#looking forward 2 the confidential to figure that out. at least...

[brilliantfantasticgeronimo]

[ "Barcelona" by Stephen Sondheim ]

[clickerflight]

Fleeting: Part 5 - Phantom Pains

Authors Notes: HECC YEAH MORE OF THIS! Feel like it's been ages since I posted the last part of this. Then again, life's been crazy. Took me a hot minute to remember everything I had going on here. Good thing I keep some semblance of notes.

Masterlist - Part 4

Content: Vampire whumpee, human whumper, hostage, ransom, shared pain, knee pain, face and neck burns, trafficking

............................................

Muir’s face hurt. It stung and burned a little and Muir winced, taking a moment to send a message to Joseph to ask him if he walked into a silver sign or something. He really couldn’t think of what else could be making his face hurt so bad through their link. Though it could just be that Joseph accidentally maced himself with pepper juice. Muir was still unfamiliar with how strongly sensations came across their bond now that he was a vampire. 

Muir took a moment to filter out the feeling so he could get on with his work. He had been trying to crack down on Vampire ash operations, talking with rehab centers so when they did have rescues there would be places for those vampires to go, and figure out where the vampires were mostly being trafficked from. It was all so obnoxious. The black market for vampires in general hadn’t been that active just five years ago, but now, it was thriving. It was everywhere Muir poked his nose into. 

And he couldn’t hardly get his work actually done because everywhere he looked there was another corrupt cop or detective or whatever standing there. He’d been working hard to kick them out and get the hiring process changed so that at least his sector would have people who were actually invested in helping the community and not just looking for a power trip. 

Muir leaned back in his seat, running a hand over his still stinging face, trying to wish it all away. He liked his job and he wouldn’t be leaving it any time soon, but he sometimes felt like he was trapped within walls of unfair rules and regulations, fighting to move them enough to do some actual good so he would get to work that needed to be done. Thankfully, his voice held a lot of sway in the city since he’s made so much progress when it came to the vampire ash problem. Small victories.

He leaned forward again, typing away at his computer, scrawling through the sites where vampires were quite often traded. They weren’t explicitly marketed as vampires of course. They were marketed as ‘collectable floppy disks.’ Muir sometimes wondered if there were any real collectors of rare floppy disks that suddenly found themselves at the center of a vampire market.

He smiled a little at the thought, commenting on a ‘floppy disk’ marketed as having ‘research involving the Incan civilization.’

Info: What era of the incan civilization?

He stared at the page for a while. Was the vampire in question found in some Incan ruins then? Or had they been living since then and been kidnapped off the streets after someone found out how ancient they were? He added onto his question: And was it just dug up, or has it been in circulation a while?

Satisfied, he kept scrolling, commenting and adding helpful information here and there, keeping up the facade that he was just a regular here. This persona had bought a couple of vampires who he’d passed off to rehab centers, just to keep up his appearance in the servers. He was looking for a bigger score. Someone buying lots of vampires for a lot more than personal use.

 One of the government agencies had bought the site from what he’d been told confidentially when he was brought onto this side of the project, and once they decided to bust everything, they would try and go through everything and save everyone they could. 

It wouldn’t be everyone, but it would have to be enough. 

Muir got up, needing a refill for his water bottle. He stood at the watercooler, filling it up and watching people drift in and out of the office. He should take his break soon. He’d been at work since 2:00 AM and now that it was about 8:00 AM and he still hadn’t had his break, he thought he probably should. Maybe take a walk over to a cafe nearby. Stand in the sun for a bit to get used to the itching it still caused him. Speaking of which, his neck burned now too. He pulled out his phone to check if Joseph had answered, growing more concerned. Maybe he’d go to Joseph’s workplace and check on him during his break.

Just as he started to walk back to his desk, a splitting pain shot through both of his knees. 

He screamed, falling to the floor and people were on him in an instant. 

“What happened!?”

“What’s going on!?”

“Muir, talk to me buddy!”

“Joseph!” Muir gasped, pushing himself up and shoving the sensation away, now certain that something was wrong. “Joseph! Crap, that felt like he got shot!”

“Joseph?” Blaire asked, helping Muir up. “What’s going on? Do you know where he is?”

“He’s supposed to be at work, but-” Muir cut himself off, concentrating, pulling at the bond and trying to see, but he was still so new to this, he couldn’t get anything besides pain and fear. 

Thankfully, Granger took over the situation. Granger and Muir were not technically partners anymore, but they still worked close to each other in the office since Muir decided to work from here rather than the other facility mainly for detectives on the Vampire Ash cases. 

“Officer Blaire, call Dalton Rehab to make sure Joseph clocked in.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Blaire said, getting up and rushing to his desk to look up the number. 

Muir felt his phone buzz and pulled it out desperately. An image sent from Joseph. 

He opened it to see….

His bond mate was laid on a floor, blood staining his jeans around his knees, burns on his face and neck as he looked up at someone, terrified. His hands were bound behind his back, leaving his stomach so open and vulnerable and…. 

Muir felt sick as a text popped up next. 

We will contact you soon, Officer Muir. He is alive, but he won’t be for long if you get too involved. 

Muir pressed Joseph’s name without hesitation, calling whoever had Joseph’s phone to beg for some answers, but they ignored him, sending him to voicemail as the others clamored around him. 

“What is it?” Granger asked, and Muir passed her his phone to let her see, closing his eyes to reach into the bond. 

Granger snarled. “As if we’d let them get away with that. Muir, I’m taking this case. You know the rules.”

Muir’s stomach sank as he realized what she meant. He wouldn’t be allowed to help. He would be treated as a family member, unable to get involved themselves since he might do something irrational to get Joseph back. Still, he nodded, focused on the bond, sending comfort to Joseph that he hoped would be received. 

“Muir. What do you see?” Granger asked, noticing his effort. 

“I can’t…. I can’t see anything. I mean, I get the sense of concrete maybe? And- AUGH!”

Muir had been fully immersed in the bond when Joseph got hurt next. It felt like claws tearing into his skin, but the pain didn’t continue so Joseph wasn’t getting actively mauled. 

“What was that, a bear?!” Muir gasped, clutching at his arm as sweat trickled down his back. 

Officer Blaire was back. “He didn’t clock in at all today. They were getting ready to call you, Muir.”

“Joseph’s been kidnapped,” Granger said gruffly to Blaire, who’s jaw fell open. “Someone get the Chief! We need to get a team sorted out for this now!”

Someone took Muir’s arm as he pushed back into the bond, desperately trying to reach Joseph, but he got the sense that his bondmate was in too much shock to really hear him. 

Chief Staton was soon out of her office and Granger had some officers set up in the conference room, quickly explaining the situation to the Chief. Muir didn’t see his phone, but he assumed it had been passed to someone to triangulate Joseph’s position. 

He tried to relax. This would be sorted out soon. 

That was until someone rushed in and he heard the words ‘Keaton Gang.’

The Keaton Gang was called that because they were the biggest gang in the City of Keaton. At least three fourths of the corrupt cops Muir had busted had been in their pockets and he had been doggedly tailing them recently, getting the sense that they were behind some of the distribution of vampire ash in the city. 

This was personal. 

“Looks like they haven’t made demands,” the Chief said thoughtfully. “But I think we can expect what some of those demands are going to look like. We have a couple of scouts in the gang and we’ll see what we can do to get Mr. Blackham out of there, Detective Muir, but we need to be patient and you cannot go after him yourself, do you understand?”

“I understand,” Muir breathed, getting his phone back. 

“Good. You will have a partner with you at all times and you are to scry through your bond as often as you are able to get us information. We’ll get him back.”

Muir nodded. This was serious. There had been one case before of something bad happening to another officer’s loved one, and it hadn’t felt as serious as this. He could feel it from everyone around him that they knew exactly what there was to lose if they didn’t succeed. If Joseph was killed Muir would be out of commision for….

Muir didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to remember all of the times he caught Joseph crying at night, or just staring into space like he was listening to something far away. Someone far away. Even after they bonded and things got better, Muir could feel the space, sometimes. The hole he didn’t quite fill where someone else had been violently torn out. 

But Muir had so much responsibility they couldn’t afford his mourning period. He was becoming the face of the removal of vampire ash in the city and breaking up the trafficking going on. Everyone in the room knew it. 

“Make it quick,” he finally rasped, gripping his phone so tightly it left a bruise that faded just as quickly as it had been caused.

Part 6

From Dust to Ashes Taglist: @whumpsday @honeycollectswhump @writereleaserepeat @tragedyinblue @hyrules-sleepiest-knight 

@why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thecyrulik @gt-daboss @currentlyinthespiral @pigeonwhumps @not-a-space-alien

[jotun-philosopher]

Good Omens is living rent-free in my brain...

...and the resulting scenarios floating around in there are pretty varied and won't stop coming, so I hope you like 'em, however improbable they may be!

I'm no great shakes at story-writing or anything, so I can't do much more than fling these ideas into the void, but if you want to use one or more as fanfic/fanart prompts, go right ahead! (and tag me on the result pls! I'd love to see it :D)

Second part here, third part here

Crowley finding Jemimah's pot tucked away carefully in a corner of the bookshop (maybe in the vicinity of Aziraphale's journals?) and getting all sentimental

Crowley getting a text alert on his phone, and when he opens it he gets pelted with origami nightingales folded from pages of notes in Aziraphale's hand -- attempts to figure out his feelings, erotic haiku, doodles of things he'd like to do with Crowley, sketches for possible engagement ring designs, vital information on the Second Coming copied from the hyper-confidential files; the sort of thing an angel undercover might need to hide from the Metatron in a hurry

Aziraphale having really, really bad PTSD after Apocalypse 2 gets resolved/prevented (and Crowley supporting him through it from his own experience of trauma recovery)

Aziraphale barely escaping Heaven with his life when he finally makes the choice to fully break away, and wandering in a haze until he comes across an empty playground and sits disconsolately on one of the swings, trying to figure out what the heck he's going to do now. Meanwhile, Crowley's out for an aimless midnight drive when he passes a playground and-- Hang on a minute! *brakes hard* Pale figure with mangled white wings, looks like they've been dragged backward through a hedge and beaten up? Is it...? Could it be...? Yes, it is! *gets out, goes over and sits on the swing next to his angel* They sit together in silence for a while, quietly reconnecting, and when the moment feels right, Crowley starts speaking to sympathise about how much the permanent loss of innocence really f***ing sucks, whether it happens a bit at a time or all at once

Nina and Muriel separately then jointly figuring out the shape of at least some of the machinations happening, then the rest of the Shopkeepers' Association also figuring out that Something Weird is going on that they want to help with if they can, and sending an envoy to Crowley (who seems to them to be best placed to explain things). He ends up calling an Extraordinary Meeting of the Shopkeepers' Association for the purpose of explaining the story from The Beginning -- involving, among other things, the similar awfulness of Heaven and Hell, a dramatic re-enactment of the whole Job business and at least 30 minutes without hesitation, deviation, repetition or pausing for breath on why he's head over hindquarters for his soft, fluffy angel who gave away his flaming sword <3

Aziraphale correctly and unhesitatingly pronouncing 'Llanfair­pwllgwyngyll­gogery­chwyrn­drobwll­llan­tysilio­gogo­goch' and Crowley reacting appropriately <3

Gabriel and Beelzebub deciding to come back to help prevent the Second Coming (to repay Aziraphale's kindness/compassion? to make amends for all the trouble they caused and 6000+ years of being really awful? the lack of hot chocolate on Alpha Centauri? something else entirely?)

edit to add a couple I just remembered:

Crowley saying in reaction to some discovery or other: "Rrrrrrrrr, I am gonna PAMPER that angel SO HARD when I get my hands on him!!" Aziraphale (chimes in flirtatiously): "Was that a threat or a promise? Either way, I look forward to it!" *waggles eyebrows* Crowley: *flustered snake noises*

Jesus himself offering to cater the Ineffables' wedding for free as thanks for the 'all-the-kingdoms' thing and the world-saving

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Aliit Be Cuur

Pairings: Mando x Reader

Summary: While waiting in the hospital in Mos Pelgo after you were inured in the attack on the Krayt Dragon, Mando accidentally learns some life changing information for the both of you. You’re pregnant. 

Warnings: Description of injuries, Pregnancy, Talk about miscarriage, Mando sees a sonogram-like image of reader’s uterus while she’s unconscious, general discussion of pregnancy while reader is unconscious and unaware, made up Star Wars level medical equipment

Word Count: 2800

Read Part 2 Here!

________________________________________

Watching you lay unconscious, body littered in cuts and burns, had to be the most terrifying thing Mando had ever experienced, and that was coming from a man that had seen some horrific things in his life. It was his fault you were hurt. If only his plan to kill the Krayt Dragon had gone as it was supposed to, you wouldn’t be in this position. This was supposed to be what he was good at. Killing. Sure, he killed the dragon, but at what cost? 

When the initial plan of luring out the dragon and detonating the explosive just at his weak spot under his belly had gone south, he knew he had to think of something else. He could not leave the Mandalorian armor with Cobb Vanth. He needed it back. 

The plan to use the bantha as bait had come to him quickly but he should have known better than to not tell you what he was doing. There was just no time. Everything had happened so fast. After months of travelling together, he’d hoped that maybe by some miracle, you could read his mind and know that everything was going to be okay when he allowed the dragon to swallow him with the bantha. 

You were with the villagers and Tusken Raiders, struggling to fix the devices you’d built to throw the harpoons so you’d have a fighting chance. Being so caught up in your own tasks, sweat beading on your forehead from the heat and pressure, you hadn’t known Mando had strapped explosives to the bantha and was using it as bait. A loud screeching roar from the dragon ripped your attention away from the trying to kick a piece of wood back into place just in time to see the dragon’s mouth open, massive teeth bared, as it plunged down, straight on top of Mando and the bantha. 

You screamed in horror, running towards the beast, “MANDO!” About halfway there from your post, you whipped out your blaster and shot at the beast as it dove back into the sand. The lasers were useless and you knew that but it was the only thing you could think of to do. Your legs fumbled to a halt, the realization that Mando was really gone actually hitting you. 

But then something else hit you. 

There was a loud explosion and a wave of fire, rocks, sand, and dragon flesh hit you, throwing your body back. The last thing you saw was the wave of orange and red coming at you before everything went black. 

Just as planned, Mando had managed to escape the beast’s clutches before the explosion but suddenly regretted every decision he’d ever made when he saw the little figure of your body running towards where you assumed Mando to be. Even from dozens of feet in the air, he knew it was you. He couldn’t imagine anyone else there willing to run straight at the monster to try and save him. The bombs were sure to detonate any second but by the time he’d noticed you, it was too late. The bomb detonated with a massive wave of heat and debris. 

He watched in horror as your body flew back at least twenty feet before sliding another fifteen across the sand after the impact. Time seemed to stop around him as he jetted to you in less than a few seconds. He couldn’t breathe, fear that he had caused your death choking his airways. “Y/N!” He yelled, landing harshly on his feet right beside you before falling to his knees. You were lying face down, eyes closed. “Y/N, talk to me.” Mando looked over your body and, by some miracle, there didn’t appear to be any broken bones, at least not any that looked immediately disfiguring. With a nearly effortless nudge, he rolled your body over. Your clothes had been ripped and/ or singed in many places. Multiple large holes in your pants revealed reddening burns and blood dripping from sand scraped skin. Your shirt was torn in multiple places, the left strap of your shirt torn so severely it could barely count as a sleeve. The side of your face that was on the sand was also scraped up, thankfully not too deep, but enough to cause bleeding. 

Now the two of you were in the little hospital in Mos Pelga, along with the rest of those who'd been injured in the attack. You slept now, bandages covering large portions of you body that was now largely exposed. They had had to strip you down to your underwear to reach all the wounds but had wrapped your chest in wrappings in place of a bra for the sake of your privacy. Mando had pulled his cape over the majority of your body, knowing you'd be upset if you were to wake up practically naked in front of everyone. 

He hadn't left your side since the explosion. He carried you to the infirmary. He laid you down on the cot. He watched as both human nurses and medic droids worked to patch you up and take blood for tests. They had told Mando that they wouldn’t know anything for sure until the tests came back. Even with the bacta that they’d lathered on you, it would take time for it to work and there was a possibility for further damage that they couldn’t see on the outside. 

The child had been sleeping in his little cot, sealed up safely inside the levitating metal object. Mando had just been sitting beside you on a crate, leaning forward on his knees. This was his fault. He should have known you’d run in. He should have known that something like this could happen. 

“Mandalorian.” A robotic voice gently called for Mando’s attention. 

He looked up at the awkwardly proportioned grey medic droid who stood on the opposite side of the bed. “Is she going to be okay?” 

The droid spoke again, its body shifting unnecessarily to emphasize some of its words, “Patient 728, also known as Y/N. Female. Age: (Y/A). 2nd degree burns on the abdomen, arms, and legs. Superficial graze abrasions on the face, neck, arms, hands, abdomen, and legs. Bruising on face, back, hips, and legs. Probability of death: 7%. No damage to the fetus. Probability of miscarriage: 19%.” 

Mando found a hard time finding any solace in the words of a droid. When a young male nurse walked up beside the droid, Mando immediately turned his attention to him.

“It’s a miracle the baby survived unharmed. I’ve seen much less cause a miscarriage.” The nurse mused, flipping through the clipboard in his hands. 

Mando stood up, brows furrowed beneath the helmet, “That must be someone else’s chart.” 

The nurse flipped back to the front page, “Patient 728? Y/N L/N?” The young man confirmed.

“Yes.” 

He shook his head, “Nope, this is hers.” 

Mando gestured to you, “There must have been a mistake. She’s not pregnant.” 

The young nurse looked at the beskar helmet that he was actually slightly taller than and swallowed hard, “I’m sorry. I assumed that you were the father. If not, this is confidential information that I can’t share with you.” It was obvious that the man was afraid to stand up to a Mandalorian, surely hundreds of stories of their superior killing ability running through his head. Nonetheless, he held fast to what was right. 

Mando’s head was reeling and all he wanted was to run and take off the helmet and take actual, non-filtered breaths. Instead, he was wide eyed and silent as thoughts ran through his head a million lightyears an hour. The beskar betrayed none of his emotions. To the rest of the world, he appeared frozen, standing strong and staring right at the nurse when in reality Mando had zoned out somewhere off to the side. 

If you were pregnant, the baby had to be his. For the last few months, the two of you had had an unofficial relationship of sorts. Nothing was ever said, no official labels, but the two of you behaved like any other couple, or at least a much less touchy-feely version of one. After a night of confessions brought on by an unrelated argument, it had become an unspoken truth that you were only taken by each other. You were his riduur, no doubt, and, as far as he knew, he was yours. You would never lay with another man as long as you and Mando were together, that much he was sure of.

“If she’s pregnant, I am the father.” His voice was calm as always but he thanked the modulator for the slight distortion. If it hadn’t been there, he would have sounded shaky. 

The nurse sighed, choosing to believe him because he really didn’t see much use in lying over something like this. He flipped to the next page on his chart and walked over to stand beside Mando, pointing at some numbers that meant nothing to him. “hCG is a hormone that’s created in the placenta and is only present in pregnant women. According to her levels, I’d say she’s about eight weeks.” He paused for a moment, allowing time for the new information to sink in. “You really didn’t know?” 

“If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have let her fight the Krayt Dragon.” Mando snapped, almost angry at the mere suggestion that he would put his own child in that sort of danger. 

The nurse put his hand up in defense before continuing, “Do you think she knows?” 

Mando shook his head. He believed that you still would have jumped into battle even if you had known, at least from a distance. It was just who you were. But he really didn’t think you had any idea that you were pregnant. Mando had been trained to read people his entire life and surely such news would have brought about some change in your demeanor. Mando hadn’t noticed any change in your behavior. Besides, he would like to believe that you would have told him if you knew.

He couldn’t believe this. How were you pregnant? Okay, well he knew how you could have possibly gotten pregnant but the two of you had always tried to be as safe as you could to avoid this exact scenario. Neither of you were in a position for children, the Child being a special circumstance. Your life was full of danger and violence. How could Mando protect you for an entire nine months while pregnant and then for the rest of forever, while also protecting the Child against what felt like an entire galaxy that wanted him at any cost? 

“Do you want to see?” The nurse’s voice brought Mando back to the present and his helmet tilted in curiosity. 

“See what?” 

“The baby. I need to do a scan to ensure that it's still doing alright. You can see the fetus on the screen while you scan.” He set the clipboard at the foot of your bed and procured a moderately sized glass panel with a metal border that he’d had pinned between his arm and side while he spoke to Mando. 

With a few taps on the glass, bright blue words and images appeared. He tapped on one selection and the middle of the screen cleared, aside from a thin column on the right hand side that had stats and vitals. “See, if you put anything under this, it will show you an interior view of the body. This mode shows organs and blood vessels and stuff like that. See?” The nurse put his hand under the glass panel. The screen showed a light blue version of his hand but instead of skin and nails, it clearly showed the lines of his muscles and the veins that overlapped them clearly. 

Politely as he could, he pulled the cape that had been draped over you down just enough to expose your lower belly, stopping just above the hemline of your underwear. The only thing indicating that you were even alive at this point was the deep inhale you took, drawing both Mando’s and the nurse’s attention. It was the only time Mando hoped that you weren’t waking up. He had no idea how to explain this new situation to you. Hell, he was still having a hard time understanding it for himself. Thankfully, a deep breath was all it was though. You were still asleep. 

The nurse moved the glass panel over your lower stomach, just about where your belly button was, and the image began to form on the screen as he adjusted a few things. Mando’s helmet tilted forward as he leaned over to see the image. 

A nearly perfect view of your reproductive system appeared as a blue digital image. Mando felt uncomfortable looking at the image, feeling like he was violating you in some way. He knew he shouldn’t be looking at this without your permission but then the nurse zoomed in on your uterus to the point where the only thing that could really be seen was a little being. 

Mando’s first thought was that it looked like a little alien. There was an identifiable head that appeared to be looking down and the cord that was attached to you through its belly. The rest of the body was curled into a fetal position. 

The nurse tapped something on the screen and there was a rapid thudding sound that emanated from the device. 

“Is that the heartbeat?” Mando asked, knowing that the answer was probably obvious. For someone who was used to working under pressure, he felt like his brain was only receiving radio static. 

“Mhm, nice and strong.” The nurse said with a warm smile. He tapped a few notes onto the board and then turned it off, the blue image disappearing and the amplified heartbeat ceasing. 

Mando couldn't believe this was happening. How could you not know you were pregnant? He was no expert on the female body, aside from the basics, but weren't you supposed to be throwing up or missing periods or something? He couldn't wrap his head around how you were eight weeks along with seemingly no clue of your condition. 

"Look, I can see that clearly this was something unexpected. I don't know if this is something you want to tell her or want me to, but either way, there are some conversations you two need to have." The nurse told Mando matter-of-factly while gathering the few things he’d brought over before leaving. 

Mando shifted on his feet and reached down to pull his cape back up over your torso so you wouldn’t be cold and exposed, though it was mostly for the second reason. It was next to impossible to be cold on Tatooine, at least during the day. That was when he noticed the small, barely there bump on your lower stomach. It was such a slight variation from its normal size that he never would have noticed it had he not just learned about the life now growing inside you. It was so slight that he imagined you probably would have just attributed it to bloating perhaps, since you were unaware as well, considering all the less-than-pleasant food you both came across in your work. 

Part of him wanted to place his hands over the ever-so-slight swell of your belly, just to see if by some chance he could feel anything. Mando decided against it, shaking his helmet at himself with a heavy sigh. He would wait until you woke up and the two of you had a chance to discuss everything before he did anything relating to the baby. 

Gently, he pulled the cape back up over your body and sat down on the crate again, leaning his elbows on his knees where he sat with his thoughts for several minutes in a zoned out daze. His attention was only broken by the cooing from the Child’s metal pram. Mando tapped on the controls on his arm, opening the pram, and removing the little green baby who was now wide awake. 

“Hey, buddy.” Mando breathed out, watching as the baby stretched his arms out to you, “I know, I know. She’ll wake up soon.” 

The Child looked up at Mando sadly before snuggling down onto his lap, sitting there comfortably. The weight of such a small being had become comfortable and normal for Mando now after all this time with him. He was, by Creed, his son now. Mando was already a father. You had stepped up as a mother for the young child. So why did this feel different? 

Mando imagined the new future, assuming you had decided to stay with him and care for the baby together. He had every intention of raising the baby with you and would do whatever it took to keep the two of you safe. He loved you more than he knew was possible to love another person and the last thing he wanted was to leave. Mando hoped that, one day, you would be officially bound by riduurok. Once the Alor approved it, Mando’s clan of two would become an aliit be cuur. Clan of four. 

[ka-za-ri]

Personal Assistant pt. 1

Hi. I’m in complete and utter Obey Me! Hell Enjoy some Lucifer x MC smut shamelessly put into a modern day CEO!Lucifer AU. Many parts to come. I’m completely covered in filth and thirst. Unbeta’d because we die like heroes here. Let me go back to being a gremlin now.

Paring: Lucifer x MC Wordcount: 5,000 ish Genre: Shameless, filthy smut Tags: Multiple Orgasms, sex on a desk, Finger fucking, overstimulation

Part 2: here Part 3: here Part 4: here Part 5: Here Part 6: Here Part 7: Here Also found on Ao3: Here

Lucifer has been sent to the human realm to study them and acclimate to and learn about their behaviors. By some miracle, you landed a job interview with his illustrious company as his personal assistant. A lot of extra work not listed on the job posting is required of you, to say the least.

Part 1: Interview

Adapting to the human world wasn’t hard. Humans were after all, predictable little things, easily swayed by their desires, it didn't take much effort at all to make them bend to his will. Lucifer’s time thus far ‘learning’ about the human realm had netted him a sizable company under his control. It wasn’t long before he became bored of that. Being a CEO of Akuzon meant many things. One being that he was always busy and needed some help around his office. Previous attempts at having a personal assistant failed him as they never satisfied his needs and kept up with the workload.

Somehow, you found yourself looking at the ad in the paper and hastily applying to the job It seemed too good to be true. It paid well, was for a reputable company, was close to home, and you fit the criteria listed. It was a shot in the dark, you knew there must be hundreds of others clamoring for the position as well. However, much to your surprise only a couple of weeks passed when you received an email requesting your presence for an interview.

The office building was massive, fitting right in with the many sky scrapers of the city. After putting on the best interview clothes you had and making your makeup was on point, you had thought you were ready for anything. Seeing the building and stepping inside it’s grand spaces had you faltering for a moment, a shiver of nervousness running down your spine. Almost everyone in the vicinity stopped what they were doing to see who it was at their front door. The nervousness increased as their gazes bored down into you, making you think you had gotten the wrong building.

“Are you here for an interview?” A young lady at the front desk asked cheerfully, noticing how lost you seemed.

“Ah! Yes! I am! For the position of Lucifer’s secretary.” You explained, relieved that there were some helpful people there.

The lady raised an eyebrow, surprised that someone so green would be chosen for such a high ranking position, but didn’t press the issue any further. Dialing a few numbers into the phone at her desk, she made a quick call. “Yes, she’s here… I’ll bring her right up.” She looked up at you, a sweet smile on her face and got up to guide you to the elevators on the other side of the floor. “He’ll be ready to see you once you get to his floor.”

“His floor?”

“Yes. His office is one of the top floors of the building. As his secretary, you’ll be responsible for taking care of it as well as any other duties he asks of you.” She explained. “You’re so lucky… I applied for that position ages ago, but couldn’t pass the interview phase. I hope you fare better than me.”

“I hope so too…” You agreed, hoping to hide the shaking in your voice.

The trip to the top floor seemed to stretch forever. The light music in the background did little to soothe your anxiety as you watched the numbers climb higher and higher until they stopped at 60 and the doors slid smoothly open after a soft chime.

“Well, this is where I leave you. He’s right beyond those doors.” The lady gave you a small reassuring push forward and before you could have any second thoughts, the doors closed and you were left alone, facing tall frosted glass doors. Taking one last stuttering breath, you took the steps forward to push open the doors. They were much heavier than expected and after a bit of a struggle, you finally managed to open it.

Before you sat the most impeccable man you had ever seen. The very image of power in a young and handsome man. The name plate placed at the very edge confirmed to you that he was indeed to be the man who was going to be conducting the interview. It was difficult to get your mind past how handsome he was. His perfectly parted hair framed his face and its long, delicate features. He wore a black fitted suit, one that probably cost more than any number you could imagine. Each stitch in its place to accentuate the lines of his body and to cut an imposing figure, even when seated. Everything about him oozed control and power. You had every right to be nervous.

He sat behind a massive desk; the only documents in front of him were what you expected to be your files. Most everything else, save for his nameplate, had been cleared off. If he had done this to intimidate you, he was doing an exceptionally good job without even saying a damn thing. “Come in. Have a seat. I’ve been expecting you.” He beckoned and gestured at the seat in front of him, his eyes raking up and down your figure, assessing everything about you. All the while, you were powerless to deny his request. His voice was soothing, low and lulled you into a strange sense of security.

Sinking into the seat in front of the desk, you sat just at the edge, reminding yourself to keep your posture proper and to keep your appearance as professional as possible. You needed to employ every trick in the book in order to succeed in the interview; and Lucifer knew that. His expression was unreadable as he waited for you to settle in, his hands idly flipping through your resume. “So, tell me, what do you think you can bring to this company working for me?”

Ah, there it was, the interview questions. You had prepared for this and the answer you rehearsed fell easily from your lips. “I have a lot of experience in working as an office manager. I understand that my duties may extend past what was listed in the job posting. However, I am willing to take in the extra hours and to work whatever job is given to me to ensure that your position and your reputation remains as impeccable as it has always been since the start. I will bring a new level of efficiency in your workflow and I will be a great asset to your company as such.”

He hummed, seeming uninterested in what you had to say. You began to sweat a bit at the back of your neck. Perhaps he had expected something more unique? Once again, he flipped through the pages of your resume, not really reading anything, just looking at the information you had put down. “I see… And how do you deal with pressure or stressful situations?”

Again, another question you had prepared for. “The easiest way to diffuse stressful stressful situations or overwhelming workloads is to make extensive lists. I like to break things down into their basic components so that large tasks are much more manageable in a timely manner.

He hums again, a vague sound of approval this time, nodding only slightly before making a mark on the papers in front of him. “Very good. Final question. How do you like to be managed?” His eyes flick up to you and there’s something in the way he gazes in your direction that makes your heart beat faster. There was something in the way his eyes trailed up and down your body that had you sitting up straighter than before.

“As long as I have clear direction, I will be able to work independently or as a team as needed.”

Much to your surprise, Lucifer smiles at the answer, circling something on the paper before getting up and sauntering over to you. “That’s very good to hear.” he said quietly, turning to look out the floor to ceiling windows to the cityscape his office overlooked. “There will be a lot of times where I can be demanding and ask you to stay later than usual hours. Will your priority still be this job if I ask this of you?”

You swallowed, not sure how you felt about the question, his tone had an undercurrent of electric energy that had you heating up and shivering at the same time. “Y-yes.” You stated after a brief pause, entranced by the curve of his spine and how well his pants fit his ass. “I can do that. I plan on making this position more than a job. I am looking for a career here.”

Lucifer nodded again, still not making any eye contact with you, which gave you plenty more time to ogle at how his posture and his stance against the window struck such a formal and imposing figure. At this point, he could tell you to work three twenty hour shifts in a row and you wouldn’t complain. The prospect of a hot boss, great pay and a job that was close to home was too tempting to you.

“If you accept this position, you will be placed on a probation period, as is customary for this company.” He explained and your heart started to beat faster. Did this mean you landed the job? You couldn’t tell if he was psyching you up for potential disappointment or if he was genuinely starting to offer you the job. “Once I’ve gone over your performance during your probationary period, your salary will increase. Additional raises and bonuses will be offered as I see fit for… exceptional work.” You couldn’t see it, but rather, you felt him smirking at his reflection in his reflection. “Does that sound acceptable to you?”

“Yes…” You breathed, mouth watering at the aspect of being able to make so much money. It was more than any other job you worked for paid.

Humans were such easy little playthings to control.

Lucifer walked back to you, standing in front of his desk and leaning against the heavy wood. “Your job will be of course to do what I request, many times without question. There will be many sensitive documents that you will handle and that requires your utmost confidentiality.”

“I understand.” You said bluntly, trying to calm your heart and your breathing to no avail.

“You understand that this position also may also involve some after hours activities which I will ask for you to partake in. They are not written on the job description, but they are paramount to this position. Don’t worry… I’ll be sure you receive clear and concise directions on exactly what to do as my personal assistant.”

You blinked. The way he worded the phrase seemed off, but you couldn’t put your finger on what. It was odd, he had always referred to the job as ‘this position’ until just now. It was the first time the actual job title until he tugged at the cuffs of his suit, undoing the buttons. “Oh…” You breathed, eyes wide, cheeks blushing brightly when you realized what he meant, the bulge in his pants was all the proof you needed for there to be absolutely no miscommunication. From the looks of it, you could only surmise that he was barely half mast in that state. Fuck, what kind of monster is he hiding in there?

“Before we sign the papers and you accept the job, I would like to do a test run to make sure you’re a good fit for the company.”

“Yes… of course.” You were practically panting, eyes blown wide and cheeks flushed. You pressed your legs together trying to hide the arousal that started pooling there after the realization that you would be servicing your future boss in rather intimate ways. That fact alone had you ready to sign whatever contract he produced in a heartbeat.

“We’ll begin by seeing how good you are at following directions. Stand up, please.” He flicked his fingers upward, eyes traveling up and down your body, knowing exactly the kind of reaction he was pulling out of you.

You were upon your feet in an instant, hands at your side, back straight as a board and your legs together. You barely dared to breathe as he left his spot on his desk to circle you. You could feel his gaze taking in every detail. He was close enough for you to smell the cologne he wore waft past you as he passed your side and you suppressed a shiver.

“What kind of posture is this?” He chided, pressing the spot between your shoulder blades gently, pushing your shoulders back. “Just because you’re standing up straight does not mean you’re doing it properly.” Lucifer tsked, shaking his head slightly. “How do you expect to represent me and this company if you look like a cardboard cut out.” His hands left a trail of goosebumps across your skin as he adjusted your body as he saw fit. Your hands folded neatly in front of you, your legs now just shoulder width apart and your shoulders back, he took another circle around you to reassess your stance. “Much better.” He murmured. “It will do you well to remember how this feels. I won’t be so lenient if I see you looking so foolishly in front of a client.”

You nodded, memorizing just how he had posed your body, reminding yourself to practice in the mirror. You didn’t dare speak unless he gave you permission to, just something about how he stalked around you made it impossible to raise any objections.

“Stay still unless I say otherwise.” Lucifer commanded next. “It’s important that you are at attention no matter what the circumstances. When I ask for your… special services, you will refer to me as Sir.” His finger traced the hem of your pencil skirt, pulling it up just a bit and you fought back the urge to flinch. “But of course, I should say that right now, you have the power to stop this at any time. Understood?”

“Yes…”

“Yes who?” Lucifer’s tone was sharp and the hand playing at the hem of your skirt moved to place a firm spank on your ass. The pain coursing down your leg, you jumped a bit, but remembered his command to stay still.

“Yes… Sir…”

“Good.” He nearly purred, leaning in to kiss the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin and his hand once again traveled to the hem of your skirt, playing with the fabric and pulling it up until he got a good view of the lacy lucky panties you decided to wear that day. “Very good.” he praises, tracing his fingers across the flimsy fabric. Your breath hitches as he brushes light touches across your bare skin. You stay still, demanding that your body stop trembling, though Lucifer can clearly tell just how nervous you are, shaking like a little lamb at his behest. In a show of dominance, he lets your skirt fall back down, cupping your face to pull you into a heated kiss.

Your mind is practically blank at this point, hands still clasped in front of you, gripping each other like your life depended on it while he claimed your lips and took your breath away. At some point you had reciprocated, kissing him back and earning a low growl from the back of his throat as a reward. He pulled away, your lipstick smeared across his face and his eyes glittering in lust as he looked at your disheveled form in perfect posture. “Hmm… yes… I think you’ll fit right into my needs.” He appraised, rubbing his chin and smirking. The expression sends a shiver down your spine but you didn’t dare move.

His hand guides you two steps forward towards his desk. “Bend over.” He commands and you oblige, your chest laying on the surface of the mahogany desk. Your hips flush against the edge of it while your hands stretched out to grasp at what it could to stay still as he asked. He readjusts you again, spreading your legs further, straining the fabric of your skirt. With a tsk of frustration, he pulled the offending piece of clothing up to your waist, letting the cool AC hit the back of your thighs and allowing him to spread your legs even further. In your heels, you could feel your calves tremble as you struggled to keep the position he had set for you. Thankful for the desk to cling onto, you used it to ground yourself as your ass is exposed to him. Your legs spread to the point where you were bent sharply, completely level with the desk and your hot core could feel the air conditioning blow past your heated nether lips. “You look good spread across my desk like this. I’ll be sure to make use of this position often.” He commented, rubbing your ass gently, teasing you through the fabric of your panties. His fingers brush across the wet spot on your panties and you can feel the it mold against your wet heat. Embarrassed, you stifled the whine that formed at the back of your throat. Even if the two of you were on a separate floor from others, you didn’t know if there were others right outside those heavy glass doors.

His teasing seemed to last forever and you could just see how much he was enjoying it whenever you dared to glance up and see your lewd reflection in the mirror with that salacious grin on his face as he fingered you oh so gently and left you on the edge of wanting more. Every time you glanced up even briefly, he always made sure to make eye contact with you in the reflection, knowing just how much you were affected by his basic touches.

Of course, he wasn’t getting out of the exchange with nothing. The slight bulge in his pants earlier had strained into an impressive tent seeing his new assistant splayed out before him, eager to please. Humans were such predictable creatures. Predictable, yet so much fun to toy with. He couldn’t get enough of the soft sighs that came from your lips as you held back your noises. It only made him want to see break for him even more. His slender, manicured fingers finally gave you a little relief, pressing against the wet spot in your panties and following the curves of your pussy lips that had molded themselves there due to your slick. At that, your hips bucked back, urging him to give him more but a firm hand on your lower back stopped any further movements. “I did not say you could move.”

You whined, clutching onto the edge of the desk, your fingers sore and locking up from how hard you were holding on. You weren’t sure how you were going to handle this sort of treatment on the regular when the trial run was already driving you mad with need. As if he could sense your impatience, he finally pulled down your panties, allowing your legs a brief reprieve as he took them off and tossed them to the side before making you resume the position you had held for who knew how long.

“For a trial run, you’re doing very well.” He cooed, smirking as he saw your glistening folds. “I should remind you that there are people still working in the building. We may have a floor to ourselves, but please keep that in mind and don’t scream too loudly now.” He chuckled darkly, tracing the curve of your ass and finally sinking a finger into your heat. Just the feeling of being penetrated by something had you keening and you struggled to keep yourself from screaming. “Ooh, that’s a pretty noise you make… Please make more of those.” he encouraged, slowly sliding his finger in and out of you.

“Y-yes sir.” You panted, your legs ached, but the pain was absolutely nothing compared to the pleasure that was building up in your abdomen just from feeling a finger slowly fuck you. You had come in for an interview and your soon to be boss was unraveling you in ways you had only fantasized about. All the while, Lucifer remained the very image of composure, if it weren’t for his very obvious hard on being pressed against the back of your thigh, you would have thought he was impervious to the scene he had orchestrated. Every time his finger dragged itself out of you, you let out an appreciative mewl, mind reeling as he pressed every button he needed for you to submit completely to him.

You lost track of time and how many times he left you wanting more with how his finger moved in and out of you. At some point, he had added a second, then a third, deliciously stretching you out. You were so wet and ready for him, you could feel your essence drip down your thighs as your legs struggled to keep you upright. Lucifer was patient, he had lived several millennia already, edging you until you were a begging mess on top of his desk for a few hours was absolutely nothing to him.

In a show of surprising restaurant, he pressed hot kisses against the back of your neck, nipping at your skin whenever you let out a particularly breathy sigh. The scent of sex and his cologne enveloped you and you were practically dizzy with need. “Sir…” You whined after he had curled his fingers in you, making you see stars and your walls trembled, clenching around his fingers. “Please… I need more…”

“Oh?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and removing his fingers, much to your dismay. He watched in amusement as your pussy twitched, clenching around air now that his fingers were no longer filling you. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he was surprised how long you had held out before you were begging for him. His erection had pressed against his impeccably tailored pants for so long, it was almost painful, yet, he couldn’t let you have your way just yet. Even if it was a trial, he still wanted to see just how far he could push you. “You think you really deserve more? You haven’t even gotten this job yet.”

His fingers were back on your wet, sopping cunt, sliding up and down your labia, rubbing slow, firm circles around your clit. You wailed, bucking your hips and forgetting the command to stay still until his other hand reminded you by spanking your ass cheek. “No moving.” He growled and you struggled to obey, stilling your body even though every part of you screamed to squirm and beg for him. “You will get more when I decide you get more.”

You could only nod in reply, letting him use your body as he saw fit. “For your next test. You will cum when I tell you to.” he breathed, pressing his finger against your clit, making you choke back a sob of pleasure. “After that, I promise you, you’ll be at the last part of the interview.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll do what you want, Sir. Whatever you say, Sir.” You babbled mindlessly, your body aching for relief and release. The torture and pleasure he could pull out of you with just his fingers had your mind jumping to the future to what other things he could elicit out of you.

“Good girl.” He praised, patting your hair in a surprisingly soft gesture. He followed the gentleness with a chaste kiss on your lips before going right back to being the commanding figure you had met him as. He plunged his fingers into you again, knuckle deep and pumping in and out of you furiously, loving the way your walls fluttered and clenched as you held off on your orgasm until he permitted it. “You are so obedient… just what I like.” He praised breathlessly, working you closer and closer to the point of no return.

You couldn’t think straight, you didn’t care if others heard the lewd sounds coming from your lips as you whined, begging for release. You were so close, you wanted to cum so badly, but your determination to pass his test outweighed your desire and you held out until his silky voice whispered the blissful word into your ear. “Cum…” He purred and you gratefully crumbled, your body spasming around his fingers, milking it like it was his cock. Soft whines escaped your lips and tears of gratitude streaked down your face.

“Thank you, Sir.” You panted, blissed out and feeling weightless after such a powerful orgasm. Your vision blurred as you stared blankly at the wall, wondering if this was the end of the interview. Lucifer’s fingers leaving your sore pussy sure seemed to signal that things had reached a conclusion. Glancing up at the reflection in the windows, you flushed bright red when you saw Lucifer lewdly cleaning his fingers off with his tongue.

“Hmm… I think you would do well.” He said once his fingers no longer shone with your essence. He sauntered over to the other side of the desk where you clung onto for dear life. Sinking into his chair, he casually opened up one of the drawers, pulling out a contract and placing it in front of you. “If you believe you can keep up with my demands, then all you have to do is sign on the dotted line at the bottom. He slid you an ornate fountain pen into your hand.

Your trembling digits could barely hold onto the pen and you moved to start reading the contract, going over the terms and conditions of your new position. Most of it was the basic business jargon seen in every typical job. There were a few things that seemed out of place, but in your just fucked state of mind, it was very difficult to focus on what about them seemed wrong. Unable to really think straight about what you were getting yourself into, you placed the pen onto the paper, eager to start your new job.

Just as you the pen started to move, you heard the sound of a zipper being undone and the hard erection you had felt earlier on the back of your thigh now pressed up against your sore pussy. You gasped, eyes going wide at the feeling of being stretched out once again. “Well? Will you sign?” He asked casually, sinking into you inch by inch as you struggled to breath and think, let alone sign a contract.

“Yes… Yes, Sir…” you whined, starting to shakily write your name as he bottomed out inside of you. He hissed, taking a hold of your hips and roughly slamming them back into him to get as much contact as he could. You yelped, unable to write your name at all. Your hips banged against the edge of the desk with every one of his rough thrusts. No doubt, there would be dark bruises there the next day reminding you exactly what you did to get the job you were signing for now.

With each pass, Lucifer lets a little more of himself go, grunting in effort as he relished in the feeling of your hot walls surrounding him. He hadn’t found such an obedient human in a long time. It would be such a fun time for him to push your limits every day you were in his office. What he offered now was only a glimpse of what he had planned for you. Every time your hand stuttered in the middle of signing your name, his grin widened. The closer you were to sealing the contract with him, the closer he was to his own release that he had been holding back for hours now.

“Just a little more…” he urged, slowing down his thrusts so you had at least some time to get a few more letters of your name out. Just as you finished, he let out a primal growl, slamming his hips into yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room as he fucked you without abandon. The fountain pen fell from your fingers and you were back to clutching onto the edge of the desk as yet another explosive orgasm started to build in you.

Glancing up into the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of what Lucifer looked like while he was coming undone inside of you, you were surprised at the image you saw. It was only for a brief moment, but you swore you saw horns on him, and dark, feathery wings framing his body. The sound of the pen you dropped falling to the floor broke the illusion and the image of the prim and proper business man with an utterly feral look was all you saw.

He knew he wouldn’t last long once he entered you and so, he chased his release inside of you. As soon as the contract was signed, he was done for. His hand snaked around your abused waist to reach for your clit, bringing you to climax in time with his own. With a grateful groan, he released all the pent up tension in him, spilling his hot seed deep inside of you while your walls spasmed around him, milking every inch of him and accepting what he had given you. “Very good…” he cooed, his eyelids fluttering as he relished in the rush that came after such an explosive climax.

You whined, your body bruised and beaten, but also feeling absolutely boneless and euphoric. You hadn’t experienced anything like that before and it was all rather mindblowing to say the least. The contract in front of you with your shaky signature, ink blots from when you lost control of the pen and a fair amount of your tears stared back at you. This was your future. This would be a regular part of your life going forward; and you didn’t feel a shred of regret from it. You zoned out for a moment, hardly believing that it was all real.

Lucifer’s cock slipping out of you and the feeling of his cum dripping out of you snapped you back to reality. “Very good job. I’ll say you passed all the tests with flying colors.” He said, fixing his suit and continuing on as if he hadn’t just fucked the living daylights out of you. “I expect you to come in on Monday ready to work. I have a lot of filing for you to catch up with.”

He smirked, taking the signed contract and slipping it back into his desk. He cupped your chin in his hand and planted soft kisses on your lips, once again leaving you dizzy and breathless. “You are free to move now.” He said and you gratefully worked on closing your sore legs, wondering how you were going to make it out the office in the state that you were in. You weren’t sure you were able to walk, let alone get all the way home with how weak you were. Lucifer chuckled, dialing a few numbers into his cellphone. “I’ll arrange for a ride home for you.” He offered. “As a thank you for such a lovely interview.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, knowing you had a way to get back without catching too many unwanted stares at your disheveled state. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Lucifer.” He corrected briskly.

“Thank you, Lucifer. I’ll be sure to arrive on time Monday.” You sank into the chair to gather your wits about you, staring at your trembling hands.

“Good.” He said coolly and looking up at him, you gasped when you saw him casually twirling your panties on one finger as he looked down at you. “Your ride should be here shortly, please make sure you’re presentable, you do not want to dishonor me.”

“Yes. Of course, Lucifer.” you hastily combed your hand through your hair, hoping to take care of the worst of the flyaways. You glanced nervously at the panties in his hand, figuring they were a lost cause at this point and simply accepted the fact that you’d be taking this arranged ride with your boss’ cum dripping down your thigh. Carefully standing up, you remembered to assume the proper posture he had shown you earlier and he smiled in approval.

“Very good.” He gestured to the heavy glass doors, opening them as if with magic with a press of a button. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“Yes,Lucifer.” You replied obediently, taking the first shaky steps out.

“Oh, and one more thing.” he called out to your retreating form. You turned, blinking and wondering what else he could want from you. “Wear the same lipstick, will you? I’d love to see what that color looks like smeared all over my cock.”

“Yes, of course. As you wish.” You replied, blushing a deep red and rushing out of the office now, high off of getting the coveted position of Lucifer’s personal assistant and the prospect of what else he could ask you to do for him.

Watching you slip into the elevator, Lucifer smiled to himself. He reached into his desk and pulled out the contract, skimming the terms and conditions you had agreed to.

Humans were terribly predictable. Yet, they were also infinitely entertaining.

[binniedeactivated]

saint. || soobin (2.10)🌪*finale*

a/n: congratulations for making it to part 2 finale! I appreciate anyone who has made it this far in reading this series! ily<3333 enjoy!

🖤┊𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱 . ೄྀ࿐ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: 𝖘𝖔𝖔𝖇𝖎𝖓 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: 𝖘𝖒𝖚𝖙/𝖆𝖚 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙; 2k

parked outside your house in the car was yeonjun, and you were more than glad he was on his phone and barely paying attention to you. you sighed, thinking about soobin’s words when he told you to be good for him. you made a promise to yourself that you’d be better until he comes back.

you entered the car and sat silently until yeonjun was done scrolling through his feed. you figured maybe you could use this time to mentally prepare yourself for school today. trying not to become too stressed, soon exams will be over and you could go back to having a regular mental capacity again. 

“i don’t know. if i entered someone else’s car I’d at least greet them”. yeonjun mutters with his eyes still pasted to his phone. you slowly narrowed your eyes at him. “since when do you care if I greet you?”. you ask. he shrugs his shoulders. “common courtesy. manners too”. he replies. you huff your breath ignoring him.

“are we going anywhere?”. you ask. 

“yes”. 

“so can we go? we’re just sitting here”. 

“why are you in a rush? you have nowhere to be at 6 o’clock in the morning”. 

you cross your arms. you know what soobin said. but yeonjun wasn’t making things any easier too. 

“you’re annoying”. you retort. 

“and you’re some angel?”.

“I never said that”.

“sure as hell was acting like it when you told soobin yesterday”.

“are you not disrespectful? you don’t how to speak to people. that’s your problem”.

“surely we aren’t talking about problems when you’re 18 years old and need someone to teach you how to have sex”.

you glare at him, completely oblivious to soobin even mentioning such things to an asshole like him. 

“that’s your problem”. yeonjun twisted, using your words against you.

“I don’t know why soobin is even friends with you. I hate you”. you grumble. yeonjun nods before starting up the car. 

“good”. 

you kept your mouth shut until you both were at the diner again. you really wanted to hit him for what he said. but you ought to be good for soobin. yeonjun gets out and slams the door behind himself like the rude person he was. you entered and sat across from him. he was reading the menu and asking the same waitress questions he already knew the answer to, he just wanted to flirt. you roll your eyes and pluck up your own menu preparing to order. 

after she finished taking your orders she gave you this snarky ass look almost as if to say, “how does it feel to have your man taken?” . you wanted to assure her that you didn’t know and that yeonjun is completely on the market but you didn’t care enough. you felt yeonjun chuckling to himself at the entire situation.

trying to air out the drama you try to ask questions instead. you place your elbows on the table, 

“how do you think today is going to go for soobin?”.

“he’ll be fine. he should get out within two days if those dumb ass officers reach a verdict already”.

“why two days? it takes that long? the boys don’t have a story”.

“for some odd reason they want this to be soobin fault so the officers been desperate to frame him. it going to take them longer than usual because the want to connect invisible dots”. 

you sigh, 

“this is ridiculous”. 

“as fuck. he’ll be alright though”. 

you sit back and think further until your food was sitting in front of you. you dragged your utensils out of the napkin preparing to eat with soobin weighing heavily on your mind.

“here you go with that shit again”. yeonjun insults taking a grossed out glare at your food. 

“yes I can eat what I want. worry about your food and I’ll worry about mine”.

“I’ll worry about whatever the fuck i want to worry about”. 

“worrying about me will get you nowhere”. 

“yep, because you’re nothing”. yeonjun stated before forking a piece of fried egg into his mouth. you wanted to hit him so bad but you held back for soobin and soobin only. you ate your food quickly so you both can hurry out of there before yeonjun got hurt from going to far with his insults. 

sooner or later you were at school attending a mass. it kind of bummed you out because it would be dull without soobin whispering and talking to you as if he weren’t supposed to be praying. one of the sister’s used their fingers to beckon you to the confessional. you had to admit you were kind of scared, it’s been a long time since you confessed to some things. maybe this was the life of a normal catholic teenager. 

“good afternoon father benjamin”. you say kind of anxiously. 

“good afternoon. is there anything you want to confess?”.

you took a deep breath. “i don’t even know where to start”.

“take your time”. 

“this is kind of embarrassing but... i’ve been feeling more sexual than usual lately and i’ve been worried about exams and--someone trying to be framed for a crime they didn’t commit. i guess i’ve been too focused on my own life rather than praying that things get better for me”.

“first and foremost you must understand that sexual feelings are normal at your age. but it’s best to learn how to control them early on so they don’t spiral out of control”. you nodded, knowing you were in way too deep at this point. 

“I understand”. 

“your lack of prayer is your reason for your lack of peace. you are trying to handle all of your emotions on your own when our heavenly father doesn’t want that”. you nod once more feeling kind of guilty. 

“and your job is to never stress over things such as friends with crimes. I understand it can be difficult to deal with but sometimes people are only who we think they are”. 

“what do you mean?”.

“do not become too invested into someone you don’t entirely know about”.

you bit the inside of your cheeks thinking and nodding. “thank you father benjamin”. “you are forgiven, my saint”. 

you thought about the priests words until mass was over, trying to figure out what he was getting at. you did completely know about soobin, right? he’s changing for the better? 

all of the kids from mass were spilling back into the school building and attending their classes regularly. but it was hard to not lock eyes with yeonjun who was being guided into the principal’s office with two officers at his side. just the thought that the situation had to do with soobin made your heart race expeditiously. 

the officers closed the door behind them and yeonjun was sat down in a wooden chair, completely confused with whatever was going on.

“good afternoon choi yeonjun. you’re not in trouble at all but these gentlemen are looking for some of the people  you may have connections to”. the principal spoke while still maintaining his serious demeanor. yeonjun looks back at the officers, “what happened?”. one of them stepped forward.

“there was an incident at the Premiere hotel just weeks ago. we looked at the security footage countless times. we would like to show you so you can identify these people if that’s okay? everything you do here--even your name is extremely confidential”. 

yeonjun hid his nerves well. he shrugged. “yeah I guess that’s cool”. the officer nodded and pulled out a camcorder and turned it on, flipping it so that yeonjun could see. for starters it would be hard to figure out who anyone was, yeonjun thought. the camera quality was bad and it didn’t get the best angles. but it was easy for yeonjun’s brain of course. he spotted 5 males walk into a hotel room together. shortly after there was another male who appeared to be bringing a girl in the hotel room before leaving just minutes after. 

yeonjun wasn’t stupid. he knew the 5 males were michael, minho, seongjun, kevin and beomgyu. he knew that soobin was the male bringing mia into the room. so he spoke accordingly. 

“those 5 males, from what I can make out looks like--minho, michael, seongjun, kevin and beomgyu. I believe that female could be mia”. 

“and the male to her left?”.

yeonjun shakes his head. “I’m not quite sure”.

“this seems fairly easy for you. are you sure you can’t identify him?”. 

“the name on the credit card used that night says it belongs to someone by the name of choi soobin. do you think he has anything to do with this?”. 

“could this be him in the tape?”. they back and forthed. yeonjun shakes his head again.

“I don’t think soobin had anything to do with it i mean, those guys are also thieves. and I can’t identify the male in that tape”. 

“are you being honest?”.

yeonjun gives him a dumbfounded expression. “why would i lie to a cop?”. 

“people do it all the time buddy. especially with footage like this”. 

“welp, sorry to break it to you but your trash ass security footage has nothing to do with my integrity”.

with folded hands the principal gives him a look, 

“choi yeonjun I think you need to be a bit more respectful”.

“pfft. that isn’t the first time I’ve heard that line”. 

“we’re not here to frame you,  or anyone just yet. we just want information”. the other officer informs. 

“thank you--as if I didn’t know that already I already gave you the information that I think to be true. if you want me to list random names of people in this building so you can have a solved crime then we can just say the principal did it and this can be over with”. yeonjun quips calmly. 

“we understand that and we thank you for giving us the information we needed. Principal West I think we’re done here”. 

“try not being hostile next time bud?”.

the officer closes the camcorder and the principal stands to shake both of their hands before helping them to the exit. 

yeonjun not rolls his eyes in that moment but he also was rolling his eyes to you for the whole day, each time you asked him about what happened. you didn’t understand why he couldn’t just tell you. he was calling you difficult but at this time he was being the difficult one. after school you slid into the passenger seat of his car yet again. you took a deep breath before you spoke.

“yeonjun I’m only going to ask you just one more time and it’s only for the sake of me making sure soobin is okay. what happened with the police?”.

yeonjun starts up the car and switch gears. 

“I thought I told you to mind your fucking business already?”. 

“It’s just a question I don’t understand why you have to act rude and belligerent”. 

“stop making me repeat myself and maybe I won’t act belligerent next time. stay in your place”. 

“what are you talking about? If it has anything to do with soobin then it is my place to know”.

“if you do know what the hell are you going to do about it? you have no power or authority”.

“you’re annoying I swear to god”.

“and I apologize that god has to hear your dumb ass voice swearing to him once again”.

it took everything in you to keep still. the only thing that was keeping you calm was the fact that you both were on your way to see soobin. your heart danced until you were finally able to meet his gaze and he kisses you like he always did. yeonjun rolls his eyes, “any updates for today?”. 

“they took the last of them in for questioning. they’re discussing the verdict today and I should know tomorrow”. yeonjun nodded before smirking. 

“soobin is going to be a free man?”. soobin laughs, 

“stop acting like i’ve been locked away for years”. 

“I have to talk to you about something though”.

“what is it?”, 

yeonjun hinted that you were still in the room. 

“can you give us a second princess?”. soobin requests, and you did so politely. you thought you felt his eyes on your ass while you were walking out, either that or you were going crazy. 

“you guys are fucking revolting”. yeonjun comments, watching soobin’s eyes indeed-- on your ass. 

“she’s so sexy I want to eat her pussy again”. 

“hold on, again?”.

yeonjun pretends to make gagging noises, “you can’t be serious”. soobin laughs at how dramatic he was. 

“what do you need to talk to me about?”.

“the police came to the school today and asked me to identify the people in the security footage of the hotel that night”. 

soobin’s eyes expanded and his heart nearly stopped. 

“what?”. 

“don’t worry, the camera shoots at like 20 pixels. it would be hard for anyone to identify, but i told them that I didn’t recognize you. I only identified the boys and mia. the only thing they do have on you is the fact that your credit card was swiped to pay for the hotel room”.

soobin throws his hands on top of his head, 

“fuck”. he breathes. 

“don’t even worry about this one. we’re going to get you a good lawyer and we’re going to fix this shit and make those motherfuckers go to jail for the rest of their lives alright?”. 

soobin gradually nods, “fucking bad timing though”. 

“don’t worry I think they are asking other people. it’s going to take them a while to collect data with the footage they have”.

“good. that’s good”.

“yeah it is actually”.

“how was my baby today?”. soobin asks on another note. 

“you’re asking me that as if she isn’t annoying on a daily basis”.

“you two just can’t fucking get along for shit huh?”. 

“hell no. and i don’t want to get along with her that’s your job”. 

“it’s also your job to take care of her until i come back”. 

“don’t remind me. it’s already a drag that I have to take her home”.

“you’ll be fine dipshit. make sure she’s in the house safely”. 

“yeah whatever”. yeonjun says on his way out. 

“tell her to kiss me goodbye before you guys leave”. soobin calls out shortly after. yeonjun glares at you in the waiting room. 

“yo dumbass, go say goodbye to Al Capone”. 

you scoff and do as you were told. you didn’t want to waste your energy on yeonjun especially if you were here for soobin right now. soobin kisses you again, adding a bit more tongue this time sinking your heart like so. when he pulled away you secretly wanted more. 

“be good for me okay?”. 

“hm. what do I get if I’m good?”. you reply, feeling kind of risky. soobin smirks, 

“we can see how long you last on my face”.

at this point you were beyond flustered and soobin knew it. he chuckles softly, 

“get home safely and make sure you study. yeonjun has my credit card if you need anything”. 

you thank him and give him an okay before you left. you thought you could’ve been exaggerating things but what soobin said made you kind of wet. him eating you out was amazing but you could only imagine sitting on his face. 

“a kiss shouldn’t take that long”. yeonjun complains as soon as you enter the car. you roll your eyes yet again. he starts driving.

“I didn’t know I was on a schedule”. 

“you’re not. you’re on my time”. 

“why do you always feel the need to speak? like seriously”. 

“because I can and I will. whose going to stop me?”. 

“I hope someone does soon because you’re really out of hand”.

“am I?”. 

“yes”. 

“I don’t give a fuck”. 

“you should”. 

“you should give a fuck about a lot of things”.

“I didn’t ask so mind your business”. 

“I don’t have to”.

“you’re so self centered and low it isn’t even funny”. 

“you’re so pathetic and inexperienced it actually is funny”. 

you glare at him once again, god-you hated him. 

“you’re annoying and I hate you, I hope you know that”. you say with a little more projection and attitude. 

“you’re annoying and you’re also a bitch I hope you know that too”. 

that was it, you had enough. you used all the strength you could muster to slap yeonjun across his face. with a clenched jaw he narrowed his eyes at the road ahead. 

“don’t call me that”. you uttered and anger. the car jerked to the side of the road so hard you didn’t even feel it come to a stop. you didn’t have time to blink before yeonjun was grabbing you by the collar of your shirt. he was breathing heavy and his face looked more serious than you’d ever seen it.

“don’t fucking hit me”. he growled. 

“stop being so disrespectful then”. 

he pushes his face closer to yours. 

“I can do what I want. what are you going to do about it?”. 

the both of you found yourself breathing heavy and more than angry with the other. you hated yeonjun for all he was and he hated you with the same token. but it only took one swift glance at his lips for you to give in. he presses his lips on yours and you give in, kissing back like you had no care in the world. the two of you fought for breath before going back for more. his lips were kind of forceful yet soft. and he thought yours were too innocent to get enough of. he pulls you onto his lap while you were kissing him. his hands wandered your thighs and you let them in the heat of the moment. you didn’t know what you were doing but you couldn’t stop. 

his hands grope your ass and you grinded down on his lap, resulting in your breathing becoming shaky. you were already wet from soobin’s words so it didn’t take long for you to start throbbing in your panties. you quivered when you felt yeonjun’s hand sweep past your clothed clit. 

and that’s when it hit you--what were you doing? 

you let the kissing come to a halt, “yeonjun we can’t do this”. he stares into your eyes also snapping back into reality. “you’re right, what the fuck are we doing?”. 

you felt your heart still beating at a fast pace while you crawled back to the passenger’s seat of the car. hoping and praying that this all was just a dream. you didn’t mean for it to happen. maybe you were just desperate. you bit your lips. 

“we can’t tell soobin about this”.

[ramblinganthropologist]

MER Week 5 - We are Family

Summary: Visiting family can be tough sometimes, especially when your job involves being the only fucking hope for humanity. Alistair’s never sure what to tell his sister when he sees her, but at least he’s got Bo to remind him he’s an idiot when he gets back. Don’t you just love family?

(ME 2 setting)

---

“So… uh… how are things going?”

Ah, the question he had been dreading for the last hour had finally shown itself. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. Worst of all, his exit was cut off. No way out but through it…

Fuck.

Normally, Alistair Shepard didn’t mind going to see his sister Anora. After all, they had a lot of catching up to do what with 11 years of separation and all between them. However, they usually had his niece as a buffer. Kelly was great for that sort of thing, especially if she wanted to hear parent-approved stories. Unfortunately, her father had custody that weekend. So, it was just the two of them, sitting on the couch and making awkward small talk.

Did he mention it was awkward? Because it was so fucking awkward. Fuck, maybe he should’ve taken a preventative anxiety dose…

The Spectre took a tentative sip of his tea just to have something to do – gross. His sister liked this variety of tea bag that he just couldn’t stand, but she was trying. That was enough to make a good try of things as she watched him over her own cup. What she was thinking, he had no clue.

It was hard to read his sister. Maybe it was because he was so used to military types?

“I mean… it’s going?” He put the cup down. “We were on Illium before we got back to the Citadel.”

Yeah, he had been hunting down an assassin and a justiciar to add to his crew in order to survive killing a shit ton of Collectors. Thane was great – he lived in Life Support so he didn’t die before the Collectors killed them. He hadn’t even mentioned Samara and her centuries of baggage, that was the best part. Reflecting on that, he knew it wasn’t exactly something you told your older sister over really shitty tea. So, he kept mum on the details.

Most of his stories wound up like that. Was that bad?

“Illium… well, at least you’d be easy to spot among the asari with your hair and all.” Anora took a cautious sip. “Did you… need armor for that one?”

Need armor – that was their codeword they’d come up when he hadn’t been sure what to call what he did. Anora had a weak stomach, and he didn’t exactly want to drag up the gory details of his job. Though, was it technically a job at that point? They had literally brought him back from the dead for it – that was nearly a calling. More than that, he wasn’t really getting paid. Cerberus was in a weird gray area…

Either way, it was a useful code.

“Yeah. It got heated at points, but nobody died.” Well… nobody on his side anyway. There were plenty of dead mercs thanks to both his crew and his own two hands. This was something else he wouldn’t tell Anora, mostly to keep her mind at ease. Apparently, hearing your younger brother was really good at killing people tended to put people off.

Civilians, couldn’t live with them…  kind of turned into a war crime if you accidentally shot them.

“Oh… that’s good. I know it…” she paused, frowning. “I know you’ve had it rough lately.  I saw you on the news with your friend Garrus and it looked like half of his face was missing.”

Alistair took another sip of his nasty tea to give him time to think of how to best phrase his possible boyfriend taking a rocket to the fucking face after a goddamn siege. It wasn’t exactly polite dinner conversation as he made the mental edits.

“Yeah… kind of. The implants are healing, though. At least the mandible is still attached and all.”

Judging by the look his sister gave, that probably wasn’t the right answer.

“Omega is not a fun place.” Was his only justification as he took another sip. “I definitely don’t recommend the Terminus system for Kelly’s spring break.”

Another wince – he was just knocking it out of the park with today’s visit. Maybe he should just close his stupid mouth and drink his tea before he gave her a coronary…

Anora at least didn’t drop her cup. Concern was written all over her face though as she rolled it between her palms. There were probably a thousand thoughts running through her mind, and he just had to wait on the final decision. Lucky for him, he was good at waiting.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” A judicious answer. She sipped from her mug, face unreadable. “So… where are you going next?”

To hell in a fucking hand basket, or a least close enough when they managed to get through Omega-4. However, it wasn’t exactly something you shared over tea, especially with your older sister.

When he glanced away, Anora sighed. “Right… top secret Spectre business, then?”

“Something like that.” He frowned. What little good feeling between them was starting to wear down. Soon there would be nothing left but awkward questions and long pauses full of questions neither of them could answer. No doubt it would be time for him to go soon.

Lucky for him, his omni-tool started to beep. Someone was trying to communicate with him. Without thinking, he hit the button and his sister’s living room was soon filled with the sound of the Normandy’s cockpit. If he strained, he could hear EDI softly beeping in the background.

“Commander, you there? Sorry to break up the family visit, but we’re getting a message from Admiral Hackett. I think you’re going to want to hear this.”

Alistair could already feel his forehead throbbing at the thought. “I swear, he just bothered us…”

“Yeah, tried to mute him but you know how he does that thing to get it through anyway.” Joker was priming the Normandy for takeoff in the background. “You should probably get back to the Normandy in case we need to head out.”

Sweet relief.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in twenty. Knowing the admiral, we’re going to be in the ass end of nowhere, so start checking the relays.” He paused, sighing. “Thanks, Joker. See you soon.”

The call ended not long after. He finished his tea in one long swallow. Anora was watching him, impossible to read. She had long since abandoned her tea – it was growing cool on the table. Talk about a bad sign.

“Admiral Hackett contacts you directly?”

Alistair sighed a ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m kind of his go-to for confidential stuff he doesn’t want to do. Call it first human Spectre privilege I guess.”

Anora didn’t exactly look impressed. “I’m guessing armor is going to be needed then.”

“Probably.” He sighed again. “I should go. They can’t exactly leave the Citadel without a CO on deck, can they?”

His cup clinked softly as he placed it back down on the table and stood. Anora stood as well and walked him to the front door. There they hovered, neither really saying anything, eyes not really meeting.

It always ended like that. It was why he preferred Kelly there to help soften things between them.

Her hand reached out – maybe to squeeze his shoulder – but it didn’t make contact. Instead, it fell back to her side, limp. It was hard to read the emotion in her face then, but then again it always was. When it came down to it, Anora was a bit of a brick wall he wound up hitting his head against.

“Well… be safe. I’ll see you when you’re back on the Citadel?”

He nodded, already planning his route back to the ship. “Yeah. Thanks for the tea. Tell Kelly I said hi.”

She nodded, and that was it. No hug goodbye, nothing more than an awkward wave as he walked down the path. Then the door shut, and it was back to work. Maybe he felt bad about the relief that he felt as he turned to leave, like a weight had just been lifted off his shoulders. The more he walked, the easier it was to forget.

He had to anyway – he had work to do.

“Wonder what the fuck Hackett wants this time…” Alistair grumbled to himself as he aimed for the port that would get him back to the docking bay he had left earlier that day. By the time he got there, the Normandy would be ready to leave. Within the hour, he’d be shooting towards the relay. Then – who knew. With Hackett, anything was possible.

“Seriously? He wants something AGAIN? Didn’t we risk our collective asses for him last week?”

Probably because he’d be lost in his thoughts, but Alistair realized he was standing in shadow. He glanced up, unsurprised to find red eyes and a bored expression. Without much thought, he shifted his pace. He needed to – otherwise he couldn’t keep up.

Bo had a bag of snacks in her arms that jingled as she walked. From the looks of things, Joker had paged her during a grocery run. Hopefully she had managed to get the citric acid he had asked for – he was starting to run low, and without it he’d just be eating sugar. That was a line even he wouldn’t cross.

It wasn’t a big line, but every man needed one.

“Yeah, I have no idea what. Joker couldn’t tell me; I was still with Anora.”

His adopted sister winced. “So, which one would you rather have faced: her or first contact?”

“I’d say I’d rather see a turian’s face pointing a gun at me.” He winced at his own bluntness. “Sorry… have to watch my tongue around her. You know she worries.”

Bo rolled her eyes at this as she handed him a smaller bag to carry. From the looks of things, there was a massive container of citric acid inside, buried next to a candy bar he was definitely going to destroy within a few hours of achieving FTL flight. It was nice to have someone who thought of him.

“You’re a fucking N7 level marine, I think she can figure out you’re winding up in some pretty fucked up shit.”

That was another wince on his part. “Yeah, but… I don’t exactly have to tell her how I stood in the line of sight for Garrus’ rifle, now do I?”

His answer got him quite the shove forward – it was a miracle he didn’t hit the ground face first as Bo continued on ahead, bag still jingling. “I’m pretty sure she knows you’re a dumbass with a martyr complex, don’t worry.”

Ah, someone was still sore about that. Well, excuse him for using his head…

Still, attempted face plant aside, Alistair had to admit he felt a lot more at ease as he and Bo continued their walk back towards the Normandy and their continuing fight against Admiral Hackett’s to-do list. Maybe he should have felt bad about that, but he had enough actual bad things to worry about. Something like this, he’d be happy to let slide for the moment. It could get him later, when he was in bed and couldn’t sleep.

“Gee, thanks. Love you too.”

Bo flipped him the bird as he caught up to her. “Can’t help I have a dumbass for a commanding officer brother, now can I?”

“He didn’t shoot…”

“You still got in the fucking way of a sniper rifle, you moron. The ghost of Alec Ryder is going to chew your ass out when you go to bed tonight, and I’m pretty sure that bastard’s still alive.”

The last thing he wanted was Alec Ryder, corporal or otherwise, near his ass. No thanks. That was enough to give him a lifetime of nightmares…

His adopted sister nudged him again as they got closer. “Next time just… don’t be a fucking hero. I don’t even know why I’m saying it, I know you will, and it’ll piss me off and then we start all over again.”

Despite the lecture, he chuckled. “I’ll do my best.”

“No, you won’t. You’re a fucking boy scout and it’s the worst.”

At least they had at last reached the Normandy. The yellow still needed painting over, but it was a sight for sore eyes nonetheless. Alistair was happy to hop aboard as decontamination hissed around him. It was humming to life beneath his feet, almost as if it was welcoming him back.

He loved this part.

“Commander Shepard and Commander Shepard have returned. Agent Miranda stands relieved.”

EDI’s robotic voice echoed as they stepped out of decontamination. Off to the side, Joker swiveled around in his chair to greet them. His grin only got wider as he spotted the bag hanging from Bo’s arm, almost reminding Alistair of a kid in a candy store.

“Did you get it?”

Bo snorted as he pulled out a smaller bag and handed it over. “You’re worse than Saren when it comes to snacks.”

“Hey, leave my hamster out of it. Saren is a gentleman.” Alistair still chuckled as he looked out at the Citadel dock from the Normandy’s front window. Soon, it would all be the blackness of space rushing out to meet them.

“Well, can’t be too bad if I’m getting compared to that.” Joker swiveled back around, already starting the procedure for takeoff. “Hackett’s message is ready when you are, Commander.”

Right… ugh. Just thinking about it gave Alistair a headache as he watched Bo head off to distribute her snacks. Still, it was a headache he could tolerate as he felt his mind shifting back to mission mode. At least here, he was in his element.

“Go ahead and play it. Might as well find out what ass end of nowhere we’re heading to…”

And just like that, it was business as usual. Admiral Hackett needed help, and the Normandy was the only ship he could get to do it. Soon, Alistair would be back in armor and ready to face whatever hell awaited them.

In a weird way, it was good to be home. But how fucked up is it that home was a fucking bootleg Alliance frigate hotwired by Cerberus?

[sherrybaby14]

Blue Spiders - Chapter 2

Summary:  Fear pushes your relationship along.

Warnings:  Light horror, background alcohol, (I have not warned for everything possible, please read at your own risk)

Words: 2k

Pairing:  Therapist! Steve Rogers x female reader

Part One

She lived in an apartment.  That was problematic.  Houses were much easier to break in to undetected.  At least it wasn’t in a great neighborhood and the locks on her doors were pathetic.  All he needed was a credit card to break them.  He accomplished that task this morning.

Steve in no way wanted her death tied to him or the New England Butcher. The kill would be a quick one.  Gunshot, he hoped for a mugging gone bad, but it appeared she never left her place after dark.  

Ten days he had been watching her, observing, waiting for the moment to strike.  But she was always home before sundown, never to retreat again.  He wouldn’t risk a daytime public murder.  Too many loose ends.  

It looked like the next option would be breaking and entering.  Doable, but not ideal.  Look like a robbery.  Bullet to the head and the world would have one less awful person in it.  

Under normal circumstances Steve felt nothing when preparing for a kill.  Sometimes a mild rush of glee during the act and then a bit of euphoria after, especially if it was a victim he intended Agent Barnes to tie to the New England Butcher.  

But this felt different. Personal.  The few times he spotted her during the day he felt betrayed.  How could she lie to him about her identity to get a profile for some dumb blog?  And why did he feel a connection.  

His watch beeped and he checked the time.  Three thirty in the morning.  She would be fast asleep.  It would be over soon.  Then the euphoria would come just as it had with the others.  He was certain of it.  

The sound of his car door slamming echoed across the empty street as he began his walk in the shadows, four blocks away from his destination.  

~~

   You didn’t believe in a sixth sense, or you didn’t want to, but something was off.  Wrong.  You were being followed.  Could it be him?

   You finally felt somewhat safe here.  Comfortable enough you followed your passion and started to make a name for yourself.  Sure Miranda’s Museum of the Macabre wasn’t a big deal yet, but you were growing a following and you loved that type of reporting.  

   The last few days you were cursing yourself for even starting the thing.  Today when you got home and saw the locks weren’t working your paranoia vanished.  

   Whoever broke them was subtle about it.  If you hadn’t been paranoid you wouldn’t have noticed, thought that the chain was shut tight when a light tap would drop it.  The deadbolt hole was splintered and pressed back into place.  Anyone with a driver’s license and a shoulder would be able to break the thing down.  

   The right thing would have been to run, or call the police.  Neither option was intriguing.  So you sat next to the thing, waiting in the darkness.  Every time footsteps sounded outside the hall you steadied the shotgun, blinking away the tears that you might have to blow someone’s head off.  

   Maybe you were going crazy.  The locks had always been broken and you only noticed now?  Maybe nobody was following you.  Just the ghosts of your past.  

   Then, at almost four in the morning after standing guard for eight hours footsteps stopped in front of your door.  

   Your adrenaline flared.  You cocked the gun right as your knob started to turn.  It froze.  Fuck! They heard the noise.  

   The handle fell back in place.  They were leaving.  All the shaking you were feeling came flooding back.

   You needed to open the door.  Find out who they were, what they wanted.  But instead you collapsed, hugging the shotgun as the footsteps retreated.   Would you ever be safe?

~~

   Loss of sleep was an understatement.  Tonight you would get a hotel room.  Then decide if you wanted to call the cops, fix the door, or flee.  Life was exhausting enough and it felt like you’d only just started living.  

   The door to the office opened and you rose to your feet, pinning on your best smile as Dr. Rogers walked a patient out.  

   His face looked cold, but his blue eyes widened with surprise.  

   “Hi.”  You gave a nervous wave.  “I have something for you.”  

   His patient waved goodbye as you stepped forward, article in hand.  

   “What is this?”  He grabbed the pages.  

   “The article.  I said I would send over a copy, but I thought with the way things ended I should drop one off in person.”  You fidgeted, thinking about your run in with Barnes the last time.  “As promised, a glowing puff piece.  It will be in the weekend edition.”  

   You watched as his eyes’ scanned the pages.  His brow furrowed in confusion.  

   “Is something wrong?”  You rocked on your feet, hoping to see what line he was at.  “I taped the interview, but if I messed up a fact or misspoke there is time to correct before it goes to print.”  

   “So the article was real?”  The Doctor looked up at you with wide eyes.  “It wasn’t a ruse for your blog?”

   “Ah.”  You bit your lip as you looked away.  “I am sure Agent Barnes gave you an earful.  Yes the story was real.  I write human interest pieces,  Miranda’s Museum doesn’t really pay the bills.”  

   “So this is your real name?”  Steve squinted.  “Rachelle Miller?”  

   “No.”  You blinked.  “I write under multiple pen names.”  

   “So what is your real name?”  Steve folded his arms.  

   “Friends call me Vee.”  You shrugged.  

   “That’s not what I asked.”  His eyes locked on to yours.  

   You hadn’t spoken your real name in years.  Legally it was changed, and with all the pseudonyms you used you hadn’t spoken it outloud in years.  

   “Well, um, I will get out of your hair.  I am sure you have a busy day.  E-mail me if there are problems with the article.”  Your blood ran hot and you regretted coming here.  

   “No.”  His hand reached out and grabbed your arm.  

   You glanced at his fingers and then turned to see his intensite eyes bearing into your own.  His fingers slipped away.  

   “I mean with all do respect, but you look a little rough.”  He nodded to his office.  “Come in and have a drink.  I owe you an apology.”  

   “Me?���  You blinked and shook your head.  “Did Bucky tell you I am just a gossip columnist and was lying to you?  Using you for Miranda’s nefarious purposes?”  

   “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”  He made a playful shrug.  

   “Yeah.  I bet he left out the part where he asked me out nonstop for over a year until I was forced to write something nasty about him on my blog.”  You thought about the person at your door last night,  could it have been Bucky?  He didn’t seem the most stable.  “I may have crossed a line, but what I wrote wasn’t wrong and he,  well I think anyone who has met the man isn’t afraid to use the word obsessive to describe him.”  

   “I cannot confirm, deny, or discuss Agent Barnes.”  Doctor Rogers walked over to a small liquor cabinet.  “What would you like?”  

   “Bourbon?  Scotch?”  You took a seat.  “I’ll settle for anything brown with a nice burn.”  

   “Multiple pen names?”  The doctor came back over and handed you a drink.  “How many?”

   “Three I use on the regular.  I do a lot of freelance writing and they each have their own specialty.  Then several one offs.  I have used them one or two times and let them die.”  You took a sip and let the liquid hit your tongue, wanting to swirl it around your mouth and wishing it would numb your mind in the same way.  

   “Care to share why?”  He sat down and crossed his legs.  “That seems like a lot of compartmentalism.”

“Not a patient.”  You laughed as you leaned back.  

“Let me guess, they are all as generic as Miranda Balfour, Rachelle Miller?”  Dr. Rogers leaned back in his chair.  “You want a legitimate digital footprint, but not one that can be traced back to you.  Why?”  

“You sound like Bucky.”  You tilted your glass toward him.  “Only he has decided Miranda must be my real name.  I would not try to do a deep dive on me Doctor.  I am not interested in opening up.”  

“I am not your Doctor.  Please, call me Steve.”  His eyes scanned you up and down.  “You look very tired.  Late night?  I hope it wasn’t on my behalf.”  

“It was and it wasn’t.  In that order.”  You let out a sigh.  “Since you’re not my doctor Steve, and you can’t think I’m crazy since there is no medical relationship. I think someone, no, I know someone tried to break into my apartment early this morning.”

“Did you call the police?” A look of horror crossed his face as he leaned forward.  “You should not wait on that.”  

“I am not a fan of cops and they are not my fan either.”  You gritted your teeth before taking another sip.  “I cocked my gun too early.  Someone had been following me, all week.  I felt it in my bones.  And then I noticed my locks had been messed with.  So I waited and I felt so paranoid, but then the clock hits 3:44 and the handle jiggles.  I should have let the door open, blown their brains out without asking a single question.  But they heard the noise.  Ran off before I had the chance.”  

“There is a lot to unpack there.”  Steve reached out and touched your knee.  “Are you safe?”

“No.”  You smiled at him.  “Never.  I’m going to get a hotel room tonight.  Figure things out from there.  Get some sleep, a clear head.”  

“If you think someone is targeting you, you shouldn’t stay alone.”  His hand dragged away.  “Friends or family you can stay with?”  

“What was the line you used?  My work doesn’t leave much time for personal relationships.  I’m either writing a freelance story of working on the Miranda project.  Hoping someday it takes off and I can do that full time.”  

“I apologize for being so forward, but I can be your friend, or else your colleague in the work horse force.”  Steve set his glass down.  “And I have plenty of extra bedrooms.”  

You didn’t mean to display the cringe, and tried to bury it down, but there was a pain on his face.

“That is a very kind offer.”  You slammed the rest of your drink.  “But you are not my doctor, or my friend, you’re a stranger right now and I wouldn’t feel comfortable imposing.”  

“I understand.”  Steve grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled as you stood up.  “I would like to take you to dinner, are you free Friday?”  

“Now you’re really going to think I’m crazy, but with the strange feeling I was being followed and the incident last night, I have been scared to leave my apartment after dark.”  The liquor had relaxed your tongue too much.  “Well, now hotel.”  

“I will pick you up at your door, we can go to my place and I’ll cook for you, and then I will drive you home.”  There was something in his voice, this was the first time he had made this request in some time.  “You will be safe the entire time.”

“Alright.”  You couldn’t explain it, but there was a feeling in your heart, like it was drawn to his.  Not mental, like a strange string was pulling you tigher.  “I am staying at the budget in on Wilcox.”  

He opened his mouth, but shut it right away and nodded.  You started to walk to the door and he followed.  Being in his office was the most relaxed you’d been in some time.  

“Friday then.”  He slipped you a piece of paper, you opened it up to see a phone number.  

“I can’t remember the last time someone didn’t just text me their number.”  You smiled eat him.  “You are old fashioned in all the right ways.”  

“Feel free to put that in your phone and use it.”  Steve looked serious.  “Any time, day or night.  I don’t approve of your distrust of law enforcement or wanting assistance, but I respect it.  Never hesitate to call if you need anything.”  

“Thank you.”  You looked at the ground, not wanting to face those blue eyes again, scared if you did you would end up being a roommate at the man's house.  “And thank you for believing me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”  He was taken aback.  

“Sometimes I’m not even sure I believe myself.”  You blinked away tears and squared your shoulders looking him in the eyes.  “Anyone else would have told me it was late, I was tired, I almost killed a delivery man.”  

“I look forward to continuing this conversation on Friday.”  Steve gave a boyish grin.  “Or sooner, if you need anything at all.”  

“Friday then.”  You folded up the piece of paper and put it in your back pocket.  

It was odd to find something to look forward to and for a moment you wished you were crazy and not thinking about fleeing and starting over yet again.  

A/N:  Thanks for reading!  This is turning into a bit of a slow burn, but I think the next chapter will heat up! 

Tags:  @toozmanykids​

[othercat2]

Writing Update, Bunny, and Snippet(s)

So! While searching for porn I found a series called Taming Riki on Amazon, which is apparently original fan fic of Ai no Kusabi. It is not very good fan fic, and only semi okay porn. It reminded me very much of the kind of yaoi porn one used to be able to find on LJ in the early 2000s. I did end up reading it, but was very impatient with it. (Writer, have you ever actually met human beings? I wonder!)

This somehow led to reading Ai no Kusabi fan fic. Which was very odd since I was not impressed with the Ova! (I am probably not going to read the novel(s) since they apparently end in Bury Your Gays Under Piles of Rubble.) Anyway, the AnK fan fic seems to tend toward the "rewrite canon so characters survive" variety. And is often quite optimistic that the mains could have a relationship.

Bunny 1: Due to the part where Iason "Why is my surname a Mustelid, it must be because I fuck like Weasels" Mink is an android he was never actually in danger because all you need to do is down load a backup. Problem: he keeps crashing because Riki was made of meat, and he does not know how to grieve. Jupiter POV as they/it/she tries to get Iason back to operational parameters. (Ricky don't you lose my number plays ironically in the background.)

Bunny 2: Almost exactly like AnK except with Homestuck style quadrants. So much quadrant vacillation. SO MUCH.

Speaking of Homestuck, I've been working on Rebel and Conqueror! I have also been working on Pernstuck, and the next installment of The Yiling Almanac ("the young master most likely to be found disappearing into the kitchen garden") Wei Ying's love of potatoes is featured. (I need to find Ursula Vernon's rant on potatoes.) I've also managed to get some writing done on Build a Life from Scratch. However, I'm slightly frustrated because I can't segue over the GHB/Signless debate. And I hate debates.

Snippet the First: (Rebel and Conqueror)

Trolls had all kinds of mind control powers. They could terrorize you into catatonia or turn you into a puppet. It depended on the caste though. Lower castes tended to have telekinesis powers, higher up the scale started to be telepathy and fear projection. At the very top it was mostly resistance to the mind control powers (and you suspected, regeneration and other weird shit you've only heard rumors about). It probably made sense to trolls to keep you away from Vantas, if things like what happened to you happened a lot. “He’s fuchsia,” you say, and even as you say it, you know it’s a stupid thing to say. Vantas doesn’t need to have been the one to fuck with your head, with or without the pheromones. “Is there any proof he had anything done to my head? Aside from fucking with it just by being his normal asshole self?”

“No evidence was found in the initial investigation,” the Dolorosa admits.

"So he didn't do anything," you say. "So I think I should get to see him sentenced." You pause, looking down at your hands. "For closure. Since I'm not allowed to be in contact with him anymore." The Dolorosa gives you an odd look. It's part concern and part curiosity, and you realize what you said might sound like. "It isn't Stockholm Syndrome," you tell. "I don't feel dependent on him for safety or something." You just want to know what's going on with him. "And don't ask if I want to see him, because that opens the entire do you want to be his kismesis can of worms, and the answer to that is still and will always be fuck no."

The Dolorosa smiles a little at that. "That's understood," she says. "Would you want to be in contact? From what I understand that also seems to be an issue."

"So, troll doctors don't have confidentiality?"

"I think you've made it clear that it's an issue outside Doctor Coyotl's office," the Dolorosa says. "It would be hard to keep common knowledge confidential." Her tone is dry. "Wanting to see him doesn't necessarily correlate to wanting to be in a kismesis with him."

"I want to see him," you say. "I don't know about contact. Maybe I want to ask what he thought he was going to do, raising my kid and screwing with me at the same time. How he thought that was going to work. What was he going to tell my kid about me, if he thought he was going to get away with it. Maybe I want him to delete that fucking 'I hate you' wall he has. Maybe I want to point and laugh at all the 're-education' he's going to go through."

"He already knew he wasn't going to get away with it," the Dolorosa says.

"What's the Black Tower like?" you ask, veering slightly off the subject.

"A prison," the Dolorosa says. "Or in some ways a hospital. I'm sure Pyrope has explained some of the details."

"Re-educated, supervised visits, supervised everything, Earth still conquered but the Viceroy can't have a hate boyfriend, yeah."

"Among other possible punishments," the Dolorosa says. "But those are the most likely." She pauses. "Are there any penalties you'd prefer?"

"Be pretty stupid for me to ask for execution, wouldn't it? Maybe ironic after all the effort not to kill me." Probably also stupid to suggest it to his grandmother, but she asked. "Maybe freedom for Earth and he doesn't have command of anything bigger than one of those ships you stick in a bottle. But freedom isn't on the table either."

The Dolorosa doesn't lecture on the benefits of imperial rule. Instead she says, "Dr. Coyotl mentioned that you had been losing a considerable amount of time during your captivity." She decaptchalogues a data grub, and sets it down on a low table by the couch. It's stubs around a couple inches before curling up, mandibles opening and shutting. You absolutely do not want to pick it up. "This data grub contains the complete security footage from your time on the then-Viceroy's ship. After viewing this, we can discuss if and when you can see him."

"I have to watch the home movie if I want to see him?" you ask. The Dolorosa nods. You know that you're stalling. (You still don't want to pick the data grub up.)

"You can watch it on your own, or with your partner, Rose Lalonde," Dolorosa says, and gets to her feet to leave.

"Wait," you say. She gives you an inquiring look. "So, if this is the complete footage, that's a lot of hours. What's the amount of hours before you'll let me see Vantas?"

"At least seventy two hours within a twenty four hour time frame," Dolorosa says.

"Okay."

Something resembling manners has you get up and follow her to the door, and see her out. When she's gone, you lean against the bulkhead and shudder all over, face in your hands. You slide down the bulkhead to the deck. Take it in steps. There was a computer in the corner of the living room, built into a desk. It wasn't too organic or alarming in appearance. Get the grub to the computer, and open the files. Did you really want to watch it on your own? Did you want Rose there, knowing how badly she wanted to kill Vantas? (It takes a moment to wrap your head around the way the argument wants to phrase Rose's presence as a negative. You don't want me her to be hurt. You don't want her to hurt Vantas.) Did you want to watch it, already knowing what you were going to see? (All the parts you couldn't remember and all the parts you could.)

"This is bullshit," you say, half hoping for a comment from the intercom. "You're hoping I don't watch, which will prove I shouldn't see Vantas." You don't get an answer.

With cringing fingers you pick up the grub (soft squashy urgh) drive and stick it in the port. As the drive opens you send a message to Rose: so i have umptybillion hours of video footage to go through before they'll let me see vantas please come hold my hand. You don't get an immediate reply, so you start going through the files.

You see that you have lots of raw footage. As far as you can tell, no editing was done at all. You are going to be doing a lot of skipping and fast forwarding, is what you're saying. Opening the first file, you get started. It starts with him getting you into his ship, and his quarters. Your hands clench as you watch yourself wake up, the combination of anger and panic on your face as he fucks you, how it turns to lust and desperation. You fast forward.

You fast forward a lot. A lot of this, you remember, and don't much want to go over it again. From a third person perspective, it's weird watching him with you. Watching you with him. (You don't remember the times you tried to make a shank--three times--or biting him as often as you as you actually did.) You can see the moments of concern or confusion on his face, see him arguing with Egbert and Harley. Or meeting some official. (Those are the times when you can remember having been locked in your room. )

Snippet the Second: (Build a Life from Scratch)

After some more talk you all break camp and head west. As you all walk, you stretch your Aspects out, figure out what they can do. It's at least half way to sense for danger, half to practice. You might lay down a "beat" that Redglare joins in on, that Disciple sings along to, that Zahhak hums absentmindedly. Or Jade and Signless have a "song" that Dolorosa joins in on, accompanied by Disciple. Demoness can sound like an entire choir, with Highblood coming in over the top, "sounding" something like a theremin crossed with a bass fiddle. Dave joins in, and Roxy, doing odd little solos or "duets" with one of the trolls, or with Jade.

The next few nights not much happens. The terrain is uneven, the sky is endless, and the air is muggy and damp. There are a few high-flying clouds that disappear by morning. You can see mountains in the distance, and the glinting snake of a river edged with trees. On the third day, you get closer to the river, it starts to get cloudier and the wind kicks up. In the early evening, you can see the wall of an approaching storm. It's a solid green-black wall, and you can see the trailing mists of rain as it dumps down, along with flickers of lightning. "Well, that's going to suck when it gets here," you say.

At the same time you hear this huge sliding crunch off to the side. Exactly like someone pulled up a whole hell of a lot of chunks of ground, all at once. You turn in that direction and see huge chunks of dirt and rock floating around Jade and the Demoness. "Hopefully we can make it suck less!" Jade says cheerfully. The chunks orbit Jade and Demoness as they began to quickly create a shelter. Everyone helps with pounding the dirt and rocks into a rough shelter big enough to hold everyone plus the not-horses. Demoness and Jade (with help from Alter Dave and Dolorosa) smooth out the inside and make everything solid and waterproof.

You all get inside as the storm hits. Roxy pulls out a couple of battery powered lanterns, and sets them up. "Getting better at that," you say.

She grins. "This trick's kind of fun," she says. "Watch." She shows you everything she can make appear, and then disappear. She starts with green cubes, then goes on to various toys, a pair of shoes, a laptop computer, a 3rd Edition Dungeon and Dragons Player's Handbook and DM Handbook. And various sets of dice. And a DM screen. "So, how about a game?"

"That game's for nerds," you scoff.

She rattles one of the clear tubes of dice at you. "Dirk, you are in fact a nerd." She tosses the tube at you, and you catch it reflexively. She also tosses one at Alter Dave, who steps back and lets it fall.

"Nah," he says. "I want to be Debbie."

Roxy laughs, eyes a little bright. "Rose had a brief stint of leaving Chick Tracts in odd little places. I covered the door to her bedroom with a print of The Time of the Dark."

"The one with the wizard sitting in the kitchen with can of beer?" You ask.

"Yep!"

"Mean," Dave says. "Isn't Hambly kinda homophobic?" Quickly. "Not that I would know, except from what my Rose might have ranted about a time or two because she's read a few of the writer's series. I'm way too cool for wizards."

"Wizards are extremely cool," Roxy says. "And I'm not sure one way or another, except yes, if she had written certain books today the way she had then, she would be up to her ears in angry letters and tweets, because holy crap."

It turns out trolls also have roleplaying games. Redglare, Disciple and Signless join in. To your surprise, so does Demoness. Highblood, the Dolorosa and Zahhak do not.

[cinebration]

By My Rules (Quentin Beck x Reader) [Part 16]

News hits the media.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Epilogue

Warnings: none

Gif Source: marvelheroes

Checking your watch, you turned on the TV and leaned against the arm of the couch as you flipped to Channel 3 News.

Lonnie McIntyre looked directly into the camera with his trademark marble-blue eyes. No killer smile today. His face, set into a grim expression, betrayed the faint lines of early aging.

At least it’s crow’s feet and laugh lines, you thought.

“Breaking news,” he declared. “Word has just reached us that Dr. Ludwig Rinehart, a psychiatrist of great renown, has been arrested and detained for the past three weeks by S.H.I.E.L.D.”

A photo of Quentin, beardless and smiling charmingly, appeared onscreen. Seeing it made your chest constrict.

“Dr. Rinehart is known for his work among figures in the public eye and has been given several awards for his work, including research into innovative techniques for better therapy. S.H.I.E.L.D. has detained him and charged him with the crimes of Quentin Beck, the man otherwise known as Mysterio. Beck was involved in the London…”

You tuned out, your eyes watching the images and footage flicker across the screen as McINtyre rolled out the story you had fed him under three different aliases, all claiming to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. You were already thinking ahead to the next steps. Placing S.H.I.E.L.D. under scrutiny via the media would place the appropriate pressure on them that you needed.

You glanced at your watch again. Clicking off the TV, you smoothed your skirt and blouse and pushed yourself off the couch. You checked your makeup and your hair in the reflection on the TV.

You had a patient to see.

~~

Eli Clark sat still in his seat, as though frozen in place. You eyed him warily, trying to understand the change in behavior.

The nightmares had stopped when you had broken from Quentin. Without your oversight, Quentin had ceased pursuing your plan of action, withdrawing his drones and their illusion tech from the clients you had deliberately targeted. It wasn’t the best reaction, but you had accounted for it and had compensated accordingly by suggesting to the clients that the sudden cessation in nightmares was more worrying than the nightmares themselves. They had bought it—most especially Eli.

“You’re not presenting any anxiety symptoms,” you said aloud. “That’s progress.”

“I’m anxious,” he said numbly. He swallowed painfully, eyes directed at the floor.

“Have the nightmares resumed?”

“Yes.”

You frowned. The question had been routine, necessary to ask in your capacity as psychiatrist but irrelevant, given that you knew the nightmares had ceased.

“The same ones?”

He shook his head. “The old ones.”

Your curiosity piquing despite yourself, you leaned forward slightly, pen discreetly poised over paper, and nudged him. “We haven’t talked about those. Are you ready to talk about them now?”

He nodded slowly. “I thought they had stopped. It’s why I waited when the new nightmares started. They replaced the old ones, and the old ones were worse.”

He paused, a furrow creasing his brow, as though the floor had presented a complex question he couldn’t quite solve.

“How were the old ones worse, Eli?”

Swallowing thickly again, Eli, his eyes shifting in their sockets, answered, “Because they’re memories, not really nightmares like the other ones.”

“Memories?”

He nodded. The effort seemed to cost him. Shoulders slumping, he seemed to grow smaller in his seat, withdrawing into himself.

Not on your watch.

“Eli, we can’t solve the problems of the nightmares if we don’t address the root causes,” you said firmly, but carefully. “Unpacking these memories and how they have influenced your psyche is crucial to improving your peace of mind.”

Eli looked up abruptly, so quick and intensely that you were caught off guard, your mask of calm competence slipping. The cords in his neck bulged beneath the strain he felt, his eyes wild.

But his voice.

His voice was raspy soft.

“You’re cleared for classified information?”

A thrill coursed through you. “Yes.”

He jerked his head in a nod. Inhaling shakily, he resumed staring at the floor. “What I’m about to tell you isn’t known by the public. It can’t ever be.”

You felt your body tense, leaning forward on the edge of your seat. “I maintain a strict doctor-patient confidentiality policy, Eli.”

“Okay. Okay.”

His hands curled into fists on his knees. You could see him steel himself, his shoulders tensing, his breath stuttering.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. was infiltrated by H.Y.D.R.A.”

[plaidbooks]

Everyone Deserves Love chapter 11

A/N: They’re together! Finally! But can they stay together with their hectic lives? Can they find solace in each other, find home in each other, when the world around them is full of so much chaos? This chapter starts off just after last chapter, next day, but then jumps ahead. It covers when Olivia got Noah, and then some hard talks.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: normal SVU stuff, mentions of gunplay (but not really?)

Words: 5k+

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @averyhotchner @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy

Apartment of Devon Motely

Friday, June 11th. 6:05am

Devon woke up snuggled against Barba’s body. They had switched at some point in the night, Devon curling up against his side, her head on his chest while he was on his back, arm wrapped protectively around her. Devon felt a fluttering in her chest; she had woken up curled against a partner before. But now, she didn’t have to try and figure out how to extract herself without waking him, leave without a trace. Instead, she curled closer, placing little kisses on his skin, listening to his heartbeat and breathing in his scent. She felt his breathing pick up as he stirred, arm tightening around her, bringing her closer to him.

“Morning,” she whispered against his skin.

Eyes still closed, but a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, Barba breathed back a quiet, “morning.”

Devon laid there for a moment more, enjoying the warmth, the comfort of his embrace, before she forced herself to roll away from him, glancing at the clock.

“What time did you say you had work?” she asked.

Barba looked at the clock now, too, groaned, and swung his legs off the bed. He stretched but made no move to stand. “I have an arraignment at 9.” He needed to shower and head back to his loft before going to work; he couldn’t wear the same suit two days in a row. The rumors would fly—the courthouse was worse than SVU.

“You can shower here, if you want. I have men’s bodywash under the sink,” Devon explain, getting out of bed. She threw a long nightshirt over her naked form, but not before Barba had raked over her body with his eyes.

“I can always call in sick…” he replied, licking his lips. Devon turned to give him a playful smile, seeing the lust in his eyes.

“As much as I’d love to spend all day here with you, I also have to go in today,” Devon sighed. “I told you before this started, we’re both busy people; it’s going to be hard seeing each other.”

Barba nodded; he may not know her schedule yet, but he knew from experience working with cops how busy their lives were. He stood, headed towards the bathroom before he stopped. “May I ask why you own men’s bodywash?”

Devon face flushed. “Because I like the smell,” she replied quickly. When he continued staring at her, eyebrow raised at her reaction, she looked to the floor, face even more red. “And, sometimes, when I need the help…I shower with it so that my bed smells good while I…touch myself….”

Barba barked a laugh, but Devon noticed the tent in his boxers building.

“Oh, go take a shower, you horny bastard!” she yelled playfully at him, grabbing a towel from her closet and throwing it at him.

Thankfully, Devon didn’t have a set time that she had to be at work; she only had paperwork to work on today, so she could take a shower later—she knew if she joined him, they would never leave the apartment. While waiting for Barba, she put on a pot of coffee—she didn’t have a fancy French press like he did, just simple coffee. She also made a protein shake for herself, wondering if she should make him breakfast or if she should simply kick him out so that he’d have a chance of being at work on time. She was also afraid that if she didn’t kick him out, and soon, she’d be the one pushing him back into bed. Last night was a delicious taste of him, but now she was addicted; she wanted him again and again, to feel him strain underneath her, to hear him groan in her ear.

She shook the thoughts from her mind when she heard him get out of the bathroom. He came out of her room naked from the waist up, stooping to grab his undershirt and button-up off the ground by the sofa. The bags were still under his eyes, he still desperately needed a haircut and a shave, and the suit hung off him, but he looked worlds better, happier, than when he had first shown up at her door the night before. The snarky attorney back to his old form.

"Who picked out that tie?” Devon asked, grinning. She didn’t notice yesterday, but he was wearing a pastel blue tie, a stark contrast to his brown suspenders and green pocket square she saw peeking out of his jacket. She’d never seen him so mismatched before

“Uh, I guess I did?” He ran a hair through his shabby hair, trying, and failing, to smooth it back. “It’s been…a long month.”

Devon felt a punch to her gut at his words. She did that to him, made Barba feel like that. It was her fault that he looked so…un-put-together. But you’re also the reason he looks so happy this morning, she reminded herself. She nodded to herself; no point thinking about the past. There was only forward.

“Uh, I wasn’t sure if you wanted breakfast?” Devon started, changing the subject. She poured him a cup of coffee, handing it to him.

“No, no, this is fine. Thank you,” he smiled. He took a sip, then leaned down, kissing her on the cheek. Such a small gesture, but Devon felt her toes curl in happiness, a goofy smile on her face. He leaned back, grinning at her expression. “You’re too damn cute, you know that?”

Before Devon could reply, Barba’s phone chimed. He grunted, looking at it, reading the text quickly, then tucking it back in his pocket.

“Time to go,” he announced. He took a deep drink of coffee, finishing half the cup in one swallow, then leaned in to kiss Devon passionately. She kissed him back just as fiercely, then he was pulling away, leaving her standing there as he hurried out the door, and soft smile on her face. Oh, she could get used to kissing him.

Office of Devon Motely

FBI Headquarters

Friday, July 2nd. 3:18pm

Devon was on still cloud-nine while she worked at her desk; even after dating for almost a month, she still couldn’t quite believe it. She glanced at the small bouquet of glass roses on her desk—a gift from Barba—and smiled. He had gotten her real roses the first time but learned quickly that she wasn’t at her desk enough to be able to appreciate them, so he opted for ones that wouldn’t die. Devon had nearly cried from happiness when she saw them; she had been on an undercover op for a week when she came back and saw them sitting in the middle of her desk, perfectly honed petals glinting in the dim light from the office.

It was nice having a day “off;” a day not in the field, at least. She didn’t think she’d be able to focus on negotiations or drug dealers today. Hell, paperwork was proving to be hard. Her mind kept wandering back to her boyfriend. Boyfriend! She never thought she’d use the word, that it would ever apply to her. She learned quickly that Barba liked to show affection by giving her gifts—not always as extravagant as the glass roses, sometimes just something small, like her favorite takeout ready before she got home, or a cup of still-hot coffee sitting on her desk (she still had no idea how he managed that)—and she was starting to feel a little awkward, trying to come up with something to get him. He had already said that she didn’t need to do anything for him, that he knew she showed her love through physical touch and the time they spent together, but she still wanted to do something.

She remembered from past conversations that he liked theater, museums, skiing, and being on boats—on water, more specifically. She had made a note in her phone to look at upcoming Broadway shows, and events being held at the MoMA. She was a little afraid that they were moving a little fast, trying to figure out if it was because they were in the so-called “honeymoon” phase. But Barba was quick to remind her that their relationship wasn’t quite a conventional one; they had already lived together for almost four months—though they lived apart now--and their jobs, especially hers, kept them apart more often than not. It was almost as if they were in a long-distance relationship, spending most of their time together through phone calls and text messages. And on the occasions when Devon was in town for more than one day at a time, she spent most of the day at his loft…at least, when they weren’t stuck in their respective offices.

Devon knew when Barba wasn’t in court because he would text her first. And he learned quickly that if she didn’t respond instantly that she was busy doing, well, something—most of her work was considered confidential, at least until it was over with. They both understood that texts sent in the day had a very low chance of being answered, with most of their conversations happening at night. Though, Barba was very good at sending a good morning text every day, even though he slept in more than Devon did. But she still loved getting them, sending back a “have a nice day,” or a kissing emoji.

Devon was typing on her work computer, finishing up some paperwork for Jenkins when she got a text. She glanced at the time and noticed it was only 3:30; a weird time for Barba to text, since he was normally busy around now. Devon dove for her phone but was shocked when she saw that it was from Olivia.

Can you come to my place? I have a surprise to show you. Don’t worry, it’s good!

Curious, Devon turned off her computer, tucking papers away. Olivia rarely had Devon meet her at her place, always stuck at the precinct. Devon scanned the text a couple times, trying to see if there was a hidden message anywhere in it—any sign of distress. But she found none. Besides, Devon trusted Olivia with her life; one of the main reasons that she convinced Barba to disclose their relationship to her.

“We’re going to have to disclose our relationship,” Devon whispered into the quiet room. She snuggled closer to Barba, wrapping her arms around his warm body.

He sighed contently, hand playing mindlessly with her hair. “I know. But not yet. Those vultures at the courthouse will rip into you, into your past.”

Devon was touched that he was worried about her, even if she didn’t think they’d find anything. “Yes, but if we don’t, you can have whole cases thrown out simply because I helped with it. And I know that I wouldn’t be happy knowing some rapist got off because of us.”

He hummed in agreement. “Let’s just not work on cases together?”

She rolled her eyes. “I have to at least let Liv know. I can’t lie to her. Not physically, I mean I think she has a sixth sense that tells her when someone is bullshitting her; she always seems to know.”

He chuckled, the rumbling in his chest tickling Devon’s cheek. “You’re not wrong.” He thought for a moment. “Fine, Olivia can know. But for now, let’s play it close to the chest.”

Devon smiled at the memory. She had told Olivia the next day. The Sergeant, of course, wasn’t shocked in the least, her demeanor screaming “Finally!” though she simply smiled and congratulated Devon. She agreed to not tell 1PP—“neither of you technically work here, so I don’t think it’s a priority”—and Devon knew she wasn’t a gossip. Though, Rollins and Amaro still made their quips, confirming that Liv didn’t tell them. Devon chuckled to herself; imagine the look on their faces when they learned that they really were sleeping together.

Apartment of Olivia Benson

Friday, July 2nd. 4:00pm

Devon knocked lightly on Olivia’s door. She waited patiently, hearing movement within. Finally, Olivia opened the door, smile bright, the Sergeant barely able to contain her excitement.

“Dev! Come in,” she said, moving to let the agent in. Devon was bemused at her friend’s attitude; it was rare to see her this happy, this excited about something. It was infectious; Devon felt herself getting excited, and she still didn’t even know why.

“Come on Liv. What’s got you so smile-y?” Devon asked, grinning. She looked around the apartment; it had been years since she had been over, but not much had really changed in terms of furniture. But there were definitely new items strewn around the floor. Devon’s eyes widened as she took in toys, building blocks, baby books, and in the corner, and small crib.

Transfixed, Devon made her way slowly to the crib, careful to step over the minefield of toys. “No way…” she murmured. But sure enough, in the crib was a baby, swaddled and sound asleep. Devon stared for a moment in shock, then tore her eyes away to look at Olivia, who was beaming at her.

“I’m a mother,” Liv whispered. “Well, a foster mother. But a mother!” Emotions flooded through Devon: happiness, relief, giddiness, and confusion.

“I—what—how?” Devon sputtered, unable to form thoughts.

Olivia led Devon to her couch, pouring them both a glass of wine. She then told Devon everything: about Ellie Porter, about poor Noah moving around foster homes, about the sex trafficking ring, about how Judge Linden gave Olivia the choice to take him in; in a year, Olivia had the option to adopt. Devon knew that Olivia had always wanted to be a mother, that she always wanted a child and how she was afraid that her biological clock was ticking.

“It’s not going to be easy, taking care of the squad and trying to raise a child. I’ve found a great nanny, Lucy. But I am scared for Noah’s future,” Olivia concluded.

Devon nodded. “It’s going to be difficult; I agree. But I think he’s in good hands. You’re an amazing person, Liv. And you know you can always call me for help…I don’t know how much help I’ll be watching an infant, though. I have exactly zero maternal instincts.”

Olivia laughed. “That’s good to know. I can call you to take down a sex trafficking ring, or to infiltrate a highly guarded warehouse. But I’ll call someone else when I need a diaper changed.”

Devon nodded. “Honestly, that’s a safe bet to make.” They chuckled, talking late into the night, before Devon excused herself.

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Saturday, July 3rd. 10:00am

Devon told Barba about Noah over breakfast the next day—she rarely spent the night at her place nowadays, only sleeping there when Barba was working a particularly tough case and needed the solitude.

“Yes, I remember that case,” he commented. “I prosecuted most of the people involved.”

Devon furrowed her brow over her coffee. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

It was Barba’s turn to look confused. “I did, remember? Prostitution ring? A pimp named Little Tino, and how Liv got Ellie Porter to flip on him because of her baby?”

The words were somewhat familiar to Devon; she had been busy though. She just finished a three-week undercover op, so Barba had only just gotten the first details of the case when he told her about it; no one had even gone to trial yet before Devon went under. She nodded vaguely.

“Well, Ellie’s body turned up; she was gang-raped, tortured, then torched while she was still alive,” he shut his eyes, disgust clear in his face.

“God, that’s…that’s terrible. Does SVU know who did it?”

Barba shook his head. “The top players are keeping their mouths shut; they’re all too afraid to give it up. Not even for a plea deal.”

Must be a nasty one, Devon thought, to have ordered such a hit and to have no one flip. “Well, if you need me, you know how to get a hold of me.”

He smiled grimly. “Worry about your own work; you have enough on your plate as it is. Instead, let’s worry about something easier…how about dinner tonight?”

Office of Devon Motely

FBI Headquarters

Saturday, September 25th. 8:25pm

“Jesus Christ…” Devon mumbled into her phone. She had just gotten back into town, having been undercover as a bartender for a sex trafficking ring for two weeks in New Jersey. She was exhausted, but she wanted to finish the paperwork tonight so that she could spend all day tomorrow with Barba.

“Yeah. Hopefully, this mess is behind us, now,” Barba replied. He had just spent the last hour regaling Devon with the new details of the Ellie Porter murder. It had been three months since Noah’s mother had turned up dead, but they had finally found who had ordered the hit—and, according to Barba, Fin had shot him before he had a chance to kill Olivia.

“I wish I was there to help,” she said, throwing her head back in her chair. She had always had a soft spot for the SVU detectives. But now that she was dating someone directly connected to them and their cases, she felt even more connected to them. Like she should be there. She wondered, not for the first time, if she should quit the FBI, transfer to the SVU department. But then she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be allowed to date Barba. Conflict of interests and all that crap.

“It’s fine, Cariño. You’re fighting for justice, too. Just in a different way,” he reassured her.

Devon fidgeted with her pen, debating saying fuck it and just going home to him. But paperwork. She sighed heavily. “I know, I just…I miss working with you, with SVU. Those new kids were finally starting to rub off on me.”

She could hear Barba smirk through the phone. “Oh, don’t worry. They have a new new guy. Wait until you meet Mr. Empathetic, as Liv calls him.”

She stifled a chuckle. “Oh, with a name like that, I need to meet him. I’m stopping by first chance I get.”

Barba hummed in amusement. “When are you coming home, hermosa?”

Devon grinned at the pet name. It still gave her butterflies in her stomach when he called her that. “I’m still doing paperwork, baby. Maybe an hour? Two? Don’t wait up for me if you’re tired; I doubt I’ll be good company when I get there. I’ll probably crash on the doorstep.”

“That just means I get to carry you to bed,” he purred, his voice dropping an octave. Devon squeezed her thighs together in response, swallowing hard. It had been weeks since they had seen each other, touched each other. She missed it, missed him.

“Soon, baby,” she replied. “But the quicker I hang up, the quicker I actually work on this.”

He chuckled, saying “I love you,” then hanging up to let her work.

1746 State Street

Saturday, October 16th. 8:37pm

Devon swallowed past the lump in her throat. She stared down the man in front of her, a pimp by the name of Jacob Lee. As far as he knew, Devon was unarmed; her glock lay out of reach on the table behind her, and her hands were in the air in surrender. But Jenkins had known what this could turn into, knew that she wouldn’t have a vest or any sort of protection. So, he made damn sure she had a second, smaller gun hidden by the small of her back, tucked into the waistband and undetectable under her loose shirt. The young prostitute that Jacob was holding by the hair whimpered, Jacob’s gun digging into the side of her face.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Mack? Someone…someone betrayed us, someone is a fuckin’ snitch!” Jacob yelled.

Devon, whose undercover name was Mackenzie, or Mack for short, shook her head slightly. “I know, J. The fucking pigs are swarming our warehouses. That’s why we gotta make a run for it—get outta here while we can.” Mackenzie was Jacob’s accountant, and bodyguard, though the only people who learned about that secondary job were his enemies, the ones that had fucked up.

Jacob’s eyes lit up, as if something clicked in his mind. “How do I know you aren’t the snitch, huh? How do I know I can trust ya?”

“You let her go, baby, and I’ll show ya why you can trust me,” Devon replied, placing a seductive smile on her lips. There was always a sexual tension between Jacob and Devon, though of course, Devon was disgusted by the man. But Mackenzie led him on, let him think she liked him. She put her hands down, moving to unzip her jeans. She saw Jacob’s face darken with lust, and she felt the briefest moment of disgust before she blocked it out, playing the role. Just picture Rafael….

Jacob released the girl, who started to stumble away, and pointed his gun instead at Devon. She froze in her tracks, wondering if she got made, if he had somehow figured out that she wasn’t who she said she was and was about to kill her.

“Come here, baby,” Jacob motioned with the gun, gesturing her over. Oh, he’s into gunplay. That’s bad, Devon thought. She tried to shake off her fear, but was failing; an act or not, he’d find her second gun soon enough, and then what? Plus, the young girl didn’t leave the office, still cowering in the corner of the room. Maybe she was afraid that Jacob would shoot her if she made a break for it, maybe she’d run once Devon distracted him.

Devon sauntered over to Jacob with as much decorum as she could muster, trying to play the sexy vixen. She put her hands on the hem of her shirt, slowly reaching to her back, towards the gun hidden there….

“Uh uh. Hands where I can see them, baby,” Jacob ordered, a threat in his voice. Devon released her shirt, leaving it on, but dropping her hands back to her sides. Her brain scrambled as she tried to come up with a way out of this; Jacob was lean but had muscular arms. The only plan that came to mind was a fight for his gun. She could only hope that she was stronger than him.

When she had made it to him, he grabbed her by the hair violently, pulling her to him and kissing her roughly, keeping the cool barrel of his gun against her chin. Devon kissed him back, playing the role, praying that he kept that hand on the back of her head, and didn’t travel lower. He was quick to bend her backwards over his desk, his free hand moving to hold her by the throat as he shoved his tongue in her mouth. He squeezed, cutting off her air for a moment. Out of instinct, Devon bit down, and Jacob pulled back just enough to glare down at her, hand squeezing tighter on her throat, gun pushing against her cheek.

“You’re going to lay there and take it, bitch,” he said. He finally released her throat and Devon had only a moment to gasp for breath before he slapped her hard across the face. Tears sprang up in the corner of her eyes, but more than that, a quiet rage bubbled up. Jacob tucked the gun into waistband, using both hands to grip her jeans and rip them down her legs. He had only a moment to process the small gun that clattered to the floor in the motion before Devon tackled him to the ground.

Legs effectively tangled in her pants, Devon relied on her upper body strength, trying to grab Jacob’s hands and restrain him. But he was much stronger than Devon gave him credit for. He was able to buck her off him, throwing her a few feet away. He reached for the gun in his pants just as Devon rolled to a stop by the table, noticing her glock on top of it. She grabbed it the same time Jacob whipped his gun out. Two gunshots rang out, a split second from each other. The young girl screamed.

Pain ripped through Devon’s side and she gasped. But as she watched, Jacob fell backwards, his shirt darkening in his chest, his eyes seeing nothing. Devon scrambled to her feet, kicking her jeans off, and went to stand by his body, making sure he was dead. She clutched her side, blood gushing between her fingers. She glanced over at the unharmed prostitute, glad that she was safe, then dropped to one knee. She lifted her shirt, trying to gauge her injury. From the looks of it, it looked like the bullet just grazed her right side, in and out. But it was hard to tell; she wasn’t a medic, and it hurt like a son of a bitch. Plus, there was a lot of blood, and she was already feeling lightheaded. Her mind floated back to Barba; she wanted to talk to him, let him know. He was going to be worried, upset that she was shot. But she needed him to hold her, to feel the comfort of his arms. She could still taste Jacob on her tongue, feel his weight on top of her, and she fought the urge to vomit.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” Devon muttered to the girl, standing once more. She struggled to get her pants back on, then led the girl out of the pimp’s office. She took out her FBI-issued phone, calling a bus, and then sat in the cool, NYC air, trying to ignore the fact that she was bleeding out.

Ambulance

Saturday, October 16th. 9:30pm

“Now, promise me you won’t get mad…” Devon said into the phone, laying in the back of the ambulance.

“…why did you start with that?” Barba asked on the other end of the line. “Wait, what’s all that noise? Where are you?”

Devon grimaced as the paramedics went about trying to staunch the bleeding in her side. Normally, they didn’t allow someone to make a call in the back of an ambulance while they were actively being driven to the hospital, but they made an exception for Devon. Or, more accurately, Devon wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I, uh, may be on my way to Mercy hospital,” she started. When Barba started asking questions, voice raising, she cut him off. “I’m fine, Rafael, I swear! I just got shot a little—”

“You were shot?” he almost yelled into the phone, voice incredulous. Devon could hear him burst into a flurry of movement, and she fought the urge to sigh. She knew he’d react like this.

“The bullet just grazed me; I’m okay. I just wanted to let you know that I was going to be late tonight…that is, if the hospital releases me—”

Barba cut her off. “If you think for one minute that I’m not going to the hospital, you’re out of your damn mind.”

Devon’s heart fluttered, touched that he cared so much about her. “But, but baby. You’ve had a stressful week, you need to rest—”

“No, I need to see you. I need to make sure you’re okay,” he said. Then, in a softer voice, “you are okay, right Hermosa?”

She smiled into the phone. “Yes, I’m…I’m okay. I-I do need to talk to you about this, though.” She bit her lip, remembering Jacob’s hands on her. She felt dirty, wrong; she knew that Barba’s last girlfriend had cheated on him. It’s not that Devon thought that what happened with Jacob counted as cheating, but she wanted to be honest with him, be open about things like this that happen on the job. It’s true that she had never had sex while working, undercover or otherwise, but sometimes, things like flirting, kissing, and touching were necessary.

Mercy Hospital

Saturday, October 16th. 10:03pm

“Where’s Devon Motely?” Barba asked the front desk. Once he got a room number, he pushed past everyone in the halls trying to get to her. Opening the door, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, sighing in relief at his girlfriend, awake and alert, sitting at the edge of her hospital bed. She was still wearing her blood-splattered shirt and jeans.

Seeing Barba’s confused look, Devon explained, “the bullet missed everything. Like I said, it just grazed me. They got the bleeding to stop, and I’m good to go. Just gotta take it easy the next couple of days.”

Instead of answering, Barba took the few steps over to her and pulled her into a gentle kiss, his hands cupping her face. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he murmured against her lips.

Devon had closed her eyes in bliss when he kissed her, a small smile pulling at her lips. But now her smile faltered, and she opened her eyes to see him raising an eyebrow at her. “What’s wrong, Cariño?” he asked, stepping back to search her face for answers.

Devon sighed heavily. “I just…I want to be honest with you, always open and honest. I love you; you know that, right? I love you more than anything.”

“Of course, I know that, mi amor. I love you too,” Barba tried to give her a reassuring smile, but his eyes betrayed the concern that her words brought forward.

“Well, when I’m undercover, I’m going to have to do…things…that I don’t like, that I’m not proud of….”

Barba was still giving her a confused look, his head cocked to the side. “Are you talking about shooting someone, killing someone?” Of course, that was his first thought. She had shot Marco Sorrel to save him, and Barba was notoriously against murder.

“No, no not that,” she took a deep breath. “I mean, like…touching someone…kissing someone…” she trailed off, her face on fire under his intense gaze.

Realization dawned on his face. “Oh,” was all he said.

“But it’s only for the cover, I promise. And it’s nothing more than that—ever. And I don’t like it, don’t want to do it. But tonight, in order to distract the pimp I was trying to restrain, I had to…” she closed her eyes, remembering Jacob’s tongue in her mouth. “I had to make out with him a little. Nothing happened, I swear—” she stopped talking when she saw the look on Barba’s face. At first, it looked like betrayal, and Devon’s heart plummeted, but it was quickly replaced by resolve.

“I know that it’s part of your job, mi amor. That doesn’t mean I have to like it. And I know you don’t like it; I can see it all over your face,” he gave her a small smile, eyes locking onto hers. “I’m not mad at you, and I’m touched you told me, that you’re honest with me. Just…don’t make a habit of it?”

Devon smiled back, wrapping her arms around Barba’s neck. “Of course not. You’re the only one I want kissing me, touching me….” She pulled him in for a soft kiss, questioning, making sure everything was okay between them. She felt him grin against her mouth before pulling her closer to him, pulling her to her feet, deepening the kiss.

He pulled away but leaned his forehead against hers. “Well, I can promise to kiss and touch you tonight, if you’re up for it. As you said, it’s been a stressful week for me, and this took the cake.”

Feeling herself already getting turned on, Devon smirked. “I’d love to help you relax. Just be careful with my right side; I do have a bullet hole in me.”

[eirian-houpe]

Cactus

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Prince Charming | David Nolan

Additional Tags: Fluff, Flirting, Courtship, a monthly Rumbelling July 2020, A Monthly Rumbelling (Once Upon a Time)

Series: Part 2 of The Language of Flowers

Summary: Belle and Gold continue their courtship with poetry and flowers and as their relationship grows, Rumple sends Belle a very important gift

Read on AO3

Cactus

Although they had officially been dating for three weeks, he didn’t stop the practice that had brought them together.

He already had some flowers, which he’d pressed prior to their daily arrangement of walking together at dusk, as well as taking afternoon tea on Sundays, just to break up the monotony of the weeks that never seemed to change in Storybrooke. However, he wanted something different now they knew each other a little better; something special.

He began to spend some of the free time he had between customers who came in to the pawn shop, for the repair of mechanical, clockwork trinkets and other assorted trivia, on the Internet. At first his Google searches frustrated him, as he always seemed to put in the wrong search parameters, and got back ridiculous answers such as how to wash a dog he didn’t have, with vinegar and baking soda. He wondered how on earth Google thought this was an appropriate answer when the words he’d typed in were, ‘Flower Lore.’ It was one of the reasons he hated the Internet with a passion reserved previously for such people as the mayor, the proprietor of the Rabbit Hole, and of course, Belle’s no good father. He persevered, however, - as he had done with the three aforementioned individuals - and soon the Internet yielded the results for which he had been hoping, a knowledgeable and consistent web and blog site that focused on flowers, their meanings in folklore, and uses in common-day herbalism and home remedies.

It was for these reason he got into the habit of driving to the nearest town to Storybrooke to visit a rather well stocked nursery and florist establishment. He was becoming a regular, and it suited him well enough that the proprietor knew that he was only looking for the best plants and blooms. Only the best for his Belle.

**

Belle French frowned, a very confused frown, as she stood in the library doorway, looking down at the plant as if it were the oddest thing in the world. She crouched down and very carefully fingered the edges of the soft tissue paper in which the plant was wrapped. Then she looked up and along the street to where she could see the familiar figure of Mister Gold limping along towards his shop.

She couldn’t count the number of stares they’d received from the many people who had seen them out walking together in the evenings, or who happened to be in Granny’s diner when they called in for their tea on Sundays. So many of them were the looks of astonishment at best, and mortification, at worst, and it hurt her heart to think that the people of Storybrooke still reviled Mister R Gold, while she, Belle French, was quickly coming to like him… a lot.

In fact, if pressed while she was working on another of the collages she made of Gold’s offerings, the ones she framed and put around the library apartment to, ‘brighten the place up’ as she would tell you at first, she might just let you in on the secret yearnings that were beginning to stir in both her heart and her body for Storybrooke’s most hated man, and then fix you with a deadly stare that dared you to comment on her taste in romantic partners.

So, she picked up the plant, and carefully carried it inside the library where she unwrapped the blue and white ceramic pot in which it was planted - her favorite kind of housing for living plants that she received, although seldom - and set the cactus, for such was her gift - on the circulation desk for all to see, and until she could decide how in the name of everything holy she was going to get a cutting and dry it to be used in one of her pictures.

It was a gift after all, and she wanted to use it, in spite of the thorns.

**

Through the long, cold day I long for the warmth of your protection against wintry nights.

This time she had slipped the beautifully handwritten note inside the upper left pocket of the vest he wore beneath the suit jacket. Even after their weeks of walking together she still wrote to him, finding hiding places on his person, or in unexpected places around his shop where no one but he would find them. Once, she even managed to slip one into his wallet - and he still hadn’t worked out how on earth she’d been able to achieve such a feat. Not that he wouldn’t have given his wallet to her if she’d ask.

He had found the note when he opened it up at the garage where he had the Cadillac serviced, and his oil changed. He pulled out the cash to pay Michael, the proprietor, and found the note nestled there between the bills. He stood for many long moments just staring at the piece of paper and the words she had written on it. Taking in nothing else for long enough that Michael called his name and asked if everything were okay.

It was. It was unexpected, but more than welcome.

With a smile, when he reached his shop, he walked into the back room where beautiful rainbow dahlia were carefully tucked into a large dome of soaked, green oasis to keep them fresh for the evening, when he could give them to Belle in a small basket he had picked out as perfect for the occasion. He thought the blooms reflected the elegance and dignity that she displayed as they walked around Storybrooke together with her on his arm.

How could she be so patient with others?

Having seen some of the looks she had endured, some of the stares over the last three weeks, it was a wonder to him that he had not simply broken from her gentle hold, taken his cane, and smashed them to within inches of their lives. How dare they look at her in such a way. Still, she would always seem to know when his temper was about to get the better of him, and would tighten her hand around his arm, and give him the kind of smile that made him forget everything around him, and focus only on her.

**

Belle carefully teased the cactus leaf apart and set it to press between two of the heaviest books in her apartment, which she had brought up from the library. That complete, she dipped her pen into the light green ink in the bottle on her desk. She had decided to order some different colored inks to add another dimension to the pictures she made from the flowers that Mister Gold still gave to her, perhaps even more frequently now that they were courting.

She paused, letting the end of the pen come to rest against her lip as she considered the words she had used in the latest of their pictures; a gift that she was preparing for Mister Gold for the approaching holiday. She had a bubbling excitement in her wait for it, for him to see it, and for him to be able to see that her feelings were true.

Hours spent by candle, before the firelight’s glow as the march of time carries us toward full night.

With a smile she set down her pen, and turned the paper to rest it carefully against the blotter, careful not to smudge the lettering while it was still wet, and making certain that - by the time she was ready - the faint aroma of the rose-scented oils she had sprayed upon the paper lingered, completing her poetic missive, and encouragement for more.  Spying the time, she reached for her coat and put the note carefully into her pocket, ready to slip it, unobserved onto Gold’s person as they walked.

True, it was a game she played with him, another way of more openly flirting with him than simply with flowers and poetry, but it was still unknown to the rest of Storybrooke, who looked at her with such unkind, judgmental eyes. Expressions she would, with a steady gaze, return to assure them that she was not ashamed of her growing feelings for Mister Gold, nor would they make her so, with their impolite reception.

Closing the door behind her, she made the short walk back down to the library, from where, her heart full of happiness and a smile lighting her face, she would be collected for her evening walk.

**

After the third of her short, poetic notes that week, Gold finally reached for the courage, at least in his own company, to consider taking their relationship further, but in another crisis of confidence, which always seemed to trigger when he considered how he might progress nearer to his desire for he and Belle.

The Thursday morning saw him staring seriously into his coffee cup in a booth at the middle of the diner, further back from his usual place.

“Did something go wrong?” David asked, still a little too loudly in public, and not for the first time Gold winced and wondered what had made him choose David for his confidante. Still he pulled out the carefully folded, much cherished piece of vellum.

As quietly as all the other times, he slid the folded note across the table between the two of them seated at the table.

“Is this the problem?” David asked again, as Gold seemed reluctant to release the sheet of paper. “She told you something that upset you in a note?

“I’m not upset,” he said, shaking his head, “and again, please keep your voice down. This is a most private matter.”  David raised an eyebrow and gave a soft apology, and Gold doubted that the other man would ever guess the content of the note. He leaned forward in his seat and quietly, confidentially, explained what he could of the growing affections between he and Belle.

David sat back in his seat, a smile on his face as Gold finished his tale. “Well, that’s good news,” he said. “Isn’t it? Why don’t you just ask her. Now… tonight, I mean, on your walk.”

“Please,” Gold said, “It’s most impropitious. Besides, why should I have reason to believe that she shares my growing feelings in any way?”

“Talking to her?” David questioned, and Gold finally lifted his hand from the latest of the notes he had received, this time in the front pocket of his jacket, found after last night’s walk. He watched as David pulled the note toward him and opened it, saw the way his eyebrows shot up as he read. Gold knew the words already, by heart, and even thinking them made it clench and send its always birdlike flutter down into his groin.

And in that night, with you beside me, shall I call your name as you know me.

“Wow,” David said, looking up from the note. “And you doubt she shares your feelings how exactly?”

“Because,” he began, surrendering to a moment of almost painful honesty, “Even after weeks of courting, and walking in public, longing to take things further - when it comes to it, I fear that what I have to offer her is far less then the gift that she can give… and not as much as she deserves.

David regarded him without words for the longest time, meeting his eyes and holding him in place with only his gaze until, uncomfortable, he began to fidget.

“I think you need to let Belle be the judge of that.”

**

Belle wiped off the last of the dust from the circulation desk and a soft sigh escaped her. She had hoped, as before, that Mister Gold might call in to suggest a different course than simply their evening walk, that he might have understood, and for a moment she felt such fierce disappointment that her eyes became hot with unshed tears.

Had her poetic notes been too unclear? Had the cactus been a symbol of his irritation with her in some way?

She looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten, and there were no patrons in the library, so as was her desire, she locked up, heade upstairs, and prepared to drown her disappointment in a bucket of tea, and as much foundation as would hide the evidence of her sorrow. It was not at all her usual way, but she just felt… cowed and lonely.

His soft voice began the moment she left the stacks to head back to the desk, rolling like a wave of warmth across the space between them as she came to a sudden halt, her heart beating so quickly it was like unto one continuous drum-roll.

“Safe and warm within my arms,” he purred, “bearing the rose of my kiss.”

He approached her slowly, and it was only then that she noticed that he had turned out all but one of the lights in the library’s lobby, and that he reached for her with an un-gloved hand, his fingertips barely brushing against her skin.

“So that I need not speak, only be the echo of my heart for thee”

She blushed as she leaned toward him, into the soft touch of his fingers on her cheek, and looked up at him with a moonlit ocean for eyes that met the caramel warmth of his.

“Rumple,” she greeted him softly, a little breathless.

“May I?” he asked quietly, passing the tender brush of his thumb against her lips.

Blushing more fiercely, she nodded once, and then stilled, even holding her breath as he leaned closer yet, brushing his mouth softly to hers.

“Belle,” she breathed as he withdrew his touch.

She watched as he retrieved his cane from where he always left it, and then tipped her head in query as he offered her his arm.

“Would you care to share a nightcap with me, at my home?” he asked.

She smiled, and slipped her hand onto his arm.

“I should like that very much,” she said.

[savysavannah]

Practice Challenge one: Part One

Beginnings: 

“Fuck!” I yelled and slammed my hands against the steering wheel. This wasn’t the first time I’d had a total mental breakdown in the dim lighting of the courthouse parking lot, and it sure wasn’t gonna be the last. This case was rigged from the get-go, Mr. Dean esquire was always there against me, swaying the jury with his charismatic personality and his masculine gender. Not to mention it was a jury which he decided to leave fully as white men, his fellow groupies against my defendant, a woman of color who defended herself against her abuser who came at her with a gun. 

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Opening them I saw Dean sashaying to his car. I considered putting my own in reverse and waiting until he just walked by, then bye bye Dean. Deciding that it wouldn’t be worth the cost of defending myself I waited until after he’d passed to pull out and start to drive to Illean Private University. I was an attorney coach for a Mock Trial team and of course, had to encourage these kiddos that law was the best career and it would really be fulfilling to help people. Driving past the Greek life houses I couldn’t help but smile thinking of happier times. Chugging shitty beer, dressed like a total slut and not giving one single fuck. 

After an hour or two of bullshitting some kids and reminding them to object when someone playing a witness says “well I heard the defendant say he was mad at the victim so he must have killed her.” I drove on my way home. 

“Incoming call from Uncle Dipshit'' said my car, continuing the never ending day that is my life. 

“What?” 

“Hey little Savy-Hannah, I’m in a bit of a bind and need some help.” 

“What was it? Cocaine? Meth? Or did you finally snap and get caught with heroin.” 

“Come on, Savannah, why would you just assume that, can’t I call my one and only niece because I wanna talk to her?” 

“At 11pm? Friday night? Bullshit.” 

“.......fine Sav-” 

“Fuck you, I’m not doing probono work for you anymore. Get your shit together or get the fuck out of our lives.” 

Taking a turn away from my apartment I started to head for Lux, my old usual club. I hadn’t gone in awhile but right now I needed to get absolutely shitfaced. 8 shots and 2 waters later I was grinding up against some strangers to Kesha’s “Die Young”, a classic. Suddenly I heard an all too familiar voice, “Savannah!” 

My brother. Specifically, my oldest brother, Dan. He danced his way over to me of course being in this scene and grabbed my wrist. “Wha-u wan dan?” I slurred and kept jumping to the song. 

“I was worried about you, Ricky called and said you were acting weird.”

“Weird!" I laughed throwing my head back "Because I wouldn’t clean up his shit for once!” I screamed over the music before he pulled me out of the club by the wrist. As soon as the cool air hit my cheeks I leaned my head back and looked up at the sky. 

“I wish I was a star." I mumbled seeing the shimmering lights above us before suddenly leaning forward and hurling all over the cement. Probably a usual occurrence for Lux but I still felt bad. Dan rolled down the windows of my car as he drove me home, I stuck my head out of it for the breeze to feel the air in my lungs. 

“How’d you find me?” I mumbled, still not fully back to myself. 

“We all have eachothers phone locations, remember? You insisted on it like a year ago after you interned on that kidnapping case.” He sighed as we drove up the familiar road home. 

“You’re really a mess you know that?” He asked. It's not like he was much better….well, he was but it's not like I'm our brother Danny. At least I made something of myself. Didn't get handed my career and a wife on a silver platter. Or like Daniel who was still so far back into the closet that we really aren't sure if he'll ever come out, even though our family would be more than accepting of him. 

I was tempted to defend myself but stopped, “I know, I just need a win."

The next morning Dan was sleeping on my couch and I was on the living room floor. “You couldn’t have carried me to bed?” I mumbled through a yawn. 

“You’re the dumbass who got white girl wasted and said you were too tired to walk to your room.” 

“What time is it?” I mumbled and went to find my phone despite the world swaying as I crawled to my purse.

He lifted his arm up to look at his watch, “Like 8:00am chill out.” He groaned. 

“HOLY FUCK 8?” I flinched at the loudness of my own voice. I was normally up at six, two hours slept in, what’s today it’s a wednesday. ‘What was I supposed to do today? No clients in court today, so that’s good. Okay so I suppose I have to? Paperwork?’

I sighed, “You’re fucking lucky I didn’t have court today.” Stumbling up I ran to my room to change out of yesterday's clothes, splash some water on my face and get on the move.  

"Lucky? I'm the one who got your ass home at all!" He yelled back from the living room as I slipped into a different skirt. Shirt could stay the same, just a plain white shell no one would notice. But skirt absolutely not. I grabbed a pair of earrings and a bag of makeup wipes and rushed past Dan. 

"Fine sorry love ya. Family dinner on saturday right?" I hurried as I slung a purse over my shoulder. 

"You got it." He replied. 

"Uh, stay awhile have breakfast if you want. I've got bagels and eggs. Just lock up when you leave." I remembered finally to be polite as he stretched getting up from the sofa.

The office was busy and loud as usual. I tried to smile and act like I wasn't hungover as holy hell while I walked to my desk. 

There was someone new taking a desk near me too. Lanky guy probably straight out of law school too. I sized him up for a moment before nearly catching his eye but going back to my work. 

It wasn't till lunch that I had to actually deal with another human when I ran into Mr. Asshole-dean. 

"Ms. Mars?" He said as he tapped my shoulder in line at the starbucks near the courthouse. 

I turned but knew his voice right away, "Mr. Dean?" I replied wondering why he was bothering me. He seemed to catch my cold tone. 

"What, rough night? Does suck the night you lose the case but don't worry. You'll get better at losing, can't win em all." 

I would like to get an extra extra hot- you know what make it just a cup of fucking lava to poor on this jackass. I smiled, "Thanks! I'm sure it didn't take you long to get used to it." I gave a passive aggressive smile and looked down to my watch. 

"Listen, Mars, I know we're opposing counsel but I don't mean any harm by it. I think we could be great friends if you'd give it a shot. I mean I'm sure we both hate our jo-"

"Hi I'd like a venti mocha!" I ordered cutting him off the scurried back to my car. 

I had a few hours before I actually had a meeting. It was just to speak with a judge over a custody case between a homophobic mother and two "really good friends" one of who was the father of the child in question. There was a chance it could turn into a serious case, the mom was wealthy and if she got too displeased she could probably turn it into a civil suit on the grounds of the father being gay. But it wasn't likely she'd take the time. She was only really fighting for custody to use their kid as a weapon in the divorce. 

I drove home with my coffee deciding I wanted to Pad Thai leftovers I had as comfort/hangover/please-god-dont-make-me-live-another-day food. 

Daniel was sitting on my couch when I walked in. "Can you not just walk into my house? Dan may have forgotten to lock it but that's no reason for you to just waltz in here!" I yelled as I dropped my purse and walked up to him. 

"Is that my mail?" I huffed and snatched my letters from him. It was just junk mail but he still had no right to be so intrusive. 

He looked up at me with a slight glare, "I know what you did and I'm gonna get you back for it." And as quickly as he came he scurried out. 

Ringing up Dan I tapped my foot on the ground, "You forgot to lock the door!" I yelled into the phone. 

"Oh shit my bad. You okay?" He asked. 

"Yes, but Daniel was just here. All pissed over something." I grumbled and walked to the fridge to get out my leftovers. 

"Any idea of what?" He asked. 

"No clue." I answered. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No, don’t call anyone. Listen, they record everything but our conversations for confidentiality, if you call someone it’s possible that they might somehow be involved and we don’t want prosecution to get that- understand?” I hated explaining the basics to my clients, but those dumbassses would sign their own sentences if they didn’t know any better.

I walked up to the courthouse, in one hand I had my phone, the other a black coffee from the starbucks across the street, my work back slung over my shoulder and threatened to slide lower onto my arm. As I turned the corner I was suddenly burning with hot coffee against my chest and a stranger staring down at me as I had run right into him, 

“FUCK!” I yelled as I stepped back. My heel slipped in a crack on the sidewalk, the top of it snapping it too causing me to fall back, my head hitting the hard concrete.   

When I opened my eyes again he was standing over me. It was the new guy who sat across from me. "Don't worry I called an ambulance." He assured. I was going to sit up but as I pieced the situation together I realized I was no longer wearing a shirt. Instead I had his blazer placed over my top. I assume because of the burning coffee which would have been sitting on my torso had he not. 

He rode in the ambulance to the hospital. We sat in awkward silence as I tried to figure out his angle. Was he afraid I'd sue. I was the one who bumped into him. Did he wanna ask me questions about our workplace. It'd been a month or so since he'd arrived though so that wouldn't make sense. 

He sat next to me at the hospital and was still there when the doctor told me it was a light concussion and a small burn. He sighed, finally not seeming like a stiff board for a moment. Maybe he was scared I'd sue. I turned to him in the hospital bed when we had a moment alone. 

"Why are you here?" I asked. 

He blushed and looked down mumbling a bit as he said "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I wouldn't be able to work anyways till I knew." My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

"Why? I'm the one that bumped into you?" I asked. 

He was about to respond when the brigade of brothers came in. He seemed startled at all the sudden male energy in the room. "Ah, these are my brothers Dan, Danny, and Daniel. Daniel is a family name." I added the common addition when introducing them to anyone. 

He stood up and shook Dan's hand firmly "Nicholas Lamia." He said. I realized then that I also didn't know his name. Danny started to get suspicious as he looked at him with antagonizing eyes. 

"How do you know our sister?" He asked. Nicholas flushed again and tried to find words for a moment. 

"We work together. He's the one who called the ambulance." Daniel set a balloon down next to me that he'd gotten at the gift shop. 

We hadn't really spoken since his home break in. I still don't know what that was about. But he's been suspicious since. Once they released me Nicholas went on his way and the Mars siblings stood on the sidewalk and considered where to go. 

"Should we get sushi? It's been a moment since we hung out without mom and dad." Dan suggested leading the conversation. 

"Hmm, works for me. Samantha's out of town for work." Danny chimed in. 

I sighed thinking about all the work I still had to do. But it had been a minute since we hung out for fun, and cucumber rolls wouldn't be too bad right about now. "Sure I'm in." I replied. 

"You?" Danny asked Daniel.

He mumbled for a moment with the same guilty look, "no, I don't th-" 

Suddenly Danny got him in a headlock, "come on even Savy agreed and she'd rather eat shit than waste time." He joked. I rolled my eyes and we all piled into Dan's car. 

The waitress led us up to a small booth towards the back. At first I was going to sit next to Daniel but the blaring TV would send me down a spiral. There was a government program on and as soon as that shit for an heir came on I'd be fuming about how we're leaving the lives of multiple disadvantaged people to a boy who did body shots off a Delta Nu on a thursday night. I wasn’t exactly sure if that story was true, but it wouldn’t surprise me based off of what I’d seen from more credible sources than Lucy in the room down that hall at the sorority house who was gushing about how she wished it could be her. Prince Eaton went to the University of Labrador with us and she was hopeful that he would do it but sadly, no. 

Dan saw my eyes lingering on the TV and switched sides of the booth with me. We were just about finished and considering desert when I began to notice the glances and smirks. I wiped with a napkin thinking maybe I had some rice on my face, but they continued nonetheless. It wasn’t like creepy guys smirking either, it was everyone. The air felt different and Daniel looked like he was going to be sick. “What?” I asked as he opened his mouth. 

It looked like he was about to say something but couldn’t find the words. Dan opened to speak too, “Savannah, we didn’t think you’d ge-” 

“Oh my gosh congratulations on being selected! Would you like a desert? Everything is on the house of course!” The waitress smiled. 

I looked up at her as if she were speaking German. “Congratulations on what?” I asked. 

“On being selected! They were just announced, are you so excited? Could I also get a photo by any chance! The next queen of Illea could be sitting at my booth!” She cheered.

The world slowed as my mind raced selected? Like The selection selected? I didn’t apply? I didn’t want to apply? How did I even get entered? What did Daniel want to tell me? Did Daniel do this? Was this his revenge for what? 

I snapped out of it as Dan called my name. “I’m sorry. I have to step out for a moment.” I said and grabbed my purse running out of the restaurant, feeling everyone watching me. I walked to the side of the building and pressed my back against the cold brick panting. I crumbled inwards as my brothers ran over to me. I took a deep breath in, 

“I don’t” 

another breath

“understand.” 

Suddenly a man with a long lens camera appeared. How did that happen so fast? How did he know what she looked like? Stupid your Savannah Mars it’s not like you’re a nobody your grandpa runs the largest candy company in the world. 

“Can you back off?” I heard Dan ask him. 

He kept ignoring Dan entirely, that is till Dan pushed his camera out of focus. “What the fuck man? Chill.” The creep said and went to shove Dan. Level headed Dan of course responded by punching him in the face. 

We all piled into his car and drove to my house. I sat in the car ride silent and waited for someone to speak. No one did but Daniel still looked like he was going to throw up. We all sat on the sofa in continued silence. Only Dan spoke to offer everyone water. 

No one said yes to it but a cup appeared in front of each of us anyways, always the responsible older brother. 

I inhaled then finally said, “I’m not mad. I just want to know why?” and looked at Daniel. It was clear by now that he was the culprit. 

He sat there in silence, his lip whimpering like he wanted to cry. Like he wanted to cry? If anyone’s going to cry it should be me. Suddenly I lunged at him to get in a hit. Only Danny’s arm stopped mine from smashing into his face. 

“Why?” I yelled. 

“I thought you made a gay dating profile for me.” He whimpered. 

“What?” I asked, even more confused than before. 

Dan spoke up, “Danny made a gay dating profile for him to try and give him a little push. When he got mad he said it was you who did it.” 

“I just saw the letter sitting there and it seemed like the perfect way to get back at you for meddling in my love life. I was just gonna taunt you with submitting it, then Dan told me it was Danny but he said you wouldn’t get in and you’d just never know.” Daniel explained. 

“Well, statistically speaking you shouldn’t have.” He defended. My anger shifted to the brother holding me back. If Danny had teased Daniel about his sexuality none of this would have happened. But I couldn’t do anything with him still holding my wrist. 

I stood from the sofa and the brothers stood as well. “I’m going to go get changed.” The second they relaxed I turned and charged at Danny. “You fucking bitch!” I yelled and started to pull at his hair. He didn’t fight back but Daniel panicked and Dan rushed over. I was yanked off of him before I could make any real damage but he did look hurt enough. 

“How could you! Just minding your own fucking business could have avoided this whole thing! And Daniel!” I yelled and turned. “Don’t fucking get vengeance especially not without communicating!” 

The phone started to ring. It was probably about the selection. I huffed over ready to say, “Hi, yes this is Savannah Mars. No, I would not like to participate, please pull someone else.” But as I picked up the phone I realized something. Daniel would have had to forge my signature. In order to apply for me he had to sign a contract. If I say I want out I would have to prove I didn’t agree to begin with. That would mean proving the false signature. Which is by the way, illegal. 

I sighed, held the phone to my ear. “Yes this is she. I’m so excited to be selected and am more than happy to discuss a time for you to send your people over.”

[route22ny]

This is a harrowing read, and in the end you may ask yourself, as I asked myself: how was the nation not protected from such criminality?  Decades of organized crime involvement culminated in the most corrupt and dangerous president in American history, one who now presides over a reeling nation in the throes of a deadly pandemic. 

We watch in horror and disbelief, daily, as he ineptly--or maliciously--mismanages the nation’s response to covid-19, contributing to a death toll expected to surpass that of the Vietnam War...twice.  How did we get here?

This is must reading.

***

IN THE EARLY 1980s it was decided—by whom, and for what ultimate purpose, we can’t say for sure—that Donald John Trump would build a casino complex in Atlantic City, New Jersey—probably the most mobbed-up municipality in the state. Dealing with the mafia might have dissuaded some developers from pursuing a Boardwalk Empire, but not Trump. He was uniquely suited to forge ahead.

Donald’s father, the Queens real estate developer Fred Trump, had worked closely with Genovese-associated and -owned construction entities since building the Shore Haven development in 1947, when Donald was still in diapers (the first time around). Fred was an early mob adopter, the underworld equivalent of an investor who bought shares of Coca-Cola stock in 1919. The timelines is important to remember here. Organized crime did not exist in any meaningful way in the United States until Prohibition. Born in 1905, Fred Trump was just two years younger than Meyer Lansky, the gangster who more or less invented money laundering. Thus, Donald Trump is second generation mobbed-up.

When Donald first ventured from Queens to the pizzazzier borough of Manhattan in the seventies, he entered into a joint business deal with “Big” Paul Castellano, head of the Gambino syndicate, and Anthony “Fat Tony” Salerno, of the Genovese family he knew well through his father and their mutual lawyer Roy Cohn. As part of this arrangement, Trump agreed to buy concrete from a company operated jointly by the two families—and pay a hefty premium for the privilege. Only then, with double mob approval, could he move forward with the Trump Tower and Trump Plaza projects. (Among Cohn’s other clients at the time was Rupert Murdoch, whom he introduced to Trump in the seventies; you would be hard pressed to find three more atrocious human beings).

Atlantic City is in South Jersey, closer to Philadelphia than New York, so to build “his” casino, Trump needed to play ball with the Philly mob. That meant dealing with Nicodemo “Little Nicky” Scarfo, head of the most powerful mob family in Philadelphia. Land that Trump needed for his casino was owned by Salvie Testa and Frank Narducci, Jr.—hit men for Scarfo, collectively known around town as the Young Executioners (the nickname was not ironic). To help negotiate the deal, Trump hired Patrick McGahn, a Philly-based attorney known to have truck with the Scarfo family.

(The last name should sound familiar; Don McGahn, the former White House Counsel, is Patrick McGahn’s nephew. And Don McGahn is not the only Trump Administration hire with ties to the Philly mob. Among Little Nicky’s associates was one Jimmy “The Brute” DiNatale, whose daughter, Denise Fitzpatrick, is the mother of none other than Kellyanne Conway. A number of wiseguys paid their respects at DiNatale’s 1983 funeral. I don’t want to make the mistake of condemning Conway or Don McGahn for the sins of their relations. But given Trump’s OC background, it’s fair to question why he chose two children of mobbed-up families for his inner White House circle.)

Trump acquired the needed Atlantic City property at twice the market value: $1.1 million for a lot that sold for $195k five years before. But there were legal pratfalls, shady dealings, chicanery with the documents. The New Jersey Gaming Commission was investigating the matter, because casino owners could not, by law, associate with criminals. And most of Trump’s friends were crooks. It looked like Trump was in trouble—not only of losing his gaming license, but of criminal indictment.

And then, something miraculous happened. On 4 November 1986, Scarfo and eleven of his associates were indicted on charges that included loan sharking, extortion and conducting an illegal gambling business in a racketeering conspiracy. Prosecutors had tried for years to take down Little Nicky. And now, after all that time, they finally had their evidence. Not only that, but the investigation into Trump? It went away. Poof—as if it never existed.

A confidential informant, or “CI,” is a mole run by law enforcement within a criminal enterprise. Not a “rat,” whose treachery is well known to his comrades, but a craftier, more duplicitous breed of rodent. Crimes committed by the CI are overlooked, or allowed to continue unabated, in exchange for good intelligence—“treasure,” as Control calls it in Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.

A fictional example of a CI is the Greek, a character on the show The Wire (spoiler ahead). Baltimore law enforcement piece together that the Greek is the head of a crime syndicate that deals in narcotics and human trafficking. But when they finally move to arrest him, the operation is kibboshed by the feds, for whom the Greek is a Confidential Informant. This is extremely frustrating for viewers of the show, who rightly regard the Greek as the cause of so much woe in West Baltimore.

In real life, there are two famous examples. The first is Whitey Bulger, the head of the so-called Winter Hill Gang, which operated for decades in Somerville, Massachusetts. In 1975, Bulger became a Confidential Informant for the FBI, handled by a corrupt agent named John Connolly. His intelligence helped take down a rival mob family in Providence, Rhode Island—a city notorious for the influence of organized crime. In exchange, Connolly allowed Bulger and his associates to operate with impunity. At least 19 people were killed by the Winter Hill Gang while the feds looked the other way. When the FBI finally realized its mistake, Connolly tipped off Bulger, who went on the lam for 16 years. He was finally arrested in 2011; by then he was in his eighties. He was killed in prison seven years later.

The second famous CI is Donald Trump’s former associate Felix Sater. Racketeering charges against him back in 1998 ended with a fine of just $25,000—a slap on the wrist. From then on, Sater become a top echelon confidential informant, feeding law enforcement intelligence of “a depth and breadth rarely seen,” as court filings show. “His cooperation has covered a stunning array of subject matter, ranging from sophisticated local and international criminal activity to matters involving the world’s most dangerous terrorists and rogue states.”

The winsome ex-con, still one of the more puzzling figures of Trump/Russia, “continuously worked with prosecutors and law enforcement agents to provide information crucial to the conviction of over 20 different individuals, including those responsible for committing massive financial fraud, members of La Cosa Nostra organized crime families and international cyber-criminals,” prosecutors claim. “Additionally, Sater provided the United States intelligence community with highly sensitive information in an effort to help the government combat terrorists and rogue states.”

His intelligence helped prosecutors break up the “Pump and Dump” and “Boiler Room” mob operations in the 1990s. He turned over useful information about the Genovese crime family (note: the same family Fred Trump fronted for), and provided ample dirt on international arms dealing (note: Jeffrey Epstein’s specialty). And his crowning achievement: he helped the United States track down Osama bin Laden (funny how the Russian mob knew where he was). Sater is proud of his CI work, and has talked it up the last few years, probably to counter his association with the mafiya, and with Trump.

We know about Bulger being a CI because his handler turned out to be crooked. We know about Sater being a CI because he outed himself prior to his sentencing in 2009—and because he keeps boasting about it. If Sater had not come forward, Loretta Lynch, the former Attorney General, would not have been legally permitted to reveal his status.

That’s the thing about Confidential Informants: they are confidential. The informant doesn’t want to be made as a mole, any more than law enforcement wants to burn a source. Both sides are bound to secrecy. It is the good guy version of omertà.

The only way to know for sure if Donald John Trump is a Confidential Informant is if he admits it himself (unlikely), or if law enforcement comes forward (illegal). But the circumstantial evidence is compelling. The pattern is: 1) Trump deals with mobsters as usual; 2) Law enforcement begins investigating Trump; 3) Mobsters suddenly get busted, while 4) investigation into Trump is scuttled. This happened three times that we know about. I’m not counting the first known instance of Trump providing information to prosecutors, concerning Cody and concrete, in the late 70s:

I can conceive of no scenario in which Trump was not a CI, and a top echelon one at that. He’s avoided indictment too many times. No one is that lucky.

Or, put another way: How can someone that lucky manage to run a fucking casino into the ground?

Salvatore Gravano, known as “Sammy the Bull,” was an underboss of the Gambino crime family. After the assassination of “Big” Paul Castellano in 1985—an audacious hit, done in broad daylight—John Gotti was installed as the figurehead capo. But in practice, the Bull was the one calling the shots. His territory? Manhattan. For as long as he was in power, any construction that took place in New York, New York had to be approved by Gravano. “I literally controlled Manhattan,” he told ABC News. He did a lot of business deals with Donald John Trump, and speaks of him fondly.

After his arrest on 11 December 1990, Gravano turned state’s evidence to help put away Gotti, his nominal boss. The lead prosecutor of the case? Robert Swan Mueller III. (This is why, when Trump found out Mueller was named Special Counsel, he collapsed into a chair and muttered, “I’m fucked.”)

We know that Gravano flipped on Gotti. But who flipped on Sammy the Bull?

On 19 July 1990, the Division of Gaming Enforcement (DGE) of the State of New Jersey opened an investigation into Donald John Trump, regarding the Trump Organization’s business dealings with Joseph Weichselbaum, a mob associate and embezzler who had been convicted not once, not twice, but three times. Trump hired Weichselbaum’s company to provide helicopter transportation to Atlantic City, conveying high rollers to and from New York. As a casino owner, Trump was prohibited by law to do any business with the serial felon. He not only continued to do so, but he went to bat for the guy, going so far as to write him a letter of recommendation. (There’s more bizarre stuff with Wiechselbaum, whose case wound up being initially tried by Trump’s sister, a federal judge, but I won’t get into it here).

Six months after the DGE opened its investigation, Gravano got pinched. And once again, as if by the wave of a magic wand, Trump’s legal troubles seemed to vanish.

It’s worth noting here that Sammy the Bull likes Trump personally, then and now, and seems not to blame him for ratting him out. There were likely others who informed on Gravano, too. But given the timing, the investigation against Trump, his disastrous finances at the time, and his long familiarity with federal prosecutors, it stands to reason that Trump, too, turned on his longtime business associate.

The Kurt & Courtney decade was unkind to Donald John Trump. The Bush I recession hit his businesses hard. Trump filed for bankruptcy protection for Trump Taj Mahal (1991) and Trump Plaza (1992). Again: our “lucky” guy had managed to go bust in the casino business. In between those bankruptcy filings, he lobbied Congress for tax relief for real estate developers, began phoning reporters claiming to be a publicist named John Barron, had an affair with a D-list actress named Marla Maples, and divorced his wife of 14 years, the mother of his kids Donald, Ivanka, and Eric: the former Ivana Zelníčková. (Sidenote: Ivana Trump’s father was a big wheel in Czechoslovakia’s Státní bezpečnost intelligence service; Miloš Zelníček helped raise his grandchildren, especially Don Jr., who speaks fluent Czech…but this is a subject for another dispatch).

Things were going south fast. Trump desperately needed a lifeline. He found one in Moscow.

The Soviet Union collapsed on Christmas Day 1991. What the West viewed as the triumph of capitalism over communism was really the subversion of a conventional superpower by the shadowy forces of transnational crime. The Cold War was not over; it just shifted modes of attack. In the early 90s, Russia invaded the United States—not with soldiers, but with mobsters.

The commander of this underworld incursion was a violent ex-con named Vyacheslav Ivankov, known as “Yaopnchik,” or “Little Japanese.” Hardened in the brutal Soviet prison system, Ivankov was a member of the vor y zakone, or thieves-in-law—the arm of the Russian mafiya that originated in the post-Second World War gulags. He was such a nasty, violent motherfucker that when it was necessary to rough someone up to extort them, he didn’t send in a subordinate—he did the job himself.

Ivankov arrived to the United States in 1992, ostensibly to work in the film industry. Even the new Russian government warned the FBI that he was up to no good. The feds lost sight of him almost immediately, even as he traveled from New York to Florida and everywhere in between, consolidating power, and displacing the Italian mob. (That brazen 1985 hit on “Big” Paul Castellano was instrumental in achieving this Vor hegemony, as the Gambino boss neither liked nor trusted the Russians). Per the testimony of Bob Levinson, the FBI’s foremost Russian mob expert:

Ivankov’s organization’s income was derived from a number of sources: his group was implicated by sources to have been involved in the “gasoline tax scam” whereby so-called “daisy-chains” of petroleum handling companies were established with the specific intention of defrauding governmental tax authorities using non-existent or ghost companies to pay the gasoline taxes due.

A primary source of the group’s funds was the collection of “krisha” or protection money from wealthy Russian and Eurasian businessmen operating between North America and the former Soviet republics. In addition, the Ivankov organization organized the collection of, in effect, a “street tax” from Russian-born and Eastern European criminals who were operating their illegal enterprises in North America. Ivankov organization members fanned out across the United States and Canada identifying and then approaching these criminals saying that each now had to contribute to an “obshak” (mutual benefit fund) being collected and organized by the Ivankov group.

In addition, Ivankov and other members of his organization settled business disputes for Russian and Eastern European businessmen operating between North America and the former Soviet Union, receiving in return a percentage of the amount in dispute, usually hundreds of thousands of dollars. Through his authority as a “thief-inlaw” and the head of a criminal organization, Ivankov was able to exercise a kind of informal power in the émigré business community tantamount to decisions made by formal, official courts of law. Those who went against the decisions made by Ivankov and his associates were usually met with violence, including beatings and/or murder.  

As Little Japanese worked the States, Semion Mogilevich, the current head of the Russian mob, set up his base of operations in Budapest, Hungary, where he moved in 1992 with his Hungarian girlfriend. “The Brainy Don,” as he is called, soon acquired a bank in Russia, which allowed him access to the global financial system. Meyer Lanksy may have invented money laundering, but it was Mogilevich who took it to Hollywood, so to speak: Lansky wrote the book, and the Brainy Don made it into an international blockbuster. (Note: Levinson, the FBI agent, moved to Budapest around this time, to investigate Mogilevich more closely.)

For three fruitful years, Ivankov did his thing, laying the foundation for what would become the world’s pre-eminent organized crime operation—more S.P.E.C.T.R.E. than GoodFellas. He ran amok. Law enforcement had no idea where he was….until, one day in 1995, they found him living in a deluxe apartment at—you’re not gonna believe it—Trump Tower. And that was not the only Trump property he frequented: Ivankov was also a regular at the Trump Taj Mahal in Atlantic City. He was arrested in June of 1995, convicted, imprisoned, and deported to Russia in 2004 to face murder changes. Once home, he was promptly acquitted. He was gunned down in Moscow in 2009.

This monster was living in Trump’s building, gambling in Trump’s casino.

What was Donald John Trump doing in 1995? Failing tremendously. That was the year when he declared a loss of an unfathomable $916 million on his tax returns. It was also at this time that Trump Tower became a sort of Moscow on Fifth Avenue, with any number of Russian mobsters scooping up apartments—an arrangement that began in 1984, when the Russian mobster David Bogatin purchased five condos for $6 million. Trump Tower was one of just two buildings in all of New York City that allowed units to be purchased by shell companies. Why did Trump, virtually alone among New Yorkers, allow these fishy deals?

As the indefatigable Craig Unger writes in the Washington Post,

the shady Bogatin deal began a 35-year relationship between Trump and Russian organized crime. Mind you, this was a period during which the disintegration of the Soviet Union had opened a fire-hose-like torrent of hundreds of billions of dollars in flight capital from oligarchs, wealthy apparatchiks and mobsters in Russia and its satellites. And who better to launder so much money for the Russians than Trump — selling them multimillion-dollar condos at top dollar, with little or no apparent scrutiny of who was buying them.

Over the next three decades, dozens of lawyers, accountants, real estate agents, mortgage brokers and other white-collar professionals came together to facilitate such transactions on a massive scale. According to a BuzzFeed investigation, more than 1,300 condos, one-fifth of all Trump-branded condos sold in the United States since the 1980s, were shifted “in secretive, all-cash transactions that enable buyers to avoid legal scrutiny by shielding their finances and identities.”

Unger continues:

The Trump Organization has dismissed money laundering charges as unsubstantiated, and because it is so difficult to penetrate the shell companies that purchased these condos, it is almost impossible for reporters — or, for that matter, anyone without subpoena power — to determine how much money laundering by Russians went through Trump-branded properties. But Anders Aslund, a Swedish economist, put it this way to me: “Early on, Trump came to the conclusion that it is better to do business with crooks than with honest people. Crooks have two big advantages. First, they’re prepared to pay more money than honest people. And second, they will always lose if you sue them because they are known to be crooks.”

It is simply inconceivable that a creature of the underworld, a man who had extensive dealings with mob figures for his entire career, would, in a moment of dire need, be unaware that mobsters were buying his properties, using shell companies to conceal the origin of the dirty rubles.

It is also inconceivable that a mobbed-up real estate developer—a crook whom the government of Australia would not grant a gaming license because of his obvious mob connections; the subject of a 41-page initial investigation by the Department of Gaming Enforcement in the State of New Jersey that, taken together, is positively damning—could have avoided indictment for all these years unless he was covertly helping out law enforcement. Trump is a criminal, yes, but his crimes are not as heinous as Ivankov’s, or Gravano’s, or Scarfo’s. Prosecutors would happily toss a minnow like Trump back into the sea if it helped them catch the big fish.

Nothing about Trump’s term as president suggests he’s turned his back on organized crime. He hasn’t “gone legit.” His Twitter antagonists comprise a “Who’s Who” of the FBI’s Russian mob experts: Robert Mueller, Andrew McCabe, Bruce Ohr, Lisa Page. He has attacked the credibility of those who know what he really is. That is what made Trump’s attacks on Mueller so ironic. He impugned the former FBI director as corrupt, while depending on his incorruptibility to not reveal his (alleged) CI status.

To reiterate: we cannot know for sure if Trump was a CI unless he admits to being one (maybe Yamiche Alcindor can goad him into admitting it?), or if the federal prosecutors in the know break protocol to expose him.

As it stands, prominent G-men have given us clues. When McCabe was fired, he began his statement thus: “I have been an FBI Special Agent for over 21 years. I spent half of that time investigating Russian Organized Crime as a street agent and Supervisor in New York City.” The subtext there is that McCabe knows who Trump is.

In the excerpt of his book Higher Loyalty sent to the press, James Comey compared Trump to Gravano. “The [loyalty] demand was like Sammy the Bull’s Cosa Nostra induction ceremony—with Trump in the role of the family boss asking me if I have what it takes to be a ‘made man.’ ” Of all the famous mafiosos, why did Comey choose Gravano, a relatively obscure figure, as the comp? He wants us to dig into Gravano.

(Gravano himself was asked about the Comey pull-quote by Jerry Capeci of Gangland News; he said, “The country doesn’t need a bookworm as president, it needs a mob boss. You don’t need a Harvard graduate to deal with these people…[Putin, Kim, Xi] are real gangsters. You need a fucking gangster to deal with these people.” This seems to indicate that Sammy the Bull thinks Trump is a “mob boss” and a “fucking gangster.” Takes one to know one?)

Unless he thought it would help him avoid prison, Trump will never cop to being a Confidential Informant. We can only infer that he served that function by presenting the circumstantial evidence to support the hypothesis. But plenty of people can confirm or deny (rather than refuse to confirm or deny) Trump’s involvement. Bob Mueller, certainly, but every prosecutor too that dealt with Scarfo, Gravano, and Ivankov, and plenty of smaller cases besides.

When a Confidential Informant is deliberately fucking up the federal government’s response to a pandemic—when his willful negligence will cost hundreds of thousands if not millions of American lives—protocol must be sacrificed for the greater good. Is not the purpose of that law, of all laws, to protect the people from enemies foreign and domestic? And has not the COVID-19 response, or lack thereof, proven Trump to be an active enemy of the United States?

We don’t need more careful legalese. We don’t need more cryptic phrasings along the lines of “If we had had confidence that the president clearly did not commit a crime, we would have said so.” We need to hear, loud and clear, what the FBI knows. We need to be told, unequivocally, that Trump is an inveterate crook—a real crook; an actual criminal; not just a cute Twitter assertion—and, even more surprising, and contrary to all recent evidence, that he is capable of telling the truth when it serves him.

Notes:

This piece was written under the expert guidance of Lincoln’s Bible. If you don’t already do so, please follow her on Twitter, and check out her own mafiya reporting at Citjourno.

I encourage everyone to read the State of New Jersey Department of Gaming Enforcement investigation report on the allegations against Donald John Trump in the Wayne Barrett book Trump: The Deals and the Downfall.

The late Bob Levinson was the FBI’s best Russian mob fighter. His Ivankov testimony is also essential reading.

The photo at the top is the Greek, from The Wire—the best show in the history of television.

https://gregolear.substack.com/p/tinker-tailor-mobster-trump

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Doyenne ~ Part 2

Pairings: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy needs the help of one of Birmingham’s most successful and secretive underground gangs, the Hemlock Angels. Little does he know, he’s not the king of Birmingham after all.

Warnings: Talk of alcohol, drugs, and prostitution 

Word Count: 3500+

_____________________________

Today was a surprisingly sunny day in Birmingham, the first one in a while. It was warm enough for you to not need a jacket as you drove from your small unassuming home just outside the city. It wasn’t a long drive. In fact, you’d even walk on the days you had a little extra time or you needed to unwind after a long day, but today you had business to attend to. 

About five blocks down, you arrived at the building. It was a small little one-story fabric shop that was in decent repair, save for the sign that was fading slightly. You parked your car on the street and walked in, the little bell ringing. “Good morning.” You sang politely to Mrs. Hanes, the woman who owned the shop. She was a little old widow, seventy-five at least, with gray hair and large glasses. She was small and thin and looked almost brittle but there was something about her that told her that she was tougher than she appeared to be. 

“Good morning, Miss. L/N! How are you today?” She greeted with a smile in her little old lady voice that you found endearing. 

You smiled as you walked behind the counter, “I’m doing well. Thank you. I wanted to give this to you. A little extra thank you for everything.” Mrs. Hanes turned to you and you pressed a small stack of bills into her hands. 

She looked down at the five £20 bills in her hand and her eyes got wide. Mrs. Hanes leaned forward and embraced you tightly, “Oh, Miss. L/N, thank you so much! I can finally afford to close the shop for a few days to see my dear grandkids in London!” 

Mrs. Hanes looked so happy you couldn’t help but hug her back, “Glad to be of help. But if you ever need anything like that, please ask. You do so much for me.” With that, you released her and made your way through the closed door behind the counter. There was a small room back there that had a table and a small stove with a kettle on it. It looked almost like a tiny dining room. And that was all it was to anyone who didn’t know what lied beneath.

You, however, knew it was so much more. In the back corner of the room, there was a little table with a vase of flowers. Beneath it was an old faded red rug. You carefully lifted the table over and folded the rug up to reveal a small lift hatch in the ground. Bending down, you used the small metal ring to lift it and climbed down the ladder that hung down, closing the door as you descended. 

When your feet finally touched the ground, about ten feet below, you fixed your skirt and carried on down the narrow hallway lit by lamps. The walls around you were reinforced with concrete but, in all honesty, the craftsmanship could have been better. It didn’t matter though. Not many people were allowed down here anyways. 

The hallway ended in a small room with a large printing press in the middle. One man was cutting large sheets of paper very precisely and another was inspecting money carefully with a large magnifying glass that was attached to the table. 

“How’s the American money coming?” You asked them, walking over to the man looking through the magnifying glass. 

He leaned back, stretching his back as he did, “Pretty good, I think. It’s good enough to be clean at a glance but when you look closely… see this letter here? It’s how they track bills in America. This isn’t a valid letter. But everything else looks pretty spot on so they shouldn’t really notice.” He pointed at the row of numbers led by a single letter and you looked closely at the fifty dollar bill he handed you. 

You reached into your bag and pulled out an authentic dollar bill, comparing the two. You wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference if you hadn’t been the one fabricate the false one. “You really don’t think they’ll notice the letter?” 

The man shook his head, “No, ma’am. From what I’ve heard, most people don’t pay attention to the serial numbers. But if an expert looked at it, they could tell.” 

You nodded, satisfied with the work, “Alright. These look good. Print $100,000 worth of it. I need at least $50,000 of it by Friday.” 

“$50,000 by Friday? That’s two days!” The man in the corner, slicing through sheets of false money, asked in shock. 

You nodded in acknowledgement. You knew it was a lot to ask, “I know. I’ll pay you extra for the over time. Just get it done, please.” 

Later that day, you made it back to your main office that was in the back of your distillery. Almost just as you sat down, your assistant, Philip, walked in, “Mr. Shelby called while you were away. He wants to speak with you when you can.” 

“Alright, thank you. I’ll call him back now.” You sat down at your desk, twisting in your chair slightly and trying to stretch out the creaks and pops of the morning. You grabbed the phone from the receiver and dialed 0. “Thomas Shelby, please.” You asked the operator. 

Soon, that familiar voice answered, “Thomas Shelby.” 

“Mr. Shelby? This is Y/N L/N. I heard you wanted to speak.” 

“Yes. I have things ready to get your men out. I wanted an update on the money.” He inquired plainly. 

You leaned back in your chair comfortably, “I just inspected the bills today and they’re up to par. I’m having them printed now. The $50,000 will be done on Friday.” 

“Alright, that’ll do. We’ll arrange a pick up from your place of work.” 

You sucked air between your teeth, “Actually, Mr. Shelby, I prefer to keep the location of that facility confidential. I can have someone drop it off to you as soon as it’s ready.” 

“I would prefer to pick it up myself if possible. I would like to check them myself.” He insisted. 

A breathy chuckle left your lips, “Are you questioning my work, Mr. Shelby?” You asked with a slightly joking tone, twirling the cord of the phone around your finger.

“I mean no offense, Miss. L/N. Please understand that I just need this to work as flawlessly as possible. I’m sure you would do the same in my position.” You wondered how his voice never seemed to vary from that low, even tone. 

You nodded to yourself, “Alright. Tonight at nine o’clock. Meet me at 29 Union Road. Anything else?” 

“Ah, no. Thank you.” With that, Tommy hung the phone back on the receiver, leaving you back to your business again. 

Thomas Shelby, Mr. High-’n-Mighty in this town, wasn’t prepared for what he was about to see. 

**

Nine o’clock came quickly and Tommy pulled up to 29 Union Road right on time. It was… a restaurant. A relatively small restaurant. He pulled the hastily folded sheet he’d scribbled the address you’d given him on and double checked. 29 Union Road. Perhaps, he thought, you wanted to do this transaction in public although he couldn’t imagine why. Or did anyone in Small Heath even care about American money? 

He noticed there was a strangely high number of cars parked along the road for being so far on the outskirts of town, especially since he ran Birmingham and he knew damn well these weren’t residences. 

“Mr. Shelby, you look lost.” You laughed from the stoop of the restaurant., looking down at him staring confusedly at what you assumed was the address. “Come on in.” You motioned, holding the door open until he got to you, when he took the door and held it open for you both to enter. 

He followed close behind you as you led him through the winding of tables around the room. Aside from a few tables that sat the occasional couple or two, there weren’t many people. “How has your day been?” You started the pleasantries, trying to break the silence. 

Tommy was visibly taken aback by the question. It wasn’t one that was asked… ever in this business. “Fine. It’s been fine.” As expected, he didn’t return the question. 

“Well that’s just fine.” You joked back. 

Tommy couldn’t figure out if he was annoyed by you or intrigued. At first, you seemed so serious- so not to be messed with. Over the phone, you were accommodating. Right now, you were joking. Were you unstable or just an enigma? 

When you reached the small bar in the back, tended by only one man who was drying a glass, you just flipped the counter up and walked behind the bar as if you owned the place, “Thanks, Dave.” You smiled at the bartender who just nodded in response. 

You led the older man down a small hallway in the back that had three doors branching off. Two were restrooms and one was a large storeroom. You opened the door to the storeroom and stepped inside. “I was expecting more of an office.” Tommy admitted bluntly and you turned around. 

“What makes you think we’re there?” You asked, peeking up at him with a cocked eyebrow. The two of you found yourselves face to face with a wood panelled wall. You reached forward towards one of the seams and pulled. Tommy had to fight to keep a straight face when a large panel slid aside to reveal an elevator, just large enough to hold two people. 

“Impressive.” He stated with raised eyebrows, the only indication of emotion on his otherwise straight face. 

“Right this way, Mr. Shelby.” You gestured inside, smirking to yourself, knowing that he was about to have his massive ego shot down in just moments. Thomas stepped inside and you followed, closing the iron grate and pressing a button. The elevator shuddered to life and slowly lowered the pair of you down at least fifteen feet. 

With a small bump, the lift came to a stop. Two men waited at the exit, turning immediately to see who was there. “‘Ello, Miss. L/N.” The one on the right, a large man with brown hair and a big beard, greeted, opening the grate for you. 

“‘Ello, Gregory.” You responded, stepping out of the elevator with Tommy following close behind. 

Sure enough, his mind was blown. A large room was carved out down here, surprisingly nice despite being an underground cavern. There were many wooden tables around the room, all with at least four people sitting around each. At the far end was a bar, bustling with people. On either end of the bar were two smaller rooms that were covered with thick red curtains. 

“What is this place?” Tommy asked as you led him through the room. 

“This is my little slice of heaven. We have gambling.” You gestured indistinctly around the room and Tommy’s eyes followed at least three different games in play. “Drugs.” you said, nodding to the plush couches that ran along the walls of the cavern, men and women alike sitting on them with pills in hand. “Alcohol.” You continued as you passed the bar, rows of handles on at least three different shelves. You led him back behind the curtains to the side to reveal a room full of attractive men and women sitting around, scantily dressed, “And all the company you could need for a night.” 

“Men and women?” Tommy asked, surprised. He wasn’t sure he’d even ever seen a male prostitute before. 

A proud look came over your face, “We’re equal opportunity here. If a man wants to sleep around for some money, so be it. And if a woman wants to pay him for a good time, so be it too.” You carried him away down the hall, speaking over your shoulder to him, “Sometimes we even have partakers of the same gender.” 

This was unheard of to Tommy. Not that he had any issues with homosexuality, but he’d never come across somewhere who did it so casually and openly. 

Finally, you opened one final door that made way to a simple office. There was a wooden desk with comfortable looking chairs on either side. The only indication as to which side was yours was the direction the papers were facing. “Please sit.” 

He took the seat closest to the door while you floated to the other side and settled weightlessly into your chair. “Illegal alcohol production and distribution, money counterfeiting, drug distribution, prositution, gambling… is there anything you don’t do?” Tommy questioned in his deep voice. 

“Running betting for horses, distribution of cocaine, and protection services. Don’t worry, Mr. Shelby, your business is safe.” You winked at him. 

“How is it that you seem to know so much about everything?” He asked, leaning back in his seat and interlacing his fingers. 

You exhaled loudly as you stood and glided over to get a glass bottle of house made whiskey. You spoke casually as you poured two glasses, “There are a few key things I’ve learned about being successful in this industry: One, don’t screw your partners over. Two, treat them with respect and hospitality. Three, know everything about them so you always have the upper hand.” 

“You talk about success and power yet the Hemlock Angels are one of the most underground gangs in England, no joke intended. You’re a very difficult person to find.” Tommy interjected when you handed him a drink. 

You sat back down again, “I never once said I wanted power. And the Hemlock Angels are not so much of a gang as we are… a group of people that do underground activities and happen to have a fancy name. As for being a difficult person to find, that’s how I like it. Look at you, for example. So out in the open and eager to show the world who’s in charge. But you read like a book.” 

“If you’re so keen on staying secret, then why’d you show me this place?” Through the question, it sounded almost as if he was threatening you. As if he was saying now I know where to hit you. 

You trailed your finger along the rim of the glass, “Because, Mr. Shelby, I know that we’re not in the same businesses. I am no competition to you and therefore you shouldn’t need to harm my business physically for financial gain. Besides, as you can see, many people know where this place is. It’s only a secret to the police. And, finally, even if our relationship went sour and you exposed this location to the police, you wouldn’t have ruined me. I do not counterfeit here. I don’t produce, package, or export whiskey here. This is the most well known of any facility I run, known in fact by a large population of Small Heath, and yet you still didn’t know where it was.” 

There it was again. That damn cocky, confident, not-to-be-messed-with attitude. Tommy had to struggle to keep his composure. He didn’t appreciate being made to feel like a fool, and although you hadn’t actually made him look like one, he sure felt it. He wasn’t used to being out of control of situations, yet with every word you spoke so confidently, the more he realized that perhaps you held more cards than he’d initially thought. 

“But we met regarding the $50,000, right?” Your tone changed to lift the spirits of the conversation. You reached down to where your feet were and pulled up a briefcase onto the table. With a flick of a latch, the lid was lifted and you spun it around, “Here we are. $50,000 American dollars in $50 dollar bills. Feel free to inspect them.” 

Tommy looked down at the open briefcase and was immediately impressed (but, of course, he couldn’t show it). At first glance, he would have thought he was rich in American money. It looked flawless. Even when he picked up the bills and inspected them more closely, he couldn’t find a fault. They were almost too perfect. “Where’s the imperfection?” 

“The serial numbers,” You pointed to the line of letters and numbers on the dollar, “In America, they use these to indicate where the bill was produced. These aren’t valid letters. But only someone who was looking for it would notice.” 

He closed the briefcase, “These will work. When will the other $50,000 be ready?” 

“I can have them ready at the end of next week.” You knew it was technically possible to have it done in two days but you didn’t want to overwork your men like that again. But there was another matter to attend to now, “How is getting my men released going?” 

“I have the proof ready. All I need to do is make the call and they should be released within a few days.” Tommy reassured.

“May I ask what it is that you have against the chief of police?” You inquired, “I must admit I’m awfully curious to know what dirty laundry the man has.” 

You saw Tommy war with himself slightly, wondering whether or not to tell you. But he did have all the proof after all. You really were just curious. “He frequents the whorehouses despite being married. He’s also lost thousands of dollars of funding through his gambling problems. He had to borrow it all back from a colleague of mine but I guess has forgotten that even criminals keep records.” 

You laughed lowly, almost sadistically, “Gotta love all these high and mighty people treating us like rubbish when they’re the worst of us all.” When Tommy didn’t say anything, you tapped your hands on the table and straightened back up, “Well, Mr. Shelby, I’d say this was rather successful. You have your $50,000 now. Once my men are released from jail, you’ll have your other $50,000. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?” 

Tommy raised his eyebrows and shook his head, “No, that was all. I’ll call you after I contact the chief of police with the terms.” 

You stood up from your desk and walked around to where Tommy had stood as well. “Well if there’s nothing else you’d like to talk about, I guess we’re done here. Feel free to spend some time here though. Anything you want tonight, drinks, drugs, or sex, it’s on me.”

Tommy had to blink twice to straighten out his vision. Was he imagining things or did your teeth just graze your lower lip when you spoke your last sentence? For a quick moment, your voice had sounded almost sultry. But just as soon as he’d noticed the almost seductive mood shift, it was gone and you were back to your generally assertive yet kind self again. 

“Erm, I’ll be heading back to the office but thank you. I’ll be in contact.” Tommy felt the need to get out of this place as soon as possible. Something about you made him feel uneasy. Not in an unsafe way but in an unpredictable way. You were a gamble and he didn’t like to gamble when he wasn’t sure of the outcome. But something about you made him want to take the risk. 

He left promptly, leaving you in your office by yourself. Little did he know, you’d followed him out of the office and just down the hall before it opened into the large gambling room. You leaned against the wall and watched as he left, not looking twice at the room around him, before scurrying out the way he came. 

“So, Thomas Shelby, eh?” A voice that you recognized to be your prodege Rita spoke behind you. “You sure seem to take a liking to him.” 

You shook your head and turned to her, “Men are afraid of women in power because they fear what they don’t know. Some will roll over and do whatever they’re told because they don’t know how else to handle it while some others with large egos, like Tommy Shelby, need to be manipulated a little. See what makes them tick and play off of it.” 

You turned and walked back to your office, Rita hot on your heels, “So what makes Tommy tick then?” She asked, and you could see her taking mental notes as you spoke. 

“Thomas Shelby is used to being in charge. He runs Birmingham as far as he’s concerned. We need to show him that we’re not a threat to his business but that we have control over this city. He’s also used to people bending over backwards for him, especially the women. Give him a little, just enough to think there’s a chance, and then pull it out from under him.” You explained. 

Rita was going to make an excellent head of the Hemlock Angels one day. She was only nineteen but an absolute beauty and smart as a whip. She had dark skin and her natural hair was twisted into a tight updo with little wisps of hair laid against her skin, framing her face. Her father had worked with you, helped in the rise of the Angels as a prominent underground business before being killed in WWI. You felt it was only right that you help bring her up and now you only hoped she could rise above where you were one day.

“As a woman, you hold much more power than anyone thinks you do, Rita. Don’t ever believe otherwise,” You sipped your whiskey and sat back down at your desk, Rita lowering herself into the seat across from you, “And, remember, if all else fails with a male partner, flirt a little. They become putty in your hands.” You smirked against the cool crystal of your half empty whiskey glass. 

____________________

Taglist (Open!): 

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[fleebledotcomrbls]

You Matter

Masterpost

Summary: I have a nephew?

Word count: around 1,000

Roman looked at the teen boys sleeping figure. The subtle rise and fall of the chest was rhythmic. up. down. up. down. Roman looked at the band on the kids wrist. Well, bands. One for the lab. One for the hospital. The heart monitor showed Logan’s slow beating heart. Roman couldn’t help, but keep time in his head. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and. 1 e and a… The rhythm kept Roman calm.

When he learned that Logan was alive he was relieved, but when Patton told him to ride with Dr.Monty. He got nervous, the man was obviously almost in tears. He had a sad smile. Roman was uncomfortable, he felt like this was extremely private. He wasn’t even close with Logan. He was mainly there to make sure that Logan didn't accidentally hurt himself with his own powers.

Roman shook his mind out of its fog. Logan had been taken off breathing machines just yesterday. He would wake up any moment. The boy had been showing small twitches for the past few days. Declan still had to go to meetings, and Remus had come with him.

Roman looked to the chair Remus would sit in. It was strange looking at the chair his brother had sat in. His brother. They weren't close by any means, but it would have been nice to know he had a nephew. When the kid had first met him, he had called HIM unobservant when he was just a copy of his father and he didn’t realise the familial ties. At least he had sent a card about getting married. He heard Logan shifting in bed. Roman turned his head to see him, toss and turn. Roman looked at the boy. He was thin, and looked nothing like Declan. I mean they had the same eyes, kinda. Logan had the rich brown of his father's right eye. The kid shifted again, and again. The kid was tossing and turning. His brows furrowed. Roman saw his lips moving. He was mumbling. Roman stood and leaned toward the boy.

“no...no...Dad…i'm sorry..don’t..,” Logan’s brow furrowed, “DON’T...NO.,” Roman placed a hand on the kid’s forearm, “NO!” The boy shot up his eyes wide. He was awake. Logan grabbed onto Roman, “Dad, I had an awful nightmare. It was awful, please tell me a story.” Oh. Logan thought he was Remus.

Just then the door opened and Remus walked through. He looked to see his son pleading for a story and walked over. He took his son’s hand. Logan looked to his dad. It was an expression Roman had never seen. Logan looked like a teenager. He looked broken, tears were streaming down his face. Remus came forward as Logan grabbed onto him.

“Shhhh. Shshshshshsh,” Remus patted Logan’s head, “Hey. Tell me about your nightmare.”

“Th-these men were kidnapping you.”

Remus looked into the kids eyes, “So what! You know I'm deadlier than any old kidnapper,” Remus smiled. The grin that always gave Roman chills, but Logan looked up and smiled. Huh. Remus’ hands glowed as a cookie appeared in his hands. Logan reached out and ate the cookie. Logan laid down his eyes fluttered closed.

“Remus,” Roman looked to his brother, “Ya, know it would have been nice to get to know my nephew.”

“Look. Roman, I met Declan a few months after he found out about Logan. We weren't even married until Logan was three. There wasn’t an ideal time.”

“Remus, He’s part of my family.”

“Roman he has only two-well three now- people he trusts.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance. I-He seems so-”

“Smart. Wonderful. Him,” Remus finished, “Look. After all...this,” He gestured vaguely, “blows over. I’ll tell him.”

Roman sighed, “When do you think he will notice.”

“Honestly, I’m just riding this out until Declan or Him notice. It's nice to feel smarter than him.” Remus laughed. Roman smiled.

“Anyways,” Remus looks ahead his gaze harding, “There's been a security breach. A bunch of confidential stuff got leaked...Including Logan. We don’t know how this will turn out. Your team will be training him in self defense.”

“What!”

“Yeah,” Remus looked to the sleeping boy, “Declan is working on the specifics. Don’t tell Logan.” Remus stood up and placed a hand on Logans bed, “He’s been through a lot. I...I dont want him to bubble over.”

“Before, he went out we thought we could have him just mess around. Destress.”

“I think that might be nice for him.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe you have a kid, and he's awesome!”

“He kinda reminds me of you.”

“Aww.”

“Annoying, obnoxious-”

“Hey! Me and Logan are offended!”

“I was gonna finish with lovable, but that might just be a Logan trait. You’re just an asshole.”

Roman let out an undignified gasp, “How dare you!”

“Man, Where did the years go…”

“No where.”

“Ew, sentimentality.”

“You're gonna rub that onto Logan.”

“No. I got that from him.” Roman laughed at Remus

“Anyways,” Roman tuned to Remus, “You can’t just give Logan a cookie!”

Remus grinned. He looked into Roman’s eyes as he summoned a cookie in his hands. Roman took the cookie and bit into it. OH MY GOD EW. Roman threw the cookie on the table, “WHAT WAS THAT!”

Remus started cackling, “Y-you O-oh-”

“What?” Logan asked, his speech slurred.

Remus took the disgusting thing and handed it to the poor child, “WAIT-” Roman exclaimed as the kid bit down.

“Mmmmmm...I love tomato cookies,” Logan smiled.

“Remus, you have tainted a good child.”

Tag list: I will get to it

authors note: ok im going to take a break from this story I might write somthing in the mean time, but for now the story is pausing on a semi-happy note