#i want him to call me a tart and slap me 'round the face

[draganwhorror]

Ted Raimi as Francis - Videodome Rent-O-Rama (2010)

[yunhoez]

Coincide

pairings: timeskip!suna rintaro x f!reader

genre: smut, FLUFF, tiny bit of angst like for 2 seconds, followed by more fluff

warnings: NSFW 18+, swearing, orgasm denial, public sex, breeding, "bunny", not proofread (its 3 am), I think that's it but pls let me know if I missed anything

a/n: this is really self indulgent, I had this thought in the shower and something about my trash ass ex seeing me happy with suna makes my brain go brrrrr. don't worry, I'm working on that in therapy :D anyways this is my first time writing smut, lol bye! hope y'all enjoy!!! <3

There’s no reason to attend a high school reunion with people you never liked nor thought of in years. Meaningless chatter mixed with the stench of beer, while the god awful fluorescent lights sting your eyes didn’t sound appealing to you. Yet here you are, standing against the wall of the poorly decorated banquet hall with a drink you’ve hardly touched. The “Welcome Class of 2017” banner in front of you, reminded you of just how little time has passed since you’ve seen these people. If it were up to you, you would’ve ignored the e-vite and binged a show you’ve seen 100 times already. However, your sweet boyfriend, Suna Rintaro, was so eager to see where you spent your teen years and the people who knew you way before he did. Not that they would have very many stories about you, considering how much you kept to yourself, but that didn’t stop Suna from RSVPing on your behalf.

“I fucking hate you.” you spat, taking a sip of your drink, wincing at the strength.

“I know.” suna smirked, handing you his beer and taking your drink for himself.

The both of you stood close together, watching people fein happiness at the sight of each other. What was the point in attending these events if not to show off how much better you’re doing to people who no longer matter to you, if they ever did that is. Suna nudged you lightly, motioning towards a group of people coming toward the two of you.

“Hey! I didn’t think you’d be here!”

“Yeah! Me neither!” you giggle, shooting a glare towards Suna who’s already grinning at you.

Suna knows you hate small talk, but something about seeing you perk up at the memories you’ve seemingly forgotten made him feel warm inside. Although you never wanted to admit it, you missed the people who made your teen years a little less terrible. Suna wrapped his arms around your waist, settling his chin onto your head, as the two of you listened to your friends reminisce about your antics.

“I’m telling you, this girl was in detention every single day!”

“Don’t act like you weren’t there with me!” you huffed, feeling Suna’s chest rumble with laughter. No one had ever taken much interest in your life, except for Suna. It was safe to say you had no idea how to react to his attentiveness when it came to you. You looked up at him, watching how he was soaking in the memories of you, that he didn’t get to witness. He smiles widely at the thought of you picking at your chicken sandwiches, only for you to eat the bread and call it lunch.

You notice the crinkle in his eyes, as he catches you in photos on the projector screen. You cover your face, a blush creeping onto your cheeks, as everyone awes at their younger selves. Suna grabs hold of your hands and pulls them down from your face, placing a kiss on your cheek.

“You know if I went to your school, I would’ve been afraid of you.”

“Says the one who looks bored out of his mind all the time.” you tease him, your gaze still fixed on the dimly lit screen.

“Guess we’re soulmates then.” he hums into your ear, tightening his grip around your waist.

The night went by smoothly, well as smooth as it can get when you’re surrounded by people who most definitely hated each other. Suna leads you to the bar, ordering a round of shots for the two of you.

“If we’re going to be here, we might as well take advantage of the open bar.” he grins, pouring salt onto your hand and handing you the tiny glass.

“I’m sure that’s the only reason so many people showed up.” you respond, licking the salt and downing the burning liquid. Suna brings a lime wedge to your lips, you suck on it lightly as he watches you intently. He brings it to his own mouth, draining the remainder of the juice before neatly folding it in a napkin.

“So what’s the story with those two over there?” he motions to the couple arguing a few feet from you.

“Them? They always do that, one minute they’re in love and the next they’re having a Twitter war.” you say, signaling the bartender for another round.

“Does that mean we’ll get to read some drama tonight?” Suna perks up, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. You giggle, clinking your glasses together and savoring the tequila running through you quicker than you expected.

“Already feeling it, pretty?”

“Pft. No, I’m just feelin’ fuzzy.”

Suna turns you to face him, his eyes starting to glaze over from the drinks. Everything around you feels hazy, but his touch is amplified as he taps on your lips to open. He wedges the lime into your mouth, gaze fixed on the way you swallow the tart juice and pucker your lips. Placing the fruit in his glass, he attaches his lips to yours, groaning at the mix of your sweetness and the sour taste of citrus. The lingering taste of tequila was replaced with his own, your body getting drunk off of him more so than the alcohol. He places his hand onto the small of your back, pressing you into him and eliminating any space between you two. A firm poke to your thigh was enough for you to have you moan softly into his mouth. He pulls away, a string of saliva connecting you two before snapping back onto his lips. He licks them, relishing in the haze of love and need he feels for you.

“Bathroom. Now.” he demands, throwing a wad of cash onto the bar and pulling you with him. A smile plastered on your lips as you follow close behind him, stumbling on your platforms.

The two of you stumble into the men’s bathroom, small giggles falling from your lips as Suna trips over his own foot before locking the door. You lift yourself up onto the counter, feeling the cold tile on your thighs and leaning against the mirror. Suna nudges your legs apart with his thigh, slipping in between them and running his hands up your short dress, peppering kisses along your neck.

“God, I love you.” he mumbles, pulling you closer to him and smashing his lips against yours. Your hands find their way to his hair, pulling at it slightly as he deepens the kiss and moans into your mouth. His grip on your ass tightens, before he makes his way between your legs. He lifts your dress and shoves your panties to the side, staring at the mess he’s caused.

“Always so wet for me, bunny.” he whispers into your core, placing a light kiss onto your clit. You whimper at the minimal contact and he grins, flattening his tongue and licking a stripe between your folds, savoring the taste he could never get enough of. “Fuck..” he moans, the cold metal of his ring clad fingers pumping into you slowly. The sinful moans of his name leave your mouth with no shame, the sound of him devouring you and your screams were sure to be heard from the hallway.

“Rin…” you moan out, your thighs tightening over his head as he continues to suck on your clit.

“You need me, baby?” he asks, looking up at you through his thick lashes. His honey eyes dripped with lust, as he moved his slick covered fingers to rub your clit. The small, tight circles cause your thighs to shake. “Answer me, pretty.”

“R-Rin… need you.” you stutter, feeling the familiar warmth in your stomach building up. You were so close, his fingers entering you once again and curling into your sweet spot. He grins at you, his face wet from your cunt, as he leans to press a kiss to your swollen lips. “Rin! I’m-”

“I know, baby. I got you.” he coos, going in and out of you faster. Just as you were about to reach your high, his fingers slip out of you. A mischievous grin plastered on his face, as he sucks on his fingers. You groan, covering your face and pressing your thighs together. “Ah… Ah…” He pushes your thighs apart with his body, unbuckling his belt and pulling himself out. “Thought you needed me?” He pouts, pumping himself slowly.

“I- Rin. Please, I was so close-” you whine, eyes pressed to his thick cock near your entrance.

“Spit on it.” you obey him, pursuing your lips to let the liquid fall onto his dick. He pumps himself, moaning and grabbing your face with his other hand. “Now tell me, pretty. What do you need?”

“Y-you.” you whisper, looking up at him with wide eyes as you unbutton his shirt. He places a sloppy kiss on your lips, breathing heavily when your cold hands replace his as you jerk him off. “Bend over for me.” His dark eyes watched you scramble off the counter, slipping your panties off and leaning over the sink. Your pretty face in the mirror looking back at him with pleading eyes as he rubs his cock against your cunt. He moans, pushing into you slowly, throwing his head back when he bottoms out. He stills, basking in the warmth of your plush walls.

“Fuck, Rin, move.” you huff, trying to relieve yourself.

“Am I not allowed to enjoy the moment?” he responds, gripping onto your hips tightly.

“Yeah, but- Fuck!” you moan at his sharp thrusts, a smile tugging at his lips as he pulls you back and forth on his dick. “Sorry, bunny. Couldn’t wait.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head, the steady pace of his thrusts driving you close to your peak once again. You reach your hand down to your clit, but Suna slaps your hand away. You look up at him in the mirror, his loving eyes boring into you, as he rubs at your clit in fast circles.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well, baby.” he praises, his head falling back, letting his moans get louder the closer he gets. “Gonna cum in you, fill you up, and make you a pretty mama.”

“Fuck- Suna, don’t- WHAT THE FUCK?” you scream, feeling the fullness of his dick leave your dripping cunt.

“Who the fuck is Suna?” he giggles to himself, his dick grinding in between your folds at an agonizingly slow pace.

“Rin, c’mon- shit!” you bite your lip, your walls clenching around him as he kneads your ass.

“Good girl.” he coos, one hand on your hip and the other pulling your dress down to let your breast fall out. He moans, gripping at the soft flesh. “You gonna let me cum in you, baby?”

“Yes, fuck… don’t stop.” you hum, your brain starting to fog up as you near your release.

“S-shit, ‘M gonna.” he hisses, feeling your walls clench as you ride out your orgasm. Your fucked out expression and loud screams of his name was enough to have him spilling into you. He moans out your name, leaning over you and pressing a kiss to your shoulder, before pulling out and watching him spill out of you.

“You’re lucky I’m on the pill.” you pant, looking up at the mirror to him snapping a photo of the two of you. “Rin!”

“What? It’s a good memory!” he defends, taking several photos from different angles before lifting you up and setting you down on the counter. He shoves himself back into his pants, tucking his shirt and buckling belt before averting his attention to you. Your arms wrap around his neck as he kisses you softly, mumbling sweet words into your lips. He breaks away to dampen a towel, wiping you down as you scroll through the many pictures he took. A loud knock breaks the atmosphere, followed by annoyed screams.

“Have some fucking decency, some people need to use the bathroom!”

You both look at each other, laughing loudly before putting yourselves together. Suna adjusts his shirt, leaving the top buttons open and ruffling his hair. You slip into your underwear, smoothing out your dress and reapplying your lipstick. He gives your ass a light slap before opening the door and exiting, his eyes flicker between the couple outside. Suna’s lips twitch, realizing who the man leaning against the wall is. A smug expression spreads across his face, as he reaches his hand out for you.

“Sorry your sex life’s so boring.” he grins. You grasp his hand, walking out and nodding to the couple, recognizing the familiar set of eyes that you once adored.

“Sorry about that, bathroom's all yours.”

You squeeze Suna’s hand twice, a signal the two of you made up for when you’re feeling anxious. He quickly wraps his arm around your waist, pressing you into his side and placing a soft kiss onto your head. He hums quietly, leading the two of you out of the banquet hall and out to the garden. You stop at a bench, overlooking the city. The soft chirps of crickets and Suna’s intoxicating scent grounds you, a sense of relief washing over you.

“Fuck high school reunions, can’t believe you wanted to come here.” he jokes, pulling you onto his lap and holding you.

“Oh, shut up. You loved every minute of it.” you nuzzled into his chest.

“Particularly the bathroom part.” he hummed. “You okay?”

You sighed happily into his chest, nodding in response.

“So, tell me, what did the side bang do for you?”

“Shut the fuck up, Rintaro.” you hiss, getting up from his grasp, only for him to pull you back and attack your neck with kisses. Your laugh fills his ears, followed by your small fists punching his arm lightly in an attempt to get him to stop tickling you. A blush creeps onto his cheeks, the overwhelming feeling of love feels his body. He pauses his attack, your love laced insults about how irritating he could be was music to his ears. You’d never admit it to Suna, but you were glad he dragged you here. Seeing how his usual deadpan expression changed every time you were talked about made your heart swell. Maybe these things weren’t that bad, as long as he was by your side.

reblogs/likes appreciated <3

[captain-kinda-trash]

Hello love! I hope I’m one of your first asks!!! 😍

Can I order up a new love/confessing feelings with a side of fluff, a la Bayverse Donatello please?! 💜

Sure thing lovely!! Hope you enjoy!!

Truck Repairs (Bayverse! Donatello x Fem! Reader)

"Torque wrench please."

"Got it."

The slap of cool metal against scales resounded from underneath the Turtle Truck (a name Y/N commonly used, much to her companion's distaste), as Donnie was handed yet another tool from the plastic box next to his feet.

"Thank you." He huffed out. The cranking of gears, clinking of iron echoed out from the truck.

"Sure thing, Don," The girl said, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the turtle's legs, "How much longer do you think this should take?" Her eyes stole an extensive glance at those toned, long, delicious-looking limbs. Wait. What? That didn't come from her mind again, did it?

Of course, it did. When did it not? Donatello sighed, voice floating out from below the massive machine, and then the wheels of his skateboard rolled against the cement as he uses his feet to pull his body from underneath.

"Uh, I'm not sure. The damage inflicted on the lower regions of the compression body is pretty tremendous. It could take up a few days, weeks even, if not strategically maneuvered-" he pushed the goggles from his eyes to settle comfortably on the top of his head, revealing the glittering hue of those beautiful amber eyes, "But it seems to be going well at the moment."

His mouth cutely curled up into a smile, one that never failed to release a cocoon of uncaged butterflies in Y/N's stomach.

She grinned back, and then shyly turned to study the soles of her shoes, evidently more interesting than looking at his uncannily handsome face.

"That's good to hear. Maybe we should take a break soon. You've been working like crazy since you got back from patrol."

His smile very subtly faded at this suggestion, though he made sure that his friend didn't catch it. Donnie enjoyed this company that she provided working with him on the truck's repairs, much more than he was willing to admit. Though, yes, he could use a nice break, maybe grab a snack or glass of water, the mutant knew surely that nothing fueled his cravings like her sweet presence (incomparably rich to the taste of his beloved pop tarts).

And if the same wasn't in her book about him, then by gods...

I mean sure, he's a mutant. Gross right?

Wrong. So, so very wrong.

"Y-yeah I guess we could take a little break." He responded, then let out a sort of struggled grunt as his body lifted to sit upwards and rest his shell on the side of the garbage truck.

Y/N's eyes wandered once more at the marvelous rolling and extending of his muscles as he did so, draping a single sturdy arm across one knee and using the other to adjust his glasses. She gulped. Her gaze shamelessly traveled to the seemingly endless length of his legs, until she caught the quick movement of his head in her peripheral.

She immediately averted her stare, back down to the laces of her converse, trying to subside the heat crawling quickly over her neck.

"T-tell you what, why don't I go grab you a snack, and you stay here and see if there's anything else we can do." Y/N pushed herself up from the ground and before Donnie could respond, she had already scampered out of the workshop to avoid any further humiliation.

"O-okay!" He called after her, though the likeliness of hearing him was probably far gone since she was already in the kitchen by then.

Y/N grasped the bridge of her nose between her for dinner and thumb, letting out an exasperated sigh as the tap water still poured, pattering against the metal sink.

'He totally caught me staring,' she thought. Though her self-control was usually tempered, easily under restraint, it melted into a helpless puddle when Donatello's presence was made known around her. Hell, even passing up the open doorway of his lab as he worked was a strain, and Y/N found herself peeking in curiously as his eyes fixated carefully, passionately over a project as he worked.

It took every willful ounce in her body not to just snatch the tails of his violet bandana and yank him in for a savory kiss every time he was a few feet away from her.

Her brain, exhausted from such thoughts, tried to focus on her footfalls, the wrinkle of pop-tart wrappers, the clinking of ice against glass cups, a cool contrast against Y/N's warm arms.

She halted directly outside of the workshop, inhaled, exhaled, and then rounded the corner to see-

Nobody? Weird. Perhaps Donnie had gone to his lab to grab more tools or just put them away since the aforementioned bucket of appliances had gone missing right along with their possessor.

"Huh. Weird." Y/N thought aloud, and then after looking over her shoulder and out of the doorway, she decided that she might check out the inside of the truck. After all, it had been some time since she'd seen it and was rarely able to because of the lack of missions she joined in on.

She set the two cups of water and foil packages gently on a nearby bench, before making her way towards the rear entrance. Y/N's hands settled on the large iron handle wrapping their small extent around it and then pulled down with all of her strength.

Man, the brothers made it look so easy, and by the time the lever reached its lowest point with a loud click, she had managed to work up a bit of a sweat.

The door, a huge garage-like lift system on the back end of the truck, began to lift, creaking and groaning as it did so. Y/N smiled, eyes glancing down carefully as her feet made contact with each rising step into the truck.

However, her plan had been spoiled, if you could even call it that. Because, just as she was entering the vehicle, it seemed Donatello would be exciting. As Y/N looked up from the final footstep, and Donnie from his tech pad, their noses and mouths bumped, and all was still. Both of their bright eyes were wide with shock and unbearable mortification at the sensation of petal-soft skin against cool scales, lips awkwardly resting upon one another.

They both pulled away as fast as they had come together, though Y/N had been so caught up in her humiliation, that she forgot about the staircase behind her and lost footing. An abrupt shout escaped her lips, helplessly flailing her arms in the air to grab onto something and a strong pair of arms had quickly caught her.

When the girl hesitantly opened an eye to analyze her seemingly unfortunate position, all she was met with, was the shine of Donnie's lustrous eyes, glinting in the bright lights of the workshop. Both were heaving breaths, adrenaline rushing from the swiftness of this occurrence.

"Thanks..." Y/N managed to squeak, trying to calm the furious blush and racing tempo of her heart at the touch of Donatello's strong arms still wrapped around her, "I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes..."

At her remark, Donnie's expression seemed to relax, and he let out a little giggle of amusement. Y/N smiled softly, and then placed the tip of her finger on the bridge of his snout, accompanied with a small 'boop!' That made him laugh even more and then a snort, something he didn't seem to proud of.

"Have I ever told you how cute you are?" She asked, rather abruptly, and the blunt question caught the turtle off guard. She wanted to smack herself across the face at the spilling of her internal conflicts but figured that doing so would cause her further embarrassment. Instead, Y/N was stuck trying to interpret Donatello's dumbstruck expression.

"E-erm, uh no. No, I don't think you've told me that..." Stupid, stupid stupid! What a response! Donnie's mind quipped, Could have at least said thank you... "Y/N..."

"Yeah, Don?"

His answer was completely wordless, just boring endlessly into her sparkling eyes. Though his next move seemed to be a more suited response.

Before he could stop himself, Donnie closed the short distance between and capturing her mouth in a short kiss, tightening the strong grasp of his forearms around her waist and back.

Y/N blinked once. Twice. And nothing shifted, though seemed completely unreal, like one of the hallucinations that she'd conjured in her mind before.

But this was just so... Real. He pulled away before Y/N could fully process what was going on, leaving her mouth to chase after his momentarily.

"You're really... U-um, Y/N I think you're beautiful. And I have this strangely romantic fascination with you..." Donnie trailed off, realizing how utterly stupid he must sound, however, the girl held tightly in his arms found it extraordinarily romantic.

Her fingers danced around the back of his neck snatched the tails of his silk bandana, and then pulled him in again, this time for a lingering address on the lips, tilting her head just slightly to deepen it. Donnie let out a short squeak of surprise, that faded into a satisfied chirp, bellowing from his throat.

They broke away, heaving puffs of air, and idiot-like grins spread across their faces.

"I really like you too Donnie."

"I'm glad," he breathed, just inches away from her face, "cause now we can work together and you don't have to hide staring at my legs."

Y/N flushed immensely before swatting his chest repeatedly, trying to hide her smile at his amused laughter.

"Donatello I will take away your pop tart privileges!"

fin💜

[fruitcoops]

hi eve! what do you think about a video where couples do the chapstick challenge? like jily vs coops and they compete to see what couple guesses more right! idk i think i would be fun

It's been too long since I wrote one of these--I missed them! Coops, Cubs, and SW Jily belong to @lumosinlove <3

“Welcome back, everyone!” Dorcas said with a smile to the camera. “It’s been over a month since our last big video like this due to scheduling, but we hope you’ve been enjoying our more active social media presence in the meantime. I’m here today with James and Lily Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and our lovely Cubs. How were your summers, everyone?”

“Hear that, Cap?” Logan’s grin was smug as the cat that got the canary. “I’m lovely.”

“Our summers were great,” Sirius said, ignoring him. “Lots of vacation time.”

“At our house,” Lily teased.

“Yeah, while you were on vacation. It’s called being a good godfather.”

“I’m glad you all had fun,” Dorcas interjected smoothly as she pulled three bags from under her chair. “Because we’ve got a very special game today. Inside these bags are ten blank chapstick tubes, each with a different flavor. One person from each team will apply the chapstick to their lips, and their partner will first have to kiss them, then guess the flavor. Finn, Leo, and Logan, your team will have two guessers.”

“They get two guesses?” Remus protested. “That’s so unfair!”

Dorcas shrugged. “They have to guess at the same time, and they only get one point per correct answer.”

Finn raised his eyebrows. “Y’know, Loops, you’re starting to sound pretty homophobic over there…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Remus sighed.

The camera cut; when it returned, Lily, Sirius, and Finn were seated in folding chairs with the bags of chapstick in their laps and a small sticky note in their hands. Across from them, their significant others were sitting with large headphones over their ears.

“Can you hear me?” Dorcas called.

Remus didn’t react at all as he messed with the trailing wire; Logan squinted at her. “Quoi?”

“I can’t hear anything,” James said loudly. “This is super weird. It’s just, like, humming. Honey, it sounds like Harry’s white noise machine!”

Lily smiled reassuringly and patted his hand. “A little quieter, lover.”

“What?”

“A little—nevermind.”

Dorcas’ mouth twitched with a suppressed smile. “Non-guessers, you can find all the flavors written on stickers at the bottom of each tube. Please start with number one on your flavor lists when you’re ready.”

Sirius bit his lip as he riffled through the bag, and Remus leaned forward to give him a light peck at the corner of his mouth. “I haven’t put any on yet!” he laughed.

Remus paused. “What?”

“I haven’t put any chapstick on.”

“Slower, I’m not good at lipreading.”

“Mon dieu,” Sirius muttered with a shake of his head.

Next to him, Finn had already applied his first flavor and was sitting with a happy smile as Leo and Logan thought for a moment. “Is it lime?’ Leo guessed.

“I think it’s lime,” Logan said half a second later. Finn gave them a thumbs-up and the three of them high-fived. “Called it!”

“That’s…lemon? Really sour lemon?” James guessed. Lily shook her head and showed him the tube. “Lime. Shit.”

Remus licked his lips. “Lime?”

Sirius nodded. “Oui!”

“Really? Hell yeah!”

“We’re at a bit of an advantage,” Sirius said as he put the lime in his lap and checked his list. “I wear chapstick all the time.”

“Why?” Dorcas asked, sounding rather amused.

“My lips get dry from being at the rink all day.” Sirius shrugged and put the next one on. A mischievous smile flickered over his mouth and he tilted his chin toward Remus. “He won’t leave me alone, either.”

Remus’ eyebrows pitched and he leaned forward. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You have to go slower, I really can’t—”

“Green apple!” Logan exclaimed, slapping Finn’s knee in excitement as Dorcas covered her mouth to hide her laughter. “I remembered what it’s called!”

“Correct!” Finn announced.

“I think it’s green apple,” Leo said.

James pulled away and rested his chin on his hand. “Kind of a caramel apple, but without the caramel.” Lily turned to face the camera with a look of disbelief. “So just a normal apple, I guess.”

“Yes!” Lily turned his face toward her with a smile. “You got it!”

“I got it? Woohoo!”

“That’s green apple.” Remus wrinkled his nose. “Tastes like those shitty candy apple lollipops, though. Did I get it?”

Sirius nodded and wiped his lips off. “Number three is pomegranate,” Dorcas announced.

Finn frowned as he dug through his bag. “I don’t—there it is. Wow, this smells really nice.”

Leo paused and smiled before kissing him. “That smells really nice!”

“Does it?” Finn laughed before moving to give Logan a kiss.

“Oh, I like that,” Remus said, kissing Sirius a second time. “No idea what the flavor is, but I like it. Hmm. I have to think about that.”

“Is that frosting?” James asked excitedly as he grabbed Lily’s hands. “Do you have frosting flavored chapstick?”

“No,” she laughed, shaking her head. “What the hell? It’s pomegranate.”

“It’s what?”

“Pomegranate.”

“Persimmon?” She rolled her eyes and showed him the sticker. “Wow, I never would have guessed that.”

“Is it cherry?” Remus guessed. Sirius shook his head and his face fell. “Aw.”

Leo and Logan shared a look as Finn kept his poker face. “I have no idea what that is,” Logan finally said. “It’s sweet, though.”

“Is candy-flavored chapstick a thing?” Leo wondered. Finn held the tube up. “Pomegranates are tart. That wasn’t tart.”

“What the hell is that?” Logan looked to someone off-screen and held one of his headphones away from his ear.

“Une grenade!” someone called.

“Oh! That didn’t taste like it at all.”

All four guessers kissed their partners within a few seconds for the fourth—almost immediately, they pulled away, faces twisting. “Oh my god,” Remus coughed, wiping his lips. “That’s grape. Oh my god.”

James’ nose scrunched. “It’s grape. I don’t like it.”

In a moment of direct action, Leo took the wet wipe Finn had been using and ran it over his mouth while Logan stuck his tongue out. “It’s grape, and it’s gross. No more cough syrup kisses, please.”

“You’re halfway there!” Dorcas called, chalking up their correct guesses on a whiteboard as Lily, Sirius, and Finn applied the fifth flavor.

Sirius held his hand up as Remus started moving in and sneezed. “Desolee. Okay, you can go now.”

Remus kissed him and recoiled in half a second. “More cough syrup? Are you kidding me? It’s not any better when it’s cherry.”

“Dorcas,” Leo whined when he pulled away. “The first ones were such nice flavors!”

“My head hurts just tasting that,” James said miserably. “It’s that awful fake cherry stuff.”

“That’s cherry.” Logan smacked his lips with a grimace. “Eugh.”

Dorcas held up five fingers for them to see as she spoke. “Just five more, and you’re all done. Those are the only bad ones.”

Lily lit up as she applied the sixth and James hurried to kiss her. “Oh, that one is nice! You always wear strawberry. It’s my favorite.”

Remus shrugged. “Kiss was great, flavor’s fine. It’s just fake strawberry, yeah?”

“Whew.” Leo’s eyebrows rose after the kiss. “Very st—”

“Oh, strawberry!” Logan interrupted. “Katie makes me wear something like that when we have tea parties.”

Dorcas added more tallies to her board. “Tremzy, you can’t hear me, but that’s the cutest thing you’ve ever said. We need pictures.”

“I’ll find some,” Finn promised.

Sirius rubbed his lips together and made a face; Remus laughed, running the pad of his thumb along his mouth. “Stop, I can’t kiss you like that! It can’t be that bad.”

“That would give me a headache,” James said, clearly disappointed. “It’s some sort of pineapple monstrosity. Pina colada? I liked the strawberry a lot better.”

“It’s pineapple. Does that count?” Lily asked. Dorcas nodded, and she gave James a high-five.

“That’s not bad,” Leo admitted with a shrug. “Tastes like the dried mango we get at the store, the kind with all the sugar on it.”

“I don’t have the first idea what that is,” Logan said. “Knutty, I’m letting you take the reins here.”

“You’re both wrong,” Finn said, enunciating every word so they could read his lips.

“Baby—” Remus faltered with a laugh and held the wet wipes out of reach as Sirius tried to take them back. “Baby, we don’t get a point if you wipe it off. Just one kiss, okay?”

“Fine,” Sirius grumbled. Remus pressed a sweet kiss to his upper lip and handed him a fresh wet wipe. “Happy now?”

“Oh, I like that,” Remus said. “It’s definitely pineapple. I can see why you hated it so much.”

“Cap, do you not like pineapple?” Dorcas asked. His intense wiping of his lips was the only answer necessary. “We’re in the final three. Sirius, your team is in the lead by one.”

“Come on, hubs,” Lily said as she put the next one on. “This is easy-peasy. We have to beat Cap or we’ll never hear the—”

“Mint!” Leo exclaimed, looking quite proud of himself. “Ooo, it’s like Christmas.”

“I can smell it all the way over here,” Remus laughed, though he didn’t pass up the kiss. “That’s peppermint.”

“It’s like a candy cane,” James said dreamily.

“He’s not going to like this one,” Sirius said as he capped the next chapstick. “I like it, though, and that’s all that matters. Pucker up, Loops.”

“Oh, hell no.” Remus leaned back as Sirius leaned in, keeping his lips out of range. “Nope, not a chance. That’s some plastic vanilla bullshit and I’ll be tasting it all day.”

Dorcas tapped him on the shoulder and he lifted one headphone. “If you don’t taste it, you don’t get a point this round.”

“We can take the hit.”

“What? No!” Sirius protested. “I had to taste the pineapple, remember?”

“I love you and I totally want to win this, but I really, really don’t want that taste in my mouth.”

“Fine,” Sirius sighed, wiping his lips off as Remus readjusted his headphones.

James’ face split into a beaming smile after his kiss. “Birthday cake!”

“No.”

“Shit.”

“Vanilla,” Leo and Logan said in unison.

Finn pumped both fists in the air. “Yes! We’re tied for first!”

Leo gave him a high-five. “I don’t know what you’re saying, but you seem excited about it!”

“Last one,” Dorcas warned. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“You should wear chapstick more often,” James said as Lily lined her lips. “It makes you so soft.”

“He has no idea how greasy my mouth feels right now,” she said fondly with a glance to the camera.

“Tell me about it,” Sirius agreed. “Alright, Loops, don’t pussy out this time.”

Remus narrowed his eyes. “You just told me not to pussy out, didn’t you?”

Sirius blinked at him. “I thought you couldn’t read lips.”

“C’mere.” Remus cupped his jaw in one hand and kissed him, then smiled. “Orange. Did we win?”

“Mmm, that’s what the oranges back home taste like,” Leo said, going in for a second kiss.

Logan licked his lips a couple of times. “Tastes like fancy orange juice. I like it.”

“In a cruel twist of irony, my lips are getting dry,” James said when they parted. Lily raised her eyebrows as he thought. “That’s orange. We won, right?”

“Take off your headphones,” Dorcas said, miming the motion until everyone could hear her before holding her scoreboard up. “Unfortunately, James and Lily are in last place with a score of seven out of ten. Cap and Harzy, your teams are tied for first place with eight out of ten.”

“We could have won if you didn’t have a personal grudge against vanilla,” Sirius said under his breath. Remus threw one of the chapsticks at him and Sirius dropped another down the neck of his shirt.

“Boys.” They both gave Dorcas a sheepish look and she shook her head. “Thankfully, we prepared for this situation with a tiebreaker. Nobody but me knows the flavor, and it is not written on a sticker. Remus, Leo, and Logan, you will not have to put your headphones on again, but you will have to correctly identify both flavors to get their point. You will write your answers on these whiteboards. You only get one kiss to determine your guess. On your marks, get set, go!”

Sirius swiped a decent amount over his lower lip and pulled Remus in with his hands on his cheeks; Finn practically used half the stick covering his mouth before collecting his kisses. “That’s interesting,” Leo murmured, tapping his dry-erase pen on his thigh. “That’s very interesting.”

Remus jotted down an answer and leaned back in his chair with a self-satisfied smile. “You know it?” Sirius asked with a grin.

“I do.”

“Is that your final guess?’ Dorcas checked. He nodded, and she took his pen. “Leo, Logan, do you have a guess as well?”

“I think I know one of the flavors,” Leo said cautiously, bending over to whisper it in Logan’s ear. He hummed in agreement, then whispered back.

“This is so intense,” James murmured, looking between the two teams as Lily perched herself on his lap. “I feel like I’m watching the Olympics.”

“If we get one of the flavors right and Loops gets both wrong, do we win?” Logan asked as Leo wrote their answer down.

Dorcas thought for a moment. “Yeah, sure. But only if Remus gets it completely wrong.”

“What’s the prize?”

“You already get to kiss your partners all afternoon instead of running drills. What more do you want?”

“Amen,” Remus agreed.

“Alright.” Leo handed over the whiteboard pen, though he looked nervous.

“Would you like to go first?” Dorcas offered.

“Coconut and lemon?”

“That is incorrect.”

“Ah, fuck me,” Logan muttered. “Loops, you’d better be wrong.”

Remus’ smile was even more pleased as Dorcas turned to him. “Remus, do you know what it is?”

“Well, Ms. Meadowes, I’m glad you asked. That’s Burt’s Bees honey and coconut.” He flipped the board with a flourish. “And it just so happens that my boyfriend bought that exact chapstick at the store last week and has worn it every single day since then.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Leo looked between them in shock as Logan’s jaw dropped. Finn buried his face in his hands. “Of every flavor on earth—”

“I promise it was not intentional,” Dorcas said, though she was laughing a little. “I literally rolled dice to pick it while I was looking at the website.”

Sirius looked to the ceiling as he pulled Remus’ chair closer. “Thank you, universe, for my terrible impulsive habits in the self-checkout line.”

Dorcas turned to the camera with a dimpled smile and spread her hands. “Thank you for joining us for the chapstick challenge, Lions! You can find all these flavors at the link in the description. Like and subscribe for more videos like this, have a great day!”

[whump-town]

The Blanket Incident

Just some Hotch/Morgan to start off the Monday

Derek takes one good look at himself, double-checks the tie he may or may not have stolen from Aaron, before nodding and deciding he’s got to get out of this house before he’s late for work. The BAU can handle one missing adult but it will burn to the ground without at least one person wearing the decision hat. He grabs his coat off the back of the chair and as he opens the bedroom door there’s a low, pained groan from the mass of blankets still curled up on the bed. Derek rolls his eyes but answers to what he thinks is a whiny rasp of his name.

He squats down by Aaron’s side of the bed, smirking as he pushes two or three layers of blanket around until he can see his loves flushed face looking back at him. “There you are,” he whispers. “I was just about to go.” Derek takes in Aaron’s red-rimmed eyes, that sleepy gaze he settles over Derek. He’s just content to have Derek close, within his line of sight. Derek doesn’t want to leave him.

Even under his mass of blankets, as Derek walked around their room stealing a tie from Aaron’s dresser and hunting down a solid white shirt, he could hear Aaron breathing. Choked, thick sounds as he exhaled too far and curled deeper into his nest, coughing until it hurt too much and he just held his breath through the next round. Each of those sounds, even the softer ones he made in his sleep, were just breaking Derek down. Eroding his decision to go to work and leave Aaron here. Now he’s looking at Aaron and wondering if this is really the right choice.

“You weren’t going to say goodbye?” Hotch asks, face pinched in a way that Derek’s only seen on Jack. That pouty sort of twist that died out by the time Jack was ten but now mostly shows through when he’s told he can’t stay out too late or to text them when he gets wherever it is he’s going.

Derek sighs, patiently slipping his hand into the blanket jungle to cup Hotch’s head in his hand. “I kissed you goodbye, Aaron.” He’d only paused at the mirror to double-check himself, to stall. His hair parts under Derek’s careful touch, sweat-slick hair against Derek’s palm. He can feel the height packed in around Hotch’s body from his fever and trapped there by the heated blanket. He’s got it turned all the way up, no doubt. His response is a soft hum, Aaron’s eyes slipping shut. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He strokes Aaron’s cheek with his thumb, worrying his lip as he watches Aaron’s lips part so that he can breathe. Unable to get any air through his congested sinuses.

“S’okay,” Aaron mumbles.

Derek can’t bring himself to believe that. At best, Aaron lays here in his heated blanket all day baking in his fever with no reprieve from the heat. His fever will climb, feeding off of his immobility. He won’t drink the water sitting on the nightstand and he’s already missed his morning round of medicine so he’s probably going to ignore the other things Derek’s carefully left out on the nightstand.

“I’ll be right back.” Derek will check his temperature. Anything lower than 101 is fine, Aaron’s handled a lot in his life. A little fever won’t kill him. He’s the sort that likes to ride out a fever, his body is more than used to his rough ideas of self-care. What Derek’s worried about is the fact that his fever isn’t that low. He’s certain it’s not. And, mostly, just because Aaron likes to skate by and ride the thin line of “well, I’m not dead yet” doesn't mean that’s a ride that Derek wants to watch him go on.

Derek runs the back of his knuckle down the side of Aaron’s face, softly calling his name until he gets a hum in response. “Let me take your temperature.” He knows that this isn’t going to be easy, Aaron's like a giant man-child when it comes to being taken care of. He needs to prove that he’s okay, that he can do it on his own. Which is why when Aaron opens his mouth to mumbles “I’m fine, you don’t need to do that” Derek slips the thermometer into his mouth. It makes Aaron make the cutest little pouty face and Derek smiles back, holding his hand under Aaron’s chin to keep his mouth shut.

“I love you,” Derek reminds him when it beeps and he can turn it over to look at the numbers.

Aaron grumbles, curling in so he can hide his face in his blankets. “No you don’t,” he whines.

Looking at these numbers [103.2] Aaron’s really not going to believe his love. “Then you’re really not going to like this,” he whispers in apology. Aaron groans and Derek just sighs, tossing the thermometer on the nightstand. “I’m going to run some water for a bath, alright? Can you work on sitting up?” Derek doesn’t even wait, just keeps his soft instructions coming as he jogs to the bathroom. Turns the water to the coldest setting and lets it run.

“Are you--” Derek stops in place, cuts himself off to wait as Hotch sits himself up. His pale face is pinched in pain, his hands shaking where he holds himself upright. It’s vertigo, caused by age or the shit tons of medication they pour into him. It’s like they send him home with three more every time they go.

Derek clears his throat, moves further into the room. “Come on, love.”

Love. If Aaron were more awake he’d grumble, complain that Derek went away to England for a week, and come back with all this nonsensical vocabulary. He pretends to hate it but he feels special every time Derek whispers it to him. Knows he only does it because Hotch pretends to loathe it.

“Easy,” Derek holds onto his elbow, keeping him steady so that he can struggle out of his pants. It’s reflexive, a movement he’s done a thousand times before but as his fingers hook underneath the thin material of Aaron’s shirt he grabs Derek’s hand.

“No,” Aaron mumbles, his frown lined with his distress but Derke doesn’t understand.

“You don’t want to take your shirt off?” Aaron sways, shifting his hold so he leans closer into Derek. His legs weakly trying to give out from beneath him. Derek holds him closer, wrapping both arms around him until he can maneuver Aaron to the edge of the tub. Guiding him to sit down on the edge of the tub, Derek kneels down in front of him. “Aaron,” Derek cups his cheek, directing Aaron’s fever-hazed eyes to his own. “I’ve seen you naked, remember? You’ve got nothing to hide.”

But feverish and sick Aaron can’t comprehend all that. What lays written out on his skin are countless examples of his weakness and is not enough that he needs Derek to hold him upright? He’ll scare Derek away. There’s no way that he’ll want to stay. He’ll see the perfect circles of old cigarette burns, the shattered impacts of bullet wound scars, and Foyet’s mark all right there. Plain as day.

“Aaron,” Derek soothes. “It’s a white t-shirt.” He knows what it is. Aaron’s not half as good as he thinks he is at hiding secrets. “But you can keep it on if you want to. That’s okay.” And it’s silly and stupid to him but if it’s that important to Aaron then… okay. It’s okay. That’s one of the hard parts, letting Aaron believe his mirage remains upheld. It’s important to him and so it’s become important to Derek.

“In the tub then,” Derek instructs. It’s a slow process, one foot at a time and Aaron’s discontent with the water’s cold temperature. “I know, I know,” Derek soothes, but he forces Aaron down into the water. Makes him settle down no matter how he complains. “Just sit for a little bit and I’ll let you have your blankets back.”

Aaron leans into Derek, lets him manipulate his limbs down into the water. Sinks down, down, down until his head is leaning into Derek’s hand, keeping his chin out of the water. Derek smiles down at him, cupping water in the palm of his hand guiding it to fall over Aaron’s face. “Feels better, huh?”

Hotch looks at his legs, long limbs awkwardly bent up out of the water. “I don’t even fit in the tub,” he rasps.

Derek squints his eyes, “stop grumbling about everything like an old man.” He makes a point to flick the edge of Aaron’s nose. A little bop that makes Aaron curl his nose, grunts in annoyance. “Will you be okay for a minute?” Derek asks. “I need to call Dave, warn him that neither of us are coming in.”

Hotch nods and Derek can see that while his introduction of the freezing tub of torture wasn’t a welcomed suggestion, it’s brought back focus to Hotch’s eyes. Made him more coherent, more present. Hotch’s nod is followed by his slow, careful movements. Working his arms underneath himself until he can sit up. “Go,” he instructs. His cheek rests against the bathtub's edge, soaking in the cool feeling of the porcelain. “I won’t drown.”

Derek stands up with a groan, rolling his eyes. He kisses Aaron’s forehead, “I didn’t mean it like that, you old drama queen.”

Calling Dave is simple enough, an easy run-through. Garcia clears Hotch’s schedule for the day, pushes meetings back. Derek can hear the water splashing around when he moves down the hall, setting about making some toast. He and Jack had breakfast, shared a pot of coffee and Derek watched Jack devour two bowls of cereal and then pocket a pop-tart for later. Aaron had still been in bed.

“Hello good looking,” Derek leans in the doorway of their room smiling.

Aaron turns, signature frown slapped in place. He’s standing there on his side of the bed, one arm protectively pulled to his chest. He hasn’t dried off all the way, his shirt stuck to his skin. His hair falling down into his face. “Where’d you put my blanket?” He’s pouting. All but whining as he sadly tosses the blankets he doesn’t want out of his way.

“In the wash,” Derek supplies, “it’ll be fine. You won’t freeze before then.”

Aaron groans, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Why’d you take it?” He folds over himself, rests his head in his hand, his elbow on his knee. Rubbing his temple, digging his thumb into the skin.

“Love,” Derek squats down in front of Aaron. “You’ve been hauled up in that blanket all night. All gross and sweaty.” He smirks, laughing as Aaron leans over onto him. Presses his forehead into Derek’s neck like he’s trying to bury himself there. He’s still feverishly warm but far more coherent. “It’s going to come out of the wash and I’ll bring it back to you I promise.” Derek runs his hand through Aaron’s hair, the strands wet and cold. “Come to bed, I’ll keep you warm.”

Aaron groans, lifting his face just enough to grumble out, “traitor.”

“Okay,” Derek chuckles, “okay, I’m a dirty traitor for washing your blanket. Will you come to bed?”

Aaron nods, “we’ll need more blankets.”

Derek shakes his head, sighing. “Okay,” he caves. “Okay, I’ll get you more blankets.”

He goes to get three blankets, tucks them under his arm so that Aaron can decide which ones are nice enough to keep and which ones won’t do. He checks on the heating blanket, the cover. He didn’t just throw the whole thing in there. He’s doubling back for the bedroom with the fantastic news that his blanket will be done soon to find Aaron is out. He’s curled in the middle of the bed, taking up more than his fair share. Burning under the comforter.

Which is normal.

Aaron hogs the blankets.

Aaron hogs the bed.

“Derek?” Hotch feels the bed shift as Derek lays down beside him. An arm comes over his hips, a knee against his thigh. He hadn’t heard Derek come in, hadn’t heard him changing his clothes. Moving about the room.

Derek settles in, gets comfortable. He’ll get that stupid blanket out when it’s done. It will smell remarkably better but Hotch won’t comment, he’ll tuck himself further into it and pretend not to hear Morgan’s comment about burning down the house with faulty wiring.

“Blankets not done yet,” Derek mumbles into Aaron’s back. “I’ll get it when it's done, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise I’ll get your stupid blanket. Sleep, Aaron.”

[viking-raider]

The Immortal Sky - Part VII *Mature*

Summary: It’s a battle to survive and not everyone will make it.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 17,431

Rating: M - Dystopian!AU, Futuristic!AU, Language, Dark Themes: Severe Angst, Violence, Torture, Kidnapping, Traumatic Death, Blood, Life Threatening Injures, Severe Trauma, Life Changing Events, Hurt/Comfort, and a teeny bit of Fluff

Inspiration: I’ve always wanted to write a futuristic fic!

Author’s Note: This is the final official Chapter of The Immortal Sky, I will be doing a short Epilogue to round things out though. I hope you enjoy this and thank you so much for all the love, comments and support! A super thanks to @wondersofdreaming​ for being a great support, listening to my crazy thoughts, giving me amazing suggestions and ideas, and just being an all around amazing friend!

You gasped, sitting up on your elbows, heart pounding and drenched in a cold sweat as the nightmare continued to dig its claws into your waking moments.

“Henry?” You called out, instinctively, before remembering he wasn't there.

Still.

Letting out a hard and shaky breath, you dropped back onto the mattress, damp from your sweat. You stared up at the ceiling, gripping the blankets in shaking fists as hot and furious tears dripped over your temples and into your hair.

“He isn't coming back.” You choked on your own snot. “They've captured and killed him, I just know it. He's died trying to protect me and there's nothing I can do to stop it. To make up for it, so his pain and death weren't in vain.” You took gasping breaths and only choked more on your tears. “I'm so sorry Henry. Oh my god, I am so sorry.” You wailed, crying without abandon.

You beat your fists on the mattress, outraged at your negativity and ease of giving up on him. Henry wouldn't have given up on you, he would have stayed strong and came for you, like he had when you ran away from him in London. Jerking up, you sat on the edge of the bed, the springs of the mattress creaking under your shifting weight.

“He's still alive.” You forced yourself to say out loud. “Henry is still alive, and I will find him.”

Resolved to this conviction, you stood up and dressed, pressing his shirt to your face and took a deep breath, inhaling his earthy and masculine scent, fortifying you, before slipping it on over your own shirt and finished tying your shoelaces. You weren't completely sure what to do or how to go about finding, and potentially saving, Henry. You weren't the amazing and seasoned High Marshal Henry was, is. You tried putting yourself in his shoes, hard as it was to fill size eleven boots. So, you started in the only place that made sense to you, the Black Bone pub, where your brother and his handler were known to frequent. So, locking your room, you trekked the six blocks from the hotel to the dingy pub, heart pounding in your throat as you entered.

“What can I get ya?” The bartender asked you as you approached the counter.

“Um,” You looked at the stained menu taped to the bar top. “A Virgin Mojito, please.”

The bartender lifted a brow at you, shrugged his shoulders and turned away from you. A minute later, he set the tall glass in front of you and held out his hand, wanting payment. Sighing, you dug out the meager change you had and slapped it into his hand, picked up your drink and took a seat in the corner, the same corner you occupied with Henry the day before.

You tried your best to look as inconspicuous as you possibly could, keeping your eyes on the tv, like Henry had, swirling your drink with the thin black straw inside of it and checking out everyone in the room from the corner of your vision. It was slightly more busy than it had been the morning before, but there was no sign of your brother, Knox or Henry. What your inexperienced eye failed to notice, was the bartender keeping his eye on you, for several minutes, before going to the back of the store room and making a phone call.

“Yeah, Ashe. It's me, Bruce, the owner of the Black Bone. You asked me to keep an eye out for a lady.” He rattled off your description. “Told me to call if I saw her around.”

“And?” Ashe replied, staring at the black, web-like, 3-D printed cast on the hand he busted in his fight with Henry.

“She's back.” Bruce told him, stepping out of the store room and peeking around the corner, to make sure you were still there, clearly ignoring your drink. “Sitting in a booth, right now.”

“Excellent.” Ashe grinned, wolfishly. “I'll be right over, let me know if she leaves.”

Bruce hung up with Ashe and moved back to serve his new customers, keeping his eye on you the whole time. You finally took a sip of your drink, the mint was refreshing to your taste-buds with the slight twinge of the lime's tartness, when the door of the pub chimed as it opened and from the corner of your eye you saw who entered, making your blood run cold, the man from the day before, who had given Henry the creeps and chased you both down the alleyway. Your hands shook as he glanced in your direction, a faint smirk on his thin lips, you noticed the cast on his arm and drew conclusions; knowing he and Henry must have gotten into a fight. Wishing you had the bartender put the rum into your drink after all, you gulped it down and tried to get up as casually and calmly as possible, eyes darting to the lopsided and hand written sign above the bathroom door and headed that direction.

The bathroom was big enough for a discolored and filthy toilet and a teeny window above that. Locking the bathroom door, you climbed top of the toilet, wobbling on the unstable tank to peek out the cloudy windowpane. There was another alleyway behind the pub, but you couldn't see where either end of it led out too, but you weren't going back out into the bar area with Ashe there, waiting to pounce on you. The window was wedged into the frame, sticking it into place from years of hard rains and freezing winters, swelling and warping the wood. Biting your lip, you started bashing it with the heel of your hand, the wood protesting and squeaking with each blow, until it suddenly flew open.

Glancing over your shoulder to the latched door as the dented handle started to rattle, you wasted no time, jumping and diving halfway through the window, legs flailing and kicking the dingy wall. Scrambling to get a footing and wiggle the rest of the way through the window, the rough wood scraping and cutting up your sides and ripping holes into your jacket. The bathroom door started to shake, a shoulder driving into it, you knew it wouldn't be long before Ashe busted through and hauled you out of the bathroom. Growling in frustration, you kicked hard at the wall, breaking through the crumbling drywall and used it to boost yourself up more. Punching more and more holes into the wall with your feet to you wiggle and shimmy through the window.

You gasped as your hips passed through the window frame and scrambled to get a footing on the other side, before you fell face first into a pile of two week old trash. You had just managed to flip yourself as you fell out of the window, landing on your butt on top of the overstuffed black plastic bags with a grunt. The eruption of Ashe charging through the bathroom door exploded above you, followed by his flurry of curses as his head popped through the window, the only thing small enough to fit through it.

“You fucking bitch!” He roared, pushing an arm through the window with his head to try and grab at you.

You struggled to your feet and stumbled away from Ashe and the window, out of breath and bleeding. Knowing he wasn't going to get through the window, Ashe jerked back inside and stormed out of the bathroom, shoving and knocking people aside as they came to see what all the commotion was about. Not waiting around for Ashe to reach you, you bolted down the alleyway, slipping on the slimy pavement and tripping over trash, just making it to the end, when two shadows blocked the way. Startled, you tried twisting around to run the other way, but they were faster than you were, grabbing the hood of your jacket and yanked you back, making you choke in the process.

“You ain't going anywhere.” One of them huffed as you were slammed chest first into the wall, scraping the side of your face on the rough surface.

Your arms were harshly yanked behind you and hands slipped through the loops of thick black cuffs, before your captor pressed a button on the handle connecting the cuffs and they automatically tightened around your wrists, painfully cutting off circulation and into your skin. They jerked you off the wall and faced you out of the alleyway, one of them clamped a hand down on your shoulder, making you whimper in pain and try to shrink away from him, only to be struck in the side.

“You should have stayed in London.” Ashe's angry voice growled as he approached the three of you, pinching your chin between his fingers. “Or just not have been born at all.” He hissed, letting go of your head with a jerk. “Get her in the van.” He ordered the two men, hitching a thumb over his shoulder, to the van parked at the curb, its back sliding door open and waiting.

You looked up and down the sidewalk as they pushed and shoved you towards the van, frantically hoping someone would see the four of you and rush to help you, stop them for kidnapping you. But, as you looked at the full street, you noticed everyone looking everywhere but at you, not wanting to get involved, knowing doing so would land them in the same hot water you were finding yourself in. But, to your utter shock, one face did look back at you, just as stunned to see you as you were to see them.

“Michail.” You mouthed, blinking like it was just a fragment of your frantic mind. “Mikey!” You screamed out, realizing it wasn't your mind toying with you, before you were thrown into the van and the door was slammed shut behind you.

“Let's go grab a pint.” Knox said, throwing on his jacket. “Come on, Keagan, one pint won't kill you. We have a load of time before your first big run.”

Michail sighed and rubbed at his face, his back ached from hunching over the map of his first run as an Adjutant Runner for Quinn. He had been staring at it non-stop for two weeks and the run was due to happen in three days. But, Knox was right, an hour's break to enjoy a frothy pint at the pub would do him and his brain some good. So, stiffly raising from his chair, he grabbed his own jacket and followed Knox to the lift and down the four floors to the ground floor and out onto the street. They chatted about the run as they walked down to the Black Bone, Knox's usual establishment for a good pint, hammering out more details and clearing up any misunderstanding about what was to go down, once it did happen.

But, they were interrupted by a small scuffle ahead of them, near the pub.

Looking away from each other and to the altercation, they saw three sizable men roughly handling a woman, her hands tied behind her back. Michail felt the breath in his lungs freeze and his heart drop out into his stomach as he met the woman's eye, watching her mouth his name, before yelling it out.

“Mikey!”

“Issy?” He whispered back, too stunned to manage anything louder before you were manhandled into the van.

“You know that woman, Mike?” Knox asked, his eyes panning between the speeding away van and him.

“She's my sister.” Mikey replied, his mouth hanging open, shocked and speechless to not only find you in Bristol, but being carted away by those ruffians. “But, she should be back in London.” He blinked, slowly regaining himself. “What the hell is she doing here in Bristol? Do you know who those guys were?” He asked, looking at Knox.

“Only one of them.” Knox replied, narrowing his eyes. “The blond is Ashe James, he works as a free agent, working several different jobs in every Sector.”

“Why would he take my sister like that?” Mikey asked himself, deeply troubled.

“We'll find out later, let's get that pint.” Knox answered, clasping Mikey on the back and pushed him towards the pub.

Henry spit nothing, but blood, as Emilio gave him another crack punch to the face; which was multicolored and inflamed. A cut high on the bridge of his bloody nose and upper lip, his bottom lip was split and bleeding as well, blood caked in his beard and curls, as well as his chest; soaking into the fabric of his jeans. His eyes burned from the unyielding and bright lights illuminating the room. He was spent and exhausted, leaning forward with his head lulling and eyes half rolled and swollen shut. A forest of marks and box cutter cuts littered his body, partiality around the surgical site of his artificial kidney. He was more than sure every one of his ribs were broken or cracked, making him wheeze and hiss with every breath he took.

Henry wasn't sure how much more of he could take, but that didn't mean he would break.

“I don't think you have much more blood in you, mate?” Emilio huffed, shaking his throbbing hand, his fingers puffy and bruised from hitting Henry so many times. “Usually, the people I—set straight—have given up by now. But, no. Not you, you're tough. I respect that.” He said, shrugging his sore shoulders.

“To a point.” He chuckled, slapping Henry in the back of the head, making him whimper. “Why don't you tell my boss where the girl is? Then, we can let you off. But, if you don't, you'll just end up dying here.”

Henry remained quiet, he had run out of witty and smart-ass comments hours before. So, he kept his mouth shut and reserved his energy and strength to withstand their assault on him. The one saving light was the thought of you safe and sound in your room. He knew, by now, you were freaking out and panicking. There were no clocks and only one mirror that Henry knew, without a doubt, was a two way, but he could catch a glimpse of Emilio's expensive watch. He had been in the room for nearly twelve hours, all night and most of the morning.

He sighed, grimacing as he swallowed another mouthful of blood that was pooling in his mouth from his bloody nose, cut lip and the cuts on the inside of his cheeks; his stomach cramped and twisted as he swallowed it down, adding to his discomfort. His mind started to wonder, his pain was beginning to numb his battered nerve-endings, he wondered how much longer he would survive, what blow would potentially kill him.

He counted each blow.

One.

Two.

Three.

The door came flying open and Benji waltzed in, the door slamming closed behind him, as he grinned and looked chipper after getting a good night's rest, having left not long after Henry's torture started. But, he seemed overly happy, too happy, for Henry to be comfortable with, he knew something. That's when Henry's fear finally spiked and his abused body tensed and his bloodshot, blue orbs widened with panic, showing that growing ounce of fear outwardly for the first time.

“Well, Mr. Cavill, I see that you are still alive!” Benji quipped with an amused smile, grabbing the back of Henry's sweaty and bloody curls, and jerked his head back, roughly. “I am quite impressed by your stamina. I bet the ladies love it.” He teased, lowering himself to meet Henry's gaze.

“I have a surprise for you, Henry.” He cooed, menacingly, his brown eyes darkening to a black hole of evil and danger. “I'm quite sure you'll be relieved to see it.” He said softly, running a finger over the freshly bleeding cut on Henry's brow, making him hiss as heavy beads of sweat mixed into it, then straightened up.

“Bring it in!” He yelled, moving away from Henry and turned towards the two way mirror.

The door swung open again, revealing Ashe, who pressed his back against it, to keep it open, and motion into the hall for someone to come forward. Henry's shoulders fell with his face, the last bit of his strength he had draining out of him as you were shoved into the room, stumbling and almost falling if Ashe hadn't grabbed the handle of your zip cuffs and steadied you.

Your mouth dropped open seeing the pitiful and terrifying condition Henry was in, covered in blood, bruises, cuts and god knows what else. You struggled to swallow down your throbbing heart and blinked back the searing tears that burned your eyes, biting hard into your lip to keep yourself from falling apart. Henry licked his split and chapped lips and blinked slowly at you, trying to keep himself together, but not to cry, but to not lose his temper, his muscles flexing as his anger flared and surged beneath his blue and purple, blood covered skin, straining in his restraints, like a bull seeing red.

“Two very different reactions.” Benji commented, watching the pair of you through the two-way mirror. “Interesting.” He hummed, turning on the heels of his expensive dress shoes. “I've been looking for you.” He said, stepping closer to you. “Thank you for making it so easy to find and get a hold of you.”

He smiled, touching the tip of his finger to your cheek and drew a smiley face on it.

In Henry's blood.

“Release her hands.” He ordered, snapping his fingers.

“Boss, is that a good idea?” Ashe asked, hesitating with the key to your cuffs. “She's pretty cunning.”

Benji's cool broke and slapped Ashe across the face, ripping the key out of his hand and releasing the cuffs from around your wrists. “I know what she is, you moron. But, what is she going to do? They're in my house, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of my men. Even if, they managed to get out of this room, they wouldn't make it out of the hall, before we either killed or incapacitated them. So,” He smirked at you, giving you a sour taste in your mouth.

“Let's leave them be.” He chuckled, making a motion with his hand and cleared the room, other than you and Henry.

You stood frozen for several moments, unable to move as you and Henry stared at each other, your silent tears finally escaping down your cheeks. “I'm so sorry, Henry.” You sniffled, gulping thickly.

Henry closed his eyes and sighed, groaning and gently shaking his head. He knew, he knew you had left the room to come look for him, the guilt and evidence of it was all over your face. “It's all right.” He finally replied, his voice dry and raspy. “I know you were scared.”

“I was worried.” You whimpered, slowly approaching him. “I still am.” You told him, dropping to your knees before him, looking over his battered body. “I'm sorry, Henry. I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted anyone to get hurt because of me. Least of all, you.”

Your emotions started to overwhelm you, reaching out to gently cup his face in your shaking palms and pushed up on your toes to touch your forehead to his temple. Henry frowned and nudged your face with his, trying to give you what comfort he could, while still tied to the chair. Your wet cheek smeared more blood on the both of you, as you wrapped your arms loosely around his bare waist.

“I told you to wait for me.” He whispered, meeting your damp eyes.

“I tried.” You protested, pulling back from him. “But, I-” You bit your lip and looked away from him.

“I told you, I'd come back for you.”

“How?” You snapped, incredulous. “You're tied to a fucking chair and practically bleeding to death!”

Henry narrowed his eyes at you. “I'll be fine, I just needed more time. I've done this before.” He told you, shaking his head, then regretting it.

“That doesn't make me feel any better or convince me, Henry.” You replied with a huff. “How are we going to get out of here?” You asked, lowering your voice, sure they were eavesdropping.

“I'll think of something.” Henry answered, looking around the room, but there was very little to aid you in that endeavor. “Just stay strong for me.” He added, turning his face into yours, his chapped lips brushing your ear.

“Nugget.”

Benji stood in the room adjoined to the interrogation room you and Henry were held in, watching the two of you interact and talk, when a phone started to ring. Flexing his hands, Benji turned on his men, glaring each of them in the eyes until one of them shied away from his gaze.

“Answer it, Luis.” He hissed at the smaller man. “Now!” He roared, making everyone flinch.

Luis slipped a shaking hand into his pocket and pulled out his mobile, flipping it open and answering it. “Hello?” He squeaked, his voice high pitched with fright. “Um,--” He shuttered, eyes glued to Benji. “It's Monroe, Sir. He's asking about the girl, why she was nabbed this morning.” He explained, holding his phone out to Benji.

“Knox!” Benji roared into the receiver. “Why are you asking about the girl?” He demanded.

“My new Runner, they know each other.” Knox replied, cool as ice, he was used to Benji's outbursts. “We saw Ashe and the boys dragging her out of the Black Bone, she saw us too, and called out Keagan's name. When I asked how she knew him, he answered that she was his sister.”

“Her brother?” Benji said slowly, turning back to the mirror and staring at you as you huddled close to Henry. “Bring him to me, I want you here within the hour.”

“You got it, boss.” Knox replied, hanging up.

“The bubble of intrigue just keeps growing around this girl.” He said, studying you. “I love it.”

“I just got a call from headquarters.” Knox said as he approached Mikey at their table. “We need to go in, they're having a Runner meeting we need to attend to get the new details on our run in a couple days.” He explained.

“All right.” Mikey nodded, wiping the foam off his upper lip as he finished off his pint. “Are we going straight there?” He asked, standing up.

“Yep.” Knox nodded, clapping him on the back and directing him to the door, waving to the bartender as they left.

They hailed a cab to the Hernandez building, it was the tallest building in all of Bristol, showing the power, presence and money they had, running their empire of drugs and violence. The twenty minute ride there was quiet, and Knox almost felt bad for Mikey, knowing the kid had zero clue what was about to happen to him, but he wasn't sorry for the fact he was related to you, who could possibly bring down the business that kept him employed and out of the Slums.

“Mr. Hernandez is expecting us.” Knox told the receptionist at the front desk.

Nodding her head, the receptionist picked up her phone, dialed a number and waited for it to pick up. “Mr. Monroe to see you, sir.” She said, then hung up. “He'll meet you at lift number three.” She told Knox, then returned to her paperwork.

“Come on, Keagan.” Knox called, motioning Mikey to follow him.

Mikey followed him, unaware and naive to what was about to happen to him, to what was waiting for him, as the lift doors slid open and revealed Benji and Ashe. It was seeing Benji and Ashe that Mikey got a strange feeling in his stomach, but he ignored it, figuring it was just nervous jitters from meeting the most powerful man in Bristol.

“Knox.” Benji smiled at his prized Runner, then settled his cold eyes on Mikey. “Mr. Keagan, how nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much.”

“All good, I hope.” Mikey gulped.

“Of course.” Benji chuckled, motioning for the two men to step into the lift with them. “Let's go to my office to speak.” He suggested.

The ride in the lift was silent and stiff, no one speaking or moving, not even making eye contact for the several minutes the ride took, until the ding announced their arrival to the floor and the sleek metal doors slid open. Benji stepped off first, followed by Knox and Mikey, with Ashe bringing up the rear. They walked down a long hallway and Benji stopped beside a door, scanned a key card and pushed it open, motioning for Mikey to go in first, wanting to see his reaction as he entered.

Biting his lip, Mikey did as he was told, a nervous sweat breaking out on his brow as he moved into the dark room, noticing the wall length window to one side. He stopped in front of it, looking through the two way mirror and felt his jaw and heart hit the floor.

“Issy.” He gasped, seeing you pacing the bright room, then noticed the large and beaten male tied to the chair in the room as well.

His shoulders slumped as it all clicked in his head, he had been lied to too and was now as much a prisoner as you and Henry were. A cold sweat broke out all over his body and his hands started to shake, gulping several times to try and keep his composure.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked, eyes snapping to Benji as he watched Ashe lock and block the door, leaving Knox in the hallway.

“Who is that girl to you?” Benji asked, lightly tapping the glass of the mirror. “And answer truthfully.”

Mikey steeled himself. “I don't know.” He huffed, puffing out his chest.

Benji rolled his jaw and banged on the mirror, grabbing Emilio's attention. Smirking, Emilio pushed himself off the door he had been leaning against and strode over to you, startling you and making you stubble away from him.

“NO!” Henry and Mikey both screamed at the same time as Emilio grabbed you roughly by the hair, yanking your head backward and making you cry out as he shoved you closer to the mirror.

“Who is she to you?” Benji asked again, slowly.

“A friend.” Mikey whimpered, clenching his fists together as he felt and saw your pain.

Benji knocked on the window again. This time, Emilio twisted you around by the hair and slammed your back up against the mirror and wrapped his meaty hand around your slender neck. Henry jerked and squirmed in his chair, roaring with madness and cursing loudly as Emilio choked you, trying desperately to break free and pull him off of you, before it was too late.

“Stop!” Henry roared, letting his anger and frustration out in a violent scream. “Let her go! Do it to me!” He begged Emilio. “Let her be!”

Mikey doubled over, his hands braced on his thighs as he gasped for air, like a goldfish out of it's tank. “Please, stop this.” He begged Benji, in a wheeze.

Benji tilted his head as he watched Mikey, watching his distress as it mirrored your own. Curiously, he banged on the mirror again and Emilio, still choking you with one hand, drove the fist of his other into your stomach, making you yelp around his hand, incapable of more as you struggled for air. Mikey stumbled back into a shelf behind him, nearly losing his footing. Benji's fingers caught the underside of Mikey's chin and jerked his head back, thick strings of drool on his lips and chin.

“Tell me who she is to you?” He hissed in his face.

“Please.” Mikey begged him, weakly.

“Tell me, and I'll make him stop.” Benji told him, his face twisted with smug malice.

Mikey whimpered, hearing you struggling and Henry's desperate protests. “She's my sister.” He broke. “My twin sister.” He admitted, weakly.

“Your twin?” Benji echoed, intrigued. “So, you feel what she feels. Does she feel what you do, I wonder.” He let go of Mikey and knocked on the mirror twice, signaling Emilio to release you, which he did, causing you to collapse to the floor. “Ashe, go in there and tell me if she feels anything from him.” He ordered, keeping his eyes on Mikey.

Nodding, Ashe left the room and entered yours and Henry's, nodding at the mirror, so Benji knew he was in position. Smiling, Benji promptly drove his knee into Mikey's stomach and looked behind him and saw Ashe smirking and chuckling to himself.

“The connection between twins.” Benji laughed, amused to all ends. “I love it. Let's have a proper little family reunion, shall we!” He declared and motioned to Luis to grab Mikey. “Bring him.” He ordered, marching out of the room. “Good news everybody!” He declared, bursting into the room with you and Henry.

“It's family time!” He laughed, as Luis shoved Mikey into the room with the two of you.

“Mikey.” You coughed and rasped, holding your bruised neck.

“Issy.” He rasped back, crawling over to you. “Where have you been?” He asked, cupping your face in his shaking hands. “We thought you were dead.”

“I went looking for you, to try and patch things up with our parents, after the fight.” You explained, fresh tears dripping down your face. “But, I was caught by the Traffickers and was held by them. Henry,” You looked up at him, still straining in the chair, his blue eyes wild. “he saved me and I've been with him the whole time.”

Mikey blinked up at Henry, then narrowed his eyes at him. “Saved you?” He echoed your words, but not your sentiments and appreciation. “The only reason a person goes into a Trafficker's warehouse, if they're not merchandise, is to buy.” He hissed, his face darkening. “You bought my sister from a fucking Trafficker. Typical Upper, buying and enslaving us just because we were born in a lower Sector than you.”

“Mikey, it wasn't like that?” You panted, shaking your head at him, desperate for him to understand.

“How can you fucking defend him!” Mikey barked, gritting his teeth at you. “Unless he's already brainwashed you, convinced you that owning you didn't make you any different than him.”

“I don't own her.” Henry growled, low in his throat.

“Is that so!”

“It is!” You barked back, regaining yourself. “He never registered me for an Ownership Bracelet. Henry's never treated me like a Slave, or even a Slummer, for that matter. He's been good to me, Mikey.” You told him, cupping his tense neck in your hands and pressed your forehead to his. “He's been helping me to find you.” You whispered to him, holding his eyes.

“He's been protecting me.” You said quieter.

“I was originally meant to follow her until you were found, then bring you both back to London.” Henry added, his eyes on you. “So, she could testify against him.” He jerked his chin at Benji. “and to turn you in for your part in the Running business. But,” He paused and sighed. “But, I changed my mind and decided to just help her bring you back home, safely. Make up some story about why I didn't bring you in, then once she testified, I was going to release her to go back home to your family.” He explained.

Mikey opened his mouth to ask why a High Marshal would bother to do something like that, when he finally felt it, a warmth that came from you, and met your eyes and saw the cause of your warmth, towards Henry. You were in love with the High Marshal, and looking to Henry, he could tell that Henry felt just as strongly about you.

“I've been a complete brainless prick.” Mikey sighed, feeling guilty, if he hadn't decided to become a Runner, then none of this would have happened, the two of you and Henry would still be safe and sound in London, going about your lives as should be.

“I'm sorry, Issy.”

“Well, you're just a stupid boy, what do you know anyway.” You huffed, smiling softly and shrugging it off.

“Well, isn't this all well and sweet.” Benji huffed pushing off the wall.

“But, we all have an issue. The three of you are a threat to my business.” He said, folding his arms. “You, High Marshal, are on the case that threatens my business. You,” He looked at Mikey. “Being a Runner, know the routes and procedures of my business, and you,” He settled his eyes on you. “Are the witness to my operations and hold the key to ruining my business in London and putting away one of my best Traffickers.”

“I can't let you live.” He said, looking at the three of you. “So, we're going to play a fun little game.” He smirked, greedy and giddy, as he rubbed his hands together. “Luis, your gun.” He ordered, holding his hand out to the other man. “Ashe draw yours as well, and Emilio, why don't you untie Mr. Cavill over there, we do out number them with people and firearms, so I doubt either of them will be stupid enough to try something.” He said, motioning Emilio towards Henry.

Obeying, Emilio removed the key to Henry's bonds from his front pocket, while Ashe had his gun trained on him, anticipating any attempt Henry, you or Mikey might make to try and be a savior. Emilio unlocked the ties around Henry's chaffed ankles, then his wrists. Henry let out a relieved sigh as the strain and tension of his shoulders and arms released, almost slumping out of the chair.

“Henry!” You gasped, dashing forward to try and catch him.

“Ah, no!” Benji barked, stopping you in your tracks. “Leave him be.” He hissed at you. “Get up, Cavill.” He demanded of Henry. “Now, or I'll start putting holes in her!”

Groaning, Henry forced himself to stand, swaying on his throbbing and injured legs and almost falling, but caught himself on the back of the chair. Assured that Henry would be able to reasonably stand, then took the gun Luis was still holding out to him, Benji removed the clip from the firearm, checking how many rounds it had, reloaded the clip and cocked the slide, securing a bullet into the chamber.

“Take it.” He snapped, holding it out to you.

“No.” You whimpered, shaking your head and taking a step away from him.

“You either take it, or I kill all three of you now, starting with the High Marshal, then your dear brother and you last, so you can watch as your brother and the man you love, die.” He threatened, with an eerie calm.

Taking a shuddering breath, you stepped forward again and, with a shaky hand, took the heavy weapon from Benji's hand. You looked at Henry and Mikey with wide and frightened eyes, visibly shaking with terror. They both looked back at you with the same fright and worry.

“So, this is our game.” Benji grinned, licking his lips, like an evil serpent. “You get to choose who dies first, and get the honor of killing them.” He told you, grinning sinisterly.

“No.” You whimpered, slowly shaking your head. “No, I can't. Please, I can't.” You begged him, trembling, and staring down at the gun, like you expected it to swallow you.

“None of you are going to leave this room alive. So, you might as well put each other out of your own misery.” Benji tried to reason with you. “Do you want them to suffer because of your selfishness?”

“Don't listen to him.” Henry snapped, drawing your attention. “You don't need to do this, just give me the gun.” He told you, reaching out a hand to you.

“He's right, Issy. You don't.” Mikey agreed, holding his own hand out. “Just give it to one of us, we'll figure this out.”

Both Henry and Mikey knew why Benji had given you the gun. You would never have considered hurting anyone, with or without the firearm; unlike Henry and Mikey, who would.

Your eyes darted back and forth between them, unsure who to give it to. What would Henry do, if you were to give him the gun? Would he manage to kill Benji, Ashe, Luis and Emilio before they could do any real damage to the three of you? What about Mikey? Did your brother even know how to use a gun? What would he do once he had it? Should you even give it to them? What if one of them turned on the other, what if Henry turned on Mikey? He had originally been sent after you to bring you back to testify and take care of Mikey, because of his involvement with Benji and Bristol. Would Mikey try to kill Henry, because he was a High Marshal, maybe try to save face and show Benji he could be trusted, to save himself, and maybe you too.

You knew neither of them would turn on you or harm you in any way. You weren't afraid of them; you were afraid for them, and what they might do if they had the gun themselves.

It took all you had not to throw up, then and there. Everyone was staring at you waiting for your decision, but you couldn't decide, you wouldn't decide. You loved Henry and you loved your brother, you would rather kill yourself than one of them; and it was as if they sensed your mind go in that direction, for both Henry and Mikey jerked towards you, startling you.

“No!” Henry hissed, his eyes wide with panic. “Don't you dare.” He panted heavily, spots in his eyes as his advanced blood loss started to take its toll on him, on top of everything else going on. “Don't you dare turn that gun on yourself.” He whispered, half begging and half ordering you.

“Listen to him, Issy.” Mikey agreed, nodding his head. “Don't harm yourself. We can figure this out.” He said, eyeballing Benji over your shoulder.

Tears dripped down your face, like a waterfall after a heavy rain, it was too much, it was all too overwhelming for you to take. Mikey looked between you and Henry, he saw the absolute terror and worry in Henry's eyes, his pupils eating away the cobalt blue and speck of brown of his irises. Your own blown out pupils doing the same as you started back at him. It was something that Mikey wasn't used to. When things became scary and too much, it had always been him that you looked to in those moments, but this time, it was Henry you were seeking comfort and protection from.

“You fucking prick!” Mikey growled, trying to lung at Benji.

“Ah ah!” Benji barked back, grabbing Luis's wrist and forcing him to point his gun at you. “If either of you try and act a hero, Luis will kill her, out right.” He warned, meeting Mikey and Henry's eyes.

Biting his lip, Mikey took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh, Benji had the three of you cornered. He was forcing you to kill one of the men you loved with your own life, while stopping Henry and Mikey from trying to save the day, by threatening to kill you, knowing they both would die to keep you safe.

What a twisted and poisonous web that was being weaved in the room. But, sooner or later, the strings of that web would start to snap and unravel, taking all of you with it.

Mikey took a hesitating step forward, his heart pounding and choked inside of his throat, his eyes daring between you, Benji and Luis. Reaching out, he wrapped his hand around your wrist, feeling the weight of the gun you held in that hand. The pounding pulse in your wrist drummed against Mikey's fingers, and he felt his own heart become attuned with yours. From the day the two of you came into the world, you several minutes before him, the pair of you were in sync, but as you grew older, you became less so. You had taken the right path, following the law, doing the job assigned to you, making the best of the life you had been dealt, without a complaint. While Mikey rebelled and became restless, wanting to be more, wanting the people he loved to be and have more than you already did, failing to see the wealth he already had, in you, your parents and little brother.

It was too late now to go back and fix those things, to see and cherish them properly, like Mikey now realized he should have.

The two of you synced together, heart beats the same steady, but pounding rate, breathing heavy and as one, flowing in a way that only twins could. You read his face, like it was the page of an open book and knew what he was doing. Your hand grasped the grip of the gun tighter, eyes widening and head softly shaking.

It's all right, Issy. His face and eyes said to you.

No. Your eyes begged back, blinded by collecting tears. Not like this. Don't do this. I can't live without you, Mikey.

You'll be fine, Sis.

He looked away from you, to Henry, who stood there, supporting himself on the back of the chair he had spent hours being tortured in. Henry looked back at Mikey, confused, just like everyone else in the room to what was transpiring between you, narrowing his eyes and frowning, shaking his head at Mikey, wanting to understand. But, Mikey looked back to you, squeezing your wrist and pressing his free hand to your chest.

You have the High Marshal to care for and protect you now. His eyes said to you. And he'll do a better job at it. He can give you the love, life and protection you need and deserve in life.

You shook your head at him, eyes screaming at him. Don't do this! What about our parents? Our little brother? What will I tell them? They will be crushed.

I'm no good and we both know this. Let me do this, and prove I still have some good left in me.

His hand slowly slipped down yours, gently prying your fingers from around the gun's grip, carefully taking it from you. Your hands shot out, gripping Mikey by the sleeves, one last plea for him to reconsider, to help you and Henry find a different plan and outcome, to give it a chance. But, he shook his head and took your arm in his free hand, leaned in to kiss your cheek, then gently shoved you in Henry's direction. Henry just managed to catch you before you stumbled over your feet, and himself from falling as well, blinking between you and Mikey, starting to realize what was going on.

“Mikey, n--” You started to scream as he raised the muzzle to his temple.

Henry's thick arms wrapped around you, somehow mustering the strength to hold you back as you struggled and thrashed in his embrace, trying desperately to stop what was about to happen.

A loud pop and a high pitched ringing filled your ears, muting out all other sounds that were being made, the sounds of your scream that you only knew was happening by how sore it made your throat, the warm spray of droplets against your face and neck, the world ending sight of your brother crumbling to the ground, the gun falling from his limp hand and slid across the blood covered floor, spinning under the chair at Henry's foot.

But, the chaos didn't stop there.

As Mikey hit the floor, Ashe came to life, using the distraction of Mikey's decision, to pull the gun out of his back waistband, smoothly flipping off the safety with his thumb, cocked and pointed it at Luis. All of it was in slow-motion, ears still screaming, as another pop filled the room, this time taking out Luis. Henry's body tensed up against yours as he watched Luis instinctively pull the trigger of his own weapon, the bullet whizzing towards you both. Henry wrapped his arms completely around you and threw you both down onto the floor; caging you in with his heavy and bloody body, using himself as a human shield as more muffled shots rang out.

You felt Henry's body jerk once against yours and the hot breath of him groaning against your neck, then a searing pain in your thigh, before the room went quiet and dark.

You started to come back around to the sound of Henry yelling your name, above the ringing that was still filling your ears and mind. You shook your throbbing head, feeling him pat your cheeks, trying to get you to open your eyes and respond to him.

“Can you hear me?” Henry asked, blinking down at you.

You blinked back up at him, only catching every other word he said. “A little bit.” You wheezed back, your thigh felt like an overfilled, hot water bottle as it throbbed.

“Good.” He nodded, then looked down the length of your body, just then noticing the slow puddle of blood pooling around your leg and cursed. “You've been hit.” He huffed, wrestling with his body's want to panic, but kept calm.

Spotting the tattered remains of his shirt, that Emilio had cut off, Henry grabbed it. “This is going to hurt, but, I need to control the bleeding before you lose too much.” He explained, carefully bringing your leg up, then wrapping the strip of his shirt around your thigh, just above the bullet wound, and tied it off as tightly as he could without causing any more complications.

You winced and whined as he did, gripping his bicep and digging your nails into his skin. “What happened?” You asked, out of breath, you couldn't see most of the room, Henry's body blocking your view, mostly on purpose.

“It seems, we have a friend.” Henry replied looking over his shoulder to Ashe. “We're going to get out of here.” He told you, fussing over your wound as a thin and steady stream of blood continued to flow from it, tightening his shirt more.

“We can't leave without--” You paused, remembering. “Oh god, Henry!” You gasped, it all rushed back to you.

“I know.” He frowned at you, crushed.

“We have to take him with us.”

“We can't.” Henry whispered, licking his cracked lips. “It'll slow us down.” He told you as carefully as he could. “I'll get him back for you. When we get back to London, I promise you.” He said, helping you sit up.

“Henry--” You sobbed, throwing your arms around his neck and buried your face into his sweaty and sticky chest.

“I know, love. I am so so sorry.” He whimpered in your ear, cradling you in his arms as you sobbed.

“We need to go.” Ashe's rushed voice came from the door. “Now, before the alarms go off.” He said, looking back into the hall.

He felt for you, he really did, never expecting all of this to happen, but now that it had, the three of you needed to put as many kilometers and as much time between you and Bristol as you could, because Benji's men would be coming after you in no time.

“Come on.” Henry grunted, pulling himself up to his feet and taking you with him, wrapping your arm around his neck, to support you out of the room.

Your breath caught in your throat as Henry helped you stand up, seeing Mikey's body laying there in a large pool of blood, but also Luis, Emilio and Benji's bodies as well. In the chaos of Mikey taking his own life to save you and Henry, Ashe had sprung, pulling his weapon and dispatching them in the confusion. Luis and Emilio let off several rounds from their own guns, one of them nicking Henry in the side and another going through your thigh.

“Is he on our side?” You wheezed, as you and Henry followed him down the hall.

“Yeah.” Henry nodded, shifting you against his side as you started to slip. “He's a Alpha Marshal, from London.” He explained to your questioning brow lift

“How did you not know that?” You asked him, frowning, you figured since Henry was a High Marshal, he would know all of the other Marshals.

“He finished Marshal training four years before I went in, and was recruited straight out of it to go undercover and infiltrate Bristol and climb the ladder as far as he could. Seems he got as high as being Benji Hernandez's personal enforcer.” He explained, stopping as Ashe secured the hallway around the corner.

“Which is damn lucky for the two of you.” Ashe commented, coming back. “The way is clear, there's a back service lift that goes down to the garage. I have a car there we can use to get the fuck out of Bristol.”

“Let's go.” Henry nodded, antsy.

You looked back down the hall, to the still open door to the room that held all that carnage, and shuttered. Henry looked at you, feeling the shiver and frowned, reaching up to brush your hair out of your sweaty and bloody face. He couldn't understand the level of pain and anguish you must be in, after watching your brother commit suicide to save you. But, he knew that Mikey would want him to protect you and get you the hell out of there, with or without his body, and that's what Henry planned on doing.

“You can do this.” He whispered to you, blood crusted fingertips brushing your cheek. “He would want you too.” He added even softer.

“I know.” You gulped down tears, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “Let's go, before I lose my nerve.” You said, looking away from the door.

Nodding his head, you and Henry supported each other down the hall to the lift, leaning against the wall as it went down to the dark underground garage. Finding Ashe's car, he unlocked it and helped you and Henry get inside, before rushing around to the driver's side, tearing out of the garage and onto the street.

“Here.” You sighed and removed your torn and filthy jacket, revealing Henry's shirt beneath it, and took it off, seeing Henry's shiver.

“Thanks.” Henry whimpered, carefully pulling the shirt on his sore and battered torso. “How are we getting out of here, Ashe?”

“There's a gate out of this Sector that most of Benji's top men use for dealing with business outside of Bristol. I know the guard that works it, he'll let us through and keep his mouth shut.” Ashe explained, keeping his eyes on the road. “From there, I'll drop you both off at the drop location I use for sending my information into London.”

“What Sector is that in?” Henry asked, checking your makeshift tourniquet.

“Three.” Ashe replied, slowing his car down as they approached the gate he spoke about. “Let me do the talking.” He said over his shoulder, rolling his window down as a stocky male with a semi-automatic weapon approached the driver's side.

“James, it's been awhile. How have you been?” He asked, staring through the open driver's window.

“Been all right.” Ashe replied casually, as if nothing was amiss, like the two bleeding people in his backseat. “I need to run an errand outside the city, if you don't mind opening the gate and letting me through.”

“Sure thing.” the guard replied, chipper and oblivious to you and Henry, unable to see through the black tinted windows.

Stepping away from Ashe's car, the guard moved into a small booth beside the gate, turning a key and held down a large red button. The large and scuffed up gate groaned to life, screeching and protesting as it slid out of the way, revealing barren land and an uneven road on the other side. Waving back as the guard waved Ashe through the gate, he drove through, letting out a relieved breath as the gate closed behind you, everything so far going smooth.

“It's a two and half hour drive to your drop off location.” Ashe said, breaking the silence.

“That's fine.” Henry replied. “It took us nearly a week to walk here.” He added with a huff, that felt like a year ago at this point.

“What about you?” You asked Ashe. “What will you do now? Will you not come into London with us?” You inquired, interested, since his life and the long years he spent undercover in Bristol was now blown apart because of you, Henry and Mikey.

“I'm not originally from London.” Ashe replied, stiffly. “I'm from Chester. My father was killed in an accident and my mother couldn't take care of me. So, she had a smuggler bring me to London where I have a wealthy aunt. She took me in, adopted me and raised me as her own son, enabling me to have a better life. With her connections, I was able to attend the Marshal Council Academy, graduated top of my class and was recruited directly out of training to go undercover and infiltrate Bristol and the Hernandez family. I've been there ever since, running and doing whatever job Benji and his family tell me too, while sending the information back to London and half of the money I make back to my mum in Chester.”

“I've wanted to return to Chester for a long time, I haven't seen my mother, in person, since I was eight. So, I plan to go back there, after I drop the two of you off.”

“Won't they go looking for you there?” You asked, concerned for him, you had dragged so many people into this mess.

“No, as far as they know, all my family is dead.” He answered, glancing at you in the rear-view mirror. “My backstory was I was orphaned as a baby and raised on the streets of London, where I got in with Runners and came to Bristol to be more big time. So, I don't know who my parents are, let alone, know if I have any other family or where.”

“And they believed that?”

“For more than a decade.” Ashe chuckled, smiling at you.

The rest of the drive was quiet, you and Henry huddled together in the backseat, Henry's heavy head resting on your shoulder. His eyes were closed, but he didn't find any sleep, still too worked up to find it with the state you both were in. You rested your cheek on the top of his head and closed your own eyes, your head still throbbed and your leg was on fire, but had stopped bleeding so much. Both of you were worn, spent and weak, desperately needing proper medical attention and rest after everything that had happened.

“Henry?” You whispered softly into his messy curls.

“Hm?” He hummed back.

“What are we going to say, when we get back to London?” You asked him, biting your lip.

Henry sighed, picking up his head as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed his lips to your temple. That had been brewing in his mind for the last hour, trying to figure out how to explain all your injuries and absence to everyone that asked. The only person that truly knew the nature of your and Henry's disappearance was Reyes, and he didn't know what Reyes would do when the pair of you showed back up in London in the sorry state you were in, and without Mikey.

“We'll cross that road, when we get there, love.” He finally replied, kissing your temple again.

You crossed that road an hour and a half later, when Ashe pulled up to a door that had been built into the wall of Sector Three. He helped you and Henry out of the car and approached the door with you, pointing out an intercom box beside the door.

“The code is 8391, it'll ring whoever is working the door today, they'll come down and ask for credentials, tell them you're a High Marshal and you'll get all the assistance you need.” He explained to you, heading back towards his car.

“Ashe!” Henry called after him, before he could get into the car and leave. “Thank you.” He said, when Ashe turned back.

“We're Marshals, we're trained to look out for each other.” Ashe replied, nodding his head to you both and got into his car.

Henry waited until Ashe's car disappeared from sight, before limping up to the door and pressed in the code Ashe had given you. A buzzer went off and five minutes later, the door opened, revealing a Beta Marshal, who frowned between you and Henry.

“High Marshal Henry Cavill.” Henry told him, as the Beta Marshal started to open his mouth. “We require aid and you need to get a call into Supreme Commander, Dylan Reyes.” He said, grabbing your hand and pushing through the door.

“Now, Beta Marshal, before we finish bleeding to death.” Henry hissed at him, annoyed and impatient.

“Of course, sir.” the Beta Marshal squeaked, saluting Henry and showing you both to his service car. “Supreme Commander Reyes, this is Beta Marshal Grant, down at the Security Door. I have a High Marshal here, wishing to speak with you.” the Beta Marshal explained, as his call to Dylan connected over the car's speakers.

“Who would that be, Grant?” Dylan's voice asked back.

“It's me, Dylan.” Henry huffed, slumping in the seat.

“Henry!” Reyes's voice snapped in surprise. “You're alive!”

“For the time being.” Henry sighed, rubbing at his face.

“Do you have the girl and her brother?” He asked, sounding desperate and frantic.

“I have her, but not her brother.” Henry explained, glancing at you. “It's a very long story. But, right now, we both need medical attention. She's been shot in the leg and bleeding heavily and I've spent the last thirteen hours being tortured.” He revealed to his boss.

“Grant, get them both to the Marshal Council Hospital right this second and make sure they don't spare any medical intervention and assistance. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Supreme Commander.” Grant replied, with a hard nod of his head as he started his car and directed it towards the Marshal Council Hospital, in Sector One.

“I'll be there promptly.” Reyes replied, clearly rushing out of his office for the parking garage.

So much of the tension went out of you and Henry, you were finally back in the protective and safe walls of London, no more worry about people trying to find and kill you, no more filthy and bare essential hotel rooms and days of endless walking. You were home and free, and with Henry. Now, you both just needed to get looked over and have your injuries treated, then you could go back to the comfort of your own flat.

You and Henry were rushed into the hospital, dozens of doctors and nurses swarming you both, poking this and pulling on that, asking a barrage of questions too fast for either of you to answer properly. The leg of your leggings was cut all the way to your hip as they removed Henry's ripped and blood soaked shirt to examine your gunshot wound. You screamed in pain as they pushed around it, and apologized profusely for it, and became more gentle about touching it.

“Good news is, it went through, relatively clean.” The doctor explained to you, standing beside your bed.

“The bad?” You whimpered, biting your lip as you tried preparing for it.

“The bullet nicked your great saphenous vein, it's the longest vein in the human body, running the entire length of the leg; which is what's causing a lot of your bleeding. ”

“Am..” You gulped down a hot lump of vomit trying to surge up your throat. “Am I going to lose my leg?” You asked, frightened beyond belief and wished Henry was in the same room as you, but they had separated the two of you after coming in with Beta Marshal Grant.

“No.” The doctor chuckled at you, shaking his head. “We have a procedure that will stop the bleeding and help the wound heal in no time. But, I must warn you, it is rather painful.”

“As long as I don't lose my leg, I don't care.” You told him.

You had already lost too much.

“Excellent, I'll have the nurse bring in the instruments and we'll get down to treating you.” He smiled at you, sweetly, trying to be supportive and calming. “Do you have any questions, before we get started?”

“Yes, how's Henry—the High Marshal.” You asked, correcting yourself.

“High Marshal Cavill has lost a good amount of blood.” He told you, his brow creasing with his concern. “We gave him a blood transfusion and an army load of fluids, while we treated his wounds. He has broken and cracked ribs and sternum, a broken nose, a severe concussion and very deep cuts on various parts of his body.” He explained to you, as gently as he could.

“But, he will make a full recovery. He's a tough young man, and has the best medical care London has.”

“Good.” You sigh, relieved.

The doctor smiled at you, gently resting his hand on your shoulder before leaving the room to prepare your treatment. A nurse came in a moment later, pushing a cloth covered cart, then put an IV port into your arm and hung up a bag of fluids, antibiotics and blood; since you had lost so much blood from your bullet wound. You hissed as she gingerly rotated your leg and slipped a triangular shaped pillow under your bent knee, an oval notch cut in the top of it for your knee to rest comfortable and securely, while they treated you.

She removed the cloth from the metal cart she brought in with her, and you saw what looked like a short caulking gun, a tube with a fat nozzle and two packaged patches. Picking up one of the patches, she ripped it open and dipped it in a small bowl of solution, the patch absorbed some of the liquid solution and became almost rubbery and gel-like. She moved around to your stabilized leg and gently pressed the ice cold patch to the bruised and puckered hole on the inside of your thigh, where the bullet exited, more than halfway up. You hissed as the cold gel patch touched the heated and angry skin of your thigh, whatever the solution she dipped it in stung and burned like liquid fire as it covered your wound, adhering to your skin with a firm hold.

“This will keep your wound protected, clean and sterile. It has antibodies that will recognize any infections or foreign matter and attack it, preventing your wound from going bad.” She explained to you, pressing her palm to it and held it there with firm pressure.

“And that?” You asked as she let go of the patch and picked up the caulking gun-like device and slotted the tub into it.

“This is Nanite Gel. It has antibodies in it, as well as stem cells and biological Nantes, that will start working to repair the severed muscle, skin, tendons, nerve endings and tissue inside your leg; closing the wound right up.” She replied. “The doctor will insert the nozzle into your wound and slowly draw it out, while filling it with the Gel. The patch also works as a barrier, since the projectile went through one side and out the other, preventing the Nanite Gel from squirting and leaking out.” She described to you.

“Fantastic.” You replied, with a nervous sarcasm.

You gulped with anticipation as the doctor came back in, with an additional nurse, and pulling on a pair of latex gloves. He smiled at you, took his position beside your leg, and took the injector from the first nurse. The second nurse grabbed your ankle and the top of your knee, pinning your leg down as the doctor lined up the tip of the nozzle with your uncovered and slightly bloody wound.

“Deep breath.” The doctor instructed you, taking a deep breath with you. “Ready?” He asked as the first nurse carefully dabbed at the blood with a wad of gauze at the end of a clamp, keeping your wound clean, so the doctor had an easy time guiding the nozzle in, which was easily bigger than your actual wound.

“More than I ever will be.” You replied, bracing yourself.

Nodding his head, the doctor pressed the nozzle to the opening of your wound and started to push it inside. You tensed and jerked, screaming again, but the second nurse had an iron grip on your leg, keeping it still as the doctor continued to push inside. You had strobing spots in your eyes and your jaw was so tight it felt like your teeth were going to shatter at any second. The doctor barked at the first nurse to give you twelve micrograms of Fentanyl for your pain, and she scurried out of your room and came running back a minute later with a IV syringe full of the opioid, pushing it directly into the tube of your IV. Within a couple of seconds, the painkiller washed over your whole body, like a hot comforter out of the dryer, and allowed you to relax, going slack on the bed.

“Good.” The doctor nodded, seeing and feeling you relax and finished pushing the nozzle the rest of the way in.

Shifting his hand, the doctor pressed down on the trigger of the injector and slowly drew it out again, filling the tunnel the bullet made with the blue-ish gel. You didn't feel the pain of it, but you felt the pressure in your leg. Your eyes were heavy, glazed over and half lidded, you felt absolutely nothing and you were so sluggish from the opioid that you couldn't even form words to think, it felt nice after all the trauma and hardship you had gone through in the last week.

So, you let it take you, pulling you under the crashing waves of exhaustion, pain and the high of the painkiller, your body going totally limp. It alarmed the doctor and nurses for a moment, fearing you had blacked out. But, once they checked you out and determined you had simply fallen asleep, they relaxed and finished tending to your wound, filling it with the gel, then covering it with another patch, like the other one, and lightly wrapped it with a bandage.

They left you to rest, closing the blinds over the window and turned down the lights, before softly closing the door behind them.

“How is she?” Henry asked Reyes as he came into Henry's room; he had heard your screams of pain from his room, across the hall.

“She's doing fine.” Reyes assured him, patting him on the shoulder. “They treated her gunshot wound with Nanite Gel, gave her some strong pain medication and she's asleep now.”

“Good.” Henry nodded, relieved, but still wanted to see you, to be by your side.

“So, what the hell happened?” Reyes asked, pulling up a chair next Henry's bedside.

Henry started to heave a sigh, but stopped, clutching his rib-cage with an arm as his ribs screamed. “I chased after her, like I said I would. It took me nearly three days to finally catch up to her. She's crafty, in a good way. She'd make a great Marshal.” He chuckled, carefully. “I was going to bring her straight back to London to testify. But, she was dead set on finding her brother, so I went with her, figuring I'd kill two birds with one stone.”

“Get her back to London to testify and have her brother prosecuted.” Reyes nodded, understanding.

“Well, when we got there, we had no clue on how to find him.” Henry continued on, staring out his room window. “I recalled that a Beta Marshal that had been banished to Bristol for dealings with Runners and Crime Bosses. Ramsey Kellan. We found him in Sector Fifteen and he gave us the information we needed.” He rubbed the side of his face, he really wished he could just take a nap, but continued to fill Reyes in.

“Somewhere along that time frame, we were outed as being in Bristol, and looking for her brother.”

“Over a decade as an undercover, and your first blown cover happens with the girl.” Reyes laughed, greatly amused.

“Yeah.” Henry frowned, not finding it funny, if his cover with you hadn't been blown, so much of this wouldn't have happened. “As I said, our cover got blown in a pub in Sector Three of Bristol. Benji Hernandez sent his best guy to track us down there. I was able to get us out of the pub and down an alleyway, where I boosted her over a wall, to keep her safe, and faced the guy. We fought, he tazed the fuck out of me, and the next thing I knew, I'm waking up in a bright room, cuffed hand and foot to a chair.”

“They tried beating and reasoning me into telling where she was, but I refused.”

“Where was she, when this was going on?”

“The hotel room we got before going to the pub.” Henry replied with a sigh.

“But, she was clearly found.” Reyes pointed out. “How?”

“I told her I would return in an hour. When I hadn't returned by morning, she got worried and decided to try and find me. Which ended up with Benji's men, who had been keeping an eye out for her, capturing her and bringing her in.”

“And the brother?” Reyes pushed, leaning forward, his elbows pressed to his thighs.

“They saw each other as she was being thrown in a van to be taken to Benji. His handler, Knox Monroe, had found out that they were siblings and outed him, and he ended up in the room with us.” Henry replied, gingerly shifting to find a more comfortable position.

“So, where is Keagan?”

“Dead.” Henry replied, bluntly. “Benji gave her a gun and forced her to decide which one of us would die first.”

“She killed her own brother?” Reyes asked, stunned and gobsmacked.

“No.” Henry shook his head, the image still burned in his mind. “She couldn't do it. She wouldn't choose either of us, she almost turned it on herself. Before, Michail managed to take the gun from her.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the image out his mind, the sound of your screams as you were forced to watch.

“He took his own life, so she didn't have to choose.”

“And Hernandez allowed the pair of you to leave afterwards?”

“No, I'm sure he would have forced either her or I to kill the other, then kill the last one himself.” Henry answered, opening his eyes again.

“Then, how did the two of you make it out?” Reyes asked, tilting his head at Henry.

Henry looked at Reyes. “Do you know Alpha Marshal Ashe James?” He asked, his eyes scrutinizing his boss.

“I do.” Reyes nodded back, his brows drawing together. “My predecessor, Eric Banner, told me, when I took over his position, when he retired, that he had a man on the inside of Bristol and to expect his reports regularly.”

“He was the one that saved our asses.” Henry explained with a sigh. “He was the one that stunned me in the alleyway. When Mikey killed himself, Ashe took the opportunity to pull his weapon and dispatched Benji and his men.”

Reyes blinked at Henry. “Are you telling me that Hernandez is dead?”

“I am. Unless, there's some way Nanite Gel can repair a hole in the brain.” He replied, with slight sarcasm. “Which I know there's not. So, he's now out of the way.”

“This is great.” Reyes grinned at Henry. “That'll be a massive blow to the Hernandez family, their operations and Bristol. Especially, when she's healthy enough to testify against Twist and his trafficking business.”

“It will be.” Henry agreed, but the only thing he was concerned with was the two of you getting well again. “I'm guessing, they'll be postponing the trial for a few weeks.”

“I still have to call the Cleric and Royal Councils and report everything that's gone down. But, I'm sure they'll delay the trial, for at least, a month.”

“Good, I want to take care of her first.” Henry added, nodding and relieved.

Reyes frowned at Henry and leaned back in his chair. “What is it between the two of you?” He asked, he had the suspicious feeling in his gut about the two of you for a while, but had only just had the time and place to ask.

Henry's cheeks warmed slightly and glanced away from Reyes, making his boss laugh out loud, seeing it in Henry's body language.

“You're in love with her.” He blurted out, tickled at the notion. “The great Upper, Henry Cavill, is in love with a Slummer, that's meant to be his Servant and Slave.”

“She's not my Slave! And, don't fucking call her a Slummer, either.” Henry roared, huffing angrily through his nose, like a bull about to charge. “I never registered her, and I never will register her, either.”

“Oh, I know you never registered her for an Ownership Bracelet, Henry.” Dylan continued to chuckle at his friend. “I checked and I got a copy of the paperwork you both filled out for her Life Pin.”

“And, you didn't say anything?” Henry asked, surprised.

“Not my business what you do with your private life, Hank.” He replied with a sigh, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“But, you pressed me into buying her.” He hissed back, eyes wide.

“I did.” Reyes nodded, pressing his lips together. “We needed the paperwork, a trail to link Twist to trafficking, and to Benji. What you did, or didn't, do with her outside of that, was purely on you, and her.” He confessed, running a hand through his short black hair.

“I was also hoping you'd find a lover or mate.” He added, clearing his throat.

“You were what?” Henry barked, taken aback.

“I should let you rest.” Dylan sighed, getting up, then carefully rested his hand on Henry's shoulder. “It's good to have you back, and alive. You did good, taking care of her and everything else. Take all the time you need to recover, the Council will be here, when you're ready to get back into it.”

“Thanks, Dylan.” Henry replied, giving him a respectful nod of his head, still brewing on what he said.

“Do you want me to call your family?” Reyes asked as he stopped at Henry's door.

“No, I'll call them, when I'm ready.” He shook his head, feeling that new wave of stress hit him. “Last time you called them about me being in the hospital, I almost died, and ended up needing a kidney replacement.”

“Fair enough.” Reyes laughed, and saw himself out.

A day later, Henry slowly limped into your hospital room, across the hall from his, and found you sitting up in bed, eyes glued to the tv and eating a jell-o cup. Your eyes shot over to Henry as he came in, setting your cup down and turned off the tv, relieved to finally see him. The two of you had only been given random updates on each other through your shared nurse, who also, gratefully, passed messages between you as well.

“Henry, should you be out of bed?” You asked as he stopped at your bedside.

“Well, I wasn't the one shot in the leg.” He chuckled and grinned at you, before leaning in to kiss you. “I just had to see you for myself.” He confessed, brushing the back of his fingers against your cheek.

“How are you feeling?”

You took a deep breath, tilting your head into his hand. “Like I got shot in the leg.” You chuckled back at him.

“Other than that, Nugget.” He laughed, shaking his head at you.

“I feel fine. Sore, but fine.” You assured him with a nod. “How about you, Puppy?” You asked, looking him over in his hospital gown, a warm and playful smile spreading across your lips.

“Same. Sore and ready to go home.” He smiled back, his stomach full of butterflies.

“I'm ready to go home too.” You concurred with him, sighing at the thought.

The butterflies in Henry's stomach wilted and died, a nauseous, heart-shaped lump forming in his tight throat, hearing you wanted to go home. His shoulders dropped, trying to get a hold on his heartbreak, before you saw it and had your mood ruined.

“You know what I've missed about it?” You asked, looking up at him, just as he managed to hide his disappointment.

“What?” He replied, pained.

“Kal.” You chuckled at him, oblivious, until you saw his shocked face. “What? You think I would miss you, when we've been together practically the whole time?” You laughed, shaking your head at him.

“No.” Henry squeaked, confused and relieved at the same time. “I just thought..” He paused, looking away from you.

“You just what, Hen?” You frowned at him, seeing his face and became worried. “Henry, sit down.” You ordered him, becoming concerned for him as you put down the arm rail, so he could sit on the edge of the bed with you.

“Tell me.” You whispered, gingerly wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I thought you were talking about going back to your family's home.” He whispered, faintly. “When you said you were ready to go back home, and that you missed them.”

“Well, I do miss them, Henry.” You told him, pressing your cheek to his bruised and nicked shoulder. “I would love to see them again. But, I wanna stay with you.” You whispered, looking up at him.

“Unless, you don't want me too?”

“I do want you too.” He replied, quickly. “I love you and I want to be with you. I want you to come home and stay with me.” He confessed to you, nosing the hair at the top of your head. “And, Kal.” He added, softly.

“Your place has become more of a home to me, than my parents' place has ever been.” You told him, honestly.

You had grown a lot in the time you shared with Henry, and a lot had also changed you. You didn't get kidnapped in your own city, imprisoned in a pitch black and freezing cold cell, either not fed or fed food crawling with unmentionables, cut off from most contact with people, other than the traffickers that had put you there, when they dragged you out for another line up for another snobbish, stuck up and entitled Upper, or to beat you into submission, without something changing you.

You still had nightmares about being in that cell.

You also changed from all the things Henry exposed you too. New foods, tv shows and the luxury of being in the upper Sectors of London, like taking you to that Royal Dinner party with his family. Henry had taken the mostly naive and sheltered Slummer and opened the world up to you. You would always appreciate and love him for that, and for taking care of you and protecting you through the long months after saving you from Twist.

Henry and Kal had become your new home, and the three of you had made a new family.

“I love you, Henry Cavill, and nothing will ever stop or prevent that.” You told him, kissing his cheek tenderly.

“So, you'll come back home with me?” He asked, looking down at you, hopeful.

“I don't want to be anywhere else.” You replied, smiling back at him.

Henry's face broke out into a smile and cupped your face in his hands. “Neither do I.” He whispered, pressing his forehead to yours and kissed you.

“Henry!” A frantic voice came from across the hall.

“Mum!” Henry called back, breaking away from you. “Mum, over here.” He yelled out, limping to your room door as his mother rushed out of his empty room.

“Oh, thank god, Henry!” She cried, rushing him and throwing her arms around him.

“Easy, Mum.” He winced, but hugged her back. “How did you know I was here?” He asked, he hadn't gotten around to calling her and his family yet.

“A report came across my desk about you being injured in the line of duty with a Slummer, and that you were still recuperating here in the hospital. I was afraid it was serious, when you hadn't called me to tell me you were all right.” Marianne explained, shaking her head at her son. “What were you doing with some Slummer that caused you to get so hurt?” She demanded, upset.

“I hope they get the punishment they deserve for getting you into such danger.”

“Mum.” Henry snapped eyes wide and looked back at you.

Marianne blinked and looked into your room, seeing your sheepish and hurt expression, then looked up at Henry. “She's a Slummer?” She asked him, surprised, as she recognized you.

Henry took a deep breath, biting his lip. “We need to talk.” He said, stepping aside, so Marianne could enter your room and followed her, closing the door behind him.

“What's going on?” She asked, taking a seat as Henry sat back down on the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his.

“Several months ago, I was undercover in Sector Thirty-One. I was tasked with infiltrating a trafficking warehouse run by one of Benji Hernandez's men. I did so, with my usual skill and process, but after finally getting an appointment with the guy and seeing the people that had been imprisoned there, Dylan told me I had to—make a purchase—to nail the traffickers and for them to get properly arrested and prosecuted by the Councils.” He explained to her.

“One of the people they had kidnapped and had for sale, was her.” He said and looked at you, giving you a soft and loving smile. “So, I purchased her, and was meant to take care of her, until the trial happened and she testified.”

“So, you bought a Slum-”

“Don't call her that.” Henry hissed, angrily, but recalled himself. “Don't call her that.” He repeated, calmer.

Marianne took a deep breath, glaring at her son. “So, you bought her, in a sting operation, took her home and acted like none of this happened, taking her to events and other functions.” She summed up, studying the two of you. “When she is, technically, your Slave.”

“Yes. But, I don't and didn't want her as a Slave. That's why I never registered her for a Bracelet.” Henry replied, licking his lips.

“So, how did the two of you end up in Bristol, of all places?” She asked, looking between you.

“I ran away, to find my brother, who got himself into a situation, as a Runner, in Bristol.” You answered, before Henry could. “I wanted to go there to try and convince him to come back home. I didn't expect Henry to come after me, when he found out where I went.”

“But,” Henry sighed and bit his lip. “I did. I was worried about her safety, and Dylan asked me, unofficially, to bring her and her brother back here. So, she could testify at the trial and her brother could face justice for his hand in the whole thing.”

Marianne looked at you, her expression stern. “And where is your criminal brother?” She asked, stiffly.

You gulped and licked your lips, staring at your covered legs and picked at the fuzz on your blanket. “He's dead.” You whispered, choking up and tears filling your eyes. “He gave his life, so Henry and I could live and get away from Benji and his men.” You blubbered, crushed.

“Sshh.” Henry hushed you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you against him.

Marianne blinked between the two of you, taken aback.

“They tried torturing her location out of me, that's why I'm so injured. They wanted to kill her to stop the trial against Twist and their operations. I refused, for obvious reasons. She tried to save me, but got caught. When they realized her twin brother was her sibling, they brought him in as well. He died for us, and she got shot in the leg during the escape. Another undercover Marshal helped us get away and back here, to London.” Henry finished explaining to his mother.

“That's what happened.” He sighed, his eyes still on you.

“You're in love.” Marianne blurted out, seeing it as plain as day now.

“Yes.” Henry nodded, looking up at her. “I don't care that she was born in the lower Sectors, mum. I love her, with my heart and soul, and she loves me.”

“I do.” You replied, gulping down your tears and clinging onto him.

Marianne sighed and pressed her lips together, she had waited, a long time, for Henry to finally find someone to fall in love with and share his life. He was the last of the five Cavill boys to find love, settle down and start a family. If she was honest, she didn't care about what social standing the girl he fell in love with was, as long as he was happy, and by the looks of it, you and Henry were more than happy and in love with each other.

“All right.” She whispered softly, nodding her head. “I approve.”

Henry lifted his head and blinked at his mother. “Really?” He asked, shocked to hear it. “You don't care that she's from the lower Sectors?”

“Honestly, Henry? No.” She replied, sighing and shaking her head. “Love is love, and nothing is stronger than true love, not even differing social status.” She told him, honestly. “But, you both know that if, and when, people find out about it, there will be issues. They'll gossip and make comments, some might even turn away from you, shunning you for being with a Sl—someone of a lower standing.” She said, looking between the two of you with an authority of a Royal.

“Do you think you both, and your love, can survive that?”

You and Henry looked at each other, a silent conversation happening between you, before Henry looked back to his mother. “Yes.” He answered, firmly.

The two of you had gone through a lot worse than people talking behind your backs and shunning you.

“All right then.” Marianne replied, standing up. “Then, you have my, and no doubt the rest of the family's, approval, respect and support in the choice of your relationship.” She approached the bed, hugging Henry and kissing his cheek, then turned towards you.

You gulped at her, like a mouse getting stared down by a hungry cat, before she leaned in and hugged you as well; you were surprised by her move, but gave her a hug back. Breaking the hug, Marianne left the room, leaving you alone with Henry again.

“That went incredibly better than I thought it would.” Henry commented, finally breaking the silence in the room.

“You can say that again.” You agreed with him, staring at the open door of your room. “What do we do now, Henry?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Now, Nugget.” He smiled, kissing your forehead. “We get you well enough to go home.” He said, squeezing you against him.

Four days later, with the help of some crutches, you left the hospital with Henry, going back to his flat in Sector Two. Kal was over the moon to see you guys again, Charlie having dropped him off at the flat that morning. Henry had body block the Akita to keep him from knocking you over and harming you, until you were able to sit down on the couch and he was allowed to greet you; pressing himself against you and licking at your face.

“Yes, yes!” You laughed, hugging his thick neck, trying to calm him down. “We missed you too, Bear. We missed you just as much.” You told him, kissing his face back and giving him scratches.

After getting settled back in, Henry carefully picked you up, making you laugh as he did.

“Where are we going, Henry?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you through the flat.

“We are both absolutely filthy and need a proper shower.” He told you, going into the bathroom and setting you down on the sink counter. “Lucy!” He called out, looking up.

“Yes, Mr. Cavill?” His flat's AI replied.

“Start the shower on preset two, please.” He said, pulling off the clothing his mother had brought him, before you both left the hospital.

“Right away, sir.” Lucy replied, and the shower came to life.

“Here, let me help.” He said, grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head.

“Thanks.” You smiled, then eased off the counter, balancing on your good leg and grasping Henry's forearm.

Marianne had even been kind enough to bring you clothes as well. So, Henry's hands dropped to the ties of your loose sweatpants and untied the knot, pushing them down your hips to pool around your bare feet. You half limped and half hopped under the spray of the hot shower head, making you moan and groan as it cascaded over your battered and sore body. Henry chuckled and stepped in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your wet hair.

“I love you, so very much.” He whispered to you. “I'm glad you came back with me.” He added, even softer.

You turned in his arms, wrapping yours around his hips. “I love you too, Henry, and I don't want to be anywhere that you're not.”

“Neither do I.” He replied, kissing you gently on the lips.

Dried blood, dirt and grim swirled around the shower drain as you and Henry helped clean each other off. You scrubbed his skin with an exfoliating sponge, careful of his cuts and stitches, as he washed your hair, then switched, Henry washing you as you washed his hair.

“There's almost no better feeling than that shower clean feel.” You said, limping into Henry's bedroom and snagged one of his shirts out of his closet, slipping it over your head. “It's such a euphoric feeling.”

“What feels better than that?” Henry asked, coming in after you and pulling on a loose pair of pajama bottoms.

You smirked up at Henry, impishly. “I think you know.” You chuckled at him.

Henry laughed, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you, tenderly, but passionately on the lips. “I agree with that.” He said against your lips. “But, you know what else feels euphoric?” He asked, lifting a brow at you.

“Tell me?” You giggled at him.

“A nap in that bed.” He said, pointing to his bed.

“Oh yes.” You agreed, biting your lip and staring at it. “The clean and divine smelling sheets, the warm and cloud-like mattress and pillows.”

“It's an orgasm in itself.” Henry cooed, staring at his bed with a wanting lust.

“I vote we sleep in it for the next year.” You said, looking up at him.

“I vote, the next decade.” He added, looking down at you.

“Deal.”

Henry scoped you up, carrying you to bed, and laid down with you. Cocooned under the soft and clean sheets, both of you moaned, as you melted into the mattress, like warm butter. You snuggled together, wrapped in each other's arms, and almost sound asleep the moment everything settled in around you. 

“Lucy, go to night mode.” Henry mumbled, his body feeling like a ton of rocks, he was so tired.

“Yes, sir.” Lucy whispered back.

Everything went dark, heavy drapes closed over the windows, the lights went out, the doors locked and the air purifier went on, with the soothing sound of ocean waves filling the bedroom, and you and Henry were out cold within minutes.

You slept the rest of the day and well into the next, only getting up because your stomachs were growling for food and your bladders were screaming for release, then you both crawled back into bed and slept even longer. Henry was the first one to officially wake up from your long and deserved hibernation, he laid in bed with you, stroking your hair and the nap of your neck. He traced your face, placing delicate kisses to your eyes, between your brows, the tip of your nose, both cheeks and finally, softly, to your lips.

“Henry.” You whispered, a smile tugging on your lips, before your eyes fluttered open and met his sparkling blues.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He asked, the tip of his finger ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Warm, content and happy.” You answered, snuggling in closer to him and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “You?”

“The same.” Henry replied, nuzzling your hair. “We should go see your parents.” He said suddenly, biting the inside corner of his lip. “They deserve to know.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your forehead to his chest. You had been trying to avoid this, avoiding telling your parents that you had been kidnapped and sold by traffickers, to the man you were now madly in love with, and that their son was dead, having killed himself in the pursuit of saving you and Henry from the same outcome.

How do you tell them that? You asked yourself.

“I don't know how.” You mewled, squeezing his thick bicep, like it was a lifeline.

Henry frowned into your hair, stroking the small of your back. “With honesty.” He whispered back, his heart hurting for you.

You stood in front of the door to your family's flat and it felt alien, you didn't feel the familiar nostalgia of coming home, of seeing your family after a grueling and mindless fifteen hour shift at the supermarket. It felt like you were there for the very first time, as if you had never been there before and didn't belong. You could hear the noise inside the flat, your brother running around the place, playing with his toys.

Henry rested his hand on the small of your back and gave you an encouraging smile. Biting your lip, you mustered the courage to knock on the door, it didn't feel right to enter the pin and walk in. You fidgeted as you waited for the door to be open, absentmindedly rubbing your thigh as it throbbed with even the slightest bit of your weight on it.

Finally the door ripped open and Christophe looked at Henry first, his eyes growing with shock, then looked to you, where his face lit up with surprise.

“Issy!” He shouted, and launched at you.

“Fuck.” You snapped, catching him in your arms as Henry caught you in his, keeping you both from tumbling to the floor. “Easy, Christophe. I don't need any more injuries.” You tried to scold him, but only ended up laughing at him as he hung from his arms around your neck, feet dangling.

“Where have you been, Issy!” He demanded, letting go of you and looking between you and Henry. “Who's this?”

“Is mum and dad home, Chris?” You asked, smiling down at him, nervously ruffling his hair.

“Yeah!” Christophe nodded and rushed back into the flat. “Mummy! Dad! Issy's back!” He screamed running around the house.

You looked to Henry and took a deep breath, shoulders rising, rolled your eyes, and stepped into the flat. Henry followed behind you, as your parents rushed into the living room, hot on each other's heels.

“Oh my god!” Your mother gasped and scrambled to you.

“Easy.” You warned her, unable to take a second person jumping you, and motioned to your leg as she lifted a brow at you.

“What's happened to you?” Your father asked, blinking at your wrapped thigh.

“I was shot.” You sighed, figuring it was best to be open and honest, and not sugar coat too many things.

“What?” They both roared, horrified.

“You might want to sit down.” You said, motioning towards the sofas.

Looking at each other, your parents shooed Christophe back to his room and sat down on one couch while you and Henry sat on the love-seat, across from them. There was a long, and awkward, silence, before any of your spoke.

“I'm sorry, I've been gone for so long.” You started, squeezing Henry's hand for support and comfort. “There's been a lot going on, and I didn't, we didn't want to risk your, or Christophe's, safety.” You tried to explain the best you could.

“What are you talking about?” Your father frowned, shaking his head at you and Henry.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, you came out with it. “After I went looking for Mikey, that day, I was tricked and taken by a group of Traffickers in Sector Thirty-One. I spent several months in their warehouse, I don't want to go into details, I think that's best.”

“Of course.” Your mother nodded, clutching your father's hand.

“Henry here, is a High Marshal with the Marshal Council.” You introduced him. “He was undercover, trying to get information on the people running the trafficking warehouse, when he—uh—“ You gulped hard.

“He purchased me from them.”

“You what?” Your father hissed at Henry.

“It was part of his job, papa.” You cut him off, before his temper flared too much. “He had to do it for paperwork and other Council stuff. After he did that, he took me back to his place in Sector Two.”

“Is that where you've been this whole time?” Your father asked, his eyes narrowed angrily at Henry.

“It is.”

“And you couldn't contact us?” Your mother asked, upset. “Sent us something to tell us you were alive and all right?”

“She wanted too, many times.” Henry finally spoke up. “But, her life was in serious danger, and if she contacted anyone close to her, like yourselves, you would have been in grave danger as well. So, we didn't contact you for that reason.” He explained to them, hoping to ease that conflict.

“And how did you get shot?” Your father asked, still angry.

“I found out where Mikey was going.” You answered, quietly. “He was heading to Bristol, to advance his training as a Runner.” You gulped and looked up at Henry. “I ran away from Henry, and went to Bristol, trying to find him. I knew he was going to be in a load of trouble and I wanted to try and prevent that; to make him come home.” You explained to them, starting to shake.

Henry wrapped an arm around you and hugged you against him. “You can do this.” He whispered into your ear, gently.

Nodding and clearing your throat, you continued. “Henry came after me, trying to get me to return to London with him.”

“But, she wouldn't come back without Mikey.” He added, nodding his head at you, his eyes only on you. “I was meant to bring her back, so she could testify against her captors. But, I was also meant to bring Michail in, for his part in the Running business.”

“When we got to Bristol and started looking for him, people were looking for me, and they found us.” You picked up the narrative. “They took Henry after he made sure I was out of the way and safe. They hurt him.” You said, looking at his still bruised and cut up face. “I tried to go after him, but they got me as well.”

“While all that was going on, they somehow found out that Mikey and I were related and brought him in as well, locking us all in the same room.”

You stopped talking, trying to keep yourself from getting overwhelmed and turning into a sobbing mess. Your parents sat there for a long time, watching you try to control yourself and got the feeling something very bad had happened, worse than everything you were telling them.

“Where is Michail?” Your mother asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“He's-” You licked your lips and shook your head, unable to get it out of your mouth.

“I am sorry to inform you both.” Henry replied for you. “But, Michail didn't make it.” He said gently, using his High Marshal voice, the only way he knew how to say it to your grieving parents.

“They were forcing me to decide which of the three of us would go first.” You sobbed, shaking. “Mikey made the choice to take his own life, so we could live.”

Your mother wailed and threw herself on your father, howling and sobbing, screaming at the top of her lungs about the loss of her beautiful and precious boy. You sat there with Henry, clinging onto him and wincing at each terrible and heartbreaking cry your mother made into your father's neck. Your father sat there, stoically, but silently crying as he held her and rocked back and forth.

“I'm sorry.” You whined at them, drained. “I tried. I tried so hard to bring him back.” You mewled at them, crushed.

Your father's eyes were on Henry as they both comforted the women they loved. “And you, what do you get in all this?” He asked, suspicious. “You bought my daughter, are you going to keep her from her family, still?”

“No, sir.” Henry replied, frowning back at him. “I love your daughter. I have treated her as my equal from the moment I saw her, and she will always be my equal. I don't want her as a Slave or a Servant.” He looked at you and wiped your tears away.

“I just want her.” He whispered, smiling gently at you. “Forever and always.”

[author-morgan]

I don't know if you accept requests, if yes, could you write a smut on Ivarr x fem!reader?

maybe the continuation of that work of yours where Ivarr gives flowers to his crush. thank you♥️

here you are! i hope you enjoy it!

Ivarr the Boneless x fem!Reader

TWISTED LAUGHTER FILLS the forest —the morning mist still clinging to the leaves and soil. You press your back against one of the trees, the wide trunk large enough to hide you from your hunter. The air grows still, save for distant birdsong. Branches snap underfoot. Drawing in a slow breath, you dash forward, hiding behind another tree as you listen for footfalls, crunching leaves, and snapping twigs. 

The underbrush rustles behind you, and this time you are not quick enough. An arm wraps around your waist, and you turn to face your hunter. His eyes are a bright blue —the same shade as when bloodlust sets in— and his lips kinked into a wicked smile. Ivarr the Boneless has you ensnared. Anyone else would shit themselves if caught by Ivarr, but not you —no, this was only a game. You lay a hand on his chest, fingertips pressing into his left breast through the thin linen of his tunic. “What are you doing, little bird?” He croons, but his answer is only a taunting smirk as you push away from him, darting back into the mist. 

You watch for his shadowed figure and dance from tree to tree, laughing as he draws nearer. Leaning your head back against a sapling, you smile upward at the heavens —blue sky breaking through the clouds. Ivarr’s footfalls are close. Taking a deep breath, you make a run for it, not quite ready for this game of yours to end so quickly. Ivarr springs into the opening, both his arms snaking around your waist. There will be no escape this time. You twist in his hold, meeting his manic gaze and grin. 

Thinking to distract him, you push yourself close, rising onto the balls of your feet —lips ghosting across his. Ivarr dips his head down, but you pull away. The back-and-forth teasing lasts only a few more seconds before he gives a soft groan, lips firmly meeting yours. His kiss is merciless and demanding. Rough hands trail down your bare arms, around to your back, and down to your thighs. You gasp into his mouth when he hoists you up, legs wrapping around his waist —lips never parting until your back hits the nearest tree. 

“Nowhere to run now,” Ivarr whispers at your ear, pinning you to the trunk with his hips, one hand braced on the rough bark next to your head. He tilts your head to the side, a finger trailing across your jaw and down your neck, following the neckline of your dress. The shivers creeping down your spine and turning your skin to gooseflesh sends a thrill through Ivarr. His lips take the same path —nipping and suckling, all of Mercia will know of you and Ivarr given the marks he leaves. 

You press a finger to his lips, keeping him from kissing you again. He can read the look in your lust-darkened eyes. Not here. A hard lesson learned from a previous romp in the woods where you both spent the following days scratching at rashes from stinging nettle. “Ivarr!” You cry as he hoists you over his shoulder, giving your bottom a light slap —laughing as he takes the forest path back to Repton. 

“A glorious hunt,” Ivarr announces as he strides past his brother with you still strung across his shoulder. It is not a new sight to those settled in Repton. Since the last harvest festival, you and Ivarr had not shied away from affection —often playing these games, returning with cornflowers and twigs clinging to your clothes and hair. “Now I go enjoy my spoils.” Ubba Ragnarsson shakes his head, returning his attention to the fading map of Mercia laid out before him. 

Ivarr places you amid the furs and rough-sewn pillows of his canvas bower and quickly sinks to his knees, pushing the skirt of your dress up around your waist like a giddy boy unwrapping a present. Lifting your arms, he rids you of the plain woolen dress and the bindings around your chest. His hands float along your curves until he comes to your breasts, flattening his hands against them. Ivarr groans, palming the mounds of flesh and tweaking your nipples into taut little peaks as his lips drag across your jaw. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, moving your hips against his, gasping at the feeling of him pressing against you through his britches. When his hands slip back to your hips and backside, you lean forward, stroking the patchy scruff on his jaw and scattering short kisses across his neck and scarred chest. “This is payback, isn’t it?” You ask, arching into Ivarr’s touch. He laughs, lips kinked into a smile —you have your answer. 

His hand moves to the sensitive spot between your legs, making sure you can feel every movement he makes. “Ivarr,” you breathe in a heady tone, causing him to grin. He pulls away from your breast and stares up at you, at the building ecstasy in your eyes. Ivarr drags his tongue down your torso, his mouth clamping over your clit, kissing it furiously. Your eyes roll back; you are caught in his touch, his mouth, his tongue. Whimpering, you scratch your hands into his tunic, pulling the fabric upwards. “Ivarr!” you cry, panting. “Oh, please–” But he pulls away again, and you let out a whine. The smirk unfolding across Ivarr’s face is unbearable —his lips glistening with your essence. 

Sitting back on his haunches, Ivarr pulls his tunic off and wiggles out of his britches. He wraps his hands around your ankles —gentle shackles— tugging you closer to the edge of the pallet bed. “Tell me what you want, little bird.” He says, eyes darting across you splayed out beneath him —nipples hard and pink, lovebites blossoming at your shoulder and neck. 

“I want you, Ivarr,” you breathe, tracing one of the runes tattooed on his abdomen until your hand slips further down. Reaching between your bodies, you wrap your fingers around his cock. When he hisses through clenched teeth, you smile. Lips against his as you begin stroking him. It takes a moment before he returns to his senses, and when he does, he pins your hands at the sides of your head. His length is heavy, pressed against your core, and slowly you roll your hips up into his. The look he gives you is meant to scold the action, but you only continue.

He frees one of his hands and slides it lightly between your breasts and down further, lining himself up with you and pushing in slowly. His lips seal over yours and capture your groan of desperation and pleasure as he stretches you. You moan and squirm beneath him, but he has you exactly where he wants you. Ivarr can’t help but swear softly at the feeling of your body around him. 

As he begins to roll his hips, sliding out and then back inside you, he groans at your ear and shifts his weight upwards again, hands pressing yours into a wolf pelt. You’re lost then, lost in the pleasure of his movements, the thrill of the weight of his body on yours as he sets your body and senses alight. His hands are at your breasts, your hips, then one hand is at your clit while the other pulls lightly at your hair. Your hands dig into his shoulders and scratch down his back —the brief jolt of pain spurs Ivarr on. 

It’s only as his fingers are working on your clit and coaxing you towards release that you realize he is moaning your name. It’s soft at first, but his mouth is at your ear, and you can hear it. Ivarr is coming apart inside you, and your name is the one on his lips. You smile and turn your head, catching him off guard in a kiss, legs parting wider and drawing up his sides.

Your toes curl, and what you might have thought was downright impossible became a reality as your orgasm begins to build, coming to a frantic, heated peak quickly that he keeps you at for the entire time he possesses you, holding your thighs tightly so you cannot escape from him. “Ivarr,” your voice sounds foreign to your ears. He wraps an arm around the curve of your waist and brings the both of you to lie on your side, his cock still sliding in and out of you —scarred face twisting as he chases his end with wild abandon. 

His hands are on your back while one of yours rests on his powerful thigh and the other on his cheek. Your mouth falls open as a primitive noise comes from both you and Ivarr, though he stifles the obscene sounds by sinking his teeth into your shoulder. Hips stuttering, he pauses —panting as his cock twitches deep in your heat, but then he gives several more, lazy thrusts before stilling completely and pulling you a little closer. “You,” Ivarr pants through breathy laughter, “have ruined me, woman.” All of Mercia must have known by now Ivarr Ragnarsson had gone soft for a baker and farmer. 

It is not often Ivarr speaks of a defeat so lightly. “Ah–” you smile, running your fingertips along the edge of the tattoo wrapping around his bicep “–so I’ve defeated the great Ivarr the Boneless?” You ask, teasing. Grinning, you careen forward, giving his scarred cheek a quick kiss. 

Ivarr’s blue eyes darken and narrow. He is not one to accept defeat. “I demand a rematch then,” he says, rough hand running up your spine and twisting into your hair. 

You’ve no doubt another round would put him on top in this back-and-forth game, but after running through the woods and being fucked properly, nothing sounds better than curling up with Ivarr for a nap. “What say I bake an apple tart, and we call it even?” You offer, knowing between honey cakes and apple tarts, you could almost always get your way with Ivarr. 

He groans, thinking of the sweet taste of apples and spices baked in a flaky dough —there is still a store of apples from last autumn tucked away below the Repton cathedral. Ivarr’s lips twitch into a smile. The only thing sweeter than your apple tarts was you. “You drive a hard bargain,” he remarks. 

“I’ll let you think it over,” you tell him with a soft laugh and quick kiss before settling your head on his chest. Ivarr glances up at the sunlight streaming in through the seams of his tent and sighs, tracing runes and constellations on your back and shoulder. After a few moments, he glances down at you —fast sleep— and begins to wonder if Ubba’s new dream in England is really so bad after all. 

[taglist: @kvitravn @elizabethroestone @kitkitvm @elluvians @fullmoonwolfer1 @ghostieisalone @boodaga @southsideslutt @dynamite-with-a-lazerbeam ]

if you want to be added to my Ivarr taglist just let me know!

[amphxtrite]

ron weasley x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, pinning, mentions of eating.

summary: after a bad breakup, ron’s eyes open to the realization it wasn’t meant to be, instead seeing you as the one for him.

a/n: thank you to my darling @amourtentiaa for giving me this idea to write!!

word count: 3.2k

enjoy <3

__________________________________________

Nightly prefect duties seemed to always have you wandering the Hogwarts halls in search of meddling first years and giggling fifths, and tonight was no exception.

The only sound heard is the shuffle of your feet against stone and your light humming as the cool night air hits your face in a cool breeze. You round the corner to the gryffindor common room, where a soft, muffled sob catches your attention.

You frown, who was up at this hour crying?

You pull your cloak closer to your body and sigh, but another voice catches your ear.

“Ron, it’ll be alright, p-please.”

Harry. Your eyes widen and after whispering the password Ron had given to you, you quietly enter and glance around the room of red and gold.

You were right, Ron and Harry sat by the fireplace, Harry in his pajamas, and Ron with a blanket wrapped around his shoulder.

“Ron? Harry? What’s going on, it’s midnight-.” Your sentence is cut short as Ron swivels his face to reveal his puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks.

“Oh my goodness Ron. What happened?” You exclaim, rushing to the boy’s side.

“y/n.” Ron sniffles, quickly wiping his eyes and managing a weak smile.

“D-Don’t worry about me, j-just allergies.” Ron chuckles nervously, glancing at Harry for help.

“Ronald Weasley, I’ve known you since we were six, I know when you’re upset.” You sigh, wrapping your arms around the sniffling redhead.

“Go get some rest Harry, I’ll look after him.” You state smiling, waving the yawning brunette back up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory.

“Now, mind telling me what’s got you down Ronnie?” You murmur, smiling softly at the nickname Molly had given her son.

Ron rolls his eyes lightly with a small grin as a small tear rolls down his cheek.

“I know we weren’t together for long, b-but I thought me and Hermione were gonna work.” Ron sighs, shuffling himself so he’s sitting against the couch and facing the crackling fire. The flames dance in his deep blue eyes as he holds his head in his palms.

“And then she told me she wasn’t ready. And I know I can’t be mad or upset about that, but still.” Ron mumbles, crossing his arms.

“Hey, come here.” You sigh, opening your arms and bringing the redhead close to you.

“We’re still rather young Ronnie, Hermione doesn’t have to be with you now in order to be with you forever.” You note, tapping the finger on his freckled nose.

“You have a point.”

“Exactly, there’s no reason for my best friend to cry, now come on, how does hot cocoa sound?” You smirk, watching as Ron’s eyes widen and his lips pull up.

“Sounds perfect.”

The two of you sneak your way down to the kitchens, being wary of every creak in the wall or soft meow of a cat. You reach your destination and as you finally enter the kitchens, you burst into a fit of giggles.

As you begin warming some milk on the stove, Ron grabs some leftover pastries lying on the tables from dinner that day.

He begins nibbling on a tart, but he gets sidetracked when his ears prick up at the sound of your voice humming as you stir your sweet concoction, and an unconscious grin makes its way onto his face.

He turns and returns to his spot at your side as he holds your favourite dessert by your lips for you to take.

You hum in thanks and take a bite, letting the sweet flavours warm your body up. Ron chuckles as your hips begin to sway a bit as you hum, and he joins you in a light dance before you pour the steaming liquid into mugs and sit at a large wooden table.

“Amazing as always y/n.” Ron compliments, taking a long sip of his hot chocolate.

“Oh you flatter me Ronnie.” You giggle.

Ron brings his mug down from his lip to make a witty remark, but instead his voice catches in his throat.

You were turned and facing the fire, the dancing flames illuminating your face in a soft orange glow as your lips curved into a gentle smile. Ron can feel his face go as bright as the fire, and he quickly lifts the mug back to his face to conceal it.

“So… Are you feeling any better?” You smile, turning back to the redhead.

“Oh. M-Much better, thank you y/n.” Ron stumbles, slapping a smile on his face and chuckling nervously.

“I’m glad, here I’ll take the mugs back.”

Ron nods as you take the cup from his hand and walk back over to the kitchen counter, using your wand to quickly clean them before placing them back in a cupboard.

A light, warm feeling engulfs the gryffindor’s chest as he watches you, mesmerized by your every move. Thoughts of a future where you do the same in his arms flash before him, leaving him with a soft smirk and rosy cheeks as his eyebrows furrow.

He just got out of a relationship with Hermione, he shouldn’t be feeling these emotions so soon, and for one of his best friends? This couldn’t be right.

“Hey Ron, I found some chocolate stashed away here, do you want some?”

“I-I’m alright y/n.” He murmurs, a stupid grin widening on his lips.

Oh bloody hell, maybe he did fancy you.

With his face surely the same colour as his hair, he turns so he’s facing the other direction. It definitely wasn’t normal to have fantasies of your best friend in your arms while you swayed in your kitchen, but he might be mistaken! He couldn’t possibly be in love with his smart, sarcastic, caring and absolutely beautiful best friend!

Ron sighs in exasperation and rubs runs a hand through his hair, letting a small sigh pass his lips.

“H-Hey y/n?”

“What’s up?”

“I-I’ve got a question.” He states plainly, no going back now.

“Go on, Ronnie.” Your voice chimes unknowingly.

The redhead takes a deep breath and smiles a little at the way you say his name.

“Have you ever thought about us? Like what we could be?” Ron stammers, swallowing his fear.

Your eyes widen and you turn.

“I-I’m sorry, what do you mean by us?” You question cautiously, walking back towards Ron.

“Well you know. A relationship, you and me.” Ron explains further, turning back around to face you.

You search his eyes. Looking for any shred of amusement, but you find none.

“Y-You’re joking right?” You question, letting out a chuckle laced with disbelief.

“Well-”

“Ron, you’re my best friend, I don’t think we could… Work.” You answer swiftly, motioning between the two of you.

“Oh, I-I understand, I was just curious you know?” Ron smiles, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Of course! I understand, um- goodnight!” You nod, retreating back out the kitchen’s secret entrance, your blood rushing to your ears as your heart beats a million miles a minute.

You step back out into the familiar walls, your feet rushing you back to the y/h common room, you run up the stairs to your dorm. Quickly pulling off your cloak you sit down in the dark room and hold your head in your hands.

Similarly in the gryffindor common room, Ron sits recounting the night’s activity to Harry.

“Weren’t you just upset about Mione half an hour ago mate? What’s gotten into you?”

Ron sighs, burying himself into his mattress as he attempts to drown in his pillow.

“Well?” Harry questions.

“I-I don’t know, okay! It just slipped out. Merlin I’m an idiot.” Ron groans, shooting up into a sitting position and holding his face in his hands.

“And Hermione?”

“Harry, think! Mione and I weren’t going to work no matter how hard I crushed on her.” Ron sighs. “But y/n. She’s been there for me since we were kids, she’s always been there for me, I’ve just been too much of a twat to notice.” Ron grimaces, flopping back onto his mattress.

“Well what are you going to do?” Harry questions, staring down at his hands.

“Well the only thing I can do. Give it a shot, and if she says no, pretend it never happened.” Ron shrugs, tossing his covers over him again.

Life goes on the same after that, but the platonic relationship between you and the redhead seems to be in a weird spot. You try to ignore it, but the longing glances and light brushes of your hand push you, and you’re not sure what to think. Ron’s never shown this kind of touchiness with you, and now that he’s constantly by your side, it was weird to take in.

“You don’t think Ronald’s taken a fancy in you, do you?” Luna questions, shutting her book from in front of her.

“No, why would you say that?” Your eyes narrow and glance at the blonde.

“Well he’s looking over right now, kind of reminds me of a puppy.” Luna shrugs, pulling what you presumed to be the newest edition of the quibbles from her backpack.

“He has been acting rather strange recently, I don’t know what to make of it.” You sigh, glancing over to indeed see the gryffindor looking over at the two of you.

“Do you fancy him?”

“Well. I-I don’t know Luna.” You answer truthfully, shutting your textbook and placing it back in your backpack.

“I’ll see you at dinner alright.”

Luna nods, turning back to her reading as you sling your book bag over your shoulder and walk out of the library as a shuffle of feet has you swiveling around again.

“Y/n!” A familiar deep voice calls.

“Oh hey Ronnie.” You smile, tightening your grip on the bag strap resting on your shoulder.

“Mind if I walk you back to your common room?”

“Of course not.” You laugh, rolling your eyes lightly.

The trip back to the y/h common room is filled with light conversation as it usually would, though your breath would catch whenever you felt Ron’s ‘unknowing’ hand brush past your fingers.

“L-Listen, about last night. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I-I didn’t mean it that way.” Ron sighs, trying to clear the tension between you two.

Your heart jumps to your throat when you hear this and you lose your ability to speak, you choose to simply nod, smile and enter the common room.

Once you’re sure you’re out of earshot, you let out a deep sigh and head for the girl’s dormitory, deeply pondering your thoughts.

He didn’t mean it like that? What was that supposed to mean? He didn’t fancy you that was for sure.

You had intrusive thoughts quite a bit, maybe Ron had just let one slip?

Then, why did you lose your train of thought when he told you that? Your feelings for Ron were platonic, there was no way you could feel this way.

Days fly by and Ron is still yet to note anything about his past comment, he does his best to try and hint at his crush, but your reaction is never quite what he’s going for.

If he offered you a compliment, you blushed but responded as if he were a brother. If he invited you down to the kitchens, you’d find an excuse not to go. If he stood close to you, you either looked anywhere but him or nervously shuffled away. He thought he was being bloody obvious about his feelings for you, but one quick chat with Luna made him realize perhaps small signs weren’t enough.

“She’s convinced you don’t fancy her Ron.”

“Not at all? Does she fancy me?” Ron sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t think I’m allowed to say, these types of things are secrets after all.” Luna smiles, continuing her sketching.

It was time for drastic measures and Ron knew it, so he stepped up his game. Flowers and letters began presenting themselves on the windowsill by your bed, they were never signed, but conveyed passion and adoration, every single one had you a smiling mess tucked in your covers.

Ron was never quite good with words, but he did his best and they seemed to have a good affect. You were back to your cheery self around him, the cloud of awkwardness disappearing from the two of you. Along with the small notes and handpicked daisies he sent as the unknown sender, Ron began growing closer to you. His hugs lasted a couple seconds longer, his pinky would intertwine with yours if you stood side by side and he began treating you more as a crush and less, just a friend.

If he didn’t see you at dinner, he’d send a meal up with your roommate. If he found you pressuring yourself too much with studying, he’d pull you away from your books and take you on a walk around the castle. His letters became longer and more loving, and with the details hidden in the words, you were beginning to feel this secret sender was Ron, and you were falling for him.

Rosy cheeks became something you accepted not something you hid away, your arms stayed wrapped around the redhead until you had to pull away, or when he let go first, you caved into your feelings and allowed yourself to fall.

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you scan over your essay for the third time that hour to check for mistakes, when a brunette takes a seat in front of you and clears her throat.

“Oh Hi Mione, how can I help you?”

“You fancy him don’t you?” She smirks, leaning forwards in her spot.

“I beg your pardon?” You respond, baffled by her question.

“I see how you look at him y/n, and I want you to know I’m happy for you.” She smiles, taking your hand.

An invisible weight seems to be lifted off your shoulders at Hermione’s response and you squeeze her hand.

“Thank you, b-but I’m not even sure if he fancies me.” You shrug as Hermione tilts her head in confusion.

“You’re joking right y/n? Don’t you receive those sappy notes he sends to you almost every two days? He has me revise them for him y’know, it’s rather adorable.” Hermione laughs as your jaw drops.

“They’ve never signed the letters…”

Hermione’s lip pulls into a cringe, “perhaps I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No- Mione thank you!” You exclaim, wrapping both your hands around Hermione’s.

“Do you know where Ron is by any chance?”

“Clocktower courtyard, probably writing another letter right now.” Hermione states as you nod excitedly.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go.” She laughs, standing from her spot and pulling you from your seat.

You nod and pull her in for a quick hug before scampering off, essay forgotten as you dash towards the courtyard.

You enter the large stone area to find it deserted except for a redheaded boy in a red sweater with an ‘R’ at the front and you smile.

Walking the last couple meters between the two of you and sit on the stone next to him.

“Whatcha got there Ronnie?” You tease, glancing down at the parchment in his hand.

“Y/n! Oh, it’s nothing. Just some… Homework.” Ron stammers, hiding the page behind his back.

“Oh then you wouldn’t mind showing me? I do need some help.” You ask cooly, raising an eyebrow.

“O-Okay, you got me. It’s not homework.” Ron sighs, raising his arms in mock surrender.

“I thought so, but anyways, care to tell me what it is?” You question innocently, recognizing the handwriting instantly to be your mystery sender.

“L-Listen y/n, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Ron mumbles, folding the piece of parchment and carefully tucking it into his pocket.

“What is it?” You smile, taking Ron’s hand into yours and stroking the back of his palm.

“I-I’m the one who’s been sending the letters to you y/n, it was me.” Ron states as he closes his eyes and waits for your response.

“Really? I would have never guessed!” You gasp in mock surprise. Ron must’ve heard your sarcasm, because he opens his eyes in shock.

“You knew!?”

“Don’t worry Ronnie, I only found out five minutes ago.” You laugh.

“Who- It was Hermione wasn’t it?”

You nod and Ron drops his head into his hand.

“Oh Ron, there’s no trouble.” You state, pulling Ron’s freckled hands away from his face.

“But there is! I was finally going to tell you who I was in this letter and tell you that I fancy you! I-” Ron freezes, realizing what he’d said.

“So, you do fancy me?” You inquire softly.

“I-I do. I fancy you so much y/n.” Ron sighs, standing and offering his hand to you.

“What’s this all about?” You giggle taking his hand and stepping from your spot on the stone.

“Well if you can’t read my letter, the least I can do is tell you what I wrote.” Ron sighs.

“Y/n, a little over two months ago, I asked you if you thought the two of us could be together, and in turn I made things awkward between us for the first time.” Ron starts with a chuckle as you smile lightly.

“I was so embarrassed, I told you I didn’t mean it that way, even though I did.”

You nod and Ron continues.

“I realized I was doing this too quickly, we grew up together, and have been best friends for years, it was a bloody mistake on my part to believe it could’ve ended well that day.” Ron takes a deep breath as you let out a small giggle.

“So I slowed it down, tried to show you my feelings through small touches and light compliments, but it wasn’t enough. I started writing these letters for you with flowers and chocolate, I held you a little tighter for a little longer during hugs, I treated you more like someone in love.”

“Y/n L/n, I have a huge crush on you, and because I’m sure you already know who the bloke who wrote this letter is, I have to ask. Could we be, more than friends?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Ron cuts you off.

“Yours and only yours forever, Ronald Bilius Weasley,” He concludes, resting his forehead against yours.

Joyful tears prick in the corners of your eyes at Ron’s final words, and you wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders as you lean closer to him.

“Yes Ronnie, more than friends.” You state, closing the space between, and connecting your lips to his.

Ron’s response is immediate as he smiles into the kiss and wraps his arms around your waist.

He tilts his chin to gain a better angle as he deepens the kiss and gently pulls away, lightly catching his breath.

“Is it too early to say I’m in love?” Ron chuckles, resting his forehead against yours again.

“Well I’ve only been waiting ten years for you to say it.” You tease, pressing a butterfly kisses to Ron’s freckled cheek as he chuckles and connects his lips to yours again.

[emospritelet]

Heatstroke - chapter 17

I tweaked the prompt a little :)

[AO3]

x

Before leaving the city for small-town Maine, Lacey had told herself she wasn’t going to spend every night drinking until the early hours, as she had in New York. Since moving to Storybrooke she had mostly kept that promise to herself. During the week, anyway. Weekends were a different matter. Ruby usually had Friday nights off from the diner, but that inevitably meant that she worked on Saturdays, and while Lacey wasn’t bothered by going to the Rabbit Hole by herself, it was much more fun to have Ruby’s company while she slowly went out of her mind. Saturday evening found her at the bar in Granny’s Diner, drinking her way through a few tall glasses of ice-cold oblivion and telling Ruby about her latest unsuccessful encounter with Gold.

“So he wasn’t even dressed?” Ruby set a vodka and orange in front of her, leaning on the bar and resting her chin on her hands. “At that time in the morning? Not like Gold.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Lacey, stirring her drink with a straw. “It was weird, Rubes. I was all bracing for insults and sarcasm, and it was like he couldn’t even look at me.”

“You can’t tell me you wanted insults and sarcasm.”

“No,” she admitted. “But I think I’d choose that over being ignored.”

“Oh God…” Ruby shook her head. “Would you just ask him out already? Ask him to Zelena’s stupid dance.”

“I told you, he’s not going,” said Lacey impatiently. “And even if he was, it’s obvious he’s not interested. I mean it was obvious before, but now…”

“Maybe you just disturbed him doing something?”

“Like what?” Lacey stirred her drink moodily, and looked up. “Oh God, you don’t think he had someone there, do you?”

“Like a - a woman?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” She took a drink, enjoying the tart taste of the orange juice and the smooth heat of the vodka in her throat. “I bet he did. I bet he had someone stay the night and I woke him up from a round of hot morning sex, good God!”

“Lacey.” Ruby leaned on the bar with a patient expression on her face. “Apart from you, the only person lusting after Gold in this town is Zelena. And he would never.”

“Okay,” Lacey nodded, feeling a little better. “That’s a fair point. But it could have been someone from out of town.”

“Maybe he’s sick,” suggested Ruby. “You could have pulled him out of his death bed.”

“Hey, that’s a point.” She perked up a little. “Yeah, maybe that’s why he was off with me. Great!”

“There you go.”

Lacey groaned, slumping on the bar with her chin pushed into her folded arms.

“God, I shouldn’t wish ill health on the man, should I?” she said dolefully. “What’s wrong with me, Rubes? I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Yeah, it feels that way to me, too,” remarked Ruby.

“Why am I like this?” demanded Lacey, pushing upright again. “Past Lacey was never like this. Past Lacey would find a hot guy, have a good time, and move the hell on! Past Lacey would have been like ‘pfft, so he’s not interested, his loss’. That’s always how it was before.”

“So maybe it’s something more meaningful this time,” suggested Ruby. “Maybe present Lacey wants an actual relationship, not just hot crazy sex.”

“Oh no, present Lacey totally wants the hot crazy sex,” said Lacey, snickering as she reached for her drink. “I just need him to want me back, that’s all.”

“I told you, the ‘you seeing him naked’ thing put him off,” said Ruby. “Guys like Gold need to feel like they’re in charge.”

“Hmmm.” Lacey grinned widely. “He can do that if he wants.”

Her grin widened at the thought of Gold taking charge in a number of very delicious ways, and Ruby rolled her eyes.

“You got it bad, girl,” she observed.

“I can’t help it!” said Lacey, slapping the bar with her palms. “First time we met I saw his junk, and believe me, it was absolutely no hardship as far as I’m concerned. And since then I’ve been checking him out every chance I get.” She took a slurp of her drink to wet her throat. “I thought he looked pretty good full frontal, but did you see his ass in those pants? Biteable.”

Ruby’s eyes had gone very wide.

“Lacey, shh!” she hissed.

“What? It’s true!” Lacey waved a hand. “I always thought you’d need a big hammer to bang in a nail that size, but nope! Almost as cute and pert as mine.”

“Yeah, that’s a great point you just made about - uh - carpentry,” said Ruby loudly, and Lacey felt her brow crinkle.

“Carpentry? What the hell are you - it was a metaphor, Rubes!” she insisted. “I’m talking about how Gold should man up and nail me!”

“Hey Mr Gold!” said Ruby brightly, a somewhat desperate smile on her face. “What can I get you?”

Lacey felt as though a bucket of iced water had been thrown in her face, the shock of it making her catch her breath with a gasp. A ball of lead the size of a small watermelon appeared to have dropped into her stomach and was trying to drag her down through the floorboards and into the diner cellar. She was tempted to let it. He’s right fucking behind me, isn’t he?

“Miss Lucas,” Gold’s lazy drawl made her close her eyes in horror. “Just the rent, if you please. I leave minor - uh - carpentry jobs to those with more inclination for the task.”

Lacey wanted to die. She slipped from the stool, snatching up her bag and coat. Perhaps if she didn’t open her eyes, he wouldn’t be able to see her.

“Later, Rubes,” she muttered, and almost ran from the diner.

Gold watched her go, slim legs moving remarkably quickly considering the height of her heels. Turning back to the bar, he favoured Miss Lucas with a tiny smile, but she was glaring at him, dark eyes flashing.

“Are you stupid?” she demanded, and he frowned.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, in a freezing voice, and she threw up her hands.

“That poor girl just said out loud how much she wants to bang you, and your response is to be all snide and cutting? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What are you talking about?” he snapped. “I know full well Miss French has no interest in me other than as an object of ridicule!”

Miss Lucas put her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

“Don’t you have eyes?” she demanded. “You telling me you haven’t seen her staring at you?”

“Oh, I vividly remember our first encounter,” he said dryly. “I also remember hearing her discuss it with you afterwards. You’ll forgive me if I’m not turned on by mockery.”

Miss Lucas sniffed.

“Look, if you’re getting your cock out in public you have to expect a little teasing.”

“I did not get my cock out in public!” he snapped. “It was on my own property, and frankly it’s no more your business than it was hers!”

“Yeah, well she wasn’t mocking you, she was just - surprised.”

“Oh please!” he said, in a disparaging tone. “I’ve no interest in whatever game you two are playing.”

“She just said you should man up and nail her! You heard her!”

“Really?” he said dismissively, tugging at cuffs that didn’t need it. “Hilarious, if one understands the context, I’m sure.”

“Oh my God…” She shook her head. “Blind, deaf and stupid. I should have just talked to Neal.”

“What does my son have to do with this?” he demanded, and she shrugged.

“Just saying. Something tells me he’s not as dense as you.”

Gold glared at her.

“Are you gonna give me the rent, or do I have to consider raising it?”

“Fine, resort to empty threats all you like,” she sniffed, turning away.

She unlocked the drawer beneath the counter, taking out the envelope of rent money, and slapping it on the counter. She was still glaring at him, and Gold took the money with an unpleasant smile, opening it up and beginning to count out the notes.

“She likes you,” said Miss Lucas, making him pause. “Lacey likes you. Weird as it seems to me, and as much as I don’t want to hear about her many fantasies involving you, she likes you. She likes you a lot. As in she wants to have sex with you. Also a lot.”

Gold had lost count the moment she mentioned Lacey’s name, but there was no way he was about to admit it. He gathered up the pile of bills, stuffing it back into the envelope and retrieving his notebook from his pocket.

“It’s all there,” he said stiffly, flipping through the pages. 

“Just ask her out,” went on Miss Lucas. “Or go to that dance of Zelena’s if you’re gonna be a wuss about it. Then you don’t even need to ask her out. You could just - you would be there, and she would be there, and the two of you could - you know.”

Gold could barely see what he was writing, but he pretended that he knew what he was doing. He wrote the date out with such a flourish that it tore the paper, and slipped the notebook back into his pocket. The envelope of money followed it, his hands shaking a little.

“Thank you, Miss Lucas,” he said, his tone hollow. “Do give my regards to your grandmother.”

Turning on his heel, he fixed his gaze on the door and limped towards it as though it was the path to his salvation.

“Why are you both such idiots!” called Miss Lucas, and he flinched as he grasped the door handle.

Getting out into the cool summer evening, he let the door close behind him, and exhaled slowly, head rolling back as he let the soft breeze caress his skin. Surely Miss Lucas wasn’t being serious? Admittedly Lacey had said something extremely suggestive about him, but what if it was part of their banter, the joke that never got old. Gold and his naked body, forever an object of ridicule.

What if it wasn’t? A voice in his head whispered to him, a faint spark of hope igniting deep within him. What if she actually likes you? You could go to that tedious charity ball. By the sound of it, she’ll be there, no doubt reporting for the Mirror. You could ask her to dance. That wouldn’t arouse anyone’s suspicions. Maybe not even hers. And if she does like you...

The idea of Lacey actually returning his feelings was too heady to contemplate, and Gold shook his head, striding off down the street. No. He would think about this intriguing possibility when he was in the safety of his own home and with a large glass of something strong. He definitely needed a little Dutch courage to plan his next move.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch37: Fourteen Million, Six Hundred And Five Part 1- Wakanda Forever.

Intro: Thor, Rocker and Groot arrive on Nidevallir and the god quickly realises something is wrong. Meanwhile, on Titan, Tony is trying desperately to rally the rest of the Guardians into some sort of organised unit, whilst in Wakanda it isn’t the organisation that the rest of the Avengers is having issues with…

Warnings: Bad Language words.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: So I HAD to write Thor and Tony’s POV over the IW chaptres too, because, frankly, they had some of THE best scenes in Infinity War, and I love that freaking Norse God Himbo and chaotic Stark chemistry so bad! I know this is Katie and Steve’s fic, but Steve had so little screen time in this film all things considered…we were so robbed!!! @angrybirdcr​ once again, beautiful editing!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 36 Part 2

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Oh how Thor missed his hammer! How had it all gone so terribly wrong? He’d left Earth and his friends three years ago to go hunting those wretched stones and had failed, miserably. Now his Father was dead, his brother was dead, Heimdel was dead, half his people were dead. His home planet was gone, he only had one eye, and if he didn’t stop Thanos then his friends on Earth weren’t going to fare much better than the ones on Asgard had.

He chewed the inside of his cheek, his left knee jiggling a little bit with nervous anticipation as his mind flickered to Little Stark and the Captain. He wondered how they’d been getting on, how the few years post their marriage had been for them, whether there were any Little Little Starks or Little Caps roaming around…

“So, dead brother, huh?” Thor looked up to see the rabbit was stood a few feet away, pressing buttons on a screen as he spoke. “Yeah that can be annoying.”

“Well, he’s been dead before.”  Thor huffed. "But this time, I think it really might be true.”

“And you said that your sister and your dad…”

“Both dead." 

"You guys still got a mom, though?” The Rabbit pressed.

“Killed by a dark elf.” Thor replied, monotonously.

“Best friend?”

“Stabbed through the heart.”

“And you sure you’re up for this particular murder mission?” Rocket asked, frowning slightly.

“Absolutely!” Thor forced a smile, as he looked at the animal “Rage and vengeance, anger, loss, regret. They’re all tremendous motivators. They really clear the mind. So I’m err, good to go.” He nodded firmly, making a fist.

"Yeah, but this is Thanos we’re talking about he’s the toughest there is.”

“Well, he’s never fought me.” Thor deadpanned.

“Yeah, he has.” Rocket shrugged, and Thor took a deep breath.

“Well, he’s never fought me twice. And I’ll be getting a new hammer, don’t forget.”

“Well, it’d better be some hammer.”

There was a pause before Thor took a breath.

“You know, I’m fifteen hundred years old,” he began, looking at nothing in particular as he pondered over things. "I’ve killed twice as many enemies and every enemy I have faced would have rather killed me, but none succeeded. I am only still alive because fate wants me to be.” At that point he paused and couldn’t help but smile at a conversation he had had with the Captain about fate bringing him and Little Stark together. The Captain didn’t believe in fate, but he did. "Thanos is just the latest in a long line of bastards, and he’ll be the latest to feel my vengeance.” Thor nodded firmly as he concluded. “Fate wills it so." 

"Mhm.” Rocket hummed hesitating, but he knew he had to ask, “And what if you’re wrong?”

“Well if I’m wrong, what else could I lose?” Thor sniffed, and wiped at the tear that had escaped from his eye before he headed to the front of the pod to take a seat.

“Well, if fate does want you to kill that crap-sack, you’re gonna need more than one stupid eyeball.” Rocket held out his paw as he headed to the seat in front of Thor.

“What’s this?” Thor frowned, eyeing the object that the rabbit had given him.

“What’s it look like? Some jerk lost a bet with me in Contraxia.”

“He gave you his eye in return?” Thor frowned.

“No, he gave me a hundred credits. I snuck into his room later that night and stole his eye.”

“Thank you, sweet rabbit.” Thor smiled, pulling the patch off of his left eye to push the eyeball into the socket.

Rocket grimaced. “Ooh, errr, I would’ve washed that before, erm…” He swallowed and shook his head.  “The only way I could sneak it off Contraxia was up my-” He was cut off as an alarm started. “Hey we’re here.”

Thor frowned as he stood up to get a closer look out of the front of the pod. “I don’t think this thing works,” he slapped at the side of his head, his new eye spinning in the socket. “Everything seems dark.”

“That’s not the eye.” Rocket took a deep breath as they all stared out of the cockpit at the black sky and surrounding area in space.

They docked and slowly made their way off the pod and carefully made their walked across the dark terrain of the planet.

“I hope these dwarves are better at forging than they are at cleaning.” Rocket looked around at the junk that lay all over the place as Thor glanced over the deserted area, a puzzled expression on his face. “Hey, maybe they realized they live in a junk pile in the middle of space.”

"The forge hasn’t gone dark in centuries.” Thor shook his head. No, he could feel it. Something was very, very wrong.

“You said Thanos had a gauntlet, right?” Rocket stopped walking.

“Yes. Why?” Thor asked, searching the sky. For what he didn’t know.

“Did it look anything like that?”

Thor turned and looked over to where Rocket was pointing and his blood ran cold as he saw, sitting upon one of the stone tables, a mould for the gauntlet Thanos was wearing when he attacked his ship. Suddenly, realisation washed over him.

Thanos had been here. And that wasn’t good. At all. In fact it was about as far from good as anything could be. 

“I am Groot?”

“Go back to the pod.” Thor commanded before something struck him hard and he went flying through the air as Rocket and Groot scattered in the opposite direction.

Thor pushed himself up, and turning round, he saw the large mass coming towards him. Scrambling backwards he fell against something, hard and held his hands up, palms open in a placating manner.

“Eitri, wait!” He called loudly. “Stop! It’s me!”

"Thor?” The Dwarf paused, fist still raised as Thor gave a node. “Is that you?”

There was a pause and the Dwarf dropped his hand slightly. Thor swallowed and looked up at him, taking a deep breath. “What happened here?” The god asked.

“You were supposed to protect us!” the Dwarf cried, his voice cracking “Asgard was supposed to protect us!”

“Asgard is destroyed,” Thor choked out, getting to his feet. He pointed to the gauntlet on the table. “Eitri the glove, what did you do?”

Eitri let out a shuddering breath as he stumbling over to a wall and fell heavily upon it, sliding down to the floor. “Three hundred dwarves lived on this ring. I thought if I did what he asked, they’d be safe. I made what he wanted. A device capable of harnessing the power of the stones. And he killed everyone anyway. All except me. ‘Your life is yours,’ he said. 'But your hands…your hands are mine alone.’” With that the dwarf raised both his hands and Thor felt his eyes widen as he saw they were covered in in metal from the forge.

Thor paused, but then he shook his head. No, this wouldn’t do. He needed a new hammer. There had to be a way.

Even in the word can’t there’s the word can…

Little Stark’s voice echoed in his head, a line he had heard her say once to Barton just before the archer had thrown a pop tart at her head. Man he would kill for a pop tart right now. 

But no, she was right. He wasn’t giving up

“Eitri, this isn’t about your hands”. Thor shook his head. “Every weapon you’ve ever designed, every axe, hammer, sword it’s all inside your head. Now I know it feels like all hope is lost. Trust me, I know. But together, we can kill Thanos.”

***** Tony, Peter and Dr Strange had arrived on Titan. But they were greeted with a not-so-welcoming party. After a bit of a struggle, Tony had some blue faced dude on his back, repulsor raised whilst one of the other guys had Parker in a headlock, gun pointed at his head. As they faced off against each other, the man pointing the gun at Peter spoke.

“Alright, everybody, stay where you are, chill the eff out.” His helmet disappeared to reveal a dark haired man, his eyes darted across the three of them. “I’m gonna ask you this one time. Where’s Gamora?” What the fuck? 

Tony gave a groan of exasperation as he removed his helmet and looked at the man. “Yeah, I’ll do you one better. Who’s Gamora?” “I’ll do you one better!” The man under Tony’s foot spoke “Why is Gamora?”

”Tell me where the girl is, or I swear to you, I’m gonna French-fry this little freak.” The man tightened his hand on Parker and Tony felt his temper snap.

“Let’s do it! You shoot my guy, I blast him. Let’s go!” He yelled, extended his nano-tech cannon and pointing it straight at the guys face.

“Do it, Quill! I can take it.” The man snarled at him. 

Jesus Christ it was like arguing with Rogers.

“No, he can’t take it!” The woman with the strange antennae insisted.

 “She’s right. You can't.” Dr Strange but in, completely deadpan, his tone bored.

“Oh yeah? You don’t wanna tell me where she is? That’s fine. I’ll kill all three of you and beat it out of Thanos myself.” The man they now knew to be Quill glanced at Parker. “Starting with you.”

 “Wait, what. Thanos?” Before Tony could say anything, Strange beat him to it. “Alright, let me ask you this one time, what master do you serve?”

”What master do I serve?” Quill looked at him, sarcasm dripping from his voice and body language. “What am I supposed to say, Jesus?”

“You’re from Earth?” Tony looked at him, suddenly cottoning on.

“I’m not from Earth. I’m from Missouri”

“Yeah, that’s on Earth, dip-shit.” Tony spat, with the tone of someone talking to a very, very stupid person, which in all fairness he appeared to be doing. “What are you hassling us for?”

“So, you’re not with Thanos?”  Parker spoke for the first time.

“WITH Thanos?!” Quill scoffed indignantly ���No, I’m here to kill Thanos! He took my girl. Wait… who are you?”

“We’re the Avengers, man.” Parker remoeved his helmet and mask.

“Oh” Quill relaxed his hold a little.

“You’re the ones Thor told us about!” The bug looking woman exclaimed excitedly. 

“You know Thor?” Tony whipped round to face her, barely keeping the excitement out of his voice. They could use Point Break, man could they use him!

 “Yeah. Tall guy, not that good-looking,” Quill sniffed as Parker gave him an incredulous look, “needed saving.”

 Dr Strange paused before he asked the question Tony was dying to know the answer to. “Where is he now?”

“Took my pod, my food, my rucksack and went off to find a new hammer to kill Thanos with.” Quill shrugged as he released Parker completely. Dr Strange and Tony exchanged a crestfallen look. It didn’t appear like they were going to get any help from Thor where they were but maybe, just maybe, the rest of the Avengers would.

As they were now allies of sorts, the group all introduced themselves properly and Quill began to walk around the ground, holding out some kind of scanner, or spirit measure, Tony wasn’t sure which.

“What the heck happened to this planet? Its eight degrees off its axis.” He muttered “Gravitational pull is all over the place.”

In the background Mantis was jumping up and down, floating higher than she should have been able to, almost as if she was jumping on some trampoline. Tony watched her for a second before an idea formed in his mind.

“Yeah, we got one advantage. He’s coming to us. We’ll use it.” He said, firmly. “All right, I have a plan” he looked round at the group, “or at least the beginnings of one. It’s pretty simple. We draw him in, pin him down, get what we need. Definitely don’t wanna dance with this guy. We just want the gauntlet.”

At that Drax gave a loud yawn and Tony glared at him.

 “Are you yawning? In the middle of this, while I’m breaking it down? Huh? Did you hear what I said?”

“I stopped listening after you said we need a plan.” Drax shrugged honestly

“Okay, Mr. Clean is on his own page.” Tony looked at Quill for help.

“See, not winging it, isn’t really what they do” Quill pulled a face, almost apologetically.

“Uh, what exactly is it that they do?” Parker asked.

“Kick names, take ass.” Mantis replied with all the ferocity of an eight week old kitten.

“Yeah, that’s right” Drax nodded as he settled into a stance, facing the remaining Avengers.

Right there Tony took it all back. This was nothing like trying to deal with Rogers.

Cap was a stubborn son-of-a-bitch, but he was smart. He would listen and would get them to listen too. As Tony paused, for the first time in ages actually wishing Rogers was in front of him, an expression of deep hopelessness crossed his face before he spoke again “Alright, just get over here, please. Mr. Lord, can you get your folks to circle up?”

“Mr. Lord, Star-Lord is fine.” Quill motioned to Drax and Mantis to come and listen.

“We gotta coalesce.” Tony tried again in a softer voice. “ Cause if all we come at him with is a plucky attitude…”

“Dude, don’t call us plucky. We don’t know what it means.” Quill shook his head, and internally Tony died a little more. Alright, we’re optimistic, yes. I like your plan. Except it sucks, so let me do the plan, and that way it might be really good.”

“Tell him about the dance-off to save the universe.” Drax interjected.

“What dance-off?” Tony frowned.

“It’s not a… it’s not… it’s nothing” Quill shook his head.

“Like in Footloose, the movie?” Parker interjected.

“Exactly like Footloose!” Quill looked at him excitedly “Is it still the greatest movie in history?

“It never was.” 

“Don’t encourage this, alright?” Tony rounded on the kid as Quill wore an expression that looked like the wind had been completely sucked out of his sails. “We’re getting no help from Flash Gordon here”.

“Flash Gordon? By the way, that’s a compliment. Don’t forget, I’m half human” Quill pointed at Tony and Peter “So that fifty-percent of me that’s stupid? That’s a hundred-percent you.”

“Your math is blowing my mind.” Tony deadpanned.

“Excuse me, but…” Mantis spoke, and Tony looked at her, before his attention was taken by Strange and he frowned again. “Does your friend often do that?

The Wizard was sitting cross-legged, floating slightly above the ground, his hands poised in a mystic gesture with the Time Stone glowing brightly in the pendant round his neck. Green vapour like energy swirled around him, his cloak billowing behind, as if caught on a breeze. His head was jerking rapidly from side to side, the motion blurring, but almost like he was looking for something.

 Tony stepped towards him “Strange! We alright?”

 Suddenly, Strange snapped out of his trance and fell forward, letting out a cry. Tony gently caught him.

“You’re back. You’re alright”

 “Hey, what was that?” Parker asked.

 “I went forward in time to view alternate futures,” Strange panted slightly as he caught his breath, looking at Tony, eyes wide, “to see all the possible outcomes of the coming conflict.

 “How many did you see?” Quill asked

 “Fourteen million, six hundred and five.”

 Tony wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to the next question, but he asked it anyway. “How many did we win?

There was a pregnant pause as Dr Strange stared intently at him for a moment before he took a deep breath and looked Tony straight in the eyes. “One.”

*****

"How are we looking, Bruce?” Natasha spoke nto the coms device glancing back over her shoulder, prompting Katie to do the same, where she could see Bruce running behind the hovercrafts in the giant Hulk buster suit. He’d been unable to get the Hulk to come out, sheepishly explaining they were having issues, so Steve had suggested calmly as everyone else had almost had a meltdown, that this was the next best thing.

“Yeah, I think I’m getting the hang of it,” Bruce responded sounding excited, “it’s so amazing! Man it’s like being the Hulk without actually…” He was cut off as he tripped over a piece of rock jutting out of the ground and crashed to the floor. Katie sighed and turned her attention back out across the vast Wakandan land.

“I’m ok. I’m ok!”

“Steve,” Katie swallowed, catching her husband’s attention. He turned to look at her over his shoulder, but she found she didn’t really know what she wanted to say. She was worried, scared, underprepared.

“I know.” Steve responded with a soft voice, instantly understanding her, he always did. He reached round to pull her to him, his left arm over her shoulder, trying to lend her some comfort as they continued their journey, the wind whipping their hair as they sped across the planes.

Eventually the hovercrafts began to slow before they came to a stop, the Wakandan warriors easily jumping off the side of the craft and falling into line. Steve hopped down, turning to Katie, both his hands on her waist as she jumped and he lifted her down, her feet landing on the dry, brown grass of the Serengeti that stretched for miles around them.

"Alright I’ve got two heat signatures breaking through the treeline.” Rhodey informed from high above. Instantly, Steve and Katie’s eyes flew upwards to watch him zooming overhead as T'Challa in his panther suit led them all to the centremost group where the Wakandans had started up a war chant.

“Thank you for standing with us.” The king spoke to a large man dressed in furs getting his own block ready for battle. The man said something in their language shaking T'Challa’s hand, before the king looked back at the barrier and the ships surrounding it and then turned to Steve who nodded. Katie took a deep breath and pressed the star on her bangle. The nano-particles spread up her arm, across her chest and down, encasing her completely in her suit.  

Steve’s eyebrow raised at the action. “So that’s new.” He quipped, a sideways smile spreading across his face and Katie shrugged.

“Nano-tech, apparently.” She engaged her helmet and began running her scanners. “I can’t get a lock on what’s in those ships though.”

“Well, let’s go find out.” Steve suggested gently, and along with Natasha and T’Challa, they headed to the edge of the dome. The tall, blue haired woman they had grappled with in Edinburgh was there with a huge beast they hadn’t seen before, one of the ones that had attacked New York. As they watched, she drew her sword across the force field which fizzled as she tested the strength, cocking her head to the side.

“Where’s your other friend?” Katie asked her and Steve almost rolled his eyes at her deliberate dig. The woman glared at her.

“You will pay for his life with yours. Thanos will have that stone.”

“That’s not gonna happen.” Steve’s voice remained even, not a threat as such, simply a statement, as he raised his chin and looked her straight in the face.

T’Challa, however, was much more aggressive as he spoke and Katie looked at him, surprised by the normally mild mannered man’s fierce tone.

“You are in Wakanda now.” He glared at their foes. “Thanos will have nothing but dust and blood.”

“We have blood to spare.” The Woman smirked a little as she brandished her sword with a snarl. Behind her, the ships started raising their outer hulls.

Knowing that was about as much a conversation as they were getting, and as much of one as he wanted, Steve gestured with his head and the four of them made their way back. Steve made sure Katie and Natasha were in front of him, just in case, and every so often he threw a glance over his shoulder as the ships continued to open.

“They surrender?” Bucky asked as Steve took up his place at his best friend’s side, Katie falling in line to Steve’s right.

“Not exactly.” Steve huffed.

Katie glanced round Steve over to Bucky and nodded to the gun in his hand “Sure you can handle that, sweetheart?”

Steve let out a snort and his mouth curved into a grin as he recalled Bucky saying the same thing to her almost two years previously. Bucky gave a bark of a laugh and winked at Katie who raised an eyebrow, smirking. Then the three of them turned their attention back to the edge of the dome and, as they watched, a horde of what looked like mutated dogs rushed through the trees and foliage, heading straight for the barrier.

T'Challa began to chant with his army, repeating the war-cry loudly, as the blue horned woman thrust her sword down and the creatures rushed forward smashing themselves into the barrier without care.

“What the hell?” Bucky muttered watching the creatures try to force themselves in, but every limb and body part that passed through the field ended up being cut off.

“Looks like we pissed her off.” Nat pointed out.

“Just a little.” Katie turned her head to look at her.

Steve remained still, observing, sizing up his opponent as ever, not flinching an inch even when he spotted that some of the creatures managed to get halfway through before they were cut in half. 

“They’re killing themselves.” Okoye breathed in shock as the creatures carried on.

The front line of the blocks of warriors quickly raised their shields when they noticed a small handful of the creatures had actually managed to get through, their badly burnt bodies cantering across the plains towards them. With a command from T'Challa the army began firing weapons at a few that drew near.

“Honey.” Steve turned to Katie, taking a deep breath. He didn’t want her to leave his side but they needed all the fire power they had. With a nod, and a quick squeeze of his hand, she engaged her helmet and launched herself into the air.

She drew up alongside Sam, who turned his head to grin at her as she sped alongside him. Despite the situation, she couldn’t help but put herself into a little twirl, allowing the euphoria at being up there again, fully suited after so long, to take her away for a moment. But then, it was down to business and the two of them began to work in tandem, dropping missiles and bombs at the stragglers.

“You see the teeth on those things?” Sam’s astonished voice said

“Alright, Kiddo, let’s go. Back up, Sammy,” Rhodey warned, as he flew along the edge of the dome, dropping more bombs on the creatures that were still partially getting through, “you’ll get your wings singed.”

Katie surged forward, taking the opposite side of the dome, engaging her shoulder cannons, blasting away the ones underneath, but then FRIDAY locked onto some of the creatures on either end of the swarm who had begun to make their way further from the main pile running along the outside of the barrier that circled the city.

“They’re spreading out!” Katie called in warning.

“Cap, if these things circle the perimeter and get in behind us,” Bruce echoed, “there’s nothing between them and Vision.”

“Then we better keep them in front of us.” Steve responded calmly, his gaze not once faltering as he simply watched the edge of the dome.

“How do we do that?” Okoye scoffed.

“We open the barrier,” T’Challa replied with resolve. Steve turned to look at him, taking a deep breath. “On my signal, open Northwest Section Seventeen.”

“Requesting confirmation my king…you said open the barrier?”

“On my signal.” He confirmed his instructions.

Steve lifted his arms, engaging the shields that T’Challa had given him, as Sam and Katie continued to circle high up, shooting a few more strays before they flew over the assembled troops, hovering and waiting for the command.  

T’Challa stepped forward before the armies, crossing his arms before his chest. “Wakanda forever!” he cried out.

“Wakanda forever!” was the answering shout from his people before they all took off running for the barrier.

“NOW!” T'Challa shouted into his communicator, and a small portion of the barrier opened, allowing the creatures to spill.

Steve ran with T’challa, the pair of them forging ahead of the running army at super speed as they sprinted in unison. Upon reaching a shallow stream, they both launched themselves up and over, propelling themselves at the creatures and from there the battle was on.

Katie was swooping, shooting, diving, taking out as many of the creatures as she could. The weapons upgrades Tony had made were amazing-she had the ability to turn her gauntlet into a sword of sorts, she had a shield, guns…you name it and FRIDAY was on hand to remind her exactly what she had and automatically use them when needed. All in all, it was the best Supernova suit her brother had ever developed, and she felt hopeful that his latest Iron Man one would be good enough to keep him safe wherever he was.

Steve, meanwhile, was hammering the pointed end of his shields into any of the creatures that came near enough. Bucky was gunning down those that came towards him, the Wakandan Warriors were using their spears and guns. The animals weren’t hard to take down, a decent hook or shot to the head did it, but they were persistent and there was so damned many of them…

“How much longer, Shuri?” T'Challa’s voice rang in Steve’s ear as he kicked another one of the animals straight in the mouth sending it flying.

“We’ve barely begun, brother!”

“You might want to pick up the pace!” T’Challa urged.

“Please do…” Steve found himself muttering as he pounded another of the creatures, feeling its scull crush beneath his knuckles.

*****

Thor had managed to get the Forge started again, using the pod and a large rope to pull the stuck rings into a spin, but then the iris had snapped, leaving nothing for it. He had to open it himself.

“All-fathers, give me strength.” He mumbled as he rolled his shoulders preparing to grab either side of the iris.

“You understand, boy?” Eitri warned. “You’re about to take the full force of a star. It’ll kill you.”

“Only if I die.” Thor cracked his neck as he took a deep breath. He had to survive, fate willed it, he was going to kill Thanos.  

”Yes. That’s what…killing you means.” Eitri frowned, utterly boggled at Thor’s words.

Thor pulled down on the two levers, bringing them towards him and the iris began to open. The stream of pure, stellar energy blasted past him and into the forge once more. Thor grit his teeth as the force of the full beam of the star burned through him, like nothing he had ever felt before.

“Hold it! Hold it, Thor!”

The metal ingots began to melt and Thor let out a yell as he felt his skin burning, until he could hold it no more and his grip slipped. He fell down into the forge, bouncing limply off a structure and landing on the floor, harshly as Rocket, who had followed in the pod, grimaced. The thud Thor’s body made as it landed was enough to make Groot look up from his game.

“Thor! Say something. Come on. Thor, you okay?” Rocket asked, looking at the god who appeared as far from okay as you could get.

Eitri was clumsily and urgently pulling the mould, which was still glowing red hot. onto the floor. He broke it loose from the frame, punching it with his metal fists to free the axe head.

“I think he’s dying!” Rocket stuttered, looking up urgently for help

“He needs the axe!” Eitri said, frantically “Where’s the handle? Tree, help me find the handle!”

As the two sides of the axe head lay glowing on the floor, Groot looked sadly at Thor, as Eitri was desperately searchin for the handle. Then, realising he could help, the tree scowled with determination and stood, extending his fingers towards the parts of the axe-head, growing them at extraordinary speed. As he twined them around the metal, he cried out at the burning pain but didn’t hesitate, slamming them together and locking them permanently into one structure by winding the growing vines around them. He raised it high above his head and, with a mighty cry, chopped his extended arm with the other hand to sever it.

Thor lay motionless, but then his fingers twitched, and the new weapon levitated in a crackle of lightning echoed by the sparks between the God’s fingers…

***** Chapter 37 Part 2

[lune-hime]

Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Once Upon an Attack on Titan

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

This is a little one shot within the au of my fic inspired by Grimm’s fairy tales.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jean, I’m leaving now!” You sang out the window that overlooked the garden of your quaint cottage. You slipped your boots on with a leather pop and pulled up the scarlet hood of your cloak. As you padded out the door you grabbed the wicker basket from the table that smelled of wine and warm tartes.

The late afternoon sun was at its strongest, basking your modest abode in an aura of warmth. And within the pumpkin patch that bloomed bronze in the sunlight was a sight to behold indeed.

“ Move asshole.” Jean groaned as he put all of his strength into attempting to push your cow. She was unaffected and continued to happily graze on the dandelions you had forgotten to weed out near the edge of the garden. She flicked her tail in annoyance as if Jean was an incessant fly when he smacked her on the rear.

“Whose being the asshole? How would you like it if you were eating and someone slapped you?” You chided playfully. Jean deadpanned in exhaustion and gave you the middle finger. His irritation rose with every non-existent step your bovine took.

“Yeah well, it’s almost noon. That means the auction starts in one hour.” His statement turned into a groan as he gave another big ineffective push. “If we don’t sell her that means-”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re broke.” You finished his sentence and made a swiping motion across your neck. Selling your beloved cow was the last resort and a stark reminder of how desperately you both needed money. Not only did you siblings have each other to support, but your aging grandmother as well.

“ Exactly . So get over here and help me push her!” Jean pleaded. You sighed and placed the handle of your basket in the crook of your elbow. You knelt down in the plush autumn grass and cradled her large head in between your hands. She immediately stopped eating and regarded you doe eyed. Parting with the sweet creature made you want to cry, but you knew you really had no other option at this point.

“Come on, Milky-White. I promise you will get to eat your fair share of hay at the auction house.” You cooed at her and she gave a sloppy lick to the side of your palm. Jean scoffed when you took the lead to the rope around her neck and she walked compliantly behind you.  

“Are you ready to go?” You asked your brother with a smug grin. He rolled his eyes and nodded, brushing the dirt from his vest. When he fell in step with you, you handed him the rope and adjusted your basket to rest on your forearm.

“I’ll walk with you part of the way. The auction is on the way to Oma’s.” You said and rested your free hand on Milky-White’s back comfortably as you strolled down the cobblestone path.

Once you had gotten a fair ways down into the sparse village, the crunching of foreign feet against pine needles alerted you. A decrepit woman emerged out of the thicket a few paces ahead. Her graying brunette locks were pulled back into a ponytail that made the most prominent feature of her face her bold nose. From behind her dirtied glasses she wore a smile that bordered insanity as she waddled closer to the siblings. You immediately halted and put a protective hand on Jean’s arm.

“Well hello pretties. A fine day to take your cow for a walk, isn’t it?” The woman remarked shrilly.

“Yes it is.” Your response was curt as you stood your ground. The old woman let out a chuckle that sounded as if she were squeezing air out of a dusty bellow.

“Would either of you like some candy?” She offered. You assumed she intended to sound inviting but the rising pitch of her voice made it feel like you were listening to someone drag their nails across an endless chalkboard. The woman reached into her beige cloak and pulled out a large lollipop. You squinted at the fine print on the translucent wrapping.

~Confectionaries by HZ~  

“We’ll pass, thanks.” Jean replied coldly. The haggard woman began looking him up and down and licking her encrusted lips.

“Are you sure? I’m a candy maker by trade and can assure you that you will never taste anything more-” She began, waddling closer to you. She bypassed your side and began circling you.

“Exquisite.” She finished as she rounded her path behind you. You were now thoroughly repulsed.

“I could give you a tour of my kitchen. I have a grand oven where I bake my treats, unlike the likes of any other. I bet it’s big enough to even fit you in it, my tall boy.” She bubbled and grabbed Jean’s arm. She gave it a good squeeze, feeling around the lean muscle.

“Lady, we don’t want your food!” Jean bristled, his voice cracking nervously. Her jerked his elbow out of her grasp but spooked Milky-White in the process. She took a few clumsy steps backwards and caused Jean to stumble. You moved to calm her, all the while not taking an eye off of the woman. Once Jean had regained himself you stepped in front of your family.

“Ma’am, thank you for the offer, but we really need to get going. We have an appointment we cannot miss.” You declared with a grin as sugary as her candy. She spat in frustration when you lifted the edge of your crimson cloak to reveal a concealed dagger strapped to your belt.

“The feisty ones always taste the spiciest.” You heard her mumble as she creeped away in the direction from whence you came.

Once she was out of sight, you turned to Jean and your precious cow. They both were breathing heavily. You gave them comforting pats and began walking again.

“We need to move out of this village.” Jean whined and urged Milky-White to follow.

Several scarecrows and window sills holding freshly baked pies later, you arrived at the crossroads to the auction.

“Goodbye sweet girl. I hope that your new owners are as loving as me and nothing like my brother.” You said. You gave Milky-White one final smooch and scratched behind her ears. Soon Jean had to pry your pets and coos away from the animal. You backed off with a pout.

"Make sure you sell her for at least 200 dollars or something valuable we can sell. And stay away from that weird wizard, he's for sure a scam artist." You instructed Jean.

“Aw but I like Mike. He's got these beans that make you feel like you're floa-" You cut Jean's ramblings off with the sharpness of your glare.

"Fine fine. Alright, I’m off. Remember to stay on the path and make sure you keep your hand on your knife at all times. And most importantly, be back before nightfall.” Jean instructed and gave you a look that tried to be stern but fell slightly short.

“Yes, yes. Don’t worry, I’m always careful.” You replied to his nagging.

“Yeah but you can’t afford to just be careful. Anyway, tell Oma hello from her favorite grandchild.” He called as he turned down the right fork in the path. You snorted and pushed forward, trodding over the stones that took you deeper into the woods.

For a while it was just you and the conifers until an alluring song was carried by the light breeze to your ears. Delving deeper into the brush, you came upon a familiar face.

“Hi Mikasa. Hello Armin, Eren.” You grinned happily as you passed the group. The war maiden was sitting on a large tree stump along the edge of the path. Her ornate shield rested in her lap as she lazily polished it with one hand and bit into a crisp apple with the other.

She was a mercenary that had recently come to work in your village. As an apprentice at Master Connie’s blacksmith shop, you had interacted with the knight many times when she came in to sharpen her sword or shop for some wares. The two of you had grown quite fond of one another’s company and were on friendly terms.

Her dwarven companions sat on either side of her; Eren’s intensely green glare watched you like a hawk while Armin peacefully beamed up at you. Mikasa wiped the sweat off of her forehead with the back of her palm.  Her hand brushed against the bright red headband that held her shortly chopped locks in place.

“Hello Y/N. Lovely to see you.” She greeted, her voice rough with battle experience but as honeyed as the candy the weird woman had tried to tempt you with earlier.

“You too.” You answered, feeling the flames of her firey gaze flushing your cheeks.

“I must say that this gorgeous afternoon is much more beautiful now that you are here.” She sang and flashed you a charmingly captivating smile. As Mikasa spoke, sparrows flitted down from the canopy above to perch along her polished iron shoulder guards. They chirped at the melodic cadence of her voice but soon squawked when she shook them off in annoyance.

The sun was making you borderline sweaty. Yeah, it was definitely the sun.

You nodded in agreement, feeling speechless, and inhaled the fresh pine scent.

“Where are you off to?” Armin piped up while Eren still gave you the stink eye.

“I’m off to my grandmother’s to deliver her some wine and homemade tartes.” You said and patted the top of the basket.

“Would you like me to escort you the rest of the way? It will be dark soon and who knows what wolves or other creatures are lurking in the shadows.” Mikasa offered and stood from the stump. The waning daylight bounced off of her armor and made her look as if she had crafted it out of pure sun rays.

“No, it’s alright. I don’t have that much further to go.” You replied, flattered by her sweet gesture but unwilling to waste her time. Plus you were sure Eren would try to nip at your heels as you walked.

“If you insist. But you’ll have to invite me over soon, okay? I would be honored to taste your cooking.” She said and delicately reached for your hand. She brought it up to her lips and placed a plush kiss to your skin. The fire that was once burning on your face was now rushing through every limb.

“Yes of course!” You stammered bashfully, attempting to portray yourself as unaffected as possible. She chuckled at your reaction and regarded you gracefully.

“Be careful, Y/N. Oh, and tell your stalker of a brother to stop following me into the forest. He’s not the one I want to spend time with.” Mikasa bid you a farewell that left you feeling as if you had drank half of the wine bottle you carried.

“Yeah, or he’s gonna get a knife to the Achilles tendon.” Eren spat aggressively and brandished a cheese knife. You grimaced and turned on your heel to resume your journey.

The remainder of your walk was delightfully uneventful, however, the mistress of time was not favoring you. When dusk began to nestle into the sky you quickened your pace in hopes to beat the celestial blanket to your destination. As you were beginning to trouble yourself with what you could cook that would impress the shield maiden, you arrived at the familiar picketed gates to Oma’s cottage. The calmness of the night almost lulled you into a false sense of security that you rarely felt at this hour.

But it was unusually quiet. Even for nightfall.

Nightfall.

You had broken your and Jean’s golden rule. But you were here now, so it should be okay...right?

None of the usual crickets were singing, none of the usual squirrels were scampering through the freshly fallen leaves, and none of Oma’s usual lights were on.

With your hand placed securely over your dagger, you cautiously approached the residence. You tried to convince yourself that she had gone to bed early, that she was indulging in her pipe on her back porch, or that she had stepped out for a bit to get some last minute ingredients for dinner.

The apprehension in your gut grew as you turned the door knob, only to be met with the door already open. Narrowing your eyes, you proceeded inside. The house was too devoid of light to see if anything was out of the ordinary.

“Oma-” You called tentatively. The only reply was the shrill groaning of her weathered timber under your boots as you shuffled around to find some matches. Your hand sporadically patted down the top of the cabinet she kept in her foyer until your fingers brushed against the match box. You gripped the fire starters and lit the nearest candle. Picking it up by the brass handle, you padded into the living room.

Immediately the viscous stench of iron assaulted your nostrils and caused you to audibly gag. You brought the hand with which you held the candle to your nose instinctively. The illumination this motion created uncovered a pale, delicate hand resting along one of Oma’s armchairs. You gasped in fright, inhaling even more of the putrid smell as you stumbled backwards. The wine bottle wiggled dangerously as you placed your hand on the fireplace shelving to steady yourself.

“WHO’S THERE?” You yelled into the void. Your voice creaked like the floorboards under invisible footfalls that grew closer to your shaking form. In one fluid motion your dagger was unsheathed and held defensively in front of you.

A deep chuckle that was as rich as your wine cut through the shadows.

“Easy with the silver. I’m a friend.” It’s welcome was warm but the voice could not have sounded more frigid.

“Oma doesn’t have any friends.” You declared through ragged breaths. Your head twisted and turned to pinpoint the source of the voice.

“Hm. So the woman who lives here is your oma?” The voice asked ominously.

You swallowed hard and tested the air; cutting through the space in front of you and meeting nothing but emptiness.

“How did you know a woman lives here?” Your inquiry was ended with a sharp inhale as you felt a feather light touch to your shoulder. You were giving yourself whiplash as the voice seemed to be existing within the walls of the house itself.

Was Oma still here? Hiding from this stranger? Or worse…

“A simple guess by the décor.” The voice answered smoothly.

The presence in the room intensified and now you felt palpable forms whirling on all sides of you.

“Where is she?” You demanded, hastily pointing your knife wherever you heard a nefarious laugh or a murmur.

“That is something I would like to know as well. I took time to come all the way out here.” Your mysterious company said.

“It’s awfully late for someone to be traveling alone this far into the woods, don’t you think my dear?” The voice whispered incredibly close to the back of your ear. You startled and turned around, now facing the fireplace and leaving your back tantalizingly exposed.

“Especially for one so-” It continued. Suddenly the pale hand gripped your wrist with such a force that it crippled your palm in pain and made your fingers grow numb. The dagger instantly dropped from your grasp and clattered to the floor.

“Supple.” It cooed. The seductively sinister words slithered under your skin and seeped the oxygen from your lungs. Puffs of icy breath caressed the pulse point of your neck while a nimble hand traveled up your arm that held the candle and raised it to your eye level. You were whipped around and were met with a face accentuated by the soft glow of the candle light.

Your antagonizer took corporeal form in the shape of a man who looked as if he was carved from exquisite marble. His skin was ashen as the stone itself and as flawless as a sculpture. His eyes shown with an argent luster that put your dagger to shame and regarded you with the molten intensity of a forge fire. He drew his face closer to yours ever so slowly.

“Supple indeed.” He praised darkly. His tongue darted languishly along his smirk as if he was already tasting your every feature.

“What did you do to her?” You got out despite the building dread of prey bubbling inside of you. The porcelain man clicked his tongue.

“Absolutely nothing. That’s my problem. That there’s a lack of something to be done.” He explained and continued to smile at you devilishly. He stopped inching towards you once he heard your back hit the fireplace. With nowhere for you to go, he was now able to press his body flush against yours. His leg came to prod at your inner thighs while his hands pinned yours upwards by your wrists. His sharp nails dug into the already tender flesh and threatened to puncture your veins. You let out a cry at the stinging sensation and your mind screamed at you to knee him in the balls.

But you couldn’t move. From the moment his eyes connected with yours, your body fell unresponsive. You couldn’t think a single thought without those silver bullets boring into your brain. Your rapids breaths were constricted against his broad chest as you teetered on the edge of death.

“But I must confess I am quite happy with this outcome.” He said with a satin glee. The last thing you saw before he instantly blew out your candle were the brilliant pearlescent fangs that elongated from his idyllic grin.

You heard a squelching as the flesh below your ear was torn open. It felt as though a flower with scorching petals was placed in the now gaping hole of your neck. Your limbs flailed like one of the chickens Oma placed on the chopping block. The stranger let out a velvety moan that only intensified the burning by sending shockwaves of vibrations across your torso. The longer he drank from your sweet nectar, the paler the flame ran until the pain became as white hot as his complexion.

The man had just begun clenching his jaw to delve in deeper when a gunshot pierced the window in the foyer. Your captor ceased his drinking and listened. He turned his head towards the ruckus with his teeth still embedded with you. Suddenly, a silver arrow flew through the broken glass.

“Come out, vampire. Or I will smoke you out.” A husky voice boomed from the yard. The man retracted his fangs and detached himself from your bleeding neck. The beast chuckled with the crispness of a newborn spring morning. He maneuvered your body so you could walk in front of him with your hands held securely behind your back. You weren’t sure if you even had the strength to use your legs. Walls, did you even still have legs?

“Don’t struggle.” He ordered with a maniacal sing-song to his tone. You barely registered his command. The draining sensation of your bodily fluids freshly leaving you left you feeling like an overused blood bag. Your eyes widened as he began shuffling you to the doorway.

“No-I can’t go-” Your voice cracked as you mediocrely attempted to grab at his arms. You stumbled into his chest as your legs struggled to work properly. He showed no signs of stopping as he continued to walk to the entryway.

“Please…” You pleaded weakly as the rising moonlight peeked through the crevasses of the front door.

The vampire kicked down the door with one fluid motion. The hunter was stationed in the main walkway of your grandmother’s front yard, crossbow loaded and aimed directly at the two of you. His leather tailcoat flapped along the gentle breeze and the bullet casings that rested along his chest reflected the cool gray of the stars.

“We finally are reunited.” The hunter spat. His weapon tracked the vampire’s every movement with the precision of a seasoned expert as he dragged you out further into the yard.

“Smith.” The stranger greeted the hunter like an old friend. He smiled, revealing teeth coated in your thick blood that dribbled down his chin like tumbling rubies.

“Ackerman.” The hunter replied in a hardened tone. “It’s a shame that you resorted to your old delicacies.”

Ackerman hummed and licked the front of his teeth, sighing in satisfaction as he reveled in your metallic palate.

“Squirrels just didn't satisfy me.” He snickered and walked his pointed fingers up your shoulder. A single digit entered your gaping wound and swirled in your juices. You shuddered at the needle-like pressure.  Smith’s prominent brow furrowed in disgust when Ackerman brought his finger to his mouth and sucked.

“Drop the girl, she’s almost dead anyway.” Smith said, his stance unwavering.

“Want my leftovers, eh?” Ackerman laughed. “I guess I only ever see you by the light of the moon so I wouldn’t be surprised if you were one of us.”

In your delirium you had begun disconnecting yourself from reality. But the vampire’s last phrase kept the final, unspooling thread from snapping. You heaved your neck sideways with the remaining strength you harbored to gaze up at Ackerman. His lips were as red as a summer cherry and his skin looked even more iridescent next to the moon. He looked like he could have fallen from the celestial body itself.

The moon.

The instant your eyes gazed upon its circumferential radiance your pupils dilated as the lunar rays rocketed into your eye sockets.

The full moon.

Be back before nightfall.

You can’t afford to just be careful.

Your brother's words echoed in your mind as the moon began bathing you in luminous ivory pain.

“Oh no.” You whimpered. You squeezed out a wail as the searing ripping of your joints elongating and reconnecting overtook your entire being. The convulsions of your body caused Levi to release you from his grip with a hiss. The vampire hunter and hunted could only watch as you hunched over agony with freshly punctured claws raking through Oma’s neat lawn. Coarse hair soon sprouted out of your exposed skin and your strained cries grew octaves lower. The buttons of your dress flew free with crisp pops and the seams of your poor dress were pulled apart by your bulging muscles. Your jaw unhinged and lengthened until your face resembled the wolves that Milky-White used to chase from your chicken coop.

Your tortuous yelps suddenly mingled with a deafening gun shot from the gate.

“What in the Peter Piper’d fuck is going on at my house?” Oma hollered, rifle pointed at the sky, as you let a howl pierce through the night.

Suddenly you were jolting awake and pawing at the sheets. Your heart was beating erratically as you shakily brought your hands to your lap.

They looked blissfully normal.

You heard shuffling from outside of the bedroom and Levi was soon standing in the doorway with concern mapping his face.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” He asked in minor alarm as he came to sit next to you. He was already in his harnesses and uniform so you gaged it must have been early morning. Levi’s eyes searched your clammy form for any signs of outward distress. You sighed in relief seeing your usual pillows, usual closet, usual bathroom, and most importantly; usual Levi.

It had all felt so real.

“I’m fine, Levi. I just had the strangest dream though.” You exhaled as you came down from the high of your slumbered adventure.

“I think your weird dreams stress you out more than being a squad leader does.” Levi chuckled as he ran a gentle hand along your back. You closed your eyes and revealed in the peaceful feeling of his palm along your night shirt. It was a stark contrast to the gory fantasy you just emerged from.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He added with more seriousness in his voice.

You just stared at him. He stared right back, blinking blankly as you analyzed his features. Your hands reached up and took his jaw between your hands. Your thumbs lightly pushed up the corners of his upper lip to reveal his teeth. Levi made a noise of complaint but didn’t swat you away. You leaned in closer to check his canines for any vampiric qualities. When you were assured they were of normal length, you pulled back satisfied.

“Nope, I’m good.” You smiled and planted a quick peck to his lips before jumping out of bed to get ready for the day. Levi watched you pad into the bathroom as he felt his teeth in confusion.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

Eren looked at you nervously as you eyed him from your place behind him in line to get lunch. He looked down at you and gulped.

“Is everything okay, Y/N?” He asked apprehensively. You narrowed your eyes and placed your hand level with the top of your head. You brought it straight out towards Eren, hitting him square in the forehead.

“You’ve always been taller than me, right?” You questioned, looking from your hand down to his feet.

“Uh, yeah.” He confirmed, regarding you suspiciously. He fidgeted with the sides of his plate as you puffed your cheeks in contemplation. Finally you nodded in satisfaction.

“Do you own a cheese knife?”

↞↠↞↠↞↠

“Hange, have you ever thought about owning a candy shop?”

“Y/N. Why would I do that when I barely have time to analyze the retinal samples from Bean’s eye?”

↞↠↞↠↞↠

“You’re dismissed, Y/N.” Erwin’s parting smile betrayed the professionalism of his order. You bowed your head respectfully and walked to the doors to his office. Your fingers dusted over the brass handle but hesitated to grab it. You turned back towards your commander and paused.

When Erwin didn’t hear you leave, he looked up from his desk.

“Is there something else you need, Y/N?” He asked.

You stared at him long enough to lace his brow in slight concern. His coat was the same length, same color, same style as your own.

“I-I like your coat.” You laughed nervously and threw him an awkward grin. Before he had the chance to answer you had bowed your head and hurried out the door.

“Thank...you?”

↞↠↞↠↞↠

Today it seemed like you were playing errand girl more than squad leader. You questioned why you even put on these chafing harnesses as you ferried yet another stack of documents back to your office.

“Hi Y/N, do you want to get dinner together later? I still have some tartes too that I bought when we were in town last.” Mikasa smiled at you as she passed you in the hall. You involuntarily began blushing furiously.

“Definitely, I’ll see you in a couple hours!” You sputtered as you hurried down the hall, slapping your cheeks as you went.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

“Jean.” You called, looking up from the paperwork that littered your desk. The boy who was lazily sprawled out on your office couch hummed into his book.

“We’ve never owned a cow together, right?”

“What the fuck?”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 6: You Know You Got Me In The Palm Of Your Hand]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: Mean It by Lauv.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex and violence, slavery in American history.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Tagging: @queen-turtle-boiii​​​​​ @bramblesforbreakfast​​​​​​ @writerxinthedark​​ @maggieroseevans​​​​​​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​​​​​​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​​​​​​ @escabell​​​​​​ @im-an-adult-ish​​​​​​ @someforeigntragedy​​​​​​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​​​​​​​​​​ @deacyblues​​​​​​ ​ @tensecondvacation​​​​​​​ @brianssixpence​​​​​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​​ @some-major-ishues​​ @haileymorelikestupid​​ @loveandbeloved29​​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 💜

What The Fuck, Washington Animals Are Weird

I woke up in a bedroom drenched in a rainbow of darkness, shades of grey vacillating from charcoal to the wings of a mourning dove; indolent dawn rain pattered against the window. There were no glaring veins of sunlight spilling in through gaps in the curtains, no promise of dry invigorating heat, no whistle of vicious parched wind. Toto, we’re not in Phoenix anymore.

“Ugh,” I complained to the empty room, unraveling from a tangle of blankets patterned with cacti and pure white clouds and rust-orange suns.

I clicked off my iPhone alarm—I’d beaten it by two minutes; my circadian rhythm was finally conceding that this whole Pacific Time thing was permanent—and read my nine new texts from Joe.

3:12 a.m.: Hey it’s an emergency what’s the plural of octopus

3:13 a.m.: Rami is insisting that it is octopuses

3:14 a.m.: But it’s octopi, right? Right?? I just announced in front of everyone that it’s octopi

3:15 a.m.: Scarlett is verbally abusing me

3:18 a.m.: Oh you are probably asleep

3:21 a.m.: Update, according to the internet Rami is right and now I have to assume a new identity and move to Antarctica

3:25 a.m.: We can discuss logistics of the Antarctica relocation tomorrow

3:26 a.m.: Hope you like penguins

3:30 a.m.: Okay goodnight!! Don’t let the mythical creatures bite!!

“That man,” I murmured to myself, smiling.

I typed out: It’s definitely octopuses, you clown. Then I deleted ‘clown’ and replaced it with its Italian equivalent: pagliaccio. Text sent.

Joe responded almost instantly. I had to ask Lucy what pagliaccio meant and now she’s verbally abusing me too. Send help. See you at lunch. xx

Wait, two Xs? What did Xs mean?? Kisses???

Did Joseph Francis Mazzello, sexy undead Italian man, just send me multiple text kisses?

“You’re gonna give me an aneurism, Chicago boy,” I muttered at my phone as I slid it into the pocket of my flannel pajama pants. And then I glanced out the bedroom window into a tussle of rain and thick, caliginous fog.

Just a few feet beyond the misted glass, its leathery talons hooked around a branch of Charlie’s decades-old red alder tree, was an owl. But not just any owl. A hulking, spotlessly white owl.

“Oh, hey, you,” I whispered, leaning closer, pressing my palms against the cold window. My hands left transparent imprints in the condensation. “Hey, buddy. Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping? I sure wish I was. Did something wake you up? Did your idiot vampire boyfriend disturb you with a series of ridiculous texts?”

The owl just contemplated me with unnervingly vast, slick, engrossed eyes. And there was something else, too: those eyes were blood red.

“So you’re an albino owl, huh big guy? Good for you. You know, usually albino animals don’t last all that long in the wild. Because they’re really easy for predators and prey to spot. Or they get skin cancer. So congratulations on living to become the voluptuous, tremendously creepy creature that you are today. Job well done.”

The owl stared back at me unflinchingly, blinked, then resumed staring. Rainwater gathered in swelling beads like blood drops on its ivory-colored beak and talons.

“Well,” I noted, turning away and grabbing my shower towel off the back of the desk chair. “You don’t get that in Arizona.”

Thirty minutes later, I was bounding down the stairs two at a time to meet Charlie in the kitchen. He was browsing through his daily newspaper at the table, drinking coffee and nibbling messily on burnt triangles of toast. Crumbs littered his moustache.

“You didn’t tell me that living here came with the added benefit of freaky albino animal friends.”

Charlie crinkled his forehead at me. “Huh?”

“How was bowling with the dads last night?”

“Oh, awesome!” he exclaimed, folding up his newspaper and slapping it down on the table. “We bowled against the team from Mora and it came right down to the wire, but we caught them. Dr. Lee got a strike on his very last turn. He always seems to do that...he’ll be bowling hit or miss all night and then when it really matters he manages to pull a strike out of nowhere. He’s a beast.”

“He’s a pretty remarkable guy,” I agreed, rummaging through the cabinets for Pop-Tarts.

“He mentioned that you and his son were really hitting it off,” Charlie said, grinning. “Not the ragey blond one. The spindly annoying one. What’s his name again? Josh? Jimmy?”

“Joe.” I conjured up my best poker face of lofty indifference. It crumbled like a sandcastle beneath reckless, rushing footsteps.

“Ohhhh, I saw that!” Charlie said, pointing, delighted. “Check out that smile. My gorgeous, brilliant progeny has a crush. I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be single for long up here. Alright, I’m ready. Bring on the grandchildren.”

“Shut up,” I pleaded good-naturedly.

“Relax, I have great news. According to Gwil, that Joe kid is pretty wild about you too.”

“Oh, is that what you old guys do between bowling turns? Betray your children’s deepest confidences? Matchmake them over nachos and chili cheese dogs?” Still, my curiosity was piqued. “What else did Dr. Lee say about Joe?”

“I think the exact word he used was...” Charlie reminisced, sipping his coffee, curls of steam pouring over the rim of the mug. “Smitten.”

Supernatural Pictionary

I turned the notebook to Joe so he could see; everyone else momentarily covered their eyes or looked away. Then Lucy started the timer on her iPhone. Thirty seconds.

“Go!” Lucy announced.

“I think it’s a boat,” Rami said, hesitantly, haltingly, squinting at Joe with great concentration.

“Do you?” Joe teased.

“Yeah. But I’m also getting something about a fish.”

“Maybe I’m trying to make you think it’s a fish because it’s actually a boat,” Joe replied flippantly.

Rami muttered: “Or you want me to think it’s a boat because it’s actually a fish.”

“Interesting.”

“Now you’re mentally singing Never Gonna Give You Up just to fuck with me.”

Joe gasped, pressing a palm to his chest. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do!”

Scarlett snickered, dunking her chicken tender in honey mustard, slurping Coke through a straw clenched between crimson-painted lips. “That sounds exactly like something you would do.”

“Fifteen seconds,” Lucy warned.

“Fish or boat, boat or fish...” Rami chanted, peering fixedly at Joe.

“Make a decision,” I taunted, hugging the notebook to my chest.

“I’m going with boat,” Rami decided.

“Final answer?” Lucy asked, then stopped the timer when Rami nodded.

“Loser!” Joe cackled victoriously, leaping out of his chair, waving his L-shaped fingers in the air. Calawah University students at nearby tables glanced over with wide, startled eyes, their beloved chicken tenders briefly forgotten. “How’s it feel to not win every round of a game, huh?! Loser!”

I flipped my notebook so Rami could see the extremely unskilled pencil sketch I’d drawn there: a smiling fish. “My condolences.”

“Damn.” Rami pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet and slid it across the table to Joe. Joe snatched it up, tucked it into the waistline of his jeans like a stripper collecting money in her G-string, and slung his arm around my shoulders.

“We are the champions. Bask in our glory.”

Scarlett turned on her iPhone flashlight and waved it in slow arcs over her head. “Youuuuu are the champions, my friendssssss...”

From my usual lunch table, Jessica gazed at my esteemed place among the Lees with palpable envy, resting her chin in her hands. I had worked out a schedule that seemed fairly obvious given my extensive experience as a child of divorce: lunch with Jessica et al. one day, lunch with the Lees the next. I took a bite of the Chipotle veggie bowl that Joe had insisted on ordering for me and tossed Jessica a sympathetic wave. Get Ben’s Snapchat for me! she mouthed back. I harbored serious doubts that Benjamin August Hardy, former professional assassin, born in 1893, had a Snapchat.

Joe’s words from last week rolled around in my head; I could see him all over again, nodding to the enormous painting hung in Gwil’s upstairs office, telling me about those startling, ethereal figures who had initiated Ben into life as a vampire. They call themselves the Draghi. They collect dues from covens, offer protection, keep order, protect our secrets. But they also demand loyalty. They force people they want into service. They might try to make it seem like you have a choice, but you don’t. They destroy anyone who tries to resist them. And they feed on humans.

“This is so awesome,” Lucy sighed, elated. “We could never play Pictionary before, drawing something is way too much of a mental process, Rami always figured it out right away...”

But now they had a built-in blindfold, someone who could draw without Rami getting a peek into their thoughts, a fighting chance at hiding the truth from him...for thirty seconds, at least.

“Okay Benny Boy, you’re up.” Joe darted over to Ben’s side of the table and massaged his tense, muscular shoulders as Ben grimaced. “You got this. I believe in you. Baby Swan is gonna pitch you a home run.”

“I’ll pass,” Ben said.

“You can’t!” Lucy cried. “Ben, please? Rami got Scarlett’s, and then he didn’t get Joe’s...and I know he’s going to see though me immediately. You’re our only chance to tie things up and maybe beat him!”

“Traitor,” Rami told Lucy affectionately.

“Uhh...” Ben hesitated, glimpsing longingly at the doors that led outside to the grove of bigleaf maple trees. He was fidgeting restlessly with his vape pen.

“Come on, Benny!” Joe begged. “I’ll owe you. I’ll do anything.”

Ben perked up a little bit. “You’ll do my Calc 2 homework for a month?”

Joe groaned theatrically, but nodded. He was wearing a grey U Chicago hoodie today. “Fine. Okay. But you’re gonna have to learn that shit eventually, I can’t take the MCAT for you.”

“Deal.” Ben bumped his knuckles against Joe’s.

“Batter up,” Joe heralded in his best mock-umpire voice, grinning at me expectantly, drumming the table with his palms. “Go Baby Swan, go! What will she choose? Will she continue with the nautical theme? Will she change it up, maybe switch to beloved Chicago landmarks? Baseball or food? Will she invent a variety of pizza even more despicable than pineapple?”

“Hm.” I flipped to a fresh notebook page, scratched my temple with the eraser end of the pencil, then quickly sketched a picture for Ben. “Okay, I’m ready.” I showed the drawing to Ben while everyone else covered their eyes.

Ben shook his head, scowling. “You’ll have to try again. I have no idea what that is.”

“Really?!” I checked the picture again. Okay, it definitely didn’t belong in the Louvre or anything, but it was lifelike enough to be decipherable. “You don’t recognize it? At all?”

“No,” Ben replied flatly.

From behind his shielded eyes, Rami scanned through the images in Ben’s mind. He dropped his hands onto the table. “SpongeBob?!”

“Who...?” Ben ventured.

Everyone else looked too. “Oh yeah, that’s definitely SpongeBob,” Joe said, then chuckled. “Aww, Baby Swan, you even remembered his little necktie!”

“It’s so cute!” Lucy trilled.

Ben just stared at the picture, blinking, completely lost, increasingly morose. And now there was a new guest at the table; or maybe not a new one, maybe just a quiet one, something that perched on the ledge of every conversation and field of vision just waiting to tap its claws against the wall and make its presence known: that interminable reminder of Ben’s unconventional past life, of how incomparable his vampiric upbringing was to those of the rest of the Lee kids.

“Benny Boy, you’ve never seen SpongeBob?” Joe inquired gently. “No problem. We’ll have a marathon tonight. I have the entire series on DVD. Also several Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy action figures.”

Scarlett snorted. “This is why you’ve been single since Hoover was president.”

“I wasn’t single the whole time,” Joe corrected.

“Oh, really?” Not that I’m interested, my voice suggested. I was a total liar. I was super interested. Thank the great deity that Rami and Ben couldn’t read me like a restaurant menu. Today’s specials are Being In Love With Someone Wildly Inappropriate for $15.99, and also Lamenting My Own Lack Of Sexual Experience for $11.99. Oh, and clam chowder.

“He had a couple of...what would you call them?” Scarlett combed her elegant fingers through her voluminous blonde hair. “What’s the modern vernacular? Fuck buddies? Booty calls? Netflix and chill partners?”

My stomach lurched; I nonchalantly buried my fork in a mountain of guacamole and left it there. I kept my lips turned up into a smile like a mask. Of course he’s loved other people. Duh. He’s hot and immortal. Get over it. But that didn’t calm my pounding heartbeat at all, didn’t soothe that sudden and irrational melancholy.

“Whoa whoa whoa, okay, you’re making it sound way worse than it was,” Joe protested, glancing at me nervously.

Scarlett continued: “It wasn’t serious, whatever it was. None of them would have cared about your action figure collection or obsession with a city you haven’t lived in for fifty years. It wasn’t your personality they wanted. Thank god.”

Oh this is bad, I thought helplessly. How am I ever going to be able to compete with the memory of countless gorgeous vampire girlfriends?

“Uh, ScarJo, you’re single too.” And Joe’s nickname for her was strangely apt; Scarlett could pass for Scarlett Johansson’s younger, blonder, much hotter sister. And Scarlett Johansson, in case you’re somehow unaware, is already pretty fucking hot.

Scarlett flashed a grin. “Entirely by choice.”

“And much to Mercy’s eternal and profound concern,” Lucy told me. “She stages an intervention at least twice a month. Did I overhear one last week, Scarlett?”

“Oh jesus, yeah. I was like, ‘Mom, what the hell do I need a husband for? I have my own money. I can fix household appliances. I have a vibrator. I’m good to go.’”

Joe rocked back in his chair, howling. “You did not tell Mom that!”

“I did. She was so distraught. She just kind of pinched her eyes shut and shuddered and then went out back to feed the alpacas.”

“Scarlett, babe,” Rami managed between gales of laughter. “A vibrator isn’t going to keep you company for all of eternity. It’s not a suitable substitute for a life partner.”

“You’re right. It’s even better. It’ll never abandon or disappoint me. Assuming I keep the batteries fresh, of course.”

“Oh my god,” Lucy giggled into her hands.

“She’s not wrong,” I said, shrugging, sipping my Diet Coke.  

And Joe peered over at me, surprised, intrigued, slowly raising his thin dark eyebrows. I winked back. Yeah, okay, I’ve never slept with someone. But that doesn’t mean I’ve never had an orgasm.

“Ah, loud thoughts! Loud thoughts! Joe, please!” Rami moaned, pressing his balled fists to his forehead.

Ben smirked. “There’s a color I’ve never seen from you before, Joe.”

“This family is the worst!” Joe exploded.

“I like that girl,” Scarlett decided, signaling to me with glossy maroon fingernails. “She can stay.”

Joe sighed, flustered, then shook it off as he turned to me. “You coming over tonight?”

“I can’t spend every night at your house petting alpacas, mob guy.”

“Yeah?” he asked, smiling, draping his arm around the back of my chair. “Why not?”

“Well, my tonight-specific reason is that I’m visiting a friend.”

“Cool. Your friends are my friends. Can I visit too?”

“You’re aware that you’re a legit stalker, right?” But actually, Archer was dying to meet Joe: the loud Lee, the approachable Lee, the Lee who I definitely liked more than a Tinder swipe could ever convey. This could work. “Offer to buy dinner and you can come.”

“I’m a walking Visa, baby.”

Ben stood, hauled on his backpack, gathered up his trash to throw away. “I need a smoke break before Chem. See you guys later.”

“Don’t forget!” Joe called after him. “SpongeBob marathon starts at 8! I’ll bring the Milk Duds!”

And when Ben disappeared through the doors, a solemn hush descended over the table.

“Poor guy,” Lucy said softly. The other Lees nodded.

And again, I recalled what Joe had told me in Gwil’s office, what he had said when I asked how Ben came to join the Lee family. He was assigned to us, to be the liaison to our coven. And Gwil saw something in him. Potential, suffering, unrealized decency, I don’t know. But Gwil worked on him for years, trying to convince Ben to leave the Draghi when his contract was up and come live with us. To give a peaceful life a try. And to be honest, Ben never seemed interested. But something must have resonated with him, because we opened the front door on October 15th, 2016 and he was sitting on the steps of our porch with a single suitcase, puffing on that fucking vape pen and watching the storm clouds roll in off the Pacific Ocean.

But why would they just let him leave? I had asked, tracing my fingertips over the uncanny and magnificent faces in that painting. Why would they let him live?

Because they know how valuable he is. And because they think they can get him back.

“I think he’s a good person,” I said, breaking the silence. “You know. Underneath the whole being raised to be a killing machine thing.”

“Yeah,” Rami replied, frowning thoughtfully. “Just try not to spend too much time alone with him.”

Car Jacks And Sneak Attacks

“Joe, this is Archer James Foxchild, my first-ever best friend.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” Joe said, shaking Archer’s oil-stained hand. “I understand you are really good at making mud pies and poking dead animals with sticks.”

Archer chuckled. “It’s true. We found a shark tooth down at La Push one time and I convinced Baby Swan here that it was from a sea monster. She had nightmares for months. Charlie called my dad over it and I got my Game Boy taken away.”

“No!” Joe gasped in horror. “Were you a Pokémon guy?”

“For sure.”

“Ruby or Sapphire?”

“Emerald.”

Joe grinned. “This dude knows what’s up.”

“And to think, my grandpa tried to tell me that you guys were freaks,” Archer replied.

“Well,” Joe conceded. “Not all of us.”  

“Maybe you two should start dating,” I said. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just sit in my Honda and eat my Taco Bell cheese quesadillas and Cinnamon Twists and try not to interrupt all the sex.”

“Yes, you brought Taco Bell,” Archer sighed euphorically. “Give me five minutes, I just gotta finish rotating these tires real quick.” He jogged to the other end of the garage, knelt beside a Ford Mustang that was propped up on a jack, and starting twisting off lug nuts with a tire iron.

“You have a nice place here,” Joe observed, strolling around the small garage with his hands in the front pocket of his U Chicago hoodie, eyeing the fractures in the concrete floor and the spidering cracks in the windows. “You have any investors?”

“Are you kidding?!” Archer replied from the Mustang. “No, man, it’s just me. I rent for now, but at some point I’ll buy my own shop. Once I’ve saved up enough. A great big one with shiny new equipment and no mice squeaking behind the walls.”

“What’s your cash flow like?”

“I’m netting around three grand a month after taxes.”

“Not bad!” Joe noted admiringly.

“Yeah. It’s a hustle, but I love it.”

“Hey, I don’t know if you’d be interested—and absolutely no pressure if you’re not, really—but I do a lot of work with start-ups and I’d love to help you get into your own shop. By this Christmas, preferably. If we can work out a deal.”

“Really?!” Archer peeked incredulously over the hood of the Mustang.

“Absolutely.”

Archer beamed at me. “This guy is willing to drop serious cash to look good in front of you. You should probably marry him. No prenup though.”

I held my pinky out towards Joe, grinning. “No more sad prenups.”

He laughed and hooked my pinky with his. “Bankrupt me, bitch.”

I heard the metallic clang of a lug nut hitting the concrete floor and rolling under the Mustang. “Come back here, you bastard,” Archer muttered, then dropped to his stomach and crawled beneath the car.

“Hey, kid, be careful,” I fretted, crossing my arms across my chest and taking a step closer.

“Relax, Baby Swan, I am a professional, changing a tire for me is like feeding a fish for you, so just chill and keep fantasizing about those Cinnamon Twists—”

There was a squeal of metal as the car jack collapsed and the Mustang came crashing down. In a fraction of a second���faster than I could see him moving, faster than I could loose a scream—Joe had soared across the garage, yanked Archer out from beneath the falling Mustang, and dragged him to the center of the room.

“Oh fuck,” Archer wheezed, his dark eyes huge and fascinated and horrified. “Grandpa was right.”

I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That)

We rolled up to the Lee house in my 1999 Honda Accord just as I polished off the last of my Cinnamon Twists and Archer chewed, tentatively and dazedly, on a Cheesy Gordita Crunch. The sun was beginning to set in a clouded sky that perpetually threatened rain.

He asked Joe for the fifth time from the back seat: “But wait, seriously, no one is going to eat me, right? Because I’m too young to die. I haven’t taken enough vacations yet. I can’t die without seeing Hawaii. I want to swim with the sea turtles.”

“No, none of us have ever eaten people. Well, almost none of us. Maybe stay away from Ben.”

“I would like a little more exposition,” Archer replied, blanching.

“Hey, if you stay until 8, you guys can join us for the SpongeBob marathon!”

Gwil and Mercy were waiting on the front porch, thanks to Joe’s ‘hey I accidentally exposed myself as a paranormal being and now we have a new friend, plz don’t be mad okay love you see you soon!1!!’ text.

“Welcome, sweetheart!” Mercy fussed, enfolding Archer into her arms as soon as he stepped out of the Honda. “Would you like some hummingbird cake? I just baked it this morning. And maybe some sweet tea too. And some peanut butter cookies. And banana pudding.”

“Sure,” he responded, bewildered. This lady does not seem like a bloodsucking demon, that voice said. And he was absolutely right.

“I’ll fix you up a tray,” Mercy promised, and hurried into the house.

“We’re so very happy to have you, Mr. Foxchild.” Gwil shook Archer’s hand firmly. “We don’t get many visitors around here. I’m sure you understand why.”

“My grandpa always insisted that there was something off about you guys. Especially you, Dr. Lee. Said you shouldn’t still be around.”

“Yes, I imagine that would have been disconcerting for him. He must have remembered us from the 1940s...that’s the last time we settled down in Forks. It’s not often that someone recognizes us after so long, but it happens. It was just Mercy and me and Rami and Joe back then. And look how far we’ve come.” Gwil beamed warmly, then turned to Joe. “But really, son, you’re going to have to stop telling humans about us.”

“Hold up, I was not responsible for her!” Joe exclaimed, waving at me. “Take it up with Ben!”

The garage door rumbled open and Scarlett sauntered out, wiping her filthy hands with a rag. She halted abruptly, stood there in her high-waisted vintage jeans and black crop top and bare feet with maroon-colored toenails, tilted her head and pondered Archer with an innocent sort of curiosity that I hadn’t seen from her before.

“Wait,” Archer said, gaping. “Is that...is that an Aston Martin Vantage in there?!”

“You bet,” Scarlett replied. “You want to learn how to work on it?”

“Uh, hell to the yeah!” He trotted over and they vanished into the garage together.

“Huh,” Joe muttered, watching them. “She was nice to him. Very weird.” He whirled back to me. “Anyway, come on. I promised you an education in classic rock music. And I shall deliver.”

Joe’s bedroom was a chaotic jumble of economics textbooks and Chicago Cubs paraphernalia and U Chicago apparel and action figures and comic books and classic rock posters. There was a massive Italian flag tacked to the wall above his bed. But what caught my attention immediately was a life-sized cardboard cutout of Ben lurking in the corner by a bookshelf full of cassette tapes.

“How is there any possible logical explanation for that?” I asked, pointing.

“Oh, that! That was a joke. When Ben first showed up, he pretty much lived in his room and never came out. Gwil was worried. Mercy was heartbroken. So I made a cardboard cutout of him and would bring it to family activities and do this really deep and seductive Ben voice when I pretended to have conversations with him. It gave the whole situation some levity...and I think Ben secretly liked that we missed him enough to make an artificial version to fill the void.”

“So this bitchy, brooding, blood-craving Ben I met is actually a drastic improvement?”

“Oh, Baby Swan,” Joe confided, almost sadly. “You have no idea what he was like four years ago.”

“I’m glad he has you. All of you. That he has a chance to get better.”

“I think you might be good for him too. Seeing a human as a real person instead of a walking, talking Hi-C juice box. And you care about him, don’t you? Despite everything.”

“Of course. It’s not his fault they taught him to be a monster.”  

Joe just looked at me for a while, and then he cradled my face with one hand and grazed a thumb across my cheek “You’re never going to stop saying things that knock me into next week, are you?”

“Joe...” I hesitated, laying my hand over his. His skin was smooth and yielding yet strong, cool yet not unnaturally so. Refreshing. Safe. Fan-fucking-tastic. Oh noooooo. “Are we a thing?”

“Why? Do you want to be a thing?”

“Oh, uh, no, I was just wondering if we were.”

He stepped away, teasing me with a crooked smirk. “...So you don’t want to be a thing?”

“What would that entail?”

“Well...we’d be an official thing, you and me.” He shot finger guns at me, and then towards himself. “Which means you can’t be a thing with anyone else. And neither can I.”

“Ahhh, I see. So this thing is an exclusive thing.”

“Will you shut up and just admit that you’d totally be thrilled to be a thing with me?”

“Fine. Whatever. We’re a thing.”

“Nice.” He high-fived me.

“This is the most romantic moment of my life.”

“But wait, there’s more.” He went to the bookshelf, browsed through his cassette tape collection, found the one he wanted and popped it into a boombox that was probably older than I was. The frantic opening piano notes of I’d Do Anything For Love poured out.

“Meat Loaf,” I said in disbelief. “Really. This is the product of your superior taste in music. This is the culmination of over a century of musical experience. Meat Loaf.”

“The man is a genius!”

“This is all an elaborate joke about my vegetarianism, isn’t it?”

“No,” Joe mused. “But now that you mention it, I have yet another reason to force you to appreciate this song.” He took my hand in his, spun me around like a ballerina in a slow and careful circle, sang along—with extreme and dramatic enthusiasm—to the music.

“And I would do anything for love

I'd run right into hell and back

I would do anything for love

I'd never lie to you and that's a fact...”

“I don’t dance,” I cautioned him, laying a palm against his chest to catch my balance. That brisk, comforting scent of pine and snow and peppermint was everywhere. It feels like I can’t stand to be away from him. Like I’ll never get close enough. “I am terribly uncoordinated. I will step all over your feet. And I’m really not sure if I can trust you. You didn’t even know the plural form of octopus until like eighteen hours ago. You’re kind of a disaster. A, you know, uh, unexpectedly charming, unconventionally super cute, kind of bizarrely enchanting disaster.”

“Yeah,” Joe whispered, smiling, tilting up my chin, leaning in to kiss me. “I like you too.”

Cato

He came out of the oak trees like a ghost, pushing aside massive chandeliers of Spanish moss that blotted out the dusk sun, his expensive shoes sloshing in the marshy water that flooded the rice field. He was wearing a full suit, but no top hat; his hair was black and chin-length and wild around his face. And at first I thought he was a hallucination, a dream conjured by heat sickness or those first dreaded signs of malaria. He was unnervingly, uncommonly beautiful; beautiful like a hurricane, beautiful like lightning or an eclipse. But he was real. I straightened up as I watched him approach, my back aching in protest, a basket full of seedlings slung over my shoulder.

“Mr. Cato.”

His voice, clear and beckoning and twisted by an accent I’d never heard before, rang in my skull like church bells. He called me mister. This white man called me mister.

“Yes sir?” And I almost added: You want to be careful there, sir. The water moccasins like to hide among the tree roots, especially when the sun starts going down. But I had an inexplicable feeling that this man wasn’t afraid of things like snakes. Maybe the snakes should be afraid of him.

“Mr. Cato,” he said again, this time to himself, very quietly, tasting it.

I kept trying to look away, to disentangle my gaze from him like a hook out of a sturgeon’s mouth, because staring piercingly and astonished at a white man like that in the rice swamps of South Carolina in 1851 could get me beaten or the lash, could get my teeth pried right out of my jaw. But it didn’t seem to bother him. He grinned, hugely, all-knowingly, under prehistoric golden eyes like an alligator’s. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. And he was proud.

“Do you want to be free?” he asked, almost hissed, still grinning from the tree line.

What kind of question was that? Did a sandpiper want to fly? Did a coyote want dirt under its paws and flesh disappearing down its throat? But that wasn’t something you ever confessed aloud, not if you wanted your feet on the ground instead of swinging ten inches above it. But this man wasn’t a master, wasn’t an overseer. He wasn’t from the South. He didn’t carry a whip or a club to remind you of the rules of the world. He stood there tall and radiant in the shadows of the fading daylight like he was the one who wrote the rules to begin with; which meant that maybe he could change them. “Yes sir.”

“I can only take you,” the man warned. “No others. No family. No friends.”

“No trouble, sir,” I told him. “They sold my family. They hanged my friends.”

The man’s grin stretched wider under glinting eyes. His canine teeth were sharp, I realized: like a coyote’s, like a snake’s fangs. He held out his hand. “We are going to get along very well, you and I.”

I let the basket fall from my shoulder. I slogged through the mud and rows of wispy verdant rice plants to meet him in the shade of the oak trees. And there, for the first time in forever, a man with skin the color of bones looked me dead in the eye and shook my scarred hand.

“Welcome, Cato,” he whispered; and I was home.

He took my face in his cool palms, gingerly, reverently, like a lover. He touched his teeth to my throat. And every nerve ending in my body flooded with wildfire as he dragged me, screaming, into the depths of the forest.

[candyqueenblog]

First Lines Tag Game

I was tagged by @worse0mens and @supergeek21 for this game where you post the first line or so from 20 of your most recent writings and then tag 10 more of your favorite writers. To be tagged is an honor and a delight and I would be remiss if I DIDN’T play too because this sounds like oodles and kit and kaboodles of fun! 🤩 (Please note, some of the fics/writing on her is rated E, so if you’re a youngin’ - GIT! And anyone who knows me IRL, please don’t ever bring it up ;     ; ) Placed below cut because it got LONG lol (Self-reblogging because I am dummy and forgot to add tags 😅)

1. Bea L. Zebub (or just “Beelzebub” to her unfortunate employees) was dead. (A Christmas Omen)

2.  The bookshop doors slammed open hard enough to crack the spot where the knob met the wall.  Crowley stormed into the building, his amber eyes flashing dangerously behind his round, dark lenses. (Flames of Anger and Hellfire)

3. Crowley couldn’t help but wonder… ‘Why was it always apples?’ (The Taste of Apples)

(Note: #3 was a collab with @vivi-theakuneko for a zine. She handled the art, I handled the writing!)

4. Aziraphale had been looking for this book for centuries. (Ivdkuranavyja)

(Note: #4 was a collab with @crowleymowley for a zine. There’s some cool art in THIS one too! 👀)

5. Physicists, scientists, and philosophers have grappled with the theory of infinite, alternate universes ever since psychologist William James coined the term in 1895. Though the context of the word was different for James than it is now, current theory posits that there are an infinite number of alternate realities out there and, together, they make up the totality of existence in a great cosmic pile called the multiverse. (Universe A and B)

6.  Hi my name is Anthony Janthony Ashtoreth Fire Crowley and I have long fiery red hair (that’s how I got my name) with black streaks and purple tips that reaches my mid-back and snakey yellow eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like David Tenant (AN: if u don’t know who he is get da hell out of here!). (My Ineffable)

7. “To my sister!” Gabriel cheered, lifting a flute of champagne in a toast. The woman in question, Zira Fell, raised her own flute in answer with a face-splitting grin. (Saltwater on Skin - Wives Edition)

8. It was raining the day Azira reunited with Crowley. (Awaken Their Ashes Unto Pain)

(Note: The line from #8 is TECHNICALLY in the SECOND chapter, but this fic is a collab with @new-endings and she wrote the first chapter, while I wrote the second and we are alternating between the two)

9. “To my brother!” Gabriel cheered, lifting a flute of champagne in a toast. The man in question, Ezra Fell, raised his own flute in answer with a face-splitting grin. (Saltwater on Skin)

(Note: #9 is the exact same story as #7, just the genders changed)

10.  Ezra had awoken several times throughout the night, convinced that he was going to miss his family’s departure if he didn’t go to the beach right now! (Sharing Three Kisses)

(Note: #10 is a story divergence of #9)

11. Raphael closed the door of A.Z. Fell & Co behind him with a soft click as he stepped out onto the streets of Soho. He folded his hands in front of his stomach and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Well. That was awkward,” he said to himself. (To Build a Future on Earth)

12.  The early August heat hung heavy in the air, and the apple tree he sat beneath was laden with unripened fruits.  The tart, green apples wouldn’t be ready until early October, but their scent was still carried on every puff of warm breeze and every passing cloud that promised rain for the afternoon. (The Prince and the Serpent)

13. At 26 years old, Aziraphale Fell (if both his parents weren’t already dead, he’d have strangled them himself for giving him such a moniker) was one of the youngest self-made millionaires in history.  (Ruin and Rebuilding)

14. Prince Anthony Centary was many things: a lover of fast carriages, younger half-brother to Lord Beatrus, and purveyor of fine clothes. He was also a four-foot red-bellied serpent currently snagged under a rose bush. (Gardens, Snakes, and Kisses)

(Note: #14 was written as a contest entry some time ago for @berrytera’s Cursed Prince AU)

15.  Up until the moment he died, Captain Medina would never be able to tell what it was that had convinced him to visit the island early. (3 Hours Earlier)

16.  William straightened the lapels of his uniform as he climbed out of his car and marched up the long, winding walkway to the manor of Thaddeus Dowling, Ambassador. (A Case of Mistaken Identity)

(Note: #16 was a commission from @queerspacewhale, and its prequel is in the works. I promise, friend! It ended up being a bit more in-depth than originally planned lol)

17.  His siblings were all hobbits of good moral standing, as is expected of living in a place called “Hobbiton”. (Dragonfire)

(Note: #17 was a commission from @fanlan1! I’d never really written crossover fics before this point, so this was a fun experience!)

18. “5... 4... 3... 2... 1... HAPPY NEW YEAR!” “Wahoo...” (A Treatise on Pinnipeds)

19. Crowley was staring at him with a predatory look, but was curled up in the corner with his back to the wall. (Instincts)

20. Ezra stood back and admired his handiwork. (Surprise)

Patterns: I think mine tend to start out fairly mild, or they come out of NOWHERE like a slap to the face. No in between lol

Favorite: #5, simply because it sounds super-smart! :D

(Feel free to skip over if you want when I tag you ^^) @new-endings, @wyvernquill, @unproblematicme, @mordellestories, @caedmonfaith, @scrapheapchallenge, @summerofspock, @holycatsandrabbits, and @nohaijiachi 

[spartanguard]

two doors down

Summary: Emma's just had her heart broken—again. But she's going to distract herself by finally going to her friends' party, two doors down from her apartment. The party—and the dashing gentleman she meets at it—prove to be just what she needed.

3.2k words | rated light M | AO3

A/N: Here I go again...back on my Dolly Parton bs. But I make no apologies because Dolly in an inspirational queen. I’ve wanted to write a one-shot based on Two Doors Down pretty much ever since I heard the song, and the @csconcertseries​ seemed like the right opportunity to scratch that itch. (and then Dumb Blonde demanded to be included as well because it’s a bop.) so...have fun!

“Really, Emma?” Walsh sneered when she confronted him. “You thought I was serious about you? I guess you really are a dumb blonde.”

In case anyone was wondering why Emma was crying, it was that. She shouldn’t be—it was dumb, he was dumb, not her—but that didn’t seem to matter, apparently. The asshole had somehow managed to find a crack in the walls around her beat-up, bargain store heart and, once inside, found an old bruise and punched it. Or something like that. She wasn’t great with words.

Or emotions, apparently, or men—though she was already aware of that one (thus: the walls). (Well, okay, and being abandoned by her parents and growing up in the shittier parts of the foster system. But that’s besides the point.) Anyways. She had thought that maybe, finally, she’d found one guy who wouldn’t hurt her—who was safe enough to consider giving her heart to. 

And then she’d caught him sleeping with a coworker. On a mattress in his furniture store. On their anniversary. 

And he apparently had the gall to call her dumb. What a dick.

After giving him the rightful slap he was due, she stormed out and ran home. Then she grabbed the wine she’d been saving for tonight, popped the cork, and drank right out of the bottle.

What a fucking loser.

(She wasn’t sure if that applied more to her, or to him.

Because, at the end of the night, she was the one drinking alone while he was probably still having too much fun on his own merchandise.) 

With about half the bottle gone, she finally hit the point where all her tears were gone and she was probably some level of dehydrated. Her apartment was eerily quiet without the sound of her sobs, it seemed, but she could hear loud music coming from down the hall. 

Oh yeah—Dave and Snow’s party.

They were her neighbors—well, they lived two doors down, but she definitely talked to them more than the grumpy dude who lived between them. They were easily the nicest, most outgoing people on the planet, and had been trying for as long as Emma had lived there to come over to one of their parties. 

Usually, Emma was able to use work as an excuse, or a date (like she was supposed to have had tonight), to explain why she couldn’t go. But it was really fear—fear of rejection, of not measuring up, of plain old awkwardness—that kept her away.

It always sounded like a good time, though, and she could hear the music pumping and people laughing whenever they hosted these get-togethers. Apparently, they were at the drunk-enough-to-sing-loudly part of the night, because she heard the lyrics perfectly as the crowd shouted them:

Just because I’m blonde, don’t think I’m dumb ‘Cause this dumb blonde ain’t nobody’s fool

She laughed, albeit watery, at that, considering Dave was the blond of the two of them. But then she thought about it again, and what her ass of a now-ex had said: there was nothing dumb or foolish about Emma. Maybe she should have listened to that voice that had told her she was out of his league when he’d first asked her out, but right now, she just needed to tune out his grating words and focus on Dolly’s—about kicking trash to the curb and moving on.

And, you know what? She was gonna go to that party.

She blew her nose (rather noisily), then quickly washed her face and changed into something a little more presentable than her pajamas. She probably should be bringing something over, but her wine was gone and Walsh had drank the last of her beer the other night. She briefly considered the half-empty box of Pop-Tarts in her cupboard, but that was breakfast.

So, empty-handed as she was, she headed out the door, locked it, and wandered down the bit of hallway to the Nolan’s place. She could hear the sounds of revelry and pounding bass on the other side of the door, and was nervous—would they think she was intruding? Her knock was equally timid, and probably not even heard by the crowd inside. 

To her shock, though, the door was thrown open a few seconds later. “Emma! You came!” Snow shouted, then launched herself at Emma in an inebriated hug. “Oh, I’m so glad you finally made it! Where’s Walsh?”

Emma cringed, and not just from Snow’s alcohol-elevated volume. “He’s fucking his floor manager. So he’s busy. But I’m not now!” she added, trying to make it sound not terrible.

But Snow gasped anyways, covering her mouth in shock. She ushered Emma in, closing the door behind her, and then dragged her to the living room. “You need wine.”

“I had, like, half a bottle already.”

“Okay, well, you need more.”

“I won’t disagree.”

Snow left her in the middle of a throng of people that thankfully included David, who wrapped her into a bear hug (that only slightly smelled like beer—beer hug?) and made some introductions. Snow returned shortly with a pint glass full of pinot, and the next hour became a blur of booze and dancing. 

She quickly made friends with girls named Ruby and Belle who, once they heard about what had happened to Emma that day, got some shots involved. The music was a solid mix of girl power anthems (there may have been more screaming to “Since U Been Gone” and “Wannabe” from partygoers of all genders) and Emma found herself seriously wondering just what the hell she’d been doing the past few months—both with Walsh and in her avoidance of these parties; she was having way more fun here than she ever had with that douche.

Eventually, she did have to take a respite to visit the restroom and get some water—she wasn’t about to blackout over a breakup—but when she left the bathroom, she wasn’t watching where she was going and slammed into someone else.

“Woah—you alright, love?” the lilting voice attached to the firm body asked. She could feel his hand squeezing her shoulder, but given her very recent track record, was scared to look this guy in the eyes. The last thing she needed was a face as pretty as that accent, or as enticing as the bit of chest hair peeking out through his button-up, or as alluring as the scent of his cologne (which she got a good whiff of when her face collided with his chest).

“Seriously—are you okay?” He sounded so concerned—her head was moving before she could think otherwise.

And that was either the best thing she’d ever done, or the worst.

Dark, messy hair hung over his forehead, where thick brows were furrowed with worry. A strong nose pointed to full lips, surrounded by gingery scruff that led her mind other places. But his eyes—holy crap; even in the dimness of the hallway, they were a bright blue, and she’d had just enough to drink that she thought she just might be swaying along with the waves in their oceanic depths.

(She got poetic when she got drunk; this was a well-established fact.)

“Lass?” Oh god--she’d been staring, hadn’t she? 

“Fine! I’m fine. Sorry. Are you?”

“‘Fine’ is definitely something I’ve been called,” he quipped back, concern melting into cockiness with a wink.

Ugh, she didn’t need any more of that in her life. She rolled her eyes and stepped back, putting enough distance between them to not feel the warmth coming off of him (she was producing enough of that herself--or, at least, the shots of vodka were). “Good to know. I’m just gonna get back out there, then.” Avoiding his gaze, she did her best to slip around him in the narrow hallway.

“Wait,” he called out, and grabbed her wrist as she slipped by. “Sorry; that wasn’t very gentleman-like.” He was definitely being sincere, she could tell. “I, uh, I’m rusty at all this. Let me back up: I’m Killian; I’m a friend of Dave’s from college.”

Of course his name was sexy, too. He’d stuck his hand out amiably; she’d be the asshole not to take it. So she did. “Emma; I live a couple doors down.”

“Ahh, yes--I’ve heard of you: the mysterious neighbor,” he said, running his thumb over her knuckles. “Delighted to finally make your acquaintance.”

Who was this guy? And why did he talk like he had stepped out of a Jane Austen novel? “I bet you tell all the girls that.”

He shrugged. “There haven’t been any of those lately.”

“Guys, then?”

He laughed—a deep chuckle that she wouldn’t complain about hearing again. “No, none of those, either.”

“Good. They suck.”

“What, all of them?”

“Most of them.”

“Well, hopefully I find myself in the minority.” He was still holding her hand, and brought it to his lips to place a kiss on the back of it. Were it not for the slight shiver that went through her at that, she’d be running for the hills (or at least her own apartment); but she was usually good at spotting a lie, Walsh notwithstanding, and she could tell he meant it. 

“Wanna get a drink?” she asked, a bit breathless.

“Absolutely.”

They grabbed another round of wine and took a seat on the couch, which was somehow unoccupied—everyone was still busy dancing and drinking and socializing. Honestly, Emma was a little surprised that so many people fit in a two-bedroom apartment (but it wasn’t like she’d ever tried to have more than a couple people in hers). 

“So, what’s your story?” Killian leaned in close to ask. They were practically nose-to-nose in order to be heard over the music, but she didn’t mind it. And, for some reason, she found her entire life story spilling out to him; not even Walsh had learned everything: about growing up in the foster system, her first heartbreak and the baby she gave up, the reason she’d gone into bailbonds work (so people like Neal couldn’t continue to break hearts). Even the sordid tale of her very-recent breakup.

“He’s a right arse,” Killian said, clinking his glass with hers. “But I’m glad his absence has brought you into my presence.”

“Me too,” she said.

His past was equally tragic: mom died, dad left, then brother died; lost his hand, his girlfriend, and his naval career in the same accident; but he still got to work as an engineer, and still got to go sailing on the weekends.

“God, Killian...you poor thing,” was all she could say.

He averted his gaze—and was either blushing, or flushed from the alcohol and heat of the room—and just said, “It’s in the past, where it belongs. And, honestly, the future is looking pretty good right now.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, I hope so.”

She wasn’t bold enough to say it—or confident, given that she was just coming out of a relationship—but she was thinking that, too.

The music switched from girl pop to Disney tunes—it was only a matter of time, considering that Snow was only a few steps away from being an IRL Disney princess—which prompted a conversation about their favorite Disney films, then movies in general, then books and music and all sorts of things. It was casual and easy and, honestly, she didn’t think she’d ever connected with someone so quickly; not since she was a kid and still had some innocence about her.

A slow song came on, and Killian set down his empty glass. “Would you care to dance?”

She gaped a bit; no one had ever asked her that. “What—for real? To this?”

“You just told me you’d seen Enchanted, and I believe that’s what they did to this song. So yes: will you, Emma Swan, dance with me?”

Somewhere, lonely teenage Emma was yelling at her to say yes and fulfill all her wildest prom dreams. Oh, who was she kidding—grown-up Emma still had those dreams. “Yeah, I will.”

He stood and offered her his prosthetic hand; she set her empty glass aside and took it, then followed him up. Gently, he guided her to an empty spot in the room—about 2 feet away—and then put his hand on her waist; she was probably supposed to put hers on his shoulder or something, but she did the same (and definitely noticed the firmness of his core).

They didn’t have much room to move—Dave and Snow were making out a few feet away, as were Ruby and Belle, and another couple—but Killian somehow managed to perform some actual dance steps. 

“What the heck is that, and how do you know it?” she wondered aloud, trying to keep up.

“It’s called a waltz, and there’s only one rule,” he explained, then leaned in to whisper in her ear: “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

She’d definitely had a bit too much to actually memorize the steps, but she managed to keep up for a bit, until she lost her balance a bit after hitting the edge of the coffee table. Once again, she fell into his chest, but this time, he wrapped his arms tight around her to stabilize her—and she did the same.

“Is this a habit of yours?” he joked, but the twinkle in his eye told her that he wasn’t complaining.

“Just with you,” she tossed back.

“And what makes me so special?”

“You get it.”

He gave her a shy smirk that cut an adorable dimple into his scruff. 

And she couldn’t help it: she kissed it.

The wide-eyed stare he wore when she pulled back told her that it was as much a shock to him as it was to her; she never made the first move. But there was just something about him that made her want to throw caution to the wind—or maybe she just knew it was okay to do that with him. 

Feeling even bolder, she grabbed his shirt and pulled his lips down to hers. He didn’t hesitate to respond in kind and god, he was good: the right amount of pressure, the scratch of his beard, the feel of his hand on her back...oh man.

She normally wouldn’t have done what she did next—not when there were feelings involved, at least—but hey, it was a night for doing new things, right?

“Do you want to take this somewhere else?” she murmured when they eventually broke apart for air.

“Where did you have in mind?”

“My place.”

“Lead the way, love.”

It didn’t seem like anyone noticed as they slipped out, and she’d never managed to get her door open faster. It had just clicked shut before she was on him, pressing him back against it, her hands wandering over his upper body while her tongue picked up where their earlier dance had left off.

Her fingers found themselves near his belt, and before they went too far, his warm hand gently stilled hers. “Are you sure, love?” he asked, panting. “I...I don’t just want to be a rebound,” he confessed.

God, she hadn’t even thought of that. Walsh was already a distant memory. “I don’t want that, either.”

“Alright, then. Proceed.”

“God, you’re a dork.”

“Guilty.”

“Good thing I like it.”

Her lips found his again as her fingers danced over him, and his over her; a trail of clothing marked their path to her bedroom (with only a brief stop against the back of her couch), and they landed naked on her unmade bed.

His large hand and deft fingers found their way to her entrance and were lightly teasing it--the gentlest of brushes that nearly had her seeing stars, and definitely distracted her from fishing the condoms out of her bedside table.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not; might need an extra hand, though.”

She almost came back down to earth just to glare at him, but the cheesy grin he wore just made her laugh. It wasn't like she minded, anyway.

She used the opportunity to do a bit of foreplay herself, stroking his considerable length before, during, and after gliding the sheath on. The guttural groan he let out went straight through her.

Enough foreplay—she needed him. She grabbed his shoulders and pressed her chest against his; the brush of his chest hair against her nipples had her arching into him, and his hard cock was pressing right where she wanted him. “You ready?”

“Gods, yes,” he breathed.

And when they came together, she couldn’t remember anyone she’d ever been with before. She was completely aware of the hyperbole but honestly, he just felt so good inside her.

Then he moved, and she forgot her own name, and his, and anyone else’s.

She’d had the kind of sex before where time seemed to stop, but with Killian, it seemed to stop even longer, if that was possible; once they found their rhythm, every press of their hips brought her nearer and nearer to the edge of oblivion, but not so fast that she couldn’t enjoy it.

When she finally fell off, she hadn’t even realized she’d been that close—and let the waves of pleasure wash over her with abandon.

Killian wasn’t far behind her; she felt him still within her as he came with a shout. Normally, she’d be worried about how much noise they made, but she could still hear music coming from the Nolan’s; they were safe.

He collapsed beside her just long enough to catch his breath, then excused himself to clean up. God, he really was a gentleman; a lot of the guys she’d been with hadn’t been so polite about that. He came back a couple minutes later with a washcloth for her to use--seriously, no guy had ever done that. Then he flopped back on her creaky mattress and wrapped his left arm around her.

“You’re bloody incredible, love...and bloody gorgeous,” he said softly, then pressed a kiss on her bare shoulder.

“You’re no slouch, either,” she replied, and hoped the light was dim enough that he couldn’t see how furiously she was blushing. 

“You know...I almost didn’t go to the party tonight,” he said. “It was a long day and I wasn’t sure I felt up to people.”

“Yeah?” Logically, she knew other people had had shitty days, but it was easy to forget about in the face of her own. 

“I’m very glad I did, though,” he continued.

“So am I.”

He pressed a gentle kiss against her lips then, and pulled her a bit closer with his prosthesis. “Think we should head back?” he proposed.

“Mm, nah,” she answered. “They’ll have more parties.”

“Aye, they probably will.”

“And I like the one we’re having right now.”

“Mm, as do I.”

The other party continued into the wee hours of the morning, but Emma and Killian’s went even longer: all through the night, through part of the next day, and for a very, very long time thereafter.

Some time later, she heard that Dolly song again, and another set of lyrics stood out to her:

And you know if there's one thing this blonde has learned Blondes have more fun

She looked over at Killian and smiled; damn right they do.

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

thanks for reading! tagging some friends: @kat2609​ @thesschesthair​ @optomisticgirl​ @xpumpkindumplingx​ @shipsxahoy​ @amortentia-on-the-rocks​ @mryddinwilt​ @cocohook38​ @annytecture​ @wingedlioness​ @word-bug​ @distant-rose​ @wellhellotragic​ @welllpthisishappening​ @let-it-raines​ @pirateherokillian​ @bleebug​ @its-imperator-furiosa​ @fergus80​ @killianmesmalls​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @effulgentcolors​ @laschatzi​ @ive-always-been-a-pirate​ @nfbagelperson​ @stubble-sandwich​​ @killian-whump​ @lenfaz​ @phiralovesloki​ @athenascarlet​ @kmomof4​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snowbellewells​ @idristardis​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​

[trillhouse-lh]

Mask

The Avenue. One of the most prestigious clubs in Great Lake City, a local legend in the nightlife scene. Those who weren't living it up on the dance floor mingled near the bars, combatting the pulsing music with casual conversation and laughter. The atmosphere, as always, was electric; to one man however, it was little more than an annoyance. Just endless, meaningless noise.

He kept his distance from the throngs of partiers, seated at a booth with a glass of scotch-Johnnie Walker Blue Label, at $65 a shot-which he sipped at slowly, looking out upon the herd with disinterest. Practically attached to his side was a younger woman, a blonde bombshell of the caliber that most men would kill for. Young, shapely body, luscious lips, tight sequined dress that left little to the imagination… and of course, a head full of air. She leaned into the man's side, checking herself in a pocket mirror and freshening up her cherry-red lipstick. Once she was sure she looked perfect, she closed the mirror with a snap and placed it in her pocket book.

"I wanna dance," She said. Her boyfriend didn't respond, nor did he give any sort of indication that he'd heard her at all. The woman frowned and gave his arm a little tug. "Babe, I wanna dance."

"I heard you the first time," The man grunted. "I'm not in the mood." His companion gave an almost childish pout.

"But I am. You promised we could dance…"

"Later, then." He said cooly. The woman sighed and crossed her arms, giving the busy dance floor a longing gaze. The man didn't care. He simply sipped his drink, his attention focused nowhere in particular. Most would assume that his pensive stare was that of a man lost in thought, but that was far from the case… he was simply existing, present in body but not in mind, barely even cognizant of the beautiful woman latched to his side. She was meaningless to him, after all; just another idiotic young tart barely out of high school, all too happy to leech off an older, wealthier man rather than make something of herself. She was no different from those who had come before, nor those who would come after. Good for a bit of fun and nothing else… to be used and then discarded once he'd had his fill.

A toy. Nothing more than that.

"Babe, come on," She huffed, giving his arm another tug. "It's a nightclub! Are you really going to just sit here all night?"

"I said, no."

"But I'm bored!" The young woman whined; it was clear from her tone that she was starting to get frustrated with her boyfriend. "I want to dance now-"

"Go, then." He said plainly. "I'm not stopping you."

"Ugh!" She scoffed and turned away from the man. "You've been a real jerk lately, you know that?!" She waited for a response, but received little more than a vague grunt of irritation. "...Fine. Fine!" She snapped, pulling away and sliding out of the booth. "I'll go dance by myself, then. Come find me when you're ready to stop being-"

"Won't be necessary," The man cut in, leaving her words to die on her lips. "You go right ahead and enjoy yourself. I trust you'll be able to find someone looking for an easy fuck." She stared at her boyfriend in disbelief, as though she'd somehow misheard the man's words.

"E-excuse me…?!"

"Do I need to simplify it for you?" He muttered. "I'm tired of you. Fuck. Off." The woman glared at him in silence, her body quaking in indignant rage. Nobody had spoken to her like that before… what man in their right mind would reject her? She grit her teeth and reeled back, her palm open to deliver a forceful slap.

The man caught her by the wrist without even looking.

"Ow!" The woman hissed, trying to pull away from the man, but he didn't loosen his grip in the slightest. On the contrary, he only squeezed tighter, so tight that the woman swore she could feel her bones creaking. "Y-you're hurting me," She gasped. "L-let me-" Her protests faded to a faint croak as, for the first time since they'd arrived that night, the man looked her in the eye. His gaze was cold, empty, devoid of life… as though there were simply nothing behind those gray eyes. No compassion. No anger. Nothing. It felt like he was staring into her soul, daring her to make a scene. Finally he let go and the woman grasped her aching wrist, shrinking back under his icy gaze. She lingered only a moment before her lip started trembling and she turned, hurrying off to God knows where. Not that he cared; he simply scoffed as she ran away, and with that little annoyance dealt with he turned his focus back to the crowd. None seemed to have noticed what happened, or at the very least if they did they knew better than to do anything about it.

With that, the man simply continued sipping his drink as though nothing had happened at all. It was nothing new, after all… he'd kicked far, far better women than she to the curb before, and he had no doubt he'd do so again. It was all part of the game, and it was a game he knew how to play better than damn near anyone.

It was also a game that he'd grown tired of as of late.

He'd learned from a young age that the world's pleasures belonged to those willing to take them. It was something his father had quite literally hammered into his skull as a child… in truth the sole thing he was grateful to the piece of shit for. The strong came out on top, while the weak were rightfully trampled underfoot. So he became strong. He rose to the top while his father fell to the bottom… meeting his end at the bottom of a staircase, his neck broken after the drunk bastard took a tumble.

A tragic accident, of course.

Since then, he had come to live by those words. He rose to his station. Money, power, good looks, women, he had it all. That which wasn't given he was all too happy to take. Those who challenged him would soon come to regret it. And yet, through it all, he maintained his public image… that of a legitimate businessman, gentleman, and generous philanthropist. Because he knew how to play the game. He knew how to get what he wanted, and was willing to wear whatever mask he needed to do so. As such, winning over brain-dead bimbos like her was child's play. And much like a child's plaything, he was growing increasingly bored. Perhaps it was time to mix things up a bit.

The man scanned the crowd, his lifeless gray eyes flicking between the offerings with little apparent interest. The club attracted a fairly diverse crowd, from young to mature to everything in between. Some were there with friends, others to meet new people, and of course there were those just looking for some company for the night… hussies, as far as he was concerned. He had little time for them.

...Oh?

The man stopped, his gaze lingering on one figure in particular. He could see her through the crowd, standing at the bar in an attractive blue dress and a lovely pearl necklace. She seemed to be glancing around, as though looking for someone, and as she turned her head he took a moment to study her face. She was a beautiful woman, not too old nor too young; her makeup, while tastefully applied, was just excessive enough that it was clear she had something to hide. No doubt she was starting to show her age and feeling particularly self-conscious about it.

Next, her body language: she was shifting in place anxiously and looking around, chewing her lower lip with a forlorn expression. She was upset, clearly. Her hands? No ring. Unmarried and aging, how sad. Her drink? Cranberry juice, from the look of it… not a drinker. Recovering, perhaps. Still, very peculiar for a non-drinker to be standing around at a bar unaccompanied. Perhaps she was waiting for some friends to return? No… she looked too upset for that. Nearly heartbroken, in fact. As if to confirm his suspicions the woman took out her phone and checked the time, taking another futile look among the crowd before sadly putting it away. Though his expression remained impassive as ever, his mind got to work piecing together the puzzle. This woman intrigued him. He would have her. And in a matter of seconds, he'd worked out how. With that, he polished off his drink and slid out from the booth, flexing his neck before straightening out his posture. As he weaved his way through the crowd, politely apologizing to those around him, his lips curled back in a friendly smile and his glare softened into a gentle gaze that made his cold grey eyes almost seem like a sparkling blue under the lights.

He put on the mask.

The downtrodden woman stared idly into her glass, lightly swirling it and watching the cranberry juice ripple within. She should have known this would happen… he'd been so non-committal when they'd set things up, but she'd been foolish enough to convince herself things would be different this time. Well, no point in lingering here alone… she may as well pay for her drink and head home to drown her sorrows in a pint of ice cream. She tried getting the bartender's attention, only for some red-headed seductress to call him over for another round. The woman sighed again and took a sip of her cranberry juice. Typical.

"Guy stood you up, huh?" The woman was snapped from her self-pity by a low voice beside her. She glanced over, finding a stunningly handsome man leaning on the bar. He was tall and barrel-chested, with perfectly-styled blonde hair and a strong jawline. Clean-shaven. Well-dressed. Million-dollar smile. For a moment, she was simply taken aback by his sudden appearance,

"I… excuse me…?" The man raised his palm and let out a chuckle.

"Sorry if I'm being presumptuous. You just looked like you could use some company, that's all," He said. "I'd offer to buy you a drink, but…" He flicked his eyes towards the cranberry juice, and the woman seemed to snap out of her stupor.

"Oh, um… n-no, it's quite alright," She said with a small smile. "You're not wrong. On either front, sadly." The man frowned and shook his head in empathy.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Can't say I haven't been there myself…" He muttered before that charming smile appeared once more. "Well, if it's not too bold of me to say, anyone who would leave a woman like you hanging must be out of their damn mind." The man shot her a wink and her cheeks flushed a light pink.

"Oh, stop…" The woman said, giggling into her palm. The man chuckled again. She took a moment to study him, taking in his chiseled features and masculine physique. He almost felt like a model straight out of GQ, the epitome of class in addition to his naturally good looks. Not to mention that he seemed to be an absolute gentleman to boot… and, perhaps most importantly, he seemed interested. She averted her eyes and took another sip of her drink, her cheeks reddening by the second.

"You know…" The man said as he pushed away from the bar and glanced over towards the dance floor. "I may not be the guy you're here to meet, but-"

"Yes," The woman blurted out, to her chagrin; she clammed up as the man looked back at her with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk, and cleared her throat before continuing. "I-I mean… I'd love to dance, if you're offering." The gentleman smiled and gave a small nod.

"It would be my privilege. Shall we, miss…?"

"Lori. Lori Loud." She said with a bashful smile, extending her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you…"

"Chester Richards." The man said with a broad, gleaming smile. He took her hand gingerly and gave it a gentle shake. "The pleasure's all mine."

[greenglasslov3]

Forget Me Not - Chapter 8: Black Orchid

A/N: Soundtrack for this chapter is Billie Eilish’s Bad Guy and many thanks to @missclairebelle​ for our writing power hours and giving me a swift kick in the pants when I need it.

Ch.1 / Ch.2 / Ch.3 / Ch.4 / Ch.5 / Ch.6 / Ch.7

Chapter 8: Black Orchid

Later that night…

The throbbing base pulsed loudly around Geillis and Claire as they entered the club.  Heavy and intense, the latter’s teeth rattled in her skull with every undulation.  Acrid smoke billowed from a hidden fog machine and filled her nose with its bitter perfume.  Neon lasers and phosphorescent lights cut through the darkness, a spattering of technicolor rays against a black canvas.  With each flash, a new tableau of writhing bodies appeared - flickering scenes in the high contrast black and white of a classic film.  A husky voice echoed from the speakers, hypnotizing the club’s patrons further into her clutches with her siren’s call.

Creeping around like no one knows Think you're so criminal Bruises, on both my knees for you Don't say thank you or please I do what I want when I'm wanting to My soul? So cynical

And Claire wondered how in the hell she got here.

Geillis.

The moment Geneva (she carved the name in blood red ink and underlined it three times in her diary to commit it to memory) left her shop she’d texted her partner in crime.

S.O.S. I cocked it all up for sure this time. And btw we need to find a boyfriend named Tom.

It didn’t take much to rally the troops.  Within half an hour, the blonde arrived at the flower shop, a flask of very potent whisky in hand.  She cackled loudly, rivaling the witches of lore when Claire unearthed the champagne intended for her earlier meeting.  Their giggles only increased after they’d drained a bottle each before venturing out to the club.

Claire squinted against the glaring strobes and blamed the bubbly spirit for her heightened sensitivities.  Her surroundings reminded her of some perverse circus - too brash, too bright, too blunt.  Typically, she preferred intimate pubs and live music provided by local entertainment - cozy yet worn upholstery, richly stained mahogany, and a pitchy tenor with a guitar.  They were comfortable and casual like an old uni jumper… but she was on a mission where slubby, misshapen yarn would not suit.

“Tonight, I’ll make you my pet,” Geillis had promised.

Bubbly in hand, the pair had ascended the staircase to Claire’s messy flat, where they rifled through endless piles of laundry - all clean, but limp and wrinkled carelessly deposited in enough mounds to create a small mountain range throughout the florist’s bedroom.  Geillis critiqued every article of clothing she owned, holding the offending articles with pinched fingers, arm fully extended and nose wrinkled until she found the ensemble worthy of bringing all men (and probably most women) to their knees to worship at the altar of St. Claire of Little Flowers.

“Black Orchid,” Geillis had explained as she spritzed her friend with some sickeningly sweet perfume. “It’ll drive the lads wild.”

Hair painstakingly straightened, eyelids dusted in smoky shadows, and torso tightly corseted in the thick wrappings of a crimson bandage dress, Claire leaned against the bar.  First and foremost, she wished to relieve her aching feet from the tortuous stilettos that bound her ankles with flimsy ribbons (she wondered how ballerinas managed such feats of graceful athleticism when she could barely stand).  Secondly, she gripped the cool stone ledge for balance as the swirling light show and the bottle of champagne (on an empty stomach, mind) left her feeling more than a tad off kilter.  Thirdly, Geillis had vanished the moment they arrived at the club, abandoning her morals along with breaking one of the holiest laws in girl code: one does not leave one’s friend alone at a club.

Claire hissed as her elbows collapsed onto the sharp counter’s edge.  Though it didn’t hurt much now with her ragged nerves numbed into submission with alcohol, her fingers massaged the tender skin of the joint.  She’d certainly have bruises tomorrow, but she didn’t care.  Nothing could rival the wounds that marred her heart.

Her reputation ruined…

Her competency questioned…

Her relationship with Jamie further tangled in the web of lies she wove...

“Oi!” The bartender’s cries rang out above the din, and Claire’s head snapped upwards suddenly in response.  Hasty hands roughly push a glass across the counter towards her, sloshing excess liquid over the rim and onto Claire’s fingers as she intercepted the tumbler.

“From ‘im,” he explained as his head jerked sharply to the left, towards the opposite end of the bar where she spied a man.

A handsome one at that.

While the flashing lights against the pitch darkness of the club around them did little to reveal the specifics (the color of his eyes, hair, and skin a mystery in high contrast black and white), they highlighted his attributes brilliantly.  He perched on a stool, reclining back against the bar on his left elbow as if he were sunning himself in the harsh rays of the violent lasers.  The glaring strobes highlighted the peaks and valleys of his well-defined musculature visible beneath the simple cotton tee that clung to his frame.  His right arm hung by his side, the fingers of his right hand gripped the top edge of his glass with casual confidence.  He brought the dram (color and liquor choice imperceptible at Claire’s distance and state of inebriation) to his lips.  He swallowed and his jaw flexed, clenching and relaxing as the liquid trickled down his throat.  As she watched him, she found herself hypnotized by the stubble on his chin and the fullness of his lips, secretly wishing to taste them herself.  

Even if it was only to wash away the bitter sting of lost love.

Pressing the glass to her lips, Claire tossed back half its contents (wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gin and lime on her tongue) before slipping into the crowd.  A snake in the grass, she silently slithered through the narrow spaces between the bodies that separated her from her prey.  She sought him out, lids narrowing as she honed in on her target.  When fate left the seat next to him perfectly empty, she stole her chance, sliding onto the vacant stool.

“Thank you…” Claire bellowed, desperately trying to make her request breathy and wanton yet still heard over the throbbing base.  Swiveling on her stool, she crossed one leg over the other and leaned in towards the man in question, tipping her chest forwards to offer him the best angle to appreciate her dress.

He didn’t turn, shoulders squared and gaze straight ahead as he sipped his drink.

“Thank yer friend,” he shouted back in between nips, nodding towards the throng writhing on the dance floor. “She said ye were lookin’ for me?”

Flipping her hair back, Claire cast a glance over her shoulder just in time to catch Geillis at the edge of the crowd.  She shimmied in time with the music as she walked, her hand clasped firmly in the grasp of a much older man (the glare of blinking strobes against his completely bald head betrayed his age).  She winked towards the bar and offered her approval with a quick thumbs up before disappearing behind the curtain to the VIP section.

That bloody witch.

“... I’m Tom,” he turned to her then as his introduced himself.

One eyebrow cocked, Tom flashed her a smile - an almost wolfish grin that revealed pearly white teeth.  In the flashing disco lights, his eyes twinkled with a hidden mischief perfectly intended for nights such as these.  The tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Claire wondered if he truly knew the affect his boyish charms had on women (and men for that matter).

“Tom Christie.”

With the second utterance of his name, the brilliant machinations of one Geillis Duncan slowly clicked into place in Claire’s inebriated state.  She certainly found him handsome enough, and she thanked her past self for offering Geneva a first name (and a common one at that) for her aforementioned beau.  She might even have a little fun playing this game of revenge with Jamie and his child bride...

“Well, Tom…” she repeated his name, allowing the letters to fill her mouth.  The T zinged against the roof of her mouth and tickled her nose like the fizzy champagne she’d enjoyed just an hour ago.  The O and the M blended together in a harmonious chant, a breathy moan rumbling deep in her throat.

The smile fell from Tom’s face, his expression turning mercurial.  Claire smirked behind the lip of her glass before downing the second half of her drink.  She slapped the empty tumbler against the countertop and grabbed for Tom’s hand, pulling him from his perch.

“Let’s dance, shall we?”

She took three… four… five steps before her elbow locked stick straight and her body recoiled backwards, the bungee cord of her tendons snatching her just before she fell.  Rather than tripping over her own two feet, Tom gathered her to his chest, capturing her in the iron bands of his arms.  The aftershocks of her near nose-dive rocked them both.  With Claire nestled in the triangle of his thighs, they slowly swayed - nose to nose, chest to chest, hip to hip.  Her pulse pounded in her ears in time with the thundering base in the club.

So you're a tough guy Like it really rough guy Just can't get enough guy Chest always so puffed guy

“No’ so fast…” he murmured, his lips inches from hers as he released one hand to motion for another round of drinks.  “Ye owe me a wee favor as well…”

“Oh?” Claire sighed, rocking back on her heels.

Their replenished drinks materialized, a magic trick produced with the snap of Tom’s fingers and his devious smirk.  He tapped the rim of his glass against hers before taking a generous swig.  Claire matched his pace.  She found the icy yet tart liquid now refreshing as it cooled the boiling blood that now raced through her veins, flushing her skin pink.

He bent his head, bringing his lips to the outer shell of her ear to whisper all sorts of naughty secrets.  The gesture flooded her mind with memories of that afternoon, when Jamie had done just the same… She shivered at the chill that ran up her spine, her body shimmying closer to her present admirer, and she felt him smirk against her cheek.

“Ye see her?” Tom whispered, his breath tickling the soft skin along her neck.  His free hand left her waist to point towards the dance floor, where Geillis had been just moments before.

Claire turned her head and brought her drink to her lips, using the glass to disguise where her eyes chose to wander.  As she spied the girl in question, her breath hitched, nearly choking on her limey tonic.  She was a total stranger, though the florist’s stomach turned with queer recognition at the sight of her.

She was a slight thing - petite in build and stature.  Her milky skin glowed in the dark cavern of the club.  Her willowy limbs danced above her head, swaying like branches bending in a breeze.  Dark hair crowned her head, thick tresses gathered into a tight ponytail piled painfully high on her skull.  Her lithe frame writhed against some guy (could’ve been Tom… could’ve been Jamie…) as her eyes narrowed to snake-like slits, zeroing in on her observer from across the room.  Their gazes met through the murky lens of her drink, and Claire’s stomach dropped suddenly.

Tipping her head back, she finished the final dregs of gin before the glass slipped from her fingers and clattered loudly against the counter.  She swallowed hard against the bile that bubbled at the back of her throat.  Eyes shut, she inhaled deeply through her nostrils before slapping her hand down twice, signaling for a third round.

It couldn’t be...

Ghostly visions of Jezebel temptresses danced behind her closed lids.  First, Geneva appeared with her cruel smile and child-like demeanor.  Her ostentatious diamond glittered on her finger as she waggled it dramatically in front of Claire’s face.  She spun suddenly, pivoting on her heel while she rolled her hips.  When she returned to face the florist once more, she was gone… and Malva stood in her place.  Her prized pupil mocked her with feigned sweetness, while poison dripped from her lips.  Her fingers smoothed a striped tie dangling between her breasts.  It’d been Frank’s… the very same silk that had bound the student’s wrists when she discovered them in his office one afternoon… 

The glass bottom of a decanter met the wood counter with a loud thunk as the barkeep deposited two more drinks before Claire and Tom.  She shook her head before she grabbed at the glass and greedily sucked down the liquid, hoping to quell any further nightmares staring the ghosts of mistresses past.  Still, her hands trembled as Tom clasped one within his own.

“She’s my ex - Mona,” he spat, glaring daggers at the dance floor.  “Cheated on me with my own brother.”

Cheated.

Claire knew the term intimately - strongly steeped in her morning tea, lurking behind the shadowy corners in the house she thought they’d made a home, hidden within the luscious petals  Betrayal left the deepest of wounds weeping with infection, never to fully heal and scars always newly pink and raw.  It was a vile toxin that flooded her body with jealous fevers and that left the bitter taste of uncertainty on at the back of her mouth.

“Care to help me make her jealous, hmm?” Tom’s question broke through her reverie.

Could she?

Claire’s eyes quickly darted between Tom’s smile and his outstretched hand and back once more to his face.  Now with his face inches from hers, the steely blue-grey of his gaze turned her knees to water.  He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and the only thought dominating Claire’s mind was the image of her sucking the plump skin there between her own lips.  Her mind cried out in protest, battered and war-torn with cautionary tales of what happened when she fell for mysterious men too fast… but the alcohol flowing freely in her veins encouraged her to be bold and to satisfy that hungry basal need gnawing deep in her belly.

She placed her hand in his, signing a deal with this silver-eyed devil.

With a hand gently pressed to the small of Claire’s back, Tom guided her to the edge of the dance floor where the undulating throng lapped at their limbs, brushing against them like the tempting, warm waves of a late summer sea.  They swayed on the outskirts, hips pressed together as they slowly waded further and further from the shore.  Bodies wound around them, a revolving current that held them in the deep.  Entranced by the siren’s song that called out above the hypnotizing swell, they were drowning in an ocean of each other (skin, breath, heat)...

...but it wasn’t Tom Claire was dancing with…

Once she’d spun herself around in the circle of his arms, it was all too easy for her mind to wander.  In the dark - and after so many drinks - he could be anyone.  The strong hands that gripped her hips matched the make and model of a certain red-headed client, and her skin still erupted in goose flesh as he traced the lines of her body (just as he’d done in her dreams).  The firm muscles of his chest that braced her back were the perfect balance of firm-meets-soft (just as she’d hoped when she thought of resting her head there).  The small Scottish noises he mumbled against her ear brought her just to the precipice…  

The base bottomed out with a gasping whoosh, the water in their imaginary sea sucked down an imaginary drain.  Claire’s eyelids fluttered open - completely unaware that they’d even been shut - only to meet the gaze of her arch rival.

Malva. Geneva. Mona. 

She was back - the mysterious being who embodied all three women at once.  Her piercing gaze bore holes straight through Claire’s chest, where her heart hammered against her ribs.  Crimson painted lips parted into a sneer before a sinister cackle bubbled forth, taunting the florist with their youth and their beauty.  Fear gripped her belly and pushed her over the edge.  She pressed herself into the body (Jamie’s or Tom’s she was no longer certain) behind her.  Her hands wandered over his frame before reaching upward and tangling her fingers in his unruly locks.  He pressed his lips against the nape of her neck, sighing as she arched further into him.  The siren faded from view, and it was Claire’s turn to smirk.

You said she’s scared of me? I mean… I don’t see what she sees but  Maybe it’s ‘cuz I’m wearing your cologne...

Her head fell back against Tom’s shoulder as she pulled him closer, bringing his ear just to her lips.

“Let’s get out of here,” she murmured huskily before grasping his hand and pulling him through the crowd behind her.

The act of walking through a doorway is said to cause one to forget why they entered that room in the first place - a sort of temporary amnesia.  Coupled with copious amounts of alcohol, however, crossing a threshold could wipe one’s memory completely clean.

Once Claire exited the club, her short-term recollection flew away on the wings the brisk night air.  The rest of the evening came to her in a series of flashes, moments frozen in photographs preserved for posterity with the stories in between hazier than the early morning mist.  First, they were in a cab, hands roaming while mouths greedily nipped at fleshy lower lips.  Then, they were on the stairs of her flower shop, tripping on the uneven pitch and laughing at each other as they both fell flat on their backsides.  Finally, they were behind the closed door of her apartment and tumbling towards her bed - shirt, dress, and pants all carelessly tossed aside before they sunk into the pillowy depths of her mattress.

And then it all went black.

The violent light of midday streaked across her face and blinded Claire even with her eyes closed.  She scrubbed her eyes with balled-up fists in hopes she could block out some of the brilliant summer sun with her hands.  The pulsing base from the club found a permanent behind her temples, painfully throbbing before she had even fully awoken.  Her throat burned and her mouth tasted of cotton from the champagne and the three (or was it four?) gin and tonics she’d had the night before.  Every muscle in her body ached from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head.  She groaned aloud as she wondered if she’d gotten in some sort of fight last night (positive she’d have some bruises to make a seasoned boxer blush).

An even louder moan followed her own whine, and Claire froze, each joint in her body becoming rigid.  Her breath came short, panting as she tried desperately to fill her lungs to no avail before she finally cracked open one lid…

… only to find a naked Tom Christie lying next to her.

To be continued...