, the suction cup of your favorite toy pressed to your clit while the other end curves inside you, buzzing against your g-spot. He can picture the way your eyes squeeze shut as you bite and suck on your fingers to keep yourself from touching.

“How long’s it been in, princess?”

“Too long,” you moan, and he tuts in disapproval.

“Not an answer.”

You whimper, voice pitching. “Since I c-called you.”

In the back of his mind, he’s impressed. That was at least an hour. Giving a low whistle, he finally reaches down and briefly palms himself. The relief shoots up his spine as he sighs.

“Dang, baby. Wanna tell daddy what you did while you waited for me?”

The way you groan tells him you’d much rather not, but he waits expectantly. You know what to say if you want to stop. You exhale a few times before managing to speak.

“I u-used my fingers...and I played with my clit. I got myself m-messy for you.” You pause to breathe. “Then g-got close, I was so close, and then I called you.”

You’re starting to heave, voice modulating rhythmically, and Namjoon suspects you are rocking your head back and forth, trying to keep the pleasure at bay. His dick throbs, but he refuses to touch just yet. Not until he hears you be good for him.

“Keep going, baby.”

You huff a whine and press on. “T-then I put my toy in...I let it suck my clit–ah!”

The device clicks off and he swells with pride and satisfaction as you pant heavily in his ear. Your self-control never fails to blow his mind. He doesn’t even have to tell you what to do, you’re so desperate to please. Tugging at his waistband, he pulls the elastic below his balls, finally wrapping his hand around the base of his cock and squeezing.

“You like that, huh? You like your toy sucking your clit?”

“D-daddy sucks it better.” You mewl and click the toy back to life.

He allows himself a smug grin. Sue him, it’s nice to hear. “What then, baby? What did you do next?”

Slowly, he starts raking his fist over his shaft, swirling the palm over the tip, and he bites back a groan, because, shit, he gets so ridiculously hard for you, it’s almost pathetic. Almost.

“I–fuck–I kept it inside me, and I...I p-played with my nipples until I was close–shiiiiit.”

You’re losing coherency by the second, and Namjoon loves it. It sets his nerve-endings on fire. Makes him a little light-headed himself. Still, he murmurs soft praises in your ear, wishing he was there to stroke your hair and kiss your face, your hands, literally every inch of your body. It takes you a minute to continue, the vibe clicking on and off once more.

“I was s-so close, and then I t-turned it up and it felt so good, daddy, it felt so good!” You’re on the verge of tears, and Namjoon smiles fondly, dragging his thumb through the precum beading at his slit.

“I’m sure it did, baby. Were you a good girl?”

“Yes yes yes,” you insist, and he hears the frantic rustle of sheets. “I was good, I didn’t come. I promise.” There’s a slight change in your voice, the toy becoming more muffled, and he can tell you’ve flipped to your stomach. “I promise.” This time you actually sob, and Namjoon shushes you softly.

“It’s okay, baby, I believe you.”

You moan. “Daddy, I wanna come.”

The throb of his dick lets him know he wants you to come, too. He moves his fist just a little faster.

“I know, baby.” Biting his lip, he lets his eyes fall shut. “But I want you to use your fingers first. Take the toy out and get them wet. Taste yourself for me, princess.”

You shift and, a few moments later, audibly swallow.

“Tastes so good...” you moan.

Fuck.

“Yeah? Nice and sweet for me?”

Your affirming whimper is slightly muffled, and Namjoon can see the way you press your face into the mattress, ass up and knees wide, fingers drenched in your own slick and drool as you rock your hips in the air. The image is lethal.

“Yesss daddy, please–“ You choke in the way you do when you force yourself to hold off for him. “Please, I’m so close, I’ve been so close for so long, please.”

God, he doesn’t know why he loves this so much. It’s almost sadistic how much he gets off on hearing you beg, on hearing you so broken and needy and desperate, such a far cry from the confidently composed woman he knows you to be.

In the beginning, he was confused, reluctant even, when you asked him to take control of your pleasure. Even though the idea sent a shiver up his spine, he couldn’t imagine you of all people truly wanting something like that. You, who demands control in every aspect of your life, who refuses to take orders and sends 6’ 5”, built-like-dump-truck CEOs crashing face first into their glass office doors (a story for another time).

He asked you again and again and again if you were sure, hesitant to jump too hastily, no matter how badly his mind and body buzzed at the thought. It took you grabbing his face and shaking him, promising him you wanted this, wanted him to have that final say, for him to finally agree. You had a more detailed conversation after that, discussing boundaries and safe words and all the nuts and bolts he was adamant to set firmly in place.

You haven’t come without permission since.

And now, as you whine and beg for him, completely at his mercy even 1,000 miles away, he revels in the power trip. He feels it swim through his veins and collect in his dick, and yeah, another drop of precum oozes out because that’s how much he fucking loves this.

“Daddy,” you choke, and he can tell you’re quickly reaching a breaking point.

“It’s ok, princess, I’m here.”

Putting you on speaker, he sets his phone on his chest and reaches down to cup his balls. He’s barely touched himself, but they’re already so tight, and he knows he won’t need a whole lot to get there. You do all the work without even trying.

You keen helplessly, and he rolls the flesh in his palm.

“Alright, baby,” he coos. “Put your toy back in. I want you to turn it up high. I wanna hear it, okay?”

The answering buzz has you crying out. Loudly.

Namjoon grins in satisfaction. Resting his head back, he tugs on his dick, finally allowing the warmth to grow and spread throughout his limbs. Your moans spur him on, his pace increasing in time with your desperation, until all he can hear are your sobs of ‘daddy daddy daddy!’

Fuck, he’s close.

“You know what to do, baby,” he growls.

You’re practically wailing, words muffled and unintelligible, and he fleetingly wishes he had FaceTimed you instead.

“Can’t hear you, princess.”

You gasp loudly.

“P-please, daddy, can I come?” You break off in a desperate slur of pleasepleaseplease, and that’s all he needs to snap.

Gritting his teeth, he tightens his fist.

“Come.”

“Fuck, daddy!” You squeal, crying out for him incoherently as you fall apart, the sound slightly distorted from the way your writhing rustles the sheets against the speaker.

“Good girl,” he groans, fist pumping furiously, head falling back as your whimpers send him over the edge. Cum spurts over his hand and stomach in hot streaks. “Such a good girl for me, fuck.”

He works himself through the pleasure, dragging his cum back down his cock, all the while showering you with praise as you gasp helplessly.

“Fuck, baby, you did so well.” With a hiss, he slows his hand to a stop, giving himself one last squeeze before dropping his dick to his stomach. “I’m so fucking proud of you. You hear me?”

You whimper, panting heavily, toy already clicked silent, and he knows you’re just about boneless on the sheets. For a second he lies there, letting the cloud settle, his sticky hand hanging off the bed. Taking a breath, he checks in.

“Can you talk to me, y/n?”

You don’t respond right away. “G-give me a minute,” you eventually whisper, and he relents with a soft ‘okay.’

It takes about five minutes, but he finally hears your breathing level out, a sated sigh crackling though the phone.

“How you feeling, babe?”

“Dead.”

He laughs, grabbing some tissues from the nightstand. “How long were you–“

“Two hours. Two fucking hours, Joon.” He laughs again, wiping the cum from his abs and fingers. “How long does it take to check your messages, goddamn!”

“Sorry, the meeting ran long.”

You hum in mock annoyance, then yawn loudly. “It went well, at least?”

“Mhmm, really well. We closed the deal.”

“Fuck yeah, bro.”

Laughing, Namjoon tosses the tissues in the trash and falls back onto the pillows. “Were you really edging for that long?”

“I mean, I took a couple breaks, but yeah, pretty much.”

He shakes his head, feeling a little guilty. “I’m sorry, baby, you know you didn’t have to–“

“Namjoon. It felt good. Really good.”

“...well, shit.”

You snort, and he lets go of any intrusive thoughts. He trusts that you know what you want, and lord knows he’ll give you anything you ask for. He hears you yawn once more with a smile.

“You should go to sleep.”

“It’s only 7.”

“You’ll be asleep in an hour anyways.”

You shift on the bed with a scoff. “You calling me old?”

“If you want me to.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

Namjoon smiles, and starts softly asking about your day, content to just hear your voice and stare aimlessly at the ceiling. Eventually, though, you settle into silence, simply listening to each other breathe. It’s not nearly as good as feeling your warmth beside him, but he’ll live. Still, he’s counting down the hours until his plane lands in a few days and he can kiss you for real. It’s been a long week.

He sighs. “I miss you, y/n.”

“I miss you, too, Joonie. I love you.”

His heart swells and he closes his eyes. He loves you, too. So goddamn much.

© moodievitamine, January 2021. Please do not copy, repost, or translate!

[deathonyourtongue]

Resurrection | 11

Summary: A ragtag team of Spec-Ops operators are brought out of retirement for all the wrong reasons. When the dust settles, only the best will be left standing. Pairing: Pablo Schreiber x OFC, Henry Cavill x OFC (listen, she gets with the whole team, okay? Don’t lie, you would too.) Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: Nothing much really. A/N: Shit hath hitteth the fan. Again.

“Ooh, smells like semen in here!” Jake says with far too much enthusiasm, smiling brightly at me as he pours two cups of coffee, doctoring mine just how I like it. 

“Shut up. If you or anyone else brings it up, be ready to be on the receiving end of Beef’s fist,” I mutter, giving Jake the only warning he’ll get from me as I take my seat at the conference table, rolling my neck side to side, amazed at just how sore I am. 

“My lips are sealed. I just gotta know one thing: What was he holding out for?”

“Me,” I whisper, watching as Jake’s eyebrows go sky high and he leans back in his seat, silenced. 

“I mean, we all sort of suspected. He’s not exactly subtle about...well, anything, but you never seemed to catch on, so we left it alone.” He shrugs, his smile more genuine this time, Jake looking truly touched by the revelation. 

“Yeah, well, next time do us both a favor and tell me sooner.”

“And spare him the blue balls? Where’s the fun in that? Was it a mess? Did you have to stick the shower head up there after?”

“Jake, shut up!” I crow, throwing a spare pen at him just as Rick walks through the door, breakfast in hand. 

“Literally the last two people I expected to be up early after last night, but I’ll take it. Where’s the rest of the gang?” Rick asked, setting the bags of food and the tray of coffee down in the center of the table. 

“What did you get up to last night?” It’s my turn to interrogate Jake, my eyebrow going up as I watch his smile go impish. 

“Her name was Star and she did things to me that are deadly sins in most religions.” Jake says with as much seriousness as he can muster for all of 2.5 seconds, his face breaking into a smile just as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Just be glad you weren’t stuck in a box with him for more than 24 hours,” Benji mutters as he takes the seat to my left, squeezing my shoulders before sitting down. 

“Morning,” Max mumbles as he sits to my right, avoiding eye contact with everyone, including me.

“Save the act, Beef. We all know you got some,” Dom cuts in, moving to sit next to Rick, leaning back in his seat, and grinning like that cat that ate the canary. 

“Congratulations on losing your V-card, bro,” Flip adds as he comes in, patting Max on the back as he scoots by him. 

“Alright, enough. What d’we got, Rick?” I cut the shenanigans short, knowing if I let it go on any longer, the guys will yank Max’s chain a little too hard first thing in the morning. Even I’m not that patient before coffee. 

“Well, since we let Wallace literally walk out the front door, we have to chase again. I asked intel for his whereabo--”

There’s barely time to hear the blast before the shockwave hits us, taking out the bulletproof glass as if it were single pane. I feel Max’s body collide into mine, before we both hit the ground hard. Car alarms and smoke detectors go off in nearby buildings, making it clear the blast came from the outside in, but leaving no doubt we’re the targets.

Breaching charges come next, one at the front door, one at the secondary exit. I finally open my eyes as I get to my feet, keeping low and feeling Max’s hand clamped around the back of my neck. Though smoke fills the meeting room, I get enough of a glance to know that the guys are all okay, each of them in the same crouched position I am, all of us moving with precision. 

Max pushes me into my room, slamming the door behind me. Without hesitation, I grab a t-shirt, vest, pants and socks, throwing everything on in a hurry. My boots go last, the laces double knotted so I don’t have a slip-up later. I pull my hair into a messy knot before grabbing my M4 and checking the mag. Seeing it fully loaded, I push it back into place and slam it home, ready to go. 

The knock at my door comes just in time, and I knock back once to let whoever is on the other side know I’m ready and armed. Pulling it open, I fall in behind Flip, covering him and bringing up the tail end of our little procession down the hall. Up front, I hear Dom call out targets, he and Rick taking out three men without hesitation. 

“Let’s move!” Rick calls out, and I pivot so that as I move forward, I can cover us against anyone who might want to come up behind. Within moments of doing so, two of Wallace’s men come out of the meeting room and into the hallway. Leveling my M4, I take four shots, ensuring both men’s deaths. 

Just as I pass the last of the bedrooms, I feel my body get pulled sideways. With little time to react, I let my gun fall to my side and pull my knife out of my vest. Before I can sink it into the nearest limb, I feel his arm go around my throat in a rear naked choke, the man squeezing hard enough to make me see stars. I only have six seconds before the chokehold takes me out, and with gunfire sounding ahead of us, I know the boys won’t be coming to save me. Stepping forward, I pivot towards the man’s thumb, palm striking his hand away as I go. Out of the hold, I don’t waste time, wrapping his neck in a guillotine choke and cranking with every ounce of anger I feel towards the man who’s made our lives a living hell for the last few weeks. 

It takes a second, but I feel the distinct pop of tendon and bone breaking and from how limp the man goes, I know he’s gone. Swinging my gun back into my hands, I check my corners and sprint to catch up with the team, reaching them as they start going down the exterior stairs of the building. At street level, more of Wallace’s men are posted up, guns aimed directly at us. I pause for a moment, eyeing the most imperative man to take out, and with a quick check through my scope, put two through his forehead, taking him out just before he can let a shot off; a shot that would’ve surely hit Rick where it counts. Taking out two more men before moving again, I sprint for our car, slipping in just as Dom puts the pedal to the floor. 

“Everyone good?” Benji calls, his eyes wide as they dart around the van, watching carefully as we all pat ourselves down. Unlike our last shootout, I don’t find a hole where it shouldn’t be. Still, I’m not surprised when I find Max’s fingers lifting my chin. 

“Jesus,” he hisses as I turn my head out of his grip, nodding. 

“Yeah, it’s gonna be muteville for me tomorrow unless I can ice this soon,” I acknowledge, resting my head back against the seat as the pain finally kicks in. 

Our secondary safehouse is nowhere near as luxurious as the one we use for headquarters, being nothing but a small, modified warehouse, but it has water, ice, and a place for me to lean back while I ice my neck. Max brings me the bag and gingerly sets the ice down on my neck, smoothing my hair back after. With a gentle kiss to my forehead, he takes his seat next to me, his gaze focusing on the screens where Rick is pulling up traffic cameras.

“Home Office is going to love knowing you broke the Freedom Act just for one man,” Max deadpans, all of us focusing on a different part of the screen, trying to figure out where Wallace and his men went after the bombing. 

“I’ll have a look at security cam footage from right after the stairs, see if I can pinpoint what direction he went in,” Dom says, pulling his laptop closer before entering the same camera network the traffic ones are on. If nothing else, I’m glad we’re in London because as one of the most surveilled cities in the world, the chances of not finding him are slim to none.

Silence falls over the room as we all study the feeds, looking for any sign of the black vans Wallace and his men got into after the bombing. It seems like hours go by before Dom finally speaks up, his voice terse as he checks and double-checks his findings.

“Cameras show him headed east-”

“I got him. He’s on A12,” Rick interjects, standing to get a closer look at his square, where the two vans are headed in the exact direction Dom had said. 

“A12 ends at London City. He’s gonna try and hop ship!” Max is the one on his feet now, reaching for his phone. 

Taking the ice off my neck, I sit up, well-versed in what’s about to happen. Joint ops are always a mess, but we need the airport locked down with him and his team in it, and with the head start Wallace has, we’ll never make it in time. 

Max paces as the call rings, his face making it clear he needs the person on the other end to pick up, and pick up quickly. As he waits, we all start getting ready. Vest plates are checked, mags get loaded and stowed, and extra ammo is stuffed into a singular go-bag one of us will carry just in case. 

“John. Hey mate, I need a favor and I need it fast. No questions right now. I need you to lock down London City as quickly as you can. No making calls to anti-terror, understood? This one’s ours and ours alone. He’s an animal and we need to put him down. Can you do that, mate? Good, thank you. What’s your ETA?”

Max listens intently to his friend on the other line even as he starts prepping his own gear, knowing we don’t have much time. 

“Great. I’ll see you there, mate. I’ll explain over a pint when it’s all over, I promise.” Closing the call, Max grabs his gear, on my heels as we all rush out the door and back into the truck. 

We check and recheck everything as Max drives towards the airport we know Wallace will be trying to fly out of. The silence in the truck is deafening, all of us tensed and ready for what we hope will be the end of this nightmare. 

London City’s facade reminds me of a used car dealership, all concrete and glass, with the airport’s title written in blue letters across the top of the entrance. It’s not a stunning piece of architecture, and despite its prime location, it’s nowhere near as heavily-trafficked as Heathrow or Gatwick. I try my best to keep my face neutral as we arrive; by the amount of lights and personnel standing around outside the building, the Mets weren’t exactly subtle about their approach. The chances that Wallace is still in the building drop more and more, the closer we get.

Max tears out of the car like a bull in a china shop, eyes narrowed with laser precision as he marches inside to find his friend. We follow suit, scanning the area for any sign of Wallace or his men, knowing he could be waiting to spring another trap on us at any moment. 

“What the hell happened, John?” Max barks as he makes a beeline for his friend, having no idea how scary he looks when he’s on the warpath. 

“We were too late, mate. He had a private jet set to take off. Wheels were up by the time we got to the counters. We’re pulling surveillance and the flight manifest as we speak.” John, to his credit, manages to face Max without shrinking in his presence, unintimidated by the rabid dog routine he tends to default to whenever a plan is going south.

Appeased by the quick reaction to missing their primary objective, Max backs off, scrubbing a hand over his face as he turns back towards us.

“We’re all in consensus that he wants to recreate the night he was arrested, correct?” He asks as we all gather around, ready to rejig the plan as necessary. Everyone nods, the rest of the team’s anger rising to the level of Max’s, none of us wanting a repeat of that night. “So he’s headed south. Probably back to Libya.” 

The flight manifest appears before anyone can say another word, and as Max reads over the report, I know the bad news is about to be compounded. 

“He took a hostage. FUCK!”

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

Ooohhh what about Erik messing with his boys sister & they get caught

Cherry checked her messages and left her granny's house looking both ways and holding the curtain of her 1B black tracks back from her face to make sure she didn't see anyone she knew hanging around the bushes or the Riverview Landing sign on the block in front of the unit. Speed-walking down to the next building in her hot pink Nike Air Max, ripped denim shorts and white beater, she saw a few faces out, but no one who could snitch to Big Eazy. The sun beamed like a flashlight trying to catch her in her wrongs.. illuminating her clear cappuccino skin. Her golden highlight gleamed off her shoulder blades and cheekbones like her Fenty glossed lips, the shine strategically placed to incite sin.. and there it was.. Erik's white S Class Mercedes parked behind a green truck. If she hadn't walked up on it, she wouldn't have seen it. Taking a final look from the corner of her eye at her surroundings, she slid into the passenger seat and put on her seatbelt while her own big nigga in the driver's seat with a white short sleeved v-neck put the car in drive and rode off, elbow out of the window and resting on the door as his hand casually blocked the lower half of his face, his finger under his nose.

"He followed you out? What did he say?" 

"He doesn't know, he asked about Stucky."

"Stucky?" He kissed his teeth. "He had that shit coming no cap."

"Okay well his pregnant girlfriend got shot up too, did she deserve that?"

"For fuckin that nigga? Yes." He turned on the highway.

"Well I'm fuckin you! Do I deserve to get shot in my house?"

"Big Eazy wouldn't let that happen."

"Big Eazy would shoot my ass.. and yours too," Cherry mumbled looking forward. 

"You'd have time to run. He'd shoot me first," Erik laughed like it was a joke. Cherry was serious. She felt uneasy creeping behind Eazy's back, but being with Erik.. It was like no one's opinion of her mattered and she could take the risk.

"Baby it's been mooonths.. I'm tired of sneaking around, I wanna enjoy you!" Her hand rubbed his thigh moving inward to the seat of his soft navy blue pants, bunching the fabric as she grabbed his meat tracing the outline against his thigh. "I need to show off my man! I can't deal with Eazy coming between us like this, controlling my love life. Daddy used to do that before he got shot."

"He care about you, you all he got.. Honestly I'd be the same way."

Cherry rolled her eyes taking off her sunglasses. "If you were in my shoes, E, you'd have left a long time ago. You wouldn't put up with half of what I deal with on the regular. He still see me as his kid sister and I'm grown! I'm 25, I'm in school, I got a part-time. I be out here too."

"In his eyes you gone always be baby sis, you can't change that, baby."

Cherry pouted, her lip poking out as she sat arms crossed. She watched Erik's hand on the wheel as he pulled into the Chik-Fil-A dive thru ordering 2 chicken sandwich combos with lemonades, saving his to eat when he reached home. Cherry ate hers in the car on the way finishing when Erik pulled into White Pine apartments.. his building, one that was leagues removed from and ten times better than any place in or around Riverview Landing. The streets were clean. No one was out. The grass was green and trimmed. It was quiet. The hedges were in shape. Cherry wished she could stay there with Erik instead of with her grandma, but Eazy lived in White Pine too, he just worked the block in Riverview. Cherry recalled back when she was 16, Eazy and Erik shot up some niggas tryna sell on their block. The cops came and no one would talk because they knew Eazy, Erik and their other homies would catch them out slippin or break into their house. Here at White Pine, they were more subtle but they were still the main dealers. 

Cherry followed Erik into his apartment on the fourth floor knowing her brother's empty apartment was on the fifth and as soon as she pressed the door closed, Erik grabbed her waist spinning her to where she could pull his neck and kiss him, her knee rising up his hip enough for him to catch the hint and pick her up. He sat on the loveseat with her in his lap straddling him as she stayed glued to his lips, refusing him air, kissing and sucking on his lips while he rubbed her booty in circles. She missed this contact, she hadn't kissed him like this since they snuck and met up last week. She had a week's worth of kisses to give as she grinded on his lap.

Erik rubbed and smacked her ass, gripping the back of her neck to pull her up and she released his mouth looking him in his eyes. They were low just like she liked them because it meant he was wanting her just as bad.

"Take your clothes off and get in the bed, wait for me," he whispered and Cherry lifted quickly to go to the room. Eight big bags of weed sat stacked on the dresser next to two pistols and a few small plastic bags of that white girl. Taking off her outfit and folding it to set on his nightstand with her Nikes on the floor, socks in the Nikes, she stood nude in her cappuccino glory, sliding between the cool black satin sheets and resting her head on the black satin pillow case. If Eazy knew Erik had bought these with her in mind and not some random hoes, it would've been a murder. If Erik wasn't such a good liar in the first place, there would've been a murder. She tried not to think about it and instead thought of how much she missed her man. She was finally getting quality time uninterrupted and she didn't have to pretend to be a play sis because that shit died a long time ago. 

When Erik came in the room, he was chewing with fat chipmunk cheeks and his lemonade in hand. 

"Come here, baby," Cherry smiled with a slow curve of her index. The two tatted cherries on a stem between her titties showed past the blanket. He set the cup on the dresser and pulled off the navy plaid button up that hung open over his defined abs and the exposed band of his white Calvin Klein briefs under navy sweats. Cherry kissed her teeth as he took time to swallow, sip his drink again and smile before kicking off his shoes and pants to jump in the bed squeezing Cherry to his chest. 

"Your breath smell like hot sauce," she frowned but it ain't stop her from wrapping her leg firmly around his thigh.

"And you smell like fried chicken," he mumbled pressing his nose to hers. He turned her over so he was on top as she rested her hands around his thick stocky neck, rubbing his nape.

"Shut up," she chuckled squeezing his neck briefly, "and gimme that dick." She pressed her lips into his neck as his slim long legs tangled with hers. Immediately, his dick aligned with help from his hand and he went straight into the pussy no foreplay. Cherry hummed from the delicious feeling of being filled, grabbing his hips and pulling him deep into her wet kitkat as she locked her legs over his ass. "Show me how much you love this pussy." 

She had having been craving his dick for an entire week. He snapped his ass repeatedly and it was like clicking his heels to send her to heaven. Now that she finally had her boo thang's soul pole, she could grab on his locs and pull them. He only let her do it when they had sex as he ain't like people touching his hair. She wrapped his locs around her fingers and tugged guiding her tongue forcefully into his mouth as he dug his hips filling her full of his fat curved dick. Suddenly he switched up with his curve and Cherry threw her head back overcome with a sudden wave of pleasure. He stretched a heavy arm above her head and braced the other against the bed as he threw his body grinding roughly, swiveling his hips and shaking her entire body underneath his weight. Cherry and gripped and scratched wildly over his back and sides, his arms, feeling her body bounce under him as she listened to his hard breaths coming out in pants, her sensitive nipples rubbing aggressively against his chest. She rolled her hips to his pace and feeling herself climb toward a new orgasm, she grabbed his ass pushing his pelvis down to keep his rhythm consistent.. holding onto the sweet feeling of her inevitable nut. He was fucking her so good, reaching under her ass to grab it and hold her pussy in place as he fucked it, panting over her ignorant to the red marks collecting on his smooth skin.

"Oh fuck yes baby!" Cherry was breathless clutching onto him like she'd drown if she let go. "Show me how much you love this pussy!"

"I luh this pussy baby," he moaned in her ear, "Shit I'm cummin."

"Nut in me," she begged. Pulling out he climbed quickly up her body. 

"Open your mouth." The tip of his dick knocked on her bottom lip and when she opened her mouth, his dick coated in her juice plopped in it. She sealed her lips around the head and from on her back she bobbed her head up and down on his length as he held it. In seconds she felt warm liquid burst in her mouth and she swallowed it with her spit. Sighing like he'd run a marathon, he pulled back dropped his face between her glossy inner thighs. She grabbed his locs again to guide him and hold him in place as he licked on her the way she loved, licking over her glossy folds and sucking until she shook.  

"Shiiiit..," she smiled feeling better already. She felt like she was glowing. She needed a smoke. "I need more dickkk," she grinned lifting to look at Erik. He was smirking. It typically took a few rounds before she was out. 

"Let's go," he chuckled. "I'm ready for whatever babe."

Cherry climbed on top this time as he hung his wrists in the air waiting for her to get right and situated on his dick and find a rhythm before holding her waist. She put the tops of her feet against the inside of his knees and he chuckled knowing what was coming. Her knees went on the bed outside his legs and raising her ass high to the end of his dick, she drove her pussy down and bounced her ass right back high to the tip of his dick. 

"Gotdammit fuckin bitch," he sputtered. She could feel her pussy dripping and knew it was sliding down his shaft as she bounced up and down, up and down, draining his soul quickly with every bounce. "Shit I'm bout to nut," he hissed with Cherry bouncing harder. "Cherry," he warned with a sharp exhale, his eyes focused on the ceiling. Anywhere but at her. "Shit, stop.." Hell no, she thought enjoying seeing him squirm. She wanted his baby though she knew he wasn't quite ready. He could get ready. Quickly, he pinched her thigh hard and pushed her off his dick right before leaking a stream of cum onto his thigh and onto the sheet. His dick twitched on its own spurting a bit more and he calmed it with his hand sighing deeply. He closed his eyes.

"Next time I'm throwing yo ass off my bed."

"Next time wear a condom then, but you won't feel shit," she giggled not really wanting that at all. She kissed his forehead and rubbed her hand over his beard to his chest. 

"I ain't in a position for kids right now, Cherry, neither are you. You got school and yo job. How you gonna juggle a damn baby?"

"I'm not stupid," she frowned, "I don't need a baby right now but I do want one." She rubbed the tip of his nose with his index and he didn't move. "...with you. Maybe sometime in the next two years."

"Ion know bout all that," Erik muttered sitting up. Cherry rolled her eyes. She'd just have to keep tryna convince him. 

"Besides, what I'm a tell Eazy? We been bros since middle school I can't do that shit. I'm already in deep enough, I'm fuckin my brother's lil sister."

"Don't say it like that!"

"That's what it is.. that's my nigga. How we gone explain this shit, Cherry?"

"I wish we could just tell him.. If he loves me he should accept that I'm grown and I do what and who I want when I want."

"You don't wanna do that," Erik cautioned. "You ain't that grown, you still living with g-ma in the crib.. Eazy still pay the bills and for your classes. You at least need to be independent before you say anything to that nigga." 

"Erik! This is ridiculous. I'm tired, I just wanna live my life. I want us to go on dates and be seen in public. I don't wanna be duckin and timing our exits and whispering at night. That's high school shit.."

"You think I wanna creep in shit? I ain't crept since 8th grade. This ain't ideal for me either. We gotta be smart about it though, timing is important." Cherry whined feeling defeated and Erik draped an arm around her shoulder, cradling her. "We'll figure this out, be patient." He kissed her forehead and stood grabbing his lemonade and gesturing for her to get up so he could change the sheet. 

After a cuddle session and long talk, Cherry fixed herself up in his bathroom, redressed, and Erik drove her back to Riverview Landing dropping her off a building away, riding off. 

Looking around for anyone who could recognize what had just happened she didnt see anyone and turned quickly to jog to her building. 

"Yo," a voice yelled. Her spine stiffened as she looked around not seeing anyone of consequence. "Up here," he called and she looked up to a balcony with a guy sitting out shirtless smoking a black n mild. It was Leonard, a guy under Eazy's thumb. Instantly thumb set in. He leaned forward blowing out a puff of smoke. "What you up to Cherry?" 

"None of your damn business," she snapped as she continued to walk, nervous as ever.

"I see. Maybe it's Eazy business," he said loud enough for her to hear on the ground. He always had a big mouth, he was a glorified snitch.

"What you want," Cherry stomped coming to a standstill.

"Don't want nothing just wondering why was out for three hours with the boy E." He shrugged puffing the black again his eyes still on hers. "You ain't… doing shit you ain't supposed to.. are you?" 

"He's my bro what are you saying to me right now?"

"Nah," Leonard spit off the balcony onto another part of the sidewalk. "That's not what I saw."

"Well I don't know what the fuck you think you saw," Cherry muttered continuing to the entrance of her grandma's building. She was sweating, pausing outside of the door before she put her key in to open it. She hoped to God that Eazy was somewhere selling in a different building. She turned the key and walked in… there sitting with a gang of other niggas was Big Eazy. He looked up and the look on his face was like he knew something. He didn't blink, he just glared the way he had that time when he she accidentally broke his memory thing on his game system. 

She tried to walk by to her room. Her grandmother was at bingo. 

"You just gone walk by?" He was angry, she could hear it in his voice. Swallowing, she close her eyes and headed back to where he was. 

"Eazy-"

"Eazy!  Don't Eazy me, how the fuck you gone do that to your own flesh and blood, Cherry? You gone fuck the homie? My brother? He posed to be yo brother too and you fuck him? That's some backwards ass treacherous shit sis-"

"He's not my brother!" Cherry snapped. "He's not blood, he's not related to us, he's a friend, yeah.. but that's why I like him! Wouldn't you want me with someone we trust?! You want me with just anybody?!" 

"Not my brother, stupid! That's fucked up!" He jumped up but Cherry wasn't afraid anymore. She was just pissed.

"You always do this! I'm not a baby, I'm a grown ass woman."

One of his guys scoffed and Cherry smacked him in the head shutting him up as he looked up in surprise. What was he gonna do hit Eazy's sister in their grandma's house?

"No, you not. You a lil ass girl and you fuckin up your life! You out fucking dealers an shit! You know what he is? You know what he into? I can count on two hands the people that nigga killed and the niggas after him, he's the worst nigga you could choose. You need a nice lil college boy. Smart. Someone with a future, not some fuckin hoodrat ass nigga!"

"Do you hear yourself..?" Cherry was in shock. 

"I ain't raise you to end up like mom. You don't need a nigga like dad. You don't need a nigga like me. Do better, Cher… DO BETTER!" He looked wide-eyed like he wanted to shake her and she could feel his conviction like he really hated himself and who he was, it shocked her. Never had she been ashamed of him or who he was. She didn't expect this. 

"Eazy-"

"NO!" He shook his head. "I can't accept it.."

Cherry took a deep breath looking him in the eye. "You have to.. I love him.. and I love you. If you love me, you'll accept that and let me make my own decision. Trust me."

"I can't," he shrugged taking a deep sigh. "Look… I can't allow this. Either you stop seeing him.. or I'm cutting your funding for school."

"You can't do that!"

"I will."

Cherry gaped staring at her brother with new eyes. This was what Erik meant, why he really couldn't know. She wanted to cry, but refused to do it in front of his boys. "Fine," she whispered, the air knocked out of her lungs. "I don't need you," she shrugged, a tear falling despite her strong will. She headed to her room and packed a bag, walking out the apartment without a backward glance. She'd come back when he was gone. In the meantime she called Erik.

"Cherry?" He sounded confused because she didn't typically call him when she was around her brother. "What's wrong?" The concern was there in his voice and she knew she'd chosen the right guy. Sniffling, she let her tears fall. 

"He knows.."

[bigcat-hanson]

Down In Flames [Part Two] | Arin Hanson X Reader

After your apartment complex burned down, you had nowhere to go, but you would never put that burden onto anyone, especially not your friends. How long can you hide it?

Word count: 1,313

     “Hey, (Y/N), you up for lunch?”

     The voice behind you snapped you out of your thoughts, causing you to jump a bit out of your seat. You turned around to see who had posed the question to you, only to be greeted by Arin’s concerned expression.

     “You ok?”

     “Uh, yea, sorry. I, um, I was just zoning out a bit,” you lied, desperately hoping he wouldn’t suspect anything further than that. 

     “Sounds about right. So, do you wanna go to lunch? Jory and I were thinking of grabbing some sushi.” Thank god, he didn’t seem to notice. It took just about every ounce of energy you had to contain the newfound urge to cry until you passed out.

     “Sure, yea. Let me just, um, let me just grab my stuff real quick, just a sec,” you stuttered out, quickly shutting off your computer screen and fishing your wallet and car keys out of the drawer of your desk before following Arin out to the parking lot, where Jory had been waiting for the both of you in his car. You were willing to take any distraction that came your way, and getting lunch seemed like a pretty good one.

     Then Jory drove past the apartments.

     He slowed a bit as you went by, but somehow everything seemed to go much slower than they already were. Every detail of the scene hit you like a truck. The swarms of aid cars, news vans, fire trucks, and police cars surrounding the building, or at least what was left of it. Even though the flames were out, smoke still poured out from the charred remains of what you once called your home. There was no going back there. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure.

     “Holy Jesus fuck, what happened there?” Arin exclaimed, leaning towards the scene as you passed. 

     “It’s all over the news, man. They think someone burned it down on purpose. I think like, 6 or 7 people were killed, too. It’s messed up,” Jory replied. The lump in your throat felt like it grew bigger and bigger the more you were faced with your inevitable future. 

     “God, that sucks ass. Hopefully the rest of them’ll be able to find places to stay.” Arin’s comment just about broke you. Had you not been sitting in the back seat, they both would’ve caught the few tears that managed to escape your eyes. You wiped them away as quickly as possible in a desperate attempt to mask your emotions.

     The sushi place that Jory chose was almost packed, with one table clearly open. As the boys decided amongst themselves whether they wanted to sit down or take out, you tried to focus your attention on the menu. As you scanned over every item listed, you realized that none of it sounded appealing. You were almost nauseated by the thought of eating just about anything right now. 

     The more you stared at the board, the less sounds you registered around you. Everything became muffled, as if you were staring at the rest of the world from the inside of a glass jar. You saw flames in the chalk writing, smelled the smoke as if you were standing right in the middle of it. The sound of the sirens rang through your ears and-

     Jory clapped his hand on your shoulder, shaking you a bit. For a split second, you had completely forgotten where you were.

“Are you ok? You look really distracted.”

     “Uh, yea. Yea, I’m fine. I just remembered the last time I had sushi wasn’t exactly a fun experience.”

     “Oh, crap. I remember that. This probably wasn’t the best idea for lunch then.”

     “No, you’re fine. I’ll just, um, I’ll just get something else later. No big deal.”

     “Alright. We’ll stop wherever on the way out of here so you can grab something that doesn’t make you sick.” Was that even possible?

~~~~~~

     Time seemed to have no meaning anymore. It had somehow been both the shortest and longest four days of your life. Everything blended together in a haze of exhaustion, anxiety, and the back pain that came from sleeping in your car. Nobody knew that at this point, you were technically homeless, and you weren’t about to let it slip to any of them. Finding a new place to live was hard enough without people constantly interrupting your work to ask questions.

     The soft light of your computer screen reflected off of your dull eyes as you fought to keep awake long enough to finish editing the last sixty seconds of the video you were working on. Your arms and eyelids felt heavier and heavier as the seconds ticked by. The most excruciating minute of your life was finally over after what felt like half an hour. 

     “Ready to head out?” Arin stood next to your desk, jacket slung over his shoulder. Fuck. The promise you had made him earlier that morning completely slipped your mind. His car battery had died before he came into work, and when Vernon said that he could only bring him to work and not take him home at the end of the day, you blindly offered to help. Pre-coffee decisions weren’t exactly your strong suit.

     “Yea, uh… let me just save this, then we can head out.” The closer you got to your car, you realized just how compromising the inside probably looked. Given it was after dark, you were banking on him not being able to see the makeshift bed in your back seat.

     “Thanks for driving me, by the way. First thing tomorrow, I’m getting a new battery,” Arin stated. You looked at him and gave him a half smile before walking around to the driver’s side door, mentally crossing your fingers.

     “Okay, where to?” You clicked your seatbelt and started the engine as Arin rattled off his address. Thankfully, you had a pretty good idea of where he lived. You didn’t want to use up any more of your phone’s battery power than you needed to. 

     The ride was filled with conversation, mostly about the most ridiculous food combinations that both of you had ever heard of. It was nice to get completely lost in a conversation with someone, even if the topic was a little ridiculous. 

     “And here we are,” Arin announced as you pulled into his driveway. Your foot pressed down on the brakes, and the car was put in park to let him get out and say his goodbyes for the night. “I’ll probably be in late tomorrow because of the whole battery thing, so let Tucker know I’m sorry if I delay any recordings or anything.”

     “Will do. Good luck with that. Anyways, um, goodnight, Arin.”

     “See you tomorrow, (Y/N). Get home safe, ok?” With those words, he smiled, shut the car door, and disappeared into his house.

     Maybe it was the thought of having to sleep in your cold car another night, or the fact that he said ‘home’, as if you had one anymore, but the wall that you forced yourself to build finally came crashing down. The second he was out of sight, all of your emotions hit you at once, and you started crying. Waves of tears poured down your face and into your hands and lap. Sobs  overcame you. You couldn’t breathe. Every bad feeling that you were trying to avoid was suddenly engulfing you in misery. You couldn’t drive like this. All you could do now was take a few minutes to let it out, and hope that you would calm down enough to drive away soon.

     It took several minutes of attempting about a thousand different breathing techniques before you could even remotely see anything clearly. Shaky hands reached up and wiped the tears out of your eyes, and you attempted to get your bearings. There was a knock at your window.

     Shit. 

[ms-rampage]

Eden’s Gate: The Mother Chapter 2 - The Cult

Warnings: Some swearing

Word count: 1.7k

Where it all began. 

Summary: Mandy learns more about the Project at Eden’s Gate. Joseph tells his followers about the news of The Mother.

Guest OCs: None

Guest Characters: Archangel Raphael (Supernatural) [mentioned], Chuck/God [mentioned]

Note: This takes place in 2012.

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

“The Mother is here?!?” one of his followers asks, hope in their voice.

“Yes my children. She is going to guide us to the New World” Joseph says, placing his hands on their shoulders.

A group of his followers gather in front of him, and his siblings. 

In front of his church, where they always meet up for his sermons. 

“My Children!” he says, loudly, “I had a vision, and I heard God's voice. He told me The Mother of Eden’s Gate has arrived”.

The small crowd in front of him, starts to lightly cheer and applause. 

“My Children!. We will find this woman. God will guide us to her, and she will be a part of our family!”.

The group starts to cheering louder, and applauding Joseph.

“She will guide us to the New World. He told me she would come. He told me that she would bring peace, fertility, hope, love and will guide us to New Eden”. 

The crowd grows slightly louder, and immediately silences as Joseph raises his arms up. 

“We will build a home, for our families, for our children. Where there are no bullies, no corrupt governments. This will be our home. Our community”.

The crowd cheers, and applauds once again.  

 **********************************

Spread Eagle bar. 

“So this Cult? How did they become so powerful that they started taking over businesses?!” Mandy asks Mary May.

“Well they started off small. Scaring the locals about the end of the world, and the collapse. Doomsday shit” Mary tells her.

“They came to my church. Tried to take over, forcing me and my people out. But I told them “No”, and that “They weren’t taking anything from me, no matter what they did”, and they did shortly after but we kept fighting” Pastor Jerome tells her.

“No one believed them. They were a bunch of crazy fucks. That’s when they started getting guns, stealing properties, and the law, the government they weren’t doing shit” Nick Rye says, “We had to defend ourselves. We had to have each other's backs. Protect one another. Protect our families”.

“Did anyone try leaving?!?” Mandy asks.

“There were many times. The Cult blocked off the only way out, the tunnel that leads to the next town over. Missoula”. Mary says. 

“Anyone who tried to leave was killed,” Nick says, before drinking his beer.

“It’s been that way for a few years now” Pastor Jerome says.

“How did you get through Mandy?!” the cook, who is in the kitchen asks.

“Through a tunnel that was in the Henbane, it wasn’t blocked off when I arrived.” she answers.

“The Ancient Bison tunnel. Yeah they blocked that one off last night, I think” Nick says. 

“When did the Cult arrive?! Mandy asks, before drinking her beer.

“Back in 2008, 2009. It started off with the three brothers Jacob, Joseph and John. The Seed brothers” Mary says.

Mandy chokes on her beer as she says this. Coughing.

“You okay?” Jerome asks her.

She nods her head, “Yeah. Went down the wrong pipe” she says.

“Well anyway. They gained followers easily. John the youngest brother was very persuasive, and dare I say charming. Joseph was able to convince, and manipulate their “sister” Faith who joined a little over a year ago, she was only 17 years old. Came from a bad home, supposedly”.

Mandy zones out as Mary explains the origins of the Cult.

Jacob Seed?. Why does that name sound so familiar?!. I think Joel was best friends with a Seed in the Army. Could it be a coincidence?. Possibly?.

Well at least Mandy knows who she has to protect. The leader of a fucking doomsday cult. Could it get any worse than that?!?. 

“So I have to protect the leader of a fucking cult. You fucking serious Raphael?!?” Mandy thinks to herself as Mary continues talking about the Cult. 

“So what do the Seed brothers, and the sister do?!” she asks.

“The oldest brother Jacob, a U.S Army vet, he’s in charge of security, and training the “soldiers”. He uses classical conditioning as psychological torture, and go they through his “trials”. He has wolves that he calls “Judges” high off of bliss. Made them poor things into monsters. Some scary shit I’ll tell you that” Mary says.

Mandy’s eyes widened in fear, “Yep I know that man” she thinks to herself. 

“The youngest brother John, a “lawyer” and a sadistic little shit. He’s in charge of “recruiting” for the Cult. Marking, Cleansing, Confession and Atonement the 4 steps to joining the cult. That’s if you survive. He will tell everyone to accept the “Power of Yes” what the fuck that means” Nick tells Mandy. 

“Then there’s Faith. She’s not related to them in any way, but she is a known liar, and manipulator. She’ll give you a sob story about her life, and upbringing. She uses Bliss to poison your mind, and make you into one of her Angels, doing all the Cults hard labor. Be careful when going through the Henbane. The bliss is a white flower, it’s a pretty one but it’ll poison your mind, and make you hallucinate” Jerome tells her. 

“And then finally there’s Joseph. He’s the leader of the Project at Eden’s Gate, he believes God spoke to him, and warned him about the Collapse. Telling him to save as many souls as possible. His followers are willing to die for him ever since he started the reaping. Build bunkers to save ourselves, and shit. The dude is a fucking lunatic” Mary says, while cleaning glasses.

"He sees himself as a modern day Noah" Jerome says.

"My eldest daughter would've love to meet Joseph, and tell him that Gilgamesh did the whole building an Ark thing 800 years before the story of Noah" Mandy jokes.

She takes a deep breath, and stretches her arms out, “Okay. That is some fucking crazy shit. That is something you would see in movies, or tv shows. But in real life?!. Holy shit!!!”.

“No one. Not one soul took these people seriously. We constantly live in fear” Jerome tells her. 

“This was a quiet peaceful town before they showed up. Everyone knew everyone. We all did our own thing. Then they showed up, and changed everything. Divided everyone, those who joined the Cult, and those who fought the Cult” Nick says. 

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

Joseph’s compound

“Father?” a Cultist asks.

“Yes my Child?” he replies.

“We found the bodies of a few of our men at the King’s Hot Springs hotel in Henbane. There were a few names in the guest book of people who signed in recently. Three of them being men, and one woman. Under the name of Amanda Campbell” he says, handing Joseph the torn out page from the book.

“She checked in last night, and never checked out” he adds.

They drive to the hotel, going into her room. 

Room 204. They burst down the door. 

They look around, checking for any information, and then Joseph’s visions come back.

Visions of Mandy asleep, showering, and killing the two intruders.

“She was here” he mutters, “She was here. The Mother was here”. 

His followers' eyes light up. Hope, and relieve that the Mother will protect them, and guide them to the New World.

“What should we do Father?!’ one of them asks.

“We will find Ms. Campbell” he says, “Get anyone that’ll help, and find her”.

He turns to face them, “Bring her to me, unharmed”.

They nod, “Yes Father. We will find her”, and they leave the room. 

Joseph was determined to find The Mother. His other half, the other half that God had been telling him about.

She will accompany him to the New World.

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

King’s Hot Spring Hotel

Later that night Mandy returned to the hotel. To find anything she might have left behind. 

Going up the stairs, she had a gut feeling that something was off.

Her door looked like it was kicked in, a new footprint on it. She pulls her pistol out of its holster. 

Slowly opens her room door with her foot, she steps in scanning the room. Nothing.

Just like how she left it before. Nothing missing. Nothing out of place or so she thought. 

She checked the bathroom, nothing.

As she was about to leave, she noticed her towels on the rack were moved around.

Like someone was drying their hands, she grabs her personal belongings, and her bag that she left hidden underneath her mattress, and quickly leaves. 

As she’s leaving a couple of Cultists see her going down the stairs.

”Hey!!!!” one of them yells, and she books it out of the hotel, and to her truck.

Driving off like a madman. 

She drives until she knows it’s safe for her, and goes to a rest stop.

She sighs, and pulls out her map of Hope County. 

Looking for another hotel she can stay at for the night.

She goes over to the Grand View Hotel in the Whitetail Mountains.

Not sure if it's been, or being ransacked by Cultists, or if it's abandoned. 

Either way, she stays there for the night, barricading the employee break room doors with desks, and chairs.

Despite the disgusting smell, blood stain floors, and roaches. 

She spends the night there.

Sleeping on the floor using the cushions from a couch, and a somewhat clean sheet as a mattress. 

She can't believe Raphael wants her to protect a fucking cult leader!!. Well actually its Chuck that wants her to protect Joseph.

She's gonna give that feathery fuck a piece of her mind.

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

Joseph’s compound

Joseph is reading from his book from his church, when his brother John approaches him.

“Joseph?” he says.

“Yes John?” he replies.

“I don’t mean to question you. But is she really here?” he asks.

Not looking up at his younger brother, he responds, “Yes. God has shown her to me. He speaks of her to me”.

“What does she look like?” he asks.

Joseph closes his book, and his eyes.

“Black hair, brown eyes, soft delicate skin, a mother’s caring heart that is willing to protect those she loves, and cares for. She is the definition of beauty. She is the light that will guide us through the dark, and into the New World”.

He can feel his heart pumping faster just by thinking about her. Her being not only his other half, but his wife. 

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “Tidings of Something” (au)

Summary: When Emma gets injured during a routine bail bonds job, it may be the Christmas miracle she never knew she needed, if only because it finally gets her to open her eyes about the man that helps her through everything. Killian would’ve preferred the Christmas without picking Emma up from a hospital, but doesn’t much mind the way it all turns out.

Rating: Barely even T, I think.

A/N: So maybe it would’ve given me away had I said “Hi @captainmorningstar! I’m your secret santa and I’m never on time!” and she would’ve been like “Oh! My santa is lifeinahole because she never posts anything when she’s supposed to!” and then at least it would’ve been anticlimactic when I forgot to hit anon. Despite all that, I had a blast gathering the info for this and writing it. Thanks to @cssecretsanta2k19 for putting this together - for putting us together. I had such a fun time getting to know my darling giftee and writing this tailored gift for her. I hope you enjoy it, my dear!

-x-

It’s the second week of December, and already Emma has heard the song playing over the speakers at least twenty times. It doesn’t help that there are only thirteen Christmas songs total and the radio stations just cycle through each iteration on an endless loop. Despite all of this, though, Emma is humming along to the soft strains of an instrumental “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” as the pain meds finally start to do their job.

“Swan?”

The sound of his voice is sweeter than any song ever could be, and with a struggle, Emma opens her eyes to the bright fluorescents overhead, blinking until Killian’s face comes into focus above her.

“Hi there,” he says when he can see she’s tuned in.

“Hi,” she responds, her voice dreamy and her smile as big and as dopey as she imagines it is. She’s caught up in the blue of his eyes, the perfect lines of his face, the worry lines crinkling his forehead as he visually checks her over.

She’s fine, of course. Not the first time she sprained her wrist, but the rib subluxation is something she could’ve lived without.

The stress on Killian’s face fades slightly as he looks at her, relief taking its place.

“You had me worried, love.”

“Nothing to worry about,” she wheezes out as she struggles to sit up. “I’m fine.” A deep inhale of breath says otherwise as her left side reminds her of that whole rib thing and she winces, doing her best to keep her breathing even so she doesn’t hurt herself again.

He hums his response, settling onto the bed next to her as he asks her to explain what happened. It’s a brief story, thankfully: bail runner caught on, shoved her as hard as he could, and took off. It wasn’t until she’d slapped the cuffs onto him that she realized she was in pain, once the adrenaline started to wear off. Somehow, she made it to the hospital on her own and it wasn’t until they said she wouldn’t be able to drive home that she realized she was going to need help. Enter Killian: faithful friend, dockworker with an understanding boss, love of her life that she’s never told.

He smells like salt today, and there’s a hint of fish from working so close to the cannery, but she doesn’t mind, not when she carefully rests her head on his shoulder and melts into his embrace grabbing onto his prosthetic hand in a gesture of comfort. She’s not sure how much longer she can stay awake, so she’s thankful when the doctor finally comes in with her final advice for recovery.

Emma’s going to be off work for a while, which is going to suck. She’s set for now, but a month is a long time to go without a paycheck. The only bright side is that she works her ass off all year so she can take it easy around Christmas, so she was looking to spend less time chasing after people anyway. 

She’s been here for a couple days staking out this particular mark, so they have to get her packed and checked out of her hotel. They make arrangements with said hotel to leave her car there until Killian and David can come down to get it, and then Killian is bundling her into the passenger side of his vehicle, easing them onto the highway and turning down the volume when Emma inevitably caves and falls asleep after the first five miles.

She doesn’t wake again until they’re pulling up in front of her apartment building. Then it’s a delicate operation getting her out of the truck and into her apartment. The sprain in her wrist isn’t as bad as it could’ve been. Maybe a little more pressure from the fall and she’d be dealing with a fracture instead, but it certainly doesn’t tickle right now. It’s still easy enough to get changed on her own and settled into the bed, accepting the glass of water that Killian hands her after he knocks to make sure she’s decent.

“Try to rest. I’m going to grab us some dinner and come back in a bit, okay?”

Emma’s too tired to even speak, so she nods, nesting down into her bed and letting her body finally rest.

-x-

It’s only after he knows she’s fast asleep that Killian leaves, carefully locking the apartment door behind him when he goes. He heads to the sheriff’s station first, as he knows David needs to hear in person that his adopted “little” sister got the shite kicked out of her at work today.

Getting the call from Emma was terrifying; he probably would’ve panicked if he’d gotten the call about anyone, but with Emma it’s… different. He’s been in love with her for so long now that he can’t even recall when or how it happened. But he’s the person she calls when she’s in trouble, and a devoted best friend. He can’t mess any of that up with feelings that she doesn’t reciprocate.

“Killian? What are you doing out of work so early? I thought you guys were shutting down the spare docks for the season.”

“We were. But I got called away on an emergency so I left this morning before lunch.

“What kind of emergency?” David asks, his voice and face going deadly serious. There are only so many people in this town Killian knows, and David knows which one he would drop everything for without hesitation.

“Don’t worry, it’s all okay,” Killian says first. “Emma called from Portland because she took a bit of a spill. Nothing is broken, but she’s a little bruised.”

Immediately, Killian can see David popping into “overprotective brother” mode and understands that this is exactly why Killian was called to tend to Emma instead of him.

“How bruised?”

“It’s just a sprained wrist and she almost dislocated a rib. Nothing but some standard pain killers involved. She’s already back home and resting. You and I will have to drive down to Portland this weekend and retrieve her vehicle.”

The other man relaxes, even if just slightly, at hearing that nothing is broken and that she’s already home. Killian’s been around long enough that he knows exactly how this all goes.

“I was hoping, however, to enlist your lovely wife to help keep an eye on her. She’s going to have to refrain from work for a little bit but we both know Emma loves to push herself even when she should be resting.”

“Of course. She’s going to do what she wants, in the end, but maybe we can at least keep her entertained enough that she won’t feel the need to go out looking for trouble.”

He’s always thankful for David. Not only is he a friend to Killian, but he’s on similar wavelengths when it comes to how Emma works. They know she’s a woman of her own mind, and that she is not to be directed, so they work to find healthy alternatives.

For all the years that Emma has been in his life, she’s been chasing bail skips. He’s seen it hurt her but he’s also seen how much of a thrill she gets from a victory. It probably feels like vengeance against Neal every time she catches a scumbag that should be in jail, and so he’s happy to support her ventures. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare the daylights out of him when she gets injured, though.

One thing is for sure, he will always stand by her decisions, will stand beside her in every way he can, but he’s still allowed to wish she’d take the position David offered her as a deputy for their sleepy little town. He understands why she can’t, but it doesn’t stop him from hoping sometimes.

-x-

When Emma wakes up, it’s to a much darker apartment, but she can smell food. That’s what draws her slowly from her bedroom, taking her time and being extremely cautious with her left side.

She loves her job. She wishes it wouldn’t lead to moments like this, but this is the exception and definitely not the rule. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about joining the simple life sometimes.

A while ago, David offered her a position at the station as a deputy. She said “no” without even really thinking about it, but over the last couple months she’s been thinking more and more about what it would mean to take it.

She wouldn’t likely get beaten up anymore, that’s for sure. Storybrooke is more about minor traffic violations, and a yearly dispute, usually between two of the miners that happen to be brothers, and only after they’ve been drinking after work. They deal with petty squabbles and neighborly disagreements, but they’re so simple and easy to solve, and at the end of the day, everyone still loves each other in this town.

Having a job at the station would mean seeing her brother more often, and staying in town. It would mean a dedicated health care plan and like, a 401k. It would pay the bills a little more predictably than her current adventures. And while that’s all really boring stuff at this point, it would feel good not to worry about those things as much as she does right now.

And so she considers telling Killian she’s been thinking about it again. Been thinking about a lot of things, really, but she can’t tell him – not when he looks so devastatingly handsome standing in her kitchen plating up whatever’s been heating in her oven while she’s been sleeping. Because there’s always the chance he doesn’t feel the same way, and taking a job at the station means she can’t just leave if it all goes to shit.

“You’re awake!”

Her attention is brought back to the man in her apartment and Emma shakes off the rest of her thoughts. This right here, having time with her friend, is what matters more than anything.

They settle in and eat dinner, watching a movie when they’re done and everything has been cleaned up (by Killian, of course, because he wouldn’t let her lift a finger). She falls asleep on his shoulder less than halfway through, succumbing to the chaos of the day earlier than she meant to.

When she wakes again, it’s morning, and she’s in her bed.

There’s a note on the fridge telling her to take it easy, and she scoffs at it as she goes to brew coffee. It’s not like she had anything planned for the day, work or otherwise.

She’s not sure if he made the plans for her or if Elsa decided on her own, but it’s just after noon when there’s a knock on her door and the blonde is standing there with a deck of cards and a tray of to-go hot chocolates.

“Did he put you up to this?”

“Nope. Told me what happened but I decided to do this all on my own. Besides, you probably didn’t have plans today anyway.”

Her words are an echo of her previous thoughts, so she shrugs a little and opens the door wide to let Elsa in.

“I was surprised you didn’t call David,” Elsa says after they’re settled in around her coffee table, lounging on cushions and blankets, looking like they’ve nested for the remainder of the winter.

“He would’ve flipped out. And Snow would’ve mothered me to death. Killian panicked, but he at least takes care of me the way I need him to.” She’s staring at the cards in her hand, trying to decide if it’s worth it to keep looking for an ace or to start discarding them from her hand.

Elsa hums at that, and Emma gives her a look. “What’s that noise for?”

“Oh, you know.”

When her friend doesn’t continue, Emma stares harder.

“Oh, come on, Emma. What was it you said to me once about knowing me before you knew me?”

Emma takes her time responding, shuffling her cards and finally discarding the five of diamonds instead of the ace. “I said I knew you because I knew myself. We were both loners, looking out for ourselves, and trying not to hurt anyone else along the way.”

“Exactly. That’s the kind of bond we had when we were still a pinch hostile towards each other when I moved here, and now we’re friends. So imagine how much more I know about you now, and how much you’re avoiding the elephant in the room.”

She stares at Elsa, trying to gauge exactly what she’s talking about. She knows it’s in reference to Killian, but Emma works so hard to keep that secret buried deep. There’s no way Elsa could know how she feels, is there?

“When are you going to tell him how you feel?” Elsa asks, eliminating all questions about what thinly veiled conversation they’re having.

“Never.”

“Emma.”

“He can’t know.”

“Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t need this baggage hanging around him when I could run at any moment.” She blurts it out, surprising even herself with the intensity of the words.

Elsa puts her cards down, completely abandoning the game at hand and reaches over for Emma.

“Has it ever occurred to you that if you ran, he would follow you?”

“I’m not sure he would, actually.”

“That man would follow you to the ends of the earth, or time, if he had to. But if you need proof, please look at the guy that left work in the middle of the day to drive to Portland to pick you up and take care of you because he knows the right way to take care of you. Your words.”

Her little speech is topped off with a raise of one of her perfect eyebrows.

“I’m not saying you need to confess your feelings right now,” she adds, grabbing the cards from Emma’s hand and gathering them all to re-deal. “But think about it. Also you should’ve discarded the ace. I’m doing you a favor.”

Emma shakes her head as she motions for Elsa to continue, taking a moment to sip from her hot chocolate and consider her options. She sets herself a deadline of January 1. Maybe by then she can make up her mind what to do or not do.

-x-

On Saturday, early in the morning, Killian pulls up outside of Emma’s apartment. David is dropping off Snow to spend time with her while they go down to Portland to get Emma’s Bug. 

But before they can get to that part of the plan, they have to make it there first.

Killian and David actually have a fantastic relationship. They bonded over having pains in the ass for brothers, and their friendship with Emma (even if David’s goes a little deeper than his own – being siblings by legal decree does mean a little more than “best friend” after all). But currently, you’d think they were strangers with the way the silence sits heavy between them in David’s SUV.

He tries to think of things to talk about, but nothing comes to mind but how to tell his very good friend that he’s in love with Emma. That’s not a conversation for a car trip where he literally cannot escape if the other man tries to aim his side of the vehicle at a tree.

Finally, he settles on something more mundane, asking what David got Snow for Christmas, and if he had any good ideas for what to get Emma this year.

That, of course, derails the conversation pretty quickly.

“You could get her your honesty about how you feel about her,” David suggests, still driving in the same calm and collected manner he has been the whole time.

“Pardon?’

“You heard me. I think she’s the only person in Storybrooke that doesn’t know how you feel.”

“Aye, well, all the more reason to not tell her. I don’t need to scare her off.”

“Why would that scare her off?” David asks, glancing over at Killian to see the tired look on his face.

“I know Emma. I know how she thinks. And she’s sworn off love for so long that I feel if I admitted my attractions that she would split as soon as she could,” he says in response.

“You never know until you try,” comes the answer to his statement, but Killian isn’t convinced.

“Does she need a new blanket for the living room, do you think?”

“You two are more alike than you think,” is David’s final comment before letting Killian successfully change the subject without returning to it again.

When they get to Portland, Killian stops in at the front desk to let him know he’s back to gather Emma’s car, making sure everything is still squared away with that before he goes out and gives David a thumbs up. The other man still waits until he sees that the Bug is successfully running, and then they both head back on the road to get home.

Killian has to pull into a gas station not long after they start driving, though, after a glance at the gauges tells him that Emma never bothered to fill up after she got here. He checks over the contents of the car quickly, making sure nothing was disturbed as he finds that the passenger door was also unlocked this whole time.

One item in particular draws him up short, however, when he reads the heading and discovers it to be an apartment application for a building not far from the hotel he just left.

When was she planning on telling anyone she was interested in moving down here? By the looks of it, she got two-thirds through the application before it was left on her passenger seat.

His heart sinks looking it over, where she’s even filled out potential move-in dates for right after the holidays are over. He can’t imagine Emma living outside of Storybrooke. She was there when he moved to the US and she’s been there for him ever since, and he never imagined she would leave. Apparently, though, she had other plans that she wasn’t sharing.

Maybe he should invest in some packing materials for Christmas in order to help her, if that’s what she wishes to do.

With every mile he drives closer to home, the more his heart aches. Should he tell her he found the application? Should he try to convince her to stay? No – he’s always claimed he would support her in anything and everything she ever did, and this change in location will be no different.

Instead, what Killian decides to do by the time he gets back, is bury the knowledge of what he’s found. If Emma wants to move, she will tell him - tell all of them - in her own time. 

By the time he makes it back to Storybrooke, he’s worked his own mind into a frenzy. All he wants to do is drop off the keys and get back home. But when he gets to Emma’s door, he can smell the food first, and hear the laughter of their friends beyond the wood. Emma must sense his arrival because she whips open the door right as he’s about to knock.

“We thought you got lost!” she says, smiling wide and yanking on his sleeve to pull him inside. “We made dinner. Come join us.”

Despite his internal turmoil, Killian obliges, kicking off his shoes by the door and hanging his coat where it always hangs. He heads to the kitchen table when he’s settled, doing his best to put on a happy mask and enjoy the time with his loved ones. 

He sets himself into the easy rhythm of traditions, passing the food in the order they always choose, and stacking the plates in a particular way when everyone is done. 

As a group, they initiate cleanup. Emma and Killian fall to their respective roles of washing and drying the plates, while David packs up the food and stores the leftovers away. He and Snow leave shortly after with their own container of food, leaving Emma and Killian by themselves as they finish the dishes. 

A million times, he tells himself to stay quiet, but that doesn’t stop him from blurting it out after five minutes. “So, the Portland Arms is a nice building.”

“It… you saw the application.”

“It was on the seat of your vehicle, so yes, I saw the application,” he says with much more attitude than he meant to. 

“It’s just…”

“Just what, love? Just a couple hours away? Just a change of scenery and nothing else will change?”

“I was going to say ‘just an application’ but you’re right with both of those, too.”

Killian sighs, deflating a bit as he places the last dry dinner plate on the stack. “I’m sorry, Swan, it’s just the thought of you leaving is a lot to take in. But if it’s truly what you want, then just let me know what you need me to do and I’ll be happy to help.”

“Hold your horses,” she tells him, patting him on the arm when her hands are dry. “I’m not going anywhere yet. Like I said, it’s just an application. I don’t know if I want to move in the middle of winter so it may be a while.”

That her obstacle is the middle of winter rather than anything else tells him a lot about her feelings on the matter, so he lets it drop. 

-x-

It feels like there’s something brewing that Emma can’t control. She’s not sure what exactly, but ever since they went down to get her car and Killian found that stupid application that she left on her seat, there’s been some underlying tension that they can’t seem to shake. He’s been moody, but also pretending he isn’t. She’s not sure why she didn’t tell him the truth, but it’s her own damn business, anyway! 

On Christmas Eve, he comes over as he always does in order to decorate her tree. Normally, Emma is fully immersed in the process of picking out, cutting down, and hauling in of her tree. This year, she had to skip the second and third parts of that, only having a hand in picking out the one she wanted while David and Killian were the ones to bring it in. It’s been in the stand for a couple days now just waiting for the trimming part, but they always wait until the day before to do that together. 

While David and Snow are busy decorating theirs and getting their little family home ready for the holiday, Killian comes to her apartment. He doesn’t put up a tree of his own because he spends so much of his time at Emma’s place. 

He doesn’t do a lot of holiday decorating for that same reason, and Emma gets why he might be upset with the idea of her moving to Portland because all of his traditions that have been formed over the years will be moving with her. 

Clearly, she didn’t consider how hard he might take it if she actually moved away. 

But as she carefully sits there unwrapping and adding ornaments to the tree, she can’t imagine doing this without him. They have assigned parts in this play: they pick the tree together, and Killian puts on the lights while she fetches the skirt and the ornaments, then he’s in charge of the garland and Emma tops the whole thing with the star. 

This year they had to make some concessions to make sure Emma doesn’t hurt herself, but she’s still taking care of the ornaments while Killian struggles to get the beaded garland untangled. He’s muttering to himself, saying how he meant to wrap them around something last year when they packed it all up, but it’s all a diatribe to himself and she just listens and tries her best not to laugh. 

He’s helpless. Adorable and helpless. And she doesn’t really realize what she’s doing until she’s already moving towards him - the small swan ornament she’d been holding is abandoned back in the box and she’s grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him towards her.

There’s a look of shock on his face as she tugs him down, and then she’s not thinking about how there was no warning leading up to this but how right it feels to be kissing him. Killian’s surprise wears off quickly and then he’s kissing her back, wrapping his arms around her waist. She can feel the beads of the garland digging into her side where he clearly didn’t drop the strand but she doesn’t care, especially when her hand buries into his hair and she’s not sure she ever wants to surface from this again. 

He sighs out her name as they break apart at one point, and that’s when reality comes crashing down on her. What is she doing? And what is he doing kissing her back like that?

“I’m - I’m sorry. I’ll be right back,” Emma stutters out, making a dash for the bathroom. She takes her time, pressing a cool washcloth to her face and running the faucet for far too long before she exits again. 

When she comes back, the living room is empty. The garland is neatly strung around the tree, but the coat rack reveals no extras and it’s clear that he’s made a swift exit while she tried to collect herself. 

There’s a note by the tree, hastily scrawled but still more beautiful than most handwriting she’s ever seen. In it, Killian explains that he’s had a rather long day and he’s headed home to get some sleep, but that he’ll see her in the morning when they all exchange gifts. With a sigh, she turns back to her ornaments, adding the last few she had left before.

It takes her that long to realize that Killian has already added the star to the top of the tree, probably foreseeing that she can’t stretch like that on her own right now. She doesn’t even plug it in to see it all completed, instead flipping off the rest of the lights and making sure the door is locked before going to bed.

She knows why she kissed Killian - she wanted to. She wanted… wants him. She just doesn’t know why he kissed her back like a man on a mission and then bolted while she tried to make heads and tails of the situation. 

Her dreams are fraught with weird scenarios, one of which has her tangled in strands of lights and garland, trapped in a Christmas prison. She calls out for help repeatedly, but never gets an answer. Then she calls out Killian’s name and she can immediately hear a response for her to hold on, that he’s on his way.

In the morning, she wakes with that dream fresh in her mind and her heart still aches a little at the message. In all situations, great and small, she knows without a doubt that Killian will be there to help her. So what’s holding her back from telling him how she feels? 

The whole day feels different. Killian is usually the first one at her door in the morning but he’s not there when David and Snow show up. They’re the ones helping Emma put together brunch, just waiting for the oven timer to ding when Killian finally walks through the door looking like he slept about as roughly as Emma did. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he tells her as she helps him out of his coat. “Had to take care of some things at home.”

It’s a lie. She’s not sure she’s ever heard him lie to her this blatantly before. He’s lied to her about small things before, but this is the first time she’s heard him outright lie this bad since they drove down to Boston one summer and he claimed he wasn’t lost. When they ended up in New Hampshire, he finally admitted his wrongdoing. 

But when she looks a little harder at him, he averts his eyes, moving instead to remove his boots and wander over to where Snow and David have already made themselves comfortable in the living room. 

That’s the way it is all through brunch and the cleanup from their meal, and even most of the way through presents. He only really looks at her again when he thanks her for his gift. His eyes say volumes about how he’s feeling, so while the words were quiet, he’s practically screaming his gratitude in looks alone. 

When she opens the gift from him, her heart almost stops. Nestled in the small box is a swan pendant, vastly different than the last one she owned when she was younger, and already holding a lot more meaning than the little keychain some asshole once lifted from a gas station for her. She kept the old pendant for the longest time as a reminder not to trust anyone. It was Killian that helped her finally get rid of that necklace, patiently sitting with her as she took her time, made peace with all the bad memories, and then chucked it into the ocean from the boat he’d taken her out on that day.

“I hoped it would have slightly better memories than the last one,” Killian says, and she didn’t even notice him move closer until she realizes how near his voice is. “May I?”

She nods, watching in silence as he lifts the necklace from the box, taking his time to grasp the clasp between his fingers and pinching it open while holding the other side with his prosthetic. She holds her hair up and out of the way as he latches the necklace behind her, his fingers lingering just a bit before he abruptly stands. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve some work to attend to,” he says, looking regretfully at Emma before he heads for the door. He makes sure to gather his gifts, thanking David and Snow before slipping from the apartment as quickly as he showed up. 

It takes some acting, but she plays off his departure as nothing major. It’s clear he’s never mentioned the apartment application to David and Snow or else one of them would’ve blurted out an objection already. So she plays along and smiles through the rest of their time together. 

Just after they eat dinner, Snow excuses herself. “I’m going home for a moment, and I’ll be back with more cookies,” she tells them. 

Another lie, Emma can tell, but she lets her friend go, realizing pretty quickly this is a case of Divide and Conquer between the married couple. 

“I’m going to make you more hot chocolate. And when it’s done, we’re going to have a talk,” David says when the door has shut behind his wife, confirming her suspicions. 

Emma bites back the smile the best she can and follows him into the kitchen.

-x-

It’s snowing and cold but Killian doesn’t really notice any of it. His hand is shoved into his pocket and his prosthetic is resting on the wooden railing overlooking the docks. 

“I would be lost without you,” he repeats to himself. It’s the inscription she put on the inside of the compass, a beautiful rosewood piece that he would normally be so excited to display in his home until it was time to bring his own boat out of winter storage. 

Now, after everything that’s happened the last couple weeks, he can’t tell its intended meaning. She’s talking about moving, and then she kisses him, and then runs away, and then gives him this particular gift with this particular message? 

He watches his breath fog out in front of him, noticing that even that looks sad and aggravated.

“Thought I might find you out here,” comes a voice from behind him.  He turns to find Snow standing there, bundled against the cold and holding a hot mug that she hands to him.

The tea is one of his favorites, and he sighs in the comfort of the gesture.

“You two have been keeping secrets from us,” Snow says. “You don’t need to tell me everything, since I’m sure it means more to you and Emma than it does to me or David. There’s some things that I do know. It’s that you don’t get a happy ending without working for it, and that everyone deserves love. I can tell you have feelings for Emma that go beyond best friends. And though she’d never admit it, I’m pretty sure Emma feels the same way.”

“You’d get along with my brother,” Killian says, managing a smile. It doesn’t last, though. “And I don’t know if she truly does.”

“You won’t know until you talk to her.” Snow reaches out and clasps his arm. “Look, Emma has waited a long time for someone to come into her life that she trusts enough to give her heart to. And I think she so badly wants it to be you, but she’s too scared to make a move without knowing for sure how you feel.”

It’s sound advice, to maybe even make things a little more obvious to her. Handing her a necklace doesn’t explain his reasoning behind it - that he not only bought it because he thought of the way she’d smile when she saw it, but also because she deserves to replace every last memory from the last man she trusted that broke her heart. 

Snow shivers, bringing him back to the present and he’s finally aware of the snow falling heavier now than it was before. “It’s cold out here. Go home,” she tells him. “And Merry Christmas!” With a quick peck on his cheek, Snow turns and walks up the path back towards where she can see David waiting in his truck to pick her up. 

He turns back towards the water, staring out at the darkness beyond his vision. 

His friend is right. He needs to tell Emma how he feels, and he needs to do it before it’s too late. Liam always tells him that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets. With one more look out to the water, he turns to head back to Emma’s apartment, but she’s already there.

She’s a couple meters away, shivering slightly despite her warm weather gear, and it’s only once Killian turns that she seems to come back to herself. 

“What are you doing out here, love? It’s freezing.”

“Says the man out here without a scarf or a glove or a hat?”

“I wasn’t really planning on staying out long. It just sort of… happened.” 

“Killian.”

“No wait, there’s something I need to say before we go any further.” He braces himself quickly, moving towards her slowly as he starts to speak. “When I met you, I was a broken man. I'd lost what I thought was the love of my life. After that first Christmas I spent with you, I felt like maybe my heart could move on one day. You invited me to join your family and your traditions, and for the first time in a long time I felt that hope that I'd find love again. And by the next Christmas, I wanted to find that love with you.”

He stops when he’s close enough to see the way the snowflakes catch on her eyelashes, and the way she keeps brushing them out of her hair. 

“I was always afraid to say anything for fear that you’d go running from me, since I’d heard all the stories you’d told me about the men you’d been with. I figured if you kept repeating ‘I’m never dating again’ enough in my presence that I should probably heed that warning.”

Emma chuckles under her breath at that, inching her way closer to him as he does the same to her. 

“Snow told me you’ve waited a long time to find a man to give your heart to. I’m truly hoping if you’d be lost without me that it means I may be the one you’re ready to try again with?”

“I know the engraving was cheesy but it fits too well, and it’s absolutely true. I would be lost without you.” The words come out quietly, and his breath catches in his throat as her fingers find the pirate’s luck necklace she bought him a few years ago. “I know I didn’t make it easy for you to tell me the truth, but I want you to know I feel the same way. What do you say, should we make this official? Kiss again and not have either of us go running for the hills afterward?” She means for it to lighten the mood, but he can’t help but be perfectly honest with his next words. 

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. That’s all I want.”

Her responding smile is bright and she leans forward just as he does. For a moment, all they do is touch their foreheads together, savoring this moment and breathing the other in - this closeness feels different than all the other times in their shared lives. When her fingers link with his, that’s when Killian moves again, angling his head and pressing his lips to hers. 

This time is sweeter, with much more meaning behind it.

“Does this mean you aren’t moving to Portland?”

“Killian. I was never moving to Portland. My skip worked in the housing office at that building and I needed the application as a cover to get to him.”

“And you couldn’t have just told me that when I brought it up?”

“I got defensive! It’s a knee-jerk reaction.”

“You got the ‘jerk’ part right, at least.”

She points a finger at him, a wordless warning that he’s been on the receiving end of multiple times. 

“Let’s go home,” she tells him, smiling as he lifts one of her gloved hands to press his lips against it. 

It’s later when she kisses him goodnight when she tells him she took the job at the station, and he feels like this may be the best Christmas he’s ever had. 

-x-

The next Christmas, the box she unwraps is engraved, and the contents inside of it make her tear up. 

“Where you lead,” he whispers, “will you let me be by your side?”

Her response of ‘yes’ is quickly lost in the way that they kiss, and they inform David and Snow to make it Christmas dinner instead of brunch, just so they have time to get their celebrating out of the way before they tell everyone else.

The End!

[takeiteasypeasybaby]

Save Me: Chapter 13 - Surprises and Questions

~Hey guys! This is Chapter 13 of ‘Save Me’ ❤️ Molly and Negan have deep chats about their past lives and Molly deals with her jealousy...I hope you enjoy and chapter 14 will be out on Wednesday ✌🏻Lemme know what you think so far!~

Molly was now at the top, earning the favour of the King. She was infiltrating his every thought, controlling his every move and she knew it. But with both of them playing the same game, one was bound to lose. Unless, someone decides to change the rules...

I felt powerful being in that meeting room.

It was like knights of the round table type shit, Negan sitting at the top and all of us lower down, Dwight, Simon, Arat, Laura and now me.

I was expecting to uncover something important, maybe their plans of attack on my family, but nothing. Not even a word. I knew they must be retaliating, we had taken out one of their outposts, killed over fifty of their men and all Negan wanted to discuss was farming and food supply.

Perhaps he didn't trust me. Perhaps he had separate meetings, ones where I wasn't there and they discussed Rick then.

I looked around the room, each one of them kept staring at me. Dwight just looked down. He knew something, I always recognised that guilty face.

Negan asked each one of us for our ideas, all of them came up with something similar to the set up they already had.

I suggested that while they were already growing crops at the Sanctuary and that was kind of working, the land wasn't fertile enough being a factory area, so they should outsource a plot of land at one of the farming communities.

Provide the seeds, they grow them and give them more than just 'protection' in return for their service. It would not only lighten the load from the communities needing to scavenge to provide for the Saviours but it would make them more subservient and get them on their side.

Negan sat in silence as I explained, just slowly nodding and smiled widely once I'd finished.

'How lucky am I, my gal's a genius!' he said whacking Lucille down onto the table as he chuckled.

Simon just scowled at me.

'Alright, plan A that works and we don't kill anyone, plan B if they resist we take a flyer on the place and kill everyone there. Unfortunate play, but other communities will get the message' Simon barked.

Negan scowled at him and slammed Lucille onto the table, adding more marks to the table's surface.

'People are a resource', whack!, 'money on the table. People are the foundation of what we are building here!' he yelled, hitting Lucille onto the table on every word.

I jumped slightly, everyone else looked down while Simon was wide eyed, like a rabbit in headlights.

He glared at Simon, breathing heavily and lent over the table, hands pressed firmly on the surface. 'Who the hell do you think you're talking to?' he said calmly but sternly.

'Are you confused about who we are? Are you confused about who is in charge? Are we backsliding Simon?, please tell me we're not backsliding' he growled almost smirking.

Simon was nervous and almost stuttered 'we are not...backsliding' he forced out quietly.

A smile grew across Negan's face as he stated, 'plan A, they get the fuck on board willingly, plan B, we kill the right people, including Rick, in an instructive and public way and make everyone get on board'.

Simon just sat silently, as did we all before he dismissed the room.

'Darlin, wait' he said calmly as I tried to walk out.

Worry crept across my face as he mentioned Rick, but I hid it well turning around to face him.

Simon looked back as he walked out, scowling at me as he did so.

'Sorry about all that. I knew you were a goddamn smartypants' he said tiredly, I smiled back at him as he said that.

I didn't know how to bring up his plan for Rick, even though I knew it was set in stone ever since we attacked them.

'I want you to come on a run later' he added.

I paused not knowing how to answer.

'What you got plans doll?' he said mockingly.

'No, thanks to you. A run where?' I asked curiously.

'Don't worry it won't be to visit your buddies. Just to this office building, Arat checked it out briefly the other day but said it would need back up. So, you in?' he said smirking and bending down almost pulling me in for a hug.

I smiled, looking into his beautiful eyes and said 'depends, would you be there?'.

He chuckled, saying 'Aw darlin, have you got a soft spot for me?!'.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. 'In your dreams. Besides I thought you didn't do that stuff you call 'grunt work'' I said teasingly.

'Well maybe I could be persuaded...ya know, to keep an eye on you' he said jokingly.

I scoffed 'ha! I don't need your protection, we both know that. But fine, it'll be nice to not be a prisoner anymore'.

'You're one of us now doll, but don't go making eyes at the boss' he said smirking and strutting out of the meeting room, leaving me speechless.

Later that day...

A couple hours later, Dwight knocked on my door and told me it was time to go.

I felt strangely nervous yet excited.

I hadn't been outside the compound in months and finally I could go out and kill something again.

Trust me, small victories.

Plus, when I went down to the armoury I got my gun back with my engraving M.C. on the handle plus my two machetes.

I suited up, putting my knives into the holsters on my thighs and the gun in my waist band.

I packed my bag but left my bow behind, thinking I wouldn't need it.

Boy, was I wrong.

As I stepped outside to see the group chatting away and Negan leaning against the truck waiting.

He was looking at Lucille till he looked up and saw me.

His eyes seemed to light up, engulfed in flames as his brown eyes caught a glimpse of the sun.

This was the first time I had my weapons back and I felt complete, I was finally not a prisoner but an equal.

But never a Saviour, more like the help.

His eyes widened as a smile rose across his face, revealing his pearly whites.

I smiled back as he audibly said whew! 'Look. At. You!' he said leaning.

'C'mon darlin, hop in' he said opening the front door of the truck.

I looked confused and turned around saying 'but, I mean? Up front? With you?'.

He just nodded 'uh huh'.

I smiled slightly at this, he only ever let his right hand man sit up front but after what went down in the meeting, Simon was more like public enemy number one.

I hopped in and buckled up while he passed me Lucille. I'd never held her and even though she was just a bat, I didn't want to disrespect him so I placed her carefully in the middle of our seats on top of my bag.

Looking out the window, Simon looked genuinely worried about his position as he saw me in his seat, he hated me now for sure.

We set off, I looked out of my window for most of the journey, rolling it down and smelling the warm sun soaked grass and trees as we drove past forests.

A smile spread its way across my face without even realising. In this moment, I was content and felt truly safe.

When I shifted in my seat to look straight ahead, I caught Negan in my peripheral staring at me for a split second in awe.

When he turned back to look straight ahead, he was smiling.

It was different this time, no smugness, no humour just happiness.

He felt just as content as I did.

It was peaceful.

Time seemed to fly by and before we knew it we were here.

It was a tower of a building and looked fairly untouched, strangely there were only a few walkers around which we took out easily before walking inside.

Negan had instructed everyone to split up and work on different levels of the building, gathering up any worthwhile shit they could find and load it back into the truck.

I immediately made my way up the stairs all the way to the top floor.

Negan spotted me and called out 'Molly, what the hell you doin?'.

'I used to work in an office like this one, all the best shit is always kept on the top floor' I shouted back down climbing up further.

He chuckled.

'Of course you would know that' he said following me up the stairs.

Once we got up the top, I was bending down to sort through a stack of papers when a walker came for me out of the closet.

As I spun around, hearing it growl and gargle, Negan entered the room just in time to take it out in one swift blow.

He exhaled and said chuckling 'what was that you said about not needing me doll?'.

'I would've got it' I said shrugging my shoulders.

He rolled his eyes in response before going to work in another room.

It felt like we'd been searching for supplies for ages.

We'd found most of the food supply on the top floor, people radioed Negan to let him know that they'd found ammo and a bunch of water coolers.

As we were just packing up, Arat radioed Negan to let him know that they'd packed up and were ready to go back if he wanted.

Just as everyone was gathering into the trucks, Negan radioed that we'd be right down.

It was now that I got up and looked out of the window to see a hoard of walkers seconds away from the back of the building. Fuck.

I shouted for Negan, he came running in and we both saw them.

Arat radioed that they were surrounded and wouldn't make it out if they didn't get back right now. She made the decision to drive away, the other trucks following, leaving us stranded.

As soon as we made our way down to the first floor, we saw walkers at every window on every side of the room. We were surrounded and couldn't get out at any side.

I placed my bag down carefully, pointed silently to one side and then mouthed to him 'you go that way'.

He nodded and readied Lucille in his hands as I stealthily walked in the opposite direction with my knives up to my chin.

I tried to be as quiet as possible as I moved swiftly between the five walkers on my side, stabbing at their skulls as I ducked and lunged.

As much as I tried to keep my focus on the walkers, my gaze drifted across the room to make sure Negan was okay.

I heard the bat smashing something but when I looked over in his direction he had smashed the windows in and pushed the walkers out.

The last walker lunged at my face while I wasn't looking and I gasped as I stuck my knife in the side of its brain in reaction.

It dropped at my feet I exhaled and swept a loose strand of hair from my face.

I walked over to him and said 'that was too close'.

He just ignored me and took off his leather jacket.

I knew something was off with him, but I didn't know what.

Negan wasn't as angry as I thought he would be, he just slumped down to sit on the floor against a wall.

'Aren't you even the least bit pissed that they left?!' I said breathlessly.

'Arat did the right thing. They'll work something out' he said calmly, like he wasn't the least bit phased.

I just shrugged my shoulders before sitting down next to him.

He was silent for a while before saying 'you've got the chance to take me out now like you wanted to. You could escape, find your way back to Rick the prick and his band of merry men and without me, the Saviour's would crumble'.

I looked down, he wasn't trying to get a rise out of me, he was simply stating facts. 'I could. But I wouldn't, you know I wouldn't' I said softly.

This made him smile sweetly as he said almost mockingly, 'is that so? So you do have a soft spot for me after all'.

I scoffed, trying to deflect from what I was feeling inside and said 'and again, you wish' as I patted him on the arm.

Usually he laughed at our banter but instead he just sat silently in reflection.

I turned my head to the side to look at him and frowned at his stern expression. 'What is it?' I asked, knowing this wasn't about the situation with the Saviours.

He squinted before looking down and then to me, 'Alright, let's talk. We can pass the time while we wait for the walkers to die down. I wanna know more about you'.

I raised my eyebrows and said 'alright' sceptically.

'You said you were a lawyer before?' he asked softly.

I looked in his eyes and nodded.

'I was an attorney in DC. I went to Dartmouth before that'.

His eyebrows rose at this before he chuckled, 'goddamn! alright smartypants'.

I could tell he was relaxed now that we were talking more openly. He took a moment, though I knew exactly what he wanted to ask next.

'What about your family? Was there a Mr. Chambler?' he asked sadly.

I looked at him quizzically 'how did you know my last name?'.

'Arat and Dwight looked through your backpack after you tried to kill me and found a necklace' he said bemusedly.

I nodded smiling and reminiscing, 'my locket' I said softly knowing the engraving of my initials on the silver and our names on Tara's photograph.

I looked down, cleared my throat before saying quietly, 'there was. I was married, but he didn't make it'.

He looked at me attentively, 'i'm sorry' he said, all the while leaning in, wanting to know more.

'His uh name was Henry. He was in the army and when I came back home to Georgia to see my family, he had wanted to surprise me. This was before everything went to shit and he was the first person I saw turn. He had gotten bit and I found him in our house, I was the one who had to put him down' I said sadly.

I looked down at the ground sadly, thinking about how strong and brave he was and how I'd changed since that day.

I continued, 'he was strong like me...so it's his gun that I carry now'.

He nodded and looked down, like he understood completely but also scared to tell me what he had wanted for a while.

He suddenly picked up Lucille and traced his fingers along its barbed wire. 'I had a wife. A real wife. Her name was Lucille, she had cancer and uh died just before all this' he said nervously.

He started to tear up as he said 'I was weak back then, I couldn't put her down when she turned. But she got me through that life, so I named the bat after her so she could get me through this one'.

I looked at him, it was like seeing him again for the first time, he was different.

Somehow he seemed less monstrous now, more human.

'So I guess we're not different after all' I said stroking his arm. He smiled up at me and wrapped an arm around me.

'Now you're about to tell me that you survived because Rick saved you and gave you a real family' he said mockingly.

I turned to him seriously, 'They are my family and Rick did save me', at this he rolled his eyes.

'After I lost my dad, it was just me and my sisters for a long time so I will always be grateful to Rick for letting me in' I retorted, almost angrily when he insulted Rick.

He nodded, smirking at my defence of Rick. 'Where are they now? Your sisters?'.

I looked down, 'they're dead'.

His face dropped, 'jesus doll, I'm sorry', I just nodded.

I couldn't tell him about Tara. No matter how much I wanted to trust him, trusting people gets you killed and more importantly it would put Tara at risk and I couldn't lose her.

I looked up at his face, examining him more intensely now, trying to figure out whether or not I should trust him.

His face was cut up pretty bad when he broke the glass window. I don't even know what he was thinking but I couldn't help but feel bad for him.

I took his hand in mine and ushered him over to a crate so he could sit down. He looked at me sceptically, wondering what I was up to but still silently obeying my command.

I brought my bag over and took out my med kit.

'Your face is a mess, hold still' I said as I stood in front of him.

He looked up at me confused, like he was amazed that I would help him.

I gazed back at him as I took out an alcohol wipe and some gauze.

'It's gonna sting, sorry' I said as I stood closer and held his face while I dabbed the wounds across his cheek. He didn't even flinch or wince at all.

'You don't have to do this ya know darlin' he said softly as I applied some antiseptic to the areas.

I smiled slightly, 'I know but I can't help it. I care about people, and this would get infected if I didn't treat it'.

He smiled sweetly and his hands trailed up the sides of my legs until he rested on my hips, wrapping his arms around me.

'You care about me?' he asked mockingly.

I rolled my eyes at this as he pulled me closer, smiling at me with a twinkle in his eyes. 'I said people, not you specifically' I chuckled as he nodded like he didn't believe me. I applied the gauze now with a smile etched across my face.

'You are something else you know that?' he said still staring at me.

I tried to focus on the wounds but my eyes kept finding his, 'I'm just being a decent person, I'm not a hero' I mocked.

He stood up once I'd finished and held my hands in his as he towered over me.

'No, I know you hate me and yet you still help me. That's just who you are...' he said softly as his lips came closer to mine.

'I don't hate you' I whispered against his lips as he brushed against mine, literally millimetres between our lips pressing against each other's.

I closed my eyes tightly in frustration and stepped back, 'I can't, I cant betray Rick'.

Negan sighed and opened his eyes. He started to frown when I mentioned Rick.

'You do know that your friend Rick is an asshole right?' he said seriously.

'You do know that you're an asshole right?' I retorted.

He chuckled 'yeah, I am. But he killed dozens of my people'.

I was silent for a minute before saying quietly, 'So did I'.

He looked at me seriously with a raised brow as he said 'what?' and stepped back.

I sighed before saying that 'I was there, that night at the outpost'.

He was hurt and as I looked up at him slowly he scoffed and started to pace around the room.

'Oh, you killed my people while they were sleeping. Well look at you!' he said spinning around, looking genuinely upset now.

'I also blew up your guys on motorcycles' I said softly.

He was angry and surprised, I could tell because of the smile that he did that was overly sarcastic and his eyes were hardened and piercing.

'That was you that blew up little Timmy and the dick brigade?!' he scoffed, almost laughing.

He walked back over to me with a frown plastered across his face.

'Why are you telling me this now?' he asked sternly.

I sighed. 'I just wanted you to know. We don't know how long we have so I wanted to clear my conscience'.

'You wanna know what I think? I think you're sabotaging this' he said angrily.

I scoffed, 'what? what is there to sabotage?! This isn't a relationship, I don't owe you anything...'

He looked at me more hurt than angry now.

'You know what I think this is? I think you're scared, because god forbid you let anyone get close to you. You've just opened up to me about your wife and now you're backing out. That's why you have multiple wives right? Sex without any strings, so you never let yourself feel' I retorted.

'You seriously think that little of me?' he said with pain in his voice as he walked closer.

I stared back into his eyes silently, already regretting what I just said.

He looked at me for a second and nodded. 'Alright fine, we're doing this' he said sternly walking towards me.

I looked at him sceptically, wondering what he was about to bring up.

'Are you screwing Dwight?' he said scowling at me.

My mouth parted in shock, that was not where I thought he was going with this. 'Excuse me?!' I retorted.

'Or is it Fat Joseph? or both?' he said mockingly.

'Why do you care?! You don't care about anyone' I asked, filled with rage.

'Oh come on! You're telling me that those two spineless sacks of shit are sniffing around your skirts and your not even putting out?! God, I feel sorry for them' he said smiling.

That was it. I slapped him hard right across the face.

He wasn't angry, just surprised. My body was racing with conflicting emotions as my heart beat faster. I didn't know whether to punch him or kiss him.

'First of all, even if I was screwing them, which I'm not, it would be none of your goddamn business! You may think that you own people here, but you certainly don't own me' I said angrily.

I sighed, calming myself down and knowing we weren't getting anywhere.

'Admit it, you're jealous. You have feelings for me and it scares you because you're scared of losing someone again' I said seriously as I stepped closer.

He was frustrated but came closer until there was no gap between us, 'be my wife' he said softly into my ear.

I looked up at him in confusion, 'what?' I said angrily.

'I can't stand the thought of you with anyone else' he said softly.

There it was. The words that changed everything.

'You want me to be like them?! To sit in that room all day and wait to see which one of us you fancy fucking like some goddamn harem?!' I yelled tearfully.

He just looked into my eyes registering my sadness as I pushed him away defensively, feeling that he was peering into my soul.

'I've told you before, I don't want luxury and comfort. I want to be free, go on runs if I want and most importantly, be with a guy who doesn't fuck other women! If you honestly think that that would be something that I would ever want then...I guess we are different' I said sternly.

He looked down before trying to come closer before I stopped him, 'look darlin, I want you. But I'm not gonna give up my wives, even for you' he said sternly.

I smirked sadly, 'I wouldn't expect you to. So we'll just have to see which one of us gives in first'.

He started to smirk, 'Trust me doll, you'll be practically begging me soon enough'.

I chuckled 'yeah, well you'll be waiting a while then'.

Suddenly, a walker broke through a boarded up window, halting our argument as we sprung into action.

Negan looked at me thinking exactly what I was thinking.

I stuck my knife in its head while Negan pulled its body through into the room.

He used Lucille to smash it open and got down onto the floor saying 'fucking sucks, but looks like we gotta risk eating it by eating it'.

I stood over him, 'I don't understand' I said confusedly. 

He squashed the body more before saying 'you never done this trick with the guts before?'.

I just nodded and said 'Uh huh'.

'These are putrid decaying organs, dead blood, piss and shit that had been cooking all day in the Virginian sun' he said sighing with a smirk.

'None of your people ever gotten sick from this?' he asked while digging out the guts.

'We're from Georgia' I said while kneeling down and started covering myself in guts.

'Aha! you lucky shits' he scoffed while he also started covering himself in guts.

We both just looked at each other in disgust, the smell was horrific but I couldn't help but smile at the fact that I knew he hated ruining his leather jacket.

'Well looks like my people aren't coming, so, let's make some noise' he said annoyed not wanting to stay here with me any longer.

He whacked Lucille against the office door while we both yelled at the top of our voices.

Negan opened the door and we both stood there in silence as they flooded into the room.

Negan walked out first, bat in hand and it was working. We moved through the crowd of walkers, none of them bothered by us until I tripped over a walker lying on the ground.

As I fell, I saw it snapping its jaws at me which triggered others to come after me.

I rose to my feet just as a walker tried to grab onto me, Negan turned around and whacked it across its head.

This triggered more of them to turn to us, one tried to grab onto Negan when I shot it in the head, sending it tumbling down.

We carried on moving swiftly, Negan using Lucille to shove them away as I shot others who came around us.

Suddenly, Negan virtually battery rammed a walker into a wall outside the building, cracking its head open and clearing my path.

They had started to crowd around me, encircling me further when he reached his hand out as he did when we first met and pulled me from out of their grasp, intertwining our fingers with each others.

Through the gate and shutting it swiftly behind us, we had made it. We had survived together. We walked for miles, both of us exhausted and even though we didn't need to hold hands any longer, we did so.

It just felt right being with him. So we walked, side by side, hands interlocked in each other's all the way back to the Sanctuary. We were still in a fight but that wasn't on our minds right now.

When we eventually got back, we were met with complete commotion in the hallway.

Simon and Arat were yelling at people to stay calm and ensured them that they would try and rescue Negan when they could. Nothing about me. What assholes.

We could hear Simon ranting about how even if Negan was gone, he would take his place and run the Sanctuary now. Negan's smirk turned into a scowl as we walked around the corner.

We heard Regina and a gunshot, someone had asked 'where is Negan?!' and she shot them saying 'I am Negan!'.

Screaming and commotion ensued until Negan started to whistle.

As we appeared in front of them, Simon was wide eyed and everyone was shocked, all of them falling to their knees.

Negan chuckled, 'Ah Regina! Now why d'ya have to go and do that. I am guessing that a lot of you fine folks thought I was dead, chewed up never to be crapped out again. Well, here's a little refresher on who the hell I am, I wear a leather jacket, I have Lucille and my nut sack is made of steel. I am not dying until I am damn good and ready!'.

He turned to look at me briefly before saying 'now, if you'll all excuse me I am in deep need of a sandwich, a shower and some of that ah wilting lion orchid deep tissue shit that Frankie learned in San Francisco. Hell, I might do it all at once'.

He was punishing me, psychological warfare just took on a whole new meaning. Talking about Frankie, one of his wives. Knowing that she would be touching him, rubbing him.

Stop thinking about it, I told myself. I snapped out of fixating on my jealousy and returned to what Negan was saying.

He looked at me again briefly, smirking at the effect his words had had on me.

'But after that, we got some serious business to attend to, like talking to my right hand man. You see, we gotta figure out how all this could happen, like it happened, and then, then we're gonna get back to what we're doin' what we have always done...we will save people!'.

Negan turned to walk away just as a woman shouted 'thank you Negan! Thank God for you!'.

He smiled, turning back around to me 'and that is why I am here' he said quietly.

He looked at his guys, 'Gentlemen, gently escort Molly to her room. Gently' he said warningly.

They came up either side of me and said 'this way please', one walking in front and one behind all the way to my room. A freaking escort, what was I gonna do? Run?

I couldn't sleep that night, all I could think of was Frankie's hands all over Negan. Goddamnit. She probably slept with him after.

I was pissed and I couldn't be, that was the worst feeling.

Well, two can play at that game. I smirked, closing my eyes ready to sleep.

A plan already hatching in my mind that would destroy him.

[vishoustech]

Darkness Is Black

#DarknessIsBlack 

Bitty: The days grew bleaker. I had found myself pulling away from my family. I had stopped talking, what was the point of talking? It changed nothing. All those females, young were dead. I couldn’t save them. I lived with their blood on my hands. No amount of cleaning would ever wash away the blood. For the rest of my life I would carry the guilt, the sin that I committed that night. 

All that blood, females protecting the young that laid underneath them. Their faces in the enteral scream. I couldn’t get the images out of my mind. They were burned deeply into my mind. They would fill my dreams when I did sleep, if I slept at all. Which most I didn’t. How could I? 

Sleep had once again had slipped through my fingers once again. The click of the shutters opening  for the night filled my room. With a sigh I pushed up in the bed, sheets pooling around my waist. First meal would be starting soon. I didn’t want to eat. Scribe love my dad, but I couldn’t look at him right now. The sadness he carried for me. I just couldn’t handle it tonight. 

Getting up from my bed, I headed to the bathroom that was attached to my room. Washing in the shower, it didn’t make me feel good. I just knew this is something I had to do. 

Once done I dried off and dressed in leather pants, leather halter, jacket and my very own shitkickers. Weapons hid all along my body. I never went anywhere without them. Even being protected in the mansion. I wanted to always be ready, for anything. 

Walking out of my room. I could hear all my family gathering. Their voices rose like a song to my ears. Walking down the stairs, stepping off the last step, I stopped myself. Laughter filled the dinning room. With a shake of my head I made for the door. 

I couldn’t deal with the laughter, not tonight. 

Walking out the front doors, I made my way to the graves. The one place that showed my sin. 

Clouds hung low in the sky. It looked like it would rain any moment, not that I even cared. 

Walking through the trees, I made it to the clearing. The patch where the graves rested came into sight. Making my way over, I sat my ass down on the hard ground. 

Knees tented, my arms rested on the tops of my knees. I sighed and just hung my head. Not saying a word.*

Vishous: In the aftermath of the attack on the Safe Place, the Leaders had really excelled themselves this time. Females and young were slaughtered without a care, the next generation not able to live out their Mahmen's expectations. What a fucking waste. It's times like this I really fucking hate this job. Hollywood searched for Bitty while the other Brothers and myself started the clean up, respectfully the dead was carried to awaiting black truck. Didn't want undue attention from both humans and Lessers with a fleet of hearses. They would have to be buried, if we had a funeral pyre for those bodies we'd might as well lay out the welcoming mat for the Lessers.

Once the bodies had been buried, life in the mansion got  back to normal, well as normal as could be expected. Bitty had taken things hard, she wasn't even talking to anyone not even to her dad. Hollywood was at a loss to what to do with her "V man could you talk to her" "I'll see if she wants to Hollywood but after seeing a trauma like that it could be a very long before she talks again, true?" Hollywood sighed "Please try V" Hearing footsteps coming down the grand staircase it was Bitty, she went straight outside, not coming to join us at first meal once again. Hollywood gave me a look "I'm going" Getting up I went outside into the cool night.

Relaxing I knew exactly where I was going, the cemetery for the dead female and young, Bitty always came here. It was her way to grieve, her way to say sorry. But the truth be told she had nothing to be sorry about. Dematerlialising into the night I went straight to the cemetery, my molecules forming behind Bitty "You're not to blame Bitty"

Bitty: Yeah I felt V the moment he appeared behind me. I didn’t turn, my eyes fixed on the stones before me. 

I almost snorted, of course it was my fault. I was there with them. Sitting in the kitchen, holding little Axe in my arms. When that crash of the window and all hell broke loose. Trying to get all of them somewhere safe, bidding. But it made no difference. A few had lived, four of I was counting. One female and three young, Axe being one of them. 

I sighed softly, my hands fisted, nails pressed hard into the palm of my hands. As the images off those dead flashed before my eyes. All I could see was blood, the limbs. I shook my head trying rid my mind of them. 

I laughed without any humor. “I was..there.” My voice rough from not being in use for awhile. 

Talking wouldn’t help this. All those lives lost. I could have done more. I could have hid one more young, shoved one more female out of the way. 

Four fucking lessers had come down on Safe Place. They were stronger then they use to be. No one knew why. 

I would never forgive myself for that night, never. Hell, just my mahmen hearing my voice made her let go. I was fucking bad luck. Fuck, dad almost died because mom was taking care of me. 

Tears pricked the back of my eyes. I would let them fall. What good my tears do? They didn’t bring my mahmen, they wouldn’t bring back all the lives that were lost. 

I turned and looked up to V. The light gone from my eyes. They were hallow and dull. 

“I didn’t do enough. I’m trained to do this. I was tainted by all of you. And still what I did, didn’t do shit.” I presented the graves. “This is on me. All those lives abs blood is on my hands.”

Vishous: "There was nothing you could of done Bitty, your mum and the females of the mansion had barely got away, true? Those Lessers were nothing we've seen before. Tell me what could you've done differently? I'll tell you nothing. You would've been dead with the other females, you would be in the ground now with them. Those bastards had been watching and waiting to strike" Running my gloved hand through my hair, yeah I know it's harsh but Bitty had to know the ugly truth.

She looked up at me, her eyes were hollow no life in them like once there was. I felt something, pull a yarn towards Bitty but this wasn't the time to explore this. I had to get Bitty back, our bubbly Bitty who everyone loved, hell even I fucking loved that Bitty.

"Want to talk about this? Sure but we be going round and in circles. You blaming yourself, me telling you there was nothing you could've done, true?. How about we go look for these fuckers, what new creature my loving uncle has created now? Channel your anger towards those bastards"

Bitty: Sure I knew all that was true, at least in my head, my heart was a very different story. They warred with each other, right and wrong, sin and forgiveness. It was driving me crazy. But I couldn’t stop myself. It wasn’t in me to do so. 

As I watched him, there was a ping in my chest. I didn’t know what it was, but I wasn’t about to explore it now. I was wallowing and grieving. Which didn’t leave much for anything else in me. 

No I didn’t want to talk about. And V knew that. A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. 

I itched to do something,  to kill something. I was a bomb ready to go off. And he was right. I needed this. I needed to let it out in some way or I would fall deeper. Hell I was in pretty deep right now. There wasn’t a light at the end of the tunnel. Right now it was all black. 

With a sigh and nod,  I pushed myself off the ground. I didn’t wait, I started to walk. I didn’t know where we were going at the moment. Guess I needed to ask that. 

“Where we goin’?”

Vishous: "We're going to find some clues that will lead us to these fuckers, true?" Holding my hand out I grabbed Bitty's hand and pulling her to her feet "That anger you have sorted in your heart. Use it, harness it and let it drive you to avenge the females and the young, feel me?"

Dematerlialising onto Route 22 on the outskirts of Caldwell where the buildings are made up of farmhouses and barns. Bitty appears by my side looking confused "We need to know where the Lessers are hiding out. My guess is that seeing these are a new Lessers then they be hiding where there are not so many buildings around, true?"

Setting off, Bitty following behind me. I can hear her thoughts asking how this is going to help "Bitty we need to now where the chicken shits are hiding, true? When we find them you are not to go in all guns blazing. Understood?" 

Bitty: Trying to ignore the feeling of my hand in his. I never feared V’s hand and what it could. And trust me a lot were scared of it. Hell, him being able to read thoughts made some keep distance. 

But I never guarded my thoughts. V might not like all that he hears in my head. ~ It made things easier too. I didn’t have to talk, he would just know. And that took a lot off my shoulders. 

With a squeeze to his hand in thanks. He would know why I gave him my thanks. 

Once appearing beside him. I raised a brow. This is one of the things that could get boring, the looking. But I was going to do everything in power to get revenge. The fuckers had it coming. Fuck, they had a lot coming their way. And I would rip those fuckers apart. 

I rolled my eyes. Ok, I tended to be like my dad. Running head first into shit. And that  caused problems sometimes. But it also could help. Who would expect someone like me? I’ll tell you don’t. The look on their faces was always priceless. 

“Fine. But I make no promises if shit goes south.” At least V would be ready for it. But hell he had fought with my dad  for a long time. He’ll be ready for a mini beast. The thought of a mini beast, did make me snort. I might not change into a beast like my dad. But I was like him in many ways. Even not being his young by blood. He was always meant to be my dad. 

Following behind him, I kept looking for any threat that might pop out at us. 

I hated how silent it was around here. That was never a good sign. But I’m use to Caldwell and the mansion. There was always noise. 

I almost hoped one of the fuckers where here. It would let me get out some anger.

Vishous: Searching the buildings one by one for any signs for Lessers but there was nothing "We'll go to the next farm" Dematerlialising to the next farm, Bitty following me we noticed a battered Ford Taurus in front of the house, the stench of Lessers in the air.

Slowly approaching the house we crouch by the kitchen window voices were raised "You stupid fuckers. You were only meant to harm not kill the vampire females. We were luring the Brotherhood to that place" "But we weren't told that. All we were told was not to leave anyone alive" "Who gave you them orders?" "The Omega" The Omega was behind that attack, the fucking bastard.

Bitty hearing the conversation that was going on her anger was rising by the second. Without warning she got up and ran to the front door. Kicking it in "Surprise mother fuckers" Groaning I ran off after her. Before I could get to her a gun went off. Bitty fell to the ground. #DarknessIsBlack

[midnight-watch-committee]

Story 1: what happened to Sheridan

Journalism, second period of the day, 9:34 in the morning., June 22nd, 2018.

There was a tv on in the class room, we always had the news on in there to help us, "a free cheat sheet if you use it right" as Mr. Haddison would call it. Every now and again people would be mildly interested in what was happening: law suits, politics, and murder for the morbid. A sudden gasp escaped from the girl next to me. Her name was Beth and if you saw her, you’d probably expect her to be a computer club kid. A headband kept her bright orange hair that almost looked fake from falling into her rounded, golden framed glasses, she was the youngest person in this room by about five minutes and she made sure you knew when you walked in, her sporadic and adventure seeking personality was as wild as the bright stickers on her laptop and pins on her shirt which told you every fandom she was in. She tapped me quickly on the shoulder, which was met by a cold “I’m busy,” but her insistent tapping eventually made me cave, as I looked up to what was shocking her, I realized why she gasped so loudly. “How do you lose an entire town?!” I said, or rather screamed. My friend Mikey quickly covered my mouth, expecting me to scream more about something or other, but I was more in shock than anything.  Mikey slowly moved his hand off my mouth and wiped it on his letterman jacket, “Could you be any louder?” he asks sarcastically, which I feel tempted to test but decide against it. Sheridan, Wyoming...”it was just there five minutes ago”, according to one of the people interviewed, a man who left town to grab a prescription from a nearby pharmacy. “Hey, Mike, how far is that” I asked. “Not crazy far-Juni, do you have another stupid idea?” he answered, already knowing what I was gonna say, “Just one...” I respond. “Dumb ideas? Like what, going to the crater formerly known as Sheridan? Juni, it’s gone, I’m sure the police are-” Beth started before getting shot a “shut the fuck up” look from Mikey. “What are the cops gonna do? IT’S GONE! If they plan on arresting us for looking at a hole in the ground, I’m sure a court will easily rule in our favor.” I spit out. “Jeez, fine! If you two are going, I’m tagging along to make sure you idiots don’t get hurt.” Beth said whipping out her phone “What time should I expect Mr. Can’t drive for shit to show up?” Mikey let out a chuckle. Not his “I found that funny” chuckle but a forced one, the kind you do when your sister tells a really bad joke but your mom shot you a look. “8:30, ditch the pink, we’re trespassing and we can’t repeat the O’Reily house incident.” She gave me a thumbs up, punched it into her phone and went back to her work.

The Vallen residence, 8:20 at night.

I looked in the mirror one last time, my jet-black hair an absolute mess but not like I’d ever bother fixing it. I decided to settle on a blue baseball cap to hide the rat’s nest. A black sleeveless jacket and torn blue jeans were my only real protection from anyone spotting my pale ass from a mile away. I checked the film on my grandfather’s, well mine now, camera. I gently trailed my finger over the weird markings that surround the outside of the camera. I heard my phone go off from the other room and darted over to it, slipping it in my jacket pocket and making a break for the door, pulling up my black face mask and hoping in the back of Mikey’s dark red pickup truck. He had some cheerleader girl up front with him and they clearly seemed to be taking a while so I gave the roof a few rough slaps. He rolled his window down and snapped “How many times do I have to say stop doing that before you fucking stop?” I rolled my eyes and laid down as we pulled off. I shot Beth a text letting her know we were on our way and took a nap for the 30 minuets it took to get to her place, she hopped in and checked to make sure I was still alive, trying to keep me awake so I was ready to do my job. I was the group photographer, Mike was the muscle and Beth was our pretty face who got everyone’s attention, I’d do more up-front stuff if it wasn’t for my social anxiety so for now that goes to Beth. “Did you check the film?” she asked, to which I nodded. “Good, good...how do I look?” I crack a smile and give her the trademark Beth Thumbs up ™, curving my thumb slightly to copy hers. She rolled her eyes and made sure her recorder was still working. There was something about the way the light hit her and the look in her eyes that left me stunned. Click! I snapped a quick picture of her and waved the film around, checking it. Perfect. I slipped it into my jacket pocket hoping she didn’t see me take it as the truck comes up on what was Sheridan.

Sheridan, Wyoming 8:50 at night.

We slowed to a halt a few inches away from the crater. “God, does he want us to get stuck in there?” I mumbled to Beth before hoping out, tapped on the window and gestured for him to back up. The vehicle rolled back and just as quickly as he reversed, he slammed down on the breaks, most likely giving poor Beth a major concussion. Mikey got out from the front, telling Sherri or Cherri or Cherry or whatever her name was to wait there, Beth started her audio recorder and we started our search. We walked around the perimeter of Former Sheridan, snapping photos of weird shaped rocks that seemed placed by something to hold the dirt back from reaching the middle and flowers that were left in the crater by those who thought everyone there was dead already, sitting in between all those flowers were four glowing blue rocks. “We should go in.” I blurt out, “I mean, when have we ever been scared to go into something? We’ve been in hospitals during outbreaks for Christ's sake!” Beth and Mikey look at each other, have a quick whisper debate that seems to end in Beth winning and sends Mikey back to the truck to grab some climbing equipment and set it up at the spot we were standing near. Beth offered me the rope and I accepted, sliding down all the way to the bottom of the crater, about 15 feet deep. “what the- HEY GUYS GET DOWN HERE!” I shouted, and started snapping pictures of a hole dug into the side of the crater...no, dug is wrong. There were bite marks on the outside of the hole. As if provoked by my camera, a gray, eight legged, slimy, insect shaped...CREATURE came charging out. It’s lack of eyes was amplified by it snarling, four toothed jaw. If you took of the tail of a scorpion and made it the size of a small building, you’d have this thing. The creature started stomping around the crater screeching. Legs brought up dust, chomping it up in the air. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!” Beth screamed down into the hole and honestly, I didn’t know. I snapped a few more quick photos and broke for the rope, not wanting to be down there any longer. On my way up, I noticed the writing on the outside of the camera glowing, now readable as “Midnight watch committee.” As whatever the fuck that was screeched after us, we hoped in the truck and booked it, leaving cheer girl in wonder as to what we saw down there but we didn’t even have the sanity in that moment to describe it,.

Vallen residence, Midnight.

This thing was like something right out of some old country children’s tale. “Wait a minute...” I thought to myself, I flung open every filing cabinet in the attic, trying to find the old book my grandfather use to read to me from. My mom always hated it and time and time again told him to not read it to me, but he never listened. “The world’s a scary place,” he would say “nothing wrong with teaching her what to expect.” After maybe the 500th cabinet filled with pitch blackness, my hands bumped into the large leather-bound book. I blew the dust off it, remembering the last time I had ever had this read to me was when my mom was still alive. As if like magic, I open the book up to a random page and saw exactly what I was looking for, “The Earth Eater.” My jaw dropped reading everything in there, all the lives it had taken...but what really threw me off was...the book mentioned Sheridan’s disappearance. Did the author know? Was this some kind of joke? I set the book down on my Grandfather’s dark colored oak desk and went to bed, my mind still racing.

Bus ride from Vallen residence to Big Horn high school, 6:15, June 23rd, 2018

It was a cold early morning, but if you were up then, even in the pitch blackness, you would’ve seen the way the ground exploded near us as the Earth Eater rose from the ground, sending the bus flying. It felt like everything happened so quickly yet so slowly at the same time. I got sent flying into the seat next to me, like many others, and hit my arm against the seat hard enough to hear a loud cracking sound. It felt like every single nerve in my body dedicated itself to making me feel nothing but pain in my arm at that moment, as I tried to move it, I realized just how badly it had truly broken. The creature charged toward the bus, its none existent eyes locked on me I imagine, and for one last desperate attempt to make a story out of this, I pointed my camera at it the best I could through a window. A soft Click! Filled the air, followed by a vrrr as the camera pushed out a Polaroid, by the time the photo had made it to me, Earth Eater was gone, back to maybe one day return from whence it went, or maybe not at all.

[sweetlangdon]

Lost and Found (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Notes: There’s been multiple requests for how Michael and his roommate met, so here’s their origin story. AU from “Sojourn.”

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: A little bit of angst.

By the time you’ve finally left work and made a quick run to the grocery store, it’s late. Later than you would’ve liked, really, but since you’ve had to pick up the slack at your job because of rampant laziness and incompetency, you had no choice. You need the extra money, anyway, you reason. But is it worth this miserable wait in traffic? The sun has already dipped low to the horizon, the last of its light hidden behind buildings. There’s too much light pollution and actual pollution to see stars here in the city, but the sky is a clear, inky dark blue above. You’re sitting in a sea of brake lights, streaks of neon red reflecting off all the glossy cars at a standstill around you.

You’re used to the fuckery that is Los Angeles traffic. Even though you’re not a native of California, you’ve been living here long enough to become acclimated to the hellish despair that is your daily commute. You huff out a sigh, leaning forward with your arms hanging over the top of the steering wheel, the soft strains of some radio station playing in the background.

The heavy, booming bass from someone else’s car nearby keeps rattling your windowpanes, and a hint of acrid exhaust from a truck has somehow permeated your car’s interior. The fatigue is beginning to wear on you. You notice your eyes going in and out of focus—from boredom, maybe, you suspect—the brake lights becoming fuzzy bright dots in your vision. You just want to get home and eat dinner and then inevitably fall asleep on the couch at an hour that’s embarrassing for a Friday night.

And you have a needy cat to feed. A cat who will be indignant at your lateness.

You just hope your apartment will be intact when you get home. The little shit has a petty streak a mile wide when he’s inconvenienced.

Screw it, you decide. Once the traffic moves a little and you see your chance, you turn onto a side street. It’ll take a bit of time to get home, but with the way the general flow of traffic on the main road seems to be going, it’s still faster. These streets are more dimly lit, narrower, winding and riddled with potholes that knock your teeth together. But it’s preferable to idling in traffic for an hour or so longer than necessary.

It’s quiet, almost deserted, until a figure stumbles off the sidewalk and into the path of your car without looking.

“Shit!”

You swerve to avoid this wandering person, slamming on your brakes with your heart thudding so loud it nearly hurts. Tires squeal across pavement, and the person—some random guy, your mind registers amid the panic—staggers back toward the sidewalk again. And for a second, with your heart hammering against your ribs, your breath coming in shaky gasps, your hands trembling, you think you’ve clipped him. There’s no time to be angry about the fact that he walked right into a street without checking for cars first; you can’t even summon the rage that you thought would follow because you’re still fucking shaking like a leaf.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Your mind is a litany of expletives as you pull onto the side of the road and watch the guy settle onto the curb. Collapse is a better word for it—his knees seem to give out underneath him and he crumples to the battered cement in a heap of impossibly long limbs. And fuck, you’ve never hurt anything in your life and the thought of hitting a person makes your insides knot and a wave of nausea threaten the meager contents of your stomach.

A breath later, you’re out of the car, the driver’s side door left wide open in your rush.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him as you approach on wobbling legs. You clench your hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “Did I hit you? Are you all right?”

You’re not sure what you expected to see, but you’re grateful there’s no blood all over the sidewalk. He looks uninjured at first glance, one arm wrapped around his middle while he sits on a curb that’s too short for his long legs. He holds the other palm up to you and shakes his head, grease-slicked curls of dark gold falling across his forehead. The tight coil of anxiety holding your insides hostage begins to relent.

But something else nags at you. A feeling. It’s probably against your better judgement, and your mom would be thoroughly disappointed at your lack of self-preservation, but you can’t shake it. There’s something…off about him. Not necessarily in a way that makes you fear for your life, but instead makes you wonder how he’s gotten to this point. His legs too weak to support him. Splattered with dirt. Looking like he hasn’t slept in days and probably hasn’t eaten for just as long.

You trust instinct. “You’re sure?” you ask, and venture closer.

He blinks up at you with dark eyes like glass in the pale glow thrown from the streetlight. There’s a shadow of stubble across the sharp line of his jaw, and more purple shadows beneath his eyes. You hold back the quiet gasp that wants to escape from your lips—you honestly hadn’t anticipated to find cheekbones that look like they’ve been sculpted by some classic artist, a quiet and undeniable beauty. You’re shit at judging age, but he can’t be too far from your own.

“Can I drive you to a hospital?”

You don’t want to assume his story—Homeless? Addict?—and you’re certainly not going to judge. All you see in front you is a person who looks like they’ve been through hell and could use some help.

You don’t have much to your name, but at the very least you have compassion.

“No.” His voice is hoarse, soft but a little gruff, tumbling like gravel under the wheels of a car. Your chest feels heavy with some unknown burden that fills up his voice, his tone carrying the weight of emotions you can’t even fully comprehend. The despair and sadness that seems to curl around him begins to feel like its own entity. He swipes a large, bony hand over his face; you notice the dirt caked on his skin and under his fingernails. “No hospital. I’m fine.”

In the orange glow of the streetlight, you see a couple of tears slide down his face.

You sigh, rocking back on your heels. “No offense or anything, but you don’t look fine.”

Oh, you’re sure your mother would yell at you for trusting a stranger, but you settle onto the curb beside him anyway, forgetting that you’re in your good work clothes.

He turns his head to level you with a wary and rather unimpressed sidelong look. “Why do you care?” There’s a bitterness in his tone that you don’t think you deserve, but you’re not offended by it. You can’t exactly blame him for the skepticism.

“Because you look like someone who hasn’t been shown a lot of kindness in a while.” A few more tears fall down his cheeks, and when he doesn’t say anything, you continue. “Look, I’m not going to pry into your life or whatever you’ve been through. But I’d like to help, if you let me. I just…I can’t leave you out here. It wouldn’t be right. Is there some place I can take you? A friend, a relative maybe?”

His watery gaze just about shatters your heart to fucking pieces. “I have no one.” His voice breaks a little, and your stomach gives a painful leap in response.

He flinches when you reach a hand toward his shoulder, so you take the hint and let your arm drop before it settles. “I’ve got a place,” you say before you can think too hard about it or determine if it’s a bright idea to allow a strange man into your home. “It’s not much, but there’s a shower and a couch you can crash on for the night. I was heading home anyway to cook dinner. You’re welcome to join me, if you want.”

“Why? You don’t even know me.”

You pull yourself up from the curb and brush off your pants, ignoring the look you get from a nosy driver passing by. “Yeah.” You shrug. “And you don’t know me, either. Humanity isn’t always complete shit. Just because you’re a stranger doesn’t mean you don’t deserve some kindness.”

His mouth opens a little as he stares up at you, and you’re not sure that he’s entirely convinced, but there’s a glint of something that might be close to disbelief that flickers in his eyes for barely a moment. Another tear catches the pale light, sliding gracefully down the swell of his immaculate cheekbone before you realize maybe, for some reason, he doesn’t think he’s deserving of kindness. And whatever’s left of your fucking shattered heart falls away like jagged pieces of a broken window.

“Come on.” You hold out your hand and he studies it through strands of matted, tangled hair that’s fallen in front of his eyes. “Normally, I wouldn’t be this trusting, but I don’t get the vibe that you’re going to hurt me. And I told you, I just want to help.”

There’s a pang of doubt that settles somewhere deep in your gut, but you ignore it.

He takes your hand. The touch is brief as he pushes himself up from the curb, but the warmth of his skin seems to linger on your own for far longer than you ever thought possible.

It’s a quiet ride back to your apartment with furtive glances thrown to the disheveled stranger in your passenger seat. He’s slouched there, all long limbs and filthy, torn clothes and tarnished curls, and you think he might just fall asleep with his cheek pressed the window. He hasn’t said a word since he climbed into your car, knuckles white from supporting his weakened body. There’s a thousand different questions you want to ask but know you don’t have any right to.

Except for one.

You drum your fingertips on the steering wheel. “You don’t owe me your life story or anything,” you assure him. He doesn’t lift his head from where it’s resting against the window, and you wonder if he’s actually asleep. It’s so dark inside your car that it’s hard to tell unless you pass under the streetlights. You wouldn’t blame him; he looked dead on his feet. “I just…I wanted to know what should call you.”

“Michael.” His voice is rough, possibly, you believe, from disuse. Or maybe the opposite—maybe he’s cried and screamed so much that he’s wrecked it. You’ve noticed his swollen, red eyes. You know the feeling. “Michael Langdon.”

“Michael.” You grin. It suits him, you think.

When you repeat his name, he finally turns his head away from the window to look at you, arms crossed tightly over his broad chest. You give him your name in return and Michael nods, blinking slowly. And maybe it’s just the flicker of the streetlights, but you think one corner of his mouth lifts in what you imagine to be something resembling a smile.

Michael helps you with the groceries—there isn’t a lot, just a few bags that you could manage yourself, as usual. You try to tell him as much, but he takes a couple of the bags without saying a word and follows you inside the building. You hover at his elbow, careful not to touch him, only concerned because he’s limping. It doesn’t seem serious enough for a trip to the hospital, just a side effect of wandering around L.A. in those shoes, you imagine. There’s a functioning elevator in your building that gives him a break on the ride up to your apartment, and luckily it’s not a far walk from there.

A furry, black lump flings itself at you the moment you get the door open. The cat meows in a loud, demanding tone that you know all too well. Electric green eyes blink up at you as the cat twists its lithe body around your legs like it’s his goal in life to trip you as some form of payback. He trails behind you to the tiny kitchen where you and Michael drop the bags onto the countertop. Instead of investigating the contents, sinking his razor-sharp teeth into the paper and nosing at the groceries, he sniffs at Michael.

“Ugh, sorry,” you apologize while Michael looks down at the shape, black as the void, pawing and sniffing around his ankles. He stands completely still, arms lifted slightly at his sides, surprisingly unperturbed by this invasion of personal space. “He’s kinda clingy, but mostly harmless when he wants to be.” You try to nudge the cat away from him. “Leave Michael alone, you needy little shit. We just got in the door.”

“It’s okay,” Michael assures in a voice that’s softer than you expect. It still holds a distance to it that you can’t quite decipher, still trembling around the edges with emotion. He looks a bit wary at the unprovoked attention by the cat, but he doesn’t complain.

“Uh…it’s gonna take some time to get dinner ready.” You pause from unloading the groceries and move around the countertop to the living room. The cat continues to rub all over Michael’s legs, marking him as a friend. He can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but you like to think your cat is a good judge of character. If he trusts Michael, you can, too.

“Make yourself comfortable—bedroom’s off-limits, but everywhere else is fair game. The bathroom is on the right if you want to shower first?” When Michael nods, you make your way to the hall closet and hand him a stack of mismatched but clean towels. “Take however long you want. You can leave your dirty clothes on the bathroom floor when you’re done. I have to make a trip down to the laundry room later, so I’ll wash them for you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you answer. “I think I have something around here for you to wear that might fit.” You flick on the bathroom light. “Oh…and if you need help figuring out the shower, you can ask. I know it’s always weird navigating showers that aren’t your own.”

The corner of his lips curve upward, trying for a grin that never quite happens. It’s then, in the light of your apartment hallway, that you realize Michael’s eyes aren’t dark at all. They’re a bright ice blue—beautiful and haunted all at once. When you realize you’ve been staring a few moments too long, your stomach somersaults and you turn away to shut the closet door.

“Just…let me know,” you say. “If you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

Michael disappears behind the door, and the cat paws at it until he settles there with his tail wrapped delicately around him. You put a hand on your hip and shake your head as you pass by him on the way to your bedroom. The cat lets out a low meow, blinking up at the closed door.

“Oh, don’t you start,” you warn. “Give him some space—he’s a guest, he doesn’t need you getting your fur all over him. And don’t get too attached.”

The cat meows again, and you swear he’s just told you to fuck off.

Buttery yellow light floods your tiny bedroom once you turn on the lamp on the bedside table. With the ambient noise of running water floating in from down the hallway, you rifle through the bottom drawer of your dresser. It’s a horrible habit, but you kind of have a reputation for stealing clothes from previous relationships. You’re known for wearing other people’s clothes and then…not returning them. You think about it, of course, but somehow you forget, and by the time you remember, it’s far too late for it not to be awkward. So, you’ve hoarded a handful of men’s clothes.

You never thought they’d become useful for anyone but yourself on your PMS-induced lazy days.

There’s a slightly faded and wrinkled black T-shirt that looks like it might be a size or two big for Michael, but you’re sure he won’t mind. It’s clean, at least. You decide on a pair of dark plaid pajama pants to go along with it and hope they’ll fit. You leave them for Michael, dropping them inside the bathroom with the door wedged open just enough to fit your hand through and your face turned away. Both for Michael’s privacy and to keep the cat from slipping in where he’d be nothing but a gigantic pain in the ass.

The cat gives you an annoyed meow, anyway, and you offer him a rude gesture in response. 

***

By the time Michael exits the bathroom in a cloud of steam, a hint of floral shampoo still hanging in the air, you’re nearly finished making dinner. You look up from stirring the sauce in a pan on the stove to see him towel drying his hair. The cat winds in circles around his ankles like the nuisance he is, simultaneously begging for attention and attempting to scent mark Michael again. He looks better—there’s color in his face, more life in his eyes despite the shadow of sleeplessness that couldn’t be washed away. His hair is still damp, loose curls dripping water onto his shirt and falling in front of those bright blue eyes.

“Sorry about the clothes,” you say, filling a couple of plates with penne pasta. The steam curls upward in thin, white columns in front of your face. The whole apartment smells of chicken and garlic and gorgonzola cheese. “Not nearly as stylish as what you had on before, but I hope they’re comfortable.” You grimace as Michael wanders over, the towel left behind in the bathroom. “Pants are a little short.”

The clothes are okay in the sense that they fit, for the most part. The shirt is baggy as hell on Michael’s slender frame, and the pants are about two inches too short. But all things considered, he looks a lot better than how you found him. You know that there’s nothing like a nice warm shower to make you feel human again.

“They’re fine.”

He approaches the counter that divides your kitchen from your living room and his eyes get a bit wider at the sight of food. You scoop the creamy, cheese and chicken sauce on top of the pasta and finish it with fresh grated parmesan cheese before pushing the plate toward Michael. There’s already a spread of fresh bread and a salad between the two of you, and a bottle of white wine uncorked, though you set out glasses of water, too. You get the feeling that Michael’s as parched as he is hungry.

“You must be starving.” You gather up your plate and the half-empty wine glass to sit at the counter across from him. “There’s a shit ton of pasta left, so don’t be shy. I always cook way too much. It’s just…been a while since I’ve cooked for someone else.”

You notice the cat has settled under Michael’s chair, paws tucked beneath his chin. “He likes you,” you find yourself saying while Michael gulps down almost the entire glass of water like you expected. “He’s obnoxious, but he doesn’t cozy up to just anyone so consider yourself blessed.”

Michael shakes his head, an expression crossing his face that you can’t read at all. The two of you eat without much conversation, the clinking and scraping of silverware and glasses filling up the easy silence. Michael practically inhales his food—you watch him when he doesn’t see you, endeared by his almost childlike mannerisms, the eagerness with which he shovels forkfuls of penne and chicken into his mouth. You’d call it adorable, if you could.

There’s something odd about Michael Langdon, but then again, he probably thinks the same about you and your ridiculous cat.

“You can sleep on the couch tonight,” you announce once Michael’s finished his second plate of pasta. He picks apart a slice of bread and scoops up some extra sauce with it, and you smirk a little at the way he tilts his head, kind of like a lost puppy. “I can personally vouch for its comfort level, considering I’ve fallen asleep there many times.” You feel terrible for not having an extra bed, but a couch is better than the streets of L.A., right?

Michael sighs. His eyebrows pull together as he brushes the crumbs from his fingers and gives you a look that you can only describe as solemn. “I don’t have any money,” he tells you. “I don’t have anything—no way to repay you for everything you’ve done.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Michael.”

He drags a hand over his face and you think it’s to keep another round of tears from slipping down his cheeks. You don’t know what the world has done to this boy, but it makes your chest ache to see him so broken. So lost.

Michael’s lower lip trembles for a second. You hear his deep, shaky inhale. “You’re being too good to me.” Fuck, what had this guy been through that made him like this? “I’m…I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Right now? You should probably sleep.” You get up from your chair to start clearing the dishes. “We’ll figure out everything tomorrow.”

“No.” Michael’s eyes are like glass again when he gazes up at you. “I can’t drag you into this. I can’t…I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me.”

The cryptic statement makes that doubt and mistrust flare up somewhere within you, but you do your best to ignore it. Again. Your mom would kill you.

“No one’s going to get hurt.” You tell him that because you think it’s the right thing to say, not because you have any idea what he’s talking about. “I’ve got this covered. You get some rest, okay?”

Michael casts you another long, intense look before retreating into the living room. You watch the cat follow in his wake, paws making soft sounds on the hardwood floor. The whole time you’re washing dishes and stowing away the leftovers in the fridge, you can’t stop thinking about his words, the worry in his tone, the way his shoulders sag as if he’s carrying the weight of the entire fucking world on his back. The questions you had before have multiplied, Michael Langdon’s past nothing but a gray area of intrigue and maybe some kind of danger.

You wonder, again, if you’re too trusting. If allowing yourself to be vulnerable around him is a good idea.

You doubt you’ll sleep tonight.

Once you’re finished cleaning up, you find Michael nestled in one corner of the couch, his face mostly hidden by a mess of golden curls and the lumpy cushions. The cat is keeping watch above him, not quite asleep yet, but perched on the back of the couch while he stares you down with one eye open. You tug a blanket free from where it’s folded over the back of a chair and drape it across Michael’s sleeping form.

“Sleep well, Michael.”

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[prorevenge]

Read the sign, No Parking!

A little context first. About 4 or 5 years ago, I was working at a small B-Movie Horror Movie Production Company (Call it BM) that was housed in these really old Live/Work lofts. My best friend's sister, who ran their shipping room, got us both hired some years earlier. I was the runner for BM, although the 3 of us basically did everything that wasn't movie production related, and even then, we sometimes helped with that stuff too. At the time of the incident, my friend's sister had just been fired and my friend had given his two weeks in protest. That means I had been "Promoted" to head of the shipping room, on top of my very busy job that involved a ton of driving, and all the misc. crap that we had to do, since nobody else wanted to do them. At least I got a nice hefty raise, since my job was not 2 people's worth of work harder... is what I'd like to say. At this point the company wasn't doing as well, so i was often being paid late, if at all. You could say my disgruntled attitude is probably what led to the incident haha.

The parking situation in the building was... not great. The lot was a small gated lot behind the building. It was a single lane that had 2 deep spots to the left, single spaces on the right, and was about 8 cars wide. At the end was loading dock that had a ramp that went up into the back of the building. There was no visitor parking, as every parking spot was assigned by the building, although there was technically a spot in the loading dock that you could park at if you were quick and left your information visible on the dash, so that one of the businesses could call you to move it if they needed it. It was kind of a park at your own risk kind of thing, since there were a ton of signs that said "No Parking in Loading Dock," "No Visitor Parking," "Owner is Responsible for Damage," etc etc etc. All were clearly visible and posted all over the place.

So on this day, we had a pallet of goods, and misc equipment and furnishings being shipped by freight to a convention. It all totaled to about 600-700lbs. I brought the pallet down to the dock and noticed a real fancy looking bmw suv parked in the spot at the dock. It wasn't a big deal, like I said, people park there from time to time and he did, in fact, leave his information visible. There was still a good hour to an hour and a half till the scheduled pick up, so I gave the info to the guy in the office that usually handles that kind of stuff while I went back to work getting ready for my runs for the day. A half hour passes and I notice the car still hasn't moved, so I ask my coworker what the deal was and he tells me that the guy said he was on his way back from where he was to move the car and that he would be back at any minute.

Another 15 minutes pass and the freight driver calls me to tell me he's 20 minutes away and to be ready. And of course, the car still has not moved. I cannot stress how important this convention is to the company, the owner starts freaking out and starts giving me a hard time. I tell my coworker to call the guy for the 3rd time, and the guy tells him very rudely that he'll be back soon and hangs up on my coworker. I talk to the building owner to try and find out which loft the car belongs to and he has no idea. I call around to the other tenants and the ones that answer do not recognize the car. So I grab our heavy duty pallet jacket and head downstairs to prepare for the worst. 15 minutes later, and here comes the freight truck pulling into the parking lot. I try to explain the situation to him, but he tells me that he's on a schedule and that if we can't get the car to move in 20 minutes, he was leaving with or without our pallet. I can see my boss with this worried/angry look on his face glaring at me, so I decide to call the guy myself. This is how the conversation goes:

(Entitled Ass: EA Coworker: CW Nuka: Me)

Me: Hey is this EA?

EA: Yeah, who's calling?

Me: Hey, my name is Nuka, I work with CW. We've been calling you about moving your car, are you almost here?

EA: Yeah man, almost there.

Me: Can you give me an estimate? Cause our freight truck is here and he can't pull into the loading dock with your car here.

EA: Haha I'll be honest with you bro, i'm in "Super far away city" right now.

Me: Dude that's 2 hours away by car! What the fuck man, you've been telling my guy here that you're on your way. Have you even left yet? Or does someone here have a spare key or something?

EA: Chill Bro, I'll get there when I get there. I took the train here and I ain't ready to come back yet. And of course nobody has my keys, why would they? It's my fuckin car.

Me: Dude there all kinds of signs here that say no parking. What are we supposed to do now?

EA: I don't give a fuck, tell the driver to wait or come back later.

I see the driver tapping his watch looking impatient.

Me: Alright man, we tried to do this the civil way. I'm giving you a heads up that we're gonna have to use the ramp to bring down the pallet. It's a heavy ass pallet and we don't have that many guys here, so I can't guarantee nothing is gonna happen to your car. I'll do my best though.

EA: What the fuck does that mean?

I hang up on him and tell CW to get as many of the office guys that are willing to help. I swing by the building office and explain the situation to the owner and he gives me a... not so confident thumbs up, already knowing that it's gonna be a long day for him. I can hear my phone vibrating like crazy, but I was already done with this guy. I get back to the dock and I see my friend and 3 of my scrawniest and out of shape coworkers. I explain to the driver that we were gonna bring the pallet down on the ramp and he insists on helping to get it done quicker. He takes the handle to control the pace while everyone else just braces against the pallet to offset the weight. Literally the second the pallet jack is fully on the ramp, the driver loses control of the fidgety handle and slams the full force of the pallet into the dudes headlights. My friend and I can't help but burst our laughing. We look up and see the building owner and the guys friend who actually lives there watching in horror from the balcony above the dock. I clearly hear his friend say "oh shit, they hit your car!" and we start laughing even more. Honestly, we were laughing probably loud enough for him to hear us.

The driver starts freaking out, because this was technically his fault. I calm him down and tell him that we just need to finish. Holy moly, pushing that 700lb pallet back up the ramp to get it out of the headlight socket was ridiculously exhausting. Honestly, we couldn't even get it completely out. It ended up doing a lot more damage and caused a really deep scratch on that front panel as it scraped loose. I gave the driver my information and told him that the car owner would most likely be the one at fault, but he was welcome to call me if he needed me to make a statement.

We all had a good laugh about it. Probably would've felt worse if the car owner wasn't such an ass. I heard someone making a huge stink when I was leaving for the day, but nothing ever came of it. I did notice a ton of new liability and no parking signs pop up all over the building though haha. I never saw the guys car again, but the friend would give me the stink eye on the rare occasion that we bumped into each other.

The moral of the story, leave your keys with someone that can move your car if you know it may be in the way, or just pay the 7 bucks to leave it in a nearby lot. Also, don't be an ass.

(source) story by (/u/UnencumberedNuka)