#[i really dig the way you draw joseph]

[her-power]

just for tonight (Joseph Quinn x fem reader / one shot) 18+

warnings: adorable as well as smutty. I guess that sums it up!

summary: this is a one shot based on an interesting dream I had involving JQ & myself & a casino. my hyper-fixation heart couldn’t help it and wanted to turn it into a story. enjoy!

a/n: a new Eddie Munson series is in the works & fixation on the darkness II is in brainstorm mode!

word count: 2k? Maybe? I don’t know, I didn’t use my word document for this one lol

You wished you didn’t agree to go to this bachelorette party. You weren’t even in the wedding party but your friend who was a bridesmaid begged you to come because she couldn’t stand the maid of honor. Most Saturday nights you spent lounging on your couch with your cats, and a book on your lap. You felt like a grandma, but you were trying to be a good friend. The bride was in her early twenties, the rest of the party were in their mid twenties. You and your friend were the only ones who were thirty.

You really hated staying out late. It was almost 11 o’clock, you were sitting alone at the bar in the casino of the hotel you had to book. The bridal party wanted to head out to the next town to a bar that closed at 2am, that’s where you draw the line, you’d rather get drunk by yourself and then drag yourself to your hotel room. You were on your second tequila sunrise, which is a lot for you, playing candy crush on your phone, feeling eyes on you from drunk men who would walk by, preying on you. You could never take a compliment but you were pleased with how you looked tonight. A lightweight black mid sleeve dress adorned your curvy figure, went down to your ankles and had two slits up both sides of your legs. The bodice had a cut out diamond shape, exposing some of your sternum below your breasts. You didn’t wear a bra, the tie front of the bodice supported the girls delicately. You had finished your drink, and one magically appears in front of you.

You glance up at the bartender through your eyelashes. “I didn’t order that.” You say kindly.

“No, but the gentleman across the way did.” She tells you with a smirk and you glance behind her. Your breath hitches and butterflies fill your stomach; the most beautiful brown eyes stare back at you, smiling sweetly at you, holding up his glass as a hello. You have to close your mouth, you couldn’t believe someone as handsome as him had bought you a drink, and you couldn’t shake how familiar he looked to you. You clear your throat, digging through your wallet for a ten dollar bill, you hold it up, giving him a questioning, awkward smile. Casino drinks were way too over priced unless you were gambling. He laughs, and your nerves come back as he gets up from his seat and walks around the bar towards you. You rub your sweaty palms on your knees, your leg begins to bop uncontrollably as you feel his presence stand next to you.

You don’t look at him right away, but after giving yourself a little pep talk, remembering what your grandma said about men, you look up at him with a smile.

“I don’t want your money, love.” He’s English, his voice is nice, soft with a bit of a rasp. You realize you’re staring and laugh awkwardly, looking away and he smiles back at you, his cheeks dimpling.

“These drinks are way too overpriced.” You say quietly. “Please, take it.”

You move the bill towards him but he places his hand over yours, crumpling the bills under your hand and gently moves it away. You sigh, shaking your head, placing the money back in your wallet. “Okay, if you can afford it.”

“I can…I suppose.” He laughs softly.

You meet his eyes again, you were definitely a little drunk because you still couldn’t place why he was so familiar to you.

“May I sit?” He asks you and you nod. He slides on the bar stool next to you, his knee grazes yours slightly and you swear you can feel a current shoot down to your lower belly.

“Why did you buy me a drink?” You ask, a blush rising to your cheeks. “I mean, I look pretty pathetic, sitting alone at a bar while her friends are off galavanting somewhere else.”

He grins, perfect teeth. “I think you look pretty beautiful.”

You swallow a nervous laugh. “Oh.”

He cringes and chuckles. “I know, that was lame. I’m sorry.”

“Not lame, I just don’t know how to take a compliment.” You laugh, taking a swig off the drink. “It’s also my choice to sit alone at a bar. I didn’t feel like staying out til two a.m.”

“Ooof. Let me guess, bachelorette party?” He sips his own drink, leaning his head on his palm as he looks at you. You nod, taking another swig. “You seem nervous.”

“Nah.” You laugh a little too loudly and he stifles a giggle. “I’m just…I’m not used to…this. I mean…you’re just…I could just be drunk but, you’re insanely handsome.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh stop.”

“You can’t take a compliment either!” You laugh, nudging his shoulder. You were loosening up, and part of you thinks it’s his calm energy, and obviously mixed with the alcohol.

Realizing you had knocked back your entire drink, you do the logical thing and order another one. The two of you got to talking, mostly about favorites, why he was there alone, if he gambled and if he had a favorite late night snack. He said his name was Joseph, or Joe. You had turned your body closer to his, the slit of your dress had fell down just the right way so your leg was exposed. You caught him subtly glancing that direction, a blush creeping up on his cheeks when he realized you saw him looking. You clear your throat, glancing at the time on your phone. It was after midnight.

Call it a night and get his number.

Invite him upstairs.

Listen to your grandma.

Invite him upstairs.

“Do you like scrabble?” You ask him, smiling at the silliness of the question.

“Like the game? Yeah…why?” He laughs.

“I have travel scrabble in my room and free alcohol. Whoever loses has to order dominoes.” You grin, your head was foggy but you weren’t that drunk where you couldn’t make consensual decisions.

“Okay, shouldn’t take long for me to win.” He winks at you and you roll your eyes. You both pay your respective tabs and exit the casino, the two of you walk towards the elevator but you stop, leaning on his shoulder for support, unbuckling your heels and sighing with relief before stepping in the elevator. “I don’t know how you ladies do it with the heels.” He laughs.

“Worst. Nightmare.” You groan, tossing the heels into a nearby trash can. He raises his eyebrows and smirks, you catch his look and laugh. “$3 at savers. I have other shoes.”

“Just checking.” He giggles, letting you on the elevator first. You press the button to the 14th floor and he lets out a laugh.

“Your hotel is on the 14th floor? What do you know, so is mine.”

You give him a mock shock face. “Must’ve been fate!” Yeah, you were drunk.

“Oh shush.” He laughs, shaking his head. You had moved yourself closer to him by accident, you were beginning to sway, but he didn’t seem to mind when your hand lightly touches his and he places his hand gently on your lower back as the elevator doors open. You fumble with your purse, trying to find the keycard, weeble wobbling your way towards your room. You see the number for 1457 and hover at the door.

“Well, this just got even more interesting.” You look up at him curiously and he point to the room across the hall. “That’s my room.”

“No it’s not.” You say, genuinely shocked this time. He gives you a smile, taking his keycard out of his pocket, going up to the door and sliding it in the slot. It lights up green and he opens the door like he just did a magic trick.

“I think you’re stalking me.” You say, finally finding the keycard and sliding it in the door. You push open the door, turning on the lights and tossing your purse on floor. He follows you in, shutting the door and locking it behind you.

“I believe, darling. That you’re the one stalking me.” He grins, his body very close to yours you could feel the heat radiating off of him. His hand reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and you shudder.

“Scravel. Trabble. Oh my god. TRAVEL SCRABBLE.” You cackle and quickly move away from him, you didn’t know why, he was definitely about to kiss you. You could feel his eyes on you as you dig through your luggage to find the game, you look up at him and suddenly feel shy. “What?”

“Nothing.” He smiles, leaning against the wall. “You’re just adorable to look at.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you bite your lower lip, going back to searching for the game. He takes the bottle of red wine on the table and pours it into two plastic cups. You laugh when he hands it to you after finding the game.

“Classy.” You grin and clink your cup against his. You both sip the wine and you jump onto the bed, opening scrabble and sitting criss cross apple sauce. He sits across from you, placing the cup on the nightstand next to the phone.

You hand him his letters and the two of you sit silently as you move around the tiles.

Que.

Quest.

Tech.

He makes a word that is just jumbled letters.

“That’s not a word.” You tell him.

“It so is a word!” He laughs.

“LEK is not a word!”

“Google it.” He smirks coyly at you.

You narrow your eyes at him and open your phone, you let out a laugh. “LEK is a basic monetary unit of Albania?! There’s no way you knew that!”

“Are you upset with me for knowing unknown words?” He leans towards you, smiling. “I mean, I can order us the pizza.”

Your breath hitches, he’s so close to you, your knees are almost touching. Your eyes dart from his lips to his eyes, your heart was racing. In one swift arm motion, you launch scrabble off the bed, taking him by his shoulders and wrapping your legs around his middle.

“Fuck the pizza.” You say, before crashing your lips against his. His arms are strong as they wrap around your waist and you straddle him. His hand moves up your leg, to your thigh, gripping the muscle as he moves his way on top of you, his tongue sliding delicately in your mouth. You grip his hair in your fist, he moans softly against your mouth, your hands pull his dress shirt out of his pants and glide up his smooth back. He pulls away from your lips, kissing your neck softly, in between your covered breasts. Your eyes flutter close when you feel him slide down towards your waist and he scoots back on his stomach, massaging your calves. You lean up on your elbows, and watch as he moves the slit of your dress to the side. He leans forward but you stop him with the base of your foot against his forehead and he laughs.

“I don’t normally do something like this.” You tell him, swallowing hard.

He gently moves your foot away, resting it on his shoulder. “I don’t either.” He gently kisses your calf. “We don’t have to…”

“No, no…I want to.” You smile shyly. “I just don’t want you to think I’m the kind of woman that will…”

He moves back up to you, your leg going with him, draping over his shoulder. He cups your face, runs his thumb along your lips. “I don’t think you’re that kind of woman.”

You smile, lifting your face up to kiss him gently. He smiles into your kiss, sliding his way back down in between your legs. Your heart races, feeling him pulling you towards him by your thighs, your knees bend and your head falls back against the pillow as he leaves soft kisses on your inner thighs. You feel his fingers dance gently along the straps of your underwear and you lifts your hips as he pulls them off slowly. He looks up at you through his eyelashes and grins. He looked so sexy. You could honestly come by just his look alone.

“You are very, very beautiful.” He says softly, and his face disappears. You gasp softly when you feel his lips kiss close to your sex, and your back immediately arches when his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks. You grip the blanket beneath you, a moan escaping your lungs.

“Ohhh…” You moan loudly, your hands fists his hair as he swirls his tongue in circles, licking you delicately and kneading at your thighs. You could already feel your orgasm building, but this was just…too fucking good. You didn’t want it to stop. You bite your bottom lip, your tummy muscles clench as your orgasm screams out of you and your back arches. He continues to eat you up, burying his face deeper as you continue to come.

He lifts his face, wiping his lips and smiles, you catch your breath, leaning up to catch his lips. You tasted yourself, and that made you crave him more. He holds your face with his soft hands and you move on top of him, ripping the buttons of his shirt open. He groans softly as you pull away from his lips and kiss his chest, moving your tongue in long stripes across his torso and move your lips down to his hips. You unzip his pants, kissing him gently on the sensitive skin on his pelvis and he shivers, letting out a soft gasp. Your eyes widen as you expose him, questioning whether or not you could fit this in your mouth. You kiss the tip gently and he moans, letting out a laugh of pleasure as you take him entirely into your mouth. He pulls gently at your hair as you swirl your tongue around the head, moving your fist up and down. His head hangs over the bed as he breathes heavily, you watch his chest rise and fall.

He gasps. “I want…I want to feel you.” You lift up your head and he sits up, taking your face, kissing your swollen lips. You shiver, more butterflies settling in your tummy and he watches as you lift your dress above your head. You instinctively shield yourself and he stands up, smiling at you, taking off the rest of his clothes. His hands gently go to your arms and he rubs his palms against your soft skin. You blush as he pulls your arms away from your chest, his eyes scan your body and he meets your gaze. He gives you another sweet smile, leaning forward to kiss you gently, you wrap your arms around his shoulders to deepen the kiss and he kneads at your waist. He cups your ass, lifting you up to the picture wjndow ledge and he stands between your legs. You pull away from his mouth, smiling shyly.

“Condom?” You ask him. He smiles, nodding and going into his jacket pocket. You laugh almost.

“What?” He chuckles as he places the rubber over his erection. “I’m a gentleman. I’m never gonna assume.”

Your heart does a pitter patter, you swear you could see yourself falling in love with this man. He cups your cheek, kissing you deeply and you open your legs wider for him. He hooks your leg around his waist and stares into your eyes. He slowly slides into you and you gasp, your head falling back against the window with a thud. He lets out a sharp breath, gripping your thighs as he pushes himself deeper. He kisses your neck, thrusting into you faster and his lips catch your hardened nipple in his mouth.

“Mmmm…ohhhh…fuuuck…” You’re surprised at your own sounds, how insanely pornographic they sound and you moan even louder when he grunts loudly.

You pull his face towards yours, biting his lower lip and he holds onto the window for support, rocking his hips faster and faster. You whimper and he picks you up, still inside you and kissing you passionately as you both collapse on the bed. You place your leg on his shoulder and he kisses your calf, holding your leg to him as he moves, his other hand reaching to cup your breasts. You place your own hands through your hair, grazing up your body, the pleasure you were getting from him was making you see colors. His moves become a little ragged, and you can tell he’s getting close.

“Kiss me.” You moan, another orgasm building fast. He does as he is told, slipping his tongue in your mouth, thrusting harder and deeper. Your nails claw at his back, and he grunts loudly as you clench around his cock, screaming so loud you’re positive the whole building heard you. He comes hard seconds after you, his moans full of raw, raspy intensity. You hold him close to you, caressing his damp hair as you catch your breath. He lifts his face up to look at you and kisses you softly. You smile against his lips and he gently pulls out of you. He sighs, resting his head on your chest.

“I don’t mean to put a damper on this wonderful night…but I really have to pee.” You laugh and he chuckles against your chest, moving off of you. You hop off the bed, grabbing a pair of shorts and a t shirt from your luggage and rush into the bathroom, after doing your business you tidy yourself up and brush your teeth. When you exit the bathroom, Joseph is sitting with his ankles crossed in a t-shirt and sweatpants. You had forgotten his room was across the hall.

He smiles sweetly at you and you smile back, crawling next to him in the bed. He cradles you against his chest, gently running his fingers through your hair.

“Question game?” He says with a laugh and you nod.

“Okay, where did you grow up?”

You suddenly felt a pit in your stomach. Talking about home opened wounds that were still healing, but you answer him anyway. “Massachusetts.”

“With parents and siblings?” His finger dances gently around your shoulder.

“No siblings, just my parents.” You sigh. “Only child.”

“Me too.” He chuckles. “Where are your parents now?”

Fuck. Here comes the most awkward interaction in the world. He feels you tense up but doesn’t say anything. “…you don’t have to answer that, love. I’m sorry if it’s a touchy subject.”

“No.” You laugh awkwardly. “It’s not, it’s just…what I’m about to tell you usually makes people feel uncomfortable and word vomit which makes me want to crawl into a hole, but I don’t think you’re that kind of person.”

You feel his eyes on you and you glance up at him, he was really listening to you. “My dad lives in a one bedroom apartment with his dog Felix in Boston. And…my mom…she died when I was seventeen.” His hold on you tightens and he gently caresses your face, moving his face closer to yours to stare into your eyes.

“Tell me about her.” He says softly and tears immediately spring to your eyes. You have never had someone say that to you, not even your loved ones, let alone a stranger.

So, you tell him. You tell him how she was the funniest woman on planet earth. How she could quote some memorable movies using their voices and would go out of her way to make a person laugh. How much she loved you. How angry you were when she died. How you hope to never scream like that again in your life. How sometimes you wish you could go back, and take her place.

You feel his lips on your cheeks, kissing your tears away, you didn’t even realize you had been crying.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, this is embarrassing.” You laugh, wiping your face.

“Don’t ever apologize for talking about an important person like her. She sounds like a lovely woman.” He rubs your cheeks. “She made one hell of a daughter.”

You laugh softly, pressing your forehead against his. “How is it possible I meet a perfect stranger at a casino and I still have no idea who you are?”

He laughs and sighs. “Well…do you know Metallica?” He almost blushes and you stare into his eyes, confusion on your face.

Then you realize.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

Holy. Shit.

You gasp loudly, launching yourself back from him, your body falling off the bed as he tries to grab you and you land on your back. You let out a laugh.

“Are you telling me…no, no, no, hold on. Hold on.” You meet his eyes and he’s stifling a laugh but also looks horrified. “Joseph…Joseph…Quinn? Who played Eddie Munson? Are you…me? Me?!”

You lean up on the edge of the bed, staring straight into his eyes, he looks like a lost puppy and your heart skips a beat. “If you want me to leave, I will leave. I know it’s a lot; I do, but…I felt something as soon as I looked into your eyes. I can’t explain it…but I understand if you don’t want me here.”

You stare at him, leaning closer to him, your hands grab his face. You gently run your hands over his cheeks, his lips, studying him more. “No…I want you to stay.”

He lets out a sigh. “Really?”

You smile largely. “Right now, you’re just the handsome man who bought me a drink at a bar, who made me laugh and listened to me talk about the worst day of my life. You left no hints, you were just you. Just for tonight, and forever, that’s who you are to me. Just Joseph.”

He smiles, grabbing your hand, his cheeks dimpling, and you kiss him.

Boy, do you kiss him.

Fin.

[brown-little-robin]

45: The Dark Bedroom

part one | previous | next | masterlist | ao3 version

“They killed the others. Did you know that?”

Thad’s expression is far away, troubled. Joseph mentally freezes, but he nods calmly. This is a time to listen without judgment.

“It was self-defense,” Thad says, very low and quiet.

Joseph lets the silence spin out. Thad’s fingers dig cruelly into his leg. If only Joey knew what was going on in his head, he could help.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. Yes.”

Joey waits, silently willing him to put words to his distress so that he can help him.

After a minute, he rasps, “I’m just… I don’t…” Joseph watches him struggle for words—and fail. “I don’t have enough information to draw conclusions.”

Oh well. He has his whole life to work through his trauma. Joseph signs, “OK. Do you want a hug?”

Thad laughs disbelievingly, but he accepts the offer.

Thad is silent and limp as a doll in Joseph’s hands. This would be a very concerning sign from anyone but Thad, but Joseph knows him well enough by now to know that he’s just… deeply, deeply tired. And touch-starved.

The boy’s head falls back against Joseph’s shoulder. His eyes are closed. For all the world, he looks like he’s asleep or dissociating, but Joseph can tell he’s not.

…How can he tell Thad’s still fully aware? Joseph checks again, not moving a muscle, and again he just knows that Thad is awake—awake and feeling safe.

Is this what it is to be a lightning rod? Is it a form of mild telepathy? Does it go both ways? How is Thad going to feel about this? This can't be ethical, but is any solution to Thad's illegal and uncomfortable situation perfectly ethical? Not really.

They’ll just have to learn to live with it.

A sudden buzzing breaks their silence. Joseph’s awareness of Thad fills with panic. Thad jolts and scrambles for his pocket, vibrating. Joseph lets him slide out of the hug, but stays close beside him for support. Thad fishes his flip phone out of his pocket and fumbles with it.

Joseph sees him slam the phone onto the floor, lean on it with both hands, and take a deep breath. The phone is thrumming slowly against the tiles—

And that’s when Joseph realizes that they’re both channeling the speed force. He’s seeing the phone ring in slow motion.

Thad is pressing it against the floor with both hands like he’s trying to smother it, and he’s still shaking, but he's breathing calmly, eyes closed almost serenely. Joey breathes with him, taking the opportunity to calm down. Everything is fine.

After a minute, Thad shifts position. He leans on one hand, picks up the lethargically buzzing phone, and clicks the button on the side. The caller id says “Max”.

Thad doesn’t answer it. He sighs shakily. Joseph sighs too, catching the gesture like a yawn.

“You’re doing it again,” Thad says, not looking at Joseph. “Channeling my lightning.”

Joseph nods. Thad turns minutely to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Joseph reaches out with that new instinctive sense of Thad’s emotional state, and feels—

racing heartbeat.

With a horrible jolt, Joseph remembers that Thad left Max partially because he was afraid of people with super-speed. He's scared. Of Joey.

Joseph is also suddenly aware of how close he is to the child, physically. Leaning over him. He freezes, unsure what will help. Backing away too fast might just make Thad feel rejected.

Acknowledging it. Acknowledging it would help. He sits back carefully and signs, “Am I scaring you?”

Thad swallows. “No more than usual.”

Joseph hides a flinch. He wasn’t aware that he, personally, scared Thad. He thought Thad’s general anxiety was just… general… anxiety.

Thad hunches over the phone like an animal staying low to the ground. He's looking at Joey out of the corner of his eye, not moving his head.

“I’m sorry,” Joseph tells him.

“Don't be. Your speed is strategically essential.”

Joey reaches to touch the boy's shoulder as if to confer strength upon him, and Thad flinches. Joey stops.

“You reminded me of CRAYDL,” Thaddeus adds, still watching him cautiously. “Looming like that. CRAYDL did that. I don’t mind.”

The affection in Thad’s voice surprises Joseph, combined with this acute wariness. What was CRAYDL like, to make Thad feel so at home with being “loomed” over? Joseph hates to think it, but… it couldn’t have been good.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

Thad’s eyes flick to the phone and back to Joseph. Joseph wants badly to ask Thad more, but the phone is still ringing in Thad’s hands. He signs, “Do you want to answer that?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t open the phone.

“Do you want me to leave while you—”

Thad shakes his head hard. Joseph nods. “Take your time.”

Thad nods. He sits back in a more comfortable position and just… breathes a bit more, and after a minute, Joseph hears the phone’s ringing speeding up with each exhale.

Finally, they're both at what seems to be normal speed again. Thad flips the phone open. He puts it to his ear.

“Max.”

A pause. Thad glances at Joseph, then away. His face twists in response to something Joseph can’t hear.

“I’m not your ‘kiddo’.”

Whatever Max says next makes Thad flinch hard. But when he speaks, his voice is only and exactly as tense as normal.

“Yes. Fine.”

He really is a good actor, Joseph realizes. But it’s costing him, doing this—it must be. Joseph holds out his hand and raises his eyebrows. Do you want me to take the phone?

Stark relief. Thad says “Here’s Joseph” and slaps the phone into Joseph’s hand at just enough above normal speed that it stings. Before a second passes, Joseph finds his text-to-speech equipment in his other hand and sees Thad sit down a few feet away and put his hands over his ears.

Strangely, this makes Joseph feel better about scaring Thad. At least he doesn’t make Thad hunch over and cover his ears like that. Small victories, right?

Joseph wonders uneasily how often he reminds Thad of CRAYDL, and why.

He takes it easy on them both after that.

It’s been a long day.

Thad follows Joseph passively to the other side of the second floor, accepting Joseph’s explanation that he gets to pick his own bedroom. He’s seen the White Room and the Green Room. The Mustard Room is a study, not suitable to be a bedroom. The three rooms available for Thad’s bedroom are the Scarlett Room, the Plum Room, and the Peacock Room. Joseph is interested to see which he’ll choose. Not the red room, definitely. But plum or peacock… Joseph has no idea which way Thad will choose. The other one, of course, will be Joseph’s room.

He introduces the rooms by signing, “There’s three bedrooms available—”

“Scarlett, Plum, and Peacock.”

Joseph lifts his eyebrows at Thad, surprised. The boy grins. “I’ve played Clue, remember? It’s simple.”

“And you figured it out!” Joseph grins at him.

Thad’s grin goes crooked and genuine. Joseph leads him to the first door and opens it halfway, showing Thad the interior without letting him in.

The Scarlett Room is one of the tower rooms, and if Joseph is being honest, he’d have to admit that it’s one of his least favorite rooms in the house. The concept of a red room is fine, but it wasn’t well executed. The warm brown walls have so much red light reflecting on them that they look red themselves. Theoretically, the four tower windows should make the room cheery and bright, but the light is drowned in red hangings, red bed linens, maroon rugs redundantly placed on a red carpet… scarlet everywhere. It’s overpowering. To Joseph’s eyes, it looks like a bloodbath.

From the way Thad hisses, it looks that way to him too.

Joseph shuts the door.

“Creepy!” he signs cheerfully.

“That can’t be normal,” Thad says, sounding vaguely impressed.

Joseph snorts and shakes his head. He can’t imagine any normal interior decorator deciding to do that with a room.

“That’s a no, then?” Joseph signs dryly.

“…Correct,” Thad says. He keeps glancing at the door, looking like he can’t believe what he just saw. “I wasn’t going to take the Scarlett Room anyway, but that looks like a bloodbath.”

Joseph nods emphatically. Thad glances at the door again, shock giving way to a disbelieving smile.

“I would wake up thinking I was Bart, living in that room.”

Oh. Joseph hadn’t thought of that. The colors of Impulse’s costume are white and red.

He takes too long to respond.

Thad gives Joseph a strange, bitter look, like he’s daring Joseph to say something. Joseph shrugs at him. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to that, and neither does Thad.

They move on.

Joseph opens the door of the Plum Room all the way and actually steps in this time. Thad follows him.

It’s a comfortable room, the Plum Room. It’s darker than the Scarlet Room, both because it only has one window and because the dark purple walls absorb light. The cornice and trimmings are cream colored, the bed black with an oversized quilt and golden pillows. Everything is vaguely corduroy-textured, soft but firm. Luxurious. Joseph always used to think it was a room fit for a crown prince. And it was Grant’s bedroom, after all.

He looks down at Thad. The boy is looking around, pupils wide and dark. After a moment, Thad starts walking around the room, cat-silent and graceful on the thick carpet. He glances back at Joseph regularly, as if to check that he’s staying within bounds, but he’s clearly fascinated by the room. He moves around it, looking now up to the ceiling and now crouching to look under the divan. His hair matches the creamy trimming, Joseph notices. A perfect yellow-purple complimentary color scheme.

The boy reaches out to touch the bed and stops quickly.

Joseph snaps his fingers. Thad jumps guiltily and looks at Joseph’s hands.

Joseph signs, “You can touch things. It’s fine.”

Thad mirrors the sign for touch, a hesitant look on his face. Joseph mirrors it back and nods. Thad turns and brushes his hand over the puffy quilt, barely disturbing its sleek surface. Then he turns and goes to the wall and presses his hand against it. He touches the divan, and the bedside table, and the lamp. His fingers are very careful and gentle.

Joseph covers his mouth with his hand. It just occurred to him that Thad only has two way of touching things: over-cautiously, as if he might break them just by existing too much, or violently. There’s no in-between.

He’s that way with people, too.

Thad doesn’t notice Joseph having a moment, thankfully. He’s too busy kneeling and brushing his fingertips against the carpet, rubbing one thick strand of plum-colored carpet between his fingers.

Joseph masters his face and waits until Thad turns around.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah. It’s good.” Thad looks around the Plum Room again. He adds analytically, “I prefer dark things and enclosed spaces.”

And again, Joseph is left wondering about Thad’s childhood and knowing this is not the right time to ask. For someone who named himself “Free”, Thad draws a surprising amount of comfort from being contained.

He’ll probably like this room best, then. It’s… not exactly small, but smaller than the tower rooms, and it does hold a dark, quiet kind of peace. Thad would fit in here.

Still, Joseph wants to show him the Peacock Room. It was his room, growing up, and he likes it. Besides, the tour wouldn’t be complete without the northeast tower room.

Without speaking about it, he and Thad end up outside the door to the last room. Joey opens the door and steps in. He smiles.

There are four windows in Joey's old bedroom. Three normal ones on the walls, and one small one on the roof, slanted like it can’t decide whether to be a regular window or a skylight. The walls are medium blue, the floor wood, the curtains white. It used to live up to its Peacock Room name, but now the only remnants of the rich, dark peacock-green decor are a few sea-green pillows. The bed has its own tucked-away nook in the corner; the main area is more open, brighter, with an old wooden trunk and a sheepskin rug in the middle. Joey changed the ostentatious Peacock Room to a simple blue room while he was living there. All of the bedrooms were so dark; he wanted something brighter, happier.

Thad hasn’t come out from behind Joey yet. Less interested in this room than the Plum Room, evidently. Yes, Joey thinks, this will be his bedroom again, and he looks around again at the rough furniture and smiles.

And then he looks down at Thad and re-evaluates.

The boy is staring up at the skylight in something like wonder. His hands are clasped behind his back in a way that would look polite if his fingers weren’t digging so sharply into his muscle.

Thad catches Joseph looking at him.

“There’s four windows,” he says.

Joseph smiles. “Nice, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Thad takes a small step to nowhere in particular, and stops. “CRAYDL didn’t have any windows.”

Yes, Joey remembers the lair. There was absolutely no natural light in that place.

Thad briefly meets Joseph’s eyes and then looks away like the eye contact burned.

“I only saw sunlight in virtual reality, and did you know you can’t actually feel two different temperatures at the same time in that VR equipment? The liquid is either warm or cold, no mixtures. You can’t feel cold on your back and warm on your face; you have to choose one or the other. I never felt sunlight there. I didn’t know what it was like until I came out to fight Bart. I thought I did, from the virtual reality, but—”

Oh. Oh. “That’s awful.”

“I know,” Thad says, with a choked sort of laugh.

Joseph laughs silently back. What else is there to do?

Well, he can figure out Thad’s bedroom situation, for one thing. He signs, “I don’t know what will be best for you—”

“Neither do I,” Thad interrupts with a grin.

Joseph smiles. “I mean for your bedroom.”

Thad hesitates.

The sunlight illuminates every pore on his face, and it throws the dark circles under his eyes into stark contrast. It makes him look even more tired than usual.

“I… I like this room.”

“It’s okay if you like the Plum Room better.”

“I don’t! I like this room, it’s… it’s good, it’s got windows, it’s…”

“Too much light?” Joseph guesses.

Thad looks torn. He glances up at the skylight again. He does not squint against the light, although his pupils shrink to tiny dots.

“No…”

Joey is starting to see what’s going on, he thinks. Thad thinks that he should want this room, because it’s bright and cheerful and normal. But he doesn’t want it. He wants the Plum Room, where he feels comfortable.

“The Peacock Room used to be my bedroom,” he tells Thad.

“Really?” Thad glances around again.

“Yes! That’s why it’s so bright. It used to be dark green, but I asked my mother to change it because I like to have good lighting for my art. I switched the blue curtains for white ones. And we tore out the carpet and installed wood.”

“Good choices,” Thad says quietly.

Joseph smiles at him. “Thank you.”

Thad’s smile goes crooked in that strange, sincere way of his.

“You don’t have to like it better just because it’s bright, though,” Joey tells him. “That’s my preference.”

“I do like it.” Thad glares at him defensively.

“That doesn’t mean you have to live in it. It can be my room.”

“Yours?”

“I do need to sleep,” Joseph points out. “Whichever room you don’t pick will be my bedroom.”

“I pick the Plum Room, then,” Thad says instantly.

Joey tilts his head at him. “Are you sure…?”

“You’re the one who was trying to talk me into the Plum Room two seconds ago,” Thad points out sarcastically. “Yes, I’m sure. You shouldn’t be in the Plum Room; that’s ridiculous. You shouldn’t have even given me a choice.”

Joey is about to tell him that he wants to give him a choice, but then the boy admits, quieter, “I don’t think I could sleep very well in here.”

He nods, understanding.

“Sleep is healing to the spirit.”

Smoothly, Thad agrees, “Every growing weapon needs sleep.”

And Joey knows it’s deadpan humor. He knows. But his heart—and hands—move faster than his caution: “You’re not a weapon.”

For a split second, Thad looks like he’s going to go defensive, lip curling—and then he looks into Joseph’s eyes, hesitates, and subsides.

“I know. That’s why I’m here.”

He closes his eyes. In here, with the sharp light purpling the bags under his eyes, he looks as weary as a statue of a veteran.

Joseph thinks he’s done speaking, and then he speaks, eyes still closed, cutting Joseph off from responding until Thad chooses to look at him again.

“I’m not. A weapon. But I still act like a weapon sometimes. I can’t help it. Is that… a problem? I mean—” Thad opens his eyes again, but he’s staring past Joseph’s shoulder. “I can’t even… take the right bedroom.”

Joseph snaps his fingers. Thad’s attention snaps back to his hands.

“Listen,” Joseph signs. “That doesn’t matter. Not even a little, tiny bit. Pick the bedroom you can sleep in. Make jokes if you want to. I don’t mind.”

“Even morbid ones?” Thad asks, spitting the words like a snake darting out in a warning challenge.

“Even morbid ones.”

Thad stares at him.

“Just because I don’t make morbid jokes doesn’t mean I don’t get them,” Joey points out.

“Yeah,” Thad says slowly. “I’ve noticed. It’s interesting.”

Better interested than scared. Joseph smiles.

Thad smiles back.

[yukidragon]

How much of “Jack” as we know him do you think is Joseph putting on a persona? I love your analysis of him as a character so much!!

Thank you very much! I’m glad you enjoy my posts! 💖

That’s a difficult question to answer at this point, since we only have the demo, some teasers, and Sleepy Time Jack to draw hints from. I suspect that there’s a lot more of Joseph’s personality in Jack than he would be comfortable acknowledging.

All of us wear a persona when interacting with other people. It’s just human nature. Most of the time the persona is of the person we want to be rather than who we think we really are deep down. I think that’s Jack’s situation in a nutshell.

Sunny Day Jack is an ideal self Jack wants to be. Joseph is not.

That doesn’t mean Joseph was a bad person, even if he was a troubled teen who struggled to get along with others. He seems to have befriended his co-stars as an adult. He was invited to the wedding of one and called “a good man” by the other. He seemed genuinely concerned about doing right by the children in the interview with the psyche consultant despite mistakes he made when he was a teen.

It seems like Joseph was just a man who made mistakes as a teen. He learned from his mistakes, matured, and was trying to do better in the present after reinventing himself. However, despite his efforts and friendships, being reminded of his life as Joseph now is traumatic for Jack.

We see shades of Joseph disliking his past self in the psyche recording. He reinvented himself by changing at least his last name and running away. Jack is Joseph running away from his past identity and self for a second time. Even in the interview, he seems uncomfortable thinking about his past.

Judging by how some of the comments from his school days still haunt him enough for him as Jack to turn it around onto one of his hypothetical victims, it’s possible that being reminded of his past would cause a similar traumatized reaction.

Hell, for all we know, the yogurt could have reminded Jack of his time as Joseph Cullman and not as [Redacted] Haberdae.

I suspect the Jack persona is, in a way, surface level, much like the makeup, clothes, and wig he wore to dress up as the character when acting. It’s still mostly the same person underneath, but with a much more polished presentation.

Even the birthmark on his cheek is covered up when he’s dressed up. Judging by the same mark appearing on his hypothetical child, that mark could have been inherited from one of his parents as well.

Jack has no tattoos, which Joseph regrets getting. Jack is always happy and cheerful, never getting tired and worn down, needing to get a fix to make it through the day (cigarettes, if not worse). Jack was beloved by so many people across the USA, both young and old. It might be another reason why the interviewer digging for dirt, such as nude photos, set him off.

Sunny Day Jack is “clean” and wholesome. He was the “candy coating” over more unpleasant things on the show, and I think that Jack is the “candy coating” over Joseph in the present day.

The jokes, the positive affirmations, the colorful clothes, the makeup and hair, the squeaky-clean G-rated personality who could never swear... (Heck, he even smells like fresh laundry according to Sauce. The scent of nicotine lingers for a long, long time even after a person quits, so this is a deliberate change as well.) I think these are the parts that make up Sunny Day Jack.

The parts of Joseph that Jack has kept, at least in my opinion, is the more emotional side of him, the unguarded bits. These include his fears of being alone and forgotten, his love for MC, and being so very starved for love and physical affection.

I mean, hell, the fact that Jack makes out with MC and even has sex is absolutely something we can attribute to coming from Joseph rather than Jack. After all, that sort of NC-17 rated behavior is not fitting for a wholesome kids TV host.

Of course there’s also the yandere tendencies. Violence is a bridge too far for Sunny Day Jack, but those urges are there in Joseph. He can justify the sex as another way of expressing love, but hurting someone? Killing someone? He can’t justify that as the character he’s playing. But he needs to get rid of these threats, and he’s just so angry with them for getting in his way. This is why I think he basically talks the person into doing harm to themselves.

Ultimately, I do believe that the person we know as Jack really is Joseph, just lost in his role. Everything ideal about himself is attributed to being Jack. Anything “unclean” is attributed to the person he was before. Jack has reinvented himself as the character, but the core of Joseph is still in there, whether he likes it or not.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars

[boltupbitches]

Anti-Hero - Joey Bosa

He walked through the patio doors and out to the dock where is boat was tied up. There she was. His fiance. Sitting on the boat dock with her feet draped over the side, her bare feet swinging back and forth.

As he got closer and was about to yell for her, she had turned her head instinctively at the sound of footsteps approaching.

Her eyes widened and shock and the cigarette she very clearly had in her mouth dropped out and into the water below as she stared at him.

Joey was livid.

He was sure she broke that habit when she moved in with him after finishing college at OSU. Yet, here she was huffing away on a cigarette not far from him.

"What the fuck?!" He said loudly, stomping loudly now the rest of the way down the dock.

Just as she was standing and trying to tuck away her pack of cigarettes, frantically trying to hide what she had left.

Joey reached out quickly and snatched the pack from her hands, turning around and pitching the thing out into the water front.

She stared in shock at the rippling water where it sank. She turned back to Joey, now pissed off herself.

"Are you fucking serious, Joseph! That's fucking littering!"

"Yeah, well maybe you shouldn't be putting that cancer shit in your body! Are you fucking serious? What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I can do what I want and one fucking cigarette isn't the big of a deal!"

Joey scoffed loudly and turned around again to her, this time with a sarcastic smile. "One? Really just one? Try two, then three, and then it's a whole fucking pack, babe! That's how addiction works!"

"Says the guy who used to experiment with shit in college." She shot back.

"That's not fucking fair! I got into some stupid shit outside of the weed we smoked and I paid for it. I straightened that shit up and I no longer do any of that."

"Whatever, Joey. I'm glad you are now a reformed saint. Leave me the fuck alone now, please." She nudged past him, ready to stomp into the house and pout about it... even if he did have a valid point.

Joey wasn't going to let it go. "I'm not joking, babe. No more of that shit. You know how dangerous it can be to your lungs."

She turned around and pointed at him. "I know. I fucking know! I am tired and stressed and I just needed a moment to my goddamn self! I'm so sorry I smoked one cigarette for the first time in six years! Maybe think about asking why the fuck I am so god damn stressed that I'm resorting to smoking!"

Joey stared at her in confusion. "Why are you smoking again?"

His fiance stared back at him and blinked for a moment, expecting a rude or sarcastic retort instead. "Because I feel trapped in my career and I feel like between the two of us you have so much more to offer than me. I feel like people don't see me for me, but only what they want to see me as. I feel stressed about how I can't compare to your last girlfriend and how your mom still talks fondly about her in front of me at times. I feel stressed that your dad feels the need to make digs at me about my parents' political stances and how he believes I'm essentially mooching off you. I feel stressed that every time I go to bed I can't help but think that tomorrow will be the day you'll wake up and leave me because you've grown tired of my shit for the last time. It's me! I'm the problem, ok? It's fucking me!" She burst.

Joey stared at her in concern, his brain taking a moment to process each word she said before finally drawing her into his arms tightly. He pressed a kiss to her crown. "Babe.. what? No, you're not. You are not the fucking problem. Not in this relationship and not anywhere else." He rubbed her back, continuing to press kisses to her forehead.

"I love you," He said to her. "I love you so fucking much. I don't care about Josie. I don't care what my parents think about who I should or shouldn't be with. I don't fucking care anymore what they think. I'll for sure address that shit too as soon as I see either of them. I'm marrying you in a few months. No one else. You don't need to feel like the anti-hero."

She continued to cry silently, gripping him tightly around the waist, her face buried in the thin cotton t-shirt he was wearing.

Joey gently pushed her back, tilting her head up and pressing a kiss to her lips. "Let's go for a swim and relax today, ok? I'll handle my parents and then we'll talk about your career plans. I'll do whatever you want, babe."

She nodded and pressed a kiss to his lips. "I love you too." She said with a teary smile.

"And," he started with a smirk, "no more fucking cigarettes. You want to light up anything that's safer then I no a guy here in Fort Lauderdale and back in LA. Other than that, stay away from that shit, babe."

She nodded at that and started to walk back up the dock, her hand held out to grab his. "I actually just got a new bikini." She teased him.

Joey arched an eyebrow in interest, "Oh? Who said we need swimsuits? It's just us after all." He smirked suggestively.

She smiled back at him. "Well, if that's the case... Race you there!" She took off in a run.

Joey stood there for a few moments, letting her get some distance ahead before he took off after her.

'I fucking love this girl.' He thought happily to himself.

[scribblertown]

Fates of the Fateless Ch.9: Outlaw's Staple

ao3

wattpad

Arthur startles awake, the culprit being his own snoring pulling him out of a hazy dream and into the consequences of drinking a bit too much in one night. 

“Ouugh…” His hands cradle his swollen and sweaty face, a throbbing headache just behind his eyes that peaks each time his heart beats. At least he was sober enough to find his cot last night. “Goddamn…” He forces himself up albeit a bit too fast, vision blinded with white and his head swimming. Stumbling until his hands find the familiar lip of the water barrel’s open top, heaving a great handful of icy water into his face, banishing the remnants of his hangover at least for a time. He takes a moment to just rest over the water's surface, staring at his reflection on its rippling surface. 

Good Lord, you're an eyesore… 

Bags under his eyes, red splotches on his face, and his hair cowlicked to high hell. His eyes then draw to the sight of his right hand resting partially submerged in the water. His knuckles were split, red and bruised. A slight dull pain, yet he had no memory of how or what caused the injury. He was so curiously absorbed in the mystery he nearly missed the call of his name. 

“Huh?” He hums, eyes wandering aimlessly until he spotted Grimshaw.

Her face twists with amusement, “I take it you had fun last night Mr. Morgan?”  

“Uh-hehheh-course.” He dives back into the barrel, rubbing another handful of water to the back of his neck, the cool droplets trailing down his back. “I always go a little overboard.”

“You put on quite the show, best entertainment we’ve had in a while!” She chuckles.

“Uuhh… yeah?” Arthur mumbles out a confused reply. 

“Anyhow, I was goin’ to ask if you’ve seen our little stowaway?” 

“Uh…” His mind reels back to the night before, playing poker with her at the table, maybe a brief memory of her at the fire pit but other than that… “No, sorry I haven’t been awake very long.”

“Hmph. Alright then, but if you do send her my way.”

“Will do.” Grimshaw skirts away leaving Arthur to stumble back to his tent, leaning over his little mirror. “Might be time for a shave.” He ponders, rubbing the course hairs that have grown especially long. He takes to trimming the length of hair with a pair of shears before slathering his face in shaving foam. Carefully dragging the sharp blade of his steel straight razor across his skin. There stood before him the bare face of Arthur Morgan. Somehow even sadder looking than usual.

Maybe shoulda kept the beard, cover up this ugly mug.

“Looking very sharp Mr. Morgan!” A bright faced Jie approaches. “You’re much younger under all that hair than I thought you’d be.”

“Hehheh, suppose my permanent scowl doesn’t help much.” Arthur pats his face down with a damp towel. “Whatchu’ need?”

“That obvious?” the young man tilts his head with a smile, “I was wondering if you’d take me and some of the others out on a job.”

“Got one in mind?” Arthur adjusts the leather tie on his hat, ensuring its security before depositing it upon his head, shrouding his face from the harsh sun.

“Well, uh not-not really.” Jie fumbles.

“Alright, follow me.” Without missing a beat Arthur leads the way, an idea already in mind. “Hey! Joseph!” He whistles, pulling the red head out of a book he’d been digging his nose into. “Come on kid!”

As the boys saddle up Arthur can’t help but notice one horse was missing, the big and burly bastard the stowaway had taken to.

“Where we goin’ Mr. Morgan?” Joseph asks excitedly. “We robbin’ some folk!?”

“Course,” Arthur leads the way out of camp giving Boadicea a reassuring pat. “Bout time you boys start learning the ins and outs of the outlaw life.”

“Boy howdy! Who we robbin? A train maybe?” The boy was eager. Very eager.

Arthur chuckles to himself, “A train ain’t a job you want to take on without plannin’, no we’re going for the outlaw’s tried-and-true stage coach.”

“You get much cash from those?” Jie inquires, a little doubt in his voice.

“You’d be surprised what you stumble upon. What you don’t find in metals or cash can easily be made up at a fence.”

“How long you been doing this sort of thing?” Joseph asks.

“Long.” Arthur quips quickly. Maybe a little harshly. “Now I doubt we’ll be seein’ a bank coach out this way. Maybe if you’re real lucky, next best thing is the real flashy kind. Fools dumb enough to advertise how much cash they got with a fancy coach driver dressed up in suit. Maybe some velvet trimming along the carriage. Passengers preened and plump with more than what they need.” Arthur chuckles, they settle on a ridge overlooking an obvious road paved down by years of use. It doesn’t take long before they spot someone using it. Arthur whips out his binoculars.

“What about that one?” Joseph asks.

The coach itself was small, dingy looking with one of the wheels a color off from the rest. Pulled along by a single horse and a hunched skinny man wiping the sweat from his eyes.

Arthur can’t help the puff of a scoff come out his mouth, “That your idea of fancy?”

“Well I-I don’t know! I ain’t done anything like this before.” Joseph rubs his neck bashfully. “ ‘sides, couldn’t see ‘em very well from up here…” he mumbles.

The two young men wait anxiously as Arthur scans the road slowly.

“Hold on now…” Arthur mutters, a trail of dust coming down the way revealing a much larger carriage pulled forward by two healthy and bulky shires. “This might be somethin’…”

A moment passes in silence as Arthur watches transfixed on the target. Slowly revealing itself with a heavy load of luggage strapped down tightly to the body. The bright paint while faded still vibrant in the sun.  Maroon curtains drawn to hide the passengers within.

“Yeah? We got somethin’?” Joseph pipes up again.

“I think so.” Arthur smirks. Pocketing his binoculars. “Get yer faces covered, now follow my lead and let me do all the talkin’ understand?” Arthur leads Boadicea down the slope, trailing the road towards the approaching carriage. Joseph and Jie on either side of him.

“When we’re close, each of you pick a side.”

“Yes sir.”

“Got it.”

The driver clearly spots them, his posture straightening up in alarm as he slows the horses.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

“Yes, we was wonderin’ if you could point us in the direction-“ Arthur quickly unholsters his gun and whips it trigger ready at the drivers face. “-of any and all the money you’ve got.” The sound of surprise that escapes the driver is comical, his hands shooting straight up eyes wide switching back from the gun to Arthur’s piercing gaze. Jie and Joseph are quick to draw their weapons as well, aiming their sights on the driver.

“D-don’t shoot!” The driver shudders.

“Now we don’t want trouble. So ‘slong as you and your passengers behave, my bullets will stay where they are.” Arthur makes eye contact with Jie and nods his head towards the coach. Jie in turn quickly hops off his horse, approaching the door cautiously before whipping it open. A bout of screams follows.

“Money!” he shouts, “Everything you’ve got!”

“Watch the driver.” Arthur speaks to Joseph as he dismounts and circles to the other carriage door. Inside are 4 people. A woman and 3 men. All agitated and desperately throwing out all their valuables onto the dirt ground in haste. The woman struggling to pull her earrings off with shaky hands. The men emptying out their pockets of bills and coins. A pocket watch flying ungracefully out of one’s hand and bouncing off the carriage step into the dirt with a thud. Jie crouches down to gather the goods as Arthur stands guard.

“Keep them hands up!” Arthur commands. Observing each member carefully before his eyes drift toward to a carpet bag nestled between one of the men’s legs. “What’s in the bag?” The man whom cradles the case visibly pales at the question.

“N-nothing!” The man speaks with a strong accent.

Arthur whistles to catch Jie’s attention, he’s quick to lean in and grab the handle and pull. But stalled by the stranger’s desperate attempt to keep his cargo from being taken.

“Nē, nē, nē, nē! Lūdzu!” he cries in a foreign language. Pulling vigorously, “Please, you take enough!”

Arthur steps in quickly, taking the butt of his pistol and ramming it into the man’s nose. “Well now I’m real curious.” The others cry out in alarm as their friend whiplashes back into his seat.

“Henriks, Dieva dēļ, vienkārši ļaujiet viņiem to paņemt!”

“Vai jūs labprātāk zaudētu savu dzīvību?”

Whatever they say seems to keep his protests at bay allowing Jie to snatch the bag out and nestles it onto the ground, rustling about its contents. Some papers, a horse bristle brush, smelling salts. He stalls at a tied balled up handkerchief.

“Dzīve ir izšķērdēta jums, zagļu zvēriem!” The man grovels past his fingers that cradle his nose, blood pooling out past the digits and dribbling crimson onto his white collar. Jie looks to Arthur with a face of confusion.

“What is it?” Arthur inquires.

“An egg?” Jie shrugs in confusion, holding up the prize of a pure white chicken’s egg.

“This man was so up in arms over his lunch?” Joseph utters in disbelief.

“Just a moment…” Jie inspects the egg further, giving the surface a few good taps. “I think it might be porcelain.”

“Looks like your tea set will be a piece short. Now put your head down and count to 100.” Arthur urges with a thrust of his gun, causing the inhabitants to flinch. But they do as they’re told quickly. “Same goes for you.” Arthur threatens the coach driver.

“1.2.3..” He begins shakily.

“I can’t hear you!” Arthur yells as he and the other two men saddle up quickly.

“4!5!6!” The driver shrieks. The echoing of “10,11,12” could be heard on the wind well after they’d left them in the dust.

“Jie how much we get?”

“Close to a hundred at least. And that’s only the paper money!”

“That more than 2 months pay!” Joseph excitedly exclaimed. “I could buy Agatha a new dress and shoes and and-“

“Don’t go counting yer chickens yet kid, the camp gets its share remember?” Arthur jumps in before Joseph can continue on his shopping list.

“Oh-uh- right right. But it’s still beats the mines I’ll tell you what!”

“Not coming home with a bad cough and an aching back.” Jie says, “And money in our pockets in the matter of minutes!”

“To think no one else thought to join up, even after all that money Mr. Van der linde distributed from the treasury.” Joseph recalls with a shake of his head, “Hell! To think I almost didn’t!”

“Still plenty of time to regret that choice.” Arthur teases. Soon enough the camp site fell into view, the men making one last look around before descending home. Upon arrival Agatha cheerfully approached welcoming Joseph with a smile and a tight hug.

“Where’d you go you silly man!” She playfully scolds, “I was gettin’ worried!”

“Oh, Agatha you won’t believe how much money we made!” Joseph pulls down his stained bandanna. Face sweaty and red from being in the sun, a toothy smile as he beamed with excitement. “And from just one job!”

“Hey, Jay let me see that egg.” Arthur motions his hand in a “gimme” motion. Jie complies opening the kerchief and depositing in his hand. The thing fills out the majority of his palm, significantly bigger than any chicken’s egg. The surface is shiny, and smooth to the touch. The pearlescent surface appeared almost pure white, but upon closer inspection the barest etching could be felt and seen in a certain light. Depicting a country side, a homestead, and various livestock. All framed by Victorian escue floral patterns.  “You said this was porcelain?” Arthur asks Jie as he turns the odd treasure in his hand, inspecting the many intricate details along it’s surface.

“By the feel and look of it, I’d wager its enamel. Especially the way it reflects the light.” Jie points out. Confident in his assessment.

“You know a lot about this kinda thing?” Arthur asks curiously.

“I had family in Jingdezhen.” Jie answers, only to receive a confused look. He rolls his eyes slightly, “I’m from China. I know about china.”

“Aw of course!” Arthur nods, his attention turning back to the egg. His brows furrow. “How’re your repair skills? Looks like there’s a crack in the-“ before he can finish his thought, the egg splits down the middle in a perfect line.

“Shit! You broke it!” Joseph cries out in disappointment.

“No! I didn’t do nothin’!” Arthur denies defensively.

“There’s something inside!” Jie excitedly points out. Along the perfectly split seam something larger gleamed out at them. Arthur delicately pries one side away to reveal the prize inside. A gleaming solid gold chicken nestled inside a crimson velvet nest.

“I guess we know which came first then.” Agatha commented, bewildered by their discovery.

“My God.” Arthur delicately plucked the bird from its luxurious resting place and held it up in all its glory. The eyes sparkling gems, the feathers varying shades of precious metals.

“Ain’t that somethin’?” Hosea had sauntered over, arms behind his back as he also admires the small trinket. “You go robbin’ some giant at the top of a bean stalk?”

“Stage coach.” Arthur replies, carefully depositing the golden chicken back in its container. Handing it off to the old man. “These boys did good; job went without a hitch.”

Hosea delicately twists and turns the egg in his fingers. “Curious treasures people carry these days.” He turns to the younger men, “And worth a pretty penny no doubt.” He shakes the egg at them, they smile excitedly. “Oh, and did you boys happen to see our little stowaway while out on your little egg hunt?”

“Stowaway? Who’s the stowaway?” Agatha asks confused.

Hosea speaks her true name, “It’s quite a story-“ He stops himself, “Not important, but have you seen her?”

“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her all morning…” Agatha replies.

“No, m’fraid not.” Arthur shrugs his shoulders. “Grimshaw was asking earlier today. She still missin’?”

“Hm.” Hosea hums, “Thank you boys, you’ll be sure to get your fair share.” He dismisses the others.  

“Everything ok?” Arthur ponders.

“Probably.” Hosea replies, his attention drawn by the sight of Tilly approaching hurriedly.

“Arthur!” Tilly calls out, her voice cracks slightly. “Arthur, have you seen (y/n)?”

“No, no I’m sorry but I haven’t.” Arthur peers out over the camp, no sign of said woman. “She been gone long?”

“No one’s seen her since the party. I’ve searched high and low. John went out to search up by the water but he hasn’t come back yet.” She squirms in place a moment. Fidgeting with her skirt nervously. “I’m real worried.”

“I noticed that horse she’s been usin’ was missin’ too…” Arthur mutters. Tilly perks up, her gaze looking past him to John freshly dismounted from the saddle, alone.

“Did you find her?” She urgently asks.

“Nothin’.” John shrugs. Tilly’s fidgeting worsens.

“Now let’s not panic,” Hosea says, a hand on Tilly’s shoulder. “She’s a grown woman, I’m sure she’s fine.” He smiles.

“But-“

“I’m sure she’ll turn up.” Hosea interrupts, patting her back as he saunters off.

“Would you boys mind-“ Tilly starts.

“We’ll keep an eye out.” Arthur assures. John nods in agreement.

“Thank you.”

Hosea’s no doubt right, he’s almost always right. But Arthur can’t help the sense of suspicion he has at the timing and strangeness of the stowaway’s disappearance. Hosea’s probably right. His feet carry him to the resting place of Samson. One of his shoes are missing, bottles that once held booze lay empty around his unconscious body. The only tell that he was still (unfortunately) breathing was the slow up and down motion of his pot belly stomach.  

Arthur’s eyes draw to the bloody, swollen split in Samson’s lip. The lower half of his face puffy and red. Arthur unconsciously rubs his thumb over one of his bruised knuckles. “He been up at all?” Arthur interrogates Abadiano, whom sits nearby rolling a cigarette. The old man chuckles as he deposits the cig between his lips. He digs around in his jacket before pulling out a match.

“Been out since you put him down.” He puffs, “Maybe he rolled over in his sleep and crushed that girl you’re looking for.” He grins, kicking his boot into Samson’s shoulder roughly, whom twitches but remains unconscious.  

Arthur huffs. A shake of his head, turning to leave. Hosea’s probably right.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

if you’re taking the smut prompts, perhaps “i told you to stay still” <3

Thank you for the prompt! Sorry this took me so long to get to.

Warning: 18+, Minors DNI, adults doing adult things inside a cage

Words: 987

Pairing: Jacob Seed x Female Deputy (Kit Cross)

smutty goodness down below

The cold metal of the cage bars burned into her flesh as he pushed her back against them, his thigh pressed between her legs spreading them open. A sharp hiss pulled through her gritted teeth. One hand held on her jaw, the other pinning her wrists above her head. She was immobilized in her cage once more by the Herald of the Whitetails. 

He loomed over her, head and shoulders above her. His mass blanketed her in shadow, even the flames of the fires along the perimeter couldn't find her.

"Now Deputy, I told ya to stay still. You have no one to blame this on but yourself." His thumb stroked her full lower lip, fingers brushing through the waves of auburn that framed her face. 

She stared up at him through her lashes, her heat already pooling between her thighs. "I thought you liked it when I put up a fight - Sir." She knew exactly what she was doing by saying that last word, putting all of the focus onto it. It was her secret weapon when she wanted to break him. 

His brow furrowed, his normally stoic exterior shut down for just a moment. His scowl morphed into a smirk. “Oh kitten, you’re asking for trouble now.”

“Thought that’s what got me thrown back in here?” Her eyes scanned over the interior of her cage. 

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing down at her, a predatory stare within them. The things he’d do to her if they were out there in the forests, away from prying eyes, away from those who’d warn Joseph that his brother was acting stupid - weak -  about the sinner in their midst. 

Her mouth curved into a smirk, knowing exactly what he was thinking. He was at the mercy of the image he was meant to uphold as the Herald, at the rules that had been placed upon him and the other Peggies. He should have set her free, thrown her back out into the wilds. They could have their hunt, he’d chase her down and toss her to the ground, stripping her bare the same way he had with her mind. But instead, they had to keep up the charade, the game, where they were enemies, where this was punishment and that neither of them were enjoying being pressed against each other. 

His hand gripped tighter around her wrists, nails digging crescents into her flesh. His breath fanned over her, like a wolf in those last moments before it clamped its jaws down upon its prey. She rested her head back against the bars, tipping up her jaw, exposing her throat - submission. His pale, empty stare turned dark. His pupils grew wide at the sight of her giving up, of knowing her role, her place with him.

He pressed his mouth to her ear, dragging his teeth against the lobe. “Really gonna make it so easy for me, Deputy. Just gonna roll over and die like that?”

“There’s hardly enough room for a wrestling match in here. Besides, what would your people think?” She spoke in a husk.

His hand trailed down her throat, fingers pressing against her cold skin kissed by the mountain air, feeling her pulse below. “It doesn't matter what they think.”

“Says the man who still hasn’t made a move yet?” Her eyebrow cocked, her tongue dragging across her lips. Tempting him, tempting fate. 

He sneered, bearing his white teeth. His hand dragged across the letters etched into her skin. “All that fight in ya, and I don’t see you putting in the effort either.”

“Guess it's a stalemate.” She stretched out her back, pushing her chest forward, breasts pressing against him. Grinding her hips against the leg still pressed between her thighs. Testing her limits to see just how far she could go before he’d give in. 

“I don’t do draws.” He nipped at her lower lip, rough kisses smothering her, bruising against her mouth. All teeth and tongue as he forced her body back against the bars, his weight crushing against her. 

She moaned into his mouth, forgetting sense, the act between them slipping. His hand finally released her wrists, she was given the freedom to let them roam, but she continued to hold on to the bars. If she didn't she was sure her knees would buckle underneath her. 

His hands traveled under the hem of her shirt, calloused fingertips skating over scarred tissue below. His beard scratched against her as his mouth wrapped around her neck, teeth scraping against her. 

“When’s your next guard supposed to be on patrol?”

He pulled away from her neck just to speak. “He’s already started his rounds.” Going right back to work on leaving red and purple marks on her pale skin. 

She melted under him, surrounded by the scent of him, sweat and pine and blood. Her mind swimming with the thoughts of what she wanted him to do to her. Of all the places she wanted his hands and mouth to travel to. She dragged her lip past her teeth and squeezed her eyelids tightly shut. 

“Well, won’t this be an interesting sight for him to stumble upon then? You, here in this cage with me. The deputy at your mercy, pinned against the bars. You’ll be a real hero then, won’t you?” She purred. 

He grew hard against the outside of her thigh, he’d never admit it but stroking his ego did incredible things for his performance. Slipping one hand down, she caressed his jeans, the outline of his cock was already visible. 

“Think you got it in you for a quickie?”

He pulled away from her, a wild look in his eyes, he was half way between madness and control, trying desperately to hold on for his own sake. “Out here in the open? We could get caught?” His words came out in a growl from the depths of his chest.

“All the better.”

[pintsizeginger]

Today would have been my mother's 60th birthday.

It hurts so much that she is not here... but to honor her I did decided to do something that I've been putting off but that she always encouraged me to do. Art.

I haven't tried to do an actual art piece other than doodling since the fire happened. The fire destroyed a work in progress that was based on my grief from losing mom... It was so hard to start that piece and after the flames devoured it and most of my art supplies I found it very difficult to bring my self to do or practice any art.

I've been struggling a lot with depression, anxiety, and a lot of frustrating health issues. All of that kind of made me scared to try and create anything.

Ever since I was really little and just drawing squiggles and stick figures mom encouraged me to explore visual arts. She procured what tools and supplies she could and then helped me to get as much instruction in art as we could access. Growing up in a small town there were not many resources but she helped to make the most of what we had. She loved nature, plants, and flowers soooooo much I knew that I had to do something with that! She always had flowers growing and even worked at a plant nursery for a while and absolutely loved it. She frequently kept a bucket, clippers, and a shovel in her car so that if she found some plants she liked on the side of the road, public areas, or even abandoned houses, she could snag a few clippings or dig up a few to replant. She knew so much about identifying flora and how to nurture and grow them. Her favorite flower was gerbera daisies but she loved so many. She almost always would plant morning glories wherever she lived and Joseph's coat was her favorite type of rose. She went through a phase where her favorite scent was sweet pea. When we lived in the woods, each summer she would have us kids pick some honeysuckle so that our home would smell so sweet. She absolutely loved dogwood trees and even grafted some white and pink ones together so that one tree would give you blossoms in both beautiful colors. When I was in high school mom got a tattoo of some flowers I drew. It was a little flower doodle I drew when I was younger but she fell in love with it so when she finally got a tattoo she asked if I could design it for her using that flower. I miss her so much but anytime I'm in nature, in a garden, or around flowers I can feel her love! The WIP is a mix media, primarily pastel and charcoal. So far I've sketched in the rough shape of the composition and started to block in some of the colors. Still a ways to go but it is a start!

The flowers are ones that were either significant to her or to someone in our family. I may leave the center mostly empty…because of the hole she has left that can never be filled.

[coollyinterferes]

mutuals send me a 🍓 and i’ll compliment you! 【accepting】 @pinafcl​

//I gotta say that I love your sense of humor and all the cursed memes and edits you make! They never fail to crack me up whenever I get the chance to see them gracing my dash dfdgdgfHGJHK Rp wise, I really love your portrayals of your muses!! I haven’t interacted with your Abba, but I love what I’ve seen from him so far!! And what can I say about your Joseph??? He’s just a handful, like every Joseph muse should!! And i live for that. Like I was saying just a little earlier, I honestly dig that sort of stuff, and all the chaos that usually ensues every time there’s something going on involving the triplets verse and Jovan and Joseph just giving shit to each other and causing mischief fdgfghgjhk. As for interactions between our muses, I can say I absolutely love those we’ve had so far! Joseph+Speedwagon contents are seriously some of my fave things ever, so I’m genuinely grateful to be able to have some amazing and talented partners like you to write some of that good stuff with!!! Really, thank you so much for giving me and my muse that opportunity to write and interact with you!

Ooc, like I mentioned earlier, I’m an anxious mess p much 24/7, so I struggle lots when it comes to reaching out and talking to my partners, but the few times we talked I could easily tell that you’re such a cool and fun person!! And, before I forget: Even if I don’t always get the chance to see or Like them cause i tend to miss stuff from the dash v often, your arts and your art style as a whole are lovely and so unique??? :O

[backtomycorner]

The (Gay) Origins of Vampires in British Literature

Thanks to the absolute joy that is Dracula Daily, I thought now might be a good time to talk about the origins of the vampire in British literature. I am a 19th century scholar who focuses on the Gothic, so while by no means an expert on vampires, I do have some understanding of how the genre came to be and boy, is it as wild and petty and as you'd hope it to be.

In order to understand how vampires came to be the aristocratic, blood sucking sex symbols they are today, let's first lay some ground work on how the tradition made it's way to Britain:

The vampire is a folkloric figure from Central and Eastern Europe, the Balkans, Turkey, and Greece. In 1701, French botanist Joseph Pitton de Tournefort was touring the island of Mykonos and recounted in his A Voyage to the Levant (1702) his experience witnessing the locals dig up the grave of a suspected Vrykolakas and cut the heart from its chest.

A century later, the Romantic poet Robert Southey cites de Tournefort's Voyage in his epic poem Thalaba the Destroyer (1801). The poem does not outright use the word "vampire" and the turning of the main character's love interest into a vampire is a minor plot point, but Southey's work draws a direct line of how the vampire tradition jumped from Greece to England.

Now here's where it gets interesting.

It involves (of course it does) everybody's favorite 19th century bad boy, Lord Byron.

Byron's poem The Giaour (rhymes with shower) is the first mention of a vampire in the English literary canon. His vampire falls more in line with the folkloric vampire as a blood drinking corpse than a debonair aristocrat. How Byron learned about vampires is not clear. He could have learned about them from Southey or de Tournefort, or encountered the legend during his own travels in Greece. Either way, Byron didn't really care for vampires. He thought they were dumb.

ENTER THE FAMOUS GHOST STORY NIGHT AT LAKE GENEVA

Scene: Mary and Percy Shelley. Mary's step sister Claire, Lord Byron, his doctor John Polidori, probably a ton of opium, and definitely a lot of sexual tension.

While most people know that Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein during this time, it's also worth noting that Byron started writing what was called A Fragment, or a Fragment of a Novel which featured an aristocratic traveler/vampire. However, Byron got bored with it and decided to drop the whole thing.

Not so much for Dr. John Polidori. Polidori worshipped Byron. He wanted to be Byron. He most likely wanted to bed Byron and Byron had the gall to laugh and call him "Polly Dolly" and refuse to give him the time of day.

So Polidori got his revenge by taking over Byron' s fragment and turning it into The Vampyre (1819). The entire novel is a thinly veiled jab at Byron and his hedonistic living. To make matters worse, the public thought Byron wrote it which infuriated Polidori who just wanted to shame Byron who laughed the entire thing off and said he would never write anything so trashy.

Once again, you can blame Lord Byron for something. The aristocratic, seductive vampire is (indirectly) because of him.

[havingsomemorejohnlarks]

A fanfic request :p

Small Warning: strong language and things of a sexual nature

requested by  @wrldwideweird0

(Joseph Seed x GenderNeutral SO) (we’ll make it in second person, because i love those)

I feel like I should just put it out there - this is mine (it’s not amazing or anything but like nobody put it on another website and claim it as their own 😭 thank you)

For all intents and purposes, it was quite a nice morning.

The air felt fresh with rain, the water drops dripping down from Bliss flower petals, proving that there had, in fact, been rain the night before. But the sun was shining - making those rain drops glitter and sparkle. It was shining down upon people, making them smile. The grass was wet, but children rolled around in it happily, and parents let them. 

This was the kind of morning that Joseph breathed in and kept close to him. He flourished in mornings like these. He would step out from his church doors slowly, stretch his arms upwards, as he often did, and bask in mornings like these. It was these kind of mornings when Joseph felt more generous, when he helped his flock fulfil their duties alongside them, when he helped kids draw the hopscotch on the ground, when he sang with the choir, and chatted twice as animatedly to his siblings.

You thought it was beautiful. Watching him do all these things, with the most cheeriest look on his face, was the best part of any of your days so far.

Admiring him from afar is kind of your thing. It was how you met. You had admired him from afar, and Joseph had noticed. Of course he had noticed. He notices everything around him. He saw you watching, and he dragged you nearer with those gorgeous, intense eyes of his. He reached out and took hold of you, drawing you closer, so that you no longer had to gaze across a long distance.

You could admire his face closely any morning you like, because he woke up beside you regularly and he would smile a soft, content smile.

It was almost inevitable, really, that something like this would happen.

It was one of those mornings, after all...

Not just one filled with fresh air, shining suns and a happy Joseph. It was one of those mornings, in which Joseph felt happy enough to take his shirt off.

Once upon a time, you didn’t understand why he would walk around like that all the time. But after he explained, after he held your hands in his and talked about freedom and the breeze on his skin with his soothing, charismatic voice humming in your ear, you got it. You understood him immediately. 

Whether you understood it or not though, watching your man in his element, specifically with his shirt off, is quite something.

You watched from the side of the church, your legs crossed at the ankles, leaning against the wooden building, as Joseph preached in the sun, to his followers, giving them hope and happiness. You watched as he caressed their faces, sang their praises, and God’s praises too.

Hm. Damn.

Your gaze wandered to his bare chest, as his muscles shifted beneath his skin when he moved. His skin glistened with some sweat, showing just how hard he had been working physically. His tattoos and scars were on display for anyone to see (and enjoy immensely).

What a sight to behold.

No matter how many times you had seen this man shirtless, you always reacted as if it was your first time seeing anyone’s chest before.

He was beautiful.

You could feel yourself going warm all over, staring at a particular part of Joseph’s chest. It was like your eyes were glued there for a moment. It was your favourite part after all...

Those pecs, man...

You shifted your gaze down to your shoes, momentarily distracted by the cute ladybug that was crawling near. When you looked back up, Joseph was staring right back at you.

He tilted his head and gave you a glimpse of a little smile. It was filled with a little question, something like “what are you staring at, my darling?”

That gaze only flustered you more. You winked at him, pretending not to stare, pretending to be more interested in the ladybug that was now on your shoe.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Joseph’s followers leaving, taking hopeful and happy steps towards, you presumed, their duties.

Is it just me and him now?

Your presumption was confirmed when you saw Joseph approaching properly, next to the church. You turned towards him, your hip still leaning on the building. 

Trying to seem chilled out and not completely riled up and ready-to-go just by a glance of this man’s perfect fucking tits was a challenge and a half. Your breath came out in shorter pants, so you weren’t a hundred percent sure how the Hell you were going to hide it anyway.

Joseph joined you in leaning against the building, so close that his skin brushed yours. He smiled at you.

Well, that’s not helping anything.

You smiled back, trying, once again, to act like you hadn’t been gawking at his body and getting extremely horny from it. 

It was pointless anyway.

Joseph gave you a soft kiss on your cheek, his breath grazing against your face. “As much as I love... certain affections from you...” He blushed and looked away for a moment, “I would appreciate it if you didn’t... look at me that way... when I’m trying to fulfil my responsibilities as the Father.”

The grin that spread across your face was despicable and full of glee. 

“Why’s that, then?” you asked, acting innocent, when you both knew damn well why.

Joseph shifted, looking vaguely embarrassed. “Why were you looking at me, anyway?”

The question did actually take you by surprise. Did he not know? Or was he just desperately trying to avoid the question you had asked?

You tilted your head at this man in front of you. You glanced down at his naked chest again. You reached your hand out to gently stroke one of the tattoos which was closer to his collarbone. A soft noise rushed past Joseph’s lips before he could stop it.

Yeah. That’ll do it.

A very strong urge rose up in you. A strong urge that had to be fulfilled right then, that minute. It couldn’t wait for anything.

You hurriedly whipped your arms round his waist, pulling him closer, and shoved your face straight into his chest, and stayed there, breathing in his smell and appreciating the feeling of his body against your face.

Joseph immediately, adorably, squeaked, in a pitch that wasn’t actually unusual in situations like these.

His face went a bright red, and he gasped in genuine surprise. Both your hearts were gunning like crazy.

Eventually, after a little while of Joseph being pleasantly shocked, he stammered out, “D-darling, what are- I- What is this about?! I-”

He trembled as you looked up, your chin digging into his body. “Your boobs are immaculate, handsome.”

He squeaked again, as you grinned, soaking up his surprise and clear desire.

“What you gonna do about it, gorgeous?” you teased, watching him squirm under that gaze of yours.

After a moment of doing nothing, he grasped your hands from around his waist, and pulled you, leading you around the corner and towards the church doors.

Oh, Dear Lord.

[sur-un-fil]

Ink demonth 2022 - Space

How did he get the replica of the Studio in his kitchen?

Chapter 9 : 1960

He never thought that demonic magic could be so... Beautiful. After all, nothing he had stooped to since he had made that deal with Caym had prepared him for it.

It was the demon who had spontaneously proposed. Perhaps he should have been more wary. But he'd assured him that there would be no extra cost, and Joey really needed to be able to continue his experiments with the ink machine without having to take his car to empty premises all the time. He'd thought Caym would just create a portal to the Studio, perhaps with a pentacle hidden in the little cubbyhole in his kitchen that he never used. But if the demon had indeed asked him to draw a circle of power on the door with ink mixed with his blood, he did much more than that. He stood in another identical circle, embodied for once in a tall, lean, agitated body of smoke, and his smooth face slit only by a mouth ravaged by rusty aggraphs was turned towards the door, which opened under his unseen gaze. But the single bulb, illuminating the few crates of bacon soup and the countless cobwebs, was gone. There was only glittering darkness on the other side, as dark as those moonless nights Joey admired as a child. The feeling of vastness, the almost desire to fall in and drown, was the same, and he knew that this was truly the space on the other side, not an absence of light. He was unable to take his eyes off it. The void, contained by Caym's power, did not greedily suck in all the air in the room but spread a poignant wave of cold that made him shiver. He knew the demon didn't like questions, but he still heard himself ask in an amazed voice:

"Where does that leave off?"

The answer echoed in his head.

'On an asteroid-free corner, not far from your little solar system.'

"But, why...?"

Caym impatiently waved one of his four barely sketched hands.

'It's easier to occupy an empty space than to have to create one. Now come here.'

Joey took a few steps, but keeping a careful distance between himself and the demon. He could have sworn he saw an amused smile play on his bruised lips for a moment before he breathed softly into his thoughts using his own inner voice.

'Go through the door.'

"No! There's no way I'm going in there."

'Remember I can't cause your death, Joseph. You are the master... For now. I only need your will to shape it.'

"To what, damn it?"

'To your own version of Joey Drew Studios. If you get it right, you can have all your precious worksop and all the facilities that were associated with it in the same dimension.'

"Can you really do that?"

'Yes.'

"And what's in it for you?"

Reading emotions on an eyeless face was almost impossible, but Joey's stomach churned as he watched the demon smile broadly. He stretched his lips without seeming to suffer, digging the grooves of the staples deep into his mouth and revealing for a terrible moment the multitude of needle-sharp teeth that lurked there.

'A playground.'

Joey took a moment to think, his eyes fixed on the deep black. He suspected Caym had other reasons in mind and wasn't necessarily telling him everything, yes, but... He was also sure that he could keep control.

"Fine. But on one condition."

The demon merely lowered his head towards him in silence. Joey felt his attention like he would have felt a multitude of insects crawling on his skin.

"Except for me, I don't want anyone to be able to leave without my consent."

To his surprise, Caym nodded, and immediately Joey felt the pentacle he wore engraved above his heart burn. It had been added to the contract that bound them, which was reassuring. Something inside him unravelled and he allowed himself to smile, satisfied.

He would have a space of his own, next to his home, with the assurance that none of his 'donors' could go around telling everyone what had happened to him. Perfect, really. What could go wrong?

NEXT

PREVIOUS

[thiswasinevitableid]

i don’t know if you take meet ugly requests outside of the list, but if you do, I’m always a sucker for stern finding out barclay is bigfoot in a different way (wink wink nudge nudge they are having sex and the bracelet comes off)? no problem if not though :)

Sure thing! Here you go. I believe the joke about "bigfoot hunting" came from @bellafarallones originally. I set this in the 70s, just for fun.

The irony of his worst-case scenario being everyone else’s euphemism for a good time is not lost on Barclay.

He’s not even sure when “bigfoot hunting” became code for “get down in the woods” in Kepler’s little gay community. He just knows that, until someone cleared it up for him, he was panicking from all the guys saying they and their friend ought to go looking for him.

Now he’s in the wildest situation imaginable: considering asking someone to go bigfoot hunting with him.

It’s not his fault the stone fox that is Joseph Stern decided to stay at Amnesty Lodge. Ned and Aubrey even tried to talk him out of it (for the very good reason that the fewer out of towners hanging around a space crawling with cryptids, the better) but the guy wasn’t interested in the other digs in town. In his more confident moments, Barclay likes to think seeing him behind the lunch counter is what swayed his decision.

It’s not a totally bogus conclusion; Joseph sends more than just meal times in Barclay’s restaurant and, increasingly, his kitchen. He does crossword puzzles over coffee, asking Barclay for help and criticizing the clues (Barclay has to agree with him, whoever is writing the crossword in the Kepler Gazette is really reaching lately). He stops by and reads at his table or the counter during lunch. And in the evenings he sticks around after closing, keeping Barclay company as he wipes down tables and sets up the chairs. Lately, he even helps him close up.

The encroaching summer is making it worse. Joseph, stylish as he is, favors this year’s trend of shorts that are shorter than most of Barclay’s boxers. Combine that with his always slicked-back black hair and sharp, blue eyes and Barclay is getting really, really good at keeping something in front of his crotch at all times.

For the first two months, he thought his crush on Joseph was as hopeless as cooking a souffle in a hurricane. Then the songs started.

They’d been talking about music, Joseph paying close attention whenever Barclay mentioned a band or song he dug. Barclay didn’t think much of the concentration in his eyes until that night, when the jukebox near the counter started wailing out Gladys Knight. No one ever picks that, he just put it in there so he can listen to it before they open.

When he’d poked his head out of the pass-through, Joseph winked at him from his usual seat.

Since then, he and Joseph trade songs back and forth, Barclay slipping his coins in when he goes out to drop an order on the counter. The longer they do it, the more the titles seem to convey messages, meaning Joseph’s favoring of “Let’s Get it On” this past week is driving Barclay to distraction.

This afternoon, he’s sweeping up the floor when the other man walks in, sweat running down his forehead and hiking boots on his feet.

“I saw you’re closed the next two days.” He tips his head at the sign Barclay posted on the door.

“Yeah, getting new cooktop and doing some repairs on the ceiling. Not great for business this weekend, but I’m looking forward to having a stove that doesn’t have cold spots in random places.”

“Are you, um, doing anything on your days off?”

“Nothing big. You, uh, you wanna hit the town?” He grins to hide his hopes.

“We could. But I was thinking, you know the forest pretty well and I could use a second set of eyes and, well...do you want to go bigfoot hunting tomorrow?”

Barclay directs just enough focus from keeping his hands from snapping the metal handle to his mouth to say, “sure thing.”

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

“According to the map Ranger Newton gave me, this spot is still within bounds for camping with the permit I have.” Joseph studies the treetops, the brush, their proximity to the river and his second map, the one with all his notes. Yes, this is the optimal spot for a stakeout.

“Sweet.” Barclay opens the trunk, “I’ll get the tent set up.”

They have plenty of daylight left, but it won’t hurt to have camp all ready to go before they set off; if all goes well, they may not be back until after dark, and he’s pitched enough tents in the pitch black for one lifetime.

He secures their food and builds a rudimentary fire pit, then grabs his sleeping bag to toss into the erected tent. Barclay is still inside, straightening out his sleeping bag and adjusting the pillow. Joseph kicks off his shoes and zips the mesh door to keep out the bugs; cicadas are harmless but that doesn’t mean he has to like the idea of one crawling on him in his sleep.

“How’s it look?” Barclay watches him intently as he unrolls the sleeping bag.

“Perfect. Nice and cozy.”

A happy growl from beside him, then a big hand closing around his wrist and pulling him atop the cook.

“Good” Barclay looks up at him, licking his lips, “didn’t wanna waste any time.”

Lord, his chest is broad from this angle. Joseph’s professionalism is all that stands between him and spending the rest of the day leaving hickeys on it.

“Barclay, I’m not opposed to this, but we should do what we came here first.”

“...Is this not why you wanted to come here?”

“I thought I was pretty clear about coming to look for bigfoot. Why do you think I brought the binoculars? And the headlamps?”

Beautiful, brown eyes blink up at him. Then, Barclay chuckles, “Think I see what’s up. Around here you, uh, you ask someone on a ‘bigfoot hunt’ if you’re looking to score. No idea why, but it’s so common it didn’t even occur to me that you’d mean something else.”

He snickers, “Almost sounds like something I’d come up with on my own. But no, we’re spending today walking that creekbed.” Curious, he wiggles his hips as he leans down to whisper, “then we can spend tonight like this.”

Barclay whines, settling his hands politely on Joseph’s ass.

“You’ve wanted this awhile, haven’t you big guy?”

“Uh huh, Joseph, baby, the things you do to me, woulda let you fuck me over a hot stove if it meant you’d touch me-” His eyes are huge, pupils blown out in black pools of promise.

“Alright, I’ll make you a deal; I’ll let you ask for one thing now. Everything else has to wait until we’re done with work for the day.”

“Yes, yes, deal, I, I wanna” Barclay closes his eyes, inhaling long and deep through his nose, “fuuuuck, I wanna suck your dick. Can I? Please?”

Joseph hesitates; no one ever asks for that, and by the time his pants are off they’re too horny to complain at his dick and just go for whatever hole they were planning on fucking in the first place.

“I, um, it’s not, I don’t think it’s what you’re picturing.” He sits up, heart pounding at his chest to tell him he’s blown it.

Barclay shakes his head, “I promise I know what I’m getting, been thinking about it all day, fuck, been driving me crazy.” His shorts hit his knees, Barclay thumbing the crease of his thighs with a moan, “yeah, fuck, c’mere.”

He makes a noise that would, in any other context, embarrass him as Barclay manhandles him far enough forward to sit on his face. But this is Barclay, sweet and gentle and so hot he’s amazed he’s not getting second degree burns. The burn he is getting just makes him laugh, Barclay’s short, auburn beard scratching the inside of his thighs.

“Shit, Barclay, shit, try, try a little lower? Ohhhhhfuck.” A crinkle of fabric as he grips the tent floor, Barclay is making sounds unlike any partner he’s ever had, grunting and moaning as forces more of him against his mouth. It’s all hot breath and grazing teeth and need, something Joseph is seldom the target of. He closes his eyes, let’s himself relax into a slow, steady roll of his hips against Barclay’s mouth.

There’s a rhythmic, frantic whss of fabric behind him, moaning from beneath. He flicks sweat from his eyes as he glances over his shoulder; Barclay isn’t even bothering to get his shorts off, is jerking his impressive cock as his lips close around Joseph’s own.

“Did, did you get that hard just from this?”

“Mmmhmm” Barclay looks up with wild, delighted eyes.

“Christ” he giggles, runs a hand through his hair as his orgasm circles closer, “didn’t think my dick being wet would be all it took.”

“Mmmph!” There’s a jolt of movement that signals Barclay cumming, a groaning growl buzzing up his dick just long enough to set his nerves dancing and draw his orgasm over the brink.

His words are gone, stay that way as Barclay eases him backwards and scoots so he can sit up. All he wants to do is hunker down in this tent and go at it until they pass out.

“Joseph? Baby, are you okay?”

“I’m incredible.”

“I’ll say” Barclay pulls him into his arms, “guess we oughta get clean and get a move on, huh.”

“As much as I hate to say it, yes. I really can’t waste this chance.”

Barclay pecks his lips, “Okay. Uh, can I borrow some shorts? I only brought one other pair.”

Twenty minutes later, Joseph is learning just how distracting another human being can be when your clothes are stretched around their thick thighs and they’ve taken their shirt off to combat the heat. Lord, if he were not on a mission he’d fuck Barclay’s imprint into the shore.

Speaking of his mission, while they don’t find bigfoot, Joseph does find some promising footprints and some fur he can’t identify. By the time they trek back to camp, their dinner is well-deserved and very appreciated. When Barclay asks if he wants dessert, Joseph simply grins.

“Not out here I don’t.”

They take only the needed time to get food out of bear range before clambering into the tent, Joseph opting to switch on the battery powered lantern as Barclay tosses his clothes away. He let’s the cook guide his shirt off, revels in the way his eyes roam over him like he’s seeing the Sistine Chapel. He lowers his head, zig-zagging kisses down his neck and chest.

“Should I avoid these?” Barclay’s mouth hovers over the scar on his left side. They’re only a year old, look newer, and something eager and hopeful peers out from Joseph’s heart at Barclay’s consideration of them.

“No, they don’t hurt. They don’t really feel like much.”

Barclay places a kiss on each, continues his descent until he’s at Joseph’s hips, nosing just above his pubic hair with happy sighs.

“I really, really wanna fuck you.”

“Condoms are in my bag, the side pouch.”

“Okay if it’s here?” He lightly teases a thumb below Joseph’s dick.

“Shit, yes” he bucks his hips, “I repeat: Condoms are in my bag and if you don’t get them now I’ll just fuck myself instead.”

“Heh, someone gets demanding when he’s raring to go.” He kisses his hip before rolling and crawling to grab the condom. When he rolls it down, Joseph sees his dick is an unremarkable length but thick enough that he spreads his legs a little wider as Barclay crawls between them.

“Fuck” Barclay groans as he pushes in, Joseph hooking his legs around him as he slowly thrusts, “fuck, baby, that good?”

“Better than, jesus Barclay you should sell rides on this thing, you’d make a million.”

“Don’t want a million, just want you.”

Joseph blushes, moans when he finds opening his legs doesn’t diminish how stuffed he feels.

“You like being full, blue eyes?”

“Yes, AHhhhn, that’s it big guy, show me how you like it.” He pulls Barclay down for a kiss as his hips speed up, arches his back as strong arms wrap around him. It’s bliss, heaven in the summer heat, and he closes his eyes to better enjoy it, smiling as Barclay comes in for another kiss, growling until Joseph parts his lips and let’s his tongue slip between them.

Something scratches his back, probably just an odd angle of the sleeping bag. Then whatever it is catches between him and the ground and his whole world changes. The cock inside him thickens and lengthens, the skin pressed to his sprouts fur, and teeth his tongue brushes against are sharp.

“Shit!” He yelps at the same time Barclay freezes with a quiet, “fuck.”

“Explain. Now” Joseph orders as Barclay sits up slightly.

“I’m, uh, I’m bigfoot. Or, uh, one of them. But, uh, maybe that was obvious?”

“Not until this moment, no.” He suspects the same surprise that keeps him from pulling back is keeping Barclay from pulling out, a fact that is rapidly becoming an issue thanks to his body's enjoyment of the thought of being a monster's plaything.

“I’m, I’m so sorry Joseph, I never wanted you to find out this way, fuck, I shoulda known that bracelet was wearing out. I, uh, I guess this trip is a success? Now if anyone asks you can say you found bigfoot? But, uh, please don’t tell anyone it was me?”

He whacks his hands onto his face, “Barclay, I can’t do that. I’m not just looking for you for fun. I’m an undercover agent.”

“A what?” Barclay’s voice climbs an octave.

“An FBI agent!” He whips his hands away, “I’m supposed to find out what happened in a string of disappearances that tack to recent bigfoot sightings, and now I have to go and, and-” he freezes as Barclay starts growling, looming back over him, “and I should have waited until I was safe to tell you thaAAAAAAtAH, fuck, shit, ohlord, ohmygod.” He tears at the tent as Barclay lifts his hips off the ground and hammers into him, “fuck, oh fuck, OhohOHchris!” His feet kick out uselessly as what he thought was the base of Barclay’s cock pushes into him. The stretch is tremendous, the pleasure more so, and the confusion dwarfs them both.

“There” Barclay grits his teeth, “now you can’t go anywhere.”

“What the hell did you do?!” Joseph tries to scramble back only to find he’s stuck.

“Knotted you. Not my best plan but you said you were gonna tell someone!”

“Not right this second!” Joseph notices the grimace on Barclay’s face deepen, “does it hurt you?”

“Negative, just, just trying not to cum because that seems inappropriate right now.”

“How long are we stuck like this?” His curiosity is getting the better of him, just like always.

“Until I...cum enough for it to go down. Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, I panicked okay?”

Joseph crosses his arms, “well, since we’re stuck like this, I think you have time to answer some questions.”

Barclay sighs, defeated, “I can’t tell you everything, not tonight. But what I can tell you is that the reason for that pattern is, uh, if a sighting goes to public, or is too easily tracked to a human disguise, the cryptid who got spotted has to change their appearance. Which makes it look like someone disappeared.”

He meets the cooks eyes, studies his face; he doesn’t seem to be lying. In fact, he almost seems relieved.

“It’s so easy to explain in some ways and it opens up so, so many hard things at the same time.”

“Thank you for telling me. Even if it’s the worst possible time and place. I, well, I still have questions but” Joseph sets a hand on the back of Barclay’s neck, “I also want to finish being with my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” It comes out as a yip.

“I’m not leaving Kepler any time soon. And I’m just crazy about you Barclay, bigfoot or no.”

Cautiously, Barclay leans down to kiss him. Joseph runs his fingers along his back, finds the hair softer than anticipated.

“Guess now I can say I smelled how turned on you were when we got here, and how turned on you’ve been all night. Blowing you earlier was fucking incredible because you were just flooding my brain with all these signs that you wanted me. That’s, uh, that’s why the knot happened at all. My body’s found someone it thinks wants me to stay.”

“I do.” Joseph kisses him again, gasps when the cock inside him thrusts gently, “shit, that feels so strange. So perfect.”

Barclay seems to blush under his fur, “Can I go faster? Promise I’ll stop if it hurts too much, just, just wanna make you feel good.”

Claws daintily pet his sides as he nods. Then there’s a deeper growl and he can’t help but scream, rough and sharp, as Barclay fucks into him with shallow jerks of his hips, the swell of the knot managing to press on his dick while the rest of his cock hits spots inside him no partner ever bothered to try and find.

“That’s it baby, lemme hear you, wanna know just how much you like it, fuck, oh fuck, you like being full, blue eyes, then, fuck, lemme fill you. Fuck, Joseph”

“Ohgod” cum pulses into him and he whimpers, desperate for release of his own. Barclay notices, rolls them so Joseph is on top, all his FBI physical training going into maintaining the half-splits needed to straddle him.

“Got at least one more before I can pull out, and I wanna feel you cum.” The pad on one finger finds Joseph’s dick and rubs, “fuuuuuck, fucking-A I almost came again just from you tightening.”

“Barclay, please” he tangles his fingers into the fur of his chest, “please I’m so close.”

“Here, I’ve got an idea” He pulls Joseph so he’s hunched forward, kissing him messily as his claws dig into his hips to bounce him on his cock. Joseph moans, gives up on supporting himself and smiles when Barclay takes his weight without hesitation. He nestles his head under the cryptids chin, burying pleas in his fur as he speeds up. The angle and the force of Barclays movements mean his dick catches on thick fur and the warm belly beneath it, and as his grinds desperately he realizes he’s cumming. Then his cry of pleasure is drowned out by a howlgrowlpurr as Barclay empties into him, the pressure so intense he whimpers, unsure how much more his body will hold. Then the cock inside him slips free, cum spilling down his legs in it’s wake.

“Hrmph” Barclay rumbles, holding him close, “shoulda brought something to keep it in; make you spend all night with my cum in you so no one else gets any ideas.”

Joseph, sleep clinging to most of his brain, looks up, “wait, does that mean there are other bigfoots in the area who might?”

“Uhhhhhhhhh”

Joseph laughs to himself, shaking his head; tonight raises so many questions, dozens of things to investigate, and yet only one query matters to him right now.

“You really want to be my guy?”

A furry hand pets his face and Barclay murmurs, with a sweetness Joseph’s never before heard, “of course, baby.”

[skinsharpenedteeth]

Coming Up Easy - A Series of Firsts (Part 1)

Synopsis: AU where Alex and Michael are FWB since high school. Series of firsts in their relationship. Hopefully I’ll post one every Wednesday. No clue how many I’ll have. Feel free to send me ideas.

Part 1. First Apartment

    It was the worst decision Alex had ever made if Michael had anything to say about it. He was across the country building himself a new life and Michael didn’t like it one bit. 

    “You can come visit,” Alex said, brushing a stray curl from Michael’s forehead. He was watching his own finger and tracing the loops of the curl instead of looking Michael in the eyes. “Friends visit each other.”

    “Right, I know. You’re right. I can visit,” Michael agreed, his stomach feeling queasy at the fact that if he wanted to see Alex he would have to visit. He couldn’t show up unannounced because he was lonely or having a bad day. No one would be waiting for him at the Wild Pony for drinks. His friend would be too far away in a different bar, possibly making new friends.

    Michael stared down at his phone, the chat window he shared with Alex open and depressingly inactive. No blinking dots to say Alex was typing or thinking about him too. He sighed and tossed the phone onto the bar in front of him, signaling Maria’s new bartender to get him another beer. Once the beer was in front of him, Michael opened his phone screen again and stared at the chatbox some more. 

    ‘Fuck it,’ he finally said to himself as he began to type. 

Me 11:15 p.m.>> You up?

    He set the phone down again and sipped his beer, watching the other patrons through the mirrors behind the bar. There were some guys at the pool table that he could go swindle for a game or two. Liz, Max, and Kyle were in a corner booth all laughing and talking animatedly. He could hear the whoops and cheers from someone taking a turn on the mechanical bull outside the bar. There were so many things to distract him, but all Michael wanted was to talk to Alex. 

Alex 11:20 p.m.>> Are you seriously booty calling me from five states away? Me 11:21 p.m.>> I mean, this isn’t that different from when we were in college and you had that late chem lab and I kept getting bored waiting for you to get out… Alex 11:23 p.m.>> That’s not a very subtle way to ask for nudes. Me 11:24 p.m.>> I mean, I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to nudes if you’re offering them, but really I’m just at the Pony missing my best friend. Alex 11:26 p.m.>> You should call Isobel then. I’m sure she’d be glad to hang out. Me 11:27 p.m.>> Jerk. Me 11:27 p.m.>> Wyd? Alex 11:29 p.m.>> Staring at the black void of my bedroom listing all the things I need to get done tomorrow after I get home from work. This is basically like when I moved in with Kyle in college except I have more boxes and no one to guilt into unpacking them for me.

    Michael stared at the phone and thought about that first apartment. He’d moved in with Kyle after Kyle’s dad died. Kyle had transferred from Michigan State back to UNM in Albuquerque to be closer to his mom, but he was still on the pre-med track so living in town was out of the question. Michael remembers them all getting wasted on whiskey that first night and after Kyle had passed out on the futon mattress (which was on the floor and not on the still-disassembled futon), he and Alex had escaped to his room. 

Me 11:33 p.m.>> Remember the rug burns you gave me that second night? Alex 11:35 p.m.>> You deserved that for the hickies you gave me! It looked like I'd been attacked by an octopus in my sleep!

    Michael grinned into his beer. He didn’t regret the hickies. They’d been drunk and horny. He’d pinned Alex to the shitty, half-deflated air mattress and left marks in a constellation from his neck to the inside of his thighs and the little shit had loved every fucking second of it. Then Alex had tried to roll them and just ended up knocking Michael over off the mattress. They’d laughed and Alex had apologized into his mouth between kisses. He’d tasted like whiskey and cheap pizza and Michael remembered being blissfully happy somewhere underneath all the horniness. The rugburns hadn’t come until the next night when Alex had fucked him hard on the floor, carpet digging into Michael’s knees, elbows, and cheek. It’d been worth it to see Kyle the next morning try to figure out how to address the thinness of the wall between their bedrooms. 

Me 11:39 p.m.>> Fucking worth it. You were so mad about those hickies, but I wore those rug burns like badges of honor. Alex 11:40 p.m.>> The fuck you did. You whined every day until they were gone. Me 11:41 p.m.>> Not how I remember it at all. You must have me confused with your other friend you occasionally fuck. Alex 11:42 p.m.>> I could never. 

    “Oh shit, I think Valenti’s passed out. Should we fuck with him? Draw dicks on his face? Make him pee himself?” Michael asked, giggling into Alex’s warm, shirt-covered shoulder. They were sitting pressed side by side against the living room wall. They’d been telling dirty jokes and arguing about playing Halo for the last fifteen minutes. The bottle of Jack Daniels was down to the backwash at the bottom of the bottle, having been split between the three of them as a celebration for Kyle and Alex getting an apartment together. No more sneaking into dorm rooms or paying roommates to find another place to sleep. 

    “If you’re so desperate to see a dick, I got something better we could do,” Alex had slurred into his hair as he tipped toward him. 

    “You’re fucking drunk, can you even get hard?” Michael had asked. Better question was could he get hard… they’d had a lot to drink in a short period of time. 

    “Why don’t we go to my room and find out? Help me break the place in. Christen it before Kyle can,” Alex suggested, grin salacious and eyebrows mischievous and hair slightly sweaty and mussed from their hauling boxes and putting together furniture. Michael couldn’t remember wanting him more. He surged forward and captured his lips in a messy, wet kiss that somehow didn’t suck for all its faults. They were both panting gently when they pulled back. 

    “Yeah, let’s go,” he agreed quietly, eyes still closed and enjoying the taste and smell of the moment, the feeling of his hand against Alex’s neck, and how much he wanted this forever. Alex pushed back and stood up unsteadily, leaning on the wall for support, and Michael followed suit. They stumbled into the bedroom, legs tangling and making them fall onto the air mattress in a heap, laughing breathlessly as they started to pull at their shirts. The apartment still smelled like paint and carpet cleaner and the new plastic of the air mattress, but it was a refuge from the world and if Michael could live in that moment forever, he might just. 

    “Ugh, you’re getting sappy,” Alex mock-complained as he pushed Michael onto his back and straddled his hips. 

    “Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael countered with a grin, his hands, and expression betraying him as he let them both roam all over Alex’s body fondly, familiarly. Alex rolled his eyes, but his grin stayed in place. He grabbed Michael’s hands and pinned them to the floor by Alex’s knees. 

Alex kissed down Michael’s chest and stomach, leaving dark red marks where he sucked the skin into his mouth until Michael whined for him to stop. He kept moving his own body down until he was hovering over the obvious tent in Michael’s shorts. He grazed his cheek against Michael’s bulge, staring up at him with a dirty tilt to his lips. Alex lifted Michael’s hands from beside him and buried them in his hair. Michael looked down at him curiously, but Alex didn’t explain. He simply pulled down Michael’s shorts to mid-thigh and took Michael’s cock between his lips. 

Warm, wet ecstasy exploded through Michael’s nerve endings and he cried out, neck arching as he sucked in a breath at how good Alex’s mouth felt on him, his fingers tightening and pulling Alex’s hair. Alex moved his mouth fluidly over Michael’s cock and Michael was helpless against the sounds pouring out of his mouth. He pushed when Alex pulled, not wanting to be without the tight heat of his mouth any longer than he had to be. Alex’s hands were digging into his hips, probably bruising him, but Michael couldn’t focus on it, only let the dull pain heighten his experience of the pleasure. 

“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, Alex. Christ,” Michael exclaimed between whimpers. Alex was going fast like he had a time limit. “Slow down, baby. We got all night.”

Alex popped off him and replaced his mouth with his hand, taking in a deep breath before continuing. 

“Exactly. Let’s get the first one out of the way. I want to still be fucking when the sun comes up,” Alex gasped, squeezing his hand and making his grip on Michael’s cock almost too tight. Michael didn’t have an answer for that, was too busy imagining it, and Alex took his silence as acceptance of the plan. He bent down and took Michael back into his mouth. 

Me 11:55 p.m.>> I could go for some hickies right about now Alex 11:56 p.m.>> Well, I can’t exactly come down to help you with that. Me 11:57 p.m.>> Guess you shouldn’t have moved. Alex 11:57 p.m.>> Something tells me you will survive. :P Me 11:58 p.m.>> Putting it on my Christmas list right now, though. Better come through for me, Manes. Alex 11:59 p.m>> You’re going to scandalize Santa asking for hickies. Me 12:00 a.m.>> He’ll understand. Alex 12:01 a.m.>> It’s past 1 here. I need to get some sleep. Miss you. Don’t get too drunk. Me 12:02 a.m.>> Miss you too. Dream about me. 

[magnoliasinbloom]

Lie To Me - 11

AO3 :: Previously

Jamie thinks his uncles might have kept closer tabs on him if he hadn’t acted so compliant in the last few years. Agreeing to marry Laoghaire, staying on at Leoch, keeping his head down. All the while, they’d let the cuckoo in the nest and he hopes he is preparing the massive downfall of the MacKenzie empire—with Claire’s help.

This is how he is able to create a fictitious acquisition meeting in London, regarding an up and coming author. The author is real, but the meeting is not. He has Louise, his executive assistant, register his schedule into the system, and book his lodgings for two days.

Claire books a room at the same hotel.

Laoghaire bids him farewell at their shared flat, glad to see him go; he knows she’ll spend these days with Joseph. He is happy for her. Now, Jamie boards the train taking him and Claire to London, sitting side by side, surreptitiously holding hands. He had tucked copies of the most basic documents pertaining to the investigation into Leoch’s business into his duffel bag.

“What do you mean, you’ve never toured London properly?” Claire leans back from her position tucked into Jamie’s shoulder to look at him in surprise.

“Aye, well, Mam and Da took Jenny and me when we were weans. We went to the Tower, the British Museum, the V&A and such, but I dinna really remember it.”

“Very culturally inclined, your parents.”

“My mam studied art history at uni. She was very much into art and history and culture and wanted her children to appreciate it too.” Jamie smiles. “Now, what made ye decide to be a doctor?”

Her answer is immediate. “Helping out at dig sites with my Uncle Lamb. I was always one of the few women there and I suppose caring for the people came naturally to me.”

“I admire ye, Sassenach. ‘Tis a noble calling.” Jamie lifts Claire’s hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to her fingers.

“It’s a hard one too. I’m afraid it takes up a lot of my time, days and nights, conferences, emergencies…” She wants Jamie to be aware that, no matter how much she cares for him, her calling to heal often consumes her. It’s something that Frank never understood.

“I dinna mind. I’ll take ye any way I can, Claire.”

X-x-X

They check into the Park Grand separately; their rooms are on different floors. Jamie lingers for a few minutes in the lobby while Claire goes up with her small suitcase. He wishes things were different—Jamie, unattached, a regular lad with a normal job, visiting London with his girlfriend, spending their nights in the same room.

Claire, for her part, closes the door to her own room, resting her palm against the wood, and wishes Jamie had followed her there. Their acquaintance and budding relationship are fraught with so many obstacles and complications, but she is determined to make something of it, to emerge victorious, to help the man she has come to love.

Frank has agreed to meet Claire at the bar in the Royal Lancaster Hotel. Jamie meets her in the lobby and together ride the metro as unobtrusively as possible to the designated location. Claire is nervous; it’s the first time in nearly a year that she’s seeing Frank, but the fluttering is tempered by Jamie at her side.

Claire recognizes Frank by the sharp cut of his hair; he’s sitting at a table in the middle of the bar, his back to them. With a deep, shaky breath, and a squeeze of Jamie’s hand in hers, she approaches and briefly startles her ex-husband with a quiet, “Hello, Frank.”

Jamie notes the way Randall’s neck stiffens and turns slowly to greet Claire. He does a double take when he sees Jamie beside her, holding her hand. He keeps an impassive face while Frank gives Claire a brief peck on the cheek and then gestures to Jamie.

“And who is this? I had the notion we would be meeting alone.” He has a good poker face, but Jamie’s is better.

“James Fraser.” He extends his hand and Randall grasps it out of courtesy, evidently trying to intimidate with the strength of his grip. Jamie matches it and is gratified to see him wince.

“Actually, Frank, he is the reason I’m here.” Claire sits at the table and plasters a smile when the server comes to take their drink order. “Two whiskies, please. Neat.” Left alone once more, Claire lowers her voice and says, “I hadn’t mentioned him before because I thought you might not want to see me.”

“I just didn’t think you would be that… quick,” Frank says, raising both eyebrows.

Claire’s cheeks color slightly, and Jamie suppresses the urge to punch Frank in the face. But his Sassenach is more than equal to the task. “You were quicker, I think, since we were still married.”

Frank offers a tight-lipped smile. “Touché.”

“Mr. Randall, the reason we’re here is that we need yer help with a delicate matter. It’s something that will benefit us both.”

“What is it you think you can do for me?”

“I work for Leoch Holdings.” Jamie senses Frank’s curiosity peak at the name. “My uncles own the business, and I have been made aware of many dealings that are less than… legal.”

“If it’s your uncles’ own company, why are you working against them?” Frank sips casually from a glass of white wine, but it is evident he’s interested.

“They are blackmailing me with false murder charges.” Jamie doesn’t blink even as Frank flinches and he sees Claire clutch her whisky glass tighter at the words. “There is corruption, crime, extorsion, ye name it. My godfather is working within the Glasgow police force to help me, and is in touch with Chief John Grey at the SCD.”

“If you have their assistance, why come to me?” Frank glances between Claire and Jamie, prompting her to reach for Jamie’s hand again and lay them on the table; their connection is evident, as is their support of each other.

“There are a great many people implicated, and there are precious few we can trust wi’ this information. Ye have access to certain resources we do not.”

“Do you have any documentation to go on? Something solid?”

Jamie pulls out papers from his coat inside pocket. “I brought these to get you started. I shouldna have to mention that it’s sensitive information, and the less eyes that see it, the better.”

Randall peruses the documents, rifling through the pages; his eyes widen as he reads the names Jamie has seen time and time again, almost unable to believe the scope of Leoch’s shady operations.

“This is quite an undertaking. Some of these people… the scandal would rock the nation.” Frank’s tone is noncommittal, and Jamie feels his stomach sinking.

“So ye dinna think it’s possible then,” he says dejectedly.

“I didn’t say that.” Frank is quiet for a few minutes, going over the papers once more. “From what I can gather, a key element is finding out where the money is going, all these names and payments… If we can find the accounts, we’d be in business.”

Claire tosses back her whisky. “It’s massive, Frank,” she says quietly, leaning in and he imitates her unconsciously. “There’s politicians, judges, police officers, money, extorsion… if you were to help Jamie—help us—and put an end to this, it will no doubt aid in your efforts to solidify yourself as a model MP. Maybe even PM someday.” She knows the prospect is like dangling a carrot in front of a horse. She recognizes the old gleam of a challenge in Frank’s eyes, and a small swell of relief takes hold inside her. If anyone can help them, it’s this man; despite the crumbled marriage between them, she can trust him with this. Frank seems to read her mind, and asks:

“Why trust me with this, Claire? After what I did to you?”

“Not only is your name not in the documents—and I didn’t think it would be—but I know exactly how important your political career is to you. Much more important than I ever was.” Claire’s voice is steadfast and Frank does not dispute her statement. “So, you’ll do it?”

“I will.” Frank tucks the papers into his own coat pocket, drinking the dregs of wine. “I believe I owe it to you.”

“You bloody well do, Francis Randall.” Claire and Jamie both feel that spark of hope ignite within, a way out of the dark tunnel Jamie has been in for years and that Claire has also chosen to walk.

As they prepare to leave, Frank remains sitting; Claire can feel his scrutiny, appraising them, judging, drawing his own conclusions about what Jamie means to her.

“Is it worth it?” Frank asks suddenly, his parting shot. Claire feels Jamie stiffen next to her and she is tempted to let him thump Frank, but doesn’t want to undermine their efforts quite yet. Claire holds Frank’s gaze and responds simply.

“He is.”

[blissfulalchemist]

Hope you don't mind me sending one of these: Catlina - “you remembered?”

Hello there! I do not mind in the slightest! I'm sorry this took a while, but I have it finished for you! I do hope you enjoy though!

She still has about ten minutes before the meal is fully prepared and she’ll wait for another three hours in hopes that Liz will come. She has to come home at some point, Cat thinks leaning against the countertop folding her arms, It’s been almost two weeks. She lets out a slow breath, relaxing her body briefly, the shrill of the doorbell tensing her once more. Her eyes slide slowly towards the front door catching sight of the sleek black car parked in front of her house, Should I really be surprised at this point? She pushes herself off slowly making her way to the front door, pulling the cardigan closer, a soft knock out of time to her walk. 

Cat pulls the door open, the first thing she sees are John’s blue eyes darkened by the night. He smiles as she leans against the door, meeting him with a small smile, “Little late for missionary work don’t you think?”

John gives a small shake of his head, “Hilarious,” one of his hands holds a reusable shopping bag as the other gestures inside, “May I come in?”

She stiffened, heart picking up speed, “She might come back John,” Cat glanced back at the stove avoiding his gaze, at least nothing looked to be burning, “She won’t want to see you.”

His smile falters for a split second, “Well I’ll leave if she does show up,” Cat bites her lip, casting her eyes downward, “I just came to see you.”

She perks her head up, giving a small tilt, “You came to see me?” He nods, “Why?”

He shrugs, “Does there have to be a reason,” he asks, face not matching the apathy in his tone, “I figured you could use some company.”

She lets out a sigh, turning away back to the kitchen, “You better keep your promise of leaving if she shows up, John.” Cat leaves the door open, John following behind quickly watching as she moves about the small kitchen. He gives a smirk as he notes her familiar dinner pattern of having a meat, something heavy in carbs, and a vegetable to form a complete meal, he can only assume there’s some kind of dessert lying in wait in the refrigerator. 

He takes a seat at the round table, glancing around the room setting the bag on the floor next to him, “I’m surprised you didn’t find a house with a bigger kitchen my Catlina.”

“I didn’t need one,” she replies matter of factly, “Liz and I weren’t getting a lot of visitors so what was the point?”

“Because you could,” she still doesn’t face him head on, which is fine with him as he gets an opportunity to look at his ex-wife for more than just a few rushed minutes, taking in the new details about her. The way the grey in her hair shined through under the lights, how she moves about with more confidence than when he first saw her getting up from that bed seventeen years ago, and the sliver of art peeking out from beneath her shirt on her back making it easy to miss the scarred ends of sin if you didn’t already know of their location. “I made sure you’d have more than enough to get a nice place,” he muses, moving to stand.

Cat brings down the plates, three of them, with a huff, “I thought I made it clear I didn’t like using your money.” Her movements are sharp and short as she puts food on it, gripping the utensils with white knuckles.

“You did,” he sits himself back down as she walks over to him with a plate, “I just wanted to take care of you is all. You and Liz.” Cat gives a small eye roll, working to set the plate down gently rather than drop it like she wishes she could, it's part of her favorite set though.

Her jaw tightens moving to make her own plate, “I don’t need someone to take care of us. I managed just fine.” It’s a lie, his money came in handy when she kept moving hoping for a fresh start for Liz and then again when Cat had a breakdown the week Joseph became a fugitive. She never wants to tell him this though, doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction or the power over her. 

“You were the one that asked me for money though,” she splays her hands on the counter, nails digging into the faux granite, “So it seems like you did need me.”

“Only because I was at the last of my options,” she says through gritted teeth, “I set aside my pride for Liz because she needed a place that was safe and as free as one could be with her,” Cat paused, turning to look John up and down trying to hold back the sneer, “genetics. Ones that no one lets her forget once they know.”

His eyes narrow, a hand running through his hair, teeth grinding, “I am aware of her life and how it’s been Catlina, there’s no need to remind me.” 

“Never hurts to do so with you.”

John inhales deeply, closing his eyes, “There’s no need to bring this argument up once again, don’t you agree?” 

She glares at him a moment more before nodding, finally allowing herself to sit down across from him. Her shoulders fall with an exhale as she settles herself, eyes casting downward, replying softly, “I don’t really feel like arguing with you tonight anyway.” 

John lets the quiet loom, waiting for her to take the first bite before making any movement of his own. He shouldn’t have been surprised by how quickly the accusations started with her, her anger did always have its way of festering beneath the surface and John had always been the one that could draw it out. Little by little until it all flooded out and she was no longer the same person he had grown to love and care for. John smirks to himself at the memories of their first few weeks together, “Do you remember those first few weeks and we did nothing but fight all the time?” She glances up at him, “Sorry. When we did nothing but argue.”

“We didn’t fight all the time,” Cat mumbles, pushing the food around on her plate. “I didn’t really like talking to you, I remember that.”

John laughs, “You and I still talked quite a bit,” his teasing tone getting an eye roll from Cat, “and it always seemed to end with you stating an opinion that I didn’t agree with.”

“You know I wasn’t the only one giving opinions,” a smile teases at the corner of her lips, pointing the fork at him, “You baited me into those arguments. Tested my patience.”

“Not like it was hard to do, especially then.” John smiles resting his chin on his hand, “We were so different you and I, like oil and vinegar,” Cat snorts, giving a small shae of her head, “Pretty sure my brothers still wonder how we managed to actually end up falling for each other.”

Cat stiffens at the notion, swallowing the bite in her mouth, “There are people that believe they know how we managed that.” The memories of when she would call out to him in the months following her return to society and the calm responses of the doctors telling her that it was all made up, some side effect of whatever they drugged her with echo on the edge of her hearing. She swallows the memories back, “We did seem to meet up in some kind of middle, I’ll admit, even if it was brief.” Cat can’t even fake a smile as she casts her gaze down, no longer focusing on the plate in front of her. John slides the chair closer to her, reaching out to place his hand gently on hers.

He gives a small smile when she looks up at him, “There’s still time. We can always pick up where we left off,” Cat’s stomach flips, her chest pulling towards him while everything else backs away. He can’t be serious. He knows why we can’t, “After all, we do have a child together, so I doubt we’ll ever fully be out of each other’s life.”

“John,” she warns, looking up, “we’ve talked about this.”

“I’ll be good, don’t worry,” he says softly, “Just hard not to think about, on today of all days.”

Cat frowns, “What do you mean ‘today of all days’?”

He gives a genuine smile, something she forgot he could do, “It’s the day this all started.”

“You remembered,” she gives John a pointed look, arching a brow, “the exact day I finally woke up after the accident?”

“I could tell you the exact date if you’d like but it seems a little irrelevant considering that day passed.”

She opened her mouth ready to argue, closing it as she glanced at the digital clock on the wall the date spelled out for her. “Our wedding,” she whispered, eyes moving slowly to look back at John slowly, unease threatening to climb her spine, “That was today wasn’t it?”

He nods, giving a small hum, “Married seventeen years today.”

“I think illegally in the eyes of the law, technically, but that’s more your department,” Cat looks down to the bag still at his feet, “Is that why you brought that stuff?”

John gives a nonchalant shrug, “Kind of seems silly now, don’t you think? Especially since I was the only one of us to remember,” he laughs softly trying to keep the mood light.

“I used to remember it,” she admits pushing some of the food on her plate, “Used to fixate on that date to a point I’d get upset when it wasn’t.” Cat lets out a slow breath, “Used to convince myself that you would finally come back, would whisk me away from that place and we’d live out our lives happily, because surely my husband, who loved me so deeply and obsessively, wouldn’t just abandon me on our anniversary.” 

“Ah,” he hunches, leaning his elbows on the table, “I see.”

“Eventually days started to blur and I worked to actively not think about Montana. Honestly it became too painful to do so and I had Liz to focus on.” She shook her head, “So I’m sorry, I-well I needed to forget that date. Forget the significance of today.”

“I understand,” John attempts a smile that falls quickly, “The first one didn’t go so well for me either. I lost your ring….,” he sighs, “O well the dep-Chance stole it from me. Probably should have taken that as a sign looking back at it all.”

They let the silence fall, each taking small bites finding nothing either could do to lift the disappointment. Cat paused peering closer to the contents John had brought with him, the only thing she could identify with certainty being a bottle of wine. It’s just one night. It doesn’t have to mean anything long term, She bit the inside of her lip, It doesn’t even have to go beyond talking. She swallowed, inhaling deeply, standing to make her way to the cabinets, John watching curiously. 

She pulled down two goblets, one a smokey black and the other a deep red, giving them a quick rinse and drying them off before walking back to the table. “Now don’t read too much into this,” she started going back for the wine opener, “but given we were both sort of on good terms with the other at the time of our first anniversary I say that we let ourselves celebrate it late.”

John smirked, arching a brow, “Do you really think that’s a good idea, my Catlina ,” he asked, pulling out the bottle from the bag, taking the opener from her.

“I think it’s the nice and right thing to do,” she smiled giving a shrug, “Besides it might help us get some closure on us.”

He pulled the cork out with ease, eyes widening, watching as she poured their glasses. There was little hesitation to her words, something that he once again should have seen coming, still it did little to ease the sting, “Yeah, it could,” he agreed reluctantly, “We both can use the closure.” 

She threw him a smile, going to the fridge once more putting away the remaining dinner, John took a glance at the small purple wrapped box he pulled from his pocket as she announced her idea of celebrating. He took a deep breath sliding it back into place, opting to pull out the small container of chocolate covered fruit before Cat had turned back to him fully, his smile on to its full charm once more. He could let himself enjoy these few hours, let himself believe that there was a chance for them once more. John held up his glass once she sat down, “To celebrating our first and only year of marriage,” Cat laughed, tapping her glass against his before they took their first drink of the night. One night. She could let herself indulge in the fantasy she once, still, craved for just this one night. It didn’t have to mean anything more.

[mysteriesofloves]

i’ll blow out the flame (can you and me remain)

When he wakes up, his arm is asleep.

post 4x16 au | 1.8k | rated M

The worst kind, Blair says, looming over him with her hands pressed to his chest. An intellectual —

When he wakes up, his arm is asleep.

It’s like the lights coming up in the theatre, the slow blink as he comes to his surroundings. Blair’s head droops at his shift, and his hand is there to cradle it before he can stop himself, some residual instinct he’s still trying to wax away. It wakes her, and he’s not sure why it makes his stomach dip, the drawing of her brows as she tips her chin up to look at him. She regains composure quickly, pulling her knees away from his, her skirt riding up her thighs as she straightens, the sheer black of her stockings like a mosaic on her pale skin.

“How long have I been asleep?”

He kicks at his laptop until the screen lights back up. “Hour,” he mumbles. Then, “You can stay.”

Her brow arches, less sardonic and more curious. He clarifies, “It’s late. I can take the couch.”

Blair’s lips part for a moment before she speaks. “As much as I would find joy in driving you out of your bed, I think I can manage getting home.”

He nods, a little stilted. She pats his knee companionably. “Well. Thank you.”

There’s a beat, like she’s waiting for him to say something, and then she stands, slipping back into her mismatched shoes. He smiles a little at them, and when he looks up at her, she’s smiling a little at him, too.

“Seeing as my schedule’s cleared up, I suppose I could join you at the Joseph Beuys exhibit,” she lingers in the doorway, turning over her shoulder to look at him. “That is, if you still want me to?”

“Of course,” he says, a little too quickly. He clears his throat. “No, yeah, I do.”

She nods, taking that same small beat before shutting the door, leaving him alone again in the blue-dark of the loft. It feels oddly empty without her. It hasn’t felt like a home in a long time, not the way it used to; not since Mom left, and Jenny, and Dad. Like the paint that chips and curls around the walls, little by little the loft lost what made it whole. It was nice, having someone there with him, making the space feel alive again.

Dan doesn’t want to think of Blair as some kind of missing piece, because she can’t be. That wouldn’t be fair to anyone involved.

When he brings a hand up to rub over his face, he smells her perfume on the sleeve of his sweater.

The knock is light, uncertain enough that it could just be the wind against the windows. But he pulls the door back open just in case, and she’s there, her lower lip pulled between her teeth.

“Did you forget something?”

Blair nods, her hand light on the doorframe. And then she kisses him, as light and uncertain as the knock.

She’s gone before he has the chance to respond, settling back, wide eyes staring up at him. She looks about ready to run, and as much as he wants to say something, wants to ask what this is and what they’re doing and what it means, he knows all it’ll take is one step back, both of them still stuck in the space between the dark hallway and the inside of the loft, and all Dan has ever done is let things pass, let things go because he asked too much. So he brings both his hands up to hold her face, kissing her with a kind of assurance that he doesn’t feel.

She takes a step forward.

The door closes and her back is pressed up against it and he’s peripherally aware that it’s him doing it, his hands in her hair, his mouth sucking on her bottom lip, but it feels like it must be someone else, like she would never let him touch her like this, how he’s wanted to but has been pretending that he hasn’t. The fists in his sweater are hers, relaxing and smoothing down his sides, her arms around his hips, hugging him closer, her palms pressed on his lower back, right where the tension is mounting.

When she finally breaks away, he feels hit straight through the chest with how pretty she is. He hadn’t let himself really look before, ever, but it’s so obvious now, the grey-slate of the door a blurred backdrop against the vivid colour of her, lips kissed red and face flushed pink. She looks nervous, and he runs his knuckle over her cheek, bumping his nose on hers. “Are you sure?”

She kisses him again in response, even harder than before, like she wants to draw blood. His knees almost buckle, and he grips her to him tighter, steadying himself.

“Blair,” he says, hardly able to catch his breath, hardly able to believe this is happening. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she says, an edge of scolding that burns through him. It’s all he needs, bending slightly and lifting her up, her delighted little gasp knocking the wind out of him.

The sheets of his unmade bed move like dark waves when he sets her down, and he thinks of Aphrodite and the sea foam, of Katherine Hepburn, of the copy of Metamorphosis left open on his pillow that slides to the ground with a dull thud, of the lights being left on and if he should turn them off, of not wanting to assume, of really, really wanting to see this, see her. Her top is gone, slid off with the book, and he loses his train of thought to her skin under his mouth, wanting to map her whole body with his tongue but starting with the smooth line of her collarbone. She’s all goosebumps, every part of her so delicate under his hands, her breathing gone shallow. He wants to break her in a way that won’t hurt, wants to feel her shatter around him. He pulls her shoes off, one by one, wiggling them a little before dropping them to the ground, and she lets out that shy laugh, that sweet smile, and oh, Dan wants.

Her heart shakes the small frame of her ribcage like bass through a speaker. He presses his palm over her, the way he would as a child, trying to feel the music, hold it in his hands and make it real. She stares up at him with that curious raise of her brows, lips parted and tongue trained to tease.

“Dan?” she says — and this gives her away most of all, so unlike the way she usually says it. He meets her eyes, and that’s real. It’s real. “Your room’s a mess.”

“I wasn’t expecting company,” he says, untucking her tank slowly, smoothing his cool palms over her warm stomach. She helps him lift it off, already having rid him of his sweater, and he hardly remembers it coming off save for the brief moment of darkness, her there and then not and then there again.

“You would’ve cleaned up for me?” she says, and her voice is all breathy, and her nipples are puckered, and he’s so hard he can hardly feel anything else, thinks his tongue and toes may have gone numb. “If you’d known?”

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, her mouth pink like the blush spread across her chest. Pink like a sunset on a midsummer night. Pink like —

He presses two fingers to her lips, curling them inside her mouth, her tongue warm on him as she moans appreciatively. It’s not something he would normally do, but normally he wouldn’t be between Blair Waldorf’s legs, so he supposes anything goes.

“Can I?” he whispers, with her skirt off and his fingers digging under the waistband of her stockings.

“Can you what?” she says, trailing a hand over his shoulder blade, so impossibly soft, and he knew that this was her all along, he just never for the life of him thought he’d get to feel it.

“My mouth,” he says. “Are you… Is that –?”

Her laugh is light enough that it might be a sigh. He’s sure she’ll tease him, but she just nods. The waistband of her stockings etched marks into her skin, her stomach dipping under his mouth as he kisses the reddened line. She’s so wet he can smell it, kissing her core through the thin fabric the way he’d kissed her mouth.

Her hands slide into his hair, and he wonders about missing pieces, wonders if tonight is just an ellipses in her plan, or if it’s a whole new chapter. But she whines, her back arching, thighs spreading wider for him, and he decides he’ll worry about it later.

*

He reaches for her, already half-aware in his barely awake state that she’s gone, back to her tower and washing off the remnants of him on her skin. He tries not to be too hurt about it.

The bed is still warm under his hand, and when he opens his eyes it’s to the soft light of morning on empty sheets. He rubs over his eyes, shifts, startles.

“You snore,” Blair says. She perches next to him, her knees folded, feet tucked to the side. She would look quite proper if she wasn’t just in one of his old Strand t-shirts.

“Sorry.”

She shifts, exposing a smattering of bruises on her innermost thighs; little yellowing fingerprints, purpled kisses in the shape of his mouth, his teeth. She wouldn’t have been able to wash him off if she’d tried.

“I like you better in the morning,” she says. “You’re quieter.”

“How long you been watching me sleep, Edward?”

Her brows raise. He says, “Cullen. Twilight? Jenny –“

“I got it,” Blair says. “Not long. I was going to leave.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was listing pros and cons,” she says. “Pro: your mouth has proven to be quite useful when you’re not talking.”

He snorts, his hand sliding up her thigh and just resting there. She looks at it, then him. “Con?”

“Con,” she says. “Your selection of morning-after attire is atrocious.”

“I’ll go shopping,” he says.

She worries her lip between her teeth, looking over him long enough to make him self-conscious. Finally, she says, “Was last night a mistake?”

“Probably,” Dan says. Her face falls, just a little, and he bites his tongue. “That was – I’m kidding. I don’t think it was.”

He’d gone so slow — too slow to be something casual, something with no meaning behind it — been more tender with her than he’d been with anyone, himself included, in a long time.

“Do you?” he says. She sets her hand on his chest, and he clasps it, brings it up to his lips. Her brow arches, curiouser and curiouser.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she says. And then she kisses him.