#writing emails at a furious pace - for me anyways

[exsqueezememacaroni]

.

[fawad-khan]

professor ‘fuck me a lot’

A/N: so tom in that esquire interview and that instagram story did things to me ajhsuifhf so here we are! also this is my first professor tom fic hehe. beta read by the lovely @parkerpeter24​ (title credit goes to her too XD)

Masterlist

Pairing- professor!tom holland x student!reader

Warning- smut, thigh riding,swearing, unprotected sex, teacher-student relationship(?), wrap it before you tap it! (all characters are 18+ btw)

Word Count- 3.4k+

Summary- you catch tom in a compromising position.

Thomas Stanley Holland, the new professor was the talk of every single student in the college. He was young, and very smart and knew his subjects well. He had a way with his teaching that made everyone’s ear perk up and pay attention to whatever he was teaching. Everyone was impressed by how he taught from a different perspective, in the sense that he not just gave a lecture, he explained in such a way that each person could visualise and convert the picture into their own words.

He was also very undeniably  attractive. He had attractive features. His chocolate brown dolomite eyes, soft looking lush brown hair, pink kissable lips that so many girls (and even some guys) dreamt of kissing over and over again, desirable cheekbones and the suits he wore for his lectures made him look so fine, drawing attention and he somehow managed to pull you towards him as well.

As if his looks weren’t enough, it was also his voice, and how it sounded like music to your ears. He certainly had a way with his words. Many times you had yourself what would it be like to have that same voice whisper dirty things in your ears. You remember the day he stepped into the classroom on his first day of teaching you.

"Hello everyone, my name is Tom Holland, and I will be teaching you literature from today onwards. I can see lots of bright faces here," he gazed around the room as he continued, "now, before we get started I would like to get everyone's names and just ask some questions in general, that is what we will do first. So why don't we start with," he took a list from his desk and called out a few names, who stood up and introduced themselves.

"(Y/n) (l/n)?" You heard your name being called out. You got up and politely introduced yourself. 

"I actually have a very good report on you here, miss (y/n). Are you that interested in literature? And please sit down if you want." He beamed, but you continued to stand anyway, admiring him already.

"Well, actually I have really been fond of reading lots of books since childhood and always had a hobby of writing small stories and poems and such for the school part so I guess that is how I realized I wanted to delve further into the subject."

"Well I must say, that's very impressive. And do you have any plans after you complete and procure your bachelor's degree?"

"Actually yeah, I have dreamt of being a writer so I would very much like to succeed in that. Otherwise, being a college professor is another option, where I'd love to teach about various literature works."

"That is very good, miss (y/n). Well that is all for now and I'm looking forward to teaching all of you, you all seem like very talented students."

"Thank you, professor Holland." Everyone chorused. He picked up a book from his desk and began to teach. He certainly knew his subject very well, for unlike the previous professor who had managed to bore all of you last year, you found yourself paying attention to every single word he said.

Of course, as time passed, there were more and more girls who always discussed him, innocent things at first like how great a teacher he was and something like he was the cutest professor they ever had. It gradually escalated to how hot he was and how many girls were willing to do him in his classroom and so on.

You would rather die than admit, but you did have a crush on your teacher. A major, at that one. It wasn’t that often that you got a teacher like him, anyway. Maybe that was a small reason why you tried harder in his class and excelled more. He was also often very pleased with your work and had grown to favour you, seeing that you indeed had a lot of potential and admired how you always submitted everything on time and how you were always punctual and overall how dedicated you were in his classes. You had gradually grown to become one of his favourite students.

----

It was a Thursday evening, the clock ticking 7pm as you finally finished your due work of the week. As usual, you gathered your sheets and checked it again to make sure there were no errors. Once you were satisfied, you stapled them and put them neatly in a plastic folder and made your way to Tom’s room for submission. He had made a rule that students could either email their respective essays and papers or physically submit it to him either in the classroom or personally in his room in case someone wanted a little guidance as well.

Checking your appearance to make sure there were no stains or anything like that on you or your dress, you took your file and made your way towards his room for submission. You gave a soft knock and waited for him to open the door. No response. You knocked again. Again, no response of opening the door. Although, you could hear his voice, so he probably was on the phone or in a meeting or something.

You turned the knob of the door and quietly, swung the door open and entered the room. Closing the door behind you, you turned right to walk towards his table and saw something you never thought you'd see.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, sir!" You exclaimed, making him startled and jump in his seat.

He was in a webinar session. With no pants on. He was only in a formal shirt and underwear and a pair of socks. You could very clearly see his thighs which were naked in your sight. The thighs you had only dreamt of riding in your dreams. 

He hastingly said something about some technical issues and that he would have to leave and left the webinar and walked across the room to his closet to quickly get some pants. He grabbed the first pair he could see and before he could put it on, your brain decided to blurt out something you wouldn't have dared to ever say to your professor.

"Don't put them on!" You quickly covered your mouth with both hands, your file dropping on the floor. Your whole face went red as soon as those words left your mouth, your knees shaking with nervousness.

He stood in his place, stunned. He could not believe the words that just came out of your mouth.

“What- what did you just say?”

“I -uh” you stammered, covering your face again and taking a deep breath. He walked towards you and took your hand and held it, his other hand holding your chin and making you look up into his eyes.

“Say it again, darling. There is no harm.” he said in a calm and husky voice that made you feel giddy and weak at the knees. “Go on, now.” his fingers gently pushed a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

You looked into his eyes. Your heart was beating at a very furious pace. A fire was surging in you as his fingers had touched your skin. 

“I said, don’t put them on.” you whispered slowly, your voice lingering in his ears. He smirked and brought his lips closer to your ear and whispered, “and why is it so?” his voice lulled you to him, his one hand resting on your cheek and his other hand lowering to your waist, pulling you closer to him. “don’t be shy, say what you have to say.”

"It's because," you paused, a new wave of confidence flowing through you. This was now or never. "It's because I want to ride them."

"Hmm is that so?" He hummed, lazily nibbling your earlobe, making you hot and bothered. He stepped back and sat on his chair and held out his hand. You took it and he pulled you on his lap and held you tight by the waist with one hand. His other hand cupped your jawline and pulled your face closer so your lips were only millimetres apart from touching.

"Then be a good girl and ride me" with that he wasted no time and crashed his lips on yours, you reciprocating the kiss immediately. Your eyes fluttered shut, so did his. The feeling of his soft, smooth lips felt more amazing than you had fantasized in your dreams. You tilted your head to grant him more access. 

He bit your lips gently, making you moan into his mouth. Your fingers flew to pull his soft hair strands, messing them up as he deepened the kiss and you gently grinded your hips against his.

You were the first to pull away from the kiss, gasping slightly for air to breathe. His hair was slightly messed up, he was out of breath and both of you had flushed faces. The sexual tension that was subtle before was more thick and more prominent.

"I better lock the door, huh? Don't want anyone to walk in on us?" You asked, looking at him. He nodded in response as you got up and went to lock the latch on his door. Now no one would interrupt the two of you.

"Ride me, darling. Be a good girl for me." The raspy voice made you feel wet as you repositioned yourself so now you were sitting on his left thigh, with his thigh pressed against your clothed pussy, making you let out a moan.

You pressed your clothed pussy and began to rock your hips up and down, feeling a sense of pleasure jolting in you. As you increased your pace, you could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. You held his shoulders for support as you grinded faster, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling of his thigh.

“Oh my, fuckkk” you moaned out, arching your back as grinded even faster, feeling that you wouldn’t last very long. Tom meanwhile was watching you, feeling his pants getting a little tight at the sight of you riding his thigh. He couldn’t help but let out a groan as he watched you ride your high. With time, he was attracted to you and always imagined what you would be like in bed. He had always fantasised but never thought he would be here in this situation.

“You’re doing great, darling ohhh” he groaned out, closing his eyes and leaning his head back as his hands held you firmly by the waist.

“God I’m gonna cum!” you moaned out, holding his shoulders tight for support as you felt yourself releasing, soaking heavily through your panties and shorts. Your movement became slower as you rode out your high, stopping a few seconds later, panting and sweating heavily. You opened your eyes to look at him all flustered and lips parted.

"Woah" was what came out of his mouth. He gently held you and placed you on his right thigh and the both of you could see a shiny wet spot where you had come just a few seconds ago. He looked back at you and smirked, making you go red.

"I don't normally do this with my students, you must know that."

"Oh that's, great I guess."

"Would you mind if I did what I wanted to do to a student whom I happen to be attracted to?" He whispered huskily, lips dancing dangerously over yours.

"And what would that be? Care to elaborate, sir?" You asked, looking into his eyes again.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough, darling." With that he kissed you, this time with more heat and passion as though he was holding all his desires as he inserted his tongue into the kiss, exploring your mouth. You kissed him with equal amount of passion and lust, running your hands in his hair.

His lips left yours and pressed kisses on your jawline and neck, sucking your skin gently till he found your sweet spot and sucked a hickey there.

"Careful there sir, don't want people to see that." You gasped out, head thrown back.

"Say my name, dear. Wanna hear it from your pretty lips." He mumbled against your neck.

"Tom!" you whimpered, making him groan as he went back up to kiss you again on your lips. One hand went down to unbutton his shirt and touched his amazingly toned chest. Your fingers danced and touched every part of his chest, every touch sending tingles down Tom's spine, making him bite your lip gently.

He cupped your right thigh and squeezed it, wrapping it around his waist loosely. He held you by the waist firmly and picked you up and placed you gently on his desk, not breaking the kiss for even a second.

He pulled away from the kiss and looked into your eyes again. His orbs were dark with lust.

"Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?" He said huskily, his hand slowly lowering down to your waist and slipping under the hem of your top, making contact with your skin. His touch ignited a fire in you. His fingers drew circles on your curves, sending you tingles of pleasure.

"Don't…..stop…." You trailed off, closing your eyes again, enjoying the feeling of him touching you.

His hands played with the hem of your top before taking it off and stepping back for a moment, looking at you. You were already a mess, your hair strands sticking out wildly, sitting on his desk, looking at him desiringly.

“You are so gorgeous, did you know?”

“Thanks.” you covered your face with your hands. He stepped forward and removed your hands gently, looking at you. He pressed kisses on your neck and collarbone, his hand trailing down to your shorts, unbuttoning and unzipping them. Slowly, he pulled them down to the floor, leaving you only in your bra and panties. 

He continued to kiss you on your chest, unhooking your bra in an instant, exposing your breasts. He took one of your breasts in one hand massaging it gently, taking the nipple in his mouth and sucking on it. His other hand went down to your panties, fingers touching your clothed cunt which was very soaked and he teased you through the material, eliciting a moan from you. Smirking, he hooked his fingers at the hem of your panties, inserting them inside to come in contact with your pussy.

He inserted a finger inside your wet folds, pumping in and out at a slow speed. His mouth switched to suck on your other breast as he increased his speed of thrust. You were by now a moaning mess, moaning his name out again and again while pulling at his curls. You were now very much turned on and very horny, craving him more and more. He inserted a second finger, thrusting faster, making you cum a second time.

He took his mouth away from your nipple with a pop sound and came up to meet your lips again. He finally took out his fingers out of your now swollen clit and pulled away from you, licking them clean, never breaking eye contact with you.

“You taste so delicious, dear.” he groaned out, making you want him more than ever now. You pulled him towards you by the collar and began unbuttoning his coat and shirt, running your hands over his toned abs, enjoying the feeling. He stepped closer, pressing his clothed hard-on against your soaked and clothed pussy, making you groan in pleasure. You couldn’t wait anymore. You needed him now.

“Tom…...please….” you groaned out, making him smirk.

“Please what? Use your words, darling.”

“Please….I need you now.” you groaned as you felt his hard-on press against you even more, making you buck your hips up and down.

“Gladly.” he threw his hanging coat and shirt off his body on the floor, pulling his underwear down to the floor, now completely naked in front of you. He stood in front of you, looking heavenly with his body glistening with sweat and his hair a complete mess. His cock was hard and the tip was flush pink with a little precum leaking. You took off your bra and panties and threw them across the room while he spread the precum and pumped his cock. He stepped forward and pressed a lazy kiss on your lips, aligning his cock just outside your entrance.

“Ready, love?”

“Yes” with that he entered you slowly, thrusting in and out at a slow pace, stretching you out so that you could get used to his size. Given how wet you already were, it was easy for him to move. His cock filled you up perfectly and you felt pleasure jolt through your body as you moaned continuously.

“Go faster.” you breathed out, him obeying gladly as he increased his pace, gripping your sides tight. His hips slapped against yours, a knot forming in your stomach as he hit that spot inside you again and again. He was moaning out loud with you, going faster with each thrust. One palm was on the desk to help steady himself. He pressed his lips against yours to kiss you sloppily, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths. You dug your nails on his muscles and his back, leaving crescent red marks, making him pound into you even harder.

You could feel your high approaching yet again and from the look on Tom’s face, it seemed like he wouldn’t last long before he came too. His finger rubbed your clit, bringing you closer to your orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Fuck, I haven’t got a condom, oh my-”

“It’s ok, come inside me.” you breathed out.

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to risk it like this.” he asked, looking at you as if to ask if you were sure about this.

“I’m on the pill. Besides, my period was a week ago.”

“Oh, alright. Ohh!” his cock was beginning to twitch as you came undone around him, letting out a cry of pleasure. He grunted out loud as he reached his high, his cum spilling inside you. His thrusts became sloppier and slower and stopped moving a few moments later, his cock still buried inside you.

You clenched around him, not wanting to let go of the feeling of him beside you. Both of you were sweating and panting heavily, you holding him to steady yourself. He reluctantly pulled out of you, his cum mixed with yours flowing out slowly. He smirked at the sight and took out a cloth he always kept in his drawer to clean you up. Wow, talk about a sexy and caring professor.

“How you feelin’?” he asked, pressing the cloth against your core after wetting it slightly, 

“Amazing.” you said, making him smile. After cleaning you up, he gave you a lazy kiss and picked up his and your clothes and handed them to you. You dressed in silence and watched him do the same.

“Hey, so uh, I wanted to tell you. Um, I don’t normally do this with any student of mine. Nor have I ever been attracted to any student. You are truly an exception.”

“Thanks, it means a lot.” you smiled. “And if it helps, I’ve never been this attracted to a teacher before. You are amazing too.” he blushed at that, making you giggle

“Well I better get going.” you said, getting off his desk. You picked up your file from the floor and handed it to him, then took a piece of paper and wrote something on it and handed that as well.

“Here's my submission, and my number. If you wanna maybe text sometime?”

“Sure, I’d love that sweetheart. Maybe we can meet up for a coffee later this week?”

“I’d like that.” you smiled and made your way to unlock the door. Just as you were about to open the door, he called you out, making you turn around and look at him.

“Hey, uh is it ok if we keep this thing a secret for a while? For the both of us? I don’t want you to face unnecessary backlash from anyone because of me.”

“Yes, it’s ok, Tom.”

“Ah, professor in the classroom.” he steps closer to whisper in your ear, “Tom when we are alone, together.”, making you go red.

“Noted, professor.” you winked and exited his room, your heart skipping a beat, silly smiles on both of your faces. 

You were looking forward to your possible relationship development with him and excited to see where it goes, as did he with you.

The end

lemme know what you thought🙈

[anika-ann]

Attached - Pt.1

The Words of Doom

Type: (mini)-series, college AU, professor AU (technically)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 1880

Summary for the series: You messed up. Your very sleep-deprived Self attached the wrong document when emailing a professor and sent him one of the stories you wrote instead of an assignment. It should be embarrassing, really, but it wasn’t. It was worse.

Why did it have to be the smutty one? Why did it have to be the one starring his best friend, Professor Rogers? You were so screwed.

Aka the ‘you sent the wrong attachment to hot professor A that just happens to be about his friend hot professor B and now professor A is not able to look at professor B without wheezing in laughter anymore and you are unable to look at either of them’ AU

Warnings: swearing, literally one mention of a possible daddy kink, double entendre

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Your eyes felt like on fire, burning hotter than the sun above Sahara Desert; the metaphor your sleep-deprived mind came up with was only perfected by the huge dunes of the bags under your eyes.

You were running on disgustingly strong coffee and three energy drinks, but you summoned the rest of your strength and clicked on ‘send’, slumping so heavily into your chair that when your back hit the backrest, it almost toppled over—but never mind, you made it!

Penny, your gracious roommate, would inform you that had you started earlier and were writing the actual essay instead of wasting words on steamy stories that somehow filled the desired wordcount with considerably less effort, you wouldn’t have been turning into a zombie sending assignments several minutes before eight a.m., the actual deadline.

Yeah, well, sue me, I prefer romance to the World War II., no matter how important history is.

You were certain Professor Barnes would understand if you told him that anyway – he was a pretty easy-going guy for a scholar after all. Then again, you sure as hell didn’t want to test the theory out and so you tended to hand in your homework perhaps ‘minute to midnight’, but still in time.

You grinned as you checked the sent e-mail, proudly reading it had been sent at 7:56. You mentally patted your back, not having the energy to actually move to do that.

And then your Sahara-dry eyeballs fell lower on the screen and you let out a shriek of horror.

Your heart stopped in your chest before kicking in faster than it had been pumping after three Red Bulls.

The attachment.

Oh no.

OH FUCK, the attachment!

Now, it happened on occasion that people forgot to attach the files they spoke of in an e-mail, right? Sometimes shit like that happened.

But this… this was so, so much worse.

“Oh no,” you uttered under your breath, shooting up and suddenly sitting with back straight as a ruler just to look at the screen from shorter distance to-- nope, still there. “Oh fuck.”

You quickly scrambled to send another e-mail with similar text but the right file, along with a swift apology.

Sent 7:59.

You should be relieved. Perhaps Professor Barnes would notice the correct one first and automatically deleted the one that obviously must have been wrong.

So why couldn’t you find it in you to think you would have such luck?

At least if he opened the wrong document, he would understand very quickly that it was not what he had asked the students to do and would delete it before diving in fully, right?

But a worm of doubt – or intuition, whatever you wanted to call it – told you that it wouldn’t be the case.

You covered your mouth with your palms and screamed at the top of your lungs.

Penny, sleep-deprived considerably less than you because she was an actual responsible human being, walked from her room to the bathroom and blatantly ignored you, probably thinking you had missed the deadline by a minute and were now freaking out.

Oh, you wished.

“Pennyyyyyyyyy!” you cried out in a whiny tone, but she clicked the door shut as if nothing was happening. As if your whole life wasn’t in shambles because of one single e-mail. “Penelope, you get your ass back here! I need to know how to switch schools without having to repeat a year!”

Her wild black curls peeked from the bathroom, followed by an annoyed sleep-raspy voice. “Why? You accidently called Barnes a daddy in your message or somethin’?”

Your heart was still beating its way out of your chest, a low ominous hum in your ears. Gods above, you wished. Still would be easier to explain, like… you could claim it was a dare or something.

No, this was much, much worse.

Penny, apparently taken aback by the lack of your response, left the safety of the bathroom and approached your lair (probably stinking of sugary drinks and caffeine) and peeked over your shoulder, searching an explanation for your antics.

You only gulped, moved the cursor to the title of the document you had sent in your first e-mail and closed your eyes, actually feeling tears of humiliation stinging in them.

The silence that followed spoke volumes until-

“OH SHIT.”

You had just shared your smutty one-shot with your history professor, but that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was that it was starring his rumoured one and only best friend he shared an office with. One who had acted like a substitute for two weeks when Professor Barnes got a particularly bad case of cold, but wouldn’t leave you without a lecture. Needless to say, Professor Rogers had also starred several of your steamy dreams after that and became a source of inspiration for your occasional writing streaks.

And now your history professor could read all about it and, god forbid, share it with the man who was the template of the main character of the story. You weren’t dumb; you alternated the names, just in case of you didn’t even know what (and it might have made you feel better about writing filthy stuff about a prof), but you went with the same looks including hair and skin colour, hairstyle, Rogers’ glorious beard and you certainly didn’t omit his surprisingly ripped body.

So, yeah. Penny’s ‘OH SHIT’ was pretty accurate.

You were so screwed.

Yes, once again, you wished.

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You had handed in your work on Friday morning and had been jittery all weekend, practically unable to focus on any of the studying you desperately needed to do. Normally, you might write some comforting piece to relieve your frustration, but that was not an option right now as simply opening a text editor gave you palpitations.

The all-nighter you had pulled didn’t exactly help your already non-existent ability to get your head on straight either.

You were looking forward to Monday and dreaded it at the same time – Professor Barnes was to give your assignments back with a mark and commentary. You were praying for Monday to come already, because you just needed to know the consequences of your actions. You were freaking out about Monday for very obvious reasons.

You had no idea what was happening in your first Monday class. Your lunch consisted of half bottle of coke.

And now here you were, seated in the second row of three, because that seemed like the safest place, a seat where Barnes couldn’t approach you from any angle.

When he entered the class, you decided to stubbornly watch the desk in front of you. Under any circumstances, you would not make eye-contact, wouldn’t raise your gaze. There was no fucking way anything would force you look his in the eye.

Or you thought so.

You hadn’t realized he would call out each of your names and would say the necessary commentary about doing well, missing something, excellent work, this one feeling a bit sloppy… out loud, which would made it truly impolite to keep staring ahead. With each work sent through the sea of people to hand it to those in the second row, your stomach was turning heavier, your heart beating faster.

And then Professor Barnes said your name and you winced in your seat, squeezing your eyes shut on instinct, the childish if I can’t see you, you can’t see me either kicking in.

He called out your name again as if there was a chance you missed it the first time and with a huge lump of panic in your throat, you blinked your eyes open and raised your gaze, only to meet his neutral face with just the tinniest twitch to the corners of his lips and a barely visible twinkle to his eye.

Your stomach dropped to the floor, your face burning with embarrassment and humiliation.

He held out the papers to the person in the first row in front of you, whose name you didn’t care for at the moment, and nodded his head.

“Not bad at all,” he said and that was the end of it.

Your essay landed in front of you and you finally breathed in properly, your hand trembling slightly as you noticed the circled B+ in the corner.

You were deaf to his next words, your heart jumping as you read the note by the mark.

B for the cliché used, + for the originality.

Huh. What a strange way to word an evaluation… but hey, you wouldn’t complain. For one, no one had filled a harassment complaint for your stupid ass so far and you had written this shit during an all-nighter and still got B+. This was the best outcome you could hope for; Barnes didn’t even give you shit about your... error.

A smile slowly found a way to your lips, a shy little thing, but definitely present, your mimic muscles, so stiff from trying to keep a poker face, relaxing.

You browsed over the other notes in red ink scattered over the pages, some sentences and phrases unlined and commented on, sometimes corrected, sometimes complimented to.

It wasn’t until you reached the red note that had one word from it actually crossed out and replaced.

Really hits the spot mark.

Your smile froze on your lips, your heart ceased to beat before kicking in with furious pace, loud pounding humming in your temples.

Oh god. Oh no.

Hitting a spot? He could have written it was ‘spot on’ or that it ‘hit the mark’… he made the mistake deliberately, you were certain of it – all of his other notes were so neat and thought through-

You checked the individual notes, your stomach twisting when you re-read them in a new light.

Nearly all the wording he had used was referencing to your… special assignment you had handed in.

Oh god, please, let the lightning hit me. Let the floor swallow me. Let the cardiac arrest momentarily trying to kill me actually kill me.

Interesting work for certain with a winky face?! Really? That would be innocent enough on its own, but it was feeling like a conspiratorial wink. The I know more than I let on and you know what I’m talking about wink.

The next one was a blatant double-entendre and you could bang your head against your desk for not realizing it first time reading it. Good writing, nice flow, clearly heading to the climax.

Your face was set aflame once more and despite your better judgement, you glanced at the professor momentarily showing whatever in his presentation.

He caught your gaze and had the audacity to wink.

You snapped your head away and silently whined, sliding down your chair nearly enough to lie on the floor.

OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD.

Why did it have to be the smutty one you sent? Why couldn’t it be a cute one at least? You had loads of those! Why did it have to be the one about Steven damn Rogers, his friend?

Why, just WHY?!

Professor Barnes had definitely read it. And for some reason, you had a hunch that he had showed it to his friend slash colleague he shared an office with too.

You whined some more and pretended that this day was the apocalypse and that you would never have to face either of the professors ever again.

Of course, you could not have such luck.

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Part 2

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There it is! Shorter chapter for starters. Just you wait ;)

I’m pretty sure something like this have been written before, but plot bunnies are little shits that refuse to leave no matter how much you kick them and beg them to go away.

I blame @pies-writes-and-more @kayteewritessteve and @queen-kass-the-writer for supporting bad behaviour, but they are not the only ones. You know who you are, don’t YOU? I am a weak human being and you are corrupting me. Thanks, sweeties ;)

Thank you for reading! 

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Tags: @scentedsongrebel @patzammit @donutloverxo @annathesillyfriend  @orions-nebula @iheartsebastianstan @wxstedhexrt

If anyone wants on the taglist or out, lemme know via DM or an ask :)

-.-.-

ALSO. A friend of mine created a perfect artwork for this chapter/series and I wanted to share 😍🥰🤩:

Thank you, @chase-your-dreams-away 🥺

[meflemming]

The dEtEcTiVe and the vAmPiRe || Agatha and Miriam

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Flemming’s Leather

 PARTIES: @detective-keen & @meflemming

SUMMARY: Miriam’s store gets robbed. Agatha’s on the case.

The store had been broken into. The store had been broken into, and Miriam was seething. No one, not once, had ever broken into her family's store in all their years of owning it. Yet she comes back from the dead for only a few months, and a break in happens. She arrived at the store a little before daw, planning on spending her day inside to do paperwork, when she found the door cracked open. The cash register had been broken into, but, more importantly, some of the handcrafted pieces that she’d made were stolen. Miriam spent hours at least once a month counting her inventory and keeping track of prices. She knew each piece that had been stolen as well as its value. Which is why she called the police department immediately, requesting an officer on the scene to take her statement and begin hunting down the criminal that had stolen from her to the fullest extent of the law. She leaned against the cashier’s counter, angling herself away from the rising sun as she waited. The bell on the door rang, and her head shot up. “I do hope you’re an officer?” she asked, quinting towards the door.

“Mrs. Flemming?” Agatha gestured at a policeman to get closer and have a look at the inside of the store while she spoke to the owner. “I’m Detective Keen,” she took out a notepad from her jacket and flipped it open. Had she spent hours and hours practicing that move ever since she was a child ? You bet she did. Was it worth it ? You bet it was. Her eyes wandered toward the busted register. She had taken notes of the state of the front door as she got in, and the more she looked around, the more she saw the damage inflicted to this shop owner’s finances. “If you have any sort of surveillance footage, we’re going to have to have a look at it,” otherwise, the bank on the other side of the street had an ATM that might have caught something. There were ways to get an idea of who was responsible for this. “Can you give me a rough idea of when this could have happened?” She looked up from her notes and paused, to have a look at her face. “Would you like to discuss it elsewhere?”

“It’s Miss, actually,” Miriam said, her smile a bit tight. “I haven’t been Mrs for quite some time.” She looked the young woman, Detective Keen, over. She was young. It was hard for Miriam to believe that she was a detective, being someone so young, but she’d take what she was given. “Thank you for coming out, Detective, especially at such an,” she looked outside at the sun barely coming up, “early hour.” She looked around the store, the damages, the loss of property. She was furious. She hoped they found the bastard that had the audacity to rob from her, and soon. She had some words for them, among other things. “Surveillance?” Miriam pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ve been meaning to get something installed but haven’t gotten around to it. One doesn’t expect this kind of thing to happen in such a small town.” She sighed. The sun was steadily rising. “We can go back to my office.” She started walking down the hallway, assuming the detective would follow. “It would have had to happen between midnight and 5:30 this morning. Probably earlier than that.”

If Agatha’s eyebrow raised, she did not say a thing. One of the reasons why she called women Mrs was because she did not like how they made a difference for them depending on their marital status, when the same could not be said about men. It felt archaic, and she did not care for this. She unbuttoned her blazer and started pacing around the shop, having a look at the mess the thieves had made. “There’s nothing more cowardly and lazy than theft,” she commented. She was mostly speaking to herself, as she doubted anyone cared about her stream of consciousness. She hated this. B&E was terrible, because it left people living in fear for a long, long time. Fear that it will happen again, fear that they won’t be safe anywhere. “I’m sorry that you have to go through this,” the detective turned on her heels to face Ms.Flemming. The look in her eyes had not soften. She had not come here to make friends, after all. Still, you could see that her apology was genuine. Following the woman behind, she took a seat in her office, glancing around the room. It was nicely decorated, and it certainly looked more tidy and comfortable than hers. “I’ll get the surveillance footage from the street. The cameras out there might have caught something,” she explained, writing down the approximate time given to her. “That’s actually quite precise. It will save us a lot of time, thank you,” she couldn’t help but think that this was quite a short time for someone to leave and come back to work. The woman must have been quite hardworking. “Everything here is handmade?”

Allowing the woman to look around the room, Miriam herself took it in, wondering if her superior vision could pick out something that the detective might have missed. She’d already scanned the place over first, but the thief had left nothing around the shop that could help with identification. Just a mess and a distinct lack in some of her more expensive merchandise. “Thank you, Detective.” Though it didn’t do anything to help the situation, Miriam could, at least, appreciate the detective’s apology. She sat at her desk chair, drumming her fingers against her knee. The surveillance would help, certainly. She wondered if she could convince someone from the bank to give her the information. Part of her wanted to take matters into her own hands. She could. She should. Revenge was kind of what she lived for. “I like to come by the shop sometimes at night, even when I’m not working, just to check on things.” She was out and about anyway. “All handmade, yes. Mostly by myself and two other employees, though I also sell products from other crafters. My family kept up a lot of contacts. But I have a hand in most of what’s been stolen. I should be able to get you a comprehensible list soon, should you need it.” Or even if she didn’t.

“This place is your baby,” Agatha absentmindedly said, sitting done on the other side of the desk. Her elbows on her thighs, she wrote done a few things in her notebook again, mentioning among other things, that Ms.Flemming spent a lot of time here. Clearly whoever had broken in here had been watching her for a while. Fucking creep, she thought to herself. She decided not to tell her that. Clearly, if whoever had done this wanted to hurt Miriam, they wouldn’t have picked a time where she was absent. “Have you noticed anything lately? Seeing the same person in the street quite often?” Hard to notice, but she couldn’t leave this question unanswered. “I will obviously need the name of your employees, but if there are perhaps people you know that might want to harm your business, I will need their names too,” she nodded, “I will need that list. You will have to contact your insurance company, you can copy me on this email, I’ll be able to confirm the robbery directly.” She sat up, and looked Miriam in the eyes. She could not quite get a read of her, and that bugged him more than she let show. “Since when have you been owning this shop?”

“It is,” Miriam said quietly. She put almost all of her time and effort and energy into this store. That and hunting was what kept her going. The store was a service to people that they could see and appreciate. She made art. She made things she could be proud of. She tried to think back to her week, to anyone being overly suspicious around her store, but she was drawing a blank. She couldn’t be on the main floor all day, and when she came by to check on the place at night, she hadn’t noticed anyone. “I haven’t noticed anything,” she said, feeling frustrated, “and I tend to be quite aware of my environment.” Came with being a hunter (a predator, really) she supposed. “I would have noticed someone if they’d attempted to stalk my business with me around.” She sighed, running a hand over her eyes. God, she felt tired. She wished she could sleep, really sleep, like a normal person. Instead, she jotted down a list of her employees, only six names total. “I have three clerks, two other leatherworkers besides myself, and my assistant, Elle.” There were plenty of people that wanted to harm her, the witch hunter. They wouldn’t target her business, though. At least, she didn’t think so. She handed the list over. “As soon as she gets in contact with the insurance company, I’ll make sure she gets you the information you need. I’m terrible with computers, I fear.” In fact, most of what the detective said about email went right over her head. She leaned back in her chair, her hands folded in her lap. This was a story she knew. “It’s been in my family for as long as I can remember. My cousins owned it before me. They had a tragedy in the family about thirty years ago, never really recovered. It’s always been a dream of mine to own the place and, well, here we are.”

I tend to be quite aware of my environment. Agatha wouldn’t have been able to tell why, but those words sent a shiver down her spine. Maybe it was how Ms.Flemming had enunciated them, but she found it quite a weird thing to say for a shop owner who sold jackets and shoes. She tried not to show it, and cleared her throat. Her pen still in hand, she wrote down the number of her employees, and took the list handed to her with a polite smile. Another thing bothered him. That woman looked about the same age as Agatha, she must have grown up around computers, just like herself, and yet, she claimed to be so bad with computers, she could not send an email. Now Agatha, she knew people bad with computers, but they were her mother’s age. In fact, she had to do most of her paperwork these days, as everything was informatized. And so, she wondered why the hell someone like Miriam could not just do it herself. It took her a lot not to comment on it, but she managed. Instead, she listened to the shop owner as she went on, explaining that this was a family business, and that her family had gone through a tragedy. Obviously, this couldn’t have been the woman’s plan, but stories like that could only remind Agatha of her own family, and her father’s tragic death. “You should always try to pursue your dreams, no matter what hardships are on your path,” she commented with a sigh. It seemed like she would not learn a lot more here. “I’ll see what they found,” she stood up from her chair and put away her notepad. “Maybe you could go for a walk, it’s such a nice day today,” she offered, referring to the fantastic sunny day they had been blessed with.

As the detective wrote everything down, Miriam watched the other woman. She was about the age Miriam had been when she was turned, though it was hard for Miriam to tell. She’d never been good with ages. For all she knew, the detective could be years older or years younger, though she had a sort of youthfulness to her that Miriam hadn’t recognized in herself in a very long time. Far before she was turned, maybe even before she married. Miriam could not remember the last time she felt young. “I agree completely,” she told the detective. “Dreams are meant to be followed.” She believed that wholeheartedly. And owning the leather shop had always been her dream, though perhaps the company had been forced upon her when she was little. It became her dream, and she’d grown to love it more than anything else in the world. Miriam stood up along with the detective, giving her a bright smile. “Thank you so much for all of your help, and do keep me updated on what you find.” She walked Detective Keen as far as the main floor to the shop, but stayed in the hallway to the back rooms, avoiding the sunlight. “I’d love nothing more than to take a walk, but, unfortunately, I told my assistant I’d wait her in my office once you all were finished. My work doesn’t stop, I’m afraid, even for crime.”

“Mmm,” she hummed in response. It was not often that you saw people so passionate about their jobs. Some didn’t get to pick, and some others picked it for the money. “Thank you for your time and your answers,” she replied, courteous but curt. If she had not expected that the woman would stop in her tracks, she expected her to stay in here instead of enjoying the sun. Agatha would have never said this to her face, but this woman looked as if she did not see much of the sun, although, considering how good her skin looked, she could not blame her for that. Damn porcelain. However, the detective wondered why she couldn’t at least go get some fresh air, change her mind, instead of staying stuck in her office to work. Clearly she could have used a break. Agatha held back her frown, and instead smiled at Miriam. “Then I suppose I’ll see you in a few.” And with those words, she walked away from the woman, and up to the officer in charge of evidence, who looked as if he was almost done.

[codyfernaesthetic]

Patreon preview

Hi everyone! You’ve probably seen my patreon page linked on here before, and I wanted to give you guys a taste of my work outside of fanfic. This is part one of my short story entitled “Don’t Feed the Strays”. I’ll be posting the next part on my patreon today. Hopefully this will convince you to pledge a $1 and see where the story goes?☺️ You can find and pledge at Lovely Little Writings on Patreon.

(P.S. I think you Millory stans in particular will like this story)

October, 2018

The coffee shop quietly buzzed around Rachel as she sat at the small corner table clicking away at a ten page research paper she had neglected to start on for her English class until three days before the deadline. She had Beethoven and Mozart pumping through her earbuds for the sole reason that she heard they helped you concentrate better. She found it relentlessly boring but did find that being unable to find pleasure in the music forced her to focus on her task. Some employees of the shop had taken to teasing her when she walked in that she should grab an apron and work overtime, one of the main ones being a creepy 16 year old barely out of braces who apparently thought she was just as interested in him as he was her; so perhaps there were two reasons why she had earbuds blasting loud dead guy music. Her furious typing was interrupted by a notification at the bottom bar of her laptop screen. She hovered and clicked over red “1” on her mailbox to bring up a new tab to add to the other 7 she had open. It was one of those automated emails from a website. Someone had replied to her roommate ad.

Kelly her previous roommate had moved out a month before she got married. She’d invited her to the wedding but Rachel didn’t go. Kelly was nice and a good roommate for the most part, but not her friend. There’d only been a night or two when she and her girlfriend had woken her up with drunken sex, it wouldn’t have bothered her if one of those nights didn’t end with a leftovers left on the kitchen counter and an unidentifiable liquid spilled on the floor; much to her clean-freak dismay. She skimmed through the reply and saved it for a later time.

She jumped and gasped as something tapped her shoulder. She plucked the earbuds from her ears and looked in the direction of the disturbance. She met the artificially white smile of a stocky young woman around her own age wearing a bright blue tracksuit; her blonde hair was tightly pulled into a ponytail, perfectly plucked eyebrows framing smiling hazel eyes.

“Hey, Rachel!”

Her voice wasn’t unpleasant, but it was an annoying spotlight of sunshine in a perfectly quiet rainy sky. Rachel smiled half-heartedly, rubbing the earbud cord between her fingers, “Hi, Macy. How are you?”

Macy fluidly pulled out the other chair and sat across from her, “I’m good, how are you?”

“Fine,” she lied.

“Homework?” She playfully indicated toward the laptop.

“Yep...I have to finish an English paper. It’s due Monday and I didn’t start on it til yesterday.”

Macy nodded knowingly, “I get it. I have a Chemistry project due next week and I haven’t even taken one look at it—“

Macy continued for another two or three sentences; Rachel kept eye contact while wondering why we spill details about our mundane failures, but then felt entirely pretentious and pushed the thought away.

“But anyway,” Macy finally said, “I’m sorry to bother you-“

“Oh, you didn’t,” she lied again.

“But I really wanted to ask what you were doing for Halloween?”

Rachel blinked slowly with a blank expression, her mind whirring to life to comprehend her question, “Halloween?”

“Yeah!” She chipperly exclaimed, “There’s a carnival coming into town that’s gonna set up in Washika Park for that weekend and me and a couple others were gonna go! You wanna come with us?”

She scratched the side of her nose and shifted the laptop, stuttering, “I, well, I...I mean I don’t know.”

“Ok, well if you want to just let me know! I’ve got one spot open in my car, we’d be leaving at seven, we’d love to have you!”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll let you get back to your paper. Have a good day!”

“You too.”

Macy left the table with a cheery little wave and went off to order from the counter. Macy was a very sweet girl who had decided that Rachel was her project lonely shy-girl that she assumed had a either a bad home life or depression and needed someone to save her. Rachel could already envision the graduation speech where Macy would name drop her as a testament to her heavenly kindness. And the worst part about it was that her assumptions weren’t necessarily wrong.

She returned to her paper, wondering how she could come up with an excuse to not go to the carnival.

Unfortunately, no valid excuse came up. She didn’t have the heart to tell Macy no; and besides, she told herself, it’s no fun to stay at home alone. She kept telling herself to get out with people more, to try and make friends. This was her attempt.

She didn’t have much in the way of costume ideas, especially not in her own closet; which was composed of neutral sweaters, t shirts, and leggings. She decided to keep it simple and bought a modest black dress and a witch’s hat splashed with purple designs. She watched a few tutorials online to figure out how to do a smokey eye and concluded that makeup was far too messy for her to use in any consistent capacity. She felt like a raccoon with all the black powder smudged around her eyes, but now she had committed to the look. She sent Macy a message that she was walking out the door. At least she had convinced her to let her drive herself there. There was no way she’d be out in public without an escape plan.

The group that Macy invited consisted of a couple of her friends, tall and buff athletes who gave off an air of superiority along with their boyfriends of the same type; all of them dressed in matching Superman/Supergirl and Batman/Batgirl outfits, Macy’s boyfriend Lance, a lanky English major dressed as Edgar Allan Poe, and a friend of his who Rachel had never met. She was told he was Lance’s next door neighbor and childhood friend Carson, who was a Doctor, apparently; which one Rachel couldn’t say. Macy herself was a raven, complete with homemade wings and beak. Which Rachel found adorable. The night went by at an agonizingly slow pace. She tried to find interest their conversation, but found herself drifting off more often than she wanted to. Playing games was pretty fun, she didn’t win anything, but she enjoyed not being forced to talk. She hated heights, so she told them she would stay on the ground while they went up on the Ferris Wheel. She was grateful for the chance to be alone. Macy and her friends were fine, they weren’t rude or mean, she just didn’t connect with them. She wanted to go find someplace quiet.

She spotted a beacon in the crowd. An instant photo booth. She noticed the other patrons passing it without a glance and watched it for a moment to see that no one entered or exited from the red curtain. It would maybe provide a moment to gather her thoughts alone. She fast-walked as naturally as possible to her salvation and pulled the curtain back with a quick step forward to step inside.

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

She froze at the wide-eyed stare of the young man sitting in the booth. He was dressed in all black with a pair of fuzzy cat ears on his head. He scratched his arm with a light chuckle, “You trying to hide too?”

She blinked wordlessly for a moment before returning his awkward mirth, “Yeah, is this the escape pod?”

He smiled, “Unfortunately it’s not mobile,” he paused then scooted over with an awkward glance, “But there’s room for two.”

Rachel would have normally refused and found somewhere else, but nothing about his body language suggested that he was hitting on her; in fact he looked just as people shy as she was, almost curling up into himself. She sat down silently and kept to the other edge of the booth, more so for his comfort than hers.

After a beat of quiet and listening to the ruckus outside their sanctuary, he asked knowingly, “Who’re you escaping?”

She looked at him and bit her lower lip with a suppressed smile, “Acquaintances. You?”

He sighed heavily, looking at the bottom of the booth, “Everything.”

Her heart clenched slightly at his tone of voice.

“You not having fun with these acquaintances?” He continued.

“Not really.”

He finally looked at her, “Not your usual crowd?”

“I don’t do crowds usually.”

“Me neither,” he smiled knowingly.

A beat of silence passed. They returned to their respective staring at the ground or the wall of the enclosed box. The silence was sprinkled with nervous throat clearing or sniffling.

“Are you here with anyone?”

“Nope.”

She opened her mouth then bit down on her lip, as if to stop herself, but let out a breathy chuckle,

“So, I guess that makes you a stray?”

His brows furrowed and he scrunched up his nose as he glanced her way. She awkwardly indicated to his cat ears, earning her a small, but genuine laugh as his confusion melted away.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good word for me.”

She shrugged, words tumbling out of her mouth faster than her mind could keep up with, “Well, maybe it’s fate then. Witches are supposed to...like, come in contact with spirit guides that take the form of animals. The most popular is cats. They’re called familiars. I read an article once.”

He paused, and she mentally scolded herself. But he smiled and looked her in the eyes, “So, I’m not a stray, I just hadn’t met you yet.”

This was her first chance to get a good look at him. Though his shoulders were slumped, they appeared toned through the black shirt, his smile was charming, through his slightly parted lips she could see a single sharp canine close to scraping his lower lip, his button nose slightly red from the cold, a shaggy mess of dark brunette hair swished over blue eyes that held a sort of pained kindness.

“I guess so.”

She kept staring at him. She couldn’t help it, though she knew how creepy it must’ve been. She was usually loathe to maintain long eye contact, it made her far too uncomfortable. However, she found herself captivated, never wanting to look away from those eyes. He wasn’t a chiseled jock like Macy’s friend’s two boyfriends, but there was an odd beauty to him; his jawline was sharp, but his cheeks were round, his lips were full and soft, but his hands looked slightly calloused and strong, he was blooming with feminine grace, and bursting with male ferocity. Or perhaps Rachel was sleep deprived; which was not unlikely.

The curtain of the booth slid back, and they stared at a guy dressed as a video game character that Rachel only recognized from a few conversations she’d had at school. The guy apologized and quickly closed it again.

She stood, straightening her dress, “We probably shouldn’t be staying in here.”

“Do you wanna take a picture?” He asked suddenly. He met her surprised gaze, “I mean, just so you’ll have something from your not so fun night? Then you can tell your great grandchildren about the weird cat guy you met on Halloween.”

She answered, barely thinking of what she said, “Sure.”

She sat down closer to him and leaned on him as the pictures were taken. Two of them were normal, and he suggested two silly ones, which she obliged. He radiated heat. Their clothes shoulders were the only thing really touching, but their fingers were mere centimeters apart; a fact that Rachel desperately wanted to find uncomfortable, but only felt an excited thumping in her chest.

They exited the booth, allowing the couple outside to finally enter. They took a short, silent journey a few feet away. He lifted the strip of photos,

“You wanna split them?”

She nodded as he looked the photos over, a little smirk creeping onto his features, “Ok, just from knowing myself, I think I’m sillier of the two of us. I’ll keep these.”

She chuckled softly as he tore the photo strip and handed her, her half.

“You gonna reunite with your acquaintances or find another hiding spot?”

She gave an awkward laugh, “I think I’ll text their leader and tell them I’m not feeling well.”

He nodded, “Classic.”

She pocketed the photos, “What about you? Are you gonna face everything or hide from it some more?”

He flourished his right hand over his chest, “I am a hide and seek champion, it’ll never find me.”

The tug at her heart returned and kept her feet firmly planted. She pursed her lips and looked away from him at nothing in particular.

“I don’t wanna be presumptuous or anything,” he offered quietly, “but you seem like you could use a place to hide for a while.”

She turned her head, a bit wide-eyed.

“And I am your spirit guide after all.”

A shy smile pushed its way onto her lips. They looked at each other for a quiet moment, ignoring the noise around them. She took a breath, paused, and asked, “Where were you thinking?”

She saw his chest heave out as if he just released his breath. He rubbed the back of his head, “Are you new in town at all?”

She’d only been at the university for 6 months, and hadn’t taken the time to explore.

“A little.”

His smile lit up, “You ever been to the beach a little north from here? It’s honestly the most peaceful place at night.”

She shook her head, “I’ve never been.”

He drew into himself slightly, his voice quiet, yet inviting, “You’re welcome to join me.”

She spoke again, before her mind could catch up, a pattern seeming to emerge with this stranger, “Ok.”

[ffdoors]

Chapter 34

Toshinori’s arms searched for her again after his alarm went off. Instead he found a note on her pillow, stating she had left for UA High early to do some things. The man sat up and began to get ready for work.

The students of 1-A were still curious why their home room teacher had asked them to change into their hero uniforms when a woman walked into the classroom.

"This is Mode. She's the one who designed your costumes. She'll be meeting with everyone one on one to discuss improvements that can be made to them."

"Hello, class 1-A! Please be honest with me today," Pe bowed.

Everyone knew exactly who she was even before Aizawa had introduced her - the internet had gone aflame overnight with who All Might had been caught smooching in the park the day before; that he hadn't been seen going out with anyone in over five years; her identity was finally revealed when the couple had appeared in the background of a selfie someone had been taking in front of the Mode Tower building. She had no idea about any of it.

"Everyone head to the P.E. Grounds. You can show off your quirks to her there."

The class started to head that way, followed by Eraser Head and Mode.

"Are you sure you don't want me to carry you there?" He commented, watching her limp with her cane.

"I'm fine. I'd rather you only use your scarf on me when we're alone."

"I was going to use my arms," her smirked at her, his tone teasing.

"Oh," she put some hair behind her ear, embarrassed that she had assumed incorrectly, "No, thanks. I'm still good."

She noticed the students were giddy and looking back at her often. The woman wasn't surprised by it though – she knew her quirk affected teens more than any other age group.

"How did your date with All Might go?"

"Huh?" she responded, "How did you know-"

He brought up the photo from the internet with them in the background and showed it to her on his phone.

"Uh..." They had been seen indeed - Pe wondered if Toshinori knew about this yet, "It went okay."

"Just okay?"

"Yeah. He's a good guy but I don't think there's going to be a second date."

Shota lifted an eyebrow, curious as to why she was lying to him, but he decided that was between them two.

After arriving, Eraser Head instructed each student to use their quirks as the others sat on the grass and gossiped with each other. He observed how some of the students were flushed, others were excited, and others kept unusually quiet. The hero couldn't deny he felt a little hot under the collar, too, staring at her curves from where he was standing. He wondered if her quirk had always been so influential but he didn't think on it long. Mode was fully engulfed in her task, sketching in her notebook, writing plenty of notes, and tactfully examining parts of every student's hero uniform.

When her pace slowed then stopped when walking back to the classroom, the woman holding her side with a strained face, multiple students offered to carry her or other solutions to get her back to the classroom.

Shota erased their quirks to quiet them down then squatted down, "Climb on my back, Mode."

"… Could you carry me another way? My hip injuries aren't fully healed yet and that way's going to hurt."

He nodded understandingly then picked her up like a bride, Pe placing both her arms limply around his neck. With her so close, Eraser Head could feel his face heating up, covering the bottom half of it loosely with his scarf.

"When is your free period again? I want to talk to you about something," she inquired as he carried her.

"Later on this morning - 3rd period."

"Okay. I figured I could meet with all my clients since I'm here. I already met with Nezu earlier so that leaves... You, Ectoplasm, Cenmentoss, Present Mic, Thirteen, Snipe, and Recovery Girl. If I plan this right, I can meet with everyone. Good."

He set her down near the podium back in the classroom, hiding himself behind it.

Mode gave a short lecture about her family's company, a boring talk that everyone paid perfect attention to, then she bowed again, "Thank you for your valuable input. I hope your improved uniforms suit you well and I hope you choose my company in the future for your support needs. Goodbye everyone. - Eraser Head, I'll see you later."

He waved lazily and soon the bell rang, all the students hurrying to their next class. She met with Ectoplasm outside the classroom.

After the next period spent with that hero, she met with Eraser Head privately, then Cementoss.

Toshinori was able to sneak around and catch the occasional glimpse of his lover - almost all the students were talking about them. And some of the kids from Class 1-A just seemed to be off in their own worlds, Izuku included.

Checking his work emails in the teacher's lounge before lunch, her heard both her and Ken laughing outside the door.

"Hold on a moment - let me make sure the copier's free," Cenmentoss stuck his head inside, actually checking to see if All Might was in there.

Mode probably didn't know about his true form, right? They had only been on one date so probably not. All Might appreciated the warning, giving his fellow teacher a nod before hiding behind his desk. Ishiyama guided her into the room, keeping the other man from view, giving the blond the chance to sneak out. He showed her how to use the machine then he left, finding Yagi outside the room.

"Thanks for the warning."

The other hero nodded and left, a smile still on his face due to the interactions with Pe earlier.

"Your boyfriend is here!" All Might proclaimed as he made his entrance into the room pecs first.

Mode exclaimed in surprise, her hands dropping her sketchbook on the floor.

"Don't do that! You scared me," she flinched as she bent down to get it, the man helping her stand back up straight.

"Do you need a chair?"

"Yes, please."

He brought his over to her and she sat down.

"What are you printing out?"

His blue eyes watched as the printer spat out page after page. He reached out to grab one when she slapped his hand lightly.

"Hey. No peeking. It's a... present for you, okay?"

"Love poems?"

"What? No, you dork," Pe grabbed the papers instead, straightening them out before putting them away in her sketch book, "Is there somewhere we could meet privately with Midoriya? He, understandably, wasn't very forthcoming with me earlier and I really do want to improve his hero outfit."

"There's a empty lounge nearby. We can meet him there," he took out his red cell phone and texted his pupil.

Her head leaned on his body, the brunette momentarily closing her eyes, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," he patted her head softly, petting her long hair. It was so soft under his fingertips.

"If you keep touching me like that, I'm going to have to take you behind the gym and have my way with you after all."

All Might paused his action, scratching the side of his face with his other hand then gave her another caress anyway. He watched as she stood up, climbed onto his chair, and placed her arms on his shoulders, one hand clutching her book. She leaned in and gave him a full kiss.

"Hm~" he hummed into it.

Were her lips always so tasty?

"Come on. Let's go meet with Midoriya."

He was disappointed they couldn't continue but he knew why - another one of those and he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her. The man easily lifted her off the chair and put her back onto the floor, both walking to the meeting place.

Midoriya always read up on the newest updates about All Might so he naturally researched about her, too, the moment the internet had figured out who she was. The majority he could find was about the Mode company, photos of her with different heroes over the years, and plenty of articles about the bombing of the hotel and its connection to her family and the Furious Fifteen. And that she was quirkless.

Izuku hadn't really thought too much more about her until he saw her walk into the classroom. She really was a pretty woman - no wonder All Might liked her. The teen took some shy glances at her while everyone was walking to the P.E. Grounds and he observed her silently while the other students displayed their quirks. He was very nervous when it came to his turn but he showed off One for All for her anyway. She asked him different questions: if his belt accommodated all the items he wanted to carry, if the pants and shoes needed to be redesigned to accommodate his quirk's strain on his legs, why he chose the design for his mask and if it needed changes to protect his neck and head from danger, etc. Like many of the other students, Mode requested he take off his gloves and she studied his hands, suggesting a different material to maximize the use of his fists.

When he was that close to her, he noticed how her eyelashes graced her eyes, how her lipstick emphasized her lips, how she had boobs... The rest of his morning classes, he was distracted in his own thoughts, pondering why he felt so attracted to her - was it because she was All Might's girlfriend? Izuku had never felt that way about anyone the pro hero had gone out with before. He just knew he wanted her lips all over his body and to see her tits bounce and he wanted her to do everything to him that he had ever seen in porn. Midoriya felt so horny and confused the entire morning. He had been debating sneaking off to the restroom to masturbate when he got the text from his teacher, asking him to meet with Mode. He scurried off to the lounge without hesitation.

When he opened the door, he found the Symbol of Peace adjusting his tie around her eyes like a blindfold.

"Is that better?" he was asking her.

Mode nodded in response.

His mind having been in the gutter all day, Izuku jumped to the wrong conclusion.

"I'M SORRY FOR INTERRUPTING! I CAN COME BACK LATER!" the teen proclaimed, already leaving.

Toshinori's blood sprayed out his mouth, "We weren't doing anything like that! Come back inside."

“Yes, sir!”

He sat down across from them on a stool.

"Hello again, Midoriya," she greeted him.

"H-Hello, Ms. Mode."

"You don't have to be so formal - Mode is fine. Thank you for meeting with me again. There is something I want to give you," she grabbed the paperwork out of her sketchbook and attempted to hand it to him.

Yagi gently grabbed her wrist and moved it so it was actually extended out in the student's direction.

"What is it?" the younger man questioned as he took and flipped through it - it was just paragraph after paragraph of words.

"It's a future contract with my family's company. You'll have to be officially licensed as a hero for it to start, but I was able to secure a 10 billion yen budget for you at signing."

"10 billion yen?!" he exclaimed - his mentor was shocked, too.

"I argued for more but this was all I could get. Anyway - my mother would be the one doing the majority of your support attire, with my sisters doing what they can to support you, too. It's valid indefinitely, as long as the company exists. Um... What else? I guess that's the majority of it. Please read it all carefully when you have the chance. If you have any questions, feel free to ask All Might. I'm sure he can give you a better idea what it's like to work with a support company."

Midoriya felt weird about accepting her gift. He hadn't stood out at the sports festival - shouldn't she be giving this to Kacchan or Todoroki instead?

"Oh. One more thing. It's not written there but my dad wanted to offer his support, too. I'm not sure how his quirk can benefit yours yet, but if you ever want anything metal designed in your future, he can do that. His company mostly does jewelry, but he can make other stuff for you, too. Here's his business card - just make sure to mention we met today so he knows who you are."

The woman dug into her pocket and pulled something out, holding it out towards him.

Toshinori paused then cupped his mouth in her direction and whispered, "Mode, that's a condom, not a business card."

"What?" she felt the circular texture in her grasp, then dug into her other pocket and brought something else out, trying again, "Is this one a business card?"

"Yes."

Pe extended both out to the teen, "Go ahead and take that too, just in case. The bowl in Recovery Girl's office usually runs out on the days I visit the school anyway."

The teen was too embarrassed to protest, taking both the business card and the wrapped condom, reading over the card stock in his hand.

"You two are being really quiet. The tie isn't really working, is it?" She undid it but kept her eyes closed, reaching out toward the blonde's shoulder. Once she found it, she was able to approximate where his head was, effortlessly putting his tie back on him, adjusting his clothes so it fit correctly, "My quirk has been having more influence than usual today."

"It said online that you didn't have one..." Izuku chimed in.

"My mom has paid off a lot of people to keep it that way, but as long as you keep it a secret, I don't mind if you know. Um..." she spoke at the junior hero then addressed the man next to her, "What year do the kids here take Sex-Ed?"

"That's next year."

"Oh, well, I'm assuming you know about the birds and the bees, Midoriya. My quirk inspires people to want to act on their sexual urges so if you've been feeling weird all day, that's my fault. Sorry."

He felt himself blushing mad - that explained why he had spent the majority of the day awkwardly hiding his erections in class. Maybe that was also why All Might was sitting with one of his ankles atop his opposite knee, not with the wide stance that he usually had. The pro hero must have been feeling flustered by her, too.

"Can I ask..." the young man spoke up, feeling more comfortable now that he had the answer to why he was feeling hot and uncomfortable all day, "Why are you offering me all this? I've never heard of a support company reaching out directly to a student before."

She put some hair behind her ear, "You're right. I've never heard of anyone doing it either, but I believe in what All Might represents so I'll support you and him with everything that I am. The world needs heroes, especially now. If you're the one he's chosen to become the next Symbol of Peace, then I'll use whatever resources I have to help make that a reality."

Yagi had only told her that yesterday so he was shocked how passionate she was about it right then. Did she really feel that way about his dream?

Mode continued, "If it's okay with you, I do want to talk to you more about your hero outfit. I know my sister modified it without your permission - sorry about that – but please be honest with me about what you want and, um, let me know if my quirk makes you too uncomfortable at any point. I'll step out for a bit then we can continue our talk."

Here was yet another person who wanted to help him because they believed in him and his future.

"Okay. I'll be honest this time," he nodded with a smile.

She opened her eyes as Modoriya took a seat next to her, grabbing her notebook and a pencil off the table in front of them.

The woman began to quickly sketch him and his hero uniform and began, "I've been thinking about what you said earlier - maybe more padding around your ankles would be beneficial if you're going to be jumping around a lot. What do you think about-"

Toshinori watched as they discussed back and worth, obviously engrossed in their conversation about his costume. He got up to pick out teas for all of them but looked back at both of them from the corner of the room instead. It hadn't been a must in his mind that his girlfriend and his successor got along but he was so glad they did. All Might smiled, confident that he had made the right choice when it came to the most important people in his life.

Mode and Yagi bid Midoriya goodbye before he fluttered away, choosing to head back before the lunch bell rang.

"I'm doing class 1-B's consultation shortly then meeting with Snipe, Thirteen, and Present Mic," she sighed, leaning back on the couch, tired, "I guess my mother would want me to come home after that, but I don't really want to."

"We could extend our date another day."

"Right. She did want you to return me today, huh? Well, I'm sure she wouldn't say no to you if you asked her," Pe looked over at him, "Did you like your present?"

"It's really generous of you. His signing bonus is almost as high as mine was when I started at your company."

"I know. We invested a lot of money in you then. We even added a new clause on your contract that stated that-"

Toshinori didn't hear her words anymore, only seeing her lips moving, way too distracted to pay attention to her rambling.

He felt her familiar neck beneath his lips, one arm holding his weight up while his other hand was scooping her butt from underneath, groping it.

"I'm going to be late..." the woman barely complained from underneath him, her hand resting on his shoulder, goosebumps formed on the leg bent up beside him.

All Might blinked - he didn't even remember climbing atop her.

"Mode, has your quirk gotten stronger?"

She looked away, "Everyone who knows about it has said the same thing today. I've only been around my family lately so I guess I didn't really notice."

There were known reasons why a person's quirk could change - physical trauma being one of them. It all came back to her kidnapping again, didn't it? The man looked down at her, studying her face for a moment, then got off her and stood up, helping her do the same along with handing her her cane and sketchbook.

"Can I meet you here after school? I have another little present I want to give you but it's not ready quite yet."

"Yes," he nodded.

She gave him a small smooch on the cheek before heading out. Yagi sat down again, glad he had some time to will away his erection before his class with 1-A and to reach out to Silence per Pe's suggestion. He took out his phone and gulped then dialed her mother's number. He was surprised though immensely relieved it rang then went to voice mail. Toshinori left a message then went to teach his class, his mind still on what exactly Eight had done to her that day.

---> Chapter 35

[qqueenofhades]

i know you [i walked with you once upon a dream]: two

please at least try to look surprised: this is now a multi-chapter. find part one here, find it on AO3 here.

“Yeah, no,” Noah says. “That doesn’t sound slightly weird, Lucy. That sounds full-on, balls-out insane.”

Lucy doesn’t answer immediately, concentrating on chopping the carrot and not her finger. They’re making dinner together, as Monday is the only night of the week that their schedules coincide long enough to let them both out at the same semi-reasonable hour, and she tries to comfort herself with the familiar routine, the savory smell in the kitchen (it’s barely two-butt-sized, but they make do) and Noah’s obviously very logical contention that the whole thing was either a bad-taste joke, some actor doing an ambush-unsuspecting-people-and-film-their-reactions piece of performance art, or a sicko trying to scout her out to get close, judge the possibility of gaslighting her into thinking they know each other. All of this, and anything else, is about a hundred times more likely than whatever Garcia Flynn was trying to claim. Anything.

“Honestly,” Noah goes on, scraping the diced leeks off the cutting board and into the pot, “I think we should call the cops. The guy talked about killing people? Thinks you gave him information for it? He’s not stable. I want to know right away if he comes back, okay?”

“He said he wasn’t going to.” Lucy finishes the carrots, then ducks down to check how the bread is doing. “I don’t know why, but I. . . kind of believed him.”

“Why?” Noah gives her a funny look. “You don’t actually know this guy, do you?”

“Of course not! What, you think that I’ve known this random crazy man all along and haven’t said anything about it, and am conspiring with him in whatever he’s up to?” Lucy is hurt. “Thanks!”

“Honey, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a dick. I’m just worried for your safety. Are you sure we shouldn’t file a restraining order?”

“Like I said. I got the feeling he meant it. That he was going to leave and not come back.” Why this still should hurt at all, hours after her brief, silent breakdown in her office, Lucy doesn’t know, and decides not to think about. “Anyway, how was your day? Anything thrilling happen on the orthopedic surgery floor?”

Noah gives her a slightly odd look, as this determined change of subject clearly isn’t doing anything to disabuse his notion that she’s repressing her feelings again (she’s not repressing, she’s just dealing with things, things she can handle, what’s in front of her). But he doesn’t push it, they stir the stew and set the table, pull the bread out of the oven, and break open a bottle of whatever is next up the wine scale from Two-Buck Chuck (Five-Buck Clive?) They chat more or less as normal, but Lucy doesn’t tell him about the flash drive that Flynn gave her. She knows she should, so he can suggest that she do the right thing and either destroy it, or hand it over to the cops as evidence when Flynn inevitably turns up in the news for doing something stupid and/or dangerous. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t even know why.

While Noah is taking a shower, Lucy opens her laptop and Googles “Garcia Flynn.” She doesn’t get much; nothing, in fact. Right, because it’s probably an assumed name, something he’s picked to cover his tracks. But just to be thorough, and on a whim, she Googles “Lorena Flynn,” as she recalls him mentioning that name. This does turn something up. A Facebook page, that while it is set to private and she can’t get all the details, at least gives a location: Dubrovnik, Croatia. Croatia – she supposes that could explain the accent. And it’s a bit surprising that even this much proof of his story exists, when she was prepared for it all to be fictional. But then, all the best lies have a kernel of truth at the center, that bit to give them their veneer of plausibility. He could have done his research, borrowed real people to support his story. What that is, and why that is, Lucy still has no idea. She stares at Lorena’s picture. An elegant, classically attractive woman, looks like an old Hollywood film star a bit, dark waves of hair and designer sunglasses. She doesn’t look like the kind of woman who’d marry a lunatic. But then, of course, that is hardly the wisest metric to go by. The best ones can bury it the deepest inside.

There’s a sound in the hall as Noah gets out of the shower, and Lucy jumps and quickly closes the window, like a kid looking at Those Pictures on the internet while their parents’ backs are turned. She’s not doing anything wrong, objectively speaking. She’s just covering her bases, performing due diligence. The sort of things historians do, when faced with a mysterious individual who needs identifying before the paper can proceed. Ordinary.

“Hey.” Noah sticks his head into the living room, towel around his waist, wet and shirtless. “You still working? Come on, it’s only Monday. You gotta pace yourself.”

“I – yeah, just checking something.” Lucy shuts the laptop and smiles. “Sorry.”

“You wanna join me for, you know?” Noah waggles an eyebrow. “A little night music?”

“I – ” The words I have a headache actually almost pass her lips. “I’ll just be a minute, Noah, okay? Go on, get into bed, I know you’ve had a long day too.”

He gives her a second, slower look, as this answer, while objectively ordinary and acceptable, is – when considered with the rest of the day’s events – decidedly evasive. But he pauses, then nods and withdraws, heading back into the bathroom to get dried off and changed into his pajamas. Lucy waits until she hears the bedroom door shut and the TV click on, then puts down the computer and clenches her fists, furious at herself. Whatever this is, whatever effect it’s had on her, she has let it go on more than long enough. She can write it off as anything she wants, any angle she wants to put on it about sick mom or work stress or wedding planning headaches, but she’s completely thrown, off-balance, and has no idea how to regain it. Unless she does something, well, incredibly stupid, and anything further with Garcia Flynn whatsoever is going to fit that description to a tee.

She fishes in her pocket and pulls out the flash drive. Opens the computer back up and plugs it in, wondering too late if it’s going to download some kind of virus, hold her hard drive for ransom, something like that. The only file on it is a Word document. For Lucy.

Lucy hesitates. She distinctly remembers him saying something about it not being easy to look at the answers, and that she had better be sure she wants them. You’d think, if he was trying to recruit her into whatever con he’s playing, that he would insist she read it. Unless this is some sort of reverse-psychology trick designed to fake her into it. That’s it, isn’t it? So it looks as if she decided to do it on her own?

Good god, is she ever overthinking this.

Lucy stares at the document for a frustrated moment longer. Then she can’t bring herself to click on it, closes it, and ejects the drive, getting up to hide it in her purse. If he turns up in the news for unsavory reasons in the next few days, she’ll hand it over to the police. Otherwise, that is the end of this.

That is the end of this.

Lucy doesn’t sleep terribly well that night, and by the time she wakes up, Noah is already gone; he works the buttcrack-of-dawn shift on Tuesdays. She groans, silences her alarm, and rolls out of bed to get ready, remembering to make breakfast this time since she doesn’t want to rely on the charity of crazy strangers for Starbucks. It’s as she’s standing in stocking feet, gulping down toast and checking her phone, that she glances out and sees a black car parked outside the house.

She thinks nothing of it, at first. It’s a public street, after all. But after she’s brushed her teeth and has put on her jacket, double-checking she has her papers and her notes, she heads out to her car and gets in, determined not to act as if she has anything to hide. She pulls out without incident, and has almost made it to the end of the block when, in her rearview mirror, she catches sight of the car backing out as well and rolling casually down the road after her.

Lucy’s hands tighten on the wheel. They are not, she reminds herself, following her. This is still within the realm of allowable coincidence. And if they are on a stakeout looking for people that, say, their crazy suspect might have recently made contact with, she could, again, just hand them the flash drive and probably do everyone a favor. She merges into morning traffic on the Bayshore Freeway and determinedly puts it out of her mind.

The rest of the day is more or less normal. She’s still a bit distracted at her lecture, but manages to bull through it. She spends the afternoon battling through her inbox and doing admin; there is a history department meeting later, but she can probably skip it. They email the minutes around anyway, and she wants to talk to her sister.

Lucy heads out just in time to catch the evening rush, sits drumming her fingers on the wheel for some interminably long interval, and finally makes it to her mom’s house in Mountain View. This is Google/Facebook/Silicon Valley Nerd HQ, so if the family hadn’t owned the house for a few generations already, they definitely would have been far outpriced by now, and as Lucy pulls into the driveway, she notices that the in-home nurse’s car is parked by the detached garage. She isn’t going to be able to just drop in and talk to Amy without getting the report on her mom as well, so she should probably brace herself for that. Okay.

Lucy parks and gets out, heading up the walk and knocking. Amy opens the door with her headphones still around her neck; she does a weekly podcast on politics and feminism and liberal activism, that kind of thing. She has a few regular listeners and even some advertisers, though she hasn’t figured out how to monetize it consistently, hence why (among other reasons) she’s still stuck at home as the primary caregiver for their mom.  Lucy would invite her to move in with her and Noah, but their apartment is small enough as it is, and however close she and Amy are, it is still awkward to third-wheel with your big sister and her fiancé. She knows it’s hard on Amy, though, that this has fallen so disproportionately on her. Mom used to nag her to get a real job, do something with her life, not just dink around on the internet. Follow Lucy’s example. Be more like Lucy. Study hard, like Lucy. Amy’s been half in her shadow most of her life, seven years younger. Always encouraged Lucy to do her own thing more, to take that job at Kenyon College, rather than staying beholden to Stanford and Mom’s legacy there. But just as Amy can’t quite leave, uncomfortable as the fit may be, Lucy can’t either.

“Hey, you.” Lucy hugs her sister and follows her inside to the kitchen. “How’s – how’s Mom?”

“Same. As usual.” Amy attempts a shrug. It sounds horrendously callous to say that you wish something would happen, something would change, when that means your mother is going to die – as domineering and inescapable as Carol Preston could be, her daughters do love her. “Aren’t you usually busy later on Tuesdays?”

“Yeah. I needed to. . . to ask you about something, actually.” Lucy sits down at the table as Amy makes them hot chocolate. With that, not knowing how to do this except straight out, she launches into the strange story of Garcia Flynn and his visit yesterday, the flash drive he gave her, his insistence that they used to know each other, and the rest. Even the car this morning, and her brief and doubtless mistaken insistence that it was following her. It spills out of her, all of it.

Amy listens impassively, though her fingers tap on her mug. She doesn’t tell Lucy that she’s crazy, which would be the obvious solution. Then she says, “So what do you want to do?”

“I have no idea.” Lucy rubs her temples with her cold fingers. “I can’t deny that what he said kind of. . . I don’t know what it was, just that it almost felt like it might explain something. But, well, obviously he was a few branches short of a tree. I have enough crap going on in my life right now. I don’t need to get involved in this.”

“But,” Amy says, with her usual knack of cutting through Lucy’s evasions and rationalizations and getting to the heart of a situation. “You want to.”

Lucy looks up with a wry, faint smile. “It’s a mystery. You know how I am about those.”

“Yeah, but you usually work on historical ones, stuff that took place years ago and can’t turn up or develop in unexpected ways now. Live mysteries are a little more dangerous, Lucy. Especially, by the sound of things, this one.”

“Pretty much.” Lucy sighs. “I’m not going to do anything dumb. I just. . . he seemed really convinced that it was something to do with me, and I. . .”

“You like to help people,” Amy says. “Even crazy ones who turn up out of the blue at your office one day. Did you read whatever it was he gave you? His Zodiac Killer letters, or whatever?”

“No. I’m. . .” Lucy hesitates. “I’ll do it later this evening,” she says, unsure if that is a lie or not. “I should get going if I don’t want to sit on 280 all night. Love you, Pooh Bear, thanks for letting me vent.”

“You’re welcome, Piglet.” Amy manages a grin. “Hey, it’s a lot more interesting than anything going on in my life right now.”

Lucy nuzzles her sister’s head affectionately – what would she do without her? – grabs her purse, and heads out of the house, oddly relieved to escape without being required to pay court on her mother. She opens her purse, fishes for her keys, and –

“Miss Preston?”

She looks up with a considerable start, almost dropping them. It’s a guy in a black suit and tie – not Flynn, though – who couldn’t look more government-agent if he tried. “Can I ask you a few questions? Briefly, I promise.”

“Excuse me? No, you can’t. This is private property, by the way. So you are here. . . why?”

He smiles. “I’m sure your mother wouldn’t mind.”

This is an odd enough statement that it catches at Lucy briefly, but does not engender in her any further desire to cooperate with him. She turns her back and starts to get into her car, only to discover that there’s another one of them leaning against it. “Just a minute, Miss Preston, that’s all we ask. We can make this quick, you’re not in any trouble. So if you’d – ”

“No, I’m not interested in it, and I’d like to be on my way please.”

“Miss Preston – ”

“Hey,” a voice says from the sidewalk. “There a problem here, gentlemen?”

The agents (since that is clearly what they are) glance up with a start, to see some guy out for an evening stroll unwisely deciding to insert himself into their business. He’s cute in a boy-next-door kind of way, clean-cut, blue-eyed, though the faint whiff of Budweiser is just enough to make Lucy wonder if he’s located his courage recently and in liquid form and has no idea what he’s walking into. He has a certain way of standing, however, a cool and careless ease, that makes her think that she wouldn’t want to pick a fight with him. As the agents stare at him, he repeats, “Problem?”

“No, sir. None. You step along and enjoy your evening.”

He grins. A bit sardonically. Looks at Lucy. “Ma’am?”

Lucy gives him the please-make-these-assholes-leave look that every woman has had to perfect, and he picks up on it right away. He steps forward, pulls something out of his pocket – a badge or something, she doesn’t see what exactly it’s supposed to be, but either way, it makes the agents scowl at him, but decide not to push their luck. They slope off into their unmarked car – though Lucy wishes that she could be sure that’s the last time she’ll see them – and she glances at her unexpected rescuer. “I – well, thanks. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

“Again? Ma’am? Really?”

“Sorry.” He shrugs, holds out a hand. “Wyatt Logan.”

“Lucy Preston. Nice to meet you.”

They shake. She’s tempted to ask him what exactly he showed the Bad News Bears to make them leave, but it’s also not something she’s liable to get a straight answer for. “So what, you just take nighttime walks in case you need to swoop in and make some creeps clear out?”

He shrugs. “No. That was by accident. Better than sitting at home by myself, though. I – ” He pauses as if about to say something, and stops. “You have a nice night, m – Lucy.”

“Thanks.” She smiles at him quickly, as he continues on his way, she glances after him for a moment with a strange, fleeting sense of déjà-vu, and then gets into the car. It strikes her that he has the same sort of lingering sadness around him as Flynn, a ghost that walks quietly next to him and breathes his air and colors all his shadows, a man who has been sitting and drinking in an empty house, not to feel good or to enjoy himself or share the burden, but simply to forget about it just for a little while, to breathe without the ironclad ache in his chest that is there the rest of the time. She wonders suddenly if he’s lost a wife too. No reason. Just occurred to her.

She gets into the car, not without a final look around. As if she’s expecting something, somewhere, someone, anyone to be waiting to stop her.

They’re not. She drives home. Checks around before she gets out. No one there.

No one there.

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

Garcia Flynn has done a stupid fucking thing.

(Rather, he thinks bitterly, like the rest of his stupid fucking life.)

He didn’t even realize how much until last night, when he’s sitting in some dim-lit, no-account bar in Las Vegas (looks slightly different from ’62, though the showgirls and the bright lights and the bad decisions never change – seems like a good place for him) drinking as much as the bartender would serve him, and someone slides onto the creaky chrome stool next to him. “Excuse me. Mr. Leslie?”

Flynn starts slightly, as that was the name he used to use for his intelligence work – Leslie was Errol Flynn’s middle name, and he used to wish so hard to be that Flynn when he grew up, the cowboy and swashbuckler and adventurer, and not this one, this. . . God, whatever it is, he doesn’t know. Still, though, he’s not in the mood to play. In Croatian, just to be an ass, he says, “I don’t speak English. Go away.”

“I think you do.” The man answers him in the same language, making Flynn’s head spin sharply, and gives half a shrug, as if to say that this didn’t have to be hard. He is clearly unaware that he is dealing with the master of doing things the hard way. “Can we talk?”

“I can’t stop you.” Flynn throws back another shot, which burns all the way down. He won plenty of drinking contests against Russians, which is no mean feat, but he feels almost light-headed, whether from a combination of drinking on an empty stomach or – fuck, he knows well enough, now that he’s a vagrant who remembers a world that nobody else does, who has saved his family and lost his soul, and has nothing and no one else to live for. “Or at least, it would be messy if I did. Do you really want to make them stay late mopping you off the floor?”

“Funny. Still a funny man. Not that I’d think you have any reason to be.” His interrogator is a completely ordinary-looking sort (but then, they all are). Looks vaguely Slavic, though if that’s the reason for the Croatian, which they are still speaking, who knows. “We know what you did.”

“Congratulations.” Flynn wonders if the bartender will give him another. “What did I do?”

“You stopped the hit on your family. Destroyed the Mothership. Altered the timeline back to its original format – almost.” The man – no, the Rittenhouse agent – looks at him with calm, cool eyes. “Left a few snags here and there. But for the most part, yes.  Nobody remembers, because technically, none of your adventures ever happened. You never stole the machine, and they never followed you. So as a result, nothing you did to us in the past ever happened. We’re still here, just as we always were. We’re still angry, and stronger than ever. And you just destroyed our time machine.”

At that, Flynn almost does go for his gun, stopped barely in time by the knowledge that if he opens fire even in a dive like this, he will spend at least the next night in jail, and it’s going to be difficult to get out even without quite all of his previous criminal record. Stealing the Mothership wasn’t the only thing he’s done on the wrong side of the law, just the most spectacular, though it’s true he’s mostly broken said law with government immunity. He wonders if the NSA will object to one of their assets being swept up like this, or even if he still works for them. Nothing makes sense. But he is now sitting here being blackmailed by fucking Rittenhouse, and if they think he’ll take that lying down –

“Did you,” he growls, this time in English, “have a point to make?”

His interrogator shrugs. “Did I? You know, we might have let it slide if you’d just gone back and saved your family. Even thanked you. After all, without that, you never steal the Mothership, those three never get involved or find out about us, we’re able to complete our launch and acquisition at Mason Industries, no mess, no foul. But then you had to both destroy the Mothership, in which we had invested a great deal of time and capital, and you had to give Lucy Preston information about the old timeline, as well as the role that she and her. . . friends played in it. If she gains knowledge about it, she’ll become a threat. All of them will.”

Flynn has been about to rage, but at that, he freezes. Thinks abruptly that indeed, in his hunger to see Lucy one more time, to tell her that it was done, he’s inadvertently caused the opposite to happen. Forgot that Rittenhouse was anything but defanged – that indeed, by saving his wife and daughter, he has erased all of his own efforts to remove them from history. Perhaps it doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter – but now they’re stronger than ever, angrier than ever, and he has supplied them with a wealth of targets on which to punish him for his presumption. Lorena and Iris themselves, back in Dubrovnik, convinced that he just walked out on them without a word for three years, far longer than he’d ever been afield on any mission. Had an explosive argument about it, everything he tried to explain obviously sounding like utter delusional nonsense, until Lorena ordered him to get his head straight and not come back until it was. That may take, at a minimum, until the heat death of the universe. Iris staring at him and seeing a stranger, exactly as he feared. Five seconds of the happy reunion, and then it all fell to pieces.

And now, he has painted a target on Lucy’s back for a resurgent and very much alive Rittenhouse. Given her everything, the whole story, out of whatever stupidly noble, misguided impulse he had to fill her in on what she’d forgotten. If she reads it, if she remembers, if she believes even a fraction of it, if she starts looking, asking questions –

He’s saved his family, yes.

Saved his family, and destroyed everything else.

Flynn feels as if there is an angry rhinoceros in his chest struggling to get out. He grips the scarred edge of the bar, struggling to absorb the magnitude of his mistake, which is impressive even by his standards. He can’t protect Lorena and Iris and Lucy, and everyone else who Rittenhouse is going to hurt in retaliation for his attempts to take them down. Indeed, nobody has seen anything yet, in terms of their possible destructive power. All stops out. No holds barred.

Jesus.

Jesus.

“We’re watching her, you know,” the agent goes on. “We know you visited her. You better hope you live up to your promise to stay away. From all of them. If you contact your wife and daughter again, if you contact Lucy again, if you thought you’d be clever and send something to Logan or Carlin as well, if you so much as glance at a picture of them online, we’ll know. And then we’ll kill all of them, and this time, there will be no Mothership for you to fix it. You’ll just get to live with that. Forever. You disappear, cause no more trouble for us, and they live happily ever after. Sounds like a plan, doesn’t it?” He grins. “Huh, Garcia?”

Flynn remains completely motionless. He is plunging through endless, icy, dark water, curling and cutting in his chest. He has never been so afraid – and so angry – in his entire life.

The Rittenhouse agent waits for his answer. When it doesn’t come, he shrugs, finishes his drink, and stands up. “Have a nice night,” he says. Puts on his hat. The bar door opens and shuts.

He’s gone.