#oh god Vic face riding is just wonderful

[themotherofhorses]

Vic!! I have a request pretty pls hehehe,

Creepy dark! Aemond forcing his way with fem!reader as she sleeps after stalking him for many moons? PWEASEEE

what was mine is still mine, regardless of time.

pairing: soft but dark!aemond targaryen x fem!targaryen!reader

warnings: explicit language. nsfw smut. slight breeding kink towards the end. consented abduction. aemond is (as usual) obsessive and possessive but is actually kinda a sweetheart in this.

notes: ok so small thing: i kinda put my own twist to this request, because this sort of idea has lived in my head RENT FREE since forevvaaa. hope u enjoy it :)

masterlist

Dragonstone was quiet when arrived, the sea tide calm and peaceful.

Aemond Targaryen could not remember the last time he stepped foot in the castle, if he ever did at all, having spent the entirety of his life behind the bronze doors of the Red Keep. He did not care for the damned island, nor did he hold any love for its people, but his twentieth nameday was fast approaching, and his mother was insisting more and more that he take a wife soon.

“Now, where will you be,” he mumbles to himself as he rips off his riding gloves and tucks them into his belt.

The castle hallways were without light, and no houseguards stood afoot. Aemond smirks. It would be much easier for him to find you, tucked away in your own chamber.

Your personal chamber was nicely furnished, in the colors and style of your shared noble house, and had an aura belonging only to a Targaryen princess. Thick wool carpets covered the floor instead of harsh black stone, and your windows were cracked open just a little, with pretty drapes swaying from the light ocean breeze. The walls were hung with different tapestries, all of horses and dragons, and the doors were flanked by Valyrian sphinxes.

And to the corner was your bed, where you, his niece, lay atop, fast asleep.

Aemond wills his heart to continue beating, and for his cock to behave.

He has not laid eyes on you in almost a full decade, ten years too long for him. Both your parents whisked you away to Dragonstone when you were still a child, soft-faced and in the mid of girlhood.

They refused his mother’s offer for a betrothal between the two of you, and broke his heart to the tiniest of pieces that he wondered if they were still scattered around the Keep. But that was so many moons ago, and time slipped by him.

“Gods be good,” Aemond whispers, moving closer.

What has happened to that little girl, that kid niece of his? In her place sleeps a living goddess, too lovely for mankind. You’ve grown beautiful, a mirror image to your mother, his eldest sister. He bends to kiss your bare shoulder- just a simple and tiny kiss- and you stir in your sleep. It is cute, he admits, but he also can not wait another second longer.

Only the gods above know how much he’s wanted you.

With a hard yank, Aemond draws back the bedsheet covers, causing you to jolt up from the bed. You look around, confused and scared and still half-asleep, purple eyes clouding from drowsiness. In front of you sits a stranger, a man- silver-haired and cloaked in black riding leather. Across his eye, an eyepatch.

Your heart quickens at the sight. “Aemond…?” you call out, unsure.

He smiles, teeth and all. “You do not know how happy it makes me to know you are still able to recognize me, my niece. After all, it has been awhile- ten years, has it not?”

You shrug, trying to wipe the sleep away from your eyes. “What…what are you doing here?” you ask, while patting down the bed, looking for the sheets to cover your chest. “Should you not be at King’s Landing? Why are you here?” Your eyes grow as wide as a dinner plate as you soon add, “Oh no, has something happened? Is it my grandfather?”

But Aemond scoots closer, bringing his face to yours. “Do not fret, nice. I’m here on my own wishes,” and he twirls a thin strand of silver hair around his finger, humming as he watches it fall back around your shoulder. In that sheer Dornish nightgown, you look good enough to eat, and the princeling is feeling beyond ravenous.

“I’m here to collect a debt.”

Lucerys…you think, a sinking feeling in your chest. His stolen eye, that night on Driftmark…

Ten years and Aemond still seeks revenge.

“No,” Aemond says, shaking his head. He moves even closer, grabbing at your shoulders. His palms are rough and callous. “I would dare not hurt you. Anyone but you. You…” he sighs, “-you were promised to me, back when we were children. You were meant to be my wife, and they stole you from me. The only good fucking thing in my life, and it was taken away…”

He studies you, his eye running across your face, down your neck and to your chest.

That Dornish nightgown clings loose to your body, and he can see your nipples perk against the fabric. It sends blood rushing between his thighs. “Tell me, niece, what did I do to deserve that?”

“Aemond…”

“No!” he hisses, tightening his grip on you. “No! You have not the slightest idea of the fucking torture I’ve endured these years. The nights I stayed up, begging to the gods that I might have you. I thought…maybe if they heard my pleas, saw my faith, they would…but no. Ten years, and not a single glimpse of you.” Your breath hitches when he meets your gaze, “I dreamt of you, every damned night. Fought the urges to fly over and collect you from here…”

You shake your head. “Aemond…” you say, softly. “I’m betrothed to another, this cannot be.” You press your hand against his cheek, feeling him lean into your touch, and kiss his forehead. “I have missed you greatly, uncle, but it has been years! So many years. I’m to be married soon.” You pull back, “It is best if you return home, and start finding a lady of your own choosing.”

Aemond sighs, and inside his chest, he feels his heart being ripped apart again.

“You are right, my dearest niece. My sincerest apologies for waking you up, it was quite wrong of me. I shall see myself out,” and he kisses your hand, brushing his lips against your knuckles. “I wish you all the luck in your marriage, and may your husband love and appreciate you till the dying days of his damned life.”

You smile at him, though a bit sad now. “Thank you, uncle. To you as well.”

The princeling turns to leave, and you sit up watching as he makes his way to your door, before sinking back into your bed. “Goodbye, Aemond,” you call out, one final time before your eyes close, failing to see him pause and turn around to look at you.

What was he doing? Foolish man, he thinks. Foolish, stupid man!

Was it in his nature to admit defeat so easily, and to some unnamed wastrel cunt of a man? No. Throughout his life, Aemond suffered nothing but tremendous losses, while being denied the goodness and fairness that a child should’ve had. His lips pucker at the thought.

You were right there, close enough for him to finally claim.

And so he did.

“Shhh, keep your voice down,” Aemond tuts next to your ear, a heavy arm slung over your naked breasts as he holds you as close to his chest as possible. It feels as if he is frightened to let you go, worried you would disappear before his very eye, with another ten years slipping by until he finds you again.

His other hand lies between your trembling thighs, fingering you with such an intensity and speed that it leaves you utterly ruined and in tears. “Aemond…” you hiccup, nibbling at your bottom lip as he groans. “Fuck! You sound so good when you say my name like that. Gods be good, you are wet. Absolutely soaking my fingers. Doesn’t this feel good?” he asks, using his thumb to rub at your clit. “Yeah…it does, doesn’t it?”

You sniffle, fat tears streaking down both cheeks as you nod.

Oh, it feels good. So good, but so wrong as well.

You were to be married in less than a fortnight, to a highborn lord of House Stark, handsome and kind. How would you explain this to him? Or to your parents, who proposed the marriage between you two? How would you tell them that you were ruined? And it was your uncle’s fault.

“Please, Aemond…”

Aemond grabs at your jaw, cradling it in his hand before pulling it close to his face. “Shhh, it will be alright, my love. Do not fret. You will be okay, just give in,” he whispers, quickening his fingers as he fucks them into you, curling two to hit your sweet spot. You almost scream, so overcome with pleasure that it hurts. “This is where you are meant to be, darling, make no mistake in believing that. My bride, my love.”

My woman, he thinks gleefully, watching how your face scrunches up. Your eyebrows furrow and your mouth press together in a tight line, and it is the most beautiful sight.

My woman, made for me. Made for my love and protection and seed…

Goosebumps prickle along your arms as wet sounds echo across the chamber, followed by a strew of whimpers and moans. It sounds so dirty, so sinful and wrong that you pray to whichever god was listening in that no one would overhear such, especially your parents and siblings. Your father would have Aemond’s head, no doubt, and your older brother might rob him of his only other good eye.

“Oh, fuck…” you moan, flinging your head back, “-don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

A minute or so later, your vision blackens, the room spins, and your jaw slacks as you cum plenty around his fingers, all with such a high-pitched shriek that Aemond slaps a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise. “What did I say? Stay quiet!” he hisses before chuckling, smearing the mess around your folds while you make an attempt to catch your breath. “Very good, my love. You did so well for me.”

He brings a finger to his mouth, to suck at the taste. “Your taste is heavenly,” he moans, swirling his tongue around it. He then brings two to your mouth, swiping at the tiny bit of drool pooling before stuffing them in. “Suck. Taste yourself now.”

“Dirty girl,” Aemond hums, a smirk curving on his lips as he watches the way you lick and suck at his fingers. “You are digging a grave too deep to escape, darling.”

Ruin me, you want to say. If I’m to die, I rather it be in your hands than anyone else’s…

He lays you back down on the bed next, making sure your head rests comfortably against the pillows. Ten years, Aemond reminds himself. Ten fucking years. He can feel his resolve slowly weakening by the second. You’re too beautiful, too soft and womanly and perfect for him. Every fantasy he dreamt up during boyhood never claim as close as to this. “I dreamt of this for fucking years,” he admits while kissing your pink and pouty lips. “All the possible ways to take you, to fuck this pretty cunt of yours.”

Your legs wrap around his hips as he pushes his cock inside you. It is painful- undeniably painful- yet he swallows every cry and wince and moan that you give. Your fingernails dig into his skin from the terrible pain- the stretch and the sting and the weird feeling growing deep within your tummy.

“It is too much…!” you whimper against his lips. “Hurts!”

“Of course it hurts, darling, it is your first time. Every woman hurts when a man takes her first blood. But you can take it.”

“No,” you whine, trying to shove him away. “No, Aemond, it hurts too much-” But Aemond only kisses your temple, sweet and gentle and lovingly, while rocking his hips against yours. “It’ll feel so good soon, my love, trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you, not my precious and sweet girl,” he coos, leaning to rub your noses together, “-my brave girl.”

Ten years.

He could not stop, even if he wished to. No, not now that he finally has you, underneath his body and wet and ripe for his seed.

“I’ll give you our child,” he mutters beside your lips as he pinches your nipple between two fingers and keeps his thrusts hard, deep, and fast. All of it makes your face twist in a soft gasp, your body tightening as you feel that thick rush of pleasure from before, right before you creamed over his fingers.

“Take my seed and have our child. I promise to take you back to King’s Landing and marry you," he vows through ragged breaths, "and spend the rest of our lives making up for those ten years.”

“Aemond,” you pant, clutching onto his shoulders and dragging his face down for a kiss. His skin is sweaty and flushed, and he has never appeared so beautiful before. You love him. You love him so much, how did you spend ten years without seeing him? It makes no sense. You understand his woes now, clear as day, and you want to rid of them forever.

“I love you! I love you, I love you, make me your wife, please. Please!”

He feels your cunt tightening around his cock, and he is ready to give you everything: his heart, his soul, and his seed.

Come the morning, his son will be swelling within your belly, and he will have you seated atop Vhagar, flying back to the Keep to make you his wife, in both the eyes of the gods and the laws of the land.

The next day, at dawning, Rhaenyra Targaryen’s only daughter does not join her family to break fast together. Her three half-brothers and two half-sisters raise eyebrows as they munch quietly on their meals but keep silent, all until little Joffrey asks where his older sister might be. Rhaenyra does not know, and neither do the houseguards, the men of the small council, and the maesters, and it worries her greatly.

Her husband, though, is quick to remind her that the princess- ever their trueborn child- enjoys morning rides on dragonback. “Give her a few hours and she will surely return with a new story to tell us,” Daemon says, while sipping on his wine.

But a few hours turn into the rest of the day, and soon evening creeps by.

A raven arrives from King’s Landing, bearing the family a note:

“I’ve taken what was owed to me. Such a pity you all forgot that what was mine is still mine, regardless of time.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x you #dark aemond targaryen #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #request #vic writes 🧸

[vicsdeangelis]

I can’t stop thinking about those pics from Japan of Ethan in a skirt. Wanna touch those thighs, wanna slide my hands slowly up and beneath that skirt, wanna grab his ass and push him against me. And then I want to fuck him on the kitchen counter (bc hygiene doesn’t exist in horny fantasy land). I hope he’s flexible because I wanna see his face and how he reacts to everything I do to him

no but those photos made me insane. do you know how long i've wanted to see ethan in a skirt or a dress? that was FOR ME! and let's not limit ourselves, because i wanna fuck him in that skirt just as much as i want him to fuck me!

like oh my god my brain is going a mile a minute i'm so sorry so okay. you're at that karaoke bar with them and you're both sitting down while vic and damiano sing a really out of tune duet and you put your hand on his knee first and that's not something unusual for either of you so he doesn't really react. so you start inching your hand up until he can't not notice anymore and you're massaging him through his underwear and he's attacking your neck and you're at it until vic throws something at you two when the song ends. and you can't even get embarrassed by being caught in a very compromising position because the sheer horniness of seeing ethan wearing a skirt overrides everything else. and let's say they kept those outfits. when you get back to the hotel you tell him to put the skirt back on. just the skirt, nothing else. and boy do you take advantage of hotel mirrors while fucking him with your strap!!! and then you're riding him. and then he's riding you. and you suck his dick while holding some of the skirt so tight in your hand because fuck what a glorious little piece of fabric! it's a goddamn fuckfest, and the skirt is in shambles, dirty and ripped on the floor by the time you can't move anymore. you're cuddling even though you're both sticky and gross, and he laughs a little out of nowhere and says something about if this was your reaction to a skirt he wonders what you'd do if you saw him wearing like lacy panties (i'm thinking white because that man in white is fucking sin), and god if your bones didn't feel like jelly you'd attack him all over again over the mere THOUGHT of it BYE

#ask #INSANITY. PUT HIM IN MORE SKIRTS. THROW IN A DRESS FOR ME AS WELL

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

for @bend-me-shape-me's spn advent calendar 2020. prompt: carols.

dedicated to @one-more-offbeat-anthem!! happy birthday <3

After Chuck's defeated, and Billie's gone, and the Empty has been bargained with (semantics, any of the Winchesters would say if you asked one of the four to elaborate) into returning Cas in exchange for eternal sleep, there's peace.

After they're done, and really done, there's time.

A moment to breathe, a minute to look at the clouds, and hours stretching endless, days on end, resonating with something resembling quiet.

And then, there's a guitar.

*

"Nope." Dean declares. "Never seen that thing in here before. And I once did Christmas inventory by myself, so I should know."

Sam snickers at Dean's cavalier tone. He'd been content to examine the instrument from a distance, unlike his brother, but that didn't mean he wasn't paying attention. "You had to do it yourself, Dean. Those were the exact words of the bet."

"I was drunk, and you hustled me!"

"You've known I play poker my entire life!"

"Well, yeah." Dean flashes his best shit-eating grin. "But you've sucked, your entire life, so —"

"— sure I have —"

"— your entire life has really just been a very long, very lame hustle!" Dean spreads his arms in a display of triumph. "And ergo, you hustled me into Christmas inventory-ing. The case is rested, your honor."

"That's not how you say —"

"Sam. Dean." Cas interjects, loud and exasperated. Sam shuts up immediately, eyes falling to his lap, while Dean exchanges a sheepish look with Cas (and Jack, who to his credit, seemed to be unaffected by the mini-feud. But that's less the part about him being God-Lite and more about him being himself. A kid who grew up watching his dads bicker endlessly and mostly, uneventfully, and has come to terms with it as a primary aspect of (at least, his) family.)

Cas, as usual, puts up with less of their crap. "Is this really necessary right now?"

Dean loves him for it, except when it's targeted at Dean and since that's kind of a lot, he isn't sure he loves it, or just loves Cas and generalises the things he does under the wider bracket of Cas.

"And if it's not," Cas goes on, using what is probably his I-led-garrisons-in-heaven voice, which automatically sends a shiver up Dean's spine. "Can we agree the guitar is, somehow, a recent addition and leave it at that?"

Sam nods slightly, apologetic. Dean just rolls his eyes, but it's a yes. (Everyone there knows it's a yes.)

"It's not cursed." Jack cuts in brightly. "Or out of the ordinary at all."

"So," Dean blinks. "We just happen to have an awesome new guitar show up, completely randomly, in this top secret Bunker no one know about, minus any ulterior motives or death curses?"

Jack grins. "Yes."

"Cool." Dean says immediately, and Sam huffs an amused laugh. He thinks he sees Cas smile as well, and a smirk grows on his face.

"Dibs."

*

Unsurprisingly, nobody counters his dibs, and Dean ends up taking the guitar to his room.

It's after a few days of insecurity, leading right into embarrassment, leading further to ignoring its existence, and further still to a mostly depressive array of memories — before it circles back to insecurity, and is about to repeat all over again, when he stops himself in his proverbial spiral, and decides to just friggin' do it.

That night, he picks up the pick.

Fiddles with it in his hands for a minute, and proceeds to abandon the idea again, because it does not feel right. Different shape, different weight.

And Dean Winchester's already enough of a misfit for this project, for his guitar pick to be a poor goddamn fit in his hand too.

But there's something about being so close that stirs up motivation in his heart, similar to the first day they found the damn thing, and next morning, he's out looking for a music shop in town.

That night, he finally plays.

It's uncertain — experimental — and he soon realizes why nobody ever says a damn thing about guitars when they say you never forget how to ride a bike.

But then, slowly, and really slowly at that, music seems to return to his fingers.

It isn't smooth by any chance, or even really accurate, but there's a faint tug in his brain that leads him to the next chord, and a twitch in his wrist that tells him when to strum, and he's awful, he's really friggin' awful, but even repeatedly saying so in his head refuses to dampen the overwhelming feeling that lights him up from the inside to start to feel like maybe he can play again. There's hope, and there's terrible, off-timed, broken music, and there's Dean in the middle of it, and maybe he can actually do this.

Recollection of how to play had come to his hands as they trembled, and tried, but the exhilaration of it, and the joy, only come back to his heart once he'd stopped, heart racing, adrenaline high, and unexplainable tears pricking his eyes.

Dean Winchester goes to bed that night, giddy in a way he hasn't been in years.

And outside his bedroom, his family of three exchange confused glances when the playing stopped abruptly, and then smiles when a sound that can only be said to bear semblance to a squeal, follows the silence.

(The first song Dean had played in over twenty five years had been Joy to the World.

It had also been the first song he'd ever learned — Cassie's choice, not his. Sam, Cas and Jack didn't know any of that. To them, it had just been a christmas carol. But there was also something so moving about that, soft in a way each of them knew Dean would fight against being, that they didn't realize they hadn't budged from Dean's door, long until faint snores replaced the quiet, and they left for their own beds, wordlessly already having decided on a plan for the next day.)

*

Cas knocks first on Dean's bedroom door, and all music immediately ceases. There's a yell from inside after ten seconds of a shuffling kind of silence.

"Yeah?"

"May I come in?" Cas asks.

Another pause.

Cas wonders worriedly if Sam and Jack were mistaken when they said that Cas had to be first, that he was their best shot at getting Dean to open up — the easiest past Dean's line of defense.

Then Dean says, a little quieter. "Yeah, sure."

Cas enters, gently closing the door behind himself before his eyes land on Dean — and he fights the urge to smile, because Dean hasn't kept away the guitar or anything. It's still on his lap, not in playing stance, with his arms folded over it — but he's not trying to hide it from Cas.

"Is everything okay?" Dean interrupts his reverie. Cas nods.

Neither of them say anything for a minute.

"Can I listen?"

Cas surprises himself with his own courage to ask — no twisted words or excuses to stay, just a simple question. Things were so rarely simple for them, but this wasn't a common occurrence either so it evened out.

"Y-yeah." Dean mutters.

Cas lights up.

"I suck, by the way." Dean adds, almost immediately. "But I'll suck less with time, I'm hoping. I mean, I'm supposed to, you know, but I — uh, I mean — maybe I —"

Cas realizes that he hadn't stopped smiling at Dean and that's what had made Dean falter, and he looks away, embarrassed.

"I'll just play, I guess." Dean manages smally, sounding as embarrassed as him.

"Please."

Dean clears his throat instead of playing.

"Yeah."

Cas can tell he's nervous. Even if he weren't good at, and very used to reading Dean, he could've gauged as much. And he wishes he had the right words, he really does, but he's aware a sincere speech of how much it means that Dean let him stay, and listen, would have the opposite effect of calming.

Then there's another knock on the door, and Cas relaxes.

"Dean?"

Sure enough, it's Jack.

Sam had explained how Dean was most likely, unfortunately, to deflect if he was there — "his denial fires up, Cas. I associate it with a parenting complex of some kind, and he just won't let go of it." — so the order had been decided as Cas, Jack and Sam. No overwhelming by arriving all three at once, or one after the other as if it were planned. No, they'd enter after some time, giving the previous person time to make Dean comfortable to them before the next enters.

Cas thinks it's a rather brilliant plan, and wonders if he should ask Sam to formulate a similar one to get Dean to open up about other things too. He doesn't, ultimately.

"Yeah?" Dean yells back.

"Have you seen Cas?"

That had been the plan.

"Yeah," Dean raises his voice to answer. "He, uh. He's right here. Come on in."

And Jack does, and eyes Cas with probably too much meaning (he means triumph) for Dean to not have noticed, before turning to the latter. "Oh. Were you about to play for Cas?"

Dean colors at that, his ears reddening almost instantly, and Cas files it away for pondering later.

"Can I be here too?"

And Dean's eyes widen a little — sign of anxiety, maybe understanding — and he licks his lips and then he nods. "I guess. I mean, okay, fine. But didn't you need Cas for something?" He adds, confused.

"I," Jack hesitates. Oh no, Cas thinks. Sam's prepared him for this, but Jack looks like he's about to, as Dean would say, wing it. And all-powerful or not, he knows his son is a terrible liar. "No, I just wanted to know if you'd seen him."

Dean narrows his eyes.

"Now I do know. That, uh, you've seen him." Jack braves on, determined to reach the bottom of the proverbial hole he'd dug for himself apparently. "So now, I don't need to know anything. Now I can stay."

Dean sighs.

"I can, right?"

There's a lightness in Dean's voice instead of tension when he says, "Yeah."

"Thank you." Jack says brightly, and all Cas can do is shake his head when Jack turns to him for feedback, and the both of them proceed to wear (nearly matching, but not on purpose) excited stares as they focus on Dean.

*

The final straw is when there's a third knock on the door, and Sam pokes his head in. One unconvincing "Where's everyone at?" later, he's joined Cas and Jack in staring with a unnecessary (and hopefully unintended) comfort-the-vic's-family smile at Dean.

God, he loves these dumbasses and would give his life for everyone present in the room, but none of them can act for shit.

It's glaringly obvious they've all respectively shown up to listen to him play.

Which is bullshit in itself, because Dean wasn't being modest when he told Cas he sucks — he does suck. But then, he doesn't think any of them would mind. Sam would probably unlock new levels of the puppy eyes if he knew how happy even playing awfully, made Dean. Jack would be blunt, of course, but undeterringly sweet. And Cas? He'd probably smile at him all the way through, just — that smile of his, that always seems to make time freeze and Dean's heart stutter.

So Dean decides magnanimously to not call them out.

Right away, anyway.

Instead, he turns to them with a question. "Any requests?"

(He can't play one of the only songs he remembers having learned without errors yet, so obviously asking for requests is the right way to go. But you see, once you've given up on impressing, it's only fair to see yourself to the end of the chaos.)

"Christmas carols." Jack answers before anyone else.

"It's May."

"Sam's," Jack swallows. Dean should really get on teaching the kid how to lie. "Sam's making me listen to carols."

"In May?" He asks his brother this time.

Sam shrugs, struggling to keep a diplomatic face.

"You're going to grow up to be the young adult who doesn't take off the Christmas lights in January." Dean informs Jack, who absorbs his words with all the seriousness Dean should have expected. "And, fine. We can do carols."

Cas speaks up. "Any carol you'd like, Dean."

"Nah," Dean shakes his head. "Jack requested it. We'll do what he says." And he insists to his conscience that he said so because he wants to make Jack happy, and not because he's well aware the kid isn't being subjected to carols by Sam in friggin' May, and probably doesn't know any.

"Oh." Jack's face falls. He looks at Sam in the most conspicuous way anyone's ever looked at anyone. "I —"

"Uhhuh?"

"Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer!" Cas blurts, on behalf of Jack, and there's a two second gap where Sam facepalms and Jack exchanges a conspirational glance with Cas, and then Dean's throwing his head back and laughing.

And soon, Sam's joining in with an exasperated kind of chuckling as if he's gotten stuck in the wrong team but he doesn't regret a thing, and then Cas starts too, mostly from looking at Dean losing his shit (Dean strictly ignores thinking about that part and focuses on imprinting Cas's laugh to memory) and probably also because the ridiculosity of the entire situation probably struck him, and of course Jack's smiling at all of them, and it's, altogether, everything Dean could ever have wished for.

The evening ends with Dean playing Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer (of course) for at least an hour while consistently getting better at the repeating music, and although it's him humming under his breath (like he always has while playing) that starts it off, soon all of them are offering their own awful renditions to the chaos. Cas is off-key, Sam somehow manages to screw up the lyrics, and Jack is as flat as a friggin' plateau.

And it all comes together in a wholly unmelodious kind of awesome — to Dean the same way they say a mother's love comes through for an ugly child.

After Rudolph, it's Silent Night (another song Dean's learned, it hits him, once he's trying to find the right chord) and even Cas manages to look disappointed at the lyrics Sam and he come up with to make up for not knowing the real ones, and since Jack's never heard this one, he simply listens in rapt attention leaving Dean wondering if he probably ended up learning the wrong version on account of all his concentration.

And last of all, it's We Wish You A Merry Christmas, and Dean plays the chorus enough times that he's perfect at it, because for once, no one messes up the beat or the lyrics, and everyone has the most fun.

All in all, it's an evening to remember.

What Dean learns through it all is primarily the lesson that letting your family think they tricked you into having an audience is sometimes an excellent choice to make, and that things can be crap, but still be enjoyed. That doesn't mean he's not going to practice his ass off learning to play at least the choruses of the Led Zepp tracks he gifted Cas (the idea came to him in bed last night, and Cas has always sounded like he enjoyed them, okay?) so he can play them 'for Cas' as the kid so casually put — but then, some things are different from other things, just the way some love's different too.

And while some things are about efforts, and saying the words that scare you, others are about letting go, and singing carols in bright and sunny May.

The only thing Dean's sure about is that just about all of it comes down to being free.

#i am drained and this is so much longer than i expected and needs to be edited so bad but it's the sixth #and it's emmy's birthday so happy birthday emmy i offer you FLUFF #as well as hand in my fifth entry a day late ._. sorry #tfw 2.0 #destiel #fluff #dean winchester #dean centric #although i swap to cas pov sorta thing for a few scenes #i think it's understandable #castiel #jack kline #sam winchester #god!jack #spn finale coda #oh also it's okay if this flops i won't even be upset (ill try v hard) i promise #it does lowkey suck like i think i channelled me into musician dean a lot by the end #ok so i'm going to shut up now #its 4 am lmao #spnadventcalendar2020 #bluefirecas #userpris #tearsofgrace #rambleoncas #oh writing my writing

[otonymous]

Kissed By The Baddest CEO (MLQC Victor x KBTBB - NSFW)

Description: Old flames and prospective lovers threaten to derail your budding romance with Victor before it even begins.  How will you extricate yourselves from a web of misunderstandings?

Warnings:

NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Potential Trigger Warnings: profanity, jealousy, angst, exes, mentions of alcohol, bone fetishes, rough sex, 69 sex position (oral sex), mirror sex, vaginal intercourse, swallowing, size kink

Mild spoilers for Victor’s family history (MLQC); slight bending of MLQC & KBTBB canon universes via creation of original side character

Word Count: ~10K words (please set aside a good chunk of time for some fluff, angst and smut 🤣)

Author’s Notes:

First of all, a GIANT thank you to the super gracious @lin-ful​ for commissioning this Victor piece from me.  You are an absolute joy to work with and I really appreciate the fact that you gave me carte blanche to basically do whatever I wanted 🤣  I really hope you enjoy the read!  (P.S. I would never be so sadistic as to ever make you choose between Victor and Eisuke, so please rest easy 😆)

This story is especially significant to me as a writer because it represents the culmination of a number of milestones: the first time I’ve created an original character, my first attempt at writing a crossover story, the first time I’ve written in both first- and second-person perspectives.  It is also the longest single piece I’ve ever written.  That being said, please note the warnings listed above and happy reading! 😊

Nb. This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, and incidents are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1: Hello Diana

“Really Vic, I thought you were beyond name calling by now.”  

Her voice is sultry and low, smooth in your ears like the whiskey in her tumbler.  Completely at ease in a couture Givenchy pantsuit that likely cost more than one of your production budgets, she sat with her legs elegantly crossed in a leather armchair, tipping her glass to vermillion lips.  And as the flames danced in the imposing marble fireplace of one of Shanghai’s oldest and most exclusive supper clubs, they reflected off an enormous ruby ring gracing her middle finger.

Victor scoffs, taking a sip of his own whisky and glancing at you as you follow suit with the virgin cocktail he ordered on your behalf while you were in the restroom.

He was so infuriating at times, but at least it wasn’t warmed milk.

“First of all, you weren’t meant to hear that.  Secondly, I hardly consider ‘dummy’ name calling.  Far worse exists when it comes to options, as I'm sure you can attest to, Diana. You’ve used quite a few in your day.”

Amusement spreads across her fine features as she throws her head back in laughter, the sound enticing even as it disrupts the low chatter in the room.  However, none of the men looking her way seemed to mind.  She was brimming with so much joie de vivre that even you weren’t immune to her charms, smiling despite the anxiety that sat heavy in your chest from the very moment Victor introduced you to Diana Shum that evening.

You didn’t quite know why you felt ill at ease, especially towards someone who was doing you a favour by brokering a major deal on behalf of your company.  Well, more like doing Victor a favour, since he was the one who made the request.  Perhaps this was how all men felt in the presence of such a woman: elegantly confident and unapologetically vivacious, drawing attention everywhere she went.

“Are you still dredging up stories from our Oxford days, Victor?  Not very gentlemanly of you.  How do you put up with him?”  Diana turns to wink at you and the spotlight of her attention makes you feel like the only other person in the room.  “Let me assure you those boys deserved every insult in the book; one-track minds and transparent to boot.  They should consider themselves lucky I even acknowledged their sad existence.”  

“Di, you made the Prime Minister’s son cry.  You should’ve seen those puffy eyes the next morning at the swim meet against Cambridge."  

Victor raises his brows, subtle amusement colouring his expression.  And simple though it was, the sight of his handsome face so transformed by the faint smile on his lips made your heart race.  

No, there’s no way.  It’s probably just the fatigue catching up to you.  The flight to Shanghai from Loveland City must’ve been more taxing than you initially thought, even though Victor had graciously offered to let you hitch a ride on his private jet.  You place a hand on your chest, trying to calm the frenzied rhythm of your heart.  The gesture goes unnoticed by Diana but Victor throws a worried glance in your direction.  You smile to ease his concerns.  He furrows his brows.

“Oh please, I should’ve ripped him a new one with the way he tried to get frisky on our date.  He’s lucky I didn’t call Soryu to deal with him and his wandering hands.”

A sudden change seeps into Victor’s eyes, dark irises softening as if focused on something miles away.  “Soryu.  How is your cousin doing, by the way?”

Diana leans back, taking another sip of her drink.  “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.  I take it you are accompanying this lovely producer to Tokyo to meet with Eisuke and wherever the Ichinomiya heir is, Soryu isn’t far behind.  In all honesty though, Vic, surely you would know better than I.  Weren’t the three of you thick as thieves during prep school?”

You perk up at the topic of Victor’s childhood.  It was a rare chance to learn about the formative years of this stone-faced man before he became the slave driver of Loveland Financial Group.  

“I was only there for a year and a half with Soryu and Eisuke before…before my mother passed.  My father sent for me shortly afterwards.  I haven't seen them since.”

Deep voice trailing off, Victor’s gaze shifts to the fireplace where it remains, as if hypnotized by the flicker of orange flames.  And as the silence stretches on, you become disconcerted to see him so uncharacteristically lost in his thoughts.  You reach out to touch him but Diana beats you to it, laying a delicate hand on top of his much larger one as it rests on the leather armrest.

The gesture is ridiculously small for how much it blindsides you — the sight of her hand on Victor’s dazzling like the light reflecting off her ruby ring.

He blinks at the touch, long lashes fluttering in the split-second it takes for him to compose himself and suddenly, the unflappable CEO is back again.  

“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and we should probably call it a night.  But you have my thanks, Diana, for setting up this meeting with the Ichinomiya Group.”

It was Diana’s turn to scoff.  “Can we please dispense with the formalities, Victor?  Soryu mentioned Eisuke was having difficulty finding the right people to make this documentary on the anniversary of his Tres Spades Tokyo hotel, so it was serendipity that we bumped into each while on business in London.  It’s a win-win situation.  Meant to be.”

Meant to be.

There is a spark of something in Diana’s eyes when she makes that last statement.  It stays with you long after you part ways with Victor for the night, lying awake in your hotel room as you wondered whether the LFG CEO was already asleep in his.

Chapter 2: SOS

“You’re awfully quiet.  Should I take this to mean that you already know everything about Eisuke Ichinomiya and his chain of luxury hotels?"

Victor speaks without raising his head, leafing through the documents on his lap and stopping periodically to leave his signature with the same gold pen that marked up your reports. Its barrel glowed warm, reflecting the soft lights of the cabin of his private jet, en route to Tokyo from Shanghai.

Letting out a shaky breath, you try to steel yourself despite the rising heat in your cheeks.  Because after a night spent tossing and turning in your hotel room, you arrived at a conclusion so absurd it could only be true:  

You were in love with Victor Li.

Against all odds, the bane of your life had become your biggest ally and mentor.  All the pieces of the square puzzle that was the LFG CEO had fallen into place to form one coherent and beautiful picture:

His exacting demands transformed into standards of excellence, his workaholism a paragon of commitment and dedication.

And though you were loathe to admit it, each soft utterance of “dummy” leaving his lips made the corners of yours turn up in the goofiest of grins.

Oh god, how did it ever come to this?!  Where and when along the rocky path of your working relationship with the slave driver did you fall in love with him?  But that wasn’t even the worst of it.  If your intuition about the previous night’s events served you well, the beautiful Diana Shum was also enamoured of him.

You turn to Victor, meaning to inform him with utmost confidence that you had already conducted extensive research on the Ichinomiya Group’s charismatic CEO and his chain of casino hotels.  You even thought to throw in a snarky reminder that he himself had been marginally impressed with the presentation you gave on the topic back in Loveland City.

“Are you close to Diana Shum?”

Was NOT what had you meant to ask.  Especially in a voice that cracked like a 12 year old pubescent boy’s.  And if there was a way by which you could’ve drowned in a bottle of water, you would’ve gladly done so.  Instead, you settle for gulping it down, trying to keep your stupid mouth from spewing more nonsense in front of the man who was your de facto boss.

“Ahem.”  Victor clears his throat, long legs uncrossing as he shifts in his seat.  Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the muscles of that chiseled jaw settling firm.

“I-I’m so sorry.  It’s none of my business.  You don’t have to answer-"

“I’ve known her for a while, if that’s what you’re asking.  She’s a classmate from university and also a cousin of a friend of mine from prep school, as you’ve probably gathered from yesterday’s conversation.  Since graduation, she’s taken over her father’s role as CEO of Shum Property Developments and we’ve partnered periodically on various business ventures…”

He continues and you nod at the appropriate times, half listening as a million thoughts filtered through your head: your surprise at how unusually verbose Victor was being, the relief you felt to see that he was as determined to avoid your gaze as you were his.  Because the truth was that the longer he went on about Diana — so beautiful, polished and charming that you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate her even if you tried — the harder it was to keep the clouds from darkening your face.  And when Victor says,

“Not like it has any bearing on anything now, but we also dated for a short period of time…”

…It hurts to breathe.

Finally turning in your direction, Victor fixes you with a scrutinizing gaze.  “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, um, I just…wanted to know a bit more about the person who helped me and my company.  So I can better thank her later.”

You speak without meeting his eyes, hoping to placate him with a quick smile as you pretend to rummage through your purse.  Thankfully, he drops the topic, returning to his documents.  And though the rest of the plane ride is spent in near silence, the thoughts in your head have never been so loud.

Chapter 3: Sexy Bones [Victor]

She wore that dress today.  The same one she had on when she impudently stormed my office to insist that I give her company a final chance before pulling funding:

Fitted to conform to every curve, yet formal enough to be professional.  Beautifully sensual in her usual understated way.  My favourite shade of red.

“It’s my go-to outfit when I need a confidence boost,” she told me once in between bites of pudding at Souvenir.  “It makes me feel like a queen, like I can do no wrong.  Perfect for business meetings I just have to nail, you know?”

“Dummy,” I had said then, feigning dismissiveness so she wouldn’t pick up on the way my eyes kept drifting towards her lips, so soft and plush I couldn’t help but wonder if her kisses would carry a hint of caramel sweetness.

It was true that the girl could be incredibly dense at times, playing at being queen when she already ruled my heart.  Or how oblivious she was to the fact that the British doctor was completely smitten with her during today’s meeting at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel.

Dr. Luke Foster.

Completely absorbed in reading through what looked to be like a stack of medical journals, Dr. Foster had largely ignored us while Eisuke and Soryu made quick work of introducing the eclectic mix of other associates in the room:

Ota Kisaki, the so-called “Angelic Artist” whose work I was well-acquainted with, having previously spent a small fortune on his painting, Koro of My Kokoro.

Baba Mitsunari, a charming man whose handsome features were made all the more striking by the black fedora and red suit he wore.  The girl pointed out that he bore an uncanny resemblance to the cashier we saw at a convenience store earlier that day and I had to agree.

They glossed over a man named Mamoru Kishi, apparently sound asleep in one corner of the room with his face covered by a newspaper and a full ashtray by his side.

Finally, they came to Luke Foster, a blond-haired man with the air of an English gentleman.  Eisuke explained that Dr. Foster was the hotel’s on-site physician as well as a fellow alumnus of our prep school, apparently having left for reasons no one wanted to articulate the year before I transferred in.

And when the doctor finally looked up at us from his readings, his eyes took on an almost maniacal quality to see the girl standing by my side.

“Those proportions, those angles….perfect…absolutely perfect!”  He exclaimed as if in a daze, standing up suddenly and causing the reading materials to spill from his lap in the process.

He looked completely unhinged, almost like a zombie as he reached out a pale hand towards her collarbones of all places.  I stepped in front of her on reflex, only to have the doctor fix me with a piercing gaze as if he had just become aware of my existence and found it thoroughly offensive.

“Annnnd there he goes again,” Ota’s tone was one of exasperation, but there was no mistaking the amusement in the smirk that spread wide across his face.

“Ooh, Lu’s got a new victim!  Maybe now he can finally stop staring at the Boss’s girl every time she comes in to clean the penthouse!”  Baba chimes in, fingers stroking at his chin as if hatching some mischievous plan.

“Will the lot of ya shaddup!?  I’m tryin’ to sleep over here…zzz…” The man with the papers over his head gave a muffled shout before promptly rolling over onto his side.

Soryu just sighed, running a hand over his face.  And just when I began to worry that the girl was scared out of her wits, having wandered into this strange den of wolves, she surprised me by chuckling under her breath.  

Did the dummy find this funny?

“Tch, ignore them, Victor.  Let’s just get on with the presentation,” Eisuke said as he took his seat at the head of a long table.  The girl straightened up and immediately got to work, transforming into the consummate professional she always was when it came down to business.  I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as I watched her nail her pitch.

Taking a surreptitious glance around at her rapt audience, I stopped at Luke.  The intensity of the doctor's stare made me uneasy, the way those blue-grey eyes hovered above the scooped neckline of her red dress, tracing along her collarbones as if he were caressing them with his gaze alone.  I mentally berated myself for not putting my suit jacket over her shoulders before she got up there.

And though it was spoken under his breath, Dr. Foster’s murmur of “sexy bones” rang loud and clear in my ears.

Chapter 4: In A (Traffic) Jam [Victor]

“Victor, you won’t believe my luck!  Not only did we cinch the Ichinomiya account, I also found the perfect candidate to appear on our Mystery Finder show!”

The girl was practically breathless on the other end of the line, words jumbling together as they came a mile a minute.  And though her enthusiasm is as infectious as it is adorable, I remind myself to play it cool.  “Really.  And who might that be?”

“Dr. Foster!”

HONK!

I swerve back into my lane on reflex, narrowly avoiding an accident as the driver next to me flips me the bird before speeding away.  My heart raced, beating fiercely against the cage of my chest, but it had little to do with my near brush with death.

At this moment, I was more concerned with a man who looked like Death himself.

“Oh my god, Victor, what was that?  Are you okay?”  The concern in her voice is palpable and it makes me think of how kind and tenderhearted she is, of how easily someone could exploit that to their advantage.  “This is a bad time, isn’t it?  I’m so sorry, I’ll call you ba-”

“Don’t worry about it, just some idiot not paying attention on the road.  And what's this about, ahem, Dr. Foster?"  The name itself was unsavoury, sticking in my throat until I spat it out.  I hoped the vitriol escaped her notice.

“Okay Victor, get this: it’s like the man has X-ray vision!”

She whispers for dramatic effect, and my grip tightens on the steering wheel as I picture those slate grey eyes sweeping over the curves of her body, a lewd expression falling over the doctor’s features.  He was a handsome enough man, that much was true; intelligent and a first-rate surgeon according to Eisuke and Soryu.  Goldman confirmed as much when I had him dig up all available information on Luke Foster.  On that basis alone, many women would find him to be an extremely attractive suitor and ludicrous though it is, I can’t help but think the worst.  Luke had been quite open in his admiration of her, especially her collarbones.  What if she returned the sentiment?

In retrospect, it was a horrible idea to leave her to her work (and that wolf) in Tokyo while I returned to mine in Loveland City.  While she had the company of her coworkers, clearly none of them sensed the danger in Luke Foster that I did.  I no longer had the right to call her a dummy when I was obviously the idiot here.

“I’m telling you Victor, he can just look at somebody and tell you everything about their bone structure.  It’s too accurate to just be guesswork!  Apparently, he can remember anyone he's ever laid eyes on based on their bones.  It’s incredible.  I’d love for Professor Lucien to meet him.  If only he had the time to fly out to Tokyo…”

The girl continues and I catch sight of my furrowed brows in the rear-view mirror, deepening the longer she goes on and on about men who weren’t me.

“…He’s already agreed to be a guest on the show!  But…he did make a rather strange request."

For a moment, I can barely breathe.  The skin over my knuckles blanches as it stretches tight, my grip on the wheel growing harder as I brace for unwelcome news.  God knows what she would’ve agreed to in my absence.  Filled with a sense of dread, I had to know all the same.  “Which was?…”

She pauses, the hitch in her breath subtle but speaking volumes nonetheless.

“Just say it, dummy.”  I soften my tone in encouragement though my mind was already racing, thinking of all the ways my legal team could dissolve a contract should the girl have already signed papers.

“Well, he…he asked if he could examine my body in lieu of payment for appearing on the show.  You should’ve seen him!  He was so desperate he was practically begging and I…I just couldn't say no."  

MOTHERFUCK!

Chapter 5: Role Model

“STUPID VICTOR LI!”

You had meant to throw the rolled-up magazine in dramatic rock star fashion, sending it flying across your suite at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel to give at least a resounding smack as it hits the wall.  Instead, it flutters to the carpeted floor, barely a few feet from where you lay sprawled out on a bed much too large for a single person.

And from the surface of that glossy cover, Victor’s handsome face — all sharp eyes and chiseled jaw - staring up at you from beneath a headline that read: "Man On Top: How Victor Li Conquered The Business World.”

Man on top.  What a tease if there ever was one — especially since you’ve developed the recent habit of falling asleep to the fantasy of having the broad expanse of Victor’s muscular chest hovering over you.

“The only thing he should be on top of is ME!”

Your voice echoes in the room, empty save for you.  Even still, your cheeks burned from embarrassment over the absurdity of your current situation.  Victor Li didn’t belong to you.  Not when he had someone like Diana in his life.

Victor and Diana.  Diana and Victor.  A perfect match regardless of how the pieces fit.  And for an instant, your anger flares to remember the nonchalance in Victor’s voice when he told you that their past history as lovers had no bearing on the present, as if they didn’t look like they belonged together when you saw them just now in the lobby of the hotel, moments after you purchased the magazine with Victor’s face gracing the cover from one of the shops.

Practically ecstatic in your surprise to see him there at the Tres Spades, you were just about to call out to him when his name died in your throat, choked by the sight of the woman at his side.  Victor was escorting Diana to a limo waiting just beyond the revolving doors.  And the last thing you saw before the chauffeur pulled away was the two of them slipping into the vehicle together.

He hadn’t even told you he was coming to Tokyo.

It was only after you became aware of the fact that you were blocking the entrance to the shop that you recovered from the shock, murmuring apologies as you pulled yourself together just enough to make your way back to the safety of your hotel room.

Rising up off the bed, your feet sink into the lush carpeting as you pad over to where the magazine lay.  You pick it up and smooth out the crinkles, fingers tracing the outline of Victor’s profile as you do — gentle, as if you were touching the man himself.  And when your nose begins to tingle, you know it won’t be long before you feel the familiar sting of tears behind your eyes.

“Think you could stop being so nice to me, Victor?  You’ll give a girl the wrong impression.”  

Heaving a sigh, you slip the magazine beneath a pillow on the bed.  A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told you it was almost time for your dinner date with Dr. Foster.  Sitting around moping wasn’t an option, at least not tonight.  Lightly slapping your cheeks, you push the image of Victor and Diana out of your head and get ready to step into the shower.

Chapter 6: Hard To Swallow [Victor]

“I’m glad you remembered that you owe me a dinner, Victor Li.  And though I practically had to drag you to this restaurant, I guess the means don’t really matter if the end result is the same.  But still, what a lucky coincidence that we bumped into each other again at the Tres Spades of all places.  Now that’s something to drink to.”

Diana holds up her glass, Cabernet Sauvignon swirling as it meets mine with a delicate clink.  Under the table, the tip of her stiletto pushes against my oxfords before sliding past my ankle, inching its way up my leg.  I pull away, watching those red lips spread into a smile as I do.

“You might be the first man who’s ever been able to resist me.  Has anyone ever told you you’re one stubborn asshole?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She laughs at that, taking another sip of her wine before setting it down.  “So, tell me about her.”

“Her?”  I focus on cutting into my Kobe beef, already aware that Diana will see through my bluff.  She always did.

“Surely there must be another woman if you keep turning me down over and over again, Victor.  A girl has her pride too, you know.”

“We are not getting back together, Diana.”

“Tsk, you’re no fun, Vic.  All work and no play, all the time.  I’ll have to remind myself of that the next time I start entertaining thoughts of calling you up again.”

She pouts, but it isn’t long before her eyes take on that familiar spark of mischief as she continues.  

“But seriously, tell me about your cute little producer.  That is the girl you keep rejecting me for, I presume.  I need to know about the woman who’s finally managed to infiltrate the entirety of Victor Li’s notoriously impenetrable heart.  She must be quite the lover if she’s got you wrapped around her little finger like that, pulling strings with all your friends left, right and centre.”

It annoys me to no end that the mere mention of the girl is enough to reduce me to a swooning idiot.  I fight to keep the smile off my face.

“You’ve got the wrong idea.  She’s not my lover.”  

Diana begins to protest, but her words are lost on me because I’ve stopped listening.  In fact, the only thing I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears, propelled by the adrenaline racing through my veins to see him enter the restaurant.

Dr. Luke Foster.  

WITH MY DUMMY, NO LESS.

And my dummy looks…absolutely gorgeous.  Her hair is done up, leaving her graceful neck and collarbones exposed in a little black dress I’ve never seen her wear before, I realize with not an insignificant amount of jealousy.

But wait…collarbones?!

Sure enough, that surgeon is staring at her clavicle like some kind of pervert.  The sight alone incites the beginnings of a dull throbbing in my temples, no doubt exacerbated by the vice-like clench of my jaws.

I follow them with my gaze as they are led to a table for two; fixate on Luke’s face even as the sommelier arrives to make his recommendations to the pair.  The doctor stares at my girl like he couldn’t care less about the meal, as if the only thing he hungered for was precisely what I myself had desired for so long: the woman.  And she—

Just looked my way.

Surprise etches itself onto her beautiful features — the brows I had dreamt of one day lightly running a fingertip over while she sleeps lifting into a delicate arch.  And why shouldn’t she be surprised?  I had given her no indication that I had rushed over to Tokyo from Loveland City as soon as I heard what Luke had requested of her.  

But there is no nod of acknowledgement, no smile in greeting.  Just her, looking away as if she hadn’t seen me at all, her smile apologetic when she retrains her attention on the doctor.  And while it was only for a fraction of a second, I could have sworn her eyes carried a hint of sorrow.

Or perhaps I’m projecting.

Because her obvious avoidance feels like a rebuff, a sucker punch to the gut.  She’s never blatantly ignored me like that, no matter how wound up she was even during those times when I verbally tore her sub-par proposals to shreds.  The feeling of rejection sits heavy on my chest, the tie around my neck much too tight.

“Victor, are you all right?”

Diana’s voice cuts through my thoughts.  She is looking at me curiously.  I reach for my glass of wine, suddenly feeling like I was on the verge of choking.  “Of course, what could possibly be wrong?”

“ ‘What’s wrong’ is the fact that you haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said for the past ten minutes.  Even if there’s no chance we’ll ever get back together again as you so adamantly insist, the least you could do is pay attention to the person you’re sharing a meal with.”

I take a deep breath, more than a little disconcerted by the girl’s ability to affect me.  “Of course.  My apologies, you’re absolutely right.  Please, continue.”

Across the candlelit table, I look Diana in the eye, resolved to keep up at least the pretence of being interested in what she had to say when all I wanted to do was storm the table where Luke sat with my girl.  With each sideways glance in their direction, my grip tightened on my utensils to see them chatting, seemingly engrossed in the world’s most interesting conversation.

And when she hands over a manila envelope to the doctor, my heart skips a beat.

Could it be…marriage documents?!

One tiny corner of my brain berates me for how ridiculous I am being but when it comes to her, I simply can’t help it, and the fantasy in which I casually stroll over, flip the table onto Luke Foster and steal my girl away in a bridal carry becomes so vivid in my mind’s eye, it almost seems like a good idea.

Diana excuses herself to use the restroom and I pounce on the opportunity to send the dummy a text:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR.  DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 7: Choked Up

“Is there something wrong, Dr. Foster?  You haven’t touched your meal.”

You do your best to school your expression into one of polite neutrality as you take in the strange sight of the pale, blond-haired man shaking out an alarming number of pills onto the palm of his hand, tapping loudly on a bottle seemingly produced out of nowhere.  He pops them all into his mouth at once and you pray you won’t have to perform the Heimlich maneuver as he chases them down with a few gulps of water.

A smile spreads across the doctor’s lips as his eyes fall upon your collarbones once more.  You were used to feeling like a third wheel by now, even when alone with Luke Foster, given his penchant for carrying on conversations while staring intently at your bones.  But you took no offence at his behaviour, especially after Baba’s attempts to give you insight into Luke’s peculiar mannerisms:

“Try not to take it personal, Miss.  Lu will look at anyone who’s got beautiful collarbones.  It’s a well-known fact that he’s obsessed with the boss’s - he's even framed the X-ray films of Eisuke’s bones.  He likely just wants yours to add to his collection.”

Strange though it was, the request that Luke be allowed to have X-rays films of your collarbones in exchange for appearing on Miracle Finder was innocent enough.  Certainly nothing that warranted the stony silence you received on the other end of the line when you called Victor the other day to tell him that Dr. Foster wanted to examine you.  After a brusque “I have to go,” he had hung up.  No goodbyes, not even a mutter of “dummy.”  

But Luke Foster had been nothing short of a perfect gentleman, never once laying a hand on you.  Moreover, he even insisted on paying for tonight’s meal despite the fact that you had invited him as thanks for appearing on the show.  

“Please, just call me Luke.  Vitamins and water are all I need to survive.  I only ordered because Eisuke said it might be awkward if you seemed to be the only one dining.”

“I-I see.”  You smile, taking another bite of wagyu.  And for a moment, you are too wrapped up in the blissful way it seemed to melt on your tongue to be disconcerted by the strange events of the evening.

You weren’t, however, too distracted to continue throwing surreptitious glances in Victor’s direction, fighting to keep composed each time Diana’s laughter carried over to your table.  What were the chances that you’d find yourselves at the same restaurant in all of Tokyo?  You know that he knows you are here; even Chik couldn’t put on a performance convincing enough for the LFG CEO to believe for a second that you didn’t see him.

With your dismal acting skills, you definitely didn’t stand a chance.

“You’re in love with him.”

COUGH, COUGH!

You clear the steak lodged in the back of your throat with a few hacking coughs, half of your face hidden behind your napkin as you tried to be as discreet as possible, the words “Death by Wagyu” flashing through your mind.  After soothing your throat with a sip of wine, you ask:

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re in love with that man sitting just over there with the woman dressed in red.  That Victor fellow who accompanied you to that first meeting with Eisuke.”

For someone who seemed to pay very little attention to matters that didn’t concern bones, Luke Foster was surprisingly perceptive.  Or maybe you weren’t as discrete as you thought you were and it was obvious to all but yourself that you were staring at the golden couple.

“I…how did you...what makes you—”

“Please pass this message on to him for me.  If he doesn’t treat your collarbones with the respect they deserve, he can’t blame me for swooping in to take his place.”

Then, for the very first time that night, Luke Foster looks you in the eye, the intensity in blue-grey irises making your breath hitch when he says: “Until then, I hope you find happiness with him, Sexy Bones — especially since he also seems to be exceedingly fond of you.  Quite the annoyance, really.”

And for the very first time that night, you smile freely, naturally, at Luke, blushing hard as you contemplate his words.  Suddenly bashful, you drop your gaze only to catch sight of the manila envelope you brought with you.  You pass it across the table to him.

“Here.  Your payment for agreeing to appear on Miracle Finder.”

The expression on Luke’s face can best be described as euphoric when he takes the films from you, momentarily excusing himself from the table as he murmurs something about requiring brighter lighting to examine them.

That is when you hear the buzz of your phone from inside your purse.  And when you finally fish it out, you see a single text from Victor, commanding as always:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR.  DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 8: Green-Eyed Monsters [Victor]

“Another whiskey on the rocks for you, Sir?”

I nod to the bartender, watching as he chips away at a block of ice to produce a perfect crystalline sphere — still spinning in the glass when he pours the amber spirit over it like a libation.  It almost takes my mind off the fact that the girl is late.  By exactly ten minutes, according to my watch.  And for a moment, I’m gripped by a sense of panic when I consider the possibility that she might not come.

She never did answer my text though I knew she saw it — having witnessed her reaching into her purse to pull out her phone seconds after I sent the message.  And while the logical part of my brain is telling me I’m being an absolute idiot, worst-case scenarios are already running through my head: the girl is side-swiped by a car while crossing the street, or somehow managed to fall into an open manhole and is currently standing knee-deep in sewage.

Or maybe she is pinned to the wall in a dark corner somewhere, hemmed in on either side by the gifted hands of a world-class surgeon by the name of Luke Foster.

I lift the glass to my lips, too impatient to even savour the smooth burn of the drink as I reach for my phone to send her another text.  That is when I see her:

Cheeks flushed and chest gently heaving as if she had rushed to get here.  An errant lock of hair falling from her up-do, framing that beautiful face like I had dreamt so many times of doing with the palm of my hand.

She makes her way towards me in that dimly lit bar, and though I’m aware of the faint ticking of the second hand of my watch, time may as well have stood still.  Because I could have lived in that moment forever, gazing upon the light in her eyes as if they held every last star in the sky, as if those heavenly bodies had fallen just for her in precisely the same way I had: deeply, irrevocably.

And I know there is no turning back.

“Victor, sorry I’m late!  What are you doing here in Tok—”  

“Why did you ignore me?”  My voice comes out stern, even to my ears, and I curse myself for losing my cool around her yet again.  The girl furrows her brows, eyes dropping from my face to the half-empty glass of whiskey sitting on the counter.  And when she looks up again, something in her countenance has changed — soft surprise giving way to a hardened expression.

“If it’s the text you’re referring to, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

She looks away, refusing to meet my gaze as she perches on the stool beside me.  “Surely you wouldn’t have wanted me to interrupt your dinner date, especially when you and Ms. Shum seemed so intimate.”

Intimate?

The bartender approaches, interrupting our conversation before I get the chance to formulate a reply.  “What can I get for you, Miss?”

“She’ll have a glass of warmed milk—”

“Whiskey.  On the rocks, please.”

She speaks over me, turning slightly in my direction as she does.  I ignore the murmur of “Ladies’ choice” from the bartender as well as the smirk on his face as he begins preparing her drink.  The thinly veiled challenge in the girl’s expression — elbow propped up on the counter with her chin resting atop a loose fist — only serves to highlight how incredibly alluring it is when she pushes back.

“Hmm.  Bold.  Since when did you start drinking whiskey?  I don’t think you need me to remind you of your non-existent alcohol tolerance.  Besides, didn’t you already have enough to drink at dinner?”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Victor Li,” she says, reaching for the glass the bartender sets down before her.  She takes a moment, staring at the rich, golden hues before finally taking a sip.  I fight to keep the smile off my face when hers pulls into a grimace from the sting of the alcohol she clearly wasn’t familiar with.  Dummy.

“I’m surprised you even noticed me at all, not with the lovely Diana there.  But I guess old wounds really do have difficulty closing, no matter how much we say they’ve healed.”

“You’d have to ask for the expert opinion of your overly friendly doctor about that.”

“Excuse me?”  She sets her drink down a bit harder than likely intended, sending the liquid sloshing about the glass to kiss the pink of her lipstick imprinted on its edge.  

I don’t like where this conversation is going, the ill-disguised barbs only serving to increase the tension between us.  It was foolish to have what should’ve been a very private discussion in a public space but, as always, the thought of her and Luke together is enough to make me forget my place and position, throwing caution to the wind and behaving with reckless abandon.

And still, the heat beneath my collar goads me on.

“Luke Foster.  The one you’re so enthralled with that your manners seem to have been completely swept from memory.  I presume that’s the reason why you didn’t acknowledge my existence when you saw me in the restaurant.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief as she leans in close, voice dripping with sarcasm: “Just like how you didn’t remember to tell me you were coming to Tokyo?  Or maybe you weren’t planning on telling me at all, since it clearly looked like you weren’t here on business.  But then again, I guess your business is none of mine.”

I don’t know whether I want to push back or kiss her senseless.

Instead, I settle for a deep breath, trying to keep my frustration in check.  Having a heated argument with her was not how I had intended my evening to go.  In fact, my entire day had not proceeded as planned, and if I hadn’t been accosted by Diana as soon as I stepped foot in the Tres Spades hotel, I would have been having dinner with the woman who occupied all my thoughts, all the time.  At the very least, I could’ve saved her from the clutches of a pervert doctor.

I glance in her direction, study the beautiful melancholy of her silent profile as she watches the ball of ice slowly melt into her drink.  Then I take another sip of mine, steeling myself for reparations I desperately needed to make.

“I am only going to say this once, so listen closely.  Diana Shum and I dated shortly after graduation for all of two months before we decided to part ways on amicable terms.  We make for much better business partners than we ever did romantically, and while she has expressed occasional interest in rekindling our relationship, I have never been of the same mind.  I can assure you this will never change.

“The reason I came to Tokyo is not because of her — professional or otherwise — but because I was in a rush to prevent a certain dummy from doing anything she’d regret later on.  But…”

I knock back the rest of my whiskey, emptying the glass.

“…I’m afraid I’m too late.”

She looks at me now, eyes wide as if she were still processing the words.  Her next question comes on a whisper: “Why would you be too late?”

And it is my turn to look away.  

“Well, you seemed to be pretty intimate yourself with Dr. Foster during your dinner date.  I can only presume that…”

The girl moves closer and I can’t help the way my eyes are drawn to her mouth — the tremble of her lower lip, full and pink and lush.  Without thought, I allow my gaze to trace along the graceful column of her neck, settling at the delicate notch between her collarbones and in that instant, I come to a visceral understanding of the extent of Luke Foster’s obsession, for mine was magnified a million times over:

I yearned for the entirety of this woman before me — needed her for myself, now and forever.

“Presume what?”  Her voice is low, shaking.

“I can only presume that you’ve already allowed him to…examine your body.”

There is a moment of silence — each torturous second seeming to stretch into eternity to smother the last embers of hope.

“I have…”

Oh god.

“…given him X-ray films of my collarbones as he requested.  That is all.  He’s never touched me, not even once.  I took him out to dinner tonight so I could give them to him as thanks for appearing on the show.”

Petty.  Sheepish.  I felt all these things, but none so powerful as the staggering sense of relief that washes over me to hear her say these words.  Closing my eyes, I let the revelation sink in, finally feeling like I can breathe for the very first time that night.

Chapter 9: The Big Bang

You don’t quite know what made you do it.  

The ambience of the bar, perhaps: sultry jazz and flickering candles purposefully placed to create just enough shadows for a veil of privacy.

Or maybe it was the crestfallen uncertainty that painted the handsome features of Victor Li’s face, his sudden display of vulnerability both novel and endearing.

Most likely however, it was the way in which his downcast expression morphed into one of ecstatic relief when you told him that Luke Foster had not laid a single finger on you.

Because when Victor tilts his head back, eyes closed and sighing deeply as if some unfathomable burden had been lifted, you cannot help but bring your lips to the Adam’s apple bobbing along the length of that strong, thick neck.

Cedar wood and pine.  

The notes of his cologne are so familiar you didn’t realize how much you missed his scent until you literally came face to face with it.  Victor is warm, so very warm beneath the skin of your lips.  And under your touch, you become vaguely aware of the fact that the rise and fall of his chest has stilled.

At any other time, you would’ve questioned your sanity for how boldly you were behaving, especially towards someone who was your boss.  You had never been one to put yourself out there when it came to matters of the heart.  Something about the moment however, about Victor, made you feel like the one thing you could not do was let this chance pass you by.

So when you hear that shuddering breath, feel the faint scratch of his five o’clock shadow when he nuzzles against you in return, you know you’ve made the right gamble.  Being with Victor Li feels right.  And the surreal sense of belonging you find within the embrace of his muscular arms gives you the courage to say, “You must really believe I’m a dummy if you think I’d let any man other than you touch me.”

He slides a finger beneath your chin, gently lifting until all you can see are those jet black eyes, swimming with heat and emotion.  The sudden silence of your surroundings sinks in: no more music, no idle chatter.  Not even the rustle of limbs moving about in the dimly lit bar.  And there, in the strange privacy of suspended time…

...Victor kisses you.

                        *                                     *                                      *

“Are you sure…this is…what you want?”

The deep timbre of Victor’s voice sends a thrill vibrating along the surface of your skin as he questions you between kisses — laid on your mouth, the line of your jaw, the pulse of your neck.  His firm body presses you into a corner of the elevator, empty save for the two of you writhing in unison against a mirrored wall.

Each movement of his soft lips against yours is purposeful, imbued with meaning: longing in the gentle teeth that nibbled on your lower lip before drawing it into his mouth, in the sensual slide of the tongue that sought yours.  Affection obvious in the hands that rose to cup your face, thumbs tracing circles on the apples of reddened cheeks to tell you in no uncertain terms that Victor Li belonged to you as much as you yearned to belong to him.

So you had no qualms about answering in the affirmative, nodding your head because the press of Victor’s muscular thigh between your legs already left you breathless and wondering whether he could feel your wet heat seeping through your panties.

And all he really did was kiss you.

Ding.

The elevator stops at your floor and even before the doors slide open, Victor has hoisted you up, wrapping your legs tightly about his tapered waist and whispering into your ear, “Which room?”

You knew Victor was fit, had seen him move fast and effortlessly through the waters of his Olympic-sized swimming pool that one time he had you deliver a report to his mansion on a Sunday.  And yet, you could not help but admire the sheer perfection of his physique — the bulk of his biceps, flexed beneath strained layers of clothing; the ease with which he carries you all the way to your suite.

And when he sits you down upon the king-sized bed, you wonder if it is, in fact, too small for all the things you cared to do with him.

The LFG CEO shrugs off his suit jacket, loosening his tie just enough to pull it over his head before dropping to kneel at your feet.  You watch him reach for you, shiver when he caresses the sensitive skin behind your knee with a light graze of gentle fingertips.  Large hands trail down your calf — touch barely there and teasing — until his palm finally cups the heel of your stiletto to slide it off your foot.

He looks up at you then, the intensity in ebony irises rendering you still and mute as you patiently await his next move despite the frenzied pounding in your chest.  There is a stroke of something almost feral in the dark depths of the gaze that falls heavy upon you — searching your eyes, lingering on your lips…tracing the neckline of your dress.

“I’ve never seen you wear this dress before.”  Victor says, taking the same amount of care to remove the shoe from your other foot.

And if you were able to think straight under the influence of his touch — the hands that pushed back the hem of your dress as they roamed higher and higher up your thighs towards your heat — you might have found it strange that Victor was choosing now, of all times, to comment on your wardrobe choices.  As it was, you answered without second thought: “It’s new.  I bought it especially for tonight’s dinner.”

Victor stills and when he speaks again, there is a faint tremble in that voice, as if fighting to contain some unfathomable emotion.  

“The doctor couldn’t stop staring at you.  I know because I was the same way.  I couldn’t look away from the moment you stepped foot in that restaurant.”

The revelation leaves you silent, waiting with bated breath for Victor to continue.

“Forgive me…”

Fingers entwine with fabric, gripping tight.

“…but I can’t stand the thought of you looking so beautiful for anyone else.”

RRRIIIIPPPP!

You fall back, wincing at the sound even as you feel your body respond to the sudden shock of having your dress torn right down the middle.  Victor’s display of brute strength was so at odds with the façade of composure he was synonymous with and yet, there was no denying that you were incredibly aroused by this show of power — by the fact that he was now straddling you on all fours like some wild beast, tearing away the rest of your undergarments to leave you completely bare.

You’ve never been so desperate to feel him inside you, deep and rough and untamed.  The thought throws you into a frenzy of lust.

Digging your fingers into the front of his dress shirt, you yank it open to send buttons flying in haphazard directions, but the only thing that concerned you was the sight of that broad chest and muscular torso, so impressive it actually elicits a moan from your lips and a smile from his in return.

Propping yourself up onto your knees, you press against him, flesh to flesh — one hand running over the burning surface of his skin even as the other tugs at the buckle of his leather belt, impatiently moving to palm him when his dress pants fall and gasping to finally see and feel the full extent of the LFG CEO:

Victor Li is rock hard and intimidatingly large.

And the sight makes your mouth water.

Sinking onto your heels, you trail your lips along Victor’s chiseled body, tongue teasing at his nipples as you do and relishing the catch of his breath in his throat.

But just as you begin to lay kisses along the deep V of his abdomen with the intent of tracing lower and lower, Victor stops you, puling you up for a kiss before laying back on the bed and positioning you above him…

…with his face between your legs.

“This way,” he says, voice muffled, and you might have commented on his inability to relinquish control even in the bedroom were it not for the sensation of his flattened tongue sweeping hot and wet along the seam of your already dripping pussy, teasing from end to end.

The sensation is so intense it’s almost unbearable.  You throw your head back, mouth dropping in a silent scream as you sink onto Victor’s face, fighting the instinct to grinder lower onto that talented tongue despite the encouraging grip of Victor’s hands, strong on your hips and thighs.

“I’ve wanted to taste you…for so long,” he murmurs, sucking the swell of your clit into his mouth and humming in approval against moist flesh to hear you moan above him.  “Your flavour is absolutely exquisite.”

Gathering your wits, you fold forward — intent on giving just as much pleasure as you were receiving.  Victor twitches once within your grip, not quite contained by the circumference of your palm and fingers, running up and down the sizeable length of his cock, hot in your hand like his breath on your slit.  And after placing a few wet kisses on the smooth, hard head, you open your mouth to taste him.

The tepid salt of his arousal.  The groans originating from deep within Victor’s chest each time your lip brushed past the tender underside of his cock.  The subtle rhythm of his pelvis, lifting in time to your mouth swallowing more of that solid shaft, quickly becoming slick with your saliva.

And then you catch sight of your reflection in the mirrored closet.  See the bulge of Victor’s bicep as he grips your hip, the flex in the muscles of his neck when he lifts to bury his face deeper into your folds.  See yourself: hair disheveled and eyes half-lidded, drunk on sex.  Observe the messy smear of your lipstick as your mouth stretches to accommodate more and more of your boss’s cock.  And when the tip of Victor’s tongue begins its relentless tease of your clit, you watch as a most debauched expression falls over your features, the tension in your body breaking as you find release on his lips.

You are still shaking when he enters you, sensitized by an orgasm that left tiny sparks of electricity running along every nerve, priming you for second helpings.  A true paragon of patience, Victor Li takes his time, deliberately slow as he pushes — savouring the sensation of drenched, swollen flesh parting just for him.

It was almost unfathomable that you could experience such extreme pleasure, each powerful swing of Victor’s hips driving him deeper into your body — hitting just the right angles until your very senses were extracted along with your second release of the night, running slick between your legs to ease the slippery slide of your bodies.

It draws out Victor’s own, your lover moving to pull out moments before you surprise him by taking him once more into your mouth — gaze locked onto those dark eyes from below as you taste him on your tongue, euphoric to see him bite his lips when your lick yours to swallow every last drop.

Chapter 10: Pillow Talk

Beep Beep Beep Beep.

You roll over, eyes still closed as you reach out to hit the snooze button on the alarm clock.

Except your palm comes down on warm flesh with a resounding smack, echoing throughout your hotel room and accompanied by a deep voice that says, “Are you finally awake, Dummy?”

Your eyes shoot open to see Victor lying naked in bed next to you, a splotch of red blooming on his chest where he had been attacked.  He sets his phone down to hand you a glass of water from the bedside table, and even though memories of the previous night come rushing back to burn your cheeks, you cannot help but notice how glorious he looks bathed in morning light.  You hope he doesn’t see the way your hand shakes when you accept the glass from him with a meek “Thanks.”

Victor clears his throat, waiting for you to finish drinking before he says, “That was the fourth time you slept through the alarm.  I’ve already informed your colleagues you’ll be taking the day off.  We didn’t get much sleep last night and I think you’ll need some time to…recover.”

You bite your lip, turning sideways to feign a sudden interest in the curtains so he wouldn’t see the giant smile spreading onto your face.  It was almost surreal that Victor Li was your lover, and if it weren’t for the exquisite soreness you felt between your legs, you would’ve been hard pressed to believe it for yourself.

The sheets rustle and before you know it, Victor has his chest pressed up against your bare back, laying a soft kiss on your shoulder before he rests his chin on it.

“How are you feeling?”  He asks.

“Okay.  Pretty good, actually.”  It was too early in the game to tell him you were already doing cartwheels in your mind.

“Good.  I’m glad to hear that because I found this under your pillow…”

He places something in your hands.  Your eyes widen when you recognize the magazine with his face on the cover.

“…And this ‘man on top’ wants to know what it feels like to have this woman on top of him for the rest of the day.”

You’ve made it to the end! 🤩 Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚 

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mr love dream date #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc smut #mlqc victor smut #mlqc fanfic #kbtbb #kissed by the baddest bidder #kbtbb luke foster #kbtbb eisuke #kbtbb soryu #kbtbb ota #kbtbb baba #kbtbb mamoru #crossover fic #fanfiction #my writing #commissions #elex #voltage

[allyvampirelass29]

Goodnight, Chris McQueen

A NOS4A2 Review By: Allyssa J. Watkins

I love you, Brat I hope you know that....... My biggest fear was becoming my old man Drinkin', philanderin', livin' for nothin' I wanted so much more for my little girl But Babe, I'm just like him A haunted soldier That never came back from the war I tried so hard to make you laugh Just so you didn't see me cryin' Funny names, and stupid jokes I guess, don't band-aid the holes Punched through the walls and in Your mother's heart Jesus, maybe this dad thing Was a cosmic hoax right from the start I love you like a big dog I'd die twice just to give you a hug Before I go, I want you to know I'm proud of my kid I could never do what you did It's like you told your ma You're made of steel, Vic You threw the bottle away You sure as hell didn't need me But you let your broken down dad save the day I ain't half the hero to you though As you are to Wayne Give 'em HELL, Babe Fight the good fight Don't cry over me I won't die as I lived A good for nothin' It's gonna mean somethin' I gotta believe Don't stay here, Brat, trapped in my death scene Remember the good stuff, when they say "Goodnight, Chris McQueen."

In the words of the illustrious Linda McQueen........ "Holy HELL." It's been days, and I've been in a morose fog, only just now emerging, shaking and fighting the tears, even as I write this, half numb, and half agony. I'm shocked, dismayed, and altogether fragile. The second I saw that this episode was going to be called, "Chris McQueen," I couldn't have been more thrilled, and my heart soared, excited! Chris McQueen has SHINED this season, our own resident white knight, slaying Vic's demons, both of the vice, and supernatural variety. It was no mistake, or random shuffle of fate, that her magic bridge led her back to her dad. He's been a gun-wielding, bomb-making, godsend!!! He helped her quit drinking, heartbroken that his little girl had inherited his disastrous coping mechanisms, refusing to let it drown her the way it did him. He's fought at her side, let her lean on him, he's become her safe place. He's given her the best advice about fighting for Lou, choosing her family, and oh yeah, he SINGLEHANDEDLY took on Bing Partridge, not just once, but TWICE!!!

If NOS4A2 has a CHAMPION, a dark horse in the game, it's hands down Chris McQueen. If anyone is deserving of their own personal, entitled episode, it's the vindicated father who did the work, fought like HELL for his redemption, made himself a better person for his daughter. That rush of flooding joy, cooled to wary concern, and hesitant dread, however, when I realized....... This honour could be his final tribute.......

Don't kill Chris McQueen........ I pleaded over and over in my mind, the frantic cry, resounding, even as I pressed play. I hadn't been able to shake that sinister, creeping feeling all day, and when we opened onto Chris at a funeral, my relief flooded in, graciously thankful to see him alive!!! Wait, he looked younger, like WAY younger, even younger than the first season, and oh my god, hold on, whose funeral is this!? Someone died........ my stomach knotting again, trying to figure out who, and we realize that this is Chris, decades ago, speaking at his Dad's funeral.

I loved, and I mean LOVED this opener. It's just so beautifully real, and one hundred percent Chris McQueen, as he muses about his father's life, and his own, and how the two came to mirror each other. He's funny, irreverent, vulnerable, and by the end, absolutely heartbreaking. It's a searing portrait of a broken man, and everything that caused his life to fracture, every death, that made him wish he was never born.

"When I came back from the gulf, I finally understood why he was pissed off all the time, because he knew there was no reason for him to born, and that nobody was going to give a shit when he died."

Chris' voice cracks, and my eyes sting, because I feel it, his greatest fear, and I know he's not just talking about his father, he's talking about himself, effectually delivering his own eulogy, and again I implored the fates...... Don't kill Chris McQueen.

Aaaaaaaaah, and HELLO Baby Vic!!! Oh my gosh, she's so precious, about eight years old, frowning as her father speaks, huddled close to her mother, and then when Chris becomes too overwhelmed with his anger and emotions to go on, tearing out of the church, she frantically chases after him, calling for him!!! Even then, she was her daddy's girl!!! Once again, I must COMMEND NOS4A2 for choosing the perfect miniature of our badass leading lady, because this girl is the very IMAGE of Ashleigh, and it was such a joy to see her fierce features, and resolve, in a dear little face!!! More Baby Vic, PLEASE!!!

Flashforward to the present day, and Team McQueen is ready and raring to hit the road. I loved this entire scene. The love between her and Lou as she tells him goodbye, and says, "I'm going to go get our boy." An achingly beautiful moment, these two give me life, and have become my FAVOURITE couple on the show!!! I may have been purely Team Drew Butler, Season One, but now I can't imagine our beautiful badass without her Teddy Bear Man, and I ship McCarmody so freaking hard!!! Vic revs the Triumph's engine, testing it, gearing up with her Dad, and it hits me....... She doesn't have to hide it, sneak away to go do her Creative Hero thing, he accepts her for exactly who she is, believes in her gift enough to go with her. For the first time..... Vic McQueen isn't riding alone........

Linda is an absolute rollicking delight, emphatic in her protest, and I have just come to LOVE her so much!!! "I don't know about this Vicki, taking explosives across a magical bridge IN THE RAIN!!!!" God BLESS this woman, she's so maternal here, and I love it, I see how much she's changed, becoming this mother and ex wife even, that isn't afraid to express her feelings and doubts, no longer shackled by the fear that she's destined to be alone.

"You're my only kid, Vicki, My Baby."

"You know me, Ma, made of steel, remember?"

Awwwwww oh my gosh, so freaking CUTE, and for the first time, they feel like a real family, The McQueen Clan on a Mission, slaying psychotic kidnappers, and rescuing lost children, becoming the family business. Linda's still unsure, hurrying after Chris and Vic, still thinking they're both CRAZY, when she sees it for the first time....... Her eyes widen impossibly, as a rickety, wooden, covered bridge, appears on the street in front of them, and her reaction is EVERYTHING we've been waiting for, I found myself, leaping off the couch, cheering as she says it. "Holy HELL!!!"

Chris' childlike wonder, as he looks up into the dark eves, and watches the bats flutter, the Triumph roaring through the beams of breaking light, weaving in and out of shadow, is such a joy to behold. He believed in it, believed in her, even without seeing, and it means that much more to Vic, you can tell. It's also symbolic, Vic sharing her world with her father, bringing him into her inscape, fighting the good fight TOGETHER, both soldiers. I loved it, every second.

Surprise, surprise, when they roll up to the junkyard, Bing Partridge isn't dead, because some cockroaches just won't DIE!!!! Like an AVENGING ANGEL, Chris McQueen is all of us, flying off that bike, and assailing Bing with murderous fury, backhanding his stupid face with the gun, over and over, impaling him deeper with the protruding rod, and I swear, I wanted to run to him, and HUG him so tightly, so freaking PROUD!!!! THANK YOU, CHRIS MCQUEEN!!!

"Where is he, you SICK, Son of a BITCH!?!?"

"HE CAN'T HELP US IF HE'S DEAD!!!!!"

Vic screams at her father, angrily chastising this good and proper beating that has been a LONG time coming!!!! I'm sorry, isn't that how ANY sane person would react to a sadistic, murdering, rapist whose made their life a LIVING HELL!? What gives, Victoria!? Chris falls back, as confused as I was, and then shakes his head, as he apologizes vehemently, which Vic is having none of. She's AWFUL to her father from this moment forward, rude and spiteful, blaming him for everything, and as much as I love the girl, in this unjust punishment, she REALLY lives up to her nickname, Brat.

This Kids Glove approach to Bing Partridge is MADDENING enough to make me PSYCHOTIC!!! BING. IS. EVIL. Say it with me, NOS4A2!!!! It's like they are hellbent on redeeming the ONE character that is beyond saving, a man that even God, himself, would look at reviled, and say, "Get thee behind me, SATAN!!!" Last week they failed, first through the deus ex machina epiphany, and then through the attempted murder/suicide, so they tried even harder, using a meeker approach, making him say manipulative propaganda like, "I wish I'd never met Mr. Manx, because then Vic McQueen would still be my friend." and "I'm all alone in here, and it's really scary." Ughhhh somebody, anybody, put us out of our misery, and put one right between his beady little rat bastard eyes.

I almost understand Tabitha's need to keep things professional, and speak to Bing, in a reassuring way that reaches his simple, monosyllabic mind. I get that beating the living hell out of him like he so obviously deserves isn't an option for her, but this man is a HEINOUS criminal, who's kidnapped kids, drugged and raped their mothers, KILLED both of his parents, not to mention TORTURED Charlie within an inch of his life, only just last week!!!! But by ALL MEANS, Vic, go HOLD HANDS WITH HIM, and see if that will help get your son back!!!! Cringe.

I HATED this, so, so, SO much!!! Bing was her friend, he betrayed her, violated the trust between them, became her worst nightmare, shot at her, traumatized her, duct-taping her to a chair, she should HATE him, despise the sight of him far more than Charlie Manx!!! I CRAVED a reckoning, even if it was just a verbal assault. But no, instead, Vic decides to play nice, and I get that most of it was an act to convince him to help her get her son back, but I could also feel NOS4A2's misguided hand in her actions. Look, see, even Vic can find the good in Bing!!!! Sigh. Not gonna lie, I was going to scream bloody murder if she said she forgives him!!!

Good Cop pays off, however, and Bing, desperate for Vic's forgiveness, reveals there is one more stop before Christmasland, one last chance to grab Wayne, when he gets out of the Wraith at Sleigh House to hang his ornament. It's a dawning revelation, intel quintessential to their success, and for once they know where Charlie is going to be, before he gets there, and can lay a trap for him and his indestructible car. I hate the way they arrived at the information though, I'd have much preferred to see Bing suffer for his sins, and the whole interaction is just so laughably implausible. I will say this however, there was a rather BEAUTIFUL line in this scene that Bing couldn't begin to deserve, but I LOVED it all the same. "I miss the person I thought you were." My god, that's powerful.

"Chris McQueen," is a STELLAR episode, full of beautiful lines like this, including my FAVOURITE thing that Maggie has EVER said to Vic, which perfectly exemplifies their eccentric friendship!!! "I'd shank a thousand assholes for your mopey ass!!!" YES!!! I LOVE THAT SO MUCH!!! I will say though, that I was SHOCKED at how cool Vic was with Maggie's scary new trick of hurting herself to use her powers, sans seizures. I thought she was going to kick her butt for that!!! I'm really worried, Guys, this is a dangerous addiction, that's going to be the hardest one yet for Mags to quit!!! The break-up with Tabitha was bittersweet, but it did not come as a shock to me. They'd been drifting apart for awhile now, and I feel like Maggie was so scared of losing her, that she was afraid to be herself. "I want to live in the real world all the time." For me, that was the nail in the coffin, having only heard it about a thousand times myself. Maggie will always be living in two worlds, and whoever she's with MUST accept that. They love each other, yes, but they just want different things. I do respect Tabitha so much for not demanding that Maggie give up her tiles, threatening to leave her if she didn't. She'd rather let Maggie go be herself, be happy, than try to stifle her, shove her into that hateful, constricting little box called normal.

Vic continues to be petty, and spiteful towards her father, treating him WAY too harshly, punishing him, when he's done nothing but fight for her, a literal action HERO, avenging Wayne, and kicking ASS!!! It hurt my soul, and I could see the pain in his eyes, thinking he'd failed her, apologizing again, just wanting her forgiveness. The second scene at the McQueen house is a far less fuzzy one, as she forbids her father to come with her, placing all the blame of every bad thing that's happened thus far on his shoulders, and she cuts him with razor edged words, saying the worst thing that she could have possibly said in that moment, something truly unforgivable, that I already know she will spend the rest of her life, regretting.

"I lived eight years of my life without you, Dad, and I can just as easily do it again." She sneers, and even Linda stares, aghast. "Vicki, no, you don't mean that!!!"

I felt the pangs in my heart, stunned that she could be that vicious to her own father, after all he's done for her, getting sober, changing his whole life, hell, getting HER sober!!! Linda is again so adorable, insisting she take Chris with her, like "Vicki let your father play on your magical bridge, if he wants!!!" not wanting him to feel left out, and while I want more father/daughter explosive awesomeness, I'm conflicted whether or not he should go. If he stays here...... he's safe. Eventually Linda's persuasion wins out. "Don't let your anger towards your father, keep you from getting back Wayne." With a frustrated sigh, Vic shoves a black helmet in Chris' hands, and we're off to the races again. "Bring them home," Linda whispers sweetly, embracing him tight, and as they hug, I get the most sinking feeling that it's for the last time. Dont...... Don't kill, Chris Mcqueen.

Vic and Chris work in silence, once they get to the charred foundation of Sleigh House in Colorado, burying the handmade bombs, and finally Chris can't take it anymore. "Is this how you want it, Brat?" He asks her, heartbroken, and Ashleigh's acting is PHENOMENAL, as she breaks down and reveals the truth behind her unprovoked animosity.

"It's easier to be mad at you, than to blame myself."

"None of this is your fault. Charlie Manx is not your fault."

"I want to forgive you, because if I don't, how can Wayne ever forgive me. But I can't just let myself off the hook!!!"

It's not entirely a make-up, but it's an important conversation, something she's been wrestling with for a long time. Chris is again AMAZING, consoling her, easing her guilt, even while she's the one that's been impossible. Again Vic, I love you, but your father did the absolute RIGHT thing, and he's the only one that did right by Bing, as far as I'm concerned.

Maggie and Lou join the dynamite father/daughter duo in Colorado, and I LOVED all of their scenes together, the two people in this world that Vic McQueen loves most, and there's something magical about it, something iconic, seeing all three of them together, the Creative Dream Team, united in their crusade against Charlie Manx.

"Every one of these ornaments represents a kid in Christmasland, lost forever. Do you think there's a way to get them back? The other kids?"

WHEN SOULS FALL.

Maggie stares down, perplexed at the tiles, as she arranges them, revealing to the oracle this cryptic, mysticism, and I myself, could NOT breathe. Holy SMASH. Ever since the end of, "Gunbarrel," where Vic wanders through the trees outside Sleigh House, frowning at them, the hundreds of glittering ornaments, swaying in the wind, glowing as she drew near, I just knew...... I KNEW the souls of the Lost Children, were trapped inside each and every one of them, and this suspicion was ever further confirmed, when she found Bradley's canoe ornament, broken open on the ground, after he burnt up in the Wraith. My prediction? To turn the kids back, they have to smash every single one of these ornaments, and only then can the escaped souls return to their vampire shells, and make them human again. The minute a child hangs an ornament, the transformation is complete.

I also LOVED the transcendent scene between Vic and Millie, a scared little girl, in over her head, calling, pleading through the static, and I couldn't help but MARVEL at how much has changed between them. Last Season Millie Manx was very much her father's daughter, cruelly taunting Vic, on her father's behalf, even appearing to her while she was awake, stabbing her with an invisible sword. Now, she calls out to her to be her saviour, her father's greatest enemy, the iron wrought armour of her inherited hatred falling away, and Vic sees her as she always was, not a hollowed out demon spawn, but just a frightened little girl that needs to be set free. I was also THRILLED that dear little Millie imparted the knowledge that Charlie CANNOT die, else all the children, including his daughter, will die with him. Vic abhors Charlie with a screaming vengeance, but now that she knows his death comes at the cost of every child he's ever taken, she won't kill him, she CAN'T kill him, because then all of this, everything she's fought so hard for, bled for, would be for nothing.

The final act is both the thrilling BEST and the incoherent WORST of the episode, as the chaotic music ominously heralds our man's arrival. Charlie Manx, cutting a dashing, imposing silhouette, dark against the hazy dusk, exits the Wraith, turning every which way, striking in profile, floating smoothly across the front of the car, to let Wayne out. I loved this aesthetic, Charlie moving swiftly through the mist and dying light, rising as the threatened dark, enclosing. It's beautiful, and serves two clever purposes. One, to shroud our debonair dark menace in all the more intrigue and mystery, and the other, to conceal just how bad Wayne's gotten. Charlie clasps his hands around Wayne's shoulders lovingly, the picture of paternal pride, and my heart caught, seeing Wayne in the cast light, his boyish curls, frayed and almost white, his skin covered in white blue veins, every one of his teeth, coming to a sharp point.

"Go on, My Boy, it's time to hang your ornament," Charlie chortles handing Wayne the CUTEST little gray, baby bat ornament, I have ever seen, urging him forward. "Choose any branch you like, just make sure it's a SPECIAL branch," Charlie crows, and my heart melts, so in love with both of them, and the way Charlie dotes on him, knowing that while this began as a revenge plot, Charlie has come to love and favour Wayne, like the son he never had. "Don't dilly dally," He warns adorably, with an eyebrow raise, and even this mild scold is too precious for words.

Charlie waits by the Wraith, already nervous, as little Wayne disappears into the grove of trees. I LOVED the Wraith's ADORABLE warning system, as it flashes danger, the car horn honking, and even more I loved Charlie's distressed reaction to it, hurrying over, brow knit, like a father racing to tend to and protect his frightened child. Can I just have this impossibly PERFECT man, that darling little curly-haired boy, and this pretty, shiny car, PLEASE!?!?

"Smart Car," I whisper to myself, as the Wraith senses Vic's presence, and the waiting bombs beneath the ground. Charlie, alarmed, jumps back into his car, to seek out what's got the Wraith in such a tizzy, racing away, and leaving young Wayne behind. If there was ever a time, to save Wayne, it is NOW!!! NOW, Maggie, grab him NOW!!!! Here's where things start to unravel for me as far as character motivation and realistic ability is concerned. Yes, I get that Wayne's appearance is terrifying for her, that she doesn't know what she's walking into as she approaches him, but there is NO WAY Margaret Leigh, Oracle Extraordinaire, Hourglass SLAYER, would just cower, and watch as Wayne hangs his ornament. Nope, sorry. Wayne isn't even all the way a vampire yet, he's in transition, and the FEARLESS girl that I know and love, would have grabbed him, reassured him, while she wrested the ornament from his hands, and SMASHED it!!! Wayne's soul flies back into his body, crying as he clings to his Aunt Mags, Charlie is thwarted, and everybody lives happily ever after. End Scene.

But no, Maggie, in an uncharacteristic move, waits until Wayne has ALREADY hung his ornament, and then approaches him fearfully. I will admit I was a little nervous too..... Wayne, Darling, NO BITING Aunt Maggie!!! Wayne bares his vampire teeth, and raises his vampire claws in an adorable scare, with the cutest little growl ever, laughing cheerfully as he chases Maggie through the trees, clearly thinking it's a game.

Meanwhile, Charlie bristles as he sees the glowing headlights of Vic's motorcycle up ahead, piercing through the descended dark. His annoyance is obvious, but you can almost sense his secret excitement, at having one last chance to kill her.

"Gunning for Mother of the Year?" Charlie scoffs, amused, looking hot as hell behind the Wraith, clenching the steering wheel, his head down, eyes narrowed and full of smouldering, black intent. It's a FANTASTIC face-off, as the Wraith screams down into the open field, Chris pressing HARD on the detonator, and the first bomb goes off in a spray of dirt and billowing smoke. Again here's where I found myself more than a little bit incredulous, wondering WHAT THE HELL IS THE WRAITH MADE OF!?!? I even giggled to myself, remembering what Chris had said. "I don't care if he's in a GOD DAMNED tank!!!" The Wraith remains unscathed, the gleaming black paint, not so much as scratched, as a second bomb, and then a third go off beneath it, to no detriment. Really!? The Wraith is NOT a tank, it's not even armoured, and while yes, it's a supernatural entity, it CANNOT DEFY THE LAWS OF PHYSICS!!! Baby, I'm sorry, I'm so don't want to see you harmed, but you put a blast beneath that undercarriage, it is going to send that car FLYING, flipping it over at the very least!!!

Back in the grove of trees, Wayne, still chasing Maggie, stops cold when Lou calls out to him.

"Dad..... is that you?" THANK GOD, I cry out tearfully, as Wayne recognizes him, and in a very human moment, runs and hugs his father so tight, snuggling his little head to his shoulder, Lou sighing relieved, as he holds his son at last. Happy tears become angry ones, however, and at first I was LIVID with Wayne, horrified as he sinks his tiny little fangs into Lou's shoulder, biting him hard. DON'T BITE YOUR FATHER!!!!! Why, Wayne, WHY!? But the second time I watched this episode, I noticed something soooo very important. Wayne doesn't show any signs of hostility, poses NO threat, UNTIL the first bomb goes off. This is NO coincidence. Charlie, you're too clever for your own good!!! I suspect, that once the transformation is complete, and the kids are connected to Father Christmas, they can sense when he's in danger, and their innate attack instinct takes over!!! Freaking brilliant, and yet also terrifying!!!

Vic curses under her breath, her foot slamming on the gas, helplessly, as the Triumph won't start, her knife failing her, as the Wraith, screams at her like a shot bullet, promising vengeance, and Charlie smirks, sadistic, knowing he's about to end this....... "Say Goodnight, Vic McQueen."

My heart clenches in my chest, barely breathing, the tears flooding my vision, watching through blurry eyes, knowing what he's going to do, before he even does it. Chris McQueen hurtles himself in front of Vic, selflessly sacrificing his life for hers, and the Wraith runs him over, crushing the back of his legs. as he collides with it. I screamed, I sobbed, and shook violently, stunned because my prayers had been answered....... Chris McQueen, has miraculously SURVIVED. He's alive...... he's alive...... I whisper, reassuring myself. While he's far from okay, surely suffering two crushed legs, unable to move, I'm just so happy to see him still breathing, still fighting.

"Perfect timing, Wayne," Charlie snickers, Vic screaming, "NO!" as Wayne hops back into the car. This is it, this is the moment, where it all goes so wrong. Charlie's holding all the cards, he's got Wayne in the car, he's subdued Vic and her father, neither of them can so much as move, and he listens, drinking in their anguished cries. All he had to do was drive away....... It was over. It was SUPPOSED to be over.

"Chris McQueen, a disappointment of a man, just like your father," Charles snarls, and I AM BEGGING him to stop, bawling, pleading frantic, my terrified voice shrill. "BABY NO!!!! BABY STOP!!! DON'T KILL CHRIS, PLEASE GOD, CHARLIE!!!!!" Tapping into a darkness, donning a heartlessness, unbecoming of our gentleman villain, Charlie looks Vic in the eye, as he does it, snapping Chris' neck with lethal force, killing him purely out of spite. The episode ends with her broken, mournful sob, and Chris' slain gaze, his eyes still full of tears, staring blankly at the camera.

My pain is deafening, my sorrow beyond all hope of any coherent expression as NOS4A2 suffers its greatest loss to date. It's an empty gesture, a callous act, uncharacteristic of the man that I love with all my heart, but who has hurt me something profound with this senseless murder. In what kind of CRUEL world, does an innocent man, who sacrifices himself for his daughter, who fought for eight years to be the kind of father she deserved, have to die, while an indecent evil like Bing Partridge gets to live!? Charlie, HOW could you!? This...... There's no honour in this. Charlie kills only as a last resort, and only in defense, he has a strict moral code, and is vehemently against violence without cause. This was unfeeling, unnecessary, and soulless. Yes, he knew Chris was a bad father from before, but surely in witnessing the valiant manner in which he'd flung himself in front of the car, with no thought for his own life, Charlie would have found him redeemed, he would have seen a father who'd do anything to protect his daughter, not so different from himself, and he would have felt SOMETHING!!!

Goodnight, Chris McQueen. You fought the good fight, you changed and made things right, and now at last you can find peace....... My heart is so heavy, I can't hold it, and crying here, I want him to know how wrong he was, thinking nobody would mourn him when he died. A thousand cry out, stricken with grief. Husband, Father, White Knight Redeemed, here lies Chris McQueen, a HERO who didn't die for nothing.........

#nos4a2 #nos4a2 review #chris mcqueen #vic mcqueen #linda mcqueen #wayne mcqueen #charlie manx #maggie leigh #bing partridge

[godlyborn]

lavender, honey, & garlic.

date: sometime late october characters: cyrus rooke & victoria brant summary: crooke and toria debate on whether or not it’s a good idea to even bring hecate back into their lives.

Victoria didn't really speak much as they drove toward Indiana. She sighed slightly, picking at her nails nervously. "Is this a bad idea? It feels like a bad idea. I mean, this God started a war. What if she hurts you? What if it breaks the deal and she hurts people at camp? How do I summon them knowing that it can go bad?"

"I highly doubt she's gonna hurt me," Crooke responded back, glancing over at his best friend, as he was now the one who found himself behind the wheel of the car. "I don't think she even wants to start another war... Or else she would've done it by now, y'know?" He blazed their way down a highway with the help of the GPS. "We've come this far, how are we supposed to back down now?"

"I guess you're right. I just," she sighed. "It kind of just got normal with being a kid of Hecate, I don't want it to go back to when people hated magic. Especially when it's a big part of who I am." She flipped through the pages of her book again, trying to find her mother's spell to summon her. "Hah, I found it!" she said. "We need to stop somewhere to get lavender, honey, and garlic too."

Cyrus could see the risk they were taking, but also felt the need to see this through. "Hey, hey, Vic, it's just like what you said," He attempted to try and assure her. "We aren't going to tell anyone," He nodded and shifted from looking at the road and back to his best friend. "....We'll be okay," He said. "And, we can stop at a store before we get to the actual crossroads?" He suggested.

Victoria nodded in agreement, taking a deep breath. The girl sighed. "I just don't trust her, I've never trusted my mother. She's always ready and there to stab you in the back if given the chance."

"Then we won't give her the chance. We'll make it quick, so she doesn't have time to get all manipulative or whatever, you know?" Cyrus assured her once again. "I don't trust my father, but he helped us in his own weird fuckin' way, and nothing got too out of hand. I know our parents are different but if we stay vigilant we can finesse this too."

Victoria nodded along with Cyrus and his statements. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I mean, I am her daughter, so I’ve got to have some sort of something like her.” Victoria leaned her head back. “I’m sorry that this is already kind of a mess, I didn’t think she was going to be roaming about.”

"I think we inherit more from our parents than we realize. We're connected to them whether we like it or not," He commented back and then, despite it all, gave her a reassuring sort of smile. "Don't be sorry, Vic. We didn't know, hell, nobody knew..." His eyes flickered from the road and Toria as he spoke. "I have your back. Ride or die, remember?"

Vic smiled at him in the end. “Ride or die, always,” she replied. “Should I text Jordan about it though, or do you think that’s dumb?”

"I don't know..." Crooke started speaking again. "Do you think he'll keep it to himself? I feel like I could handle this information getting out but I don't want it to fuck with you in any way, y'know?" He expressed. Then, on their way, they passed a sign that said a town was coming up. He gestured with a nod of his head. "—We can stop there for the stuff we need."

“Jordan’s not a snitch, he is dumb sometimes, and a major pain in my arse, but he knows how to keep a secret,” Vic replied. “Yeah, I get you, but it also fucks with my siblings too, y’know? Having magic already screws things up.” Vic nodded. “Maybe they have a metaphysical store in this town too, I know they have legit stuff, rather than just walmart or something.”

"If you trust him, then I can't argue. You should tell him," He stated after putting himself in her position. "If you want to look up to see if there's any stores like that, might make things easier?" He wondered and shifted the car over into the far right lane as he was preparing to exit soonish.

Vic flipped through the pages of the books. "There's not much on it besides what I already found. Some stories about those who have to summon Hecate, but none give too much information. Though some of them they just didn't answer them."

"Well, if she doesn't answer, we’ll just keep trying. Or, at least, until you get sick of all of this shit I put you through. I know it hasn't been... the smoothest so far," He responded. "But I'm sorry for that. We are so close though," He pulled the car over in the far right lane so that he could exit. "I can't give up," Once they were driving in town, he chose a spot on one of the streets to park the car. "I'll owe you for the rest of my life."

"Oh sweetie, you already owe me," Victoria teased with a small smirk, getting out of the car. She leant on the top, watching Cyrus get out. "Now let's get that stuff so that I can kill my Mum." Toria watched as some random guy passed them, making a shocked face. She smiled sweetly. "I'm kidding."

Cyrus twirled his finger horizontally in the air next to his ear as if so say 'she's crazy' to the stranger as he gave them a weird look. He laughed and shook his head. He then locked the car. "C'mon," He started heading for the door of the shop; ushering his friend onwards as well. "Let's try and make this quick." He told her.

#victoriacyrus #d:victoriacyrus #victoria #d:victoria #discord

[daydreamodyssey]

ooo!! 32 with your newest band OCs :0

(yoo thanks for using OCs! I haven’t gotten too in depth with relationships yet so ddsh)

The group finished rehearsal after a grueling experience involving a 9/8 measure breakdown. Wanting to unwind, they agreed to go to the newest horror flick “Hell Meridian” about a boat ride into the mouth of madness. The grungy dirty-blonde and the curly haired brunette went to their seats with varied excitement.

“God, this movie’s just started and I’m getting wigged out,” Vic’s shoulders raised. “The red font, the synth...”

“Vic,” DD deadpanned. “You just sang a song about a robot murderer.”

“Yeah, but you wrote it! I trust you not to turn into a killing machine. I can’t say about this weirdo with an obvious fake name.”

“Sure thing Mr. Zapper. If you get too scared, you can hold my hand.”

His hand immediately touches hers.

“Oh my God...”

The movie continues with its dim lighting and minimal music, DD not yet taking his hand off hers. A small boat is shown on screen across a black river with a grimy yellow tint, surrounded by coasts of dense trees and wildlife noises. Vic’s heart-rate can be heard thru his chest, while DD scarfs down popcorn with glee. She tries giving some to Vic, but his fixated glance leads her to dump some of the food into his agape mouth.

“Thanks,” Vic quietly says, still tense. “The butter’s really good- Those were eyes! I saw eyes in the water!”

“Nah, it’s probably the light reflecting off the water.” She continues eating, and stares at the film. She looks closer and sees a pair of lights turning off for a second. “Ah, you’re right!” She squealed as quietly as she could.

“If my memory doesn’t block this out, this would be a great song...”

“Seriously. Call it ‘Lake Bastard’“

“Love it.”

More eyes appear from the dark forest as the synth raises in pitch and drums are added. The pair’s faces were an inch away from each other as their attention disregarded personal bubbles, eating popcorn lazily. The movie turned silent. The characters stood still as eyes vanished. Vic and DD’s open mouths let popcorn drop to the floor.

An ease in the scene made the two resume when the boat slammed into a monster. DD jumped in the air like Pete Townshend and Vic made a huge yelp with wonderful vibrato. The scene went on, but the two looked at each other and laughed at their overreaction.

DD saw the movie with a similar engrossed tension as Vic, whereas he cooled down when she shared his fear. Following the other’s lead, they relaxed and took turns with chest-clenching screams throughout the movie. All the while as Vic’s hand was still on hers.

#thanks again! #it was fun writing these two #it doesn't lean too far into romance cuz they're still new #but i like it if they head this way #vic zapper #dd sinner #my ocs #my characters

[bythieves-a]

SNAPSHOTS OF MODERN VIC. ( based on the story im writing about him ! many of the usual tw’s apply. )

you’re only thirteen the first time things become too much. a shadow in your school, no one there would even know you exist, if it weren’t for the smell of stolen cigarettes that follows you around. a short thing, with your mother-ruffled hair, the sleeves of an old, tattered, black coat stop just before your fingertips; and all your shirts are hand-me-downs——you think they were your dads. you wouldn’t really know. but your mother puts a ‘lucky flower’ in your coat pocket, every day, and that makes each school day bearable.

the baggy clothes make it easier to steal snacks after school, the darker make it easier to disappear. you hardly even go to class; the teachers don’t notice you, anyways. until they do——the children that do see you love to remark on what you lack; on money, on fathers, on new clothes, on lunch. one comment becomes too many and you’re in the office; don’t call my mum, you plead, you practically beg, she’s working. i can’t take her away from work. but they do. there’s no one else to call. it feels like robbing your mother of money. the embarrassment of taking her away.

when you’re home, you hit your lowest; lock yourself in your room and cry until morning. your chest is so heavy. such a mild dilemma, not the worst thing you’ll face, yet you find you can’t breathe because of it. why does everything hurt so much?

*

sixteen years old and your favorite spot has become a bridge; you sit with your legs swinging through the rail, watching the water flow below you, sound of cars rushing behind you--------the honking horns make you jump. you reek of cigarettes and fireball, when you come here, concealed bottle half-empty and hidden between your legs. arms and chin lean on the railing, tears flowing yet often concealed by a rainstorm you never bother to notice. 

she’s so convinced he’ll come back. you hate yelling at her, but it hurts, to live sixteen years without someone, and watch your mother continue to set a place at the table for him each night. maybe tonight. its never tonight. and its your fault, you know that--------your mother would be happier without you, her drunken, drop-out, thieving son; she’d still have walter. she’d still have money. you don’t realize you’re her only joy. 

the jacket you wear over a torn prince t-shirt is black denim, finally your size, the cuffs and collar lined with a fake-feeling, puffy sort of fur. its your favorite jacket, it keeps you warm--------but you find a picture of your parents together, and note your father wearing one of the same style. you never wear that jacket again.

*

you’re not sure why you cry on the plane to america, but you do. perhaps its homesickness. the change, the sudden wave of how different everything will be. its overwhelming. amos scoffed when he saw you, in your sweatpants and band shirts---------what? you’d asked. its just a plane ride. sat between him and your anxious mother, you hold her hand and wonder if he might do the same; its better not to try, you decide. he might just think you’re strange.

does he have weapons? he must. amos always has a knife, somehow. but how would he bring it here? maybe he’ll teach you that, someday. you’d like him to. he’d like you to stop crying.

*

smiling boy leaning against the counter of your pawn shop; everything feels better, now. amos has made you a partner in crime, his right hand man--------this cover-up is yours as much as it is his, and sometimes you wonder if you make him proud. you’ve grown into yourself; dark hair tickles at the tips of your ears when you let it get too long, you don white button-ups with two buttons always undone, and a long tan trenchcoat is the one thing you’re never seen without--------though, when you’re home you dress the way you always have; a steely dan tshirt has become your favorite, and it never takes you long to break out sweatpants after a days work. you lay on the floor like that and play guitar; mother likes to stand in the doorway and listen, sometimes.

there are knives on you, everywhere. they rattle against the phone in your pocket when it buzzes; you have two friends now who send you pictures of their cat, and they’re so normal, far different from the thief tommy you occupy your nights with---------but you enjoy them. they’re a taste of the life you wanted, as a child. but you think now that life might bore you, if you tried it. its not like you’re good at anything else, anyways. you and amos both know that.

*

your memory is coming in flashes, in blinks of light and sound tearing through the gaps of nothing, the times where you don’t know where you are, what you’re doing-------what time is it? have i eaten today? where’s mama? 

the last thing you remember is the funeral. you tried to cry into amos’ arms, but he pushed you away; knocked you to the ground. get it together. m’not yer dad, kid. he left you crying on your knees before her grave--------but now, suddenly, you’re walking into your friend’s apartment. they’re each holding one of your arms; adrien looks worried, like he’s been crying. ray says something to you, but you don’t understand. you say okay, anyways. 

then you’re on the couch with tea in your hand; you look at your phone and start crying. you haven’t been home in hours. mum would have texted you, by now. your chest is heavy again. you’re dizzy. adrien takes your phone and sets it away. you think he might have kissed your forehead, too.

*

the bottle of mum’s pain killers is empty, now. you don’t remember waking up. something burns. you’re screaming at your father in your doorway, but you don’t remember him knocking. ray looks mortified. she’s leaving today. wheres she going? italy? germany? please take care of yourself, she mutters into a tightened hug. wheres your father gone? she mentions him--------he must have been real. 

you don’t remember the party, you don’t remember coming home, but you remember being warm. it felt like mama was back. you want to feel like that again. 

* 

adrien tries to take you out for christmas, but he has to bring you home. all the children were outside playing in the snow with their parents. mama liked to take christmas walks to look at all the lights. you can’t breathe again, so he holds you for the rest of the day, he pets your hair, kisses your head. its almost feels ok. 

* 

you watch the new year’s ball drop from the discomfort of a hospital bed. you still don’t remember much, but you remember screaming. you remember amos sitting nearby-----was that two days ago? he threatened you. walt was here, too. you threw a flower vase at him. the nurses won’t let you have flowers in the room, anymore. they’re watching you like hawks; better act like you’re alright, so they’ll let you out of here.

you check yourself out early. there’s no reason for you to be there. amos will get mad if you’re gone any longer. your father yells at you when you get home. why is he there? leave me alone. 

* 

the park bench is cold. you don’t remember running here, but you know amos was yelling at you. you haven’t brushed your hair in days. your tears feel like they’re freezing to your cheeks. distant police sirens. are they for you? your chest tightens------but they breeze past the park. you can’t stop shaking. your head hurts. 

walts with you, suddenly, sitting on the bench beside you. he’s put your head in his lap, he’s been muttering things to you the whole time. how long has he been here? please, he says, the first thing you’re able to make out; let me get you home, i know you hate me, but let me be your dad for ten fucking minutes. you’re a mess, kid. 

you’ve never spoken to him without screaming, before, but this time you let him. he helps you up, puts his coat around your shoulders. its the same one as in the photos, but older, it has holes in it. he keeps an arm around you the whole way home, lies you down on your couch, drapes mum’s couch blanket over you. he makes you a grilled cheese, complains about the spoiled groceries in your fridge. it feels nice. he should have been here to do this twenty three years ago.

*

for the first time since you’ve known him, you think amos is going to kill you. he’d never do that, you’ve always been so sure; but this time there’s rage in his eyes, they look hollow and dead---------you’ve seen this look before, its always followed by the snapping of bones. you can’t get that sound out of your head. you saved tommy from this look, once, but he’s not here to do the same. it hurts. you’re supposed to be partners, you trusted him with your life, but he’s going to kill you. oh, god, he’s going to kill me.

but he doesn’t get the chance. bent over from a kick to the ribs, the second you’re out of line with his head you hear a shot--------suddenly you’re covered in blood, but its not your own, and amos has a hole in his head. when he drops, you’re faced with your father stood nearby; shaking, out of breath, mortified-------holding a gun. jesus christ, he whispers.

dad? you sound helpless. you’ve never called him that, before. 

#𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈. ╱ modern. #i'm jus thinking abt him today....... #tw: drug mention #tw: drugs #tw: addiction #tw: violence #tw: parental death #tw: death #tw: implied suicide #jesus god KLJDFHLGKFJS be careful u know how vics story goes #its ok hes ok and gets a happy ending

[softlofty]

taking a breath | ballum

Ben feels the same dread and nerves he used to feel the day before a big test in school. Only it’s the day before Callum’s stag do, and he feels anxious not for failing himself, but for failing Callum.

Like the stag do will suddenly make everything real. Up until now it’s all been talk, about venues and rings and cake. But having him walk around the square in a clown suit and making him chug several pints is a different matter.

It’s stupid, because he doesn’t want to feel as invested as he does.

Ben would genuinely feel more comfortable if the thought of a closeted Callum getting married to a woman who’s completely in love with him would make him feel smug, ready to sit back and watch as the whole thing inevitably comes down on Callum’s head.

But he doesn’t feel that way. Has no interest in spouting I told you so’s and taking secret pleasure in seeing Callum crumble. Instead, he worries about him. About what he must be feeling right now.

And he doesn’t have to wonder, because Callum walks right up to the bar of the Vic where Ben is seated, nursing a pint. He completely blanks him, and Ben can see the tough demeanor he’s going for, like nothing’s wrong, but the way his eyes can’t settle on something to look at but keep bouncing around the room, fingers tightly gripping the wood of the bar, make the desperation evident.

And he might have expected Ben to pipe up with something snide by now, because Callum looks sideways at him, almost more annoyed that he didn’t get a snarky remark.

But Ben doesn’t have any cruelty for him, simply looks at him, and Callum’s face falters.He glances around once, quickly. “Can we go for a drive?” It’s only just loud enough that Ben hears it, and he nods after a second.

“Don’t worry, that was my first pint,” Ben comments as he buckles his seatbelt, Callum in the passenger seat next to him. He gives him a faint smile, and Ben decides to give up on talking as he starts driving.

In contrast to when Ben gave Callum a lift to go pick up the rings, the entire car ride is silent. Ben had forgotten to turn the radio volume up before he started driving, and he’s too scared to disrupt the situation as it is now, Callum seeming to be lost in thought as he stares out the window, so he leaves it.

Ben brings the car to a gentle stop and turns to Callum. “Coffee?”

They’re outside of Walford, at least far away enough that they’re not likely to run into anyone from the square.

Ben orders a caramel latte, and it’s the first thing Callum has a noticeable reaction to, eyebrows raised and the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “I, uh, I’ll just have a black coffee please,” he tells the waitress.

“What, am I not masculine enough now?” Ben says when she’s left, his tone light, and Callum’s smile widens. “Nah, just didn’t think you’d like that sort of thing.” Callum says. Ben shrugs half-heartedly, a smile hinting. “It’s nice to have something sweet every once in a while.”

Callum does that thing he seems to do a lot around Ben, where he looks Ben in the eyes as if he’s hesitating to come closer, and then his gaze goes down and a small smile forms. It’s endearing, and Ben likes how he can make Callum do that.

Their coffees arrive, and Ben laughs a little at the sight of one simple mug of black coffee next to a tall glass of layered coffee with milk, a frankly ridiculously amount of whipped cream and caramel sauce on top, and when he looks up he sees Callum’s laughing too. “Yeah, you regret that decision now, don’t ya?” Ben jokes, and Callum laughs again, fully and fondly. Ben’s heart feels a little lighter as the sound hits him.

“I’ll stick to simplicity, thank you.” Callum says, bringing up his mug to take a small sip. Ben lifts the glass and does the same, whipped cream definitely touching his nose, and when he sets the glass down again, Callum actually giggles, hand coming up to cover his mouth like he didn’t mean to do that.

Ben can feel his face warm up a little. God, no one makes him feel quite so out of his depth as Callum does. “Here,” Callum says, pressing his lips together to smother a smile as he passes a napkin to Ben.

“Clear?” Ben asks once he thinks he got everything, and Callum nods and then he shakes his head with a smile. “What?” Ben asks, voice a little higher than usual. “Nothing!” Callum says back in the same tone. “Just, you’re so ridiculous.”

And if Ben needed any more proof he’s too far gone, it just walked up and smacked him in the face. Because he’s not offended or annoyed, and the way Callum says it makes it feel like a compliment.

“You can try it if you want,” Ben says a few minutes later, shooting a look at his coffee before glancing back at Callum again. Callum’s face sours as he looks at it with apprehension, and Ben can’t stop a burst of laughter. “Alright mate, it’s a coffee with a flavour, not pond water.”

Callum rolls his eyes at him and then takes the glass and takes a small sip before setting it down again.

Ben watches his face carefully, and then grins. “Oh, you like it.”

“It’s,” Callum says too quickly, looking annoyed with how his own face betrayed him, “it’s alright, yeah.” Ben drinks the remainders of his coffee. “See, you judge things too quickly, Callum.”

When they’re just outside of Walford, not far from where they live, Callum speaks. “Thank you.” Ben turns his head to him quickly and then looks back at the road. “Just a coffee, no worries.” He hears Callum sigh in frustration next to him. “I obviously didn’t mean the coffee, I meant… I guess I meant the company.” He gets quiet at the end of his sentence.

“You didn’t ask any questions when I asked if we could leave and you definitely had every right to, so,” Callum says, and Ben can hear the shame in his voice. He stops for a red light and turns to look at Callum, whose eyes are on his hands, folded in his lap.

“Callum,” Ben says, and waits for him to look up, softening his tone as he continues, “despite what it sometimes looks or sounds like, I want you to be okay.”

Callum nods, and Ben doesn’t know if he’s imagining that shimmer of moisture in his eyes. “I know, I can tell.” Ben gives him a soft smile. “Good.”

Callum leans forward, hesitates as he pauses and then leans forward all the way, letting his lips brush against Ben’s and then kissing him, once. It’s as warm as Ben remembers, and the fact that this was intentional, not some lustful heat-of-the-moment thing but completely Callum’s decision pulls that warmth all the way into his chest and slides down comfortably to his tummy.

Ben looks at Callum’s eyes when he pulls back, dazed as he hears the sound of their lips disconnecting. The tops of Callum’s cheeks are red as well as the tips of his ears, and Ben feels a rush of affection for the man who he’s pretty sure is staring at him with the exact same affectionate expression he is wearing.

A car beeps angrily behind them and Ben quickly starts driving again.

When he sneaks a glance to the side a few minutes later, Callum’s wearing a soft content smile as he watches the landscape pass by. Maybe things will be okay.

#ballum #ben x callum #eastenders #ben mitchell #callum highway #benway #lisa writes fic #ffs well i hope it works now #just wanted to put something soft and fluffy out there to make everyone feel less sad abt the lack of scenes atm lmao

[a-pretty-nerd]

Red Handed (Patrick Hockstetter x reader smut)

Requests: "If you’re not too tired of pat x reader could you do one where the reader and Patrick are hooking up somewhere and they get caught? Maybe by the gang or the losers? Love your fics they give me life ❤️" ~ Anonymous

"Could you make a one shot about Patrick hocksetter dating a cute innocent reader with lemons :3 lots of lemons 🍋🍋🍋" ~ @weepingprincepeace

I'm combining these, I hope thats cool! ✌❤

A/N: Keep requesting and such! So because I fucking feel like it, Imma go ahead and write that damn Jasper series. Another one, Ruby? YES! As always, your requests and feedback keep me goin'! ✌❤

Warnings: NSFW, sex, rough sex, public sex, etc.

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

School dances weren't your scene. Well, really nowhere was your scene. But your mom made you go with your friends. Who all kind of wondered away from you with their boyfriends. They danced while you stood leaning against the snack table watching and waiting for your date to arrive.

Could you really call him a date? It wasn't so much like he asked you or you asked him. It was just a general understanding that at some point your boyfriend and his friends would crash the spring bash.

You awkward sipped at your punch as you swayed back and forth in your incredibly hideously pink dress decorated with gawdy lace and fake flowers. Your mother picked out for you, obviously. You didn't even see him walk in. All of a sudden, out of the corner of your eye you saw a tall shadow figure. You turned to see a lanky boy swaying his arms as he walked towards you. Dressed in ill-fitting office casual. His pants were a little too short, and so was his shirt.

Behind him came three, equally awkward guys. His friends. Wearing old button ups and jeans. Belch wore a clip on bowtie over his short sleaved button up with jeans. Henry only owned one pair of dress pants and an old flannel. Vic was the only one who looked like he somewhat belonged.

"Oh, h-hey!" You stood up straight and watched as Patrick's gaze waved from the crowd to you. He looked you up and down and gave a hardy chuckle.

"What the fuck is this?" He snorted, pulling up your dress skirt. You swatted his hand away.

"My mom picked it out..." you explained with an embarrassed blush. He nodded and stood next to you as you watched the crowd for a moment as he spoke.

"Makes sense. Peggy has shit taste..." he waited a second, "personally, I'd rather see you in...nothing at all." He purred as he leaned in and down to your neck. Your cheeks flushed a bright pink.

"Patrick!" You scolded wtih shrill embarrassment. He giggled into your neck and he kissed the soft flesh. You pushed him a little farther away.

"Aw c'mon sweetie pie," he cooed jokingly, "put out a lil won't ya?" He hooked you by your waist and pulled you to him. It made a chill go down your spine. "Lets get out of here." He rocked you from side to side as music played, almost dancing with you. The way his hands glided across your body, and way he looked at you. Oh god. "I wanna see these nice tits you've been hidin'" His hands slid up and gave two quick gropes.

"Hey!" You swatched again and he just laughed at you. "Patrick, y-you know how I feel about-"

"I'll change that." He told you as his hands went back to your waist and he kissed your neck. He made you melt. "C'mon. No ones in the hallway. We can sneak out to the janitor's closet." He pulled you out towards the door and into the hallway. You couldn't fight him. You wanted him too. His lips kisses your hungrily, sloppily, as you made your way to the closet. He practically threw you into the room with giddy giggles. It shut tight behind you, and you were left alone in the dark.

"Oohhh Patrick." You moaned as he left hickies on your neck. He quickly got your dress unzipped and he let it fall to the floor with a loud 'huff' of fabric. He instantly went for your breasts. Gropping and squeezing. He played with your nipples as he kissed them and sucked. He breathed heavily as he chuckled to himself. He pulled you close to him as his hips curved up so he began grinding against you through his pants. You whimpered as he played with you.

"I knew it. I knew you had a rockin' bod!" He cheered and laughed.

"S-Shut up." You struggled. He pulled away and through the darkness you heard him remove and drop his clothes. Before you knew it, he turned you around and pressed you against the shelves. His long fingers ran over your as and he took a sharp breath.

"And what a great ass too!" He remarked before giving a good slap.

"Ah! Hey! I didn't say you could- ow!" He spanked you again. He did again, and again. It made you wild. You pressed your ass against his cock and he chuckled at you as he ground himself against you again. Enjoying the sweet little sounds you made.

"Oh thats it." He growled and pulled your panties down to your knees. A single fingers dragged from the front to the back before he inserted a finger. "Haha, so wet." He remarked.

"N-No....Patrick." You moaned. He took a moment to finger you first before he pulled his finger and placed it in his mouth. You heard a loud smacking sound.

"Oh hoho, what a taste." He growled before you felt his tongue. He licked, and sucked, and nibbled anywhere he could.

"Ooohh Ah!" You cried. You squirmed for him as he held your ass and moaned into your wet flesh. He stood, and wiped his mouth with a slurp before he adjusted himself. You felt his tip, and you opened your mouth to say something. "Patrick, I- oooohhh FUCK!" You barked as he slid deep inside. You shut your eyes tight and braced yourself. He only took a few good slow thrusts, before he got intense. It felt so good. You moaned his name as he held your hips and started really fucking you.

"Fuck Y/A," he grunted, "you're a wild one, huh?"

"N-No." You whimpered.

"Oh yes you are." He leaned forward as he hips kept slapping against your ass. He stuffed his face in your neck and pulled your hair. "You can't lie to me. Your body's telling me everything I need to know." He snacked a hand down to your clit and played with it.

"Ah!!" You cried in pleasure.

"Like how you're about to cum." You kept your head dead down as he drove you to orgasm, pausing his own movements. Suddenly there was a loud creeking sound and a bright light came. Your heart jumped. You were still cumming and there was nothing you could do.

"FUCK OFF!" Patrick screamed at what appeared to be a young kid who was attending the dance.

"Ahhhh!!! Run Eddie! He's killed her!" A voice cried before the door slammed shut. You road out your high before Patrick just went back to fucking you.

"P-Patrick they...oh god- we-"

"I told you. You're a wild thing." He growled with a smile as he fucked you, harder. He fucked you senseless in that closest for what felt like forever. Making you cum, god knows how many times. Your eyes were rolled in the back of your head and you were focused on your breathing when Patrick started to really struggle. He bucked irrationally and grunted. His nails dug into your skin as he lost himself. "G-Gah..ah..fuck!" He cried as he came. You panted and leaned against the shelves. He leaned against you. His arm out stretched to balance the both of you as his chin rested on your shoulder. "Mmmh my wild little thing." He finally cooed.

Suddenly, the door opened again and you would have panicked had it not been for the intense wokrout prior.

"Patrick!" A voice shouted. He looked up at Henry, who stood in the doorway. "What the fuck man!? We've been lookin' all over for you! Those fuckin' loser kids keep shoutin' about you killin' someone!"

"I'm busy!" Patrick yelled back.

"Get your dick out of your girl and lets go!" The door slammed shut.

"Come on. We'll give you a ride home." He got himself dressed and just barley helped you. You felt dizzy. When you were dressed, he walked you out by your waist. And when no one was looking, he stole a kiss on the cheek.

#the bowers gang smut #the bowers gang x reader #the bowers gang #patrick hockstetter x reader #patrick hockstetter x reader smut #patrick hockstetter smut #patrick hockstetter

[throwaway-sinfulwriter]

The Same - Chapter 7 - 3/6

Meeting Elaine Brown slightly lifts his mood, but the conversation with his father is still weighing heavy on the back of his mind. Getting her signature is a bittersweet moment, as he forgot to bring a pen and made himself a fool in front of her.

Still, he's proud of himself for asking her to do such a thing during a case.

He observes the two of the doctor's as they speak about Alice Downey. Dr. Brown is lying. He can tell. There's something they're not telling them, something they're hiding.

Malcolm is disappointed. He had looked up to Elaine Brown, and it was eye opening to see her lie to their faces.

Pressures of doctoral pursuit, his ass. There was something wrong with this situation.

He just wasn't sure what it was.

---

By the time they get back to the debriefing room, Malcolm is exhausted. His entire body is tense, and if he doesn't stretch out his legs soon he'll go into a fit of charlie horses and muscle spasms.

Legs stretching underneath the table, Dani takes over for the moment. Pinning the picture of Alice Downey on the board.

She's a kind looking young woman. He wonders what drove her to suicide. Affair with Professor Holton? Drugs? Depression?

He wasn't sure. There was no true way to tell, as the man closest to her was found with no brain.

"What do you think, Bright?" Dani asks, and said man sighs. Putting his signed book on the table.

"I think that Dr. Brown is lying. Never meet your heroes." He gives a sardonic smile.

JT takes over. "I went over to the admin building. They're all as crazy about Elaine Brown as you are."

Malcolm rolls his eyes. Hard.

"But they did find this crazy anonymously submitted letter with theories about Alice Downey's suicide." He puts it on the table. "Look familiar?"

Malcolm's eyes widened, and he grabbed the paper, reading it over. The same scrawl, same off kilter lining of the words.. It was their guy.

"The killer was accusing the psych department of off-the-book experiments."

Dani's eyebrows raise. "How off the book?"

Bright continues reading, trying to make sense of the writing. It was much more coherent than the one left of the crime scene.

"Giving students LSD. Apparently, Alice was tripping on acid when she went over that building. Pretty serious accusations."

Malcolm sets the paper down again, examining the words and their placing closely.

"This is older than the other paper." He says after a long silence. "It's slightly inflammatory, but much more coherent. It shows our killer's slow descent into a full psychotic break."

Malcom runs his fingers through his hair (damp, slightly greasy from not showering the night before) inhaling through his nose. "There's some meaning in these words.. Something he has to be telling us. What is he saying? What does he want us to find?"

Bright's eyes are darting all around the evidence board, analyzing each piece and trying to put it together. Like a jigsaw puzzle.

An incredibly difficult puzzle.

While facing this dilemma, Dani gets a call and heads out of the room. He can't pay attention to her right now, he needs to crack the letters opens, find out the meaning, find the answers..

He's broken out of his thoughts when she comes back in, firmly telling them that Carl Mitchell had been drugged and they needed to head back to the research building.

Malcolm follows the other two with no hesitation, quickly yelling into Gil's office that they're Ieaving.

The man looks panicked for a second, but by the time he gets up to follow them, they're gone.

-----

For a long, gruelling moment, Malcolm thinks they are too late. Thankfully, going up the roof stairs and entering the space, he hears the muffled telltale, fearful babbling of someone taking too much LSD.

"He's still here!" Malcolm says, and JT goes off, searching for the killer. Dani stays for a moment, mouth open in shock.

They made it just in time. Carl Mitchell is laying on the ground, hands and mouth tied. Saws, knifes, and blades lay next to him. There is a line drawn on his head, a guide line.

Like a doctor would draw for plastic surgery, Malcolm thinks as he takes the tape off and cuts him free.

"You're safe now, Carl." Malcolm says, helping the man to his feet.

"Do you see? Do you see it? Do you see how high? I have to fight.. I have to fight it. Oh, please! Please!" Carl rambles, and Bright grabs him by the shoulders.

"Listen to me, Carl. You're high on LSD. In large doses, it can mimic a psychotic break." He tells the dosed man, trying to calm him down.

"Police!" Malcolm hears a far off shout.

"I need to fight, need to..!" Carl grabs him, turning him around and backing up.

"Carl, Carl, calm down. You don't need to fight, just breathe. Everything is alright." Malcolm tries his best to calm the man down, but it's not doing much. He feels cold metal against his neck and shit, he grabbed one of the blades. When had he done that?

Malcolm is scared. He's either going to get his throat slit or fall with Carl over the side of the building to their death. He knows not to struggle, but his heart is hammering so hard in his ears he can't help but want to squirm.

He looks up as Dani approaches, gun raised. "Don't shoot!" He tells her. "He's been dosed. He doesn't know what he's doing."

Dani slowly lowers her pistol. "What can you do?"

Malcolm's muscles tighten as Carl begins walking back again. "Not a whole hell of a lot." Except get away from the drugged man, which would either end with his throat cut open or the professor hurtled over the building.

Neither were good options.

"Oh, it's what they want!" The man holding the blade to his throat says, and if he can just get him to let go of it he can get out..

"We're so high up! Oh, we're so high up!" Closer and closer to the edge they go, and Malcolm can see the fear in Dani's eyes. His body is locking up, ready for impact.

They're going to fall.

Mere inches from falling, Malcolm relaxes and heads into action. He grabs the two protruding bones of Mitchell's wrist, squeezes, and feels him drop the knife. Gasping, Malcolm shoves his elbow into him and the man falls backwards, off of the building.

"Oh!" Dani yells, running forward as Malcolm barely catches himself from falling with him. He's disoriented for a moment.

"Bright." Detective Powell says, and he risks a peek over the ledge, preparing for a bloody splatter on the sidewalk 10 stories down.

In reality, 2 stories down, there was a miraculous balcony which Carl Mitchell had fell on. Malcolm feels his body relax with sheer relief. Thank God. He hadn't killed someone.

"Did you know that was there?" He hears his companion ask.

"..Sure." He says unconvincingly, wiping the sweat from his face. Sure.

-------

As they return to the NYPD building, Dani asks him a question that derails him.

"So, what should I put in the report?" She asks as they walk into the detective floor. All three of them had been miraculously silent on the ride back over, and on the elevator trip up.

Malcolm looks at her strangely. "Well, I don't know. When I did reports, I usually wrote what happened at the scene."

JT decides to join the conversation then. "Whacko consultant pushes vic off roof?" He suggests, and not for the first time Malcolm feels anger towards him.

JT hadn't even apprehended the suspect, and he was the one criticizing Malcolm's judgement? Malcolm knew what he was doing. He did his job well, damn well. Even if he had to put himself in danger for it.

Carl Mitchell wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for Dani receiving that call, if Malcolm hadn't brought him out of his trip by tipping him off that ledge.

Gil approaches the rest of his team and tells them that Carl is stable, and the worst he had was a fractured rib.

The moment has already passed, but when Gil asks him if he's okay, Malcolm snaps.

"Whack job consultant's detailed understanding of the human psyche led him to anticipate, until diazepam could be administered, physical pain might be the only thing to bring the victim out of his psychedelic experience."

The team look at him in stunned silence for a moment, before Edrisa comes up to them, saying that Bright was right. Once again.

"50 times the standard dose.." Malcolm mutters to himself as the mortician goes on. "More than enough to induce fear and panic, leading to cardiac arrest."

"That could be his M.O." Gil suggests. Bright's eyes light up.

"To induce the fear that kills them." Finally, an answer.

"We're going to look for someone who was part of the experiments with Dr. Brown." They needed a list, and the only way they could get it was from Elaine herself.

"The taking of the brain is..it's like a metaphor. For the destruction of his own mind." It was easier to think about the case then his own situation. To fill the space with his own deductions instead of hearing his father's disappointed words on repeat.

"He wants to rid the world of those who wronged him. We need to keep tabs on Elaine Brown."

#my fic #my writing #the same #malcolm bright #malcolm whitly #martin whitly #malcolm/martin #dead dove do not eat #prxdigal sxn #dani powell #jt tarmel

[dancingwithdylan21]

Stripped - Part 2

Summary: Being a high powered publicist, the reader is hired to work with the destructive rock star Dylan O’Brien. Her task is to revamp his difficult image from the ground up. Will the reader succeed? Or will she get sucked into his crazy life?

Pairing: rockstar!Dylan x Reader

Word Count: 2,381

Part 1

~

“You must be out of your damn mind, beautiful.” Dylan’s sudden shift in attitude catches you off guard, the smugness oozing out of him giving you goosebumps.

Why does this infuriating man have to be sexy as hell? And why does he have to be your client?! You continue to focus on Dylan who’s now licking his kissable lips and it’s driving you insane. You need to shut this down. Now.

“Give me your phone.” You sternly command springing up from the couch. Within seconds you’re standing in front of the intoxicating man with your palm held out.

“Excuse me.” Dylan immediately growls slipping back into his anger filled persona.

“Hand over your phone, Dylan.” You repeat loudly, successfully holding back an eye roll.

“And why would I do that?”

“Cutting off communication. Remember? You’ll get it back eventually.”

“Just do it, man. I’ll text the important people, tell them to contact me if they need to reach you.” Tyler adds as he stands up to stretch his legs around the room.

“This is happening whether you like it or not. Just go with the flow and make it easier on all of us. Ok?” You add.

“It’s password protected ya know. You won’t be able to snoop on my ass.” Dylan huffs with aggravation, then unwillingly pulls his iPhone from his jeans front pocket.

“Oh darn. My master plan is foiled.” You sass back, not able to stop the giggle that follows. Tyler joins in himself, ignoring the unimpressed puss on the rock star’s face.

“So what’s the plan?” Tyler asks quietly, looking apprehensive but also hopeful.

You bring your attention back to Dylan who’s sporting a pout as he sinks himself deeper into the couch. He’s doing his best to watch the Friends rerun on TV but you can tell he’s too distracted at the moment.

“Let’s go talk on the balcony, Ty.” You quickly open up the glass slider door and settle into one of the cloth covered chairs. You can hear muffled grumblings from the two men until Tyler stalks outside shutting the slider behind him.

“What did you get me into, dude?” You ask slightly amused as you watch Dylan through the glass door. Talk about glorified babysitting.

“Trust me, I know. The thing that kills me is that he’s a good guy, he just…he does bad shit.” Tyler replies dragging his hand down his face. The poor guy looks exhausted and you realize that this plan needs to work not just for O’Brien but for everyone in his life.

“I just told him that he’s gonna be cut off from everyone and everything. An addict would be panicking and freaking the fuck out. Wanting to score as much shit as they can instead he’s sulking like a little kid.”

“Dylan doesn’t get high as much as you’d think. At least not with the hard stuff.” Tyler wearily admits fumbling with the hem of his collared shirt.

“What…”

“Dyl uses to distract himself when shit gets to be too much inside of his head. It happens sporadically. The bastard is lucky enough that it hasn’t turned into an addiction yet.”

“Then why the rehab?” You wonder skeptically.  

“To stop his antics. O’Brien is a stubborn fucker, Y/N. He won’t listen to anyone. I needed a way of keeping him under control. And rehab did that.”

“Tyler...“

"I know, I know. But listen…I’ve known Dylan for fifteen years. He gets into these destructive phases where any and all common sense flies out the fucking window. I know the signs by now and he was on the verge like six months ago. Hence his most recent stint in rehab.”

You can sense Tyler’s sudden hesitation, he searches your face like he’s debating if he should continue on or not. He’s praying that you make good on your word instead of abandoning this whole arrangement.

“I remember reports of him overdosing like a year ago. Was that true?” You ask curiously.

“Unfortunately. It was the anniversary of his mom’s death. He was already super stressed to begin with, everything became overwhelming and he went crazy.” Tyler sighs heavily flashing back to that awful night.

He found his friend’s bloody, unconscious body lying in a heap of broken glass. Of all the places O’Brien could have passed out, he ends up crashing down onto a glass coffee table.

“I know it wasn’t deliberate. But I also know…at the time he would’ve been fine with whatever the outcome.”

“Jesus Christ, Tyler. Please tell me you at least know the root of all this?”

“Mostly family problems. His dad specifically. They’ve had a volatile relationship ever since Dylan’s mom Lisa died. He was 18 when it happened.”

“I guess I can add daddy issues to the list.” You add softly making Tyler sadly nod his head in response.

“The poor bastard’s been dealing with the guilt and bullshit from his father for almost 12 years now. Honestly I don’t blame him for wanting a break from it.”

“Guilt about what?” You sneak a peek at Dylan to see that he’s now fast asleep. He’s slouched down further onto the couch and propped his boots up on a nearby ottoman. He looks so peaceful that you momentarily forget that he’s a pain in the ass. The moment passes though when you hear what Tyler’s about to say.

“His dad blames him for Lisa’s death and he thinks his son doesn’t deserve all of his success. It’s why Dylan has a love/hate relationship with his career. He’s passionate about it but then the remorse sets in and he almost wants to destroy it.”

“Shit. Was it…I mean…did he…” You stumble out not expecting that answer.

“Yes it was his fault but it was an accident. It’s not my place to get into details, hopefully you’ll get him to open up eventually.”

Well this is just fucking dandy. You’ve dealt with difficult situations before with your job but this one takes the cake. The fact that you have a personal history with one of the people involved makes this harder. And it definitely piles on more pressure than usual.

Deciding you’ve found out enough backstory for now, you and Tyler start nailing down details for this ridiculous operation. He fills you in on where the rockstar likes to go to relax and you have the perfect place in mind. You know this whole process will be tough enough for Dylan, so there’s no way in hell he’s going to another hotel. Too many temptations.

Heading back into the hotel room, you notice Dylan is now wide awake and shoving fruit loops into his mouth. Oh how this man kills you.

“Ok dude…we leave first thing tomorrow morning. So pack everything up that you need because you’re not coming back here.” You inform him, blocking his view of the TV screen.

“Huh?” Dylan mumbles with his mouth full, looking adorably perplexed by your words. Although his innocent act doesn’t last long once he realizes you’re on to his game.

“Do me a favor, O’Brien. Stay. Here. Do not leave this hotel room until I come and get you tomorrow. And no visitors either. Your disappearing act starts now.”

“Yeah that doesn’t work for me.” He waves you off with a defiant smile then continues eating his cereal.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll keep an eye on him.” Tyler shoots you a wink and it makes Dylan throw his head back while moaning theatrically. Drama queen.

You say your goodbyes then rush home and get to work. You don’t have much time to get your preparations in order. Fortunately this isn’t your first rodeo and you have plenty of connections that can help out in a pinch.

Your friend Veronica, who’s a realtor, sends you info on rentals that have immediate availability. You find one that sounds like a winner then continue to get ready for this lovely adventure you’re about to endure.

~

The next mornings sun shines too soon and you seriously regret checking your phone. You have a google alert setup for Dylan’s name, so anytime the fucker makes headlines you get notified. And you’ve been notified a shit ton since you fell asleep last night.

Not only did the difficult rock star go out last night, his drunken ass hit a plethora of bars and clubs in LA. The evidence of it is littered everywhere online. Thanks so much for the help, Tyler.

Apparently Dylan’s god damn chaperone needs a chaperone himself. Fucking men. They never listen. You gave one simple instruction and Dylan couldn’t keep his annoying self in line. And Tyler…well Tyler’s gonna get a god damn earful once you see him.  

You stroll lazily up to your client’s hotel room door with Starbucks in hand. After a couple of knocks, the door swings open to reveal a very large bald man who’s sizing you up.

“Victor?” You giggle remembering Tyler’s description of Dylan’s driver. Apparently he looks like a Rottweiler but has a heart of gold like a Golden Retriever.

“Yes, ma'am but you can call me Vic.” He holds out his hand. “And you must be, Y/N. Come on in.”

You trail behind Vic into the other room and what’s before you is almost comical. There’s a hungover rock star sitting next to a nervous looking manager and they both look pretty miserable.

“Hello, boys. You ready to get this shitshow on the road?” You question fighting back a yawn.

Tyler looks ready to speak but suddenly decides against it, instead he just nods in your direction. Dylan barely grunts a response, yanking his worn Mets baseball cap down further onto his head.

Everyone finally piles into Vic’s dark SUV to settle in for the long ride. Of course he’s the only one who knows where you’re all headed. You decide it’s better to keep the other two in the dark for the time being.

You let the quiet car ride go on for a bit. Mostly because you want your coffee to kick in before mentioning last night. Although the stupid cup of java is not strong enough because you’re still fucking sleepy. Screw it.

“So tell me what happened last night, people. Cause it sure as hell wasn’t what we agreed on.” You glance between the two handsome men getting different reactions from each.

“For the record, I didn’t agree to shit.” Dylan interjects earning himself a dirty expression.

“It’s my fault. I fell asleep.” Tyler looks like a poor wounded animal and you almost feel bad for him. Almost.

“You had one job, man.” You groan flicking the side of his head with your finger.

“And you…” You quickly twist yourself around towards the backseat to where Dylan’s sitting.

“Your drunken ass got around everywhere last night huh? There’s a ton of pictures circulating online right now. All of which you’re clearly shitfaced!" You exclaim as a huge grin graces Dylan’s face.

“I was thirsty, Y/N.”

“Dylan…”

“Oh relax. No one saw me punch a douche bag named Brett in the VIP lounge at Hyde. I did good.” He says proudly.

“Son of a bitch! You were supposed to stay home, O’Brien.”  Ugh. It’s too early for this shit.

“Oops.”

“Oops? You can take your oops and shove it up your ass, pretty boy.” You narrow your eyes in his direction.

“Aw you think I’m pretty?” Dylan retorts without missing a beat.

“Piss off.” You mutter grumpily shifting back around in your seat.

“Well Y/N’s definitely a morning person.” Dylan cackles, making sure to file this useful tidbit away for the future.

“Where we going?” Tyler wonders out loud.

“You’ll see soon.”

“I need my beauty sleep. Wake me up when we get there.” Dylan mumbles stretching out in the backseat.

The tension that was once in the car has disappeared and you decide to lean your head back and rest as well. You actually get some shut eye but it’s rudely interrupted by a panicked hand shaking you.

“Is this…is that a lake?” Tyler’s shocked reaction continues as he whips his head around to look at everything we drive by.

“You’re a smart one.” You deadpan.

“But…”

“Shhh. Don’t wake Dylan up yet.” You whisper as Vic turns onto a long dirt road that leads to the house you picked out.

Tyler’s eyes are now bugging out of his skull and he looks ready to jump out of the moving car. For the love of god. These guys are so friggin high maintenance.

Once the car is thrown into park, you gingerly exit through the passenger side door. Tyler follows suit and waves you over to move away from the car. This should be good.

“This is a lake house!” Tyler does his best to keep his voice low while gesturing around wildly.

“And? You said he likes being by the water.”

“The ocean, Y/N. Don’t play stupid. I vetoed the lake house idea. They remind Dyl of the one his family had growing up. He refuses to go near one.”

“Yes I’m aware.” You shrug casually.

“Are you insane?”

“Probably. Regardless Dylan needs to face this shit, Tyler. Clearly the way he’s been coping isn’t working for him.”

“I know but…”

“O’Brien is a grown man. He can handle it…he’ll have to.”

“What the fuck?!” Oh shit. The beast is awake. You twirl around to see Dylan fuming as he takes in his tranquil surroundings.

“Welcome to your new place of residence.” You saunter over to him, pretending that rage isn’t painted on his features. Normally you’d be intimidated as fuck but you’re still too half asleep to care right now.

“You’ve gone too far, L/N. I’m officially done with this bullshit. You’re fired.” He seethes through gritted teeth.

“Nope. Tyler hired me.” You counter with sly smile.

“Oh he’s fired too.” Dylan shoots back before laying his whiskey brown eyes on his manger.

“You’re fired!” He loudly shouts at Tyler before turning his gaze to his driver.  

“And you’re fired!” The rockstar points at Vic then starts to furiously pace back and forth.

“Dylan…”

“Everyone’s fired!” He barks practically stomping the hard ground with his work boot.

“And here I thought you were gonna overreact.” You smirk knowingly. “Thanks for proving me wrong, O’Brien."

~

Masterlist 

#dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien au #dylan o'brien fanfiction #rockstar!dylan #rockstar au #dylan obrien au #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien #teen wolf rpf #teen wolf au #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf fanfiction #dylan o'brien imagine #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski au #stiles x reader #dylan x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski fanfiction #mitch rapp x reader #dave hodgman x reader #stuart twombly x reader #stiles stilinski reader insert #dylan o'brien reader insert #mitch rapp reader insert

[allyvampirelass29]

Bats in the Lake House

Bats in the Lake House A NOS4A2 Review By: Allyssa J. Watkins

A silent night A haunting song Seeing Uncle Charlie in your dreams Wayne, what's wrong? Christmas is forbidden For little boys who must stay hidden But a Lake House is not a Batcave Why can't the dark knight play with Charlie Manx Unless Vic McQueen is in the grave? Come boy, the moon winks, beckoning to you Christmasland is your North Star Do me a special favour, Wayne? Tell me where you are........."

The Lake House, while being more flash than bang, although ironically, it ends in one hell of a one, (Aaaaaaaah yeah, I'm still dead!) was a fun, intrigue of an episode, although like one of the homemade McQueen explosives buried a little too deep in the ground, doesn't hit quite as hard. That being said, it has THE most eerily dazzling opener of the entire series!!!! Wayne tosses and turns, hearing the siren's call of the Found Children's song, drawn to the window in a trance, pulls back the curtain and sees....... CHRISTMASLAND!!!! My heart STOPPED. I knew it wasn't real, it had to be a dream, and yet seeing him there, knowing how hard Vic was fighting to keep him from it, was both a thrill and a chill!!! Who KNEW Charlie Manx makes House Calls!? I LOVED this entire scene, it was so suspenseful, the horror on Vic's face as she hears her son humming Silent Night, over and over, following and fretting over her little duckling, all around the house, not realizing that, all the while, Charlie is not only there, hidden behind the veil of a dream, but is coaxing her son, pulling out all the stops, ever the showman, as he sells young Wayne on the joy and wonder of Christmasland!!!

Again, I know I've said this before, but Our Darling Zachary Quinto, truly embodying his Vampire Chauffer counterpart, dons a new facet of his dark, intense beauty, and magnificent malice, each new episode, bringing his holiday fear, and terrifyingly good looks to the dead heat of summer!!! I kept thinking how I need only open the door unto such a dark, dazzling visage, and I'd be like, "YES, DEAR GOD, TAKE ME TO CHRISTMASLAND!!!! I also love the way he is with Wayne, so paternal, and sweet, and patient with him, always doting upon him! It's a joy to watch them on screen together, the little lad and the Big Bad, walking side by side, so innocent. I especially loved how Charlie had the vampire children stand far enough away from the window, so that he couldn't tell they were vampires, so as not to scare him! That was adorable!

Aha the candy cane!!! I had my suspicions, first with Haley, and then last week with Wayne, there was such a smug satisfaction on Charlie's face as he took it, and I knew there had to be more! Can I say, as a writer, myself, I thought that was pure, smashing, genius!!! The key to Charlie's retrieval operations, slipping into the Children's dreams, and convincing them Christmasland is where they belong. How exciting to learn the secret of the magician's disappearing trick!! All of these scenes were phenomenal, and my heart ached with an inexplicable longing the way he said it...... "Tell me where you are, and I'll pick you up straight away......." Happy fuzzy sigh. Yes, I said my own address out loud. Come and get me, Charlie Manx.

The weekend escape to the Lake House was such a fun, promising concept, a chance for Vic, Lou, and Wayne to spend some real family time together, away from the looming reach of Charlie Manx and the pressures paid for by being a Strong Creative, with Aunt Maggie, and a Fed or two in tow. Wayne seeing the ornaments in the trees gave me chills, and it was interesting to think the McQueen clan had a Manx stowed away in their youngest's mind. Chris continues to impress me, giving Vic some MUCH needed advice about loving and leaving, and how trying to do both can cause more damage than cutting ties completely. Maggie is an absolute delight, as ever, and I love, love, LOVED her comment about Vic's father becoming Bear Grylls with his Spooky, Horror Cabin!!!! That was hilarious, and I'm still laughing as I write this!!!

I also loved what she said about, "None of those dudes are normal." That was a really beautiful moment for me, and I suspect an especially poignant one for Vic. She's always seen herself an an outsider, even in her own created family, but here she finally sees that she's not alone. That normal isn't so normal for them either, and she doesn't have to carry the consequences of having this peculiar gift all on her own. Also, can I just say, I think this was a subtle, tongue in cheek hint, to Wayne being a Strong Creative, inheriting his mother's gift, and if I'm right, I am so here for it, beyond THRILLED, and crossing my fingers!!! What a perfect twist, for Vic to have a little soldier with a knife, and inscape all his own, in the fight against Charlie Manx.

The warm fuzzies continue with Vic running off the dock, and jumping carefree into the lake, splashing and playing with her boys. I loved this so much, it was profound, getting to see them all together as family, happy, laughing, not a care in the world. It was Vic choosing her family, taking the leap into what it means to be vulnerable to the pains of loving Lou without doubt, and being a mother Wayne could respect, and love, and feel safe with. It was the last golden rays of sun before the night set in...... and oh what a night it will be......

The Lake House flawlessly sets up the suspense, puts all the players in place, loads up the Wraith as it were, with the intruding menace, and potential to be the BEST episode yet. But I felt a lull, I don't know, like we were forced to wait around. I was ready, and dying for it all to get started, for Charlie to swoop in the dead of night and attack. I felt like I was prepared for a fight that never came. Yes, I realize it was all to set up for the next episode, and I am enamoured with the screaming danger that awaits, but I don't know, I hungered for a little taste of it now, as I felt all that built up suspense, and pent-up foreshadowing fizzle out.

Okay, deep breath, when I said the episode ended with a bang, I was NOT kidding....... Tabitha, throwing caution and FBI protocol to the wind, invades the newest iteration of the House of Sleep, without back up, but it's okay because she brought a mask. Yes, that was clever, the mask safety and all, but I just felt like she should have been so much smarter than that!!! Last time I checked, going off half cocked, and riding headlong into mortal danger was Vic's thing!!! I loved that Bing had a special shrine inside the church to Charlie, wreathed in Christmas lights, with his Wanted Poster, I thought that was cute, and such a sneaky little detail. I would have loved to have seen Charlie's reaction to that, I can just see his initially disturbed expression, before arching his dark eyebrow, amused!!

Damn, I thought the fight between Bing and Craig was as intense as it got, but Bing VS Tabitha, was easily just as pulse pounding, and blood curdling. I'm not going to lie...... I thought Tabitha was dead, the moment she went down into that church basement. I heaved a sad little sigh when Maggie said, "We all know what happens to cops who cross with Charlie Manx....." We love you Joe, and we miss you!!! I thought that was a both a bittersweet tribute to Joe, and also a foreboding as to Tabitha's own fate. Tabitha after a fight to the near death, scratching, and clawing for her life, subdues Bing, when a tall, dark, handsome stranger steps from the shadows, and Tabitha comes face to face with her own demons, and the man she swore couldn't possibly exist. "Trespassing is a federal offence," He says silkily, before slamming a hammer into her shoulder without hesitation .

My heart almost can't take what happens next, watching Tabitha and Charlie scrapple with an even deadlier ferocity, in the midst of Charlie's seething taunts about what a waste it was to kill her here, and I wondered, if he'd known who she was, that she was Maggie's own girlfriend, would he have taken her prisoner, instead of trying to kill her? Make some kind of exchange for Wayne? The click of a gun cocked, not even a breath in-between, as the bullet is sent screaming, burrowing through the dead center of Charlie's forehead. At three in the morning, I have to clamp both hands over my mouth, not to let out a piercing scream of my own!!!! Charlie falls, lifeless, donning every appearance of death, as the tears stream down my eyes, and Tabitha makes a miraculous escape.

Yes, I know, Charlie's immortal, I know the only way to kill him, is outside the church right now, safe, but watching him fall like that, the blood pooling on his forehead, was a fleeting moment of pure, abject horror, and I felt helpless, wanting only to hold and cry over him!!! Death itself has no hold on Charles Manx, however, and after only a taste of it, he rises from his fallen place, as reanimated as ever, a bloom in his cheek, reaching for the back of his head. In a move that is pure, and utter SYLAR, he pulls out the protruding bullet, long nails dripping with blood, and lets out a sinister laugh, that is both beautiful and threatening, his smirk morphing into smouldering, slanted brow, murder. Careful, Kids...... Charlie Manx is coming to town.

The Lake House is full of all of these flashes of meaningful little moments. I loved the conversation between Lou and Vic about how they found each other, and came together as more than friends. If we had met randomly, under different circumstances, neither of us in mortal danger, would we still be together? Would it still be me? I really appreciated this as a viewer, because they finally said what everybody else was thinking....... Before the third episode, I thought of Lou as Vic's life raft, a comfort she had clung to, frozen, in the midst of unimaginable trauma. The question lingers unanswered. Vic and Lou came together during harrowing life and death turmoil, they found each other just when they needed to the most, in the aftermath of a ghastly tragedy, but can their love survive without it? When the storm is over, and there is just life, without the threat of death, and continued kidnappings, when there is no one left to save....... Will Vic and Lou still feel the same?

Another one of these little moments comes at bedtime between mother and son. Wayne is such a smart, confident little guy, and he's handled his attempted kidnapping with such calm, quiet strength, that I think Vic thinks he's more resilient, and doing better than he really is. After all, he's still only eight years old. For him to finally take off his brave face cowl, and say, Mom, you're hurting me, this is why I'm sad, what I worry about, what I want, was such a powerful moment, and a much needed wake-up call for Vic.

Ultimately, I give the Lake House due credit for creating such breathtaking suspense, and leaving us wanting more. I hope next week we can delve right into the explosive action, and Manx's revenge, the full out attack on the lake house at last!!! No more teasing, NOS4A2!!! After all, It's not a family vacation without Wayne's favourite Uncle Charlie.......The stage is set, The Batcave is empty, and The Wraith Cometh.

#nos4a2 review #nos4a2 #charlie manx #vic mcqueen #wayne mcqueen #lou carmody #maggie leigh #the lake house

[god--baby]

belch gets the flu (sfw)

poly bowers gang + reader

summary: belch gets the flu and the whole gang shows up to help out

warnings: mentions of sex

word count: 1605

a/n: ambiguously gendered reader because what else can we expect from me. this didn’t get proofread. 

When Belch got sick, everyone fell to pieces. He wasn’t just their ride everywhere, though of course that was important, he was… he was everything.

Henry’s self-control, Vic’s sounding board, Patrick’s favorite lay or something like that, your… well. He was a lot to you. It was hard to pin down exactly what he gave you, but you needed it.

You got the first call from him.

“Hey.” He sounded deflated.

“Hey, babe. What’s going on?”

“I got the flu,” he said.

“The flu? Jesus. I’m so sorry, babe.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. You probably feel like shit, it’s not okay.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want us to come over?”

“You don’t have to, baby. I can take care of myself.”

“Well, I know that. But maybe I want to take care of you, too.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but you knew he was smiling.

“I guess I don’t have any choice in it?”

It was your turn to smile.

“Now you’re catching on. I’ll be there, soon. And I’m bringing the boys.”

He huffed.

“I guess I’ll see you, then.”

“Yeah. Bye, babe.”

“Bye.”

You called Henry as soon as you hung up with Belch.

“Henry.”

“Yeah? What’s up?” He sounded distracted. Butch was probably in the room, then.

“Belch’s sick.”

“Oh, damn. What’s he got?”

“The flu.”

“I’ll be there. Just as soon as I can, I’ll be there.”

“Okay. Bring some beans or something. I’m strapped for cash, or I’d bring him soup.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll tell Vic to bring something. Not gonna make him eat that shit.”

He called Vic so you wouldn’t have to.

You called Patrick.

“Yeah?” He sounded annoyed.

“Patrick. Belch is sick.”

“So?”

You sighed. “So. We need to go see him.”

“What, is he in the hospital or something?” He finally sounded excited.

He was probably the only person you knew who actually liked hospitals. He went as often as he could when he got particularly fucked up in a fight. He was the only one of you whose parents had the money for that. You’d catch major hell if you pulled that shit.

“No, he’s at home.”

Patrick sighed.

“So?” he said again.

“So. He can’t blow you when he’s sick.”

He made a dismissive noise.

“Patrick, if you don’t do this, I won’t blow you until he’s better.”

“God, fine. Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

You were the first person who arrived, though as you stood on the porch for a second, catching your breath — you practically ran the whole way — Vic ran up the walk, holding a plastic container.

“Hey,” he gasped.

“Hey,” you said, stifling a laugh.

You reached out and smoothed his hair. He sighed, closing his eyes.

“Soup?” you asked.

“Yeah. We had some sitting around. It’s just Campbell’s, but fuck it.”

“Yeah.”

“You seen him yet?” he asked.

“Nah. Just got here.”

“Okay. Let’s go in?”

“Yeah.”

You let yourself into the house, noting that Mrs. Huggins’ car wasn’t there.

“Belch?” called Vic.

You heard a groan coming from Belch’s room. You rushed toward it, mildly horrified. He must be feeling really terrible.

When you got to his bedroom door, the place was silent and still. In a bundle of blankets and pillows, Belch lay on his bed, eyes closed.

You went to sit on the edge of the bed, instinctively reaching out to lay a hand on his forehead.

“Hey, babe. How you feeling?” you asked.

He cracked his eyes, smiling at you.

“Just fine.”

“Liar,” said Vic. He still stood at the doorway, obviously not wanting to get much closer.

You jerked your head, silently telling him to get the fuck over here. He shook his head. You rolled your eyes.

“I brought soup,” he said.

“Hey, thanks,” said Belch.

Then he coughed. It was an ugly thing, and you instinctively leaned away from him.

“I’m gonna — go heat this up,” Vic said, leaving you two alone.

“I’m so sorry you’re sick, babe,” you said.

“Really, it’s okay. It happens.”

“Well, I know that, but still. This sucks.”

Belch coughed some more. “Tell me about it.”

“What’d your momma say?”

“Drink a lot of water, sleep a lot. She’ll be back as soon as she can after her shift is over.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Huggins was a nurse, so she sure knew her stuff. “Do you need any painkillers?”

“Got some,” he said, gesturing to his bedside table, which was littered with sick people things: a box of tissues, empty glasses, bottles of pills.

“When’d you last take some?” asked a voice from the door.

You turned. It was Henry, breathing hard and wet with sweat. Looks like you and Vic weren’t the only ones who booked it here.

“Coupla hours ago,” said Belch. “Hey, Hank.”

“Hey, big guy. You look like shit.”

“Feel like it, too.”

“You need to take more. You got something to drink?”

“Nope. Ran out a while back.”

You groaned. “Belch, your momma said to drink water.”

“Didn’t feel like getting up for it.”

You reached over him, grabbing two glasses off his side table. You figured the more, the better. Then you got up off the bed, heading toward the kitchen.

As you passed Henry, you stopped, giving him a short kiss.

“Thanks for coming,” you said.

“Well, it was lucky. I just finished my chores when you called, or I wouldn’t be here.”

“That is lucky.”

He shrugged.

You went into the kitchen, where Vic was standing next to the stove, chewing on the skin next to one of his fingernails, watching a small pot heat up his soup.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said.

“Hey. You okay?”

“I don’t wanna get sick, that’s all.”

“Mm. Okay.”

You filled up both glasses with water, then, before you went back to Belch’s room, you turned to Vic again.

“Please just… I don’t know. Sit on the other side of the room or something. He needs us.”

Vic grunted instead of really replying. You knew his anxiety about this was winning right now, but hopefully it wouldn’t win the whole day.

As you walked back to Belch’s room, you passed the front door just as Patrick burst in, slamming it closed behind him.

“Hey, sugar,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. That was a name meant for when he was annoyed with you. If he was annoyed that you insisted he care for a change, then so be it.

You loved him, but he could be so detached sometimes that it scared you.

You refused to think about it right now.

You lead him into Belch’s room, handing Belch a glass of water. He already had two little pills in his other hand, obviously given to him by Henry, who held the bottle. Henry leaned on the wall near the bed.

“Drink,” you ordered Belch. He did, swallowing with a little grimace.

“Hey, fuckface,” said Patrick.

“Hey, asshole,” said Belch.

You rolled your eyes. This was what passed as affection between them.

Patrick sat down, untying his boot laces. Usually he didn’t take his shoes off for anything other than to fuck, so you wondered what the hell was going on.

Then he got onto the bed, curling himself around Belch. Belch was obviously surprised, but didn’t have the energy to say anything about it.

“You’re all pussies,” said Patrick.

Henry barked out a laugh. “Some of us can’t afford to get sick, Hockstetter.”

“So what, so you miss out on some chores. Whatever.”

He snuggled in closer to Belch, arranging the covers as he did so that Belch was covered better. Then, surprisingly, he pressed a kiss to Belch’s temple.

This was so completely unlike Patrick that you wanted to look away, but you found yourself unable to. It was like a car crash, but made of caring. Or something that looked like it, anyway.

Belch was rigid with surprise for a moment before he seemed to think well, what the hell, and he relaxed into Patrick.

Vic appeared at the door, holding a big bowl, a spoon in his other hand. He seemed completely unsurprised by Patrick, but whether that was because he actually was, or his poker face was working hard, you couldn’t tell.

“Soup,” he said.

“You’re the best, baby,” said Belch.

Vic came over and handed the bowl to Belch, who had to hold it carefully to not spill it on Patrick.

He ate, slowly. It was obviously painful for him to swallow, so you looked away. You knew he needed to eat something, but god. At what cost?

“Thanks,” he said slowly. “For being here.”

“Where else would we be?” asked Vic.

“I dunno. Somewhere having fun without me?”

“Wouldn’t be the same,” said Henry. Then he looked away, like that was enough of his heart showing for one day.

“Besides, who would drive?” asked Patrick, snuggling closer.

“Oh, nice,” you griped.

“Shut up,” he sniped back.

“I can’t wait until I’m feeling better,” said Belch.

“Yeah. The whole town gets a few days off until you do,” said Vic, sitting down in a chair across the room.

You stifled a sigh. He was coming around.

“Yeah,” said Belch. “When I’m back, we gotta give ‘em hell.”

“You know it,” said Henry.

“But you gotta get better first,” you said, sitting on the side of the bed that wasn’t full of Patrick.

Belch leaned into you.

“I’ll be fine, soon. Better now you’re all here,” he said.

“Good,” Vic said. “Now fuckin’ eat. I stole that from my mom.”

Belch laughed, and you breathed a sigh of relief as his laughter didn’t turn into a coughing fit.

“Fine,” he said.

#poly bowers gang #belch huggins x reader #patrick hockstetter x belch huggins #vic criss x belch huggins #henry bowers x belch huggins #mine #personal

[robronsecretsanta]

Fanfic: and all our friends want us to fall in love

to @tryingtokeepthingssimple, love from your secret santa

Robert sprawls back under the midday sun. It’s hot, too hot - Aaron’s turning a ridiculous shade of pink, and it’s going to hurt later, but it’s worth it just to see Robert shine golden tanned.

“Me and Bex ended,” The older man says casually, like he doesn’t care that his relationship is in the gutter. He grins, pearly teeth and danger. “Doesn’t matter, though.”

His eyes are glinting in a way that scares Aaron a bit. “Why?” He asks, even though he isn’t sure he wants to know the answer.

“Because I’m havin’ a go on Chrissie again,” Robert laughs in that careless way of his. He stretches his arms above his head and his t-shirt rides up. Aaron can’t stop his gaze drifting to the soft skin of Robert’s belly. He can’t stop his face from heating up, either.

He can’t help but mutter, “Prick,” either. It falls from his lips before he has the time to stop it, and for a second, he feels stricken. But then he thinks about what he said and lets it hang. He meant it.

Robert turns his head, mouth dropped open in shock. “What did you call me?”

“You heard,” Aaron says, voice low. Robert may be his best friend but the way he treats people is disgusting. That’s why he said it. Well, that and the other thing.

“What is wrong with you?” Robert breathes, quiet and angry. He places his palms flat on the ground and pushes himself into a sitting position, eyes boring into Aaron’s. “Every time I mention someone new, you have a go!”

“Is it any wonder why?” Aaron snaps. He goes to stand, but Robert’s fingers curl around his wrist, pulling him back until he’s sitting opposite the younger man. He crosses his arms over his chest instead. “You treat people like shit, Robert!”

Robert smirks, and it’s bone-deep and unsettling. “It’s not just that, is it?” He counters coolly, face masked into a hard expression.

Aaron’s vision tints read, hands curling into fists. “No, it’s because you know how I feel about you, and you don’t care!” He spits. The words hang awkwardly in the air, and Robert’s wide eyes trace his face like he’s reading them again.

“What?” He asks, barely above a whisper. His hand falls from Aaron’s wrist, hangs by his side like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Forget it,” Aaron says. That was a mistake, his brain screams at him. And he knows that, feels it settling under his skin. He stands, and this time Robert doesn’t stop him. He turns, and this he time he doesn’t look at Robert. He walks, and this time he ignores Robert’s calls.

“Aaron!” Robert yells after him, but he’s not chasing him. That’s fine. He can block out the voice, ignore Robert’s existence.

He breaks into a sprint, feet burning and lungs aching, and when he gets back to Smithy cottage, he throws up bile so violently it makes his head pound.

.

Things are awkward - and even that’s an understatement.

Being in the same room as Robert is possibly the last thing Aaron wants right now, so he does the mature thing and avoids him like the plague. If they must pass in the street, he circles around the older man. If Robert comes into the cafe, he’ll swallow the rest of his coffee and leave.

Mature, obviously.

It’s fine. He doesn’t miss Robert, or the cadence of his voice, or the way his face shines in the moon light. That’d be boring.

And it’s not like Robert seeks him out, either - he’s just as bad, giving the garage a mile-wide berth, sitting at the opposite end of the pub. He doesn’t miss Aaron.

So they’re both in silent agreement. Aaron just wishes his heart would get the fucking memo.

As for Victoria, god - she wouldn’t get the hint if it punched her in the face, and Aaron’s tired of it.

She corners him in the cafe one morning, before work. Robert’s up at the counter, and Aaron can just about pick the tone of his words above the rest. “You and my brother aren’t speaking,” She says accusingly, pointing a finger into the centre of his chest.

“Great detective work, Vic,” He sighs, letting the sarcasm drip from his voice. He doesn’t have time for this - not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

She stabs her finger a bit harder, and he winces away. “Are you going to tell me why?” She asks, more of a demand. Aaron resulotely stares at a spot over her shoulder, and keeps his mouth firmly shut. “No, thought not.”

“Why ask?” Aaron bites back, trying to slip around her and make a dash for the door.

Victoria blocks him again, palm pressed against his t-shirt. “Worth a try,” She says with a shrug, but then her eyes light up in a way that tells him she’s up to something. “Oh, me and Rob have a free house this weekend. Party Saturday night.”

He shrugs, bored, and watches her frown deepen. “Busy,” He says shortly, and tries to shoulder her out of his way. She stops him though, with the hard stamp of her foot onto his shoe, and he swears loudly, not missing the glare that Bob sends him.

He doesn’t apologise. That’s a little (a lot) out of his comfort zone.

Instead, he quietens his voice, and asks, “What the fuck, Vic?”

“Right,” She says firmly, straightening her shoulders. She’s just a kid, really, but she’s intimidating and fierce and something in Aaron’s chest tightens with pride. He knows she’s gonna go far. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and Robert, but I’m sick of it. It’s awkward and uncomfortable. So you’re coming Saturday, whether you like it or not, and you’re going to sort this out. Got it?”

There’s no way out of this one, and Aaron knows it. “Fine,” He says through a long-suffering sigh, and Vic finally steps aside to let him go.

He feels eyes on his back, a burning gaze, and something fluttering deep in his stomach tells him it’s Robert. But when he turns and glances over his shoulder, the other man is talking to Bob like nothing ever happened.

Maybe Aaron’s just dreaming.

.

Saturday arrives too fast for Aaron’s liking.

“Maybe tonight’s the night, man,” Adam says, a smirk on his face that’s too wide to be anything more than a lopsided smile. He straightens his shirt in the mirror and reaches over for Aaron’s aftershave. “Maybe Vic will finally see that we’re meant to be!”

He sprays enough Joop to kill a cow, and Aaron’s half choking on it before he manages to stagger over to the window and open it. “Or maybe tonight’s the night she comes to her senses and stays well away,” Aaron suggests with a teasing slap to his friend’s shoulder.

“Senses?” Adam snorts, turning to Aaron. “I think she lost those when she decided to get with you!”

“And look how that turned out,” Aaron says, but he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s accepted it, now. He’s gay and that’s that - can’t change anything.

Robert had helped more than Aaron cares to admit, but that thought stirs bile in his stomach so he shuts it down.

Aaron drags the next hour or so out as much as he can. He convinces Adam to have one more can at Paddy’s kitchen table, then shuffles over to the Sugden cottage slow enough that they’re late (“Fashionably late!” Adam cries. Aaron doesn’t have the balls to tell him why).

“Finally!” Vic huffs when they fall through the door in a mess of limbs and laughter. Aaron’s cheeks are flushed from the cold, hands stinging from carrying the freezing cold beers, and it’s all enough to forget about the situation, until-

Until he sees Robert.

The older man glances at Aaron, just briefly, but enough to have his nerves singing and his heart thudding. He looks disinterested - bored - but Aaron knows him. He knows it’s all just a front.

But Robert still turns away, back to a girl with perfectly bouncing hair and a figure-hugging dress.

So. That’s that.

It hurts Aaron more than it should.

.

It takes five cans and a bottle of vodka swinging loosely in his grip to make him feel a little less on edge. It’s still there though, in the background: in the ends of his hair that’s standing on end and the goosebumps on his skin.

“Spin the bottle!” Vic cries, words slurring together as she throws her arms up. She’s probably on the wrong side of drunk by now, and Aaron would keep an eye on her, but he knows Adam is - and Robert is watching them both like a hawk.

The party forms into some kind of misshapen circle, empty bottle in the middle. Aaron hates this kind of stuff, but Vic has a forceful hand pressed onto his shoulder, keeping him in place.

Robert is sat opposite, but- that’s easy to ignore. He stares resolutely at Holly, on the older man’s left and pulling faces at him.

The bottle spins and spins, and Aaron feels sick every time it slows down, but it doesn’t land on him. Not the first time, or the second, or all the times after, until-

“Aaron!” Vic screams, throwing her arms around him. She presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek and he struggles away, taking a swig of the vodka as Adam spins the bottle again.

It blurs into a circle of white, until Aaron can’t stand to look at it, so he closes his eyes.

That’s why he doesn’t see who it lands on.

It’s Adam’s loud guffaw of laughter that makes him look up, and he follows the line of the neck of the bottle to… to Robert, who’s sitting deadly still, glaring at the floor.

“Seven minutes in heaven!” Vic coos, both hands shoving at Aaron’s arm in an attempt to make him stand up.

“Vic,” Aaron says, quietly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She doesn’t listen though - never does. “It’s perfect! You can sort yourselves out!” She says, loud enough for Robert to look up.

“Can’t hurt,” Robert mutters. It’s low enough that Aaron has to strain to hear it, and it’s dark enough that he can only just make out the blush staining his cheeks.

It’s enough for Aaron to move, though.

He staggers to his feet and follows Robert, into the cramped cupboard under the stairs. The door shuts behind them and the noise of the party resumes – drunken cheers and the clinking of glasses – but it’s silent between them.

It’s dark, too; only an inch of light seeping through a crack between the door and the frame, but it lights up Robert’s features and shines in his eyes. Aaron can see every twitch of his face.

“So,” Aaron says, knees knocking against Robert’s as he sits with his back against the wall. He opens his mouth to say something else – maybe something about the weather, something sarcastic – but Robert shoots him a look to cut him off.

“Small talk?” Robert says, voice lilting at the end. He raises an eyebrow teasingly, but it feels more patronising. Something punches Aaron, low in the gut and uncomfortable.

“Not like I’ve got anything else to say to you,” The younger man snaps, turning his head. The din of the drunken teenagers continues, and Aaron focuses on picking out words from the shouts.

He can feel Robert’s eyes on him though: studying him, drinking in every little detail. “I’m sorry,” He says suddenly, voice small and nothing like him. “I shouldn’t have acted like I did.”

“Not your fault,” Aaron mutters, even though it definitely is.

“I get it,” Robert continues, barely listening to Aaron. His fingers inch closer and tangle with Aaron’s, resting on the younger man’s knee. “But I was scared. I didn’t- I couldn’t put it into words.”

“Put what into words?” Aaron asks, tongue suddenly dry. He feels confused, right to his core – like he knows what Robert’s saying, but doesn’t want to believe it.

“How I feel about you.” Robert says simply, staring at Aaron head-on. There’s no escape from his gaze, and it’s overwhelming, but Aaron can’t look away. He just lets his chest tighten and his breathing hitch, and looks back at Robert.

It gets too much, blue on green, sky meeting sea, so he tears his gaze away and looks at their tangled fingers. “How?” He manages to ask, words choked through his thick throat.

Robert just looks at him: blinks once, twice, then exhales and tightens his grip on Aaron’s hand. “I love you,” He says, voice rough but soft. “I didn’t know… I mean, I’ve always felt it, but I couldn’t work out what it was.”

“You’re with Chrissie again,” Aaron blurts out. He can’t even stop himself – it feels a lot like he’s hell bent on ruining this before it’s even begun.

The older man shakes his head though, and leans forward. Their foreheads brush from the proximity, noses knocking. “Not anymore,” He whispers, all raw honesty and heart wrenching truths. “I ended it. As soon as you told me, I was done. I don’t want anyone else.”

It’s too much – Aaron’s dreamt of this, wished for it even, but he never expected it. He never even thought Robert could swing that way until he came out, let alone fall for someone like Aaron. Something wraps itself around his lungs, squeezes the breath out of them. It spreads through his veins and burns his skin, explodes behind his eyelids.

“Do you mean it?” He whispers, barely a breath.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” Robert says, a slight snap to his voice. He cups Aaron’s face in his hands, warm pads of his thumbs stroking along each side of his jaw. “You know me better than that.”

Aaron lets his eyes fall shut lazily, tries not to melt into the touch. Easier said than done, really. “Say it again,” He begs – demands.

Robert sweeps forward another inch, nudges their noses together and settles on his knees when Aaron’s legs fall open. “I love you,” He says, words full of things that he doesn’t show: desire, truthfulness, desperation.

“Okay,” Aaron says, a sigh of relief falling from his lips. He traces his fingertips feather-light under the material of the older man’s shirtsleeves, ruffles the fair hairs on his arm.

“Aren’t you going to say it back?” Robert says, amused, thumbing under Aaron’s eyes so he opens them.

When he does, he sees Robert’s eyes, sparkling with happiness while his brow is creased with concern. “You’ll have to find out, won’t you?” Aaron teases back. He can’t help it – it’s how they’ve always been. Easy and unhurried.

Robert takes the cue though, presses forward until their lips are brushing. It’s a simple kiss, gentle and dry, but it feels like it lasts forever. Aaron doesn’t dare breathe until Robert pulls back.

“I love you,” The younger man murmurs, words spilling out before he can stop them. It feels right – more than it did that time in the field, more than it did whenever Aaron had dreamt about it – and the brilliant grin that beams from Robert’s face makes it all worthwhile.

The door bangs open with a loud crash against the wall, but Robert doesn’t jump away like Aaron expects him to. He just turns his head with a raised eyebrow, and glares at the interruption.

At Vic and Adam.

“Your seven minutes is up!” Victoria cries, so drunk that she’s barely recognising what’s right in front of her. Her eyes are glazed and it looks like Adam is taking most of her weight.

Adam sees it though, and laughs, loud enough to get the attention of several kids in the room who turn their heads to look. “Looks like you sorted things out!” He cackles, arm slung around Vic’s shoulders.

Robert doesn’t bite hard like he usually does whenever Adam makes a crack, just glances back at Aaron with a sweet, secretive smile on his face. “Yeah, well,” He says, eyes trained on the younger man. “Sometimes all you have to do is talk.”

It’s enough of a dig that Adam blushes and pulls Victoria away, mumbling something about giving them a couple more minutes. Aaron’s grateful, even if he thinks that Robert could’ve handled it better – he knows he would’ve.

“This lot are probably gonna be here all night,” Robert whispers, closer than Aaron had realised. His lips brush against the shell of the younger man’s ear, breath warm against his cheek.

“Could always come back to mine?” Aaron suggests, curling his fingers around the ball of Robert’s shoulder. He holds on tight and sways upwards, catches Robert’s mouth with his own.

“Guess I could,” Robert smirks, and pulls Aaron to his feet.

Tonight, they share Aaron’s bed. It’s nothing that they haven’t done before, nothing that hasn’t been a regular thing since they were kids, but this- this is different.

This is Robert folded into the contours of Aaron’s body, forehead resting against the younger man’s temple. This is Robert’s arm curled over Aaron’s stomach, fingers tangled together. This is Robert, kissing him awake in the morning and making breakfast.

This is them. This is exactly where they’re meant to be.

#tryingtokeepthingssimple #robron fanfiction #Robron #aaron x robert #emmerdale

[forevfangirlwrites]

Spooky, Sexy and Scary™

The gash on his cheek was starting to itch, the blood oozing down his jaw. He tried his hardest to not disturb the syrupy trail, even as it made its way over the red and purple splotches marking his skin.

He tried to distract himself from the feeling by inspecting the rest of his body. His arms were filled with irritated scratches and his neck was slit open. He moved his hand towards his hair before abruptly stopping it midway and dropping it back to the side of his torn shirt. His head stung slightly with the chemicals that graced his messed up hair, but he didn’t dare touch it.

He marked his victim, a young blonde woman standing off to the side, looking like she was waiting for someone. She was distracted, looking through her phone, and with no one else around, it was the perfect time.

Matthew inched closer, a maniacal grin making its way on his face. He was so close, all he needed was for her to not look up and he would have done his job. He gripped the knife tighter in his hand… any second now…

Sensing his presence, the young woman looked up just in time as he flashed the knife in her face. Her eyes widened as she shrieked, hands fumbling as she almost dropped her. He grinned again, mission accomplished.

Her face quickly morphed into a frown as she took a moment to catch her breath from the scare.

“Ugh, you actually got me,” she huffed, still frowning.

“Kinda my job.” He was out of character now but he wanted to make sure she was alright.

“What are you supposed to be anyway?” she asked. She had regained her composure rather quickly, and now that he was no longer worried, he took a moment to take in her appearance.

She had soft brown hair tied into a ponytail and a vibe that told him she could have taken him down had he been a real attacker.

He shrugged in response. He honestly wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to be other than Scary™. The makeup, for its part, was well done and in the relative dark of the park he was pretty sure no one would be able to nitpick the costume too much anyway.

“No clue, my actual costume is sexy nurse,” he deadpanned. He wasn’t exactly sure what prompted this line of dialogue but now he was curious to see where it went.

The girl raised an eyebrow. “Sticking with the classics, huh?” He hadn’t really expected her to go along with it, the surprise on his face morphing into a grin.

He nodded in response. “Oh yeah, besides, red and white are my colors.”

At that the girl grinned back and Matthew was sure he was the one with a racing heart now. This was going better than expected.  “I just want to see you in the heels,” she remarked.

He gave an exaggerated wink. “You will.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Really? You’re gonna wear the heels.”

There was a challenge in her tone that made him smirk. “Definitely.”

She regarded him curiously. “Alright,” she remarked, skeptical. She reached into her bag to grab a pen. “Here,” she said writing something down on the map of the park. “I expect pictures.”

Woah, he had not seen that coming. But here was this girl giving him her number and a challenge. This had gone way better than expected.

He ran a hand through his hair, still shocked. He was so going to be on the receiving end of Carol’s lecture as she tugged every last strand back into place, but it was so worth it.

He barely nodded in response before she walked away with a small wave, leaving him with dumbfounded expression and plans to buy a Halloween costume.

-LINEBREAK-

Stephanie’s phone buzzed two days later with a text from an unknown number. Curiously, she unlocked it, opening the message and wondering if it was the guy from Fright Fest who had managed to scare her.

She still wasn’t sure what had possessed her to give out her number to a random guy dressed up as Scary™ at an amusement park. She didn’t even know his name– hell, she wasn’t even completely sure what he looked like.

But for some reason the conversation had resulted in a challenge and part of her really wanted to know if he had taken it up.

Who wore it better?

Well, she was about to find out. Following the message was a picture of the classic sexy nurse halloween costume as worn by the girl on the packaging. Next was a picture of a really cute guy wearing the same outfit except the dress was stretching due to his broad frame. He was indeed wearing the heels, his calf muscles clearly straining to keep him upright and he gripped the wall for support.

She wasn’t really sure what she had been expecting but admittedly this was not it.

She quickly typed out a reply. You, definitely

And you’re right, red and white are your colors

His response came almost immediately.

Thanks, I think the cap really pulls it together

She smiled as she looked at the cap that rested on the messy brown hair that looked really soft. She wondered if it was.

I’m impressed how you got into those heels

He responded after a minute or so.

I did it for the instagram pic

It took me two minutes to take them off

My feet are killing me

She winced, she knew the struggle. And honestly, it was probably worse for him because he probably had to squeeze into them.

I can imagine

He replied with a gif of a cat screaming.

She smiled, but before she could react he sent another message.

But hey, I did as promised, you got to see the heels

She considered the situation. He had definitely kept up his promise.

After a moment of thought she responded: that you did, how about coffee on me for all your pain.

Yeah, she could get to know the guy who went all out to wear heels with a sexy nurse costume and sent gifs of cats.

-LINEBREAK-

As it turned out coffee actually meant churros and Stephanie was back at Fright Fest because Matthew had work soon and a discount for the food vendors at the park. She could get behind free churros.

After meeting him though, Steph quickly realized that Matt in a normal jeans and hoodie was by far her favorite version of him (not that the others weren’t good.) But seeing him in normal clothes smiling shyly and rubbing that back of his neck, with no costume to hide behind, made her heart flutter.

Now that she had the advantage of light she could see just how mesmerizing his chocolate eyes were and how adorable he really was.

“Hi,” he said, offering a small smile.

“Hi,” she returned the gesture.

They sat down at one of the food court-esque tables, a little awkwardly. Things were suddenly a lot more real and nerves were getting to her. It was to be expected since so far all conversation besides the first time had been in texts and cat gifs and you can’t really do that in real life.

“Sorry,” he breathed finally, “You’re way cuter that I remembered, also better lighting now.” He gestured around.

She nodded. “Yeah, you’re pretty cute too, when you don’t have blood all of your face or a sexy nurse costume,” she teased, hoping to alleviate some of the awkward tension.

It worked when he gave her a scandalized gasp, “I’ll have you know, I rocked the sexy nurse costume.”

She laughed, “Yeah, you did. Got to say, I admire your commitment, I didn’t expect you to actually go through with it.” And she really did, that was the reason she had continued to talk to him.

He shrugged, a small smile making its way on his face. “It was worth it for a date with you.”

Her heart leaped. So maybe his fun personality had played a factor in her feelings for him. “Is that was this is, a date?” she teased lightly.

He ducked his head and offered another shy smile, “If you want it to be.”

It totally was.

——-

Matt had just headed out of the makeshift makeup/break room and into the rest of the park which was aptly decorated for the spooky season. Fright Fest was in full force as guests wandered from ride to ride waiting to get scared by people like him.

He smiled, he was so ready for this. Back in costume, ready to find his next vic-FUCK.

He jumped as he felt fingers poke his sides.

Laughter filled the air as he tried to catch his breath. He frowned as he turned to find his giggling girlfriend beside him.  It had taken a year but the tables had turned, unfortunately for him.

“Stephanie!”

She just smirked. “I thought you were supposed to be the scary one.”

He huffed and crossed his arms.  “I am! I’m very scary.” His costume had even been upgraded from last year’s Scary™ to vampire.

She raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”

Oh, so that’s how she was gonna play this. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in, causing her to gasp in surprise. “Shut up,” he said lowly.

She stared back at him and there was a moment of silence and expectancy before he spoke again. “I’d kiss you but that’d mess up my makeup.”

Steph made a face, as he knew she would. He tried not to smile too hard, but honestly she was too adorable.

“Maybe you should have gone as stuck-up princess instead,” she retaliated, still annoyed by the lack of a kiss. So was he, really, but he didn’t want another one of Carol’s lectures if he messed up the makeup. She still hadn’t let go of the hair incident from before.

He looked back at her, affronted. “Excuse me, I’d be a sexy stuck up princess.”

She rolled her eyes but he could see the mirth behind them. God, did he want to kiss her.

“Yeah right,” she scoffed.

He couldn’t stop himself. He leaned down to meet her lips midway as the overwhelming tingling sensation that came with kissing Stephanie overtook his body.

“What about your makeup?” she teased when they broke apart.

“Couldn’t resist my amazing girlfriend,” he replied, smiling gently. Steph blushed at the words and pulled him in for another kiss.

“Besides,” he whispered after they broke apart again, “pink is so not my color.”

#a full oneshot for halloween #here is your season onehsot lol #also i love halloween #so... #matapat and steph #matpat and stephanie #fanfiction #stephew #stephew fic