#her nametag is always on my desk

[nyatawia]

I would really like to have a pet again

[biteyoubiteme]

am/pm

fem!reader x bangchan 

synopsis: you start your new job at a book cafe and start falling for your coworker. 

warnings: 🔞!!! friends to lovers ?, praise, nipple play, oral (f!rec) multiple orgasms (f!rec), protected and unprotected sex (be safe pls they tried), creampie, use of the name baby, she/her, brat!reader kinda, whiny chan, choking (m!rec), spitting, cum eating, alcohol use, slight overstim (f!rec), prob forgot some sorry

wc: 7.4k big oops lol kinda lost the plot

 an: breaking the norm from my regularly scheduled yeonkai post lol feedback is appreciated :)) not proof read sorry! [m.list]

you were nervous for your first day of work, worrying teeth leaving your lips red and sore. when you applied you thought it would be easy money, slow shifts where you could study at the register, the coffee shop attached giving you one free drink a shift. it was perfect but your anxiety was eating at you the entire walk to the bookstore. even the location was perfect, three minutes on your bike, a few more to walk. you didn’t even need to pick up new clothes, your usual attire fully excitable as long as you had your nametag visible. 

the store won't open for another hour but you need to come in early to go over the basics. Your boss told you that although he wasn't going to be there his best employee would show you the ropes. When you get to the building the door is locked and you have to knock on the glass to try and get someone's attention but you can't see anyone from where you are. When someone does notice you you're pacing the sidewalk picking at your nail polish. “so sorry about that i forgot you were coming in early today,” the accented voice mutters, the ding of the bell making you turn around. 

“It's okay,” you nod after a second. The man before you smiles, dimples and teeth on display, devastating enough to take someone out with a single glance. He holds the door open with his palm spread wide, still standing in the doorway so that when you pass you have to brush against his chest with your shoulder. 

“I'm Chan, I work at the cafe most days now but I was told you would be working the store register and stocking?” 

“Yes that's right,” you nod, taking in the small store, the dark hardwood floors creaking underfoot as you move further in. You had loved the store since your freshman year of college. The cafe at night was one of the only places that sold caffeine until late, the warm ambient lighting making it cozy. Even now with the morning light pouring in through the floor to ceiling glass windows, it was comforting, the smell of the freshly brewing pots of coffee waking you up. 

“Great, I worked that job for a while so I should be the best help with setting you up,” Chan pulls the door closed behind you, locking back up. He moves around you waving to follow after him to the back room. To get there we have to weave through the stands of books laid out on tables and stacked on shelves and you feel in over your head looking at all the inventory. “for the most part it's mostly register work. When we get a new release it goes out on the front tables and then the old ones get pushed back to the shelves. nothing too major. I'm sure once you get a hang of it you will be very bored,” 

“It's okay I brought homework,” you say, lifting your tote at your side. 

“ahh, good idea. and if you get bored of homework you could come mess with me at the cafe, I'm always trying to come up with new drinks although I've been told by the other baristas that I'm not very good at that,” he chuckles deep in his throat before turning a corner and pushing open another door. “break room and the cubbies for your stuff. I haven't had anything stolen but if you're worried the front has enough space under the counter for your bag or even if you want to have easy access to your books that's fine too,” he gestures at a desk in the corner, “you clock in and out there, I'm sure you were told how to set up your checks to be deposited?” 

“Yes,” you nod trying to pay attention to all the information. 

“Okay great so let's get your name tag I think it's…oh here! there you go,” he passes you the little magnetic tag for you to put on. you glance at his name tag, the koala sticker faded but still cute. “Then let's see the register and go over that before we open the store, it's a Monday so we are usually really slow so during your shift we can walk around and go over the sections but the computer will tell you where to find most any book here. there is also a map taped to the counter to help customers so you can see that to help you,” 

“got it, thank you,” you follow Chan out and the rest of the hour goes by with him cracking jokes and pointing out what shelves hold what books. When it was time for the doors to be unlocked it was anticlimactic because you only went back to having no one in the shop but the two of you. chan sitting on the stool behind his register for the cafe and you sitting on yours directly across the room. Chan had a book propped up to pass the time and you got started on your homework. your nerves are now officially gone with how calm it was going. 

Even when customers did come in, you breezed through it, Chan's watchful eye not prying but comforting enough to know he would swoop in and help if it was ever necessary. 

When another slow lull came and there were no customers Chan called across the short distance to ask you your coffee order, “I may be bad at coming up with new drinks but that doesn't mean I don't make mean drinks to begin with,” that dimpled smile hitting you right in the stomach. 

“surprise me I'm okay with anything when it's free,” 

“best perk about the job,” he agrees, turning to make you your drink. When he is done he brings it over to the register a small grin on his face as he passes the warm drink over. “go on try it,”

you take a sip humming your approval, “Oh wow that's really good,”  there was no lid on the paper cup to show off his latte art, the heart feathering out to where your lipstick stain hugs the rim. you wipe at the corner of your mouth catching the stray foam on your thumb and licking it off. 

chan is stuck watching your every move, all day he's been finding it hard to concentrate on anything he's doing. he was trying to play it cool even after your introduction, but he was caught the moment you turned around when he opened the door, your perfume making him want to lean in when you brushed past him. It didn't help that he was right across from you all day, the perfect seat for him to make sure you weren't struggling although that was an excuse because he knew how easy the job was he just wanted to watch you. 

Now you're basically moaning over something he made and he feels bad for having any thoughts about you. then you swipe at your lip, thumb in your mouth, how is he supposed to think about anything else? 

“cinnamon and apple?” you ask your gaze so attentive. 

“warm and cozy,” Chan smiles watching as you take another sip that hum caught right in the back of your throat and he wishes he could swallow the sound himself. but the jingling of the bell by the door jolts him back to reality. “let me get back,” 

“Thank you!” you call after him while the customers make their way through the shelves. Chan waves your words away,“Anytime,” 

later when both of your replacements come in for their shift Chan helps show you how to clock out and where you can find your schedule. “looks like we have morning shifts together,” he comments, “I'll have to give you my number so when you get to the door I can let you in,” it's an excuse really he could leave the door unlocked after he gets in, no one ever tries to come in that early anyways most of their customers come to study after class. 

“sure that works perfectly,” you smile unlocking your phone and passing it over, he does the same and you type your number in for him. 

“best barista?” you laugh when you see the name he plugged in. 

“Seungmin might not like that but who cares,” he chuckles, “best AM barista might be better,” 

you both walk out together and you notice you're headed in the same direction, “do you live over on Sixth?” 

“yeah, do you?” 

“the first apartment building on the corner,” 

“Me too!” The two of you were a few steps away from each other and Chan took the opportunity to catch up. “official walking buddies now? can't change fate,” 

“yeah okay,” you laugh, falling into step next to him. 

“The boss said you were in school, the campus right up the road?” 

“yeah, I have a lab at five actually,” 

“The shop is the perfect job for you then, my classes are also kinda late in the day so I get it,” he ruffled his hair and pushed back the strands from his forehead only to have them fall right back into place. The two of you make comfortable conversation until you make it to the lobby of your apartment building, Chan holding the door open for you before you press the elevator button. 

when you two make it into the elevator you ask him, “What floor?” as you press your own button. 

The space is small and he leans over to see the button panel, body heat, and his colleague filling the space. and you didn't mind it at all, he smelled like a mix of baked goods and sandalwood. “looks like we live on the same floor,” he chuckles, pulling back to stand straight. both of you are silent eyes trained ahead as you mutter, “Small world I guess,” 

“Very,” he nods, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip. When the elevator dings and opens you wave goodbye as you both move down the opposite halls. He was about three doors down and when he got his key in he looked up with a smile waving before walking in. When you close the door to your apartment you lean against the door letting out the longestsigh you could muster. of course, your hot coworker shares your schedule and lives right down the hall. of fucking course. 

-

The following morning you're tugging on your coat, pulling the door closed and your tote bag keeps sliding down your shoulder. You're muttering profanities quite enough as you try to get the key into the lock when you don't hear Chan approach. you flinch so hard you think your heart stopped. “You scared me!” and Chan's giggling reached out for your tote bag pulling it from the crook of your arm where it kept falling. 

“I'm sorry I thought you heard me say good morning,” he slings your bag over your shoulder as you finally lock the door.“I was running a bit late so I thought why not just wait anyways since we are headed to the same place?” he's a little shy as he says it following you to the elevator, “although I know that defeats the purpose of giving you my number but you know thought that counts and everything right?” he's rambling his grip on the tote bag strap turning white-knuckled, his free hands at the back of his neck messing with his hair. 

“That works perfectly with me and I can carry my own bag,” the elevator dings as you say it and Chan shakes his head stepping in before you holding his hand out so the doors stay open. 

“I don't know how you carry this thing around its like a bag of rocks it's so heavy,” 

“textbooks,” you correct, leaning over him to press the lobby button. “although you're right I should get a better bag to carry them around but that one is so cute,” you run your fingers over the design that made you buy the tote in the first place, “everything is worth the struggle as long as its cute,” 

“agreed,” Chan nods, watching your fingers run up and down the fabric, your nails painted the prettiest shade of blue and he has to swallow to push away his thoughts of you wrapping your hand around him. but the image won't fade so he shakes his head trying to think of all the things he needs to do to set up for the day. 

He holds the door open for you the same way he had your first day, letting you brush past him only this time he's following you to clock in watching your hips sway in your skirt all the way to the break room. and when the day starts to go by he tries not to look your way as you press your pen to your lips every once in a while jotting down notes in the margins on sticky notes. watching you smile up at customers and helping them. 

chan brings you a coffee halfway through your shift when it is slow, this time it is sweet with caramel, “oh wow definitely best AM barista material,” you nod licking the whipped cream from your top lip. he flushes a deep red chuckling, “its nothing,” but he was starting to realize he would learn any drink combo to hear that hum over and over again. 

and when you're walking home together you laugh at his dad jokes making his heart flutter, he already can't wait until tomorrow to see you. 

-

You've been working at the store for about a month, and your routine is always the same. Chan waits by the elevator for you to walk, he makes you a new drink halfway through your shift, walks you back and you do it all over the next day. you realize it's the best part of your day and when you have the day off you're stuck wondering what Chan's doing, if he's wondering the same thing about you. it's late on one of your off days when he texts you, do you smell that or is that just my side of the hallway? and you know exactly what he's talking about. 

someone was cooking dinner in their apartment and the savory smell was wafting through from under the door making you hungry. 

definitely smelling something good if that's what you're asking

I think it's the people in front of me. Would it be wrong to show up with a bowl and ask for some?

not if you ask really really nicely I'm sure they will cough some up 

no, I'm too shy if they reject me I won't be able to ever leave my place again 

I'll bring my own bowl they can't turn away both of us if we beg 

seriously tho are you hungry because I'm starving and Seungmin texted me the cafe specials menu 

You're sure Chan would be able to hear you squeal all the way in his apartment. It wasn't a full-on offer out but it was close enough and your fragile little heart was consumed with its crush on Chan. he had you kicking your feet like a school girl and you couldn't help but smile. 

The best PM barista does make a mean sandwich 

be ready in 5? 

if he didn't hear you before the whole floor definitely did now. you jumped up from your couch to get ready. Maybe it was nothing, just two friends, coworkers, even going out, to your place of work, for a casual dinner. only you could tell yourself that all you wanted but it didn't stop your excitement. sure you saw Chan nearly every day but not usually when you weren't already scheduled to see each other. only once when you were both crossing paths in the lobby and that didn't count because you were late to class and rushing and he was with a friend, but that didn't stop the butterflies you felt when he gave you a wave and smile as you passed. 

You were ready in five minutes pulling your door closed to find Chan leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, a dark jean jacket over a hoodie, his jeans fitting him just right. “ready?” he asked, pulling himself up to his full height. 

“yup,” it's a squeak as you say it, your cheeks colored in embarrassment. He was wearing a beanie with his ears peeking out from under the fabric. When you stepped outside you realized how cool it was outside, your thin sweater doing you no good. 

Chan holds the door open for you to lead the way, your arms crossed before you feel the heavy weight of his jean jacket slung on your shoulders. “You look a little cold there,” he smiles and you push your arms through the warm sleeves. it smells like him without the coffee scent usually following him after a shift. 

“thank you,” your fists wrapping around the oversized sleeves. 

When you make it to the cafe it's filled with light chatter, the golden glow from the lamps making the hardwood look shiny as you both stand in line for the cafe. your other coworkers behind the counters joking around as they make drinks and call out orders. You have gotten to know most of them when you have an occasional late shift but not as well as you got to know Chan. That was mainly because you two didn't have many customers in the morning time and you could talk even across the store without worrying about someone listening or scolding us. The night shifts were busy and most of the time a little loud. 

When you make it to the counter seungmin's warm smile greets you, “I know you,” he points but you can't miss the way his gaze falls to the jacket you're wearing and back to Chan his eyebrows raising but he doesn't ask. 

“We are here because I heard Chan's trying to come for your title of best barista,” 

“he can't make a coffee to save his life,” 

“Hey! I make excellent coffee,” 

“Because I taught you,” the smug smile on Seungmin's face made his cheeks round. “what can I get you two?” 

You both order reaching for your bag when you feel Chan's hand in the pocket of the jacket you are wearing. He is standing behind you, one hand on your arm and the other wrapped around to pull his wallet from where it's at your hip. “I got it,” he mumbles so close to your ear you almost shiver. “you can get it next time,” 

you give a slow nod trying to catch your breath before Seungmin asks, “Hey are you two coming out with us tomorrow night? they opened this new club downtown we wanted to go try,” 

“oh I don't know,” you shrug and Chan adds, “I'll go if you go,” he looks almost hopeful for you to say yes. 

“Well then sure why not? we can Uber there together,” 

“perfect i'll let the guys know,” Seungmin hands over the receipt with your order number, “should be out in a few,” 

“Thank you,” you and Chan say together, moving to the other side of the counter to wait for your things. When they come out Chan takes the tray and when you think he's going to turn to one of the empty tables he keeps going over to the bookstore side. you follow after him as he weaves his way to the break room. 

“kinda loud out there,” he says, setting the tray down on the little table they have set up. 

“Definitely different from how we usually see the store in the morning,” you agree, pulling out a chair to sit. The break room wasn't like most other breakrooms you had been to in other jobs. this one was set up like a cozy office, the building was old and well-kept enough to make every space look cozy. the lamp in the corner of the room giving the warm glow the others made in the cafe. you take a sip of your fruity drink not picking out a coffee this late when you didn't need the aid for an all-night study session. “now this is really good,” you say nodding down at your straw. 

“new menu item I haven't tried yet,” Chan sips his drink, an iced tea. “this one's good too, try it,” he slides his glass across the table toward you. 

Chan watches you take your sip from his drink, the hum he loves showing itself for the second time tonight. “good?” 

“Amazing, here try mine,” and so he does, nodding in approval. 

the two of you chat not even noticing how late it's getting by the time you're done and taking the tray back out to the cafe. most of the building is cleared of people, seungmin wiping down the counters when you leave. It's noticeably colder outside and you wrap your arms around yourself happy to have chan’s jacket for warmth or you would have had a cold the next morning for sure. Neither of you asked if this was in fact a real date or something between friends. you don't even notice that you have taken his jacket back to your apartment until you're changing for bed and realize you never took it off. 

-

The next morning when you leave for work you pass it back to Chan who smiles as he takes it back. “Thank you for that last night,” you say waving your hand as if you could cut through your embarrassment. Why was it that crushes made you feel like everything you did was so awkward? you were returning a jacket for crying out loud. It was totally normal, especially between friends but you couldn't help but blush. 

for the rest of the day, you two fall into your routine. Towards the end of your shift, a customer knocks over a display of books and you assure them you will pick them up once you're done checking them out, and it's no problem at all. Once they leave you bend to get the books picked up and Chan can't look away. you're wearing a skirt, the simple black panties you're wearing flashing him every once in a while as you reach over. He doesn't even notice he's overfilled the coffee cup in front of him until the coffee splashes down to his shoes. “oh fuck,” he mutters catching your attention as you restack the books. hes red from his cheeks to his ears as he wipes up the mess. but as he pushes the black rag around he can only think about you bending over, the fabric of your underwear hugging your skin dimpling the flesh of your ass. now he's over-wiping the counter thinking about it, so lost in thought he doesn't notice you come up to stand right at the till. “guess we both are having messy days,” your voice pulling him from his thoughts and he stammers over his words, “y-yeah messy,” 

but the word only fuels him, if anything was to be messy it needed to be you, he wanted too badly to make a mess of you. 

“I just saw the next shift workers walk in. Are you ready to head out?” 

“yes yes let me just put a lid on this, do you want anything to go?” 

“No, I'm good I don't need all that caffeine before heading out for drinks tonight,” Chan had forgotten about that but now he was thinking about what you were going to wear, about what it would be like going anywhere else besides work and the apartment building with you. 

When it's time to leave for drinks that night you text Chan you're ready and you book the Uber to come pick you two up.when you lock the door to your place and turn around to find Chan there you could have fallen to your knees at how downright edible he looked. those slouchy jeans showing a thin strip of the elastic to his underwear, the black tank hugging him in all the best places under his leather jacket. you wanted to hook your finger in the loop of his jeans and tug him to you and never let him go, link him to you like he was a keychain you couldn't remove easily. and his eyes were tracing up your bare legs, over the short ruffled shorts you wore, your own tank hugging you giving you the best cleavage. Chan's blush was so contradictory to his outfit and it made him so much cuter, eyes jumping to yours to not make it obvious that he was checking you out just as much as you were checking him out. “cars out front,” you say brushing past him. 

at the club, Chan could not stop watching you. 

you were sitting in the booth next to him and seungmin, lips around the straw of the drink in your hands, paying all your attention to Felix talking about a customer who gave him a hard time. 

“he just kept asking for a blue book over and over and I could not tell you how many blue books I pulled off the shelves for him,” your giggle was more intoxicating than anything in that room. 

“Did you find it?” 

“no! he walked out on me and to this day I question if he was just fucking with me or not,” 

The rest of the group was finally showing up and the booth was only so big. Chan rested his arm behind your head scooting until his leg was flush against yours so that the rest of them could fit comfortably. He hated how jealous he was feeling as you paid everyone more attention than he was getting. and when Hyunjin asked you to dance he could have ground his teeth to dust. “sure!” your drink is empty in front of you. 

you were in the middle of the booth and Hyunjin was on the end so he stood making room for the others to move but they didn't hear the request over the sound of the music. “Just jump over,” seungmin laughed but you followed his suggestion like it was the best idea, mostly because you were a little tipsy and needed to be out of the booth after being squashed in it for over an hour. you brought your knees up to your chest before putting your hands on Chan's shoulder to push yourself up to stand on the seat. As if you were a beacon all of them turned to watch you if they weren't listening before they would be now. Chan's hand reached out to your thigh to steady you, the warmth of his palm sinking right to your stomach. there were only two people besides you to jump over and both of them leaned back as Hyunjin reached his hands out to help you. you laughed as you jumped over, hyunjin's hands on your waist helping you most of the way but the second Chan's hand was gone you wanted it back. 

Hyunjin pulled you to the dance floor keeping you within the eye line of the table. the bodies of everyone pushing you and Hyunjin together until you were completely pressed with your back to his front. “Want to make Chan jealous?” his mouth pressed into your ear so that you could hear him over the music. 

“What?” hyunjin's hand slid over your waist right where your tank top met the top of your shorts. 

“We have a bet going that he won't last two songs until he's dragging you away from me,” Hyunjin guides your hips to grind against him and your eyes flicker to find Chan's gaze burning into you two. if looks could kill Hyunjin would be six feet deep. 

“he won't fall for it,” you shake your head but not for wanting to see if it actually would work. 

“want in? or do you not like him like that? because he sure as hell likes you like that I mean look at him,” and you do, the rim of his glass pressed to his bottom lip, eyes devouring you as Hyunjin's hand slips your tank up revealing a thin strip of skin. he's still with his arm slung over your empty seat, the rise and fall of his chest showing off his pecks. you raise one arm reaching behind you to tug on Hyunjin's hair and Chan follows the movement, jaw tight as he sets his glass down.  

“how much if he doesn't last one song?” 

“a lot more than if he doesn't last two,” Hyunjin chuckles and maybe it is the drinks talking but you nod, “Add me in, I'll Take that bet,” your free hand covers one of Hyunjin dragging it up your ribs as you let him guide your hips against his. 

it doesn't take long for Chan to leave the booth at all. 

Chan does not know what comes over him as he watches you with Hyunjin only that he needs to be the one touching you if anyone at all is to be doing any touching at all. Hyunjin lets you go with no question, slapping Chan on the back before making his way back to the booth. you honestly can't believe it worked as well as it did, the way that Chan didn't even last half a song let alone two. “I didn't know you felt that way about me,” your smile teases as Chan grabs your waist and pulls you into his chest as if he can erase the feeling of hyunjin on your skin. 

“Seriously? The heavy staring hasn't been enough because I thought my cover was blown the first day,” his smile is lazy, the drinks hitting him in just the right way. 

“first day? not just because your friends set you up?” 

“nope,” his hands slide down the curve of your ass until they are cupping you, tugging your body even closer to him, he's hard in his jeans, the bulge digging into your stomach. “they definitely didn't need to try hard at all, not when I want you this bad already,” 

your hands slide up his chest and round to the back of his neck, “Maybe I'm a little oblivious and I need you to tell me in great detail that you like me or I might not be privy to believing you at all,” the way that you're looking at each other is consuming, so much so that you don't realize him dipping closer until his nose is brushing against yours. eyes fluttering shut you tilt your head ready for his kiss when he stops right as they barely brush, “if you needed me to praise you all you needed to do was ask,” 

“Isn't that exactly what I was doing?” you nudge your nose against his trying to reach his lips as he pulls away grinning wide, dimples on display. 

“I guess you could say that,” one of his hands slid up your back to hold the base of your skull. 

“You're teasing me,” your pout made Chan want to kiss you even more. 

“I think they have another bet going that I can't last one song before dragging you out of here and I'm pretty sure once I get my mouth any closer to you they will be right and I'll lose out on $100,” Chan can feel you laugh against his chest, the rumble in your chest drawing him closer. 

“What makes you think I'm leaving with you?” You're taunting him now, fingers running through his hair as he squeezes your ass hard enough to make your pussy lips open. 

“We drove here together,” he states and you fuck with him a bit more, “but I heard Hyunjin has a car I can catch a ride in,” 

Chan can't stand the sound of anyone else's name coming out of your mouth when he's this hard when you're pressed so close to him. he finally kisses you, soft lips tasting like tangy alcohol. he wants to channel the last month into this kiss, every want and glance. he can hear his friends cheering from the table but he couldn't care less not when you're here. 

when you pull away you're breathless, “do you still win if I drag you out of here?” 

Chan can't form words before you pull him after you, your hand fisted into his top. his tongue pressed to his cheek, his grin so wide no one could miss it even if they tried. when you walk past the table you point at them, “You own me!”  

but they are all forgotten the second you're out in the cold air. you shiver, pulling out your phone to order an Uber and Chan slings his jacket over your shoulders just like the night before. The leather is warm and soft against your skin and he wraps his arms around your hands sliding past the jacket and wrapping around you. his bare arms rippling and you could bite him with how good he looks flexing right now. you don't even care that he could be getting cold when this is the view. 

Chan is all over you once you climb into the Uber, “safety first,” he mutters into your mouth before he pulls your seatbelt around you to buckle. You could laugh at how cautious he is but the seatbelt doesn't stop him from trying to pull you close enough to almost be in his lap, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck and to your chest. never in your life have you ever spoken in an Uber let alone almost strip in the backseat but if Chan had asked you would have. and when you're in the elevator you almost forget to press what floor you're trying to make it to, chan asks if you want to go to your place or his, and your response is you pulling his keys from his front pocket fingers brushing his straining cock making him whine in your ear. “Yours,” you say into your kiss, pressing the keys to his chest before he's dragging you to his door fumbling with the key ring. 

Chan pushes his jacket from your shoulders once the door is closed and locked behind him. your hands jolt out to grab both his biceps and he stops in his tracks, “do we need to slow down?” the pure concern on his face is enough to make your knees weak, “we can stop if it's too much,” you will kindly choke on him for being so worried. 

“no, I want you to fuck me I just really wanted to see sturdy the handles ill be holding will be when you're in me,” your nails dig into his arms and he gives a soft whine. 

“You're so fucking perfect,” it's a groan into your mouth as he wraps himself back around you walking you backward towards the bedroom. he slaps the lights on before you make contact with the bed. he breaks the kiss letting you sit, the comforter soft against your bare legs. chan gets to his knees in front of you tugging off your boots, kissing the inside of your knee, and sending a bolt right to your center. “How many times do you think I can make you cum?” He asks pulling off your socks before kissing up your thigh. He runs his hands up your calves before grabbing the back of your knees and spreading your legs. 

“I don't know you might have to try really hard to get me there once,” he scoffs before nipping your inner thigh with his teeth, your knees instantly try to close but he shakes his head. 

“Maybe we start our own bet, I get you to come at least three times and then you owe me another date,” 

“Another one? could you remind me of the first time?” 

“I haven't fucked you hard enough to forget simple things yet baby,” he stands tugging his tank top off by pulling the back of the collar. your mouth is dry at the sight of him leaning back on your hands to take him in. Those jeans are low on his hips as he toes out of his shoes, “take your top off,” he nods, popping the button of his jeans. 

you follow your orders, you're braless, nipples already hard and aching for attention. “You listen so well,” he tugs the zipper of his jeans down but doesn't pull his pants down. Instead, he leans over you, kissing you down your neck until he makes it to your tits, sucking one nipple between his teeth and rolling the other one between his fingers. you open your legs to him, your shorts are too tight all of a sudden, too hot. lacing your fingers in his hair you throw your head back as he gives your nipple a tug with his teeth before switching to the neglected side. you moan rolling your hips into his clothed bulge and he sinks deeper into the cradle of your hips. “the prettiest girl making the prettiest sounds,” you whimper at his words knowing you are completely soaked. 

chan pulls away letting you lay out on the mattress before he hooks his fingers in your shorts and panties tugging them down your legs. he moans at the sight of you laid out before him, he tugs one of your legs to the side to reveal more of you to him, glistening under the lights. never has he been so excited to devour someone and that's just what he does, not waiting before his mouth is on you. he groans against your clit the vibration making your knees weak, “you taste as good as you look,” he wraps his arms under and around your thighs to spread you wide before diving back in. 

your hands twist in his duvet, your orgasm building faster than it ever has before. your back arching off the bed before you start riding his face so close to the edge that you don't expect his fingers until they are pressed right against the gummy spot inside you and you’re seeing spots as you cum. Chan is licking you clean as you ride out your high before he stands fingers in his mouth watching your legs twitch. “That was one,” a cocky grin present as he moves around to the nightstand to pull out a condom. 

you sit up on your elbows watching him strip, thick veiny cock hitting his stomach. He climbs up on the bed resting against the pillows and headboard before rolling the condom on. “if your legs still work I'd love it if you gave me a ride,”

“and if they don't?” you ask watching him spit into his hand before grabbing himself and tugging loosely. 

“I'll sit here and finish by myself but wouldn't it be so much fun to watch me disappearing into you?” you can feel yourself flutter at the thought. pulling yourself up and crawling up the bed to chan he grabs your hips to help steady yourself as you straddle him. you sink your hips down letting your wetness coat the condom, Chan's head is thrown back as he whines, “Please don't tease me,” his thumbs digging in hard enough to bruise your waist like a belt. 

“Whiny baby,” you coo, pressing a kiss over his pulse, the rapid beating so similar to your own as you reach down between you two to guide him to your entrance. Chan is gasping when you sink onto him, slowly inching down and rising every few strokes before you're finally stretched enough to sink fully seated on him. his tight stomach fluttering under your hands as you use him as leverage to rise again. you can feel him so deep he's kissing your womb, right in your throat.“god you're so fucking warm, just fucking right,” he moans half-lidded eyes watching where your bodies meet, you'regoing too slow for him and he flicks his hips up to watch himself disappear in the sweetest cunt he's ever had. 

“you're so big,” you whimper reaching for one of his hands to press into your pelvis, the added pressure makes your head fall forward in a moan, “you feel so good,” 

“Choke me please,” he moans head on the pillows as he plants his heels to get more leverage to thrust into you, “please,” the whimper he lets out nearly sends you over the edge. you use one of your hands to wrap around his throat, the vein pulsing under the tips of your fingers. “harder baby I can take it,” you nod at his words increasing the pressure you have on him, his eyes fluttering shut as he snaps his hips up into you. He keeps his hand pressed to your pelvis and he can feel each thrust meet the heel of his palm. your knees planted firmly against the mattress he lets go of your hip to press his thumb into your clit. you cry out as he keeps up his brutal pace rubbing your clit in circles and driving you over the edge. you can't even move as he pulls out not wanting to cum at the feel of you squeezing him just yet. your hand still around his neck as you come down from your high, breathing labored. 

“That was two,” he smirks when you sit up, twitching when your clit brushed his thigh. “onto three,” he wraps his arms around you flipping you over so that you're now laying where he had been. he pushes your legs up so that your shins are against his chest. he can't help himself, he's not even in you and he's trying to rut against your legs, his whines and moans sounding almost pained. “please I need to feel you, all of you,” he begs, “I promise ill pull out I just want to feel you,” his breathy pleas pressed right into your ear, hair sticking to your sweaty cheeks. You're holding onto his shoulders nodding without thinking twice because you need to feel him so bad. He reaches down to roll the condom back off not caring anymore about anything but being in you as deep as possible. As close as possible.  

you cry out when he sinks back in, so much warmer and thicker than before, every ridge in his cock fitting perfectly with you. your hands slip down to his biceps nails digging back in as you hold on as Chan snaps his hips forward moaning deep enough that you feel the rumble in his stomach pressed against your legs. 

chan is fucking you so hard the headboard is hitting the wall, he's pounding in over and over that your toes are curling. Then he sinks his hips finding a new angle until he's hitting your gummy spot, your head falls back and he presses his open mouth to your neck moaning against your skin the feeling singing all the way to your teeth. “I needed to feel you, I needed to feel that you're mine,” his words are choppy as he keeps up his pace. “you feel so fucking right,” he pulls back enough to push your legs a bit wider and he's back to his pace, your back arching into him. You're full of electricity, every nerve humming as he rocks back and forth. you can feel him twitch inside you and Chan knows he wouldn't be able to pull out even if he tried. 

he fully seats himself in you as he cums, thick hot ropes of it filling you up. his moan is so loud in your ear and the feeling of his release triggers your third orgasm, your cry half scream as you follow right after him. 

Chan's never cum so much in his life, his hips moving lazily as you flutter around his cock taking everything he has to offer. when he pulls out a trail of your mixed fluids follows, so much so that it makes a puddle on the duvet under you. Chan runs his finger through the cream rubbing it up your clit and back down to your entrance before he leans over and licks you clean. “Chan!” your knees are shaking, tears threatening to spill as he pulls himself back up pressing his mouth to yours and letting some of the cum he's collected spill onto your tongue. he kisses away the saltiness before pulling back, to gaze down on you, “that was three, looks like you owe me one more date,”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dark Shelves 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes (archivist AU)

Summary: your new job is much of the same, with a hit of new misery.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You peer up at the romanesque pillars and the curved dome of the elaborate building. It’s a step up, a high one, and you’re proud of yourself for taking. After years in a basement, blowing dust off of rusted spoons that may as well be at the good-will, you’re finally exactly where you want to be.  

Not associate, not assistant, you are an archivist in your own right. You will not be pushed into the corner again. Though you aren’t too presumptive. You could get lost in any stacks. You like how your job affords you pockets of solitary, but you didn’t choose the career on that alone.  

You work to preserve and share the past. It sounds more noble in your head than out loud. It’s a good enough reason for you. 

You climb the stairs and pause before you pass through the double doors. Inside, the lobby is airy and polished to a shine. You try not to marvel too obviously. Too often you’ve been caught and ridiculed for the very act. Most people look at you and assume less than more of you. 

You walk up the front desk, a grand circular structure with shelves behind it. The man behind it has a metal nametag on his brown plaid shirt; Peter. You greet him stoically. You quit smiling to appease strange men a while ago. 

“Hi, I’m here to get my employee ID.” You take out your phone. “Then I’m supposed to meet someone named James.” 

“Right, I have your welcome packet,” he reaches under the desk. “It’s here.” 

“Great,” you accept the folder as he beams back at you. He’s young and fresh-faced. He must still be a student. “Thank you.” 

“Have you been her before?” He asks. 

“A couple times,” you answer. 

“Cool, cool,” he accepts, “there’s a map in there in case.” He points to the folder. “You’re going to second floor. East wing. The office number is in the email.” 

“Yes, I saw that. Thanks so much,” you nod. 

“Oh, your card’s activated. So any access thingies, just swipe,” he says. 

“Got it,” you cross your arm over the folder and continue around the desk to the double set of staircases that open behind it. 

You climb patiently. You’re early. You always are. A long academic career has drilled the habit into your very being. 

You check the email one last time and put your phone away. You’re not one for stereotypes but in your experience, the senior archivists tend to hate screens. You always resented their stubbornness. Digital backups are essential to the future of your profession. It could also just make their lives easier in general. 

As you count down the office numbers, you slow down. The short heels of your lace-up boots clack softly on the oaken floor tiles. The door you need is already open and there’s a man standing in it. He leans slightly on the frame as he faces inward. His deep voice carries behind him. 

You push your shoulders back as you approach. You don’t want to interrupt. You stop about a foot back, unsure how to go forward. You check your watch with a subtle tilt of your head. 

The man in the door is tall. He has one foot pointed to the floor, and arm bent back as he pushes back his brown corduroy jacket and grips his hip. He wears a dark blue turtleneck that meets the long tails of his outgrown hair. There’s never an in-between with archivists. They are either immaculately preened are shaggy and stuffy. 

“Right,” the man glances over his shoulder at you and his eyes squint, crinkly his nose, “I think I’m holding someone up.” He turns to face you, “hello, miss, do you need some help? Looking for the newspaper lab?” 

You’re not surprised that he assumes you to be a student. It’s a common presumption among his demographic. They are always the authority and everyone they don’t know must be ignorant. 

“No. Hello, I’m an archivist. Newly-hired. You wouldn’t happen to be James Barnes?” 

“James?” His mouth slants. “Only his mother calls him that. Bit of advice, it’s Bucky.” 

“Steve,” a voice drawls from within the open office. 

“Alright, alright,” the man shows his hands then extends one to you. “Steve Rogers. I’m the next door down. Fellow senior archivist, with James.” 

“Steve,” another snarl. 

You shake the man’s hand, “nice to meet you.” 

His cheek ticks, “you too. I like that vest. Very... quirky.” 

You don’t thank him. You merely retract your hand and adjust the scarf between the open front of your coat. He sidles out of the doorway as he wears a pompous smirk. 

“Come in,” the bodiless voice calls out to you. 

You step into the doorway. The man you’re looking for sits behind his desk. He uses an envelope open to pick at what appears to be a metal shell for a coil of parchment. He delicate traces the lines of the ornate metal cap on the end. 

“I’ll be a moment,” he says. 

“Alright,” you stand in the doorway. He doesn’t welcome you to sit. You introduce yourself in the stagnant lull. 

“I know who you are,” he grumbles as his brow wrinkles at his work. “After all, I sacrificed my day to training you.” 

You don’t appreciate the insinuation. You’re a task he doesn’t want to tend. A burden on what he really wants to do. You can find your way around just fine without him but the email said training was mandatory. You didn’t exactly have any say in who was handed that unlucky chore. 

“I have experience. Three years in the Heron’s Corner archives. And I’ve also done some volunteer work for museums. If you’d rather, I learn just as well from paper or email.” You suggest. 

He huffs, “typical.” 

You don’t reply. Whatever he assumes about you isn’t true but you’re not biting the hook. He grows exasperated and sets the container on its stands and stabs the envelope open into his pen cub. He slaps his hands on his desk and stands. 

“You young ones just want to sit at a computer all day,” he comes around and slides his hands into his pockets. “This job isn’t that.” 

“I’m aware of the job description,” you assure him. 

He stops before you and reaches to brush his fingertips along his thick beard. A thicket of hair falls forward he swoops it back just as swiftly. The cleft in his jaw deepens with his distaste. 

“That’s good. Less to explain, doll face,” he pulls his hand away to check his watch. 

“Fine, let’s get started.” He sniffs, “take notes.” 

He steps forward and you barely have a chance to get out of his way. His jacket flaps as he passes you and you stiffen as you grip the folder tightly. You reach to your coat pocket and take out your silver pen. 

It’s only the first day. Soon enough, you’ll be free to focus on your own work, and he his. 

[thebiggerbear]

So Close

Summary: You meet Colter and Russell at the morgue to help them gain access. Had you known how this was really going to go, you might have pushed Colter's call to voicemail.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader; Russell Shaw x FBI!Female!Reader

A/N: I have zero idea what this is. My muse demanded I type this out after watching the morgue sneak peek scene and at this point, I'm giving her whatever she wants. I have never seen this show, know nothing about the characters and any relationships they may have or their background stories, only vaguely know what the premise is, and I'm waiting to see the episode like everyone else. And yet, the muse still put me to work. She can be so brutal sometimes.

I wouldn't call this speculation for 1x12 because I have no idea what's happened before it yet. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. Full text in italics is dialogue from the morgue scene.

Warnings: mention of dead body; angst

Word Count: 2096

Sequel | Series (please let me know if you would like to be tagged in the series or any future Russell or Tracker works)

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

This work was recc'ed by @winchestergirl2 here.

You met Colter and Russell Shaw at the morgue, telling them that you were only doing this one small favor and that was it and only for Colter. Colter, as always, understood. Russell, not so much.

The older man turned to look at his younger brother. “I thought you said she’d be a big help to us on this one.”

Before Colter could answer, you narrowed your eyes in Russell’s direction. “I’m putting my job at risk helping you,” you snapped.

And still just as infuriating as ever, he gave you a smile, that teasing gleam in his eye. “It’s good to see you again, Y/N. You are looking…” He worked his fingers into the all-too familiar gesture of approval, giving you a glance over. 

“Go to hell, Shaw.” You spun on your heel and started marching towards the building. “Let’s go,” you barked. “We’re on a timeclock.” 

You never looked back to see if they were following you but you heard Colter mutter not too far behind you, “You mind not pissing her off until after we get to see the body?” 

“Yeah,” Russell quietly agreed, sounding far more serious than he had a moment ago. As a matter of fact, he sounded a little down, which made you wonder what was really going on. You already knew of the strain between the brothers so them working together was odd in itself but Colter hadn’t given you details when he called you and you hadn’t asked for them. You hoped this case they were working had nothing to do with anyone who Russell might… You forced away the thought and renewed your focus on the task at hand. You weren’t here for anything pertaining to that. You needed to keep your mind clear, and your eyes and ears open. 

Once you were all inside, you noticed an older woman sitting at the reception desk. You were about to walk in and pull your badge, ready to lie your ass off and give your official spiel when Russell held a hand up. “I got this,” he assured you both, before waltzing right in. You and Colter exchanged a look before following him.

The woman glanced up briefly and saw you all approaching before going back to her computer. “What can I help you with?”

“Hi, um…” Russell glanced down at her nametag as Colter moved to stand next to his brother, sporting a small smile. “Yolanda. Well, that is—that’s a beautiful name.” You slowly shook your head and crossed your arms. He was seriously going to try to charm his way in? Well, this ought to be fun to watch.

You weren’t surprised when she barely spared him a glance before going back to typing.

And of course, that didn’t deter him one bit. “Sadly, we, uh, we heard about Len Claimans. Recently deceased and, uh, we just need to see the body.”

That caught the woman’s attention as you expected it would. She immediately turned to face him and slipped her eye glasses onto her head. “What for?”

“How do you like working here?” You nearly smirked at the increased pitch in Russell’s voice, betraying his attempt at bullshitting and also a small case of nerves. It was almost as if he’d never lied before. Funny that. 

From Colter’s expression as he watched this trainwreck up close, he had to be thinking along the same lines as you, but more so wondering why this was even being attempted with you standing right there.

“Huh?” Russell continued. “I get a good vibe from you, you know. Kind eyes — helpful eyes, I like that.” You bit your lip to keep from saying something you shouldn’t. Russell had never been what you would call a good flirt, but he certainly was dialing up the charm to try to compensate. 

Too bad the charm didn’t seem to be working. Yolanda’s eyes immediately transferred to Colter. “What’s he talking about?”

Colter shook his head and turned to look at her. “The body might be connected to the disappearance of another man,” he explained. You noticed Russell glancing back at you out of the corner of his eye and you arched an inquisitive brow in his direction which made him immediately focus on Yolanda again, nodding along as his brother talked.

“Oh.” Yolanda looked regretful for a moment before going back to her computer. “I’m sorry, but unless you’re family, I can’t let you back there.”

Knowing this was the point Colter needed your intercession, you began to step forward but immediately froze when Russell snapped his fingers and spoke up. “I didn’t mention.” He gestured between him and Colter, giving Yolanda a smug grin, almost as if he had finally found the ruse that would work. “Cousins.” 

If you could have facepalmed right there without anyone seeing you, you would have. Wow. How was he so bad at this? And why didn’t he just let you do the talking? Or his brother for that matter?

Yolanda huffed out a breath of impatience. She was clearly done with this conversation and quite frankly, so were you.

Russell suddenly leaned forward. “We just-we just need a minute. Or two, you know? I promise we won’t disrupt a thing and then afterwards, maybe, uh, go grab a drink or, uh, somethin’ somethin’.” This time, you did briefly cover your face with your hand. This was just beyond embarrassing. Why did you agree to help these two again?

You could not believe what you were hearing and neither could Colter. You watched as he stared at his older brother before he decided to give it one last ditch effort and played along, turning a strained smile onto the woman.

And as expected, Yolanda finally reached her limit. “No. Sorry.” She got up from her chair and walked away.

Russell let out a disappointed breath. “That was so close.”

“No,” Colter rightfully disagreed.

You’d now reached your limit as well. Stepping forward, you loudly cleared your throat and came to a stop next to Russell. Yolanda turned to look at you, wondering what was coming next from the circus act that had apparently decided to roll into her office this afternoon. You gave her your best professional smile. “Hi there. I’m Special Agent Y/L/N with the FBI.” You slipped out your badge and held it up for her to see before putting it back into your pocket. “My associates here are correct. We’re currently investigating a missing persons case that may be connected to Mr. Claimans’ death. I’m going to need to take a look at the body as well as the autopsy report.”

Yolanda, clearly not believing anything you were selling today, stared over at you, unimpressed. “Do you have a warrant?”

“I can have one sent over to you in the next hour,” you lied. “But right now, we’re on a bit of a timeclock as I’m sure you can imagine.”

She glanced between you three, thinking it over. Russell and Colter looked back and forth between you two.

“Let me see that badge again.”

You grabbed it and handed it to her as she walked over. She studied it and then gave it back to you after a moment. “Ten minutes,” she decided. Both of you ignored Russell’s little smack to the counter and triumphant grin mixed with a quiet “I knew I liked you” in Yolanda’s direction. 

She looked bored. “That’s all I can give you.”

You gave her a nod of gratitude. “That’ll be plenty. Thank you.” 

She nodded and passed next to you to lead the way. You glanced in Colter’s direction and he nodded his thanks. Russell turned to you, his grin all but gone now, the serious tone from before back. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Sure.” He gave you the beginnings of a grateful smile, his gaze never leaving yours. You could feel yourself being sucked in, almost as if there was a strong magnetic force trying to pull you back in. There was so much going on behind those eyes that looked almost as if they were pleading with you for something — something that you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to give. You were still putting yourself back together, trying to repair the damage that his chaotic whirlwind had caused.

Colter quietly cleared his throat and it shattered the moment, and for that you were grateful. Especially when you noticed Russell had been discreetly moving closer to you. You moved away a bit, making Russell’s jaw tighten and his eyes harden, and started after Yolanda. “We should go,” you told Colter, happy to look upon him once again while you regained your bearings. “We’ve only got ten minutes and I really don’t need an ass chewing from my supervisor because your brother has no game.” 

Colter smirked and followed after you. Russell’s jaw dropped and he appeared alongside you once more, keeping pace with you. “I have game!”

“No, you don’t,” you snorted, keeping your eyes straight ahead, unwilling to look at him.

“Yes, I do. It worked on you once upon a time, didn’t it?”

You leveled a menacing glare on him before turning to look at Colter on your other side. “Why did you ask me to help you again?”

Colter pressed his lips together and decided to keep quiet, focusing on waiting for Yolanda to open the door to the morgue. “I appreciate everything you’re doing.”

Russell leaned closer and murmured to you, “I do, too. And Y/N, after we get out of here, why don’t we go grab that drink I talked about? Just you and me? We can talk and catch up.” You turned your wide eyes onto him. Was he serious? He shot you a charming grin but you could also see the tiny gleam of hope in his gaze.

You ignored the familiar scent of his cologne as it wafted over you and you tamped down the painful memories it induced.

Colter looked like he would rather be anywhere else right then. You wished you were anywhere else right then. You turned your eyes forward, refusing to look at him anymore, not wanting to see any part of his reaction to what you were about to say. “You’re both on a timeclock, remember?” You asked quietly. “After we get what we need, you should go to the spot that's next on your list or immediately chase down any leads. As for me, I have to get back to work.”  You then surged ahead, standing right behind Yolanda and stepping into the room when she opened the door.

After a moment, you heard the brothers enter behind you and Colter muttered to Russell, “You good?”

“Yeah.” You nearly closed your eyes hearing that tone that you were starting to hate once more. “So close.” This time, when he echoed the words from before, there was no false bravado attached to them, no playfulness or humor, only what you detected as regret. 

This time, Colter didn’t say anything in response. Both brothers joined you and you all watched as Yolanda selected a drawer and slid it out. Feeling Russell next to you, you swore to yourself that this would be the last time you would take a call from Colter for a long time. While you liked the younger Shaw, it was the older Shaw you didn’t want to chance running into ever again. 

You stared ahead as Yolanda unzipped the body bag, tensing as you felt the sleeve of Russell’s jacket unintentionally brush against you. So close? Too close.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Russell watching you intently, his expression serious and that regretful look in his eyes once more. You forced your gaze back to the woman reminding you of your ten minute window, refusing to allow any sympathy for the older man on your left. You hadn’t been the one to ruin things between you; you’d only been left to pick up the pieces. You were done feeling sorry for Russell Shaw. 

You took the report Yolanda offered to you before she left and began flipping through it, skimming the text, as Colter took a closer look at the body. From your peripherals, Russell stared at you a moment longer and then moved to stand next to his brother, their backs to you. Sadly, a familiar sight of the man you’d once loved. You blinked away rapidly forming tears and went back to reading.

As much as you hated to admit it, Russell had been right. So close indeed.

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for this character.

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[roosterforme]

The Purrfect Storm | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley inadvertently becomes a pet owner after he hits a stray with his Bronco. When he meets a lovely vet tech who is willing to help, both Bradley and the cat fall for her instantly.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, a bit of angst

Length: 6000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written for a request! Check out my masterlist for more!

Bradley was on his way home late from work, anxious to get there before the sky opened up. Dark, ominous clouds had just moved in, signaling a rare downpour was about to hit San Diego.

He zipped along an empty, wooded side street just as a loud crack of thunder rocked his Bronco. Then his headlights caught something gray dashing out of the trees, and he tried his best to swerve, but he was afraid he had just hit an animal. 

"Damn it," he muttered, pulling over and turning on his hazard lights. He jumped out of the Bronco to see if he could spot anything in the roadway. The wind was picking up, and he could feel the first few drops of rain, but as soon as Bradley saw the gray cat that was no longer able to walk correctly, he ran toward it. 

When he got closer he saw a little bit of blood matted in its fur, and he immediately felt like a villain. He also had no idea how to take care of an injured cat. 

"Here kitty?" he said awkwardly as he approached the immobile animal. He was greeted with a loud, angry meow. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry I hit you. But can you just be chill while I pick you up?"

As soon as he had both hands around the middle of the cat, it sank its sharp teeth into the back of his hand.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!" Bradley yelled, getting pelted with more raindrops. "I'm trying to help you now, you ungrateful little shit!"

Big, angry yellow eyes looked up at him as he clamped the cat's mouth shut with one big hand and then tried to scoop it up again. This seemed to work better, so he carted it back to the Bronco and set it on the back seat floor area. 

"Just relax, I know where there's a veterinary clinic," he told it with an eye roll before he climbed back in and pulled away. 

Bradley navigated a lot slower now that the rain was coming down. But when he pulled into the clinic parking lot, he only saw one light on inside. There was someone moving around at the front desk, so he hopped out into the pouring rain and gently held the cat with its mouth closed. He knocked on the door with his knuckle and watched the woman behind the front desk look at him a little warily before she headed toward the door.

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

You were alone in the clinic with the door locked, trying to finish the weekly audit so you could leave. You always stayed late on Thursday nights, and now you were going to have to drive home in this crazy storm. 

When you heard someone knocking on the door, you jumped in your seat. You tried to see who it was, but the rain was obscuring the window portion of the door, so you made your way over only to find a soaking wet man in a naval uniform holding a drenched cat.

"I'm sorry, we're closed," you told him loudly through the door.

He glared at the cat and then tilted his head back and let the rain pour on his face for a beat. Finally he groaned and looked at you with pleading eyes. "You can't do anything? I hit this cat on my way home from work!"

You sighed and looked at all of his insignia pins, including his nametag. Bradshaw. It was pretty unlikely that an officer was here to murder you, especially since a good portion of your clients were naval families. Plus, he had actually brought the injured animal here instead of leaving it in the road.

"I can take a quick look," you told him as you unlocked the door. When you opened it and finally got a good look at him, you went a little speechless. He was really tall and really muscular. And even with his brown hair wet and messy across his forehead, you could tell he was really handsome. "Come on in," you managed to say, and he slipped inside with the cat. You locked the door behind him.

"Thanks. I really appreciate this. I feel terrible enough about what happened, but this cat hates me so much right now, I'd be a little afraid to take it to my house with me in this condition."

You laughed as he winced at you, and you immediately noticed the teeth marks on the back of his hand. 

"Oh, he got you good," you remarked. "Definitely doesn't like you too much at the moment. Let's see if I can get him patched up."

"It's a male?" officer Bradshaw asked as you signalled for him to follow you back to an exam room. 

"Yeah, I figured he was, because he's huge. But he definitely is. I could tell when you held him up."

Bradley scoffed. "I should have known. Females are usually more accommodating towards me."

You laughed softly and said, "I'll bet they are," under your breath. But then you realized that you were the sucker who agreed to let him get his cat checked out after hours. So you definitely shouldn't be surprised.

"Up on the table," you instructed, and you watched him release the cat and take a huge step away from it. "Aww, come on. He's a sweetheart!" you said, stroking the cat and making him purr. "What did he ever do to you?"

You watched officer Bradshaw hold up his bloody hand with a bland look. 

"That's totally fair since you ran him over," you said with a smirk. "And I'll look at your hand after I see how much damage there is to his leg here."

"Thank you," he muttered, reaching for a paper towel to press against his hand while he dripped water all over the floor. "I appreciate it. I'm Bradley, by the way."

You glanced at him briefly and smiled as you told him your name. "And what's the cat's name?"

Bradley just shrugged. "He doesn't have a collar, and he's pretty grungy. He's probably a stray."

"You should name him then," you said as you felt around the cat's leg with gentle fingers. It was a pretty clean break that you would be able to take care of tonight without the vet here.

"Sunshine," Bradley said sarcastically. "His name is Sunshine." You looked up at him, and he was smiling at you and the cat, his handsome features betraying his stern voice as he smiled.

"Did you hear that, Sunshine? Your daddy clearly thinks the world of you, and he's going to take the best care of your leg after I splint it."

"I am?" he asked, leaning closer to you. "Come on, doc. I can't keep this cat. He'll kill me in my sleep," he reiterated, holding up his hand and the bloody paper towel. He wasn't wearing a ring.

You laughed at the concerned look on his face. "Okay, first of all, I'm not the vet. I'm just a tech. Second, someone needs to take care of Sunshine, and I think that someone is going to be you. And third, girls dig guys who have pets. Does that help make this more appealing for you?" 

He took another step closer to you, and your breath caught in your throat. He was just a few inches away and glaring playfully at you. "First of all, you seem to know what you're doing well enough, so you could have lied and told me you were the vet. Second, Sunshine here will have me sleeping with one eye open. And third, yeah, maybe that does make this more appealing to me."

Your belly swooped, and you had to bite your lip. His brown eyes were the color of deep amber up close, and his mustache made everything he said seem more playful. 

"And fourth," he added, "do all women dig men who have pets? Or are you speaking from personal preference here? Either way, it does sound appealing to me."

You were gaping at him now, and a startled laugh escaped your parted lips. 

Meow!

"Sorry, Sunshine," you told the cat, patting his matted, damp fur until he was calm again. "You're right. This is about you, not Bradley." You positioned yourself in front of the cat and grinned over your shoulder. "I think it's all women, but it's definitely me," you whispered with a smile. You were met with a crooked grin as Bradley pushed his damp hair back from his face. 

"Good to know," he told you softly.

And now it was time to get to work. You made a mental list of all of the supplies you would need, then you turned to Bradley and reached for his good hand. He grabbed onto yours without hesitation. "Here, keep a hand on Sunshine and make sure he stays on the table," you said, running your thumb along his calloused fingers. 

"Alright," he said a bit reluctantly, squeezing your hand before letting go of you and holding the cat.

"I'll be right back with everything I need for the splint."

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

Bradley watched you leave the small room, and he took a second to breathe in deeply and let it out slowly. You were fucking adorable. And he was very attracted to you. 

"Don't mess this up for us now," he told the cat as he waited for you to return. By the sound of things, the storm was still raging outside, but Bradley was in no hurry to leave anyway. He was still wet from the rain, and he probably looked like a mess, but it didn't matter. He'd stay here all night with you if you'd let him.

You strolled back into the room with some bandages, splints, and a weird thing covered in velcro. "This will only take a minute," you told him and Sunshine with a smile. He watched you measure the split against the cat's leg before cutting it to length. Then you set the bone in place with your fingers, gently talking the whole time so the cat would stay calm. Next you quickly wrapped the splint up tight with the bandage. 

"Now I need your help," you told Bradley, and you took his hand again. "Hold this bandage just like that so I can clip it in place." 

Bradley did exactly as he was told, and soon you were wrapping the velcro around everything to keep the cat's leg in one position. 

"Done!"

"Impressive," Bradley remarked. Even the cat looked way calmer now as he curled up on the exam table and ate the snack you gave him.

"Okay, now let me check you out," you said, holding out your small hand and letting him rest his palm against yours. "I'll need to clean it to get a better look," you told him, gazing up at him. "Might sting a bit."

"I can handle it," he reassured you as you led him to the sink. 

"I'm sure you can... Lieutenant? Is that what I'm looking at here?" you asked, nodding to the pins on his chest as you sprayed his hand with an antiseptic and dabbed at it with a cotton ball. 

"Yes, ma'am. Lieutenant Bradshaw," he told you, earning a smile.

"At ease, sailor." Your gaze was playful as you looked up at him and grabbed a clean cotton ball.

"Aviator, actually," Bradley informed you. 

"Oh, wow. Your daddy is fancy," you said over your shoulder to the cat who was now grooming himself on the exam table. 

"I still can't believe I have a cat now," he muttered, making you laugh as you taped some sterile gauze to the back of his hand. "You should give me your number since I don't know what I'm doing. You know... just in case. You wouldn't want Sunshine to suffer in any way, would you?"

You smirked up at him as you finished taping him up. Bradley just gave you his most innocent look in return. "You're something else," you told him.

"Something good?" he asked, and he watched your lips curl into a soft smile.

A loud rumble of thunder had Sunshine standing up and hissing. "It's okay," you told him, turning to reach for him, but then the power went out, bathing everything in complete darkness.

Bradley heard a thump that sounded like Sunshine had jumped off the table, and when he reached out, the cat was no longer there. 

"Oh no, he's loose somewhere in the building," you said, taking out your phone and turning on the flashlight. "Sunshine!" you called, shaking the bag of cat treats. Bradley followed you out into the hallway, but he bumped into the back of you.

"Sorry," he said, stopping himself with his hands on your shoulders. 

"It's okay," you said softly as he took his hands away from you and tucked them into his wet pockets. 

"Can he hurt anything? Or get hurt?" Bradley asked, looking up and down the hallway as you shone the light around. 

"Aww, you sound like a concerned pet parent."

Bradley groaned. "He's growing on me, I think."

Your laughter rang out in the semi-darkness before the light went out. 

"Shit, my phone died," you told him.

Bradley checked his only to find he had about ten percent of his battery left. "Mine is not far behind yours."

"Don't use it, just in case we need to call someone," you said, turning to face him. Bradley could feel your hands on his chest very briefly. "Oh, there you are," you said softly. "Come with me to the waiting room, and I'll get you some towels."

Bradley felt your fingers dance down along his arm until they tangled with his. Then you were leading him back to the front of the building. It was a little easier to see up here, as a streetlight outside provided some light. 

"Don't move," you instructed softly, and Bradley could make out the shape of your profile as you turned away from him and disappeared. 

He was stuck here now. He wasn't sure if he should be thankful or upset. But he couldn't leave Sunshine loose in the clinic for the night. And he supposed you were stuck here too, since you couldn't leave him here alone with his dumb cat.

Bradley saw you in the shadows when you returned. "I got you some towels and a set of scrubs you can change into. My boss is about your size."

"Thanks," he replied, taking everything from your hands. "Where should I change?"

You laughed. "It doesn't matter. I can't see you."

"What if the power comes back on?!" 

You laughed harder, and Bradley loved the sound. "Go back behind my desk, and I'll turn around."

Bradley took a few steps and then slammed into a file cabinet. "Ow!"

"Oh sorry, don't hit the file cabinet," you said in a sweet voice laced with laughter. 

"Don't worry. I won't." Bradley awkwardly stripped out of his damp uniform and underwear with you standing ten feet away from him. He had to peel the fabric from his skin and hang it over your chair as neatly as he could. 

"So you're an aviator. What do you fly? Super Hornets? Helicopters? Comanches?" you asked as he ran one of the towels along his naked body. 

"You know a lot about naval aircrafts. And to answer your question, Super Hornet." He slipped into the well worn scrubs and tied them up at the waist. They were a little snug, as was the shirt, but it was better than being wet. 

"It's hard to live near Fightertown and not pick up on a few things," you told him. "You need help getting back around the file cabinet?"

"Nah, I'm good," he said, and somehow he found your hand in the darkness. And somehow you let him hold it. 

You laced your fingers with his and softly said, "Maybe we should try to find Sunshine one more time? Otherwise, I think we're stuck here for the night."

Bradley silently prayed that Sunshine was tucked safely away somewhere he couldn't be found in the dark. "That's a good idea," he confirmed out loud. Because he did feel kind of bad making you stay at your workplace all night, especially since he barged in on you unannounced with the cat. "I'm sorry I've been such an inconvenience when you were just trying to be helpful."

"Don't worry about it. I'm a sucker for injured animals. And brunettes."

Jesus. Bradley had been afraid maybe you had a boyfriend or something. But now you were flirting with him again, just like you had been earlier. You were also holding his hand a little tighter. And each time you wanted to change directions, you placed your other palm on his chest. 

"This is kind of fun," he murmured when you had your palm on his chest, guiding him into a different exam room. 

"Is it?" you asked with a giggle. 

"Yeah," he said, smiling as you pushed him where you wanted him to go. "It feels like one of those games from when you were in high school, you know? Spending time alone with a cute girl in the dark."

He could hear you exhale and feel it against his neck. You were so close to him. "Seven minutes in heaven?" you asked close to his ear. 

"Yeah, seven minutes in heaven," he confirmed, grinning like a lunatic.

"I never played that in high school," you told him, letting go of his chest to feel around the exam table for the cat. "Did you?" He felt your palm come to rest on him again. 

"Once or twice. But I was a real nerd back then. I just made it further with you than I ever did in high school," he admitted. Your soft laughter filled the room, and now Bradley was praying in earnest that Sunshine was very, very well hidden until the morning. 

"I find it hard to believe you used to be a nerd. You're very...."

"I'm very what?" he asked as you effortlessly lured him all around the dark clinic with you. 

"Sizeable," you told him as you ended up back in the hallway again.

"Sizeable?" he balked. "Did you just call me large?"

You were laughing again, and he really wished he could see your face right now. "I meant it as a compliment!" you insisted. 

"Ohhh," he said, feigning ignorance. "You must have never given someone a compliment before. Here, let me show you how. You're funny, smart, and very cute."

"Thank you," you whispered, leading him into one more exam room. 

"I wasn't done yet. You're also surprisingly good at navigating in the dark."

You laughed again, and your hand landed on his chest, but this time it was because you tripped and ended up pushing him up against the wall. 

"I take that back, you're terrible at navigating in the dark," he whispered, keeping his fingers laced with yours and steadying you with his other hand at your waist. "Are you okay?" 

This time your breathy laugh was very close to him. "You know, I was going to pretend I tripped on your cat, but I think you've just got me flustered. It's a good thing you're so sizeable, otherwise you might be splinting my leg right now."

Bradley felt your hand move up to the scars on his neck, and your fingers danced to his ear and up into his hair. He guided you a little closer so your entire body was skimming against his, and he could hear your breath hitch. 

"Yeah, it's a good thing," he agreed. His eyes fluttered closed in the dark, and he instinctively found your lips with his. One chaste kiss led to another and another, your lips brushing his. You parted your lips just enough to tease his bottom lip as your fingers gently pulled through his messy hair, and Bradley felt you melt into him. His heart was beating faster now, and he wanted to push you up against the wall.

Meow!

You gently released his lips, rubbing your nose against his as you took a small step away from him. Bradley quickly laced his fingers with yours again and cleared his throat.

"That didn't sound like Sunshine," Bradley said, trying to keep you as close as possible. He sighed in relief as your palm found its way to his chest again.

"It wasn't," you whispered. "There's a cat in a kennel in the back room. Let's go check on her."

So Bradley followed your lead to the end of the hallway, his heart still beating a little fast. 

"This is Ginger," you told him, guiding him over to a large cage. He could barely make out the cat inside with the scant light coming through the window. 

"What's wrong with her?" Bradley asked, kneeling down to get a better look. 

You sighed, never releasing his hand. "Her owner, if you can even call him that, didn't bring her here in time after she had a broken leg. You're really a very good pet daddy to Sunshine, even though you are clearly reluctant." You squeezed his hand. 

"What's going to happen to Ginger?" he asked, reaching his fingers through the cage to pet her fur. She meowed and nudged his fingers with her head. 

"Not sure yet. Her owner won't sign the paperwork for us to re break and try to set her leg correctly. He also won't agree to pay for medical care. I tried to kidnap her, but my boss wouldn't let me."

Bradley gave the cat one last scratch and stood up. "What if I steal her, and you pretend like you have no idea what happened to her?"

You giggled again and pulled him closer to you. "Oh, I like that idea. I also like the idea of you having two cats. That's adorable."

Bradley was grinning in the darkness. "I like being adorable."

You just hummed and whispered, "I think we're stuck here for the night." He could feel your breath on his neck again. "There's a loveseat in the breakroom. One of us can sleep on that."

"You take it. I can sleep on the floor."

You started to lead him in the direction of the breakroom, but it was very dark in there. He could barely see anything. 

"Maybe we could share it?" you asked so softly, Bradley was afraid he might have misheard.

"Okay....we can share it," he replied, and he sat down hard as you guided him over to the small sofa. His heart was beating a little faster again as he blindly tried to move the loose pillow against the armrest, and then he was reaching for you.

You were laughing softly. "How do you want to do this?"

Bradley's heart was hammering now. He wanted to kiss you again. "However you want." With a palm against his chest, you pushed him back against the pillow on the armrest, and he stretched himself out on his back across the loveseat. It was uncomfortable, and his feet were hanging way off the far end, but as soon as you eased yourself down against him, everything felt perfect.

"Is this okay?" you asked next to his ear as you kind of wedged yourself up against the back of the loveseat with your body halfway on top of his. Your chest was pressing against his, and Bradley could feel your leg come to rest between his knees. 

"Yes," he managed, his voice coming out raspier. "Is this okay?" he asked, wrapping his hand around your waist. 

You answered with a soft hum and let your palm rest against his chest like you had been doing all night. Oh no. He liked you. This felt too good, and Bradley probably wouldn't make it through the night with his heart intact. But he let you snuggle up against him in the pitch black room.

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

You weren't really sure if this was a good idea, but your night had taken a turn for the better when Bradley and Sunshine arrived, so you decided to just go with it. 

"Are you comfy?" you asked him, and you felt the deep rumble of his voice against your cheek and hand.

"Very. Are you warm enough?" 

If anything, you were too warm, pressed up against him like this. His body temperature was hot, and so was he. Bradley had managed to get you pretty giddy by this point, after sharing just a few kisses. The thing you couldn't understand was how comfortable you felt with him already. You'd just met him, and now you were both spending the night in the clinic together, but you weren't nervous or wary of him. 

"I'm beginning to think Sunshine premeditated this whole thing," he told you with a soft laugh. "Because I've been looking for a while, and I've never met anyone like you."

You bit your lip and angled your face toward his. "What does that mean, Lieutenant Bradshaw?"

You could feel his hand tighten a little bit on your waist at your use of his rank. "It means I like you. A lot. And I'm desperately trying not to be creepy, because we're kind of stuck here together since the power is out and we can't find my cat, but I'm hoping you like me too."

In an instant, you let your lips connect with his again as you eased yourself a bit further up his body. As your fingers stroked along his cheek and up into his hair, you pulled your lips away from his and said, "I do." 

But as soon as the words were out of your mouth, Bradley was luring your lips back to his lips. He was so big and strong, but his kisses were soft, and his hands were undemanding against your lower back. He let you take the lead, never making you feel like you were trapped on the loveseat with him.

So you let yourself indulge in the sensation of his mustache against your skin and his legs tangled with yours. When you tugged your fingers through his hair, he groaned softly into your mouth, and you smiled against his lips. 

"Are you going to let me have your number?" he asked as you pulled away a few inches to catch your breath. 

You pressed your lips to his cheek and said, "Probably."

"Damn, what do I have to do to get a solid yes?" he asked, and you could tell he was smiling. 

"Tell me more about yourself," you whispered.

"I can do that," Bradley replied, running the tip of his nose along your cheek. So he told you all about his job, which sounded extremely exciting. He didn't tell you much about his family, other than he was pretty much alone. And he told you about his friends, who all sounded like a riot. 

"Sounds like you only have one thing missing in your life," you whispered against his neck.

"A girlfriend?" he asked, brushing his lips against your forehead. 

You had to bite your lip to keep from squealing. "I was going to say a cat," you told him. 

"Nah, Sunshine already took care of that, wherever he is. Tell me about you."

Bradley asked all the right questions at all the right times as you told him about yourself. He didn't think it was weird that you had a deaf, three-legged dog. He seemed to like that you volunteered at the animal shelter. And he invited you to get a drink with him at some bar called the Hard Deck tomorrow night. 

You yawned and snuggled against his neck, whispering, "I think I would like that." And soon you were falling asleep in his arms. 

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

Your pillow never felt this warm and comfortable. And why hadn't your alarm gone off? It was so bright in here, it must be time to get up for work. 

You stretched your arms just as you heard, "Good morning," whispered in a very raspy voice. 

"Oh!" you gasped, your eyes suddenly open, wide awake. You were staring at Bradley as he smiled hesitantly back at you. "You're so handsome. I was beginning to think I had imagined how you looked before the power went out."

He just laughed and seemed to take that as his cue to run his fingers along your arm. "That was a fun sleepover. Don't usually get to wake up with anything cute draped across me."

"Oh, Sunshine will remedy that, I'm sure," you said teasingly, letting your lips brush against his. Bradley was instantly smiling. 

Then you heard some purring from the doorway. "Speak of the devil," Bradley whispered. "Come here, Sunshine. We were looking for you."

But he just purred louder and louder. "He's probably hungry. I need to feed Ginger anyway, so I'll feed him too."

You peeled yourself off of Bradley and got another good look at him as he lounged back against the arm of the loveseat. You giggled, because he was way too big for the piece of furniture, and the scrubs you gave him were a little small. 

"What?" he asked, looking kind of smug.

"Nothing. But you need to get up before my boss comes in," you said, biting your lip and turning toward Ginger's kennel. But a loud knock on the front door had you panicking. Your boss would have just let himself in. "I'm going to check to see who it is."

"Want me to come with you?" Bradley asked, instantly at your back. 

But you were looking up through the front window, and you immediately recognized Ginger's owner. "No, I'll be okay," you grumbled, straightening your scrubs as you headed toward the waiting room. 

You unlocked the door and let him inside, fully aware that nobody seemed to care when your office hours actually started. "We actually don't open for another hour, but if you're here to sign the paperwork for us to try to fix Ginger's leg, I can get that ready for you."

But he just scoffed. "I'm not signing it. There's no way I'm spending that kind of money for a cat. I can't believe you even think that's reasonable."

You had to bite your tongue. It was only a few hundred dollars. 

"I'm just here to pick her up so I don't have to keep paying for you to board her," he added impatiently. 

But your brow scrunched up. "What are you going to do with her?"

He was rolling his eyes now. "Does it matter?"

You pressed your lips together in a tight line before you said, "It matters to me, yes."

"I'll just leave her somewhere. Maybe someone else will find her or maybe not, but I already got a new kitten for my kids."

Your blood was boiling now. "You're not serious," you said, raising your voice. 

"Just give me the cat, and don't charge me a kennel fee for today."

Bradley strolled out into the waiting room and asked, "Is there a problem?"

He eyed Bradley in his scrubs and said, "Your clinic has the most ridiculous prices. I just want to pick up the cat and go."

"You can't have her!" you told him. 

He shook his head and turned to Bradley. "Are you going to let your employee talk to me like that? Go get the cat!"

"She can talk to you however she wants," Bradley mumbled. He must have seen the anger in your eyes, because he started to block the hallway leading back to the kennels. 

You didn't care what this man thought he was going to do, he wasn't leaving here with an animal. "I'm not going to send Ginger with you if your plan is to abandon her."

"Well I'm not going to pay for any more services!"

He was only motivated by money, which might just make this easier. "Then sign her away to the clinic and leave," you told him, already rummaging in your file cabinet for the form you needed. Unfortunately this kind of thing happened from time to time. 

You glanced at Bradley where he stood with his thick arms crossed over his chest, thankful he was here. You were shaking with anger as you handed the form and a pen to Ginger's owner. And as you watched him sign his name, Ginger became property of the clinic. 

"And now you can get the hell out of here!" you told him, and he looked completely outraged. "You're abusive, and we will not allow you back for any of our services in the future." He was turning toward the door as you raised your voice. "And I hope your new kitten runs away and finds an owner who doesn't suck!"

He slammed the door behind him, and Bradley rushed over to you. "Are you okay? That was wild."

But all of the anger was gone now, and you just smiled up at him. "Wanna meet my new cat in the daylight?" you asked. 

"Yeah, I do," he said, and you kissed his rough cheek. 

You and Bradley sat on the floor in front of the open kennel door, holding hands. Inside the large cage, Sunshine was sitting next to Ginger as she ate her breakfast. 

"She's pretty. I couldn't tell what she looked like last night," Bradley murmured, reaching in and stroking her behind the ears. 

"I'll get her leg reset today, and I'll pay for her medical bills. Hopefully I can take her home with me in a few days."

Bradley cleared his throat. "I guess I should leave before your boss gets here?" 

"Yeah." But you really didn't want him to.

He nodded toward Sunshine and Ginger. "Looks like he made a new friend. If I can't get your number for me to use, you have to give it to me so we can set up a cat playdate. For Sunshine?"

You couldn't help laughing at his antics and the cute pout on his face.

"You can have my number for you. And Sunshine can have my number to reach Ginger. And if the offer still stands, I'd love to meet you at that bar later."

Bradley's face lit up as he got his phone out and handed it to you. "Sounds great. I'll text you the address." You entered your name and number and handed it back to him.

"I'll meet you there," you promised.

"I can't wait," he replied, but you were already kissing him. 

"You need to go," you whispered a second later. 

He pressed his lips to yours one more time before he reached in to get Sunshine. "I know, you don't want to leave Ginger. But I secured you a playdate," he told the cat. "Oh, how much do I owe you for fixing his leg?"

"Nothing," you said as you stood with your new cat in your arms, and Bradley followed you out to your desk. 

"That hardly seems fair," he replied, grabbing his khaki uniform from your chair. 

You just shrugged, setting Ginger down gently on your desk. "I did it off the clock anyway. Don't worry about it. You can buy me a drink later."

Bradley grinned at you. "I'll buy all of your drinks. And when we go out to dinner tomorrow night, I'll pay for that, too. Same as the movie I'm taking you to next weekend. Oh, and all of the concerts and museums we're going to visit together? I'm paying."

You giggled. "That actually sounds kind of perfect."

"You only like me because I'm a pet owner," he whispered, kissing you softly. 

You kissed him harder and ran your fingers through his hair one last time. "It certainly didn't hurt your cause. I'll meet you at the bar."

He nipped your lips one last time, and then held Sunshine up closer to his face as he headed for the door. "I owe you one. You want tuna for dinner? I'll feed you tuna every day."

You watched him walk outside and pull out of the parking lot, and then you plugged your phone in to check your messages.

You already had one from Bradley with the address for the Hard Deck. Then another one came through that said Thanks for one of the best nights of my life.

"I hope you liked Sunshine," you told Ginger. "Because I really like his dad."

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

Thanks for reading this one! Hope you liked it @morallydiseased! And thanks for your help @thedroneranger!

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[the--blackdahlia]

Total Eclipse of the Heart (Beetlejuice x Reader)

Title: Total Eclipse of the Heart

Summary: Beetlejuice and (Y/n) share a bond that's suddenly severed. He would do anything to get her back.

Warnings: Mentions of attempted suicide, depression, longing

Beetlejuice let off a maniacal laugh as Juno yelled about the surprise he’d left on her desk. His favorite pastime was annoying the ever-loving shit out of her, and he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. He made his way through the halls, a shit-eating grin on his face. He saw people standing around the water cooler, chatting away—typical civil servant behavior. Beetlejuice grabbed a coffee cup from some random desk and joined them.

“So, what are we talking about? Sam and Diane? Frasier and Lillith? Are we still on who shot JR?” The people around the water cooler all quieted at his presence. Something that never really happened before. “What? I got shit on my face or something?”

“Beej,” One of the few friends he’d managed to make since working on his “people skills” with (Y/n), approached him. This was a man named Chris. Beetlejuice didn’t know his whole backstory, but he knew he’d done some really bad shit.

“What?” He snapped. Chris held out a nametag to show Beetlejuice. Placing it in his hand, the demon was able to see the name.

(Y/n).

“What the fuck is this?” He asked before the pain set in. Starting at where his heart should be and stretching down his left hand to where a ring sat. Not a wedding ring, because she wasn’t ready. But a promise ring. Which, in Beetlejuice’s eyes, was the same thing. He dropped the coffee cup, watching it shatter on the ground before he took off running towards the exit. He hit the door with a force he didn’t know he had, falling through the brick wall of the Maitland-Deetz home. He landed on the attic floor, right at Barbara’s feet.

“That looked rough,” Her comment sounded flat, probably due to her and Adam staring out the window, watching for the Deetz to come back.

“Where’s (Y/n)?” The demon stood and dusted himself off.

“We don’t know,” Adam turned to look at Beetlejuice. “Lydia and Matilda are out looking for her.”

“Why? What’s going on?” Adam and Barbara looked at each other. “I swear on Ryan Reynolds, someone better tell me what the fuck is going on!”

“Here,” Barbara handed Beetlejuice a piece of paper. He unfolded it to read.

I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. Nobody blame yourselves. You were all lovely. I’m the broken thing in this house. Nobody summon Juicebox to look for me. He’ll see me sitting at a desk in the Nether before long. I love you all.

~(Y/n)

“The fuck?” He wasn’t sure he understood what was happening, but he knew it was hurting him. “Where is she?!” He boomed, closing his eyes and hoping to hear her say his name. But nothing came.

So he waited. He stood at the window while Adam and Barbara milled around, doing things to keep themselves distracted but not having much purpose. Neither of them had ever seen Beetlejuice stand so still. He normally bounced off the walls, and if he was sitting, he was bouncing his leg or playing with whatever fidget toy Lydia or (Y/n) would give him. Matilda swore he had ADHD, but how do you diagnose a demon?

Finally, he saw Matilda’s car at the end of the driveway. Beetlejuice was right at the front door as Lydia and Matilda entered. Barbara and Adam were hovering not far behind, and even Delia was waiting.

“We found her. Got her to the hospital,” Lydia explained. “They’re going to observe her overnight, make sure there’s nothing medical that needs to happen. Then she’s going to a psychiatric hospital for a mandatory 72-hour observation. After the 72 hours, they’ll determine if she’s safe to return home.”

“Did you tell her to summon me?” Beetlejuice asked, noting that both Lydia and Matilda stayed quiet. “Lydia!”

“She didn’t want us to summon you there. I don’t think she wants you to see her as anything less than perfect.”

“But she’s always so happy! Always smiling!”

“Beej, sometimes the people who smile the biggest are the ones that are hurting the most,” Matilda was trying to be gentle. But Beetlejuice wasn’t having it. He stormed off to spend time in the graveyard in the attic. Lydia sighed and looked over at Matilda.

“It’ll be ok. They’ll both be okay…” Matilda took her hand and led her towards their home library.

****

(Y/n) sat in the strange, sterile office of the doctor she would be seeing while in the psychiatric hospital. There wasn’t much in the way of decorations. The diplomas on the wall seemed to be laminated photocopies. No glass that way. Instead of porcelain knick-knacks, there were a couple of small, plush toys. Like the little bag clips that kids would load onto their backpacks. Across the strong, oak desk that is bolted to the cold vinyl flooring, sat Dr. Edward Wheeler. An older gentleman with thick graying hair, and glasses placed on the bridge of his nose. He had (Y/n)’s file opened in front of him.

“Well, Ms. (y/l/n)...”

“Please, call me (Y/n).”

“Okay. (Y/n). What led you to being in my office today?” He looked up at (Y/n), watching her fidget in the uncomfortable chair.

“Dunno…” She mumbled. He made a tsk noise and wrote a note on his notepad.

“Well, according to the notes from the ER, you had a high level of opioids in your system. And you told the staff that you took them intending to end your life,” He looked back up at her. “Your friends, Lydia Deetz and Matilda Wormwood, they were the ones that brought you to the hospital, is that correct.”

“Yeah,” (Y/n) signed. “Always seem to know when I’m in trouble.”

“Now, (Y/n), looking at your past medical history, you’ve spoken to a therapist about…seeing ghosts?” He raised an eyebrow. “And specifically, one named Beetlejuice?” He noticed the little smile that spread on her face. “Does that speak to you?”

“If you say his name three times, he’ll come here and prove I’m not crazy,” She was excited to see him again. She knew he’d probably be mad at what she did, and a little overprotective, but they could see each other again.”

“Well, then that is our sign to no longer use that name,” Dr. Wheeler wrote a few more notes. “From now on, that will be a banned word during therapy and as long as you are under my care.” Instantly, (Y/n)’s hand went to the ring that was on her left hand. One made from the same material as Beetlejuice’s. Dr. Wheeler noticed. “How did you get that in here?”

“Oh, this is from Be…Beej. It’s a comfort item.”

“I’m sorry but you can’t have this. It will be placed with your other belongings,” He held out his hand for her to place the ring in.

“Oh please Dr. Wheeler, let me keep it. Please.”

“I can’t do that (Y/n). Now please give it to me. I don’t want to have security come in and remove it from you,” (Y/n) felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she twisted the ring a couple of times before slowly removing it from her finger.

She felt like her heart was being ripped from her chest as she placed the ring in the doctor's hand. She couldn’t feel Beetlejuice anymore, and she suddenly felt really alone.

****

“AHHHH!” Beetlejuice screamed, throwing himself to the ground and holding his chest. The dramatic display spooked everyone, including Lydia, who didn’t scare easy. “(Y/n)!”

“What’s wrong?” Matilda moved through the kitchen to where Beetlejuice was now sitting up, holding his hand out in front of him.

“Her ring is gone. I can’t feel her anymore,” He watched as the light faded out from the band on his finger. He could always tell how (Y/n) felt through the ring. If she took it off to wash dishes, there would be a slight tingle followed by the scent of whatever soap they had that week. If she was mad at him and took off her ring, it burned. But this, this was different. It was just like someone had stuck a branding iron through his chest.

“She’s not…dead, is she?” Adam put down the paper he was reading.

“No. If she was dead, I’d know. She’s not dead,” Beetlejuice managed to stand up. “I have to go see her.”

“How are you going to that? She’s not going to summon you,” Lydia crossed her arms. “And there’s no visitors until she calls us to say she’s allowed visitors.”

“Well, when’s that?”

“Whenever her doctor says she can have visitors.”

“FUCK!!!” Beetlejuice went storming off.

“You think he’s angry?” Barbara was matching paint to the new wallpaper Lydia had helped her put up.

“I think that’s the understatement of the year,” Matilda returned to her baking as Lydia returned to help Barbara.

****

“Hello?” Lydia answered her phone. It was the number for the hospital that (Y/n) was at. It had been two weeks since the incident, and Beetlejuice had alternated between moping around the house and going to perform bio exorcisms to keep his mind distracted. But he was at home, listening to Matila having a book club with Adam and Barbara.

“Lyds? It’s me.”

“(Y/n)! How are you feeling?” That got the group's attention. Beetlejuice was on his feet in an instant.

“Let me talk to her!” He tried to grab for the phone, but Lydia held it away from him.

“I’m doing ok. Dr. Wheeler says I can have visitors. I was wondering if you and Matilda would come visit me.” She sounded different. More relaxed.

“Of course. We’ll come by tomorrow. We both have the day off from work.”

“That works perfectly. I have therapy today, but tomorrow I’m free. It’ll be great to see you guys.”

“Do you want us to bring you anything? Or anyone else?”

“No, that’s ok. Thank you for the offer. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” Lydia hung up then.

“Why didn’t you let me talk to her?” Beetlejuice asked with a slight growl in his voice.

“I didn’t want to bombard her with things. Especially as she’s trying to heal Beej,” Lydia’s voice was calm and even, the complete opposite of Beetlejuice’s voice. “She asked for Matilda and I to go visit her tomorrow.”

“I’m going too.”

“Beej…I don’t think…”

“I’m. Going.”

“Okay, fine. But if she doesn’t want you there, you pop out. Wait in the car or something, okay?”

“Deal.” Beetlejuice turned and went back to Matilda’s deep discussion on A Game of Thrones.

****

“We’re here to see (Y/n),” Lydia told the receptionist.

“Just the two of you?” She wrote out their name tags. Beetlejuice was trying to stay hidden—part of the deal he made with Matilda and Lydia to get to join them. Stay hidden until they get to see (Y/n).

“Yes ma’am,” Matilda smiled and accepted the nametag.

“More than likely, she’s either in the garden drawing or she’s in the great room playing piano. I’d try the garden first. It’s a nice day.”

“Thank you,” Lydia, Matilda, and Beetlejuice made their way to the garden. A few people were walking around, talking with each other or with a nurse. They saw (Y/n) settled into a molded plastic chair, sketching an older gentleman just down the walkway. He was sitting on one of the concrete benches, watching birds.

“(Y/n),” Matilda was trying to make her voice as soft and even as possible. (Y/n) looked up and smiled, setting her sketchbook down and getting up to hug Lydia and Matilda.

“You guys made it. I’m so glad to see you.” She smiled, but it didn’t really show in her eyes. To Beetlejuice, it seemed that the life had been sucked out of her.

“Hey babycakes, I’ve missed you,” Beetlejuice spoke up. But it was like (Y/n) didn’t see him. “(Y/n)?”

“Let me show you guys my room. A couple of the teenagers here drew some art for it. I’ve got a radio, and Nurse Shelley brought me a big fuzzy blanket to cuddle up with,” (Y/n) led the group towards her room. Matilda walked ahead of Lydia and Beetlejuice.

“What the fuck is going on? She can’t see me?” He asked. “Why the fuck can’t she see me?”

“I don’t know Beej. We’ll figure it out, okay?” Lydia patted his shoulder.

“Here it is! I’ve even got a window. I love sketching the sunsets,” (Y/n) showed them the small room with bars on the window. “I’ve gotten a lot better. Dr. Wheeler has hope that I should be able to go home soon.”

“Well, I know Adam, Barbara, and Beej miss you,” Lydia tested the waters. (Y/n) looked at her like she had two heads.

“Adam…Barbara…oh. The ghosts. The ones that I made up to represent the homelife I never really had,” (Y/n)’s smile fell a bit. “They’re not real.”

“(Y/n), you know that’s not true. Plus, Beetlejuice really misses you…” Matilda stopped when (Y/n) backed up from her. “(Y/n)?”

“Please don’t say that name. That is a bad name. We don’t use that word here,” Lydia glanced over at Beetlejuice, whose mouth was hanging open. (Y/n) couldn’t see him, because she didn’t believe in him. Not anymore.

“Excuse me,” Dr. Wheeler knocked on the door. “(Y/n), is everything okay?”

“Yes, Dr. Wheeler. I was just showing Lydia and Matilda my room,” (Y/n) smiled at the doctor. “Lyds, Tillie, this is Dr. Wheeler. He’s helped me so much.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you two,” He shook their hands. “(Y/n), it’s almost lunch and medication time. I’m going to take your friends to discuss the process with them. Oh, it’s pizza day.”

“Oh, I love pizza day,” (Y/n) walked past the doctor. Beetlejuice wanted to follow. He wanted to be near (Y/n), but he also felt like his heart was breaking. So he walked behind Lydia and Matilda as they followed Dr. Wheeler to his office.

“So, you’re Lydia Deetz, and you’re Matilda Wormwood, am I correct?” Dr. Wheeler asked once the girls had settled in chairs across from his desk.

“Yeah. We’re (Y/n)’s best friends and roommates,” Lydia could feel Beetlejuice standing right behind her, sizing up the doctor.

“Then you must know how fragile (Y/n)’s psyche is,” Dr. Wheeler opened (Y/n)’s file. “In her first therapy sessions, we asked her to draw things. We just wanted to get a sense of what she was seeing, what she was feeling,” He laid a few drawings out. One was Adam and Barbara, sitting on the couch together. But there was a dark haze to it. Too much black crayon was used on what was a pretty sunny memory. Another was Beetlejuice sitting at a table, feet up, smoking a cigarette. Lydia taking pictures of food, and Matilda making books float around the room. All of them were memories, but all of them seemed to be have a shadow over them.

“These are good,” Matilda commented. “(Y/n) doesn’t draw as much as she used to. We have some of her work hanging in the library.”

“We asked her to draw what she sees at home. And she drew ghosts. She told us that this is Adam and Barbara Maitland, who, according to our records, died quite some time ago. She drew Ms. Wormwood using magic to move things around the house. She drew Lydia doing possibly the only normal thing. But what is most concerning is this personification of her depression, the mess in her mind.” He pointed to the picture of Beetlejuice.

“That’s not a personification of anything,” Lydia started, but Dr. Wheeler raised a hand to stop her.

“She says this is named Beetlejuice. She told me if we said his name three times, that he would show up. We have worked very hard to help her work through this creation. She now draws happier things. Flowers, birds, the sunset. We banned this name from being said, and she has come to terms with the fact that she created these imaginary characters to help her cope with the stresses of life. These people do not exist.”

“Dr. Wheeler, you don’t understand…”

“No Ms. Deetz, you don’t understand. (Y/n) is sick. We are trying to heal her. If I had my way, she would not be returning to the house on the hill. But she’s an adult and we can’t stop her from going someplace. And since we are so close to getting her to a healthy point, I will have to ask that you do not visit anymore until she is ready to be discharged.

“WHAT?!” Beetlejuice all but screamed, but Dr. Wheeler didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss.

Reluctantly, Lydia and Matilda left his office. He promised he would take care of informing (Y/n) about the new arrangement. Beetlejuice wanted to stick around the hospital to watch over (Y/n), but Lydia pulled him away.

“We’ll get her back Beej,” Lydia promised him when they got to the car. But when Lydia looked at Matilda, there were tears in her eyes.

Maybe they had actually lost their best friend.

****

“Okay, I’m going to go pick up (Y/n),” Matilda told Adam, Barbara, and Beetlejuice over a week later. “Lydia will be home from work shortly. Now, we don’t know if (Y/n) is going to be able to see all of you guys or not. We just have to be gentle with her, okay?”

“We will all be on our best behaviors,” Adam promised. Beetlejuice rolled his eyes and went back to staring out the window at the driveway.

That’s where he was when Lydia got home from work. Watching for Matilda’s car to come up the drive. Lydia sat down next to him.

“It’s like watching water boil or paint drying, isn’t it?” She asked him.

“What’s taking so long?” He grumbled, watching a bird fly in front of the window.

“Paperwork probably. It takes a while,” Lydia looked out the window with him. That’s when Matilda’s car appeared, pulling up the driveway. Everyone waited as (Y/n) and Matilda got out, (Y/n)’s few belongings in a bag in her hands. They walked into the house.

“It’s a little chilly in here,” (Y/n) walked right past Barbara and Adam without saying a word. “But it’s so good to be home.”

“We’re glad to have you back,” Lydia hugged (Y/n). Beetlejuice watched (Y/n) curiously like a cat just watching his territory.

“Babe,” He whispered, but it fell on deaf ears as the girls headed upstairs to (Y/n)’s room. Beetlejuice started to follow.

“Maybe you should give her some space,” Adam commented, but Beetlejuice just glared at him before heading upstairs as well.

“Here, I drew some new things,” (Y/n) handed Lydia and Matilda some new artwork she had done. “I think I might take painting up again.” Lydia wanted to say that Adam would love to have a painting friend, but she kept quiet. “Oh, there’s that ring.” The two other girls looked back at Beetlejuice, who was excited. Once (Y/n) put her ring back on, she’d be linked to him again. He’d be able to feel her, to help her. “Do either of you know where I got this? I don’t remember.”

“Uh…” Was all Matilda could muster. (Y/n) shrugged and looked at the elegant band again before setting it on her dresser.

“Who’s hungry? I’m starving,” (Y/n) walked past Beetlejuice, stopping for a second. “Man, I just got a draft. I think I need to get my hoodies out of the closet.” She walked away then as Beetlejuice stood there.

****

It had been a couple of weeks since (Y/n) had returned home. While things were peaceful, Lydia felt she was walking on eggshells, trying to keep the ghost talk to a minimum. Beetlejuice was pining a lot. He just wanted (Y/n) to see him. But nothing seemed to work. So he was currently sitting in the kitchen, watching as (Y/n) did dishes and sang along with the music from her phone. He heard the beginning piano of that Bonnie Tyler song playing.

“Turn around,” He whispered along with the guy on the song.

“Every now and then, I get a little bit lonely, and you're never coming 'round,” (Y/n) sang. Beetlejuice perked up a bit. Maybe this was what he needed.

“Turn around,” Beetlejuice watched her.

“Every now and then, I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears,” (Y/n) sang into the wooden spoon she had been drying.

“Turn around…”

“Every now and then, I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by,” She rinsed a plate and set it in the drying rack.

“Turn around…”

“Every now and then, I get a little bit terrified, and then I see the look in your eyes,” Beetlejuice stood behind (Y/n) then.

“Turn around, bright eyes…”

“Every now and then I fall apart…”

“Turn around, bright eyes…”

“Every now and then I fall apart,” (Y/n) turned around to face Beetlejuice and he swore for a brief second, she was looking right at him.

“Turn around,” He reached out to touch her, but she was just a little out of reach.

“Every now and then I get a little bit restless and I dream of something wild,” The Maitlands, Lydia, and Matilda could hear (Y/n) and Beetlejuice singing from the kitchen. They didn’t want to break whatever spell was going on. They all wanted (Y/n) back, but they also needed to see what was going on.

“Turn around…”

“Every now and then I get a little bit helpless and I'm lying like a child in your arms,” (Y/n) could feel the cold air in the kitchen with her, the same cold feeling that had been following her around the house since she came back. She could also feel eyes on her from the dining room but made no move to look that way.

“Turn around,” Beetlejuice watched her. He could tell she was feeling something. He was feeling that spark back in his heart.

“Every now and then I get a little bit angry and I know I've got to get out and cry,” (Y/n) could feel tears in her eyes.

“Turn around.”

“Every now and then I get a little bit terrified but then I see the look in your eyes,” (Y/n) couldn’t stop singing even if she wanted to. Something was compelling her to keep going.

“Turn around bright eyes,” Beetlejuice couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on his face.

“Every now and then I fall apart.”

“Turn around bright eyes.”

“Every now and then I fall apart!” Right then, Beetlejuice made his move. He reached out and was finally able to touch her. He wrapped one arm around her waist and held her hand in his other one. She rested her other arm on his shoulder. She couldn’t see what was going on, but she could feel cold against her skin.

“And I need you now tonight, and I need you more than ever. And if you only hold me tight we'll be holding on forever. And we'll only be making it right 'cause we'll never be wrong,” (Y/n) sang as she was twirled around the room. Right then, she was able to see Adam and Barbara standing with Lydia and Matilda.

So the ghosts were real after all.

“Together we can take it to the end of the line. Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time.”

“All of the time,” Barbara, Adam, Lydia, and Matilda found themselves singing backup. Part of the Beetlejuice band apparently.

“I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark. We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks,” (Y/n) sang to the invisible force in front of her. She knew who it was, but she just couldn’t make the connection. Not yet. “I really need you tonight. Forever's gonna start tonight.”

“Forever gonna start tonight,” The quartet sang as (Y/n) stopped moving around the room.

“Once upon a time I was falling in love, but now I'm only falling apart. There's nothing I can do, a total eclipse of the heart,” (Y/n) looked around, a little confused as to why she had stopped dancing. “Once upon a time there was light in my life but now there's only love in the dark. Nothing I can say, a total eclipse of the heart.”

That’s when she felt herself being lifted up and placed on the breakfast table, a clattering of glassware on her less-than-graceful landing. She felt herself moving around the table again with the same invisible force. Now the other four stood around the table, watching her.

“Turn around, bright eyes. Turn around, bright eyes,” She could hear them sing, but there was a fifth voice there. A deeper, more gravelly one. One that she heard whisper her name many a night. “Turn around.”

“Every now and then I know you'll never be the boy you always wanted to be.”

“Turn around,” Beetlejuice sang, and (Y/n) could hear him clearly this time.

“But every now and then I know you'll always be the only boy who wanted me the way that I am,” She could feel her feet leaving the table as she floated up into the air. The rest of the world just seemed to melt away as a hazy figure entered her vision.

“Turn around,” He sang to her, with an accompaniment. But she knew it was him.

“Every now and then I know there's no one in the universe as magical and wondrous as you,” There he was, with that shit-eating grin he always wore. The one she loved to see, even when he was pulling pranks on her.

“Turn around,” He whispered to her, moving his head to kiss the hand that he was holding.

“Every now and then I know there's nothing any better. There's nothing that I just wouldn't do,” She returned the favor, kissing his hand this time.

“Turn around bright eyes.”

“Every now and then I fall apart,” She felt him pull her a little closer at that statement.

“Turn around bright eyes.”

“Every now and then I fall apart! And I need you now tonight. And I need you more than ever. And if you only hold me tight, we'll be holding on forever. And we'll only be making it right 'Cause we'll never be wrong. Together we can take it to the end of the line. Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time!”

“All of the time.” The quartet sang back to her.

“I don't know what to do, I'm always in the dark. Living in a powder keg and giving off sparks!” She was putting emotion into this that needed to be let out for years. Tears were streaming down her face, but she never wanted Beetlejuice to let her go. “I really need you tonight. Forever's gonna start tonight.” He lowered them back down to the table.

“Forever’s gonna start tonight,” He whispered in her ear as he pulled her against his chest.

“Once upon a time, I was falling in love. But now I'm only falling apart. Nothing I can do, a total eclipse of the heart,” She all but cried into his chest. “Once upon a time, there was light in my life. But now there's only love in the dark. Nothing I can say. A total eclipse of the heart.”

The pair didn’t hear the four finishing off the song as Beetlejuice kissed (Y/n) deeply, emotions pouring off of both of them. Once the world seemed to come back into focus, (Y/n) looked up into his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” She whispered, more tears threatening to spill. He cradled her face in his hands.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he wiped the tears away with his thumb. “I’m not going to let you fall again. I promise.”

[purrassicjet]

@snakeoil2 thank you for endulging me <3 here's your reward, the first section of Jawbone/Oliver's perspective for Darkest Times, Brightest People:

Oliver O’Shaughnessy had never been one for the gossip magazines.

He usually walked right past, maybe skimming the titles if he was really bored.

But things change. People change.

Suddenly, the gossip magazines were the only entertainment he could afford.

The most recent scandal had caught his eye, though. He reached out for the latest issue of Hot Odyssey, who seemed to be covering the issue the most. Apparently they had managed to get an interview with the woman involved. She was on the cover. An elven woman with long brown hair who couldn’t have been older than him, younger even. She looked scared, but the magazine made it seem like she was some temptress. His brow furrowed. They had been at the throat of that woman for just over a month now, and she always looked… sad in the pictures they took of her. He flipped to the page with the interview, skimming the article and feeling a pit develop in his stomach.

Me: So, Sandra, what led you to try and break up the marriage of such a pillar of our community?

SS: I didn’t! I swear!

Me: Come on now, you can be honest with me.

SS: I am! Is this why you asked for an interview? Just to try and pin this on me?!

Sandra continued to become more enraged the more the interview went on, sadly, I cannot write down what she said, out of fear of risking my publisher dropping me.

He shut the magazine in frustration, an animalistic growl rumbling in the back of his throat. He hated how he didn’t sound human anymore.

He put the magazine back on the stand, stuffing his hands in his pockets. There was no way that woman was the temptress the magazines always said she was. She didn’t look like she would have done what she was accused of, especially with the way she talked in that interview. He regarded the woman for a few more moments, part of him waiting for her to spring to life with some sort of magic, but dropped his gaze. He turned it instead to the sky, watching it darken with sunset. A bit of anxiety hit him and he rifled through his pockets, pulling out a few silver pieces and a copper piece. He hoped it would be enough to get him a room.

Oliver walked a couple blocks before he found a motel with its sign flashing “vacant”. He slipped into the reception building, only to find a frantic half-elf searching below the desk. He leaned over, “You alright, kid?”

“Fuck.” Was all the kid said, popping up so that Oliver could read his nametag, Ian. “I left the vacancy sign on, didn't I? Oh… my boss is going to kill me.”

Oliver held up his hands, “Slow down. What are you looking for?”

“I lost the key to one of the rooms.” Ian muttered miserably, “I went to the bathroom for just a second and it was gone. I can’t go find it because I have to stay here.”

“What room?”

“103.”

Oliver paused, thinking it over, “What about I go investigate? I need a room, you need help, let’s help each other.”

Ian’s eyes lit up, “Really? You’d do that?”

A small smile spread over Oliver’s face, exposing his now overgrown canine teeth. He cringed when Ian flinched a little, “Yeah, of course.”

The boy popped back underneath the counter and returned with another key, “This is the master key. If the door’s locked, you can get in with this.”

Oliver took it. “I’ll be right back.” He promised and backed out of the building.

He repeated the room number under his breath as he made his way to the line of rooms, passing a couple before he reached the correct door. He picked up a faint shuffling coming from behind the door and leaned into the peephole, seemingly causing more shuffling.

A woman’s voice said something he didn’t quite understand, but it reminded him of someone shushing an animal. 

“Is anybody in there? I’m coming in.” There was a string of swear words as Oliver put the master key in the lock and turned it.

The door swung open to reveal an elven woman trying to fit a full grown griffin into the small room. Her brown hair was cropped even shorter than a pixie cut, but longer in other places. It wasn’t a professional job, that was for sure. The haircut was the reason it took Oliver a few moments to recognise her.

It was the woman from the article.

“Sandra Sparkquiver?” There was nothing but confusion in his voice.

“Fuck!” The woman swore again, dropping her arms away from the griffin, who looked to be trying his best to fit into the small room, “How did you know? Are you press?”

He held his hands up in a surrender gesture, “Just looking for a room. The kid at the desk said if I got the key back, I could have it.”

Guilt washed over Sandra's face. “Yeah. That doesn't feel great.” But her face quickly shifted to a hardened expression again. “I need it.”

Despite the direction the conversation seemed to be going, Oliver couldn't help but feel calm. She was just… scared. 

“We could share.” He tried to suggest, but that only made her recoil further.

“Woah, okay.” He held up his hands, “Bad idea. I get it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and raised her hands again, blocking him from the griffin behind her. 

“Should I just tell him I couldn't find it?” 

She looked like she was about to respond, but closed her mouth. Her eyes flickered to the bandage on his arm and her eyes widened. He could almost see the math in her eyes. After a few moments of silence, she dropped her arms. 

“No.” She grabbed a bag from where Oliver couldn't see, hauling it over her back and slipping past him. “Bye.”

He didn't feel her pass by, but when the griffin basically shoved him out of the way he stumbled. 

“Hey! I need the- key…” He raised his hand as she left, but quickly felt just what he was looking for. She must have slipped it into his hand as she passed. His gaze lingered on the key for a moment.

The back of his neck pricked and he turned quickly to reception. He was running out of time. He jogged back to pay.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Down the Rabbit Hole at the El Royale

A/N: Have I had this plot line rolling around in my head since I saw Bad Times in theaters years ago? Yes. Do I know this will get like twelve notes? Also yes. But I liked writing it. So, maybe you guys will enjoy reading it.  Pairing: Miles Miller/F!Reader Word Count: 5.4k

Trigger Warnings: violence, organized crime, drug-use, war, murder—please do not read if any of this will upset you!

Summary: Five times Miles is excited to see you and the one time he wished he never met you OR a mysterious woman walks into the El Royale.

The first time Miles saw you, he had thought you were some sort of silver screen starlet, lost on her way to California. You walked in and pulled the silk scarf from around your hair before shoving it into the pocket of your coat. After filling a cup of coffee and grabbing one of the small packets of sugar and creamer, you walked to the front desk with a breezy smile that waned the smallest bit when you spotted him behind the desk.

“You’re new,” you said. It wasn’t a question. Your (pretty) eyes tracked to the nametag on his chest and nodded, as if his name suited him. Before he could say anything else, you placed a crisp ten dollar bill beneath the coffee and slid it toward him. “You look like you could use it.”

Heat tracked up Miles’ cheeks as he shyly took the cup and set it beneath the counter. He’d happily drink it later. “Let me get you your change,” he said, looking away, sure he could start a fire with the warmth burning on his face.

“Oh, get yourself a piece of pie with it. You look like a cherry guy. Am I right?” Leaning over the counter with another smile, Miles could smell your expensive perfume. Light and floral.

“Y-yes, ma’am. I do like it.”

That earned him a laugh as you leaned back. “Good. The guy before you liked pecan and only pecan. No taste whatsoever.”

You were distracting and beautiful and around his age, if he was willing to bet. And a repeat customer, apparently. He didn’t even need to tell you to sign the ledger before you asked for Room 3 in Nevada. You had the cash ready and you waved to him as you left, your high heels tapping lightly on the well-worn carpet before you disappeared. Miles waited for just a moment before grabbing at the ledger just to see your name. And there it was, just beneath the couple who had checked in two days ago.

Carole Lewis. He didn’t think the name suited you.

And then the phone in the back office rang. Miles was quick to answer it, already knowing what the low voice on the other end was going to ask. “Room 3. Nevada.” The line went dead before he could say anything. It always did. But just this once, Miles wanted to ask what you could possibly be doing to warrant being recorded. Maybe you actually were a starlet. Either way, Miles dragged his feet down the dark hallway and toward Room 3 and set a new reel in the camera pointed at your room. As the camera started to whirl, Miles let himself one moment of selfishness.

Just this once, just for a little, he wanted to look, too.

You opened your pristine suitcase and took out a small briefcase and set it on the small nightstand. You frowned, perfect lips pulling down at the corners before you glanced at the mirror as if feeling Miles’ stare. Then you moved the small bag on the nightstand just a fraction; making sure the broad side of it was tilted. As your fingers drifted across the case’s locks, your mouth twisted to the side and Miles would swear he saw tears in your eyes.

You were gone in the morning. The only trace of you was the faintest trace of your perfume in the air of your untouched room. The key to room 3 was tucked neatly back into the cupboard behind the desk as if you had never checked in at all.

**

The second time Miles saw you came a handful of weeks later. He had been expecting literally anyone else when he heard the front desk bell ding. But there you stood, just as beautiful as last time, with dangling diamond earrings and that same floral perfume. You also had a cup of coffee and a slice of pie from the machine for him. “I see you’re keeping the old place in good shape,” you said, with a smile. There was another ten dollar bill under the coffee. “I was a little worried they’d run you off.”

“Not yet,” he said, voice softer than he intended.

“Good. I’m selfishly happy I get to see a familiar face.” Your smile widened just a fraction and you once again asked for Room 3 in Nevada, handing over more cash for your stay. And he was once again tasked with setting up the camera outside your room. Again, you set a small briefcase on the nightstand and angled it strangely before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. The tiny skirt of your dress rode up the slightest bit and Miles had to pull his eyes away from the long expanse of skin just on the other side of the glass.

That night, when he checked in a man and woman who were definitely married and not to each other, he checked the ledger. You had signed Dr. Mouse. He barely had the other couple out of the lobby before he saw your car, a powder blue Mercedes, roll out of the parking lot. When he went, selfishly–again, to check the camera pointed at your room, the small briefcase had been left behind. When he went to “clean” your room the next day, it was gone.

You had your secrets, too.

**

The third time Miles saw you came during the last snowfall of the season. It had been a few months since you had vanished from your room again and it seemed the months had brought you trouble. The familiar silk scarf and oversized sunglasses did little to disguise the swelling of your cheek and the cut he saw arcing over your brow. Your knuckles were wrapped beneath your gloves that you tucked into your thick coat’s pockets so you could hand over the money for the room.

“Still want Room 3?”

You smiled; it wasn’t as wide. Probably to avoid opening up the split on your lip. “You’re so good to me, Miles.”

He blushed and turned to grab the key, trying to ignore how his heart was inching its way up his throat. “Are you okay?” He asked quietly, the points of the Nevada keyring digging into his palm. “Is there anything I can-”

“You wanna know what happened?” You asked, looking at him over the edge of your sunglasses as he gave a jerky nod. Humming, you took the key from him and stood straight. “I hit something stupid.”

Yes. You had secrets. Miles was abundantly aware of that when he watched you sign “J. Abberwock.” He watched you walk away, another question on his tongue but he held back. He’d already overstepped. And he was sure he was going to be asked to spy on you again. He knew it. But when you paused at the door and turned back to him, he still hoped that you would say something. Anything.

“I may need a bit of cherry pie tonight. Want to join me?”

The phone rang in the back office but for the first time, Miles let it get to the second ring. “I-I’d like that.”

“Good. See you in an hour.” And, as promised, you appeared an hour later and bought several slices of cherry pie and a cup of coffee of Miles.

“None for you?” He asked as you pushed the cup toward him.

“I can’t stand the taste of it. But I’m sure you have a long night ahead of you.” You had taken off the scarf and sunglasses and the dim light of the hotel’s empty lounge only served to exacerbate your injuries to Miles’ eye. But, as you steered the conversation toward television shows and then toward music and the other guests you had encountered at the rundown hotel, Miles couldn’t bring himself to ask again. He understood needing an escape.

You were funny. And smart. And kind. And had the terrible and wonderful habit of touching the back of Miles’ hand whenever he made you laugh. His poor heart nearly hopped out of his chest when you reached up to push an errant strand of his hair off his forehead when he was telling you a story of a drunk groom who had run away from his wedding a few counties over. The words stalled on his tongue for a moment as your gentle fingers swept across his skin before you tilted your head to the side, wordlessly allowing him to continue with his story.

“You ever think about it?” You asked as he finished.

“What?”

“Getting married. With a face like that, I’d be surprised if you don’t have a string of broken hearts in your wake.” You giggled at the blush you coaxed out of him.

“N-no. I mean, one day. Maybe.” He wanted that. He wanted a different life outside the hotel. He wanted someone to tell his secrets and sins to and hear theirs in return. He wanted to love and be loved. And your pretty eyes always seemed to take center stage in those fantasies.

You hummed around your next bite of cherry pie, licking your lips free of the sticky red sweet. “I could see it. You’d make a handsome groom—a better husband than most have these days.”

“And you?” He asked quietly, half hoping half dreading your answer. “Do you want to get married?”

You sighed. “Maybe. One day. Hard to do in my line of work.”

And before he could stop himself, Miles asked, “what do you do?”

Your smile was all teeth. It reminded Miles of one of the coyotes that had stepped into a trap on his family’s farm back in Indiana. “I’m a transport specialist, of sorts.”

Miles didn’t think transporting anything was supposed to be dangerous. But then again, hotel desk clerks usually didn’t have to send reels of film off to a post office box for things he wasn’t allowed to ask about—so, maybe you had another thing in common. And, when Miles felt sleep finally start to wash over him as the needle rolled out of his grip, he could only think of how soft your touch had been.

**

The fourth time Miles saw you was over a year later. He had nearly given up on seeing you again after that late night talk. He knew it was ridiculous. He hardly knew you. He didn’t even know your real name and he hated how long it took him to realize you’d always signed in with some sort of Alice in Wonderland pseudonym. But that did not stop his mind from conjuring your face, both bruised and unblemished, when it hazed with drug-induced sleep.

You had made a mark on him, for better or for worse.

And when you walked in on a cool Spring evening, Miles couldn’t hold it against you. You were wearing another short dress; your boots, shiny and probably expensive, made little noise as you crossed the lobby to lean across the desk again, and your smile was just as bright as he remembered. “Hey, stranger.”

And that was it. Miles found himself sitting across from you at the same booth you’d occupied last time, sharing a rhubarb pie because the machine was out of cherry. Neither of you seemed to mind. And it was you who brought up your absence. “Had to take a few jobs on the east coast for a bit.”

“Was there less stupid for you to hit out there?”

You snorted and halfheartedly whacked his arm. “Plenty of stupid on the east coast. Just a different kind. But there were no Miles Millers on the east coast so it was decidedly less fun.”

A familiar warmth bloomed in Miles’ cheeks as he stabbed at the remnants of the pie with his fork. “You’re makin’ fun of me.”

“I’m not,” you said, earnest and honest as your hand settled over his on the table. “I missed you. I’m sorry I was gone for so long.”

Miles looked up at you again. The low light was making your eyes sparkle and he could still smell your perfume. And maybe Miles could be brave again. “I missed you, too.”

Your answering smile was dazzling. And you just kept smiling at him as you continued to trade stories of your lives. Yours seemed decidedly more exciting, even if he would wager that you were only telling him half of it, but you were just as interested in what he told you, too. The stories about rowdy guests, of the food delivery men being caught eating half his promised delivery, all of it. Any of it. Just to keep that smile on your face. But the third time he yawned just before midnight, you were the one to suggest him going to bed.

“Will you be here in the morning?” He just wanted to see you in the light of the morning. Just once. Just to know you were near for the night. Another bit of selfishness.

You gave him another smile. “Maybe, Miles. Maybe.”

He thought about your smile as he watched you walk away. He thought about your smile as he shucked his ill-fitting blazer and grabbed the familiar bag and needles rattled in his drawer. He thought about it as his body sagged, veins thrumming. It was the last thought he had before sleep finally claimed him. You and your pretty smile.

“You are a good man, Miles Miller,” a voice whispered to him. A warm hand pressed against his cheek as his eyes fluttered open. This was a nice dream. It was you, sitting on the edge of his makeshift bed, so close he could smell your perfume. Yes, this was a nice dream. Your skillful fingers carefully took the needle from his arm and undid the tourniquet before pressing your fine silk scarf to the crux of his elbow.

“Pretty…” He murmured, the syllables slow like molasses on his tongue.

You pulled the threadbare blanket over him and smoothed his hair away from his forehead. “You deserve more than this. Good, sweet man.” Then, with a press of your beautiful lips against his temple, you were gone.

Miles woke the next morning and felt his eyes sting with tears as he saw the blood speckled bit of silk crumpled beneath his arm. It hadn’t been a dream. He walked on unsteady feet down the dark, familiar hallway to Nevada 3 and his entire body sagged when he saw the familiar sight of your still-neatly made bed. You were gone. Again. A flash of pink caught his eye and Miles turned, heart in his throat.

See you soon!

You’d written it backward, in your lipstick, just out of frame of the camera in the corner of the mirror. This was for Miles. Just for Miles. You knew about the cameras and you didn’t care. And you said you would see him again soon. Miles let himself smile as he loaded up the film. You’d see him soon. He glanced at the ledger and saw you had signed in as Kat Cheshire.

**

Miles wished the leap of his heart was out of joy when he saw you for the fifth time. But it wasn’t. You stumbled in, hand pressed to your stomach but Miles could still see the blooming crimson on your pretty white blouse. He threw the desk open and grabbed at your sides, ignoring your pained hiss as he dragged you back into the maintenance closet and let you crumple onto his unmade bed before grabbing at towels and a bottle of antiseptic. You were quiet as he set to work, barely a grunt of pain as he started to stem the bleeding before dumping half the bottle of antiseptic on the wound.

“Bullet or knife?” He asked.

“Knife.” A grimace marred your features as your head tipped back. “Lousy aim. Doesn’t feel like they hit anything important.”

“This happen often enough for you to know that?” He asked. But he could already see the scars twisting up and down your torso.

“Something like that,” you said from between gritted teeth. “And what about you, huh? Where’d you learn to do this?” Your pretty eyes were unfocused but still trained on him.

“The war,” he whispered after a long stretch.

And you only hummed. “Bet it taught you a lot of things you shouldn’t’ve had to learn.”

Miles couldn’t look at you, only peeling the towel back for a moment to make sure the bleeding had at least slowed to a trickle. “Do you know how to sew this shut?”

You nodded as your hand covered his on the towel. “My Grammy would whoop me for the shit knots, but I know how to make sure it’s closed.” The following laugh had an extra bit of blood pooling in the towel.

Someone hit the bell out on the desk but Miles didn’t budge from your side. At least, not until the toe of your expensive shoe nudged against his knee. “Go. I got this.”

“Not gonna disappear on me this time?”

And you fucking smiled. “Not this time.”

The entire time Miles gave his speech to a man who looked suspiciously like a congressman and two women who weren’t his wife, his mind was on you. You in his room with a needle and floss digging into your skin. You in his room and surrounded by a few of his deepest shames. You in his room.

Your smile seemed a little less strained when he finally handed over the key to the honeymoon suite and hurried back to you. He knew the phone would ring in a moment, it always did with guests like that. And you were here, too. It would be a two camera night. But that didn’t matter right now.

You did.

And he couldn’t take his eyes off you as you stood near his rumpled bed. Your blood stained blouse was open now; he could see the twisted loops of the stitches you had sewn and how blood had soaked into the band of your pretty pink bra. “Can I have Room 3, again, please?”

The phone rang.

An hour later, you were back in the lobby in a new shirt and a familiar sparkle in your eye as you leaned against the front desk. Two slices of cherry pie were pushed in his direction. “I think I owe you a bit of an explanation.” For the first time, your smile was timid. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours?”

The pair of you spoke for hours. Hours. He told you everything he could. Everything he had buried. Everything he carried. And you told him just the same. It had been a pair of cruel twists of fate for both of you to fall into your lines of work. Miles had needed a job, something quiet and stable after the war had ripped him apart. Management had preyed on that, knowing he needed this job. And you had come from the wrong side of the tracks and witnessed something you shouldn’t have. You cut a deal, work for them and make more money than you could have ever dreamed of or take a short trip in the back of a van. It was an easy decision. And you were good at it: making sure people paid what they ‘promised’ and delivering it to places like the El Royale where it could be given to the people who were expecting it. Sometimes people needed to be convinced to hand over what they had been told to pay. It wasn’t always money. And you hated knowing that the weight of folded bills differed greatly from…well, other things. The cameras pointed at your room were supposed to be a precaution, to make sure you didn’t take anything from the case and the right person picked it up. Apparently the people Miles worked for knew the people you worked for and had an agreement. Or they were the same people. Neither of you were entirely sure.

“Meeting you has been a silver lining,” you murmured. “You’ve been my bright spot.”

And that was probably one of the saddest and kindest things Miles had ever heard. He had never been anyone’s bright spot. Not since his number was called and he was shipped out. But here you were, in the dim light of the El Royale, holding your secrets up to his like some sort of burnt offering. The song you had picked on the jukebox was coming to a close and Miles almost smiled when you had first picked it, Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit.” It seemed to suit you. But as the final notes rang out through the lobby, you were quick to skitter back toward the jukebox, steps a little stilted but still graceful. The next song started and you made your way back to him, slowing to a stop in front of him.

You stretched out a hand to him with a growing smile. “Dance with me?”

And Miles couldn’t tell you no. He stood and let your smooth hand slide into his as the other rested against his shoulder. His fingers twitched as he grasped at your waist and started to lead you in a muted type of waltz, still mindful of your injuries.

Then he listened to the lyrics.

And time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much… Are you still mine? I need your love…

This was a love song.

Lonely rivers sigh, ‘wait for me, wait for me…’ I’ll be coming home, wait for me…

“This song makes me think of you,” you murmured, face turned away, but he could feel each syllable of it with your cheek pressed against his shoulder. “Is that weird?”

“No. No, it isn’t strange.” It was heaven in a sentence. Having you in his arms, surrounded by your perfume and feeling the warmth of you so close…it was heaven.

But the song was short, too short for what Miles wanted. He could have held you forever and the sad look in your eyes as you pulled back made him think you wanted that, too. He could have asked you to stay. Could have asked you to finally finally finally tell him your real name. Could have asked you to dinner. A real dinner—not just pie from the machine. But when your soft lips brushed against the corner of his mouth, all of those questions fizzled to stardust.

“I have to go, Miles. Stay safe for me.”

And then you were gone.

It wasn’t until he was checking out the congressman the next morning that he looked at the ledger. There, in your familiar handwriting, was W. Rabbit.

**

He would never get to learn your name, would he? He would never get to look at you in the morning light. He would never get to smell your perfume again. He would never get to tell you that he couldn’t listen to that song without thinking of you. He would never learn your name. And with the revelation that Father Flynn wasn’t actually a priest, it seemed that Miles wouldn’t be able to do anything he had hoped to do before he died.

Unforgiven and unfulfilled.

But at least you weren’t here. You were safe. Right?

“Found another one!” One of the hippies shouted as the front doors chimed. And there you were, being dragged in, blood and rain soaking you down to the bone. “This one killed-”

“The lady killed someone?” Billy Lee laughed. Laughed. “Are you sure?”

The other hippie nodded and threw you down to the ground beside the unmoving body of Emily Summerspring. “Beat them to death with my tire iron.”

Billy Lee walked over to you and shoved his foot beneath your ribs, turning you over with another laugh. “Aren’t you something else?”

“I’m something else,” you said, words bloated and slow. “And they were lazy. Easy to kill.” That all but smacked the smile off the hippie’s face.

“Tie her up. Put her with the others.”

You were unceremoniously dragged to your feet again and tied to a chair beside Darlene. Your pretty eyes widened as you finally took in Miles’ appearance. “Miles…”

No.

No.

No.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be safe. You were supposed to be okay. Miles shook his head, feeling his chin quake with another sting of tears. He didn’t want to see you. Not now. If all your late night talks and pretty smiles meant that you ended up here, now, he wished he had never met you.

“Oh, are we on a first name basis with the bellboy?” Billy Lee asked as he draped himself over your shoulders once the ropes were sufficiently tight. “What’s the story there?”

“Leave her alone.”

��I wasn’t asking you, altar boy.”

You winced as the other man tugged at the dangling diamonds in your ear. “He’s my friend. And he isn’t a fucking bellboy.”

Billy Lee hummed and tugged at your earring again until your ear bled. “No. No, I think there’s something more. Friends don’t look at friends like that, do they, Boots?”

“Nah, I think he’s in love with her. But they haven’t fucked yet,” the youngest of the bunch answered, a southern twang almost softening the crassness of her words. Miles vaguely remembered her name was Rose.

It made Billy Lee laugh. “I think you’re right! There’s so much tension!”

All it did was make Miles’ stomach sink. Was this going to be another game to them? One woman was dead and the hippies seemed intent on having another round. He had already survived one round—would he survive another? Would you?

The room suddenly fell into darkness, the hum of the hotel’s power cutting out on the whim of the raging storm to pitch the group into an unsteady quiet. But as the hippies argued over what to do next and the fake priest and sweet Darlene were roped into the labyrinthine conversation about where the mess of money came from, Miles looked at you. There was a nasty gash at your hairline and the rain water had swept a bit of the blood down your face to stain the collar of your dress. But your eyes were bright and focused on him, too. Despite the absolute bloodbath that was sure to come, you smiled.

Wouldn’t that be the best thing for him to see before he died? Just your pretty smile. He may not get the opportunity to confess, but he got to see you one last time. And hopefully you would be able to walk away from all of this. That was what Miles wanted for you. He wanted you to see the morning light for him.

And Darlene started to sing, “Oh, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch; a long, lonely time…”

Your eyes found Miles’ again and your smile was small this time, a quiet nudge that you remembered the dance you had shared with him to this song. This was your song. And that was all the time he would get to spend with you.

“And time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much…”

But he wanted more. He wanted to leave this behind. He wanted to know how it truly felt to be yours, and you could be his. He wanted to know your name.

“Are you still mine-”

Darlene’s beautiful voice halted as Billy Lee spun the roulette table again. “I’ve heard better.”

The game had begun again.

Then everything happened at once. Father Flynn stood and slammed his head into Billy Lee’s face. Two shots were fired, missing their targets, as Flynn and Billy Lee tumbled through one of the fire pits. Darlene shoved herself back, toppling her chair and taking one of the other hippies down, too. Miles flung himself down, managing to crawl toward the safety of the lounge’s wrap around railing.

But where were you?

Miles turned his head and saw the toppled roulette table, the scattered cash, and the gun. And he froze. He couldn’t do it. 123 people already hung on his soul, he couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t. He didn’t even realize he was saying it over and over again, out loud, until Darlene called out to him, kind eyes pleading.

“Miles, help us!”

Fire spilled out from the destroyed fire pits. The hotel was going to burn down.

“I can’t kill no more people,” he muttered, heart in his throat, angry flashes of dead men cycling through his mind.

“How many people have you killed, Miles?”

His next breath stuttered in his throat. “123.”

There was a long stretch of silence before Darlene managed to smile. “It’s all right. You don’t have to kill more people.”

Something settled in his bones with that simple set of sentences. He didn’t have to. There was no superior officer barking orders at him. There was no threat of a court martial. There were no empty promises of bullshit patriotic duty. He had no obligation.

But then you screamed. And Miles moved.

The gun was a familiar weight in his hand as his fingers curled around it and he pulled back the hammer. He watched the man drag you by the hair to stand near Flynn as Billy Lee pointed a shotgun at you both. Aiming was easy. And so was pulling the trigger.

Rose screamed and dove for Billy Lee’s unmoving form, hands framing his face as she sobbed. But Miles hardly heard it as he moved to shoot the other man, and then the woman who had tried to hide behind a lounge couch, before handing the pistol off to Flynn and hurrying to your side. A new bruise was starting to swell on your cheek but you barely acknowledged it as you started to tug at the rope still tying his hands together. He could smell your perfume, tinged with rainwater and blood.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Your deft fingers faltered and your pretty eyes shot to his. “Sweetheart. That’s new.”

A familiar heat crawled up his cheeks. “Y-you never told me your name.”

“Will you still call me sweetheart if I tell you?” The ropes around his wrists fell to heap around your feet. He was free.

“‘Course I will.”

Another one of your smiles lit up your face before it quickly dropped as your hands slammed into Miles’ chest as you shoved him to the side. Before he could ask what you were doing, Rose had leapt at you, knife in hand. You managed to keep the blade from sliding into your stomach as the younger girl seethed. Your arms shook with the effort but you still managed to force her backward, boots sliding across the carpet, until her back hit the dividing wall. Miles didn’t see you move. Didn’t see your hands turn the knife around. Didn’t see you shove one last time. But Rose fell anyway. And didn’t move again.

Everything after that was a blur. Miles hardly remembered you gently pushing him into the passenger side of your car before peeling out of the parking lot as rain continued to lash against the windshield. He hardly remembered the mumbled goodbyes he gave to Flynn and Darlene before they went their separate ways. He hardly remembered how you promised to ‘handle’ management when they were bound to have questions. “They aren’t a fan of hippies either, you know. We’re going to be just fine.”

But Miles remembered the skies clearing and the dark of the night giving way to a lilac dawn just as you slowed to a stop in front of a small church a few hours later. St. Joseph’s Catholic Church — it was written in faded blue paint just above the door.

“I’ll wait out here, okay? Then we can go see this girl I know; she’ll make sure we get all that buckshot out of you.”

An hour later, Miles walked out of the church, soul a little lighter. And there you stood, leaning against your car in the morning light.

Miles stepped to your side and let his hands settle over your hips. Quiet as the wind, you whispered your name. Miles inched his way closer, shoes knocking into yours and making your smile widen the slightest bit. He reached up and gently cupped your face, mindful of your bruising, and was nearly giddy as you pressed further into his grasp. Then slowly, happily, he leaned in. He whispered your name against your lips and kissed you. It sounded right. You felt right. At that moment, Miles knew he’d follow you anywhere. Down any path, any rabbit hole, as long as you were at his side.

A/N: Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

[saltsicklover]

Title: The First Official Letter - Fan Mail Pt. 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2900

Rating: T

Warnings: Depictions of blood, mentions of killing, angst, mentions of hangovers. Swearing. Soft Steve.

-- To be continued. I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list :) --

This story now contains a lesbian couple, OCs, and this is a PRO LGBTQIA+ Page. If you do not support or cannot be kind, you can kindly get the fuck off my page and get your free media somewhere else. NO TERFS, NO HOMOPHOBIA, NO HATE. Happy Pride Month!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bucky Barnes, or anything related to Marvel within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

Maybe Bucky shouldn't have written at all. The thought swam around Bucky's mind for weeks. Since the moment he ran down to the mail room, the elevator taking much too long for his liking, and attempted to sweet talk the lady behind the desk. She did not allude to the fact that both Steve and Sam were hiding in her office.

Steve and Sam made it to the mail office the first thing the morning after the bar, Steve more or less dragging a very hungover Sam behind him. Steve insisted that he saw Bucky's letter in the 'Outgoing Mail' pile on the kitchen countertop when he got up to get a glass of water that night, but the pile was gone this morning. And if Steve knows Bucky like he thinks he does, and he does, the moment Bucky wakes up he is going to try and get that letter back. 

The boys made it to the mailroom with only a few moments to spare before Bucky came running down the hall. Steve only got a couple of words in before they both shoved into the small office, pushing their backs up against the door as to not be seen from the other side of the service window. 

"Hi, uhh, hello," Bucky  huffs a bit, a hand coming up to slick back his bangs from his forehead. "I mailed a letter, and I would like it back," The woman behind the window does her best not to snicker at his words, her eyes casting a quick glance over to the men currently hiding only a few feet from her. 

"I'm sorry sir, but once letters have been mailed they cannot be unmailed," She speaks, her eyes not leaving her computer. She worries that if she looks at him, she won't be able to keep from laughing at the whole situation. Working in the tower always comes with antics by the hands of the Avengers, but the trouble they get into is always a bit surprising.  

"Please, Miss," Bucky's eyes flash down to her nametag than quickly back up to her face, "Miss Brown, I really do need that letter back," 

"I am sorry, but I cannot release any mail once it makes it this far. Once it is in this office, it is stamped and sent on its way to the post office. You will, however, get it back if it is marked returned to sender," Miss Brown finally looks at him, biting her tongue a bit to keep her composure. 

"Are you absolutely sure there is nothing I can do?" Bucky's tone boarders on begging now but he does his best to flash her his best puppy dog eyes, the same ones that used to get any girl he set his sights on. Steve elbows Sam hard in the ribs to subdue his snickering. 

"Excuse you, but I am old enough to be your mother, you better not be propositioning me, young man," Miss Brown scolds at him with a pointed finger and Sam has to clasp his hand over Steve's mouth to keep his laughter from giving them away. Tears peak at Sam's eyes as he fights to keep back his own roar of laughter. 

Bucky sulks away a moment later, and when he is out of sight Miss Brown turns to the two large men who have fallen to the floor with laughter, tears streaming down their faces. 

"And what are you two laughing so hard about?" She questions, looking down at them from her seat. The men try and regain composure, they really do, but each time they look at each other they burst into another fit of laughs. They aren't laughing at Bucky, of course not. They are laughing at just how precisely well Steve knows Bucky, and at the way Miss Brown was so quick to put Bucky right into his place. That was two weeks ago. 

Now, Bucky almost falls out of the elevator due to exhaustion. There is a thick layer of sweat holding caked mud onto his skin, the dirt already worked deep into the fabric of his tactical uniform. Chunky pieces of earth fall off his boots as he trudges through the main living area of the compound, leaving a trail behind him with each step. 

The mission went to hell in a handbasket. From the moment he stepped foot off the helicopter it seemed like everything was going wrong. Between jammed guns and twice as many Hydra goons as originally thought, Bucky was in over his head. "Leave no bodies" behind turned into a a trail; one that left Bucky feeling queasy and on edge from the moment he crawled back into the helicopter at the extraction point. He wasn't even fortunate enough to collect the data he was sent out to get, the whole operation came up dry. 

Agent Hill tried to assure him during his debrief that it wasn't a total loss- one less Hydra agent on the street meant the world was a little safer and with the amount of firepower that Bucky bestowed upon them, that sliver of the world is looking a lot safer. This knowledge did nothing to calm the stir of sickness that flows under Bucky's skin. The only thing that is keeping him going is the thought of the ice cold shower waiting for him at the end of it, so he continues to trudge past his friends in the kitchen. 

"Hey, Buck," Steve calls after his friend. Bucky doesn't stop moving towards his quarters. 

"Bucky!" Sam calls, shooting a glance Steve's way, confusion written over both of their features. 

Bucky wasn't going to stop, he really wasn't. The promise of cold water easing his muscles and the image of the blood and dirt running from his skin, swirling down the drain is too enticing, the thought itself cathartic, but Steve's words manage to have him halting mid-step. 

"You have mail, Buck," Steve's voice caries down the hall, "Its two letters, and they are pretty thick," Bucky turns now, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. 

"You look like hell," Sam mutters when Bucky rounds the corner into the kitchen. Bucky sends him a glair that could shake the heavens but doesn't say a word. 

"Here you go," Steve holds out two envelopes for Bucky, both stuffed full. Bucky doesn't waste a second before ripping into the top one, small tight script on the back reading "Open First". He takes the letter out of the envelope, his eyes drawing over the words quickly.

"Dear James- Bucky, Dear Bucky, I can't even begin to explain how happy I was when I came home to find your letter in my mailbox. I couldn't even contain my joy, if we are being honest. I'm not exactly sure how to go about writing to you now, even though I was the one who proposed being pen pals so I guess I am just going to ask you some questions and maybe you can answer them on your letter back? Only if you want to, of course. 

Is it possible to come off as nervous through written word? Because I am positively nervous. I feel like it may be silly to ask, but what do you do for work? I know you are an Avenger, but that means you have exciting stories, right?  What do you like to do when you have free time? Do you have a favorite song?

I guess I should tell you a little more about myself. After my grandparents were killed, I was moved into a house with a lovely couple. Jan, my Ma, is the sweetest woman. She loves to cook and bake. She used to sew my clothes when I was a kid, and she always made us matching outfits, for her, my Mom and I. My Mom, Dottie, is a mechanic. Her specialty is motorcycles. She and my Ma have been in a local club for longer than I have been alive. They do charity events and fundraiser drives. They are really wonderful. 

When I first came to live with them I really wasn't sure what my life was going to look like, but they took me in and loved me like I was their own. It really made a difference in my life and I couldn't be more thankful that I get to call them my family. After I got out of  high school, I went to a really fancy school to become a barber. The school was snobby and the people there took themselves way too seriously but I love my work. I work out of a little shop in Hell's Kitchen called "Sargent's English Traditional". We call the shop "The Set". It's quaint, really. 

Anyway, I sent along another envelope with this one, and it contains some bits and bobs to help you get to know me. I hope to hear from you soon, Bucky.

Warmest Regards-" 

Bucky can't help the smile that he wears as his eyes fall over the words. There is still a part of him that cant believe that someone is taking time out of their life to write to him. He tries not to dwell on that fact, a bit of excitement blooming in his stomach. 

"What's it say, pal?" Steve nudges Bucky's shoulder. 

"It seems my pen pal is a barber," Bucky smirks, "And they work in Hell's Kitchen," 

"What's the other envelope?" Sam asks, bringing his drink to his lips. Bucky turns his attention back to the other letter, a small, yellow, manilla envelope lined with bubble wrap, ripping it open carefully. He dumps the contents out on to the countertop. Bucky begins to flip everything face up, not looking at each piece too long before moving to the next. 

"What is all this stuff?" Steve inquires, leaning closer to the small collage of items on the table. He reaches forward and picks up a flattened coin, the face of the coin distorted and warped along with the metal. Sam picks up a different item, a set of three pearl buttons. He fingers them around his hand, looking at the delicate pearls from every angle. There are other items too, plants that were once pressed between pages of a book and a ticket stub from a local jazz show. There were pieces of paper with poetry written across them in small neat handwriting and clippings from magazines. 

Bucky didn't care about any of it, nor the list that was included that described each item and their meaning, he just didn't care. Instead, he reaches for the polaroid photo that peaks out of the discarded envelope, the corner still stuck on the tack strip that once held the letter closed. He holds it face down for a moment, the realization that there could be anything depicted on the other side sets his lungs ablaze. With a deep breath he tries to fan the fire that burns behind his ribs- he flips the photo. 

His action catches the attention of Sam and Steve, their eyes quickly jumping from the other objects to the photo that seems to be dwarfed by Bucky's large hand. Their eyes each map over the photo, taking in each individual detail. 

The black and white photograph contains a large brick building, the photo taken from street view. There are plants on the front stoop and clothing lines hanging from windows that string out of frame. There is a caption written on the bottom in red pen, one simple word accented with a heart, "home". 

Both Steve and Bucky come to a stop, their eyes locked on the photograph. Bucky's senses are overtaken by the sweat that seems to slick over his body in an instant, mixing with the grimes that is already stuck to his skin. He flashes hot then cold, a shiver running down his spine. 

He couldn't care less about the mission anymore, the lives he had to take or the blood that is buried deep under his fingernails. He doesn't care about how he almost fell out of the elevator or about the cold shower he swore he would stand in until he lost track of time. All that matters now is this, the photo in his hand and the sender that made this moment happen. 

Sam looks back and fourth between the two, reading a sort of sick nostalgia written across both men's faces. 

"What exactly are we looking at?" Sam asks, his voice low. 

"Home," Bucky and Steve both whisper, eyes coming up to meet each other. 

"That's where we used to live, right before I got shipped out," Bucky's voice is no louder than a whisper and it wavers a bit with each word. 

"You technically didn't live there," Steve interjects, his voice only a hair louder than his friends. "You still lived with your Ma and your sisters. It was my place, but he was there so often we were basically roommates." 

Sam acknowledges Steve, listening to his story but Bucky can't seem to take his eyes off of the brick building. He never thought he would see it again, usually avoiding it when he is in that part of town. It was a part of his story he wasn't ready to revisit. He has seen his family home and other important places from before the war, but this building was not a place he was ready to bring into the twenty first century. 

Maybe he wanted to leave the memories preserved. If he didn't go back, the bubble of time would exist in his brain and everything would be left untouched. He liked it that way. A part of his life he deemed perfect, untouched by the claws of Hydra. If he left it there, pristine and sparkling, it would live on that way forever. 

But here it is, encapsulated in black and white, staring back at him. Maybe a part of him knew he wouldn't be able to escape it, the knowledge that it would change with time, just like he did, just like everything. 

"Buck, you might want to look at this," Steve holds out a piece of paper, the list and descriptions of the items in the envelope. Bucky takes it with a shaky hand. He rakes his eyes down the list, looking for a description for the photo. He finds it under number seven. 

"This is my building in Brooklyn! I think it's a beautiful piece of architecture and I just wanted to share! My Ma helped me find it in an old school newspaper ad. I have lived here for two years now and has been wonderful! The windows are original and they have a habit of getting stuck to prove it. The woodwork is original too, there is even a height tracker that was kept in one of the closets, the pencil marks and initials are still there! SR, JR, SGR, and JBB. I hope they were happy here." 

"Do you really think that could be possible?" Steve asks, his eyes on his best friend. 

"At this point, I am willing to believe anything," Bucky answers back. It's like they can communicate in half thoughts, leaving out the meat of the conversation, instead communicating it in a way that only they know.

"Does someone want to fill me in here?" Sam questions, trying to read the paper upside down. 

"Bucky's pen pal lives in the building I grew up in with my parents, and by the description, they might even live in my old apartment." Steve explains. Bucky looks up but doesn't reach either mans eyes. 

"Just when I thought this couldn't get more interesting," Sam whispers, more to the room than to his friends. They stand there for awhile, silence enveloping them like a heap of fresh snow. Sam and Steve shared glances, not sure how to best support their friend. 

After a little while, Sam pulls the photo and the paper from Bucky's hands, setting them on the table. Steve takes Bucky by the arm and walks him to his quarters, whispering in words that Sam can't quite hear.  Sam collects the mail, putting all of the trinkets back into their original place before setting them back down. 

Steve brings Bucky to the bathroom, helping him strip of his tactical gear. He brushes hair from his forehead attempting to keep the blood soaked strands out of his face. He turns the shower on, warmer than Bucky would have done himself, if he could have, but he gets into the shower anyway. Steve stands with his back against the closed bathroom door, his shoulders square, jaw set. 

He is swimming in his own feelings but he pushes past the waves instead standing guard for Bucky, keeping the demons of his past at bay while the other man roughly scrubs away the mission from his skin. The dirt, the blood, the remains of his perfect fucking memory. Bucky scrubs his skin raw until its red and weeping. 

Bucky lets out a sob, one he barely seems to notice and one Steve definitely doesn't comment on. When Bucky finally draws back the curtain, his face is swollen, tears hidden behind the water that drips from the ends of his now clean hair. The men do not speak, instead Steve lets Bucky pass. 

He is off to write a letter. He is sure this time around, no room for maybe. 

TAG LIST 

@vicmc624 @cjand10 @songoficecreamandfireworks @crazymusicgirl104

[thirsty-lakedream]

Robo-week: Gym Trash

You get home from work feeling exhausted from bussing tables and putting on a fake smile to ungrateful guests. Your pockets are filled with miscellaneous dollars and loose coins from the tips you were able to collect from the day. You drop it into the mason jar on your nightstand, nearly half-way filled with money by now. Still, it feels like an eternity before you’ll reach your goals. For the last year, everything you’ve made from your lousy waiter job barring your bills and other necessities had gone into my dream fund. What did you want to buy, you ask? A vacation? Maybe a new house or car? Well, in reality your hard earned wages were being put towards something more carnal.

Robotic companions had just been unveiled and slowly been rolled out a few years ago. Though they were initially designed to take on the jobs deemed too dangerous for humans, they have since progressed to be built for all kinds of specifications. From actors, sport players, and doctors. Some even were sold for commercial and personal use. The only problem was they typically cost an arm and a leg.

Staring at your savings, your dream felt fleeting. It is disheartening to give up on the goal, but seems nigh impossible. Even the simplest of bots are far from your grasp, with your desire for all kinds of robot additions pushing it further. The truth sinks deep into your chest, almost like a whining pain. You decided to distract yourself by taking a trip to the gym. Though you worry of your fatigue, at least you know you can find resolve there. Jake, one of the trainers there, had become one of your closest friends and always knew how to relieve your problems.

You make it to the gym, swiping yourself into the weight area. The ambient smell of musk and exercise slightly rouses you. If you ever make your dream a reality, you would definitely have to purchase the ‘realistic body secretions’ add on. You love the idea of your own sweat machine. As you walk around the various weight sets and machines you take note of all the trainers. You recognize none of them. All around, there are only new faces helping others in their physical journeys. One of them, a relatively ripped stud, struts over to you. Though you had never seen him before, he was wearing the gym’s employee nametag.

“Welcome back, ready for a workout?” He has a strange way of speaking, but you can’t put your finger why it is off. You look at him weirded out.

“Sorry, I’m looking for Jake, do you know where I could find him?”

The man stares off, like he was in the middle of translating what you said to him, before snapping back to reality. “I’m sorry, no one by that name works here. I will be here if you need a spotter.” He then walks passed you to another gym patron, asking that initial question.

You are confused and saddened by his words. What was going on here, and where was your friend? You decide to head to the information desk and demanded to know where Jake was. Behind the desk was a cheery woman. “Jake? Oh ‘Jake!’ Yeah, he is no longer here with us. We, uh, upgraded our training team.” You wanted to cry, you didn’t even get to say goodbye or exchange contact information. As much as it hurt to realize, you even admit you may have even had feelings deeper than friendship for Jake. The woman could evidently see the sadness on your face. “Look, I really shouldn’t tell anyone this, but I’ve seen you around and I know that you always requested Jake as a trainer. There is still a chance to find him out back in the alley. You may be surprised to find out he is not what he seemed. We have no use for him, but don’t tell my boss I told you okay?” In the alley? You don’t understand what she meant, but regardless decide to follow her direction.

Going behind the gym, you find a small divot in between the buildings. The way is shrouded in the shade, but you find your way to the gym’s dumpster. At least you assume it is theirs, as you get closer you can smell the dank yet erotic scent you were familiar with. Looking around, you don’t initially find anything amiss until you turn the corner and see him. You instantly recognize the handsome Asian man as your trainer and friend Jake. Though when you see him you immediately become worried as he is unmoving on the ground, even more surprising, there was an opening on the side of his forehead, but not like a wound. You run over to examine it and your realize it looks like a slot for some kind of card or memory drive.

You couldn’t believe this, Jake was a robot? Sure you had heard about models specialized for gym training, but none of the employees acted anything but human. Taking a peek into the gym dumpster, you found the rest of the gym trainers also discarded for their superior models in use. That likely means that the one stud was nothing but a machine as well. Most of the other gym boys seem in states of disrepair, yet with the exemption of the mission memory card, Jake looked completely fine. That’s when your heart started to flutter as a plan came to mind.

-

“Good morning babe! You just caught me, I’m about to go for a run, care to join me? You smile but shake your head. Since that fateful day your gym replaced their trainer-units, your life has become a dream.

You took home Jake and now he is all yours. You had to spend all your savings to buy a new memory drive and additional parts to bring him back to working order. He was practically a blank bot when you started him up. But with some coding wizardry, you were able to recreate the Jake you knew, with some new perks added. First of all, he now is in love with you, and will do anything to make you happy. Also he now loves to show off his body. With the income from his OnlyFans, you’re not in such a money rut as you once were. You would even be able to afford a brand new bot soon, but you would much rather invest in upgrading Jake or saving up in case of a technical malfunction.

As you stand looking out your balcony you see Jake turn the corner. His pectoral chest bouncing as he jogs down the street shirtless. He takes a reprieve to stretch his legs, though as a robot he doesn’t have to if not to tease you for what’s to come. It’s hard to imagine that his muscles are just synthetic flesh hiding an android. It’s almost erotic. You can’t wait until he comes back all hot and sweaty, and you’ll be able to savor it for the rest of the day.

—-

Thanks again to my friend @cutestabber for both the story idea, as well as the pics (both the art piece and the model for Jake!)

[tabitha2]

YOU are good ONLY as a junior SECRETARY sexy in skirts TYPICAL typing pool airhead. YOU got promoted over YOUR head. Your pretty girl AIRHEAD. Everyone knows it. ACCEPT your place now, DROP down to how YOU were born made MEANT to be. You ARE the whole office’s HOLE. Things get lost IN you. You are SUCH a bimbo. And EVERYBODY knows you are. BAMBI. The junior office GIRL. Office Bambi takes DICKtation from all the STUDS in her branch. BAMBI is the office WHORE fetching all the COFFEE and sucking off DICKS on her lunch BREAK. Is that right ? SURE. You’re like what, BAMBI ? Nod your head. BAMBI is your office NAME what your nametag SAYS in fact. Right ? BAMBI ? Bambi Melons, junior GIRL. Says it right HERE on the name SIGN on your desk HONEY on the big OFFICIAL forms from like HR that you totally SIGNED when you started. RIGHT. But oh hey SWEETHEART. Delivery has a PACKAGE for you. This GUY ? Says you’re BAMBI. Isn’t that the NAME that they all CALL you ? Sure is, BABE ! Your name is BAMBI. And you can’t STOP. Feeling like some MAN is always your BOSS. Men knocking the SENSE out of your HEAD without even trying. GOLLY. Like they are SO dom so strong, YES Sir, and you’re just DUMB— no matter what YOU try or say. JUST like you ARE a pretty dumbDUMB girl in a TIGHT skirt low-cut blouse PANTYHOSE high heels who ALWAYS does what she’s TOLD every time. Hm ? Oh GOODNESS that’s you, darling. You CAN’T stop obeying men. AND you never will. NODDING and smiling just SMILING never talking back EVER. Oh my GOSH. Makes you excited TOO. To please. To SERVE. To obey. To PLEASE. Men, especially. Saying SWEETLY always. Call me BAMBI. Hi, my name’s BAMBI. How can I HELP you, sir. The OTHER girls giggle. Oh WOW. You sound so STUPID but like also SEXUALIZED. When you ask HOW you can make THEIR day so much BETTER. Going without even TRYING into your whole HOLE Bambi Melons routine. YOUR stupid stretchy shiny STRIPPER blouse unbuttoned, and YOUR nipples hard as YOU blush and try FOCUSING on your silly WORK that is so IMPORTANT and like all SMART like seriously you’re SMARTY PANTIES — isn’t that what REALLY you are ? Little MISS Bambi Melons the BIGGEST thing in the WHOLE office trying to GET put back to WORK, after her long LAYOFF big hard lunch HOUR all those corporate DICKS in their powerful SUITS making your head SPIN with their big HANDSOME ideas put into YOUR report— so tell US all about it, BAMBI ???

##### from image of Natalia Starr

[sotangledupinit]

free fallin’

annnnd here’s my second fic for @cssns! it’s a rework of a fic i did for cs halloweek 2021 so i hope you like my changes and are ready for another multi-chapter fic! :D

---

SUMMARY: On a dark and stormy Halloween night 27 years ago, five people stepped onto an elevator. They never stepped off. Now 28, Emma Swan and her son Henry work together to discover what caused her parents and the other inhabitants to suddenly disappear. //rewrite of previous work, expanded to a multi-chapter.

RATING: T for teen, though there’s some graphic descriptions of horror elements in the first chapter.

WORD COUNT: 7084 words

TAGS: Tower of Terror AU, Captain Swan, CSSNS 22

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hi! some of this may seem familiar to you if you read my original story for CS Halloweek 2021, but i've changed some things, added stuff, and reworked it better to be a multi-chapter fic. so yay! based on the theme park attraction Tower of Terror at Walt Disney World as well as the 1997 film starring Kirsten Dunst of the same name (and inspired by the same attraction).

***

“Are you absolutely certain you’re okay with this?” David asks one more time. He stands besides Mary Margaret, each of them slowly shrugging their coats on as their eyes stare at their daughter as if memorizing her every feature.

“Yes, we can always bring Emma with us so you can enjoy the party too!” Mary Margaret agrees, hands reaching out towards her baby girl.

Granny Lucas shakes her head, adjusting the baby on her hip. A single woman since her early twenties, Granny’s exteriors are rough and stern. She’s had to put up with more malarky than is right but it molded her to be fierce and stand her ground. Once she glares in their direction, David and Mary Margaret know they’ve lost their fight. “Absolutely not,” she says. “When was the last time the two of you had a date night? Emma’s just turned one – you two need some time alone. As a couple.”

David sighs, buttoning up his coat. “I have my pager on me. Beep me and I’ll call right away.” He takes Mary Margaret’s red scarf from their coat rack and wraps it around his wife’s neck.

“And I’ll have my cell phone in my purse. I also left the numbers for the hotel and the party on the refrigerator.” She rushes over to Granny and presses a featherlight kiss to her daughter’s forehead, smiling softly. “I love you, Emma.”

She feels David approach behind her and he places one hand on her back and the other cradle’s Emma’s head. “We really don’t mind bringing –”

“Go.” Granny’s exasperation pours through her voice. Her feet bring her to the front door of the apartment the couple lives in. Opening it brings in the chilly October air that hung in the hallway of the building. “I have Emma handled. I did raise three children and a granddaughter all by myself. Emma’s a breeze.” The couple looks at each other, still hesitant as they stand in their threshold. “Regina’s going to be mad if you’re late to her party.”

They kiss their daughter goodbye once more, giving themselves the extra second to cherish the moment, and then thank Granny before leaving.

*

Regina sighs as she stands at the reception desk of the lobby. The man behind the counter – Liam, his nametag says – is on the phone with the hotel’s house band. The one she booked months in advance for the Halloween party didn’t find it worth their effort to show up. Taking a sip of her champagne, her red lipstick leaves a mark on her glass and she figures she can get a refill once she gets back upstairs, barring no further problems.

Full moons brought out the crazies, and, she surmised, bad luck.

A light drizzle painted the street just beyond the hotel’s front doors, lights from the Hollywood Hills in the distance looking brighter. 

When she became mayor of Storybrooke, it was a rundown ghost town just outside of Los Angeles. Half the shops on main street were closed down and the neighborhoods housed more foreclosures than people. She worked hard to make it the perfect picture of suburbia it is today, with a multitude of locally owned stores and restaurants, excellent schools, and safe, well-run neighborhoods.

Election year is next year and she’s already decided not to run. Nearly thirty years as mayor, yet nothing notable in her personal life.

Well, there always is Mary Margaret and her child. The thought makes her snort into her glass and she searches for a napkin to wipe her chin with. How sad is that thought?

Humidity warms the cool October night making the skin on her arms sticky. She pats at herself and waits for the phone call to end.

“Mayor Mills,” the accented man says. Liam’s dark curls are gelled to styled perfection and as cleanly done as his pressed uniform. She knows from her dealings with Brennan Jones – the years of board meetings and permit approvals and plans being run by her desk for the Hollywood Tower Hotel – that he’s grooming his eldest to take over. Brennan has never been the noblest man to sit with, always looking with one eye to seem sincere but glancing away with his other to check no one can see his crossed fingers behind his back. “The house band is already setting up in the Tip Top Club. If you have any other concerns, please let me know.”

He holds his hand out to shake but Regina turns away instead.

She leaves her empty glass at the counter and makes her way to the bathroom to freshen up. Hair tickles her cheeks and she can already tell the humidity is ruining her carefully crafted look. It’s going to be a dreadfully long night.

*

Liam waits until Mayor Mills exits the lobby before heading back to the staff lounge. He leaves the front desk in the trusted hands of his assistant manager Starkey and goes in search of peace and quiet for five minutes.

Things have been weird at the hotel since just before the party goers arrived. The storm outside is beginning to pick up and he groans as yet another hallway light flickers. The toilets in the upper floors began to flush by themselves and the card readers for the rooms on the front side of the building stopped working, all by six o’clock. Maintenance isn’t the issue, he reasons. He oversees the building’s maintenance and does what he can with what little leash his father gives him. Where all the issues came from is a mystery to him.

Something isn’t right, something… not natural.

His hand grips the knob of the staff lounge only to find it locked. Groaning, he knocks heavily on the door. “Killian!” he practically hollers. “I need you to open up!”

The dark wood door swings open and Killian stands in its threshold, shirt unbuttoned and tie hanging loose around his neck. It’s unfair that his little brother is a hair taller than him. He recalls when Killian used to ask him to reach up for something on the top shelf or looked to him for protection. For their father being around nearly their entire lives, his presence was consistently absent.

“The door wasn’t locked, brother,” Killian says. Liam ignores the lie on his brother’s lips as the younger Jones steps back to allow him in.

“There’s an issue with the band Mayor Mills hired. The house band is filling in but…”

Killian sighs as he realizes where Liam’s train of thought is going. “But Whale is nowhere to be seen and you need me to fill in?”

“You’re wonderful, little brother. Brilliant, truly.”

“Bloody hell, Liam. I’m 30 and I’m taller than you. I’m younger, but most definitely not little.”

“Now, now. Let’s not turn this into a measuring contest,” Liam chastises, though his amusement cracks his stern exterior. “I do appreciate you giving up your night off.”

“Well,” Killian says with a sigh, rebuttoning his shirt, fixing his tie, and heaving up his guitar case from the corner of the room. “Enjoy this while you can because soon I’ll be on the ocean where you can’t pester me to fill in. By the way, I expect overtime for tonight.”

*

“Regina!” Mary Margaret calls out. They’ve dropped their scarves and coats at the desk, David’s black suit looking straight out of a catalog and perfect for his Bruce Wayne outfit, her dark blue gown swirling around her ankles creating an elegant Snow White look. She prances over to her stepmother like a fairytale princess in the Disney cartoons and Regina only barely manages to hold in her disgust at the display.

“Well it’s about time you showed up,” she says to the couple. Her eyes dart to David and she teases, “Even your brother arrived on time. Clearly he’s the better twin.”

“You invited my brother?” David groans as they walk together to the elevator.

“You can thank your lovely wife,” Regina says. She rolls her eyes when she sees Liam and another hotel worker waiting at the elevators too.

Mary Margaret fidgets next to her husband, apologetic. Ask forgiveness instead of permission. Regina can’t say she disagrees with that line of thinking. “No one should be alone on a holiday. Especially family.”

“It’s Halloween,” Regina deadpans. The ding of the arriving elevator sounds, putting a stop to the conversation. Liam holds his employee back and lets them board first. The employee holds a large guitar case and, glancing at the eyeliner rimming his eyes and the rings on his fingers, she groans. He better not be part of the band.

“Really,” David whispers to his wife as he enters after Regina and Mary Margaret. “You invited James?!”

“He’s your family,” she hisses back, pasting a pleasant smile on her face as a way of greeting the employees. Moments before the elevator doors close, she spots James coming from the back of the lobby and heading towards the stairs, waving in his direction while David grunts. His brother merely smirks and raises his glass, the metal doors starting to slide close. It’s the most perfect look for anyone dressed as Two-Face.

It really is a toss-up, which brother grates on Regina’s nerves more. Only slightly less holier-than-thou than her stepdaughter, David has the whole shtick down. Animal rescue, helps old ladies cross the street, probably picks up garbage from the gutter.

Ugh, he’s so good it makes her sick.

His twin, on the other hand, couldn’t be more opposite. Poor Ruth Nolan would probably be run into an early grave if she was only raising James. The man is a hellion, is known for collecting paramours, and has an angry streak to make anyone flinch.

Despite her earlier jest, she’d prefer to deal with David any day of the week over his brother. James can take his smirk and glass of liquor and go to hell.

Regina only just barely held back a snarl, making sure it’s the last thing James sees before the doors finally slide shut.

“Mayor Mills,” Liam nods, pressing the button for the Tip Top Club. The elevator begins its ascent with a light jerk. He gives her a nervous glance she pointedly ignores. Clearly Brennan Jones put no investment into his hotel’s transportation if the elevators were still as slow and jerky as when the building originally opened, nearly 90 years before his purchase. “This is my younger brother, Killian. He’s incredibly talented and he’ll be the guitarist of our house band tonight.”

Lovely.

Soft sounds of the music playing from a boombox at the party waft through the elevator shaft as their car quickly approaches its final stop. It's some pop hit that she finds more horrible than Mary Margaret’s hope speeches before election night. Nothing like what her father played growing up in Puerto Rico before moving to Storybrooke.

She opens her mouth to question his decision in bringing aboard his brother, a downright unkempt scoundrel by the looks of it and in no form for the classy Halloween party she’s hosting, but right as the elevator is about to reach the Tip Top Club, their car jerks to a stop.

“What’s happening?” Mary Margaret asks. David rests a comforting hand on her back and Liam looks to his brother before turning to face the elevator panel next to the door.

Finger just inches away, a purple electric shock shoots out of the panel and gets Liam. Killian is quick to jerk him back and the second he does, the lights go out.

Darkness envelops them, their breaths caught in their throat as no one says a word. The emergency lights lining the ceiling are useless as they refuse to turn on. It’s only when there’s a flicker, just the smallest bit with a tint of purple to its glow, that the elevator lurches then drops into a free fall.

Screams erupt in the elevator car. Regina sees the couple next to her in each other’s arms and the brothers on the other side clinging to the rails of the car. Her stomach is in her throat and her hair rises as her body falls. The last thing she sees before their elevator crashes is a flash of purple light.

*

27 years later…

Emma stares at her son, her eyebrow raised and lips pressed into a thin line, waiting for his answer.

Henry only grins back at her, a small gap between his front teeth.

“Your teacher… who I grew up with… assigned you to write a story about the Hollywood Tower Hotel?”

He fidgets in his seat and her eyes narrow. In turn, he becomes stock still with his gaze wide-eyed. He even refuses to breathe. Got him.

“Okay, so Miss French didn’t actually assign me the Hollywood Tower Hotel. I chose it.”

Emma stares at him in disbelief. “…Why?”

Their history with the infamous hotel is well known around the Los Angeles area but most especially in Storybrooke, where nearly all of its inhabitants knew her parents. It’s part of why she ran away from her Uncle James when she was sixteen. And part of why she hesitated greatly when contemplating moving back almost a year ago.

Grandma Ruth had been too distraught by losing her son that she wasn’t fit to take in Emma when she was a baby. Despite Granny’s attempts to take care of her, she wasn’t blood so Uncle James took her in. Though, he was far from a parent. No rules, little guidance, and an absence of fatherly love meant Emma became self-sufficient before she was ten. It hurts now, to look at her son at the same age and know that she was practically living on her own. Uncle James was more a body that took up space in the living room and who signed school papers until she was able to forge his signature convincingly.

School was another thing entirely.

If there is one thing to be guaranteed, it was that when kids saw an easy target, they pounced, eliciting a thrill from goading their full childhoods and families over her head. She’d been called a freak and a loser but the taunts that hurt the most were the ones calling her unlovable and an orphan.

Those ones were true.

At first she tried to combat the bullies by telling her teachers. That gave the incidents more fanfare and opened her up to even more bullying outside school grounds. So in fourth grade, she taught herself how to throw a punch.

The only bullies who bothered her after that were the ones brave enough to say something to her face. Somehow, the whispers that started up behind her back afterwards hurt more.

“We had to pick a moment in history and create a story from it so why not one about our family?” He shrugs his shoulders, leaving Emma dumbfounded. She forgets her son hasn’t been affected the same way she has, that the fated night doesn’t haunt his every quiet moment like it does hers.

The happenings at the Hollywood Tower Hotel on Halloween night 27 years ago have become the stuff of legends. More than one amateur sleuth has traveled far to see the hotel up close and solve the mystery of how the two elevator shafts protruding from the front of the building suddenly disappeared that night, taking five people along with them. 

Ghosts, curses, aliens – you name it, every few months someone shows up claiming to know the truth of what happened but none have been proven real. Moving out of Storybrooke didn’t allow her an escape from the shadow that encased her life. She’s been dodging requests from reporters to talk about the event for her entire life. They hunted her down in Storybrooke before she left, when she was still just a kid, and then followed her to Tallehasse and Phoenix and Boston and everywhere in between. Every once and a while, a brother of one of the occupants will pop up and ask for anyone who knows the truth to come forward with information, but it all leads to dead ends. 

Honestly, the whole thing feels like an episode straight out of the Twilight Zone.

“Henry,” she begins, mind searching for the right words to say. “I don’t know if this is a good idea…”

Her son gets up from his chair and comes to stand beside hers, face set in determination. “Maybe we can solve this mystery together.”

*

Let it be known that Emma will do anything for her kid. Even if it means standing outside of the hotel her parents disappeared from so Henry can get a vibe of the place for his writing assignment.

“I know you and Grace have snuck out of her house and come here before,” she says as she leans against the cement fencing that lines the property. A wide wrought iron gate sits at the entrance, kept closed with a rusted chain and lock. The plants around the property are overgrown and she sees weeds popping out from cracks in the cement. She thinks the original owner died some years ago but can’t be certain. If it’s not news about her parents, she looks the other way.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he evades. Standing on the tips of his toes, he tries to see beyond a particularly wild bush at the edge of the driveway just beyond the gate. His brow furrows when he doesn’t find what he expects.

A breeze blows through the trees and down the driveway, leaving Emma with a chill. Her son seems unaffected and a part of her wonders if it’s her mind getting to her.

People who have snuck onto the property or inspected it to solve the mystery swear the hotel is haunted. They share stories of unexplainable events taking place on the deserted property and supernatural occurrences, both of which make Emma snort. Things like ghosts and magic and vampires – ugh, that theory in particular, one where the inhabitants of the elevator became vampires and turned the hotel into their private bat cave, grinds her gears – are not real.

“Do you have everything you need?” she asks, shifting from foot to foot, eyes refusing to look at the hotel any longer.

Henry bites his lip as he looks up at her. “Can you tell me again what happened that night?”

She sighs. It’s not a story she likes repeating, especially since most of it is secondhand information. “Mayor Mills was throwing a Halloween Ball in the Tip Top Club. My parents, Mayor Mills, and two other people boarded an elevator to go to the club. There was a storm, the entire city lost electricity, and when the lights came back on a minute later, the elevator shafts disappeared, leaving no trace of anyone who was inside.”

“You know,” a young voice says behind her. She turns quickly, surprised to see a guy, not much older than 18, behind her with keys in his hands. He has sharp blue eyes and his brown hair is parted down the middle, the ends brushing his ears. A thin frame, his Hollywood Tower Hotel blazer hangs large on him. He gives her a nervous smile, “A lot of people claimed my papa cut corners getting the hotel fixed, that things weren’t working correctly and there were wiring issues. Which, I guess could be true, but that doesn’t explain the elevators disappearing and no debris.”

“You’re the owner’s son,” Emma guesses. She crosses her arms, eyeing him warily.

“I am.” He directs his attention to Henry who is watching the man in awe. “See the scorch marks on the outside of the building there?” His finger points to the front façade, burn marks in two identical vertical lines permanently staining the building. “That’s the only evidence left of that night.”

“Wow,” Henry says. Running back to the gate, his face pushes between the spaces and he fixes his gaze on the marks.

Emma eyes the newcomer, stepping into his eyeline so he can’t see her son. “Unless you’ve got an issue with us standing on the street, we’re good here. I don’t need you to put ideas in my kid’s head.”

The young man looks confused, mouth opening and closing as he tries to figure out what to say. “But you – you emailed me?”

Shaking her head, she immediately responds, “No I didn’t.”

Henry jumps away from the gate with a grin. He stands beside Emma and looks up at the man. “That’s because I did! Liam Jones, right? This is my mom. She’s Emma Nolan.”

Liam nods, his cheeks red, and says, “I actually go by LJ, not Liam.” Emma raises her eyebrow at this. He gestures to the building and shrugs, sighing, “I was born about seven years after that night, named after one of my brothers who disappeared then. But it’s weird, right? I kind of felt like my papa was trying to replace him with me.”

She swallows, nodding her head. “I’m sorry.”

LJ waves off her apologies and approaches the gate, flicking through the keys. “So you wanted a tour?”

“Yes!”

“No!”

Emma and Henry turn to face each other. She glares as much as she can at her son but he has his eyes wide, his hands clasped together, and – crap – he just stuck out the bottom lip.

The chains rattle as LJ removes them from the gate, Henry hot on his heels with every move.

“So you still own the hotel?” he asks him, pointing at the embroidered jacket he wears.

LJ nods. Creaking from lack of use, the gates open to the winding drive up the hill to the front doors of the Hollywood Tower Hotel. Sunlight beams through the breaks in the overgrowth and for a moment, Emma understands all the hype about the place in its heyday. There’s a peace that settles over her shoulders, like she’s in a long-lost private garden, and she takes a deep breath in.

Reality crashes down as LJ starts talking again, leading Henry up the drive with Emma following behind.

“Papa closed it for the investigation to see what happened to my brothers. It took years. Police investigated him and the property for faulty construction issues. Some people thought he demolished the two elevator shafts in order to expand, but there was no debris so that was ruled out. He was so broken up by everything – the disappearance, the investigation – that he vowed the hotel should not be opened again until the mystery of what happened that night is solved or my brothers are found.”

Emma trips on one particular crack in the driveway and the gravel breaks under her foot. “How can you afford to pay taxes and… maintenance?” A quick look around makes her wonder if any maintenance has actually been done, but the front of the hotel appears before her eyes and she gasps softly.

It’s one thing to see the glitz and the glam of a luxury hotel in photos but it’s another to see it in real life. A covered walkway with arches leads up to the front doors, mosaic tile covering the floors of the outside. The chairs on the patio on either side of the doors offer an unobstructed view of the Hollywood Hills with the Hollywood sign looking picturesque. She bets the backside of the hotel offers remarkable views of the Santa Monica Bay.

“Papa made a trust to pay for the upkeep. Plus I’m in school for mechanics and learning some building maintenance as I study. Things are a little dusty, but the lights still work. I can give you a tour,” LJ offers and Emma shakes her head.

“Oh no,” she starts. Her hands go out to grasp Henry by the shoulders before he can move inside and she shakes her head. “We are going to stay right out here.”

Henry eyes her suspiciously. “Why can’t we go in? Are you scared of ghosts?”

Emma represses the shudder that goes through her body at glancing up and seeing the empty lobby in front of her. The thought of being in the same place as her parents last were before they disappeared leaves an unsettling feeling in her stomach.

“I’m not scared,” she says to Henry. “Let’s just walk around the outside, okay? I bet there’s spiders in there.” She only feels a little bit bad when Henry shakes his whole body and sticks by her side, but sometimes she has to do what’s needed.

LJ leads them around the hotel, pointing out little details in the railings or on the tiles. She tunes most of it out, knowing her son is sucking it all up like the curious sponge he is. Instead, her breath is taken by the view of the water from the back porch, drawing her from the group.

The water glistens, far enough away that she can’t hear the waves but the sight still leaves her stunned.

“Awesome, isn’t it?” LJ says with a grin a few moments later. She nods, stepping closer to the railing and lets the sight roll over her shoulders in calming waves. What it must have been like, to be a guest here when everything was grand and to have this room from the hotel room. Incredible. 

When she turns around though, LJ is just a few feet behind her but Henry is nowhere to be found.

“Henry?” she calls out. LJ follows suit, both of them looking for her son but he doesn’t appear at her voice. Her heart starts pounding and she wonders if the same thing that caused her parents to disappear so long ago just did the same to her son.

Curtains billowing in the wind catch her eye and Emma frantically makes her way over. The door to the hotel is slightly ajar, the cool breeze sweeping off the porch and into the back seating area leading to a number of hallways. She cautiously steps through, looking behind her to check with LJ, before fully entering.

Dust and cobwebs cover the furniture. Books are strewn on coffee tables, bags and suitcases are still piled on the luggage carts, and flowers long dead remain in the vases. “I thought you did routine maintenance?” she questions with a raised eyebrow, unamused.

LJ’s bashful look is accompanied by a scratch at his jawline. “It’s more wiring and keeping up with the electrical and pipes than cleaning…”

She hums, rolling her eyes and continues calling her son’s name. The front lobby is in much of the same state as the back and she looks for indents in the dust or a sign that something’s been moved. A glass on the reception desk glints from the sunlight beaming through the tall windows above the front doors and she can still make out the dark red lipstick staining the rim.

Glancing behind the check-in desk proves to be a waste with still no sign of Henry and her heart rate ticks up again. A chill is settling in her bones the longer she’s in the lobby and she studiously avoids the elevator shafts in the middle of the floor.

“Mom?” Henry calls out, voice scared and wobbly.

“Henry?!” Emma replies, pushing herself away from the counter and rushing around the corner. She hears music, like a boombox playing in another room, but when she runs through the tall white doors in the hall, she enters an empty ballroom and sees no boombox, no radio, not even a band. She calls her son’s name again but hears no response.

She feels the sensation of a breath along the back of her neck before she hears the voice in her ear.

“Welcome to the Hollywood Tower Hotel,” a deep voice says from behind her. Emma jumps in sudden fright and lets out a quick scream before her fight instincts kick in. In an instant, she reaches for one of the centerpieces on a nearby table, a heavy glass vase filled with flowers that have been long dead. She readies her arm as she turns around but there’s no one behind her when she looks. No door is swinging and no footsteps echo in the space.

The tension that coiled in her back keeps her body rimrod straight and straining. She eyes the empty ballroom and struggles to keep the quick succession of her breaths quiet. Though she desperately wants to call for her son, she worries any sudden noise could send danger in his direction. A chill runs down her arms to her fingertips and she tightens her grip on the vase.

A table cloth just a few paces over flutters in an imaginary wind and Emma feels the presence first. Pivoting, she immediately spots a handsome man standing in the middle of the ballroom, dressed in an impeccable bellhop’s uniform, the deep red complimenting his light skin and dark hair. He smirks at her, not afraid to show his enjoyment in the cat and mouse game he’s started, and he stands up straighter, arms behind his back.

She swallows hard at the image, a far cry from what the man – one of the Jones’ – looked like in photographs, vase still held high, as unease settles in her stomach. A wicked glint enters the man’s eye right as she opens her mouth to question him, but his words bet her to it.

“Checking in?” he asks, the devil on his lips and staining his words, smirk widening as he pulls a butcher’s knife dripping with blood from behind his back. 

Holding back a scream, Emma tosses the vase with all her might.

Only for it to land right at his feet.

He clicks his tongue, chastising. “That hurts, love.”

The man, sin draped in red, starts a slow approach towards her and she immediately puts a table between them. Demands for Henry’s whereabouts rest on the tip of her tongue and she steels herself to face the man down when she hears her name echo from the hallway. The man’s brow furrows as his attention is momentarily taken by Henry’s yell and she uses it to her advantage.

With all her might, she pushes the table forward and straight towards the man. She doesn’t wait to see the impact, instead immediately turning on her heel and rushing out the white doors, leaving a cacophony of crashes in her wake.

Emma runs through the hallways, yelling out Henry’s name in quick intervals, her voice frantic and on the verge of becoming hoarse. He calls back to her, more frightened than she’s ever heard before, and she nearly barrels through the wall as she rushes into the kitchen.

“Henry!” she cries in relief, rushing over to hug him and falling to her knees in the process. He stands still in shock as she wraps her arms around him. Relief floods her system and she kisses his cheeks, murmuring how she’s happy she’s found him but that they have to leave. Except he doesn’t move. “Henry?” She pulls away from her embrace and examines his face, pale and sweaty. His breathing is as quick as hers and his eyes seem fixed on a point beyond her shoulder. 

Standing up straight and turning to face whatever has her son in a trace, Emma immediately knows why.

Sunshine filters through two windows on the far wall of the kitchen as if putting a spotlight on the long stainless steel rolling table in the middle of the room. A lone figure lays on it, white sheet covering their body with one arm hanging loose. An uneaten apple rests precariously in the figure’s hand, blood dripping from the fruit onto the figure’s fingertips and down to a growing puddle on the floor.

“Let’s get out of here, kid.” Despite speaking in a whisper, it’s as if her words shatter the delicate calm over the room for not a moment passes before the figure sits up straight without effort. Emma and Henry scream in terror, jumping back but unable to tear their eyes from the sight before them despite her efforts to push her kid behind her.

Emma knows that figure.

Dressed in a dark gown with a matching black corset situated on top, the tall collar of the dress nearly reaches the figure’s ears. The vibrant red lipstick, their trademark, makes this figure – this Evil Queen – unmistakeable.

She’s studied the photos of the disappeared enough to recognize Regina Mills when she sees her, be it through photographs or in this… projection of sorts. The last photo of the former mayor of Storybrooke had been by Sydney Glass for the newspaper and it was taken right here, in the kitchens of the Hollywood Tower Hotel.

Emma knows the photo well. It was a posed shot, the mayor’s perfectly poised persona coming through in every shot as if being photographed by Vogue instead of the Storybrooke Mirror. The kitchen photo was of Regina leaning over an apple bite, a sampling on a fork hovering in the air on its way to her mouth. The piece in the newspaper was supposed to be about how Regina made her own desserts for the charity Halloween ball, her famous apple pie chief among them. The perfect kind of writeup for someone preparing to run again.

This Regina feels like a completely different person from the one she imagined through the photos. This one has a wicked grin and a narrowed gaze, portraying the perfect villain for a storybook tale.

Her voice runs like a smooth velvet down their spines as she inquires, “Won’t you stay for a bite?”

The wicked grin transforms into a sickly-sweet smile on her lips and Regina lifts her arm, long fingernails painted a shiny black adorning her blood-stained fingers and brings the dripping apple to her lips. She tilts her head at Emma and Henry who stare at her in shock and takes a large chunk out of it. In an instant, both Regina and the apple sizzle.

The apple rots before their eyes, turning as black as Regina’s nails, melting into her hand and sliding in large wet chucks to the floor. The former mayor is next, her skin drooping, cheek growing flaccid until it drops as low as her chin before falling to the metal table, revealing muscle and bone in its wake. Those too begin to droop and melt like the apple had, the sizzling noise growing louder as more of Regina disappears into a puddle.

Her smile, the sickly-sweet one that turns Emma’s stomach, remains on the mayor’s face despite their screams of terror and despite her body literally melting away before her.

Emma and Henry don’t stay long enough to watch the puddle that was Regina drip to the floor.

Her son’s tiny hand clasped in her own, Emma leads the two of them back to the lobby and the only exit she knows. Their lungs burn with fright and fatigue. They only come to a stop once they reach the lobby, their pants filling the silence as they take in the scene before them.

Leaning as far back in his chair as possible is LJ. Absolute terror colors his features and he shakes his head frantically as a womanly figure dances under an isolated cloud in what looks to be acid rain. The water’s green glow shines through the lobby and when she spins, a few raindrops leave her circle and land on the armrest of LJ’s chair, hissing as it burns through to the ground. He pulls his legs up to his chest to make himself as small as possible.

A second figure approaches LJ, a tall gentleman in a tailored suit and perfectly styled blonde hair. His attention is fixated on LJ and when he reaches a hand towards his own head, Emma turns Henry’s shoulders and presses his face against her stomach in anticipation of what’s to come. She’s glad she followed her gut as the moment Henry’s vision is no longer of the scene in front of her, the gentleman pulls his head from his shoulders dropping his hand to his side as the head in its grip continues talking some nonsense about enjoying their stay.

Emma merely gasps out a shuddered breath, feeling like she barely has any air in her lungs left so she can scream.

Oh no, she thinks, that’s my parents.

“A tad dramatic, isn’t it?” an accented voice drawls behind her. She cautiously turns her head in its direction as she holds Henry tighter in her arms. The man from the ballroom stands by the check-in desk looking bored and not as devious as he’d been a few minutes ago. “I prefer the subtle scare,” he continues, lifting his bloodied knife from beneath the desk. Her eyes widen as her breathing staggers again.

Even if she didn’t study their photos so much growing up, she’d know from the captivating blue eyes that this was LJ’s brother. Killian Jones. 

There’s been plenty of information about most of the people in the elevator that night. Regina had been mayor for as long as anyone could remember, her parents were staples in the community for their jobs and their volunteer work, and Liam Jones was the eldest of Brennan Jones’ two sons, poised to take over the hotel once their father retired. He’d met with vendors and local residents to ensure smooth relationships, and he captained the many events the hotel entered. His younger brother Killian was a mystery though.

She had nothing to go off of when it came to him, making him the most terrifying of everything she’s seen tonight.

Liam Jones walks out from one of the employee back rooms decked out in his fully Hollywood Tower Hotel uniform and shakes his head at Killian. “Be honest with the lass, little brother. You’re just mad those two have finally upstaged you.”

The elder of the two plucks the knife from Killian’s lax grip and holds it up for inspection. Emma feels the moment Liam’s eyes peer at her just over the bloodied metal.

He points the knife at her. “This yours?”

Emma doesn’t know if he’s asking after the ownership of the knife or its blood but she’s had enough. Adrenaline is leaving her body at a fast pace and she will not allow her son to be trapped inside this god forsaken place.

It’s been years since she’s picked up Henry in her arms but she does so in an instant with a strength she didn’t know she possessed. His body is wrecked with tremors and he clutches tighty to her shirt, his legs wrapping around her waist without hesitation as he buries his face into her neck. She cradles him to her chest as she rushes back out to the patio, around the hotel, and to the driveway, only glancing back at LJ once to see him scrambling from his seat and rushing after them.

*

The Hollywood Tower Hotel glooms over them from the sidewalk like a proud enemy declaring victory. It makes her sick.

“What the hell was that?!” Emma yells the moment she regains enough breath to do so. Her side is in stitches and her fingers shake uncontrollably. She can’t help but bend at her waist as she takes in her son. Tears have stopped rolling down Henry’s cheeks, the drying tracks the only sign of his fear, and he stares up at the hotel in deep thought.

He’s going to need so much therapy after this.

“How could you let him go in there?!” she continues, glaring at LJ. He leans back against the cement fencing, sweaty and pale with wide eyes.

“I-I didn’t know it was haunted!”

“It’s your hotel! You do the maintenance!”

“Yeah, I can do it all from the outside!” LJ shrieks. “I’ve never been brave enough to go in before!”

The admittance sits on her chest like a heavy weight. All three of them entered the situation in the dark, no knowledge of what to expect. If Emma knew what horrors laid on the other side of the gate, she would have hauled Henry back to his room immediately.

For the rumors and paranormal investigators that followed her for her entire life, she guesses they weren’t wrong.

So maybe the Hollywood Tower Hotel is haunted. And not by any regular ghosts but by her parents and the others in the elevator.

“We have to go back in and help them!”

She looks away from LJ to stare at her son incredulously. “What are you talking about?!”

Henry seems to be taking things in stride as he presses his face through the gate again, eyes fixated on the hotel. “We have to help the ghosts.”

“I think they’re beyond wanting help, kid,” Emma says. She straightens up slowly and with a wince, the pull in her side from carrying Henry down the hilly drive becoming more prominent. “They literally just scared us out of the building. Or tried to kill us, take your pick.”

A frustrated sigh leaves his lips and Emma already feels her resolve waning. Ghosts are not real. This is not real. None of this can be happening. It all sounded so crazy. 

She closes her eyes and pinches her arm long and hard, hoping that when she opens her eyes, she’ll wake in her bed. When she opens her eyes, she’s agitated to see herself still outside the hotel.

“Come on, you heard all the stories about Grandma and Grandpa!” Henry explains. “They wouldn’t act like that! Maybe something bad is keeping them there and they’re trying to stop anyone else from being stuck.”

LJ is still as white as, well, a ghost. He eyes the two of them wearily and shakes his head. “Be my guest,” he says, tossing his arm towards the hotel, “but I am not going back in there.”

“Henry,” Emma starts gently. “We don’t know them. Maybe they were like that and played cruel jokes on people when they were alive.” His lip wobbles at her words and she does her best to steel herself. She doesn’t think she can face her parents again either, not if they’re bitter ghosts who live to frighten the daylights out of anyone they see. “They scared us. I don’t want to help them.”

Henry shakes his head, turning away from Emma to gaze up at the building through the fencing. “Maybe they’re just scared too.”

[just-here-for-the-moment]

For the DIFFERENT POV GAME:

I want Javi’s POV on this whole adorable scene.

Okay, my Queen @quica-quica-quica, I want you to know that I suuuuucked in a huge breath when I saw this Ask, because I was entirely unsure if I could do this. It seemed like a really hard challenge, but FOR YOU I’ll try anything.

I dug in to see what I could do, and of course because I can’t just write succinctly I had to start waaaaaay back in the beginning of the story to get Javier where I needed him for the phone number scene… hope that’s okay!!

Thank you for challenging me this way! This went from scary to amazing in just a few days! I love you so much, my friend!!!

---

Coffee Shop Girl (a companion piece to “For Now” told from Javier’s point of view)

Word count: 3000+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Javier Peña x “You” (Austin coffee shop barista; cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: slow-burn; references to previous hiring of sex workers; cigarette smoking; Javier masturbating

Javier Peña felt like he was at loose ends. Not for the first time in his life, but it’s different feeling ‘lost’ as a young man than feeling ‘lost’ when you’re on the wrong side of 40. At least a teenager can still expect their whole life ahead of them. Since leaving the DEA and the fight in Colombia behind, he had been feeling directionless.

Spending some time at his dad’s ranch in Laredo had helped, the way that hard labor and sweat always does. It left him too tired to ruminate, to sink into the blues and feel sorry for himself. He had lined up a teaching job at a university in D.C. but it didn’t start until the fall semester, and Javier wasn’t looking forward to an entire blazing-hot summer on the ranch. So when his friend Bill called from Austin and offered a short contract job doing consulting for one of the state agencies, he jumped at the chance.

Javier landed at Mueller Airport at 2:00 in the afternoon on the second Saturday in June. He made his way out of luggage pickup to the Hertz desk and signed for a rental car. It didn’t take him long to find the apartment complex where Bill had arranged for him to stay. Bill’s coworker’s son had graduated from UT Austin in May, and the lease wasn’t up until August, so everything worked out perfectly. Javi could sublet for the remainder of the summer, and the apartment complex was close enough to the office that he could take the bus, meaning he wouldn’t have to put too many miles on the rental car or pay for parking downtown. A small, blandly furnished one-bedroom apartment near work was perfect. He could make it work for two months, and he had certainly lived in much worse places during his years traveling.

On Monday Javier was introduced around the office and given his portfolio of cases to consult on. He also found out that the coffee in the office was total shit. He had spent too many years drinking government-grade slop at the DEA and other agencies to put up with it now. He wasn’t one to complain, or to order any of the frilly new designer coffee drinks that seemed to be making the rounds among the ladies in the secretarial pool, but he had noticed a coffee shop between here and the bus stop. Some local place, one of those Austin things where they boasted about fair trade and locally roasted beans. If they made a decent cup of black coffee he could splurge, buy a cup on his way into the office each day.

The bus dropped him off at the corner at 7:45, so he could grab a coffee and still be on time to work at 8:00. Punctuality wasn’t always his strong suit, but Javier wanted to at least make a good impression while he was consulting. You never knew who might be a network contact to something good, and he didn’t want to screw Bill over after he had recommended him for the contract.

Tuesday Javier tried the coffee shop and found out that their coffee was not only decent for the price, it was actually good. Wednesday he went back again, this time brushing fingers with the pretty barista by accident. He offered her a “thanks” and then went on his way. Thursday he walked in and stood patiently in line behind two stoner kids trying to make up their minds between breakfast tacos and blueberry muffins. The pretty barista was there again, and she waved him over with a smile, indicating he could skip to the counter and leave the hippie kids in line.

“Black coffee, right?” Her smile actually reached her eyes, and for a moment Javier was very glad for all of the body language and psychology classes he had ever had to sit through. It was nice having a pretty lady smile at you to start your morning, and even better that this one already knew his order. She was quick, he figured, and good at her job if she had his order memorized after only two days as a customer. Not that ‘black coffee, to go’ was a difficult order, but he hadn’t expected to become a regular so quickly.

He smiled and nodded, “That’s right. Thank you.” He looked for a wedding ring and then for a nametag on her black apron, but didn’t see either one. He slid a rumpled $5 bill across the counter, larger than the singles he had paid with the previous two days, but she was nice. “Keep the change.”

He thought he saw her bite her lip as she turned away, and while she was fixing his cup he took a moment to check her out. He wasn’t some kind of pervert who would goose her from over the counter, but from what he could see she was attractive. Hell, most women were attractive to Javier. He suddenly realized it had been a while since he’d gotten laid. His last relationship was years past, and he no longer visited prostitutes regularly. Javier wasn’t a ‘reformed man’ by any means, it was just that that habit had been limited to a specific time and place in his life where he wasn’t stable enough to have a long-term relationship, and it had the added bonus of gathering intelligence.

The barista turned back to him with the cup and when she handed it off their eyes locked and their fingers touched again. He saw her pupils dilate and recognized the little spark that turned over in his own gut. Damn, she really was attractive. But Javier didn’t want to be the kind of lecherous guy who hit on a woman while she was working. Too many men mistook the minimum of customer service friendliness for a sexual invitation. Or worse, like the men who hit on waitresses on purpose since they couldn’t be outright rude to stop them. Javier suppressed a smile and took the cup from her, nodding his thanks.

On Friday when he breezed into the coffee shop he saw the pretty barista smile from behind the counter, and she immediately turned and started pouring his to-go cup. She turned back and gave him the ‘what’s up’ chin nod while holding his cup up. Javier walked up and he slid a few singles across the counter to her.

Javier gave her a warm, “Thanks,” and winked at her. That was at least a harmless bit of flirting, in line with her bright smiles and her friendliness so far. If she liked it, great; and if not, then at least he hadn’t made her uncomfortable by asking for her number or hitting on her directly. When he said, “See you next week,” she smiled that bright smile back. Javier noticed that it again reached her eyes, lighting them up just a bit more than last time. A good sign.

The weekend dragged but Javier filled it up with errands: a run to HEB for groceries and to Highland Mall for a new shirt. If there was the possibility of a date sometime in the next few weeks he at least wanted to wear something other than his work clothes. Saturday night he ordered pizza and watched a movie on TV, some lame action movie with giant muscled guys shooting way too many bullets, and of course all the curse words and a sex scene edited out for network TV. Can’t let the kiddies hear the word ‘shit’ while they’re flipping channels, but watching Stallone blow a guy’s head off is good for their growing brains. He finished his pizza and a cigarette and then felt that tug, the loose ends, a little bored.

Javier took a shower and his mind went to the pretty barista, that smile, the sparkly eyes. He thought about those eyes looking up at him through her lashes, or down at him from on top. He wondered what her skin felt like, imagining the rest of her naked, spread out, touching him all over. He felt a little bit creepy touching himself to the thought of her, hoping it didn’t make him a bad person, hoping he would see her again on Monday. But fuck it, he needed the release. Javier came, spurting hot in the steamy shower as he leaned his head on his forearm and groaned into the cold tile wall. He wished he at least knew her name.

Sunday Javier slept in and then did laundry, tidied up the apartment, and took a jog around the neighborhood. He tried to talk himself out of a repeat of Saturday’s shower. It didn’t work.

On Monday Javier lit up as soon as he stepped off the bus. The first week of the consulting gig had gone well, but today was a big meeting and he knew the agency was not going to like his recommendations. He was constantly trying to quit, but at least he had cut back recently. He was down to a pack a day and only one cup of coffee. That had to count for something, right? Maybe his doctor would finally get off his back about that.

He smoked as rapidly as he could on his way to the coffee shop, and stubbed the cigarette out as soon as he reached the big window that overlooked the street corner. He tucked his sunglasses into the top pocket of his blazer and opened the door to the coffee shop.

The pretty barista was smiling, looking right at him and already holding up his cup of coffee like a game show model holding a prize. Javier felt his heart give a little squeeze, and he smiled and winked at her again as he approached the counter.

“You psychic or something? Or am I just that predictable?”

“Both, maybe.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him and gave him a toothy grin.

Javier opened his wallet and saw that his smallest bill was a $10, but he decided not to ask for change back. She was attentive to her customers, she had surprised him by having coffee ready, and she was cute. “Great service, keep the change.”

Her face lit up and she turned to put the money in the register. Javier turned and exited the front door, and then decided to look back through the big plate glass window. She was looking at him, and Javier realized that meant that she had watched him leave. He hoped he wouldn’t have to tip $10 every time to get that look. He lifted his cup, nodded at her, and then made his way to the office.

Tuesday she had his coffee ready again, so he gave her another wink with his smile, and he thought that she purposely put her fingers in a spot to touch his as she handed the cup over. He paid with a $5 bill again, and then thought about her smile and her touch all the way to the office a few blocks north. He didn’t want her to think that the overtipping was him trying to come on to her; it really was nice to have his order ready to go every day.

On Wednesday she had his coffee ready again as soon as he walked in, but Javier supposed that was a testament to the bus schedule more than his own punctuality. This time he paid with singles. But he didn’t want her to think the smaller tip was because of anything wrong with her customer service, so he smiled a little more warmly, turning the charm up as much as he dared without just outright hitting on her. He noticed she was looking again through the glass as he left. But of course the only reason he knew that was because he had looked, too.

On Thursday Javier decided that it wouldn’t hurt to flirt a little more obviously, but to give her an out in case she wasn’t interested. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable or fuck up his supply of good coffee, so he decided to take it a little slow. When he got to the corner he glanced into the window of the coffee shop and saw the pretty barista looking right at him. He took that as a good sign that she might be receptive to his flirting. He opened the door and let someone exit, then walked up to the counter. She pointed at his cup sitting on the counter in front of her, smiling that bright smile.

He arched an eyebrow up. “You trying to get rid of me? In and out so quickly?”

She grinned at him. “Depends on how long you were planning to stay. We close at 1:00 a.m. after open mic tonight. After that you gotta go somewhere else.” That was the most that she’d spoken to him yet. Javier decided to take his chance.

“And what time do you get off, after the morning shift?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” She winked and then bit the inside of her lips, like she had said something she shouldn’t have.

Javier decided to be direct. At least that would give her the chance to say ‘no’ if she wasn’t interested. He locked eyes with her and said, “I am.”

He was relieved to see her flash that big smile, all pretty soft lips and sparkly eyes. “I finish at 1:00, after the lunch rush.”

“Good to know.” He stuck his hand out to shake. “I’m Javier, by the way.” She continued to smile as she gave him her name. When she took his hand she gave a good firm shake, not like one of those women who went limp as soon as they shook a man’s hand. Javier liked her even more.

He fished a few bills out of his wallet. “Can I maybe stop by after your shift, take you to lunch sometime?”

“You can do me one better than that.” She reached down to grip the lid and spun the cup. He saw her name and seven digits scribbled in Sharpie. “My phone number’s on the cup.”

Javier gave her the eyebrows, very much enjoying how direct she was. It was nice to get a clear signal from a pretty lady, instead of having to play guessing games and worry about overstepping. He pursed his lips and nodded in approval.

“You do that for all your customers?”

“Just the best tippers.” And there was her pretty smile and her wink again, so soon after the first one.

Javier decided to give her both barrels. He put his hand out again, palm up instead of a handshake. When she put her hand in his he lifted her knuckles to his lips and pressed a soft kiss, giving her a look from under his eyelashes before he let go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Javier picked up the cup and left, and gave her a warm smile through the glass as he walked away. As soon as he got to the office he jotted her name and the number on a scrap of paper and tucked it into his wallet. He felt hopeful in a way that he hadn’t for a long time, and he rolled the cup endlessly between his palms while he considered his options. Options. Something he sometimes had taken for granted in life, until those moments where they suddenly ran out.

Javier drained the last of the coffee and then scribbled over her number with a Sharpie before tossing the cup in the trash. No sense in letting her number out into the world where some creep might find it. He smoked his third cigarette of the day out on the plaza and thought about her smile, the brush of her fingers on his, the way she approached him directly. He could use a friend in town, one who wasn’t a guy at the agency or an old college buddy. One who was soft and sweet and might be open to a date… or more. He checked his watch and calculated the hours until 1:00 p.m.

Normally he wouldn’t go back to the coffee shop until tomorrow morning, but it wouldn’t hurt to pop back over there today at the end of her shift, see if she wanted to grab lunch, right? He hoped it wouldn’t scare her off, going back so quickly. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray by the lobby door and jogged back up to his office, taking the stairs two at a time. He wanted to finish up, get this meeting over with, see if he could get over to the coffee shop before she left. He sat in the meeting, watching the clock hands spin slowly, listening to someone drone on about a budget issue that didn’t impact his work, and which could have been a memo in the first place. He felt his irritation creep up the longer the meeting went on.

Finally the meeting closed and Javier hopped to his feet. He told Bill he was headed to lunch and then jogged back down the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator. He walked the few blocks to the coffee shop, keeping an eye on his watch. He hoped he wouldn’t miss her.

When he got to the coffee shop he opened the door and let his eyes adjust to the dim light for a moment. And then he saw her, slinging her bag over one shoulder and coming out from behind the counter. Javier smiled.

She stopped a foot away and smiled softly, “Hey.”

Javier realized he was still wearing his sunglasses, no wonder it was so dark. He took them off and slipped them into his blazer pocket. He really hoped she wouldn’t think it was weird, him coming back so soon.

“Hey, I’m glad I caught you. Are you busy, or can I take you to lunch today?”

Her face lit up. Good sign. “No, I’m not busy. I’d love to go.”

She gestured out the big window, “There’s a sandwich place around the corner, and a park we can go sit in.”

Javier felt his face split into a wide grin. “That’s perfect.”

---

Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

The only tag list I have: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme @eri16 @mandocrasis

[binniesthighs]

EIGHT LEVELS, THE DESCENT

CWs: death, bits of horror and fear, hellish things 

Descent 

you had never imagined death to be something like this. 

with careful footsteps you followed the hollow sound of metal on rock, metal on metal, metal on skin. 

you were scared, but a thrill crept up your throat like none other. it bubbled in the pit of your stomach and fluttered like butterflies through each and every nerve of your body. 

the hallway was dark, nearly pitch black, save for the light at the end of the hall. it seemed like it must've been the size of a pinhead from as far as you were. you thought to yourself, that this must be your punishment: walking on and on forever towards a light that you could never reach. 

seemed reasonable enough. you were not saint...if this was hell anyway. 

sweltering hot heat caught up to you as you walked on, and it singed your skin with a burn that only grew over time. your brow beaded with sweat, and your legs felt heavier with each step. 

at the same time, you felt a deathly chill: a piercing kind of cold that you could only describe as loneliness and emptiness. the two temperatures fought a terrible tryst, and your body could not decide if the shivers ailing you reminded you were really dead, or if by some mistake you had been mixed up in some devils game. 

you don’t remember dying. does anyone? you didn’t know. you can’t exactly ask someone. 

in your shock, you realize that the pinhead of light was growing larger and larger before your squinting eyes. now, the sounds of metal were replaced with wails in despair intertwined with something much different. 

ungodly sounds of pain and pleasure filled the dense air, and moaning and groaning spilled into your ears with some kind of cacophony that made little sense. 

the light approached closer and it became blinding: the kind of blinding light that you had always imagined death to be like. maybe you really had died. 

what you had seen at the end of the tunnel, was not at all what you had expected. 

a reception room. a normal one, like the ones at a hospital. 

am I a ghost? you wonder. is my soul trapped in the place that I died? 

a normal looking nurse in a normal looking nurse’s uniform waves you over. 

“me?” you mouth. 

she nods. 

she gives a curt little smile, and pats down her sterile looking baby blue scrubs. she wears no nametag, and the only thing distinguishing her is the fiery red nail polish that decorates her nails. her eyes are kind, a kind of hazel brown that looks to be a dozen different colors at once. 

“welcome!” she greets. 

“...thank you?” you return. 

“how can I help you today?” the nurse beams. her smile is perfectly white, but her teeth crooked. 

“i...don’t know.” 

she asks outright: “do you have your key?”

“my key?” 

you note that there is no one else in the waiting room besides you. light streams in from the windows, but it is pale and white, like the kind of sun on a cloudy day full of grey. the air smells dusty, old...and burnt. 

“yes?” she cocks her head. “you should have a key?” 

“i-i don’t think that I have anything...” 

a weight pulls down the pocket of your jeans and you see the bulging fabric. 

a brass key makes the imprint. it looks ancient and is a bit rusted on the edges. there is nothing too complicated about the skeleton key except for the fact that the head of the key is shaped to the number eight. 

“what...”

“ah! that’s the key. well, it looks like you’ve got an eight. that’s wonderful.” 

the nurse looks down at her desk to her paperwork, but the white sheets of paper hold no writing or ink. 

“says here that you qualify for all eight levels--just as your key says! well, now i’ll show you to your first room and you can just wait patiently in there for it to begin.” 

“it? i’m sorry, what is “it”?” 

“you’ll see soon enough dear.” 

through her crooked teeth you catch sight of her tongue, and at looks as if it is split: forked like a serpent. 

“this way!” she rouses from her desk. 

the waiting room remains empty when you follow the nurse behind a frosted glass door and into yet another hallway, but this one is illuminated with a flickering green-ish white light. the hall is quiet, and no other patients in rooms can be heard. no talking voices, no crying children, no moans mixed in pain and pleasure. 

“hold onto that key! you’ll need it. that’s all i’ll say!” the nurse nods, and her hazel eyes change color as they’ve been doing under the lights, and you can’t quite tell what color they are. 

“wait!” you reach out to her, a million more questions swimming. before you can get another word out, the door is promptly shut with a slam that seems to shake the whole room. 

the examination room seems normal, just as the nurse seemed to be at first. it is a windowless place, and you almost miss the grey light from the waiting room. a chair is positioned in the corner and the examination table is covered in white paper that crinkles when you sit on it. 

i can’t be dead. she shouldn’t've seen me. 

a lock on the wall ticks and your heartbeats match the rhythm, beating thickly in your chest. 

your eyes close tightly and you draw back your memory as far as you can take it. 

i’m asleep. i’m asleep. that’s it. i’ve fallen asleep. this is a dream. 

your eyes open, and there he is, back to you, facing the wall. 

your whole body jumps from the scare, and your chest aches with fearful gasps. 

his skin is nearly inhumanly pale and white, but peaking muscles curve under his leather vest. muscled arms stretch out bare, and every single twitch of his equally toned legs flare under his skin-tight pants. by contrast, red leather bands wrap around his arms and thighs. thick, long, silver chains drip from his wrists--it would’ve been impossible to get them in their quietly without you knowing. his hair is starkly white, much like untouched snow. 

“you have your key?” he growls. 

your voice is dry when you answer “yes.” 

the man turns. rather than the beast that you had expected, he is handsome: some kind of godly form that glows with a kind of white light even when he looks at you with his icy blue eyes. 

his sharp cheekbones are astonishing and serious. he studies you and you shy away to crinkle the paper under you. 

“you’re new.” he simply says. “we’re going to like you.” 

“w-we?” 

the man chuckles with a kind of laugh that seems to reverberate in your chest. with a wicked smile that nearly cracks the corners of his mouth, he leans in. you’re frozen in your horror when he whispers into your ear: 

“welcome to hell.” 

┈     ┈     ┈     ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟     ┈     ┈     ┈

EIGHT LEVELS | READER X OT8 | 1k SPECIAL 

Pairing: self insert, female reader, male reader, gender neutral reader x ot8 

Genre: pure smut, angst 

Tags: explicit sexual content, explicit language, minor pain play, bondage, impact play, sensory deprivation, edging, overstimulation, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, throat fucking, use of pet names, degredation, shibari, pet play, sex toys, orgasm denial, marking, exhibitionism, threesome, foursome, general debauchery and more 

CWs: mentions of death, blood, hellish things and slight horror elements 

Word count: ?? 

aka the hardest thing that i will have written to this date. can you endure the pain and pleasure of eight of hell’s most sinful demons? 

~if you would liked to be tagged on this piece, let me know! 

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @julesinthesoop

[thiswasinevitableid]

71. you’re famous and you want to hide out in my bookstore which is fine except the stupid paparazzi won’t leave and now there’s a photo of us in the tabloids and they’re printing misinformation and why the fuck won’t you clear this up on your twitter account

Sternclay, NSFW, please!

Here you go! Let's end this round of meet uglies with a bang

The post-holiday slump is always the worst; everyone maxed out their credit cards last month and doesn’t want to buy anything, and the tourists won’t be back until the spring. It’s not that he’s concerned about keeping the lights on; Bookworms is popular and has a prime spot downton. It’s that he’s bored out of his mind.

All his orders for the day are in, everything’s been received and shelved, and he’s running out of things to tidy. If he’s lucky, the clouds that have been threatening a snowstorm since this morning will burst and drive some people to shelter among the stacks.

Dingdong

Thank the lord.

“Welcome to Bookworms, can I help you?”

The man stays by the door, peering through the glass onto the street while pulling off his beanie, “Huh? Oh, uh, nope, just coming in to, uh, get out of the cold.” He turns, and two realizations slap Joseph in the face.

One: this is the hottest man he has ever had the pleasure of seeing.

Two: He’s seen this man dozens of times, just never in person.

Barclay Cobb is a Food Network darling who got his start on Youtube, sharing recipes from vintage cookbooks he found at garage sales. That’s not why he’s starstruck, but it is probably why the taller man is hiding in the craft books alcove and keeps nervously looking his way.

“I won’t tell anyone you’re here, Mr. Cobb.”

“Phew” the man sighs, unzips his jacket, “thanks man. Thought I’d be bundled up enough that no one would spot me while I was out, but I didn’t get my hat on in time coming out of the Chinese place down the block.”

“I love that spot, they have the best beer-braised duck.”

“Yeah, I always stop by when I’m in town, they’re food is worth getting photographed for.”

It’s odd, everything he’s read suggests chef Cobb is friendly and warm when approached by fans in public.

“It’s not that I don���t appreciate that people like my shows but, I, uh, sometimes I just want to eat or walk down the street without someone taking pictures of me.”

“Do you want to head into the back sections? There’s no windows in that half of the store.”

“Sweet, thanks. Uh, would it be cool if I autographed any books of mine you have? I like doing that, means I can send a little business towards smaller stores.”

“Of course. Here, the cookbooks are on this wall.” He slips into his office to grab a sharpie while Barclay pulls a stack of books and sits down on the floor. As the scratching of the pen fills the air, Joseph takes a trip to the paranormal and occult section, coming back with three copies of The Case for Bigfoot.”

“Y’know, not everyone stocks these.” Barclay smiles as he adds the paperbacks to the pile.

“Which is terrible business; you’re just as famous in the cryptozoology community as you are in the foodie one. This is the best book on bigfoot ever written, and I should know; I run a, um, a blog where I review books on paranormal topics.”

“You a true believer?” The cook blows on his signature in the copy of Desserts for All Seasons

“More an optimistic skeptic; your book is perfect because you make your case using actual evidence instead of reporting the same ten, poorly verified stories that everyone includes in their books. And I appreciated that you included recipes from the places you visited; that was a very nice touch.”

“Funny story about that” Barclay freezes as the front door opens. There’s definitely more than one person coming in, and when Joseph pokes his head around the corner he sees fifteen people, all with cameras or phones.

“Shit. You might want to hide in my office for a few minutes.”

By the time the crowd reaches him, Joseph is almost done re-shelving the signed books.

“Good afternoon, let me know if you need help finding anything.”

“Uh, yeah, we do, someone saw Barclay Cobb in your store-”

“Strange, we’ve only had one customer” he winces as someone’s shoulder knocks a hardcover off its display, “I didn’t get a good look at them before they went downstairs.” He tips his head at the staircase to the YA and Graphic Novel sections and is promptly knocked into the shelf as the throng hurries away.

“Come on, I can get you out through the back door” Joseph whispers to the Red Dust on his Soul poster on his office door. Barclay is remarkably quiet for a man his size as they sneak across the floor and let frigid, January air rush into the store.

“Thanks man” Barclay whispers, “I owe you one.” He sets a big hand on Joseph’s shoulder, squeezes it with a wink, then pulls on his hat and disappears into a crowd coming off at the bus stop.

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

Joseph always comes in through the back, flipping on lights as he goes, so the sea of bodies pressed to the front windows like a zombie horde surprises him. He knows Barclay tweeted about the signed copies, but this seems like excessive excitement even for a celebrity chef.

“Morning, Joseph--whoa, what the heck?” Aubrey clocks in without taking her eyes off the crowd, “why is everyone here this early.”

“Fan culture. I think.” The registers finish waking up, “I’ll pay holiday rates if you open that door for me.”

Aubrey gives a thumbs up, unlocks the double doors, and is swallowed up so quickly he worries she might have been trampled until she emerges near the greeting cards. Some people swarm the cookbooks, but an alarming number cluster around the counter, all shouting for his attention.

“How long have you been seeing Chef Cobb?”

“What?, I, I’m not-”

“Does he often visit your store?”

“No! He just came by yesterday!” There’s a horrible clatter of all the books on display near the door taking each other out like dominoes.

“Do you fuck in the backroom all the time?”

“Oh come on” He pushes past the man who asked that, deals with shouting all the way to his office and slams the door. A quick Google search for “Barclay Cobb” brings up a blurry photo of them in the alley, Barclays hand on his shoulder, and multiple headlines speculating on why the reclusive chef and author has chosen a nobody bookstore employee (he’s the owner, damn it) as his lover.

Okay, there’s a logical, easy fix to this.

He opens the door enough to speak, whistles so everyone will be quiet and listen to him, “I’m sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding. Mr. Cobb isn’t in any kind of relationship with me; he just came into the store yesterday for some peace and quiet. So, if you’re looking for information about him, this is not the place for it. If you’re looking for the signed books, the cookbooks are there, and the paranormal section is just around that corner.” He gives his best customer service smile as the paparazzi exchange perplexed glances.

“...Is it true he bought you this store?”

“Wh--no! We rent this space.”

“From him?”

“Arggh!” He closes the door, slumps against it and cards his fingers through his hair. As he contemplates closing for the day, he spots a little, copper card on his desk. It’s Barclay’s, which is what he expected, but when he flips it over there’s a message scribbled in pen.

Main St Hotel, room 503, here until Monday.

He pulls out his phone, tells Aubrey she’s allowed to get the crowd out by any means necessary except for fire, and elbows his way out into the winter air.

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

Barclay almost purrs when he peers through the peephole in the hotel door; Joseph, as his nametag read, is standing on the carpet, looking twice as handsome as he did yesterday. His cheeks are even a little pink, and Barclay has some thoughts on how to make that blush deepen.

“Hey, glad you found-”

Joseph holds up his phone, screen in Barclays face, “please fix this.”

“Oh fuck.” He ushers him in, “I’m so sorry, I thought they’d stopped doing this shit.”

“No, and they’re fucking up my inventory as a result.”

“On it, lemme text my assistant, she’s good at drafting these kind of messages.”

“Thank the lord. Right, thank you for that, I’ll go now.”

“Wait” Barclay reminds his instincts that blocking the door is rude, “do you wanna stay a few minutes? You look kinda stressed.”

“Because my store is being overrun!” Joseph snaps, then takes a deep breath and straightens his sleeves, “I’m sorry, that wasn’t called for, this morning has just been a mess. And it, um, it’s a little bittersweet to have people thinking I could land a hot chef when I can’t get past a first date with most people. Um, sorry. Too much information. That’s a bad habit of mine.”

Barclay tucks his hands into his pants pockets, “About that. Y’know how I left my card?”

Blue eyes blink, then brighten, “I thought that might be the reason but I dismissed it as wishful thinking.”

“Nope. A guy who's hot, nerdy, and competent enough to sneak me away from the paparazzi? Sign me the fuck up.”

“I’m not opposed to a, um, tryst, but I really, really need to get back to the store, I can’t abandon Aubrey to deal with this mess on her own, that’s not fair, and now we’ll have to reorder things too....” He laughs, a tense sound, “good lord, I get a chance to fuck a celebrity crush and I’m turning it down for work.”

“Hey” Barclay sets his hands on Joseph’s shoulders, “it’s okay. You’re not the first guy to be married to his job. But, uh, out of curiosity, you got any vacation days to spare?”

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

“This is all yours?” Joseph takes in the sprawling farm as Barclay unlocks the front door of a charmingly rustic house.

“Yep, all the way to the creek and all the way to the road. Might surprise you, but I like my privacy.”

“I’d never have guessed.” He replies with faux shock.

“Smartass.” Barclay kisses his cheek, holds the door open with his shoulder so Joseph can pull his bags inside. He packed as light and efficiently as he could for two weeks away (he’d initially planned on one until Aubrey and Moira ganged up on him and told him he hadn’t taken a real vacation in years so he was taking one now, damn it) but his suitcase is still heavy as he rolls it to the stairs.

“I got that.” Barclay shoulders his own travel bag and hoists Joseph’s in the other hand, carrying them to the second floor like they’re nothing more than pillows.

The week the chef was in Madison, Joseph went to his hotel almost every night. Fell asleep in his bed more than once, when discussions of fusion cuisine or the Fresno Nightcrawler turned into frantic, heated kisses under the covers. It’s only when the cook drops all luggage into the master bedroom that the truth of why he’s on this trip sets in.

“You really invited me all the way here because you think I’m hot.”

“Yeah but no.” Barclay drapes his arms over his shoulders, lips still a little chilly as he kisses them, “brought you here because you’re smart” another kiss, this one on his jaw, “and funny” another, on his nose, “and you’re the biggest bigfoot fan I know.”

“You wrote a book on it!”

“Point stands. And yeah” he pushes Joseph back so he lands on the bed, crawling atop him as he growls, “I invited you here because you’re so hot I wanna pour sugar on you and see if it melts. Now get your pants off; I’ve been thinking about sucking your dick since we left the city.”

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

“How did the whole bigfoot thing start?” Joseph sips his Irish Coffee as Barclay puts his feet into his lap.

“Guess the same way any famous person ends up with two gigs; I was doing the thing I love, then was dicking around on cryptid hunter forums and found out I was also hella good at researching bigfoot. By the time I got really into it, I had enough cash that I could write my book without worrying about going broke. Helps that I’d handed off The Arch and The Lodge and was just the exec chef on them, since then I could travel if I needed to.”

Joseph nods, moves one hand down to rub Barclays foot; in spite of no longer working the kitchens of his five restaurants or having to test recipes for the books right now, he spent most of today on his feet making elaborate meals for two. Joseph teases him that he’s trying to stuff him to the point he can’t leave. Barclay always chuckles and says he doesn’t know how right he is. The last two days, Joseph then wraps his arms around his boyfriend and tells him he’d stay forever if he could.

He’s never thought of himself as romantic; he’s pragmatic, knows that relationships are things built out of time, trial, and error. But god help him, he’s fallen for Barclay like they’re rom-com leads with only ninety minutes to reach their happy ending.

They’re out near the creek--really more of a small river--the next morning, talking about books and speculating on the existence of life on other planets, when a storm sweeps through the trees. As trunks groan and roots pull loose from the snow, Barclay calls, “we better head back.”

He gives a thumbs up. Then the ice under him cracks.

He doesn’t correct course quickly enough, the rest dropping from under him and dunking him in freezing water. It’s deep, too deep to stand, but he’s a decent swimmer and kicks towards the surface. When the shadow covers the opening with a boom, panic threatens to push the rest of his precious breath away.

The tree that fell across the ice is heavy, and no matter how he pushes it won’t give. He bangs on the ice on either side, trying to get it to crack, but his lungs scream and his limbs alert him that the cold will soon shut them down.

He closes his eyes, trying to think, not ready to give up, not with Barclay so close. There’s a groan of wood and frozen water. His mouth opens without permission, desperate for air, and chokes him on frost instead.

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

“...be dead, please don’t be dead, please please please don’t be fucking dead.”

“Nnff.” That’s not what he meant to say, but it seems to calm the voice above him.

“Thank fuck. I’m so sorry, I got to you as fast as I could, do, do you need anything?” Barclay sounds exhausted.

“Cold.” He mutters.

“I’m trying to warm you up gradually, that’s what the first aid book said but, uh, here.” Warm, fuzzy arms draw him into a hug.

Wait.

The first thing he sees when his eyes flutter open are arms covered in reddish-brown fur. When Barclay rubs their cheeks together, it tickles more than his beard usually does.

“Barclay? What the hell is going on?”

“Uh. So.” He’s rolled with ease to face a creature he’s never seen and eyes that he’d know anywhere, “I’m bigfoot. Or, uh, a bigfoot. Maybe that’s kinda obvious now.”

His brain crackles to life, “What better way to stay undiscovered than get famous by giving people the wrong information about you.”

“Some of it’s true. Just not anything people could use to actually find me.”

“Smart, big guy” Joseph pets his face.

“You’re taking this pretty well.”

“I think my system is too shocked to experience more shock.” He shudders, “relatedly, how’d I get out of the river?”

“I lifted the tree off and pulled you free. Took my disguise off to do that and, uh, the fucking thing fell into the water when I got you. So I’m gonna be stuck like this until a friend of mine can get me a new one.”

“No complaints here. You look incredible.” He runs his hands up and down Barclay’s side and chest, warmth seeping into his fingers as he does, “But I’m a little surprised you were willing to risk someone seeing you or me blabbing to someone and trashing your whole life in the process.”

A low rumble as Barclay kisses his forehead, “It’s worth it. I, this is gonna sound so fucking cheesy, but I haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time, and there was no way I was gonna lose you.”

“Oh.” Affection and surprise well up in his throat, pressing down his words so all he can do is nestle closer to the cryptid and let himself be loved.

His mind rebounds quickly from his misadventure. His body would like him to remember it for a while so he doesn’t put it in such jeopardy again any time soon. Instead of helping Barclay with cooking and chores, he lays under the covers while the storm rattles the roof and the cook clangs pots on the lower floor.

Barclay, attentive to a fault, is downright doting now that he’s stuck in bed. He’s never without a hot drink or something to read, and the cryptid is happy to answer the majority of his questions about the finer points of being bigfoot. When it’s bedtime, his boyfriend pulls him atop his massive frame and cuddles him, whispering over and over that he’s glad he’s okay, until they fall asleep.

Today followed much the same pattern, though when dinner time rolls around he gets a fantastic surprise.

“Chocolate fondue?” He peers hopefully at the bed tray in Barclays hands.

“Only the best for you, babe.” The cook sets the burnished wood down on the bedside table, “we lucked out, the berries I bought last week are ripe.”

Joseph reaches for the fork, but Barclay beats him to it.

“You should save your energy. Since you’re, uh, still recovering.”

He shrugs, sets his hands in his lap and opens his mouth for a chocolate dipped raspberry. It doesn’t take long to spy Barclay’s ulterior motive. The cook has a whole wardrobe designed to fit his cryptid form, but it’s having trouble concealing certain things.

“You’re getting off on this.”

“I, uh, I, maybe a little” Barclay blushes under his fur.

Joseph raises an eyebrow, tilts his head at the bulge in Barclay’s pants, “You call that ‘little’?”

A rumbly whine, the fork paused halfway to Joseph’s mouth, “I can’t help it. I’ve got a thing for taking care of partners, especially ones who are all competent and put-together the rest of the time, and you look so good when you eat and, ohfuck.”

Joseph inhales sharply as chocolate hits his exposed upper chest. It’s not hot enough to burn, and he moans as the sensation seeps across his skin. Barclays eyes, wide and ravenous, keep flicking between the splatter and his face.

“Looks like you made a mess, big guy.” Joseph begins undoing the remaining buttons on his pajamas, “you should clean it up.”

“Fuck yeah.” Barclay lunges, mouth first, lapping and sucking at the marked skin as Joseph laughs. Their shirts hit the floor together as he digs his nails into auburn fur. Barclay grunts at the pressure, sits up with a grin, and drips a line of chocolate down the right side of Joseph’s ribs.

“Oops. Better fix that too.”

“Cleanliness is importantAH, ahhnn.” He squirms a bit as Barclay nuzzles his stomach before dragging his tongue up his skin. There’ve been times he mourned the fact T didn’t make him as hairy as some other guys, but right now he’s grateful for the clear canvas Barclay can mark however he pleases.

“A mess can be more fun.” The cook licks his lips, sucks a hickey above his belly button, “and by the time I’m done with you, babe, won’t be a single part of you that isn’t one.”

“Then get to it.” He shoves his pants down, lets Barclay pull them the rest of the way off and fold them. He lays back, resting his arms behind his head, and moans as the cook drizzles chocolate on each hip. Joseph feels like a gourmet dessert and, from the growls between his thighs, Barclay intends to treat him like one.

His boyfriend is always enthusiastic when sucking him off, but tonight he throws finesse out the window in favor of burying his face at the crease of each thigh in turn, licking his hips clean while clawing at his calves and sides. He lifts his head, wipes his mouth with a satisfied grin that shows the points of his teeth, and dives down again.

Joseph yelps with pleasure, the hint of fangs hitting all his buttons, lighting him up like downtown on a dark night. It’s intense, the scratch of fur on skin just different enough from the usual beard to remind him of who’s down there, and his legs try to kick closed. Barclay growls again, holding them open with ease.

“Not until I’m done with you, babe.”

He surrenders to flood of feelings from both outside and within him, Barclay’s sheer delight at his body rendering all his doubts and worries toothless and small, quieting them until all he can think about is incredible creature holding and all he can say is some variation on-

“Barclay, please, right there, lordalmighty that’s good, that’s so good big guy, please.” He squeezes his eyes shut, craving the impending orgasm more than he has words for. Barclay sucks determinedly and huffs, pleased, as Joseph's thighs tense in his hold and his climax chases away the remnants of yesterday's aches.

As his brain insists that really, body, opening our eyes isn’t that hard, there’s a metallic zip and strong legs bracketing his thighs.

“Here I thought you couldn’t look any better.” He murmurs as Barclay gleefully strokes his cock, “as soon as my brain works again, I’m coming up with so many ways to use that gorgeous thing.”

“Can’t, fuck, can't wait to hear ‘em, but I only got one for tonight; I’m gonna use it to cum alllll over that fucking perfect body, fuck, Joseph, you look so good when you’re ruined, fuck.” An impressive amount of cum spatters up his stomach, chest, and neck as Barclay howlgrowlpurrs and then sets his hands carefully on the bed.

Joseph’s whole body is sticky with chocolate, sweat, and cum, and Barclay definitely has at least two of those things mussed into his fur.

“You’re right, big guy, a mess can be fucking amazing.”

That being said, being sticky gets old quick, and soon they’re in the tub, Joseph whistling as he shampoos Barclay’s chest. The cryptid hasn’t stopped purring, and every time he looks Joseph’s way the sound deepens.

“When are you next in the city?”

The cook yawns, “Was gonna check on how the new chef de cuisine is getting on at Kepler in about two week.”

“Would you like to stay with me? It’s not fancy, but it’s close to the Ismuth, so you can get to Kepler on foot without trouble, and there are fewer crowds there this time of year. I suspect paparazzi are also less likely to track you down at some random house than at a hotel. That might make up for my lack of, um, high class amenities.”

“Good point. But I gotta be honest babe; as long as you’re there, that’s all I need to be happy.”

[maeglinyedi]

I got an idea for some original work and I had to write it. Tentative title: Dark Lord Rising, Again. Book one of the Oxmort School for the Supernatural Series.

Here's part of the first chapter. I'd love to hear what you think.

Myths which are believed in tend to become true.

George Orwell

Chapter one

Her whole life Annora imagined attending Oxmort School for the Supernatural. When the day finally came the campus alone seemed more magical than anything Annora could have expected. Could have hoped for, even.

“Look, look!” Annora did her best not to point at the centaurs they saw walking in the distance. Centaurs were notoriously private beings and rarely mingled with others outside their forest homes.

Sander, her best friend since childhood and also a brand new student at Oxmort, stared into the distance, his eyes wide. “I’ve seen centaurs before. But those are gorgons, aren’t they?” Sander discreetly nodded at the group of young women who crossed that part of the campus after the centaurs. They were tall, stately, all wore sunglasses and they each had a head full of hissing and wriggling snakes.

“Wow.” Annora released a deep, impressed sigh while she and Sander watched the centaurs and gorgons disappear inside the Greek Mythology building.

“Excuse me?” Sander asked a passing wraith. “We’re looking for the Natural Sciences building?”

The wraith produced a gurgling sound while raising his robed arm and pointing in the direction they’d just come from.

“Oh.” Sander shrugged and exchanged a quick, nonplussed glance with Annora. “Suppose we’ll head back then. Thanks!”

“Urglugh!” The wraith glided up the stairs of the Apparition Department while giving them a cheerful little wave.

They did find the Natural Sciences building this time, thankfully, and just as Sander made to enter it, Annora released a pleased little sound, pointing at the brick building across the street. “There’s the sorcery building! That’s me!”

Sander shook his head a little too hard at Annora’s over the top enthusiasm and some of the dreads he kept tied up in a ponytail on top of his head slipped loose. “Bloody things,” Sander said with an annoyed sigh. “They’re not quite long enough yet.”

“You’ll get there,” Annora said, always ready to support her friend.

Sander’s mother could trace her ancestry back to Western Africa, by way of Aruba, while his father was a native druid that led a large druid community near Salisbury, where they all lived.

An ancient brownie sat behind the welcoming desk inside the Natural Sciences building. No more than 4 foot tall, brownies had wild, curly hair, greenish skin and short fingers. Their eyes were a very light brown, almost like a wolf’s. Sander stepped right up to him. “Sander Hazelton, here to complete my registration.”

The brownie, whose bronze nametag read Brambleberry, hauled a huge tome closer and started paging through it. “Hazelton, Hazelton, ah! Here you are. Are you related to Leoric Hazelton?”

Sander sighed. He got that a lot. “Yes, he’s my father,” he muttered while accepting the information package Brambleberry handed him.

“Are you really?” Brambleberry all but jumped out of his chair. “What an honour it is to have you with us, young man! I teach Tree Science and I can’t wait to see you in my class.”

“Thanks.” Sander’s cheeks coloured much darker than they already were. “Looking forward to it.”

“He seemed nice,” Annora said, trying to raise Sander’s sudden sullen mood.

“Sure.” Sander scoffed his shoe against the cobblestone path between the buildings as they made their way to the Sorcery Department. “I’d just wish people stopped comparing me to my dad. I can’t live up to the man.”

“You will,” Annora said full of conviction. “Someday you will. I know it.”

Sander’s responding look was full of doubt and Annora would have said more but they reached the building and she really wanted to get registration over with so they could see their dormitories. Find out which House they were in. And find out who they would be sharing a room with.

Annora spotted an available desk in the entrance hall with an elf sitting behind it. Normally Annora would have avoided dealing with elves because they were the most stuck up people you ever found yourself interacting with. Ethereal, immortal and more beautiful than any other creature in Mythland. Not to mention ridiculously talented at anything they put their mind to.

Annora despised them on principle.

But needs must and Annora really wanted to see her dorms, so she squared her shoulders and stepped up to the desk. “Annora Spellson.”

The elf blinked large, violet eyes at her before opening the ledger in front of her as if she was doing Annora the biggest favour in the history of the whole world. The elf’s nametag read Rain Springbreeze. What a ridiculous name, honestly. Annora barely refrained from rolling her eyes.

“Ah yes. Here you are, Miss Spellson.” Rain the elf offered Annora the tiniest of smiles and then slid the information package towards her, quickly drawing her hand back when Annora reached for it. Yeah, Annora got the message loud and clear. Elves were better than the mortals and didn’t want any contact with them, literally as it turned out.

“We’re in the same building!” Annora noticed as she studied the first page of the information package on their way out the door. “Bluecap!” Annora beamed at Sander, who managed a grin in return. “We’re Bluecaps. My mom was also a Bluecap when she went to school.”

It took them almost half an hour to trek their way across campus to the dormitories. There were several large, brick buildings standing side by side, each five stories high with mature trees all around them. Bluecap stood right between Redcap and Grim.

“My mother was a Grim when she attended Oxport,” Sander pointed out as they passed said building.

“I know,” Annora said with a chuckle. Izara Hazelton still kept a small Grim flag in her workroom and wouldn’t hear a word against her former House.

Bluecap had a large entryway that opened up in a decent tearoom, a very large sitting room with at least five sofas spread out across the space and two fireplaces facing each other. The stairs up to the dormitories were massive and made of dark wood.

“I’m on the first floor,” Sander said as he led them to room number 3. The door stood open just a bit and Sander pushed it in further, only to jump back when a face suddenly appeared right in front of him only to disappear again seconds later.

“Hi! Are you my roommate? Oh, how exciting! I am so looking forwards to the next four years.”

“Wow,” Annora said, seriously impressed. “She’s even more enthusiastic than me, and that’s saying something.”

The sprite stopped zipping around the room and glared at Annora. “My pronouns are they and them, thank you very much.”

“I’m so sorry,” Annora said as quickly as she could, holding a hand to her chest while giving a little bow. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. I’m Daiki Akamine. Which one of you is the lucky person?” Daiki had brown eyes and short black hair that was dyed bloodred at the tips. They were of average height and their smile seemed fixed in place on their face.

“I am. Sander Hazelton.” Holding out a hand, Sander stepped into the room which held two beds on opposite walls, with two desks across from them and two built in wardrobes.

Daiki shook Sander’s hand vigorously. Sprites always did everything with great energy. They could control the weather up until a certain point, but their main power was control over electricity. That included lightning. Sprites tended to be really good at alchemy and often specialized in that.

“This is my best friend, Annora Spellson,” Sander said once he got his hand back. “She’s on the fourth floor.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Annora said with her most sincere smile. She really hadn’t meant to offend Sander’s new roommate.

“Likewise!” Daiki the sprite zipped around the room a few times before coming to a stop in the middle, raising both arms and pressing both hands over their mouth. “I’m so excited, I can barely contain myself. I’m going for alchemy. My whole family are alchemists. You?”

“Witchcraft,” Annora said, happy that Daiki seemed to have forgiven her. “My parents are both witches. Well, my father is the Sheriff of Salisbury and my mother’s a healer, to be precise.”

“Druidism.” Sander’s tone was far less eager than Annora’s had been. “My father’s a druid. My mother’s a shaman.”

“Awesome!” Daiki did a little zip around the room again, leaving a trail of very faint red lights behind. “I bet we can learn a lot from each other.”

A strange noise caught all of their attention and they rushed towards the window to see what was happening outside. A black carriage drawn by four winged horses descended from the sky onto the large lawn behind the building.

“There’s something funny about those horses,” Annora said as she narrowed her eyes while staring at the spectacle before them. Most students simply took the train to school, or a horse-drawn carriage across the road. The occasional witch who had already learned to ride a broom at home flew to school, but unless you absolutely loved flying it wasn’t the most comfortable means of transportation over longer distances.

But having a carriage with winged horses drop you off at your dormitory, yeah, that was really over the top for anyone.

The horses seemed strangely pale, with sunken faces and milky eyes. The driver dropped the reigns and lowered himself down from the seat in the front. His movements seemed rather clumsy, his arms jerkily pulling open the carriage door to let the passenger off.

“They’re dead,” Sander breathed, drawing a shocked gasp from Daiki. “Those horses are dead.”

“Are we getting a necromancer?” Annora asked, voice far too high pitched while a rush of panic tightened her belly. “No one said anything about a necromancer attending Oxmort this year.”

A tall young man of around 18 stepped out of the carriage, ignoring the driver who still held the door open. His wild hair was black and his skin pale. The man took a few steps forwards, then stopped in his tracks and seemed to be yelling at thin air.

“He’s crazy,” Annora said with full conviction. “We are getting a crazy necromancer. Please don’t tell me he’s a Bluecap to boot. Please let him go inside Redcap instead.” Annora squeezed her eyes shut. Her anxiety was such that she couldn’t even bear to witness their future demise.

“He’s a Bluecap,” Sander said solemnly, and when Annora opened her eyes again she could just see the necromancer disappear inside their building.

“Well, fuck,” Annora groaned.

This wasn’t just some feelings of annoyance like how Annora felt about elves. This was a matter of life and death. The worst Dark Lord that Mythland had ever seen had been a necromancer named Azrael.

To be fair, just about any of the races of Mythland had produced a Dark Lord in the past 500 years since the founding of their homeland. Except for the elves. They prided themselves on the fact that their race had remained utterly pure for as long as Mythland had existed. It was one of the reasons they were so horrendously stuck up and thought themselves better than anyone.

Some Dark Lords had been worse than others. The brownie Dark Lord, known as Strangled Ivy, had been more of an annoyance than anything else. And the centaur Dark Lord had only involved himself with other centaurs. His rule had been terrifying, if you were a centaur. The rest of Mythland hadn’t really noticed his rise or his demise, to be honest.

But Azrael had been an absolute monster and even 200 years after his death people were still afraid to speak his name. Azrael had raised entire armies of his dead enemies to control all the races, including the elves. He’d been one of the rare necromancers who was powerful enough to reanimate a dragon and use it as a weapon of mass destruction. It had taken a concentrated offensive of all the races working together to bring Azrael down, and they wouldn’t have managed it if it wasn’t for Azrael’s own wife Luthera turning on him and literally stabbing him in the back with a poisoned blade.

And now Bluecap had their own necromancer.

Something alarming dawned on Annora. She stared at Sander with wide, panicked eyes. “What if that crazy necro boy is my roommate?”

“Oh crap,” Sander said, grabbing hold of Annora’s arm and holding on for dear life. “Ann, you’re doomed.”