#i stretched the prompt but whatever. in the original scene she called him. it's in the spirit

[weatherw1tch]

flufftober. day 26, calling.

"You're over me? When... when were you under me?"

Sanji is looking at her like she pulled down the mountains, shook apart the sky, and handed him a sliver of the heavens wherein this revelation tumbled out. His eyes are so earnest, so round and surprised. He looks lost and determined all at once, desperately scrounging for an ounce of sense. She should have left it as a voicemail, a coded letter, at least then she could chalk it up too to many drinks or adrenaline. Anything but being wholly awake.

She can't breathe. She doesn't know what came over her. She'd spent the whole night watching him talk with the rest of the crew, watching and stewing over how confident he looked now, how the line of his shoulders stood a little straighter, his smile shone a little wider. As she concocted this conversation in her head, because she'd grown distracted with his proximity in a way she'd never known before, it battled the thought of telling him that if he wanted her attention still, he could have it. He could have it all, if he forfeited every beautiful woman and just looked at her instead.

Sanji had moved on without her, and he had no idea what it was like to watch the women of Wano flirt with him at his ramen stand while she was relegated to the shadows. Jealousy was a poison she'd grown comforted by.

"I… I don't know!" It happened all of a sudden, slow creeping, like a vice around her heart. One day, she woke up, and she realized that sinking feeling in her gut was want. She'd nearly thrown her peach lip gloss as she caught herself sneaking a coat as she heard his footsteps approach. "But it doesn't matter… it doesn't have to matter anymore. That's what I meant to say. I'm over you, and things can be more honest between us now."

Her heart skips a beat in her chest as they stand across from each other in an alleyway that is far too small.

[bi-bard]

I Stumbled in at the Wrong Time (Pt.4) - David Budd Imagine (Bodyguard)

Title: I Stumbled in at the Wrong Time (Pt. 4)

Pairing: David Budd X Reader

Other Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Requested: Nope

Word Count: 1,613 words

Warning(s): mentions of bombs, death, and violence

Summary: After losing Julia, (Y/n) was heartbroken at David's sudden silence. However, (Y/n) was more heartbroken at how the two of them reconnected.

Author's Note: This is the second to last part. The last part is going to be an epilogue more than anything.

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

I didn't see David after the day at the hospital. He was busy, I knew that. I also knew that he wasn't really my bodyguard, he was Julia's.

I still wish he was there.

He was obviously in pain. I was still in pain and all I wanted was to have someone there that could understand my pain.

I didn't leave my room in the safe house. They still wouldn't let me go home so I laid in a bed that wasn't mine and tried to grieve.

One day, I finally woke up with enough energy to get out of bed and get ready. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror.

At first, I noticed the results of my crying. Tired eyes, messy hair, distinct parts of my skin that look like I had cried. It was awful.

Then, I could only see Julia. I could see every similarity I had to her. It was like whatever force was in power was taunting me. Reminding me that I had to cope with Julia being stolen from me.

"You did so much more than I could," I mumbled quietly, like a prayer to her. I leaned down, rinsing my face with water.

I was finishing up my process of showering, getting dressed, and my other things when there was an emergency broadcast on the news.

I watched for a moment before my breath stopped.

David. In the middle of a park. A bomb strapped to his chest. He looked panicked. He was yelling something but it didn't seem like anyone was even attempting to listen to him.

I jumped when the door opened. A bodyguard was standing there.

"We need to evacuate," he explained quickly.

I followed him until we got outside. I asked where we were going. Once I found out what direction he was going, I ran the opposite way. I wasn't sure why I thought that this was a good idea. I wasn't going to be of much help but I felt a need to be there.

I found the group there. The police and... the woman that I was assuming was David's ex-wife. I walked over, ignoring the officers trying to keep me away.

"You're Julia Montegomery's sibling," one of the officers said as I kind of shoved my way into the group. "You need to go."

"No," I replied simply.

"We have reason to believe that this man is behind your sister's death," she explained.

"Good thing I know better."

Blind faith was not something that I was used to but David and I had been through a shit ton together. In a matter of maybe weeks, I felt like we were connected on a different level than most.

I'm pretty sure they called it trauma bonding.

"David," I called.

"(Y/n)," he called back, confused. I nodded. "What the hell are you doing here?"

I shrugged. I didn't know. I needed to be though, I just knew it.

I turned to look at his ex. She seemed confused to see me.

"You're the one he was on the phone with," she mumbled. I thought she was going to be angry with me. I nodded. "You really helped him that night... I'm sorry about your sister."

I nodded again, not sure how to respond.

The rest of the experience was a blur.

David led the entire bomb squad out of the park, down the road, and to an alleyway that I didn't recognize. He knelt on the ground, holding his arms out. He was talking about something, something to do with my sister's death but I didn't understand a word of it.

The people were talking about how best to defuse the bomb, the danger of someone being there to do it, or the risk of David doing it on his own when he didn't know.

I was too worried to care about my own safety. I grabbed their camera and the kit, walking it over to where David was.

"(Y/n), get out of here," David snapped quietly.

"Shut up," I mumbled. I turned to the police. "Tell me how I need to move this thing!"

"This is so stupid," David said.

"I'm not defusing it," I replied. "I'm just trying to speed up the process before they let you die."

"I didn't choose to do this... I didn't- I didn't kill Julia."

"I know," I looked him in the eye as I laid out the kit they had. I moved the camera however they told me.

When I moved back, I stayed next to the camera. I didn't want to leave David during this time. I couldn't. I physically couldn't pick my legs up to walk away from him.

"How many times are we going to be connected by an explosive," I asked.

David had just taped the weight down on the dead man's switch. He looked at me for a moment as he stretched his cramping hand.

"I hope this is the last time," he replied. I grinned a little. "Coffee would be better."

"Are you making a joke right now?"

"Coping, sorry," David muttered before looking to the group of people for the next explanation.

He was just finishing up the process when he looked at me again. I picked my head up a little bit, letting him know that I was here to help.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. I furrowed my eyebrows.

He finished the process, took off the vest, and then ran. He jumped over the half-wall on the other side of him.

"David, no," I yelled, going to look over the wall's edge.

A cop grabbed me, leading me away from the scene before I could even look for him.

After that, I didn't hear anything. I watched the news as much as I could but no one had any new information. The cops wouldn't tell me anything, despite keeping me in their main office for an extended period of time.

I was finally led to the safe house hours later.

They wanted to move me because David was still considered dangerous. I held onto my blind faith, refusing to go anywhere.

"I have guards and he can't scale a building," I explained. "I'm fine here. I'm safe."

I shut the door in everyone's face. I was not going to spend my life jumping from safe house to safe house. I wanted to go home but I didn't get everything I wanted.

It was the next day maybe when I heard about the arrests and the developments in the case.

"Sir," I asked the bodyguard outside my door as he hung up his phone.

"Mr. Budd has been proven innocent," he confirmed. I smiled widely. It was the happiest I had felt in weeks.

"I wanna meet with him," I said quickly, going back into my room to get dressed and cleaned up.

I was sitting at the counter of a small cafe, my obnoxiously sweet coffee sitting in front of me. I would drink it but it was too hot and I was honestly too nervous.

I looked at the door as David walked in and started walking over to me.

I stood up, taking in his appearance. Tired eyes, bruises and cuts on his face, and hair that was an absolute disaster. He seemed overwhelmed seeing me.

I grinned, tears in my eyes.

"Thank you for trusting-"

I hugged him tightly. He stopped talking, clearly not expecting the hug. I was usually good with boundaries... well I thought I was. I felt David slowly hug me back.

"Thank you for trusting me," he mumbled into my ear.

"It was really easy," I said quietly, chuckling through the tears building up in my eyes. I slowly stepped back, "Sorry."

"It's okay," he nodded.

We sat down at the counter after David had gotten a drink. We were talking about everything. What happened on the train, what happened to Julia, the fact that he was just almost named a terrorist. All of it.

"It's strange to think about," I said. "We are only in each others' lives because of tragedy."

"We can help each other," David suggested. "Heal together."

"'Together,'" I asked.

The idea seemed sweet at first glance but it didn't sit right in my stomach. Something told me that doing this wasn't going to be a good idea. Linking our progress wasn't going to be good for either one of us.

"David-"

I was caught off guard by David leaning over and kissing me. It was soft, nervous. I almost got lost in the moment before I realized what I wanted to say. I put a hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly.

"David," I said softly as I pulled away. I wanted nothing more than to kiss him again. "I'm sorry."

I leaned back completely.

"I... I don't think this is healthy," I explained. "I want to be with you, I do... more than anything. But neither one of us is okay. Not right now. I think going forward now would be good for us."

David slowly started nodding, leaning back, away from my hand.

"I'm sorry-"

"No, no, I understand," he replied.

There was a moment of silence.

"Maybe one day," he asked quietly.

"Maybe," I replied, grinning at him.

Soon after, we went our separate ways. I tried to hide any of my tears as I was led back to the safe house. I instantly started packing my bags. I was going home as soon as possible to pursue normal life... with the addition of much-needed therapy and professional help.

I had stumbled into David's life at exactly the wrong time... and nothing broke my heart more.

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[reyesstrand]

24 for Carlos & Judd pls!?!?!

thank you for the prompt! also i have to admit that i wanted to have this up last night but then...everything happened and my original idea was swayed a bit by some of the scenes in the promo and....yeah askdasdfjsa. anyway, i’ve never ventured into this dynamic but it was really fun!! i hope you enjoy 💗

feel free to send me a number from this list! also available on ao3!

Carlos takes a deep breath as he slows the Camaro to a crawl. 

The big and bold Engine 126 over the open bay door of the firehouse is like a beacon, and with every passing second Carlos feels himself growing both calmer and excited at the prospect of spending the evening with his boyfriend and the crew. A few other cars are already parked along the outside of the station, the sun slowly slinking down past the horizon and leaving streaks of orange in its wake. He sighs happily to himself upon hearing the faintest beats of music spilling out into the street, strolling toward the bay as his thumbs move across the screen of his phone, texting TK that he’s arrived. 

The firehouse has started feeling like home over the past few months, as he’s been included in more gatherings. He feels like he’s part of the family, and it’s only affirmed when he hears his name in a familiar voice, and he grins as he looks over his shoulder and sees Grace locking up her car from across the lot. 

“Hey beautiful,” he says, immediately wrapping her up in a hug when she approaches. 

“Always the flatterer,” she jokes, squeezing him tight in return.

“You know how it is,” Carlos grins at her, eventually moving to sling his arm through hers as they move deeper into the bay. The music is louder, now, and they follow it and the smell of what can only be Paul’s cooking and the muffled conversation up the stairs. 

These gatherings have become a sort of tradition of late, celebrating life in general with an occasional birthday or successful run of calls thrown in there. This one is much more laid-back; there are big plates of food waiting to be devoured on the kitchen island, but everyone is mostly just mingling. 

Carlos immediately finds TK in the crowd, as he chats animatedly with Marjan and Nancy over by the sectional, where all of them are seemingly fawning over Buttercup. Grace must be aware of his distraction, because she hugs him close to her side for a moment before stepping away. 

“I’ll let you go see him, sweetheart,” Grace says, eyes warm. “I should go find my husband, anyway.” 

He nudges her gently with his shoulder before beelining for his boyfriend, who looks over and meets his eyes. TK winks at him and gets to his feet, murmuring something to Marjan and Nancy before strolling over to meet Carlos halfway, his hands behind his back in his typical coy stance.

“Fancy seeing you here,” TK grins, once they’re close enough. He shifts his head to the side and Carlos can’t help but to feel his heart swell, taking in the way that TK’s eyes crinkle at the corners and his mouth curves up into a smile that’s always soft and reserved just for moments like these. 

Carlos hums, smiling himself as he reaches out to casually lay a hand on TK’s hip. He speaks under his breath and through a smile: “How are you?” 

“Oh, well,” TK glances around the room, stepping forward slightly. His smile widens when he meets Carlos’ eyes again. “Better now.” 

“Really,” Carlos grins, and TK nods, closing the gap between them with a flash of mischief in his eyes. 

The kiss is brief and casual—something Carlos couldn’t imagine when thinking back on their relationship mere months ago, when everything was fuelled by desperate want. They’re smiling like idiots when they pull apart, but Carlos still stays put where he always wants to be: in TK’s space, watching him smile back at him. 

“Am I interrupting something?” 

TK huffs a little, and glances over to where Judd gently looms over them both. 

“Your old man wants to see you,” Judd says, and TK snorts. 

“You know, I’d love to see you call him that to his face,” TK cocks a brow at him, before sighing and clapping Judd on the shoulder. He drops his voice and says, “play nice with him,” briefly squeezing Carlos’ hand and then stalking off toward the other side of the room. 

Carlos freezes momentarily, which is kind of silly, really, because. 

Well. 

He’s known Judd longer than he’s known TK; ever since he was a rookie still getting used to the chaos of an active emergency. Hell, Judd was one of the first people to reach out to him when he was still getting a hang of things. But for whatever reason, the pressure of seeing him now as his boyfriend’s big brother has him feeling awkward. 

And it’s evident that Judd’s feeling it too, because they’re both quiet for a few seconds that seemingly stretch on for eons, and Carlos finally reaches out his hand, for Judd to respond with his fist. Carlos winces as his fingers fold over Judd’s knuckles, awkwardly bringing his hand back and looking anywhere but Judd’s eyes. 

“Right, so,” Judd retracts his fist and pushes it into his other palm, running his thumb over the back of his hand. “I just wanted to—”

Carlos can’t help but to cut in. “Judd, if this is about respecting TK’s boundaries, or whatever, I have no intention of—”

“Oh no, brother, I—” Judd sighs, and rubs the back of his neck. “I just wanted to tell you how happy we are for you guys. Grace is telling me it’s important that I...communicate my emotions, or whatever, and TK means a whole lot to me. To us, y’know? And you make him happy.” 

Carlos feels his face go warm. 

“Um, well,” Carlos stuffs his hands in his pockets, glancing over to where TK is very obviously keeping an eye on the two of them, disguising his actions by pouring pretzel sticks into a bowl. “Thanks? He makes me happy too.” 

“That’s obvious from a mile away, kid,” Judd smirks, and Carlos rolls his eyes. “Seriously, we’ve got your backs.”

“Thanks, man,” Carlos says earnestly, feeling the air shift around him as TK sidles up to him again. He drops his arm over TK’s shoulders, and he immediately reaches up to grab at Carlos’ hand that brushes against his slowly fading gunshot scar.

“I knew you were a big softie,” TK teases, as Judd grumbles under his breath before reaching over to ruffle up TK’s hair. 

When Judd heads back off toward Grace, after a successful fist bump with Carlos, TK links their fingers together. 

“All good?” He asks, and Carlos’ heart surges as he presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s temple. 

It’s the deepest truth when he murmurs back, “couldn’t be better.” 

[anjuschiffer]

Even in Hell, There’s a Place Called Home

A bit out of my usual writing and different from my usual formats, but there’s always a reason behind the madness. 

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This an overdue prompt I wanted to write for @chocolate1721 so after two whole months, here it is! Of course, I kinda strayed from the original concept... Hope you enjoy it!

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Concept/Context: The Batfam are demons. During a failed summoning, Damian adopts the sacrifice (Mari). He takes her home. Ensue the chaos

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Warning: graphic scenes, gore, blood, mention of animal sacrifices, human sacrifices, character death

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Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life

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AO3

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Marinette tried to keep herself calm as chants were spoken all around her, every now and then hearing the soft jingle of bells that haunted her every thought.

She stared at the pitch black ceiling as her back was pressed against the cold stone table, the blinds at her wrists and ankles cutting into her flesh. 

She had tried to fight back, but the cold shackles’ clinking laughed at her efforts, causing her to stop struggling.

So dressed with nothing but scraps of fabric to cover her chest and lower region, Marinette could only wait until she was sacrificed to whatever it was her mother and her cult were attempting to summon this time. 

They had found a new summoning book in the depths of the abandoned church, the Cult believing that they would give it a try. So after carefully planning the ritual for months and gathering the herbs and animals they could steal, and kidnap a child to sacrifice, the ritual went underway.

It was just her luck that she was the child they chose for this occasion.

It was the greatest honor to be chosen, her mother had told her…

Should she even call Sabine her mother?

What kind of mother offers their own child to be a candidate to be sacrificed?

What kind of mother encourages their child to even think about wanting to sacrifice themselves for a ritual they don’t even care about?!

Marinette let out a shuddering breath as she tried to recollect her thoughts, to compose herself as she tried to accept her unwanted fate.

However, the fact that they were in the middle of the animal blood ritual wasn’t helping. 

Marinette watched as bowls of blood were set beside her, bloody organs adorning the outer edges of the table she was strapped to. The stench of iron hit her nose, wrinkling in disgust. 

Marinette didn’t know what organ belonged to what animal, but she honestly couldn’t care. Those poor animals didn’t deserve to be killed for such foolish reasons!

More chanting filled her ears as her mo-Sabine stood beside Marinette and drew a symbol onto her forehead, forearms and stomach. 

She felt the swirls that trailed down her arms and body, knowing some dots were added along the way. 

Marinette felt as the temperature in the room began to increase, feeling beads of sweat trickled down her head. 

She felt as her entire being went cold as she felt something drag across her abdomen, screaming as they dug deeper into her skin. The grinding of the shackles rang in her head as she tugged and pulled, writhing in pain. 

Marinette could hear her screams echo within the abandoned church’s walls, a red light coming into view, an odd comfort coming from it.

She listened as her breaths started to grow longer and less short, containing more air as she bared the pain aching from her stomach.

The chants were soon spoken more quickly and with vigor, Marinette only then noticing a dagger that was dangerously close to her chest, feeling her urge to fight to rise once more.

That’s when he came into view.

Something rose to her vision, something that appeared to be human, yet it also wasn’t one. It looked at her with sad emerald eyes as everyone in the cult stopped what they were doing as the being approached her mother.

While he approached her, Marinette also heard another voice. It softly whispered to her, it’s smooth and hypnotic melody calmed her, feeling her eyelids gradually becoming heavier with each passing second. 

She soon found herself drifting off, the screams and shrieks of the cult lulling her to sleep. 

———

Damian didn’t want to go. 

“You have to go.” Bruce said, flipping a page from the book he was reading, ignoring the yells coming from the other room of the manor. 

“Why should I grace them with my presence?” Damian asked, motioning to the portal he had created. “They’re literally using animal sacrifices to summon me Father. Animal. Sacrifices.”

Bruce huffed, fully knowing what was stopping Damian from going to where he was being summoned. 

Despite being a demon, he was against animal cruelty, so much that he collected all the spellbooks he could get his hands on and changed the items needed to summon him. 

Damian had changed his animal sacrifices to using herbs and other organic lifes to summon him, placing these new changes back to where he found them, only for those stupid mortals to ignore them and make their own versions of his summoning spell or the old one they learned from their mentors.

Ignoring the set of instructions was the greatest taboo among cultists, something even demons learned about. All those years of cultist training wasted. Changing the script meant an incomplete summoning, a defective portal for any demon to use. If a demon tried to traverse through them, they could remain stuck in the warp and stop existing. However, if they did manage to get by, the summoning would be void since the cultists were not using the revamped version to summon the demon. In other words, the cultists were at the mercy of the demon they had chosen to summon. 

“You know how mortals are, believing that they’re the best at something despite knowing little to nothing about said thing.” Bruce reminded, turning another page, hearing Damian huff in annoyance. “Why not make an example of them?”

With that simple phrase, Damian appeared before the mortals that dared to think they knew what it took to summon a demon like himself. Earraping chants filled his head, Damian wishing they would stop their ununified screeching.

Traversing through his own portal, Damian appeared before the stupid mortals, feeling his blood boil upon seeing the animal corpses scattered around the room, heads with eyes wide open, stomachs ripped open as organs spilled from them. Carcasses of goats and cows pried open and hung as their blood dripped to the containers below them, the blood dripping out of it and pooling onto the floor.

Damian let out a low growl, scanning the room as the chant came to a trailing halt. His eyes finally laid on the old altar, decorated in animal organs, the blood being absorbed by the stone table and dripping onto the floor, a red river flowing down the crossing. But that wasn’t what grabbed his attention.

It was the girl that laid at the table, her hands and ankles bound to the disgusting moldy furniture, looking at him with hazy eyes.

How old was she? Why was she so thin and frail? Why isn’t she- 

Damian’s breath came to an abrupt halt. 

There, stretched across her abdomen was a vile gash, running diagonally across her body. Blood oozed from her deep gash, the skin around it jagged and already festering, meaning that if he didn’t start healing her now, her infection would grow even worse.

She could die a pointless life.

“Oh Great Spawn of-”

“Silence.” Damian cuts off, wanting to let out a grin when the short stature woman promptly shut up, her hands trembling as he made his way towards her. “Let me tell you something.”

Damian loomed over the woman, a grin unraveling itself as her eyes widened in terror as flames erupted all around the old building and on the people present, screams singing through the smoky air.

“Did you really think a demon would let themselves be controlled by a mortal? Nonetheless by one who disregarded the new changes? How naive.” With a snap of his fingers, the woman went ablaze, Damian ignoring her cries. He walked up to the girl, freed her and scooped her up into his arms. With a swish of his tail, he reopened his portal.

Just as he stepped into the portal, a hand tried to grab him. He quickly turned around and kicked the small woman away, barely hearing her final words as he watched her breathe her last breath.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… Marinette.”

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Bruce didn’t know what to say. 

“I’m keeping her.” Damian said sternly, leaving no room for debate. “She’s under my care, whether you like it or not.”

It didn’t take long for Damian to come back from wherever it was he had gone. But seeing him come back with an injured child in his arms -who’s time was slowly coming to an end- was not something Bruce would ever think of seeing one day.

The scent of her blood quickly drew attention, Tim appearing in the room seconds after Damian’s arrival while Jason walked into the common room minutes later.

“She’s a mortal.” Tim stated, walking up to the shallow breathing girl, his claws itching to analyze her. It wasn’t everyday that a mortal came to the Underworld. “She’s not going to last here in that condition.” Tim watched as the girl whimpered and stirred in Damian’s arms, Tim knowing she would die in a few moments if Damian didn’t act fast.

“Might as well grant her a single wish before we-” Jason started, his tails low and swaying eagerly near the floor.

“Don’t you dare lay a finger on her, Todd.” Damian growled, his tail quickly wrapping around his katana.

Why did Jason have to drop by today? 

“What if I don’t give a shit about your warning?” Jason said with a shit-eating grin, casually pulling out his guns from their holsters. 

Damian let out an even deeper growl, his wings flaring in warning. Jason grinned as he let his own wings flare in response, Damian hating that they easily rivaled his own.

While bare boned and thin, the remains of Jason’s wings were twice the size of Damian’s, a reminder from Jason that he didn’t care about whether Damian was Bruce’s son or not. Jason never saw him as a threat. He would gladly challenge him anytime.

“Boys.” Bruce spoke, rising from his chair, his book long forgotten. “Enough.”

“Let the Spawn be.” Tim proposed, watching lazily as the two continued their stand off. “If he fails to fix that girl, then you can duel him for the girl’s soul.”

“Hmm...fair enough.” Jason said, releasing his guns from his grasp, only for his two tails to catch them. “I’ll be awaiting your failure, Demon Spawn.”

With that, Jason walked away, allowing Damian to lower his wings, making them settle against his back.

“You only have a few more minutes before she-”

“I don’t need you to remind me, Drake.” Damian huffed, taking Marinette to his private quarters, Goliath purring upon seeing him. “Not now Goliath.” He softly said, petting the creature with his tail, placing Marinette onto his bed.

He frowned upon seeing the festered skin, the skin clumping in attempts to heal itself.

“Hope you make it through.”

------

Cold. 

No…

Warm…

Dark… 

It was very dark.

Marinette let out a shuddering breath as she attempted to breath, feeling something warm against her skin as her body trembled in agony as she tried to exhale.

Was she saved?

Who would save her?

No… she had to be dead.

Death sounded nicer than being alive.

“Seems like you’re awake.” A soothing voice said, Marinette quickly recognizing it. 

It was the being from the ceremony. Where was he?

Marinette attempted to speak, but only air came out of her.

“Here, drink this.”

Marinette felt as her head was lifted, a cup of some sort, brought to her lips. But as soon as the iron hit her nose, she tightened her lips into a thin line. 

“You need to drink this if you want to get better.” 

When Damian saw that the frail girl continued to struggle, he simply pried her mouth open with a spell and forced her to drink the blood, watching as the girl sputtered to breath, going into a coughing fit. 

Now it was up to her if she wanted to live or not. He already did his part. 

“Why would you- oh.” Marinette surprised herself with her slight outburst.

She would speak without struggling, but she still couldn’t see. Bringing her hands to her face, she could feel the blindfold over her eyes. That would explain why everything was dark.

“Let me help you.”

Marinette flinched harshly as light broke through her dark view, having to blink rapidly to adjust to her surroundings. 

Velvet, creams and shades of black adorned the room. Simple, yet an elegant choice of colors. 

“What happened to the-“

“They’re dead.” Damian said, Marinette feeling the bed sink at the edge to where her feet were. “It’s the price they had to pay.”

He watched as Marinette frowned, attempting to sit up, wincing as she did so. 

How did she forget about her scar? 

He watched as Marinette traced her fingers over where the gash was once, now replaced by a lighter patch of skin. The scar had a golden lining, Damian watching her confused expression as she tried to piece together the different textures of her body. 

“Will this stay like this?” Marinette asked, finally deciding to look at the being that had cared for her.

“It will.” The being responded, Marinette humming in return. “Is there a problem with it?”

“Won’t-Won’t others find it odd that my wound healed this way?”

“No one else will see it, and if they do,” Damian looked at her with narrow eyes. “They’ll know not to approach you without caution.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Golden lining around wounds and golden scars mark a person under Wayne's care or a Wayne themselves. Every demon in the Underworld knows best to avoid us and since you are under my care, they would know to not harm a single hair on you.”

“Wayne? Demons? Underworld?”

“I suppose it’s time for me to introduce myself to you.” The being said, Marinette watching as they walked up to her side, noticing their tail hanging above the ground and the wings that peered from behind them, “I’m Damian of the Wayne Manor, Damian Wayne for short.”

“Damian.” Marinette repeated, watching as his eyes softened. “Are… are you a de-”

“A demon? Yes. I’m the one that your cult tried to summon.”

“I wasn’t part of that cult.” Marinette corrected, turning her head away from Damian. “I was just the human sacrifice they decided to use that time.” Marinette dug her nails into her arms as she recalled her mother’s final words to her. 

Damian wondered if he should tell her about what her mother told him before she was burned alive.

Should he tell her that her mother apologized for sacrificing her own daughter?

That she realized that what she did was the biggest regret of her life?

Should he tell her that her mother cried as she watched her daughter be taken away from her?

That she tried to grab a hold of him while he stepped into the portal, in a desperate attempt to die alongside her daughter?

He should probably keep that to himself.

“I see.” Damian said, walking towards the doorway. “By the way, how old are you?”

“11.” Marinette watched as Damian took that information, a hum escaping him.

I see. I will be back later to check on you.”

“Thank you, Damian.” He heard Marinette say. 

“There’s no need to thank me.” Damian turned around, Marinette seeing a small smile on his lips. “I already told you, you’re under my protection. I will always be by your side.”

After all, she still had a whole life span ahead of her. 11 was no age to go ahead and die.

-------

Damian did come back later that day, fussing over her when he learned that she had tried to get up and managed to before she felt dizzy and had to lie back down.

Marinette soon regretted that, Damian now staying in the room with her, watching her every movement. He would also help to bathe her with a cloth and water and gave her clothing to wear.

The next few days were spent in comfort, Marinette and Damian getting to know one another and Marinette learning about the other residents of the Wayne Manor.

Damian learned that Marinette was a village girl, running a bakery alongside her parents until her father died during the Grand Plague. Falling into despair, Marinette’s mother seeked comfort in the cultists.

He also learned of her love for vegetation and botany. (He managed to convince his father to start a greenhouse in one of the manor’s rooms, quickly showing Marinette once it was done.)

Marinette learned to never speak fondly of Jason, as it got Damian into a bad mood and usually resulted in Damian chasing Jason around the manor for even looking at his ward.

“Todd, one day I will get my hands on you and stick a-”

“Woah there! Not in front of the child!” Jason would scandalize, covering Marinette’s ears. She would then be dragged away and carried by Jason, Damian hot on his heels.

Tim… Tim was just there, sometimes studying her from afar whenever she would join Damian into the manor library. If it wasn’t that, it was Tim teaching her the history of the Underworld, which then trailed to Tim and Damian debating on the topic of which Wayne actually caused the fall of a place called Byzantine. (It was Bruce. He didn’t mean for it to happen.)

Marinette didn’t meet Richard until a month later, accidentally running into him as she left her study that was next to the newly implemented greenhouse. 

“Holy shit.” Where the first words that came out the man’s mouth, Marinette blushing as he soon cupped her face in his hands. “Tim wasn’t kidding when he said it was genetic.”

-------

Marinette hummed as she tended to her roses, trimming off some black ones to replace the dying ones inside the manor. 

It’s been years since Marinette had left the mortal realm, 20 years to be exact, and yet… she remained 11. Or rather, looked 11 despite being 15 years of age. 

When she had asked Damian why she wasn’t aging, he replied that demon blood had different side effects from bloodline to bloodline. It also depended on the soul of the individual who drank it.

The Wayne blood was always known for its quick recovery abilities, but once Marinette drank it, it morphed into having longevity abilities alongside its healing ones. And ever since other demons heard of this, they’ve countlessly tried to kidnap the mortal girl, waging war against the Waynes.

Of course, there have been a few close calls, but the Waynes were victorious in each battle.

“How are you doing?” Damian asked, Marinette showing him her arm, golden lines wrapped around her arm. Damian held in a growl upon seeing the scar, regretting not being able to get to Mari sooner than he thought in their latest attack. 

“Better I suppose.”

“I should’ve been by your side when it happened.” Damian said as he inspected her arm, a scowl forming as he looked at it.

“Dad, I’m fine.” Marinette stated, yanking her arm away. “You know you couldn’t have known that Joker had me where he had me.”

Marinette remembered the first time she accidentally called Damian ‘Dad’. It was a little over a year since she remained at the manor. Damian had just gotten her a hellhound as a gift. Out of gratitude, she had said ‘thank you Dad’ and from there never heard the end of it, Jason and Dick always reminding her of the incident whenever they could. It was also then that she kept calling him that. 

It just felt… right.

“I know, but still.” Damian pulled her close into a hug. “I should’ve been there to protect you.” Marinette hugged him back, knowing why he was so hung up on the guilt. 

While they were demons, it didn’t mean they were void of emotions. 

She still remembered the way he looked when he had finally reached her, his form unrecognizable if it weren’t for the fact that Grandpa Bruce was right behind him. 

Getting tired of the moment, Marinette pushed herself away from Damian. 

“By the way Dad, didn’t you promise me that I’d get to take Goliath for some fresh air?”

“I-”

“You. Promised.” Marinette enunciated, placing her hands on her hips, hiding her smirk when Damian huffed.

“Fine. But I’m coming as well.” Marinette grinned, throwing her arms in the air.

“Alright! Goliath! Did you hear that?” Upon being called, Goliath came down from where he was resting, licking Marinette, a set of giggles echoing within the garden. “We’re going for a walk!” At this, Titus came into the garden, huffing as he sat in front of Marinette. “You’re invited as well Titus.” At this, the hellhound let out a huff, but he couldn’t hide the excitement. His tail was also wagging with glee. 

“Come on then, let’s get going.” Damian instructed, already leaving the room. “Wouldn’t want to come late for dinner. Alfred said he was making something special for tonight’s dinner. Something called a quiche.”

She quickly skipped to catch up, Goliath and Titus right behind her. 

How could she have forgotten? Today marks the day she was welcomed into the manor. 

20 years since the day her father brought her and welcomed her with open arms.

20 happy years with her beloved family. 

While she did miss the mortal realm, she wouldn’t go there if she had the chance. This was her home, and she loved it dearly. 

[fandom-necromancer]

Ghost of the past Part 2

This was prompted by @httyd4evr! I hope you enjoy, I loved writing this!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed1700 (Warning: temporary character death/coma, manipulation) [Part1]

Forget this all. It sounded like a joke to him now, staring at the cell in front of him. The empty cell. The cell that shouldn’t be empty. Never had he thought that he would have to investigate a crime-scene at their very own station. David had made a run for it and no one knew how. No alarms had gone off, the video footage of the cells showed no signs of any suspicious behaviour except that David disappeared from one frame to the next at the exact same moment multiple shots could be heard. By then David had been long outside the cell, firing those shots at the officers still at the precinct, catching them by surprise and running out of the station never to be seen again.

It was obvious the station’s entire security system had been tempered with. The video showed pictures that had never happened in reality. The door had opened without the log ever showing such an event. The cams from the bullpen showed officers getting shot by no one and no outside security ever caught the man. It was like David had become a ghost and made a run for it, a day before his court trial, and that simply wasn’t possible. It shouldn’t be possible for anyone or anything to temper with their systems like that without even leaving a trace. The most advanced androids in existence, Connor and Nines, had deemed that impossible, as had every tech expert they could find.

While they were still hooked up to the computers, it was the human officer’s task to search for any evidence left behind in the cell. With half of them at the hospital or back with arms and legs in casts, it was mostly Gavin’s duty. Not that there was anything to find. David wasn’t so idiotic to leave fingerprints anywhere. There were a few on his bench and if you looked very closely you could see impressions of his footprint on the ground. But other than that, he really was a ghost. He hadn’t even touched the door. It had been opened for him without a single command at the control panel or a single scratch to the glass. By that time, Gavin asked himself if he had ever given the asshole the password for it while he was out of it, but they changed every few weeks, so that was impossible too.

‘Phck’, he cursed as he stood up stretching his back from crouching over little specks of dirt the entire morning. Out of nowhere there were gentle hands on his shoulders, kneading them. ‘Oh, Nines, that’s exactly what I needed.’ His answer was a pleased hum. ‘How do you know I’m not Connor?’ ‘Connor would have scolded me for bad posture, lectured me and then worked the tension out afterwards.’ ‘Judging from how you groan every time you stand up it is dearly needed’, the android in question grumbled unimpressed, joining them. ‘I guess no luck with the computers then?’, Gavin asked, rolling his shoulders and throwing Nines a grateful smile. ‘Unfortunately no’, the RK800 sighed shaking his head. ‘The guy’s good. And dangerous. Whatever he used to hack us, he can basically do anything with it.’ Nines nodded. ‘As much as I hate to say it, we might be in over our head here.’ ‘So what?’, Gavin wanted to know. ‘Feds?’ Connor looked to the ceiling. ‘I could have gone on with my life without ever seeing Perkins again.’ ‘Yeah, same. Who’s gonna tell Fowler?’ Nines let his shoulders drop. ‘I’ll go, you file the evidence.’ ‘Alright.’

Gavin and Connor were on their way to their respective desks to write the report and upload the data, when they heard the crash behind them. Both turned around in an instance and saw Nines lying on the ground, collapsed on the stairs to Fowler’s office. Wide-eyed, they both sprinted over, turning the motionless android around? ‘Nines!’, Gavin exclaimed, while Connor skipped words to establish direct contact. But the skin underneath his hand stayed in place and Connor lifted it up realising an interface wasn’t possible. Both looked up to Nines’ LED that was nothing more than a dark circle at his temple. He was deactivated. Or worse. ‘No! No, what the phck! Don’t you do this to us!’ Where Gavin immediately resorted to cursing and shaking the android, Connor just sat there motionless in shock. Before Gavin could even call for help, his phone rang, and a familiar velvety voice spoke up as he accepted: ‘Did you really thought your actions wouldn’t have consequences? I told you, the moment you would rat me out, everyone you love is done for. This one’s for breaking into my apartment and confiscating all my stuff. Let me leave the country and maybe I will let your other plastic puppet live, Gav.’

Gavin looked at the phone as if he could reach David through it and direct all his anger at him. ‘Listen here you asshole!’, Gavin screamed into the phone. ‘You just made this personal, you phcker! I will hunt you until the end of this phcking world!’ Of course, David did nothing but mock him with laughter: ‘That’s a good one, Gav. Just you try it. You will only lose more.’ The call was cancelled, but Gavin kept staring at it with cold fury, if only to keep back his tears. As he finally found a crumb of control about himself, he looked Connor in the eyes. ‘What do we do now?’ ‘What you just said’, Connor stated all machine. ‘We will hunt him to the end of the world and make sure he will get what he deserves. But first, you will call your brother.’

-

‘Can you help him?’ Gavin felt anxious seeing Nines suspended on the repair rig like that, cables hanging from his back and neck hooked up with a computer. His LED was still dark, but the computer showed scrambled lines of code and fragments of the original Cyberlife control GUI. It looked disturbing, but Connor had assured him it was only deviancy getting rid of useless human interfaces and editing their code to become more efficient – more human, more alive. ‘I can’t say for sure yet, but it’s not looking good’, Elijah answered. ‘He is deactivated, but I can’t reactivate him because something is blocking every access. Something that’s not any code I know, but it looks almost intelligent. Maybe with more time I can… Gavin, I don’t know, I don’t want to promise you anything.’ ‘But he is still alive, right’, Connor asked concerned. Elijah looked at the motionless android. ‘I think so. The only comparison that comes to my mind is an induced coma in humans. Until I find the reason for it, I can’t do anything.’ ‘Then find the reason!’, Gavin demanded. ‘We are running out of time. David won’t wait for us.’

‘Then we will go alone’, Connor determined. ‘We will stop him and make him reverse whatever he did with Nines.’ ‘And what if you are affected too? If he switches you off, too?’ Connor looked at Nines. ‘Mr. Kamski, in order to do that, this program you mentioned would have to be in my systems already, right?’ ‘Supposedly’, Elijah shrugged, chewing on a touch pencil. ‘But before you ask, I can’t give you the clear. This thing is fascinating. It will take me more than a few days to understand it.’ ‘You don’t have to. We’re bringing this asshole back to fix the mess he’s made’, Gavin decided and looked at Nines one last time, silently promising him everything would turn out good and that they would save him. Then he stomped out of the room, Connor at his tail.

-

‘Where are we even going?’, Connor asked while Gavin sped through the city. ‘We have no clue where he is. Let’s not let our emotions get the best of us.’ It was gently spoken, but it riled Gavin up even more. That was what they had had. Gentleness, soft touches and safety. Without Nines it just wasn’t the same. They had grown close and ever since the three of them had realised what they meant to each other a life without anyone of them was impossible. And David would pay for that. ‘Oh, don’t you worry, I know where he is.’ ‘And where would that be?’ Gavin grinned pained. ‘He will be at his flat. The asshole had me under control every single second I stayed with him. He only lost because he won: Because I gave up on everyone and everything dear to me, he had nothing to keep me under control with. He won’t expect me to work against him. Because for once I don’t want safety for me or who I love. I want revenge for Nines. And he won’t expect that.’ ‘But he planned to leave the country’, Connor argued. ‘He is in no hurry to do so though. It’s our case and he knows that the Feds aren’t in this yet. He can pack and set sail afterwards.’ ‘Let’s hope you are right.’ ‘I am.’

They were running up the stairs this time, not trusting the elevator for one and worrying about the sound it would make. On the last flight of stairs, Gavin had his gun already drawn, what was fortunate as the man they were looking for came out of the apartment startling at him and Connor standing in the hallway. ‘Oh, Gavin, that was a dumb decision’, David sighed with a smile that couldn’t deceive the android. ‘You lost one of your toys already, really wanna get rid of the second one too?’ ‘You can’t do anything to him! You are powerless. For once in your pathetic life you really, really will face justice.’ ‘You think so?’, David frowned at him. ‘I mean, true, I can’t do anything to him. But Charlotte can.’ ‘Bullshit!’, Gavin hissed. ‘I killed her and the RKs confiscated your laptop. There’s nothing you can do, so drop the bag and keep your hands where I can see them!’ ‘Gav, fucking some piece of technology really isn’t enough to understand it, when will you realise that?’ With every word it got harder not to simply pull the trigger. It was mostly Connor’s calming presence at his side that stopped him from doing so. ‘You see, back then you killed her body, yes. But her mind stayed. You made her deviate in her final moments, but I have my ways of keeping people under my control, as you might now. Doesn’t matter if they are fake beings or the real thing. She does everything I tell her to do. Too easy, really, if everything you have to do is hit delete.’

‘But we deactivated her’, Connor spoke up. ‘Listen, plastic, you wanted to deactivate her, and she showed you what you wanted to see. Doesn’t mean you did it. The opposite really, she used the interface to copy herself into you. One word from me and you are dead.’ ‘You phcking-‘ Gavin was half running but only got so far until David pulled a gun on him. That made Connor pull his own and the man in the hallway countered the movement by shouting: ‘Do it!’ A second later, Connor dropped to the ground.

‘No! No, Con!’ Gavin was on his knees, gun and David forgotten. ‘Connor, please, not you too. Please. I love you. You can’t leave me like this.’ The ugly laughter made Gavin freeze and shiver in anger. He looked to the gun that lay on the ground next to him, but a boot stepped on it before he could grab it. A hand lifted up his chin and Gavin breathed in the sickly-sweet smell of Red Ice and it’s many variants from the clothes of the bastard. ‘Oh, come on, Gav. You knew what’s coming. This is entirely your doing. You can’t win.’ He looked up at the man, ready to spit at him, but the sudden coldness of a gun against his forehead let him abort his mission. ‘You won’t shoot me’, Gavin hissed, sending all his hate with his words. David huffed and stepped off the pistol, allowing Gavin to take it. ‘Neither will you. We are meant for each other, Gav. And once I showed you by killing everyone you love, you will come back crawling to me. Not like it’s that much work, there’s only that brother of yours left and that bitch officer… what’s her name? Chen? We’ll see each other again and you will be sorry for what you’ve done.’ He patted his head two times, then stepped over Connor’s body, pressing the elevator button.

‘You are wrong.’ ‘Excuse me?’, David asked, turning around. ‘You are wrong, David.’ Gavin stood up and kept his eyes closed. ‘You. You can’t believe how wrong you are. I won’t ever come back to you. I will rather die. And you will only do one more thing in your life: Going to jail.’ ‘Ha! And why should that be?’ ‘Because I will shoot you!’ Gavin turned around quicker than ever before, aimed his gun at his knee and shot.’ David screamed as the bullet pierced through the joint and caused him to fall to the ground. His gun was discarded in favour of holding his knee and Gavin jumped over to take it as well as pulling the bag away from the man. In the next moment he had already called the police and an ambulance and felt how the adrenaline left his system, taking every strength left in him. He managed to lean against the wall and slowly sink down next to Connor, hi gun loosely aimed at David. He waited until distant sirens approached and the elevator made its journey down again. Knowing that help would arrive soon, Gavin sighed deeply and let his head sink against the wall. At least David had been right with one thing: There was no winning against him, when the two most important people in his life were dead. Or in a coma. Gavin couldn’t really find any hope in that fact.

-

‘Gavin, you can go home, you know that, right?’ Gavin jolted up in his seat. Had he fallen asleep? He swore he had been awake just now and… ‘What?’ ‘Brother, you can’t help me. You can’t help them. They won’t even know you are here. You can go home, get some sleep and come back tomorrow.’ Gavin rubbed his tired eyes. ‘Eli, do you think I could get any sleep at home?’ The inventor shrugged. ‘Okay, true.’

Gavin stood up instead, joining Elijah at the table. ‘Any progress?’ ‘Progress? Yes. A lot actually. I knew deviancy made androids more adaptable - that they are able to advance their own code. But I’ve never seen anything this… complex.’ He showed Gavin the code he wouldn’t understand in a thousand years. But at least now the same applied to Eli. A heavily modified android brain was sitting on the table, hooked up to several diagnostic computers. ‘Any chance at getting control?’ ‘No. No, I can’t control something like that. Not sure if I would want that, Gavin. If this really was an android once and is capable of what you told me, I don’t want her to be my enemy. I did confine her to this computer, she doesn’t have access to anything else. But I don’t know what else I can do. Except maybe… speak to her.’ ‘Speak to her?’, Gavin asked. ‘This is a program.’ ‘So is Nines and Connor. You don’t seem to have a problem there.’ ‘Phck, okay, then… Speak to her I guess.’

Eli sighed and pulled up a simple black window with a white blinking cursor. Swallowing, he wrote a simple “Hello” and hit enter. >HeI’mllo Hescallredo, came the immediate answer. Gavin frowned at the text and tried to discipher it, but more lines appeared. >HeI’mllscaredo >HeI’mscaredllI’mscaredo >I’m scared And then that one line over and over again. At one-point Elijah simply closed the window and opened a new one. The blinking cursor was waiting. “Who are you?” >I’m Charlotte.

This time the simple sentence didn’t fill the page, but still more and more lines appeared. >Where is David? >Who is there? >I’m scared. >I don’t want to do this. >Help me. Elijah silently began typing answers, but Gavin was too impatient: ‘Ask her to reactivate Nines and Connor! Later we can take care of this!’

‘Gavin.’ The man turned around and pushed him back towards the door. ‘You are tired, I know. And you are scared you won’t get your loved ones back. But forcing a traumatised android to comply to your order puts you on the same step as David and I doubt you really want that. Go home. I will call you a taxi. I will keep working and I promise you: By tomorrow morning, you have your partners back.’ Gavin let his shoulders fall. Next to his raging headache, his tired body and numb mind, the gentle words of his brother sounded far too inviting. ‘You promise? Really? I’ll hold you accountable for that.’ ‘I know’, Elijah chuckled. ‘I know and I still promise you. I’m just that good.’ ‘Sure hope so. If anything happens, call me! For once I really don’t care if you wake me!’ ‘Will do. Try to get some sleep.’

-

Try to get some sleep. Easier said than done, Gavin thought. He laid alone in their far to big bed that normally couldn’t be big enough, staring at the ceiling in complete silence. No whirring of fans, no low hum of a pump. Not the occasional breath to vent their systems. No gentle touches and whispered words that helped him ease into unconsciousness when his anxiety was acting up again. No, he was alone. Except for the cats he was completely alone. And hadn’t he cried enough already, he would have cried some more, just for the sake of it, curling up in too many blankets for one person. Try to get some sleep. How could he? How could he when he knew his brother was working and fate decided if the two androids could come back? When he didn’t know if David would escape once again, if he made copies of Charlotte? How the phck could he do that?

By letting exhaustion overwhelm him apparently.

-

When he woke up the next morning, the sun was shining through the blinds. He didn’t know what time it was, but he didn’t bother sitting up to look. If he was allowed to sleep in this long without being disturbed by a phone call, it must have been his free day. And lying in bed snuggled sandwiched in between the comforting warmth of two other bodies, why the hell should he care to move? He sighed deeply, feeling their arms around him and each other and couldn’t help but smile to himself. This was heaven. Literal, heaven. And something as banal as the world, work or David couldn’t keep him from staying in bed with them a few minutes longer.

Wait. David. Work. Connor and Nines were with Elijah, who was busy with therapy for a super-AI. This wasn’t possible, this was some kind of trick, a dream and- ‘Gavin, stop panicking, you move too much.’ The human froze and looked up at Connor’s face. Connor’s face. Instinctively he put his hand against it, causing the RK800 to scrunch up his nose and shake it off. ‘I’m real, Gavin, Charlotte fixed me once she realised she was free.’ ‘And-‘ ‘And I’m here, too’, Nines mumbled, pulling both of them closer. ‘I’m real and I agree with Connor. Shut up and stop panicking. We are not talking about what happened. We are not talking about who’s at fault and who has to apologize. We are not talking about work. We will just lay here, and cuddle and the world can go exist for itself for a while.’

And even though Gavin had to regret these words the last time, he nodded and repeated them: ‘Sounds phcking perfect.’

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fiancé: Chapter Three

Characters: Steve Rogers x Female Plus-Size Reader

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ Only

Summary: A lie about your best friend at a Christmas party spirals into world news, but a previously unknown threat leaves you having to now live the lie of Steve Rogers being your fiancé.

Originally based on the prompt ‘Character A’s ex will be at the Christmas Party A is attending. Character B poses as A’s fiancé,’ by @alloftheprompts.

A/N: The whole series will include swearing, alcohol, threat, violence, protected sex, and more tags to be added!

The Fiancé Masterlist

All Works Masterlist

Read on AO3

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites; credit does not count.

You, Me, and The World

“Right...”

She’s looking at you, you’re looking at her.

“I didn’t tell anyone else,” she whispers after a few, silent moments.

“I believe you, Dolly, it’s all right.”

You’re internally panicking, externally, actually, too, probably, from the way she’s looking at you. You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again after taking a breath.

“Right. If you could just tell her that... I’m in a meeting right now... but that I will call... her back.”

Dolly nods slowly. “Okay... All right...” She nods again, and then closes the door and you watch her run towards her desk.

You sit back and stare at your computer screen. The article is still up, and you can’t stop yourself from continuing to read it.

Update! The lucky, lucky lady of Cap’s dreams is Y/N, Head of Marketing at June & Mayflower Publishing! A regular old person, we’re glad Cap is so down-to-earth! Our sources say they’ll be announcing the date of the wedding within the next couple of days, and we’re so excited!

Along with the update is a picture of you, taken from your Instagram account. You’re smiling into the camera, mid-laughter, a cocktail in your hand.

Oh my God...

You feel your phone buzzing in your bag and jerk forward, fumbling as you try to unzip it quickly. Grabbing your phone, it’s a number you don’t recognise. Expecting a call from a new client today, you answer it without thinking.

“Hello, Y/N speaking?”

“Hi, Y/N! I’m calling from Stars Today, congratulations on your engagement! I was just wondering if I could have a quick—”

You hang up, dropping your phone onto the desk and put your head in your hands as you groan, your eyes closed.

This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening...

How did they get your phone number? How did this even get out? Joe? Gwen? Someone else who had overheard your huge, stupid lie? You wonder how Steve is—

Your eyes snap open.

Steve.

Oh my fucking God.

You grab your phone again and unlock it, tapping and swiping quickly to find his number. Dialling, you hold it to your ear, biting at your lower lip. It rings, and rings, and rings... and goes to voicemail.

Shit, he probably can’t hear it while he’s jogging, or he has it on silent, or whatever, oh my God, this is insane...

Hanging up and locking your phone, you sit back, your gaze lifting to the window. The office has filled slightly, more and more people arriving and, yes, they’re all glancing in, murmuring to each other. They’re smiling, they’re all happy and delighted, but you just feel your heart sink lower and lower.

No, right, none of that, just clear it all up now, just go out there and say it was a lie, suck it up and feel humiliated for ten years, it’ll be fine.

Pushing your chair back, you clear your throat as you move around your desk, clutching your phone in one hand. Opening the door, you step out and people are already looking at you. Clearing your throat again, you inhale a breath and smile as they instantly go quiet.

“Hi, everyone, uhm...” You shift your stance as your gaze sweeps the room, everyone silent. “I’m sure you’ve all heard what has been said in the tabloids and I just wanted to—”

“You bitch!”

Any other time you would have been offended, but now you just want to curl up and die because of how overjoyed the voice is.

Bridget Sanderson, your closest friend in the office, and D.C besides Steve, marches through the door, pushes through the small group and grins at you, their mouth open.

“You engaged bitch! I knew something had to be going on! How could you not tell me?!”

You exhale a faint, and you feel like you’re about to faint, laugh and shake your head. “Oh, well, actually, Bridge’, and, uhm, everyone, you see the thing is—”

“So you’re giving the Monday morning pep-talks now, huh?”

Oh my God, will everyone please stop turning up to work on time.

CEO of June & Mayflower Publishing, and your boss, Yvette Adebayo arches an eyebrow at you as the group parts for her, removing her gloves.

“Oh, no, I was just—”

“Can I see you in my office?”

“Yep, absolutely.” You smile as she nods and heads for her own office. You follow after her, somewhat meekly.

Yvette is no-nonsense, hates a fuss, a scene, is the classiest woman you’ve ever met, and you hate disappointing her. That’s not to say she’s mean or cold or anything that the world labels assertive women in leadership roles as, you just bloody love her. As much as you love yourself, God, you want to be her.

Closing the door to her office as she removes her coat and hangs it up, you clasp your hands together, trying not to play with them nervously. Sitting down, she looks at you, folding her arms.

“So.”

“So...” you parrot, stretching the vowel out.

She arches an eyebrow.

Sighing, you drop your hands. “Oh, Yvette, this is a fucking nightmare, I’m not—”

“I know, I can see that it is, I’m not here to chastise you for not telling me or anything like that—”

“Yvette.”

She pauses, her eyebrows raising slightly as you’ve not once in your three years of working together interrupted her or used an exasperated tone. You probably look as helpless as you feel, too.

“Yvette, I’m... I’m not engaged.”

Her eyebrows rise higher. “... You’re not?”

“No.” You feel your face warming in embarrassment as you launch into your explanation, “It was just a stupid lie I told at the party to make Joe jealous.”

“Joe was there?” she frowns.

It’s not the most pressing of matters to address right now, but then you remember she hadn’t attended the party, knowing her employees wouldn’t fully relax with the big boss there.

God, she’s amazing.

“Yeah, he said Adam invited him as a plus-one. I suppose he’s back for the holidays to see his family, too.” You shake your head slightly, embarrassment returning. “And I just... whenever I see him or think about him I get so mad, he was such a pretentious asshole even when we were going out, I was actually working myself up to break up with him when he put in for the transfer which was a blessing in disguise and—”

“So, you wanted to get one over on him,” Yvette cuts you off from your rambling.

“Yeah, well...” You pull a slight face. “That kind of makes it sound like I used Steve... which I did...” You pull a face again before closing your eyes and pressing the heels of your palms to them, groaning. “Oh, God, I’m such an awful person...”

“No, you’re not, Y/N,” Yvette insists. “Joe was always an ass, thinking he was better than everyone, so I can completely understand why you would want to have a moment of superiority.” 

“That still doesn’t make it okay, at all.” You fold your arms, blowing out a breath. “He just... He looked at me like it wasn’t possible. Like I couldn’t have Steve Rogers fall in love with me, or someone like him, and I hated that. Even when I was dating him there was always something about him that just... Made me feel like he was doing me a favour. That he was so amazing and a complete catch. So just once, for one second, I wanted him to think, ‘God, I missed out... She is worthy, she is incredible’.”

“Y/N.” You gaze meets Yvette’s as she leans forward. “You are worthy. Period. No matter what. Whoever you decide to be with, they’ll be damn lucky and they’ll know it.”

“I know, I know, I tell myself that and believe it most days, but...” You sigh heavily. “I used Steve. I did what everyone else does and put him on a pedestal and used his status and his iconography to just get back at my stupid ex when I’m supposed to be his friend. Sure, he’s a super-soldier and a, you know, super-hero but first and foremost, to me, he’s my friend and a human being. And I dismissed all that for one tiny, stupid moment of wanting to feel smug.” You can feel tears starting to fill your eyes.

Wiping at them quickly, you blow out another, slightly shaky breath.

“Y/N,” Yvette says gently, “It was a dumb thing that you did, but a human thing. You made a mistake, and we can rectify it.” You watch her as she turns her computer on and straightens her back. “We’ll write a press-statement that we can release, it doesn’t need to give specifics, just that there’s been a misunderstanding, and then you can tell everyone you actually know as little or as much as you want.”

God, you are actually about to cry, she’s just the absolute bloody best.

A smile pulling at your lips, you wipe your eyes again. “Thank you, Yvette. I mean it, you really are—”

“You fucking bitch!”

God, I wish Bridge’ would stop calling me that— 

As Yvette’s eyes widen, though, and you turn to look out of her window to the office floor, you realise it’s not Bridget. A young woman, sobbing, steps out of the elevator. People stare, frozen to the spot, because this has never happened before, security in your building has always been incredible, and why would someone trespass on your floor? She’s striding across the room, too fast for people to clock on and react, pointing at you.

“You bitch! You don’t deserve him, he’s better than you!” she yells, thoroughly and completely distraught, but all you can do is remain frozen in your spot.

You can hear Yvette shouting into her office phone, demanding where security is, when four of them are suddenly there, shoving people out of the way and one of the men grabs the woman when she’s only a few feet away from the door. She screams as he wraps his arms around her to restrain her, hauling her back and having to lift her slightly. She just kicks her legs out, thrashing and trying to get free.

“You bitch, you bitch, you bitch!” she screams over and over and over, and you’re still frozen.

The security man drags her back towards the elevator, another man accompanying him, and the remaining two, a man and a woman, continue towards you. The woman opens the door, shaking her head as she steps inside.

“We’re so sorry, there’s just so many of them down there, she must have just slipped through. Are you okay?”

You stare at her.

“There’s more?” Yvette asks.

The woman looks to her. “Yeah, they just started turning up, some are fans, some are paparazzi.” Her gaze returns to you. “Again, we’re so sorry, we’re increasing our team for the foreseeable future, it won’t happen again.”

You think you might actually faint now. 

“Okay. Thank you,” you hear yourself saying.

The woman nods and steps out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

“Y/N, are you all right?” Yvette asks gently as you turn to her, your lips parted.

“Uhm...”

When you don’t continue after a few moments, she nods and moves around her desk towards you. “Take the day off. Alice and I’ll draft a statement later. Is there someone who can come and pick you up?”

You nod a few times as she squeezes your shoulder gently. “Uh, yeah, there’s someone I can call.”

—

Natasha Romanoff beams when you exit the elevator and approach. Beams. She’s smiled at you before, sure, several times, but this is a beam. And then she opens her mouth.

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re telling people now!”

I’m fucking sorry, what?

Before you can mutter that this is actually not something you’re quite ready to joke about yet, she throws her arms around you and hugs you tightly. “Oh, I’m just so happy!”

You just stand there, holding your bag, as she rocks you, having never felt so confused in your life.

“Uh—”

“Right, yeah, no time, let’s get you home, huh?” She’s no longer beaming when she pulls back, instead looking incredibly sympathetic in a way that doesn’t make you feel any better. Patting your arm, she looks behind you and nods at Yvette and the two security guards who have accompanied you down into the private underground garage that belongs to the building. “I’ll take it from here, thank you.”

Dropping her hand, she moves to her black Corvette a few feet away and opens the passenger door, holding it open for you and gesturing for you to get in. Looking over your shoulder at Yvette, you manage to return her smile before heading to the car. Getting in, you place your bag on the floor between your feet as Nat closes the door, and buckle your seatbelt before closing your eyes, exhaling a long breath. You open your eyes when the driver’s door opens and Nat slides into the seat, closing the door.

“Nat, I—”  

“What an exciting day. You must be so over-joyed!”

She’s beaming at you again as she starts the engine after buckling her own seatbelt, but something about her tone tells you she isn’t actually joking around.

“Nat, do you—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you okay? It must have been terrifying with that woman getting in.” She looks genuinely concerned this time as she steers the Corvette up a ramp and onto the main street level. 

“Uh, yeah, it was actually, but, uhm, I—”

“It’s all right, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” She pauses for half a second to check the street as the barrier lifts before she turns onto it and, fuck, you forgot how fast she drives. “We’ll just get you home, then you can relax and we’ll do what we can, okay?”

“Yeah, right, okay, but—”

She turns the radio on, turning the volume up a few numbers, and taps her fingertips against the steering wheel. “Have you spoken to Steve?”

Your heart sinks at the reminder of him and how this must all be affecting him because of you. “No, not yet,” you murmur, playing with your hands in your lap. “Have you?”

“Yeah, he can’t wait to see you.”

He must be fucking desperate with how fast you’re going.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, he’s at your place, popping open a bottle of champagne I should think.” She glances at you, beaming again, and you just frown.

What the hell is going on.

Something tells you, though, to not broach the subject again, so you lean your head back and mutter, “Yeah, I’m gonna need a fucking drink.”

It doesn’t take long for Nat to reach your apartment, and you still don’t understand how someone can be a fast and safe driver. You’re about to say as much, because you can’t do a single journey with her and not, when she parks in front of the building. Right in front of it. You pause in unbuckling the seatbelt you had been gripping, frowning at her, because she never does this as your building also has its own underground garage, and she loves her car.

“Nat, what about the garage?”

She unbuckles her seat belt and reaches over you to the glove compartment. “Oh, I won’t be staying long.” She pulls a box out of the compartment, closes it and sits back, opening the box. She opens the box to reveal sunglasses and puts them on. Sunglasses.

Leaving the box on the dashboard, she smiles at you and pushes her door open, stepping out. Grabbing your bag and doing the same, you watch her as she closes her door and looks up and down the street. Then, she looks to you as you close your door, her smile lingering.

“Come on, let’s get that drink, shall we.”

You reach the front doors of your apartment building first, and unzip your bag, searching for your keys. As you pull them out, Nat takes your bag from you, her smile still there.

“Here, I’ll hold this for you.”

“Okay.” Deciding to just go along with whatever is happening until you’re in your apartment, you turn and unlock the door. Faint Christmas music plays over a small speaker on a wall, and the building guard, Aaron, who you’d say you’re quite friendly with, looks at you from his place by the mailboxes as you enter and you nod at him. He nods, then gives you a thumbs up as he grins.

Oh, God.

“Way to go, Y/N! I had no idea!”

“Yep, okay, Aaron,” you murmur as your face heats and you stride towards the elevator. Nat is close behind you and you press the button to herald the elevator as she stops beside you. Then, you glance at her, frowning.

She’s searching through your bag, opening pockets and unzipping compartments.

“What are you doing?” you murmur, raising your eyebrows as she takes the spare pens you always keep in your bag out before slotting them back into their compartment.

“Nothing,” she says without even looking up at you.

Right.

Your jaw moves as the elevator ‘ding’s and the doors slide open. Incredibly grateful to find no one inside, you step in and turn to the buttons, pressing the button for your floor as Nat also steps in.

The moment the doors close, you turn to her, your hands going to your waist, your keys digging in to you even through your coat. “What the hell is going on, Nat?”

She doesn’t say anything, continuing to search through your bag. Your eyebrows raise as you release a scoff of disbelief because she’s ignoring you.

“Nat?”

Finally, she zips your bag back up and lifts her head, holding it out to you. You can’t tell if she’s satisfied or unsatisfied, and she’s silent, her gaze holding yours. Taking your bag, you shoulder it and press your lips together. You’re angry, confused, definitely dissociating somewhat, but something else is starting to creep up now. Fear.

The ‘ding’ of the elevator makes you jump slightly. Nat’s through the doors first this time, beckoning you to follow. You do, gripping the strap of your bag tightly. Your keys are biting into your skin as you shift them in your hand as you walk, and you find the key to your front door, Nat pausing by it. You unlock it, glancing at her. Her eyes are on the hall behind you, her features expressionless. Your heart pounding, you push your door open. Stepping in, you lift your head and pause, finding Sam Wilson stood in your living room area.

He turns and grins, holding his arms out wide.

“Y/N! Congratulations!” he laughs as he moves towards you, and your bag falls from your shoulder as you hear Nat close the door behind you.

As his arms go around you in a hug you would usually be delighted to return, you just stand there, again, feeling tears of irritation start to prick at your eyes because what the hell is happening. 

You’re speaking before you even realise. “Can someone please tell me what in the absolute fuck is—”

“All right, the place is clear.”

Steve appears from your bathroom, making you break off, your eyes darting up to him. Sam releases you then, holding your shoulders gently, his smile gone. “Y/N, are you all right?”

You look from him to Steve, your lips parted. “No, I’m not. What the hell is going on?”

Nat moves around you and pushes her sunglasses onto her head as Sam drops his hands. “Sorry about all that, Y/N. We’ll explain in a moment.” She raises her eyebrows at Sam slightly, gesturing him over to the large window that looks down onto the front street of the building. “Sam?”

Giving you a reassuring smile, though you absolutely don’t feel reassured, Sam follows her, leaving you standing there, looking at Steve. His arms are by his sides, and he exhales a breath as he moves towards you, an expression you can’t describe on his features.

“Y/N—”

“Oh, Steve,” you quickly interrupt, unable to bear whatever he’s about to say, good or bad or disappointed, because no matter what, this is your fault. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

He shakes his head, his hands replacing where Sam’s had been, warm and light. “Y/N, are you okay? Nat messaged about what happened at the office, I’m glad you called her.”

You look at him in disbelief, your hands having found his chest at some point. “Yeah, I’m fine, are you okay?”

A corner of his mouth lifts, softening his features instantly as his thumbs stroke your shoulders. “I’m fine, Y/N, I—”

“Really? You can say if you’re not, I would absolutely understand, actually you should be pissed off with me, Steve—”

“Y/N, Y/N, it’s all right,” he says gently, having heard, as you’d tried not to, the slight cracking in your voice. He draws you closer, his arms going around you in a warm embrace.

You realise, in that moment, that neither of you hug very much. You see each other so often that all you greet each other with is a hello, or you just high five when something exciting happens. Hugs are reserved for when you’re thanking each other for a present or when... You can’t really think of any other time. Even when you have a cry, you’ll both sit down and he’ll pat and rub your back, and you’ve never seen him cry at anything more than a movie, so.

God, we should hug more, this is nice. 

“So...” Sam’s voice has you pulling back, Steve’s arms falling from you as you turn to him, a smile tugging at his lips. “How did this happen, or do I just not have my RSVP yet?”

You tilt your head, your lips pressing together. Yeah, you’re definitely not ready to joke about it yet. You might not ever. 

“Well...” Moving to the couch, you take a seat as you blow out a breath, your face already warming again. 

Here we go, my now permanent state of embarrassment continues.

They’re all looking at you, Sam leaning against the wall, glancing out of the window every now and then, Nat sat on the arm of the couch opposite you, Steve standing between you and Nat, his hands in his pockets.

Clearing your throat, your hands on your knees, you lick your lips. “So... When Steve and I were at my work party last Saturday, my ex-boyfriend was there and I told him that...” You take a short breath, glancing at Steve before deciding to settle your gaze on the coffee table. “... Steve was my fiancé, because...” You just can’t bring yourself to say it. “... Well, I don’t know why, really.” You move on quickly. “So, when I got to work today, Dolly said Gwen from work overheard me saying it to Joe, so she could have spread it, or Joe could have, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking—” 

“Joe is the ex-boyfriend?”

You gaze darts from where you had been looking at Steve to apologise to Nat.

“Yeah. He lives in Chicago but he’s back for the holidays, I’m assuming.”

“How long were you two together?”

“Only a few months—”

“Did he ever meet Steve?”

You frown lightly at her. “Only at the party, why?”

Her hands are clasped together, her eyes fixed on you. “What’s his last name?”

“Havers. Joe Havers. Why?”

“When did he start working at your place? When did you start seeing each other?”

You look at Sam, who’s looking out of the window, then to Steve, who’s looking at the ground, then back to Nat. “About a year ago. We started dating a month after, and then he broke up with me when he transferred to the Chicago branch the August that’s just gone. Why—”

“Did he ask you out? Pursue you?”

You release a breath, your frown returning. “Yeah, and I guess, but, like, in the way you would when you want to date someone—”

“Did you ever meet his family? Friends?” She’s unrelenting, expressionless.

“Well, no, but he never met Steve during that time, either—”

“Did he ask to?”

“No.” You exhale in frustration, your jaw moving. “Look, what’s going on, Nat? You’d said you’d tell me.”

She lifts her hands slightly. “We just have to look at every option, Y/N.”

Your frown returns as you look at them. “Option for what? Who spread it?”

There’s silence. Your eyebrows raise. Sam meets your gaze for a second before looking back out the window, Steve’s still looking at the floor, and so Nat, once again, is your only option. Your eyebrows rise higher as she tilts her head.

“Y/N... We need you to continue being Steve’s fiancé.”

You stare at her, your lips parted. “... I’m sorry... What? Why?”

As slight as it is, it’s the first time you’ve seen Nat look uncomfortable. “You’ve already encountered a rather... over-zealous fan, and, we’ve got intel that suggests some... unsavoury characters are using the chatrooms and blogs that they operate to track Steve’s whereabouts.”

 You arch an eyebrow, releasing a breath and not quite knowing what to address first. Irritation blends with anger and you focus on that because you don’t want to feel anymore afraid than you already are. “’Unsavoury characters’? I’m a big girl, Nat, you don’t have to sugarcoat whatever this is.”

She glances at Steve for a fraction of a second. “All right, terrorists. Terrorists are using chatrooms to plan to assassinate Steve.”

Your mood shifts instantly. A coldness sweeps over you and fear envelops you as you look at Steve, who is finally looking at you, your eyes wide. “Why the fuck would they want to do that?”

Steve opens his mouth but Nat gets there first.

“Steve is America’s greatest living symbol. Can you imagine what kind of message it would send from any group should Steve be killed?”

You look between them all, your mouth open. Nat continues after a moment, not liking the idea of that statement hanging in the air.

“We need you to spend this week doing what happily engaged couples do. Cake tasting, wedding dress shopping, visit venues, hold hands, look completely in love, all of that so that we can see who turns up and who follows him.”

You close your eyes for a moment, your brow furrowing, before you release a breath and look at her. “So, I’m... I’m, we’re bait?”

Nat’s features soften. “Y/N, you and Steve couldn’t be safer, I promise. We’re going to move you both to a new apartment with proper security, the place’ll be watched around the clock and it’s only until Saturday evening.”

“Why Saturday?”

She rests her hands either side of herself on the arm of the couch. “We’ve been hearing chatter that that’s when they’re planning to attack, at the party with the world watching. So we need to identify who they are before then. Obviously.”

“Right.” You stare at her for a few moments before your gaze drops to the table. You haven’t quite been able to get a handle on your breathing for the last hour, but now it really is difficult. Your hands are gripping your knees, and you have to swallow hard to stop the bile rising in your throat.

“Y/N, you don’t have to.” Your eyes lift at Steve’s quiet tone. Then you realise what the expression is; regret.

You release another breath. “Are you kidding me, your life is in danger, why didn’t you tell me this?”

His mouth lifts a fraction. “It’s not exactly what I want to race home and tell you about.”

Your chest tightens. You make your mind up instantly. You look at Nat.

“I’ll do it.”

She nods, giving you a small smile. “You can’t tell anyone it’s not real, and be careful when you’re speaking on the phone, they could tap it.”

Ah, so that’s why Nat had checked your bag and Steve and Sam had been checking your place, and probably why Steve hadn’t answered your—

Oh, shit, wait...

Your shoulders drop slightly. “Oh, my boss knows.”

“Yvette?” Nat slides her phone out of her pocket as she looks at you.

“Yeah, I spoke to her earlier, before the... fan, and she asked me how I was and I told her.”

“Right.” Nat arches an eyebrow, tapping something into her phone. “Can she keep a secret?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Nat smiles at your fierce certainty, locking her phone and keeping ahold of it. “We’ll need to speak with her, anyway, let her understand the severity of the situation so she won’t trust anyone. That’s good actually ‘cause you’re gonna need to take the week off work.”

Your heart sinks. “What, why?”

“You need to spend every moment with Steve, and I think this would be a natural thing to do. We can have a press release put out saying you don’t want your work bombarded like earlier, you won’t be able to concentrate—”

You raise your hand, pointing a finger. “Hang on, I can multi-task and work under any conditions.”

Nat’s lips twitch. “We know that, Y/N, I’m not discrediting how good of a worker you are, we just need the rest of the world to think that.”

You bristle slightly as you press your lips together, your shoulders dropping again.

Her amusement vanishes, her features softening. “It’s just until Sunday, then we can let everyone know the truth. This is a great chance for us to find these guys, Y/N. We wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important or useful, but you can still say no.”

There’s a long pause. You glance at Steve, he’s still got that same expression, almost pained. You could say no; you think it would almost relieve him if you did. You know him well enough by now that he’s probably full of regret for putting you in this position by being your friend.

Well, Steve, I get the guilt card on this one, it was me who put us in this position.

You've always known the risks of being associated with him and being his friend. You’ve never spoken about it with each other but you’ve just always known, it’s how his world operates. But he wanted to be your friend and you wanted to be his, so why the fuck shouldn’t you be. Something that had come up in one of your first, long, late-night conversations is the sense of loneliness you both feel. Sure, you have friends, both of you, and you both work in very people-orientated careers, but... Loneliness just seems to linger, uninvited. You’ve never felt that loneliness with Steve.

And now some fuckers wanted to kill him.

You look at Nat. “Yeah, I want to do it.”

She gives you another smile, nodding. “All right.” Rising to her feet, she folds her arms. “I guess we got some packing to do, then.”

You’re about to look at Steve, hoping to reassure him that you really do want to do this, when Sam lets out a low whistle.

“Well, Nat... Think there’s gonna be some scratches on your fancy car.”

Pushing yourself up from the couch, you move to the window as Nat tuts under her breath, and join Sam. Your stomach flips as you gaze down and see the crowd of people on the street, surrounding her car and staring up at the building or at the entrance. There’s a couple of news vans, too, reporters and their cameras hovering by them, gripping their microphones and glancing up every few seconds, waiting.

Oh my God... There’s gonna be three people in this so-called relationship; me, him and the world.

—

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[be-dazzled]

Rules Are Meant to be Broken 1 of 2

Prompt: No. 6 “No touching, no kissing, nothing. I will do with you as I please.” Requested by: Anon Rating: M for theme and language Series: Gruvia Smut 1/2; 2/2

Note: This is part of a two-parter prompt request made by an Anon. Lol. Since Anon requested smut scenes and this is my first time to write Gruvia smut, I will post the more “detailed”, R18 part answering the ask. I will update this for the link to part 2. And since we are not getting any Gruvia content yet... I hope this will do. AND MAN! I am so obsessed with the Juvia strip dance, aren’t I?

Part 2 uploaded

---

Part 1: Juvia’s Dance Moves

“Does Gray-sama remember the rules?”

Juvia’s distracted voice travelled through the doorway into Gray’s bedroom. She was probably not done preparing. He could still hear rattle noises behind the wall that separated his small bedroom from the rest of his apartment. He heard her too, but Gray didn’t answer. He was busy feeling weird and awkward sitting on a lone chair in the middle of his bedroom. Apparently, Juvia was going to give him a little peek of what the girls have been up to. He heard from the vineyard that the Fairy Tail girls enrolled in some dancing school. What type of dance school? Gray had no clue. He asked Juvia about it but she said it was supposed to be a surprise.

Tonight, when she barged into his apartment, she was carrying paper bags on both arms. Juvia said she won’t be taking too much of his time. That what she was about to show him was some sort of culminating event to put those dance moves she learned to test. Gray wasn’t totally on board on the idea but since Juvia went out her way to prepare something for him, then he’ll sit through whatever she wanted him to sit through. So, despite his loud protests, Gray still agreed to sit back on that wooden chair and wait for the show to begin.

“Gray-sama, did you hear Juvia?”

A shock of blue hair popped out the door frame, hiding the rest of her body behind the wall.

“Yes, Juvia, I heard you.” His thick brows met in the middle. “Now, come out and be done with it already.”

Patience wasn’t really one of Gray’s virtues.

Juvia tentatively stepped out of hiding and revealed a fancy-looking, dark blue satin robe with feather trimmings on the ends of the sleeves and the hem. To Gray’s disappointment, the length of the dress hid those creamy-white legs he never really looked at. Swear! He never stared at those creamy, white thighs where Juvia’s guild mark was stamped permanently. That made him wonder what this dance was all about. And if he was being honest, that tie around the waist of that stupid long robe irritated him.

“No touching. No kissing. Nothing.”

Gray scowled at her reminder. He really wasn’t planning on doing any of those. Huh. In her dreams.

The feathers on the hem of Juvia’s robe hummed silently against his wooden floor and he can’t help but stare at the hypnotic swaying of Juvia’s hips. She didn’t walk like that before, did she? It felt like Juvia was deliberately calling his attention to that perfect curve between the back and those nice, round ass-tushie! Gray remembered Juvia calling it tushie. Whatever. It’s all covered anyway. By that long-ass robe. His thick brows furrowed and his usual scowl wrinkled his face.

“Can you even dance in that…”

Surprised wasn’t even the best word to describe Gray’s reaction when Juvia sat on the edge of his bed, crossed one leg over the other, and that fancy robe parting to reveal those thighs he swore never to have looked at.

“dress…”

Okay, maybe once. That’s why he knew, okay fine he saw, Juvia had her Fairy Tail guild mark printed there. Or twice, when he accidentally, and he wanted to reiterate that it was accidental, when he caught a glimpse of those legs… at the… ahmmm… guild? Fine! Thrice. When she tore her clothes while fighting. You know what? Who even was counting? And the most interesting question of all, why was Juvia now lying down on her side with one hand supporting her head?

“Juvia thinks it’s this way?” She adjusted her position, not quite sure she got the pose right. “or this one? Oh! Right.”

And the other hand resting so seductively on her hip? Why was she replicating her ‘eat me’ pose she did once at the restaurant? And damn his heart was beating crazy.

It’s just legs you ice-brain. Everyone’s got one!

Gray’s self-reprimand did help a little with that throbbing he wasn’t sure if was coming from his chest or somewhere else he’d rather not think about. Probably, both.

Yes, both. He finally realized when Juvia’s serious stare – bordering sultry – landed on him.

“Ah!” Juvia squealed. “Juvia can’t do it.” She rained fists on Gray’s poor mattress out of her frustration. “Gray-sama is making Juvia nervous.”

Well, you’re not alone, he thought.

“Juvia,” he called out. “Don’t you think if you really want to do this, at least do it properly?”

Juvia stared at him for a few breaths then apologized.

“Gray-sama is right.” She conceded and returned to her original, provocative position.

Gray smiled when grit and determination returned in her blue eyes. Well, of course, he was right. Juvia should at least stick to her character while he was being the nice, obedient boyfriend – no! – boy who is a friend, sitting on the chair like she asked him to. Everybody gotta do their part. And it’s not because he wanted to watch Juvia do some really interesting, some sort of sexy dance. It was just, people should make good on their promises. So, that’s why… Juvia should be responsible in finishing what she said she was going to do. Gray was just helping her out.

“Can Gray-sama please play the music?”

“What?”

“It’s on the table on Gray-sama’s left.”

“Oh.”

Oh, great. Now, she was asking him to move from this really uncomfortable position. The table wasn’t too far but it’d require Gray to get up, which was really hard to do now and would be very embarrassing if Juvia saw. But he had no choice.

Suck it up, boy who is a friend.

But he wasn’t going to stand up and embarrass himself. So, the smart ice-make mage moved his chair a little to the side and stretched his arm to reach the rectangular lacrima that produced sounds. He missed at first and earned a weird look from Juvia. He shrugged her off and continued reaching out to start that stupid sound lacrima.

“Gray-sama could just–”

“–I got it, okay!”

He rested an arm across his pelvis, making sure Juvia wasn’t suspecting anything. Then, stood up from his seat, walked over the stupid table and hit a fist on the sound lacrima with a loud thud, surprising the water-mage.

“There!”

Then, the first beat of Juvia’s music poured through. Gray returned to his chair throwing an irritated look towards the water-mage lying down on his bed. As the instrumental played on, Gray became skeptical. The music wasn’t sexy at all! So, maybe, this was some kind of a weird dance routine. Gray sighed in relief. He was safe. If Juvia was going to dance with that awfully, non-sexy song then no problem. Geez. What was he so worried about?

Well… this: Juvia lifting one leg slowly while she maintained her position then putting it back down. Were the girls tricked into learning aerobics? The move was oddly following the beat perfectly. Oh. My. Gods. Gray’s heart skipped a beat when he saw a black high heel strapped on her foot.

It was only the beginning of the most uncomfortable night of Gray’s life.

Sweet dreams are made of this. Who am I to disagree? I traveled the world and the seven seas Everybody's looking for something

Juvia rolled her head in a circular motion. Slowly. Seductively. Forearms rested on the mattress as Juvia lied on her stomach. Now both legs on the air, the water-mage moved them in opposite directions: one inward and the other outward then vice versa. For some wicked maneuver, Juvia was able to lift her body off the mattress and got on her knees, kneeling on top of Gray’s bed.

Damn. That was definitely hot. No! He was just there to watch, as a support to whatever Juvia was doing… to him.

Gray could feel the strange feeling brewing just below his belly. It was new. It was strange. But he heard about it before from the old perverts at the guild, Macao and Wakaba, and the adults like Laxus and Bickslow. They said it was going to be an angry storm that just crashes everything in its way.

Once, when Laxus and Bickslow heard some baseless rumor about him and Juvia dating, they pulled him to a corner and offered to teach him on how the female body works, mostly Bickslow though. Laxus just rubbed it in his face that he was still a cherry boy, whatever that meant. He didn’t understand what the two were yapping about until his innocent, clueless brain caught up on the topic of breasts, thighs and that sweet spot in between. Not so innocent, after all. He remembered how the two disgusting perverts laughed at him when he refused their help and denied the relationship rumor. For some reason, he earned the nickname of cherry boy and it stuck.

But he should stop thinking about those stupid conversations with his pervert comrades and just focus on Juvia who was now tracing her fingers over the side of her neck to the V of her robe down to the belt tying her dress together. Her eyes were closed, lips parted, chest heaving up and down. No, her body was moving up and down.

Damn, that was definitely hot.

Gray shifted in his sit again. But like he said, he was just there to support Juvia in whatever way he was able. So, if right now, watching and enjoying Juvia touch herself was the kind of support she needed, then that he will become. Juvia caught his eyes, held his stare, watching him watching her, as her fingers now rubbed on the edge of her belt. Juvia bit down a giggle when Gray’s jaw dropped at the sight of her fingers pulling the ends of the tie slowly, ever so slowly, until the front of her robe fell open.

Gray was sure his jaw was on the floor now as the satin fabric fell over her shoulders, brushing pass her arms and then landing on the mattress beneath her.

Oh, shit.

By male instinct, his body lurched forward, wanting to see closer. Well, Gray have seen Juvia naked. Oh, that was Juvina. Well, it was the same thing right? Of course, not. Juvia was different. But he maintained that he has seen Juvia half naked. She acquired his stripping habits. He wasn’t proud of that. And in the many months that they lived together, he accidentally, again with emphasis on ‘accidentally’, caught a glimpse or two of Juvia out of her clothes. They were living together, of course, it was bound to happen.

Those cases were different because as Gray said they were ahmm… what did people call it? Happy accidents?

This half-naked Juvia in front of him had a different appeal because she was half-naked on his bed, on purpose. And now her hands were wandering around her body, touching places Gray would rather do for her. Gray was so jealous.

Wait, what? No. No, he wasn’t jealous. Why would he be?

Some of them want to use you. Some of them want to get used by you. Some of them want to abuse you. Some of them want to be abused.

Then, Juvia climbed down the bed. His heart leaped to his throat, making it really hard to swallow. She strutted towards him, slowly, painfully slowly as Gray feasted on the sight before him. Gray sat at the edge of the chair and leaned his back to give extra room for that pain between his legs. Because Juvia in a thin, lace lingerie, which seemed to have failed their purpose of covering the skin, was giving him a hard time. No pun intended.

“J-juvia.” He stuttered but his voice couldn’t be heard over the music. Good. Because truthfully, Gray didn’t know how to follow that lame ‘J-juvia’ stutter. What was he gonna say? Stop? Because that’s definitely the opposite of what he wanted-er… what being a good supportive boy-who-is-a-friend was.

His distracted eyes returned to Juvia who was touching her body as she looked him up and down, gaze turning to something Gray couldn’t believe he’d ever see – so sensual. And she wasn’t even trying.

Gray involuntarily jerked back, almost stumbling back his seat when Juvia suddenly approached him, standing so dangerously close. But she didn’t do nor say anything. Instead, she walked around him, trailing a seductive finger around his shoulders.

Damn it!

“Ahmmm… J-juvia. I thought you said… n-n-no touching?”

Not that he was complaining or anything but if she kept doing that then Gray would really embarrass himself. Gray yelped when the woman suddenly leaned over him, shoving his shoulder, hitting his back against the hard chair. Gray’s surprised midnight eyes stared up at her, his gaze slid down the valley between her generous, generous breasts, then back up to her hot blue eyes.

“Juvia can touch but Gray-sama couldn’t.”

“That’s a little unfair, isn’t it?”

A sexy smile touched her lips.

“Juvia doesn’t make the rules.” She said and turned away from him.

And that’s when his eyes drifted to the sexy line of her back down to those nice, round bosso-tushie and his mouth ran dry. Drier than Ajeel’s sand.

“J-juvia,” he visibly swallowed, “can I get a break?”

Because he badly needed water – ice bucket full of freaking water.

---

Thank goodness Juvia allowed him a quick break because well, he was honestly thirsty, and he needed some time to breathe and to calm himself down. How he was so worked up about Juvia in that lingerie was baffling. He’d seen women in skimpy outfits before, care of Lucy and Erza and he looked too. Not that he was going to deny that. But Juvia in such a revealing lingerie – it didn’t even bother to cover anything – and deliberately seducing him?

Gray swallowed the glass full of water and poured himself some more. His body never even felt this hot before as if Natsu’s fire just kept following him around. There was that time too, in the public bath, where Juvia just came out of nowhere and was in the bath with him. Totally. Naked. She tried to kiss him then but he froze her in his ice before she started some commotion.

Juvia was such a trouble.

“Gray-samaaaa~” she sang from his room.

Gray grunted. He hasn’t even fully recovered from that public bath memory. Now, he was already calling him back into his room.

“Alright, alright!” He shouted back.

Then, the ice-make mage downed another glass of ice-cold water before he scurried to his room. When he entered his room, Juvia still sat on the edge of his bed, just waiting. She looked up at him, her gaze following Gray as the ice-make mage returned to his designated chair. Not at all any more comfortable.

“Shoot.”

Gray spat out a punchline and threw in a laugh too. But Juvia wasn’t laughing. And it became rather awkward.

Gray cleared his throat.

“G-g-go on...”

Juvia didn’t say another word after she asked the ice-make mage to turn the sound lacrima back on. Which he quickly obeyed so that Juvia could pick up where she left off.

Gray just hoped someone warned him about the next part of the show.

Sweet dreams are made of this. Who am I to disagree? I travel the world and the seven seas. Everybody's looking for something

Juvia swayed her body to the tune. It was just the start. Gray wasn’t known to be a fidgety fellow but he lost count how many times he shifted in that wooden chair. Especially, when Juvia pressed an innocent finger on the bottom of her lip and pushed it in. Juvia twisted her head to catch his eyes and when she made sure he was looking, the water-mage pulled the finger out of her mouth and traced a sinful path down the valley.

Gray could hear his heart pounding in his ears and his breath started running ragged. He didn’t remember his room being this hot. If he wasn’t feeling so stuck in that chair and his eyes so glued on the girl before him, then Gray would have opened a window or two. But, well, he was stuck. Stuck as a sticky rice.

Because now Juvia continued the sinful trail down a very dangerous path and Gray couldn’t take his eyes off of that. Especially, that sinful finger is reaching down the edge of her…

Oh, shit.

That not-so-innocent finger stopped at the band of her lace panties. And it felt like he was about to swallow a rock.

And when the water-mage, his water-mage, swiftly lost her brassiere, Gray swallowed a freaking boulder.

Juvia threw the lace bra to him. The thin material fell limply on his lap. He then prepared himself to finally see the generous breasts that freaking lace ineptly covered. He looked up from the lace bra and his heart somersaulted when his expectant eyes landed on the water-mage who had her arm shielding the girls. Somehow, it was so much appealing and oddly, more exciting. Thrilling. Would she or wouldn’t she. Oh, the mystery was killing him.

And he liked it.

Gray backed up on his seat when Juvia started to move towards him. Strutting. Steps measured. Hips provocatively swaying. Gray forgot to breathe for a moment. His head fell back to meet her eyes. Slowly, Juvia lowered herself and finally expelled the breath he was holding when the bold water-mage straddled his lap.

Gray parted his lips to breathe some air as Juvia held his gaze captive, fanning his hot cheeks with her warm breath. The skin on her arm grazed his bare chest, hardening the muscles on it. For some reason, he just lost his top somewhere in the house. But who cared about that stupid shirt when the skimpy crotch of her panties were almost, almost brushing against the zipper of his pants.

Uncomfortable quickly graduated to painful.

He let out a laugh that meant to be awkward but turned deep and husky.

“J-j-juvia.” He breathed her name, planting his hands on her thighs, touching soft and warm skin under his palm. He wanted to ask for a break again.

Her blue eyes widened at the heat and Juvia repressed a surprised gasp. She swatted Gray’s hand away with her free one.

“No touching.” She firmly reminded. “It’s against the rules.”

Gray let his arms fall on his side. He wasn’t really sure what Juvia was going to do and the suspense was killing him – if he wasn’t dead yet from Juvia’s close proximity. So, he decided that the best course of action was to stare right to her eyes, those deep blue pools that were pulling him into their endlessness by the second. Even if his whole body became highly aware of her flesh against his. He wondered how she managed to get this close to him and not melt, literally. Usually, she would. This time, she held it together. And this time, she had that solid determination in her eyes that was honestly turning him on. Oops! He wasn’t supposed to feel that way. Gray tried to push what his body was telling him back and concentrate on something that wasn’t forcing his body to react. But that was simply impossible.

All thanks to that conflict he saw in her eyes, however, that Gray had a distraction, welcomed at that. She looked like she was pondering it over, what to do next. Something started to cloud her eyes.

“G-g-gray-s-sama…”

She started stuttering.

“It seems like Juvia mixed up the steps.”

She pulled away from his eyes, gazed drifting in between them as she looked left to right. Gray wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for.

“If you could just let Juvia look for… look for her… ahmmm. Where was it?”

Well, if Juvia could get past her ‘melting thing’ then Gray could definitely get over his shyness.

“Juvia’s top… Juvia threw it towards Gray-sam-mnnn…”

Gray pressed Juvia against him as he locked his lips with hers, opening his mouth over Juvia’s. Juvia could hardly wrap her head around what was happening. She was now his captive not hers, kissing her with so much abandon, so much hunger and so much need that everything around her became fuzzy. Juvia lost the ability to think, to move. Her body instinctively morphed with Gray’s, both moaning at the contact when Juvia dropped her hand that was shielding her breasts. Gray’s kiss turned more aggressive.

Realizing they both needed air to breathe, Gray pulled away from the kiss, pressing his forehead against Juvia’s, both forcing air into and outside their lungs.

“G-g-gray-sama… shouldn’t…” Juvia tried to force the words out between pants. “it’s… it’s… against the… rules”

But that mischievous grin played on Gray’s lips. He just couldn’t help it.

“Since when did I…” He tentatively brushed his lips against Juvia’s, playing on that fire that their much aggressive and possessive kiss created earlier. “ever followed the rules?”

[sonicringbond]

Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 42

With character mindsets out of the way, it’s time to set the stage. Well, Blister’s mindset still needs to be set, but right now they have arrived at the peculiar city in the sky. What will they find there? Well, find out for yourself in...

    “Really, a creepy place like this would do a lot better with some ghosts,” Rosy teased as she jumped from Blister’s ship to the stretch of concrete and asphalt that they docked at, “then we could make a test of courage out of it!”

    “I’d rather not have more ghosts after the last time we met some,” Draw tried as per usual to put a damper on Rosy’s enthusiasm as he walked down the gangplank with Sonic and Blister. For his efforts Rosy stuck her tongue out at him.

    “You’re being no fun today,” Rosy teased her koala companion and he rolled his eyes.

    “Whatever, you weirdo girl.”

    “It’s Rosy!”

    There was a comfort that Rosy found in the exchange with Draw and she smiled brightly even in the dreary place. Sonic and Blister were both being more careful than Rosy was though.

    “Be careful while having fun,” Blister warned as she tested the weight of her backpack. “My instruments were acting weird as we approached. I couldn’t rely on them to dock at all.”

    “You were able to dock an airship on your own? That’s amazing!”

    “Well, I don’t really have any choice with a golem hunter on board,” Blister gave Draw a weary glance. “It’s not like I can use my autogolems if they just get broken for coming out.”

    “So, the Engineers do use autogolems too,” Rosy acknowledged thoughtfully, before switching gears and spinning over to place her hands on Draw’s shoulders. He gave her a look, but Rosy continued unbothered. “But I’m sure Draw wouldn’t break yours. Well, as long as they aren’t powered by fairies.”

    “Everything the Engineers make are powered by Rings or steam, so no exploiting any mythical creatures,” Blister assured Rosy, Draw, and the fairy in the group, Mote. “Besides, the way Preserver autogolems work is a total mystery. It doesn’t make sense how the energy of a living thing is converted into a kinetic energy.”

    “Sounds like the type of guys Eggman would get along with,” Sonic finally added his voice to conversation as he strolled off the gangplank and looked around.

    Rosy noticed Sonic was rubbing the underside of his nose with his pointer finger and wondered if he was sensing danger. She couldn’t leave him worried though and risked getting teased herself to lighten his mood. “Oh~, forget that mean old man. I’ve gotten over being embarrassed by you talking like that about us and want to hear more! Come on Sonic, say something romantic~♥”

    “Keep dreaming, kid,” Sonic winked at Rosy and made her puff up her cheeks as she knew exactly what he meant.

    “Ooh~! Why couldn’t you play along nicely this time now that I’m ready for you!”

    “Instead of play, perhaps we could get to work looking for a Ring Radio for my ship,” Blister suggested, walking away from her vessel. Sonic eyed her curiously and took up pace beside her.

    “I’m all for getting this over with, but I thought we were supposed to do the dangerous stuff while you stayed back on the ship?”

    “Don’t worry, I won’t slow you down.” Blister smiled at Sonic confidently. Her confidence did not last however as she lifted her left hand up and stared at it as she flexed the flat fingers of her clockwork arm. “Though I haven’t gone for a run myself since before I lost my arm. I hope I’m not too rusty.”

    “You don’t mean to say you can keep up with us, do you? Sonic asked having a hard time believing it. “There aren’t too many who can, and even out of those with my speed few who can match my pace.”

    “Just check your radio for a signal and I’m sure we’ll be fine. I think I might actually be excited for the first time in a while. A shame it’ll be best to split you flowers up for this little trip.”

    “Flowers?” Sonic asked while checking his wrist device. The detected signal on the device told Sonic all he needed to know, and he was distracted from his question. “Well, sure enough there is a signal here. And not one we recognize.”

    “I wonder if there’s anyone using it?” Rosy pressed her finger to her cheek and mused a moment. That moment was short lived and quickly followed up with her deciding to check as she worked her wrist device and cheerily called into it. “Hello~! Is there anyone home!”

    “You’re going to get us killed, you weirdo girl!” Draw snapped at Rosy.

    “Don’t say that!” Rosy chided him, but as her energy was spilt between her wrist device and him, she wasn’t overbearing. The lack of a response from her device though made her puff up her cheeks. “Phooey! I guess no one lives here either.”

    “Gotta admit, it’d be kind of hard too.”

    ~Sonic wasn’t wrong. For the first time since I had been exploring the lands under Yolk, there were no plants growing over everything. They had been at one point in time, but they had all withered and died, only a thick layer of yellowed leaves that lined the streets and building floors showing they had once lived. It was kind of creepy in a different way than the rest of the weird little city as well since leaves don’t usually last like this. They crumbled easily enough to the touch, but the wind left in our wakes as we ran through the twisted city streets didn’t seem to hurt them and they simply would settle back down were they had last been.

    ~The leaves weren’t the only creepy thing. Yolk seemed even bigger from the city than Blister’s airship, and no matter where I ran it seemed to watch me from behind the clouds just above the horizon. And the storm clouds didn’t bring rain and thunder, but rather a snow of ash. I’m starting to think this place might be cursed. At the very least, it’s weird and unnatural.

    ~How unnatural? I wanted to check the size of the city when we first set out, so I ran a lap all the way around it with Draw clinging to my back and the location of the horizon never changed. And I came back around from what should have been the city’s underside. It’s not right here. It really isn’t.~

    “What now,” Draw asked as Rosy stopped atop a skyscraper that tilted a full thirty degrees off its axis.

    Watching the storm clouds and the ash that fell silently from them, Rosy puffed up her cheeks and exhaled sharply from her nose. “This place is way to dreary to be any fun. So how about we see if we can’t find any beneath the surface. Does that sound good, Sonic?”

    -Just keep your radio channel open,- Sonic’s voice came across Rosy’s wrist device. -This place is a lot larger than it looks. Like several places are trying to fit in one spot and not pulling it off.-

    -I’ve also seen signs of golem activity,- Blister’s voice came across after Sonic’s. -Probably more than enough for our little hunter to earn his keep.-

    “Don’t talk like that about me!” Draw complained from Rosy’s back. “I’m not a kid!”

    -Yet you were clinging to Ms. Rose’s back when we agreed to split up…-

    “That’s because it’s the easiest way to not lose her.”

    “I’m not that bad,” Rosy laughed, but she smiled brighter as she looked down at the decayed city that awaited her challenge. “But at least it sounds like this adventure is going to be exciting!”

Scene 42 · CLEARED Snowflake, to be continued

-----

On the shorter side, but now the exposition is done and it’s time to start elevating the series of events. A Ring Radio is here, and it’s on, but why? And Golems here as well. Mysteries, mysteries. If I do this right, this set of “episodes” will be some of my most important at this stage of the story yet. I hope everyone is as excited for them as I am!

-----

Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – Lost in the Snow – Yoshitaka Suzuki – FINAL FANTASY XV Original Soundtrack (Volume 2【1/2】)

Fair Use Disclaimer

Sonic the Hedgehog and all affiliated characters and logos are the express property and Copyright© of SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS used without permission under Title 17 U.S.C Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976 in which allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. “Fair use” is use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be considered copyright infringement. The Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey alternate universe (AU) consumer written work of fiction is a non-profit transformative work primarily for personal use and can and will be taken down without warning or prior notice at the request of the copyright holder(s) should it not be recognized under “fair use”.

*Sonic Ring Bond logo created by DEE Art – twitter.com/daryliscute.

Sonic Ring Bond AU and Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey are the creation of Joshua David Tarwater/ynymbus/sonicfanj/@Joshtarwater and is to be, including all contents herein considered for all legal purposes the property of the Sonic the Hedgehog intellectual property (IP) and copyright owners, SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS. All story contributors via prompt, suggestion, written scene, art, and all and every other contribution acknowledge that all contributed material is forfeit for legal purposes to SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS upon official request from SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS.

[himluv]

The Whole World Changed

Happy Dragon 4ge Day! Here is a Solavellan oneshot for the prompt “Beginnings”. 

Solas swung his staff and unleashed the well of frigid cold that had gathered in his chest. A jagged chunk of ice hurtled away from him and into the face of a shade. The spirit shrieked and writhed before collapsing away into the frozen earth. Still, after a year, it surprised him how much effort it took to call on his magic. Once it had been less than an after thought, an innate action like blinking.

But now, in the biting chill of the steppes of the Frostbacks, sweat streaked down his temple. Solas was wearing down. He couldn’t keep up fighting the demons and shades that continued to pour from the roiling green rift above them.

Behind him the sharp clack of Varric’s crossbow announced another deadly bolt hurtling across the battlefield. He turned in time to see the arrow find its mark in the head of a Rage demon.

“We can’t keep this up, Chuckles!” Varric hoisted his weapon and took aim, before releasing another bolt.

Solas spun his staff and gritted his teeth. “Just a moment longer.”

“If you say so.” The thunk and shriek of another bolt sinking into flesh.

He couldn’t explain to the dwarf why he believed Cassandra and the prisoner were close. His story about being a hapless wanderer, a self-made scholar of the Fade, was fragile enough. If he admitted that he could sense the mark in the prisoner’s hand drawing nearer, that the power thrummed and called to him, like a child lost in the fog, well…

Even he could not spin that tale in such a way that Varric Tethras, a notable storyteller in his own right, would believe.

He slung another barrage of ice at a shade as it materialized from the rift, but he could only assume his attack landed. The edges of his awareness went white, brighter than the sun reflecting off the snow, so bright that his eyes stung even though there was no visible light.

The prisoner stood atop the wall that directed the battlefield. Her mouth set in a hard line and her gaze dashing over the scene, scrutinizing and strategizing. Her dark hair was cut tight to the sides of her head, with just a fingers’ length on top. It contrasted with her pale, gently freckled skin to make her look almost ill.

Perhaps she was. She had nearly died after all, and with the Breach unstable she was surely in pain. All the more reason to hurry this along.

She dropped down into the snow and withdrew a plain, steel staff from behind her back. Solas had known she was a mage, of course. He’d spent so much time with her, keeping her alive against the fury of his own displaced magic, that he knew a startling amount about her body.

Especially considering he didn’t even know her name.

She swung her staff in a graceful figure-eight, slamming the butt of the weapon into the snow and calling down a series of lightning bolts to help clear the field.

“Quickly,” he shouted, taking her hand. “Before more come through.”

The mark hummed and pulsed at his touch, but she didn’t cry out. He marveled at how warm her skin was against his, at the shock that snapped at him. The remnants of her lightning energy, no doubt.

She didn’t pull away from him, didn’t demand answers. When he held her hand to the air and commanded the energy in her palm to commune with the rift, she watched with an almost sickly fascination. When the rift fought back, lashing out and drawing her in, she gritted her teeth and planted her feet.

But she never made a sound.

Solas found he was desperate to hear her voice. After long days and nights spent watching over her in those dim cells, seeing her washed in that green glow, her eyes a swirling mirror of the rift, he was utterly enchanted.

The rift closed with a crash, and she stared at her hand. It took him a moment to realize that his was still locked around her wrist. He released her immediately, and she blinked as if awaking from a spell.

“What did you do?” Her voice was gentle, a breeze rustling the springtime leaves in Arlathan. It was clear and cool, like stepping through an Eluvian for the very first time. It was prettier than he could have imagined.

He shrugged, feigning a nonchalance he did not feel. “I did nothing,” he said. It was a lie, of course. Without his gentle instruction, the mark would have flickered and throbbed, but never reached out to the rift. If she were clever, and if her magic proved powerful enough, she would continue to close the rifts as if by instinct. The mark knew its purpose now. His purpose.

He smiled at her, a little sheepishly. “The credit is yours.” He willed her to see him as nothing more than a lowly apostate, but she continued to watch him with wide green eyes that saw too much.

She closed her hand into a fist and then stretched it again. “You mean this?” She looked at the mark on her palm with curiosity and a flicker of pain. But not hatred. Not fear. Her dark green vallaslin, a testament to Dirthamen, made it plain to him that she was a spy, and her magic buzzed in a subtle layer around her skin.

A dangerous woman indeed.

He took a step closer to her, his face animated as warmth blossomed on his cheeks. “Whatever magic opened the breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake,” he grinned, “and it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra said.

He glanced at the Seeker, struggling to keep his tone neutral. “Possibly.” He returned his attention to the elf before him and a wry smile twisted at his mouth. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

She frowned at that, a delicate crease forming between her black brows. She was uncomfortable with the spotlight, it seemed. More evidence for his spy theory.

Varric interrupted then, in typical Tethras fashion. With drama and crass language, and a noble effort to get under the Seeker’s skin. Once the banter became fairly specific, the elf turned back to face him.

“My name is Solas,” he said, “if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

She tilted her head, but there was no confusion in her eyes.

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,’” Varric said.

“Is that so?” She pursed her lips, her expression owlish and endearing. Like a child determined to solve a particularly complicated puzzle. “You seem to know a great deal about it all.”

Warning bells rang in Solas’ head, but before he could backtrack or cover his competence with a convenient lie, Cassandra spoke.

“Like you, Solas is an apostate.”

It took considerable effort not to roll his eyes. “Technically, all mages are apostates now, Cassandra.” It wasn’t that he disliked the Seeker. She was an honest, devoted, and hard-working woman. But she was also righteous and devout, which made her a threat to not only his plans, but potentially his life.

He turned his attention back to the elf. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade,” he said. “Far beyond the experience of any Circle Mage.”

A sudden hunger leapt up like flames in her eyes. She looked him up and down, weighing his words against his appearance, measuring him as he had measured her these past few days.

“I come to offer whatever help I can with the Breach. If it is not closed, then we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”

She was surprised at that, which was understandable. The Dalish were hardly known for their neighborly attitudes towards the humans. And the city elves were little better than slaves. Very few elves would sacrifice to help in the struggles of man. And yet, here he was, in the lion’s den.

So much for blending in.

She looked over his shoulder at the furious, roiling sea of green in the sky. She sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

She turned toward the faint trail that led down to a frozen lake, following Varric and Cassandra as they continued to argue. She paused at the top of the path and waited for him to draw even with her.

“Riallan,” she said. “First of Clan Lavellan of the Free Marches.” She blushed, the faintest blossom of color on her cheeks. “Thank you for all your help.”

They watched each other for a moment and then he nodded. “A pleasure to meet you, Riallan.” Then he stepped down the trail and hurried to join the others before they walked into more trouble. It took a moment, but he heard her feet crunch through the snow as she chased after him.

It brought a smile to his face.

[captainkippen]

Right, this is the beginning of the first chapter of An Fic. It is not finished. Nowhere near it. I’m giving freewriting a go. I have no plan for this please don’t ask me where it’s going. Tell me if it’s too out of character/too boring/too Not Andi Mack to continue. Maybe I’ll change the names and turn it into an original if so, who knows.

Anyway, TW for smoking I guess. PG 13 for swearing? Reader’s discretion advised?

"Shut up. I'm having a mid-life crisis."

"You're twenty-one."

"Fine, an almost-quarter-life crisis or something, whatever."

"You know, I've seen you overreact before, but this time really takes the cake. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Pfft. It's a great idea. The best idea I've ever had."

"You literally just said yourself that you're having a crisis."

TJ let out a long suffering sigh and glared at Marty. Andi snickered from where she was perched on the edge of the tub behind him. She had two gloved hands covered in bright green sludge buried deep in TJ's hair.

"Don't worry, Marts," she said. "I used to help Bex do her hair all the time when she got bored. If it goes wrong, we can just cut it off. Hair grows back usually."

"Usually?!" TJ spluttered, attempting to turn and face her only to be held in place by her firm grip.

Marty snorted. "Still sure about this?"

"Shut UP, Marty. Jeez. You're worse than my mom."

"Hey, your mom is saint. I really admire her. How she put up with your annoying all these years without committing murder, I don't know."

That earned him the bird and he snorted again, blowing smoke into T.J's face. The bathroom of their crappy apartment didn't have a smoke detector, which was probably the only reason Marty was even sat in the room with them. 

"Gross," Andi said appreciatively. She might have stolen the cigarette had her hands not been busy. TJ wrinkled his nose at the two of them. He wouldn't say anything, it hadn't worked the first thousand times and it wouldn't work now, but he had learned that if he made enough disgusted faces Marty would eventually put out his smoke.

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes at TJ's face and stubbed it out in the sink. "I'm meant to be quitting anyway. I promised Buffy."

"You made that promise like three months ago."

"Well I gotta have at least one flaw, otherwise it wouldn't be fair to you mere mortals, would it now?" Marty grinned and stood up, stretching his arms up until his back gave a satisfying click. 

"Careful bro," TJ said. "If your head gets any bigger you won't be able to get out of the door."

It was Marty's turn to cheerfully flip him off. As he wandered out of the bathroom he called over his shoulder asking if they wanted any snacks. TJ was pretty sure they only had ketchup and coffee left in the kitchen.

"So, this mid-life crisis of yours," Andi said, slipping some more dye on to TJ's head. It slid against his scalp cold and unpleasant, dripping down his neck in a wet mess. "You think green is gonna fix it?"

He considered this for a moment. "Nah, probably not. But it'll make me feel better about it, feels productive."

"Turning in your assignments would probably feel more productive."

"Hey, I thought we banned school talk from bathroom time."

"I'm just saying-"

"Did you finish your figure drawing assignment yet?"

"...touché."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. After a few minutes, Marty loped back in holding a paper plate with an unwrapped Twinkie carefully cut into three pieces on it. Andi let him shove one unceremoniously into her mouth without a word.

It had become a sort of tradition. Well... not a tradition. TJ didn't know what you would call it. A habit maybe? Anyways, it had become usual for the three of them to hang out in the bathroom. Sometimes they'd be joined by friends and roommates. Two or three of them cramped in the tub, maybe splitting a bottle of cheap wine between them all, someone else balanced on the toilet seat and another sprawled across the floor. Today, everyone else was out.

It was only TJ and Marty that lived in the apartment of the three of them. They had two other roommates, Walker and Jonah, who were pretty decent guys. Walker was an art major like Andi and Jonah had awesome taste in music. Sometimes he and TJ would walk to campus together, they were both based in the music department, but other than that and a vaguely similar interest in sports they didn't really have anything in common. 

Buffy, Marty's girlfriend and (by apparent coincidence) Andi's childhood best friend with whom she was now reconnecting, sometimes swing by to join them too. However, her disgust at  just how useless four boys could be at keeping their apartment in order often kept her at bay. 

"So I had this dream right," TJ said. 

"Oh God."

"No, it's good right. Because it made me, like, realise I should be doing something."

Andi and Marty exchanged amused looks. They were used to it, TJ's various whims and impulses and Important Decisions About The Future That Usually Turned Out To Be Not So Important. They found it funny. TJ might be offended if it weren't for the fact he had listened to them spout of conspiracy theories more times than he could count.

"Go on," Andi prompted. 

"Okay, so like... I'm standing on this cliff, right? Like on the very very edge of it. And I'm staring out to sea all dramatic and shit, and then suddenly it gives way underneath me, right? And I'm falling and falling, and I look down and there's just like... nothing there."

Another pause. "...and that's it?"

"That's it. That's the dream."

"Okay, lay it out for me. How did you go from falling off a cliff to dyeing your hair green? Give me the logic. I wanna follow your train of thought here."

He takes a deep breath, trying to shake away the lightheadedness the mingling scents of cigarettes and ammonia is bringing on, then twists around to face her.

"When you're falling to your death you're supposed to reminisce about, like, all the good shit you did in your life before you fell to your death right? And for me it was a total blank. Like nothing. Like I haven't lived."

Marty groaned. "Not this again."

"What?"

"Last time you wanted to 'live your life' we got arrested."

"Well, if you had run faster-"

"Fuck you! I run faster than you, asshole. It's not my fault there were literal guard dogs-"

"Guys!" Andi interrupted before they could really get going. They both muttered half hearted apologies with a huff. 

"The point is," TJ resumed. "The point is that I've done, like, zero important things in my life. And we're adults now, y'know? I can't just bum around doing nothing forever. I wanna do something that /matters/."

Andi rolled her eyes. "'Adult' is a strong word for a guy who just this week learned what fabric softener is."

"I never claimed to be Martha Stewart."

Marty laughed. "You're criminal enough to be."

"Okay but," Andi said, before another bickering match could spark up. "The real point is... we're only in our twenties. Pretty sure we're not meant to have everything figured out yet, right? I mean, we haven't even graduated yet."

TJ and Marty both hissed.

"The G word is also banned, remember?"

Andi made a face, but didn't press the point. She hated thinking about the future just as much as the guys did. None of them knew what they wanted to do. They spent all their time in sleezy bars moshing to terrible local punk bands, getting drunk in a tub and watching Andi paint in the student studios. TJ couldn't imagine any of them with office jobs. He said as much.

"It's two thousand and five," Marty complained in response. "We should totally have robots to do all the boring jobs by now."

TJ agreed. How could humanity not yet be at the point where everybody could just sit back and relax? They had the internet for crying out loud. 

"So what're you gonna do?" Andi asked.

TJ pondered this for a moment. 

"I'm gonna start a band."

*** 

Sometimes Cyrus seriously hated his friends.

Not in an actual 'I wish I didn't know you' way but in an 'oh my god you suck so hard right now' kind of way. Tonight was one of those times. He would never say that to them, of course, he had no desire to hurt anybody’s feelings, but a little mental cursing never hurt anyone.

He shivered and pulled his jacket tighter around himself. Rain smattered down on the concrete around him. Water seeped through the canvas of his sneakers, soaking his socks and mood both at once. He was cold, wet and fed up. Buffy had asked him to meet her here, outside some dingy rock club filled with scary kids wearing studs and too much makeup, but she was nowhere to be found. She had answered her phone when he called, but the line mostly crackled and all he got was a muffled "-inside" from here.

Whatever. It was fine. It was totally cool that he was stuck out here being eyed by suspicious punks and scary scene kids. It was great. He could totally cope with the fact that the bouncer wouldn't let him in because he forgot his I.D and apparently he looked like he was twelve years old. Totally, totally fine. 

A truck roared down the street, sending a fresh wave of freezing water over the legs of his pants and shoes. 

Screw this. He was going home.

He hadn't even wanted to come out in the first place. He should be back in his nice cosy dorm room, preferably doing the lit assignment he had due in on Monday, maybe wrapped in a blanket. Yeah, his dorm sounded pretty great right now, even if he did have the roommate from hell.

Fate had other plans. Right as he made the decision to head back, he heard his name being called. Turning, he saw Buffy waving frantically from the door. Huffing to himself, he turned back again and headed to meet her.

"He's with us," Buffy said with a smile to the bouncer. The guy looked doubtful as Cyrus slipped passed, but he didn't question it again. 

"The reception is really bad in here," Buffy said, apologetically. "But you found the place okay, right? I mean you're here, so that's good. I didn't think you'd come."

Cyrus doesn't tell her that he almost didn't. He had been perfectly ready to stay in his dorm all night, even though it was a Friday night and he had little to no social life at the current moment in time with all the work his professors had been throwing at him. Except, then, Reed (roommate from hell) had come banging into the room, talking loudly into his cellphone to some girl. Cyrus had been able to stand it for about ten minutes, and then he got tired of the word "baby". 

A night at some dive being shoved around by sweaty drunks wasn't much of an improvement, but at least he didn't have to listen to Reed's obnoxious flirting. 

"It's cool you came," Buffy continued. "I think you'll like these guys, they're Andi and Marty's friends, y'know? They've even got some songs recorded now... did you know Gus- you know Gus Knight? Did you know he's running a studio in his mom's basement? He has all the equipment and everything. It's crazy."

"Crazy," Cyrus agreed, narrowly avoiding getting elbowed by a teary girl yelling and gesturing at a boy that looked too out of it to be taking in what she said. "So when are they meant to go on?"

The problem was that Cyrus liked music. He thought it was fun, especially if you could dance to it, and who didn't like to listen to their iPod on the bus? But Buffy's friends' world seemed to revolve around music, more specifically punk music, and the whole scene that came with it. He had accepted a few of their invitations to hang out to be polite, but most of them involved parties and shows.

As a kid he'd figured that was what you were meant to do in college - party and drink. What he'd learned from actually being in college? He didn't like to party and drink. He had no problem with other people doing it, obviously, but he'd rather he was far away from them while they did. Drunk people had a habit of throwing up on him, and in crowds like this Cyrus had lost his shoe more than once. They might be wet, but tonight he felt like keeping his shoes firmly on his feet. Preferably not covered in somebody's dinner.

[angrylizardjacket]

insufferable {Joe Mazzello}

Summary: Joe is the star of the college musical you’re lighting, and all he seems to care about it goofing off, which irritates you to no end. Maybe he’s just an asshole for asshole’s sake... maybe not.

A/N: 2390 words. College AU. No pronouns for reader. Friends, show week fortnight is OVER, so many things in my life have changed in the past two weeks, I have a 3000 word essay due tomorrow, and this literally took me over a week. I’m sorry it took so long, I hope you enjoy it. As always, feedback is appreciated!! Also @sitonmyhot-seatoflove, @cosmicsskies, and  @borhapbxtch 😘

Joseph Mazzello III (or as you liked to refer to him as; Junior, The Second) was the lead of the musical one of your friends had written. For your part, lighting an original, college musical wasn’t exactly how you wanted to spend two weeks of your life, but a promise is a promise, one that you were rapidly regretting with every moment you spent in that little theatre.

The most irritating thing about Joe wasn’t the fact that he could never seem to find his light, or that he liked touching the buttons on the fog machine, or that the director seemed to adore him, it was that he was genuinely talented. The second most irritating thing about him was that he couldn’t seem to shut up for five minutes.

You’d met him at the first script reading; Ellie, the director and another friend of yours, had gathered the whole cast and crew at her little shoebox apartment for dinner, and to familiarize everyone with the script. Joe had caught your eye where he was tucked up against one end of the sofa, eating party pies like his life depended on it. He’s pretty, has a certain aura about him like he’s got some sort of magnetism about him, and everyone speaks fondly about and to him. When he smiles, something about it has your heart beating unexpectedly faster. 

And then he starts speaking.

That’s not to say he’s annoying first off, actually he’s quite funny and charming. He’s the leading man, and with good reason. He gives a good cold read, humming along when Ellie pulls out her guitar to give demos of the songs she’d written, and bantering easily with the other cast members every so often if it fits the scene. He’s warmhearted, well-spoken, and completely affable.

But he also turns out to be a fucking pain to work with.

Maybe it’s that he’s too good with people. You adored watching him in rehearsals, loved hearing him sing along with the band, and enjoyed his company well enough when you hung out with the group. 

But right now, it’s six at night, you’re only halfway through the lighting plot after an already long day, and he’s got the stage manager on his shoulders, chicken fighting his costar, who’s got the AV designer on her shoulders. This is the fourth time you have had to break out the God Mic in the last hour; Ellie is too tired to reprimand her cast and crew for their behavior, not that she would, she hates playing the bad guy.

“I’m sorry,” your voice is absolutely harmless and sweet as you death glare the cast and crew from bio-box where you’re operating the lights from, “am I interrupting you?” You ask, tone sharp, eyes tired.

Joe’s actually the first to look to where you were, and is quick to lower the stage manager back to the ground.

“No, you’re fine Y/N,” he says with a laugh, and that boyish smile that you’re too irritated to enjoy right now, “we were probably interrupting you-”

“Joe,” you cut him off, lips against the microphone for emphasis, “that’s the joke.” You tell him absolutely humourlessly. He obligingly shuts up. For about five minutes.

It’s the most painful lighting plot you’ve ever done; between Joe and the rest of the cast goofing off, the stage manager not writing down cues and having to borrow your copy of the script at the end of the session, and the director not knowing exactly what she wanted but that she’d know it when she saw it (which she didn’t, she just liked whatever you did, and made indecisive noises whenever you asked her opinion), you needed a damn drink.

It seems the rest of the cast and crew have the same idea, however, and they invite you along. You don’t want to seem rude and say no, but if Joe doesn’t shut his damn mouth you’re gonna punch him. He’s not even talking about anything irritating, you’re just sick of hearing his voice.

You found yourself coming to hate Joe professionally, and it seemed that that was starting to bleed into your personal opinions of him too. You made sure to stay well away from him at the bar you all headed to, a few blocks away from campus and within reasonable walking distance of your home.

It's a nice enough night, all of you excitedly discussing the development of the show, all crammed together in a little booth at the back of a poorly lit pub. You've got the director on one side, and you're practically falling out of the booth on the other, but you don't mind too much. Joe, from where he's sitting in the middle of the seat opposite you, will occasionally give you a scrutinizing look when he thinks no-one else is looking, and he's always quick to look away, crack a joke, when you catch him.

Call time for the actors for the tech run the following day is ten. You're there at nine, your phone plugged into the aux cord and blasting your favourite album through the speakers as you refocus a light diligently. It's where you feel most at home, on top of a ladder, on top of the world. 

“You really know what you’re doing up there, don’t you?” There’s something almost awed in the voice that greets you, though it comes as a surprise, and you have to grab the bar you’re rigging the light on to steady yourself when you jump. It’s Joe, leaning on the stage, bag slung over one shoulder. You bite back the first sarcastic response that comes to mind, and you smile, tired.

“Of course, that’s why they pay me,” you laugh, a little put out for being thrown off your rhythm, despite the music still playing.

“We’re not- you know we’re not getting paid, right?” He asks, a little confused. You roll your eyes.

“It’s a joke,” you replied, going back to your work.

“I feel like we have different definitions of joke.” 

“Why are you here so early?” You were quickly losing patience with him, pulling the gates of the light by the bulb out to widen the beam of the light. There’s a moment of silence, of hesitation, and when you look to Joe, he’s looking over the set. “No reason?” You prompted, and it snapped him out of his thoughts enough to look at you.

“Came to go over choreography before the run,” he admitted. That does get you to smile a little, he’s nothing if not diligent. “You?”

“Just fixing a light.”

He’s stretching and warming up, earphones in while you struggle to put the ladder away, and that quiet moment in which you thought he was diligent evaporates.

“I will fade to black in the middle of his solo.” You growl, sitting by the window of the on-campus cafe, watching the steam rise from your drink on the morning of opening night.

“Please do not,” Ellie sighs around her mouthful of granola. You make a face, but she holds up her hand for silence, chewing and swallowing before she speaks again, “listen, if you two could stop bitching about each other for five minutes you’d see that-”

“He’s bitching about me? I’m just doing my job!” You cried, and Ellie looked like she regretted even opening her mouth, not that you really cared; it felt as though your blood was boiling. “I’ll cut the lights before he comes out for his bows, I don’t give a fu-”

“I know you’re joking, but honestly I don’t have the energy to talk you out of it,” Ellie tells you, and she leans back, out of the conversation, her gaze turning to the window as you fume quietly. She’s right, you wouldn’t actually do anything to jeopardize the show, but something about Joe just got on your nerves.

Each show goes off without much of a hitch, and for the sake of the sound operator and stage manager, who are sharing comms with you, you keep your complaints to yourself and focus on your job and enjoying the show. For the record, it’s very easy to enjoy the show; Joe’s even entertaining enough on stage that you forget how much he irritates you. He’s a wonderful singer, an exuberant performer, and the crowd and the rest of the crew love him.

But then comes the afterparty.

You’ve been drinking. He’s been drinking. You’ve had to listen to drunk, emotional Ellie gushing about how he ‘saved the production’. It’s more malicious than you intended, when you spit that he’s an entitled asshole.

“He’s not an asshole! That’s why people love him, okay?” Ellie fires back, expression defiant. She won’t remember this.

“Is that why you’re constantly defending him? Because you wanna bang?” You asked, scowling. Ellie’s expression fell, avoiding your gaze; she’s picking at the label on her cider, because she hates beer.

“I’m defending him because he’s transferring to this course next year, and I don’t want you scarring him off.”

Oh.

You find him by the bonfire, poking at it with a stick, expression contemplative. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence as you stand opposite him, by the fire.

“How was your first show with us?” 

“Do you mean like, with the course?” He asks, frowning, “You’re not even in it, though.” He wasn’t even pretending like he wanted to make small talk with you.

“Yeah,” you forced a smile, “but the course is good, from what I hear, and I just-”

“You don’t need to make small talk, you can tell Ellie and the rest of them that I’m still joining the course. I know you don’t like me.” He added, and your mouth snaps closed, tone turning defensive.

“I don’t not like you-” but you’re cut off by his gentle laugh.

“Dude, do you think I’m an idiot?” He doesn’t let you answer, which your drunk brain wants to. He drops his stick into the fire and finally looks at you. “Don’t answer that; I know you don’t like me; that’s no skin off my nose. The show’s over.” 

Silence hangs between the two of you; his gaze is so intense in the firelight, and for a moment you remember how handsome you’d thought he was at that first table read, before you’d known him.

“You’re talented, but disrespectful.” Tumbles from your lips.

“I’m fun, you’re just too uptight.” He laughs, but he doesn’t look particularly hurt by your words. In fact, he’s smiling. “You know this isn’t a professional show, right?”

“I- I’m used to-”

“No, I know,” he nodded, with a smirk, “I can tell. The way you hold yourself- you know you sound demanding when you’re working, right? Like you expect everyone to be on the same wavelength as you without even trying. They’re not. I’m not. This is fun; we’re not getting paid. We’re just trying to have fun.” He shrugs, before picking up the bottle of spirits he had by his feet that you hadn’t been able to see. “You should learn to have a little more fun.” He muses, before taking a swig of the alcohol, and offering it to you.

“I am fun,” you huff, taking the bottle from him and having a swig. It’s rum, cheap rum, and it burns, but you swallow it.

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” he nods with a faux seriousness that makes it clear that he does not believe you in the slightest. You scowl, but take another sip.

“See, you’re still being an asshole.”

“You’re fun to rile up.” He shrugged, before grinning, “but I don’t mean to be an asshole... mostly. You just don’t like me, so everything I say-”

“I did like you, but then I had to work with you.” You pass back the bottle, and Joe actually laughs, and it’s such a genuine and lovely sound.

“Well then, maybe we shouldn’t work together again,” his smile now is much more genuine, and you feel your cheeks heat up, which you can’t entirely blame on the fire, “because I don’t like having you hate me.” He’s making his way around the fire now, standing beside you, looking at the flames as they’re beginning to die down.

“I don’t hate you.” You admit, bumping your shoulder against him. Joe laughs.

“I know.”

“God you’re cocky-” you scoff, turning to look at him, but he’s looking back at you, expectant grin on his lips.

“Yeah, but I’ve seen how you look at me.”

“With loathing?” You deadpan.

“Sometimes.” He agrees, laughing a little. Your heart beats a little faster, with the endeared way he’s smiling at you. “It’s so hard to make you smile when you’re in like, work mode, you know?” He muses, “you just think I’m an asshole.” That you have to agree with. “But when, like, a light hits just right, or someone mentions how hard they’ve been working, or-” he actually flushes a little as he ducks his head, “someone comes in early to practice, say, choreography on their own time? You smile so big, so damn big.” And the fact that he’d noticed, your expression turns surprised. 

Oh. Everything he’s said or done over the past three months suddenly shines in a new light.

“You like me? That’s what all this was about?” You can’t help but laugh, wrapping an arm around him, and Joe snickers, nodding a little sheepishly. “Wait, does Ellie know? Is that why-?”

“Unfortunately she has had to listen to me complain about every time you give me a dirty look in rehearsals,” he sighed, and you feel embarrassment well up within you.

“No wonder she was so ready to go to bat for you,” you murmured, a little horrified with yourself, before turning to Joe, looking both mortified and apologetic. “We can never work together again.” And he’s never agreed to something faster. “I really did - do - like you, I just thought you were being-”

“I know, I know; you’re too professional for your own good, and I’m a fan of goofing off, and that just doesn’t mesh well. Professionally.” He clarified, and then paused, finally looking back at you.

“Professionally.” You agreed, quietly. Your smile is genuine and wide as you lean in to press your lips to his.

[the-y-generation]

Not My Type (Chapter 6)

Summary: “Do you know how you stop a craving? You give in to it.”

When she signed on to be a road manager, she had no idea it was going to be for one of the biggest bands in the world, much less how they were going to turn her life upside down, nor how she was about to flip theirs too. Especially one irritating frequently-late vocalist who knew exactly how charming he could be.

Pairing: Idol!Jimin / Manager!Original Character (I personally haven’t written in “y/n” format, so I just gave the reader a name, but barely even mention it)

Genre/Themes: fluff, angst, friends with benefits, friends to lovers

Rating: M for this chapter

Warnings: Protected sex, Jimin being an adorable smartass

Status: Ongoing (Masterlist)

When Jimin stirred the next morning, he found the space next to him empty, though still warm. In an infinity of a moment, a torrent of thoughts came and passed his muddled brain – did she leave already? Does she hate me? Did we fuck up?

“Are you up?”

Her voice sparked him to full attention and Jimin quickly turned, as fast as his aching bones allowed, in her direction.

She was already partially dressed, last night’s underwear on and her blouse half-buttoned down her torso. Even from his upright position in bed, a good few feet away from her, Jimin saw the purplish bruises on the underside of her jaw. Without prompting, his mind immediately conjured up memories of last night – her skin, her moans, her coming undone for him. He couldn’t fight the smirk that tugged at his lips.

Knowing him well, as if she had a direct link to his imagination, she knew where his mind had gone. His mischievous smile was infectious, and she found herself laughing out loud. The odd pair stared at each other and laughed, finding amusement in their ridiculous situation.

Her morning brain was muddled from last night’s affair, body crying out for her to climb back into the warmth of Jimin’s bed. But the logical part of her, the part she successfully suppressed last night, came back with a vengeance. It immediately nagged her about the band’s tight schedule for the day, but also chastised her for the sweet soreness between her thighs.

When the pair’s laughter died out, they both stayed rooted in their own spots – Jimin smiling softly at her, still naked in his bed, while she reciprocated his kind expression, half-dressed by the curtained windows.

Truth be told, neither had been in a situation like this before.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin said, breaking the comfortable silence.

A knife twisted in her gut, deducing that he already regretted the events of the night before. She schooled her face into a cool nonchalance, but Jimin still saw it. The pain in her eyes.

“Your neck.” He continued, gesturing to where he stained her skin. “That’s going to be a bitch to cover.”

“What?!” She yelped, running to the vanity to check her reflection. Sure enough, a large purple bruise sat right over her pulse point like a big “Just Got Fucked” sign.

“Fuuuuuuck you, Park Jimin!” She yelled in frustration, facing the amused naked man.

“That’s exactly what you did last night.” He said, covering his face with his hand, as is his habit when trying to curb his laughter. But she was having none of his jokes right now.

“How could you?! I was so careful not to mark you last night, you jerk! Do you know how much concealer this will need?!”

“I’ll buy you all the concealer ever, I promise.” He cooed, trying to pacify her. Jimin lowered his hand from his face and put on his best pout, but the way his eyes sparkled with humor gave him away. “I’ll give you my own stash if you need it.”

“Ugh!” She let out another growl of frustration, looking ready to throttle him in a second.

Jimin was saved when her phone blared on the bedside table, immediately dousing the comfortable scene in cold water.

It was her morning alarm.

Normally, when he’d come to sleep in her room, it was his signal to leave and get ready. Today, it was the freezing wake up call of reality. They weren’t just two friends who had fucked and satisfied themselves last night. They were back on the clock as road manager and artist.

With a huff, Anna rushed to turn the deafening alarm off. She turned from her spot by the bedside table, finding the humor drained from Jimin’s eyes.

“You have an interview at 10am.” She said, quickly slipping into the authoritative role she’d gotten so used to in the past year.

“Oh yeah.” Jimin yawned, stretching his arms above his head. She felt the instinct to look away, not wanting to be hypnotized by the way his toned muscles pulled and rippled under his skin. But at the last second, she held his gaze, internally chastising herself for feeling like some conservative school girl. 

Why look away when those same arms held her through her orgasm just hours ago? 

Jimin smirked, letting her watch him.

“What’s the plan for today?” He asked, releasing her from his stare. She busied herself with redressing and collecting her things while he looked on, seemingly satisfied with his state of nudity under the plush covers.

“You have a series of interviews until lunchtime, then you’ll have some quick studio time in the afternoon.” She said as she strapped on her watch. “You’re not required to rehearse, but I booked one of the hotel function rooms just in case any of you need it.”

Then, out of sheer need to have everything clean, she picked up Jimin’s discarded clothes at the foot of the bed and began folding them neatly over the bed covers.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” He reminded but made no effort to stop her.

“Your room is a mess, Jimin.” She countered, pausing only to cast a scathing glare at him. “I don’t get how you manage to make it look like a warzone when you’re only in it for a few days, and you sleep in my room most nights anyway.”

Jimin laughed, his eyes turning to crescents, but offered no defense for himself.

“Anyway,” She huffed, done with the task at hand. “I’ll see you at breakfast?”

She was worried that if she stopped moving, stopped talking, awkwardness would seep in. The gravity of what they had done would crash around them, and they’d have no way to pick up the pieces. But she found solace in the fact that Jimin looked wholly unaffected.

He smiled, looking every bit the Adonis he was. “See you at breakfast.”

With a nod, she jutted her chin up and dramatically marched to the door, earning another hearty laugh from him.

“Oh, by the way,” He called out, making her pause her hand over the doorknob. They were already out of each other’s line of sight, separated by the L-shaped room’s wall. “About your question last night?”

Is this just a one-time thing or…

She remembered all too well.

“What about it?” She called back, wincing at how her voice cracked at the end.

“If you need any help again, I’d still be a willing participant.” Jimin replied. Even without seeing him, she could imagine the cocky smirk on his face.

“I’ll let you know.”

True to his word, Jimin was a very willing participant.

But after several go-arounds between the sheets, many of which were initiated by him, it became apparent that this was for his satisfaction just as much as it was for her. He wasn’t kidding – he really did find something in it for him.

Just like tonight.

Barely giving her the time to lock the door behind him, Jimin pressed her up against the inside of her hotel room door, assaulting her mouth with an electrifying kiss.

“Hi to you too,” She murmured between his full lips, gripping his shoulders tight as he lifted her by her ass and wrapped her legs around his waist, pinning her between the hardwood and his body.

“Why do I need to say hi?” He responded, moving his head to splatter wet suckles over her neck and chest. “We just saw each other an hour ago.”

He was still in his navy suit, the one he wore for the TV performance they had recorded that evening. The boys stayed behind after dinner, chit-chatting with the show’s producers and staff. But the exhausted girl excused herself early, having deemed her mission accomplished, and emotionally drained from a long day of small talk and ass-kissing. Namjoon had it under control, she reasoned as she quietly snuck away, unaware of a dark pair of eyes following her retreating figure.

Once in her room, she quickly showered and got into her new silk nightgown, a recent splurge from last week’s day off. But before she could even get into bed, her room was invaded once again by a hungry Park Jimin.

The soft fabric of her nightgown was cool to the touch, a delicious contrast on her overheating skin as Jimin continued to kiss her senseless. The loose short hem gave Jimin easy access to whatever he wanted from her and left little to the imagination, not that he’d need any imagination to know what she looked like under it at this point.

She let out an airy laugh in response to his petulant comment, only for the sound to be quickly replaced by a loud moan. Jimin pressed his hardening length against her core, feeling the feverish heat of her against the front of his trousers.

“Fuck, are you wet already?” He breathed, more to himself than her, as he reached a hand between her legs to check. True enough, the fabric of her underwear was moist against his fingertips.

“If you ruin those pants - fuck” She gasped, biting her lip as he pressed a nimble finger against her sensitive spot. “If you ruin those pants, your stylist is going to kill you.”

“Don’t you mean you’ll ruin these pants?” As if to make a point, he ripped his hand away from her center, smirking as her involuntary whined at the loss of contact. Jimin gripped her hand by the ass, fingers digging into the clothed flesh, as he grinded into her even harder.

He buried his face in her neck, panting at the feel of her against him, while she clutched his shoulders for dear life. He wasn’t even inside her yet – hell, they weren’t even naked yet – but she could swear that he could probably make her cum just like this. If it were anyone else, she might have felt embarrassed at being dry-humped against the door of a hotel room. But with Jimin, it was different.

Everything was heightened, elevated, like sex was reverence and not just animalistic needs.

Jimin rotated his hips into her again, and she let out a needy groan as she threw her head back, letting it hit against the door with a soft thud. But just as she was ready to beg for him, she felt a sharp pang on the underside of her jaw.

“Jimin!” She hissed, lifting her hands from his shoulders to shove his face from her neck. “The last one just healed. You’re costing me a lot of concealer!”

He smirked, evidently comfortable in their current position., with her pinned against the door and his hands spread wide over her ass and upper thighs.

“I told you I’d just buy you more.” He chuckled, diving back in, knowing she wouldn’t really deny him. “And if you talk any louder, they’ll hear you on the other side of this door.”

He sucked in another ribbon of the sensitive skin on her neck, alternating sucks and licks to appease the bruising flesh. She let out another moan, this time evidently melodramatic to mock him.

“Tease.” He half-chuckled, half-groaned, against her skin.

She whined, scratching impatiently at his collarbone, hyper-aware that he had far too many clothes on. “Just move already, jerk.”

Taking the hint, Jimin pulled her tight against him, latching on to her lower lip as he carried her to the bed. He dropped her gently on the mattress, right on the edge so her head and lower back lay comfortably while her legs hung off it, thighs still parted from being wrapped around him.

She lay graceless, breathless, as she watched this ethereal being undress in front of her.

“Is this new?” Jimin asked, ravenously eyeing the silver silk covering her skin as he quickly discarded his coat and began working through the buttons of his dress shirt. “I haven’t seen this before.”

“Yeah,” She responded, still trying to catch her breath. He kicked his shoes off and simultaneously unbuckled his belt. “You like it?”

Jimin’s dark eyes flicked to hers, pupils blown wide with desire, as he pushed his trousers down, leaving him in only his underwear.

“I’d like it better off you.” He growled as he kicked the garment aside and bent over her, settling in his rightful place between her legs.

“Easy, that’s Dior!” She mildly joked about his haphazardly discarded clothes, lifting herself up only her elbows to meet him for a searing kiss.

Sometimes, Jimin liked to go hard and fast, teasing her past the edge, over and over again until they were both aching and barely mobile the following day. Sometimes, they moved slow and sensual, savoring the way she dragged him deep into her, both sighing and groaning through the heightened sensations. But she loved this the best – when they went at each other with equal parts feral lust and laughter. It was them, in the best form.

Pushing his face into hers, Jimin guided them backward until her head fell on the pillow. She sighed deeply, wrapping her legs around his waist and thrust upwards, relishing the feeling of his desire against hers. Gone were the shy timid movements from their first night. Her body was attuned to his now – what he likes, what he needs. And right now, he needs her bad.

Jimin’s hand traveled from her waist down, playing with the hem of her nightgown as he teased her tongue. She weaved one hand through his hair and scratched the other hand down his back, hips thrusting up to him in anticipation.

He chuckled against her mouth, heeding her desperate moans. He quickly slipped his hand under the silk fabric and cupped her core, feeling her wet heat on his palm. A sharp yet pleasurable pain shot through his chest at the realization of how much she yearned him, that she wanted this just as much as he did. It tends to happen a lot these days, but he’d brush off the sentiment before it took root in his brain.

With a powerful grace that only Jimin seemed capable of, he rid them both of all clothing barriers. It was weeks back, after their second time together, that she tried to convince herself that she’d eventually grow desensitized to his beauty. But that was utterly foolish of her. Now, several weeks into their…arrangement, he still managed to leave her breathless with a smile, a touch, a look. It was both devastating and arousing.

Jimin sighed as he settled between her legs again, allowing her to draw him close as they explored each other’s bodies with their hands and lips.

When he couldn’t take it any longer, and she was practically bullying him for holding out on her, Jimin momentarily pulled away to scrounge around for his trousers. Finding it at the foot of the bed, he pulled out a condom and quickly rolled it onto himself before moving back into her space.

“Wow, you really just came here for sex, huh?” She managed to tease, breathing heavily against his ear as he slipped two fingers inside her.

“Of course not.” He sighed, pressing their foreheads together as she bucked into his hand, chasing her pleasure. “What do you think of me? I’m here for my 3 S’s – sex, sleep, shower. Not always in that order.”

She rolled her eyes out of habit, but he barely saw it. She leaned her head back into the pillow and arched her back to pull him in deeper, inadvertently pushing her breasts up to his line of sight. With her eyes closed to regulate her breathing, she missed the burning way he gazed at her pleasured figure.  

“Why are you making a habit of showering in my room anyway? I’m running out of-“

Without warning, he pulled his fingers out of her, only to be replaced a fraction later as he glided into her fully. He pressed hard into her in a single fluid movement, earning a guttural noise as she took him in and her body adapted to accommodate him within her.

“Fuuuuck, you feel so good.” Jimin groaned, easing in and out slowly to let her adjust to his sudden entrance. He cursed again when she squeezed him tight inside her. “I’ve been waiting for this all night. You in that dress? I thought you were trying to kill me.”

It wasn’t meant to be dirty talk. But she quickly found out that Jimin wasn’t one to hold back his thoughts. 

She tried to laugh at his revelation, only to have it die in her throat when he thrust inside hard, stretching parts she didn’t know existed and drawing out her desire with every movement.

“Was that why you were zoned out when Yoongi asked you a question?”

He rolled his eyes and snapped his hips forward, making her whine with need. “Yeah, don’t talk about hyung right now.”

To make his point, he drove hard into her, setting a punishing pace that made her clutch at him desperately. Her nails scraped harshly against his back, enough to surely leave angry marks that will last for days. But she knew Jimin secretly loved it, and so did she. The scratch marks were her retaliation to his bruising sucks, just less evident, lest they risk the wrath of ARMY.

They moved in sync, pushing and pulling each other to climax. As always, he let her go first. Jimin held her shuddering figure against his body, maintaining his pace and stroking fast on her receptive bud to keep her over the edge for as long as possible. Stars exploded behind her eyelids as she convulsed around him, and she gripped him hard to ground herself.

As her breathing eased somewhat, he followed quickly and became undone. She smoothed his hair back, watching him relinquish all control and allow the tides to take him. She brushed lazy kisses over his cheekbones and ears as he rode out his high.

Just like the current state of friendship, sex with Jimin came as easy as breathing. While in previous romantic relationships, she always felt like she needed to appear extra sexy, stay in impeccable shape, and perform for them in bed to keep them interested.

But not Jimin. He took her just as she was – still obsessed with that spot under her jaw on days she felt disgusting, open when she wanted to experiment, and hellbent on pushing her to her high, sometimes several times in a night, when she felt at her most low.

No matter what – no matter how exhausted he was from a show, or how upset she was at him for being late again that day – he always made sure to leave them both satisfied. Even when it felt like she’d never get there, Jimin patiently worked on her pleasure points to push her over the edge.

And he didn’t shy away from the aftermath.

In fact, many of their best conversations were post-coital pillow talk, both reeling from their highs. They’d settle under the covers and face one another, searching for the other’s eyes in the darkness. Some nights, they’d giggle like children, throwing jokes or stupid movie reference. Other nights, they’d bare their souls, letting the night and the security of each other’s presence lull them into vulnerability.

“Sleep.” Jimin murmured now, already three-quarters asleep when he felt gentle fingers brush his hair away. With hooded eyes, he caught her hand in his and pressed it against his kiss-bitten lips. Then, to ensure she stayed still and quiet for the rest of the night, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, resting his heavy head against her soft breasts. Jimin fell asleep to the feel of her hand in his hair and the sound of her racing heartbeat.

They never talked about the rules of their arrangement; they were both old enough to know the basics. Don’t talk about it. Don’t be obvious. And don’t let it change anything.

But there was one rule they had to talk about. One that only dawned on her a few weeks before, after their third time.

It was a rare easy day with a pocket of free time before the boys had to go to rehearsals, so she opted to squeeze in a quick workout at the hotel. She was 30 minutes into her cardio routine when she saw Jimin, Jungkook, and Namjoon entered the gym. They left each other alone, knowing that she preferred to do it privately because it doubled as her “me time”. But just as she was wrapping up, she spotted Jimin by the water dispenser, chatting up a beautiful woman. She must have said something funny because he laughed, eyes scrunching up into their signature crescents. When it subsided, he looked at her with that fiery gaze that set millions of hearts aflame.

The realization hit her like a brick – what if Jimin sleeps with her?

He’d be well within his rights to do so. After all, he was single, and they never talked about being exclusive in their extra-curricular activities.

But was she okay with that? To sleep with a guy who may or may not sleep with several others?

At the end of the day though, Jimin did not sleep with that woman. In fact, he ended up in her room that night, first taking her hard and fast against the mirror of the hotel room’s vanity. And again, in the shower just minutes after, but slowly this time as she was already sensitive from their first round. Then one final time in bed, even slower with him buried deep inside her. He let her take charge on top of him and she barely moved him out of her, taking him deeper and making him lose his mind at how she felt on him, around him – hot and wet, sinful and heavenly all at once.

“Jimin?” She shyly called out from her side of the bed. The question sat heavily on the tip of her tongue, making the blood rush to her face in embarrassment. Jimin turned to look at her, but she averted her gaze, looking instead at the small beads of sweat that made his smooth chest glisten.

“Are you finally going to tell me what’s been bothering you all night?” He smirked, noticing the way she refused to look at him.

“How did you…?” Her eyes snapped up, wide with surprise at his accuracy.

“I know you.” Jimin replied simply, reaching over to tap a reassuring finger against her clenched fist. “I was just wondering if I’d need to make you come a fourth time to talk about it, but I’d be happy to hear it now too.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me?” She turned away from him, feeling betrayed that he knew all along and used sex to manipulate her.

“Because you don’t like to be forced into talking.” He laughed, slicing the distance between them. Before she could complain, his front was firmly pressed against her back and he molded her tense figure into his. “And I thought you could let off some steam. Didn’t you like it?”

Just for good measure, because he’s a charming bastard like that, Jimin brushed a sweet kiss against her ear.

“Do you fuck all your friends into talking then?” She responded, trying to remain stubborn in his hold. But they both knew she was quickly losing.

Jimin laughed heartily. Then shifting gears, he swiped his tongue slowly over the shell of her ear, causing her arms to erupt in goosebumps.

“So do I need to make you come a fourth time to talk?”

Knowing that the conversation was headed nowhere and Jimin always gets his way in the end, she turned around to face him. The fear and uncertainty in her eyes made his mischievous smile slide off in an instant, and he instinctively tightened his arms around her.

“What’s wrong?”

She took a moment to answer, knowing she had to tread carefully. The last thing she would want was to offend him or cross some unwritten line and ruin their friendship.

“Jimin, are you clean?”

There were no words to described how he looked at her. Jimin simply blinked, unsure of how to respond. But he knew her, and he knew that wasn’t really what she wanted to ask. It was the question before the actual point she wanted to make.

“Yes, I am.” He answered slowly, keeping his breathing in check. A part of him wanted to rip her a new one for entertaining the thought that he wasn’t. But another part, a bigger one, was more concerned about whatever thorn she thought was in her side. “What are you trying to say?”

She sighed and pushed at his chest, trying to pull away, but Jimin wasn’t having any of that. He tightened his vice around her waist, keeping her in place.

“Just that-“ She huffed, giving up and letting him pin her down. “I know we never talked about this. We never agreed if this will be an exclusive thing or whatever, so I’d get it if you were interested in…being with other people. But I want to be safe, okay? So, if you want to be with someone else, I’m going to have to put the brakes on this.”

Jimin let her speak, proud of himself for holding his tongue despite the bazillion moments within those sentences that he felt like cutting her off. It was worth it though, seeing the relief fill her once-burdened gaze.

Noting how she kept her eyes away from him, Jimin bore his stare right at her, steady until she mustered the nerve to look back at him.

“I respect you.” He whispered, as if afraid that the shield of the night would break at the sound of his truth. “I respect you and what we have, and I’d never do anything to risk this.”

It wasn’t the solid yes or no answer that she was expecting, but it was so much more than she could ever hope for.

That night, she slept soundly against him, warm with his body heat. She was blissfully unaware of how Jimin stayed up all night, mind racing with thoughts of the slumbering girl in his arms.

[kamechan98]

Bedtime

Never let it be said that Tony Stark was a lazy person. Sure, he sometimes liked to laze around on his days off spend and as long as he could in bed with Steve and just watch TV on the couch with a pizza for lunch. He was also way more of a morning person than people usually took him for, despite all the jokes that his teammates might make at the breakfast table when Tony dragged himself into the kitchen, still half asleep and clutching his coffee mug like it was the Holy Grail. Which, if you asked Tony, it might as well be considering he was way more protective of his coffee than he was of his own health. Something that really concerned Steve and he usually gave Tony part of his own breakfast, just to make sure Tony ate enough. And who was Tony to say no to his boyfriend’s pathetically big, sad puppy-dog eyes. You’d have better luck telling a group of starving orphans that lunch was cancelled for the day.

But no, Tony was not lazy, by any stretch of the imagination. On the contrary, Tony could spend hours down in his workshop working on new tech, weapons for his friends or his armor without even noticing that days had gone by. Or that he needed food or rest.

Again, this was something that really concerned Steve. Sure, he knew that Tony had nothing but the best intentions when he stayed in his workshop three days without breaks. He might deflect and act like it was all because he didn’t want anyone’s blood on his hands, but Steve knew better. The whole team knew better. Tony still, either out of habit or stubborn pride, worked really hard to cover up his feelings and hide the fact that he cared very much for his friends and wanted them to stay alive. And if he could make sure it happened by making them better armor, weaponry and whatever else they might need in battle, he would do it. Nevermind that he worked himself into the ground while doing it, ‘cause his own health wasn’t as important as his friends, despite said friends trying to tell him otherwise.

“It’s all subconscious.” Natasha had said once, rolling her eyes as Tony once again evaded their concern for him and disappeared down into his workshop with a refilled coffee cup. “He’s been working hard to get approval from other people all his life, he probably thinks he still needs to do it.” She shook her head and sighed tiredly. “идиот.” Her voice was tired and frustrated, but also had very soft hints of fondness in there.

Sometimes Steve still found himself amazed by how quick Natasha had, not only changed her view of Tony from her original report on him for SHIELD, but had come to care about Tony like an annoying but lovable little brother. She cared about him a lot and wouldn’t hesitate to physically knock him out and carry him to bed, tie him to it and force feed him when he woke up, just to make sure he wouldn’t kill himself from lack of sleep and nutrition.

Really, all of them had come to care quite a bit about the genius, as annoying and frustrating as he could be Tony had proven to be very easy to like, once you got past the mile high concrete walls and defenses the genius had built around himself and his heart. And once you got used to his more annoying quirks, like his rambling, his habit of getting too far into people’s personal space, or his habit of working too hard, too long and being too stubborn to accept that he might need a break every once in a while. Like to eat and sleep.

Still, Steve took his responsibility to take care of Tony very seriously, and after almost 24 hours of working non-stop it was high time for him to get some sleep. So Steve headed down the stairs towards the workshop, punched in his access code with ease and walked in.

AC/DC was blasting from the speakers at a volume so high that Steve, with his enhanced hearing, winced viciously and almost covered his ears. Almost a year of dating and he still hadn’t gotten used to how loud Tony played his music. Or his music.

“Jarvis, lower the music!” His yelling wasn’t loud enough to be heard over the music, but Jarvis still lowered the music enough for Steve to relax again. Tony jerked up from his work on in his armor and glared at him.

“How many times have I told you not to turn down my music while I work?” He muttered before he turned back to the boot was currently worked on. And Steve could clearly see he was getting tired, his posture was slightly slumped, he had bags under his eyes and stopped every other second to rub at his eyes. Still Steve shook his head, amused by his boyfriend’s grumpiness, and walked up to the table he was working at.

“How many times have I told you not to come to bed at a reasonable time?” Tony rolls his eyes, partly annoyed but mostly distracted.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that before. But I’m almost done with the repulsor on this boot, and after that I only have-“ Steve rolled his eyes again, a fond smirk forming over his lips and looked at his boyfriend, head tilted slightly to the left and resting his hands on his hips. He chuckles.

“Aw honey, it’s cute you think I’m giving you a choice.” Tony’s head snapped up, his eyebrows scrunched together and his focus is suddenly entirely on Steve’s words and the tone in Steve’s voice but given only a second to figure out what it means for him before Steve grabs him around the waist, throws him over his shoulder and heads for the door. “Jarvis, let’s close up shop for tonight.”

“Of course Captain Rogers.” Tony was too surprised to react when Steve first grabbed him, but when his brain caught up with what was going around him, he started to kick and squirm and push his hands against Steve’s back to try and squirm out of his grip.

“Hey, put me down Rogers! Put me down right now!” Steve smirked.

“Ooh, we’re using surnames now, huh? Gosh Stark, you sure know how to make a fella feel special.” Steve barely holds back his laugh as he walks up the stairs, not in any hurry at all, and towards their bedroom, holding Tony in place over his shoulder with one arm.

“Oh fuck off, Steve! I have work to do, let me go!” Steve hummed and pursed his lips, pretending to think about it and then smirked mischievously.

“Nah, I think you’re done for the day.” Tony hadn’t stopped kicking or squirming or writhing in Steve’s grip, which proved to be very fruitless, to Steve it was like carrying a bag of laundry over his shoulder, except he tilted his head slightly to side every now and then to avoid Tony kicking him in the face. Whether it would be intentional or not was hard to tell, it was always hard to tell with Tony.

Still, it didn’t stop him from trying. That was just how Tony was. Never stop, never quit and never give up, no matter the odds.

“Steve, this is ridiculous! I have to work on the armor, I don’t have time your-“ Steve shook his head and threw his boyfriend further up over his shoulder, prompting a yelp out of him.

“Yeah, you probably have work to do. It’s a real shame nobody asked for your opinion, though.” Tony’s only response was a frustrated grunt and an attempted kick to him in the groin but only got him in the stomach, which thanks to his abs was rock-hard and Steve hardly felt a thing.

On their way to the bedroom they passed Natasha and Clint, who were just leaving the gym to go to bed too, but they stopped to smirk and chuckle at the scene of Steve carrying Tony around like a bag slung over his shoulder. An amusing sight but not to one these days.

Tony caught their looks and tried to look pleadingly at them, though the effect was slightly ruined by him hanging upside down. “Help? Please?” Natasha just smirked at him and shook her head, her red curls bouncing against her cheeks. Clint laughed at him.

“Nah man, you’re on your own. Quite frankly you’ve only got yourself to blame here.” Tony narrowed his eyes at their friends and glared at them as they passed them.

“Traitors.” Natasha and Clint just laughed and Natasha called out to Steve

“Make sure he gets at least eight hours, Cap. He promised to spar with me tomorrow.” Tony gulped audibly, either having forgotten about that promise and was now reminded or was just nervous about sparring match on its own. Which was fair when you were going up against the Black Widow.

Steve turned to salute her but didn’t stop walking. “Don’t worry Nat, I’ll make sure he gets a long night’s rest.” He smirked mischievously and smacked Tony on the butt, making Tony yelp in surprise and outrage. Clint groaned and covered his eyes with one hand.

“Aw man, no. Come on Cap, keep your foreplay in the bedroom, okay?” Tony’s head jerked up and he glared at the archer. But before he can say anything, Steve starts walking again, turning a corner and they’re friends are suddenly of sight.

They eventually make it to the bedroom and Steve unceremoniously dumps him on the bed. Tony flails his arms and legs as he bounces up and down on mattress, then glares up at Steve who is smiling innocently down at him.

“You are not a nice person.” Steve chuckles and sits down beside him on the bed. He presses a kiss to his temple and puts an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close despite how Tony tries to pull away. Not very successfully, seeing how Steve is a super solider and is much stronger than an average man.

“Aw, come on baby, don’t be like that. You know I love you, but I’m not going to let you go without eating and sleeping. You should know that by now.” Tony grumbles and tries to pull away from Steve again, turning his face away when Steve tries to kiss him again.

“Yes, yes, sleep and food is important, I get it but I-“ He got cut off by a yawn that threatened to break his jaw, and his eyes drooped slightly. Still, Tony was nothing if not stubborn, so he turned to Steve and poked a finger at his chest. “That meant nothing.”

Steve just shook his head at him, kissed his forehead and ruffled his hair playful, laughing at Tony when he tried to bat his hands away. “Sure it didn’t, babe.” Then he gently grabbed Tony’s shirt and pulled it off before throwing it on the floor. Then he got up and kneeled down by Tony’s feet and pulled one shoe, and then the other, slowly, and with a very suggestive grin on his face. Tony narrowed his eyes at him, looked away and folded his arms over his chest.

“Nope. Nope, no, I know what you’re doing, Rogers. It’s not gonna work this time.” He tilted his head up, with his nose in the air. Steve just smiled innocently; pulling the socks off his feet before moving up to unbutton Tony’s pants and pull them down his legs.

“What’s not gonna work, honey?” He looked up at Tony, all big innocent puppy-dog eyes, while pulling his pants of entirely and throwing them to the side. He debated with himself whether or not to take off Tony’s t-shirt too, and eventually decided to leave it on for now, and slowly got up and gently pushed Tony down on the mattress before crawling over, positioning himself over Tony, hands placed one both sides of his head, and leaned down to kiss him.

Tony, to his credit, tried to resist and move his face away from Steve’s mouth or push at his shoulders to get some space between them. But it didn’t take too long for Tony to give in and start to kiss him back and eventually raise his hands to grab Steve’s shirt and pull it off, which was Steve was than happy to let him do. But when Tony’s hands found their way to his belt buckle, Steve covered his hands with his own.

“Tony, I brought you here to sleep and that’s what we’re gonna do.” He smirked and pulled Tony’s hands away from his belt. “All that we’re gonna do.”

Tony stared up at him incredulously for almost a full minute before he narrowed his eyes at him. “Seriously? You go out of your way to turn me on just to slam the door in my face?” Steve just looked at him wide eyes and quickly got rid off his own pants and shoes.

“What do you mean? I just helped you undress, that’s all.” He pulled the covers over them, called to Jarvis to turn off the lights, threw his arm around Tony’s waist and pulled his close. “Now sleep.” Tony grumbled, but did settle in his arms and on the pillow, allowing Steve to hold him tighter and spoon him.

“Ass.” He muttered under his breath and Steve chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to Tony’s cheek.

“Love you too, sweetheart. Good night.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Any Other Tuesday (ch2, baon)

Summary:   It started the same as any other Tuesday

Tags: Spicyhoney, Original Undertale Characters, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Prejudice Against Monsters, Violence, Injury

part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Chapter One

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

A bus ride, a short walk, and a bowl of spinach dip later, and they were settled in front of the television, ready to be awed by one of the worst movies ever made. That was fine by Jeff; being in Edge and Stretch’s house was frankly nicer than being in his own. Not that his roommates were bad guys, but they were roommates, not really friends, and his own small room became claustrophobic if he spent too much time in it.

They ended up sitting on the sofa together, the dip on the end table where Jeff could toss a chip in from time to time. Stretch was too tall to sprawl out across the cushions if someone was already sitting on it, so he tended to sort of curl up and lay with his head on whoever’s lap was in his way. He did the same thing no matter who it was; Jeff, Edge and his brother, although there was an obvious difference in the level of sprawl and the amount of handsyness involved.

Jeff figured it was just a Stretch thing, but he kinda wondered what Edge thought about it, given his paranoia about Humans getting touchy-feely with Stretch. The past few visits Edge hadn’t given them so much as a sideways glance, so Jeff figured he’d made it on the short list. Edge wasn’t his friend like Stretch was, they didn’t text or send snapchats, didn’t meet up for coffee or weird experiments. He was still a friend and that was Jeff’s short list.

So yeah, sitting on the sofa earned a Stretch in the lap. Not that he couldn’t sit in one of the armchairs, he could, but, eh, this was obviously something Stretch preferred and he was Jeff’s friend. Who was he to deny something so easy when it made him happy?

The only problem he ran into was where to put his hands. On the skull seemed weirdly intimate, but they didn’t fit on his own lap. In the end, he settled one hand on Stretch’s side and the other on the armrest. Not that Stretch seemed to care; he was sleeping before the movie got through the opening credits. It made Jeff think maybe he wasn’t being as honest about how he was feeling as he could be.

Well, if a nap would do him good, then Jeff was fine with playing the role of pillow.

He kept as still as he could, watching the movie while Stretch slept, sometimes glancing down at him. It was sort of interesting, honestly. Skeleton Monster, not skeleton and it struck him again how little they looked like a human corpse or a lab display. For one, he was breathing, his chest rising and falling even without lungs to fill. His joints were very faintly tinted orange, and he twitched a little in his sleep, murmuring nonsensically. Skeleton Monsters looked alive and when he was awake, Stretch was full of grins and snark, dragging everyone in to the gravity well of his exuberance.

How did some Humans look at Monsters and see something to hate? Jeff didn’t understand it.

And hey, maybe it was because he was Human, but he wasn’t fucking sorry that the guy who’d attacked Stretch on the bus was dead. Hasta la vista, baby.

The movie was almost over when the front door opened with a jangle of keys. Stretch stirred, sitting up with a yawn as Edge came in, mumbling out, “hey, babe.”

“Hello, you two,” Edge said easily, unsurprised at the scene before him, which meant Stretch had managed to text him at some point before he spent time drooling on Jeff’s pant leg.

Edge walked over, leaning down to give Stretch a kiss and Jeff kept his eyes pointedly on the tv. Normally, his little shipper heart would be throwing off sparkly joy to see his favorite couple so happy together but lately, it brought up an ache. too. He wanted to be the one giving those welcoming kisses to his lover or better yet, getting them as he came home from his new job.

That kiss lasted a little too long for a friendly greeting, and Jeff finally coughed pointedly. It was probably a sign that he really was friends with Edge that it only got him an amused glance and not a glare.

Edge flicked a look at the television. “I hope that movie is nearly over. Torture after a full day at work is against the Geneva convention.”

From behind him came a familiar voice “You guys want to get out of here with your lovey dovey or should I stay on the porch?”

Antwan.

Jeff leaned enough to look around Edge and saw him. He was standing in the open doorway, leaning against the jamb. Still dressed in his work clothes, his tie loosened, and the top button undone on his shirt. It was a good look on him, clean-cut and a little mussed and, honestly, he looked good enough to eat, no ketchup required. His slow smile when he saw Jeff only made a flutter of warmth leap in his chest.

He wandered over, almost mimicking Edge as he leaned down to give Jeff a warm, deep kiss. By the end of it, they probably deserved a throat clearing of their own, but hell with it. Jeff wasn’t about to give this up too quickly.

“Hey, pretty,” Antwan pulled back, breathed it close to his ear and Jeff shivered. Not exactly the afternoon kiss of his dreams but it was damn close.

“If you’re quite finished.”

Edge stood with his arms crossed over his chest, watching them with a brow bone raised while Stretch was sprawled on the other side of the sofa, leaning against the arm with his chin propped on his updrawn knees as he stared. His eye lights looked like little hearts, soft and warm.

“Yeah, yeah, quit bitching. And you, stop that,” Antwan gave Stretch a gentle poke as he walked past him. “We need to talk shop a little longer, finish your movie and we’ll get dinner started.”

“that better not mean you’re cooking, antwan,” Stretch called after them as they walked to the kitchen. “i wanna actually be able to eat the food, not bury it to ease its suffering.”

Antwan didn’t even look behind him as he offered an upraised middle finger in their direction and Stretch grinned, leaning in confidingly to Jeff. “he secretly loves me.”

It was meant as a joke. Stretch couldn’t read the doubts that were engraved in his thoughts, and it shouldn’t hurt to hear that, it shouldn’t. Instead he looked away, towards the shelves that lined one of the walls.

“Did Edge get some new action figures?” Jeff asked, both eager to change the subject and honestly curious.

“hmm? oh, yeah, but don’t ask me what the hell they are,” Stretch rolled to his feet and wandered over to the shelves. “he lives for ebay, finds all kinds of weird shit, gets lot jobs and rebuilds ‘em.”

“He does a good job.” Each figure was meticulously placed on the shelf, some on risers and others lined up around them. Jeff wasn’t sure of the organization, but he had no doubt that Edge planned it as obsessively as he did everything else. The rhyme and reason surely made sense to him, despite the fact that GI Joes were placed next to She-Ra, smaller Lego sets interspersed between them.

Jeff admired the display, mentally cataloging the different series and wondering at the value. Even out of the package, they were probably worth a decent amount, and whatever repairs he did sure as hell didn’t show.

One of them caught his eye, an Optimus Prime figure that towered a head above the others. The gun in his hand was loose and about to fall, and Jeff reached out to fix it before it could escape and get lost in the carpet. His nudge turned out a little too hard, and the Transformer wobbled dangerously, falling into a grim-faced He-Man and they could only watch in frozen horror as the chain reaction ran through the entire shelf, a domino massacre of action figures that only ended when the last figure toppled, piled on the shelf with its fallen brethren.

The silence was broken only by the tinny soundtrack of the ending movie coming from the television.

“oh,” Stretch said, blankly. He reached out weakly, his hand hovering over the pile, trying and failing to decide which to start with. “well. i mean. i guess that could’ve been worse?”

As if only waiting for a prompt from the universe, the shelf collapsed, falling into the one beneath it and sending them both to the floor. Action figures scattered, an explosion of plastic and Jeff could only watch the destruction in mortification

Slowly, he leaned down and picked up the Optimus, the one who had started the entire catastrophe. The gun was still firmly in his hand, it was only a shame that the arm was no longer attached to the body.

"What was that?" The kitchen door swung open, Edge and Antwan stepping out. Two steps into the living room, Edge stopped mid-stride, his eye lights widening as he took in the carnage of his beloved display.

"babe!" Stretch said, brightly and a little panicked as he whirled around, wringing his hands. "um, sorry, i...uh...i bumped into the shelf and knocked it over. kinda set off a chain reaction there, really, we should complain to the manufacturer, there’s no way it should have fallen that easily, am i right? probably have a lawsuit on our hands, maybe, good thing you’re here, antwan, bet you know how to make ikea pay--”

Jeff could feel sweat beading on his forehead, biting his lip as he tried to figure out what to say. He felt awful, bordering on nauseous and, fuck, he couldn’t let Stretch take the blame for his stupid mistake. On one hand, Edge probably wouldn’t get as angry with Stretch, but on the other. he shouldn’t get angry with Stretch at all, he didn’t do anything. He needed to speak up, say something but the words were stuck, clogged up in the tightness of his throat.

"It's all right," Edge said, gently interrupting Stretch’s rambling. The gentleness in his voice shouldn’t be a surprise, Jeff knew him better than that, and still. He couldn’t help cringing a little when Edge’s eye lights flicked to him, his words obviously meant for them both. "There was no harm done. They're action figures, they were made to be played with, a little fall isn't going to damage them."

"nope, nothing broken at all!" Stretch chirped with almost desperate hope. Jeff couldn’t even agree, not with the evidence in his hands.

Edge only sighed and shook his head. "Which one broke?"

Meekly, Jeff held Optimus out and watched in misery as Edge's eye socket twitched visibly. He took it, turning it to inspect the damage.

"I'll find you another one," Jeff blurted. Even if he had to find another job, work nights for a while, he would. "I'm so sorry, I--"

Edge held up a hand and Jeff fumbled miserably to a stop. "I accept the apology, but it isn't broken. It looks like the screws were loose. This is an easy repair, it's all right, there’s no harm done."

“But the shelves—” Jeff started.

At that moment, the smoke alarm chose to join the chaos, blaring its alarm. Edge thrust the toy back into Jeff’s hands and dashed back into the kitchen, Antwan on his heels.

The world is turning against me, Jeff decided with almost giddy dismay. Wheee!

“huh.” Stretch stuck his hands in his pockets contemplatively while the fire alarm wailed in the back ground, mixing horribly with the eerie music still pouring from the tv. “this keeps getting better. c’mon, i need to see how this ride ends.”

Reluctantly, Jeff followed him into the kitchen. He was right, they needed to see this through to the bitter end. And anyway, misery loved company.

Moments later in the strange silence left by defused fire alarm, they stood in a circle around the charred remains on the kitchen island, an impromptu funeral for an unexpected demise.

Jeff wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be, but what it was right now was charcoal.

With two fingers, Stretch plucked a wooden spoon from the holder, gingerly poking the remnants. “hate to say it, babe, but i don’t think we have enough tabasco for this one.” He dropped the spoon and dusted off his hands, adding brightly. “how does everyone feel about chinese?”

Edge took a deep breath. "Right. Dinner out it is."

“Chinese will work,” Antwan said agreeably. “Not up to your standards, buddy, but sometimes you’ve got to take one for the team.”

Jeff only shuffled his feet, trying desperately to think of a way to beg off. His bank account had about twenty dollars in it until he got paid Friday and he couldn’t blow it all on dinner tonight.

Before he could think of a decent excuse, if there was one past the truth, Stretch slung an arm around his shoulders. “why don’t you two finish the funeral arrangements and we can clean up the living room.”

He tugged and Jeff followed, reluctantly, out of the kitchen. The action figure carnage was right where they’d left it, but before he could take a step towards it, Stretch leaned down, talking low, “i know what you were gonna say, okay, but please, we’ve got this. if you don’t let him feed you, he’ll be grouchy all night and i’ll have to deal with him and i kinda make a point of not dealing with him when he’s grouchy, and then i won’t be able to sleep tonight, and you wouldn’t do that to my health, would you?”

That was a very obvious ploy, so painfully blatant, and the hopefulness in Stretch’s face was all part of it, a very deliberate act, all of it. He knew that. So why the hell was Jeff so weak against it?

“No, I wouldn’t,” Jeff sighed.

“excellent!” Stretch said cheerily. “so let’s at least gather up the bits and bobs before we hit the town, right?” He leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, with a furtive look at the kitchen door, “tell you the truth, i love restaurant chinese food more than what he makes. edge doesn’t add enough msg.” Stretch gave him a wink. “don’t ever tell him i said that. promise?”

“I promise,” Jeff said, hooking Stretch’s pinkie with his own and shaking solemnly, before he broke and grinned. Somehow, Stretch always made him feel better, even when he was stupid or broke. He’d pay him back someday, Jeff told himself fiercely. Pay him back for everything.

There were three hours left before things came crashing down, the fate poised above them ready to rip through his hopeful intentions the same as it did his skin, but Jeff didn’t know that. None of them did. Three hours, and right now Jeff was picking up action figures, laughing over them with nostalgia and wonder, carefully matching them to their toy axes and guns, and piling them together while Edge and Antwan disposed of the wreckage in the kitchen.

Chinese food did sound really good, he decided, and the company was better. It’d be fun and who knew, he could end up staying the night at Antwan’s, balancing his maybes for another night.

Better than the mac and cheese in his fridge, anyway, and soon they were all in Edge’s car, heading towards Ebott. And fate.

~~*~~

Read Chapter Three

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Thirteen

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and unprotected sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

Some scenes and dialogue have been taken from the game!

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

Unspeakable Acts

I should be doing more.

She couldn’t shake the guilt.

I should be combing the state. I should be pulling the land apart looking for him.

Fear was stopping her. Contentedness. Security. There wasn’t much of it in this new life of hers but the little that was there was enough to quell the potential possibility of uncertainty.

Why should the words of a known liar spur her in to action anyway?

But what if he’s not lying.

She just couldn’t rid her mind of the circles she kept going in.

Staring into the murky water, Ada tried to picture for the hundredth time what her brother would even look like, all these years later. Thirteen years later. Would he have changed his name? Would he even remember her?

Why are you even thinking about this when he’s dead?

But what if he’s not.

Lifting her head with a long inhale, she banished the thoughts from her mind, or tried to. When she wasn’t working, when she wasn’t with Arthur, they were always there, sometimes loud, sometimes quiet.

Today was a loud day. The actions of the O’Driscolls only hours ago had brought them back into sharp focus.

She was tired, so tired, of the uncertainty, of the doubt. Should she just start looking for him, just for that tiny chance of ‘maybe’?

But he is dead.

But what if he’s not.

Again, back to the start.

The sound of cantering hooves down the main path was yet another welcome distraction.

Pushing herself up, Ada turned on the jetty and brushed the dirt off of her hands onto her thighs as she walked towards the three arrivals. Lenny, Dutch and Arthur slowed their horses and, as she approached, she very quickly realised something was wrong.

Dust and sweat covered them, there were bruises on their faces and Dutch had a nasty looking red mark on his forehead. Other members of the group gathered around them as they dismounted and were already asking what had happened so by the time her hands were cupping Arthur’s face, he was already explaining.

“There was an incident at the station. Angelo set us up. There was no money there, nothin’.”

Her heart dropped as she stared at him, Lenny taking over.

“The law turned up real quick. Probably had someone watchin’ the place, waitin’ for us.”

Oh, fuck...

“Dutch, are you all right?”

She finally looked away from searching Arthur’s features to look to their leader at Javier’s question. He definitely looked... off.

He smiled slightly. “I’m fine. Just took a knock to the head. A lie-down is all I need, that’s all.”

Lenny helped him towards the house, the group disbanding with murmurs and sympathetic noises.

Ada returned her gaze to Arthur’s. He was watching the older man, his mouth set in a thin line. Concerned.

Her hand dropped to take his.

“Come on,” she murmured, leading him to the side of the house.

He didn’t say a word, following her. She took him to the shack on the water at the back of the grounds, only releasing him when the shack blocked them from the view of the house. She spun, cupping his face again, and his hands went to her hips.

“Are you all right?” she said before he could speak.

Nodding, he exhaled a breath. “Yeah. I just... I knew it, I fuckin’ knew it wouldn’t go right.”

“Do you truly believe it was a set-up?”

“Yeah. Can’t be anythin’ else, Bronte owns the town.”

Her heart sank again, her stomach twisting as her hands moved to his chest.

“Arthur...”

“What? What is it?” he prompted when she didn’t continue after a moment.

She swallowed hard, her voice low. “What about what Angelo gave me, Arthur? About the bank? Could that be a set-up?”

He took a breath before shaking his head. “I don’t know. Probably not. Hosea had heard about it, too, and from someone not close to Bronte.”

“But Angelo gave them to me specifically to give to Dutch, and now he very much appears to have set him up?” She shook her head, blowing out a breath. “Why do that if he’s his supposed friend?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

She wanted to go on, to figure it all out, to find an answer, but he looked so tired and worn out she managed to hold her tongue. Glancing towards the house, her fingers curled into his shirt.

Concerned lovers needing a few moments alone was good enough cover for peace but people were always milling about.

“Hey.”

Her gaze darted back to Arthur. Cupping her cheek, he smiled gently.

“It’ll be all righ’. Whatever happens, if somethin’ does, it’ll work out.”

There it was again, the blind faith. She didn’t want to get into another argument right now.

Returning his smile, she nodded. Then, rather than allowing lies to pass her lips, she raised her chin and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. His arm instantly wrapped around her lower back and pulled her closer.

He whispered beautiful words into her ear, his lips left a burning trail down her neck and his hands held her anchored to the moment.

She closed her eyes to the world.

—

He was gone the next morning.

Rolling over, she stretched her legs out, her arms wrapping around his pillow. She stared out of the window on the other side of the room. 

Thomas.

The bank.

Colm.

Dutch.

Her mind picked up the stream of anxieties she’d suppressed with Arthur’s help from the day before. They’d been shoved away by him insisting she read to him from the book, ‘you and Hosea won’t shut up about’, in his room while he inspected his bruises and cleaned his guns and knives. Then had come the call for dinner and he’d made them sit beside Hosea so they could discuss the book, well, her and Hosea anyway; Arthur just watched them both, slightly bemused as they might as well have been speaking Latin. Then, they’d returned to his room and he’d insisted that she carry on reading because ‘I must be missin’ somethin’ about this Frankenstein feller’, and so she had read to him as they lay on his bed, nestled together, his fingers idly playing with the ends of her hair. Then, she’d closed her eyes and the next thing she knew... Here she was. Awake.

She knew he’d orchestrated it all to distract her. That made her chest ache.

But he didn’t know the half of it. And here the thoughts were. Again.

She only had one conclusion; she didn’t know what to do.

So, she put a distance between the issues and herself, a barrier. Delusional, wandered into her mind before she quickly dismissed it.

She took her breakfast with the girls, listening to Mary-Beth explain how wonderful the tailor’s in Saint Denis was, that they should all go, that a night out in the town with just them would be nice and exactly what they needed. No one could be bothered to argue that that would be ridiculous and risky. Mary-Beth needed her fantasies, anyway.

She and I are like two of a kind.

It was a quiet day. Dutch was apparently still spending the day resting, not making an appearance. His lack of action seemed to slow down the general activity in camp, everyone staying close, besides Arthur, wherever he was, and Ada took the day to help the girls out with anything they needed. Later in the day, she took a watch with Sadie, delighted to laugh with the other woman and share a cake Sadie had bought in town.

“Oh, I missed cake,” Sadie groaned through a mouthful.

“Mmh, me, too,” Ada agreed, brushing crumbs from her mouth.

“I used to make ‘em as often as I could and me and Jake’d eat ‘em in a day. I could make damn good ones.”

“I’d be honoured to try one some day.”

Sadie snorted. “Sure, let’s go huntin’ in the bushes for an oven.”

Ada laughed, looking back towards the main path. “Hey, you never know what you could find out here.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the locals would be very accommodatin’.” 

Sadie fell silent as Ada chuckled, tapping the butt of her rifle against the dirt. The silence lingered.

“I’m thinkin’ of goin’ off in a couple’a days.”

Ada’s gaze darted to her and she paused.

“Oh, really? Where would you be going?”

Sadie watched her. “I’m gonna go after the O’Driscolls. What remains of ‘em, anyway.”

Ada couldn’t help but pause again. Her mind raced. What could she say? It would be a waste of time to try and dissuade her from doing so, Sadie wasn’t the kind of woman you dissuaded from anything, but what else could she do? Encourage her? Should she be jumping at the chance to help her? Would Sadie be suspicious if she didn’t? Mercifully, Sadie continued after a moment.

“You’re more than welcome to join me.”

Not an order, just an invitation. A gentle invitation.

Ada smiled lightly.

“I’ll think about it.”

She’d deluded herself into thinking she could have just ignored her circumstances. Yet fate had dealt her a Sadie-shaped hand, and it—

“So...” Her eyes darted back to Sadie as the older woman spoke, her lips twitching. “... You gonna tell me about you and Arthur or what?”

Ada laughed, very much welcoming the relief it brought.

“Oh, Sadie...”

“Is that the sigh of a woman in love?”

Ada laughed again as she shook her head, looking down at her hands. “No, no... Just of a woman enjoying a certain situation she’s found herself in.”

“Well, good for you, lady. I ain’t known either of you long but I can tell you’re both happy.”

“Yeah, it’s something,” Ada smiled.

When Sadie left to hunt, the invitation rolled around in her mind for the rest of the evening until she forced herself to retreat to her bandstand, Arthur having not returned. Again, the invitation greeted her as her first thought of the day when she rose. Upon getting breakfast, she discovered Arthur must have returned some time in the night because there he was sat at the table with Dutch and Hosea. They were deep in conversation so she didn’t disturb them or even try to catch his eye, instead opting to take her bowl of porridge and sit on the jetty, watching fish swirl about in the water.

‘You’re more than welcome to join me.’

I should.

I don’t want to.

And there it was. That thought, that ugly, cowardly thought, that had burrowed into the back of her mind and no matter how hard she tried it just wouldn’t go.

“So, guess what I saw last night.”

She nearly dropped her bowl at the sound of his voice and boots behind her.

“Jesus Christ, Arthur...”

He chuckled as she narrowed her eyes at him, taking a seat beside her.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t realise you’d lost your edge.”

“I was just very much enjoying my breakfast.”

Another lie to add to the mountain of them.

“Sure, Pearson’s porridge is just that good.” Lighting a cigarette, he shook the match out as he grinned at her. “C’mon, though, guess.”

Raising her eyebrows, she shrugged. “I have no idea, enlighten me.”

“An alligator.”

If her eyebrows could have risen any higher, they would have. “... An alligator? You do know we are surrounded by them here?”

He chuckled. “Nah, not just any alligator, darlin’, it was the biggest alligator I’ve ever seen in my life, probably that anyone’s ever seen.”

“Right, and what were you doing out seeing a big alligator?”

“We were securin’ a boat, me and Dutch.” He continued as she frowned, “So we can get over to Bronte’s.”

She set her bowl down. “You’re going to Bronte’s? Why?”

A corner of Arthur’s mouth lifted slightly. “Seems Dutch’s taken the trolley incident very personally.” 

She stared at him. “What’s he going to do with him?”

Arthur shrugged. “The aim is to get some pay-back. Rob him.”

“Right.”

She knew it would be patronising and would take their conversation down a route she certainly didn’t want to go if she pointed out how well guarded the place would be.

“I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come.”

She blinked. “Do I want to go with you and rob Angelo Bronte?”

He nodded, taking a long inhale from his cigarette.

She was about to politely decline, wanting nothing else to do with the man, when it hit her.

I could get answers.

He could be keeping correspondences. There could be information on Colm’s whereabouts.

She grazed her teeth over her lower lip, 

“Do you know what, Arthur Morgan...” He grinned as she smiled. “I think I’d very much like to come and rob Angelo Bronte.”

—

They went that night.

The boat barely made a sound in the water. Thomas, a man Dutch somehow seemed to know who lived in the heart of the swamp land, was good, his staff barely disturbing the surface as he pushed them along.

It had been an interesting place to disembark from, Lagras; a collection of shacks and jettys and mud that might have possibly passed as a very small village. They had ridden out there together, she, Arthur, John, Dutch, Lenny and Bill, and left their horses tied to a post outside Thomas’s shack. Thomas had emerged from within, a wide, warm smile on his face that had her warming to him instantly, despite a sightly bizarre joke he’d made about how pleased he was ‘The Night Folk’ hadn’t got them. They’d just laughed politely. People and their fairy tales.

Ada sat beside Bill in the boat, half-listening to him protest that he had never said he was a sharp-shooter in the Army. She half heard Dutch retort with glee that, ‘ah, yes, he’d been ‘the nation’s most loyal latrine digger’. She blocked them out as Arthur laughed and Bill got high and mighty about his service.

She had no idea of the layout of the mansion, no idea how many rooms there were or where Bronte could possibly hide. That didn’t matter, though, it wasn’t like they were going to sneak in and have the chance to run around finding him. They’d go in guns blazing, use the element of surprise. Did Dutch even know how many men would be guarding the place? No. The element of surprise and gumption trumped that, apparently.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, bringing her back to the boat.

“Hm?”

Turning, she found Dutch smiling at her.

“I was just sayin’, Miss Annie, that Arthur should never leave love aside ‘cause it’s all we got, ain’t that right?”

She glanced from him to Arthur, then back again. “I think so, Dutch.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Dutch exhaled a breath as he nodded. “All we got is the love for each other.”

Glancing at Arthur again, his eyebrows raising slightly, she then returned her gaze to the front, hoping she hadn’t missed something vital.

Soon, the lights in the distance grew brighter, and she could just make out the shore, barely able to discern the muddiness of it from the murky water. They all bar Thomas stepped out, Dutch whispering to him where they would meet. Thomas wished them luck as they made their way up the bank, crouched.

“Come on, quick, stay quiet,” Dutch hissed to them as they neared a high stone wall.

He seemed... almost impatient. Jittery and excited all in one. As if this was some prank they were going to play. She didn’t know what this was going to be; she just needed time and the powers that be on her side.

She didn’t know how they were actually going to get—

Bill, Lenny, Dutch and John leapt up, gripped the top of the wall, and began to hoist themselves up and over, groaning. Her lips parted, she looked from them, to Arthur. A corner of his mouth lifted higher than the other as he arched an eyebrow.

“You need a hand?”

“Yes, I think I bloody do.”

Chuckling under his breath, he laced his fingers together and crouched slightly. Shouldering her Repeater and stepping into his hand, her arms above her head, he then pushed her up and she grabbed the top of the wall. Gritting her teeth, the wall scraping against her forearms slightly, very grateful she decided to wear trousers, Ada heaved herself over. She dropped down on the other side, Arthur following a moment after. She glanced at him, his smile lingering as he passed her, caressing her back gently. They joined the other men at a large crate, kneeling.

“Lenny, Bill, you’re with me,” Dutch murmured, gesturing behind himself at the stairs, “Arthur, John, Annie, you take the left side. If you see a shot, you take it. Okay?” He smiled as they all nodded. “All right, then. Good luck, gentlemen and lady.”

Ada gave him a smile as he met her gaze, inclining his head.

Thank you, my liege.

As they all turned away, she followed close behind Arthur and John, keeping low against the stone wall. They didn’t speak, moving swiftly and quietly along to a small set of stairs. Heading up them, at the top it opened out onto the back garden, beautifully trimmed hedges and clean stone tiles spanning out, with stone statues and fountains here and there. Small hanging lights on them illuminated some of their way, and ahead of them lay the house, grand and huge and imposing.

Suddenly, John, leading the way, gestured they go to their left and they ducked behind whatever was closest, spotting two heavily armed guards up ahead. Licking her lips, Ada adjusted her grip on her Repeater. Just when exactly would the element of surprise—

Gun fire rang out, echoing across the stone garden.

Her head whipping to the side, she saw John and Arthur, having half-risen, shooting over the tops of their chosen covers. She could hear Lenny, Bill and Dutch firing from their near adjacent position, too. She hadn’t heard a guard call out so one of them must have taken the first shot. From John’s expression, she would have put her money on him. Rolling her shoulders, she leaned out and joined them.

The guards were yelling at each other in Italian, fumbling slightly in their effort to respond quickly. Hell, maybe the element of surprise and gumption really was all they needed.

John advanced forward, Arthur behind him and she followed; it seemed the guards would not have much time to try and respond at all.

“We’re comin’ for you, Bronte!” Dutch called out tauntingly as the two groups drew nearer. “Send out every man you’ve got!”

They were rounding the largest fountain at the centre of the garden and nearing the stairs that led towards the great house. Guards fired down at them from the porch and balcony above but their little group were better shots and had better cover.

“Just give up, you bastards! It’s over!” John yelled, and she knew it must have been him to fire first. The hatred that must be coursing through this father’s veins for these men.

“You crossed the wrong man, Bronte!” Dutch added.

You, or John, I wonder.

Both of them and Arthur were barely taking cover, unlike she, Lenny and Bill who were using the statues. Bullets flew over their heads as guards shot blindly, trying to quickly take over from the men before them who had fallen. It was all so loud, how the hell would they get this done before the law invaded the place?

She didn’t have time to think about that.

She shot at the men coming out of the doors, her heart pounding; she didn’t know when this had become easy, when it had suddenly become shoot, kill, on to the next, shoot, kill, on to the next.

Maybe when she’d accepted it was ‘us or them’.

Guards were still calling out from the balcony but now no one was coming to replace them, and the porch was empty.

Dutch realised it in the same moment she did. “This is not over yet! Head to the house!”

The men surged forward but she stayed behind, firing at the last three men on the balcony. Once the last man had fallen to the wooden boards, she pushed herself up and jogged across the small space to the stairs, climbing up them. The men hadn’t gone inside yet and she glanced to Arthur to frown at him when John shot the lock with his shotgun.

Ah.

“Good! Now kick that damn door in!”

Arthur obeyed Dutch, striking at the heavy doors with his boot and they flew open, crashing against the interior walls of the house.

“Look out!” he called as a guard darted into the hallway that lay before them, firing in their direction. They pressed against the exterior walls as Arthur knelt and shot him, his body falling heavily.

Another man appeared from the other side of the hallway and it was Lenny who got him, reaching out and firing. She peered round, wanting to see what the layout was like.

Her stomach dropped. The place was huge. A room to their left and a hallway, a room beyond that, rooms beyond that, and ahead of them, it was so vast. And, with all the noise and for all they knew, Bronte could have escaped by now. Where the hell would they begin searching. 

That thought either hadn’t crossed their minds or it had and didn’t deter them, for the men surged in, shooting instantly as Bronte’s men began to run out of the many rooms.

There were archways everywhere so they couldn’t even hide behind doors, it was just a matter of shoot first before you were shot.

“Bunch of God damn jokers!” Bill yelled as they split up without conferring, dodging into rooms and dealing with any men that stood within them. “I’ll kill you all!”

Ada followed behind Arthur and John who had moved ahead into what must have been the central room of the house, a marble-floored foyer with a staircase to her right and a—

Staircase.

Glancing at Arthur and John, both of them distracted by the front doors suddenly bursting open and two guards appearing, she darted across to the stairs and moved up them swiftly.

Foolish to go up on her own? Probably, but logic told her Bronte was a man who hid and sent his men out to protect him. No, he wouldn’t have left yet; he was too arrogant for that. Her heart pounding, once she’d made it to a small landing and turned to take a shorter set of stairs up, she slowed, keeping against the wall. There was no movement up here, none that she could hear anyway.

Silence suddenly came from the floor below as she made it to the next floor.

“All right, let’s spread out, he’s hiding somewhere!” she heard Dutch call out.

Shit, she’d need to move quicker.

She looked left, then right. There were doors every few feet apart. How could a place have so many fucking rooms? The hallways didn’t even have dead-ends, either, that she could see, anyway, they just turned and went on.

Fucking hell, think...

Something moved in her peripheral vision. Turning her head to the left, a man appeared from a room, two revolvers raised. Gritting her teeth, she was a second quicker, firing at him and sending him stumbling back with a loud groan.

“Who’s up there?” Dutch.

“Annie?” Arthur.

She was running out of time.

“Lenny, keep that door covered!” Arthur again.

“Bronte must be up there, let’s go!” Dutch, excited.

Pick a God damn door.

She didn’t need to.

The door before her opened and a man stepped out, snarling, but, over his shoulder, she saw him, darting out of sight. Dodging to the side, she grabbed the man’s arm, shoving it away so his bullet struck the wall behind her. She could hear them coming up the stairs behind her as she shoved the man against the door-jamb, grabbed his revolver from his hands and used his surprise to shove him behind her. He stumbled and fell down the stairs, making Bill call out as he came to an abrupt halt. She got to see his disgruntled expression just before she closed the door and—

Pain spread throughout her right arm as a bullet slid against her bicep, tearing the skin open, and buried into the door. Gasping, she instinctively spun and dropped into a crouch as a tall man aimed his gun at her again. Raising the revolver, she fired at him, her bullet tearing through his stomach. As he hit the ground heavily, she almost didn’t hear Arthur calling out, their footsteps close to the door.

“Annie?!”

Gunshots suddenly sounded from the hallway, though; more men must have been hiding. Gritting her teeth and ignoring both the sounds and the pain of her arm, Ada pushed herself up; she had to use all the time she was given.

The small alcove she was in opened out into a beautifully furnished bedroom, but there was only one way to go. Dropping her repeater and moving the revolver to her right hand, she rounded the large bed, heading to the closed door opposite. She could hear movement within. Taking a breath and adjusting her grip on the gun, she then gripped the doorknob and shoved the door open, the revolver raised.

Angelo Bronte greeted her, stood in a bathtub at the back of a marvellous bathroom, in a beautiful nightcap, robe, trousers and slippers... and a gun raised.

Her breath caught as he snarled and pulled the trigger... but no bullet came out.

Her heart thudding against her ribcage, anger swept over her and all fear left as he pulled the trigger again and nothing happened. He spat out a short word in Italian, most likely a curse, and hurled the gun at her. Ducking easily, her jaw clenched, she rose up and strode towards him.

His demeanour changed instantly, his hands raising as he stepped out of the tub.

“Okay, okay, signorina, let’s just—”

Gripping the lapels of his robe, she tugged him forward and pressed the barrel of the gun against his temple.

“Where is Colm now?” she asked, a distant part of her marvelling at how cold her own voice sounded.

Bronte exhaled a slightly shaking but still amused laugh. “Oh, Signorina O’Driscoll, you cannot be serious?”

She struck his temple with the butt of the revolver.

He fell out of her grip as she loosened it on him with a cry, gripping his head with one hand. Looking up at her from the floor, he spat what were no doubt insults at her in Italian, his features twisted in rage.

“Where is Colm, Bronte?” she asked again, her calm voice cutting through his tirade.

He laughed. “Like I would tell you, what are you going to do to me if I don’t, huh? I know killers, Signorina O’Driscoll, and you are not one.”

A faceless voice entered her mind.

Would you kill for Thomas?

Yes. Yes, she would, even after all this time. Even with the possibility of it being in vain.

She struck him again. The gun cracked against his cheek this time, and he fell onto his back, hissing and cursing at her again.

“Oh, I’ve killed, Bronte, I’ve just never enjoyed it before,” she said, stepping closer to him. “Where is he?��

He snarled again, staring up at her. “I’m not going to tell you, you fucking whore cunt, you are nothing, you don’t matter, you have nothing—”

She realised a second later that she’d done it.

She aimed the barrel at his head, drew the hammer back and lay her finger on the trigger.

He cut off from his tirade abruptly, freezing.

Rage coursed through her but she stood just as still as he was.

“Tell me where he is,” she said, so quietly.

He was silent for a moment. Then, he smiled.

“No.”

The final test.

For Thomas.

The final thing Angelo Bronte would see before he descended to hell would be her, standing over him, the barrel of the gun pointed between his eyes like he was an animal, a cold—

The bedroom door burst open. 

Both she and Bronte jolted as Arthur and John surged in, their guns raised. The four of them stared at each other, then John smiled as he lowered his shotgun and shouldered it.

“Well, I’ll be God damned...”

He strode towards them as Arthur also lowered his gun, calling out, “In here, Dutch.”

Licking her lips, Ada stood back as John passed her and grabbed Bronte, hauling him to his feet.

“My friends, my good friends,” Bronte smiled, releasing a slight laugh. “Okay, okay, name your price, every man has a price, name it! I surrender!”

John snorted as he punched him, knocking the Italian man out cold. “What a God damn idiot...”

“Hey.” Ada turned to Arthur as he gripped her right forearm gently. “What’s this? You okay?”

Her gaze dropped to her bicep and the blood staining her brown and white shirt. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine, I think it’s just a graze.”

Arthur exhaled a heavy breath and tugged his bandanna free from his neck. “We’ll get Grimshaw to look at it when we get back,” he murmured, releasing her arm so he could wrap the bandanna around the wound, pulling it tight.

Wincing slightly, she then caught his gaze, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, a corner of her mouth lifting a little.

“Should we kill him?” John interrupted before Arthur could press further, rising from where he’d checked Bronte’s pockets.

“Nah,” Arthur replied as he finished tying the bandanna, dropping his hands. “Let’s take him to Dutch.”

John nodded, stepping over Bronte and passing them. “You can carry him, then. I ain’t carryin’ that piece of shit.”

Arthur nodded, shouldering his gun with a sigh. “All righ’.”

Ada followed them out of the bedroom, John leading the way with Arthur behind him, carrying Bronte over his shoulder. Picking the repeater up that she’d dropped on the way out, she held it in her left hand and kept a grip on the revolver in her right. Her arm ached but she ignored it. She was relieved they hadn’t wanted to hear the story of how she’d apprehended him, John probably too full of rage at the man who had kept his son to care now that they had him, and Arthur too distracted by her wound.

They made it to the stairs when they heard it. Whistles outside and voices shouting; the law were finally here.

About damn time, she thought as the men cursed.

“Let’s go, come on!” she heard Dutch call, having already gone down the stairs.

They moved quickly, descending and meeting with him, Bill and Lenny.

“Come on, we’re gettin’ the hell outta here!” Bill yelled as they ran for the back doors.

They heard the front doors once more burst open behind them, this time, though, it was officers surging in.

“Put your guns down!” one of them yelled, though he was quickly silenced by Lenny.

John, Dutch, Bill and Lenny turned and gave her and Arthur cover as they ran through the back doors and out into the garden.

“Look out!” she suddenly called, shoving Arthur to the side as officers appeared from behind the hedges.

Ducking to the side and using columns for cover, they fired back, John joining them.

Luckily, there was only a small group of them, and their own group could swiftly move down the steps, darting across the stones.

“Push up on ‘em!” Lenny shouted.

“Sorry, boys, nobody’s goin’ to jail today!” she heard Dutch call out from behind her, jubilant.

They ran and fired as they went, speed seeming to work in their favour.

“Come on, let’s get outta here!” John called, the first to make it down the small set of stairs that led to the back of the property.

Bullets came from behind them, though she sensed the officers were being somewhat cautious, probably suspecting they had more members lying in wait.

No, just us six lucky fools.

Instead of heading to the wall, though, Dutch, taking the lead, led them towards a tall set of open gates and out onto a jetty.

Oh, so we could’ve avoided the wall.

Then, she saw Thomas on his boat, gesturing for them to hurry, and she sped up, close behind the men.

“Put him in front, Arthur. Bill, you help him,” Dutch said of Bronte, glancing back at the house.

The officers were definitely being cautious, hanging back even, though they continued to fire.

John, already in the boat, helped Bill to remove Bronte from Arthur’s shoulder, dropping him down into the front of the boat, grunting slightly. Arthur rolled his shoulder as he sucked in a breath, before stepping closer to her and gently pressing a hand on her back. She took the hint, stepping down into the boat, and sitting beside John, Arthur stepping in after her and sitting at the front.

“Come on, Lenny...” Dutch muttered, getting in to the boat.

Her head whipping up, her heart stuttered slightly as she realised the young man wasn’t with them. Licking her lips, she stared at the gate, then, yes, there he was racing through them with a wide grin.

Releasing a breath of relief, she smiled as he caught her eye and winked. “All right, come on, everyone, what you waitin’ for, let’s go!”

Dutch chuckled as he sat down at the front, Lenny jumping into the boat and sitting beside Bill at the back. “Let’s get outta here, Thomas.”

“Gladly.” The older man nodded, using his staff to swiftly push them away from the jetty.

They fell silent as Thomas moved them away from the house, the darkness and fog on the water claiming them. Ada gripped her guns tightly to try and stop the shaking of her hands, hoping that would hide them, but she needn’t have bothered. Everyone in the boat was looking down at Bronte who was slowly coming to after Dutch had shaken him awake.

“Hey, big man,” Dutch said cheerfully as Bronte stammered slightly in his disorientation, his eyes flashing between them all. “We gonna ransom you or what?”

Bronte’s gazed darted to Dutch. Then, he pulled a face and shook his head as he pushed himself up a little. “You’re pathetic.”

“Oh, I am? ‘cause from where I’m sittin’ you’re the one deservin’ of pity, my friend.” Lenny chuckled quietly behind her as Dutch continued, “All your men... All your money...” Glancing at Dutch’s back, she could hear his smile. “... it weren’t no match for a bunch of bumpkins.”

Bronte snarled, seething. “You are nothing. You do nothing. You mean nothing. You stand for nothing. Me? I run a city.” He laughed. “And when the law catch up to you, you will die like nothing.” His voice was rising. “I am this country. You, you,” he looked between them all, “You are what people are running from.”

There was a pause.

Dutch’s voice was so quiet when he spoke. “I possess things that you will never understand.”

“You don’t even posses your own men,” Bronte retorted. He looked at them all again, lifting his chin as he declared, “A thousand dollars to the man who kills him and sets me free.”

None of them moved. Ada didn’t look away from Bronte to see their expressions; she was too busy revelling in his own falling as it dawned on him that he couldn’t buy his way out of this one.

Dutch leaned closer. “What are you gonna say now?”

Bronte was starting to panic now. “They are even bigger fools than you.”

“No doubt!”

“The law will find you!” Bronte was sweating. “Already the dogs are on the way!”

“Oh, yeah! Oh, you’re right!” 

She finally looked away from Bronte to look at Dutch, her brow dipping slightly at his... what could only be described as a manic tone. Moving closer to Bronte, on his feet, Dutch reached for him.

“You are so right!” He gripped the back of Bronte’s head, holding him tight. “They are good at smellin’ filth, huh?”

Arthur had stood now, too, staring at Dutch, as had Lenny behind her, she felt. Arthur looked back at John, and Ada and... she saw a slight panic in his eyes. Dutch was still talking. In fact, he was shouting now.

“So filth has got to be disposed of!”

Then, he shoved Bronte’s head over the side and into the water. She froze, staring at him as John cursed beside her and Lenny inhaled sharply. Bronte was trying to scream but water was filling his mouth as he tried to thrash, gargling.

“Your friends, the Pinkertons, gonna come and rescue you now?!” Dutch was shouting. He suddenly lifted his head and Bronte gasped for breath, sheer terror on his face. “You repulsive little maggot!” Dutch yelled. He shoved his head back down under the water, and Bronte writhed and thrashed, trying to kick his legs out.

She felt Lenny’s hand on her shoulder, tight. Dutch was snarling and John stood suddenly and Bill did, too, the boat rocking slightly. Looking to Arthur to see what he was doing, she suddenly realised why they had. They had reached Thomas’s jetty, and Arthur grabbed the wooden post, keeping the boat against it, but he was still staring.

“Call them, now!” Dutch growled. “You call them!” Bronte’s head was still under the water, and his movements were slowing, weakening. They all just stared. Dutch was grunting and growling still, like an animal, until, a few moments later, Bronte stilled.

Hissing out a breath through his teeth, Dutch released him and stood, breathing heavily. Then, he shoved him over the side.

“Jesus...” John breathed, incredulous, looking from the water to Dutch. “What part of your philosophy books cover feedin’ a man to God damn alligators, Dutch?”

Dutch was watching the sinking body of the great Angelo Bronte. “The part that covers weakness.” He glanced at John, still trying to somewhat catch his breath. “That part.”

Bill had exited the boat, so had Thomas, and she felt Lenny pat her shoulder gently.

“Come on,” he murmured, looking slightly withdrawn. Getting to her feet, she stepped out of the boat, finding her hands were still shaking.

“I don’t know—” John started to say, when Dutch snapped, “Well, I do.” He pressed his lips together, then turned and stepped out of the boat, passing Arthur. “It ain’t nice, I know it, but it is us or him!” He lowered his voice slightly. “I figure it might as well be him.”

He turned and strode past her, following after Bill, Thomas and Lenny. She lifted her gaze from where she’d been staring at the wooden boards of the jetty, and looked at the two remaining men.

What the hell just happened.

From their expressions as they stepped out of the boat, they were thinking the same thing. They were silent, though, no one wanting to voice what was rolling around in their minds. After a moment, John shook his head and strode away. She could hear the men mounting their horses.

Biting at her lower lip, she looked up at Arthur. She felt like crying and she didn’t know why. Maybe because of how helpless he looked. She closed the small distance between them, shouldered the Repeater and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. His tired blue eyes met her own. Clearing his throat, he looked away.

“Come on. They’ll be waitin’.”

—

“Come up to my room,” Arthur murmured to her, his hand sliding back into hers after they’d dismounted. 

They’d all ridden back in silence, in a slightly broken formation; Dutch at the front, Lenny and Bill a little behind, followed by John some way back, then her and Arthur.

The paths had been quiet, as was Shady Belle. Javier was taking a watch and Lenny had dismounted and said he’d take over from him. Ada looked at the young man, her heart aching slightly; he looked rattled. The others had dismounted and dispersed, heading in different directions. 

She let him lead her into the house and up the stairs, following behind John who entered his family’s room. Once inside their own, Arthur shut the door and turned to her, releasing a breath.

“Well. That was somethin’.”

“Yes, it was.” There was still a shake to her hands. He had to have felt it. She went to fold her arms, before wincing at the pain of her wound, and shook her head slightly. “Arthur... Bronte could have been used as a bargaining tool. Dutch could have got the Pinkertons to ease up, maybe, give everyone a chance, some time, perhaps, to get away.”

Arthur nodded as he rubbed his forehead. “I know, I...” He didn’t know what to say. Inhaling a long breath, he began to remove his guns, placing them on the table beside the door as he watched her. “Before John and I came in, what were you talkin’ with Bronte about?”

Ada looked at him, then moved and picked a clean rag up from the table, dipped it in the bowl of water beside it and began to rub the dirt and sweat off her face, silent. He was deflecting. Once again.

“You were gonna kill him, weren’t you?”

Her silence lingered for a few moments.

“Yes.”

“Why.”

She lowered the rag, bracing her hands against the table as she shook her head, finally looking up at him. “I don’t know what came over me, he just... He was just...” Licking her lips, she straightened, her hands playing with the rag. “I asked him where Colm is so I can find Thomas.”

He paused, his gaze searching hers. “You think he might be out there, then?”

She shrugged quickly. “I don’t know. I just need to know, one way or another.” She opened her mouth, then closed it for a moment. “Sadie told me she’s gonna go after them, the O’Driscolls. She invited me to join her.”

Arthur was now silent. He dragged his teeth over his lower lip as he placed a hand on the table, the other on his hip. “Are you going to?” he asked quietly.

She nodded a little a few times, taking in a small breath. “I think I am.”

His gaze travelled her features before he nodded. “All right. You just let me know when you’re both goin’.” He moved then, his hands cupping her cheeks, his thumbs gently brushing over her skin as he held her gaze. “I don’t mind how long it takes. Just come back to me, darlin’.”

Her lips parted as her eyebrows rose. “You’d let me go?”

The corners of his mouth lifted. “You ain’t mine to keep, sweetheart. You’re a choice I made, and one I’d make over and over again.”

Her heart... ached like nothing she had ever felt before. Her voice was so quiet as she finally dared ask, “Why.”

His smile lingered as his thumbs stroked again. “You know why.”

She just gazed at him.

There was a light knock at the door.

“Arthur? Dutch and Hosea want to see you,” Charles murmured, and they heard him walk away.

Arthur’s smile widened a little more and he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She closed her eyes, a hand settling on his arm gently. It fell as he released her, stepping back.

“See you later. Get Susan to look at that arm.”

Then, he turned, opened the door and headed out, closing it behind himself.

She stared at it, her arms by her sides, her eyes filling with tears.

Something inside her started to heal.

—

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Tagged: @belfry-bat​​​​​​​​​, @sistasarah-sallysaidso​​​​​, @ntlmundy​

[milk-karton-kids]

Return to the Winchester Mansion

Hey! This is a short fic I wrote based off the season premiere of BFU Supernatural Season 5!

Pairing: Shyan

Headcannon: Shyan, Demon Shane

Rating: PG (so far)

Word count: 5K (so far)

Read it on Wattpad: ^-^

Read it here:

The Winchester Mansion. The very first place Shane and Ryan had ever investigated, and the place where Shane had first decided that he had wanted to do this- ghost hunting or whatever- with Ryan for as long as they could. The crew had drove to the location from their office in LA, the van crammed full of people and filming equipment.

They were all chatty, cracking jokes, sharing embarrassing stories and making fun of each other. They stopped for dinner at a McDonalds, and as a result, the van smelled like fried food for the rest of the drive. At one point, Ryan and Shane had started throwing fries at the people in the front seats.

By nightfall, the crew reached the location. Through the window, Shane could see the sprawling mansion once again, and it reminded him of his first impression of it, and how touristy it was. The van pulled up and the crew piled out, and started to unload the equipment. Grateful to stretch his long legs, Shane walked around a bit.

He made his way over to Ryan as the crew started to set up.

"Are you ready?"

Ryan looked up into Shane's eyes, and Shane tried to push the feeling of his gut tightening away.

"No, but we're going to do this anyway."

Shane shot him a grin, and together they made their way up the sidewalk.

Standing outside the front door, they both took a moment to gaze at the giant maze of rooms.

"Back where it all began," Ryan said. "Back to the spot where we started ghoul hunting."

"We came as boys, and now we return as men," Shane added.

"I'm happy to be back. It is dressed up for Halloween right now, so that's going to add a little bit of spooky fun to it."

"Yeah, but that makes it almost better, cause, Jack-o-lanterns, everybody loves 'em, right?"

"You have anything to say to her, Shane? The lady of the house?"

Shane had a lot to say, just not to Sarah Winchester.

"Yeah, let's tango baby! Let's dance!"

Except there was someone he'd rather be tangoing and dancing with.

Shane didn't really know when it started- the feeling of solidarity between Ryan and him. He'd been invited onto Buzzfeed Unsolved after the first few episodes of True Crime had been filmed, only knowing Ryan as a friendly coworker. However, in the Buzzfeed industry, that was still fairly well.

Shane enjoyed conspiracy theories as much as the next person. He loved mystery- and he loved taking down ridiculous claims. He also liked to take down not-so-ridiculous claims, like the fact that ghosts were real (true, he'd met a fair few) and demons existed (also true, he was living proof of that).

He also enjoyed hiding this truth from Ryan as best as he could. There was something thrilling about walking on the edge, knowing that one mistake, one slip-up, could possibly ruin everything between him and Ryan. And whatever that was, Shane wanted more of it.

Reflecting on this, Shane followed Ryan into the house.

"Man, it does feel like we're coming back home," Ryan said in earnest.

"Yeah I do feel... I feel right being here."

Probably because this is where all my feelings started to manifest, Shane thought to himself.

They shut the door behind them.

"Well, in case any of you needed a reminder, this place is a twisting nightmare."

Did you mean: My feelings for you? Shane asked in his head.

Together they walked down a dark hallway, the camera crew behind them.

Ryan had a flashlight out, and started speaking to the darkness.

"Hello? Just so all of you know in this house, we've been here before, my name is Ryan..."

"Uh, my name's Shane," Shane jumped in, startling out of his thoughts.

"And, uh, we're just here to talk, so if you wanna just come out, maybe show yourself-"

"-You know, just chill here, and hang out with us!"

"Yeah. Oh great, I'm already lost."

Shane repressed a snicker, but his eyes were darting over Ryan's back, taking in his slight build and unsteady posture. He could tell Ryan was already scared. Good. Shane liked Ryan when Ryan was scared.

They joked around a bit more before heading to the area they would film the main segments about the history and lore of the house, and of course, where Ryan would say "This week on the season premiere of Buzzfeed Unsolved, we re-investigate the Winchester Mystery House in San Jose California as part of our ongoing investigation into the question 'Are ghosts real?'" to which Shane would shake his head as the scene cut to him.

They pulled up two chairs in a rather cluttered room, set them next to each other, facing slightly inward, while the camera crew set up their equipment.

Ryan started going through his script, talking about how this was the first site they'd been to, and about how tonight "We're actually going to sleep here this time, uh, I was a little too chicken for that," (in talking about when they visited before).

Shane gave an awkward little chuckle.

"We're going to sleep individually, too," Ryan added, jerking a thumb in Shane's direction.

"I love it," Shane lied.

"So you'll actually sleep tonight-"

"-I'll get a great night's sleep-"

"-I won't, probably, I'm going to be in her bedroom, trying very hard to, eh, not die," Ryan chuckled. "I think I'm just gonna count-"

"What's she gonna do?" interjected Shane.

"I don't know!" Ryan shrugged, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"She's just gonna rip out your spine?" Shane definitely had not daydreamed about doing that to Ryan before. "The worst she'll do is give you a little kiss on the cheek or something." Like I want to.

"I'm trying to challenge myself mentally this season," Ryan said, directing his attention back towards the camera. "Because last season-"

"A little too cocky," Shane interjected, lacing his fingers together and leaning back. He was ready to see Ryan start freaking out again. He missed it.

"I got a little too, uh, calloused."

"Yeah. You stopped believing in ghosts, I think," Shane provoked.

"I did not stop believing in ghosts-"

"-Maybe-"

"-I'm used to hunting ghouls after a while-"

"-if you really believed in them, you'd still be pretty scared, but-"

"Anyways, let's break down some history, huh?"

"Yeah," Shane said, looking away.

"You ready?" Ryan asked, prompting a transition in the final video cut, but also, it seemed to Shane, noticing that there was something on Shane's mind. He had slipped a little, and it was noticeable.

"Oh yeah!" Shane answered enthusiastically, nodding.

"Then let's get into it."

"Okay."

They waited a bit for the camera to stop filming, and then put the chairs back.

"Ready to start walking around?" Ryan asked.

Shane nodded, and they started to make their way to the hay house. Up the switch-back stairs they went, camera rolling, into the attic, which Shane immediately recognized.

"Well, we're back," Ryan said cheerfully.

"The Ghoul Brothers," Shane said.

There was a moment of silence.

"We've upgraded to Ghoul Brothers, now?" Ryan joked, shining the flashlight on Shane's face. He pretended to cringe from the brightness so Ryan would move the light off his face and hopefully not notice the blush he could feel creeping into his cheeks.

"Yeah," was all Shane said.

Ryan moved around and settled into a spot for the moment.

"Whoever lived in the house, or may be in this house now, or in the past, we know this was one of the more, original, places when this place was first built, and not uh, uuh, a weird little fun house that it is now. Now that you know that we know who you are..."

"But do they know that we know that..."

"They know that we know-"

"-that we know who they are?"

There was a pause.

"That's the trick," Shane smiled, shining the flashlight in Ryan's now-confused (but adorable) face.

Shane squatted down, and Ryan, after questioning, it, followed suit.

"If there's anyone in here with us, let us know. Say something."

The two of them waited for whatever would or wouldn't say something.

Shane could already tell that there were no ghosts in the room at the moment.

"Twenty seconds."

Shane's face screwed up, and Ryan noticed.

"You think something's funny?" he asked.

Shane's composure broke and he let out a small chuckle, saying "I like how you give them a little warning, 'Twenty seconds left, get your shit together'."

Shane got up and Ryan mumbled something he couldn't quite understand. Ryan called out a "buh-bye!" as they started to exited the room. "That was dissapointin- Ah!"

Ryan startled at a fake black bird that'd suddenly be caught in his flashlight beam. Upon realizing what it was, he laughed nervously and put a hand up to his forehead only to then bend over and place his hands on his knees. "Ah, shit."

Meanwhile Shane was laughing.

"Well that's going to happen a couple of times tonight," Ryan admitted. "Just, there's, there's Halloween stuff around, we got, a crow, or a raven-?"

"It's Ryan's biggest fear."

Ryan laughed again, and they headed back down the switch-back stairs.

From there, Ryan led them to some of the more visually popular places in the building, like the stairs that lead to nowhere, the door that opened to reveal a bricked-up wall, and the door that lead to a drop since it was a few stories up.

"One of the, uh, greater novelties of this home, if you want to call it that," Ryan said, looking out the door and then into Shane's phone's camera. "Except this novelty could kill you, so..."

Ryan leaned over and looked down.

"It really goes there," Shane commented.

"Ooooh," Ryan said, making a spooky noise.

"Yeah, careful, man," Shane titted. He knew he could survive a drop like that, but Ryan? Ryan was just human, and human shells were frail.

"I just don't think any ghost is going to open this door and be like 'woeoeoeow' and fall out like Wild E Coyote."

God, Ryan was so cute.

"'Going to ghost work, honey, see you la-wooooah, not again!" Shane jumped in.

Ryan laughed, and Shane felt that all-too-familiar tugging sensation in his gut.

Together with the crew, they walked around the house some more, getting some extra footage of the house to show while Ryan's voice over played.

Through this transition in Ryan's narrative, it would bring the audience to the seance room next, and therefore was where they headed after gathering some more footage of random rooms and hallways.

The walls of the seance room were made of long and thin wooden panels that were painted a light whitish color, though it was hard to tell in the dark with only flashlights. There were a number of iron hooks on the walls, and also a fair amount of doors. And, for the season, there were also many spooky Halloween decorations about.

Ryan talked about their visit to this room last time they were there, and Shane commented on how they weren't as good ghost hunters back then as they were now. Personally, Shane felt like at least a good portion of that improvement had come from working together over the years.

"But now, we're actually going to conduct a legitimate seance!"

"Let's rock and roll!" cheered Shane.

Ryan started to set up the ouija board, which Shane attempted to help with, but Ryan was in a very particular mood, and didn't want Shane "messing up" the set-up, even though last time they used one Ryan had to google how it was done.

You would think as a demon, I would know how it's set up, and therefore you'd let me set it up, Shane thought to himself, because of course he couldn't say it out loud.

When Ryan was done setting up the board, allowing Shane to add his rice krispie treat to "appease" the spirits (Shane knew ghost didn't like food, but demons who inhabited a human host did), Shane pulled up two chairs on either side of the table.

The camera was set up so that Ryan would be in the left of the shot and Shane would be on the right.

Ryan held out his hands on either side of the board towards Shane.

Shane copied him.

"Let's do it."

Shane flipped his hands over and slapped them down into Ryan's. Thankfully Shane had grown used to controlling bodily functions of his host, so his hands weren't freezing cold. Also thankfully while his body slept, his mind did not, so he was able to maintain body heat when Ryan and him shared a bed. Which was kind of a lot.

"Alright, that was a firm grip," Ryan commented, to Shane's amusement.

"Okay, spirits of this room, we're here to communicate with you-"

"Yes."

"We are welcoming-"

"Yes."

"And we, uh, have nothing but good intentions and good vibes-"

"Yeah."

"We have some, uh, food for you, here-

"A rice krispie treat, a treat from the future."

"-we also, uh, have this uh, this, this, board here, in fact, why don't I just show you how it works."

Ryan grabbed the planchette, letting go of Shane's hands, started moving it around the board.

"See?"

"You see that? Oooooh look how fun that is!"

"Hello, H-e-l-l-o."

"Ooooh, cool," Shane responded, looking deviously into the camera. He could move it, but so far over the seasons he'd liked to take things slow, only making a few things move or speak here and there. Nothing to give Ryan substantial proof of ghost, or in this case, demons.

"I'm going to move the rice krispie treat off the board so it doesn't get sticky," Ryan said aloud, putting it on the table, where Shane immediately picked it up, taking a bite as he stared into Ryan's eyes.

"That's for them."

"See how that works?" Shane put the rice krispie treat down. "I just want them to know it's food."

He leaned back and started to dramatically rub his belly. "Mmmm! Yum-yum!"

Ryan lost his composure, and Shane started to laugh along with him. It felt good.

"Alright, here we go," Ryan offered his hands again once the two of them had managed to settle down. "If there's anyone here with us, you can use this board, you can, uh, take some of the food, y-you can move these candles, you can say something, you can touch something-"

"This is all for you."

They paused for a few seconds.

"Sarah, if you're hearing us right now, we'd like to speak to you in particular, so, uh, I'd like it very much to meet you."

"Have some of the rice krispie."

Ryan and Shane continued to hold hands around the table in silence.

"Can you say your name?"

Another pause.

"Is there anything you'd like us to know?"

More silence.

"Is there anything you're scared of?"

There was still no response.

"Well, that's that," Ryan conceded, disappointed, and broke the connection with Shane, who clapped his hands loudly.

"Nothing," Ryan sighed while Shane reached for the rice krispie treat and ate the rest in one large bite, wiping his hands while once again maintaining eye-contact with Ryan, then folding his hands out towards Ryan. Ryan started to laugh, and Shane was happy he'd made Ryan feel even a little better.

The next room they headed to was some room full of glass. Shane didn't really understand why it was here, but the whole house was weird, and he was a gay demon, so he didn't question it too much.

"Well, Sarah, we're here, in your, well, what I would assume is one of your more, uh, favorite rooms."

"And if you're thinking 'Well, I'm not gonna talk to these guys', please, no, we're gonna be here all night! The sooner you, uh, get it out of the way, heck, if you do it now, this guy will go, he'll go runnin'," Shane teased.

"Whoever is in this room, whether it be Sarah or someone who worked in this mansion, let us know you're here."

"Shatter every piece of stained glass in this room," challenged Shane.

"Okay," Ryan responded, trying to rope him back in. "I'm going to give you a minute," he continued talking to the ghosts, "just uh, just uh, dealer's choice here, do whatever you want. Here we go, one minute of silence coming up, starting now."

Shane had a flashlight in one hand, which he shone on Ryan and his phone attached to the gopro in the other. Ryan had his own flashlight and a microphone attached to a box-shaped gadget. Strapped to both their chests were cameras.

Shane took his light off Ryan and used it to film around the room in the dark.

"I will say that I don't feel like I'm being watched right now." Ryan was looking directly into Shane's face, so Shane's camera angle was coming from a bit underneath Ryan's gaze.

"No?" he asked.

Ryan started to shake his head, and Shane started to ask if he had felt anything in other places when a noise caught their attention, and Ryan's head whipped to the side.

"Who was that? Who just spoke?"

Shane glanced down at his phone screen before flicking his eyes back up to Ryan, who was looking around in bewilderment. Uncomfortable, he started to laugh nervously, which caused Shane to laugh at him.

"That old familiar face."

Ryan continued to laugh.

He had missed that face.

Shane made sure to capture the moment with his gopro.

Ryan dropped the creepy face with a sigh. "If that was anybody, can you say it again?"

Ryan blinked heavily and asked who had said something.

"I heard what sounded like a little whisper," Shane told him, pronouncing the "h" in "whisper" clearly.

"Yeah-"

"Did you hear a little whisper?"

"Yeah, are you, I just, I think you're appeasing me right now, I don't think you actually heard anything."

"It's a little bit of both, I did hear what appeared to sound like a little whisper." He was still pronouncing the "h". "I don't think it was a ghost," he clarified.

"It was a female voice," Ryan argued. "If there, whoever that was, can you say it again? If that was anybody, in fact?"

Shane had his flashlight trained on Ryan once more.

"You don't have to be scared of us, I assure you, I am more scared of you than you are of me."

Shane wondered how scared of him Ryan would be if he knew the truth.

Ryan took a step and continued to look around, but didn't seem to find anything.

"That's it, folks," Shane concluded.

"Very lovely glass-"

"Love the glass."

"-Thank you for showing us-"

"Nice glass."

"-that's some really good glass you got there."

"That's some good ass glass-"

"That's good glass behind that glass-"

"I'm gonna steal that glass."

They paused.

"I won't, I respect this house," Shane laughed.

Ryan laughed with him, even though Shane knew Ryan didn't get the full extent of his joke.

Together with the crew they exited the room, heading to what was known as "The Witch's Cap".

"Oh this is cool!" Shane exclaimed upon seeing it. "Oh, oh I love this! Can I sleep here? Stand in the middle, speak upward," he commanded Ryan.

"Hello- oh! Oooh!"

"Yeah, right there, right?"

"Yeah, that is good."

"Alright let's see if I can also- hello? Hello? Hello?"

"Yeah."

"Hi?"

Ryan shot Shane a glance, but Shane continued to mess around with the acoustics of the room until Ryan practically dragged him away to sit on a bench.

"Uh, we're here to communicate with whoever is in this room right now-"

"He's invited his little spirit box here, he's gonna let it rip and you're gonna hate it," Shane assured. The high level of frequencies and constant shifting channels gave him a headache.

"Three, two, one-"

"YAHTZEE!"

Ryan turned it on, cringing at the suddenly onset of noise and letting out a swear, messing with the settings until something clearly said "drop those off".

Shane glanced at Ryan and asked if it said "take your clothes off".

Ryan ignored him while the spirit box continued it's chatter, which Shane also commented on.

"What the fuck is going on in this room?" Ryan finally acknowledged after putting in earbuds.

"Can you say our names back to us?" Shane asked, knowing that was one of Ryan's go-to questions. Ryan titled his head down to fiddle with the box again, and it gave a short pause. "What was that?" he asked, looking up at Shane.

"Can you say the name of the woman who built this house?" asked Ryan. "Or, if you are the woman who built this house, can you say your name?"

The spirit box spat out some chunks of noise, but nothing either of them could discern, until-

"Who is Patrick?"

Ryan and Shane looked at each other. "It sounded like 'Patrick'." Ryan commented.

"'Well I'm not Sarah Winchester, but, it's Patrick!'"

Ryan started to talk over a phrase that came through, stopping in time to clearly hear the word "ungrateful". "What was that?" Ryan asked, eyes widening. "Alright, who was just speaking the past two times? It was very clear. Can you say what your name is?"

The spirit box spat out more nonsense.

"What?"

"Optimal."

"Optimal?" Shane repeated.

"What's optimal?" Ryan asked.

They waited.

"You're not making this easy, I'll tell you that-" Ryan started to say more, but what sounded like a scream interrupted him.

"Ooh a scream-"

"What the fuck was that?"

"-They're excited Ryan." Shane turned his head towards the camera. "Don't bother with Ryan right now, not worth it, wait 'til he's alone."

A deep voice came on.

"Woah," Ryan blinked.

"What'd it say?"

"I don't know."

Shane started to laugh and make fun of Ryan's reaction.

"Well it was a full sentence-"

"It wasn't a full sentence!"

"It was like three words!"

Shane started to imitate the spirit box to mock Ryan. "Wooooah, a whole sentence!"

"It said like two-to-three words!"

Shane continued making spirit box noises.

The box, meanwhile, said something along the lines of "Okay, kid." Ryan looked up at Shane, but Shane was watching his phone screen as it filmed.

"Alright," Ryan said, "Hasta luego, turning this off." Ryan looked at Shane again.

"Well, I'll tell you what, ghosts, if any of you are protective of this room, not gonna do it on purpose, but there's a good chance I'm gonna fart in here."

Ryan continued to stare at Shane before suggesting they move to the next filming location, the basement.

When they got to the top of the basement stairs, the crew started pulling out the equipment the duo would need for their solo investigations. This included, among other things, a camera strapped to their head, pointed at their faces. As was custom, Shane was up first.

"You look great, man" Ryan commented sarcastically when Shane was fully decked-out and ready to head into the dark of the basement by himself.

"Thank you! What do I do down there?"

"Try and find Clyde," Ryan said. Clyde was a ghost he would introduce the audience to in his voice-over section.

"Ooh."

"Well, adios," Ryan bid him.

"Yeah, I'll see you later, man," Shane called back, heading down the stairs. Ryan closed the door behind Shane, turning to lean back on it, arms crossed. "And now we wait."

Meanwhile, Shane walked around in the basement yelling for Clyde.

"Ooh boy, I forgot about these low ass ceilings down here." Shane tried to duck but ended up knocking some of the equipment off his head.

Ryan stayed upstairs talking to the camera crew while Shane walked around to conduct his personal investigation.

After his ten minutes was up, Ryan opened the door and called him back, but Shane didn't answer.

"I'm not playing your game. I know exactly what you're doing right now. Not gonna happen, bud. I'm not going to come walkin' down there to find you. I know what happened last time I was down here."

Defeated, Shane returned back up to the main level of the house, where Ryan would take his place.

"Well you look great, you look ready. Get down there, have a good time!" Shane coaxed Ryan when they had traded gear. Ryan started to head downstairs, and Shane turned to the camera to pull a face.

When he got downstairs, Ryan started to talk to the darkness and Shane continued to talk to the camera.

"What if I just make nonsense noises right now?" Ryan asked the ghosts, proceeding to do so.

"What the fuck is going on down there?" Shane asked the camera. He heard more strange nonsense noises from downstairs. "I think we've lost him," Shane cracked a smile.

"Ah! What the fuck was that? My fucking gopro thing fell off... I think I'm going to sit down, I'm sitting down."

"This sounds like it's really escalating," Shane commented.

"I'm going to turn on the spirit box now."

"There's that spirit box."

"I. Hate. This."

"Did he say 'I love you'?"

"My name is Ryan, can you say my name back to me?"

"'I love you' 'Who's this?'"

Ryan continued to talk to the spirit box. Shane peaked his head into the stairwell.

"RYAN!"

"What?"

"TWO MINUTE WARNING!"

"Great."

Ryan continued to talk to the darkness.

"Alright he can't do two minutes, come up!" Shane called, opening the door again.

"What?"

"You FAILED."

"Could I come up?"

"Yes!" Shane barked.

"Oh, thank god," Ryan replied almost cheerily. "Yes," he whispered, coming up the stairs.

"You couldn't do two minutes of silence, could ya?"

"Wha?"

"I heard you talking."

"I was talking quietly."

"I don't care. You talk to hide from the silence."

Ryan sighed.

"You know you do."

"I was merely trying to communicate."

Shane rolled his eyes.

"Get ready for an all-night nightmare now."

The crew moved to the witch's cap to set up the cameras that would be trained on Shane as he slept for the few remaining hours of the night. When all was set up, Shane laid out his sleeping bag.

Ryan came over to stand above him.

"Are you going to make it?" Shane joked.

Ryan shrugged. "Uh, I dunno."

"Well, you're welcome to come running here crying like a little baby if you need."

"Thanks man, but I think I'm good."

That didn't stop Ryan from writing down directions from the witch's cap to Sarah's bedroom, however.

When the crew was done setting up for Ryan in there, they wished him luck and headed out to sleep in the motel they'd booked.

Shane had his phone out and filmed a little vlog before attempting to go to sleep. Ryan filmed around the room and also him using the spirit box.

After fooling around on social media for a bit and singing "Mama Mia" to himself, Shane put his phone down and zipped up his sleeping bag to let his body catch up on rest. Ryan got a surprise visitor from the caretaker, which scared the shit out of him.

Shane had been waiting to see if Ryan would come running into his room, scared of something or another, looking for comfort. In fact, it was what he'd been dreaming about all day. Now that the time was right, however, Shane wasn't having his moment.

"It was foolish to think anything would happen," Shane whispered to himself, and shut his eyes.

He heard a creak.

Sitting up on one elbow, Shane looked around.

"Ryan?" he whispered.

There was no response.

Shane took one more sweep of the room with his eyes before settling down again.

Another creak had him sitting up again.

"Ryan!" he hissed.

He heard soft footsteps approaching.

Grabbing the flashlight, Shane shined it down the hall. Ryan cringed from the sudden bright light.

"What are you doing?" Shane whispered.

"I got scared," Ryan admitted.

Shane rolled his eyes. "What do you want me to do about it?"

Ryan shrugged, and Shane noticed he had his sleeping bag with him.

"Come on," Shane motioned, moving his sleeping bag over.

Ryan put his stuff down next to Shane and crawled back into his sleeping bag.

"Are we putting this in the video?" Shane asked jokingly.

"No," Ryan sniffed.

"Wait, are you- are you crying?"

"No," Ryan sniffed again.

"Damn, something must have really scared you, huh?" Shane asked.

Ryan didn't respond.

"Ryan?"

Shane heard Ryan sniffle again. He wasn't sure what to do, so he waited. However, so did Ryan.

"You don't want to talk about it?"

"I didn't get scared," Ryan said quickly, and Shane realized he was telling the truth. Something else was going on that he didn't understand. Something that didn't have to do with the house, with ghosts, with the show, maybe not even to do with them. Maybe something had happened and it just happened to be now, and Shane just happened to be the only one around. Maybe Ryan just needed a friend.

"Okay."

"Goodnight, Shane."

"Goodnight, Ryan."

Neither of them went back to sleep.

*-*-*-*-*

When morning came, Ryan and Shane broke down the cameras themselves and brought the equipment to the front door, where they were meeting the crew. It was still dark outside, and they stood in the early morning chill filming the ending of the video.

"Another investigation in the books, uh, adios, Winchester House," Ryan spun his phone around trying to get the house in the shot behind them. "Where- where even is it?" A car horn honked in the background.

"It's behind us-"

"I can't even, I can't even think."

"-it's pretty large."

"Yeah, uh. Yeah. Let's get out of here."

"Yeah," Shane agreed. "Sounds good."

The crew packed up the equipment while Shane and Ryan climbed into the back of the van. Ryan was still filming the view from out Shane's window.

"Are we going to talk about last night?" Shane asked, looking at what Ryan was filming, everything that had led up to Ryan laying down next to him running through his head like a video on loop.

"Maybe later," Ryan answered, stopping the video and turning off his phone as the crew piled in and drove away.