#also who knew you can connect your washing machine to your phone?? i’m generally against the internet of things because i’m a paranoid hermi

[kiki-strike]

what home alone used to mean: getting shitfaced in the living room and scrounging around my parents’ room for loose pills they forgot to lock up

what home alone means now: i am playing hank williams on the tv speaker and cleaning the washing machine :)

and having WAY more fun than i did then :)

[honeypiehotchner]

Trust -- part nineteen

I’m such a liar. Kind of. I am still going on a break, until next Wednesday, but I realize that’s a long ass time to leave y’all without an update. The reader in me would be crying. So! This is pre-written, so here you go. Love you xx.

Warnings: The case. Suspicious Mycroft! Helpful Lestrade (I love that man). Another date-ish. The section in italics is a flashback. John interrupts something important. Sherlock sulks.

The cab driver couldn’t have driven to Mary’s home any slower, but eventually, the two of you reach your destination, Lestrade not far behind.

           Scrambling out of the taxi, you follow Lestrade at a sprint to Mary’s door. He knocks a few times, but after gaining no response, he breaks in.

           The silence is eerie and disturbing. It’s far too quiet in here for you to be comfortable.

           Lestrade goes one way into the house while you venture into the kitchen, and Sherlock follows behind you slowly.

           On the table is a cup of unfinished breakfast tea. Next to it, a Holy Bible is closed and neatly placed, like it was deliberate. And you know it was. Her morning scripture with her tea.

           “There’s no one here,” Lestrade announces when he meets the two of you back in the kitchen.

           “Who reported her missing?” You ask, pressing your hand over the Bible.

           Lestrade shrugs. “It was an anonymous report.”

           “Nothing is ever anonymous anymore,” you grumble, clenching your hand into a fist. “Can I see it?”

           “Yeah, but it’s back in my office.”

           “Fine, then I’m going to your office,” you breathe, trying not to get too frustrated, but how can you not? Mary is pregnant and missing, and Gidon is on the loose. This is connected, obviously, but you just wonder how long Mary has before – before he does something.

           “Alright,” Lestrade accepts it without argument, taking a phone call as he heads back out to his car.

           You move to follow, but are stopped by a tugging on your hand. Looking down, you see Sherlock has wrapped his hand around yours, and glancing up, you see he’s been waiting for you to look at him. When you finally do, his face softens.

           You squeeze his hand, but let go, taking long strides to catch up with Lestrade. You can’t focus on anything other than this case. While Sherlock’s sentiment and gestures are appreciated, it isn’t what you need right now.

           You slide into the passenger seat of Lestrade’s car, surprised when you see Sherlock getting into the back seat. Something in you really thought he was going to stay or catch a taxi somewhere else. He has that habit.

           And Sherlock did think about staying behind or taking a cab back to the lab, but the torn look you’ve got on your face made his chest do that odd tugging thing again, so he decided to come with you. Something in him wants to be with you, even if he can’t make it better – which he swore if he held your hand, it would make it somewhat better, but that didn’t seem to happen. It’s still all so confusing to him, and that makes his face twist. Because why is it confusing him? Nothing confuses Sherlock. Until you.

~~~

“This is all it said,” Lestrade sighs, handing you the report. “I don’t usually see these, but someone let me know since we had just talked to her.”

           You let out a heavy sigh as you open the file, your eyes scanning over the paperwork. It’s all so standard. Nothing is there. Her full name is here now, which you hadn’t known before. Mary Josephine.

           Josephine. Mary Josephine. Mary and Joseph.

           “Oh, Jesus Christ,” you close your eyes, the realization washing over you like a tidal wave. Well, not so much the realization as the confirmation. You knew there was something strange about Gidon targeting a pregnant woman named Mary – because the connection was too obvious and because believe it or not, pregnant women are somewhat on the same level as the Gods in their stupid cult. Hurting one, no matter how small, could literally result in your death.

           “What?”

           “Mary Josephine,” you mumble, your eyes still closed. “Mary and Joseph, the story in the Bible. Mary Josephine is pregnant, and now The Congregation has her.”

           “We don’t know—”

           “Sherlock, I appreciate it, but don’t try to be dull right now for my sake. The Congregation has her and you know it. Don’t pretend.”

           He nods, staring down at the floor. He isn’t even sure why he tried to pretend. It’s too obvious to even try to pretend it isn’t.

           You shake your head. “I’m calling Mycroft.”

           “What? Why?”

           You look at Sherlock like he’s an idiot – which he’s acting like one. “I know you two have a childish feud, but he is useful. And he can put maximum surveillance on her…or something.” You don’t even know what he can do, if anything. You’re just running out of patience and options.

           He picks up on the second ring. “Hello, Y/N. What’s troubling you?”

           “Don’t be smart,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. You and he both know you only phone him when you need help. But he doesn’t need to point it out. “Mary Josephine. The pregnant woman that Gidon kidnapped. Where is she?”

           He sighs. “We don’t know.”

           “What do you mean, you don’t know? You know practically everything!”

           “Gidon has slipped under our radar,” Mycroft speaks slowly, and you can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. “Unfortunately, we’ve lost contact with him, too.”

           “How the fuck did you— Don’t answer that. Just.” You let your hand fall from your face, smacking into your leg in annoyance. “Listen—”

           “Do you understand why I told you this was too dangerous?”

           “Oh shut up, for God’s sake. I’m not leaving this case, so don’t waste your breath. You can, however, tell me what the hell I can do to help.”

           “I don’t know.”

           “You do know.”

           “Step into the hallway, please.”

           You give Lestrade and Sherlock a rather heated and annoyed look as you step into the hallway, hoping to give them both the message that you need to speak to Mycroft physically alone for a moment. Thankfully, neither of them follows you.

           “You already know what you need to do.”

           You lean your back against the wall, facing Lestrade’s door. “I thought you didn’t want me going there anymore.” Sherlock doesn’t even want you there, and you know John doesn’t either – even though he doesn’t know.

           “I never said you needed to partake in those activities, though I do hope you have told John Watson where you’ve been going.”

           “John doesn’t own me,” you roll your eyes. “And he can’t protect me from everything. It’s better if he doesn’t know.”

           “Does my brother know?”

           “He’s Sherlock Holmes,” you chuckle. “What do you think?”

           Mycroft hums. “Yes, well, as of now, that is all you can do.”

           “Why?” You question. “You said you didn’t know where he is.”

           “We don’t,” Mycroft confirms. “But you can make a deduction.”

           “So you’re telling me you do know where he is.”

           “We know a general vicinity,” he replies. “But nothing approximated as before.”

           “Fine. I’ll go back,” you sigh.

           “Be careful, Y/N.”

           “Yeah, yeah,” you end the call, not wanting to hear anything else from him, especially not a lecture about being careful because this is extremely dangerous. You already know these things. And the fact that Mycroft knows, but isn’t doing anything to really stop you is unnerving.

           You thought you were done doing business with Michael Holland, but apparently not.

~~~

“What did he ask you to do?”

           You blink, turning your head to Sherlock, but Sherlock continues without looking at you.

           “I’m not an idiot, Y/N, I know Mycroft requested you step outside because he didn’t want me to hear. What did he ask you to do?”

           You snort, leaning your elbow on the window, putting your head in your hand. “I’m surprised you weren’t eavesdropping.”

           “I was.”

           You turn your head. “Then why—”

           “I want to hear it from you.” Sherlock gives you one of those…sincere looks you’ve been seeing from him. No, not sincere, because despite him being a machine, he is sincere at times. But…soft. Gentle.

           “Fine,” you breathe. “He wants me to go back.”

           “Where?”

           “You know where,” you shake your head. “I don’t need to say it.”

           “Are you going to?”

           “I don’t know,” you reply truthfully. “It seemed like a bit of a dead end to me, really. Mycroft doesn’t seem to think so. But I’m not sure how much of this is Mycroft talking and how much of it is Michael.”

           “Yes, how did all that start?”

           You hear the amusement in Sherlock’s voice, so it’s no surprise that when you turn to look at him, you find a smirk on his face. “Are you gonna buy me dinner first? It’s a long story and I’m starving. It’s been a long day.”

           His smirk deepens as he leans forward, “Just up here, please.”

~~~

Sifting through the mail, you come across one letter in particular actually addressed to you, not Tony for once. Strange.

           You toss it aside as Tony comes back into the room, tying a bowtie around his neck. He nods to the mail. “Anything?”

           “Nothing interesting,” you breathe. “Are you going out tonight?”

           He nods. “So are you.”

           You furrow your eyebrows. “Huh?”

           He smirks. “You didn’t think I forgot your birthday, did you?”

           “Wishful thinking,” you chuckle. It’s not that big of a deal.

           “Well, we’re celebrating this year. I got you a dress,” he nods his head down the hall. “It’s on the bed.”

           You stand from your spot at the table, giving him a look, but you can’t help the smile that crawls onto your face. “I thought I told you I didn’t like presents.”

           “You did. I didn’t listen.”

           “You never do.”

           His own look turns into a glare as he spins on his heel, heading back down the hall to his room – which is where the bed is. You don’t really live here. You’re just here when Tony is, but when he’s not, you’re elsewhere.

           “I thought I wasn’t your girlfriend!” You call out, grabbing the letter that’s addressed to you.

           “You’re not!” Comes Tony’s reply, but you’re still smiling. It’s a game you two have, really. You’re not dating. But you are. But you’re also not.

           Using your fingers, you rip the back off the envelope, figuring it’s some distant family member of your mother’s who just found out about her passing (even though it’s been almost a year) and wants to send their condolences. They always want to send words of sympathy, and yet never any money. Which you could use more of, right now.

           You pull out the letter, setting it down because it still feels like there’s something else inside, and you’re right. There is.

           Money.

           You have no idea how much, but it’s enough to make your eyes widen and nearly drop the entire envelope in shock.

           Hesitantly, you grab the letter, reading its few sentences. The money is yours. He’ll be in touch. It’s about The Congregation of Six Divines. From Michael Holland.

           The name doesn’t ring a bell, but you’re not complaining about the money either.

           “The reservation’s at six,” Tony’s voice causes you to jump, slyly placing the letter back inside the envelope before you turn around. “I’m sorry. Did I scare you?”

           “A little,” you admit, stepping forward and stuffing the letter in your waistband under your shirt. “But it’s okay.”

           He smiles softly, gathering you into his arms as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Hey.”

           “Hey,” you chuckle. “Thank you.”

           “For?”

           “For everything,” you shrug, tilting your head to press a kiss to his lips. “Do you know a Michael Holland?”

           He leans back, shaking his head. “That doesn’t ring any bells, no. Why?”

           You shake your head. “Must just be someone mom used to tell me about. I don’t know.”

           Tony’s face turns sad as he presses another kiss to your forehead, smoothing his hands down your arms. He only knows bits and pieces, but still enough to know it troubles you. “Go get dressed.”

           You nod. He knows you. Inside and out. And he knows that right now, you could use some distraction. In the healthier kind, of course, which Tony seems to think is food and alcohol. Though you’d argue alcohol can be just as destructive as heroin. It’s an argument you two have gotten into many times, and neither of you ever win.

           Tony did promise to let you stay here and he’d provide for you, as long as you stopped getting high and destroying your veins. And as much as you love the idea, you miss getting high. You’ll always miss it. But you haven’t had the money for it.

           Until now. Tucked inside the waistband of your jeans.

~~~

“So you were with Tony when Mycroft contacted you?”

           You nod. “When Michael contacted me,” you correct him teasingly. It’s still strange that you know Mycroft as two people.

           “I thought you were with The Congregation?”

           “Yeah…Tony didn’t know about that at first,” you chuckle awkwardly. It was extremely stupid on your part. “When Tony was gone, The Congregation is where I would end up. I was giving them information in exchange for…you know.”

           “Sex?”

           “Drugs! Jesus, Sherlock.”

           He smirks at your reaction. “You were betraying Tony while you were with him?”

           “I never said the information I gave The Congregation was true.”

           Sherlock’s smirk deepens into a smile. “Of course. But you were still in contact with them before Mycroft wrote to you?”

           “Oh, obviously. They claimed to be different from a gang, but they weren’t much different. They were known around there. I knew Tony, and they wanted insider information because they knew they were doing things they weren’t supposed to. I gave them some moderately accurate information and they supported my ‘addiction’—” You use quotation marks with your hands. “—but I never had any money. The money that came from Mycroft just added another cycle of where I sent information. I was already giving Tony tips. He wasn’t stupid. He knew where I went after a while. Michael just added another player into the game.”

           Sherlock chuckles. “You were quite the adventurer.”

           “I was quite the idiot, you mean,” you correct him, which causes him to furrow his eyebrows. “I blew all that money on getting high. All I was doing was acting like my mother. The one habit of hers I didn’t want to have, I seemed to have it only.”

           Sherlock’s face softens as he listens to you continue.

           “I thought maybe I’d pick up something else. Her strength, you know? She was strong. Raising me – sort of, but she didn’t kill me, so that was a feat. She kept going. Despite it all, she kept going. Until her end. I wanted to have that, but without the bad habit.”

           Sherlock isn’t sure what to do, so he tries what he has been doing lately to make things better. He reaches across the table, grabbing your hand. You smile, moving with him to wrap your fingers around his. For a man who claims to not know much about human emotions, he always seems to do an okay job with handling yours.

           You rub your thumb across the back of his hand, feeling his smooth skin. “Thank you.”

           “What for?”

           “For listening,” you reply simply. “And for feeding me,” you add, cracking a teasing smile. You always end up eating when you’re around him, which you suppose is for the best. It was the same way with Tony.

           “You’re welcome,” he murmurs. “My pleasure.”

           You squeeze his hand, not knowing what else to do, and you can see that he doesn’t know what else to do either, because all he does is return the gesture. You’re positive you both must look strange, like those lovesick couples you always see everywhere, but for some reason, you can’t really be bothered to care all that much. You’ve missed nights like these. And you’re grateful to get to share them with Sherlock Holmes.

~~~

“Will you play for me?” You ask, sitting curled up in John’s chair. Your mind is too loud and working in overdrive at the moment and you could really use something to listen to.

           “Will you dance for me?”

           Sherlock’s question comes as a surprise because he’s never actually seen you dance. You know he knows that you do because you’ve told him, but you don’t normally dance in front of anyone. In private, in the safety and solidarity of your flat, of course. But not here with Sherlock watching.

           “It’s too crowded in here…” You try some useless excuses, but Sherlock sees right through it.

           “The furniture can move.”

           And damn him for knowing that you need to dance right now. That you need to move. Because it’s one thing to listen to music, but that alone doesn’t always help. Sometimes physically moving is what you need, and damn him for knowing that.

           You stand up with a huff, shoving John’s chair backwards, then moving his table with it. Sherlock watches you as you silently push the coffee table back flush against the couch, turning back around and placing your hands on your hips.

           “Are you happy now?”

           He smirks, lifting his violin to his neck. Carefully, he begins playing. Softer than normal, his eyes never leaving yours, and you know it’s because he’s trying to get you to start moving and stop giving him a heated look.

           After a few seconds, your arms fall to your sides, the familiar melody bringing a soft smile to your face. “I love this one,” you mumble, taking a few steps forward away from the table. It’s the same melody he’s been composing for a while, and the same one he often plays you to sleep with.

           “Dance,” he instructs gently.

           “Sherlock…” You whine, still not entirely on board with this idea. You just wanted to listen to him play and hopefully fall asleep.

           Still playing, Sherlock begins to dance.

           Well, not so much dancing as he is waltzing on his own. Just stepping in time with his playing, his eyebrows raising expectantly.

           And slowly, though you told yourself you wouldn’t give in, you begin dancing.

           At first you continue with Sherlock’s waltz, not really knowing what else to do. You step with him and around him, trying to work your body into the groove of his melody. And damn him, it works.

           You start venturing out of his waltz, swinging your legs wherever your body sees fit. You stretch your feet, pointing your toes, and eventually your arms join your legs until you’re moving your entire body, and your mind is no longer clouded.

           It’s different now, from dancing alone, because now you’re dancing around him. But as you do, you realize what you’ve choreographed to this melody, you’ve always done so with him in mind. With him here, in front of you, playing. You’ve always been dancing around him, even when he wasn’t physically in front of you.

           You lightly kick your foot, trailing it up his calf, just to see his reaction. You see your action startle him, causing you to smirk, and for the next few minutes, this is the game you play. Testing his focus, seeing if he can continue to play if your hands are trying to distract him. He wanted you to dance, and that is exactly what your fingertips do as they trace his arms.

           It proves to distract you as well, much more than you thought it would, but that can be blamed on the fact that he is much more fit than you thought he was. You knew he was because he’s picked you up before, but that’s different. It’s different to actually feel his muscles flex underneath your fingers, underneath the fabric of his shirt – his damn button-up shirts that he always wears a little too fitted, like he’s trying to tease you.

           As you feel the song drawing to an end, you step closer to him than you have been, nearly pressing your body against his, but the violin is in the way – in the way of what? Calm down.

           He stops playing rather abruptly, taking the violin down from his chin and letting the bow fall onto his chair. He uses his now free hand to grab yours, but he’s gentle. Too gentle.

           You smirk when you feel him press two fingers softly on your wrist, knowing exactly what he’s doing – because you’re doing the same. “Before you take my pulse, Sherlock Holmes, you should know I’ve already taken yours.”

           His eyebrows quirk in the slightest way. “How is it?”

           “Elevated,” you murmur. “How’s mine?”

           He pauses for a second, and you watch his eyes wander from yours to your lips as he waits. “Elevated,” he replies finally, his breath washing against your face.

           You smirk, turning your head so your nose brushes against his. You glance into his eyes, seeing them dilate almost immediately. Oh, Sherlock Holmes.

           Before either of you can move, you hear movement downstairs, and someone knocking on your door.

           “John,” you mutter under your breath, taking a step back. “Up here!” You call out, giving Sherlock one last glance before you take another step back, putting distance between your two bodies.

           Sherlock picks up his bow and pretends to be tuning his violin over by the window, so that by the time John reaches the top of the stairs, it’s like the two of you were never about to kiss.

           But you wanted to. The realization sends a shock right through your spine. You wanted to kiss him.

           “Hey Johnny,” you flash a smile when he walks in. “How was work?”

           “It was good. I uh, hadn’t heard from you all day, so I just wanted to come check on you, but…” He glances between Sherlock and the shifted furniture.

           “Oh,” you chuckle, pulling John’s chair forward. “Sherlock and I were dancing, so I had to move some stuff.”

           John’s eyebrows raise immediately. “Dancing?”

           “We have to practice for your wedding at some point, don’t we?” You try to add more of a cover up, which only increases John’s suspicions, and furthers your frustration with yourself. The number one rule to lying is don’t act like you have something to hide. “Kidding,” you shake your head. “I needed a distraction. We found out Mary Josephine is missing. The pregnant woman that Gidon gave the note to.”

           “I remember her,” John nods. “She’s missing?”

           “Apparently,” you sigh. “The report was filed three days ago. Anonymously.”

           “How can you file an anonymous missing persons report?”

           “No idea,” you shake your head, but you’re not surprised it got through Scotland Yard. Lestrade is the best of those men, and since that isn’t his department, it doesn’t surprise you that it went through. “But if you ask me, it has Gidon written all over it.”

           You walk over to the coffee table, pulling it back from the couch before you sit yourself down in the middle of the couch.

           John notices your frustration and comes to sit next to you with a sigh. “What do we do now?”

           “No idea,” you chuckle, using the same phrase, but your laughter dies when you see Sherlock giving you a hard look. He still wants you to tell John, and you still think it’s better if John doesn’t know. At least until he absolutely has to.

           “Okay,” John nods. “Let me know if I can help.”

           “No,” you immediately stop him. “You’ve got a wedding to plan and think about.”

           He turns to you, resting his hand on your arm. “I want to help. The wedding is fine. But I want to help you.” He pauses. “You’re going to have to let me.”

           “Okay, fine,” you breathe. “How is wedding planning going?”

           “Good, it’s good. We’re trying cake samples on Friday.”

           “Ooh, fun.”

           “You can come with.”

           “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

           “Mary wants you to,” he chuckles.

           “Okay, I’ll come,” you tease.

           “Okay,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Well, I’m off. Mary and I are—”

           “Going out,” you finish for him knowingly. “Have fun.”

           “Yeah,” he stands from the couch, leaning back down to kiss the top of your head.

           Your eyes widen. He’s never done that before. You practically jump up as he’s nodding to Sherlock – who is still practically sulking by the window. He looks surprised to see you standing, but it washes away quickly.

           “Bye Johnny,” you smile, wrapping him in a tight hug. “I’ll call if anything else happens with the case.”

           “Thank you,” he says sincerely after breaking away from the hug.

           You watch him leave, waiting until you hear the front door close before you spin around, crossing your arms over your chest. “Could you sulk any louder?”

           Sherlock just shrugs, like it’s your fault John got here when he did, but you’re more surprised that Sherlock is even sulking in the first place. But it’s annoying, and the distraction you needed is now gone, so you make your way down to your flat.

           Your absence causes Sherlock to sulk even more.

He wanted to kiss you, too.

[artificialqueens]

And All That Jazz - Chapter 2: When You're Good To Mama (Ninex/Branjie) - Gab

Summary: Last chapter, we got a taste of the merry murderesses of Cook County Jail and it’s new addition: the Dancing Duo of the R.A.C. lounge. This chapter we meet the ladies of the west block and their lawyer extraordinaire.

a/n: Sorry I’ve been MIA for so long! This chapter is way way way overdue, but it’s here finally! Thought I’d try my hand at some Ninex. Also disclaimer, we’re not going for roaring 20’s realism at all if I want my lesbians to thrive!!!! So yes, women can be lawyers even though the general public won’t believe they would murder anyone. That’s fanfiction for ya folks. Also murderess row is in the west block of cook county jail in this instead of the east block… for obvious reasons. Shoutout to barbiehytes for checking up on this fic! It’s still alive, although I’m not so sure about what to do with it quite yet. If you have any comments, feedback, or suggestions for where this should go, let me know either on AO3 or on my sideblog @gabby-writes ! Enjoy!

Chapter 2: When You’re Good To Mama

Word count: 2128

Ask any other chickies in my pen

They’ll tell you I’m the biggest mother hen

I love them all and all of them love me

‘Cause the system works

The system called

Reciprocity

The west block wasn’t the nicest place, it had the same layer of rust and grime that covered the entire prison, but not even the leaking pipes and smell of smoke could stop the reporters from snapping away at the gates, nor could it stop the stream of flowers from coming through the door.

Each of the other inmates wore the same gray jumpsuit and had the same cold bunk, but not the west block. With all the attention these girls were getting, management seemed to let some rules go a bit lax. A mix of glamour and perfume hung in the air above Chicago’s most infamous celebrity-making machine—cook county’s very own stars in captivity—and entering the holding area was like walking into a circus act, wondering when the next show was about to start.

These girls were relentless, always pining for the spotlight, but there was one thing that kept them together. One woman that is.

Miss Nina West herself.

On the outside, Nina was completely delightful, with a smile that could melt even the toughest officer. Nina wasn’t a fool however, and she knew it took a whole lot more to get people to work in her favor. She had tricks up her sleeve and in her bra after all.

It took a hell of a lot of work to keep diva murderesses in line, but Nina had more grit than a sheet of sandpaper, and more connections than a telephone wire for good measure.

She knew every girl in murderess row by name, crime, and whatever else in between. She knew every intimate detail of their lives, coaxed out of them through kindness, cigarettes, alcohol, or a careful combination of all three. Every girl knew that if there was any chance for them to make it out as stars, Nina was it.

Got a little motto

Always sees me through

When you’re good to mama

Mama’s good to you

She was making her way around the block, each holding area buzzing with life as the poor officers tried to quiet the girls down. They stood up in front of their cells to greet her, lines of outstretched hands and strategically placed dollar bills adorning the side of the hall.

“Miss Nina I can’t find my favorite Nightie, would you be an absolute doll and order me a new one?” a flirtatious and stunning redhead peered through her cell doors, a beautiful smile on her lips as she knelt on her bed, leaning on her cell bars. She was draped in a silk robe and lazily peered up at the older woman.

Nina never fell for Scarlet’s attempts at charm, but it was always a delight to watch her try. Besides, there was nothing that flattered her more than the starlet’s unabashed flirting. She stopped for a moment, leaning into the bars across her cell.

“If you stopped letting miss Oddly rip them apart, maybe they’d last longer.” Nina’s teasing tone was rewarded by the blush on the other woman’s face, the redhead’s smile never faltering.

“Oh come on mama, you know she’s got all these… frustrations,” Scarlet said suggestively, leaning in further to tease fingers over Nina’s chest.

“Besides, I can’t go without my nightie for the press tomorrow.” She leaned in closer, a wickedly sexy smile on her face. It was a known fact that Scarlet would never show up to her press conferences without a sheer slip dress under her loosely tied robe. Nina couldn’t deny her however, after all, she was the one who suggested it in the first place.

Besides, from the standpoint of the press, asking particularly hard-hitting questions was a tad more difficult when you were faced with Scarlet’s breasts nearly spilling out of her dress.

Nina rolled her eyes, reaching through the bars and down the front of Scarlet’s robe, pulling out a 50 dollar bill from her brassiere.

“I’ll give them a call in the morning.” “You’re a gem, mama.” Scarlet blew her a quick kiss before rolling over on her bed.

There’s a lot of favors

I’m prepared to do

You do one for mama

She’ll do one for you

Nina walked up to the girl who was cooly resting against the bars of her cell down the hall, the older woman snatching the cigarette from the inmate’s lips and placing it between her own.

“Hey! I paid for that.”

“Then maybe you’d work harder to hide it,” Nina said with a wink. “Now tell me, when is your trial date again?”

Yvie gave a small shrug along with a wide grin.

“It doesn’t really matter, you know how much I like it here.”

This is Yvie’s third time in the west block for allegedly killing another husband. Well this time it was her fiancé. And this time he mysteriously wrote off his fortune to her before he mysteriously…got murdered.

“You know, you don’t have to kill men to meet girls in prison.”

“Okay first of all, allegedly, secondly they were all assholes, and third, prison has all the fun girls mama,” Yvie said, pouting for a second before letting out a laugh in Nina’s direction.

“Oh right, I forgot crazy is your type.”  Nina muttered, putting out the cigarette and handing Yvie a fresh pack. Yvie laughed again, accepting the contraband and retreating back into her cell.

They say that life is tit for tat

And that’s the way i live

So i deserve a lot of tat

For what i’ve got to give

Nina would worry more about her girls—death penalty was a real threat after all—if she wasn’t so confident in their lawyer. And maybe she was a sight for sore eyes after dealing with hot messes all day, but she wasn’t going to be the first to admit it. She saw her often enough, but a new case to whet her appetite was always welcome. She smiled to herself, remembering the two new girls that were about to be brought up from administration, definitely in need of a lawyer.

Don’t you know that this hand

Washes that one too

When you’re good to mama

Mama’s good to you

She finished her rounds, tucked the wad of cash she collected into her pocket, and strolled into her office to note down the next few favors she had to call in. Of course, there was one more very important call she had to make.

—

“Miss X Change? The phone’s for you.”

A voice chimed into the room as soft classical radio played in the background. The radio gave a click before going quiet as a woman with short, platinum hair rose from her seat and headed towards the door, her bright red heels matching the red of her smile perfectly. It was late afternoon and the sun colored the smoky office in gold light, touching everything in the room from the gramophone in the corner to today’s headline, left on the desk.

“Speaking.”

“Have you seen today’s paper? It’s been a madhouse here since morning.”

A smile broke out across Monet’s face the minute she heard the voice on the other line. She let her hand linger over the buttons on her blazer, fiddling with the top button as she listened to the other woman.

“‘Dancing Duo Murders Club Owner in a Deadly Double Act’? Nina, baby, I’ll have the press printing their names all over the city before the week is up.”

“So you’ll take their case then?” The voice on the other side of the line sounded hopeful.

“Maybe you should invite me over first.” Monet smirked, already reaching for her hat, “To meet them, of course.”

—

“You know, you’re much better at flirting with my girls than actually getting them out of my block.”

“But if I got them all out, I’d miss you too much,” Monet strode straight towards Nina, arms outstretched as she went in for a hug. “Now tell me about the two new babes.”

—

“You good baby?”

Brooke watched as Vanessa dressed herself in the tiny cell they had been put in for the time being. They had just taken their mug shots, some medical exams, and various measurements. The two were completely exhausted.

“Didn’t think there’d be that much pokin’ and proddin’, apart from you,” She replied, giving Brooke a wink before pulling up her trousers. She walked closer to the blonde, putting her arms around her neck, savoring the bit of privacy they got before they had to go to their cells.

“You nervous?”

“Nah. Nicky’s gone ain’t he? Ain’t nobody can hurt me now,” Vanessa said sweetly, placing a kiss on Brooke’s lips. “Are you?”

“Nope, I think I can swing something good for us here.”

—

Nina knew exactly who she was dealing with from the moment she got the call about the murder at the R.A.C. lounge.  She was no criminal, that much was clear, but after dealing with so many you get pretty good idea of the next person to slip.

Brooke was a performer at R.A.C., a regular show girl that practically ran the establishment. Nina met her while calling in a favor, something that club owner Nicky Pike owed her plenty of. They were fast friends ever since, trading stories over dinner and whatever show came with it.

It was a few years later that Nina met Vanessa. She was a young performer from the countryside, much too eager, and far too pretty. Unsurprisingly, Vanessa quickly became Nicky’s favorite, his arm constantly draped low on her hip and his eyes wandering every which way. Vanessa never looked particularly keen, but Nina could tell from the way that Brooke clenched her fists and straightened her back around them that she did not like it. Not at all.

Nina could tell when people were about to slip, and she was sure Brooke wasn’t far off.

“Brooke Lynn!”

Nina’s voice carried across the detention center until it hit the blonde on the other side of the room. She was lazily running her fingers through Vanessa’s hair as the brunette practically purred on her lap. Brooke smiled as she saw Nina stride towards her.

“Long time no see?”

“I told you she was gonna get you in trouble one of these days,” Nina said, gesturing to Vanessa, who pouted playfully.

“Hey! It was a team effort,” Vanessa said, pausing for a moment, “if we did it.”

“You don’t know the half of it Nina.” Brooke smirked as she took the handcuffs from Nina’s belt and fastened it onto Vanessa’s wrists as the younger girl giggled. She then took another pair and placed it on herself, looking over at Nina’s raised eyebrows.

“I know how things work here.”

“I know you do. You should also know to not get drunk before getting caught, and definitely not to get caught between your girl’s legs.”

“I hear this lawyer of yours is real good.”

“You wanted to test it?” Nina could feel a headache creep up on her as she regarded the pair. They didn’t seem sorry at all, although knowing Nicky, she wouldn’t feel too sorry either.

“I always liked a good challenge anyway.” Monet walked up beside Nina, looking over the pair and giving a low whistle.

It was going to be a long day.

—

The evening wasn’t any quieter than the daytime, the noises of the street carrying through Nina’s office window and bouncing off the walls. She had sat down, kicking off her shoes and screwed the top of her flask open. Monet walked through the door as she took a swig, offering the smuggled drink to the lawyer.

“Those girls of yours are something else.” Monet handed back the drink, sitting on the other side of Nina’s desk. “Oh they’re mine are they? I thought we shared custody with all of them being your clients,” Nina emphasized, putting her feet up for a moment.

“Touché.”

“So, what do you think of Brooke and Vanessa?” Nina looked at the lawyer, trying to read her face.

“It’s not gonna be easy Neens, the evidence is everywhere,” Monet sighed, putting her hat back on, making a move to leave.

“Hey hang on, we both know that asshole club owner has been harassing Vanessa for months now,” Nina said, quickly putting her feet down and standing beside Monet.

The lawyer’s face suddenly shifted at the proximity, her tired expression turning into a smile.

“I know, I’m just messing with you,” Nina blushed at the words as she took a step back.

“I’ll take it.”

[shepherd-of-the-stars]

That’s Above my Paygrade

Hey @iridulcentdays ! I was your backup Santa for the @rusame-secret-santa-2017. Your original Santa never replied to the message which resulted in a default drop-out so uh yeah,,,

A/N: Still have the same shitty keyboard so a few of my keys are sticky (mostly r, t, and g, and now it’s also e and f) so hopefully I don’t make too many typos!

Word count: 5,171

Summary: Magical Strike AU. Alfred F Jones is the biggest troublemaker in the city and constantly picks fights with the wrong people for the thrill of it. Because of this, he has made a number of enemies, enough that he’s gotten death threats and a couple of close encounters. So his father hired him a bodyguard.

Warnings: blood, implied sexual content

Rating: T+ ???

Also available on FFnet and ao3

Alfred listened halfheartedly to his father’s lecturing coming from the speaker on his phone as he slouched in the seat of the car. He’s heard these words a hundred thousand times over and over but Samuel Jones seemed to have forgotten. Or maybe he was trying to drill it through Alfred’s thick skull.

“-but that is enough, do you hear me? Your secretary is sick and tired of cleaning up your messes and trying to answer to the press for you! No more! I hired a bodyguard for you. He should be waiting for you when you get back and I want you to treat him with respect. If I hear any complaints from him, I am cutting off your bank account. Sleep on the streets for all I care!” Jones senior finally took a second to breathe.

“Aw, dad, you hired me a bodyguard to keep me safe? How sweet.” Alfred replied in mock appreciation. It was the only thing he had managed to say besides grunts of confirmation and ‘yes’ or ‘no’ responses.

“You idiot. Open up those clogged ears of yours and listen carefully. That bodyguard is not there for your safety and neither was he hired to be your human shield. I hired him as an adult babysitter, you hear me? So until you learn to grow up, he will be living with you, spending the days with you, and reporting your activity to me. Do not mess this up, boy.”

Alfred didn’t even get the chance to open his mouth before the tone sounded to indicate that the call had been disconnected. Though it wasn’t like this was something new. His father always had the last word.

He tweeted a quick ‘Just got a bodyguard. How do you like me now?’ before scrolling mindlessly through his feed. Several flirtatious texts and many app switches later, they arrived to his condo where his chauffeur opened the door for him. Not a second later, reporters were sticking recorders and cameras at his face and bombarding him with questions.

“Mr. Jones! What do you have to say about your scandal with Francesca Vargas?”

“Alfred! Did you know Lovino Vargas is openly threatening you because of your relations with his daughter?”

“Mr. Jones! Rumor has it you have connections with the mafia! Is that true?”

“Alf-”

“Make room!” Like Moses reincarnate, a tall and handsome man parted the crowd and gestured for Alfred to get out of the car. His chauffeur was doing very little to keep the reporters at bay but it was enough for him to push through the hoard of flashing lights and chaos of questions. All the while, a pair of protective arms made sure none of them got too close and none of them could lay a hand on him. Once they got to the front doors, the building security handled the rest and blocked them from entering the building. And once in the elevator, Alfred finally felt like he could breathe.

“Alfred Frederick Jones, correct?” the man who had helped him asked in a thick accent. His hands were held at his sides like a stiff.

“Depends on who’s asking.” He quickly checked the man out before putting his key into the slot for his floor and turning it. The doors slid shut as the man straightened out his suit.

“Ivan braginsky. Your new bodyguard. Your father, I presume, told me to look for ‘a rebellious idiot wearing a fur coat in the middle of spring with a streak of disgusting pink hair and a black star pasted on his cheek.’ His words. Not mine.” But the edges of Ivan’s lips drew up in a little smirk that showed that even though he was not the one to come up with the words, he still found it humorous how accurate they had turned out to be.

“Asshole.” Alfred muttered under his breath as he stepped out of the elevator once it stopped on his floor. The place was an absolute pigsty with clothes, food waste, and a general mess everywhere. The boy slipped his coat off and threw it onto the couch to add to the mess and chucked his knee-high boots to the pile as well. “Sorry for the mess. My maid quit like a week ago.”

A week? Ivan looked around the penthouse in horror. Even though it had a modern and sleek look, Alfred’s garbage made it look like a trailer park woman’s hoarding room. “You made this whole mess… in a week…?”

“Impressive, huh? Follow me. You can stay in the guest bedroom.” Alfred walked ahead of the stunned Russian to a room down the hall. The bedroom was simple with a bed, dressers, and a personal bathroom but it still needed some cleaning.

“My dad didn’t tell me he was going to hire a bodyguard and he didn’t tell me you were coming in today either so I didn’t prepare you a room. To be honest with you, this is my fucking room. I bring people in here to fuck so um… don’t get too comfortable…”

Ivan made a disgusted face as he looked over to the messy bed. It was no wonder the blankets were practically on the floor and the sheets looked like they were ripped off of the mattress.

“Is… Is there no other room…?” Ivan didn’t want to sleep in a place that was basically a rentable room in a brothel. It was probably covered in disease and the semen and cum of several different people. Whatever Alfred’s preference in bed partners was.

“Well there is one other room.” Alfred gave him a smirk before looping his arms around the taller man and hanging off his neck. His hips were pressed flush against Ivan’s. “You can sleep in my room, big boy.” Alfred leaned close until his lips almost touched Ivan’s but instead of meeting his lips, his lips met leather.

“No.” Ivan had put a glove in front of his face and used it to gently push Alfred off his body. “Being your sexual partner is above my paygrade.”

“So it’s about money, huh?” Alfred dug into his pocket and took out a clip of hundreds. “How much? You’re not too bad on the eyes. How big are you?”

“Too big for you. And too expensive,” he took a step back, “kid.” rubbing salt to the wound. The rich boy has probably never been rejected before and Ivan was right. The look on his face was enough to tell him so. “What are you? Seventeen?”

“I’m twenty. Geez. If I was younger, my dad would have gotten a nanny, not a bodyguard.” Alfred huffed and turned on his heels, throwing himself onto the bed.

“Is that what I am? Your nanny?” He put his hands on his hips and gave Alfred an amused look.

“Dad said ‘adult babysitter’ so yeah, pretty much.”

“Well in that case,” Ivan walked over to the boy and with the strength of a bear, lifted him off of the bed easily. He tore out the sheets, blankets, and pillow cases then threw them into Alfred’s arms. “Do the laundry. And clean the rest of the house as well. I will not be living in this wasteland.”

Alfred’s eyes blinked rapidly as if he was trying to process what was happening in his mind. “Wha…” Then it looked like it finally hit him. He dropped the dirty pile. “Who do you think you are? You’re the hired help. You’re the one who should be doing the laundry. So you go do it!”

“Ah ah ah. You said I am your adult babysitter. Which means I am your temporary parent. And your father said that if I had any complications with you, I can just give him a call. Wouldn’t want to bother your busy daddy while he’s at work because his little boy wouldn’t do the laundry, hm?” That smug look and his baby-talk voice made Alfred’s blood boil but he knew Ivan’s threat wasn’t a bluff.

“Fine!” Stomping his foot like a child, he picked up the pile of laundry and marched off to the laundry room. It was a small room with all of the cleaning supplies and admittedly, Alfred had never been in this room in his life. He had gotten as far as putting the laundry into the hole and closing the door but after that, he just stood there.

Why were there so many buttons?

He pressed one that looked like a power button and smiled when it beeped and turned on but then he was stuck again. There were so many dials and soaps and-

“You need help?”

Alfred flinched when Ivan appeared behind him with a pile of clothes in his arms. “N-no. Just uh… trying to figure out which setting to wash my clothes with.”

“Alfred, that’s the dryer.”

“I knew that.” He stared at Ivan’s questioning face for only three seconds before throwing his hands up. “Alright fine! They look identical! And I’ve never had to do my own laundry before so I don’t know, okay? Laugh all you want.” He crossed his arms and tried to shrink his head into his body to hide his shame. Never in his life has be been so embarrassed. It was just a simple task like doing the laundry and he had no idea how to do it.

But instead of getting the mockery and insults he’d usually get from his father, he got a pat on the head. “It’s alright.” Ivan moved to put the clothes he had in his arms into the washer then gestured for Alfred to take his laundry out of the dryer. “It’s not your fault that your life has always been luxury. If you never try, you’ll never learn.”

God, why did Ivan look so cool saying that?

Alfred nodded and moved his laundry to the other machine then looked up to Ivan like a patient child.

“Show me what you know.”

Alfred closed the door of the washer then pressed the power button, listening to it beep. Then he turned to the shelf of detergent, bleaches, and softeners and just stared.

“Need help?”

He looked back at Ivan who was leaning against the washer cooly. Seems he was trying to teach Alfred to ask for help instead of expecting it to fall into his lap. “I don’t know which soap to use.” Ivan smiled and pushed himself off the washer, starting his lesson.

(-w-)

The rest of the month went on just like that. Ivan would tell Alfred to do a chore, Alfred would do it until he got stuck or messed up, then Ivan would just stare until he asked for help himself. Already, he’s been getting better at it and Ivan found that Alfred had a strong interest in cooking. “It’s like science!” he had said, his entire face lighting up.

As for his bodyguard duty, most of his job was just to fight off the press and was surprised to find many of them were way too aggressive. It was pretty hard holding back his urge to punch them in the throat when they had their recorders pressed against his cheek and huddled so close to Alfred that it was easy to see that the he was having a hard time breathing. It was like that everywhere. The office, the bar, his house, and even sometimes at the grocery store, now that Alfred didn’t have a maid to do his shopping. But they endured and grew closer.

Honestly, this boy wasn’t all that bad. During dessert with a bit of alcohol mixed in, Alfred had opened up to him. He talked about how his father was never around, his mother had left them, and when she left, she took Alfred’s twin brother and little sister with her but his father had wanted to keep him to be his heir. So he was stuck here. Alone. And the maids didn’t talk to him either or gave him any attention. So he sought the company of others. And even though it was the wrong kind of company, it gave him a few hours of happiness and made him feel less isolated.

“Admittedly, Francesca was a mistake.”

“Francesca Vargas?”

“Yeah. Her. I was at a bar. Buzzed. And I saw her at a table with some dude who looked like he was her boring designated driver or something. She had on a tight red dress and looked really freaking pretty. Like I would get down on my knees and kiss her shoe, kind of pretty.”

“Wait. Aren’t you twenty? How did you get any alcohol?”

“I have a fake and I’m rich, Ivan. Now shut up, I’m telling the story.” When Ivan opened his mouth to tell him how wrong it was, Alfred shoved a spoonful of vanilla bean into his mouth. “Anyways. She was real pretty. And of course I went over to say ‘hi’ and stuff but the dude she was with stopped me and said she didn’t want anyone’s company.”

“Her bodyguard.” Ivan mumbled, licking the ice cream off his lips and returning Alfred’s spoon.

“I guess so. But I was buzzed so I just thought it was her protective brother or something.” A shrug. “I told the dude that if she was old enough to be at a bar, then she was old enough to make her own decisions and it seemed to spark something in her. She knew I was right and screamed until the security dragged the man out. I talked to her, we drank, a lot, and then I called my driver, we sneaked out the back door, fucked in the car, fucked again at my penthouse, and the next morning, she left all scared.”

“Condom?”

“Lack of… yeah… That was three months ago. I didn’t even know her name and I don’t even remember what happened that night until my dad called me and said I knocked up some important dude’s daughter. If I could take it back, I would. It was so stupid.” he sighed, leaning his head back on the couch. “And now the press won’t shut up. They’re making a huuuge deal about it and I just want it to stop already. I just wanna be normal, ya know?”

“I find that surprising. You seem to love your money.”

“Well yeah, cuz I was born with it and I’m used to living this way but sometimes, I go to bed and just lay there. Thinking.”

“Pea under your mattress, princess?”

“I’m serious!”

“Right. Sorry. Go on.”

Alfred huffed and ate another scoop of ice cream to cool himself down before continuing. “The money is just handed to me. Like I don’t even have to do anything to get it. I just gotta be alive and not run away or something. Makes me feel kinda… useless.”

“Can’t relate.” Ivan muttered, which earned him a glare.

“You don’t live my life so you wouldn’t know. I just… hate being so dependent. I have no skills, no talent, and if my dad really did cut me off my allowance, then I’d be lost. I don’t even have a resume. I’ve never worked a day in my life. Without my dad’s money… I’m worthless…”

Ivan sensed that the conversation has taken a bit of a solemn mood, and admittedly, he hated seeing Alfred like this. He was always so brave and proud that seeing him so upset with himself was unsettling.

“That’s not true.” He scooted closer to Alfred then draped an arm over his shoulder. “I think you have a great natural talent in cooking. And you have a strong fascination with science. Especially archaeology. And I know you never said it but I know you like history as well. You also seem to have a strong interest in looking at the little details; you are very good at picking up patterns; and your face lights up when you find out about how things work. And I’ve only known you for a month.”

He looked over at Alfred who seemed like he was near tears. “Did I say something wrong?” he stuttered.

But instead of answering, Alfred put their bowls down and wrapped his arms around Ivan in a tight hug. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. No one has even cared that much.”  

“Well seems like the next thing on my to-do list is to find you some new friends.” Ivan let out a sigh and gave Alfred the hug he probably needed. Alfred was likely touch-starved after Ivan shooed away all his possible suitors and bedmates over the past month. In his defense, Ivan could tell easily that they were the wrong types of people for Alfred. And seeing him with someone else made his hands grow cold.

Wait. Was he jealous?

God, he was.

“Ivan?” Ivan grunted softly in response. “I think I love you.”

Ivan’s eyes widened as he looked down at Alfred. “This is a joke, right?”

“No! I’m serious. I’ve... never felt this way about anyone before. It’s… fuck! This is embarrassing.” Embarrassing enough that he had covered up his face with his hands and looked to the side.

Ivan found the action to be adorable and leaned forward to kiss his wrists. For his actions, he was rewarded with Alfred moving his hands off his face and letting him see the beet red blush that covered his face.

“D-did you just-?”

“I like you too, Alfred.” Love? He wasn’t sure yet. But being with Alfred made him the happiest he’s ever been. And no matter what, that joyous laugh always made his stomach flutter and his heart jump.

“Oh gee, ‘like’? Might as well stab me in the back.” Alfred laughed a little nervously, not knowing if that were Ivan’s rejection or some partially returned feelings, which meant he had a chance.

“I don’t love you just yet, Alfred. Love takes time to grow and I don’t want to jump to things too quickly. But, I do want to be with you. Try this relationship out. If that’s alright with you.”

“Yes!” Alfred shouted a bit too quickly but he was just too eager to be with this man.

“But no sex until you’re twenty-one.”

“Why! That’s torture!”

“Alfred, on my first day here, I said I was too big for you and I was being serious. I might hurt you if you’re not experienced enough so we’re going to have to wait until you’re twenty-one. But toys and other things, I will allow. I just don’t want to hurt you, okay?”

Alfred was pouting but deep down he was grateful that Ivan cared about his pain and safety. So instead of pushing him, he just nodded and draped his arms onto Ivan’s shoulders. “Seal it with a kiss?”

“That I will allow.” Alfred’s joyous giggles made Ivan smile up to his eyes and he even let out a laugh at Alfred’s “preparation for a kiss” breathing and lip exercises.

“Right, okay, okay,” He shook his face like a dog and breathed in and out deeply. “I’m ready. Kiss me!”

It was adorable. Ivan cupped his face gently with his hands, thumb rubbing over the scar on his cheek that Alfred had tried to hide with the black star. He gave that a kiss first, then his jawline, then his chin, and his forehead, until Alfred was audibly whining at Ivan’s deliberate avoidance of his lips. Letting out a soft growl, Alfred took matters into his own hands and quickly pressed his lips against Ivan’s before the torturous teasing could continue any further.

For a few seconds, it was like he had forgotten how to breathe. Kisses with his one-night-stands never felt like this. It was like a comforting warmth was injected into his body and made his skin tingle with an emotion he couldn’t describe.

And before he knew it, they had pulled apart, his lips slightly parted and his face flushed. He blinked his eyes open shyly before finally meeting Ivan’s eyes and finding that a blush dusted his pale cheeks as well.

“Was that good enough seal the deal?” Ivan asked, looking at him with a smirk which Alfred then mirrored.

“No. I think I need another one. You know. Just in case that one wasn’t legally binding.”

Looking at that cheeky face, Ivan had a feeling that he’d break his own contract. There was something about him that made him want to throw caution to the wind. Though, he had a feeling that Alfred would have no trouble with his size.

“Maybe one more.”

(-w-)

The two were a chaotic pair. Now that Alfred had a partner in crime, that turned out to be equally playful, he grew more bold and reckless. Not even a week into their relationship, Alfred screamed “I have a boyfriend! Stop asking about a fling!” at the press after being hounded by questions about Francesca.

After his little slip up, their lives turned to hell. If the paparazzi had been persistent before, they turned absolutely obsessive over him in these passing months. All of the gossip magazines were eager to be the first to find the name of Alfred’s boyfriend and many of them pulled up old photos of Alfred together with other men claiming that this person was his lover. Worse yet, some of Alfred’s flings claimed to be his boyfriend just to be a part of the fame but rumors like that didn’t last long.

“God, another one? I sucked this guy’s dick like once at a gay bar over a year ago. He was a fucking asshole. Held me down and forced me to swallow all of his jizz even though I was trying to tell him I couldn’t breathe.” Alfred threw the magazine down to the floor of his limo and plopped his head down on Ivan’s lap.

To Alfred’s surprise, even after all his dirty secrets were dug up, Ivan never called him a whore. He didn’t lose respect for him and not once did he call Alfred disgusting or ridiculed him about his partners like his father had done not long ago. He didn’t understand why Ivan wanted to be with him but the bodyguard refused to leave.

“He doesn’t deserve your anger, myshka. You’ll get frown lines.” Ivan’s thumb massaged Alfred’s temples as he left a kiss on his nose.

“Myshka? That’s a new one.”

“Little mouse.”  

“I’m not a little mouse!”

Alfred had thought the name was embarrassing but still, he was smiling, and that’s all that mattered to Ivan. Oh how he wanted to tell the press that Alfred belonged to him but it was too risky. Alfred’s father would fire him for sure and probably force a restraining order. He couldn’t lose Alfred. Just the thought of it made his heart wrench.

“What are you thinking about?”

Alfred’s voice shattered his bubble of thought. Ivan sighed and leaned down until his forehead was pressed against Alfred’s. “Thinking about how much I love you.” Then he looked into Alfred’s eyes, waiting for a reaction.

Alfred’s eyes grew to the size of saucers and he took in a huge breath. “Oh fuck! That’s- That your first ‘I love you’! You- You finally said it!” Alfred had grown so excited he fell off the car seat but he stayed on his knees in front of Ivan so their eyes would be level. “Say it again!”

Ivan’s face heated up and in an instant, he grew shy. “I can’t just say it randomly! It’s harder than it looks, you know!”

“It’s not! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! Come on! I want to hear it!” Like a dog waiting for his treat, Alfred smacked his hands against the seat of the couch and bounced his whole body.

“Alright alright! Quiet down or the driver will hear you through the window.”

He’s too old for gossip anyways and I pay him well enough. Say it!”

Ivan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck before cupping his boyfriend’s face and leaning in close. “I love you.” The way Alfred’s entire face lit up was almost comical but that gorgeous smile was infectious. Even when they kissed, Alfred couldn’t stop his giggles and excited squealing.

But that happiness had to end eventually. The limo slowed to a crawl as they came into the condo driveway and Alfred could already hear the reporters with their questions.

“Hurry up and get to the penthouse so I can suck you.” Alfred’s flirtatious whisper sent a shiver down his spine and he left the limo with newfound vigor.

“Clear the way, please! Mr. Jones will not be answering any questions!” With one hand wrapped around Alfred and the other pushing away cameras, recorders, and hands, Ivan pushed through the crowd. There were so many questions being asked at once that Ivan could barely process any of them. All he heard was something about a new man claiming to be Alfred’s lover, and something about the Vargas girl.

As they reached the entrance, someone, or a group of someones, gave the pair a strong shove, making Alfred flatten himself against Ivan’s chest. He heard a couple reporters complain shout, “Watch where you’re going!” or “How rude!” but it didn’t matter to Ivan. They had made it inside the lobby. Oddly enough, Alfred still clung to him like a lifeline.

“Alright, we’re safe.” But Alfred still clung to him. “Come on. You can hug me when we get to your room. But right now, I need your key so we can go up to your flat.”

Alfred muttered something under his breath but it was inaudible to Ivan.

“What did you say?” Ivan leaned his head lower so his ear would be by his mouth.

Alfred wasn’t muttering. He was gagging. His eyes were wide with fear and body trembling just the slightest.

“Oh my god. What’s wrong, Alfred?” Ivan pried Alfred’s body off of his but the boy fell limp without him. It wasn’t until Alfred was laid down on the floor that Ivan finally noticed.

There was a tear in Alfred’s coat. No, not a tear, a slit. A slit with a wetness surrounding it. He ripped the coat off his body and what he found took the breath out of his lungs.

The back of Alfred’s pure, white shirt was soaked his in blood. And to his dismay, the red was still blossoming, spreading like death’s poison on his lover.

(-w-)

The trip to the hospital was a blur. When the nurses and doctors spoke to him, it felt like he was listening through a thick wall of water. His entire world felt like it was tilted at an angle and he swore all he could hear his own breathing.

It wasn’t until something slammed into his head that he was dragged back into reality.

“This is all your fault!”

His eyes followed up a pair of legs to a body then a head. It was Alfred’s father.

“I hire you to protect him and you can’t even do that? My son is in the ER because of you! If anything happens to him, you can bet your ass I’m going to sue you until your comminist ass is deported back where you belong!”

Ivan couldn’t feel anything. He just felt… numb. Slowly, he get up off the floor and returned to sitting in his seat but something hit him again. When he looked up, Jones Senior was being dragged out by the security while the nurse asked it if was okay. But before he could even respond, the nurse pressed a tissue against his temple.

“Sir, you’re bleeding. Give me a second, I’ll get you some bandages.”

He could feel the blood sliding down his cheek but compared to the pain in his heart, it was nothing. He felt nothing. he wasn’t even sure if he was still breathing.

“Sir? Sir? Are you Mister uh… Ivan Braginsky?”

Ivan looked up at the nurse. A new one. Wait, when had the other nurse bandaged his head? And when had it turned to night time?

“I am.”

“Mister Jones just woke up and he’s asked to see you.”

Ivan rose from his seat and came forward so fast he almost knocked the nurse over. “Please, take me to him.”

On their way to Alfred’s room, he had stuck so close to the nurse’s heels that he almost tripped on her, and though they were walking fast, it felt like the longest walk of his life. But at the end of the road, he saw Alfred.

Seeing him with tubes and other junk sticking out of him as he lay there in his hospital gown made it feel like his heart had fallen out of his chest. He felt like he had floated over to Alfred’s bedside and if it wasn’t for the pain in his knees when he fell on them, he would have forgotten he had legs.

“Alfred. Oh my god, Alfred. You’re okay.” He took Alfred’s hand into his own, wishing the thick clip wasn’t in the way.

“Well I feel dead.” he scuffed, his voice weak. Even in this condition Alfred was joking about it.

“Please don’t say that, Alik. I don’t know what I would do if you…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say it.

“It’s going to take a lot more than a stab in the back to kill me.” Alfred tried to laugh at that but his voice was raspy and the action made him wince in pain.

Ivan moved to sit on the edge of the bed so it would be easier for Alfred to see him. He reached down to move the hair out of his eyes and to give him a tender kiss. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you. I won’t forgive myself for letting you get hurt like this.”

“Baby, it’s okay.” Alfred gave Ivan’s hand a weak squeeze. “I don’t blame you for it. If anyone is to blame, it’s me for causing this whole mess. But no blame games, okay? I’m fine. I’m alive. It’s over.”

“But I almost lost you.” Ivan hadn’t realized he was crying until he saw his own tears drip onto Alfred’s face.

“But you didn’t, okay? Hey, what happened to your head?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Talking about it is making it more painful.” he lied, “Now tell me what happened to your head.”

“Your father hit me.” He sniffed and wipes his tears away with his sleeve. “He said he’s going to deport me.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Alfred. Stop joking like that.”

“What? I just beat death. Let me joke about it.” And even when he was stuck in a hospital bed with stitches in his back, Alfred still tried to stay strong.

“You’re lucky I love you.” Ivan’s lip was quivering even as he smiled.

“Yeah. I’m the luckiest person alive.”