#so i’m really curious about what the ‘jury’ decided wasn’t good enough to even be nominated

[self-titled-lives]

this is nothing short of concerning

[jaskiersvalley]

I absolutely love your writing!! It's so very enjoyable and your au's are absolutely delightful. I just thought you should know.

Thank you so much, Nonnie! AUs are something I really enjoy and to hear that others find them fun makes me so very happy. As a little thank you, here’s another AU feat Kaer Morhen Radio and a Jaskier driving an 18 wheeler.

Life was a lonely one on the road. There were many acquaintances and other drivers Jaskier had a passing friendship with, Valdo Marx had the annoying habit of having similar routes to him - they did say mimicry was the highest form of compliment. Alas, nobody was a steady presence in Jaskier’s life. Well, nobody who was aware of him. Though there was the Kaer Morhen Radio family. They were the closest Jaskier had to everyday friends, as sad as that sounded.

“Good morning fuckheads.” Such a declaration could only mean it was 6am and Lambert had taken over. Instinctively, Jaskier was smiling as he sat up with a yawn. Most radio stations liked to gently rouse listeners with swelling music that got more up beat as the day went on. Not Kaer Morhen Radio. They had Lambert as their morning DJ, there to wake sensitive ears in more and more creative ways. He had become known for his unique way to wake listeners up; from bringing in pots to bang to trying to imitate the mating call of a moose at full volume. The only thing listeners loved more than Lambert being a general prick was his flirtation with Aiden who did weather and traffic announcements.

“And, in those four famous words: and now, the weather,” Lambert announced gleefully. After a long moment of silence, he snickered. “We shall have to give Aiden a moment to climb out from under the desk and rinse his mouth. In the mean time, here’s a banger.”

The banger, Jaskier was surprised to find, was quite literally a recording of someone (possibly Lambert) attempting to play drums (badly) on some kitchen pots. By the time the piece reached its rather boisterous end, it seemed that Aiden was no longer preoccupied.

“The weather today-” Jaskier tuned Aiden’s words out in favour of figuring out whether he was messing around or whether he really did sound so husky and gravelly thanks to having his throat fucked. It was quite the conundrum and Jaskier spent the start of his morning drive wondering how many complaints Lambert and Aiden will get now. Their record was 36 for the game of “identify that noise” wherein they stuck their fingers in various containers and made them squelch. To that day, nobody knew whether the last one really was, in Lambert’s words, “Aiden’s well used hole and my come”.

Afternoons were much more peaceful. Eskel took over at 2pm and he was laid back, played soothing music and gave the impression of being a very calm and reliable member of society. Jaskier always maintained it was an impression because, among all the chat, Eskel would sometimes drop a strange little fact that made him do a double take or two.

“This next song,” Eskel had once said, “was written while under the influence of cocaine.” It was a reasonable enough fact to share, Jaskier had been listening while stuck in a traffic jam along a motorway. “How they managed to write it though, I have no idea. Cocaine is terrible for your focus, I could barely scratch an itch before being distracted by something else. So kudos to the writers for creating a whole song while off their face.”

Which was something Jaskier had never thought Eskel would know anything about. He always seemed to demure, the solid rock of Kaer Morhen Radio. He balanced out Yennefer’s news updates perfectly. It was probably why Jaskier liked him so much, now that he thought of it. The surface innocence mixed in with hints of a very colourful life lived beneath the steady exterior. Well, hints other than the incident where Eskel somehow managed to not turn his microphone off and had a conversation about going to a rave with someone who worked at the radio station. Nobody knew the man’s name and his answers were half muffled but listeners swore they heard him suggest something along the lines of a collar and leash - which Eskel had hummed in agreement to, sounding all too happy. When questioned, Eskel resolutely refused to name the mystery man but conceded that there had been a rave. Jury was out whether Eskel had grumbled about being ‘in ecstasy’ or ‘on ecstasy’ for it. And there was definitely a picture of floating around the internet of him in a collar at what definitely looked like an underground rave.

The real reason Jaskier listened to Kaer Morhen Radio was the late night DJ. 10pm on the dot, Eskel would flick the switch and a prerecorded intro played, announcing that it was Late Late Nights with Geralt. Between 10pm and 6am, Geralt manned the station. The only reason Jaskier knew his name was because of the intro. Otherwise the man was silent other than a few hums between songs. Sometimes, presumably when he knocked something over, there would be a growled “fuck” that listeners lived for.

As little as Geralt said, Jaskier was in love. The music was eclectic and death metal could be followed up by electro swing or grime. There was to way to predict just what Geralt would play next, he didn’t take requests, didn’t talk to his listeners. But, somehow, he still drew them in. Jaskier had made the mistake of looking Geralt up online and swooned a little at the few pictures available. It seemed Geralt was an elusive man, somehow managing to turn away from cameras with an uncanny ability. Though a few pictures did exist of Lambert and Eskel on either side of him, quite literally holding him down for a photo.

Truthfully, Geralt was one of the main reasons Jaskier chose to do overnight hauls. Not only did they pay better, he also had Geralt’s nonverbal grunts and hmms to look forward to. He was well aware that it was an infatuation and nothing more. He’d never met Geralt before, Geralt wasn’t even aware of his existence. So, really, Jaskier could daydream all he wanted but had no intention of doing anything more.

Except, Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder. Geralt had such range in his musical taste, maybe he would like what Jaskier wrote. It was a rare night off and Jaskier was well into the bottle with Valdo when they got talking, egging each other on about who was the better musician. It ended with Jaskier drunkenly posting a CD of his music to Kaer Morhen Radio, addressed for Geralt. When he woke up in the morning, on the floor next to his couch which was occupied by Valdo, Jaskier groaned.

Thankfully, there was never a mention or even a single note of his music in the next week. Slowly, Jaskier relaxed, only a little disappointed that his music hadn’t even been acknowledged by Geralt. He almost had a heart attack when eight days later, Lambert came on air with a mad cackle.

“Morning fuckheads!” Lambert sounded more cheery than ever before. “You’ll never guess what I found. Geralt has been hoarding new music. Good music. Said it was for him. Well, I have decided he cannot hold this back from us. If you’re listening, Jaskier, your note was hilarious. I hope your hangover was worth it. Thanks for the CD!”

There was a growl that sounded like Geralt storming into the booth but the microphone was cut and Jaskier’s song started playing. Jaskier almost crashed his truck in shock. Especially when Lambert declared it so good, they would play it again and, sure enough, the song went back to the beginning to play twice in a row.

If it had just been Lambert, Jaskier would have quietly died of shame, accepting that he was being mocked. But Eskel got in on it too. That afternoon he introduced Jaskier’s song with the promise that management were looking into getting in touch with him about the music. Even worse, a listener even requested the song later that evening. Jaskier was both in heaven and hell at the same time. That night, Geralt didn’t play his song and Jaskier was only a little disappointed.

His phone rang the next day.

“Good afternoon, my name is Vesemir, I’m calling from Kaer Morhen Radio. May I speak to Jaskier?”

Jaskier promptly choked. He got an invitation to the studio. It was a good seven days of driving away and Jaskier searched for a contract that would take him across the continent. While he drove, he got a bit braver and started e-mailing the radio station on his breaks.

His written request for songs were acknowledged by a hum and the song coming on next. When he asked Geralt for a shout out, he got obnoxious pop music playing instead. So Jaskier asked for two hums if Geralt wanted to meet and three if he didn’t. Thus, there was a “fuck” on air and the Beauty and the Beast theme song started playing. It was safe to say Jaskier didn’t understand it but he wasn’t deterred.

By the time Jaskier got into town and made his delivery, it was almost 6am. There was no time he had been specifically invited for and he ended up approaching the building at the same time Lambert showed up with Aiden and three large cups of coffee in hand.

“Excuse me,” he called out, “I’m here to see Vesemir.”

“Bit early for that.”

“He never gave me a time so I figured an early start would be appreciated.” It wasn’t exactly a lie but Jaskier kind of wanted to meet Geralt who would be finishing up soon.

For some bizarre reason, Jaskier was led into the radio studio, no questions asked. Surely it was a security issue but then again, Jaskier checked out Lambert and Aiden, they would no doubt be able to handle any issues. Then there was Geralt, stepping out of the booth, Lambert’s intro queued up. He froze when he spotted Jaskier and, curiously, glanced away, seemingly all shy. The curious response was explained away all too soon. There, on the wall, was Jaskier’s CD and a polaroid of him and Valdo, helpfully labeled “The Talent” with an arrow to Jaskier and “The Fake” pointing at Valdo.

“You here for Vesemir?” Geralt asked eventually, sipping at one of the cups Lambert had brought.

“Amongst other things,” Jaskier replied.

“He won’t be here until 10. Why don’t we go grab breakfast while you wait?”

Aiden wolf whistled at that and Lambert whooped, arms in the air.

“My dear fuckheads,” he purred into the microphone, “we have a date between our local cryptid and our mystery siren. Please wish them luck.”

It turned out that, in person, Geralt was a bit more talkative than on air. And Jaskier helped fill any silence without any problems. He ended up being later than planned to meet Vesemir and Tissaia who had a very handsome cheque for him for playing his music and also his phone number with the promise of passing it on to some connections who had expressed an interest in his music.

Never before had Jaskier thought he would thank Valdo Marx for anything. But, one drinking session with him had landed Jaskier with not only a contract with a record label but also a boyfriend. With his first pay, Jaskier send Valdo the biggest bouquet of flowers humanly possible.

[serenasoutherlyns]

Connections

a/n: part one (lmao maybe) of me writing Serena being gay into episodes of L&O. you cannot tell me that Serena Southerlyn and Kay Hartley did not have an epic, tortured (for Serena, anyway) love affair in law school; and you cannot convince me that Serena isn't nice enough to fall for her tricks again. without further ado... any notes or feedback is appreciated! i love you all more than i love chocolate covered espresso beans.

Serena’s mind is buzzing. Her fingertips are on fire. She presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth, hoping that the rage isn’t showing on her face beyond a clenched jaw. She can’t believe she let this happen again.

Kay Hartley’s reputation looms higher than almost anybody else’s. She’s that 1L with a look that pierces, the one who’ll do anything to get what she wants, the one who’s LSAT score may as well have been perfect. She hangs in the back of classes, but the only thing that does is raise her air of mystery, she still answers correctly when called on. Kay never shows up to parties, because she’s always already there. You could call it sulking, but she prefers to think of it as observing. Tonight, she’s watching Serena.

Serena is beautiful, but no grand assumptions follow in front of her wherever she goes. She’s a couple years older than Kay, but only one ahead. She’s probably Catholic. Just a smidge below rich— she’s skirt suits, not sweater sets. Serena seems like the kind of girl who would be proud if someone said she couldn’t hang. Kay’s seen her going off on feminist rants at guys on the quad but they’ve all seemed friendly. She doesn’t seem militant. Kay can’t decide if she pings or she doesn’t.

That question is answered. Serena’s been playing beer pong (seriously? They aren’t undergrads) with a group of guys. When she misses two in a row, instead of getting all giggly, flipping her hair around, and hanging off some guy’s arm until he lets her win; she focuses in on the ball (strike one), ties her hair up in a ponytail (strike two), and high fives the guy beside her when she scores (strike three). She pings. Kay wants her.

Kay always gets what she wants. Serena’s kicking herself for forgetting that.

“She played me, Jack,” she says, trying to maintain a work-appropriate amount of poison in her words. “I all but handed her that stupid defense.” Jack tries to say something, but Serena, once in rant mode, is not about to leave it. “She comes to me, looking all forlorn and doe-eyed, telling me all about how much she loves her poor aunt, and I believed her, like an idiot--”

“You’re not an idiot, Serena--”

“She used me, Jack! As though she could have suddenly developed real emotions--”

“Don’t beat yourself up too much, I mean, Arthur and I signed off on it too--”

“Because I convinced you to! And now, a murderer might walk because I let Kay Hartley and her ways” she says the word “ways” like they’re something criminal themselves, “convince me to work for her side.”

Serena’s more distressed than she ought to be. Kay’s new defense is flimsy at best, Jack isn’t all that worried. “Imminent” is a rather clearly defined word, at least in case law. Oh. Serena is-- crying? Nothing legal is likely to help here anymore. “How well do you two really know each other? If you don’t mind my asking? Because it seems like there’s something else here, I mean, did she do something to you in school? Spill coffee on your notes, steal your boyfriend?”

The glare she shoots his way reminds him that a) for some reason, the old McCoy charm has always been lost on Southerlyn and b) sometimes he should think about shutting up.

“No, Jack, she didn’t steal my boyfriend.” Serena has given up on keeping the poison out.

What a fucking joke, Serena thinks. Six months. Of, frankly, mind-blowing sex; soft mornings in each others’ beds, late nights studying with Kay in her lap, anxious looks across crowded rooms. Certainly she’d heard the whispers. Serena didn’t believe them. When they were confirmed to be true the first time, Serena thought she could fix her. Evidently, that would not be possible.

They’re at another house party. Serena honestly doesn’t like them very much anymore, but, and she hates this the most, social connections would likely turn out to be a blessing for her upon graduation. Hers aren’t built in like Kay’s are. Serena has a job. She makes so many expensive lattes a week that the texture of milk foam makes her gag now. She does it with a smile, and then she goes to class all day, and then she does her studying, and then she gets up at 5 AM to make more lattes. All things considered, it’s not a bad gig. At least she’s not footing the bill for school itself. Still, watching Kay catch up with kids she went to prep school, summer camp, with at every party and lecture had been hard to learn to handle.

Serena’s getting a cup of water in the kitchen when she hears a song she actually likes finally come on over the speakers. She sips quickly. Surely, she can get Kay to dance one dance with her before the night is over, despite her usual routine of hanging back.

Clearly, that won’t be happening. Because, when she gets out into the main room again, Kay is practically in Bobby Myles’ lap, laughing along to something he’s saying. Bobby Myles is a sexist pig, Kay has said about as much to her before. Serena guesses that doesn’t matter in the end.

It’s not like she has to shout it from the rooftops. Serena’s not stupid, she knows that neither of them are going to be coming out any time soon. It would be a lot easier to handle if Kay could at least pretend to respect her.

It’s the most relief she’s felt at a conviction in a long time. She gets the jury’s sympathy, she really does. But the look of, not despair, but panic on Kay’s face-- priceless. Relief might be the wrong word. Serena feels smug. It feels good to finally win one. Kay even called her to try and grovel for a sentencing recommendation. She’ll do what she can, for Mrs. Payton’s sake, though thought of Kay not getting something she asked for is tempting.

“We all deal with things in our own way, I guess,” Jack says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Serena asks him. Wherever this is going, she wants to see its conclusion.

“Just that,” Jack is off to a running start, it would appear, “there’s got to be something deeper here, right?” Serena raises her eyebrows at him, curious as to what on earth his guess is. “I mean, it’s one thing to squeeze you once, Serena, but a second time? She must know you’re not going to fall for it again.”

“You’d be surprised, Jack,” Serena says, wondering how much hinting she can get away with, “Kay can be quite,” she pauses looking for the words, “convincing.”

“How so?” Jack seems to truly not have a clue here. Serena decides to throw him a line.

“How did Kay look at you?” she asked. Jack is not going to bite, so Serena does her best desperate, seductive, emotional look. “Like that, right?” Jack laughs.

“Guess so, just about. Lots of women look at me like that,” Jack says, cutting himself before he finishes that sentence with not you, though.

“Good for you. How did Kay look at me?”

Serena has, at this point, led him to the conclusion. It dawns on him. He says all he can think to. “So she definitely didn’t steal your boyfriend, then.”

“No, no she did not.” Serena says, glad that he didn’t freak out on her. It’s impossible to avoid the rumors about Jack, and at first she’d been worried that he wouldn’t want a deputy who wasn’t interested in extra-curriculars. She wasn’t going to bring this up, but Kay had waltzed onto her turf with her ways; and Jack was not a man who could leave curiosities alone.

“Maybe keep this away from Arthur?” she asked “I’m still sussing him out.”

“Of course,” Jack says. “And I’m glad it wasn’t me all this time.”

Serena rolls her eyes at him as they step onto the elevator.

---

tags: @nocreditinthestraightworld @imaginaryoperagloves

[freshouttaparsnips]

"Don't worry... it'll all be okay."

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a new fic for @steamyspectacles!! its all edgeberry babey

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, Blue and Stretch end up in Underfell, injury

read the first chapter on AO3

or read it below!

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The snow drifts were entirely too deep, in Papyrus’ opinion. Life in the Underground was hell enough, but dealing with the miscreants and LV rabid monsters that lived in Snowdin Forest, while also having to plow through a foot of snow to get anywhere was a little tiring.

He was being honest when he said that he wouldn’t be surprised if one day the snow was his downfall. His combat boots made things a little easier, but he was still slower after a blizzard than he would have liked. Sans was almost always at his side, ready to snipe any targets that came from behind, but today he’d been summoned by the King to do a Judgement.

Papyrus detested Judgements. They left his brother feeling worn down and exhausted, which was no way to make his way back home, his magic having been wasted on some supposed criminal that likely was just trying to feed their family. There was no fair system, no real trial or jury, just a tyrant that wanted blood for the slights of the innocent.

If he’d had his choice, Papyrus would have overthrown the King years ago, but Undyne would have never forgiven him. Might have even fought against him, and he couldn’t… wouldn’t kill his best friend. She’d have to be taken out of the equation if he was to do much of anything about the power imbalance, and so far he’d not found a solution-

The sound of a branch cracking made Papyrus stop in his tracks, listening intently for the breathing of whatever monster was trying to sneak up on him. There was nothing, which meant that they didn’t have to breathe… at least not much. He stood straight, crimson eyelights scouring the spaces between the trees off the path, and gave a commanding bark.

“Who is there, sneaking around the forest? I’ll let you live if you come out peacefully.”

He was a skeleton of his word; as soon as there was a shuffling around one far off tree, he let his magic cool down. The intent slowly diffused through the air, and a small, but deep voice came from the tree.

“If… if I come out, you won’t hurt us?”

Papyrus tilted his head, curious but a little worried. “You have my word as guardsman.”

There was a bit more shuffling, before a short skeleton, one that had an uncanny resemblance to his brother, stepped out, gloved hands worrying around a torn blue bandana. His eyelights were white pinpricks, a hunted look on his face as his eyes darted around, as if checking for anyone close by.

“My name is Papyrus, what do you go by?” he asked, watching as the other skeleton’s face seemed to brighten up, before dimming again. It was an expression he’d seen before, but not on anyone else’s face but his brother’s. It was confirming a lot about the situation that Papyrus didn’t really want confirmed, but what he said next all but cinched it.

“I’m pretty sure you know the answer to that already, heh.” he answered, before reaching back behind the tree again, heaving with what sounded like a great effort. Papyrus watched, slack jawed as a much taller skeleton was dragged out, a large tear in the front of their garishly orange hoodie.

There was marrow staining the front, both dried and new, and the… the Sans staring up at him with pleading eyes only had to say a single “Please help us.” before Papyrus was pulling out his phone and several monster candies as he knelt down in the snow to help.

~.~

It took nearly 20 minutes for Sans to arrive, his own Sans, and in that time he’d named this new Sans and Papyrus “Blue” and “Rus”. Blue for the bright color of his bandana, and Rus because Papyrus was unimaginative and the guy needed a name that wasn’t his own.

Blue had been amenable enough to the nickname, steadily feeding his brother the candies and using intermittent bursts of healing magic that had Papyrus gawking. There were few in the Underground that knew how to heal, and even fewer that would use it so openly like this.

Subtly checking Blue, then Rus when his fears were confirmed, Papyrus sighed as he sat back on his heels. Not a single LV to their names, which meant that this was part of his brother’s interdimensional shenanigans.

Sans showed up like usual, hands in his pockets and a rigid grin on his face. Blue didn’t seem intimidated at least; if anything he seemed exhausted, and with all the magic he’d been expending, Papyrus believed it.

The first thing Sans did was ask “So where the fuck are yer two from?”

Blue had sighed, relaxing back against the tree as his brother laid in his lap. “Universe 3611, or at least that’s what dear ole dad had us marked down as.” He looked up, staring Sans in the eyes. “We can’t go back.”

Sans stared down at them both, Papyrus watching as he seemingly made a few mental notes about the situation, before nodding.

“Naw, we wouldn’ expect ya to.” Sans crouched down, giving Rus another good look. “You know how to shortcut, ‘er is that his thing.”

Blue was hard staring at them both, seemingly trying to decide if they could be trusted, before shrugging. “We both can, but I don’t think he remembers how.”

Sans nodded. “Karma’s a bitch. Alrigh’, grab hold and don’ let go.”

Papyrus knew to take hold of his brother’s coat then, his main concern that Sans wouldn’t be able to make the full trip with how much magic he’d expended doing the Judgement, but in two short hops they were in their house, his first instincts to check every room, leading him from window to window as Sans helped Blue set his brother on the couch.

He listened as they both talked under their breath about different possibilities for how they’d gotten here, seemingly unsure but simultaneously aggravated about the turn of events.

“The kid… just didn’t even try to hold back.” Blue had admitted while Papyrus was checking the front door, the cold press of a blade to his throat making him cringe.

Still, he stood at the side of the couch as Sans sunk into it, exhausted, and put his hands on his hips.

“Don’t worry Blue, we’ll figure a way to make this work!”

Blue smiled at him, seemingly sadly, but nodded. “Yeah, we will.” Gazing down at his brother, he seemed to slump. “Somehow.”

And just like that, Papyrus was determined.

[debbiechanclub]

Best Two Out of Three, Part 9

Okay. So, listen. I’m obsessed with the Hangman/FTR dynamic going on right now. And I told this to @what-does-mine-say and I previously talked myself out of adding said dynamic to this fic. But, listen. I can’t talk myself out of it anymore. And that’s all I’m gonna say.

But I think you’ll like it? *runs away*

Best Two Out of Three

Part: 9/26

Pairing: Kenny Omega x OFC x Cash Wheeler and Adam Page x OFC

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 3.4k

Catch up on previous parts here.

Alex went down early to her usual ringside spot for the AEW Dark taping the next day. She wanted to be alone and, at the moment, that was about the only place she could go to get some peace and quiet.

Kenny had known she was upset from the moment she’d walked back through the door last night. He’d tried his best to get her to talk about it, but she hadn’t wanted to. What could she have possibly said? “Your tag team partner doesn’t approve of us because he assumes you’re just going to hurt me again”? That would have gone over like a lead balloon. So instead, she’d let Kenny take her mind off of it. It had worked—until it was time to go to sleep. Worry and anxiety had haunted her brain all night, keeping her from rest. By her best guess, she’d gotten five hours, tops.

Chief amongst those worries and anxieties was Adam. Alex didn’t understand why he seemed to be so against her and Kenny. She understood that he’d experienced her unhappiness from a front row seat the last time around; she appreciated that he didn’t want her to go through that again. But Kenny was his friend, too. Didn’t he want to at least give him a second chance to prove himself? She did. Why wasn’t that good enough for Adam?

But her confusion over Adam’s attitude was far from the only thing that had kept her awake; Chuck and his alleged feelings were a close second. Like she’d told Kenny when she’d broken down to him after the match yesterday, Alex had never taken Chuck’s drunken profession of love too seriously. She just didn’t think of him in that way. He was Chuck. He was literally her best friend in the entire world; him and the other two morons. But, admittedly, the moron who’d yelled at her in the locker room yesterday had hit the nail on the head. She had flirted with Chuck because she’d known he’d give her the attention Kenny wouldn’t—and she hadn’t stopped to consider how that might have made Chuck feel. And that made Alex feel like the shittiest person on planet Earth.

She heard the shuffle of feet on the entrance ramp and looked up. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat when she saw who it was. Trent.

He came to a stop a few feet away. “Hey. I hope you don’t mind; Kris said I could find you here.”

She looked up at him, a curious expression on her face. His hands were behind his back; it was obvious he was holding something. “What do you have?” she cautiously asked.

“A peace offering,” he said, and he pulled his hands from behind his back to reveal a bag of candy. The biggest bag of Sour Patch Kids that Alex had ever seen, to be specific. “I figured it’s like the commercial,” he explained. “I was sour yesterday, and now I’m sweet. Plus I know they’re your favorite, so…”

He awkwardly trailed off. Alex had to actively bite back a grin. “Well, jury’s still out on you being sweet, but thank you. Really.” She accepted the candy as he sat down next to her. “This is the second peace offering I’ve gotten in less than twenty-four hours,” she mused.

He sent her a curious look. “Really?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Adam bought me a drink last night. He apologized about the match. Said he let his emotions get the best of him.”

Trent pursed his lips. But if he had something smart to say about Adam, he kept it to himself. Instead, he looked sheepishly down at the floor. “I’m sorry about what I said yesterday. I was upset and trying to stick up for Chuck… but I crossed a line.”

Alex frowned. She didn’t want to drag this out any longer than it needed to be. “I know,” she said. “You did cross a line… but I forgive you. I know it was said in the heat of the moment. Besides… you weren’t exactly wrong about me flirting with Chuck.”

Trent’s expression mirrored hers. “You should talk to him,” he said. “I don’t think he slept last night.”

She ran a tired hand through her hair. “I didn’t, either. God, this whole thing is such a mess. I was already under enough stress with Adam and Callie without throwing my personal life into the mix too.”

“Not to mention we’re fighting Adam and Kenny for the tag titles,” Trent added. She sent him a look.

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.”

He gave a wry laugh, but it faded fast as his expression grew somber again. “Can I say something without you getting upset?”

Alex blinked. “If you need to preface it like that, it means it’s probably gonna upset me, Trent.”

“I know, but just hear me out, alright?”

Something about the earnest look on his face gave her pause. “Okay,” she agreed.

Trent nodded. He looked out at the empty ring as he spoke. “I’ve known Kenny a long time. Longer than you or Adam have. And I can say without a shadow of a doubt that he’s a commitment-phobe. And it’s not that he’s a player or anything like that… he’s just married to his work. Wrestling has always been and probably always will be his number one priority, and so even when he actually tries to have a relationship, it inevitably falls apart because he always ends up neglecting it in favor of work. I mean, correct me if I’m wrong… but isn’t that why you two didn’t work out last time?”

Alex frowned again. No, he wasn’t wrong; that was exactly why she and Kenny hadn’t worked out last time. He’d made work the priority and, as a result, she’d constantly felt like an afterthought. But she’d chalked it up to the fact that he was an EVP and AEW had only just gotten off the ground at the time; they hadn’t even started the TV show yet. But if Trent was telling her that Kenny had always been that way… it would be a lie to say it didn’t worry her.

“I’m not trying to convince you that Kenny’s a bad guy. He’s not,” Trent added, as if he was worried that was what she thought he was trying to do. “I just think you deserve better than what he can probably give you.”

Trent looked back down at the floor, his piece said, and Alex did the same. But then she put the bag of candy down and pulled him into a tight hug. “It means a lot that you think that,” she said. “But you know only I can decide what’s best for me, Trent.”

“I know,” he said as he squeezed her back. “But I want the best for you, too.”

They hugged a few seconds longer before Alex pulled back. “Truce?” she asked.

He smirked. “Truce. I really don’t like fighting with you. You’re vicious.”

Her mouth dropped in mock-offense. “What?”

“Come on,” he flatly returned. “You didn’t need to throw out that comment about me trying it with you.”

“Well, you did,” she returned. “At New Year’s. Remember?”

“Yeah, I know what you were referring to,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “You looked hot that night, sue me.”

She smirked. “Aw, thanks, Trenty.”

“Shut up,” he muttered; but he was smirking, too. “Now are you gonna share those, or what?” He nodded at the Sour Patch Kids. “It’s a two-pound bag.”

Alex genially rolled her eyes as she picked up the bag and ripped it open. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” she said as she offered it to him, happy to have resolved at least one of her anxieties.

* * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile in catering, Callie sat at a table with Britt and Allie; and, unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long for conversation to turn to Alex.

“You should ask for a rematch ASAP,” Britt said. “Ask Cody—he’ll be impartial.”

“Ban everyone from ringside, too,” Allie added. “Even Adam, if I were you.”

“Trust me, I want everyone banned,” Callie assured. “I want no DQ, too.”

Britt rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you got disqualified like that. Terrible refereeing. And then the way Kenny took Alex’s side over yours?” She scoffed. “Rude.”

Callie glanced between them. She’d been sitting on a juicy piece of gossip all day, and now seemed like the perfect time to unleash it. “You know she slept in his room last night?”

“What?” Britt let out a scandalized gasp. “No. Really?”

Callie nodded. “Adam met Alex at the hotel bar last night because he wanted to make amends,” she explained with a roll of her eyes. “When he came back up to our room, he told me she’d said she was staying with Kenny.”

Allie arched a conspiratorial brow. “That’s interesting. Because I just saw Alex looking pretty cozy with Trent down at ringside.”

If possible, Britt’s eyes went even bigger. “And she was all over Cash at my party last week?” She shook her head. “I mean, good for her, I guess. I hope she’s using protection.”

Callie rolled her eyes. Adam had also told her that Alex was only staying in Kenny’s room because she’d gotten in a huge fight with Trent after their match. Knowing that, maybe Allie hadn’t seen what she’d thought she had. But Callie kept that information to herself. She’d let Allie and Britt believe whatever they wanted to about Alex.

“Hey, baby.” Adam suddenly joined them at the table. “Can I talk you?” He glanced at Britt and Allie. “Alone?”

Britt pursed her lips. “Fine.”

Callie smirked at the dramatic expression on Britt’s face as she and Allie got up to leave. Once they were gone, she turned and smiled at Adam. “What’s up? Where’ve you been?” she asked as she placed a hand on his thigh. “I looked for you in the dressing room before I came here, but you weren’t there.”

“Yeah, I was talking to FTR,” he explained. “And while we were talking I got an idea, and I wanted to run it by you.”

She arched a curious brow. “Okay…” she started; but Adam went on before she could even ask.

“So you know I’ve known them for a while, right? Well, we started talking about how we need to get together and catch up now that they’re in AEW. And I thought, fuck it, it’s been a while since we threw a party, and they said they’d be willing to come up. So, long story short, we’re having a cookout on Saturday and Cash and Dax are coming.”

He finally stopped to take a breath. Callie couldn’t help the grin that broke out over her face. He was obviously very excited about this cookout. “Okay. I think that sounds fun; it’ll be good for you all to catch up.”

“Yeah, and I want to invite Alex, too.”

Callie’s face fell. “What?”

“Just hear me out,” he asked. When she didn’t protest, he went on. “I know you haven’t had much reason to like her. But Alex’s friendship is important to me, Cal. Not as important as us, obviously; but important, nonetheless. And I would really, really appreciate it if you two could at least try to get along.”

He stared at her with those blue puppy dog eyes of his, and Callie worried at her lip. Did she like the idea of Alex getting drunk at their house this weekend? No; absolutely not. But there was no possible way she could deny Adam when he looked at her like that. “Fine,” she relented. “I’ll try. But it’s a two-way street, Adam.”

He held up his hands. “I know, I know. I’ll say the same to her,” he said. But then Callie had a thought.

“What about Kenny? Are you inviting him too since he and Alex are… whatever they are?”

Adam hesitated. And then he said, “I don’t think Kenny can this weekend. He’s filming a commercial, or something.”

Callie nodded, quietly relieved to hear it. She didn’t think she could handle Alex and Kenny both being at their house. “Okay. Well, I hope you know I’m only going along with this because I love you.”

He grinned at her. “I know. I love you too,” he said, and he pulled her into a kiss. When they broke apart, he jumped up from the table. “Alright, I’m gonna go find Alex.”

Callie rolled her eyes as he hurried out of catering. She really hoped she wouldn’t regret agreeing to this.

* * * * * * * * * *

“What?”

Alex gaped up at Adam, the two-pound bag of Sour Patch Kids cradled in her arm. He’d intercepted her on the way to back to the locker room after she’d finished talking with Trent—and he’d asked her something ridiculous.

“That’s the exact same reaction Callie had,” Adam said. “See, you two already have more in common than you think.”

She pursed her lips at his smirk. It wasn’t funny. “So, just to reiterate,” she started. “You want me to come to a cookout at your house where Callie also lives, and where FTR will also be?”

He nodded. “That’s what I said, yeah.”

She gave him a blank look. “Adam, I love you. You’re one of my dearest friends. But on the scale of terrible ideas, that ranks somewhere between recipe for disaster and dumpster fire.”

“What?” He looked to the ceiling in frustration. “Alex, come on. You just said last night that you missed the way things used to be between us. Well, this is me trying to fix that.”

Alex fidgeted anxiously under his gaze and looked off into the distance. Truth be told, she appreciated what he was trying to do. But the prospect of hanging out with Callie wasn’t the only reason she was hesitant to accept the invitation. “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to hang out with Cash like that.”

Adam gave her a look like she’d grown a second head. “What? Why?”

“Because,” she breathed. “I was all over him at the party last week, and now that Kenny and I are together it just doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

His brow furrowed with confusion when she said that. “Wait. You’re together-together? Last night you said you were taking things slow, whatever the hell that means.”              

She rolled her eyes. “We are taking things slow,” she insisted. “And I didn’t mean together-together I just meant… you know what I meant.”

“Actually, no. I don’t,” he returned. “And besides, if Kenny has an issue with you hanging out with a guy you drunkenly flirted with once before you’ve even figured out what you two are… then you probably shouldn’t be with him, anyway.”

Alex glared up at him. If that was the argument he was going to make, she didn’t want to hear it. “Well, speaking of your tag team partner, I was on my way to find him before you stopped me.”

She pushed past him. He called after her as she walked away. “Would you at least think about it?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine!” she said just to get him to shut up, and she marched down the hall without a second glance. She wanted to drop the candy off with her things and then go talk to Kenny. She hadn’t seen him since they’d gotten to the arena… and after what Trent had said, she could use some reassurance. But as she rounded the corner to the area where the locker rooms were located, she slowed to a stop. Kenny was standing in the hallway talking to Hikaru Shida in Japanese. Hikaru let out a cutesy laugh and touched his arm. Alex froze—but before she could think too much of it, Hikaru spotted her and gave an excited wave.

“Oh—hi, Alex!”

She gave her a genuine smile as Kenny turned to look at her. Their eyes met, but only briefly. “Hi, Hikaru,” she greeted.

“I like your outfit!” she complimented. “It’s very… stylish!” She smiled again, proud of herself for thinking of the right word. That time, Alex couldn’t help but return her grin.

“Oh, thanks,” she said as she looked down at her oversized crop tee and cutoff shorts. “It’s pretty comfy, too.” She paused and looked between them. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”  

“Oh, no,” Kenny shook his head. “We were just talking about some things coming down the pipe, but I think we’re good, right?”

He looked back at Hikaru. She nodded. “Oh, yeah! Do you need to talk?”

Alex’s brow furrowed. “If you don’t mind.”

She shook her head. “No problem!” She looked back at Kenny and said something else in Japanese, and then she waved goodbye and walked off down the hall.

“Her English has gotten a lot better,” Alex commented.

“Yeah, she’s been working really hard at it,” Kenny said as he looked after her. Alex felt an unexpected twinge of jealousy in her gut—but then he turned to face her. “What’s up?” He smiled quizzically at the bag of Sour Patch Kids. “Where’d you get that?”

“Trent,” she answered. “It was a peace offering.”

His eyebrows arched in surprise. “So you talked him?”

She nodded. “He came to talk to me, actually. He apologized for what he said.” She looked down at her Chucks. “I guess you didn’t talk to him?”

Kenny’s face fell. “No. I’m sorry, baby. I’ve been nonstop busy since we got here.” He reached out and gently gripped her arm. She looked back up. “But it looks like I don’t need to. I’m glad you two worked it out.”

She nodded again and flashed a stiff smile. “Yeah. I guess Chuck is next.”

“I’m sure that conversation won’t be as difficult as you think,” Kenny encouraged. “He’s your best friend. He’ll understand.”

Alex frowned. She hoped he was right. But just as she was about to say so, Kenny checked his watch. “I hate to cut this short, but I have a meeting with Cody in ten minutes.”

She blinked. “Oh. Okay.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Today’s just been insane.” He took her by the arms and looked her in the eyes. “I’ll make it up to you tonight, alright?”

Her brow furrowed. “Aren’t you filming stuff for BTE tonight?”

“Yeah, but that shouldn’t take that long.” He kissed her on the forehead; Alex couldn’t help but feel like he’d done it just to keep her from arguing. “Go talk to Chuck; you’ll feel better afterward, I’m sure,” he said, and with a with a final apologetic look he turned and walked off down the hall, leaving Alex standing there with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

* * * * * * * * * *

Later that night, Alex packed up her things alongside Trent, Chuck, and James in the Best Friends locker room. Despite Kenny’s suggestion, she still hadn’t talked to Chuck—after their interaction, she just hadn’t been up for having that conversation. But bless his little heart, Chuck had acted like there wasn’t anything wrong at all throughout the entire Dark taping. It had cheered Alex up. Watching wrestling with him and Trent at ringside like they did every week had been just what she’d needed.

“Are you guys ready?” Trent asked as he zipped up his bag.

“Yeah,” Chuck said as James nodded. But Alex suddenly realized she was missing something.

“What’re you looking for?” Chuck asked as she rifled through her things.

“My phone,” she returned—but then she stopped in realization. “I think I left it under the seat at ringside.” She stood and moved toward the door. “I’ll meet you guys at the car,” she said, and she pushed her way out of the locker room without waiting for a response.

She hurried back through the halls, hoping she was right about where she’d left her phone—and that no one had picked it up. She was in such a rush that she cut around a corner hard and suddenly and unexpectedly collided with someone.

“Whoa!” The other person grabbed her by the arms to steady her. It was Cash, she realized. “You alright?” he asked.

Alex’s face flushed. She hadn’t seen Cash since the party last week… the party where she’d spent the entire night suggestively flirting with and practically flashing him. Needless to say, it was a bit embarrassing to literally run into him now, stone-cold sober. “Yeah,” she nodded. “Sorry… I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No worries,” he assured. “I’m glad I ran into you, actually.”

She smirked. “Literally?”

He grinned and awkwardly scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. So did Adam mention this weekend to you?”

Alex blinked. She hadn’t been expecting that. “About the cookout? Yeah. It’ll be nice for you guys to catch up.”

“Yeah...” he trailed off as he gave her a curious look. And then he asked, “He invited you too, didn’t he?”

She awkwardly bit her lip. “Yeah, he did. But um… I don’t know if I’m gonna go.”

“Oh,” he said. Alex froze. Was that… disappointment on his face? But if it was, it was gone as soon as it appeared. “Sure, I get it. You and Callie aren’t exactly friends.”

Her eyebrows arched. “No,” she smirked. “We’re not.”

He gave a short laugh. “Well, I’m not gonna try to convince you to go because that’s not my place. But, for what it’s worth… I hope you’ll be there.”

He gave her a crooked grin. Alex felt her stomach do a pleasant flip. It caught her completely off-guard. “Well, I’ll think about,” she suddenly found herself saying. “Adam only lives two hours from me so… it’s not a big deal.”

Cash nodded. “Cool. Well, hopefully I’ll see you Saturday, then.” And with that he backpedaled away from her, not breaking eye contact until he turned to round the corner. And after he’d gone, Alex remained standing there in the hall, flustered and confused by the butterflies in her stomach.

[fairytalelovedramas]

Asian Drama Watchlist & Review for Jan 2020

Wow, got through a lot of shows and films this month compared to my norm (probably due to my lack of a social life, but meh, that’s beside the point)!!!

So here are my thoughts and reviews for the shows I watched in January...  probably not going to be completely spoiler free

And yeah this got long, so putting my reviews below the break so it doesn’t take up the whole wall!!

Finished Watching this month:

1) Ashes of Love

Wowww, what a journey this show takes you on!!  It took me awhile to get through, as I often find with Fantasy CDramas, as I find it hard to binge too many eps at a time, but I was hooked from the start!  I love the actors, the characters, I loved the leads but fell in love with several side characters as well, the angst gave you all the feels, there were plenty of funny moments, and the love stories really made your heart flutter (I especially fell in love with the side love story, which is rare for me!).  Really loved this one!

Where I watched: Viki, also on Netflix

2) TharnType the Series

Hands down one of my favorite BL couples!!  Their chemistry is out of this world.  Are there problematic parts of the show?  Yes, most definitely, especially near the beginning, but their connection and sweet moments are worth it, and honestly I just made up my own head cannon where those parts don’t exist haha!!  I LOVE this couple, they way they look at each other and all the touches, ugh it just does things to me!!  And their acting was fabulous, I fell in love with Mew (more than I already was) and Gulf as well!

Where I watched: Links to Line TV (found on Official TharnType Twitter)

4) Coffee & Vanilla

Skinship, Skinship, Skinship!!  From ep 1, I was like woah!  So I started this one because I saw the 2 leads in Good Morning Call and think Dori Sakurada is just a beautiful human being and had SLS big time, so was curious to see him get the girl this time!!  And yeah he didn’t disappoint, he’s gorgeous and whoooo did that boy have some kinks!  Honestly, I thought their chemistry was good and I thoroughly enjoyed all the skinship scenes, if anything I would have been happy to see more of his kinky side actually get reciprocated haha!!  I personally enjoy a clingy, head-over-heels in love ML, and am for the alpha-male/innocent girl dynamic, and that’s exactly what you get!!!

I can see why this show wouldn’t be for everyone though, it has problematic parts for sure! It has a really weak FL who doesn’t really have a lot of character growth (despite her saying at the end she got stronger, I was like really??  fooled me!  but at least she’s aware of her weakness??), but her “innocent” character is one of the things that drives the story so it didn’t bother me that much.  I could have done without so much manhandling (by pretty much every male in the series).  I could see how it could be triggering for some.  I also thought she had the worst best friend in the world and was way too forgiving.  But if you can get over these points, I enjoyed it quite a lot! I may make some gifs for this one since there are several scenes I liked and no one seems to be making any!!

Where I watched: Viki

3) He is Psychometric

So this was different than I expected.  Not bad by any means, just different.  I was expecting more romance, more healing from shared trauma, etc.  Maybe I was hoping it would be a bit more like Just Between Lovers after seeing that first ep and the trauma?  But I know nothing will ever replace that show in my heart, it will always be a fave!  Anyways, this wasn’t like that one haha!  It was a lot more mystery/crime genre than anything, which isn’t my fave, but there were a few sweet moments and the acting was sooo good and by the time I realized the romance & story wasn’t really what I was expecting I was drawn into the mystery I had to know how it ended!

Where I watched: Viki

5) Theory of Love

I love OffGun as celebrities and in their variety shows, but never saw them in a series so decided to give this one a go!  Wow, I totally ended up in a major binge session with this one!! I didn’t want to stop watching!  I’ve always thought Gun was a cutie, but after seeing him act I have a whole new respect for him.  Did I think it was one of the best BL stories I’ve seen?  No.  But they have great chemistry and it was a cute story overall!  Really enjoyed this one!!

Where I watched: YouTube (GMM channel)

6) Dark Blue Kiss

I’ve seen the various Kiss prequels so was excited about this one!  Honestly, I felt the MorkSun story overpowered PeteKao a bit but am not complaining as I loved both stories!  There were a lot of sweet moments and just enough angst to keep you interested.  But above all, I have to say the superstars of the series were the parents!!  The acceptance every person should get, open talks about sex and condoms, advocating for your child, I mean it really doesn’t get much better!  It hit on many important lgbtq topics and for that alone I thought it was very well-done!  All the couples were very cute and made me root for them!

Where I watched: YouTube (GMM channel)

7) Love by Chance (rewatch)

In prep for the 2nd season I decided to rewatch LBC in a binge session!  Oh my goodness, I forgot how much I missed AePete, I fell in love with them big time the first time around and all of that just came rushing back.  I’m reeeally going to miss Pete in season 2!!!  Their relationship is just so healthy compared to most in the BL world and their chemistry is sooo good!!  They better at least let them stay happy and in love even if Pete is abroad!!  I admit I was never one to get crazy about TinCan, but knowing they’ll be the center of season 2 I watched their scenes more closely and definitely felt a stronger pull for them this time around.  I’m very excited to see how their story continues!!!!

Where I watched: Youtube (Studio Wabi Sabi channel)

8) The Hows of Us

This filipino film stars one of my fave love teams... KathNeil!!  I love their films and that they are a reel to real couple as well!!  I enjoyed this movie a lot, it was more mature than many of their previous works together and showed how they’ve been growing.  It wasn’t a typical falling in love story that ends when the couple gets together but explores how couples grow apart and how real life can sometimes get in the way of our dreams.  I found the film relatable and also optimistic.  And I love the pining and longing looks... that always gets me and there was a lot of it in this film!!

Where I watched: TFC

9) Hotel Del Luna

This is what kdramas are all about - Superb acting, gorgeous cinematography, interesting characters, beautiful OST, the whole production was incredible!  It wasn’t my favorite story ever and it took me several months to finish but it kept puliing my back in and I finally got through it.  I really was mesmerized each ep by how beautiful the whole thing was.  I liked the back story and all the fun side characters. And I swear it was worth watching just for IU’s costumes, hair, and different styles alone!!  I didn’t love the ending, that was my biggest complaint, I guess you could call it “open?”  I just think it could have wrapped up better, but overall it was a beautiful series!

Where I watched: Viki

10) Itsuka, Nemuri Ni Tsuku Hi (Someday When I Fall Asleep)

Wow what a trippy series.  It was short enough to binge in one afternoon and it looked interesting, so that’s exactly what I did.  It was intriguing from the start and there was a mystery about it that kept my interest, it was a bit creepy at times, and had some twists I totally was NOT expecting at all.  Overall it was one of those that made me think and ponder for awhile after, but it did make me a bit sad too, so only watch if you’re willing to experience some feels, but it was a good one and I’m glad I stumbled upon it!

Where I watched: Viki

Currently Watching for Feb:

1) Guardian (woah, another good “bromance” with all those looks!)

2) The Untamed (rewatch - and so far it’s even BETTER the 2nd time around!!!)

3) ‘Cause You’re My Boy (cute so far)

4) Moment of Eighteen (my Astro loving heart was so excited to see Moonbin!!)

5) Until We Meet Again The Series (so many feeeels)

6) Why R U? The Series (jury is still out but I LOVE Saint!)

7) Itaewon Class (super excited for this one, Park Seo Joon, need I say more?!)

8) Crash Landing on You (excellent so far!)

9)  Make it With You (filipino series starring my FAVE love team, LizQuen!!)

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Cremation Charlie

Title: Cremation Charlie (COMPLETE)

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Summary: A lot has happened since Vegas. Dean meets up with you in Albuquerque. Takes place in Season 7, after Plucky's.

Word Count: 14,000

Warnings: fluff, flirting, angst, explicit language, smut, heights

A/N:  Originally posted on AO3. So, I have to thank Winchesters_queen (on AO3) for this story idea. Seeds were unknowingly planted when I chose Albuquerque as the reader's place of residence. It took me a while to get a feel for how the story should progress. And, I do like the idea of trying to follow the canon of the show. Hot or not, I feel like if the reader found out Dean had been on the FBI's Most Wanted List, there'd be a little hesitancy in meeting up again. I mean, yeah, everyone's got a type and to each their own. I just don't think this reader would find serial killers hot. But the pieces and plot fell into place. Happy with that.

Dean peeled out of the back alley of the restaurant slash playland. It was the perfect mix of a young kid’s fantasy and an adult’s hellhole. He was still chuckling, feeling the remnants down deep in his belly. He hadn’t laughed like that in a long time. Not since the time he spent with you in Vegas. 

He wasn’t sure where he and Sam were headed. One thing he was sure about. Even though he missed Baby, ached to run his fingers along her steering wheel and rev her engine, he was relieved to be driving this ‘73 Mercury Cougar right now. He would have never gotten the glitter bomb Sam was covered with out of Baby’s passenger seat. Hell, Sam wouldn’t have been allowed inside her with his sparkly ass. 

They would hotwire another POS car soon enough. Would have to in order to stay under the radar of pretty much everyone at this point once they made it out of Wichita, Kansas. Or got a lead on exactly what Dick Roman was planning from Frank. Something had to give soon. Roman’s toothy grin, hiding the leviathan underneath, required some serious restructuring under Dean’s hands. 

Dean gripped the steering wheel and floored the gas on the dark open road. Fields spun out for miles, merged with the horizon in every direction. He’d missed Kansas. Wanted to hug these back roads for as many hours as he could. The peace and quiet. He rolled down the driver’s side window. Memories triggered. Not memories as much as... snapshots. Before Sam. With Mom in the passenger seat. Him behind Dad in a booster seat. Tiny. Looking up. Seeing her blonde wavy hair bouncing in the wind. Her smiling profile, directed at Dad. Her turning back to tap his little knee with a soft caress. 

Movement beside Dean broke him out of the slideshow recall. Sam shifted, his lengthy frame crumpled like a broken pretzel in the seat. Head lolling, dreaming or nightmaring about God knew what. Dean got distracted by Sam’s occasional sparkling. The glitter reminded him of strippers. Strippers reminded him of Vegas. Vegas reminded him of you.

“We’re gonna find a motel, Sammy. So you can wash all that shit off.” Dean decided.

“Hm?” Sam grunted. His eyes blinked slow, pried open with a wide yawn.

“All that clown jizz. You need to wash that crap off. Pronto.”

“Sure. Whatever.” He groaned and rubbed at his eyes. “Ah, shit.” His eyes blinked with a rapid concern. “I got fucking glitter in my eyes.”

Dean’s chuckling started up again. From deep down, genuine. Most of his chest got in on the laugh.

“It’s not funny, Dean. I could go blind. And, this isn’t plain glitter. It’s supernatural, fear manifested glitter.” Sam stared at his offending hand and continued blinking.

“Jesus. There’s some bottled water in the cooler. Rinse it out.” He thumbed behind his seat.

Sam turned to him, “What about the…” he stopped himself.

Dean knew Sam remembered they weren’t in Baby just then.

“Bend forward and flush it out.” Dean directed.

A minute passed. Dean pulled a hand towel out of his duffel in the back seat. Splashes of water dampened Dean’s jeans. He pushed the towel in Sam’s face, his eyes closed. “Pat. Don’t rub. Better?”

“A little.” Sam sighed and shook his head like a freshly washed dog.

Dean blinked his own eyes at the droplets hitting his face. “Well, don’t get it on me for Christ’s sake!”

“Not as funny, huh?” Sam huffed.

Dean sighed.

*

Dean took a shot of whiskey from Bobby’s flask, tapping away on the laptop. Browser windows opened and cascaded on top of each other on the screen. Dozens of articles on Dick Roman, his enterprise, his holdings, his ventures. Dean was sick of seeing that pompous, arrogant ass. But couldn’t stop searching. He needed to find the thing that killed Bobby.

His fingers dipped into the duffel resting on the nearby empty seat. He rummaged through, found the shape he sought out by touch, and pulled out one of Bobby’s cells they’d kept with them after he’d died. Well, Dean had kept it for a specific reason. One he hadn’t shared with Sam. Sam was currently occupied in the bathroom; scrubbing himself under the shower stream for what was going on a half hour.

He’d heard the message for the first time a month after Bobby’s death. And you’d left it a couple months before that. He should have reached out to you then. Talking to you might have helped. He’d be able to confess, explain, as crazy as everything would sound. It might have grounded him for an hour or so, talking to someone normal, outside of their circle of crazy. And, if you’d hung up and never reached out again, so be it. 

But? What if you didn’t? What if you were just a little crazy enough to give it all a listen? To be open to all of the things under the veil of normal? He’d gotten a feeling, maybe more of a suspicion, you might during those few hours you shared on that October night. Hell, maybe he would have taken off without Sammy and driven to Albuquerque to meet up with you. Finish what you’d both started in Vegas five months ago, a lifetime of pain ago. Escape. Even if it was only for a little while. 

But then he got sucked into 1944. Then he’d hooked up with the Amazon Lydia, and Sam had to kill Dean’s teen daughter, Emma, the result of said hook-up. That was a whole thing. And hours earlier they’d taken care of an employee of Plucky Pennywhistle’s Magical Menagerie, who’d been using manifestations of children’s fears to play judge, jury, and executioner to whoever he thought deserved it. Dean grinned at the still wrapped giant Slinky on the kitchenette counter. At least one good thing came out of it.

He listened to ensure the water was still running in the shower. He’s gonna be a fucking prune when he comes out. Dean hit the speaker button on the phone.

“Um, yeah. I’m looking for FBI Director, Mike Kayser.” Your voice was hesitant. Dean smiled at the way you stated your full name, all formal. You even added your middle name, a new piece of information he hadn’t heard the night you spent together. “This is insane.” You mumbled. “Look, anyway, I got this number from a guy. He said his name was Dean Winchester. I was told to call this number if I couldn’t reach him.” He frowned, anticipating the next part of the message he’d listened to a dozen times. “But, I’m calling because, well, I’m a little, no, a lot concerned. So, I met this Dean Winchester after he apparently had died. From what I found out he and his brother had themselves a murder spree across the country. Ended up on the FBI’s Most Wanted List. Got captured in Ankeny, Iowa, and were killed trying to escape.” You sighed into the phone. “Look. I really just need to know what the hell’s going on. The guy I met…” You stopped. “Well, he didn’t seem like a serial killer.” Dean pictured you rolling your eyes. “Of course, that’s what everyone says after the fact. But, he didn’t. And, I find it odd that of all the phone numbers he’d give me to contact would be that of an FBI Director. If that’s even true. So, if someone could call me back and let me know something. At the least, I’d like to know if I need to be put in Witness Protection and get an alias.” You laughed that laugh that made Dean grin. You left your number. “Thanks.”

Dean exited and scrolled through the call list. Again. For the tenth time after he’d noticed that Bobby had called the number you’d left. And, it had been a long talk for Bobby. Fucking twenty minutes. And even more curious, you had called him back a couple weeks later. Talked to Bobby again for another half hour. Chatty fucking Cathy, huh Bobby. What the hell did you talk to her about? Whatever it was had some finality to it, because there hadn’t been another call from you. And Bobby had died soon after that.

Must have been why she never tried to get in touch with me after that last time. She’s got some sense. But, I could already tell that. He knew he should leave it alone. Leave you alone. But he really wanted to know what Bobby had told you. And why the hell you’d called Bobby back.

The shower cut off. Dean yelled. “Sammy! Want me to grab us some grub? I’m starving.”

“Yeah. Something not artery clogging for me.” He sounded even more exhausted.

“It’s two am. Your kale eating ass will have to settle for whatever greasy joint is open.” Dean grumbled and grabbed his jacket off the chair back. He slipped Bobby’s phone in a pocket and headed out.

*

Dean put in the order at the diner counter, paid in advance, and stepped out in the cold March night for some privacy. The misty drizzle prickled his cheeks. His breath steamed out from his mouth. He scrolled through Bobby’s call list and pressed your number. Stared at it. Hesitated to dial.

Dean had been properly buzzed that Vegas night with you. But parts of your conversations, especially back on the rug at his motel were clear and vivid. One fact you’d told him was that you had terrible insomnia. Stayed up late most nights and existed on not much sleep. He could definitely relate to that.

He shrugged. “What the hell. I can chalk it up to a Friday night drunk dial.” Dean called your number. He felt his eyes widen when he heard you pick up on the second ring.

“Bobby?”

He could feel his eyes bug out even more. Sonava bitch gave her his real name. “Not Bobby.”

Silence for some seconds. “Dean?”

“Long time no talk, sweetheart.”

You were shifting, doing something. “How-how are you doing?”

“Been better. How about you? I know it’s late, but…”

“You knew I wouldn’t be asleep.” Your laugh was a delightful mix of soft and scratchy to Dean’s ear.

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Are you playing hard to get with me or don’t want to be found altogether?”

“Me? What about you?” You tossed back the question.

“Hey, I haven’t heard from you since those few texts a week after Vegas. Then, come to find out you’ve been chit-chatting with Bobby. You didn’t seem like the Sugar Daddy type to me.” He leaned against the side of his parked car. The bright interior of the diner and neon sign above lit up his waiting spot. It would be some minutes before his bag of food would appear on the counter.

“Do Sugar Daddies own junk yards? I didn’t realize how lucrative a business that was. Impersonating federal agents can only get someone so far, I guess.”

Dean held up a hand. “Wait. Wait a minute. How do you…”

“Bobby told me a lot, Dean.”

Dean swallowed. “How much?”

“You should ask him. My mind is still trying to process most of it.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean trailed off.

“Why are you calling me on his phone, anyway?” Silence again. “Oh. How long ago?”

“It’s been a couple months.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean. He sounded like a decent, upstanding man. And, I could tell… he cared a lot about you and Sam.”

“You could tell that over a couple phone conversations?”

“Yep. Men of little words say a lot when it’s important. You have to pay attention. And, catch them on a good day, I guess.”

“I heard that voicemail you left.”

“Ah. So, you know how freaked out you had me? Thanks, by the way. You owe me two months worth of sleep.”

“Sorry.”

“Bobby didn’t mention talking to me?”

“No. I guess he figured it was better you didn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Or he was occupied with more important things. It sounded like you all were working on saving the world again.”

“What the hell did he…”

“Where are you?” You switched gears on him.

“Wichita, Kansas.”

“How far is that from Albuquerque?”

Dean smiled. He’d already Googled it back at the motel. “About ten hours.”

“Think you can make it here around midnight tonight? I mean, if you have time...”

“I don’t think the world’s going to implode between now and then.”

“If that’s a joke, you have a fucking twisted sense of humor, Dean Winchester.”

Dean chuckled. “Kind of goes along with the job.”

“Yeah.” You sighed. “So, do I send you the location to meet me on this phone or the original number you gave me?”

“You still have that?”

“Yep.”

Another smile. “Send it to mine, sweetheart.”

“Will do. Oh, and bring a bottle of champagne.”

“Huh?”

“Bottle of champagne. Can be a cheap bottle. As long as it pops and fizzes when you open it.”

“Okay…”

“See you in a few hours, handsome.” You hung up.

*

Of course. The early morning nap at the motel after the greasy diner food turned into a passed out until two in the afternoon snooze fest. Sam’s unwillingness to let Dean up and leave without a detailed explanation delayed the trip as well.

Dean tapped a Sorry, gonna be late. Still okay or should we try another time? to you before he attempted to pacify his brother. “What’s the problem here, Sammy?”

Sam raised his hands. “Are you serious? You’ve had nothing on the brain but Dick since Bobby.”

Dean raised a finger along with his brows. “Rephrase.”

Sam pursed his lips before continuing. “And now, it’s ‘I’ve got something to do I’ll be back’ and you expect me to believe you’re not going off half-cocked to take care of it without me? Did you hear from Frank?”

Dean’s phone buzzed back a reply from you. Still okay. You got my directions?

“Is that him?” Sam rose from his bed and stormed over to Dean.

“No.” Dean sighed. He typed a quick Yes. “Okay, look. It’s a woman, alright.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “I thought you were done with the ladies, after Lydia. That’s what you told me three days ago, Dean. Accidental fatherhood, uncle having to kill his niece and all that.”

“I am. I just… Sam.” Dean slipped the phone into his pocket and went back to packing his duffel. “There’s always another job to keep our minds off how badly we’ve screwed up until we find a way to save the world.” He zipped the bag. “I met this woman back in Vegas. That night before you went all bonkers for Becky and I had to attend your wedding.”

Sam shivered at the memory.

“I’ve got a second chance to just…” He dropped his arms in defeat and exhaustion. “Just be, man.”

“Get laid, you mean?”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe that, too. But, I didn’t have to work at being anything but me with her.”

Sam’s eyes widened. Dean could tell he was ready to call bullshit with that grin. “So, she knows all about us, huh? The hunting? The apocalypse? You going to hell? Me following you a year later, stuck in Lucifer’s cage? Castiel? The leviathans? You tell her all that?”

“Bobby told her something. Before he… I just don’t know what.”

Sam shook his head. The confusion and incredulity washing over his face. “What?”

“Look, I’m going, Sam.”

Sam nodded. “I’m coming then.”

Dean shook his head.

“There’s no way you’re going anywhere without me. Besides, if we get a lead on Roman, we’ll need to move. Fast. And, we need to be together. We don’t have the back up like we used to.” Sam nodded again. “You know I’m right.”

Dean rolled his eyes and tilted his head back. “Fine.”

He sent you a message. Hope it’s okay but brother wants to tag along.

You wrote back a minute later. The more the merrier.

*

The Midwestern plains transitioned into Southwestern mesas and red rock landscapes over the trek. Sam and Dean approached the city of Albuquerque eleven hours after the start of their drive. They’d taken turns at the wheel, with Dean a much more willing passenger without Baby as their mode of transportation. Multiple signs greeted and pointed out they were on Route 66 as it became one with Central Avenue in Albuquerque. 

The urban stretch of the route through this city covered around eighteen miles, according to Mr. Walking Talking encyclopedia aka Sam Winchester. The temptation to swing into a casino they passed was great for Dean. He smiled to himself, wondering if you’d gone in there since Vegas to try your luck on roulette again. Always bet on black. A funky, pueblo style motel, named the Tewa lodge, got Dean’s attention. Note to self in case I ever find myself in the area again. He read the amenities under the VACANCY sign. ‘$29.95 and Up. Free Cable TV and FREE Local Calls’. Oh baby, you had me at ‘Kitchenette’s’. 

A diner called Loyola’s, decked out with a large neon steaming cup of coffee, served breakfast burritos when it was open according to the window stenciling. Dean’s mouth salivated at the large number of diners on the strip. My kind of city. He had to pull up to read the menu of yet another tiny restaurant called The Doghouse. The long rectangular neon sign resting atop the boxy building had an animated brown weiner dog wagging its tail. Dean slapped Sam’s chest. “Foot-long chili dogs, Sammy. Foot. Long.”

“Dude, I would never get in the car with you after you ingested something like that.”

“This is definitely my kind of city.” Dean beamed in the dark under the flashing neon. “Hey, what do they call those food tours, where you taste tons of different things?”

“Gastronomy.” Sam chuckled.

“I wanna gastronomy all over this bitch.” Dean pulled back onto the road.

“They certainly like their neon.” Sam pointed to a bright cowboy riding a horse as it lassoed the “El Don” in the name of the El Don Motel sign. “Lots of history here.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing EMF is off the charts in a lot of these places.” Dean added.  

Modern and Spanish mission style mingled together on every street. For every building with crisp edges and straight lines there was another with stucco, a red tile roof and rounded edges. They took in as much as they could in the early morning drive, ticking past two am. They drove over the Rio Grande River. But the city wasn’t their ultimate destination. At least not according to your directions. Once through the city, it was another twenty minutes of solitary travel through grassland and barren, desert vistas. Mesas cut silhouettes against the night sky. The Mercury Cougar’s wheels finally spun onto the dirt road they’d been in search of after Sam had to pull out a road map when the GPS gave out.

Sam caught the beacon of activity first. “Down that way. Looks like truck lights.” He pointed. “Sure we’re not walking into some sort of trap, Dean?”

He patted Sam’s shoulder. “Well, I guess it’s good you came along to protect me from myself, little brother.” Dean’s stomach flipped. But not with unease. It was in anticipation of seeing you again. “She’s cool, man. No weird vibes, even if we are in Breaking Bad territory.”

“You don’t have a stellar track record with the ladies you’ve picked up lately.”

“Shut up.”

On approach, the headlights of four 4x4 trucks came into focus, parked in a neat row one next to the other by the road. A group of people were assembled around the back of the vehicles. A couple seated on the open tailgates, some standing, and all looked to have beers in hand.

Dean slid the Cougar alongside one of the trucks, parked, then smiled when you walked over to greet him and his brother. Every shitty moment of the past five months slipped away when your figure was spotlighted in his headlamps. Whatever, wherever this was, you looked in your element here. Relaxed and confident in faded jeans and the kind of t-shirt Dean liked on a woman. The kind that grips all those dangerous curves and leaves nothing to the imagination.

“Come on, Sam. Let’s make our introductions.” Dean hopped out without waiting for Sam’s response.

You strolled up to the open car door and met Dean on the other side, an open beer bottle gripped in one hand; two dangling by their necks between fingers in the other. “You found it.” You smiled.

“Could have warned us it’d be a huge pain in the ass to get here.”

A grin this time. “What would have been the fun in that?”

Damn, he didn’t realize how much he missed that look on your face until he saw it again. Dean made the introductions between you and Sam. You offered the beers.

“I hear you like desert treks, Sam.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Well, that’s what you were off doing when I met Dean in Vegas. Where’d you end up, anyway, that night?”

“Married.” Dean answered for him.

Sam spit out some of his beer. He wiped his face with the back of his cuff. “Quickie wedding. Quickie divorce.” Sam explained.

It was your turn to raise eyebrows. “Wow. How come that wasn’t on your agenda of things to do that night, Dean?”

Dean leaned against the side of the car. “If we’d been together a few more hours, who knows, sweetheart.”

You laughed. “Sure.”

The cold beer slid easy down Dean’s throat. His lips smacked together. “So, what’s the deal?” He pointed to the group. A huddle of three eyed the newcomers. The other two were kissing in the truck bed and didn’t take much notice of anything.

“That’s my crew. We’ve got a job at sunrise. Testing out the equipment.”

“Job? This doesn’t look like an office job.” Dean grinned.

“Little side business I started a couple years back. More of a passion you might say.” You shrugged.

“At three am in the morning I’d say so.” Dean quipped.

You stepped into Dean’s space, your sneaker tapping his boot. “Maybe I can get some free labor out of you boys?”

“Depends.” He licked his lips, staring at you.

“On?”

“If I get some alone time with you later.” His eyes looked dead straight into yours, unblinking, waiting to see if you’d cave. He remembered how good you felt, so close, when he’d gotten the nerve to do his Luke Bryan impersonation in the motel room. He wanted to feel your lips pressed to his again. See if they were as soft as he remembered.

Sam cleared his throat a few feet away.

You backed away. Dean smiled in victory over the blush he’d caused. “Come on over.” You sighed, shaking your head, as you released the statement.

Dean eyed the curve of your hips leading the way. Sam elbowed him and gave the “Dude, take it down a notch” expression.

“Everybody,” your voice was loud, in charge, and Dean appreciated the change. “This is Dean Wilton and Sam Jackson.”

What the hell? Dean could feel Sam’s quizzical look burrowing down at him, even without turning.

A younger guy, tall and almost Sam’s height but with a buzzcut, thrust himself in front of them with eager handshakes. “It’s an honor to even be considered for an article in the BFA journal.”

Sam and Dean stared wide-eyed at each other and then you.

“Don’t pay Stan much mind. He’s still wet behind the ears.” A tubby man spoke up in a baseball cap, his arm around a cute little blonde sitting next to him in the truck bed. They’d been the two kissing earlier. “You lucked out. It’s gonna be a nice morning to launch.”

Sam mouthed the word launch? to Dean.

“So, you two are freelance journalists?” Stan asked.

Dean gave your grin only a second of his attention. “Uh, yeah. You know, love the open road… love to… freelance.” He waved the beer around in a dramatic gesture. “Go where the wind takes us.”

Stan tapped his biceps and let out a chuckle. “Where the wind takes you. I see what you did there.”

“So,” you continued. “along with Stan, we have Marvin,” she pointed to the man on the truck, “Cleo,” the girl under his arm, “and over there is Gen and Gabe.” A female and male, both Native American, gave a quick nod.

Sam waved. “Nice to meet all of you.”

“I told them you’d basically be observing and might help out if you felt so inclined.” You clarified to Sam and Dean. “We want to get two trucks out over there to shine some light on the situation, give us a little halo to work with?”

“On it.” Stan raced away to the farthest truck. Marvin and Cleo hopped off the bed and got into their cab.

“Gabe.” You nodded. “How about you and Gen over there in the middle, and start to unload the equipment?”

“Got it, boss.”

Once it was the three of you, alone, Dean was the first to speak. “Journalists, sweetheart? And, what the hell is going on?”

Your eyes stared back at him, innocent with a little hint of mischief. “Isn’t this what you boys do? Go undercover a lot? I thought the FBI thing would scare them. And, Marvin might actually try to look like he’s working if he thinks someone’s writing a story on us. This might be his last launch if he can’t get it together.”

“Shit, you really do know a ton about us.” Sam blinked his eyes in rapid succession.

“Bobby told me about the ghosts, monsters, angels, demons, and those nasty suckers you're dealing with at the moment. The reason you ended up being on America’s Most Wanted.” You shrugged. “Your last names were apparently everywhere along with those cute mugs of yours. I didn’t want to connect all the dots for my crew, in case any of them care about what’s happening in the world and actually track the news.”

“Thoughtful, I guess.” Dean tilted his head. “But, still. What the hell is going on? What’s the BFA?”

Sam added, “And, what exactly, are you launching?”

You smiled. “BFA is the Balloon Federation of America.”

Dean’s mouth hung open. “Balloons? You're launching balloons?”

“One very big balloon, Dean.”

*

You smiled at how agreeable and accommodating the boys were at taking directions. And it was kind of fun bossing Dean around. You got a sense he was enjoying it as well.

Dean assisted Gen and Gabe with pulling all the heavy equipment out of one of the truck beds. The propane tanks and inflation fans were the most cumbersome. Dean helped Gabe with the four passenger gondola, much lighter made of wicker, but awkward in size and shape for only one to maneuver. He worked from atop the truck, guiding it down to Gabe. He was wearing way too many layers for what was to come. But, for now, the March temperature was chilly enough that you didn’t bother to mention it. He’ll find out soon enough.

“Gondola, huh?” Dean hopped down. His boots hit the ground. His body, silent and agile, like a cat. “I thought only boats in Venice or at The Venetian were called that.” He brushed his hands together and wandered over to stand beside you.

“You can call it a basket. You aren’t an official part of my chase crew, so I’ll give you a pass.”

He shook his head. “We talked about a lot of things that night. Why not this?”

“Could say the same about you.” You tilted your head, studying him in the dark. His jaw clenched at the call out. That scruff begged for you to run your nails over it. You wanted to hear the scratch and feel the grit under your fingers, like fine sandpaper. Focusing, even on your train of thought, was a true struggle with him in such close proximity. You did your best to continue. “This is sacred to me. Not a lot of people understand why I love it so much. Or, why I have to do it. So, I’m a little protective.”

“So, why show it to me now?” His voice was low, tentative.

“Cause you called. And, you were close. And, who knows when I’ll see you again.” Another question was begging to be asked by Dean. The expression on his face was pained and confused, like a little boy. How does he go from sexy to cute in a fraction of a second? “What?”

“I still don’t understand why Bobby would tell you… everything.”

Stan and Marvin placed the large canvas bag, with Sam’s help, by the gondola, resting on its side. Gabe and Gen positioned the inflation fan and readied the burner.

“If you do a good job, Winchester,” you lifted onto your tiptoes to whisper in Dean’s ear, “maybe you and I can go somewhere private later and talk more about… everything.”

His lopsided grin fueled the flirting. “I’m up to any task. Here to learn all about ballooning, right?”

You smiled back. “So, right now, we are in the putting up phase.”

“Putting out?” Dean questioned for clarification and licked his lips.

You giggled. “Putting up. This is the setup and inflation phase.”

“Ah.” He pointed to Sam, holding the large bag open while Stan and Marvin unpacked the contents. “Kid’s a natural.” He nodded to the first part emerging from the bag. “What’s that?”

“That’s the skirt of the envelope. Envelope is the balloon. That’s in the bag, too. Those wires are what connect the envelope to the gondola.” Gen and Gabe fastened the skirt in place. Stan and Marvin began to unfold the balloon out to its full length.

Dean’s eyes widened as they continued unfolding. “How tall is it?”

“Almost 70 feet.”

Dean whistled.

“Sam?” You called out to the younger, but taller, of the brothers. “Would you mind meeting Stan and Marvin down by the other end? Tell Stan I asked you to help with the crown line, please?”

“Crown line. Got it.” Sam was all smiles. He really looked like he was enjoying himself.

“What’s the crown line?”

“You’d make a really good journalist, Dean.” You waited for his Okay, Wise Ass look to form before answering. “Think of it like an anchor. Sam will be in charge of holding that rope nice and taut while we inflate the balloon.”

“What am I going to help with, boss?” Dean mused and watched Stan pull at the balloon, unwrapping the folds with great care like a present on one of the sides. 

You appreciated Stan’s excitement in ballooning even if he could be a little over the top. Marvin’s lackluster attempt as he unfolded the other side to match Stan’s light bulb pattern produced a frown on your lips.

“Boss?” Dean waved a hand in front of your face, pulling you out of your internal staff assessment. “Wow, this really is a passion, huh?” Dean’s narrowing eyes studied you.

You nodded. “I told you it was.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Here I am trying my best to compete with a bunch of polyester fabric.”

“Nylon, actually, and fire resistant material to boot.” Dean sidled up closer in the dark that wasn’t that dark, with the bright moon low in the sky and the truck lights criss crossing over the scene. The heat of his body broke through the chilly March morning, entering your space. 

God, you had missed him more than you thought was possible. In the space of a few hours that October night, he’d imprinted a want that you hadn’t been able to shake. It had been nights and days of thoughts of him. And, then, when you came across the rather terrifying information that Dean and his brother had been serial killer fugitives on a murderous crime spree - one that had ended up in their deaths - well, the thoughts had turned ominous and life threatening. Thank God Bobby called me back. You’d been saddened by the news of the gruff and sweet hunter who’d helped so much in such a short amount of time. You were debating when to hit Dean with the other information you had been holding back. If there would even be time to do that tonight.

A finger tapped on the side of your chin. “What do we do with you, Dean?”

His brows rose in one uniform gesture. “I’ve got some ideas.” The voice crept out low with a ton of possible innuendos ready to spill out.

“Since you can’t keep that mouth of yours shut... you and Gabe can hold the mouth open while we inflate.” You resolved. “May want to lose a couple layers. It’s gonna get pretty hot up in here. Go help Gabe with the fan and ready the burner for me.”

“Sassy and bossy.”

You nodded. “It’s my night to call the shots. You had your fun in Vegas.”

“Aw, come on. You had fun, too.” Dean peeled the jacket and button up off together in one deft motion. The discarded clothes draped over the side of your truck bed. “Remember Cherie?”

You cleared your throat. “How could I forget?”

Dean tilted his head, looking a bit taken aback at your enthusiasm. “I was there, too, remember?”

The self-deprecation made you giggle. “How could I forget?” You repeated. Pointing to the balloon, you reminded, “Less talk, more action.”

*

A half-hour had passed and the inflation process was almost done. Stan and Marvin had released some small helium balloons to gauge the wind conditions, chasing them in the dark sky with their flashlights. Sam did a great job at the top of the envelope with the crown line. You could hear him conversing with the men and Gen with genuine interest in the launch preparations. You took special note of how animated Gen was with Sam, the very opposite of her normal broody demeanor. Massive mountain of a man with flowy mane and mutton chops is her type. Code is finally cracked.

You’d manned the burner, shooting fire into the mouth of the envelope like a dragon in staccato bursts. Dean had spent a lot of time talking over the roar of the flame and the fan’s motor. His questions were directed at Gabe on the other side of the opening. Your silent sympathy went out to both of the men. Their arms had been extended and their bodies positioned in awkward stages for a long time to tent the envelope in order to get her airborne. You remembered your own burn and fatigue endured as part of a chase crew growing up. Their muscles might be screaming in agony the next day. 

Gabe was pleasant enough to the so-called reporter, answering Dean in short statements. But his attention was elsewhere. He kept peeking down the other end to the crown line where his sister Genessee had wandered to talk to Sam. The protective older brother was emerging. 

Your gaze kept going back to Dean for much of the process. His initiation began with burrowing into the balloon's mouth, head first, on his hands and knees. It provided a sweet view of his even sweeter ass before he gathered the fabric over his shoulders and rose up in victory. 

He was quite the distraction with all of the delicious little details you got to inspect. His biceps bulged and stretched the sleeves of his white t-shirt. The sweat that caused the shirt material to stick to random parts of his torso also drenched his forehead. Being so near to the burner and its heat had every patch of exposed skin glistening in the fire’s flame. He licked the perspiration pouring down his face and onto his lips. Your heart stopped a few times when he tugged his shirt up to wipe at his face, giving you a glimpse of the firm chest and undulating tummy you had only dreamed about on occasion.

He called out to you once, his grin bright in the orange glow, “Like blowing wind up my skirt, sweetheart?”

You smiled back and nodded, relishing the flirting just enough without making Gabe uncomfortable. Your assessment of the inflation continued even with the distraction. It always brought butterflies to your stomach, watching the rise of the fabric, bowing bigger until you could stare into the tunnel ahead, like some psychedelic acid trip. You directed Dean to change position and follow Gabe’s lead when the envelope hinted its impending lift off the ground. You checked in with Stan, your point person walking back and forth from the crown line to the gondola, screaming over the fan and burner. “Get Marvin here to hold her steady! Won’t be much longer before we launch!”

Stan saluted and ran off in search of Marvin.

“Gabe, I think Sam can ease off the crown line. Want to get him and Gen back here.”

Gabe’s wary glance went from you to Dean.

“Dean’s got it.” You calmed his concern.

Dean gave Gabe a thumbs up. Gabe nodded and hurried to pass along the instructions.

“Dean, can you help me pull the gondola back and then tilt up when I give you the word? Don’t let her go or you owe me forty grand.” Dean’s surprised expression made you chuckle. You shut off the fan and flashed the burner steady. The balloon was rising up like a drawbridge, quicker and quicker. “Now.”

He nodded, staring up in awe, so close to the imposing object and its dominance of the sky above them. The sheen of her metallic panels were muted and dulled in the dark. 

“She’s even prettier in the daylight.” You answered Dean’s silent inspection. “Pink, purple, and blue. She sparkles in the sun.”

He gave you a smile right as Marvin and Stan returned to your side.

“Clear out the fan and get that extra propane tank.” You called to the men and tugged the flame bright again. “Short ride still needs some backup fuel.” 

Soon the whole crew was back, hands clamped on the sides of the gondola, keeping your baby in place, tethered to the ground for a few more minutes. Sam and Dean smiled at each other like kids. That alone made your whole night.

“Walkie-talkies on and ready?” You tapped yours on, snug on your belt buckle, and confirmed the nods from Gen, Stan, and Marvin. You grabbed one of the rails and hopped onto the edge, then swung one leg in followed by the other and slid into the gondola. Gabe secured the tank into its holding spot beside you. “Alright, Mr. Wilton? Ready for that ride?”

*

It took Dean a couple seconds to realize the question was directed at him. “Wha-what?”

“How are you going to write that article if you don’t get in?” You asked, perplexed and confused, smiling through the question.

Dean’s mouth rounded into an “O” and then he shook his head. “Oh. Yeah. No. I can’t.”

Your heart dropped.

Sam whispered somewhere behind you. “He’s scared of flying. Airplanes.” You looked at Sam, who shrugged. “Probably heights, too.”

You shook your head at Dean. “I can guarantee you, Dean, that after a couple minutes you’ll be fine. No relative altitude, if it's a height thing. And, we don’t have much of a choice but to work with the wind, not enough power to fight an air current. I promise not to take you higher than 3,000 feet.” You smiled.

His look was filled with dread and apprehension. “Is that all?” 

You thought back to your first night together and opted for the flirty approach. You waited for his eyes to land on yours as they glanced everywhere in worry. “You’ll be glad you took the chance.”

That cracked the surface of worry. “And if I’m not and want to jump out?”

You nodded. “I’ll lower this baby enough for you to skydive out.” The seconds ticked by. A sigh left your mouth. “Mr. Jackson might be better suited for this part of the reporting.”

Sam chuckled. “Oh, I’m up for it. But, I think Dean will be kicking himself if he doesn’t take you up on the offer.”

Dean shrugged. “We could both go.”

You looked at Dean in amazement. Geez, he really is scared if he’s turning down an opportunity to be alone with me.

“We can’t both go. Somebody’s gotta interview and be a part of the chase crew.” You caught Sam’s slight nod to Gen, standing behind him as he spoke directly to Dean across the gondola. “Don’t be a wuss.” Sam egged.

“I’m not a wuss.” Dean mumbled. More moments of indecision worked over his face. “Fine.” He hopped into the gondola before he could debate any further with himself. It teetered with the additional weight and Dean looked ready to bolt out again.

“Keys, Dean?” Sam questioned

“In my jacket, on the truck.” He leaned forward, wedging his ass into a corner of the wicker basket and staring at its floor. Fingers white knuckled the side edges, his arms locked and splayed out. He looked like he was bracing himself for a rocket launch. Or perhaps anticipating motion sickness.

You shook your head to yourself. There didn’t seem any point in trying to comfort him at the moment. He’ll just have to see for himself. “Gabe, you drive my truck and lead the chase.” You readied your hand on the burner.

Gen raised a hand to alert her brother. “I’ll ride with Sam. Answer some questions.”

Sam seemed quite happy with the decision. Gabe, not so much.

You pulled out your trusty baseball cap, out of your secret stash pocket with essentials, and grabbed an extra one for Dean. A slight shove placed it in his sight line in the arm’s length of space between the both of you. “Put this on, going to get hot.”

He hesitated with a grunt, then hurried with a swift and snug placement of the cap on his head. The death grip returned to the basket. He still didn’t look up. His eyes scrunched shut nice and tight.

When you turned back to Sam, you whispered. “He’ll be fine.”

Sam nodded.

You nodded to the crew, gave the thumbs up, then tugged at the burner. The flame roared. Everyone’s hands lifted up at once, releasing your anchor to the ground. The balloon rose up soft and steady, an almost imperceptible shift, like you knew it would. The slight hiccup in your stomach from the elation reminded you of all those countless balloon rides growing up. A tilt to glance down over the edge saw your crew shrink below, awash in the headlights, their necks craned up to survey the flight.

Dean asked, disgruntled and impatient, eyes still closed, once the burner silenced for a bit. “Are we doing this or what?”

“Done, Dean. Open your eyes if you want. Tiny Sam down below.”

“What?” His face shot up. One eye popped open, staring at you, then the motion of the scenery behind you. “We…”

“We’re in the air.” Pilot mode was second nature to you at this point. Scanning the environment for any potential hazards, changes in wind conditions, flaming so you could rise were just a few of the dozen things you multitasked as you calmed your nervous and oh so handsome passenger. You had to admit some of the elation you felt was due to his presence this early morning. “How are you doing?”

His other eye opened and his head rotated left, right, up, down. Wide-eyed under the baseball cap, he ventured out of the corner. His boots slid with care along the basket’s side as if he was scaling a wall. A quick lengthening of his neck allowed him to peer down at the group on the ground. “Holy shit!” There was more awe than fear in his voice.

You radioed to Gabe, “Looks good up here. I don’t think Mr. Wilton will be joining you all down below just yet. Over.” The look on Dean’s face was priceless as he took in the atmosphere. You could see the hesitancy fading away and the relief building.

“Copy that, Silent Lucidity. Which direction you headed? Over.”

“Looks like she’s going where the little ones headed earlier. So, Northwest. Keep an eye on her and I’ll check in at fifteen. Over.”

“Got it. Over and out.” Static punctuated the end of Gabe’s statement.

“I’ve got a little lantern light I can flip on, if you need it.” You offered to Dean. “But, it can mess with the view. So, let me know.”

“Will it make it hard for you to steer or whatever?” Dean asked.

“Not steering, but no, not really. We picked this launch site for a reason. There will be a beautiful sunrise view for the job. Not a lot of things to stare at but sky.”

He chuckled. “So, you’re really gonna be up here again in less than a couple hours with a guy who’ll be proposing to his girlfriend?”

“Yep. Still doing okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Surprisingly good, actually. Nothing like being in an airplane or staring out of a 40th floor window.”

“Told ya.”

“You did. I’ll never doubt you again.” He was working his way closer to you, edging with care. “What’s it take to become a pilot?”

“Hundred clocked flight hours, FAA certification.”

His features came into bright focus under the burner flames, only a foot away from you. He’d taken off his baseball cap. “Wow. That’s impressive.” You could tell he meant it. Then, the gears of some random thought fell into place. “Queensrÿche?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“So, her name’s Silent Lucidity?”

Another nod. “Sometimes I like to play the song when she launches.”

“Nice. You really are full of surprises, sweetheart.”

“So are you, Dean. How can someone who’s battled Lucifer be afraid of heights?”

He shrugged. “Hey, I’m still human.”

“From the stories I heard, you leveled up beyond most of us mere mortals a long time ago.”

His eyes flashed in the flame. You were the only thing he was focusing on now. “So, what did Bobby tell you? Exactly?”

“He told me that your dad got into hunting because a demon killed your mom. You and Sam were brought up in it. You’ve dealt with pretty much every monster anyone could think of. Nothing much surprises you anymore. Not after Heaven and Hell.” You stopped, watching him study you. “Told me that you went to Hell and came back. Then, there was the impending Apocalypse. Thanks for saving the world, by the way.” Your mind was a swirl of impossible details as you tried to recall things in the correct order. “Then, you tried to save your brother from Lucifer. But, he ended up in some cage with the devil and the archangel Michael. Sam came back to the surface, not quite whole after that. When you tried to put him back together again, well Lucifer decided to scramble his egg instead. And, that now, Sam’s dealing with some major PTSD. And, that you lost a good friend recently.”

He couldn’t hide his confusion. “Why would he tell you all that?”

“He said he heard how scared I sounded when I left the message. That the only way he could explain the crazy was with even more crazy. That if I wanted to believe my life wasn’t in danger, I’d have to believe what he was going to tell me. And, that if I ever told anyone else, they’d more than likely have me committed. He also said you never, ever gave anyone outside of the hunting circle that particular number. So, you must have wanted to stay in touch with me. Or, he guessed, you’d want to be there for me if I needed help. Bobby said if that was the case, you’d want me to know the truth if it would make me feel better.”

Dean shook his head and smiled. His eyes were glassy in the burst of another flame.

“He cared about you a lot Dean.” Your thoughts reversed with your own past. “He sounded a lot like my dad.” You shook yourself out of them to focus on Dean. “So, Sam is…”

“Putting up one helluva fight to keep Lucifer at bay.”

“And, you?” You didn’t ask for permission and tapped on the lantern light. His features glowed in the amber light cascading into the gondola behind your right shoulder. 

Those murky green eyes stared back with a set, clenched jaw. His tall frame dipped down, you guessed to get a better view of your reaction from under the rim of your baseball cap. “What about me?”

“It sounds like you sacrifice a lot for the good of the mission. For the good of Sam. Always.”

“Really? You got that out of a couple phone calls with a drunk old coot?” The smile teased. His low voice dripped with sarcasm and exhaustion.

“Maybe. You left me that night in Vegas. For Sam. When he called.”

The smile was gone in an instant. “Sweetheart, if I could have…”

“But, you couldn’t, Dean. Because of Sam.” Both shoulders rose. “And, hey, I get it. Family and all. It’s not like you were bailing your brother out of jail after another night of hell raising.” You shook your head. “Bad choice of words. But, you know what I mean. You both have had monumental, earth shattering decisions, universe affecting choices to make. What’s a night with a woman you’d just met in Vegas mean in the grand scheme of things?”

His hand lifted up over both your heads. His fingers draped over yours on the burner control. The touch was light, delicate, electric, and warmer than the flame. “It meant a lot to me.”

You swallowed hard, tilting your chin up to stare. The propane smell was thick in the air. You sighed. “Alright, Cremation Charlie.”

That broke him from his swoon worthy stare. “Huh?”

“Cremation Charlie was a nickname for a poor sap, back in the day before they’d invented inflation fans. The guy in the chase crew who put his life on the line. He was the one that would stand in the mouth of the envelope, hold it open while the burner heated the air to get the damn balloon off the ground. Risked burning himself to a crisp for the mission. Over and over again.”

Dean closed his eyes and grinned. “Yeah, that sounds like me.” His fingers skimmed over yours. You took the moment to spy and pay homage to his physique. His body still damp in spots with perspiration. His smell. His heat. “It’s pretty quiet up here.” He mumbled, eyes still closed, his frame swaying a couple inches back and forth.

You didn’t want to disrupt the silence. But you’d need to warm the air again to stay in the current floating you to where you hoped to end up. “Give it a tug.” You whispered.

His eyes jolted open at the soft command. “Huh?” The green in his eyes sparkled.

You slipped your hand out from under his. “Let’s get a rise out of you.” You grinned. “Heat us up, big boy.”

Dean smiled and tugged at the burner, looking up into the mouth and watching the flame burst alive. “What happens if we get too high?”

You wrapped your fingers around another dangling rope. “I pull on this and a vent opens to let air escape. Helps us descend.”

“So, if I get too carried away, you can put on the brakes?”

“Something like that.”

He shook his head and stared down at you. The fear was gone. The Dean you met that Vegas night was back and in full force. “You, in charge. Sexy as hell.”

You giggled at the tease. “You like bossy women?”

“Don’t tell anybody.” You gasped at the other hand pushing into the small of your back, pulling you into his embrace. His hand on the control, your hand on the rope, tangled against each other in a dance of commands and directions. “I wish Sammy had stayed on his desert trek that night.” Dean licked his bottom lip, inspecting yours. “Things might have been a lot different.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

He smiled, bent down, tilted at just the right angle to fit under the rim of your cap, and pressed his mouth to yours. It was eager and investigating, searching with his tongue, making you moan. You felt him tug on the control, the flame roaring above you.

You broke for a second. “Easy there, tiger.” Your eyes scanned the area around you.

“Hey, I was just following orders.” He smirked.

“Yeah.” You sighed. “Okay, that’s enough playing pilot.”

He chuckled and released his hold from the burner, but not from you. “When are you done with your job this morning?”

“We should be done and packed up no later than nine. Do you have to leave right after?” Your mouth dropped into a frown.

“We’re waiting on some word about the…” He censored his information even though you already knew about it all. “Trail’s gone cold for a bit.” He tugged the walkie talkie from your belt without asking and brought it to his mouth. Your mouth opened in protest, but he began to speak before you could voice anything. “Sam? You there? Dean, here. Over.”

A few seconds passed. “Dean? What’s up? Over.”

“I think we’re going to need more hours of... investigative journalism after the job. Over.” The smirk on his face and naughtiness in his eyes made your core ache.

Sam cleared his throat over the radio. “I’ll get a room. Over.”

Dean smiled down at you. “Copy that. Over and out.”

*

Never would have thought. Bossy looks damn good on her.

After swallowing down the panic for the first part of the balloon ride and realizing how skilled of a pilot you were, Dean switched into his autopilot mode around a beautiful woman. Flirty, feisty, and all fingers. It was as necessary as breathing for him. And, he missed it. Especially how easy it flowed with you, regardless of the environment. Whether the chaotic energy of the Vegas strip or the sublime floating dream that he was in right now, in the air above Albuquerque. You were the constant he was craving to touch.

Your eyes were shy to hold his gaze one minute, then challenging him in a staring contest the next. You’d roll your eyes at a cheeky joke, then blush at a flirty turn of phrase. And your voice. It was light and airy, not bouncy or super peppy. With just the right amount of conviction and authority when you needed it to be. And those lips. Damn. I gotta find out all the things they can do.

He tested the waters again. Snaked his fingers around your waist and pulled you close. He’d pulled the cap off your head without asking. The questions thrown out were due to his interest but also his wanting to distract you. He needed to get at the skin under that tight sky blue t-shirt. He held back a sigh and clenched his jaw at how warm and welcoming you felt. He thought you might be onto his ulterior motives but were more than willing to go along for the ride.

Turns out you had been ballooning for as long as you could remember, growing up in Colorado. Your parents had been what one would call enthusiasts when it came to hot air balloons. And as their only child, well there was no way you weren’t going to get the balloon bug. Your dad was a pilot, your mom a part of his chase crew. They held balloon rallys, hosted events and it was just another Sunday for you to be up in the Colorado air surrounded by a dozen other balloons.

You’d moved to Albuquerque right after college. Dean smiled when you told him the city you called home was known as the Ballooning Capital of the World. The International Balloon Fiesta was held in the Rio Grande Valley every October. It had been one of the main reasons you settled there. You were geeking out with the facts, explaining more about the intricacies of piloting, talking about balloon glows and mass ascensions, while his grip on you tightened. Goddamn adorable. 

Then he asked about what your parents were up to now. A frown replaced his smile, finding out your parents had passed away a year after you moved. They had been on a hunting trip at their cabin in the mountains. Authorities deemed a horrible bear attack had been the cause. That had been eight years ago.

He wanted to ask if that had been the impetus for Bobby telling you so much; if you had mentioned that before his truth spilled out. Bobby knew, had known, loss better than anyone. And, if he knew you had no close family? Well, he was a softie when it came to helping out a lady in distress. Hell, isn’t every hunter that appreciates a pretty woman? But Dean held it in, stared into your eyes, and told you how sorry he was. You gave him a soft peck on the lips in thanks.    

You didn’t play when it came to your balloon, Dean learned quickly. You’d found a field to touch down at after a half-hour in the air and radioed to the chase crew. Dean gave you some space to pilot for the all important landing. He watched with great interest at your actions, venting and burning, guiding your baby. He felt a pang in his chest, missing Baby, squirreled away under a tarp in a barn miles away. 

You were working with the wind to get to your hoped for spot. Patience. She has a ton of it. Accepting what she can’t control and working with what she’s given to get to her destination. Maybe she needs to give me some lessons.

The four trucks and Sam in the Cougar roared up the nearest road from down below. Headlights bright in a caravan formation. The sky was starting to lighten. Dawn would arrive soon. Got a ride in a fucking hot air balloon with the prettiest pilot there is. Dean smiled at you.

You caught the look on his face with a turn of your head. The balloon was careening downward at a nice clip as you vented. “What?”

“Crash landing?” An eyebrow rose.

“Not if I can help it. But you might want to hold on to something.”

Dean pressed himself to your back, trapping you between his arms as he gripped the edge of the gondola. “This good?”

You cleared your throat and he chuckled.

The chase crew made good time, ejecting from their vehicles to rush over. The gondola swooped down. You tried to keep her parallel to the ground as she propelled forward. Her front end hit first, bouncing like morse code. Dean leaned back like a counterweight. Gabe and Stan caught up to the back end and grabbed a hold, braking and slowing the motion.

Marvin appeared to hold the basket down as well. You pulled the vent open all the way. The fabric of the envelope began to puddle like a discarded dress. Dean spotted Sam grab at the crown line with Gen as they helped to guide it down.

You were directing and ordering again, reminding everyone you didn’t have a lot of time to deflate and pack up to get back to where you had launched. The blush and heat in your cheeks was noted by Dean in silence as the crew pushed out the remaining air in the balloon and folded it up. Dean helped get the gondola back onto one of the trucks and secured all the other equipment. The entire event had exhilarated and lit up all of his senses. He wanted to take you in his arms and kiss that energy all over you. But the crew would only have more questions.

Everyone had hauled collective asses back to the launch site to start the putting up process all over again. Dean rode with Sam, discussing the balloon ride and how much time he thought he’d need alone with you. Sam shook his head and laughed, extolling all of the fun things he’d learned about Gen. There was a lighter feeling in the air of their car. No talk of leviathans or hunts or Lucifer or the loss of Bobby. For a short amount of time, they were two guys comparing notes about pretty girls and having some goddamn fun with a group of people.

When Dean closed the passenger side of the car, he ran to your truck for his next order. He gave you a cheeky salute. “Cremation Charlie, reporting for duty.”

You smiled back, cool and deliberate. Sam slid up to Dean’s side. “I can go and help with the crown line again.” He offered.

“You guys have been great. Really.” You nodded. “But, we’ve got this round. And, after this next part, you’re going to want to head out.”

Dean frowned. “Not leaving yet, sweetheart.” The tone in his voice was insistent.

“Not leaving Albuquerque, yet.” You agreed. Another smile. “You bring that champagne like I asked?”

Dean tilted his head toward the car.

“Grab it.”

He sighed. Sam shrugged and stood his ground. A quick trip to the car and a reach into the open window of the back seat found the bottle. Dean jogged back only to find you and Sam had moved to the rest of the crew, even Cleo, now beside the gondola. The envelope had already been unpacked and unfurled on the ground.

“If you’d be so kind and open that, Dean.” You motioned to the champagne. 

Dean fumbled with the wire cage over the cork.

“We have a tradition for first time riders. Sam, even though you didn’t go up, you certainly proved an invaluable part of the crew. So, I think you should get to partake as well.” You continued.

Dean eased the cork out of the bottle with a satisfying pop and a small bit of fizz leaked out, down his hand.

“May I?” You reached for the bottle.

Dean passed it over with a smile.

“On your knees, boys.” You ordered.

The entire crew chuckled at Dean and Sam’s expressions.

You pointed to the ground.

Dean cocked his head to his brother. Sam sighed. They knelt down in unison, staring up at you.

“This is what we call your initiation, a baptism you might say.” The seriousness in your voice made Dean’s eyes narrow as he stared at you. “Let us pray.” 

The crew bent their heads. Sam elbowed Dean to do the same. But all he wanted to do was keep his eyes on you. You lifted your eyelids at his gaze and coerced Dean to follow suit with the rest. His grin rose one side of his mouth upward before he gave in.

“Sam and Dean.” Dean spied your sneakers strolling closer, the earth crunching beneath your steps. “May the winds welcome you with softness.” Your voice was low, reverent. “May the sun bless you with its warm hands.” Dean thought back to when it was only the two of you, up in the air, free. “And then set you gently back into the loving arms of Mother Earth.” You finished.

He couldn’t wait to be alone with you again. And, then, Dean felt the cool bubbling liquid pour over his head. Son of a bitch.

*

The entrance bell dinged when you stepped foot in Loyola’s. Your eyes lit up when you chanced upon Dean, sitting in one of the booths, digging into a breakfast burrito at 11:00 am. He waited. The sign by the register encouraged you to seat yourself. You made your way over to the Winchester brother that made your insides somersault.

He glanced up at your approach, looking adorable and sinful at the same time. He chewed with gusto and reverence. To your surprise, he dropped the burrito and bolted out of his seat to stand by the table. It gave you the opportunity to inspect his sturdy frame. The change of clothes confirmed he’d found somewhere to shower. A faded denim button-up draped over his shoulders. Amazingly, you thought he might only be wearing one layer atop the wide span of his chest. He was doing the entire city of Albuquerque a civil service, swaddling those fine bow legs and ass into a tight pair of dark jeans. Do not drool. “Hey.” The dab of a napkin wiped away some scrambled egg from his chin. “You finally made it.” His smile extended from ear to ear.

You gripped the shoulder strap of your bag. The soap scent filled your nostrils. Damn. How did his smile make your mind cease to function? “Yeah. Sorry. Wrap up took longer than expected.” You shrugged. “And, I needed to clean up, too.” You grinned.

“Hm. Well, you didn’t have someone pour champagne all over you. You're lucky I don’t have Baby with me.” He motioned for you to sit.

Your bag hit the bench seat before you slid in across from him. “Baby?”

“All that storytelling and Bobby didn’t mention my pride and joy?”

You frowned, wondering who or what in the hell Baby was.

“My car. Was my Dad’s.” Dean frowned as well.

“Where is it?”

“We had to stash it when the leviathans made those murder Xeroxes of us. They even drove around in an exact copy of my wheels.”

“I’m sorry.” The whole subject matter was surreal; made you feel like you were talking to a sci-fi character from a television show. If that nagging, gnawing suspicion hadn’t been with you for years, you knew you wouldn’t believe a stitch of the yarn Bobby had told you months back. You looked over the laminated menu. You already knew what you’d order. You needed something to distract you from how pretty his green eyes shined in the sunlight streaming through the diner window.

Dean tilted a shoulder a fraction, making you look up. He’d trapped you in that gaze again. “Hopefully, I get to see her again soon.” He tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “I mean, hey, I got to rendezvous with you again. Things are looking up.” He grinned.

The waitress swung by and took your order, dropping off a glass of water and pouring you a cup of coffee. Dean’s eyes widened when you told her you’d have the Southwest Sizzling Sampler and to please keep the caffeine coming. “What?” You questioned with a raised eyebrow when it was only the two of you.

“Not for nothin’, but a woman with a healthy appetite is kinda hot.” He licked his lips and went back to his plate of food. A finger pointed to his burrito. “Want some?”

You chuckled. “I’m good. Thanks.” You suddenly realized you were down a Winchester. “Where’s Sam?”

Dean gulped down his mouthful. “We got a room at the Tewa lodge. He’s doing some Roman research.”

“Ah. Should I tell Gen of his location?”

A gruff laugh left his throat. “I think Sam beat you to it.”

“I guess research is a big part of the whole hunting thing.” You turned behind you, noting the other patrons within earshot. You recognized Stella from the bookstore. She immediately said hello, chatted you up for some seconds, only to put you more on guard. You turned back to Dean and took a quick swig of your water. You resumed your topic. “So, research?”

He raised a brow and donned a smile variation you hadn’t quite seen from him before. “Yeah. The boring part of hunting. But, necessary. Jobs don’t actually fall into our laps. Not often.” Dean shot into another thought. “Did Bobby give you my new number? At least, the number I had when you made contact with him?”

You shook your head. “He didn’t want to put you in danger. That’s what he said, anyway. In case I really wasn’t who I said I was. He’d done some research of his own on me before calling back. See if the info I left about myself in the voicemail checked out. But, he said, he couldn’t be too careful.”

Dean nodded. “Sounds like Bobby.” His eyes narrowed. “Mind if I test you?”

“Test me? Like multiple choice?”

He plopped a trial sized plastic bottle of mouthwash on the table. But, the cloudy white liquid was most definitely not mouthwash. “Pour some of that on your hand.”

“What?” Your entire body stiffened up on defense. “What is it?”

“Just a household cleaner with Borax in it.” He responded like they were discussing the weather. “If you’re a baddie, it’ll burn you.”

“It could burn me, regardless. Ever read the warning labels on the back?”

“Not skin irritation. Talking, eat your skin away if you’re a leviathan.”

“Jesus.” You shook your head, opened the bottle, placed a stack of napkins from the dispenser under one hand, and then dripped cleaner over your knuckles. You wiggled your fingers and patted away the liquid. “Did I pass?”

He smiled. “Yep. Demon test, too.”

“Huh?”

He secured the cap and snuck the bottle back into his leather jacket resting next to him on the bench. “I snuck some holy water in your glass.”

You ran your tongue along the top of your mouth. “Ew.”

“Can’t be too careful. A lot could have happened since Vegas. And, I would have had to add avenging you to the top of my to do list if those fuckers got to you, too.”

The thought of him extracting violent revenge on your behalf gave you a weird sense of comfort and safety. You smiled.  

He smiled back. “Anyway, with the thoughts I’ve been thinking, gotta make sure you’re not going to gank me when we’re alone later. My guard will be down.”

Your mouth dried up. “Are we going to be alone later?”

He nodded with certainty. “Oh yeah. You’re taking me back to your place.”

God, you loved that cocky assuredness. Any other man would come off as a smug bastard. But, there was so much charm covering it up in Dean’s whole being that you couldn’t resist. “Am I?”

“Yep.” Another slight nod. The waitress disrupted your flirting and dropped the plate in front of you. “Wow. That’s beautiful.” Dean commented on the piles of breakfast food.

You rubbed your hands together and shot back. “Fueling up for later.”

He chuckled. “My kinda woman.”

*

He followed you back to your apartment in his Cougar. You were distracted for most of the ten minute ride. Thinking about what he was going to do with that gorgeous body of his; that this was actually happening. Glancing in your rear view mirror at a red light pulled you into a long study of his perfect face. His cocky grin followed a horn tap on his steering wheel when the light turned green. He probably knew you’d been staring. Son of a bitch.

Your palm was a sweaty mess turning the knob of your apartment door. It didn’t help that he was breathing down your neck, looming over you.

Tyrion greeted you with his usual rumbling of purrs. “You have a cat?” Dean queried from behind. He sounded disappointed. You heard the click of the door closing.

You scratched the top of your buddy’s head. Tyrion eyed the new male in the room with a proud tilt up of his long-haired chin and twitchy whiskers. “I do.” You confirmed the obvious.

“I’m allergic.” Dean sighed. At that, Tyrion strolled up to Dean and did a figure eight between his bow legs.

“So am I.” You stated and flung your jacket across the back of your, and Tyrion’s, favorite chair.

“So, you’re a masochist?” Dean chuckled and pinched his nose shut.

“Okay, Ew. First, don’t pull my cat into some sexual kink. Second, I don’t derive gratification from pain and humiliation...”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “I’m intrigued and aroused that you actually know what a masochist is…”

You shook your head and forced yourself not to focus on how sexy his voice sounded wrapping around the word aroused. “Third,” you continued, “Tyrion is a Siberian. He’s hypoallergenic. Us cat allergy sufferers can usually tolerate being around this breed.”

“Really?” The genuine surprise on his face went to inspect the furball, plopped onto his back, displaying a belly to Dean for some rubbing.

You nodded. “But, to be on the safe side, I keep him out of my bedroom.”

Dean shot his stare back up at the word bedroom.

You cleared your throat.

He grinned and bent at the knees to give Tyrion a few pats for good measure.

“Want something to drink?” A quick dash around the breakfast bar gave you a chance to escape. You grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and sipped away, trying to cool the burning of your cheeks.

“I’m good.” You heard him respond from the living room. He was still bent down making friends with Tyrion.

You tapped at the bottle with your fingernails and stared at the fridge door and your assortment of magnets. What the hell? What am I supposed to do now?”

“Nice little place.” He leaned against the edge of the breakfast bar. His leather jacket had been discarded.

“Thanks.”

He stuffed his hands into front jean pockets and mosied over like a gunslinger. “Am I gonna have to make the first move again?”

You smiled. “‘Fraid so.”

He stared down at you with a smile. “Something tells me you don’t mind it.”

You shook your head and swallowed down a sigh.

He pulled the bottle from your grasp and dropped it somewhere. Your stomach tumbled in excitement at the grasp of his warm hands around your waist. He lifted you like you weighed a feather and sat you on the bartop, right in front of him. You were almost at perfect eye level. He pried your knees open and wedged into your legs. He was hot and so close, face inches from yours. “I don’t have a lot of time to do everything I want.” His breath snuck into your open mouth. “I’d need days.”

And, then, his lips were pressed into yours again. Firm, decisive, and a little needy. Not quite as needy as yours, returning the want and the build from your alone time up in the air together. He released your lips, kissed along your jaw and cheek. Rubbed his scruff against your skin. Encapsulated your earlobe with a glorious suck between those billowy lips. He ran his tongue against the diamond stud. Moaned a breathy, “Do you taste good everywhere?” into your ear.

You gripped the edge of the breakfast bar. He was making you unsteady, drunk with desire. Your eyes widened. His fingers snapped the button of your jeans open and worked the zipper down. 

He broke from his work and stared at your face. “I shouldn’t be having all the fun.” He grinned. “Put your hands on me, sweetheart.”

Your shaky hands lifted off the bartop and rested on the lapels of his denim shirt. You snuck a squeeze at his pecs and he chuckled.

“We good?” You knew he was asking for permission to dip his fingers under your panties. He was currently skimming the band of it, lighting up the skin around your belly button. “Once I start, I’m not stoppin’.”

You nodded. “We’re good.”

His mouth went to your neck, licking, pecking, sucking. He moaned against the skin when his fingertips found your wet warmth. “Damn.”

Your breath hitched with the prodding and searching. He teased the sensitive nub with his thumb, hand sandwiched tight between you and the denim as he cupped your sex. His mouth was at yours now, examining every inch with his tongue.

Senses came back to you in bursts and blips. You undid the buttons of his shirt as he continued his own exploration. Once you’d freed the last button you danced over the ridges and planes of his chest. His body reacted with a twitch when you scraped nails over his perky little nipples. He groaned into your mouth. You moaned when his hand pulled out of your panties. He kissed through his request and stared into your eyes. “How about we go somewhere we can be alone?”

You followed his gaze to the floor where Tyrion was darting between Dean’s legs again. You laughed and nodded. Dean tried his best not to trip over the cat, stepped back, and helped you off the bar. You grabbed his hand, wet with your excitement, and guided him to the bedroom. You couldn’t resist turning back at the sight of him, shirt unbuttoned and peeks of tummy, chest and pecs. There was a tattoo on his chest above his heart that got your attention for a split second. Walking backward, you lost your balance at the hunger in his eyes. He leaned in, pressed you into the bedroom door, then tumbled you both through after fumbling at the knob. Once inside, he flung the door shut with a kick of his boot heel.

He wasted no time, grabbing at the hem of your t-shirt, pulling it up. He cursed and gave it a firm tug when it caught on your chin to release you from the confines. The giggle from you was more to calm your unease of what he was actually capable of when he put his mind to it. The strength behind his movements was unquestionable. He quashed the sounds of your laugh with his mouth, gulping down the vibrations leaving your throat. He was literally taking your breath away.

Fingers squeezed at the bra cups, finding taut nubs and rubbing over the fabric in circles. He guided you down onto the bed with the push of his mouth. His arms were around you in an instant, cushioning your fall onto the mattress. He leaned above, one knee between your legs, all smiles. “Never done it with a pilot before.” His knee settled against the warmth and rubbed you through the layers.

You lifted up on your elbows and leaned up to suck at his bottom lip. It provided him the opportunity to unclasp your bra. You released his lip and fell back on the bed. “Never done it with a monster hunter before.”

He removed your bra. His eyes widened and he licked his lips. “I guess we’re both in for a treat.”

God, his mouth. The way it worked over each inch of your body. He talked about not having enough time but seemed in no hurry to get on with the actual task of fucking. At least not with the package you had yet to unwrap. But, you got a hint of what he was working with at the bulge tenting his jeans.

His tongue lolled about the dip in your neck, your collar bone. He nipped and tugged at your flesh. Circled your nipples, sucked and tweaked them into bliss. Stoking the heat in your core and readying you.

He slipped out of his shirt like a snakeskin, slithering down, peeling your pants and panties down to your calves. He popped off your canvas shoes, finished your disrobing, and then stood to take you in, completely naked.

It was the middle of the day. Sunlight crept into your bedroom through sheer curtains. Any other man, any other time, you would have covered up in embarrassment. But, you let him take you in so you could do the same. The creamy, bronze kissed skin of his chest made you ache. The scars all had some history behind them. Dappling of freckles here and there ground him into some sort of reality; confirmed he was in fact human and not some god, come to earth to ruin anyone he touched for anyone else.

He bent down, forced you to maintain eye contact. His tongue flicked out and teased your folds. He savored the taste, smiled, then went to work on you. He talked you through everything he was doing and was planning to do to you. Stopped talking long enough to follow through on his promises. His fingers found that spot deep inside he said would make you crumble for him, come for him, into his mouth. And, you did. Twice. Cause that’s what he said he’d make you do.  

You were panting, trying to catch your breath when he rose up and fished his wallet from his back pocket. He tossed a foil wrapper alongside you on the sheets. “Gonna feel so good inside you.” He murmured, taking off his jeans.

“Shit.” You gasped when you finally saw all of him.

He smiled in pride. “Thank you.”

“Dean, I…”

He nodded. “I can already tell it’s gonna be a tight fit, sweetheart.” He bent down and kissed your lips. “We’ll get there. Trust me. Gonna be so much fun getting there.”

He snatched the wrapper, ripped it open, and worked the condom over his hard length. He slid over your body, capturing you between those muscled forearms and kissed you in languid waves.

And, then, he was pushing against your entrance. Steadying atop of you on one forearm while his other hand assisted, seeking a way to penetrate. His held breath released, slow, when he finally breached and made some headway inside.

“Goddamn.” He settled in, listened to your moans. “Alright, sweetheart?”

You nodded and tried to control your breathing. The searing and stretch of him in you was like nothing you’d experienced. “You’re amazing.”

He smiled and kissed your chin. “You’re awesome.”

*

You made him work hard that afternoon. And he loved every second of it.

He’d come down from the high of his second orgasm a half hour ago. He thought maybe it had been your fourth, but he wasn’t going to ask. You snuggled into his side, the both of you now under the covers, dozing in and out. Tyrion, on occasion, would scratch and meow on the other side of the closed bedroom door. He played with your hair, delaying the inevitable for as long as he could.

You spoke first. “Have a clue where you’re headed next?”

“Uh-uh. We’ve got someone trying to help track Roman. But…” He pinched his nose, “Wild goose chase. Who knows? Maybe Sam will have something when I get back.”

He felt your fingers trace over his anti-possession tattoo. “Dean?”

“Hm?” He was ready for you to ask for details on his tat.

“Do you and Sam ever go on those run of the mill hunts anymore? Or is it all leviathans and angels and demons now?”

He smiled. “All the time. I kind of look forward to a simple ghost hunt every now and then.”

“Do hunters have cold cases they work on?”

“Sometimes. Why?” You felt so good in his arms. Like you fit just right.

Your head lifted up. Your eyes stared into his. “My parents…” Your voice trailed off. “I’ve always had this feeling. The way they died. It didn’t seem…”

It was all you had to say. His arms wrapped you up tight. “How about once Sammy and I take care of these leviathans, I come back and we figure out what happened. Together. Supernatural or not, we get you some answers.”

He wiped a tear from your cheek. You nodded, burying your head back against his chest.

For another hour, Dean closed his eyes and drifted away. In that tiny one-bedroom apartment of yours in Albuquerque that felt like something he could call home. With you.

Sam could wait. The work he had to do on the road could wait. The inevitable sacrifice he’d have to make, again, could wait. 

What he wanted, what he wished for, what he dreamed was to be up in the air with you again. In your Baby. 

And let you pilot them wherever the wind would lead you both.

THE END

MASTERLIST

[survivingthejungle]

soft; jerome x reader

ive never written anything this fluffy in my god damn life... hopefully its not a complete flop? idk

You hadn’t committed a crime.

Regardless of whatever conclusion the jury had come to, you would always maintain that you hadn’t committed a crime. Because, what crime is there in justice?

One of the men who had tried to assault you had just been a little too lazy with his knife, and in a moment of instinctual self-defence, you had pushed it back in on himself.

Unfortunately for you, the other man—the one who hadn’t been stabbed—had managed to pay off the jury to convict you of first degree murder, and the only way you would avoid going to straight-up prison would be taking the insanity plea.

You fought it—oh, how you fought it, tooth-and-nail— but in the end, you and your family didn’t have the resources, and the corrupt rich of Gotham once again won the day. The playout of your hearing had caused outrage throughout the city, and no one believed that you deserved to go to an asylum, but the public backlash surrounding your conviction still was not enough to get the decision overturned.

Some of the staff at Arkham were sympathetic to your case and did all they could to treat you like the normal girl you were, not like one of the truly mentally-ill patients who were there for good reason. Of course, not every staff member was this accommodating— Dr. Strange had been wanting to use you as an guinea pig for a while now. The only thing keeping him from doing so was your family’s constant visits and the fact that he couldn’t be sure that the nurses and guards who knew you and your story wouldn’t rebel against him.

About a month into your incarceration— one down, two to go— there was a change in atmosphere. An unusual burst of activity came about one morning; while you were in your cell, brushing your teeth and washing your face, a handful of guards all stormed past, seemingly guiding someone along with them. You peeked out of the small window on your door, but couldn’t see much aside from the guards and a quick flash of a tuft of bright red hair.

-

To ensure that your safety was never compromised and that all of the staff knew you were no real threat, it had been decided within the Asylum that you were not to wear the same black-and-white striped garments as all of the other inmates. Instead, you had been given a handful of simple, white cotton slips, and you had been allowed to bring some of your own sweaters, shoes, and socks from home. You had been allowed your own pajamas from home, so you decided to bring two pairs of basketball shots, two t-shirts, and a big sweatshirt to sleep in. In addition, yo also brought a handful of your favorite scrunchies and hair clips, and a notebook and pen to keep track of your thoughts and write letters while you were away. To say you stood out like a sore thumb would be an understatement; you didn’t look exactly like an inmate, you certainly didn’t look like staff, and you didn’t look like a normal teenage girl either. You just looked different, and you were okay with that. You were content just keeping to yourself, minding your own business, writing and reading when you had the opportunity, and getting the hell out of this asylum.

Until recently. A new inmate had recently been admitted; around your age, tall, vivid red hair, an unnerving laugh, and arrested on a count of matricide. When they brought him in, he was strapped up in a straight jacket and being wheeled around. He caught sight of you in the rec room and winked, and you, being caught in a trance-like daze, had simply lifted your hand and waved with a straight face. It didn’t help that he was an objectively attractive guy; if you had seen him anywhere outside of an asylum, you probably would’ve heart-eyed him with your friends. But you were in an asylum, the both of you, so you decided to maintain your earlier resolve of keeping to yourself and not interacting with anyone else.

-

The next day, you saw him come into the rec room. You were sitting in an old, worn-out bean bag reading one of the old hand-me-down books from a shelf in the corner. It was Madame Bovary, a title you’d heard repeated many times but never really looked into until now. You were halfway through and so engrossed with the tragic story that you didn’t notice a presence seat itself beside you until you heard a voice speaking.

“Hi gorgeous, I’m Jerome.” It was the redhead from yesterday, grinning at you.

“Hi. That’s not my name,” you responded, pulling your eyes away from him and back to your book.

“Well then, by all means, spill! What can I call you?” His voice was deep but had a childlike lilt, like everything he said was purposefully over-theatrical. He placed his chin on his fist, staring intently at you.

“My name is (Y/N). I don’t really wanna talk to anyone right now, so can you just leave me alone?”

“Jeez, just trying to be polite… Y’know, a girl could really use some friends in a place like this.”

“No, not really. I’m fine how I am. Thanks, though.”

He paused and looked at you quizzically as though he had just noticed something that he hadn’t before. “Hey, how come you don’t wear stripes like the rest of us, huh?”

“Because I’m not like the rest of you. I’m not supposed to be in here.”

“Ugh, believe me, babe, I tried that line too. Didn’t work. C’mon, what’d you do to get in here? Now I’m curious,” he prodded.

You were silent for a moment. Some people had no problem admitting that they had done something like that; in fact, some reveled in it. But you were not the kind of girl who could just openly declare that I killed a man. “...It was self defense.”

“Oh yeah,” he lightly scoffed, “Then how’d you end up here, and not scot-free out there?”

“This is Gotham,” you shot back, “There’s no justice in this city. If a rich man wants a girl locked up, she gets locked up. End of story.”

“Ain’t that the truth, sister.” He let out a sigh and leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. “Tell me something, though,” he started, staring at you. “Are you being serious?”

“You tell me… I’m already in an asylum. If I was really guilty, I would’ve admitted it by now, right?”

“Huh.” He shook his head, looking away from you. “Huh. You got me there. Well… that sucks for you, doesn’t it?”

“You’re telling me; I’m the one wrongly incarcerated.”

“Hey! That’s perfect! So you really do need a friend in this place, otherwise all the rest of these crazies are gonna eat you up…” he got closer to you before continuing. “Y’know, it’s really not safe for you here if you’re the only sane person. I think we should be friends.”

“If it gets you off my case, then sure, I guess.” A grin lit up his face and he leaned back out of your personal space; he did not, however, show any signs of leaving you alone anytime soon. “Will you leave me alone now, please?” you asked.

“What kind of a friend would I be, leaving you alone out here to fend for yourself? Nah, see, these other guys in here, they’ll do bad things to a pretty girl if she’s all alone. I’m just looking out for you.”

You considered his words for a moment. Although no one had truly tried to harm you yet, you hadn’t been here long. And some of the creepier inmates had been staring you down recently, now that you thought about it… “I’m not gonna, like… talk to you, a lot. I just read a lot. And write. And draw, sometimes. But I’m not a big conversationalist. So if that’s what you wanted from me, you got the wrong girl.”

“Hey, that’s fine by me,” he responded. “You just sit there and look pretty till you get to go home. I’ll be your silent protector.”

Not very silent, you thought. “Why… why do you even wanna be my friend, then? If you’re not looking for someone to talk to… You just wanna ‘help me out’? You’re a wannabe serial killer, you don’t really seem like the kind of guy who tries to help a girl out of the goodness of his heart.”

“What can I say?” he asked you. “I can be unpredictable. And you seemed kinda… Sad. Lonely. I dunno. But a pretty, innocent girl locked up in here shouldn’t have to fend for herself. I may be bad, alright, but I’m not completely souless!” He snickered to himself. “Heh, get it? ‘Cause I’m a ginger.” You let out a soft, breathy laugh at that; one you couldn’t contain. “Hey,” he reached out and nudged your cheek, “There’s that smile. Go on, I’m sorry, read your book. I’ll just chill here… Hangin’ out.”

-

The asylum was particularly chilly today, so you slipped an oversized, washed-out pastel sweater over your dress, as well as a pair of mismatched thick socks. You slid into a pair of plain brown ankle boots with loose laces and clipped two red barrettes into your hair, a yellow scrunchie on your wrist. According to the little red antique clock in your cell, it was nearly eight A.M.— breakfast, which Jerome would always walk down to with you. He always delayed the guards as much as possible before passing your cell, so that you could be escorted down with him.

It had been about two weeks since your first encounter, and while you were initially wary of the prospect of being chummy with a convicted murderer, there was something about him that drew you in. Maybe it was how charming he could be, or how protective he acted of you or how he definitely wasn’t the most unattractive person you’d ever seen, but you weren’t as opposed as you used to be towards being his friend. You heard the sound of struggling increase as it got closer and closer to your door, and you knew it was Jerome come to “pick you up” for the day. You waited at your door, looking out the barred slot as the guards got closer and closer.

“Excuse me? Could I be taken down to breakfast as well?” you asked them, and one with a key ring unlocked your door and let you step outside into the hall.

“Mornin’, (Y/N).” It was Anthony, a guard that you felt you had a good standing with. He was always respectful to you because he had been keeping up with your trial while it was in the news, and he firmly believed that you had done nothing to end up in this place.

“Good morning. How are you?”

“I’m just well, thanks! Did you sleep alright?”

“Yeah, I did! Do you know what variation of gruel they’re feeding us today?” Jerome snorted at this. “Hey, Jerome. What’s up?”

“Oh, y’know, not much.”

“Sounds fun.”

-

Breakfast was, in fact, another variation of gruel. You had been given a choice between cinnamon and apple oatmeal, lazily slopped onto a tray before being shoved into your arms with a spoon.

You took a seat at an unoccupied table and began to eat and read— you were rereading Gatsby, now—until Jerome joined you.

“Hey, J,” you greeted him, not looking up from your book.

“Hey there, girlie,” he greets, nudging you when he sits down beside you.  “What’s the plan today?”

“They have me in group today. Something about having to ‘act like we’re making progress’,” you slightly mocked.

Jerome gasped. “Well, hey! Whadaya know? I’m in group today, too!” The possibility that you were not in the same group was slim to none; your proximity in age and the fact that both of your cells were on the same floor meant that in any group setting, you were bound to end up together.

“Have they put you in it before?” you wondered.

“Oh, yeah, once or twice,” he told you, taking another spoonful of oatmeal before continuing. “Don’t be nervous about it. All they do is sit you in a circle and give you pens and paper and have you talk about your feelings and why you killed people.” That was still a touchy subject. You’d never verbally say that you ‘killed’ a person; there was a difference between murder and self-defense, and there was absolutely no way in hell you’d ever be convinced they were the same. Jerome noticed a shift in your attitude. “Well, I mean, you never killed anyone. So I guess you won’t have to participate too much.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you agreed. A burly looking man the approached Jerome, eyeing you all the while.

“Jerome.” He looked up and rolled his eyes at the man.

“Can I help you with something, Greenwood?”

“Yeah. Just wondering when you’re gonna share your little lady friend with the rest of us.” He sat down opposite both of you. “She looks tasty.”

In shock, you couldn’t properly formulate a response to the man’s lewd comments, so while you sat there, eyes fixated on your oatmeal, Jerome took the liberty of speaking up on your behalf. “She’s off limits, pal. Don’t touch her,” he told him, grinning all the while. “Or I’ll flay you and feed you to the rats.”

“Oh, little J’s got himself a girlfriend now, huh? What, you gonna chop her up just like you chopped up your mommy?” Greenwood inched closer and closer to Jerome while taunting him, and your friend was getting visibly aggravated.

His fist clenched and he slammed it on the table. You put your hand over his forearm to draw his attention over to you instead. “Jerome. Stop,” you requested.

“What?” he asked you. “Why me? What about him?”

“Because I know you can be rational,” you told him, maintaining eye contact. “It’s not worth it. Don’t give him the reaction he wants.”

He let out a short breath and turned his attention back to Greenwood. “You know what? She’s right. You’re not worth my foot. Go back to playing with your little dolls, Greenwood,” he taunted, gesturing with his free hand. Greenwood snarled, but got up and walked away anyways. Jerome looked back to you. “Y’know, you’re starting to rub off on me. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll be a goody two-shoes just like you!” he joked, snickering. You just rolled your eyes, the ghost of a soft smile on your face.

“Hey,” you warned, “Don’t start getting soft. That’s my thing,” you shot back.

“Yeah, I know,” he smirked at you, catching your hand—the one that was on his forearm—in his. “Jeez, (Y/N), why are you so cold?” he asked you. His hands were exponentially warmer than yours, and you appreciated the heat warming up your own.

“It’s the middle of January and I have terrible circulation. Plus, no one in this place cares enough to turn the heat up.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he laughed. Then he was putting his head on top of yours, so you leaned your head onto his shoulder.

“What time is it?” You yawned. He told you that it was roughly eight-thirty. “Gross.” Jerome chuckled and gave a murmur of assent. He took his hand out of yours and put his arm around your shoulders instead.

“I’ll wake you up when they make us leave,” he assured you as you closed your eyes, thanking him. Then you were off to sleep again, catching up on all of the hours you had missed since you had been incarcerated. He grabbed your book off of the table and began reading it for himself. He kept one hand lightly trailing through your hand while the other was used to flip the pages until, at 9:20, the nurses came to inform the both of you that it was time for therapy.

-

If someone would’ve asked you what had been discussed in that session, you wouldn’t’ve had a clue. You sat next to your only friend in the place, of course, latching onto the only person you’d truly felt comfortable with since you’d been brought in. The two of you had passed notes back and forth the whole time, decorated with goofy little doodles and cartoons to entertain one another. When Jerome had cracked a joke to you following one of the other inmates’ comments, you could barely suppress your giggle, and you both had ended up making a bit of a scene.

“Jerome. (Y/N). Cut it out,” the therapist had reprimanded you. Jerome just gave her a nod, but you had verbally apologized and promised that it wouldn’t happen again.

A few seconds later, another note was passed onto your lap. SORRY FOR BEING A BAD INFLUENCE, it had read. You flipped it over to respond on the other side.

we balance each other out

like a negative and a positive

-

Two months later, and you were finally free to return to the rest of the world. You were overjoyed; you couldn’t wait to get back to your friends and family. You couldn’t wait to get back to school, something you never thought you’d say to yourself. You were also surprised at how well Jerome had responded when you’d told him that you were finally going home.

“You’ll write to me, right?” he asked you.

“Of course,” you verified.

“And visit?”

“I’ll try my damndest,” you promised.

He had seemed like he was making so much progress when you were around. At least, that’s what the nurses and therapists had all noted. For his own sake, they all secretly wished that you would keep coming back to help him out.

-

After another month, the whole city was erupted into chaos.

There had been some sort of gas leak at Arkham, followed by a breakout; your friend among the escapees. The next time you saw him had been on the T.V. in the midst of attempting to blow up a school bus full of cheerleaders from Gotham High.

You felt your heart break in your chest as you sat on your bed that morning watching the news. You’d really, truly let yourself believe that he wasn’t as bad of a person as the media had portrayed him, especially during his trial. You knew him firsthand! He was such a good friend to you, and was always watching your back. It was hard for you to believe that the boy who passed you notes in therapy and made you laugh all day was the same boy who had just kidnapped and murdered seven dock workers and attempted to blow up a bus full of cheerleaders the same age as him.

But, sadly, this was the reality that you lived in. I guess he really fooled me, huh, you thought to yourself.

Around noon that same day, while watching some documentary on Netflix and sending texts back and forth with one of your best friends, you heard a loud knocking outside of your window. “Holy shit!” you exclaimed, heart nearly leaping out of your chest. When your adrenaline rush finally slowed, you looked to see what had caused the noise, and—

“Holy shit!” Lo and behold; it was none other than Jerome Valeska. He grinned at you, waving emphatically.

“Open up, wouldya?” He spoke through the window. “Let’s catch up!”

You walked over to your windowsill but didn’t open the window, instead choosing to lock it. “Why should I let you into my house, Jerome? I’d be harboring a fugitive. That’s a crime. Just like kidnapping, murder, and arson,” you glared at him. “Why would you do that, J?” you asked, hurt evident in your eyes, even through the glass separating you.

“Let me in, (Y/N), I really wanna talk. You know I’d never hurt you.” You immediately believed him, having to consciously remind yourself that you might’ve been being led into a trap. That was, until he held up a fist and extended his pinky. “I pinky swear.” Damn, the boy knows I love me a good pinky swear. You gave up your resolve and cracked the window just enough to reach your own hand through, locking your fingers together before opening it the rest of the way.

“Okay. Talk,” you told him as he climbed through and stepped into your room. You took a seat on the edge of your bed, and he followed suit.

“This guy, Theo… he’s the one who broke us all out,” Jerome began to explain. “Kinda boring dude. But also kinda cool. He’s like the weird, rich uncle I never had,” he joked, making you crack a small smile. He smiled himself at that, nudging you playfully. “Anyways, he gives this whole speech about how we all have ‘vision’ and ‘talent’ and yada yada yada… So I know he gets me.

“Says he wants us to just go crazy, right? ‘Paint the town red’, other junk like that,” he continued. “The last guy who tried to leave, Sionis… He had him stabbed to death. Right in front of us all.” Your eyes shot up to his, shocked. “I can’t very well follow in his footsteps,” he told you.

“Oh, Jerome… That’s awful. I’m sorry.” You wrapped an arm around his side, implying that you’d mostly forgiven him for what he’d been doing recently. It’s not his fault, you reasoned, he’s scared for his life. “What if I call the cops so they can keep you safe from him? You don’t have to keep hurting people,” you offered.

“No, (Y/N), please don’t,” he begged. “They’ll just send me straight back to Arkham, I don’t wanna go back there, I hate that place—”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I understand. I won’t call anyone. Be safe, though? I mean… try as much as you can to not hurt anyone if you can help it.”

“I will. You were right, y’know. About balancing each other out. I think we make a good pair,” he told you, a smile that looked genuine on his face.

“Best friends,” you offered back. Then you gave him a solid hug, burying your face in his chest.

And you’d never have seen it, but that genuine smile suddenly became cunning and devious once more.  Gotcha...

[justsomelarryfics]

Here are the fics that I read in the month of March, 2019, that I finished and enjoyed. I will first shows fics from this month, and then older ones.

Sorted by length

New this month

Do You Wanna Ride by @phd-mama -  When Liam's attractive new business partner wins riding lessons with Harry, hilarity ensues. (one shot, 4k)

Tell Me I’m Punk by @tiniinbookland - ""How punk do I seem?"" The one were Harry wants to be a punk but Louis loves him just like he is. (one shot, 4k)

Just Go With It by @rainbowsandlovehl - “Brett, there’s something I need to tell you,” he started, inwardly cringing at his choice of words before taking in a deep breath. Brett seemed curious, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “The reason I haven’t been texting you back is that...” “Harry, they were all out of organic guacamole,” a raspy, unfamiliar male voice interrupted, startling him into silence. “So I got us the normal one. Hope that’s alright?” Harry has no idea how to escape awkward situation but luckily for him, Louis swoops in to help. (one shot, 6k)

Only One at the Finish Line by @horsegirlharry for @1dgayboficfest - “What don’t I know?!” Louis shouts, and then Harry is rounding on him, close enough that he can feel the heat of his body, the rage and the glory and the pain of it so close that it blinds him.“I want to be another alpha’s omega,” is what he says, and it comes out like something reckless, something wild. Like he doesn't care anymore if Louis hates him or not, if Louis understands, he just needs to speak his truth aloud to darkness, to the slender pines that surround them like a jury panel. (one shot, 9k)

fall in love with the moon (and everything beautiful) by @microlouis -  “It’s adorable that you think you can compromise with me on this,” Louis says. He places his hands on his hips and tries his best to look intimidating. “But I am not budging on this. Every book pun you say will result in one quarter in the jar.” “What jar?” Harry asks. He furrows his eyebrows together. Louis rolls his eyes. “Like a swear jar, but now I’m going to make yours ‘Harry’s dumbass pun jar.’ Maybe I’ll have you put a quarter in for every pun you say, not just the ones about books. Niall was right - you tell the worst jokes.” “One time Niall told me I’d never said a funny joke in my life,” Harry says casually. “Funny. He told me that too.” or, louis and harry work in a bookstore together and harry tells dumb jokes and they fall in love (one shot, 10k)

Naked Attraction - Naked Attraction: a gameshow where the contestant views 6 naked possible partners and narrows them down based off of pure attraction. Harry was not a fan of the shallow gameshow, so he decided to mix it up a little. Louis Tomlinson was the only gay and unfortunate staff member chosen to step in for one of the six possible partners when someone drops out. He hated working there, and he definitely didn't want to agree, but it was too good of an offer to be turned down. Nothing would come out of it, surely, and they even agreed to keep his identity a secret.That all changed when famous singer Harry Styles walked out. Louis had no idea who he was, and Harry liked that about him.. . .Or the one based off a British TV show called Naked Attraction that I found hilarious. (one shot, 12k)

All I Want Is To Fall With You by @2tiedships2 - The pair looked at each other for a few moments before Harry moved forward and gathered Louis in an unexpected hug. It was nice, but why the fuck was an unknown alpha hugging him? Maybe an even better question would be why did Louis feel so secure in this stranger's arms? Harry quickly let go and Louis felt something pull at him."Sorry," Harry said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Shit, um, that just seemed a natural response for some reason. I’m so sorry." Louis smiled up at the alpha. "It's okay. Thanks again, Harry." "You're welcome. I know it's horrible weather, and less than optimal circumstances, but this was a brilliant meet-cute." What the fuck was a meet-cute? Or the weekend ski trip where omega Louis discovers that he can’t change a tire and his skiing skills are debatable but still manages to find the alpha who will change his life. (one shot, 16k)

the act of making noise by @suspendrs - “Oh,” Harry frowns, waving him off. “No, I could never. I respect myself too much to sing for a living.”It feels like a slap across the face, but Louis does his best not to stiffen, blinking once and then frowning. “What?” “Those people are always so miserable, you know?” Harry says, hopping down off his stool and straightening his sweater. “There’s so much pressure on them, and they have to work so hard to keep up appearances, I can’t even imagine how difficult that is. I can’t even stand to listen to pop music today, let alone watch TV or read the magazines. It makes me so sad, thinking that those people, you know, the ones who actually went into it with heart, they only ever just wanted to make music and instead they got turned into things on leashes being paraded around to make money for other people,” he says. “Anyway, you can have the stool.” Or, Louis's famous, Harry has no idea who he is, and they get snowed in together at a ski lodge in Vermont. (chaptered, may be continued, 22k)

Take Me Down Slow (Don’t Let Me Go) by @jacaranda-bloom for @1dgayboficfest - Louis has always felt different. Not necessarily on the outer realm of societal norms, but pretty damn close to the edge. As an Omega, he’s supposed to want certain things; to want to raise a family, to want to build a life with a partner, and to want that partner to be an Alpha.Well, two out of three ain’t bad.OR the one where Louis wants to find the right kind of partner to love, Niall hates snowboarding, Liam wants to settle down, Harry is really good with his hands, and mother nature could be the thing that changes everything. (chaptered, complete, 26k)

Steady Eddie - “We’re bringing in a guy.” Ben said. Eddie stared at him.“You’re what?” Ben shrugged. “Apparently the gay market is grossly untapped,” he commented. “We stand to make a fortune. We have it on good authority that the gays love you. Of course,” he added with a dirty smirk. “Your size and all…” “Of course,” Eddie replied drily; something smarting in his chest. “I’ve been asking for a guy for the last two years…” “Well, now you’re getting one,” Ben smiled. (chaptered, complete, 84k, locked, read tags for a better understanding of what this fic is about)

Older fics

sweet, sweet fate by @bottomlinsons for @1dshortficfest -  Harry’s lived with a NSFW soulmark for almost twenty-five years now. When he finally meets the man responsible, he gives him a little piece of his mind. (one shot, 1k, feb. 2019)

Say It With Flowers by @reminiscingintherain - From the prompt: Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says “How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?” (one shot, 2k, jan. 2019)

Got Me an Appetite by @flamboyantdaddy for @1dgayboficfest -  So it's something, and Louis isn't sure how to approach it. She doesn't want to sound ungrateful. The past few months have been heaven, and she doesn't want to make Harry feel like Louis doesn't worship the ground she walks on (ok, a bit over dramatic, but sometimes it feels like that). She just wants to make her girlfriend come. (one shot, 8k, feb. 2019)

All Hearts Come Home For Christmas by @itsprobablylarry - Gemma, who the fuck is that?” Louis hisses as he watches her wave back with a big smile. Her brows furrow for a second as she looks at Louis. “What? That’s my brother, you dork. Told you he’d pick us up, didn’t I?” Well fuck. Apparently, Mr. Handsome over there is Gemma’s brother. And Louis is spending a week with him. Pretending to be his sister’s boyfriend. Shit. (Basically: Gemma brings ‘her boyfriend’, Louis, home for Christmas and her brother is really hot.) (one shot, 8k, 2015, I also recommend the sequel)

You’re home now kitten by @thesedumbboys - “But, I'm just a stray” Louis looks so broken, sad, disappointed almost. Not even daring to look up from the floor, fumbling with his hands, ears down submissively. The sight almost makes Harry, known to everyone for his soft heart, tear up. “Nope, followed me here, this is your home now.” Harry smiles, speaking confidently, surprised himself that his voice didn’t come out shaky with emotion. “That’s the rule” He shrugs.... Louis is a stray and he follows Harry home. Harry likes him too much and makes him stay and Louis ends up quite liking it. (one shot, 9k, feb. 2019)

Your Touch Is The Only Thing I Feel by @2tiedships2 - Liam. Liam was finally here. Louis kept his eyes closed and cuddled farther into Liam’s side, revelling in the pheromones Louis’ body desperately needed. He wasn’t sure how long Liam had been holding him, but Louis figured it had to have been at least an hour by the way his body had loosened. The need of an alpha’s touch seemed to have been temporarily lifted from his mind. Louis listened to the sounds of the pub around him. It was louder than before he had fallen asleep and he briefly wondered why Liam hadn’t just woken him to go back to their flat.“Who the fuck are you?” Louis’ eyes flew open at the sound of Niall’s voice, and the arm that had been around Louis shoulders lifted in the same instant. He missed the warmth immediately. Louis looked from Niall’s stormy face over to the person who was definitely not Liam. The alpha Liam impersonator, who smelled a lot better than the actual Liam now that Louis was alert, looked back at Louis with wide eyes and familiar furrowed brows. Or the one where Louis refuses to settle for just any alpha despite intense touch deprivation. Fortunately Harry isn't just any alpha. (one shot, 15k, 2018)

bring out feelings in me i never show by @tomorrows - “I really think you should stop reading,” Liam says, having moved to hover behind Louis’ back at some point. “I can already see the cogs turning in your head, Louis, and I don’t like this.” “Shut up,” Louis waves him off and continues reading. I can do these things, at your request: openly hit on other female guests while you act like you don’t notice; start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion; propose to you in front of everyone; pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on (sorry I don’t drink, but I used to); start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see. [Louis accidentally hires a felon to be his fake boyfriend for Thanksgiving. Or, the fake boyfriends au no one asked for, inspired by this.] (chaptered, complete, 24k, locked)

don’t tell the gods (we left a mess) by @bottomlinsons - After a misunderstanding with Liam’s mother, Louis agrees to accompany his best friend to a family wedding and pretend to be the world’s best boyfriend. But their simple plan goes awry when he learns that Harry, ex-boyfriend/ex-love of Louis’ life, will also be in attendance. (aka: fake!boyfriends with a twist ft. bromance, romance and cake.) (chaptered, complete, 71k, (I know, I also can’t believe I only just read this fic, as you can tell I was just really into fake relationships this month))

[chocoholicannanymous]

If the Spit Hits the Fan (Glee) pt X

Follows pt I, pt II, pt III, pt IV, pt V, part VI, pt VII, part VIII and part IX.

The second Sebastian's car comes to a stop at Dalton Kurt jumps out and walk to his room without saying anything. He feels, no, knows he will feel bad about it, but right now he can't deal with the situation. Classes are over for the day which is a good thing as skipping  class really isn't done at Dalton, but there's no way Kurt'd be able to force himself to go.

Same goes for dinner. He's got some snacks in his room and that'll just have to do.

The next day Kurt keeps to himself as much as he can. He notices Sebastian looking at him during the day, but thankfully the other boy respects his desire to be left alone. Only once the day is over and Kurt's heading home can he relax. He stops halfway for coffee and to send two texts.

Sebastian replies to “we'll talk Monday” with “call if you need me”.

Finn...responds by calling in the troops. That is, he pulls out one of Carole's fantastic casseroles from the fridge, asks Puck to bring cheesecake and Sam to make sure neither of them goes of to do something that Carole – or Kurt – will make them regret.

The jokes on Finn though, as Kurt ends up having to trip Sam and sit on him to keep him from going on a Blaine-hunt. (Seeing as that's without the whole story Kurt sensibly decides to keep certain details to himself.)

Still. A for effort, he guesses. He does feel better afterwards.

Monday morning Kurt walks into the Warblers' practice room with determination and a plan.

“Good morning. So, let's talk about Regionals – I have a suggestion.”

It's easy to tell that the others are just as interested in the possibilities of Kurt's suggestion as he himself is, and just as obvious that they're conflicted. David is the one to ask though.

“We promised you a solo. What you're suggesting, well, it doesn't feel like that's what you're going for. Why?”

“Honestly? I would love a solo at Regionals, as would my college applications. But I am trying to be practical here. Me singing 'Defying Gravity' or 'Don't Cry for me, Argentina'” and yes, he's petty enough to enjoy how that makes a few of them flinch, “won't win us Regionals. Not here. If we make it to Nationals I'd be willing to have this discussion again. But for now, let's be realistic. What can we perform in Ohio that'll give us a shot at winning? I obviously think my suggestion has merit.”

David is hesitant to keep going, possibly because of Kurt's earlier barb, but Sebastian thankfully doesn't have that compunction.

“Warblers. A suggestion has been made. Let's vote. Who is in favor of us doing Michael Jackson for Regionals?”

“So, any particular reason you wanted us to go for MJ? I mean, I think we're going to rock it, I'm just curious.”

This, Kurt thinks, is one advantage of having Sebastian as a friend. The dreaded talk about their Thursday “adventure” had taken all of 3 minutes, and now Sebastian is off on another tangent. And if that's how he wants to do it Kurt's certainly not going to complain.

“Honestly? Several reasons, one being that I think we'll be able to create an awesome set-list from his songs. Another is that it should buy us points with both audience and jury. But truthfully it's also about making a point and getting payback.”

That's the key to getting Sebastian invested, and there's an amused glitter in his eyes now.

“Oh? Do share.”

“The New Directions wanted to do Michael for Sectionals. Or rather, everyone except Rachel and Mr Schue. They had a possible set-list, and I think that they would have  won with it. So naturally...”

“They went with some half-assed crap featuring wannabe-Barbra. Christ.”

“Something like that, yes. I talked to Finn this weekend, and a couple of the other guys, and they really liked the idea of us doing it instead. They're the one who suggested 'Man in the Mirror' actually. All they're asking is that they get to record it and show in Glee.”

“Oh, I can get behind that. I can so get behind that.”

They share a laugh, and everything feels right between them again. Kurt hates to rock the boat, but he can't not.

There's a question he needs to ask, and he won't be able to relax properly until it's been answered.

“Sebastian? Can you answer something for me? Without being snide or flippant or shrugging it off. Just, completely honest. Please.”

“I can try.”

“Why did you talk to the other Warblers about giving me a solo? I know you said you guys talked about it, but even with Blaine and Wes gone I can't imagine anyone going 'you know what, Kurt's back, and he's talented – let's give him a solo'. If someone else brought it up, sure, but on their own? Nope. So. I figured it had to be you.”

Sebastian doesn't meet his eyes, and twists in the chair. All signs that he's really uncomfortable. Great.

“Just tell me it wasn't because you felt sorry for me, because of...”

“No! I, I'm an asshole, I know, but not like that. That's why, actually. I was an asshole to you, and you didn't deserve it. So it was an apology.”

Kurt feels his heart sink. His second solo, and once again for all of the wrong reasons. At least this time it isn't about dating.

“I mean, you definitely deserve it, otherwise I'd have found another way to apologize, but yeah. I talked to them because I didn't think you would do it yourself, but I wanted you to have a solo because I think it'll help us win.

“Wait, why are you looking so surprised?”

Kurt doesn't feel surprised, he feels pole-axed. Sebastian's words are...not what he expected.

“I had a solo for Regionals last year. A duet, with Blaine. I only got it because Blaine basically told the Council that was what was going to happen. And when I asked him why he said it was an excuse to spend time with me.”

Talking about it actually hurts. Back then he didn't care, he'd been too busy being elated about Blaine wanting to spend time with him, and Blaine kissing him, and Blaine seeing him... But now... Yeah, it hurts.

It only gets worse as Kurt realizes he's just waiting for Sebastian to tell him he shouldn't get another chance.

“Wow, that's... What an asshole!”

“No, he... Clearly I wasn't good enough to get it on my own. And.. We lost, haven't' they told you? We lost because the judges thought that duet sucked.”

“So he wasn't just an asshole, but a manipulative one too.”

“Hey!”

“No, Kurt, don't you see? He made sure in advance that if the Warblers didn't win you'd be primed to take the blame. Forget about the fact that the song you sang – the song he picked out – didn't showcase your voice at all, wasn't in fact arranged to suit you at all, just him. Forget that he undermined you before you even got on stage. Forget that you weren't alone up there.

“Oh no, it was all about the fact that Blaine picked you to sing with just so he'd have an excuse to spend more time with you.

“That's not just absolute bullshit, that's a borderline abusive level of manipulative.”

Kurt's about to protest, because that's not can't be how it was except something else pops up. Finn's still convinced that it's his fault that the New Directions lost at Nationals. He kissed Rachel, they lost, so obviously it was his fault. Forget, as Sebastian had just said, everything else. Like how they had arrived in New York without a set-list, because of Mr Schue. Like how they'd had to come up with songs and choreography on their own, because of Mr Schue.

And huh, Mr Schue had never even hinted at having some share in the blame. Instead he too had told Finn that he'd acted unprofessionally, kissing Rachel like that. So the high school student kissing a girl is unprofessional, but the teacher ditching his students is...a-okay? In all honesty, Finn's behavior might have contributed to us placing 12th instead of top ten, but Mr Schue? Didn't contribute at all, and yet...

“Kurt?” Sebastian's looking at him curiously, and Kurt flushes a little over being caught out on zoning.

“Sorry. Just, I just realized our Glee coach did something similar last year, and I... We never realized. Not a single one of us picked up on it, even though it's glaringly obvious now.

“And I guess it should have been obvious about Blaine too.” Except, Kurt adds to himself, I was so infatuated with him I was blind.

“I can understand wanting to spend more time with you, because as much as I hate that you got treated so badly at McKinley that you wanted to leave I'm happy to have you here so I can see you more often. But. That's not how you pick out a soloist. Even more so, that's not how you talk to someone you care about.

“Listen to me, and think about how what I'm saying makes you feel. 'Kurt, I wanted you to have a solo because I wanted to spend time with you'. Or, 'Kurt, I wanted you to have a solo because you're incredibly talented and I think showcasing you will improve our chances of winning.' Which one makes you feel confident about going on stage? Which one makes you think you're going to kick ass and take names?

“The second, right? And that's why you were offered a solo this time. Because we all know that's the truth. That's what you should have been told last year too. Who knows, maybe you would have if Blaine hadn't interfered. After all, I happen to know that a certain rendition of 'Blackbird' impressed the council enough that they were going to invite you to audition for a solo.”

Kurt's lost for words. It feels surreal, what Sebastian's saying, but the words ring true. It's hard to think of Blaine that way, even after everything, but  he can't shake the feeling that Sebastian's telling him the truth. After all, why would he lie? It would be much too easy for Kurt to find out if that was the case, and well, unlike Blaine Sebastian doesn't have an angle.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, 'oh'. And Kurt? If he absolutely had to say something about it? He should have said that getting to spend more time with you was a bonus.”

[blancheludis]

Tagging: @tokky231

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Bruce Barton, Steve Rogers Chapters: 7/?, Words: 41.832

Summary: Tony meets his soulmate under the worst possible circumstances. It is not just a kidnapping gone wrong. It turns out Steve and his gang picked him on purpose and they want some personal revenge. If only he had managed to say the words written on his soulmate’s arm before they threw him back out into the streets.

---

Steve wanders the base aimlessly, staring down at the screen of his phone as if words are magically going to appear, words that will make sense and make everything better. As he stumbles into the kitchen, he finds most of his team gathered there. Bruce is absent, which is nothing unusual.

Natasha has a laptop to her right, occasionally glancing at it but not like she expects any immediate result for what she is doing. Clint is drinking coffee, an ice pack on his by now bandaged hand. Bucky sits, looking off into space.

If they were talking about something, they stopped when they noticed Steve coming in. He decides not to let that bother him. With what is currently happening, it is only normal for everyone to need to talk about it. He understands that this cannot happen with him in the room. Steve is definitely part of the problem here.

Going into the room, Steve sets his phone down on the table, and says, “I don’t know how to apologize.”

He has not managed to take a single step towards the sink to get himself a glass of water, when Clint groans, making no secret of his displeasure.

“Don’t you think we have more important problems at the moment?” Clint asks, eyes bearing into Steve.

His glare is not malicious, but he hates being reminded of having been wrong. The jury might still be out on who did the weapons dealing, but there is no denying their bruised knuckles and the remaining shakiness of that horrid, enraged state they had been in the night they kidnapped Tony.

“Not while we don’t have any conclusive data,” Steve counters as calm as he can manage. It is not much. They are all on edge and Clint offers a perfect target, never backing down with his posturing.

“So what,” Clint drawls, “we’re all just sitting around watching you whine about your missed opportunity for eternal love?”

He does not appear bothered in the least by Steve towering over him, having abandoned his quest for water to better glare at his teammate.

Steve grinds his teeth, leaning forward just a bit so that he is within range to – do something. This constant arguing has him exhausted.

“Could you just shut up for a minute?” he snaps, gathering all the authority he can in his tone. “We all know you don’t like Tony, you’ve made that abundantly clear. But what you did –”

He cuts off when Clint gets to his feet abruptly. He is a shorter than Steve, but that does not mean his fury is any less tangible.

“I know what I did.” Clint’s voice cracks like a whip, almost causing Steve to take a step back. Then Clint’ fury changes into something ugly, condescending. “It’s funny, we all know what you did to the men who held Bucky prisoner. None of them lived to tell the tale,” he continues, still sharp and aimed to hurt. “But I kick the guy who might still be responsible for Bucky losing his arm, and now I’m the monster? Talk about double standards.”

He does not wait for an answer but pushes away from the table and storms off, shouldering his way past Steve with a deliberate motion.

“It wasn’t him,” Steve calls after him, not expecting an answer. Then he watches, helpless, as Clint vanishes, throwing the kitchen door shut behind him.

What did he mean with I know what I did? Perhaps Clint is slowly realizing he made a mistake too and deals with it in his usual, uncooperative way.

The silence that falls in the kitchen is tense, thick enough to make breathing difficult. Not looking at his friends, Steve finally walks to the sink to get himself that water. He fills the glass slowly, watching the water rise. All the while, he keeps his back to Bucky and Natasha.

When he turns around, he catches them looking at each other, communicating silently in the way they have learned over the course of dozens of missions together. Despite the distinct wish to just leave again, Steve sits down, wondering how to mend things when he is not even sure what is broken.

“Usually,” Natasha speaks up, her tone light despite the situation, “it’s a good start to say you’re sorry. And mean it.”

They are not going to talk about Clint, then. Steve is secretly relieved. There is no solving this while tempers are this high, while they can endlessly lock themselves in an argument over whether Tony is innocent or not. Even if that is not the point. Steve understands Clint’s stubbornness. He has been there himself often enough.

“Of course, I mean it,” Steve says and looks up at Natasha, glad at her apparent willingness to help him out.

Natasha likes to keep herself out of emotional discussions. She has been taught to dismiss them. Underneath that learned stoicism, however, she cares a lot.

“Why?” she asks, her expression honestly curious.

One simple word and it sends Steve reeling. “What do you mean, why?”

They have dozens of reasons to be sorry, with new ones piling up each day. This entire situation should have been handled better. They – he – should have been better.

“Are you sorry because it might cost you your soulmate or because we really messed up?” Natasha clarifies, hitting right where it hurts without a trace of empathy on her face.

Steve opens his mouth. Of course, this is because they handled this whole thing wrong. Of course, this is because they hurt an innocent.

He also remembers standing outside in the darkness, looking at Tony’s broken body on the ground, and searching for signs of guilt. The thought of beating someone up who was bound before them was sitting wrong with him even then, but deep inside him was still the rage he has been nursing since Bucky was taken from him. He had not believed that Tony had pulled the trigger himself, but he was part of the system that keeps pushing them down, keeps taking from them without remorse. It was his name on the weapons that tore Steve’s life apart.

Before Steve can actually put any of these thoughts into words, Bucky speaks up.

“What if this isn’t the first time?” he asks, his prosthesis curled into a fist. “What if we hurt someone who was innocent before?”

Steve thoughts had wandered down that nightmarish road before, but he shut it down as quickly as he could. They cannot let themselves doubt everything they are at once.

“This is not something we do. This is not us,” Steve says with all the conviction he can muster. “We don’t beat up people.”

That is not a lie. They just beat up the one person who probably did not deserve it and turned out to be important to Steve. There is a cautionary tale in that.

“No,” Bucky says but makes it sound like he disagrees with Steve. “But we gather dirt on them. We dig out their secrets and make them visible. We hand them over to the government when they have nowhere to run anymore.” Pinching the bridge of his nose with his flesh hand, Bucky sighs. “Look at what happened with Bruce. Ross didn’t want to bring Bruce to justice. We knew that.”

Bruce’s story is one covered in as much blood as this one, if not more. It seemed a straightforward job at first. A scientist gone mad blew up his lab and then fled the country. Ross did not trust them, and they did not trust Ross. The Avengers are not usually hired to bring in official criminals, and Bruce had seemed that at first. It did not make sense that Ross would try to keep Bruce’s escape and subsequent capture a secret.

They made the mistake of informing Ross when they found Bruce. Steve will never forget the smouldering pile of ash and bones that was the only thing left of the village Bruce was hiding in, blown apart by Stark weaponry.

“And we didn’t hand Bruce over,” Steve says, but even to him it appears a weak argument. That is not what Bucky means, after all.

“What if we did?” Bucky counters, narrowing his eyes at Steve. “With some other job?”

Over the past days, Steve has asked himself these questions before and never found a satisfying answer.

“We don’t,” he still says, banning all the doubt from his voice. “We’ve always been careful.”

And they have. Sometimes, that is just not enough.

“But not with Stark,” Bucky says, something definite in his tone that speaks of endings. “We’ve been wilfully blind. I don’t know if we deserve forgiveness for that.”

With that, he gets to his feet, abandoning his coffee cup.

“Buck, listen –” Steve calls, immediately alert. He reaches out for his best friend, but Bucky avoids him easily.

“No, Steve,” Bucky says. The relative softness of his tone makes his blank expression only worse. “You only ever see the best in me, and that’s kind of you. But I just don’t feel particularly good about any of us at the moment.”

Helplessly, Steve has to watch another one of his friends walk away from him. He understands Bucky’s need to be alone, but that just makes it feel all the more like everything is falling apart.  

A few weeks ago, everything had been fine. They had been doing good work and they had worked well together. How can one mistake unravel all of that?

“He’s right, you know,” Natasha cuts through Steve’s spiralling thoughts. “We really messed up.”

Somehow, while she does not sound as devastated as Bucky, her clear-cut assessment makes it only worse. She is the only one of them who can separate her emotions from work. At least she gives the best impression of being able to do that.

“I didn’t think that would –” Steve trails off, shrugging. When Natasha raises an eyebrow at him, he ducks his head.

“What? Move me?” she asks sharply. She does not change her posture or tone, but the air between them takes on a distinct note of disappointment. “I’ve hurt a lot of people in my time, killed them too. Whether they were innocent or not didn’t really matter. I got my mission and I finished it. That’s why I ran.” Her eyes pierce into Steve, leaving nowhere to hide. “Life here was supposed to be different.”

The Avengers, as a whole, were supposed to be different. All of them had been tired of life running in the ever same circles of violence and suppression. Not all of them were soldiers, but they all know what people are doing to each other every day. They wanted to be better than that, make room for a bit of justice in the world.

“It is,” Steve says, trying to convince himself as much as her. “We – we made a mistake, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make up for it. This doesn’t have to be it.”

If he did not believe that, he could just give up right now. He has never given up before. That is a fundamental part of his being. It is not always a flattering trait, nor always helpful, but he cannot let go of that.

“I think that depends on how we handle this,” Natasha argues but sounds softer as she does. “Look at the data I saved from his USB drive. Stop having doubts about his character. Apologize.”

As far as tasks go, these are simple enough. And yet.

“I don’t have doubts,” Steve says. If he does, it means he either does not believe Tony or himself. Both can only end in more heartbreak.

“Of course, you do,” Natasha draws out the words, making it clear she does not think so at all. “That’s why you’re asking me a dozen times a day whether I’ve found anything yet about who hired us or who did the double dealing. You also hold your arm too stiffly as if you don’t want to use it. Don’t lie and say that has nothing to do with Stark and how you can’t just let yourself believe him.”

Steve almost asks what Natasha believes, even knowing that is not the point she is trying to make. Instead, he avoids her gaze and looks down at his hands. “We need evidence.”

Her disapproval is a nearly tangible thing between them. “What do your instincts say?”

Steve’s throat constricts as something that almost feels like laughter tries to claw its way up. His instincts are useless, scrambled by feelings not completely his own, peppered by guilt, spiked by hope, although he is not quite sure for what. A happy ending? Any kind of solution?

He shakes his head, unable to put the chaos inside him into words.

Natasha leans forward, briefly putting her hand over his and squeezes. “Make this right, Steve.”

What else is there to do but to try?

 ---

Just as Bruce has promised, Steve does call Tony again. It takes him almost a day, but to Tony, who whips up his head at every sound, feels like no time has passed at all. Even knowing it would happen, the ringing still leaves him frozen, undecided whether he should pick up.

Does he really need an apology when there is no way they will be going forward together? Would he really believe Steve either way?

With a sigh, Tony accepts the call, and says, “I thought I told you not to contact me again.”

That does not set a good premise for their conversation, but it is about the principle of the matter. Bruce’s warning or not, Tony has enough to deal with without Steve constantly butting in where he is not wanted.

On the other end, Steve does not say anything for a long minute. Tony wonders whether he is already losing his patience. Usually, people try a bit longer to get what they want out of Tony. Then again, most people have it easier to play nice with him because their first meeting is not as catastrophic as theirs.  

“Can we meet?” Steve then asks. He even sounds serious.

“What?” Tony forces down the inappropriate amusement building inside him. If he started laughing now, he is not sure he could stop again. “Have you lost your mind?”

Meeting Steve? Considering how that turned out the last time, getting anywhere near Steve again is the farthest thing from Tony’s mind. He is not in the habit of handing himself over to the devil.

“I – probably,” Steve answers and does not make anything better with it. “But I want to see you.”

Now, Tony does laugh. It is a choked thing, not actually filled with amusement. “I don’t see how that is my problem,” Tony says once he is sure he can get it out without peppering it with curses. “It’s definitely in my interest to stay as far away as possible from you.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees too quickly, as if he has known how his question would be received but decided to ask it nonetheless. “How about a video call then? That’s a thing, yes?”

With a disbelieving huff, Tony walks over to his desk to sit down and initiates a video call. Later. he will justify that by being unable to leave anyone this uneducated. Of course, video calls are a thing. It is only then that it occurs to him that Steve might have played him, tricked him into getting them eye to eye. By then, it is too late to take it back, though, for Steve’s image already fills his screen, not quite life-sized but close enough for Tony to stay a good few feet away.

The first thing he notices is that Steve looks tired, more so than he did that day when he came to the tower. The vindictive part of him is happy to see that Steve obviously has trouble sleeping too, or other problems that leave him exhausted. Another, far less welcome part, wants to ask Steve why.

“Happy now?” Tony snaps, even though he himself is decidedly unhappy.

Steve studies him and takes his time to do it. At first, his eyes are filled only with clinical interest, running over the lines of the bruises that might be fading but are still easily visible on Tony’s face. Then his expression falls, taking on a more desperate note.

“What is your eye doing? And your ribs?” Steve asks. The worst thing is that he sounds genuinely concerned. “Bruce said something about possible internal damage that night. Did you –” He trails off uncertainly, looking for a moment as if he knows that he has gone too far.

“I’m sorry to disappoint Barnes and Barton, but I’ll live,” Tony replies but does not manage as biting a tone as he aimed for. “The rest is none of your business.”

Steve drops his eyes, looking chastised, even ashamed. When he looks up again, it seems he is gearing up to argue. Surprisingly, one glare from Tony is enough to make him think better of it.  

Tony is faring better, just like he told Bruce. His head still aches constantly, but he is no stranger to migraines and hangovers so he knows how to push through it. Breathing still results in sharp pain whenever he forgets to keep it shallow, but he is not doing any strenuous activity locked up in his home. The various bruises adorning his body flare up when he moves, reminding him of the Avengers’ tender care, but he is doing fine.

“Was there something else?” Tony asks when Steve remains silent, looking at a point over Tony’s shoulder despite having been so adamant about seeing him. It is obvious that Steve is struggling with their situation too, then he might not be a victim in as literal a sense as Tony, but that he was still thrown into something he did not want.

It makes sense that the soul bond would tug at Steve as much as it would at Tony. Considering that the Avengers appear to view Tony and Stark Industries as something like their personal nemesis, that cannot be easy either. Full of disbelief, Tony thinks he is truly beginning to go crazy if he is now rationalizing Steve’s behaviour.

“We had a look at the data on your USB drive,” Steve then says, slowly as if he has to convince himself to speak the words.

Perhaps Bruce was wrong and Steve does not actually know how to apologize – or simply does not want to because he does not see the need.

“So what?” Tony asks, even though he is grudgingly impressed. Someone in their group must know their way around tech if they managed to get through the drive’s defences and saved some of the data. “Are you telling me you’ve found a buyer for it?”

“No,” Steve answers quickly, with enough vehemence to make Tony think they are truly not going to sell it. Then, far more hesitant, he continues, “But – there are not just weapon designs on there.”

All of Tony’s thoughts of how they might be able to find some middle ground someday evaporate more every time Steve opens his mouth.

This makes him wonder whether they made any research about him at all. Tony studied engineering, won several prizes in robotics competitions, refused to work for Stark Industries as long as he could before Howard’s death basically forced him to return. People might equal the Stark name with weapons, but that is not all there is to Tony.

Stupidly, Tony is disappointed by Steve’s disbelief. He should not be at all concerned by what his soulmate is thinking of him, considering that he does not really want this to go anywhere – and the far more damning fact that the bond does not seem to care what they actually think of each other but makes them want the other anyway.

“Are you sure you have the right drive?” Tony grits out between clenched teeth. He glares at Steve who has the audacity to look surprised by his worsened mood. “I’m pretty sure evil weapon designers are not allowed to do anything with their time than to make more weapons.”

Frowning, Steve shakes his head. He either does not understand where Tony is coming from or decides to push on regardless.

“There’s some brilliant stuff on there,” he says, and sounds almost like a child in a toy store now, full of wonder. Tony fears he will never be able to make sense of Steve Rogers. “That energy source is –”

“Not viable,” Tony cuts him off, his anger rising again. “Stop snooping through my things.”

He has wanted to discuss these projects with someone for ages – someone who does not look at him with pity and turns them down as not cost-effective. He wants someone to share his enthusiasm about green energy, about turning that ugly big arc reactor down the basement of their industrial complex in California into something that could change people’s lives everywhere. He also wanted that someone to share his vision – not to struggle with the concept that Tony might do something else with his time but to bring about more death and destruction.

“I’m just surprised,” Steve says as if he has read Tony’s thoughts.

Turning half away from the camera, Tony looks over his workshop, his kingdom. A dozen unfinished projects are clattered throughout the room, added to the numerous projects hidden inside his servers. He has always been told not to waste his potential, and yet it feels like that is exactly what he has done.

None of those doubts is meant for Steve’s ears, however, so Tony pulls a smirk on his face and asks, “That I’m not a completely vile human being?”

The change in Steve’s expression is instantaneous, from pensive to aghast. It is too earnest to be fake.

“Tony,” Steve exclaims, caressing the name like it is something familiar. Tony hates the way he instinctively leans closer towards the screen, towards Steve. “You’re not vile. There’s so much potential in those projects. And –”

“What do you want?”

Distantly, Tony thinks that he should stop cutting off Steve at every corner if he wants to make his peace with their situation. Steve has wronged him by letting his friends beat him up and consequently ignoring his wishes to be left alone, but running away and expecting Steve to do the same is obviously not going to work.  

“I don’t know what you mean,” Steve says slowly, clearly wanting to evade the question.

This is exactly what Tony means, Steve’s apparent inability to understand that Tony might not want this soul bond to dictate the rest of his life.

“What do you want from me, Steve?” Tony repeats. Compared to how Steve said his name, this is ugly and ready to shatter. “It’s simple. We might have some nice connected tattoos, but that’s all there is to it.”

“That’s not all,” Steve protests just like Tony expected him to. Much quieter, almost with regret, he adds, “It shouldn’t have to be.”

Tony smiles, full of sharp-edges, and stomps down hard on the urge to agree. “You should have thought about that before you let your goons beat me up.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve all but roars. It is too loud and too sudden to be an actual apology but filled with enough emotion that Tony finds himself believing it nonetheless.

On the screen, he sees Steve falter, sees Steve’s eyes fall on the bruises again, even sees Steve’s hand twitching as he wants to reach out.

Then, his voice much steadier, much calmer, he repeats, “I’m sorry.” His gaze drops and his shoulders tense before he raises his head and looks Tony directly in the eyes. “I’m sorry for what we did. And not just because you’re my soulmate. It was wrong, and yes it would have been wrong even if you would have been responsible for –”

He interrupts himself, waits for words that will not come. Now, he allows himself to look away from Tony, if only briefly.  

“Bucky lost his arm to a Stark Industries bomb activated by terrorists who took him captive,” he then says, his tone detached as if there is nothing personal about this. “Sam lost his partner to rebels carrying your guns. Our team was decimated out there, outmanned and outgunned. Natasha learned to shoot with a Stark revolver while she was with a Russian underground organization. That’s –” Steve takes a deep breath, searches for something in Tony’s gaze and smiles miserably when he finds it. “None of that is an excuse.”

“No,” Tony replies hoarsely, his mind swimming with all the new information. “No, it is not.”

Inwardly, Tony thinks it explains things, though. The Avengers are a group nursing their trauma and turning it into something they perceive as good. Confronted with the suspected source of all that trauma, a part of Tony can understand why they would snap.

He could argue, of course, that, if not Stark weapons, the enemies would have had something else. Perhaps nothing as ‘good’, but Stark Industries did not cause the war, it does not tell the government to throw men at problems that are none of their business. Tony did not kill their friends. At the same time, he understands irrationality, understands needing an outlet for these feelings that could easily tear one apart.

“We were glad to have SI-issued guns and gear out there,” Steve says almost eagerly, obviously taking Tony’s silence as permission to keep explaining himself. “They are the most reliable, they are good. But that doesn’t help much if the other side has them too. We –” he shrugs, a conflicted expression on his face, “there’s a lot of bad history between us. What we thought you did, what we actually did to you. I just don’t want that to be all.”

The thing is, Tony does not want that either. Even now, with enough distance to how the new bond makes him feel, with being mostly capable of rational thought again. Fate thought they would fit together, and all Tony ever really wanted was to be at home somewhere, with someone, without question whether he is going to be stabbed in the back.

Tony feels betrayed. Not just by Steve, but by how they met. By how little actual choice that leaves them about how to go forward. His entire life has been laid out for him by people who supposedly know better than him. His parents, Obie, even Pepper. His every move is watched and judged. If anything, nobody would have been able to predict Tony Stark ending up with a mob boss – not that he will do that.

The by now almost familiar exhaustion creeps up on Tony. He first thought that comes just from his wounds, but has realized by now that a large part of it is emotional. It is ridiculous that he, who has always avoided dealing with emotions as best as he could, is hampered by it now.

Life as he has known it is in shambles. It feels like he is on a sinking ship with holes everywhere, but instead of dealing with the damage one by one or even building himself a lifeboat, he is trying to fix all the holes at once, but each time he turns away the water rips them open again.

He needs to prioritize, needs to actually stick to that instead of just pretending to. He looks at Steve on the screen, at the way his expression is both hopeful and stubborn, thinks that nothing will move Steve if he does not want to be moved. For some reason, whether it is just because of the bond or not, Steve is ready to move for Tony.  

“I don’t –” Tony says, then tries again. “This doesn’t mean that I forgive you or that I’m suddenly all right with us being soulmates but – the smuggled weapons are the only thing we have in common right now, so – truce?”

The very word sits heavily on Tony’s tongue, not exactly like he is making a mistake, but like he is playing with the devil. He is offering his hand, quite aware that it could cost his entire arm.

Steve blinks at the camera, surprised at the sudden turn of events. “A truce means we could go back to being adversaries at any point,” he says, then audibly clicks his mouth shut, looking like he is berating himself for not accepting Tony’s offer immediately.

Despite himself, Tony smiles. “Depending on how serious both parties are about the truce, yes.”

It would be easier if Steve said no, if he kept protesting that there is no truce needed because they clearly belong together. Then, perhaps, Tony could have finally thrown Steve out of his life without a second thought.

Instead, Steve nods hurriedly as if he is afraid he is running out of time for it. “All right, yes. A truce.”

Definitely a devil’s deal, Tony thinks as he takes in the relief on Steve’s face. He looks better this way, though, far more approachable and less like a mob boss.

“Great,” Tony says and pauses, unsure how to interpret the lightness in his chest. “Don’t call me again while I’m working.”

He expects Steve to argue, to immediately turn this into another fight. Steve’s demeanour remains calm, however. “You’re always working,” he points out as if he knows Tony, as if he has a right to this information.

Tony has no way of knowing what kind of working hours the mob has, but he is sure they are just as unconventional as his own.

“Then wait until I call you,” Tony counters without sympathy, “or until there’s something important to tell me.”

Steve smiles, but it is self-deprecating in a way that Tony would not have expected Steve to be capable of. “Will you?” he asks with painful reluctance. “Call me, I mean?”

“We’ll see,” Tony says, even though he knows it is all but a done deal, thanks to the warmth spreading through his forearm, echoed beneath his sternum.

Already, the soul bond inside him hums as if he has pledged his eternal love to Steve. At the very least, though, he feels more at peace inside his own skin. The decision whether this was a healthy or sensible thing to do will have to wait for later. He is not giving up, he is just giving in for now.

The first steps of a plan begin to form inside Tony’s head, fuelled by several things Steve said and the old wishes of his younger self. It will plunge Tony’s life right back into chaos, but sometimes a broken piece cannot be repaired but has to be replaced entirely.

[the-digimon-tamer]

Chapter 23 - Visitors Not Welcome is out now on FanFiction.Net and ArchiveOfOurOwn! Check them out with the links or find it after the break!

Title: The Tamer v2.0 - In HIs Name

Fandom: Digimon

Rating: T

Synopsis: In the next adventure of the Digimon Tamer, the lives of Juri, Rika, and Henry change forever when digimon begin crossing over into the human world. But it’s all just a story, right? Just a book series by an author no one has seen in a long time. Why are they here and can they save their world before something worse follows the digimon?

The Tamer v2.0: In His Name

Chapter 23: Visitors Not Welcome

Everyone screamed as they felt themselves pulled down, up, back and forth in an endless void of swirling colors and blinding lights. A few times, it felt like they were drowning in water. Other times, it felt like they were suffocating from air. And sometimes, it just felt like standing on solid ground. Through it all, Kazu screamed, “What the hell is going on!?”

“Language!”

“Really Henry?”

“I’ll do what the hell I want! You’re not my mother!” he spat out. 

“Where even are we?” Rika shouted out. 

“The space between worlds!” Takato’s voice rang out in the endless voice, “This gate is a little sloppier than my usual ones. Give it time! It’ll get better. Probably. We should land whenever we get there.”

“Land where? All I see is bright lights!” Terriermon shouted back. 

“Maybe there?” Juri pointed at what looked like a floating piece of land. As soon as she said that, they all found themselves flying towards the ground at break neck speed. Or falling. The perspective was just plain messy at this point. And as quickly as it started, it subsided as they gently rolled into a mound of sand in the desert. Rough, coarse sand blowing straight into their clothes and battering their face as it struck them. Then the wind died down and they were able to gather their bearings.

Juri dusted herself off, coughing as she tried to get sand out of her mouth, “Is it always like that? If it is, then I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Only when you’re crossing the boundary between worlds,” Takato answered, poking his head out of the sand and trying to clear it out of his hair to little success . Rika scoffed, “So all the time is what you’re saying.”

He clicked his tongue, “I didn’t say that at all. Ah! Home sweet home! It’s a lot dustier than I remember. Andromon, how long was I gone for?”

Andromon spun his limbs and his neck to remove the sand from his joints, whirring and beeping grotesquely. Once he finished, he scanned around the desert, “Information: The Digimon Tamer’s last recorded sighting in the Digital World was...Error. Time dilations detected, unable to verify passage of time since last sighting.”

“Oh that’s bad. That is very bad,” Takato frowned, retrieving his digivice from his pocket to examine it carefully, “Okay, better be quick then. We don’t want to spend too much time here.”

“Hold up! What was that about time…dials…whatever?” Kazu asked quickly. Takato put a hand over his eyes to block the sun and started scanning the horizon, ignoring Kazu’s question. Kazu called again, “Takato?”

“I thought I already explained this Kazu. Time’s become convoluted,” Takato answered back, “We may have been here for about a minute, but that doesn’t mean time is flowing the same back in the human world. Days, weeks, months, years could’ve passed. And we’re a few days behind Makuramon in that world. Who knows how far behind we are here! Or how far ahead we are! We could be here before Makuramon arrives, which gives us an advantage but it’s not like we know which is which.”

“Okay, that hurt my head,” Leomon grumbled. Frustrated, Terriermon shouted, “Are we going to just sit here and talk about this or are we going to go find Calumon already? This heat is killing me and I don’t like sitting around here doing nothing!”

“Terriermon’s right. We should get moving,” Henry agreed solemnly, wiping his brow, “The sooner we get out of this heat, the better. Where to first?”

“If I had to guess, that would be a good place to start,” Rika pointed off into the distance. Somehow, in the confusion of their arrival, they all missed a giant glowing orb of light over the horizon. It was almost like a second sun, but closer to the ground and nowhere near as blinding. Takato took a good look at it and asked, “Hey, Andromon. When were you going to tell me about the big glowing light in the Digital World that wasn’t here last time?”

“Answer: The light was not present during departure for the human world. This light is unknown at this time,” Andromon answered flatly, staring at it intensely, “Optical Zoom at 50. Moving figure spotted. Unable to identify at this time.”

Kazu pointed straight at it, waving the flag in his hand, “Well I say we go that way! I betcha Calumon is right there.”

Rika raises up her digivice “What about our digivices? I mean, it can detect and identify digimon when they come from the other side, right? Why wouldn’t it be able to find Calumon here?”

“Maybe?” Takato examined his own, “My old one broke and I can’t still figure out how this specific model works. It’s like…going from a computer to a calculator.”

Rika cycled through the options on her digivice but didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. In truth, she hadn’t done much to experiment with the digivice since she got it. It usually just set off alarms whenever something happened and powered up Renamon when she swiped cards through the card reader. And from the looks of it, neither Henry or Juri had either. Renamon folded her arms at their hesitation and grunted, “We’ve been sitting idle for long enough and I’m not hearing any better ideas. Let’s go…and everyone stick together. The last thing we need is to get separated from each other in a dangerous place like this.”

“Hang on!” Kazu shouted aloud to stop them. He reached into his bag produced a collapsible pole that he reassembled and a piece of cloth that he mounted on top. With a firm shove into the ground, he shouted, “This is one small step for ‘mon! One giant leap for ‘mon kind!”

“Alright! It’s picture time!” Kenta added happily, waving a digital camera in the air excitedly, “Come on guys! What are you waiting for! Kodak moment for our first time in the Digital World.”

“What is he talking about?” Leomon looked at the rest of them in confusion. Rika closed her eyes, “It’s a thing people do in our world. They take photos of every little thing to make memories of whatever. It doesn’t matter how unimportant it is.”

“Oh don’t be like that Rika! This is important! It’s our first time in the Digital World! Come on!” Juri cheered excitedly, taking hold of the poor girl and dragging her over to the flag. Rika wanted to protest but saw Renamon already perched atop the pole. Rika couldn’t believe what she was seeing, “Not you too, Renamon!”

“I’m curious Rika. Besides, I get a pretty good view from up here. I can scout for danger while our photos are taken,” Renamon answered flatly. Rika sighed in defeat and went along with getting their pictures taken, watching the others assemble beside the flag. Kenta took his time with each photo: first everyone, then just the humans, then just the digimon, the girls, and finally just the boys. Once they were done, Kenta excitedly started examining the pics only to groan, “Oh, what? What happened to my pictures? They’re all fuzzy and blurry.”

“That’s never happened before,” Takato called out, snatching the camera to see for himself, “I definitely remember Dizzy’s computer worked fine. I wonder what happened here?”

“Well we are in another world. Maybe it’s messing with the electronics?” Henry assumed quietly. 

“That sucks. I brought this camera for nothing,” Kenta sighed in defeat. Kazu picked up the flag and declared, “Don't worry about it. We got a lot more stuff to do. Let’s just bring home some souvenirs while we’re here!”

“What souvenirs? There’s nothing but sand for miles,” Kenta pointed out quietly. He marched along with them but sounded entirely annoyed by the loss of his photos. Rika decided now would be a good time to message her mom. She was probably worried sick about her already and started typing her message. She pulled out the D-Terminal and opened the lid. To say it was like nothing she’d ever seen would be an understatement. It was like a crammed keyboard and screen but it ran like it was a brand new computer. Still, part of her was just a little excited to think that her dad used to be one of the characters in her favorite book and that this was his D-Terminal. Without even thinking, she started typing aloud as she spoke, “We made it and we’re all okay. We’ll message you more later.”

She wasn't sure which of the contacts were her mom so she simply hit send all. She closes the lid once the message was sent and noticed everyone was looking at her with the biggest of smiles. It was creepy in how unnerving it was, “What?”

“Just admiring how much more you’ve been opening up lately,” Juri answered, folding her arms behind her back as her smile widened. Rika grunted, closed her eyes and put the device away, “Whatever. Let’s get going already.”

“Leomon, is the entire Digital World like this? Just miles of desert in every direction,” Juri asked her partner aloud. Leomon grunted, “No. I don’t know where this is but I’ve seen a lot of the Digital World: vast oceans, thick forests, steaming jungles, high peaked mountains, frosted glaciers, and more. The whole of the Digital World is as varied and diverse as your world I imagine. Unless I’m mistaken in thinking your entire world is just one big city.”

“Yeah, I guess that would be silly if the world were just one big desert,” Juri giggled quietly. Takato pocketed his hands, “Don’t be too sure of that. There are lots of worlds that only have one kind of environment, if they have any at all.”

“And how would you know that?” Kazu rolled his eyes in disbelief. Without skipping a beat or even cracking a smile, Takato answered, “Got stuck outside reality for a while - it was an abstract void of nothingness. Took me forever to find a way back to the Digital World. Went through a lot worlds in the process. One with naked giants trying to break down a wall, another where the whole world was flooded and dry land wasn’t a concept, another where the only light came from a fire that everyone was really anxious to throw themselves into so it would burn a little longer. That world was…different. Also, does anyone else feel like something is off?”

“We’re in another world goggle head! What part of this isn’t weird?” Rika snapped at him. Takato laughed, “You have me there. No, I was thinking about how…I don’t know…it feels like your world still. Like we never left.”

“Well you said that there were two versions of our world sitting on top of each other. Maybe this is the same thing?” Kenta reasoned quietly. Takato’s eyes widened and he spun around to face him, “Say that again.”

“What?”

“Again! Say it again!”

“I was just saying that maybe there are two digital worlds sitting on top of each other,” Kenta repeated quietly. Takato slapped a hand to his forehead, groaning in disbelief, “Of course! Of course! I’m an idiot! Henry! You’re dad said he invented digimon! But the Digital World is infinitely old! UNLESS! He didn’t build this Digital World! He built another one with his friends. And it started to intersect with this one! I’m an idiot! How did I miss that? It’s no wonder nothing makes sense! There aren’t three worlds sitting on top of each other! There are four! Not just two human worlds with conflicting histories and realities! Two digital worlds! That’s what all of this is!”

“He’s doing that thing where he’s not making sense again,” Kazu scratched the back of his head in confusion. The rest of them nodded in agreement but Terriermon chimed in, “He may not be talking sense but he‘s got more sense than any of us when it comes to this stuff. I say we keep listening to him and maybe we’ll all make it out of this okay!”

“So basically do what my parents did back when they were our age?” Rika took the chance to shoot him a dirty look. Takato frowned at that, throwing up his hands defensively, “Your mom has issues with me. Actually, so did a lot of them. That’s alright.”

“Wait, I thought you said you couldn’t remember much,” Kenta pointed out. Takato smiles back, “Yeah, but being in the Digital World is helping to make it easier to remember things. It’s like...oh! It’s like when you have a horrible headache that finally goes away for the first time.”

He said that with gleefully, and Terriermon commented, “Wow. That bad, huh? It’s no wonder you do crazy stuff some times.”

...

Juri had no idea what any of them were talking about. It was so confusing. But being in a strange new world like this was kind of exciting. And she was eager to learn as much about it as she could.  So she looked to her partner, “Hey Leomon. What can you tell us about the Digital World?”

A big toothy grin came across his face and he beamed at her “What would you like to know Juri?”

“Anything, really. I don’t know a whole lot about digimon. A lot of what I do know is just from what’s been going on,” she answered sheepishly. Leomon beat his chest proudly, “I will be happy to tell you any and all tales that would suit you, Juri. How about I tell you the story of the fallen hero? Or perhaps a tale of the Royal Knights? Stories of monsters and villains. I can even share a little history, but that’s not really my specialty.”

“A story sounds nice. What was that one about the Royal Knights?” Juri asked excitedly. She noticed Leomon begin breathing heavily with excitement as he began, “The Digital World has been home to many a hero in its time. But the Digital Knights were among the greatest of these heroes, gathered together by Imperialdramon during a dark time to help strike back and bring order. Of these heroes, one rose to become their leader: Alphamon, the Knight of the First Seat. In his absence, the Knights are led by Omegamon or some say Omnimon. And there were many strong digimon in their ranks: Gallantmon or some say Dukemon, Dynasmon, BanchoLeomon, Magnamon, UlforceVeedramon, Crusadermon, Examon. Together, they served to enforce order in the Digital World at the behest of its one true ruler: a being they call the king. That which is sublime, they preserve. That which is weak, they protect. That which threatens, they destroy. Some call them the first heroes of this world. But, as with all heroes and all unions, it was only a matter or time before they were driven apart - some say it started with The Great War, the war that threatened to tear our world apart. Each had their own ideas on how to end it, and their unity was tested by it. It broke, as they turned on each other. Some say they slew each other, others say they went into hiding - knowing their struggle was threatening to destroy an already fragile world. Whichever it was, they haven’t been seen in a long time as a result. It is said though, that they will reveal themselves when the Digital World needs them most, doing all they can to save it before disappearing again. In my time I’ve seen at least two: Magnamon and Imperialdramon. If I live long enough, I would like to see more.”

Kazu threw his arms behind his head, “That’s lame. They only show up when you’re already screwed. What’s the point?”

Juri didn’t agree. If anything, she felt the story was kinda sad. What would cause these heroes to turn on each other like that? “So...what was this war thing that drove them apart?”

Leomon sighed, “No one can say for sure. It was so long ago that few digimon remember what the reason even was. The few who did are either dead, in hiding, or no longer with us.”

“Isn’t that a fancy way of saying dead?” Henry looked back, joining the conversation too. Juri looked ahead to see the rest of the group looking back at her and Leomon. She was t sure when that had happened but she was embarrassed to suddenly be the center or attention. Leomon was much more welcoming of his listeners and answered, “Not at all! Life and death is different for digimon compared to you humans. I understand that human life ends upon death. But for a digimon, and all digital life really, that is much more complicated.”

“Yeah, you guys reformat or something, right?” Henry asked aloud, “I remember that part from the books. The weak lose their memories, but the strong can retain their memories and part of their personality, right?”

“That is only if our data is able to disperse freely. It takes time but it can coalesce back into an egg. But for others, that isn’t the case. You noticed I absorbed Indramon’s data when I defeated him. He is dead but not dead. It would be more accurate to say we became one. He is in me or rather, I have absorbed him into my being. We are one entity, sharing thoughts, knowledge, memories, and skills. However, I am the dominant personality. If you’re still following me.”

Juri’s head spun in confusion at that annoying explanation. If it even was supposed to be one. Rika must’ve understood it though because she asked, “Wait, does that mean you know what the Devas were up to? If you have his memories, why don’t you tell us? Renamon! Why didn't you tell us?”

”What else was there to add that we didn’t already know?” she replied matter of factly. Rika raised an eyebrow, “How would we know that? So does that mean you already knew?”

Renamon shook her head, remaining stoic in her answer, “Not at all. In truth, I’ve learned nothing I didn’t already know. Well, besides WarGreymon perishing. That is a serious loss to all the Digital World. And also explains why the devas were in such a panic. Other than that, there was absolutely nothing I could have shared that we didn’t already know. The devas are looking for the catalyst, there’s some kind of danger coming that scared them and the Sovereigns, and they were desperate enough to try and break the barrier between worlds.”

“Is that why digimon started showing up in our world?” Henry asked, looking over to Terriermon. Terriermon’s ears perked up, “Hey! You brought me to your world. That had nothing to do with me.”

“Many digimon knew there was a great danger coming, so we scrambled to become stronger. We turned on each other. How we ended up in the Real World is something I can’t answer though. For me, the gate just appeared and I felt a calling to you. You were looking for a strong digimon partner and i was the strongest there at the time,” Renamon said to Rika, her expression as unreadable as ever. Than didn’t help Rika from looking like she was trying to hide the biggest scowl ever. After an uncomfortably long silence between them, Leomon offered, “To be entirely fair to Renamon, I don’t think any digimon outside the sovereigns really know what’s going on.”

“The sovereigns. If I remember from the show, those are Azulongmon and three others, right?” Kazu asked excitedly, “So are we going to go meet them? Cause dude, that’d be so awesome to get to see those guys in real life! I even have his card! Do you think he’ll sign it?”

He excitedly produced his deck and scanned through it before holding up a card for them to see. On it was an azure dragon with long flowing white hair, wrapped in chains and curling in on itself. Upon seeing it, Takato snatched the card from him, “This was him! Azulongmon! That’s his name! Right! And Zhuqiaomon, the vermillion bird of the south! And there was...um...Ebonwumon! The tortoise of the north! And Baihumon, the tiger of the west! These guys are the protectors of the Digital World! It’s all coming back now! They were...I...uh...oh...”

“Spit it out gogglehead,” Rika snapped at him, “You keep doing that thing where you get excited and talk a mile a minute. Don’t also start pausing for no reason. What is it?”

“Sorry,” Takato shook his head, trying his hardest to avoid eye contact with them, “Renamon, you said WarGreymon was gone, right?”

“Yes, why?”

“What happened?” Takato murmured. Renamon shrugged and looked at both Andromon and Leomon. Both shifted uncomfortably, but the silence said more than words could. Then Leomon added, “We wanted to tell you. We just...weren’t sure how to.”

Takato gave no answer, sheepishly handing Kazu his card back and continuing walking ahead without them. Kazu shouted to get his attention but he didn’t even look back, “Hey! Takato! What’s with him?”

“If he is who he claims, then it’s no surprise,” Renamon folded her arms, “The Digimon Tamer had a partner of his own. WarGreymon - one of, if not the bravest digimon in the Digital World. The two were close to each other in a way that can’t be put into words. Until The Digimon Tamer vanished. WarGreymon stood guard in his absence. If he is The Digimon Tamer, it can be said that he is truly alone now.”

“Why is that?” Juri asked. Renamon started walking after him, “I will explain as I walk...or rather, Leomon can since he was there. My knowledge is second hand.”

Leomon grunted quietly, “She is right, The Digimon Tamer is truly alone now. You recall that conflict I mentioned, yes? The Great War as it’s called. It didn’t just threaten our world. It threatened all worlds. The Digital World. The Human World. All other worlds. A long time ago, perhaps before even the sovereigns themselves, there was a race called the Digital Agents, but they had other names. Today, we refer to them as the Ancients. Although he seems insistent on calling them the Guardians. From atop their holy bastion, they looked down upon the lesser life forms of this world and others - sworn to observe and guide only when needed, for the Ancients had one thing that no other race could. They could see the ebb and flow of destiny: what was, what is, what could be, what must be, what can’t be, and what must not. But something came, something out of the cold dark outside their purview. What it was is forgotten today but the Ancients waged a war against it. A war so devastating that it spread across other worlds like wild fire. In the end, the war destroyed countless worlds and altered the very fabric of reality. The only survivors of that long forgotten war were The Digimon Tamer and his partner WarGreymon. Everyone else perished. And now, with WarGreymon gone, it would seem that The Digimon Tamer is the last. One can only wonder what that kind of isolation does to a mind.”

“All the more reason to keep up with him in case he does something really stupid,” Renamon added, hurrying her pace. Juri’s eyes were fixed on Takato now, wondering what exactly was going through his head. He always became uncharacteristically quiet when something was bothering him. And he was very quiet right now. 

They continued on towards the bright light in the distance in silence after that. Well, mostly silence as Kazu and Kenta chatted excitedly about what exactly they’d get to run into in the Digital World. And soon, they found themselves getting passed by a dozen small glowing balls bouncing along the ground, “What is that?”

“They look like tumble weeds. Digital tumble weeds? Is that a thing?” Kazu said aloud, watching them bounce along. Andromon finally spoke, “Information: These are data fragments from deleted digimon that haven’t reached Primary Village, coalescing into barely sentient entities with barely any will of their own.”

“Oh, that’s so sad,” Juri said quietly, watching the balls bounce along and wondering just who they were before they became this. Could they think? Could they feel? Were they even aware that this is what they were? It didn’t help that Renamon added, “This is the Digital World and that is its only real law: the weak die, the strong live. Don’t feel too sorry for them.”

“What happened here?” Takato asked at just above a whisper.

“Where are they going anyway? There’s no wind,” Kenta pointed out, adjusting his glasses to see what lay just ahead of them. Andromon pointed ahead, “Observation: they’re probably fleeing from that.”

They followed his pointed finger to see Takato still walking with his head down. And just ahead of him was a digimon whose body was made of bright orange flames. It slowly stomped towards him, spreading out his hands to create two burning flames as he shouted, “Who are you and what are you doing in my domain?”

Takato didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t even seem to register Meramon was there. He just kept walking right up to it. Guilmon had already rushed ahead to growl at him but that didn’t stop either of them from walking towards each other. Rika groaned, “That idiot! What is he doing? Renamon! You have to help him before he gets himself killed to that Meramon!”

Meramon. Juri looked ahead at the digimon and wondered just why Takato was ignoring it. And that was definitely annoying the digimon more. Just as Meramon raised his fist to deal an attack, Renamon and Guilmon dashed ahead, “Pyrosphere!”

“Diamond Storm!”

Both attacks took Meramon by surprise and he instead moved his arms to defend himself, “You fiends, attacking me with your numbers. You won’t beat me with such tactics!”

“Takatomon!” Guilmon called out to him, rushing at the boy and sliding between his legs to throw him onto his back. The boy didn’t even register that he was was on his partner now as the digimon started retreating back to the others - leaving Renamon alone to deal with Meramon. Guilmon slid to a stop beside the others and Rika scolded him, “What’s the matter with you Gogglehead? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Takato didn’t answer and was still spaced out. Henry waved his hands in front of his face and even snapped his fingers to get his attention, “He’s definitely out of it. Maybe we should leave him be for a while.”

“Leave him be? We’re in another world where the first person we met tried to kill us and he wants to...do whatever this is!” Rika shouted out angrily, “You know what? Forget it. Well take out Meramon on our own! Renamon! Kick some of this sand on him to douse his flames!”

“Excellent idea, Rika!” Renamon complied, whipping her tail along the sand to kick up a small cloud of want at Meramon. The digimon roared in disgust, covering his eyes, “More cheap tricks? You won’t get me with that! Learn to fight with honor!”

“I take offense to that,” Renamon spat out, charging straight into Meramon and kicking him across his jaw, “Take this!”

The digimon staggered back in surprise, angered that she’d gotten the drop on him, “Grah! You think you’re so strong! Take this!”

He threw a fireball at Renamon, who managed to leap over the attack and kick more sand at Meramon. Watching the fight play out, Terriermon couldn’t help but state, “I’m all for watching a good fight, but does anyone else think it’s kinda one sided? I mean, Meramon hasn’t even gotten a hit in.”

“And here I thought you would’ve wanted to join in,” Henry murmured. Terriermon shrugged at that suggestion, “I don’t know, I still might if Meramon gets a lucky hit in. If, Henry. If. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s going to anytime soon,” Kazu folded his arms behind his head just as Renamon got another good kick in, throwing Meramon onto his back. The fiery digimon lay on the ground, holding his hands up in defeat, cursing at them furiously, “You fiends! You’ve defeated me! Just go ahead and finish it already! You…you…dirty, vile cheaters! Using cheap tactics like that.”

“We’re not finishing anything,” Renamon answered seriously, offering him a hand to help him stand up, “As for cheap, you’re the one who attacked a defenseless human boy who didn’t even realize you were there. Now stop your whimpering and tell us why you attacked.”

Meramon became defensive, “You entered my territory! All I wanted was a little peace and quiet, but you crazy digimon keep coming here trying to pick fights. I don’t care if you want to fight each other until you’re all dead just do it away from me! But if you’re so insistent on fighting me to the death, then finish it already so I don’t have to deal with this conversation.”

“I ALREADY SAID WE’RE NOT DOING THAT!” Renamon said more loudly, but it still didn’t seem to register with Meramon. Juri looked at Leomon in confusion, wondering if all digimon were like this. Her partner shrugged back, just as lost as she was. Then Terriermon provided another observation, “Talk about melodramatic. Look buddy, we’re not going to kill you! We’re looking for one of our friends. A little digimon named Calumon. He was taken by a monkey called Makuramon. Have you seen them?”

“Wait, so you’re not here to kill me?” Meramon looked up at them with a raised eyebrow. Rika scoffed, “Are you kidding? We’ve been saying that!”

“He’s kinda slow, isn’t he?” Terriermon turned his head. Andromon shook his head, “Negative. Meramon’s speed is within acceptable parameters for his type. Renamon simply moved faster than he could.”

“It’s called a joke buddy, learn what that is,” Terriermon frowned in disbelief. Meramon pushed himself up, dusting the dirt off himself before answering, “Well, I haven’t seen a monkey ever. And I don’t even know what a Calumon is. Is that a baby digimon?

“I mean…you’re not wrong,” Terriermon answered, earning himself a smack from Henry, “Be nice.”

“What? He is kind of an odd ball,” Terriermon said in his defense. Henry just sighed, covering his face in disbelief at his partner’s own disregard for polite behavior. Juri giggled a little though. It was nice that the fighting was over, especially since it seemed like the only thing that got hurt was Meramon’s pride. Then she looked over at Takato who still appeared to be stuck in a daze. All this had transpired, and it seemed like he hadn’t noticed.

She could feel herself shaking, worried for him. But then the shaking didn’t stop. In fact, it seemed to be getting stronger. Kazu asked, “Is there an earthquake?”

“Not an earthquake, a stampede,” Terriermon said as his ears perked up. He pointed off into the horizon towards a small dust cloud and a beam of light coming towards them, “I can hear it! It’s coming from over there!”

“What is that?” Kenta asked, adjusting his glasses to get a better look. Juri felt her digivice beep again and examined it, watching an image come on screen of what looked like a dog covered in rocks with a plant for a tail, “Jagamon, a vegetable digimon that are known for migrating in large herds. Is that bad?”

Leomon explained, “Only if we get stampeded. Maybe we should move. Meramon, is there a safe place nearby where we could hide?”

“Sure, I’ll just invite you in,” Meramon began with an insincere tone, “It’s not like I said I want to be left alone. What’s with all these visitors I’m getting today? Forget that, JAGAMON! IF YOU COME ANY CLOSER, I WILL DESTR-Wait! I SAID WAIT! Uh-oh! AARGH!”

His threats fell on deaf ears as he was summarily run over by the stampede. Renamon leapt back  to Rika’s side before she could be trampled by the horde of digimon and warned, “We should get out of the way.”

“Good idea,” Henry said, already turning to run out of their path. Henry, Terriermon, Juri, Leomon, and Guilmon carrying Takato all moved to one side of the stampede. Rika, Renamon, Kazu, Kenta, and Andromon retreated to the opposite side. Both groups could only look on at each other and the stampede of Jagamon as they continued streaming past in some kind of collective panic. In fact, when Juri concentrated on what they were all saying, it sounded like they were all screaming, “Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away!”

“What are they running from?” Juri asked Leomon, following the stampede back to see the pillar of light inexorably advancing towards them. Leomon pointed at it, “Likely that. It’s a data stream. They became a lot more frequent in the Digital World lately. We’re not entirely sure what they are beyond the fact that they just pull you to another part of the Digital World. Only it’s entirely at random. Don’t worry. Based on its path, it’ll go right past us.”

Juri traced the path with her own eyes, uncertain of Leomon’s assessment and gasped. It would miss them. It would also hit the others. And they didn’t even notice because they were too busy watching the Jagamon run past to notice, “GUYS! RUN! DON’T LET THE LIGHT HIT YOU!”

Rika shouted something back but it was hard to hear over the roar of the stampeding Jagamon. Juri pointed at the light and shouted again, “LOOK OUT FOR THE LIGHT!”

Rika shouted again. It was no use. They couldn’t hear each other. And then they started bickering - at least that’s how it looked from where she was standing. Henry tried his luck next, “Guys! Look out for the light!”

It was still no use. And then, like some kind of cosmic prank, they finally realized the pillar of light was coming straight at them. It was too late for them to run from it, and too late for Juri or the others to do anything to help them. All they could do was watch in silent terror as the light sucked them up into the sky. Leomon frowned, “Well. That’s bad.”

“We need to go after them!” Juri declared pointing at the pillar of light as it continued on. Before she could even try to run after it, Leomon grabbed her by the shoulder, holding tight despite her protests to chase after it, “I understand how you feel Juri, but that’s not a good idea. If we jump into the light, there’s no guarantee that we’ll go where they went. It’s better for everyone if we don't.”

“We can’t just leave them!” she protested. Leomon nodded, “I’m not saying we abandon them. I’m saying we look for them the old fashioned way. It’ll be easier to start from where we know we are than it will be for us to chase after them and getting just as lost.”

Juri felt her heart sink into the pit of her stomach. They'd only been in the Digital World for an hour and they were already separated. Takato was out of it. Half of them were lost, some place else in the Digital World. She hoped this wasn’t a signal of things to come.

[thesilverstaganddoe]

The Beginning: Psychology and the Law (Killing Eve Fic) Chapter 8

AO3 Link Chapter [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

Chapter 8: Casual [Explicit]

Eve ended up staying with Oksana for two days. She wanted to stay longer, but Oksana ultimately told her that she was annoying and smelled and needed to go home. Which both embarrassed Eve and made it clear to her that Oksana was back to her usual self. She was also no longer taking pain meds, although she was still limping a bit and Eve had caught a few glimpses of the brilliant bruises on her right hip and thigh.

So she left. She continually checked in via text and fortunately Oksana always responded and without enough delay to worry Eve. So she felt fine. She did. She didn’t see Oksana, though. But that was fine. It was.

A few days later, the Sunday night before the start of classes, Oksana texted Eve for the first time herself.

It’s our last night of freedom and I’m better now. Let’s go out.

Eve’s stomach flipped. She didn’t miss Oksana or anything, but it really would be nice to do something fun before getting back into the swing of work.

Sounds great.

Oksana met Eve at the bar. She was dressed more casual than usual, in looser, flowing pants and flat shoes that Eve had never seen before. Eve wondered if she was still sore, but she walked just fine and when she settled onto a stool it was with apparent ease.

She smiled when she saw Eve, a normal, genuine smile that Eve hadn’t really seen in a while. There had been the dopey grins when she’d been on the pain meds, but that wasn’t the same. It felt really good to see and Eve felt a tension release from her shoulders that she hadn’t even known she was carrying.

Oksana hugged her and that was the real surprise. She’d done it once or twice in the past, but it was still strange, especially given the discomfort and slight awkwardness that had hovered since Eve had been a total shit.

“Hello nursemaid,” Oksana said jokingly, as she sat down. “It’s good to see you.”

They both ordered drinks and then Oksana turned to Eve, drumming her fingers on the bar counter, looking at her expectantly.

“Um, how are you?” she asked.

“Good,” Oksana nodded. “Much better.”

“I’m glad. Really glad.”

“How are you? Ready for classes?”

“Good. I guess I’m ready. The break has been nice, but I think I need the routine.”

“Yes, I agree. I’m not sure I’m entirely ready to deal with the students, but it’ll be good to do something.”

“You don’t like them.”

Oksana scrunched up her face. “They’re idiots. Last term one of them asked me what the difference between sociology and social psychology was.”

“That’s a reasonable question.”

“For the start of the term, sure. I told them on the very first day of class. Syllabus day, in fact. But they asked me more than halfway through the term. Do they just not pay any attention? Do they just forget everything?”

Eve gave her a look. “Don’t be an ass, Oksana.”

Oksana threw up her hands. “I’m not, it was a stupid question!”

“There are no stupid questions.”

“People say that, but I don’t believe it.”

“What did you say? Did you answer it?”

“Well, yes. I stared him down, but I did answer. As a professor, I’m supposed to answer all question. It’s how I get good ratings.”

Eve looked down at her lap. The last sentence was pretty snarky but Eve deserved it.

“That’s probably true. What is your definition, then?”

Oksana gave her a highly critical look. “You don’t know?” she asked incredulously. “I had much higher expectations, Eve.”

Eve rolled her eyes. “Of course I have my own definition. I’m just curious what yours is. Definitions vary.”

“Well I say that sociology focuses on general theories about groups and societies while social psychology is more about individuals and what they have in common with each other that makes them susceptible to social influence.”

“I agree.” Oksana nodded, seemings satisfied. “And that’s why you prefer teaching the social and personality classes, rather than sociology stuff. And why you liked your jury selection job.”

Oksana studied her, as if she was trying to decide on how much of an answer she wanted to give. “Yes. And why I don’t like the clinical and abnormal classes you teach.”

“Because you think they’re boring?”

“I suppose.” She paused and stared ahead of her at the bottles behind the bar, absently tracing a finger around the edge of her glass. “And they bother me a little.”

That surprised Eve. “Why?”

Oksana ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth. “I don’t know. They just do.”

It didn’t feel like an entirely honest answer and Eve really wanted to get a better one but she felt like she was on somewhat thin ice with Oksana and didn’t think pushing it was a good idea. “Okay, well I like them. I’m happy to teach more than my share of them.”

Oksana looked over at her with a smile and a nod. “Go team.”

———-

They talked for a long time and the conversation flowed as easily as it ever had, maybe even more so. At some point, Eve heard the bartender make the last call and she looked at her watch in disbelief.

“It’s...already one.”

Oksana laughed lightly. “I guess it is. Time flies.”

“We didn’t even really drink at all.”

“Distracted, I guess. We had a lot of catching up to do.” Oksana was looking at her Eve as she said it and her stare was penetrating, but not in the way Eve had often seen. It wasn’t the one she gave Eve when she was angry or when she seemed like she was staring deep into Eve’s soul and could probably read her every thought.

It was almost soft.

“Yeah, we did.”

“A little rude of us. We should tip well.” Oksana looked as if she expected Eve to say something else, but she didn’t know what that would be. Oksana made a popping sound with her lips and said, “Do you want to come back to my place? I have wine, we can actually drink and finish our conversation.”

“Sure, that sounds good.”

Oksana nodded, placed some money on the counter and got up from her seat to make her way towards the door. Eve followed.

They’d gone to the bar around the corner from Oksana’s place, the one they’d intended to go to the night of the fight, so it was just a short walk to get back to her apartment. Oksana headed towards the kitchen while Eve shrugged off her coat, draped it over the back of the coach, and sat down. She set two glasses of wine on the table in front of them and then joined Eve on the coach, tucking her legs up under her.

Silence fell between them, the earlier ease of conversation from the bar somehow gone.

Finally, Oksana spoke. “Ask me a question.”

“What?”

“A question. Ask me something. What would you want to know about me?”

“Um...what is your favorite color?”

Oksana scrunched up her face. “That is a terrible question, Eve.” She sighed. “Pink. My favorite color is pink.”

Eve snorted. “Seriously?”

Oksana looked insulted. “Yes. Pink. What’s your favorite color?”

“I don’t know. Navy blue?”

“That’s boring. Just like your question.”

“Fine, what’s a good question?”

“When was the last time you masturbated?”

Eve blushed bright red and looked across the room in the opposite direction of Oksana.

“Excuse me? That’s personal.”

“Personal is interesting.”

“I...the day before yesterday.” Eve didn’t know why she actually answered.

“Hmm. I masturbated this morning.”

Eve looked over at her. She seemed entirely calm, a bit entertained. Not at all flustered like Eve was.

“I didn’t ask.”

“No, but it’s only polite to answer as well.”

“Nothing about this conversation is polite.”

“There is nothing wrong with talking about sex, Eve. People are too uptight.” Eve sighed. “Okay, now ask me a question. A better question.”

“How many women have you brought home?” She had no idea why she asked the question and was pretty sure she might not actually want the answer.

“I do not know. There have been many.”

The answer triggered an unidentifiable feeling in Eve’s chest. Some combination of frustrated...flustered...uncomfortable...something else.

“I suppose it’s your turn,” she said, by way of a response.

Oksansa was quiet for awhile.

“What would you do if I kissed you?” Her voice was quiet, flat. She stared straight ahead of her, her face entirely unreadable.

“I…” Eve paused. It was the moment where she had to make a decision. She couldn’t hedge, couldn’t give a half answer. She had to decide. She wished Oksana had an expression, wished she could tell if she was serious or if she was teasing. Wished she could tell if she was asking because she just wanted to know if Eve liked her or if she wanted to know if it was a two-way street.

Eve took a deep breath and decided.

“I would kiss you back.”

Oksana looked at her with a sharp turn of her neck and in just that instant she had come alive with emotion, her eyes were on fire, her lips parting. Before Eve knew it, Oksana was on her knees in front of Eve and her face was cupped in Oksana’s hands.

And Oksana was kissing her. And she kept kissing her. And kissing her. She didn’t stop, not like the last time.

It was Eve who broke away. “I was mad about New Year’s,” she said in a rush.

Oksana looked dazed. “What?”

“When I yelled at you about the ratings. I was mad about New Year’s.”

“You were mad that I kissed you?”

Eve shook her head. “No, I was mad that that’s all you did.” Oksana didn’t respond, she looked like she was processing Eve’s words very slowly. “I was mad that you kissed me and then just left and kissed a bunch of other girls instead of...I thought something else was going to happen. I know it certainly does with the other women you find.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you just say that?”

“I...think it’s only really sinking in now.”

“I would have gone home with you that night if you’d asked. Telling me that would also have been much better than the yelling.”

“I don’t know, I was just...annoyed. And frustrated. And I couldn’t pinpoint exactly why until now. Until, well, until you just...kissed me like that.”

Oksana grinned and her settled her hands on the couch on either side of Eve’s waist, pushing her onto her back. She leaned over Eve, their chests bumping lightly together, their faces inches apart. “Would you feel better if you got some, too?”

Eve swallowed hard, her pulse pounding in her ears. “Probably.”

Oksana leaned in, lips brushing Eve’s ear. “Yes or no, Eve? Would you feel better if you got some, too?”

Eve let out a small gasp at the just the slight contact and she cursed herself for the reaction.

“Yes.”

Her lips were on Eve’s neck, just below her ear, kissing down across her neck, under her jawbone. Eve’s hands found their way to Oksana’s waist slipping up the back of her sweater. Her fingers ran over the divets in her lower back and then the shallow bumps of her spine, made more prominent by the way she was bent over Eve’s body.

Oksana’s lips found their way back to Eve’s and before Eve knew it her fingers had slipped down to the button of Eve’s pants, undoing it and then pausing, all her fingers splayed out along the skin just under her waistband. It was the lightest touch, but every one of Eve’s nerve endings screamed out at it.

Then Oksana pulled back, face becoming serious. “This needs to be casual, Eve.”

“Of course.”

“Because, you know, I told you I don’t do relationships.”

“That’s fine.”

“You’re really sure? Because people say that and then they change their minds and things get weird.”

“I told you, I’m not jealous. I just...yeah I wanted some, too. I’m just really fucking into you and it’s been driving me crazy.”

“Okay, but I need to make sure that-”

“Seriously, Oksana, it’s fine.” Eve was starting to get frustrated, in more ways that one. “Please just fuck me, I swear to god you’ve been teasing me for months.”

Oksana looked utterly delighted and planted her hands on either side of Eve’s head, pressing their hips flush against each other. Eve could feel her breath on her lips as she spoke. “Oh, honey, I’ve been teasing you since the moment we met.”

Before Eve could come up with a response, Oksana was kissing her again. Her teeth were on Eve’s lip and her tongue was pressing into Eve’s mouth and it was hard and passionate and fantastic.

Oksana shifted herself to kneel above Eve. She pinched Eve’s hips tight between her knees to make space for her hands to travel back down to the top of Eve’s pants. This time, though, she didn’t pause and her hands slid under the fabric, cupped Eve’s ass, her nails biting into Eve’s skin.

For just a moment Eve gasped into Oksana’s mouth, but then she was caught up in the kiss again, caught up in Oksana’s lips and teeth and tongue. She could barely breathe pure air, but in no way did she want to. All she could want, all she could focus on was Oksana, her breath, her taste, her touch.

Oksana’s hands slid lower under Eve’s pants pulling them down along with her underwear in a single movement. Her thumbs traced Eve’s hip bones as she did so and the touch sent a shock through Eve’s stomach and spine. Her hips jerked involuntarily up into Oksana’s hands and Oksana laughed into the next kissed that followed.

Her pants were gone, her shoes kicked across the room in a frantic motion, and Oksana pressed a knee between Eve’s legs. Eve groaned as soon as she felt the pressure directly against her, bucked her hips, no longer caring how unbelievably desperate she seemed.

Oksana’s hands came forward and tangled themselves in Eve’s hair. Her grip was tight, almost painful, and she pulled Eve harder into the kiss, if that was even possible. Eve jutted her hips against Oksana’s leg, craving the contact, needing more. And Oksana let her, held her position firm, let Eve press against her.

But that was all she did. Until Eve begged.

“Oksana…” Eve whimpered. Her name was muffled, it barely broke through the kiss that had preceded it. But Oksana heard and she pulled back to look at Eve. Her face was flushed, as much as Eve’s surely was, and light danced in her eyes. “Please,” Eve mumbled.

Oksana grinned, wider than Eve had ever seen and she dipped her head forward once more to bite Eve on the lip hard before moving to Eve’s neck, kissing along her jawbone. And she pulled a hand from Eve’s hair and pushed it between her legs.

Eve was wet, incredibly so, and Oksana fingers slid against her with ease. Eve gasped before they even found their place on her clit and once they did. Oksana was firm with her movements, not harsh, but incredibly precise, and the overwhelming sensation of it shot through Eve’s brain like wildfire.

She lasted barely any time at all and she would have been ashamed at how easily she came for Oksana if she hadn’t been so desperate, hadn’t needed it for so long. She didn’t have the capacity to care how pathetic she might look.

She opened her eyes and Oksana was smirking at her. Once she saw Eve looking, she pulled her fingers away from her and raised them to her lips, where she slowly began to lick them one by one, never breaking eye contact. Eve watched her. She was still breathing hard and the sight of Oksana, that look on her face, tongue slipping across her fingers to lick Eve off of them, that sight didn’t help.

Suddenly she was struck by a new desire, a fierceness that settled over her body and mind and she sat up. Her hands landed against Oksana’s shoulders and she pushed her back against the arm of the opposite side of the couch. Oksana’s hand dropped to the side, wet fingers forgotten.  Her eyes had gone wide and the cheeky grin, her self-satisfied look of control was gone. Eve had actually surprised her.

“What are you going to do, Eve?” Her voice was an octave higher than normal, her breathing strained.

“Well, obviously I’m going to fuck you. Make sure you come as well. It’s only polite, right?” It was Eve’s turn to bask in the satisfaction of looking down at the other and watch her facial features twitch in response.

“Only polite,” Oksana murmured.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Eve said moving forward to brush her lips against the sensitive skin below Oksana’s ear, “Just polite. Not like I desperately want it or anything. Not like I’m dying to touch you. Put my hands on you. Get my tongue between your legs and run it along the places you are most in need of pleasure. Hear what sounds you make when I do that.”

Oksana’s fingers dug into Eve’s waist and her eyelashes fluttered. “Eve...” It was almost, but not quite, a moan. Eve vowed she would make it into one before the night was out.

Her hands found the bottom of Oksana’s sweater and tugged it up. Oksana obediently ducked her head and slipped her arms out, reaching up towards Eve’s face as soon as they were free.

“Take yours off too, Eve,” Oksana said. Her voice was breathy, her pupils blown. She reached out a hand and trailed her fingertips down the front of Eve’s blouse. “I want to see you, I should have torn this off of you ages ago.” Eve pulled it over her head and tossed it aside. She bent back down over Oksana, intending to kiss her again, but Oksana’s hands wrapped around her back to fiddle with the clasp of her bra. “No, Eve. Everything. I want to see everything, all of you.”

Oksana finished with the clasp and then moved slower, a finger tracing under each strap, studying Eve’s reaction as she did so. Then she seemed to lose her patience. She flicked the straps off Eve’s shoulders and let the bra fall so her hands could cup Eve’s breasts. She held Eve’s gaze for a while after that before letting her eyes travel down Eve’s body. She sucked in her breath and her grip on Eve’s breasts tightened.

“You’re gorgeous, you know.”

A smile played on Eve’s lips. “You’re one to talk. I’ve tried, without success, not to look at you for however long I’ve known you. But, I mean, how can someone not? I kind of hate you for it.”

Oksana grinned. “I’ve heard that before but I don’t think that’s true. I don’t think you hate me. I think you desire me.” She rolled her hips against Eve’s and Eve huffed out a breath, pressing her lips against Oksana’s neck.

“Yes, well the desire is infuriating.”

“Well, then you’ll just have to satisfy it, won’t you?” Eve couldn’t breathe. She pulled back to look at Oksana. She'd meant what she said. It was infuriating. Oksana was infuriating. But she wanted her more than she’d ever wanted anything. Oksana clasped her hands behind her head. “Don’t you want a better view, Eve?” She wiggled her hips and pressed her chest out towards Eve, showing off the red lace of her bra. Thin and revealing, certainly, but still more coverage than Eve wanted.

She tore it off of Oksana and her lips and tongue were on Oksana’s nipple before the garment was even fully untangled from Oksana’s wrists. Oksana gasped and arched her back up against Eve’s mouth. Eve’s sudden movement had clearly taken her by surprise, the self-assured, overly confident demeanor once again knocked to the side, at least for the moment. Her hands settled in Eve’s hair, not pulling, just winding through, making contact.

“I like your hair,” she mumbled. Eve lips broke from Oksana’s skin briefly when she smiled but then they were back and Oksana gasped again. Eve reached up to toy with Oksana’s other nipple and allowed her kisses to travel to the side of her breast. She moved across the curve of it, just as round and perky as she’d always imagined from the way she dressed, but even more incredible when the woman was naked below her, with Eve’s lips upon her.

Eve’s mouth pressed down onto Oksana’s sternum and traveled down in a straight line across her stomach, down towards her belly button. Oksana’s hips arched up as she moved lower. Satisfaction and lust swept through Eve’s stomach.

She placed firmer, deeper kisses into the crevices above Oksana’s hipbones and then she hooked a thumb under each side of her waistband and pulled Oksana’s pants off as roughly as Oksana had removed hers. Oksana’s fingers clenched tight in Eve’s hair when she did so.

Eve grabbed Oksana’s knees and pushed them up so they were bent on either side of Eve’s head and Oksana's legs were spread before her. Her mouth moved to her thigh, traveling down ever so slowly, one single, soft kiss at a time.

Oksana glared down at her. “Is this punishment? Because I teased you?”

“Yes. And not just when you were fucking me before, you said you were teasing me for months.”

Oksana rolled her eyes. “You were teasing me, too.”

“No, I wasn’t. Not on purpose.”

“You’re not that dense, Eve.”

“Apparently I am.”

Oksana slammed her head back against the arm of the couch. “God, Eve, shut up. You said you’d make up to me. Make up to me.”

Eve grinned and placed a single kiss just above Oksana’s clit. Oksana slammed a fist into the couch cushion.

“Eve-”

Eve interrupted the beginning of her next objection. “Happy to.”

And then Eve’s tongue was on Oksana’s clit for real and Oksana whimpered as soon as she felt it. Her hands were back in Eve’s hair, pulling much harder than before. It hurt but it was a very satisfying pain, a clear indication of Oksana’s pleasure and her desperation.

Eve swept her tongue up, down, circled it. She brought a hand between Oksana’s legs and ran a finger lightly across her entrance. Oksana shuddered. It was almost teasing, and it would have been if Eve had kept at it for more than a fraction of a second, but instead it was just a ghost of her previous taunting because she quickly slipped two fingers in.

And Oksana cried out.

Her hips bucked against Eve and her eyes clenched tighter closed. “Faster,” she whispered. Eve obliged.

Any embarrassment Eve may have felt for how quickly she had orgasmed under Oksana’s hand disappeared when Oksana came almost as quickly. It was intensely satisfying. She relished in the evidence that Oksana had been just as wanting, that it seemed she had been waiting for it just as long and desperately as Eve had. Eve watched the last of the orgasm fade from Oksana’s face and then she pulled her hand away and ran her fingers down Oksana’s chest and stomach. They left wet trails behind them.

Suddenly Eve felt exhausted. She lay down, partially on Oksana, still between her legs. She clasped her hands across Oksana’s stomach and rested her head on top of them, let her eyes drift closed. Oksana hooked her legs tight around Eve’s back. She recognized that it was a somewhat strange position to be in, but in spite of that it was comfortable. The contact and the tight grip of Oksana’s legs against her was appealing. She could hear Oksana breathing hard and Eve’s own breathing wasn’t particularly slow either. After a moment she found her words.

“Oksana?”

“Yes?”

“Does casual have to mean only this once?”

Oksana gasped out a laugh, “God, I hope not.”

[incorrectdeceptionquotes]

48+60? :)

LINUS! Just becauseI’ve slacked off on the one-shots these past few months doesn’t mean that youshould. Where is the prompt hat? 48. Fake Dating + 60. Poorly TimedConfession… this ballot looks months old… I guess I should use it then…wait… LINUS, THERE’S OVER 80 OF THESE PROMPTS IN THE HAT! AND THEY’RE NOT ALLLABELED!!!

Attention: While yourwriter tries to sort out all the prompts she promised to do, here’s one thathas been long time requested.

Going undercover. It had not been Cameron’s nor Kay’s first idea tosolve this case but nothing else seemed to work. These high-society typesweren’t willing to talk to the police and they found someone like Cameron to bebeneath them to even give their time of day. So Cameron and Kay decided to goundercover as a rich young couple who had just come into some money thanks tothe unknown inheritance their “families” had given them. It was a good cover story;they could have a bit of fun with it.  Unfortunately, going undercover wasn’t as funas Cameron thought it would have been… rich people are boring.

He looked over to Kay who had a tiresome expression on her face, “Anythingyet?”

“Nope.” She responded fiddling with the jewel incrusted necklace she waswearing, “But sometimes the best clues can be hidden in plain sight.”

“Like a good illusion.” He smiled.

She smiled back, “Exactly.” Cameron got up from his seat and held outhis hand. “Cameron, what are you doing?”

He shrugged, “I think we’re drawing suspicion by not having danced atall so far. This is for the good of the case.” He smirked.

She rolled her eyes but took his hand. They started to dance to themusic as the tempo began to speed up. He took her hand and twirled her beforebringing her back. They danced in very close proximity, their hands tightlywoven together, her hand resting on the back of his neck and his arm wrappedaround her waist. For a few more minutes, they continued to just step and spinto music until Cameron got an idea. His arm moved from her waist to her backand he dipped her, causing Kay to let out a laugh in surprise.

When he pulled her back up, he did it a little too quickly and theirfaces met just an inch apart. They smiled at each other. “You’re a gooddancer.” Cameron breathed.

“Not too bad yourself.” Kay replied breathlessly. This closeness… itwas nice. But it was making her lose focus. She quickly tore her gaze away andmotioned to the couple in the corner as the music slowed down. Those twodefinitely were not in the cornertrying to get it on. “Cameron,” She whispered, “Slowly turn me around and takea look at the back corner there, past the bar.”

Cameron did as she said and saw that Phillip Brokeman talking with thatwoman, what was her name? Something with an ‘H’… Holly? Hannah? Harriet? AllCameron knew was that she certainly wasn’t his wife. “Well, there it is. That’swhat was hiding in plain sight.”

“I don’t think they’re having an affair Cam.”

“No, look at what she’s giving him.” Kay squinted her eyes and noticedthe young woman giving the older man a role of hundreds, “Little peculiar, isn’tit?”

“Peculiar?”

“What can I say? I like big words.” They then saw the two people slinkaway to the staircase leading to the roof. Kay mentioned with her head for herand Cam to follow them.

However things didn’t go as planned.

When they got to the roof, they were greeted by guns pointed at them. “Iwouldn’t take another step you two.” Brokeman all but snarled. “I don’t knowwhy you’ve been following us around but it ends now. You either leave and forgetyou say anything or…” Two of his henchmen walked over the agent and illusionist,“We’re going to have two unexplained rooftop jumpers.”

What Brokeman didn’t account for was Kay and Cameron being well skilledin defending themselves. He had to take matters into his own hands. He took acrowbar and hit Kay’s leg with it, causing her to lose her balance. He seizedthe moment to grab the dishevelled agent and make an example of her.

“Kay!” Cameron yelled out as he saw her being tossed over the side ofthe roof by that insane man. He suddenly felt all reason leave his body. He wasseething. He just didn’t think about it. He punched the larger man right in thejaw, somehow hitting him hard enough to knock him out. He ran over to the ledgewhere upon looking over the edge, he felt a sudden rush of relief followed bypanic. “Kay!” She was alive. She was alive but her fingers were slipping.Cameron was quick to reach for her, “Kay, grab my hand!” He gripped her wristand he held out his other hand to her.

“Cameron, I’m okay-”

“Like hell you are!” He exclaimed, “Just grab my hand!” She let out ahuff as she grabbed his hand just as her foot slipped off of the tiny ledge ofbrick she had been keeping balance on. “No!” Cameron shouted as he somehowmanaged to pull her up and into his arms within seconds. Before Kay could evenresister what had happened. Cameron didn’t even realize he had hit his head onthe cold hard ground.

Kay’s heart was racing. Not just because she had almost fallen to whatcould have most likely been her death but because Cameron’s arms were wrapped sotightly around her. She could feel him give out what seems to be a breath ofrelief. “Cameron?”

She heard him whisper, “Oh thank God…”

They slowly sat up and Kay noticed the unconscious man who had tried tothrow her off the building, “You knocked him out?”

“I guess I did.” He replied, his arms still loosely around her.

Her eye suddenly went to his forehead. It had been scraped when his headhit the ground. “You’re hurt…” She raised her hand and lightly touched theinjury with her finger. Cameron winced slightly.

“I’ll be fine.” He replied. She lowered her hand, only slightly as itrested on his shoulder.

She opened her mouth as if to say something but thought better of it soshe said something else, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking-”

“No, you weren’t!” Cameron took a deep breath. He wasn’t angry. He justgot scared, “I’m sorry. I know that your job is important to you and I know that you are the best at what youdo but…” He gently took her face in his shaking hands, “Sometimes I just wishyou weren’t because then I wouldn’t be so scared…”

Kay slightly raised her eyebrows, “Cameron, I can’t change who I am.”

“I’m not asking you to… you just scared me.”

“But you said I’m scary all the time.” She smirked lightly.

Cameron’s mouth formed a tiny smile, “I-” Brokeman groaned as he wasstarting to come to, “I think we should make an example of him.”

“We should.” Kay nodded as she pulled out a pair of cuffs.

Cameron gave her an amused look, “Where were you hiding those?”

“Somewhere.” She smirked. “Sometimes the obvious hides in plain sight.”

(~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

A few hours later, they were back at work, both thankful to be out ofthose stuffy clothes.  As Kay and Cameronwalked into Kay’s office, Cameron closed the door behind him. “So that wentwell.”

Kay smiled as she put down the paperwork, “Looks like it.”

“You think the arrest will stick?”

“Given that there’s video evidence of him throwing me off the roof, I dobelieve a jury would have no problem believing he had something to do withAlbert Prescott’s death.” Kay smirked.

“And Holly?”

“I think you mean Heather.” Cameron let out a chuckle and nodded, “Giventhat she didn’t actually kill anyone and the fact that her family is loaded…she’s probably not going to get more than a slap on the wrist.” She thennoticed that Cameron’s face fell a little, “Cameron?” He didn’t say anything.He just looked at her, “Hey, what wrong?”

“It’s nothing, really.” He tried to brush off. “How’s the leg?”

“It’s getting better.” Kay shookher head, “Something’s up.”

“It’s… it’s not a good time.”

There was silence. Neither of them knew what to say. Cameron was turnedaround and was about to walk out the door when Kay spoke up, “Is it ever goingto be a good time?”

He let go of the door handle and looked to her, “What?”

Kay fidgeted slightly where she stood, “I said… is it ever going to bea good time? Cameron, if there’s something you want to tell me then tell me.”

Cameron raised an eyebrow, “Is there something you want to tell me?” Kaylooked to her desk, suddenly very interesting in the stapler. “Kay?” He walkedover where he stood on the other side of her desk, “I won’t push you but…”

“Cameron, what are we?” She finally blurted out.

“W-what do you mean?”

“I mean… are we just… partners? Friends?”

He let out a nervous chuckle, “Well, I’d say that we’re both.”

“And that’s all we are?” She gave him a curious look, one he hadn’t seenbefore. He would be lying if he said that that’s all he thought of her. But hecouldn’t tell her that. He loved spending time with her, working cases withher, joking with her, making her laugh. He didn’t want to jeopardize it byadmitting he felt something for her beyond friendship. He didn’t want lose whathe had with her. Even if it meant eventually seeing her with someone else. Whenhe didn’t say anything, she gave a tiny chuckle, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t havesaid anything.” She then muttered, “I should have learned the first time.”

That’s when Cameron did a double take, “Wait. What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing Cameron.” She gave him a small smile, “You should headhome. It’s been a long day.”

Cameron looked to the door and then back at Kay, “You know what? I dohave something to tell you.” Kay raised an eyebrow at him, “Do you know why Igot so scared tonight?” Before Kay could respond, he continued, “I couldn’tstand the thought of losing you, okay?”

Kay looked him in the eyes, “I-I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Well I do.” He walked around her desk so he could properly face her, “Kay,if you’ll let me… I’d love to take you out.”

Kay started to grin, “Like a date?”

Cameron’s grin seemed to mirror hers, “Not like a date, a date.”

Kay gently lifted her hand to cup his cheek and stroke it with herthumb, “How’s your head?”

Cameron furrowed his brows, “Uh, a little better but-” He was cut off byKay placing a kiss on his cheek, “Wait, what are you-”

“I’d love to.”

His grin grew wider, “You would?”

She nodded, “Yeah.”

Before he even realized what he was doing, Cameron cupped her face and pressedhis lips against hers. Kay’s arms wrapped around his waist, under his jacket asshe tilted to her head allow Cameron to deepen the kiss. He pulled back for amoment, “Wait, what did you mean before when you said you should have learned-”

“Cam, don’t get in your own way.”She grinned.

He chuckled, “You’re right.” He leaned in and kissed her again. Having theirfirst kiss in Kay’s office right after a case might have been poorly timed buthey, timing’s a bitch.

I’m back people! Iknow it has been a long while since I’ve written a one shot but I realizedsomething very important… I have a lot of requests to get to because I made apromise and I don’t want you guys to go all Jonathan Black on me so… theywill get done… eventually. XD

[allthephils]

Repose

Rated M (angst, sleeping beauty au, mentions of sex, adult themes

Word count: 2626/42677

Read on AO3

Chapter 15

The drive to Windsor castle felt something like the first time Louise drove Phil there. Fear and uncertainty had brought tension then but now it was magnified. Now, Phil knew what was at stake. He also knew he wasn’t wanted there and that he may have a fight ahead of him much more daunting than the fight to get in had been. Phil has never been much of a fighter, always more likely to walk away, turn the other cheek. Now he hoped against hope for a fight because a fight meant Dan was ok, that there’s something to fight for. The alternative was unthinkable. His stomach turned when he thought of how easily he had let Dan get away all those years ago. Everything could have been different if he had simply had the courage to speak up, say the words, hold on tighter. That wasn’t a mistake he was going to make again. He had let himself consider the worst case scenario, he’d fallen apart, gotten it out of his system, and now he was going to stand up and be what Dan needed him to be.

Walking up the path to the castle gate, the scene was so different from the first time. There was a small group of protesters and an even smaller gaggle of women waiting on the lawn. A large steel grate had been pulled closed at the gate that lead to the entrance to Dan’s operating theatre and there was only one guard standing in the center of the walk. It was obvious the excitement had passed, the royal family had succeeded at appeasing the public.

Phil and Louise walked in the grass toward the protesters, hoping the single guard wouldn’t notice Phil. The idea that he could be seen as a threat was ridiculous but Phil couldn’t imagine the stories Walter must be telling. Phil had to be careful. He didn’t want to risk being carted away before he was able to see Dan. Cautiously, Louise approached the gate with Phil a few feet behind. Inside, near the door that would lead to the Prince, stood Dennis.

Louise ran back to Phil, whisper shouting, “It’s that guard, the one you know. Phil, he must be ok. Why would they guard an empty room? He must still be in there.”

“He’s still in there, I feel it. But that doesn’t mean he’s ok.” Phil said, his eyes searching for some comfort in Louise’s hopeful expression. “I’m going to go talk to him. Stay close.”

Phil’s hands gripped the bars of the steel grate that stood between him and what he now realized was his future. Dennis look up and sighed heavily, scrubbing his hands over his face in frustration. He walked to Phil and spoke, low enough so that no one else could hear.

“Phil. Buddy, you know my hands are tied here. There’s nothing I can do. Prince Walter would put me away for treason. He’s been very clear.”

“Did you deliver that box, Dennis?” Phil asked. Dennis said nothing but returned to his post by the door. “Tell Walter I’m here, Dennis. Let me see him. We can work something out.”

Dennis stared forward, unflinching. “You don’t want to see Walter, Phil. Trust me, you don’t.”

“Tell me he’s ok, Dennis. Or at least tell me he’s alive.” Phil was starting to panic.

Dennis said, “he’s alive,” and cast a sideways glance at Phil that sent a chill up his spine.

“Oh my god. I need to see him. Dennis please.”

Dennis’ brow creased, he shifted on his feet and swallowed, struggling to maintain the role he played in spite of the vulnerability Phil brought. Nothing was more frightening than seeing concern on Dennis’ face. Phil turned to Louise and she rushed over.

“Louise, are you logged in to my Instagram?”

“I am.”

“Ok, we’re gonna do this. 15 seconds at a time.” His heart beat out of his chest.

Louise’s eyes grew wide and she held the hand of her best friend in the world. “Philip, are you absolutely one hundred percent sure about this? Have you thought through all the consequences?”

“Yes I am and no I haven’t. There’s no more time, Lou. You ready?” Phil stood, his back to the gate and Louise held up the phone. She pointed to Phil and he began.

“Hey guys. I’ve got some really important news to share and not a lot of time. I’m going to need your help. You guys were right about some things so yeah, good job figuring it out I guess. First of all, I’m gay. Yay.” Phil held his hands up and shimmied them just as Louise held up her hand to stop. He looked back at Dennis who just stood, looking forward, pretending not to notice what was going on right in front of him.

“OK it’s up, that’ll bring em in.” Louise shook her head and held the phone up again. “Keep going.”

“I know I’ve been a little MIA these days and that none of you were fooled by my cryptic tweets. I have been at Windsor Castle. With Dan, Prince Daniel. And yes, I’m in love with him.”

Louise held up a hand again and jumped up and down a little bit as she hit the button to post the story. For the third time, she held the phone up. Phil was sweating, he heaved in a breath.

“He’s been doing much better since I’ve been here but now our future king and the man I love is in real jeopardy because his father, Prince Walter, has decided I am no longer welcome.”

Once more, stop, post, deep breath, go.

“So I’m hoping you guys could help me out. Maybe if we get enough of you here, they’ll at least let me speak to someone. I don’t know if it will work but I have to try. We can’t just do nothing. He needs us. If you’re anywhere near Windsor castle, please.”

Louise put her phone away and walked to Phil, hugging him close. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I don’t know, Lou. I just outed the future king of England. I think I’m fucked.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Phil leaned on the counter, happily munching tiny marshmallows as he watched his mum bake. He missed Dan, more than he’d ever missed anything, but he was happy to be with his family. The last time he was here, he would have called it home. Even with his own London apartment, home was always wherever his family was. That was all different now. Now, home was wherever Dan was. His little apartment felt warm and safe and perfect when Dan was there. Still, he was glad to be chatting with his mum, getting all the latest gossip on the Lesters. A cousin got engaged, an aunt needed to have gall bladder surgery, and uncle Frederic’s exotic pet collection has gotten him in trouble. His wife has promised to leave him if he brings home one more reptile or hissing cockroach.

Phil heard the front door open, the cold air rushing in and chilling the house all the way to the kitchen. Martin and Cornelia shuffled in together, pulling off coats, and hugging Nigel before making their way to the kitchen to get the big affection form Catherine. Phil waited his turn, smiling around cheeks stuffed with sweets. Finally, Martin came over and punched him in the arm before pulling him into a hug.

“Where the hell have you been? I feel like I have to watch your videos just to see my little brother!” Martin admonished lovingly.

“Ug, You sound like Louise. I’ve just been busy.” Phil stood away from the counter and moved toward Cornelia, who opened her arms and hugged Phil just like a big sister would.

“Hello Phil. You look well! How have you been?” She asked as she pulled him in.

“I’m really good, Corn.” Phil said, quietly while still in the embrace. Cornelia had a way of softening Phil, breaking down any barriers he might have. She pulled away, hands on Phil’s shoulders, and looked him in the eye. She grinned and cocked her head a bit.

“Hmm.”

“What?” Phil said, already blushing.

“You look different.” Cornelia said, plainly. “You are positively glowing.”

Phil laughed nervously and looked at the ground. “I’m just rosy from the cold.”

“Bullshit.” Cornelia smiled wide and kissed Phil’s nose, leaving behind a spot of lipstick.

Catherine grabbed a dish towel and wiped at the spot without missing a beat. “You do look happy, love. And healthy. Glowing is a perfect way to describe it.”

Phil felt like he was being ganged up on by the sweetest mob who ever lived.

Martyn had plopped down at the kitchen table and was eating a biscuit from a plate at the center. He looked at Phil intently. “I know what’s up. He’s getting some.” He kept eating through his smirk and Phil groaned, turning away to busy himself making tea for everyone. He wanted to run away but he knew they’d just follow him. The Lesters are a relentless bunch.

“Oh Martyn.” Catherine shook her head. “Be nice.” She slid the pan of cakes into the oven, and wiped her hands on her apron. “Though I was wondering…”

Cornelia’s musical laughter gave Phil a moment to think, to muster up his courage.

“Ok, yeah, I’ve been seeing someone. Someone I really like.” Phil was on the verge of giggling but he fought to suppress that impulse.

Cornelia beamed, “Aw Philly. Look at you! I’m so happy for you!”

Phil’s mum took her cup of tea and sat at the table so now they all sat, staring at Phil, his judge and jury, sipping their tea in a perfect metaphor. They wanted details.

“What’s her name?” Catherine asked, her tone genuinely kind and curious.

Martyn rolled his eyes. “Mum, Come on, Phil hasn’t a girlfriend since before Uni.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s habit. What’s his name? Tell me about this boy who’s captured my son’s heart.”

Phil smiled, she always knew how to make him feel accepted, even when she screwed up.

“It’s ok, mum. His name is…” Phil hesitated, not sure how to answer that question. He breathed deep, took a sip of tea, and answered, “Dan, his name is Dan.”

“Ooh!” Catherine cried. “Like Prince Daniel. Is he as handsome as the Prince?”

“More so.” Phil said. It was true. His Dan, the Dan he held and kissed and laughed with and loved, was far more beautiful than his public persona. Prince Daniel was just a facade but Dan was real, so very real. “It’s a little scary though.” He sat down with the rest of them, grabbing a biscuit to dunk into his tea.

“That’s my cue.” Martyn stood up fisting a handful of treats and went to talk with Nigel about Football or the weather or something that made him less uncomfortable than what was about to go down in the kitchen.

“Coward.” Cornelia called after him.

“I don’t deny that!” Martyn called back.

Cornelia reached across the table to squeeze Phil’s hand. “Why is it scary, Phil?”

“I just like him so much. We just met in September. And he’s only 18, we’re so young, you know? But I feel like, I don’t know.” Phil was looking down into his tea but he raised his eyes to catch his mother’s, needing to read what she might be thinking. “I love him, mum. I loved him from the moment I kissed him. It was only our second date. Is that stupid? Is that crazy?” Phil chewed on his cuticle, nervous, afraid the answer would be yes, it’s stupid and crazy and immature. Pull yourself together Phil.

“Phil, love is never stupid.” Cornelia said, “And any love worth having is crazy at the beginning.” She sat back and sipped, ready to soak in whatever Catherine was about to say. Catherine did not disappoint.

“Cornelia’s right. God, your father and I were insatiable when we met. From the very start, I couldn’t keep my hands off of him.”

“Woah, mum, gross.”

“Sorry, sorry. My point is, sometimes you just know. And it feels too fast and too much but it’s not up to you. Love just comes and you have to be brave enough to grab on and hold it.”

“I haven’t said it yet. He has, but I’ve sort of avoided it.” Phil sighed, “Do you think I should tell him?”

Catherine put another biscuit in front of Phil. “I think you should tell him when you are sure and it’s bursting out of you. When your heart is beating so loud, you can’t think of any other words, that’s when you should tell him.”

Cornelia asked, “When did Nigel tell you?”

“I think it was our third date.”

“And you said it back?” Cornelia said, in awe.

“Oh lord no! I thought he was off his rocker.” Catherine laughed heartily. “But I did say it eventually, months later.”

“Poor Dad.” Phil paused and took a deep breath. “I’m scared if I let myself love him, he’ll go off to Uni and then, I don’t know.”

“Sweetheart, trust me. Love is painful whether it lasts 2 weeks or 2 decades. That’s why you have to be brave. Ask yourself if the fear you feel is worth not having him in your life. Would you rather just lose him now so you don’t have to lose him later?”

“No. No, mum, I can't lose him now. It hurts to even think that.”

“It sounds like you already know the answer, Phil.” Cornelia said. “I just want to know if he is worthy of my Philly. Are you happy when you’re with him?”

“So happy.”

“Does he treat you with kindness and respect?”

“Yes Corn, of course.”

“And does he make your toes curl?” Cornelia slurped her tea, glancing up at Phil over her cup. Catherine laughed and stood to clear up as Phil crumbled, covering his face with his hands. He peaked through his fingers at Cornelia, knowing his mum was looking the other way, and nodded. She held her tea up in a mock toast and giggled.

“You know what I always say, Phil.” Catherine interjected. “If he keeps you warm, then he’s a keeper.”

“Isn’t that for picking out a coat?”

“It applies here too, dear.” Catherine went back to baking and Phil sat in happy silence with Cornelia. Some of the weight had lifted, he felt understood, supported. The weight that remained was uncertainty in what the future held. Phil’s mum is a wise woman though and he knew that. He promised himself he’d tell Dan he loved him when they got home. In reality, he knew he’d made it clear but he also knew that those words matter.

Slipping into a sugar coma, Phil excused himself to have a quick lay down before dinner. Really, he just wanted to text Dan in private, though he realized he probably wouldn’t get a response.

Phil: Hey. I miss you already. My family says I’m glowing. It’s because of you. I hope you get to spend lots of time with Adrian and eat all the mince pies. Come to think of it, maybe you could smuggle a few out for me.

Dan: Phil! I miss you already too. I’ll start hoarding mince pies immediately.

Phil:  Yay!

Dan: If you text during the day, I might not be able to respond.

Phil: I know, I get it

Dan: But please text anyway. I need to know you are out there. And that you are mine.

Phil: Ok, I will. And I am.

Dan: I have to go join everyone for tea. I love you.

[djesusgetnaked]

Star Fire (Chapter 1)

A/N: This is a soulmate AU and a multiple chapters fanfiction ! There are already 13 chapters planned. Why do I always want to write too much ? Though I really have fun writing this story. Hope you enjoy as much as I do.

moodboard // playlist (Because when I want to write but I feel lazy, those are always a good excuse.)

Thanks to my baby hedgekey for the wonderful aesthetic.

@locke-writes & @ghostofachancewithyou all my love, as always. And @judy-jetson-hookah ily too okay ??

Warnings: None, for now.

Here comes that electric spark in your eyes. Turning me into flames. All these explosions go off in the night. Don't let them fade away. I'm under attack. There's no turning back. Lighting me up you're the weapon of desire. Burn like a starfire. It had always troubled him.

It was common knowledge that people had either the first name of their soulmate somewhere on their body or a clock, which kept running down until they met their other half.

It shouldn’t have been different for Rafael, because he wasn’t different from any other person. Even if sometimes he felt bit out of place, like being a small, sickly and clever boy living in the Bronx. Or being a Cuban who lived in the Bronx and went to Harvard to become a great lawyer. But it was normal, right? Everyone in their life feels different from time to time. It was no big deal.

Or he thought so, trying desperately to persuade himself. Because of the fact that he was different, an exception from others.

Rafael Barba had a first name and a clock on his skin. It didn’t make any sense for him or for anyone. During over 35 years, he tried to find someone else who had both too, but it seemed that he was really the only one in this situation. And nobody could tell him why he was that way.

In the end it didn’t change anything. He assumed he would meet this “Lou” when his clock would mark a perfect zero. But he always had been a thinker and he just wanted to know why he was the only one of his kind.

With time he simply accepted to drop the subject because he wasn’t going anywhere with it. He hardly thought about it now, forced himself not to. But sometimes as he rolled up his sleeves, his attention was drawn to his marked wrist. He would tell himself he didn’t believe in this soulmate nonsense, his work life was more important to him. Even so the truth was that it was terribly curious.

A glass of scotch in front of him, he couldn’t help but smile while Liv was gabbling about this new agent in training that her squad would have to work with, for an entire year, beginning next Monday. She couldn’t decide her mind. In one hand she was satisfied to have one more police officer to work for her, because they had been short staffed for months. On the other hand she wanted an experienced detective, not someone they would have to explain all the complexities of the job.

“Oh come on. You’re overthinking this.”

She stared at him, which only made his smirk bigger. Both of them had the bad habit of overanalyzing everything. It was part of their jobs and unfortunately it had become an occupational hazard.

“Liv, the thing is you don’t really have a choice. You’ve been complaining for weeks because you don’t have enough staff. And NYPD wants to train future new detectives. It’s not a bad thing, actually. When they graduate, they’ll already have field experiences. You’ll just have to make the best out of it.”

It seemed that his words made her think for a few seconds before she sighed. She knew he was right. She finished her glass of wine and Rafael ordered another round with two fingers waving in the air. Seeing the usual gesture the bartender nodded knowingly.

“Beside it’s always a pleasure to meet a new recruit in your elite squad.”

The smirk on his face was anything but helpful. He was her friend but right now she wasn’t sure if she could trust him to be a real moral support. The ADA was known to be a smart ass and she had no doubt he wouldn’t hesitate to make sassy comments on her misfortune.

“Well, that’s not what you said about Carisi.”

Suddenly his arrogant smile disappeared. He couldn’t deny that Carisi was a brilliant detective. But his obsession to impress him with law observations tended to exhaust him. When she gauged his reaction she burst out laugh.

Obviously she was nervous. She wasn’t shy at all, on the contrary she was one that other people would naturally notice and remember. Some would say she was kind of charismatic, with her big smile and her spontaneous confidence. But as she was walking in the precinct, she felt very little and wanted to disappear somewhere else as much as she wanted to start ardently working with the SVU. She knew herself. She was clever and she totally could make the best first impression. But she was also very human and could become the most awkward person in the entire world when she was much too too self-conscious. The problem was that she never knew which one it was going to be. She took a deep breath and walked in, praying for her friendly personality to save her in tight situation one more time.

Fortunately for her, the entire squad seemed quite friendly. All of them had a strong bond, which was only understandable as they worked together every day and had a very emotional job. But they made an effort for her to feel comfortable around them quickly.

Only Olivia Benson seemed to be a bit more distant with her. She couldn’t blame the older woman. She knew she was undeniably younger than them. She had no doubt as she was still in training she had been imposed to the squad. And as a Lieutenant she only wanted what was best for her team. Besides she didn’t feel any bitterness from a new boss and was grateful for a healthy work atmosphere.

“Don’t worry doll, I’ve got your back.”

She frowned, mostly because she was startled and amused. Who still called people “doll” these days? She wasn’t sure if it was still a common thing, but she surprised herself to think that it suited him. Sonny was a radiant human being. He never stopped smiling at her since she introduced herself and tried hard to integrate her by making random and funny comments. Yes, his nickname was kind of perfect for who he was.

“Y’know, I was like you few years ago. I was the newbie among them and all.”

She quickly returned his smile, realizing she had been lost in thoughts for a few moments. He was really friendly and made her feel good about herself, about her choice to work with the SVU. She was so glad that Benson decided to put him as her partner.

“Well, it’s really reassuring to know I already have a knight in a shining armor to protect me.” she replied joyfully, playing his own sweet game very easily.

She swore she could see him lightly blush and she would have giggled about it if Benson hadn’t stormed out in the main room to tell them they had a new case.

If she had to be completely honest she was relieved that her first case wasn’t about child abuse. But fortunately she didn’t have to tell so out loud as she was still trying to make a good impression. She knew rapes weren’t less important, but there was something about broken kids that made her want to scream in deep anger. Life is hard enough and she really thought years of pure innocence were essentials.

Her attention snapped back to the board, where a picture of the victim was posted, as well as a bunch of pictures of potential suspects, all very rich and powerful.

Obviously, the case could have been easier. It dumbfounded her but didn’t shock her, that rape cases were so difficult to prove and to convince to a jury. What was wrong with the world? Everything. But the fact that the victim was a stripper and didn’t recall who raped her because she was probably drugged by one of her rich clients, didn’t help at all.

As Sonny was gesticulating in front of the board, while Lieutenant Benson was telling them what to do next for their investigation, Barba walked in the precinct with his usual confidence and determination.

“Hey counselor, your timing couldn’t get better.” Sonny greeted the man, and the new agent’s eyes turned to this man in a beautiful and elegant suit.

Benson didn’t wait for his friend to respond to the Italian detective. “Ah Barba, this is our agent in training.”

When she heard a boss was presenting herself to the new arriving, she immediately stood up, observing the man while he did the same thing, unashamed.

“You’re young.” She fought the urged to raise an eyebrow, as she usually did when her friends tried to give her shit and fight with her on smart-ass comments. She didn’t know him, but she guessed he always chose his words wisely. He was testing her.

“And you’re wearing suspenders. I guess it creates a concrete gap between my baby age and the fact you were born in the 19th century.” She didn’t hesitate one second before snapping at him the same way he did, though there wasn’t any animosity in her voice.

There was a silence for a few seconds, people startled by her reaction and waiting to see what Barba was going to do. Eventually he smiled, maybe a bit impressed by her comment and her “I don’t take shit” attitude.

“You’re sassy, I like that. I’m ADA Rafael Barba.”

He stretched out his hand towards her, and she seemed to freeze for whatever reason, before she shook his hand. But it was so quick that he wasn’t sure.

“I’m Lou.”

He didn’t know if it was due to her name, or the feel of her hand in his, but he felt suddenly really dizzy. His vision began to blur, he could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and he had trouble breathing.

He withdrew his hand, and opened his mouth to say something. But as he thought the feeling would disappear, it just got stronger until the world was spinning all around him.

And everything went dark.