#he hits his stride and gets a bit cross (very measured and in control) about private capital in theatre

[watchingroger]

Roger Allam interviewed by Ayesha Hazarika for Times Radio - available free to listen (if you can't access it let me know, I'm fascinated by geoblocking and would never try to help someone circumvent it. Ever. No. Not me.)

Talking about Tetris (out on Apple TV today), Endeavour, The Thick of It, IRL politics, and west end theatre. Roger tells his story about going to the Old Vic for 15p like he does every time he talks about theatre. It's like having an old grandpa who tells the same story every time you see him. Which, in case you don't have an old grandpa (gender and bio relationship irrelevant) who does this, is lovely.

Content warnings: Adverts. TTOI clips with the swears bleeped out.

[voidmakyr]

Call me anyway (Bucky Barnes x F!Reader)

This is set in the TFATWS 3rd EP.

You are a former Flag Smasher living alone in Madripoor. You quit the gang some time ago. When the winter soldier stands in your door one night, you expected to be killed. But this wasn’t your end. It was the start of something that nobody saw coming. 

Warnings: smut, swear-words, (sexual) persuasion.

A/N: As always, english is not my first languagge. I am way too lazy to proof read. I really wanted to do something for Zemo but I just can’t get over Bucky? 

You tossed your keys down the hall table and stretched. You changed into a pair of boxers. It was another hot night, and as you pulled out the futon, you really wished the air conditioner were still working. You turned the box fan on and fed your cat. As soon as he’d polished off his fancy feast, took up pacing in front of the sliding glass door to your balcony.

Lightning flashed and you went over and slid back the glass door, moving the screen into place. You’d leave the thing open for only a little bit – the night air smelled good for once. Not a whiff of the usual garbage of madripoor.

You ducked into the bathroom. After brushing your teeth and scrubbing your face you ran a washcloth under some cold water and rubbed the back of your neck. Cool rivulets ran down your skin, and you welcomed the shivers as you walked back out.

You frowned. Something wasn’t right…

You went over to the glass door and you saw that your cat had sat down on his haunches and was purring as if he were welcoming someone he knew.

What the…

The man from last night was on the other side of the screen. You leaped back and dropped the washcloth, dimly hearing the fleshy flop when it hit the floor.

The screen slid open.

You panicked, but found you couldn’t move. You knew this man. He was called the winter soldier.

Oh, man, he really was handsome. He was tall and with your apartment being small to begin with, he turned it into a shoe box. He looked even better than the photos you‘ve seen. Dressed in black with dark hair and matching brown eyes. He wore gloves despite the heat.

Wait a minute.

What were you doing, measuring him for a suit? If this really was the winter soldier, there was no time for staring.

Running, you should be running. You should be making a break for the other door, running like hell.

But all you could do was stare at him.

You craned your neck to look up at his face.

God, he was gorgeous.

He must be coming to kill you, you thought. You didn’t know what you’d done to deserve a hit, but the longer you looked into his eyes, you could barely remember where you were.

You body swayed as he closed the distance between them. You were terrified of what was going to happen when he reached you, but noticed, absurdly, that your cat was purring and wrapping himself in and around the mans ankles.

That cat was a traitor. And if by some miracle you lived though the night, the cat was getting downgraded to mediocre cat food.

Your neck jacked back up as you met the man‘s steady, feral gaze. His stare burned.

And then the extraordinary happened. As he stepped in front of you, you felt a blast of pure, unadultered lust. Your body got wickedly hot. Hot and wet.

Your core bloomed for him.

It was chemistry, you thought numbly. Pure, raw, animal chemistry.

Whatever he had, you wanted.

„Don’t be afraid, (Y/N). My name is James. I wanted to ask you some questions“, he said.

His voice was low, a deep rumble in his solid chest. He had the sliver of an accent you couldn’t place.

„What questions?“, you breathed in a whisper.

„About your friends. The Flag Smashers...“

Dizziness made you reach out for the wall.

„Karli? Why..“ Confusion closed your mouth. „What do you want from them?“

His metal hand crossed the distance between your bodies and he took your chin between his forefinger and thumb. He tilted your face to one side.

„Are you going to kill me fast?“ you mumbled. „Or slow?“

„No killing. Just answers.“

As his head bent down, you told yourself you should fight him off in spire of his words. You needed to Gotthold arms of yours working, your legs, too. Trouble was, you didn’t really want to push him away. You took a deep breath.

Good heavens, he smelled fantastic. Fresh, clean sweat. A dark, masculine musk.

His lips hovered over your ear. The leather of his jacket creaked as his chest expanded.

„You are not one if them,“ he said softly, „not anymore, right?“

God, this had to be what people talked about when they waxed poetic about sex. You didn’t question the need to have him inside of you. You only knew that you were going to die if he didn’t take his pants off. Now.

You reached out, curious to touch him, but when you let go of the wall you started to fall. In what seemed like on motion, he turned around and caught you easily. As he swept you off the floor, you leaned into him, not even bothering to put up a pretense of fighting. He handled you as if you were weightless, crossing the room in two strides.

When he laid you down on the futon his dog tags fell forward, and you lifted your hand, touching the metal. You lifted your hands higher, touching his dark hair. They were thick, soft. You put your palm on his face and though he seemed surprised, he didn‘t pull back.

God, everything about him radiated sex, from the strength in his body to the way he moved to the smell of his skin. He was like no man you‘d ever came across before. And your body knew it just as clearly as her mind did.

„Kiss me,“ you said.

He hovered above you, a silent menace.

On impulse your hands went to the lapels of his jacket, and you tried to pull him down to your mouth.

He captured both your wrists in his metal hand.

„Easy.“

Easy? You didn’t want easy. Easy was not part of the plan.

You struggled against his hold and when you couldn’t get free you arched your back.

Your breasts strained against your Shirt, and you rubbed your thighs together, anticipating what it would feel like to have him between them.

If he‘d only put his hands-

„Sweet Jesus,“ he muttered.

You smiled up at him, relishing the sudden hunger in his face. „Touch me.“

The winter soldier started shaking his head. As if he were trying to clear it.

You opened your lips and moaned in frustration.

„Pull up my shirt.“ You arched again, offering your body to him. „Do it.“

His eyebrows were drawn tight, and you had some vague thought that you should be terrified. Instead, you brought your knees up and lifted your hips off the futon.

You imagined him kissing the insides of your thighs, finding your core with his mouth. Licking you. Another moan boiled out of your mouth.

——

Bucky was dumbfounded.

And he wasn’t a man who got struck stupid very often.

Holy Shit.

You were the hottest thing he’d ever gotten anywhere near. And he’d cozied up to a lightning stroke once or twice before.

You groaned again, your body undulating in a sexy wave, your legs opening wide. The scent of your arousal hit him hard as a body shot. God, he would have been sent to his knees if he hadn’t already been sitting down.

„Touch me“, you moaned.

Buckys blood pumped as if he were in a flat-out run, his erection throbbing like it had its own heartbeat.

„That’s not what I’m here for,“ he said.

„Touch me anyway.“

He knew he should say no. This wasn‘t fair to her. And they needed to talk. He had questions about... what again? Maybe he should come back later in the night. Try again.

You arched up, pushing against the hand he‘d clamped around your wrists. As your breasts strained against your shirt, he had to close his eyes.

Time to go. It was really time to go. He would check back with Sam and Zemo and just come back later, or tomorrow, or-

Except he couldn‘t leave without at least having a taste.

Yeah, but he was a selfish bastard if he laid one finger on you. A nasty, selfish bastard to take any of what you were offering without knowing who he really was. Dangerous, murderous, broken... a monster.

With a curse, Bucky opened his eyes.

Man, he was so cold. Cold down to his marrow.

And you were hot. Hot enough to make that ice go away, at least for a little while.

And it had been so long for him.

He let your wrists go.

Your hands grabbed his jacket, trying to push it back from his shoulders. He wrenched the thing off, and as it hit the floor with a thud, you laughed with satisfaction.

Bucky bent down over you and captured your lips with his mouth.

This time, when you thrust your breasts out, he got rid of his gloves and slid his normal hand under your thin shirt and onto your smooth, warm skin. Greedy to know the rest of you, he peeled your shirt off and tossed it aside.

Your breasts filled his palms, your nipples tight buds underneath the soft satin of your bra.

Buckys control snapped.

He let out a hiss and latched onto one of your nipples with his lips, drawing it into his mouth. As he drew circles with his tongue, he shifted his body and stretched out on top of you, falling in between your thighs. You absorbed his weight with a throaty sigh.

Your hands came between them as you reached for the front of his shirt, but he didn’t have the patience to let you undress him. He lifted up and ripped the material off his body. When he came back down, your breasts hit the wall of his chest and your body surged under his.

He wanted to kiss your mouth, but he was way past anything soft and gentle, so he worshipped your breasts with his tongue and then moved down to your belly. When he got to the waistband of your boxers, he drew them off your smooth legs.

Bucky felt something in his head pop as your scent reached him in a fresh wave. He was perilously close to orgasm, already. His release poised in his shaft, his body shaking with the need to take you. He put his hand between your thighs. You were so wet and hot that he growled.

Crazed though he was, he had to taste you before he invaded you.

He pressed kisses over your hips and across the tops of your thighs. Your hands tangled in his hair as you urged him exactly where he was headed.

He kissed your softest skin, drawing your core into his mouth, and you came over and over again for him until he couldn’t fight his own need any longer. He pulled back, shrugged out of his pants, and covered you with his body once more.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, and he hissed as your heat burned his erection.

He used what was left of his strength to pull back and look down into your face. Waiting for your okay.

„Don’t stop.“ you breathed. „I want to feel you inside me.“

Bucky dropped his head into the fragrant hollow of your neck. And slowly drew his hips back. The tip of his erection slid into place beautifully, and he sheathed himself in your body with one powerful stroke.

He let out a bellow of ecstasy.

Heaven. Now he knew what heaven was like.

____

You eased into consciousness slowly. It was like surfacing from a perfectly performed swan dive. There was a glow in your body, a satisfaction as you emerged from the buffered world of sleep.

„You are beautiful,“ he whispered.

His mouth came down on hers. But he wasn’t looking for anything. The kiss was not a demand. it was closer to a thank you.

Somewhere in the room, a cell phone went off. The ring wasn’t yours.

He moved so fast you jumped. One moment he was by your side; the next he was at his jacket. He flipped open the phone.

A flip phone? Weird.

„Yeah?“ The voice that had told her you you were beautiful was gone. Now he growled.

You pulled a sheet around your chest.

„Give me ten.“ He hung up the phone, put it back in the jacked, and picked up the pants he‘d been wearing. His metal arm reflected the tiny lights coming through the blinds.

The threat of re-dressing brought back some reality. God, had you really just had sex - really, really good, mind blowing sex - with the winter soldier?

„James... You are the winter soldier, right?“, you asked.

As he pulled black leather up his thighs, you caught a terrific shot of his ass.

„Not anymore. Don’t be afraid.“

When he sat down next to you, „I‘ve got to go. I might not get back tonigh, but I‘ll try.“

You didn’t want him to leave. You liked the feel of his body taking up more than its fair share of your bed.

You reached up to him, but took your hand back. You didn’t want to seem needy.

„No, touch me,“ he said, bending his body down, giving you all the access you could ask for.

You put your palm on his chest. His skin was war, his heart surging in an even pump.

„I need to know something.“, you said softly. „What the fuck do you want from me, if you’re looking for the flag smashers?“

He smiled a little, as if he liked your swearing.

„Are you trying to stop them?“, you asked.

„Yes, but-“

„Get out. I am not helping you.“ You stood up and put your clothes back on. There was no way, you were going to be a snitch. Even if you were no longer part of the team.

„(Y/N), they have... we need to stop them. They are dangerous.“, he said while looking to the ground. He didn’t seem to confident about that.

He now stood in front of your door to the balcony. Slowly you opened the glass door, took a look outside then went back to your bed.

„Because of the serum.“ You said calmly.

„You know about the serum?“

You laughed. „I don’t just know about it.“ You positioned yourself and got in a strong stance. You smiled. „I got it.“

With one forceful kick to his chest, Bucky got pushed out of your room. He could barely grab the railing to not fall eight down on the street. In front of him the glass door closed, big metal bars flew from the top to secure the entry even more. The blinds closed and he couldn’t see you anymore.

He couldn’t remember the last time he was taken by surprise. It wasn’t pleasant. When he looked down on himself, he saw a little piece of paper in the small pocket of his jacket.

It was a phone number.

XXX-XXXX-XXXX „Call anyway.“

[weasleydream]

dreams are my reality - part 3

it’s finally here! This part is what happened during that fateful night and only that. Also i messed with the timeline but nothing too bad. 

This may be a bit violent, mention of death and blood.

As usual, feel free to like, comment, reblog and enjoy!

Masterlist

~ i’ll see how the real thing can be and it’s not pretty ~

The muggle village - August 1983

“I’m not saying that you shouldn’t have left us, just that a good friend wouldn’t have cleared out just because McGonagall was walking in the same corridor.”

“Sirius, would you shut up?” I hissed, ready to break his neck if he added one word that wasn’t a yes. 

“Of course I’ll shut up, as soon as you admit that quitting on us was a bad thing to do.”

I didn’t need to look at him to know he was smiling goofily, seemingly unaware of the fact that we were walking in an empty alley just because we were looking for a dangerous death eater. 

“First of all, you could have run away too if your arse wasn’t glued to the floor. And McGonagall wasn’t just walking in the same corridor, she was coming for us! And Sirius, we were in first year and James and you had dragged me there against my will. Remember?”

And it was true; the memory of Sirius claiming I would be the coolest girl of the school was still fresh in my mind, and with the terror brought by the sound of McGonagall’s steps, I knew it would stay engraved in my brain for a very long time. 

“Dragged you?” Sirius made a clicking noise with his tongue. “I’m not even sure one of us grabbed your hand.”

“Oh, not only my hand you idiot, my bag and my wand too!”

“And? You’re clearly not traumatized so-”

Sirius’ voice had died in his throat as soon as the explosion had echoed, yet my blood froze in my veins at the thought that maybe he had gotten us spotted. With the discretion of a cat with soft paws, he crossed the short distance that was separating us and placed himself ahead of me. A glance in my direction - Are you ready? - and a firm nod later, we were running silently toward the place of the village, hoping with all our heart that no one was hurt. 

Obviously, the death eater had already left the crime scene. Sirius and I were the last of our group to get there. Remus and James were turning all around the place like caged lions, probably looking for any clue of where the responsible had disappeared. Lily and Peter were struggling in front of the burning church, trying to get the fire to stop and to get the survivors out of this hell. A woman ran into me and my arms wrapped instinctively around her; hers were trembling and her covered in soot hands were slipping on my skin. She was mumbling incoherent sentences in which I didn’t understand anything, and I was sure she was speaking another language. However, her frantic gestures toward the fire lighted something in me, an urge to get in the furnace without even knowing why. I looked up a second to see Lily fussing over a wounded man and Sirius and Peter still trying to control the fire. No one could help me with the poor woman. 

She cried out something, a word I didn’t understand. 

“Nena! Nena!” 

“I don’t know what it means!” I screamed, cursing myself for not being able to understand a single word. 

She pointed the finger at her belly, at her heart and finally at the fire. Slowly - way too slowly - I understood what it meant. A baby was in there. I nodded frantically and the woman fell on her knees. I didn’t have the time to check on her; instead, I went to Sirius and tried to get him to help me. He was totally freaking out, and his panic only increased when he realized what I was telling him. 

“With me!” he yelled, and we joined forces to try and extinguish the fire once and for all. 

Finally, the last flames died, the last proof of its presence being the ashes flying in the air. The woman rushed between the smoldering ruins and I was ready to follow her, but Sirius grabbed my wrist. A split second later, a terrible cry echoed, and Sirius shook his head. 

At the very same moment, something exploded a few streets away. 

“James!” 

It was Lily, and she lost no time in running toward the root cause of the noise. We followed her and found a half fallen house in front of James and Remus, the both of them looking infuriated. 

“The bastard!” 

Through gritted teeth, Remus told us how they were sure someone had led them there before making the batiment explode and James added the death eater - because it was obviously him - had been careful to stay well hidden. 

“So that means we’re running blindly behind him?” asked Peter, his voice still hoarse from the smoke of the fire. 

“Running blindly and doing whatever he wants us to.” I added darkly. 

Even James and Sirius knew it had been a bad idea to accept this mission, now. Both of them had their eyes wild and were glancing frequently at each other. 

“So? What do we do now that he’s disappeared and we don’t know where to look?” muttered Lily before hiding her face in James’ neck, probably having a bout of nausea after everything we had already gone through. To be honest, I was still feeling sick thinking about that poor woman and her baby. 

I was observing a stone on the ground and wishing it could tell us what we needed to know when Peter stiffened. 

“Guys,” he whispered. “Act natural, but I think we didn’t have all the information.”

“What makes you think that?” 

If Remus was sarcastic and obviously didn’t understand where Peter was going with this, something caught my eyes and the realization hit me. 

“An animagus?” I questioned quietly, and Peter nodded. 

I almost missed the black feathers, but I still caught the bird flying from a rooftop to another. Then the bird dropped to the floor, and it happened so fast that none of us had sketched a movement when it turned into a massive black silhouette half hidden in the shadows. 

“You could have gotten out of here alive if you had just ignored me.” The voice was raspy, the tone aggressive. “Too bad you didn’t.”

This last affirmation sounded like a signal; as soon as the sound of his voice had died, the death eater drew his wand and we did the same, Sirius and Remus taking a step forward. I hadn’t seen his face, yet I was picturing myself the man with a crooked rictus and with the eyes so dark that you knew just by looking at him that his soul was rotten to the core. For some unknown reason, he didn’t attack; instead, I was feeling the weight of his eyes on us. I could imagine him looking at Sirius and Remus first because they were just in front of him, measuring the trembling of their arms - not caused by fear but by fury, which he probably was aware of; then his eyes passing from them to James and Lily, just close enough for him to guess the nature of their relationship, to Peter with his wand as high as ours and finally to me. Did he know I was looking intensely in his direction? That we were all looking right at him, our muscles tensed to make sure we would react quickly enough when the attack would come? 

If he did, he didn’t care the least. It was with something that could be qualified as nonchalance that he muttered the first spell. The green light illuminated for a second his face, and his eyes were fixed on us. The curse almost hit James, and that’s when the riposte began. 

The first counterattack spell came from Remus and missed the death eater by a hair. At the same time, Sirius rushed to the enemy, followed closely by James. Lily helped Remus to get up; he had dived to the floor to dodge a curse. Peter and I were making a detour to reach the death eater’s back, counting on James and Sirius to occupy him enough. It seemed like a mess, yet it was a manoeuvre well established because of years of service in the Order. It had always worked, more or less depending on the case, but it had never failed us. Never until then, at least.

I realized things were going to get even more dangerous when the man turned his gaze to me, plunging his eyes in mine and with his lips slowly twisting in a sickening rictus whereas he was being assaulted by James. A move of the wrist had sent James flying a few meters away, hitting Sirius and bringing him to the ground in the process. He lifted his hand, and as the terror was invading me, the only thing my brain was capable of was wondering if the movement was really as slow as it seemed to be. I drew my wand but like in dreams, it felt like something was stopping my arm. A glare was burning in his eyes, it was so intense that I felt it in the depths of my body. If the thought that he was doing some wandless and wordless magic on me crossed my mind, I found myself unable to express it. 

His wand was now pointed on me, his eyes fixing me to the ground and his power keeping me defenseless. Second by second, I saw his lips moving, forming a word I didn’t recognize, his arm got more stiff, his rictus wider. And behind my back, second by second, Sirius was getting closer to me. 

The collision caught me by surprise, not so much because it was unexpected but because of the violence of it. Sirius’ shoulder hit my lower back which sent my hips forward, and my head followed one second late. Our bodies hit the hard ground, and the scream of the death eater covered our grunts of pain. He didn’t give us a moment to recover and I heard his steps before I saw him taking great strides. Sirius was already getting up, his wand firmly held high to protect the both of us, but he didn’t need it to counter the first attack. The arm of the death eater was trembling with what I thought was rage, and he missed Sirius. Instead of its initial target, the curse flew to me and scratched my skin just underneath my neck. The shock stopped me dead in my tracks. A few centimeters higher and it was over for me; the realization erased everything else in my mind, even the painful burning sensation where my blood was now flowing. 

This time, the death eater didn’t mutter the curse. He yelled it, angrier than before, and the sound of his voice masked the noise provoked by Remus, who I saw approaching in his back. A green halo surrounded the death eater and disappeared in a heartbeat, barely illuminating the scene enough for the lifeless body of our enemy to be seen falling. However, I saw perfectly well his last curse making his way straight to Sirius’ torso. 

Sirius’ facial expressions changed from relief to shock and then to pain, to agony. His hands reached to his shirt, and when he removed them, they appeared red, bloody. His fall began with the buckling of his knees. They hit the floor, and his body, drained of all its strength, tilted forward. His arms had gone limp and his face crashed to the ground. 

It had all happened in less than a second. 

I was unable to move.

Somewhere at my right, several grunts escaped Peter’s mouth as Lily and James were helping him. I didn’t process his bloody leg, nor did I realize Lily was using only her right hand. Remus was already at Sirius’ side, and it’s only when he looked up to me with wet eyes that something clicked. 

“Sirius!”

To be continued...

[teenwolffanclub-me]

Season 1, Episode 7: Night School (Part Two)

Hey there beautiful reader! If you’re new here, this is a series I’m writing where each chapter is an episode from the first season of Teen Wolf. If you’ve been here before, hey! I missed you! Previous and future chapters are linked at the end of each part if you want to catch up.

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader (eventually)

Notes: Okay, this one is a lot too. I may have gotten a bit carried away, but so much happens in this episode! And it’s my favorite!

P.S. Jackson manages to be more suspect than the alpha, Allison needs a chill pill ASAP, and Derek is wanted for murder

                                                    ———————

“Why did you come? What are you doing here?”

Scott rushed the words out the second he laid eyes on Allison. She looked between the three of us, her gaze pausing over my underdressed state, before staring at him in bewilderment.

“Because you asked me to...” She held up her phone as proof, pointing to a text that was very much from him telling her to come here.

Scott’s eyes widened in shock and he snatched the phone out of her hands. She reeled back, surprised.

“I didn’t send this.” His voice was hard as he scrolled through their messages.

“What? What’s going on? Who sent it then?” Her eyes continued flickering between us, searching for answers.

The phone stated ringing in Scott’s hands and she took it back quickly. She glanced at the caller I.D, huffed out a breath of relief, and put it up to her ear.

“Where are you?” She immediately demanded.

Just then, Lydia and Jackson came striding through the lobby doors. They both seemed annoyed to be here, but at least Jackson didn’t look like he was actively dying anymore.

“Finally.” Lydia sighed, raising her eyebrows at us expectantly. “Can we go now?”

Before any of us could respond, there was a loud thud in the ceiling above us. The tiles started creaking as slow footsteps stomped around. We all froze. My heart instantly began racing again at the thought of the alpha so close.

“Run!” Scott yelled at the same moment it came crashing to the floor beside us.

He grabbed Allison’s hand and they took off, the rest of us not far behind. The alpha growled and barked as it chased us down the hall, which was honestly surprising. I never imagined werewolves barking.

I struggled to steady my breathing as we made our way down the hall and into the cafeteria. Scott slammed the doors before locking the deadbolts into the floor. Instantly, everyone started freaking out.

“Help me get these in front of the doors!” Scott was trying to use a table to baracade us inside.

“What was that? Scott? What was that?” Allison shrieked, tugging her hands through her hair.

“Was it in the ceiling?” Lydia added, throwing her arms up in confusion.

“Wait. Not in here.” I heard Stiles mutter, and I wasn’t sure if he was even talking to us or just himself.

“The chairs! Stack the chairs!” Scott was rushing around frantically, not even bothering to check if anyone was actually listening to him.

“Guys, can we just wait a second? You guys, listen to me!” Stiles raised his voice, annoyed that he was being ignored.

Jackson, Lydia, and Allison sprang forward and started grabbing anything they could to add weight to the table. I just wrapped my arms around myself and watched, worried about the level of noise they were all making.

“Guys? Stiles talking. Can we hang on one second please? Hello!” I jumped in surprise at his unexpected shout, and turned my attention his way.

Everyone else whipped around to face him expectantly, ditching their effort at the doors.

“Okay. Nice work. Really beautiful job, everyone. Now...what should we do about the twenty foot wall of windows?” He gestured toward the aforementioned windows with a jerk of his arms.

I cringed, knowing he had a point. The alpha was in the school with us now, but that didn’t mean it would stay that way. It had already proven its intelligence by trapping us with the dumpsters. I wasn’t about to make the mistake of underestimating it again.

“Can somebody please explain to me what’s going on here? Because I am totally freaking out and I would like to know why.” Allison’s voice shook as she tried desperately to fight back tears. She tugged at Scott’s arm and called his name when he avoided her pleading eyes.

Alright. Come on. This is when you tell her.

He pulled himself free and stalked over to a nearby table before letting his elbows rest on it and pinching the bridge of his nose. Allison threw her hands up in exasperation and her gaze moved to me in question. I gave her a one shouldered shrug, not knowing what else to do.

How the hell would we get out of this without telling them everything? A few moments of tense silence passed and I huffed in frustration. If he wasn’t going to do it, I would. I was beyond done with the secrets and the lies. I opened my mouth, about to spill the beans, when Stiles interrupted me.

“Somebody killed the janitor.” He sent me a pointed look and took a few steps toward where Allison, Lydia, and Jackson stood in a line.

I clenched my jaw and tightened the sides of his jacket around my torso. They were going to find out eventually. It would be much better if it came directly from the source.

“What?” Lydia looked terrified by that news, her emerald eyes widening in horror.

“Yeah. He’s dead.” He confirmed with a surprising lack of emotion, glancing around the room to gauge everyone’s reaction. I blame his weird fascination with his dad’s line of work. He’d seen way too much even before the supernatural was involved.

I’d somehow almost forgotten that had happened, and the reminder brought the seriousness of our situation crashing back down onto me. Someone was dead because of the alpha. And now we were stuck, bound to be next any minute.

“What’s he talking about?” Allison forced out a pained laugh and looked to Scott. “Is this a joke?”

“Wha—who killed him?” Jackson spoke up for the first time, not sounding completely convinced.

“No, no, no, no.” Lydia’s eyes welled with tears as she started breathing erratically. “This was supposed to be over. The—the mountain lion...”

“Don’t you get it?” Jackson interrupted harshly. “There was no mountain lion.”

“Who was it? What does he want? What’s happening?” Allison demanded, her voice hard.

I chewed on my bottom lip nervously, feeling like we were quickly losing control of this situation. Keeping them in the dark was making things so much worse right now.

“Scott!” She snapped when he didn’t respond, and he finally spun around to face us.

“I-I don’t know. I just—if we go out there, he’s gonna kill us.” His voice wavered on the lie and he barely raised his eyes from the floor.

“Kill us?” Lydia asked pointedly, crossing her arms over her chest with a pop of her hip.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Leave it to her to think she’d be exempt from a psychotic murderer.

“Who? Who is it?” Allison was nearing a complete panic attack at this point.

I was ready to end this whole thing and face the stupid consequences later, when he finally spoke up. He shook his head and pinched his eyes shut tightly with a sigh.

“It’s Derek.” He muttered, avoiding both mine and Stiles’ stunned expressions. “Derek Hale.”

What the hell was he doing? Derek is dead. And, not to meantion, pretty much the only person we know for sure isn’t the alpha. He must’ve lost his damn mind.

“Derek killed the janitor...?” Jackson narrowed his eyes at Scott skeptically.

Yeah, you’re onto something buddy. Maybe for the first time ever.

“Yes. He killed them. All of them.” He rushed the words out, still refusing to look at anyone.

My jaw clenched tightly. Why couldn’t we just tell them the truth? Would it really be that bad? They were already majorly freaked out. Might as well hit them with the supernatural shit too.

“But the mountain lion...” Lydia tried to reason.

“No. It’s been Derek the whole time. Starting with his own sister—”

“And the bus driver?” Allison was visibily calmer now that she had an answer, but her voice still shook with fear.

“And the guy at the video store. He’s in here with us, and—and if we don’t get out now...”

He finally raised his gaze to look around the room. His eyes were shining with several intense emotions including fear, anxiety, and guilt. He should feel bad. He just threw a dead man under the bus, and lied to his girlfriend in the process. It wasn’t going to end well on either account.

He let out a heavy sigh and carefully considered his next words before speaking. “He’s gonna kill us too.”

A moment of silence passed before Jackson scoffed in annoyance. “Call the cops.”

I had to agree that it seemed like the most logical choice at this point. I’m not sure what they’d be able to do, but they at least had more resources than any of us.

“No.” Stiles said immediately, shaking his head for good measure.

“What do you mean, no?” Jackson furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief.

“I mean no. What, do you wanna hear it in Spanish? No.” Stiles threw his hands down to his sides in frustration. “Look, Derek killed three people. We don’t know what he’s armed with.”

For some reason, his willingness to go along with Scott’s lie really bothered me. He was by far the most loyal person I’d ever met, so it wasn’t surprising, but it still didn’t sit well with me. Sometimes it was hard to distinguish the truth with them, and that made me nervous.

“Your dad is armed with an entire sheriff’s department. Call him!” Jackson raised his voice, his anger spiking at Stiles’ apparent hesitation to do anything helpful.

He had a point. I knew the last thing Stiles wanted to do was involve his dad in any of this stuff, but there came a time when we needed adults to step in. I’d say this was one of those moments.

“I’m calling.” Lydia pulled out her phone and began pacing away from their bickering.

“No! Lydia. Would you just hold on a second?” Stiles moved toward her, one arm outstretched, until Jackson stepped between them and shoved him away harshly.

“Hey!” Scott rushed to Stiles side, who just narrowed his eyes angrily.

Oh, God. The last thing we needed right now was a fight. They shouldn’t even be arguing about this, either. I didn’t care what it was, we just needed to do something—anything—to try and get out of here safely.

“Yes, we’re at Beacon Hills High School. We’re trapped and we need you to—but...” Lydia lowered her phone from her ear slowly in disbelief. “She hung up on me.”

“The police hung up on you?” Confusion seeped through my voice as I stepped toward her. Why would they do that?

Her eyes snapped up to mine, her bottom lip quivering. “She said they got a tip saying that there would be prank calls about the high school. She said if I called again, she’d trace the call and have me arrested.”

“Okay, so call again!” Allison cried from behind her, growing frantic again.

“No, they won’t trace a cell.” Stiles mumbled. “They’ll send a car to your house before anyone comes here.”

Once again, I was surprised at his level of knowledge about police procedures. Just how much had his dad let him in on?

“What the—what is this? Why does Derek want to kill us? Why is he killing anyone?” A stray tear escaped Allison’s eyes as they jumped around the room, hoping anyone could answer her questions.

They were all valid, and I felt terrible that she was so freaked out. Although, I had a feeling that knowing a werewolf was actually the one chasing us wouldn’t help to put her mind at ease. I wanted nothing more than to tell her the truth. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway?

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” Scott asked upon noticing that all the attention was on him.

“Is he the one that sent her the text?” Lydia rushed the words out quickly, her eyes wide with fear.

“I don’t know.” Scott muttered through clenched teeth.

I wasn’t sure why they thought he’d have all the answers. I mean, he did have some kind of connection to the alpha, but they didn’t know that. To them, he should be as clueless as the rest of us.

“Was he the one that called the police?” Allison threw her hands up in exasperation as she desperately tried to piece any of this together.

“I don’t know!” Scott snapped, the sudden anger in his face immediately disappearing as he saw the way Allison recoiled from him.

Okay, this conversation was going nowhere, and fast. I grabbed ahold of Scott’s elbow and dragged him across the room as Lydia wrapped a comforting arm around Allison. Tensions were incredibly high right now, and everyone needed to chill the fuck out and stop fighting if we wanted to survive this.

“Okay, first of all.” I whispered with a raise of my eyebrows as Stiles quickly joined us. “Throwing Derek under the bus? Nice one.”

“I-I didn’t know what to say. I had to say something!” He tugged a hand through his hair as he tried to calm his breathing. “And if he’s dead, it doesn’t matter, right? Except if he’s not. Oh, God. I totally just bit her head off.”

He tried to sneak a glance at Allison over my shoulder but stopped when Stiles clasped a hand on his bicep. “And she’ll totally get over it. Bigger issues at hand right now. Like how do we get out of here alive?”

“But we are alive.” I cut in, voicing something that had been bothering me this whole time. “It could’ve killed us already. It’s like it’s...cornering us or something.”

“So, what? It wants to eat us all at the same time?” I glowered at Stiles for suggesting that ridiculous theory and he shrugged.

“No!” Scott whispered harshly. “Derek said it wants revenge.”

“Against who?” I couldn’t help but wonder which one of us could’ve somehow wronged the thing this badly.

“Okay, assheads!” I jumped as Jackson suddenly yelled and strode toward us with a scowl. “New plan. Stiles calls his useless dad and tells him to send someone with a gun and decent aim. We good with that?”

God, what was his problem with Sheriff Stilinski? He’d made so many comments about him recently. At this point, it was getting weird. Everyone looked to be in agreement, though, which wasn’t good for Stiles.

“He’s right.” Scott said, surprising both of us. “Tell him the truth if you have to. Just...call him.”

“I’m not watching my dad get eaten alive.” He insisted harshly with a twitch of his eyes.

“At this point, the alternative is that we get eaten alive.” I hissed, annoyed with all of this back and forth. We just needed to do something.

“Alright, give me the phone—” Jackson lunged forward, ready to call the sheriff himself.

I let out a yelp as Stiles reared back before landing a punch square on his jaw. Allison immediately rushed to his side as he fell to the floor, clutching his face. Scott put a hand on Stiles’ chest to hold him back, but he looked pretty satisfied with the damage he’d done.

I didn’t miss the way Jackson smirked to himself, seemingly getting exactly what he wanted. I realized at that moment that he’d been trying to provoke Stiles to this breaking point the whole night, and he’d finally succeeded. But why?

I’d never seen Stiles so much as kill a bug, let alone punch someone in the face. His dad was a really sore subject, apparently. He huffed out an irritated breath and begrudgingly yanked his phone from his pocket. Our gazes locked as the call went to his dad’s voicemail, his honey eyes shining with fear as he left a hasty message. 

We all jumped as the cafeteria doors started rattling violently. Allison and Lydia ran over to where we stood, hiding behind Scott and Jackson. My eyes grew wide as I watched the large bolts bending in the floor from the force the alpha was using to try and get in. 

“The kitchen.” Stiles pocketed his phone and strode over to my side. “The door in the kitchen leads to the stairwell.”

“Which only goes up.” I reminded him, my attention still locked on the doors. They wouldn't be able to hold back for much longer. 

“Up is better than here.” 

With that, we all took off running again. We stumbled up the stairs and into a random unlocked classroom, falling silent as we waited to see if the alpha had followed. Allison stood with her back against the wall just beside the door, Lydia and Jackson huddled close in front of her. Me and the guys stood on the other side of the doorway. 

I tried to steady my breathing as I watched the hallway closely through the small window in the door. Scott leaned toward it, trying to listen for footsteps, until Stiles fisted his jacket and jerked him back. A shadow moved across the glass, everyone visibly relaxing once it was gone. 

“Jackson.” Scott whispered. “How many can you fit in your car?”

“Five, if someone squeezes on someone’s lap.” He breathed, bracing his hands against the table behind him. 

“Five?” Allison snapped incredulously. “I barely fit in the back.”

“It doesn't matter.” I shook my head solemnly. “There’s no way we’re getting out without drawing attention.”

Now that we were on the second floor, our chances of escape had dwindled to almost none. There were no exits up here. We couldn't jump from any windows without getting seriously hurt. There really weren't many options. 

“What about this?” Scott suddenly jogged toward a door in the corner of the room, and we all followed. “This leads to the roof. We can go down the fire escape to the parking lot in, like, seconds.”

“That’s a deadbolt.” Stiles snarked and pointed to the spot that held the door firmly locked.

I rolled my eyes at his attitude. Scott was only trying to help. Now was not the time for his signature sarcasm. 

“The janitor has a key.” Scott looked hopeful at the realization. 

“You mean his body has it.” I corrected, my stomach twisting painfully at the memory that someone had died right in front of us tonight.

So much had happened since then. I hadn't even begun to process it. 

“I can get it. I can find him by scent, from the blood.” He leaned toward us as his voice dropped on the last sentence. 

“Well, gee. That sounds like an incredibly terrible idea. What else ya got?” Stiles quipped. 

I had to agree. While using the fire escape was probably our only hope at this point, going out there with the alpha was not a smart move. According to Derek, Scott is the one it wants. What’s to say it wouldn't just kill or take him on sight?

“I’m getting the key.” He insisted, his face tightening with determination. 

He pushed past us, heading straight for the door, until Allison stepped in his way. “Are you serious?” Her eyes welled with fresh tears and she looked up at him desperately. 

“It’s the best plan.” He tried to reassure her, but she just shook her head in disbelief. 

I mean, it was a dumb plan. But Scott could handle himself. He’s a werewolf. Someone had to do something already. I was about to go out there myself if we didn’t get a move on. 

“You can’t go out there unarmed.” She tried to reason with him, but his mind was already made up.

He looked around before pulling out a flimsy pointer finger on a stick. I tried my best to hold in a snort at the thought of him defending himself with that. Everyone just stared at him, and he shrugged. 

“It’s better than nothing.” 

“There’s gotta be something else.” Stiles said hopefully.

It was obvious that he didn’t want Scott going out there, either. I wouldn't say I was thrilled about it, but I knew that someone was going to have to make a sacrifice to get us out. He was the most obvious choice, plus he was willing. Who were we to stop him?

“There is.” Lydia glanced toward a cabinet filled with chemicals in various sized beakers behind me. I hadn't even realized we were in one of the chemistry labs. “In there is everything you need to make a self-igniting Molotov cocktail.” 

“Well, we don't have a key for that either.” I pointed out, turning around to inspect it. It didn’t exactly solve our problem. 

Jackson rolled his eyes with a huff and reluctantly stepped toward the glass case. With a scowl, he used his elbow to easily smash it to pieces. 

Well, there’s one way to do it. 

                                                 ————————

It had been nearly ten minutes, and there were no signs of Scott or the alpha. The five of us had barely spoken, simultaneously processing this insane situation and being too afraid to make any noise. The air between us was thick with tension. 

Allison had gone into full freak out mode when Scott left. She’d tearfully begged him not to leave, but he obviously didn’t listen. I understood her fear for his safety, but she had to know that it was our only hope. I had every bit of confidence in him. He would be able to get us out of this. 

Suddenly, an earthshattering growl echoed through the school. The floors beneath our feet shook with the sheer volume of it. Lydia winced and covered her ears as if the sound pained her. I glanced at Stiles, silently asking whether Scott could make that kind of sound. I’d heard him howl earlier, and it had been impressive, but it was nowhere near whatever the hell that was. 

I staggered back a step as Jackson unexpectedly fell onto his knees in front of me with a groan. He scratched at the back of his neck and began breathing heavily. Lydia and I grabbed each of his arms and hauled him back onto his feet as he continued wincing and moaning. He shoved us away, and I stumbled over my own feet. 

“Don’t. I’m fine.” He turned to face us, still rubbing at the spot where I knew Derek’s claws had dug into his skin not long ago. “Seriously, I’m okay.”

“That didn’t even look remotely okay.” I huffed, concerned. 

I mean, what the hell was that?

“Hey, what’s on the back of your neck?” Stiles peered over Jackson’s shoulder and stretched an arm out toward him.  

He swatted it away and avoided all of our eyes. There was no way that was normal. Why would he react that way to the alpha’s growl? It didn’t make any sense. 

“Well? It’s been there for days and you won’t tell me what happened.” Lydia crossed her arms skeptically. Clearly, it had been bothering her. 

“As if you actually care.” He barked harshly, and she looked away, tears glistening in her eyes. 

I was just about to lay into him for how not cool talking to her like that was, when police sirens sounded from outside. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and ran toward the windows, before looking down to confirm that help was actually here. 

For the first time tonight, I felt myself relax. We were going to be okay. 

                                                  ————————

I pulled the sides of Stiles’ jacket tighter around myself, shivering against the frigid night air. My eyes were locked on him and Scott as they talked to the Sheriff. He was called away, and they continued whispering nervously. I would’ve preferred to be right there, listening, but Stiles said he’d drive me home. So here I stood, leaning against his Jeep. Waiting. Freezing to death. 

I let my eyes follow them as they walked over toward an ambulance that Scott’s boss was sitting inside of. I had to admit, his mysterious disappearance—and subsequent revival—was insanely suspicious. I wasn't entirely convinced that he was the alpha, but he wasn't exactly in the clear, either. 

After briefly talking to him, Scott and Stiles went their separate ways. Scott joined Allison, who had already told Lydia and I that she was going to break up with him. She was doubting pretty much everything about him after tonight, and I couldn't really blame her. He was keeping a huge part of himself secret, and it was pretty obvious at this point. I didn’t envy him having to figure a way out of that one.

“You could've gotten in.” I jumped at the sound of Stiles’ voice next to me, but forced myself to relax as he popped open the passenger door for me. 

I climbed inside, buckling my seatbelt just as he slid into the seat beside me. My house was only a few minutes away, and I already felt my anxiety rising at the thought of sleeping there by myself after everything that had just happened. Mom was working the night shift again. 

My fingers began trembling in my lap as the weight of tonight’s events came crashing down onto my shoulders. 

I felt Stiles’ eyes on me, but kept my head down. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. It wasn't technically a lie. I was still breathing, and that counted for something. “I’m just not really looking forward to being home alone tonight.”

I felt heat crawl up my neck as I continued to avoid his curious gaze. I don't know what had compelled me to admit that. There was no reason for me to share that with him. I’d be fine. 

I finally looked at him as the car jerked to the left so quickly I nearly fell out of my seat. 

“What are you doing?” I balanced myself on the dashboard as we made a full 180 degree turn. 

“You’re staying over.” He’d said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

I gaped at him, shocked that he would even suggest it. The last time we did that... “Stiles—”

“It’s okay.” He interrupted hastily, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “My dad won’t care.”

“Stiles...” I let myself trail off that time, not sure what I wanted to say. 

I didn’t want to be alone, and the last time we slept in the same bed, I’d had the best night of sleep since moving. It wasn't a bad idea per se, but...I don't even know. It was Stiles. And he made me nervous. 

“Look. It’s really for my benefit. I mean, that was terrifying.” He let out a sigh, trying to make that sound believable. 

“Nice try.” I scoffed, shifting back in my seat now that we were driving straight again. “You’re so not afraid of anything.”

He glanced at me briefly. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s true?” I finally looked at him again, studying the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. I took a moment to admire the view I had of his profile. The yellow lighting of the street lamps outside beautifully highlighted the freckles that dotted his skin, and pulled out the natural orangey tint of his eyes. 

“You’ve had all this supernatural stuff thrown on you, and you’ve just accepted it like it’s no big deal. You’re always jumping at the chance to help, even though you’re human, and you’re usually the one who figures things out first. None of that strikes me as someone who’s easily scared.”

He looked at me with a small smile, his eyes trailing over my face appreciatively, and I felt my own lips tugging upward in return. 

About ten minutes later, I was following him into his bedroom. It was much cleaner than I expected. It was small, nothing more than a bed with a plaid comforter—of course—a couple of bedside tables with a small lamp, and a desk. He shut the door behind us, and we stood there for a moment awkwardly. 

I wasn't sure if I should sit on his bed or the plush chair in front of the desk. He was still by the entrance, one hand on the doorknob while the other rubbed at the back of his head. I made my choice and walked over to the bed.

I plopped down, tucking one of my legs beneath myself while the other dangled off the edge of his mattress. I let my toes brush against the cool hardwood floors as I watched him consider his options. 

After some hesitation, he moved to join me on the bed. He sat about a foot away, and I was simultaneously disappointed and grateful for that little bit of distance between us. He played with his fingers in his lap and avoided my eyes. 

“We could’ve died tonight.” I breathed, mostly wanting to break the silence but also just beginning to process everything. 

He looked up at me tenderly and reached a tentative hand forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “But we didn’t.”

“Don’t you find that weird?” My skin erupted with heat as he let the tips of his fingers linger on my neck. “I mean, the alpha had so many opportunities to kill us and it just...didn’t. It was almost like it was playing with us or something.”  

I could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes as he studied me for a moment. He parted his lips, and it looked like he was going to say something before thinking better of it. “We should get some sleep.”

“Or...we could do something else.” I rushed the words out before I could let any doubt creep in. His gaze quickly flickered to my mouth as I chewed on my bottom lip nervously. 

“Something else?” His voice was barely above a whisper as his eyes moved back to mine.  

“It’s just...” I swallowed, trying to gain the courage to say what had been swirling around in the back of my mind all night. “Our first kiss was at school. While being chased by a psychotic werewolf...”

“Yeah.” He breathed, chuckling quietly. “That’s not really how I imagined it.”

I blinked a few times, only just then noticing that we’d been moving closer together this whole time. “We could try again?”

There were only a few inches separating us now. Stiles’ eyelashes fluttered as he leaned forward and connected our lips gently. He tilted his head, slanting his mouth against mine, and I couldn’t help but arch into him as my eyes slid shut. The kiss was timid, just a bunch of barely there caresses as we slowly got more comfortable with each other.

We both pulled away fractionally, our noses still barely touching. I let out a shuddering breath as my anxiety slowly melted away. This was really happening.

“Was that better?” He murmured against me, his warm breath fanning my skin.

“Much.” My hands found the sides of his face and I pulled him back to me, locking our lips together again.

My mouth parted against his as one of his arms snuck around my back to bring me into his chest. His hands trembled against me and I felt my lips tug upward into a small smile, reassured that he was nervous too. I let my fingers trail toward the back of his head and tugged him impossibly closer. 

A soft gasp escaped me as one of his hands squeezed at my hip before dragging me on top of him. With my legs on either side of his, I suddenly realized how quickly this was moving and pulled away. My eyes fluttered open just in time to see Stiles pout with a hum of disapproval. He leaned forward to capture my lips again, but froze at the sound of his door being thrown open.  

“Oh, dear God. Son, really?” 

I scrambled off of him as my eyes landed on his father. He was still wearing his uniform, so he must’ve just gotten back. I smoothed down my clothes and crossed my legs, trying to make myself look more presentable.

“Um. It’s not—uh...what it looks like?” I cringed at that sorry attempt at defusing the situation, and cleared my throat. 

“Mr. Stilinski.” I greeted, hoping the twitch of my lips looked more like a smile than a pained grimace. 

His eyes narrowed at me before moving to Stiles, who was stiff as a board beside me. “Call me Sheriff. And get to bed.”

With that, he was gone just as suddenly as he’d appeared. I let out a sigh, deflating with exhaustion. I had been through way too much for one day. We shared a quick glance before Stiles turned off the lights.

We crawled beneath his comforter and followed his dad—I mean, the Sheriff’s—advice. Once again, I quickly fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Episode 7, Part One          Episode 8

[softforf]

31 Days of Wayhaven: Day 11 - Transformation

Pairing: Adam du Mortain x F!Detective (oc: Casey Kingston)

Words: ~1000

@31daysofwayhaven

Casey had no idea how long he had been standing in the doorway, but she was positive that Adam had seen her slip on the practice mat in a sad attempt to hit a combat dummy. She did her best to avoid looking in his direction while rubbing her sore ankle.

“I thought you had left hours ago,” he said in a manner that felt very much like a reprimand, arms crossed sternly as he stared down at her.

“Yeah, well,” she huffed out a breath and vainly attempted to smooth the loose tendrils of her hair into some recognizable shape. “I’m working on something.”

She ignored Adam’s pointed glance at the clock on the far wall. Somehow the hours had bled away into the night and it was now nearing three in the morning.

He reached an expectant hand down to her and she begrudgingly pulled herself up. She certainly was not thinking about the heat that rushed all the way up her arm at the brief touch.

“It seems a more efficient use of time at this hour might be sleep.”

Rolling her eyes and ignoring the disapproving quirk of his lips, she carefully tested her weight on the sore joint.

“Not for this,” she muttered, stepping away to get back to her training. Despite the distance between them, she swore she could feel his eyes boring into her. She briefly wished she had worn something nicer before brushing the errant thought from her mind.

He stared at her, seemingly mulling over the words he was about to say. Finally, with more understanding in his voice than she was expecting, he asked, “What are you truly attempting here, Casey?”

With this rare occurrence of her name being used, her last bit of energy drained out of her body. She slumped onto a bench against the wall and leaned her elbows forward to rest on her knees.

“I’m trying to be better,” she muttered with a defeated sigh. “To be different.”

She ignored his raised eyebrows as he sat down stiffly next to her. “Combat is not your specialty,” he stated bluntly. “Just a few weeks ago, I believe you referred to it as ‘literal torture.’” She could have sworn that there was a ghost of a smile on his lips.

This drew a tired smirk out of Casey. “I was talking about running laps that time.” With a groan, she sat back up to look at him. “I’ve never had to be good at this before. I could just talk my way out of anything that came up.”

She saw the corners of his mouth turn up at that, leading her to place an indignant hand on her hip. “People love me, Adam. I’m very charismatic. Ask anyone. Even the Mayor—”

He nodded and raised a hand to stop her, “I’ve come to notice that you are quite well liked, yes.”

Casey grinned playfully at that. “Wow, that’s high praise coming from you,” she joked with an elbow to his arm.

He glanced briefly down to where she had made contact before clearing his throat and looking back to her eyes. “You are a capable detective and you have more than adequate combat skills for your position. I do not understand why—”

She jumped up at that, striding part way across the room, her breathing getting a bit heavier with every step. “Adequate isn’t enough! There’s all these things out there that I can’t control and I’m supposed to protect people when I can’t even protect myself.”

Adam stood up, watching her paces with a concerned frown.

“And I’m not good enough anymore, okay? I have to transform into something different. I’m going to be someone else now.”

“Casey.”

“Plus, I’m worried about Verda. I barely stopped him from figuring this whole thing out,” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms tightly around her body as her steps quickened. “His evidence is gone, but it’s not like he forgot what he saw.”

“Casey,” he repeated, taking a step closer to her war path.

“And now the Trappers know who I am. Who knows when that will come back to bite me in the ass?” she scoffed.

She swung around one more time to find Adam directly in front of her and grabbing her shoulders to stop her frenzied motions. Her breath caught in her throat at the sudden touch and she looked up to meet his eyes almost against her will.

Adam’s gaze burned into her as he gently asserted, “You do not have to do this alone. You have Unit Bravo and the full resources of the Agency.”

Casey’s breathing slowed as his words sunk down into her very bones.

“You have m—” he abruptly cut off his words with a clench of his jaw.

“Have what?” Casey mumbled after a silent moment, unable to break their magnetic eye contact even if she had wanted to. Suddenly, she was very aware of the presence of his hands on her shoulders.

A conflicted look passed over his face as he let his hands trail briefly down her arms before taking a halting step backward and clasping them behind him. She watched with a tight chest as his face hardened back into a stoic mask and he turned away from her.

“Go to bed, Detective Kingston,” he ordered as he marched toward the door. “If you truly wish to, we can schedule more frequent training sessions at a reasonable hour.”

The emotional whiplash of their conversation paralyzed her as she watched Adam walk through the door, head down and hands now clenched tightly at his side.

He paused briefly before looking back up at her. “I would not wish for you to change yourself, Detective.” His eyes softened a fraction of a measure. “You could not improve on who you already are.”

And with that he swept out of the room, leaving Casey on her own again but feeling much less alone.

[the-fixation-zone]

hello hello! @queenspinoodle​ and i started working on a...well, on what started as a crack piece. it may or may not still be crack. if u like circuses, crime fighting, and zuko and sokka being named zucchini and sock THIS IS FOR YOU! first chapter below, with art from my cowriter! comments appreciated :)

enjoi~

Chapter 1

Zucchini is still thinking about his performance last night. He’d wanted to try something new, but every time he’d attempted to nail the trick in rehearsal, it’d just...fallen flat. So, he hadn’t attempted it last night, which left a bitter taste in his mouth. He’s still swirling it around, trying to spit it out, but no luck. It’s his routine, but he still feels like he failed. His thoughts are interrupted, however, when his foot collides with something hard and he trips. Spectacularly. He looks up, embarrassed and angry in equal measures, to see Sock sitting nearby. He gets angrier when he sees Sock is clearly trying to hold back laughter.

 “Sock! Is this your--” Zucchini looks down, “--sandbag that just tripped me?!”

Sock gives him an innocent look. “I think the correct way to say it is, 'is that my sandbag that you just tripped over'? Because yes, it is, and yes, you did. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone’s arms flail like that, Zucchini.” 

Zucchini narrows his eyes. “I only tripped over it because someone is incredibly disorganized. Sandbags don’t belong in the middle of the floor!”

Sock narrows his eyes, no longer laughing. “Well, maybe you should look where you’re going! If you were more aware of your surroundings, Mr. Jerk, then maybe you would’ve seen it. It’s a big bag, Zucchini.”

“Yeah, well! Well, you’re--you--ugh, you’re an idiot! Move the stupid bag, Sock!” Zucchini turns away quickly, trying not to dwell on how ridiculous he just sounded. He’s made two strides to the tent’s opening when something collides with the back of his head. He whips back around to see Sock with a smirk on his face.

“Can I help you?” Sock says innocently.

Zucchini looks at him, dumbfounded, then looks at the ground to see a balled up piece of paper. He picks it up. “Seriously? What are you, eight?” 

Sock shrugs. “I know you are but what am I.”

Zucchini’s eyes get wide, his anger inadvertently burning the paper in his hands. “Seriously? You’re such a child!”

“Oh, yeah? Well at least I don’t throw my pillow around my tent when I’m mad, and then apologize to it!” Sock’s look of triumph at that statement makes Zucchini grit his teeth.

“I don’t--! How do you know about that?? It was one time, maybe twice at most!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever."

“UGH, you’re impossible to work with! I don’t know why Piandao keeps you around. My little cousin could do better tricks than you.”

"At least I actually have a talent!"

“Oh yeah?” Zucchini takes a menacing step forward. “You wanna try walking the tightrope, then? You think you could handle it?”

"Only if you do flips off the trapeze!"

“Done! I could do that in my sleep!”

“Fine! I bet the moment you get on, you'll fall off immediately. You’ll go running to Piandao like a baby!”

“Don’t you dare call me a baby!”

Sock and Zucchini’s argument brings them right into each other’s faces, snarling like animals. Both of them have their fists balled tight, ready to throw, when the sound of the tent flap opening gets their attention.

“Boys! Boys, what is going on here?” Their boss, Master Piandao, enters the tent, a frown marring his face.  “Honestly, you two can’t be civil for five minutes? The show’s about to start, and I will not have either of you knocked out of commission over a petty fight!”

On cue, the announcer’s voice cuts through the tent, his voice amplified by his megaphone. “COME ONE, COME ALL! THE SHOW WILL BE STARTING IN TEN MINUTES! GET YOUR POPCORN AND DRINKS AND JOIN US IN THE MAIN TENT FOR A WONDROUS EVENING!”

Sock and Zucchini pull back from one another, still glaring. Sock turns away first, finishing up his preparations for his act, grumbling. Zucchini leaves the tent for his own, having not started his own prep work. When he gets there, he realizes he’s still very pissed off, thank you very much, and knows he can’t work like this. The last time he tried to work angry, well…. It’s better not to think about it. So, to calm down, he tries to meditate. He sits on a cushion in the middle of the floor, crosses his legs, and breathes. In, out. In, out. Not, thinking. About, Sock. And, his. Stupid, FACE.

It wasn’t going very well. 

In a tent nearby, Sock is pulling on his costume, trying to push Zucchini’s attitude from his mind. Honestly, if the guy just looked down from his pedestal every now and then he wouldn’t trip over stuff. A no brainer. But, of course, Sock doesn’t expect Zucchini to understand that. He was so full of himself, just because he could walk on some string. So what? Who cared about that, when Sock worked his butt off doing flips! Ugh. 

He walks out still pretty mad, but when he runs into his co-stars his mood picks up. Zucchini may be a dick, but Katt and Baaang weren’t. They were awesome, and together they’d put on a great show. He gives his sister and her boyfriend a hug, trying to keep the anger off his face. He thinks about it for a moment but ultimately decides not to tell them about the stupid fight he had with Zucchini. It’s just not worth it, in the end. His sister would just worry, and Baaang would tell him he should try to work it out. Neither of these are favorable outcomes. Instead, he grabs their hands and they go out on stage to raucous applause. As soon as the whoops and cheers hit his ears, Sock is grinning. Yes, he thinks. This is what it’s all about. As they go through their routine, Sock loses himself in the moves. He loses himself in the trust he has in his team, in the ooohs and aaaahs of the crowd. Nothing else matters.

Zucchini, upon giving up meditation as an impossibility, paces in his tent. Sock’s performance is about to start and, though he mocked his work before, he realizes he’s never...actually seen Sock and his team perform. He’s passed through the practice tent while they were rehearsing, sure, but he never stopped to look, always too busy with something else. He starts feeling bad about insulting Sock without evidence. Maybe, I could check it out...just for a moment.

 He goes backstage, opening the flap leading to the main room a bit. Sock, Katt, and Baaang are just coming out to the delight of the crowd. Zucchini scoffs, not knowing what the fuss is all about. The moment they get on the trapeze, he gets it. Boy, does he get it. The three of them work as if they were one, dropping through the air and catching each other with such trust it brings a tear to Zucchini’s eye. And the way they move. It’s like they’re not made of flesh and bone, but cloud. Pure vapor, floating from one rung to the next. Zucchini can’t believe his eyes. He’s especially surprised by Sock.

He’d thought Sock was completely disorganized and never thought he’d be capable of performing something so beautiful. Zucchini’s anger completely leaves him watching the performance, captivated beyond his control. When they finish and the crowd claps them off the stage, Zucchini finds himself clapping too. And then running, because there’s no way he could let Sock find him watching. He’d rather die, he thinks.

Sock leaves the stage feeling like he could take on the world. Katt and Baaang are laughing on either side of him, recapping their favorite parts of their performance to keep the energy going. Sock joins in, making jokes and ruffling his sister’s hair. Zucchini is the furthest thing from his mind. Or, he would be, if his act weren’t up next. Somehow he had forgotten in the rush of his own performance, but the announcer makes sure to remind him in a booming voice. Baaang and Katt are going back to their tents to change into their daywear, but Sock hangs back. Sure, he’d told the guy that he didn’t need talent to do his act, but it’s not as if he’d ever actually seen it. He knew what it was, though. He stood on a rope and juggled some things, right? Might as well pop back over and check it out, so he’d have more material to mock him with next time.

Zucchini stands at the performer entrance of the big tent, his usual pre-show nerves surprisingly absent. He feels more calm than he has all day, if he’s being honest. When the announcer shouts his cue, he steps inside, standing tall and walking with confidence to the ladder leading up to the tightrope. Pepper is already up there, the bag of props by his feet. He gives Zucchini a big grin and a thumbs up, which Zucchini returns. The clown looks taken aback, but pleased. Zucchini then moves to the rope, his music being played by a band on the ground. A deep breath, two and then he steps out. 

He hears someone in the crowd scream. His grin grows; there’s always one. He steps out further, footfalls soft and measured, until he’s in the middle of the rope. Arm out to his sides, he bends his knees. Deep breath and….up! He jumps into the air, causing more screams from below. Energized, he does another jump, this time turning in the air so he’s facing his assistant. Pepper claps his hands before reaching into the bag of props, tossing a jar of salt to Zucchini. Zucchini outstretches his hand to grab it and, right before it lands in his palm, he calls his fire. 

Sock will admit it. He was one of the people who screamed when Zucchini jumped. He has half a mind to run over to their boss and frantically ask if that’s safe, or even legal! Even thinking about jumping on a thin rope that far up makes Sock queasy, let alone turning around while doing it. And now the clown is throwing things at him? Really?? Sock is unwittingly watching from the same place Zucchini observed him, gripping the cloth tight. What else could Zucchini possibly be up to? He’s not sure why, but he didn’t see the fire coming.

Zucchini feels the runes on the back of his hand crackling. As he calls the fire, it almost feels like it’s happy to come to him, basking in the joy of performing as he does. The jar, coated in flammable oil, lights immediately, bright and hot. Pepper tosses him another object, this time an umbrella, which Zucchini catches with his other hand. The third object Pepper throws is a bowling pin; Zucchini lifts one foot and catches it on the tip of his toe. Now the fun can begin. 

Zucchini’s always loved juggling, though it was frowned upon in the house he grew up in. Too many broken dishes, too many dropped heirlooms. He tried his best but he wasn’t very good as a kid. Not anymore. Now, he flips his flaming objects in the air with ease. His control over the fire is superb; the audience doesn’t know this but not a single object is actually burned. That reveal has to be his favorite. Items high in the air, Pepper throws more at him and Zucchini flips them faster. Feeling confident, he tosses a few behind his back as well. The crowd loses their mind and Zucchini loses himself in the sound.

Sock is losing his mind. How is any of this possible? He’s sure those things are on fire, but it doesn’t make sense! How is that umbrella not ash? How is the glass on fire? How has Zucchini not dropped a single object?! He must have six by now! Oh, wait, seven now because that sadistic clown just tossed him another. Sock thinks, maybe, he should just sit back and watch rather than overthinking the specifics. He leans back against one of the tent poles and contents himself with enjoying the show. 

When Zucchini finishes by stacking all of the objects in one hand with none of them even scorched, Sock thinks he, maybe, possibly owes the guy an apology. Eventually. He sneaks away, not wanting to be caught watching, and starts heading back to his tent. On the way there, he thinks about whether this changes anything. Like, sure, maybe Zucchini isn’t all hot air (hah!), but he’s still not a nice person. Not even remotely.

Sock is still pondering this when he hears voices around the corner. Usually Sock isn’t the nosy type, regardless of what his sister has to say about it, but something in their tone sounds...off. He doesn’t recognize the voices, either. Sure, they could be patrons taking a smoke or something, but Sock’s gut is telling him it’s something else. He crouches down and peeks around the corner of the tent serving as his hiding spot.

“Should be any moment now, Groff. Master P. will be alone as soon as the show’s over, and that’s when we get him. You got it?”

“Yeah, Lunk, I got it the first million times you told me. Are you sure we should be doing this, though? Like, I get why but...Master P.’s always seemed pretty nice the way I see it.”

A thump. “Ow! Lunk! What was that for, huh?”

“For thinking too hard! We get orders, we carry them out, we get paid. That’s. It. Don’t go getting sentimental on me now, Groff.” 

Sock is very glad he hid, now. They couldn’t possibly be talking about what he thinks they are, right? Only one way to find out…

Zucchini, riding the high of his performance, has a spring in his step as he heads back to his tent. Some of the things he’d tried had gone horribly in rehearsal, but somehow he’d landed them! And the crowd loved it! He doesn’t know what did it but something clicked for him up there. He’d be holding onto these feelings for a while. Or, so he thought, before he saw Sock crouched beside a tent looking incredibly shady. Not wanting to startle him, Zucchini carefully walks up behind him and gives his shoulder a tap. Unfortunately, this has the exact opposite effect, causing Sock to jump a mile. Sock turns, looking terrified. Upon seeing Zucchini his expression morphs to annoyed.

“Sorry. What are you--?” The rest of Zucchini’s sentence is muffled by Sock’s hand over his mouth.

“Shh.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Zucchini says in a whisper, once his mouth is free. “What are you doing?”

Sock puts a finger over his lips, then indicates with his head around the corner. Zucchini peeks, seeing two burly men in suits. He frowns until he starts to catch what they’re saying. It sounds like a plot to murder Master Piandao, but...it couldn’t be. Could it?

The two men start walking in their direction. Zucchini’s eyes go wide and he looks to Sock, but Sock has already stood up and is opening the flap to the tent they’re hiding behind. He grabs Zucchini’s arm and drags him in behind him. Once the footsteps fade away, Zucchini turns to Sock.

“Oh my god. Sock...What the hell did we just hear?” he whispers, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Pretty sure it was a murder plot." Sock replies.

Oh. So, it was actually exactly what he thought. Great. “Right. Right. Murder. Of our boss.” Zucchini can feel himself unraveling. “They can’t  just kill Piandao! He’s like a father to me, they can’t--we can’t let them--” Zucchini starts pacing the tent, at a loss.

Sock, in contrast, is standing absolutely still, hand on his chin as he stares at the wall of the tent. "I have a plan."

Zucchini perks up, then looks wary. “What kind of plan?”

“They’re planning to use a tent nail as their weapon, right? Those are in the storage tent. That tent also has netting and rope, which we can use to trap them.” Sock’s eyes light up as he describes his plan, his hands moving as he talks. “We’ll use the trapeze mechanics to set the trap, and once they’re in range, BAM!” Sock slams his fist into his palm. “We got em.”

Zucchini isn’t entirely clear on how the trapeze artists do their thing, but he can’t help but trust Sock. The way he explains it is so passionate. So, Zucchini nods. “Okay. That...that could work. Let’s do this.”

Sock is surprised Zucchini agreed to the plan so readily but is not about to complain about it. They’ve got murderers to catch. Sock does a cautious check outside the tent before sneaking out, looking over his shoulder to make sure Zucchini is following. Zucchini is right behind him, looking around to make sure the coast is clear. When they get to the storage tent they both do one more look around before ducking inside.

"Grab that net and bring it here." Sock picks up a rope attached to a sandbag, dragging it towards himself. Zucchini grabs the net and tosses it to Sock, then awaits further instructions while keeping an ear out for company. Sock ties the netting to multiple ropes, then hooks up the ropes and adds a few extra sandbags until the net is pulled up. He crouches beside one of the ropes with a knife, ready to cut it.

Zucchini can’t pretend that he followed any of that, so instead he says, “So, now we wait?”

Sock nods. "Cut that rope when they come in,” he says, indicating a rope on the other side of the room.

“Can do.” Zucchini waits, finding a hiding spot and listening for the sound of the would-be murderers voices or footsteps. Eventually, he sees a shadow cross the tent. He hears those voices again, and then the men from before enter. Zucchini makes eye contact with Sock and then, when the perps are in the right position, cuts his rope while Sock does the same to his own. The criminals scream as the net comes down on them. Zucchini pumps his fist in the air, holding back an exhilarated whoop. 

Sock, realizing they could get in trouble for trapping people without hard evidence, grabs Zucchini and flees. Zucchini goes with him, still too excited to really question it. Sock slows down and tries to look casual once they're a bit away from the tent, but makes sure to stop somewhere with the storage tent still in sight. 

Once they’ve stopped Zucchini turns to Sock, a confused look on his face. “Why did we run away? We did something good!”

"We're circus workers who just trapped two people, and nobody else knows what they were doing there. It doesn't reflect very well on us."

Zucchini thinks about it, deflating a bit. “Well...I guess that’s true. What now? They might get out, and no one will know what they were going to do. Should we, I dunno, lead someone with some authority towards the tent?"

"I don't think we'll have to worry about that.” A crowd is starting to form around the tent, likely because of the screams. They watch Piandao make his way through the crowd, opening the tent flap wide. "Groff and Lunk! What are you two doing here?" Sock and Zucchini watch as Master Piandao drags the two men out of the tent, still wrapped up in netting. “I told you! You two don’t work for me anymore. I thought I made it perfectly clear I didn’t want to see your faces again.”

The two men talk over each other, the exact words hard to make out over the distance, but Sock thinks he makes out “not over yet!” and Zucchini thinks he hears “our real boss!” and both register the vehemence in the men's tones. Sock and Zucchini look at each other, eyes wide. Probably a good thing those two were tied up. Pretty soon, Pepper comes out to disperse the crowd and the conversation between Groff, Lunk, and Master Piandao grows hushed.

“I see. That certainly does look taken care of.” Zucchini stares at the three men for another moment, before it seems to hit him. That was something big, they stopped a murder. He starts laughing. Giddy, slightly manic laughs. “We really just did that, didn’t we?”

Sock gives Zucchini a strange look when he starts laughing. He isn’t sure what’s funny at first, then it dawns on him too. "Oh my God, we did just do that…"

“Yep! Yeah, wow, we’re...huh. Guess that makes us heroes, doesn’t it?” Zucchini seems floored by this realization. “I don’t think I’ve ever been a hero before.”

Sock watches guards drag the two people away from the tent. They just did that… He has always wanted to be a hero, specifically a warrior. Is this really his chance? They could take responsibility now that it was clear those two were murderers. He could finally have his dream…but, something holds him back. He can’t do it. It wouldn't do him any good, anyway. Better to move on.

“Hey, Sock?” Zucchini is also watching the people be taken away. He’s thinking about how his life so far has been one failure after another, how he’s always run away when the going has gotten tough, but somehow, with the weird trapeze man beside him, he managed to save someone. Really save someone. “Do you think we could do this again?”

"Huh? Which part? Saving people? Building traps? Not killing each other?"

Zucchini breathes out a laugh. “How about all three?” He turns to Sock, looking him in the eye. “I think we could really make a difference.”

Sock looks at Zucchini, really looks at him. Is he really asking to fight crime together? Sock had always thought Zucchini was stuck up and moody. He'd never really liked his aggressiveness before. But maybe there’s more to him. Maybe they can get along and use their talents to help people. He smiles. "I'd like that."

[marked-for-the-abyss]

@vitavitale - Continued from here​

Victoria spared the brief moment it took to observe how Shadow's form shifted from a clearly solid one to the much more malleable demonic ooze she became. Her past encounters with less hostile members of the demonic race had done some good to steel her nerves around such creatures, even if she did still wish to understand more of how demons such as these familiars worked in case that information ever turned out to be of use. She listened to the infernal fowl as he circled, long legs quickening their strides as she realized how annoying needing to constantly loop back must be for the bird. She also would much rather not be out in the open with a potential liability in her arms for too long, just in case any remaining empusa were lurking about.

     The redhead gave a soft hum of thought when Griffon mentioned that something had V down as of late. Her gaze briefly scanning the features of the sleeping man in her arms before returning to the path ahead as she spoke, ❝So, he's depressed then? I know full and well how that can cause someone to lose the will to eat. If that's the case, then I wouldn't exactly call it nothing. As for how I can help long term, well, I won't know until I'm able to speak with him. However, I do know how to help people recover from this level of starvation — mostly because I've been there before,❞ the last part of that statement said nearly under her breath. Most people wouldn't have been able to make out her words, though the keen hearing of a demon may stand a better chance at making out the full statement.

     ❝You still never told me when the last time he ate was. Knowing how long it's been since there's been anything in him would help me know what his stomach might be able to handle,❞ she pointed out to the devil-bird. ❝As for just patching him up and leaving him to you, well, you honestly sound like you're trying to convince yourself that you've got him as much as you're trying to convince me of it. If you have him, then tell me; What do you intend to do to make sure he doesn't end up like this again? What if the next time he's like this there's a lot more demons than there were today and they all want to take a bite out of him? Sure, you can say you'll be able to fight them all off but, being a demon yourself, I have no doubt you are well aware of how quickly the odds can become overwhelming and how any loss of maneuverability can be someone's undoing. 

      ❝You are not speaking to some hotshot who's new to the business, ignorant to the threats that are really out there. I know very well what could happen upon you, upon him, at the most inopportune moment, when he is most vulnerable. What will you do when you're against those odds and his face is on the ground, Griffon? You won't always have an open sky to retreat to with him. It may not happen every other week but it only takes once,❞ she told the feathered familiar. ❝Those are the situations I'm worried about. I respect his determination, but the recklessness he showed today could get him killed if it keeps up!❞ Her tone shifted into a slightly deeper one as her speech began to quicken with her last statement, betraying just how concerned she was about what she had seen just moments ago. Finally, she was showing a bit of emotion! Though it did not last long as that more emotional response was swiftly suppressed the moment she noticed her tones shifting to less controlled ones. Did seeing someone else pushing themselves towards an early grave hit a bit too close to home for the redhead? Maybe just a bit.

     A sigh crossed her lips as the old, but still quite functional, car she had purchased for use while in the area came into view. The dark grey vehicle already had demonic claw marks adorning its hood and sides. When next she spoke, the redhead's voice had returned to its previous, more measured tones ❝I just don't want to see someone with so much drive get themselves killed. The world can't afford to lose too many good hunters and, if he has allies like the two of you, then he must be a cut above. Now, would you be so kind as to open the back door for me? That car has old lever-style handles so it shouldn't be too difficult for you. Besides, I don't care if you scratch the hell out of it.❞

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 55

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

Things have been out of whack in the real world for a bit, so I know I’ve gotten behind on things like updating the Master List for this story, and especially behind on posting it to Wattpad.  My goal for this week is to have all that sorted out by Friday, so keep your eyes open.

Parts of this chapter were inspired by a conversation I had with @baelpenrose. It’s always surprising what things in my life inspire parts of this story, especially the people.

Content warning: Someone yelling and throwing things. It’s a temper tantrum, and no one gets hurt, but just in case, I wanted to give a head’s up.

”Damn it all to HELL!”

I stopped in the middle of what I was telling my sister as we both whipped our heads toward the shout, which was quickly followed by a crash. We glanced back at each other, her wide-eyed expression a mirror of what I imagined my own face looked like.

That shout came from my quarters, with a suspiciously heavy Irish accent.

We dashed to my door, stopping to peer around the corner as slowly as possible. I wasn’t sure about Tyche, but I had seen Conor angry before.  It was rare, and it took a lot, but when it happened, it happened in a big way.   This time, even I was surprised by the sheer magnitude; as we watched, he shouted and threw things, subconsciously careful to avoid hitting any terrariums or people.  Even so, Zach Khan was dodging to hide behind whatever piece of furniture he could impose between himself and my enraged partner.

Taking a deep breath, I stood tall and squared my shoulders, gently pushing down my sister’s arm when she tried to stop me from confronting Conor.  Firmly, I knocked on the threshold of the wide-open entrance before striding in with more confidence than I currently felt.  “You could at least close the door,” I suggested airily, trying to get his attention.

As I hoped, he whirled around to face me, disheveled hair falling in his face. “Sophie,” he started trying to explain. “You could have gotten hurt.”

“Hello to you, too, sweetie,” I smiled before stretching on my tiptoes as he automatically leaned down to let me kiss his cheek.  “I waited until you were on the other side of the room, facing away.  But that doesn’t explain why you’re currently scaring Zach and Tyche.”

All anger gone at this point, he stepped around me and toward my sister.  He crouched and softened his voice like he was coaxing a scared kitten, which I reminded myself firmly not to laugh at. “Oh gods, Tych, love, I’m so sorry.  I didn’t hit you with anything, did I?” He whirled to face me, all color drained from his face. “Please tell me I didn’t hit you with anything?” he begged, hitting his knees.

“Zach, you can come out now. It’s over,” I called softly to the sofa, before walking over, wrapping my arms around Conor, and assure him I was fine. Really, all he had done was make a mess. “Maybe take up boxing,” I suggested softly, brushing his hair back out of his face. “It’s a much healthier outlet for your frustration.”

Tyche came in the room, tentatively at first, then more confident when she saw Conor’s face buried in my stomach.  She started to pick up debris from the floor, but was interrupted. “Put it down, woman,” the muffled admonishment came from my abdomen. “I made the mess, my job to clean it up.  That’s the rule.”

She sputtered in exasperation. “Then what can I do!?  This place is a mess, and my anxiety says to clean or do something to fix it,” she scolded at my back.

“How about some coffee,” I suggested with a chuckle, patting Conor on the shoulder in indication that he should get started with cleanup.

Once everyone got settled – including Zach with a cocoa, seeing as he was practically vibrating with anxiety – and Conor went about restoring order to our living space and apologizing to the plants, I asked, “Are you going to blow up again if I ask what you were so angry about?”

Conor dropped his hands to his side and tilted his head back to face the ceiling. “No, I won’t. And it was Huynh.”

Tyche growled ferociously before elbowing me. Oh.

That was me growling, not her.

He continued blithely. “The diving platforms are showing signs of rust damage.” Frustration was showing in his tone, but not anger. So far, so good. “Since I was head of the project, he is coming down on me hard. Trying to say I cut corners, didn’t coat everything properly, used the wrong materials, basically just bollocked the whole thing.”

“But you were the one who ordered one of the platforms taken out entirely because it was too close to the line for spec…”

“Hey,” he pointed at me firmly. “That thing would have been clearly out of spec if the temperature varied more than about twenty degrees.”

“It’s climate controlled, and that’s my point. You literally went with ‘better safe than sorry’ the entire time, and he got mad at you for wasting materials to meet the guidelines.”

“That’s my point!” he cried in frustration, flinging his arms wide and falling to his back with a thud that made me wince. “And now, he’s reversed course and accusing me of shoddy workmanship. I can’t win!  Even though Mav signed off that everything was dead level, on the nose within tolerance.”

“Wait,” Zach interjected, wrinkling his nose. “Why would Maverick sign off on that? He’s a pilot. That doesn’t make sense.”

Tyche snickered. “He’s a pilot when we need a pilot. Which is nearly never, so he’s more like an insurance policy there – better to have and not need than need and not have.  No, he’s quality control for any equipment in the research labs.”

“That’s just… what? Not tracking.”  Poor Zach looked like he was getting a headache.  I dropped another marshmallow in his cocoa, and he looked like I had answered his prayers. Ah, yes. Marshmallow makes sense in this crazy world.

“He has an insane eye for detail and is a completely arse about precision,” Conor’s tone was so fond it barely escaped being considered cooing.  He shook his head and glowered at the boot wedged under a piece of furniture. “Huynh is calling that nepotism, by the way.”

“But he’s even worse here!” I cried.  Tyche nodded vigorously, having been subjected to a two-hour rant when she put away a fork the wrong way.  Not in the wrong drawer, the wrong direction.

Maverick was permanently in charge of setting the table for every meal.  It was the only way to avoid killing him outright.

“Okay…” Zach trailed off, pinching his nose and vigorously wiggling his mug to beg for more chocolate salvation. “But the platforms are still rusting?”

“All three,” Conor confirmed.  “They’ve warped badly enough that we had to declare them unsafe until we can figure out the issue.”

“Wait. They rusted that badly in four months?” Tyche looked so confused it made my face hurt in sympathy.  “How is that even possible? Even if you didn’t take any measures to prevent rust, it shouldn’t be that advanced.”

“Grey is trying to figure that out. It’s also why Mav is stuck at work and not here for dinner.”

As much as I wanted to laugh at the – very manly – pout I was witnessing, I was also frustrated by the interruption in our routine.  Shaking my head, I tried to steer the conversation away from our errant pilot. “Is there a possibility that one of the lab’s experiments could have caused the issues?”

Conor shook his head before surveying the area for any more storm damage. “If that was the case, it would be so corrosive everything in the habitat would have died, and all the swimmers would be burned.  We would have known almost instantly.” He raked a hand through his hair, turning to face us. “But if anyone can figure it out, it’s Grey.”

“What I don’t understand,” Tyche ventured, “is that the materials were fabricated here on the Ark, right?  The facilities are obviously more advanced than anything we could have managed before.” She waved her hand at the ceiling for emphasis. “So, how could there be any flaws in the materials themselves?”

“The program still has to be written,” Zach groaned as he leaned forward. “You’re right about the system being more advanced, but that also means it’s incredibly finicky and precise. One character out of place, and everything used could be worthless. And before you ask,” he held up both hands defensively, “I personally checked the programming against what it should have been, and there are exactly zero errors. It’s literally the cleanest bit of programming I’ve ever seen.”

Conor nodded, heading to the kitchen for his own coffee. “And before anyone asks, we’ve had the calculations checked over by six different people, plus our mate Noah.  Calculations are accurate, they were programmed in accurately, and Grey’s people have tested to make sure the output is accurate.  Mav has already measured the samples with everything he could get his hands on, and they all show the amount of precision you would expect from an advanced civilization.  No fault to be found in the materials, whatsoever, which is where I come in.”

“Ugh. Huynh needs someone to blame, and since the materials are as perfect as you could ever dream of, he’s putting the fault in the construction?” I may have had my moments of grudging respect, but I never quite managed to like the bastard. Here he was, proving me right.

“Which puts me on furlough until they figure out what the cause is, yeah.” He huffed explosively and flopped down into the seat my sister vacated for him. “At least I can still work in the hydroponics lab.”

“No offense to you, Zach, but have you considered having Derek cross check the program?”

“None taken, and yes,” he sighed. “But he’s been holed up in his quarters for two weeks now, won’t talk to anyone.  I sent him several requests, but never got a response.”

Alarmed, I started to say something, but Tyche cut me off. “I already checked with Noah, and Derek’s okay.  Not sleeping well, but otherwise his physical health is fine.”

I stood anyway, frowning. “That’s good to hear, and I know he goes through periods where he can’t be around people, but two weeks?  It’s not like him.”  Snatching up my purple fuzzy blanket, I headed to the door. “Mac in your quarters?”

“Yeah, but Soph – “

“Nope.  I’m taking him the blanket and the cat.  If he wants to talk, he’ll talk, but at least this way I can see him with my own eyes. I won’t be long, I promise.  Zach, feel free to stay for dinner.  We’re doing pizza tonight.”  With that, I took off, focused on my mission.

It only took me about fifteen minutes to collect my furry co-conspirator and make it to Derek’s quarters. “Hey,” I called softly, praying he still had the outer microphone on. “I heard you’ve been taking some alone time, so I thought I would bring you the blanket and your buddy.  No clue how you managed two weeks without him, but Mac misses you – “

The door slid open, revealing a piled of blankets with a surly, squinting face poking out. The door is keyed to let him in, Derek said impatiently before stepping aside to let me in.

As soon as the door closed behind me, the blanket monster stomped past and dropped on the bed.  I was relieved that nothing about the room immediately screamed for help.  Low lights, white noise in the background, and about as tidy as I could expect from a seventeen-year-old.  Two arms thrust themselves from the heap of fabric on the bed, hands grasping in a gesture that needed no working knowledge of sign language to understand.  Obediently, I handed over the soft purple offering in my hands.  Meanwhile, Mac dropped gracefully next to Derek with a demanding yowl.

“He likes to be invited,” I explained gently.  It was taking every ounce of willpower – and some I was pretty sure I didn’t possess – to keep myself from interrogating him on the length of his isolation.  Instead, I watched him rub my blanket against his face with one hand while the other tugged the large black cat onto his lap and started stroking it.  Despite token resistance, Mac quickly settled in for what was likely long-overdue and well-deserved attention.

I waited a few seconds, in case Derek wanted to talk, then cleared my throat. “Well… let me know if you need me to bring you anything else, okay?  And remember, cheese will make Mac sick, no matter how much he likes it.”  Quietly, I left with clenched teeth and eyes burning from tears I refused to shed.  I was trying to break my habit of smothering people, but it was hard.  Logically, I knew Derek could take care of himself – superficially, he had been doing fine.  But the fact that every blanket he seemed to own was layered over him, even just to answer the door?  He needed comfort, clearly.  Being incredibly touch-averse, I had to restrain my urge to hug him and let Mac and the blankets do the work.

Halfway back to my quarters, my databand chirped.  With a flick, I displayed the screen to see a message from him. “Not sleeping well. Nightmares.  They make me jumpy.  Mac will help.”

The corner of my mouth quirked up, despite my heart wanting to break. “He’s good for that,” I replied. “He eats nightmares, I think.”

“I’m not a child, I don’t need silly stories.”

I scoffed. “I know that. I’m being serious.  I never have nightmares when he’s around, and he always makes that face like he just ate when I wake up. Either he’s figured out how to work a console or he eats bad dreams.”

“I’ll lock down my console and let you know.”

With a deep breath, I told myself Derek would be okay and strolled back into my quarters.  Zach, Tyche, and Conor were in the kitchen, laughing and working on getting the pizza dough going.  It panged my heart not to see Maverick, but a part of me hoped that he would still manage to make it home in time to eat with us.

I’ll make an anchovy pizza, just in case, I told myself.

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[sereisstuff]

ｂｌｏｓｓｏｍ  2　��ゾ唄

Otoko Geisha!park jimin x chubby reader

Intro - a story about a certain soft Hearten male geisha and a poor broken musician who battle through a journey in which they explore the world through their performances Genres - a slow burn, comedy, romance, and angst

part 1 part 3

(Not proofread)

!!ENJOY!!

You shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of your elder, she held a prominent stare against your hard exterior trying to crawl her way into your mind. Jimin noticed clearly what she was doing as he tried making you comfortable with them but how could you when you’ve barely gained any insight into their real personalities. Unless he was always like this.

“It’s only polite to not stare”jimin said mentioned playing with the tips of his small fingers nervously, making sure no walls of disrespect was crossed between him and his mother like figure who kindly turned her way to jimin with a soft smile”this will give us some time to understand a bit about your guest, y/n” she muttered silent praises to herself to control her ability of snapping at you at any given time.

You hadn’t answered her question, shifting closer to the window of your guys transport.

“It’s rude to not answer, dear” she calmly stated, hands gently placed on the edges of her dress, lightly clinging to the colorful fabric that fell off her shoulders nicely.” there’s nothing to know” you breathing was ragged as you answered her question.

“We should be arriving soon”jimin jumped up to gain his elders gaze tearing her venomous eyes away from his company, he didn’t want anything to happen to you and he couldn’t understand why you barely spoke, but he vows to understand your ability to hide.

“That is correct”

You watched the fashionable vehicle come to a halt, as everything around you seemed unfamiliar. You felt out of place already, the surroundings were much richer than your original home. Geisha stride their way through the streets easily gaining the men's attention who could only stare in admiration.

Portraying heart eyes without a notice cautiously approaching the young woman with pride. Not only that but the trees were already blooming showcasing their light flavor to those who admired the diligent features the peace had in store for them. Everything felt so touched by the sunlight as they embraced it if you could explain it in one way this city was absolutely beautiful. So beautiful you felt unwelcome.

Jimin nudged your shoulder with a bright smile” your gonna get left behind if you don’t hurry” he joked playfully unknowingly welcoming himself into your heart, he pulled you out a daze to help you stabilize your wondering imaginations. Noticing that everyone had already made their way out.

You felt odd amongst them, like the black sheep of the so-called duo. Nothing was taken with you but your koto which you held dearly to your heart, if this was ever taken from you nothing will ever repair the damage that has bestowed your heart.

“Any baggage dear” you looked at her from beneath your large hat naming every color that was layered on her kimono, shaking your head indicating no sign of baggage at all, she was slowly accustoming herself to your non-verbal ways which she was sooner or later going to grow annoyed at.

A few men and women grabbed their things from the trunk rushing towards the Ryokan where you all will be saying, jimin has yet to explain your situation with them but will soon your hoping.

“knowing you have just joined us, you will be staying with yuno” you managed to look up at whoever she mentioned, a polite young woman raised her hand smiling at you with a welcoming smile causing your shoulders to slightly Un-tense at the sight of another companion.

Pressing your lips in a thin line was the only thing you could ever do for those who were nice to you, affection wasn’t something you were used too.

“She can stay with me”jimin suddenly barked nearly tripping over his silky attire, he raised his hand high up in the air as if someone had asked for a volunteer”jimin that’s not formal” she tried to persuade him otherwise but couldn’t, one of many traits you’ve observed from the man was he was very stubborn when it came to things he decided.

And he decided you were rooming with him.

“She will need to anyways, we have to practice for the upcoming show. Isn’t that right y/n” he called on you gaining a wide-eyed reaction from you as you looked up carefully noticing everyone's intense eyes sinking into your reaction. 

You couldn’t bear the weight of attention so you quickly nodded”that’s right” you whispered in a hushed tone, as jimin clasped his hands together gladly wrapping an arm around your shoulder” we should get to practicing then, goodbye” he quickly said, tilting his head to his own living area, leaving the older woman to check the entire group of people alone.

“Thank you” he bowed to the workers whispering something to yuno as she eyed your form taking in measurements of your figure. when they left the room he plopped himself on the mattress releasing a relaxed sigh, as you continued standing, holding the strap to the bag which held your beloved.

“Come sit down, there’s no need to be so awkward around me,” the brunette asked, patting a spot next to him, you shuffled on your feet biting the edges of your lips as you made no sign of moving towards him.

”I see” he muttered under his breath standing perking on his feet.

”We have a performance tomorrow” he approached your figure hesitantly, stabilizing his movements when he pointed to your koto “so it may be a good idea to practice, don’t you think” you nodded sitting down in front of him on a stool, jimin felt pleased with your reaction.

“What do you perform” you randomly asked, hearing your voice jimin swerved around on his toes to eye you back in the same manner as a mother would when she hears her child's first words” what” he faintly chimed focusing more on your face then your words” what. Do. you. Perform.” the words escaped your mouth slowly, and out of decent morals, you took your hat off.

Now being able to witness what you hid beneath the hat jimin was in awe, your chubby cheeks blemished in coats of red, thick lashed outlining your shaded eyes which held nothing but emptiness, in his eyes, he saw someone who he wanted to stick by for a very long time.

“Excuse me” you looked down to gain your composure, the hat gave you a sense of hiding having nothing to hide behind now let a petrified emotion take control of your insides, under his gaze you could feel your stomach churn making you feel sickly in away.

“Oh dear sorry, I um perform contemporary” jimin claimed to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly feeling guilty for staring longer than he should of. “Great i-I'll play something, and you can dance, i-if that's alright with you” you added licking the bottom of your dried lips nervously

Jimin placed himself in the middle of the room waiting to hear those soothing melodies enter his ears again. Freely letting the tunes control his precise movements.

You began to play the notes with closed eyes scared of any look you would perceive as judgment.

Jimin on the other hand. Twirled around his space with a great hold of decency as you peaked from your lashes casting a softer sound to suit his movements. Now it was your turn to admire his sways having to hold in the sharp breath you produced when He captured your gaze with his way of performance.

It was like watching art move, a hallucination which you didn’t have the strength to stop watching. He was magnificent that a small part of you wanted more.

But for jimin it was different how could someone play so fluently in the language of music. With every pluck, he felt his heart race in anticipation as if the sound of music danced with his hand in hand the entire way.

You both were compatible artistically yet nowhere near defining the other emotionally.

Words were no longer needed to admire both of the hard work put into the effortless performance both you and jimin had done, hours upon hours of work spent doing nothing but practice. The sun no longer hit the wooden roofs of the ryokan but now the moon shone through the paper like doors.

Birds stopped their choir and the booming voices of drunken men were now prominent.

“Your amazing”jimin acknowledged grabbing his black napkin to wipe the sweat from his face, your gaze stayed stuck to the floor imagining a more adventurous life of which nothing in the current life you live in existed. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, why were you playing the koto in the streets. By the sound of it I would have easily mistaken you as a professional,” the young man bent on his knees in front of your figure watching you pack away the instrument holding it like a child, preciously and with caution.

You stopped all movements when the question entered your ears, most people have beautiful stories to tell but that wasn’t the case. A story like yours was a story that would be locked forever in your mind until a key was to open it. And right now no key was to be found.

“shush. when i tell you to run you run as fast as you can” her petrified look was what held you back, bearing the weight no child should bear. Pushing you from the cliff into the water where you began your life of cruelty and continuous busking.

Her fear-driven eyes are what saved you.

You quickly swiped the forming tears ready to drop heavily from your eyes, silently continuing packing away the koto” it’s a long story” you coldly answered staring back into his innocent eyes. Jimin panicked when he saw the teardrop, doing the first thing that came to mind.

He shifted closer to your cold figure swiping a piece of hair from your face, flinching in fear from his sudden touch jimin tended to your eyes with the help of his white sleeve as he focused his gaze on your eyes unexpectedly, his wrist slowly sank back to his sides letting the silence control the room as the two of you held gazes, he appeared as someone so small compared to you.

But you could feel it, his curiosity. The kindness that oozed from him, the gentleness that he held within. You couldn’t ruin that for him.

You shifted your gaze from his features burning with desire not noticing his gaze wandering from your own as he could only wonder what just happened, calming the heat on your cheeks to stand up and bow deeply for the man who helped you from those dirty streets” I will be taking my leave now” you didn’t give him enough time to reply.

Rushing out of the room, leaving him with a mind full of curiosities.

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

Blood Spatter - Part 2

 Part 1

________________________________

It isn’t often I wake in the morning, even when it’s Sunday and the club is closed, so it takes a while for sleep to fall away and for me to gather my faculties. The place beside me is empty and cold, and I stare at the impression left on the sheets where the blanket it still a little pulled back.

Torrid recollections flood my mind, awakening the same heat deep within my body – it’s so intense I can feel Kiril’s thumb trailing down my cheek, playing across my lower lip and slipping into my mouth. But I know for a fact it was Sebastian who warmed my bed last night.

There has never been anything remotely unsatisfying about our encounters – when we relent to our need for carnal relief he is all I am able to think about, if I’m able to think at all.

I’m just lucky I didn’t moan Kiril’s name while in the throes of rapture.

I hope I didn’t.

Noises from elsewhere in the apartment draw my attention to the fact Sebastian is still here.

Another first.

He has never stayed the night, nor have I at his place, and that’s the way we’ve preferred to have it… have each other. Flesh on flesh without the hang-ups.

So what the hell does it mean?

He’s pottering around in my kitchen by the sounds of it, again not something he’s ever done nor am I used to – I am not entirely sure how I feel about this, especially with the memory of Kiril Lambert’s hands gripping my hips still vivid and fresh.

Wrapping myself in my fluffy robe, I take a moment to stretch out the wonderful ache of my body, and marvel at how much better I now feel.

Jazz still weighs on my mind – I will never let it go – but my brain is free of pain.

“Sebastian?” I call tentatively, poking my head out of the bedroom to scan the hall before heading to the kitchen.

“Expecting someone else?” he quips, meeting me under the arch, and if he hadn’t been smiling his usual charming smile, I might have really worried I’d sighed the wrong name in satisfaction.

“No, it’s just… this is different,” I offer, flopping onto a stool.

“Well, I had to make sure you’re okay,” he points out. “You were pretty messed up yesterday. How’s the head?”

“Still there,” I quip, rubbing the back of my neck. “Pain free, thanks to you.”

“Luckily for you, that’s the kind of healing I’m good at,” he grins, and with a wink turns to open the fridge.

Luckily he can’t see my expression – a cringy hybrid of guilt and scorching reminiscence.  

“Your fridge is a tragedy, it’s no wonder you’re unwell,” he grumbles, removing a bottle of milk well and truly past its use-by date.

“I don’t eat here often,” I shrug.

“Often enough to stock up on beer though,” he snorts.

“Beer is an important food group!” I defend sheepishly, and he casts me a reproachful look over his shoulder. “Come on, Sebastian, you’re not my nutritionist.”

“Maybe I should be,” he grunts, holding up a jar of… something. “This has been here since you moved in, hasn’t it?” he sighs, and I shrug. “Miho, it’s growing features of its own.”

“I’ll call it Jeff,” I announce proudly, and Sebastian straightens. “Fine, I’ll go shopping today and fill the fridge with vegetables.”

“Which you’ll inevitably not eat,” he huffs.

“Well it’s your fault for letting me have dessert first!” I volley triumphantly, and he narrows his eyes.

“You’re not having dessert for breakfast,” he tells me sternly.

“I’m an adult, I can eat whatever I like,” I proclaim obstinately, and he approaches when I get to my feet.

I feel like I’m playing a dangerous game with him standing here in my kitchen, like we’re about to cross an invisible line that borders fuck-buddy and love interest; not sure how I feel about that.

What I am sure I feel, is the settle of his hand on my hip and the warmth radiating from his chest as he draws closer.

“Eat whatever you like, huh?” he smirks, tapping his fingers.

“And yet I’m very selective about, what I put in my mouth,” I exhale against his lips, tempting him with half lidded bedroom eyes.

“Sadly, I’m not one of the food groups,” he teases, nipping my lips but refusing to allow me to delve much deeper.

“That’s fine,” I grin, pursuing him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’ll counteract with some exercise.”

“Mmm,” he murmurs, letting me catch him, delve into him, and get far too aroused before he pulls away. “Wish I could,” he says.

His eyes say yes, but he’s stepped back.

“But I have to get to Heathrow.”

My arms cross sulkily over my chest.

“My sister is coming home for a visit, and I promised to pick her up,” he adds in explanation.

“Fiiiiiiine,” I grump. “Guess I’ll just have to amuse myself.”

“Now there’s a stirring image,” he smiles cheekily.

“Ugh, get out before I jump you,” I growl, taking his arm and swinging him toward the door, and laughing he allows it.

  Doing something as normal as supermarket shopping feels for some reason quite strange. It’s not like I’m above the mundane necessities of life, but wandering up and down aisles pushing a cart is so far removed from the doof-doof of the club or the crystal finery of Pale’s lounge.

Hmm, the lounge, my wrist encircled by Kiril’s fingers.

“Are sanitary products truly so fascinating?” a voice queries, a caress down my spine though no contact is made.

“Did I just…” I blink, turning to look into Kiril’s laughing eyes.

“Did you just…?” he prompts, the slow smile creeping into his lips indicative of where he thinks my mind has gone.

He’s a regular customer and a powerful man… a stunning specimen… and so I try my best to hold in the roasting return volley that jumps first to my mind. Still, he’s the one inexplicably ambushing me in the feminine hygiene section.

“I’m just trying to decide if it’s worth paying extra for the organic product,” I remark casually, “considering its ultimate fate.”

To his credit, he doesn’t flinch at the discussion over tampons.

“One should never compromise on the finer things,” he philosophises, as easily as if we were talking about fine wine. “If you are unable to afford the more pleasant option, however, I would gladly pay the difference.”

There is no way I can’t laugh at this.

“Seriously?” I chuckle. “What on Earth are you doing here, Mr. Lambert?”

Shopping for a girlfriend perhaps? I know he doesn’t have a wife – a wedding like that would be spectacular. Kiril Lambert is business royalty after all.

“I’m stalking you,” he declares, his boy-like shrug incongruous with the expensive, clean lines of his charcoal, Savile Row suit.

A thrill shudders through me. It shouldn’t, but it does.

“I read somewhere you’re the CEO of a high-profile insurance company,” I say slowly, trying to measure my breaths. “That doesn’t dominate your time?”

“One should never compromise,” he repeats, reaching to the shelf and picking up a the most expensive box of tampons available, “on the finer things.”

Fighting a blush, I cover the effect of his implication with an incredulous laugh.

“So, let’s finish your shopping so we can talk,” he adds, and I feel my cheeks relax in response to the change in his tone.

Stern.

“Talk about what?”

“Your missing friend,” he replies, “and what I can do to help you find her.”

This I did not expect, and it slaps me into a bit of a daze.

”Wh… why?” I manage.

“Here is not the place to hold such a discussion,” he tells me, and begins to wheel my trolley.

Together we travel up and down the aisles in silence, and when all is done and paid for, he tells me his limousine driver will deliver them to my apartment when we’re finished with our café date.

Kiril’s words, not mine.

But it’s not just the café around the corner; oh no, we ride in conspicuous luxury to London’s newest exclusive eatery. This isn’t somewhere you can just walk off the street and enter, grab a table and a latte – it’s the kind of exclusive that opens with a month long waiting list, and a menu with pastries costing more than I might spend on food for a week.

As we enter, I’m aware of eyes turning to us: mostly women envious of my company and equally as critical of my ‘day off to slum it’ attire.

“This isn’t awkward at all,” I murmur but Kiril doesn’t break stride on his way through the doors toward a spacious booth at the rear of the café, urging me along with the feathery touch of his fingers in the small of my back.

“Ignore the spiteful stares of the envious, Sparrow,” he tells me softly, adding to the heat in my cheeks. “Unless you’d like to draw their ire a little more with a true spectacle?”

Suddenly, all I can hear, see, smell, taste and feel, is him. The recollection of the previous night, with the sense of him superimposed over Sebastian, hits me with full force and I actually stumble as my legs weaken.

“That’s a yes, is it?” Kiril whispers into my ear, my back against his chest, his arms steadying me. “Hmm? Right here in the middle of the café?”

“Mr. Lambert, welcome back,” a voice welcomes cheerfully, and Kiril shifts his eyes slowly in that direction. “Oh…uh… I apologise for interrupting,” the waiter rushes. “Should I… just…”

“Bring menus,” Kiril snaps, and the waiter scurries away, nearly falling over his own feet.

“Hungry?” I ask, gaining control over my senses again, but when I pull away from Kiril’s body I immediately wish I hadn’t.

“Oh, I could eat you up right here,” Kiril rumbles, and I think all my clothes fall off.

“I don’t think you’ll find me on the menu,” I tell him, leaving off the part where I’d happily make the necessary amendments.

“Shame,” he muses, entering the booth and settling.

He watches me do the same, every move I make catalogued by a stare that misses nothing.

“You said you could help find Jazz,” I say, knotting my fingers in front of me on the table top. “How?”

“I’ll be honest,” he says bluntly, the toe of his perfectly polished shoe bumping into mine, “but my information doesn’t come for free.”

That I will give him anything he asks for without hesitation is on my lips instantly, and I only just manage to keep from voicing it.

Anything is awfully broad.

“What could a man like you possibly want from me?” I ask instead, and his answer comes first as the slow brush of his foot up my calf.

So here is this insanely remarkable man playing footsies with me, and I ask him what he could want?

“Miho, it’s pretty clear what he wants!”

Even though his expression is polite, the amicable look of a man conducting business, he’s nudging me closer and closer toward a reaction. And I should want to demand he stop – hot or not he is all but a stranger and I do have a sense of decency – but I’m paddling against rapids trying ardently to sweep me away completely.

I want it, but I have my pride, and men like him don’t do anything without reason – take the risk?

“Take it,” a voice whispers: silk flowing over my skin.

“I’ve an incredibly boring work event to attend tonight, which would be infinitely more interesting with you at my side.”

“A date?” I chortle, unable to keep in my incredulity trapped. “That’s the best you can manage?”

Then the toe of those perfect shoes are against my thigh, moving closer to somewhere he most certainly shouldn’t be touching – my legs clench together, trapping his foot.

He doesn’t fight, leaving it where it is, and I absolutely should be standing up and stalking about enraged, but a very large part of me wants to find out what he intends to do with those mirror-shine shoes.

“Shall I show you the best I can manage?” he grins, an animalistic gleam in his eyes.

“I accept, on one condition,” I manage, my voice thin and dry, and one of his eyebrows lifts in amusement,

“Which is?”

I want Jazz back more than my own life is worth, but I’ve never uttered a sentence more difficult.

“You keep your hands – and feet – to yourself.”

Is there disappointment there? Frustration? Anything reflecting the rage of my own flesh? Maybe, but Kiril agrees nonetheless.

“I will hold you to your word,” he tells me seriously: a smouldering promise rather than a threat.

“And I to yours,” I exhale, wanting it to sound a whole lot more self-assured than it actually does. “So…”

Looking satisfied, Kiril leans back and temples his fingers.

“So, I need an escort,” he declares smugly. “Business dinners are tedious – you, will make it less so.”

Not exactly what I was anticipating, and that, along with some measure of disappointment I wish I could have kept to myself, must be written on my face because Kiril’s smile widens knowingly.

“Escort?” I repeat sceptically, hardly oblivious to the connotations.

“Would you feel better if I referred to you as my date?” he offers, challenging me in a different way. “Is that what you want it to be?”

A hawk, his gaze sharpens on his prey – me, a pigeon – and he’s about to sweep in for the kill.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter what it’s called,” I finally reply: non-committal. “You want arm candy; it is what it is.”

“Entertaining arm candy,” he adds. “Old men in pressed suits and starched collars are anything but exciting.”

“Surely a man in your position is used to that environment,” I point out.

“My familiarity with it has nothing to do with my lack of enjoyment,” he volleys easily. “And here you are, the perfect candidate to spice up the evening.”

“Because you have something I want,” I frown. “Or so you say.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered by his proposal, and my attraction to him is so powerful, I can barely contain myself.

I cross my legs.

“The moment you concede to my request, is the moment you find out for sure,” Kiril smirks, choosing to emphasise that word specifically, and I scowl.

It’s clear he is used to getting his way, but it’s just as evident he knows I’m not one to roll over, to bow, to surrender – but this is Jazz.

My greatest weakness as well as strength is laid bare before him, and he is taking advantage.

“I already told you,” I sniff, trying not to sneer or pout.

“Use my words, Sparrow,” he insists, burrowing through my sense of self-respect, laying waste to my ego.

Swallowing my pride, I square my shoulders confidently, owning my decision, my commitment to getting back my friend.

“I concede.”

This victory doesn’t seem to please him as much as I thought it would, and I capitalise.

“Now tell me what you know.”

Without hesitation he nods, and I’m floored.

“The Konstantin you’re searching for,” he begins, leaning back in a more casual posture, “is my little brother.”

Like I’ve been punched in the gut, all the air leaves me. Gasping like a fish out of water. The song and dance I’ve been making all over London in my attempts to locate Jazz and the one person of interest I have in her disappearance, and his very brother has been in my club every other night.

Suddenly I’m livid.

There’s no way he didn’t hear about my quest; I’ve been shoving my nose into every place I can think Jazz and Konstantin might have gone together, shouting my distress from the rooftops, and received only silence, even from the police.

“You had to have known before now,” I hiss, only just managing to keep the venom behind my teeth.

Leaning forward, I rise up, hands now fists pressed against the tabletop if only to keep them from lashing out at him in anger.

“Calm down, Sparrow,” he instructs, no longer smiling, but he can take his pet name and shove it up his ass.

“Don’t you dare ‘Sparrow’ me,” I growl, baring my teeth and pouring out all my potential for intimidation, which isn’t insignificant by any means. “Where is she?”

“That I do not know,” Kiril responds, spreading his hands with perfect calm. “In point of fact, I don’t even know where Konstantin is.”

Quivering with indescribable rage, I rock back and shuffle out of the booth, dead set on marching to the hell out of there and placing a call to Inspector Parker about this revelation, but Kiril slaps his hand around my wrist.

“You intend to go back on your word?” he whispers, tugging me against the edge of the table at his side.

“Oh, you set me up!” I exclaim loudly, glaring down at him - stares across the café turn to us.

“Yes, I did,” he admits, ignoring the attention we’ve drawn in favour of attempting to freeze me with those beautifully verdant eyes. “But if I’m not mistaken, you’d do anything for your friend, and agreed to do so.”

“I don’t need you to find her, Mr. Lambert,” I grate, lifting my arm, but Kiril holds firm. “I will take your name to the police and tell them you know something, so get your secretary to leave some time open for your interrogation.”

“Unlikely,” he counters, stroking the inside of my wrist with his thumb, which only enrages me more.

Against his pale skin, Kiril is suddenly wearing the handprint of my displeasure.

“If you knew anything about Jazz, you wouldn’t act like such a smug bastard,” I seethe, and my lips poise to continue when Kiril’s eyes narrow keenly.

The rising crest of my anger and indignation shudders as an opposing force meets it, attempts to push it back.

“Get off,” I snarl, throwing off his grip and stepping out of arm’s reach, allowing the swirl of ire to gather momentum once more. “If your brother has done anything to Jazz, I will burn him, and you also for daring to stand in my way.”

Storm clouds gather in his expression and thunder rumbles through every word Kiril speaks.

“It is unwise to threaten me, Miho,” he enunciated slowly, and cold ripples through my body.

“I… I’m leaving,” I stammer around the lump in my throat, but I find it impossible to move.

“If you leave now,” he says, so quietly and yet not whispering, “you will likely never see Miss Mann again.”

“And it’s just as unwise to threaten me,” I exhale thickly, though the heat in my face and the trembling air in my lungs is evidence enough I’m losing control of my composure.

Unaffected, Kiril rises, not once breaking eye contact. He is far taller than he should be, and the darkness at his back, outlining the shape of his imposing figure seems too real.

“Konstantin has an apartment not far from here,” he tells me, ignoring my unimpressive retort. “And I have a key.”

“Give it to me,” I hiss, breathless, too proud to cower, but far too unnerved to raise my voice much more.

“No,” he drops plainly, then his very edges soften. “But, you may join me – assuming of course you can wrestle your ego into submission long enough to reiterate your commitment to our agreement.”

Hubris calls for me to slap him again, to stalk out and ban him from ever entering Pale again – but my friendship with Jazz is far stronger than that. Even if he has something to do with Jazz’s disappearance, too – and I’d be stupid not to consider this given his manipulation – I have no real choice but to accept.

“I agree,” I tell him frostily, re-affixing my handbag on my shoulder and crossing my arms over my chest.

 Kiril watched Miho closely, relentlessly, where she sat beside him in the back of his limousine. She was still, a statue frozen in a moment of wrathful indignation, with her gaze fixed forward; but he knew she had him in her peripheral vision, seeming ready in an instant to defend herself from unwanted contact.

Contact he wanted.

There she was, so close to him, warm, determined and fierce, and desire pulsed through his veins. How easy it would be to drag her into his lap, snake his hands around her and squeeze around her delicious curves, and bury his face against her neck.

But he didn’t, because he suspected something Narumi had missed when she manipulated Miho’s thoughts into forgetting her encounter with Alex – a recollection that had already begun to surface once more. This resistance, the way she fought against his ability to overwhelm her emotions – and won – suggested she was even more than the stunning, confident businesswoman he’d first taken her for.

And he wanted her all the more for it.

As their vehicle pulled into a secured underground car park, Miho’s eyes widened a little.

“He lives here?” she questioned.

One Tower Bridge overlooked the Thames, and the iconic Tower Bridge itself. The complex as a ridiculous piece of real estate someone like Miho would never be able to afford – millions of pounds for luxury she only ever saw in film.

“This is the last address of his I’ve known,” Kiril responded, exiting the car himself, though it was the driver who released Miho from its confines.

Unlike the subterranean car parks Miho had experienced across the city, this one was bright and absolutely spotless. There were no petrol fumes, no rubber marks on the sealed concrete ground, and all painted markings were in pristine condition.

Without a word, Kiril began in the direction of the elevator, using the same key-card that had admitted their entry to the car park, to open them.

Dubiously, Miho stared at the confines of the elevator interior, obviously cautious about being trapped in the small space with Kiril without the presence of another person. Pure obstinacy pushed her forward and to the very back, where she leaned against the mirrored wall and glared as Kiril joined her.

“It’s going to be a very long night for you if you keep that up,” he pointed out, smiling like he actually hoped she’d persist.

“I suppose you’ve love me to be compliant and pliable and all over you like the women you bring to Pale,” she snorted, continuing to glower as the doors closed them in.

“Oh no, I quite prefer you combative,” he chuckled, moving closer, and Miho sidestepped to avoid being further boxed in. “Much more entertaining.”

“I’m not here for your amusement,” she huffed, crossing her arms again, but it made balancing a second dodge a little difficult.

She found herself in the corner, Kiril directly before her looking most pleased with himself; and she was infuriated, in part because he insisted on challenging her when she was here only to serve her mission, but more so that the closer he drew, the more her skin eagerly anticipated his touch.

The doors opened on the fourth floor to a clear and pleasant chime, but Kiril continued to smoulder, close enough to Miho for her to actually feel the radiant heat from his body – or so it seemed.

“No comeback, Sparrow?” he prompted smugly, leaning his head forward, and Miho turned her cheek.

“My comeback might very well be my knee to your groin if you keep pushing me,” she growled, but Kiril’s smile only widened.

“The lady likes to rough-house,” he noted, and Miho expelled a frustrated breath, using her shoulder to nudge past him and exit to the landing.

Chuckling, Kiril followed – the more she rebuffed him, the greater his desire for her to submit to him willingly.

“So you’re a big-wig CEO,” Miho said, approaching one of only two doors on the floor. “What does Konstantin do to be able to afford a place like this?”

“I tend not to involve myself in my brother’s affairs,” Kiril replied, touching the key-card to the electronic lock beside the door. “The origin of his wealth has nothing to do with me.”

“Yet you’ve access to his luxury apartment,” Miho pointed out dryly.

“I never said it was given to me,” he responded, reaching around her to push open the door. “Ladies first.”

Well that obviously changed things a little – card or no card, it was trespass if Kiril didn’t have permission to be there. What if Konstantin was home?

“Even better,” Miho muttered in determination, and stomped into the spacious, dark wood appointed living area.

But it was quiet and clean, and Miho’s call to Jazz went unanswered.

“Refrigerator is empty,” Kiril noted, not that he was especially surprised, but Miho did not respond.

In the master bedroom she’d thrown open the door to the walk-in closet to search for women’s clothing, but finding none, she made her way to the ensuite. There she found no evidence of a woman either, but that only meant Jazz hadn’t made herself at home – or maybe hadn’t been given an opportunity to.

“Damnit,” she cursed, rushing from room to room, scanning, opening, searching every nook and cranny.

Kiril, meanwhile, was far from frantic. He wandered lazily from room to room, but wasn’t really looking for anything in particular. When he finally reached the master bedroom, he stopped in the doorway, staring.

On all fours, with backside in the air and her right cheek pressed against the plush carpet, Miho was peering under the king-sized bed, fishing around for what, Kiril did not know; but he found himself transfixed by the sight. Her posture was not an invitation by any means, and yet the idea of folding himself over her, pulling back on her hair and tasting the skin of her throat, bubbled furiously in his blood. Resisting the urge to follow through tainted the sound of his voice when he finally spoke.

“What are you expecting to find under there?”

Her body flinched but did not straighten. Instead she reached a little further, grunting as she reached her limit, and only sat back when she’d snared her prize.

“Apartments like this are serviced by professional cleaners,” Kiril pointed out, approaching. “It’s unlikely you’ll find any traces of your friend.”

“And yet…” Miho smiled thinly, staring at the small black and white swirled bead.

To Kiril it meant very little, but obviously Miho knew something.

 Inhaling slowly, I close my eyes.

This seemingly generic bead clasped between my fingers is personal to me. The ridiculously overpriced Pandora bracelet I’d given Jazz for her last birthday, comprised of elements I had chosen individually.

But there is something much deeper here, and I’m suddenly not me anymore.

The world tilts and my ears are filled with the sound of Jazz laughing, laughter emerging from my lips. She opens her eyes and I’m staring into the face I know as Konstantin’s, and his lips press against my collarbone.

Raggedly, my breath hitches as he holds me firmly against him, my legs, Jazz’s legs against the edge of the bed – and I’m giggling as he kisses up my neck and threatens to topple me backwards. But he has to work for it, I struggle and squirm and try to fend him off, but the way he grips Jazz’s wrist is a grip unbreakable, somehow gentle but commanding against my refusal to submit. Finally, he twists a leg behind mine and shoves us back against the mattress, and as Jazz’s back sinks into the deep softness of the duvet, the Pandora bracelet explodes from my wrist and beads bounce all around us.

A stillness falls as the last glass sphere rolls into hiding beneath the bed, and Konstantin peers at me with an intensity that stokes a dangerous furnace within my belly – and I can feel his desire pressing insistently between my thighs, and as he releases Jazz’s wrist, I fold my arms around his neck and draw him down to meet a fierce passion of my own.

It bounces twice, the black and white, silver swirled bead as it drops from my hold to the sound of a breathy moan. A shudder rips through my body, but as I blink, it’s Kiril’s hand I find against my cheek, his body so close we’re lightly touching. We’re standing in Konstantin’s bedroom, of course – I was always there despite what I saw and felt; it doesn’t make sense. And my emotions are muddled, mine and Jazz’s blended together, my flesh singing from Konstantin’s promise of carnal pleasure: suddenly reflected in the coolness of Kiril’s palm brushing against my face.

“What… are you?” I exhale, heat on my breath, a shivering anticipation of his slowly approaching face and a painful conflict between wanting him to take me like his brother had – hadn’t – and knowing I have every reason to shove him away.

I should shove him away.

“That look,” he responds, green fire crackling in the slim space between us, and I tremble as his other hand comes to rest lightly against my hip. “That invitation.”

“It’s not…” I begin, but my body betrays me, shifting with his encouragement to close all distance. “Kiril…” I hiss, desperately fighting to order my thoughts before I’m drowned by this wave of inexplicable need, this ludicrous urge for him to smother me. “I saw… I saw them…”

“I see you,” he states plainly, and his lips tease across mine.

Arching into him flashes an unintentional green light, and our mouths unite with a dizzying lust over which I have very little control.

PART 3

[jakeremake]

Jeeves and the Overindulgence

It was not his usual habit to indulge. Not that he didn't enjoy the pleasant burn of a good whiskey, or the taste of a cool ale on a warm summer's day, but he'd never been one to get, as they call it, blind stinking drunk. He'd been there, of course, as nearly everyone had, as a lad, and found that while he'd thought he'd enjoyed himself, when the events of the night had been related to him by an impartial observer, he'd grown distinctly pinkish around the ears and cheeks. The same sitch had repeated itself the second, third, and fourth times he'd allowed himself more than a very carefully measured amount of alcohol in a night. In short, Reginald Jeeves had the awful habit of making a right arse of himself while intoxicated.

Not that he couldn't hold his liquor, of course. There was a certain amount of imbibing that was expected of him, particularly at darts tournaments on his nights off, or when his employer, the ever affable Bertram W. Wooster encouraged him to sit down and have a drink with the young master. Had it been any other employer, he likely would have found a way to extricate himself from the posish when he found himself in it, but he found himself unable to when it was Mr. Wooster that asked. In fact, as the months ticked by from when he had first stepped across the threshold to find a rather hungover B.W. Wooster gaping at him as though he were some kind of angel sent from heaven above, he found himself increasingly unable to say no to anything that Mr. Wooster asked of him. In short, Reginald Jeeves had found himself rather hopelessly head-over-heels in love with his employer.

It had taken another few months for the feelings that had brewed inside of his heart to quite catch up to his head, and once they did, he found himself rather stricken. Not so much by the revelation of Love's Awakening, as he rather took that one in stride. The Jeevesian form did not bother to tumble the idea of a love for one B.W. Wooster over and over inside of that great brain that lurked therein. No, the aforementioned g. b took the idea of being absolutely Basset-esque over his employer rather much as a given. The issue, however, came over what to do-or rather, what not to do about the soup that he now found himself neck deep in.

He spent three long days pondering this imponderable question, turning over every possible path that could occur. He could confess his feelings, and be given the boot. He could confess his feelings and find them returned in kind. He could confess his feelings, and find that one B.W. Wooster would slowly come around to find that he did, in fact, love one R. Jeeves. Or, on the other hand, he could keep himself quiet, which was likely for the better, never letting Mr. Wooster have any clue how he felt. After all, even if there was a chance at the sort of soppy whatsits that crept up in his collection of Rosie M. Banks novels, there was always the threats of dangerous Aunts and matrimonial prospects-there was always the chance of losing the last of the Woosters to some dashed filly, even if he didn't want to go. There was the dreaded Aunt Agatha, who was surely more dragon than human, and who could pose a threat to their eternal happiness.

It was after he'd spent the third day with his brain thus engaged that his employer noticed, imploring him to take the night off, and the next day if he needed it, as he was "looking rather peaky." Deciding that if his ruminations had affected him enough for Mr. Wooster to notice, perhaps a night out, spent far away from the confines of the flat could be enough for him to put the whole idea behind him. He hadn't actually intended to do much, but had found himself at a small pub, getting rather involved in a game of darts. And in between rounds of darts, having to match drinks with his opponents (as it really wasn't very sporting to turn down a round when it was offered to him.) He found that the more lubricated he became, the less he thought about the problem regarding the young master. It was somewhere around his tenth drink that he was very firmly aware that he was blotto, and by the twelfth he found himself joining the other members of the pub in few rousing, drunken choruses of Rule Britannia (who suggested the song, he did not know), and songs considerably less delicate.

He had fully intended to take one of the rooms in the public house he was in, only to be informed that they were full up. He had enough command of his facilities to recognize that returning to the flat would be perhaps the worst idea to have every crossed his brain in all thirty years of his existence on god's green earth, as he was, at that moment, fully cognizant of the fact that he would not be remembering the circumstances come morning.

It is odd how the brain works like that-when one is soused to the gills, they find themselves under the providence of Dionysus, god of the drunks, who guided them safely to the loo and prevented them from embarrassing themselves on houseplants, who allowed them the ability to stagger home without getting themselves run over by passing taxis, and who allowed them the providence to know better than to return home when one was still singing a rather off-key rendition of a Norwich terrace chant. As such, he staggered out of the small pub, clinging to lightpoles and post-boxes as he went, intending to take his employer up on his offer of an extra day off and plunk down a fairish bit of the money he'd swindled out of the other pub goers (as it would take enough alcohol to have him passed out cold on the floor to lose at darts) on a warm bed as far away from the Wooster eyes as possible.

He had forgotten, however, in his shambling path, that he was stuck going directly past the Drones club. He hadn't even paid it any mind, so focused was he on the rather difficult task of putting one foot in front of the other, until, of course, he heard his name called. "I say, Jeeves?"

Years of training tend to instill certain habits upon a person that even copious quantities of ethanol cannot remove. When he heard his name called, he found himself automatically straightening, turning, and replying nearly as smoothly as usual, "Yes, sir?" There was a hint of a slur around the S's, but other than that, it was rather hard to tell that the figure that had previously been requiring the assistance of the wall to remain upright was the same that was now standing rather at attention.

"I say, Jeeves, what on earth are you doing down here at this time of night?"

"I was at a pub, sir." Wooster, B. may have been many things, but completely-he searched, vainly for the word he wanted, unsure of what exactly it was, but knowing that it began with Un-, and meant something along the lines of being eagle-eyed. Unobservant! That was it-he was far from completely unobservant, and he couldn't help but notice one odd thing.

"And why on earth are you walking that way-"He gestured in the direction that Jeeves had been walking in seconds before, "-When the flat is that way" His other hand pointed in the direction of Berkley Mansions.

"I was intending to procure a room in a hotel for the night, sir." And rather against his will, he found himself swaying slightly on his feet. The young master, after a moment, seemed to piece together what had happened-hindered, no doubt, by the rather the four or so lubricating drinks he himself had had.

"Why-" He paused, as the realization hit him, "-You're tight as an owl, aren't you?"

"Regretfully so, sir." All of this uprightness, without any of the nice leaning he'd been doing previously was making his stomach lurch dreadfully, and he found himself for the first time, wishing to be free of this beautiful, wonderful, man. Entirely because he thought it would be rather unseemly to lose his supper and the fourteen drinks that had been piled on top of it, in front of the other man.

He found that while the god of drunks had, previously, been looking out for him, when confronted with the problem of one Wooster, Dionysus had buggered off and told him, "You're on your own for this one, mate." After a long moment of stunned silence, he found himself treated to the sound of a rich, hearty, laugh. He found his lips twitching upwards of their own accord, as it seemed as though most of his body was acting of it's own will, his mind having buggered off to join Dionysus on some Caribbean isle somewhere.

"And you didn't want to return home because of it, what?"

"It would not be proper, sir." Bertie grinned, taking a step closer to the swaying form of his manservant.

"I say, Jeeves, dash propriety. Why on earth would you stay at some hotel when you could have your perfectly comfortable bed to sleep in. At least, I'm assuming your bed is comfortable, can't say I'd ever given it a shot. But you seem to do well enough with it, and that's what matters. It's not as though I'm going to fault you for having a few too many on your night off, it's allowed of the best of us, isn't it? After all, you've doted on this Wooster after many a long night, the least I can do is allow you back into the Wooster GHQ after getting soused to the gills, what?"

He found that he'd been rather close to asking the young master if he wanted to see just how comfortable his own small bed was, and was thankful for the first time in his life, for Bertie's propensity towards babbling, as it cut him off at the pass, and prevented him from giving voice to the comment. Instead, he found himself taking a cautious step forward, rather intending the sort of shimmering glide that was second nature to him when fully in control of all his limbs, but was rather difficult to perform when his limbs seemed to have grown minds of their own, and were instead taking off in four separate directions. He'd no sooner gotten out an utterance of "Thank you, sir," and was about to tack on a bit about the kindness of Wooster, B, when he became acutely aware of the ground coming up to meet him at a rather alarming rate of speed.

The last of the Woosters may not have had many qualities where he excelled, but he had always been rather fleet of foot and quick of reflexes, and when he watched his faithful manservant start pitching in a groundward direction, those q r's rather took over, and rather without thinking, he'd wrapped an arm around a trim, warm, waist, and hauled upwards, stopping the man from risking his nose-or worse-his suit-on the hard ground. "Good lord, man!" The comment was half-hidden by a laugh, as in all honesty, Bertie couldn't help but find the situation, as amazing as it was, to be rather hilarious. He was fairly sure that the liquor at the Drones had been replaced with absinthe, and he was currently hallucinating the whole sitch, and the very concept of Jeeves being sloshed. "Are you all right?"

"I will be better-" Whatever word was intended to go in the blank was obscured by a hiccough, and the "sir" that followed was intelligible, if more of a groan than an utterance. He managed to right himself, and took another cautious step, this time in the direction of 6A Berkely Mansions.

"Right, good to know then. Shall we?" Bertie had to admit that there was something rather pleasantly chummy about the way that Jeeves was leaning against him, having given up on making it back without any sort of assistance to keep him upright. Had he been more possessed of mental faculties at that moment, Jeeves would have likely gone running in the opposite direction of the idea of slinging an arm of his own around the shoulders of one B. W. Wooster to match the one that was currently wrapped around his waist, and using the lithe form of his employer as a replacement for the lamposts and post-boxes that he had previously been clinging to to stop him from pitching over.

As it was, Dionysus was feeling slightly guilty for abandoning a man who so rarely called upon his aid, and had decided to pop back in to check up on his charge, managing to intervene enough to stop Jeeves from following through with the urge to wrap himself around Bertie like honeysuckle round a trellis as they went. Mentally, the god of drunks was sitting there cursing at himself for getting involved at all, as if he hadn't, it was far more likely that one R. Jeeves would have stumbled over his own two feet within ten yards of the door to the pub and decided that the ground was a perfectly wonderful spot to make camp for the night.

Bertie, for his sake, was putting up with things rather merrily. After all, it had been his idea that Jeeves make it back to the flat rather than the much more respectable option of taking an employer up on an offered day off. Although if the way that Jeeves couldn't hold himself upright was anything to judge by, he was likely to still want that day off anyway-even though, knowing Jeeves, so long as his faithful valet was in the flat, the man would be hard at work. Bertie couldn't help but shudder at the idea of having to make tea at some ungodly early hour of the morning with a morning head. Or even having to make one of those magnificent pick-me-ups while desperately in need of one. Said shuddering motion caused the arm around his shoulders to wind up falling somewhere near the vicinity of his own waist, and he found himself being pulled bodily into the side of Jeeves. Not that he minded, mind you, as the arm threatened to drop lower into an area that could only be called "lecherous." In fact, the idea of that hand moving closer the seat-of-his-pants area for a grope was making him feel rather squiffy inside, and stirred up no small bit of the old Etonian spirit in him.

And he found that the more he considered this idea, the more that he seemed rather agreeable to the idea of a solid rogering not at all unlike the ones that were so common behind closed doors in the dormitories. After all, it is inevitable, when one puts a few dozen spotty, sweaty, crude boys in close quarters from one another (done entirely to save the rest of the public from having to deal with said s.s.c boys) they're bound to find ways to amuse themselves and find a way to let excess energies out. For some, they got themselves into rugby football, which had all of the entertainments of finding onesself in the general area of other men's genitals without the same of pleasure that usually came from such situations. For others, they found themselves going slightly neurotic-as was the case of Gussie Fink-Nottle-from being either too bland to catch the eye of any of the other boys, or too repellent, or too-anything, really, and who found themselves instead left on their own with only their right hand for company-or their left, if they were feeling like trying something new and exciting. For a goodish sized chunk, however, they found that they had rather lost control of their bodies to the strange urges inside of them, and said s. u's were telling them to bugger anything and everything nearby. And as the only thing that was nearby tended to be their fellow schoolmates, they made do with what they had.

And Bertie, for all of his gentlemanly qualities, had found that there were some things in life that, while they did not make for polite conversation, made for a jolly good time. And, always being one that was up for a spot of good fun, very rarely turned down any chance to enjoy himself-be it in games of dinner roll cricket, or in billiards, or card throwing, or splaying Healey, the lad who had the room two doors down from him at Eton, face-down across the mattress and giving him a good what-for. As most lads tended to do once they were unleashed from the petri dish that they were allowed to fester in better known as a public school, once he found himself reintroduced to the odd things that called themselves "girls" he found himself as easily led astray by a beautiful profile as any other lad, and had considered the old Etonian urges to have rather stayed at Eton.

Until now, of course, what with Jeeves half-wrapped around him. Granted, he hadn't exactly found himself in the sort of intimate posish that would result in the sort of way that his blood was wanting to rush to places that it hadn't rushed to with either the female or the male of the species since his Oxford days, but now that he found that there was a rather warm, broad hand inches away from his bum, he found that a grope wouldn't at all be called improper at that moment in time. In fact, he thought, he was in just the sort of mood for it, having imbibed slightly more than he had planned on that night as well. Not nearly as much as it seemed poor Jeeves had, and certainly nowhere near enough to have him bicycling around in the nude belting out songs as he was wont to do after a long night when he was at Oxford, but it was enough to have his guard down, and have him rather pleasantly relaxed. And thinking unseemly thoughts that the Wooster mind would have, in any other situation, likely quickly boxed up and shipped out to Ceylon, rather than ruminate on them.

But since he was well-oiled at the time, he found that he was, in fact, ruminating on the idea of spreading Jeeves face down over his bed and giving him a good what-for. And he found that he was very much not at all opposed to the idea of it. In fact, he found that he could quite enjoy it, and quite possibly never stop enjoying it, as where all the other spotty, sweaty, crude lads had been, well, spotty, sweaty, and crude, this was Jeeves that he was thinking of. Jeeves, who could do absolutely no wrong. Jeeves, paragon amongst men, who somehow had decided to cast his lot in with the last of the Woosters and who showed absolutely no sign of wishing to part. Jeeves, who mixed the perfect cup of tea, and knew the perfect temperature to draw a bath to best soothe the Wooster muscles. Jeeves, who cooked, cleaned, and kept him out of the soup. Jeeves, who had all of the advantages that a good wife could provide: that is, nice meals and someone to look after him day in and day out, and who had none of the disadvantages: that is, the tendency to utter soppy whatsits, and insist that he mold himself into some sort of character that he had no intention of becoming. No, Jeeves saw him for what he was, and the only thing that Jeeves tried to mold was the Wooster wardrobe.

He blinked, rather surprised at the paths that his mind took him down when it was left to wander on it's own. Letting his mind have a bit of an ankle every now and then seemed to turn up some rather corking ideas, id estJeeves being better than a wife any day. The only problem that he could see with this idea was though Jeeves was rather wrapped around him at that mo, there was no other indication that Jeeves would be entirely happy with the idea of being seen as a wife. It was rather more likely that Jeeves would take quite a bit of offense at the proposition and hand in his notice. Instead, he gave a sharp whistle inside his head, calling his mind back from it's excursion, and set the leash back on it, directing it in the direction of puzzling out if there was a reason Jeeves was, well, about a drink away from stripping naked and bicycling around while belting out songs. "I say, Jeeves, I don't think I've ever seen you even on the side of slightly tight, there wasn't anything that provoked this, was there? No items in the Wooster wardrobe that required you to delve deep into the brandy in a hope of removing them from your memory,are there?"

He was rather surprised at the chuckle that he got in response-and if the look on Jeeves' face was anything to go by, the action had rather surprised the other man as well. He was fairly positive that he'd never heard the sound before in his life, and what surprised him even more than hearing it was the flip that his stomach did at the sound. Not one of those flips that one gets when they hear that their Aunt is in town, or that their tab has come up due at their favourite establishment, and they have not a penny on them, but one of those flips that one gets when they hear something rather pleasing that makes them feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

"No, sir. Everything in your wardrobe, at present, looks exceedingly good on you." Had he any sort of idea what was coming out of his mouth, Jeeves would have taken the brighter option and wished for a quick death. If there had been a completely impartial observer on hand, they likely would have had this night to hold over his head even more than the time when, at the age of sixteen, he'd first discovered exactly how potent rum was, having been completely unable to taste it when smothered by things like coconut, and wound up doing his best Tarzan impression with the chandelier. Luckily the only other person in the house at the time had been his sister, who being a Sister, and thus a member of the only species worse than Aunts, used the incident as a way to get her brother to do exactly as she pleased, whenever she pleased.

The comment went rather over the head of Wooster, B, as it found the skull entirely too thick to penetrate, and instead looked for a path of less resistance. Really, he was simply glad that he wouldn't have to part with any more of his ties, as he was starting to get attached to the few natty ones that had escaped various fates like irons, terriers (he was fairly sure that that one had most definitely been on purpose, as Jeeves knew far better than to leave anything like a tie where it was easy for McIntosh to reach), and the unfortunate tie that had gotten it's knot stuck somehow, and refused to untie, something that had rather puzzled him, as even once cut away from the Wooster throat, it still seemed as though the knot had been glued into place that morning. "Well that's good to hear, what?" He shifted slightly, finding that he and Jeeves fit rather nicely together when arm in arm like they were. "So if not the Wooster wardrobe, there's nothing that's got you in a mess is there? Because you know I may not have the great brain you do, and I may not be able to get myself out of the soup, but I'm awful good at listening."

The had just reached the front door of Berkely Mansions, and once inside, Jeeves looked at the young master, opened his mouth as though he was going to say something and then caught sight of the doorman standing there as well. "Thank you, sir, for the offer, but I assure you, there is nothing that's troubling me." Now, the young master may have been many things, including mentally negligent, but he wasn't a complete idiot. His valet had simply been out of sorts for the past few days, and was now rather uncharacteristically blotto. It was, he supposed, possible that Jeeves had just let a night out with the lads get a bit out of hand-these things were not unknown to happen, after all. There had been plenty of nights where he'd shown up to the Drones with the full intent of sipping on a nice cold ale and playing a round of darts or billiards and found himself instead wound up exuberantly enjoying some long-lost friend's birthday, or the unfortunate night he found himself forced to match Stilton Cheesewright drink-for-drink. (That night had ended with him effectively killing a rather hideous aspidistra by mistaking it's pot as a good enough receptacle for the contents of the Wooster stomach. Jeeves had not looked heartbroken when he informed the young master of the unfortunate fate of the plant the next morning, and something told Bertie that Jeeves had made no effort to stop the Wooster stomach from depositing itself amongst the roots of the plant.)

Somehow, though neither knew how (and entirely due to the machinations of Dionysus), Wooster, B, managed to get Jeeves, R, up six flights of stairs to stand in front of 6A, fumbling for a key that he could not find. "I say, Jeeves, do you have a key on you?" Of course Jeeves had a key on him, of course, but he found that the comment had gone rather past him as he wondered if Bertie always looked quite so ravishable, or if that was simply the alcohol making him think such things.

"My right inside pocket, sir." Jeeves was rather surprised that he could remember where said key was, but was unable to actually retrieve it. Every time he attempted to get hand into pocket, it seemed he missed. Bertie, on the other hand, had had just enough to drink to affect his thoughts, but not enough to bother his motor skills, and found it easy enough to reach into the jacket pocket in question, hand closing around the thing, but he found that he was rather loathe to step away. He'd never really been this close to Jeeves before, not without the pretense of Jeeves straightening some article of clothing on his person. As such, he'd never really noticed the soft hint of sandalwood and vanilla, something that he'd never thought would be a pleasant combination, but on Jeeves seemed absolutely heavenly. The addition of what his discerning nose made out to be gin and some sort of beer at least gave Bertie a clue as to what his manservant preferred in terms of drinks. Then again, he'd already known that the man liked a good bitter, on the occasions that they'd found themselves exiled to some small town in the country with exactly one pub for entertainment, leaving them little choice to avoid each other, even on Jeeves' nights off. Not that he didn't try to give the man some privacy, but when in the middle of nowhere it wasn't exactly his fault when there was no other place to go for a good drink and a bit of company.

He wondered, briefly, just when and why he'd cataloged that little bit of information, as he couldn't think of anyone else whose drink of choice he could think of off the top of his head, save for Stilton Cheesewright's love of potato vodka, and that was more because he'd found himself having to down sixteen shots of it in a little over three hours. It was enough to put him off of most clear liquors in general, in fear that he should come across potato vodka masquerading in a bottle of triple sec waiting to be mixed into something decidedly more tasty. He decided it didn't really matter, and removed his hand, pondering the look on Jeeves' face, as it was one that he'd certainly never seen before, and that gave him a curious feeling. A feeling not entirely unlike the one the chuckle had roused in him when he'd heard it not fifteen minutes previous. He got the door open, and Jeeves lurched inside, heading directly for the kitchen and a stout glass of water. Even as drunk as he was, there was a niggling reminder in the back of that great brain that a good glass stuff of life would do wonders when the hangover came the next morning.

Bertie lit a cigarette and collapsed onto the couch, his mind reminding him that he was supposed to be figuring out what was the reason for Jeeves' uncharacteristic intoxication. When Jeeves appeared in the doorway, managing to do his impression of his usual self again-there was still the faint sway to the upright, attentive stance, but other than that, to the casual observer, he was as much Jeeves as ever-he found himself putting to action a half-formed plan, hoping that the Wooster knack for improvisation would help him. "Do you need anything before I retire for the night, sir?" Bertie couldn't help the bit of a grin that crossed his face at the idea of Jeeves trying to do anything remotely Jeevesian in the state the man was in. He was sure if anyone could manage it, it would be Jeeves, but he wasn't about to test it.

"It's your night off, there's no reason for you to be attending the young master, Jeeves."

"Very good, sir."

"I say, Jeeves," Bertie asked, his mouth speaking rather more quickly than his brain could track. "How deep does that feudal spirit run? The last time I had a squiffy valet running around the place, he came after me with a knife and nearly burned me to a crisp. You, on the other hand, are still-well, you, even completely blotto. All 'sir' this and 'sir' that, and still offering to bung in a hand with whatever I need. I can't even manage to remember my own name when I'm six or seven deep-say, how much did you have? I've seen you pour one back before, and it never seemed to have any effect whatsoever."

Jeeves attempted to count just how many drinks he'd had. There was the pint of bitter when he'd shown up to the pub, another pint following the first round of darts, the insistence that he join in on the round of whiskey shots that had been bought for the entire bar, another pint following that, two gin gimlets, he was fairly sure he'd had one more pint, and that was where his memory started to go spotty. "Quite a bit, sir." Was his response, as he could not actually come up with a precise amount.

"You know, if it wasn't for this, I wouldn't have thought it possible for you to get tipsy. I'd have thought you'd be immune to it."

"It is very rare indeed, sir, that I lose track of myself like this."

"There must be something weighing quite heavily on that great brain of yours to not only have you looking rather tired and worn for the past three days, but to get you, the measure of perfection, to act in a way that shows you as mere mortal man." Bertie looked rather longingly at his own aqua vitae, and considered mixing himself up a glass of brandy. It wasn't often that he attempted to prise information out of his valet, and usually it was in an attempt to figure out one of his great machinations. It was rather nerve wracking stuff, particularly with Jeeves looking at him that.

"Sir-"

"You haven't gone and gotten yourself in the soup, have you? Because rest assured, if you have, Bertram will be here to help you however I can to fish you out of it. I may not be able to scheme a way out of it, but I'll provide any assistance I can." Jeeves found that his eyebrows were no longer his own, and one rose in what could only be described as a cocky, questioning manner, as though it was asking 'oh, really, Wooster?'

"No, sir, I have not."

"Well, that's a relief, what?" It was a bit of a relief for him, as he didn't know how he'd manage without Jeeves. If Jeeves ever found himself in the soup, and threat of death, or prison, or matrimony threatened to separate the happy domestic tranquility of Wooster GHQ, Bertie was sure he would waste away. There was simply no way he could exist without Jeeves, as without Jeeves, he was bound to find himself engaged to someone who was wholly unsuitable, and unable to find a way out of it, he'd find himself condemned to a life of misery. And he wouldn't have Jeeves' soothing presence there. He'd lose the finisher of his sentences, the corrector of his errors, the right hand to his left. He'd lose those firm, broad hands that tucked him into bed every night, and made sure he looked his best by fixing his collar and tie and wiping away any dust and dirt that appeared. He'd lose that rather nice bum that he now found himself staring at as Jeeves bent over to pick up his cigarette case, dropped in a fumble for a lighter.

Wait, where had that last bit come from? Now that he thought about it, like the former Old Etonian stirrings that had come up when Jeeves had been rather pressed up against him, he found himself rather admiring his manservant. Well, he claimed "admiring" but really, given Bertie's propensity for subtlety, it was really more akin to a leer. Jeeves, had he been in full possession of his mental faculties, would have recognized that niggling feeling in the back of his head as the feeling of being ogled, as he prided himself upon his ability to be aware of everything around him at all times. Rather, instead, managed to get his fingers around a cigarette and light it before any of the objects slipped his grasp again. That was one of the problems with consuming in excess-it gave one the odd desire to polish off as many cigarettes as possible. He spent a moment basking in the pleasure that was a good cig after a few too many stiff drinks, and realized, rather belatedly to his dismay, that Bertie had picked up speaking again. And, after that, he wondered when Bertie had ceased to be Mr. Wooster in his own mental monologue and had, instead, not only lost the formality of a surname, but had skipped right past the Christian name into the nickname. "-lost without you, you know. And I value you as more than just an employee, old thing, you're right up on Bertram's list of best mates, and no matter what it is that is weighing on you, rest assured that this Wooster is always here for you, and willing to do whatever it takes to see you in better spirits."

Somewhere along the way, Bertie had risen, and was now rather close to Jeeves indeed. Close enough, that the small, rational, portion of Jeeves' mind was telling him to run, not walk, in the opposite direction as quickly as possible. Close enough that the irrational portion was telling him to reach forward and claim what he wanted. While the two sides of the great Jeevesian brain waged war with one another, Bertie found that he was rather unsure of what to do. His brain had moved to parts further south-that was, he wasn't exactly thinking rationally, but rather found himself feeling not at all unlike he had when he was a youth, and found himself doing rather foolish things indeed in hopes of finding himself in a position to splay or be splayed over a bed. Age had tempered that desire, and as such, when it suddenly flared up again out of nowhere, it puzzled him, shocked him, and scared him. But, he decided, he was a Wooster, and the Woosters had fought at Agincourt, and as such, he wasn't about to back down from a challenge. "Whatever, sir?" The tone sent a little shiver down the Wooster spine, and, in a moment of pique, Bertie closed the gap between them, planting his lips firmly against Jeeves'.

If one was to track the thought process of one R. Jeeves at that very moment it would have looked something along the lines of "....!..." that is to say, there wasn't currently anything at all going on in a brain that was usually twelve steps ahead in forty different plans, considering each and every single possibility. If there was a glimmer of a thought it was some primitive part of his brain telling him to not think and instead simply enjoy the fact that the man he'd fallen for now had the two of them locked in an embrace. So he did what his brain was telling him, as it always knew best, and ceased thinking; turning them so that one B. W. Wooster was now pinned to the wall, being snogged senseless by one R. Jeeves. And said B. W. Wooster was doing anything but complaining. Well, all right, it wasn't exactly how he would have planned it, as there would have been considerably less of the taste of gin and cigarettes on Jeeves' tongue if he'd planned it, but really, there was certainly nothing to complain about. All in all, it was dashed pleasant, especially when Jeeves added a wriggle of the hips that convinced Bertie that from now on, if his brain decided to migrate south, he'd listen to it, as it certainly had better ideas when it was in his groin area than when it was in the Wooster noggin.

And right now it was saying that while it felt dashed good to be pinned against the wall, things would be rather improved if they were moved to someplace slightly more horizontal. As such, he showed a fairish show of dominance by giving Jeeves a gentle push in the direction of the master bedroom, steering the other man by the lapels through the maze that had, at one point, been their flat, but was right now much more representative of a labrynth than a lair. He'd managed to get Jeeves' jacket off, and undid the buttons of a dashing tweed waistcoat, while Jeeves had managed to get with the program somewhat and stripped the young master down to his vest rather quick. Bertie got the first few buttons of Jeeves' shirt undone, suddenly understanding exactly what the Victorians were getting at. There was something utterly erotic about that little glimpse of skin at the base of Jeeves' throat. Bertie edged backwards, until his knees hit the bed, and collapsed, hands still very much tangled up in his valet, pulling all thirteen stone of Jeeves down with him.

His pleasure was very short lived, however, as it seemed that as soon as Jeeves' body hit the horizontal, he was out like a light. Leaving the last of the Woosters rather pinned beneath thirteen stone of now-snoring Jeeves.

The last of the Woosters gave a little sigh of regret, and attempted to rearrange them so that he could at least breathe, managing to wriggle free just enough to allow his lungs to expand fully. He looked fondly over at Jeeves, with his now-mussed black hair falling into his eyes, shirt all wrinkled and partially unbuttoned, and braces dangling somewhere around the area of his knees, gave the man a kiss on the forehead (as he couldn't quite reach anywhere else) shifted a little bit more until he was comfortable, and decided to catch the old 40 w's himself. Over the course of the night, he discovered that Jeeves was somewhat akin to a human octopus while asleep, as he'd awoken at some ungodly hour to find one of the Wooster pins decidedly numb, and every attempt to extricate himself an exercise in failure. Every time he attempted to remove an arm, a leg would swing across to cover him, and every time he'd attempt to remove a leg, he'd find himself pulled rather tightly to the Jeevesian breast, as though he were a favourite teddy bear. The man was soused to the gills, which Bertie supposed was a perfectly valid reason to behave in such a way, but if this whole thing managed to last into the cold light of day, he was beginning to think that a bigger bed might be required. Nonetheless, he thought it was was rather spiffing, being wrapped around Jeeves' strong form. He felt safe and warm and protected, especially when Jeeves nuzzled against his neck. Really, aside from his bed being a titch too small to hold them both comfortably, Bertie could get used to sleeping like this every night. And with that thought in mind, Bertie settled in to catch the rest of his beauty sleep, resolving to not wake up until the sun had risen, and, perhaps, not until it began to descend again.

[weascleys]

Baby Steps: Chapter 12

Chapter Title: A Line Crossed Pairing: George Weasley/Donella Stirling (Original Character) Warning(s): none Words: 2414

Chapter Summary: Slytherin ruins the first Gryffindor Quidditch practice and Ella rains her own brand of hell over Fred and George.

Notes: I got a little carried away with Ella's rage, oopsies. :) enjoy the chapter!!

Ella was walking through the village of Hogsmeade, hand in hand with a Ravenclaw boy named Bobby Silenger, and she was smiling dreamily. Snow was falling gently around them and it stuck to her ginger hair and made her cheeks rosy. She had ditched her old pair of glasses that were small and rectangular and had exchanged them for a pair that was much more round and had larger lenses, they really complimented her features quite well. Her makeup was done subtly yet skillfully and Ella couldn't recall a time when she had ever felt better about herself.

“You look amazing today, Ella,” Bobby told her as they walked along a secluded path back up to the train station to go back to Hogwarts.

Ella blushed but she doubted there was a visible difference because her cheeks were already so frostbitten. “Thank you, Bobby. I was hoping I would look nice for our date.”

“Well, you succeeded with flying colors.” Bobby had stopped them walking and was now holding both of Ella’s hands in his. “I mean it, Ella, you really took my breath away when I saw you.” He brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear and for some reason, Ella had to fight the urge to recoil. “I really like you, Ella…” Bobby trailed off, his eyes lingering on her lips and butterflies erupted in Ella’s stomach. She didn't answer him, but rather just let him press his lips against hers. She was indefinitely disappointed when she felt nothing when he kissed her, she had been hoping for at least a little spark, but there was nothing.

They stayed like that for a few seconds with their lips pressed awkwardly together, neither of them moving a muscle. But then Bobby decided that he had had enough and grabbed Ella by the waist, pulling her to him. Not roughly, but strong enough to press their bodies together.

Suddenly, Ella heard an all too familiar voice holler from behind her and Bobby, “GET OFF OF HER!” When she separated from Bobby, her hands resting on his shoulders, she saw a furious George Weasley, who was striding towards them with reckless abandon. Fred seemed to be nowhere in sight, which was quite unusual seeing as how the twins were practically glued together. When George approached them he seized Silenger by the back of his coat and threw him down into the snow, hexing him for good measure.

“George!” Ella shrieked, mortified, and stooped down next to Bobby to make sure that wasn't too badly injured. He seemed to be okay except for the fact that he could not move and his lips seemed to be stuck together. She glared up at George, equally angry now that he had interrupted her date. Which had been going so well until now! “What on earth is wrong with you, George Weasley?! Have you gone mad!?”

“Yes!” George cried and hauled Ella up and away from Bobby by her upper arms. “Mad for you!” And with that, George slammed his lips onto Ella’s and she immediately felt the spark that had been missing with Bobby. Fireworks exploded in her mind and her heart was racing faster than it ever had in her life. All thoughts of Bobby Silenger and their date were thrown out the window as she flung her arms around George’s neck and his arms slid around her waist. The height difference between them caused Ella to stand on the very tips of her toes to stay connected to him.

“Ella, I'm mad for you,” George panted when finally tore his lips away from hers. “Always have been, I couldn't keep it from you any longer, I'm sorry.” He kissed her again and Ella had absolutely no complaints. “Be mine, Ella,” he said to her. “Please, I need you to wake up.”

Ella retracted from George with a confused expression on her face. “What?”

“Wake up, Ella!” George shouted and shook her body. “You have to wake up.”

Ella’s eyes shot open and what she saw was not George Weasley or a snow covered Hogsmeade, but Katie Bell, rattling the frame of Ella’s bed and yelling at her. “What in the hell?” Ella grumbled sleepily and looked through her window, noticing how the sun had barely even started to rise. “Katie, shut up, it’s way too early.”

“No, we’ve got to go, like now!” Katie said, frantically pulling on her clothes. “Oliver’s called for Quidditch practice and we have fifteen minutes to get down to the pitch!”

“Shit!” Ella hissed and threw her covers off of her, pulling on clothes and yanking a brush through her unruly red curls. In record time her and Katie were running out of the common room and down to the Quidditch pitch. If they were late Oliver would have their heads!

By the time they were approaching the pitch, so were Fred and George, and Ella blushed madly as memories of her dream flooded her mind. She’d definitely have to tell Juni, Katie, and Cho about this later. “Hey, guys,” Katie said sleepily, stifling a yawn.

“Hi,” both Fred and George said, equally as tired. Ella was being uncharacteristically quiet, especially around the twins, and they picked up on it.

“You alright there, Ellie?” George asked and nudged her with his elbow.

Ella blushed and goosebumps spread down her back when he touched her and she kicked herself mentally. What the hell is wrong with you? She thought to herself angrily. This is George we’re talking about. You’re only being weird because you had a funny dream about it, that’s it! You could have had that dream about anyone! It meant nothing.   “Yeah, I’m fine,” Ella said, her voice sounding timider than she would have liked.

“Rough morning?” Fred asked, feigning sympathy as he raked his eyes over her disheveled appearance.

“Oh, shut it,” Ella snarled and pushed past them to the changing room, Katie following close behind her.

“What was that about?” Katie asked quietly while she and Ella were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes.

“What was what?” Ella responded, acting as though she hadn’t the faintest idea of what Katie was talking about.

“Ella, please, I’ve known you for three years now. I can tell when you’re acting funny and you were definitely acting funny around Fred and George. What, did they make another sexist comment that you didn’t agree with?”

Ella glared slightly at Katie, no one really took Ella’s feminist tendencies seriously, not even other girls. “No, they didn’t,” Ella said irritably. Where was Oliver to start practice when you needed him? “And don’t make jokes like that, sexism isn’t funny!” She added hastily.

“So are you going to tell me about what has you upset then or not?” Katie asked, determined to get to the root of the problem.

Ella glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear, not that it really mattered anyways, everyone basically seemed like a corpse this morning. “Fine,” Ella said, her voice barely above a whisper, “but you have to promise you won’t tell anyone.” She offered Katie her pinky finger in order for Katie to promise.

“Yeah, yeah,” Katie said and rolled her eyes, linking her finger with Ella’s. “Who would I even tell? You’re the person I go to when I have things to tell.”

Ella glanced around again and then pulled Katie towards her in order for to whisper in her ear, “I had a dream about George last night.”

“You WHAT?” Katie said loudly, covering her mouth and giggling. Ella shushed her hurriedly and shot daggers at her with her eyes.

Before Ella could scold Katie any further Oliver walked in the room, ready as ever to start shoving new Quidditch tactics down their throats. Ella tried to pay attention while Oliver droned on about broom maneuvers, she really did, but her brain was too foggy with sleep and thoughts of George Weasley (which infuriated her just as much as it confused her). And before she knew it, they were leaving the changing room to begin their drills.

“Uh oh,” Ella said to Katie as she saw the Slytherin Quidditch team approaching them with gusto. “This can’t be good.” She watched, trying to keep her temper under control, as Wood and Flint argued for who would be able to use the pitch this morning. But of course, Snape, that biased slimeball, had written a note for the Slytherin team to use the pitch this morning to “train their new Seeker.” Ella’s stomach turned unpleasantly when Slytherin’s new Seeker was revealed to be Draco Malfoy, a boy who had mercilessly bullied Juni ever since he got to Hogwarts.

Ella felt the heat rising in her throat when Malfoy began insulting Fred and George and she was almost ready to snap when Ron and Hermione ran onto the field. But then Malfoy called Hermione a Mudblood and all hell broke loose. Oliver held back Fred and Ella wrapped her arms around George’s torso to keep him from lunging at Malfoy. He seemed incredibly angry but Ella’s touch seemed to comfort him a bit.

“You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!” Ron said and went to jinx him. But with his broken wand, the spell rebounded and hit Ron instead. He started barfing up slugs and Ella had to consciously stop herself from vomiting, that was disgusting. Harry and Hermione hauled Ron up and began to drag him away, Ella thought she heard them mention bringing him to Hagrid’s.

“Come on, team, let’s go,” Oliver said coldly, turning away from the Slytherins who were now doubled over in laughter. Everyone was furious and were storming towards the changing room, but Fred and George more than the others. Due to the how tall the twins were and how small Ella was, she had to run to catch up with them. All concerns about her newfound “feelings” towards George and the dream she had about him were forgotten and her only mission right now was to comfort her friends.

“Fred! George! Wait up, please!” Ella begged them. She followed them into the changing room and stood idly by and they started to rip their Quidditch robes off of their bodies. They seemed very anxious to get out of here. “Don’t listen to Malfoy, he’s a stupid, slimy, little prat!”

“Easy for you to say,” George growled. “You don’t have to deal with having the mickey taken out of you because your father can’t afford the newest broom model.”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed snappily. “You don’t get what it’s like. You have such a perfect little life with your cute baby brother and Jackson, the school hunk, and your beautiful laid back mother. Your perfect little birthday with your fancy dinner and your new black dress. What do we have? Ron is throwing up slugs, Percy is the biggest git to ever grace the school, and our mother cries every time someone so much as drops a fork. You just wouldn’t get it.”

Rage built up in Ella faster than she could keep up with. She loved Fred and George but they could be really insensitive sometimes. Especially when they didn’t know what they were talking about. She really didn’t feel like divulging her family history to them but she just couldn’t help but blow up on them.

“I don't know what it’s like? Do you have any idea what my family has been through?” Before they could respond, she answered for them. “No, you don’t! You don’t know about how my father started drinking when I was six! You don’t know about the abuse he put us through! You don’t know that he left when I was seven and how crushed my mother was because she still loved him even though he is one of the most miserable cretins I have ever encountered! You don’t know about how Jackson has been working at Honeydukes over the summer for the past four years and on every Hogsmeade trip to make extra money! Do you know why? Because we’ve been struggling with money ever since my stupid father left. He left us nothing! He left my ma with a single income and two children to take care of! And to make it even better, her boyfriend, who, by the way, Jackson and I thought would make things better, knocked up my mother a ran! He left us! Just like my father! ”

Ella had started to cry, not because was sad, but because she was angry. The looks on Fred’s and George’s faces had changed drastically from dull and angry to completely shocked in the matter of a few seconds. “Ella, we —” George started.

“No!” Ella yelled. “No, you don’t get to apologize. You two walk all over me and put me down all the time and a-and — and I let you! Just because I’m not a Weasley doesn’t mean that I don’t know how it feels to struggle!” Ella had started to blubber, they had really struck a nerve. And a sensitive nerve at that. “You aren’t special! You — you’re just — JERKS!” She finished lamely and ran from the changing room, crying, not even changing out of her Quidditch robes.

The rest of the team had stood in the entryway of the changing room, watching Ella scream at the twins, and they now watched her run away. Angelina had her mouth covered by her dark hands in shock and Katie looked as though she was ready to rip Fred and George limb from limb. Oliver looked almost as awkward as Fred and George felt, and no one said anything. They all just began to change out of their Quidditch robes wordlessly, Katie moving the quickest.

“You two are the some of the biggest prats I have ever met,” Katie seethed at Fred and George as she pulled on her jacket and trainers. “You better make it up to her,” She said and jabbed a finger into each other their chests. Then she retreated from the changing room to go and find Ella.

Oliver groaned from one of the benches, “I don’t know how we’re going to get through this season. Slytherin just ruined our first practice and now this. Merlin, help me,” he added miserably. Oliver kept moaning and complaining while Fred and George sat quietly, immensely regretting how harsh they had been on Ella. How were they going to dig themselves out of this one?