#lets chase out all the annoying people so we can have a proper party

[angelskills]

can we please have a college au! Suguru who takes interest in a girl from a different department and he keeps trying to find her and talk more but she doesnt let it? Or disappears for weeks together untul he next sees her?

a/n: omg this is so creative?! i haven't tried writing a suguru fanfic ever, so this will be a challenge, and i love challenges :D, thank you so much for the request! if you want something else, pls lmk, also thank you sm for 200+ likes on my last post, also, i kind of switch the names between geto and suguru, and gojo and satoru. this may not be the best fanfic but if you want something else, pls pls request, i want to write something that you actually want :)) !

Out of Reach

warnings: pw/p(p0rn with plot), tipsy sex, he doesnt pull out (birth control dw), clit stimulation, p in v, vaginal fingering

credits: @hopelesslygaysstuff for the 18+ header

characters: you, Shoko, gojo, geto,

intro: geto notices you for the first time in the library while he is with his friends

Geto had his eyes on you for a long, long time. But, you never noticed. He always tried to find you around campus and talk to you. But, he never could. Geto first noticed you at the library when he was with Gojo. You happened to be with Shoko, who is one of his close friends.

Something about you really stood out to him. He never really knew why, but he took an interest in you. He is lazy, but he would chase you around the campus to try and catch up to you, but it never really worked out. You both had different majors, meaning you would be in different departments. He majored in humanities while you majored in computer science.

Geto thought about you all day long, he didn't want to but couldn't stop thinking about you. You were pretty, with a cute smile, and you were smart. How did Geto know? Well, he may or may not have texted Shoko about you. He lays in bed every night, hoping to get the chance to talk to you one day.

That man was so happy. He actually started smiling when Shoko told him you would be at Gojo's party in his apartment. He was excited to finally be able to have a proper conversation with you that doesn't have him running around campus, slipping like 10 times to catch up to you. Who knows why he was so crazy about you?

It was finally Friday night. Geto always hangs out at Gojo's house and helps prepare the drinks and food whenever there is a party. Geto was yapping on and on about you and how it's so hard to talk to you as he was laying out the plastic plates on the table and ordering the food. Gojo was so annoyed with that man, "Just get her number and text her, dude."

Geto seems like an overall confident person, but when it came to you, he was nervous, he didn't wanna make a weird first impression. "You don't get it." He sighed, sitting on the sofa, "You think she might like me?"

"No, fuck no." Gojo laughed, "You're scared to even approach her, pussy."

"I try to catch up to her."

"Try harder."

Geto rolled his eyes and cussed under his breath. But, it was the truth. He was trying, of course. But whenever he caught up to you, he would chicken out and just, not.

Gojo heard a knock on his door. They both looked at each other and looked at the clock, it wasn't time for the party yet.

Well, guess it was.

He opened the door and saw a bunch of his classmates and friends just come in with bottles of vodka and tequila. Screaming and singing. More and more people came in. You could say almost the entirety of the college students were there, except you and Shoko. G

Geto was in a corner while Gojo had girls all over him. He kept on texting Shoko and spamming her to get here faster.

Meanwhile you and Shoko...

"Hurry up, Y/N, please!" Shoko whined, lying down on the couch, replying to Geto's text.

"Sorry, wait!" You yelled from the bathroom, applying mascara on your lashes.

You wore a cheetah print top with flared jeans and a rhinestone belt. You brushed your hair, thinking about the party, obviously you know Gojo, he's really popular afterall. He was always with this guy. Tall, muscular, and he looked tired all the time. You finally finished getting ready, putting on your necklace and earrings and stepped out of the bathroom.

Shoko complimented you and you guys took a few pictures together. You both put on your shoes and legit rushed out. Trying to find a cab to get to Gojo's place. You were excited, because this was your first ever party, especially in college. Even though you're a sophomore, you avoided parties a lot because you focused on your grades too much. After becoming friends with Shoko, you let loose a bit and finally agreed to go to a party.

Shoko was talking about Geto as you both got in the cab and you couldn't recognize his name. She showed you a picture and you finally realized that was the Geto Shoko was always talking about. You couldn't even deny it, that man was fine, but you didn't say anything.

After a while of asking Shoko for more pictures of Geto and staring at his pictures as if he were the most beautiful man ever, you finally reached Gojo's place. You and Shoko got out of the car, and you were out here taking deep breaths because you were nervous about the party. As you both walked towards Gojo's door, Shoko was reassuring you that everything would be fine and parties weren't that big of a deal.

The door was open, damn. That man was really fearless.

You walked in with Shoko, astounded by how big Gojo's apartment really was. Geto noticed you and Shoko, letting out a sigh of relief because truly, he was worried sick thinking YOU(not Shoko) got in an accident and died. He finished his glass of beer and started walking towards you. Then, Shoko dragged you off to somewhere else, giving you a tour of Gojo's apartment. Geto clenched his fists, muttering out a bunch of fuck you's to Shoko.

Geto finally managed to catch up to you and Shoko, finding you guys hanging with Satoru. You looked at Geto, finally realizing that man was even finer in real life. You gave him a warm smile, before turning back to Gojo.

Geto's face nearly turned red. Did you just smile at him? He couldn't believe it.

"Hear me out, let's play beer pong." Satoru smirked, setting up the plastic cups. It was an upside-down triangle laid on the table.

You looked at Shoko, nodded, and helped pour the beer into the plastic.

You guys played beer pong for a while, switching some of the cups with beer and then tequila and vodka.

Satoru and Shoko were drunk as fuck and out like a light, you and Geto were only a bit tipsy because you both were actually good at the game and meanwhile, Gojo and Shoko sucked ass with their angles.

It was like, 3 a.m., and Satoru and Shoko were still out. You and Geto were sitting on the couch, talking and he confessed about how he always chased you around campus and tried to talk to you, but he always chickened out. You laughed at that, but on the inside, you were screaming. A man, like him, took an interest, in YOU? You talked about how you kept begging Shoko for pictures of him because you thought he was so cute.

There was some tension between you two. You both basically just confessed your feelings at this point. You laughed it out, trying your best not to create awkwardness between you two.

But, he didn't care. Whether it was awkward or not, all he cared was being there with you. Just you being present makes him happy.

He put his hand on your cheek, getting closer to your face, making sure you're comfortable before pulling you into a deep kiss.

You didn't know how it got to this point. From you and Geto laughing at each other, to a bit of making out, and then to you being carried to the guest bed.

He placed you on the bed gently, pulling you into a kiss as his fingers ran down your chest to your waistband, slowly pulling your jeans off. Your heart was beating out of your chest. All of this happened in a flash. He slid your top up so your bra would be exposed. You could feel the dampness in your panties from just seeing him like this. He kissed down your neck to your stomach. His hand slid under your panties, slowly rubbing small circles on your clit. You bucked your hips, trying to squirm away but his hand on your waist kept you in place.

He inserted a finger inside you, catching you off guard. You arched your back slightly, your body squirming as you let out noises. To him, your voice was like a melody, let alone noises. He wanted to get more out of you. He slid another finger in, your wetness making it easier for him. His fingers were so thick, you were almost scared about what his dick would feel like. His fingers curled right against your g-spot, you let out a loud moan, your toes curling as you gripped his shoulder, "S-suguru..." you whimpered. He swore he almost came in his pants after hearing you whimper his name like that. He pulled out his fingers, sliding your panties off.

He inserted his fingers right back inside of your hole. Stretching you out to make you prepared. You gulped as you shut your eyes, moaning as his fingers hit your sweet spot every time he pulled his fingers in and out. He unzipped his pants with his free hand, pulling down his boxers and lining his member to your entrance.

You almost screamed when you saw how long it was. You weren't even sure if it could fit or not. "Say the safeword when you want me to stop, green." He said as he slid his length inside of you, trying his best to be gentle but your pussy felt so good around his dick, he had to hold himself back from cumming right there.

You moaned, "Hngh... s-suguru... please...". He looked you in the eyes, "Please what?" He smirked, his fingers crawled to your clit.

You buried your head in his shoulder, "S-start moving, please." you gulped, you felt so full you thought you would just pass out if he started moving. From this moment on, he loved seeing you be shy in bed, he thought it was so cute especially since it was, you.

His hand grabbed your waist to keep you in place as he started thrusting inside of you. His free hand rubbed small fast circles on your clit, making your eyes roll back from the overwhelming pleasure. His dick hitting your sweet spot and him rubbing your clit at the same time.

"T-too much, too much!" You whined, throwing your back as you felt your orgasm coming. Your hands wrapped around Suguru's neck. It was almost impossible to keep yourself quiet and you were almost screaming but he wasn't complaining at all.

Within minutes, you milked his cock, creating a ring around it. Your pussy clenched around Suguru's cock, "H-holy shit", he groaned. Your toes curled as he sped up his pace, his thick cock kissing your cervix with each thrusts. After a few moments, he filled you with his cum to the brim, painting your walls white as thick ropes of cum spurted out.

He pulled out as he collapsed onto you, but making sure he doesn't put all of his weight. You put your hand on his cheek, smiling before giving him a kiss.

After a few moments, he picked you up to carry you to the shower, helping you clean up.

The very next day, you couldn't even walk.

[avictimofthejazz]

The Hardest Talk--Missy & Face

@timeguardians​

Continued from HERE

Missy’s anger is predictable, something Face expects as soon as he starts talking. It is the way of teenagers—to lash out violently when their sensitive spots are pricked, and exposed to the light. Her emotions are running through her like a roller coaster, first sinking lower, before rising to an angry high point, before dropping down again. He lets her run through them, from her defeated admission that she is giving everyone what they want, through her defense of settling for Stetson, to her sudden outburst when he spots the bruises. When she stands up, he does so too in a subtle gesture meant to stop her from storming out. To reach the front door, she has to get through him, and he might be comfortably into his forties now, but he is still a formidable barrier to an irate teenager. Besides, he suspects Missy is having a moment of dramatic flair. As much as she might claim it, she does not really want to go storming out of his house. “Take it easy, Missy.” Face holds up one hand as Missy blurts out a glimpse of her pain regarding George’s early death. “I’m not trying to sound like your father. I just sound like a father. We all get the same basic manual the minute our first daughter is born, and interfering with her teenage desire to date jerks is on page 183. He knows Missy has never had a proper chance to grieve for George. It had all been chaos and madness since he passed, and Missy threw herself into partying and chasing boys rather than dealing with her losses. Face tilts his head as Missy gives an explanation for her bruises. “Okay… so maybe a few bruises came when he had to yank you away from the bus—I’ll give you that one. I’ve left bruises too, when I had to tackle people out of danger. But what about these ones?” The con artist gestures at some fading marks higher up on her arms, like she had been pinned in place. “Or these?” He points out a few purple-ish marks just peeking out from her tee-shirt near her collarbone. “Since you don’t play any serious contact sports, I can’t imagine those bruises came from anything other then a guy getting too rough with you.” Face takes a deep breath, his eyes narrowing seriously. “I’ve spent most of my life doing really stupid stuff—in school, in the army, when I was on the run… it was pretty much my M.O. No matter how badly I pissed off Father O’Malley, or Hannibal, or even Amy, none of them have ever hit me over it.” He automatically discounts play-swats, friendly tackles, and light cuffs up the back of his head. Those are natural outcomes of interacting with old friends, most of whom are men. “Even when BA threatened to punch me in the face, and he probably had a right too, he never actually did it. That’s because you don’t hit people you love, no matter how much they annoy you, or how stupid their choices are. If Aaron is knocking you around because he says you’re doing stupid things and deserve it, then he’s lying. It doesn’t matter how stupid your choice might be, or how dangerous an action was. There’s nothing in this world you can do to deserve getting hit.”

Missy’s outburst passes, and her next statement is much quieter. It also gives Face some painful context for how her mind is trying to rationalize the situation she is in. “Is it really better then being a nobody, if you have to pay for it in pounds of flesh?” he asks gently. “I know you’re lonely, and I know how crippling it feels to be alone… but trust me, guys who beat you aren’t a solution. They’ll just isolate you, and make you feel even more alone in the long run. It’s better to be single and free, then to be surrounded by people who only want things from you.” Face’s last statement carries the heavy weight of experience in it. He has spent years learning that painful lesson firsthand, discovering that his best friends are the people who want nothing from him except that he exist in the same world they do. That is why, no matter how fond he is of BA and Hannibal, he always declares Amy and Murdock to be his best friends. From the very first moments of their friendship, they did not want anything from him. Neither of them wanted him to scam anything, or steal something or supply answers. They just want him to exist, and to share their lives. It would take him years to realize just how liberating those friendships were to him. To not be wanted for his skills, but merely for himself made him look at his life, and the variety of masks that covered it, in a new way. Eventually, those friendships gave him enough courage to begin dismissing a few of those masks, and growing comfortable in his own skin. That is the kind of friendship Missy needs, honestly… but unfortunately, she is reaching a stage where her relationship with Callie is not nearly enough. She wants the attentions and validations that can only come from a young man… and Aaron is the kind of man who preys on that vulnerability, and manipulates it into something ugly.  

[buglife]

Monomom and dadmaster.

A direct sequel to this part.

(Again no beta, srry ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Mato sat at the fancily decorated table, sipping some rather strong alcohol. It’s only been about an hour and already he was being driven to drink. He glanced around himself to see the well dressed nobles, polished to a near shine as they practically tripped over themselves in an effort to talk to his child. Said child, a god of void and the literally ruler of Hallownest, looked like they wanted to break a window and escape. Their newly crowned partner, Quirrel, the Scholar King, looked ready to do the same. Mato could see the glint of chaos in those eyes behind the façade of politeness and decorum. The same look that usually dwelled in the depths of-

“Oh, hello Mato.” Came the even voice of Monomon. He spared her a glance as she floated over to join him at the table. “What a dreadful affair this is.”

“It was something they had to do.” Mato could only shrug in response, watching Ogrim forcibly pick up unruly nobles and setting them in a line. Poor Ogrim, it’s like herding school children but without the fun.

“Nonsense, your child is a god and the Ruler of this kingdom,” She paused a moment to glance at the alcohol he was sipping. She looked like she wanted to steal it. “Ghost could have forgone a royal ball entirely and just had the coronation be a private thing, like the wedding.”

“And you saw how well that went.” Mato countered as he took another sip. “They and Quirrel actually hid out with me in the Howling Cliffs until the collective whining went down to acceptable levels. Nobles complain less if they feel like they are a part of something.”

Monomon sighed. “Why do we even need those idiots?”

“Because not all of them are. There are quite a few that actually do their jobs.” Mato pointed out a couple that were sitting off to the sides, pointedly not mobbing the royal couple. “Jobs that Quirrel and Ghost don’t have to do and can focus on other things.”

“Well can’t we just...you know…” Monomon leaned in with a whisper. “Get rid of the useless ones.”

“Because unlike the Pale Bastard, Ghost recognizes that life is precious and shouldn’t be erased on a whim.” Mato barely repressed the shudder that boiled in his carapace.

Monomon just gently smiled. “I’m not suggesting my dear child-in-law outright murder them. But Deepness could use a few more ambassadors, right?”

“You mean target practice for Hornet and Herrah.”

She clapped her tentacles together in delight. “Yes! A win for both kingdoms!”

Mato shook his head, amused. “You know, I may be a Nailmaster and have slain many a terrible beast, but you still scare the hell out of me.”

“Good, that means you have more sense than most people. Especially the Pale King.”

This caught Mato’s attention, looking away from Ghost and Quirrel to focus on Monomon. “Oh, do tell.”

“I put the fear of a mother in him when he kicked my son across the room. This was when, oh, he was this little.” She made a shape with her tentacle to indicate a very small pillbug. “He rolled up because he couldn’t get out of the way in time and the bastard was not watching his feet.”

Mato sucked in a breath. “Oof, poor little guy.”

“At first he didn’t want to apologize. What was some simple bug to him? So what if they got kicked? So I told him exactly how I would make it so that they would never find any remains to mourn if he did not apologize and make it up to Quirrel.”

“Did he?” That sure did sound like the bastard. He had no issues sacrificing hundreds of his own children to the abyss, what’s one kicked child to him?

“He did, he had a servant take Quirrel to the royal bakery and get a box of whatever he chose.” Monomon looked pleased with herself, a dangerous aura about her as she recanted her tale. “He was quite happy to accept such an apology, the dear little boy.”

“He is, I can see how he captured Ghost’s heart.” Mato sighed wistfully. “They make a great pair.”

“They do.” Monomon was content to sit for a moment, watching said pair as they dealt with the increasing hoard of nobles.

Ghost looked at Mato, and Quirrel looked at Monomon. Both flashed a quick, almost unnoticeable sign as they went back to feign interest in whatever was being yammered at them.

“Well, that’s my cue.” Mato stood, letting his glass sit and hefting his great nail over his shoulder.

“Mine as well.” Monomon gracefully took to the air again, tucking in the chair she had been sitting on.

“What do you got planned?” Mato asked in interest, watching the windows.

“I planted a few bombs, you?”

“My brothers and I are going to cause some trouble.” Mato winked.

The glass in two windows dramatically broke as both Paintmaster Sheo and Nailmaster Oro sailed through, glass glittering in the air as they descended. They landed in the middle of the stunned crowd, sending a few of the mob flying up and out of the way. They both struck their traditional poses, shrieking a war cry that sent most still standing nobles to the ground.

It was then a few explosions ripped through the ballroom. Punch bowls exploded and drenched those around them and the delicately arranged hor d'oeuvres went sailing like missiles. Nobles screamed and ran, blinded by tiny sandwiches and rings of veggies.

“TRIAL BY COMBAT.” Shouted Oro, drawing his great nail and diving at one of the nail carrying nobles. They screamed in fear and struggled to run, completely forgetting that they too were armed as Oro chased them.

“TRAIL BY COMBAT.” Sheo and Mato echoed, picking a target and diving into the crowd. Witnesses in the room watched as cowardly nobles climbed over themselves to escape out the windows. A few more explosions ripped apart the arranged flowers, setting a storm of flower petals dancing as the nailmasters assaulted the guests. Sheo, haven given up his nail, instead painted lovely little masterpieces on the fleeing bugs. It was beautiful chaos.

Ghost and Quirrel held on to each other, laughing to the point of tears. The more sane nobles, the ones who actually got things done, was treated to the sight of their rulers collapsing in laughter as their family terrorized the less than brave individuals. Ghost and Quirrel’s friends were equally in tears, such chaos is one to be savored, and it had single handedly saved the day from boredom.

“Hells yeah!” Tiso yelled, raising a glass messily as he and their friends watched five nobles get stuck in the doorway. Oro had risen their nail and angled the flat edge, ready to smack them loose. “Now THIS is a party!”

That coronation would forever go down in history.

[litteredcorpses]

Speak your mind about your character interpretations

HI THANK YOU FOR ASKING. I went completely overboard with this sorry this got out of hand I just kept writing and then I wanted to add some pictures lmao this is going under read more. couldn’t help myself…might add more pictures later

the only version of Damien we really get to see is how he is with people he’s close too, so I do kinda like to let my interpretation of him get to be a bit stuck up and standoffish. To me, he’s defensive and tries to play his role as a politician too well. The type to always has to have a last word in and it has to be the most snarkiest thing ever. He’s a mess of pent up emotions that he allows to take over (though he does have slight control over it, if pushed enough the facade will break) and Actor was the final straw. When he is friendly with people, he’s overly so in the same way a politician would; not exactly genuine and probably saying shit under his breath once you leave. I think the parties (drinking and allowing himself to be neglectful) in university only fueled his need to be rebellious in his own nature having been put under high expectations growing up (he grows out of the need to do so once he becomes mayor but it leads him to cling to other habits).

Dark seems best fit to me as a direct amalgamation of Celine and Damien but if you turned all their main characteristics up to the max and then let it overflow out of the sink. I think Dark should be allowed to be portrayed more zany I guess? More unkept and not always entirely neat (minus appearance). Weird in a non conventional way, like some of the things he does aren’t purposeful, that’s just how he is. Dark seems unnaturally obsessive with their goals, to the point of making it their entire focus and not noticing anything else for weeks on end type deal. It’s why I enjoy the concept of him doing his own obsessive research and detective work on Actor rather than him being some weird business man. I think Dark should also be able to be more apathetic. If he did have any bit of care or concern for us, it should be something that has slowly slipped off the board entirely in favor for blatant revenge. I think having a century of constant chasing and obsessing over a specific goal will make you pretty apathetic to anything else other than your main focus, including the people you were doing it for originally. That’s kinda how I’ve always seen Dark since he was first shown in adwm which only sparked my interest especially by the time wkm launched later that same year. All of Dark’s characteristics and themes dial down to an imbalance of negative ones that overpower any real genuine acts that he’s focused on. Not to say he’s heartless, I do think he has a direct fondness for Wilford and he likely sees his actions as “for the greater good” even if it is done unethically (-> killing Actor because it will stop him from continuing his schemes even though it won’t actually solve anything). However, he is an eldrich horror trying to kill a guy so I don’t think he’s exempt of any proper hostility and apathy.

My Yancy interpretation stems/is very inspired from your interpretation of him because it’s just so balanced and in character. Wont go into heavy detail because you’ve already heard me ramble about it but I also think people should let Yancy be more brash and secluded. Think he’s more serious in nature and his anger can become a huge fault when triggered by certain discussions (ex the way he acts when the viewer shows him the family picture). As much as I think he is close to the other inmates (noting that he sees them as the only family he’s got), I still think he’s distant. I think the favor of portraying him in a simplified way is a bit excessive and annoying because he’s a very interesting character out of the “silly drama jail guy”. I think he’s a brash and secluded guy who feels the weight of his past wrong doings dragging on him but was unable to get a start in actually allowing himself to change for the better because of the shitty system he’s been put in. (Also noting I think I’m so particular about his characterization is because he is a fav of mine and reminds me of another fav character that got nearly the exact treatment from another fandom; random note but noting it nonetheless).

Celine seems more of a spontaneous person to me than what people usually see her as. I still think she is likely heavily distant and reserved like Damien, but I think she has a need for constant movement and something to keep busy with. Probably where she gets an interest in dark arts because it offers a whole new outlook that I think she would be dramatically head over heels about. Unlike Damien, she hardly ever masks herself to a professional loom but a “I can handle it let me do all the work” mask. She sees herself constantly as the bigger person no matter the situation and feels the need to fix or do everything herself. Feel like her interests were the one thing she had to herself that she keeps (or at least had kept) hidden having not much to her name or herself as a person (specifically with the time era, she likely had nothing to herself). For that reason, I think that’s directly where the issue with her and Actor’s marriage begins to fail for the worse. Actor seems very dependent on filling his file as a provider while Celine seems independent, off on her own speed and course away from anyone else except for those she wants to keep close (<- an aspect I throw also onto Dark but on a much more possessive level).

I have a very specific concept for Murdoch too but I don’t know how to properly describe it!! I do imagine him as a more serious murder type, again the way I imagine him is the same as a you would a slasher but one of the more serious ones if that makes sense. Like he’s of the more sinister kind than ones that just kill absentmindedly but I think he’s the type that has fun doing it too. However if anything, I’d rather people throw their silly killer concepts onto this guy than like, Yancy or Wilford, because Murdoch literally has no backstory other than being a weird killer dude. also i have like a very specific interpretation of how i imagine his relationship with the viewer but i cannot for the life of me find the video that depicts it exactly so here’s a me trying to explain it in art form + some other murdoch side notes

^ guy just enjoys having someone to bond over killing with. you are still just a henchman to him though

This one isn’t really a specific interpretation, I just want to note that I kinda don’t like how a majority of the fandom portrays Wilford as being a sweet guy type with a pastel aesthetic that just so happens to also kill. Very much just picky with how people portray him because I love how he is in canon but I’ve only seen a handful of people actually capture it exactly. He’s got an animaniacs if they were aloud to kill and curse vibe on top of being a guns expert and almost like a vagabond that mixes directly with his reporter/interviewer habits that he’s picked up. He’s always moving, always directly needing something to focus on, keep his hands busy no matter what it is. He has a “out of sight, out of mind” thing going on too that I think people tend to forget in favor for him freaking out over the death of his friends for angst reasons, despite WMLW showing us directly that he’s fine when being reminded and he’s well long over it at this point and has accepted what he’s done since there’s no way to go back and change it (which makes sense when time and space are no longer relevant to your being). Wilford is a character that has his mind made up; he’s confident to an unimaginable degree and quite literally just does not give a shit unless he does and he too has somewhat of a brash personality that does get overlooked for the simplified “he’s just a forgetful funny murder dude hehe” role. (Also realizing how similar he is to another fav character of mine that tends to get similar pity type treatment) But maybe I’m just incredibly picky nowadays who knows.

erm that’s all I can think of off the top of my head for now but maybe I’ll add more in the future! ^_^ sorry a lot of these sound like I’m just being extremely picky sorry lolol

[bts-hyperfixation]

Why Not Then? 18+

Here it is in all it s 4327 words.... This one kind of got away from me.

angst/fluff/smut 

I hope you like it!

Warnings: unprotected sex

pic found here

Tonight’s the night. At least that’s what you were telling yourself. Senior prom. It’s now or never. Tonight is the night you are going to tell Jungkook how you really feel about him. He has to feel the same way, you are inseparable. There is no doubt in your mind that the only obstacle in the way is fear, not wanting to ruin the friendship you had worked so hard to build. The doorbell sounds through your house and you take a deep breath. For the hundredth time that day you look in the mirror. Curls frame your face, makeup done to perfection, and the seafoam A-line dress you had chosen made you feel like a queen. Your mother calls you downstairs, you can hear your father making polite conversation with your date as they wait for you. Another reason you are so sure Jungkook feels the same, he is your date. He could’ve had any other girl in school, but he asked you.

The moment you descend from the top of the stairs is like a movie. His goofy little bunny smile lights up his face when he sees you. You try as elegantly as possible to parade down the stairs, using one hand to lift the hemline of your dress, as the other glides along the bannister. You take your time. Eyeing him up as you go, the tuxedo was such a stark difference to his usual gym shorts. He was stunning. His short dark hair quaffed and gelled. Everything was going to go as planned tonight. You could just feel it.

“You look beautiful as ever” he laughs taking your hand and spinning you. You can’t help giggling.

“Not too bad yourself.” You pull on the lapels of his jacket. He bats you away a straightens himself back up just as the flash goes off on your mother’s camera. She arranges the two of you in to ten different poses before letting you leave. Jungkook had driven his beat-up convertible to pick you up. To anyone else that car would be an eyesore, but he loved it, and so did you. So many nights spent just talking and looking up at the stars, cuddled up under an old picnic blanket. To you it was a pumpkin carriage.

He opens your door for you and helps to fold your skirt so it wouldn’t rip in the limited space. He runs to the other side and jumps over the door and into his seat. Your parents wave you off as you pull away. It’s a short drive to the school. 10 minutes at most. He parks like a pro, doing that thing that guys do when they reverse into a space. The twisting just so you can see more of their neck and watch how their arms flex around the back of your headrest. You start to climb out of the seat when suddenly he is in front of you, hand extended to help you. It’s hard not to laugh at how hard he is trying to be a proper gentleman tonight.

“Come on Y/N-ah, the night of our dreams awaits.” He quotes the prom theme. The unbelievably cringy and cliched ‘night of our dreams’. Walking through the doors, it was still blatantly obvious you were in the school gym, but the prom committee at least tried their best. Tacky streamers in blues and silvers, star themed props, a solar system themed photo booth. Its clear they had to use some of the previous year’s decorations, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The butterflies were building in your stomach. Anxious and excited about where your confession could take you.

All of your other friends are already here, dancing to the catchy pop music blaring over the sound system. The path to them is crowded with other sweating high-schoolers, so Jungkook decides just the two of you should go and take photos. He pulls you towards the photo booths, lining up with the other groups and couples waiting their turns. It hasn’t escaped your notice that he is still holding on to your hand. Tight.

“Don’t you want to go dance with the others?” you gesture towards those in the middle of the floor, laughing as one of the boys loses his balance mimicking a slut drop.

“No, I want to take some stupid pictures with my best friend and date for the evening.” He winks at you, a move that should come off as light -hearted and cringy. Instead it feels like he has shot you in the heart. The response you come back with shocks you.

“Just because you’re in love with me.” You accompany the remark by sticking your tongue out at him. He grabs your chin and makes you look him directly in the eyes. Your heart beats double time. It looks like he is going to kiss you. Before his face gets close enough to yours, he ruins it.

“You wish Y/N.” he laughs it off, but you see it as your chance. Now or never, tonight’s the night…

“Actually…” and then it’s your turn for pictures. You don’t get a chance to get the rest of the sentence out. Whether he heard or not you don’t know but now he is excitedly rummaging around a box of props. He pulls out a silver feather boa and oversized-blue sunglasses for you, finding a matching set for himself. It’s a strip of four photos. One smile, one where he jabs you in the ribs, one with silly faces, and one where you kiss him… only on the cheek. Not enough to throw yourself in the deep end, just enough to gauge his reaction.

His ears turn bright red and he stammers about going to find the others as you exit the booth. It has to be a good sign if you make him flustered, right? The next hour is spent ruining all the work that had gone into this evening. Hair stuck to sweaty foreheads, makeup creasing around the eyes, lipstick wiped on the backs of hands. When the live band comes onto play, you and your friends head outside for air. It’s nice feeling the wind, a slight chill in the late hour. Most of your friends can’t hack it for too long, choosing to return to the dance floor in time for the party tracks to come on. Eventually it leaves just you and him. You hear the opening chords of the cha cha slide start up inside and decide now is a good a time as ever, more than eager to avoid the choreographed dance portion of the evening.

“Can I talk to you?” you reach for his hand. He turns to look at you properly and sees the serious look on your face, his brows furrowing to match.

“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing’s wrong, just come with me.” He lets you drag him away from the gym. You head toward the school greenhouse, no one is going to come looking for you there.

“This is weirdly private Y/N, are you sure everything is okay?” he feels your forehead as if he is worried you have suddenly fallen ill.

“I’ve been trying to tell you this for the longest time and I can’t not anymore, it’s time.” He opens his mouth to speak again, the confusion evident in his eyes. You raise a finger to his lip to stop him. “I’m in love with you.” The words escape more like vomit than a statement. It feels so freeing to get the words out. You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. Finally admitting how you feel is an amazing feeling. Until you take in the way he is looking at you. You might as well have grown a second head. Your about to speak again when he turns on his heel and makes a run for it.

He walks briskly away from the concealed shed and back inside of the school. You don’t know if you should laugh or cry. Of all the responses you thought you’d get; abandonment was not one of them. It takes you a moment to snap out of the shock he had left you in. you follow the trail he took back into the main hall. Spotting him even through the crowd, people parted as he passed them. He beelines straight through the gym and though the doors into the main corridors. When you make it into the hallway, he is at the other end about to disappear around a corner.

“Stop running away from me!” you yell a little too loud, other lingering students stop and stare at you on their ways back from the bathroom. Unfortunately, you can’t bring yourself to care. Jungkook faulters for a moment before continuing. “Jeon Jungkook! I said stop.” You kick off your heels and run in the direction he disappeared. You nearly run full force into his chest as you turn the corner not expecting him to be there.

“Why?” his voice is small and harsh, not the usual bubbly tone he always has for you.

“Why what?” your more than a little annoyed that you had to chase him only for him to ask you a question.

“Why do you love me?” it’s not the question you thought he’d ask. Why now? How long? What’s your ring size? Those were the questions you had been prepared for. Not why do you love him. you thought that was obvious. “Seriously, why do you think your in love with me?” that stung ‘think’ he doesn’t believe you. Thinks its some silly girly crush you have.

“I love you because you’re you. You’re my best friend, you make me happy when no one else does, my heart hurts when I don’t see you for more than a day.” You reach for his hands, trying your best to convey your sincerity. He flinches in response. Pulls way back out of your reach.

“I don’t feel the same way.” Now it really does feel like someone has stabbed you. Run you straight through with a sword. Your stomach twists so hard you might throw up. This wasn’t an option. In all the ways you had imagine your prom night going, this hadn’t crossed your mind. You taste the tears at the corners of your lips before you realise your crying. “You can’t just spring something like this on someone Y/N! we were having such a great night, why did you have to do this.” He is not only rejecting you, he is blaming you for having feelings. It’s all too much.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. The lump in your throat makes it hard for you to speak at all. “I just thought…”

“You thought wrong.” His response is so fast, cutting off every chance you might’ve had to put a band aid over the situation. Maybe held it together until the night was over. Now there is no chance of that.

“I’m sorry.” You try again but he just rolls his eyes. Instead of making you sadder, this reaction makes you angry. How dare he. How dare he just dismiss you like you never meant anything to him. Like you weren’t even a friend.

“I should take you home.” He gestures towards a nearby exit. He doesn’t reach for your hand to guide you like he would’ve any other point in the night. You shake you head and walk back in the direction you came, picking up your shoes as you passed them. You walked straight out of the front gates and all the way home. That was the last conversation you’d have with Jungkook for a long time.

Graduation came and went. He tried to talk to you a few times in person, but you just walked away. Still seething at the way he reacted.  He texted you constantly, left voicemails until you blocked his number. Your other friends never found out exactly what happened. They pieced bits together from what the two of you were able to talk about but never the full picture. When he started coming to your house to apologise you decided it was time to move on and headed to college early.

You were in town for a wedding. One of your high school friends had managed to meet the love of their life while away at college and asked you to come. It was a nice excuse to visit your parents. You didn’t come home as often as you would’ve liked. The town felt a little haunted after you finished school, so you tried hard to avoid it. Especially at times like this.

You were standing in your childhood bedroom, dressed to the nines once more. This time knowing that Jungkook was not going to be waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. But he might be at the wedding. Getting over the boy you had never really been with was more of a challenge than you could’ve ever imagined. It took you almost the entire first year away to truly get some peace on the situation. You even started to understand his point of view. He was just an 18-year-old boy trying to enjoy one of the last nights he’d get with his friends. The you had gone and dumped a whole load of new information on him. It wasn’t fair of you, just as much as it wasn’t fair of him. Truthfully, a little part of you would always wonder what if. What if he had felt the same way, would people be coming home for your wedding instead? Or would it have fizzled out long distance?

You are pulled out of your thoughts by your phone signalling the arrival of your uber. Taking a deep breath, you grabbed you clutch and headed out, eerily reminiscent of that night.

Five years later.

The wedding is at a fancy hotel on the other side of town. You are escorted by the ushers into the main room. you quickly scan the area for him. You don’t even know if he is coming but you don’t want to be caught off guard. Coming up empty you thank the groom’s men and find a seat in the back of the bride’s section where you can survey the room.

It feels ridiculous being so on guard around the person that used to mean the world to you. Your eyes meet as soon as he walks through the door. He seems genuinely surprised to see you there. He tries a weak smile and lifts his hand to wave in your direction, but you put your head down, choosing to focus on the intricacies of the program instead. 4 hymns and a sermon. For a nonchurch wedding it sure seemed religious. You roll your eyes and settle in for a long one. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he skulks away. Sitting a few rows in front of you. You allow yourself the luxury of looking at him now that he can’t look back. His hair is a lot longer now. The suit he has chosen definitely fits a lot better than his prom tux. His shoulders are nicely outlined, strong and broad. It’s a nice visual.

The wedding seems to happen around you. Old friends come over to catch up. Vows are exchanged everyone is shuffled into a banquet hall. All the while you are watching Jungkook out of the corner of your eye. Seeing him go through the motions just as you are. Three tables away. Clearly your friend has been smart enough to think that through when creating two singles tables in her seating plan.

The night wore on. Speeches were made, drinks were spilt. More than one groom’s man ripped his trousers on the dance floor. You were getting some air in the gardens when he found you.

“You look beautiful as ever.” His voice is soft, but it still makes you jump, not expecting him to approach you at all.

“Thanks.” You move to brush passed him, eager to put some space between you. Very Much not wanting to exchange awkward pleasantries with the man that, after today, you were sure still owned your heart. He steps back into your path, and makes you meet his eyes. It hurts all over again. Every feeling you had that night rushes back, every bit of progress you’d made since then erased in a matter of seconds.

“Can we talk? Please?” he sounds almost as desperate to talk to you as you are to leave.

“Talk about what Jungkook? It’s been years, just let it lie.”

“Exactly it’s been years and I know how I feel about you now, know how I felt about you then… please just let me explain myself.” He pleads with you. You stand firm, half of you longing to hear him out, the other half wanting to run the way he had.

“Why should I let you talk now? You didn’t let me talk then.” You can hear the venom dripping in your tone but can’t bring yourself to adjust your voice.

“I was a kid back then Y/N, and I was scared I was going to lose you” he chuckles darkly “I guess I did that anyway.” He grabs for your hand, this time you get to pull away from him. None of this is fair, where was this person when you needed him five years ago? He sighs at your reaction. “Look I was terrified okay? I didn’t know how I felt about you. I just knew everything was changing and I didn’t want us to change. But I know who I am and what I want now, and that’s you.” He closes the distance you had put between you in one stride. His mouth heavy on yours trying to prove a point.

You can’t bring yourself to pull away this time. Instead melting into his embrace. Letting yourself indulge in the boy that was all you ever wanted.

“Why now? Why not then?” you ask when he finally pulls away.

“Because you wouldn’t speak to me until now. I wanted to tell you the day after, but you wouldn’t talk to me. And you were right to do so. I was such an asshole to you about it. Let me make it up to you.” He peppers your face with kisses.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have cut you off like that. I was scared too.” He holds you tight cradling you into his chest. You stand there for a while. Taking in everything about him that you’d missed. The smell of fresh cotton, the warmth he always radiated. All of it.

“I have a room upstairs if you want to go. Maybe we could watch a movie?” you pull away to look straight up at him. he must have realised what it sounded like then because his mouth formed an o and his eyes widened. “Wait no, I really did mean a movie.” He tries to backtrack.

“What if you didn’t mean a movie?” as soon as your meaning sinks in, he is sprinting away. This time with you in tow, struggling to keep up. Eventually he decides you are slowing him down. He lifts you bridal style into the nearest elevator. He refuses to put you down, even though you are forced into a standstill. As soon as the door dings, he is through them. Balancing you and opening the door isn’t even a challenge as he bursts through into the luxurious hotel room. He throws you unceremoniously on to the bed before discarding his jacket on the floor. You watch, propped up on your elbows, as he loosens his tie and kicks off his shoes before helping you with yours. He runs his hand up the back of your calf, rolling down the stockings you’d worn in an effort to avoid tights.

His hair falls into his eyes as he meets your gaze, and you can’t take the teasing anymore. Grabbing him by the collar, you pull him on top of you. Your lips finding his, unwilling to let go until your lungs hurt. He has one arm by your head, supporting some of his weight while the other trails down your waist. He drags his fingertips along your thigh as he moves your hemline. With your skirt out of the way his hand moves in between you bodies finding its way to your clothed pussy.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so long… can I?” he kisses down your neck as he asks, leaving you barely able to respond. You just about manage to squeak out your approval. He wastes no time, biting into the soft flesh of your thighs as he wraps his hands around your panties. They are disposed of quickly, likely ruined by the slick you can feel pooling between your legs. He licks along your slit, barely delving between your folds. The tip of his tongue flicking at your clit briefly before he goes back and starts the motion again. Each time he gets close to your clit he brushes it slightly, so you shiver with anticipation, but he waits until you are practically panting to go any further. His right hand joins his talented tongue. Two fingers slipping inside of you. The slight stretch burns so good. His mouth moves up, biting gingerly at the sensitive nub he had been teasing for so long. Your thighs clamp involuntarily around his head. He wraps his free arm around your leg, driving you apart to give him better access. His tongue comes back into play drawing little shapes on your clit as he sucks down. He curls his fingers in just the right way to have you coming undone underneath him. Biting your lips to keep yourself quiet. He swats at your thigh until your teeth let go, forcing your moans out into the open. When you stop writhing, he lets your leg go and wipes his face with the back of his hand.

Sitting back on his feet he won’t stop looking at you weird. Its an expression you can’t ever remember him making before, and that worries you.

“What? Why are you looking at me? Were the noises too weird? I tried to keep them in…” he pulls you up to him by the wrists and kisses you before answering.

“I love you… please shut up. Your moans are the sexiest thing I think I have ever heard. Now I just really want to get you out of the rest of your clothes. He reaches around to unzip your dress, fumbling for a moment until you take pity and take it off yourself. His shirt is already unbuttoned by the time the fabric is over your head. You help him to push the sleeves off his arms, taking great pleasure in rubbing your hands across his toned arms. You marvel at the amount of muscle he has gained for a moment before he drags you back to him, falling onto his back so you straddle him.

You make quick work of the clothing on his lower half. Perhaps a little too keen to see what you were working with. He does not disappoint. His cock is above average in length, immediately evident as it slaps against his stomach when released from it’s confines. You shuffle back for a moment to admire the full image. His hair falls haphazardly around his head, lips swollen from the kisses. Perfectly chiselled abs leading into an arrow to what you can only describe as the motherlode. Everything about this moment was worth the wait. But you refused to wait any longer. You stroke your hand softly along his shaft, pumping a few times before moving to sit yourself on top. You sink down slowly at first, having to take extra precaution to not hurt yourself. His eyes pinch shut and his nose crinkles as a little whimper escapes his mouth. You slap his chest.

“If I’m not allowed to stay quiet, neither are you.” He nods enthusiastically and opens one eye just as you reach the base of his dick.

“Fuck.” His voice low and breathy. Sounds more like he just ran a marathon than had a girl sit on him. As you feel more comfortable, you start to wriggle your hips, not thrusting away, just enough friction to tease him like he did you. You don’t get away with it for quite as long though. His hands are on your hips and you are powerless to stop him as he makes you bounce, meeting each thrust with one of his own. Soon it’s not enough for him. Too worked up to relinquish any control. He flips you quickly, now on your knees. He barely gives you time to orientate yourself before driving into you from behind. Fast, sloppy thrusts used to reach his own end. He snakes one arm underneath you. Skilled fingers finding your clit, playing with you until you tighten around him. making it difficult for him to keep going.

Soon he spills over, cumming deep inside of you. Holding onto you with all he has. Instead of pulling out, he falls over with you in his arms. Cuddling into the back of you as he comes down. You wiggle experimentally on his softening cock, earning you a growl. You giggle at his oversensitivity and try to get free as painlessly as possible.

“Don’t go” he is whiny when he is tired, it’s so endearing. He makes a grabby hand at you as you clamber of the side of the bed

“I’m only going to the bathroom; I’ll be right back.” You kiss him on the cheek as you round the bed.

“Good because I never want to be without you, ever again.” he admits as you walk into the bathroom.

February request - open

Masterlist

[rose-lord-of-simps]

Can I make a request your headcanons for everyone reacing to hearing that Luke got into a fight with a lower level demon and won? Chihuahua Luke, and completely platonic ofcourse

YES PLEASE THANK YOU- Okay, for some reason I can’t find this ask on my phone’s notifications so if there are typos, I apologize, I’ll be doing an editing check on my phone after posting. So I’m sorry if you sent this forever ago and I’m only getting to it now!

The Obey Me characters reacting to Luke WINNING A FIGHT- YES- GO CHIHUAHUA! 

New datables included!

Lucifer

Excuse me

WAT?

He did...

What?

He’s not dead?

Are we sure?

We’re sure?

okay. 

Honestly I feel like he is the most shocked. 

Tiny chihuahua Luke, fought a demon... and won? 

He hears it was a lower class demon and  has to ask “How lower class?”

Will most definitely tease Luke about being a chihuahua but secretly is super impressed. 

Wants to give Luke a head pat and say good job but doesn’t.

Didn’t tell Diavolo to ask Simeon what kind of comfort items Luke likes.

Totally wasn’t the one who got Luke a new bed, fluffy blankets, pillows galore, and stuffed animals of all sizes as a good job present.

Totally not. 

Mammon

Confusion?

Luke knows what fighting is?

SHOCKED

Too shocked to even talk.

Doesn’t care why the fight started

Kind of just wants to hunt down the lower level demon and ask them how they managed to make Luke fight them

Slightly scared of Luke now but wont admit it.

Levi

Miraculously was walking by when the fight started

Recorded everything on his DDD

Had to hold himself back from laughing at the entire thing so that the audio quality could be good

Wished he had popcorn

Was shocked Luke knew how to get violent but thoroughly enjoyed watching a demon get beat up by this tiny little chihuahua. 

Satan

His immediate reaction is just

“wait why were they fighting?”

What got cute baby Luke- to fight a demon?

Asks Levi for the video

Is now inclined to teach Luke how to throw a proper punch. 

Admits he underestimated the chihuahua 

However, that doesn’t stop him from laughing his booty off at how the Demon runs away from a screaming Luke in Beel’s arms.

Asmo

Surprised like-

He didn’t even brake a nail?

Watches the video of what happened with Satan and is laughing the whole time.

Kind of proud of Luke.

Tells Luke he saw a video of the fight and congratulates him

Also asks how he didn’t brake a nail.

Beel

Was there for the whole thing.

Had to keep Luke from chasing the Demon

Didn’t react immediately though, kind of just watched for the first few minutes

Then pulled Luke away from chasing the demon down.

Impressed but are Luke’s fists okay?

Takes Luke home and tells Simeon, the Purgatory Hall resident adult no Solomon doesn’t count, what happened.

Belphie

Would just smirk and say 

“knew it.”

Had a feeling Luke knew how to at the very least defend himself

Helps Satan and Barbs teach Luke how to properly throw a punch. 

Offers to help Luke get a punch in o Lucifer if he ever wants to.

Sees this as new potential for being annoying for Lucifer.

Diavolo

Honestly thrilled.

One less thing to worry about is lower level demons harming Luke now!

Has to fill out paperwork about it now

But congratulates Luke on his win 

Is honestly kind of tempted to throw him a party

Had Levi send him the video of the fight and made sure to watch it with Lucifer later

Happily asks Simeon what kind of stuff Luke likes as comfort items for Lucifer.

Finds it cute how Lucifer wants to give him a present.

Barbatos

A little concerned for Luke’s safety because

Are higher demons going to come and see how much they can rile him up until he fights now?

Watched the video Levi took later though and shamelessly enjoys watching Luke get angry at this demon. 

Finds Luke fighting to be a funny concept.

Helps Satan teach Luke how to properly fight.

Solomon

Stops whatever he is doing.

Lets the information sit in his brain and process for about 5 minutes before giving Luke a high five

Tells him good job and congrats on the win

Proud of Luke 

teases Luke endlessly about it though

Simeon

Kind of mad at Luke because he isn’t supposed to be fighting anyone at all

But also knew Luke would be able to obliterate the lower class demons and isn’t surprised.

Secretly proud of Luke for standing up for himself.

Doesn’t easily excuse this though, he can have his presents from a mysterious source who he totally doesn’t know is Lucifer but he has to clean the whole Purgatory Hall.

Most definitely teases Lucifer about getting Luke all that stuff. 

One of two people to figure out it was Lucifer who got Luke everything because, If it were Diavolo he would of given Luke everything openly. The only person who would ask Diavolo to ask Simeon about what Luke likes would be Lucifer.

Luke

Most shocked he won after Lucifer.

HE COULDN’T JUST LET THE DEMON KEEP TALKING! 

What else was he supposed to do?

BAKE HIM A CAKE!?

NO! 

He has celestial realm magic too ya know!

He just chooses not to use it because then he is gonna need THE BIGGEST nap

Has no regrets.

Got to snuggle up in his new bed with his new stuffies!

Bakes something for Lucifer as a thank you gift

Bonus!

look while I was writing this I started thinking about fluffy Luke and Lucifer having a sibling relationship and it’s making me cry so I gotta keep going-

“Lucifer, may I come in?”

“Yes chihuahua?”

QUE THE AGGRESSIVE LOVE

“I’M NOT A- no. fine. I made you poison apple pie! I hope you enjoy it you demon! Thank you for the gifts you never sent me!”

“Your welcome for absolutely nothing and I don’t like sweets!”

“That’s why It’s not too sweet! I put cinnamon and stuff in it so it wouldn’t be super sweet because I know you don’t like sweeter things!”

“I’ll enjoy it chihuahua!”

“I hope you do you lousy demon!”

STORMS OUT OF ROOM AND TAKES AN ANGRY NAP IN HIS NEW BED!

EATS THE PIE WITH A FROWN BUT LOVES IT!

A/N

Hope you enjoyed! Sorry again if you sent this a while ago and I didn’t see it until now. I was using Tumblr on my computer because sometimes I just prefer it, and noticed the ask in my inbox. I hope you liked it! This was a lot of fun to make! Thank you so much for the ask!

[beatricethecat2]

“I’m super bummed about the yurt,” Myka says.

“It is rather unfortunate," Helena says. "Perhaps internet rentals are unreliable?”

“That’s how everything’s done these days. And it’s not their fault, the pump died, and no water means it’s a no-go. But I still want that river view.”

“And the solitude. Plus the solar-powered generator.”

“You were super into that,” Myka says. “But this place…” She pushes at the cards scattered in front of her. “They just left stuff lying around. Such a dump.”

“It was rather last minute. Merely a stop-gap; a place to rest our weary heads after nights under the stars.”

“And backs on the hard ground,” Myka grumbles. “Where’d you find this?” She twirls a yellow flower between her thumb and forefinger.

“In the garden behind the shed. Though ‘garden’ and 'shed’ are generous terms.”

“Thanks for picking it. And thanks for being so upbeat about this,” Myka says, cracking a small smile.

“Thank you for humoring my curiosity.” Helena gathers the cards within her reach and piles them into a neat stack.

“It’s given us a destination, which we needed.” Myka pushes more cards towards Helena. “You’re sure none of the sites we saw are what you remember?”

“From the stereographs? No.” Helena fans the cards out and begins to arrange them in suits.

“Could you…could it be you don’t remember it as well as you thought?

"Stereographs were the virtual reality of my day. They immersed one in places inherently foreign to our own. The take-away memories were vivid. I was hoping…”

“Hoping what?” Myka says, scooting closer, joining in organizing the cards.

“That the physicality of the ruins would trigger an emotional response. I viewed the images at one of Charles’s parties not long before I was bronzed. My reaction was quite visceral; I’d felt life flowing through the structures, even though they were long abandoned.”

Helena stares at the card in her hand.

“Then again, I wasn’t exactly in my right mind. Perhaps it’s a ridiculous quest.” She lays the card, a joker, on the table.

“Hey, we’ll keep looking,” Myka says, laying her hand over Helena’s. “We’ll regroup in Vegas, then go north and hit Mesa Verde. It’s pretty magical.”

“You’ve been before?”

“Girl Scout trip. Long, miserable bus ride. But even as a kid, the cliff dwellings felt magical.”

“Perhaps they’re the site I’m looking for!” Helena says, perking up. “And, perhaps we met there in the past. Star-crossed lovers, throughout time and space.”

“Past lives? You believe in that?”

“Not in a grand sense,” Helena says, aligning the gazes of the queen of hearts and queen of spades to face each other. “But I do appreciate that these days, one can mention such trivial mythologies without repercussions.”

“What do you mean?”

“In my day, as a woman, there was little room for flippant musing. Christian values dictated our every move, while Spiritualism promoted the fanatic embrace of communing with the dead. Not to mention the base-level assumption women were of a lesser intellect.”

“So you’d never say it out loud.”

“Never. In fact, I’d blocked it out. Hard science was my escape but at the expense of my sanity.”

“I suppose we all need a sense that something out there's guiding us,” Myka says, plucking the two other queens from the spread and aligning them as Helena did. “It’s kind of romantic to think our connection’s lasted hundreds of years.”

“But you’re not sold.”

“Nah.” Myka slips the cards on top of each other and slides them back into the pile.

“Perhaps my bronzing was the universe’s way of aligning our presence.”

“Sounds like a story you might write. Or one you already did.”

“So pragmatic, Myka Bering.”

“You’re the romantic,” Myka says, bumping Helena’s shoulder.

“I’m a woman of science!” Helena quips playfully.

“Hm, yeah,” Myka mumbles, turning to look towards the other side of the trailer. “Come with me, 'woman of science.’ Let’s test out this awful looking bed.”

She grabs Helena’s hand and tugs her across the room. They tumble in tandem onto the full-size futon.

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Bering and Wells On the Road ("Warehouse 13" Season 5 replacement) Season 1: Episode 5 Title: Las Vegas: Hopes, Dreams, and a Little Bit of Crazy

Summary: Myka and Helena travel across the expanse of Texas toward the arid Southwest, tracking down a memory. A last-minute cancellation leads to less-than-ideal accommodations and musings on the universe. A stop in Vegas turns into an artifact hunt after a few nights on the town. While there, a less than supernatural mystery garners honest talk, revealing a sticking point that, for better or worse, is left hanging to be resolved down the line.

Previously: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4

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

***BONUS SCENE***

“What’s this?” Myka asks, holding a piece of paper found while tidying the room before checkout.

Helena turns from packing and squints at the page.

“It appears to be an advertisement for burlesque.”

“It’s a strip club.”

“There’s a distinction?”

“You’ve watched enough cop shows to know.”

“Touché,” Helena says with a smirk. “Were you considering attending?”

“It’s from your pocket! The stuff you took out to dry clean your coat after it got gooed.”

“I don’t recall saving that piece of ephemera.”

“Maybe you recall this?” Myka flips the paper over.

Helena steps closer and squints again.

“Do you need glasses?”

“I haven’t had proper tea yet,” Helena grumbles. “It appears to be writing.”

“It’s a name. And a number. Who's Giselle?”

“Ah…” A light bulb goes off behind Helena’s eyes. “The tall, blonde you were ogling at the bar.”

“Me? What blonde? Oh…” A dimmer bulb goes off behind Myka’s eyes. “I thought I recognized her from that show we saw, Zumanity.”

“And I’d thought she’d reminded you of a tall blonde from your past.”

“Sam was a man.”

“Gender is a construct–”

“I know! I don’t need another lecture–”

“–designed to control the masses, just like– ”

“Capitalism, religion, television….who knows what else,” Myka gruffs. “No more podcasts in the car for a while, OK?" 

Helena crosses her arms over her chest and grunts dismissively. Myka's face pinches as she holds her ground.

"So you, what, went up to this woman when I took that call from the Warehouse?”

“As it happens, she spoke with me,” Helena says, puffing up like a bird on the defense.

“She came to our table?”

“I’d gone to the bar. I needed a top-up as you’d been gone for an immeasurable amount of time.”

“And she just happened to be there?”

“Coincidentally.”

“Coincidentally? And she 'coincidentally’ gave you her number?”

“We had a lovely conversation about the mechanics from the show. The hanging armatures, the chains, the silks, the water tank. And the athleticism that went into their provocative stunts.”

“Uh-huh. But she gave you her number. Why?”

“I believe there was a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?”

“Must you parrot me so?” Helena plants her hands on her hips.

“If you’d tell me what really happened, I wouldn’t have to.” Myka mirrors Helena’s pose.

“Fine. You seemed so enamored, I thought to ask questions–”

“I thought I recognized her, that’s all!”

“She was quite stunning. Did I mention statuesque?”

“Helena, why?” Myka waves the page in Helena’s direction.

“She offered us a backstage tour.”

“Us, or you?”

“I’d pointedly mentioned you, so us.”

“Oh.” Myka’s shoulders slump. “What does 'backstage tour’ mean?”

“I believe a peek behind the production.”

“Because you said there was a misunderstanding.”

“Due to her somewhat pointed overtures.”

“I knew it! She was hitting on you.” Myka smacks the desk with her hand. 

Helena grimaces. “I believe she was 'fishing’”

“Do you even know what that is?”

“I do, as per the aforementioned police procedurals. In fact, it was….refreshing, being courted by a woman." 

"I’m a woman!”

“Yes, but….in the wild, so to speak.”

“Did you…” Myka starts, then glances at the paper again. She sits on the edge of the bed and looks up at Helena. “Did you want to go out with her?" 

"Again, I’d pointedly pointed out I was taken.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because we rushed off New York, New York the minute your call from the Warehouse finished.” Helena throws her hands in the air. “We then spent the majority of yesterday chasing an elusive King Kong around that scale model of the city.”

“We did. Stupid antiques convention.”

“I swear we spend more time on Warehouse business than our own.”

“Like once a month.”

“Every week.”

“Every other week. When they call us. Us getting whammied doesn’t count.”

“Mine was New Orleans. Yours Austin. But the others…”

Myka tallies missions on fingers until she hits ten. “You’re right. We’ve spent a lot of time on Warehouse stuff. I’m sorry.”

Helena shakes her head while breathing out a heavy sigh. She sits next to Myka and lays a hand on her thigh. “To answer your question, we’re off today anyway, so there was no point in mentioning it.”

Myka slips her hand over Helena’s. “I bet you actually wanted to see the mechanics backstage. That’s something people do on vacation.”

“Quite an improvement from Trouble Wit,” Helena says.

“I don’t know that that is.”

“Illusions with pleated paper. Parlor tricks, but they delighted Christina so.”

“See, I like hearing that stuff,” Myka says, squeezing Helena’s hand. “Would you have told me any of this if I hadn’t found the flyer cleaning up?’ She hands the paper to Helena.

"Why would it matter?” Helena crumples the paper and lobs it towards the garbage can. It bounces off and onto the floor. 

“Because for this to work we need to talk to each other, tell each other how we feel.” Myka looks Helena in the eye. “I can’t read your mind.”

“Then, perhaps we were not destined to meet throughout time and space.”

“Hey, you can’t take it back. I like that idea now.” Myka threads her fingers through Helena's and flips their hands over. “You’re really annoyed about the work stuff?”

“I was hoping to have you all to myself.”

“You do.” Myka squeezes Helena’s hand again and lifts it up, kissing its back. “How much time do we have before checkout?”

Helena glances at her wristwatch. “Not nearly enough.”

“But it could be.” Myka threads a lock of hair behind Helena’s ear and guides their lips together. Their kiss leads to more-than-kissing in record time.

Next Scene: Running late to checkout…

-TBC-

NOTES: The quote, “Las Vegas is a city built on hopes, dreams and a little bit of crazy,” is by Eleanor Goggin. If you haven’t seen a well-shot stereograph in a viewer, you are missing out. Their mock-3D spaces from bygone eras can be mind-blowing.Myka with the flyer is from a season four episode where she and Pete go to Las Vegas. The show Zumanity is a racy offshoot of Cirque du Soleil and just closed after a seventeen-year run in Vegas. I started reading a fascinating dissertation about why middle- and upper-class Victorian women embraced Spiritualism. In a nutshell, it gave them autonomy and a sense of power within the rigid confines of what was expected of them as women while they remained safe within the construct of home. H.G. would have bristled at that, because she wanted more. But I’m certain she would have been fascinated by Hilma af Klint’s amazing drawings and paintings, even though they were based in Spiritualism and Theosophy. Oh and here's on of the stereographs. (H.G. would have seen it later than 1898.) Also, the title font/design is from the first edition of the book you are thinking of but the content is not related.

[isitgintimeyet]

Just A Friend

Just another Sunday and just another chapter. Thanks to all of you who read, like, reblog, comment. i appreciate it more than you know.

thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

previous

AO3

Chapter 4: From Park to Parlay

There’s something rather special about this time of year with the transition from spring to summer when everything is still so fresh and green. The long, light evenings make me feel like I’ve been given an extra couple of hours in my day.

My flat has a balcony. It’s small—just enough space for a bistro table, two chairs and a few pots of herbs—but I love it. I come home from work and sit out there, sometimes with a cup of coffee, sometimes with something a bit stronger. Of course this is weather dependent — I am in Scotland, after all.

But sometimes, like tonight, sitting on my balcony isn’t enough. I want to be outside in all that fresh air and sunshine. Plus, one of my neighbours has acquired a new hobby, apparently. It’s either learning the violin or strangling cats. Although it sounds more like the latter, I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt and say it’s the former. I have finally managed to identify the piece she’s having a crack at. It’s from ‘Frozen’ — ‘Let It Go’ and I really wish she would.

Besides, if I wander into the park, there’s a certain ice cream kiosk that might still be open. My mouth waters at the thought of their cherry bakewell ice cream. So, I grab a cardigan, keys and a bit of cash, and head out.

As I stroll through the park, I’m thankful that I brought my cardigan. The sun is still warm, but there’s a distinct chill in the shade. Not enough of a chill to put me off an ice cream, though.

The kiosk is just on the verge of closing for the day, but he spies me doing that stupid little pretend run that’s actually no faster than walking and waits. I smile gratefully as I hand over the money in exchange for a double cone. Turning away, I can hear the shutters closing.

There’s a bench nearby, overlooking the pond and still in the sun… unoccupied. I sit down ready to enjoy my ice cream in peace. After the cacophony of a violin bow being scraped painfully across strings, this is sheer bliss — only the sound of a few argumentative ducks and the occasional playful dog. No-one to disturb me, no-one to—

At first, all I can hear are two voices, coming from the path behind me. Nothing above a murmur — one low pitched, the other higher. I can’t make out what they’re saying. Not that I would want to.  The higher voice, a female, is definitely getting louder now. She’s not happy by the sound of it. The other, clearly male, keeps to a calm murmur.

“Are ye telling me I’m imagining things, then?”

I can’t hear the response, but it’s obviously not to her liking.

“I ken she works fer ye.  But she has her eye on ye. I’m no’ stupid. D’ye think I’m a mug?”

The voice sounds a bit familiar but I can’t place it anywhere. Perhaps we go to the same coffee shops or bars or—

“That’s it, James Fraser. I’m going, I mean it... Ye ken where tae find me… this is me, going… bye… I said bye.  Fine, dinna answer me, then.”

The annoyance in her voice registers in my brain. I know why she sounds so familiar— it’s little Miss James-Fraser-isn’t-here-don’t-call-again-ever. Which means that, at any moment, one or other of them might be rounding this corner and think that I was eavesdropping.

Quickly I get to my feet ready to walk away —slap bang straight into Samsonite-owning Jamie Fraser. I take a step back. The first thing I notice is he’s not wearing a white dress shirt this time. He’s far more casually dressed in a plain white t-shirt… a plain white t-shirt now adorned with a large splodge of pink ice cream right in the middle of his chest.

“Oh, gosh, I’m — I’m so sorry,” I stammer apologetically as I fumble in my pockets for a paper serviette or tissue.

He looks up. The vexed expression on his face gives way to one of amusement.

“Claire Beauchamp,” he announces. “I didna recognise ye without yer suitcase.”

“I am sorry,” I continue to apologise as I pass him a somewhat crumpled but clean tissue.

He makes no attempt to leave, but settles himself on the bench and starts to dab ineffectually at the pink stain.

“Was it good?” He nods at the battered cone I am still holding.

“Oh yes, the best. I’d buy you one as compensation but they’re closed now.”

“It’s fine. If I feel the need I can always suck on ma shirt.” He looks down at the stain, glaringly obvious against the pristine white of his t-shirt. “Sae, how are ye doing?”

I perch on the bench next to him. Apparently we’re having a conversation.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I answer politely. “And how are you?”

“Me, I’m no’ sae bad,”  He looks annoyed, then shakes his head and gives a little half smile. “Look, I’m sorry if any of that… er…weel, if ye heard any of that.”

Do I lie? Pretend that I heard nothing? I’m not a very good liar. Geillis always says that I have a glass face, you can see every emotion clearly etched on it and I think she’s right. So I choose to answer noncommittally.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s jes’...” he pauses for a moment, considering his choice of words. “Jes’ … tricky.”

He seems lost in thought. Maybe I need to remind him that his wife-partner-girlfriend-housekeeper has just stormed off and will clearly be awaiting some sort of reaction from him.

“Shouldn’t you be… ?” I gesture towards the path in the direction she must have taken.

“Nah, I’m no’ going after her… no’ this time.” He adds the last bit under his breath.

“Oh, ok.”

“That's what she wants, ye ken. The attention, me chasing after her, making promises…” his voice tails off as he realises what he’s doing.

He looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I shouldna be blathering like this tae ye. I dinna ken why.”

I do. Sometimes it’s easier to vent, to get things off your chest, to a stranger rather than family or friends. You can pretty much say what you like, confident that it’s not going to come back and bite you, or spread like chinese whispers around your peer group.

“No need to apologise. It can be easier explaining things to strangers, sometimes.”

He smiles. “Ah, but, I dinna think we’re strangers. After all, I’m well acquainted with yer holiday… er...shall we say, accessories.”

If his intention was to make me blush, he’s succeeded. I feel myself redden. “It was a hen party. I had to get into the spirit.”

“So ye say.” He raises an eyebrow as if to question my explanation.  “Och, dinna mind me, I’m jes’ teasing.”

I screw my face up in mock disgust and he chuckles.

“My mam told me never tae pull faces else ye’ll be stuck like that if the wind changes.”

I assume a serious expression.

“That’s much better, Miss Beauchamp,” his face becomes serious too. “But, aye, I get what ye’re saying— about talking tae people ye dinna ken. Ye’ve no horse in this race, as it were. Everyone else that I ken seems tae have an opinion.”

I’m suddenly conscious that the remains of my cone are still in my hand, now totally melted. Noticing my awkward fidgeting, he returns the crumpled tissue to me. I wipe my hands and deposit all the debris in the bin by the bench. He settles back, obviously keen to continue our conversation.

“Sae, are ye up fer giving me yer opinion then about ma situation?”

I’ve never thought of myself as an agony aunt, but I’m curious to know more about him. It’s reassuring to know other people have complications in their love lives too.

“I don’t know enough to give you my opinion, but feel free to unload, if you want to.”

He leans forward, his large hands resting on his denim clad knees and sighs. He has very nice hands with neatly shaped nails, no ragged cuticles or bitten nails. There’s a smattering of reddish hairs on the back. I always notice a man’s hands. Frank had very smooth, elegant hands with long, slim fingers. Jamie’s are much broader than Frank’s, which fits with his whole Viking throwback vibe. I force myself away from his hands and focus on what he's telling me.

“Ye see, ye get tae an age where all yer friends are in couples and having bairns. And ye feel that’s what ye should do, have a proper ‘relationship’.”

I inhale sharply at the way he says the word, so similar to my own thoughts. He glances at me, and continues.

“Ah, ye ken what I mean. And sae ye go along wi’ it when ye friends introduce ye tae a lass. And ye date… and it’s nice, but there’s always that feeling that they want something more, that they want the whole ‘relationship’ thing. They want more than ye can give. And that leads tae disappointment and arguments. They push, trying tae force ye to commit.”

He sits back and looks at me. “Mebbe it’s…och, i dinna ken. Jes’ ignore me. I’m a stupid dolt.”

“No, I don’t mind at all. Honestly.”

“I mean, Laoghaire is a nice enough lass, but it seems the more she pushes, the more I back away. It makes her more suspicious. If I dinna want her, then she reckons I must be after another. What do ye think?”

Do I tell him about her answering his phone? I mean, it seems like he’s coming to a conclusion all by himself. I decide not to volunteer any more information. And I know I said I wouldn’t give an opinion, but I just can’t help it. This is all too familiar to me.

“It is difficult but, ask yourself, is this fair to Laoghaire, or fair to you? Will this keep happening? I mean, I don’t know her, but will she be satisfied with what you are prepared to give? I think you already know your answer. And I think you know what you must do.”

He sighs again. “Aye, I do. But it’s no’ a pleasant thing, is it?”

I shake my head. The image of Frank’s devastation is still fresh in my mind. “It never is.”

The bench is now in shade, and it’s cooled down a lot. I shiver and wrap my cardigan tightly around me. Time to head home, I think.

“Aye, ye’re right. Time tae go.”

I’m not sure if he’s talking about the evening chill, or what he needs to do about the whole Laoghaire situation.

We both stand up at the same time. He extends his hand, and I take it in mine, which is more than a bit grubby and sticky, with the odd bit of tissue still stuck to it.

“Thank ye for listening, Claire, and fer yer opinion. It’s been a big help tae me. I dinna ken what it is but I feel I can talk tae ye. And I promise, next time, it’s yer turn. Ye can vent like ye want tae me and I’ll do the listening.”

“Will there be a next time?”

He smiles. “Oh aye, I’m sure there will be.”

[firebrands]

finally, then once more; steve/tony

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Explicit, 6.1k of a college au and the four times tony asks steve to fuck him, and the one time steve finally does | Stony Bingo Prompt: loss of virginity | on ao3

Maybe Tony’s lack of sleep is to blame for how he doesn’t check to see who’s taken the seat on the bar beside him. He’s too busy typing, cigarette hanging loose from his lips, trying to make the most of his waking hours before his vision gets blurry. Based on experience, that happens when he hits the 28-hour mark.

Whoever’s sitting beside him has their knee pressing against Tony’s. Tony can feel the warmth through his tattered jeans, worn down at the knee.

The man beside him clears his throat, and Tony looks up.

It’s a good thing the cigarette is almost done, because it falls out of Tony’s lips. He stares, slack-jawed, at the absolute specimen in front of him.

“Uh,” Tony says, very eloquently.

The man smirks, and Tony has to suppress a shiver.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, all buff and blonde and blue-eyed and perfect.

Tony tilts his head, mirroring the man’s smirk. “If you wanna get arrested, be my guest.”

The man groans. “What the hell are you doing at a bar, then?”

“Smoking and working,” Tony says, laughing a little. “The cafe I was at closed.”

“And what, you don’t have a place to stay?”

The question hits too close to the mark.

“No smoking in the building,” Tony says.

The man nods. “And how old are you, exactly?”

“Old enough,” Tony says, shifting so he’s fully facing the man.

The man snorts. “You one of them geniuses who got accelerated through school and went to MIT early, then?”

“Maybe,” Tony sniffs, takes in the gray henley, sleeves smeared with a bit of paint. “And you must be, what, a liberal arts major at BU?”

The man arches his eyebrow. “Steve Rogers,” he says, extending a hand. Tony grins and takes it.

“So what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” Tony asks, resting his elbow on the bar and lighting a cigarette.

Steve shrugs and takes a sip from his beer. “Well I was gonna buy someone a drink, but it seems like a glass of milk is more appropriate.”

“Are you calling me young?” Tony gasps, affronted.

Steve raises his eyebrows, biting back a smile. “Not calling you old enough, either.”

“I’m eighteen!” Tony says, furiously tapping his cigarette on the ashtray.

Steve laughs. “And easy to rile up, too,” he says.

Tony rolls his eyes. “I’m not taking this,” he says, putting out his cigarette with a huff. “I’m going to find somewhere else to work where beautiful blondes won’t be distracting me.”

“Oh, believe me. I think I can take your full attention,” Steve says, leaning back on the chair.

Tony stops packing his bag and stares. It’s a bit unfair, how gorgeous he looks even in the awful lighting of the dive bar.

“That’s not fair,” Tony says, brain to mouth filter completely shot as he teeters dangerously close to exhaustion.

“I’ll tell you what’s not fair,” Steve says, straightening up a little. “Is how you manage to look absolutely gorgeous even if I can tell you haven’t had any sleep.”

Tony groans and rolls his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Yes, you are,” Steve says, raking his eyes up and down Tony’s body.

Tony bites his lip, excitement thrumming in his gut.

“And you have a bit of ash—” Steve murmurs, leaning close and thumbing at Tony’s cheek. “There you go. Perfect.”

He’s close enough that Tony can feel Steve’s breath on his cheek, and Tony turns his head a little, jaw still cupped in Steve’s hand, to brush his lips against Steve’s wrist.

He’s close enough that Tony can hear Steve suck in a breath.

Steve looks at Tony, and Tony meets his gaze, challenging. Steve smirks, biting his lip before leaning close and kissing Tony. It’s mind-numbingly sweet—Steve’s lips are soft, and he uses his hand on Tony’s jaw to angle the kiss so they slot perfectly together. Tony parts his lips almost immediately and swallows down a moan when he feels Steve’s tongue in his mouth.

They pull away slowly, and Tony’s happy to see he’s not the only one who’s breathless.

“I’d ask if you wanted to get out of here,” Steve says, smiling at Tony. “But I figure you have a deadline coming up, right?”

“Who cares,” Tony says emphatically. He wants to keep kissing, wants to feel Steve’s skin, wants to maybe, finally—

“I care,” Steve says, eyebrow cocked. “Give me your number, and call me when you’ve turned that in.”

“You are unbelievable!” Tony hisses, but types his number into Steve’s phone anyway.

Steve laughs, and sends Tony a text. “Come on, let me walk you home or something,” he says, taking Tony’s bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“First of all,” Tony splutters, following Steve out of the bar, “I can carry my own bag. Second of all, can we focus on ‘or something’?” Even though Tony suggests it, he’s already wincing at the idea of Steve in his room, especially given the state he’d left it in, all those hours ago.

Steve takes Tony’s hand in his. “Where to?”

Tony makes more disgruntled noises as a blush heats his cheeks. “You’re the worst,” he says, as he leads them to his apartment, which is thankfully, barely a block away.

“Do you wanna come in?” Tony asks hopefully, standing outside his door.

Steve grins and leans down to press a kiss to Tony’s cheek. “Next time, maybe.”

Tony pulls Steve in to kiss him properly, filthily, hoping that it gets the message across.

Steve squeezes Tony’s hand. “Come on, you’re a genius, aren’t you? I’m sure you’ve heard about delayed gratification,” he teases, right before raising Tony’s hand to his lips.

“Oh,” Tony says, all rebuttals whiting out of his brain at the tenderness of Steve’s lips on his knuckles.

Steve smirks up at him. “Yeah, oh. Go finish that paper, then we can talk.”

Tony makes a disbelieving noise, not knowing what words to say first, and Steve presses a kiss to Tony’s forehead. “Good night, Tony.”

He disentangles their fingers and gently pushes Tony towards his door. Tony keeps shaking his head, unable to wrap his mind around everything that’s happened.

“Good night, Steve,” he mumbles, finally turning around to open the door. He throws a glance over his shoulder and sees Steve walking backwards onto the sidewalk. He meets Tony’s gaze and waves.

  ***

 Three days later Tony meets Steve for dinner in a small Chinese restaurant.

“Hi,” Tony says tentatively. He’s dated, of course, back in high school, all those girls and boys that Howard would turn his nose up to. And in college, too, starting out with drunken kisses that turned to coffee dates, soured only when faced with Tony’s schedule and sleeping habits.

This feels—it feels new. Possible. Tony’s wrapping up his last semester and he only has his thesis to finish, and after that… Well, he’ll worry about after when he has to.

“Hey,” Steve says, grinning at Tony like he hung the sun. “Eaten here before?”

“Can’t say I have,” Tony says, eyeing the menu. “You order.”

Dinner is pleasant, Steve talks about his thesis project, and listens intently when Tony talks about his. He asks a lot of questions, and Tony can’t help but smile when Steve’s face looks so pensive, as if he’s trying to puzzle it out on his own.

“We don’t need to talk about it,” Tony says, as a waitress clears the table.

“I want to, if you want to,” Steve says earnestly. “It’s just so different, I can barely wrap my head around it.”

“Yeah,” Tony laughs. “Science, huh.”

Steve snorts, pays for dinner, and offers to walk Tony home.

“You wanna—” Tony starts, chewing on his lip.

“Yeah, for a bit,” Steve says. “Can’t stay up too late or I’ll be useless in class tomorrow.”

Tony laughs, leading Steve inside. “Can’t relate.”

“Yeah, what’s a proper sleeping schedule, right?” Steve teases.

They sit down on Tony’s couch and Tony clears his throat.

Steve huffs out a laugh, leans close to rest his hand on the back of Tony’s neck. “Been wanting to kiss you all night,” he murmurs.

“Good,” Tony says, before leaning up to press his lips against Steve’s.

The night devolves from there, Tony’s hand sliding up Steve’s shirt, Steve’s fingers carding through his hair. Tony’s about to reach down and undo Steve’s pants, Steve’s lips on his neck, sucking and biting, and through the haze of Tony’s groans, Steve pulls away with a start.

On the table, his phone is buzzing.

“Ah, fuck,” Steve says, picking up his phone.

“What is it?” Tony asks, a little annoyed at the disruption.

“I set an alarm for midnight,” Steve says sheepishly

“Why the fuck—”

 “Because we both have class tomorrow and—”

 “Just stay,” Tony says, pressing up closer to Steve. He kisses his neck and murmurs, “Stay and fuck me.”

Steve chokes, sputters, then clears his throat. “Next time,” he says, laughing a little, before kissing Tony on the lips and bidding him good night.

 ***

 There are a few more next times that culminate in heavy petting and Tony having to jack off on his bed when Steve leaves, but it all comes to a head one Saturday night when Steve invites him to a party at one of his friends’ houses.

“His name is Bucky,” Tony says, for the second time that night.

“Yes,” Steve answers with a sigh. “Yes, his name is Bucky, Tony. Jesus.”

Tony laughs. “What the fuck! That’s so weird. Like he never tried to change his nickname when he moved to college?”

“I may have had a hand in none of them ever sticking,” he says, laughing a little as he opens the door for Tony. Steve holds his hand as he guides them through the throng of people already inside, drinking and dancing and laughing. He finds his friends in the kitchen.

Tony stands to the side as Steve goes around hugging everyone in greeting, then Steve turns to him, beckons him closer and says, “This is Tony.”

Tony’s greeted by a chorus of “Hi, Tony!” and Steve introduces them all in turn; Natasha is leaning on the counter, smoking a cigarette. Sam is beside her, pouring shots. Bucky has his hand in a jar full of salsa, and declines to shake Tony’s hand.

They offer Tony a shot, and then a bottle of beer to chase it down.

 Tony’s drunk. He looks at the bottle of vodka in his hands, and sees how he has a few gulps left, so that explains why. Tony looks around the living room, still full of people, and oh, there’s a couple making out against the wall, that’s gross—

By the kitchen, Steve does a keg stand (he’s helped up by Bucky and Sam) and Tony is both horrified by the display, and turned on by the muscular lines of Steve’s stomach that had made an appearance when his shirt followed the force of gravity. The crowd cheers, and people pat Steve on the back as he makes his way toward Tony, a silly grin on his face. He collapses beside Tony on the couch, laughing and a little pink.

“Art major by day, frat boy by night,” Tony slurs, taking a swig before passing the bottle of Steve. Everything’s moving slowly.

“Even drunk, you’re still a smartass.” Steve laughs and wraps an arm around Tony’s waist. “C’mere,” he says, and pulls Tony into a searing kiss.

Tony follows easily, parts his lips open and paws at Steve’s chest. He’s wanted to kiss Steve all night, maybe has, once or twice, but not like this—wanton and reckless.

Tony shuffles to sit on Steve’s lap, and Steve lifts him almost effortlessly when he realizes what Tony wants to do. From this position it’s much nicer to kiss Steve, it lets him press up nice and close so they’re chest to chest. He runs his hands through Steve’s hair, then his shoulders, then his arms. Tony wants. He wants more. He wants it all.

“Fuck me,” Tony whispers, before making his point even clearer by nipping at Steve’s ear.

A laugh rumbles out of Steve as he takes Tony’s face in his hands. “Baby, you’re drunk.”

“Not that drunk,” Tony grumbles, grinding down hard on Steve’s lap.

Steve kisses him, but with less heat. “Still drunk,” he says.

Tony reaches over to take another swig of vodka, annoyed, and wakes up in his apartment, fully clothed.

“God damn it!” he yells, which only makes the pounding in his head worse.

 ***

  They’ve been dating for almost three months, now. “I can’t believe you picked me up in a bar,” Tony says, leaning his hip on the kitchen counter, watching as Steve makes them dinner.

“Well, imagine my shock when, after hyping myself up for thirty minutes, I found out that I couldn’t even buy you a drink.”

Tony laughs, taking a sip of Steve’s wine. “You were pretty slick,” he says fondly.

“Glad you think so,” Steve says, pulling out a spoon from the drawer and dips it into the sauce. He holds it out to Tony.

Tony opens his mouth and brightens immediately. “That’s good.”

“Good,” Steve says, turning off the burner. They’re silent as the pasta cooks in a different pot.

Tony takes a deep breath. He’s been thinking about how Steve has never—how they’ve never done anything below the belt, but have fallen asleep beside each other, or how Steve never really listens when Tony asks him to. He’s fretted about it more than once. And it’s not like they don’t have enough time alone, or that Steve doesn’t want Tony to see his place. He just doesn’t seem to want… that. Tony’s been trying to build up the courage to bring it up, but he’s worried that it might just drive Steve away, or make him think that that’s all Tony wants, which isn’t true, because Tony only has visual and literary references for what that could be like, so.

Steve hums to himself as he mixes the pasta in with the sauce and Tony hands him the plates.

“Steve,” Tony says, eyes on the pasta.

“Hm?” Steve replies, bringing the plates to the table. “Oh, bring the wine, please.”

Tony sits down across Steve and takes another deep breath.

“Tony,” Steve says, looking concerned. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Tony says immediately. “I mean, maybe? I don’t know?”

Steve nods and waits.

Tony shoves a forkful of pasta into his mouth. “This is delicious,” he says.

Steve nods, beginning to eat as well, but he looks at Tony occasionally, worry clear in his face.

“I can do the dishes!” Tony volunteers when they’re both done, because he’s a coward and can’t imagine how to even begin the conversation.

“It’s fine,” Steve says, taking the plates from Tony and dumping them into the sink. “Let’s talk.”

Tony slips out onto Steve’s balcony and lights a cigarette.

Steve leans against the wall.

When Tony turns to look at him, Steve is smiling at Tony in what Tony’s sure Steve thinks looks encouraging. But Tony can see the anxiety in Steve’s eyes.

“SO!” Tony says, clapping his hands together. “Dinner was great.”

“Thank you,” Steve says graciously.

“What do you want to talk about?” Tony asks.

“What do you want to talk about?” Steve asks.

Tony shrugs. “Well.”

Steve motions for Tony to continue.

“Thoughts on sex!” Tony says.

Steve coughs out a small cloud of smoke, and it takes him a moment to catch his breath. “What?”

“With me!” Tony adds, uselessly. It’s like something inside him has unhinged his jaw and now he can’t stop. “What are you thoughts on having sex with me!”

“I—” Steve sputters. “What?”

“Because we’ve never, and that’s weird, right? We should. Maybe. If you want! I’m down.”

Steve cradles his head in his hands. “What is happening?”

“Do you not want to? Because that’s cool too!” Tony says, pacing around. He takes a long drag off his cigarette.

“Of course I want to!” Steve says, exasperated.

Tony stops, turns to Steve, and stares.

“Then why—”

 “Because you’ve never done it before, Tony, and I don’t want to rush into things, and I don’t know if you’re the kind of person who cares about who they do it with for the first time, but I’m that kind of person, and I want you to be sure—to be sure, about me, I mean.”

Tony stares some more.

Steve raises a shaky hand and takes a drag. “I didn’t want you to feel that we had to have sex for this to work out.”

An emotion Tony can’t name rises up from his belly, fills his throat, and comes tumbling out of his mouth. “I fucking love you, you dumb log of a man,” Tony hisses.

Steve drops his cigarette at the same moment that Tony slaps his hand over his mouth.

A small laugh is beginning to bubble out of Steve, and he crosses the space between them in two large steps. He cups Tony’s jaw in his hand and uses the other to pry Tony’s hand off his mouth.

Steve is grinning ear to ear, and he laughs a little before he says, “I love you too, you gremlin masquerading as a human.” He kisses Tony, gentle and sweet and loving, and Tony melts into him, pulls him as close as he can, because wow, wow.

Steve leads them back into Tony’s apartment, bumping into his bookshelf as they wind their way to Tony’s room. “Not tonight,” Steve says, and Tony nods, dazed and more than happy to fall asleep in Steve’s arms.

  ***

 One of the nice things about Tony’s apartment is the way it catches the sun. When he wakes up, it’s to the sight of Steve leaning against his headboard, bathed in sunlight as he reads a magazine.

Tony sighs, content.

“Good morning,” Steve says, setting the magazine aside. “Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” Tony admits, shuffling close and tilting his head up.

Steve huffs out a laugh and grants Tony’s unspoken request for a good morning kiss.

“Are we going to fuck now?” Tony asks, shifting to rest on his elbow.

“Are we?” Steve teases.

Tony pouces on top of Steve, pinning his hips down with his own. “Yes, please.”

Steve laughs, resting his hands on Tony’s waist. “Who am I to deny you?”

Tony kisses him, then makes his way down Steve’s neck. He’s seen videos, he knows what to do, or at least, sort of. “I want to…” Tony starts. “Could you just. Lie down?” Tony asks.

Steve nods.

“Tell me what feels good,” Tony says, and Steve nods again, understands that for now, Tony needs to be in control.

Steve is content to lie back and watch Tony, a faint blush dusting his cheeks and neck. He lets out a soft moan when Tony licks his collarbone, and Tony watches as Steve fists the sheets when he takes a tentative lick of Steve’s nipple.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” Steve grinds out.

“Okay,” Tony breathes out, and Steve shifts again. Tony bites his lip and blows at the stiff peak of Steve’s nipple.

“Jesus christ,” Steve curses.

Tony laughs a little to himself, then continues down Steve’s torso, licking at the muscles of Steve’s abs, until finally, he is stopped by Steve’s boxers.

Steve chews on his bottom lip.

Tony looks up at Steve. “Please?”

Steve continues to bite his lip as he raises his hips, hooks his fingers under the band, and slips off his shorts.

Tony stares. He’s never actually seen Steve’s cock until this moment, only felt it once or twice, and always through layers of Steve’s jeans. Nothing could have prepared him for this moment.

“I—hng,” Tony says, staring. He licks his lips. “You’re—” Tony sucks on his lower lip. “Wow.”

“We don’t have to—” Steve starts, looking worried.

“Oh, no, we do,” Tony says, “we absolutely must.”

Steve blushes. “Okay.”

“Please do not tell me that you’ve been putting off fucking me because you apparently have the biggest fucking dick in the world,” Tony says, crawling up to gaze down at Steve.

“No,” Steve lies.

Tony laughs and kisses him, swinging his leg over Steve’s hips and pressing his ass against Steve’s cock as he does.

“Can I fuck you,” Steve gasps out. He pushes Tony back so that Tony feels the entire length of Steve pressed against his ass, feels the way that his cheeks are pushed apart by the sheer girth of him.

“I don’t know,” Tony says, a panic seeping into his voice. “Can you??”

“Yeah,” Steve grins, sitting up. “But let me open you up real good first.”

“Holy. Fucking. God,” Tony says emphatically. “You have never sounded more hot than in that moment.”

Steve laughs, pulling Tony close to kiss him. “Looks like I have the rest of the morning to keep impressing you,” he murmurs.

Tony groans.

“I—I want,” Tony says. He reaches out and wraps his fingers around Steve’s cock tentatively. It’s so thick his fingers don’t meet as he encircles his girth. “Can I—?” he asks haltingly, moving back down to look at Steve’s cock, to really appreciate it.

Steve leans back. “I don’t know, can you?” He repeats, a lazy smirk on his lips.

Tony swallows. “Tell me if it’s good,” he says, lowering himself down. He takes a deep breath, and licks the head of Steve’s cock.

Steve groans. “That’s good,” he says, fingers winding around the sheets.

Tony parts his lips and takes it into his mouth. It’s intoxicating, to be this close to Steve, his cock heavy on Tony’s tongue, Steve’s musk permeating everything. Tony has to work to relax his jaw to take more of it in.

Above him, Steve is breathing unsteadily.

Tony breathes in through his nose and tries to go deeper, hyper aware of his teeth.

“That’s good, that’s so good,” Steve says, voice shaking a little. “If you want, with your tongue—“

Tony presses his tongue flat against the underside of Steve’s cock, making Steve groan. “Fuck, yes, Tony, that’s so good,” he babbles, clenching and unclenching his fist on the blanket.

Tony closes his eyes, tries to move his tongue around the silken heat. “Yes, yes, yes—oh,” Steve chants.

Tony lowers his mouth further, slowly, working to accommodate Steve’s cock, then it hits the back of his throat and Tony pulls up immediately.

“It’s too big,” Tony says. He’s surprised by how rough his voice sounds.

“You don’t need to put it all in your mouth,” Steve says, somehow still coherent, but his voice is a bit thready. He focuses his gaze on Tony. “You can use your hand, to help.”

Tony nods like a man on a mission, and takes Steve’s cock back into his mouth. He can feel Steve straining to stay still, and it sends a thrill down his spine.

He begins to pull up just as Steve’s cock hits the back of his throat again, but remembers what Steve said, and uses his hand to follow the motion.

“Oh fuck,” Steve moans. His eyes are trained on Tony’s lips. Tony notices and winks, making Steve groan and look away.

“You’re doing so well,” he breathes out. He threads his fingers through Tony’s hair, and Tony moans at the touch—Steve tightens his grip, and Tony moans some more.

Tony settles into a rhythm as he bobs up and down Steve’s cock; he squeezes his eyes shut as he focuses on Steve’s pleasure. Then he notices that Steve is canting his hips up, following Tony’s movements. Tony groans, wrapping his fingers tighter around Steve’s cock.

Steve makes a broken noise above him and pulls Tony away. “Stop,” he says, just as Tony makes a small noise of disapproval.

“But—“ Tony starts. Steve leans over to kiss him, which, hot, given where Tony’s mouth just was.

“My turn,” Steve says, flipping Tony easily on to his back.

“Hey!” Tony says, but quiets when Steve slides his hands down Tony’s sides and kisses him again. Tony’s so lost in how good it feels to kiss Steve that he barely notices that Steve has lifted his hips up and slid his shorts off him.

“You were so good,” Steve says, before kissing him again, and Tony’s overwhelmed by everything happening seemingly all at once: he’s overwhelmed by how good it feels to be naked around Steve, how it feels to have Steve’s bare skin pressed against his, how it feels to have Steve’s cock thick against his thigh, how it feels to have Steve’s mouth on him.

Steve’s hand is warm on his chest, and Tony nearly jolts out of the bed when Steve tweaks his nipple. “Fuck,” Tony breathes out, because holy fuck, Steve’s kissed his neck before, but this feels too much. He surprises himself with the whimper that comes out of his mouth when Steve licks down his chest and sucks on his nipple.

“Like that?” Steve asks, and Tony can’t find the words, can’t find any words at all to express how he fucking loves it.

Steve grins up at him, kisses and nips down Tony’s chest.

“I’m going to suck your cock now,” Steve says, looking up at Tony.

“Okay,” Tony says, because what else could anyone say to that?

Steve smiles, presses a kiss to Tony’s hip, and without any warning, slides Tony’s cock into his mouth.

“Oh my fucking—oh, ah, fucking fuck,” Tony groans, hands flying to find purchase. He mirrors Steve’s actions and threads his fingers through Steve’s hair. It’s wildly erotic, feeling Steve’s head bob up and down his cock, and all Tony can do is watch, transfixed, as Steve sucks him down to the base, and pulls up to suckle at the tip.

Tony doesn’t even know what he’s saying, or if he’s saying anything at all, moaning and groaning at the sheer pleasure of it all.

Steve pulls away with a lewd sounding pop and he looks up at Tony.

Tony stares down at him, dumbstruck.

“All right?” Steve asks.

“Fuck,” Tony breathes out.

Steve laughs, the bastard, and licks a bead of precum off of Tony’s cock. Tony groans.

“Lube?” Steve asks.

Tony swallows and tries to get control of himself. His legs feel like jelly and he wants Steve’s mouth on him again, so he says so.

“Soon, baby,” Steve coos. “Lube first.”

Tony digs around his drawer and feels the bed dip. He turns over his shoulder to check and Steve holds up a pack of condoms in response.

Tony nods, and goes back to searching, stopping only when Steve moves up to kiss his shoulder, his back. “You having fun?”

“Yes,” Tony says shakily. He holds up the tube in triumph, then hands it to Steve.

“More fun in a bit,” Steve says, taking it from him.

Tony huffs out a laugh, and Steve pulls him in for a kiss. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says, looking at Tony right in the eye.

“I won’t want you to stop,” Tony says, suddenly embarrassed by how earnest Steve’s tone was. Besides, he’d been looking forward to this for literally months.

“Promise that you’ll tell me,” Steve says, taking Tony’s chin in his hand, making Tony meet his gaze.

“Okay, I will,” Tony says, biting his lip.

“Good boy,” Steve smiles, and presses a quick kiss to Tony’s lips before settling back on the bed. “Lie down.”

“Oh my god,” Tony murmurs, but does so anyway. “Should I…?” Tony trails off, not really knowing what to say. The sudden break to search for lube has given his brain enough time to boot up and thus, freak out a little.

“Just relax and let me take care of you,” Steve says, smiling up at Tony.

“You sure?” Tony asks.

Steve’s smile widens. “Yes, Tony. Let me.” He presses a kiss to Tony’s knee, then moves up so he’s hovering just above Tony. He crooks a finger at Tony, beckoning him closer.

Tony leans up, and Steve kisses him, soft and gentle at first, then more passionately when Tony reaches up and touches him.

“It’s easier if you’re on your knees,” Steve says. “That okay with you?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, mirroring Steve’s smile.

Steve leans back and Tony gets on all fours. Steve takes a pillow and places it under Tony’s hips.

“You can rest on your elbows, if it gets too much,” Steve says gently.

“It won’t,” Tony says, sounding much more self-assured than he feels.

Steve huffs out a laugh. “Okay, I’m going to slide a finger in, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony says, looking over his shoulder. He watches with baited breath as Steve slicks up a finger.

“Try and relax for me, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony says, breathing out slowly.

Steve presses a kiss on the apple of Tony’s ass and presses at Tony’s hole.

Tony holds back a gasp as Steve inches it in slowly. It doesn’t feel particularly bad, but it doesn’t feel particularly good, either.

“You’re doing great,” Steve says, moving in and out, and Tony breathes, all anxious anticipation. “I’m going to open you up some more with a second finger, okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Tony says. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the feeling of Steve’s hands. He has his other resting on Tony’s hip, holding him in place. The second finger proves to have the same effect, and Tony tries not to feel weird about it, and he’s about to ask Steve, should this be feeling good or…?

Except Steve chooses that moment to crook his fingers, hitting that one spot in Tony that makes him see stars. Tony lets out a strangled yelp, and his elbows buckle beneath him.

“There it is,” Steve says, sounding very smug. Tony’s too blissed out to snark back, because Steve keeps rubbing his finger over the spot. All Tony can do is groan.

“Third finger,” Steve says gently, and this—this makes Tony moan, loudly, surprised at how pleasurable the stretch felt.

“Oh god, Steve,” Tony breathes out, rocking his hips back.”That’s—” Tony lets out a strangled groan when Steve spreads his fingers inside him, stretching him even further.

“Good?” Steve asks, pressing a soft kiss on Tony’s lower back.

“Yes,” Tony moans out. “Yes!” he cries, when he feels all three of Steve’s fingers press against that one special spot. Steve keeps fucking his fingers into Tony until Tony’s dissolved into a writhing, moaning mess beneath him.

“Fuck me,” Tony breathes out, “please, please, please fuck me already.”

“You sure?” Steve asks.

“Yes,” Tony hisses.

Steve huffs out a laugh, and his fingers make a lewd sound as he slips them out of Tony. It makes Tony shiver.

Tony feels boneless already, but musters enough strength to look back at Steve, who is rolling a condom on.

“Surprised it fits,” Tony mumbles.

Steve looks up at him, startled, and then blushes furiously.

Tony grins and shakes his hips. “I’m ready,” he says.

Steve chuckles a little, then rests his hand back on Tony’s thigh. “Tell me, okay?”

“I will,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “Come on.”

“You are so impatient,” Steve says, sounding both annoyed and impressed.

Tony’s about to make another quip but sucks in a breath when he feels the thick head of Steve’s cock press against his hole.

“Oh,” Tony says. He breathes out, trying to relax. Then he feels the ridge of Steve’s cock finally broach the entrance of his hole and Tony nearly screams.

“Holy, fucking—oh my god, oh god, Steve—” Tony groans, turning to press his face into the matress to try and muffle the sounds he’s making.

“I got you,” Steve says, voice tight. “You’re doing so well for me, Tony, you’re doing so good, god, you feel so good already,” Steve says, gripping Tony’s hip.

Tony lets out a long, shaky breath as he feels Steve continue to slide slowly inside him. He bites his lip, and whimpers. “Steve, oh my god, you’re going to break me in half,” he says, breaths coming out short. It’s deliciously excruciating, it feels so good that it almost hurts with how good it feels.

“Halfway there, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, now rubbing circles on Tony’s hip.

“H-halfway?” Tony chokes out. He can’t tell how much more he can take. Then he feels Steve’s cock press against that same place as earlier and it pushes a moan out of Tony, and now he’s fully lost control of himself, he’s drooling on the sheets, it feels so good, it feels unreal, Tony is going to die on Steve’s cock and that’s okay—

“You’re not going to die,” Steve says, halting Tony’s thoughts. “But keep talking.”

Tony huffs in response, because honestly words are impossible right now, and Steve still hasn’t bottomed out, Steve is still fully stuffing his ass with his big fucking cock and—

“You have the filthiest mouth,” Steve groans. “Are you sure you’ve never been fucked before?”

“Oh I am sure,” Tony manages, before he groans again. His breaths are shaky, short, and his eyes keep falling shut on their own volition; all his focus is spent on the feeling of Steve spreading him open.

Steve groans when his hips finally hit Tony’s ass.

Tony’s too dazed to say anything; he’s breathing through his mouth, and nothing else matters.

Steve rocks against him gently, and Tony nearly cries out. He’s so full, stretched so wide open, it feels amazing.

“Hn—fuck,” Tony breathes out, once he’s finally centered himself.

“I’m going to start fucking you now,” Steve grinds out. “You’re so fucking tight, Tony.”

Tony moans. “I’m going to die because of your cock.”

“Not yet you won’t,” Steve says, and Tony bites back a whine when Steve begins to pull out. “So fucking good,” Tony groans, “your cock feels so fucking good.”

Tony loses himself to the sound of Steve’s skin slapping against his—erotic and physical and wild; Tony feels unhinged, and when Steve adjusts his angle and begins to pound into his prostate, Tony feels his soul ripped out of his body. He’s sure that he’s crying, whimpering, clutching at the sheets, and it doesn’t help that every time Steve fucks him, his own cock gets some relief, pressed against the pillow Steve had put under Tony’s hips in what feels like years ago.

“Oh, god, yes, yes, there,” Tony chants, before biting down on the bed to muffle his screams. It feels like Steve’s hands are everywhere, sliding up and down his sides, tweaking his nipples, and then Tony screams when Steve pushes his cheeks apart, holds his ass open with his thumbs.

“Fucking gorgeous, you’re taking my cock so fucking well,” Steve says, “god you’re so fucking tight, Tony, it’s like your ass was made for my cock,” and holy christ who taught Steve to talk like that.

Tony groans, shifting back a little so he can fuck himself onto Steve’s cock. It seems to punch a groan out of Steve, and Tony feels a little better about being a drooling, quivering mess for however long Steve’s been destroying his ass.

Steve lifts up Tony’s hips a little, his grip tight, and Tony only has a moment to realize the shift in position before Steve’s hand is on his cock and that is it, it’s over, Tony has officially died and gone to heaven, because this is for sure what heaven is: Steve’s cock buried to the hilt in his ass, Steve’s hand squeezing and pumping his cock, and Tony’s moans reverberating in his ears as he finally, finally comes.

It only takes what Tony assumes to be a moment—because what is time, after such a religious experience—before Steve comes with broken sound. It’s wild that Tony can feel Steve’s cock twitching inside him, and Steve stays for a moment until it gets truly, finally, too much.

Steve collapses on the bed beside Tony, and Tony rolls onto his back.

“You okay?” Steve asks, turning to look at Tony. He brushes Tony’s hair away from his forehead and leans close to press a kiss to Tony’s cheek.

“Holy god damn shit,” Tony breathes out, finally getting his bearings.

“Enjoyed it, then?” Steve asks, grinning.

Tony turns to Steve and smiles, exhausted. “I need to take a nap. And then I need you to fuck me again.”

Steve laughs and pulls Tony into a kiss. “Yes, sir.”

[angst-fairygodmother]

I loved your latest SVU Carisi fic! I would love something with Barba, please! Maybe something where he asks a coworker (either a detective or someone from the ME's office) to an event, either because he's lonely or embarrassed to go alone again.

A/N: Can I just say, I appreciate how general these prompts are for SVU because they really give me the room to go where the whim takes me? Because I do (not that I don’t love prompt lists, but this style just works for me with this fandom). I hope you enjoy the direction that this one ended up. Also, I watched several Barba episodes and a bunch of clips for “research” and that was a hole I was not planning to end up back in, but I still love him, apparently. Not quite as much as the first time around, but enough. Word Count: 2804 Tagging: @writefasttalkevenfaster

“Mr. Barba! What brings you to my dark little dungeon corner of the world?” you asked, smiling brightly as the ADA strolled into the morgue like it was Central Park at noon.

“Y/N, please. How many times do I have to tell you to call me Rafael, or at least drop the ‘Mr.’ We’ve seen each other’s worst, there’s no need to be so formal,” he said, returning your smile with a small one of his own and a rueful shake of his head.

It was true that you and Rafael had known each other for years, since your school days when your stubborn and shameless self had wormed your way into the DA’s office, allegedly as part of a research project for school (a story that didn’t hold up when you never left). And he, still a young, brash ADA (not that the brash part had changed or ever would), had largely been stuck dealing with you as you poked through records and cases and pointed out all the places that they could have done better with handling the forensics of things. They never chased you out, because it came in handy over time and you had a charm that made your Nancy Drew nosiness, as he had nicknamed it, more amusing than annoying. By the time you had graduated, you were practically a part of the inner circle at that office, and it was easy to leverage that (along with your shining grades of course) into a prime position as a medical examiner.

Of course, the most valuable thing you had gotten out of all of it was still the friendship of Rafael Barba. He’d encouraged you through exams and romantic breakups and personal stresses without blinking and you’d done as much of the same for him as you could. He’d poured your inebriated ass into more taxies than you could count and sent you just as many hangover-cure breakfast deliveries. You’d laughed together, cried together, held each other up when the world seemed to be trying to crush you.

And still, at work at least, you insisted on calling him “Mr. Barba.”

“We have, but you’re also the one who talks about the need to keep professional lives separate.” You shrugged with a smirk. “Besides, it amuses you how much me calling you ‘Mr. Barba’ makes you squirm.”

He rolled his eyes. “I brought lunch.” He held up a familiar paper bag, no doubt containing sandwiches and raspberry turnovers from your favorite diner.

“Not dignifying me with a proper response I see,” you teased. “And bringing me food. Either I’m in trouble or you’re trying to bribe me for a favor. I hope it’s the first one, it’s always more fun.”

Your smirk widened and you waggled your eyebrows at him, waving him over into the little lounge area outside your office and pouring two paper cups of tepid coffee. He silently passed you your sandwich, hoping that you didn’t notice the light blush creeping up around his ears, or his quick intake of breath as you bit into it and moaned involuntarily. You both chewed in silence for a while, and you tried to just enjoy his company, as you usually did. But there was a strange tension in the air, unsettling the comfort of the silence and putting you on edge as you waited for whatever he came to talk to you about.

“Alex and Yelina’s tenth anniversary is coming up,” he said finally, trying to hide the strain in his voice, even though he knew you knew him well enough to notice it anyway.

You nodded silently, a sympathetic grimace on your face. You knew how much it had stung to him to attend the wedding and watch his childhood best friend marry his first love.

“They’re having a charity gala to celebrate. And personally invited me to go.”

You sucked in a hiss through your teeth. “Ouch.”

He nodded dejectedly. “I can’t say no to them. But I don’t know if I can get through the evening.”

“I could write you a doctor’s note. Fake some sort of illness preventing you from…I don’t know being in that large of a crowd or something?”

He laughed, and you smiled at the sound, knowing that it meant things weren’t quite as bad as they could be, and you didn’t need to break into your secret bourbon stash to fix them.

“Actually,” he said, buttoning his jacket and then immediately unbuttoning it again, as you often saw him do before a particularly difficult argument in court. “I was hoping you’d come with me, as my plus one. It’d really help to have a friendly face that I know can hold their own against the vultures.”

You sat in stunned silence for several minutes, staring at him. Your mind raced. Had he just asked you on a date? And if so, did you want to say yes?

When you didn’t answer, he shifted awkwardly, clearing his throat to get your attention. You jumped, startled out of your thoughts by the noise.

“I don’t want to impose; you were the first person I thought of. I know it’s not really your scene. I shouldn’t have asked,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, as if to tell you to forget the whole thing.

“Oh. Sorry, it took me a minute. I guess I just didn’t expect it. I thought you’d ask Olivia or someone, you know. I’d be happy to go with you though. I’d love to, really,” you started at the same time, leading the two of you to be talking over each other like fools.

You both stopped, you trailing off more than his abrupt end, and then you locked eyes and you giggled. After a few seconds of delay, he joined your laughter and soon, there were tears in your eyes and he seemed to be struggling for breath as you took absolute joy in the ridiculousness of it.

“Honestly Raf, I don’t know why you even questioned it,” you said when you had gotten yourself under control again. “Of course I’ll go with you. What else are best friends for?”

“Oh thank god,” he breathed, relief evident on his face.

“So how fancy are we talking? Am I going to need formal wear, or will a nice cocktail dress that covers all the bits be enough?” your eyebrows wiggled again and he chuckled.

~

The night of the event, you were just putting the finishing touches on your appearance – making sure everything was perfect down to every hair in the right place, but not like you tried too hard, wanting to seem like this was not as big of a deal as you had slowly worked yourself up into thinking it might be – when a knock on your door alerted you to Rafael’s arrival. When you answered, you were momentarily stunned, a tux shouldn’t seem all that different than his usual three-piece suits, and yet…

Luckily, he seemed just as thrown off by your appearance, and the pair of you just stared at each other.

Finally, you broke the spell, gesturing lamely behind you. “I just have to uh, grab my bag, and then I’ll be good to go.” You tried to smile at him, but you were pretty sure it came off as more of a discomforted grimace.

And why shouldn’t you be discomforted? All this time, there had never been anything between you (though you would be the first to admit that you had found him attractive when the two of you met). And now, suddenly, you couldn’t look at him without feeling that fizzy, almost nauseous twist in your gut, the flutter of your pulse at the sight of his smile, the overwhelming desire to absolutely wreck his perfectly styled hair and pressed lapel as you pulled him close and ran your hands over every inch of him in a sensuous war for dominance. You tried to tell yourself it was just the occasion, the fact that he had asked you to be his guest to an event that clearly meant a lot to him, and that it really meant nothing. If you could maintain the lie for long enough, you pretended to believe, everything would go back to normal.

The car ride over to the event hall was short, the time filled with a primer on the various important people (both politically and to him) that would be at the party. Most of it was information you already knew, but still, you let him talk, knowing that it made him feel calmer. And then you were linking arms with him, hand delicately wrapped around the fold of his elbow and walking through the grand arching doorway.

“Thus, into hell,” you muttered too low for even him to hear, forcing a smile.

Introductions were made, hands were shook, the air next to cheeks were kissed. You had not yet met the couple of the hour, but you felt like you had met the entire rest of their world, dragged into mind-numbing small talk about stocks and board meetings, policies and constituents (where they were numbers and dollar signs and goals rather than people). At some point, you were separated from Rafael by some women who were absolutely determined to drag you into their conversation about some community center building charity and the related press benefits of visiting the construction site. They all flinched and tittered uncomfortably when you pointed out that their manicures would get ruined and they’d just be interrupting the professionals actually doing the work and wouldn’t it be better to just do a ribbon-cutting photo op when the project was over?

Finally, you managed to extricate yourself and found Rafael by the bar, sucking down a bourbon like no one’s business. He turned to the bartender as you approached and already had a vodka soda waiting when you reached him.

“My hero,” you said taking a deep drink. “Don’t ever leave me alone with those people again.”

“That bad?” he asked, eyes dancing as he smiled at you over the rim of his glass.

“I think I felt my soul exit my body. Twice. Why are you drinking so heavily already?”

“Alex and Yelina just arrived. I managed to duck them, but not before I got to bear witness to the whole…loving couple photo op.”

“Oh. I’m sorry Raf. Still, if they’re here, we should go say our hellos. The sooner we do the sooner we can blow this popsicle stand, yeah?”

He grimaced and finished his drink. “I suppose you’re right.”

He turned to walk away and you tugged him back to face you.

“Wait, here,” you said, reaching up to fiddle with his bow tie, fingers skimming his throat in the process and you swore you felt him flinch at the contact. “You were crooked,” you explained.

~

“Rafael!” Yelina said, smiling brightly and pulling him in for a hug. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, you know that,” he said, smiling at her in a way that made a soft twinge in your chest that you tried to pretend wasn’t jealousy.

“Congratulations, both of you,” he said, patting Alex on the shoulder.

“And who is this?” another woman in the crowd, who you thought had been introduced as the wife of some other senator but you hadn’t been paying that much attention, said, gesturing to you. “I mean I know this party is doubling as a charity gala, but you didn’t need to bring an example case.”

“Excuse me?” you snapped, glaring at her.

“Oh you know what I mean darling. It’s not an insult, just stating facts that you obviously don’t belong. It’s little signs, you really do look…fine. But the hair, the clearance rack clothes, and when is the last time you had your nails done?”

“Y/N is one of the most brilliant medical professionals in New York City,” Rafael cut in before you could respond, curling his arm protectively around your waist. “And not that it’s any measure of character, looks fantastic by the way. But it’s an organic, genuine beauty so it’s no surprise that you don’t see it Mrs. Johnsville. After all, you haven’t seen your own genuine appearance in, I’d guess twenty years? Or maybe it’s jealousy causing you to say such spiteful things to the most incredible person in the room. Either way, I’d suggest you stop, before someone brings up your husband’s scandals and causes a scene.”

You turned your head to stare at him, lost for words. There was a not-so-subtle threat in his words, but that didn’t matter to you in light of the things he was saying about you, or the adoring way he said them.

He turned back to his old friends. “Alex, Yelina, I hate to do this, but I’m not going to stand around and let someone insult my date that way. So we’re leaving, but maybe we can get dinner sometime soon and catch up.”

“Of course, Rafi,” Alejandro said, his polite political host smile edging its way toward a smirk. “The four of us will have to do that.”

~

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Rafael said, sighing as you both sat in the car. “She had no right to speak to you that way. I…”

“Stop, Raf. It’s not your fault. And you jumped in like a knight in shining armor, no harm done.”

“Are you sure?”

“I mean, I’m a little disappointed that I got all dressed up for you and I didn’t even get to dance…” you stuck your lower lip out in an exaggerated pout that made him laugh. “But I’m sure you’ll make it up to me somehow.”

“And for having dinner with Alex and Yelina and I. Assuming you’re willing to. Which I totally understand if you’re not.”

“I was wondering if you were going to bring up that invitation,” you laughed. “And of course I’m willing. I’ve told you before, and I’ll say it as many times as I have to to get it through your skull, I’ll do anything for you, Raf.”

Suddenly you had a brilliant idea and you looked over at him with a grin.

“Uh-oh, I know that look…”

“You know what’s better than dancing and wining and dining when you’re dressed to the nines?” you said, eyes aglow the longer you thought about it.

“What?”

“Being dressed to the nines to eat greasy diner burgers! Let’s go to Hank’s!” You grabbed the hand that rested on the center console in both of yours, pulling it close to you and batting your eyelashes pleadingly at him.

He groaned and shook his head. “Alright.”

~

“You know,” Rafael said, shifting nervously as he walked you to the door of your building. “There was a bit of a wreck in the middle, but all in all, this wasn’t such a bad first date.”

“Is that what this was?” you asked, heart skipping a beat as your both stopped on the steps.

“Would you be mad if I said yes?”

“A little. I mean, you could have told me sooner. I would have done way cuter shit all night.”

He laughed, looking at you softly. “I don’t need you to do cuter shit. You’re perfect the way you are.”

“See, shit like that,” you waved your hands around in frustration. “I don’t have a good comeback compliment for you because I wasn’t expecting it. You threw me off my game, charming bastard.”

“Y/N…”

“If this was a date, I believe a goodnight kiss is traditional,” you smiled.

He leaned in, close enough for you to smell the cologne he wore and the alcohol he’d had earlier and the spearmint breath mint he’d picked up from beside the diner’s register when he’d insisted on paying. His lips brushed lightly against yours but he quickly pulled away, just enough to look you in the eyes.

“You’d better not be calling that my kiss,” you teased.

“Are you sure about this, Y/N?”

Sighing in exasperation, you did as you’d imagined earlier and grabbed him by the lapels to tug him closer and press your lips to his. He sighed against your mouth, bringing one hand up to cup the back of your head gently and hold you closer, the other arm wrapping tightly around your waist. Your lips parted, opening up to him and your tongues danced together like it was what they were designed for.

Gasping for air, you both pulled away, and he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Thank you for tonight,” he whispered.

“Night’s not over, yet,” you answered with a shrug.

“What?”

The words felt inevitable, but right, as they worked their way through your throat.

“Do you want to come upstairs, Raf? We can watch a movie or…dance…”

[carrottuan93]

Haven’t met you yet| Mark

Masterlist (4/4)

Starring: MK x You

Tags: Mark Tuan, Fluff, Destiny, Waiting, Christmas, Bookworm, Nerd, Love, Fate

Total WC: 3075

An hour left before Christmas, Mark told you that he doesn’t believe in Santa Claus. He said he’d rather believe on the existence of aliens because he watched too much American movies about the extraterrestrial life. That sounded cool for you that you both share the same interest for the unknown life out there, but you don’t want to discredit Santa for giving you Mark to spend the Christmas eve with. He did not only hit the roof of your standards, but he exceeded them. He never cease to met all the bars for your ideal type and he’s never failed you so far with his vast array of knowledge of all the topics you guys are talking about in the past 2 hours. Guys for you are sexy if they can carry a proper conversation.

 “I swear to God if an alien comes out of nowhere, I’d let him take me and I’ll fly with him in a heartbeat.” You’re a whole lot better now that you’re sharing a lot of jokes and making fun of each other. Setting aside the world and the rest of the others. Just you, him and the wine under the starry sky.

 “Jesus, out of all the people in our planet, you chose to elope with someone from the outside world. In my case, I’d let them take me as long as they will show me how spaceships work so I could finally meet my childhood dream of becoming a space police, riding those cool ships and chasing bad aliens.” Your topic reached the outer space already but you’re now laying on the floor beside Mark, as you watch the open glass roof ceiling of the observatory with eyes wide awake.

 “What’s wrong with dating an alien? At least, I get to experience travelling to different galaxies and planets. So much for the trouble of chasing bad aliens for a living.” You snickered, earning his grumpy voice.

 “If you’re going to date alien, at least choose someone handsome.” He replied, placing both of his arms underneath his head.

 “I haven’t seen any handsome alien yet, I mean all the creatures that they show on tv are the ones with the big bald heads, oval shaped eyes, and lanky thin frames. I don’t think they’d fit the definition of handsome.” This is your first time watching under the stars on top of the freaking Namsan Tower observatory and you’re delighted to experience it on a Christmas day with Mark.

 “I am just right here beside you. I’m handsome since I was born, that’s already a given, I know. So just save yourself from the trouble of finding the alien guy of your dreams because Mark has come to save the unbothered princess from distress.” You don’t know if he’s still sober enough at this hour but you can tell that you aren’t drunk enough to be hearing this from him.

 “Handsome guy perks, a ticket to finding instant dates. Why do you even want to date me?” You turned to your side, facing him. You're curious and you want to get straight to the point.

 “Now that we’ve got to the topic of impressions, I think you’re quite interesting. That maybe you could make my Christmas eve a little less lonely, perhaps. Scratch that, maybe you could fit on all types of holidays and occasions. Maybe you’re a girl matched for all the seasons.” You felt giddy now that you’re facing each other, side to side, but still, you need to calm your high hopes for this guy.

 “If this is a date, I’m ditching you already.” You glanced at him quickly and was rewarded by his cute eye smile. Oh cupid, this is not fair play for showing up earlier than your scheduled season in February.

 “Why not? Am I not appealing to you? Come on. Try me." You watch his eyes examine your face, those hazelnut orbs are beautiful, and you want to train your eyes and treat them as their home. You never experienced staring at any guy for the longest time until tonight and all you can hear is the sound of him breathing, reciprocating your own rhythm. You aren’t aware that silence is actually too deafening when it’s the heart that does the talking. Those tall buildings appear smaller from a distant and they're glistening different hues and wavelength of bright lights, which are now witnesses to you finding love in the most unexpected way. But you don’t have the concrete definition of love because you haven’t felt it before. You just know and you can feel the unfamiliar zip of current travelling on your bloodstream. It’s just the two of you, and you’re under the supervision of the constellations in the open sky above, and it’s magical that you feel like these were the exact same stars that the first lovers saw on earth. How come it's too peaceful up there when you lay next to him? It’s a perfect moment for your exhausted soul to recover from your endless pursuits and maybe this is your fate taking its move. You are no daredevil to begin with and chasing ecstasy aren’t your cup of tea because you’re always craving for assurances in all the right places. But Mark is your risk and guarantee, all at once.

 It is really tiring to find something when you don’t even know what you’re searching for in the first place. One thing is for sure, you haven't met anyone so random and fascinating like him. He's unique, overflowing with charms and maybe a box full of surprises for you to discover. Deep down, you've been wanting to get to know him more and you're aware that you're crossing oceans knowing that you’ll meet him on the other end. It is very unlike you to just casually lower your guard down for someone upon your first meeting but when it comes to Mark, everything seems to magically untangle in all the right places.

 “Because I’m beginning to think that I misplaced my heart somewhere when it is still right here, intact on my rib cage. It’s just that my heart feels foreign to me now that you’re slowly owning up most of the empty spaces in my atrium.” He smiled like a panacea of all earthly ills and his smile could heal the world.

 “I am no poet, but Paulo Cuelho once said ‘if it’s still in your mind, it is worth taking the risk’. I could see the thrill of chase, the first time I laid my eyes on you last night and you never left my mind ever since I got to talked to you tonight. Actually, I’ve met you already a long time ago. So you need to catch up with me and we all have the days on our feet to go on a lot of spontaneous pursuits, and you’ll make up for the lost time that you’re supposed to have known me already.” He’s too good with words and you’re drowning and drowning and you never wanna be saved. You’ve encountered almost all kinds of contracts on your work already and you always make sure to read the terms and agreements regardless of the number of pages but when it comes to Mark, you’d gladly sign the papers right away even with your eyes closed. But something doesn’t feel right with what he is saying.

 "First of all, I haven’t met you yet not until this evening.” Maybe it’s the wine that’s getting you drunk, hearing things and such.

 “You wouldn’t believe me if I tell you that you’re the reason why I traded my Christmas in the US for a night here with you in Seoul for a blind date. I might sound stupid, but you should thank Jackson for all the credits. He introduced you to me a year ago and I stopped attending parties ever since my cousin did all the marketing strategy and such. It’s crazy right? For all I care, I’m tired of all things temporary so I trust my cousin when he said that you’ll give the permanence that I’m searching for. I don’t really know, I’m a random guy and I told my mom I’m hopping on a 14 hour flight to Seoul on Christmas eve to meet this girl so I went here for risk’s sake. And my luck has never failed me when you come to my place last night, barging in like some kind of an annoyed girlfriend coming home from a party. Damn, you nearly broke my unit’s lock system. You can claim your stuff at my place later when we go home, and you owe me a ‘Thank you’ because I saved you from carelessly sleeping into someone else’s bed. I respected your drunken state and I slept on the floor, so you have nothing to worry about. I’m just surprised that you disappeared in the morning all of a sudden without even saying anything.” You sat on your place, unable to process everything that he just said. You realized you’re so done, the heavens above could just open up and take you already because there isn’t any influence of wine taking over your completely sober minds. Everything is real and happening and you’re overwhelmed, and you don’t know what to do anymore.

 “WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT???!” You screamed to your shock, running all over the place like you killed somebody and you badly want to escape the room due to your embarrassment.

 “Wow, you even curse louder than I’ve imagined. It’s alright, Y/n. I’m fully aware that you love the scent of fabric conditioner because you can’t get enough of me last night. I can’t blame my parents for giving birth to myself. I left your stuff in my room, but I know I got something that you badly need right now.” He fished out your planner from the pocket of his coat, waving it like some kind of a show money in the air and you’d do what it takes to retrieve it back to your possession.

“Relax, I didn’t mean to interfere with your personal schedule, but I just saw a picture of pink roses at the back of your planner.” He gave you the planner and you hugged it like your world depended on it. He clapped his hands in the air and a guy came out of nowhere, carrying a bouquet of full-grown pink roses. It’s your first time receiving your favorite flowers from a guy and you feel like you don’t deserve Mark because he’s too good for you. Your eyes are now brimming in tears, knowing that God already gave the sign that you’re looking for. He’s standing right beside you and all you need to do is to take a leap, because it’ll be all or nothing.

 “Jackson, you’re so dead to me. He sold me even without my permission and now that you’re right here, I’m suing you as well because of the amount of emotional damaged you have caused to my system. Now I’ll never be the same again because you gave me an ocean when I’m only asking for some rain.” You’re crying because of happiness. He dried your tears and he hugged you, so tight, you never wanna let go of him anymore. He smells of fabric conditioner and you’re never going to shut up about it.

 "If only you can see yourself from my own perspective, you'd want to date yourself too. You sound scary whenever you want to sue someone because of something. First, it's my cousin Jackson and now you're suing me as well. That makes you interesting. A tough nut to crack. You're a challenge and I'm always up for the stakes of it. I'm not a perfect guy but we can save all the paralegal proceedings with just settling everything in our own terms, alright? I'm a man of my own words. I might be a pro player, but only in games for your reference, because I don't play with hearts, I win them. You just need to chill and worry about not falling too hard for me. Because I'm pretty sure, I'd beat you up to it." The man's got a way with his words. He's the definition of smooth and speed at the same time. But he's more than that. You like smart guys, you're attracted to their brains and you'll be placing all of your poker cards on the table for this sweet bounty.

 "I'm not sure if our personalities coincide or if our interests are compatible but I'm hoping that whatever it is, this mutual attraction tonight isn't just a one-time thing. Just so you know, Eunhee has given me enough stress with all the troublesome blind dates I've been to lately. All I’m asking is for you to be sincere and honest because once I let you in my life, you'll never be allowed to leave anymore." You glanced down on your fingertips, too afraid to enter a commitment, you feel like you're having a mini heart attack. You swear that Mark could really hear your heart pounding louder than ever.

 "Fate is really unpredictable. If you will ask, I'd rather believe in the existence of aliens more than Santa but what if he's really residing in the North Pole and he gave you to me as my Christmas present? I’m not going to run away because the chase is finally over. All you need to do is surrender yourself to me. No more buts, and what ifs. Only if you'll gonna agree to date me, my Dad will be really proud of raising a gambler just like him.” You could only wish for time to stop right there on your spot. You couldn’t ask for more, you began to doubt yourself if you really deserve all the good things that has come to your life. You wouldn’t want to wake up from this fantasy, but your eyes aren’t going to lie, there is love all over the place and you can see that it is real and happening this time.

 "I don't know much about you, but I would love for you to to bring me into another spontaneous trip of yours cause I'm absolutely up for more of your surprises." All you can ever hear is the sound of a loud bang with all the fireworks lightning up the sky in iridescent hues as you froze right on your spot, eyes wide open, when you felt his lips on yours in one swift chaste kiss. He's too gentle, you can feel his breath becoming one with yours. He pulled away and you both greeted each other a 'Merry Christmas' as a couple. That was your first kiss taken from you and it tasted sweeter than wine.

 “I want to let you know that I’m actually your secret Santa. I may have come to the party without bringing my gift, but I made sure to tag you here along with me so you could appreciate my gift in person. It's me, I'm the gift itself and I'm already yours, Y/n." Did he just show you an aegyo? Gosh, you almost melted with how cute he is. Mark must have been blessed with all the charms in the world. He showed you a piece of paper with your name written on it. You don’t believe in destiny until you brought out your own paper and saw his name written on it.

 “I didn't know if Eunhee and Jackson has something to do with this but I’m your Secret Santa too. If this isn't destiny, then I don't know what is. But you can have my heart for Christmas, and I hope you'd take care of it from now on.” You showed him his name written on the paper and everything became irrelevant all of a sudden. As if floating on a zero-gravity dimension, you felt like a lifeless feather on thin air but your heart is betraying you by falling too deep for this guy. He's a one chance in a lifetime, an answered prayer from your last lifetime and your sweet serendipity.

  "Now that everything went the way I wanted it to be, I'm up for another trip this New Year's eve, on your birthday." Just when you thought you've been blessed with so much this year, there are actually a lot more surprises to come.

 "Jackson has told you a looot about me, even my birthday, and I'm not going to be surprised about that. Anyways, what about the trip?". He reached for your hand and you felt delicate in his grasp. Too weak and too fragile but your heart is full and that's the only thing that matters.

 "My father is the CEO of TUAN RESIDENTIAL, a US based real estate developer which also means we are your firm's newest client. I know this is the craziest coincidence on top of everything, but I just discovered it this morning when I saw your planner and read the details about the meetings you've attended in the past week. I find out that you're actually part of the accounting firm that we hired. With that, I want to formally introduce their Vice President, Mark Tuan. We're acquiring a domestic corporation here in Seoul so we could expand our own line of business here in Korea. Trust me, this looks like a prank but I guess fate will really find a way for us to cross paths together no matter what. But we aren't talking about work here. Instead, are you ready for another surprise? I'm taking you with me in the US ahead of New Year’s Eve so you could meet my father and discuss a little about the liquidation proceedings. And of course, my mom would love to meet the reason why her son traveled to the other side of the world. She'll be glad that his eldest son will finally bring a girl in the house. So be prepared, Y/n, because we're leaving in the next 24 hours.”

  and all this time you thought 'why are people too patient when they are waiting?' Simply because you wouldn't want to come under prepared if love suddenly comes along your way when you least expect it.

    “WHAT THE HELL! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, MARK??????”

   “Cool. I like girls who cuss a lot.”

[circleofcavan]

Nebraska

Macey daydreams about spending winter break somewhere else, with some envy sprinkled in there, too; suite shenanigans and some $300 Bose noise-cancelling headphones. One-shot. Content warning: themes of parental neglect, mentions of alcohol use, smoking + abuse.

(Read it on AO3 here.)

There are moments when Macey wishes everything could just be stable and balanced.

“Normal” is too much to ask for; it’s a big ticket item that’s just out of reach, that she hasn’t worked quite hard enough for just yet. Instead, she’d settle for stable: an ideal situation with no boat-rocking, no absent fathers or narcissistic mothers, no forced appearances or quick-changes in the back of limousines, no hidden hangovers, no concealer on the bruises along her upper arm. Stable. Secure.

Idealistic. At this point in her life, there’s no chance she’ll ever know balance. If she keeps down the path that Gallagher has her going down, it’ll be a constant chase – maybe not a sprint, but a jog, and even that can get exhausting after a while.

She envies Cammie, even despite her hardships. Cammie has support, she has crumbs of normalcy to cling to, a warm home to run to during breaks and tight spots and panicked moments. She has options, even when she thinks she doesn’t. Even when she feels like every door is closed, there are always more.

Macey watches her chatting with Bez and Liz, her feet curled under a blanket, back to the wall of their suite. Cammie has a slight smile on her face, a fullness in her cheeks that made a return when she did, another escape on a lark that she magically realized had consequences; Bex is trying to reverse engineer a heist, Liz is French braiding Cam’s hair, which is brown now, thinner but longer. She can only slightly hear her roommates over the music she’s blasting, $300 Bose noise-cancelling headphones be damned, but she can imagine the conversation, more or less – more homework trouble, more boy trouble, more girl trouble, more acne trouble, more TV cliffhanger trouble, more “I can’t believe I got a B on this test” trouble, more normalcy. A feeling she’ll never have.

The conversation halts for a moment, all of them on the precipice of laughter, but they look to her, expectant, waiting on an answer; she points to her headphones and down to her book (Art of War, of course), and loudly yells “What?” as though she’s clueless and miffed, out of the loop. Bex laughs, Liz joins in, Cammie smiles and her volume goes back up. Stability. Everything is level again.

She’s damn great at playing the part, something she was born to do. (Is she talking about herself or about Cammie? She’s not sure. Projecting, much?) Macey is the perfect daughter, even when she’s a rebel; she’s the supermodel even when she’s strung out and hungover in the Great Hall at breakfast, stumbling through Farsi between sips of Gatorade; she’s America’s Sweetheart, Vermont’s darling, even though she hasn’t been back to Vermont in years. (Not that there’s anything there for her, aside from a hiking trail where she used to run or smoke cigs, plus the parking lot where she had her first kiss – awkward, sloppy and too much teeth – and her childhood home – her permanent address, she should say, because it’s not like she’s ever really felt like it was a home for her at all.)

They’re talking about winter break plans now. “Nebraska”  floats past the music, clinging to her brain, cloying and sweet. What she wouldn’t give for a proper, home-cooked meal, a scratchy wool blanket, a too-warm-but-too-cold room with a draft. Farm smells. Barn chores. Callouses. Sweat. Burnt coffee in smooth metal thermoses, a cold winter sun, some dustings of snow, a hot mug of potato soup – a too tight pickle jar lid. It’s so vivid it hurts, digging into her brain like it’s eating her alive from the inside out, starting at her brain and burrowing its way into her heart. Nebraska.

She can only imagine what that reality would be like; there’s something lived-in about it that she won’t be able to come close to touching, an inherent familiarity that she’s just not cut out to experience. Her winter break will likely be Aspen or Geneva, maybe both, and that’s a dream, too – she’ll probably see some classmates there as well, the ones that fit the Gallagher mold, the one that she’s apparently supposed to fit, too.

The trip will be booked as a family affair, but her parents will be anything but present, her mom chasing after seasonal ski patrol staff, college students in their prime, her dad on “work calls,” probably brokering some deal that will just line his pockets a bit more than his congressional salary. She’ll be drunk and alone, partying with ski bunnies or diplomats’ kids, settling into her old-money-rich-heiress role like she has so many times before.

Maybe if she’s lucky she’ll be able to slip away – if they’re preoccupied for a few days into the weeklong trip, she could pack a bag and hitchhike her way a few towns over, blending in like she’s new in town and visiting extended family, weaving a cover story for herself and patching it up every time she gets caught in a lie. She might have normal clothes on but she’s still anything but; they’ll remark on her beauty and her perfectly-manicured nails, ones that wouldn’t be in such pristine condition if she were just a girl from just a farm in just Nebraska.

Then she’ll get call after call to her phone, her parents demanding an appearance because it’s time to fly home now, and she’ll have to abandon the fake life she created for herself in this little mountain town, the cover that was just on the verge of being blown. She won’t be a girl from Nebraska with boy trouble and homework trouble and normal trouble, she’ll be the Macey McHenry, heiress and stone-cold bitch, sugary-sweet but too much to handle.

She’s not sure how Bex was able to get on her bed without her knowing, but she’s got a hand on the right ear of her headphones before Macey can turn to stop her with a bewildered laugh. “We’ve been trying to get your attention for ages,” Bex says, sitting back on her haunches, glancing at Cam and Liz. “What movie do you want to watch tonight? Tina’s running a Bourne marathon, but we were thinking Clueless, but then we realized you haven’t picked a movie yet, so it’s your call.”

Macey slides the headphones off fully now, settling them around her neck. She pauses her music. She pauses herself. Maybe this is the closest to stable and balanced that she’ll get: the closest thing to normal is four teenage girls watching 80s movies in their pajamas, LUSH masks smeared on their faces, shitty manicures and burnt microwave popcorn, falling asleep on the floor next to an overheated laptop and projector and her roommates, snoring softly.

Tomorrow’s Saturday. She could sleep in, pretend like the meal she’s having is home-cooked. She could wander around the halls and act like this was the home she deserved all along, because it was, and maybe even talk a bit more about winter break plans. Macey knows enough social graces to not invite herself to spaces where she might not be welcome, but maybe it could happen; maybe things will balance out in her favor. It might not be Nebraska, it might be London, or maybe it might just be here, in the mansion, if she can talk her way into it. The only people who normally hang back anyway are ones who either can’t go home or won’t go home, and Macey surely falls into both or either.

But that’s neither here nor there, and they’re still waiting on an answer. Macey dogears her book page, the same page she’s been stuck on this entire time, reading the same paragraph over and over, and sets it aside. “Clueless for sure,” she finally says, forcing a grin, cutting a glance at Cammie. “But only if we stay up way too late talking about how much Paul Rudd kind of looks like J-O-S-H.” (He doesn't.)

Liz squeals, Bex laughs, and Cammie blushes. Mace flashes her a knowing smile and grabs her blanket, ushering them up, while Bex says something about stealing cookie dough from the kitchen. Liz is convinced that they need to swipe Madame Dabney’s projector, even though there’s a perfectly good one in their room (apparently the one that isn’t theirs is 10 times more energy efficient and smells like the essential oil of their choice), and Cammie is watching her, grabbing her hand, helping her up. Cam’s hand doesn’t have callouses yet, but it will, and Macey thinks about what they’ll feel like after break. Will they be rough and ragged, or torn, exposing new, smooth, bright pink skin, the outline just barely visible?

Macey snaps back to reality for a moment; Bex and Liz have left on their respective conquests, and Cam is lingering near the door. “You coming?” she asks, gesturing to the hallway with her chin, and Macey can’t help but remember the annoyed (and annoying) girl that she met on her first visit, the one who just wouldn’t leave her alone. “You know we can’t let them traipse around by themselves; Liz will end up with a sprained ankle and Bex will probably burn the place to the ground.”

“Let’s do this,” Macey shoots back, grabbing a compact fire extinguisher that Liz had made in the labs a semester prior. This was normal. And she’d create balance and stability where she could, starting with her two renegade roommates. “I’m right behind you.”

[littlemisslol-fic]

Summary: Two years after the events of Barviel Keep, Varian has tried to adapt to the expectations brought by being a King’s Ward, with mixed results. Haunted by ghosts, Varian is forced to face the demons he tried to leave behind in Bayangor when his abdication is forcibly stopped by a third party, out for revenge against the Bayan Royal bloodline. On the run, with few allies left to turn to, Varian finds himself chasing a ghost through a series of tests that only a true heir of Demanitus could ever hope to pass.But the shadows are ever present, looming and dark, and not everything is as simple as it might seem.

Notes: It's the beginning of the end.

Varian’s feet were glued to the floor. The absolute shock of seeing Merrick— if he was here, where was Arianna?— standing in front of him— how had he gotten here so quickly?— was more than enough to leave Varian stunned. His brain was trying to parcel through too many questions at once, he couldn’t keep track; his mind was firing on so many synapses at once that it wasn’t registering any of them.

Eugene and Rapunzel were already reaching for their weapons, frying pan and sword ready. Varian stuttered to life enough to begin grabbing for his alchemy belt, only to realize that he didn’t have anything left. He’d used the last of it against Cerise. The feeling of dread in his guts only multiplied at that, especially when Merrick began to move.

The mage pushed himself off the wall, casual and calm in a direct contrast to the Coronians in front of him. Merrick paced outside the threshold of the door, eying the invisible line between the rooms. Varian was reminded of a prowling animal, like Hector’s bearcats. With a small, testing motion Merrick stuck a boot out, smirking when it crossed the barrier with no trouble. Merrick did a little hop over the barrier, as if expecting to be stopped, and delighting when he wasn’t.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do that?” he asked them. When none of the Coronians replied, he continued on his own. “Because it’s been a hot minute, let me tell you. Ol’ Geldam had this place locked tight for centuries, trying to keep me and mine out.”

He shrugged, looking around the room with a sense of smug satisfaction. When his eyes landed on Varian, his grin sharpened.

“Good thing his descendant turned out to be a bit of an idiot, huh?”

Rapunzel scowled, pointing at Merrick with her frying pan. “You leave him alone!” she demanded.

Merrick paused at his place at the top of the stairs. He focused on her frying pan, like one would stare down the barrel of a gun. He pursed his lips, arching a brow.

“Hm, right,” he said, “You two are still here. I’ll be real I was hoping it would just be the crow alone, but I can make this work.”

He brought up a hand, waving flippantly. On cue, a group of people appeared from thin air, the room shuddering with the series of loud pops that rang through the air. Varian flinched at the loud noise, whirling around and tensing up when he saw they were surrounded. He turned back, letting out a shout when he saw figures sneaking up on his friends.

“Look out!” he yelped, a second too late. Rapunzel and Eugene let out twin cries when they were grabbed from behind, their arms drawn back. The clatter of sword and pan against marble were damning, rattling around in Varian’s skull and finally shaking him to action. He ran for the closest weapon— Rapunzel’s pan— only to feel a hand on his wrist jerking him to a halt.

Merrick held quick, even when Varian tried to pull away. The alchemist hadn’t even noticed him moving, when had he even—

“Ah-ha, nope,” Merrick chided him, “None of that, thank you. You’ve got a job to do.”

“Let go!” Varian demanded, trying to yank his arm out of Merrick’s metal grasp. “Let go!”

The man scoffed, shaking Varian’s wrist roughly. “Let go,” he mocked, “Sheesh, get something original maybe. At this rate it’s not even fun, just pathetic.”

He dragged Varian back toward the tomb, rough and uncaring when Varian nearly fell over. Instead, Merrick merely wrapped an oppressive arm around the alchemist’s shoulders, keeping him in place. Varian cringed, unable to keep from tensing under the deceptively casual touch. Merrick may have been playing like things were fine, but Varian could see the underlying danger.

“Don’t touch him!” Eugene shouted; his cry cut off when the man holding his arms yanked him back. The brunet yelped at the feeling of his arms being drawn too far, stressing his shoulders and forcing him to be quiet. Merrick snickered, turning back to Varian.

“Do you know why we led you here?” he asked. “Because I assume you’ve figured out that mommy dearest isn’t around, hm?”

Varian swallowed the knot in his throat, shuddering. All of this had been for nothing. He’d lead Rapunzel and Eugene across the map and directly into a trap, gods he was so stupid—

“Why?” is all he was able to choke out, tears starting to well up. He’d wanted so badly for it to be her, been blind to everything, Eugene and Rapunzel had both tried to warn him and he’d just ignored it, and now they were all paying for it. The crushing feeling of failure, an old friend by now, sprung to life in Varian’s chest, cloying and overwhelming. He’d been such an idiot. Merrick, uncaring of the crisis he’d just sparked in Varian, only snorted, gesturing to the coffin.

“Because of your blood, of course,” he said, as if that explained anything. When Varian remained quiet, Merrick continued. “Geldam was a tricky old rat, I’ll give him that. He stolefrom my family, and to protect his ill gotten gains, he created this place.”

He gestured around the tomb, and to the center dais. “We’ve been trying to break into here for yearsto get our property back. But once it was locked down, only one of his heirs could open it with blood, willingly given. He knew exactly what he was doing, that bastard. Knew that no one from his family would open the tomb, or his coffin.”

Varian shuddered, leaning away from the podium. Merrick seemed delighted with his fear, patting Varian on the shoulder in sarcastic comfort.

“Cerise thought if we forged a letter, it would have drawn you out,” the mage admitted. “But after a few months the trap was still there, and you were still locked up tight in your pretty castle— so we elected to go with my more… direct approach.” The mage sighed, huffing a laugh. “I guess her plan ended up working, in the long run; she’s probably laughing at me right now.”

Varian’s eyes squeezed shut, trying to force the tears back. He wouldn’t cry, not here, not now— this was all his fault, who was he to cry about it? He shook his head roughly, trying to dispel the despair. He was such an idiot.

“Aw, jeeze, you’re not gunna cry already, are you?” Merrick patted Varian’s shoulder in false comfort, “We’ve barely gotten started!”

Varian shoved at him; strategy be damned, he couldn’t help but lash out. That got Merrick to let him go, a win, but Varian’s arms were immediately caught by two masked adults, a new problem. Merrick danced out of the way of Varian’s blow, snickering. Once Varian was contained he drew close again, taunting.

“What?” he leaned close to Varian’s face, tilting his head. “Did you reallythink Queen Crow was still alive after all this time? That she’d survived in a place like this—” he gestured around the tomb, his voice echoing, “—just for the hell of it?”

He leaned closer to Varian, so their noses were nearly touching. Varian couldn’t help but flinch away, squirming back for as much space between them as possible. Merrick seemed to revel in Varian’s discomfort, leaning all the closer.

“You didn’t really, right?” his voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve heard of you; you’re supposed to be smart. So why did you come?”

Varian remained quiet. He tasted salt on his cheeks. Merrick’s eyebrows furrowed, almost confused. “You wanted her to be alive that badly, hm? Wanted mommy to come make things better?”

“Shut up,” Varian choked out, shaking his head. “I- you don’t know anything.” His voice was barely over a whine, he couldn’t muster up anything beyond that. Merrick’s confusion flipped again, back to the smug mockery.

“Ha, there he is!” Varian got a pat to the head for his trouble. “Thought you’d forgotten how to talk for a second there.”

“Leave him alone!” Rapunzel demanded from behind them, kicking a bare foot at the mage in front of her. Merrick paused, attention shifting from Varian and onto the older woman. Merrick seemed annoyed at the interruption.

“Wanna knock it off, princess?” he asked, “I don’t really have the patience for you right now.”

“You are going to let us go.” Rapunzel’s voice was strong, regal. Commanding. Like a proper queen.

Merrick only let out a loud laugh at that, popping a hip and leaning against Geldam’s coffin with a casual air. Rapunzel held strong, spine straight and her eyes set in a glare. The mage seemed unhappy with how she refused to be scared by him, but Merrick only played it off with a flippant shrug.

“Am I now?” he asked her. “Because something tells me you’re in no place to be making demands, no ma’am. In fact, I’d say that if you don’t want me to just kill the Crow and drain him like a pig over that coffin, you’d do best to hold your tongue.”

Varian flinched at the threat, a shudder inadvertently crawling up his spine. Willingly given, he repeated to himself in a twisted attempt at comfort. The blood has to be willingly given. He can’t kill me until he gets what he wants.

Rapunzel seemed to figure the same, as she kept pushing. “You’ve committed crimes against Corona and her people,” she spat the words like the insult they were. “No matter what you think you’ve won by tricking us here, it won’t mean anything when you’re put on trial—“

Merrick only laughed, shrugging. “I’d loveto see them try and make a prison that could keep me in,” he challenged. “Let alone meet the person you send to try and catch me. That’s the thing with magic, you see. Makes us a pain in the ass, for people like you.”

“Like me?”

“Perfectionists,” Merrick said blandly, “Goodie-two-shoes. Boot lickers. Whatever you want to call it. You and yours sit up there in your perfectcastles, living your perfect lives, and you don’t ever notice that the people on the ground level are suffering. Aldred was the same.”

“Aldred was a monster—“

“And you all were bloody aware of that!” Merrick actually raised his voice for the first time. Varian flinched again, rattling the armor of the Bayan who held him in place. That seemed to divert Merrick’s attention from Rapunzel and back onto the boy, who shook as the older teenager approached.

“Your father caused so much suffering,” he hissed, getting into Varian’s face once more. “And for so long, the only people who were willing to do anything about it were my family. We sacrificed so much to see him dead, all while the other nations stood by and let it happen. And now we find out that he left one last little stain on the world. It’s my duty to wash it away. Hell, you could even call it my destiny.”

Merrick straightened, taking a breath. He forced himself to relax, the tenseness in his spine slowly uncurling. When he turned back to Rapunzel, it was back to the strange, flippant calm he’d had before.

“You and your family only cared when Aldred took something that you thought was yours,” he flatly accused. “Bayangor had been in a spiral for centuries before then, but you didn’t care to do a thing until it directly affected you. Corona may pretend to be innocent, but there’s a special type of evil in people who are willing to stand by and let others suffer.”

Rapunzel seemed at a loss for words, shaking her head quietly. “You can’t blame us for things that happened before we were even born!” She seemed truly confused by it. “Corona is helping Bayangor now, Aldred is dead now, isn’t that exactly what you wanted?”

“I want my birthright.” Merrick said. “And if I have to break a few spines to get it, then so be it.”

He looked back to Varian, arching a brow. “I really didn’t think luring you here was going to work,” he admitted. “I thought for sure I’d have to drag you here kicking and screaming. That was the plan, you know.” He scratched his chin in thought. “To grab you at the coronation. Bring you here, force you into this. If I’d known it was going to be this easy I would have just dangled a turkey leg on a string or something.”

He shrugged, gesturing to his men with a wave. “Ah, such is life. Search them,” he said, approaching the coffin with more interest. It seemed to rumble with a hazy kind of energy when he got too close, the stone lid rattling. It was obvious that the enchantment was reacting negatively to Merrick’s presence. Varian couldn’t help but feel a little fascinated by it, the intricacies that would have been needed, but his attention was drawn away by the feeling of hands patting him down.

Varian scowled as one of the Bayans holding his arms began to root through his pockets. From the sounds Eugene and Rapunzel were making, they were getting the same rough treatment; clattering noises echoed around the tomb as miscellaneous objects were tossed to the ground. Varian aimed a kick at one of his captors, only for the woman to avoid it and smack him for his trouble.

The woman ripped the note and adder stone from Varian’s pocket, holding them up to the light.

“Sir.” Merrick turned, taking the items from her. Varian scowled; even if the note was fake, made by Cerise and Merrick, the stone was something that had been given to him. It was his—

“Where did you get this?” Merrick’s voice was strained. He held the adder stone up in the torchlight, gaze intense on the little runes. They shone bright gold, much too bright to be a reflection of the torches. Varian could just see through the hole in the middle, the desaturated gray of the stone, before Merrick brought his attention back with a snap of his fingers. The boy scowled, playing petulant.

“Found it,” Varian immediately shot back. He wasn’t about to give up Ori, even if the man seemed to have a trick or two up his sleeve. The man was hiding for a reason, even if it had nothing to do with the tomb. Varian had thought that Ori had meant to help in the search for Aisha, but if this place was where he meant, then the adder stone truly had been the best thing to give Varian. When they met again, he’d have to thank the mage for his help.

If they ever met again.

The man in front of him wasn’t pleased with the answer Varian gave, if the pissy expression on his face was any indication. It made Varian feel a pulse of pride; he still had the ability to get under people’s skin when it mattered, apparently.

“Try again,” Merrick snapped. “I recognize the handwriting. Next wrong answer loses you a finger. Where. Did you. Get this?”

“A friend,” Varian shrugged. Merrick’s face only got darker. The man turned to the room at large, holding up the adder stone. It shone brightly, distractingly so. Merrick held it like it was trash, loose and delicate like he couldn’t bear to have contact with it for longer than necessary.

“Lookie what the crow found.” Merrick showed the stone to his men, dangling it between two fingers. “Looks like one of my siblings has swapped sides.”

The Bayans all made the appropriate noises of disgust or anger; Varian almost rolled his eyes from the theatrics of it. Gods it seemed that whole family was made of showmen.

“Guess that lunatic isn’t as dead as I thought.” Merrick mused. “Great to know he turned traitor; it’ll make hunting him down easy enough. I am going to need a hobby once this is done.”

He flicked the stone up into the air, like one would a coin, but instead of catching it Merrick let it drop to the floor. It hit with a crack, the adder stone shattering like glass. Shards scattered everywhere, disappearing around the room. Varian winced when it did— he’d liked the little stone, it had been a small comfort in the darkness of the tomb.

Merrick watched it smash, uncaring.

“Anything else?” he asked his men, who all responded with a negative. “Wonderful. Let’s get this show on the road then, shall we?”

The soldiers holding Varian pulled him closer to the coffin. The boy struggled, trying to dig the heels of his boots into the floor, but the polished marble offered no purchase. They dragged him up on top of the small platform, holding him tight as Varian tried one last yank of his arms. Their grip was like steel, Quirin’s cloak nearly tearing under their fingers. Varian found himself face to face with their attacker and tried to keep the shaking in his hands hidden.

“So, Varian.” Merrick’s voice was nearly a purr. Varian stilled when he felt gloved fingers grab at his chin, his whole body tensing at the horribly familiar act.

He was trapped, entombed in stone and dark oak wood. A thousand portraits stared down at him, glaring, watching, examining, like a bug under a microscope. Father, right in front of him, holding him in place and keeping him under the rushing waves, suffocating him, drowning him—

“I have a little job for you.” Merrick’s voice cut through the haze of memories. Not father, though someone who proved just as much of a threat. “Just a favor, if you don’t mind.”

“Go to hell,” Varian tried to force himself to stand straight. If not for his family, then at least for himself. Merrick seemed taken aback for a second, blinking, before letting his hand drop from Varian’s chin.

“Oh, ho, so the crows got some iron, after all.” Merrick snorted, a rough rush of air. “Cute. No, okay, I know I phrased it like a request, but you really don’t get a choice here.”

“Blood has to be willingly given, right?” Varian kept his chin high. His hands shook behind his back. “I don’t care why you want in there. You get in that coffin over my dead body.”

Merrick pursed his lips, considering. “Hm, we’re growing a spine now, are we? Final hour show of bravery?”

Varian didn’t reply, keeping the scowl firmly on his face. Just like old times, something cynical in him whispered. Rapunzel definitely would be able to tell this was a fear response. A choice of fight from fight or flight. She knew him well enough to see the false bravado, though hopefully Merrick would fall for it, just as Frederick did, all those years ago.

Merrick tilted his head, appraising. He seemed to pause in thought, thick eyebrows knitting together. Varian held his stare, locking down his emotions and trying to hold himself together under the fear. Merrick suddenly straightened, seemingly finding his silent answer. He looked over Varian’s head, toward where Rapunzel and Eugene were.

“Kill Fitzherbert.”

Varian let out a wordless shout, kicking his feet out and pulling against the people holding him still.

“No!” he screamed, falling on deaf ears. Panic flare up his spine, desperate and cloying. He couldn’t focus on anything other than where a man was taking Eugene’s sword off the ground and unsheathing it. He yelled again, a garbled mix of curses and rage as he aimed another kick at Merrick in an attempt to stop what was happening.

Rapunzel was frantic, panicking, the woman forcibly dragged back from her husband and grabbed by the hair. Varian winced when her head was yanked back, obviously painful from the way she yelped. The men pushed Eugene so he was nearly bent over, the third one raising the sword high. It gleamed in the torchlight, shiny and dreadful. Varian screamed again, choking it out through the knot in his throat.

“Wait!” he shrieked, voice going squeaky, “Wait, wait! I’ll do it! WAIT!”

Merrick, still next to Varian, held up a hand. The man with the sword paused, the blade held high over Eugene’s prone neck.

“Care to repeat?” Merrick’s voice was smug. Varian scowled, tugging his arms out of the grip of the soldiers behind him. They let him go, surprisingly, letting Varian get into Merrick’s face for once. Even if he was shorter, it was more than enough to give Varian his voice back.

“I’ll do it,” he spat. “If you let them go.”

Merrick arched a brow. “Really?” he asked, “What, do they owe you money?”

Varian’s glare only intensified. “Let them go.” He took a small step back. “Or neither of us get what we want.”

Merrick’s grin sharpened. “Open it,” he ordered. “And they’ll walk away. We both know I’m not here for them.” The man held out a knife, holding it by the blade. “I assume you know what to do.”

Varian’s world focused down to the knife in front of him. He could hear Rapunzel and Eugene behind him, telling him not to do it, that they would be fine, but he couldn’t find it within himself to believe it.

He’d gotten them into this. It was his responsibility to get them out.

He took the knife from Merrick, holding it in a shaking grip. The blade glittered in the firelight. It looked razor sharp, with an ornate handle of carved bone. Obviously old, but well cared for. Interesting. Varian had barely touched the thing when he heard his sister speak up behind him.

“Varian,” Rapunzel’s voice was shaky. “Look at me.”

He turned to her, trying to keep his breathing even. Her chest heaved, the princess tugging at the restraining grip on her arms; Rapunzel shook her head frantically, her hair swinging every direction.

“Don’t.”

Her voice was strong, but her eyes were blown wide in fear. Eugene, to her left, looked pale, spooked. It was obvious how he felt about the whole situation. Varian shot them what he hoped was an easy smile, pushing down the fear. He must have failed, from the way she refused to look away.

“It’ll be okay,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “I promise.”

Rapunzel’s expression got even more horrified, struggling again. “Varian!” she shrieked, her volume only getting louder when he turned away from her. “Varian!”

He stepped toward the coffin, breathing deeply. He held the knife so tightly it nearly dug into the leather of his glove. He could sense Merrick looming behind him, making absolutely clear that he wasn’t trusted to keep his word. Varian shook the feeling of eyes on his back— he quietly took his left glove off, looking down at the wound he’d made before to get the door open. With a grimace he pushed the blade into the cut, breaking into the skin once again and drawing a well of blood to the surface.

The wound had barely had time to close, so he didn’t have to press hard, but it still sent a sharp sting rattling up his arm. He stood before the coffin, sucking in a deep breath before he held his hand out over the chalice in the statue’s hand. With a damning plip, blood began to drip from his cut and into the cup. Varian wasn’t positive that was where he was supposed to bleed on the creepy statue, but it seemed as good a place as any.

Everyone held their breath. Even Merrick and his men seemed frozen, waiting for something to happen. The mage was impatient, stepping up to Varian’s side and eying the statue.

“What’s it going to do?” he asked, eyes following another drop of blood as it fell into the cup.

“You think I know?” Varian shot back, “You’re the one who wanted to be here.”

Merrick pulled a face, sneering. He opened his mouth, probably to make another threat, when both teenagers were startled when the statue in front of them began to move.

Varian stumbled back out of instinct, well versed in magical bullshit by this point. He watched with a twisted sense of fascination as, with the grinding noise of stone on stone, the statue slowly rumbled to life. It sat up, much like a human would. Its face was static, unmoving, unblinking. It was creepy, to be honest, the way it turned its unwavering gaze around them all. It seemed to linger on Varian, making him take another step back; he didn’t much appreciate being watched by a creepy carving, thank you.

The statue of Geldam slowly raised the cup up, bringing it to its lips and tipping it back. Varian nearly gagged once he realized what it was doing.

It was drinking his blood.

Disgusting.

The statue seemed content with the offering. It slowly lowered the cup from its face and took one last look around the tomb before settling back down to lay on the top of the coffin once more. Once it was back in place, the whole lid began to shift, moving to the side and exposing the interior of the coffin at last.

Varian shuffled forward, unable to help it. He briefly heard Rapunzel and Eugene telling him to get away from it, but he couldn’t resist leaning over and taking a peek inside. His nose wrinkled at the sight within, the disgusting view rolling his stomach a little.

As one would expect, a skeleton lay within the coffin. It wasn’t… clean, however. A few patches of hair, and even a small area of dried, flaky skin on the face was still attached. Varian swallowed the bile wallowing up, instead opting to look away from the dead eyes of the skull. Geldam’s skeleton was clothed in fineries, think velvet and golden jewelry fit for any king. A tarnished crown sat upon his head, multiple amulets and necklaces lay across his chest, and even rings, gold and silver both, were still on boney fingers.

The centerpiece of it all, however, was a thick Staff, clutched tightly by the dead man’s hands.

It was ornate, carved silver, a twisting design made to mimic vines or the gnarled roots of a tree. They all curved up into a delicate top, where they held a large, clear crystal in their grasp. It was beautiful, seemingly mythical, even. It held the same kind of aura as the rest of the tomb did. Varian’s mouth went dry at the sight of it, the feeling of pure energy surrounding it setting off alarm bells of every kind in his mind. Stay away, his instincts whispered, dangerous.

“There it is.”

Ah, right. Merrick.

The mage looked nearly shell-shocked, eyes wide with wonder. Varian felt himself tense when the older teenager drew closer, so they were shoulder to shoulder.

“The Novis Staff.” It was said so quietly that Varian almost missed it. The name was familiar, Ori had mentioned it. He looked back down to the grave, eyes locking on the silver. This was why all this had happened? Caused the feud?

All this, for a stick?

A sudden hand on his shoulder startled Varian. Merrick drew him close, smirking when Varian tried to push away.

“Congrats, Crow,” he said. “You just destroyed your family legacy. Your daddy’s about to be realpissed in whatever layer of hell he would up in.”

Varian shuddered at the closeness, shoving at Merrick’s chest. Being so close to the other teenager made him feel nauseous, a rolling, ugly feeling that was a mix of disgust and fear.

“You got what you wanted,” Varian muttered. He was sick of all of this, he wanted to go home. “Let us go.”

Merrick pursed his lips, not looking away from the Staff. “A deal’s a deal, I suppose.” He brought up a hand and waved it over his shoulder. “Let the princess and her boy-toy go, I guess. Their use is over.”

Varian felt a weight lift when he saw his family being released, only for it to come right back when he felt Merrick’s arm wrap around his shoulder once more. A binding bar of iron to keep him in place.

“He did what you said,” Eugene spoke up, at last. “Hands off the kid.”

Merrick scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I said you two get to go,” he clarified. “I didn’t say shit about the Crow.”

Varian’s stomach sank. He knew this was coming, he’d heard the specifications when Merrick had said it, expected this, but it still made his guts roll with dread. He couldn’t even feel disappointed, more of a resigned acceptance. If there was anyone who was to blame, it was him—maybe it was best for them to leave him behind to be buried here with the ruins of his bloodline.

Eugene took a step forward, looking ready to throttle the mage, only to be stopped by a sword blocking his path. One of the Bayans stood between him and Varian, keeping the distance between them. Varian winced when the grip on his shoulder tightened to the point of pain.

The coffin in front of them may as well have been a chasm. Varian had never felt more separated from his friends in years. His hands shook, and the side of his body that was pressed up against Merrick felt uncomfortably warm. He could see the way Eugene scowled, how Rapunzel was pale. It made the dread in his stomach only grow.

The mage to his side snickered at his own joke, peering in to stare at Geldam’s coffin. Varian saw the gears turning in Merrick’s brain, in the way his eyes focusing on the Novis Staff. He flinched when the green-eyed man moved, leaning forward and bringing the arm not holding Varian up.

“Wait,” The alchemist blurted, before he could think. “There’s been traps-”

Merrick paused, eying Varian. His fingers were only a hair away from connecting with the silver of the Staff, ghosting just above its surface. Merrick twitched pulling his hand back and arching a brow.

“Good point,” he acquiesced. There was a solid second of silence before he gave Varian a nudge, jostling him. “You grab it.”

Varian scowled, glaring at the man, before reaching in and, hesitantly, grazing the tips of his fingers on the surface. He grit his teeth, bracing, before allowing his fingers to curl around the handle. Varian’s eyes closed in preparation— for an explosion, for a trap, for something— but after a solid second of peace, he peeked one eye back open.

The Staff was freezing cold to the touch. Colder than it should have been; it was like touching something made of pure ice. Even through the thick leather of his gloves, he could feel the way the cold permeated everything around the Novis Staff. Stranger though, was the feeling of… rightness, that came when he touched it. Something in him felt the energy coming from the thing, surely magical in nature, and he could feel it reaching to him, beckoning him; it called to him in the depths of his chest, like a magnet. Holding it, having its power connected to him… it felt right.

Varian was so caught up in the feeling that he missed Merrick grabbing for the Staff until it was too late.

“Yoink,” the mage laughed, snatching it from Varian’s lax grip with a harsh tug. “Mine now, thank you.”

Varian blinked, shocked, as the connection severed. He tried desperately to cling to the tattered remains of it, but they slipped from his proverbial fingers quicker than he could react. His hands twitched, the feeling of cold leaving just as quickly and leaving his fingers dreadfully numb.

Merrick smirked inspecting the Staff for a moment, before frowning. The large crystal in the top, once glowing a light blue, darkened, instead looking almost midnight navy.

“What the hell did you do?” he demanded, shaking the thing in Varian’s face. The alchemist staggered back, surprised when Merrick actually let him go.

“I didn’t do anything,” that he knew of, “How could I have—”

Varian cut off as the room around them suddenly shifted, the ground beginning to rumble. The alchemist was nearly knocked off his feet by the rough shaking; like the tomb was tearing itself apart at the seams and would surely crumble with them all inside. Varian fell into Geldam’s coffin, sending a pulse of pain up his ribs and making it hard to breathe for a second. He heard the others, Coronian and Bayan alike, scream as they too were bowled over by the harsh earthquake.

The way he’d fallen, catching himself on the lip, meant he was face to face with the skull of his ancestor. Varian cringed back, starting to push himself up and away, only to stop as a bright blue light began to overtake the dusty old bones. He watched with abject horror as the corpse began to rattle, not in sync with the earth and stone, but instead under its own power.

Varian shrieked, flailing back and falling on his ass on the stone before the coffin. He felt his mouth go dry when, over the lip of the stone, he saw a skeletal hand lift up and grab onto the edge. His breath left him when the fingers moved, flexing, and clinging like they would if they still had muscle and skin attached to them. The fingers twitched, and Varian felt the sudden urge to vomit when the rest of the skeleton began to pull itself up into a seated position.

His attention was pulled away from the horror show in front of him when the others in the room began to scream again, accompanied by a bone shattering BANGthat echoed around the chamber. The alchemist watched in slack jawed horror as the coffins surrounding the circular tomb, all eighteen of them, burst open at once, sending shards of stone and dust into the air.

He caught sight of Eugene covering Rapunzel, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw they were both okay. At least someone was doing alright. Merrick’s men all had their weapons drawn, the Coronians forgotten for the time being as they stood with their backs to each other, a formation to cover every angle. Merrick was still holding the Staff, looking furious at this sudden chain of events.

A ghostly howl filled the room, a cacophony of voices filling the air and screaming in utter agony; everyone alive covered their ears from the volume of it, voices of every type screeching in a horrible harmony loud enough to make the ribs rattle in Varian’s chest. The boy managed to finally flip onto his knees, staring in horror at one of the closest coffins.

Stumbling from within was the figure of a young woman, draped in heavy armor and dragging a massive war hammer behind her. Everything about her was a ghostly blue, and her ghostly figure was slightly transparent. The worst thing of all, however, was the sight of her head being split in twain, a horrible cleave right down the center of her face. There was no blood, the wound looking strangely clean, however everything was visible in excruciating detail.

Varian gagged at the sight of the inside of her skull. The woman stepped forward, sluggish and odd, her gait almost drunk as she stepped into the room. Her one eye scanned the room, focusing on each person in turn, before she opened her mouth and began to scream.

She rushed forward, a blue mist following her every footstep. As she drew close Varian realized with startling terror that he recognized her. She was one of the women who had glared at him in the hall of portraits, bitter and angry looking. Aldred had never mentioned her, too wrapped up in the more impressive names from their line, but Varian could tell from the bridge of her nose and the stripe of teal in her hair.

The woman lifted her hammer, descending on the Bayans with a lethal speed. One of the humans, a man, tried to raise his shield but was too slow, the ghost bringing her hammer down and slamming it onto his skull. All of them screamed when it immediately crushed his skull, the man dropping like a stone in a spray of blood and bone fragment. The other Bayans all began to panic, one of them taking a swing with her sword only for it to pass through the ghost without a prayer of damage.

The spirit paused, snarling at the humans in front of her like a feral animal; it sounded nearly demonic, nothing close to a human voice. Her screams were met with the collective of voices ringing out once more. Varian felt the urge to wail along with them, something in his chest tugging and commanding him to join the oppressive opera surrounding them.

From the other graves came a sudden wave of spirits, descending on the humans like a deadly flood. There were too many to count, at least fifty ghosts surrounding them all and attacking anything that moved. Varian pushed his back against the stone of Geldam’s coffin, staring with horror at the faces of the ghosts running by.

He’d seen them all before, in the cold halls of Barviel Keep. Maybe not exactly as they looked here, as their portraits had been them at their most perfect; the ghosts were all brutally mutilated in some way, missing limbs and ripped open torsos, cleaved open heads and one, horrifically, missing their head entirely.

The spirits all had the same dead eyes, soulless and dark and empty, shrouded in fog and almost transparent. They were stained in blood and offal, some of them more so than others, but all of them very obviously dead, dead, dead. Varian shuddered when one ran right by him, leaving him be to charge Merrick. The man yowled, backed away by the creature and fighting back with a plume of flame from his hands.

Varian shrank back from the heat, the rising panic in his chest slowly clawing up and into his throat. He peeked over the top of the coffin, catching sight of Rapunzel and Eugene, back-to-back and fighting with everything they had. It was obvious that pan and sword weren’t working against the new foes, but they’d already seemed to figure out a way to keep the attention away from them.

The tomb had descended into anarchy. Varian caught sight of multiple bodies dropping as the Bayans tried to fight the tide of ghosts back, all of them failing. He heaved a breath as he caught sight of one Bayan screaming as they were overwhelmed and fell to the ground. Varian shuddered at the sight of his ancestors; all of their faces were contorted into pure rage. He caught sight of Geldam, some others he knew the name of, some he didn’t. All were recognizably… him, however, in the way all their portraits had been. Same eyes, same noses; and as always, that damn stripe burst from their hairlines. A marker. A brand.

The spray of souls seemed to finally slow, the last few emerging from the tombs at long last. Varian saw two figures he actually knew by name appear, joining the fray just as the others had. The two Aldred had called his grandparents, Kamron and Abelia, looking as dreadful as ever— but if they were here then…

Varian watched the final tomb with a sudden, dawning dread. If the rest of the family were here, regardless of where they’d been buried…

Oh.

Oh no.

One, final figure emerged from the darkness beyond the tomb. He was tall, foreboding. The man had deep wrinkles set in between his piercing blue eyes, wrinkles made from a lifetime of scowling. His face was a mess of harsh angles, all coming together into a pointed nose and angular chin. His salt and pepper hair was combed back, slicked down and generally imposing.

Varian was frozen, locked in place and paralyzed by pure, unadulterated fear. A shock of cold ran down his spine, horror frying any sort of thought in his mind beyond run, run run—

Aldred hadn’t changed a bit since the last time Varian had seen him.

He was still as imposing as he’d been that last day on the tower. His blue eyes— perfect mirrors of Varian’s own, needle prick points of blue on pale canvas— scanned the room, finally landing on Varian. The boy locked up even further, his spine pressing into the stone behind him as if he could shove his way through it and escape. Varian’s breaths came in stuttering gasps, the alchemist unable to get enough air into his lungs. He felt compressed, like a fist had him in its grasp and had begun to squeeze.

Aldred’s attention was locked onto Varian, the ghost of a man sneering as Varian stared at him in abject terror. Varian shook like a leaf; why couldn’t he move?

It was an odd sort of standstill they found themselves in. While the other ghosts seemed content with attacking the Bayans without rest, Aldred’s spirit focused on Varian to an uncomfortable degree. The boy couldn’t even find it within himself to blink, his eyes wide and locked onto the man in front of him. Aldred smiled, something smug and malicious, and opened his arms, as if asking for a hug.

“My son,” he crooned. His voice was raspy and deep, but just as it had been the last time Varian had heard it in his nightmares. Aldred took a single step forward, his long cloak flaring out behind him. “It’s been so long.”

Varian bolted.

In something akin to pure, animalistic fear, Varian threw himself over the coffin, landing hard on the stone. He could hear Aldred approaching behind him, over the hammering of his heart. It made him run faster, like a rabbit from a wolf— he needed to get the hell out—

“Rapunzel!” his voice was a full shriek, any sense of decorum lost as he stumbled down from the dais. He caught sight of her hair over the fighting and began a dead sprint for her. He felt sluggish, like his body couldn’t keep up with his whirling thoughts— father was here, coming to take him back to the Keep and drag him down, down, down until he drowned— and he nearly slipped on the final step. He needed his sister, damn everything else, he needed her.

“Rapunzel!”

The woman whipped around, catching sight of Varian across the room. He saw the exact second she noticed Aldred behind him, her face going ashen white. Varian ran for her, tunnel vision crawling in through the fear.

Get to Rapunzel, his thoughts screamed, she’s safe, I need to be safe, I need her to stop him-

A hand wrapped around his wrist.

Varian whirled around, a scream caught in his throat. He threw his free hand out, shoving at whoever had grabbed him— he had no time to think, he just needed to get away, put as much distance as he could between him and father, he needed OUT—

He came face to face with green eyes.

Merrick’s face was set in a deep scowl, looking at Varian like he was nothing but a bug to be squashed. Varian looked past him; the sporadic breaths the boy tried to make doing nothing to help the way his mind swam in a soup of primal fear.

“Rapunzel!” He screamed again, flailing around and scanning for her. He just caught sight of her before he felt a thick arm wrap around his waist.

“I’m not done with you, yet,” Merrick snarled. Varian tried to tug his wrist like a feral animal in a trap, it made his wrist hurt and his shoulder ache, but he needed to get out—

“Let’s go somewhere a little more private, hm?”

Varian barely had time to try and buck his way out of the grip before Merrick pulled him back, the air cracking around them. The world went sideways, just as it had with Ori, but this time Varian didn’t bother to try and stay cautious. Something in him didn’t have the strength to fight through the world rearranging itself combined with the adrenaline crashing through his veins like raging fire.

Battle lost, he let the darkness consume him.

And then he was gone.

[theurbansquared]

Guide To Avoiding A Loser Brokerage

by James Hill | theurbansquared

Brokers can be bastards and some even get better at it while other brokers are legitimate life-changing business Sherpas

A broker is supposed to guide you through a career in real estate much like a coach or pimp - offering protection and how to understand a complicated system better and direct it to revenue  without getting your neck broke while playing the game. I created and ran the most well-reviewed, largest full-service brokerage in the fastest-growing city in America.  This gave me access to nearly ever broker and their broker's pay structure and innovations. I also got the agent's version of my same broker buddies brokerages when they eventually joined my brokerage; hovering anywhere from 20–60 agents. Trending insider chatter has blame going to real estate brokers of decades past (and current) and how they’ve managed their agents - - letting unsupervised  agents with no experience run wild on the streets practicing on the public wearing out Realtor love and making a need for all the Mountain Dew-made Zillow-y options that currently exist.

Brokers are out of touch more than ever with today’s current media load, having to understand and use social media platforms for their advertising (since the private Town & Country affair that real estate once was is forever over and the landscape is a bit more like a half Juggalo, half programmer flea market).

Let’s dive into some situations and tenets that most agents don’t consider when choosing a brokerage.

Sales Volume

This is a bit of negotiating psychology and due diligence. Simply ask how much sales they (the brokerage) did last year and how much they’re currently at. If they don’t know these numbers they’re goons. If they don’t give it, you guessed it - they’re hiding something; their lack of revenue. I’ve hired and fired hundreds of agents and in interviews so few ask this question but it’s one of the most important questions you can ask as an agent and you need the information. An agent that doesn’t ask this has already given a tell that they’re not a top producer since they’re not interested in the production capacity of the team they may join. No bueno. Creep the brokerage as well obvi -- reviews, FB & IG engagement and current running ads, and make sure the company Christmas Party isn’t catered by Chic-fil-a at a Burnet Road dive bar.

Office

40% of your learning and 350% of your work will be done at the office. Those numbers will make sense 90% of the time after a few years in real estate. The rest should be on the streets - your car, properties, driving 75 mph talking and sending out docs, gorging on breath mints. Office, home, tiny homes, motorhomes have all blended into one larger conversation where work/live ethos are all in re-definition.

But, when you do need a more savvy moment in any market when people talk about borrowing or selling something that’s over $100K they don’t want to hear some bullshit too loud pedantic conversation seated right next to them at Starbucks or the local kooky coffee shop. In real estate Murphy’s Law is always in effect. The super important listing sign off that has to go well and they want to hear you pitch again before deciding? There will be someone (at this super ‘caj’ coffee house meeting) there projectile vomiting, or throwing cats, or something else tiresome or bad that takes more calls.

Speech and body language are massive parts of sales so when the entire set is thrown because a barista is running through a whole Sublime album. You want the most inviting cool office you can ever pull off at any given moment in real estate . Was that ever a question? There's a balance  -- you can't afford that year one or three, but it’s called real estate for a reason. Sexy, exciting buildings is what the brochure said when I joined. Also, it’s about style not size.

If you haven’t lost business to coffee house back pressure you really haven’t failed at agency properly.

Social IQ

Social reach is the only conversation now. Many brokerages won’t make it as the lead generating aspects of the industry aren't powered by a private MLS anyone and the publicly-hated ‘Realtor’ designation have both brokers and agents guessing about tomorrow. Calendars, best practices and free shitty tips & templates are the du jour of the day for anyone trying to get an agent's eyes. You can Google and get all the ‘basic’ social media dance steps, but with everyone at the same happy hunting spot, you’re being covered up, which leaves all your new artistic efforts fruitless and also squandering winning time.

Traffic, leads and engagement are all separate areas that have to be fulfilled properly and even this is in flux with historic corporations and current start ups all on the same advertising playing field. Social reach and engagement is about going to the consumer direct and becoming their friend with soft bribes -- free food, gifts, prizes (trips, events tickets) or industry work tools. The great news is, real estate has always been mostly consumer direct - start up a convoy at the grocery store (bar, church, meetup) and you’re in the car that weekend looking for houses with a new client. While you, your brokerage and the world are figuring out their exact social media mix, you need to make sure a brokerage isn’t lost on social media since many won’t be able to stay in business in the next few short years. Your brokerage needs to have a plan and and at best some presence on social media. Plus, they should be running low-cost performative marketing ad campaigns to get a feel for what and if set user groups are responding to ads. Anyone can post on IG but people engage on IG when they become inspired. A brokerage should have some sort of inspiration and relationship tied in with the local allure of their city --  or heading that direction.

Mentoring

Much like a neurotic buyer chasing an interest rate for their home mortgage (and then never buying a house) agents too focused on commission may miss the essential career need for mentoring -- for their clients and career. I had a 5 deal minimum for my new agents before they were ever unsupervised and received more commission. I've had new agents with celeb clients in hand and celeb agents with no clients in hand. No one wants to do business with someone with absolutely has no, experience but they do it because they like you as a friend or fam. Your mentor is the person riding shotgun with you at the beginning of your career. On many levels you want to be this person since they embody the position and role. You're literally and figuratively are borrowing experience from them and they deserve to be paid for it. You always have to strengthen your brand outside of your brokerage but if you don’t have any experience your brand doesn’t have ‘strength’ you simply have a logo and a drag & drop website where you're possibly talking about yourself and love of unicorns or football shit but the big boat deals you dream about in bed aren’t gotten this way. Remember, no unicorn could ever throw a football good without a lot of practice and a good mentor.

Support

Support in a brokerage is really communication and solutions for small problems, and systems for managing bigger ones with people. Most of the annoying things in real estate happen outside of the deal - contracts, calls, emails, docs, signatures, more docs. You typically want a super admin, broker, or agent manager that you can call and they pick up the phone. It’s pretty simple. With a mentor, admin, or broker you’re going to have a n 8:30 PM question or deal that’s going down. You’ll need printer help. Real estate always happens now (this was one of the main mantras in my office). Printing, prequal, weekend support and constant post dinner shenanigans.

Training

Meet Frank Miller, David Mamet, the Sex Pistols, Tony Robbins, Wayne Dyer, Hendrix, Tom Hopkins, The World’s Greatest Detective and Conan The Barbarian. We had a lot of different inspirations for the style and ethos of our urban brokerage. The World’s Greatest Detective is Batman. It was a moniker that became popular in the seventies. We used this example about how important due diligence and proper Fact Finding techniques are for serving and closing deals for clients. (It’s almost essential to be inquisitive in real estate esp about property/development to have success). Training is largely your sales meeting(s). Although I don’t come from a car background I’ve mentored many car guys transferring to real estate (they typically are out of the industry within 2 years and are there only for boom markets). Car guys have meetings every morning 6 days a week and they’re not at 9 or 10 am. They’re already working.

free module: The Burger King Phenomena: Why Agents Do Less Working For Themselves Than If They Were Working At Burger King

Many brokerages have no training/meeting schedule (monthly doesn’t count -- that’s a meet and greet company pump and catch up meeting). If a brokerage doesn’t have training on a schedule then there is no training. You’ll possibly be thrown a 3-ring binder, or given some PDF’s, or links to old bizarre training videos or a soup sandwich of all three and sometimes even a bill for the training. An agent’s training/meetings and their attendance to them are the difference between an agent making it or not when you’re 24 months or less in the role as an agent especially in the fast turbulent waters of the current 2021 market where brokerage and agent purpose and pay are under attack. From my experience, new agents that hide die.

Media

Having a background as a creative director I’m aware with great detail of agency and brokerage media needs, the cost and time they extract, and the corresponding revenue they’re projected to bring back. Brokerages are looking for their purpose now as simply having a brokerage doesn’t bring in leads like it used to. This is fitting, since the digital dumbass brokers that that didn’t understand the importance of ‘the web’ rickshawed our MLS data and sold the agent/broker centric real estate system for their benefit while current agents are left with an empty greasy enough to-go box to curl up with. Brokerages were never media houses or ad agencies but now that consumer level graphic programs and website builders are ubiquitous and any agent after being licensed for 10 days can drag & drop a website up in 4 hours and make it look like a brokerage that’s been around for years. I know I’m going wide on the subject here but stay with me because this is the crux of where the industry and consumer are renegotiating roles.

A brokerage’s value proposition has changed drastically with the telecommute revolution that was only sped and strengthened by Covid. Also, generational knowledge base gaps in technology are more apparent than ever with technology as younger agents can often be more media savvy than their broker. The market is flooded with self appointed companies or gurus that are taking on the role of the classic ad agency (Mad Men) or media production house. Also beware of real estate coaches with little or no real estate experience offering to guide you in social media. Okay media can’t be used in apex situations (such as the luxury listings you’re after) and doesn’t draw apex listings. Beware of tapioca room temperature tips and general lists from companies that can appear informative but are really boilerplate low grade data to get your attention to ultimately upsell you on a paid service.

As an agent or a brokerage, consumer level graphic and website building programs can be a death ticket to your business as your competitors have the same tools and are cranking out the same type of style of messaging you are now. Now agents, principals, admins and in art class creating flyers. This has been done since the nineties as the valleys of dead agent careers is full of 2-day Microsoft Word (or any of their shitty office offerings) seshes to produce nasty flyers and presentations. These programs are fun and making bad flyers absolutely work related - the kind of work you don’t want’ related to your business because it’s adult crayon coloring. Activity does not equal production. Staying busy doing the wrong things doesn’t make money in real estate. Rather than spending agent winning time staying in the wrong lanes for way too long, get with a team or brokerage that are providing the most exceptional visual media you can find in your market. It used to be cool 2 years ago, now it’s the only thing that matters. Visual content.

free module: Better Agent Media, Less Agent Money (media tips and hacks).

Access

This is access to your broker. Brokers with families are typically less available. Your best bet as an agent is looking for a grinder broker who sleeps on the couch at their office. This person doesn’t have kids to build into so they’ll build into your career and you’ll get the most out of these brokers. Beware of cheesedick, apathetic, rich boy, bored brokers not around and more concerned with projects like a shitty vanity wine brand that their wife’s forced them to launch since she’s not living her best life anymore as an agent.

Style

What kind of style is your brokerage? Is there an opportunity to bring more style sophistication to the market -- standout in a smaller market? Or, are you in an ultra stylish market currently and butt hurt because you already have a little story about how you’re going to keep it real and be a Dockers wearing slob for eternity? The thing about style in agency is you always need to look like you can list a million dollar house. Oh, is it really that simple? Yes it is. You complicated it. Clients always care about their housing a little bit more than they care about your real estate career. They don’t have time to figure out why you’re wearing shoe styles from 7 years ago. Don’t make it hard for people to do business with you. If you’re ugly, even better. It can be a massive advantage. Everyone on the planet loves when someone who doesn’t fall into our general current ‘attractive’ spectrum doesn’t give af, looks great and puts themselves together in a stylish way that the viewer can understand (can I get away with Teen Wolf?). A great side benefit from this step in the right direction is it’s a great way to make someone who is conventionally attractive insecure.

You want to be in the same style as the people in your area but the secret is you need to lead that style pack if you can -- you always lead and dress apex. Years ago this was anecdotal but after over 100K hours in real estate a good suite (tailored) saved my ass and literally got me business. I listed the largest house in east Austin because of a suit (and got a front page story on the newspaper real estate section for free because the owner saw me walking into the next door neighbor’s house).

Offices, dress, logo, email signature are all elements of you and your brokerage’s style. Style in and of itself isn’t enough to be a top producer in real estate. I’ve had stylish and even celebrity agents that didn't do zilch, but style often is a fingerprint to something more.

Picking the right elements for your agent style is an art because you have to offer something from yourself that’s unique enough as well as something familiar (a bridge to your uniqueness). I have a background as a musician and also as a merchant sailor. Fortunately those are easy convo starters. You could be a philatelist and have some challenges, but regardless it absolutely will take a year or three to develop your own angle and style towards the market as you learn it and the agent role more.

Things that look attractive and familiar puts client’s psychologies at ease. So, if skinny jeans are in you better get in them (that’s like five years old now). You’re on stage. You don’t wear what the worker people behind the camera wear. If you want to wear boring shit get on the other side of the camera. If you want less leads saddle up to a forgettable brokerage. People have hard days. They want you to put an effort into your real estate agency role. Currently it’s a fried role so you’re dealing with that too. People love to be smiled at and sold and especially from someone who smells good. It doesn't ever get old. Don’t make them beg for your charm. Be a nice charming person with a shirt that fits good, it’s a powerful combo.

Get My Damn Paper

If you’ve never seen a werewolf in daylight mess with an agent’s commission after the deal’s done and funded. Admin? Who is the damn person who does the admin? (accounts payable is the icey pro word if you like). That person that you contact to get your commission check cut? If that person is a weirdo, or there’s an unfriendly or sketchy quality to the office or admin staff, do not go forward (don’t confuse this with new people or industry jitters). Grab some free coffee, leave the smarm and jet to the next brokerage blind date.

Software

CRM is an annoying conversation. Here’s the things with CRM’s - for all the work CRMs curtail, because of their complexity and existence and the work(time) they take to interact with you need to consider how much work you’re putting into operating the CRM software verses how much time it’s saving. Many times brokerages have expensive yearly subscriptions with per agent fees for their CRM which can make the brokerage have a zealot meth thing for the ‘team’ software and promise you can’t have a career without taking a bump too. To understand CRM better before it was a name, Client Relationship Management is what analog Proximity became. Let me explain -  being close to people in Church, bar, school, same building -- all give proximity. This becomes familiarity, then ease, then trust. People do business with people they trust & like. Once people disconnected physically and started using other means more contact attempts have to be made to work for or ‘prove’ worth.

Follow Up is a large component of most CRM’s and there are gobs of money for agents who follow up meticulously. Simply ask the broker what CRM they use and research it. Something to remember - unless you’re extremely busy with your career you don’t need a CRM. You can manage & database your clients & leads ‘by hand’ and strap it to the cloud with G-Suite/Google Sheets.

Brokerage Name

A small but important aside, if a brokerage have named themselves after a precious metal or a gem, or if it says elite in the name then it’s not elite. If it has the words prestige or worldwide or international it may not be any of those either. I know a handful of exceptions to this rule but this is a great dirty primer to use when choosing a brokerage that’s going to propel your career and have shrimp options at the Christmas Party.

[wingardium-letmefuckyou]

Fireworks (Valerius x gender neutral!reader)

A little late but here is my New Years celebration piece with our favourite Consul.

@waitforawonder as always my dear, inspired by you and your support!

Summary: The apprentice has to attend a boring New Years Eve party but luckily their lover can distract them (this is like the worst summary ever, I am no good at writing these)

Words: 835

Warnings: NSFW but not explicit. I tried something new, something more “metaphorical”.

The buzz of the party becomes annoyingly louder with every minute that passes. The ballroom feels too hot, the people seem as bland as unsweetened porridge. The cool wine on your tongue does little to distract you, even though it tastes exquisite. Of course it does, he had selected it after all. 

You gave up trying to engage in a conversation about an hour ago. The guests at the party are either too drunk to communicate with or too sober and adamant about discussing politics. 

You sigh, feeling deflated. Honestly, you miss your friends. 

Asra is having a cosy night in with Muriel at their cabin, Julian is going out into town, probably being very loud and drunk by now. Portia is busy at work and Nadia has duties to attend to and numerous guests to talk with. 

Duty is what has you stuck at this New Years Eve party in the first place. As both Court Magician and the Consul’s partner you have to be present at the palace on this important occasion, as proper diplomatic guidelines demand. 

“Someone looks like they are not enjoying themselves.”

A voice like smooth velvet, warm and rich, whispers in your ear. It’s accompanied by a tender kiss right behind your ear, sending shivers down your spine. It takes all your self control not to lean back against your lover and demand for more. 

“This party is stuffy and boring. All they talk about is deals and treaties.”

Your answer is blunt and honest and you whirl around to face Valerius, frustration obvious on your face. 

“Why is the orchestra even playing if no one is going to dance?”

You gesture at the musicians, who are playing a slow and rather somber tune. If you didn’t know any better you’d think this was a funeral. Valerius smiles mildly, completely at ease with the atmosphere of the party. 

“It’s always been like this, my sweet blossom. New Years Eve is an important evening for politics and decision making,” he explains calmly. 

The Consul is used to this by now, he is after all a gifted diplomat himself. Besides, even the most dreadful conversation becomes bearable accompanied by a good glass of wine. That is what he always used to think but now he is conflicted as you do not seem to enjoy yourself. How bothersome, this need of his to see you smile, for you to be happy. 

Valerius lets out a sigh and puts down his wineglass in favour of taking your hand, warm fingers curling around yours. 

“Come,” he beckons, pulling you away from the party, out of the stuffy ballroom. 

“Where are we going?”

Admittedly, you are relieved to be going somewhere else but you are also curious about the sudden change in the Consul. 

“You’ll see.”

Valerius leads you down several hallways until you reach a hidden door behind a grand tapestry. Behind the door is a set of stairs, leading both up and down. 

“Eum Val, are you sure…”

You hesitate for a moment which earns you an annoyed glare from your lover. 

“Trust me.”

His thumb caresses your hand soothingly, a tantalizing contrast to the look on his face. You follow him up the stairs, every step bringing you closer to the top of one of the high palace towers. A grand balcony gives you a marvelous view of the city and you gasp, wonder and amazement on your face. Vesuvia is a blanket of lights, a reflection of the starry night sky. 

A warm hand on the small of your back leads you further on the balcony. Valerius peers out and the satisfied look on his face implies that he found whatever he was looking for. 

“I believe we are right on time.”

The hand on your back pulls you closer to him, until your bodies are flush against each other, easily chasing the chill of the night away. 

BANG

Brilliant gold, a shower of sparks, resembling the adoring eyes of your lover. 

BANG

Fiery red, as passionate as the kiss he plants on your lips, his hands roaming freely over your body, mapping out a path only known to him. 

BANG

Liquid silver, as bright as the tingles running down your spine when his tongue finds yours, engaging in that dance you so longed for. You surrender without a fight, no musicians needed. 

BANG BANG BANG

Like the rhythm of your heartbeat, thumping away furiously at every touch, every caress,. Louder than the flutter of quickly discarded garments.

BANG

Fire and light in the sky but his skin on yours, fingertips exploring, burns brighter. Smouldering, scorching. 

BANG

Deafening booms to mask delighted moans and desperate whimpers. Always begging for more, more, more… 

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

The grand finale arrives, the climax, a sublimation of ultimate bliss. Even with your eyes closed you still see the fireworks, feel them in every fiber of your being. Just as Valerius does, completely lost in the throes of passion. Lost in you.

[singledarkshade]

And Donna Makes...

Summary: Donna joins the TARDIS and her first trip with them goes just about the way every other one does. Sequel to The Doctor And The Nurse, A Fishy Tail, Getting To Know You, Kernel Of Stubborness, Home Sweet Home, Party Time, Sewers, Bookshops And Slime and Making Old Friends.

Donna looked at the TARDIS before glancing at the Doctor.

“So, you’re travelling with someone now,” she said trying to sound nonchalant, “Where are they just now?”

“Rory is visiting his gran for her birthday,” the Doctor shrugged.

Donna pressed her lips together before noting, “Then I guess the offer isn’t still there.”

“Offer?”

“To travel with you,” she reminded him.

The Doctor frowned confused, “Travel with me?”

“Yes, please,” Donna breathed hopefully.

“Ah…well,” the Doctor stuttered, “I just…Are you sure, it’s not the most relaxing thing to do.”

Donna nodded, “I want to see everything, Doctor, you talked about the universe and…” she shook her head, “I want to see it all.”

After a moment, he nodded, “Why not.”

Excitedly Donna hugged him before she opened the car boot and pulled out several bags passing them to the Doctor who sighed thinking that this may not have been the best idea he’d ever had.

As Donna headed to drop her car keys off, the Doctor dragged her luggage into the TARDIS and dropped it near the stairs. Thinking about it, having Donna along would be interesting. Rory might not get a word in half the time but, if they got along, then the Doctor had the feeling Donna would be good for his young friend.

Rory was getting picked up by the Doctor soon and was making sure he packed his bag properly. His grandmother had taught him how to pack and it was ingrained now so he couldn’t just throw things into the bag. The village called his gran a ‘battle axe’ because she took no nonsense and, as a child, Rory had been a little afraid of making her angry. But as he grew up, Rory appreciated her and her rules especially after he came to live with her.

Homework was done as soon as school was over for the day, which went for Amy too. She claimed that it was only due to his gran that she did anything at school because she wasn’t allowed to play with Rory until they had both finished their homework.

His room always had to be tidy, no excuses were accepted with the exception of the day he was cleaning out his closet and, even then, everything had to be cleared up before he went to bed.

Rory knew that his gran’s rules and sense of order influenced him deeply which was why Amy called him ‘unnaturally neat’ but he was popular at work because of it.

After making sure he hadn’t left anything, Rory headed back downstairs where his gran was waiting.

“Now I made you some cakes,” his gran said, handing him a bag with several cake tins in it, “You can share them with all your friends at work.”

“I will,” he smiled, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

His gran squeezed him, “I still think you’re a little boy when you’re not here, Rory. I forget how tall you are now.”

Rory stepped back when she let him go, “Do you need anything before I go, Gran?”

“I’m fine, dear,” she assured him, “I have plenty to keep me occupied here in Leadworth. I still have to finish my book for the book club tomorrow night.”

Hearing the familiar sound of the TARDIS in the distance, Rory slipped his jacket and picked up his bags before giving his gran one final hug and kiss. Heading along the path towards the village green, Rory smiled to see the now familiar blue box sitting waiting for him.

Heading to the TARDIS Rory hoped the Doctor hadn’t got into too much trouble without him. Opening the door, Rory felt the hum of the TARDIS greet him. Walking towards the console he stopped seeing a woman standing with his friend.

“Rory,” the Doctor bounced over, “I want you to meet Donna Noble. Donna, this is Rory Williams.”

“Hi,” Rory said softly, a little confused.

The Doctor clapped his shoulder, “Donna helped me with the Christmas Star incident I told you about, and we ran into one another while I was having a wander.”

“Nice to meet you,” Donna stepped forward and offered her hand.

“You too,” Rory smiled slightly.

“So,” the Doctor interrupted, “Who feels like a trip? Because this village is the very definition of sleep and I want to be awake.”

Rory glanced over to Donna and caught the amused look in her eyes, and relaxed that she wasn’t a replacement for him.

“Let me put my things away,” Rory said, jogging away, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Heading to the kitchen he put the cake tins in the cupboards before he went to his room and dropped his bag on the bed. Returning to the control room, Rory found the Doctor and Donna were waiting for him.

“Are we going?” he asked.

The Doctor grinned, “Let’s see. Donna’s first proper trip in the TARDIS, where should we go?”

                                 *********************************************

 “This is not what I expected,” Donna yelled as she ran, “When you said we’d visit a bird sanctuary.”

Neither the Doctor nor Rory replied as they sped towards the main building, the creatures chasing them getting closer.

“Everyone inside,” the Doctor yelled, opening the door with the sonic screwdriver and motioning the group into the main building before sliding in and slamming the door just in time. All the occupants of the room jumped as the birds rammed into the walls and windows, squawking and screeching loudly.

“Are we safe?” Donna asked.

The Doctor gave a slight half-nod, “For the moment.”

“That’s fabulous,” Donna frowned, “My first trip and you bring me to the bird version of flippin’ Jurassic Park.”

He glanced around the room worriedly, “Where’s Rory?”

“He’s helping the people who were scratched,” Donna told him, “Handy to have around, that one.”

The Doctor nodded. Looking around the room he finally found a terminal he could access and see what had happened. He had to find a way to stop the creatures, especially since the TARDIS was outside the main gate.

“What are you doing?” Donna demanded, joining him as he used the sonic to access the system.

“Looking,” he replied.

There was silence at his side for a moment before Donna’s irritated voice came again, “Looking for what?”

The Doctor shrugged, “I’m not sure yet.”

“Donna,” Rory’s voice made them both turn, “Can you help me?”

The Doctor nodded to her, “I’ll be fine, go help him.”

 “What do you need?” Donna asked, arriving at Rory’s side.

He smiled at her in relief, “Can you get me the other first aid kit from the kitchen area? Then I need your help with these cuts.”

Rory returned his attention to the woman whose injuries he was tending. The scratches were deep and oozing blood. Donna returned with the second kit and opened it for him. Rory pulled out the extra bandages and opened one of them.

“Donna, I need you to hold here,” he motioned to where his fingers were pressed against the edge of the material. When she hesitated Rory looked at her, “What?”

“I’m not good with blood,” she winced.

“Then don’t look,” Rory replied sharply, “I need both my hands, so you have to help.”

Looking chastised Donna placed her fingers where he told her before turning to stare at the corner of the room while Rory cleaned then wrapped the woman’s arm.

“Alright, Donna,” Rory said, getting her attention, “Your services are no longer required.”

He chuckled softly as she tried not to look completely relieved at the fact she could get away while Rory finished checking the woman’s other much more superficial cuts. With everyone’s injuries fixed, Rory headed across the room to join the Doctor and Donna who were staring at a computer screen.

“Tell me you found something?” Rory asked, “Because I’m developing a fear of birds.”

Donna chuckled, “I know what you mean.”

“I’m trying to get into the database, but this doesn’t seem to be connected to the main system,” the Doctor sighed annoyed and slammed the side of the monitor with his fist.

Donna and Rory shared a worried look, before Donna asked, “What do we do?”

The Doctor sighed again, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “I need to be able to access the main controls to find out what they did to the creatures out there to make them go…”

“Feral?” Rory suggested.

The Doctor nodded, “Did any of the staff make it back with us?”

Rory frowned in thought, he’d checked several people for injuries and went through in his head who he’d spoken with.

“I think at least one came with us,” he mused, he started across the room where the others were sitting handing out the food bars one of the women had found. Looking around he found the man wearing a park uniform with a name tag that said ‘Frintal’. His arm was bandaged but other than that he was fine.

“Doctor,” Rory called, “He works here.”

The man slowly stood confused as the Doctor turned his attention onto him, “What do you do here?”

“I’m one of the tour guides,” Frintal replied.

“Do you know where the main computers are?” the Doctor demanded.

Frintal nodded, “Yes. I didn’t have access to that part of the main building, but I can show you where it is.”

“Excellent,” the Doctor clapped his hands together, “Where is it?”

Frowning the other man replied, “That’s the problem, it’s across the quad.”

Donna and Rory turned to look through the windows to the building about thirty feet across a grassy area but may as well have been on the other side of the galaxy for all the chance they had of reaching it.

 Donna knew that travelling with the Doctor was going to be dangerous, but she did not expect on her first trip to be disembowelled by large scary bird-like creatures. Rory was bouncing on the balls of his feet as he stared across the expanse with her.

“That is going to be tricky,” the Doctor mused as he joined them.

Donna turned to him, “But you know how to fix it, right?”

Rubbing his chin again the Doctor mused, “It’s a long shot.”

“And they never go wrong,” Rory rolled his eyes.

The Doctor turned to the younger man and gave him a hopeful smile, “How do you feel about getting wet again?”

Rory glared at him, “I thought you promised never again.”

“What?” Donna asked, realising she was missing something.

“Never mind,” Rory sighed before nodding to the Doctor, “What’s your plan?”

The Doctor gave him a slight amused smile, “Well…”

 “I hate him,” Rory grimaced as he was doused in concoction of green gel the Doctor made up in the kitchen, reminding him of the stuff he was trapped in when the Apepssis held him captive.

Donna chuckled, “On the bright side, he’s getting covered in the same stuff.”

Rory shrugged, “I suppose that is the only blessing in this entire thing. You’re at least escaping the goo.”

“Well, one of us has to stay here to keep them in check while you do whatever you have to do,” Donna smiled.

Rory stared at her unblinking, “Next time, you get covered in goo or soaked.”

“Well nurse boy,” Donna grinned, “I may be a temp, but I know how to get the best assignments.”

Rory smiled back, “We’ll see.”

“You’re going to be fun,” Donna chuckled.

He wrinkled his nose flicking some goo at her, Donna dodged before looking at him a little more seriously, “Be careful, Rory.”

“I will be.”

 The Doctor finished covering his hair in repellent he’d cooked up, he knew Rory wasn’t too happy about it but despite how much he would insist he didn’t, Rory had learned a lot from the Doctor in the past few months. Unassuming as he was, Rory was highly intelligent and soaked in information like a sponge. Which was why he’d asked Rory and not Donna to come with him because he knew he could throw information at Rory who would be able to use it. Donna on the other hand would be able to keep the people here in line.

“Are you both ready?” Donna asked.

“As I will be,” Rory replied with a grimace.

The Doctor nodded, “This should repel them for long enough for us to make it to the main building. Donna, keep everyone calm until we get back.”

“Will do, spaceman,” Donna said, “Now go.”

The Doctor smiled at her, “Rory, on three, two, one.”

Donna opened the door, and they ran out while she slammed it behind them,

The snarls and shrieks surrounded them instantly but the smell coming from them, in addition to the specific sound the sonic screwdriver was emitting, kept the creatures at bay. Reaching the main building, the Doctor opened the door running through with Rory hot on his heels.

“See,” the Doctor said, trying to catch his breath, “No problem.”

Rory, gasping for breath himself, muttered, “Of course, none.”

“Alright,” the Doctor clapped his hands together, “Let’s go find the main control centre.”

Following on behind him, Rory asked, “Do you know what you’re looking for?”

The Doctor murmured for a moment before walking away hearing Rory call after him.

“I know that means no.”

Finally making it along the corridor, the Doctor reached the door to the main controls for the aviary and opened it after a few moments bypassing the security.

“Do you have any idea how many of my clothes have been destroyed travelling with you?” Rory noted as he walked in behind the Doctor.

“I did warn you it could be dangerous,” the Doctor reminded him as he moved around looking to see what there was.

“Not to my wardrobe,” Rory shot back.

The Doctor shrugged, “You know you’re always welcome to take something from the TARDIS closet.”

“Even my taste in clothes is not that bad,” Rory chuckled.

“Oy,” the Doctor cried in defence of the TARDIS, “Some of those are antiques.”

“And they look like it.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes before managing to access the system, “Okay, let’s see…”

“Doctor?” his friend asked hesitantly.

“Yes, Rory.”

The moment of silence that came worried the Doctor, but he knew he had to focus on what he was doing.

“Why did you bring Donna with us?”

The Doctor stopped what he was doing and turned to the younger man. He sometimes forgot how fragile Rory’s faith in their friendship was, having only ever had one true friend and even she had left.

“Before I met you,” the Doctor explained, “I offered Donna a chance to travel with me after everything that happened during her wedding. She declined then but we ran onto one another while you were visiting your gran,” he shrugged, “She wanted to come, and I thought you two would get along.”

Rory nodded.

“Not a replacement, Rory,” the Doctor assured, “An addition.”

“Then we better fix this and get her out of here safely,” Rory nodded.

The Doctor grinned at him turning back to controls, frowning as he finally found what he was looking for.

“What’s wrong?” Rory asked knowing the expression.

The Doctor grimaced, “Alright, the creatures out there have been enlarged using nanites, but something seems to have upped the aggressiveness and ferocity of them. Not to mention…” he paused, “Oh no.”

“What?” concern filled Rory’s voice.

“How many people were scratched?” the Doctor demanded.

Rory frowned in thought, “About eight of the people, why?”

The Doctor didn’t answer instead grabbing his communicator, “Donna!!!!”

 Donna frowned as the Doctor suddenly yelled in her ear, “What?”

“I need you to take all those who weren’t scratched,” he told her urgently, “And barricade yourselves in the…”

“Kitchen,” Rory’s voice came from the distance.

“Kitchen,” the Doctor continued, “Don’t ask, don’t argue, do it and I’ll fix this as soon as I can.”

Confused Donna suddenly noticed the woman who had been scratched across her shoulder was rubbing at it before shoving back the other woman who tried to check on her. Running over Donna could see everyone who had been injured was scratching and becoming enraged.

“Kitchen,” she called, “Now. Come on,” Donna ran to the door and motioned the people who hadn’t been scratched to follow her, “Hurry up.”

She managed to get those who were not becoming rage monsters through the door, slamming it and clicked the lock hoping it would hold. Suddenly one of the people outside threw themselves against the door and everyone screamed.

Donna stared at the lock, relieved to see that it was holding for now. Turning she found everyone staring at her and realised they were all looking to her for guidance. Stunned she looked around the kitchen and found the pots.

“Grab a weapon,” she said, “If that door doesn’t hold, we’ll have to fight them back.” Watching them arm themselves with the pots and pans, she called, “No knives. We’re not trying to kill them.”

“They’re trying to kill us,” Frintel replied.

Donna glared at him, “It’s not their fault,” she held up the pan, “Now put it down or I’ll put you down.”

He hesitated before putting the knife away and picking up one of the heavier pots. They turned as the door banged again.

“Doctor,” Donna called.

“I’m working on it,” he replied.

The door banged again, and she could see the lock and hinges beginning to give, “Well hurry up,” Donna snapped, raising her weapon and hoping she would get out of this.

 Rory watched the Doctor as he scanned through the system.

“What’s wrong?” Rory said.

The Doctor sighed, “I’m trying, the coding is horrifyingly complex. It’s almost biological.”

“What do you mean?” Rory moved to his side.

“Every time I try to reprogram the nanites that have been used on the creatures,” the Doctor explained, “They get programmed back before they can do any good.”

Rory frowned in thought before saying, “What about doing something like dialysis?”

“What?”

“Partition the computer so there is an empty space we can filter the nanites into after you clean them,” Rory suggested, “So to speak.”

The Doctor beamed at him, “Brilliant, Rory.”

“Really?”

The Doctor started to work again, “That makes perfect sense.”

Rory winced as he could hear chaos coming from Donna’s side of the communicator, “You have to hurry, Doctor.”

For once no smart reply came from the Time Lord, instead he continued to focus on the task at hand. Giving a cry of triumph he stepped back, “It’s working.”

“It’s working?” Rory asked, stunned that his idea was a good one.”

The Doctor grabbed him in a hug before remembering they were both covered in gunk and they pulled apart hearing their clothes make a strange squelching noise.

The Doctor chuckled before touching the communicator, “Donna?”

“We’re fine,” Donna’s voice came after a few seconds.

Both let out a long sigh of relief.

“We’re on our way back.”

 Donna chuckled as she watched the Doctor and Rory squelch into the TARDIS. The Doctor hit a few controls then pulled the lever sending them into the time vortex and far away from their latest misadventure.

“Please tell me you’re both going to change,” she laughed, “Because not only do you look a mess, but you also stink.”

Rory turned to the Doctor and smirked who grinned back.

“I thought after the day we had,” the Doctor mused, moving closer to Donna, “We should have a group hug.”

“Don’t you dare,” Donna backed away, finding Rory coming behind her.

“A group hug sounds good,” Rory grinned at her.

Donna dodged and ran deeper into the TARDIS as they chased after her.